Order of the Black Sun Box Set 5

by Preston William Child

  “That was impressive German, I must confess, especially for a Scot.” Dr. Fritz was smiling as he wrote in the young man’s file. Both the burn patient and Nurse Marx acknowledged the feisty historian’s chivalry with a thumbs-up that made Nina feel like her old self again.

  Nina summoned Nurse Marx nearer, making sure the young woman knew that she wanted to share something discreet. Dr. Fritz glanced at the two women, suspecting there was some matter he should be informed of.

  “Ladies, I shall be only a moment. Let me just make our patient comfortable.” Turning to the burn patient he said, “My friend, we will have to give you a name in the meantime, don’t you think?”

  “What about Sam?” the patient offered.

  Nina’s stomach tightened up. I still have to get hold of Sam. Or just Detlef, even.

  “What’s the matter, Dr. Gould?” asked Marlene.

  “Um, I don’t know who else to tell or if this is even pertinent, but,” she sighed sincerely, “I think I’m losing my sight!”

  “I’m sure it is just a byproduct of the radia…,” Marlene tried, but Nina grabbed her arm firmly in protest.

  “Listen! If one more member of staff in this hospital uses radiation as an excuse instead of doing something about my eyes, I’m going to start a riot. Do you understand?” She sneered impatiently. “Please. PLEASE. Do something about my eyes. An examination. Anything. I tell you, I’m going blind while Sister Barken assured me I was getting better!”

  Dr. Fritz heard Nina’s complaint. He tucked his pen in his pocket and left the patient he now called Sam with a reassuring wink.

  “Dr. Gould, can you see my face or just the outlines of my head?”

  “Both, but I cannot detect the color of your eyes, for instance. Everything was blurry before, but now it is becoming impossible to properly see anything further than my arm’s reach,” Nina replied. “Earlier I could see…” she did not want to call the new patient by his chosen name, but she had to, “…Sam’s eyes, even the pinkish color of the whites of his eyes, Doctor. That was literally an hour ago. Now I can’t distinguish anything.”

  “Sister Barken told you the truth,” he said as he pulled out his light pen and pried Nina’s eyelids apart with a gloved left hand. “You are healing up very quickly, almost unnaturally.” He had sunk his almost barren face down next to hers to check the response of her pupils when she gasped.

  “I see you!” she cried. “I see you clear as day. Every blemish. Even the stubble on your face that is peeking from the pores.”

  Perplexed, he looked at the nurse on the other side of Nina’s bed. Her face was full of concern. “We’ll run some blood tests later today. Nurse Marx, have the results ready for me tomorrow.”

  “Where is Sister Barken?” Nina asked.

  “She is off-duty until Friday, but I’m sure a promising nurse like Ms. Marx here can take care of it, right?” The young nurse nodded zealously.

  Once the evening visiting hours were over, most of the staff were busy preparing the patients for the night, but Dr. Fritz had had Dr. Nina Gould sedated earlier on to make sure that she slept properly. She had been rather upset all day, behaving unlike her usual self because of her waning eyesight. Uncharacteristically, she had been reserved and a bit morose, as was expected. By lights out she was fast asleep.

  By 3:20 a.m. even the subdued chatting between the nurses on the night staff had ceased, and they were all fighting the various attacks of boredom and the lulling power of silence. Nurse Marx was pulling an extra shift, spending her free moments on social media. It was a pity that she was professionally forbidden from posting the admission of her heroine, Dr. Gould. She was sure it would have provoked the envy of the History Majors and World War II fanatics among her online friends, but alas, she had to keep the awesome news to herself.

  The light clapping sound of skipping footsteps came up the hallway before Marlene looked up and found one of the orderlies from the First Floor racing toward the nurses’ station. An unfit janitor ran in his wake. Both men wore faces of shock, frantically urging the nurses to hush before they reached them.

  Out of breath, the two men stopped at the door of the office where Marlene and another nurse waited to receive an explanation for their strange behavior.

