The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) (15 page)

“As long as they don’t make me wear anything frilly I think I’ll be fine, Shakespeare,” Caraway whispered through the side of his mouth.

Ken squinted at his compatriot. “Oh, shut up.”

• • •

Vasili didn’t like the way Sotiria looked at the American, but then he didn’t like the way Sotiria looked at anyone. Ultimately it didn’t matter once Alexei gave the newcomers the okay, and after today Vasili was not going to start questioning the old man’s judgment. Alexei sat down behind his desk and laced his fingers together, eyeing the two foreigners.

“So, you boys are good in a fight?” Alexei said in Greek to the two foreigners, which Vasili quickly translated. Alexei was fluent in German, Turkish, Egyptian, even Italian, but knew only a little English, so it was up to Vasili to act as translator.

“Yeah, we’re not so bad,” the mustached man named Caraway said with a self-satisfied shrug.

“Good, as it happens I am in need of some help,” Alexei said through Vasili. “If you are as good as Petros says you are, then you may be of some use to me.”

The little one calling himself Shakespeare smiled broadly. “Well, that’s what we’re here for, old chap.”

Alexei nodded thoughtfully, his gaze piercing. “There is a book I need,” he said eventually.

Caraway snorted. “Doesn’t this island have a library?”

Alexei ignored the comment. “Its contents and why I need it are none of your concern.”

“Not a problem,” the American said. “Despite the name, Billy Shakespeare here can’t read a word.”

“Vasili will take the lead, Petros will assist you as well. Normally, I would go through…
different
channels, but unfortunately time is not a luxury I am currently afforded. You will begin tomorrow morning.”

All of this surprised Vasili as he translated. He couldn’t remember the last time Alexei had picked up a newspaper, let alone read a book. And based on the old man’s tone, Vasili knew that this wasn’t going to be a simple pick up or smash-and-grab. But why would he ask these men when he could easily pick from the hundreds of men they knew could be trusted?

“If you are not up to the task,” Alexei said, “I can always find someone else. I assure you that no one else in this town will pay you a quarter of what I would pay you, let alone offer you a job.”

The American puckered his lips as if he had bit down on something sour. “Fine…” he said at last. “Count us in.”

“Excellent.” Alexei knocked on his desk quickly. “I will supply you with all the details shortly. For now get some rest, you will need it. Vasili will arrange a room for you. That is all,” he said with a wave toward the door.

“Yeah, yeah,” Caraway said. “One more thing. Before we go riskin’ our necks, you mind telling us the
name
of this book we’re gonna risk life and limb for?”

Vasili translated Caraway’s question, admittedly curious as well. Alexei considered both Caraway and Vasili for a moment before he simply replied, “
Necronomicon
.”

• • •

“Oh, please, let this be another dream… Another weird, really realistic, scary dream…” Jean murmured as she awoke. “Please just let me wake up in bed, in a beautiful villa overlooking the Mediterranean. And room service… Room service would be really nice right about now.” She risked one eye open to discover a pure white ceiling above her. Opening the other, she found herself on a king-sized bed in the middle of a massive suite opening out to a veranda overlooking the Mediterranean. The sun was shining and the birds were chirping. A cool, comfortable sea breeze flowed in, the pure white drapes billowing in lazy waves. She was still dressed in her clothing; her boots laid neatly to the side of the bed, her stolen pistol placed on a small nightstand. Instinctually grabbing the gun, she slipped it into the back of her belt, climbed out of bed, pulled on her boots, and walked over to the veranda. The sea was a glistening blue-green; the breeze rustled through her hair, masking the heat of the sun, tasting of salt and water.

“Okay,” Jean breathed. “Amazing as this is, I
really
need to stop waking up in strange places,” she said. “What would my mother think?”

But something was off; she could feel it buzzing in the back of her head. The last thing she remembered, she was sitting by the fire with Aïas when she felt the bullet hole in her boot and then—

“All right, Aïas!” she shouted. “I know this isn’t real, so you might as well get whatever the hell this is over with.”

