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

Mayor. To Breitner, at the bottom of the steps, it sounded like, 'Franzi-Franzi.' Whatever it was, it soothed the Archduke. Breitner wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't seen it for himself. The Archduke’s infamous rage had been tamed by a firm hand and a reassuring word.

Franz Ferdinand nodded to the Lord Mayor, 'Oh, well - you can get on with your speech.'

The Lord Mayor stumbled through the rest of his welcome and looked expectantly at the Archduke, causing an awkward silence while he and the Archduke stared at one another.

With a cold shiver, Breitner realised that they were waiting for him. The Archduke needed his speech to return the Lord Mayor's greeting. Von Merizzi had thrust the paper into Breitner's hand as he waited to be taken to hospital. It still had the Colonel's blood on it.

Breitner did his best to wipe off the blood and rushed up the steps to pass the speech to the Archduke. There was another awkward silence as the Archduke looked at the blood, then proceeded as protocol dictated.

'I thank you, Herr Burgermeister, very heartily, for the enthusiastic ovations offered to me and to my wife by the population.'

Breitner looked on with some trepidation as the Archduke continued to read out the prepared text, but the Heir had managed to regain his composure sufficiently to ad lib. 'I thank you all the more as I see in the people an expression of their joy at the failure of the attempt at assassination.' The cheering of the crowd followed the Archduke as he made his way into City Hall.

Its reception rooms had been made in the same neo-oriental style as the exterior, complete with pillars and a large domed ceiling. Seeing the Archduke in this artificial setting, Breitner wondered if all the residents of Sarajevo saw Franz Ferdinand in the same way as the nationalists did, as a new sultan trying to mimic their last conqueror.

If that was indeed what they felt, they were masking it well behind worried expressions and hushed conversations. The local representatives plainly thought Franz Ferdinand would be killed. They knew, even if their Imperial masters didn't, that if there had been one assassin, there more than likely would be more. They couldn't take their eyes off Franz Ferdinand as he marched around like a soldier on parade, in a type of goosestep.

Breitner suspected that the Heir had no other way of calming down, without the soothing influence of his wife. The Duchess of Hohenberg had gone to a separate reception on the first floor for a special viewing of the clothes worn by local Muslim women.

Breitner drifted along behind the Archduke, who was trying to downplay the attempt on his life. 'You mark my words, the assassin will probably, in good Austrian style, be decorated with the Order of Merit or end up as a Privy Councillor instead of being made harmless.'

Breitner laughed dryly - no one else did. Most of the assembled crowd were unaware of the gross incompetence that Breitner had witnessed over the past few days. It wouldn't have surprised Breitner if some idiot did reward the would-be assassin exactly as the Archduke suggested.

'It looks to me that we might still get a few more pot shots today,' the Archduke continued. 'What do you say Potiorek? You said yourself there would be no danger!'

Breitner felt little satisfaction as the Archduke taunted the Governor for his inability to maintain law and order on the streets of his province.

Potiorek flushed and struggled to regain his composure. 'Your Highness, please accept my regrets for this outrage. I take full responsibility, but be assured that all danger has passed.'

The suggestion that there would be no further attempt made on the Archduke's life was so mistaken that Breitner felt compelled to enter the discussion. 'Excuse me, Your Highness. Gentlemen, perhaps we should put out more troops and clear the streets. There must be at least five more armed...'

'We do not need to clear the streets. Do you think Sarajevo is full of assassins?' the Governor barked, interrupting Breitner. Despite his shocked condition, Potiorek knew that any further discussion around the Archduke's security arrangements would only highlight his negligence.

'With respect, Governor, what more proof do you need that there are assassins at large in Sarajevo?' Breitner held up his injured hand.

'We have only seen one,' the Governor replied, looking at Breitner with distaste.

'I will not lock myself away and cower while the streets are cleared of my sovereign people,' the Archduke said. To Breitner's surprise the Archduke had accepted what he had to say and disregarded it without chastising him. Breitner was now at something of a loss, as without knowing the plans of the Young Bosnians, clearing the streets was the only thing he could think of to ensure the Heir's safety.

Governor Potiorek seized the initiative. 'Perhaps Your Highness would consider cutting his programme short and proceeding straight to the Konak for lunch? That would also punish the city for this outrage as the crowd will not have the privilege of welcoming Your Highness.'

'Governor, I’m sorry but changing the programme of events is not enough. We must get His Imperial Highness out of Sarajevo immediately. There are two Young Bosnia cells at large in the city determined to kill His Highness,’ Breitner argued.

'So you keep saying, yet you still haven't conjured up anyone to support your wild accusations,' Potiorek said, finally regaining his poise. 'I've told you Breitner, your help is neither wanted nor desired.'

A gendarme tapped Breitner on the shoulder and for a split second he thought that Potiorek had signalled for him to be arrested. 'Herr Breitner, there is someone from the British Consulate asking to see you.'

*

Johnny stayed close to the wall of the marble atrium, the City Hall’s oriental design providing him with plenty of alcoves in which to hide. He'd already seen