Clever Magazine, Dec. 06 "Traditional Terrorist " (www.clevermag.com)

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The Mystery of the
Traditional Terrorist

by Martin Green

We were in the study of Alvin’s house in the New England college town where he’d come back to teach, and do a few other things. Outside, the sky was leaden and ominous. The FBI man didn’t waste time. “So you knew this guy Mohammad Saladin Musarallah in college?” he asked Alvin.

“Not too well. We were on the chess team together. He was number one board; I was number two. I never could beat him.”

“Well, he’s since taken up other things besides chess. We have information a terrorist group has smuggled a nuclear weapon into the United States and Musarallah’s the guy who’s going to set it off.”

“Sal, a terrorist. I find that hard to believe.”

“The name: Mohammad Saladin Musarallah?”

“He claimed he was descended from the great Saladin. He was very proud of that.”

“Well, his older brother was killed in the fighting in Afghanistan. Ever since then, he’s been with the bad guys.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“We hear you’ve discovered some kind of Universal Theorem that has to do with probabilities and made a fortune out of it. You’ve also been involved in some interesting activities.” I supposed he was referring to the Las Vegas Adventure, the Curious Cape Cod Caper and the Missing Maine Lobsterpot. “And you have some interesting associates,” he went on. Here, he glanced around the study at Amy, George and me. Alvin had told the FBI man there was nothing we couldn’t hear. “George Mason, chauffeur, all-round handyman and ex-M1, Amy Aldrich, ex-chorus girl and PhD in math.’ He looked at me. “Jake Cairns, ex-special forces, among other things.”

“You’ve done your research well,” said Alvin.

“We’d like you to contact your old friend Musarallah and try to find out what he’s up to. Maybe your associates here can help.”

“The probability is that we won’t be able to find out anything, but we’ll give it a try.”

As the FBI man left, lightning flashed, thunder rolled and the storm broke. He looked up at the sky. “We’re talking about a nuclear weapon here, Mr. Oaks.. Give it a good try.”

* * *

Alvin was on the phone. “Yes, it’s me, Alvin Oaks. Do you remember me from college?”

“Right, the chess club. No, I never could beat you. Actually, I’m teaching now at the college. A course in probability. Yes, I’m still interested in that stuff.”

“I’m on a committee looking into possible donations from graduates and I’ve heard you’ve done very well.”

“Yes, the college is always looking for more money. Next week? That’ll be fine. At your summer place on the Hudson? Yes, I remember it. Do you mind if I bring along some associates? For lunch? Fine. We’ll be there.”

Alvin put down the phone and looked at us. “We have a lunch date with a terrorist,” he said..

* * *

We drove down from Connecticut on a brisk March day, the sky a clear blue, birds chirping; it was hard to imagine that a terrorist attack even more devastating than 9/11 was imminent. Musarallah’s summer place on the Hudson was more like a castle, or I should say a fortress, guarded by a high stone wall. “Okay,” said Alvin. “Amy, you’re my personal assistant. Jake, you’re a professor of classics. No, I was just kidding. I’ll just say you’re on my committee. George, after you’ve parked the car, try to get a look around the grounds.”

George drove up to an iron gate where a large dark-skinned bearded man sat in a guardhouse, probably honing his knife. But when George told him who we were he opened the gate and we drove up to the house. Another large dark-skinned bearded man greeted us at the door and led us inside. Musarallah (I assumed it was him) came bounded down the steps to greet us and gave Alvin a hearty handshake. With Amy, he bent low and kissed her hand. He reminded me of the actor Omar Sharif, who, I remembered, was a champion bridge player.

Musarallah, or Sal, as Alvin called him, took us into a large dining room. We were seated at a long wooden table and two women wearing burkas served us. While we ate, Alvin and Musarallah exchanged remembrances of their college days. “So, Sal, as I told you, I’d heard you were doing very well” said Alvin. “Did you go into your father’s business?”

“Yes. It is traditional.”

“What is your father’s business?” asked Amy.

Musarallah shrugged. “I act as a broker seeing to it that things people want to sell get to people who want to buy.”

“I see. I bet that involves a lot of travel.”

“I’ve seen a bit of the world.”

“The Mideast?” I put in.

“Yes, inevitably. And you, Alvin, you are still at our old college?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I haven’t ventured very far. Now, as to a donation … ‘

Musarallah stood up, glancing at his watch, a Rolex. “I’ll send you a check. I’m sorry I can’t stay any longer; we might have had a game of chess. However, I have an urgent appointment.” With that, he left the room. Our lunch was over.

“Well,” said Amy, as we drove back, “we didn’t learn very much.”

“Maybe a little,” said Alvin. “I’d always understood that one of the things Sal’s father used to broker were armaments. Our FBI friend called me this morning to let me know they thought the transfer of the nuclear bomb was imminent and Sal had an urgent appointment this afternoon. How about you, George? Did you find out anything?”

“Only that your friend’s summer home is guarded as tightly as Buckingham Palace. And I overheard some of those blokes talking among themselves about a great event coming up and that Allah would bless them. They didn’t realize I knew their language.”

