by P. W. Child
“Spitting your name, Schmidt, he saluted and said he was going to visit you on a little suicide mission of your own.” Löwenhagen’s voice pierced through his smile. “He stood there laughing like a mad animal, screeching for relief from what he was. Still dressed like the dead biker, he went for the jet. Before I could get to him, the guards burst in. I just ran to keep from being arrested. Once outside the base, I got into my truck and raced to Büchel to try to warn you. Your cell phone was off.”
“And that’s when he crashed the plane outside our base,” Schmidt nodded. “How am I supposed to explain the true story to Lieutenant-General Meier? He is under the impression that it was a legitimate counter-attack after what that Dutch idiot did in Iraq.”
“Neumand was a first class pilot. Why he missed the target – you – is as much a pity as it is a mystery,” growled Löwenhagen. Only Schmidt’s silhouette still indicated his presence next to him.
“He missed because like you, my boy, he had gone blind,” stated Schmidt, relishing in his victory over those who could expose him. “But you did not know about that, did you? Because Neumand wore sunglasses you did not know about his poor eyesight. Otherwise you would never have used the Babylonian Mask yourself, would you?”
“No, I would not have,” grated Löwenhagen, feeling defeated to a boiling point. “But I should have known you would send someone to burn me up and get the mask back. After I drove to the crash site, I found Neumand’s charred remains flung far from the fuselage. The mask had been detached from his scorched skull, so I took it to bring it back to my dear commander whom I thought I could trust.” At this point his yellow eyes had gone blind. “But you already took care of that, didn’t you?”
“What are you talking about?” he heard Schmidt say next to him, but he was done with the commander’s deceit.
“You sent someone after me. He found me with the mask at the site of the wreckage and chased me all the way into Heidelberg until my truck ran out of fuel!” snarled Löwenhagen. “But he had enough petrol for the both of us, Schmidt. Before I could see him coming, he poured petrol all over me and set me on fire! All I could do was run to the hospital a stone’s throw away, still hoping that the fire would not catch and maybe even extinguish as I ran. But no, it only got stronger and hotter, consuming my skin and my lips and my limbs until I thought I was screaming through my flesh! Do you know what it is like to feel your heart explode under the shock of smelling your own flesh burning like a steak on a grill? DO YOU?” he screamed at the captain, wearing the vicious expression of dead man.
As the manager jogged hastily to their table, Schmidt raised his hand dismissively.
“We’re going. We’re going. Just charge it all to that credit card,” Schmidt ordered, knowing that Dr. Hilt would soon be found dead again, while his credit card statement would show that he’d lived a few days longer than initially reported.
“Come, Löwenhagen,” Schmidt said urgently. “I know how we can get that mask off your face. I have no idea how to reverse the blindness, though.”
He led his companion to the bar where he signed the slip. As they left, Schmidt slipped the credit card back into Löwenhagen’s pocket. The staff and patrons all gave a sigh of relief. The unfortunate waiter who’d received no gratuity clicked his tongue, saying “Thank God! I hope that is the last we see of him.”
Chapter 23 - Assassination
Marduk watched the clock and the small rectangle on its face with the flip-type date panels arranged to announce that it was the 28th of October. His fingers tapped on the counter while he waited for the receptionist at the Swanwasser Hotel, where Sam Cleave and his mysterious lady friend were also staying.
“There we go, Mr. Marduk. Welcome to Germany,” the receptionist smiled kindly and returned Marduk’s passport. Her eyes dwelled on his face for a moment too long. It made the old man wonder if it was because of his unusual face or because his identification documents stated Iraq as his country of origin.
“Vielen Dank,” he replied. He would have smiled if he could have.
After checking into his room, he went downstairs to meet Sam and Margaret outside in the garden. They were already waiting for him when he stepped out onto the deck overlooking the swimming pool. A small, smartly dressed man had been following Marduk at a distance, but the old man was far too astute not to know.
Sam cleared his throat in a suggestive manner, but all Marduk said was “I see him.”
“Of course you do,” Sam said to himself, motioning to Margaret with his head. She looked up at the stranger and recoiled somewhat, but she kept it from his view. Marduk turned to look at the man following him, just enough to assess the situation. Apologetically, the man smiled and disappeared into the corridor.
