Michael Pearce - The Mamur Zapt and the Men Behind

‘This isn’t your bright idea, is it?’

‘It seems a good idea to me,’ said Fenniman defensively.

‘It’s a stupid idea,’ said Owen.

‘Oh? And what exactly do you know about it, Mr—?’

‘Owen. The Mamur Zapt. Responsible for law and order in this bloody city. Which you are messing up.’

Owen steamed back into the Residency. His friend Paul, the Consul-General’s personal aide, who had been secretarying the meeting, was still packing up. Owen told him about the barricades.

‘Jesus!’ said Paul. ‘All we asked for was an extra couple of guards.’

Owen told him about the Minister.

‘The bloody fools! I’ll get on to him at once and apologize.’

‘Can’t you do something about the barricades?’

‘You think they’re a bit de trop ?’

‘I bloody do.’

They went back to Paul’s office. Paul rang up the Commander-in-Chief’s office and asked to speak to one of his aides.

‘John? Is that you? What’s going on? Have you declared war or something?’

‘Not as far as I know. We can’t, anyway, because I’m playing tennis this afternoon.’

‘Who’s responsible for putting these barricades all over the place?’

‘Barricades?’

Paul told him.

‘Sounds like Hardwicke to me. Want me to have a word with him?’

‘Yes. I have a friend of yours here, an old foe from the tennis courts, who thinks they merely add to the already overwhelming difficulties of his life.’

‘If he’d only leave Zeinab alone, he’d have a lot less difficulty in his life.’

‘I’ll tell him that. Oh, I think he’s heard. Oh, and, John, one more thing: it would lessen the difficulties in my life if the Army stopped arresting Ministers of His Royal Highness’s Government.’

‘That the barricades too? OK, I’ll see what I can do. Ring you back.’

Within a few moments he rang back.

‘It was Hardwicke. And I’m sorry to say he’s being difficult. He says the CG requested it.’

‘All we requested was an extra guard. I sent the memo myself.’

‘He’s digging his heels in. If the CG is changing his mind he’s got to be told formally.’

‘I’ll send him a chitty.’

‘That won’t be enough. He wants a meeting.’

‘A meeting! I’ve got too many of those already.’

‘With the CG.’

‘He’ll be lucky! The Old Man’s off to the coast this afternoon.’

‘He won’t move without a meeting.’

‘Oh, very well. We’d better have one, then. I’ll fix it up. And as for you, boyo,’ Paul said to Owen, ‘you’re going to have to repay me for this. Richly.’

The Army had erected barricades not just round the Residency but at other ‘strategic points’ in the city. As Owen discovered when he returned to his office. These included the railway station.

‘Sheer bloody lunacy,’ Owen complained at the meeting the next day. ‘There’s a Hadji due back from Mecca and they’ll all be meeting him off the train and then processing back to his house.’

‘They’ll just have to do without the processing this time,’ said the Brigadier grimly.

‘If you try and stop it, there’ll be a riot.’

‘We know how to handle that.’

‘We’ve got enough on our plate without that,’ said Paul, chairing the meeting in the unavoidable absence of the Consul-General.

Brigadier Hardwicke, at the personal request of the Consul-General, relayed through Paul, had reluctantly agreed to remove the barricades around the Residency. He was digging his heels in, however, over the other barricades.

‘This is a particularly tense time in the city,’ Owen said. ‘We don’t want to do anything provocative.’

‘If they’re shooting our people,’ said the Brigadier, ‘we need to teach them a lesson they won’t forget.’

‘We need to teach the people who are doing the shooting, not the others. If we come down heavily on the others, all we’ll do is drive them into supporting the extremists.’

‘You’re soft, Owen, said the Brigadier.

‘I’ve seen it in India,’ said Owen, who knew that the Brigadier’s own service had been confined hitherto to the Home Counties. ‘It didn’t work there either.’

The argument continued for some time. Eventually Paul, who had been following it with delight, pronounced the verdict on behalf of the Consul-General: the barricades were to come down.

‘You might as well confine the Army to barracks,’ said the Brigadier.

‘As a matter of fact,’ said Owen, who was in an unforgiving mood, ‘that might be an excellent idea.’

‘If that’s what you want,’ said the Brigadier, rising from the table in a fury, ‘then you can have it.’

‘Do we need to go that far?’ asked Paul.

‘Yes,’ said Owen.

The Brigadier walked out. As he reached the door he paused and looked back over his shoulder.

‘You’d better be right, Owen,’ he said. ‘Because if things go wrong now …’

Paul saw him out and then returned for his papers.

‘I would not ordinarily agree with the Brigadier,’ he said. ‘However, on this particular point …’

Nikos brought the note in at once. It had been scribbled in haste and read: ‘Am being followed. Have gone into Andalaft’s. Will stay there until you come. George Jullians.’

Owen knew Jullians. He was a judge in the Mixed Courts, a calm, experienced man, unlikely to take alarm without cause.

‘Tell Abdul Kerim to come,’ he said, ‘and send me two trackers.’

Andalaft’s was in the Khan el Khalil, among the bazaars. It was a shop for connoisseurs. It had only a small stock of tourists’ brass and embroideries. Andalaft’s real interest was in old enamels, in Persian jewellery and lustre-ware and in old illuminated Korans.

When Owen went in he was talking quietly to Jullians at the back of his shop. They were fingering lovingly a fine old Persian box, set with large turquoises and used for containing a verse of the Koran.

Andalaft put it down and came to greet Owen.

‘The Mamur Zapt,’ he said. ‘I’m so glad you’ve come. I didn’t know if my messenger would find you.’

Jullians glanced at his watch. ‘It didn’t take you long,’ he said. ‘They may still be there.’

‘You’re definite, are you?’ asked Owen.

Jullians nodded. ‘Pretty sure,’ he said. ‘I think they’ve done it before. Yesterday I had a strong sense of being followed and saw these two men. I saw them again today. I tried to shake them off but couldn’t. So I dodged into Andalaft’s.’

‘Mr Jullians often comes here,’ said Andalaft softly.

‘They may even know that,’ said Jullians. ‘It depends on how long they’ve been following me.’

Andalaft looked at Owen.

‘We have another exit,’ he said. ‘Mr Jullians could have left in safety.’

Jullians shrugged. ‘They’d only catch me some other time,’ he said, ‘perhaps when I was less prepared. I thought if I could get a message to you, you might be able to catch them. That’s really the only way, isn’t it?’

‘There may be others,’ said Owen. ‘I’d like to catch them too.’

‘OK,’ said Jullians. ‘Well, I’m ready.’

‘I’d like you to point them out to us. Perhaps we can use your back door?’ he said to Andalaft. Andalaft nodded. ‘And then—do you feel up to walking on?’ he asked Jullians.

‘So that you can make sure?’ Jullians swallowed. ‘Very well. You’re quite right. You can’t arrest a man just on my word. Only …’

‘Don’t worry. I’ve got two trackers outside. They’ll stay close.’

‘OK,’ said Jullians.

Abdul Kerim had come into the shop with Owen. He was good at this sort of thing, though not as good as the trackers. It took considerable expertise to follow someone in the city, especially in the crowded bazaar area. Owen sent him out to fetch the trackers to the back of the shop. They were waiting when Owen emerged with Jullians.