Nazi Gold

Chapter 14 — When Nina was Late

It was quiet in the entire ward as midnight came, where Sam pretended to be asleep. He had refused an IV just a few hours prior, feigning a severe headache to the grouchy charge nurse who always looked at him as if he was a puppy that just pissed on her carpet. Even the pills they gave him for the migraine were now crushed and flushed after he palmed it under the watchful eye of the sour old witch. Sam thought of her as a Mother Superior of some rigid, PMS-afflicted order where men like him were castrated for Christmas.

He knew his time had already run out, given the chain of events of the past three days. If they got to Mueller, they were on their way to kill him and he had to get dressed and sneak out immediately. What aggravated his situation was that he was alone in a room with the living dead man, who would not do as much as clap his teeth together to make alarm should Sam be attacked by an assassin. The only consolation was that Nina had the camera with her now and that they could do nothing to stop the information from leaking, even if they killed him.

Stealthily Sam put on his shoes in the dim hallway light spilled that spilled over the shiny floor to light his way. The locker door creaked loudly as he winced, pulling it slowly open until he could get his hand in to retrieve the warm black knit sweater Nina left him. Every bit of camouflage helped for him to escape the certain death that awaited him if he stayed here.

He hoped Nina had gotten in touch with his best friend, Patrick, by now. As soon as Paddy would get his hands on those photos many people in high places would fall from their thrones. Being a newly appointed agent at Britain’s elite secret service organization was a great step forward for Patrick Smith. There he could chase international perpetrators who used to elude him when he was just a detective chief inspector in Edinburgh.

But for now Sam had his own ass to worry about. Nurse Clara Mueller had already warned him and he had to heed her words, because, if these animals were willing to torture her family for his whereabouts, they would most certainly work the plan through to the end — camera or no camera. Since the incident Sam had not had time to even follow up on the speculation about the party he was with, or if their next of kin even knew of their despicable deaths. He made a mental note to check the missing persons reports once he was safe.

He could hear two nurses talking in hushed tones at the ward’s reception desk at the entrance of the corridor where the double doors bore the large red letters of a sign — AUSGANG. With the nurse’s station situated right before the Exit sign, Sam knew that he had to get them away from there to get out. His only alternative would be to wait until they do their rounds, which, with his luck lately, may just be too late. What a shame it would be if he was killed while waiting for a pretty German nurse to go and take a piss.

Sam had to think quickly. He looked around the room to see if there was anything he could use to draw them away, but of course it could perhaps lead to his own discovery, so he had to misdirect them somehow. But how? Feeling an inkling of panic stirring inside him for the waste of precious time, Sam ran his hand through his hair in frustration. One of the night nurses was the miserable old Mother Superior and one of her trainees. They would be tough to convince to let him leave and telling them that his life depended on it would not exactly persuade them either. He would probably end up in the psych ward then.

What can I use? I’ll clog the toilets and send them into a panic to call maintenance while I slip out, he thought in amusement. Or no, I’ll cause a power out and slip out before the generators come on. Maybe I should just throw old Methuselah out of his bed and when they come to help, just fetter them with his IV tubing…

Then it hit him. Methuselah!

Sam snuck over to his bed where he had laid his thick sweater and he pulled the pack of cigarettes out like a wad of cash. As quietly as he could he approached the old man’s bed. He did not know his name, which made it a bit awkward, but he had no time for social embarrassment.

“Excuse me,” he whispered evenly. Nothing. He stood a little closer and repeated his summoning, this time with a tad more force behind his voice. Nothing.

Should I poke him? Sam pondered.

A heavy hand slammed down on his arm in the dark of the room and Sam jumped and was barely able to suppress a scream as his heart exploded from fright.

“Was ist los?” the old cadaver croaked from the shadows.

“Oh my god! What?” Sam gasped, “Do you want to kill me?” His legs almost gave way over the shock when he spoke.

“What is up with you?” the old man asked in a heavy German drawl. “Why do you wake me up?”

