by Stan Mason
‘Some of them play the Iceland one club system,’ he informed me. ‘They open on less than seven points and have responses which identify the shape of their hands. Don’t let them fool you out of a game or a slam. And watch the one with the glasses and strange bow-tie. He’s their Captain and a very fine player. Well you’d better go off and talk to Tony about your plan of campaign. Just keep it tight, that’s all.’
I went over to Tony Woodman and sat opposite him at the bridge table.
‘You made it into the team then,’ he commented rhetorically. ‘There was a lot of speculation.’
‘Yes.’ I returned tiredly. ‘Someone up there likes me.’
‘I hear you threw a burglar through the window of you hotel room earlier today,’ he went on. ‘Let’s hope there’s just as much excitement in the game tonight.’
We continued our discussion until a gong sounded and the Swedish controller stood on the rostrum. He made a short speech to welcome everyone and to herald the opening of the tournament. The competition would last for a few days so that all the teams would play each other. The sweat was pouring off me as though I had a fever. I wasn’t certain that could continue but what could I say to Tony Woodman? He was an excellent player, a credit to his country... a permanent fixture in the British team having played for them for over five years. I managed to pull myself together and the competition started. Slowly and steadily we made headway and I was delighted that I was able to focus my mind and concentrate on the game. The match had progressed for about half an hour when the heat began to overcome me. At the end of one game, I excused myself and went to the men’s room to pour cold water on my face and wrists. I was drying myself on the towel when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Slowly I turned and felt a shock jolt through me as though I was being touched by an electric prod for standing before me was a man who looked exactly like me adjusting his contact lenses. It was my double! I began to experience the same horror in Crete when Penny and I met our doubles there.
‘We’d better go into a cubicle in case someone comes in and sees us, old man,’ he suggested. They might get confused. I’ve got something for you.’
I rued the fact that the nine millimetre semi-automatic Beretta I had just purchased lay idly in my hotel room. It should have been resting in my pocket now, ready to protect me.
‘Are you the chap who had trouble with his contact lenses in Crete?’ I asked him point-blank.
‘That’s right,’ he replied calmly handing me an envelope.
‘Here you’d better take it. I’ve been told it contains an airline ticket back to London. There’s also a message. The plane leaves the airport in an hour-and-a-half. You must collect your luggage right away and catch that aircraft.’
‘Tell me, how come you’re still alive? The woman I was with shot you through the head.’
‘There’s not time for that now!’ he told me sharply, pressing the envelope into my hand.
‘But I can’t leave!’ I remonstrated. ‘I’m in the middle of an international bridge tournament!’
‘Forget all that! You must leave immediately! Commander Spring’s orders! By the way, the Commander told me to remind you we’re on your side and Mr. Musaphia also sends his best wishes. I’m going to take your place with Tony Woodman. You’ll be leaving the hotel by the rear. Don’t worry about your bill. I’ll take care of it. And, whatever you do, on no account return to the conference hall. We don’t want anyone to know there are two of us.’
‘There’s some questions I have to ask you!’
‘No time, Jason, no time! You need to get your skates on if you’re going to catch that plane. Now hurry!’
He pushed me out of the cubicle to help me on my way and went to the door.
‘You go first... straight to the elevator,’ he directed quietly.
I was in a complete state of confusion. What was the urgent reason why I had to return to London and leave the tournament? I had only just started to play. Of all the things sacred to my pride was my prowess and reputation at bridge. I didn’t want my double to ruin it for me. Suspicion welled up inside me but the fact that he had mentioned Schmuel Musaphia was of some comfort. But how was it that he was still alive? It was unbelievable! I left the men’s room only to collide with a man in the corridor. He was a tourist, probably a guest at the hotel, who had been drinking far too much. He scanned my face, blinking his eyes, muttering an expletive after the collision had taken place. I stopped in my tracks to apologise to him. At that moment my double came into the corridor behind me. The inebriate stared at both of us momentarily and his eyes widened as he reeled in amazement.
