“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 cafés. 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 el 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 Thirteen
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?”
“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.”
“Go back to her now. You have done well.”
Appeased, the tracker sloped off.
“We’d better find Abbas. We don’t want him breaking in on things.”
Abbas had had enough sense to stay where he was. They found him and the donkey-boy sheltering among the pillars.
“Allah be praised!” said Abbas. “You are here!”
“We are here,” said Owen, “but how do you come to be here?”
“I was looking for the camel,” said the donkey-boy, “as you bid me. And, effendi, I have found it. I saw the track and I said, By God, that is the track of the camel I seek. So I followed the track and it brought me here.”
“Where is the camel?”
“Over there, hidden among the stones.” The donkey-boy pointed. “Effendi, there are three good riding camels with it. It came into my mind that those you hunt may be intending to flee. I felt, therefore, that you should know at once. But this man—” he looked pointedly at Abbas’s direction—“would not go for you.”
“How could I go?” objected Abbas. “I was bidden to stay with you.”
“One of us had to go,” said the donkey-boy, “and it could not be me, for if the camels moved, only I could follow.”
“It could not be me,” said Abbas, “for the effendi told me to stay with you and not leave you.”
“Fortunately,” said Owen hastily, “I am here so the question does not now arise. You have done well,” he said to the donkey-boy.
The donkey-boy smiled with pleasure.
“The camel is in good condition, effendi, though I would like to look at the legs. The left hind leg drags a little. It may be nothing, just a habit of the beast. All the same I would like to look, for it could slow them down if they mean to travel far. But then, of course, they would not be traveling together, for the others are true riding camels whereas this is only a beast of burden. It is my belief they used it to bring the prisoner.”
“Prisoner?”
“Yes, effendi, they had a man with them who was bound. Did I not say?”
“No, you did not say.”
“The three riding camels came separately, I think. When we saw them there were four men, and also the one that was tied.”
“Where are they now?”
“Two walked off across the stones. Two stayed with the bound man near the camels.”
Four men. They could not take them all at the same time. They would have to take the two with the prisoner first.
“Rosa will be returning at any moment,” said Georgiades. “We haven’t got long.”
***
The two men were squatting in a gap among the stones. There was no light but Owen’s eyes were used to the darkness and he thought he could see a bundle lying a little to the men’s right. Tsakatellis would be bound and gagged. If he were still alive.
The two men were talking in low voices.
A stone moved in the darkness and the men were suddenly
quiet. There was no further sound and after a little while the men resumed talking.
Owen made no move himself. Georgiades and the trackers would do it better. It would have to be done quietly. The two men who had gone to collect the money would return at any moment. He had stationed himself where he could intercept them.
He wondered why Georgiades was taking so long.
Someone had made their home in the rubble. It was quite some way away but their brazier blazed up for a few seconds and he could see the two men clearly.
They both looked up together as if something had startled them. A dark shape suddenly appeared behind them and one of them fell sideways. The other two shapes merged.
Owen went forward.
The man Georgiades had hit lay inert. The other man was pinioned by the two trackers. One of them had his hand over the man’s mouth.
Georgiades was bending over the bundle. The man was wrapped in a hooded galabeah. Georgiades pulled back the hood as Owen arrived.
The man was gagged but his eyes were open. And alive.
Footsteps approached, crunching slightly on the rubble.
Georgiades let the hood fall back over the man’s face. He slipped quietly off to one side. One of the trackers, the one who did not have his hand over the man’s mouth, slipped off to the other. Owen stayed where he was.
“Suleiman,” called one of the approaching shapes softly. “Suleiman, where are you?”
The inert man suddenly groaned.
The two shapes froze. Other shapes closed in on them. They had to do it from too far away. One of the shapes broke away and ran.
“Get after him!” Georgiades shouted.
The tracker ran off. Away in the darkness someone was scurrying and scrambling.
The first inert man, recovering, tried to get up. Owen put his foot on him.
There was a triumphant shout.
“I have him, effendi!”
It was the donkey-boy.
“I have him, effendi! Abbas, this way!”
Georgiades hauled the man he was holding over to where Owen was and threw him to the ground beside the other two. Then he went back for the bag.
Abbas and the donkey-boy came over the rubble supporting a man between them.
The Donkey-Vous Page 23
