The Babylonian Mask (Order of the Black Sun Book 14)

by P. W. Child

  “Has Airman Löwenhagen been found yet?” he asked Schmidt, the officer unfortunate enough to be designated to bring him the shocking news.

  “No. There no body was found at the scene, which leads us to believe that he is still alive,” Schmidt responded thoughtfully. “But you must also take into account that he may very well have died in the crash. The explosion could have disintegrated his body, Harold.”

  “All this ‘could have’ and ‘may have’ talk of yours is what bothers me most. The uncertainty of what ensued from the whole affair is what makes me restless, not to mention that some of our squadrons have men on short leave. For the first time in my career I’m feeling anxious,” Meier admitted, finally sitting down for a moment to give it some thought. He looked up suddenly, staring into Schmidt’s eyes with his own steely gaze, but he was looking further than his subordinate’s face. A moment passed before Meier made his eventual decision. “Schmidt…”

  “Yes, sir?” Schmidt replied quickly, eager to know how the commander would save them all from embarrassment.

  “Take three men you trust. I need sharp men, in brains and brawn, my friend. Men like you. They must understand the trouble we are in. This is a PR nightmare waiting to happen. I – and probably you as well – will most likely be dismissed if what this little shit managed to do under our noses comes out,” said Meier, going off on his tangent again.

  “And you need us to track him down?” Schmidt asked.

  “Yes. And you know what to do if you find him. Use your own discretion. If you wish, interrogate him to find out what madness steered him to this stupid bravery – you know, what his intention was,” Meier suggested. He leaned forward with his chin on his folded hands. “But Schmidt, if he even breathes wrong, put him out. We are soldiers after all, not babysitters or psychologists. The collective well being of the Luftwaffe is far more important that one maniacal pissant with something to prove, understand?”

  “Completely,” Schmidt agreed. He was not just appeasing his superior, but was genuinely of the same mind. The two of them did not come through years of tribulation and training in the German air corps to be undone by some snot nosed airman. As a result, Schmidt was secretly excited about the mission he was being given. He slammed his palms down on his thighs and stood up. “Done. Give me three days to assemble my trio and from there we’ll report to you on a daily basis.”

  Meier nodded, suddenly looking a bit more relieved at the cooperation of a like-minded man. Schmidt replaced his cap and saluted with ceremony, smiling. “That is, if we take that long to resolve this dilemma.”

  “Let’s hope the first report is the last,” replied Meier.

  “We’ll keep in touch,” Schmidt promised as he left the office, leaving Meier feeling considerably lighter.

  Once Schmidt had chosen his three men, he briefed them under the guise of a covert operation. They must keep knowledge of this mission from all others, including their families and colleagues. In a very tactful manner the officer made sure his men understood that extreme prejudice was the way of the mission. He chose three mild-mannered, intelligent men of differing ranks from different combat units. That was all he needed. He did not bother with details.

  “So, gentlemen, do you accept or decline?” he finally asked from atop his makeshift podium, perched on a cement elevation in the on-base repair bay. His stern expression and subsequent silence conveyed the weighty nature of the assignment. “Come on, boys, it’s not a marriage proposal! Yes or no! It’s a simple mission to find and exterminate a mouse in our wheat silo, boys.”

  “I’m in.”

  “Ah, danke Himmelfarb! I knew I chose the right man when I chose you,” Schmidt said, bullshitting his way through reverse psychology to push the other two. Thanks to the prevalence of peer pressure, he was eventually successful. Soon after, the red-haired imp called Kohl clicked his heels in his typical ostentatious manner. Naturally the last man, Werner, had to yield. He was reluctant, but only because he had plans to do a bit of gambling in Dillenburg during the next three days and Schmidt’s little excursion cock-blocked his plans.

  “Let’s go get this little prick,” he said indifferently. “I beat him twice at Blackjack last month and he owes me 137 Euros anyway.”

  His two colleagues chuckled. Schmidt was pleased.

  “Thank you for volunteering your expertise and time, boys. Let me get my intel tonight and I will have your first orders ready on Tuesday. Dismissed.”

