THE SUPER CONSUL
All of a sudden, meaningless life no more. A challenge was facing me. Short term perhaps but undoubtedly all consuming. A renewal of the obsession. To wake up with the name Lizzie homing in on my soul even before I knew I was alive. Happier that I had a sense of purpose, a challenge. Michael the David versus Abdullah the Goliath. Stealth and peanuts against strength and wealth. Finally freedom versus oppression. I woke up that following morning with butterflies in my stomach. I went through my rounds at work rather absent-mindedly and at around eleven when I was back in my office, I called the man who could help me in this affair. The office boy and usher of the Greek Consulate nicknamed in Official and Egyptian Government circles, the Super Consul.
Aristotelis was about fifty, rather short and ordinary looking. A face in the crowd. He was an orphan who grew up in the orphanages of the Greek community at its peak. Peak or not, an orphanage is never a home and Telly grew up and finished primary school in misery, in hand-me-down clothing and the fleeting concern and doubtful affection of rich ladies involved in charitable work. Undoubtedly, in his early years he was the recipient of ample doses of scorn and contempt. He left school after the primary level and wandered from job to job until he managed to land this lowly position at the Greek consulate as one of the local staff. An office boy, an usher, little better than a servant. In that job, he flourished. There was no chore he would be unwilling to do. He utilized his Saturdays and Sundays doing what people like my father could not be bothered to do. Renew passports, get visas from the Egyptian authorities, and legalize documents, translations, certificates and a host of other government business where the presence of the people involved was not essential. He very often finished business where they were indispensable but unavailable.
In time, as the higher ups, the diplomats rotated every two or three years to different posts and locations, Telly steadily built a network of connections of truly astounding proportions. It was his special talent. He was on an equal footing of familiarity with high government officials all the way down to his opposite numbers, the ushers and office boys. He had connections in most government ministries and the police and state security, a no-joke affair in the days of Gamal Abdel Nasser, as well as the state prison system, which incidentally, extended its hospitality to a handful of Greek nationals. He was indispensable to his superiors when they faced insoluble situations. Nothing was impossible for Telly with his unorthodox and often questionable methods. He was truly the eminence grise of the consulate. And of course, he made money out of it. His services were not free. Why should they be?
He later extended his activities to semi-legal currency trafficking and invested funds in a number of businesses. He became rich but never changed his style, that of a member of the lower classes leading a hand-to-mouth existence. He never changed his miserable apartment on a depressing side street in a depressing neighborhood. He bought houses in Greece for himself and his children and never stinted them anything. His children dressed well and circulated in late model vehicles, traveled abroad and had an expensive education.
I met Telly on several occasions when he carried out routine government business for my father and I gave him his fees, which my father estimated. He always accepted them without protest, with a slightly ironic smile. By that time, he was probably as rich as we were. It was just that our wealth was on show while his was disguised as poverty. We were not at all intimate and not much love was lost between us. When I told him who I was on the phone, his voice was neutral. He agreed to come to our office after he finished work at around three.
He was on time. With the ironic smile, reserved, it seemed, just for me. In his foxy eyes, I was probably a softie, raised with a silver spoon in my mouth who found everything ready on a platter. I ordered coffee.
'What can I do for you?'
'I have a rather strange problem and I need your advice and help.'
'What is the problem?'
'There is an American woman married to an Arabian national, living in Arabia and I want to spirit her away from there.'
'To abduct her?'
'Well, you might put it this way. Obviously with her consent and cooperation.' He smiled. The irony was blatant.
'Why would you want to get involved in a scheme like that?' I kept my cool.
'That is not where your advice is needed. I want you to help me in the procedure of the scheme.'
'I have no idea how to get her out.'
'Well I have.'
'So what do you want from me?'
'I want your help. I need your connections. You must know people at the airport.'
'I do. Most of them.'
'Do you know anyone at the Arabian embassy?'
'Yes. A good many of the employees.'
