The Mingrelian Conspiracy mz-9

by Michael Pearce

  ‘Katarina!’ cried the old man.

  Owen ran out. She was not in any of the rooms at the back, nor in any of those upstairs. He ran out into a small yard at the back of the house in which clothes were hanging up to dry. From one side of the yard a flight of steps ran up to the roof. Owen raced up them.

  Katarina was bending over a pile of brushwood. As with many of the houses, the roof was used not just for sleeping on in hot weather but also for storing fuel and vegetables.

  Owen kicked the wood aside. Beneath, was a pile of onions. He kicked these aside too. They were covering a drain. He lifted the lid and felt inside. A bag, very heavy, and then a second one. He lifted them out.

  ‘You were very quick,’ he said, looking up at Katarina.

  ‘I was listening,’ she said.

  He carried the bags downstairs.

  ‘All right,’ he said, and the men stopped searching. ‘You can go now.’

  They all filed out.

  ‘Do you want me as well?’ said Katarina, flushed and angry.

  ‘You are with him in everything. Yes, I know. Even when it comes to blowing up innocent people with explosives. No, I don’t want you. I don’t even, as a matter of fact, want him.’

  ‘I am ready,’ said Sorgos fiercely.

  ‘You stay here. For the time being.’

  ‘You are not arresting me?’

  Sorgos seemed bewildered.

  ‘No. And I hope now that I will never need to.’

  ‘But-?’

  Katarina suddenly understood.

  ‘He has not come for you,’ she said.

  ‘But then-? What have you come for?’

  Owen picked up the bags of gold dust.

  ‘You can have them back,’ he said. ‘After.’

  ‘Why didn’t you arrest him while you were at it?’ said Georgiades.

  ‘There’s still time for them to change their plans. They could still try a bullet. I want him free so that he can run around and talk to the other people. Then we can pick them up.’

  ‘They’re not going to be as naive as that,’ said Nikos doubtfully.

  ‘You’ve been saying how naive they are. A bunch of amateurs. Well, we’ll see. Anyway,’ said Owen with satisfaction, ‘I reckon we’ve put a spoke in their wheel.’

  ‘No gold, no explosives!’ said Georgiades. ‘Neat!’

  ‘It’s nicer to do it this way,’ said Owen, ‘if we can.’

  He looked round the table.

  ‘Right, now let’s look at preparations for the visit generally: how are things going? Nikos?’

  Nikos spread out his papers.

  ‘And now,’ said Paul, settling himself into his chair, ‘about the preparations for the Grand Duke’s visit: how are things going? His Highness arrives at Alexandria this afternoon and transfers to the Khedivial Yacht tomorrow morning. Now, is everything in hand? Mamur Zapt?’

  ‘No reports of intended action. Except, of course, for our Mingrelian friends, and there, I hope, we have been able to take preventive measures.’

  ‘Good. Any feel for the popular mood?’

  ‘Indifferent.’

  ‘Welcoming,’ put in the Khedive’s representative hastily. ‘Eager anticipation.’

  ‘Oh, good. That will be very important when we come to the procession. But that, of course, is near the end of the visit. Let’s take it in order. First, the Khedivial Yacht and the journey through the Suez Canal-’

  The meeting droned on. The flies dipped in sympathy. Had they fallen asleep, Owen wondered. Now, that was interesting. Were committee meetings so boring that even the flies fell asleep? Could you use the flies as a measure of the boringness of a committee? You could release, say, six flies at the start of a committee and see at what point they all sank soporifically down. You could even measure rates. If they all sank down pretty soon after the start of the meeting, God, that was a hell of a meeting-

  ‘Captain Shearer?’

  ‘I think I can confidently say, gentlemen,’ concluded Shearer, ‘that all preparations are now complete and that the Army is ready for all contingencies.’

  ‘Hear, hear!’ said the major.

  ‘Including explosives?’ asked Owen.

  ‘Explosives? Well-’

  ‘Bloody hell!’ said the major.

  ‘Depends how they’re used,’ said Shearer, frowning. ‘We’ll line the streets during the procession and keep people well back, beyond throwing distance-’

  ‘Suppose they’re buried or hidden in a building? A large cache?’

  ‘A mine, you mean?’ said the major, disturbed.

  ‘That sort of thing.’

