Preston Child - The Babylonian Mask

“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.

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 forget 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.”