Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four

Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

ndrei Sigfridovich Holtz, the 73 year-old professor of Philology and Medieval History walked with quick little steps down the first floor corridor of Schumacher Hall at Marburg University. He was a short, thin man with a great white beard and gray eyes. As usual, he was eccentrically, even sloppily dressed with no pretense to fashion. The sleeves of his old burgundy-colored smoking jacket shown like mirrors. His white shirt was yellowing and collarless. His black woolen trousers, exceedingly baggy and wrinkled, were spotted with white chalk dust. Upon his tiny feet, he wore some bizarre type of multi-colored Arabian slippers with the ends curling up. As he headed for his office at the end of the long corridor, a few students, and a couple of other faculty members greeted him. Most of them even bowed slightly as he passed. The University was officially on Christmas break. However, some dedicated persons were using the History Reading room at the other end of the first floor, or on their way to or from their offices. It was Friday, December 28th. Holtz was immersed in thought, as usual, and hardly noticed anyone. He occasionally nodded or waved his left hand somewhat as he walked, but not to anyone in particular, merely out of habit, a habit fostered in that corridor for the last 15 years.

When Professor Holtz was seated in his office at his desk, he took out a letter that was tucked away in one of his drawers. It apparently was hand-delivered and appeared in his University mailbox on December 13th. He had read it carefully at that time, and then put it away in his drawer. All day, he had been deliberating on its contents. He decided to read it once more. After some introductory remarks, the author of the letter proceeded as follows:

"We here in Russia, those of us who are left who are Russians, beloved of our history and culture, Russian history and culture, are outraged at the 'current' (I say 'current' because I am a free man, and not afraid of tyranny) government -- for it is surely one of transition and will ultimately tumble before our Russian eyes -- a government with as much love for Russian history and culture as a dung beetle (perhaps less!), a government we despise with our entire Russian being -- outraged because this so-called government has seen it fit to terminate, squash like a common house fly, a project of the greatest importance to all Russians who are lovers of history and culture. It is a project well known to you, esteemed professor -- the Tsar Ivan Grozny Library!

"As I pause to catch my breath, and attempt to ease the pounding in my heart, you by now understand, esteemed Professor Holtz, why this letter was delivered to you by one of our loyal couriers, rather than through the heinous system of Soviet Post, which realizing that this message was bound for Germany, would surely have ripped it open with its filthy hands. Heads would have rolled. And they still might! But what of it! We are ready to die for Russia, the true Russia of history and culture!

"Now, this project will not be terminated! We won't allow it! Officially, it has been stopped, I say -- interrupted. This is temporary. We must move on. I have met recently in Moscow with a man known to you in the Education Ministry: Dmitri Dumatskoy. He has been reluctant, indeed, ashamed to inform you of his dismissal from the project as of 9/2/21 by his superior, Olga B. Shpion, by way of a very unfortunate man who may be sincere in his allegiance to Russian history and culture, but who, in the end, is a lackey of the Bolsheviks -- Anatoly Lunacharsky. This Dumatskoy has a noble heart and a keen mind, as I know, esteemed Professor Holtz, you are well aware. But he is compressed by the powers that be. He has a wife, and infant son, a housing situation which is quite intolerable, as are most in Moscow these days. Would he sacrifice everything for this project? There is much for him to sacrifice. His hero is Blok, a great Russian, an inspiration to all Russians who love history and culture. We need Dumatskoy, just as we need you, esteemed Professor Holtz.

"We, and believe me, there are a goodly number of us, have been acting on our own, doing what we can do, what is in our power to do. We have begun to circulate rumors in influential places, rumors of the existence of this library, even of its suppression by the Bolsheviks for various reasons. (Believe me, Professor, it is not difficult to raise doubts in the minds and hearts of thinking Russians about the beneficial motives of the Bolsheviks). Interest is growing. Questions are being asked. During these times of the harsh realities of the economic miasma, the people are gravitating toward more lofty pursuits to stimulate their spirits. The Tsar Ivan IV Library is captivating such minds. We have gone so far as to have sent fleets of trucks to various places where the library could conceivably be hidden. Once, these empty trucks have even been shot at by persons confused and frustrated over the situation. Some have begun to become afraid that sabotage from foreign powers will discover what our own government does not seem to care about.