In an instant, the horizon and the suite evaporated, leaving the world a seamless white. Light came from all angles, but there were no shadows. There was no floor, no ceiling, no walls; there was nothing but white for as far as her eyes could see.

“You know, Jean,” Aïas said, a few steps behind her, “most people don’t figure that one out until at least the end of the first week.”

Jean turned to face him, keeping her hand placed on the butt of her pistol. He was clean-shaven and dressed in the one of the blackest suits she had ever seen, a void in the light. He walked differently, almost as if he was floating with each step. He seemed taller, broader, and, impossibly, younger. Even his accent was gone.

“I’m talented like that,” she shrugged nonchalantly, hoping her growing fear wasn’t breaking through her façade. “So, are you going to tell me who—or what—you really are, or am I just going to have to guess?”

Aïas raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Like you said, you’re talented, so why don’t you take a guess?”

Jean bit her lip and hesitated. “Well, you’re not human.”

Aïas tilted his head to the side, clearly amused.

“Okay, to be honest,” Jean blurted. “I was sort of hoping you were just going to come out and tell me, Aïas, because I’m a little lost in the woods here.”

Aïas chuckled. “No, I’m not human. Technically speaking. I’m something a bit… older. And they don’t call Aïas. Not up here. Here, I’m known as Prometheus.”

• • •

“I cannot believe I’m doing this…” Caraway said, fiddling with his eye patch as he paced the dock hours before dawn. Water lapped up against the pier’s wooden pillars, the sea breathing in long salty sighs. At the far end of the pier a ratty old fishing boat swayed with the tide. They were both dressed in all black attire, wool caps on their heads. Caraway had flipped up his pea coat’s collar to fight off the cold of the night, while Ken, seated atop a wooden pillar, tackled this problem with a growing pile of scorched cigarette butts.

“Jeez, are you this bad when you work with the Lama?” Ken said as he lit another cigarette.

“I’m not typically
robbing people
when I’m with the Lama,” Caraway shot back.

“Yeah, well, y’know… first time for everything,” Ken mused as he breathed out a cloud of smoke.

“I’m so glad you’re taking this in stride.”

Ken shrugged. “We’re stealing a book. A book no one’s ever heard of. Cripes, you’re acting like we’re about to steal the friggin’
Mona Lisa
.”

“At this rate…” Caraway growled in frustration. “This whole thing is getting out of hand, dammit. We’re not getting any closer to finding Jean or figuring out this whole Kookookachoo business. ‘Go undercover.’ What does Jethro Dumont know about detective work?”

“We’re stealing a
book
,” Ken reiterated, unconsciously massaging the gunshot wound on his arm.

“It’s all the same to me,” Caraway said, firmly. “I’m a cop, first and foremost.”

“No, you’re
annoying
, first and foremost,” Ken said, losing his patience. He jumped off his perch and marched over to Caraway with an accusatory finger. “We both know this isn’t exactly what either of us had planned, but my
best friend
is out there somewhere, probably in a whole lot of trouble if not dead already. If this is what we have to do in order to find her, then so be it. Last thing we need is you getting all high and mighty right now especially when this was your goddamn idea!”

“Don’t point at me, Clayton,” Caraway said hotly, pushing Ken’s hand away.

“Don’t push me, jack off!” Ken shouted as he shoved Caraway.

Caraway raised a fist. “Back off
now
if you don’t want what’s coming to ya.”

“Come on!” Ken clapped his hands against his chest, urging Caraway on. “Let’s see it! Let’s what ya got, ya jerk!”

Caraway launched forward, grabbing Ken by the collar.

“Whoa there, boys!” Sotiria shouted as she dove in between them, pushing them apart. “I do not mean to step into your lovers’ squabble,” she huffed, “but last I heard you two are going to be robbing someone tonight.”

