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

The Chief had replied curtly, 'Yes, that's a pity, but there's no one else.'

The sound of hooves on flagstones announced the funeral cortege as it began the procession to the Westbahnhof; from there the Royal couple would be taken to Pochlarn Station and on to Artstetten Castle, where the Archduke had arranged for them to be buried together in a crypt built under the family church.

Pinkie bowed his head as the first hearse came through the central arch of the outer gateway. The cortege was fairly small considering it carried the heir to the throne and Inspector General of the Army. Pinkie thought again that this was obviously the work of the Court Chamberlain, intent to the last to do no more than protocol demanded. There was no military parade, aside from a small army detachment, and the only uniformed people were court officials and officers from the Archduke's suite. Pinkie was shocked; he felt that there should have been representatives from all branches of the armed forces and every regiment that the Archduke had served in.

The members of the Monarchy's oldest families, standing around Pinkie, saw this short measure and over a hundred of them began to walk behind the procession. They'd served the Habsburgs for centuries and wouldn't stand to see its Heir slighted. A number of army officers also began to follow the cortege and Pinkie couldn't help but be moved and felt compelled to join them. If there was one thing he hated more than nasty little social climbers it was jumped up officials, drunk on their own power.

It was a resentment that was becoming all too evident in Pinkie's relationship with his chief; he couldn't believe that de Bunsen had had the temerity to suggest sending him to Persia during the spa season. Pinkie had arranged to go to Marienbad where he'd take his place with the elite of Europe - it would have been perfect. The sensuous Lady Smyth had breezed back into his life on the ill wind from the east and he felt that she wouldn't be able to resist the draw of Europe's most exclusive spa. Having the beautiful wife of a senior diplomat in tow would ensure he'd be invited to the more choice parties. Pinkie had even managed to secure adjoining rooms in a very discreet hotel.

He couldn't believe that the Russians were threatening to spoil everything, but he had no idea how to get out of the secondment to Persia and he continued to ponder the problem as the cortege arrived at the station. He followed the procession onto the platform to find the usual Viennese muddle. He watched as Prince Montenuovo handed the caskets over to Janaczek, Franz Ferdinand’s estate manager, and then how with little grace, he withdrew any further official help for the transportation of the Royal couple, stating that the rest of the journey was a matter for the “private” arrangements the Archduke had made for his burial.

After that, Pinkie was warmed to see an impromptu line of the Monarchy's archdukes, headed by the new Heir Apparent, form along the platform to send Franz Ferdinand off on his last journey and no doubt demonstrate their outrage at the Court Chamberlain's behaviour. Then, through the smoke of the departing train, Pinkie saw the answer to all of his problems - Johnny Swift, strolling through the assembled dignitaries as if he owned the place.

Chapter 40

Breitner gazed around at the plush interior of the Hotel Klomser's restaurant with a melancholy he seldom expressed or felt. Someone certainly had a sense of humour, he decided.

'What’s up? You've hardly touched your pud,' Johnny said, stuffing his face with strudel. Despite Johnny's reluctance to come to Vienna, he'd been quick to enjoy the delicacies the city had to offer. He'd made his way through a schnitzel, baked chicken and the Emperor's favourite, asparagus and boiled beef. He was now trying every type of cake, tart and pastry he could fit into his mouth.

'This isn't feeding time at the zoo,' Breitner answered.

'I've just spent a week in one of your filthy cells,' Johnny said. He finished his strudel and moved onto a slice of rich chocolate cake, then looked Breitner up and down. 'If I cared, I'd say you were a bit windy ol’ man.'

The phrase didn't translate well in the clear, precise German which Johnny had started speaking since their arrival in Vienna, but Breitner understood the subtext.

'It's being back here - where it all began,' Breitner said.

'In Vienna?'

'The Hotel Klomser.'

'How so?' Johnny asked.

Breitner had never spoken of it before, but as crass as he found Johnny, he’d become the closest thing to a friend he'd had for a year. So Breitner told him how he'd come to this hotel with four other officers to tell his comrade and mentor, Colonel Redl, that he'd been exposed as a spy and to ensure that he did the honourable thing. Redl had been sitting at his desk putting his affairs in order when they’d arrived. He'd gazed up at Breitner, saying that he knew why they were there and then he’d asked to end his life.

Breitner had given Redl a Browning pistol and then left with the other officers. When they’d returned at 5.00am, they’d found that Redl had shot himself. He'd left a note to the effect that frivolity and his passions had been his downfall and he was taking his life to atone for his sins.

The full extent of his sins would probably never be known, Breitner explained to Johnny, but it was rumoured that he gave the Russians ‘Plan Three’, Austro-Hungary's strategy for invading Serbia. 'When Franz Ferdinand found out that we'd allowed Redl to take his own life, it ended my career,' he recalled. Despite the betrayal and the ensuing catastrophe, Breitner still couldn't shake the remorse he felt about his part in Redl's death.

'Excuse me, gentlemen.'