October 5, 1915
The Kremlin
Olga remained seated on the throne that once belonged to her late father. The ornate and gold-painted throne was the only throne on the stepped platform. As the doors to the throne room opened, the ambassador of the United States to Russia entered alongside two American soldiers. She grew self conscious of her youthful age while looking at the tall and slim man. His hair had begun to gray, and there were wrinkles on his forehead. By comparison, Olga still had the figure of an older girl: shorter and more slender. The two guards watched the two American soldiers and the ambassador while they approached the Tsarina. One of them noticed that he held a briefcase. Olga could only hope that the United States had approved of her recent performance as Tsarina.
"Your Majesty," the ambassador spoke, bowing before Olga.
"Mister George Marye... I appreciate the gesture. You may stand."
The ambassador stood straight again, and he opened his briefcase with one arm, holding it with the other. He revealed a white envelope with a red-colored stamp of the American eagle. He closed the briefcase and held out the envelope. Olga raised an eyebrow, and her breathing quickened. What message did the Americans send? Otherwise, her face remained stoic. She could not lose her composure in front of the ambassador of an emerging power.
"This is a letter from President Woodrow Wilson. He has been very interested with the recent developments within Russia. Thus, I believe that our nations' relations will improve. Please carefully consider the letter."
With a gentle touch, Olga took the envelope, placing it in a slot on the throne. She smiled from the success of her efforts to turn Russia around. The Americans were appeased, and she hoped to restore trade with their nation. She needed American industry to move into her country and modernize its backwards infrastructure and technology. The standards of living, if risen, would further gain her more support. In order to do so, she would need to appease the progressive Woodrow Wilson. The process of improving the image of Russia to the world would take an extended period of time, but it was possible.
Olga I of Russia, as she was now called by many, got off her throne. "I think we should move the discussion to a more suitable place."
"Absolutely, Your Majesty."
After making their way out of the Kremlin Palace, escorted by a group of American and Russian soldiers and palace guards, they reached the Kremlin Senate. It was a Neoclassical style building with towering white columns and pale yellowish walls. The front plaza had gardens of various flowers and leafy bushes with vibrant shades of green. The American ambassador stopped his pace for a few seconds to admire the view. The Russia he had seen was neither backwards or barbaric, but advanced and cultured. He also thought of the similarities of Americans and Russians. Both of them were a proud, strong, and patriotic people.
"The front gardens remind me of the gardens at the Alexander Palace. I would often go there to collect my thoughts," Olga said.
"Yes, it is good to let oneself unwind. I often spent much of my time banking in a cramped office before I assumed my position... so I went golfing."
"Playing golf? I have never tried such a thing before, but if I had time, I would try it."
Olga and George Marye entered the building. They made their way to the Office Room, where a lone wooden desk stood beside two chairs. Bookshelves lined the walls. To the surprise of the ambassador, they were almost empty. Electric lamps on the walls emitted light, brightening the room in pale light. Olga motioned for her guards to stay outside the room, and the ambassador did the same to his escort. Both of them took their seats. They wasted little time and began the discussions.
The Tsarina of Russia tore open the envelope, taking out a folded letter. She began to read it.
From the President of the United States of America,
Hello, Your Majesty of Russia. Before your reign, there were some earlier flaws in our countries' relations, but you have resolved them through your actions as ruler. It has come to my attention that you have achieved a resolution to the Austro-Serbian Crisis and addressed domestic issues in your country. For those actions, I warmly congratulate you. As I once said to a fellow American of mine who questioned why I did certain actions, a leader's ear must ring with the voices of the people. You have done well with that ideal in mind. You are like the Second Star of the North, shining with enlightenment and compassion for your people.
I am optimistic of what the future holds for our two great nations. We both are patriots and reformers at heart, and I believe that together we can set an example for the world to follow. Below are some requests I have given with best interests in mind. Consider them with care.
Request I: The Russian-American Trade Treaty should be reinstated. It is recommended that tariffs on both sides may be lowered to promote economic growth and ease of product flow...
Request II: American companies such as Ford and US Steel have long desired to spread to new markets, especially the Russian market. Our request is that we outsource those businesses. A gentle reminder: U.S labor laws do not apply to workers in outsourced factories, so ensure that working conditions are appropriate...
Olga took a deep breath, reading through the rest of the letter. She wanted to smile and jump with joy, but the celebrations could wait. George Marye held his breath as the Tsarina placed the letter aside.
