by Stan Mason
‘I see you found the spare key over the door,’ he commented smoothly, apparently oblivious of Penny’s demise.
‘What are you doing here, Primar?’ I demanded coldly.
‘I could ask the same of you, old boy,’ he returned casually, sniffing the pungent air and turning up his nose. ‘From the look of it I would say you’re trying to hide a body.
‘As if you didn’t know!’ I snarled angrily. ‘Did you kill her?’
He walked past me and lifted the blanket to see the body. ‘Pity,’ he uttered softly. ‘She was such a beautiful woman.’
‘And you know nothing about her death!’ I challenged.
‘Why should I?’
I turned him round to face me. ‘I suppose you came here because you happened to be passing by!’
He chewed on the toothpick thoughtfully. ‘I came here because we work for the same organisation... and she hadn’t contacted me for two days.’
‘I didn’t know you had such close contact. The last I remember you were going to slit her throat in Israel! Now why should I believe anything you tell me about you and the 21st Century Crusaders?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ he snapped. ‘I’m not talking about the 21st Century Crusaders. I’m talking of MOSSAD.’
‘MOSSAD? What the hell is that?’
He seemed to thrive on my ignorance and treated me like a spider whose legs were being pulled off systematically by a mischievous schoolboy. ‘The Israeli intelligence agency,’ he informed me. ‘The equivalent to the CIA, MI5. The KGB and the SDECE in France. MOSSAD is an abbreviation of Hebrew words meaning Institution for Intelligence and Special Assignment. It’s responsible mainly for overseas espionage and information.’
I was stunned at his revelation treating it suspiciously. ‘Are you telling me that both you and Penny worked for Israeli intelligence... for MOSSAD?’
‘We worked in tandem.’
‘What about your relationship with the 21st Century Crusaders?’
‘It interweaves beautifully. The Arab states make up most of the Middle East comprising many millions of Muslims. If a Holy War took place, Israel would be one of the first target of Islam. We have a right to defend our country and its people in the best way we can. I don’t think even you would deny us that right.’ He paused to chew a little harder on the toothpick.
‘And you know nothing about Penny’s death?’
‘Why should I?’ He placed his hand directly over the position of his heart. ‘I’m as shocked as you are. I don’t know who could have done this terrible thing. Especially in a country like Britain.’
I was in two minds whether to believe him or not when I heard footsteps approaching the front door. Primar tried to move quickly towards the exit but I managed to bar his way. A few seconds later a man appeared in the doorway with a stretcher.
‘Okay, Primar,’ he began, ‘where’s the body?’
‘You bastard!’ I shouted at Primar who let the toothpick fall from his mouth. ‘You knew she was dead all the time! You were the one who killed her!’
He reached into his pocket to produce a revolver. I knew that he would have to killed me now to cover his tracks. However, he didn’t know that I carried a Beretta in a holster. Penny would have warned him if she had given me a gun but he had no contact with Turgut in Turkey so he was unaware that I was armed. Before I realised what was happening, Primar had pointed the gun directly in my face and I was staring down the end of a barrel. The man with the stretched took fright at the sudden change of plan and he ran off as fast as his legs would carry him. He knew that other people would hear the shot and the police would arrive shortly.
A grin broke out on Primar’s face. ‘I got to like you, Jason,’ he admitted. ‘More than you’ll ever know. It’s a pity it has to end this way. A pity! By the way, I saved your life in Turkey.’
‘What are you talking about? I managed to say as I began to seize up with fear.
‘Kemal is a staunch follower of Islam. In fact he was a member of their intelligence although he’s the first to admit that their agency doesn’t work very well. When he learned you were going to visit the Mahdi in Istanbul he could hardly contain himself. They’re very sensitive about foreigners meddling with their people, their customs, their politics and their religion. He was right behind you when you crossed the Galata bridge. His aim was to kill you before you got to see the great man. He considered that your ‘infidel eyes should never gaze on a person of such greatness’. His words... not mine. Kemal was useful to me in a number of ways but I thought you had a higher value. So I killed him just before he picked you off, with my Kalashnikoff rifle.’
‘Am I supposed to be grateful for that!’ I snapped, realising I was about to face death without so much as moving a muscle.
