Moscow. July 24th, 1918.
Igor Pyotrovich Turov.

It has been days since my investigation started and I have nothing to calm Sverdlov´s fears. The missing former Grand Duchess and the former heir might have already been smuggled out of the country for all I know. To my great relief, neither Lenin nor Sverdlov seem worried about me taking my time, they know they can always send assassins if the missing Romanovs are spotted years later in a foreign nation.

I am the one who is the most worried about finding the woman and her brother, I want to make a good impression on these important members of the party, and that is not going to happen if the Romanovs escape the country. If only I had supported the October revolution in time, but I was too busy looking at the risks to become a significant player. Now my destiny is probably going to be buried on the footnotes of history books, if I even make it there, all of this despite all of the support and loyalty I have given to the cause, despite having known for years we were on the right side of history.

I look at my papers and study the leads once more, the last clear one we had was a witness from Kambarka; this witness claimed he had heard a man yelling out loud in a cafeteria that the Tsesarevich had survived, he later described the people who were travelling with him.

Paul and Volya, the two guards responsible for letting the Romanov citizens escape, as well as the crew of the steamer they were travelling in, were summoned to come to Moscow and help me with the search as soon as I was tasked with the investigation. They were the ones who explained to me exactly where they lost the woman and the boy, so I sent my first search parties to the location and instructed them to question as many witnesses as possible, using official pictures for reference. None of that worked, the peasants all wanted something in return, and they would have said anything to avoid being tortured. All I managed to do was create rumors that might one day harm our cause.

We received the clue from Kambarka indirectly, from a local Cheka that had arrested the witness for "spreading false rumors". I never suspected Kambarka, I thought the settlement was too far from where the Romanovs had been lost and never did the idea occur to me, if it wasn't for a patrol that wandered too far away we would have never found anything.
The lead from Kambarka was later corroborated when I ordered patrols of red guards to be posted on every train station located on several possible routes I suspected the Romanovs might have taken. They couldn't ask for Grand Duchess Olga and Grand Duke Alexei, of course, so I ordered them to look for a boy on a stretcher and a woman with a swollen face.

I received a report that people that fit this exact description had been found, but the suspects were unfortunately allowed to proceed with their journey because the guards who stopped them weren´t mine. Since I don´t have enough guards at my disposal, I have been allowed a certain degree of authority to give orders to red army units not directly under my command, this with a seal of approval from Lenin. Unfortunately, unlike my men, those other guards didn't really have a clue of what they were actually looking for and how fundamental its finding was for the future of our nation; they were also foolish and gullible enough to believe anything they were told by the other people the Romanovs have been spotted travelling with.

I was so worried after knowing I had dismissed Kambarka as a possible location that I might have gone too far this time, I even made sure there were people looking for the Romanovs in the stations of Leningrad. I just hope that rumors do not spread among the people that the woman and the child on the stretcher those red guards were frantically searching for were actually a missing Grand Duchess and the heir.

The thousands of pretenders already appearing throughout the nation, probably looking for attention, do nothing to help me with my quest either. I have had about ten different reports of these sorts of lunatics in just two days.

The only lead I have now is the death of one of my men, Davydov, and one of the men under his command, they patrolled here in Moscow. Davydov was a nice fellow, loyal man; it is truly a shame. He was probably murdered by another one of his men, for I never saw that fat and ugly man again. I don't have evidence this is connected in any way to the missing heir and Grand Duchess though, it could have been a petty robbery for all I know, the mysterious man seemed more like a common criminal, not a true revolutionary. I have already asked for my men to look for witnesses though.

Recently I received a telegram that said the Cheka headquarters in Perm had evidence for some sort of conspiracy which involves the higher ranks of the British intelligence. It might seem selfish, but I just hope they fail more disastrously than I probably will, that way I may not gain any fame or praise for being assigned this almost impossible job, but I won´t look like a complete idiot either. I curse myself for my self-centeredness, it is one of the things I hate the most about myself.

I am about to read the autopsy reports detailing once again how Davydov died, when I hear a knock on the door of my office.

"Come in", I say, and my secretary, Dina, does. "What is it woman?" I say without pride in my tone, I become really moody whenever I think I am failing at something. I used to be the best in my field. This has been the hardest search in my career.

"A letter from the Cheka", she says.

"Another pretender?" I ask, the Cheka has been informed by the higher ranks that my office is actually in charge of dealing with pretenders from all over the country in order to decide whether they are insane or worthy of execution. This way our search remains as discrete as possible, and the average Chekist can continue doing their job safely in the knowledge that the imperial family is no longer a cause for their concern.

