The Camel of Destruction (11 page)

‘Who is this man?’ he asked. ‘I seem to meet him everywhere I go in Cairo.’

Nikos looked up and scowled. He was still reeling from the experience. Twice! Twice in ten days he had had to leave the fastness of the Bab-el-Khalk and work in another office! And all of half a mile away, too!

‘Did you find it?’ asked Owen.

Nikos produced a file. It was exactly the same as the one he had shown them in Osman Fingari’s office. There wasn’t much difference between Ministries.

Owen opened it.

Tufa, he read again. Another application form. But this time an application to build. A cement factory or something, with workers’ houses.

‘What is all this?’ he asked, bewildered.

‘It’s a planning application,’ said Nikos. ‘Because Tufa is still within the region, though outside of Cairo, it comes to Public Works.’

‘Yes, but this is for a factory.’

‘That’s right. And therefore it goes to Public Works for approval.’

‘Is this the same parcel of land?’

‘Yes.’

‘Nothing was mentioned about buildings on the other application.’

‘There never were any buildings.’

‘I don’t get the point.’

‘The application was made on the grounds that the land was waste and suitable only for industrial use. It was essentially desert land. The applicant was allowed to enclose it on condition that he used it for industrial purposes. It cost him virtually nothing.’

Georgiades began to laugh.

‘And then he connects it up to an irrigation scheme and applies to register it as agricultural land?’

‘That’s right. And sells it without doing anything else to it. At a vastly enhanced price.’

‘The buildings?’

‘The plans were there merely to give an air of conviction to the application to enclose.’

‘Never built?’

‘Never intended to be built.’

‘I’ve just heard of someone else doing this,’ said Owen.

‘And who did the plans go to?’ asked Georgiades.

Nikos showed him the authorization box.

‘Osman Fingari. Well! Both times.’

‘Once when he was in the Ministry of Public Works. Once when he was in the Ministry of Agriculture.’

‘Coincidence?’

Nikos smiled. ‘What do you think?’

‘Any mention of Jabir?’

‘Presented the case again. His name doesn’t appear in any of the paperwork. But again there are notes of the meeting.’

‘Who was he presenting on behalf of?’

‘It’s a company. I think it’s just a shell company. It doesn’t seem to do any actual trading. But it’s been used for things of this sort before.’

‘At the Bab-el-Azab?’

‘Yes,’ said Nikos, surprised.

‘Have you any idea who’s behind it?’

‘It’s jointly owned. By the Trans-Levant Trading Bank and—’

‘Yes?’

‘A Mr. Adli Naswas.’

‘I wonder, Minister, if you could tell me how Mr. Fingari came to be transferred to the Ministry of Agriculture?’

The Minister placed his hands on the top of the desk as if he were about to play a piano.

‘A request in the ordinary way,’ he said, ‘I expect.’

‘Who initiated the request?’

‘Perhaps he did himself.’

‘Did he?’

The Minister looked unhappy.

‘I really cannot recall,’ he said.

‘You would have something in the files.’

‘Yes.’

‘May I see?’

The Minister hesitated, then rang the bell. An orderly appeared.

‘Bring me the personal file of Osman Fingari,’ he said. He turned back to Owen. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘I was surprised,’ said Owen. ‘You told me yourself that your Ministry was looked down on.’

‘That is because it is new,’ said the Minister, hurt.

‘I’m sure. But then, you see, that makes it even more surprising. Mr. Fingari was, I understand, very ambitious. Would he not have preferred a transfer to a major, established Department?’

The orderly brought the file.

‘There seems to be no record of a personal request,’ said the Minister.

‘So I return to my question: who initiated the transfer?’

‘I really cannot recall how it came about.’

The hands began to fidget.

‘Was it initiated by Public Works?’

‘I really cannot say.’

‘I shall, of course, be able to find that out by other means.’

‘Of course,’ muttered the Minister.

‘But I was wondering if the request had come from this Ministry?’

The Minister shook his head sharply.

