The Mule on the Minaret

by Alec Waugh

  The inquest, and the preparation for the funeral—he was to be given full military honours—made the morning a busy one for Reid. It was not till shortly before lunch that he had time to look through his in-tray. It is only then that he found among his mail an envelope marked ‘Personal and Private’ addressed to him in Johnson’s handwriting. The letter was dated ‘Just back from the Sindbad.’ It ran:

  ‘Prof., old boy. I’m sorry about all this. And I hope it won’t be too much of a nuisance and inconvenience. I suppose it will. But I don’t see what else there is to do. I’ll be very blunt about it and make no excuses. I have been pinching money from the Secret Fund. What I have done is this. When you or one of the other officers asked me for some money for one of your agents, let us say for 20 dinars, I have marked down in the book 30 dinars and kept the balance for myself. As you know, no details are kept of these transactions; receipts are burnt. At the end of the year, the adjutant hands in to the Colonel the grand and final total. It is quite a large sum, as you will have realized by now, because a number of high-up Iraqis are in our pay. Questions are never going to be asked. That is the essence of secret service work, unless the total suddenly richochets up. I did not see how an increase of three hundred pounds would arouse suspicions. I did not see how I could get found out if I limited my pilfering to three hundred. And I still don’t see how I could. But that’s what every criminal thinks, isn’t it? Anyhow, as long as I was dealing with a stranger like Mallet, I was prepared to run the risk. But it was different with you. You’re rather a special person, Prof., you know. Or at least you’ve been special to me. You were very sympathetic to me when things were going badly. You found this job for me. And I simply couldn’t bear being had up on the mat before you on a charge like this. My pride could not have stood it.

  ‘There was another thing too. I realized that, when I saw you sign the taking over paper. You are now responsible for the moneys held by the Centre. If there’s a deficiency, you would have to make it good. You, not me. And that was something else I couldn’t take, running the risk of letting you in for a large sum. And I couldn’t continue as your officer, in your mess, with that hanging over my head. It would have poisoned everything. I wouldn’t have had one minute’s peace of mind. I am sure this is the one way out.

  ‘That’s why I’m writing you this letter; as evidence that will let you out if any prying accountant raises difficulties. I don’t see how he could, but he might. If he does, you’ve got the letter. It’s up to you to do what you like with it. You might feel that you should hand it over to the G.O.C. straightaway and he might try to sue my estate for my defalcations. I can’t say I’d like that to happen; it wouldn’t be very pleasant for my wife. But I’ve no say in the matter, have I? What I’d prefer, and that’s why I’m writing this letter after all, is for you to keep it, in your own interests, in case anything blows up. That way you’ll know you’re safe.

  ‘I’m sorry about all this. It was good of you to come out tonight. It was good to be able to relive those days when I was a different person, and the world was a different place. It’s sad that all that should have finished up like this. But I suppose if it hadn’t been this way, it would have been another way. I’d got to the end of the road. Good luck.’

  Reid read the letter slowly. ‘This is one of the times,’ he thought, ‘when one acts on impulse.’ He took a cigarette lighter from his pocket and switched it on. He led the flame to the paper and watched it run across the sheet, leaving its black, crinkling edge. He dropped the paper on to the tiled floor, let it burn itself out; then crunched his heel on it. ‘Now for the funeral.’

