Stopping World War Three

by Stan Mason

  ‘Only you would know the answer to that one, Primar!’ I snapped. But I want to know what’s happened to my wife.’ I picked up a paperweight from my desk and held it as though ready to throw it at his head.

  ‘Oh come on, Jason!’ He laughed at the threat. ‘We’re not really going to indulge in histrionics, are we? Not in your office. ‘I’ll explain what happened to your wife in a moment but let me ease your mind by saying that my information is that she’s perfectly all right.’

  I laid the paperweight down on the desk. ‘You want something from me or you wouldn’t be here.’

  He took a deep breath, almost a sigh of frustration. ‘You know what I’m after. You were almost beaten up for it in Israel.’

  ‘How could I have obtained the plans.’ I remonstrated. ‘I’ve been back in this country for less than twenty-four hours!’

  ‘But you’ve been to the weaponry division. I know you’ve been there because everyone knows.’

  I stood up and walked towards the window staring down at the city streets. ‘What’s it all about, Primar? You’ve got to come clean and tell me what’s going on!’

  ‘I thought that Commander Yasood would have given you all the information you need.’

  ‘He told me all about the cause and his opinion of the future based on past history. What bugs me are the other matters you seem reluctant to discuss. Let’s start by talking about Chedda.’

  ‘I told you. I’ve never heard of Chedda.’ He flicked the matchstick neatly into the waste-basket nearby and felt in his pocket for another one.

  ‘We both know you’re lying,’ I accused bluntly. ‘Let’s have the truth for a change. Then I might be able to help you.’

  He stared at me for a long time chewing on the end of the matchstick before conceding. ‘Okay,’ he began. ‘Perhaps we can do a deal. You give me the plans and I’ll tell you about Chedda.’

  ‘Chedda first!’ I was very adamant not to lose the advantage.

  He sat back with his legs stretched to the full, placing his hands behind his head. ‘Chedda’s my cousin. We were brought up together... like Esau and Jacob in the Bible. We were always at loggerheads. There was never any brotherly love lost between us. He knew I belonged to the 21st Century Crusaders and put every obstacle he could find in my way. I was originally chosen to form the British end of the organisation and recruited your secretary to assist me. Chedda drove a wedge into that one. He found out the name of the Commander and declared I was unfit for the task, lying about my past and present activities. He pulled all the skeletons out of the cupboard as evidence of his claim. So someone else got the promotion and I ended up a pariah.’

  ‘Well that rings true,’ I intervened. ‘Schmuel Musaphia denied you’d formed the British end.’

  He chewed on the matchstick a while longer. ‘Chedda found out that you were important to me. I believe he diverted you at

  Stanstead Airport that morning and took a bomb with him on the plane. He intended to parachute into Crete leaving the plane on automatic pilot to fly to Israel with the bomb on board. Before it reached its destination, it would have exploded ditching your bodies in the Mediterranean so that you’d never be found. Then Chedda would have the laugh on me for losing out. But, for some reason, the bomb went off early.’

  ‘That’s not consistent with what happened,’ I countered. ‘When we were over Crete, he said he was going to land and started to reduce height. If what you say is true, how do you account for that?’

  ‘I don’t know the details because I wasn’t there,’ he reacted firmly. ‘The guy was crazy. Who knows what he had in mind? All I can say is that he was out to kill you to spite me. That’s the way it’s always been with him.’

  ‘And what about the incidents in Crete? Tomar Duran, for example. Commander Spring... our doubles! You know all about that.’

  ‘I know only of the situation in Britain and Israel,’ he insisted. ‘Only those two countries. Crete is not within my jurisdiction.’

  ‘All right. Tell me where my wife is!’

  ‘That’s simple, Jason. When I saw her an hour ago, she was opening the door of your house with her key.’

  I leaned over the desk and took him by his shirt front pulling him towards me. ‘Don’t play games with me, Primar,’ I hissed angrily, ‘or I’ll knock the living daylights out of you! Remember, there’s just you and me now!’