“All very interesting,” said Alvin. “I have a feeling that things will be coming to a head soon.”

* * *

Alvin was right, except not exactly in the way he meant. The next day Amy received a phone call from Musarallah asking her out to dinner. “What do you think?” she asked Alvin.

“Hmmm, Sal was always a ladies’ man. Sure, go and see what more you can find out. But be careful.”

“I will. He may be a terrorist, but he does look like Omar Sharif.”

When Amy failed to return that night we weren’t too concerned, but then the next morning Musurallah called. Alvin motioned me to pick up the other line. “Your charming associate Amy will be staying with me for a while,” said Musurallah. Your pretense of being a solicitor of donations for our college was not very convincing.”

“What do you want?”

“Why don’t you and your other associates pay me another visit and we can discuss it.”

At this point there was the sound of a scuffle and we heard Amy’s voice saying, “Don’t come; it’s a trap.”

Then Musarallah came back on the line. “She’s a feisty one. I’ll expect you shortly.”

* * *

I was doing the driving this time; Alvin had told me he had another job for George. We went through the same routine, only this time when we were ushered into the big dining room two of the big bearded guys with guns stayed with us and another one was guarding Amy, seated in a chair at the end of the table. “Welcome again,” said Musarallah. “I wanted you to see what happens to infidels who try to trick us.” He gestured and Amy’s guard took out a curved sword and held it over her head.

“Wait a minute,” cried Alvin. “She was only doing what I told her. I have a proposition.”

“What might that be?”

“I’ll play you a game of chess. If I win, you’ll let her go and I’ll take her place.”

“That will only be a waste of time. You could never beat me.”

“I think I can now.”

Musarallah laughed, not pleasantly. “Unfortunately, I don’t have a chess set available.”

“I have,” said Alvin. He reached into his jacket and took out one of those pocket sets.

“All right,: said Musarallah. “It will be like old times. And it shouldn’t take too long.”

Alvin and Musarallah sat down at the end of the table. “You’re the host,” said Alvin. “White’s yours.”

I didn’t know much about chess, but I knew that White had the first move and this was an advantage. “This will make it even easier,” said Musaralla, and he pushed forward a pawn.

“The same opening, I see,” said Alvin.

“It’s always been successful.”

“Up until now.”

The two men made their first few moves quickly, then Musarallah began playing more slowly. I could see that Alvin’s pawns were hemming in his attack. A dead silence had fallen over the room. It was easy to forget that our mission was to prevent the detonation of a nuclear device and to feel that this chess game would decide the fate of thousands. Finally, Musarallah moved his queen. “I think that does it,” he said.

“Not quite,” said Alvin. He moved a bishop and I could see that it threatened both the queen and the king.

“Damn,” said Masurallah. He stared at the little board for a minute, then he said, “Well, you have improved your game.”

“The study of probability helped. You remember our wager?”

“Yes, and I’d like to be a good sport, but I have much more important matters to consider.” He gestured toward the man guarding Amy. “Take care of the girl.”

Alvin lifted up his king and threw it to the floor. There was a crash and white smoke billowed out. I quickly jumped on Amy’s guard and disarmed him. I could hear sounds of coughing. Alvin was holding a handkerchief over his face. “Follow me,” he said. We ran out of the room and he led us up a staircase and then onto the roof. A helicopter was hovering like a butterfly overhead. We all scrambled in and the helicopter lifted off. I heard shots coming from the roof but we were up and away. “I didn’t know you could drive one of these things,” I said to George.

“A good chauffeur should be able to drive anything.”

“But what about the nuclear bomb?” said Amy.

“I think that will be taken care of,” said Alvin.

* * *

The headline in the morning paper blared, “Terrorist Plot to Blow Up Empire State Building Foiled; FBI Given Major Credit.”

We were in the kitchen, having breakfast. “How did you know it would be the Empire State Building?” asked Amy.

“Well, you see, the terrorists tend to operate in traditional ways and my old classmate Sal is certainly a traditionalist. He weny into his father’s business. He used the same chess opening as in college. The terrorists wanted to make a sensational attack, something really big, so it was probable it would be in New York City. In the previous attack, the Twin Towers were the tallest buildings in the city. With these gone, that left the Empire State.”

“But how did you know the date?” I asked.

“Sal was extremely proud of being a descendent of Saladin, so it was probable that the date he’d choose would have some connection with the great Muslim hero. The date of Saladin’s birth is unknown, but the date of his death is March 4, 1193. It’s March 3^nd so it was probable that this was the date chosen.”

“And the FBI was ready and waiting?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, Sal himself wasn’t among those planting the nuclear device and he hasn’t been picked up. I suspect he’s long gone, probably to somewhere in Iran or Syria.”

The next day Alvin received an e-mail saying, “Next time I’ll use a different opening.”

Alvin smiled. “Next time I’ll have a different reply.”

That was the end of the Adventure of the Traditional Terrorist, for now.