‘You owe it to us,’ said the Chairman determinedly. ‘You’re the one who’s raised doubts. We’ve tried to answer them honestly. All we want from you is help in making sure that nothing goes wrong at this end.’
‘Surely, anyone could meet Monsieur Paparemborde?’
‘We could send an orderly down. But if we did and if the report was favourable to our case, people would say—you would probably say—that we had rigged it. We want you to be in charge and then there can be no doubt.’
‘This is hardly a part of my duties—’
‘Quite so,’ put in Zokosis, ‘and that is why we are asking you to go in your free time and are prepared to pay you. We’ll make it worth your while, of course, but there’ll be nothing under-the-counter about it. The charge will be in the Society’s published accounts.’
‘Published?’ asked Owen.
‘Accounts,’ said the Chairman hastily.
It seemed unreasonable to refuse. He stipulated that the report should be opened in his presence so that there would be no tampering with it after it had been received by the Society and was reassured that they made no objection.
‘Glad you’re willing to help us,’ said the Chairman, shaking hands. ‘As I say, we’re not paying much—’
Zokosis touched him on the sleeve.
‘Oh yes. When we discussed this at our Committee, several of my colleagues wondered if the task could be combined with another project we have in mind. Or rather, they have in mind. It’s a group of our members who are exploring the possibility of developing a courier service between Alexandria and Cairo. They wondered if while you were undertaking this mission you could think about it as a prototype and perhaps make a report—’
‘I hardly think I’m qualified—’
‘On the security aspects,’ Zokosis put in quickly.
‘I’ll think about it.’
The boat arrived on Friday, which was the Moslem sabbath, so Owen was free to go down to Alexandria and meet the Frenchman. He was on his way to India but had been entrusted by his colleagues at the Institute with their analysis of the tests.
This was not the analysis that Mr. Aziz had requested but a separate one asked for by the Society.
‘The Institute’s the leading one in the field,’ the Chairman had said. ‘Let’s not mess around; let’s go straight to the top.’
Monsieur Paparemborde handed the envelope over to Owen, he caught the next train to Cairo and the following morning delivered the package to the Society’s offices.
Hiscock, the Society’s Scientific Consultant, opened the envelope.
‘Disappointing in one respect,’ he said, reading the report; ‘they say they can comment only on our own testing. In order to be able to confirm our findings they will need to replicate the study independently, which will take some time. However,’ he looked triumphantly at Owen, ‘they have only minor reservations, minor, indeed, about our methodology.’
‘Glad to hear it,’ said Owen.
‘Send you a cheque, old man,’ said the Chairman.
It arrived on Owen’s desk the next day and was for the agreed sum. He pocketed it with pleasure. It would about do to buy a bottle of champagne for himself and Zeinab at the opera that evening.
Later in the morning another cheque arrived. It was from the people who had commissioned a report from him on their projected courier service. It was for a very considerable sum, which was all the more surprising as he had not yet had time to write his report.
***
‘Very nice!’ said Zeinab that evening. ‘Let’s have another one!’
As they drank it, he told her about the second cheque.
‘It’s nice to know your talents are appreciated,’ she said.
‘I haven’t had a chance to show any talent yet,’ he objected.
‘If I know Cairo,’ said Zeinab, smiling, ‘you soon will have.’
***
The Widow Shawquat, taking the view that men, if left to their own devices, could not be trusted to get it right, accompanied them to the House of the Mufti. She did not go in with them, however, but sat herself down in the road outside the gate.
‘Now have you got it straight?’ she said. ‘Remember what I told you. (And see he doesn’t go on too long,’ she muttered aside to Owen.)
‘Of course I’ve got it straight, woman,’ said the Sheikh testily.
He grasped his stick and strode on ahead through the gates.
The Widow watched him with affection.
‘Dear Man!’ she said. ‘His soul is in Heaven. Unfortunately, his mind is sometimes there, too.’
Owen followed the Sheikh in. The Sheikh had insisted on being responsible for arrangements. Owen had taken the precaution, however, of phoning beforehand to see whether they were expected. They weren’t.
The young man in the outer office consulted his list.
‘The Mufti? Today? I’m afraid not.’
‘But I phoned,’ protested Owen.
‘I sent Abu,’ protested the Sheikh.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the young man.
The Sheikh drew himself up to his full, rickety height.
‘Tell His Dear Self that it is I, Hussein Al-Jamal Abd-el-Assid who stands at his door!’ he said.
‘Look—’ began the young man.
The Sheikh took a step forward and banged his stick on the top of the desk.
‘Aside!’ he shouted. ‘Aside! Do we stop just because the thorns are in our way? Hesitate, when they seek to bar the road? Let me tell you this, O foolish boy, the road I travel on is never barred. It is a pilgrimage of grace—’
The door at the end of the room opened and a burly man in robe and turban came through.
‘Is that not the voice of my old friend, Hussein Al-Jamal Abd-el-Assid?’ he asked.
The Sheikh stumbled forward.
‘And they would keep me from you!’ he cried.
