by P. W. Child
Then he noticed the emblem on Schmidt’s ring, the very ring Werner used to mistake for a wedding band. Engraved in the flat gold base that crowned the top of his finger was the symbol of a supposedly extinct organization, the sigil of the Order of the Black Sun. He’d seen it before in his great uncle’s house the day he’d helped his great aunt sell all her late husband’s books in a yard sale back in the late 80’s. The symbol had intrigued him, but his great aunt threw a fit when he asked if he could have the book.
He never thought about it again, until just now when he recognized the symbol on Schmidt’s ring. The question of remaining ignorant had become difficult for Werner, because he was desperate to know what Schmidt was doing wearing a symbol that his own patriotic great aunt did not want him to know.
“That is intriguing, sir,” Werner remarked inadvertently, without even considering the repercussions of his inquiry.
“What?” Schmidt asked, pulled out of his grand speech.
“Your ring, Captain. It looks like an antique treasure or some secret talisman with super powers like in the comic books!” Werner said excitedly, cooing over the ring as if it were just a beautiful piece of work. So curious was Werner, in fact, that he didn’t even feel nervous in asking about the emblem or the ring. Perhaps Schmidt believed that his Lieutenant was truly entranced by his proud affiliation, but he preferred to keep his involvement with the Order to himself.
“Oh, this was given to me by my father when I turned thirteen years old,” Schmidt explained nostalgically, looking at the slender, perfect lines on the ring he never removed.
“A family emblem? It looks very distinguished,” Werner coaxed his commander, but he could not get the man to open up about it. Suddenly Werner’s cell phone rang, breaking the spell at work between the two men and the truth. “My apologies, Captain.”
“Nonsense,” replied Schmidt, dismissing it cordially. “You are not on duty right now.”
Werner watched the captain step outside to give him some privacy.
“Hello?”
It was Marlene. “Dieter! Dieter, they killed Dr. Fritz!” she cried from what sounded like an empty swimming pool or a shower cubicle.
“Wait, slow down, Liebchen! Who? And when?” Werner asked his girlfriend.
“Two minutes ago! J-j-just like th-that…in cold blood, for Christ’s sake! Right in front of me!” she screamed hysterically.
Lieutenant Dieter Werner felt his stomach tighten up at the sound of his lover’s frantic weeping. Somehow that wicked emblem upon Schmidt’s ring was a portent of what was to come shortly after. Werner felt as if his admiration for the ring had in some evil way brought misfortune around him. He was remarkably close to the truth.
“What do you…Marlene! Listen!” he tried to get her to give him more information.
Schmidt heard the heightening of Werner’s tone of voice. Concerned, he slowly entered the office again from outside, giving the lieutenant a questioning look.
“Where are you? Where did it happen? In the hospital?” he urged her, but she was completely incoherent.
“No! N-no, Dieter! Himmelfarb just shot Dr. Fritz in the head. Oh Jesus! I’m going to die here!” she sobbed in despair from the eerie echoing location he could not get her to disclose.
“Marlene, where are you?” he shouted.
The phone call ended with a click. Schmidt was still standing stunned in front of Werner, waiting for an answer. Werner’s complexion had gone pallid as he shoved the phone back into his pocket.
“Excuse me, sir. I have to go. Something terrible has happened at the hospital,” he told his commander, turning to leave.
“She is not at the hospital, Lieutenant,” Schmidt said dryly. Werner stopped in his tracks, but did not turn around yet. By the sound of the commander’s voice he expected to have the barrel of an officer’s pistol pointing at the back of his skull, and he give Schmidt the honor of facing him when he pulled the trigger.
“Himmelfarb just killed Dr. Fritz,” Werner said without facing the officer.
“I know, Dieter,” Schmidt confessed. “I told him to. Do you know why he does everything I tell him?”
“A romantic attachment?” Werner sneered, finally shedding his false admiration.
“Ha! No, romance is for the meek of mind. The only conquest I am interested in is the domination of the meek of mind,” Schmidt said.
