The Mule on the Minaret Read online

  ‘Seeing that her multitudes sweep out to die

  Mocking at all that passes their belief.

  For standard of our love not theirs we take.

  If we go hence today

  Fill the high rich cup that is so soon to break

  With richer wine than they!’

  He finished the poem and then came back to her. Once again his arm was about her shoulder.

  ‘If this was fifty years ago,’ he said, ‘when that poem was written, when England was starchy, stuffy, stodgy, I’d be the first to throw my challenge to decorum, to say, “We’re different. We make our own rules; we live our own lives, in our way.” But the world is a different place today. Everyone is so casual; they say those things don’t matter; but they do. I don’t want us to be like everybody else: I want us to make our gesture; to prove that we are different; to wait till we can say to the world: “In the eyes of the world, we belong to one another.” That’s what one has to mean today by “richer wine”.’

  She had felt so proud, so confident. She and he were different; they were proving it; and then only ten days later, he had slipped on a curbstone in the blackout.

  ‘With richer wine.’.. ‘to decorate an interval.’ She contrasted the alternatives. Raymond had set the highest store by the very thing that Martin was disparaging, but only because he set high store by her; he would have been no doubt ready enough to decorate an interval with others by whom he had set as little store as Martin did by her. Yet what Martin was offering would constitute a certain happiness, a certain kind of happiness. It was something that sooner or later she would have to come to; a virgin at twenty-three. She knew all the arguments against her status. And yet, and yet... Raymond had put her on a pedestal. She did not want to come down from it too casually.

  Chapter Seven

  A week later the censorship in Beirut intercepted a letter from Ahmed Bahjat to Aziz.

  ‘Dear Friend,

  ‘I thank you for your kind present which I appreciate greatly. I await eagerly the day when once again we can listen to Bach and Beethoven.’

  The letter was photographed and filed. Three days later, the reply to Ahmed was intercepted.

  ‘Dear Friend,

  ‘The day of my examination approaches. I await it anxiously. I greatly fear that I shall not pass. This is my last chance. I do not know what will happen to me if I fail. Some English friends have suggested that I should go to the University of Alexandria. They assure me that the English professors there are excellent. But I feel that I had better return home. The difficulty is that I have no ambition. I cannot persuade myself that a University degree is all-important. I do not want to be a bureaucrat.’

  The letter was put under a V.I. lamp and revealed the following sentence:

  ‘State chief exports Germany to Turkey Quantity and price.’

  Farrar rubbed his hands.

  ‘And that,’ he said, ‘ties our little deal up very prettily. We have now the proved admission that Aziz, a Turkish citizen, has been handing over to a belligerent, information that in the event of war might prove useful to the enemy.’

  ‘And what use are you going to make of this admission?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. It depends a little on Aunt Mildred. While Aziz is here he is not of very much value to us. He can’t tell us anything we need to know, and he can’t spread false information to the Germans.’

  ‘Do you still want him to go to Alexandria?’

  ‘Not now that we’ve got him in our power; the sooner he goes back to Turkey the better. Once he’s there we can decide what to do with him.’

  ‘What are the possibilities?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. I’d like to make a double agent of him. When he crosses the frontier we could have one of our agents pick him up, tell him he’s on the carpet, that he, a Turk, has been selling information to the Lebanese. If the Turks find out, it’ll be a long prison sentence, if not death. He’ll have to play our game. We’ve got photostats of his letters and we’ve got his receipts. The great thing is to get him across the frontier. Next time you are with Madame Amin, find out what chance there is of his going up to Istanbul for a holiday. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to give her the idea: put it into her head. It’s curious how often people have to have ideas given them; something in the subconscious, needs bringing to the surface.’

  ‘Galsworthy had never thought of being a writer, so he said, until a woman suggested it. “Why don’t you write?” she said. “You’re just the person.” You’d have thought a born story-teller like Galsworthy would have known it from the start.’

