He went back to his office and tried ringing Mahmoud in his. Mahmoud was “out.” There was something funny about the reply. Owen hoped that didn’t mean the Parquet was getting uptight about the situation.
On the whole the Parquet got on fairly well with the British Administration, but it was more independent than the other Departments and Ministries. Since the law was essentially French and based on the Napoleonic Code there was less opportunity for the British Adviser to exercise influence and the Minister in charge, an Egyptian, had correspondingly more autonomy.
The Minister of Justice was, therefore, a politically sensitive appointment. The Khedive used it to test out the limits to which the British intended to use their power and the more extreme British saw it as an organizational anomaly which needed removing. Something like the kidnapping could easily bring things to a head.
The kidnappings could easily bring a lot of things to a head. The Army, for instance, was eager to challenge the authority of the civil administration. A Senussi threat, with its suggestion of military danger, could provide the pretext for the exchange of a military for a civil administration. Owen didn’t think there was a Senussi threat, not on that scale, anyway, but that’s not how it would be seen either among the British community in Egypt or in Whitehall. The civil administration would have to show that it was on top of things.
He, the Mamur Zapt, would have to show that he was on top of things. And he bloody wasn’t. He was far from being on top of things. In fact, he couldn’t even think how to start so far as these damned kidnappings were concerned. What was it Mahmoud had said? That usually there was some loose thread. You could pull it and out would come all sorts of other things which you could follow up. In the end one of them would lead to a solution.
But where were the loose ends here? That bloody dragoman.
Where the hell was Mahmoud? He needed to talk to him. The telephone rang.
“What are you doing?” asked Paul. “Stewing?”
“Yes.”
“Me, too. We had the Sirdar here the whole of yesterday morning. And then the Khedive rang saying he wanted to give the Old Man an audience that evening! Evening! The Khedive doesn’t normally give audiences in the evening. He doesn’t do anything in the evening, very sensibly, and nor do we. The Old Man was very cut up about it.
Still, he thought he’d better go. It was the same thing. SOMETHING MUST BE DONE.”
“Look-”
“I know, I know,” said Paul soothingly. “It’s a hot day and you’ve been working bloody hard and the fact that you haven’t got anywhere isn’t your fault, etc., etc. Anyway, I wasn’t talking about that. Well, not directly. The point is, the Army must be fobbed off. Otherwise we’ll all be kicked out and that wouldn’t do at all. So-you’re not going to like this, but it had to be done, and I’m just ringing up to tell you it’s being done-we have to offer up a sacrifice.”
“Me?”
“No. Well, not yet. Mahmoud.”
“It’s not his fault.”
“Of course it’s not. He’s an amiable, hard-working soul who does his best for us, which is more than we deserve. We’ll make it up to him later. But the Army’s got to have blood. Well, you’d expect that of the Army, wouldn’t you? Heads must roll. And what better head to roll than that of an Egyptian-the Egyptian in charge of an investigation which is getting nowhere. There would,” said Paul, “be a case for putting someone else on it anyway.”
“I don’t think so.”
“I knew you wouldn’t like it.”
“You’re bloody right I wouldn’t.”
“I,” said Paul, “am not exactly happy about it.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter so much to you as it does to Mahmoud.”
“The important thing,” said Paul, “is not to let the Army take over. If they take over the Administration it would be a disaster. Not just for me, although naturally that is a consideration. For Egypt. For, well, rationality, which is, really, the only thing in the end which can keep the world ticking over without blowing itself apart.”
“What about Mahmoud?”
“He’s got a job. He’ll still have a job. He’s just being taken off this one case. It will probably do him no end of good in his career. Someone who’s been victimized by the British! His bosses will like him, the Minister will smile on him. He will certainly be promoted. He’ll do much better than if he goes on working along happily with you. It is the way of the world, my friend. Just thought I’d let you know.”
Shortly afterward, Garvin called Owen in.
“Mahmoud’s been taken off the case,” he said.
“Yes.”
“You know?”
“Yes. Who’s replacing him?”
“No one from the Parquet. They’re out of it. This is no longer an ordinary criminal matter. It’s a question of public law and order. Order.”
“You mean-”
“You’re responsible for order in Cairo, aren’t you? Then you’re responsible for this. Formally, I mean. From now on it’s all yours.”
Owen sat in his office, too numb to think. He wasn’t bothered about the responsibility, in a way he’d accepted that already. All Garvin was doing was landing him with it formally, making bloody sure that he himself was covered. Well, Owen didn’t mind that, it was the kind of thing you expected. Owen didn’t like being landed with formal responsibility, he supposed no one did. What he preferred to do was work behind the scenes, take responsibility, yes, but in an indirect, shared kind of way. Yes, that was it, shared. He liked to share it with Mahmoud. Mahmoud took over responsibility for running the case, Owen chipped in where he could. That worked well. It had worked well in the past.
He couldn’t evade the thought, though, that what he had just told himself was a cop-out. What he was saying was that Mahmoud was the one who really carried the can. Had carried it this time.
Georgiades came into the office. He stopped when he saw Owen’s face.
“OK?”
Owen nodded.
“What is it?”
“I’ve done what I said I would,” said Georgiades, “had a look at the Tsakatellis business. Talked to the family. Not just to the old woman. My God, she terrifies me. Reminds me of my mother.”
“Do all Greek women get like that?”
“Yes. It’s what stopped me from getting married.”
“I felt sorry for the daughter-in-law.”
“Feel sorry for all Greek daughters-in-law. This one particularly.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Yes. And to her daughter. That’s quite an experience. Fourteen years old and already shaping up to be like her grandmother. She’s the one who’s putting stiffening into her mother. Though her mother, in her timid way, is pretty game. Unbeknown to the old lady, they’ve been negotiating with the gang. All by themselves.”
“Negotiating?” said Owen. “What about? What are you saying?”
“Tsakatellis isn’t dead.”
Chapter 10
" Not dead?”
“That’s right. Or so his wife believes.”
“Well, yes, but surely-”
“She’s deluding herself? She doesn’t think so. And I’m not sure I think so either.”
“Then how-”
“They got the note, remember? Which the old woman showed to the police. The second note, the one with the demand for paying the ransom, never came. The old woman thought that meant they’d found out, about her going to the police, I mean. She thought she’d killed her son.”
“Hadn’t she?”
“No. At least, I don’t think so. You see, the second note did come, only this time it was the wife who intercepted it. Or her daughter, that sharp little Rosa. They didn’t show it to the old grandmother. They thought she’d say no. So they decided to handle it themselves.”