‘Bloody ‘ell!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. I’ve got delirium tremens! I’m seeing everything double! Double!’
I beckoned to Turgut in the hotel lounge and we hurried to my room. I opened the envelope to find an airline ticket and a small slip of paper with squiggly writing on it which read: ‘Return immediately. Plans have greater priority!’
I threw my belongings into my suitcase while Turgut distribute the parts of the Beretta into different places in it. Then we left swiftly by the rear exit of the hotel and he drove me directly to the airport. We made our brief farewells and I was sorry to see him go. He gave me an element of confidence and he had done everything in his power to take good care of me. I needed a minder of that quality with me all the time but destiny and location insisted we had to part.
***
My double had misled me in relation to the time the aircraft was scheduled to leave Istanbul. In truth, I could have played in the bridge tournament almost to the end of the evening. Perhaps he wanted to savour the thrill of playing in the team but then he had two more days at his mercy. I was also concerned about the matter of identity. He was substituting for me but we both had passports in the name of Jason Scott. It was my good fortune I was leaving the country first in case the immigration authorities became suspicious. However, my double was far more flamboyant that me and I was concerned that Tony Woodman would notice the difference even before the evening was out. But that was hardly my problem now. I slept quite well on the plane back to Heathrow. It was as though I was leaving many of my troubles behind but such ideas were fanciful. After landing, I returned home to determine the timing of three major issues. Firstly, there was an urgent need to obtain answers from Penny Smith concerning Tomar Duran and my double. Secondly, I had to choose a time when Chris Devon and myself could assault the weaponry division to secure the plans of the laser gun. And thirdly, with the highest level of priority, was the information which my assistant, Harry, had found in relation to Jan’s whereabouts. Sadly, I was overwhelmed by Murphy’s Law... which states that if anything can go wrong, it will go wrong! As I entered my house, it became clear that the place was wrecked. Someone had broken in during my absence and had turned everything upside down. Primar! No doubt he had discovered that the microfilm I had given him was spurious and he had burgled the place to search for the real plans. The intruder had made certain to make his presence felt. The room was strewn with broken furniture laying idly in strange sculptured shapes after being smashed and splintered by force. Upholstery had been cut and ripped in a crude fashion with a sharp blade, destroying all the expensive seating in the lounge. Fittings had been torn roughly from their sockets on the walls and the ceiling indiscriminately while slivers of glass littered the floor everywhere. Most of the glass had come from the doors of elegantly designed cabinets and from the frames of photographs on the mantelshelf. Papers and books had been pulled off the shelves haphazardly and there was also evidence that some parts of the carpets had been pulled up in an attempt to find a hiding place where the plans were hidden. The damage was considerable. It had been conducted wantonly and had achieved nothing.
I found Harry’s notes in a large envelope which had been kicked by the intruder under the telephone table in the hallway. It had been ripped open i
n the hope that it contained the information sought. I glance through the details provided by my assistant. He had done a good job in such a short time. The lists identified all the clubs in Hertfordshire and their locations as well as all the bridges in the county. There were six football clubs, five night- clubs of which two were professional, three golf clubs, three scout clubs, five bridge clubs, three cricket clubs and four youth clubs. There were also eight bridge but three of them were very small and situated in such obscure locations it was reasonable to discount them. I picked up the telephone which was still working and rang him.
‘Sorry to ring you so late again, Harry. I just got in. You did a hell of a good job for me on Hertfordshire.’
‘You’ve got a tough job on there,’ he began in a troubled voice. ‘There were dozens of little clubs but I eliminated them because they were so small. You know the ones. Pigeon clubs, amateur dramatic societies, writers’ groups and all that. I concentrated only on those which had premises of their own rather than those which rent rooms on a weekly basis. So I have to tell you that if the place you’re looking for happens to be one of those tiny ones, what you’re searching for may have slipped the net. If that’s the case you probably wouldn’t have found it anyway. When you put the whole thing together, you’ve got twenty-nine clubs and five main bridges. The odds of finding the right one is about a hundred-and-forty-five to one. Naturally, you might strike lucky and hit the jackpot at the first go but life’s not that simple. It could take you days or weeks. A visit to any of the clubs might not be sufficient. Your wife may be hidden in a cellar or a back room. You really need more information. Something to narrow down the odds. How you do that I’ve no idea.’
