The Mamur Zapt and the Return of the Carpet (24 page)

“It
was just part of your personal campaign?”

“Yes.”

“What
did Tademah think?”

Ahmed
lowered his head. “They thought it was foolishness,” he said.

“They
weren’t really interested?”

“No.”

“What
were they interested in, then?”

Ahmed
was mute.

“Nuri’s deal?
With
Abdul Murr?”

Again
Ahmed was surprised.

“You
knew?” “They wanted to frighten him off?”

“Yes,”
said Ahmed. “They weren’t really interested in the girl, but when I told them
what I planned, they said they would help.”

“So
they gave you the gun?”

“Yes.
They said it would serve a double purpose.”

“ ‘They
,’ ” said Mahmoud. “You are always
saying ‘they.’ Who are they? What are their names?”

“I
daren’t tell,” said Ahmed. “They would kill me.”

“You
realize,” said Mahmoud softly, “that if you instigated Mustafa to commit a
crime, whether Mustafa planned to kill your father or not, then you bear
responsibility?”

Ahmed
went ashen.

“I
did not mean …” he whispered.

“Whether
you meant to or not,” said Mahmoud.

“Who
are ‘they’?” asked Owen.

Ahmed
licked his lips. “I dare not,” he said. “They would kill me.” “I will start
you,” said Mahmoud. “Guzman.
Farouz.
Ismail.
Abu el Mak.”

The
last two were the men Georgiades had arrested.

He
waited.

“I
do not know any others,” Ahmed protested.

“Were
there others?”

“I
do not know,” said Ahmed wretchedly.

“Did
you ever see any others?”

“No.
The printer,” he remembered.

“That
was all?”

“Yes,
I swear.”

“Did
you hear any other names mentioned?”

Ahmed
thought hard.

“No,”
he said. “I do not think so.”

It
was possible. Some of the societies were very small. It was possible this was.
That would account for its success in going undetected. “They would kill me,”
said Ahmed.

“You
will be safe,” said Mahmoud, “in prison.”

“If
what you say is true,” said Owen, “we hold them.”

“Guzman
is free,” said Ahmed.

Owen
and Mahmoud went round the corner to a Turkish restaurant. As they approached
it the smell of charcoal lay pleasantly on the night air.

Mahmoud
said to Owen: “What will you do with him?” “After? Let him go. Hand him over to
you. He’s no use to me.” Mahmoud was silent.

“Hand
him over to you, I expect,” said Owen. “At any rate the Nuri part is solved.
You will be able to write it up and get it to court.” “It will never get to
court,” said Mahmoud. “It will be quietly dropped. Nuri will see to that.”

Now
it was Owen’s turn to be silent.

“I’ll
be put on another case tomorrow,” said Mahmoud. “Nuri will already be pulling
strings.”

“What
about Mustafa? Will they set him up instead?”

“They
might not. They’ll probably just let him out after a time. Otherwise Ahmed
might not go along with it.”

“To
do him justice,” said Owen.

“He’s
all right.
Just young.”

“Want
me to keep him?
For a bit?”

“No,”
said Mahmoud. “He’s learned his lesson.”

They
walked a few steps further. The restaurant came into view. “On second
thoughts,” said Mahmoud, “perhaps you’d better keep him.
Until
you’ve taken care of Guzman.”

“Suppose
we do catch him,” said Georgiades, “what then?”

“What
then?” said
Owen.
“I’ll bloody well see he’s tried and
convicted, that’s what’s then!”

“You’ll
be lucky,” said Georgiades.

“Lucky?
The case is cast-iron.”

“If it’s ever heard.”

“What
do you mean?”

“It depends
on Ahmed,” said Georgiades. “Will he testify?” “He’d better!”

Georgiades
eased himself on his chair. Although it was still very early in the morning the
heat was intense.

“Is
he going to be tried himself? Ahmed, I mean?”

“Mahmoud
thinks not,” Owen conceded.

“There
you are!” said Georgiades.

“He
may not be tried,” said Owen, “but he can bloody well testify.”

“He’ll
be out of the country. His father will pay for him to have a Jong vacation.
Far away.”

Owen, who was hot, too, had not expected
Georgiades to take this line.

“Are
you saying we can’t make this stuck?” he said with irritation.

“I’m
saying it will never get to court. Guzman is one of the Khedive’s staff. He
will look after him.”

“Even if he’s tried to blow up the Sirdar?”

“Especially if he’s tried to blow up the
Sirdar.
And that’s another thing: Guzman will be a popular hero. Have you thought of
that? I le’s done what every Egyptian would like to do: blow up the Sirdar. Or
at any rate try to. Bring him before a court and there would be a wave of
popular feeling. I can just see it.”

Owen
could see it, too.

“What
are we going to do, then?” he said. “We can’t just let him go scot free.”

Georgiades
shrugged.

“You
could kick him out,” he said. “Encourage him to use his talents somewhere
else.”

“Send
him back to Turkey? That’s just what he wants!”

“Is
it?”

Owen
looked at him.

Georgiades
spread his hands.

“Well,”
he said. “Think!
A Young Turk.
Is that going to make
him popular with the Sultan?
Practising assassination.
Do you think the Sultan would like that? It might be him next time.
Secret society, revolutionary, conspirator.
Wonderful! Just
the chap the Sultan needs! I’ll tell you one thing. Guzman may be popular with
the Egyptians. He might be popular with the Turks for all I know. But one thing
is for sure: he won’t be very popular with the Sultan!”

