“Three-fifty Fifth Avenue,” Caraway repeated as he jotted down the address on a piece of scrap paper. It wasn’t until he read it over that he realized where he was going. “Wait. You want me to go where and bring what?”
The Green Lama’s reply was the audible click of the phone disengaging.
• • •
Caraway took another sip of coffee, watching the numbers increase as he rode the elevator up to the 102nd floor of the Empire State Building. His arm was still smarting from the bruise Francesca had given him as he left the apartment. She didn’t scream. Hell, she didn’t even speak. Just socked him on the shoulder and gave him the “you’re-in-trouble” look, which he found more frightening than the rampaging golem he had faced several months back.
The elevator bell rang and the doors slid open. Shifting the small duffel over his shoulder, he walked out onto the 102nd floor, the wind howling and dawn light hinting morning on the horizon. It had been a little over four years since he last set foot in this building, a hundred story firefight against the terrorist group known as the Medusa Council. His knees ached at the memory.
A lone man stood waiting on the observation deck, nursing a cup of coffee as he watched the sunrise. He had a handsome face, blond hair and a chiseled chin. He was the sort they painted on movie posters with titles like His Lady Luck or Distant Dreamers. The women swooned and the men rolled their eyes, but there was no denying the fact that he was the kind of man that would forever have his name in lights. His wrinkled suit matched the black pockets and red rims around his movie-star blue eyes, the smell of alcohol floating around him like a cloud. Wherever he had come from, it had been a lot of fun.
“Morning, Ken.”
Ken Clayton raised his cup as Caraway approached. “John. Let me guess,” he said, his words slightly slurred. “Green Lama?”
Caraway shrugged, as if there were any other answer. “He call you too?”
“Something like that.” Ken shrugged. “I was at this amazing party until I found a little note at the bottom of my drink telling me to get here,” he said, swirling his finger over the cardboard cup. “Told me to pack a bag too, but I… uh… I forgot.” He gave Caraway a sheepish smile. “I’m not even sure how the hell he did that, putting the note at the bottom of my drink. How do you think he did that?”
Caraway sighed. “Wish I knew, buddy. I’ve known the guy a few years now. …Well, as best as one can know a ‘masked vigilante’ and I’m not sure how he does half the crap I’ve seen him do.”
“Radioactive salts,” Ken said matter-of-factly, topping it off with an affirmative nod. He held one hand over his cup, moving his fingers as if he were sprinkling sugar into his coffee. “He puts it in his water and drinks it. Makes him strong. He’s even got a special batch that can make him fly.”
“Heal people too,” Caraway added, tapping his chest with the knuckle of his thumb.
Ken gave Caraway a sideways glance. “Oh, yeah, I remember that, the golem almost killed you.”
“Thanks for the reminder. You know, I was there, right?”
Ken shrugged. “I’m so hung over right now, let’s just be impressed I’m standing up, okay?”
Caraway grunted a laugh. “Hell, I’m pretty sure I would’ve died a dozen times if it weren’t for that Buddhist bastard. Every time I think I’m done, he appears out of the shadows. Lama ex Machina.” He sipped thoughtfully at his coffee. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the army?”
Ken looked out toward the sunrise, his inebriated grin shrinking. He looked thinner than Caraway remembered, his eyes a bit more guarded, sadder. “Honorably discharged,” he admitted after a moment.
“Couldn’t keep up?” Caraway chided.
“Wasn’t meant to be,” Ken replied mournfully with a distant look Caraway recognized as heartbreak. “Time to step back into the real world.” He waved his hand at the horizon. “If you could call this reality. So it’s back to the stage.” He paused to clear his throat. “Just landed the lead role in the new Broadway show On Your Toes.”
“Can I ask you something that’s been bugging me for a few years now?” Caraway asked after a period of weighted silence. “No offense or nothing, but why does the Green Lama have an actor working with him?”
