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

the face of a few scrawny schoolboys, giving the nationalists a major victory.'

The Colonel glanced briefly in Breitner's direction, evidently remembering their earlier conversation. 'Perhaps most importantly, an early return to Vienna by Your Highness would cause deep offence to the loyal Croat and Muslim members of the population, whose support is needed so badly to maintain the balance of power in the region.'

'Very well, Colonel, you make a fair point. We will proceed as originally planned,' the Archduke said cheerfully and then returned to his brandy and cigars. Breitner knew there would be no disturbing him now and made a hasty retreat. He would have to face, ‘The Ogre’ single-handedly in the morning. Then his duty would finally be done.

*

Gavrilo Princip was in a pensive mood, distancing himself from his bohemian friends in the wine shop. He had no wish to join their revelry. He needed to order his thoughts and prepare himself; he could not repeat the uncertainty he had suffered a few days previously.

Gavrilo had been making his way home past the artisan shops of the old town, through the streets he'd been walking since studying at the Merchant School. It had been unusually crowded and Gavrilo had found himself caught up in a swirling mass of people. Fighting to make his way through, Gavrilo had seen the solid figure of Franz Ferdinand. ‘The Tyrant’ had been cheerfully shopping for carpets with his wife, enjoying the spectacle he was creating at the centre of the fawning mass.

Princip's blood ran cold at the memory. Caught off guard, he'd been gripped by indecision, allowing the crowd to push and pull him after the Heir. If he'd had his pistol he could have finished the tyrant there and then, he’d realised. Gavrilo had known that he might not get a chance as good as this one during the Heir’s official visit. He’d deliberated running home as his lodgings were only a few streets away, but he had seen a policeman behind him. If he’d started running he was sure to have attracted unwanted attention. Even if he’d had his gun it had been so crowded that he could have easily shot the tyrant's wife by accident.

In the end, he had done nothing and was disgusted with himself. He hadn't acted when he had the chance and he was starting to question whether he'd be able to do so when the Heir came to Sarajevo.

Jevtic put his arm around Princip and tried to encourage him to sing but Princip shrugged him off. 'Come Gavro, you have been in a foul mood ever since the Heir arrived in Bosnia. With your past, people will make the connection and become suspicious.'

Princip looked at his friend, wondering if he'd understood that he was using him to hide from police spies. 'The day they arrived, I saw them - the Heir and his wife. I could have freed our people in an instant, had I not been so concerned about hitting his wife.'

'Don't worry about that preening tyrant, Gavro - he's too busy tightening his corset and stuffing his face to be of any concern to us. Drink and sing!' Jevtic handed him a cup of wine. Gavrilo took the cup, and unable to resist his friend's good humour, drank alcohol for the first time in his life.

Gavrilo's apprehension faded with the wine and he began to sing of Blackbird’s Field and the heroes of Kosovo, who'd fought so valiantly for their people. Princip looked through the window. He could just make out Lateiner Bridge in the twilight - tomorrow he would join their fight.

*

Johnny felt the tug on his trousers again and spun round, then almost choked. Libby was dressed in the most extraordinary get up, with feathers, tassels and garters. He only had a second to take in the apparition before she hissed in his ear.

'Stop gawping. You're at the wrong wheel – idiot!'

'What?' Johnny managed to splutter, before she disappeared into a sea of admirers. Libby had said to go to the second wheel in the middle row, which he had. He examined the wheel, which was spinning gracefully, its smooth unblemished wood gleaming in the reflected light. Johnny swore - the one with the 'bias' had a scratch on the side where it must have been dropped and he'd forgotten to check. Libby had said that the club's management might move the wheels around, to stop people taking advantage of the biased wheel.

Johnny gathered up his remaining chips and readjusted himself. Libby had looked quite stunning - apparently her General had organised a hostess position for her in the club. What that entailed hadn't been made entirely clear to Johnny. He'd naturally assumed that it would be something akin to a society hostess, offering guests scones and cucumber sandwiches from a tiered cake stand. It hadn't occurred to him that it would be ‘that’ sort of hostess. Not that Johnny really cared - one night of playing dress up wouldn't hurt her. He was the one taking all of the risks, while she sashayed about in feathers.

He found the scratched roulette wheel in the next row along and placed his bets as before, spreading the chips across the enchanted numbers. This time, nineteen came up straight away.

*

Princip left the wine shop, suitably fortified and began a final pilgrimage to the grave of Bogdan Zerajic. He knew the others from his cell would be going there too, but he preferred to pay his respects in private.

Staggering along Appel Quay he could picture General Varesanin's coach driving back to his residence after the opening of Parliament - the coach slowing as it turned onto Emperor’s Bridge. He imagined Bogdan Zerajic, as he pointed his pistol at the Governor's coach. Zerajic had missed his opportunity against Franz Josef a few weeks before, when he could not bring himself to shoot, but he would not