  ‘Well, it would be difficult to guard against all eventualities,’ said Shearer, less confidently. ‘I mean, we’d have to check all the buildings beforehand-’

  ‘ All the buildings?’ asked Paul. ‘I’m a bit worried about the practicalities of this.’

  ‘We’d have to get in some extra men, of course. There’s a battalion of British troops at Aden, and there may be just time to ask India-’

  ‘It would look bad,’ said Paul. ‘It would suggest we couldn’t cope with things ourselves.’

  ‘We can handle it,’ said Shearer automatically. ‘We can handle it.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ asked Paul.

  ‘We’ll need sappers,’ said the major worriedly. ‘Mines are damned nasty things.’

  ‘How serious a possibility is this?’ asked Paul, looking at Owen.

  ‘Oh, a definite possibility. We’ve heard that some explosives, possibly connected to the visit of the Grand Duke, are coming in at Suez.’

  ‘My God!’ breathed the major.

  ‘We’ll do all we can to intercept them, of course,’ said Owen, ‘but I can’t guarantee anything. There’s too much coming into Suez for us to be able to search everything. I have to say that it remains a possibility, a distinct possibility. Thought you’d like to know,’ he said sweetly to Shearer, ‘since you’ll be taking responsibility for the procession.’

  ‘What’s this?’ said Paul.

  ‘Captain Shearer and I have agreed. He is assuming full responsibility for the procession. Unified policing,’ said Owen innocently.

  Paul had been trying to catch his eye, and when the meeting was over and the Army had departed he came up to him. ‘Now, look,’ he said, ‘ I’m in that procession-’

  ‘It’ll be all right,’ Owen assured him hastily. ‘It’s not as bad as that. I think I’ve put a spoke in that particular wheel. But I just thought it might give Shearer a sleepless night or two.’

  ‘Perhaps I could get the Old Man to travel at the front of the procession instead,’ said Paul thoughtfully.

  Owen was meeting Zeinab for lunch after the meeting and he suggested that Paul should come along.

  ‘An aperitif, perhaps,’ said Paul, glancing at his watch. ‘I’ll tell her about the arrangements I’ve been making for the Grand Duke’s visit.’

  ‘Paul, I don’t think she’s that interested-’

  ‘She will be in what I have to tell her,’ said Paul confidently. ‘It’s about the opera. Now, I’ve really been giving my mind to this. It’s our one chance to get something out of this damned visit so we must take it. I’ve been saying to everyone that we’ve simply got to have an opera or the visit won’t be a true replica of the previous one. I know that in fact they didn’t actually get to see an opera, but the point is they would have seen one if it had been ready. It was there in spirit. That’s what I told the Khedive yesterday, anyway, and he agreed. He likes the colour and the clothes and the pretty women. Oh, and the music, too. Anyway, he’s agreed.’

  ‘Wonderful! But, Paul, surely there won’t be time to-’

  ‘Oh, it won’t be a completely new production. There isn’t time for that. It’ll have to be one they’ve got in repertoire, but that’s La Boheme, so that’s all right. Zeinab will like that. She always identifies with Mimi. Now my idea is this: we can’t change the opera but we can change the singers. O
r at least some of them. So why not get in somebody special? Fonseca and Peppone, say. There’s still time for them to get here from Italy. Somebody special for a special occasion, I said to the Khedive. He liked that.’

  ‘It’ll cost millions!’

  ‘Yes, but Finance won’t find out until it’s all over. That’s the beauty of it, you see.’

  ‘Well, I do see, but-’

  ‘I can’t wait to tell Zeinab.’

  The Ismailiya, where Owen was meeting Zeinab, was the modern European quarter of Cairo. There were the business houses, banks and consulates; there, too, the hotels and fashionable shops, the salons and the French-style cafes. No storytellers outside them! And there was Zeinab, dressed a la Parisienne, conceding so much to Egypt as to wear a veil, but not so much as for it to be one that would be a soupcon out of place on the Faubourg St Honore.

  On hearing Paul’s news about the opera she went straight for the jugular.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘two dresses, not one. That makes it even more impossible. There’s still time. Are you going to send the cable or not?’

  ‘Not,’ said Owen firmly.

  ‘Cable?’ said Paul. ‘What cable?’

  ‘To her couturier. In Paris. By the Diplomatic Postbag.’