‘Well, well, well,’ said the Mufti. ‘You wanted to see me? Then come inside.’
‘But it’s not in the Appointments List!’ protested the young man.
‘It should be,’ said Owen. ‘I phoned to let you know we were coming.’
‘You are together?’ said the Mufti, looking puzzled. He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Very well, then.’
After the greetings, which were prolonged, and the inquiries after health, which seemed unusually genuine, the Mufti asked their business.
‘Let him tell you,’ said the Sheikh gruffly, with a nod of his head in Owen’s direction. ‘He stands more chance of getting it right.’
Owen explained about the waqfs. The Mufti listened with great attention.
‘A road through the Derb Aiah? But where would it go to?’
Owen had intended to keep quiet about the larger north-south road on the grounds that if the Mufti so far hadn’t heard of it, so much the better, but he found himself forced to add that bit of information, too.
The Mufti’s eyes widened.
‘But that is lunacy!’ he cried.
Owen nodded.
‘That is what I think, too.’
‘It is insane even to think of it!’ He began to walk up and down the room in perturbed fashion. ‘Madness!’ he kept saying to himself. ‘Madness!’
The Sheikh watched him for some time.
‘Well, Ali,’ he said at last. ‘What are we going to do?’
The Mufti pulled himself together and came back to them.
‘I’ll appeal against the waqfs,’ he said. ‘That’s for a start. Ordinarily I wouldn’t do a thing like that, I leave it to the Ministry. It’s a question of law and I don’t normally like to interfere. But I’ll certainly do it this time. But that’s not enough, is it? We’ve got to stop the roads altogether. Now, young man, who did you say you were? The Mamur Zapt? The Mamur Zapt! Wel
l, surely you can do something?’
‘Not really,’ said Owen. ‘At least, not easily. I don’t really have the power.’
The Mufti looked surprised.
‘I thought the British had all the power,’ he said.
‘Not power,’ said Owen, ‘influence, perhaps.’
‘Well, can’t you use your influence?’
‘I don’t have enough,’ said Owen. ‘I was hoping you could see your way to using yours.’
‘Oh, I don’t have any influence,’ said the Mufti. ‘No one listens to me. Unless I threaten to start a war. And I don’t really want to do that. At least, not over this.’
‘Old, young,’ said the Sheikh. ‘Foxes, both of you. Why don’t you put your heads together and avert the Camel of Destruction?’
***
The phone was ringing as Owen entered his office. It was Paul.
‘The people who were going to finance the deal with the Agricultural Bank have pulled out,’ he said. ‘Zokosis has been here. The Minister of Finance has been here. The chairmen of all the banks have been here. Even the Khedive wants to see the Consul-General. We’re in trouble. You,’ said Paul with emphasis, ‘are in trouble.’
Chapter Twelve
Owen called for Zeinab in a two-horse barouche. This had never happened before and Zeinab was impressed. Usually, he collected her in an ordinary, moth-eaten street arabeah.
Tonight, admittedly, was a special occasion. They were to see a performance of Aïda, the great opera originally commissioned from Verdi by the Khedive to celebrate the opening of the Suez Canal. The opera, though extremely popular in Cairo because of its Egyptian theme, was rarely performed because of the huge cost of staging it and neither Owen nor Zeinab had seen it before.
The Opera House itself had been built to commemorate the same event and on a corresponding scale and its huge cost, it was commonly asserted, had been the thing which had finally tipped the scales in the Khedive’s bankruptcy and led to the intervention of the Western powers.
But for the Opera House, Owen explained to Zeinab, the British would not have been there. Zeinab replied that, immoderately as she loved opera, and prepared though she was to make personal exceptions, the price did not seem worth paying.
A particular privilege with respect to opera went with the post of Mamur Zapt. It was the possession of a regular box at the Opera House. Owen, when he had first taken up the post, had seen it as a particularly imaginative way of encouraging the arts.
So it was, but not quite in the way he thought. Determined that the House should be a success, the Khedive instructed all his nobles to attend it; and he had sent the Mamur Zapt there to make sure that they did.
This was no longer one of Owen’s duties but he still retained the perquisite. Without it, Zeinab assured him, he would be nothing in her eyes.
In view of the exceptional nature of the occasion, Zeinab had attired herself exceptionally and was sparkling all over. Most of the other ladies present, it turned out, had made the same decision and although the general lustre was dimmed when they retired behind the harem grills with which the boxes were surrounded, at the Interval it shone forth in all its splendour.
Owen normally took Zeinab down to the Saloon. This evening, though, he had dinner served in their box. Suffragis in splendid white gowns, turbans and red sashes pushed in a small table and proceeded to serve the dishes. Champagne in a bucket stood handily by.
Zeinab accepted all this as her due. Even she, however, was mildly surprised when yet more goodies and yet more champagne appeared at the second Interval.
‘Are you sure it’s all right?’ she said, a little anxiously.
Owen sipped the champagne.
‘Oh yes. I think so. A little over-chilled, perhaps. I don’t care what anyone says, I think you can over-ice champagne.’
