14

Coffee with Linda left Leila shaken. If Linda had turned up in a dusty library in a mountain village, she would have acted on reliable information. And if Linda reckoned that Yellen's book had disappeared for a reason worth Linda's attention, it was. It is just that good old Linda was that kind of reporter, All these spelled trouble for Leila, no doubt, and not only for her Christina! Leila had a bad feeling about her aunt's accident. She’d left her Christina at the hospital the day before, propped up in one of those sterile, too-white beds, looking more vulnerable than Leila had ever seen her. And now, she was standing outside that same hospital, feet rooted to the pavement as if daring her to turn around. Her aunt wasn’t just resting there; she was a target.

Leila still couldn't believe it. The plot was nuttier than anyone had imagined—a centuries-old cult, secret society, AI virus, all the usual suspects when you’re trying to topple European governments in one night. Right? Unless Leila, Tom, Linda, and other seemingly normal people had collective hallucinations. And poor beautiful Christina? She was in the middle of it, naturally. With her tangled connections and old-world knowledge, and that old romantic story the Weinrichs still cant get enough of. The hospital didn’t feel safe anymore. Nothing did.

Leila pulled her phone from her coat pocket and frowned. No answer. Again. She’d tried the department line too, and all she got were endless rings that felt more like alarms. Whatever was going on, it was moving fast, and no one was bothering to keep her in the loop.

She let out a breath and muttered, “Might as well walk in and find out what kind of mess we’re dealing with.”

Before she could make a move, a voice of her conscious cut through her thoughts. She had to think about Christina’s safety before.

Leila was half-annoyed, half-grateful for the push. “Yeah, well, somebody’s got to walk the dog.” Wolfie, Christina’s spoiled husky, had been acting strange since the night of the ball. Refusing to leave her up-market premises, like she knew something was up. Leila couldn’t shake the feeling that even the dog was catching on to the tension in the air.

It was agreed: Tom would head back to the chalet to babysit the fur ball and dig up relevant files from the Grossman’s computer while she rushed back to the hospital. But not before she made sure Tom understood one thing: “Don’t let that nosy neighbor, Dick Jones, poke his head in your new place. Last thing I need is him thinking I’m running a dog fighting ring or something.”

Tom scoffed. ‘Don’t worry, darling. I’ve handled worse.’

Leila hung up, shaking her head.

The train ride to the hospital was an assault on her patience. It was packed with hiking enthusiasts—tourists who took their forest hauls as seriously as bankers took stock reports. Leila spotted an empty seat next to an elderly woman holding a cat in a carrier and sank into it with a sigh of relief.

Of course, the relief didn’t last. No sooner had the train started moving than the cat began yowling like it was being dragged to the guillotine. The old lady tried to soothe it, talking in hushed, guilty tones as if she’d committed some kind of feline crime.

“He hates traveling,” she explained. “But my niece insists I stay with her for at least a week. How could I leave Marie behind? The poor thing would starve without me.”

Leila nodded absently, already regretting her choice of seat. She’d had her fair share of pet drama lately - Wolfie the husky wasn’t exactly a fan of travel either. So, naturally, the rest of the train ride turned into a long, drawn-out conversation about cats, punctuated by the occasional high-pitched meow that rattled the windows.

By the time she got to the hospital, it was almost noon. The surgical department was its usual dreary self—empty hallways, nurses looking like they were on their last nerve, and the faint hum of machines that never seemed to stop. Leila moved through it with purpose, her eyes scanning the familiar surroundings as she headed for Christina’s ward.

Ward A23. Same as before. But when she stepped inside, the bed was empty.

Christina was not there.

Leila’s pulse quickened. She glanced at the other patients—a hefty woman in her fifties was snoring softly, another younger woman had her arm in a cast and headphones on, oblivious to the world. But it was the third woman who caught Leila’s attention—a skeletal figure with stringy black hair, yellowed skin, and a look of disdain that would’ve curdled milk. She sat hunched over, staring into space like a crow waiting for something to die.

Leila cleared her throat, trying to keep her voice steady. “Where’s the woman who was here?”

The crow-faced woman’s response was a coughing fit so violent it made Leila step back in disgust. Okay, no help there.

She turned to the girl with the headphones, but her question went unanswered, drowned out by whatever pop song was currently frying her brain cells. Leila waved a hand in front of her face, miming the question again.

The girl shrugged, looking as if she couldn’t care less if Christina had been abducted by aliens.

Great. That was helpful.

Leila marched out of the room, her frustration building. She headed straight for the nurses’ station but found it empty. No staff, no answers. Just a white coat draped over the back of a chair, mocking her.

