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

is calling for a conference to solve the crisis. If you know anything that could help bring about a diplomatic solution, I might overlook your collaborating with a foreign power, but otherwise...'

Sir George let his voice trail off and Johnny knew that he’d make it his personal business to use the letter of commendation from Count Tisza to destroy him. As much as Johnny disliked Sir George, there was clearly a lot he could learn from him - maybe not as much as he'd learnt from his wife, but even so, he was the person to latch on to and ride his coat-tails to success. Johnny saw no other option than to tell Sir George everything he knew and hope it would work to his advantage. He did his best to describe what he felt should be done to prevent a war, based on what he'd seen and heard in Bosnia and Vienna, meeting everyone from Breitner and Princip to Count Tisza and the Russian Imperial Ambassador to Vienna. When he finished, to his amazement, Sir George was dazzled.

'Come on, we're clearing out of here.' Sir George started shuffling papers into his briefcase.

'Where to?'

'London, of course - can't keep something like that to ourselves.'

'Shouldn't we see the Ambassador?'

'The French are expected to begin mobilisation at any moment. Now is not a good time to be in Paris - we're right in the firing line here. In 1870 the Hun was knocking at the door in no time.' Sir George rang for his assistant and turned back to Johnny.

'I'll send a telegram to Sir Edward requesting a meeting. In the meantime, you can spend the August Bank Holiday weekend in London with your family.'

Johnny was astonished - Sir George was actually going to take him along. People of Johnny’s grade weren’t received by Sir Edward Grey, the Foreign Secretary. Nevertheless, the idea of spending a bank holiday weekend with his parents didn't thrill him.

'Will Lady Smyth be joining us?' Johnny asked.

'No, she'll be staying here.' Sir George was too busy packing to notice Johnny’s disappointment.

London was filled with bank holiday sightseers drawn to the metropolis by the sunny weather and the pending conflict. Johnny was back among the privet hedges of his parents’ South Ealing home, enjoying a cauliflower cheese supper.

W. G. Swift, Johnny’s stepfather, a bull necked ex-hooker famous throughout Wales for his brutality on and off the rugby pitch, was sitting at the family dinner table in a stiff winged collar. “Swift, The Language” looked more like a Prussian diplomat than the learned schoolmaster, who'd taught Johnny everything he knew.

Johnny’s mother, Grace, smiled at him affectionately, pleased to have her boy back. Grace had been a wayward young governess, forever destined to pay for her mistake in having Johnny out of wedlock. Yet the light hadn't faded from her eye and her charisma had been sufficient to catch a man willing to take on as precocious and troublesome a brat as her son.

'I hope you've kept up your studies while you've been away,' W.G. Swift said.

'Yes, I have,' Johnny replied in Serbo-Croat.

'That's something, I suppose,' his stepfather said begrudgingly.

'As a matter of fact, my language skills are in great demand. I was even called upon to translate for the Imperial Russian Ambassador in Vienna,' Johnny said, pleased with himself.

'”Called upon” was it? Like some fetch and carry servant.' The words stung, but Johnny knew that he meant well. His stepfather was a strict adherent to the values of Prince Albert, believing that a person's character could be moulded through discipline, hard work, and moral and intellectual guidance - certainly not by showing off at the dinner table.

'Do you suppose you might be "called upon" to sit out the war, with your language skills?' his stepfather asked derisively.

'Well, yes, as a matter of fact, one has made oneself indispensable. That is to say, if there is war, which one rather suspects there won't be.' Johnny winked at his mother who turned away to hide her smile.

'Oh, you think that's funny do you? You'll be laughing on the other side of your face soon enough, boy. The Russians have begun full mobilisation, Germany has answered by declaring war on them and now France has begun to mobilize. What do you think about that?'

'Yes, that does sound bad, but I'm sure it can all be stopped. If there is a war, Great Britain may not necessarily be involved and if we are it's highly unlikely that we'll send an expeditionary force.'

'I see - heard that from one of your colleagues in the Diplomatic Service?'

'It was a former member of the Committee for Imperial Defence, actually.'

'You mark my words, you'll be getting your call up papers soon enough. You're in the reserves aren't you?'

There it was, the real reason for this tirade, Johnny realised. His stepfather still hadn't forgiven him for getting expelled from school and joining the army to keep his “uncle” happy.

'I am a Special Reserve Officer, but I'm sure I can get some kind of deferment, as I'm involved in quite high level work,' Johnny said, hoping that would show he hadn't wasted the time W.G. Swift had invested in him. He wanted him to know that he was making good on the opportunities given to him - opportunities his stepfather had never had.

'My God! Where are your guts? If your country needs you to fight, boy - you fight. I didn't bring you up to be a shirker!'

Johnny recoiled. He’d completely misjudged his stepfather’s mood. 'I'll do my bit for King and Country in the Diplomatic Service, where my skills will be of most value,' Johnny said firmly, sticking to his guns. If Nedjo Cabrinovic could face the fury and disappointment of his father, so could he.

'Thank you for the postcard you sent by the way, Johnny,' his mother