Unification Or Death. Better known to history as the Black Hand.’
Davies said the words with flinty relish, like some ancient laird cursing a rival clan.
‘The Black Hand! Don’t you love it?’ McCluskey said, slapping her thigh. ‘If you’re going to organize a ring of assassins you might as well give it a blood-and-thunder name, eh? These days they’d probably have called it a Neutralization Operative Committee.’
Stanton studied the photograph on the wall marked ‘Apis’. Black uniform, white gloves. Sabre. A chest full of medals, golden epaulettes on his shoulders, a plumed fez on his head. An imperial, kaiser-style moustache sitting heavily on cruel pursed lips. An arrogant, cold-eyed killer. Stanton knew the type, he’d met plenty, and the fact that some of them had been on his own side didn’t make him like them any better.
‘You want me to prevent the assassination by killing him?’ Stanton asked. ‘I mean, in our little game of
what if
, he’s your target?’
‘Well, he certainly held all the
cards
. And he certainly
deserved
a bullet. Terrible
terrrrible
man.
Murderrrrous
man.’ Davies seemed to chew each word, rolling his r’s with morbid pleasure. ‘Y’d no want to meet him in a dark alley. But then y’d no want to meet any member of the Serrrrbian military in a dark alleyway. Not then and not now. Crazed fanatical bastards to a man. Friend Dimitrijević was a man of truly
savage
brutality. D’y ken how he earned his position as Serbia’s Chief of Espionage?’
‘Not really,’ Stanton replied.
‘By organizing and
perrrsonally
leading the brutal murder of his
own king
! How’s that for audacity? You couldna’ make it up. Friend Apis thought the monarch he served was too conciliatory to the Austrians so he decided to kill him and install a king that better suited his taste. I say kill,
butcher
would be a better word. Because in 1903, him and a gang of cronies, all crown officers, mind, who’d sworn an oath of loyalty, stormed the royal palace. They shot their way through the building, forced the king’s guards to reveal where the royal couple were hiding, then shot King Alexander thirty times and Queen Draga eighteen. They then stripped the bullet-riddled corpses naked, slashed them up with their sabres and
threw them out of the palace window
.’
‘They did things rough in those days,’ McCluskey observed.
‘Aye, they did, professor. They most certainly did. I don’t think I’ve ever come across a more violent spy. Or, and here’s the point, Captain Stanton, a cooler one. Because the very next day he installs a different king and makes himself Chief of Intelligence. He then proceeds to dominate espionage in Central Europe for the following decade, culminating in the Sarajevo assassination. I would say it’s no exaggeration to say that in June 1914 this man was the most dangerous man in the world. The question is: should we kill him?’
‘Well,
obviously
,’ McCluskey said, digging in her handbag for a sandwich.
‘Ah’m askin’ your man here, professor. Not you.’
Stanton stared at the photograph of Apis for a full minute before replying.
‘It seems to me,’ he said finally, ‘that if we try to kill this man, one of two things will happen. Either we bungle it or we succeed.’
McCluskey snorted loudly as if she’d expected better of Stanton but Davies nodded.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘If we bungle it, which I think is the more likely outcome, we’ll have seriously spooked him.’
‘Why would we bungle it?’ McCluskey protested through a mouthful of tuna mayonnaise. ‘I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You’re Guts Stanton, remember!’
‘Prof, this guy stormed a palace in 1903 and personally killed his own King and Queen. Yet he’s still alive and pulling the strings in the
same
palace more than a decade later. Just how good a survivor do you think he’d have to be to manage that? Colonel Apis must have been the most
Davies said the words with flinty relish, like some ancient laird cursing a rival clan.
‘The Black Hand! Don’t you love it?’ McCluskey said, slapping her thigh. ‘If you’re going to organize a ring of assassins you might as well give it a blood-and-thunder name, eh? These days they’d probably have called it a Neutralization Operative Committee.’
Stanton studied the photograph on the wall marked ‘Apis’. Black uniform, white gloves. Sabre. A chest full of medals, golden epaulettes on his shoulders, a plumed fez on his head. An imperial, kaiser-style moustache sitting heavily on cruel pursed lips. An arrogant, cold-eyed killer. Stanton knew the type, he’d met plenty, and the fact that some of them had been on his own side didn’t make him like them any better.
‘You want me to prevent the assassination by killing him?’ Stanton asked. ‘I mean, in our little game of
what if
, he’s your target?’
‘Well, he certainly held all the
cards
. And he certainly
deserved
a bullet. Terrible
terrrrible
man.
Murderrrrous
man.’ Davies seemed to chew each word, rolling his r’s with morbid pleasure. ‘Y’d no want to meet him in a dark alley. But then y’d no want to meet any member of the Serrrrbian military in a dark alleyway. Not then and not now. Crazed fanatical bastards to a man. Friend Dimitrijević was a man of truly
savage
brutality. D’y ken how he earned his position as Serbia’s Chief of Espionage?’
‘Not really,’ Stanton replied.
‘By organizing and
perrrsonally
leading the brutal murder of his
own king
! How’s that for audacity? You couldna’ make it up. Friend Apis thought the monarch he served was too conciliatory to the Austrians so he decided to kill him and install a king that better suited his taste. I say kill,
butcher
would be a better word. Because in 1903, him and a gang of cronies, all crown officers, mind, who’d sworn an oath of loyalty, stormed the royal palace. They shot their way through the building, forced the king’s guards to reveal where the royal couple were hiding, then shot King Alexander thirty times and Queen Draga eighteen. They then stripped the bullet-riddled corpses naked, slashed them up with their sabres and
threw them out of the palace window
.’
‘They did things rough in those days,’ McCluskey observed.
‘Aye, they did, professor. They most certainly did. I don’t think I’ve ever come across a more violent spy. Or, and here’s the point, Captain Stanton, a cooler one. Because the very next day he installs a different king and makes himself Chief of Intelligence. He then proceeds to dominate espionage in Central Europe for the following decade, culminating in the Sarajevo assassination. I would say it’s no exaggeration to say that in June 1914 this man was the most dangerous man in the world. The question is: should we kill him?’
‘Well,
obviously
,’ McCluskey said, digging in her handbag for a sandwich.
‘Ah’m askin’ your man here, professor. Not you.’
Stanton stared at the photograph of Apis for a full minute before replying.
‘It seems to me,’ he said finally, ‘that if we try to kill this man, one of two things will happen. Either we bungle it or we succeed.’
McCluskey snorted loudly as if she’d expected better of Stanton but Davies nodded.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘If we bungle it, which I think is the more likely outcome, we’ll have seriously spooked him.’
‘Why would we bungle it?’ McCluskey protested through a mouthful of tuna mayonnaise. ‘I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit. You’re Guts Stanton, remember!’
‘Prof, this guy stormed a palace in 1903 and personally killed his own King and Queen. Yet he’s still alive and pulling the strings in the
same
palace more than a decade later. Just how good a survivor do you think he’d have to be to manage that? Colonel Apis must have been the most
Similar Books
