The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) Read online

  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.”

  Hirsch dropped his head and let out a long sigh. “Thank you.”

  The Oberführer leaned back in his seat and pressed his thumb to his lips in thought. “It will not be easy,” he said after a moment.

  Hirsch closed his eyes as if in pain. “I know, sir.”

  The Oberführer nodded. “It will take some planning, though time is not a commodity we can waste. Appearances and secrecy, above all else, will be the keys to our success.”

  “So, you will help?”

  “Where I can, Herr Sturmbannführer. Where I can.” The Oberführer leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder and pointed to the large building to their left. “The hotel is over there, Johann.”

  “Ja, Herr Oberführer,” the young soldier said, pulling the car up to the Hotel’s main entrance.

  “Herr Sturmbannführer,” the Oberführer said as the car came to a stop, “you can stay here for the time being. There is no reason for both of us to waste our time if the American isn’t here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hirsch said with a nod.

  The Oberführer stepped out of the car and walked into the hotel lobby, bypassing the receptionist and making his way toward the elevator. There was no point in asking for assistance; he already knew where he was going. Exiting the elevator at the penthouse level, he walked over to the presidential suite. He knocked at the door but there was no answer. He tested the doorknob, finding it locked. Undeterred, he reached into his pocket and retrieved a small metallic pick. Inserting it into the keyhole he twisted and turned it until he undid the lock and swung open the door.

  Stepping inside, he found the suite to be in utter disarray, a pungent order wafting out from the other side of the flat. He covered his mouth and nose. He moved toward the bedroom and bath where the smell was most pervasive. Sliding open the double doors he found a man in torn green robe unconscious on the ground. Rancid black bile covered the floor.

  “Verdammt nochmal!” the Oberführer growled as he raced forward. He pressed his hands to the man’s throat, shocked by the clamminess and the near freezing temperature of the other’s skin. He could feel a pulse, soft and weak. The man was barely alive. Running over to the bathroom, the Oberführer filled a small glass with water and brought it over to the unconscious man. Doubting it would work, he tossed the water on the man’s face in hopes of reviving him.

  Miraculously, the man sputtered and coughed, regaining consciousness.

  He feebly lifted up his head as his eyes fluttered open. He gazed up at the

  Oberführer for a moment before a weak smile broke his bruised face. “Good to see you again, Herr Oberst Gan,” he said feebly. “It’s Oberführer Gan now, and it’s good to see you too, Herr Dumont.”

  CHAPTER 8

  MYTHS & LEGENDS

  “No one knows the true origins of the Jade Tablet,” Tsarong said as he lit the butter candles of the antechamber. Dumont paced the room, once again dressed in his orange and red robes. He remained unshaven from his days out in the mountains, a thin fuzz outlining his features. “We only know that it was and always has been,” Tsarong continued, carefully choosing his words. “It has been passed down for countless generations—there are some who believe that even Buddha himself once bore the Tablet.”

  “It’s not exactly a jade tablet, is it?” Dumont wondered aloud. “Rainbow Hair Ring would probably have been more appropriate.”

  Tsarong turned to his pupil. “The name Jade Tablet is only a rough translation of its original name, much in the same way ‘Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!’ only appears to mean ‘Hail, the jewel in the lotus flower.’ Neither truly reveals the meaning—the power—within.”

  “Is that what this thing is? Power?”

  “Unlike anything else this world has ever seen,” Tsarong said quietly. “Power to fight the darkness and keep all realms in balance.”

  “The sword fighting, sending me out into the cold. You’re training me, not just to be a lama, but to be… something more.”

  “Yes.”

  Dumont rotated his hand as he examined the ring before clenching his fist
. “I didn’t come here for power, Tulku. I came for enlightenment. I wanted to find peace in the Dharma so that I may bring it back to my countrymen.”

  Tsarong nodded in understanding, pleased to hear this. “And you will find it. You see, though you are not aware of it you are on the path of a Bodhisattva, a journey that will lead all sentient beings out of the darkness. Bearing the Jade Tablet is, for you, but one aspect of that journey, albeit a painful one.”

  “You’re not kidding,” Dumont laughed sardonically.

  “No one knows the full extent of the Tablet’s powers or its true purpose. Even during the time I wore it, I had only experienced a fraction of its abilities…”

  Dumont turned to face Tsarong. “You’re telling me that in the thousands of years this thing has been passed down, no one has been able to figure what it really is?”

  “Yes.”

  Dumont scrutinized Tsarong for a moment. “You don’t know how to get it off, do you?”

  Tsarong’s shoulders fell in defeat. “No, I do not, but it is said that there will be one who will be able to remove it and learn its secrets.”

  Dumont’s eyes drifted away. “I didn’t want this. Any of this,” he said softly. “Why did the Tablet choose me?”

  Tsarong placed his hands behind his back and sighed. He would not lie to Dumont, but could not tell him the truth, at least not the whole truth. “Because, Jethro Dumont, you are the Green Lama.”

  • • •

  “So, Herr Dumont… Or should I call you the Green Lama?” Oberführer Gan asked as he poured himself a drink from the suite’s bar. Like Rick Masters, Gan, a member of the Jewish Underground, was one the few people who knew that Jethro Dumont, Dr. Charles Pali, and the Green Lama were all one and the same. After the destruction of the golem, Jethro chose to reveal his identity to both Rabbi Brickman and Gan in hopes of making amends.

  Even then it was a tenuous relationship.

  “Call me Jethro, please, Herr Oberführer,” Jethro said with a slight bow of his head. He had changed out of his robe and cleaned himself off. Miraculously, the wound on his arm had healed considerably since he had blacked out, thought he still felt woozy and weak. He guessed he had been unconscious for nearly a day, possibly longer.