The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) (43 page)

• • •

Hours passed. Jethro, Jean, Ken, Caraway, Rick, and Vasili all stood in silence in the dimly lit, cramped space of the U-boat’s bridge as they headed toward San Antonio, Chile.

Staring at the ground, Caraway was the first to speak up. “Who was Gan, really?” he asked.

“A member of the Jewish Underground,” Jethro replied. “A double agent working within the Nazi Party in hopes of stopping Hitler.”

Rick sank into his chair, crestfallen. “I didn’t know,” he whispered, nervously running his hands through his hair. “God help me, I didn’t know…”

Caraway angrily kicked the side of the hull. “That stupid bastard! He should’ve told me.”

“And if he had, would you’ve believed him?” Jethro asked.

Caraway laughed mournfully. “Probably not. Guess that explains a lot, though…” He hesitantly looked up at Jethro. “He said there was something bad coming to Germany…”

“Mass murder. A holocaust,” Jethro said bitterly. “Hitler aims to wipe the Jews from the face of the Earth.”

“That’s insane,” Caraway said in disbelief.

“Yes, it is,” Jethro agreed.

Caraway rubbed his mustache. “Then I guess I’m going to Germany,” he decided.

“I know some people in San Antonio,” Rick offered. “They can get you into Germany while I get everyone else back to the States.”

Jethro gave Rick a somber smile of thanks and then looked to Vasili. “What about you? Do you want to go back to Kamariotissa?”

Vasili shook his head, his face pale. “No. I… It would be too much. My whole life I have been a monster’s puppet, but now I am without strings…”

“You’re always welcome to come back to the States with us,” Ken volunteered.

“Why? I would no more belong there than I do in Kamariotissa.”

“Perhaps,” Jethro allowed. “But I believe there is a man you should meet…”

• • •

The sun was rising as they approached San Antonio. Jean and Jethro once again stood on the submarine’s hull, their arms wrapped around each other.

“Do you know when I fell for you?” he asked. “Havana, when you saved Ken and I from Zamora.”

Jean laughed softly. “I was just looking for a mystery is all.”

“And you found me.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” she breathed. “Tell me, Mr. Dumont,” Jean said as she leaned her forehead against his. “I’ve heard tell that lamas are celibate. Any truth to that?”

Jethro smiled. “Well, in Tibetan Buddhism there are two main sects: the Gelugpas, or Yellow Hats, who are celibate, and the Nyingmapas, or Red Hats, who are not.” He bit his lip as he pulled her closer. “And I wear no yellow hat.”

Jean chuckled at that, her heart racing.

“There’s an old proverb,” Jethro said quietly, his voice just barely above a whisper,” hat ‘the man in love has eyes only in his heart.’”

“Yeah? And what do they see?”

“They only see you.”

As they kissed neither chose to mention that the Jade Tablet, the rainbow ring of hair that had been bonded to his finger for more than a decade, had disappeared.

E
PILOGUE

THE DARKNESS AHEAD

The soft roar of midtown traffic echoed up to the Park Avenue apartment, filling the massive study. Hundreds of thousands of books lined the walls, though if you were to ask their owner if he had read any of them he would say that reading was his
father’s
hobby, when in fact he had read them all—and several thousand more. Asmall statue of the Buddha sat at the far end of the room, surrounded by a small group of butter candles, their light giving the idol an unearthly quality.

In the center of the room, Jethro Dumont and Geshe Tsarong sat cross-legged across from each other, the silence between them louder than the sounds of the city.

Tsarong sighed as he laced his fingers together. “Well… I suppose we have a lot to talk about, don’t we, Tulku?”

“Yes,” Jethro replied somberly. “I suppose we do.”

• • •

“Are you sure about this?” Jean asked as they approached the idling plane’s gangway, passengers streaming by.

“Yeah,” Ken said with a nod, moving his heavy suitcase to the other hand. “I need a vacation from all this…
hero
stuff. My agent says they’re casting the
Wizard of Oz
, of all things, and they want me to try out for the Tin Man. Or the Scarecrow. I can’t remember which. Besides… you two need your space.”

Jean smiled, touching his cheek. “Aw, Ken…”

He waved this away. “No, no. As much as I would
love
to sit around and watch you two necking, I’m just no good at being a third wheel.”

“You better write,” she said, firmly tapping his chest.

“Now, I can’t promise that!” he said nonchalantly. “What with all the parties… and women.”

Jean burst out laughing. “Yeah, like I’d believe
that
.”

Ken laughed with her. “What about you, what are you gonna do?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know… What do you do after you save the world?”

• • •

Arkham, Massachusetts sat just north of Salem and just west of the small port town of Innsmouth. The city was laid out like grid work, sliced in half by the Miskatonic River and the Boston & Maine Railroad. Between Church and College streets sat Miskatonic University, once a center of culture in New England, now known solely for its specialization in the occult. Asmall, rundown house sat at the corner of Pickman and Parsonage, the drawn windows and black door giving the house the appearance of a man screaming. Despite this, the tall, bearded traveler limped up to the entrance and knocked. Several moments passed before a gentleman, leaning heavily on a wooden cane, answered the door. He appeared to be in no more than his early forties, but his hair was shocked white.

“Excuse me…” the bearded traveler began, his accent untraceable. “Are you Professor Randolph Carter?”

The older gentleman tilted his head. “I am,” he replied, his voice strong yet quivery. “And you are, my good man?”

