GAMESTART

Early in the morning, before the workers could start their annoying business, the Austrian Minister for Special Affairs left his home at the new Ring Street of Vienna. It had been nice living here, when there was the city wall, and everything was quiet. But nowadays, with the wall torn down, there was a steady increase in traffic; which inevitably brought noise and the stench from the horses. What was more, they were always erecting new buildings or restaurating the old ones.

The Minister hastily moved through the still empty streets, on foot. Busy thinking about his daily duties and drafting orders for troops or security units in the back of his head, he missed his old nemesis, Hans Maria van der Heyden, the State Secretary for Finances and Monetary Politics, the man who really managed the Empires treasuries instead of the old fool who called himself Finance Minister.

"Too proud to talk to a fellow gouvernment employee?", van der Heyden called after him. The Minister stopped in his tracks and turned. "Van der Heyden... what ails you?"
"Just got your requests for supply routes to Serbia. You never listen, do you? I told you, when we attack the Serbs, we will unsettle the whole of Europe! Castlereaghs and Metternichs 1815 quest for a lasting Balance of Power will be overthrown and lost! Millions will die in War, when we resort to violence instead of talks!"

"My god, Heyden! The Serbs are constantly annoying us; they are stacking weapons, they don't follow our orders, and what not. They don't listen to talks. They have to be taught a lesson, or others - like the Bosnians, or even the Czechs, will follow. You peacemongers will never understand that!" "But the other powers..."
"...they won't act. My sources indicate that there will be some expeditionary forces sent to renitent neutral powers - but in the overall picture, peace will be preserved. There won't be the 'Great War' you fear all the time. Just give me my supplies."

With that, the Minister sped off. In secret, he wasn't at all so sure of what he'd just said.

EARLY STAB

On returning from a visit to the border troops in Galicia, the Austrian Special Affairs Minister hopped off his horse. He had chosen to ride on his own rather than in the wagon because he was over-eager to receive any mail he may have gotten during his absence.

But he was in for a nasty shock: The door to the building housing the K.u.K. Office for Special Affairs was locked, and sealed, and guarded.

How could that have happened?
The Minister cautiously approached the guards, one hand secretly pawing the revolver in his pocket - after all, you could never know if the Emperor had signed an order to imprison you, just out of the blue.

But on nearing the door, the Minister understood that it was not the Emperor who had closed his office. "Closed on orders from the K.u.K. Departement of the Treasury" was written on a small, red seal over the locks.

"Van der Heyden!" the Minister spat out.
"Halte!" ordered the guards.
"It's all right, I am the Minister for Special Affairs. Tell me what has happened."

"We do not know, Sir. But we have a letter for you." The letter was from the Departement of the Treasury, signed by the old fool, the Minister himself, but worded by the unmistakable claw of Treasury Advisor Van der Heyden:

It said that due to the extraordinary expenses of the war efforts in Serbia, the Empire had chosen to reduce the size of the executive. Instead of 37 Ministeries there were now only 21.
By order of the Emperor acting through the K.u.K. Departement of the Treasury, every Minister could keep his titles, but certain bureaus had to work together more closely.
In the case of the Special Affairs Office, it had been downsized and relocated. It was now a one-man-departement in the attic of the Ministery of Foreign Affairs. And it had to live by the Funds of the Ministery of War.

"Ouch!", the Special Affairs Minister cried. It would be a lot of work to even get money for the stamps on the letters from War Ministery, because there was a long-lasting enmity between War Departement and Foreign Affairs Departement. With his office in the attic of the latter, the former would consider it part of it.

"You shall pay for this, Van der Heyden," vowed the Minister. "You shall pay dearly!"

ALLIANCE

"An interesting proposal", Duke Segur, the K.u.K. Minister of War, offered.
Segur was a member of the famous military Segur dynasty, which had left her footprints all over french history but recently entered Austrian military services and already showed an impressive record of careers in the armed forces. Choosing an officers way of life was almost mandatory in this family, no matter for which army (1). Duke Segur himself was no exception, and had even been made Minister by the Archduke, who had taken the matters of the military out of the old hands of his father, the Emperor. Carefully the Duke put his glass, still in half full, back on the glass surface of his dining table, and intently eyed his opposite, the Special Affairs Minister.
"But what is in it for you?" he sniped.
"I would venture to take control of the diplomatic apparatus, if you allow me to state it so frankly. I would send and recall our ambassadors, and be the one they're responisible to first hand."
"I see."

Suddenly Segur leant forward: "I am with you. But I am not content with our mutual main target. I also want control over the Consular Operations Services".