  ‘Why not?’ said Paul.

  ‘There you are!’ said Zeinab triumphantly. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s a misuse of public funds. Why can’t she use the Post and Telegraphs like everyone else?’

  Zeinab put her hand on Paul’s.

  ‘He is a simple man,’ she said. ‘He does not understand these things. But you understand them, don’t you? You understand that there are some things a woman might wish to keep secret from other women until the right moment, the moment of eclat, that she might not wish to blazon her secrets through all Cairo by using the public Post Office?’

  ‘You overrate the interest of all Cairo in what you are going to wear.’

  ‘Overrate?’ said Zeinab pityingly. ‘When the British ladies talk of nothing else? Samira was at the hairdresser’s with the Consul-General’s wife yesterday and she said that all the talk was of what everyone was going to wear. Samira herself-’

  ‘I do think she has a point, you know,’ Paul said to Owen. ‘I was talking to the C-G’s wife only this morning-’

  Zeinab patted his hand.

  ‘You understand,’ she purred, ‘because you have imagination.’

  ‘Gosh, yes!’ said Paul.

  ‘Paul, she’s eating you alive!’

  ‘ He has no imagination,’ said Zeinab pointedly. ‘That is because he is British. They have it cut out of them in childhood. Like tonsils.’

  “ I’m British,’ said Paul faintly.

  ‘But you are different, Paul. You have imagination. And sensitivity. You understand women.’

  ‘If he doesn’t,’ said Owen, ‘he’s getting a pretty good lesson.’

  Zeinab gave him a black look.

  ‘The cable needs to go off today,’ she said.

  ‘Look,’ said Paul, ‘if it matters that much, why don’t I send it?’

  ‘There!’ said Zeinab, looking at Owen.

  ‘No!’ said Owen.

  ‘I’d be glad to, honestly!’ said Paul.

  ‘That’s not the point,’ said Owen.

  ‘No,’ agreed Zeinab, ‘that’s not the point.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Paul, bewildered.

  ‘ I’ve got to send it,’ said Owen.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Zeinab.

  ‘I don’t-’

  ‘It’s nothing to do with dresses,’ said Owen. ‘She doesn’t care a damn about that sort of thing. It’s to do with her and me.’

  ‘Quite right,’ said Zeinab.

  ‘I’m out of my depth,’ said Paul.

  ‘She wants to show her power over me.’

  ‘What nonsense!’ said Zeinab. ‘I want you to show your love for me.’

  ‘I’m backing out,’ said Paul, quickly finishing his aperitif.

  Owen looked at Zeinab.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘It’s all over.’

  ‘That’s right,’ agreed Zeinab picking up the menu. ‘What’s for lunch?’

  ‘Someone else, I hope,’ said Paul, rising from his chair.

  The chandeliers glittered. Ice tinkled in the glasses. Redsashed suffragis bowed. A small group of men entered the room and began to move round the guests.

  ‘Prince Oblomov,’ introduced the nervous young member of the Charges staff; ‘Captain-’ He looked down at his prompt card and swallowed.

  ‘Cadwallader,’ said McPhee quickly, anxious to be helpful. ‘Cadwallader Owen.’

  It was McPhee who had prepared the prompt list. Hence the inclusion of the Cadwallader. The name was a secret that Owen preferred to keep. He had, however, once made the mistake of signing his name in full in McPhee’s presence and McPhee, a Celt himself and a romantic, had never forgotten.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ said the Prince.

  ‘Cadwallader. It’s an ancient Welsh name, the name of the Welsh ruling family, in fact-’

  ‘Ah!’ said the Prince, interested, and turning to Owen. ‘You are a member of the Royal Family?’

  ‘No, no!’ said Owen hastily, cursing McPhee. ‘It’s just a name. Not uncommon in Wales. My mother-’

  ‘I quite understand,’ said the Prince sympathetically. ‘I’m illegitimate myself. Or so they say.’

  ‘No, no. It was just that my mother fancied there was a remote family connection and, being a bit of a romantic-’

  ‘Quite,’ said the Prince. ‘Always giving her heart away. I’m like that too. A bit of a romantic.’

  ‘What’s all this?’ asked the Russian Charge, joining the group.

  ‘I was explaining about Owen’s name,’ said McPhee. ‘Gareth?’ said the Charge, who knew Owen well.

