Letif inclined his head again and rubbed his hands together as if he were washing them — the tell-tale gesture of the bazaar and the street pedlar. ‘As always, Your Highness’s divine guidance has been correct. On Tuesday evening Colonel Tamat paid a visit to the house of Doctor Zak, across the Gorge of Darak. After three hours they were joined by two junior members of the Pan-Islamic Socialist Brotherhood. They stayed until after two o’clock in the morning, when Tamat returned to Mamounia, while Doctor Zak and the two officers drove away to Saba where they boarded a light aircraft.’ He glanced down at the papers in his hand, where his thumb had left a wet mark in the corner. ‘I have the registration number here, but unfortunately we were unable to determine the plane’s exact destination. However,’ he added, his meek voice gathering confidence, ‘the radar station at Bikar reported an unidentified plane flying into Iraq in the early morning.’
‘There were no flights back into my country?’ said the Ruler quietly.
‘No, Your Highness.’ Letif gave a limp smile. ‘I am fully confident that if there had been, your Imperial Air Defences would have intercepted them at once.’
‘Not if they were small aircraft flying low. Our radar defences, Letif, are among the best in the world, but they are directed at high-flying bombers and missiles. But no matter. I do not want Doctor Zak and his friends apprehended — at least, not for the time being.’
Letif bowed. ‘I understand, Your Imperial Highness.’
The Ruler picked up the wooden ladle and dipped it again in the bucket, but this time just stirred it around, as though testing a soup; then, to Letif’s relief, he replaced it on the bench beside him.
‘Minister, let us now turn to that difficult and delicate task I mentioned to you. In the last few days information has reached me, from secret sources outside our country, which indicates that an attempt is being planned against my life. I know that such attempts have become almost commonplace, but they have usually been the work of amateur fanatics and disaffected army officers. My recent information, however, obliges me to treat this latest plot more seriously.
‘The indications are that it is being planned abroad, and that the potential assassins are unknown to our Security services. I want you, Minister Letif, to identify these men — to isolate them, and eliminate them. In accomplishing this, you will have to manoeuvre most delicately — particularly where NAZAK and Colonel Tamat are concerned. Tamat has great enthusiasm and energy when it comes to torturing a few students with left-wing sympathies. But I fear that he lacks the subtlety to deal with a full-scale international plot against my person. What you confide in Colonel Tamat, I leave to your discretion. As Head of Internal Security, he will have to be told of the plot. But I advise that as your inquiries proceed, you keep him informed of only the most basic details.’ He paused. ‘You are blessed with my confidence, Letif. You will not fail me.’
Letif bowed again, his clothes clinging warm and wet to his skin, and his feet felt as though he were standing in mud. ‘I understand, Your Imperial Highness.’
The Ruler smiled. ‘What news do you bring of Her Majesty?’
‘Her Imperial Highness is in excellent health, Your Imperial Highness. The Crown Prince, also.’ Letif reached into his clammy pocket. ‘I have here a list of purchases Her Imperial Highness asked me to make for her in Geneva and Paris.’ He was speaking with a slow unctuous smile. ‘Do I have your Imperial permission to carry out these requests?’
‘You do not. You are not a valet, Marmut bem Letif. You are a public servant responsible to me and my thirty million subjects.’ For a moment the Ruler’s jaw muscles stiffened to suppress a yawn. ‘That will be all, Minister. You will leave all the State documents with my adjutant.’
Marmut bem Letif gave another three bows, feeling the sweat trickle through his glossy hair, and murmured the ancient ritual words of farewell, before opening the door behind him and backing into the sudden delicious cool outside.
Up in his room, which had the spare pinewood decor of a skiing lodge, the Minister quickly peeled off his clothes and stood for several minutes under the cold shower. Then he lifted the telephone and summoned the Ruler’s adjutant.
CHAPTER 7
The café smelled of cooked lentils and stale cigarettes. The greasy zinc-topped tables were empty except for two workmen in blue overalls, slapping playing cards down between them without exchanging a word. The barman sat under a row of bottles reading L’Equipe. From the back room came a staccato rattle, as a very tall, thin, black-haired man in a charcoal suit played a ferocious game of table football with himself. His hands, which were long and slender, manipulated the row of knobs with agility and skill, knocking the little ball back and forth with a zigzagging speed that was almost too quick to follow. The only times he paused were to take a drink from a glass of pastis on the table behind him.
He had been playing for more than half an hour when the two strangers came in. Although he was facing the door, he did not immediately look up, but went on spinning the wooden players, scoring two goals against one side, one against the other. The two men sat down opposite him and waited.
He straightened up, turned and took a deep drink, then