“Himmelfarb is a fucking coward. We all knew that from the start. He creeps up the asses of anyone who can protect him or help him, because he is nothing but an inept and groveling puppy,” said Werner, insulting the corporal with a genuine disdain he had always hidden out of courtesy.
“That is absolutely correct, Lieutenant,” the Captain agreed. His hot breath tainted the back of Werner’s head as he leaned in uncomfortably close. “Which is why, unlike people like you and the other dead people you will soon join, he does what he is told!”
Werner’s flesh crawled with rage and hate, his whole being filling with frustration and serious concern for his Marlene. “So? Shoot already!” he said defiantly.
Schmidt chuckled behind him. “Sit down, Lieutenant.”
Reluctantly Werner obliged. He had no choice, which infuriated a free thinker like him. He watched as the arrogant officer sat down, deliberately flashing his ring for Werner’s eyes to see. “Himmelfarb, as you say, does my bidding because he is unable to grow a set of balls and stand up for what he believes in. However, he gets the job done that I send him to do and I don’t have to beg, follow up or threaten his loved ones for it. Now you, on the other hand, your scrotum is a bit too substantial for your own good. Don’t get me wrong, I admire a man who thinks for himself, but when you cast your lot with the opposition–the enemy– you become a traitor. Himmelfarb told me everything, Lieutenant,” Schmidt revealed with a long sigh.
“Maybe you’re too blind to see what a traitor he is,” Werner bit back.
“A traitor for the right side is, in effect, a hero. But let’s leave my preferential determinations for now. I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself, Lieutenant Werner. Leading a squadron of fighter jets, you will have the honor of flying your Tornado straight into the assembly hall of C.I.T.E. in Iraq to make sure they know where the world stands on their existence.”
“That is absurd!” Werner protested. “They’ve been keeping to their end of the cease fire agreement and have agreed to enter into trade negotiations…!”
“Blah, blah, blah!” Schmidt laughed and shook his head. “We all know the political eggshells, my friend. It’s a ruse. Even if it were not – what peace would there be while Germany is just another bull in the corral?” His ring glimmered in the light on his desk as he came round the corner. “We are leaders, pioneers, powerful and proud, Lieutenant! The W.U.O. and C.I.T.E. are a bunch of bitches who wish to emasculate Germany! They want to throw us into the cage with the other slaughter animals. I say no – fucking – way!”
“It is a union, sir,” Werner tried, but he only made the captain angry.
“A union? Oh, oh, ‘union’ as in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics back in the day?” He sat on his desk right in front of Werner, lowering his head down to level of the lieutenant. “There is no growth space in a fishbowl, my friend. And Germany cannot thrive in a quaint, little knitting club where everyone chats along and give gifts over a tea set. Wake up! They are confining us to uniformity and cutting our balls off, my friend! You are going to help us undo that atrocity of – of oppression.”
“If I refuse?” Werner foolishly asked.
“Himmelfarb will get some one-on-one time with sweet Marlene,” Schmidt smiled. “Besides, I have already set the stage for a good ass-whipping, as they say. Most of the work is already done. Thanks to one of my loyal drones who perform their duty under orders,” Schmidt shouted at Werner, “that bitch Sloane is out of the picture for good. That alone should warm the world up for a showdown, hey?”
“What? Professor Sloane?” Werner gasped.
>
Schmidt affirmed the news by sliding the tip of his thumb along his own throat. He laughed proudly and sat down behind his desk. “So, Lieutenant Werner, can we – can Marlene – count on you?
Chapter 25 – Nina’s Trip to Babel
When Nina woke up from a feverish and painful slumber, she found that she was in a very different kind of hospital. Her bed, although adjustable in the same way as hospital beds, was cozy and decked with winter linen. It sported some her favorite design motifs in chocolate, brown, and tan. The walls were decorated with old art in Da Vinci’s style and there were no reminders of drips, syringes, bed pans or any other humiliating devices Nina had loathed in her hospital room.
