The Levanter Part 11

'There is only one way to make it, on a screw-cutting lathe."

He looked at Tewfiq. 'You have this machine in the factory?'

'No, comrade Salah."

'Then you must obtain one.'

'That,' I said, 'is impossible.'

'Why?'

'Government permission has to be obtained for all machine tool purchases and the need for them justified. We would have no valid reason to support this purchase.'

'Then invent a reason..'

'It would take weeks, even then, to get delivery. We would also need a skilled machinist to do the work. Besides, it is unnecessary.'

'You have just said that it is essential.'

The use of the machine is essential, yes, and a machinist to do the work, but if I needed this part or one like it for something we were manufacturing I would subcontract the job to a machine shop in Beirut.'

'That is out of the question, obviously. Do you not yet understand the need for secrecy?'

'There would be no breach of secrecy. I have used this machine shop several times. A draughtsman makes proper drawings of the part to be machined. The material to be used and permitted tolerances are specified the quant.i.ty we need is given. We do not say what the part is for. That is our business and the sub-contractor is not interested anyway. He does what the drawings and specifications tell him to do. He submits a sample for approval. If we approve it he completes the order and delivers.'

He thought for a moment. 'The draughtsman would have to know what the adapter is for.'

'In that case I would do the drawings myself.'

'Here?'

'No. There are no drawing office facilities here. A rough sketch will not do. There must be clean, accurate machine drawings.'

'These parts cannot be taken away.'

'There is no need to take them away. All I need take are the necessary measurements and particulars. I can do that here. There are callipers and a micrometer gauge in the laboratory. Issa knows where they are.'

Ghaled nodded to Issa who scurried away. I began to examine the gaine and the fuse again, more carefully this time. There were Chinese markings on the fuse, I noticed.

'I take it,' I said, 'that this is one of the wrong-size fuses you mentioned last night?'

'Yes.'

'Have you one of the right size?'

'Yes. Why?'

'When the fuse is inserted it has to be tightened, I a.s.sume, with a wrench.'

'Yes. That is done just before firing.'

'You realise that with a plain adapter ring the wrong-size fuse will only be tightened when the wrench forces it up against this disk inside the collar of the gaine? It could fracture it. Would that matter?'

'It would matter very much. There must be no forcing.'

'Then we need a f.l.a.n.g.e on the ring which will allow the wrong-size fuse to penetrate only as far as the right one.'

'I do not understand.'

I reached for Teresa's note pad and drew a sketch for him.

He nodded. 'Yes, I see. But we need a hundred of these rings. This is more complicated to make.'

'Not really,' I said. 'Turning the f.l.a.n.g.e is easy. The difficult part is cutting the threads. But I must have the right fuse to measure for depth of penetration. It is no use trying to guess.'

'Very well.'

He went to a grey-painted wooden box which was under the bed. He had to pull the box out to raise the lid and I saw that it had Russian lettering stencilled on it. He tried, too late, to conceal the lettering. I pretended not to have seen by busying myself with the things Issa had by now brought in from the laboratory.

Meanwhile, I could draw conclusions. Although I knew nothing about ammunition, some things were obvious. The length and thickness of the gaine suggested that the projectile that contained it was a fairly hefty weapon. It wouldn't be an artillery sh.e.l.l because guerillas like the PAF did not have big guns. It seemed likely then that what Ghaled had was rocket-launchers from Russian sources. The friendly Russians, however, had, intentionally or through negligence, failed to deliver enough fuses to go with them. The Chinese, or persons with access to Chinese supplies, were trying to help him out.

'That is the right fuse,' he said.

It was practically the same as the wrong one. The only basic difference was in the diameter of the threaded section. I took all the measurements I needed from it and Teresa jotted the figures down as I called them out. Then I turned my attention to the wrong fuse. Ghaled watched intently as I used the gauge.

'You take each measurement twice,' he remarked.

'It's as well to be certain.'

'That is very thorough.'

In fact I wasn't being particularly thorough; I couldn't be because I hadn't all the needed measuring tools; but it didn't matter. I knew that these were standard metric threads and that, as long as I got the diameters and pitches exactly right, I could get the other details from a metric series table in the drawing office. I wasn't going to explain all that though.

'If I am not thorough,' I said, 'the adapter ring will not work properly and I shall be to blame.'

