The Assassins by Alan Bardos (best novels in english txt) 📗

Breitner was not quite so fortunate. Along with a number of other members of the Intelligence Bureau he was forced out of the army. He counted himself lucky to have salvaged enough from the situation to get his current position.

The Bosnian Civil Service was predominantly Hungarian and one of his contacts in the Joint Ministry of Finance had been able to get Breitner attached to the political section. After that experience, Breitner wasn't willing to approach the Archduke and risk the wrath of those pale eyes again.

'I can report to my superiors that there is a plot to assassinate the Heir,' Johnny suggested, looking desperate to be able to tell them something. 'Maybe they can pass it along to your chaps.'

'We need to know what the Young Bosnia cell is planning. Our best hope is to try and persuade the Governor, General Potiorek, to call off the visit or at the very least, increase security. The visit is being organised by the army, not the Joint Ministry of Finance and thus comes under the Governor’s control.’

'Can't the Governor just go and arrest them?' Johnny asked.

'As you have found out for yourself, the authorities here don't believe that there is a nationalist problem and the Governor is chief among them. He isolates himself behind the walls of his residence and has no idea about the realities of the province he governs. He’s aware that there are student protests in Bosnia, but he thinks they’re isolated instances and tries to control them with strong arm policies, that only further anger the Young Bosnians.’

'Well, it sounds as if you've done all you can. I'll make a full report praising your diligence and er, hospitality,' Johnny said.

Breitner laughed. He thought Johnny was perfect - impetuous, youthful, malleable and his Serbo-Croat was excellent. ‘Tell me, young Johnny, how did you come to speak the local language so well?’

‘I had to as a special condition of my entry into the Diplomatic Service, so I spent a few months seeing a Serbian emigre living in Paddington. I could already speak Russian and well, I do have a gift for languages,’ Johnny said haughtily.

‘That is most interesting. You see, I have intelligence that people of your age are being recruited to carry out the assassination,' Breitner said.

Johnny went pale, finally grasping why Breitner had taken such a sudden interest in him. 'Oh, no-no!'  He made a leap for the door.

*

A bored policeman pushed Johnny back into Breitner's office and slammed the door shut in his face. He'd got half way down the corridor before he was grabbed by four gendarmes.

Johnny tried to regain his dignity. He hadn't meant to behave in such a cowardly way but he remembered the hard stares he’d received in the cafe and it felt as if all of Sir George Smyth's greatest hopes had come true.

'If the plot to assassinate the Archduke succeeds it could have untold implications, for your country as well as mine,' Breitner said. He was nonplussed by Johnny's attempt to escape and carried on the conversation as if nothing had happened.

'You want me to join up with a gang of assassins!' Johnny repeated Sir George's prophetic words. 'You want me to get my bloody head blown off.'

'Tell me, Johnny, why were you sent here? You aren't stupid, but you clearly understand nothing.'

'It's all part of the cult of the gifted amateur. Whitehall and the Diplomatic Service thrive on it.'

'Not even the British Government would send someone so inexperienced here without a reason.' Breitner didn't appear to understand how a gentleman behaved any more than Johnny did.

'This whole region is considered to be the backwoods of diplomacy - a highly volatile backwoods, where they can send someone expendable on a fool's errand.' And now it looked as if Johnny was going to be stuck in the middle of it for the rest of his life - if this man Breitner didn't get him killed first.

'So you're a fool, disgraced and clearly degenerate, sent here to be killed or forgotten? Unless of course, you help me.' That cut Johnny to the quick. Breitner had read him completely.

'Why can't you use one of your own chaps?' Johnny asked.

'I don't have any “chaps”.’

‘What about that fellow that just dragged me in here?’ Johnny said, pointing back at the door.

‘A few well placed bribes allowed me to keep you under guard in City Hall. No one would be willing to risk any more than that for me, and even if they were they wouldn't be the right "sort".'

'What, a disgraced, degenerate British diplomat? I'm sure I would blend in perfectly with the local fanatics.'

'You'll be able to blend in much better than you think. And of course there's your performance last night at the hotel, insulting the Governor.'

Johnny flushed with anger at the memory. 'He insulted me…' Johnny trailed off. He'd been so angry with the way his evening had turned out that he hadn't realised he'd been shouting in Serbo-Croat.

'Obviously, I embellished things by giving you a thrashing and dragging you into prison and then that little scene with the clerk just now. He’s sure to tell all his Young Bosnia friends what happens to those that disrespect the Governor. Such is the current feeling in Sarajevo, that's likely to be enough to qualify you as an assassin.'

'What wonderful foresight and initiative,' Johnny said acidly. 'But how could I possibly pass myself off as a Bosnian revolutionary?'

'Draw from your own life. I’m sure you’ve been in plenty of scrapes. The best lies always come from the truth. Besides, Bosnians don't make good conspirators, they're very open and extrovert, which is how I found out that a Young Bosnia cell has returned to Sarajevo.'

'I'm not convinced.' Johnny was starting to feel distinctly uncomfortable about this whole conversation.

'The Heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne