Stan Mason - Stopping World War Three

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 that 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 international 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!

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 holding 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.’