Before she could stew any longer, the door at the far end of the hall creaked open. A man stepped inside, tall and heavyset, his shoulders hunched as if the world weighed a little more on him than everyone else. His black hair was peppered with gray, and his jacket—tweed, mustard-colored—caught her eye.

Leila’s blood ran cold. She recognized the jacket. That same mustard tweed had been hanging from a broken window the night they found Yellen’s body. The night everything started spiraling out of control.

“Don’t panic,” she whispered to herself, her instincts kicking in. The man could be visiting a friend, a relative. No need to assume the worst.

But the moment he stepped into the corridor, all her calm vanished. He moved with a purpose, heading straight for Christina’s ward, not bothering to look around. And there it was again—the threadbare sleeve. The pulled thread she’d seen in that window, where Yellen’s body had been hiding.

This wasn’t a coincidence. Leila didn’t believe in those.

Without thinking, she ducked behind a substantial potted plant, a monstera in a wooden tub that stood like a sentinel in the hallway. She crouched low, hoping the mustard man wouldn’t notice her as he passed.

Leila's heart pounded in her chest, each beat thudding like a drum. She peeked around the monstera, just in time to see the man reach the nurses’ desk. He pulled a piece of paper from under the glass on the table and studied it for a moment before slipping it into his pocket.

Leila’s mind raced. The ward number. He had to be looking for Christina.

As if on cue, a hospital gurney wheeled into view. A young nurse, round-faced and flustered, was pushing it toward Christina’s room. Leila’s stomach dropped when she saw who was lying on the gurney—Christina. Unconscious, fresh out of surgery, her face pale and lifeless.

Leila’s mind snapped into overdrive. If she didn’t act now, that man in the mustard jacket would be standing over Christina’s bed in seconds, and who knew what he was planning.

Leila stood up straight, grabbed the white coat from the chair, and pulled it on in one smooth motion. It barely fit, but she didn’t care. With her shoulders squared and her voice firm, she marched toward the nurse, throwing authority into her tone.

“Where is Weinrich?” she barked, eyeing the name tag on the gurney.

The nurse blinked, startled. “Uh… yes? I mean, this is Weinrich.”

Leila nodded, faking calm. “Good. But you’re taking her to the wrong ward. She’s supposed to go to A10, not 23.”

The nurse’s confusion deepened. “But I was told...”

Leila cut her off with a sharp look. “A10. Doctor’s orders. And you’d better get moving. Dr Heinz waiting for you.’

“Dr who?”

The nurse didn’t get the chance to ask any more questions. Leila was already wheeling the gurney away, her pulse racing. She had to get Christina out of sight before the man in the mustard jacket caught on with them.

As she hurried down the corridor, she couldn’t help but think how ridiculous this all was. Here she was, playing nurse, pushing a gurney through the halls of a hospital, all to outsmart some supposed goon in mustard tweed. But she felt like being prudent.

Ward 10 was a disaster in waiting—too many people, too many eyes, and Leila didn’t need some nosy old woman babbling away while she tried to dodge a murder. But at the far end of the hall, she spotted a small ward. Empty, quiet, and best of all, no witnesses. Perfect. She wheeled Christina inside, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching.

The bed in the room looked as inviting as the hospital’s linoleum floors, but it would do. She maneuvered the gurney up to it and, with all the grace of someone doing a dance she’d never rehearsed, transferred her unconscious aunt onto the bed. Christina’s face was pale, lips barely moving, but she was alive. Good news.

Leila took a step back, rubbing the tension out of her neck. Safe wasn’t exactly the word, but for the moment, Christina wasn’t dead, and that was Leila’s achievement. The problem was the man in the mustard jacket. He was still out there, circling like a buzzard with a grudge, and it wouldn’t take long for him to figure out that something was amiss.

Leila’s eyes scanned the room. Standard hospital dreariness—white walls, hard floors, and furniture that looked like it came straight out of a bad dream about a mental institution. Not exactly where you’d hide from a killer, but it was what she had. She just needed to buy time—enough to figure out what the mustard menace wanted and why Christina was suddenly everyone’s favorite target.

Her mind was racing through a dozen scenarios when the door creaked open. Leila’s heart lurched like it had been yanked by a hook. She spun around, half expecting the man in mustard to be standing there with a smile that could melt steel. Instead, a middle-aged nurse stepped in, looking about as cheerful as a tax inspector.

The nurse’s gaze slid from the gurney to Leila, and suspicion flickered in her eyes, the kind of suspicion that usually precedes awkward questions and paperwork.

