The Mule on the Minaret Read online

  ‘Do you speak German?’ the Captain asked. Aziz nodded. ‘Good, then we will speak German. It is said that many Turks speak French now instead of German, as they did thirty years ago. That will be altered when our victorious armies have established the Pan-German peace. I am glad to see, young man, that you cherish the ideals and traditions of your ancestors. I have brought with me a bottle of schnapps. Let us have three small glasses and let us toast the glories of the Third Reich and its friendship with our good friends in Turkey.’

  The spirit was poured; glasses were clicked; ‘Heil Hitler!’ and then drained.

  ‘Let us now sit,’ said the Captain. ‘Our friend here, whom I call Heinrich though it is not his name, tells me that you are ready to help our noble cause by supplying information from the Lebanese; let us consider what information you can give us. Your aunt is a rich woman. Does she entertain?’

  ‘Yes, she entertains.’

  ‘Whom does she entertain?’

  Aziz described the social milieu in which his aunt and uncle moved. The German nodded. ‘That could be very useful. We want to know how the Lebanese feel towards the French. They, of course, are anxious to be rid of them. They are technically independent, but the French are in control everywhere. They own all the public services. They control the banking. The Lebanese are astute. They will try to get the British on their side; they will foment ill feeling between the French and British. That should not be difficult. The French have an hereditary distrust of the British. They have always believed that the British want to take over Syria and Lebanon from them, so that the sphere of British influence can run straight from Cairo to Aleppo. They believe, and very likely they are correct in thinking so, that the British are welcoming this opportunity to enlarge their raj. It is very important that we should know what the Lebanese are planning; or rather what they are concocting. Trouble in the Levant would be of the greatest assistance to our forces in the Western Desert. We want to exacerbate those differences of opinion. It will be useful for us to learn how we can do that most effectively. We can do it with propaganda. We can also send funds to subversive elements. Information from you may be extremely useful. Do you know anybody in Spears Mission?’

  Aziz nodded. ‘There are two officers I know very well. One of them was a history and philosophy Professor at an English University. He is often a guest at my aunt’s house. He has been sympathetic and kind to me.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘A younger man. He worked for an oil company before the war.’

  ‘Do you know what their duties are in the Mission?’

  ‘Propaganda. Public relations.’

  ‘Excellent, excellent. See as much of them as you can. Anything they may have to tell you is of interest. General Spears is an important figure. He has Winston Churchill’s confidence. His point of view is accepted in London. It was he who established de Gaulle as the leader of the Free French Movement. But we believe that he and de Gaulle are no longer the best of friends. Keep close to those two officers; you may learn a lot from them. There are other points, of which you might not recognize the importance, but of which we should; for instance, the kinds of troops you see in the streets. If there are Indians try to find out from what part of India they come. If you see more or fewer Australian hats, let us know that. Unusual movement of military transport; shipping; the arrival of any large liner. Nothing is too trivial to tell us.

  ‘Then there is another thing: keep on the look-out for any young Lebanese who are coming up to Turkey and might be of assistance, who would do for us what you are doing. If anyone expresses, I won’t say pro-German sentiments, but anti-French, anti-British sentiments, let us know about them. If they come up here, we’ll contact them.

  ‘Now, our method of communication. Correspondence through the post is dangerous, even with secret ink, even if the secret writing is done very well. These censors have a trained sense. Something in the letter may strike them as peculiar. There seems no purpose in it. They keep a watch on the man who wrote it. If another of his letters looks unnatural, they test it for secret ink. We cannot risk that. You saw what happened to your letter to Ahmed. We must suppose that the first letter had wakened the censor’s suspicions. He tested the second letter. We must be on our guard. We will follow another method. You know the Turkish café in Babedris. Go there every Monday evening at 6.15. Take with you a copy of the Palestine Post. Go to a table in the centre of the room; order a coffee, put your paper down beside you. Make your coffee last half an hour. It may be that a man with the Palestine Post will sit beside you. After a little while he, too, will put down his paper, wait a few minutes, then prepare to leave. You pick up his paper instead of yours. You will take the paper back to your home. On the inside page where there is blank paper you will find some questions in secret ink. You will also find instructions as to where you are to deliver a copy of the Palestine Post with your reply to the questions. The same method of the exchange of papers will be followed. But you cannot be certain that every Monday somebody will arrive at your table reading the Palestine Post. If no one arrives you must go away after half an hour. But no matter what happens you must go there every Monday, and always there must be some message in secret writing on your paper.

