Preston Child - The Babylonian Mask

Both of Marlene’s hands lifted silently to her face, covering her mouth and nose in a gesture of anticipation. Sister Barken understood Nurse Marx’s reaction, as she herself did not feel too positive about the news. Besides, if it had Dr. Fritz in a bubble of quiet ignorance to the world it had to be hefty.

“It is a setback, especially after she had been healing so rapidly at first,” he started, tightening his grip on the file. “The tests show a significant deterioration in her blood work. Cellular damage was too severe for the time it took for her to be admitted for treatment.”

“Oh sweet Jesus,” Marlene whined in her hands. Tears filled her eyes, but Sister Barken’s face remained in the expression she was trained to receive bad news.

Blank.

“What kind of level are we looking at?” Sister Barken asked.

“Well, her intestines and lungs seem to be bearing the brunt of the developing cancer, but there is also clear indication that she had suffered some minute neurological damage that is probably the cause of her deteriorating eye sight, Sister Barken. She was only tested, so I will not be able to make a definite diagnosis until I get to examine her again.”

In the background, Nurse Marx was whimpering softly at the news, but she tried her best to compose herself and not allow a patient to influence her so personally. She knew it was not professional to cry over a patient, but this was not just any patient. It was Dr. Nina Gould, her inspiration and an acquaintance she had a very soft spot for.

“I just hope we can find her soon, so that we can bring her back in before it gets any worse than it has to be. We simply cannot just discard hope like this, even though,” he said as he looked down at the young, crying nurse, “it’s pretty hard to stay positive.”

“Dr. Fritz, the German Air Force Commander is sending a man to interview you sometime today,” Dr. Fritz’s assistant announced from the doorway. She did not have time to ask why Nurse Marx was in tears, as she was in a hurry to return to the small office of Dr. Fritz that she was in charge of.

“Who?” he asked, confidence returned.

“He says his name is Werner. Dieter Werner from the public office of the German Air Force. It’s regarding the burn victim that disappeared from the hospital. I checked — he has military authority to be here on behalf of Lieutenant-General Harold Meier.” She practically recite all of this in one single breath.

“I don’t know what to tell these people anymore,” Dr. Fritz complained. “They cannot clean up their own mess and now they come and waste my time with…” and off he went muttering furiously. His assistant gave the two nurses one more glance before rushing after her boss.

“What is that about?” Sister Barken sighed. “I’m glad I’m not in the poor doctor’s shoes. Come on, Nurse Marx. Time for our rounds.” She resumed her normal austere form of command just to establish that work time had begun. And with her usual stern annoyance she added, “And wipe your eyes, for Pete’s sake, Marlene, before patients think you are as high as they are!”

Several hours later Nurse Marx took a breather. She had just emerged from the Maternity Ward, where she had been donating her shift time for two hours each day. Two of the regular maternity nurses had put in compassionate leave after the recent murders, so the ward was a bit short staffed. In the nurses’ office she took the weight off her sore feet and she listened to the promising rumble of the kettle.

While she waited, a few rays of gilded light illuminated the table and chairs in front of the small fridge and led her gaze along the precise lines of the furniture. In her state of fatigue it brought to mind the sad news of earlier. Right there on the smooth surface of the off-white table she could still see the folder of Dr. Nina Gould, lying there like any other chart she might read. Only this one had a smell to it. A rotten smell of decay permeated from it, choking Nurse Marx until she jumped from the horrid dream with a sudden flail of her hand. She almost sent her teacup flying to the hard floor, but caught it just in time, employing those adrenaline-fuelled reflexes of a sudden start.

“Oh my goodness!” she whispered in a puff of panic, holding the porcelain cup tightly. Her eyes fell on the barren top of the table where there was no file in sight. To her relief it had just been an ugly mirage of a recent shock, but she wished sorely that that was the case with the actual news contained therein. Why could that, too, not just have been a bad dream? Poor Nina!

Marlene Marx felt her eyes moisten again, but this time it was not for Nina’s condition. It was because she had no idea whether the beautiful, dark-haired historian was even alive, let alone where she’d been taken by the stonehearted villain.

“Just got a call from an old colleague of mine at the Edinburgh Post, Margaret Crosby,” Sam shared, still staring at his phone a little nostalgically just after he got into the rental car with Purdue. “She’s on her way here to offer me a co-authorship on the investigation concerning the German Air Force’s involvement in some sort of scandal.”

“Sounds like a good story. You should do it, old chum. I smell an international conspiracy here, but I’m no news hound,” said Purdue as they made their way to Nina’s temporary sanctuary.

When Sam and Purdue pulled up in front of the house they were directed to, the place looked ghastly. Although the modest little house had been recently painted, the garden was wild. The contrast between the two made the house stand out. Bushes with thorns hugged the beige exterior walls under a black roof. The chimney’s pale, pink paint chips showed the decay from before the paint job. Smoke slithered upward from it like a lazy, grey dragon, blending in with the cold, monochrome clouds of the overcast day.

The house stood at the end of a small street near a lake, which only added to the desolate loneliness of the place. As the two men stepped out of the car, Sam could see a twitch in one of the windows as the curtains were being disturbed.

“We’ve been detected,” Sam announced to his companion. Purdue nodded, his tall body towering above the frame of the car door. His fair hair fluffed in the moderate wind as he watched the front door crack open. A podgy, kind face peered from behind the door.

“Frau Bauer?” asked Purdue from the other side of the vehicle.

“Herr Cleave?” she smiled.

Purdue pointed to Sam and smiled.

“Go, Sam. I don’t think Nina should see me right off the bat, you know?” Sam understood. His friend had a fair point. After all, he and Nina did not part on the best of terms on account of Purdue hunting her in the dark, threatening to kill her and all that.

When Sam skipped up the front steps to where the lady was holding the door open, he could not help but wish he could stay a while. The interior of the house smelled divine with the blended scent of flowers, coffee and a faint reminiscence of what could have been French toast a few hours ago.

“Thank you,” he told Frau Bauer.

“She is through here. She’s been sleeping since you and I spoke on the phone,” she informed Sam, shamelessly staring at his rugged good looks. It gave him an uncomfortable, prison-rape feeling, but Sam pinned his attention on Nina. Her small frame was curled up under a pile of blankets, some of which turned into cats when he pulled them away to see Nina’s face.

Sam did not show it, but he was shocked to see how bad she looked. Her lips were blue upon her pasty face, hair clinging to her temples as she breathed hoarsely.

“Is she a smoker?” Frau Bauer asked. “Her lungs sound terrible. She refused to let me call the hospital before you’d seen her. Should I call them now?”