the Romanov Prophecy (2004) (36 page)

It was shortly after the October 1917 revolution and Lenin’s rise to power that Yussoupov decided what needed to be done. Being one of the few nobles left with monetary resources, he managed to assemble a group of ex–imperial guardsmen. Their task would be to secure the freedom of the imprisoned royal family and restore the monarchy. He hoped that his change of heart, although late, would be recognized by Nicholas, and the murder of Rasputin forgiven. Yussoupov saw in this quest a way to cleanse his guilt—not for ridding the world of Rasputin, but for the subsequent imprisonment of the tsar.

When the imperial family was removed from Tsarskoe Selo and transported to Siberia in early 1918, Yussoupov knew it was time to act. Three attempts were made at a rescue, but none developed beyond the initial planning. The Bolsheviks maintained a close watch on their imperial captives. George V, king of England and cousin to Nicholas II, was approached about offering the Romanovs safe haven. He initially agreed, but eventually bowed to pressure and refused permission to immigrate.

It was then Yussoupov realized what fate had decided.

He recalled Rasputin’s prediction that if a noble was his murderer, Nicholas II and his family would not survive two years. He was the highest ranking of all the non-Romanov nobles, and his wife was an imperial niece. It seemed the
starets
had been right.

But he was determined to undermine fate.

He dispatched Kolya Maks and others to Yekaterinburg with orders to perfect a rescue at all costs. He was thrilled when Maks was able to work his way close to the men guarding the imperial family. But it was nothing short of a miracle that Maks was present at the actual execution and managed to save both Alexie and Anastasia, secreting them off the transport truck and ultimately returning to find both alive in the forest. Amazingly, Alexie had been untouched by bullet or bayonet. A blow to Anastasia’s head, delivered by Maks himself during the executions, cracked her skull, but the girl was otherwise little harmed, her corset of diamonds and jewels shielding her from the guns. She did sustain bullet wounds to one of her legs, but they were treated and she ultimately recovered, the only lasting effect a limp that stayed with her the rest of her life.

Maks took both children to a cabin west of Yekaterinburg. Three of the other men sent by Yussoupov were there waiting. Yussoupov’s orders were clear.
Take the family east.
But there was no family. Just two teenagers, scared to death.

In the days after the murder, Alexie did not utter a word. The boy sat in a corner of the cabin. He would eat and drink some, but otherwise had withdrawn into himself. He would later say that the sight of his parents being gunned down, his precious mother choking on her own blood, bayonets being jabbed into the bodies of his sisters, stole his mind, and the only thought that kept him going was something Rasputin had once told him.

You are the future of Russia and must survive.

He’d instantly recognized Maks from the man’s time at the Imperial Court. The burly Russian had acted as carrier for the tsarevich, one of several whose job it was to haul the heir in their arms when his hemophilia would not allow his legs to work. He recalled Maks’s gentleness and obeyed without question when told to lie still.

It took nearly two months for the survivors to be trekked east to Vladivostok. The seeds of revolution preceded their arrival, but few there had any idea what the Romanov children actually looked like. Luckily, the tsarevich experienced a period without any attacks of hemophilia, though he did suffer a minor bout once there.

Yussoupov already had men waiting on Russia’s Pacific coast. Originally, he planned to keep the royal family in Vladivostok until the time was right, but the rapidly deteriorating civil war was waning toward the Reds. Soon the communists would be in complete charge. He knew what had to be done.

Russians were emigrating by the boatload to America’s West Coast, San Francisco the main port of entry. Alexie and Anastasia, along with a Russian man and his wife recruited for the task, boarded one of the departing ships in December 1918.

Yussoupov himself fled Russia in April 1919 with his wife and four-year-old daughter. For the next forty-eight years he traveled Europe and America. He wrote a book and periodically protected his reputation with slander and libel lawsuits when he felt films and manuscripts did not accurately portray him. Publicly he remained a proud and defiant rebel, his murder of Rasputin the right course under the circumstances. He took no blame for any of the subsequent actions and accepted no responsibility for what happened to Russia. Privately was another matter. He seethed at Lenin and later Stalin. He had wanted Rasputin dead and Nicholas freed from the German yoke of Alexandra, but he had also wanted imperial Russia to survive. Instead, just as Rasputin had predicted, the Neva River ran red with the blood of nobles. Romanovs died indiscriminately.

Russia ended.

The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics was born.

“What happened after Alexie and Anastasia traveled to the United States?” Lord asked.

Thorn was sitting on the sofa in front of the windows. Akilina was perched on the bed. She’d listened in open amazement as Thorn filled in the gaps of what they already knew. Lord, too, was amazed.

“There were two others already here. Yussoupov had sent them ahead to find a safe place. One of them had been to the eastern part of the United States and traveled through Appalachia. He knew of the princess trees and thought the connection meaningful. So the two children were brought to Asheville first, then farther north, to Genesis. They settled with the Russian couple who came on the boat with them. The name
Thorn
was chosen because of its local popularity. They became Paul and Anna Thorn, the only two children of Karel and Ilka Thorn, a Slavic couple from Lithuania. At the time, millions were immigrating into this country. Nobody paid these four any attention. There’s a large Slavic community in Boone. And back then, no one in this country knew anything about the Russian imperial family.”

“Were they happy here?” Akilina asked.

“Oh, yes. Yussoupov was a big investor in American stocks and the dividends were used to finance relocation. But every effort was made to conceal wealth. The Thorns lived simply, their contact with Yussoupov solely through intermediaries. It was only decades later that Yussoupov himself talked with my father.”

“How long did the two of them live?”

“Anastasia died in 1922. Pneumonia. Sadly, it happened only weeks before she was to marry. Yussoupov finally found a suitable man, one who met royal criteria, except that his noble lineage was a strain. Alexie had married the year before. He was eighteen, and there was concern his illness would eventually become too much for him to bear. There was little that could be done for hemophiliacs in those days. A marriage was arranged with one of the daughters of the men working with Yussoupov. The young girl, my grandmother, was only sixteen, but she met the statutory requirements for a tsarina. Her emigration was arranged and the two were wed by an Orthodox priest in a cabin not far from here. I still own the place.”

“How long did he survive?” Lord asked.

“Only another three years. But it was enough for him to sire my father. The child was healthy. Hemophilia passes from female to male, not the other way around. Later, Yussoupov would say fate had even intervened there as well. If Anastasia had been the one to survive and ultimately mother a son, the curse may have continued. But it ended with her death, and my grandmother birthed a son.”

A strange pang of sadness swept through Lord. One reminiscent of when he’d learned that his own father was dead. A curious mixture of regret and relief, combined with longing. He flushed the feeling away and asked, “Where are they buried?”

“A beautiful place decked with princess trees. I can show you tomorrow.”

“Why did you lie to us earlier?” Akilina asked.

Thorn was quiet for a moment. “I’m scared to death. I go to Rotary Club on Tuesdays and fish on Saturdays. People trust me with their adoptions, house purchases, divorces, and I help them. But now I’m being asked to run a nation.”

Lord felt for the man sitting across the room. He did not envy his task. “But you may be the catalyst that solidifies that nation. The people remember the tsar now with affection.”

“But I worry about that. My great-grandfather was a difficult man. I’ve studied him in detail, and historians have not been kind to him. They’ve been particularly harsh on my great-grandmother. I worry about the lessons to be learned from their failure. Is Russia really ready for autocratic rule again?”

“I’m not sure they ever lost it,” Akilina said.

Thorn’s look was far away. “I think you’re right.”

Lord listened to the solemn tone the lawyer used. Thorn seemed to consider each word, each syllable, careful with his choices.

“I was thinking of the men who are after you,” Thorn said. “My wife. I need to make sure she’s going to be all right. She didn’t ask for any of this.”

Lord asked, “Was the marriage arranged?”

Thorn nodded. “My father and Yussoupov found her. She comes from a devout Orthodox family with a vestige of royal blood. Enough, under the circumstances, to satisfy any objectors. Her family came here in the nineteen fifties from Germany. They fled Russia after the revolution. I love her dearly. Our life has been good.”

There was something else Lord wanted to know. “Did Yussoupov ever relate what happened with the bodies? Iosif Maks told us what happened up until the point where his father found Alexie and Anastasia in the woods the morning after the murders. But Kolya left that day—”

“That’s not true.”

“That’s what his son said.”

“He left, but not after finding Alexie and Anastasia. He returned to the House of Special Purpose. It was three days later that he left with the two children.”

“Was he involved with the ultimate disposal of the bodies?”

Thorn nodded.

“I’ve read a lot of speculation and the spurious firsthand accounts. Did Yussoupov say what actually happened?”

Thorn nodded. “Oh, yes. He related it all.”

FORTY-FOUR

Kolya Maks returned to Yekaterinburg around noon. He’d taken Alexie and Anastasia to the safe house outside town and managed to hike back without anyone knowing where he’d gone. He learned that Yurovsky had returned to Yekaterinburg also and dutifully reported to the Ural Regional Soviet that the executions had been accomplished. The committee was pleased, and a dispatch had been sent to Moscow detailing their success.

But the men Yurovsky chased from the Four Brothers mine the night before, the men led by Peter Ermakov, were telling anyone who would listen where the tsar and his family lay. There was talk of jewel-encased bodies and men who wanted to venture back into the woods. None of which was surprising. Too many had been involved in the disposal to even hope secrecy could be maintained.

It was midafternoon when Maks met up with Yurovsky. He, along with three others, had been ordered to appear in town and assist the commandant.

“They’re going back out there,” Yurovsky told them. “Ermakov is determined to win this fight.”

Artillery could be heard booming in the distance.

“The Whites are within days of here. Maybe even hours. We have to get those bodies out of that mine.” Yurovsky’s black eyes narrowed. “Particularly given our numerical problem.”

Maks and the others knew what he meant. Nine corpses, instead of the required eleven.

Yurovsky directed two men to requisition kerosene and sulfuric acid from whatever merchant had a stock available. Maks was told to get into the car and he and Yurovsky left town on the Moscow highway. The afternoon had turned cool and dingy, the morning sun gone behind a thick bank of gunmetal-gray clouds.

“I’ve been told there are deep mines filled with water west of here,” Yurovsky said along the way. “We will drop them in there with stones tied around them. But first they will be burned and disfigured with acid. Even if found, no one will recognize who they are. Every hole in the ground around here has a body or two.”

Maks did not relish the thought of retrieving nine bloodied corpses from the bottom of the Four Brothers mine. He recalled Yurovsky tossing hand grenades down the shaft, and his spine shivered at the prospects that lay ahead.

Fifteen miles west of Yekaterinburg, the car broke down. Yurovsky cursed the engine, then led the way on foot. They discovered three deep mines about five miles away filled with water. It was eight
PM
when they finally returned to town, the journey made partly by foot, the rest on a horse commandeered from a peasant. Not until shortly after midnight on July 18, twenty-four hours after the debacle of the night before, did they finally return to the Four Brothers mine.

It took several hours to light the deep shaft and prepare. Maks listened as each of the three who came with Yurovsky hoped not to be the one chosen for the descent. When all the preparations were in order Yurovsky said, “Kolya, climb down and find them.”