The Green Lama: Crimson Circle (37 page)

Caraway extended his hand, which Crevier hesitantly took into his own.

“Welcome to Gang Green,” Caraway said with a crooked smile as he pumped Crevier’s hand.

Crevier’s face fell. “Is that seriously what you call yourselves?”

“Nope,” Caraway said, slapping his desk, “but I’ve been meaning to suggest it. Usually there would be a whole ceremony with robes, butter candles, and a whole lot of prayers, but we’re short on time.”

“R—really?”

“Nah, I’m just pulling your leg. You shoulda seen your face, though. But congrats on figuring it out faster than the rest of us.”

The detective let out a short laugh. “Well, uh… Thank you. I’m glad that’s all been cleared up…” He turned on his heels and headed toward the door. He put his hand on the knob when Caraway called after him.

“There’s just one thing, Peter,” Caraway croaked, suddenly serious.

“And what’s that?” Crevier asked over his shoulder. “If you’re worried I’m gonna start telling the gossip rags, or worse, Fulton…”

Caraway shook his head. “No. It’s not that.” He creaked himself out of his chair. He needed to be on his feet, though he wasn’t sure why. He walked over to Crevier so the two were standing face-to-face. “What you gotta understand is, you’re part of this now, and this ain’t just some simple whodunit. This ain’t a case, it ain’t even a conspiracy. This is a fight for our lives, protecting all that’s right in this world against all that—Well… against the stuff of nightmares. I need to know if you’re willing—if you’re able to handle all that comes with it.”

Crevier eyed Caraway for a moment before he said, “It’s why I put on the badge, John.”

Caraway gave him a thin smile. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

• • •

GAMMA WALKED into the medical bay, a thin folder tucked under his arm. The massive fans whirred overhead with an ever-present drone, mixing the sharp smell of chemicals and medicine with the scent of metal and oil. Cold light reflected off the pure white tiles. Omega lay shirtless on the examination table, his pale white skin practically glowing as the doctors and nurses tended to his various wounds. His normally shadowed face was a distorted mess with a swollen cheek and jaw, a blackened eye above a canvas of bruises and burns. Gamma watched from afar while the doctors worked to repair Omega’s sculpted ivory form.

“How is he healing?” Gamma asked as the doctors finished sewing up the last of the lacerations.

“I’m right here, Gamma,” Omega said before the doctors could respond. He waved the doctors away. “No reason to pretend I’m not.”

Gamma raised his chin. “You’ve made quite a mess of things.”

“Did I?” Omega said with false bemusement as he carefully slipped on a clean undershirt. Gamma noticed a small tick above Omega’s fattened lips, it was the closest he had ever come to seeing the operative wince. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Quite spectacularly so. A four-alarm fire at Eight-Twenty-Three-and-a-half Park Avenue? A third of the city’s firefighters are still trying to get it under control.”

“New York’s bravest,” Omega commented dryly as he buttoned up his shirt.

Gamma scowled at the interruption. “Some men work all their lives for something as dramatic as that.”

“Do they? Well, then I will be sure to gloat at every opportune moment.”

“Don’t try to be glib.” He moved to follow as the operative went to slip on his suit jacket. “You have been far too public on this.”

“Haven’t you been reading the papers, Gamma? There’s a Cannibal Killer prowling the streets of New York,” Omega said in riposte as he flipped over his collar and wrapped his tie around his neck. “Were I a lesser man, I would have taken this chance to remind you that you were the one who took me out of stasis.”

Gamma’s lips firmed into a white-hot line. “Needless to say your little stunt at the theatre followed shortly by setting blaze to the home of one of America’s most well known millionaires only compounded the issue.”

Omega finished knotting his tie and turned his collar back in place. “And how is our millionaire playboy?”

“The Epsilon Mist weakened him considerably, but we are taking the appropriate precautions. As to his mistress, we’ve sent men to retrieve her from the location you specified, assuming there is still something to retrieve…”

Omega replied with a cryptic smile.

