“And the Sirdar!”
“McPhee’s very good,” said Owen.
“He’ll have to be,” said Paul gloomily, “if the Army is issuing arms to the whole population of Egypt.”
“Is this real?” asked Garvin.
He had an unfortunate way of going to the heart of things.
“I am afraid it is, sir,” said Owen, straightforward and thanking his lucky stars for the conversation at lunch-time. “A box of grenades went missing from Kantara only this week.”
“I know,” said Garvin. “The Sirdar told me.” He still looked sceptical. “I must say I was a little surprised at your memo. I hadn’t noticed any build-up. Still, I dare say you rely on information which does not come through in the ordinary way.”
He looked down at the papers in front of him. Garvin’s distaste for paper-pushing was well known.
“That’s right, sir,” said Owen immediately. He felt he was sounding too much like McPhee. “And a lot of it of very dubious quality. But when it all points in one direction-”
“And this did?”
“Enough to risk a judgement,” said Owen.
Surprisingly, Garvin seemed satisfied.
“Well,” he said, “it seems to have been a good judgement. Both the Agent and the Sirdar are pleased with you. And that doesn’t happen often.”
One of the reasons for that, Owen felt like saying, was that neither of them was particularly anxious to hear about the Mamur Zapt’s activities; and Garvin usually thought it politic not to enlighten them.
"The only trouble is,” said Garvin, “that now they’ll expect you to do something.”
"I’ve outlined several things in my memo-” Owen began.
Garvin brushed this aside.
“About the grenades,” he said.
The conversation was beginning to take an unprofitable direction.
“Isn’t that rather Military Security’s pigeon?” Owen asked.
“Not any longer. The grenades are out of the camp, aren’t they?”
Owen was forced to admit that this was so.
“They’ll have to give me some information,” he said.
“They will. This time.”
“We’d never even have heard about the grenades if it had not been for my memo,” he said, still hoping to deflect Garvin back to safer paths.
“Probably not,” Garvin agreed cheerfully.
“Still,” he said, “with your contacts- You must have had something to go on in writing your memo.”
The scepticism had definitely returned.
“Of course,” Owen agreed hastily. “Of course.”
“However,” he went on after a moment, “nothing on this, I’m afraid.”
“It will all fit in,” said Garvin, relaxed. “Never underrate your sources.” It was a favourite maxim of his.
“No,” said Owen.
A suffragi brought in some papers for Garvin to sign. He read them carefully and signed deliberately. Although he had been to Cambridge he always gave the impression that writing came hard to him.
“All I’ve got to go on at the moment,” said Owen, “is that they were taken from Kantara. I’m interested in Kantara for another reason. That’s where the gun came from which was used against Nuri Pasha.”
He told Garvin about the sergeant. Garvin was not very concerned.
“Probably happening all the time,” he said. “They probably all do it.”
“And they all know where to take it to,” said Owen.
“Yes,” Garvin admitted. “There is that.”
“Military Security haven’t done anything about that angle,” said Owen, still hoping.
“Nor have we,” said Garvin. “You’d better start.”
Owen returned unhappily to his room. This did not appear to be working out as he had hoped.
There was a message on his desk to ring one of the Sirdar’s aides.
“Hello, John,” he said.
“Gareth? That you? Thank goodness for that. I’ve got to go out this evening-the Sirdar’s holding a reception-and I wanted to catch you first. It’s about that memo.”
“Yes?” said Owen, warily now.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m trying to shake that bugger, Brooker.”
“Reasonable. He needs shaking. But why bring the whole firmament down as well?”
“Have you got caught up in it?” asked Owen. “Sorry if you have.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said the other. “I’m not directly involved. The thing is, though, that I’ve been talking to Paul, and he’s reminded me that we’ve got this blasted Carpet thing on next week. I’ve got to be holding the Sirdar's hand at the time and I don’t want to be fending off grenades while I’m doing it.”
“You’ve got the other hand free,” said Owen.
“Thank you. Oh thank you.”
“It’ll be all right,” said Owen. “McPhee’s quite sound.”
“He’s thick as a post. And erratic as well.”
“He’s OK at this sort of thing. Anyway, we’ll double up security all round.”
“The Sirdar thinks something extra is needed.”
“Such as?”
“Don’t know. You’re the one who’s supposed to have ideas on things like that. The Sirdar thinks you’re smart.” “I am, I am.”
“He doesn’t want just a routine operation this time. I must say I’m right with him.”
“I’ll speak to McPhee.”
“You’re the one in charge.”
“No, I’m not. I’m sort of in the background,” Owen explained. “Not this time. Haven’t you heard?”
Owen’s heart began to sink.
“No,” he said. “Tell me.”
“Sorry to be the one to break the news. Thought it would have got through by now.”
“It hasn’t.”
“Well, the Sirdar wanted security augmented. He offered the Army. The Agent said no thanks. Wisely. The Sirdar said this was a special situation. The police couldn’t be expected to cope with terrorism. The Agent thought there was something in that. They decided that what was needed was someone who knew about that sort of thing. You. Congratulations.”
“Christ!” said Owen.
“Help me catch the grenades, then?”
“I’ll throw the bloody grenades,” said Owen.
John roared with laughter.
“At any rate,” he said, “you’ll be spared the assistance of Military Security. Unless you want it. I offer you Brooker.”
“That stupid bastard! It’s all his fault,” said Owen unfairly.
“If he gets in your hair anymore,” John offered, “tell me. I’ll get him posted to Equatoria.”
“Those grenades were taken from Kantara.”
“Where that sergeant was?” He whistled. “Pity you couldn’t squeeze something out of him. He’s coming out today, you know.” “Is he? The lucky bastard.”
“He’ll be celebrating tonight. And every night for the next week, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“He won’t talk now.”
“No? Couldn’t you frighten him somehow?”
Owen suddenly had an idea.
To the north of the Ezbekiyeh Gardens were the streets of ill repute. The chief of these was the Sharia Wagh el Birket, one side of which was taken up by the apartments of the wealthier courtesans. The apartments rose in tiers over the street, each with its balcony, over which its occupants hung in negligees of virgin white.
The opposite side of the street was arcaded and in the arches were little cafes where strong liquor was sold. The customers sat at tables on the pavement, smoking and drinking, and looking across at the balconies opposite. From time to time one would make up his mind and cross the street.
At the far end of the street the cafes gave way to houses. Unlike the ones opposite, they were dark and shuttered. To enter, and many people did, you knocked on a small door and waited to be admitted.
It was to one of these that the sergeant had gone, already reeling from the liquor he had previously consumed. Georgiades had an informant inside who reported regularly on the sergeant’s progress, which was from drunk to fighting drunk to maudlin to blind drunk and finally to stupor. During the evening, in the intervals between drinking, he had relieved the needs of his flesh with the help of willing assistants, who had even more willingly relieved him of coin, wallet, watch and other valuables.