“They see a passport from Iraq and they lose their bloody minds,” he snapped irately as he sat down.
“Mr. Marduk, this is Margaret Crosby of the Edinburgh Post,” Sam introduced them.
“Lovely to meet you, Madam,” said Marduk, again using his polite nod instead of a smile.
“And you also, Mr. Marduk,” Margaret replied cordially. “It’s wonderful to finally meet such an informed and travelled man such as yourself.”Is she actually flirting with Marduk? Sam wondered in amusement, as he watched the two of them shake hands.
“And how do you know this?” Marduk asked in mock surprise.
Sam lifted his recording device.
“Ah, all that business in the doctor’s office is on record now.” He gave the investigate journalist a stern eye.
“Not to worry, Marduk,” said Sam, intending to dismiss all concern. “This is just for me and those who are going to help us track down the Babylonian Mask. As you know, Ms. Crosby here has already done her part in getting the police commander off our backs.”
“Yes, some journalists have the common sense to be selective about what the world should know and…well, what the world is better off never knowing about. The Babylonian Mask and its abilities fall into the latter category. You are assured of my discretion,” Margaret promised Marduk.
His image fascinated her. The British spinster had always had an affinity for the unusual and unique. He was not nearly as monstrous as the staff of Heidelberg Hospital had described him. Yes, he was clearly deformed by normal standards, but his face only added to his intriguing personality.
“That is a relief to know, Madam,” he sighed.
“Please, call me Margaret,” she said quickly.Aye, some geriatric flirting going on here, Sam decided.
“So, to the business at hand,” interrupted Sam, starting into the more serious conversation. “How are we going to start looking for this Löwenhagen character?”
“I think we should discount him from the game. According to Lieutenant Werner, the man behind the procurement of the Babylonian Mask is Captain Schmidt of the German Luftwaffe. I’ve instructed Lieutenant Werner to go under the pretense of reporting and steal the mask from Schmidt by noon tomorrow. If I have not heard from Werner by then, we’ll have to assume the worst. In that case, I myself will have to get inside the base and have a word with Schmidt. He is at the root of this whole deranged operation, and he will want to be in possession of the relic by the time the signing of the great peace treaty takes place.”
“So you think he is going to impersonate the Meso-Arabian Commissioner for the signing?” asked Margaret, aptly using the new term for the Middle East since the merging of the flanking, smaller lands under one government.
“There are a million possibilities, Mada…Margaret,” Marduk clarified. “He could choose to do that, but he does not speak any Arabic, so the Commissioner’s people will know he is a charlatan. Of all the times not to be able to control the minds of the masses. Imagine how easily I could have averted all of this if I still had that psychic nonsense, Sam lamented to himself.
Marduk’s laid-back tone continued. “He could take on the face of an unknown man and assassinate the Commissioner. He could even send another suicide pilot into
the building. That seems to be the fashion these days.”
“Wasn’t there a Nazi squadron who did that in the Second World War?” asked Margaret, with her hand on Sam’s forearm.
“Uh, I don’t know. Why?”
“If we knew how they got those pilots to volunteer for that mission, we might be able to figure out how Schmidt was planning to arrange something similar. I might be way off, but shouldn’t we at least investigate the possibility? Dr. Gould might even be able to help us.”
“She is confined to a hospital in Mannheim at the moment,” Sam said.
“How is she doing?” Marduk asked, still feeling guilty that he had hit her.
“I have not seen her since I had her admitted. That was why I came to see Dr. Fritz in the first place,” Sam replied. “But you’re right. I may as well see if she can help us – if she is conscious. God, I hope they can help her. She was in a bad way when I last saw her.”
“Then I would say a visit is in order, for more than one reason. And Lieutenant Werner and his friend Kohl?” Marduk inquired, taking a sip of his coffee.
Margaret’s phone rang. “It’s my assistant.” She smiled proudly.
“You have an assistant?” Sam teased. “Since when?”She answered Sam in a whisper just before she took the call. “I have a covert operative with a penchant for police radios and locked lines, my boy.” With a wink she answered the call, walking away over the immaculate lawn lit by garden lamps.