  Chapter Eight

  The replacement of Johnson as his adjutant presented Reid with an administrative problem. On paper, the Centre was a part of Paiforce and he should have applied to the M.S. branch at G.H.Q. Paiforce for a new adjutant. Yet in reference to its special activities, its orders came from Cairo, after reference to London. If it had been an Intelligence Corps captain who had died, Reid would have assumed that Cairo could either fill the vacancy or would instruct him to find a replacement locally. Usually in a G.H.Q. there were one or two efficient officers who, on personal grounds, were not quite happy where they were and would welcome a transfer. An adjutant, however, was in a different category. He did not need to have had an Intelligence Corps training. Johnson had not had one. And Reid did not see why his successor should. You needed in an adjutant someone with military training, with a sense of discipline, who would inspire his juniors with a sense of awe, and, which was more important, would know his way about regulations, would be familiar with army orders and the technique of claiming appropriate allowances. Reid would have looked consequently for a ranker officer, a man of twenty years’ service, who with his knowledge of how to get things done would not only save the Centre a lot of money, but its staff a great deal of time. Reid, therefore, on the evening after the funeral, signalled to Cairo, reporting Johnson’s death and suggesting that he should apply to the M.S. Branch in Paiforce for a replacement. To his complete astonishment, however, he received a signal in reply stating that Temporary Captain (W/S Lieutenant) A. Q. Sargent had been appointed to fill the vacancy created by Major Johnson’s death and would assume the acting rank of Major. Captain Sargent, it continued, would be arriving by the Nairn bus on the following Thursday.

  Reid stared at the signal. Gustave to fill a post such as this which required long familiarity with military procedure, and training in paper work. It was a job that he would have hesitated to take on himself. He could think of no one less fitted for the post than Gustave. He remembered Gustave telling him in Beirut that he was hoping to be coming to Baghdad soon with a crown upon his shoulder. He had not understood at the time what it was all about. And at that time Cairo had not known that there would be a vacancy for a major on the Baghdad establishment. He could only assume that for some devious reason of its own, Cairo wanted to have Gustave in Baghdad, with the rank of Major. He could not begin to think what it was all about.

  He drove down to the Nairn office to welcome Gustave. Gustave was in the highest spirits; he looked well and healthy and his crown glittered on his shoulder. ‘This is very decent of you, Prof.,’ he started; then he checked. ‘I suppose I should call you “Sir” now, shouldn’t I?’

  ‘In the office, yes; in the mess, Colonel; and anything you like when we’re like this.’

  ‘That’s a great deal for me to remember, isn’t it?’ He looked from left to right as they drove through the quiet, humble residential streets; he wrinkled his nose. ‘This place smells.’ He noted the shabby pedestrians, the heavily laden mules, the drooping dustcovered oleander bushes ‘Scruffy too,’ he said.

  ‘I warned you, didn’t I?’

  ‘You did. I know you did. But anyhow I don’t think I’m going to be here very long.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Something that Farrar said. I’ve got a letter from him, which should explain it. Diana Benson asked to be remembered to you; very specially remembered.’

  They talked about mutual friends. Gustave chattered away briskly. His buoyancy was in marked contrast to that of the majority of men with whom Reid had been dealing during the last few weeks. Everyone looked drained and exhausted by the heat.

  The car drew up outside the mess.

  ‘This doesn’t look too bad,’ said Gustave.

  ‘It was a palace twenty years ago.’

  Reid showed Gustave which his room was. It faced not upon the river but the date groves. ‘This isn’t too good a room, I’m afraid.’ Reid said. ‘There should be a better one vacant soon. But if you aren’t going to be here long perhaps it doesn’t matter. As soon as you’re straightened up, come over to the office. Have you got that letter, by the way?’

  The letter was hand written.

  ‘Dear Prof., this will be a big surprise to you; perhaps not a very pleasant one, I’m afraid. But don’t worry. It isn’t for long. I was very sorry to hear of Johnson
’s accident. Particularly on your account. I know that you were fond of him. But actually it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and in a way it’s providential. For quite a while we’ve wanted to have Gustave in Baghdad, and with a major’s rank. And we haven’t known how to do it. This is a good opportunity.

  ‘I won’t give you any details about the project. The less you know the better. By that I mean the less you know the more peace of mind you’ll have. It is a very tricky bit of work, but it is a most important one. It’s the kind of thing that I’ve been trying to bring off for the last eighteen months. All this may be a bit of a nuisance for you. I know Gustave isn’t the right man for your adjutant, but I don’t suppose that he can do much damage in six weeks.’

  Six weeks. So that was to be all the time it was.

  ‘Farrar’s letter didn’t tell me very much.’ he said to Gustave. ‘Have you any idea yourself why you’ve been sent here?’

