It is not just the desert that is a threat. Where is Sasha? When there was no letter in Cairo I was in a panic. Did this mean that he had lost at last? He never fails to keep a promise. He told Zofia that a letter would await us in Cairo. There was no letter. Zofia found an explanation: the Egyptian mails. For me, that is not an explanation. It is a threat that Zofia may be alone, absolutely alone. Besides me, there is only Sasha. By now he should be back in Brazil, reading my message. Shaking his little head, sighing over my asininity. So I tell myself. Weeks of silence ahead. Zofia carefree for the first time in her life. I say nothing about Sasha, nothing about his letter, nothing about my message.
Beside me, under the sky, Zofia plays her guitar. Polish music—how rich it seems to me, how thin it must sound in the ear of an Arab. Ilona, sitting between Nigel and Kalash, lifts their hands to her lips and kisses them, first the black hand, then the white.
67. DISPATCH FROM THE AMERICAN STATION IN KHARTOUM.
1. In accordance with Headquarters’ instructions, we have briefed Chief Inspector Aly Qasim of the Sudanese Special Branch with regard to “Golgotha” and the broader question of the sponsorship, membership, and objectives of the Anointed Liberation Front. As we expected, Qasim already had in his possession a good deal of information, but he expressed appreciation for the facts this station made available to him.
2. The Sudanese security authorities are anxious to move against the ALF in a shorter time frame than the one we had envisaged. Qasim is under orders from his superiors to prevent any additional kidnappings, executions, and/or public crucifixions of government officials. He is determined to carry out this order, and he made it obvious that the value of any future relationship between Special Branch and this station will depend on how effectively the two are able to cooperate during the next few days.
3. Qasim considers that the only feasible way to prevent the success of “Golgotha” and other terrorist activities on the part of the ALF is to destroy the leadership of that organization, together with as much of the membership as possible. We pressed the view that the capture of leading ALF figures, and their subsequent trial, would be of great value in terms of the political education of the citizenry, but Qasim was only marginally interested in this point. “I am not a lawyer or a propagandist,” Qasim stated. “I am a policeman, and it is my duty to kill this ALF as I would kill a poisonous snake in my garden.”
4. Qasim, who is a fervent Muslim and a loyal servant of the Prime Minister, is particularly incensed that the ALF should style itself as a Mahdist movement. He regards this manipulation of the religious faith of the country by the Soviets as particularly reprehensible. “We will show them what a real holy war is,” Qasim stated. He is particularly anxious to lay hands on Miernik, after the latter has made contact with the leadership of the ALF and is proved to be a Soviet agent. We expressed an interest in having access to Miernik for debriefing purposes following his arrest, and Qasim assured us that this would be possible.
5. Qasim suggested the use of Prince Kalash el Khatar as an agent provocateur before we could lay this possibility on the table. He flew to El Fasher immediately and obtained the permission of the Amir of Khatar to employ Prince Kalash in this capacity. Qasim shares Headquarters’ reluctance to expose the prince to personal danger, and we are confident that he will find a formula that will produce the desired operational results with a minimum of risk to young Khatar. (Qasim, incidentally, is a nephew of the Amir, so he has family as well as professional reasons for caution and concern.)
6. Qasim is hopeful that Prince Kalash will be able to learn the identity of the next set of victims before the date of their murder. Once in possession of this knowledge, he believes that he can protect the lives of the government officials involved, and either capture or kill their would-be assassins. We are putting pressure on Firecracker to report the names of the next group of victims, but he has not as yet succeeded. “Ahmed,” the ALF leader in charge of the terror campaign, refuses to divulge details on security grounds. We are hopeful that Firecracker will be able to break down Ahmed’s reluctance. If in fact he does so, we will hand over the information to Qasim without delay.
68. REPORT BY CHRISTOPHER’S CASE OFFICER (FROM KHARTOUM).
1. Christopher reported to me at 0300, 6 July, in my room at the Grand Hotel. He arrived in Khartoum at approximately midnight—July. Christopher’s condition and morale are excellent.
