The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) (20 page)

“Sounds good to me,” she replied as she shot Heydrich in the head.

Black liquid splattered out from the back of his head as the undead Nazi mystic tumbled back into the shadows. Jean ran toward the Tablet, coming within inches when a blast of green electricity shot out from the darkness, knocking her clear across the room and smashing her hard against the wall.

“It has taken me twenty years and two lives to find the Third Tablet and secure Cthulhu’s reign!” Heydrich screamed as he hobbled over to Jean, his hands crackling with green energy. “Did you
really
think it would be that simple?!”

“It would’ve been nice if it were,” Jean said through gritted teeth, pushing herself off the ground, pain radiating throughout her body. Something inside her had broken, but she fought through the agony and stood. She fired three quick shots at Heydrich, but they weren’t enough, and the mad monk was instantly upon her, wrapping his skeletal right hand around her throat and lifting her off the ground.

“Nyarlathotep gave you too much credit, girl,” Heydrich mused as he squeezed down on Jean’s windpipe. “We have all three Tablets, the Power of the Ages is ours, and with Dumont and Vasili out of the way, and now you, all three Scions will be dead and Cthulhu’s reign will be eternal!”

“Don’t… bet… on… it…!” Jean said through agonizing gasps. Raising her pistol to Heydrich’s hand, she fired off a single shot, shattering Heydrich’s already decomposed wrist. Heydrich’s skeletal hand broke off from his arm and dropped her to the ground.

Heydrich screamed as electricity and black ooze poured out of the wound.

Pulling Heydrich’s disembodied hand off her throat, Jean scrambled back toward the Tablet. Falling forward, her fingers laced around the cracked crystalline egg, tracing the ornate etchings that covered it. She could feel the world around her begin to slip away. The buzzing in her head grew louder, deafening her from within. For an instant the room was enveloped in a familiar green hue. A howling wind came down upon her as if she were suddenly sucked into the vortex of a hurricane. Beneath it Jean could hear eerily familiar voices, but couldn’t make out the words.

C
HAPTER 10

BOOK OF THE DEAD

“Do you ever miss New York?” the big man asked as they approached the massive steel airplane idling outside the Temple of the Clouds.

“…There are times, yes…” the lama said, with a protracted nod.

The big man chuckled. “I’m not gonna lie, Tulku… I can’t wait to get back to the Empire State. The last year here has been an eye opener, but I miss my concrete jungle.”

The Tulku smiled and placed a friendly hand on the American’s shoulder. “And you will be missed here.”

“I’ll be sure to write you when I get back. I cannot wait to share everything I learned with my team. And I’m sure my cousin could learn a thing or two…” The muscular man gave the Tulku a broad smile. He bowed his head. “Thank you again, Tulku.” He climbed up the gangway to the airplane before stopping short at the hatchway and looking back at his teacher. “And if you ever need anything,” he said as the propeller engines came to life,” and my friends would be happy to help! All of them are top men, the best in their fields!”

The Tulku smiled and bowed deeply in gratitude as his student closed the airplane door. The propellers turned to face the sky, pulling the ship up into the air before it rocketed out toward the horizon. The Tulku imagined there wouldn’t be another such craft in decades.

“I confess, Tulku,” the old priest said as the Tulku re-entered the Temple of the Clouds,” expected you to journey home with your student.”

“And leave the Temple of the Clouds? No, Tsarong, my place is here,” Jethro Dumont said, placing a hand on the old man’s bony shoulder. He had finally begun to show his age, Jethro noticed with a slight twang of regret, as if his former Khenpo’s rapid aging had been his fault.

But, then again… Wasn’t it? Were it not for Jethro, Tsarong would still be the bearer of the Jade Tablet and would still be granted its regenerative powers. By merely coming to the Temple of the Clouds nine years ago, Jethro had effectively shortened his friend’s life. But that was simply his Western thinking, that life ended with death. Jethro knew Tsarong would face the next rebirth with vigor, all part of the path of Dharma.

“You look sad, Tulku,” Tsarong said softly.