Gamma stiffened. “Operative Omega—”

“Do not concern yourself, Gamma. I followed my directive. The Farrell woman is at your disposal. I’m sure Dumont will appreciate the company.” Omega ran his hands over his suit. “So, I suppose that’s it, isn’t it?”

“We want to keep you on site until the tests are complete.”

“Do I detect a lack of faith in our illustrious crimson gloved doctor?”

“A precaution,” Gamma admitted. “Should the unforeseen happen.”

“Isn’t that what you do? Foresee the unforeseen?”

Gamma bristled at the suggestion. “Tell me, Omega, was the Green Lama all that you anticipated?”

Omega laughed. “All and more.”

A sharp metallic click sounded from the other side of the medical bay. Gamma and Omega turned at the sound to find Dr. Pelham standing uneasily by the door. Their eyes locked on him, Pelham quickly straightened his back and rolled back his shoulders while he worked at cracking the knuckles of his right hand.

“Dr. Pelham,” Omega purred, the swollen corner of his mouth slanted upward. “So good of you to be so concerned for my wellbeing.”

Pelham cleared his throat three times before he spoke. “I was summoned,” he said to Gamma, careful not to meet Omega’s unwavering gaze.

“Is everything in place?” Gamma asked, indifferent to Pelham’s phobia.

Pelham managed a nod, refusing to move away from the exit. “Nearly there. We simply—We simply need to ready Metchnikoff’s device and to put the Green—the subject in place and we may proceed with the test.”

“Very good.” Gamma walked over and handed Pelham the folder.

“What is this?”

“A directive, from the Twenty-Two,” Gamma added, preemptively tramping down any discord. “We want you to use OBS-Two-Four-One on the subject.”

Pelham opened the folder and began reading the contents. He blinked three times before he could find the words to respond. “Valco injected the Delta Liquid Ray into the Substance? How?”

“It is all explained in your directive.”

“An energy source?” Pelham balked as he read further. “How is—That isn’t possible!”

“It seems you underestimated the Ray’s potential,” Omega said with a satisfactory hiss.

“I never underesti—” Pelham caught himself as his cheeks turned ruddy. “I simply doubted whether the Substance—”

Gamma held up his hand. “Suffice to say, Dr. Pelham, Valco’s theory proved to be effective, revealing far more potential than we could have hoped. In light of that—and considering the subject’s close history with the Ray and suspected involvement with the creation of the Substance, the Twenty-Two are curious to see how the subject will react to this new compound. We will still explore the energy potential for OBS-Two-Four-One, but only after we’ve exhausted all possibilities in creating enhanced soldiers.”

“Understood,” Pelham eventually said under his breath.

“Very good. We’d like to see the test in under six hours.” Gamma looked at Omega. “I expect to see you there.”

“Of course,” Omega said with a nod.

Without another word, Gamma moved past Pelham and toward the medical bay exit.

“There’s something else—” Pelham said tentatively.

Gamma stopped short of the door, slowly turned back to Pelham, and frowned. “Something else?”

Pelham stared at Gamma for several moments before he shook his head once and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’d prefer to do the test on my own. Without observation.”

“Out of the question, Doctor,” Gamma said curtly as he spun on his heel and left the medical bay.

Pelham moved to follow when Omega grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into the room.

“A moment if you would, Dr. Pelham,” Omega said in a hushed breath once Gamma was out of the room. He could feel Pelham trembling beneath his grip as the door swung shut, locking with an ominous click.

“Yes…?” Pelham whispered, not risking a glance at the operative.

“Why did you lie to Gamma?”

“I didn’t—!”

“Come now, Doctor. Don’t play me for a fool.” Omega let the silence hang between them before he squeezed his fingers into Pelham’s bicep. “You see… A question has been weighing on my mind these last few weeks. One I believe you alone can answer. Tell me. For old time’s sake.”

Pelham turned round, audibly swallowing the lump in his throat while his eyes searched the floor.

“Dumont is something more than human, that much is clear. I have experienced it firsthand. There is power in his veins, unmatched by those of his ilk, and with the Substance we may even be able to harness that power ourselves. Yet, I have this growing suspicion that you are surprised by the revelations just as much as us. So, tell me, Pelham, honestly,” Omega whispered, “why is Dumont so integral to your experiments?”