“What’s going on here?” the nurse asked, her tone as warm as a cold shower.

Leila didn’t miss a beat. She pulled calm out of thin air and draped it over her like a puffer coat.

‘Post-op patient,’ Leila explained, her voice brisk enough to sound like she knew what she was talking about. ‘We had to move her here. Dr. Heinz is handling it.’

The nurse blinked, her suspicion softening into mild confusion. ‘Dr. Heinz, huh? Yeah, that makes sense. She’s usually on top of things.’ The nurse gave a half-hearted nod toward the bed. ‘Just keep an eye on her. We don’t want any surprises with post-op patients.’

‘That’s what I am here for,’ Leila said, her smile professional, even though her heart was trying to break out of her chest.

The nurse lingered for a moment, like she was deciding if Leila was worth a second look, then shuffled out of the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

Leila exhaled, long and slow. The tension in her shoulders eased, but only just.

‘Alright,' Leila muttered to herself, staring down at her unconscious aunt. ‘You bought yourself a few minutes. Now what?’

The man in the mustard jacket was still after them, and he wasn’t far behind. It wouldn’t take long for him to start asking the wrong questions. She couldn’t keep dragging Christina from one room to the next. This was a hospital, not a speakeasy. Too many eyes, too many people willing to ask the kind of questions Leila had no answers to.

And then she heard footsteps. Not the light shuffle of a nurse, but heavy, deliberate steps. Like someone was taking their time because they didn’t need to rush.

Leila’s blood turned cold. He had found them.

She moved fast, yanking open the supply closet and grabbing a pair of scrubs. She slipped them on over her clothes, pulled a surgical mask from the wall, and tugged it over her face just as the door handle rattled.

The door swung open, and there he was—the man in the mustard jacket.

He was built like a bulldozer, square and solid, with just enough hair on his head to remind people he was human. His eyes swept the room, missing nothing. Leila stood by the bed, back straight, trying to look like a bored nurse killing time on a double shift. Nothing to see here.

For a long moment, his gaze lingered on her. Suspicion crackled between them like static. He wasn’t buying it, not entirely.

“Can I help you?” Leila asked, her voice muffled by the mask, doing her best to sound like she didn’t care if he answered or not.

The man squinted at her, his jaw tightening. “I’m looking for a patient. Christina Weinrich. I’m her son-in-law.”

Leila didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. “Weinrich? Ah, yes. She’s post-op. Not here, though. She was moved to a ward upstairs.”

He wasn’t convinced. His eyes narrowed, scanning the room with a mix of urgency and desperation as if expecting Christina to pop out from behind a curtain with a sign that read “Surprise!”

“Which ward?” he spoke, his voice low and quiet like that of a lion pretending it wasn’t hungry.

“Fourth floor. Ward 42. You’ll find her there,” Leila said, not missing a beat.

He stared at her, hard eyes boring into her like he was testing if she’d crack under the pressure. But Leila didn’t. She just stood there, truthful and indifferent like a weather forecast.

Finally, without a word, he turned and walked out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the hallway like the world’s slowest ticking bomb.

Leila let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. He was gone. For now. But it wouldn’t take him long to figure out she’d sent him on a wild goose chase.

She glanced back at Christina. Still out, still vulnerable. Leila couldn’t keep playing musical chairs with hospital rooms. The hospital was a maze, but eventually, someone would catch on to her tricks. And when they did, they’d catch more than they bargained for.

Leila needed a different plan. Something better. Someplace safer.

Her eyes darted around the room, landing on the window. They were three floors up, but there had to be a way out. There was always a way out. If action movies had taught her anything, it was that no window was too high, and no escape was too insane.

She pulled out her phone, firing off a message to Tom. Need a getaway. Urgent.

Tom didn’t take long to respond. Outside in ten. Loading dock.

Perfect.

Leila wasted no time. She found a wheelchair in the corridor, carefully transferring her aunt from the bed to the chair, covering her with a blanket to hide her face. She moved quickly but cautiously, keeping an ear out for any sign of the man in mustard.

Pushing the wheelchair, Leila navigated the maze of corridors, her heart pounding with every step. She avoided the main hallways, sticking to the quieter routes, slipping past nurses and consultants with her head down.

As she approached the loading dock, she spotted Tom waiting by the van, the engine idling. He looked up, his eyes locking on her, and gave a quick nod.

Leila pushed the wheelchair toward him, her nerves on high alert. Tom opened the back of the van, and together they lifted Christina inside, securing her safely on a stretcher.

“Nice work,” Tom muttered as he closed the doors, glancing over his shoulder. “Let’s get out of here before they realize she’s gone.”

