Stan Mason - Stopping World War Three

I hesitated before replying to the question. ‘I’ve seen nothing of it as yet,’ I replied, ‘except for a trip to the Gaza Strip. Commander Yasood offered a generic view but it was very brief. Having said that, I suppose it’s possible someone will stir things up among the Arabs when they realise that the oil will soon start to run out. Who wouldn’t if they knew there was going to be nothing more than poverty to look forward to in the future.’

‘Possible?’ he reacted vehemently. ‘It’s more than possible. It’s definitely going to happen. The reservoir of oil in the Middle East is not inexhaustible. It will have to run dry. That’s why I’ve invited you here today to find out what you intend to do about it. But I wish to make one point clear. We’re not talking about Arabs but Islam. There are many non-Arabs who follow the Islamic faith.’

‘Before we go any further,’ I countered angrily, feeling my temper rising. ‘can we get a few things straight. ‘In my present state of mind and in my poor physical condition where I’ve been involved in a plane crash and incarcerated in a filthy prison cell before being transported out here, I have no intention of doing anything. I have no idea why your organisation wishes to recruit me. I can’t see any way in which I can help although for some obscure reason they do. I don’t belong the them. I don’t belong to any cause. Am I making myself clear?’

He seemed to be completely calm about my tirade. ‘That information has already been passed to me, Mr. Scott,’ he forwarded easily. I know how you feel and I also know the reason why you’ve been brought here.’

‘Ah… at last someone who knows why they’re trying to recruit me. Can you tell me why?

‘It’s not my business to release that sort of information. Just be patient and all will be revealed to you in due course.’

‘And when will that be?’ I demanded irately. ‘When will someone tell me what’s going on?’

‘When it happens,’ he told me tersely. ‘When it happens.’ At that moment, the waiter arrived bearing my breakfast on a silver tray. ‘Come!’ continued Musaphia completely ignoring my minor tantrum. ‘Eat before your adrenalin causes concern for your digestion. He paused until the waiter had finished pouring the coffee before continuing. ‘I should imagine you wage a vendetta with the person who installed a bomb in the cockpit of the plane taking you to Crete.’

‘You can say that again,’ I muttered curtly.

‘When you fish in these waters you continue to risk your life. There are spies and assassins everywhere in the Middle East. They breed here like flies. If you happen to say the wrong thing to the wrong people, or even do something that makes them suspicious, your life won’t be worth a fig. Treachery is a common cause. And, lets face it, as a foreigner, you stand out like a sore thumb in this region. I’ve had a lot of experience. Experience you would never believe possible.’

‘Buying bags of diamonds and carting them from here to there,’ I riposted rudely. ‘I’m not particularly interested in your experiences, Mr. Musaphia.

He removed a small pistol from his pocket and pointed it directly at my head. I felt the blood run cold in my veins. Surely he wasn’t going to shoot me in the restaurant of the King David Hotel! But then stranger things had happened to us in the past two days. He pressed the trigger slowly and a small flame spurted from the from the end of the gun which he used to relight the end of his cigar. As I relaxed, I felt as though all the blood had drained out of my body.

‘If life was only that simple,’ returned the old man starting to philosophise. ‘You’re still young. You don’t understand. How old do you think I am? Sixty-five… seventy… seventy-five? I’m eighty-four and still in the run of things. I attended coronations you would have to read about in books. Why do I look so much younger? I really don’t know especially having be caught up in a world war so horrifying you’d never dream it could take place in a civilised society. I’m talking about the holocaust in the Second World War where over six million Jews were singled out for torture, experiments and mass extermination. I was in one of those camps. I know what it was like.’

‘Mr. Musaphia,’ I reminded him, ‘we came here at your invitation expecting to hear something that might be important to us. All these reminiscences…’

‘All these reminiscences!’ he interrupted, his beard bristling as he raged with anger. ‘All these reminiscences! Will you young people never learn from history or the teachings of your elders?’ His face took on a menacing look. ‘You will listen to me and not interrupt or I’ll have you thrown out of this hotel! Why is it young people always want to sweep history under the carpet before falling into the same trap again? I’m trying to open your eyes but you insist on being blind.! The world is waiting for an accident to happen right now. It’s totally unprepared for the millions of

Muslims ready to unleash themselves from all quarters of the globe. Surely Yasood made you realise what’s going to happen… and the reasons why! Its’ no use turning round afterwards and saying you should have taken the advice. Hindsight’s a waste of time. The world is full of poor people and losers wailing in hindsight. Don’t make the same mistake!’ He paused for a moment and his manner altered swiftly as he searched for information. ‘To change the subject, I’m interested in any details you can give me about Primar.’ Do you know where I can contact him?’

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘I’d like to find him myself.’ I waved a hand towards Penny. ‘Miss Smith may be able to give you a pointer. After all, she started the British end of the organisation with him.’

Musaphia stared hard at Penny. ‘I don’t think that’s correct, my dear. Neither you nor Primar were charged with that task.’

I looked at my secretary waiting to find out how she was going to respond to the allegation but she countered quickly and effectively. ‘Who are you, Mr. Musaphia?’ she asked firmly. ‘Who are you really? I can’t imagine any organisation recruiting a man who’s eighty-four years’ old for any kind of reason. I’m highly suspicious of this meeting and of the questions you ask. If you want to throw us out of this hotel that’s your prerogative. Nothing will be lost from my point of view.’

Musaphia’s face creased into a smile. He paused for a moment to puff on his cigar, then he turned to me. ‘I like her’ he mused. ‘She has spirit and fire… and she’s full of life. If I were in your place, I’d never let her go.’

‘You never answered the question,’ I said to Penny. ‘Why did you say you formed the British end of the organisation if you didn’t?’

‘We’ll discuss that later,’ she retorted sharply, ostensibly nursing hurt feelings.

‘She’s right, you know,’ I told our host as I considered the argument. ‘You’re eighty-four. What interest could you possibly have on something that’s going to happen in the next fifty years. You’re never going to live to be a hundred-and-thirty-four.’

The three of us sat calmly on the terrace. Musaphia had a glazed look in his eyes as my words faded into the fragrance of flowers on the sea breeze. ‘Do you imagine that things happen slowly, Mr. Scott? It took Hitler seven years to become ready for war after he became the Chancellor of Germany. Only seven years to take a nation on its knees to become a power determined to capture Europe, Africa, India and eventually the world. I’m told that Islam has about two billion followers at present. How long will it take them to find a leader when adversity strikes? Someone to lead them to become a fighting nation because that’s all mankind understands… to fight and kill! How many years, Mr. Scott… you tell me!’