“So, a hacker,” Sam mumbled with a chuckle.
“Once Schmidt has the mask, one of us will have to intercept him, Mr. Cleave,” Marduk said. “I vote you storm the wall while I wait in ambush. You flush him out. After all, with this face I will never be able to get into the base.”
Sam drank his single malt and thought it over. “If we only knew what he was planning to do with it. Obviously, he should know the dangers of wearing it himself. I suppose he will get some lackey to sabotage the signing of the treaty.”
“I agree,” Marduk began, but Margaret came racing out of the romantic garden with an expression of absolute horror on her face.
“Oh my God!” she shrieked as softly as she could. “My God, Sam! You won’t believe this!” Margaret’s ankles twisted under her haste as she traversed the grass patch to the table.
“What? What is it?” Sam frowned, jumping up from his chair to grab her before she could fall on the stone patio.
Wide with disbelief, Margaret stared at her two male companions. She could hardly catch her breath. When she evened out her breathing she exclaimed, “Professor Marta Sloane was just assassinated!”
“Jesus Christ!” Sam cried, dropping his head into his palms. “Now we’re fucked. You do realize that this is World War III!”
“I know! What can we do now? This treaty means nothing now,” Margaret affirmed.
“Where did you get your information from, Margaret? Has anyone claimed responsibility yet?” demanded Marduk, as tactfully as he could.
“My source is a friend of the family. All her information is usually dead-on. She lurks on the private security bandwidths and spends every waking moment of her day checking…”
“…hacking,” Sam corrected.
She glared at him. “She checks security sites and covert organizations. That’s how I usually get the news before the police are even summoned to the crime scenes or incidents,” she admitted. “Minutes ago, over Dunbar Private Security’s red line she picked up the report. They have not even called the local police or the coroner yet, but she’ll keep us posted on how Sloane was killed.”
“So, it’s not out on the wire yet?” Sam exclaimed urgently.
“No, but it is about to be, no doubt. The security company and the police will be filing reports before we even finish our drinks.” Her eyes were tearing up as she spoke. “There goes our chance at a new world. Oh my God, they had to fuck this up, didn’t they?”
“Of course, my dear Margaret,” Marduk said as calmly as ever. “It’s what mankind does best. Destroying anything uncontrollable and constructive. But we have no time for philosophy now. I have an idea, albeit a very far-fetched idea.”
“Well, we have nothing,” Margaret complained. “So be our guest, Peter.”
“What if we could blind the world?” Marduk asked.
“Like that mask of yours?” asked Sam.
“Listen!” commanded Marduk, showing his first sign of emotion and sending Sam’s loose tongue back behind pursed lips. “What if we can do what the media does every single day, only in reverse? Is there a way we can stop the reports from coming out and keep the world in the dark? That way, we’ll have time to work out a solution and make sure the meeting in The Hague happens. With luck, we’ll be able to avert the catastrophe we are no doubt facing now.”
“I don’t know, Marduk,” said Sam, feeling dejected. “Every ambitious journalist in the world would want to be the one reporting on this for their station of their country. It’s big news. There’s no way our brethren of vultures will pass on a morsel like this out of respect for peace or for some moral standard.”
Margaret shook her head too, affirming Sam’s damning revelation. “If we could only slap that mask on someone who looks like Sloane…just to get the treaty signed.”
“Well, if we cannot stop the fleet of ships from coming into shore, we’ll have to remove the ocean on which they sail,” Marduk presented.
Sam smiled, enjoying the old man’s unorthodox thinking. He understood, while Margaret was lost and her face confirmed her confusion. “You mean, if the reports are coming out anyway, we must disable the media they use to do it?”
“Correct,” Marduk nodded as always. “As far as we can.”
“How on God’s green earth…?” Margaret asked.
“I like Margaret’s idea too,” Marduk said. “If we can get the mask, we can fool the world into believing that reports of the assassination of Prof. Sloane are a hoax. And we can send in an imposter of our own to sign the document.”
