Stan Mason - Stopping World War Three

‘I wrote a report on my meeting on the aircraft on my way back. You’ll find some of the word a little quaint. The bastard who smashed up my home also damaged my computer printer.’ I took an envelope from my pocket and placed it on the table in front of him.

‘Tell me… in your own words,’ he persisted.

‘For the most part he seemed to be a normal person, educated in the West, wearing Western clothing. Then, as the conversation proceeded, he assumed the mantle of the Mahdi. He suddenly became strange, drifting off into a mystic trance which scared the hell out of me. He said he was instructed directly from Allah and that he was a jinn rather than a man. Do you know what a jinn is?’

He nodded sagely without showing any emotion. ‘I should do,’ he confessed, ‘being a Muslim.’

His words came at me like a tsunami, enveloping me in a tidal wave from which I could hardly escape. I was so surprised at his declaration that I was almost lost for words. ‘You’re a Muslim?’

‘I know all about the Quran and jinn. I was born in Teheran, the capital of Iran. It used to be Persia then.’

‘I don’t believe it,’ I gasped. ‘Then what are you doing with the 21s Century Crusaders?’

‘I’m an ardent supporter of the cause. Tell me, did you vote at the last General Election in this country?’

‘Of course,’ I replied wondering why he had asked.

‘Did the party for whom you voted succeed in becoming the government?’

‘They did.’

‘And do you agree with everything they say and do in respect of the important policies relating to your country and its people?’

‘Not necessarily,’ I countered. ‘But I don’t support the opposition as a result of any difference of opinion.’

‘Would you support them if they adopted a policy that would lead to civil war, or unwarranted aggression against another country whom you consider innocent?’

I shrugged my shoulders aimlessly. ‘It would never come to that,’ I retorted. ‘Not with the British government.’

‘All right,’ he went on. ‘What about Islam now that you’ve met the Mahdi?’

I had to admit that he had a point. If I hadn’t met the Mahdi, I might have stuck to my argument, refusing to accept that he was a Muslim fighting for a cause against his own religion. But the words of the Mahdi still echoed in my ears. ‘It will be my task to purify the world so that religion will flow like the freshness of a stream. Islam will be strong! Islam will be great! Islam will conquer the world!’

‘You see I’m a Sunni,’ he informed me, breaking into my thoughts abruptly. ‘One of the intellectuals. We don’t believe in the Jihad, the Holy War or the Mahdi. They were the inventions of the mystics many centuries ago. In the modern world, we have the problem of logistics. The Shias make up fifteen per cent of all Muslims. If the number of all Islam amounts to over two billion people, we’re talking of some three hundred million militants, many of whom believe in terrorism, torture and martyrdom. Hitler had less than a sixth of that number when he took on all of Europe. Not only that, but I’m certain that at the commencement of a Jihad, many Sunnis will be converted to militancy perhaps doubling the Shia figures. Just imagine it! Half a million soldiers setting out to conquer the world. It doesn’t bear thinking about and I couldn’t support such a policy.’

I shook my head in disbelief. You fail to amaze me in everything you do.’

‘I assure you there’s more to come.,’ he advised me. ‘Life can be very exciting if you’re prepared to take the risks. But be warned. Taking the risks doesn’t mean you’ll necessarily win.’

‘The Mahdi believed he took his instructions directly from Allah,’ I told him again. ‘I suppose that’s one step nearer to sanity than believing he’s Allah himself.’

‘You shouldn’t mock a holy man,’ warned Musaphia with a serious expression on his face. ‘We know so little about paranormal activity. There have been cases in history where messages have been conveyed to mortals. In order to prove he’s the Mahdi it’s essential for him to receive divine messages. Otherwise he’ll be regarded as just an ordinary man making decisions on his own account.’ He placed the envelope into a pocket of his white jacket. ‘I’ll read your report with interest. But now we must get to the matter of the laser gun. For reasons I cannot divulge, they’re required extremely urgently. So much so that we had to substitute you at the bridge tournament in Turkey. We need them tonight.’

‘Oh, come on!’ I said resentfully. ‘Oil won’t run out in the Middle East for the best part of fifty years. What’s the damned hurry all of a sudden!’

‘We need them tonight!’ he repeated dumbly. I did not relish rushing into the weaponry division blindly. It was one thing to plan an assault with a strategic operation; it was quite another to carry it out in reality. ‘There’s something I ought to mention, if you don’t mind me saying so,’ he continued. ‘That gun in your pocket is sticking out like a sore thumb. If you want to carry a pistol, get yourself a holster. If I can recognise that you’re carrying a gun, so can everyone else in the hotel.’

He was right of course. I was very green in such matters. It was important to take advice from people like Musaphia who had managed to survive in difficult times to a grand old age as a result of their knowledge and experience.

‘I’d really like to know why there’s such a rush to get the plans. A few days ago it was a task that needed to be completed within a reasonable span of time. Now it’s so urgent, they’re needed tonight. Why?’

‘All in good time,’ he said quietly. ‘There are things happening in the environment. I can’t reveal at present. All I can say is that the plans are needed now. After that, you’ll learn the answers to many questions.’

We continued to eat our breakfast in harmony and I listened to some of his exploits in earlier years. He was a great teller of tales. There were many good reasons why I should dislike him, however I considered him to be an honest kindly man at heart and I liked him for his directness. His revelation that he was a Muslim floored me for a while but I could see the sense of his argument and recognised the trust placed in him by the organisation. After we had finished eating, he reiterated his message to make certain there was no misunderstanding.

‘Tonight! It must be tonight!’ He handed me a small slip of paper. ‘I want you to commit this telephone number to your memory. Read it as many times as you wish and remember it. The number was chosen especially for its simplicity. When you have th plans, you must contact me at this number immediately. I’ll then tell you what to do. Is that clear?’ I stared at the number and memorised it before passing the slip of paper back to him. He produced a book of matches from his pocket, lit one, and then burned the paper in the ash-tray. ‘Walls have ears and waiters have eyes,’ he philosophied. ‘We don’t want any problems. And, like I said last time, something good is going to happen to you soon.’

‘The best that can happen to me is a good night’s sleep and peace of mind,’ I confided. But I won’t get that until I’ve found my wife and Penny Smith.’

He prodded the burned slip of paper in the ash-tray with the end of his cigar turning it into ashes. ‘I’ve never known anyone to be so fervent about his wife and his mistress at the same time,’ he commented with amusement.

I ignored the remark. ‘Do you know where Penny Smith might be? I can’t seem to contact her.’

His face took on a thoughtful expression as though he was suffering from the same problem but he declined to answer. ‘Goodbye, Jason!’ he said finally with a wave of his hand as though he wanted to be rid of me. Contact me on that number the moment you get hold of those plans!’