The Assassins Alan Bardos (primary phonics .TXT) 📖

drawer and handed it to Ciganovic. 'Take this and teach them to shoot.’ He glanced back at Grabez. ‘I'll make the necessary arrangements for your return home.'

He dismissed them and headed for Belgrade Fortress, the traditional halfway point between Constantinople and Vienna for warring armies. It bore the scars from centuries of battle; they'd almost come to symbolise Serbia's continuous struggle to resist invasion and subjugation.

The Major saluted the sentries on the clock gate and passed into the upper town of the old citadel. The man he sought within these walls was the living embodiment of that struggle for freedom - Colonel Dragutin Dimitrijevic, Director of Serbian Military Intelligence.

Tankosic entered the general headquarters of the army and was shown into Dimitrijevic's office. He was sitting at his desk hunched over a report. The Colonel had been nicknamed Apis, after the ancient Egyptian bull god, and Tankosic thought him well named. Dimitrijevic's strength and force of personality were immediate.

The Major had been with him in 1903 when a cadre of officers stormed the Royal Palace, assassinating Aleksandar Obrenovic, the King who'd turned Serbia into an Austrian vassal, and his hated wife, Draga. Apis had been seriously wounded and still carried three bullets he'd taken that night.

Apis looked up from his report briefly. 'Major, what can I do for you?'

'Ciganovic has brought me some Young Bosnians. They want to go back home. Do you have any objections?

'Of course not,' the Colonel answered, still engrossed in his report.

'They want to attempt something against Franz Ferdinand when he visits Sarajevo next month,' Tankosic replied, and then waited as Apis considered his request.

The Major knew Apis shared his view that Archduke Franz Ferdinand would not be happy until he had Serbia stuffed and mounted as a trophy to his Imperial ambition. He was already working to pacify the South Slavs living within his Empire, in a bid to frustrate Serbia's expansion. Now the Hapsburg heir would be attending manoeuvres on Serbia's doorstep, in a rehearsal for invasion. Such continued provocation could not go unanswered.

The Austro-Hungarian Monarchy had adopted an increasingly aggressive policy towards Serbia in the years since the 1903 coup, forcing the Serbian Government to make one humiliating concession after another, the worst of which was accepting the annexation of Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Tankosic and many other officers in the Serbian Army were appalled by the way their government, under Prime Minister Pasic, kowtowed to Austria, and in response, formed a new organization to challenge government policy, stand up to Austrian aggression and ultimately to unite the South Slavs into a Greater Serbia. They called the new organisation, 'Union or Death'. It had subsequently become known as, 'The Black Hand'. It was in Apis's capacity as Head of Union or Death that Tankosic sought final permission from him to carry out their plan.

Apis frowned. 'Is it possible? The Emperor was so well guarded when he visited Sarajevo - they won't stand a chance.'

'They're good patriots; the avengers of Kosovo walk with them.' Tankosic hoped his inference was clear - the Colonel would not be risking key men by letting them go. 'What they lack in experience they make up for in enthusiasm,' he added. Apis had ordered him to find willing recruits from the hordes of dissidents that thronged the city’s cafes, for operations such as these.

‘The necessary preparations will be made?’

‘Yes, Apis.’

'I don't imagine anything will come of it, but if they succeed, so much the better. If not, it will show the Austrians just how dangerous it is to interfere in Serb affairs. We must fight our enemies with all means available.'

Chapter 6

Johnny was starting to get annoyed by the steady rocking of the Vienna train. He couldn't sleep - his mind kept churning over the events that had led to this fool's errand, as his bunk swung in time to the rhythm of the pistons.

Libby the Libertine murmured contentedly to herself as she turned over, pressing him against cold steel. He wasn't finding his sleeping compartment really suitable for this sort of thing.

She began to move against him in time to the rhythm of the train and it was suddenly obvious to him how he'd got here; the story of his coming of age could be told by the graceful contours of her body.

He'd read somewhere that Australian Aborigines used stories to find their way through the bewildering landscape of the outback, each tree and mountain becoming a signpost with its own story passed down from generation to generation, telling the way home. Johnny had developed a similar method to find his way through the bewildering landscape of women.

He touched the shapely ankle wrapped around him as he began to retrace his journey, step by hard won step. The story passed down to him from the captain of the first eleven was that the ankle is the key to a woman's heart, the place where everything begins. This had proved to be a good crib, judging from the giggling of his first fumble with Daisy, a milkmaid from the local village. Johnny had steadily progressed along on his journey, gaining more stories and insight at every new signpost. By the time he reached the upper sixth, his skill on and off the field of glory was such that he came to the attention of Simpson, his Head of House.

Johnny flinched as Libby dug her claws into his thigh and ran her fingers along a scar he’d taken winning the inter-house cup.

‘You can be quite a wonderful little man, can’t you Johnny?’ Libby sighed, letting slip an uncharacteristic compliment.

‘I wasn’t the captain of the school rugby team for nothing,’ Johnny said, lost in reminiscence. Simpson had generally ignored Johnny's questionable legitimacy and natural intelligence, as they were mitigated by his athletic prowess, but his reputation as someone who gave consequence to the village girls couldn't be tolerated.