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

  A man appeared at Sotiria’s side. He was short but built, a man who had dedicated his life to the sea. With a drink sloshing around in his right hand, the man wrapped his left arm around Sotiria’s shoulder and smiled a broad, yellowed grin. Caraway crinkled his nose at the man’s overwhelming odor.

  “Sotiria, χορός µε µε,” the drunk said.

  “Αύριο, Nikolaos,” she calmly replied, carefully peeling off Nicholaos’s arm.

  The drunk stumbled, closing his eyes as he tried to think of a response. “Ah…” he slowly began,” υτός είναι αυτό ου εί ατε εµένα-ει ωµένος µε χθες. Αυτός είναι αυτό ου εί ατε.”

  Sotiria gave the man a thin, unwelcoming smile. “Και θα ω το ίδιο ράγµα αύριο,” she said. “αρακαλ, Nicholaos, κουβεντιάζω µε το φίλο µου.” Nicholaos’s tan and bearded face twisted into a scowl. “Εί α, χορός µε µε τ ρα!” he barked, violently grabbing her arm.

  Caraway jumped off his stool, grabbed the drunk by the collar, and pulled him over. “Hey, bucko, the lady said no!” he paused and then looked to Sotiria, quizzically. “That is what you said, right?”

  Sotiria nodded quickly, her eyes wide.

  Caraway looked back at Nicholaos. “She said no,” he reiterated, “so why don’t you take a long walk off a short pier? I bet there are plenty of ’em around here, so take your pick. Or else we’re gonna have to get nasty, and you don’t want that.” He nodded to Sotiria. “Now, say that to him in Greek.”

  The drunk smashed his bottle against the bar in response, and aimed it at Caraway’s face. “Piss off, American,” he said in passable English.

  “All right, that’s how it’s gonna work?” Caraway said with an eager grin. Without hesitation, he twisted Nicholaos’s arm in the wrong direction. The drunk howled in pain as the broken bottle crashed to the floor. Caraway then quickly grabbed his own glass and smashed it hard onto the drunkard’s head. Nicholaos stumbled backwards into a crowded table, throwing drinks and food into the air. The bar fell silent as more than twenty men shot out of their chairs.

  “Aw, hell…” Caraway grumbled.

  Sotiria jumped behind the bar as a bear of a man ran screaming toward Caraway. Without thinking, Caraway grabbed his barstool and swung at the man’s face. Wood splintered and the man crumpled to the floor as two bruisers charged forward, ready for a pounding. Caraway braced himself from impact when the two hulks’ legs suddenly flew out from under them, slamming to the ground. Before Caraway could react, Ken appeared beside him, brandishing a pair of barstool legs as impromptu billy clubs. They instinctually moved back to back as an increasing mass of angry, drunken sailors encircled them.

  “What the hell did you do!?” Ken hissed.

  “I was talking to a girl,” Caraway said with a sardonic smile.

  “Aren’t you married?”

  “What can I say? Women love me.” Caraway shrugged. “Besides, we were just talkin’.”

  “See, it’s because of guys like you that I’m still single,” Ken grumbled.

  “Yeah. That’s the reason,” Caraway said.

  “So we gonna do this? Beat everyone up?”

  “Yup.”

  “Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum! Eh?” Ken said with a smirk.

  “Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum! Indeed.”

  Petros lit a cigarette, watching the fight escalate with a thin smirk. He liked these boys.

  • • •

  “Might I have a word?” Hirsch asked from the entryway of the Oberführer’s private tent.

  “Of course, Herr Sturmbannführer,” the Oberführer said as he finished writing a letter at his desk, offhandedly gesturing to the chair opposite him. “I’ll only be a moment.”

  Hirsch sat down, watching the Oberführer scratch out the remainder of his letter. “A note to your wife or your mistress?” he asked with a smarmy grin as he picked at his cheek.

  “A dear friend, if you must know,” he said, signing his name. He folded the correspondence and sealed it inside an envelope. “Johann!” the Oberführer called.

  Johann ran in. Hirsch was quietly startled by his appearance. The young soldier’s skin was ghostly pale, his hair an unnatural grey bordering on white, looking as though he had aged in an instant. His eyes were glass, wavering left and right in case the shadows came alive. “Sir?”

