Chapter 19: A Day for Writing Letters

Usually, a physician of great renown can pinpoint exactly what disease is afflicting a patient.

But astonishingly, no physician in the world, however brilliant, could pinpoint exactly what Russia’s biggest problem was right now.

This is no exaggeration.

Say, for example, there is a patient with terminal lung cancer, terminal liver cancer, and terminal pancreatic cancer all at once.

Could anyone specify exactly which disease will bring this patient to his death, or which one must be cured to save him?

That was Russia today, to the letter.

“Lord, please have mercy on Russia….”

– Even you can see how pathetic it looks, right? Even with a tailor-made strategy, I can’t say for sure the hundred-day miracle is possible.

Just clearing out the internal trolls and posting competent people to the Far East would be enough to at least not lose the Russo-Japanese War.

However much Russia got jeered at as balloon muscle and whatnot, its basic weight class was on a whole different level from Japan’s.

But astonishingly, even putting that simple task into practice was proving anything but easy.

I met with Section Chief Yakov almost every day to talk it through, but in the end, the man who made the final decisions was the Tsar.

“Young Master, allow me to begin with the good news.”

Still, perhaps by the power of dawn prayer, I could feel a growing sense of accomplishment settling over Yakov’s face with each passing day as he sat across from me.

“Stoessel, the fortress commander at Port Arthur, has been officially relieved of command over the embezzlement of construction funds. As his successor, we intend to recommend Major General Kondratenko, the most field-experienced officer currently in Far East Command.”

Axe Stoessel, the incompetent higher-up who botched the fortress defense in the original history, and install Kondratenko, the hero of Port Arthur’s defense, as fortress commander well ahead of schedule.

– Good, good. With this, no matter how rotten Russia is, a defensive war should hold together somehow.

“That’s wonderful. And General Fock under him?”

“He is a Stoessel crony, so he will be pushed out along with him. Far East Command’s personnel office will put forward a suitable man for the vacancy.”

So far, everything according to plan.

The evidence of Stoessel’s embezzlement was ironclad, and Fock was practically his errand boy, so the two of them getting cut together was only the natural course of things.

“Furthermore, Admiral Abaza’s complicity in the Yalu River funding corruption has been confirmed, and he has stepped down from his post.”

“His Majesty made up his mind faster than I expected?”

“Yes. His Majesty reviewed the documents and signed off at once.”

– That Niki, cutting somebody loose this fast? Our prayers must have genuinely moved him.

They must have. Otherwise there’s no way my old man, who used to wring his hands over firing a single minister, would go this far.

“Section Chief, so is the Far East all cleaned up, then?”

For a moment, Yakov’s expression subtly stiffened.

Bad news follows good news, or so they say.

“…Young Master. The truth is, the dismissal of Alexeyev, the Viceroy of the Far East, has run aground.”

“What? Why? You said the traces of that man’s diverting the Yalu funds were unmistakable. Is a Viceroy simply allowed to do that sort of thing?”

Whoever else might stay, the current Viceroy of the Far East was one of the worst trolls who wrecked the Russo-Japanese War, and he absolutely had to go.

There was even evidence, absurd, sitting right out in the open, of his misusing imperial funds, and they were going to leave this man alone?

“Young Master. If you wish to make it big one day as an intelligence service officer, there is one truth you must learn.”

“…Yes.”

“Russia is, in the end, the Emperor’s country. And the only man who may draw a blade against a member of the imperial family is the Emperor himself.”

So the Tsar refused to allow Alexeyev’s ouster, was that it?

“But… why? Isn’t he the worst one of all?”

“His Majesty’s uncle, Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich, the General Admiral of the Russian Navy, intervened.”

The moment I heard the name, the rough shape of the picture, sadly, came into focus at once.

“His Imperial Highness the Grand Duke went to His Majesty in person. Alexeyev may be at fault, he said, but for the stability of the Far East, replacing him now would be premature.”

– Fellow embezzlement comrades. Guess the set bonus kicked in.

Just as Seong-jun said, he must have judged that if a man who’d skimmed far less than he had got the axe, his own position would become awkward.

And no wonder, for Alexei Alexandrovich was Nicholas II’s uncle and a piece of scum whose great joy in life was embezzling the naval budget on a massive scale.

– Want to hear one more amazing fact? Half of this year’s Russian naval budget vanished without a single ship being built. Every ruble of it went on that man’s mansion and presents for his mistress.

The class of a member of the imperial family on an entirely different level, embezzling half a year’s naval budget.

Try to clear away the man who shits everywhere day in and day out, and now a man spraying diarrhea shows up instead.

At this point, the sheer fact that Russia went to war with nothing but people like that lined up in its top leadership is astounding all by itself.

Russia… was it secretly a strong country all along?