The secrecy, however, is exactly the reason why this search is causing me so much trouble, I have been instructed not to name any of the two people I am looking for, at least not in urban areas where rumors can spread like wildfire, this wouldn´t be a problem if we weren´t also discouraged from using photos as references to question witnesses. I also need more men and staff, but that would only make our secret search too big to hide, and I am too proud to ask Sverdlov for more help. The young man practically idolizes me, he is aware of my long history of success as a private investigator, and thinks it is only a logical conclusion that looking for these people is also an easy task for me.

"This one is different", my secretary replies, referring to the pretender. I doubt it is different, it is not that hard to pretend to be somebody else, people would be surprised by how convincing some pretenders can be. Most pretenders are easy to spot by their looks though, or by the way they act, as if they wanted to be spotted, so I have other staff who sort them out, Dina among them, I only check or meet the most similar ones, physically speaking.

"How so?"

"They don't have the motives of a usual pretender", Dina responds, looking at the contents of the letter with unusual interest.

"They?"

"The members of certain local Chekas around Moscow have been receiving pictures of a boy, they are slipped under the doors of the buildings", Dina hands me the opened envelope. "The Cheka has been trying to handle this issue on their own for about two days, but they are beginning to grow worried".

I empty the contents of the envelope on the desk and my mouth opens when I look at the pictures. The child looks older than in his official pictures, as evidenced by his long face, but he can´t be older than 14. His eyes are sunken, probably by lack of sleep, and his strained expression denotes absolute fear. In two of the pictures he looks as if he were about to cry, making his features hard to recognize at times… but it is him, no one who has spent days studying his face and years seeing it on postcards could miss that. Alexei Nicholaevich is holding a newspaper with his hands, showing it to the camera, on big letters it says clear as day: July 21st, 1918.

"Our government is being blackmailed", Dina states before I am able to ask her who or why took and left these pictures inside those Cheka buildings. "The people who kidnapped him want the release of a number of prisoners, they have threatened to turn him over to our enemies if their demands aren't met, the Cheka left you a copy of the threatening letters, they have also requested for you to be given more resources for your investigation. A General, General Gorlinsky, has been assigned to help you. You may be promoted as well."

This couldn´t have been easier for me. People who act like they have already won always make at least one mistake, and one mistake is all I need. The fact that all of the former heir´s pictures have him showing a newspaper from three days ago already shows a lack of discipline and care on the part of the blackmailers. Now the only challenge left is the sister, they would have also taken a picture of the woman if they had her as well, of that I am sure… or maybe they did take her, but they were, yet again, too incompetent to use her as well, where could she be if not with her brother?

Perm. July 25th, 1918.
Olga.

I am lost, and not only metaphorically, I can´t find the address written in Sergei´s notebook. I arrived at Perm in the morning, two hours ago, and I have been wandering ever since. I do not have any money to take a carriage or a motorcar, so I have to walk and ask people on the streets for directions, among them, hundreds of soldiers are walking with the locals, probably retreating from Ekaterinburg, or getting prepared to stop the Czech legion´s advance.

All the people seem confused as to why I am dressed as a man. Since there is no longer any need to pretend that I am one, I have stopped forcing my voice to sound deeper, making my gender obvious.

I am too tired to keep walking, so I sit on the sidewalk to rest for a while and watch the people pass by. I miss having Alyosha by my side, he would probably have been so excited about what I did these past few days. I find the way I am missing him right now funny, as if he is only on the front with papa and not in terrible danger. Sometimes the truth is so horrible you can no longer process it.

Some passerby had stolen all of Sergei´s money from his suitcase while it was laying next to his body, as well as most of his clothes. Me and Anastasia were running inside the station to escape the red guard when it happened. Nothing else was stolen, the thief or thieves had not seen the value of his writings, letters, or pictures; they just wanted the money, and most of the clothes, thank God for that, I can still make sure all of his important belongings end up with his family. Our night had been so full of other worries that Valeriy, Anastasia and I did not realize the money was missing until we started planning my trip back to Perm. For a moment we put everything on hold; Valeriy only had a few rubles in his pocket, not enough for a meal, let alone staying on a hotel for weeks and buying train tickets. We continued to discuss what to do in the house that belongs to the woman who had found Valeriy, Natalia, whose offer of hospitality was still open. We carried Valeriy to the house on a stretcher.

