Open Writing

DWC Sally Anwar did talk it over and was more relaxed next day much to Hartley’s relief. She wanted to remain on the case, and attended the meeting Hartley at the Khans’ house the other side of town. They were safe there and could come and go unseen.

Their home was an old Edwardian house and stood screened by trees in a large garden on the edge of Romerton Moor. It was there she had a great surprise. She was introduced to Dr. Saniyya Misha, her co-noviciate at the initiation ceremony. Neither she nor Khan could believe it when she walked in, but Colonel Waheeb explained all as they admired Khans’ antiques. They’d recently bought a Regency table. It caught their attention the minute they entered the room for at the top of each leg there were sphinxes’ heads, wearing head-dresses like those they’d worn at High Royd House.

“When that awful woman came across to cut your hair, I thought we’d had it,” said Dr. Misha.

They went over their ordeal again and how at the meal after it Gamal Riad had become drunk. He’d tried it on with them till Whitcliff took him to one side and put him well and truly in his place. Whitcliff was clearly the boss.

But before they left, Riad had given Sally his card and asked her to call him. As well as his address in Bradford the card had a London address, on the back. If he hadn’t been so drunk he’d have realised he’d given her the wrong card. She showed it to Inspector Hartley. The London address sounded familiar to him. He took out the notebook Mrs Adams had given him and flicked through it.

“I thought as much,” he grunted. Then passed the book to Colonel Waheeb. “It’s the address of The Western Armaments Company.”

Waheeb raised his eyebrows. “So that’s where they’re getting their stuff now,” he said, and made a note. “They used to ship in their weapons from Libya, but we plugged that hole. Now they’re getting them from here - from Britain! But how?”
Inspector Hartley shrugged his shoulders. “With friends in high places, you can get most things here. Embargoes notwithstanding. Just put the right amount of money into the right accounts and there you are!” He pocketed the notebook before continuing, “Did you notice the address next to the armaments company address?”

“There was a name connected with your Ministry of Defence,” said Waheeb.

“A junior minister. One of the missing girl’s clients. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if our man from the ministry wasn’t gun-running for the El Tubans, as well as playing fast and loose in London. That’s the way it goes in politics.”
“But how do they get their stuff out to Egypt?” asked Khan.
Then it dawned. Riad, Mukhtar. The loaned artefacts returning to Cairo from the Institute.

“We must check out the next consignment from the Institute,” Colonel Waheeb.

“There’s a whole lot of material already crated ready to go to the Cairo Museum,” said Saniyya Misha. “Shall I see what’s in it?”

“No,” said Mordecai Waheeb. “Let it run. I’ll arrange to have it opened and re-packed. We don’t want to alert them. We want to catch the big fish when we cast our net, not the minnows.”

When they’d completed their briefing at Khan’s place, Inspector Hartley checked out the list of directors of The Western Armaments Company. Surprise, surprise! Sir Jeremy Listerton, the junior Defence Minister, was on it. His constituency was in Yorkshire and he was a good friend of the Chief Constable. A regular client of Kathy Burton, too.
When Inspector Hartley beavered deeper, he found out that The Western Armaments Company had drawn up contracts signed by a Dr. Gamal Riad, contracts made by a subsidiary owned by Listerton. It was all legal, customs said. All above board. And they told him where the containers were stored before they were shipped out.