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

know the tyrant will be staying at the Hotel Bosnia; I’ve started to observe it,’ Nedjo said, twirling his sports cap around his finger.

‘You will maintain a low profile, Nedjo. You will not give the game away. The plan will be decided by Ilic and myself in due course when we know what the tyrant’s movements will be when he comes to Sarajevo.’

‘Are you sure that now is the right time to carry out individual acts of vengeance against the Habsburgs, Gavrilo? There are many ways we can serve our cause. We may be able to accomplish more if we delay...’

Gavrilo held up his hand to stop Ilic. ‘Do you forget the harm done to our people by the tyrant, Archduke Franz Ferdinand? Do you lack the resolve to take revenge for what has been done to our people? Or would you rather meet your friends for lunch or talk in kitchens?’ Gavrilo pointed towards the bazaar. ‘Maybe you have been so long living in this place that you have become addled by the cheap trinkets sold in the market and have forgotten the oppression of our people.’

Ilic became sallow. ‘No Gavrilo, I have not lost my resolve.’

‘Good. Nothing will be accomplished by delaying. We must act when the tyrant comes to Sarajevo. Only through our sacrifice will our people ever be freed.’ Gavrilo had come too far to stop now because of some convoluted idea of Ilic’s.

*

A dark haired goddess in sequined muslin was performing the most original rendition of the dance of the seven veils Johnny had ever seen. Harding-Brown watched transfixed, as the secrets behind the veil were finally revealed to him. They were obviously more spectacular than anything he could possibly have imagined.

From a purist's sense it might not have been the most conventional belly dance, but the effect was truly hypnotic. Johnny poured Harding-Brown and himself another glass of wine.

'So you're familiar with the situation in Sarajevo?' Johnny asked.

'Yes-yes,' Harding-Brown replied, unhappy with the distraction.

'Anything you could tell me would be extremely useful.' The two of them had been there half the night and once Harding-Brown had overcome his social embarrassment, he ignored Johnny and focused on the floor show.

‘I mean, a man in your position must have a tremendous amount of contacts,’ Johnny said, persevering. He knew that if his report was to have any credibility he would require something official from the Sarajevo authorities. He assumed they'd have files on local agitators and the dangers they posed to international relations, but to get at them, he would need help.

‘I don’t want you badgering the authorities about nationalism in Bosnia; this is a sensitive time for them - we’ve just received word that the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne will be visiting the province next month, to attend manoeuvres and I can’t have you creating difficulties. I don't really know you from Adam, do I? You could be any old Johnny off the street,' Harding-Brown said, amused by his word play.

'Maybe I should leave. It's getting a bit stuffy.' Panic flickered across Harding-Brown's face. They had a special table at the front, because Johnny was a special customer, and Harding-Brown was under no illusions that if Johnny left he'd have to tip someone to keep it. The lady on stage began to shimmy, rotating her breasts in perfect harmony. Harding-Brown spluttered as he tried to think.

'Nationalism here's a bit of a vexed question. I can't really say I begin to understand it myself.'

'Could you give me some background information? I mean, do you think it’s likely that the South Slavs would join together to revolt against Austro-Hungarian rule?' Johnny asked hopefully. That could be just the thing that Sir George would want to know. A revolt of that kind would seriously destabilise the region and have implications for the rest of Europe. Harding-Brown ignored Johnny until the performance was over and the dancer had left the stage, then he faced him with a sigh.

'I suppose the best example of what the situation is like here can be expressed through the synchronisation of the clocks that belong to the different denominations.'

'Clocks?' Johnny couldn't believe it. Harding-Brown had spent his whole career in one place and the only thing he'd noticed about it was that the clocks didn't keep time.

'Yes. The clock on the Catholic Cathedral is more than a minute ahead of the Orthodox Church's clock and the Muslims' Sahat Tower clock is even further out of sync. These people won't even agree on the time of day, let alone uniting against the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. A lot of them are very happy under its rule.’

'I see.' That made sense - Johnny had wondered about the different clocks chiming out of sync.

'Of course, the Muslim clock is English made, by the same chaps who cast Big Ben, so I'm inclined to err on the side of Islam.' Harding-Brown stopped and looked at his empty glass. Johnny poured him another drink - he was starting to earn it.

'Look, go and see Leo... Leo Pfeffer. He's a jolly nice chap - you can find him in the City Hall.' Harding-Brown handed Johnny his calling card. 'Say I sent you. He’s an investigating judge of the Sarajevo District Court, so if anyone knows what’s going on, he should.' Harding-Brown spun round as the music began and a different dancer took the stage.

Chapter 15

The City Hall had been built by the Austrians in a grand Moorish style, with yellow and orange stone work, battlements and a large galleried entrance. It reminded Johnny of a modern hotel designed to give a taste of the Orient to tourists, but with all the conveniences of the west.

Leo Pfeffer's office, luckily for Johnny, was directly opposite a medical room, so he was able to beg a handful of aspirin from Pfeffer for his hangover.

‘Sorry, Mr Swift, but