"When I met with Dmitri Dumatskoy in early October of this year, he showed me your correspondence from approximately a month prior to that date, which described Johann Fichte's reproduction of Merchant X's list of the library contents that was actually witnessed in the 16th Century! How extraordinary! Dumatskoy at that time was eagerly awaiting the copy of said document that you promised to send him. And so am I! As a teacher of Greek, particularly the Greek of Plato and Aristotle, I can be of service when translating Greek titles and texts.

"With the Bolshevik Government now officially out of the picture, we are all wondering what next steps we can take to in fact, find the library. What do you think, esteemed Professor Holtz? Can this be done -- and how? Where should we channel our energies? Who would help us? We have colleagues at other universities, a network, if you will, of learned men and women who are daily looking for clues and information. My colleagues and I are at your disposal should you have any concrete plans or ideas. We will communicate only through our courier system. Every two weeks, beginning with Monday, January 7th, 1922, our courier will deliver and pick up correspondence at your mailbox at Marburg University.

"Long live Russia! The Russia of history and culture!

"Respectfully, your servant,
"Evgeny Gavrilovich Uchitelnitsky,
"Assistant Professor of Greek,
"Moscow University."

Professor Holtz put the letter he had just read back into the drawer of his desk. He opened another drawer and took out his notebook and opened it. Under the date, Monday, December 3rd, 1921, Holtz found the entry that he was looking for --

"Sent a reproduction of Fichte's copy of Merchant X's list to Dmitri Dumatskoy in Moscow."

"So it has now been 25 days," he thought. "This Uchitelnitsky makes no mention of Dumatskoy getting my correspondence. They apparently have not spoken since early October. Or if they have, could it be that it has not yet arrived in Moscow? The mail is slow between the countries, but 25 days? Perhaps Uchitelnitsky's letter was written a month ago, and my correspondence has since arrived in Moscow? Surely, it has gotten there since I first received Uchitelnitsky's letter, December 13th! How long does this courier take to get from here to Moscow? I must wait until January 7th for the courier. I could telephone, but any calls emanating from Germany could be monitored. I could go to Poland or France, perhaps. Damn this political business! I must know if Dumatskoy has received the Fichte copy!"

he Ivan Drugo who was walking along Trubnaya Place heading for the rendezvous with his "superior", Comrade Flobov, at the Little Tea Shoppe -- was a man depressed, worried, confused, and very tired from lack of sleep. He continued to see before him the frustrated and scared face of his wife, Anya on that early morning of 12/23 as he tried to make love to her, but could not. That had never happened to him before, at the brothels or with Anya. The same was true for the early morning of 12/27 and 12/26 after Anya returned from work at the Rooster. He had not been able to perform since Anya told him on Christmas night that she wanted to have a baby. He was petrified! When she asked him if he wanted a child, too, he said that he did. He realized he had lied to her; or at least had not told her the complete truth. For he was terribly unsure of such a situation, and his role in it. That morning, 12/28, they were up until almost 9:00 a.m. trying. Anya cried herself to sleep, not understanding what was wrong. Drugo walked around the apartment endlessly, it seemed, until it was time for him to get ready to go out for his appointment.

It was particularly painful for Anya because of what had happened to her on Christmas Eve at the Dumatskoys'. Zina was able to get a taxi-cab and come back to the apartment around 3:00 a.m. to feed Sasha. Dmitri stayed at the hospital with his mother. After Zina fed Sasha, she sat down at the pantry table with Drugo and a distraught Anya. Drugo believed Anya of course, when she retold the events of that night, Christmas Eve, as she experienced them. V.V. Podly had been there as she said. But why had he been there? Anya tried to explain what she had experienced as calmly as possible. Several times she had to interrupt her monologue because she was crying so hard. Anya told how Podly was dressed; how crazed he was, reeking of vodka and obviously highly drugged; how afraid Sasha had been, the way the baby cried; and how Podly kept calling out Zina's name and begging her forgiveness. All the while Anya spoke, Zina looked on intensely, not showing any surprise at the incredulous events. Finally, when Anya had finished, she looked imploringly at Zina for some kind of explanation.

"Zinochka, what can all this mean?"

Zina buried her face in her hands and laid her head on the table. Her chestnut hair fell all around her. She sobbed quietly, profoundly, as though somehow the sorrow had been gathering in her for years. Sorrow seemed to roll through her like a quiet, steady thunder. Anya and Drugo were astonished. Anya motioned for Drugo to go away, so she could be alone with Zina. Drugo got his coat and left the apartment to go outside for a walk.