The young man by his bed looked frail, clutching the bed and leaning on the mattress for support while he gathered himself. He finally looked at Methuselah with a desperate expression and lifted up the pack of Marlboro’s with a matching smile.

From where the nurses were posted they could observe the entire corridor all the way down to where the thick bolted doors led to the fire escape. It was impossible to leave any of the rooms without being in plain sight.

Nightshift was a dreadful night for the both of them. The trainee nurse had a social life that she did not enjoy abandoning on account of work, but if she finished her training this week, she would have her nights free for the following five days.

Her pursed up, miserable counterpart simply found trainees insufferable most of the time. Being a swift and able medical professional she absolutely detested being held back or burdened by the ineptitude of fresh meat. They had to be watched like toddlers all the time to make sure they did not kill anyone in the process of learning the traits of their profession. It was rather taxing to say everything twice, to show everything first, because then one may as well have done it oneself, she argued.

A sudden movement from halfway down the corridor instantly drew their attention.

“Gott im Himmel!” the nurse grunted with her nose pulled up into deep wrinkles over an astonished sneer.

Mouths agape, the two women briefly sat unmoved, stunned, at the sight before them. There, right outside room 4 roamed Herr Glocken, the asthma attack patient who was brought in three days before, fag in hand, smoking. The charge nurse jumped out of her seat at once, “Come! Come, Anke!” They rushed as quietly as their feet allowed towards the old man who was walking in the opposite direction, carelessly smoking.

“Herr Glocken!” they both called him in the loudest whispers they could muster without waking the entire ward in their pursuit. To make matters worse, Herr Glocken was known for his temperament at being apprehended, so they were uncertain whether they could seize him by hand at all without him throwing a tantrum and causing havoc in the middle of the night.

The sight of his flapping hospital gown failing to cover his 94 year old ass crack was not intentional, but yet distracting. Like task force members they communicated in hand signals as they followed the old man. Sam watched the show from his doorway, shaking with laughter at the hilarious scene that played out in the corridor. He knew he had to get moving before security saw this on the CCTV monitors and came to assist.

Stealthily he moved in the other direction and left the ward to take the stairs. He did not know if the Black Sun’s hounds had already arrived, but he knew it would be foolish to take the elevators down to the ground floor. At least outside the wards the hospital was a bit more lively with night staff and security personnel passing through, so it was easier for Sam to look unassuming until he reached the vast glass doors that slid by means of motion detectors. As he stepped out of the large brightly illuminated lobby he felt like a lizard in a terrarium, surrounded by glass panels on all sides. Slowly the front sliding doors opened for him and he pulled the neck of his sweater over his nose to keep the night air out of his face. It was freezing outside and the sky was clear, save for a few small clouds passing across the starry heavens. His eyes adapted to the light of the countless lamps that lit up the extensive parking lot which stretched ahead of Sam in the absence of all the vehicles that cluttered it during the day.

He made for the street, where Nina said she would pick him up in a taxi, but there was no-one there. It was an awful night. Sam stood outside the perimeters of the Sophien-und Hufeland Klinikum Weimar and waited. There was not much else he could do. Not having a cell phone posed a problem that grew with every day that passed, it seemed. There was no way to find out what was holding Nina up, and no way to call for help in case the mercenaries had come around the corner. The wind licked at his hair, his snapped collar bone was killing him and he opted out of painkillers since they primarily made him drowsy and he needed to be at the top of his game.

Sam felt so lost.

In the miserable night and its mute malevolence he stood waiting, cold and sore, tired and very concerned for his safety. And of course, he wondered if they had discovered that he was missing yet. An ill feeling crawled over Sam’s skull and he knew now what people spoke of when they referred to that sixth sense that predicted trouble. He had it in spades.

Nina, where are you? Freezing my nuts off out here, for fuck’s sake!, he thought, slowly growing furious at her for deserting him. This was not like Nina. The woman was positively pedantic about everything, the type who always showed up ten minutes early. They had agreed to meet here at this very hour and now he was hung out to dry with nothing but the clothes on his back.

