Preston Child - The Babylonian Mask

“What?” exclaimed Werner. “Please say it’s not true!”

His face lost all color at the news he knew was infested with insidious untruth. The fact that Kohl had left the hospital parking lot virtually minutes before him was testament to the cover-up. Kohl could never have achieved all of that in the short time it had taken Werner to get to the base. But Werner kept everything to himself. Keeping Schmidt blind to the fact that he knew all about his motive for catching Löwenhagen and the mask and the messy lie of Kohl’s demise was Werner’s only weapon. Military intelligence, indeed.

At the same time, Werner was truly shocked by Kohl’s death. His distraught demeanor and upset was genuine as he fell back into his chair in Schmidt’s office. To rub salt in his wounds, Schmidt played the contrite commander and offered him some fresh tea to absorb the shock of the bad news.

“You know, I shudder to think what Löwenhagen must have done to cause that crash,” he told Werner as he paced around his desk. “Poor Kohl. Do you know how it pains me to think that such a good pilot with such a bright future lost his life because of my order to apprehend a callous and traitorous subordinate like Löwenhagen?”

Werner’s jaw clenched, but he had to keep his own mask on until it was the right time to reveal what he knew. With a shaky voice, he elected to play the victim so he could pry a little more. “Sir, please don’t tell me Himmelfarb shared this fate?”

“No, no. Not to worry about Himmelfarb. He asked me to pull him out of the assignment because he could not stomach it. I guess I’m grateful for a man like you in my command, Lieutenant,” Schmidt grimaced surreptitiously from behind Werner’s seat. “You are the only one who has not failed me.”

Werner was wondering if Schmidt had managed to obtain the mask and if so, where he was keeping it. That, however, was one answer he would not be able to simply ask for. That was something he would have to spy for.

“Thank you, sir,” Werner responded. “If there is anything else you need me for, just ask.”

“That is the kind of attitude that makes heroes, Lieutenant!” Schmidt sang through his thick lips as sweat moistened his thick cheeks. “For the welfare of one’s country and the right to bear arms one must sometimes sacrifice great things. Sometimes giving one’s life to spare the thousands one protects is part of being a hero, a hero Germany can remember as the messiah of the old ways and a man who sacrificed himself to maintain the supremacy and freedom of his country.”

Werner did not like where this was going, but he could not act on his impulses without risking discovery. “I cannot agree more, Captain Schmidt. You should know. I’m sure no man gets to the rank you’ve attained by being a spineless runt. I hope to one day follow in your footsteps.”

“You will, I’m sure, Lieutenant. And you’re right. I’ve sacrificed much. My grandfather was killed in combat against the British in Palestine. My father died while protecting the German Chancellor in an assassination attempt during the Cold War,” he projected his excuses. “But I tell you one thing, Lieutenant. When I leave a legacy, I will not only be remembered by my sons and grandsons as a nice story to tell strangers. No, I will be remembered for altering the course of our world, remembered by all Germans and therefore, remembered by global cultures and generations.” Hitler much? Werner thought, but he acknowledged Schmidt’s bullshit with fake support. “Exactly, sir! I could not agree more.”

Then he noticed the emblem on Schmidt’s ring, the very ring Werner used to mistake for a wedding band. Engraved in the flat gold base that crowned the top of his finger was the symbol of a supposedly extinct organization, the sigil of the Order of the Black Sun. He’d seen it before in his great uncle’s house the day he’d helped his great aunt sell all her late husband’s books in a yard sale back in the late 80’s. The symbol had intrigued him, but his great aunt threw a fit when he asked if he could have the book.

He never thought about it again, until just now when he recognized the symbol on Schmidt’s ring. The question of remaining ignorant had become difficult for Werner, because he was desperate to know what Schmidt was doing wearing a symbol that his own patriotic great aunt did not want him to know.

“That is intriguing, sir,” Werner remarked inadvertently, without even considering the repercussions of his inquiry.

“What?” Schmidt asked, pulled out of his grand speech.

“Your ring, Captain. It looks like an antique treasure or some secret talisman with super powers like in the comic books!” Werner said excitedly, cooing over the ring as if it were just a beautiful piece of work. So curious was Werner, in fact, that he didn’t even feel nervous in asking about the emblem or the ring. Perhaps Schmidt believed that his Lieutenant was truly entranced by his proud affiliation, but he preferred to keep his involvement with the Order to himself.

“Oh, this was given to me by my father when I turned thirteen years old,” Schmidt explained nostalgically, looking at the slender, perfect lines on the ring he never removed.

“A family emblem? It looks very distinguished,” Werner coaxed his commander, but he could not get the man to open up about it. Suddenly Werner’s cell phone rang, breaking the spell at work between the two men and the truth. “My apologies, Captain.”

“Nonsense,” replied Schmidt, dismissing it cordially. “You are not on duty right now.”

Werner watched the captain step outside to give him some privacy.

“Hello?”

It was Marlene. “Dieter! Dieter, they killed Dr. Fritz!” she cried from what sounded like an empty swimming pool or a shower cubicle.

“Wait, slow down, Liebchen! Who? And when?” Werner asked his girlfriend.

“Two minutes ago! J-j-just like th-that…in cold blood, for Christ’s sake! Right in front of me!” she screamed hysterically.

Lieutenant Dieter Werner felt his stomach tighten up at the sound of his lover’s frantic weeping. Somehow that wicked emblem upon Schmidt’s ring was a portent of what was to come shortly after. Werner felt as if his admiration for the ring had in some evil way brought misfortune around him. He was remarkably close to the truth.

“What do you…Marlene! Listen!” he tried to get her to give him more information.

Schmidt heard the heightening of Werner’s tone of voice. Concerned, he slowly entered the office again from outside, giving the lieutenant a questioning look.

“Where are you? Where did it happen? In the hospital?” he urged her, but she was completely incoherent.

“No! N-no, Dieter! Himmelfarb just shot Dr. Fritz in the head. Oh Jesus! I’m going to die here!” she sobbed in despair from the eerie echoing location he could not get her to disclose.

“Marlene, where are you?” he shouted.

The phone call ended with a click . Schmidt was still standing stunned in front of Werner, waiting for an answer. Werner’s complexion had gone pallid as he shoved the phone back into his pocket.

“Excuse me, sir. I have to go. Something terrible has happened at the hospital,” he told his commander, turning to leave.

“She is not at the hospital, Lieutenant,” Schmidt said dryly. Werner stopped in his tracks, but did not turn around yet. By the sound of the commander’s voice he expected to have the barrel of an officer’s pistol pointing at the back of his skull, and he give Schmidt the honor of facing him when he pulled the trigger.

“Himmelfarb just killed Dr. Fritz,” Werner said without facing the officer.

“I know, Dieter,” Schmidt confessed. “I told him to. Do you know why he does everything I tell him?”