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

drew Johnny into a cafe that looked as if it had been converted out of the owner’s front room. He ordered a pipe and a bottle of wine. The sweet watermelon flavoured tobacco gave him a head rush and blew his frustration away. He wasn’t sure how much longer his money would last, but he was determined to make the most of it while he could.

Johnny was halfway through his second bottle and a helping of apple flavoured tobacco when a conversation behind him drew his attention. Johnny tried to ignore it and concentrate on his binge, however something in what was said drew him out of his stupor.

'The South Slavs must unite and fight the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy with force.'

‘We should do it soon, while we still can. The Austro-Hungarian Heir is coming to our home for manoeuvres that are surely a dress rehearsal for an invasion of Serbia.’

Johnny turned around and found himself face to face with a group of belligerent looking men, not much older than he was. They immediately stopped talking and stared at Johnny, with hard, unflinching eyes. He glanced around the cafe and noticed for the first time, murals depicting bloody medieval battles.

The people in the cafe didn’t say anything to him, they just stared, which was unnerving, but Johnny had enough presence of mind to finish his wine before leaving. He wasn’t beaten yet. Just because the authorities didn’t know that there were nationalist feelings afoot in their city, didn’t mean they weren’t there.

The next day he returned to the City Hall, as he’d been instructed by the Chief of Detectives. A short dapper man in his twenties greeted Johnny with a wry, unsymmetrical smile and signalled for him to sit down.

'Laszlo Breitner?' Johnny asked.

'You must be the intrepid Englishman, sent to tame the savage hordes of the East,' the man replied, in clear, if accented English.

Johnny smiled and sat down in front of Breitner. He glanced around the office, which looked like a converted storeroom. He'd had a terrible time trying to find it, until someone directed him down to the basement.

'Do you think you could help?' Johnny asked.

Breitner thought for a moment before answering; he seemed to be taking Johnny's measure. Johnny sat up, adopting a no-nonsense, straight talking persona, which seemed to amuse Breitner and make up his mind to help him.

'Tell me, Mr Swift, what do you know about the current situation in Bosnia and Herzegovina?' Johnny couldn't place his accent, it wasn't German or Bosnian.

'I don't know much about what's going on in Bosnia apart from that a lunatic tried to assassinate the Governor.'

'A lunatic? What nonsense!' Breitner raised an eyebrow and Johnny realised that he was Hungarian. He thought about replying in Hungarian but Breitner was starting to make him feel silly. He didn't want to risk aggravating the situation. He decided to stick to what he was sure of. 'Yes, you can tell he was a lunatic by the shape of his skull.'

'You didn't let our good Chief of Detectives intimidate you with that skull?'

'But the chap, Zerajic, must have been deranged. He shot himself,' Johnny said, trying to regain some of his dignity. The Chief of Detectives had made it sound so obvious.

'This lunatic, as you call him, was Bogdan Zerajic - an icon for the Young Bosnia Nationalist Movement.'

Johnny's ears pricked up. 'Sorry - what movement?' He hadn’t heard that name before and took out his notebook, wondering if this funny little chap might actually know something.

Breitner put on a pair of pince-nez, as he got down to business. 'I understand you're interested in the nationalist movements within Bosnia and Herzegovina, and obviously the difficulties they present to stability and good order in the Balkans, particularly in any effects their activities may have on the rather strained diplomatic situation between Serbia and the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy?'

'Yes, I suppose so.' Johnny hadn't heard it put quite so succinctly before and quickly wrote it down, which entertained Breitner.

'The main nationalist threat to the Austro-Hungarian administration in this province comes from the younger generation, from people of student age, some a bit younger, some a bit older - most are 19. Your age, I'd imagine?'

'Yes, that's right sir,' Johnny answered. 'Is that important?'

'The older generation has pretty much accepted our rule, so they are less eager to adopt violence as a political weapon to force rapid change.' There was a look in Breitner's eyes, as if he was still trying to decide something. It made Johnny uncomfortable.

'The Mlada Bosna' or 'Young Bosnia' is the term increasingly applied to these peasant students who like to form secret societies and plot a revolution that will unite the South Slav people and destroy the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy.'

Johnny wrote down the information; it had sparked something in his memory - the people he’d overheard the previous night had said something like that. ‘I’ve heard similar talk in cafes here.’

Breitner raised a questioning eyebrow. ‘Have you now? That’s surprising - maybe you’re not as artless as you pretend to be.’

'The thing I don't understand is that the other local officials I've spoken to told me that there isn't a nationalist problem in Bosnia,' Johnny said, too overcome with excitement to worry about Breitner’s backhanded compliment. At last he felt as if he was getting somewhere.

'As I say, they're young and haven't committed any major outrage in Bosnia so largely go unnoticed and ignored by the authorities. Zerajic should have been their wake up call.'

Johnny stopped taking notes - he was still going round in circles. 'The police carried out a full investigation of Zerajic and found nothing to connect him with a conspiracy or a movement.'

'Did the police speak to everyone who knew him? Did they tell them the truth?' Breitner asked.

Johnny shrugged. From his limited experience, he assumed that it wouldn’t occur to