  “See that this is delivered,” the Oberführer said, handing the envelope to the Soldat.

  The boy read the address listed and nodded in understanding. “Yes, sir.”

  “Skittish little fellow, isn’t he?” Hirsch commented as he watched the boy run out.

  “Poor boy’s been through a lot recently,” the Oberführer stated.

  Hirsch noticed a recently pressed suit hanging in the corner. “Planning a night out?”

  “Being that Jethro Dumont and I are acquainted, Gottschalk requested I pay a visit to his hotel tomorrow.” The Oberführer impatiently tapped his pen against his desk. “What is on your mind, Herr Sturmbannführer?”

  Hirsch laced his fingers together and gazed at his navel. “I want to get your perspective.”

  “On the dagger the doctor showed us last night, I assume,” the Oberführer said without question. “What he claimed to be a piece of this supposed Third Jade Tablet.”

  “The Shard,” Hirsch said, nervously cracking his knuckles. He cleared his throat. “I understand you’ve recently had some dealing with the supernatural.”

  The Oberführer shifted uncomfortably in his chair, unconsciously running a finger over the long scar on his forehead. “I am hesitant to call what I experienced in New York ‘supernatural.’”

  “As you stated in your report,” Hirsch said, refusing to look the Oberführer in the eye. “However, I also remember reading that the local authorities were far more superstitious. They claimed it was a giant clay monster—a golem—that attacked our embassy.”

  The Oberführer shrugged. “ Americans. Their country is full of men and women dressing up in audacious costumes, gallivanting about, claiming to have,” he waved a hand in frustration as he searched for the word, “…‘superpowers.’ Gullible imbeciles. A whole nation willing to believe the slightest suggestion of the fantastic to distract them from their pitiful existence. I am absolutely certain that whatever—whoever—attacked the consulate was, despite the opinions of my American counterparts, nothing more than a very disturbed man in an impressive costume.”

  Hirsch considered this. “Then what is your take on the Shard?”

  “Do you want my opinion as an officer or as a German citizen? As an officer, my superiors believe that this item will help bring about our victory, and I will do all in my power to ensure that it does.”

  Hirsch finally looked directly at the Oberführer. “And as a German?”

  “It is nothing more than a trinket that belongs in a museum or, at most, used as a night light,” the Oberführer said.

  Hirsch sat silently for a moment. “It cut through the air, Herr Oberführer. We saw it slice right through reality, and what we saw on the other side… Explain that.”

  “Well, that, Herr Sturmbannführer, I cannot explain.”

  Hirsch massaged his forehead as he spoke. “I do not tell many people this, Herr Oberführer, but I am not a man of faith. I believe in the Führer, I believe in Germany. I have never, not for one second, believed in angels, demons, or for that matter, God. I believe in what I can touch,” he said, tapping his chest with his fingers, then waved his hand in front of him, “what I can see. But, what we saw last night…” he trailed off, replaying the events of last night in his mind once more. He licked his lips. “That kind of power.”

  The Oberführer remained silent.

  “I believe, Herr Oberführer,” Hirsch said conspiratorially. “For the first time ever, I believe. This Third Jade Tablet, the ‘Fire from Olympus.’ It is the power of the gods and is more formidable than anything we could possibly imagine.”


  The Oberführer rested his elbows on his desk, folded his hands, and leaned forward. “If that is the case,” he began skeptically, “then what do you think we should do with it?”

  Hirsch moved closer and lowered his voice until it was almost inaudible. “We should destroy it.”

  • • •

  The Twins’ “home”—if it could be called that—was situated in a small cave about a mile outside town, overlooking the sea. Vasili had heard of the cave from Alexei and gossip around town, but nothing could have prepared him for what they found. Covering his mouth and nose with cuff of his jacket, Vasili tried to fight back the overpowering stench of rotted fish and seawater that permeated the space, the bile rising in his stomach. It was all he could do to keep it down.

  “Pretty foul, eh?” Alexei said, laughing at Vasili’s reaction. If he was at all affected by the stench, he didn’t show it.

  “Yes, sir,” Vasili coughed as they moved through the entrance. “God, what is that?”

  Alexei ducked his head as he walked through a low overhang. “They don’t cook their fish,” he said. “Raw, festering; that’s how they like it. They leave it out to rot for days before they eat it.”