At that moment, the sound of a mobile telephone rang in his jacket. He laughed loudly highly amused at the timing of the event. ‘what a time to receive a telephone call,’ he joked, removing the mobile from his pocket.
In those few seconds, his concentration lapsed as he pressed a button on the instrument to receive the call. It was just the time I needed. Drawing a deep breath, I thrust my hand under my jacket, produce the Beretta, and shot him in the chest. His eyes widened in shock and he dropped the mobile instantly. Then he fell to the ground dead. It was all over so quickly! In the fraction of the second before he died, I could see the surprise register on his face. However it was of little satisfaction to me to gain such revenge ... and no advantage to Penny whatsoever!
I closed the door of the apartment and hurried away from the place. It would difficult to explain my role to the police if I were to report the incident and remain in the apartment with two corpses... one killed with the gun in my possession. Nonetheless, leaving both the bodies there would not allow me to wash my hands of the affair. Penny was my secretary. The police were certain to want to interview me at some later stage and there would be a lot of explaining to do. It might be that I would never be able to satisfy them with their enquiries. The consequences for me thereafter were unthinkable!
***
I went to a restaurant and spent an hour there mulling over the dreadful situation before driving to the East End of London. Schmuel Musaphia was already in the lobby of the Tower Hotel even though it was well before noon. His face was very serious when I met him but his expression mollified as soon as I arrived.
‘I’m very impressed, Jason,’ he greeted me, like a general trying to upgrade the morale of his troops. ‘You’ve done a lot in less than a week and I’m proud of you. Now... follow me and I think you’ll find something that will interest you.’
We walked away from the hotel slowly. I was surprised when he led me to the ancient maze of warehouses in St. Katherine’s Dock. It was familiar to me as I had been here before following the address given to me by Menel’s daughter in my search for my wife. The air was still polluted with wisps of wool and the aroma of coffee, musk and spices. We went down a lane to one of the warehouses and he bade me to enter. It was the one I had visited before... the same place where I had found Jan’s coat filled with two bundles of hay. I hesitated outside the large doors reluctant to enter.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked in a puzzled fashion.
‘I’ve been here before. Quite recently... but it was empty.’
‘It was never empty... never!’
‘Oh yes it was!’ I insisted. ‘I found a coat in there with two small bundles of hay in Jan’s coat. I think someone tried to make me think it was her body.’
‘Nonsense!’ he laughed. ‘Believe in not only what you think you can’t see. Come in and I’ll show you.’
We entered and he waved a hand for me to follow him to some bales of hay. Moving them aside, he opened a trapdoor, raised the flap, and motioned me to descend some steps to a cellar in the bowels of the earth. He fol
lowed behind, closing the trapdoor so that it fell back into place. The room was well lit with fluorescent lighting. It was an underground factory comprising many kinds of lathes and machinery, electronic and otherwise, with a large model of a laser gun similar to the one in the weaponry division of Dandy Advanced Electronics. I recognised it immediately.
‘We managed to put a pretty good laser gun together of our own design,’ related the old man easily. ‘You see, there’s very little difference in terms of design and operation. It’s the laser beam that counts. Most powerful laser beams can be produced only in short bursts. Continuous streams of laser light are necessarily weak because of the intense heat generated by the flash tubes which themselves could be destroyed if the beam is too powerful. No one has yet been able to overcome that problem successfully. It’s become the sixty-four thousand dollar question. However today we hope to combine experience, expertise and a little magic to make a weapon capable of establishing world peace.’
‘I don’t understand what you’re getting at,’ I told him candidly.
He took me to a work bench on which there was a model of a crystal laser. ‘This laser has a fluorescent crystal such as a ruby as its light-amplifying substance. The power for a ruby laser comes from a flash tube which is usually coiled around the crystal. The flash tube produces a brilliant flash of light which excites a large number of chromium ions, or electrically-charged atoms, in the ruby. The process is called optical pumping. You can see how it works from this model. At each end of the ruby rod is a mirrored surface. Coiled around that rod is a ruby which creates the flash and drives the laser beam through the rod to emerge at one end. The technical operation is much more complicated.’
