The Assassins

by Alan Bardos

  'Mr Jagger won fourteen thousand pounds in one night, which of course was considered to be a lot of money forty years ago, but still not to be sniffed at.' Libby smiled. 'You are adorable when you're confused, dearest.'

  'That can't possibly be true.' A win that big could set them up for life, Johnny realised.

  'You've heard, "The Man who Broke the Bank in Monte Carlo" - it's performed in music halls, so it has to be true," Libby said mockingly, while forcing him into badly fitting tails. 'My general and I have spent the past three nights in the officers' club with the faulty wheel and I'm absolutely positive.'

  'How can you be sure after three nights?'

  'I was confirming what my general had already discovered. He's spent weeks observing the roulette wheels.'

  'But this is fantastic. Why isn't everyone doing it?'

  Libby smiled like a Venus flytrap - she knew she had him. 'Because most casinos use new wheels which are less prone to the fault, and they rebalance and realign them regularly. Or they move the wheels around so you don't know which one has the fault, or they change the numbering on the pockets. The staff who run the officers' club might not even know the wheel's faulty or they might think that the people in this backwater, most of whom have never set foot in a casino before, are either too honourable or too stupid to exploit the fault.' Libby smiled acidly, 'Which of course, is where someone like you comes in.'

  'Because your general won't use the bias? He's a real sportsman who believes in fair play.' Johnny had heard of such people, when he was a schoolboy.

  'Yes, that, and I asked him not to. You'd be surprised what men do when I ask them.'

  'No I wouldn't,' he said wryly.

  *

  Nedjo Cabrinovic saw Princip as he turned onto the embankment. Coughing, Nedjo quickened his pace. He was late and knew Gavro would be annoyed, but it couldn't be helped. There had been a terrible row at home. His house lay on the route the tyrant would take along Franz Josef Street and his father had been so desperate to show his loyalty to the Hapsburgs, that he was going to fly the Imperial flag from their home.

  Nedjo had resorted to hiding the flagpoles, but after much frantic searching it became clear that his father blamed his mother for their disappearance. Nedjo had been forced to tell him where they were before matters became violent.

  'Where have you been?' Princip asked, as Nedjo caught up with him. His sharp tone annoyed Nedjo and he shrugged indifferently.

  'We're meeting at eight o'clock tomorrow morning, in the pastry shop on Cumurija Street. Don't be late,' Princip told him, with a hint of scorn.

  'So we are to act on Vidovdan?' Nedjo asked. His exclusion from the preparations had left him feeling slighted, but at least now he would be able to prove himself a hero on such an important day.

  'We are,' Princip replied. As they walked along by the river, he told him the plan, leaving out one vital detail.

  'What about my weapons?' Nedjo hadn't seen them since Gavro and Trifko disarmed him, during the trip from Belgrade.

  'What of them? Did you take the risk bringing them across the border?' Princip asked.

  'No, but I would have, had you not ...'

  'You will receive your weapon tomorrow, if you turn up,' Princip growled, interrupting Nedjo. 'Here take this.' Gavro passed him a twist of newspaper.

  'What is it?'

  'Dead men tell no secrets,' Gavro said and hurried away.

  Nedjo returned home in a dark mood and watched in disgust as his father decorated their house with the hated yellow and black flag. Was it any wonder Princip and his friends didn't trust him and thought he was incapable of action, he reflected angrily.

  'How can you bend your knee to these people, Father?'

  Vaso Cabrinovic shook his head in annoyance. In his view he was merely being practical. He brushed his son's idealism aside. 'You live under the Emperor and you're enjoying all the benefits he provides, Nedeljko. If you don’t like living under my roof you can always go somewhere else.'

  'Don't you see how you betray our people?'

  'You're betraying our people Nedeljko, keeping them in the dark ages, with idiotic dreams.'

  His father's words provoked a coughing fit in Nedjo. This man, who everyone called a police informant, who put his livelihood before his freedom and that of his people, thought him a traitor.

  Nedjo managed to control his coughing and looked at the blood on his hands, 'Tomorrow, on Vidovdan, we shall see who is and who is not a traitor,' he said quietly. He had nothing left to lose.