Tewfiq chuckled - he was obviously delighted to have been relieved of this responsibility - but Ghaled did not answer immediately.

He watched me in silence for almost a minute before he said: 'I do not think so, comrade Michael.'

'I would not be blamed?'

'I do not think that it is fear of blame that drives you at the moment. Nor do I think that it is loyalty to our cause.'

I didn't like the sound of that, so I pretended to be absorbed in re-counting threads and checking the figures with Teresa. Another half minute went by.

"I think that it is pride,' Ghaled continued thoughtfully; 'the pride that makes it difficult for a man to permit work, any work, to be done poorly when he knows how to do it well.'

That sounded better. I put the Russian fuse down. Ghaled picked it up and weighed it in his hand as he went on.

'And you know how to do many things well, don't you comrade Michael? You are a merchant as well as an engineer, a manager as well as a successful capitalist exploiter. You have so many sources of pride to inflate your conceit. No wonder you so easily become arrogant.'

He said the last word very deliberately and for a moment the heavy fuse became still in his hand. He was waiting for me to answer the charge.

'I am sorry,' I said mildly, 'that you should think me arrogant, comrade Salah. You said that you wished to make use of my knowledge and resources. I have been doing my best to comply.'

'But not without reservations. You see, your arrogance leads you into giving yourself away, comrade Michael. For example, you concealed your prior knowledge of Tewfiq's and Wasfi's cover occupations. But when a moment came when you could show them to be, in your eyes, ignorant men, you did so. You could not resist the temptation.'

He got up and put the fuse back in its box under the bed before turning to me again.

'I told you last night that I had other plans for securing your wholehearted cooperation. They would have involved damage to your company's bank balances rather than to your personal conceit. Perhaps that would have been more effective.'

I said nothing.

'Well, we can still find out if it becomes necessary. Agence Howell ships constantly use the ports of Beirut, Latakia and Alexandria. We have cells in all those places. The cargo fires and engine room explosions we had arranged for can easily be re-ordered. Meanwhile, remember that you have been warned.' He sat down again at the head of the table. 'How soon will the drawings of the adapter ring be ready?'

'It will take me some time, comrade Salah. As a draughtsman I am a little out of practice. The day after tomorrow I should have it finished.'

'And how long then to make the rings?'

'Ten days to two weeks for the sample. When that is approved a week should be sufficient to produce a hundred.'

'Very well.' He looked round the table. 'Comrades Tewfiq and Wasfi have their a.s.signed tasks. They are now excused. Comrade Issa will get the print-maker.' He waited until they had left the room, then opened a folder-one of my office filing folders - which was lying on the table in front of him. On top of the papers inside were Teresa's ident.i.ty card and my pa.s.sport. He looked at us. 'For you two, before your other duties are a.s.signed, there are membership formalities to be completed.' He selected two papers from the folder and glanced at them before pushing them across the table to us. 'Read them carefully before signing, both of you.' What I read was this: I, Michael Howell, a British Commonwealth citizen resident in the Democratic Socialist Republic of Syria and subject to its laws in all respects, do hereby confess, freely and of my own will, to having transgressed those laws by illegally transporting arms and explosives for the use and on the orders of the Zionist secret intelligence service.

It then became more specific. I had, with others whom I could name, conspired to blow up the house of one Hussein Mahenoud Saga'ir in the Lebanese village of Bleideh on the night of the fifteenth day of Muharram in that year. I had actually manufactured the plastic bomb which had destroyed the house of this Palestinian patriot, killing him and all his family. The name of the Zionist secret agent who had recruited me for this filthy work was Ze'ev Barlev, and I had been contacted by him during one of my frequent visits to Cyprus.

In the hands of the Syrian police such a confession would be tantamount to a death sentence - after torture to extract the names of my co-conspirators. The Lebanese police might omit the torture and commute the death sentence to life imprisonment, but that would be the best treatment I could hope for in any of the Arab League countries.

I glanced at Teresa. Her face was pale and still. I reached for her confession and read it. She had been my confederate in the murder of the Saga'ir family and also a courier for the Israeli intelligence service. Her father had been a Jew. The two confessions were more or less the same.

As I finished reading I saw that Ghaled was watching me for signs of a reaction. I forced myself to appear unmoved.

