Stopping World War Three

by Stan Mason

  Penny started to become panic-stricken as he pressed the point of the knife to her throat, drawing a small amount of blood. ‘Tell him you’ll do it, Jason... please! Tell him you’ll do it!’ Her face had turned red and her mouth was open, gasping for breath.

  ‘Leave her out of this!’ I managed to say still suspended by my hair. ‘My decision has nothing to do with her!’

  ‘Do I get a yes or a no? He wasn’t going to let her off the hook and seemed willing to kill her in cold blood to prove his point.

  ‘All rightl, Primar. Cut it out!’ I told him, realising that, in truth, I was the one who held the whip hand. Without me, he had nothing. ‘Let her go or you won’t get those plans... ever! And that’s a promise!’

  He pushed Penny on to the settee and nodded to Kemal to release me. ‘Be very careful, my friend!’ he snarled. ‘Violence will always win in the end if one is prepared to use it. I expect there will be a delay before you acquire the plans but if you deny me you won’t live long enough to tell anyone about it. And that’s my promise!’ To make an impression, he leaned forward and swung the knife behind Penny all the way along the top of the settee slicing a long gash in the material. ‘These knives are really sharp, you know,’ he remarked casually. ‘Imagine what they would do to a pretty throat if one had the mind to use it.’

  I swallowed hard. The man was right. The meek would never inherit the earth... it would fall to the revolutionaries, the dictators, the tyrants, the despots and anyone else who used violence. What was the old adage? Kill one man and they hang you; kill ten thousand and they’ll pin a medal on your chest! History proves the validity of the anecdote.

  ‘I’ll give you seven days,’ he told me in a parting shot. ‘I advise you not to let me down.’

  The two men left the premises swiftly and I locked the door behind them before turning to my secretary. ‘You know all about this right from the beginning, didn’t you?’ Although I asked the question, I knew that her reply was completely unnecessary. Of course she knew all about it, that’s why she became my secretary at Dandy Advanced Electronics.

  She picked up the towel and started to dry my hair. ‘That’s what my mission was all about. But it wasn’t supposed to happen this way. Primar had instructions to get the plans. He sought you in the Costa del Sol and befriended you for that reason but they were not for him but for the organisation. He has no right to get those plans for his own purposes. I asked you to trust me and I still do. I’ll get everything sorted out including the mystery of your wife.’

  ‘What do you suggest we do now?’

  She tossed the towel to a corner of the room. ‘I’m glad you asked that,’ she responded warmly. ‘After what just happened, now is the time to make love.’

  ‘You’re nuts!’ I told her flatly. ‘My bones still ache and we were both at death’s door a few minutes ago.’

  ‘I know,’ she returned. ‘That’s what turns me on and makes it so much more exciting. Do you know that the time most people feel that way is at a funeral. Just hold me tightly and I’ll make sure all your aches will go away.’ She opened up the bed-settee again, pulling me down on it before starting to undo my wet shirt.

  ‘By the way,’ I ventured, ‘I didn’t ask you before but you’re wearing a dress. You came here in a uniform yesterday. Where di you get the dress?’

  ‘In the wardrobe over there,’ she replied smoothly. ‘There’s a whole rail of them in there.’

  ‘And they all fit you, I suppose. They’re all of your size.’

  She smiled sweetly. ‘As it happens they are.’ She rolled on top of me and began to laugh. ‘You asked for eggs and bacon,’ she chortled. ‘In Israel... eggs and bacon! Oh, Jason, I’m crazy about you!’ Her lips then met mine and I became lost in sensation!