‘What are you trying to tell me? I asked meekly.
He drew on his unlit cigar and stared at me intently. ‘The most advanced nations have laser guns but the technology is too weak to support an offensive weapon that could be used as a deterrent. The Americans have played with it for two decades to make only small advances. The plans of Dandy Advanced Electronics are somewhat better. They’re ahead of the Yanks but not very far. So what we’re going to do today is the culmination of five years of research by some of the best brains in the business, enhanced by the plans that you’ve given us. We’re going to turn base metals into gold.’
‘Turn base metals into gold!’ I repeated woodenly. ‘But I thought your main directive was to produce a capable laser gun!’
He laughed so loudly he was forced to remove the cigar from between his lips. ‘I’m talking figuratively about the alchemists’ dream in ancient times,’ he continued. My comment amused him greatly because it was the first time I had seen him without the cigar in his mouth. ‘We’ve combined the resources of three ruby rods with three flash tubes. The secret is that the flash tubes are twice as large as usual and the mirrored surfaces much bigger. Also, instead of a single mirror at one end, we’ve produced two angled mirrors to reflect the light from two different points. It’s never been tried before... this is the first time. ‘Okay, Joe!’ he called to one of the men. ‘Let’s get the show on the road!’
The man wheeled a unit on a trolley across the room. It carried a triplicated core which he placed carefully into the laser gun. AT the far end of the room rested a steel sheet about the size of an ordinary door except that it was two feet thick. He waved his hand to Musaphia to indicate that the weapon was ready to be fired and everyone in the room stood back. Someone handed out darkened glasses which everyone put on and then we waited. The octogenarian then nodded and the man squeezed the trigger. There was a short pause and a loud buzzing noise before the flash tubes exploded. Joe leapt backwards with his clothes on fire as the other men in the room rushed forward to put out the flames. We all stared at the burned-out core with dismay.
‘Only two of the flash bulbs started to work,’ claimed Joe who seemed undaunted at having been set alight. ‘There must have been a fault in the third one.’
‘Pretty dangerous stuff,’ I commented. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine’ he replied eager to resume the experiment. ‘Just as well I’m wearing protective clothing. But we never concern ourselves with the negative aspects of research here. People are only concerned with winners, not losers. And don’t worry about the loss of the core unit. We have others.’
Another man opened a cupboard to remove another triplicated core which he attached to the laser gun.
Schmuel Musaphia gave me a wry smile. ‘In research, it’s a case of try, try and try again until you get it right. We’ll succeed in the end, I’m certain. Maybe sooner rather than later.’
Joe wiped the laser gun with a cloth to remove the marks caused by the explosion and then aimed it at the target. I admired him for his positive attitude and his courage. If we had changed places and the equipment had exploded in my face and caught my clothes on fire, I would be in no hurry to start the procedure again. However, this man seemed fearless in his resolve to the point of becoming a martyr to the cause. He pointed the weapon at the steel sheet again without any qualms whatsoever and squeezed the trigger, keeping his finger pressed back to engage a longer burst of energy. The core unit buzzed and hummed inside the laser gun but the beam was not visible. Nonetheless, within fifteen seconds a large hole appeared in the metal door.
‘Enough!’ shouted Musaphia, clearly enjoyed with the result. ‘Enough!’ Joe released the trigger and the core unit ceased to function. ‘I want Menel to identify the reason why this laser unit functions so well. It’ll act as the embryo for other experiments. What it’s done is to prove that we have worked the oracle.’ He turned to me triumphantly. ‘The plans you gave us allowed this experiment to work,’ he told me gleefully. ‘Without it we would be at least two steps behind. Thank you for helping us, Jason. It’s very much appreciated.’
We walked over to the metal sheet which was still steaming. Then Joe pointed to the wall behind it to show a hole large enough for a man to walk through. ‘Look at that!’ he shouted excitedly. ‘Not only did it go through the steel sheet but it made a hole in the wall itself. It’s super machine which will be even better when we’ve developed it further. The beam treated steel, bricks and mortar like a hot knife cutting through butter.!’
