The Dardanelles Conspiracy by Alan Bardos (best ereader for pc TXT) 📗

to do more than that.’ It was a sentiment that Breitner agreed with and had hopes of advancement into other areas of the army.

‘Mr Weisz if you’re worried about my prospects, I have been offered a commission in intelligence.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard of your involvement in the more sordid side of the military.’ He grimaced. ‘You seem like a pleasant enough fellow and I’m sure you show promise, in the military anyway, but I cannot spare my daughter for such a union.’

Breitner looked at the draughtsmen as he left and wondered if it would be so bad after all, grubbing away if in an office for money rather than having the honour of serving the King Emperor.

‘It's gone – gone, I tell you,’ von Grubber announced to the whole world, as he burst into the dining room. He appeared to have been taken ill with a severe fit of the hysterics.

‘What has gone, Baron von Grubber?’ Breitner stupidly asked, promoting a further outburst.

‘Two entire cases of His Excellency the Ambassador’s finest champagne,’ von Grubber was a picture of total desolation.

‘I see, that is a nuisance,’ Breitner replied, calmly continuing to rearrange the place settings, which he thought was a crisis of equal proportion.

‘Don’t you understand? The Ambassador is hosting a reception, how can he have a reception without sufficient champagne? It is a disaster, it is a catastrophe. Do you have any idea how hard it is to acquire vintage champagne when there is war in France?’

‘Yes, that would be inconvenient for the Ambassador and his guests.’ Breitner was finding it difficult to hide his contempt for the irrelevances this man immersed himself in.

Von Grubber acknowledged Breitner’s sarcasm with a look of pure malice. ‘Since you have nothing constructive to offer, Herr Breitner, you might go and see if the champagne can be retrieved.'

‘How? It might be anywhere.’ Breitner carefully put the place cards on the dining room table, calming his temper.

‘Use some guile, man. It was put on the train in Vienna and sent to Sirkeci terminus, here in Constantinople last week. It must have disappeared somewhere between the two stations. Do I have to tell you everything? You were in military intelligence for goodness sake, although I’m starting to understand why they dispensed with your services.’

Breitner ignored the slight and lifted his chin. ‘Of course, Her von Grubber, I will conduct a full investigation. However I fear there will be little chance of recovering the champagne, it is sure to have been consumed by now.’

‘That is no excuse. Go to the commissariats’ office. They will have all the details concerning the shipment. They might even help you smarten up your ideas.’

Such was the smartness of Von Grubber’s operation that the champagne had arrived at the embassy a week ago and it had just been discovered that the shipment was short.

It seemed that if Breitner was to serve his country, he would have to go from the absurd to the ridiculous. He cringed at his train of thought. He was becoming cynical and bitter and it ran counter to everything he stood for as a man.

He found it intolerable that he had been brought to Constantinople at Esther’s beck and call, like a lap dog, and given a post. Rather than to have earned it through hard work or because of any talent or ability he might have demonstrated.

His role with the High Court Chamberlain, at the Hofburg Palace, had been to investigate the lineage of aristocratic families petitioning to enter the Emperor’s court, and the administration of the protocols around such visits. He had no idea about the intricacies of diplomatic protocol and was unable to do his work efficiently. Breitner had become everything he despised.

Pichler, the Head of the Commissariat, was about to leave for his lunch when Breitner interviewed him about the missing champagne and showed little concern, considering the gravity of the situation.

‘Come, come my dear Breitner, the term ‘taken’ is a slight exaggeration.’

‘His Excellency Baron von Grubber would disagree with you in the strongest possible terms. He has tasked me with retrieving the missing beverage.’ Breitner said slipping easily back into the persona of an intelligence operative.

‘How absurd, these things take care of themselves.’ Pichler tried to step passed Breitner.

‘I believe the ambassador himself has taken an interest in the matter.’ Breitner said allowing himself to reveal some of the cold furry he felt and Pichler finally dropped his indifference.

‘The railway has provided a chit for the missing champagne.’

‘Might I trouble you for that document?’

‘Oh, really this is too much.’ Pichler wrung his hands and began to rummage through his bin.

Armed with the chit, Breitner followed the rich blue of the Bosporus to the pink and white striped façade of Sirkeci station. Breitner pushed his way through the crowds of people on the station’s marble forecourt, clambering to leave Constantinople before the British fleet arrived.

The chit had a number on it, but nothing else to say who or what it related to. However, it made sense to the Attendant in the lost property office.

‘This shipment has been impounded. It is all quite correct.’

Breitner thought he detected an element of bluff in the man’s body language. He suspected the term ‘impounded’ covered a multitude of sins.

‘You have allowed diplomatic baggage to be tampered with?’ Breitner asked.

‘With respect, it was not labelled as diplomatic baggage and was subject to railway regulations,’ the Attendant responded. Breitner had no idea if he was telling the truth. The man was too well practised in this kind of thing to be upset by an official of the Austro-Hungarian Embassy.

‘Can you at least tell me who impounded the shipment and where it might be now?’

‘Alas, I cannot. All the paperwork has been sent to the party in question. It is for them to compensate you. Not the railway.’