Free The Romanov Conspiracy by Glenn Meade Page A

you’re born with one.”
    Yakov said, “I have another surprise, Uri. Come here, little brother.” He beckoned to the other guard, a fair-haired, shy-looking youth who barely looked in his teens, his uniform at least a size too big for him. The young man stepped over and removed his fur hood. “Hello, Uri.”
    Andrev beamed, his pleasure obvious. “Stanislas …”
    The youth said proudly, “I joined the Red Guards, Uri. I’m a soldier now.”
    “You can’t be, you’re not old enough.”
    “I’m almost seventeen, old enough to carry a rifle for Comrade Lenin.”
    Andrev said with genuine affection, “What’s the world coming towhen boys start taking up arms? Come here.” He grasped the youth’s hand warmly and hugged him. “The last time I saw you was at my father’s funeral. You looked as if you were still playing with toys. Now look at you.”
    Stanislas brandished his rifle. “This has replaced my toys, Uri. All my friends have joined the revolution. Lenin’s our God now. Tell him why we’re here, Leonid.”
    Yakov slapped a hand on his brother’s hair and ruffled it. “You talk too much, Stanislas. You and Zoba go find something to eat. It’ll give Uri and me a chance to catch up.”
    “I hope you get well soon, Uri.”
    Andrev fondly gripped both their hands and then Stanislas and Zoba left. When they closed the door, Andrev’s face was sober. “How could you let Stanislas join the army, Leonid? We’ve both seen the horrors of war.”
    Yakov sat and took a swig from the flask. “I couldn’t change his mind. He’s like me, impetuous and headstrong.”
    “Don’t let him serve, I beg you.”
    “I know Stanislas has always been like a kid brother to you. Don’t worry, it’s why I had him transferred to my unit, to have him under my wing. I’ll keep him out of harm’s way. Here, drink some more.”
    “Are you trying to get me drunk?”
    “Vodka is all there is to numb your pain, I’m afraid. We ran out of chloroform. Drink , it’ll help you forget that we’re on different sides.”
    Andrev swallowed a few gulps of the scorching liquid and coughed.
    Yakov smiled. “It’s the best Siberian vodka, a hundred proof. Here, they use it to fuel storm lamps. The lamp stays alight even in the worst blizzard. The trouble is putting the lamp out afterward.”
    “Are you trying to kill me?”
    Yakov’s smile faded and he picked up a damp cloth, dabbed sweat from Andrev’s brow. “The sergeant, Mersk, said you were troublesome. He looks like a nasty piece of work.”
    “Mersk despises everyone. He claims escape from here is impossible.”
    Yakov shook his head with amusement. “So you decided to give him a run for his money? You always did like a challenge, Uri. Livedangerously, carefully, was always your motto. Remember when we broke out from the German prison camp?”
    “I made you trudge for three nights without sleep through heavy snow.”
    Yakov nodded. “As if that wasn’t bad enough, you made me sing those rowdy Cossack marching songs we knew in childhood, just to help me stay awake. You kept me alive, Uri.” Yakov added, “By the way, the drunken idiot who calls himself the camp medic tells me that the bullet went clean through flesh. I’ve dressed it as best I could and used vodka to clean it. But I think your shoulder’s dislocated.”
    Andrev stared at Yakov’s black leather coat, a Communist Party badge on his lapel. “Since when did you start working for the secret police, Leonid?”
    “I was appointed to the Cheka by Comrade Lenin with the rank of commissar.”
    “I’m impressed. You never said what you’re doing here.”
    Yakov avoided the question. “Let me take a look at your arm.” He examined the limb. “It’s definitely dislocated. I’d keep the orderly away, he’d probably make things worse.”
    Andrev winced. His brow felt feverish, his shoulder scorching with pain. “Set the bone for me.”
    “You trust me?”
    “You saw my father set enough