Georgiades continued to grumble.
‘I was just getting somewhere on the cafés,’ he said. ‘That idea of Rosa’s was really smart.’
‘What idea was this?’ asked Nikos, picking up a green crayon and considering it.
‘I go round pretending to sell insurance. Against business loss. It works like a charm. They’re all interested. It really gets them talking.’
‘Do they talk to any purpose?’
‘They will,’ said Georgiades confidently. ‘But I’ve got to keep at them. That’s why I’m asking about priorities.’
Nikos put down the green crayon without using it.
‘I can tell you what his priority is,’ he said. ‘It’s sitting in cafés. He’s never had a job like this.’
‘Don’t let the cafés go,’ said Owen. ‘Only fit your visits in around this business.’
‘I was afraid you were going to say that,’ said Georgiades.
‘Just get on down there!’ said Nikos. Georgiades stood up.
‘Find out who organized it and whether there’s going to be any follow-up. That’s it, isn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
Georgiades still sought, however, to delay the evil hour; which lasted from about mid morning until the sun began to ease in the second half of the afternoon.
‘Tell me,’ he said; ‘is there any reason why we should treat this more seriously than any of the others?’
‘That’s what I’m hoping you’re going to find out,’ said Owen.
***
In fact, he had some sympathy with Georgiades, both over the heat—the Babylon was quite some distance away, although Georgiades would use the new electric tram for most of the journey—and over the general question of priorities. It always irritated him when something came up to disrupt the normal pattern of work, something to which others accorded priority. They nearly always had things the wrong way round. In Owen’s business, forestalling was a lot better than reacting, and forestalling was largely a matter of careful, continuous intelligence-gathering. Any diversion from that was, in his view, something to be resisted.
This visit of the Grand Duke, for instance, he could have done without. It was an extra. Why go in for extras when you had enough on your plate as it was? He guessed, though, that the Khedive did not see it like that. If you did not like what was on your daily plate you might be more inclined to go in for extras. The occasional circus was what helped you to stomach the bread.
Owen, in unusually puritanical mood, decided that he himself was a bread man rather than a circuses man; and bent his head grimly over a query from Finance.
Some time later Nikos appeared in the doorway. In this heat they always kept the door open. Besides, it improved communication. Owen could monitor what was going on in the office and Nikos could listen in when required to Owen’s conversations.
‘A Mr. Nicodemus to see you,’ he said.
‘What about?’
‘A tip-off, I think.’
‘Oh, right. Show him in.’
Mr. Nicodemus was a short, plump Levantine in the dark suit of the businessman and the normal red, tassled, flower-pot-like tarboosh of the Cairo effendi. He came forward with outstretched hand.
‘You won’t know me, Captain Owen, but I come to Cairo frequently on business. I am the Levant agent for a large European engineering company.’
He presented Owen with his card, French on one side, Arabic on the other. French was the normal language for business in Egypt, although English was catching on. Mr. Nicodemus spoke in English.
Owen motioned him to a chair and began the usual prolonged courteous enquiries as to health, fatigue and general condition which were the essential preliminary to any Arabic discussion of business. Another indispensable preliminary was the offer of hospitality. A suffragi brought in two little cups of Turkish coffee. Mr. Nicodemus sipped his coffee and praised God and Owen for the flavour; and then business could begin.
‘Some time ago,’ he said, ‘I was contacted and asked if I could supply an urgent order for a client in Egypt. The lack of client details, given the nature of the order, made me’— Mr. Nicodemus paused—‘uneasy.’
‘What was the nature of the order?’
‘It was for explosives.’
‘You are in the munitions trade?’
‘Yes. Among other things. A small part of our business, actually.’
‘And the purchaser?’
‘No sale was made. My company does not supply explosives to unknown clients. We said we were unable to supply and I thought no more about the matter. But then this week I learned that one of our competitors had also been approached and had agreed to supply.’
‘And that, of course, makes a difference.’ Mr. Nicodemus smiled.
‘It does, indeed. My company is all for virtue, Captain Owen, but it hates losing out to those who are less virtuous.’
‘Very reasonably. And so you thought you would have a word with me?’
‘Exactly!’
‘Well, I am interested, Mr. Nicodemus, I must admit. May I ask, though—it is best if we understand each other—are you offering this information…gratuit? Or are you looking for…?’
Mr. Nicodemus shook his head hurriedly.
‘Oh, no, Captain Owen. Thank you, no. It is being offered purely disinterestedly. I just thought you might like to know.’
‘Indeed, I would. As I say, this kind of information interests me considerably. I wonder, though, would you perhaps add a little more detail? About the purchaser, for instance?’
‘The person who contacted me claimed to be acting on behalf of an Egyptian quarrying company. But I deal with quite a few quarry companies, Captain Owen, and I know that they do not place orders like that.’
He leaned forward and gave Owen a small slip of paper.
‘That was the original specification,’ he said. Owen glanced at it.
‘Small,’ he said. ‘About enough to demolish a small building.’ Mr. Nicodemus nodded.
