“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.
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?”
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 infuriating him to a point of madness. Schmidt’s insane eyes only conveyed his failure as t
he 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.
On Halloween Evening the world celebrated, having not the slightest idea how apt their dressing up and use of masks really were. From Susa, Purdue’s private jet took off with special clearance and a military escort out of their air space to assure their safety. On board, Nina, Sam, Marduk and Purdue wolfed down a dinner while they headed for Edinburgh. There, a small, specialized team waited to apply the Skin to Nina as soon as possible.
The flat screen television kept them updated as the news unfolded.
“A freak accident at a deserted steel factory outside Berlin has taken the lives of several German Air Force pilots, including second-in-command Captain Gerhard Schmidt and Chief of the German Luftwaffe, Lieutenant-General Harold Meier. It is yet unclear what the suspicious circumstances were about…”
Sam, Nina and Marduk all speculated where Werner was and if he’d managed to get out in time with Marlene and Margaret.
“Calling Werner would be of no use. The man goes through cell phones like underwear,” Sam remarked. “We’ll have to wait to see if he contacts us, right Purdue?”
But Purdue was not listening. He was lying on his back in the reclining seat, head lolled to one side with his trusty tablet resting on his belly and his hands folded over it.
Sam smiled, “Look at that. The man who never sleeps is finally resting.”
On the tablet Sam could see that Purdue was communicating with Werner, answering Sam’s question earlier that evening. He shook his head. “Genius.”
37
Two days later, Nina had her face back, recuperating in the same cozy institution in Kirkwall where she’d been before. Marduk’s facial dermis had to be peeled off and applied to the likeness of Prof. Sloane, dissolving the fusion particles until the Babylonian Mask was its (very) old self again. Macabre as the procedure was, Nina was delighted to have her own face back. Still heavily sedated for the cancer secret she shared with the medical staff, she fell asleep as Sam wandered off to get some coffee.
The old man was also healing well, occupying a bed in the same corridor as Nina. There was no sleeping on bloody sheets and tarps for him in this hospital, for which he was infinitely grateful.
“Looking good there, Peter,” Purdue smiled as he looked in on Marduk’s progress. “You’ll be able to go home soon.”
“With my mask,” Marduk reminded him.
Purdue chuckled, “Of course. With your mask.”
Sam came in to say hello. “I was just with Nina. She is still under the weather, but very glad to be herself again. Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Sometimes, to achieve the best the best face to wear is your own.”
“Very philosophical,” Marduk teased. “But I am arrogant now that I can smile and taunt with a full range of motion.”
Their laughter filled the small section of the exclusive medical practice.
“So, all this time you have been the actual collector that the Babylonian Mask was stolen from?” Sam inquired, fascinated by the realization that Peter Marduk was the millionaire relic collector Neumand had stolen the Babylonian Mask from.
“Is that so strange?” he asked Sam.
“A bit. Usually wealthy collectors send private investigators and teams of recovery specialists out to get their stuff back.”
“But then more people would know what this damned artifact really does. I cannot risk that. You saw what happened when just two men knew about its abilities. Imagine what would happen if the world knew the truth of these ancient items. Some things are better kept secret…masked, if you will.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Purdue admitted. It pertained to his furtive feelings toward Nina’s alienation, but he decided to bury that away from the outside world.
“I am happy to hear that dear Margaret has survived her gunshot injuries,” Marduk said.
Sam looked very proud at the mention of her. “Would you believe that she is up for a Pulitzer for Investigative Reporting?”
“You should be getting that one again, my lad,” Purdue remarked, quite sincerely.
“No, not this time. She recorded the entire thing on Werner’s confiscated cell phone! From the part where Schmidt explained the orders to his men to where he admits that he planned the hit on Sloane, even though he was at that point not sure if she ever really died. Now Margaret is renowned for the risks she took to uncover the conspiracy and the murder of Meier, et cetera. Of course, she spun it carefully so that no mention of a nefarious relic or pilots-turned-suicidal-madmen would disturb the waters, you know?”
“I’m grateful she decided to keep it secret after I abandoned her there. My God, what was I thinking?” Marduk moaned.
“I’m sure being a big shot reporter will make up for it, Peter,” Sam comforted him. “After all, if you had not left her there, she would never have obtained all that footage that’s now made her famous.”
“Still, I owe her and the lieutenant some restitution,” Marduk replied. “Next All Hallows Eve, to commemorate our adventure, I shall host a grand affair and they will be guests of honor. But it would have to be far away from my collection…just in case.”
“Great!” Purdue exclaimed. “We can have it at my manor. What will the theme be?”
Marduk gave it some thought and then smiled with his new mouth.
“Why, a masked ball, of course.”
END
THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH
Prologue
Latvia – 1938
Shimmering stars from fresh droplets of rain beautified the otherwise vile streets of Riga. It was late, late in so many ways. The war was looming and for the company it was too late to turn back. Even Ami knew it, and she’d been so obsessed with her performance career that not even World War II had been deemed reason enough to take a break. And why should it? At sixteen years of age she was in the prime of her youth and the world awaited her, but even she admitted to feeling somewhat apprehensive about what was coming.
The reality pressed upon them all, but Ami vowed to do everything in
her power to keep the minds of her colleagues off the dangers of touring Europe. In the imminent shadow nearing her Baltic home, they could all feel the hellish breath of the volatile dragon that crawled at the feet of the SS in Germany.
Ami stared out over the almost deathly silent streets, playing witness only to half-hearted solicitations by drunken men and desperate women in the shelter of the night below the Orfeju Opera House. Her ankles ached under her slender frame, something that came only with overexertion or sickness. Either way, it was her secret to keep. Through tear-riddled blue eyes she gazed into the cold night, counting the steeples between her and the shoreline where the ocean lapped gently in invitation.
“Ami, are you coming, dear?” she heard Lamma’s soothing voice from behind her. “You cannot occupy the change rooms all night, you know.” He neared her in a humorous rendition of some humpback creature, reaching out to capture her, making his voice quiver in mock warning. “You do know that the opera house is dreadfully haunted, don’t you? It’s not safe for pretty ballerinas to be locked in here at night just because they missed the call time for closing.”
“Oh, can it, Lamma,” Ami snickered. She adored the fifty-five-year-old company director and his silly attempt at cheering up his troop of young aspiring professionals. “You don’t scare me.”
He shed his momentary show and stood next to her in his full tallness. “What is so fascinating that you would risk getting locked in here?”
“Honestly, I lost track of the time. There was nothing out there keeping my attention other than the ocean air and thinking about the future of the company,” she admitted. “Let me get my coat. I’ve already changed out of my pointes, see?”
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