Stan Mason - Stopping World War Three

‘Bloody ‘ell!’ he yelled at the top of his voice. I’ve got delirium tremens! I’m seeing everything double! Double!’

I beckoned to Turgut in the hotel lounge and we hurried to my room. I opened the envelope to find an airline ticket and a small slip of paper with squiggly writing on it which read: ‘Return immediately. Plans have greater priority!’

I threw my belongings into my suitcase while Turgut distribute the parts of the Beretta into different places in it. Then we left swiftly by the rear exit of the hotel and he drove me directly to the airport. We made our brief farewells and I was sorry to see him go. He gave me an element of confidence and he had done everything in his power to take good care of me. I needed a minder of that quality with me all the time but destiny and location insisted we had to part.

My double had misled me in relation to the time the aircraft was scheduled to leave Istanbul. In truth, I could have played in the bridge tournament almost to the end of the evening. Perhaps he wanted to savour the thrill of playing in the team but then he had two more days at his mercy. I was also concerned about the matter of identity. He was substituting for me but we both had passports in the name of Jason Scott. It was my good fortune I was leaving the country first in case the immigration authorities became suspicious. However, my double was far more flamboyant that me and I was concerned that Tony Woodman would notice the difference even before the evening was out. But that was hardly my problem now. I slept quite well on the plane back to Heathrow. It was as though I was leaving many of my troubles behind but such ideas were fanciful. After landing, I returned home to determine the timing of three major issues. Firstly, there was an urgent need to obtain answers from Penny Smith concerning Tomar Duran and my double. Secondly, I had to choose a time when Chris Devon and myself could assault the weaponry division to secure the plans of the laser gun. And thirdly, with the highest level of priority, was the information which my assistant, Harry, had found in relation to Jan’s whereabouts. Sadly, I was overwhelmed by Murphy’s Law… which states that if anything can go wrong, it will go wrong! As I entered my house, it became clear that the place was wrecked. Someone had broken in during my absence and had turned everything upside down. Primar! No doubt he had discovered that the microfilm I had given him was spurious and he had burgled the place to search for the real plans. The intruder had made certain to make his presence felt. The room was strewn with broken furniture laying idly in strange sculptured shapes after being smashed and splintered by force. Upholstery had been cut and ripped in a crude fashion with a sharp blade, destroying all the expensive seating in the lounge. Fittings had been torn roughly from their sockets on the walls and the ceiling indiscriminately while slivers of glass littered the floor everywhere. Most of the glass had come from the doors of elegantly designed cabinets and from the frames of photographs on the mantelshelf. Papers and books had been pulled off the shelves haphazardly and there was also evidence that some parts of the carpets had been pulled up in an attempt to find a hiding place where the plans were hidden. The damage was considerable. It had been conducted wantonly and had achieved nothing.

I found Harry’s notes in a large envelope which had been kicked by the intruder under the telephone table in the hallway. It had been ripped open in the hope that it contained the information sought. I glance through the details provided by my assistant. He had done a good job in such a short time. The lists identified all the clubs in Hertfordshire and their locations as well as all the bridges in the county. There were six football clubs, five nightclubs of which two were professional, three golf clubs, three scout clubs, five bridge clubs, three cricket clubs and four youth clubs. There were also eight bridge but three of them were very small and situated in such obscure locations it was reasonable to discount them. I picked up the telephone which was still working and rang him.

‘Sorry to ring you so late again, Harry. I just got in. You did a hell of a good job for me on Hertfordshire.’

‘You’ve got a tough job on there,’ he began in a troubled voice. ‘There were dozens of little clubs but I eliminated them because they were so small. You know the ones. Pigeon clubs, amateur dramatic societies, writers’ groups and all that. I concentrated only on those which had premises of their own rather than those which rent rooms on a weekly basis. So I have to tell you that if the place you’re looking for happens to be one of those tiny ones, what you’re searching for may have slipped the net. If that’s the case you probably wouldn’t have found it anyway. When you put the whole thing together, you’ve got twenty-nine clubs and five main bridges. The odds of finding the right one is about a hundred-and-forty-five to one. Naturally, you might strike lucky and hit the jackpot at the first go but life’s not that simple. It could take you days or weeks. A visit to any of the clubs might not be sufficient. Your wife may be hidden in a cellar or a back room. You really need more information. Something to narrow down the odds. How you do that I’ve no idea.’

My heart sank at his words. He was absolutely right. It would take a lot of time to check out even a single club to find out whether Jan was being held there. Poor Jan! There was no way I could narrow the odds! She probably thought her cryptic message was all that I needed to find her. How little she knew!

I went into the dining room and sat on the only unbroken chair in the house. There was no point in trying to pour myself a drink because every bottle inside the cocktail cabinet had been smashed.

Whoever had broken in was a particularly spiteful character destroying everything in his path whether or not it had anything to do with his mission. It annoyed me that I had such good clues from my wife and yet I was stumped.

I went back to the lounge to find out whether it was possible to restore anything at all. The place was a shambles… nothing had been left intact. The television sported a large hole where the screen had been and it lay where it was tossed into the hearth. The home entertainment equipment had been dashed to the floor to make sure it never worked again. The telephone answering machine had been torn from its socket to suffer the same fate. What a mess! And then a thought crept into my mind which had the touch of genius. The recording tape from the telephone answering machine! It was sitting in the middle of the floor trying to tell me something. The only link with Jan might be on that tape! It might be possible to establish some detailed information from it such as background noises, familiar sounds, or something which might introduce new clues in addition to those she had given me. If that were so, it would certainly shorten the odds. However in order to develop the idea, I needed the services of someone who had the equipment and expertise to be able to put my inspiration into practice. And I required those services urgently! Chris Devon! The name sprang immediately to mind. Of course! Chris Devon! If anyone could do it, he had to be the man!

I picked up the tape and drove to the hovel where he lived, knocking several times on the front door. My heart sank when there was no answer. As I was about to walk away in disappointment, I heard the sound of footsteps on the stairs from inside. Within a few moments, the front door was opened and, to my jubilation, his ugly face came into view.

‘Thank God you’re in,’ I exclaimed with relief.

‘Oh it’s you!’ he muttered with a few crumbs dropping from his beard. ‘I was just havin’ somethin’ to eat. You want me to do that gig now? Okay… if you hang on I’ll be ready in five minutes.’