Preston Child - The Babylonian Mask

She remembered that he did wear a long white coat, but other than that it was almost impossible to see his face, even if he still had one. What vexed her a bit was the lack of shock expressed by the sight of him wherever they asked for directions or interacted with others. Surely, had they seen a man whose face and torso had been reduced to toffee, people would make some sort of sound or exclaim some kind of sympathetic word? But they responded in a trivial fashion, showing no sign of concern for the man’s clearly fresh injuries.

“What happened to your cell phone?” the lady asked her — a perfectly normal question to which Nina effortlessly shot the most obvious lie.

“I was robbed. My bag with my phone, money, all of that. Gone. I suppose they knew I was a tourist and targeted me,” Nina explained as she took the woman’s phone with a nod of thanks. She dialed the number she had so well memorized. When the phone rang on the other end of the line, it gave Nina a jump in energy and just a little warmth in her belly.

“Cleave.” My God, what a beautiful word, Nina thought, suddenly feeling much safer than she had in a long time. How long since she had heard the voice of her old friend, occasional lover and periodic colleague? Her heart jumped. Nina had not seen Sam since he was abducted by the Order of the Black Sun while they were on an excursion seeking the famed 18th Century Amber Room in Poland almost two months ago.

“S-Sam?” she said, almost laughing.

“Nina?” he cried out. “Nina? Is that you?”

“Aye. How are you doing?” she smiled weakly. Her body ached all over and she could hardly sit up.

“Jesus Christ, Nina! Where are you? Are you in danger?” he asked frantically through the heavy hum of a moving car.

“I’m alive, Sam. Barely, though. But I’m safe. With a lady in Mannheim here in Germany. Sam? Can you come and get me?” her voice cracked. The request hit Sam in the heart. Such a feisty, intelligent and independent woman was not likely to beg for rescue like a small child.

“Of course I’ll come to get you! Mannheim is a short drive from where I am. Give me the address and we’ll come get you,” Sam exclaimed on excitedly. “Oh my God, you have no idea how happy we are that you’re okay!”

“What is all this we ?” she asked. “And why are you in Germany?”

“To get you to a hospital back home, naturally. We saw on the news that there was a heap of hell loose where Detlef left you. And when we got here you were missing! I cannot believe this,” he raved, his laughter rife with relief.

“I’ll give you to the dear lady who took me in for the address. See you soon, okay?” Nina replied through her heavy-laden breath and gave the phone to her hostess before falling into a deep sleep.

When Sam had said ‘we’, she’d had a bad feeling that it meant he’d sprung Purdue from whatever deserving cage he’d been imprisoned in after Detlef had cold-cocked him beneath Chernobyl. But with the illness ripping through her system like a punishment from the Morphine god deserted in her wake, she did not care for the moment. All she wanted to do was fade away into the arms of whatever awaited.

She could still hear the lady explaining what the house looked like when she abandoned control and slipped into a feverish slumber.

Sister Barken sat on the thick leather of the vintage office chair with her elbows resting on her knees. Under the monotonous buzz of the luminescent light her hands cradled the sides of her head as she listened to the administrator’s account of Dr. Hilt’s demise. The stout nursing sister wept for the doctor she had known for barely seven months. She had not gotten along smoothly with him, but she was a compassionate woman who truly felt sorry about the man’s death.

“The funeral is tomorrow,” the administrator said before she left the office.

“I saw this on the news, you know, about the murders. Dr. Fritz told me not to come in unnecessarily. He did not want me to be in danger too,” she told her subordinate, Nurse Marx. “Marlene, you must ask for a transfer. I cannot stand worrying about you every time I’m off duty.”

“Don’t worry about me, Sister Barken,” Marlene Marx smiled, passing her one of the cups of instant soup she’d prepared. “I think whoever did this must have had a specific reason, you know? Like a target that was already here.”

“You don’t think…?” Sister Barken gawked at Nurse Marx.

“Dr. Gould,” Nurse Marx affirmed the Sister’s fears. “I think it was someone who wanted to kidnap her and now that they have taken her,” she shrugged, “the danger to staff and patients is gone. I mean, I bet the poor people who died only met their end because they got in the killer’s way, you know? They probably tried to stop him.”

“I understand that theory, sweetheart, but why then is the ‘Sam’ patient also missing?” asked Sister Barken. By the look on Marlene’s face she could see that the young nurse had not yet thought of that. In silence she sipped her soup.

“So sad that he took Dr. Gould, though,” Marlene lamented. “She had been very ill and her eyes were only getting worse, poor woman. On another note, my mother was furious when she heard about Dr. Gould’s abduction. She was angry that all this time was right here in my care I didn’t tell her.”

“Oh boy,” Sister Barken empathized with her. “She must have given you hell. I’ve seen that woman upset and she scares even me.”

The two dared to have a giggle in this bleak situation. Dr. Fritz entered the Third Floor nurse’s office with a folder under his arm. His face was serious, halting their meager joviality instantly. Something that resembled sorrow or disappointment shown in his eyes as he made himself a cup of coffee.

“Guten Morgen, Dr. Fritz,” the young nurse said to break the awkward silence.

He didn’t answer her. Sister Barken was surprised at his rudeness and used her authoritarian voice to shake the man to a measure of decency with the same greeting, only a few decibels louder. Dr. Fritz jumped around, jolted from his comatose state of thought.

“Oh, I’m sorry, ladies,” he gasped. “Good morning. Good morning,” he nodded to each, wiping his sweaty palm on his coat before stirring his coffee.

It was very unlike Dr. Fritz to act this way. To most women who encountered him, he was Germany’s medical field’s answer to George Clooney. His confident charm was his power, only trumped by his medical prowess. Yet here he stood in the humble Third Floor office with sweaty palms and an apologetic disposition that baffled both ladies.

Sister Barken and Nurse Marx quietly exchanged frowns before the robust veteran stood up to wash her cup. “Dr. Fritz, what has upset you? Nurse Marx and I volunteer to find whoever upset you and treat them to a free barium enema with some of my special Chai tea…straight from the pot!”

Nurse Marx could not help but choke on her soup from unexpected laughter, although she was not sure how the doctor would react. Her wide eyes stared stiffly at her superior’s in an imperceptible reprimand as her jaw hung open in amusement. Sister Barken was unperturbed. She was very comfortable using humor to elicit information, even personal and highly emotional information.

Dr. Fritz smiled and shook his head. He enjoyed the approach, although what he was harboring was by no means worthy of a jest.

“Much as I appreciate the valiant gesture, Sister Barken, my distress is not caused by a person as much as by a person’s fate,” he said in his most civilized tone.

“May I inquire of whom?” Sister Barken pried.

“Actually, I insist,” he replied. “Both of you treated Dr. Gould, so it would be more than appropriate for you to know the results of Nina’s tests.”