  ‘It may be that strangers will sit at your table. If that happens there is no remedy. You must sit at the table just the same. The staff of the café must become acquainted to your attendance. I would advise you to go on other days of the week; to become a client, in fact. But always, whatever happens, you must be there every Monday at 6.15. Is Monday at 6.15 a convenient time for you?’

  ‘I will ensure that it is.’

  ‘Excellent. Then that is all.’He rose to his feet, clicked his heels, extended his right arm, barked ‘Heil Hitler!’

  ‘We then took our leave,’ Chessman concluded.

  When Chessman had gone, Eve stayed behind. ‘There’s one thing more. It’s a confession really. I’m afraid I went beyond my instructions, but when Aziz was looking despondent about not being able to take back information to Fadhil, I suggested that I might be able to get those facts for him and that he could take them back by hand. I suppose I shouldn’t have said that?’

  ‘I suppose you shouldn’t, technically, but one has to trust one’s instinct sometimes; instinct is more often right than wrong, far more often, nine times in ten I’d say. This was before he’d met Chessman, I assume.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And, of course, he was worried about those records. The situation is different now; but all the same it might be as well for him to continue his transaction with Fadhil. It will keep the two operations separate in his mind. And it is important that he shouldn’t confuse the information that he is getting for Beirut from Turkey with what he is getting for Turkey from Beirut. This may help him to keep them separate. The poor fellow probably does not know which way to turn at this actual moment. But . . . how did you leave it at the end?’

  ‘He was going to call me before he left.’

  ‘Did you feel that he would?’

  ‘I have some records that he wants to hear.’

  ‘In that case, maybe he will come. Well, let’s see. If he does come it can’t do any harm. It may do good.’

  ‘There’s no reason why he shouldn’t see me, is there?’

  ‘None at all. He’s seeing our boys in Beirut. He thinks that they are in public relations. You’re in the same position that they are. The more tags we have on him the better.’

  ‘In that case then . . .’ She hesitated. ‘Do you think the operation is important?’

  He shrugged. ‘We can’t tell yet. It’s another iron in the fire, we contact the Germans through him. Our boys in Beirut will photostat those copies of the Palestine Post before they reach Aziz. We shall learn from them what the Germans want to know.’

  ‘But we can’t send up the answers we want them to have.’

  ‘I know we can’t.’

  ‘Mayn’t he send up some information that w
e would rather they didn’t have?’

  Sedgwick shook his head. ‘Nine times in ten it does not matter what they know as long as we know they know it. If Aziz did tumble on to something genuinely secret—he is very unlikely to, but he might—then we would have to burn the newspaper. The man who collects the paper in the café is going to take it to Farrar before he takes it to the Germans. It will be interesting to know what Aziz finds out. We must not forget that he is a genuine spy. He’ll be doing his best to make discoveries. We are well up on the deal. We shall be learning what the Germans don’t know and what they want to know. They’re working in the dark, we’re working in the light. What did Aziz want for Fadhil?’

  ‘A routine question about German imports. The quantity and price.’

  ‘I can find that out easily. I’ll give it to you tomorrow.’

  * * *

  In Beirut the reports were received with mixed feelings on the third floor of the M.E.S.C. building. The situation was not developing as Farrar had intended, though it was possible that it could be developed in that direction later.

