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

by P. W. Child

  Purdue smiled. Sam knew he had located the callous commander.

  “Sloane is signing that treaty as we speak, so your efforts are pointless. Even if you killed everyone you are holding, it would not change the edict from coming into effect before you even raise your gun,” Sam pestered Schmidt, secretly hoping to God that Margaret would not pay for his insolence.

  Chapter 34 – Margaret’s Risky Scoop

  Terrified, Margaret watched as her friend, Sam Cleave, infuriated her captor. She was tied to a chair and still lightheaded from the drugs he’d used to subjugate her. Margaret had no idea where she was, but from the little German she understood, she was not the only hostage kept here. Next to her was a heap of technological devices Schmidt had confiscated from his other hostages. While the corrupt commander pranced around arguing, Margaret put her childhood tricks to use.

  When she was a little girl in Glasgow she used to freak the other children out by dislocating her fingers and shoulders for their entertainment. Since then, of course, she’d suffered some arthritis in her major joints, but she was pretty sure she could still manipulate the joints in her fingers. A few minutes before he’d called Sam Cleave, Schmidt had sent Himmelfarb to check on the trunk they brought with them. They’d salvaged it from the air base bunker, which had been all but destroyed by the intruders. He did not see Margaret’s left hand slip from her handcuff and reach for the cell phone that had belonged to Werner while he’d been in captivity at Büchel’s air base.

  Stretching her neck to see, she extended her arm to take the phone, but it was just out of reach. Trying not to screw up her only opportunity for communication, Margaret nudged her chair every time Schmidt laughed. Soon she was so close that her fingertips almost touched the plastic and rubber of the phone cover.

  Schmidt had finished stating his ultimatum to Sam and now all he had to do was watch the ongoing speeches before the signing of the treaty. He checked his watch, seemingly unconcerned about Margaret, now that she had been presented as leverage.

  “Himmelfarb!” Schmidt shouted. “Bring the men in. Our time is short.”

  Six pilots, dressed and ready for deployment, came marching into the room in silence. Schmidt had his monitors displaying the same topographical maps as before, but since the destruction had Marduk left in the bunker, Schmidt had to make do with just the basics.

  “Sir!” Himmelfarb and the other pilots exclaimed as they filed between Schmidt and Margaret.

  “We have little to no time to blow up the German air bases marked off here,” Schmidt said. “The signing of the treaty appears to be inevitable, but we shall see how long they maintain their agreement once our squadron of Operation Leo 2, blows up the W.U.O. HQ in Baghdad and the palace in Susa simultaneously.”

  He nodded to Himmelfarb, who retrieved the defective duplicate masks of the Second World War from the trunk. One by one, he gave each of the men a mask.

  “Now, here on this tray we have the preserved tissue of a failed airman, Olaf Löwenhagen. One sample per man to be placed inside each mask,” he ordered. Like machines, the uniformly dressed pilots did as he said. Schmidt checked how each man obliged before giving his next order. “Now remember, your fellow airmen at Büchel have already embarked on their mission to Iraq, so Operation Leo 2’s first phase is complete. It is your duty to fulfill the second phase.”

  He flicked through the screens, bringing up the live broadcast of the Susa signing. “Right, sons of Germany, put on your masks and wait for my order. The moment it happens live on my screen here, I will know that our boys have bombed our targets in Susa and Baghdad. I’ll then give you the order and activate Phase 2 – the destruction of Air Bases Büchel, Norvenich and Schleswig. You all know your designated targets.”

  “Yes, sir!” they answered in unison.

  “Good, good. The next time I intend to assassinate an opinionated slag like Sloane, I will have to do it myself. Today’s so-called snipers are a disgrace,” Schmidt complained as he watched the pilots leave the room. They were on their way to a makeshift hangar, where they’d been concealing decommissioned flying machines from the various air bases Schmidt presided over.

  ***

  On the outside of a hangar, a figure was cowering under the shade roofs of the parking area situated outside the giant discontinued factory yard on the outskirts of Berlin. He was briskly moving from one building to another, disappearing into each to see if there was any occupancy. He had reached the next-to-last working levels of the decrepit steel factory, when he saw several pilots emerge on their way to the only structure that stood out in the background of rusted steel and old, red-brown brick walls. It was odd and out of place thanks to the silver glimmer of the new steel material it had been erected with.