Ken shrugged. “Hell if I know. Jean and I met the guy on a ship from Los Angeles and for whatever reason we just jumped at the chance to help him. Hell, the first time I ever spoke to him, he was hiding in a baggage room. Who in their right mind would listen to a guy hiding in a baggage room?” Ken sighed as he rubbed his eyes. “What time is it?”
Caraway checked his watch. “Five minutes to five in the morning.”
“Christ on a cross!” he exclaimed, massaging his eyes. “I wonder if Gary and Evangl ever had to deal with this sort of crap too.”
“Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!”
“Speak of the devil,” Caraway murmured as they turned to find the Green Lama standing solemnly behind them. For all they knew he could have been there for several minutes, listening to their whole conversation, which, Caraway silently admitted, wasn’t all that surprising.
“Lieutenant Caraway, Mr. Clayton,” the Green Lama said in greeting, his voice strained and hoarse. Caraway couldn’t help but notice that the Green Lama’s face, though shadowed by his large hood, appeared almost Native American, noticeably different from his more Caucasian appearance several weeks prior, which itself was a change from the Asian man he had seen a few days before that. Most striking, however, were the deep pockets seated beneath the Green Lama’s blazing eyes.
Ken raised his coffee in a mock toast. “Lama.”
“Thank you both for coming here on such short notice and at such an early hour.”
“Could we get right to the point?” Caraway said testily. “I’ve got a wife at my apartment seriously considering a return to single life, so can we get this over with quickly?”
The Green Lama gave him a terse nod in acknowledgment. “Mr. Clayton, you will recall at the conclusion of our recent exploits with the golem the discovery of a second Jade Tablet.”
“How could I forget?” Ken sighed.
“As of two hours ago, the Tablet, just as it did for Rabbi Brickman, revealed to me a glimpse of the future. And while these visions were unclear…” the Green Lama grimaced. He closed his eyes, as if he were trying to replay the visions in his mind. “I believe that the delicate order of this realm has indeed been thrown off balance and that we are at the forefront of a great upheaval, somehow tied directly to the entity known as Cthulhu.”
“Aw, great,” Caraway grumbled. “You’re getting us involved in some apocalypse-type business aren’t you? ”
The Green Lama tilted his head and considered Caraway. “No,” he said after a moment. “Not if we stop it.”
Ken took a sip of his coffee. “There’s a non-committal answer if I ever heard one.”
Caraway ran his hand over his face. “If you were another man, Lama, I would tell you to shove it where the sun don’t shine.”
The Green Lama gave him a small nod and smiled. “Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“And where will this apocalypse be going down? New Jersey?” Caraway asked.
The Green Lama hesitated before simply saying, “Greece.”
As if on cue, Caraway heard the roar of a propeller engine approaching. Looking out over the cityscape, he saw a massive dirigible heading toward the Empire State Building. It had been years since anyone attempted to use the building as a mooring mast, but leave it to the Green Lama to disregard safety and logic.
“I have arranged transport for you,” the Green Lama said over the wind and motors. “Mr. Masters is an excellent pilot and he will ensure you arrive quickly and safely.”
“You’re not goin’ with us?” Caraway hollered as a mechanized gangway extended from the dirigible.
“I have business to attend to here before I can make the journey. Our mutual acquaintance Jethro Dumont will accompany you in my stead.”
; Caraway spun around to face the Green Lama. “You roped Jethro into this? Shouldn’t he be sipping cocktails at the Stork Club?”
“You have got to be kidding me!” Ken shouted, exasperated. “You know, I am the lead in On Your Toes, and while I can’t speak for the Lieutenant here, I can’t just go gallivanting around country-to-country like some whip cracking pulp hero! I helped you out during that whole to-do with the golem ’cause of Jean and only ’cause of her. Go halfway across the world on your own time, Tulku. I’m sitting this one out.” The Green Lama locked eyes with Ken. “This is because of Jean.” Ken rolled his eyes. “Aw, great. What has she gotten herself into now?”
“Wait,” Caraway exclaimed in disbelief. “This is about a girl?”
