To Kill a Tsar Read Online Free PDF

the little the Third Section registry held on the men. Barclay was right, all of them but one were listed as ‘illegals’ wanted by the police, dangerous men capable of murder – capable of regicide. Kviatkovsky and Goldenberg had been seen last in Kiev, Presnyakov was thought to be living abroad – until now – and Morozov’s whereabouts were unknown. It was the fifth man, Mikhailov, who interested the special investigator the most: Alexander Dmitrievich Mikhailov. From a family of gentry, he was in his early twenties, educated in Petersburg, active in the student demonstrations in ’75 and reportedly the leader of a small cell of revolutionaries who styled themselves ‘Death or Freedom’. Clever and elusive, there was circumstantial evidence implicating him in the planning of the murder of the last Third Section chief the year before. There was no mention of a ‘Kovalenko’ in the section’s files, but clearly he was a member of the same group.
    ‘And we have this too.’ A single sheet of paper was trembling in Fedorov’s hand. ‘It’s from an informer.’
    Dobrshinsky took the paper and glanced down at it quickly. The source was the man now lying in a crimson pool on the bedroom floor of a third-rate hotel on Nevsky. Bronstein had reported to his contact that Mikhailov had visited the Neva two days ago. He had taken Popov aside and spoken to him in a confidential whisper, and for a time Bronstein had been afraid that his role as an informer had been discovered. He had only just managed to quell a desperate urge to run from the room.But Mikhailov had been civil to him when he left, quite the gentleman – although such things were not meant to be of importance to socialists – and this had allayed his fears. Later, Popov had told them all that Mikhailov was an important revolutionary with ‘progressive’ views on ‘the struggle’ for freedom. Bronstein had taken this to mean he was an advocate of terror. One of the other men in the hotel room said he knew their visitor to be a friend of the man who attacked the tsar in Palace Square. Popov had flown into a rage at this, railing about the need for better security and for everyone to hold their tongues. And again, Bronstein had been frightened that the remark and the anger were directed at him in particular.
    He had been right to be afraid, Dobrshinsky thought. His throat had been cut only hours after seeing his police contact for the last time.
    ‘I want descriptions, personal details, everything we have on these men circulated to police and gendarme stations,’ he said, looking up at the little agent. ‘Speak to their families, watch known associates. I want our agents to talk to their informers. These men will be living under false names and with false papers. Our people need copies of any photographs we have. I’m particularly interested in Alexander Mikhailov.’
    ‘Yes, Your Honour.’ Fedorov turned to leave. But as he was reaching for the door Dobrshinsky spoke again.
    ‘I want you to find another office on this floor – empty one if you have to. An officer will be joining me to help with this investigation.’
    ‘May I ask who, Your Honour?’
    ‘Major Barclay of the Corps of Gendarmes. Although . . .’ Dobrshinsky gave the agent a dry smile, ‘. . . the Major does not yet know of his good fortune.’

4
    W inter slipped away in the night. The city woke to the jangle of cathedral bells that second Sunday in April to find the Neva flowing freely after months choked with ice. By midday its banks were lined with Petersburgers enjoying the sunshine and the spectacle of the governor’s barge as it made its stately way upriver to the Winter Palace, a flotilla of smaller craft in its wake. In the splendour of the Great Antechamber, the tsar and court were waiting as the clergy prepared a little wooden chapel on the embankment for the traditional blessing of the river’s slate-grey waters. There was still a carnival atmosphere three hours