Jethro glanced at his former Khenpo, torn from his reverie. “Hm? Oh… No, Tsarong… Just thinking of what an odd coincidence it is that today is the ninth anniversary of my arrival.”

The old man’s face was unreadable. “Yes, I had not forgotten.”

They walked on in silence, Jethro quietly debating how he was going to tell Tsarong that the Jade Tablet had begun to unravel.

• • •

Jethro had long ago accepted the inevitability of his own demise as part of the cycle of life, death, and rebirth in
samsara
, though he hesitated to say he looked forward to entering some otherworldly Nirvana anytime soon. To have it prophesized was another matter altogether.

“Did he say how?” he quietly asked Gan as they rode the elevator down to the lobby.

Gan shook his head. “That much was unclear.”

“Well, that’s helpful,” Jethro commented sarcastically as he adjusted his tie, once again looking the part of a millionaire playboy on holiday. “At least if I knew
how
it was going to happen, I could find a way to avoid it.”

“Even if you did, you more than anyone know it is impossible to fight the tide of history.”

“This is still only prophecy, not history,” Jethro snapped back. “Not yet.”

“And in my experience I have learned the two are one and the same,” Gan replied coldly.

They rode the remaining floors in silence.

“I suppose I do not need to tell you that it is vital we keep our true identities a secret,” Gan said as they made their way to the exit.

“I’m not sure if you noticed, Herr Oberführer, but I
am
a costumed adventurer by trade.”

Gan regarded him with a raised eyebrow. “Is that supposed to impress me, Herr Dumont? Correct me if I am wrong, but did I not just find you in a puddle of your own vomit?”

Jethro sighed. “It’s going to be a long day.”

• • •

“Well, that can’t be good,” Caraway commented as Ken raced toward them. He glanced over to Vasili with a rueful smile. “Here’s my guess: Guns. Lots of guns.”

“Did you expect no security?” Vasili asked as he crossed his arms.

“Expected? No,” Caraway said with a shrug. “Hoped for? Yes.”

They had been in town for a few hours; the sun was high overhead, short shadows and a cool breeze. Sotiria had stayed behind with the boat, engines ready, while the four of them made a beeline through the narrow cobblestone streets toward the destination. Vasili had sent Ken ahead to take a reconnaissance of a small, squat building, while they hid inside a small alleyway a few blocks away. Small beads of sweat formed along Caraway’s brow, more from his nerves than the sun. He wiped them away with the cuff of his sleeve, careful to keep his face expressionless. Something in his gut told him it was all about to go belly up, thought he couldn’t tell why. Maybe he just didn’t like being on the other side of the law.

“Hey—Hey… hey guys,” Ken gasped as he ran up, his feet flapping against the dirt road.

“You okay, Shakes?” Petros asked, a cigarette hanging from the corner of his lips.

“Me?” Ken wheezed. “Oh—Oh, yeah. Just, uh, a little—” He bent forward, resting his hands on his knees. “Whew! Just a little out a breath is all…”

Caraway rolled his eyes. “What’s it look like in there, Shakespeare?”

“Um…” Ken said with a thoughtful frown. “Like there’s a really old guy asleep in his parlor.”

Vasili’s stern face twisted with chagrin. “Parlor?”

“Yeah, it’s just some guy’s apartment,” Ken said as he stood back up. “I have to stop smoking so much.”

Caraway turned to Vasili. “You’re certain this is the right place.”

Vasili turned the folded piece of paper over in his hand, but didn’t risk a glance. “Yes,” he said with finality. He looked to Ken. “Did you see the book?”

Ken shrugged. “Which? It’s practically a library in there.”

“I’m just going to come out and say this,” Caraway groaned, massaging his eyes in frustration. “Something doesn’t add up.”

Vasili rubbed his chin in thought. “Much as I hate to admit it, and I
do
hate to admit it… I think you are right,” he said to Caraway. He looked to Petros with an inquisitive frown.

Petros placed a hand on his sheathed blade. “Boss says that is the place, then that is the place.”

