‘George Zenakis,’ he said. ‘Our Secretary.’
Our Secretary?
‘You must be very busy just now,’ said Owen, ‘with everything starting up.’
‘Well, yes. But it’s nothing to what it’s going to be later. Or so they tell me,’ the man said, smiling.
‘And do you handle everything? Or is there a General Manager of some sort?’
‘I handle everything on behalf of the committee. Membership, for instance.’
‘How many members have you?’
‘About two hundred, and growing fast. You wouldn’t yourself-?’
‘I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to get out here enough. My other commitments-’
He asked, for politeness’s sake, about the subscription, then mentally reeled back.
‘I don’t think I could run to that,’ he said.
‘Oh, you don’t have to bother about that,’ said George Zenakis, smiling. ‘We would be glad to waive, for the Mamur Zapt-’
On the Saturday, Owen was at the races. Not up in the bar this time but down by the track, and not there for long; just long enough to point out to his agents the steward that he and Garvin had seen talking to the gang on the day of the reception.
‘His name is Roukoz,’ said Georgiades in Owens office on the following Monday. Georgiades was the plain-clothesman who had put a gun into Owen’s hand at the demonstration. ‘And he has a history of working the racetracks. He was at the Gezira for a little while but they didn’t like him and so he moved on to Helwan.’
‘Why didn’t they like him?’ asked Owen.
‘He was too friendly with the wrong sort of people.’
‘The gang?’
‘Gangs. Nothing they could put their finger on, but they didn’t like him.’
‘And at Helwan?’
Georgiades hesitated.
‘Nothing you could put your finger on there, either. But again they didn’t like him. This time, though, he had a friend higher up and so he stayed.’
‘Do you know the friend?’
‘Yes. He’s not at Helwan either now.’
‘Where is he?’
‘Heliopolis.’
‘Who moved first?’
‘The friend did. Then, when the racetrack opened, Roukoz.’
‘What’s the name of the friend?’
‘Zenakis.’
Owen went to see the man from the Syndicate who had rung him up.
‘About that demonstration the other night,’ he said. ‘I didn’t break it up.’
‘You didn’t? But-who did?’
‘You did,’ said Owen.
‘Now look here, Owen-’
‘You used a gang from the racetracks. I know. I’ve got one of them.’
‘If you say it was a gang from the racetracks, OK, it was a gang from the racetracks. But it wasn’t anything to do with us.’
‘Well, I think it was. I know the gang, you see, and I’ve seen them at Heliopolis.’
‘Yes, but that doesn’t mean-’
‘Talking to one of the stewards.’
‘That’s bad. It must be looked into. But that doesn’t necessarily-’
‘He’s a friend of the Club Secretary. A close friend.’
‘Zenakis?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I know Zenakis.’
‘That’s what I’m saying.’
There was a long silence.
‘Look, Owen-’
‘If you’re going to ask me to handle this with sensitivity, you’ll have to try again.’
‘I wasn’t going to-Look, you’ve got this all wrong.’
‘So have you. So,’ said Owen, ‘have you!’
‘I know you’re sore. I shouldn’t have said what I did the other morning. OK, I’ve got it wrong. But you’ve got it wrong too.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes. It wasn’t your people who broke up the demonstration, I accept that. But’-he took a deep breath-‘it wasn’t ours either. I swear we don’t know anything about it.’
‘No?’
‘If for no other reason than that it wouldn’t be in our interest. We’re nearly there, as I said the other morning. All we want to do is to wrap it up and get out. Besides-’
‘Keep trying.’
‘Zenakis is not the Syndicate. He’s not ours. The Racing Club is quite separate. All that side is. All the gambling bit. They’re clients of ours, customers. It’s a separate organization. It’s nothing to do with us. Honest!’
Chapter 11
There was racing the next day at Heliopolis and the gang turned up in force; so, in even greater force, did Owen’s men, and arrested the lot of them.
‘What’s all this about?’ they said in injured tones. ‘We haven’t done anything yet!’
‘What about breaking up that demonstration on Wednesday?’
‘That doesn’t count!’ they protested. ‘That’s not a real crime. People do it all the time. Besides, it was just an extra, not our real line of business at all.’
‘We work the racetracks,’ explained someone helpfully.
‘Yes, I know,’ said Owen.
‘Who the hell are you, anyway?’ said someone belligerently. ‘You’re not police, we know the police.’
‘I am the Mamur Zapt.’
‘What’s it got to do with you?’
‘Abdul, don’t you think you could shut up?’ counselled one of the older members of the gang worriedly. ‘If he’s the Mamur Zapt, he might do things differently from the police.’
He certainly might. One of his predecessors, Zeini Barakat, infuriated by just such a gang, had ordered their testicles to be cut off and fed to the hawks that hovered above the Citadel. That had, admittedly, been four hundred years before, but you never knew with Mamur Zapts and the gang was impressed.
‘You don’t want to bother with us, Effendi,’ they said conciliatorily. ‘We’re just a small-time gang.’
‘It’s true I don’t want to bother with you,’ agreed Owen. ‘I’ve got more important things to do. And therefore I shall release you. Once you’ve told me what I want to know.’
‘What do you want to know, Effendi?’
‘Who asked you to break up the demonstration.’
The gang consulted among themselves.
‘It came through our boss.’
‘Figi?’
‘Well-’
‘Is Figi here?’
Figi, as is the way with bosses when there is trouble around, was not.
‘No matter. Let Figi know what I want. And meanwhile you stay here.’
No need to inquire too closely into how they would contact Figi. They would probably bribe a prison official. But the message would get through.
‘Stay here? But, Effendi, if we stay here we won’t be able to do any work.’
‘That’s exactly what I was thinking,’ said Owen.
The point evidently occurred to Figi, too, for that afternoon a message came up from the cells that the gang wished to speak to Owen.
‘Well?’
‘Effendi, it’s not fair. While we’re in the caracol we can’t do any work and Figi doesn’t get any money.’
‘True,’ said Owen.
‘He wishes to protest.’
‘All he has to do is give me the name.’
‘He has sent the name. But he wishes to protest.’
‘I note the protest. What is the name?’
‘Roukoz. He works at Heliopolis and-’
‘I know the man,’ said Owen.
‘Roukoz,’ said Owen, ‘here is a bad thing that I have heard: friends tell me that it was you who ordered the attack on the demonstration on Wednesday.’
‘Effendi, your friends lie! Would I do a thing like that? A humble, hard-working, peace-loving father of six? Those who say that are villains!’
‘Would you like to tell them so?’
‘Effendi, outraged by calumny and injustice, I would!’
‘They await you in the caracol.’
‘On second thoughts, Effendi-’
‘Who told you to contact the gang?’
‘Effendi, I know no gang.’
‘You have never spoken to them?’
‘Never!’
‘Not the other day at Heliopolis? The day of the grand reception?’
‘Certainly not!’
‘Well, that is strange. For I saw you speak to them myself. And so did the Chief of all the Police.’
Roukoz swallowed.
‘It is easy to make a mistake, Effendi-’
‘So it is,’ Owen agreed. ‘And that’s exactly what you have done. Now tell me: who told you to get the gang to break up the demonstration?’