The street door had swung shut behind Hamid when he had come in. Berkeley took a deep breath, opened it and stepped outside, uncertain what he would immediately have to face. He blinked in the fierce sunlight. The street was empty, save for a couple of stray dogs. Everyone had gone to see the Archduke, and from not so very far away he could hear the sound of cheering.
He ran in the direction of the sound, panting and staggering; his legs were still not working at their best. Now he caught up with people, who glanced at the big unkempt figure with the two-day growth of beard. But no one attempted to stop him.
He rounded a corner, and came in sight of a large crowd, not in the least held back by only one or two policemen. Those apart, there was not a soldier to be seen. The Bosnian authorities definitely did not believe there was going to be any trouble, no matter how many warnings they might have received. Or they did not care.
He pushed his way into the throng until he was on the street itself. To his right a line of cars was approaching, travelling very slowly because of the people who kept darting to and fro across the street, shouting and cheering. All the cars were open, but here at last there was some protection: mounted policemen rode in front, and the lead car contained only men, obviously plain-clothes policemen. The Archduke and the Archduchess were seated in the back of the second car, the Archduke in full uniform, nodding to the crowd and occasionally raising his hand, while the Duchess, who carried an enormous bouquet of flowers, smiled from beneath her broad-brimmed hat. There were several cars behind, each filled with both women and men.
Berkeley looked away from them. In sight to his left was the town hall, its steps and doorways crowded with dignitaries, amongst them no doubt an anxious Harvey and Julia Braddock. Then he looked over at the faces of the crowd itself, and found himself gazing, on the other side of the street, at Caterina.
*
She had not seen him and was staring at the approaching cars. She carried a large bag, and was flanked by two of the boys who were members of her party. Both were smoking cigars. But then, so were several other men in the crowd.
The cars were very close. Berkeley took a deep breath and stepped forward, and was immediately pushed back again by a policeman.
“Keep back,” this worthy shouted. “Out of the way.”
The horses came abreast and passed them, and the first car. Berkeley recovered his balance. “Caterina!” he shouted, as loudly as he could.
He doubted it she had heard him, above the noise of the crowd. He could only watch, in horror, as she delved into her bag and pulled out the grenade. One of her companions touched the very short cord with the end of his cigar. It glowed immediately, and she tossed it straight into the archducal car, as it drew abreast of her.
For the moment it seemed that only the Archduke realised what had happened; he reacted very promptly, leaning down, seizing the bomb, and throwing it over his shoulder out of the car.
The crowd gasped, at last realising something was happening.
The bomb landed in the car behind and immediately exploded. There was a moment’s silence, broken by someone shouting, “Drive! Drive!”
The horses were neighing and stamping but were pulled out of the way, as the first two cars put on speed to reach the town hall steps, scattering people before them. The third car was a total wreck, with several bodies lying in it or on the street. Of Caterina and her accomplices there was no sign, but police whistles were blowing, men were shouting, and there were several gunshots; while above them all rose a huge wail from the watching crowd.
Berkeley had no idea what to do. Going after Caterina seemed a waste of time, partly because the police were already doing that, and had a head start, and partly because he had to assume that the conspirators had a hideaway and an escape route already prepared. And he was unarmed.
While the Archduke . . . At least total catastrophe had been avoided. The car was at the town hall steps, and officials and policemen were clustering round. Berkeley allowed himself to be carried forward with the crowd, as the car door was opened and the Archduke slowly stepped down. Berkeley wondered if he realised what had happened to the car behind him; certainly he gave no sign of it, merely looking extremely angry. The mayor was attempting to welcome him, and he said loudly, “I come to your city as a friend, Herr Burgermeister, and someone throws a bomb at me.”
People continued to fuss. Berkeley saw the Braddocks with the other guests at the top of the stairs, but it appeared that the Archduke was not staying; the reception was apparently being at least postponed. After a very brief greeting he got back into the car and the motorcade prepared to move off.
Berkeley couldn’t blame him for wanting to get away from the scene of the tragedy; shouts and screams were still rising from amongst the injured people as the police tried to clear the street. Now he had to think about Caterina, and indeed himself. The attempt had failed, as so many of Anna’s attempts at murder and mayhem had failed. Now he had to concentrate all his efforts on saving Caterina, supposing he could find her. And afterwards?
He found himself still in the midst of the crowd, following the Archduke’s car, as the motorcade continued on its way, still very slowly. Neither the Archduke nor his wife were smiling now, but looking grim-faced from left to right. The cars reached the corner and slowed almost to a stop, for some incomprehensible reason apparently uncertain which way to turn. In that moment of hesitation, Berkeley saw Gavrile Princip. The boy stepped out of the crowd and levelled what, even at a distance, Berkeley recognised as his own Browning pistol.
He did not hear the shot, but he saw the Archduke half turn, blood spurting from his neck. Instantly, the Archduchess threw herself forward across her husband. There was another shot, and she slumped over his knees.
