Nagi poured more tea but I could sense his impatience to know more.
“So can you tell me the name of one of the companies you’re interested in?” he asked me.
I resorted to my calculated risk strategy - nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Shah Medicals,” I said.
Nagi shrugged. He’d never heard of them, but I wasn’t entirely surprised.
“But they have links with the USA, Hong Kong, Singapore, Kenya, Abu Dhabi, Dubai, Jordan, Syria, Turkey - I can go on.”
“A network?”
“It’s a distribution network and probably under the direct control of one or two key men with one or two key scientists running the technical side.”
I was, of course, saying things I still had no direct proof of.
“Who are these two men?” asked Nagi.
“No names but one of them has been involved in fraud, corruption, and embezzlement. He’s wealthy, and not afraid of removing people from the scene if they get in his way.”
“I see. And the other?”
“Ambitious, wealthy, enjoys power and influence, and according to rumour, hates crowds of people. In fact, he dislikes crowds so much that his hobby is population control methods.”
I had forgotten how calm Nagi could stay. I put it down to his army days, but neither Colin or I could work out Nagi’s full background.
All we knew was that he was a shrewd operator who had risen high enough to know when it was time to pull back and pull out.
A second pot of tea arrived, and he refilled our two glass cups. “Who is this second guy who hates crowds?”
“An Egyptian,” I said.
“Name?”
I knew he’d ask, but it was a risk. “Mohamed Kader,” I said, hoping the name was so common, like John Smith, that it would mean nothing without mentioning Al Zafar.
“And the murderous, untouchable embezzler?”
“An Irish American.”
We eyed each other as we sipped tea. “I need to find out where they are operating from. It could be anywhere. It may well be a company operating under a completely different name to Shah Medicals.”
The temptation was to say more, but I’d already gone as far as I dared. Nevertheless, I went fishing to see what took the bait. “They are importing pharmaceutical manufacturing equipment into Egypt via Jordan. I believe the Arab Bank is acting as consignee. Any help?”
“Can you get a copy of a Bill of Lading or something?”
“Not quickly,” I said and kicked myself for not having thought of that earlier. Clive would have helped.
“Who is the exporter?”
He was pushing me for detail so I pushed the onus back to him. “The bank might know.”
“OK,” Nagi said. “Anything else you want? Whatever it is, I’ll include it in my invoice.” Such are the jokes of already rich men.
Fortunately, he laughed at his own humour.
“I need someone I can work with for a few days,” I said. “Someone to run around and who’s not scared to get their hands dirty. Someone good with locked filing cabinets – that sort of thing.”
It was my turn to laugh at my own joke, although I knew - and so did Nagi - that I was being deadly serious.
It was evening and I was back at the hotel when Nagi phoned with details of my helper. “She’s the daughter of a doctor from Alexandria
- a graduate in pharmacy and business studies.”
Qualifications were one thing but, “She, Nagi? What about her breaking and entering?”
“She works in a pharmacy but is thinking of joining the police.” Nagi sounded less than enthusiastic but perhaps she was all he could find.
“I thought you’d find someone with experience, someone like Khaled,” I said.
“They’re too nervous of working with foreigners now. Better to use someone who’s not known.”
“What is her name?”
“Maria Tawfiq. Her mother is Spanish, her father’s Egyptian.”
My new assistant, I discovered, was, at least from appearances, the polar opposite of Jimmy Banda. Jimmy was tall, thin, and athletic.
Maria was a short, plump girl in a long brown-patterned skirt and white cotton top. Her hair was short and covered by a beige scarf. It was early evening the day after my meeting with Nagi, and I was trying to get to know her.
“I am twenty-five years old. My father is a urologist. My mother is a nurse.”
Nagi was right about one thing. Maria was bored with her life in the pharmacy but I saw a bright spark shining somewhere beneath the beige scarf, and so we talked generalities for a while. She knew it was something secretive, but I still hadn’t told her what I wanted. It was deliberate. I wanted her to get impatient and tell me to get to the point or threaten to walk out. She did, more quickly than I thought. “So what can I do, Mr Dobson?”
Then - nothing ventured, nothing gained - I told her as much as I’d told Nagi. Maria’s eyes widened at every new revelation. What was more, she understood drugs, medicine, vaccines, bacteria, and viruses and asked so many questions I found myself defending my shortcomings. “So, I need to find the Egyptian company,” I concluded.
Maria and I were still talking when Nagi called. “Shah Medical Centre,” he said. “It’s a private clinic owned by Dr Ramses El Khoury.”
Somehow, it didn’t sound right, but then he said, “It’s a family planning clinic but hardly anyone attends. According to information the clinic strongly advocates a ‘one family, one child’ policy. Chinese style. For Egypt, the views are, what do you say in English, unconventional. Also, the Shah Medical Centre is importing pharmaceuticals manufacturing equipment from Jordan.”
That was better. “How do you know all that, Nagi?”
“Friends in the banks.”
“What’s he doing with the equipment?”
“Once the bank releases the goods with documents from Shah Medical Centre someone claims the goods from customs and it disappears.”
I turned to Maria. “I think we’ve found your first job, Maria.
Maria had already left when my phone rang again.
I had not spoken to Jimmy since Bangkok but he had called Colin and Colin was now calling me.
“Jimmy has a part-time job at Shah Medicals in Nairobi,” Colin said.
“He’s a cleaner.”
I had this sudden vision of Jimmy grinning at me, wearing a green apron, holding a mop, and pushing a bucket of soapy water.
“Not only did he know Jomo the salesman but Lucky the cleaner,”
Colin said. “You want it word for word? I recorded his call.”
There was a clicking sound, and Jimmy’s voice came through with a voice that sounded as if he was speaking with his head inside his cleaning bucket.
“Tell Mr Franklin that the cleaner’s name is Lucky.” said the voice.
“I went to see Lucky at his house and asked him if he felt ill. I said,
‘Do you feel sick, Lucky?’ Lucky said no. Then I said, ‘How would you like to fall ill with pains in your belly?’ Lucky said no. He was tired, but he felt OK. Then I told him I wanted his cleaning job for a few days. Lucky was very surprised but said he could not afford to take time off. But I said he could easily afford it because I would pay him double to stay away from work for a few days. All he had to do, I said, was to phone and say he was sick with pains in his belly, but that his brother would do the cleaning. Lucky thought it was his lucky day
- no work and double pay.”
“I’ll tell Mr Franklin,” Colin’s recorded voice said. “Any more messages?”
“Yes, the Pakistanis are leaving. Jomo says they are going to work in Egypt. I watch them leave. They wear white trousers tight at the ankles and long white shirts hanging outside.”
In London, Colin switched the recording off. “We’ve traced the Dutchman, Jan De Jonge’s family,” he said. “He’s not married. No girlfriends. His folks live in Utrecht, know he’s disappeared and are worried because he’d run up a lot of debt for some reason. They wouldn’t say what for.”