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

Breitner had used the letter of authority from the Governor's office to deliver the wine, which caused some consternation for the wine waiter. He felt badly for the man as he had to rush about making last minute changes to the menu, but Breitner had needed a reason to be at the hotel, and using the local wine may even have helped to cement the loyalty of the local population.

The meal had begun with cream soup, a soufflé and local trout, followed by a main course of chicken, lamb, and beef with asparagus and salad, and was finishing with pineapple cream and burning brandy, a cheese selection and ice creams and sweets, all of which were complemented by a dry Madeira, several clarets, a Rhine wine, champagne and Breitner's favourite, Hungarian Tokay. He could almost taste the rich, honey nectar.

He had observed from the wings as each new course was served, trying to gauge Franz Ferdinand's reaction. He was there ostensibly to answer any questions the guests might have about the Zilavka. Not that he could tell them much, except that it was a white wine which you could buy by the case, at short notice. He watched with some trepidation as the Zilavka was served. Fortunately, the Archduke seemed to enjoy it without question, so everyone else did too.

If the Archduke stayed in such good spirits, Breitner thought that he might be able to approach him without too much fear. He began to turn his thoughts to the problem of what he'd actually say to him. He still had very little proof that there was going to be an assassination attempt; the Heir presumptive had already ignored the previous warnings and without the Governor's endorsement it would be difficult to persuade him to cancel his visit to Sarajevo.

The room suddenly went quiet. One of the diners, happy in his cups, had made an inappropriate comment. Not quite realising what he'd said, the unfortunate guest looked around in shock and then seeing that all eyes were on the Heir Apparent, he addressed his comments directly to the Archduke. 'I know Your Highness takes an active interest in such matters... I was merely commenting on whether or not Count Tisa would fall into line with policy in the Austrian half of the Dual Monarchy?'

Breitner took a step back; he knew exactly how the Archduke would respond. 'All the difficulties which we have in the Monarchy arise exclusively from the so-called noble, gentlemanly Magyar - that most infamous, anti-dynastic, lying, unreliable fellow!' The Archduke shouted his rage across the table at the local dignitaries, including several Hungarian civil servants.

'None is worse than that scoundrel Prime Minster of theirs, Tisza, who is a dictator in Budapest and would like to be the same in Vienna. All of the current problems in the Monarchy are down to the Magyar.'

Breitner choked back his indignation. The Archduke's attack had deeply offended him, but he remained determined to do his duty. Franz Ferdinand would after all, one day be the king of those infamous, anti-dynastic, lying, unreliable fellows.

'The Ogre' had been woken and Breitner knew that he would never be able to approach Franz Ferdinand directly now as the Archduke wouldn't listen to anything he had to say. Not that Breitner was a Magyar aristocrat, far from it. He was perhaps something worse in the Archduke's eyes - a fake or 'pinchbeck' Magyar.

Breitner looked around the stunned guests for a possible intermediary. He considered General Conrad von Hotzendorf, the Chief of Staff, as he'd known him in the old days, but the combination of the both of them approaching the Archduke might bring back memories better left forgotten. Breitner's eyes finally came to rest on the only woman present, Her Highness the Duchess Sophie of Hohenberg. She'd been seated away from her husband, between the Orthodox and Catholic bishops, and was attempting to politely continue her conversation with them after her husband's eruption. Breitner knew from his contacts in Vienna that Sophie held reservations about the visit to Bosnia, reservations he might well be able to exploit.

*

Johnny began to dress for an evening at the casino while Libby explained her new trick. 'You must have heard of the man who broke the bank at Monte Carlo?'

'I know the song. It's your favourite,' Johnny answered, putting on his new shirt. The arms were a bit long but it was the best that the hotel could manage at short notice.

Libby grabbed his shirt sleeve and started to put in his cufflinks. 'You haven't heard of Joseph Jaggers - and you call yourself a gambler?'

'I don't call myself a gambler, Libby. If anything I'm a sportsman.' That made Libby laugh.

'Oh, really, Johnny. You'll be calling yourself a gentleman next.' She finished putting in the cufflinks and began to struggle with his collar.

Johnny grinned and attempted a West Country burr. He liked to play at being the humble servant to her corrupting mistress of the house. 'I ain't no gentleman, right and proper. Just a humble civil servant true enough, but I'm the best you'll ever get.'

'That blatantly isn't true, is it, Johnny?' Libby smiled patiently. It was a tired old joke. 'Anyway, the point is that Joseph Jaggers was a mill engineer. He recorded and studied the results of roulette wheel spins in Monte Carlo.'

'Why would someone do something so pointlessly dull?' Johnny asked, putting on his trousers. The waist was too big, making him feel like a clown.

'Mr Jaggers wanted to identify if the roulette wheels had a "bias".'

'I think we both know roulette wheels have a bias, towards me anyway.' He was starting to think this whole thing might be some elaborate ploy to make a fool of him.

'A bias is a mechanical error in a roulette wheel that prevents it from depositing the ball in a random pocket when it's spun. So