Michael Pearce - The Mamur Zapt and the return of the Carpet

“Iwa,” said the man. “Yes, effendi.”

“You take them the drug?”

“Yes, effendi.”

“Do you take them just the drug, or do you also take them the one that chills?”

The man’s face twitched slightly. “Sometimes I take them the one that chills,” he said in a low voice. He put out his hand pleadingly.

“But not often, effendi. Sometimes-just for a rich omda-that is all.”

“It is bad,” said Mahmoud sternly. “It is bad. Nevertheless, that is not our concern tonight. Our concern is with something other. Tell us about the other and we shall not ask questions about this. Do you understand?”

“I understand, effendi,” said the man submissively.

“Good. Then let us begin with what you have already said. You travel the villages with the drug.”

“Yes, effendi.”

“Among them the village that we know.”

“Yes, effendi.”

“And at that village you sell the drug.”

“Yes, effendi.”

“To all the men? Do most of the villagers buy?”

“Most of them. They work hard, effendi. This year there is little food. It fills their stomachs,” the man said quietly.

“And among the men,” said Mahmoud, “you sell to the one we spoke of?”

“Yes, effendi.”

“Every time? Or most times?”

“Since Ramadan,” said the man, “every time.”

“Little or much?”

“Little, effendi.”

The man looked at Mahmoud.

“He is a good man, effendi,” he said. “He would not take it from his children.”

“So he bought only a little. But not last time.”

“Last time,” said the man, “he wanted more.”

“Why was that? Did he say?”

“He said that one had given him the means to right a great wrong and that he wished to strengthen himself that he might accomplish it.” “And what did you say?”

“I warned him, effendi.” The man spoke passionately, pleadingly.

“I warned him. I said, ‘The world is full of wrongs. Try to right them and the world turns over. Better leave it as it is.’ ”

“And he said?”

The man looked down. “He said, effendi, that a drug-seller was without honour.”

The lamp flickered and the shadows jumped suddenly. Then the flame steadied and they returned to their place.

The man raised his eyes again.

“I warned him,” he said. “I told him that the one who had given him the means was a wrongdoer, for his was not the grudge. That troubled him. He said the one who had given him the means did not know what he intended. I asked him how could that be? But he would say no more.”

“And you said no more?”

"And I said no more.”

“He had the money.”

“He had the money,” the man agreed.

He looked down at the lamp. Mahmoud waited. The silence continued for some minutes. Owen was not used to squatting and desperately wanted to stretch, but he knew that the silence was important and dared not break it.

Eventually the man looked up.

“I think I saw the man, effendi,” he said diffidently, “the wrongdoer.”

“How was that?” asked Mahmoud mildly, almost without interest. “It was the day of the meeting,” said the man. “Afterwards I saw one from outside the village talking to him. And then again the next day. I stayed in the village that night,” he explained.

“This one from outside the village,” said Mahmoud, “was he young or old?”

“Young, effendi,” said the man immediately. “Not much more than a boy.”

“Rich or poor?”

“Rich. One of the well-to-do.”

“If we showed a man to you,” said Mahmoud, “could you tell us if it was he?”

The man looked at him with alarm. “Effendi, I dare not!” he said. “They would kill me!”

“They?” asked Owen. It was the only time he spoke.

“When one acts in a thing like this,” said the man, “one does not act alone.”

“The man was not alone, then?” said Mahmoud.

“When I saw him he was alone,” the drug-seller said. “I spoke without meaning.”

“If you saw him,” said Mahmoud, “you would know him.”

“I would know him,” the man agreed wretchedly. “But, effendi-” “Peace!” said Mahmoud. “We will bring you where you will see him but he will not see you. No one will ever know. I swear it.” “Effendi-” began the man desperately.

“Enough!” Mahmoud held up his hand.

“Do this thing for us,” he said, “which no one shall ever know about, and you shall go in peace. Do not do this thing, and you will never go.”

The man subsided, shrank into himself. Mahmoud rose. He put his hand gently on the man’s shoulder.

“It will soon be over, friend,” he said. “Go in peace.”

“Salaam Aleikham, ” said the man, but automatically.

Owen followed Mahmoud out into the courtyard. The two policemen came across and waited expectantly. Mahmoud spoke to them for a couple of minutes and then they went into the house. They emerged with the slight figure of the drug-seller between them. Owen and Mahmoud set out along the alleyway with the others following close behind. In this part of the city it was better to travel as a party. When they reached the space and light of the main road Mahmoud spoke to the constables again and then they went off separately, on foot. He and Owen walked slowly back to where Owen had left his arabeah. “We’re going to find it’s Ahmed, aren’t we?” said Owen.

“It begins to look like that.”

They walked a little way in silence.

Then Mahmoud said: “I must say, I am a little surprised.”

Owen told him what Georgiades had found out about Nuri’s son and secretary. Mahmoud listened with interest.

“It fits together,” he said. “Mustafa and the Nationalists, Mustafa and Ahmed. Ahmed and the extremists among the Nationalists, if that leaflet really means anything. Those most likely to want to kill Nuri.” Which made it all the more surprising the next day when one of Owen’s men reported that Nuri and Ahmed had been seen visiting al Liwa’s offices: together.

“It’s got to be protection,” said Georgiades and Nikos together. “He’s a rich man,” said Georgiades.

“A natural target,” Nikos concurred.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if several of the clubs were on to him,” said Georgiades.

“They are,” said Owen. “I’ve seen their letters.”

“There you are, then.”

“And checked them out.”

“You got nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you check the right ones?” asked Georgiades.

“I checked the ones I was given,” said Owen, and stopped. “Given by Nuri’s secretary,” he said. “Ahmed.”

“Yes,” said Nikos, “well…”

“It wouldn’t have made any difference,” said Georgiades. “He wouldn’t have given it you, anyway. And, sure as hell, he won’t give it to you now.”

“Nuri must know,” said Owen.

“Do you think he would tell, though?”

“He told me about the other ones.”

“Did he?” asked Nikos.

Owen shrugged. “He made no difficulty about showing me the letters.”

“Some of them.”

“Did he tell you whether he’d paid them off?” asked Georgiades. “No,” said Owen. “He rather gave me the impression he disregarded them.”

“He would,” said Nikos.

“Do you think he pays?”

“Of course,” said Nikos.

“Invariably,” said Georgiades.

“Everybody does,” said Nikos.

“Then why did they try to kill him?”

“Did they try to kill him?” asked Georgiades.

Owen looked at him. “Are you suggesting they didn’t?” Georgiades spread his hands.

“Try this,” he said, “for size. He didn’t respond at once. So they tried to frighten him.”