by Alan Bardos
If he were to pay the money back, that could well be enough to placate Sir George. However, for the sake of his future career, it would be better to have a letter of commendation from the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, to complete his report.
'Can't we do it tomorrow? I need to get a few more documents to complete my report.'
'Your report! You're refusing to help me for the sake of your beastly report?'
'You told me to do a good job. Besides it isn't just a report, it's...'
'Johnny, all of the troops will be gone tomorrow; they've been ordered out of the city for the Royal visit,' she said, interrupting him.
Johnny saw her dilemma. He knew Breitner was a capable man - he could get the visit cancelled and Johnny thought he could call round to see him on Monday, tell him who all of the conspirators were and pick up his letter of commendation and whatever other rewards the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy chose to bestow on him.
Libby sealed it with a suggestive look. 'I have some new tricks I want to share with you.' It wasn't meant to be seductive, but a command from the head girl. Johnny, grinned. He really did find Libby's direct approach so much easier to negotiate than the coy, will-o'-the-wisp performance of the belly dancer.
*
Breitner watched from the study window as it brightened into a pleasant summer's evening. The rain had long since died away and no amount of praying could bring it back. Providence wasn't on his side today.
'Where is your spy, Herr Breitner?' The Governor was becoming progressively more frustrated with every passing minute. It was plain that he hadn't believed a word of what Breitner had told him and was anxious to get to his dinner with the Archduke.
'I can only apologise, Excellency. He may have been killed. His work is extremely dangerous.'
'I think we've had quite enough of your flights of fancy for one evening, Herr Breitner.'
Breitner sighed - a first-hand account of someone who'd been living for weeks with the Young Bosnians, seen the weapons and been part of their plans may have made all the difference, or perhaps the Governor would simply have dismissed it as casually as he had all the other evidence Breitner had presented.
He’d considered trying to arrest Princip and Ilic on his own. He'd managed it with Johnny, but these people had bombs and guns and without any support Breitner could well cause an incident that would warn all the conspirators that the authorities were on to them. Breitner felt the best thing to do was to get Sunday's visit cancelled and then deal with the assassins. 'Could we at least move the Royal visit? The 28th of June is the Serbs' patriotic day. As Sarajevo's Chief of Police has been at great pains to point out, it can only be provocative for the Heir to visit on that day.'
The Governor reddened. 'I've been through this umpteen times already. There may well be safety issues and because of that the more people who see the Archduke, the greater our victory. It might well alienate some of the Serbs, but it will also inspire and encourage the Muslims and Croats who support the Monarchy.'
'I understand that, Excellency and commend your far-sightedness.'
'Oh you do, do you?' the Governor replied dryly.
'If I may just point out that this year's Vidovdan celebrations are of special significance because the Serbian Army has recaptured Kosovo from the Turks after hundreds of years of occupation. As I'm sure you're aware, Vidovdan commemorates their great defeat by the Turks, at the battle of Kosovo.'
'Enough - the date is just one aspect of the myriad of details we've had to contend with for the Archducal visit. It must be tomorrow; the spa season starts next week and making any further arrangements is quite impossible.'
Breitner couldn't believe what he was hearing. The weapons were under Princip's bed, barely a mile away and the Governor was worrying about the spa season. 'The Young Bosnians are not concerned about scheduling problems; they will only see this as an insult by an imperialist power.'
'I will not ask the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne to cancel his visit, because a gang of half-starved juvenile delinquents might be upset by it!' A polite knock at the door stopped the Governor before he could continue and his valet entered through an adjoining door from the master bedroom, carrying a dress uniform jacket. Breitner decided to change track.
'Your Excellency, could we at least use some of the troops from the manoeuvres as extra security?' Breitner suspected a lot of them would probably have been granted leave by now, or be in camp at the manoeuvre site, but it was worth a try.
'Out of the question. I've ordered all troops not involved in the Heir's visit out of the city. A strong military presence would offend the citizens of Sarajevo. Besides, the soldiers don't have their dress uniforms.' The valet started to brush down General Potiorek's jacket.