"I will consider those requests, but I believe that there are more details..."
"The requests are written in general terms. That is to allow any policies passed to be more flexible for any situation," the ambassador spoke, placing his hands in his pockets.
"I see. Your president has thought ahead very well."
The ambassador and the Tsarina continued to discuss the proposals within the letter. Olga soon realized another benefit from a revitalized alliance with the United States. She had been aware of the shaky relations with Great Britain and Germany. If she had the United States as an ally, she would have more external security against those two possible threats. She was uncertain if Britain or Germany would enter into a war with Russia in the future. However, it would be best to find safety before it was too late. As a Tsarina inspired by Catherine the Great, she needed to act based on reason.
"I have enjoyed this conversation very much, Ambassador Marye. Is there more unsaid?" she asked.
"Not at all, Your Majesty, except for the subject of certain radicals such as Leon Trotsky and Lenin," the ambassador replied.
Olga felt uncomfortable at the mention of Trotsky. He was the leader of the Trotskyist Bolsheviks who advocated for a worldwide violent revolution. His location was unknown to the Okhrana, but there was one certain piece of trivia. Thankfully, Trotsky was outside of Russia. This was both a blessing and difficulty for her regime. Although Trotsky could not yet interfere with the Romanov regime, he could not be caught either!
"They will be dealt with in due time," Olga said, but she could not hide her nervous tone.
Trotsky was a force to be feared, as his cunning nature and ruthlessness was known throughout the revolutionary community and even the monarchists. Olga was not certain, but she had a suspicion that the Livadia Raid was influenced by a larger figure. Perhaps that entity was Trotsky. The late Red Bear, or Mikhail Vaganov, was possibly a mere henchman for the exiled Bolshevik leader. If so, she would have to find a way to eliminate him. Before, she thought that the world was a better place that would resolve its own issues over time. Now, she had realized one hard truth: the world was a twisted place where might made right. To survive, one needed to be ruthless and cunning. Olga hated to admit it, but she began to notice that good and evil were not black and white. To protect her people and Russia itself, how far would she go?
Mayre looked at the Tsarina with a concerned look. "Your Majesty?"
"Oh, I apologize. I was pondering the topic of the Bolshevik leaders. They are a threat to our interests, and possibly, our governments."
"Certainly, we can discuss that later or now."
"Later, Mister Mayre. We must focus on restoring relations between our countries... we have plenty of work ahead of us."
It was midnight in Vienna, Austro-Hungary. A passenger train pulled into one of its train stations, gradually slowing down. In one of the passenger cars, a curly bearded man with dark brown eyes sat next to a teenage boy. The man read the newspaper, sometimes scoffing at an article. One of the headlines, printed in big bold letters, read Possible Companion to Olga I of Russia?
Upon the page, there was a picture of Grand Duke Dmitri Pavlovich dressed in his soldier uniform. The man scowled and flipped multiple pages until he reached the end. The man closed the newspaper before patting the boy on the head, almost a gentle touch.
"Mister Yurovsky-"
"Hush, Vaganov. Your father would not want you to be captured before your time. It is my responsibility to watch you, and I would hate to fail that," Yakov Yurovsky whispered in a firm tone.
The boy, Gleb, looked up at Yakov with a weary gaze. The older man gave the boy a slight smile. The hardened revolutionary, despite his zeal for the Bolshevik cause, still held a soft spot for the boy. The boy was the son of his late leader, the Red Bear. Yakov knew his last orders from Mikhail Vaganov: to send his son to Trotsky for safety and training. The future of the revolutionary movement was at stake, and Yakov would not allow a petty young Tsarina to hamper it. Yakov had not yet found a wife, but to love this unfortunate little boy like a foster father would do. He reached into his pocket, taking out a lollipop. He offered Gleb the candy piece, and Gleb smiled before taking it.
"Spasibo, Mister Yurovsky," Gleb whispered before licking the lollipop.
Yakov felt calm and a mild sensation of warmth within him. If only the troublesome Romanov and German monarchies were overthrown, his fellow proletariat could finally live in peace. However, that was easier stated than achieved. This Tsarina, unlike her predecessor, was more ruthless against revolutionaries. Her weapon was not force, but welfare and consideration for the working class. This placed the revolutionaries in a dangerous position. Any attacks on the monarchy would only turn more people against their cause. Yet every day wasted was another day for the Tsarina of Russia to gain support.