We came up with a solution eventually, Sergei had several uniforms in his suitcase in case a disguise was ever needed, most had been stolen, but not all. Valeriy suggested I travelled back to Siberia with the soldiers leaving for the front. He said if I dressed properly, carried the suitcase inside the coat and kept my head low while mixing with the men no one would notice me. The mere idea made me shiver.

I refused at first, what if they all knew each other and saw that I was out of place? What if I looked suspicious? What if they called someone to interrogate me? Valeriy told me it was unlikely the average soldier, especially conscripted ones, were focused on that, and that I just needed to look out for political commissars, but even those would not be looking for a Grand Duchess among his soldiers. I was not convinced, the idea of being among red soldiers unprotected made me start crying with fear, even if they didn't suspect me of anything, they could find out I was a woman. I now know what men are truly capable of. And what would mama say? Being dressed like that is hardly decent.

"All you have to do is mix right in the middle and act normal", Anastasia encouraged me.

"But what if they ask who I am", I sobbed. That is no longer what I was worried about, but I didn't want to shame myself by telling them the real reason.

"You say you are a new conscript", Valeriy said from his bed in a calm voice. "I know you can do it; I saw the way you talked to the guard, just get in character, I think you are less likely to be discovered this way than how we originally planned, actually."

"But my voice…" I protested.

"If you can't fake a male voice just go with Sergei´s story, you are a female soldier", Anastasia said. "You are not a bad actress, you know?"

Then another thought occurred to me.

"What am I going to eat?" I asked, I would never ask food from the men. Both Valeriy and Anastasia stayed silent for a while.

"I am not sure if they feed the soldiers on the way or if they are supposed to buy food with their salary", Valeriy admitted. I know they were fed on the front and in the medical trains, but some also brought their money in case they got hungry. I am not sure how it is now though.

"We can ask Natalia to lend you some money", Anastasia said. "We will repay her."

I became a sobbing mess.

"Alright alright," Valeriy said while laying on the sofa where he would sleep, he was moved by my tears. "We will think of something else", he looked at his wife with concern.
I did not want to do it, but I did not have a better idea, and in that moment I am ashamed to say the dark part of my soul suddenly found comfort in the idea of the soldiers recognizing and killing me, knowing too well many of them would be proud to brag about having raped the former Tsar´s daughter before anything else. I didn't care anymore as long as I died right after, that way I would not have to live another day without knowing where Alexei is, or whether my sisters would be safe. Life was, and still is, becoming too hard, how much more can I handle?

I looked at myself in the mirror, dressed in a simple soldier´s uniform that men in the infantry used to wear: khaki pants, a long shirt the same color, but without any epaulettes, black boots, and a long coat. We had a cap as well, the one most Russian soldiers used, it was also khaki, but the part used to protect the sight from the sun was black. The cap had a metal oval in the front, right in the middle, on top of the Khaki part; that metal oval had a black circle surrounded by a golden one. Red soldiers did not use this cap anymore, so Anastasia and I removed the metal oval.

I hate wearing men´s clothing, I feel so unlike myself, without a skirt and a corset I feel almost naked, it made me feel even more vulnerable and exposed at first. I can´t wait to take this of, I hope I am offered some proper clothes when I arrive.

Hours before I left, Anastasia got a job in a hospital not too far away from Natalia´s house, and she gave me the address of both the woman and the hospital.
It is said God never gives you more than you can handle, I know that now to be true, but in that moment I just hoped it was.

I travelled in crowded car, loaded with common soldiers who, most of the time, left me alone, but that was no comfort to me. This has been the worst name day ever. I grew up surrounded by officers and sailors, all of them nice, all of them there to protect us, I never had any reason to think badly of any man, I didn't even suspect harmless vices, not until proven otherwise, I was too innocent.
I wonder if that same innocence is the reason mama never believed any of the rumors about Rasputin, how could she? What did mama really know about evil men until very recently?

Now it is all the other way around for me, I can´t think good of any man. I will never be able to believe with full certainty that a man has a good heart unless I see he has been given an excellent opportunity to harm me without repercussions, and still refuses to do so. All men seem like potential monsters now, all of them, until proven otherwise.