Once again, pandemonium. Princip had not acted as promptly as Caterina, and had hesitated for a second after firing the second shot; Berkeley would have liked to feel that he was appalled at having hit the woman. In any event, he was already being seized by passers-by and appeared in some danger of being lynched – which would be no more than he deserved, Berkeley supposed. There were people running from every direction. Some jostled him as he stood still, trying to understand the total calamity that had overtaken both himself and history.
At every level, he had failed. Idle to say the fault was not his. He doubted Gorman would see it that way. Now only Caterina remained.
*
He hurried back to the consul’s residence. Only the servants were there, and they were in a state of high agitation as rumour spread across the city. Berkeley ordered a bath and poured himself a glass of brandy. He had just finished dressing in clean clothes when the Braddocks returned.
“My God!” Harvey shouted. “Where have you been? Don’t you realise what has happened?”
“I was there,” Berkeley said. “As to where I’ve been, it’s too long a story. How is the Archduke?”
“The Archduke is dead.” Julia virtually spat the words at him.
“Shit! Listen, Harvey, you must find out if they have taken Caterina.”
“Me?”
“You are the British consul, and she has British citizenship. If they have taken her, she is your responsibility.”
“My dear fellow, I cannot involve His Majesty’s Government in a sorry business like this.”
“You are going to do it, Harvey,” Berkeley said.
Braddock opened his mouth, looked at his wife whose face was expressionless, and then closed it again.
“You do not think she may have got away?” he asked.
“I hope she did. But I have to find out. Do you know what they will do to her? She was in their hands once before, when she was thirteen. She was raped and beaten and then forced to watch her father hanged. That event has coloured her entire life. Were it to happen again it would drive her out of her mind.”
“If they have taken her, will it not already have happened?” Julia asked, quietly.
Berkeley shot her a glance, then turn
ed back to Braddock. “I am not asking you to risk anything, Harvey. Surely you can make discreet inquiries?”
“Well, I suppose I can.” He went to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy.
“Every moment counts,” Berkeley said.
Harvey gulped his drink and went to the door. “I’ll be back for lunch,” he said.
“It’ll be late,” Julia said with a sigh.
How these people wished to resume the normality of their lives, Berkeley thought.
“Would you like a drink?”
“I’ve already had one, thank you.”
“Suppose the police do have her; what will you do? What can you do, save involve yourself?”
“I told you: I will get her out, and back to Serbia.”
“You, alone? Surely you cannot expect Harvey to help you? It would cause an international incident.”
“Don’t you think we already have an international incident? Perhaps Great Britain is not yet involved, but she soon will be. No, Julia, I do not expect Harvey to give me any practical help.”
“You said something about bringing her here, if you can get her out of the hands of the police. That would be very risky.”
“Of course it would. I shall not do it, if it disturbs you that much.”
They gazed at each other.
“And if you do not succeed in freeing her?”
Berkeley shrugged. “I have other duties. To my three children.”
“Do you not suppose they are your prime duty? If both you and Caterina were to be killed . . .”
“They’d be taken care of. But I’d rather do it myself.”
“With no room for anyone else.”
“At this moment, no. You’ll forgive me, Julia, but I have rather a lot on my mind.”
“I’m sure you do. I must go and see what cook has for lunch.”
*
Braddock was back in an hour. “They have her,” he panted.
“Where?”
“At one of their police stations.”
“Show me.”
Braddock spread a town plan and indicated the position.
“Do you know if she’s hurt?”
“I cannot say.”
“What about Princip, and the others?”
“They have Princip, certainly. And I think one or two others.”
“So what happens now?”
“They will be interrogated.” He flushed. “You understand . . .”
“I know what that means,” Berkeley said.
“Well, then they will stand trial. Quite apart from being caught red-handed, they will by then have confessed. They will certainly be condemned.”
“To death?”
“Well . . .” Another flush. “By Austrian law, Princip is a minor. He cannot be executed, but he will be imprisoned for life.”
“And Caterina?”
“Caterina, unfortunately, is an adult.”
“I see. Thank you, Harvey. You’ve been a great help. Now, I don’t suppose you have a weapon? Those children took away my gun.”
“A weapon? My dear Berkeley, I must advise you most strongly against attempting to use force. You will get yourself killed to no advantage. And you will be involving His Majesty’s Government. Listen to me. We will employ the very best lawyers.”
“To what purpose? You have just agreed that by the time the case comes to court Caterina will have confessed.”
“Well, people do have a habit of confessing under extreme . . .”
“Torture.”
Braddock sighed. “We will demand that your wife is examined by our doctor. And if there is any sign of physical harm, we shall claim that any confession was extracted by torture. Torture is illegal in Austria-Hungary.”
