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Omar Khouri – Whatever happened to Mrs. Moghadam? – Who are these Tennant people? – The mechanical perspective – Mind reading exercises
LOOKING IS ALLOWED, STARING IS FROWNED UPON
Rina Prescott reporting
We are enjoying the last warm days of Summer, and the warm woolly jumpers of Autumn remain in our closets for now. As you may have noticed, some of us girls are outgrowing last year’s clothes. The knee length plaited skirt may in some cases no longer touch the ground when kneeling as per regulations. Certain expansions around the upper body areas may cause our uniform blouses to fit somewhat tighter than they once did. Gentlemen, we are aware. Larger skirts and blouses will be acquired as a matter of priority. Until then, please keep your eyes and appreciative comments to yourself.
Thank you.
I was working in my room, reading through the results of an alchemical experiment that for once had not caused the wholesale destruction of apparatus. Prof. Lowe’s post-grads had finally mastered the art of cramming an unreasonable number of nitrogen bonds into a compound that would, if stabilised enough, enable us to blast large amounts of coal with no more than a thimble full of explosive.
There was a knock on the door, and I opened it on Chancellor Malcolm Munroe and a gentleman of Arabic appearance who was introduced to me as Omar Khouri. Mr. Khouri was a diplomat sent us by the Secret Service, and his job was to tidy up the awful mess with Mrs. Najilah Moghadam, the daughter-in-law of Mr. Bouzid Moghadam.
After Mrs. Moghadam’s body had been found, there had been a lively discussion between the British Authorities and the Government of Khartoum, who had invited us to their courts for ‘A Few Questions.’ I’m glad to say this was denied. Once the Khartoum authorities have you, no amount of habeas corpus will get you out. We habemus your corpus, and you can’t have it back. Most of the noise had died down, but Khartoum had not forgotten us.
In a week or so, Mr. Khouri would travel to Khartoum for some polite conversation. But first, he needed some information from us.
Chancellor Munroe introduced us, and left us to it. I offered Mr. Khouri a chair and a cup of tea. He pulled out a notebook.
“Good morning, Professor. I’ll be as brief as possible. There are a few things I need to know from you. But first, let me tell you what I already know.” He leafed through his notebook. “I know that Mrs. Najilah Moghadam is dead. She was shot through the head with a nine millimetre firearm. Her bones were found in the ruins of a burnt-out warehouse on Paarden Eiland.” Mr. Khouri’s voice was even. “Her body was no longer identifiable, but several of her jewels were recognised. They were made for her specially on orders of her husband, Mr. Ahmad Moghadam.”
I knew better than to argue. I said nothing.
“I know that Mrs. Najilah Moghadam travelled from Khartoum to Cape Town on board the airship Lady I, owned by Captain Philip Tennant of the Tennant Airborne Scientific Transport and Expedition Company. We know this because according to the authorities, Lady I was the only airship to arrive from Khartoum the week Mrs. Moghadam disappeared.” Mr. Khouri looked at me. “Khartoum does not have many dealings with Cape Town.”
I kept my silence, preferring to hear Mr. Khouri out. He continued.
“I have been told that Captain Tennant intended to sell Mrs. Moghadam as a slave, to be used for purposes civilised men do not wish to dwell upon.”
“That, Mr. Khouri,” I said, “is a load of old tosh. Captain Tennant is in the business of transporting scientific expeditions. He is not in the slave trade!”
Mr. Khouri gave me a little smile. “It does seem a little far fetched, even though Captain Tennant only founded his company…” he consulted his notebook. “Seven months ago. We must evaluate all information given to us, Professor Wadcroft. One of those pieces of information is that Mrs. Moghadam and her companion were savagely tortured on board, in ways carefully designed not to spoil their bodies for their intended use.”
“Nonsense!” I said, with some heat. “Mrs. Moghadam was treated with the utmost respect and kindness from the moment she stepped on board Lady I up until the moment she decided to leave.”
Khouri made a small note in his notebook. It was in Arabic so I could not read it. He looked up at me. “What about Mrs. Moghadam’s companion? I have been presented with compelling evidence that she was not treated as kindly as you imply. There were signs of… pardon me…” He looked through his notes. “A shot wound to her side, various cuts bruises and scrapes, and substantial damage to her shoulder muscles.” He looked up at me. “Consistent with the Christian torture method of strappado. I assume you know what I am speaking of?”
