“Right, she’s in,” Sam announced light heartedly, trying to comfort Purdue without getting soppy. “I think we’ll need to go back to Heidelberg to get her file from her previous doctor after she is admitted in Mannheim.”
“You can go. I’m returning to Edinburgh as soon as we sort Nina out.” Purdue’s words left a hole in Sam.
Sam frowned, dumbfounded. “But you said you would fly her to a hospital there.” He understood Purdue’s frustration, but it was not worth playing with Nina’s life.
“I know what I said, Sam,” he said harshly. The empty look was back; that same look he had had at Sinclair, when he told Sam that he was beyond help. Purdue started the car. “I also know what she said.”
Chapter 17 — Double Subterfuge
In the top office of the Fifth Floor, Dr. Fritz was meeting with an esteemed representative of the Tactical Air Force Wing 34 Büchel Air Base on behalf of the high commander of the Luftwaffe, who was currently being hounded by the press and family of the missing airman.
“Thank you for seeing me unannounced, Dr. Fritz,” Werner said cordially, disarming the medical specialist with his charisma. “The Lieutenant-General asked me to come because he is inundated with visits and legal threats at the moment, as I am sure you can appreciate.”
“Yes. Please sit down, Mr. Werner,” Dr. Fritz said abruptly. “As I am sure you can appreciate, I also have a tight schedule, what with critical and terminal patients to see to without unnecessary interruptions of my daily work.”
Werner sneered as he sat down, put off not only by the doctor’s looks but also by his reluctance to see him. However, when it came to missions, such things were not in the least troublesome to Werner. He was there to retrieve as much information about Airman Löwenhagen and the extent of his injuries as he could. Dr. Fritz would have no choice but to assist him in finding the burn victim, particularly under the pretense that they wished to set his family at ease. Of course, in actual fact, he was fair game.
What Werner also did not bring to the fore was the fact that the commander did not trust the medical facility enough to merely accept information. He was keeping well under wraps that, while he was engaging Dr. Fritz on the Fifth Floor, his two colleagues were sweeping the building with a well-trained, fine-toothed comb for the possible presence of the pest. Each scoured the area individually, moving up one flight of fire stairs and down the next. They knew they only had a certain amount of time to complete the search before Werner would be done interviewing the presiding physician. Once they were sure Löwenhagen was not in the hospital, they could spread out their search to other possible locations.
It was just after breakfast time when Dr. Fritz asked Werner a more pressing question.
“Lieutenant Werner, if I may,” his words twisted sarcastically. “How is it that your squadron commander is not here to speak to me about this? I think we should cut the bullshit, you and I. We both know why Schmidt is after the young airman, but what does it have to do with you?”
“Orders. I am but a representative, Dr. Fritz. But my report will reflect accurately how swiftly you assisted us,” Werner replied firmly. But in truth he had no idea why his commander, Captain Gerhard Schmidt, was sending him and his associates out after the pilot. The three of them assumed they were out to exterminate the pilot just for embarrassing the Luftwaffe when he crashed one of their obscenely expensive Tornado fighter planes. “Once we have what we want,” he bluffed, “we will all receive a reward for it.”
“The mask does not belong to him,” Dr. Fritz declared defiantly. “You go and tell Schmidt that, errand boy.”
Werner’s face went ashen. Rage filled him, but he was not there to disassemble a medical professional. The doctor’s blatant derogatory derision was an undeniable call to war, which Werner mentally placed on his to-do list for later. But for now he was focused on this juicy morsel of information Captain Schmidt had not counted upon.
“I shall inform him of just that, sir.” Werner’s clear, narrowed eyes pierced through Dr. Fritz. A smirk formed on the fighter pilot’s face while the clatter of dishes and the chatter of hospital staff drowned their words of secret jousting. “Once the mask is found, I will be sure to invite you to the ceremony.” Again Werner was prying, trying to throw in keywords untraceable to specific meaning.
Dr. Fritz laughed out loud. He slammed the desk in amusement. “Ceremony?”
Werner feared that he had ruined the play for an instant, but it soon benefitted his curiosity. “Did he tell you that? Ha! Did he tell you that you need a ceremony to assume the face of the victim? Oh, my boy!” Dr. Fritz sniffed as he wiped tears of amusement from the corners of his eyes.
Werner was elated at the doctor’s arrogance, so he milked it by discarding his ego and apparently admitting he had been fooled. Looking utterly disappointed, he proceeded to answer, “He lied to me?” His voice was down, barely louder than a whisper.
“That’s right, Lieutenant. The Babylonian Mask is not ceremonial. Schmidt is deceiving you to keep you from profiting from it. Let’s face it, it is an extremely valuable piece for the highest bidder,” Dr. Fritz spilled eagerly.
“If it is so valuable, why did you give it back to Löwenhagen?” Werner ventured deeper.
Dr. Fritz stared at him in utter befuddlement.
“Löwenhagen. Who is Löwenhagen?”
While Nurse Marx was busy clearing out the last of the used medical waste from her rounds, the faint sound of the ringing phone in the nurses’ station drew her attention. With a laborious groan she jogged to answer it, since none of her colleagues were finished with their patients yet. It was the reception desk on the Ground Floor.
“Marlene, there is someone here to see Dr. Fritz, but there is no answer in his office,” the receptionist said. “He says it is very urgent and lives depend on it. Can you put the doctor on the line?”
“Um, he’s not nearby. I’d have to go and look for him. What is it about?”
The receptionist answered in a subdued voice, “He insists that if he does not see Dr. Fritz, Nina Gould will die.”
“Oh my God!” Nurse Marx gasped. “He has Nina?”
“I don’t know. He just said his name is…Sam,” whispered the receptionist, a close acquaintance of Nurse Marx who knew about the burn victim’s assumed name.
Nurse Marx’s body went numb. Her adrenaline edged her forward and she waved her arm to get the attention of the Third Floor security man. He came running from the far side of the hallway, hand on his holster, passing visitors and staff on the pristine floor that mirrored his reflection.
“Okay, tell him I’ll come to get him and I’ll take him up to see Dr. Fritz,” Nurse Marx said. After she hung up, she told the security officer, “There is a man downstairs, one of the two missing patients. He says he must see Dr. Fritz or the other missing patient will die. I need you to come with me to apprehend him.”
The security guard released the strap of his holster with a click and nodded. “Got it. But you stay behind me.” He radioed his unit to report that he was about to arrest a possible suspect and proceeded with Nurse Marx to the reception area. Marlene felt her heart racing, terrified, but excited about the development. If she could be part of the arrest of the suspect who had kidnapped Dr. Gould, she would be a hero.
With two other officers flanking them, Nurse Marx and the security man descended the stairs to the Ground Floor. As they reached the landing and turned the corner, Nurse Marx peeked eagerly past the huge officer to see the burn unit patient she knew so well. But he was nowhere to be seen.