Barry Sadler - God Of Death

Not waiting until the guard had left, Goldman had turned back to the mask. Where had Casca gone this time? Would he return? Somehow, Casca, I think we will meet again. I don't believe you've yet finished what you started.

He gave one last look at the jade mask. It seemed to mock him. The thin hairline scar running from the corner of the left eye to the mouth gave the immobile jade the same slightly sardonic look as Casca… as if it knew a secret… some as yet untold joke.

Goldman straightened, twisting his head to ease the stiffness in his neck.

He left the museum, the closing doors separating him from another world.

As Goldman was leaving, another man was standing in a line waiting to get airline tickets that would take him from Boston to Johannesburg and from there to Salisbury in Rhodesia. As he stood, patiently, he checked his papers, including the Spanish passport identifying him as Carlos Romano, of Sevilla. Everything was in order. He nodded wearily. Several people in the line tried to put some distance between themselves and the man with the scarred face, but he didn't notice.