‘No,’ he said, ‘no. Definitely not.’

‘I was wondering, you see,’ said Owen, ‘whether the request could possibly have originated from the person who was responsible for Mr. Fingari’s diary being removed?’

The hands froze.

‘Was it removed? I thought it had been found? Yes, found in the office. Where it had been all the time.’

Owen smiled. And waited.

‘I—I don’t think the request originated from that person,’ said the Minister after a while.

‘No?’

‘I—I think it originated from someone higher up.’

‘Even higher?’

The Minister nodded unhappily.

‘You wouldn’t like to tell me who?’

‘I certainly would not.’

Owen considered for a moment or two.

‘I wonder, then, if you could tell me anything about the
circumstances
of the request?’

‘Circumstances?’ said the Minister, puzzled.

‘You received a request for Mr. Fingari to be allowed to join your Department. Or perhaps he was simply posted to it?’

‘Posted,’ said the Minister.

‘To specific duties?’

‘Well, yes.’

‘Isn’t this unusual? Isn’t it normally left to you to decide what duties a particular member of your staff performs?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘Yes?’

‘There was the new link with the Agricultural Bank.’

‘And you were told that Mr. Fingari was to handle that?’

‘Yes. He was assigned specifically for that purpose. So I was told.’

‘I see. And, presumably, to negotiate the Agreement between the Department and the Bank?’

‘That came up later. We didn’t know about that at the time he joined us.’

‘
You
didn’t know about it,’ said Owen.

The Minister flushed.

‘Or did you?’

‘No,’ said the Minister vehemently. ‘I did not.’

‘Did they cut you in? Or,’ said Owen cruelly, ‘didn’t they even bother?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Fingari was posted to your Department for a purpose,’ said Owen. ‘I just wondered if you were part of the purpose.’

The Minister breathed heavily.

‘No,’ he said, ‘I was not.’

‘Then why don’t you tell me about it?’ invited Owen. The fingers drummed.

‘I—I would,’ the Minister said at last, ‘but I don’t really know anything. They kept it from me. I knew something was going on but I—I—’

‘Didn’t like to inquire too closely.’

The Minister was silent.

‘You think I’m a weak man, don’t you?’ he said suddenly.

‘Well—’

‘And perhaps I am. But I am not corrupt. I would have stopped it if I could.’

‘You still can.’

The Minister looked at him.

‘How?’

‘Announce—today, and with as much publicity as you can manage—that because of the doubts expressed about the new seed developed by the Khedivial Agricultural Society, the Ministry of Agriculture is arranging independent testing. Seeds have been sent to overseas laboratories for testing. Oh, and add that the project is being coordinated by Mr. Aziz.’

‘You think—?’

Owen rose.

‘It will make you a hero,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ said the Minister sourly, ‘but probably a dead one.’

There was uproar when the Minister’s decision was announced. The telephones in the Ministry rang continuously and there was an unbroken chain of orderlies bringing messages from other Ministries, the Assembly and the Consulate-General. Questions were asked in the House; and a lot more were asked, less politely, in quarters close to the Khedive.

The Minister issued a further statement saying that his decision was irrevocable and then prudently left for the country.

It was rumoured that he was in deep mourning for a relative who had recently died in some obscure village in the extreme south and even further west of the country, close to the borders with—? No one was exactly sure but it was exceedingly hot there and scorpions abounded and no one proposed going there to find out.

Mr. Aziz, left to field questions, learned a new meaning for the expression ‘field trials’. He had, however, taken the precaution of sending the seed samples abroad before agreeing to answer any questions and after a day or two the barrage died down.

Not so in the case of Owen, whose part in the affair only gradually came to light. The business community was outraged and asked whose side the Mamur Zapt Johnny was on.

Comments were made in the Club which were intended to be overheard. Even Paul was put out.

‘We’ve got enough people meddling as it is,’ he complained, ‘me, for one. We don’t want any more people muddying the pitch, or whatever these strange men do when they get on the sportsfield. You should have told me first.’