  “There – th-there is,” the janitor started first, “an in-intruder on the Ground Floor and he is coming up the stairs of the fire escape as we speak.”

  “So, call security,” Marlene whispered, surprised at their ineptitude at handling a security risk. “If you suspect that someone is posing a threat to the staff and patients, you know you…”

  “Listen, sweetheart!” The orderly leaned up right against the young woman, sneering in her ear as quietly as he could. “Both security officers are dead!”

  The janitor nodded wildly. “It’s true! Call the police. Now! Before he gets up here!”

  “What about the second floor staff?” she asked, frantically trying to find a line from Reception. The two men shrugged. Marlene was dismayed to find that the switchboard tone was beeping incessantly. This meant there were either too many calls to process or a faulty system.

  “I cannot get hold of the main lines!” she whispered urgently. “Oh my God! Nobody knows there is trouble. We have to warn them!” Marlene used her cell phone to call Dr. Hilt on his private cell phone. “Dr. Hilt?” she said wide-eyed while the anxious men constantly checked for the shape they had seen going up the fire stairs.

  “He is going to be pissed that you called him on his cell phone,” the orderly warned.

  “Who gives a shit? As long as she gets a hold of him, Victor!” the other nurse grunted. She followed suit, using her cell phone to call the local police while Marlene tried Dr. Hilt’s number again.

  “He’s not answering,” she panted. “It rings, but there is no voicemail either.”

  “Great! And our phones are in our fucking lockers!” the orderly, Victor, fumed hopelessly, running his frustrated fingers through his hair. In the background they heard the other nurse speak to the police. She shoved her phone against the orderly’s chest.

  “Here!” she urged. “Tell them the details. They’re sending two cars.”

  Victor explained the situation to the emergency operator, who dispatched the patrol vehicles. He then stayed on the line while she continued to obtain more information from him and conveyed it over the radio to the patrol cars as they rushed to the Heidelberg Hospital.

  8

  It’s All Fun and Games Until…

  “Make zigzags! I need a challenge!” the rowdy, overweight woman roared as Sam started bolting away from the table. Purdue was too drunk to be alarmed as he watched Sam try to win his wager that the heavy-set, knife-wielding lass could not hit him. The nearest drinkers around them had formed a small mob of cheering and betting hooligans, all familiar with Big Moragh’s talent with blades. They all lamented, and wished to profit from, the misguided courage of this idiot from Edinburgh.

  Tents were alight with festivities in lantern glow, casting shadows of swaying drunkards singing heartily along with the folk band’s pipes. It was not quite dark yet, but the heavy, overcast sky reflected the fires from the wide field below. On the snaking river that ran along the stalls, some people were on rowboats, enjoying the quiet ripples of the glimmering water around them. Under the fringe of trees near the parking area, children were playing.

  Sam heard the first dagger swoosh past his shoulder.

  “Ai!” he yelled inadvertently. “Almost spilled my ale there!”

  He heard the screaming women and men egging him on through the din of Moragh’s fans chanting her name. Somewhere in the madness, Sam heard a small group chanting “Knife the bampot! Knife the bampot!”

  From Purdue there was no support, even when Sam turned around briefly to see where Moragh had shifted her aim. Wearing his family’s tartan on his kilt, Purdue was staggering through the mad lot in the direction of the clubhouse on the site.

  “Traitor,” Sam s
lurred. He took another chug of his ale just as Moragh lifted her flabby arm to line the last of the three daggers. “Oh shit!” Sam exclaimed and tossed aside his tankard to make a run for the hillock by the river.

  As he had dreaded, his inebriation served two purposes – delivery of humiliation and then the subsequent aptitude not to give a rat’s ass. His disorientation on the turn caused him to abandon his equilibrium and after only one leap forward his foot slapped the back of his other ankle, bringing him down onto the wet, loose grass and mud with a thump. Sam’s skull struck a rock buried in the long tufts of greenery and a bright flash pumped through his brain painfully. His eyes rolled back in their sockets, but he regained his consciousness instantaneously.

