‘My chief man in Paris has also reported some interesting background information. It appears that Monsieur Chamaz — who also carried a French passport, incidentally — had not been very clever. He had apparently been assigned to follow someone in the north of France. But that someone seems to have spotted him, beaten him up, and robbed him of some very important photographs he had been taking. He then travelled to Paris and took asylum at our Embassy where his case was handled by that crafty lizard, Second Secretary Ashak — who, as we well know, has no love for my Organization. I might add, my dear Minister, that it is an outstanding tribute to my men in Paris that they were able to find out so much so quickly.’
‘Most of this I know already,’ Letif replied, with quiet authority. ‘What else did they find out?’
The colonel’s face darkened. ‘You must appreciate, Minister, that my men were operating under extremely adverse conditions. As you know, the Diplomatic Corps is notoriously uncooperative with my Organization, and Second Secretary Ashak has lips as tight as a snake’s arsehole. When Chamaz turned up, Ashak was careful not to talk to him at the Embassy. But one of my men works on the desk, and has sharp eyes and a long memory. He recognized the Levantine as an errand boy for the Almighty’s Inner Circle, and was able to alert his Chief.
‘Meanwhile, Ashak questioned Chamaz in a nearby café, where it was not easy to follow all of the conversation. However, my man did gather that the films would have helped to identify certain foreign individuals who are plotting against the State.’
Letif sat forward, sucking his soft fingertips. ‘Did Chamaz say how many individuals — and what nationality they are?’
‘There are at least three men involved, and one of them is French. He is said to be very fat and to have a beard. My man reports that several times he heard Chamaz use the phrase “le gros barbu”.’
‘And the other two? Are they foreigners too?’
Colonel Tamat shook his head impatiently. ‘I do not know the nationality of the others. As I said, the conversation took place in a café — and you know what those cafés in Paris are like. It was surprising that my man was able to overhear anything at all.’
Letif appeared unimpressed. He had lowered his head, as though to avoid those two sets of eyes staring at him across the room. He wondered whom he could trust: which meant, who was the more likely to win — Tamat or His Imperial Highness? They could not both win, that was for certain. When he spoke, his voice had that shy, slightly apologetic tone which his colleagues misinterpreted as a sign of weakness.
‘You mentioned, Colonel, that these individuals might be plotting against His Serene Imperial Highness’s life. Are you implying that in a matter of such grave importance, Second Secretary Ashak has been deliberately withholding information from NAZAK?’
The colonel replied, with a polite layer of insult, ‘Minister, you are new to your office, but even so, the niceties of the present political situation cannot have entirely escaped you. Relations between myself and His Imperial Highness have recently become — shall we say, chilly? I am a loyal public servant, as you know, and where duty is concerned, I acquit myself not only with ability but with passion. No one in the State can doubt this — least of all, my enemies.’
‘Do I detect, Colonel, that you make a subtle distinction between your loyalty and duty to the State on the one hand — and to His Imperial Highness on the other?’
‘That is an impertinent suggestion, Minister. His Highness and the State are one. It is a lesson that our children learn from the moment they are born; it is shouted from the radio, from the television, from every loudspeaker in the streets. It is engraved in marble above the entrance to my office. I am surprised you do not have it inscribed on the wall of this room.’ His voice was like that of a man delivering a sermon.
There was silence. The red sky was darkening outside the window, and Letif’s head appeared as a narrow silhouette, its expression invisible. ‘The Ruler no longer trusts NAZAK, Colonel. And, as you well know, he does not trust you.’
Tamat removed his leg from the arm of the chair and took out a big polished Dunhill pipe, which he began to fill from a leather pouch. His movements were slow, methodical, giving him time to think.
‘You are accusing me of treason, Minister? That is a grave affair —’ he tamped down the tobacco in the rosewood bowl, then struck a match and held it between his fingers — ‘but it is your affair, Letif. Your own personal affair.’ He blew the match out, stood up and dropped it in the base of the pen set on the desk; for Letif, outwardly loyal to the Ruler’s every whim and prejudice, kept no ashtrays in his office.
The colonel stood looking down at Letif’s sleek black head and sloping shoulders, and noticed that the white suit which had been hastily ordered from Rome, to embellish his new appointment, already looked worn and baggy. Marmut bem Letif, the colonel reflected, filled his high office about as well as he filled his clothes.
‘We are both aware that every word of this conversation is on tape,’ Letif said in a dry whisper. ‘I also know that those tapes will be handled only by you, or by those closest to