There was a bell button she was forced to push, because she was parched beyond comprehension and could not reach the water next to her bed. Maybe she could, but her skin was aching like brain-freeze and lightning, discouraging her from the task. A mere moment after she rang the bell an exotic-looking nurse in casual clothes entered through the door.
“Hello Dr. Gould,” she greeted cheerfully in a subdued voice. “How are you feeling?”
“I feel terrible. S-so thir-sty,” Nina forced. She did not even realize that she could see well enough again until she had gulped down half a tall glass of fortified water. When she had drunk her fill, Nina laid back on the soft, warm bed and looked about the room, finally laying her eyes on the smiling nurse.
“I can see almost completely right again,” Nina mumbled. She would have smiled if she hadn’t been so confused. “Um, where am I? You don’t sound – or look – German at all.”
The nurse laughed. “No, Dr. Gould. I’m from Jamaica, but I live here in Kirkwall as a full time caregiver. I was hired to look after you for the foreseeable future, but there is a doctor working very hard with his fellows to cure you.”
“They can’t. Tell them to give it up,” Nina said in a distraught tone. “I have cancer. They told me in Mannheim when the Heidelberg Hospital sent my results through.”
“Well, I am not a doctor, so I cannot tell you anything you do not already know. But what I can tell you is that some scientists do not declare their findings or patent their cures for fear of a boycott by drug companies. That is all I will say until you have spoken to Dr. Cait,” the nurse advised.
“Dr. Cait? Is this his hospital?” Nina asked.
“No, madam. Dr. Cait is a medical scientist who was hired to concentrate exclusively on your illness. And this is a small clinic on the coast of Kirkwall. It is owned by Scorpio Majorus Holdings, situated in Edinburgh. Only a few know about it.” she smiled at Nina. “Now let me just take your vitals and see if we can make you more comfortable and then…would you like to have something to eat? Or is the nausea still persistent?”
“No,” Nina answered quickly, but then exhaled and smiled at the welcome discovery. “No, I am by no means nauseous. In fact, I’m famished.” Nina laughed in a crooked way as not to aggravate the agony behind her diaphragm and between her lungs. “Tell me, how did I get here?”
“Mr. David Purdue had you flown here from Germany so that you could get specialized treatment in a safe environment,” the nurse informed Nina, as she checked her eyes with a pen light. Nina lightly grabbed the nurse’s wrist.
“Wait, is Purdue here?” she asked, slightly unsettled.
“No, madam. He asked me to convey his apologies to you. Probably for not being here for you,” the nurse told Nina.Yeah, probably for trying to cut my fucking head off in the dark, thought Nina to herself.
“But he had to join Mr. Cleave in Germany for some sort of consortium meeting, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with just us for now, your small team of health professionals,” chimed the thin, dark-skinned nurse. Nina was fascinated by her beautiful complexion and wonderfully unique accent, halfway between a London noblewoman and a Rasta. “Mr. Cleave is apparently coming to see you in the next three days, so that is at least one familiar face to look forward to, right?”
“Aye, it sure is,” Nina nodded, satisfied with that news at least.
***
The next day Nina felt decidedly better, although her eyes were not owl strength yet. Her skin was practically void of any burn or pain and she was breathing easier. She’d had a fever only once the day before, but it quickly subsided after she was given a light, green liquid that Dr. Cait jested was something they used on The Hulk before he became famous. Nina thoroughly enjoyed the humor and professionalism of the team, balancing positivity and medical science perfectly to benefit her well-being as much as possible.
“So, is it true what they say about steroids?” Sam smiled from the doorway.
“Aye, it’s true. All of it. You should see how my balls have shriveled to raisins!” she jested with a matching look of amazement that had Sam laughing heartily.
Reluctant to touch her and ignite her pain, he just kissed her softly on her crown, smelling the fresh shampoo in her hair. “It is so good to see you, love,” he whispered. “And those cheeks are flushing too. Now we just have to wait for a wet nose and you’ll be ready to go.”