'There you are.'
'Oh but you know, I am very busy at the moment. I haven't the time.'
'Listen Telly, you name your price. I am not asking for a favor.'
'What will you pay? Your father usually paid me as he pleased. But I respected your father and I did not argue. He was a self-made man like me.'
I ignored the insinuation.
'In this case you name your price. There will be no haggling.'
'It's settled then. When I think money is due to me I shall ask for it. Perhaps, we shall also need some money for bribes. You will have to trust me on that.'
'I trust you.'
'Where do we start?'
'I shall need an authentic Greek passport for the woman, showing her as my wife.'
'Oh hell. I cannot start doing dirty work right in my own backyard.'
'That's a fine start, Telly.'
'Let me think. Let me think.'
He closed his eyes and passed the palms of his hands slowly over his face. Then he looked at me.
'Where is your mother?'
'In Greece.'
'Is she coming back?'
'No.'
'Then tomorrow you must come to the consulate to write an application on behalf of your mother asking for the issue of a new passport due to the loss of the old one. If they ask for her in person, tell them she is ill, at home, and that you have to take her to Greece to see her doctor. I shall be there to help things along should help be needed. Also, bring two passport photos. I presume you shall be going to Greece for Christmas.'
'Yes.'
'In that case, give her the new passport and bring back the old one. An old document looks less suspicious and can be altered without showing. It will also have old visas and renewals, arrival and departure dates. A one hundred percent authentic document. We shall have to replace your mother's picture with that of the woman, the year of the date of birth and the name of the husband. We must also stamp in it a date of arrival, at the airport, when you return. To show that the owner of the passport has in fact entered Egypt after a sojourn in Greece. Everything must be in perfect order. I hope you have a passport picture of the woman.'
'Not a passport photo but I can have one done. That's not a problem.'
'Then I shall expect you tomorrow. One step at a time.'
'Good. I was not mistaken to call you.'
He got up and we shook hands. For the first time I saw on his face a friendly smile.
Next day at the consulate, he more or less ignored me but kept a sharp eye on the proceedings. In any case, it was smooth sailing. The employee asked where my mother was and I answered that she was at home feeling unwell and rather weak. The new passport would be ready in three days. After the consulate, I walked to an Armenian photographer I knew nearby on the same street and I showed him a picture of Lizzie I had selected. Could he fashion passport photos from that single picture? 'How many pictures?' 'A dozen.' 'They'll be ready tomorrow.'
I went back to the office and worked as well as I could. My mind kept wandering to Lizzie, my heart beat faster and butterflies fluttered in my belly. I could not believe there would come a day, soon, when I would see her again. Surely, something would happen to prevent it. It would be all right if the world ended, if I died, if there was an invasion from outer space. Barring that, I could not let the rescue attempt fail. I would not be able to live with a failure. And Corina? Well that was another heartache. We were two beings with the same problem. We both loved persons who did not love us as much. I loved Lizzie but she did not love me enough. Corina loved me but I obviously did not love her enough. I loved her enough to have pangs of conscience for any pain I might cause her but not enough to forget Lizzie. Lizzie, with a blunder reasserted her hold on my heart and hopes. I would desperately try to save her. I could not help it. I wanted nothing else.
That afternoon I did not go to the club. I did something I had never before done in my life. I went down Kasr El Nil street and started looking at shop windows for women's clothing. Dresses, suits, slacks, jackets, woolen pullovers, underwear. A new fascinating world. I wondered how to go about buying these articles. I could have consulted Jack but I was superstitious. I was afraid that if my scheme leaked to any person other than Telly, something would go wrong. I would have to manage on my own. Moreover, I should start immediately. Not much time left to build a wardrobe.
