by Alan Bardos
Johnny recognised the smooth lines of the Archduke’s car first and then saw the powerful frame of the chauffeur. He’d taken his jacket off and was crouched down at the back of the car, under the petrol tank. A grey-haired officer hovered behind him, waiting to hear his report.
'The damage looks fairly superficial, Colonel von Harrach, just some small scratches and dents from bomb fragments,’ the chauffeur said, standing up and putting his cap back on.
‘Very well Loyka, we'll see to it later,' the grey-haired officer said and then hurried up the steps of City Hall.
'Hello there - Loyka, isn’t it?' Johnny said, taking the opportunity to approach the chauffeur.
The chauffeur looked at Johnny, trying to identify the unfamiliar gentleman. 'That's right, sir. How may I be of service?'
'You might remember me from the incident this morning?'
'I can't say that I do.' The chauffeur's eyes suddenly changed, as he recognised Johnny. 'You're one of them!'
'What? No, I'm not!' Johnny protested, but it was too late - Loyka had grabbed him around the neck. 'I just need to talk to you. I need you to tell them what I did!'
'I'll tell them all right!' the chauffeur snarled before shouting to the gendarmes outside City Hall. 'I've got one of them. I saw him throw the bomb!'
Johnny tried to grapple with the chauffeur, but he was too strong. He could see the angry mob, which had been following the person taken into the police station, coming towards him. He wondered for a moment who it was that had been caught. Then he head-butted the chauffeur and as the man stepped back to hold his nose, Johnny got away a short, sharp jab that knocked him cold.
He hadn’t been the captain of his school’s rugby team for nothing, he mused, picking up the chauffeur’s cap. He had a vague plan, but before he could do anything, two gendarmes had him.
Johnny struggled to get away, but the mob surrounded them and started to kick and punch. He heard muffled shouts of command and a burly officer pushed his way through the mass of bodies.
'What the hell is going on here?' he demanded.
Johnny's relief turned to apprehension as the sun glinted on the officer’s monocle and he recognised Matthias, Libby's lieutenant. He smiled at Johnny, emphasising a livid, duelling scar on his left cheek. Johnny could smell the schnapps on his breath.
Matthias turned to the gendarmes. ‘How dare you accost a gentleman in the street like this!’ he shouted, but the gendarmes maintained their grip.
'This man is a terrorist - he made an attempt on the Heir's life,' one of the gendarmes replied.
Matthias looked at Johnny, enjoying his predicament. 'Who says so?'
'He does,' the gendarme said, pointing at the chauffeur, who was lying on the floor, still out cold and unable to corroborate the story. In his shirtsleeves and without his cap there was no way to identify who he was, which was as Johnny had planned.
'Lieutenant, I demand that you order these men to release me immediately. I work for the Joint Ministry of Finance. You can check with a Herr Breitner at City Hall that I am bona fide,' Johnny’s German master at school had been a Pomeranian Grenadier in the Franco-Prussian war and the German he’d taught him allowed Johnny to muster some authority. Matthias dismissed Johnny’s sham with an indifferent shrug of his shoulders.
'Actually, I was hoping for a chance to meet you again. You left with the young lady rather abruptly last night. No need to explain. I know how these things work,' Matthias said knowingly.
Johnny wasn't sure if Matthias was implying something about Libby or if he felt he’d been slighted in some way, but under the circumstances Johnny thought it best not to challenge him.
Matthias turned back to the gendarmes. ‘Let him go. Didn't you hear the gentleman?'
'But he's a terrorist, sir,' one of the gendarmes said.
'How can he be a terrorist? He took the house for all he could last night!' Matthias barked, not used to having his orders questioned.
The gendarmes let go. Johnny couldn't work out if Matthias actually believed his story or if Libby had secured his patronage in some other way.
'The main reason I was hoping to see you again, was to apologise for my conduct last night. Copying another player's betting strategy is inexcusable.'
'Think nothing of it, Lieutenant, my pleasure.' Johnny smiled - Matthias was just a fellow cheat acknowledging a fellow cheat, he wasn’t implying anything about Libby.