  ‘We want to send up to the Germans the kind of information that we want them to have. I hoped that we should be able to do that through Aziz; now we can’t. We shall have to find another agent for that purpose. That should not be impossible. The Germans want Aziz to give them names of men going up to Istanbul who would be likely to work for them. We must see that Aziz meets such a man. It is up to Abdul Hamid to find him for us. It may take a little time. But there’s no hurry.’

  He paused. That morning the wireless news had reported that Burma had been overrun. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, that I should be saying there’s no hurry, when in one area every second counts. Twelve months ago everything was touch and go here in the Middle East, particularly in Iraq. Baghdad had been evacuated; the women and children were in an R.A.F. cantonment at Hab-baniya; prominent civilians were in a state of siege in the British Embassy; German aircraft were at Mosul. German staff officers were in Baghdad itself; the former German consul was back to organize the take-over. It was a question of days, one might say of hours, whether the British relief forces got there before the Germans. But we did get there and the revolution collapsed. The same thing happened here in Lebanon, a few weeks later, when we attacked the Vichy French. Everything turned on a few hours; while in Malaya the rubber planters were coming down to Penang and Singapore for wild week-ends; they weren’t bothering about us. Today the situation is reversed. Everything is tranquil here. Everything is tranquil in Iraq. As long as Rommel is held in the Western Desert, we can afford to say, “There isn’t any hurry.” ’

  He shrugged. ‘In Paris they talked about the drôle de guerre. We’ve got one here all right.’

  On the following morning the examination results were out. Aziz had passed. The news reached the office through Abdul Hamid. Reid promptly rang up Madame Amin.

  ‘I suppose you have heard the news.’

  ‘Indeed I have.’

  ‘ Congratulations.’

  ‘We are so happy and so proud.’

  ‘Do you know how soon Aziz will be back?’

  ‘The new term starts in ten days’ time.’

  ‘It must be wonderful for you to know that you’ll have him back.’

  ‘Wonderful. Wonderful. He’ll be so happy, too. We are going to have a welcome home party for him. We are getting out the invitations now. Of course, there’ll be one for you, and Captain Farrar. I’m so grateful to you for the sympathy and kindness that you’ve shown him. I attribute his success to you, in part. You gave him confidence. You restored his faith in himself. He always speaks most highly of you.’

  Reid was glad that she could not see his expression at that moment. ‘I suppose,’ he thought, ‘I’ll learn to play my role: to smile, and smile and be a villain.’

  A week later, in the early afternoon, Eve waited impatiently for Aziz. He was catching the train that evening. On the morning before she had picked up a message at the Perapalas. Would she telephone him at his home that afternoon? She found herself trembling when she heard his voice. Its foreign accent was more marked over the wire. It had a rhythm, a lilt she had forgotten, or had not been conscious of when he had been here in person, when she had been more aware of his looks, his manners.

  ‘I’ve found that kind of cigarette that you were looking for,’ she told him.

  ‘What cigarettes?’ He sounded puzzled.

  She chuckled. He was not used to the security trick of calling everything by a different name.

  ‘You remember; you must. You can’t get them in the Lebanon. A special German make.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ and his voice lightened eagerly. ‘I’ll call for them tomorrow.’

  ‘Come early, so that we can have some music’

  The following morning she returned from her office with a large bunch of roses. As the flat was centrally heated they rarely used the fireplace, but today she laid a fire; she tidied the writing-desk and bookshelves. She arranged low round cushions by the settee. Though twilight had not yet fallen she drew the curtains and switched on the two small reading lamps. It looked very cosy. ‘I’ll light the fire at three. I’ll have a record playing.’ She had no idea what would happen this afternoon. But she felt something would, something decisive. Anyhow, the stage must be set as though it would.

  In the hall there was a bare hard light. He started when he came out of the hall into the softly-lit warm room, with the firelight flickering on the ceiling, on the roses and on the polished woodwork of the bookcase. He checked, looking round him. ‘It all looks different today,’ he said.

