Stan Mason - Stopping World War Three

‘I need a gun, Turgut!’ I told him curtly. ‘A revolver. Not just an air pistol. I want something that can kill if necessary. A weapon that can kill.’

There was a long pause at the other end of the line before he spoke. ‘Mr. Scott… you’re going to get yourself in a heap of trouble. I think you should think about it carefully before you ask me to do something like that.’

‘You’re instructions were to look after me at all times, Turgut!’ I reminded him. ‘I need a gun for protection. I’m asking you to get one for me. I’ll pay the going rate.’

‘Do you realise what would have happened had you shot the man in your hotel room today? The police would have hauled you in for questioning and you would have missed the tournament this evening.’

His comments poured off me like water off a duck’s back. ‘I want you to get a gun that can be split into two or three parts Something that won’t show up as a gun on the airport scanner. I want to be able to hide the pieces in different parts of my suitcase. Do you get the drift?’

He coughed and paused for a few moments. ‘I reckon I could get you a nine millimetre semi-automatic Beretta for two hundred United States dollars. I’ll have it for you in an hour but first you’ve got to promise me something. My job is to look after you at all times. Don’t leave the hotel when I’ve gone.’

‘Look, Turgut,’ I countered. ‘I’ve got to be at the tournament in less than an hour. There’s no way I’m leaving this hotel. Just come straight back here when you’ve got it. Remember, it has to split into two or three parts.’

He was true to his word. In just over half an hour he was knocking on my door. When I opened it, he was beaming all over his face. He walked past me into the room triumphantly. ‘Here it is,’ he said proudly as though he had achieved the impossible. ‘Two hundred United States dollars, as I said. It’s in three parts.’ He laid the separate pieces on the bed and then began to assemble them. ‘The clip goes in here. That part into there. And you need to use this bolt to secure all parts of the gun. It’s very simple.’

‘What about ammunition?’ I asked, taking my wallet from my jacket pocket to pay him.

‘Two boxes!’ He produced them like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

‘I haven’t got US dollars but I’ll give you the equivalent in Turkish lira if that’s all right. Here… this’ll cover the cost of the gun and leave you something for yourself. I’m very grateful to you.’

‘Well you’d better be very careful. You now have two passports and a gun. Those are risks I wouldn’t take in Turkey. Is there anything else?’

‘I could do with a bottle of smelling salts to keep me awake at the bridge table.’

He realised that I was being rhetoric and moved to the door. ‘I’ll be waiting for you when you go to the conference hall,’ he assured me. ‘I would have made a good supply officer if I was in the army..yes?’

He left the room and I lay motionless on the bed for a while. How the hell did Turgut know that I had two passports? It was all getting too much! My mind and body felt drained and I was acting more on instinct than purpose. Forcing myself to get off the bed, I dressed and took the elevator downstairs to face Terence Welby outside the conference hall for the briefing.

‘Some of them play the Iceland one club system,’ he informed me. ‘They open on less than seven points and have responses which identify the shape of their hands. Don’t let them fool you out of a game or a slam. And watch the one with the glasses and strange bow-tie. He’s their Captain and a very fine player. Well you’d better go off and talk to Tony about your plan of campaign. Just keep it tight, that’s all.’

I went over to Tony Woodman and sat opposite him at the bridge table.

‘You made it into the team then,’ he commented rhetorically. ‘There was a lot of speculation.’

‘Yes.’ I returned tiredly. ‘Someone up there likes me.’

‘I hear you threw a burglar through the window of you hotel room earlier today,’ he went on. ‘Let’s hope there’s just as much excitement in the game tonight.’

We continued our discussion until a gong sounded and the Swedish controller stood on the rostrum. He made a short speech to welcome everyone and to herald the opening of the tournament. The competition would last for a few days so that all the teams would play each other. The sweat was pouring off me as though I had a fever. I wasn’t certain that could continue but what could I say to Tony Woodman? He was an excellent player, a credit to his country… a permanent fixture in the British team having played for them for over five years. I managed to pull myself together and the competition started. Slowly and steadily we made headway and I was delighted that I was able to focus my mind and concentrate on the game. The match had progressed for about half an hour when the heat began to overcome me. At the end of one game, I excused myself and went to the men’s room to pour cold water on my face and wrists. I was drying myself on the towel when I felt a tap on my shoulder. Slowly I turned and felt a shock jolt through me as though I was being touched by an electric prod for standing before me was a man who looked exactly like me adjusting his contact lenses. It was my double! I began to experience the same horror in Crete when Penny and I met our doubles there.

‘We’d better go into a cubicle in case someone comes in and sees us, old man,’ he suggested. They might get confused. I’ve got something for you.’

I rued the fact that the nine millimetre semi-automatic Beretta I had just purchased lay idly in my hotel room. It should have been resting in my pocket now, ready to protect me.

‘Are you the chap who had trouble with his contact lenses in Crete?’ I asked him point-blank.

‘That’s right,’ he replied calmly handing me an envelope.

‘Here you’d better take it. I’ve been told it contains an airline ticket back to London. There’s also a message. The plane leaves the airport in an hour-and-a-half. You must collect your luggage right away and catch that aircraft.’

‘Tell me, how come you’re still alive? The woman I was with shot you through the head.’

‘There’s not time for that now!’ he told me sharply, pressing the envelope into my hand.

‘But I can’t leave!’ I remonstrated. ‘I’m in the middle of an international bridge tournament!’

‘Forget all that! You must leave immediately! Commander Spring’s orders! By the way, the Commander told me to remind you we’re on your side and Mr. Musaphia also sends his best wishes. I’m going to take your place with Tony Woodman. You’ll be leaving the hotel by the rear. Don’t worry about your bill. I’ll take care of it. And, whatever you do, on no account return to the conference hall. We don’t want anyone to know there are two of us.’

‘There’s some questions I have to ask you!’

‘No time, Jason, no time! You need to get your skates on if you’re going to catch that plane. Now hurry!’

He pushed me out of the cubicle to help me on my way and went to the door.

‘You go first… straight to the elevator,’ he directed quietly.

I was in a complete state of confusion. What was the urgent reason why I had to return to London and leave the tournament? I had only just started to play. Of all the things sacred to my pride was my prowess and reputation at bridge. I didn’t want my double to ruin it for me. Suspicion welled up inside me but the fact that he had mentioned Schmuel Musaphia was of some comfort. But how was it that he was still alive? It was unbelievable! I left the men’s room only to collide with a man in the corridor. He was a tourist, probably a guest at the hotel, who had been drinking far too much. He scanned my face, blinking his eyes, muttering an expletive after the collision had taken place. I stopped in my tracks to apologise to him. At that moment my double came into the corridor behind me. The inebriate stared at both of us momentarily and his eyes widened as he reeled in amazement.