Andreev was impressed that Muraviev had not repeated the gossip that had been floating around the city since Friday evening. General Bogdanovich’s wife had been the source of the comments that had filtered down to Andreev through a fellow police officer. Andreev had been told that Muraviev insulted Gapon by telling him he was not fit to be a leader of the workers. Gapon had replied that fitness was not a qualification for important positions in Russia. Then Gapon made the attack personal by telling Muraviev he was not fit to be a minister even though he had been in the job for 10 years. The one thing that was clear to Andreev was that Muraviev and Gapon would not be friends.

“Why hasn’t he been arrested yet?” Someone Andreev didn’t know asked.

General Fullon answered. “That would be an agitation. Father Gapon worked closely with Zubatov to create his trade union. Arresting Gapon would provide an opening for revolutionary elements to fill the vacuum. He is a known commodity, he is no revolutionary. Besides he can be arrested at any time.”

“Is he still planning his march tomorrow?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Then it is time to issue a warrant for his arrest. Let’s cut the head off of the snake before it begins to slither into the city.”

“Who else needs to be arrested?”

Names started flying around the room and before long Gapon and 19 others were on a list of people to be arrested immediately. Andreev didn’t remember the other names because once it was decided that Gapon would be arrested his sole focus had been on how he would arrest Gapon personally. The remainder of the meeting was spent reviewing troop placement in the city. Andreev paid little attention as he already knew what he would be doing for the rest of the evening. Gapon would be in a jail cell before the sun rose if everything went according to plan. No wonder everyone in this meeting seemed so relaxed. The arrest of Gapon would end the march before it even began and Andreev knew he would play a key role in that arrest.

Saturday January 8, 1905 - The House of the Chairman of the Committee of Ministers Sergei Witte

Sergei Witte ushered in his guest with a sigh. He knew why he was there and he also knew there was nothing he could do. Vladimir Gessen entered and promised to be brief.
Gessen was the editor of a lawyer’s newspaper called Pravo. He had been meeting with other intellectuals discussing the potential catastrophe that the march to the palace could become. As a group they had determined that they needed to try to intervene to prevent a disaster. Gessen had a friendly relationship with Witte and so it had been decided he would speak with him directly.

“Sergei I don’t think you understand how dire this situation is. I implore you not to allow force to be used against the marchers.”

“I understand your concerns, but this situation is out of my hands.”

“Surely you must have some sway?”

“This falls under the purview of Sviatopolk-Mirsky.”

“If you can pull any weight reach out to him and make sure they don’t use any force.”

“The troops are well trained, there should be no need for the use of force.”

“If there is violence your job is going to get a lot tougher.”

“I appreciate the concern, but the matter truly is out of my hands.”

“I am begging you to please do something.”

“Have you talked to representatives from the workers organizing the march?”

“No, but we will do that next. In the meantime can you arrange a meeting with Sviatopolk-Mirsky so that we can try and prevent anything untoward from happening.”

“I will give him a call. After you meet with the workers go and see him.”

“Thank you Sergei.”

“In a couple of weeks once all of the strikes are over and things have calmed down a little bit we will have to catch up and swap some stories over a drink.”

“I look forward to that day.” Gessen said as he prepared to leave.

Saturday January 8, 1905 - The Streets of Saint Petersburg

Ivan Novikov walked toward the Narva branch meeting house for the Assembly of Russian Factory and Mill Workers. He would find a comrade there who would provide him with a place to stay or in the very least he would find a place to warm up. In the darkness he recognized a person approaching him. Konstantine Vostokov was a well known revolutionary. He proudly proclaimed his allegiance to the Bolshevik party. His revolutionary zeal made him a target of the Okhrana. That secret police organization had taken an interest in him during his university days in 1893. One year later he was on his way to Siberia as a political prisoner. Eight years later he returned to Saint Petersburg. His stay was brief. Fearing the Okhrana would arrest him again he fled the country and lived as a political exile in Geneva.

Vostokov hated life abroad. He was a Russian and he would prefer a jail cell or another term in Siberia to an extended stay in Geneva. He was not an intellectual. He didn’t need to listen to the philosophical debates between the Mensheviks and the Bolsheviks. He was a man of action. He needed to be among the workers. He needed to be agitating the government. The finer points of theory were no concern of his. He would follow Yuliy Martov or Vladimir Lenin or anyone else who might come along as long as they were serious. The tzar needed to be removed and the Bolsheviks seemed more likely to push the envelope in that endeavor than the Mensheviks. Once Vostokov made that determination he fully committed to Vladimir Lenin and planned his return to Russia.

