Eric Ambler - The Levanter

“Comrade Michael does not need our praise,” he told Issa. “His own self-praise is enough.”

I was suddenly tired of his nonsense. I discarded the oblique approach and went at it crudely.

“One who certainly merits praise,” I said, “is Comrade Hadaya.”

“You found that young man interesting?”

I ignored the leer. “He has good judgment. He made a mistake about the local mechanic and when he realized that he had done so he acted to correct it. Some men would have tried to muddle through and cover up the mistake. I was glad to see that he didn’t.”

“He will be commended, never fear.”

“One thing he said struck me particularly. It was about you, Comrade Salah.”

That secured his attention. “Indeed?”

“He said you were always tolerant of error when a comrade freely confesses it to you.”

“Concealment of error is despicable and can amount to betrayal. Candid self-criticism earns respect.”

“I am relieved to hear you say it, Comrade Salah.”

He became jocular. “Why? Has the immaculate Comrade Michael something to confess?”

“Yes, Comrade Salah.”

He looked at me sharply. “Well?”

“An error of judgment.”

“What error?”

I glanced at Issa as if I were unwilling to let him hear of my shame. “It is in the matter of the Tunisian.”

I eyed Issa again and Ghaled took the hint. He motioned to Issa to leave.

“Now then, what is this? Speak up.”

“I think that I underestimated the problem presented by Captain Touzani.”

“What problem? The owner gives him his orders. He, your captain, carries them out.”

“Regrettably, Comrade Salah, it is not as straightforward as that. There has been a development which I should have foreseen but did not.”

“What development? Speak plainly.”

I told him in some detail about the method I had used to delay the Amalia in Tripoli. His face cleared. I had used capitalist low-cunning; I had corrupted. He liked that.

“However,” I went on, “there have been, unfortunate repercussions. I hear from Ancona that Captain Touzani has complained bitterly of administrative inefficiency in the Agence Howell, of blunders at the top causing delays and losses for which he is now being held responsible. Our agents in Tripoli and Ancona were not as tactful as they might have been. There has been ill-feeling and injured pride. Now, when Captain Touzani arrives in Latakia in two days’ time he is going to be confronted with yet another unusual situation. He is going to be ordered to take passengers, and, en route to Alexandria, make a detour at sea which will obviously delay his arrival there. Almost certainly he will object vigorously to these orders.”

“Then dismiss him. Get another captain.”

“That is not practical, I am afraid, Comrade Salah. The mate on the Amalia does not hold a master’s ticket, and even if he did there would be difficulties. Captain Touzani is popular with his crew.”

“Are you telling me that this man will and can refuse to obey the owner’s orders?”

“I am saying that he may accept them only under protest and with private reservations. These Tunisians can be very stubborn.”

His mouth thinned. “Stubborn? We have comrades who know how to deal with the stubborn, Comrade Michael. Give me your Tunisian for half an hour. He will not be stubborn after that, I promise you.”

“Unfortunately, that is not a practical solution, either, Comrade Salah. Captain Touzani will remain in his ship with his crew. Besides, as a captain he has special legal powers and privileges that not even the police can ignore. Punishment of Captain Touzani might well result in the Amalia not sailing as planned. What we need from Touzani is not resentful submission but ready and willing cooperation.”

“That is your affair. I warned you. You have had ample time. Yours is the responsibility.”

“And I have accepted it, Comrade Salah. But in order to secure Captain Touzani’s cooperation I need authority from you for a slight change of plan.”

“What change?”

“When the Amalia sails I must be on board.”

He was silent for a moment. Then he said: “Impossible.”

“May I ask why, Comrade Salah? Captain Touzani is in charge, but he must defer to me as owner. Nobody could censure him for delays occurring that I had sanctioned while we were at sea. With me on board at the captain’s side there would be no question of his withholding cooperation, I assure you.”

He was silent again. Then: “I do not like it.”

“Without the captain’s cooperation I can guarantee nothing, Comrade Salah. As you say, it is my responsibility. All I ask now is full authority to assume it.”

There was another silence. At last he sighed irritably. “Why did it have to be this Tunisian?”

After talking so much rubbish and telling so many lies I was exhausted. When I got home I very much wanted to go to bed, but I knew that I wouldn’t sleep until I had finished what I had started.

Late that night I drafted two cables.

The first was to Teresa ordering her back to take charge of the office in my absence. She would ignore it, as I had told her, but it was for Colonel Shikla’s eyes and would cover the oddity of the second cable.

This was to our Famagusta office:

INSTRUCTED MALANDRA RETURN IMMEDIATELY TAKE CHARGE DURING MY ABSENCE. TAKING PASSAGE IN AMALIA TO ALEXANDRIA SAILING JULY 2. ADVISE ALEXANDRIA OFFICE. CONFER MALANDRA. ACKNOWLEDGE.

HOWELL

They would think that I had gone raving mad in Famagusta. That was what I counted on. There was no chance of the news that I was going to travel as a passenger in the old Amalia being treated as routine. Barlev’s informer in the office would be bound to let him know.

And when he did? Well, Barlev had twice suggested to me that I should be in the Amalia in my capacity as owner’s representative when she was intercepted, and I had twice refused. For him, my sudden change of mind could only mean that the situation had changed radically in some way and that additional precautions were now necessary.

And, once on the ship clear of Syrian waters, I would have a radio channel at my disposal. True, I would still have to be fairly cryptic — merchant ships’ radio traffic is listened to by many ears — but at least the ears of Colonel Shikla would not be among them.

I had done the best I could.

Michael Howell

June 30 to July 3

I had spent a long time thinking over what I was going to tell Captain Touzani and had rehearsed it carefully. Although I never supposed that he would swallow the story whole — that would have been too much — I had hoped that he would find it politic to pretend to do so. So I did my best to make it easy for him.

It was wasted effort.

He is a barrel-shaped man with muscles like a stevedore and a big, bald head. He seems to wear a permanent and somewhat sarcastic little smile, but this is the result of a bullet through the lower jaw and the scar from the wound. When he really smiles the other side of his mouth moves and he shows his dentures.

He really smiled only once when I saw him in his cabin that morning.

He had rightly concluded that the trouble his ship had experienced in Tripoli had been contrived, but had not been able to discover who had done the contriving or why. Naturally, the failure rankled. Now, he was looking to me for the answers. Unwisely, I gave him the same ones I had given Mr. Mourad.

He shook his head. “I was there, Mr. Howell. I tell you that was a really funny business. Nobody had his hand out, nobody was saying anything, nobody knew anything. Then, suddenly, it was over. All a mistake. A mistake? With nobody having been paid?”