Vasili nodded. “Okay, let’s figure out our plan then. Get in there after dark, make it quick and get back home before sunrise. And Petros, try to keep it clean, I don’t want another bloodbath like we had in Athens.”

“Bloodbath?” Ken squeaked under his breath.

Caraway grimaced. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this…”

• • •

“
Gratuliere, Herr Oberführer! Wie ich sehe, haben Sie den mysteriösen Jethro Dumont gefunden!
” a German officer with a pencil thin mustache exclaimed as Jethro, Gan, and Hirsch exited the car into the makeshift base. He was dressed in a sharp, dark grey uniform, an iron cross hanging between the black points of his collar. Another official walked in tandem, noticeable burn scars beneath his Van Dyke, a short sword in a leather scabbard attached to his belt. They were followed by a small contingent of armed guards, more for effect than any real threat. “Sir, it is a pleasure to meet you, I am Obergruppenführer Albrecht Gottschalk,” the black-collared official said, extending his hand.

“
Ich bin nicht wirklich so schwer zu finden, Herr Obergruppenführer, hatte gerade ein zu viele lange Nächte
,” Jethro said as he shook Gottschalk’s hand. “
Es ist ein Vergnügen, Sie kennenzulernen; Die Herren OberführerGan und Sturnbannführer Hirsch haben von Ihnen gesprochen.”

“
Sie sprechen ja Deutsch! Und Ihr Akzent ist perfekt!
” Gottschalk replied with a smile. “But please, Herr Dumont, you are our guest! There is no need to pander to us. Besides I believe it is best for me to practice my English,
ja
?”

“Whatever you prefer, Herr Obergruppenführer. I for one would not want to upset the German army!” Jethro said with a boisterous laugh.

“You have nothing to fear, Herr Dumont!” Gottschalk said pleasantly, clapping Jethro on the shoulder. “Your name carries too much weight. Who here has not heard of your exploits?” Gottschalk leaned in close to Jethro and lowered his voice. “Tell me, is Ginger Rogers that beautiful in real life?”

Jethro gave Gottschalk a knowing smile. “Herr Obergruppenführer, believe me when I say her dance moves are not her most thrilling skill,” he said with a friendly jab of the elbow. He had never met Ginger Rogers.

Gottschalk let out a jovial laugh. “Oh, I can only imagine! Now, tell me, what brings you to the island of Samothrace, Herr Dumont?”

“Vacation. For one such as myself even New York City can become quite
boring
,” Jethro moaned. “So, I decided to take in a bit of scenery. Greece! All ruins and history, though it seems this island is all just ruins… Hm. What about you, Herr Obergruppenführer? Oberführer Gan was rather elusive as to your intentions for this beautiful island.”

Gottschalk risked a glance at Gan and softly cleared his throat. “Diplomacy. These are delicate times, as you know.”

“Indeed,” Jethro said with a solemn nod. “I remember hearing about an ‘international incident’ at the German consulate in New York recently. In fact, if I recall correctly, it was why the Oberführer had to cut our dinner short. I hope that was all ironed out,” he said, eliciting a small echo of a smile in the corners of Gan’s lips.

“Uh, yes, yes. Completely resolved,” Gottschalk stuttered.

“And that madman, von Kultz, I believe that was his name… He kidnapped me.”

Gottschalk’s face blanched. “Ah… Yes…I—We had heard about that…”

“Oh, don’t look so terrified, Herr Obergruppenführer!” Jethro said warmly, privately enjoying the Nazi’s discomfort. “One bad apple doesn’t spoil the bunch. I doubt Hitler would ever do anything as insane as order the murder of innocent people.”

“Yes. Yes… Of course. Now, please, allow me to introduce you to the rest of our
diplomatic
staff. Oberführer Gan you already know, and Sturmbannführer Hirsch you’ve met, but you have not been properly acquainted to Herr Doktor—”

“Dr. Fredrick Hammond, at your service, Herr Dumont,” the man with the Van Dyke said as he stepped forward and took Jethro’s hand into his, shaking it firmly.