Free Tomy and the Planet of Lies by Erich von Däniken

didn’t escape my attention that sparks were beginning to fly between Tomy and Chantal. Finally, the commandant asked the chef de service to leave us. “Ali” spoke.
    â€œThis lad here,” he indicated Tomy, “is he your son?”
    â€œNo,” I answered tensely, “my younger brother.”
    â€œDoes everyone in your family have this unique ability?” he asked directly.
    â€œNo. Tomy really is something special. He always says that he’s not of this world.” It was a somewhat direct formulation, but the commandant knew anyway.
    Silence. Then, without beating around the bush, the commandant said, “These two gentlemen are from the Iranian state security service. I used to work for the department myself. Madame Chantal,” he nodded towards the attractive French woman, “is attached to a friendly service. We have been instructed to ask her to assist us.”
    I was not wholly surprised. Nevertheless, it seemed to me that Chantal seemed so young to be so deeply involved with the spy racket.
    â€œAli” said that they could provide us with any assistance we might need, but the country was in crisis and they needed our help. There were terrorist groups that were being financed and controlled by persons unknown and they needed to find out as soon as possible who was the brain behind it all.
    â€œIt has to be Tomy’s decision,” I insisted, adding, “of his own free will.”
    Again, there was silence, until “Omar Sharif” noted, a hypocritical smile dissecting his face, that ‘the young man’ had no papers and was, therefore, illegally in the country. He said they could help us out with that problem, and as he shrugged his shoulders and splayed his fingers it was clear to everyone what he was getting at. Marc, being a bright young man, realized it, too, and he looked nervously at me. These men could have us arrested at any time—legally. Chantal placed a hand gently on Tomy’s arm. It dawned on me that her sights were fixed on him and he had no experience at all with the wiles of earthly women. The situation was tense. I wondered if Marc couldn’t jump in and “save” him. Tomy and Marc were about the same age—although in Tomy’s case it was hard to tell, really—and they were both good-looking young guys. Being attractive is a privilege of youth. But more to the point, how were we going to get out of this mess?
    â€œMy colleague,” I said, indicating Marc, “has a valid visa from the Iranian embassy in Bern. I’ll have him fly back home from Teheran.”
    â€œOmar Sharif” shook his head, displaying one of his disarming smiles. “He is an accessory.”
    They had us hook, line and sinker. Marc nudged me under the table: I could feel his fist clenched next to my thigh. I could sense that he would just love to tip over this exquisitely laid table in their faces and get the hell out of there. Finally, with feigned diplomacy, I said I could fully understand their dilemma, after all terrorism was not only a problem in Iran. What’s more, these Islamic terrorists with their holy warriors were a daily insult to Allah.
    â€œHow do you mean?” asked Ali dangerously.
    â€œJust read Sura 2, verse 117 of your holy Qur’an. It says there ‘when He wills a thing to be, He but says unto it, “Be”—and it is. He is infinite, omnipresent and almighty.’ If he wants something to happen, he just has to will it so, and doesn’t need any earthly warriors. To presume that Allah is so small and powerless that he needs the help of fanatics is an insult to Allah!”
    â€œAli” rubbed his chin thoughtfully; the commandant pressed his lips firmly together; “Omar Sharif’s” smile turned a touch more serious.
    â€œAn interesting interpretation,” he said.
    â€œSo it is,” I confirmed and then pleaded for more time to consider their