  ‘No, Cadwallader.’

  ‘Just a minute,’ said the Prince. ‘What is his name?’

  ‘Owen,’ said Owen.

  ‘Gareth Cadwallader,’ supplemented McPhee. ‘Gareth is the Christian, or first name; Cadwallader the second, or middle-’ The Prince looked at the Charge desperately.

  ‘My name is Ivan Stepanovich,’ said the Charge cheerfully, ‘if that helps. Oh, and Volkonsky, too, of course.’

  ‘I thought it might interest the Prince,’ said McPhee, perspiring slightly, ‘because of the Welsh connection.’

  ‘Welsh? Oh, yes. Like those soldiers, you mean? Prince, I hope His Royal Highness hasn’t forgotten about them. I mentioned them in my communique, if you remember.’

  ‘A decoration, was that it?’ said the Prince vaguely.

  ‘For services rendered. Against our Mingrelian adversaries.’

  ‘In battle, was it?’

  ‘Yes. You could say that. Pretty well.’

  ‘Oh, there’ll be no problem. His Royal Highness will be only too glad to, I’m sure. I’ll have a word with him when he arrives. Most appropriate. In view of the British, er, presence… Well, I’m very pleased to have met you, Captain Cadwallader Gareth.’

  ‘Guard of Honour? The Fusiliers? Not their turn,’ said the Army.

  ‘You don’t think the Sirdar could stretch a point? In view of them being especially singled out?’

  ‘Thank you very much, sir,’ said the Welsh Fusiliers doubtfully when Owen came across them that evening as they were making for the Ezbekiyeh. ‘But if it’s all the same to you, we’d rather not. It’s going to be that hot standing out there in the sun

  ‘The DCLI, perhaps?’ suggested Owen.

  ‘Oh, sir, that would be wonderful. Give those bastards a taste of something.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do. The Army wasn’t all that keen on you lot, anyway.’

  ‘Any chance of us being on guard at the Opera House, sir? I mean, he’s going there, isn’t he? It’s a special night. They’re getting some Italian singers… there’s a very good tenor, they say…’

  ‘It’s ridi
culous!’ complained Mahmoud. ‘The city is going crazy about him. They’re getting all the bunting out, putting flags up everywhere…and who is he? Just some petty Russian aristocrat. Why is he getting this treatment? It’s demeaning. The Khedive is demeaning himself…other countries will think we’re glad to get anyone!’

  ‘Don’t make too much of it!’ Owen advised. ‘It’s some kind of recognition, isn’t it?’

  ‘Is it?’ said Mahmoud. ‘Who is being recognized? The Khedive? The British? Not Egypt. Is he going to talk to anybody who’s been democratically elected? Is there going to be any discussion of the Capitulations? Of the British presence? Is he going to address the National Assembly?’

  ‘From what I hear,’ said Owen, ‘he couldn’t even address an envelope.’

  ‘They’re sending a cipher,’ complained Mahmoud. ‘That’s not recognition; that’s insult!’

  ‘It’s something,’ said Owen pacifically, ‘some kind of diplomatic recognition. And that’s better than nothing.’

  Mahmoud snorted.

  ‘It’s a waste of money,’ he said. ‘Money that could be used to do a lot of good: build houses, build hospitals, improve maternity care, education, sewage-’ He made a gesture of hopelessness. ‘There’s so much to do,’ he said bitterly, ‘and we’re spending our time on this!’

  ‘I know!’ said Owen soothingly. ‘When we could be getting on with our jobs!’

  Mahmoud, however, the Nationalist bit between his teeth, was not to be soothed.

  ‘And that’s another thing!’ he said fiercely. ‘I had hoped that the visit might give us an opportunity to raise that internationally!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Policing. Law and order. Who should be responsible, Britain or Egypt? And why isn’t the British Army subject to Egyptian law?’

  ‘I don’t think that question is on the agenda.’

  ‘I’ll bet it isn’t! And none of the real questions are, are they? They’re all being kept out of the way, just as we, the Egyptians, are being kept out of the way. Well, one day, I can tell you, we won’t be kept out of the way, we won’t allow ourselves to be managed aside. We shall strike back!’

  Owen, however, declined to be stirred. He was feeling relaxed now that all the preparations were complete. All was under control.