My heart sank at his words. He was absolutely right. It would take a lot of time to check out even a single club to find out whether Jan was being held there. Poor Jan! There was no way I could narrow the odds! She probably thought her cryptic message was all that I needed to find her. How little she knew!
I went into the dining room and sat on the only unbroken chair in the house. There was no point in trying to pour myself a drink because every bottle inside the cocktail cabinet had been smashed.
Whoever had broken in was a particularly spiteful character destroying everything in his path whether or not it had anything to do with his mission. It annoyed me that I had such good clues from my wife and yet I was stumped.
I went back to the lounge to find out whether it was possible to restore anything at all. The place was a shambles... nothing had been left intact. The television sported a large hole where the screen had been and it lay where it was tossed into the hearth. The home entertainment equipment had been dashed to the floor to make sure it never worked again. The telephone answering machine had been torn from its socket to suffer the same fate. What a mess! And then a thought crept into my mind which had the touch of genius. The recording tape from the telephone answering machine! It was sitting in the middle of the floor trying to tell me something. The only link with Jan might be on that tape! It might be possible to establish some detailed information from it such as background noises, familiar sounds, or something which might introduce new clues in addition to those she had given me. If that were so, it would certainly shorten the odds. However in order to develop the idea, I needed the services of someone who had the equipment and expertise to be able to put my inspiration into practice. And I required those services urgently! Chris Devon! The name sprang immediately to mind. Of course! Chris Devon! If anyone could do it, he had to be the man!
I picked up the tape and drove to the hovel where he lived, knocking several times on the front door. My heart sank when there was no answer. As I was about to walk away in disappoint- ment, I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs from inside. Within a few moments, the front door was opened and, to my jubilation, his ugly face came into view.
‘Thank God you’re in,’ I exclaimed with relief.
‘Oh it’s you!’ he muttered with a few crumbs dropping from his beard. ‘I was just havin’ somethin’ to eat. You want me to do that gig now? Okay... if you hang on I’ll be ready in five minutes.’
‘No, no!’ I stressed sharply. ‘Not yet! This is something quite different. It’s personal. I need your help.’
‘Come inside then, man,’ he invited. ‘I hate standin’ in doorways talkin’ to people. Come inside!’
I followed him up to his room. Producing the tape from my pocket. I knew that the information on it was pretty poor but it was important for me to try to find out the background noises on it. It could be a matter of life or death!
‘Can you bring up the background noise with your equipment? Is it possible to amplify it? I want to find out something from the second message... the woman’s voice.’
‘No sweat, man’ he returned casually. ‘Do it all the time. In my spare moments I’m also a radio ham. Didn’t you see the aerial on the roof. Here... let me have the tape.’
He placed it in a machine, donned on a pair of headphones, and played it through once. ‘Hey, that’s heavy man!’ he commented, taking off the headphones. ‘Sounds as though she’s been kidnapped. What’s all the stuff about bridge?’
‘Never mind that now,’ I growled. ‘Can you reduce the foreground and enhance the background?’
He scratched his unkempt hair and I imagined him turning his lips into a pout underneath the frothy beard as the wheels of his mind began to churn. He put on the headphones again and played with the tape again before removing them again. ‘The definition is lousy. Those telephone answering machines are designed to give you a message... nothing more.’
He handed the headphones to me and I wiped them thoroughly before placing them over my ears, nodding to him to start the machine. There was a lot of white noise and some static as Jan delivered her message. I listened intently eventually removing the headphones and shaking my head slowly.
‘Something’s there but it’s impossible to make it out. I need more than that!’
