Free The Longest Winter by Mary Jane Staples

invited.’
    Colonel Dimitrijevic Apis had satisfied himself that the death of Franz Ferdinand was now of major political importance. For there was a growing belief that the archduke, when he became Emperor, meant to make generous concessions to Bosnia. That would not suit Serbia at all. Greater Serbia would only come about when Bosnia in disaffection threw off the Austrian yoke to unite with Serbia. The major reformsFranz Ferdinand had in mind would eliminate the causes of disaffection and turn Bosnia into a co-operative province of the Austrian empire. That made the archduke a serious and unacceptable threat to Serbian ambitions. Many Bosnians might be ready to assassinate a tyrant. Not so many would consider murdering a man whose reforms would be benevolent. Franz Ferdinand must go before he grew a halo, while there were still Bosnians who believed he had horns. Bosnians must do it. Not Serbians. Serbia must not be directly implicated.
    Sarajevo would present the perfect opportunity and the right timing.
    Colonel Dimitrijevic’s principal assistant in the Black Hand was a kindly officer and gentleman, Major Voja Tankosic. Major Tankosic was good to his family, contributed to charities and went regularly to church. He also held incorruptible political beliefs. Therein lay his Mr Hyde. For the sake of his beliefs he would unhesitatingly shed his everyday cloak and reveal the man willing to plot murder.
    It was Major Tankosic whom Colonel Dimitrijevic placed in charge of the arrangements for the Sarajevo operation. This meant that Tankosic was responsible for the recruitment and briefing of a suitable number of dedicated assassins. He had seen to this. He reported to his chief early in June.
    Dimitrijevic never concerned himself directly with anything but objectives. Everything bearing on the achievement of an objective he left inthe hands of others, and kept his own clean. Nothing that was relevant to preparations and arrangements could be traced back to Dimitrijevic. From Major Tankosic he wanted to hear only that everything was proceeding satisfactorily. Tankosic was naturally inclined to say more than a bald yes. He had done a lot of work. He wanted his chief to know that. He began to talk about his band of recruited assassins.
    ‘How many are there?’ asked Dimitrijevic brusquely.
    ‘Twelve. Not all will go. Only the best of them. I anticipate seven or eight. All these will be in Sarajevo on the day, positioned at different points along the route the archduke will take to and from the City Hall.’
    ‘It will be enough if only one of them is in the right position as long as he is in the right frame of mind at the right time,’ said Dimitrijevic.
    ‘One will be.’
    ‘One must be.’
    ‘With seven or eight to rely on we could not duplicate our chances of success much more,’ said Tankosic. He went on to say that he was particularly impressed with three of the men. Nedjelko Cabrinovic, Trifko Grabez and Gavrilo Princip. They were the very stuff of fearless bomb-throwers. ‘And there’s one man coming from Vienna with a fine, fierce reputation. Boris Ferenac. Success is assured, Colonel.’
    Dimitrijevic, icy in his distaste at having unwanted and paltry details thrust on him, said, ‘I’ve heard of assured success before.Events usually prove it to be the father of certain failure.’
    ‘Failure is written in many men,’ said Tankosic solemnly, ‘and is allowed for in some of ours. But if as many as six fail, Cabrinovic will not. Nor will the eighth man, Boris Ferenac, providing he can slip the police and reach Sarajevo. You’ll excuse me now? My wife and I have to go to a meeting in aid of church missionaries in Africa. A dreadful place for missionaries, Africa.’
    Sophie had been shopping with her mother. They had bought themselves new hats. Her mother’s was a colourful extravagance of lemon silk and pink and red blossoms. Sophie’s was a little round boater-style creation in pale green that perched