The Last Romanov (Under Editing)

The Assassins

The last time Sasha had seen so many people gathered in one spot, it had been during those damned protests in front of the Winter Palace... God, had that really only been a few months ago? It felt like a lifetime ago. The crowd that gathered around the soon-to-be-demolished Ipatiev House that day was far more somber, though. In fact, he was fairly certain that at least half of the people didn't want to be there: most of the grumblings Sasha heard while making his way to his nest were about how they hoped the Czarina made the affair short and sweet. Or that she would at least make it exciting, maybe pass out bread for their trouble.

Don't worry, Sasha thought as he arrived at his nest. You're all about to get the show of your life: I promise.

His "nest" was a five story building that, if Sasha had to guess, had been an apartment building once upon a time. However, judging by the way it looked now, nobody had lived there in a long while. The building's windows were all shattered, and from the sounds of it, even the mice weren't living in the building, anymore. He was able to just walk right up the stairs and to the roof without any sort of resistance: not even a locked door.

Looked like the super didn't even care about who was walking around in the building, those days, but Sasha couldn't exactly blame him: the building had passed the too-shitty-to-care line a long time ago.

He set up shop on the roof, where he could have a good view of everything that was happening down at the Ipatiev House. The guards were just starting to set up, the stage where Anastasia would deliver her little speech before demolition on the place began empty, except for the imperial standard, which hung behind it. According to Sasha's watch, he had ten minutes before Anastasia would arrive and begin her speech, and five minutes after that until he - and everyone else involved in this plan - began firing.

And so, for the first time in a long while, Sasha said a prayer.

***

Nadezhda was set up in a tree on a hill close to Air Marshall's home on the outskirts of St. Petersburg. It was cold up there, surrounded by snow and with the gusts of wind that blew through every once and awhile, but she guessed it could be worse. At least it was quiet out there, and she didn't really have to worry about soldiers or security. In fact, from the looks of things, the only security the Air Marshall had for his home was a gate. If she really wanted to, she could probably climb out of the tree, hop the fence, and kill him while he was drinking his morning coffee, but she stayed put: the plan was to make sure nobody knew who'd actually performed the assassination. Any faces might lead right to Maria, and they couldn't have that.

She looked down at the watch on her wrist. Ten minutes until everything was supposed to go into action. And, if Air Marshall Novak didn't end up suddenly changing his usual routines, ten minutes until he stepped outside with his morning coffee to read a book. Something he did even in the dead of winter.

Nadezhda gently hit her head against the tree and sighed, a puff of condensation coming from her mouth like tobacco smoke. Why couldn't time go faster? All she wanted to do was get this over with.

***

Ten minutes, Nadya thought as she looked down at her watch. Ten minutes, and Nikola can finally rest in peace.

She was sitting outside the gate of Peter and Paul's, wrapped in a thick coat and headscarf with a tin can in front of her. The object was to look like a beggar, something that wouldn't even be close to being out of place on the streets of St. Petersburg. But, the coat was also to hide something else: the pistol that was currently hidden underneath it. According to Zelenko's usual daily routine, he would be coming outside those gates for his daily walk to the bakery that sold his favorite pastry in a few minutes. Normally unaccompanied by any guards. The second he did and had his back to her, she was going to pull out that gun and shoot him. Over and over, again. Until she ran out of bullets, or until Zelenko stopped moving: whichever came first.

She knew in her mind that she should be nervous, but she wasn't: she was at peace with herself. She was at peace with the fact that Zelenko would be dead, soon, and that Nikola wouldn't have died for nothing. All she wanted right then was for that moment of truth to arrive.

She breathed out a long sigh and looked down at her watch, again. Barely any time had passed since she'd last looked.

What was that saying? A watched pot never boils?

At that moment, the entire city felt like a pot on the verge of boiling, and all she could do was watch it until it finally did.

***

Arttüri pulled his cap down over his eyes a little more as he stood on the dock, waiting for Kirilov to start stepping down that gangplank from his ship. Dressing himself up like a dock worker hadn't been all that hard: nobody really seemed to care about the people helping with the ship. And now, nobody really seemed to care about the disheveled man standing by the gangplank, one hand in his coat, the other on a cigarette. The one that would look into the crowd every so often, as if looking for somebody.

That somebody was Arkadiy, who was waiting for the right time. And for Horacek to show up. From what they knew, Kirilov and Horacek would have a moment where they would shake hands before leaving together for Peter and Paul's. At that moment, Arttüri would shoot Kirilov, and Arkadiy would kill Horacek. If all went to plan, two out of the six targets for the day would be dead, and the two of them might make it out with their lives.

He wasn't all that worried about it. Probably should've been, but he wasn't. And he wasn't sure if that was the confidence or the insanity talking.

He shrugged and flicked his finished-off cigarette into the Neva. Knowing him, it was probably a little bit of both.

He glanced down at his watch. Just five minutes to show time, now.

***

Virtanen was nervous. So, so nervous. He felt as if his heart was going to leap right out of his chest. He had five minutes until Maria came through the street he was on for a morning walk. He knew that he wasn't going to actually hurt her, or attempt to kill her, but... well, he still wasn't sure he would be able to go through with it.

He could practically hear Maria, right then. "For an ex-soldier, you certainly are terrible at making hard decisions," she would say to him if she were there. "Are you a man, or are you not?"

That woman. She was eighty years old, and hadn't seen him in years before this whole thing got started, but she still knew how to push his buttons. And everybody else's. It was really no wonder why the Russian people still seemed to like her, even with her husband, son, and granddaughter being some of the least liked rulers in Russian history.

And he was about to "assassinate" her.

He took a deep breath. Don't be nervous: if you're nervous, you're going to mess up.

Damn it! Why did he have to think about messing up? He wouldn't be able to think about anything else, now.

God help me, Virtanen thought as he checked his watch, again. God help all of us.

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Here's the last chapter for the day: I hope you guys enjoyed it.

Now, on to the dedication. This one's going out to one of the newest readers of "The Last Romanov" and fellow writer, roseburst_em! Thank you for your support mate! Be sure to check out her(?) stuff if it strikes your fancy.

As always, be sure to vote and comment, and we'll see you guys next week with the next exc