The Babylonian Mask

Chapter 32 — The Shadow’s Proposal

Peter Marduk didn’t care about the developments happening all around him. He was used to people acting like maniacs, storming around like derailed locomotives whenever something beyond their control reminded them just how little power they had. With his hands in his coat pockets and his eyes alert from under his fedora, he passed through the panic stricken strangers at the airport. A lot of them were heading to their respective homes in case of a national shutdown of all services and transport.Having lived through many eras, Marduk had seen it all before. He’d survived three wars. Everything had always straightened out and rippled to another part of the world in the end. War would never stop, he knew. It would only move to another neighborhood. In his opinion, peace was a fallacy designed by those weary of fighting for what they had or jousting to win arguments. Harmony was just a myth written by cowards and religious fanatics, hoping that sowing the belief would earn them the monikers of heroes.

“Your flight has been postponed, Mr. Marduk,” the check-in clerk told him. “We expect all flights to be delayed due to the latest situation. There will only be flights available tomorrow morning.”

“No problem. I can wait,” he said, ignoring her scrutiny of his odd facial features, or rather lack thereof. Peter Marduk decided to take rest in a hotel room in the meantime. He was too old and his frame too skeletal for long periods of sitting. There would be enough of that on the flight back home. He checked into the Cologne Bonn Hotel and ordered dinner via room service. Looking forward to a well-deserved night’s sleep without worry over the mask or having to curl up on a basement floor while waiting for a murderous thief was a delightful change of pace for his tired old bones.

As the electronic door locked behind him, Marduk’s potent eyes saw the silhouette sitting in the chair. He had no need for much light, but his right hand slowly gripped the skull face inside his coat. It was not a difficult guess that the intruder was there for the relic.

“You will have to kill me first,” Marduk said calmly, and he meant every word.

“That wish is within my reach, Mr. Marduk. I am inclined to grant that wish in an instant if you do not accede to my demands,” the figure said.

“Let me hear your demands, for God’s sake, so I can get some sleep. I’ve had no peace since yet another insidious breed of man stole it from my home,” Marduk complained.

“Sit down, please. Rest. I can leave here without incident and allow you to sleep, or I can alleviate your burdens for good and still leave here with what I came for,” said the intruder.

“Oh, do you think so?” The old man chuckled.

“I assure it,” the other told him categorically.

“My friend, you know as much as all the others who come for the Babylonian Mask. And that is nothing. So blinded by your greed, you pursuits, your vengeance…whatever else you crave with the use of another’s face. Blind! All of you!” He sighed as he plopped down comfortably onto the bed in the dark.

“Is that why the mask blinds the Masker?” came the stranger’s question.

“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.