Order of the Black Sun Box Set 5

by Preston William Child

  “Come now, children. We can have group after we have altered history and managed not to get arrested, alright?”

  Reluctantly they agreed. Nina kept her eyes off Purdue, not affording him the opportunity to make things right.

  “Where is Margaret, Peter?” Sam asked Marduk. The old man shifted uncomfortably. He could not bear to tell the truth, even though they deserved to hate him for it.

  “We,” he sighed, “got separated. I could not find the lieutenant either, so I decided to abandon the whole mission. I was wrong to just leave, but you have to understand. I am so very tired of guarding this cursed mask, running after those who take it. Nobody was supposed to know about it, but a Nazi researcher studying the Babylonian Talmud came upon older texts from Mesopotamia and the lore of the Mask came into knowledge.” Marduk took out the mask and held it up to the light between them. “I wish I could just be rid of it once and for all.”

  A sympathetic expression came over Nina’s face, exacerbating her already weary look. It was easy to tell that she was far from well, but they tried to keep their concern to themselves.

  “I’ve called her hotel. She has not returned or checked out,” Sam seethed. “If anything happened to her, Marduk, I swear to Christ I will personally…”

  “We have to get this done. Now!” Nina snapped them out of it with the stern announcement, “Before I lose my gall.”

  “She has to be transformed before Dr. Gordon and the rest of Prof. Sloane’s people arrive, so how do we do this?” Sam asked the old man. Marduk responded by simply handing Nina the mask. Looking anxious to touch it, she took it from him. All she kept in mind was that she had to do this to save the peace treaty. She was dying anyway, so if the removal did not work, her deadline would just move up by a few months.

  Looking at the inside of the mask, Nina winced through the tears lining her eyes.

  “I’m scared,” she whispered.

  “We know, love,” Sam said reassuringly, “but we will not let you die like this.”…like this…

  Nina had realized already that they did not know about the cancer, but Sam’s choice of words was unintentionally haunting. With a straight, determined face Nina took the container that came with the pictures of Sloane and used tweezers to remove the grotesque contents from within. They all forced the task at hand to overshadow the sickening act, as they watched the patch of skin tissue from the body of Marta Sloane fall into the inside of the mask.

  Curious to a fault, Sam and Purdue pushed together to see what would happen. Marduk simply watched the clock on the wall. Inside the mask, the tissue sample instantly disintegrated and across the normally bone-colored surface, the mask bled into a dark red hue that seemed to come alive. Minute ripples ran through the surface.

  “Don’t waste any time or it will expire,” Marduk warned.

  Nina caught her breath. “Happy Halloween,” she said, and with a painful grimace she buried her face inside the mask.

  Purdue and Sam waited anxiously to see the hellish contorting of facial muscles and the furious bulging of glands and folding skin, but they were disappointed in their expectations. Nina squealed a bit when her hands released the mask and it stayed behind on her face. Nothing profound happened at all, apart from her reaction.

  “Oh my God, this is creepy! This is freaking me out!” she panicked, but Marduk came to sit next to her for some emotional support.

  “Relax. What you are feeling is the fusion of cells, Nina. I believe it will burn a little from the nerve endings being stimulated, but you have to let it take form,” he coaxed.

  As Sam and Purdue looked on, the slim mask just reshuffled its composition to blend with Nina’s face until it sank gracefully beneath her skin. Only slightly visible, Nina’s features morphed into Marta’s until the woman before them was the spitting image of the one in the picture.

  “Un-fucking-real,” Sam marveled as he watched. Purdue’s mind was in overdrive on the molecular fabric of the entire transformation on a chemical and biological level.

  “This is better than science fiction,” Purdue muttered, as he leaned in to scrutinize Nina’s face. “This is fascinating.”

  “And gross and macabre. Don’t forget that,” Nina said carefully, unsure of her ability to speak while wearing another woman’s face.

  “It is Halloween after all, love,” Sam smiled. “Just pretend you are really, really good at dressing up as Marta Sloane.” Purdue nodded with a tiny smirk, but he was too preoccupied with the scientific miracle he was witnessing to do much else.

  “Where is the Skin?” she asked with Marta’s lips. “Please tell me you have it here.”

  Purdue had to answer her, whether they were in social radio silence or not.

  “I have the Skin, Nina. No worries about that. As soon as the treaty is signed…” he trailed off, letting her fill in the blanks.