  ‘Exactly. And it may very likely not have occurred to Madame Amin that it might do Aziz a lot of good to see his parents.’

  ‘What do you propose to do about his friend, Ahmed?’

  ‘Keep an eye on him. He might be of some use to Aunt Mildred. He’s in Turkey and we can put the pressure on him. But that might be risky at the moment. We don’t want to start too many hares. Keep him on ice a little. And one thing, Aziz must never suspect that we know anything about this business. He can still go on sending routine inquiries to Ahmed. When Aziz returns he’ll be contacted by quite a different person, someone whom you and I don’t know. There’s going to be a whole lot of amusement out of this operation. Believe you me.’

  That afternoon there was a letter from Rachel:

  ‘Last week [she wrote] I went up to London, for the first time this year. There isn’t much reason now that you aren’t there. How gay those Fridays were; and London itself was more gay then. There was a feeling of challenge in the air. We were in the front line ourselves; the bombing gave an edge to everything. But now the war has gone in other directions and we’re left high and dry; there’s a certain listlessness about it and now that the bombing is over people are coming back to their London flats and houses. That means that everything is crowded. There are all these foreigners here, too; you see far more foreign than British uniforms in the streets. It is hard to get a table in a restaurant and when you do, you get dreary food and very little of it. Taxis are scarce; it isn’t really much fun going out.

  ‘On Saturday, I am going down to see the boys. They seem to be happy enough and doing well, but it is not easy to tell from their letters. They simply say, “Thank you for your letter. I had a letter from Daddy. He says he likes Middle East. It has rained a lot. The ground is too wet for football so we go for runs. I do not like runs. Gainsford’s father has given him a new model aeroplane. No more news. Love.”

  ‘But it isn’t as satisfactory going down to see them by myself. I’m with both of them all the time and if one of them has something special to say to me he’s afraid of saying it before the other. When you are with me, each gets a chance of being alone with each of us. This is one of the many little ways in which I’m missing you. And it’s so hard to foresee any ending to it all. Unless it’s we and not Hitler who have the secret weapon.

  ‘One result of that trip to London by the way is that your father suggested I should take on a job in the Ministry of Information. I believe he’s right. Then I could let the farm. What do you feel? I believe the boys would get more out of their holidays in London; and there’s no danger of bombing any longer, and I hate doing nothing for the war.’

  That evening he went to the Amin Maruns’ in the early evening; one of the pleasantest features of his work with the Intelligence was that he did not have to keep office hours. His duty allowed him visits to prospective clients.

  Aziz was in a surly mood. One of the spots on his chin was bleeding and he kept dabbing it with his handkerchief. Reid asked when his exams began.

  ‘On Monday week.’

  ‘They last about a week, I suppose.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And how long will it be before you hear the result?’

  ‘Three weeks.’

  ‘You’ll take a holiday, I suppose? Will you go back to Turkey and see your family?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of
it.’

  His aunt looked up quickly at the suggestion. ‘It might be a good idea, you know.’ She turned towards her husband. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘An excellent idea.’ He said it forcefully. He appeared to welcome the idea. Perhaps he would be glad to have his own house to himself again.

  Reid turned to Aziz. ‘Are you going to the concert at the A.U.B. tomorrow?’

  Aziz shrugged. ‘They aren’t playing anything that I care to hear.’ He had retreated behind his habitual indifference. It was hard to believe that he had been so outspoken on the evening when they had talked of music. But then he had been alone. Reid remembered Rachael’s complaint that the two boys could not talk when they were together; the one inhibited the other. Aziz would not talk in the presence of his aunt and uncle.

  * * *

  A copy of Aziz’s letter to his friend reached the Istanbul office three days later; three days before it could be expected to reach Ahmed since it would be delayed inevitably by the Turkish censors. Eve entered it in the file and took it down the passage. Sedgwick read it thoughtfully. ‘We’ve got to take Beirut into our confidence,’ he said.