  Chapter Six

  Jaffa is unusual in its geography in that the coastline to the north regresses to form a knee-shaped bend. This peculiar characteristic, protected by numerous coastal rocks, enables small ships to anchor in the bay, presenting a squadron of sea vessels of all different shapes and sizes as part of the panorama. It was not difficult to understand the reason why Jaffa had played such an important role in history, originally serving as the port for Jerusalem. Its sheltered harbour above which the city looms on a rocky hill, made the settlement an easily fortified seaport and commercial centre. The harbour is quite small, however, so that larger vessels must anchor some way out in the Mediterranean, close to the Rock of Andromeda, and unload with the aid of smaller boats and rafts. At night, one can see lights moving along the shore as the fishermen land their catches of sardines.

  It was a blistering hot day. The sun blazed like a torch in the sky bleaching walls, baking earth, and sapping human energy. Penny was dressed in a light white blouse and grey slacks and we walked directly to the harbour in Jaffa, keeping as close to the sea as possible to gain the benefit of any gentle breezed that might become available. We arrived at the port at a leisurely pace and gazed at one of the tourist attractions. It was a mosaic floor, evidently the paving of an early synagogue which had been built there in the early Byzantine period, about the sixth century a.d., depicting King David playing a harp dressed as Orpheus, the Greek mythological hero. We left the dock area to push our way through the tightly-crowded flea market in Jaffa. It was a most unpleasant experience. The jostling of bodies as they pressed and nudged each other, moving in different directions between the stalls, the shouting of the customers and traders as they haggled over prices, and the babble of the crowd which made so much din became almost too much to bear in the oppressive heat. We took flight from the bazaar with haste to break away from the multitude, retreating down a narrow rugged street which had an uneven surface and no pavement at all. It was a slum area strew with rubble and decaying matter resting incongruously against the walls of the houses, lying stinking and inert below inscrutable shuttered windows. A stench of unknown origin pervaded the air with an odious aroma which was not only foul but remained ubiquitously persistent. There was no escape from the repulsive presence.

  It took us a while to find the house we wanted. By then, within the confines of small alleys which were protected from the sea breeze, the effect of the heat was intolerable. When we finally arrived at the place, the house of Menel wore a façade that seemed centuries old. In every respect, it was deplorable. The property was terraced, although it was only fair to say that the whole street from start to finish was terraced. Every house conformed to time-honoured architecture, each one exhibited ochre-coloured walls baked hard by the constant rays of the sun. Each house was offset by dull brown or green shutters, most of the paint of which had been stripped off by the austere weather conditions in the effluxion of time. The hovel seemed inconsistent with the cause of the 21st Century Crusaders but that was not our affair. Penny and I gazed at each other for a few moments and then I hammered on the door with my fist, there being no other means to attract attention. After a short while, a tall bearded Arab answered and stared at us with a fierce expression on his face. I was immediately reminded of Kemal but thrust the image of that giant to the back of my mind. The man bade us to enter with a sweep of his hand and we shuffled into the dark hallway unable to see anything at all after the door was closed due to the fact that the pupils of our eyes were still accustomed to the brilliant sunshine outside. The Arab moved swiftly past us and we stumbled behind him blindly into a room where a man sat behind a large table.

  ‘Good morning,’ he greeted in excellent English, although his accent was slightly clipped. ‘I am Menel. I welcome you to my humble home where we shall enjoy some refreshments and discuss matters relevant to both of us. Please sit down’

  We relaxed in low comfortable chairs as Menel studied our faces closely in the dim light. He was a dapper man, dressed smartly in a black pin-striped suit completely out of touch with the surroundings. Despite the fact that the temperature in the room must have been a
lmost a eighty degrees he still wore a white shirt and a tie knotted up to his Adam’s Apple. It was difficult to determine whether he was an Arab or a Jew, not that it mattered, for he was probably a mixture of both anyway. His brown face had a slightly longer appearance as a result of the absence of hair on his head and he sported the smallest of moustaches which fitted neatly on the central ridge below his nose. Menel had two obvious nervous habits. The first was to rub the middle finger of his right hand over his tiny moustache at regular intervals. The second involved jutting out his jaw and moving his lips over the front of his false teeth before releasing them in a kind of spasm. Yet despite these nervous traits he carried an air of authority which commanded respect, while his manner, although curt, was pleasant.

