Stan Mason - Stopping World War Three

Hotel tomorrow morning! We have a lot to talk about. You’ll be very interested in what I have to say!’

Before I had a chance to reply, the line went dead. What did Schmuel Musaphia have to tell me that was so important? I felt like a small pawn in a giant chess game. Every piece was searing across the board at different angles, jumping all over the place. All I could do was to take one move forward at a time. It was patently clear that, in the meantime, I was extremely vulnerable and also at everyone’s mercy. It wasn’t a pleasant though to harbour!

On the following morning, I rose and took another look around the house. It was still a wreck despite my efforts to restore it to a reasonable condition. Although most of the debris had been shifted to the back garden, all the furniture appeared completely incongruous. Nothing seemed to fit properly in the right place. Cabinets and cupboards leaned unstably to port or starboard sometimes rocking in their locations at the slightest movement in the room. Grey plaster gaped like eye-sores from the walls where the wall-lights had been wrenched out. Ceilings no longer displayed the embellishments of expensive lamps or chandeliers because they had been ripped out violently and dashed to the floor. Even the carpets failed to resume their original positions where they had been raised or pulled. If a burglar had intended to lower my morale by means of extreme vandalism, he had succeeded well.

I made myself some breakfast even though Schmuel Musaphia had probably arranged for me to eat at the Savoy Hotel. I dressed smartly for the occasion and did the best possible when shaving and combing my hair for no mirrors had survived the onslaught to my home. Just before I left, I fitted the pieces of the Beretta together, testing the empty weapon by pulling the trigger several times to ensure that it worked properly. Then I loaded it with ammunition keeping some spare bullets in my pocket in case I needed to reload it. I felt far more prepared to face the world with a pistol in my pocket to protect me. I had never fired a gun before so I had no idea whether I was capable of hitting a target even at close range. The only other time I had held a gun in my hand was in Crete when I had wrested it away from my secretary but that didn’t count because I did not fire it. In any case, the gun had been loaded with blanks otherwise Tomar Duran and the doubles would have been dead. However, the weapon brought its own problems. Firstly, it became impossible for me to button up my jacket with the gun in my pocket. Secondly, it made a large bulge appear causing the garment to become misshapen through its bulk and weight. I really needed a gun holster. Nonetheless, I felt safer with the weapon than without it.

I arrived at the Savoy Hotel on the stroke of nine o’clock. Punctuality in my book was a priority in terms of respect for other people. Not even the events of the past week could shake off the elements of my character. As expected, Schmuel Musaphia was waiting there for me. He looked immaculate in his white suit and bow-tie which I was surprised to see him wearing at this time of the morning. Perhaps it was the only suit he took with him when travelling or, more likely, he had half-a-dozen of the same kind because he liked the style. As usual, he held a large unlit Havana cigar firmly in his mouth.

‘Sit down, Jason!’ he greeted in a tone that sounded like a command. ‘We have a lot to talk about. I want to know all you learned from the Mahdi. What he told you, how he spoke, what you felt about him. Everything!’ He stared at my face with a bewildered expression on his face. ‘What happened to you hair?’

‘My hair,’ I laughed with an element of chagrin. ‘Someone broke into my house while I was in Turkey and smashed every piece of furniture, pulling all the lights out of the walls and ceilings. There isn’t a mirror left in the house. Some bastard really took care of the place while I was away. Do you know anything about it?

His eyes narrowed slightly at my ostensible accusation. ‘Is that so?’ he uttered softly.

‘I tried to get you at the Dorchester Hotel when we last me but you’d checked out after we had our meal. Couldn’t you afford their prices for an overnight stay?’

A small smile crept into the corners of his mouth as he puffed pointlessly on his cigar. ‘I’m an itinerant. I can’t help it. You know what an itinerant is, don’t you. It’s a person who keeps travelling from place to place. A nomad. Funny, I used to move around a lot when I was younger and burn the midnight oil. The pundits warned me that if I didn’t conform and take it easy I’d burn myself out before I was thirty years old. Now they’re all dead and I’m still moving around from place to place and burning the midnight oil. So tell me, who’s the clever one?’

‘All I can say is that you must have a lot of enemies to have to shift about at such speed.’

He laughed loudly. ‘You know, I like you, Jason, you remind me of myself when I was young. Let me tell you something. I owe a great deal to my friends but, all things considered, I owe even more to my enemies. You see, the character of a person emerges truly under threat than under a loving embrace. Why did you try to get hold of me at the Dorchester?’

‘I received a note which read: ‘Don’t fly to Turkey if you value your life. Don’t fly to Turkey if you value your wife!’ Have you any idea who might have sent that message? Or any reason for it?’

‘None at all but I’m the bearer of good tidings. I’ve some excellent news for you. We’ve found out where your wife’s been taken. It’s a place called The Golden Peacock near Welwyn Garden City.’

I felt a sudden wave of pain float through my mind with frustration. It had taken so much effort to find Jan’s location and now this man was handing me the information on a plate. It was really too much to comprehend. ‘How did you manage to get that information?’ I asked him trying to keep down the anger in my voice.

‘The most important fact is that we found her for you. The question is, what are you going to do about it?’

It dawned on me that he had arranged for my telephone to be tapped. How else would he have known about the nightclub? ‘Well, as it happens,’ I retorted curtly, ‘I learned about The Golden Peacock yesterday and I would have gone there had not someone smashed up the house. But I’ll be off the moment I leave here. I don’t suppose any of your crowd will lend me a hand.’

‘Jason… Jason!’ he repeated slowly. ‘You tell me you don’t want to be a part of the organisation… that you’re not interested in any causes, or the fate of the world, or the people in it, yet now you ask for my help. One doesn’t catch flies with vinegar. Give me one good reason why we should consider helping you?’

‘Well for one… you want the plans of the laser gun, don’t you?’ He nodded, conceding the point. ‘You recalled me from Turkey because you need those plans quickly. I presume that’s why I’m here this morning. If I get into trouble at The Golden

Peacock I won’t be able to get the plans. What I’m saying is that you need to protect me at all times. In the long run, it would be better for your people to recover Jan than to let me thresh about like an amateur into the unknown.’

He puffed pointlessly on his cigar thoughtfully. ‘Looking closely at your eyes,’ he said, changing the subject quickly, ‘I can see you’re in need of a rest. You know, for a young man, you’re starting to get bags under your eyes.’ The waiter arrived at the table and Musaphia ordered a Continental breakfast for both of us. He drew once more on his cigar and stared directly at me with cold unrelenting eyes. ‘You’ve drifted off the subject,’ he went on. ‘I want to know all about the Mahdi.’