The Donkey-Vous mz-3

by Michael Pearce

  “You think they were out to stop the Khedive?”

  “And raise money. And hit at the Great Powers. Maybe at tourism, too. If you’re a Wahabbi you’re dead against all that kind of foreign contamination.”

  “You reckon they’re all Wahabbi?”

  “If one of them’s Wahabbi, the others are likely to be.”

  “Not Senussi,” said Georgiades, as one reporting a fact.

  “Not Senussi. That’ll disappoint the Army,” said Owen with satisfaction.

  “Maybe. But it doesn’t make it any easier for us. There are a hell of a lot of Wahabbi in Cairo.”

  “We’re not much further,” Owen conceded.

  “Especially now that Abdul Hafiz has gone,” said Georgiades.

  Someone must have been watching, for by the time that Owen had got downstairs again after taking Colthorpe Hartley back to his room, Abdul Hafiz had gone. It confirmed for Owen that someone had overheard Colthorpe Hartley’s groping attempts to identify the dragoman he had seen when he had been talking with Owen on the terrace, but this was no consolation.

  “Abdul Hafiz was about all we had,” he said to Georgiades, “and now we haven’t even got that.”

  He consulted the donkey-boys again but this time they were unable to help. They were more than willing-in fact, they were desperately eager to help-but the Wahabbi milieu was not really something they knew about. They were now locked up in the caracol, racking their brains to remember anything which might provide a clue to the dragoman’s present whereabouts.

  One of them was not in the caracol. This was the boy who had claimed to recognize the camel. He was still at liberty, though accompanied everywhere he went by one of Owen’s agents. In the afternoons, he went to the Market of the Afternoon. The rest of his time he spent at the Mosque el Hakim, the two places where he thought he had previously seen the camel. If he saw the camel again he was to come back at once to Owen.

  This was about all Owen could do, and he was worried. For he thought that Abdul Hafiz’s sudden flight might be a sign of panic. And when kidnappers panicked they usually killed their prisoners.

  He was quite relieved when he got a phone call from Paul.

  “Another Diplomatic Request,” said Paul. “The same as before. Stay away.”

  “At the moment,” said Owen, “I am not aware that I am sufficiently near anything for anyone to think it worth-while asking me to stay away.”

  “You are too modest. Now that the Mamur Zapt has smashed the Donkey-boy Mob, the Cairo underworld is all a-tremble. So think our Gallic colleagues, anyway. Besides, you have cocked it up for them before and they don’t want it to happen again.”

  “Is it the same thing as before? They’re going to hand over the money?”

  “In exchange for Moulin, yes.”

  “What makes them think it’ll work any better this time than it did last time?”

  “The fact that this time Zawia seem very keen to deal. They swear it will go ahead this time. Besides, the French are offering more money.”

  “So what do you want me to do? I mean really want me to do?”

  “Stay away, of course. Like I told you. It’s a Diplomatic Request, isn’t it?”

  “But-”

  “I am sure a sharp fellow like you has got it all worked out,” said Paul, and rang off.

  “They’re preparing to pull out,” said Nikos.

  “Zawia? Or the French?”

  “The French pulled out a long time ago. Zawia.”

  “When they’ve got the money.”

  “Of course.”

  “Presumably they won’t get their hands on the money until they’ve handed over Moulin. That means he’s still alive. Which is a relief.”

  “ Are you going to stay away?”

  “Yes, I bloody am. If the exchange goes ahead at least Moulin is free and out of the way. If it doesn’t go ahead they’ll probably kill him.”

  “I would expect so,” said Nikos neutrally. Now that it was not Senussi but just another boring kidnapping, he had lost interest.

  Further support for Nikos’s supposition that Zawia were pulling out came soon after from Georgiades.

  “I’ve been talking to Madame Tsakatellis,” he said. “Which one? The older or the younger?”

  “I steer clear of the older. No, the younger. I happened to hear that she was pawning everything she hadn’t got. Including the shop. So, naturally, when I ran into her I asked her about it. She says that Zawia have contacted her again. They made her an offer. Bring everything you’ve got, they said, and provided it’s big enough you can have your husband.”

  “They didn’t name a price?”

  “They named an ‘at least’ sort of price. More than she’s got, of course. So she’s having to raise it.”

  “Still without telling the old lady?”

  “So far. The point is,” said Georgiades, “that Zawia seem anxious to settle.”

  “They’ll settle,” said Nikos, “and then get out.”

  “There seems an urgency about this,” said Georgiades. “As with Moulin,” said Owen.

  “Moulin?”

  Owen told him.

  “Are you going to stay away?” asked Georgiades.

  “Yes. I’ve had a diplomatic request.”

  “Besides which, you cocked it up last time.”

  “ We cocked it up.”

  “As I said. Of course,” said Georgiades, thinking, “you’ve not had a diplomatic request in the case of the Tsakatellis family.”

  “I’ve had bloody Rosa’s request.”

  “Quite a girl, isn’t she?” said Georgiades. “All the same…”

  The phone call came through in the early evening. The offices were closed-the working day started at seven and finished at two because of the heat-but Owen had gone back to his office and was quietly working.