I am almost falling asleep on the pavement, I wasn't able to sleep much on the trains, any movement or sound, any soldier sleeping, siting or even standing slightly closer to me than usual could make me panic, and my heart would beat so fast I feared several times I was truly dying, I was indeed going to have an attack, I even confessed to God all of my sins for a last time whenever that happened, sometimes I had the sensation I was going crazy, and as a consequence I wouldn't be able to reach Perm. It was similar to the night I spent on the Rus, where I would wake up every five minutes to make sure nobody entered our cabin, but this time it was much worse, I didn't genuinely fear for my life on the Rus.
I cried myself to sleep every night that I managed to sleep. It is still too painful to think I won´t be there to comfort Alexei if he is indeed executed, or that he might be alone for the rest of his life if he isn't, just what the poor darling feared, please God comfort him. I am trying to remember all the times we have spent together, now that they are still fresh, in the future I might forget them.

Before we left Tsarskoye Selo and were moved to Tobolsk, maybe that same day or the day before, Alexei pushed me into the lake with my clothes on; the memory makes me so nostalgic, I was there, floating in the water and completely bewildered. I looked up and my brother was still barefoot on the plank, laughing. Whenever he acted like his typical self I didn't worry about the future, because I knew that he was smart enough to have an idea of the danger, but he was just too young and childlike to care, and if he could still act like a child knowing our circumstances, so could I. In Tobolsk my sisters and I took turns to pull his sledge during winter, the poor dear enjoyed that simple amusement so much. He was almost as depressed as me when our parents left; later in Ekaterinburg he missed being able to walk, and I spent enough time with him to know there was something else saddening him, maybe the same thing that saddened him when our parents and Maria left. He looked so stressed whenever Tatiana, misguidedly albeit with good intentions, told him to get better so we could meet papa and mama again, he confessed his feelings of guilt to me. After that, I explained the situation to Tatiana and she stopped her innocent pestering of our brother. The day before they took him, he kept apologizing for something, I suspected what it was about…no, I knew what it was about… and I still didn´t calm his fears, I did not tell him that it wasn´t his fault.

If my baby brother dies, my uncle Michael is next in line, but I do not know where he is or if he is safe, as far as I know he has also been arrested, I need to pray for him also.
If something happens to my uncle, Grand Duke Cyril, the son of my great uncle Vladimir, is next in line. At this point though, I would rather have Russia be a republic than have Cyril on the throne. He betrayed my family. During the troubles in St. Petersburg, when the mob was looting and burning the village of Tsarskoe Selo, Cyril had command of the guards outside the Alexander Palace. As long as the guards stood there, the mob stayed away. But Grand Duke Cyril abandoned my family, with me and my siblings except for Maria sick in bed with measles and my father away at the front. My poor mama and Maria were left to face the frightening situation alone, with only a few Cossacks there to protect us. Maria spent herself so much that she almost died once she fell ill as well. The very sailors who had served us abroad the Standard in out beautiful summer cruises deserted us along with our treacherous cousin.

Cyril ordered the guards under his command to abandon his four invalid cousins in the middle of the night while they slept in order to support the provisional government. I genuinely believe he is an opportunist, and he just wanted the throne for himself; I have heard the rumors of several plots hatched by Cyril´s mother, Grand Duchess Maria Pavlovna. His branch of the family has acted like a bunch of vultures for a long time, but I suspect their treacherous plotting behavior only increased when my brother almost died at Spala, and my uncle Michael married a commoner around the same time.

If Cyril had stayed on his post, maybe all of my family would have been safe right now; my sisters wouldn't be at risk, my brother wouldn´t be probably death right now, and I wouldn´t be completely heartbroken. If anything were to happen to Alexei, Cyril would probably claim his right to the throne from his comfortable exile as soon as he heard the convenient news. Cyril is safe with his family in Finland while we are here, grieving our parents in grave danger, he had already abandoned his motherland like he abandoned us while those men were ripping me apart and mutilating my brother. Cyril must be eager for any news confirming the deaths of my father and brother; reprehensible and despicable traitor. I could almost cry from rage, but I have cried so much on my journey I don´t think I have any tears left.

After minutes of bitter thoughts, I stand up and start looking for the address again, it is not a hotel but a house, must be rented. Fishing street 023, it says, near the river. I have already walked near the port, but maybe I have only focused on places near, maybe it is far from there, just close to the river.

As I walk I come across a kiosk selling newspapers, I can´t help but be curious to see if I have missed anything important. My mind fills with sadness as I grab one and remember the way I read the newspapers to Alyosha.