The Austrian Minister for Special Affairs hesitated.
The Consular Operations Services were one of the many Austrian Secret Services, and currently the only one functioning; all the others were crippled by nepotism and/or undermined by near-regiments of moles from all over Europe. Already the pile of Scandals had convinced many that the very existence of a secret service was more costly than helpful. Therefore, control of Cons Op was a big price.

On the other hand, cooperation of the War Minister was needed. And he really hadn't much more of substance to offer. Plus: he had plenty of time to prepare himself for the effects of Cons Op under the auspices of War Ministry.

"Well, I guess I must agree, my distinguished colleague. I must admit this doesn't come easy to me, but I understand that your claim is not unfounded. The Consular Operations it is. It's yours."
"Perfectly fine. Your hand?"

The two conspirateurs stood and shook hands. "To the downfall of the Foreign Ministry!" Segur pronounced.
"To its downfall," the Special Affairs Minister replied, although less bold.

This Alliance was not made in heaven, it was born of necessity. And both Ministers knew very well that it could not last forever. This knowledge, though, was kept inside their heads and did not express itself on their smiling faces.

footnotes:
(1)
The Segur family history, in fact, is true. Segurs have served under Richelieu, under Louis XIV and during the French Revolution. In the 1990's there were still Segurs I knew of serving in the Austrian army.

STEAMROLLER

Dr. Manninger, Earl of Galicia and Foreign Relations Minister of the K.u.K. Empire of Austria and Hungary, dashed through the conference rooms door and stammered his apologies to His Royal Highness.
"I don't understand why the Ambassador of Egypt and the Envoy of Bulgaria insisted on a meeting at such a short notice."
"What are the results of your meeting, may I ask?" replied the Special Affairs Minister innocently. "Just idle talk, as usual."

Archduke Franz Ferdinand - heir apparent since 1889, when his cousin Rudolph came to his tragic end in Mayerling - twitched, and exchanged glances with Duke Segur and the Special Affairs Minister. The Archduke was young and quite hot-blooded, quick to anger as well as laughter.
"What's wrong?" Manninger asked, when he sensed the tense atmosphere in the room.

The War Minister slowly produced two sheets of paper; one bearing Manningers signature, the other the nametag of Aga Rashid Bashir, the Ambassador of The Sublime Porte.
"What's going on here?"
"These two letters were intercepted by the Guard. They prove a secret understanding between you and the Turks!"
"Let me see!" Manninger winced.
The Archduke sprang from his chair: "Don't you dare to play dumb! You are a traitor to the Emperor!" "What makes you say that? Two letters?" the Earl cried, "they are fakings!"

"We have checked the Signatures. They are real without doubt," Segur interjected.

Slowly Manninger turned to sneak a look at the Special Affairs Minister - who was busy concentrating on the clouds outside passing by the window.
"You infamous, disgraceful ..." Manninger began, but was cut off.

"Stop that, Earl Manninger!" the Archduke ordered. "Where have you been just now, I ask. And it is your last chance."

Manninger broke into sweat. "I ... I told you ... but ... but then ... I ..."

"Enough! You are relieved of your duties. Return home and await Our sentence."
Manninger paled, as two guards took his arms and dragged him away.

"My dear Marquis," the Archduke addressed the Special Affairs Minister, "do you feel ready to replace the Earl on his post for the time being?"
"I am, Sire, until you find someone more worthy than myself."

------

Vienna (Gov't) - Dr. Earl Manninger, Austrias Foreign Relations Minister, has decided to step down from his duties for personal reasons. For the foreseeable future, Marquis Andreas Habicher takes over his portefeuille.

CONQUEST

Duke Segur and the Austrian Special Affairs Minister stared across the wooden table, where the Police Minister and Treasury Advisor Van der Heyden sat, glaring back. Towering slightly above them, at the head of the table, sat His K.u.K. Highness, Emperor Francis Joseph I. of Austria and Hungary, one eye half closed, the other one darting back and forth between the two parties. His right hand stroked his characteristic beard absent-mindedly.

"You cannot allow them to have their way!" exclaimed Van der Heyden. "This is outrageous! How presumptious! Don't you see through them? They are villains!"
Duke Segur twitched, and inhaled, but the Special Affairs Minister quickly grabbed his arm and held him back. Let Van der Heyden dig his own grave, he thought.

The Financial Expert ranted on, forgetting himself in his fury: "To give them what they seek would be foolish! There is no limit to their machinations, and you will not be able to control them once they get their own money sources. Let me handle this, I know I have the insight that's needed..."