  Eve nodded.

  ‘Is there anything that strikes you immediately about this?’ he asked.

  ‘That Ahmed may not answer it?’

  ‘Precisely. Would you yourself if you got a letter like this from a casual friend?

  ‘It does not call for an immediate answer.’

  ‘Precisely. You would put it away for a week, two weeks, till you had some news to send. You might even not answer at all.’

  ‘That’s so.’

  ‘Aziz can’t expect an answer for a few days; Ahmed has to find the answers to these questions. We have two weeks before we need start worrying; then he’ll probably write again. But we must let Beirut know. And there’s another point: Aziz may come up here. If he does, we must ensure that he doesn’t go to Ahmed until we have warned him. We’ve got to find the best way of warning him, and what do you think is, in my opinion, the best way of warning him.’

  He paused. She was sufficiently familiar with his methods to recognize this question as rhetorical. He did not expect an answer to it. ‘We’ll continue,’ he said, ‘with our technique of the purloined letter. You are the one to warn him.’

  She opened her eyes wide. ‘Surely that’s risky?’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s far too obvious to be risky; and it has this advantage: if Aziz ever does compare notes with Ahmed he’ll find that there has been the same intermediary each time. I don’t suppose that he will compare notes, but if he does this will give him confidence. You have to remember that he had no idea who brought up that present. He was simply told that it was a friend travelling by the Taurus. You will give him a changed version of that story. You will say that this man Ismail Hilli changed his mind at the last moment. He had a qualm of conscience, and of fear; it wasn’t fair to Ahmed. It might get him into trouble with the Turks so he substituted a genuine present for those secret inks, and flung the original package through the window. He did not want to be connected with the transaction so he asked you to deliver it. Now I know all this sounds highly involved, and if you had a skilful barrister putting you under cross-examination the whole transaction would be torn to shreds in a few minutes. But this young man isn’t a skilful barrister. He is by all accounts more than a little dumb. He’ll believe what you tell him. He has no training in counter-espionage. He’ll swallow it.’

  ‘And how am I to meet him?’

  ‘Beirut, through Fadhil, must explain that there has been a muddle and that before he sees Ahmed he must contact you.’

  ‘But where does he contact me?’

  ‘The obvious place: your flat.’

  ‘But, surely . . .’

  He interrupted her. ‘There couldn’t be a safer place. I had the possibility of this in mind when I suggested that you should share a flat with that girl from the British Council. A number of Turks visit that flat, presumably.’

  ‘They certainly do.’

  ‘It is reputed that she is a free-hearted young person with a number of beaux. One more or less would not excite curiosity. We will give him the telephone number of the Perapalas Otel. He will let you know when he arrives. You then make your own appointment.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you foresee any complications?’

  ‘Not in the way you put it.’

  ‘Let’s hope there’ll be none. And of course there may not be any immediate need of this. It may be a long time before the young man comes up here. Our job is to be ready for him when he does. I’ll draft out a letter to the Beirutis.’

  ‘I still don’t see what is the real purpose of this exercise.’

  Sedgwick shrugged. ‘It’s early days to tell. Let’s call it ground bait. We’ve got this young man in a position where he has to do what we want. We can put the pressure on at any time. It may never come to anything. In the meantime we can keep him upon ice.’

  * * *

  Diana whistled when she registered the letter. She took the file into Reid. ‘Here’s a headache for you,’ she announced.

  He read it, then took it down to Farrar. ‘I’ll leave this with you,’ he said. ‘Let’s have a gossip when you’ve digested it.’

  Farrar was back in his office within ten minutes. ‘Sometimes one can be too clever at this game.’

  ‘Who’s being too clever, we or they?’