“None of the Tennants or their crew performed strappado on anyone, Mr. Khouri.”
Mr. Khouri immediately spotted the one thing that my words did not say.
“But there were more people on board than the Captain and his crew, were there not? Perhaps one of them did the deed? But never mind that. Let us return to the late Mrs. Moghadam. The evidence recovered from her bones reveals that she was shot precisely in the middle of her forehead from maybe three to five yards away. There were only two or three people on board who could have accomplished such a feat.” He looked into my eyes. “Do you know who shot her?”
I looked back at him. “No.”
Mr. Omar Khouri sat back in his chair, closed his notebook. I had the impression of being weighed and measured by a precise instrument.
“Professor,” he said. “It is easy for many people to be offended when they are lied to, but I am not one of those people. As a diplomat, I am often lied to, and indeed I have myself told many lies in the course of my duties. I am above such emotions. I understand only too well why people do, and in many cases, I cannot blame them for trying. This, Professor, is not one of those cases. When my job here at Algernon is done, I will travel to Khartoum, to do my very best to convince Mr. Bouzid Moghadam, the governor, that Captain Tennant, his family and crew, and all those on board Lady I, are not his enemy. I have had dealings with Mr. Moghadam before, and he is one of the most shrewd people it is my pleasure to know. It is extremely difficult to deceive him, and it would be inadvisable even to try without a compelling reason.”
Mr. Khouri picked up his teacup, looked at me over the rim. “I must know the truth. If you have in fact harmed his son’s beloved wife, then I will be forced to make him believe that you have not, and to do that, I must lie convincingly. If the truth is that you have not harmed her, my job will be considerably easier.” He put down his teacup. “Now. Do you have anything to tell me?”
I thought a moment, and decided to tell the truth.
“Very well then. Algernon University and those on board Lady I are at conflict with an organisation named Prometheus. Captain Tennant has pursued them all over the world, from Russia to Sudan, to Cape Town, even to South America. At one point, one of their agents, named Sabine Moreau, stowed away on board in an attempt to murder everyone on board and steal Lady I. We were fortunate enough to capture her.”
Omar Khouri turned to a fresh page on his notebook and made notes. “Where did you capture her?”
“She stowed away on board in Paris, and came out of hiding above the Mediterranean to attack Alexandra and Carl while they were servicing an access hatch. Previously, she had sabotaged our engines, leaving us adrift.”
“Hmm.” Mr. Khouri made a few more notes. “What did you do to her after you captured her?” He gave me a piercing look. “I am especially interested in the events that damaged her shoulders. Who tortured her, and why?”
I hesitated. Would he believe me if I told him? I was not there when it happened, and only knew because Carl had told me. I did not want Mr. Khouri draw the wrong conclusions if I misspoke.
“Professor,” said Mr. Khouri. “Besides your faculty members, Captain Tennant, and his family, two more persons were on board. One was a Miss Brenda Lee, who has… let us say an interesting history, and Mr. James T. Riley. Who, Professor?”
I took a deep breath. “It was Riley, to force from her where Slate was hiding. Miss Lee was the one who stopped him. We promptly gave Miss Moreau all due medical care, and Mr. Riley was asked to leave when we arrived in Khartoum.”
“Most commendable.” It was impossible to tell whether Mr. Khouri was being sarcastic or not. “How did Mrs. Moghadam get on board Lady I?”
“I don’t know. She simply appeared on our doorstep, and the Captain was convinced that she would be stoned to death if she were to fall into her husband’s hands.”
Mr. Khouri sneered. “Why would Mr. Ahmad Moghadam want to do a thing like that, Professor? He was completely devoted to her.”
“According to Mrs. Moghadam, there was an allegation of some sort of indiscretion between her and Agent Wainwright. Completely unfounded, of course.”
“Wainwright? He was on board as well?”
“He joined us the same day Mrs. Moghadam did. Do you know him?”
“Professionally yes,” said Mr. Khouri, with a little private smile. “Please continue.”
“We were holding Sabine Moreau in one of the cargo holds. Mrs. Moghadam spoke with her, and was convinced to join her cause. They left together when we arrived in Cape Town.”
“Simply left? How did Mrs. Moghadam achieve this? Surely, you had Miss Moreau under guard?”