  It soon became apparent that Menel was in no hurry to launch into the meeting and he scanned us closely in the interim period. Then, suddenly, he clapped his hands together twice and the bearded Arab swathed in white clothing brought in a tray bearing cups of dark liquid which he offered to us without speaking.

  ‘Please accept my humble hospitality,’ begged our host meekly. ‘The hot coffee will cool you down but you may be surprised by its taste. If you require any other refreshments... falafel, peanuts, pumpkin seeds... they’re all yours for the taking.’

  ‘Falafel?’ I asked with interest.

  ‘Falafel are little balls of ground peas fried in oil, wrapped in pitta... a kind of bread spiced with hot peppers. We have many delicacies if you’d like to try them.’

  ‘No thank you,’ I replied feeling slightly nauseous at his reply, having regretted asking the question. ‘I’ll stay with the coffee, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘You’re not used to our way of life,’ he continued amiably. ‘We have many customs which may seem strange to you. You will learn to love us though... if you live that long.’

  The hair at the back of my head started to bristle as I stared at him with alarm. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  Menel jutted out his jaw and moved his lips over his front teeth. ‘Information of the sensitive kind brings its own danger. The more sensitive, the more dangerous. We live in troubled time where the emphasis on intelligence becomes more imperative each year. You see, more wars are in progress in the offices of secret service agencies in most countries than are ever fought on the battlefield. You are amateurs at the bottom of the pile. I can only assume that you like to live dangerously.’

  ‘You don’t believe in pulling punches, do you?’ I responded swallowing hard.

  ‘It depends on how much you value your life!’

  The air was hot and absolutely still with just a gentle whiff of breeze coming from a small fan fixed to the ceiling. The stench of inadequate plumbing and the cooking of spicy foods in the kitchen was almost overwhelming although the awful smell did not seem to affect our host. In addition, there were numerous flies which clearly enjoyed tormenting us, landing briefly but regularly on our hands, arms and faces. Menel, himself, had found a tried and tested solution for the problem. He waved a fan, shaped like a large table-tennis bat, in front of his face every twenty seconds with an automatic sweep of his hand.

  ‘Okay.’ he went on seriously. ‘Let’s get down to business. I’m an arms dealer. The top man in this country.’

  ‘The top man.’ I repeated in disbelief. ‘If you’re so successful how is it that you live in a dump like this?’

  A smile flickered across his face. ‘Does the Chief Executive of the Bank of England have to live at the Savoy Hotel in London? This is my place of work... my office. We have no need of filing cabinets, documents, computers systems or the like. In my profession, all the information is kept up here.’ He tapped his forehead with the first two fingers of his right hand. ‘Clearly you are not aware that this row of houses is a fortress. Shock-proof, sound-proof, bullet-proof and relatively bomb-proof. I am, as you say, as safe as houses.’

  I rued the fact that it wasn’t odour-proof as well.

  ‘As you know,’ he continued, ‘the Strategic Arms Limitation Talks known as SALT I and II treaties imposed limits on the number of nuclear weapons to be held by Russia and the United States. Inevitably, it meant that some of the weaponry not required was certain to find its way into the hands of other people in other countries. The Americans possessed two major missiles... the Cruise and the Pershing 2. The Russians had four... the SS20, the SS4, the SS22 and the SS12/22. The last three were very short in range and rather ancient. So it was deemed that seven hundred Soviet missiles were to be destroyed. But human nature is such that people do not always follow the rules especially where money can be made. Subsequently, not all of them were destroyed. They found their way into foreign hands. Worst still is the fact that those controlled by the major powers are placed in so many countries there is doubt as to who actually controls them. With regard to artillery pieces, there are three categories of nuclear or ‘dual-capable’ weapons which exist. Dual-capable relates to weapons with ranges of nine to eighteen miles. Within the NATO Guidelines Area they are deployed by Britain, the United States, Belgium, Holland, Luxembourg, Germany, Czechoslovakia, Russia and Poland. Some three thousand of them! The dual-capable aircraft, mainly NATO’s F-111 and Tornado, and the old Warsaw Pact’s SU-7, SU20, Mig-23 and SU-24 total over one thousand two hundred and they have a range of nearly three thousand miles. Battlefield nuclear weapons comprise NATO’s Lance missile with a range of almost seventy miles. Additionally, there are the Frog SS-21 and the SCUD missiles. If one nation were to occupy another nation by force, it would automatically acquire a whole armoury of nuclear weapons.’

