Michael Pearce - The Mingrelian Conspiracy

‘There were other things, too. Like keeping your eyes and ears open. Has anyone come secretly to Mustapha?’

‘One came yesterday and wanted to speak with him.’

‘What else?’

‘Effendi, I do not know. I would have listened but Mustapha sent me out to draw water from the pump. A man like me,’ said Selim, injured, ‘drawing water from the pump!’

‘Never mind that. Did Mustapha speak to you afterwards?’

‘He was a right bastard. He kept on at me all morning. And not just me, Mekhmet, too. He dealt Mekhmet a blow, and I thought he would strike me, too, only I rolled up my sleeves and he thought better of it.’

‘He said nothing about the man who had come to see him?’

‘No, Effendi. But afterwards he had a face like thunder.’

‘It is a pity he would not talk with you. You must be friendlier to him.’

‘I would rather be friendly with his wife,’ said Selim.

‘This is important. Find out about the man who came. Find out what was said. If Mustapha will not tell you, talk to his wife.’

‘Effendi, I will,’ promised Selim. ‘I will lure her with words of honey.’

‘No doubt. But let them be to the purpose. My purpose.’

‘You need not fear, Effendi,’ said Selim confidently. ‘I know how to set about it. In fact, I am already four-fifths there. I have told her how closely you and I have worked together against the gangs. Well, I know that is a little bit of an exaggeration, Effendi, since we haven’t worked together against the gangs yet, but the way things are going, it will soon be true. “I know how to handle them,” I said to her. “I am sure you do, Selim,” she said. “You are so big and strong”-’

‘OK, OK.’

‘ “-and have the ear of the Mamur Zapt,” ’ continued Selim, unabashed. “ ‘You have but to say a thing and he pays heed so if you tell him about this Black Scorpion Gang”-’

‘What was that?’

‘Black Scorpion Gang. You told me to find out, Effendi.’

‘Why the hell didn’t you-? That’s what she said? Black Scorpion?’

‘Yes, Effendi. And I said-you’ll like this, Effendi-I said, “If we’re talking about scorpions, how about a bit of a nip?” And then she slapped my hands-’

‘I just wanted to know which was priority, that was all,’ said Georgiades.

‘The Grand Duke is.’

‘I thought the cafes were. They were last week.’

‘Protection rackets are always with us. Grand Dukes come and go. Or so we hope.’

‘The Grand Duke is obviously priority,’ said Nikos, irritated. ‘He’s got to be, until it’s all over.’

Nikos was working on the security arrangements for the Duke’s visit. It was the sort of job he liked, abstract, systematic, programmable. His desk was covered with schedules, times down the left-hand side of the page, resources across the top, neatly ruled columns, neat multicoloured ticks. But how did colour fit into Nikos’s bloodless systems, wondered Owen? Sparingly, he decided, looking at the columns. Georgiades continued to grumble.

‘I was just getting somewhere on the cafes,’ he said. ‘That idea of Rosa’s was really smart.’

‘What idea was this?’ asked Nikos, picking up a green crayon and considering it.

‘I go round pretending to sell insurance. Against business loss. It works like a charm. They’re all interested. It really gets them talking.’

‘Do they talk to any purpose?’

‘They will,’ said Georgiades confidently. ‘But I’ve got to keep at them. That’s why I’m asking about priorities.’

Nikos put down the green crayon without using it.

‘I can tell you what his priority is,’ he said. ‘It’s sitting in cafes. He’s never had a job like this.’

‘Don’t let the cafes go,’ said Owen. ‘Only fit your visits in around this business.’

‘I was afraid you were going to say that,’ said Georgiades.

‘Just get on down there!’ said Nikos.

Georgiades stood up.

‘Find out who organized it and whether there’s going to be any follow-up. That’s it, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

Georgiades still sought, however, to delay the evil hour; which lasted from about mid morning until the sun began to ease in the second half of the afternoon.

‘Tell me,’ he said; ‘is there any reason why we should treat this more seriously than any of the others?’

‘That’s what I’m hoping you’re going to find out,’ said Owen.

In fact, he had some sympathy with Georgiades, both over the heat-the Babylon was quite some distance away, although Georgiades would use the new electric tram for most of the journey-and over the general question of priorities. It always irritated him when something came up to disrupt the normal pattern of work, something to which others accorded priority. They nearly always had things the wrong way round. In Owen’s business, forestalling was a lot better than reacting, and forestalling was largely a matter of careful, continuous intelligence-gathering. Any diversion from that was, in his view, something to be resisted.

This visit of the Grand Duke, for instance, he could have done without. It was an extra. Why go in for extras when you had enough on your plate as it was? He guessed, though, that the Khedive did not see it like that. If you did not like what was on your daily plate you might be more inclined to go in for extras. The occasional circus was what helped you to stomach the bread.

Owen, in unusually puritanical mood, decided that he himself was a bread man rather than a circuses man; and bent his head grimly over a query from Finance.

Some time later Nikos appeared in the doorway. In this heat they always kept the door open. Besides, it improved communication. Owen could monitor what was going on in the office and Nikos could listen in when required to Owen’s conversations.

‘A Mr. Nicodemus to see you,’ he said.

‘What about?’

‘A tip-off, I think.’

‘Oh, right. Show him in.’

Mr. Nicodemus was a short, plump Levantine in the dark suit of the businessman and the normal red, tassled, flower-pot-like tarboosh of the Cairo effendi. He came forward with outstretched hand.

‘You won’t know me, Captain Owen, but I come to Cairo frequently on business. I am the Levant agent for a large European engineering company.’

He presented Owen with his card, French on one side, Arabic on the other. French was the normal language for business in Egypt, although English was catching on. Mr. Nicodemus spoke in English.

Owen motioned him to a chair and began the usual prolonged courteous enquiries as to health, fatigue and general condition which were the essential preliminary to any Arabic discussion of business. Another indispensable preliminary was the offer of hospitality. A suffragi brought in two little cups of Turkish coffee. Mr. Nicodemus sipped his coffee and praised God and Owen for the flavour; and then business could begin.

‘Some time ago,’ he said, ‘I was contacted and asked if I could supply an urgent order for a client in Egypt. The lack of client details, given the nature of the order, made me’- Mr. Nicodemus paused-‘uneasy.’

‘What was the nature of the order?’

‘It was for explosives.’

‘You are in the munitions trade?’

‘Yes. Among other things. A small part of our business, actually.’

‘And the purchaser?’

‘No sale was made. My company does not supply explosives to unknown clients. We said we were unable to supply and I thought no more about the matter. But then this week I learned that one of our competitors had also been approached and had agreed to supply.’

‘And that, of course, makes a difference.’

Mr. Nicodemus smiled.

‘It does, indeed. My company is all for virtue, Captain Owen, but it hates losing out to those who are less virtuous.’