Stopping World War Three Page 15

  ‘Well, Mr. Musaphia,’ I told him calmly, ‘It’s all very well for you to tell me these things but I’m not really impressed. For one thing, I’m not a 21st Century Crusader and I do not wish to become one. There are hundreds of various causes in the world and, to tell you the truth, hard-hearted as it may sound, I’m not interested in getting involved with any of them. Call me selfish if you like, I shan’t be offended. I only became involved in this charade of yours to protect myself, my wife and my secretary. Now I find that my wife was kidnapped and my secretary is behaving so suspiciously that I can’t trust her any more. I’ve really no other interest in helping you.’

  ‘Then why did you come here to meet me?’

  ‘I came to plead my case. I want everyone to get off my back and leave me alone. But, more importantly, I want my wife returned to me.’

  He puffed furiously on his cigar even though it was unlit. ‘The organisation hasn’t abducted your wife,’ he revealed voluntarily. ‘If in fact she was abducted it wasn’t by us.’

  ‘Well that’s hard cheese!’ I riposted sharply. ‘Perhaps it would be more practical if you found out how I could get her back.’

  ‘Forgive me if we took too much for granted. It was assumed that when you learned of the danger you’d be interested in helping. We were told you were a humanist. At least that’s what Primar said.’

  ‘Primar!’ I repeated with despair. ‘Now there’s another thing. He’s got the microfilm of the plans that were given to me by Menel. They’re the false ones. But who does he really work for? I haven’t fathomed it out yet. Only he plays pretty rough with a bodyguard named Kemal.’

  A waiter came over to take our order and we fell silent until he had departed.

  ‘I sympathise with you, Jason,’ continued Musaphia with candour. ‘I respect your honesty and your resolve. However, we fight against an imminent Jihad... a religious war... in the same way we have fought against tyrants and despots in previous world wars. This is a replay of the first Crusades. The difference is translated by the technology of war and weaponry. We certainly need those plans of the laser gun.’

  ‘Well from my point of view, I’m taking all the risks and getting nothing in return. You’re going to have to do something better if you want my co-operation.’

  ‘Agreed. Your file clearly states that you’re a man seeking a cause to occupy your time and your mind. A man who searches for constant change and challenge. We have something in mind to solve your problem. Let’s say you’re serving a probationary period. But don’t worry... we’ll soon find your wife.’

  The waiter brought our starter and we paused until he left.

  ‘You’re still offering me nothing, Musaphia,’ I returned bluntly.

  ‘It’s already been given to you,’ came the response. His lips pressed even tighter on his cigar. ‘In the year 732 a.d. Charles Martel led the Franks to Tours where he defeated the Muslim army. If he had not been successful, the interpretation of the Quran would now be taught at Oxford and Cambridge, while the pulpits of the City of Gleaming Spires might demonstrate the sanctity and truth of the revelations of Mohammed. The benefit has already been conferred upon you by others nearly thirteen hundred years ago who didn’t hesitate to act in the face of adversity when they were called to arms. We are all indebted to them.’

  I was appalled that he would thrust past history as an excuse for my involvement in his cause. ‘That argument doesn’t wash with me,’ I spat rudely. ‘History’s in the past... we’re here at present. As far as it goes, I don’t owe you or the world anything. I’m sure others would lay down their lives to prevent what you say will happen but I’m too selfish, too cautious, too suspicious of predic- tions about the future. Okay, Primar caught me with my pants down concerning the photographs of me and Miss Smith, and he blackmailed me by saying he had arranged for proof that I had mishandled the company’s funds. But there are limits to which I’m not prepared to go beyond.’

  Another waiter returned to pour wine into our glasses and he fussed around the table momentarily until he placed the bottle into an ice bucket.

  ‘Very well,’ retuned my host sagely. ‘You’ve made your feelings clear but I’m going to presume there will be a turning point in your mind. When that happens we shall talk again. In the meantime, I ask you not to worry about your wife.’ He paused for a moment to think. ‘Look... I offer you a deal. If you co-operate, I’ll arrange for you to play for your country’s international bridge team for a whole season.’

