Stopping World War Three

by Stan Mason

  Crusaders but it appeared that I was wrong on that point too. I replaced the receiver and sought an answer by recalling our last conversation. ‘It’s best if I meet you tomorrow evening at seven-thirty at our usual restaurant,’ she had insisted against my better nature. Unfortunately, I had to fly to Turkey so it wasn’t possible for me to be there. Where was she now... and why was she avoiding me?

  On the following morning, I started clearing up the house to make it habitable. It was a monumental task and I didn’t get far. It was almost noon when I gave it up and lay back on my reconstructed settee to rest when the telephone rang. I hurried to answer the call, hoping it was Penny, but it was Schmuel Musaphia.

  ‘Meet me at the Savoy Hotel tomorrow morning at nine o’clock,’ he ordered coldly.

  ‘I don’t think so!’ I responded unsocially. ‘I’ve got other plans.’ I had no intention of revealing that I intended to visit The Golden Peacock at Welwyn Garden City. It was really none of his business even though he was involved in some way.

  ‘Cancel them!’ he continued bluntly. ‘Nine o’clock at the Savoy

  Hotel tomorrow morning! We have a lot to talk about. You’ll be very interested in what I have to say!’

  Before I had a chance to reply, the line went dead. What did Schmuel Musaphia have to tell me that was so important? I felt like a small pawn in a giant chess game. Every piece was searing across the board at different angles, jumping all over the place. All I could do was to take one move forward at a time. It was patently clear that, in the meantime, I was extremely vulnerable and also at everyone’s mercy. It wasn’t a pleasant though to harbour!

  Chapter Twelve

  On the following morning, I rose and took another look around the house. It was still a wreck despite my efforts to restore it to a reasonable condition. Although most of the debris had been shifted to the back garden, all the furniture appeared completely incongruous. Nothing seemed to fit properly in the right place. Cabinets and cupboards leaned unstably to port or starboard sometimes rocking in their locations at the slightest movement in the room. Grey plaster gaped like eye-sores from the walls where the wall-lights had been wrenched out. Ceilings no longer displayed the embellishments of expensive lamps or chandeliers because they had been ripped out violently and dashed to the floor. Even the carpets failed to resume their original positions where they had been raised or pulled. If a burglar had intended to lower my morale by means of extreme vandalism, he had succeeded well.

  I made myself some breakfast even though Schmuel Musaphia had probably arranged for me to eat at the Savoy Hotel. I dressed smartly for the occasion and did the best possible when shaving and combing my hair for no mirrors had survived the onslaught to my home. Just before I left, I fitted the pieces of the Beretta together, testing the empty weapon by pulling the trigger several times to ensure that it worked properly. Then I loaded it with ammunition keeping some spare bullets in my pocket in case I needed to reload it. I felt far more prepared to face the world with a pistol in my pocket to protect me. I had never fired a gun before so I had no idea whether I was capable of hitting a target even at close range. The only other time I had held a gun in my hand was in Crete when I had wrested it away from my secretary but that didn’t count because I did not fire it. In any case, the gun had been loaded with blanks otherwise Tomar Duran and the doubles would have been dead. However, the weapon brought its own problems. Firstly, it became impossible for me to button up my jacket with the gun in my pocket. Secondly, it made a large bulge appear causing the garment to become misshapen through its bulk and weight. I really needed a gun holster. Nonetheless, I felt safer with the weapon than without it.

  I arrived at the Savoy Hotel on the stroke of nine o’clock. Punctuality in my book was a priority in terms of respect for other people. Not even the events of the past week could shake off the elements of my character. As expected, Schmuel Musaphia was waiting there for me. He looked immaculate in his white suit and bow-tie which I was surprised to see him wearing at this time of the morning. Perhaps it was the only suit he took with him when travelling or, more likely, he had half-a-dozen of the same kind because he liked the style. As usual, he held a large unlit Havana cigar firmly in his mouth.

  ‘Sit down, Jason!’ he greeted in a tone that sounded like a command. ‘We have a lot to talk about. I want to know all you learned from the Mahdi. What he told you, how he spoke, what you felt about him. Everything!’ He stared at my face with a bewildered expression on his face. ‘What happened to you hair?’

  ‘My hair,’ I laughed with an element of chagrin. ‘Someone broke into my house while I was in Turkey and smashed every piece of furniture, pulling all the lights out of the walls and ceilings. There isn’t a mirror left in the house. Some bastard really took care of the place while I was away. Do you know anything about it?

  His eyes narrowed slightly at my ostensible accusation. ‘Is that so?’ he uttered softly.

  ‘I tried to get you at the Dorchester Hotel when we last me but you’d checked out after we had our meal. Couldn’t you afford their prices for an overnight stay?’

  A small smile crept into the corners of his mouth as he puffed pointlessly on his cigar. ‘I’m an itinerant. I can’t help it. You know what an itinerant is, don’t you. It’s a person who keeps travelling from place to place. A nomad. Funny, I used to move around a lot when I was younger and burn the midnight oil. The pundits warned me that if I didn’t conform and take it easy I’d burn myself out before I was thirty years old. Now they’re all dead and I’m still moving around from place to place and burning the midnight oil. So tell me, who’s the clever one?’