I entered a shop and looked around. A salesgirl approached and I told her I was just having a look. I was having a look not at the clothes just then; I was looking at the sales girls. No, I did not find what I was searching for. I left and repeated the search in four or five other shops until I found the girl I wanted. Dark skinned and plain, with rabbity front teeth, frizzy black hair and a near perfect body in Lizzie's mold and height. I approached her and concocted the story that I wanted to buy some clothes for my wife who was abroad taking care of her sick parents. As she happened to have the same build and height as my wife, I would be extremely obliged if she could help me with the choosing and the sizes. That brought an understanding smile to her lips and we got down to work. Another girl joined us and I bought the first batch of clothing for Lizzie. As for the taste, I could not vouch for that. I tried to temper their tendency towards the elaborate and flashy that seemed to attract them. Personally, I preferred simple lines and pastel colors. A happy mean, however, was achieved. An over-generous tip made the girl, Samiha, promise to help me with other purchases outside their shop especially for underwear. I was overjoyed to have solved this problem with plain little Samiha, a model for a Goddess.
In the evening, after an early dinner, I wrote to Corina explaining quite truthfully the whole situation. I stressed that it was impossible for me to ignore this cry of help from Lizzie. Less frankly, and indeed hiding my innermost yearnings, I told her, I did not believe this unfortunate muddle, whatever its outcome, would affect our relationship and we would arrange to see each other soon enough. Let Corina's razor- sharp brain figure out the odds. I, personally, could not. After finishing the letter, I tried to concentrate on a book but found it impossible. I could not get my mind off the project and the contractions in my stomach were so frequent I thought I would soon be getting an ulcer. The risk of failure of the undertaking overwhelmed me. Its simplicity seemed at times simple-minded. So did ignoring the danger involved. I went to bed early but the frenetic activity of my brain subsided only with the use of a tranquilizer.
Next day at around noon, I went to Artine for Lizzie's passport photos. They were super. You would have thought she had posed for them. Her beauty intact, overwhelming. In the afternoon, I played squash and jogged at the club. I exhausted myself and forgot my anxieties. With exhaustion, optimism seemed to settle in my being. It was my best tranquilizer. Undoubtedly, I was in a strange period of my life. I ceased going out at night. I did not answer the phone. I was constantly mulling over the plans, searching for possible flaws. Thinking of Lizzie. Deriving courage from her pictures. Thinking of Corina too and the betrayal I was ready to commit at the vaguest of Lizzie's nods.
Christmas was a week away and I was about to leave for Greece. I went with an embarrassed Samiha to buy a half dozen bras, a dozen culottes, a few slips and nylon stockings, all her size, and what with me deciding the quantities and paying the bill the whole thing looked highly irregular. A day later, I retrieved, without a hitch, my mother's new passport from the consulate.
Christmas and the New Year in Greece are festive occasions. They are family celebrations and there is not a house without decorations and a Christmas tree. Not a shop in town, for that matter, without them. It was my first holiday in Greece where I could hardly wait for it to end. I tried to be my normal self but was distraught and preoccupied much of the time and my mother noticed it. I made lame excuses and tried to laugh it off. Somewhere along the line, I gave her the new passport and took the old one. On the third day of the New Year, I left for Cairo in the afternoon. At Cairo airport, I caught sight of Telly in an office with airport officers. An official approached me as I was standing in a long line for passport control and asked me for the two passports. He stressed the word, two, and told me I need not stand in line but could move to the area where the luggage was being unloaded. A few minutes later, he returned them and said everything was in order.
Next day I called Telly and asked him to pass by. He said he would have come even without my call. At three, he came in smiling. No irony, there. More like self- satisfaction.
'Let me see the passport.' I gave it to him.
'Aha, very good. The entry into the country is stamped and I see the passport is valid for another year. It is also in good shape. Have you got the photos of the woman?'
'How many do you want?'
'I need just one but better give me two. One as a spare.'
'Here you are.'
'Oh, a beautiful woman! Now, perhaps, I understand.'
'Perhaps you don't.'
'I said, perhaps. So what shall I change the date of birth to?'