'Could they not wear their normal service uniforms?' Breitner was pushing his luck to the verge of destruction, but this was the best chance he had of averting a disaster. 'There is also a battalion of soldiers in barracks, here in Sarajevo.'
'Herr Breitner, I understand you were once well thought of, in "Budapest" at least, but I do not put much stock in your wild theories and marketplace gossip.'
The Governor stood up. There were more important matters to consider. 'Now what is this I hear about the wine list?'
Breitner sighed. It was time for the last resort. 'It might be diplomatic to have Zilavka, a local wine, served at the meal tonight - keep the natives happy.'
The Governor at last showed some concern. ''You will organise it personally?'
'Yes, Excellency.'
'Good. That may well redress the balance sufficiently for me to overlook this little outburst of yours.' The Governor allowed his valet to help him into the dress jacket, ready for the evening's events. 'My ADC will see to your letter of authorisation.'
As he bowed his thanks to the Governor, Breitner hid the unease he was feeling. He would do his duty and go to Ilidze Spa and approach 'The Ogre' directly.
Chapter 32
Johnny waited patiently for Libby to finish locking the door of her hotel room and went in for the coups de grace, picking her up and swinging her round towards the bed. He hadn't realised just how much he'd missed her until he tasted the violets on her lips again.
'What are these new tricks you promised?' Johnny asked.
'No, no - bath time,' Libby said sharply, and gracefully disentangled herself from his grasp. 'What on Earth are you wearing, Johnny?' Libby grabbed the lapels of the battered jacket Breitner had given him and pulled it off his shoulders. 'Oh never mind, I'll ring down for something. The moustache can stay - I rather like it.'
Johnny didn't argue and got undressed while she drew the bath. From past experience he assumed that this whole performance was some type of head girl foreplay, and after the past few weeks he'd had, with barely more than the clothes he stood up in, a nice long soak with Libby sounded just the thing.
However, much to Johnny’s disappointment, she fended him off as he fumbled with the fastenings of her dress. 'Johnny, we haven't got time for nonsense. I've got so much to tell you. I’ve had an incredible week touring Sarajevo's brothels and gambling dens.'
'So you haven't actually been "scouring the streets" looking for me?' he asked sarcastically. It didn't surprise him.
'Don't be a bore. Where else was I going to look for you?' Libby asked, pushing him into the bath.
'You could have gone to Ilidze Spa as we arranged,' Johnny said, but he couldn't really fault her reasoning.
'As it happens, I did go there…for a while. I met a splendid old gentleman who knew the lay of the land.' Libby made a few tentative strokes with a scrubbing brush. 'A retired general from the British Army, no less.'
'Oh, really? How nice for you,' Johnny said brusquely - that didn't really surprise him either.
'Yes, it was actually,' she replied. 'He's touring Europe's spas, desperate to find a cure for his gout and bilious and all of the other blights that affect those fortunate enough to have lived a life of hedonism and vice.
'
'Honestly, Libby, for a sensible woman your head is very easily turned.' Her gushing tone annoyed Johnny. All he'd managed to accomplish was a minor, rather irritating flirtation with a belly dancer.
'Don't be ridiculous, Johnny. My general's far too old and infirm to inconvenience me with anything like that. Besides, we had far more important things to worry about.'
Johnny wasn't sure he believed Libby. This general sounded a kindred spirit to his uncle, who was far from infirm: fortified with brandy he was capable of anything. For all Johnny knew, this general may even have been his uncle, blundering through the backwoods of Europe, one eye on a popsy and the other looking out for "the boy".
The thought gave Johnny hope as Libby scoured the skin off his back. 'You wouldn't believe how much the soldiers are paid out here. They're considered to be on active service and are paid as such. Not to mention all their admin chaps and support staff.'
'How interesting.' The last thing Johnny wanted was a lecture on the pay and conditions of the Austro-Hungarian military.
'But don't you see what that means?' she said, increasing the brutality of her brushing.