CHAPTER 2
THE LONG WAY DOWN
Tsarong tapped his nails against the wooden table as he re-read the prophecy. The parchments were so ancient even the dust that coated the fragile scroll seemed to crack at the edges. Had it really been over thirty years since he had read over these ancient omens, these dark promises of the world to come?
“Tulku, do you really believe he is the Scion?” Magga, the Khenpo of the temple, asked from the shadows of the small stone chamber. She had been Tsarong’s council ever since taking up the Jade Tablet centuries ago, though he had never seen her true face.
Tsarong waved the suggestion away. “We cannot be certain of anything. As with all prophecies, it is open to interpretation.”
“But, the Jade Tablet…”
“Yes, I saw what happened,” Tsarong said sharply as he further unrolled the document. He noticed a dull ache in his fingers; time was finally catching up with him, another reminder he was once again bound to the change and decay in the illusory, phenomenal world. “We need not restate it.”
“He has been trying to remove it,” Magga said, seemingly amused.
Tsarong nodded. “As I have heard, to no avail. That is to be expected, it was nearly a decade before I abandoned my own efforts to remove it.”
“There was quite a bit of blood.”
“The Tablet’s inner fibers run under the skin,” Tsarong said, stealing a glance at the scars on his own finger. “Is he in any discomfort?”
“Just scared,” Magga sighed. “Will you tell him?”
Tsarong shook his head. “He must never know. To know one’s destiny is to void it.”
“You knew yours.”
“I knew I was only a vessel, the last ring bearer before the Scion,” Tsarong retorted. “I will guide him through his journey, show him the path, but I will never reveal to him his destination. That he must find on his own, if he is truly destined to…” he trailed off as he turned to an image of a lone hooded figure standing before a horrific squid-faced chimera. Tsarong shivered as he regarded the long asleep creature.
“If we are blessed, he will be this age’s savior,” Magga said. “Its Bodhisattva.”
“And if we are not?” Tsarong asked.
“Then darkness will fall.”
• • •
“Good morning,” Aïas said as he noisily spooned soup out of a wooden bowl.
Jean’s eyes struggled to open, the sunlight blinding. She was lying on a rock-hard cot, a thin, coarse blanket wrapped tightly around her body. “God, what time is it?”
Aïas squinted as he glanced out the window. “Maybe two or three in the afternoon. There is no clock here. But you…You have slept like the dead.”
“I feel like someone took a steam shovel to my head,” she grumbled, rubbing her temple with the heels of her hand as she sat up. “How long have I been out?”
“Two days.”
Jean pulled off the blanket and found her right leg wrapped in a neat bandage. There were small spots of deep crimson on either end despite binding. She flexed her foot, feeling the muscles throb in sync with her head. “Two days?” she reiterated.
“You slept like a rock,” he said while he ate, gesticulating with his spoon, yet never meeting her gaze. “Do not worry about your leg. It should heal well, I think, though it might scar. Lucky for you the police here are terrible shots. If this was Athens you would be dead. Sparta is worse. They shoot to kill. You should see what they did to me down by Olympus.”
Jean pushed herself off her bed, testing her leg, grimacing at the sharp pain that shot up to her lower back. She moaned through gritted teeth as she limped over to the table and eased herself into the chair.
“See?” he said. “Back on your feet already.”
Jean cocked a skeptical eyebrow at him. “What are you eating?”
“Chicken soup… Well, chicken in hot water. There were a few wandering around outside. Still have plenty more if you are hungry,” Aïas said, sliding over a small wooden bowl and spoon.
Jean grabbed the bowl and hobbled to the small stove in the corner of the room. She ladled a few scoops of grey liquid from the old dented pot into her bowl and tried not to grimace at the smell. “Mm,” she said. “Definitely not a cook, huh?”
“Not at all,” Aïas shrugged. “Been in and out of jail for most of my life. This is the best you are going to get from me.”
“Career criminal, huh?”
“Just petty thievery. I am kind of like, what is it you call him? Robs from the rich, gives to the poor?”
“Robin Hood,” Jean said, trying not to gag as she forced down some of the stew.
