3 Great Thrillers

by Churton, Alex; Churton, Toby; Locke, John; Lustbader, Eric van; van Lustbader, Eric

  ‘I don’t suppose the world at large would hear about it. Stakes are too high.’

  ‘You have a point. Anyhow, let’s not jump to conclusions. We need to keep a very close eye on this.’

  ‘It’s nice to be kept informed, Simon, but why tell me?’

  ‘Crayke said I should.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Keep you informed of developments. On the Turkish border.’

  93

  Royal Military College of Science, Shrivenham, Wiltshire

  Ashe slapped a large black-and-white photograph of Colonel Mahmut Aslan onto his secretary’s desk, then grabbed his blue overcoat and opened the door of his office. ‘Get this faxed off to Hamburg, will you please, Karla? I’ve spoken to the Hamburg letting agent.’

  ‘Who he?’

  ‘One Gerhard Fitzthum, of Fitzthum & Nietzsche. They deal in property and antiques. Question is: can he positively identify the image of this person? Was the person depicted involved in the letting transaction for the Altona apartment? Need an answer today, Karla. Details in the covering note. Call you from London. Adios!’

  Ashe stepped over the large brass pentagram embedded into the polished-stone threshold and entered the marble reception of Freemasons’ Hall, 60 Great Queen Street, London WC2.

  The reception was vast and dim. Ahead: a grand staircase, carpeted in the distant past. Ashe approached the reception desk. A uniformed man with a passionless demeanour looked him up and down for signs of Masonic engagement. Ashe was not wearing a black tie. His trousers were black, his shirt was black, his jacket was an encouragingly blue cashmere, but his hair was rather long and unruly.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I’ve an appointment with Julian Travers. Your information officer.’

  ‘I know what he does, sir.’ The man looked around for his phone and groped about for a printed list of internal numbers. ‘Travers, is it, sir?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Here it is: Travers, J., Information Officer.’ He prodded the internal number. ‘Gentleman here to see you, Julian. Excuse me, what’s your name, sir?’

  ‘Ashe.’

  ‘Says ’is name’s Ashe. Right. Mr Travers says to go up to ’is office. First floor.’

  Ashe turned and headed for the staircase.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. I’m s’posed to ask for ID now, sir. Security thing.’

  Ashe turned to the man and looked him in the eye with a twinkle. ‘I was taught to be cautious.’

  The security guard winked. ‘Right, sir. First floor, sir.’

  Ashe tore up the staircase to the floor housing the Library and Museum of Freemasonry and turned right, down a narrow corridor opening off into dozens of separate Lodge rooms. He was amused, as always, to remember that this public building housed the largest collection of lavatories in central London, and he popped into one to check that the unmistakeable smell of damp and cleaning powder had remained unchanged. Like many things in the lodge, the lavatories had an air of faded grandeur; their vast powder-blue basins, magnificent urinals and purpose-built brass ashtrays speaking of an old-fashioned, masculine sensibility.

  Rounding a corner, Ashe narrowly avoided crashing into a battalion of old ladies emerging from an ancient-looking cleaning cupboard. He stopped briefly to congratulate them on the high shine on the lapis-lazuli-coloured linoleum flooring, which stretched, seemingly endlessly, down to the shabby grey lift, and took another right towards the library gallery.

  As he passed a cleaner’s cupboard decorated with newspaper pictures of the royal family, not updated since the 1980s, Ashe reflected that, like the edifice of English Freemasonry in general, Grand Lodge seemed to be in a state of denial. Instead of mysticism, magic or spirituality, here was a granite ideology of empire and enterprise: a brotherhood of trust, a sober cult of moral rectitude. It was a building that should have been constructed with eternity in mind. Instead, it belonged to the twenties and thirties and seemed to have stayed there.

  Change, inertia’s gift, would surely come to Grand Lodge, but what kind of change would it be? Given the character of the times, and the spiritual vacuity of the influential, any change was likely to involve further reduction of spiritual substance, probably to cold-zero. The end of modernisation was likely to be a hierarchical social club with historical frills whose genuine roots had been lost, and, where not lost, ignored by those with the most to lose from their revival.

