‘I know that. They’ve applied for a licence to open a saloon at the hotel they’re building there.’
‘They’re opening the racetrack very soon. Even before they’ve finished building.’
‘They need the cash, I think.’
‘I think so, too,’ said Mahmoud. ‘I think they need it badly.’
Owen looked at him.
‘You’re not suggesting they need it badly enough to kill a man, are you?’
‘I’m suggesting that it’s pretty important to them to get the railway line to Heliopolis finished as soon as possible.’
Owen could see how from Mahmoud’s point of view it all fitted together. All the same…!
‘Aren’t you jumping the gun a bit? You haven’t even succeeded in connecting the brothers with the killing yet.’
‘I’m working on that.’
‘You need to do that before you start worrying about other connections.’
Mahmoud pursed his lips obstinately.
‘I need to work on both. It’s not just the killing that has to be explained, but the fact that the body was placed on the line.’
‘You’re still on that?’
‘In my view it is the key.’
‘You don’t think it could all be explained simply as a revenge killing?’
He couldn’t keep the exasperation out of his voice. Mahmoud sensed it and reacted strongly.
‘I think it would be very convenient if it were explained as a revenge killing. For some people.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Such as the Syndicate.’
‘For goodness’ sake!’
Owen fought to keep his irritation down.
‘There are so many gaps! Between the brothers and the killing; between the brothers and the Syndicate. You say he hangs out with a gang; well, between the gang and the Syndicate, too. Gaps, gaps! Everywhere!’
‘You see gaps; I see connections. Why was the body placed on the line?’
‘How the hell do I know?’
‘You’re not being very rational.’
‘Me? Not being very rational? Well, at least I’m not prejudiced!’
‘What is this talk of prejudice?’ said Mahmoud furiously.
‘The only reason why you’re involving the Syndicate at all is because they’re foreign!’
‘You think it is just that I am a Nationalist, is that it?’
‘I think the Nationalist involvement in this needs some explaining.’
‘What exactly do you mean by that?-’
‘Wahid-the railwaymen’s leader-is a Nationalist agitator. Why was he put there?’
‘ “Put there”?’
‘He was planted. To make sure that the opportunity was not missed.’
‘What “opportunity”?’
‘To make things difficult for the government. It’s nothing to do with the Syndicate. It’s everything to do with the government-and with the Nationalists!’
Mahmoud rose from the table.
‘You would think that!’ he spat.
Chapter 8
The reception at the Heliopolis Racing Club coincided with the opening of their racing programme, and from the big window Owen could look down on the crowd milling at the starting gate. Milling, certainly, because that was what Cairo crowds always did, move round and round in a mass, getting nowhere. Crowd, more doubtfully, since although there were several score at the finishing post, there were only several dozen at the starting gate and in between there was virtually nobody.
‘Promising, though,’ said the Belgian beside him. ‘As soon as we get the railway line finished they’ll come flocking in.’
There was almost more of a crowd upstairs at the reception. The international community had turned out in large numbers. Almost every consulate was represented. The British Consul-General was not there, but Paul, his aide-de-camp and Owen’s tennis partner, was standing in for him. Garvin, the Commandant of Police was there, always a man for the races. Princes and Pashas were there in abundance.
Zeinab had also deigned to come. Not because she was in the slightest interested in horses-she knew they pulled her carriage and that was about it-but because she had decided that Owen could not safely be left alone with ‘that girl’.
And, indeed, Salah-el-Din’s daughter was present, dressed, as always, incongruously to Owen’s eye, in a frock which suggested the little girl but somehow revealed a full womanly figure.
‘Disgusting!’ said Zeinab.
‘A bit bizarre!’ Owen conceded.
‘What do you know about it?’ demanded Zeinab.
Owen knew absolutely nothing about women’s fashion, which he imagined was what Zeinab was talking about, so decided to keep his mouth shut.
Among the Pashas was Zeinab’s father, Nuri, who came up to Owen with a worried look.
‘Do you think she’ll do it?’
‘Do what?’
Nuri jerked his head in the direction of the window where Malik was standing with some of his cronies.
‘Kill him, you mean?’ Owen considered. ‘I wouldn’t have thought so,’ he said.
Salah-el-Din brought his daughter up to Owen.
‘You remember Amina?’
‘Charmed!’
‘Do you race, Captain Owen?’ she asked.
‘I ride a bit.’
‘Ah! So do I. You must ride out in this direction one morning.’
‘I haven’t been doing much riding lately,’ he said hastily.
‘You must take it up again. You used to ride in England?’
‘In India.’
‘You have been to India? Oh, I would like to go to India. It must be very romantic. You have seen the Taj Mahal, yes?’
‘Well, no, actually. I was stationed up in the north.’
‘On the Frontier?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’
‘You were a soldier? You actually fought people?’
‘Well-’
‘And burned villages? And raped the women?’
‘Oh, yes. Every day.’
Amina looked at him wide-eyed.
Across the room Zeinab was talking to Paul. She caught Owen’s eye and ostentatiously turned her back.
Malik came up and Amina moved away.
‘That’s your girlfriend, isn’t it?’ he said, looking at Zeinab.
‘Yes.’
‘She looks a bit Arabic to me. Ever tried a Circassian? I could get you one if you’d like an exchange.’
‘No, thanks,’ said Owen. He made his way over to Paul and Zeinab.
‘Who’s that strange girl you were talking to?’ asked Paul.
‘Salah-el-Din’s daughter. He’s the local mamur.’
‘She seems a bit young,’ said Paul doubtfully.
Zeinab went off in a fury.
Paul looked down at the scanty crowd below.
‘They’ll have to do better than this,’ he said. ‘Of course, it’ll be different when they’ve got the railway finished.’
‘I hadn’t realized how important it was to them.’
‘Oh, it’s important, all right.’
‘How important?’ said Owen.
‘Well, it would make a big difference to their cash flow, which, I understand, is a bit sticky-’
‘Important enough to kill for?’
Paul stared at him.
‘Are you feeling all right? Not been standing out in the sun too long?’
A little later, Owen was talking to one of the undersecretaries when Raoul, the Belgian he had met at Salah-el-Din’s, touched him on the arm.
‘Still on the bubbly? Care for something harder? Oh, and by the way, el-Sayid Ahmad would like a word with you.’
El-Sayid Ahmad was the Minister for Transport. He stretched out his hand.
‘Glad to see you. Impressive, isn’t it? A city arising out of nothing. That’s the modern Egypt for you!’
He took Owen confidentially aside.
‘You know a question has been put down in the Assembly?’
‘By Mr Rabbiki, yes.’
‘Up to his usual tricks. But you don’t have to worry. We’ll fob him off.’
‘He may be calling for a public inquiry.’
‘He won’t get one. We have a safe majority. All the same-’
‘Yes?’
‘He’ll get what he wants. Which is public attention.’
‘There’s not much we can do about that.’
‘Isn’t there? How near an arrest are you?’
Owen hesitated.
‘Faltering?’
‘It’s in the hands of the Parquet.’