'Nineteen thirty-six'
'Name of husband?'
'Michael, instead of George.'
'It will cost you two hundred pounds.'
'Wow!'
'Perhaps you'd like to do it yourself?'
'Don't be silly. I was simply surprised. It's quite a lot of money.'
'He's a professional forger. A real artist. So give me a hundred now and when you see the finished article, the other hundred. If you discover the slightest flaw, you get your money back.'
'When will it be ready?'
'In three days' time. I'll be here on Saturday at three.'
Saturday afternoon at three, Telly came to the office. He proudly presented the passport. I opened it and marveled at the perfect workmanship, or should I say artistry. Lizzie's picture in place, looking slightly worn just like my mother's was, with the consulate's stamp taking a corner and the rest of it on the passport. The special round clips holding the picture on the page had been removed and replaced without damaging the paper or showing the slightest tampering. The changes in writing indistinguishable from the rest. The passport in the same good shape.
'It really is very good, Telly. I bow to your forger.'
'That makes it another hundred.'
'Sure. Here you are.'
'What do we do now?'
'First of all, two exit visas and two re-entry visas from the Egyptian authorities. Then, I need two entry visas for the Arabian Principality. I know they are rather sticky at dispensing them. Also I want some connection there, at the airport in Arabia, to stamp a date of entry on the woman's passport.'
'Good. Give me another hundred. I have to pay for the visas and maybe give a few tips as well.
'Do you need any passport photos?'
'No, I won't need them for the visa applications. In these Arab countries, they are rather wary of photographs. Something to do with their religion that forbids them to replicate the human image. In any case, the passports of their women are without photos. No sense putting in a picture of a veiled woman.'
'When will you bring me back the passports?'
'Well, tomorrow's Sunday so I'll be able to go to the Embassy and although they usually take a week to issue a visa, I'll try to get it done the same day. I'll pass by on Monday at three, as usual.'
'Okay Telly. Things seem to be moving along smoothly.'
'And why shouldn't they? It's a worthy cause. God is with us.'
'Okay, okay. Cut it out, Telly.'
On Monday, he came at two. He gave me the passports and I opened them and saw the visas.
'Are you sure you did not forge them?'
'No, no. No problem in getting them. Forging is a last resort. And much more expensive.'
'Good. Did you ask them about stamping an entry date on the woman's passport?'
'Yes. To start with, there are never any women traveling unaccompanied to those countries. They do not issue visas to single women. A woman without a man is automatically suspect, a loose woman, a prostitute and they want to keep their country clean.'
'So, of course, they come here for their carryings on.' He laughed.
'Yes,' he said, 'but that's none of our business. At the passport control, at the airport, the women usually retire to one side and the men present the passports. Out of delicacy, the officials never ask to see the woman whose passport they are checking. I was assured it never happens.'
'Even to Europeans?'
'Even to Europeans. So you just present the two passports and they shall be stamped together, automatically.'
'Fine. Everything seems straightforward.'
'Anything else?'
'Yes, of course. I want you to get hold of some dollars for me.'
'How many?'
'Five thousand pounds' worth.'
'I take a five piaster commission on every dollar.'
'Take ten.'
'No. I take five but you will be sure that the dollars are genuine and I'll bring you notes in large denominations. The rate is anywhere between sixty and seventy-five piasters a dollar depending on whether they are available. You see it's an illegal market and the fluctuations are mad. It's a dangerous game, too. One must have the connections. If you give me time I'll get you a reasonable rate.'
'Yes. Okay. I think I shall not need them for another ten days.'
'That's good enough. However, you must give me the money now. I must have it on hand.'
'You have plenty of money, Telly. Buy them and my money is ready.'
'You either trust me or not. I want the money in advance.'
I opened my personal safe and removed five batches of ten-pound notes. He took them and started counting them.
'For heaven's sake Telly, they are correct. I counted them myself.'
'Sorry but it's the way I work.'