  Silence reigned between us for a few moments as I allowed the information to sink into my brain. ‘How can you possibly arrange something like that? It’s not possible!’

  ‘You’ll be surprised what I can do. If you’re willing to help us, you’ll be in the British team for a whole season. You can play for your country in Istanbul tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow!’ I echoed, realising that I would be on the move once again. ‘Okay... I agree!’ I consented immediately completely astonished that he was able to pull such powerful strings. There was far more to this old man than I imagined.

  ‘But first there’s a small task I want you to perform whilst you’re out there.’

  I sat back in my chair with a rueful smile on my face. ‘I knew there’d be a catch in there somewhere.’

  ‘You’ll be free to do as you wish when you’re not playing bridge,’ he went on. He placed his hand to his inside pocket and produced an envelope and a passport. ‘I want you to visit a man called Mustapha Ozal at this address. Once in Turkey, apart from the bridge congress, you will go under the name of Mushtaq Hussein. This is the passport that bears your photograph and that name. You’re the editor of a new Islam magazine in Britain similar to Hurriyet, a popular Turkish journal.’

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’

  ‘Ask him how he feels to be a Mahdi... the man ready to assemble all of Islam as a Messiah, to rise up against the infidels in the West. Tell him you want to write about him in your magazine so that every Muslim in Britain will learn about his coming.’

  ‘But how do you know the man is the Mahdi... a God-guided deliverer? Most religious sects grew popular after such ‘Mahdis’ were dead.’

  Musaphia drew deeply on his unlit cigar again before replying. ‘In the modern world one cannot leave such matters to divine intervention. If the oil ran out and no deliverer appeared, the people of Islam might lose momentum without a strong leader. Then we could be faced with ambitious tribal leaders forming separate militant factions. Terrorism would increase substantially on a wide scale. As such, Islam is identifying characteristic people to train to become Mahdis so that someone will lead. To our knowledge, there are fourteen people in this category at the present time. All of them outstanding personalities with leadership qualities awaiting selection when the time comes.’

  ‘That’s crazy!’ I exploded. ‘If what you say is true it’s like having fourteen Jesus Christs... all at the same time! Surely you can’t have so many people in the field doing the same thing!’

  ‘I’ll tell you how you can,’ he continued, flicking the imaginary white ash off the end of his cigar. ‘Firstly none of these men know of the existence of the others. Secondly, they all train in private so they’re not known to the general public. You’ll understand a lot more when you meet Ozal. After that, we’ll arrange for a debriefing. It helps to know what goes on in the mind of a God-guided deliverer.’

  I started to become concerned for I seemed to be getting in deeper despite the fact that I kept saying I was not for sale. ‘What happens if something goes wrong? What sort of back-up will I get?’

  He looked at me strangely. ‘What could go wrong? You’re the editor of a new magazine on Islam in Britain.’

  ‘That’s far too simplistic,’ I rattled feeling my blood pressure rising as I realised the implications. ‘What do I know about Islam? You can put it in a thimble an
d still lose it. He’ll talk of religious matters of which I’m totally ignorant. He’ll twig I’m an imposter in no time.’

  ‘You’re a man of originality seeking challenges, Jason,’ he responded coolly. ‘Go to a reference library and learn all you can about Islam. But as you’ll be leaving by the eight o’clock plane tomorrow morning, I fear that the opportunity is lost. You’ll need to find a book on the subject at the airport. As far as your back- ground goes, you’re a British subject born of parents who emigrated to Britain from Beirut. Don’t worry... you won’t be expected to know everything about Islam.’ He passed the envelope and the passport over to me. ‘This envelope contains a fair amount of Turkish lira and your airline ticket... you leave at eight o’clock in the morning. Good luck at the tournament!’

