As I finished reading I saw that Ghaled was watching me for signs of a reaction. I forced myself to appear unmoved.
“As a matter of interest,” I asked, “who is — who was — this man Saga’ir?”
“A traitor who was executed.”
“And why am I supposed to have helped to execute him?”
“All the comrades sign confessions. In that way all can feel safe.”
“I must say, Comrade Salah, that this confession does not make me feel safe.”
“Your confession is for the other comrades’ safety. Their confessions are for your own. Any comrade who thinks of betraying us must think again when he remembers what the cost to him will be. So do as you are told without further argument. Sign. You will not leave here alive unless you do so.”
Teresa and I signed. As we did so Issa came back into the room carrying a small wooden box which he put on the table.
Ghaled looked at our signatures, then handed the confessions to Issa. “Those comrades who cannot write their names sign only with a thumb print,” he said. Those who can write, however, give a thumb print, too. It is better so. Signatures can be denied, but not prints. Issa knows the way. Follow his instructions.”
The box contained a portable fingerprinting outfit of the kind used by the police. Issa rolled ink onto the metal plate and went to work. He obviously enjoyed giving me orders. He declared my first print insufficiently clear, inked my thumb again, grasped my forearm, and pressed the thumb onto the paper with his other hand. He did the same with Teresa.
Ghaled took the papers from him, satisfied himself that the prints were clear, and then handed me my passport. Teresa received her identity card.
That is exactly how our much-publicized “terrorist confessions” were obtained. We neither wrote nor dictated them and there is not a word of truth in the admissions they contain.
I have been asked repeatedly if we knew what we were doing when we signed, and I answer again — of course we knew, dammit! What we did not know was how to avoid signing. We signed under duress; we had no choice.
In the circumstances I can’t blame Teresa for misunderstanding what I did then. To her it seemed that I was merely trying, ill-advisedly and even childishly, to hit back at Ghaled in the only way I could think of on the spur of the moment.
In fact, there was nothing impulsive about my move. I wasn’t trying to hit back at Ghaled, but to needle him into hitting out at me. A man with his kind of secrets is always under pressure. Anger him suddenly by goosing him with bad news, and, nine times out of ten, he will overreact. Then, in his desire to demolish you and dispose of your bad news, he tends to forget discretion and give himself away. Of course, it was a dangerous game to play with a violent man like Ghaled, but I desperately needed information and the risk seemed worth taking.
As I put my passport back in my pocket, I said casually: “By the way, Comrade Salah, there is something that I think you should know.”
“What?”
“You said last night that there were to be no changes made here, that there were to be no dismissals and that you would continue to use these premises as a headquarters.”
“What of it?”
“I am afraid that the matter will shortly be taken out of my hands.”
“Why? By whom? What do you mean?”
I told him about the projected switch to car-battery manufacture. I went on: “This place has been running at a loss for months. The original plan was to close it down altogether and build a new factory at Homs for the Italian operation. Later it was felt that would be a wasteful proceeding and that this works should be changed and extended to accommodate the new plant. This building, for instance, will be modified and enlarged for use as offices. The laboratory and storerooms will be accommodated in the new factory extensions which have been planned.”
“He is lying,” Issa shouted excitedly, “I work here and I know nothing of these plans.”
“Comrade Issa knows nothing about a great many things,” I retorted. “I am reporting the facts.”
“Why did you say nothing of this last night?” Ghaled asked quietly.
“Because it didn’t occur to me to do so. I accepted your orders then without question. Understandably, I think. I didn’t realize until tonight that I should have warned you that my ability to obey those orders might have a time limit.”
“What time limit? How many weeks?”
“That will be for the Minister, Dr. Hawa, to say, I am afraid.”
“But he will base his decision on your advice.”
“Unfortunately, my advice has already been given.” I drew from my pocket the copy of the memorandum I had written and handed it to him.
As he read it his mouth tightened grimly. That didn’t surprise me. The moment that what I had proposed in the memorandum was agreed to, his snug little headquarters, hard by the Der’a refugee camp where his goon squads hid out and conveniently near the Jordanian and Lebanese borders, was going to become the centre of a building site, swarming with outsiders and about as secure from his point of view as a floodlit frontier post.
He stared at me bleakly and for so long that I began to think that he had seen through my ploy.
“I thought that you should be aware of this situation,” I said to break the silence.
“Quite right, Comrade Michael. And now you will think of a way of changing it.”
“Unfortunately — ”
He held up his hand. “No excuses. You will change your advice, you will do whatever is necessary. Just understand that under no circumstances may this headquarters be disturbed in any way for the next six weeks.”
“I will do my best.”
“Of course you will. But make certain that your best succeeds.” He paused. “Have you any other surprises for me, Comrade Michael?”
“Surprises?”
He frowned. “Come now. I have already warned you once against trying to play your slippery little businessman tricks with me. What else have you to reveal?”
“Nothing, Comrade Salah. I am merely trying to be open with you, not to play tricks.”
“I hope so, for your sake. But to make quite sure, I am going to tell you what will be required of you in our forthcoming operation. In that way you will have ample time to overcome any difficulties you may foresee, or pretend to foresee, in carrying out your tasks. You will have no excuses for failure.”
“I have already said that I will do my best for you, Comrade Salah.”
“I have heard you say it. I hope you are to be believed. We shall see.” He paused. “Your company owns a motor ship, the Euridice Howell.”
It was a statement, not a question, but I nodded. “Yes, Comrade Salah.”
“Carrying mixed cargoes regularly between five major ports of call — Famagusta, Iskenderun, Latakia, Beirut, and Alexandria. Am I right?”
Those are her most usual ports of call, yes, but she goes where the business takes her — Izmir, Brindisi, and Tripoli — Genoa and Naples sometimes.”
“Nevertheless her captain acts on your orders.”
“He acts on our agents’ orders. I don’t give the orders personally.”
“But you could do so.”
“I could instruct our agents to do so, but that would be an unusual interference on my part. There would have to be some feasible commercial justification for it. If you could tell me what sort of orders you have in mind, Comrade Salah, I would be better able to assess the possibilities.”
“Finding the commercial justification, as you call it, is your affair. I want the ship to sail from Latakia on or about July the second and to be on passage to Alexandria in the vicinity of the thirty-second parallel during the evening of the third before midnight. That is all.”
“Carrying what cargo?”
“A normal cargo. The nature of it is immaterial. She will, however, be required to take on four passengers in Latakia. During the night of the third the course and speed of the ship will, for a short time, be those dictated by the passengers.”