He moved the elastic band to the bottom of each pack and his practiced fingers blurred over the notes, which started flipping at an astounding rate. I wondered if he was counting or just pretended to. In a jiffy, he went through the lot.
'Correct.'
'No kidding.'
'So that's it. Within ten days, I shall bring you the dollars. It might be tomorrow or in a few days. Don't worry though if I am a little late.'
'I won't worry Telly. You would not spoil your reputation for five thousand pounds or fifty thousand for that matter. Though I wouldn't be too sure about five hundred thousand.'
He smiled, once again, ironically without answering. He seemed to enjoy this friendly antagonism. Everything was practically ready. I now had to wait for Sarah Dawson to show up.
Again, like a racehorse, which is raring to go but is restrained, I had to submit to an enforced patience. I had no preoccupations on my mind other than Lizzie gnawing away at my insides when I was not busy in endless, routine activity. It was a waiting game at odds with my natural impatience and need to move on and act and the reluctance I felt in postponing important matters. Luckily, I did not wait for long. On Monday, I received a telegram announcing Sarah's arrival on BOAC next day. Immediately, I went to the Misrair, the Egyptian airline offices, and bought two tickets for Arabia for my wife and myself in exactly a week's time with return two days later. I particularly chose Misrair for its regular daily flights.
On Tuesday evening, I went to the airport to pick up Sarah. She came out smiling her ready and winsome smile, in a red dress, white coat and a red beret on her head, looking very English. On the way home, I told her Lizzie was very lucky to have such a good friend. I confessed the possibility of her not turning up worried me. It would have been a considerable blow to my plans.
'So you did come up with a plan, Michael?'
'Yes. I managed to make a new passport for Lizzie with a different identity. In it, she is Evangelia Makris, my wife. I shall come to Arabia and with your help, we shall coordinate it so that I meet with Lizzie and it's off to the airport and away. All in one go. She has to leave her home just as she is. I shall arrange the rest.'
'Oh, I say! That's a smashing idea. So simple. Of course, I realize, there must be risks lurking behind it.'
'Not so simple, either. For instance, can Lizzie move about freely? Can she go for walks or shopping on her own?'
'Oh dear. I did not think of that. No, she usually has a bodyguard following her.
Or else goes by car.'
'You see, already a problem. Even the simplest irregularity is full of traps. Any idea how we can overcome this?'
'Well I can go and pick her up. Usually when I go out with her in the daytime or early afternoon, Abdullah lets us dispense with the bodyguard.'
'No Sarah, I don't want you involved. You may land in trouble even if you say you lost her in the crowds. On the other hand, perhaps, we can give the slip to the bodyguard. Are there any big shops with more than one entrance?'
'Yes. A few.'
'All we need is one or two. She can go in one door and out the other. That is, if the bodyguard does not follow her inside.'
'No. They usually wait for her outside.'
'One last question, is her house close enough for her to walk to the shop? And what about your house?'
'It's not so very close but Lisa often walks to the shopping district for exercise.
My house is not far off, either. Why do you ask?'
'These details are important. Before we forget, can I have your telephone number and address?'
She dictated them to me and I wrote them out in a small notebook. I asked her if she lived alone and she said, 'Yes.'
'On the day I arrive we must go together to look at the shops and the next day, after you finish work, you must take Lizzie, even if she knows the shop, to show her exactly from where to enter and where to exit and where I shall be waiting for her. It would be unfortunate to have a mix-up of doors or shops or street corners. This will be the rehearsal and of course try to avoid having a bodyguard trailing you. But even if one comes along, I am sure you will manage to show her everything without arousing his suspicion.'
'Gracious, it's starting to sound exciting.'
'What are the shopping hours in the afternoon?'
'Six to nine, usually.'
'The plane departs at eight so we barely have time. If Lizzie manages to give the slip to the bodyguard as soon as the shop opens, we will just make the airport on time for the flight. Hopefully, there will be a delay. At the Misrair office they told me delays are much the rule because after Arabia, the plane goes to a nearby Emirate and returns to pick up the passengers for Cairo.'
