J. Jones - The Third Place

There was nothing playful about the kiss he gave her.

Time was running out and he still had not finalized the plan. He refused to allow himself to dwell on Dimitrov’s demise. Look forward, not backward, he commanded himself.

He now had a powerful weapon in his arsenal, and must determine how best to deploy it. No longer a matter of Dimitrov serving as a living bomb in the disguise of an old man, one Hermann Postling.

No. And there was no time to organize another such human bomb from Belgrade.

Be logical, he told himself. Look at the options. It is either Postling himself for Thursday or I take his place in disguise. He had already drawn a line through that second alternative when he resolved to steal the vials from the Josefinium. If he was not prepared to blow himself up to complete his mission, he was surely not willing to kill himself in that manner, either.

So, Postling. But how?

He could put some of the material on the old man’s clothes before going to the ceremony. Act as if he accidentally spilled a small glass or some such. But there it was again – he too would be sacrificed. Was there a way he could trick the old man into deploying this new weapon without him even knowing it?

As he paced the floor in the small servant’s quarters the ‘princess’ had put at his disposal, he squeezed his hand in his pocket, once again almost setting off the charge with a blast of air from the hollow ball.

And then it came to him. The perfect plan. All of a piece.

A fresh coating of snow had fallen in the night. Gross and Werthen took a fiaker to their meeting at the Lower Belvedere with the heir apparent to the Austrian crown, Archduke Franz Ferdinand. Werthen had formed a soft spot for the archduke in the course of their professional relations, for he had sympathy with the man held in waiting so long to take up rule. The archduke had established what some referred to as the Clandestine Cabinet at this former palace of Prince Eugene of Savoy, a Military Chancellery of his own which would be ready to move into positions of power once Franz Josef, his uncle, relinquished power or, more likely, simply died of old age.

A liveried servant awaited them at the columned entrance to the Lower Belvedere and led them through the Marble Room to an interior suite of offices where a number of officers were busy at desks, each with a telephone and some of which had typing machines upon them, seeming so out place among the gilded columns and tapestries on the walls. Finally they reached a far corner of the room where Franz Ferdinand greeted them heartily. It was clearly his day for reports and conferences, for he was at his more public desk and not his private one behind closed doors.

‘How good to see you gentlemen once again,’ the archduke said, bidding them to take seats across the desk from him. A picture of his wife, Sophie von Chotek, and their firstborn was in a silver frame on the desk. That was a marriage that had cost the archduke dearly, Werthen thought. And this was another reason for his fondness for a man who most found brusque and overweening. He’d married for love and had to live with a morganatic marriage as a result, his own offspring never to be in line for succession, his wife forced to sit at lower tables than he at formal receptions. It was the doing of Prince Montenuovo, who could be a spiteful creature at times.

‘It’s good to see you, as well, Your Highness,’ Werthen said sincerely.

Gross added his good wishes and the archduke spread his hands apart as if asking the purpose of their visit.

As agreed, Gross took the lead, for the criminologist felt they had a delicate balance to maintain. Were the archduke to realize that Prince Montenuovo had commissioned them on their present case, he might very well be less likely to help them out with information from St Petersburg. Werthen had argued that surely Franz Ferdinand would not let animosity between him and Montenuovo come between him aiding his uncle, the emperor, in any manner possible.

‘I would not be too sure of that, Werthen,’ Gross had said on the fiaker ride to the palace. ‘After all, the death of the emperor would be just the thing for Franz Ferdinand. No longer waiting like the bridesmaid who is never the bride.’

Werthen would not believe that of the man, yet agreed to let Gross find his own way in this matter.

‘We have come about old business that may have new life,’ Gross said importantly.

‘Indeed?’ The archduke’s slightly bulging blue eyes sparkled at this rather mysterious introduction.

‘There may well be the possibility of an old foe coming back to Vienna from the dead. Or rather, in this case, from Siberia.’

Franz Ferdinand nodded. ‘Continue.’

‘I assume you know of whom I am speaking?’

‘The deadly Herr Schmidt, I believe he called himself. And what makes you think that he is once more a guest of our fair city?’

Gross carefully explained the deaths they were investigating, the description of the suspect’s peculiar hands and the very professional manner of the killing.

Franz Ferdinand listened to all this closely and then said, ‘This wouldn’t have anything to do with the little job Prince Montenuovo enlisted you for, would it?’

‘Well …’ Gross looked flustered at this.

‘Your eyes and ears at court are as thorough as always, Your Highness,’ Werthen said, jumping into the conversation. ‘And yes, I … we believe it could impact directly on your uncle. There are indications that this killer may have been dispatched from Belgrade.’

‘Belgrade.’ Franz Ferdinand repeated the word like a curse. ‘Then we must determine what has happened to our Herr Schmidt.’

Werthen gave Gross a knowing look that did not go unnoticed by the archduke.

‘Does my eagerness to help surprise you, Doktor Gross? Montenuovo and I are hardly on friendly terms. He has, after all, caused me and my family a great deal of discomfort, if not pain. But personal vendettas are put aside at such times.’

The archduke straightened in his chair. ‘And though I do not know the particulars of the case, I assume that when you mention Belgrade, you imply that there may be an attempted assassination. I am well aware of the events of two weeks ago at Schonbrunn. If there was one attempt there may be more.’ He eyed each of them in turn. ‘My uncle and I may have our differences of opinion on international relations and yes, I am anxious to serve my country as its leader, but blood is blood, duty is duty. He is my uncle, but first of all he is my emperor!’

The small speech stirred large emotions in Werthen. Were he English, he might have shouted ‘Here, here!’ Instead he smiled broadly at Franz Ferdinand.

‘Exactly what I told my colleague, Advokat Werthen,’ Gross responded. ‘Far too big a man to allow private grudges to impinge on matters of the state.’

Seeing that Werthen was about ready to explode in denial, Gross quickly blustered on.

‘We were hoping that Your Highness might make use of that source of yours in St Petersburg. The one who informed you of Schmidt’s fall from grace last summer upon returning from his previous mission in Vienna.’

‘Yes. I think that would be a good starting point,’ Franz Ferdinand said. ‘I’ll have my adjutant get in touch with him directly.’

Werthen was still fuming, but he decided to take a page out of the archduke’s book and put personal animosities behind him.

‘My wife sends her best,’ Werthen added. ‘She is once again aiding us in our inquiries.’ He briefly told the archduke of their thwarted attempts to speak with the good friend of the murdered Herr Karl, and asked if it were possible for him to intercede.

‘I will do what I can,’ Franz Ferdinand said, ‘but I have very little influence over affairs at the Hofburg. That one should really be directed to your employer, Prince Montenuovo. You actually think this Czerny fellow might know something useful?’