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

of his uncle's rule, but he'd always been taught to revere the position of Emperor, and he held the old man in the deepest respect.

'If Your Majesty so commands, I am more than willing to do my duty.'

'Quite so.' The Emperor expected nothing less.

Franz Ferdinand didn't feel it was worth mentioning that the police had received warnings of assassination plots. Such things were common when dealing with the volatile people of the Balkans. The King of Greece had been murdered last year and the Serb Royal Family had been gunned down and hacked to pieces in their own palace. The Croatian Secretary of Education had been murdered and the Imperial Governors of Bosnia and Croatia had been shot at and wounded.

The Archduke would not be prevented from doing his duty by thugs. Even the Emperor had been attacked by a Hungarian nationalist and had brushed shoulders with an assassin when he visited Bosnia. Yet he still took walks on his own, a tempting target for any radical crackpot. His maxim was, 'If we must go under, we'd better go decently.'

Franz Ferdinand wholeheartedly agreed. He'd been humiliated enough by the mob when he’d visited Herzegovina and Dubrovnik in 1906 and he would not disgrace himself by refusing to go to the Balkans again.

The Emperor inclined his head to the side, his usual way of saying an audience was over. ‘It’s been a pleasure,’ he concluded. Franz Ferdinand baulked; he was being dismissed like a common petitioner at one of the Emperor’s weekly audiences.

'Your Majesty, if I'm to attend the manoeuvres, might it be possible for the Duchess of Hohenberg to accompany me?' Now that the Archduke had assented to the Emperor's wishes, he felt that it was time to ask for something in return.

The Emperor looked world-weary and annoyed. He'd thought the audience was over. 'Yes-yes, what of it? Did she not accompany you at the autumn manoeuvres?'

'As I'll be visiting Sarajevo in a military capacity, I believe protocol permits my wife to accompany me on the official state functions.'

Franz Josef gave him an astute look and Franz Ferdinand knew what he was thinking. The heir to the throne wanted the commoner he'd married to play at being Empress, for the day. Franz Ferdinand suppressed his fury. Then the Emperor smiled. Had being old and lonely made him whimsical, Franz Ferdinand wondered. Perhaps he didn't want any further confrontation, or maybe he remembered how his unflinching belief in protocols had driven away his Sissi, his angel. Whatever it was, the Emperor was giving his consent. 'Do as you wish.'

Chapter 12

Johnny Swift fought the urge to fidget with his collar while he waited for Mr Harding-Brown to mull over his request. Johnny had caught him during his mid-morning repast and every new mouthful he took gave him the opportunity to ignore his visitor.

By the look of Harding-Brown, Johnny thought that he must have spent the past twenty five years completing meaningless forms and memos. All he had was the simple pleasure of a hotly-buttered muffin. For Johnny, it was like seeing his future laid out before him and it almost made him want to give up there and then.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You say you’re from the Paris Embassy?’ Harding-Brown asked, his eyes flickering enviously as he said the word ‘Paris’.

‘That’s right, sir.’ Johnny replied smugly.

Harding-Brown finished his muffin and Johnny hoped that he was at last going to turn his mind to helping him. ‘And you say the Honourable Barton-Forbes told you to come and see me?’ Harding-Brown was clearly perplexed and irritated by the interruption to his daily routine.

‘Yes, Mr Harding-Brown.’

‘But what on Earth for?’

Johnny felt sweat sting the back of his neck and at last allowed himself to show the weakness of adjusting his collar in front of a superior. He’d had to battle the summer heat as he trudged through the strange sights of Sarajevo trying to find the British Consulate and now it looked as if his efforts had all been for nothing.

‘I fail to understand why you’re here. I believe the briefings I’ve been sending to Vienna are perfectly adequate,’ Harding-Brown stated grandly.

‘There is no implied criticism of yourself,’ Johnny said. He hadn’t anticipated his arrival putting Harding-Brown on the defensive. Johnny glanced round the drab little office; there were no Imperial fixtures and fittings and he realised that there wouldn’t be anywhere left for the man to fall if he was cast out of a consulate in the backwoods of nowhere.

‘From what I understand, your efforts are very much up to the mark, which is why I was advised to come and see you. I’m here purely to supplement the excellent work you’ve already produced, with the hope that I will be able to put together a more immediate picture of events,’ Johnny said, with all of the false servility he could muster in the circumstances.

‘Are you suggesting that my work isn’t up to date or relevant?’ Harding-Brown asked, steadily building himself up into a rage.

‘No, not at all. I’ll be happy with background information about the political situation over here, or if you could at least point me in the direction of someone who can provide it.’

‘Everything that is salient, to the past, present and future political situation in Bosnia, is in my reports. I won’t have you suggesting otherwise to the people in Vienna, Paris or Timbuktu for that matter!’

‘I don’t think you understand the purpose of my assignment. Honest…’ Johnny ran out of words; this man was too practised in the subtle Civil Service arts of obstruction, for Johnny to overcome.

‘Honest! - Honest!’ Harding-Brown mimicked in a mock cockney accent, while adopting the relaxed, supercilious expression of Barton-Forbes. It was the same look Johnny had received all his life from his social superiors and now it would seem, also from washed out old