2. Christopher was fully briefed in accordance with Headquarters’ instructions. The information imparted to him seemed to stimulate his competitive instincts, and I was left in no doubt that he will carry out his assignment with efficiency and enthusiasm.
3. Christopher has come around to the view that Miernik is an opposition agent. Lacking Headquarters’ distance from the subject (and lacking also some of the information available to Headquarters) he was understandably less quick to fit the puzzle together. The briefing given to him by this officer, combined with his own observation of Miernik’s use of a book code and his display of expert marksmanship, enabled Christopher to reconcile his personal regard for Miernik with intelligent suspicion about Miernik’s auspices and probable purposes.
4. Christopher expressed a willingness to reveal himself to Prince Kalash el Khatar for the purpose of providing a direct channel to the prince during the remainder of this operation. I support Khartoum’s veto of this proposal. However, I endorse Christopher’s recommendation that Prince Kalash be advised to use extreme caution in his contacts with the ALF. Christopher suggests that Prince Kalash hold no meetings with ALF personnel on their own ground, but that he meet them at all times in the palace of the Amir, where he can be properly protected.
5. Christopher has proposed an ingenious plan to confirm the identities of Miernik and Ilona Bentley as opposition agents. Before departing Khartoum he will confide to Bentley that a friend of his in the American Embassy has told him that an ALF leader called “Ahmed” is in fact an agent of the U.S. intelligence. If Bentley is an agent, she will certainly communicate this information to the Soviets, and any action they take with respect to “Alamed” will constitute confirmation that Bentley is reporting to them. Secondly, Christopher suggests that we pass the word on Miernik’s arrival in Sudan, together with the exact route of the Cadillac in the days ahead, to Firecracker, with instructions that this information be communicated by radio to Soviet control in Dar es Salaam. The Soviet response can then be read for reactions that may confirm opposition interest in Miernik. At a minimum, this device will win points for Firecracker with the Soviets, who ought to be impressed by his ability to locate and identify Miernik before they have made Firecracker aware of his existence.
6. Christopher and his traveling companions depart Khartoum shortly after dawn 7 July. They will follow the White Nile south to Kosti, then turn west on the main highway to El Obeid. From El Obeid they will take the road through En Nahud to El Fasher. Estimated date of arrival: 12 July.
7. This officer will proceed to El Fasher on 11 July to provide support to Christopher after his arrival there.
69. REPORT BY CHRISTOPHER.
6 July. This situation certainly has a tendency to unravel. This afternoon Kalash phoned and asked me to come to his room. When I arrived he told me that he had just been visited by Chief Inspector Qasim (“a cousin of mine who is some sort of policeman”) who had asked him to get in contact with the Anointed Liberation Front as an agent provocateur. This man wants me to play spy to a lot of Communist cutthroats,” said Kalash. “He told me it was my duty to Sudan. He has already taken the liberty of getting my father’s permission. I suppose my father thought it would be a good substitute for war. He certainly doesn’t have much interest in the fate of Sudan. I’m too old now to go out and kill lions with a spear as I was made to do when I was a boy. Really, Paul, these people never tire of their games.”
I asked if he had agreed to help Qasim. “Agreement doesn’t enter into it. He handed me a letter from my father. I am ordered to go th
rough with this nonsense. It’s most inconvenient.”
Then Kalash dropped the following bombshell: “I think it will be better if you and the others go back to Europe at once. Have a sail on the Nile if you like, but then get a plane to London. I shall be occupied with plots and disguises, I expect. There will be no time for hospitality, and my father is certain to be in a mood over this. I can’t think what he might say if I showed up with a Cadillac full of foreigners at a time when he’s arranged for me to help kill these Communists. Best for you to leave.”
I told him I wanted to stay. Maybe I can be of some help to you, I said. “After all, I owe you something for that wonderful ride you gave me across the Czech frontier.”
