They can search all they like, said someone, but they wont find him there.
Youve got me beat, said Mahmoud. Where is he, then?
Ah!
Try the Wagh el Birket, someone suggested.
They all fell about with laughter. The Sharia Wagh el Birket, which was just round the corner, was a street of ill-repute.
If you dont find him there, said someone, youll find every other Frenchman in Cairo!
And Englishman, too!
But not Welshman, said someone kindly.
They know something, said Owen.
Yes.
Owen and Mahmoud were sitting wearily at a table on the terrace. It was after eleven and the hotel manager had just sent them out some coffee. The night was still warm and there were plenty of people still at the tables. Across the road they could see the brightly-coloured lamps of the Ezbekiyeh Gardens but here on the terrace there were fewer lights. There was just the occasional standard lamp, set well back from the tables because it drew the insects, which circled it continuously in a thick halo. Because of the relative darkness, the stars in the yet unpolluted Egyptian sky seemed very close, almost brushed by the fringed tops of the palms. The air was heavy with the heady perfume of jasmine from the trays which the flower-sellers held up to the railings for inspection. Some women went past their table and another set of perfumes drifted across the terrace. In the warm air the perfumes gathered and lingered almost overwhelmingly.
Owen watched the light dresses to the end of the terrace. There was a burst of laughter and chatter as they reached their table and the scrape of chairs. Someone called for a waiter, a suffragi came hurrying and a moment later waiters were scurrying past with ice-buckets and champagne. A cork popped.
The railings were still crowded with vendors and the crowd in the street seemed as thick as ever. Every so often an arabeah would negotiate its way through and deposit its passenger at the foot of the hotel steps. Then it would join the row of arabeahs standing in the street. The row was growing longer. There were few outward journeys from the hotel now.
The donkey-boys had stopped all pretence of expecting business and were absorbed in a game they played with sticks and a board. They threw the sticks against the wall of the terrace and moved broken bits of pot forward on the board depending on how the sticks fell. The scoring appeared to be related to the number of sticks which fell white side uppermost. The dark sides didnt seem to count unless all the sticks fell dark side uppermost, which was a winning throw.
Yes, said Mahmoud, they know something. But how much do they know?
They know how he disappeared.
Yes, Mahmoud admitted, they might know that.
They said he didnt come down the steps.
They didnt quite say that. Anyway, I believe the snake-charmer.
The charmer said the old man had been helped down. We havent been able to find anyone who helped him.
Not on the hotel staff. It might have been a guest.
We could ask around, I suppose. It wont be popular with the hotel.
A crime has been committed, Mahmoud pointed out. When in pursuit of his duties, he was not disposed to make concessions.
We dont know that yet.
At least we could try the ones on the tables nearest him.
If we could find out who they were.
The waiters will have a good idea. Theyll be intelligent in place like this. Ive got them making a list.
Even if we knew, said Owen, would it help much? I mean, it might have been just a casual thing. Somebody saw him trying to get down the steps and helped him out of kindness.
Wed know definitely that he came down the steps. It would confirm the charmers story.
And challenge the donkey-boys.
Yes. We would be back to the donkey-boys.
But theyre not talking. Why arent they talking?
Why should they help the authorities? Especially if theyre not their authorities.
Well, hell, theyre the only authorities theyve got.
The one thing Egyptians have learned over the centuries, said Mahmoud, if theyve learned anything over the centuries, is to keep clear of the authorities, never mind who they are. Anyway, he added, theres probably another explanation.
Which is?
Theyve been paid to keep their mouths shut.
Like the charmer?
No. Hes not been paid. Hes just frightened.
You think someones frightened him?
Possibly.
And paid the donkey-boys?
Possibly.
So you think it was a kidnapping, then?
I havent got that far yet. Im waiting for the note.
It came just before midnight. McPhee emerged from the hotel and walked slowly across to them. He was carrying a slip of paper in his hand which he laid on the table in front of them. Owen read it by the light of one of the standard lamps. It was in the ornate script of the bazaar letter-writer.
Mr Yves Berthelot.
Greetings. This letter is from the Zawia Group. We have taken your esteemed uncle. If you want to see him again you must pay the sum of 100,000 piastres which we know you will do as you are a generous person and will want to see your uncle again. If you do not pay, your uncle will be killed. We will tell you later how to get the money to us.
Meanwhile, I remain, Sir, your humble and obedient servant
The Leader of the Zawia Group.
Zawia? said Mahmoud. Have you heard of them?
No, said Owen, theyre new.
Taking tourists is new, too, said McPhee.
Yes. It doesnt look like the usual kind of group.
I take it youll have nothing in the files? said Mahmoud.
Ill get Nikos to check. I dont recognize the name but maybe we will.
How did it come?
It appeared in Moulins pigeonhole. Berthelot found it when he went to check the mail. Ive had him checking it at regular intervals.
Presumably it was just handed in?
Left on the counter when the receptionist was busy.
He didnt notice who left it?
No.
Mahmoud sighed.
Owen looked along the terrace. The conviviality at the far end had developed into quite a party. Corks were popping, people laughing, suffragis bustling with new bottles. The general gaiety spread far out into the night. At the intervening tables people were sitting more quietly. They were mostly in evening dress, having come out into the cool air after dinner. They looked relaxed, confident, immune. But from somewhere out in the darkness something had struck at these bright, impervious people: struck once and could strike again.
CHAPTER 2
Even if it is a kidnapping, said Owen, theres no need for me to be involved.
Oh? said Garvin. Why not?
Garvin was the Commandant of the Cairo Police. It was an indication of something special that he was taking an interest in the case. Normally he left such matters to his deputy, the Assistant Commander, McPhee.
Its not political.