  ‘All I can say is that you must have a lot of enemies to have to shift about at such speed.’

  He laughed loudly. ‘You know, I like you, Jason, you remind me of myself when I was young. Let me tell you something. I owe a great deal to my friends but, all things considered, I owe even more to my enemies. You see, the character of a person emerges truly under threat than under a loving embrace. Why did you try to get hold of me at the Dorchester?’

  ‘I received a note which read: ‘Don’t fly to Turkey if you value your life. Don’t fly to Turkey if you value your wife!’ Have you any idea who might have sent that message? Or any reason for it?’

  ‘None at all but I’m the bearer of good tidings. I’ve some excellent news for you. We’ve found out where your wife’s been taken. It’s a place called The Golden Peacock near Welwyn Garden City.’

  I felt a sudden wave of pain float through my mind with frustration. It had taken so much effort to find Jan’s location and now this man was handing me the information on a plate. It was really too much to comprehend. ‘How did you manage to get that information?’ I asked him trying to keep down the anger in my voice.

  ‘The most important fact is that we found her for you. The question is, what are you going to do about it?’

  It dawned on me that he had arranged for my telephone to be tapped. How else would he have known about the nightclub? ‘Well, as it happens,’ I retorted curtly, ‘I learned about The Golden Peacock yesterday and I would have gone there had not someone smashed up the house. But I’ll be off the moment I leave here. I don’t suppose any of your crowd will lend me a hand.’

  ‘Jason... Jason!’ he repeated slowly. ‘You tell me you don’t want to be a part of the organisation... that you’re not interested in any causes, or the fate of the world, or the people in it, yet now you ask for my help. One doesn’t catch flies with vinegar. Give me one good reason why we should consider helping you?’

  ‘Well for one... you want the plans of the laser gun, don’t you?’ He nodded, conceding the point. ‘You recalled me from Turkey because you need those plans quickly. I presume that’s why I’m here this morning. If I get into trouble at The Golden

  Peacock I won’t be able to get the plans. What I’m saying is that you need t
o protect me at all times. In the long run, it would be better for your people to recover Jan than to let me thresh about like an amateur into the unknown.’

  He puffed pointlessly on his cigar thoughtfully. ‘Looking closely at your eyes,’ he said, changing the subject quickly, ‘I can see you’re in need of a rest. You know, for a young man, you’re starting to get bags under your eyes.’ The waiter arrived at the table and Musaphia ordered a Continental breakfast for both of us. He drew once more on his cigar and stared directly at me with cold unrelenting eyes. ‘You’ve drifted off the subject,’ he went on. ‘I want to know all about the Mahdi.’

  ‘I wrote a report on my meeting on the aircraft on my way back. You’ll find some of the word a little quaint. The bastard who smashed up my home also damaged my computer printer.’ I took an envelope from my pocket and placed it on the table in front of him.

  ‘Tell me... in your own words,’ he persisted.

  ‘For the most part he seemed to be a normal person, educated in the West, wearing Western clothing. Then, as the conversation proceeded, he assumed the mantle of the Mahdi. He suddenly became strange, drifting off into a mystic trance which scared the hell out of me. He said he was instructed directly from Allah and that he was a jinn rather than a man. Do you know what a jinn is?’

  He nodded sagely without showing any emotion. ‘I should do,’ he confessed, ‘being a Muslim.’

  His words came at me like a tsunami, enveloping me in a tidal wave from which I could hardly escape. I was so surprised at his declaration that I was almost lost for words. ‘You’re a Muslim?’

  ‘I know all about the Quran and jinn. I was born in Teheran, the capital of Iran. It used to be Persia then.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ I gasped. ‘Then what are you doing with the 21s Century Crusaders?’

  ‘I’m an ardent supporter of the cause. Tell me, did you vote at the last General Election in this country?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied wondering why he had asked.

  ‘Did the party for whom you voted succeed in becoming the government?’

  ‘They did.’

  ‘And do you agree with everything they say and do in respect of the important policies relating to your country and its people?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ I countered. ‘But I don’t support the opposition as a result of any difference of opinion.’

  ‘Would you support them if they adopted a policy that would lead to civil war, or unwarranted aggression against another country whom you consider innocent?’

  I shrugged my shoulders aimlessly. ‘It would never come to that,’ I retorted. ‘Not with the British government.’

  ‘All right,’ he went on. ‘What about Islam now that you’ve met the Mahdi?’

  I had to admit that he had a point. If I hadn’t met the Mahdi, I might have stuck to my argument, refusing to accept that he was a Muslim fighting for a cause against his own religion. But the words of the Mahdi still echoed in my ears. ‘It will be my task to purify the world so that religion will flow like the freshness of a stream. Islam will be strong! Islam will be great! Islam will conquer the world!’

