“How do you know?”
“The tool suppliers wrote a letter, copy to us, that taps and dies for cutting the threads in question were not stocked by them, and, as far as they knew, not made. They suggested politely that there may have been a clerical error in the order.”
“Let me see the order.”
She showed it to me. I could see at once why the suppliers had thought that a mistake had been made. A machine shop apprentice in his first year would have known what was wrong with that order. I ran over in my mind the various items of hardware we manufactured and tried to think of a process or operation to which this attempted purchase of taps and dies might, however crazily, be linked. I could think of none.
The order had been signed by the works office chief clerk, so I telephoned him. He could not remember that particular order offhand but would consult his files and call me back. It was late afternoon before he did so, and he had nothing helpful to tell me. The order for tools had been one of a batch of orders presented for his signature by his assistant No, the assistant did not remember who had put in the requisition; he was consulting his files. Meanwhile, the chief clerk informed me solemnly there was a note on the order saying that the suppliers were temporarily out of stock. I told him that they would be permanently out of stock and hung up. It was hopeless. I had to console myself with the thought that, if any hanky-panky was being attempted at the hardware factory, it was unlikely to succeed. Issa had at least known enough to order correctly the materials he needed. His counterpart at the hardware factory was obviously incompetent.
The other defensive measure I took began with a call to Dr. Hawa’s Chef de Bureau.
After some preliminary chitchat I referred to the report on the Italian car-battery project which I had delivered to Hawa the previous day, and asked whether the Minister had had time to read it.
“It is on his desk, Mr. Howell, but he has not yet completely studied it, I think. There have been distractions, a finance committee meeting.”
“Naturally,” I said, “I would not expect the Minister to have already reached a decision. I ask only because I find that I omitted to include with the report a supplementary memorandum concerning the possible location of the new plant. It does not in any way change the maim conclusions of the report, but contains additional information and suggestions which the Minister may find useful. If I were to send yon copies of the memorandum today, could it be attached to the main report which the Minister is studying?”
He made difficulties at first so as to give his eventual consent the appearance of a big favour, but that was normal. I promised that he should have the memorandum within the hour.
I dictated it to Teresa in ten minutes. At the end she gave me a worried look.
“Is this wise, Michael?”
“It gives us a card to play.”
“Ghaled won’t like it.”
“I don’t suppose he will — if I show It to him. I may not, but I want to have it up my sleeve, just in case it could be useful. Date it three days ago and show it as having been written in Milan. Make am extra copy with an Arabic translation.”
After the memorandum had gone off I tried for a time to concentrate on real work. Our agent in Athens was bidding on an important tile contract, and, faced by penalty clauses, was asking urgently for firm guarantees from us on the delivery dates. I could not afford to be careless or casual in replying to him, yet I found myself being both. It was Teresa who suggested finally, and to my relief, that I delay replying for twenty-four hours and then cable him to make up for lost time.
That I should have been more concerned at that moment with my involvement in the PAF than with my obligations to the Agence Howell, its shareholders, and its faithful employees was no doubt most regrettable. The responsible, seasoned man of affairs should be able to put first things first and keep a cool head. Obviously, then, I must be irresponsible and unseasoned. So be it. I am not much interested in the devil I know, but the devil I don’t know gives me a pain in the neck. I knew what my obligations were to the business; what the PAF wanted from me I still had to find out.
We had martinis, as usual, but no wine or brandy. For one thing, I didn’t want us to go to the meeting breathing evidence of what might be interpreted as an attempt to fortify ourselves; nor did I want to have to excuse myself to go to the lavatory while I was there. I don’t know why I bothered. Probably, at that stage of the game, I was still, instinctively, thinking like a businessman in terms of bargaining sessions at which small psychological gains and losses counted. The idea that I was a member of the PAF pledged to do as I was told without argument took some getting used to.
It was a beautiful night, warm and still. The air in the courtyard was heavy with the scent of plants and there were bats flying. Suliman, the gardener, opened the gates for us. I told him that we might be late and not to wait up. He thought we were going to a party and wished us a happy evening.
We reached the battery works a little before nine and left the car outside as we had done the night before. This time the postern was unlocked, but as soon as we were inside, the two gunmen came out of the darkness by the loading bay and shone a light on us. We stopped.
“Greetings, comrades.” It was the man with the broken teeth who had hit me in the back.
“Greetings,” I said.
He came forward slowly and then suddenly thrust forward the flashlight in his hand. I thought he was trying to jab it in my face and started back.
He tutted reproachfully. “This light belongs to you, comrade. You left it behind last might. The glass is broken, but it still works.”
Thank you, but I have another.” I switched on the flashlight in my hand. “You see?”
“You do not want this one?” He sounded hopeful.
“Not if it is of use to you, comrade.” I decided that it was time to start winning friends. “But, as you say, the glass is broken. Why not take this light, which is unbroken, and I will use the broken one. Tomorrow I can get a new glass.”
Thanks, comrade, many thanks.” We exchanged the flashlights. “My name is Ahmad,” he said. His breath stank.
“And mine is Michael.”
“This is Comrade Musa,” he pointed to his companion. “He cannot speak because he has no voice box.”
Comrade Musa grinned and pointed to a big scar on his neck.
“A war wound?”
“Yes,” said Ahmad, “but he can hear the smallest sounds. He heard you last night before I did. What time were you ordered to report, comrade?”
“Nine o’clock.”
“Comrade Salah does not like to be kept waiting.”
“I’m sure of that.”
“Go on then, comrades,” he said affably. “You know the way.”
For a moment I thought that we were to be left to go on alone; then, as I started to turn, Ahmad chuckled and prodded me with his carbine. “March, comrades,” he said. It was not a hard prod but firm enough to let me know that a flashlight did not buy indulgence and that he was still in charge there.
When we got to the steps of the office building he told us to wait while he went in to report our arrival. Musa grinned at us while we waited but kept his finger on the trigger of his gun. There were lights on in the laboratory, but I could hear no voices. My office was in darkness. Ahmad had gone through to the back of the building.
After half a minute or so he came back onto the terrace and beckoned us up. When we reached him he told me to raise my arms above my head and frisked me. Then he took Teresa’s handbag from her and peered inside it. Satisfied that we were both unarmed he returned Teresa’s bag.
“Follow me, comrades.”
We went along the passage to the storeroom area. Changes had been made there that I hadn’t known about. The larger of the two rooms was now Ghaled’s command post. The rolls of zinc sheet-my zinc sheet-which should have been set out carefully in rows to keep the different gauges separate had all been stacked against one wall to make room for a trestle table, some chairs, and a bed. The place had a lived-in look, as well it might It had been months since I had time to bother with the battery works storage rooms. I had left them in Issa’s care. Perhaps it was the sight of him sitting there at the table and giving me a superior little smile as I entered the room that made me so angry.