  *

  After dinner, Archduke Franz Ferdinand and his consort repaired to the hotel foyer, to hold court and engage their guests in small talk.

  Breitner stood as near as he dared and surveyed the scene. This was the place where the whole thing had started for him, when he had press-ganged Johnny into this ridiculous situation.

  The Duchess was proudly telling the guests that Max, her eldest son, had passed an examination. Breitner knew she wasn't liked at court and was seen as something of a scheming outsider, which from his perspective made her a perfect ally.

  Unfortunately, Breitner wasn't an invited guest and had no business addressing a member of the Imperial family. He'd never get through the invisible cordon of aides and hangers on. What he needed was the support of one of the local dignitaries.

  Governor Potiorek shoved past Breitner as he fluttered about the more important guests, asking them to disregard the controversial comments concerning Magyars which the Archduke had made at dinner. The Governor approached Doctor Sunaric, the Leader of the Bosnian Parliament.

  Doctor Sunaric had made himself notorious as a 'doom and gloom merchant' in the warnings he'd given about the Royal visit, going so far as to telegraph his feelings to Vienna. Potiorek took the opportunity to remind the good doctor that the Royal visit had been a tremendous success, despite his warnings and the Archduke's colourful outburst.

  When Governor Potiorek moved on to the next dignitary, Breitner took a chance and sidled up to Sunaric.

  'Yes, what is it?' The Doctor asked, trying to keep his temper. Potiorek had clearly embarrassed him.

  'My name is Laszlo Breitner. I work for the Joint Ministry of Finance.'

  'Another one of Bilinski's toothless minions.'

  Breitner shrugged, 'Yes, precisely. I believe your concerns about the Archducal visit were correct.'

  'You seem to be the only person who does,' Doctor Sunaric replied.

  'I have information that there are currently two Young Bosnian cells in Sarajevo, plotting to murder the Heir Apparent,' Breitner said, finally getting the Doctor's attention.

  'Why haven't you arrested them, then?'

  'As you say, I'm toothless in this matter. The visit is in the hands of the military and without conclusive proof the Governor refuses to act.'

  Doctor Sunaric sighed. 'He doesn't want to spoil his moment of glory.'

  'If you might present me to Her Highness... if we presented our concerns on a joint front, perhaps we could explain the danger her husband is in,' Breitner suggested.

  Sunaric thought for a moment, watching the Governor make his rounds of the guests. 'Very well. I'll try one more time.'

  Breitner followed tactfully as Doctor Sunaric presented himself to the Duchess. Her dark eyes lit up immediately.

  'My dear Doctor Sunaric, you were wrong, after all. Things did not turn out the way you said they would. Wherever we have been, everyone, down to the last Serb, has greeted us with such great friendliness, politeness and true warmth, that we are very happy with our visit.'

  Doctor Sunaric was slightly taken aback by the gentle rebuke but maintained his bearings. 'Your Highness, I pray to God that when I have the honour of meeting you again tomorrow night, you can repeat those words to me. A great burden will have been lifted from me.'

  The Duchess smiled courteously and Doctor Sunaric looked at Breitner before moving away. He'd made his point and nothing would be gained from further discussion; the Duchess had m
ade up her mind. Breitner bowed his thanks to the good Doctor and glanced around the foyer for another possible intermediary.

  *

  Johnny paused at the porte-cochère of the officers' club to look up at the large romantic building. The sunset had cast a pink sheen on the grey stonework. He adjusted his evening dress for the hundredth time and entered, making his way through a series of thick velvet curtains into a salon where an eight piece band was playing bawdy songs.

  It took him a moment to acclimatise after weeks of clean living with a puritan like Princip. He looked around wide eyed at the splendid gold and red decor, the giant mirrors and the nude paintings hanging from every wall. It wasn't surprising that the locals flocked to these places to revel in Western European decadence.

  Libby had made a point of giving Johnny a stack of casino chips, to make it difficult for him to spend the stake on any of the other amusements on offer. Even so, he needed all of his strength to resist the daintily clad nymphs who clustered around him, as he made his way through something that resembled a combination of Ascot on ladies' day and a Roman orgy.