  As Ashe approached the library gallery, Julian Travers came bounding towards him, his polished Oxford shoes squeaking as he moved. Travers was a well-knit package of indefatigable enthusiasm, his gaunt, kindly face set off by thick black ‘Harry Palmer’ specs.

  The men shook hands.

  ‘We’ve been out of touch too long, Julian.’

  ‘That’s life. Hey, how’s Lichfield? Still writing? Lectures? All that stuff?’

  ‘Less and less. I’m into travel. Research. Look, are we meeting here, or outside?’

  ‘Prince of Wales OK?’

  ‘You can’t get away from Masonry, can you?’

  ‘They say it’s the best fun you can have with your trousers on!’

  ‘Or rolled up.’

  The two men chatted briskly about old times at Oxford as they made their way out of Grand Lodge and onto the pavement of Great Queen Street in Covent Garden.

  ‘You know, we Magdalen chaps used to come down to your bar at Brasenose because the beer was always better.’

  ‘I thought it was the girls.’

  ‘Yeah! The girls were friendly at Brasenose.’

  ‘You have a creative memory, Julian. We called our bar “the sewer”.’

  In the crowded pub, Ashe and Travers found window seats with a view of Drury Lane. There was an aroma of steak-and-kidney pies mixed with Italianate dishes of indeterminate provenance. Italian customers seemed to prefer the pies.

  ‘OK. Did you get it?’

  ‘You know this could cost me my job.’

  ‘Never. I’ll take a digital photo in the loos and give it straight back.’

  ‘I took it from the Grand Secretary’s desk.’ Travers reached for the folded wad of typescript, bound by a paper clip, in his inside pocket. ‘This isn’t on file.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Don’t know. Matters pending? It’s not unknown for documents of historic significance to be destroyed in Grand Lodge.’

  ‘The sign perhaps of a confident institution.’

  Travers caught Ashe’s irony and smiled. ‘Well, I hope it’s what you wanted to see.’

  ‘Have you read it?’

  ‘Are you kidding? I’m the information officer.’

  ‘I thought you ran the publicity.’

  Travers laughed. ‘My dear Toby. I’m run by the publicity.’

  ‘Travers!’

  Julian shuddered; it was the booming voice of the Grand Secretary himself, Bob Foulhurst.

  ‘See who’s here!’ Foulhurst turned to two other men, also wearing black ties, dark suits and waistcoats, and carrying briefcases. ‘Look! It’s Tigger – out for a crafty lunch!’

  Ashe folded his hands over the document, covering as much of it as possible.

  ‘Afternoon, Tigger!’ boomed the balding provincial grand secretaries accompanying the Grand Secretary for a lunchtime drink.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be on a working lunch today, Tigger?’

  Ashe looked up at Foulhurst. ‘Your brilliant information officer is just being brilliant.’

  ‘Who might you be?’

  Ashe showed the Grand Secretary a Cranfield Royal Military College of Science card. Foulhurst perused it, sceptically. His eye caught the document under Ashe’s hand.

  ‘Not passing information on to outsiders are you, Tigger? Pro-Grand Master won’t like that.’ He pointed to the papers under Ashe’s flattened hand. ‘Not one of ours, is it?’

  Ashe interjected. ‘As a matter of fact, Grand Secretary, I’m passing information on to your library and museum. Wonderful stuff about Service Lodges
. Means a lot to veterans. I believe it involves the Duke of Kent. Was it his request, Julian?’

  ‘Er…’

  ‘Anyhow, the Duke has in the past taken a keen interest.’

  The reference to the Duke of Kent settled the Grand Secretary somewhat. The Duke of Kent, being Grand Master of the United Grand Lodge of England, was entitled, Foulhurst surmised, to do things even he, the Grand Secretary, did not know about.

  On the other hand, Foulhurst felt a right to know about everything that passed within the Craft. ‘The Duke, you say? I’ll have to have a chat next time we meet.’

  ‘Come on, Bob!’ The Provincial Grand Secretary for Lancashire patted Foulhurst on his shoulder. ‘We’d all like a drink before we go into Lodge.’

  ‘Sorry. Sorry, Peter. Right. Be sure you’re back in the office by two, Tigger. Goodbye, er… whatever your name is. Not one of us, is he, Julian?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘I see. Well, keep it brief.’