Once he returned to Russia he sought to incite a revolutionary spirit in any willing listener. He had only returned to Saint Petersburg at the end of November and he felt like his timing could not have been better. The strike at the Putilov factory would provide ample opportunity for new recruits to join the Bolshevik party. Despite what he perceived as favorable circumstances his success had been less than expected. The life of a revolutionary wasn’t supposed to be easy he reassured himself. But still it would have been nice to see a few more converts to the Bolshevik cause.

As he walked away from the Narva branch he couldn’t help but smile when he saw Ivan Novikov approaching from the opposite direction. Ivan was a promising pupil. Vostokov felt he was close to openly acknowledging his allegiance to the Bolshevik party. This encounter might provide the opportunity for Novikov to make it official.

“Comrade Novikov it is good to see you.”

“Konstantine, what happened to you?” Novikov asked as he noticed the black eye and the cuts on his chin and cheek.

“I tried to speak revolutionary ideas to an unrevolutionary crowd.”

“What?”

“I was trying to fly the red flag in the Narva branch. Prior to tomorrow morning I thought the crowd could use an infusion of revolutionary energy.”

“They are fools to put their trust in the Tzar.”

“No, they are just not ready to be the vanguard of the revolution like you and I.”

“They beat you up for trying to state basic truths.”

“We must suffer and struggle to advance our cause.”

“But with this crowd? They should support us with open arms. They should join us proudly. I can’t understand their love for the Tzar.” Novikov said.

“There eyes haven’t been opened yet.”

“If they are anything like my father, their eyes will never be open.”

“Agitate and educate. Our cause is just. In time everyone will think as we do. They just haven’t realized the chains that bind them. But when they do we will welcome them under the banner of the red flag.”

“You are too optimistic. My father and many like him will only accept change at the point of the sword.”

“And to them we will bring the sword, if necessary. But don’t hate your father for clinging to the only thing he knows. Hate the Tzar for teaching him these falsehoods and join with me in the fight to remove him from power. When the Tzar falls your father will be able to see how much better things become. Yes, young Ivan hate the Tzar and commit your life to his destruction. You will save our nation and your father by doing so.”

“I hate my father.”

“Redirect that hate. Channel it to the Tzar. He is the one who made your father how he is.”

“I want to hate them both.”

“Perhaps there is wisdom in that. Come with me, we will go and meet with some of my Bolshevik brothers and make sure we know what role we can play tomorrow.”

Since Ivan had no plans and no place to stay this seemed like as good an option as going to the Narva branch, so he turned and started walking with Konstantine.

Saturday January 8, 1905 - Pskov, Russia

Dmitri Kiselyov had been angry for months. Ever since news of the Battle of Nanshan had reached his ears he would not allow happiness to enter his heart. The Japanese army defeated the Russian army in that battle in May of 1904. Kiselyov could not fathom the idea that an Asiatic horde calling itself an army could defeat the mighty Russian army. The army that had defeated Napoleon lost a battle to a collection of islands that called itself a country. That such a loss should occur was unforgivable.

How could an empire that boasted a history of generals as great as Suvorov, Kutuzov, and Skobelov lose to Japan? Had it been a single loss Kiselyov might have been a happier man. But the losses continued including the most recent and most unforgivable loss of Port Arthur. Lieutenant General Anatolii Stessel had to be the most incompetent leader in the Russian military. Compounding his frustration and rage Kiselyov had spent the entire war in Pskov.

As a young officer in the army Kiselyov needed to prove himself on the field of battle. The battle was raging and he was not allowed to participate. Each report filled with bad news only instilled an uncompromising belief that he alone was the type of leader who could turn the tide of the war. He would never be given that chance and his blood boiled. To ease his anger he drank far more often and far larger quantities than he should have. His behavior had been noticed and reprimands had been ignored. Kiselyov was very close to drinking himself out of the army.

Now his anger was rising for another reason. He would be unable to drink himself into a stupor because he had to move out with his regiment to Saint Petersburg. He would have to waste his Sunday playing police officer while the true soldiers fought and died in the war against Japan. If only he could be given a chance to show his worth. Instead he prepared to go to the capital. His head throbbed and his hands shook. He needed a drink, but he would have to refrain for the night. A long day of idle standing awaited him. At least the drink tomorrow night would taste so much better after completing another futile exercise. Lost sleep, lost down time, and lost interest were all Sunday January 9th had in store. Kiselyov finished polishing his sword and went to find his regiment.