‘I thought you might prefer not to know.’

‘Who do you think I am,’ asked Paul tartly, ‘a Minister? Someone’s got to have a grip on things.’

‘That, actually, was the question I wanted to ask you,’ said Owen. ‘Who is the person in the Ministries who has a grip on this deal between the Agricultural Bank and the Ministry of Agriculture?’

‘Well—’

‘Who is actually going to sign the damned thing?’

‘Some poor sap. Signing, however, is nothing to do with it. The answer to your question is Abdul Mursa.’

Owen recognized the name of someone high up at the Ministry of Finance.

‘Why?’ asked Paul.

‘I think I’d better see him.’

‘I think you’d better not,’ said Paul, ‘not for quite some time.’

‘You see, if he’s steering it—’

‘What is “it”?’

‘This dubious deal and the dubious goings-on around it.’

‘I’m not sure the deal
is
dubious,’ said Paul. ‘About the goings-on, however…’

‘You’re the one who told me to investigate them.’

‘Osman Fingari?’ Paul frowned. ‘
Somethings
going on, certainly. But I’d be surprised if Abdul Mursa was in on it. He’s an honest man. As they go, of course.’

‘He might be doing someone a favour.’

‘Ah, that,’ said Paul, ‘is quite possible. Anyone who gets as high as he has done might well have a lot of favours to pay back.’

‘Have you any idea who he might be paying them to?’

‘I could give you a list.’

‘Please do. Would the list include Pashas? Ali Reza Pasha, for instance?’

‘It might. But, look, if I do this for you, will you do something for me?’

‘We are all in the business of favours,’ said Owen.

‘Thank you. Well, the favour I want you to do me is not to cause any more trouble for a day or two. I’ve quite enough as it is. Go and play with Zeinab.’

If Owen was extremely unpopular in some circles, however, he was suddenly unexpectedly popular in others.

Mr. Sidki rushed round to congratulate him.

‘I never knew the Minister had it in him!’ he declared. ‘It appears he has, and if so someone must have put it there. A triumph! For you, for us and for the fellahin.’

Owen was not so sure. He had talked to Yussuf that morning. The orderly had come in unusually depressed. He had, it appeared, been negotiating a loan with the Agricultural Bank. Negotiations had suddenly been suspended.

‘But, Yussuf, you don’t
need
a loan. You already have loans up to your eyeballs.’

‘Yes, I do, effendi,’ wailed Yussuf. ‘How else am I to pay for seed?’

Owen had heard this before.

‘I suppose I could make you an advance,’ he said grudgingly.

‘No, no, effendi, this really is for seed.’

‘Three pounds, then.’

‘Alas, effendi,’ said Yussuf sadly, ‘I need fifty.’

So Owen wasn’t sure about it being a triumph as far as the fellahin were concerned. Paul had told him that if the Agricultural Bank was unable to raise a loan it might well collapse. Then what would the fellahin do? Go back to the traditional moneylender at 75%?

‘The Government should make a loan,’ said Mr. Sidki.

‘The Government
needs
a loan,’ said Paul. ‘Otherwise it will go under, too.’

In his jubilation Mr. Sidki was disposed to forget that what had originally sparked things off was Osman Fingari’s suicide.

‘I still can’t see what brought it about,’ said Owen.

‘Pressure,’ said Mr. Sidki, ‘pressure.’

‘Who from?’

‘The Bank, of course. To get the deal completed. Oh, you won’t believe the pressure they put him under. Especially when they began to realize he was dragging his feet.’

‘Dragging his feet?’

Mr. Sidki stared at him.

‘Of course! He was opposed to the whole thing, you know.’

‘I didn’t know.’

‘But of course! He was one of us.’

‘One of us?’

‘A sympathizer. Politically. From the time when he was in college. We have a lot of support among students, Captain Owen, we do some of our best recruiting there. And then afterwards we kept in touch, especially when he went to the Ministry.’

