by P. W. Child
As the electronic door locked behind him, Marduk’s potent eyes saw the silhouette sitting in the chair. He had no need for much light, but his right hand slowly gripped the skull face inside his coat. It was not a difficult guess that the intruder was there for the relic.
“You will have to kill me first,” Marduk said calmly, and he meant every word.
“That wish is within my reach, Mr. Marduk. I am inclined to grant that wish in an instant if you do not accede to my demands,” the figure said.
“Let me hear your demands, for God’s sake, so I can get some sleep. I’ve had no peace since yet another insidious breed of man stole it from my home,” Marduk complained.
“Sit down, please. Rest. I can leave here without incident and allow you to sleep, or I can alleviate your burdens for good and still leave here with what I came for,” said the intruder.
“Oh, do you think so?” The old man chuckled.
“I assure it,” the other told him categorically.
“My friend, you know as much as all the others who come for the Babylonian Mask. And that is nothing. So blinded by your greed, you pursuits, your vengeance…whatever else you crave with the use of another’s face. Blind! All of you!” He sighed as he plopped down comfortably onto the bed in the dark.
“Is that why the mask blinds the Masker?” came the stranger’s question.
“Yes, I suppose its maker instilled in it some form of metaphorical message,” Marduk replied as he kicked off his shoes.
“And the insanity?” inquired the intruder again.
“Son, you can ask as much information about this relic as you wish before you kill me and take it, but you will get nowhere with it. It will kill you or whomever you trick into wearing it, but there is no way around the fate of the Masker,” Marduk advised.
“Not without the Skin, that is,” the intruder revealed.
“Not without the Skin,” Marduk agreed in slow words bordering on the dying. “That is correct. And if I die, you will never know where to find the Skin. Besides, it does not work by itself, so just give it up, son. Go on your way and leave the mask to the cowards and charlatans.”
“Would you sell it?”
Marduk could not believe what he was hearing. He let out a delightful peal of laughter that filled the room like the agonizing cries of a torture victim. The silhouette did not move, nor did he take action or admit defeat. He simply waited.
The old Iraqi man sat up and switched on the bedside lamps. In the chair sat a tall, lean man with white hair and light blue eyes. In his left hand he held steady a .44 Magnum pointed right at the old man’s heart.
“Now we all know that using the skin off the donor’s face changes the face of the Masker,” Purdue said. “But I happen to know…” he leaned forward to speak in a softer, scarier tone, “that the real prize is the other half of the coin. I can shoot you in the heart and take your mask, but it is your skin I need most.”
Choking in astonishment Peter Marduk stared at the only person who had ever discovered the secret of the Babylonian Mask. Frozen in place, he glared at the European with the big gun, sitting in quiet patience.
“How much?” Purdue asked.
“You cannot buy the mask, and you certainly cannot buy my skin!” Marduk exclaimed in horror.
“Not to buy. To rent,” Purdue corrected him, properly befuddling the old man.
“Are you out of your mind?” Marduk frowned. It was an honest question to a man whose motives he truly could not fathom.
“For the use of your mask for one week, and the subsequent removal of your facial skin to remove it within the first day, I will pay for a complete skin grafting and facial reconstruction operation,” Purdue offered.
Marduk was stumped. Speechless. He wanted to laugh at the absolute absurdity of the offer and mock the idiotic principals of the man, but the more he replayed the proposal in his mind, the more sense it made to him.
“Why a week?” he asked.
“I wish to study its scientific properties,” Purdue answered.
“The Nazi’s tried that too. They failed horrendously!” the old man mocked.
Purdue shook his head. “My motive is pure curiosity. As a collector of relics and a scientist, I only want to know…how. I like my face just the way it is and I have this odd desire not to die from dementia.”
“And the first day?” the old man inquired, more amused.
“A very dear friend needs to assume an important face tomorrow. It is of historical importance for a temporary peace between two long-fighting foes that she is willing to risk this,” Purdue explained, lowering the barrel of the gun.
“Dr. Nina Gould,” Marduk realized, speaking her name with gentle reverence.
Purdue, delighted that Marduk knew, continued, “If the world finds out that Prof. Sloane really was assassinated, they will never believe the truth: that she was killed by a German high officer’s orders to frame Meso-Arabia. You know this. They will stay blind to the truth. They only see what their masks allow – tiny binocular views of a bigger picture. Mr. Marduk, I am dead serious in my offer.”
After some consideration the old man sighed. “But I come with you.”
“I would not have it any other way,” Purdue smiled. “Here.”
He tossed a written agreement on the table, stipulating the terms and the time frames for the ‘item’ that is never mentioned for what it is to make sure no one ever learned of the mask this way.
“A contract?” Marduk exclaimed. “Seriously, son?”
“I might not be a murderer, but I am a businessman,” Purdue smiled. “Sign that accord of ours so that we can get some bloody rest. At least for the time being.
Chapter 33 – The Judas Reunion
Sam and Nina sat in the heavily guarded room, merely an hour before the meeting with the Sultan. She did not look well at all, but Sam refrained from prying. However, according to the staff at Mannheim, Nina’s radiation exposure was not causing a terminal condition. Her breath hissed as she struggled to inhale and her eyes remained a bit milky, but her skin had healed completely by now. Sam was no doctor, but he could see that something was amiss, both in Nina’s health and by her abstinence.
“You probably can’t handle my breath near you, hey?” he played.
“Why do you ask?” she frowned, adjusting the velvet choker according to the pictures of Sloane that Lisa Gordon had supplied. They were accompanied by a grotesque sample that Gordon did not want to know about, even when Sloane’s funeral director had been ordered to supply it by means of a questionable court order from Scorpio Majorus Holdings.
“You don’t smoke anymore, so my fag breath must make you crazy,” he pried.
“Nope,” she replied, “just the annoying words that come out with that breath.”
“Professor Sloane?” a female voice with a heavy accent called from the other side of the door. Sam nudged Nina painfully, forgetting how frail she was. Apologetically he held out his hands. “I’m so sorry!”
“Yes?” Nina asked.
“Your entourage should be here in less than an hour,” the woman said.
“Oh, uh, thank you,” Nina answered. She whispered to Sam. “My entourage. That would be Sloane’s representatives.”
“Aye.”
“Also, there are two gentlemen here who say they are with your private security, along with Mr. Cleave,” the woman said. “Are you expecting a Mr. Marduk and a Mr. Kilt?”
Sam burst out laughing, but held it in behind his hand, “Kilt, Nina. That would be Purdue, for reasons I’ll decline to share.”
“I shudder to think,” she replied and called out to the woman, “That is correct, Yasmin. I have been expecting them. In fact…”
The two entered the room, shoving through big Arabian guards to get in.
“…they are late!”
Behind them the door closed. There were no formalities, since Nina did not forget that clout she’d received in the Heidelberg Hospital and Sam did not forg
et that Marduk had betrayed their trust. Purdue picked up on it and cut it short right there.
“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.”