  Johnny found an arcade of roulette wheels, swarming with officers of the Imperial Army. He instantly identified with these bored and lonely young men from the provincial middle class of the Habsburg Empire. They'd had hard, institutionalised childhoods and even worse teens in military academies, before being packed off to serve on the edges of the Empire for years on end, waiting for a war that might advance their careers.

  Like Johnny, this great palace of vice offered the unfortunate officers some escape from the routine of duty. They were fascinated by the little white ball spinning round and around the glittering roulette wheel, promising all manner of delights and riches. He recognised the look in their eyes - if they won they'd be able to afford one of the women in the next room, or maybe even a new horse or a castle, if the ball would only land on their number.

  However, tonight belonged to Johnny. Libby had been right - half of these bumpkins had obviously never seen a roulette wheel before, let alone had any concept of how to play the game; they just kept pouring more and more of their hard earned money into the all consuming wheel. They were just the sort of people to provide Johnny with cover. He didn't expect that the management would particularly mind him winning when everyone else was losing.

  He went to the wheel with the bias and placed his first bet, spreading it across the numbers which Libby had said occurred most frequently: seven, eight, nine, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen (inevitably), twenty two, twenty eight and twenty nine. He placed one chip on each.

  Johnny gripped the edge of the table, in his usual manner, trying to control his excitement. He felt terribly conceited as the wheel span. He would at last be a winner - the odds were on his side for once. He readied himself not to explode in his moment of victory; he didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

  The ball landed on zero. Johnny couldn’t believe it, but managed to stifle his disappointment. He knew his numbers wouldn't come up every time. He placed the next lot of chips on the same numbers and this time the ball impudently landed on thirty six. Johnny looked about at the cheering officers enjoying their blind luck. He was furious, but knew he couldn't very well cry foul because his cheat hadn't worked.

  Suddenly, he felt a sharp yank at his back that nearly took down his trousers.

  Chapter 33

  Ilic finished briefing Mehmed Mehmedbasic in the room which the veteran had taken at the Hotel Sarajevo. Mehmedbasic had just arrived from Stolac in Herzegovinia, where he worked as a carpenter, although Ilic had assumed that he would have been used to a more refined occupation, as the son of a ruined Muslim noble.

  'I trust that you didn't have any difficulty on your journey?' Ilic asked respectfully. He was conscious that unlike the majority of his fellow Muslims, Mehmedbasic opposed Austrian rule, passionately believing in the establishment of a Yugoslav State. This made him extremely valuable to the Movement, as he could travel freely without raising suspicion.

  'I told the police that I needed to see a dentist, and they gave me a travel pass,' Mehmedbasic answered.

  Ilic studied him. Mehmedbasic had come to the fore at the beginning of the year, when he’d attended a meeting with some of the Young Bosnian Movement’s leadership, in Toulouse. It was decided at the Toulouse gathering that Mehmedbasic would assassinate General Potiorek and he was dispatched to Bosnia armed with a dagger and a bottle of poison.

  'So it wasn't as eventful as your previous journey?' Ilic asked, trying to gauge Mehmedbasic’s mood. He had become anxious on the journey back from Toulouse when several gendarmes had boarded his train at the Austrian border, so he’d disposed of his weaponry, only to discover that the police were after a petty criminal.

  Mehmedbasic smiled dryly in response to Ilic's question, revealing little of what he was thinking. Ilic wondered for a moment if Mehmedbasic might be losing his resolve. If so, he sympathised, as he still had misgivings about the assassination; however, he'd determined to do what was required of him, not least because Gavrilo was so resolute, but also because he'd received word from Belgrade.

  Ilic's mother had called him to the parlour that afternoon, where a man with large feet had been waiting for him. 'I have come from Apis,' the man said.

  'Apis?' Ilic asked, taken aback by the sudden appearance of his visitor.

  'Don't be coy, Danilo. I've had a very difficult journey and I don't have the time or the patience for play-acting.’