* * *

Around the time Russia, 100 days out from the CSAT, was failing to manage even a proper bout of cramming.

Lev Davidovich Bronstein, pen name Trotsky, sat in a Geneva café, staring intently at the man seated across from him.

Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, Lenin.

Once, he had regarded the man almost as a mentor, but ever since the revolutionaries had split into Mensheviks and Bolsheviks, things between them had grown extremely cold.

His reason for going, of all places, to the Mensheviks, the side opposite Lenin, was firm.

The conduct Lenin had displayed at the Party Congress was, in Trotsky’s eyes, the very seed of a dictator.

When he clashed violently with Martov over party membership, Vladimir had not yielded a single step.

The moment he won the vote, he had tried to fill the editorial board with his own men, and he gave the opposition not the slightest room for compromise.

Of course, Trotsky acknowledged and respected his ability as a revolutionary.

But he had come away certain that if power were placed in that man’s hands, that power would never find its way back to the workers.

So he had chosen to break away without regret; who could have imagined they would be sitting face to face again this soon?

“Thank you for the warning to lie low during the southern strikes.”

He still could not forget the chill that ran down his spine when he opened the damage report that arrived after the strikes were crushed.

Socialist Revolutionary Party Baku cell annihilated, Odessa branch core members arrested, Tiflis organization broken.

Every organization that had thrown itself into the strikes had been swept away; the only survivors were those who had followed Vladimir’s directive and bolted their doors.

“Exactly as M predicted.”

“So I heard. That M foresaw this whole affair precisely.”

Trotsky did not miss the way Lenin’s eyes changed every time the initial M left his lips.

At first he took it for awe, but on closer inspection it was slightly different.

That look… wouldn’t it be fair to say it was closer to the eyes of a man in love?

That this man, whose pride as a revolutionary reached to the heavens, could acknowledge another person to such a degree was nothing short of remarkable.

“I have read all three of M’s contributed articles myself. The second one in particular, the warning that an organization of professional revolutionaries, once bureaucratized, becomes a new ruling class that replaces the revolution, that one left an impression. Frankly, it reads like a message aimed at you, Comrade Lenin.”

He was probing on purpose.

Lenin’s eyebrow twitched minutely, but no rebuttal came.

“You did not answer my summons merely to needle me, I take it?”

“No. I came because I want to meet M.”

Lenin gave a small chuckle and nodded.

“So do I.”

“He sensed before any of us that the Tsar’s government was changing its very constitution, and he even warned us. An informant like that is alive and inside the country; what reason could there be not to meet him? Besides, his insight and discernment are plainly a cut above every comrade we have.”

“I had been thinking we should wait for M to come out to us first.”

“Wait, and it will be too late. Look at how the last strikes were crushed. With the Tsar’s government changing like that, we cannot be certain whether time is on our side.”

Lenin kept silent for a long while, then slowly opened his mouth.

“From what I hear, a priest named Gapon is the sole point of contact.”

“Then start by sending an operative inside the country to approach him. Surely there is no harm in at least sounding out whether M is willing to meet in person?”

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous? The Okhrana may well be watching Gapon.”

“The fact that Gapon has served as M’s courier without being caught even once means M knows how to slip the Okhrana’s surveillance net. A courier for a man like that should be able to bring one of our operatives to a meeting safely.”

The corner of Vladimir’s mouth lifted slightly.

“…I knew it. A man like you is exactly what I needed.”

“I will take that as a compliment.”

A brief silence passed between them.

What need was there for long-winded words between men who had already parted ways?

His business concluded, Trotsky rose from his seat and picked up his coat.

“Lev.”

Vladimir’s voice came from behind him.

“Get home safely. This place does not seem quite as safe as London.”

“You be careful not to get caught yourself, Comrade.”

As Trotsky stepped out of the café, a single passage from the second of M’s articles stood etched vividly in his mind.

– An organization of professional revolutionaries, once bureaucratized, risks becoming a new ruling class that replaces the revolution.

No mistake. That was a warning about Lenin.

Whether Lenin himself had grasped its meaning, Trotsky could not say, but he was certain of it.

M saw straight through the flaws of the man called Vladimir.

The reason he had not sided with Lenin was that he believed Lenin’s methods would inevitably end in dictatorship.

But with a powerful axis like M in place, wouldn’t Lenin be unable to rule as a dictator even if he wished to?

So he had to find M and meet him.

Without fail. Before Lenin did.

* * *

“Misha, are you still keeping your dawn prayers these days?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I haven’t missed a single day.”

“Well, well… The servants say they are moved every morning, listening to the sound of you praying.”

Whatever the state of the country, whatever the conflicts abroad, the Tsar sat half-submerged in his bathtub, humming with the most contented face in the world.

They say stress is the root of all evil; how nice for him, never having to worry about falling ill.

