Jean looked over the maps once again. “It’s really just a one way trip, isn’t it?” she said after a moment.
Ken crossed his arms. “Either we win this or it ends here,” he said, keeping his gaze locked on the map.
“Guess we gotta win it, then,” Jean mused.
“Guess we do.”
• • •
There were ten of them, the best of what was left. Ken and Jean took the lead, heading through the South entrance and closest to where they believed Heydrich would be. Wayland and Heidelberger’s team took the North entrance; Tom and Joe’s, the West; both teams creating diversions for Jean and Ken. Valco and the rest stood ready as reinforcements in the East near the main gate.
“Jean,” Ken whispered as they moved through the ashen brush toward the factory’s electrified fence. He laced wrinkled, leathery fingers with hers. “I need to—I never told you I went back to the Rabbi after that whole mess with the golem.”
Jean silently eyed her compatriot, unsure how to respond.
“I felt guilty about the whole, you know, dooming a whole race of people to genocide. So, I went back to apologize, I guess. Learn more about the Jewish culture, a sprinkling of Hebrew, that sorta stuff.”
“Not that this is the best time for this kinda conversation,” Jean whispered, “But how’d it go?”
Ken shrugged. He stared at the dark pillars billowing from the smokestacks. “Pretty well, for the most part. Only really got to learn the basics before everything went wrong,” he said, subtly waving his hand at the world before him. “After I returned to New York—after Cthulhu had risen—Brickman did tell me one thing that was really important. He told me all this was going to happen.”
Jean’s stomach began to twist. “What do you mean?” she asked.
“The war, you coming back twenty years later, us here now going after the Third Tablet. Everything. Truth was I was looking for you, have been almost every day. Still doesn’t mean it isn’t surprising to bump in to your long dead friend.” He ran his hand through his hair. His shoulders fell as tears flooded his eyes. “I didn’t believe him. But now, here at the end— how can there be any doubt?”
Jean struggled to breathe, as if something were pressing against her chest. “What else did he say?”
Ken cleared his throat. “That the only way to prevent this all from happening was to make sure we got you to the Tablet in time.”
“In time for what?”
“In time to get you back.”
“Back where?”
Ken looked her in the eyes. “Back home.”
• • •
Bullets rang around them, a symphony of gunfire. Making it into the complex, Jean and Ken found themselves quickly surrounded, Deep Ones pouring in from every corridor and stairwell. They weren’t too difficult to kill—a shot to the head or midsection took them down quick—but they kept coming without pause, rapidly exhausting Jean and Ken’s limited ammo.
“Jesus!” Jean exclaimed as she ducked behind a wall to reload her pistol. “Where the hell are these guys coming from?”
“They hatch from a massive clumps of eggs, dozens at time,” Ken shouted as he fired off several shots into the oncoming throng of fish men. “One female can produce over thirty living offspring at a time, over a thousand in her lifetime. You would know this if you had let Valco finish his lecture!”
“And I don’t need one now! Dammit, we can’t keep this up,” Jean shouted. “Where the hell is our goddamn distraction?!”
As if on cue, a deafening Ba-THOOM resonated through the building, rattling the walls and raining down small pieces of paint and cement. The attacking Deep Ones came to an abrupt halt, their massive, inhuman heads swiveling madly. Croaking in unison, they spun on their heels and raced out of the building, leaving the dead and injured behind.
Jean looked over at Ken and smiled. “Well, that was good timing.”
“Tell me about it,” Ken said as walked into the vacated hallway. “Never doubt the Special Crime Squad, eh?”
“Not for a—” Her eyes went wide and the color drained from her cheeks as one of the injured Deep Ones jumped up. “Ken, watch out!!!”
Ken drew his pistol and spun around, but it was too late. The Deep One’s powerful jaw clamped down on Ken’s neck, its serrated teeth piercing deep into his flesh, black venom dripping down.
“KEN!!!” Jean screamed as she shot the Deep One in the head. The creature’s jaw flew open. Its limp body crumpled to the ground.
“Hell.” Ken touched his wound, eyed the black bile that now coated his fingers, and fell to his knees. “Damn, damn, damn.”
Jean ran over, catching him in her arms. “Oh, God, Ken. I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t—Don’t apologize,” he rasped, coughing up blood. Vein-like black growths began to extend out from the wound, like wildfire in a California summer. He smiled painfully. “We both knew this was gonna be a one-way.”
“Come on, Ken. We’ve gotten outta worse,” she said bravely as tears streamed down her cheeks, lying to herself more than anything else. Ken couldn’t—wouldn’t die, she told herself. They were the big damn heroes, part of the Green Lama’s inner circle. They had gotten out of everything before; they would get out this. He would be fine. He had to be.
Ken shook his head, coughing violently. “There’s not much—much worse than this, Jean. Trust me, I kn—know how this works.” He let out a string of terrible bloody coughs as five black veins extended across his face like a hand. His breaths grew more jagged and pained as he forced himself to breathe. “Stop—Stop worryin’ ’bout me, you got a job to finish. Listen— I—if this works, if you can fix this… you… You make—make sure… make…”
His eyes rolled up and his head lopped back as if he was staring up to the sky.
“Ken… Please…”
• • •
Everything had gone wrong, but Jean was done crying, done being the little girl lost. The future might be a Nazi apocalypse, but she was going to do something about it. Taking Ken’s pistol and remaining ammo, she ran up the stairs toward the top floor where they believed Heydrich’s inner sanctum was housed. With the Deep Ones distracted by the attacks to the North and West, she faced little to no resistance, killing what few creatures she came upon with indiscriminate ferocity.
There was no door at the top of the stairs, just an entryway opening out to a massive room. Stepping forward, she began to feel a familiar buzzing echo out from the back of her mind. The room was empty, save for a single egg-shaped crystal sitting atop a short stanchion, bathed in a single column of light in the center of the room, a sizable crack running down its side.
It was the Third Jade Tablet; she knew it without needing to be told.
“Hello, Fräulein Farrell,” a voice said from the darkness, its accent thickly German. “I’ve been dying to meet you.”
“That’s sweet,” she said, eyeing the shadows. “Why don’t you come on out and we can chat about it?”
A silhouette formed behind the Tablet, the shape of a man, dented and twisted like a forgotten doll.
“I’m gonna guess you’re Karl Heydrich,” she said.
“What is left of him, yes.” The silhouette tilted its malformed head as it studied Jean. “Hm, I forgot. We did not meet in this timeline.”
“Lucky me.”
“Oh, Liebchen, luck had nothing to do with it,” Heydrich said as he stepped into the light. Jean let out a small gasp at the sight of the man’s distorted visage. Wrapped in a tattered, bloodstained green robe, Heydrich’s face was a deformed, decaying mass, pieces of flesh hanging off his black, brittle bones. His red, lidless eyes were unwavering. There was a small rainbow ring of hair on his right hand. He gurgled a laugh at Jean’s expression. “Being undead for so many years does have its side effects.”
“No offense, but Freddy Dmytryk’s Mayan Mummy looked better than you.”
Heydrich smiled and bowed his rotting head. “None taken. Normally, I suppose you and I would spend
some time bantering back and forth. But like our dearly departed Green Lama, you and I have reached the end of our journeys, so let us—how does one say—cut to the chase?”
“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.
CHAPTER 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 s
tern 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.”
The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) Page 14