  “I’ll be right with you,” he said.

  Outside, it was already dark. The streets were filling again after the prolonged siesta. People sauntered up and down looking at the shops, the goods piled high on the pavement outside them and the stalls crowding into the street. Except in the really wealthy areas there was no glass frontage to the shops. They were open to the world and their light spilled out on to the streets and as you walked past you encountered a succession of smells: the pungent bazaar-smell of Egyptian leather, the more subtle but still heavy fragrance of sandalwood, the sharp, burnt smell of coffee, the different burnt smell of roasted peanuts, the various aromas of spices and perfumes, tobaccos and caramel.

  The streets became narrower and darker, the shops smaller and less frequent. People were no longer promenading but sitting quietly talking on their doorsteps or gathered round the pumps in the tiny squares or forming animated groups outside the small cafes. For the most part the talkers were men. The women, almost indistinguishable in the shadows because of the blackness of their clothes, kept to the sides of the streets.

  A few looked curiously at Owen as he went past. In the darkness and with his tarboosh on, however, there was nothing to mark him out from any other Egyptian.

  When he reached the Sharia en Nakhasin he looked around for the little square and found it tucked away to one side. It was not much more than twenty yards across and was dominated by a huge lead pump around which a number of men were sitting. They looked at Owen as he came up and one or two of them muttered greetings. He stood quietly at the edge of the group, waiting.

  It was not one of the men but a small boy. Owen felt his trousers tugged and glanced down to see a small urchin apparently begging for alms.

  “You are the Mamur Zapt,” said the boy, quietly so that no one else would hear.

  “I am,” said Owen, equally quietly.

  “I have a message for you from the fat Greek.”

  “Yes?”

  “He said you would give me piastres.”

  “I shall. Here is one now. The rest when you have told me.”

  “Go along the Sharia el Barrani to the Bab e
l Futuh. He will meet you there.”

  “Here is another piastre. Come with me and there will be another piastre when I see him.”

  As they walked along the boy said: “I have a friend who knows you.”

  “What is his name?”

  “Ali.”

  “I know many Alis.”

  “This one lives in the Coptic Place of the Dead.”

  “I remember him.”

  “When I saw the fat Greek I remembered Ali and thought of you.”

  Cairo was a very personal city. The contacts and allegiances you made on one occasion carried over to others.

  “What is your name,” asked Owen, “that I may note it?”

  “Narouz.”

  “Very well, Narouz. I shall remember.”

  He could see now, ahead of him, the massive bulk of the Bab el Futuk, one of Saladin’s two great gates, and realized with a sudden shock of recognition that he was coming again to where he had been previously. To the right of the great Gate, outlined unmistakably against the night sky, were the square, pylon-like minarets of the Mosque of el Hakim.

  A man stepped out of the shadows and said, “Effendi!”

  “I am here.”

  “The Greek sends me.”

  Owen went with him, first giving the boy a piastre. Narouz slipped away but afterward Owen could see him following at a distance.

  There were lights among the ruins where people had built their homes, and the glow of braziers where women were cooking. One or two of the workshops were still open. Owen could see the men bent at their serving machines.

  They came as before to the liwan, the sanctuary, and its forest of pillars. For a moment Owen thought they were returning to the lamp store where he had come on that earlier, fruitless occasion. His guide branched off, however. They came to the far edge of the liwan.

  Georgiades was waiting among the pillars.

  “Thank Christ you’ve come!” he said. “I was beginning to think you would be too late.”

  “Who is it?” asked Owen.

  “Someone from the house. One of the servants.”

  “I thought it might be the mother.”

  “No. One of the boys.”

  “Where?”

  Georgiades took Owen’s arm and pointed. His eyes were used to the darkness and perhaps it was not yet quite dark, for he could see the figure clearly, a slight, thin figure, walking away from the liwan.

  “You would have thought they’d have met here. As before.”

  “Yes,” said Georgiades, “but they haven’t met. Yet.”

  The figure came to a high wall, hesitated and then turned along it, bringing him back closer to Owen and Georgiades. “You’re sure?”

  “We haven’t seen anyone.”

  “What about the money?”

  “It’s in the bag.”

  “Where is the bag?”

  “He’s carrying it.”

  “I can’t see it.”

  Georgiades looked.

  “Bloody hell!” he said.

  “For Christ’s sake!”

  “He had it. He’s been carrying it all the time.”

  “Well, he’s not bloody carrying it now.”

  “But-but-we’ve been watching him all the time!”

  “Like bloody hell you have!” Owen was furious. “For Christ’s sake!” he said. “This is bloody incompetent! What the hell were you doing?”

  “He had it!” Georgiades appealed to the two agents by his side. “He was bloody carrying it, wasn’t he?”

  The agents were standing thunderstruck.

  “He couldn’t have given it to anyone. We’ve been watching all the time!”

  “You’ve cocked it up. Again!”

  Georgiades swallowed.

  “He couldn’t have met anyone,” he said obstinately. “We’d have seen it.”

  “Where the hell’s the bag, then?”

  The thin figure reached the end of the wall and turned away again.

  One of the agents looked at Owen.