‘I thought, perhaps, a tomb?’ he said.
Robbers were always breaking into tombs. Usually they dug their way in. Occasionally, however, they found their way blocked, and then they blasted.
‘Perhaps. Can you give me some more details? The delivery date, for instance?’
‘One month after signature of contract. But, Captain Owen, that was when they first approached me. They said then that delivery was urgent, so perhaps—’
‘Your rival might have agreed to a shorter delivery?’ Mr. Nicodemus nodded.
‘It is a small order,’ he said. ‘It could be supplied from stocks. Then it would be only a question of transport.’
‘And entry. It would have to come through customs.’ Mr. Nicodemus spread his hands.
‘These things are not always declared,’ he said. Owen glanced at the piece of paper.
‘Where was it to be delivered to?’ he asked.
‘Suez. To await collection.’
‘The name?’
‘ The name on the original specification,’ said Mr. Nicodemus, ‘was Dhondy. Of course, it may be different now.’
‘But Suez, anyway?’
‘That, too, might be different. I can, perhaps, help you a little. The name of the supplier is Herbst-Wickel.’
‘Your competitor?’
‘Exactly.’ Mr. Nicodemus gave a little smile.
‘Would it be on the shipment certificate?’
‘Not necessarily. Not unless they were very foolish.’
‘Old labels, perhaps,’ said Owen.
‘Perhaps. I can tell you one thing more. Herbst-Wickel is asking for payment in gold. It’s what you do,’ said Mr. Nicodemus deprecatingly, ‘when you have doubts about the client. Now, of course, gold can always be obtained, but it takes a little more time and it costs a little m
ore money, and I gather that the client is, or was, having some difficulty.’
Mr. Nicodemus had no more information to impart and shortly afterwards rose to go. Owen thanked him for his helpfulness.
‘Not at all,’ said Mr. Nicodemus politely. He hesitated, however, in the doorway.
‘It would be nice,’ he said, ‘if my helpfulness could be remembered. At some convenient moment.’
‘Had you a moment in mind?’ asked Owen.
‘Well,’ said Mr. Nicodemus, ‘it so happens that we shall shortly be tendering for a contract to supply arms to the Khedivial Army. It is a substantial contract.’
‘More substantial than a one-off contract to supply explosives to an unknown client?’
‘Certainly.’ Mr. Nicodemus smiled. ‘You see, I am open with you.’
‘It’s the best way. Well, I will be equally open with you. I am grateful for your information but I am unable to influence the award of the contract. That is a matter entirely for the Purchasing Department.’
‘Of course!’ said Mr. Nicodemus hurriedly. ‘Of course!’ Still smiling, however and still waiting.
At last Owen understood.
‘Are Herbst-Wickel also tendering?’
‘I believe they are,’ said Mr. Nicodemus, now turning definitely to go.
***
‘Were you listening?’ asked Owen.
‘Yes,’ said Nikos.
‘What do you think?’
‘Genuine.’
‘Think we should follow it up?’
Nikos nodded. They usually did with reports of this nature. Explosives was something the administration took seriously. The big users, the quarrying companies and the construction firms working on the dams, were obliged by law to keep explosives under lock and key and notify at once any loss. Others could obtain explosives only in limited quantities and from registered suppliers. All imports were against a licence and licences were normally granted only to registered suppliers. Any report of an illegal import was at once followed up.
But how were they to do it in this case? Owen’s resources were already stretched and this business of the Grand Duke was stretching them further. Nikos, who would normally have conducted the enquiry, was busy playing noughts and crosses with the schedules for the Duke’s visit. Georgiades, who would usually stand in if Nikos was not available, was already complaining about workloads and talking about priorities. There were others he could use but they were occupied too.
This was precisely the sort of enquiry that suffered when extra things like the Grand Duke came along.
‘Shall we leave it for the time being?’
‘No, no, no!’
Nikos hated loose ends. If this were not followed up, it would gnaw at him for months.
‘It’s relatively hot,’ he said. ‘If we leave it, it will go cold.’
‘It’s a question of priorities,’ said Owen. Heavens, it was catching! ‘How important is this?’
‘There are some things about it I don’t like,’ said Nikos.
‘Such as?’
‘Size. Big enough to blow up a small house. What would it be needed for?’
‘Ordinary demolition work?’
‘Then why the secrecy?’
‘Tomb?’
‘All they need for that is a couple of sticks of dynamite.’
‘What else, then?’
‘A café? A recalcitrant café?’ Nikos spread his hands. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s just that I’m uneasy. It doesn’t fall into any of the usual patterns.’
This, for Nikos, was the most heinous fault of all.
‘Who’s buying it, for instance?’ he said.
‘One of the clubs?’
‘They’ve usually got their own supplies.’
‘A new one, then?’
‘Well,’ said Nikos, ‘if that’s so, and they’re going straight for explosives, that’s very worrying. It’s all the more reason why we should follow it up. Look, I could at least ring round and see if any of the regular suppliers know anything about it.’