"Can I?" I ask the woman selling the newspapers, referring to whether I could take a small peak without buying one. She looks at me with pity, probably because of my face, maybe because of the way that I am dressed. This happened to me several times on my journey, some soldiers were exceedingly courteous and even gave me food whenever they deduced I was a woman, I felt a bit safer around those types, they gave me hope in the inherent kindness of people.

"Only for a minute", the woman responds.

I read the headline: Ekaterinburg in the hands of foreign invaders. The Czech legion, those are the foreign invaders, I do not trust them, but they have no quarrel with us. They were so close, so, so close… one week and they could have saved my father, my mother… I touch with longing the golden bracelet me and each of my sisters got from our mother.

My bracelet is the only thing I have left from either of my parents, the reds took all the rest, and they only allowed us to keep the bracelets because they could not be removed; they even took our crosses, the ones they gave each of us after we were baptized, we never took them off, not even when we bathed, not until they were stolen. I suddenly realize the guard who stopped us in Moscow could have recognized me because of my bracelet, he probably hoped to ask me to show him my wrist before Sergei convinced him otherwise. I haven´t worried about the bracelet during my entire journey, but maybe that was a good thing, if I had been touching my wrist I would have looked more suspicious.

I kiss my bracelet as I remember my mother, and how she called me her big Olga, my poor affectionate mama. I read in the first paragraph of the paper. It confirms to the world that my father is dead, and I start crying as if I did not know that already, reading it on a newspaper that sees his murder as an act of justice makes it all the more horrible, his death is just becoming more painful with every passing day. The newspapers say that we have been taken to a safer place, but they include my mother in this, and my brother, who they never intended to spare, or maybe even us…they are liars. They do not even mention Dr. Botkin, or Trupp, or Kharitonov, or Anna Demidova. I can´t imagine how their families must be feeling without knowing where they are. Tatiana and Gleb Botkin also lost their father, but they may still think he is alive. The reds must feel truly ashamed of what they have done or intend to do in order to lie like this.

The article mentions a soldier who stayed in the city, defending it with his men at least 5 hours after it had already been taken. He barely escaped capture afterwards. The author praises his name, and calls for other comrades to follow Gleb Vaganov´s example. There was a time I would have admired his courage and passion, maybe I just hate the cause he is passionate about. These past days have made me feel discouraged, while I traveled with the soldiers I heard them talk, most of them didn't talk about politics at all, but some of the ones who did said positive things about the new government, the government that killed my father, the same government this one Gleb Vaganov was so desperate to defend. Knowing so many of my countrymen freely support the reds is so conflicting, it is hard to reconcile with the things my mother used to tell us about real Russians, so loyal to the Tsar… it is hard to reconcile with my love for Russia itself.

I can´t help but feel angry at those soldiers, sometimes hatred even for the man in the newspaper, even though years of studying French history and even reading novels from the perspective of revolutionaries has allowed me to concede that these hatred so many of the people have for us didn't come from nothing, it came from years of serious problems not being heard. But rationally acknowledging something is one thing, feeling it in your heart, is another.

God would not want my heart to be filled with anger, for either my countrymen or even the people from our own family that have betrayed us, us humans are so weak. How many times will I have to ask God to forgive me for my thoughts? He wants my heart to be filled with love, my mother used to say. I need to keep my mind off our enemies, and focus only on the meekness of our Lord.

I remember the prayer I wrote in my diary back when I was imprisoned with my family, back when I thought we were going through the worst. Now I need this prayer now more than I did back when I wrote it down, so I murmur it after leaving the newspaper back in its place: Send us, Lord, the patience, in this year of stormy, gloom-filled days, to suffer popular oppression, and the tortures of our hangmen. Give us strength, oh Lord of justice, Our neighbor's evil to forgive, And the Cross so heavy and bloody, with Your humility to meet, In days when enemies rob us, To bear the shame and humiliation, Christ our Savior, help us. Ruler of the world, God of the universe, Bless us with prayer and give our humble soul rest in this unbearable, dreadful hour. At the threshold of the grave, breathe into the lips of Your salves inhuman strength, to pray meekly for our enemies.

I repeat the prayer again while walking, and my mind rests enough to think and keep searching. I realize now that maybe all of the doubt and resentment I was carrying with me is what didn't allow me to find the address, "seek and you will find" says the Bible, but I wasn't seeking anything before, I was too busy thinking about how pointless it all was.