He chewed on his lower lip for a while and then turned to me.
‘What I can do is to make a copy of the tape which you can keep for record purposes. Then I can play around with the original in a number of ways to bring up the background. If I don’t do that, there’s a danger that the original tape could be corrupted if I push it too far.’
‘Can you take a copy and play around with it instead of the original,’ I asked intensely.
‘Not really. With this kind of tape, every copy loses definition. I want to give the original the full works.’ I consented reluctantly and he made a copy which he handed to me before setting to work on the original. ‘Help yourself to some coffee,’ he remarked, setting the headphones back on his head.
I surveyed a number of unwashed cups on the table and decided not to accept his hospitality. He devoted his attention to his work and started to press keys on the machine moving the tape forwards and backwards, shunting to a violent halt one way and then the other. I watched him closely as he played with the tape for a considerable amount of time. There was no way I could assess his ability. I was in his hands and could only hope he knew what he was doing. In due course, he sat upright and offered the headphones to me. 278
‘I’ve wiped out practically all the white noise., eliminated the static, and reverted the background to the foreground,’ he boasted immodestly. ‘But let me say this. The quality is very poor but at least you’ll be able to hear some of the background noise with reasonable clarity. There’s a chance I can raise part of the volume but such action might corrupt the tape. Listen in, man!’
I put on the headphones with an element of excitement and listened intently. Jan’s message could be heard but it was very faint. Suddenly, I could hear the sound of music although it wasn’t possible to identify the tune. It appeared to be right at the end of a song. As the music ended, there was a voice which was hardly audible. ‘Stop it there!’ I orde
red sharply. ‘I heard the last few bars of a tune and the sound of a voice. Can you bring it up any further?’
‘If I do, the tape might corrupt,’ he returned with concern.
‘Then do it!’ I commanded. ‘Play it... as loud as you can!’
He pressed a number of keys on the machine, returning to the exact point where the music had finished. ‘Ladies and Gentlemen!’ came the voice of a man, and then the tape ended.
Chris Devon shook his head sadly. ‘I warned you, man. It’s kaputville! We stretched the elastic too far. I just hope you got what you wanted.’
Music... and a man saying ‘Ladies and Gentlemen!’ It wasn’t much to go on but it was all I needed. At a stroke, I had narrowed the clubs down from twenty-nine to five for there were five nightclubs in the county and Jan was being held in one of them. I thanked Chris Devon profusely for his efforts paying him handsomely for the work and raced home again to contact my assistant.
‘Harry,’ I began, with an edge of excitement in my voice. ‘How many nightclubs are there close to any of the bridges you identified?’
‘Give me a moment, will you,’ he replied helpfully, disappearing to check the data on his notes before returning to the telephone. ‘This must be your lucky day,’ he told me cheerfully as though we had won the prize. ‘There’s only one nightclub close to a bridge. The bridge is there because there’s a lake. The nightclub’s called The Golden Peacock near Welwyn Garden City. I’m intrigued... how did you work out that the place had to be a nightclub?’
‘Thanks, Harry,’ I told him gratefully. ‘I’ll tell you all about it when I next see you.’
The Golden Peacock near Welwyn Garden City! At last I knew where she was being held! I thought about contacting the police. It would have been the right thing to do but there would be complications. As soon as I informed them of the situation, they would ask how I knew about The Golden Peacock and undertake an investigation. They might even find that I had two passports in different names and it was certain they would disbelieve everything I told them about the 21st Century Crusaders. They only worked on evidence and proof. Sadly it was all against me personally. My only evidence was a copy of the tape which was of little value because the original had been corrupted. All I would be doing was to draw attention to myself which could affect the assault on the weaponry division when Chris Devon and I set out to steal the plans of the laser gun. Finding Jan was something I had to do alone. I decided to ring Penny to obtain answers to the questions that kept nagging me but there was no reply. The woman was becoming extremely elusive. I had felt certain our relationship took us well beyond the cause of the 21st Century