‘Public Works?’

‘Yes. But then when he told us he was moving to Agriculture, well, we were delighted. We had some inkling that a deal was in the offing but lacked precise information. So when we heard he was going to Agriculture we thought he might be in a position to supply it. And then, when we found out he was actually handling the deal, we thought this is our chance.’

‘To do what, Mr. Sidki?’

‘To delay the deal. You see, we thought that if we had longer we might be able to rouse public opinion against it, might even be able to stop it altogether. We instructed Osman to play for time. But then, I think, they began to suspect.’

‘And put pressure on him?’

‘Yes.’

‘And you think this was what led Mr. Fingari to commit suicide?’

‘Yes.’

‘Mr. Sidki, when we spoke before, you used a word which implied something more than pressure.’

‘Did I?’

‘You spoke of him as being killed.’

Mr. Sidki hesitated.

‘Does it not amount to the same thing?’

‘I don’t think it does.’

Mr. Sidki hesitated again, then took Owen confidentially by the arm.

‘Isn’t it a question of the degree and nature of the pressure?’ He bent his head close to Owen’s. ‘You see, Captain Owen, we suspect that there was something which gave them a hold over him and that when they began to suspect, they, well…’

‘Used this knowledge?’

‘Threatened to use it, perhaps.’

‘Blackmail?’

Sidki bent his head even closer.

‘That is what we suspect.’

‘You don’t think, Mr. Sidki, that you yourselves may have been to blame? You, too, were exerting pressure. Perhaps between the pressures…’

Mr. Sidki released his arm and stepped back, horrified. ‘Certainly not, Captain Owen! Certainly not!’

Ali was waiting for him as he came down the steps of the Bab-el-Khalk.

‘Effendi!’ he hissed. ‘I have important news.’

Owen felt in his pocket.

‘What is it?’ he said.

‘You have a rival.’

‘Rival?’ said Owen, bewildered.

‘She is seeing another.’

‘Aisha?’

‘Just so, effendi,’ said Ali, looking wise. ‘Appetite will out. I must say, it comes as a bit of a surprise in Aisha’s case, but these quiet ones—’

‘All right, all right. Who is this man?’

‘Someone from the past.’

‘Is his name Jabir?’

Ali looked surprised. ‘No, effendi. His name is Selim.’

‘Oh, Selim. I know about that.’

Ali fell in alongside him as Owen turned under the trees. ‘The question is, effendi, what we are going to do. I am willing to help but, well,’ Ali admitted, ‘my experience is limited.’

‘A good job, too.’

‘We could try poison. You would have to get it, though, as Abdul Mali refused to sell it me now.’

‘Now?’ said Owen, halting.

‘Since the business of the sheep.’

‘What business of the sheep?’ said Owen severely.

‘Mohammed Siftaq’s sheep. Well, he had no cause to be rude, did he? The harem window was open, what did he expect? She did it deliberately, I’m sure.’

‘Ali—’

‘Anyway, it wasn’t poison the sheep died of. It sicked it all up. No, it choked itself on some very gristly offal it found in the street. Effendi?’

‘Yes?’

‘Is there any way in which we could get him to choke himself?’

‘It hasn’t come to that, Ali. However, since you are here, can you arrange another meeting with Aisha for me?’

Ali, surprisingly, was silent.

‘Well?’

‘Effendi,’ said Ali reluctantly. ‘I could, but—’

‘Well?’

‘Effendi, Aisha has been good to me. She is a good girl. Her appetite is obviously beginning to get out of hand, but all the same—’

‘Shut up, Ali,’ said Owen.

They walked a little way in silence. Owen’s hand was still in his pocket, a fact which Ali had been contemplating.

‘Effendi,’ he said at last, ‘I will do it. But you must promise me you will not kill her. Beat, yes, but—’

‘I have no intention of even touching her. I just want to see her.’

