Preston Child - The Babylonian Mask

“A romantic attachment?” Werner sneered, finally shedding his false admiration.

“Ha! No, romance is for the meek of mind. The only conquest I am interested in is the domination of the meek of mind,” Schmidt said.

“Himmelfarb is a fucking coward. We all knew that from the start. He creeps up the asses of anyone who can protect him or help him, because he is nothing but an inept and groveling puppy,” said Werner, insulting the corporal with a genuine disdain he had always hidden out of courtesy.

“That is absolutely correct, Lieutenant,” the Captain agreed. His hot breath tainted the back of Werner’s head as he leaned in uncomfortably close. “Which is why, unlike people like you and the other dead people you will soon join, he does what he is told! ”

Werner’s flesh crawled with rage and hate, his whole being filling with frustration and serious concern for his Marlene. “So? Shoot already!” he said defiantly.

Schmidt chuckled behind him. “Sit down, Lieutenant.”

Reluctantly Werner obliged. He had no choice, which infuriated a free thinker like him. He watched as the arrogant officer sat down, deliberately flashing his ring for Werner’s eyes to see. “Himmelfarb, as you say, does my bidding because he is unable to grow a set of balls and stand up for what he believes in. However, he gets the job done that I send him to do and I don’t have to beg, follow up or threaten his loved ones for it. Now you , on the other hand, your scrotum is a bit too substantial for your own good. Don’t get me wrong, I admire a man who thinks for himself, but when you cast your lot with the opposition — the enemy— you become a traitor. Himmelfarb told me everything, Lieutenant,” Schmidt revealed with a long sigh.

“Maybe you’re too blind to see what a traitor he is,” Werner bit back.

“A traitor for the right side is, in effect, a hero. But let’s leave my preferential determinations for now. I’m going to give you a chance to redeem yourself, Lieutenant Werner. Leading a squadron of fighter jets, you will have the honor of flying your Tornado straight into the assembly hall of C.I.T.E. in Iraq to make sure they know where the world stands on their existence.”

“That is absurd!” Werner protested. “They’ve been keeping to their end of the cease fire agreement and have agreed to enter into trade negotiations…!”

“Blah, blah, blah!” Schmidt laughed and shook his head. “We all know the political eggshells, my friend. It’s a ruse. Even if it were not — what peace would there be while Germany is just another bull in the corral?” His ring glimmered in the light on his desk as he came round the corner. “We are leaders, pioneers, powerful and proud, Lieutenant! The W.U.O. and C.I.T.E. are a bunch of bitches who wish to emasculate Germany! They want to throw us into the cage with the other slaughter animals. I say no — fucking — way!”

“It is a union, sir,” Werner tried, but he only made the captain angry.

“A union? Oh, oh, ‘union’ as in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics back in the day?” He sat on his desk right in front of Werner, lowering his head down to level of the lieutenant. “There is no growth space in a fishbowl, my friend. And Germany cannot thrive in a quaint, little knitting club where everyone chats along and give gifts over a tea set. Wake up! They are confining us to uniformity and cutting our balls off, my friend! You are going to help us undo that atrocity of — of oppression.”

“If I refuse?” Werner foolishly asked.

“Himmelfarb will get some one-on-one time with sweet Marlene,” Schmidt smiled. “Besides, I have already set the stage for a good ass-whipping , as they say. Most of the work is already done. Thanks to one of my loyal drones who perform their duty under orders ,” Schmidt shouted at Werner, “that bitch Sloane is out of the picture for good. That alone should warm the world up for a showdown, hey?”

“What? Professor Sloane?” Werner gasped.

Schmidt affirmed the news by sliding the tip of his thumb along his own throat. He laughed proudly and sat down behind his desk. “So, Lieutenant Werner, can we — can Marlene — count on you?

When Nina woke up from a feverish and painful slumber, she found that she was in a very different kind of hospital. Her bed, although adjustable in the same way as hospital beds, was cozy and decked with winter linen. It sported some her favorite design motifs in chocolate, brown, and tan. The walls were decorated with old art in Da Vinci’s style and there were no reminders of drips, syringes, bed pans or any other humiliating devices Nina had loathed in her hospital room.

There was a bell button she was forced to push, because she was parched beyond comprehension and could not reach the water next to her bed. Maybe she could, but her skin was aching like brain-freeze and lightning, discouraging her from the task. A mere moment after she rang the bell an exotic-looking nurse in casual clothes entered through the door.

“Hello Dr. Gould,” she greeted cheerfully in a subdued voice. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel terrible. S-so thir-sty,” Nina forced. She did not even realize that she could see well enough again until she had gulped down half a tall glass of fortified water. When she had drunk her fill, Nina laid back on the soft, warm bed and looked about the room, finally laying her eyes on the smiling nurse.

“I can see almost completely right again,” Nina mumbled. She would have smiled if she hadn’t been so confused. “Um, where am I? You don’t sound — or look — German at all.”

The nurse laughed. “No, Dr. Gould. I’m from Jamaica, but I live here in Kirkwall as a full time caregiver. I was hired to look after you for the foreseeable future, but there is a doctor working very hard with his fellows to cure you.”

“They can’t. Tell them to give it up,” Nina said in a distraught tone. “I have cancer. They told me in Mannheim when the Heidelberg Hospital sent my results through.”

“Well, I am not a doctor, so I cannot tell you anything you do not already know. But what I can tell you is that some scientists do not declare their findings or patent their cures for fear of a boycott by drug companies. That is all I will say until you have spoken to Dr. Cait,” the nurse advised.

“Dr. Cait? Is this his hospital?” Nina asked.

“No, madam. Dr. Cait is a medical scientist who was hired to concentrate exclusively on your illness. And this is a small clinic on the coast of Kirkwall. It is owned by Scorpio Majorus Holdings, situated in Edinburgh. Only a few know about it.” she smiled at Nina. “Now let me just take your vitals and see if we can make you more comfortable and then…would you like to have something to eat? Or is the nausea still persistent?”

“No,” Nina answered quickly, but then exhaled and smiled at the welcome discovery. “No, I am by no means nauseous. In fact, I’m famished.” Nina laughed in a crooked way as not to aggravate the agony behind her diaphragm and between her lungs. “Tell me, how did I get here?”

“Mr. David Purdue had you flown here from Germany so that you could get specialized treatment in a safe environment,” the nurse informed Nina, as she checked her eyes with a pen light. Nina lightly grabbed the nurse’s wrist.

“Wait, is Purdue here?” she asked, slightly unsettled.

“No, madam. He asked me to convey his apologies to you. Probably for not being here for you,” the nurse told Nina. Yeah, probably for trying to cut my fucking head off in the dark, thought Nina to herself.

“But he had to join Mr. Cleave in Germany for some sort of consortium meeting, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with just us for now, your small team of health professionals,” chimed the thin, dark-skinned nurse. Nina was fascinated by her beautiful complexion and wonderfully unique accent, halfway between a London noblewoman and a Rasta. “Mr. Cleave is apparently coming to see you in the next three days, so that is at least one familiar face to look forward to, right?”