Leila climbed into the passenger seat, her pulse still racing. She wasn’t out of the woods yet, but at least they had a head start.

Tom drove fast, but not reckless, keeping a close eye on the rearview mirror as they pulled away from the hospital. The roads were quiet, and for a moment, Leila allowed herself to breathe.

“Where are we going?” she asked, her voice low.

Tom glanced at her, his face grim. “I’ve got a safe house. Outside of town. I booked a nurse to look after Christina. We’ll lay low until we figure out the next move.”

Leila nodded, her mind still whirling with everything that had happened. The man in the mustard jacket, the supposed conspiracy, an AI virus on top of it all. It was somehow connected to her aunt Christina and Leila put herself right at the center of it.

They drove in silence for a long minute, the city falling away behind them as they headed for the outskirts. Leila stared out the window, her thoughts drifting slowly away from the road.

Leila glanced back at her aunt, still unconscious in the back of the van. She wasn’t going to let them win. Not without a fight.

But first, she had to keep Christina alive. And that, she realized, was going to be the hardest part.

Tom drove them out of the city, the urban sprawl slowly giving way to open stretches of hills and distant woods. The safe house was a wooden derelict cabin, hidden among the trees like a secret only a handful of people knew. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was the perfect place to disappear.

As Tom brought the van to a stop, Leila’s mind kept circling back to the man in the mustard jacket. He wasn’t just some hired muscle. The way he’d moved, the way he had snooped around the hospital — he looked smart and he was after Christina. But why? What did her aunt know that put her at the center of this deadly game?

Tom jumped out and walked around the back of the van, unlocking the doors and gently helping Leila with the stretcher. They wheeled Christina into the cabin, and Leila scanned the place. It was cozy but rugged — all wood beams and stone floors, the kind of place that looked like it could stand through a blizzard without a scratch.

“She’ll be safe here for now,” Tom said, his tone steady, but Leila could see the tension in his eyes. He wasn’t used to this level of danger.

They carefully lifted Christina onto a simple bed in the corner of the main room. Leila pulled a blanket over her, making sure her aunt was comfortable. She still hadn’t woken up from the anesthesia, but at least now they were relatively safe.

Leila straightened up, rubbing her temples. “Do you think they’ll follow us here?”

Tom shook his head, though the lines of concern etched on his face said otherwise. “No one knows about this place. We’re off the grid. For now, we should be okay.” He paused, glancing at Leila. “But I don’t think that guy in mustard is going to give up. Whoever he’s working for, they don’t strike me as the forgiving type.”

Leila frowned, pacing the cabin. “It’s more than that. He’s not just working for someone; he’s part of something. The cult, the Rulers — they’re all tied into this. And they’re after something. Some silly artifact. And for some reason, Christina’s chalet is at the center of their attention.”

Tom looked thoughtful. “You think she knows where that artifact is?”

“I don’t know. But whatever it is, it’s old,” Leila ran a hand through her hair, her mind whirling. “I’ve done some homework on this Rulers, and it’s not just some fringe conspiracy group. They’ve been playing European politics for centuries. And now they’re after a way to topple everything — governments, institutions, democratic process. They want to replace it all with their choice of a rightful emperor. And they’re using a sophisticated AI virus to achieve that. But you should know more about the virus, you are the Head of IT there, remember.”

Tom let out a low whistle. “You’re telling me they’ve got an AI to crash every government in Europe?”

Leila nodded grimly. “That’s what I’ve pieced together so far. They want to use the virus to erase institutional domains. There were notes penciled on the margins of the Yellen's book, the first volume I managed to find. And I would agree with the Frenchman, whoever had written them had the intelligence of a brick. But nevertheless, it would create chaos. Banks, governments, transportation systems — all wiped out in one click.”

Tom crossed his arms, leaning against the table. “Highly unlikely, You need a super powerful microchip for that. And this artifact? How does that fit in?”

Leila shrugged, frustrated by how little she knew. “It’s hard to say. All I know is it’s connected to their power. They believe it gives them control — some ancient symbol or object that ties them to their supposed right to rule. But it’s more than just a symbol. They think it has real power, and that power could be the key to their whole operation.”

Tom was silent for a moment, processing. Then he said, “And you think Christina has some connection to it?”

Leila’s eyes shot Tom a worried look. “I think she stumbled onto something she wasn’t supposed to. Maybe she found out too much. Maybe that’s why they want her dead.”

Tom sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We better talk to Christina. We need to figure out what she knows. Fast.”

Leila glanced at her aunt, who was still unconscious on the bed. “When she wakes up,” she muttered.

