The Green Lama: Crimson Circle (47 page)

“It’s not impossible, you idiot,” Jean grumbled. “It’s magic. Very dark magic.”

Murdoch eyed Jean. “There’s no such thing.”

Jean gave him a short, derisive laugh. “Trust me, bucko. There is. Darker than you’ll ever understand; everything that goes bump in the night. So, let me guess, you brought it to them and started playing with it?”

Murdoch shook his head. "They found me. I don’t know how, but they were waiting for me when my ship docked in New York and they brought me here…”

Jethro moved back over to Heydrich’s body and watched the black fluid—the Substance—pump out from Heydrich’s throat and arms and flow through the tubes. Heydrich’s blood, it had all been Heydrich’s blood. Of course, the radioactive salts would react so violently with Heydrich’s blood, they were two halves of the same whole, twin energies born from the same source. Jean walked up beside Jethro and pressed her palm against the glass, her fingertips faintly crackling.

“Can you hear me?” Jethro whispered to Heydrich’s ruined cadaver, his breath fogging the glass. “Can you hear me in there, you monster?”

There was a subtle twitch in Heydrich’s lip, a small wag of the tongue, and a slight working of the jaw, as if he—whatever was left of him—was trying to speak.

“Of course, I can,” Heydrich’s voice said from Jethro’s mouth. “What are the laws of science to people like us? You tried to kill me twice, Green Lama, and you failed both times.”

Jean’s heart froze and she turned to Jethro, whose face was contorted in pain.

“You’re not Heydrich,” Jethro responded in his own voice. “You’re using his voice—but you’re not him.”

A low rumbling laugh echoed from Jethro’s throat. “No, you’re right, Jethro… I’m not Heydrich. I am not the demons from the
Bartlett
. I am not even the Great Old One Cthulhu. I am exactly what you always feared. I am the darkness and anger that’s been boiling inside…
I am you.”

“No, you’re not!
Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!
” Jethro screamed as he punched his fist through the glass case and into Heydrich’s heart. Black ichor spurted out, soaking Jethro’s already stained sleeves. There was a small burst of green energy and Heydrich’s lower jaw worked as if he were writhing in pain until the torso went limp. Jethro drew his hand back and idly wiped the black blood on his robe. He gave Jean a victorious smile. “I think that—”

Jethro’s body heaved violently. His head kicked back as if struck. He stumbled backward before he collapsed to his knees.

“Jethro?!” Jean shouted.

His head lolled forward. His breathing was watery and growling. “You really thought that would destroy me, Green Lama?” the creature inside Jethro laughed. “I am so much stronger than that… So much stronger than you.”

“I—No! I—!” Jethro looked up to Jean as his blue-grey eyes once again clouded over to black. “Jean! I—!”

Obsidian tears began to spill down the Green Lama’s cheeks. A black-green aura formed around him as he slowly lifted himself off the ground until he was suspended in mid-air. He turned to Jean with a twisted Cheshire grin.

“D
ID YOU HEAR THAT,
M
ISS
F
ARRELL?
I
THINK HE ALMOST SAID HE LOVED YOU.”

Jean fell back and aimed her pistol at the Green Lama. Her hands shook; tears began to form in the corner of her eyes. She pulled back the hammer. She needed to hold the gun straight, needed to keep it level. She began to squeeze down on the trigger, when she hesitated. Jethro was still in there. “Don’t,” she pleaded, trying to blink away the tears. “Don’t make me do this.”

The Green Lama let out a low, demonic laugh before he struck her with a powerful backhand, sending her flying back against the wall, knocking the air out of her lungs. The Green Lama’s hand clamped around her throat before she could draw a breath. He lifted off the ground, the toes of her shoes scraping uselessly against the floor. She moved to aim her pistol, but the Green Lama caught her wrist and twisted. Jean cringed in pain and let the gun slip from her grip.

“Don’t—!” Jean pleaded, but his grip only tightened. She clawed at his hand. Black spots began to form behind her eyes, her blood thrummed in her ears. But she could feel something welling up inside her, crackling to life. She pinched her eyes shut and focused on the energy, drew upon it and brought it to the surface. Her body was on fire igniting from within. She gritted her teeth and whispered the only prayer she knew. “
Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!
”

Her eyes flew open, glowing emerald. The Green Lama let out a blood-curdling shriek as Jean unleashed a powerful burst of energy that enveloped the room in a terrifying jade.