If its a Frenchman, said Garvin, then it is political.
Zawia? said Nikos. Thats a new one. Its not the usual sort of name, either.
Most of the kidnappings in Cairo were carried out by political clubs, extremist in character and therefore banned, therefore secret. It was a standard way of raising money for political purposes. The clubs tended to have names like The Black Hand, The Cobra Group or The Red Dagger. Owen sometimes found the political underworld of Cairo disconcertingly similar to the pages of the Boys Own Paper. There was in fact a reason for the similarity. Many of the clubs were based on the great El Azhar university, where the students tended to be younger than in European universities. In England, indeed, they would have been still at school, a fact which did not stop them from kidnapping, garrotting and demanding money with menaces but which led them to express their demands in a luridly melodramatic way.
Zawia? said Owen. I dont know that word. What does it mean?
A place for disciples. AI think you would call ita convent.
A place for women?
Certainly not! said Nikos, astonished yet again at the ignorance of his masters. Nikos was the Mamur Zapts Official Secretary, a post of considerable power, which Nikos relished, and much potential for patronage, which Nikos had so far, to the best of Owens knowledge, not thought fit to use. It is a Senussi term.
The Senussi were an Islamic order, not strong in Egypt, but strong everywhere else in North Africa.
It also means corner, junction, turning-point.
Turning-point? said Owen, alert to all the shades of significance of revolutionary rhetoric. Im not sure I like that.
Im not sure I like it if its a convent, said Nikos. Particularly if its a Senussi one.
Midway through the morning Nikos put a phone call through to him. It was one of the Consul-Generals aides. Since the British Consul-General was the man who really ran Egypt Owen paid attention. Anyway, the aide was a friend of his.
Its about Octave Moulin, his friend said.
Moulin?
The one who was kidnapped. I take it youre involved?
On the fringe.
If I were you Id move off the fringe pretty quickly and get into the centre.
Because hes a Frenchman?
Because of the sort of Frenchman he is. His wife is a cousin of the French Presidents wife.
The French Chargé was round pretty quickly.
He would be. They know Moulin at the Consulate, of course.
Because of his wife?
And other things. You know what hes doing here, dont you?
Business interests?
The Aswan Dam. He represents a consortium of French interests who are tendering for the next phase.
I thought it had gone to Aird and Co.?
Well, it has, and the French are not too happy about that. They say that all the contracts have gone to British firms and they wonder why.
Cheaper?
Dearer, actually.
Better engineers?
We say so, naturally. The French have a different view. They say its to do with who awards the contracts.
The Ministry of Public Works. Egyptians.
And with a British Adviser at the head.
Most of the great ministries had British Advisers. It was one of the ways in which the Consul-Generals power was exercised. In theory Egypt was still a province of the Ottoman Empire and the Khedive, its nominal ruler, owed allegiance to the Sultan at Istanbul. Earlier in the last century, however, a strong Khedive had effectively declared himself independent of Istanbul. Weaker successors had run the country into debt and exchanged dependence on Turkey for dependence on European bankers. In order to retrieve the tottering Khedivial finances, and recover their loans, the British had moved in; and had not moved out. For twenty-five years Egypt had been guided by the British Consul-General: first by Cromers strong hand, more recently by the less certain Gorst.
Theres a lot of money involved.
Thats what the French think. Theyve made a Diplomatic protest.
And got nowhere, I presume.
Its a bit embarrassing all the same. So we might give them something to shut them up. Theres a sub-contract to go out for constructing a masonry apron downstream of the dam sluices to protect the rock. We might let them have that. Thats where Moulin comes in. At least we think so. There are a lot of French interests jostling for the contract.
So what do you want me to do?
Find him.
Thats a bit of a tall order.
And quickly. Before the contract is awarded. You see, the French think we might have had a hand in it!
In what?
The kidnapping.
They think we kidnapped him? Thats ridiculous!
Its too well organized for us to be behind it, you mean? I tried that argument on the Old Man but he doesnt like it.
Why would we want to kidnap him?
To affect the bidding. The French think we are still determined to influence the result. They have an inflated regard for our duplicity.
Thats because they are so duplicitous themselves they cant believe anyone else would act straight.
Ill try that one on him too.
However, said Owen, I wasnt really planning to get involved in this one.
I think you ought to revise your plans. The French are holding us responsible for Moulins safety.
In a general way, of course
In a particular way. They say that the Mamur Zapt is responsible for law and order in Cairo. The kidnapping of a French citizen is a matter of law and order. Therefore the Mamur Zapt is responsible for Monsieur Moulin. Personally responsible.
Ridiculous!
They think theyve got you, boyo. If I were you I wouldnt stay on the fringe.
The Press had asked for a conference.
Theyll just be wanting a briefing. You handle it, Garvin had said.
Owen, whose duties included Press censorship, was used to the Press. But that was the Egyptian Press. The conference included representatives of the European Press and he was not used to them.
Would the Mamur Zapt show the same lack of urgency if Monsieur Moulin were a British subject? asked the man from Paris-Soir.
I am not showing a lack of urgency. I am treating the matter with extreme seriousness.
Then why havent you been to the Hotel today? Surely the investigation is not complete?
The investigation is being carried out, as is usual in Egypt, by the Department of Prosecutions of the Ministry of Justice, the Parquet. It is in the capable hands of my colleague, Mr El Zaki, who, I am sure, is giving it all his attention.
Are you treating this as a routine criminal investigation?
Yes.
Is it routine for someone to be kidnapped from the terrace at Shepheards?
No.
Would the Mamur Zapt agree that security is lax when a prominent foreign visitor is kidnapped from the terrace of one of the worlds most famous hotels?
No, the Mamur Zapt would not agree.