A mild commotion ensued at the side entrance of the hospital, doors opened and four men exiting briskly. They looked around across the empty parking lot, searching for him. Sam hunkered down, his heart pounding wildly. He was not lying to himself. He was terrified and he knew that there was nowhere for him to go undetected. And staying put would only make him easier to find. They spread out.

Minus their canine accomplices this time, thank god! Sam noticed. No matter which way he’d go, they were close, leaving him with no margin to slip through without being seen.

Sam stayed low, listening to their conversation in German, some of which was understandable. He was not completely unfamiliar with the language, but he was nowhere as competent as Nina. Fortunately for him he recognized the helpful parts where the one told the other that they would wait him out and shoot him the moment he rose to his feet. Sam was aware that he would have to do just that sooner or later. He could not run or move without standing up and here, outside the parking lot, it would reveal him completely to them. For now, he remained still, dead still, as if he had become part of the scenery. Under the sweater his shoulder burned under the strain of the broken bone that ached and pulsed more with every passing minute without his pain meds.

Sam feared he was in deep trouble as they slowly shifted bit by bit, combing the surroundings incessantly for any movement. Wounded targets were as good as strong ones to them. They did not care, as long as it ended up dead before they went home. Suddenly the noise of combat boots on asphalt crunched behind Sam and before he had time to turn he felt the excruciatingly painful impact of a rifle butt between his shoulder blades.

He collapsed onto the side of his face on the ground, struggling to recover his breath through unwilling lungs. Sam coughed profusely, his fear now topped by the sheer torment of the blow and the subsequent trauma to his already wounded shoulder. He pinched his eyes hard, grinding his teeth as his breath refused him. Face down he lay panting, the smell of tar, rubber and dog piss reached his nostrils.

Sam waited for the next strike, but instead he only heard the men discussing his fate in hushed tones of everything from hate to mild sympathy, but he could hardly stay conscious, let alone distinguish between the words they all spoke at once. Maybe it was just his fading mind, or the delusion induced by the unbearable pain he was forced to endure. Sam thought about how hunting was not restricted to a specific terrain. Here he was in the middle of a complex of modern buildings with civilized people inside, in a First World country of elevated technology and prosperous economy, and he was being cornered in plain sight by a group of killers.

“Where is the camera?”, one finally asked. Sam could not believe it. He figured that they were just here to deliver the hit they were hired for. A boot lodged itself deep in Sam’s gut. Sam spat up the warm blood that flooded his mouth and cried out in agony. Someone among them chuckled about it, but he could hardly move, let alone even the score with a sadistic asshole with a gun.

“Answer, bitte,” the same interrogator said.

“Gone,” Sam panted. “I… I lost it in the fields-s when…I…you shot me,” he lied.

He could feel one of them pull him back by his sweater, lifting him into a seated position so that they could see his face. Sam’s cheek was skinned by the grit of the road and blood was dripping from his mouth, just the way they liked their prey.

“You lie!” the man shouted and dealt Sam a mighty clout with a leather gloved hand. It felt like his neck broke under the devastating wallop, sending a jolt of pain from the back of head down his back into his lower spine.

From afar he could hear the roar of an engine. It grew louder in his disorientated ears, but by now Sam was not quite sure what was real anymore. He felt faint, slumping to the side as the men turned to see where the bright headlights were coming from. High beams blinded them where they stood in the road and they pulled their guns into aim, but they were too late. The vehicle struck two of them, hurling their bodies into the third bystander, throwing all three through the air onto the paving of the sidewalk.

The fourth mercenary fired shots and took off towards the hedges that flanked the road, disappearing in the darkness. The car stopped and the door opened. From the doorframe Sam could see someone emerging. Next to Sam, in his line of sight, he could see the other three hunters. They lay spread out, motionless; their bodies contorted with broken bones and dislocated limbs. In the faint light he saw blood splatter all over the sidewalk concrete.

Barely able to open his eyes, Sam looked up at the driver of the old BMW that just ploughed through his attackers.

“Ni-n-na,” he stammered through the blood on his lips, “you’re late.”