"This Olga is quite intelligent, isn't she?" Gleb asked.
"Yes. She has a very... practical and sound mind. She will also not stop until we are vanquished. This makes her a great threat," Yakov whispered.
"Yet- I think that she will make a mistake that will cost herself her reign."
Gleb snickered. "Certainly the stupid, skinny bitch will let her overconfidence and power go to her mind."
Yakov and Gleb kept silent until the train came to a stop. The doors were opened by staff, and passengers began to stand up in the lit interior of the train cars.
"Get your bag, Gleb. We must find Mister T."
"Trotsky, the exile of the Bolsheviks," Gleb thought as he reached below for his travel bag.
Both of the fugitive revolutionaries grabbed their bags and put on their hats. Some time later, they made their way out of the station. They were relieved when the guards did not notice their identities. Now that they had safely arrived in Vienna, they needed to find Trotsky.
Yakov and Gleb, dressed in drab colored suits and pants, awaited a taxi. Gleb looked around, feeling cautious. Not a single one of the passerby gave them a second glance. Minutes passed, and the man looked at his watch. Finally, the two men heard the sound of an approaching motor vehicle, and they turned their heads to see an Audi E car approaching. Its sleek painted metal exterior glinted under the dim streetlights. The driver, an aging man with a small nose, stopped the car and gestured for them to get in. They took their seats.
Yakov took out a slip of paper. "To Gatz Gentlemen's Club. We have an old friend to meet there."
"Understood, sir," the driver replied.
By the time the Yakov and Gleb arrived, a light rain had already started to fall, moistening the ground. Yakov tipped the taxi driver with a generous amount, and Gleb looked at the club building, painted in a striking shade of crimson red. On top of the door, a canopy hung. A lone guard stood underneath the canopy, eying the two newcomers with a squint. Muffled cheers and whistles sounded from within the building.
"Thank you, sir," the taxi driver said.
The taxi drove away and rounded a corner, disappearing out of sight. Yakov reached into his pocket and pulled out a small gold plate. The guard widened his eyes as he watched the two guests walk closer. Otherwise, he showed no other reactions.
"No one under seventeen may enter, sir. This is no mother's shop."
Yakov raised an eyebrow as he gave the guard the gold item. The guard sighed. "Fine, how about the boy?"
"He is seventeen... I want to show my son an old friend here."
"Alright, go in before I change my mind."
The first thing that Gleb noticed as he stepped inside the club was the humid and warm air. A strange musky odor filled the room: the smell of sweat and spilled drinks from the patrons. Tables surrounded four platforms where scantily clad women danced, swaying their hips in a seductive manner. Their skin almost seemed to glow under the dim lights, tempting the men who watched with hungry gazes. A few of them whistled and hollered for the women to take off their corsets. it was obvious that they were drunk.
"I assume that Mister T has gone here?" Gleb asked, looking up at the face of his companion.
"Hush. We will see him soon. For now, I will get you a drink."
Gleb sat at the bar counter with Yakov, who ordered and paid for a small portion of aged Spanish wine. The bartender smiled at the two patrons, and he searched the shelves of bottles for the drink. The bartender gave them their glasses filled with the potent reddish-violet drink. A few minutes passed as Gleb sipped from his glass, looking at the door beside the bar, wondering what was behind it. He did not have to wait very long to find out.
A man with dark frizzled hair and a beard slammed open the door with a loud bang, breathing heavily. His black suit was wrinkled, and his belt had been loosened.
"Blyat," he swore, as a woman giggled in the room behind him.
Yakov glanced at the man with a confused look, and the man smiled back.
"Red Fist... our paths cross again," the man said, walking closer.
"Trotsky, your soon to be protégé is here," Yakov said in a low tone.
"Good, do not mind that cyka nearby, she was quite... rambunctious," Trotsky muttered, taking a seat beside Yakov.
"We have much to discuss, and I admire you for choosing an unlikely place for refuge. Very clever of you."
Trotsky laughed. "Yes. Even Lenin would be too much of a prude to even consider such an idea."
Yakov chuckled. This would be an interesting night for the three men.
A.N: I have read that Trotsky and Lenin were at odds with each other, so that is why he insults Lenin within the club scene. I realized that I needed more scenes about the revolutionaries' plots, so here you go! For some reason, this chapter really feels like reading a noir book.