Kalash stared at me and laughed. “I suppose you do,” he said. “We both seem to be the playthings of fools. Has it not struck you how very odd our friendship has become? We have progressed from a weekly luncheon to an hourly mystery. I was raised in the belief that white men are amateurs of intrigue—my father used to go to the Governor General’s mansion on the Queen’s birthday and talk loudly in dialect about slitting the throats of all the Englishmen there. They would smile at him through their sweat and talk about building a school in some benighted village. Because they didn’t understand our language, he thought they didn’t understand our intentions. They understood that we had no power to carry out our intentions; you can’t slit a throat without a knife. Now they’ve hardly gone and we’re back where we were before Gordon was beheaded—slicing up each other. One of the bigwigs of this Communist band—they call themselves the Anointed Liberation Front, if you can imagine that—is a bastard brother of mine. I don’t know him, my father got him on some woman someone gave him. But my father wants him dead. He’s an insult to the blood, you know, throwing in with a lot of Russians in order to kill his relations. Father should have sent him to Oxford. I’m afraid I’ve lost stomach for all this medieval nonsense.
Since the matter was out in the open, I advised Kalash to be very careful in his dealings with the ALF. The thought that he might be harmed had not occurred to him. Kalash has the idea that his person is untouchable in Sudan. Of course he may be right. But I don’t think that his half brother is likely to have much respect left for the old traditions after his training in Moscow, not to mention the fact that Kalash and the Amir are the principal obstacles between him and whatever his notions of power and self-esteem may be. “I suppose he may have some idea that he can take over the family,” Kalash said. “It’s happened before. Illegitimate sons are the curse of our system.”
It took a great deal of persuasion, but in the end Kalash agreed that we can finish the journey to El Fasher with him. Unless his cousin the chief inspector is as indiscreet as Kalash, there should be no trouble. “It will be rather interesting to see which way old Miernik shoots if the Communist camel corps falls on us along the way,” says Kalash. So it will.
Kalash has agreed not to discuss his conversation with Qasim with any of the other members of our group. He seemed mildly insulted that I thought he might do so: “It’s not the sort of thing one would discuss with Miernik or the girls, you know. One merely tells such people to go when the time comes. One is less ready to be rude where you are concerned, Paul. It’s a great convenience having you about—you’re so willing to be kind to Miernik. That gives the rest of us the freedom to be annoyed all the time, which is the only natural response to such a man. In the end, you know, it will all burst out. You’ll be the one to strangle him.”
Kalash gave me one of the notices posted by the ALF after they carried out their crucifixions. When we met for drinks this afternoon, I had Miernik translate it in Ilona’s hearing. (Kalash did not join us in the bar.)
Later I invited Ilona to go shopping with me on the pretext that I wanted to buy some amber for my mother. In the taxi I told her that a classmate of mine, now some sort of official in our embassy in Khartoum, had told me a story about the ALF. Its leader, a Sudanese named Ahmed, was in fact working for the Americans. “It’s shocking as hell to me,” I told Ilona, “that the United States should be mixed up in such a thing. My friend said that diplomacy is more interesting than most people imagine. He’s always been an ass. I don’t suppose the story is true, but all the same . . .”
Ilona showed no special interest in the information. She advised me not to disturb myself over what governments do. “They have nothing to do with us, Paul,” she remarked. “They won’t abolish themselves as they should—but we can ignore them.”
She held her forearm in front of my eyes so that I could read the blue numbers from Belsen tattooed on her skin. “Of course,” she said, “ignoring them is not always easy. They have ways of getting one’s attention.”
70. FROM THE DEBRIEFING OF ZOFIA MIERNIK.
By the time we reached Khartoum all of us, I think, wanted a few minutes alone. One gets incredibly dirty in the desert. In camp, Kalash allowed us only a little water in the morning for washing—enough to clean the teeth and the corners of the eyes. So when we got to the Grand Hotel (which is not so very grand, by the way) we all went in our own directions and took baths and so forth. I didn’t see anyone from midnight one night until just before dinner the next. Not even Tadeusz. All of these people were tremendous diarists—they were always writing down the day’s events, like explorers or journalists. I don’t know why. I supposed when I didn’t see anyone that that was what they were doing— writing. I was glad to take a hot bath and be left alone. I read an American book Paul had given me. I closed the blinds and didn’t go outside at all. I had had enough of the sun. I wanted a cool dark place.