Drugo returned to the apartment in 20 minutes. He peeped into the pantry from the sitting room, and saw that Zina and Anya were still involved in the conversation. He sat in that room for another 20 to 30 minutes until Anya came looking for him. She told him that both of them should stay with Zina and Sasha. Ostavlyavich, it seemed, would not be returning. He was apparently staying with his new lady friend. It was 5 o'clock in the morning. Anya slept with Zina in the bedroom. Drugo curled into the loveseat in the sitting room.

Dmitri returned from the hospital about 10:00 a.m. He came home to see his wife and baby, wash-up and get something to eat. Then, he had planned to return to the hospital. Tatiana was still in a coma; Dr. Utka told Dmitri that Tatiana would probably not survive the day. Perhaps Zina and Sasha could accompany Dmitri to the hospital. Zina was surprised that Drugo was still there. Zina promised to tell Dmitri about the events of Christmas Eve. All that Zina told Anya, and it was a complete history of Zina and Podly in Novgorod - Dmitri knew nothing about. Anya and Drugo got up and left the apartment. They caught a streetcar to the Kremlin. They got out, called a taxi-cab, and took it over to their apartment in Labaznaya. While they were enroute, Anya told Drugo what Zina had told her about Podly and Novgorod.

And so it was, with all that on his mind that Drugo entered the Little Tea Shoppe on Trubnaya Place. Comrade Flobov was waiting for him as usual at their table. Comrade Flobov sipped his tea and smoked a cigarette. Drugo lit up, too. Comrade Flobov slipped a folded piece of paper across the table to Drugo. Drugo opened it, and read it. He put it in his vest pocket.

"Any questions, Comrade Drugo?"

"No, Comrade Flobov, I understand completely."

"Comrade Drugo!" Comrade Flobov said as Drugo was getting up to leave.

"Get some sleep! You look as though you are about to collapse!"

"Certainly, Comrade Flobov. Thank you."

The sleepy Drugo was somewhat revived by the frigid air on Trubnaya Place. He felt for the piece of paper in his vest pocket and then buttoned his military great-coat against the cold. The note had ordered the liquidation of a certain Professor Holtz of Marburg University in Germany. Drugo was to do the job himself, or hire someone to do it. It was to be done as soon as possible. Drugo's fur hat was sprinkled with snow that was falling from branches off the trees as he slowly walked. He yawned and rubbed his eyes. He wasn't wearing gloves.

"Hideous German intellectuals! It will be a great pleasure. I can use a few days away. The pressure on me with Anya. She will be all right. She could stay with Zina until I return. Filthy German intellectuals!" thought Drugo as a slight, quick smile appeared on his thin, tired yellow face. He walked slowly along Trubnaya Place, the sky above him becoming darker and darker and threatening to turn day into night.


omrade Flobov was 37 years old. His first name and patronymic were Osip Osipovich. He was born in Moscow, and educated there at the Gromin Military School until he was 17, when his father and mother, both lawyers, sent him to Oxford University in England for his advanced studies. He had the potential to become a brilliant student. However, he preferred physical activities more than academics. He excelled at marksmanship, fencing, and boxing. He was very independent by nature, and progressive in his political and social ideas. He believed that the autocracy was terribly out of step with the burgeoning 20th century. By the time his second year at Oxford began in 1903, he had read enough Marx and Engels to become convinced that people in Russia could be best served by the social and economic principles expounded by those two writers and their followers. 1903 was also the year of the Social Democrats' second Congress in Brussels and London. Flobov managed to meet Lenin soon after, and was eventually completely won over to the leader's ideas. Flobov finished his degree in 1905. He joined the cause and spent the next three years meeting with Lenin and his associates living abroad in exile. Flobov tramped around Europe making connections and learning the ways of subversive politics and social insurrection. He returned to Russia in 1908 and went immediately to the Ural mountain regions to institute anti-tsarist cadres. He returned to Moscow by 1914 in time to join the army against Germany, where he seized the opportunity to subvert soldiers to desert the Tsarist war. He was arrested by the military police in 1916, and languished in prison until Lenin took power with the Bolsheviks. He was a founding member of Cheka when it began in 1918. For his zealousness, commitment, knowledge, and bravery, he earned the nickname among his associates of, "The Little Lenin."