  ‘I gather it’s some kind of mission.’

  ‘And they think that you’ll be more effective in this mission if you can say you’ve been here a month or so as a major?’

  ‘That’s the idea.’

  ‘In that case then, they’ve probably warned you about this. You must be most careful not to suggest in any way that you are not here for keeps. Ask a lot of questions about Baghdad. Act the newcomer trying to find out all he can. Grumble a bit if you like, say “I don’t see how I’m going to stand this for three years.” Complain about the lack of girls. That should be a sound line in your case. Oh, and about that room of yours. That’s a good grumbling point. Say what a smell there is from that Arab farmyard underneath your window; have you noticed how they plaster their walls with dung? Like rounds of bread? That’s what they use as fuel. Say how it stinks. And I’ll do my best to get you a better room. Have you got the idea?’

  ‘O.K. I’ve got it, Prof. Sorry, I mean sir.’

  ‘Then in that case I’ll show you the kind of thing that you’ll be doing. It’s difficult not having a proper handing over, but I know pretty well what Johnson was about.’

  Johnson had always seemed to be fully occupied, but now, as he explained what an adjutant’s duties were, Reid did begin to wonder how Johnson had managed to fill his time. There seemed very little for Gustave to take over. ‘It doesn’t sound a lot,’ Reid said. ‘It’s the kind of job that you make for yourself. There are day-to-day things that crop up. V.I.P.s to be met. Cars to be laid on. Railway tickets booked. The phrase “Generally keep an eyes on things” covers quite a lot.’

  ‘I guess I’ll manage. It looks the kind of job that runs itself.’

  ‘Exactly.’ But to himself he wondered just how much damage could be done within six weeks by a not very competent young man who took his responsibilities so cavalierly. At lunch Reid could not fail to be impressed by the verve with which Gustave was entering into the role of the displaced person.

  ‘When I was honoured with the King’s commission,’ he was saying, ‘I was informed that I must never in the mess talk shop, discuss religion or mention a lady’s name. But to talk about women, that surely is another matter. Surely I am entitled to ask whether there is any truth in the sad rumour current currently in Cairo that there is in Baghdad no channel of communication between the serving officer and the local bint.’

  He had, Reid noted, abandoned his P. G. Wodehouse vocabulary for an elaborate phraseology that might have passed for wit fifty years earlier in the days of ‘the mashers.’ He had seen examples of it in old numbers of Punch; really, Gustave was a clown. He could not imagine on what kind of mission he could serve any useful purpose. Yet he was glad to have him here. Once again he was struck by the contrast in terms of health between Gustave and his fellow-officers. They all looked so tired. He so fresh. Probably a Baghdad summer was a greater strain than any of them recognized.

  A week later the Beirut summary arrived with an appendix with a very limited distribution list that Reid would not have seen before he was head of the Centre. Since he had taken over from Mallet, he had realized how much material had passed above his head. The Intelligence rule that you were only told as much as you needed to carry out the work immediately to hand, certainly increased the prestige and authority of the senior officer. A major would hesitate to criticize the conclusions reached by the Colonel because those conclusions might be based on information which the major lacked. And after all, the regimental commander did not necessarily know the battle strategy of the G.O.C. The Colonel might be ordered to capture a certain hill. He did not know if that hill was a main objective or a feint to divert the enemy’s attention. If the Colonel were told that the attack was merely a feint, he would conduct it half-heartedly, and the attack would defeat its purpose. There was a sound basis for this doctrine. ‘Theirs not to reason why.’ Yet at the same time in Intelligence one did sometimes get a baffling sense of working in the dark. This present appendix was a case in point. ‘We are approaching,’ it said, ‘a decisive moment in our deception campaign. We hope to go into action very shortly and to launch the final assault within six weeks. We hope to make use at last of Aziz.’

