The Men Behind Read Online Free PDF Page B

with the Brigadier,” he said. “However, on this particular point…”
     
    Nikos brought the note in at once. It had been scribbled in haste and read: “
Am being followed. Have gone into Andalaft’s. Will stay there until you come. George Jullians
.”
    Owen knew Jullians. He was a judge in the Mixed Courts, a calm, experienced man, unlikely to take alarm without cause.
    “Tell Abdul Kerim to come,” he said, “and send me two trackers.”
    Andalaft’s was in the Khan el Khalil, among the bazaars. It was a shop for connoisseurs. It had only a small stock of tourists’ brass and embroideries. Andalaft’s real interest was in old enamels, in Persian jewelry and luster-ware and in old illuminated Korans.
    When Owen went in he was talking quietly to Jullians at the back of the shop. They were fingering lovingly a fine old Persian box, set with large turquoises and used for containing a verse of the Koran.
    Andalaft put it down and came to greet Owen.
    “The Mamur Zapt,” he said. “I’m so glad you’ve come. I didn’t know if my messenger would find you.”
    Jullians glanced at his watch. “It didn’t take you long,” he said. “They may still be there.”
    “You’re definite, are you?” asked Owen.
    Jullians nodded. “Pretty sure,” he said. “I think they’ve done it before. Yesterday I had a strong sense of being followed and saw these two men. I saw them again today. I tried to shake them off but couldn’t. So I dodged into Andalaft’s.”
    “Mr. Jullians often comes here,” said Andalaft softly.
    “They may even know that,” said Jullians. “It depends on how long they’ve been following me.”
    Andalaft looked at Owen.
    “We have another exit,” he said. “Mr. Jullians could have left in safety.”
    Jullians shrugged. “They’d only catch me some other time,” he said, “perhaps when I was less prepared. I thought if I could get a message to you, you might be able to catch them. That’s really the only way, isn’t it?”
    “There may be others,” said Owen. “I’d like to catch them too.”
    “OK,” said Jullians. “Well, I’m ready.”
    “I’d like you to point them out to us. Perhaps we can use your back door?” he said to Andalaft. Andalaft nodded. “And then—do you feel up to walking on?” he asked Jullians.
    “So that you can make sure?” Jullians swallowed. “Very well. You’re quite right. You can’t arrest a man just on my word. Only…”
    “Don’t worry. I’ve got two trackers outside. They’ll stay close.”
    “OK,” said Jullians.
    Abdul Kerim had come into the shop with Owen. He was good at this sort of thing, though not as good as the trackers. It took considerable expertise to follow someone in the city, especially in the crowded bazaar area. Owen sent him out to fetch the trackers to the back of the shop. They were waiting when Owen emerged with Jullians.
    Jullians pointed out the two men. They were standing some way up the street, apparently deep in conversation. Owen, mindful of Nikos’s comments, took a good look at them. There was little to distinguish them from hundreds of others. They were Egyptians—Arab not Copt—in their early twenties and wearing shirt and trousers. He tried to fix their faces in this memory but knew that the trackers would do it better.
    “OK now?”
    Jullians nodded and stepped back into the shop. He was pale but seemed determined. He probably had a strong sense of duty. You needed one to be a judge in Egypt.
    A little later he must have emerged from the front entrance, for the two men looked up and began to move unobtrusively down the street. Even more unobtrusively the trackers fell in behind them.
    Owen, waiting in a side street, looked for the guns as the two men went past. They would have to be in their shirts but the shirts were loose and he could not really tell.
    He had been wondering how to use Abdul Kerim. He would like him to be pretty close, in case of accidents, but not so close as to