‘To cover up,’ said Owen.
‘You think they were just trying to put you off?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Owen, ‘but I’m going to find out. And when I do, I’ll show them some bloody sensitivity!’
Most shops in Cairo closed for the afternoon. Most police stations did, too, their inhabitants arguing, reasonably, that if it was too hot for work it was also too hot for crime. Not, however, the police headquarters at the Bab-el-Khalk, where Owen had his office. Some men had been arrested the night before at the demonstration and lodged in the local police station. This morning they had been transferred up, and now Owen meant to interview them himself.
The first three, however, were ordinary members of the crowd. Not entirely ordinary citizens, perhaps, since they had all been armed and had attempted to use their weapons against the constables, which accounted first for their battered appearance and then for their arrest. Owen, though, was not interested in them. What he wanted was someone from the invading wedge. He remembered the man he had himself arrested and went down to the cells to find him.
On the way back to his room they passed Garvin, the Commandant, who cast a professional eye over the prisoners.
‘Oh, Abbas,’ he said, ‘it’s you, is it?’
‘I wasn’t doing anything this time, Effendi,’ protested the man indignantly.
‘Got arrested by accident? Well, blow me!’
‘What were you doing near the Pont de Limoun, then?’ asked Owen, when he had got the man settled in his room.
‘Nothing!’
Owen pointed to the man’s arm, which was in a rough sort of sling.
‘How come you got hit on the arm, then?’
‘The fact is, Effendi, I wasn’t looking. At least, not on that side, I’d got this bloke lined up, a big, fat policeman he was, and I thought, Right, my beauty, I’ll have you! And then, damn me, someone comes at me from the side and catches me a crack, I thought it had broke my arm, and then before I could do anything about it, the other one turns round and gives me a crack over the head! I tell you, in future I’m always going to make sure I’m paired up with someone, it’s better that way, one of you can keep a lookout while the other’s doing the hitting. Then you can take turn and turn about. Hosayn’s the man, I think, he’s quite quick and not stupid-’
He had an attitude to the fighting that was purely technical and Owen soon put him down as a professional heavy, a member of a gang most likely, brought in for occasions.
Had he been brought in on this occasion?
Certainly, the man replied with pride. Word had gone round that good men were required and he and several others had put their names forward. They had worked with Figi before- Figi?
‘He’s our boss. We don’t work with him all the time, but lately he’s been getting some good contracts-’
Like?
‘Well, this one. Go in and break them up. Very straightforward. And they probably wouldn’t even be armed! Well, I mean-’
And that was all?
Well, it was enough, wasn’t it? The reward had to be matched against the risk, after all. In this case there hadn’t seemed to be much risk so they’d settled for something quite low. And then the Mamur Zapt had come along and started shooting!
‘You never know,’ said the man philosophically.
And, indeed, he didn’t know. Not much more than he’d said, anyway. Owen got more out of Garvin, into whose office he dropped after the man had been taken away.
‘Oh, yes,’ said Garvin, ‘I know him. He works the racetracks. Stays with the same gang, mostly.’
‘Do they take on other jobs?’
‘Occasionally.’
‘Political ones?’
Garvin looked doubtful.
‘I wouldn’t have thought so. Mostly they stick to the racetracks… They were up at Heliopolis the other day,’ he offered as Owen was on the way out.
Owen stopped.
‘The ones we saw?’
‘That’s right. They were talking to one of the stewards, if you remember. I’m worried about that, Owen. We don’t want the course to get off to a bad start. You asked me not to take action, but-’
‘Hello!’ said Salah-el-Din, coming across the room to greet him. ‘What brings you here?’
‘I was over at Matariya,’ said Owen, ‘so I thought I would pop in.’
‘Very nice to see you. Care for a drink?’
This being Cairo, Owen didn’t ordinarily accept drinks from subordinates; but this was also the bar at the New Heliopolis Racing Club, where things certainly seemed a bit different, so he accepted graciously.
They sat down in two plushy armchairs near the window, from where they could look down on the racetrack. There being no races today, the track was empty; except for, yes, it was her, Salah-el-Din’s daughter, plus attendant, going for her usual promenade.
Salah-el-Din followed the direction of Owen’s eyes.
‘Yes, it is Amina. We come most days. But she goes for a walk while I come up to the bar!’ He laughed. ‘In case you’re wondering, though, I only have one drink. And I justify my attendance on the grounds that until more of Heliopolis is built, this is where I’m going to meet everybody.’
The bar was certainly filling up. There was a sprinkling of Syndicate staff, mostly Belgians but a number of-well, not so much effendis, too rich for that-wealthy Egyptian young, all males, of course, from the Pashas’ houses round about. Owen looked for Malik. He wasn’t there, but if Amina was, could Malik be far behind?
They talked for a while about the new police station that was being built at Heliopolis and about its staffing. This was really Garvin’s pigeon but Salah was anxious that there should be some Mamur Zapt involvement, on the grounds that the international community, bankers and such, would be heavily represented in the New Heliopolis and policing would have to have regard for international treaties.
Owen offered a return drink, which, however, Salah declined. ‘Since I’ve told you my role, I’d better stick to it,’ he said. ‘However, you can offer it to Amina if you like. I’m just going down to fetch her.’
‘I’ll come with you, if I may,’ said Owen. ‘I’d like to look at the track.’
Some men were laying turf.
‘Big staff?’
‘Building up,’ said Salah. ‘People don’t realize how many the Club will employ. It will be a very good thing for people hereabouts.’
‘And for the gangs.’
‘I’ve seen that here already. That’s one of the things I’m going to have to keep an eye on.’
‘Do they get at the staff? Try to influence them?’
‘It wouldn’t do any good. You’ve got to have safeguards against a thing like that.’
Owen looked for the man he had seen the other day.
‘What happens to the stewards? Are they here all the time?’
‘Just for the races.’
There would be races the following Saturday, Salah said. The Club was anxious to hold them twice a week but at the moment the crowds didn’t justify it.
‘It’ll be different when the new railway’s running,’ he said.
Amina’s eyes, above her veil, brightened when she saw Owen.
‘You’ve still not been to see me,’ she said accusingly. ‘I ride every morning, mostly over towards Matariya.’
‘I’ve been a bit busy lately. One of these mornings you’ll see me!’
The horse would have to be wild indeed that got him over to Matariya, he told himself privately.
‘About seven,’ she said.
‘Lot of people around at that time?’ he said, wondering about Malik.
‘Fortunately not,’ she said, meeting his eyes levelly.
Up in the bar, he bought her a drink. She chose tonic.
She was the only woman in the room. Owen noticed, however, that they seemed to accept her. Probably they’d got used to her. It wouldn’t do, though, to talk to her all the time. Or would it? This was a different world from any other that he had known in Egypt, not exactly more emancipated, but freer in the way that wealth somehow manages to give itself more elbow room.
Salah brought someone across to meet him.