Owen could see it, too.
“What are we going to do, then?” he said. “We can’t just let him go scot free.”
Georgiades shrugged.
“You could kick him out,” he said. “Encourage him to use his talents somewhere else.”
“Send him back to Turkey? That’s just what he wants!”
“Is it?”
Owen looked at him.
Georgiades spread his hands.
“Well,” he said. “Think! A Young Turk. Is that going to make him popular with the Sultan? Practising assassination. Do you think the Sultan would like that? It might be him next time. Secret society, revolutionary, conspirator. Wonderful! Just the chap the Sultan needs! I’ll tell you one thing. Guzman may be popular with the Egyptians. He might be popular with the Turks for all I know. But one thing is for sure: he won’t be very popular with the Sultan!”
When Georgiades had gone, Owen sat there thinking. Gradually his chair tipped back. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. His feet found their way on to his desk. The chair tilted even more, so much so that Owen came to with a start. He pushed the chair back so that his shoulders rested against the wall. Feet went back on to desk. He shut his eyes again and blotted out everything except what he was thinking of.
He was still like this when Georgiades reappeared. He took one look at Owen and then padded away again without disturbing him.
And he was still like this one hour later when Nikos went in. Nikos, too, might have left him, but Nuri was waiting outside. This was an honour and Nikos was impressed.
“His Eminence, Nuri Pasha,” he announced grandly as he ushered Nuri into the room.
Nuri, quite recovered now, came forward with outstretched hand, all geniality.
“It is good of you to see me, Captain Owen,” he said. “I know you must be busy.”
Nikos looked at Owen reproachfully and then retired, leaving the door conveniently open, for the sake of coolness no doubt.
Nuri sat down on one of the hard wooden chairs which were all that Owen had. He placed his walking stick, a different one from the one Owen had seen previously, ivory-topped this time, between his knees and folded his hands over the top. The heavy torso and massive neck and head were thrust forward slightly in eager anticipation of Owen’s words and the face sympathetic, friendly, amused. The eyes were as shrewd and watchful as before.
Nuri came straight to the point.
“What shall I do about my foolish son, Captain Owen?”
Owen had half-expected this, both because it was the custom of the country and because he knew Nuri could never refrain from politicking.
“He has done wrong, I know, and must be punished for it. But,” said Nuri, “ as I am the only one who has suffered-”
“Mustafa?”
“Mustafa must be looked after,” Nuri acknowledged. “I will see to that. But apart from him-” He stopped. “Of course, there is the danger to the state. I recognize that. But somehow I do not see Ahmed as a major threat to that.”
He smiled, inviting Owen to join in. Owen, carefully, did not. Nuri registered the lack of response and changed the note.
“Besides,” he said sombrely, “it is, in part at least, my fault.” “Why?” asked Owen.
“I should have taken him more seriously. Though that is hard to do. Especially when his political ideas are so naive. He badly needs a lesson in realism.”
“This is it,” said Owen.
“Yes,” said Nuri, “but the lesson comes costly. No parent likes his child paying the price. Have you any children, Captain Owen?” “No,” said Owen. “I am not married.”
“Not even in India?”
“No.”
“Ah,” said Nuri, a little wistfully. “Then you will not know what it is like.”
“What do you want?” asked Owen.
“I do not want the charges to be pressed.”
“That is a matter for the Parquet.”
“Not entirely,” said Nuri, “and in any case I have seen to that. He is held by the Mamur Zapt.”
“He is held under security provisions.”
“Of course.” Nuri held up a hand. “I am not objecting to that. I, too, have an interest in security. What I was wondering, however, was whether Ahmed constituted such a threat that giving him a good scare would not suffice. He would have to leave the country, of course. He has been a nuisance to you and I would have to ensure that he was no longer a nuisance. I recognize that. But I think I could guarantee that to your satisfaction.”
“Where would you send him?”
“To Paris. To the Sorbonne. To study law.”
He caught Owen’s eye and grimaced.
“I know,” he said. “He hasn’t the brains. But he thinks he has, and I don’t want to be the one to undeceive him. Frankly,” he said, “I have not been altogether skilful in my relations with my son.”
“I’ll think about it,” said Owen.
Nuri stood up, beaming.
“That is all I ask,” he said, stretching out his hand. “It is good of you even to consider it. As Sir Eldon said only this morning, Ahmed is a damned nuisance.”
Owen took in with amusement the reference to the British Agent. Nuri believed in letting people know how the cards were stacked.
As Nuri went out he said: “You have met my daughter, I believe?” “Zeinab,” said Owen. “Yes.”
“I’m pleased about that,” said Nuri. “At least you won’t think that the whole family is imbecile.”
“So what do you want me to do?” asked Garvin.
“I’d like you to get a deportation order signed,” said Owen, “and handed to me for execution.”
“We don’t want anything to happen on the way to the docks,” Garvin warned.
“Not my style. I just want to make sure he gets on a particular boat. So that I can arrange a reception committee at the other end.” “He’ll smell a rat.”
“He won’t even know it’s me. They’ll be just ordinary officials.” “Not too ordinary. Otherwise he’ll get away.”
“He won’t get away.”
Garvin mused.
“This reception committee you’re organizing,” he said. “I don’t know that I go along with that sort of thing. Especially in a foreign country. Especially in a foreign country like Turkey.”
“I’m not organizing it myself,” Owen explained. “I’m just tipping off someone else so that they can organize it.”
“Friends?”
“The authorities. The Sultan.”
Garvin looked surprised. Then he understood.
“It may come unstuck,” he said. “There are plenty of Young Turk sympathizers in the police and among the Sultan’s own men. They may see it doesn’t happen.”
“I’ve thought of that, too. I think I know a way of getting a special word to the Sultan personally. After that it’s up to him. Entirely,” said Owen.
“That’s it, is it?” asked Garvin, looking at him. “You’re not involved in any other way?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“I shouldn’t hope to die,” said Garvin. “Someone might take you seriously.”
“I’m not involved in any other way.”
Garvin weighed the assurance dispassionately. Apparently he came to the conclusion either that Owen was speaking the truth or that it did not matter if he was not, for he said: “OK then. I’ll see what I can do.”
He shook the tiny bazaar bell on his desk and asked the orderly to bring him a form.
Owen was a little disquieted. He had not expected Garvin to envisage other possibilities. Having the law on their side, the English did not need to have recourse to such things, although Owen knew that most of the countries around them did. Perhaps it was just Garvin’s chilly way.
Garvin made out the form.
“I shall take this to Harry personally,” he said.
Harry was the adviser to the Interior Minister.
“The Minister himself has to sign it. Harry will get him to do that, but I can’t answer for its confidentiality afterwards. Not five minutes afterwards!”
“Let me make a phone call,” said Owen, “and I’ll be ready to move.”