  The velocity of his tumble sent his heavy kilt lashing forward when his body stopped short. On his lower back he could feel the awful confirmation of the upturned raiment. If that was not affirmation enough of the ensuing nightmare, the crisp air on his buttocks did the trick.

  “Oh Christ! Not again,” he moaned through the smell of mud and manure as the roaring laughter of the crowd punished him. “On the upside,” he said to himself as he sat up, “in the morning I won’t remember this. That’s right! It won’t matter.”

  But he was a terrible journalist for neglecting to remember that the flashing lights sporadically blinding him from a short distance away meant that even while he would forget the ordeal, pictures would prevail. For a moment Sam just sat there, wishing he had not been as painfully traditional; wishing he had worn briefs, or at least a thong! Moragh’s toothless mouth was wide open in laughter as she wobbled closer to collect him.

  “Dun’t ya worreh, sweeteh!” she chuckled. “Those’r nee the werst eyv seen!”

  With one swift movement the stout lass pulled him to his feet. Sam was too drunk and nauseous to fight her off as she dusted his kilt off and copped a feel while she helped herself to a bit of comedy at his expense.

  “Oi! Eh, lady...” he blundered his words. His arms flailed like a drugged flamingo as he tried to recover his composure. “Watch yer hands there!”

  “Sam! Sam!” he heard from somewhere inside the bubble of cruel mocking and whistling coming from the big grey tent.

  “Purdue?” he called, searching the thick muddy lawn for his tankard.

  “Sam! Come, we have to go! Sam! Stop playing around with the fat woman!” Purdue staggered along, slurring as he neared.

  “What ye seh?” Moragh shouted at the insult. Scowling, she left Sam’s side to give Purdue her full attention.

  “Some ice on that, mate?” the bartender asked Purdue.

  Sam and Purdue had entered the clubhouse on wavering legs after most of the people had already vacated their seats, opting to go outside and see the flame eaters during the drum show.

  “Aye! Ice for both of us,” Sam cried, holding the side of his head where the stone had connected. Purdue swaggered by his side, arm held aloft to order two meads while they nursed their injuries.

  “My God, that woman hits like Mike Tyson,” Purdue remarked, as he pressed the ice pack against his right brow, the place where Moragh’s first shot had marked her discontent at his uttering. Her second had landed just short of his left cheekbone, and Purdue could not help but be just a tad impressed at her combination.

  “Well, she throws knives like an amateur,” Sam chipped in, as he clenched the glass in his hand.

  “You do know that she did not really aim to hit you, right?” the barman reminded Sam. He gave it some thought and retorted, “But then, she is daft to make such a wager. I won double my money back.”

  “Aye, but she bet against herself at four times the odds, laddie!” the barman cackled heartily. “She didn’t get this reputation by being stupid, eh?”

  “Ha!” Purdue exclaimed, his eyes glued to the TV screen behind the bar. It was the very reason he had come looking for Sam in the first place. Something he saw on the news earlier had struck him as reason for concern, and he wanted to sit there until the bulletin repeated so he could show Sam.

  On the next hour the screen displayed exactly what he had been waiting for. He edged forward, knocking over some glasses on the counter. “Look!” he exclaimed. “Look, Sam! Isn’t that the hospital where our dear Nina is at the moment?”

  Sam watched the reporter talk about the drama that had hit the well-known hospital just hours before. It alarmed him instantly. The two men exchanged looks of concern.

  “We have to go and get her, Sam,” Purdue insisted.

  “If I were sober I would go right now, but we can’t travel to Germany in this state,” Sam lamented.

  “That’s not a problem, my friend,” Purdue smiled in his usual mischievous way. He lifted his glass and emptied the last bit of alcohol from it. “I have a private jet and a crew who can fly us there while we sleep it off. Much as I’m reluctant to fly to Detlef’s neck of the woods again, this is Nina we are speaking of.”

  “Aye,” Sam agreed. “I don’t want her staying there one more night. Not if I can help it.”

  Purdue and Sam left the festivities, thoroughly shitfaced and somewhat knackered by cuts and scratches, determined to get their heads cleared and come to the aid of the other third of their social alliance.

