Faff in the Desert

8

8.

Braithwaite sat in his office thinking over the predicament. Despite a series of upsets (inadvertently joining a terrorist organisation, breaking into a house and bedding a man) he felt quite good under the circumstances. He was now in a position of power. Moresby would be for the can. That is, once he had exposed the network and all its devious tentacles. He would bring it all out to the cleansing light of day.

Yes, he knew the score. He was the District Commissioner, no less. This was his house that he needed to put in order and he was going to spring clean the shit out of it. He was going to do his duty, crush the network, get the girl, humiliate Moresby and come out of it a star.

His machinations, however, did not preclude him from the ungodly amount of paperwork that seemed to be multiplying in his in-tray. Arranging the papers on his desk in order of importance, like playing an even more boring form of card solitaire, Braithwaite made three piles. There was the excruciating tedium pile, the get-round-to-it-when-I-do pile and the pile of least disinterest. Let's see, he pondered, licking his thumb to peel the sheets from the tray: grain inspection, tedium; boundary dispute, tedium; communications expenditure, the very pinnacle of tedium.

One paper from the pile caught his interest and he brought it up to his face to better study it. What was this? The document was marked URGENT ATTENTION in red and Braithwaite drew his eye to the by-line.

"Instructions regarding the visit of the His Majesty King Fuad and British High Commissioner," he read aloud. The two biggest wigs in the land, coming here? Braithwaite steeled himself with excitement. What for? He read on.

"The delegation will delight in presenting the newly discovered Pharaoh Tutankhamen, found in the Upper Nile district, to the world's media as a symbol of great historical discovery and enduring Anglo-Egyptian friendship as the transition of government is made from direct rule to people of Egypt. It is entrusted that all needs of the delegation will be met."

Braithwaite skipped to the bottom of the paper to read the particulars.

"Two days' time?" he baulked. "They will be here in two days?" That was not much time at all. How could they arrive here so fast? They must have already left and be steaming their way here at that very moment.

When had this message come in? Probably early this morning by flash telegram. He had arrived late to the district office, the others were probably already in the know. No one had informed him, Braithwaite cursed, annoyed that his unpopularity amongst the mandarins was already manifesting itself.

The was a knock on the door and before Braithwaite could answer, Moresby was standing before him. Speaking of unpopular, grimaced Braithwaite, even the sight of Moresby finicky dress style annoyed him. Who wore a bow tie in this climate?

"Moresby," uttered Brathwaite. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm sure you have read about the impending visit?" said Moresby, sitting down across the opposite side of the desk. How rude this bum-squit was, thought Braithwaite.

"Please, sit," invited Braithwaite, extending his arm so as to labour the point. That Moresby thinks he's the grand fromage alright.

"The king, transitioning leader of a free Egypt and the High Commissioner Lord Allenby, are coming down to our patch," stated Moresby calmly, while inspecting his fingernails for dirt.

"Yes, I am aware."

"With respect, District Commissioner, I do not think you are."

There was a cold silence between the two men.