As van der Heyden went on and on, even the Police Minister became uneasy, and tried to shrink into his chair to detach himself from his ally. But the old Emperor kept his good humour, at least outwardly.

"Enough," he finally commanded in a low voice, and silence fell immediately. The Emperor shifted his body and looked at the Special Affairs Minister, who slowly rose.

"Your Highness;" he started, and also covertly nodding to a dark corner where he thought he had seen a secret door moving, "I wish to make one point only. You will be able to draw your own conclusions.

What we seek to accomplish is a victory not only for You, but for all christendom, for Europe itself. When the liberty of the Holy Land itself is the price, we can't let bureaucrats hinder our steps." The Minister bowed low, and sat.

"Ridiculous!" Van der Heyden exploded, contrasting the cool demanour of his enemy with unfit rashness. "Special Funding granted," said the Emperor, all calm. "My dear Duke, my dear Marquis, I trust you to handle the resources well. However, you will answer to my dear son."

The Archduke stepped forward from the dark corner, and politely returned the Special Affairs Ministers nod. Van der Heyden gasped.

As the door was opened, and the Ministers bowed and started to leave, the Archduke called upon Van der Heyden, who froze on the spot.

"Distinguished Advisor, I feel I need to explain one thing or two to you. About conduct in the presence of His Royal K.u.K. Highness."

COUP DE GRACE

The K.u.K. State Secretary for Finances and Monetary Politics, Hans Maria van der Heyden, ducked into a shadow, panting. At this time of night, there was virtually no one on the streets, yet Van der Heyden was sure he had heard footsteps trailing him. Intently, he scanned the dark, deserted street.

Nothing.

Clutching a small bundle to his body, the short man relaxed a little, straightened his hair and put his spectacles more firmly on his pointed nose.

Fast-paced, he started out of his hiding to bridge the last few paces toward the fountain ... and nearly fainted in shock when he found himself fact to face with a tall, smirking guy in a dark hood. "Easy, friend," came the crisp voice from the dark stranger.

"Themistokles!" Van der Heyden gasped, pawing his chest. "I nearly suffered a heart attack!"
Themistokles smirked.

Van der Heyden nervously scanned the vicinity, then whispered emotionally: "Our plan is dangerous, but you know we must do this! The suffering of such proud nations like France or England is an indirect consequence of our blunt and violent foreign policy! Hadn't we attacked Serbia, Europe would still be at peace. It will forever last on my conscience that I didn't attempt to stop this Warmonger sooner."

"Stop blabbing," hissed the Greek. "Do you have the gold?"
Van der Heyden handed him the bundle; it clinked, full of coins.
Another hiss: "Allright. Count your mark as dead."
"Are you sure you can do it?" inquired van der Heyden, suddenly insecure. "He is a Minister, after all. Special Affairs or not, he will have protection." Again, Themistokles just smirked.

"Good," Van der Heyden closed the deal. "Let's say, we never met. Goodbye, then."
"Good Bye."

As Van der Heyden turned his back at Themistokles, he heard a hissing sound, and something stung. His gaze down his body found a sliver of metal protruding from his body, in the general area of his heart, but he was slow to comprehend what that meant.
When the dagger was ripped out of his back, waves of pain blinded the Financial Advisor.

"What...?" he stammered, before the dagger found flesh again, piercing through his windpipe. Gurgling, the politician fell backwards, into the fountain.
Themistokles stabbed him again, again and again - for good measure. Blood welled up, and darkened the water.

Unblinking greek gods carved out of marble watched as Themistokles sheated his dagger, grabbed the gold, smirked, and took off. The night gulped him down.

STALEMATE ?

Archduke Franz Ferdinand looked up as a small door in the large portal to his office creaked open. His private secretary, Mr. Tischbein, entered with a dark look on his face. He held some papers in his hands and waited to be called forward.

Franz Ferdinand beckoned him to come closer. "What is it?" asked the Archduke.

"Your Highness, your agents have come across some disturbing information." Tischbein handed the papers to his master. For a minute, it was quiet in the dark furnished office, only the rustling of papers was heard as Franz Ferdinand skimmed the material in his hands.

"That devil!" he broke the silence. "Looks like the Special Affairs Minister is again having an eye on things which are none of his business. This time he is after the War Ministry. We can't have that, he is strong enough as is."