I knock on the door of the small yellow and white mansion, located near similar ones. There are even shops around, and poor people begging in the streets, not what I imagine when I think of a place filled with spies. I wish I had a coin to give an old and wrinkled babushka. I am distracted when the door is opened, and an unknown skinny black-haired man with blue eyes dressed in simple civilian clothes opens the door, he is surprised when he sees my strange aspect. I stay paralyzed for a few seconds, I had not rehearsed this part, but am able to think quickly.

"I am here to meet an officer", I say in English with a bit of nervousness, "Charles Lamb".

"Who asks for him?" The man questions me in perfect English as well.

"Please let me see him", I beg pathetically, my voice breaks. "He will know who I am, I really need his help, something terrible has happened".

The man leaves the door open and invites me to enter, but before I can reach the living room, he has started touching me, first my shoulders, I paralyze, then my arms, this can´t be happening again, my stomach, when he feels my knife, which I have kept in the pocket of my shirt close to my chest these days, I push him away and scream frantically.

"What is happening here?" I hear a woman say in Russian, she comes from the living room.

"I was making sure she didn't have any weapons", the man answers in a perfect Russian as well, then he turns back to me, but I can´t dare to look at him, I stay still. "I am sorry miss, we do this with everyone that enters, and you are dressed as a soldier." My breath slowly steadies, but I don´t answer him. "Could you please give me your knife? I am sure that I what you have hidden, and what do you have in that suitcase?"

I don´t want to do that, I don´t know this man.

"I will not give you anything until I see Charles Lamb", I say.

"Please sit", the robust woman tells me as she invites me to come into the living room, I do so as she turns back to the new man. "It is just a knife Randall, lets wait until the officers arrive". She is right, keeping the knife is just me trying to feel as if I am in total control of the situation, my life, and my sisters´ lives now depend on these men, extraordinarily little on me. I sit on one of the furniture in the living room.

I am surprised by how relaxed sitting on a proper sofa makes me feel, the trains I travelled on had hard seats. I almost fall asleep in the soft cushion. The interior of the house is nicely decorated, as if they were using someone´s house. The man who opened the door comes back to me.

"I have my suspicions on who you are", he tells me. "But I will wait for Charles to arrive." He looks at me up and down with a frown. "That uniform looks dirty; would you like to change your clothes?" I put my guard down, for now, he does not seem like a monster.

"I honestly only want to sleep right now", I tell him, and my eyelids close before I am able to even lay properly on the sofa.

I am awaken by the alarming sound of several men talking in the dining room next to the sofa where I was sleeping, I relax when I see Charles is one of them and I sit up, only to find someone had covered me with a blanket while I slept.

"We must waste no time then", one of them says in a way that displays authority.

"No", I hear Charles answer, "let her sleep".

"I am awake!" I announce as I walk uninvited into the dinning room where several men dressed as civilians are having a conversation. The men are talking over a huge city map, they study a red spot carefully, is it the house where my sisters are still being kept? Oh God, please let it be! Let them be rescued! Are they even safe? The men´s eyes all turn on me, and I quickly take off my coat to reveal the suitcase I have carried with me this entire time.

"I am sorry for interrupting, but I need your help", I say, and Charles, who is already standing up, approaches me. Seeing him again this close makes me emotional, when I saw him for the last time I was with my brother, I was filled with hope for him and my sisters.

"What happened to Sergei, Olga? Where is your brother? And what in God´s name are you doing here?" His concerned tone is enough to make me burst into tears, I did have some left after all.

"They took him!" I sob as I give him my suitcase. "They took him and Sergei is dead!"

Charles hugs me as I keep crying those words over and over again, I accept his comfort without fear for some reason, maybe because he reminds me of a time I still felt the horrors I had gone through would pay off in the end, and maybe because he seems like a good man, or I just want to believe he is. I know too well bad men do not have a particular look.
"Igor Pyotrovich Turov? Who is that?" Says the same man I am guessing is the leader, he has gray hair and an equally gray mustache, but he still looks strong; Charles must have given him my suitcase and he is now searching through the contents. "We have no reports of anyone named like him".

"He is, the man, looking, for us", I say between pauses, still in Charles´s arms. "Can you, make sure, those letters and, pictures, get to Sergei´s family?"

The gray-haired man takes his eyes off Sergei´s notebook and looks at me with sadness and pity. "Of course," he answers as he nods. "They will also receive a modest sum of money".

"My sisters?!" I cry.

"We have found their location, your help made it easy", Charles responds.

"Can you also help me find my brother?"

I will update again on July.