  She smiled. ‘It’s the same flat. But perhaps its seems different to you because it isn’t strange to you any more; you feel at home here. Let me take your coat.’ She took it into her bedroom. He followed her.

  ‘Is this where you sleep?’

  She nodded. It was a bed-sitting-room rather than a bedroom, with a divan pushed into the corner. There was a writing-desk and two easy chairs. On the walls were reproductions of English painters: a Constable, a Morland and a Turner. There was no wash-basin. It looked like a schoolgirl’s room. On the desk there was a picture of a man in uniform. He went across and looked at it.

  ‘My father in the First War,’ she said. ‘He was wounded at the Dardanelles.’

  ‘My uncle was killed at the Dardanelles, and my father fought there.’

  They looked at one another thoughtfully, then smiled. It seemed a bond rather than a cause for enmity. The music was swelling to its climax. ‘Do you know this?’ she asked.

  He shook his head. She told him what it was.

  ‘I wish you could have heard it from the start,’ she said. ‘Another time. Look, before I forget. Here’s this list for you.’

  His eyes widened. It was a long list. He read it slowly. ‘This is more than I could have got from Ahmed. Are you sure that this is accurate?’

  ‘Quite sure. I got it from the Consulate.’

  ‘But isn’t it classified material?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s a publicity handout. Our office was trying to prove to the Turks that we were more important to them than the Germans by showing how much more was imported from Britain than from Germany.’

  He read it to the end, then grinned. ‘They’ll be very pleased with this when I get back to Beirut.’

  ‘Ismail losing his nerve was really a piece of luck for you.’

  ‘A great piece of luck for me.’

  This was, indeed, she thought, a fantastic double-take in dramatic irony. He believed that she had no idea that his second letter to Ahmed had been intercepted in censorship and that through that interception he had become a German spy. He was reminding himself that he must be desperately careful not to reveal his true position, that he must play the role of the Lebanese student finding commercial information for a friend. He had no idea that she knew exactly what he was thinking; she knew all that he knew and a great deal more, because she knew that h
e was now a pawn not in the German machine but in the British. It was more than a double take, it was a treble take. And again there came over her that sense of pity and protective tenderness. He had no knowledge of his plight. Two weeks ago he had been relatively innocent. He had been trying to evade censorship, but now he was acting for a power that might one day find itself at war with his own countrymen. Aiding an enemy in time of war: He would get short shrift from the Turkish authorities.

  ‘But it won’t happen,’ she reassured herself. ‘I shall protect him I’ll be in the background, watching, if danger threatens; I’ll see he’s warned. They shan’t throw him to the wolves.’ Sedgwick might be ruthless. But she was there. If he only guessed how dependent he was on her.

  Her smile grew fond. ‘I’ve prepared an English tea for you this afternoon. You’ve probably never had one. Sit down. The kettle will be on the boil almost at once.’

  She explained to him the ritual of English tea; how you first warm the teapot and the teacups with hot water; how the water must be brought to the boil only just before you make the tea otherwise you boiled all the good out of the water. How you put into the pot one teaspoonful of tea for each guest and then one extra one for the pot; how you let the tea draw for five minutes before you poured. ‘A great deal depends upon the water,’ she explained. ‘There are special blends of tea for places with special water. Thomas Lipton once brought back a barrel of water from Hamburg to find the right blend for it. The Customs officials would not believe that the barrel contained only water. I don’t suppose this tea was blended specially for Turkish water. Tea never tastes as well out of England.’

  But it did taste very well, and she had prepared Marmite sandwiches and produced a plum and sultana cake as a contrast to the over-sweet, sticky almond and sugar cakes of the Levant. And the logs glowed in the grate and music played softly from the gramophone; their talk ceased; not for many months had she felt so at one with anyone. She shook herself. She stood up. ‘I’ll clear this away. No, don’t you bother. I won’t wash up. Choose some records while I tidy up. We’ll have a little music, then a whisky. You aren’t in any hurry, are you?’