'I'm not getting a job in the...' Libby cut him off with a sharp backhand smash with the scrubbing brush.
'Don't interrupt. Apparently, there were no brothels in Bosnia until the Austrians and Hungarians came. Can you believe it? Now there are thousands of camp followers of every description, who've come from all corners of the Monarchy to provide the type of diversions soldiers need. The Austro-Hungarian authorities have even colour coded the brothels, according to rank.'
Johnny understood then why Princip had been so worried about the corrupting influence of Austro-Hungarian rule.
'Sarajevo's a boom-town at the best of times Johnny, but with the manoeuvres it's a bloody gold rush. The city's swarming with nearly two army corps' worth of officers, bursting to the seams with money and ripe for the picking.' Libby stopped scrubbing and lost in excitement, began to wave her arms about dramatically as she spoke. 'I had a little flutter at roulette while my general was showing me around some of the more choice establishments.'
'Don't tell me you broke your general and now you need me to....what? I've got no money, Libby. I'm no use to you,' Johnny said, rubbing his mutilated back.
'No, you see, that's where you're wrong, Johnny. You're just the hapless fool I need. I've managed to put together a reasonable stake, but I need a player. I did have an Austrian officer lined up, but you're much better. Just the sort of lumbering great oaf who wins a fortune and nobody suspects anything other than blind luck.' Johnny flinched as she resumed her scrubbing.
'But I never win, Libby, not at roulette anyway. The game defies strategy and reason.' Johnny grabbed the brush and pulled her towards him - he'd had enough. 'Now, about these new tricks of yours?'
'What if I told you that roulette wasn't altogether a game of chance, and that you can in fact predict the numbers that are going to come up, without using one of your brilliant strategies?'
Johnny let the brush slip through his fingers. Libby had tapped his other overwhelming base desire.
*
Breitner was relieved to see that Franz Ferdinand was in good humour and enjoying the fine dinner which Governor Potiorek had organised at the Hotel Bosnia in the company of more than forty local dignitaries, all of whom were showing due deference to the Heir and his Consort.
The dining room windows had been thrown open so that ‘The Blue Danube’ could flow around the diners, carried in on the evening breeze from the Sarajevo garrison band out on the lawn below.
Breitner marvelled at General Potiorek's meticulous attention to detail, which ensured the comfort and entertainment of the Heir Apparent, if not his personal safety.
Breitner had used the letter of authority from the Governor's office to deliver the wine, which caused some consternation for the wine waiter. He felt badly for the man as he had to rush about making last minute changes to the menu, but Breitner had needed a reason to be at the hotel, and using the local wine may even have helped to cement the loyalty of the local population.
The meal had begun with cream soup, a soufflé and local trout, followed by a main course of chicken, lamb, and beef with asparagus and salad, and was finishing with pineapple cream and burning brandy, a cheese selection and ice creams and sweets, all of which were complemented by a dry Madeira, several clarets, a Rhine wine, champagne and Breitner's favourite, Hungarian Tokay. He could almost taste the rich, honey nectar.
He had observed from the wings as each new course was served, trying to gauge Franz Ferdinand's reaction. He was there ostensibly to answer any questions the guests might have about the Zilavka. Not that he could tell them much, except that it was a white wine which you could buy by the case, at short notice. He watched with some trepidation as the Zilavka was served. Fortunately, the Archduke seemed to enjoy it without question, so everyone else did too.
If the Archduke stayed in such good spirits, Breitner thought that he might be able to approach him without too much fear. He began to turn his thoughts to the problem of what he'd actually say to him. He still had very little proof that there was going to be an assassination attempt; the Heir presumptive had already ignored the previous warnings and without the Governor's endorsement it would be difficult to persuade him to cancel his visit to Sarajevo.
The room suddenly went quiet. One of the diners, happy in his cups, had made an inappropriate comment. Not quite realising what he'd said, the unfortunate guest looked around in shock and then seeing that all eyes were on the Heir Apparent, he addressed his comments directly to the Archduke. 'I know Your Highness takes an active interest in such matters... I was merely commenting on whether or not Count Tisa would fall into line with policy in the Austrian half of the Dual Monarchy?'
