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

'Do you want to take that risk, Excellency? Is that worth five hundred thousand pounds to you? To see if the Royal Navy, the most powerful force afloat, will blast its way past a few ancient forts? Neutrality is your only viable option, the Russians are at your rear, the Royal Navy at your front. All I ask is that you meet our representatives, you can renegotiate terms and be paid three million pounds, sterling.’

Talat smiled and exhaled smoke, acknowledging that the offer had just been reduced again. Johnny went to speak, but Talat held his hands up, before he could reduce the amount again.

'I can see there is no point discussing such matters with an underling. I will meet with the emissaries sent from London, but they cannot be permitted to enter the country. The Minister of War would disrupt the talks. They must therefore take place away from the influence of Enver. Once they have been concluded, I will present our little Napoleon with a fait accompli.’

‘Perhaps you might consider meeting the British representatives somewhere else?’ Johnny turned to Esther, not sure what to suggest now the new strategy had actually worked.

‘Excellency, might I propose Dedéagach, on the Bulgarian coast? It is neutral ground, easily accessible by rail for yourself and our representatives, who are I believe currently in Salonika, and it has a British consulate that could safely host the discussions.’ Once again Johnny couldn’t understand why such a self-assured and accomplished woman would throw herself away on a dullard like Breitner.

'Very well, I shall meet them there on the 15th March.’

Johnny unclenched his fists and started to breathe. Somehow, he had carried the day. He led Esther out of the house and towards her car. He was in need of something diverting.

‘Well, shall we celebrate?’ Johnny asked. ‘I haven’t really explored this part of the city, maybe you could show me some of the sights?’

‘I don’t think that would be appropriate,’ Esther said. ‘Besides, someone needs to get word to our representatives that they are meeting Talat.’

Johnny opened the car door for her and stepped inside. ‘Fair enough, I’m sure your chauffeur will be able to take you to see Abraham without my assistance.’

He closed the door and hurried off before she could answer. He’d only asked her out of courtesy, the last thing he wanted was a sedate evening of polite conversation.

Johnny turned to wave her off then walked to the end of the street. A figure stepped out of the shadows in front of him and rested his hand on a parked car, blocking the pavement. Johnny steadied himself then realised it was a rather dapper Turkish officer.

'One moment, please, sir,' the officer said in perfect German.

‘Yes, what is it?’ Johnny asked, affecting his best Prussian diplomat.

‘Have you just left the residence of his Excellency Talat Pasha?’

‘What of it?’

‘I need to check your credentials.'

‘What the hell for? Can’t you see I’m in a hurry?’

‘It won’t take a moment, sir, it is purely a matter of routine.’

Johnny handed him his papers. The policeman passed them to someone in the shadows behind him, while Johnny looked around for a café.

'So you are Herr von Jager, and how predictable of you not to see a lady home?'

Johnny choked, taken by surprise at the familiarly accented English. Before he could speak, a hood was thrust over his head and he was seized. Johnny instinctively started to flail and felt his fist connect with bone before being thrown onto the floor of the car with a knee on his back and his hands tied.

Chapter 28

Johnny was bundled out of the car, up some stone steps and into an echoing void. The hood was pulled off and he was reassured to see Breitner. He’d certainly been in the wars, with a ruddy great scar down the side of his face, which looked ludicrous under his pince-nez.

‘Jó estét, Uram Swift,’ Breitner said in rapid Hungarian.

‘And good evening to you, Mr Breitner,’ Johnny replied in English, disorientated. He was in the lavish hallway of a grand house.

‘Please forgive the theatrics with the hood. It was my associate’s innovation. He thought it inappropriate for you to be seen arriving here.’ Breitner switched to German. ‘Lieutenant Swift, I don't think you were formally introduced to Major Avin Toprak.’

Breitner indicated the Turkish officer who had accosted Johnny in the street. He now had a large red swelling over his right eye. He stepped forward and slapped Johnny around the face. Johnny took it with good grace, returning the favour with a kick to the shin.

Major Toprak screamed and snatched a riding crop from a rack by the door. Breitner stepped in front of him before he could take a swing.

‘Toprak please, let us not be distracted from our purpose.’ Toprak glared at Johnny and lowered the crop.

‘Is this all about the Ambassador’s champagne? I did replace it,’ Johnny said.

Breitner smiled sardonically and led Johnny into an opulent study furnished with a grand piano and a gold throne on a dais. Fine tapestries hung from the walls, but it was portraits of Frederick the Great and Napoleon that dominated the room. Placed exactly in the middle of them, reclining on a divan, was a small man in his early thirties. Johnny supposed women would find him striking. He looked like he should have been giving tango lessons to old ladies in Brighton Pavilion.

‘I take it you’re Enver Pasha?’ Johnny asked, trying not to sound impressed. If he hadn’t been quite so short or clean-cut, Johnny might have considered him competition. ‘Shouldn’t you be sitting on your throne?’

‘Alas, it is my wife’s wedding throne, she is of the blood.’ Enver signalled to Major Toprak, who slapped Johnny in the face again.

‘Your