Nina laughed with difficulty, but her smile persisted. Sam held her hand and looked around the room. There was a large bouquet of her favorite flowers with a big emerald-green ribbon around it. Sam found it quite striking.
“They tell me that is just part of the décor, changing the flowers every week and so on,” Nina remarked, “but I know they are from Purdue.”
Sam did not want to rock the boat between Nina and Purdue, especially while she still needed the treatment only Purdue could get her. On the other hand, he knew that Purdue had had no control over what he’d tried to do to Nina in those pitch-black tunnels under Chernobyl. “Well, I tried to bring you some hooch, but your staff confiscated it,” he shrugged. “Bloody drunkards, the lot of them. Watch out for the sexy nurse. She shakes when she drinks.”
Nina chuckled with Sam, but she figured he had heard about her cancer and that he was desperately trying to cheer her up with an overdose of pointless silliness. Since she did not wish to participate in this painful circumstance, she changed the subject.
“What is going on in Germany?” she asked.
“Funny that you should ask that, Nina,” he cleared his throat and pulled his recorder from his pocket.
“Ooh, audio porn?” she joked.
Sam felt guilty about his motives, but he put on his pity face and explained, “We actually need some help with a bit of background on a suicidal Nazi squadron that apparently destroyed several bridges…”
“Aye, KG 200,” she chipped in before he could carry on. “They reputedly wiped out seventeen bridges to prevent the Soviet forces from crossing. But that is mostly speculation, according to my sources. I only know about KG 200 because I wrote a dissertation on the influence of psychological patriotism on suicide missions in my second year post-grad.”
“What is KG 200 exactly?” Sam asked.
“Kampfgeschwader 200,” she said a bit weakly, gesturing for some fruit juice behind Sam on the table. He passed her the glass and she took minute sips through a straw. “They were designated to man a bomb…” she tried to recollect the name with her eyes to the ceiling, “…called, um, I think…Reichenberg, as far as I remember. But they were known as the Leonidas Squadron later on. Why? They’re all dead and gone.”
“Aye, that’s true, but you know how we seem to run into things that are supposed to be dead and gone all the time,” he reminded Nina. She could not argue that point. If anything, she knew as well as Sam and Purdue that the old world and its wizards were alive and well in the modern establishment.
“Please Sam, don’t tell me we’re up against a World War II suicide squad still flying their Focke-Wulfs above Berlin,” she exclaimed, inhaling and closed her eyes in mock apprehension.
“Um, no,” he started to ease her into the insane facts of latter days, “but remember that pilot who escaped with from the hospital?”
“Yes,” she replied with a curious tone.
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“What did he look like, you know, while the two of you were making your journey?” asked Sam so that he could ascertain just how far back to go before he started filling her in on everything that was going on.
“I couldn’t see him. At first, when the cops called him Dr. Hilt, I thought it was that monster, you know, the one who was chasing my roomie. But I realized it was just the poor lad who got burned, probably having disguised himself as the dead doctor,” she explained to Sam.
He drew a deep breath and wished he could suck on a smoke before telling Nina that she was, in fact, travelling with a shape-shifting killer who only spared her because she was blind as a bat and could not point him out.
“Did he say anything about a mask?” Sam wanted to treaded softly around the subject, hoping that she at least knew about the Babylonian Mask. But he was quite certain that Löwenhagen would not have shared such a secret randomly.
“A what? A mask? Like his mask that they put on him to avoid his tissue from becoming infected?” she asked.
“No, love,” Sam replied, preparing to spill the beans on what they were involved in. “An ancient relic. The Babylonian Mask. Did he mention that at all?”
“No, he never mentioned anything about any other mask than the one they put on his face after applying the anti-biotic ointment,” Nina clarified, but her frown deepened. “For Christ’s sake! Are you going to tell me what this is about or not? Stop asking questions and finish playing the thing in your hand so I can hear what how deep we’re in shit again.”