Please, please, please don't be mad at me. I know I haven't updated in forever, and I know this is a rather short chapter. But I promise it's an important one, and that I'll do my best to update quicker this time. Grad school is a beast, to put it mildly.


Dmitry began focusing all his time and energy on planning out every detail in his plan that he could control. He did his best to account for every possible outcome, so that he was prepared for anything that might happen. He was fully aware that a lot of the possibilities he was planning might not ever happen, and that perhaps his energy would be better spent on other things. But the possibility of reuniting with the Romanovs and getting them to safety was making him irrational and paranoid.

He found himself visiting the consulate every day, asking Sir Thomas if Armistead had managed to arrange to get to Ekaterinburg any sooner, but the answer was always no. Sir Thomas sometimes seemed to get annoyed with him, but he never snapped at Dmitry, for which he was thankful. He knew he was being bothersome, but he couldn't help himself.

The weeks began passing unbearably slowly. In a way, he was glad. It gave him time to make contact with those who sympathized with the White Army and organize them. He had time to get a rough floor plan of the Ipatiev House from Irina. He was very careful to compartmentalize a lot of the information, just in case anyone involved was captured or had a change of as the 17th crept closer, Dmitry had a harder time planning everything out. There was only so much more he could do, and instead he was left with only a countdown to the day he would possibly be reunited with the Romanovs.

When only a week remained before the planned rescue, Dmitry went to visit Irina again. His stomach knotted itself the entire time he was traveling to see her. When he arrived at her house, she greeted him warmly then ushered him into the house.

"What bring you here today?" she asked him as she set a cup of tea in front of him as she always did.

"I need to ask you a favor," he said, tracing the rim of his cup with his finger.

"What is it?" she asked. He suddenly found he couldn't meet her eye and dropped his gaze to the table.

"Please understand that I am aware that I am asking a lot of you," he said. "Perhaps too much."

"Just say it. Don't keep me in suspense." Dmitry nodded.

"First I need to ask if you have a decent photo of yourself," he said. "Something that could be used for an ID."

"I can do even better than that," Irina said. "They made ID cards for all of us who come to clean. We have to present them whenever we go inside the house." Dmitry's heart leapt.

"That's good," he murmured, more to himself than to Irina.

"What does my I.D. photo have to do with anything?" Dmitry drummed his fingers on the table, trying to figure out the words.

"I'm willing to give you 800 rubles if you would consider switching places with one of the daughters for one night." Irina nearly dropped her cup halfway to her mouth. She jumped up to retrieve a towel, staring at him with a look of astonishment.

"You want what?" she hissed, mopping up the spilled tea. Dmitry felt his face burn. He knew it wasn't a lot to offer, and if he had more, he would offer it. But the 800 rubles was what remained of his life savings, and he hoped it would be enough.

"There is a plan that I'm involved in," he said slowly, "to rescue the Romanovs. In order for it to work, we need to talk to one of the family members. You roughly resemble Anastasia, the youngest daughter."

"But why would we need to switch places?" she demanded. "Could I not just pass along the information to them?"

"No," Dmitry said forcefully. "The more people who know the details of the plan, the more likely it is to fail."

"If I'm discovered, I'll be executed."

"The family will be forewarned," Dmitry said. "You'll switch clothing with Anastasia, and they will surround you, so you look inconspicuous. You'll switch your photos on your ID cards, and you switch places again the next morning. It will be only one night, I promise. No one will know."

"The other cleaning girls will know." A manic tone had crept its way into Irina's voice, and Dmitry recognized the fear in her eyes.

"Can you trust them?" he asked, trying to keep his voice steady. The last thing he needed was for Irina to know he was just as scared as she was. "Would any of them help? Or could Anastasia walk out separately when they leave?" Irina thought for a moment.

"Perhaps my friend Ksenia might help," she said slowly. "She's become fond of the children."

"Will you help us?" Dmitry asked. "I can give you the money in cash today. I don't mean to be aggressive, but I do need an answer soon."

"Keep your money until the day before the switch," Irina said. "You've convinced me for now, but we were told we won't be needed to clean until the 16th. I'm not sure I won't change my mind between now and then."

Dmitry thanked her profusely and offered to help her clean up, but she told him to leave her alone to think. He obeyed, already planning some more. Irina could pass as Anastasia as long as one didn't look for too long. She was about the same height and build, and her hair was almost the exact same color. But she was a little heavier than Anastasia had been, and there was really no telling how much more weight she'd lost being on soldiers' rations. He thought that fact could be hidden by the right clothing, but he'd have to warn the family ahead of time.

It suddenly dawned on him that he could be face to face with Anastasia in a little under a week. And with any luck, all of the Romanovs would be free shortly after that. He knew it wouldn't be easy and getting them out of the country would be the hardest part. But if they could manage to pull it off, the future would be wide open for all of them. Dmitry's heart leapt with joy as he thought of it.