  ‘You see I’m a Sunni,’ he informed me, breaking into my thoughts abruptly. ‘One of the intellectuals. We don’t believe in the Jihad, the Holy War or the Mahdi. They were the inventions of the mystics many centuries ago. In the modern world, we have the problem of logistics. The Shias make up fifteen per cent of all Muslims. If the number of all Islam amounts to over two billion people, we’re talking of some three hundred million militants, many of whom believe in terrorism, torture and martyrdom. Hitler had less than a sixth of that number when he took on all of Europe. Not only that, but I’m certain that at the commencement of a Jihad, many Sunnis will be converted to militancy perhaps doubling the Shia figures. Just imagine it! Half a million soldiers setting out to conquer the world. It doesn’t bear thinking about and I couldn’t support such a policy.’

  I shook my head in disbelief. You fail to amaze me in everything you do.’

  ‘I assure you there’s more to come.,’ he advised me. ‘Life can be very exciting if you’re prepared to take the risks. But be warned. Taking the risks doesn’t mean you’ll necessarily win.’

  ‘The Mahdi believed he took his instructions directly from Allah,’ I told him again. ‘I suppose that’s one step nearer to sanity than believing he’s Allah himself.’

  ‘You shouldn’t mock a holy man,’ warned Musaphia with a serious expression on his face. ‘We know so little about paranormal activity. There have been cases in history where messages have been conveyed to mortals. In order to prove he’s the Mahdi it’s essential for him to receive divine messages. Otherwise he’ll be regarded as just an ordinary man making decisions on his own account.’ He placed the envelope into a pocket of his white jacket. ‘I’ll read your report with interest. But now we must get to the matter of the laser gun. For reasons I cannot divulge, they’re required extremely urgently. So much so that we had to substitute you at the bridge tournament in Turkey. We need them tonight.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ I said resentfully. ‘Oil won’t run out in the Middle East for the best part of fifty years. What’s the damned hurry all of a sudden!’

  ‘We need them tonight!’ he repeated dumbly. I did not relish rushing into the weaponry division blindly. It was one thing to plan an assault with a strategic operation; it was quite another to carry it out in reality. ‘There’s something I ought to mention, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ he continued. ‘That gun in your pocket is sticking out like a sore thumb. If you want to carry a pistol, get yourself a holster. If I can recognise that you’re carrying a gun, so can everyone else in the hotel.’

  He was right of course. I was very green in such matters. It was important to take advice from people like Musaphia who had managed to survive in difficult times to a grand old age as a result of their knowledge and experience.

  ‘I’d really like to know why there’s such a rush to get the plans. A few days ago it was a task that needed to be completed within a reasonable span of time. Now it’s so urgent, they’re needed tonight. Why?’

  ‘All in good time,’ he said quietly. ‘There are things happening in the environment. I can’t reveal at present. All I can say is that the plans are needed now. After that, you’ll learn the answers to many questions.’

  We continued to eat our breakfast in harmony and I listened to some of his exploits in earlier years. He was a great teller of tales. There were many good reasons why I should dislike him, however I considered him to be an honest kindly man at heart and I liked him for his directness. His revelation that he was a Muslim floored me for a while but I could see the sense of his argument and recognised the trust placed in him by the organisation. After we had finished eating, he reiterated his message to make certain there was no misunderstanding.

  ‘Tonight! It must be tonight!’ He handed me a small slip of paper. ‘I want you to commit this telephone number to your memory. Read it as many times as you wish and remember it. The number was chosen especially for its simplicity. When you have th plans, you must contact me at this number immediately. I’ll then tell you what to do. Is that clear?’ I stared at the number and memorised it before passing the slip of paper back to him. He produced a book of matches from his pocket, lit one, and then burned the paper in the ash-tray. ‘Walls have ears and waiters have eyes,’ he philosophied. ‘We don’t want any problems. And, like I said last time, something good is going to happen to you soon.’

  ‘The best that can happen to me is a good night’s sleep and peace of mind,’ I confided. But I won’t get that until I’ve found my wife and Penny Smith.’

  He prodded the burned slip of paper in the ash-tray with the end of his cigar turning it into ashes. ‘I’ve never known anyone to be so fervent about his wife and his mistress at the same time,’ he commented wit
h amusement.

  I ignored the remark. ‘Do you know where Penny Smith might be? I can’t seem to contact her.’

  His face took on a thoughtful expression as though he was suffering from the same problem but he declined to answer. ‘Goodbye, Jason!’ he said finally with a wave of his hand as though he wanted to be rid of me. Contact me on that number the moment you get hold of those plans!’

  After leaving the Savoy Hotel I visited an upholstery shop a short distance away. It took less than fifteen minutes to be fitted with a shoulder holster. The gun still felt bulky as it rested against my body but it was now contained and no longer caused an ugly bulge in my jacket. I telephoned my office in the hope of contacting my secretary only to be told that she was still absent. Persistently, I rang her apartment but no one answered the call. Even Schmuel Musaphia had looked blank when I asked him about her. She had vanished off the face of the Earth! But it was essential for me to focus my mind on my wife. It seemed that everyone knew where she was being held. Musaphia had given me her location without difficulty. How could he have found out unless the organisation had taken her. Or was his intelligence system so exclusive that he was able to find out about anyone at any time. I still considered that he had tapped my telephone to find out the information. Well one thing was certain... he had confirmed that Jan was being held at The Golden Peacock.