The Last Cut. Michael Pearce

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      ‘It was dark, Effendi. And, besides, he would have come through the gardens, where there are trees and bushes.’

      ‘There are other watchmen?’

      ‘There are watchmen on all the dams when the river rises. But, Effendi, they would have been watching the dams and the banks.’

      ‘They would have been watching against the river and not against people?’

      ‘That is right. What need is there to watch against people? To strike against the river is to strike against oneself.’

      ‘And yet last night someone did.’

      ‘What could have possessed them, Effendi?’ asked the watchman, shaking his head. ‘Who could do a thing like that?’

      ‘Some loony,’ said Macrae bitterly, now unhelmeted and slumped exhaustedly in the office. There was coffee on the table in front of them. He picked up one of the cups.

      ‘Inexplicable!’ said the Minister. ‘Unless –’ he looked at Owen –‘you don’t think it could have been some ridiculous Nationalist –?’

      ‘Politics, you mean?’ said Macrae. ‘Well, you could be right. Anyone who gets mixed up with politics has to be crazy. Especially in Egypt. Oh, sorry, Minister!’

      ‘Let’s not jump to conclusions!’ said Owen. ‘It could just be an individual with a grudge.’

      ‘Well, let’s hope you find him before he does any more damage,’ said Macrae.

      ‘Are you going to be able to put this right?’ the Minister asked.

      ‘Depends what you mean. We’ll have things more or less under control by the evening. But then we’ll need new gates.’

      ‘New gates?’

      ‘And we’ll have to set them,’ said the other engineer, the one Owen had met at the Ministry. His name was Ferguson. ‘That means that what we’re talking about really is a complete new regulator.’

      ‘But that will cost millions!’ said the Minister.

      ‘Aye,’ said Macrae.

      ‘We’ll have to divert the canal,’ said Ferguson.

      ‘Divert the canal!’

      ‘Aye,’ said Macrae.

      ‘But – but – that will –’

      ‘Cost more millions,’ said Ferguson.

      ‘We have to keep the flow going, you see,’ said Macrae. ‘And you can’t build when the water’s still going through. You have to build somewhere else. Nearby, of course.’ He looked out of the window. ‘The gardens, I should think. And then divert the water into the new channel.’

      The Under-Secretary pulled himself together.

      ‘I’ll put it to them. It – it may take some time.’

      ‘Can’t wait,’ said Macrae. Ferguson nodded in agreement. ‘If you want it done before next year’s rise – and you do – you’ll have to start next month.’

      ‘I’ll put that to them, too,’ said the Under-Secretary, downcast.

      ‘But that’s not the main thing,’ said Macrae.

      ‘No?’ said the Under-Secretary.

      ‘No?’ said Ferguson, surprised.

      ‘No. The main thing is to get the madman who did it. Before he does it again. Owen?’

       2

      The world of water, on the brink of which Owen had hitherto remained, was clearly a different one from any that he had known. It seemed, for a start, to be inhabited primarily by Scotsmen. Owen put this down to the fact that it was technical. He had long established that all engineers, in the Levant at any rate, were Scottish. It must be something in the blood, he decided; which perhaps accounted for him himself having no technical competence whatsoever. He understood enough about such things, however, to know when someone was being given the technical run-around. As here, he suspected.

      After the Minister had left, shell-shocked, Macrae produced a bottle of whisky and three glasses.

      ‘Do you like it with water or without?’

      Owen hesitated.

      ‘Aye,’ said Macrae, ‘you’re right. It’s a big question. I take it with just a splash, myself. It releases the aromas.’

      ‘Aye, but that’s in Scotland,’ said Ferguson. ‘Out here, where it’s warmer, they’re released anyway.’

      ‘You don’t take it with ice, anyway. That’s the main thing,’ said Macrae, pouring a generous dram.

      ‘In the Club, perhaps. With soda. And a different whisky.’

      ‘My view entirely,’ said Macrae. He took a careful sip, nodded approval, and put his glass down.

      ‘Now,’ he said, ‘you’ll have some questions for us, I fancy.’

      ‘Basic facts, first,’ said Owen.

      ‘Aye,’ said Macrae. ‘I like facts.’

      ‘First: time?’

      ‘A couple of minutes either side of two o’clock. Ahmed phoned me at five past. I was here by twenty past.’

      ‘Good.’

      ‘Next, place. You’ll be wanting to know about that. Well,’– he looked at Ferguson for corroboration –‘I’d say bottom right-hand comer of the gates as you look towards the main barrage. About by the culvert.’

      ‘Aye,’ said Ferguson. ‘We’ll be able to tell you better later.’

      ‘What was it done with?’ asked Owen.

      ‘Dynamite, I fancy,’ said Macrae. ‘Where there’s dams, there’s dynamite. Have you checked the store?’ he asked Ferguson.

      ‘Not yet,’ said Ferguson. ‘I will.’

      ‘They’ll have come across the Gardens,’ said Owen. ‘I’ll take a look at those in a moment.’

      ‘You won’t find anything,’ said Ferguson. ‘They’re a labyrinth.’

      ‘I’ll look, anyway. Now I want to ask you about workmen.’

      ‘Workmen?’ said Macrae, surprised. ‘Why?’

      ‘One of them could have done it.’

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