December 24, 1910. Christmas Eve.
Alexandrovsky Palace, Tsarskoye Selo.
The Christmas tree in the Blue Hall was abysmal, a fir brought from the Siberian forests, decorated with hundreds of real wax candles, crystal balls, and covered with silver ribbons.
For the imperial family, it was a night of sacred peace. Tsar Nicholas II read the Gospel aloud. Empress Alexandra smiled, forgetting her migraines for a moment. The Grand Duchesses sang carols with angelic voices.
But in the corner of the room, under the shadow of the lowest branches, the real Christmas Gift was being exchanged.
Alexei was seated on the carpet, opening a box wrapped in red paper. Officially, it was a fort construction set. When he removed the lid, what he found weren't the wooden blocks he expected.
It was a vest.
Not an embroidered gala vest for the holidays; this was an ugly undergarment, beige-colored, made of dense layers of pressed silk and scales of an ultra-fine metallic alloy that Neva Technical Solutions had just laminated, the company's first prototype when it came to this type of protective material.
"Is it the prototype?" Tatiana murmured, sitting elegantly beside him.
"Yes, this is the Mark-1 model," Alexei responded, running his fingers over the rigid fabric. "It weighs three kilos. It's somewhat uncomfortable for the body, it itches. But it's capable of stopping a .38 caliber revolver bullet at five meters."
"Stolypin won't want to wear it," Tatiana warned, taking a gingerbread cookie to disguise the conversation. "He's too proud. He'll say it's cowardice, that's how all the nobles and army gentlemen are."
"Then we'll have to force him," Alexei said, quickly closing the box before his mother looked. "Or trick him, so we have to tell his tailor to sew it inside the lining of his gala frock coat. The one he'll wear in Kiev; it's very important he wear it."
Olga joined them, adjusting the bow on her dress. At fifteen, she was the most sensitive of the sisters, the one who suffered most from the double life they now led.
"Friedman has deciphered the last letter that arrived from Zurich," Olga informed in a low voice, looking at the Christmas tree with melancholy. "The final transfer to Kiev has been made, the person nicknamed 'the Wolf' has the funds to execute his tasks."
Bogrov. The assassin was funded. The countdown to September had begun in earnest.
"Does Papa know anything about this?" Anastasia asked, the youngest, breaking off the head of a marzipan soldier.
"Papa thinks the Special Section only watches factory thieves," Alexei said. He looked at his father, who laughed at a joke from Maria. Nicholas II seemed happy, secure in his bubble of divine autocracy.
Alexei felt a pang of envy. He wished he could simply be a child receiving toys. He wished the biggest problem were whether the sweets were good.
"Tanya," Alexei said. "How are the trainings going?"
"The 'troupe' is ready," Tatiana responded, using the code for the Special Section's field agents. "We've practiced the interception scenario in an empty Moscow theater. Four seconds. From when he pulls out the weapon until we neutralize him."
"Four seconds is a long time," Alexei criticized. "In four seconds you can shoot three times. We need to bring it down to two."
"It's Christmas, Alyosha," Olga gently reproached. "Can't we rest one night?"
Alexei looked at the bulletproof vest hidden in the toy box. He thought of Misha, the boy burned on the train, then thought of Stolypin, the man walking toward his own death.
"The enemy doesn't rest at Christmas, Olga. Others celebrate their year-end profits while we bury our dead," Alexei said.
He stood up and took a glass of champagne from a passing tray, though he wasn't old enough to drink. No one dared take it from him.
"Let's toast," he said, raising the glass toward his sisters. "Not to peace. Peace is for the weak. Let's toast to the future."
The four sisters raised their teacups or juice.
"To the future," they murmured in unison.
On the other side of the room, Nicholas II saw his children toasting and smiled at his wife.
"Look at them, Alix. How united they are. They're angels."
The Empress nodded, with tears in her eyes.
Alexei drank a sip. The liquid burned his throat, but warmed his stomach.