The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) (16 page)

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.”

C
HAPTER 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.

“No, Herr Dumont will suffice,” Gan said as he gulped down his drink and poured himself another. “So strange to find you here. I am not sure if you noticed, but we are a long way away from New York City.”

“I was about to ask you the same question,” Jethro hoarsely replied.

“
Ach was!
Herr Dumont. I was making an observation,” Gan said with a wag of his finger.

“I’m looking for my friend Jean Farrell. She was framed for the murder of a local politician and has gone missing.”

“The redhead who destroyed Rabbi Brickman’s golem? And she seemed so
nice
,” he said, dripping with sarcasm.

Jethro choice to ignore Gan’s slight. “I’m afraid the mystery goes far beyond a simple murder. While investigating the crime scene I was attacked by… a creature,” he said. He related his encounter at Astrapios’s and his narrow survival. “I don’t know what it was searching for, but I’m almost certain it is tied to…
other
dark forces I have faced…”

“Dark forces…” Gan gazed down at his glass. “How do you mean…?”

Jethro told Gan of the demons aboard the
Bartlett
, the living storm, the voices, and his vision of the dark ceremony. He chose not to tell him of Ken or Caraway in hopes of aiding their undercover efforts. “I believe, Herr Oberführer, it is now your turn to tell me why you’re in Kamariotissa.”

Gan cleared his throat. “You are no doubt aware of Hitler’s obsession with the occult. Your little adventure in Tibet all those years ago was only one part of his crusade to claim any and all mystical artifacts in hopes of aiding his efforts of world conquest… Yes, I know all about your encounter with Heydrich,” he said, responding to Jethro’s reaction. “I understand you killed him. Pulled the life out of him to save a young boy… Suffice to say it is because of your efforts there that I have been brought here.”

Jethro grimaced, knowing all too well what the Oberführer was hinting at. “The Jade Tablet,” he said mournfully.

Gan nodded. “The Third and final.”

“
Gate Gate Paragate Parasamgate Bodhi Svaha
,” Jethro breathed. He looked up at Gan. “A
third
Tablet… Here? Have you seen it? Do the Nazis have it?”

Gan shook his head. “Not yet. At least, not completely. Those we have aligned ourselves with have given us a
piece
of the Final Tablet. They call it the Shard, and amongst other things, it is the key to the lost city of R’lyeh.”

“
Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn
,” Jethro said from memory.

Gan raised an eyebrow. “What do you know, Herr Dumont?”

Jethro shook his head. “Very little. Mostly flashes of images and moments. Signs and portents from—”

“Brickman’s Tablet…?” Gan gasped.

Jethro nodded. “It revealed aspects of the future to me. From what I saw, someone is going to try to raise something called Cthulhu.”

“It’s a god,” Gan hesitantly began. “An evil god of horrors you can’t—” His voice caught in his throat. “Brickman told me he had seen flashes of Cthulhu while using the Second Jade Tablet but… I never thought…” Gan trailed off and took a large gulp of his drink, his hands shaking. “I saw it. Cthulhu. I looked into its eyes.” He stuttered as he told Jethro how the Shard had sliced open reality. Jethro remained silent, the room growing colder as Gan described the horrors he had witnessed.

“They believe they can control it,” Gan said as he finished his tale, “use it to defeat their enemies. Madmen. There is one, however, who doubts this, and wants to see the Shard and the Jade Tablets destroyed before the others can give rise to this monster.”

Jethro raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying we have an ally in the Nazi military?”

“To a degree.”

After a moment’s consideration, Jethro asked, “You said Brickman had seen flashes of Cthulhu, just as he had seen signs of the coming holocaust. Did he give any specifics?”

“He was unclear as to whether the Nazi’s efforts will succeed at raising the creature. Even if they do, no one can control Cthulhu. It wants nothing more than the destruction of our world, of all worlds…There was one thing Brickman was certain of, though.” He looked away, distastefully rolling the words over in his mouth. “No matter what happens, Herr Dumont, you will die.”

• • •

Sotiria manned the helm while the others nodded off below deck. Vasili stood at the bow toying with his worry beads, rereading the instructions Alexei had given him, gooseflesh running down his back. They had been sailing for hours now, the sun breaking through the darkness, as they headed toward the city of Aghios Panteleimon. That much didn’t concern him; he had made several trips like this before. But, it was the prayer Alexei had instructed him to say before they removed the book that caused Vasili’s skin to crawl.

“
Nyarlathotep klaatu barada nikto
.
Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”

• • •

The doctor tugged the tuft of hair on his chin as he leafed through his notes. While he had long since grown accustomed to the itch, he still found its necessary presence cumbersome, but such are the sacrifices one makes for a dream.

Scribbling down a brief annotation, he saw the shadows shift in the corner of his eyes. He put down his pen and delicately closed his journal. A wraithlike laugh filled the tent, a thousand voices all speaking at once, but the doctor was unmoved, patiently folding his hands as he stared into the shadows.

“The scare tactics notwithstanding, there’s no use in hiding. I know you’re there,” he said to the emptiness.

“You always were so perceptive,” Alexei said as he appeared from the shadows.

The doctor grimaced. “I may not be fluent in Greek, but I can detect sarcasm when I hear it, and it is not appreciated, even from the likes of… well, whatever you are.”

Alexei laughed as he sat down on the doctor’s desk. “Oh, I miss the old you. You were so much more… vibrant! Volatile! So much we lose in death.”

Hammond unconsciously picked at his beard. “I do not consider what happened to me ‘death.’ Not in the most literal sense of the term, at least.”