  ‘By “they” do you mean our boys in Istanbul?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’d say it was fifty-fifty. We probably ran a risk in the first place. Whatever we do, we mustn’t upset the Turks. And again we worked too fast, suggesting that Aziz should go up to Istanbul after his exams. I’d have liked to have got back a letter from Ahmed first, even though it means writing in our message in secret ink ourselves. As it is, this whole operation with Fadhilhas to be closed down.’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘Not very much. Fadhil has to be told. He had better start grumbling about the delay, but he might give Aziz a few more records. I rather like the chap and there’s a good deal of trouble on its way to him. Oh, well, it’ll be summer soon.’

  Spring comes suddenly to the Lebanon. In December when heavy waves had dashed upon the waterfront and in January when winds had swept down from the mountains, when draughts had whistled under ill-fitting doors, when bare floors and stair cases had been cold under the feet and the Arabs wrapped tight in their djellabahs had huddled over charcoal braziers, Reid had wondered whether winter was not preferable in England where houses were constructed in view of the cold with sandbags to keep out the draughts, with heavy curtains, radiators, open fireplaces. He had never felt so cold, so uncomfortable in England; but Farrar had smiled knowingly. ‘Don’t worry, spring will come on the fifteenth of March.’

  ‘How can you say that? Seasons vary. This may be a bad winter.’

  ‘It is already. But ask any Arab. He’ll tell you the same thing. Spring comes on the fifteenth of March.’

  And sure enough, within a week, it happened; one day it was wet and cold, with the skies grey, and with sudden gusts of wind scattering papers across desks, and then, sixty hours later, the sky was blue and the sun was shining, the gardens were bright with flowers and larks were singing; the air was soft and scented. Was not this the promised land of the Old Testament that flowed with milk and honey?

  ‘Think, plan, act in terms of March 1942,’ said Farrar. ‘Well, here we are.’

  In the last week in March there was to be a security congress in Damascus, a high level gathering from Palestine, Egypt, Transjordan and Iraq.

  ‘Let’s go up a couple of days before,’ said Farrar. ‘There are people we ought to see. We can do with a holiday, and let’s take Diana. She needs one, too.’

  Damascus, if you went to it straight, was a three and a half hours’ drive across the mountains, but in three and a half months Reid had not been outside Beirut.

  ‘We�
�ll make a scenic tour of this, we’ll take in Baalbec,’ Farrar said.

  Baalbec was deserted; there were no tourists, no guides, no charges for admission. They wandered among the deserted terraces and temples and stared with appropriate awe at the seven majestic pillars that stood against the sky; that perhaps were more impressive now in their lonely abandoned grandeur than they had been when they were part of a complete building; their size was more apparent. They dwarfed the surrounding ruins, as they could never have done in the days when they were part of a symmetrical, harmonious design.

  They lunched in Zahlé, at an open-air café beside a river that ran noisily through a tree shaded valley underneath the mountain. The sun fell in dappled colouring across their table. Diana was dressed as though she were on a hitchhike, in dark green velveteen corduroy slacks and a short primrose jacket. She had knotted a pink silk handkerchief in her hair. ‘I’ll promise to dress respectably in Damascus,’ she assured them.

  It was the first time he had seen her so relaxed. ‘I wish I could have seen you in your skiing days,’ he said.

  ‘I looked much like this.’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking.’

  They smiled at one another across the table. Farrar noted the smile; for a moment he ruminated, then he reassumed his casual, careless manner.

  ‘Let’s do ourselves very well,’ he said. ‘This is all in the course of duty. It is on the house.’

  But actually they lunched very modestly. Some of the best Arak comes from Zahlé, and they had an Arak lunch, with mezze and river trout, with little squares of Kibbé and thick black coffee at the end. ‘We’ll make up for it tonight,’ said Farrar.

  They drove in the mid-afternoon across the Bekaa valley.

  ‘This is where the opium comes from,’ Farrar said.

  They saw little along the road; occasional military transport, and in the plains a hooded Arab driving a herd of goats. They came into Damascus late in the afternoon; a green oasis in the desert, it had, in spite of the mountains backing it, an air of Oxford with its mosques and minarets and gardens.