Free Time and Time Again by Ben Elton Page B

suspicion.
    ‘Show me your papers,’ the lead man demanded. ‘I want to know exactly who you are and where you come from.’
    Stanton was carrying identification papers in both English and German. The English ones were in his own name and established him as an Australian gold-miner and engineer, but he certainly didn’t want to have this identity placed on any official record. He was supposed to be a shadow, making zero impact on the history through which he was passing.
    ‘You have no authority here,’ Stanton replied. ‘I might just as well ask for your papers since it’s you who are bringing the army into disrepute. But it’s getting hot and I can’t be bothered so if you’ll excuse—’
    ‘Guard the door, Tommy,’ the leader instructed. ‘I think we need to talk to this chap.’
    One of the group went and stood in front of the door. The other four took a step towards Stanton.
    His options were few and none of them were attractive. He could, of course, drop to one knee, whip the machine gun out from his bag and kill all five of them. He didn’t judge that any of the men facing him were armed. Even if they were, he felt confident that he could dispatch them all before any one of them was able to haul out and cock the type of heavy, steel handgun they might be carrying. Stanton’s own little Glock was so reliable, rapid and accurate in its fire that with his special training and the added element of surprise his accusers would not stand a chance.
    But creating a blood bath in the middle of a densely crowded neighbourhood was scarcely the action of a shadow.
    Could he bribe them? He had plenty of money. But he guessed that his interrogators would view such an offer with contempt. Any effort in that direction would no doubt only serve to confirm their clearly growing suspicion that he was some kind of dirty foreign spy.
    But if they held him and searched him and discovered all the various astonishing things inside his bag the game was up anyway. The authorities would hold him for ever trying to work out who and what he was.
    In the time it had taken for Stanton to think these thoughts his opponents had taken two steps more towards him. Two more and they’d be within arm’s length. Stanton resolved that he would have to fight them hand to hand. The space was small and he was in a corner so they couldn’t all come at him at once. There was a good chance that given his superior training he would be able to punch his way through to the door with his bag. The odds weren’t bad; there were five of them, certainly, all fit young men and soldiers too. But they’d been up all night drinking and it was highly unlikely that they knew any of the hand-to-hand skills which to Stanton were second-nature. They’d all have boxed but according to strict Queensberry rules and Stanton didn’t intend to follow any rules. Whatever the odds, this offered him a better chance of completing his mission than spraying the crowded room with bullets.
    Stanton had just determined that his first move would be a left-hooked karate chop to the prominent Adam’s apple of the group leader, and in fact his left arm was already in motion, when the owner of the cafe appeared once more.
    ‘Stop this please,’ he said softly. ‘Prayers are completed in the mosque.’
    ‘Oh, so you can speak a civilized language when it suits you, can you, Abdul?’ the leader of the five said over his shoulder as he advanced the final step towards Stanton. ‘Well, bully for you, but I’m not interested in your prayers or your damned mosque.’ The man addressed Stanton once more. ‘Now you show me your papers, my friend, or you’re coming with us to the military police to explain why you’re impersonating a British officer.’
    ‘And in a moment my cafe will be full,’ the Turkish owner went on, and something about his tone gave both Stanton and his opponent pause. ‘Full of Muslims, sir, devout Muslims and also Turkish patriots. Must I tell them