“And Sunny, you know, she has softened a great deal since she heard about your prayers. Hahaha.”

“Really? I’m so grateful that Her Majesty the Empress understands my heart.”

“What a good boy you are.”

Having confirmed that the Tsar was in the best of moods, I gently brought out the real reason for today’s visit.

“Your Majesty, I heard something from the section chief yesterday, though. He said the dismissal of Mister Alexeyev, the Viceroy of the Far East, didn’t go through.”

The water in the tub sloshed for a moment.

A flicker of discomfort crossed the Tsar’s face, but it was soon covered over by a gentle smile.

“Ahh, that matter, well….”

“The traces of his diverting the Yalu funds were so clear. Why wasn’t it approved?”

“Misha. Uncle Alexei came to see me.”

Uncle, is it….

If he was calling the Grand Duke that, it meant the matter had already been settled in the private sphere.

“Uncle said this to me. Alexeyev may have done wrong, but he is a man of imperial blood. Wouldn’t it be too cruel to cast him out over a single mistake like that?”

– There’s a rumor, see, that Alexeyev is an illegitimate son of Alexander II. Honestly, it’s no exaggeration to say that bloodline is what carried him all the way up there.

I swear I had never in my life heard logic so preposterous, that a man could not be cut because, while not a member of the imperial family, he carried imperial blood.

Wondering how on earth anyone could handle affairs this way, I looked up and felt the Tsar watching me with an odd expression.

Ah… is this man, by any chance, seeing me in Alexeyev?

Because we’re both illegitimate sons?

– Obvious, right? “Casting out an illegitimate son of imperial blood over a single mistake is too cruel.” If that logic holds, no blade ever comes for you either. Convenient, isn’t it.

No, no, comparing that piece of scum to me is an insult to me, if anything.

“Uncle Alexei has been so very good to me since I was a little boy. And no one loves Russia more than he does.”

Loves it so much he siphons off half the naval budget to buy diamonds for his mistress in Paris.

The world clearly contains forms of love I never knew existed.

“Your Majesty, the report from the Okhrana’s investigation looked rather serious, and it worries me. Something like this could actually end up weakening Your Majesty’s authority.”

“Hahaha! Misha, there is no need to worry. Uncle truly cherishes and loves me. You’ll understand once you meet him yourself; he is a very hearty, manly sort of man.”

Just listening was enough to bring on a migraine, but once Niki’s pushover streak, the family-only edition, had been deployed, no means of persuading him existed anywhere in Russia.

– This is infuriating. That Grand Duke bastard has to go, no matter what.

Anyone else, perhaps. But as long as that embezzler held his seat, Russia had no choice but to floor the accelerator at full speed toward collapse.

He was a man who went beyond being a stumbling block to reform; he obstructed it organizationally, systematically, diligently.

There was even a record, vivid in Seong-jun’s memory, of his siphoning off war funds in the middle of the war to buy his mistress diamonds.

He could carry out his garbage act that systematically precisely because he knew full well the Emperor could never say a harsh word to him.

It was painfully obvious that he didn’t see us as family at all, just as pushovers ripe for bleeding dry.

The only one blind to this truth was Niki, a pushover by nature.

And yet, as long as the Tsar kept shielding this man, no blade could be driven in. That was the biggest problem of all.

– For the record, that embezzling Grand Duke’s younger brother is going to die in a Socialist Revolutionary terrorist attack. The man himself, on the other hand, fled to Paris and lived in luxury right up until he died.

So the brother dies in a terrorist attack, the homeland gets mauled like a dog by Japan and collapses because of him, and the man himself takes no responsibility whatsoever, lives the high life in France, and goes out in comfort?

– Parasites that kill their hosts are all like that.

Dig and dig and the horror stories keep coming. Truly a talent worthy of my motherland, Russia.

If word of this ever spread outside, it might prove dangerous, so perhaps I ought to have the Okhrana pass him a warning to watch himself.

– Isn’t that the wrong call? Just letting him croak would be…

Now, now, Seong-jun. Whatever else he may be, he is an elder of the imperial house. How could Mikhail, who reveres the imperial family more than anyone, ever entertain such disloyal thoughts?

“Yes, Your Majesty. Since Your Majesty says so, I suppose I failed to properly understand His Imperial Highness from the documents alone.”

“Hahaha, yes, yes. You’ll change your mind once you meet him in person.”

For the sake of my intelligence organization the Okhrana’s reputation, if nothing else, I would do my very best to deliver the warning.

If he heeded my words and saved his own life, he would come to regard us as his lifesaver.

– And if he ignores it?

If he takes our warning for some clumsy threat and ignores it, well… too bad.

Perhaps that was why.

Suddenly, for no reason at all, I felt like writing letters to my revolutionary friends for the first time in a long while.

~~~

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