'But I must thank you and the young lady.'
'The young lady? What about the young lady?' Johnny asked.
'Without her knowledge of the service entrance we’d never have got out of that place with our shirts,' Matthias grinned. It was impossible for Johnny to tell if he was grinning because of the money he'd won thanks to Johnny, or as a result of Libby's services.
'As it stands, I won enough money to buy a new mount, so I’m very much in your debt.' The Lieutenant seemed blissfully unaware of the crowd, who were anxiously watching the exchange. Their blood was up - they needed a sacrifice and Johnny was determined that it wouldn’t be him.
'In that case, I’d be grateful if you’d allow me to be about my business and take this man into custody. I believe he's a terrorist. I saw him tampering with the Archduke's car,' Johnny said, pointing at the chauffeur.
The Lieutenant bowed and signalled to the gendarmes who took charge of the chauffeur and dragged him through the crowd. Johnny knew he'd come back round presently and start screaming bloody murder. He wanted to be with Breitner before that happened, so he shook hands with the Lieutenant and hurried back to the reception.
Chapter 37
Breitner returned to the reception and made his way through a phalanx of officials who had gathered around General Potiorek. The decision to change the programme of events had caused some confusion and without the local liaison provided by the Governor’s aide-de-camp, Colonel von Merizzi, the Archduke’s retinue were struggling to make the necessary arrangements. To Breitner’s surprise, they were still discussing possible routes that the motorcade should take when it left the reception.
'Might it not be better if we advanced directly to the hospital along Appel Quay and cut out the planned route through Franz Josef Street?' one of the Archduke’s aides asked, as Breitner took up position next to the Governor.
'Yes, those backstreets are far too narrow for a speedy exit. Appel Quay provides a much better option,' Potiorek agreed.
Very well, we shall adopt that route,' a staff colonel from the Archduke's Chancellery said, before turning to catch Dr. Gerde, Sarajevo's Chief of Police, who was hurrying to leave. 'Dr. Gerde, would you be so good as to repeat the Governor's exact words to the drivers?'
'Yes-yes, of course,' Dr. Gerde said impatiently, barely acknowledging the staff colonel and rushing to take his place at the head of the motorcade. Breitner realised he didn’t have much time, as the Archduke evidently wanted to leave immediately. It was now or never.
'General Potiorek, forgive the intrusion - may I have a moment of your time, please?' Breitner asked, as obsequiously as he could.
The Governor barely glanced at him. 'Breitner, I thought I'd made it perfectly clear that the Archduke's visit is not your concern.'
'Forgive me, Your Excellency. My undercover operative has returned. If you would care to hear what he has to say, you'd agree that it's imperative we cancel the remainder of the Archduke's programme.'
Potiorek glared at Breitner, fighting to hide his irritation. 'Cancel the programme? Quite impossible! Didn’t you hear? His Highness has asked to see Colonel von Merizzi in hospital. What kind of intelligence officer are you?'
The Governor pushed past Breitner before he could respond, and went to join the Duchess of Hohenberg, who had swept in holding a small bouquet of flowers. Breitner followed in the forlorn hope that he could make his case directly to the Royal couple and he watched as the Duchess addressed her husband.
'Franzi, are you visiting the wounded without me?'
'Yes, before the off
icial engagement at the museum. My duty is clear, Sophie, but I can't have you exposed to any further danger,' the Archduke replied.
'And what of my duty? I will go with you to the hospital,' the Duchess said and Breitner was once again touched by the affection they had for each other.
'But Your Highness, you are not scheduled to attend the reception at the museum,' Potiorek interjected.
'As long as the Archduke appears in public today, I will be at his side,' the Duchess said firmly, putting an end to the discussion.
No matter how many undercover operatives he ‘conjured up’ for General Potiorek, Breitner knew that in the charged atmosphere it would be futile to suggest abandoning the hospital visit, let alone the rest of the official programme.
He wondered whether von Merizzi, wounded and lying in hospital, regretted persuading the Archduke to come to Sarajevo the previous night. Now it was also on his account that the Archduke was being put in harm's way, yet again.
