The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) (5 page)

Caraway looked over the dashboard. “Uh, about three thousand feet.”

“Good. I need your gun!”

“My gun?” Caraway grumbled as he pulled his pistol out of its holster and handed it back to Jethro. “You’d better have a damn good plan, Dumont!”

“Just trust me on this,” Jethro said as he climbed out of his seat and onto the wings.

“Jethro, what are you doing?” Ken shrilled.

Gripping onto one of the struts, Jethro positioned himself by the fuselage, the propeller roaring beside him. “Do you have your parachutes on?” he shouted to the others.

“Yes,” Caraway said.

“Uh… Maybe,” Ken murmured.

“I need you to jump,” Jethro said matter-of-factly, ignoring their dumbstruck looks. “Once you’re clear I’m going to blow up the plane.”

Caraway slammed his palm against the wheel. “I
knew
this was a bad idea!” He glanced back at the chasing storm, deciding Jethro’s was the best idea they would get. “Dammit. Fine. What about you?”

Jethro shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll jump clear before it blows. Quickly! We don’t have much time.”

Ken whimpered under his breath, but couldn’t pry himself loose from his seat.

“Ken, you need to jump!” Jethro yelled. “Jump now!”

Fighting every fiber in his being, Ken slowly swung his legs over the edge of the plane and tightly shut his eyes. “I’m beginning to hate adventures.” He took a deep breath, but failed to take the leap.

“No time for cold feet, kid,” Caraway said as he shoved Ken off into the air, the young man screaming as he fell to Earth.

“Don’t worry, he’ll open the chute in time. The plane should stay aloft for a few moments before it starts going down. Don’t wait too long, Dumont,” Caraway said as he climbed out of his seat. He glanced back at the storm one last time. “Remind me to sock the Lama in the face when we get home.”

“You might get the chance sooner than you think,” Jethro said pleasantly, as if they were chatting over a couple of drinks.

Caraway allowed himself a sardonic grin. “Here’s hoping. See ya soon, Dumont,” he said before leaping out of the plane.

Jethro watched as his friends fell clear and opened their parachutes. Thankfully, the living storm failed to follow them, which meant his suspicions were confirmed. It wanted him. Without Caraway in the pilot’s seat the plane began to slow and tip toward the ground, giving Jethro the sense of free fall. He waited until the storm was upon him, rain and lightning shooting from all angles. He kicked off the cap, gasoline spilling out into the air in long tendrils. “
Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!
” he chanted as he pressed the pistol against the fuselage.

We see you, Green Lama
, the voices echoed around him, a cacophony of sound. A tremor echoed inside Jethro’s mind, at last recognizing the voices. They were the creatures from the
Bartlett
, who had killed so many in their hunt to kidnap Jean, their “Keystone.” And here they were, once again unfettered upon the world.

“See this,” Jethro growled as he fired, the heat of the blast singeing the edges of his suit as the
M. Lawrence
exploded around him.

C
HAPTER 3

THE DIPLOMATS

“You’re not wearing your green robes anymore, Tulku,” Dumont said as Tsarong entered his room. The American was seated cross-legged on the floor, nearly unrecognizable in his red and orange robes. His shaved pate shone in the cold mountain light.

“They are no longer mine to wear,” Tsarong said with a slight nod, tugging his blue vestment closer to his body. “It is chilly in here, no?” he asked.

Dumont glanced at the open window overlooking the jagged white and purple expanse of the Himalayas. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. They remind me how small I really am.”

Tsarong knelt down beside Dumont and the two men stared out into the distance in silence. It was almost an hour before Dumont spoke again.

“We are but pebbles on the shore,” Dumont sighed.

“Hm?”

“Oh. It’s just—We’d been sitting here awhile… Thought someone should say something that sounded profound.”

Tsarong chuckled. “Pebbles on the shore. Ah, yes, I must remember that.”

“Have you ever been to New York City, Tulku?”

“No. And I doubt I ever will,” Tsarong said.

Dumont slowly nodded in consideration before he continued. “It’s an awful city. Full of so much decadence; one can become lost in his own hubris. You see, back home, in the mountains of brick I was a giant, magical and mysterious, almost a god if I wanted to be. But here, looking out onto
these
mountains, I truly know where I stand. I am a man, nothing more, simple and solid all the way through.”

Tsarong hoped his face did not betray him. How little the young man understood of his destiny, of what he really was. “The Buddha said that the joys and sorrows of beings all come from their actions, their past lives; from their karma. Your karma brought you your wealth just as it brought you here. You are more than flesh, Jethro, far from simple and solid. You are the accumulation of dozens, maybe even hundreds of lives,” he said.

Dumont raised his eyebrows in approval. “Yeah, that was sufficiently profound.”

Tsarong smiled before he noticed Dumont idly playing with the Jade Tablet. “Any discomfort?” he asked.

Dumont glanced down at his hands, once again consciously aware of the rainbow ring of hair tied into his right middle finger. “No,” he said quietly. “Just not used to it. I gave up trying to get rid of it.”

“Yes, I heard there was quite a bit of blood.”

A rueful smile cracked Dumont’s face. “Yes. Quite a bit. There are symbols on it, in the fibers. Did you ever notice that?”

Tsarong nodded. “Would you like to learn how you remove it?” he asked in response.

“Yes.”

“Then there is more blood to spill.”

• • •

Pain echoed through Jean’s leg, each step more excruciating than the last. As far she could tell they had been running for six hours straight. Aïas wouldn’t let them stop moving for more than a few minutes at a time, pushing them further out into the wilderness where the only lights were the pinpricks of starlight in the sky.