  Lieutenant Werner held his breath as he watched half a dozen Löwenhagen’s discuss among themselves the mission that would commence within minutes. He knew this was the mission Schmidt had chosen him for – a suicide mission in the vein of the Leonidas Squadron of WWII. When they mentioned the others going for Baghdad, Werner’s heart stopped. He rushed to a place where he hoped nobody could hear him and made a call, checking his surroundings the entire time.

  “Hello, Sam?”

  Inside the office, Margaret pretended to be asleep while trying to ascertain if the treaty had been signed yet. She had to, because according to previous narrow escapes and experience with military villains during her career, she’d learned that once a deal is made anywhere, people start dying. It was not called ‘tying up loose ends’ for nothing and she knew it. Margaret wondered how she could possibly defend herself against a career soldier and military leader with one hand tied behind her back – literally.

  Schmidt was fuming, tapping his boot incessantly as he waited in agitation for his explosion to take place. Again he lifted his watch. Ten more minutes, according to his last estimation. He thought how brilliant it would have been if he could see the palace explode onto the high commission of the W.U.O. and the Sultan of Meso-Arabia just before sending out his local imps to implement the supposed revenge bombing of the Luftwaffe air bases by the enemy. The captain watched the proceedings, breathing hard and uttering his disdain with every passing moment.

  “Look at that bitch!” he sneered, as they showed Sloane declining her speech as the same message slid from right to left across the CNN screen. “I want my mask! The moment I have it back I will become you, Meier!” Margaret looked for the 16th Inspector or commander of the German Air Force, but he was absent – at least from the office she was being kept.

  At once she noticed movement in the hallway outside the door. Her eyes widened abruptly when she recognized the lieutenant. He was gesturing for her to hush and keep playing possum. Schmidt had something to say for every image he saw on the live news feed.

  “Enjoy your last moments. Once Meier has claimed responsibility for the Iraqi bombings, I will discard his likeness. Then we’ll see how much you can do with that ink-made wet dream of yours!” he cackled. As long as he went off on his rants he would not pay attention to the lieutenant sneaking in to overpower him. Werner crept along the wall where there was still some shadow cover, but he had a good six meters to go in white luminescent light before he could get to Schmidt.

  Margaret thought to lend a hand. Pushing hard to the side, she suddenly toppled over and fell hard on her arm and hip. She let out a horrifying cry that gave Schmidt a serious start.

  “Jesus! What are you doing?” he yelled at Margaret, about to put his boot to her chest. But he was not fast enough to avert the body propelling toward him and ramming him into the stacked table behind him. Werner slammed against the captain, instantly thrusting his fist into Schmidt’s Adam’s apple. The malicious commander tried to stay coherent, but Werner was taking no chances with how tough the veteran officer was.

  Another swift blow to the temple with the butt of his gun finished the job and the captain fell limply to the floor. By the time Werner had disarmed the commander, Margaret was up on
her feet, struggling to remove the chair leg from between her body and her arm. He rushed to help her.

  “Thank God you’re here, Lieutenant!” she gasped heavily as he freed her. “Marlene is in the Men’s Room, tied to the radiator. They drugged her with chloroform, so she is not going to be able to run with us.”

  “Really?” his face lit up. “She is alive, and okay?”

  Margaret nodded.

  Werner looked around. “After we tie this swine up, I’ll need you to come with me as quickly as you can,” he told her.

  “To get Marlene?” she asked.

  “No, to sabotage the hangar so that Schmidt cannot send his wasps to sting anymore,” he replied. “They’re just waiting for the order. But without fighter jets they can do absolutely fuck-all, can they?”

  Margaret smiled. “If we survive this, can I quote you for the Edinburgh Post?”

  “If you help me, you get an exclusive interview of this whole debacle,” he grinned.

