xymnovel Chapter 285 A "Leaked" Letter
Chapter 285 A "Leaked" Letter
Chapter 285 A "Leaked" Letter
The fog had not yet lifted in London by the next morning.
In the study of the Greek official's residence, the fireplace had been burning all night.
Constantine sat behind his desk, while Venizelos stood beside him, holding a fountain pen dipped in ink.
"The wording must be skillful." Constantine's fingers tapped lightly on the table. "This letter cannot sound like an official protest, nor can it sound like we are informing on each other."
"It must look like an internal summary report of last night's private meeting within our delegation."
A private memorandum from you, Mr. Venizelos, to me, the Crown Prince of Greece.
Venizelos's pen hovered over the paper; he immediately understood the Crown Prince's intention.
"I understand, Your Highness." He nodded. "The tone of this letter should be one of calm analysis, with vigilance against the sinister intentions of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and disdain for such a conspiracy."
"Yes." Constantine's eyes showed approval. "Transcribe, word for word, what Count Carnoki said last night, especially the part about Stefan Duchamp's ambition and the emperors of the Serbs and the Greeks."
"Then, in the latter part of the letter, add your analysis. Analyze why he said this, what his purpose was, and how the Kingdom of Greece would deal with this despicable divisive tactic."
Venizelos said no more. He bent down, and with his pen, he wrote fluent and clear French on the pristine white paper.
His writing, like his eloquence, is precise and sharp.
In less than half an hour, a perfect "internal report" was completed.
The letter was placed in an ordinary envelope without any official markings and sealed with sealing wax. There was no recipient or sender listed on it.
Constantine picked up the envelope and handed it to Alexandros, who was already waiting quietly to the side.
"It's yours now." His voice was soft. "I don't want this letter to be sent" to the Serbian legation. I want it to appear on their desks in a more—indirect—way.
Alexandros took the envelope, his perpetually calm eyes showing no emotion.
"Yes, Your Highness."
He bowed respectfully, then turned and his figure quickly disappeared into the morning mist outside the door.
At midday, in London, in a quiet alleyway that connects several embassy districts.
A postman named Henry was riding his old bicycle, humming a tune, along the wet cobblestone road. His mailbag was filled with various unofficial letters, invitations, and newspapers.
Suddenly, a ragged man rushed out from around the corner of the alley.
The man yanked Henry off the bicycle.
"Hand over the money!"
Henry was startled and before he could react, the strap of the mailbag slung across his body was roughly torn off.
The robber snatched the parcel, glanced at it, and ran into the depths of the alley. As he ran, he frantically searched the parcel for its contents. Several letters spilled out and fell into the muddy water.
He seemed to have found nothing of value, cursed under his breath, and casually tossed the parcel on the ground.
But in the instant he turned to run away, he pulled out the thickest-looking letter from his parcel and haphazardly stuffed it into his pocket.
The entire process takes no more than thirty seconds.
When Henry got up from the ground and cried for help in a terrified state, the robber had already vanished without a trace.
Two hours later.
Inside a used bookstore called "Ouroboros" in East London.
This bookstore never sells books; it only trades information.
The "thief" who robbed the postman was now standing respectfully in front of the bookstore counter. He took out the letter he had "carefully selected" from his pocket and handed it to a thin, old man behind the counter who was wiping his monocle.
"Boss, this is freshly acquired. I got it from the messenger in the embassy district. Judging by the sealing wax, it's definitely top-quality."
The bookstore owner took the letter, held it up to the light, and carefully examined the sealing wax. He nodded, counted out a few shillings from his drawer, and tossed them onto the counter.
"Well done."
-
The thief took the money, bowed and scraped as he left.
The bookstore owner picked up the letter but didn't open it. He turned and went into the back room, placing the letter into a specially made...
Inside was an even more exquisite envelope. Then, he pulled a rope along the wall.
A moment later, a man dressed in a servant's uniform walked in through the back door.
"Take this immediately to the Serbian legation and give it to their military attaché. Tell him it's the wind from Athens that he specifically requested last time."
"Yes, boss."
And so, a "top secret" intelligence report from the Greek delegation, which appeared to have been obtained with great difficulty through black market channels, traveled across the streets and alleys of London and, quite naturally, ended up on the desk of the Serbian ambassador.
Serbian Embassy.
The Minister, a burly, middle-aged man with a thick beard, was impatiently smoking a cigar.
The stalemate at the London Peace Conference made him uneasy.
His military attaché knocked on the door and placed the exquisite envelope on his desk.
"Sir, it's from 'Ouroboros'."
The minister's spirits lifted. He knew the power of the "Ouroboros." He picked up a paper cutter and carefully pried open the sealing wax.
He pulled out the letter and quickly scanned it with his eyes.
When he saw in the letter that Venizelos quoted Count Carnoki’s words, “Stéphane Duchamp’s ambition is hereditary,” his breath caught in his throat.
He continued reading.
When he saw that Karnoki was trading the sovereignty of Epirus and Crete for future Greek "acquiescence" to Austria-Hungary's Balkan policies, his face began to flush.
The cigar in his hand was unconsciously squeezed out of shape.
Austrians! Those despicable, hypocritical liars!
To our face they shout "Peace in the Balkans," but behind our backs they use the most despicable means to try to sow discord between us and the Greeks!
Every word hit him in the face, making his face burn with embarrassment.
Behind Vienna's sanctimonious facade lies naked malice and contempt for Serbia.
However, when his gaze moved to the latter part of the letter and he saw Venizelos's calm and incisive analysis, the anger in his heart was gradually replaced by a deeper emotion.
Fear and shock.
In the letter, Venizelos clearly stated: "—This is a common trick used by the Habsburg dynasty to divide us with small gains, so that they can reap the benefits. Such a treacherous act is despised by civilized nations."
The Kingdom of Greece would never betray the long-term well-being of its Balkan brothers for short-sighted gains.
These words, like a ray of bright light, illuminated the minister's heart.
The Greeks, far from being fooled, did not fall for it.
They saw through the Austrians' entire scheme immediately! And they expressed extreme indignation and disdain for this behavior.
A complex mix of gratitude, admiration, and lingering fear surged within him.
He slammed his hand on the table and stood up abruptly.
"Prepare the horses! No, send a telegram! Immediately! With the highest level of encryption!"
He yelled at the door.
"Send this letter back to Belgrade word for word! Let His Majesty the King, let everyone see just how ugly those swindlers in Vienna really are!"
An encrypted telegram pierced the London night sky, hurtling towards Belgrade.
It is said that after reading the telegram in his study, the King of Serbia fell into a long silence.
Then, a crisp cracking sound came from the study.
He smashed a very expensive Bohemian glass imported from Vienna on the spot.
Count Carnoki's attempt to sow discord failed to create even the slightest rift between Greece and Serbia.
Instead, it acted like the most potent adhesive, tightly binding together two allies who were already wary of each other.
A raging fire of anger and an unprecedented level of trust burned simultaneously in the Belgrade court.