“As soon as my probationary period was up, yes. I went back to Cairo, sir.”
“Where you proceeded to denounce a British businessman named Colby Evans to the Egyptian authorities as a British secret agent.”
It was like a slap in the face, but I managed to keep my head this time. “Not immediately, sir. That was later, during the Suez crisis.”
“Why did you do it?”
I didn’t know what to say. How could I explain to a man like that that I had to pay back the caning they had given me. I said nothing.
“Was it because you needed to prove somehow to the Egyptian authorities that you were anti-British, or because you didn’t like the man, or because you were sincerely anti-British?”
It was all three, I suppose; I am not really sure. I answered almost without thinking.
“My mother was Egyptian. My wife was killed by a British bomb in the attack they made on us. Why shouldn’t I feel sincerely anti-British?”
It was probably the best answer I had given so far; it sounded true, even though it wasn’t quite.
“Did you really believe this man was an agent?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And then you applied for Egyptian citizenship.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You stayed in Egypt until fifty-eight. Was that when they finally decided that Evans had not been a British agent after all and released him?”
“He was convicted at his trial. His release was an act of clemency.”
“But the Egyptians did start to investigate you at that time.” It was a statement.
“I suppose so.”
“I see.” He refilled my glass. “I think we are beginning to understand one another, Simpson. You now realize that it is neither my business nor my inclination to make moral judgments. I, on the other hand, am beginning to see how your mind works in the areas we are discussing-what holds the pieces together. So now let us go back to your story about Mr. Harper and Fraulein Lipp.” He glanced again at the file. “You see, for a man of your experience it is quite incredible. You suspect that Harper may be using you for some illegal purpose which will be highly profitable to him, yet you do as he asks for a mere hundred dollars.”
“It was the return journey I was thinking of, sir. I thought that when he realized that I had guessed what he was up to, he would have to pay me to take the risk.”
He sat back, smiling. “But you had accepted the hundred dollars before that possibility had occurred to you. You would not have searched the car outside Athens otherwise. You see the difficulty?”
I did. What I didn’t see was the way out of it.
He lit another cigarette. “Come now, Simpson, you were emerging very sensibly from the darkness a few minutes ago. Why not continue? Either your whole story is a lie, or you have left something of importance out. Which is it? I am going to find out anyway. It will be easier for both of us if you just tell me now.”
I know when I am beaten. I drank some more raki. “All right. I had no more choice with him than I have with you. He was blackmailing me.”
“How?”
“Have you got an extradition treaty with Greece?”
“Never mind about that. I am not the police.”
So I had to tell him about the traveler’s checks after all.
When I had finished, he nodded. “I see” was all he said. After a moment, he got up and went to the door. It opened the instant he knocked on it. He began to give orders.
I was quite sure that he had finished with me and was telling the guards to take me away to a cell, so I swallowed the rest of the raki in my glass and put the matches in my pocket on the off chance that I might get away with them.
I was wrong about the cell. When he had finished speaking, he shut the door and came back.
“I have sent for some eatable food,” he said.
He did not stop at the table, but went across to the telephone. I lighted a cigarette and returned the matches to the table. I don’t think he noticed. He was asking for an Istanbul number and making a lot of important-sounding noise about it. Then he hung up and came back to the table.
“Now tell me everything you remember about this man Harper,” he said.
I started to tell him the whole story again from the beginning, but he wanted details now.
“You say that he spoke like a German who has lived in America for some years. When did you reach that conclusion? After you heard him speak German to the man at the garage?”
“No. Hearing him speak German only confirmed the impression I had had.”
“If you were to hear me speak German fluently could you tell whether it was my mother tongue or not?”
“No.”
“How did he pronounce the English word ‘later,’ for example?”
I tried to tell him.
“You know, the German ‘l’ is more frontal than that,” he said; “but in Turkish, before certain vowels, the ‘l’ is like the English consonant you were pronouncing. If you were told that this man had a Turkish background, would you disbelieve it?”
“Not if I were told it was true perhaps. But is Harper a Turkish name?”
“Is it a German one?”
“It could be an anglicization of Hipper.”
“It could also be an anglicization of Harbak.” He shrugged. “It could also be an alias. It most probably is. All I am trying to discover is if the man could be Turkish.”
“Because of the political aspects you mentioned?”
“Obviously. Tear-gas grenades, concussion grenades, smoke grenades, six pistols, six times twenty rounds of ammunition. Six determined men equipped with that material making a surprise attack on some important person or group of persons could accomplish a great deal. There are still many supporters of the former regime. They do not like the army’s firm hands.”
I refrained from telling him that I wasn’t so very fond of those firm hands myself.
“But, of course,” he went on, “we keep our eyes on them. If they wished to attempt anything they would need help from outside. You say he had Swiss francs and West German marks as well as dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Naturally it is possible that what we have here is only one small corner of a much larger plan. If so, there is a lot of money behind it. This man Harper went to a great deal of trouble and expense to get that material through. Perhaps…”
The telephone rang and he broke off to answer it. His call to Istanbul had come through. I understood about one word in ten of his side of the conversation. He was reporting to his boss; that much was easily gathered. My name was mentioned several times. After that he mostly listened, just putting in an occasional evet to show that he was getting the point. I could hear the faint quacking of the voice at the other end of the line. Finally it stopped. Tufan asked a question and received a brief reply. That was all. Tufan made a respectful sound, then hung up and looked across at me.
“Bad news for you, Simpson,” he said. “The Director does not feel disposed to help you in any way. He regards the charges against you as too serious.”
“I’m sorry.” There seemed nothing more to say. I downed another raki to try to settle my stomach.
“He considers that you have not been sufficiently helpful to us. I was unable to persuade him.”
“I’ve told you everything I know.”
“It is not enough. What we need to know is more about this man Harper, who his associates and contacts are, who this Fraulein Lipp is, where the arms and ammunition are going, how they are to be used. If you could supply that information or help to supply it, of course, your case might be reconsidered.”
“The only way I could possibly get information like that would be to drive on to Istanbul tomorrow as if nothing had happened, go to the Park Hotel, and wait for somebody to contact me as arranged. Is that what you’re telling me I have to do?”