  Chapter 35 - Subterfuge

  When Nina laid her moist hand on the decree, it occurred her just what an impact her scribble on this piece of modest paper was about to make. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked up at the Sultan one last time before putting her autograph on the line. In a split second of meeting his black eyed gaze she felt his genuine amity and honest kindness.

  “Go on, Professor,” he encouraged her with a slow blink of reassurance.

  Nina had to pretend that she was just busy practicing the signature again, otherwise she would be too nervous to do it correctly. As the ballpoint slid under her guidance, Nina felt her heart race. Just for her, they waited. The whole world held their breath just for her to finish signing. There would never be a greater honor in the world for her, even if this moment was begotten in deceit.

  The moment she gracefully placed the point of the pen on the final dot in the autograph, the world applauded. Those in attendance cheered and rose to their feet. At the same time, millions of people watching via the direct feed prayed that nothing bad would happen. Nina looked up at the sixty-three-year-old Sultan. He shook her hand gently while staring deep into her eyes.

  “Whoever you are,” he said, “thank you for doing this.”

  “How do you mean? You know who I am,” Nina asked with a refined smile, while actually being quite terrified of discovery. “I’m Professor Sloane.”

  “No, you are not. Professor Sloane had very dark blue eyes. But you have beautiful Arabian eyes, like the onyx in my royal ring. It’s as if someone caught a pair of tiger eyes and put them in your face.” Wrinkles formed around his eyes and his beard could not smother his smile.

  “Please, Your Grace…” she implored, keeping her pose for the sake of the onlookers.

  “Whoever you are,” he spoke over her, “the mask you wear to me does not matter. It is not our masks that define us, but what we do with them. To me, it is what you did here that matters, you see?”

  Nina swallowed hard. She wanted to cry, but it would tarnish Sloane’s image. The Sultan led her to the podium with him and whispered in her ear, “Remember, my dear, what matters most is what we represent, not what we resemble.”

  During the standing ovation that lasted well over ten minutes Nina fought to keep upright, holding firmly onto the grip of the Sultan. She stepped up to the microphone where she had earlier declined to give a speech and everything died down gradually to a sporadic cheer or clapping. Until she started speaking. Nina kept her voice hoarse enough to remain mysterious, but she had to make the announcement. It had occurred to her that she only had mere hours to wear someone else’s face and do something useful with it. There was little to say, but she smiled and said, “Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed guests and all of our friends throughout the world. My illness is impeding my voice and speech, so I shall make this quick. Due to my dwindling health issues, I would like to publicly step down…”

  A grand bustle ensued throughout the makeshift auditorium in the Susa Palace from astonished spectators, but they all respected the leader’s decision. She’d led her organization and most of the modern world into an era of better technology, efficiency, and discipline, without the robbing of individuality or judgment. For that she was revered, no matter what she elected to do with her career.

  “…but, I am sure all my efforts will be flawlessly advanced by my successor and new commissioner of the W.U.O., Dr. Lisa Gordon. It has been a pleasure to serve the people…” Nina continued to end the announcement while Marduk waited in the change room for her.

  “My goodness, Dr. Gould, you are quite the diplomat yourself,” he remarked as he watched her. Sam and Purdue had left in a hurry after receiving a frantic phone call from Werner.

  Werner had sent Sam a text with details on the incoming threat. With Purdue in tail, they’d rushed to the Royal Guard and showed their clearance identification to have a word with the Meso-Arabian wing commander, Lieutenant Jenzebel Abdi.

  “Madam, we have urgent intel from a friend of yours, Lieutenant Dieter Werner,” Sam told the striking woman in her late thirties.

  “Oh Ditti,” she nodded lazily, not looking too impressed with the two mad Scots.

  “He asked to give you this code. An unauthorized deployment of German fighter jets are based about twenty klicks outside the city of Susa and fifty klicks outside Baghdad!” Sam spilled it like an eager schoolboy with an urgent message for the principal. “They are on a suicide mission to destroy the C.I.T.E. headquarters and this palace under the command of Captain Gerhard Schmidt.”