The secretary nodded. "The methods of the Special Affairs Minister are quite in order when he's dealing with the turks, or criminals. But we need unity and stability when it comes to domestic politics."
The Archduke put the papers aside. "It's true. We cannot let simple Ministers destroy the power base of the Royal Family with their petty affairs." He looked at his secretary. "Send for the Special Affairs Minister. I want to see him at once, here. He needs to be told plain and clear where his boundaries are, and which lines he may not cross."
"Yes, mylord." And with that, the secretary silently left the room.

STAB

Leaving the Parliament, the Special Affairs Minister smiled. Behind him, the usual chaos reigned, but this time the representatives did not beat or throw things at each other - they had a common reason to revolt. In clear but emotional words some of the Minister's friends had pointed out the latest military setbacks, the losses, and the enormous costs of the campaigns.
And that the armies were really losing ground on all fronts around was even better for his designs - even if only up to a certain extent, of course.

*** . *** . ***

The police Minister spoke slow, and silent: "Sire, the parliament and the people demand the heads of those who are responsible. They want either the Emperor to resign or the War Minister in prison."

The Archduke shook his head. "Devil!" he muttered. "Sire?"

"What are you asking me?" the Archduke exploded, throwing a dart at a map of the Empire. It stuck by the city of Linz, buzzing. "Are you idiot enough to consider a resignation of the Royal Family?" "Of course not."

"So, what are you waiting for! Send the guards, take the Minister to the dungeons. And his damned generals, too. These fat fools can't tell an offensive from a defensive."

"But, who will lead the army?"

The Archduke went to a closet and opened it. He took out an ornamented saber, and fastened it to his belt.

"I will."

SOLO

"It is very convenient that you applied for this audience," the Archduke said with a satisfied smile. It spares us the the trouble to come after you." The Special Affairs Minister shuffled his papers and laid them down on the dark oaken desk.

"Good evening, Your Highness, good evening, Mylord." He bowed gracefully in the direction of the Emperor.
"Manners won't save you now," grumbled the Archduke. "We have found you out. Your evil plotting is laid bare!"

"I do not understand."

"Don't you dare thinking I was a fool, just because I am old," cried the Emperor from his chair. "You have systematically eliminated nearly everyone in this gouvernement who was loyal to the House Habsburg. They are incarcerated, exiled, or dead. Europe is a chaos of anarchy and war, and foreign relations are a mess. Foreign armies belaguer our troops, and we know that amidst all this you have been busy installing people in high positions - people who wish for you to play a key role in Austrias future."

The Archduke stepped forward: "In a nutshell: you are a traitor. But your machinations have failed. We have decided to imprison YOU, for a change. GUARDS!"

The double door sprang open, and two soldiers entered. "Guards, this man is a traitor. Take him to the Rossauer barracks and lock him away. Tomorrow he shall hang."

The guards never reached him.
A shadow appeared in the doorway behind them - Themistokles - and two powerful shots rang at once. The hooded man discharged his two muskets akimbo, and the guards fell side by side, the backs of their heads a bloody mess.

Gasping in shock, the Archduke reached for his revolver. Themistokles dropped the spent single-shot-weapons to the floor and pulled two more from the folds of his cloak, while the Special Affairs Minister dived for cover behind the desk.

Themistokles' first shot hit the Archduke in the chest while he was still cocking the hammer of his sidearm. The impact threw the heir of the Austrian throne off balance; he hit the wall and crumpled to the floor, the revolver clattering away uselessly.

The Emperor still sat in his chair, wide-eyed. "Franzl..." he murmured, shocked at his beloved nephew's demise. Then the murderers last shot took him out.

The ensuing silence was absolute.
Finally, Themistokles snickered and dropped his empty guns: "Done! Now we are in charge!"
The Special Affairs Minister rose and patted the dust off his jacket.

"Impressive," he said. "But muskets? Aren't they a tad out of date?"
"They are reliable," the assassin croaked with his eerie voice. "They do not jam all the time like these new sissy-weapons, these semiautos. And I don't like to take risks."
"Some risks are well worth taking," the Minister said as he drew a heavy Colt Automatic.

Themistokles paled and pulled out his dagger, but too late.
The ugly pistol barked, again and again, and did not jam, as the Minister pumped all seven bullets into his former ally.

His face a mask of disbelieve, Themistokles shrieked like a banshee as his soul left his skinny frame. It took ages until more guards approached, trampling up the stairways.

"Help!" cried the Minister, "Guards, to help! The Greek killed the Emperor!"

+ - + - + + - + - +

AFTERMATH

Thousands of telegramms were soon underway, tens of thousands. They were going to every police station, every military outpost, every city council, mayor or priest in Austria-Hungary to spread the word:

"The Emperor is dead - Long live the dictator."

THE END