“Harvey, you are living in never-never land, where all the men are gentlemen and all the women are ladies.” Come to think of it, he realised, that was the land in which the average Foreign Office official, having been to Eton and Oxford, was brought up. “There is not going to be a trial for several months, by which time any physical damage Caterina may have suffered will have disappeared. And even if it hasn’t, do you think the Austrians will give a damn, no matter what protests you make? This is the heir to their throne that has been killed.”
Braddock gulped.
“But again, thanks for your help,” Berkeley said, and went to the door. “I will not involve you, or His Majesty’s Government, I promise.”
“I have the power to place you under arrest,” Braddock said.
Berkeley turned back to face him, and look past him at Julia, standing tensely by the sideboard. “Do that and I will kill you,” he said, and left the room.
Oh, to have Lockwood, he thought as he made his way towards the police station. Or Karlovy, who might have been a thug but was a good man in a fight and utterly faithful to the Slovitzas. Or both.
But he had neither.
He reached the police station, having to make his way through a considerable crowd that had gathered outside, chattering and occasionally shouting. At the door he was checked by a policeman.
“What do you want?”
“I am a representative from the British Consulate,” Berkeley said. “You are holding a British citizen.”
“I have no knowledge of that.”
“Let me speak with an inspector.”
The constable hesitated, but Berkeley had such a confident air of authority that after a moment he stepped back and allowed him through, at the same time calling for his sergeant. That official bustled out of an inner office.
“Gentleman from the British Consulate, says we are holding one of his nationals, Sergeant.”
The sergeant looked Berkeley up and down.
“She is probably going under the name of Slovitza,” Berkeley said.
“You are saying that Caterina Slovitza is a British citizen? How can that be?”
“Simply that she married an Englishman,” Berkeley said.
“And where is this Englishman now?”
“I have no idea,” Berkeley said. “His whereabouts do not affect my business, which is to see his wife and make sure she is being properly treated.”
“You realise that this young woman threw a bomb at the Archduke, and was clearly a member of the gang that shot him a few minutes later.”
“That does not affect her status as a British citizen,” Berkeley said, patiently, “nor my duty to interview her.”
“Well, it is not possible,” the sergeant said.
“If she has been unnecessarily harmed,” Berkeley warned, “I will bring charges.”
“Unnecessarily harmed,” the sergeant said. “Ha! The lady is dead.”
Berkeley stared at the man in total consternation.
“You mean you murdered her.”
“No, sir, we did not murder her,” the sergeant said, also patiently. “She was brought here, and received a preliminary questioning. That was before we knew the Archduke had been shot, and was dying. When that news was received, she was locked in a cell while we awaited the arrival of the other prisoners. She was alone. I admit this was careless of us, but there was so much going on. Anyway, in a matter of seconds she had taken off her stockings, looped one end through the bars of the cell window and hanged herself.”
God, God, God, Berkeley thought. When he had first gone to Sabac he had wondered if, far from entering the vampire’s den as a possible victim, he was not to be the agent to destroy them utterly. But hadn’t Caterina been bound for an end like this, almost from the day she had been born? She was Anna Slovitza’s daughter.
“Let me see her body,” he said.
*
The Austrians allowed Berkeley to have a coffin made, and released Caterina’s body to him. They were embarrassed at having her die on their hands, especially if she actually was a British citizen. He did not return to the Braddocks’ house but stayed at the police station until he could leave, having hired a horse and cart. He neither slept nor shaved nor ate for some forty-eight ho
urs while he drove slowly back to the border. He was carrying Caterina back to be buried alongside her mother.
What a waste, he thought. Two of the most exciting, desirable women there can ever have been, devoting their lives to death and destruction, including their own.
He buried Caterina, with only the servants attending; bathed and changed and ate; stood in that never-to-be-forgotten drawing room for a last time, looking at the silver-framed photographs, including some of himself, and Caterina, and the children.
Then he went into Belgrade, to Colonel Savos.
“Have you a warrant for my arrest?” he asked.
“For Karlovy? As I understand it, you shot him in self-defence. But this business in Sarajevo . . . Had you anything to do with that?”
“I tried to stop it.”
Savos nodded. “Well, it is done now. The Austrians have issued an ultimatum. They know it was the Black Hand. They are certain the organisation has been supported by our government. They are demanding the right to send their own people into Serbia to carry out investigations and arrests.”
“Will you allow this?”
“No,” Savos said. “We will fight.”
“Serbia will fight Austria?”
Savos nodded. “This time we are ready. We will have Russian support. It has been promised.”
“And France will support Russia, and Germany will support Austria. You are talking of a general European war.”
Everything that Gorman and Smailes had been working so feverishly and illegally to prevent.
“Yes,” Savos said. “It will be the ultimate settlement. Will you come back to the colours?”
“No,” Berkeley said. “I am going to collect my children, and my valet and his wife and children, and go back to England.”
Savos raised his eyebrows. “You have lost your stomach for fighting? You? What will Caterina say?”
“Caterina is dead,” Berkeley told him. “The Slovitzas are no more.”
To All Eternity Page 31