The Mamur Zapt and the Donkey-Vous

‘I’d go along with that,’ said Owen, ‘I’d go along with that.’

Later in the morning, Nikos came into Owen’s room just as he was about to go out to keep his appointment with Mahmoud and Madame Chévènement.

‘I’ve been checking through the files to see if I could find anythying on Zawia. There’s nothing on any group of that name.’

‘It’s a new group,’ said Owen.

‘Yes. But often new groups are re-forming from members of old groups, so I looked through to see if there were any references to groups with associated names.’

‘And did you find any?’

Nikos hesitated.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘this kind of stuff is just conjecture. But what about the Wekils?’

‘The Wekils?’

‘Came on the scene last year. Two known kidnappings. One, a Syrian, notified to us in June. Case went dead, family left the country. My guess is they paid and got out. No point in us going back over that case. But we might look at the other. A Greek shopkeeper, taken about six months ago. Again the case went dead, so they probably paid. But I think the family is still here, so we might be able to find out something.’

‘Why is “Wekil” an associated name?’

‘It’s a Senussi name. The Wekils are those Brothers who take charge of business matters and so are permitted to have dealings with Christians. As I said, it’s just conjecture.’

Mahmoud was waiting for him at Reception.

‘Room 216,’ he said.

They climbed the stairs together. The door of 216 was open and suffragis were coming out carrying suitcases. Mahmoud and Owen went straight in. A row of already packed suitcases stood by the bed. The doors of the wardrobe were hanging open. It was quite empty. A man was bending over the suitcases. He turned as they came in. It was the French Chargé d’Affaires.

‘Madame Chévènement?’ asked Mahmoud.

The Chargé spread his hands apologetically.

CHAPTER 3 (#ulink_d9f3f9fd-e12e-5b77-95ac-8e0a447211f7)

‘But she’s a material witness,’ said Mahmoud.

‘Sorry!’ said the Chargé.

‘You can’t do this!’

The Chargé shrugged.

‘I—I shall protest!’

‘We will receive your protest. If it’s made through the proper diplomatic channels.’

Mahmoud looked ready to explode.

‘She’s not really a material witness,’ said the Chargé. ‘She doesn’t know a thing.’

‘Then why are you removing her?’ asked Owen.

The Chargé looked at his watch.

‘Look,’ he said, ‘perhaps I owe you something. How about an apéritif downstairs?’

Mahmoud, furious, and strict Moslem anyway, refused. Owen accepted. The Chargé ordered two cognacs.

‘And a coffee for my friend,’ he added.

He led them over to an alcove.

‘Sorry about this,’ he said. ‘I can assure you it was necessary. Absolutely necessary.’

‘Why?’ asked Owen.

The Chargé hesitated.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘it’s like this. We heard the wife was coming. The old lady. Madame Moulin. I ask you: would it be proper for her to find …? Well, you know.’

‘You did this out of a sense of propriety?’

The Chargé looked at him seriously.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We French are very proper people.’

‘Monsieur Moulin too?’

‘Sex doesn’t come into it. That’s quite separate.’

‘Well, where have you put her? Can we talk to her?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ said the Chargé. ‘She’s on her way home. With a diplomatic passport.’

‘For reasons of propriety?’

‘For reasons of state.’

‘Reasons of state?’

‘Madame Moulin’s a cousin of the President’s wife. That’s quite a reason of state.’

‘Come on!’ said Owen. ‘Why did you do it?’

‘That’s why we did it. I’ve just told you. We couldn’t have the French President’s wife’s cousin coming out and finding some floozie in her husband’s bed. It wouldn’t be decent. The President would get to hear about it and we’d all get our asses kicked. The last thing I need just now, I can tell you, is a posting to the Gabon. I’ve a little friend of my own here.’

Mahmoud fumed.