‘That was not what I meant,’ said Zeinab, putting her hand on his. ‘Aren’t you overdoing it a little?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ said Owen.
‘Because if you’re doing it for me—’
‘“For lady, you deserve this state;
Nor would I love at lower rate,”’
said Owen.
‘Well,’ said Zeinab, melting, ‘put like that…’
Opera started late in Cairo and continued long, and Aïda continued longer than most. In the third Interval, in the small hours, cognac came with the coffee and Zeinab felt moved to protest.
‘Are you sure you can afford it, darling?’
‘Oh yes.’
But Zeinab was not put off.
‘Where,’ she demanded, ‘is the money coming from?’
Owen raised his glass.
‘Let us drink,’ he said, ‘to those excellent people who provide me with my salary.’
Zeinab, uncertainly and unconvinced, raised her glass.
***
‘A Mr. Sabry would like to make your acquaintance,’ said Nikos, ‘a Mr. Jabir Sabry.’
‘Would he now?’ said Owen.
‘Drinks before lunch. At Shepheard’s.’
Jabir was no longer quite as young or quite as slim as he had been. His suit, that of the standard young effendi, was modish but in the fashion of a few years before and his body strained against it. He wore a dark glasses even indoors. He ordered whiskies for them both and then led Owen over to a corner where they would not be disturbed.
‘It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Owen,’ he said as they sat down. ‘We are so glad you have been able to help us. I read your report with great interest and can assure you that it will have a considerable influence on our thinking. There are just one or two points I would like to take up with you if I may.’
Jabir had certainly done his homework. His questions were acute and probed at detail.
‘I would have thought it was not so much the detail, though, as the principle,’ said Owen. ‘I am surprised that you are thinking in terms of a courier service just when so many new forms of communication are becoming available. The development of the sea-bed cable—’
‘It’s certainly speeded things up. We get an answer from the Paris Bourse the same day. But speed is not the only consideration. Confidentiality, indeed secrecy, is sometimes important, especially in banking. And when legal matters are involved you have to deal with the actual documents. There’s no getting away from couriers.’
‘You work for a bank?’
‘Sometimes. In this instance, though, I am representing a group of people who think they can exploit the needs of the banking system. It’s developing very rapidly, you know, not just here but throughout the Middle East.’
‘The courier service would specialize in bank work?’
‘Initially, yes, though any work, really, that requires confidentiality. And that, of course, is why we are so glad that you have been able to help us. The security aspect must be paramount. And who better to advise us on that than the Mamur Zapt?’
‘Glad to help,’ said Owen.
‘We’re hoping you would consider helping us on a permanent basis.’
‘I am afraid I am rather committed to my present duties.’
‘Oh, there’s no conflict. We are only talking about advice from time to time. For which, of course, we would be prepared to pay.’
He mentioned a sum.
‘That is considerable,’ said Owen.
‘We suspect that if the courier service is successful, other groups will soon be wanting to start one. And we’d like to make sure that you are already committed. We were thinking of this as an annual retainer.’
‘It’s even more considerable, then.’
Jabir laughed. ‘It’s what you’re worth, Captain Owen, and what you would be worth to us.’
‘It’s nice of you to say so. I shall certainly think your offer over very seriously.’
‘Excellent! Let us drink to that.’
He ordered two more whiskies.
‘There is just one thing, though, that we ought to clear up,’ said Owen.
‘Yes?’
‘Who exactly is it that you are representing? Who would I be working for?’
Jabir laughed again. ‘No secret about that,’ he said. ‘At least, not as far as you are concerned, Captain Owen. Though I wouldn’t like it broadcast too widely until we’re a little further on.’
He mentioned a few names. That of Ali Reza Pasha was among them.
‘All very respectable men,’ he said. ‘Does that set your mind at rest?’
‘It does indeed,’ said Owen.
The drinks arrived. They raised their glasses.
‘I believe you knew an acquaintance of mine,’ said Owen, as he put his glass down.
‘Really?’
‘Osman Fingari.’
Jabir looked down at the table and sighed.
‘Poor Osman!’
‘You were a particular friend of his?’
‘I wouldn’t say that. We were at school together and then we didn’t see each other for a year or two. But then we met up again recently.’
‘When he joined the Ministry?’
‘Yes. You say he was a friend of yours, Captain Owen?’
‘Hardly a friend. A passing acquaintance.’
‘You are investigating his death?’
‘Oh no. The Parquet does that. If it is required, that is. My interest is rather more general. The authorities are a little concerned. Not very concerned, but a little. When someone commits suicide, you know, questions get asked. Was he overworked? Is the Department understaffed? Or poorly managed?’
‘Osman was certainly hardworking. I remember thinking several times that perhaps he was overdoing it.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh yes.’ Jabir hesitated. ‘There were other signs, too. The occasional drink. Incidentally…?’
‘Thank you.’
A waiter brought two more glasses.
‘No doubt the situation contributed,’ said Owen.
‘The situation?’
‘I gather there’s something of a banking crisis.’
The Camel of Destruction Page 16