“It is a monumental undertaking, but I think I know just who could be crazy enough to pull off such a thing,” Sam said. He grabbed his phone and pressed a letter on speed dial. He waited for a moment and then his face assumed absolute focus.
“Hey, Purdue!”
Chapter 24 – Schmidt’s Other Face
“You are relieved of the Löwenhagen assignment, Lieutenant,” Schmidt said firmly.
“So you found the man we’re looking for, sir? Good! How did you find him?” asked Werner.
“I will tell you, Lieutenant Werner, only because I hold you in such high regard and because you agreed to help me find this culprit,” replied Schmidt, reminding Werner of his need-to-know restriction. “It was remarkably surreal, actually. Your colleague called me to let me know he was bringing Löwenhagen in just an hour ago.”
“My colleague?” Werner frowned, but played his role convincingly.
“Yes. Who would have thought Kohl had it in him to apprehend anyone, hey? But it is with great despair that I tell you this,” Schmidt feigned his sorrow and his acting was transparent to his subordinate. “While Kohl was bringing in Löwenhagen, they were involved in a terrible crash that claimed both their lives.”
“What?” exclaimed Werner. “Please say it’s not true!”
His face lost all color at the news he knew was infested with insidious untruth. The fact that Kohl had left the hospital parking lot virtually minutes before him was testament to the cover-up. Kohl could never have achieved all of that in the short time it had taken Werner to get to the base. But Werner kept everything to himself. Keeping Schmidt blind to the fact that he knew all about his motive for catching Löwenhagen and the mask and the messy lie of Kohl’s demise was Werner’s only weapon. Military intelligence, indeed.
At the same time, Werner was truly shocked by Kohl’s death. His distraught demeanor and upset was genuine as he fell back into his chair in Schmidt’s office. To rub salt in his wounds, Schmidt played the contrite commander
and offered him some fresh tea to absorb the shock of the bad news.
“You know, I shudder to think what Löwenhagen must have done to cause that crash,” he told Werner as he paced around his desk. “Poor Kohl. Do you know how it pains me to think that such a good pilot with such a bright future lost his life because of my order to apprehend a callous and traitorous subordinate like Löwenhagen?”
Werner’s jaw clenched, but he had to keep his own mask on until it was the right time to reveal what he knew. With a shaky voice, he elected to play the victim so he could pry a little more. “Sir, please don’t tell me Himmelfarb shared this fate?”
“No, no. Not to worry about Himmelfarb. He asked me to pull him out of the assignment because he could not stomach it. I guess I’m grateful for a man like you in my command, Lieutenant,” Schmidt grimaced surreptitiously from behind Werner’s seat. “You are the only one who has not failed me.”
Werner was wondering if Schmidt had managed to obtain the mask and if so, where he was keeping it. That, however, was one answer he would not be able to simply ask for. That was something he would have to spy for.
“Thank you, sir,” Werner responded. “If there is anything else you need me for, just ask.”
“That is the kind of attitude that makes heroes, Lieutenant!” Schmidt sang through his thick lips as sweat moistened his thick cheeks. “For the welfare of one’s country and the right to bear arms one must sometimes sacrifice great things. Sometimes giving one’s life to spare the thousands one protects is part of being a hero, a hero Germany can remember as the messiah of the old ways and a man who sacrificed himself to maintain the supremacy and freedom of his country.”
Werner did not like where this was going, but he could not act on his impulses without risking discovery. “I cannot agree more, Captain Schmidt. You should know. I’m sure no man gets to the rank you’ve attained by being a spineless runt. I hope to one day follow in your footsteps.”
“You will, I’m sure, Lieutenant. And you’re right. I’ve sacrificed much. My grandfather was killed in combat against the British in Palestine. My father died while protecting the German Chancellor in an assassination attempt during the Cold War,” he projected his excuses. “But I tell you one thing, Lieutenant. When I leave a legacy, I will not only be remembered by my sons and grandsons as a nice story to tell strangers. No, I will be remembered for altering the course of our world, remembered by all Germans and therefore, remembered by global cultures and generations.”Hitler much? Werner thought, but he acknowledged Schmidt’s bullshit with fake support. “Exactly, sir! I could not agree more.”