Pelham slowly shook his head and frowned. “He wasn’t. Not ever.”

“Then why?” Omega asked, tightening his grip on Pelham’s arm.

“Revenge, my dear Omega,” Pelham said with a wan smile. “Would I need any other reason?”

Omega released Pelham’s arm and smiled. “No, Dr. Pelham. I just wanted to make sure you were being honest with me.”

“Always, Omega… You’re the only man I truly fear.”

“And I will make sure that’s always the case,” Omega said, lightly patting Pelham on the shoulder. “I would tell you to enjoy yourself, Dr. Pelham, but I’m almost certain you will.”

• • •

SUNLIGHT STUTTERED through the trees like a broken movie projector.

Jean felt lightheaded, her vision blurring. She cranked open the window, letting the cold air rush across her face, rustling her ratty, knotted hair. Hunger stabbed at her stomach. It had been hours, maybe days, since she had eaten. Even so, the sensation—having long transformed past the gurgle and moan of an empty stomach into the dull ache that seemed to radiate from every cell in her body—felt odd, that such a vital element should be so easily overlooked. Or perhaps it was exhaustion or blood loss, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see straight, no matter how hard she tried to focus, the road simply shifted away.

Her head lolled to the side, her left eye drooped shut and the car began to drift toward the side of the road. The tremble of tires rolling off the pavement jolted her awake. She shifted in the driver’s seat and pinched her cheek, arm, and thigh. The now all too familiar pain echoed up her leg as she pressed her foot down, dried blood sticking to the pedal.

Out on the horizon she thought she could see the ghost image of the city drift into existence, shimmering grey and green in the sunset. She thought she could see a thin pillar of smoke evaporating from the center of the city, but it was probably just a cloud.

Jean heard herself chuckle. “Off to the merry old Land of Oz…”

• • •

THE RAZOR lay flat on the desktop, perfectly placed in the center so that the blade lay parallel to the front of the bureau. Valco sat staring at the blade, his sleeves rolled up, feeling uncomfortably disappointed that the razor didn’t have the decency to glint menacingly in the dim bedroom light.

This was the coward’s way, Valco admitted, but it was the only option he had left. And perhaps it was the only option he truly deserved. After all the pain he had wrought upon this world, he would be mad to consider he had earned a painless demise, or even a hero’s death. No, he decided. Better to be the one to empty out his veins, so that maybe in this one way, he could bring some balance to his ledger.

A tired, old man stared at Valco from the mirror. Valco recognized the face, but it wasn’t his, it wasn’t even his father’s. It was his grandfather, the way the old man had looked when he was wasting away in the last days of his cancer, reaching to Valco from his deathbed with skeletal hands, lipless mouth agape, whispering words Valco couldn’t hear.

Valco looked down at his forearms. They weren’t the skeletal remains of his grandfather, but the muscles had shriveled and the skin had thinned. He imagined pushing the blade into the blue veins running under his pallid skin, the crimson waterfall that would follow.

It was a pity that there was nothing to drink.

“Dr. Valco?” someone called softly from the door.

Valco ignored his visitor, not even risking a glance over to the entrance. He needed to do this, needed to do it now, before he lost his nerve. He picked up the blade, and floated it over his left forearm.

“Dr. Valco, it’s Franklin.”

Valco pressed the corner of the blade against the soft skin by his wrist and winced at the sting. A small bubble of blood appeared, a raindrop before the flood.

“Harrison? Please.”

Valco pinched his eyes shut and let out a shuddered breath. The razor blade dropped to the floor with a whisper. Climbing out of his chair, Valco wiped away the blood on his wrist with his thumb and sucked it away, hating the salt and iron bite that touched his tongue. He walked over to the door, wrapped his hand around the knob, and leaned his head up against it, the metal cold against his skin. He took one last deep breath before he risked the door open. Murdoch’s sallow visage appeared in the narrow opening, the circles under his eyes deeper than ever.