his own. He would have liked to name the baby after Lenin, but they already had a Vladimir. The pregnancy had made Grigori a hardliner in politics. He had to think about the country in which the child would grow up, and he wanted his son to be free. (For some reason he thought of the baby as a boy.) He had to be sure Russia would be ruled by its people, not by a tsar or a middle-class parliament or a coalition of businessmen and generals who would bring back the old ways in new disguises.
He did not really like Lenin. The man lived in a permanent rage. He was always shouting at people. Anyone who disagreed with him was a swine, a bastard, a cunt. But he worked harder than anyone else, he thought about things for a long time, and his decisions were always right. In the past, every Russian “revolution” had led to nothing but dithering. Grigori knew Lenin would not let that happen.
The provisional government knew it, too, and there were signs they wanted to target Lenin. The right-wing press had accused him of being a spy for Germany. The accusation was ridiculous. However, it was true that Lenin had a secret source of finance. Grigori, as one of those who had been Bolsheviks since before the war, was part of the inner circle, and he knew the money came from Germany. If the secret got out it would fuel suspicion.
He was dozing off when he heard footsteps in the hall followed by a loud, urgent knock at the door. Pulling on his trousers he shouted: “What is it?” Vlad woke up and cried.
A man’s voice said: “Grigori Sergeivich?”
“Yes.” Grigori opened the door and saw Isaak. “What’s happened?”
“They’ve issued arrest warrants for Lenin, Zinoviev, and Kamenev.”
Grigori went cold. “We have to warn them!”
“I’ve got an army car outside.”
“I’ll put my boots on.”
Isaak went. Katerina picked up Vlad and comforted him. Grigori hastily pulled his clothes on, kissed them both, and ran down the stairs.
He jumped into the car beside Isaak and said: “Lenin is the most important.” The government was right to target him. Zinoviev and Kamenev were sound revolutionaries, but Lenin was the engine that drove the movement. “We must warn him first. Drive to his sister’s place. Fast as you can go.”
Isaak headed off at top speed.
Grigori held tight while the car screeched around a corner. As it straightened up he said: “How did you find out?”
“From a Bolshevik in the Ministry of Justice.”
“When were the warrants signed?”
“This morning.”
“I hope we’re in time.” Grigori was terrified that Lenin might already have been seized. No one else had his inflexible determination. He was a bully, but he had transformed the Bolsheviks into the leading party. Without him, the revolution could fall back into muddle and compromise.
Isaak drove to Shirokaya Street and pulled up outside a middle-class apartment building. Grigori jumped out, ran inside, and knocked at the Yelizarov flat. Anna Yelizarova, Lenin’s elder sister, opened the door. She was in her fifties, with graying hair parted in the center. Grigori had met her before: she worked on Pravda. “Is he here?” Grigori said.
“Yes, why, what’s happened?”
Grigori felt a wave of relief. He was not too late. He stepped inside. “They’re going to arrest him.”
Anna slammed the door. “Volodya!” she called, using the familiar form of Lenin’s first name. “Come quickly!”
Lenin appeared, dressed as always in a shabby dark suit with a collar and tie. Grigori explained the situation rapidly.
“I’ll leave immediately,” Lenin said.
Anna said: “Don’t you want to throw a few things in your suitcase-”
“Too risky. Send everything later. I’ll let you know where I am.” He looked at Grigori. “Thank you for the warning, Grigori Sergeivich. Do you have a car?”
“Yes.”
Without another word Lenin went out into the hall.
Grigori followed him to the street and hurried to open the car door. “They have also issued warrants for Zinoviev and Kamenev,” Grigori said as Lenin got in.
“Go back to the apartment and telephone them,” Lenin said. “Mark has a phone and he knows where they are.” He slammed the door. He leaned forward and said something to Isaak that Grigori did not hear. Isaak drove off.
This was how Lenin was all the time. He barked orders at everyone, and they did what he said because he always made sense.
Grigori felt the pleasure of a great weight being lifted from his shoulders. He looked up and down the street. A group of men came out of a building on the other side. Some were dressed in suits, others wore army officers’ uniforms. Grigori was shocked to recognize Mikhail Pinsky. The secret police had been abolished, in theory, but it seemed men such as Pinsky were continuing their work as part of the army.
These men must have come for Lenin-and just missed him by going into the wrong building.
Grigori ran back inside. The door to the Yelizarovs’ apartment was still open. Just inside were Anna; her husband, Mark; her foster son, Gora; and the family servant, a country girl called Anyushka, all looking shocked. Grigori closed the door behind him. “He’s safely away,” he said. “But the police are outside. I have to telephone Zinoviev and Kamenev quickly.”
Mark said: “The phone is there on the side table.”
Grigori hesitated. “How does it work?” He had never used a telephone.
“Oh, sorry,” said Mark. He picked up the instrument, holding one piece to his ear and the other to his mouth. “It’s quite new to us, but we use it so much that we take it for granted already.” Impatiently he jiggled the sprung bar on top of the stand. “Yes, please, operator,” he said, and gave a number.
There was a banging at the door.
Grigori held his finger to his lips, telling the others to be quiet.
Anna took Anyushka and the child into the back of the apartment.
Mark spoke rapidly into the phone. Grigori stood at the apartment door. A voice said: “Open up or we’ll break down the door! We have a warrant!”
Grigori shouted back: “Just a minute-I’m putting my pants on.” The police came often to the kinds of buildings where he had lived most of his life, and he knew all the pretexts for keeping them waiting.
Mark jiggled the bar again and asked for another number.
Grigori shouted: “Who is it? Who’s at the door?”
“Police! Open up this instant!”
“I’m just coming-I have to lock the dog in the kitchen.”
“Hurry up!”
Grigori heard Mark say: “Tell him to go into hiding. The police are at my door now.” He replaced the earpiece on its hook and nodded to Grigori.
Grigori opened the door and stood back.
Pinsky stepped in. “Where is Lenin?” he said.
Several army officers followed him in.
Grigori said: “There is no one here by that name.”
Pinsky stared at him. “What are you doing here?” he said. “I always knew you were a troublemaker.”
Mark stepped forward and said calmly: “Show me the warrant, please.”
Reluctantly, Pinsky handed over a piece of paper.
Mark studied it for a few moments, then said: “High treason? That’s ridiculous!”
“Lenin is a German agent,” Pinsky said. He narrowed his eyes at Mark. “You’re his brother-in-law, aren’t you?”
Mark handed the paper back. “The man you are looking for is not here,” he said.
Pinsky could sense he was telling the truth, and he looked angry. “Why the hell not?” he said. “He lives here!”