  As his eyes adjusted to the darkness Vasili could see piles of fish carcasses in varying states of decay, squelching beneath his boots with each hesitant step. But Alexei kept moving deeper and deeper into the cavern with unshakable purpose, while the entryway dropped down to a clouded pinprick in the darkness. And even though the sea fell further and further into the distance, the crashing of waves grew louder with each minute. Despite the torches set up intermittently throughout the cave, Vasili struggled to see more than a few steps in front of him, while Alexei seemed to walk through every turn and over every divot with practiced grace.

  “You come here often, sir?” Vasili asked.

  “Too often, my dear boy. Far too often,” Alexei replied without looking back. He stopped short at a small opening in the cave and grumbled. “Where are they…? Ke’ta! Narreta nu?” he shouted in the Twins’ bubbling tongue, his voice echoing.

  There was no reply.

  Alexei glanced back to Vasili. “Do you have your pistol, son?”

  “Of course,” he replied, feeling the weight against his side.

  “Give it to me,” Alexei instructed. Vasili placed the weapon is the old man’s extended hand, knowing better than to question him. “Thank you. Ke’ta!” Alexei shouted into the darkness again. “Ke’ta!!! Narreta nu, b’eheh soui tu’kanar’ren en!”

  The words were lost on Vasili, but he understood their intent: Alexei was angry.

  A moment passed before one of the Twins’ voice echoed through the cave. To Vasili’s ears he sounded reluctant, maybe even scared. Alexei gave Vasili a mirthless smile, beckoning him forward. “This way,” he said indicating a turn in the passage.

  They moved down into the gradually darkening passageway, the sound of water—rushing, crashing, dripping—growing louder. Vasili glanced back to find the entrance had now completely disappeared, and wondered, not for the first time, if he could find his way back alone.

  They squeezed through a small opening at the end the path and stepped onto a small jetty overlooking a massive subterranean sea. Light poured in through a small hole in the ceiling, casting everything in a pale blue glow. The Twins stood side by side, waist deep in the water, the bottom of their robes floating with the tide while the tops clung to their bony frames. Water dripped from their masks and headdresses. They had been swimming, Vasili realized, hoping his face didn’t betray his surprise. One Twin stood up straight, almost regal, while his compatriot was hunched over in pain.

  “Welcome,” the regal Twin gurgled, bowing slightly.

  “Ke’ta, what happened to Roe’qua?” Alexei asked, indicating the hunched Twin.

  Vasili glanced back and forth between the two as the regal Twin— Ke’ta—babbled a response while the hunched Twin—Roe’qua—swayed back and forth, threatening to collapse. Up until now Vasili would have never been able to tell them apart, how Alexei could was beyond him.

  Alexei held up a disciplinary hand, cutting short the Twin’s rambling. “Ke’ta, please say it in Greek so Vasili will understand. Now, you were telling me about last night…” Alexei lead.

  Ke’ta’s head bowed in thought. “Yyyesss…As I say to you, I had gave Germans Shard, you ask as I do,” Ke’ta croaked in awkward grammar. “Bearded One, D—Doctor. He, I gave to. Understood Shard’s importance.”

  “Very good, but that doesn’t explain Roe’qua,” Alexei said with a tight smile. He looked over to the swaying Twin. “Tell me, Roe’qua, why were you at Astrapios’s last night?”

  Vasili’s eyebrows shot up. How could Alexei know that? Even the Twins seemed surprised, their bodies stiffening.

  Alexei stepped into the freezing water, unaffected by the cold. Standing in front of Roe’qua, Alexei placed his hands behind his back and slowly asked the question again. Roe’qua shook his head slowly, mumbling in his unusual tongue. Alexei tilted his head as he listened, but Vasili could see the old man’s face begin to turn red. Even Ke’ta sensed Alexei’s growing anger, slowly moving away as Roe’qua rambled on.

  “Answer my question!” Alexei shrieked, his voice echoing throughout the waterlogged grotto. Ke’ta jumped back in surprise while Roe’qua curled into himself. The old man’s face was blood red, the veins on his neck and forehead bulging, his eyes pushing out from his skull. Vasili had been witness to Alexei’s rages before, but he had never seen him like this.