  “Yes,” he said resignedly. “You’d better.”

  The agent slipped off in pursuit.

  Again! It had happened again! Owen felt sick, furious. They had fooled him the first time. Now, they had done it again. And it wasn’t even properly Zawia! Just some slip of a boy from the Tsakatellis household, told what to do, no doubt, by Zawia but quite capable on his own of pulling the wool over Georgiades’s eyes. Georgiades! Christ, Owen had always thought he was good, about the only good one he had got. Two agents, too! All three of them, hoodwinked. Before their very eyes!

  Before their very eyes. Just as it had been on the terrace when Moulin and Colthorpe Hartley had disappeared. Zawia seemed to make a specialty of it. They didn’t want just to trick you, they had to do it in a way which would humiliate you. Well, they had certainly succeeded. He felt humiliated and he didn’t like it.

  “Christ!” said Georgiades. “Christ!”

  The thin figure had all but disappeared into the darkness. A great wave of fury swept over Owen. They were not going to get away with this.

  “Get after him!” he said savagely. “Get after him! If you don’t know what he’s done with the bag, he bloody does. And he’s going to tell me. Christ, he’s going to tell me!” The figure, clearly unfamiliar with the ground, came to a pile of huge blocks of demolished masonry and began to skirt around it. Georgiades, like Owen beside himself with fury, ran across to cut him off, moving with surprising speed for a bulky man. The two agents, coming up behind the thin figure, began to close in on it. They must have made a noise, for the thin figure looked back and then began to run. It disappeared behind some huge stones and Owen could hear it stumbling desperately on the loose rubble. Then it emerged again and ran around behind a rock-straight into Georgiades’s hands. Rosa screamed.

  Chapter 13

  " Rosa!”

  The girl stayed for a moment in Georgiades’s hands, then pulled herself away.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded fiercely.

  “What are you doing here?” countered Owen.

  “I told you to stay away!”

  “This is not a place for someone like you,” said Georgiades.

  “I told you to stay away. Why have you come?”

  “We did not expect to find it was you.”

  “It makes no difference. I told you to leave us alone. Why do you keep persecuting us?”

  “I have no wish to persecute you,” said Owen.

  “Then go! Go quickly!”

  “Tell me first why you are here.”

  “Why do you think?” She faced him defiantly. “They want more money. They want all she has. And then they say they will release him. Tonight. Please go!”

  “What have you done with the money?”

  “Left it. Left it where they told me.”

  “Where was that?”

  She stayed silent.

  “You had the bag with you,” said Georgiades. “Or was that deceit?”

  “Deceit?” She looked surprised. “I left it where they told me. They told me to put it down under a rock in a special place and then to walk around while they counted.”

  “You spoke to them?”

  “No. This was in the message.”

  “You were to leave the bag and then walk around?”

  “For half an hour. I have my watch.” She showed it to them, almost proudly. “Then I was to go back. And then I would find my father.”

  She began to weep.

  Owen could see Georgiades looking at him in the darkness. “We have no wish to hurt you or your family,” he said gently, “nor to stop your father being released.”

  “Then you will go? Please go, in case they see you. Go now.”

  Owen hesitated. He could not make up his mind. He felt unusually at a loss.

  “Why do you not go?”

  “Is there no servant with you?”

  “No. I came on my own. We were to tell no one. How did you find out?”
r />   “Why did not your mother come?” asked Georgiades.

  “I would not let her. She-she is not strong enough.”

  “Have you done it before?”

  “No. We used Abou.”

  “Why did not you use Abou this time?”

  “We were to tell no one. It was too important.”

  “Yet you knew your way.”

  “I came here this morning. In the light so that I could see.”

  “You should not be in a place like this,” said Georgiades again. Owen realized suddenly that where the family was concerned Georgiades was still very much a traditional Greek.

  “You must go!” Rosa began to cry again. “You will ruin everything!”

  Owen made up his mind.

  “Continue on your walk,” he said to her roughly. “Keep to the time they set. Call out if you need help.”

  “You-you will not stop me?”

  “No. Do as they told you. But we will be near.”

  Rosa turned obediently and started to walk away. Then she stopped.

  “You will not interfere?” she demanded.

  “We will be near. You may need help to take your father home.”

  “You do not think-?” she whispered.

  “No. But he may be weak. It has been a long time.”

  “Very well,” said Rosa. “But do not let them see you.”

  “I shall be near,” said Georgiades.

  Rosa considered him.

  “I quite like that,” she said softly. Then left.

  “Follow her,” Owen said to one of the trackers. “See that she does not come to harm.”

  The tracker came running back.

  “I have seen Abbas,” he gasped excitedly.

  “You were told to stay with the girl.”

  “Yes, but I saw Abbas.”

  “He was the one who was with the donkey-boy,” said Georgiades. “They were looking for that camel.”

  “I thought you would like to know,” said the tracker, crestfallen.

  “Well, yes, thank you. But keep with the girl.”

  “Where was Abbas?” asked Georgiades.

  “By the liwan. He made signs that he would speak with me. But I came straight back to you,” said the tracker, with an air of hard-done-by virtue, “that I might not leave the girl for long.”