  My mind was in a whirl. I hadn’t played bridge for nearly three weeks which didn’t bode well. A lapse of that time could cause a high-class player to lose his edge almost like a concert pianist who hadn’t played the piano for a while. In addition, I had no idea who might partner might be in the international team. It was essential to have an excellent understanding between us if we were to be successful at that level. There was also another matter which would have to wait if I went to Turkey. I couldn’t meet Penny at our usual restaurant. I wanted to hear her explanation about the incident with Tomar Duran in Crete but it would have to wait.

  Musaphia and I continued our meal enjoying the first-class cuisine choosing our conversation carefully. He took care to avoid talking about the 21st Century Crusaders and Islam while I chose to become more amiable. He was a wise and pleasant old man but I still wondered why he had travelled all the way to England just to meet me. Although I tried craftily to ascertain his agenda he avoided any discussion of that nature out of hand. For the time being his mission in London was to remain a secret but it had to be something important. I still couldn’t believe that it was possible for someone to arrange for me to be a member of the British international bridge team with a stroke of his hand. Bribery of any kind was out of the question. It was becoming clear to me tht many people in elite positions in the world had become members of the 21st Century Crusaders or at least supported them. The other part of the deal was that Musaphia would try to locate Jan. It was then I reminded myself that my wife’s abduction was another matter which required urgent attention. If I was absent for a few days playing bridge in Turkey I wouldn’t be able to follow up the clues she had given me. I really needed to take action immediately but Fate was ruling against me.

  When I arrived home, I opened up the large map to examine Hertfordshire in detail. A club and a bridge. My eyes scanned the map trying to unearth anything which might provide a solution...

  Potters Bar, Hatfield, St. Albans, Welwyn Garden City, Stevenage, Hitchin. The task seemed impossible! There had to be dozens fo clubs... hundreds of bridges! I poured myself a stiff whisky and sat back for a while trying to work out a solution. My approach to the problem then became clearer. I couldn’t follow it through myself because of the lack of time available but I had an excellent assistant at Dandy Advanced Electronics who could do it for me. I checked with my telephone directory and found his home number.

  ‘Harry,’ I began tentatively. ‘Sorry to call you so late at night. I wonder if you’d do me a favour. It’s personal and urgent. Will you have a go at it for me?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said unhesitatingly. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a matter of life or death,’ I went on. ‘I won’t go into the details. I want you to list all the clubs in the county of Herfordshire... clubs of any description... and also all the bridges in the county. Do you think you could do that for me?’

  ‘It’s simple enough,’ he returned tiredly. There’s a large tome with an orange cover in the library that lists all the clubs and associations in the country but I’ll do some double-checking to make sure. As far as bridges are concerned, I can get them from an ordinance survey map. I’ll have it for you in a day or two.’

  I took the airline ticket and the forged passport from my pocket and laid them on the table. ‘Look,’ I went on, ‘I’ll be away for the next few days. If you list the details and drop them through my letter box I can go through them the moment I return.’

  ‘This is about your wife, isn’t it?’ he advanced cheekily.

  ‘Don’t ask questions, Harry!’ I cautioned. ‘And don’t be perceptive! Strange things are happening in the environment and I wouldn’t like you to find yourself involved. Keep all this to yourself. I don’t want anyone finding out what you’re doing! Do you understand?’

  ‘It’s no sweat to do some research on a little English county.,’ he added. ‘Leave it with me. I’ll get the information for you.’

  I turned off my mobile with an element of relief. Harry was a magician when it came to research. He would produce all I needed in a short space of time. I finished my drink and went into my study to browse. The shelves sported many books, most of them reaching to the ceiling. Each one was stuffed with tomes of all sizes covering a wide range of subjects. After looking along the lines of titles, I came across one relating to the religions of the world. I turned to the chapter on Islam with great interest. It wasn’t long before the information on paper translated itself into my mind at which time I had learned a great deal about the Quran, the Five Pillars of Islam, the Islam calendar and the variations within Islam, as well as its festivals. I began to feel that, under the false identity of Mushtaq Hussein, I had a reasonable chance of passing muster with the Mahdi. Naturally, I would have to remember everything I had read and recall the information in the right order.