When
Georgiades had gone, Owen sat there thinking. Gradually his chair tipped back.
He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. His feet found their way
on to his desk. The chair tilted even more, so much so that Owen came to with a
start. He pushed the chair back so that his shoulders rested against the wall.
Feet went back on to desk. He shut his eyes again and blotted out everything
except what he was thinking of.

He
was still like this when Georgiades reappeared. He took one look at Owen and
then padded away again without disturbing him.

And
he was still like this one hour later when Nikos went in. Nikos, too, might
have left him, but Nuri was waiting outside. This was an honour and Nikos was
impressed.

“His
Eminence, Nuri Pasha,” he announced grandly as he ushered Nuri into the room.

Nuri,
quite recovered now, came forward with outstretched hand, all geniality.

“It
is good of you to see me, Captain Owen,” he said. “I know you must be busy.”

Nikos
looked at Owen reproachfully and then retired, leaving the door conveniently
open, for the sake of coolness no doubt.

Nuri
sat down on one of the hard wooden chairs which were all that Owen had. He
placed his walking stick, a different one from the one Owen had seen
previously, ivory-topped this time, between his knees and folded his hands over
the top. The heavy torso and massive neck and head were thrust forward slightly
in eager anticipation of Owen’s words and the face sympathetic, friendly,
amused. The eyes were as shrewd and watchful as before.

Nuri
came straight to the point.

“What
shall I do about my foolish son, Captain Owen?”

Owen
had half-expected this, both because it was the custom of the country and
because he knew Nuri could never refrain from politicking.

“He
has done wrong, I know, and must be punished for it. But,” said Nuri, “
as
I am the only one who has suffered—”

“Mustafa?”

“Mustafa
must be looked after,” Nuri acknowledged. “I will see to that. But apart from
him—” He stopped. “Of course, there is the danger to the state. I recognize
that. But somehow I do not see Ahmed as a major threat to that.”

He
smiled, inviting Owen to join in. Owen, carefully, did not. Nuri registered the
lack of response and changed the note.

“Besides,”
he said sombrely, “it is, in part at least, my fault.” “Why?” asked Owen.

“I
should have taken him more seriously.
Though that is hard to
do.
Especially when his political ideas are so naïve.
He badly needs a lesson in realism.”

“This
is it,” said Owen.

“Yes,” said
Nuri, “but the lesson comes costly. No parent likes his child paying the price.
Have you any children, Captain Owen?” “No,” said Owen. “I am not married.”

“Not
even in India?”

“No.”

“Ah,”
said Nuri, a little wistfully. “Then you will not know what it is like.”

“What
do you want?” asked Owen.

“I
do not want the charges to be pressed.”

“That
is a matter for the Parquet.”

“Not
entirely,” said Nuri, “and in any case I have seen to that. He is held by the
Mamur Zapt.”

“He
is held under security provisions.”

“Of course.”
Nuri held up a
hand. “I am not objecting to that. I, too, have an interest in security. What I
was wondering, however, was whether Ahmed constituted such a threat that giving
him a good scare would not suffice. He would have to leave the country, of course.
He has been a nuisance to you and I would have to ensure that he was no longer
a nuisance. I recognize that. But I think I could guarantee that to your
satisfaction.”

“Where
would you send him?”

“To Paris.
To
the Sorbonne.
To study law.”

He
caught Owen’s eye and grimaced.

“I
know,” he said. “He hasn’t the brains. But he thinks he has, and I don’t want
to be the one to undeceive him. Frankly,” he said, “I have not been altogether
skilful in my relations with my son.”

“I’ll
think about it,” said Owen.

Nuri
stood up, beaming.

“That
is all I ask,” he said, stretching out his hand. “It is good of you even to
consider it. As Sir Eldon said only this morning, Ahmed is a damned nuisance.”

Owen
took in with amusement the reference to the British Agent. Nuri believed in
letting people know how the cards were stacked.

As
Nuri went out he said: “You have met my daughter, I believe?” “Zeinab,” said
Owen. “Yes.”

“I’m
pleased about that,” said Nuri. “At least you won’t think that the whole family
is imbecile.”

“So
what do you want me to do?” asked Garvin.

“I’d
like you to get a deportation order signed,”
said
Owen, “and handed to me for execution.”

“We
don’t want anything to happen on the way to the docks,” Garvin warned.

“Not my
style. I just want to make sure he gets on a particular boat.
So that I can arrange a reception committee at the other end.”
“He’ll smell a rat.”

“He
won’t even know it’s me. They’ll be just ordinary officials.” “Not too
ordinary. Otherwise he’ll get away.”

“He
won’t get away.”

Garvin
mused.

“This
reception committee you’re organizing,” he said. “I don’t know that I go along
with that sort of thing.
Especially in a foreign country.
Especially in a foreign country like Turkey.”

“I’m
not organizing it myself,” Owen explained. “I’m just tipping off someone else
so that they can organize it.”

“Friends?”

“The authorities.
The
Sultan.”

Garvin
looked surprised. Then he understood.

“It
may come unstuck,” he said. “There are plenty of Young Turk sympathizers in the
police and among the Sultan’s own men. They may see it doesn’t happen.”

“I’ve
thought of that, too. I think I know a way of getting a special word to the
Sultan personally. After that it’s up to him. Entirely,” said Owen.

“That’s
it, is it?” asked Garvin, looking at him. “You’re not involved in any other
way?”