Q. Was there any more byplay between Collins and your brother over Ilona?
A. No. After we left Cairo they both became surprisingly uninterested in Ilona, and she in them, for that matter. We all became comrades. There was no more sexual banter. I must say Ilona behaved very well. She did most of the work around the camp—the cooking and sewing and so on. She behaved like a chum instead of a tart. She really was very fond of all the men. I never liked her, as I’ve told you, not even after she had undergone this change in personality. But I could see her charm. Really, she gave one no cause to condemn her. She accepted everyone else exactly as she found them. I suppose I should have done the same for her. As for Tadeusz, he was more like his old self. That peculiar cringing behavior I saw in Cairo disappeared once we got into the desert.
Q. We’d like as many details of the trip out of Khartoum as you can remember. Can you just take it day by day for us?
A. I don’t remember each day equally well, of course.
We left on a Friday and went down the White Nile. Kalash drove the Cadillac, with Ilona and Collins and Tadeusz as passengers. I rode with Paul in the Land Rover. Kalash had to go more slowly because the Land Rover couldn’t keep up. After we left the paved roads, the Land Rover led, because of the dust. We stopped a few times to look at the scenery. It was rather thrilling to see the boats on the Nile—dhows, with those sharp sails like the wings of swallows. Once we saw a whole group of them together and Paul said, “Look, the sails are like a line of Arabic script.” That’s just what they looked like.
Actually, nothing much happened until Sunday night. By that time we were in a routine—start off very early, drive until just before dark, make camp, have supper, talk awhile. Usually I played the guitar. Ilona would sing. It was a happy atmosphere.
Q. What did you talk about?
A. Anything but ourselves. I found this strange at first. For a Pole it was disconcerting—we are always discussing our souls. Westerners do not speak of their inner lives—at least not Paul and Nigel and Ilona. Kalash, of course, is a black Englishman. On the trip we talked about literature, the theater. All of them had a great store of information. One of them was bound to know all about almost anything that came up in conversation. Nigel, for example, seemed to know the names of all the butterflies and birds in the world. No one ever mentioned politics. The subject did not seem to interest them.
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br /> Q. There were no arguments, no conflicts?
A. No. The only possible friction would have come over Ilona, between Nigel and Tadeusz. As I said, that didn’t happen. It was all very civilized, from beginning to end.
Q. Let’s talk about Sunday night.
A. Yes. Well, it had been a serene day. We camped somewhere near El Obeid. Kalash had led us off the main road. He wanted to show Nigel the place where the army of the Mahdi had wiped out the English and the Egyptians seventy-five years ago. Kashgil was the name of the place where the battle took place. Kalash told us where the armies had been and described the massacre in great detail. He knew exactly how many rifles and cannon had been captured, how many foreigners had been killed. He was amusing. “On this spot an English officer, a rather fat one with an angry red face, Nigel, charged into a group of native horsemen, waving his sword and shouting insults. He was killed more quickly than the others because we rather admired his bravery.” Nigel was not amused. These English don’t much like the memory of defeat, especially when they lost to natives. Paul stood by smiling; he always found Kalash delightful.
We camped not far away, between some hills. There was a big moon; for the whole trip we had wonderful moonlight. There was no reason to expect what happened. We went to bed as usual about nine o’clock. Ilona always stripped completely before going to sleep, and hung her clothes on the rope of the tent. We perspired a great deal during the day, of course, and the night air took away some of the odor. I wore an American T-shirt Paul had given me as a nightgown. But Ilona slept naked. She was a restless sleeper, turning and muttering all night. Since we had left civilization, Kalash had made us sleep with the guns. He and Tadeusz and Paul had the sub-machine guns, Nigel a pistol. Ilona and I had a pistol, too, hanging on a hook from the ridgepole of the tent.
The Miernik Dossier Page 17
