Stan Mason - Stopping World War Three

‘And what of the fifth issue?’ I replaced the coffee cup on the table and began to take down some notes on a small pad.

‘The fifth one. That’s the one which really counts. Anyone with charisma and leadership qualities can become educated, be political inspired, and train for war whether they are Shia or Sunni. The timing of the Jihad cannot be forecast… it is a matter of fate. However the last element related to the Mahdi is the most important one. According to the Quran, Allah created two parallel species of creatures… man and jinn. One made of clay… the other made of fire. The Quran says little about the jinn although it’s implied they are endowed with reason and responsibility but they are more prone to evil than man. What I’m saying is that the Mahdi cannot be a man… he has to be a jinn! It’s necessary to be evil if you’re a militant… to want to destroy the masses, sack cities, seize power and control continents.’

‘Is that truly what makes a Mahdi?’ I returned quietly.

‘No… not at all. The Mahdi has to be a jinn but he also has to hear the voice of Allah giving him instructions as to what he must do for the people of Islam.’

‘And you hear his voice!’

‘Of course. The Mahdi is the divinely guided one. He has to be guided divinely. That’s both logical and reasonable even if it tends to sound mystical. History is legion with similar occurrences. Joan of Arc… Bernadette of Lourdes and many others. They all heard the voice of Allah. What more would your readers want to know?’

He sat as still as a statue and I took a long hard look at him. The man was arrogant but controlled which I presumed would be two of the qualities required of a Mahdi. He was cool and concise and he had authority in his voice which made one obedient without wishing to be so. The most frightening part of the interview, however, was about to begin. He cast his eyes in my direction in a fixed stare and I could swear they turned yellow… as yellow as the fire of a jinn… while his body stiffened and he became mechanical in his delivery.

‘When the time comes,’ he declared in a voice somewhat deeper and louder than before with an authoritative tone that was much sharper, ‘and Allah tells me I have to lead the people in a Jihad, there will be a holy sound throughout the land echoing death and destruction of such magnitude that every infidel will be destroyed by the mighty arm of Islam. It will be my task to purify the world so that religion will flow like the freshness of a spring stream… like the smell of petals from a rose.’ Suddenly the volume of his voice increased in tempo and strength to a frightening level. ‘Islam will be strong! Islam will be great! Islam will conquer the world!’

It was another ten minutes before I managed to escape from the house. I was absolutely terrified! When I returned to the car, Turgut scanned my face with concern.

‘You look very pale, Mr. Scott. What happened in there?’

I took a long deep breath sighing with relief as he drove back to the Sheraton hotel. ‘I think I heard the voice of Allah,’ I told him cryptically.

‘The voice of whom?’

‘The voice of Allah.’ I could still see those yellow eyes searing through me as Ozal’s words echoed repeatedly in my ears. ‘Islam will be strong! Islam will be great! Islam will conquer the world!

Maybe Penny, Primar, Commander Yasood, Menel and Schmuel Musaphia had a point. Perhaps there was a need for an organisation such as the 21st Century Crusaders to safeguad the world!

Turgut drove me back across the Galata Bridge to the hotel in silence. He must have thought I had lost my mind. I believed he still nursed a slight grievance against me for the allegation I made that he had arranged for the assailant in my hotel room. When I entered my room, I took a small bottle of whisky from the cocktail cabinet and lay back on the bed. My experiences with the 21st Century Crusaders were successful in creating one dramatic crisis after another and it was likely there were many more to come. As I held the glass in both hands, I could see them shaking slightly. Visiting the Mahdi was an event I would not forget in a hurry. It was going to take some time for me to calm my nerves. On reflection, my condition probably related to delayed shock stemming from the surprise attack by the assailant earlier. Whatever happened, I had to steer clear of the police. If they discovered I had two passports in my possession in different names my position would be untenable. I had no reasonable explanation to offer them. I entertained the idea that someone may have planned it that way to ensure that I was arrested, tried and sentenced as a spy or a terrorist. But why should anyone want to do that? It seemed that all and sundry wanted me to obtain the plans of the laser gun. I had to admit that adopting the role of Mushtaq Hussein made me feel extremely uneasy. I was Jason Scott dammit! Not someone who adopted different roles like an actor in a theatre. The deceit accompanied by the fear of being caught up in an international incident weighed heavily filling me with concern every moment I remained in Turkey. Yet such troubles were dwarfed by the fear instilled in me when the startling change took place in the Mahdi. He had turned from a man into a wild ranting maniac in a matter of seconds. How could I explain something so strange to Schmuel Musaphia at the debriefing sesssion? Perhaps such intensity emerged from charisma and leadership. If so, I could understand how people were so much in awe of Adolf Hitler during his brief reign. Would it be prudent to say that the Mahdi received his instructions directly from Allah? If anyone had declared such thoughts from my neck of the woods he would have ended up in a straight-jacket in a padded cell. And then the penny dropped. Schmuel Musaphia had sent me to see the Mahdi to help me change my mind in his favour. He knew that the man was fanatical and that whatever he said would have a profound effect on me.

The telephone rang to shatter my thoughts. It was Terence Welby, the Captain of the British bridge team. ‘I haven’t met you yet, Jason,’ he remarked diplomatically. ‘Are you all right to play this evening?’

‘I’m fine,’ I told him. ‘Yes… I’m ready to play.’

‘We start at seven-thirty in the large conference hall. You’re all geared up and ready to go, I hope. The team’s looking forward to beating the hell out of the opposition. And we can do it!’

‘Sure,’ I responded woodenly. ‘All geared up. Ready to go!’

‘Great… Tony Woodman will partner you. You’ve played with him before so there should be no problems.’

‘Tell me,’ I advanced seriously. ‘How did Istanbul happen to be chosen for this venue? I mean no one’s allowed to play cards here unless they’re foreign.’

He chuckled at the other end of the line. ‘Oh… that was a real cock-up. The Swedish are in charge of arrangements this year. One of them in administration understood that it was going to be fixed on a turnkey operation. They meant on the computer but he misunderstood and thought they said it was going to be in Turkey. So that’s why we’re here. As I said, it was a complete cock-up! By the time he recognised his mistake, it was too late to book anywhere else. All the literature had been printed, the hotel was booked, and the countries taking part were all notified. As you know, we’re playing Iceland tonight. I’ll expect to see you at ten past seven for a short briefing.’

‘By the way,’ I cut in. ‘Did you select the team yourself?’

‘Always, old chap. With a little help from my friends. See you at ten past seven.’

The line went dead and I returned the receiver to its cradle thoughtfully. Terence Welby selected the team… with a little help from his friends. Was he trying to tell me something without actually saying it? It didn’t really matter. For one reason or another I was in the team. I lay back on the bed and fell asleep awaking later feeling very troubled. One thing was certain… I wasn’t fit to play bridge at high level in my frame of mind and I felt sorry for Tony Woodman who would have to put up with some poor bidding decisions during the evening let alone the play. I ordered dinner from the hotel restaurant to be delivered to my room, preferring to eat alone. As someone had tried to assassinate me earlier and failed, they might not be able to resist the temptation to try again. I needed to limit my exposure outside the hotel room as much as possible even though I would be in public view in the conference hall for the whole evening. Sliding off the bed drowsily, I stripped and stepped into a cool shower. By the time I had freshened up, there was a knock on the door and a waiter wheeled in a trolley with my dinner. But I wasn’t hungry. For a while I toyed with the meal and then replaced it under the silver hood designed to keep it warm. In due course, I picked up the telephone receiver and dialled Reception requesting them to find Turgut for me. He rang me back shortly, like the good guide he was, asking what I wanted.