  Ilic knew enough of the man’s reputation to sit down and be quiet. The visitor looked up at the ceiling as the floor above creaked - Jovo was walking around. A restless soul, he was always moving around up there, Ilic reflected.

  'Jovo, our lodger,' Ilic explained, in response to the man's questioning look.

  'Can he be trusted?'

  'He likes his drink a little too much and he's a show-off, but he is a patriot.'

  'Have you noticed anyone suspicious loitering?'

  'There are always suspicious people. We live under occupation, but I'm careful,' Ilic replied.

  'Our Russian cousins are careful. That doesn't prevent half of them from working for the police. I have reason to believe that an Englishman has been sent to stop your attempt tomorrow.'

  'An Englishman? Why would the English concern themselves with this?'

  The man dismissed the question as unimportant. 'Has anyone tried to hinder your plans?'

  Ilic fought to remain calm; he presumed that Apis had heard he'd been trying to stop the assassination. 'I had received instructions that the attempt was to be abandoned,' Ilic blurted out in mitigation.

  'So you haven't made the necessary arrangements?'

  'Things are in place, but…' - there was really no right or wrong answer to the man's question. He had been officially told to cancel the assassination by the last envoy from Belgrade, but the specific instructions had all been so cryptic.

  'Whatever orders you've received, I countermand them. The assassination is to go ahead.' Ilic had little choice but to dispel whatever doubts he felt and send word for the second cell to meet him. He knew they would have to act tomorrow, regardless of personal feelings. Nonetheless, he didn't plan to physically take part in the assassination; his role would be purely to advise and support his comrades.

  'Are you ready to follow in the footsteps of our Russian brethren?' he asked, turning to face Mehmedbasic. The man with the large feet had put Ilic in mind of the great Russian revolutionaries.

  'I am,' Mehmedbasic answered sternly, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than anything.

  'When you stand on Appel Quay tomorrow, with the tyrant’s car coming towards you, remember Yegor Sazonov, who threw a bomb into the carriage of von Plehve, the Russian Minister of the Interior. Or Ivan Kalyayev, who dropped a bomb onto the lap of the Tsar's uncle as he travelled to the theatre and the comrades who bombed Tsar Alexander II's carriage.'

  Mehmedbasic seemed reassured that he would be foll
owing the path of a true revolutionary. Ilic didn't mention that many of the assassins had been arrested and hanged. He wondered if they'd faced their fate in the same way as the revolutionaries in 'The Seven Who Were Hanged' - they had pitted everything against the horror of inevitable death.

  *

  Breitner watched as the guests began to leave the Hotel Bosnia. He hadn't been able to find another intermediary - General Conrad von Hotzendorf had dismissed Breitner's concerns as he left, making it clear that he had no wish to incur the Archduke's wrath. The dinner was the last of the key events around the Archducal visit and with its conclusion a number of dignitaries from Vienna were taking their leave and returning home. Breitner was hoping that this example might present an opportunity to suggest Franz Ferdinand do the same.

  The man to arrange such a change of programme would undoubtedly be Baron Rumerskirch, the Archduke's Chamberlain. Franz Ferdinand and the remaining guests had retired to the hotel’s smoking room, where Breitner found the Chamberlain in attendance.

  Breitner approached him with due deference. 'Sir, if I may say, His Imperial and Royal Highness's visit has been an absolute triumph.'

  The Chamberlain regarded him dismissively, evidently thinking that Breitner was another unwanted guest trying to ingratiate himself into the Archduke's suite. Breitner didn't think there was much point in trying to dispel the idea.

  'You must be pleased with how well your staff have performed,' Breitner said.

  'Everyone has behaved as I would have expected,' the Chamberlain replied, glancing around the smoking room and checking that the brandy and cigars were being dispensed correctly. As with everyone else associated with the organisation of the Archducal visit, the Chamberlain was worried that something might happen to blight an otherwise flawless event, and unleash Franz Ferdinand's anger. It was a fear Breitner hoped to intensify.

  'It will be a shame for it all to end in ignominy.'

  The Chamberlain turned on Breitner sharply. 'What do you mean by that?' Breitner had hit his mark at the first attempt.