Breitner took a step back; he knew exactly how the Archduke would respond. 'All the difficulties which we have in the Monarchy arise exclusively from the so-called noble, gentlemanly Magyar - that most infamous, anti-dynastic, lying, unreliable fellow!' The Archduke shouted his rage across the table at the local dignitaries, including several Hungarian civil servants.
'None is worse than that scoundrel Prime Minster of theirs, Tisza, who is a dictator in Budapest and would like to be the same in Vienna. All of the current problems in the Monarchy are down to the Magyar.'
Breitner choked back his indignation. The Archduke's attack had deeply offended him, but he remained determined to do his duty. Franz Ferdinand would after all, one day be the king of those infamous, anti-dynastic, lying, unreliable fellows.
'The Ogre' had been woken and Breitner knew that he would never be able to approach Franz Ferdinand directly now as the Archduke wouldn't listen to anything he had to say. Not that Breitner was a Magyar aristocrat, far from it. He was perhaps something worse in the Archduke's eyes - a fake or 'pinchbeck' Magyar.
Breitner looked around the stunned guests for a possible intermediary. He considered General Conrad von Hotzendorf, the Chief of Staff, as he'd known him in the old days, but the combination of the both of them approaching the Archduke might bring back memories better left forgotten. Breitner's eyes finally came to rest on the only woman present, Her Highness the Duchess Sophie of Hohenberg. She'd been seated away from her husband, between the Orthodox and Catholic bishops, and was attempting to politely continue her conversation with them after her husband's eruption. Breitner knew from his contacts in Vienna that Sophie held reservations about the visit to Bosnia, reservations he might well be able to exploit.
*
Johnny began to dress for an evening at the casino while Libby explained her new trick. 'You must have heard of the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo?'
'I know the song. It's your favourite,' Johnny answered, putting on his new shirt. The arms were a bit long but it was the best that the hotel could manage at short notice.
Libby grabbed his shirt sleeve and started to put in his cufflinks. 'You haven't heard of Joseph Jagge
rs - and you call yourself a gambler?'
'I don't call myself a gambler, Libby. If anything I'm a sportsman.' That made Libby laugh.
'Oh, really, Johnny. You'll be calling yourself a gentleman next.' She finished putting in the cufflinks and began to struggle with his collar.
Johnny grinned and attempted a West Country burr. He liked to play at being the humble servant to her corrupting mistress of the house. 'I ain't no gentleman, right and proper. Just a humble civil servant true enough, but I'm the best you'll ever get.'
'That blatantly isn't true, is it, Johnny?' Libby smiled patiently. It was a tired old joke. 'Anyway, the point is that Joseph Jaggers was a mill engineer. He recorded and studied the results of roulette wheel spins in Monte Carlo.'
'Why would someone do something so pointlessly dull?' Johnny asked, putting on his trousers. The waist was too big, making him feel like a clown.
'Mr Jaggers wanted to identify if the roulette wheels had a "bias".'
'I think we both know roulette wheels have a bias, towards me anyway.' He was starting to think this whole thing might be some elaborate ploy to make a fool of him.
'A bias is a mechanical error in a roulette wheel that prevents it from depositing the ball in a random pocket when it's spun. So if there are thirty seven pockets on a roulette wheel, you have a one in thirty seven chance of the ball landing in the pocket you have bet on. But if the wheel has a bias or fault, it lands on certain pockets with more frequency than the others, shortening the odds. You, of course, have to know which pockets.'
'Which of course, you do.' Johnny didn't believe any of it.
'Yes, with a little help from my general. How do you think I got our stake?'
'I'm sure your general was most obliging,' Johnny said struggling with his bow tie.
'Johnny, really!' Libby snatched the tie away from him and roughly fastened it around his neck.
'Libby, this is absolute tosh. I'm not going to get carried away on your gambling mania again.'