Aïas, however, had no trouble swallowing another spoonful. “Right. Him.” He leaned back and gazed up at the ceiling. “You, though, are far more impressive,” Aïas said. “Killing the mayor is not something to sneeze at. That is the saying, yes?”
Jean pushed her bowl away, unable to finish. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but the only thing I had to do with Mayor Astrapios was turning down his idea of a ‘private party.’ So, despite what they might have said, I didn’t kill him.”
Aïas chuckled and shrugged. “And I did not steal his most precious possession. See? We are both innocent.”
Jean cocked an eyebrow, unconsciously recalling the large cracked crystal egg in Astrapios’s bedroom. “So, that’s what you were in for? Stole the mayor’s ‘most precious possession’?”
Aïas gave her a quizzical look. “I am pretty certain I just said that I did not.”
Jean laughed. She wasn’t certain if she liked this guy or wanted to kill him. Either way, he was no Green Lama. “So… what’s the plan, Stan?”
“Run. Hide.” He shrugged, returning to his stew. “Do not get caught.”
“Where are we going?”
“We?” He squinted his eyebrows. “That is a little… what is the word? Presumptuous. I stayed around to make sure you did not die. Owed you that much. Now you are on your own.”
Jean shrugged. “Fine by me, buddy. Much as I appreciate the bandages, you are totally useless in a fight. Guy your size should be throwing people around, not running away.”
“They had guns.”
“Please. What kind of criminal are you?”
Aïas thumped his chest. “The living kind.”
Jean leaned forward, proudly indicating herself with her thumb. “I ran into a room full of heavily armed mobsters with only a pistol and a guy who likes to dress up in green robes. I didn’t blink.”
“You Americans have such strange interests.”
“We’re a unique breed.” Jean shrugged. “Speaking of breeds, where’s that accent from? Based on the way you don’t use contractions, English is definitely not your first language.”
Aïas smiled. “It is a very old accent.” He lifted up his bowl and slurped up the last of his soup. “You say you are innocent of killing Astrapios, yes?”
Jean raised an impatient eyebrow in reply.
“I will make you a deal,” he said, tapping the table. “There is an item I have hidden. It is very dear to me and now that I am free I would very much like to have it again. But I cannot get to it alone. If you were to, say, help me retrieve it, I would help you find Astrapios’s killer.”
Aïas shrugged. “Even if I did, would you believe me?”
The corner of Jean’s lips curled. He had a point. “Probably not.”
Aïas stared at her for a moment before he reached into his pocket and placed the policeman’s pistol on the table. “Then there is no debate, is it not so?” he asked, sliding the gun over to her.
Jean easily caught the pistol, her forefinger instinctually slipping next to the trigger. She glanced down at the chamber and saw five bullets remaining. Her eyebrows cocked. “Guess not. It’s not like I have many options at this point, do I?”
“It will not be easy,” he warned.
“Never is, but if you can clear my name, I’ll take the chance.” She extended a hand. “Partners?”
Aïas gave her a broad smile and shook her hand. “Partners.”
• • •
Jethro walked through the airship. Outside the wind howled, an unearthly tone that sounded like whispers, the floor moving ever so slightly with each step. Caraway had found the swaying relaxing, a reminder of the days when he flew against the Kaiser, while Ken had locked himself in the bathroom for most of the flight. And though his mind was elsewhere, Jethro had taken the opportunity to spend some time talking with Caraway, whom he had considered a friend long before he became the Green Lama. But there was still a distance, an unspoken demarcation, between them. As the Green Lama, he and Caraway had shared many adventures and had gained a tremendous amount of mutual respect. But Caraway would always look at Jethro with a suspicious eye, a distrust that pervaded every conversation, as if Caraway were waiting for Jethro to confess a truth they both knew was sitting right in front of them.
That was perhaps the hardest part about the path Jethro had chosen. No matter how close Jethro felt to his companions—especially Jean—he could never truly be himself around any of them. He would always be set apart, an island in the ocean.
The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) Page 2