Michael Pearce - The Mamur Zapt and the Men Behind

Of course, such evidence was very speculative and Nikos, who took a detached view of such things, was really waiting for other evidence to come along; such as another attack.

Meanwhile, he was attempting an analysis of the reports of following that had come in. There were dozens of them.

‘Nearly all of them imaginary,’ he complained.

‘Mine wasn’t bloody imaginary,’ said Owen.

‘Wasn’t it?’

‘Of course it bloody wasn’t, I saw two men.’

‘Yes, but were they anything to do with it?’

‘Of course they were something to do with it!’

‘How do you know? They were just standing there. They might have been buying a camel or something.’

Owen, who found Nikos’s pedantic logic very tiresome on occasions, resisted a temptation to kick his ass.

‘Anyway,’ said Nikos, ‘you haven’t described them properly.’

‘What do you mean, I haven’t described them properly?’

‘No detail.’

‘There wasn’t time to notice detail.’

‘They didn’t just disappear. They must have walked away. That would take time.’

‘A couple of steps?’

‘Long enough to see something.’

‘Not from where I was. My view was interrupted.’

‘It was a chance,’ said Nikos accusingly.

‘Look,’ said Owen, ‘there was a reason why I didn’t stand out in the middle of the street and examine them carefully. It was that I didn’t want to get a bullet in my head.’

Nikos bent prudently over the papers on his desk.

Owen stalked indignantly over to the earthenware pot standing in the window where it would keep cool and poured himself a glass of water. He picked up a copy of the Parquet’s first report and settled down to read it.

A few moments went by. Then Nikos coughed slightly.

Owen looked up.

‘Young or old?’ said Nikos.

‘What?’

‘Young or old? Those two men. Were they young or old?’

‘Young, I think.’

‘Galabeahs?’

‘Shirt and trousers, I think.’

‘Short, fat, tall, thin?’

‘About medium, I’d say. Slightly built, perhaps.’

‘Young,’ said Nikos.

‘Probably. It would go with them being inexperienced.’

‘They needn’t be the same two. The group as a whole might be young. In fact, it probably would be.’

‘What about the other cases?’

‘The other reports? Nine-tenths imaginary or so vague as to be useless. About six worth looking at.’

‘Including mine?’

‘You’re on the margin.’

‘Fairclough’s?’

‘No detail on the following. Useful detail from the shooting, though not much of it.’

‘What did you get from the others?’

‘Two people, nearly always. Men, young, Western-style clothes.’

Owen thought for a moment.

‘That could be good,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘It could mean there’s only one group operating. If it’s the same pattern in each case.’

‘It’s the same pattern, I think.’

‘I hope it is. That would make things a lot easier.’

‘Did you think it wasn’t?’

‘No, no, not particularly. You always worry in a situation like this, with general unrest, that they might all start coming at you, from all sides. It’s much easier if there’s only one group to handle.’

‘You’ve still got the general restiveness to cope with.’

‘Yes, but you handle the two in different ways. The general stuff is all right provided you keep a sense of proportion. You’ve not got to let it get out of hand but at the same time you’ve not got to overreact. If you start thinking they’re all bloody terrorist groups you tend to overreact. But that only makes it worse because it provokes people, and then what starts as a demonstration becomes a bloody riot.’

‘You don’t think demonstrations might grow into terrorism if they’re not put down?’

‘No,’ said Owen.

‘I hope you’re right,’ said Nikos. ‘We’ll soon see, won’t we?’

Keeping a sense of proportion was all very well but it wasn’t only Owen who had to guard against overreacting. The next morning he had a meeting at the Residency and when he came out he found that the Army was building roadblocks in all the neighbouring streets.

‘What the bloody hell is this?’ he asked the sergeant who seemed to be in charge.

‘Defences, sir,’ said the sergeant.

‘Defences? What the hell against?’

‘Search me, sir, I don’t know. All them Arabs, I expect.’

An Egyptian who had been at the meeting with Owen and had followed him out emerged on to the street and turned right, where he walked straight into a roadblock.

‘’Ere, where do you think you’re going?’ asked the corporal manning it.

‘Along to the Ministry.’

‘Not this way, you’re not.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I bloody say so, that’s why not. And because I’ve got this—’ the corporal patted the butt of his rifle—‘to back me up.’

‘But I’m only going to the Ministry!’

‘’Ard luck.’

‘I work there.’

‘You’ll just have to work somewhere else.’

‘But—’

The Egyptian looked around in bewilderment. Owen stepped forward.

‘I must get there at once,’ said the Egyptian. ‘I’ve got an important meeting!’

‘Why don’t you just go away?’ suggested the corporal.

‘Hallo, Mr Fahmy,’ said Owen. ‘Can I help?’

The Egyptian made a bemused gesture.

‘This is the Minister of the Interior,’ said Owen.

The corporal flinched.

‘Sorry, sir,’ he said, as much to Owen as to the Minister. Although Owen was not in uniform—he was, in fact, on secondment from the Indian Army—the corporal knew at once that he was an Army officer.

‘He needs to get to the Ministry,’ said Owen. ‘Obviously.’

The corporal looked troubled.

‘I—I know, sir,’ he said. ‘The trouble is, I’ve been instructed not to let anyone pass along this street. Orders, sir.’

The sergeant, who had followed Owen along when he saw how things were going, intervened.

‘You go and fetch Captain Fenniman,’ he told the corporal. ‘I’ll look after things here.’

Relieved, the corporal took himself off.

‘Sorry, sir,’ said the sergeant, including Fahmy in his ‘sir’. ‘Would you mind waiting a minute?’

‘I’m as much in the dark as you,’ Owen said to Fahmy.

Fahmy shrugged.

The corporal came hurrying back with a young officer in tow.

‘Yes?’ he said sharply.

‘This is Mr Fahmy, Minister of the Interior,’ said Owen. The captain nodded politely. ‘He wants to be allowed to get to the Ministry.’

The captain hesitated.

‘I think he should,’ said Owen.

Fenniman made up his mind.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Hawley, will you escort this gentleman through our blocks? Bennett, you stay here. Sorry to inconvenience you,’ he said to Fahmy. ‘But you’ll understand that we have to take precautions.’

The Egyptian shrugged again. As he went off with the sergeant he gave Owen a wry smile.

‘ I don’t understand why you’ve got to take precautions,’ said Owen.

‘Haven’t you heard? There’s been an attack on a senior member of the Administration. More are on the way, apparently.’

‘Senior member of the Administration?’

‘Apparently.’

‘Fairclough?’

‘I think that’s his name.’

‘Fairclough isn’t a senior member of anything. Except possibly the bridge club.’

‘Oh? Well, that’s what I heard.’

‘There’s been an attack, certainly. But why the hell all this?’ Owen indicated the barricades.

‘Guarding the Residency. The CG could be the next target.’