  Shortly after, Prof. Sloane’s people arrived. Dr. Lisa Gordon was a nervous wreck, but hid it well under her professional demeanor. She had informed Sloane’s immediate family that she was ill and had shared the same update with her staff. Due to the condition affecting her lungs and throat, she would be unable to make her speech but would still be present to seal the accord with Meso-Arabia.

  Leading the small group of press agents, lawyers, and bodyguards, she headed straight for the section marked ‘Private - Visiting Dignitaries’ with a knot in her stomach. It was mere minutes before the start of the historical symposium and she had to make sure everything went as planned. Entering the room where Nina was waiting with her companions, Lisa kept her game face on.

  “Oh Marta, I’m so nervous!” she exclaimed as she laid eyes on the woman who had an uncanny resemblance to Sloane. Nina just smiled. As Lisa had requested, she was not allowed to speak; she needed conform to the charade in front of Sloane’s people.

  “Give us some privacy for a minute, alright?” Lisa told her team. Once they closed the door, her entire disposition changed. Her jaw dropped at the face of the woman she would have sworn was her friend and colleague. “Holy shit, Mr. Purdue, you wern’t kidding!”

  Purdue smiled cordially. “Always good to see you, Dr. Gordon.”

  Lisa caught Nina up on the basics of what was needed, how to accept the announcements and so on. Then came the part Lisa had been most concerned about.

  “Dr. Gould, I take it you have practiced forging her signature?” Lisa asked very quietly.

  “I have. I believe I’ve got it down, but with the illness my hands are a bit less steady than usual,” Nina responded.

  “That’s fine. We’ve made sure everyone knows that Marta is very sick and that she is suffering mild tremors while receiving treatment,” Lisa replied. “That would help to account for any deviation in the signature, so God willing, we might pull this off without incident.”

  The press offices of all the major broadcasters had representatives at the venue’s media room in Susa, especially since all satellite systems and stations had been restored miraculously since 2:15 am that morning.

  When Prof. Sloane came out of the hallway to enter the meeting room with the Sultan, cameras turned in unison towards her. Flashes from long lens, high definition cameras created strobes of bright lights against the faces and clothing of the escorted leaders. Tense with focus, the three men responsible for Nina’s welfare stood watching the whole affair on a monitor in the change room.

  “She’ll be fine,” Sam said. “She even practiced Sloane’s accent, just in case she had to answer any questions.” He looked at Marduk. “And as soon as this is over, you and I will be looking for Margaret Crosby. I don’t care what you need to do or where you have to go.”

  “Mind your tone, son,” Marduk replied. “Keep in mind that without me, dear Nina will not be able to restore her image or maintain her life for long.”

  Purdue nudged Sam to reiterate the call for amicability. Sam’s phone rang, disturbing the atmosphere in the room.

  “It’s Margaret,” Sam declared, glaring
at Marduk.

  “See? She’s fine,” Marduk answered indifferently.

  When Sam answered, it wasn’t Margaret’s voice on the line.

  “Sam Cleave, I presume?” Schmidt hissed in a lowered voice. Immediately, Sam put the call on speaker for the others to hear.

  “Aye, where is Margaret?” Sam asked, not wasting any time with the obvious nature of the call.

  “That is none of your concern right now. Your concern is where she will be if you do not comply,” Schmidt said. “Tell that bitch impostor with the Sultan to abandon her errand or else you can pick up the other bitch impostor with a shovel tomorrow.”

  Marduk looked shocked. He’d never intended for his actions to lead to the lovely lady’s death, but now it had become a reality. His hand covered the bottom half of his face as he listened to Margaret screaming in the background.

  “Are you watching from a safe distance?” Sam provoked Schmidt. “Because if you are anywhere within my reach I will not do you the pleasure of sending a bullet through your thick Nazi skull.”

  Schmidt laughed with arrogant exhilaration. “What are you going to do, paper boy? Write an article to voice your discontent, slandering the Luftwaffe.”

  “Close,” Sam replied. His dark eyes met with Purdue’s. Without a word, the billionaire understood. With his tablet in his hand, he silently punched in a security code and proceeded to check the global positioning system of Margaret’s phone while Sam jousted with the commander. “I will do what I do best. I will expose you. More than anyone else you will be unmasked for the depraved, power-hungry wannabe you are. You will never be Meier, pal. The Lieutenant-General is the leader of the Luftwaffe and his reputation will serve the high opinion the world will have of Germany’s armed forces, not some impotent doormat who thinks he can manipulate the world.”

  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.

  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.