'As a matter of interest,' I asked, 'who is-who was-this man Saga'ir?'

'A traitor who was executed.'

'And why am I supposed to have helped to execute him?'

'All the comrades sign confessions. In that way all can feel safe.'

'I must say, comrade Salah, that this confession does not make me feel safe.'

'Your confession is for the other comrades' safety. Their confessions are for your own. Any comrade who thinks of betraying us must think again when he remembers what the cost to him will be. So do as you are told without further argument. Sign. You will not leave here alive unless you do so.'

Teresa and I signed. As we did so Issa came back into the room carrying a small wooden box which he put on the table.

Ghaled looked at our signatures then handed the confessions to Issa. 'Those comrades who cannot write their names sign only with a thumb print,' he said. Those who can write, however, give a thumb print, too. It is better so. Signatures can be denied, but not prints. Issa knows the way. Follow his instructions.'

The box contained a portable finger-printing outfit of the kind used by the police. Issa rolled ink on to the metal plate and went to work. He obviously enjoyed giving me orders. He declared my first print insufficiently clear, inked my thumb again, grasped my forearm and pressed the thumb on to the paper with his other hand. He did the same with Teresa.

Ghaled took the papers from him, satisfied himself that the prints were clear and then handed me my pa.s.sport. Teresa received her ident.i.ty card.

That is exactly how our much-publicised 'terrorist confessions' were obtained. We neither wrote nor dictated them and there is not a word of truth in the admissions they contain.

I have been asked repeatedly if we knew what we were doing when we signed, and I answer again-of course we knew, dammit! What we did not know was how to avoid signing. We signed under duress; we had no choice.

In the circ.u.mstances I can't blame Teresa for misunderstanding what I did then. To her it seemed that I was merely trying, ill-advisedly and even childishly, to hit back at Ghaled in the only way I could think of on the spur of the moment.

In fact there was nothing impulsive about my move. I wasn't trying to hit back at Ghaled, but to needle him into hitting out at me. A man with his kind of secrets is always under pressure. Anger him suddenly by goosing him with bad news, and, nine times out of ten, he will over-react. Then, in his desire to demolish you and dispose of your bad news, he tends to forget discretion and give himself away.

Of course, it was a dangerous game to play with a violent man like Ghaled; but I desperately needed information and the risk seemed worth taking.

As I put my pa.s.sport back in my pocket, I said casually: 'By the way, comrade Salah, there is something that I think you should know.'

'What?'

'You said last night that there were to be no changes made here, that there were to be no dismissals and that you would continue to use these premises as a headquarters.'

'What of it?'

'I am afraid that the matter will shortly be taken out of my hands.'

'Why? By whom? What do you mean?'

I told him about the projected switch to car-battery manufacture. I went on: 'This place has been running at a loss for months. The original plan was to close it down altogether and build a new factory at Homs for the Italian operation. Later it was felt that that would be a wasteful proceeding and that this works should be changed and extended to accommodate the new plant. This building, for instance, will be modified and enlarged for use as offices. The laboratory and storerooms will be accommodated in the new factory extensions which have been planned.'

'He is lying,' Issa shouted excitedly. 'I work here and I know nothing of these plans.'

'Comrade Issa knows nothing about a great many things,' I retorted; 'I am reporting the facts.'

'Why did you say nothing of this last night?' Ghaled asked quietly.

'Because it didn't occur to me to do so. I accepted your orders then without question. Understandably, I think. I didn't realise until tonight that I should have warned you that my ability to obey those orders might have a time limit.'

'What tune limit? How many weeks?'

That will be for the Minister, Dr Hawa, to say, I am afraid.'

'But he will base his decision on your advice.'

'Unfortunately, my advice has already been given.' I drew from my pocket the copy of the memorandum I had written and handed it to him.

As he read it his mouth tightened grimly. That didn't surprise me. The moment that what I had proposed in the memorandum was agreed, his snug little headquarters, hard by the Der'a refugee camp where his goon squads hid out and conveniently near the Jordanian and Lebanese borders, was going to become the centre of a building site, swarming with outsiders and about as secure from his point of view as a floodlit frontier post.

He stared at me bleakly and for so long that I began to think that he had seen through my ploy.

'I thought that you should be aware of this situation,' I said to break the silence.

'Quite right, comrade Michael. And now you will think of a way of changing it.'