‘Well, I’ll tackle Customs,’ said Owen. ‘But that’s all!’ he said warningly. ‘We have to keep a sense of priorities.’
Jesus, there he was again! It was a disease.
***
Owen thought about it hard, then took the train to Port Suez. It would cost him, there and back, two days of valuable time. Two days! And there he was complaining about his resources being stretched! But in Egypt if you wanted to get anywhere you simply had to use a personal approach. Most of the departments were now equipped with telephones and Customs, which was one of the most efficient, would certainly have one. But people were not used to them yet and anyway it wasn’t quite the same. Face to face was what it always came down to; so train it was, much to Zeinab’s disgust, who had had other things in mind for the following evening.
The train left early, at four, and for the first hour he watched the spectacular sunrise. The sun came up over the desert in a great red ball and chased colours for a while across the sand. But then the colours and the redness disappeared and everything settled down to a steady monochrome, made more so by the way in which the tinted windows of the carriage filtered out the light. The landscape, too, settled down to monotonous, stony desert, the heat increased, and after that it was a case of grimly hanging on.
It was a relief when at last they got to Suez and he was able to climb down into the fresher, saltier air of the docks.
Abdul Shafei, the local Head of Customs, was still in his office. He shrugged.
‘We’ve got a couple of boats coming in,’ he said. He knew Owen by repute and eyed him curiously.
‘It’s not often that the Mamur Zapt appears in these parts,’ he said.
‘Cairo’s my beat,’ said Owen. ‘It’s not often that I have the chance to get away.’
Water had been brought with the coffee and he drank copiously. Although the air seemed fresher, he found himself sweating profusely. The humidity, he supposed.
He put the glass down and turned to business. Abdul Shafei pulled a pad towards him.
‘It should be declared on the certificates,’ he said. ‘If they do that, there’ll be no problem. But what if they don’t?’
‘Do you open everything?’
‘No. There’s so much coming in. We open a sample. If it’s not in the certification we’ll need other identification.’
‘Could be difficult.’
‘The name of the consignee?’
‘It was Dhondy at one time.’ Abdul Shafei made a note.
‘But it could have changed. The supplier of the order is a firm named Herbst-Wickel. But, of course, they may be using a shipping agent.’
‘You don’t know the agent?’
‘I could find out the ones they normally use.’
‘Please. Anything would help. I’ll make a note of the supplier. There may be old labels. Anything else you can tell us?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Abdul Shafei looked doubtful.
‘We’ll do our best,’ he said. ‘But—’
‘If you could. This is important.’
‘Explosives!’ Abdul Shafei grimaced.
‘Not very nice.’
‘Not very nice for us, either,’ said Abdul Shafei, ‘when we’re unloading them and don’t know we’re handling explosives.’
‘The dockers, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
Abdul Shafei hesitated.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t be saying this, but…have you thought of talking to the dockers? They know most of what comes into the port. In fact, they probably know it better than we do.’
‘I was hoping to keep this fairly quiet. Then I might be able to pick up whoever-it-is when he comes to collect the explosives.’
‘Which is more important? Catching the men or catching the explosives?’
‘Catching the explosives, I suppose. You reckon it might be worth talking to the dockers?’
‘If you really want to be sure,’ said Abdul Shafei, ‘then talk to the dockers and offer a reward. They open most things that come into the port. There is,’ he hesitated, ‘well, quite a lot of pilfering. Not more than at other ports, but…I mean, at any port you’ll find …’
‘Is there some person I should talk to?’ Abdul Shafei looked at him.
‘I’m sure there is,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know him.’
***
Owen walked down to the waterfront, enjoying the smell of sea and tar, the scrunch of pebbles, a different sand. The sea sucked around great wooden posts, gulls cried overhead. As the heat of the day lifted he felt part of a newer, fresher world.
In theory, the Mamur Zapt’s writ ran even to Suez. In practice it was confined to Cairo. Cairo was where it all happened. There was a buzz, a life about the city that Owen found it hard to tear himself away from. It was part of an older, more Arab world; cosmopolitan, it was true, but not in the way of Alexandria or the port cities. Suez was hardly a city, still not much more than a bunker port, although growing rapidly. He had no agents here.
He would have to find someone. Nikos normally looked after that side and no doubt would find someone in time. But had they got time?
He sat down on a bollard and watched some dockers unloading a large, seagoing dhow. They were carrying sacks up out of the hold, huge, heavy sacks that bulged. Filled with grain, probably. But why was Egypt importing grain when it had all the fertile land of the Delta?
The men’s faces were streaked with sweat. It was hard, hot work. Everything was done by hand. There was an intimacy between the men and the load. That was why they knew the goods so well.
A small boy appeared beside him.
‘Effendi, I have a beautiful sister. So ve-ery beautiful!’ The boy’s hands described improbable shapes. ‘Would you like to meet her?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Ve-ery good! She make wonderful bump-bump. You like?’
The Mingrelian Conspiracy Page 8