  ‘I’m not kidding. She was going into your house! I released him to ring my number at home but there was no reply. ‘She may have left the house by now,’ he bleated. ‘Perhaps there’s a not. You ought to find out.’ I stood up and made for the door but he leapt from the chair to catch my arm. ‘Is our deal still on?’

  I felt in my pocket to remove the envelope with the false microfilm of the plans given to my by Menel. ‘Here!’ I shouted loudly. ‘Take the damned plans and leave me in peace! And for your sake, Jan had better be fit and well!’

  He took the envelope, stuffed it in his pocket, bit deeper on the matchstick and left without another word. I went into the outer office to face my secretary.

  ‘I’m going home,’ I told her. ‘Primar tells me that Jan went to the house this morning. I have to check it out.’

  It took me over half-an-hour to get home. I rushed inside shouting out Jan’s name but there was no answer. A note in her handwriting rested on the mantelshelf indicating that she had home but anyone could have entered and placed it there. I merely told me that she had returned to collect some of her clothes and she would be in touch with me in a few days’ time. The situation was infuriating! I had never chased a woman so much in all my life!

  Chapter Nine

  The pundits who classify themselves as health experts claim that hot showers are refreshing while cold showers cool the blood. I tried both of them but their effects on my were practically negative. When I dried myself off and dressed, I lay on the settee in the lounge nursing a stiff whisky as I cogitated the fast moving affairs of the past twenty-four hours. Gradually, my blood pressure subsided and I began to think clearly and logically again. Someone wanted me to believe that Jan was moving itinerantly from place to place as though she was being deliberately elusive. The other woman in my life, Penny Smith, was becoming even more enigma- tic. I believed that she had killed Tomar Duran as I grappled with him on the ground, shooting him in the temple with his own revolver. I saw that incident with my own eyes. So how could he still be alive and well working in the weaponry division of Dandy Advanced Electronics as a research assistant? It beggared belief. Number Five! It suddenly occurred to me that Penny may have shot the wrong man by accident. After all, we were both writhing on the ground. Now there was a thought! I picked up my mobile telephone and rang her.

  ‘Penny,’ I began, trying to control the level of my voice. ‘I saw Tomar Duran at the weaponry division this morning. The last time I saw him you had shot him dead in Crete. There’s no doubt about it because I spoke to him and he admitted he was in Crete. Can you explain that to me please?’

  There was a long pause at the other end of the line before she spoke. ‘Classified information!’ she retorted curtly. ‘I can’t talk about it at present. And definitely not over the telephone.’

  ‘What do you mean ‘classified information’? I saw the man’s body laying there after you’d shot him.’

  ‘I can’t talk about it now. I have to leave the office right away.

  I shan’t be available tonight. Let’s meet tomorrow evening at seven-thirty at our usual restaurant.’

  I began to lose my temper at her indifferent attitude. ‘For Heaven’s sake, Penny! I want an answer! Why can’t you talk about it now? I don’t want to wait until tomorrow evening!’

  ‘You’ll find out then,’ she replied. ‘Goodbye!’

  The line went dead and I turned off the mobile. Goodbye? What was she talking about? Was she opera
ting on her own account in the scheme of things instead of running in tandem with me? I went back to the settee, picked up my drink, and dwelt deeply on the matter. Eventually, my mind moved to the answering machine on the side table. I pressed the start button on the instrument to listen to the recorded messages. The first one was from Schmuel Musaphia.

  ‘I’ve flow to London especially to see you,’ he communicated in a shrill wavering tone. ‘Meet me at the Dorchester Hotel at eight o’clock this evening. I would prefer you to come alone... without your secretary.’

  Schmuel Musaphia! The old man had come all the way to England especially to talk to me. What was that all about? The next message followed swiftly. My back stiffened as I recognised Jan’s voice.