*
Johnny entered the foyer and began to search for Breitner. This would be his last chance. If the little Hungarian couldn't arrange some sort of commendation, everything Johnny had gone through in Sarajevo would have been for nothing.
'You always remind me of a little boy with his nose pressed up against a sweet shop window.' A smooth liquid voice brought Johnny out of his stupor. The girl in the pink and white dress was standing next to him. She reached across and picked a small grey, metal fragment from the lapel of his jacket. It took Johnny a moment to realise that it was a piece of the bomb casing which Nedjo had thrown. 'A few inches higher and it would have been in your neck,' she said, handing it to him.
'Thank you. Sorry, do I err…?' Johnny bumbled. There was something about her that turned him into a tongue-tied idiot. It was an uncomfortable feeling for him. He usually put the lady aflutter.
She smiled and arched an eyebrow. 'Don't you know me, Krumpli? This might remind you.' And there in the foyer, surrounded by the leading citizens of Sarajevo, she gave a nimble roll of her hips. Johnny choked, suppressing a laugh as he remembered.
‘Sorry, the bomb blast must have knocked the sense out of me.’ It was all coming back: the auburn hair now tightly tied back and those amber eyes. ‘You're the dancer.’
'At last, Krumpli!' she laughed.
‘Why do you keep calling me ‘potato’ in Hungarian?’
‘Well, what else am I to call you? You are as stupid as a potato and you never took the trouble to introduce yourself. Too busy trying to lift my robes.’
‘That’s not exactly true - it was more your veil, actually. I mean, is it any wonder I didn’t recognise you, when the last time we met, you were dressed like that!’ Johnny flushed. 'Anyway, I apologise. My name is Jonathan Swift, but you can call me Johnny.'
‘Johnny,’ she repeated with a smile. He liked the way she said his name, full with the richness of European culture and sophistication. It was as if she were trying something new and foreign, and she liked it.
‘I am Katalin Zhofia Weisz. You may call me Kati.' They shook hands formally. 'At last we meet properly, just as I am about to leave for Belgium.'
'Belgium - you're going to Belgium?' Johnny bit back his disappointment.
'Yes, in the morning. What's wrong with Belgium? My mother was Belgian,' she said defiantly.
'Nothing. I can see that a lot of good things come from Belgium.…’ he replied appreciatively. ‘And lace, chocolate, beer. Why are you going to Belgium? Is that where you’re from?'
'It's for my father’s work - he’s a civil engineer.’ She pointed out a distinguished man milling around with some austere local dignitaries. He was very different from the showy carpetbagger who’d had Johnny sacked.
‘He looks like a very important chap,’ Johnny said.
‘Yes, he’s been specially brought here to advise on the construction of a new railway line. And before you ask, he doesn't know I dance in cafes. That is just for me.’
'Is that your actual father?' Johnny asked, not sure if he could believe anything she said.
Kati rounded on him, self assured and precise. 'I never said that the gentleman at Prosvjeta was my father. You jumped to that conclusion all by yourself, Krumpli.'
'I didn't actually jump to any conclusion. The chief administrator described you as the chap’s daughter,’ Johnny said, starting to remember why he didn’t trust her. 'Do you work for Breitner?'
'Is this really the conversation you want to have, now that we have found each other and we can be ourselves?' Kati put on a mock pout, which sent Johnny reeling.
‘Are you being yourself? Your real self? I mean, you’ve fooled me a number of times.’ Not that that seemed important to Johnny any more.
‘I was just doing my patriotic duty,’ she said with a bored sigh. 'Can we not talk of how you’re going to entertain me, on my last night in Sarajevo?' Kati’s voice implied every type of promise known to man. Johnny looked into her mischievous eyes and couldn’t believe his luck.
She started to make another teasing motion with her hips but Johnny put up a shaking hand to stop her. 'You'll cause a sensation behaving like that at an official reception for the Heir Apparent.'
They'd had a few strange looks already and Johnny could hear a commotion from the reception room; for a moment, he thought he was going to be asked to leave without getting a chance to speak to the Governor.