The old man puffed furiously on his unlit cigar and put his arm around my shoulders. ‘What we have here today, Jason, is a piece of history. This is the place where the laser beam deterrent was born. Almost like Jesus being born in a manger. By the way, I want you to go to Stansted Airport in the morning at eight o’clock. A man will be waiting there for you with a placard marked number twenty-one. A plane will take you to the Gaza Strip where you’ll have a debriefing session with Commander Yasood and you’ll meet your wife there.’
‘In the Gaza Strip?’ I echoed with little enthusiasm.
‘And I can tell you that your team is doing quite well in the bridge tournament in Istanbul. Apparently Tony Woodman’s playing a blinder with the man who looks like you. Isn’t that what they say... a blinder? It seems everyone’s having success at the moment in whatever they’re doing.’
Despite all the jubilation, I left the warehouse with a hollow feeling inside me I wasn’t really sure whether to laugh or to cry. Penny was dead and I would be reunited with Jan tomorrow. I had no idea which direction my life would take from this point. But then I had always believed that each man’s destiny was written in Heaven. I could only hope that mine would be favourable from now on.
Chapter Fifteen
The sky was heavy with rain the next morning as I drove to Stansted Airport. I found a thickset man waiting for me there as had been arranged. He stood alone in the entrance holding a placard which read ‘21’. I approached him and introduced myself.
‘My name’s Bross,’ he informed me. ‘I’m the pilot to take you to the Gaza Strip. The aircraft is ready for take-off.’
I followed him to the plane and boarded,
ensuring that the door between the cockpit and the passenger compartment was normal and unlocked.
‘You have some kind of problem?’ he asked watching my actions. ‘Maybe you don’t like to sit with your back to the engine or something. Never mind. You can sit with me.’
His words comforted me and I consented to sit beside him in the front of the aircraft. He started the engine, contacted the control tower, and taxied off so that we were soon in the air. However it was technically an erratic take-off and I fostered the notion that he was extremely short of experience.
‘How long did it take to get your pilot’s licence?’ I asked questioning his ability.
‘Pilot’s licence!’ he replied as though it was unnecessary to obtain one. ‘We all learn from experience. My cousin used to take me up when he flew people to other destinations and I watched what he did. He used to show me what to do.’
The hairs began to stand up on the back of my head. ‘Well how did you learn to read all these instruments,’ I continued pointing to the numerous dials in front of him.
‘I don’t need to read instruments,’ he admitted freely. ‘Most of them hardly matter anyway. I just look at the speed and altitude.’
I sat in my seat expecting a bumpy ride but my fears for this part of the journey were unfounded as he switched on the automatic pilot to carry us across Europe. We continued our conversation, talking generalities for some time then I was overcome by sleep due to the early hour of rising and the monotonous drone of the engine. I awoke momentary on a few occasions but it was quite some time before I regained full consciousness. There was a violent jerk as the plane seemed to hit turbulence on a grand scale. At the same time a loud noise reverberated throughout the cockpit. As I sat up and yawned, I suddenly noticed that Bross was no longer in the pilot’s seat. I went to the passenger’s cabin to discover he was not there either. Before I returned to the cockpit, I looked out of the port window. There he was, some distance below, swaying forwards and backwards at the end of a parachute. The aircraft had reacted violently when he had opened the cabin door and jumped out. The loud noise was the door slamming back into place. I shook my head to make sure I wasn’t dreaming and then returned to the cockpit to stare at the controls. It was too late to try and work out who Bross was and why he had left me in this dilemma. I mean... what did I know about flying a plane? Nothing! I pressed a switch which I believed to be a microphone for transmitting messages and kept repeating: ‘May Day! May Day!’ but there was no reply. I didn’t even know whether I was transmitting properly . I opened a panel on the left-hand side of the pilot’s seat and found the operating manual. The aircraft possessed dual control yokes with vertical grips... one for each hand. Extended from the base of the instrument panel were two buttons... one to open the microphone for transmitting, the other to activate the positive control system... the automatic pilot. I pressed the communication button and continued to broadcast for assistance. In due course, a radio ham replied to say that he had received my message and had passed it on to the authorities. For a moment I was overwhelmed with relief but that hardly altered my situation. I was in deep trouble to say the least. Suddenly a voice sounded on the system and I picked up the microphone again.