'Gosh, things are not simple after all.'
'No, and without your help the difficulties would be insurmountable. Now, I believe, we have a chance to pull it off.'
Sarah left the next morning and in the afternoon, I started searching for a furnished flat in Zamalek for Lizzie. She could not stay in a hotel and I did not want to bring her home. If the affair tripped up somewhere and things became grim, I would not want Lizzie traced through my house. However, the flats were atrociously furnished, dirty and ridiculously expensive. On top of that, they were usually associated with networks of call girls that serviced prospective tenants, mainly Arabs from the Gulf States and Arabia. I called Pavlos for help and he generously offered to lend me his parent's old flat, which he kept intact for sentimental reasons and for his sisters' visits to Cairo. He said he would have the place thoroughly cleaned and I should meet him the day after tomorrow for the keys. Another problem solved conveniently. I was starting to worry. Would problems put in an appearance in Arabia?
Next day Telly came at three. He sat down and I offered him a coffee. He sipped it, quietly talking to me about yesterday's football match.
'I don't give much of a damn about football.'
'Relax. I have the money. Here you are, seven thousand seven hundred dollars at the unexpectedly good rate of sixty-five piasters to the dollar.'
'Oh, very good.'
'So now you owe me three hundred eighty-five pounds, commission for the currency, five hundred for fees of services rendered and another five pounds for the eight dollars that made the amount a round figure. That adds up to eight hundred and ninety pounds.'
'Good.'
'If it's too much, I can manage a small reduction.'
'Oh, cut it out Telly. And I can manage without that big heart of yours. I shall be leaving on the eighteenth in the morning. I want the woman's passport stamped with an exit date just like mine.'
'I shall have to call the airport to find out who's on duty and will get in touch with you directly.'
I went to the safe, picked out a thousand-pound packet, removed eleven ten- pound notes and gave him the rest. Once again the same impressive performance in counting the money. But his time when he put them in his pocket he said, 'Thank you.'
I woke up a little later than usual on that Friday 15th. Instinctively, my arm reached out and I picked up Lizzie's pictures, which were on my bedside table. Good morning Lizzie. Three more days to go. Five for you. We're nearly there. I looked them over and they set my adrenaline coursing. I tried to read but could not concentrate. I thought of Pavlos. I had to call him but it was only nine o'clock and Pavlos would be asleep. I dressed and after breakfast went to the club and played squash with the trainer. By the time I showered and dressed, it was twelve-thirty and I called Pavlos, went to his house, took the keys and left. I knew his parents' flat. It was a penthouse in a luxurious apartment building in an aristocratic part of Cairo called Garden City.
I returned home and packed a suitcase with the amount of clothing I imagined Lizzie would need for a two-day stay away from home. I then found a larger suitcase and packed the rest of her clothing, which I carried to the car and on to Pavlos's family home. I unlocked the door and entered a setting from the past. The luxury was manifest. French furniture with Aubusson armchairs and Beauvais salons. The grand piano on which his sisters tortured Chopin, Liszt and Mendelssohn. Old paintings on the walls, Chinese vases, curios and bric-a-brac scattered all over the place. An immense maple- furnished dining room and large bedrooms, each with a bathroom. A supremely elegant home, empty and sad. Pavlos preferred the modern style and contemporary luxury.
I went on a tour and found the master bedroom whose master was dead and mistress in a nursing home in Greece. I hung Lizzie's slacks, jackets and suits in the cupboard. I put her underwear, pajamas and shirts in drawers and noticed the sheets on the bed were fresh and clean. The bathroom smelt of disinfectant and sweet smelling detergents. Brand new bars of soap were on the washbasins and clean towels in the bathroom cupboard. Pavlos was often exasperating but one could not deny his good points. He was a generous and thoughtful host.