I looked straight into Omar Khouri’s eyes. “I believe Mrs. Moghadam… incapacitated the guard.”
“Incapacitated.” Mr. Khouri raised an eyebrow.
“Yes.”
“How, exactly?”
“Um,” I said. We university professors are known for explaining the most complex concepts with exactly the right words.
“Ah,” said Mr. Khouri. Diplomats are well known for their ability to hear things left unsaid.
We shared a moment of quiet mutual understanding that all that needed to be said, had been said on the matter.
“After the ladies left, what did you do?”
“We sent out a search party, of course. Not only for Sabine and Mrs. Moghadam, but for information on Prometheus. Wainwright, Miss Lee, Carl, and Alexandra. They spotted Mrs. Moghadam and set off in pursuit. Alexandra could not keep up, owing to her legs, and was separated. Sabine and Mrs. Moghadam captured her, and took her to a warehouse on Paarden Eiland, for interrogation and as a hostage.” I looked at Mr. Khouri over steepled fingers. “Luckily, she only suffered minor injuries to her face.”
“Compared to Mrs. Moghadam’s injuries.”
“Alexandra was fighting for her life, Mr. Khouri.”
“I believe you, Professor.” He sounded like he meant it. “This world is a violent place.”
“Indeed. Mrs. Moghadam was killed. Miss Moreau was wounded, and escaped. Alexandra found the Hermes device and unwisely alerted Slate to her presence. Slate directed the device to destroy itself and burnt down the whole warehouse.”
“And so ended Mrs. Najilah Moghadam’s brief stint of freedom.” Mr Khouri said. “Allah yarhemha.”
“By her own hand, Mr. Khouri. Nobody told her to take the side of our enemies.”
Mr. Khouri’s cup was empty and he put it down on my desk. His voice was quiet, gentle, sad. “Defiance, professor. A caged bird will eventually resign itself to its fate. But not she. Did you not say Miss Tennant unwisely alerted Slate to her presence? That too was an act of defiance. Why do we admire this in our men, but not in our women?”
I picked up the teapot, refilled his cup. “If you do not mind me saying, Mr. Khouri. You do not sound like what I’ve been led to believe about Muslims.”
“We are legion, Professor, as are the Christians. Surely you do not expect us all to hold the same beliefs?”
“There is a saying that three Christians are a church, and four Christians are a schism. I assume it is the same for Muslims.”
“A safe assumption.” Mr. Khouri sipped his tea. “Thank you, Professor. I think I know what I need to. For now.”
“I am sorry that I could not make your job any easier.”
“We can only take what we are given.” He stood up, and we shook hands. “Inshallah, we will meet again.”
“What ho Wadcroft!”
Margaret was heading my way with a sense of purpose in her step. She grabbed my arm and pulled me in the direction of the Faculty cafeteria. One of the perks of being Prof. Dr. Margaret Enderby was that the cafeteria staff had long since given up resisting and now gave her a pot of tea without question where we mere mortals had to order our tea by the cup. But gracious and magnanimous was Margaret, and she allowed me to share in her bounty.
“Had this man visit me, named Omar Khouri.”
“Ah yes. Mr. Khouri. What did he want from you?”
“Asked me a lot of questions about our Alexandra. How long I’ve known her. Her character. Her upbringing. Her temperament.”
I bowed over to Margaret and whispered. “Whether she habitually shoots Arabic princesses, that sort of thing?”
“You know Wadcroft, you can tell a lot from someone’s questions. Sometimes, they tell you more than you tell them.”
“What do you mean? Leading questions? Trick questions? How you felt when Alexandra told you she’d shot Najilah?”
“Something like that. I gave him the whole story not only about Alexandra, but also Philip, Carl, Fatin, little Raage, Brenda.” She grinned at me. “Philip and all his children, and his children’s children.”
“I’m sure he now admires them as much as do we.”
“How could he not?” Margaret refilled her cup, poured the last of the milk into it. “But the important question is, what kind of story is Mr. Khouri trying to build? What will he tell Mr. Moghadam? From his questions, I think he’s trying to paint Sabine as the main guilty party.”
“And rightly so. She is the one who, for want of a better word, seduced Najilah.”
“Hah! There is no better word. Seduce her is exactly what she did. Sabine Moreau knew exactly how to play Najilah.”