The bearded traveler took off his cap. “My name is Vasili…” he introduced himself apprehensively. “I think we have a mutual…
acquaintance
.”

Professor Carter narrowed his eyes as he silently scrutinized his disheveled visitor. His face slackened as the truth dawned on him. “Nyarlathotep.”

Vasili nodded silently.

“A name I hoped to never hear again,” Professor Carter said mournfully. “But then again… Zkauba
did
warn me.” He placed an arm around Vasili’s shoulders. “Come inside, my friend. We have much to discuss.”

• • •

The beer hall in Berlin smelt of tobacco and liquor. A dank mist seemed to hover in the air as the uniformed patrons enjoyed their thunderous celebration. They fell suddenly silent when the stranger burst in, the twin pistols at his waist reminding most of the cowboys of American serials. The stranger silently walked over to the bar, mindful of the hundreds of eyes following. Sitting down, he waved the bartender over.

“
Was darf es sein?
” the bartender asked.

The stranger leaned forward. “I’m looking for a family,” he said in English. “A Jewish family, name of Hahn.”

The bartender let out an angry laugh before spitting a wad of phlegm on the stranger’s shirt. “We do not like
Jüden
here,” he said in English, loud enough so that the other patrons could hear.

The stranger grinned with menace. “I was hoping you’d say something like that,” he said, swiftly grabbing the bartender by the hair and slamming his head against the bar. As the drunken Nazi storm troopers closed in, Caraway drew his pistols and began to open fire.

• • •

They spotted the bodies halfway between New Zealand and Chile, scattered across the ocean like toys after Christmas. Smoking his Lucky Strikes as they brought the first of them aboard the
U. S. S. North Carolina
, Dr. Franklin Murdoch watched as they laid them across the deck, three hundred and sixty five
pieces
of dead Nazis, as many days in a year.

“That’s a lotta dead Nazis,” Crewman Elisha Pond said, wiping his brow with the bottom of his shirt.

Murdoch nodded as he took a drag. “Tell me about it,” he said in a cloud of smoke. “Lot of dead Nazis and a
long
way away from the Fatherland.”

“Whaddya think brought ’em out here, Doc?” Pond asked as Murdoch handed him a cigarette.

Murdoch closed his eyes and tilted his head toward the sun, soaking in the warmth. “My guess, Pond? They weren’t out for a swim.”

“Hey, Doc!“ Crewman Reynolds shouted up to him, a robed torso at his feet. “Hey, Doc! You gotta take a look at this one!”

“Jeez-us!” Pond exclaimed as he and Murdoch ran up to the mutilated remains. “Look at his head! Looks like half ’is skull was blown off!”

Murdoch began to kneel down beside the torso, tentatively placing a hand on the chest when he quickly jumped back.

“What is it?” Pond asked.

Murdoch’s eyebrows pinched together but he didn’t reply. Looking over the torso, he noticed an oil-like ooze dripping out from the shattered skull. Rummaging through his pockets, he brought out a small pencil and dipped it into the goo.

“What the hell is that stuff?” Reynolds asked as Murdoch watched the black ooze move across his pencil.

Pond leaned in closer, his brow furrowed in thought. “Have you ever seen anything like this, Doc?” his voice momentarily taking on a slightly more educated accent.

Murdoch shook his head. “No, Pond, I can’t say I have.”

“What do you think it is?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his knees popping as he stood. “Wrap him up and take him down below. Try and make sure you put him in something waterproof, if you can. Don’t want this stuff dripping all over the place. When we get back to New York I’ll do an autopsy, see what’s going on here.”

“Will do, Doc,” the crewmen said in tandem.

As Murdoch watched them slide the carcass into the body bag, he silently wondered if he had really felt a heartbeat.

The End

THE
GREEN
LAMA
CHRONOLOGY

Bold indicates Moonstone Publication

1923–1933

“The Case of the Final Column” by Adam Lance Garcia (Flashbacks)

The Green Lama: Unbound
by Adam Lance Garcia

(Flashbacks) 1935

The Green Lama / Black Bat: “Homecoming” by Adam LanceGarcia

TheGreenLama/SecretAgentX11:“EyeoftheBeholder” byAdamLanceGarcia

“Case of the Crimson Hand” by Kendell Foster Crossen

“Croesus of Murder” by Kendell Foster Crossen

1936

“Babies for Sale” by Kendell Foster Crossen

“Wave of Death” by Kendell Foster Crossen

1937

“The Man Who Wasn’t There” by Kendell Foster Crossen

“Death’s Head Face” by Kendell Foster Crossen

1938

The Green Lama: Horror in Clay
by Adam Lance Garcia

“The Case of the Clown Who Laughed” by Kendell Foster Crossen

“The Case of the Invisible Enemy” by Kendell Foster Crossen

“The Case of the Mad Magi” by Kendell Foster Crossen

“The Case of the Vanishing Ships” by Kendell Foster Crossen

“The Case of the Fugitive Fingerprints” by Kendell Foster Crossen

The Green Lama: Scions
by Adam Lance Garcia

“The Case of the Crooked Cane” by Kendell Foster Crossen

“The Case of the Hollywood Ghost” by Kendell Foster Crossen

1939

“The Case of the Beardless Corpse” by Kendell Foster Crossen

“The Case of the Final Column” by Adam Lance Garcia (Altus Press)

The Green Lama: Unbound
by Adam Lance Garcia

TheGreenLama: “Dæmon’sKiss” by Adam Lance Garcia