  As the night fell over the Scottish coast they left in their trail the jovial abandon, listening to the bagpipes fade. It was a harbinger of more serious things, where their momentary recklessness and fun would have to give way to the urgent rescue of Dr. Nina Gould, who was sharing space with a loose killer.

  9

  Cry of the Faceless

  Nina was terrified. She’d slept through most of the morning and early afternoon, but Dr. Fritz had her taken to the examination room for her eye tests as soon as the police had allowed them to move around. The ground floor was being heavily guarded both by police as well as the on-site security company who had sacrificed two of their men during the night. The second floor was off-limits for anyone not confined there, or the medical staff.

  “You’re fortunate you were able to sleep through all the madness, Dr. Gould,” Nurse Marx told Nina as she came to check on her in the evening.

  “I don’t even know what happened, really. There were security men killed by an intruder?” Nina frowned. “That’s what I was able to make out by the drips and drabs of what was discussed. Nobody could tell me what the hell is really going on.”

  Marlene looked around to make sure nobody saw her telling Nina the details.

  “We’re not supposed to alarm the patients with too much information, Dr. Gould,” she said under her breath, pretending to check Nina’s vitals. “But last night, one of our janitors saw someone kill one of the security men. Of course, he did not stick around to see who it was.”

  “Did they catch the intruder?” Nina asked seriously.

  The nurse shook her head. “That is why the place is in lockdown. They are searching the hospital for anyone who isn’tt authorized to be here, but so far no luck.”

  “How is that possible? He must have slipped out before the cops came,” Nina speculated.

  “That’s what we think too. I just don’t understand what he was looking for that was worth the lives of two men,” Marlene said. She gave a deep sigh and decided to change the subject. “How is your sight today? Better?”

  “Same,” Nina replied indifferently. Clearly other things were on her mind.

  “With the interference now, it will take a bit longer to get your results. But as soon as we know, we can start treatment.”

  “I hate feeling like this. I’m drowsy all the time and now I can hardly see more than a fuzzy rendition of the people I encounter,” Nina moaned. “You know, I need to get in touch with my friends and family so that they will know I’m okay. I cannot stay here forever.”

  “I understand, Dr. Gould,” Marlene sympathized, glancing back at her other patient opposite Nina who was stirring in his bed. “Let me go check on Sam over there.”

  As Nurse Marx approached the burn
victim, Nina watched him open his eyes and look at the ceiling as if he could see something they could not. Then a sorrowful nostalgia came over her and she whispered to herself.

  “Sam.”

  Nina’s fading sight catered to her curiosity as she watched Sam the patient lift his hand and clutch Nurse Marx’s wrist, but she could not discern the expression on his face. Nina’s own reddened skin, damaged by the toxic air of Chernobyl, was virtually completely healed. But still she felt as if she were dying. Nausea and dizziness prevailed, while her vitals showed only improvement. For someone as adventurous and fiery as the Scottish historian, such perceived weaknesses were unacceptable and dealt her a considerable amount of frustration.

  She could hear whispering before Nurse Marx shook her head, negating whatever he had requested. The nurse pulled free of the patient and briskly left without looking at Nina. The patient, however, was looking at Nina. That much she could see. But she had no idea why. Characteristically, she confronted him.

  “What is it, Sam?”

  He did not look away, yet he remained quiet, as if he hoped she would forget that she had addressed him. Trying to sit up, he groaned in pain and fell back on his pillow again. He sighed wearily. Nina decided to leave him be, but then his hoarse words broke the silence between them, demanding her attention.

  “Y-you know…know…the man they’re looking for?” he stammered. “You know? The intruder?”

  “Aye,” she replied.

  “He is after m-me. It’s me he is looking for, Nina. A-and tonight…he is coming to kill me,” he said in a quivering mumble of mispronounced words. It ran Nina’s blood cold, what he said, because she had not expected the culprit to be searching for anything in her vicinity. “Nina?” he urged for a response.