  Chapter 7 – Meeting the Murderer

  A cold, black stare of fixed and beady eyes met Nina’s as she gradually emerged from her blissful sleep. No nightmares had plagued her this time, yet she’d awoken to this horrid sight nonetheless. She gasped when the dark pupils embedded in bloodshot eyes became a reality she thought she had shed in her slumber.

  Oh God, she mouthed at the sight of him.

  He responded with what would have been a smile if there had been anything left of his facial muscles, but all she could perceive was the narrowing wrinkle of his eyes in a friendly acknowledgement. He nodded courteously.

  “Hello,” Nina forced herself to utter, although she was in no mood for conversation. She hated herself for silently hoping the patient had lost his ability for speech, just so she could be left alone. After all, she’d only greeted him in a show of propriety. To her dismay, he answered in a hoarse whisper. “Hello. Sorry I frightened you. It’s just that I thought I wouldn’t ever wake up again.”

  Nina smiled without moral coercion this time. “I’m Nina.”

  “Good to meet you, Nina. I’m sorry…it is difficult to speak,” he apologized.

  “No worries. Don’t speak if it hurts.”

  “I wish it hurt. But my face is just – numb. It feels…”

  He took a deep breath and Nina could see great sorrow in his dark eyes. Suddenly her heart ached for the man with the molten skin, but she dared not speak now. She wanted to let him finish what he wanted to say.

  “It feels as though I’m wearing someone else’s face.” He wrestled with his words, his emotions in turmoil. “Just this dead skin. Just this numbness, like when you touch someone else’s face, you know? It feels like – a mask.”

  As he spoke, Nina imagined his anguish and it made her shun her previous wickedness of wishing him mute for her own comfort. She imagined everything he had told her and put herself in his place. How horrible it must be! But regardless of the reality of his suffering and inevitable handicap, she wanted to keep a positive tone.

  “I’m sure it will get better, especially with the drugs they give us,” she sighed. “I’m surprised I can feel my ass on the toilet seat.”

  His eyes narrowed and wrinkled once more, and his gullet expelled a rhythmic gallop that she knew now to be laughter, although the rest of his face showed no sign of it. “Like when you fall asleep on your arm,” he added.

  Nina pointed at him with a determined concession. “Right on.”

  Around the two new acquaintances the hospital ward bustled with the morning rounds and delivery of breakfast trays. Nina wondered where Sister Barken was, but said nothing when Dr. Fritz entered the room with two strangers in professional attire and Nurse Marx at their heel. The strangers appeared to be hospital administrators, one male and one female.

  “Good morning, Dr. Gould,” Dr. Fritz smiled, but he lead his team to the other patient. Nurse Marx gave Nina a quick smile before turning her attention back to her work. They drew the thick green curtains and she heard the staff members chat with the new patient in relatively hushed tones, probably for her sake.

  Nina frowned in vexation at their incessant questioning. The poor man could hardly articulate his words properly! Still, she was able to overhear enough to know that the patient could not remember his own name and that the only thing he remembered before he caught fire was flying.

  “But you came running in here, still on fire!” Dr. Fritz informed him.

  “I don’t remember that,” the man replied.

&nbs
p; Nina closed her failing eyes to heighten her hearing. She heard the doctor say, “My nurse retrieved your wallet when they sedated you. From what we can decipher from the charred remains, you’re twenty-seven years old and from Dillenburg. Unfortunately, your name has been destroyed on the card, so we’re unable to ascertain who you are or who we should contact about your treatment and such.”Oh my God! she thought, enraged. They barely save his life and the first conversation they have with him is about financial trivialities! Typical!

  “I— I have no idea what my name is, doctor. I know even less about what happened to me.” There was a long pause and Nina could hear nothing until the curtains were parted again and the two bureaucrats walked out. As they passed, Nina was appalled to hear one tell the other, “It’s not like we can put an identikit out on the news either. He has no bloody face to recognize.”

  She could not resist defending him. “Oi!”

  Like good sycophants they stopped and smiled sweetly at the well-known academic, but what she said wiped the fake smiles from their faces. “At least that man has one face, not two. Savvy?”

  Without a word the two embarrassed pen pushers left, while Nina eyed them viciously with one raised eyebrow. Proudly she pouted, adding softly, “And in flawless German too, bitches.”

  “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.

  Chapter 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 slurred. 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.