I coughed a little. “Do you think Sabine was… um… romantically interested in Mrs. Moghadam?”
Margaret thought a moment. “From what I know of her, Sabine sees people as playthings. She is an expert at manipulating people. Toying with them. Owning them. She may have wanted Najilah as a new toy. I doubt there was any love there. Sabine Moreau may not even be capable of love.”
“I know what you mean. Schmidt, before he went batty and popped into care for a while, talked about it to me once. Some people can feel others’ pain no more than a man with no eyes can see. They can burn people alive with a happy smile on their faces. Frightening stuff.”
“Yes. She would make an excellent villain in Mr. Khouri’s story. If only it weren’t for the fact that our Alexandra pulled the trigger. It was Sabine’s weapon that killed Najilah. Maybe he’ll try to convince Bouzid that Najilah betrayed Sabine and she shot her for it.” Margaret put down her cup. “Or maybe that is what Mr. Khouri wants us to think. Once he crosses the Sudanese border, his story may well change. Bouzid already thinks that Lady I is a place of dread.”
“What is it that our Mr. Khouri wants?“
“That, my dear Alan, is the heart of the matter.” She sighed, gathered up our empty cups. “And Mr. Khouri is not one to give up his secrets easily.”
I tapped the table in a thoughtful manner. “How could we make sure?”
Margaret got up, picked up the tray to bring it back to the counter. She stopped, grinned at me over her shoulder. “I know exactly who we need.”
“Would you believe that man?” Miss Felicia Sunderland, personal assistant to our celebrated engineer Andrew Parsons, could have boiled her tea without a single lump of coal. “Simply sitting there, asking Andrew, Andrew of all people, whether he ever killed anyone?”
“That is a little… insensitive,” I said.
Miss Sunderland blew out a few flames. “You don’t ask a soldier if he’s ever killed anyone, and soldiers are meant to kill people! It’s their job!”
“Is Andrew all right now?”
Miss Sunderland came off the boil, continuing to seethe quietly. “Mild sedative and bed. He will be better once he writes it all up.”
“What else did Mr. Khouri want to know?”
“He asked me mostly about the conditions on board, both before and after we captured that horrible woman and after Mrs. Moghadam came on board.”
“What did you tell him?
“The truth.” Miss Sunderland looked into her teacup. “I know we were on the warpath, but I must admit, I enjoyed our little holiday. I went swimming in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. I bought the most beautiful dress I have ever seen.” Her smile faded. “And then we were shot at by a Khartoum airship. Someone came on board intending to murder us all. We contemplated executing her.” Miss Felicia shuddered. “But we mustn’t grumble must we?”
“Trying times, Miss Sunderland. Trying times for all.”
Miss Sunderland looked out of the window to the far west. “And it’s not over yet. It won’t be over as long as that horrible man Slate is still at large.”
I looked out of the window to the West. “That is being worked on. When Andrew completes his report, could I have a copy?”
Miss Felicia’s grey eyes twinkled at me. “Is that for your romanticised account of our adventures?”
“Romanticised? I do not romanticise things, Miss Sunderland! I merely collate and somewhat edit what everyone else has written.”
“I did enjoy Carl’s story of how he met Fatin. High passions in the steaming Sudanese rain forest.” Miss Felicia bent over to me. “Did you not embellish that? Not even a little?”
“How? By dwelling on the clay deposits along the White Nile that give it its characteristic colour?”
Miss Sunderland laughed. “That fine sand goes everywhere, doesn’t it?”
“All the way down to Lake Victoria.”
This is a report of my interview on __/__/____ with Mr. Omar Khouri.
Mr. Khouri asked me how my day was going, and I told him that I was constructing a supporting frame structure for a high-pressure vessel used by the Alchemy department to introduce nitro functional groups to a tetrazole ring. This vessel, empty, weighs five hundred and twenty kilograms, must be connected to several high pressure conduits resistant to corrosive substances, and must be able to move between the heating furnace and the pouring station while being rotated by ninety degrees. This must be operated by a system of Bowden cables from a remote location to avoid personnel being injured by explosions should the reaction exceed expected energy levels. Miss Felicia summarised this as working for the Alchemy department.
