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

“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 naive. 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.”