‘Well, of course, effendi. Passion—’

They met in an alleyway behind an oil press. Owen recognized that it was difficult to find a pretext for women to go out, never mind meet anybody and paid inner tribute to Ali’s ingenuity. Nevertheless, as he crouched among the sacks of sesame seed, barely able to breathe because of the heavy, sweet, sickly smell of the pressed oil which hung over everything, he felt uneasily that Ali’s talents were beginning to run away with him.

The dark veiled form of a woman with a huge jar on her head came into the alleyway and hovered uncertainly. ‘Aisha?’

Reassured, the figure advanced. Beside the wall there was a pile of barrels. One of them was raised on stones and already spigoted. Aisha set her jar down in front of it and turned the spigot. Oil began to flow steadily.

‘Effendi?’

‘I have a few questions. Can you help me again?’

‘I will try.’

‘Good. Then, first, can you tell me if Osman was interested in politics?’

‘He was as all the young men are, effendi.’

‘Did he talk about it?’

‘Oh, yes. Sometimes he was angry.’

‘What was he angry about?’

‘The fellahin. The British.’

‘The British, I can understand. Why was he angry about the fellahin?’

‘He said things were bad for them. That this was a bad time. That is why he was glad when he moved to the new Ministry. He thought he might be able to do them good.’

‘How?’

‘I do not know, effendi. Through his work, perhaps.’

‘Did he go to meetings?’

‘I do not think so, effendi. That is—’ she hesitated—‘after I spoke to him.’

‘Why did you speak to him, Aisha?’

‘It was just after he had joined the Ministry, the first one. There was a demonstration. He told me about it afterwards. People had thrown stones. I was angry. I said, “If you do that, you will soon lose your job. Then where will you be?” And I think he listened to me, for after that there was no more.’

‘Was this about the time that he met up again with Jabir?’ Aisha thought.

‘It was about that time, yes, effendi. But I do not think that it was anything to do with Jabir.’

‘No, no. I was thinking that perhaps Jabir turned his mind away from that sort of thing and towards other things.’

‘If he did,’ said Aisha bitterly, ‘it was the first good he has done him.’

She turned off the flow of oil but still crouched by the jar as if she was watching it fill.

‘My other question is about Jabir. Can you speak of him?’

‘If I must,’ said Aisha in a low voice.

‘It relates to the last few weeks. You have already told me that in that time Osman became a changed man.’

‘Yes.’

‘Things weighed on his mind, but not in an ordinary way. Much, much more heavily.’

‘Yes, effendi.’

‘And in that time, was he seeing Jabir?’

‘Yes, effendi.’

Aisha’s voice was almost inaudible.

‘Are you sure, Aisha? How do you know? You said he did not speak to you.’

There was a long silence, so long that he was beginning to think she might not have heard.

‘He came to me,’ she said at last.

‘Osman?’

‘No, no.’ She made a gesture with her hand. ‘Jabir.’

‘Jabir came to you?’

‘Yes. He wanted to speak with me. He said Osman had given permission. I knew he wanted to ask me and—and I would not let him. I would not even let him come in. I turned him from the door.’

‘What did he say to you?’

‘Just what I have said. That Osman had given him permission. I would not let him say any more. It—it was nothing, effendi. But that is how I know Osman had been seeing him.’

‘And you do not know what they spoke of?’

‘Only this, effendi. Only this.’

She gave a little sob.

‘I shall not keep you further, Aisha,’ said Owen gently. ‘It is just that I am trying very hard to find something that Osman may have done which gave others a hold over him.’

‘He had done something wrong, effendi,’ said Aisha, sobbing. ‘I know he had.’

‘And you have no idea what? Did he ever mention the name Tufa to you?’

Aisha shook her head. ‘No, effendi,’ she said.

Owen waited for a few moments after Aisha had gone before climbing out from behind his sacks. Ali was waiting for him at the end of the alleyway.

‘Effendi!’ he said agitatedly. ‘He is here!’

‘Who?’

‘Your rival. Shall we strike now, effendi? God has delivered him into our hands.’