The Dardanelles Conspiracy Alan Bardos (reading a book txt) 📖

their lines of communication open with Constantinople, via Bulgaria and Romania. So, I shouldn’t be surprised if they are sending everything from shells to Schnapps down there. You are also highly likely to encounter Germans going to Turkey as military advisors, so be on your guard.’

‘Getting a train all sounds very ordinary and commonplace, but isn’t it a risk?’ Johnny suggested, wondering how he would get across the Balkans and into Turkey unnoticed. ‘Especially if the line’s infested with Germans?’

Whittall raised a frustrated eyebrow at the other two. ‘You will travel with British credentials to Sofia and from there you will pose as a German Embassy official. A courier, carrying diplomatic correspondence from the Embassy. Constantinople is flooded with Germans, one more crossing the border won’t make much of a difference.’

‘You have papers?’ Johnny asked.

‘Naturally,’ Whittall said, handing Johnny a bundle of documents. ‘This is the usual bumph, diplomatic passport etcetera, etcetera. So there won't be any difficulty getting across the Turkish border.’

‘No indeed, you could go anywhere with this,’ Johnny said absentmindedly skimming through the papers.

‘Swift, there will be people watching you, so no more funny business or you will be shot,’ Fitzmaurice threatened.

Johnny grinned. He had no intention of running. Not if he could actually make amends for what he’d done and help the men he’d left at the front.

‘We went to the trouble of collecting those papers from a charming German diplomat, while we were in Venice,’ Whittall said. ‘So we would appreciate you looking after them. Oh, and actually handing the diplomatic papers in at the German Embassy in Constantinople. It’s just dross, but I’m sure it will make the Boche happy to receive it.’

Johnny looked at the passport. The name printed on the front was Ernst von Jager. ‘Can’t I at least be a Graf, to have a bit of authority should I get into trouble?’

'No, it's the name of the poor unfortunate we got the papers from,' Eady said.

'This is an actual person?' Johnny asked and Fitzmaurice sighed.

'Yes, not a degenerate in your league, but bad enough to leave him susceptible to our overtures. I was hoping to use his papers for a real agent, but needs must and all that.’ Fitzmaurice turned to Eady and Whittall. ‘Gentlemen, I think you can take care of the sordid details without me. If I sit through much more of this charade, it will ruin my digestion.’

Fitzmaurice stumbled out of the cabin and Johnny took his cue to ask about the sordid details.

‘Presumably one will be provided with… funds for the purchase of food and incidentals?’

‘Yes-yes of course, as I said, everything you need is in your portfolio,’ Whittall said testily, prompting Johnny to have a closer look at the pack he had been given. He was pleased to find that it contained two thick, neatly bound stacks of currency.

With that settled, Johnny felt confident to ask about his diplomatic mission. ‘Who is the intermediary, in Constantinople, you want me to contact?’

‘It is currently expedient for us to use the Grand Rabbi of Constantinople as intermediary. He knows Talat and may be able to influence him,’ Eady said dispassionately. ‘Also, the Grand Rabbi is pro-Allied and Mr Whittall here has reason to trust him.’

Whittall waved his agreement. Once you are safely in Constantinople, a letter of introduction will be given to you for the Grand Rabbi, asking that he convey our offer to Talat and request that he meet with us to conduct formal negotiations.’

‘You are to be courteous to the Grand Rabbi and convey the goodwill of our country. While pressing upon him that if he wishes to save his country from destruction, at the hands of the Royal Navy, he should move heaven and earth to do all he can to help us bribe his government.’ Like Laszlo Breitner, Griffin Eady could make the most insane idea sound logical and plausible and, like Breitner, he seemed intent on getting Johnny killed.

‘A reservation has been made for you at the Pera Place Hotel.’ Eady paused before pointedly adding, ‘The rest is down to you – God help us!’

Chapter 12

Laszlo Breitner immersed himself in green thermal water, the heat soothing his aching leg and for a brief moment washing away his frustration.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the lavish gold and white decor of the vaulted ceiling and wondered if the hamam dated back to the Byzantine Empire or was Ottoman in origin. Breitner’s grandfather, with his painstaking eye for detail, would have been able to determine such things.

Breitner allowed his mind to drift back. Every Saturday afternoon he would accompany his father to the thermal baths. Afterwards he would go and see his Grandfather, who took him to the Café Gerbeaud. Breitner would gaze up at its vaulted ceiling and eat walnut ice cream while his Grandfather told him stories of the past glories of the Habsburg Empire. Revelling in how ancestors of theirs had fought in the army that turned the Ottoman hoards back from the gates of Vienna, saving Europe and then driving them from Budapest all the way back to the Balkans.

Laszlo Breitner had been brought up to believe that the Ottoman Empire was the enemy, the bogeyman in the night. Now, by some ironic twist of fate, he'd been sent to its capital as an ally.

No doubt, Breitner mused, if he’d become a scholar like his grandfather had wanted, he might have been able to put it all in its correct historical context, other than the simple truth that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.

However, Breitner’s father had sent him into the military to serve what had become the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. Where he could re-enact the noble deeds of his ancestors, a legacy that he had been unable to live up to, ill-suited as he was to the excess of