‘We could keep him away from them. Owen could see to that-’
‘No animals,’ said Finance Department firmly. ‘And no Aida, either. Of course, there is no reason why you shouldn’t choose another opera. The Treasury is not opposed to opera in principle. Far from it.’
‘Well, that is a helpful suggestion,’ said Paul. ‘Now-’
The Army had been fidgeting for some time.
‘Could we get on to the real business?’
Paul raised his eyebrows.
‘I thought that was the real business,’ he said.
‘What about security?’
‘We’ve got to agree on the programme first, haven’t we? Right, let’s move on. There will be a Grand Ball, of course…’
‘There could be difficulties,’ said Owen.
‘What difficulties?’
‘Well, dresses. That kind of thing.’
Paul glanced at his notes.
‘No, this has already been decided. The Consul-General’s wife-’
‘A March Past?’ suggested the Army, some time later. ‘March Past?’
‘The Khedive reviewing his troops.’
‘There may be international observers,’ said Paul. ‘I don’t think we should make our military presence too obvious. We could have a jolly procession, I suppose.’
‘The Khedive would like that,’ said Mr. Abd-es-Salem. ‘In fact, he would wish to take part in it himself. He could ride at the head with the Grand Duke in an open landau.’
‘Is that a good idea?’ asked Owen.
‘Why not?’ said Mr. Abd-es-Salem, surprised.
‘Because it would make it easy for someone to take a pot shot at him.’
‘The Khedive feels safe with his people,’ said Mr. Abd-es-Salem reprovingly.
‘I was thinking of the Grand Duke,’ said Owen hastily and untruly.
‘Surely there is no risk of that?’
‘Cairo is a city of many nationalities. And not all of them are sympathetic to Russia.’
‘Even so-’
‘The Balkan countries, for instance.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Mr. Abd-es-Salem thoughtfully. ‘The Balkans!’
‘The Mingrelians!’ added Owen, for the benefit of the Army.
‘My God, yes!’ said the major. ‘The Mingrelians!’
‘Round them up,’ said Shearer. ‘Round them all up!’
‘All of them?’ said Owen. ‘There are over twenty thousand people from various Balkan countries in Cairo alone. The place is like a miniature Balkans. It’s a potential powder keg, I can tell you. I think this visit is crazy. Why don’t we call the whole thing off?’
‘Call it off?’ said Mr. Abd-es-Salem, aghast. ‘His Royal Highness has set his heart on it!’
‘I’m afraid we’ve gone too far down the road to call it off now,’ said Paul. ‘Although I agree with you about the potential threat.’
‘Threat?’ said Mr. Abd-es-Salem, with considerable asperity. ‘Are you saying that the British can no longer maintain order? Even with an Army?’
‘Certainly not!’ said the major indignantly.
‘We can handle it,’ said Captain Shearer.
‘Can you?’ said Owen quickly. ‘Well, there’s a lot to be said for-’
‘No chance!’ said Paul firmly. ‘It has already been decided that the Mamur Zapt has overall responsibility for the security arrangements. But a good try!’ he added, turning to Owen.
‘You again?’ said the cafe owner. He was sitting with his legs heavily bandaged and propped across a chair in front of him.
‘I like coffee,’ said Owen.
‘You don’t think you could enjoy it somewhere else?’
‘I especially like it here.’
‘You get in the way, you know.’
‘You mean, the men won’t come while I’m here? Isn’t that a good thing?’
‘I don’t know. They’ll come again when you’re not here.’
‘I could leave someone with you.’
‘They’re big blokes.’
‘This is a big bloke.’
‘Hanging around all day drinking coffee?’
‘He could work for you. In fact, it would be better if he did. You could say he had come up from the country.’
‘Why don’t you just go away?’ said the cafe owner.
‘I’m like the other lot. I’m never going to go away.’
The cafe owner cursed softly.
‘You get me down,’ he said. ‘You really do.’
‘I’m your only way out,’ said Owen. ‘You’ll be glad of me. Later.’
‘A lot later,’ said the cafe owner. ‘When I’m in heaven.’
‘Even before. It’s just the next bit that’s hard.’
‘Why pick the hard way?’
‘Because if you pick the other way, it never ends. You don’t just pay once. You go on paying. You pay all the time. They come more often. And after a while they ask for more. And then more. And then more still. In the end you’re working only for them. All you’ve built up is theirs. Look, I know what it takes to build up a place like this, what it costs you. It costs you years of your life and you’ve only got one life. Going to give it all away, now, are you?’
‘I’m not giving anything away,’ said the cafe owner. ‘But I’m still thinking.’
‘Think on. Take the long view. You’ve had to take the long view, haven’t you, all your life? Otherwise you’d never have got where you are. Think long now. My way is hard at first but then there’s an end to it. The other way is easy today and hard tomorrow. And tomorrow goes on for a long time.’
‘The only thing is,’ said the cafe owner, ‘that I like the idea of there being tomorrows.’
‘The man I put in is always there. He sleeps under the table. He doesn’t go home at night.’ Owen had a sudden pang of conscience. Selim wouldn’t care for this bit. ‘He never leaves you,’ he said, nevertheless, determinedly.
‘And he works?’
‘A big, strong man.’
‘You’re not doing this for my sake,’ said the cafe owner.
‘Of course not. There are other cafes.’
‘Why don’t you ask them?’
‘I’m asking you. I need someone like you.’
‘Stubborn?’
‘Greedy,’ said Owen. ‘Greedy to cling on to his own.’
The cafe owner laughed.
‘Well, you’ve got the right man,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe in giving money away.’
‘When it’s hard earned, it’s not easily given.’
‘That, too, is true,’ said the man. ‘Well. I’ll think about it.’
‘While you’re thinking,’ said Owen, ‘I could be doing something. If you would just give me a start.’
‘What is it you want to know?’
‘The name.’
The gangs usually left their name. It was normal, for example, to sign extortion notes. Not that the name in itself meant much. Arab taste for the lurid produced such names as ‘The Red Sword’, ‘Hand of Blood’ or ‘The Red Eye’; but the readiness of the groups to give their names made it easy to ascribe activities to the group and Nikos now had a file on most of them.
The name would probably be enough to tell Owen what kind of gang he was dealing with. He would probably be able to tell, for example, whether the gang was a straightforward criminal one or whether it was a terrorist one arising out of a political club.
Cairo seethed with political discussion, most of which took place openly in the cafes. You could have a good argument any night of the week almost anywhere. Some of it, however, took place privately in clubs specially formed for the purpose. These still met in cafes-that was what Cairo cafes were for! — but now it was in an inner room where members could more properly indulge their taste for the melodramatic. There were dozens of such clubs in Cairo and no dashing young effendi could afford to admit that he had never been to one.
Most of the clubs were heavily Nationalist and some were revolutionary. Of these, a small minority was committed to violent action now and sought to finance their activities by engaging in the protection racket.
‘I don’t know their name,’ said the cafe owner.
‘It would help me a lot. It could help you a lot.’
‘Help me to get my neck broken. No thanks.’
Another cafe, later. This was the life, Owen decided. It had always been a desire of his to obliterate completely the line between work and play, so that work would seem like play and play would carry the moral justification of work. In Cairo, where business was habitually transacted in cafes, that was easy. You had to meet a colleague? Where better than in a cafe? Offices were hot and hard edged, uncongenial to the Arab, who liked to pour the syrup of emotion over everything. They lacked conviviality, whereas to the Arab, conviviality was all.