  As the three men moved to the other side of the bar, Ashe noticed sweat beginning to gather on Travers’ forehead.

  ‘How the fuck can you put up with shit like that, Julian? And you an Oxford man!’

  ‘That’s the whole trouble, Toby. None of these guys went to a decent university. But Masonry gives them rank. And in their little world, they’re like kings.’

  ‘That’s sad. You deserve better. No one should have to put up with crap like that in this day and age. And what’s all that “Tigger” stuff?’

  ‘You know. I run around, always doing something.’

  ‘And they laugh at you?’

  ‘Their little joke.’

  94

  Ashe’s hunch had been right. Herr Gerhard Fitzthum of Fitzthum & Nietzsche recalled the face. He was sure: this was the man who called himself Mustapha Atbash. This was the man who had arranged the lease in Altona, Hamburg.

  Colonel Aslan had set up the whole apartment.

  All morning Karla Lindars had tried to reach Aslan in his Istanbul office. No one was answering the phone. The switchboard operator in Ümraniye could give no information. Ashe tried Aslan’s mobile: no answer.

  And all the time, the contents of the Baba Sheykh’s curious speech raced round Ashe’s mind. Had the Baba Sheykh quit Istanbul because of al-Qasr? Or could it be that the warning was somehow connected to the Baba Sheykh’s speech?

  Tired of making Ashe coffee, Karla stood in front of his desk, put her hands on her hips and screamed his name.

  ‘Good. I’ve got your attention. Toby, I have come to listen. I have come to be mummy.’

  ‘That’s all I bloody need!’

  ‘Maybe it is, at this moment. Just tell me what is going on in your head? And see if I can help, just a bit. First, what, if I may ask, is in that document there?’

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘The one you’ve been fiddling with since last night. The one you had in the bathroom. The one you had at breakfast. That one. There. What’s it all about?’

  ‘That, darling Karla, is a very original account of the origins and development of Freemasonry. Freshly swiped from the United Grand Lodge of England.’

  ‘So, kindly explain its contents. It will make you feel better.’

  Ashe took a deep breath. ‘All right. The Grand Lodge of England was the first “Grand Lodge” of Freemasonry anywhere in the world. According to its Constitutions, which were published in 1723, four Lodges got together in a Covent Garden pub in 1716, and decided to join together as a “Grand Lodge” the following year. What does that tell you?’

  ‘I don’t know. What are you driving at?’

  ‘There were four Lodges. Then there was a Grand Lodge. When did Freemasonry start?’

  ‘Oh, I get it! For four Lodges to come together, there must have already been Freemasonry in 1716 – before there was a “Grand Lodge”.’

  ‘Right. Freemasonry already existed. It was an adjunct to the skilled trade of masonry and architecture. A “freemason” was the English term for one who worked in “freestone”. And freestone was another name for sandstone and limestone that was good for carving. Try carving granite and you’ll see what I mean. These freestone masons, or “freemasons”, belonged to companies. By the time of James I, the London Company of Freemasons had been active for some two centuries. They fixed their own wages, and had their own rituals and traditions.’

  ‘OK. Did you get this from the Baba Sheykh’s speech?’

  ‘No. This is just basic history.’

  ‘Basic!’

  ‘And the Baba Sheykh, it turns out, knows it much better than I do. Now, some time between that alleged meeting of four London Lodges in 1716, and the year 1723, when the supposedly new organisation published its Constitutions, something odd happened. The so-called “Grand Lodge” removed the old stipulation that an actual working stonemason should be present at the meetings of Lodges of Accepted Masons.’

  ‘Hold on. Why’s that odd? And what’s an “Accepted Mason”? And why weren’t all the members working masons?’

  ‘I’m coming to that. Before the new “Grand Lodge”, special meetings were held in the City of London by the leaders of the London Masons’ Company, formerly known as the London Company of Freemasons. Senior master masons, what we would now call “architects”, could attend, as well as gentlemen with an interest in the practical and mystical aspects of building and geometry. They were usually friends of senior members of the Masons’ Company. We know from records that one very special meeting was called an “Acception”.’

  ‘Is that where “Accepted” Mason comes from?’

