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

war. Excitement began to take him over. His ignoble past had been forgotten in the necessity of war. He would be given a purpose, a purpose for which he’d been born.

'Counterintelligence?' Von Grubber snorted. 'No, nothing quite so belligerent. I fear you may have misunderstood me. Your position at the embassy will be strictly ceremonial.'

'Ceremonial? I don't understand.'

'Forgive me, Major Breitner, you once held a position with his Imperial and Royal Majesty’s High Court Chamberlain.' Von Grubber took a sip of his coffee.

'Yes, years ago,' Breitner said. 'I was attached to his department when I served in military intelligence.'

It hadn’t been a happy time for Breitner. Despite running a successful operation, as the enforcer of court protocols, he'd made enemies.

'You have no idea how hard it is to find good help, Major. Let alone someone who learnt their craft under the excellent Prince Montenuovo. So naturally when I became aware of your existence, I moved heaven and earth to get you,' von Grubber said.

'The Prince recommended me?' Breitner asked, shocked.

'Alas no. However you were recommended to me by someone whose opinion I value. Or else I wouldn't have entertained the idea of using an individual with your somewhat ignoble history,' Von Grubber said with a slight reproof in his voice.

'I am grateful for the opportunity,' Breitner said, trying to sound deferential.

'I should think so. Your principal purpose is to look after prominent subjects of the Monarchy in Constantinople, taking care of any difficulties they might have with the authorities. Also to liaise with our opposite numbers in other embassies to ensure that correct protocols are followed at all times.'

'I will execute my duties to the best of my abilities,' Breitner said, trying to bear the humiliation. He was to be an embassy lackey.

'As I would expect. Now let us discuss your first assignment.' Von Grubber handed Breitner the sheet of paper he’d been toying with earlier and picked up another pastry.

Chapter 13

Johnny Swift had always loved the sensual pleasures of the flesh and intended to take them as often as he could, where he could and in as much quantity as he could. He felt it was no more than he deserved after the gruelling journey to Sofia. A splendid meal at a restaurant that resembled a woodcutter’s cabin was just what he deserved.

He glanced at his watch. He doubted he’d have time to work his magic on one of the local women or even find a house of ill repute, before the night train to Constantinople.

He finished his dessert and poured the last of the wine. It reminded him of the stuff he’d get in a café on the Rue Gabrielle. Which he thought must have been his favourite street in Montmartre. He'd had a wonderful time in Paris before the war. It had been a pleasure to do routine administrative work in a city like that, but he’d never met anyone as obliging or resourceful as Staff Nurse Gabrielle Lee-Perkins.

He yearned for her frantic whispers in French - mon biquet. The feel of her opulent body against him, the firm bow of her lips, the fever of her hips on him and of course her kindness and intelligence.

Johnny scribbled a few lines to that effect on the back of his bill, it would serve to tell her that he was alive. He searched through the bumph Whittall had given him. Took the diplomatic papers out of their envelope and placed the bill inside. Then crossed out the German embassy address and wrote in the details of Gabrielle‘s hospital.

A waiter started to clear the table. Johnny gave him a wad of notes and told him to post the letter.

There was an uncomfortably large number of Germans and Austro-Hungarians milling around the station. From the look of them, soldiers and sailors on their way to Constantinople.

Shuffling along the platform, Johnny pushed his way through the mix of enemy languages that were being spoken around him and went into a café. He ordered a plum brandy, inhaling the sweet fumes and poured down the burning liquid.

He ordered another and started to feel steadier. All he had to do now was get to Constantinople, keep his head down and wait for someone to give him a letter for the Grand Rabbi.

‘Do you know what platform the trains to Constantinople go from?’ Johnny asked a waiter in loud German.

The man didn’t understand what he was saying, but pointed towards the window. A train was standing on the other side of the station, surrounded inevitably by massing crowds of Germans.

Johnny ordered two bottles of plum brandy. He had no idea how long the journey would take, but if he was going to get through this without giving himself away, he would need to be well stocked.

The Germans in the café started to sing a drinking song. It drew Johnny back to long winter nights in the mud. It was as equally cheery as it was unnerving. If they were singing, they were less likely to try and kill you, but the sound was a constant reminder that the enemy were no more than a few hundred yards away.

At least back then he had his platoon with him. Johnny would have been glad even to have had Crassus Dawkins with him now, sponging drinks while telling him what a disgrace he was.

He left the café and forced himself to take slow easy steps across to the next platform and skirted around the Germans. He inadvertently made eye contact with a tough Viking-looking chap sporting a fine blonde moustache. He was talking to a large jolly officer holding up an empty bottle of Schnapps, turning it upside down and shaking it to demonstrate how empty it was.

The Viking eyed the brandy Johnny was carrying. Johnny looked at the ground and carried on. A loud screech filled