  My suitcase was packed before I went to bed. According to the airport regulations, I would have to arrive at there at about six- thirty in the morning to ensure that my luggage was booked in and loaded onto the aircraft. There was little time for sleep that night... not that I would fall into a deep sleep anyway. The vision of the weaponry division and the Brigadier kept spinning around in my mind threatening to become a nightmare but never quite instilling fear. The alarm went off as the first rays of light channelled through the space where the curtains failed to meet. I opened my eyes feeling exceedingly tired, wanting to curl up and go to sleep again. Such conditions did not bode well for an inter- national bridge player. It meant that my mental energy would seep away as the day went on. In the evening, when the competition at the bridge table intensified, I would feel drained and tired, have difficulty in concentrating, and become erratic when making important decisions in the game. It was not the ideal situation to obtain good results in a serious match let alone in an international tournament! I rose and went to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. It was then that I noticed a white envelope laying on the doormat behind the front door. I picked it up and opened it slowly. There was a single sheet of paper inside on which letters cut from a newspaper had been glued. It said simply: ‘Don’t fly to Turkey if you value your life. Don’t fly to Turkey if you value your wife!’

  I produced my mobile telephone and dialled the Dorchester Hotel asking to be put through to Schmuel Musaphia and I waited for the connection although I knew exactly what they would say. He had paid his bill and left the hotel after we had finished our meal. Whoever heard of a guest leaving a hotel at eleven o’clock at night. I stared at the letter again. There were no clues... Nothing! Once again, I was up the creek without a paddle. Should I risk going to Turkey or should I stay at home? That was the sixty-four thousand dollar question!

  Chapter Ten

  The flight from Heathrow to Istanbul took nearly four hours and it became apparent from the literature on the aircraft that the international airport was twenty-five kilometres from the city centre. After landing and passing through immigration, I gathered my suitcase from the luggage carousel and walked towards the exit. There were the usual groups of people waiting awaiting relatives or friends on arrival. However one man stood out in the crowd. He was holdin
g a placard bearing my name in block letters. For a moment I was reminded of Chedda in a similar situation at Stansted Airport, recalling what had happened on that occasion. I made myself known to him and he threw the placard away, taking my free hand and shaking it vigorously.

  ‘Welcome to Turkey!’ he greeted enthusiastically. ‘Welcome to Istanbul! I’m Turgut. I’ve been appointed as your guide.’

  ‘Appointed?’ I riposted suspiciously. ‘Who appointed you?’

  ‘I received a message on my answering machine yesterday,’ he explained briefly. ‘I was told you were coming here and the caller hired me to be your guide. I accepted the assignment and received the fee in advance.’

  ‘How did you accept the assignment?’

  ‘They left me a telephone number to call in England. I rang them and they paid the fee directly into my bank account.’

  He took the suitcase from my hand and I stared at him closely. He was rather short and stubby with dark hair, incredibly dark eyes, wearing an immaculate white shirt which was open at the neck, black trousers and shiny black shoes. He had been blessed with a set of perfect white teeth although he chose to exhibit one gold tooth on one side. His smile was engaging... at the same time his English was excellent.

  ‘I’ve arranged for a car to be waiting for you,’ he informed me, clearly intending to care for my every need. ‘If you’ve been here before, you’ll notice that many changes have taken place. Modernisation schemes include a new transport system combining and underground railway, a tram network, a railway, a rail tunnel under the Bosphorus, and a World Trade Centre close to the airport. They’ve also begun to align the commercial suburb of Levant with Taksim, the business heart of the city by means of an underground railway line.’

  ‘This is my first visit,’ I admitted as we walked out of the airport building. ‘I’ve not been here before.’