'What the hell do you mean by that?'
'The wife of a senior British diplomat forging her husband's signature to secure gambling debts for an ill-bred functionary, would I'm sure go unnoticed with the minimum of scandal, in France anyway.'
Sir George was dumbfounded for a moment, then he looked coldly at Johnny, 'My wife... yes, I should have guessed that someone like you, born of scandal, would stoop to something like that.'
Johnny watched patiently as Sir George got up and turned his back on him, slowly regaining his self control. After a moment he pulled down a large wall map of Europe and every iota of his brilliant and ruthless mind focused on one question.
'What to do with Swift? Can't sack him, can't shame him - can't shoot the blighter.'
'We could call it a pyrrhic victory,' Johnny offered. He knew it was a forlorn hope, but he had to suggest it, nonetheless.
'What we need is some dangerous backwater. Pity the Boer War's finished.'
'I hear the Caribbean can be perilous,' Johnny suggested. People posted there often complained about the heat and yellow fever, but he was willing to take his chances.
Sir George paused for a moment and Johnny thought he might have cracked it. Unfortunately, Sir George chose to stab his finger onto the Balkans Peninsula.
'Bosnia!'
'Bosnia? Surely not, Sir George...'
'The ambassador in Vienna compares Austria's trouble in the Balkans to our problems with the Transvaal. You speak the language of course?'
'Russian is more my specialty. I lived -'
Sir George cut him short. 'Our embassy in Vienna has requested someone to ferret about. Serb nationalism over there is becoming a nuisance.' He looked up from the map, gleefully. 'Yes, that's the poisoned chalice. At best you'll get your bloody head blown off, at worst you'll end up buried in some nowhere consulate, picking up goat droppings.'
Johnny desperately tried to remember what he could about the place. Bosnia and Herzegovina had been put under Austro-Hungarian administration by the Congress of Berlin in 1878 to 'restore order' after they'd risen up against the Turks, but Bosnia and Herzegovina had remained part of the Ottoman Empire until Austro-Hungary annexed the two provinces in 1908.
'Isn't Bosnia more Austro-Hungary's bag, Sir George?' Johnny asked in a bid to dissuade him. ‘It’s not really our business.’
'The Balkans are the fault line of Europe, Swift. We don't want the delicate balance of power in the region upset by the Austrians, trampling their filthy great boots over it, especially after all of our hard work clearing up the mess from the last Balkan bunfight!'
Johnny had heard Sir George rage about this often enough. He'd been heavily involved with the Treaty of London, which had settled all of the territorial disputes in the area after the First Balkan War. It had been the pinnacle of his career. A month later, the Balkan states had fallen out again and the Second Balkan War had broken out, undermining all of Sir George's hard work. He’d taken it very personally and as far as Johnny could see, had maintained a morbid fascination with the region ever since. He considered it to be wild, unruly and above all, the backwoods of diplomacy - the converse of everything he held dear. Johnny could feel any hope he had of a career slipping away.
'But surely, the Austrians can do what they want to stabilise their southern border?' Johnny persisted.
'No, they bloody well can't. They're fanning the flames of pan-Slavic nationalism and if Russian influence continues to spread in the region it could drag everyone into a war.'
'Do you seriously think that's likely, Sir George?'
'Probably not, but that's not really the point is it, Johnny?'
No, the point had been made pretty bloody clear to Johnny - he was banished to the wastelands of Europe never to return. He still had his post, and if he made a fuss now, he'd just look like he was blubbing and couldn't take his medicine.
‘Who exactly in Vienna do I need to see about all this?’ Johnny asked, accepting his lot.
‘I don’t know! Am I expected to be on intimate terms with every member of their embassy staff?’ Sir George answered, exasperated by Johnny’s lack of initiative. ‘Try Pinkie, he should know something about the Balkans!’
Johnny walked towards the gilded door of Sir George's office; he doubted he’d see its like for a while. 'Oh, and Swift,' Sir George called after him. 'In the unlikely event that you do find out something useful on your travels, you're to bring it straight to me, is that understood?'
'Yes, Sir George,' Johnny said a little too enthusiastically, clinging to the lifeline he’d just been thrown, however doubtful it might be.
Chapter 4
Gavrilo Princip looked at the people drifting past him in Green Wreath Square, each one of them creating a purpose for themselves, while he sat aimlessly outside the Cafe Moruna, with Nedjo and Trifko. Given the means, he would create more of an effect on their lives than these good people could have thought possible.
He underlined a passage in the poem he was reading, 'Our Today' by Sima Pandurovic. It articulated everything he was feeling. Gavrilo may not have been able to express his ideas about love and life, or to extol the glory of his heroes as a poet, but he believed that something new and noble, a truly free anarchist society, would be created from his actions.
Such actions however, were continually being blocked, and while he sat around in cafes, things were in motion in Sarajevo. He’d written to Danilo Ilic, his most trusted friend and confidant, telling him of the plot and instructing him to start organising a second cell in Sarajevo. They'd been friends since childhood and Gavrilo was certain that no one else but Danilo would be able to understand the allegorical style of