  ‘Right. Scholars think that it was at this meeting – the Acception – that brother masons celebrated something symbolic about their craft: a higher, more esoteric insight, based on very old traditions of masonry. Evidence suggests that the spiritual and intellectual aspects of architecture were more of a focus at these meetings. When you’d been initiated at the meeting, you became “accepted”. That is, you’d accepted something.’

  ‘What’s this spiritual and intellectual side you speak of, Toby? Weird stuff?’

  ‘I’ll let the Baba Sheykh enlighten us on this matter in a minute, Karla. But first I want you to understand why it is so significant that the so-called “Grand Lodge” separated itself from the science, art and trade of masonry.’

  ‘Are you saying that they hijacked the Acception meetings from the old order of craft Masonry?’

  ‘You’re very quick on the uptake today, Karla. There’s a body of evidence to suggest that yes, something of the sort happened. Because by 1730, English Freemasonry had become a self-contained Order available for export – and it was completely separate from the trade. So something fundamental had obviously occurred.’

  ‘Fascinating. But if I was organising a new Order, I think I’d want people to know it was very old.’

  ‘That’s one of the contradictory things about modern British Freemasonry. By the time of Queen Victoria, leading Freemasons were distinguishing between “speculative” and “operative” Freemasonry. Grand Lodge Freemasonry was “speculative”, which seems to have meant “symbolic and philosophical”, whereas the old builders, carvers and architects knew only “operative” masonry. That way, the new Order could have its cake and eat it! True Freemasonry started with the Grand Lodge, but it was also very ancient! Operative equals old; speculative equals new.’

  ‘Sounds like a class distinction. Tradesmen’s entrance and all that.’

  ‘Well, the Victorian era saw Masonry in England becoming more and more a bourgeois phenomenon: a badge of acceptability in some quarters.’

  ‘Yuck!’

  ‘Quite. Or one could say Freemasonry had become positive social cement with a healthy interest in charity. Anyway, back to the contradictions… It was not discouraged during all that time for Freemasons to think of themselves as belonging to an Order with roots in academically respectable ancient civilisations – Greek, Roman, Egyptian, even Druid, with their links to
Stonehenge. That sort of thing came to be tolerated as part of the romantic ethos of “the Craft” – as the brotherhood of Freemasons is known. But by the twentieth century, leading members of Grand Lodge began to disassociate themselves from this picture. They began to stress that there was a very clear line to be drawn between what preceded Grand Lodge Freemasonry, and what came after it. Effectively, real “speculative” Masonry was the intellectual property of the United Grand Lodge of England.’

  ‘OK. So what does the Baba Sheykh have to say on the subject?’

  ‘Frankly, Karla, in a strange and subtle way, he throws a massive spanner in the works.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘This sparkling genius – for such I think he is – has gone right back to first principles. What is this spiritual side of Freemasonry? Where did it come from? Where does it come from?’

  ‘I can’t wait. Just let me get another coffee.’

  Ashe looked up at the picture of the Yezidi girls for inspiration. On the sheykh’s lips the speech would have sounded like the words of an old prophet, speaking from far distant times to a lost and confused present.

  Karla came up behind him and squeezed his shoulders. ‘I can’t tell you, Toby, how attractive you are when I can actually see you thinking.’

  Ashe took her hand and kissed it. ‘You’re a good listener. And you ask sensible questions.’

  ‘Thank you, Professor. And here’s another one. What’s all this got to do with the Baba Sheykh?’

  95

  ‘The Baba Sheykh says that what became known as Freemasonry came from the Yezidis.’

  ‘From the Yezidis! That’s some claim, isn’t it? I mean, how could he say that? I’m guessing it’s not written anywhere, is it?’

  ‘Most Yezidi philosophy is learned as an oral tradition. There are very few writings.’

  ‘I remember from my granddad that Masons had to learn all their rituals from memory. That’s a sort of oral tradition, isn’t it?’

  ‘Good point. Anyway, the bulk of Yezidi thought is found in their hymn tradition. The qewwals – their holy musicians – learn it and pass it on. You know, Karla, in the hymns of the Yezidis, Creation begins with a pearl. And from out of the pearl come the cornerstones.’