  Lieutenant Abdi immediately shouted orders to her men and commanded her wingmen to join her in the covert desert compound to get ready for an air attack. She checked the code Werner sent and nodded in acknowledgment of his warning. “Schmidt, huh?” she sneered. “I hate that fucking Kraut. I hope Werner rips his balls off.” She shook Purdue and Sam’s hands, “I have to get suited. Thank you for warning us.”

  “Wait,” Purdue frowned, “are you also engaging in air combat yourself?”

  The lieutenant smiled and winked. “Of course! If you see old Dieter again, ask him why they called me ‘Jihad Jenny’ in the flight academy.”

  “Ha!” Sam chuckled as she jogged off with her team to arm up and intercept any approaching threat with extreme prejudice. The code Werner supplied had directed them to the two respective nests from where the Leo 2 squadrons were to take off.

  “We missed Nina’s signing,” Sam lamented.

  “That’s alright. It will be on every bloody news channel you can imagine over the next while,” Purdue soothed, patting Sam on the back. “Now, not to sound paranoid, but I have to get Nina and Marduk to Wrichtishousis within,” he checked his watch and quickly calculated the hours, travel time and elapsed time, “the next six hours.”

  “Alright, let’s go before that old bastard disappears again,” Sam grunted. “By the way, what did you text Werner while I was talking to Jihad Jenny?”

  Chapter 36 – Face-Off

  After they had freed an unconscious Marlene and carried her swiftly and quietly through the broken fence to the car, Margaret felt apprehensive as she stalked the hangar with Lieutenant Werner. In the distance, they could hear the pilots getting restless, waiting for the command from Schmidt.

  “How are we supposed to disengage six F-16 looking war birds in under ten minutes, Lieutenant?” Margaret whispered, as they slipped under a loose panel.

  Werner chuckled. “Schatz, you have played too many American video games.”She shrugged sheepishly as he handed her a large steel implement.

  “Without tires they cannot take off, Frau Crosby,” Werner advised. “Please damage the tires enough to cause a nice blowout as soon as they cross that line there. I have a secondary plan, long distance.”

  In the office, Captain Schmidt woke from his blunt force induced blackout. He was tied to the same chair Margaret had sat in and the door was locked, confining him in his own holding place. The monitors were left on for him to watch, effectively infuria
ting him to a point of madness. Schmidt’s insane eyes only conveyed his failure as the news feed on his screen delivered evidence that the treaty had been signed successfully and that a recent attempted air raid had been averted by the quick action of the Meso-Arabian Air Force.

  “Jesus Christ! No! You could not have known! How could they know?” he whined like a child, virtually dislocating his knees trying to kick the chair in a blind rage. His bloodshot eyes stiffened through his blood-soaked brow. “Werner!”

  Out in the hangar Werner was using his cell phone as a homing device for a GPS satellite to locate the hangar. Margaret had done her best to slash the tires of the aircraft.

  “I feel really stupid doing this old school stuff, Lieutenant,” she whispered.

  “So then you should stop doing it,” Schmidt told her from the entrance of the hangar, toting a gun at her. He could not see Werner ducking in front of one of the Typhoons punching something into his phone. Margaret raised her hands in surrender, but Schmidt unloaded two slugs on her and she fell to the ground.

  Shouting their orders, Schmidt finally initiated the second phase of his attack plan, if only for revenge. Wearing the dysfunctional masks, his men got into their aircrafts. Werner appeared in front of one of the machines, holding his cell phone in his hand. Schmidt stood behind the aircraft, moving slowly as he shot at an unarmed Werner. But he had not considered Werner’s position, nor where he’d been leading Schmidt. The slugs ricocheted off the landing gear. As the pilot fired up the jet, the afterburn he activated blew out a hellish tongue of fire, straight into the face of Captain Schmidt.

  Looking down at what was left of the exposed flesh and teeth of Schmidt’s face, Werner spat on him. “Now you don’t even have a face for your death mask, you swine.”

  Werner pressed the green button on his phone and set it down. He quickly lifted the injured journalist on his shoulders and carried her out to the car. From Iraq, Purdue received the signal and initiated a satellite beam to hone in on the homing device, rapidly elevating the core temperature of the hangar. The result was quick and hot.