  ‘Jason! Sorry about the letter, darling. It wasn’t my doing. They made me write it. I know you’re worried about me but I’m all right. These people tell me they want certain things from you. They say they’ll let me go if you help them. I don’t know what will happen if you refuse. I’m all right at the moment. Keep bidding those grand slams in hearts in bridge especially with the one club system. I understand about you and your secretary. I love you, darling!’

  I felt choked with emotion before anger started to rage through me again. The bastards! Who was keeping my wife against her will? She said she was all right but was that the truth or did her captors force her to say so? Suddenly, I became sanguine feeling a surge of romanticism towards her... ,..one that had been absent for some time but then I became overcome with frustration at being unable to help her. I desperately wanted to take her in my arms and kiss her... to have her by my side... to enjoy life just as it had been in the past. I replayed her message on the tape, listening carefully to every word. What did she mean when she said ‘keep bidding those grand slams in hearts’? And why mention the one club system? She knew very little about the game except for a few odd phrases which had cropped up in my conversations. Then the jet lag began to overcome me and my thoughts turned into a jumble as I dozed off where I lay.

  It was over an hour later when I awoke. I felt dull, dozy and depressed. Life had painted me into a corner and I had no idea how to set myself free. A change of condition was required so I went to the local barber to get a haircut and a shave, hoping that the effect of a shampoo would bring me back to life. As the hot towels were placed over my face, I lay back with the warmth spreading uniformly through every pore, feeling totally relaxed. I thought about Jan’s recorded message. There was something in it that I couldn’t fathom. If only I could clear my mind sufficiently to work it out it would be to my advantage because she was definitely trying to communicate something to me. Then the penny dropped. Of course... she was telling me there was a grand slam in hearts! She had been abducted to Herts... Hertfordshire! The one club system was one I rarely used with my partner. She was either being held in a club or very close to one. What else did she say? ‘Keep bidding those grand slams in hearts in bridge.’ Why did she need to say ‘in bridge’? That was my game and she knew it but she had mentioned it for a reason. The club was in Herfordshire and it was close to a bridge. Well done, Jan! My problem now was whether to contact the police or undertake the research on my own account. I went back home and pulled a map of England from the shelf seeking out Hertfordshire and poring over the county towns. It was then I realised that I might be thwarted from finding the right club. What kind of club was she talking about? A golf club, a football club, a night club, a bingo club, a scout club, or what?

  At eight o’clock that evening, I put on my smartest suit and drove to the West End of London to meet Schmuel Musaphia. I had been to the Dorchester Hotel on only one occasion for the reception of a wedding of a friend many years earlier. The prices then matched those of the King David Hotel in Tel Aviv. They were certainly out of my league. Musaphia was already there, He sat at one of the tables in the dining-room with the large Havana cigar still in his mouth. He greeted me amiably, his eyes scanning the space behind me to make certain I had come alone.

  ‘Why do you patronise a hotel that’s owned by Arabs,’ I asked him as I sat down at the table opposite him.

  ‘Tell me,’ he countered. ‘What’s this obsession you have about the Jews hating the Arabs. Many of my friends are both Jews and Arabs. I like them and respect them. The people we detest are the terrorists and fanatics who strive to die to become martyrs. To us, such people resemble the kamikaze cult of the Japanese in the Second World War. The Allied forces both feared and resented them too. Let me put it another way. Do you hate all the Irish people because of the past actions of the Irish Republican Party?’

  I shrugged my shoulders accepting the logic of his argument. The newspapers had conditioned the Western world for such a long time that everyone believed there was a fundamental root of hatred between all Jews and Arabs. Musaphia had made it quite clear that this was an illusion.

  ‘There’s work for you to do,’ he went on. ‘That’s why I’m here. The problem is that your services are required in two places at once. Firstly, we need you to obtain the plans of the new prototype of the laser gun. I understand you’ve already visited the weaponry division. That’s good! But we also need your participation in an international bridge congress in Istanbul.’ 214

  ‘Istanbul!’ I echoed loudly unable to contain my surprise,, looking around to see if I had attracted attention. He made a sound to silence me so strongly that he almost lost the cigar from between his lips. I leaned forward to speak in a hushed voice. ‘Why the hell do you want me to go there?’