They sat in tense silence for a few moments, the troubles settling over them like a thick fog. Leila’s mind churned with possibilities. What if the man in mustard wasn’t the only one who wanted Christina dead? What if they had others searching for her, or worse — watching them right now?

She stood up abruptly, the tension in her body snapping. “I need to do something,” she said. “I can’t just sit here waiting for them to come to us.”

Tom straightened, his eyes narrowing. “What are you up to?”

Leila grabbed her coat, heading for the door. “I’m going to visit the library. There’s something I need to check.”

Tom moved to block her path. “Leila, that’s insane. They could be watching the place.”

“They’re already watching everything. I can’t stay hidden forever.” Leila pushed past him. “There’s another book I found there. If I can get to it, I might be able to figure out what the Rulers want and why.”

Tom grabbed her arm gently but firmly. “You’re not going alone.”

She gave him a wry smile. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They left Christina to a sweet Philippino nurse, and went out quietly, moving like shadows through the trees until they reached Tom’s car. The drive back into the city was tense, every car behind them feeling like a potential tail. Leila’s nerves were stretched tight, her mind racing through worst-case scenarios.

When they arrived at the library, it was quieter than usual. It was the kind of quiet that made the hairs on the back of Leila’s neck stand up. She and Tom slipped inside, moving toward the history section without drawing too much attention.

Leila headed straight for the shelf where she’d found the book last time, her fingers brushing over the worn spines until she pulled it free. The title was innocuous enough — “Furniture of the Masters of Germany and Austria” — but the contents were anything but.

She flipped through the pages quickly, scanning for the passage that caught her eye. There it was, buried halfway through the book. A reference to an ancient artifact, passed down through the centuries, believed to hold the key to ultimate power. Well, at least the old Germanic legend had claimed so. The Rulers had been searching for it for generations.

Leila’s eyes widened as she read the description. This was it. The piece of the puzzle she’d been missing.

“The Kings Mask,” she whispered. “That’s it.”

Tom leaned over her shoulder, frowning. “What on Earth is that?”

Leila turned to him, her expression grave. “It’s what they’re after. It’s what gives them their power, at least they believe in that old Germanic legend. And when people believe in something that blindly, they can be manipulated, Tom. We have to reinforce it in their minds. We make them believe If they get their hands on that mask, they’ll be unstoppable.”

Tom’s eyes were not taking it seriously. There was a mischievous laughter hidden inside them. “So where is this old junk?”

Leila shook her head, her frustration mounting. “That’s the problem. The book doesn’t say. But it does mention something—there’s a clue. A reference to a hidden location in the Alps. A place where the artifact was supposedly hidden after Germans had lost the war.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “You think it is still there?”

“I think that’s where we need to look first,” Leila said firmly. “If we can find it before the Rulers do, we might have a strategic advantage.”

Tom hesitated, glancing around the library as if expecting the walls to have ears. And then Leila’s phone produced a sudden Meow. There was an encrypted text, and the initials C.W.

‘What is it about?’ Tom asked, frightened.

‘Nothing. Just the initials of someone I have to kill to join their sick cult. And guess what? C.W. stands for Christina Weinrich.’

‘Leila, you are mad! This is dangerous. You’re talking about playing games with a centuries-old cult and hoping they are just some fools. They look it, indeed, but what if their appearance is deceptive?. They’re not going to just let you walk away from your commitment.’

Leila nodded. ‘I know. But this is about my family. If I don’t stop them, no one will.’

Tom sighed, running a hand through his hair. ‘Alright. If we’re doing this, we do it together.’

Leila smiled, grateful for his support. ‘Tom, I am sorry I kept you in the dark all this time. I wouldn’t have it any other way. I promise.’

‘Is it because you trust me or because you have no choice? By the way, I am the one who is responsible for developing that super virus, remember.’

‘Exactly. And?’

‘It looks like an impossible task. There is no microchip available that would allow for the AI speed and efficiency they are after. Unless they know something I don’t.’

‘Huh. You better figure it out.;

Tom used his iPhone to snap the page with the description and plans of Christina’s chalet before renovation in 1910. Then Leila closed the book and slipped out of the library as quietly as they’d entered.

As they drove away from the city, heading toward the looming Alps in the distance, Leila’s thoughts turned to the Mask of Kings and the power it supposedly held. It was lucky The Rulers believed in its importance. If only Leila could find it first, she might just have a chance survive.

But deep down, Leila had a horrible feeling that finding the Mask was only the beginning. She had to fulfill her dreadful quest to become a trusted member of the Rulers, and the thought sent a serious chill down her back.