The Assassins by Alan Bardos (read novel full .TXT) 📕

to avoid the scandal of having a child in England out of wedlock. She’d pretended to be a widow in their new home and had encouraged Johnny to become bilingual in Russian, while he ran around the grand nursery with the children of the house. Johnny had had a natural talent for languages ever since; it was a talent he shared with his uncle and he often wondered if it ran in the family.

Trotsky nodded shrewdly, understanding the implications of what Johnny had just said. ‘So, you would like a greater distribution of wealth to gain justice for your poor oppressed mother, who occupied one of the worst roles in a bourgeois household, with little status amongst the other servants and no doubt attracted the unwanted attentions of the master of the house?’

The master of the house had, in fact, been very kind and only having daughters, had treated Johnny like one of the family. The only unwanted attentions Johnny remembered his mother receiving were from the man who tutored the children in French. Unfortunately, he eventually wore Johnny’s mother down and by the time Johnny was five they’d married and returned to England. It was a shock after the pampered life he’d had in Russia and to add insult to injury his new stepfather had subjected him to a regime of rugby, to toughen him up. He was also determined that Johnny receive the start in life he’d never had, so pushed him to study and made him develop his aptitude for languages.

‘I would like a redistribution of wealth to pursue my class interests and increase the power of the petty-bourgeois.' Johnny said, trying to steer the conversation away from the more colourful aspects of his family history.

'Bravo - and do you plan to do this as a stepping stone towards a revolution and the greater good, or for your own ends?' His lively, intelligent eyes flashed at Johnny, making him uncomfortable; he wasn't used to people listening to him.

'Well, by throwing off the feudal stranglehold the aristocrats have on society,' Johnny nodded towards Barton-Forbes, 'it will allow the dominance of the bourgeois, who will eventually create conditions bad enough for a full scale proletarian revolution.' Johnny hoped that was evasive enough and Trotsky seemed amused by his interpretation of historical materialism. All Johnny wanted to do was clear out the dead wood to make room for his own advancement - maybe then he could regain some of the carefree privilege of his early life.

'Swift, do stop showing off - it's rather vulgar,' Libby said, addressing him in the correct manner that the wife of a senior British diplomat should use when speaking to a member of her husband’s staff. 'Tell Mr Barton-Forbes why you're making a nuisance of yourself.' Trotsky, one step ahead of the forces of oppression, responded to Libby's tone by migrating to another table.

'Come on, out with it man. I haven't got all day,' Barton-Forbes ordered, eager to continue his conversation with Libby.

'I believe the Austro-Hungarians have a problem with pan-Slavic nationalism in their southern provinces,' Johnny said, not really sure where to begin.

'Yes, it's quite exasperating,' Barton-Forbes replied. He had a supercilious manner which Johnny longed to perfect for himself.

'I've been sent here to write a report for you,' Johnny said.

'For me? Reporting what, precisely?'

'Well, that's what I was hoping you could tell me.' Sir George hadn't said 'report' exactly, that was Johnny's interpretation. 'I had something of an open brief from the ambassador in Vienna - to ferret about, in fact.'

Barton-Forbes looked appalled. 'Ferret about? Sir Maurice de Bunsen doesn't request people to ferret about for him!'

'Could you give me details of exactly what you need to know about the Balkan nationalists?' Johnny asked, desperate for this to be over.

'His Britannic Majesty's Embassy in Vienna does not trifle with cranks and anarchists. We deal with governments, and even if we did deal with that type, we certainly wouldn't ask our colleagues in the Paris Embassy for help.'

It was obvious to Johnny then that Sir George had sent him on a wild goose chase, which must have amused him terribly.

'Where does that leave me? I mean, where does one even start?' Johnny asked. He at least needed to find out something to tell Sir George. 'There was a suggestion that I go to Bosnia.'

'Bosnia!' Barton-Forbes exchanged a wry look with Libby. This didn’t seem to him to be a job for a gentleman. 'Well, you could try the consulate in Sarajevo. They might know about the local state of affairs.'

'There’s a British Consulate in Sarajevo?' Johnny asked, trying to hide his relief.

'I believe so - there’s some old sweat down there who’s been sending reports regular as clockwork for twenty five years. If he’s not part of the Consulate then God alone knows what he’s about. Harding-Brown or something, I’d give him a nudge,' Barton-Forbes said and then dismissed Johnny with a curt wave of his hand. 'Now, clear off. Go and send your postcard or something, there's a good chap - the lady and I are talking.'

'Yes, I'll be ready to leave in an hour, Swift. Kindly have a cab ready,' Libby said, playing the part of his superior's wife to the full and then giving him a conspiratorial smile.

Johnny watched the imposing Gothic spires of the Rathaus drift past, as the cab drove them back to their hotel, along the Ringstrasse.

'Pinkie has invited me to stay on for a few days.' Libby's eyes sparkled as she spoke and Johnny didn't think he'd ever seen her so radiant.

It sometimes felt to Johnny that their whole relationship was defined by various car rides. The affair had even begun in a car, when Sir George had instructed Johnny to drive Libby around the boulevards of Paris in his Austin Endcliffe Phaeton 18/24, on her regular shopping excursions.

The idea that the