Mr. Khouri asked me if I remembered my journey on board the airship Lady I, and I told him that I did. He asked me what happened on board, and I told him that the condensation vessels on the main engines reduced four point eight percent more steam to liquid water in cold climates than they did in warm weather. This is within the expected tolerances and no adjustments need to be made to compensate for atmospheric conditions.
Mr. Khouri asked me who else was on board, and I told him myself, Miss Felicia, Professor Wadcroft, Professor Enderby, Captain Philip Tennant, Mr. Carl Tennant, Miss Alexandra Tennant, Mrs. Fatin Tennant, and Miss Brenda Lee.
Mr. Khouri asked why I did not mention that Mr. Riley was on board, and I told him that Mr. Riley only came on board in Paris. He asked about Agent Wainwright and I told him that he came on board at Khartoum. Mr. Khouri then asked about Mrs. Moghadam, and I told him she came on board at 23:34 local time, and Agent Wainwright came on board at an unknown time before dinner at 18:10 local time.
Mr. Khouri asked me if I noticed anything about Mrs. Moghadam, and I answered that she is 169cm tall, her shoulders are 32cm wide, her hips are 34 cm wide, and her left nostril is connected to her left ear with a gold chain 18cm in length, which would be disallowed in the workshop as a hazard, as would be her attire, which is too loose and would present a risk of being caught in machinery. Mrs. Moghadam later removed the gold chain, but did not replace the loose attire in compliance with workshop regulations. Mr. Khouri asked me what her state of mind was when she came on board, and I told him she did not tell me. He asked me if Mrs. Moghadam looked upset, frightened, or distressed. Miss Felicia advised Mr. Khouri that this was not the correct question to ask me.
Mr. Khouri pointed out that I spoke about Mrs. Moghadam in the present tense, and asked me if I knew that she was dead. I answered I had not seen Mrs. Moghadam since she left, but she was in good health and I had no information from which to induce a change in her condition.
Mr. Khouri then informed me that Miss Tennant had shot her through the head with a firearm, and I told him that he was mistaken since aiming firearms at people is in breach of Rifle Club regulations, which Miss Tennant subscribes to. Mr. Khouri pointed out that people sometimes do not adhere to Rifle Club regulations, referring to a time when someone pointed a 9mm revolver at me. He asked me what I did in response. I was unable to answer because my thoughts became confused and I do not remember them.
Miss Felicia asked Mr. Khouri to leave, which he did. She gave me a glass of water with twenty drops of Morphia and I went to sleep.
“You want me to do what?” said Prof. Lutitia McGee of Mental Studies.
“Find out what Mr. Khouri’s deal is,” said Margaret. “See if he’s trustworthy. What his motives are.”
“You have been talking to him. I haven’t. What do you think?”
“I’m not sure,” said Margaret. “He seems nice, but he looks… shifty.”
“What, because he’s an Arab?”
Margaret sneered. “No, because he’s a diplomat. And I have to admit he’s too slippery even for me.” She smiled charmingly at Lutitia. “We need an expert in rummaging about in people’s under-consciouses.”
“Sub-conscious,” said Lutitia. “Don’t play stupid with me, Margaret Enderby. I know you know that term.”
“Q. E. bloody D,” said Margaret. “We need you, Tits. Your hour is come.”
“What exactly do you want me to do? Seduce him and withhold my favours till he talks?”
“Oh would you?” Margaret beamed at Lutitia. “That would be splendid!”
“You hold my moral values in low esteem, Margaret.”
“To the contrary! In times like these, moral values like yours are exactly what we need. The time for prudery is past, and we must embrace the new age, starting with certain Secret Service diplomats!”
“Heh! Why don’t you seduce this Arab then?”
Margaret raised her hands. “Your boobs are greater than mine.” She sighed, and the smile faded from her face. “Tits, joking aside. We need to know if we can trust this person. Whether we can tell him things that would be a powder keg in the hands of our adversaries. He’s already talked to me, and to Alan, and to Andrew and Felicia. Who knows what he read between the lines, or thinks he did. And you were always ten times sharper than I was when it came to finding out what someone was really thinking. We need you.”
Lutitia locked eyes with Margaret. “Now you’re just sucking up to me.”
“Yes. Tell me I’m wrong, though.”
Lutitia stared for a few moments, slowly started to smile.
“All right then. I’ll see what I can do.”
The Algernon Expeditions 