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But how were they to do it in this case? Owen’s resources were already stretched and this business of the Grand Duke was stretching them further. Nikos, who would normally have conducted the enquiry, was busy playing noughts and crosses with the schedules for the Duke’s visit. Georgiades, who would usually stand in if Nikos was not available, was already complaining about workloads and talking about priorities. There were others he could use but they were occupied too.

This was precisely the sort of enquiry that suffered when extra things like the Grand Duke came along.

‘Shall we leave it for the time being?’

‘No, no, no!’

Nikos hated loose ends. If this were not followed up, it would gnaw at him for months.

‘It’s relatively hot,’ he said. ‘If we leave it, it will go cold.’

‘It’s a question of priorities,’ said Owen. Heavens, it was catching! ‘How important is this?’

‘There are some things about it I don’t like,’ said Nikos.

‘Such as?’

‘Size. Big enough to blow up a small house. What would it be needed for?’

‘Ordinary demolition work?’

‘Then why the secrecy?’

‘Tomb?’

‘All they need for that is a couple of sticks of dynamite.’

‘What else, then?’

‘A cafe? A recalcitrant cafe?’ Nikos spread his hands. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘It’s just that I’m uneasy. It doesn’t fall into any of the usual patterns.’

This, for Nikos, was the most heinous fault of all.

‘Who’s buying it, for instance?’ he said.

‘One of the clubs?’

‘They’ve usually got their own supplies.’

‘A new one, then?’

‘Well,’ said Nikos, ‘if that’s so, and they’re going straight for explosives, that’s very worrying. It’s all the more reason why we should follow it up. Look, I could at least ring round and see if any of the regular suppliers know anything about it.’

‘Well, I’ll tackle Customs,’ said Owen. ‘But that’s all!’ he said warningly. ‘We have to keep a sense of priorities.’

Jesus, there he was again! It was a disease.

Owen thought about it hard, then took the train to Port Suez. It would cost him, there and back, two days of valuable time. Two days! And there he was complaining about his resources being stretched! But in Egypt if you wanted to get anywhere you simply had to use a personal approach. Most of the departments were now equipped with telephones and Customs, which was one of the most efficient, would certainly have one. But people were not used to them yet and anyway it wasn’t quite the same. Face to face was what it always came down to; so train it was, much to Zeinab’s disgust, who had had other things in mind for the following evening.

The train left early, at four, and for the first hour he watched the spectacular sunrise. The sun came up over the desert in a great red ball and chased colours for a while across the sand. But then the colours and the redness disappeared and everything settled down to a steady monochrome, made more so by the way in which the tinted windows of the carriage filtered out the light. The landscape, too, settled down to monotonous, stony desert, the heat increased, and after that it was a case of grimly hanging on.

It was a relief when at last they got to Suez and he was able to climb down into the fresher, saltier air of the docks.

Abdul Shafei, the local Head of Customs, was still in his office. He shrugged.

‘We’ve got a couple of boats coming in,’ he said.

He knew Owen by repute and eyed him curiously.

‘It’s not often that the Mamur Zapt appears in these parts,’ he said.

‘Cairo’s my beat,’ said Owen. ‘It’s not often that I have the chance to get away.’

Water had been brought with the coffee and he drank copiously. Although the air seemed fresher, he found himself sweating profusely. The humidity, he supposed.

He put the glass down and turned to business. Abdul Shafei pulled a pad towards him.

‘It should be declared on the certificates,’ he said. ‘If they do that, there’ll be no problem. But what if they don’t?’

‘Do you open everything?’

‘No. There’s so much coming in. We open a sample. If it’s not in the certification we’ll need other identification.’

‘Could be difficult.’

‘The name of the consignee?’

‘It was Dhondy at one time.’

Abdul Shafei made a note.

‘But it could have changed. The supplier of the order is a firm named Herbst-Wickel. But, of course, they may be using a shipping agent.’

‘You don’t know the agent?’

‘I could find out the ones they normally use.’

‘Please. Anything would help. I’ll make a note of the supplier. There may be old labels. Anything else you can tell us?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

Abdul Shafei looked doubtful.

‘We’ll do our best,’ he said. ‘But-’

‘If you could. This is important.’

‘Explosives!’ Abdul Shafei grimaced.

‘Not very nice.’

‘Not very nice for us, either,’ said Abdul Shafei, ‘when we’re unloading them and don’t know we’re handling explosives.’

‘The dockers, you mean?’

‘Yes.’

Abdul Shafei hesitated.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘I shouldn’t be saying this, but…have you thought of talking to the dockers? They know most of what comes into the port. In fact, they probably know it better than we do.’

‘I was hoping to keep this fairly quiet. Then I might be able to pick up whoever-it-is when he comes to collect the explosives.’

‘Which is more important? Catching the men or catching the explosives?’

‘Catching the explosives, I suppose. You reckon it might be worth talking to the dockers?’

‘If you really want to be sure,’ said Abdul Shafei, ‘then talk to the dockers and offer a reward. They open most things that come into the port. There is,’ he hesitated, ‘well, quite a lot of pilfering. Not more than at other ports, but…I mean, at any port you’ll find…’

‘Is there some person I should talk to?’

Abdul Shafei looked at him.

‘I’m sure there is,’ he said. ‘But I don’t know him.’

Owen walked down to the waterfront, enjoying the smell of sea and tar, the scrunch of pebbles, a different sand. The sea sucked around great wooden posts, gulls cried overhead. As the heat of the day lifted he felt part of a newer, fresher world.

In theory, the Mamur Zapt’s writ ran even to Suez. In practice it was confined to Cairo. Cairo was where it all happened. There was a buzz, a life about the city that Owen found it hard to tear himself away from. It was part of an older, more Arab world; cosmopolitan, it was true, but not in the way of Alexandria or the port cities. Suez was hardly a city, still not much more than a bunker port, although growing rapidly. He had no agents here.

He would have to find someone. Nikos normally looked after that side and no doubt would find someone in time. But had they got time?

He sat down on a bollard and watched some dockers unloading a large, seagoing dhow. They were carrying sacks up out of the hold, huge, heavy sacks that bulged. Filled with grain, probably. But why was Egypt importing grain when it had all the fertile land of the Delta?

The men’s faces were streaked with sweat. It was hard, hot work. Everything was done by hand. There was an intimacy between the men and the load. That was why they knew the goods so well.

A small boy appeared beside him.

‘Effendi, I have a beautiful sister. So ve-ery beautiful!’ The boy’s hands described improbable shapes. ‘Would you like to meet her?’