  Roe’qua whispered a response, which only succeeding in angering Alexei more.

  “What does he mean, you don’t know where the Tablet is?!” Alexei screamed at Ke’ta, spit flying from his mouth like venom.

  “Tablet you had gave forgery!” Ke’ta protested. “Not real! Not source of Shard!”

  Alexei gritted his teeth. “Then who has it?”

  “No know. Send Roe’qua look for it, thought hidden in secret. But then—”

  Roe’qua croaked, interrupting Ke’ta with a long string of sounds. Vasili thought he heard something that sounded like “jade monk,” but it could have easily been his imagination.

  Alexei’s eyes went wide. “He was there?” he whispered, stepping over to Roe’qua.

  The Twin nodded affirmatively.

  “Why?”

  The Twin shook his head. He didn’t know.

  Alexei, though unsatisfied, knew he wouldn’t get a better answer. “And what happened?”

  Roe’qua gurgled a sad reply.

  Alexei’s face was a dark maroon—nearing black, but his voice was calm when he instructed Vasili to step outside.

  “Sir?”

  Alexei refused to meet Vasili’s gaze. “Just next to the opening. Stay there unless I call for you.”

  Vasili nodded, knowing better than to protest. As he walked away, he could see Alexei rubbing his thumb along the gun handle. Vasili knew what was coming next.

  “Don’t look back,” Alexei said over his shoulder.

  Vasili ducked back through the hole. He walked a few steps away from the opening before shifting over to the side, out of view of Alexei and the others, but still within earshot.

  “Show me, Roe’qua,” he heard Alexei say, the old man’s voice hoarse yet firm.

  Vasili tried to fight the urge to look back inside. No one knew what the Twins looked like, but if Alexei saw him… But even then, Alexei was so inflamed, so focused, he probably wouldn’t notice, would he? No longer able to hold himself back, Vasili pressed against the wall and leaned over just enough to peer inside to see Alexei standing over Roe’qua. He could see the Twin’s pale white hand appear from beneath his cloak and reach up to remove his mask. Black slime dripped down scaly white flesh, pooling at the crook of his neck, but before Vasili could see any more, Alexei shifted his stance, blocking Vasili’s view.

  “Dammit,” Vasili breathed. He watched as the three of them spoke in soft, croaking whispers, an
unintelligible conversation that sounded like a confession.

  “You did what?!” Alexei screamed.

  Vasili flinched, almost losing his footing, his stomach twisting into knots, as if Alexei’s anger was radiating out, affecting the world around him.

  Ke’ta stepped into view, holding his pale hands up, pleading. “Please. He act on instinct! You see what happened. No choice. Poison work fast, nothing we could do.”

  Vasili watched as Alexei silently aimed the pistol at Roe’qua’s head and fired. The gunshot echoed through the grotto as the Twin limply splashed into the water. Quickly turning away, Vasili stuffed his hands into his pockets and stared at the ground. Alexei walked through the opening moments later, wiping a thin layer of sweat from his brow with the back of one hand, while casually handing Vasili the warm gun with the other.

  “Let’s go,” the old man said, his eyes bloodshot, his face lined with hair thin cracks that visibly healed as he marched off. “We’re done here.”

  Vasili followed after, hesitating momentarily to glance back into the grotto. Tenderly cradling Roe’qua’s lifeless body, Ke’ta solemnly replaced his brother’s mask before carrying him out into the cave’s deeper, blacker waters. A small pit had formed inside Vasili’s stomach, growing deeper with each passing second. It wasn’t the fact that Vasili had just seen Alexei kill one of the Twins; it was that they were answering to him as if he was their master. Nothing Vasili had seen up until then would have ever led him to believe that the Twins were beholden to Alexei, something he found extremely unsettling, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

  “Take me back to town,” Alexei said to Vasili as he caught up to the old man. “I need to find something.”

  Vasili cleared his throat. Alexei’s cold heart didn’t surprise him, but it didn’t comfort him either. “Do you still want to meet with Dumont?” Vasili asked hesitantly.

  Alexei paused for a moment and sighed, massaging his eyes in frustration.

  “Jethro Dumont is dead.”

  CHAPTER 7

  SECRET ALLIANCES