  Within six weeks. That was the time that Farrar had set for Gustave’s stay with the Centre. It was in terms clearly of that operation that Gustave was required to have spent six weeks in Baghdad with the rank of major before he left upon his mission. And Aziz was a part of this operation too. He remembered what Mallet had said at dinner in Damascus. ‘Those two are cooking up something devilish, and as far as Farrar is concerned, it’s partly directed against you.’ Reid had a chill sense of evil omen.

  On the same morning, the same appendix reached Istanbul. It was one of the documents that Sedgwick kept in his small cabinet in the corner, but on this occasion he handed it to Eve. ‘Now doesn’t this make you jealous? Just when you are going, the drama starts. You’ll miss it by ten days.’

  ‘Is it going to happen here?’

  He nodded.

  ‘But it doesn’t say so in the summary.’

  ‘I saw quite a little of Master Nigel during that conference in Beirut. We found we had a lot in common. This is a joint operation.’

  The same sense of evil omen that had chilled Reid now made Eve want to flinch. But she managed to contrive a laugh. ‘The annoying thing is that I shall never know what this particular piece of mischief is. If I were to see you after the war, you’d plead the Official Secrets Act.’

  ‘I might make an exception in your case.’

  ‘I’ll never forgive you if you don’t.’

  ‘He didn’t guess, he can’t have guessed,’ she thought. ‘But I bet he showed me that appendix just to see how I’d take it. He’s never shown me one before.’ She was trembling as she sat before her typewriter. ‘My nerves are going. It’s high time I left,’ she thought. She closed her eyes. In four weeks she would be away; out of it all; starting a new life. Probably not seeing again a single person she had known here. So she argued with herself; but all the time that chill sense of doom oppressed her. ‘What were they planning to do with Aziz? What was there that they could do with him? What had he really done?’ Yet even as she asked herself those questions, she knew that she knew the answers. There were so many traps that they could lay for him. And he had done a lot—or at least what he had done could be made to look a lot. She knew how ruthless the high-ups in this game were. They forgot that they were dealing with human beings. To them, Aziz was a file; just as to a General at G.H.Q. the Dorset Regiment was not 1,000 men but a flag upon a map. When a spy had ceased to be of use, he might still be made to serve a purpose by handing over his dossier to the enemy; and thereby sending up the stock of a more valuable double agent. That had been often done. They had a lot on Aziz. And it was because of her they had so much. She had baited the trap. It was to see her that he had come up to Istanbul; that he had become involved so deeply. Hadn’t she gloried in that involvement? She had seen it as a symbol of her possession of him; she had tied him with one thong after another. It wa
s her fault. It was three parts her fault.

  She opened the shorthand notebook in which she had taken down a couple of letters for Sedgwick. She put a sheet of paper inside the machine. But her hands were trembling and her fingers mishit the keys. It was no good. She had to pull herself together. She stared at the keyboard, trying to recover her self-control, trying to think herself back into sanity. ‘There’s no need to lose your head,’ she told herself. ‘There’s no danger. Aziz is going to Alexandria. He’ll be out of reach of Farrar and of Sedgwick. He won’t be coming back to Istanbul for many months, and by the time he does, the situation will be different. Farrar will have new irons in the fire. He said ‘Six weeks.’ Aziz is only a part of his all-in programme; a cog in it. They can manage without Aziz very well. If Aziz isn’t there when they want him, they’ll write him off as a bad debt and when the war is over, or long before the war is over for that matter, he will be able to return here and pick up his old life. The I.S.L.O. will be inoperative. The Germans will have gone back to what is left of Germany; there’ll be no equivalent in Beirut for Farrar’s organization. There’ll be something of course in Baghdad. But Baghdad isn’t concerned with this operation, as far as I can see.’ She had got, she decided, to stop Aziz coming through in September. That shouldn’t be difficult. She could write him a good-bye letter, telling him that she’d been ordered back to England. She’d meant to do that anyhow. She’d send it a little earlier. That was the only difference. She would send it now.

  She pulled out the official letter paper from the typewriter and slipped in an ordinary sheet.

  ‘Dear Aziz, [she started].

  ‘This is tragic news, but I am having to go back to England right away...’