Michael Pearce - The Mingrelian Conspiracy

‘ “I know,” he said at last. “I’ll feel you.” And he put his hand in the bag and caught hold of one of the names. “Get your hands off me, you great, rude, dirty fellow!” said a shrill little voice. “That doesn’t sound like Rice Pudding’s new name,” said the blind man, “and it doesn’t feel like Rice Pudding’s new name, either. It’s all hard and sharp.” And he dropped the name back in the bag and caught hold of another one. This one was soft and round. “Hello, big boy!” it said in a low, husky voice-’

‘This is beginning to get interesting,’ said Selim.

‘Now the blind man knew very well that this was not Rice Pudding’s new name but he allowed himself to be beguiled. “I’ll just have another feel to make sure,” he said to himself-’

‘Very sensible,’ said Selim, ignoring Owen’s signals.

‘-when, all of a sudden, something wriggled out of the bag and ran off down the street. The blind man made a grab for it but it was too late. Even worse, he had left the top of the bag open and all the other names began to scramble out and run away. All sorts of names came scrambling out of the bag. There were red names and green names, fat names and thin names, old ones and young ones. There were men’s names and women’s names; and there were names from all the peoples of the world.’

‘In the bag?’ said someone in the front row.

‘Yes.’

‘All the peoples in the world?’

‘Yes.’

‘Including English?’

‘Certainly.’

‘That doesn’t seem right,’ objected someone in the second row.

‘You’ve got to draw the line somewhere!’ declared a man at the back.

Owen at last succeeded in prising Selim away.

‘I’ve got to go,’ said Owen. ‘Will you be all right on your own for a bit?’

‘Oh, yes, Effendi,’ Selim assured him, with a glance over his shoulder towards the kitchen.

‘I’ll send some more men down. I can only spare two for the moment, unfortunately. We’re very stretched just now.’

‘Send Abdul, Effendi. He’s simple but strong. And Fazal. He’s a mean bastard, just the man.’

‘I’ll do my best. I don’t think they’d better be actively in the cafe, though. It would be too noticeable. Perhaps they’d better hang around outside. Not in uniform, obviously.’ Selim didn’t like this.

‘Effendi, it’s bad for those idle bastards to have nothing to do. Especially when I’m working. Look, I’ve got a better idea. My wife’s got a cousin, he’s a Nubian wrestler, big, really big, half savage, too, they’re all like that down there. It’s all right in the women, adds a bit of something, you know- where was I? Oh, yes, Babakr. Well, as I say, he’d break your back as soon as look at you. Now, for a few piastres-’

‘So,’ said Mahmoud, ‘you think it’s a criminal gang, do you?’

Owen nodded.

‘Pretty sure. It’s based on the Fustat. The man we took yesterday comes from near the ferry and I wouldn’t be surprised if the rest did too. They don’t operate outside the Fustat much, which is another thing that makes me think they’re not a club. The clubs stick mostly to the schools and El Azhar all in the modern city, and that’s where the targets are, too. This chap said they kept south of the Citadel.’

‘What were they doing up here, then?’

‘Someone asked them to do a job for him. Actually, I’d like to know about that. Who asked them and why? It could still be political.’

Mahmoud nodded. In principle-and Mahmoud was the sort of man for whom principles stick up all over the place- the distinction Owen was making was one that he could not accept. The Parquet, in his view, should be responsible for all judicial investigation and he objected strongly to the Mamur Zapt having reserved powers in cases where a political dimension was suspected. In practice, he understood the distinction very well.

‘So,’ he said, ‘what is it that you are proposing?’

‘Well, in the ordinary way of things, if I thought something was criminal, I’d pass it over to the Parquet. But there’s a question mark about this.’

‘Who commissioned the job?’

‘Yes. But not just that.’

He told Mahmoud about the possibility that a second gang was involved.

‘I suppose I ought to hang on to it until I’m sure, but the fact is I’ve got a lot on at the moment and if it’s just criminal I’d rather hand it over to the Parquet right away. There’s work to be done on it and if we hang around it might all go cold.’

‘Pass it on, by all means,’ said Mahmoud amiably.

‘The trouble is, I’m not absolutely sure. The other gang, you see, if there is another gang, might turn out to be a political club. I was wondering-is there any possibility of your taking this on yourself? Then if there turned out to be a political dimension we could probably handle it between us, and if there wasn’t, well, so much the better.’

Mahmoud considered. In principle he was against this kind of thing. It blurred lines of responsibility; by agreeing you suggested that you condoned the system; and it was all horribly pragmatic. Mahmoud, again on principle, was against pragmatism. There was too much of it about and it mucked up system. And system was what Egypt all too plainly needed.

On the other hand, the system was clearly mucked up and you had to do what you could.

‘Well,’ he said, weakening, ‘I suppose you could say I’m already involved.’

‘Already?’

‘So far as cafes are concerned. Those soldiers the other night,’ he supplemented.

‘You’re still on that?’

‘I certainly am. There is a major issue of principle-yes, well, I’m still pursuing it. But as to getting your case assigned to me if you transferred it-well, I could probably arrange it-’

They got down to details. Ali, it was agreed, would be handed over to Mahmoud as soon as the case was formally transferred. Selim would be left for the moment where he was. As for reinforcements, Mahmoud, to Owen’s surprise, favoured the Nubian wrestler.

‘It’s only a few piastres,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t your budget stand it?’

‘Well, yes, but-’

Experience had, however, given Mahmoud a realistic sense of the rival merits in a brawl of the average Cairo constable and a Nubian wrestler.

‘The Nubian wrestler every time,’ he said, ‘especially if Selim has a few more friends like him. Besides, it’s better if they’re not too obviously policemen.’

Owen promised to have a word with Selim.

At the end they sat back.

‘Of course,’ said Mahmoud, ‘this doesn’t alter the principle.’

‘Principle?’

‘That there should be just one body responsible for investigation.’

‘That’s what the Army thinks too,’ said Owen.

Back in his office, Owen felt pleased. He would have liked to have kept the cafe business to himself just a little longer, but Mahmoud would handle it all right and meanwhile he really ought to be concentrating on the Grand Duke’s visit. Nikos was finalizing arrangements but they would need to be talked through with the people concerned and he himself would have to do that. The procession remained the real problem, the time when Duke Nicholas would be most at risk, but Owen had cunningly delegated entire responsibility for that to the Army. ‘Unified command,’ he had muttered, and Shearer, dumb idiot that he was, had nodded agreement. So if anything went wrong he was the one who would get it in the neck.

In fact, judging by the reports of Owen’s agents, the various protest meetings were unlikely to issue in anything serious. The groups which had come together had promptly fallen apart. Only down in the Babylon, according to Georgiades, were there still rumours of action. The committee formed there after the public meeting which Owen had witnessed was still divided over its terms of reference. However, some of the more vehement members, including Sorgos, had walked out and it was rumoured that they had set up a caucus which was pressing ahead with ideas for action. Owen decided to go and see Sorgos.