  ‘After a great deal of research,’ continued the old man, adjusting the cigar in his mouth, ‘we’ve come to the conclusion that the rise of Islam will originate in Turkey. The surge of Islam will cause the most profound change in Western Europe, as great as anything emanating from the Far East. The biggest impact will come from Turkey which prides itself as Europe’s bridge into Asia and vice versa. Turkey’s politicians believe that the country is immune from the activities of the virulent Shias. Let’s face it, Turkey’s the largest force in NATO after the United States. Those politicians are deeply mistaken. Turkey acts as a garrison between Soviet Asia, the Levant and the Persian Gulf. It is also extremely loyal to the rigid secularism of its founder, Kemal Ataturk. The number of people wearing yashmaks and chadors... the new religious uniform... is increasing steadily. Forgive me if I use the word ‘steadily’ euphemistically. Bu the end of the first quarter of the twenty-first century, the population of Turkey will reach well over a hundred million people who, most likely, will seek recognition as the main Islamic power. Turkey has become the leading light in the Islamic Conference already while the public observance of Islam grows every year. The focus has been ‘the cults’ which are really divisions of the same religion. They derive their strength from the movement of population which has occurred as more people move from the country to the towns and cities. Some include groups such as the Naqshibendi with roots in Egypt to influence people as far as Afghanistan, the Suliemanji and the Rifai. At the strictest level cults organise student adherents into segregated dormitories and prayer schools. Here the spiritual leader becomes the absolute authority on every aspect of life. There are signs that the strength of numbers is leading Turkey to form a non-Arab Islamic union across a huge area of Asia through Afghanistan and Iran to Pakistan. A union of that magnitude will draw in Arab and non-Arab Moslems into its fold. Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Saudi Arabia, large parts of India, Indonesia and elements of many other countries will want to join. You see, the secular faiths have run out of steam. Those like Ba’athism in Iraq and Syria, Nasserism in Egypt, even Marxism in Algeria. In their place, mystical and fanatical religion have provided a way back to what people believe was a golden age. In the forefront of this revival, is the militant Shia which is ideal if you want something done and then fight for it. The concept is becoming more popular year by year and Turkey will become the nucleus when it all starts to come together. Its allegiance to NATO will
be swept aside like driftwood in the path of a tidal wave. Yet the legacy of Ataturk may be in doubt. The army in Turkey would prefer Islam rather than any other way of life which is not surprising when one considers that most of the population is Muslim. But there’s another reason too. Reservoirs of oil exist in Siberia which eventually will dwarf that of the Middle East. Drilling has already proved to be successful and some Russian billionaires have become evident over recent years. When those reservoirs are tapped fully through joint ventures with other nations, the Arab states would find their control of oil production is very much weakened and the price reduced considerably. Ultimately, poverty could start to manifest itself in the Middle East even before fifty years pass. If this happens, the rise of Islam could be accelerated by twenty or thirty years. We have little time to waste.’

  ‘But how can a single country like Turkey affect a development of that nature?’ I asked benignly.

  ‘There are the republics of Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, Kirghizia and Kazakhstan. With the break up of the USSR, Turkey claims the responsibility for those republics. It sees a remarkable opportunity... one that relates to at least a share in the oil reservoir in Siberia. If Islam could set its plans in motion fast enough, it could accomplish control of the those reservoirs and ultimate hold the world at ransom for oil. At that time it would control some eighty-five per cent of the world’s oil resources. Within a few year Islam would become a threat to the stability of the West. Many Russian Muslims, including millions of new converts, could be facing Istanbul instead of Moscow. Look at the debacle that occurred in Yugoslavia because someone jumped the gun there. Turkey may restore a revival of the Ottomans to recapture the old Ottoman lands in the Balkans. They were victorious in Kosovo in 1389 over the Serbs, They could do it again.’