“I need to slow up a bit,” Jean shouted to Aïas a few yards ahead of her.

“No time,” Aïas said, refusing to look back.

“I gotta wonder if you’re leading me into a trap,” Jean said, pointedly drawing her pistol. “Hate to burst your bubble, buddy, but I’m a good Montana girl and I
don’t
go down that easily.”

“Do you normally pull guns on men you are working with?” he asked without looking back.

Jean cocked the pistol’s hammer. “Only men I don’t trust. What’s your game, mister?”

Aïas shook his head. “No game. We made a deal. Keep your end and I will keep mine.” He gestured at the gun and added, “if you do not kill me first. Come, we need to get over this ridge before the moon gets too high. Hurry up.”

“Tell that to my leg,” Jean said with a grimace as she pocketed her gun. Something tickled her nose, a strange smell she couldn’t identify.

“The slower we go the more likely we are to get caught. Samothrace is a small island, with very little in the way of forest and caves. Not many places to hide. Learn to walk or stay behind,” Aïas said. “I will take care of it when we stop.”

“Which will be when?”

“Later.”

“You could at least
pretend
to care,” Jean grumbled under her breath as she climbed over a half-rotted tree. Her foot got caught on a branch, twisting her leg and tossing her to the muddy ground, ripping open the wound. She screamed as blood began to spill.

Aïas sighed as he slowly turned to face Jean. “What is it now?” he asked sharply.

“I—I think I, oh God, I think I br—broke it,” she whimpered, keeping her eyes shut, unable to look at her leg.

Aïas walked over and carefully lifted her free of the muck. Carrying her over to a small clearing, he unraveled the bloody wrapping and cautiously examined her leg.

“How—How bad?” Jean asked, trying to ignore the overpowering pain as Aïas silently redressed the wound.

“We make camp here,” he said as he finished dressing her leg. He stood up and began collecting wood for the fire.

• • •

“Here’s a joke,” Dimitri said as he locked the glass cabinet behind the counter.

“Oh, here we go,” Andonis said, burying his face in his hands. He had hired Dimitri several months ago more out of pity than his skill as a salesman—and definitely not for his sense of humor.

“No, listen,” Dimitri said earnestly. “This is a good one. Really.”

Andonis kept his face buried and groaned in response.

Dimitri held his hands up, setting the scene. “Three men walk into a store—”

“Stop,” Andonis said as he uncovered his face and pointed a stern finger at his employee. “You’re not telling that joke. Everyone tells that kind of joke. Sometimes it’s three men, sometimes it’s a horse, but no matter who walks into that bar it’s lazy and it isn’t funny.”

“I heard it the other day from Teodoros,” Dimitri whimpered.

“And how does that make it good?”

Dimitri gave Andonis a wide-eyed expression. “It’s Teodoros.”

Andonis sighed and massaged his eyes. “Will you just go close up the cellar,
please
? I want to get home before the sun rises—or before Anthe kills me, which is much more likely.”

“Fine, fine!” Dimitri said as he threw his arms in the air, grumbling to himself as he climbed the stairs down to the cellar. “Man wouldn’t know comedy if it bit him in the ass.”

“Idiot,” Andonis sighed. It had been days since they had made any sort of sale. The economy wasn’t as bad as it was in the rest of the world—most people said that was thanks to General Metaxas—but that hadn’t stopped Andonis’s business from slowly falling into failure. He doubted he could last until the end of the year, let alone the month. But he kept opening the door, hoping for some sort of miracle to walk through so that maybe one night Anthe wouldn’t greet him with one of those reproachful looks.

He walked over to the counter and reached for the bottle of ouzo hidden beneath the register when the front door slammed opened, jolting Andonis from his thoughts. Andonis jumped up as three men marched in. He recognized the man in front, but couldn’t remember from where. From the way he walked Andonis was certain he was American. He was dressed in an elegant suit, singed at the edges, the shoulders smoldering as though he had just walked through a fire. The other two men looked as if they had just finished riding a tornado. The smaller one in particular looked as though he had been painted green, whereas the taller one seemed to favor his right leg.

“Excuse me, sir,” the lead man said in perfect Greek. “I don’t mean to impose at such an hour, but perhaps you can help us. My friends and I are traveling and were in a—” he paused, glancing back at his compatriots, who both shrugged noncommittally. “My friends and I were in an accident and have lost our luggage. We would like to purchase some clothing if at all possible.”

Andonis idly scratched behind his ear. “Well, I’m sorry, sir, but we’re closed for the evening. Perhaps if you come back early tomorrow morning we could—”

The lead man reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a long, slightly burned book and a pen. “Do you take checks?” he asked.

“Excuse me?”

“Checks,” the man repeated. “You take checks, of course? These are from my account in Athens…”

“Oh, ah… “Andonis furrowed his brow, considering. “Yes, I suppose.”

“Good,” the man said, quickly jotting down a number onto the check. He spun it around so Andonis could read it. “Will this cover your overtime and all of our potential purchases?”

Andonis’s eyes widened and he felt his jaw slacken. “Yes, sir. Whatever you need.”

“Excellent!” the man said, signing the check, tearing it off and handing it to Andonis. “Please get these two men anything they ask for. I will take four of your finest suits, we can get them tailored later, and shoes to match.”

“Right away, sir!” Andonis exclaimed, holding the check gingerly as he read the printed name below the signature. “Wait. You’re—Wow! You’re—”

Jethro Dumont allowed a small smile to crease the corner of his lips. “Yes. I am,” he nodded.

“I saw you in a newsreel! You dated—Oh, I forget her name!” Andonis snapped his fingers in frustration. “Bette Davis, right?!”

“Briefly, yes.”