“It ain’t nothing,” Caraway muttered as he adjusted his wool cap. “Just a difference of opinion is all. Ain’t that right, Shakes?”

“Aye,” Ken said in his faux British accent, eyes locked on Caraway. “Just a difference of opinion.” He turned to Sotiria. “But if you don’t mind me asking, young lady, what in the bloody hell are you doing out here so late?”

“My boat,” she said indicating the old trawler.

“Little late for a fishing trip, isn’t it?” Ken asked.

“Fishing?” Sotiria laughed. “I’m your transport.”

Caraway placed his hands on his belt. “Bullshit.”

“How did you think you were getting there? Car? Train? This is not America, boys.” She snorted as she walked past them. “Fastest way to get anywhere around here is by water. And besides, there are not many people you could trust with this kind of job.”

“No offense, Sotiria,” Caraway said as he followed after her, “you don’t really seem like the criminal type.”

She paused and glanced back over her shoulder, eyebrow arched seductively. “I’m not. Do you not remember our conversation yesterday? I am the ‘looking for work’ type. Besides, you cannot always judge someone by his or her appearance. Take Alexei for example, you would never know that he was the town sheriff.”

Caraway’s jaw fell open. “He’s the what?”

Sotiria laughed. “Did you not know?”

Caraway tapped his temple, playing away his shock. “You have to remember I’ve been knocked around a little bit recently.”

“That is true,” she chuckled as she climbed up the short gangway onto her boat. “Besides, Vasili owes me a few.”

Butterflies danced around Caraway’s stomach. “Oh yeah…? What’s the story with you two?”

“No story to tell,” Vasili said as he and Petros appeared out of the darkness. Like Ken and Caraway they were dressed in all black, though Caraway couldn’t help but notice the knives holstered to Petros’s hips.

“Well, I would not say that,” Sotiria said with a touch of sorrow.

Vasili cleared his throat. “Sotiria, please get the boat started.”

“Would you mind telling me where we will be heading?” she asked.

Vasili reached into his coat pocket and took out a folded piece of paper.

He read over it quickly before placing it back in his pocket, his hands shaking. “South. That’s all you need to know for now.”

“South is a very vague direction,” she retorted.

“Start the boat. Now, Sotiria,” Vasili commanded.

Pursing her lips, Sotiria showed Vasili an open palm and headed toward the cabin, indignantly stomping her feet. Caraway caught a small, sad smile break Vasili’s face before he turned his attention back the others. “Shall we?” he said, gesturing to the boat.

“You got nothing to worry about, boys,” Petros said, placing his hands on Caraway and Ken’s shoulders. “Me and Vasili, we have been through much worse than what we got in store tonight. No?”

“Hope you boys have your sea legs,” Sotiria called from the cabin.

“As long as we don’t have to
fly
anywhere,” Ken commented, “I’m just dandy.”

• • •

The Oberführer steepled his fingers as he gazed out the window. “You understand, of course, there are those who would consider what you are proposing treason,” he said to Hirsch. They rode in the back of their Volkswagen, dressed in civilian clothes in hopes of avoiding any unnecessary attention from the locals as they made their way to the Aiolos Hotel. The Oberführer noticed Hirsch’s nervous glance over at their driver. “You need not worry about Johann, Herr Sturmbannführer,” he said, answering Hirsch’s unspoken question, “he is one of the few people you can trust.”

Hirsch nodded slowly, though not fully satisfied. “If I were suggesting,” he began hesitantly, “that we go against Germany, then yes, you would be correct. But I want to save Germany, Herr Oberführer. Protect it from this…
evil
. The Führer has brought us to the cusp of a brave new world; so close within our reach I can feel it at the tips of my fingers. I do not want to fail that dream.” He paused, considering his declaration. “Do you consider that treason, Herr Oberführer?”

The Oberführer regarded Hirsch. “No, Herr Sturmbannführer,” he said after a moment. “I do not.”