  I held up my hand for him to stop. ‘All this is extremely interesting,’ I cut in quickly, but what has it got to do with me? I’m no weaponry expert. My job with Dandy Advance Electronics is to deal with domestic computers.’

  Menel shrugged his shoulders, jutting out his lower jaw and playing his lips over his front teeth. ‘I’m well aware of that,’ he responded calmly. But you work for them and they have a prototype of a very advanced nuclear laser gun for military purposes. The most advanced of its kind in the world. I’ve been informed that it is far more advanced than the American prototypes which were supposed to be used in their Star Wars programme.’

  I sipped the coffee trying not to show my distaste for the ugly liquid. ‘Let me guess,’ I advanced with an element of contempt. ‘You want me to get those plans for you!’ By now, I was beginning to understand my role in the future of the organisation although I was technically unable to fulfil it.

  ‘Indeed,’ he went on. ‘But first let me explain the situation. ‘When Islam starts to assemble its troops for World War Three, it will have in its possession a whole array of nuclear weapons.’

  ‘But so will we,’ I countered. ‘I mean there’s no point in them using them against anyone because retaliation will be severe. The world might even wipe itself out.’

  He flapped the fan forwards and backwards in front of his face. ‘Now you’re getting the picture, Mr. Scott,’ he said confidently. ‘And that’s the reason we must prevent any group or country taking over another one in advance. We must protect ourselves from allowing them to gain those weapons of destruction. The main advantage of a nuclear weapon is that it acts as a deterrent. It can never be deployed as an operational weapon for fear of retaliation. As you say, in such a circumstance, the planet could be wiped out. So, in essence, it’s not a weapon but a threat. A foe could invade a country claiming it had an arsenal of such weapons and no one could do much about it. If someone decides to press the red button releasing nuclear missiles there is no doubt there will be an equal response. If we became too frightened to retaliate we would be unable to defend ourselves. Therefore it’s essential that we find a new weapon far superior to enable us to maintain control. I understand that the laser gun developed by Dandy Advanced Electronics is capable to destroying missiles at a range of one hundred miles and that the beam
s are deadly.’

  ‘I know nothing about the new laser gun,’ I rattled sharply. ‘It’s not in my domain.’

  ‘But it will do the trick,’ he muttered. ‘I hear that the laser beam produces such intense heat over a wide area that it dissolves metal almost instantly. It is a death ray of the highest quality. The power that rises in the Middle East could threaten us with nuclear power but we dissolve their missiles, rockets and weapons before they could come into contact with us as well as any large guns or tanks they may have. We would also be able to wipe out their soldiers in the field with great accuracy. World War Three would never be able to get under way.’

  Only now did the picture become clear to me and I had to admit that I felt somewhat swayed by his delivery. ‘What’s your role in all this?’ I questioned, going on to the attack. ‘I mean you’re an arms dealer. What would you do with the plans if I managed to get them? Would you sell them to all and sundry at a huge profit?’

  His eyes seemed to penetrate me as though I had offended him and then he looked away before replying. ‘Mr. Scott, I am a top-class arms dealer. I’ve made more money in the last decade than you would make if you lived a thousand years. Profit no longer interests me. My role, as you would call it, is the appointment of a Chief Arms Adviser to the 21st Century Crusaders. I have laid my life on the line for them.’