‘Don’t look so worried, Krumpli. It’s just the Archduke and his wife preparing to leave,’ Kati said in her usual, mocking manner.
Johnny wondered for a moment who was going to drive the Royal couple, if their chauffeur was in custody. He instinctively felt for the chauffeur's cap he'd stuffed into his pocket and knew how he could put things right.
He started to move away. 'Where are you going, Johnny?' Kati's silky voice stopped him for a moment. He looked up, noticing the domed ceiling for the first time, and then at her, but he couldn't let himself be distracted again, not after the terrible mess he'd made of things the last time a pretty girl called his name.
*
Breitner made a quick search of the foyer for Johnny and wasn’t surprised to find him missing. He left the City Hall and found a position at the bottom of the steps, to add what little protection he could to the Heir; as a civil servant Breitner never carried a weapon.
He considered running to his office to try to find his old service pistol, but before he could, the Archduke and his wife rapidly descended the red carpet, hardly acknowledging Sarajevo's municipal officers who were standing along the steps.
The Royal couple looked nervous when they took their seats in the Graf & Stift. As in the previous journey, the Archduke sat on the left hand side of the back seat, with the Duchess to his right and Potiorek directly in front of him, on a pull down chair.
Breitner was thankful to see that von Harrach, the owner of the car, had taken Breitner’s own previous place on the left hand running board of the car next to the Archduke, to shield him from any further attempt on his life. The last attack had come from the riverside of Appel Quay; it stood to reason that they could expect another from that direction on the return journey.
Breitner glanced along the motorcade and saw that the Lord Mayor and the Chief of Police were sitting in the first car, so he made his way towards them to offer his services.
The car pulled out just as Breitner got to it, much to the amusement of the municipal officers on the steps behind him. The second car drove past quickly and then the Archduke’s car lurched in front of him, and to his dismay, Breitner saw that Johnny had dressed himself up as a chauffeur and was driving. He tried to signal to von Harrach, but he was too busy looking along the embankment to pay him any notice.
Breitner jumped onto the running board of the next car in the procession, ignoring the shooting pain in his hand and clung on for dear life. He had a fairly good idea of what Johnny was up to and was determined to prevent the errant young Englishman from causing him any further embarrassment.
&
nbsp; *
Johnny pulled at the chauffeur's jacket, which he was finding a bit loose. He'd been relieved to find it on the front seat where Loyka must have left it to examine the back of the car, but he was starting to wonder if he'd ever wear clothes that fitted again.
All he needed was a chance to talk to the Archduke in person and make him see sense. Although Johnny was starting to question the soundness of his plan, the Archduke hadn't appeared to be in a mood to be trifled with when he climbed into the car. Johnny wondered if driving away from Kati might not have been a bit rash. It may even have been the biggest mistake he'd made so far.
The last time Johnny had driven a car he’d been in Montmartre with Libby and had ended up wrapping Sir George's shiny new Austin Phaeton around the art nouveau railings of Abbesses Station. Johnny was glad that they were going in a straight line along Appel Quay. He was finding the high wooden steering wheel of the Graf & Stift quite awkward and the gear mounting was unfamiliar, which had caused him a bit of a problem as they set off, but he seemed to have got away with it, apart from a few angry curses from the Governor.
Johnny looked out across the river at the grand dome of the Emperor's Mosque and almost swerved. Trifko Grabez was standing by Emperor's Bridge, but he made no attempt to attack the car from Bogdan Zerajic’s historic position. If they’d turned onto the bridge, as General Varesanin had, it might have been a different story.
Johnny steadied himself - so far so good; all he had to do was follow the cars in front. Von Harrach was hanging onto the other side of the Graf & Stift, behind the passengers, and was more concerned about assassins than who was driving.
The two cars in front began to slow down and turn right into Franz Josef Street, following the course that Johnny had seen in the newspaper. He slowed to do the same. He saw the familiar advert for Torley Champagne on the corner of Schiller's delicatessen, and struggling with the steering wheel, managed to execute a half decent turn into the narrow street. He started to straighten up to follow the two cars as they approached the tight, left-hand turn, where the road bent into the main part of Franz Josef Street.