Part 4: Carnage

I FIRST MET Jean Farrell aboard the S.S. Cathay on our return trip from Los Angeles. The journey—which rounded through the Panama Canal, past Cuba, then up the Eastern Seaboard to New York—was meant to be an extended respite from the marathon of events in Los Angeles, but it was not long after we had left port that we found ourselves embroiled in yet another murder investigation.

I suppose I could wax poetic on how “death seemed to follow us at every turn,” but I’m afraid I would only sound like a broken record, or worse one of those cheap pulp novels Dumont’s friend Foster used to write.

Truth be told, I remember very little about that trip. Gary and I spent as much of it as we could in our cabin—Good Lord, if my mother had known…

When we did manage to pull ourselves apart we helped the Lama where we could, but Jean and Ken seemed to manage just fine. In fact, the way I understand it, those two were practically born and bred for this lifestyle—Jean especially.

What can I say about Jean Farrell that hasn’t already been said?

She was… unique. While most women I knew seemed to fall back on their feminine wiles to get what they were after, Jean was more apt to knee a man between the legs than bat an eye. There was a brazenness about her, a fearlessness that was unheard of at the time. She would dive into the most dangerous situations headfirst, without a second thought to her own safety. Even when she was on stage, she seemed to capture the audience in a way that made the “greats” seem amateurish.

And my Lord, did she cuss.

I respected Jean. She was by no means perfect but it was always clear why Dumont chose her over anyone else. She was his balance, his equal and opposite. In many ways, Dumont was a contradiction, a man searching for peace through violence. For all his espousing on the virtues of Buddhism, it’s hard to deny that his path often strayed far from the Buddha’s teaching. But I think Jean found, through all the violence, an inner peace she had never had, a purpose for something greater than herself.

To this day I wonder whatever happened to her…

Chapter 20
: Chaos Reigns

JEAN AND MURDOCH found Evangl huddled up in the corner of the hallway, staring out into the darkness in a near catatonic state. The only sign left of Omega was a splatter of blood on the ground. Dragging Evangl to her feet, they carried her up the many flights of stairs to the main floor where they found Ken and Caraway, bloody and bruised, but alive.

“Red!” Ken shouted. He ran over to Jean and threw his arms around her. “Thank God you’re alive. Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Ken and I both saw it,” Caraway said without preamble as he took Evangl and draped her arm around his wide shoulders. “The whole damn mountain lit up like a lantern and last I checked there was only one person who could do something like that. Did you find him?”

Jean and Murdoch shared an uncomfortable silence. She looked to the ground, the blood caking her shoes. Had there been that much? She glanced reluctantly over at Murdoch who was watching her with caution. There was going to be a chance for her to let this all hit her, to let all the emotions waging war inside to overtake her. But she didn’t have time for that now. “Yeah, I found Jethro,” she said reluctantly. “They injected him with that black liquid, like the others, but it was different. There’s something inside him, something twisted and… evil.”

“We know,” Caraway said softly. “Valco told us. It was Pelham who did it. The Crimson Hand.”

“That guy with the red glove you and Jethro took out way back when?”

Caraway nodded. “So much good it did us.”

“Did Valco also tell you the Substance was Heydrich’s blood?”

Caraway’s jaw fell open. “You’re joking.”

Jean gave him a sardonic grin and shook her head. “Really wish I was. Dr. Murdoch here discovered the body and the geniuses behind this place thought it was a good idea to start pumping it into people.”

“Where’s Jethro now?”

Jean’s gaze briefly turned toward the ceiling. “I don’t know,” she replied, meaning it in more ways than one.

“And Gary?” Ken asked.

Jean glanced over at Evangl and shook her head.

“Wait, what about Valco?” Murdoch asked desperately. “You said you spoke to him. Where is he? Is he okay? Did he make it out?”

Ken and Caraway shared a look. Caraway gestured toward the main shaft. “I’ll explain once we’re outside.”

“Wait,” Jean said, “is everyone out? All the people who worked this place, are they safe?”

Caraway nodded. “As far as we can tell. Ken and I did a sweep and found any stragglers. Come on,” he said with a beckoning wave, “we don’t have much time.”

It took them the better part of thirty minutes to climb the slanted elevator shaft back to the surface, a grueling effort that stabbed at the lungs and muscles, leaving all of them, save Jean, gasping from exhaustion. Ken and Caraway carried Evangl out from the cabin, while Jean and Murdoch followed close behind. The morning sunlight was blinding, less from the luminescence than the juxtaposition of the decimated subterranean world they had just escaped. Jean held up her hand to block the sun and searched the sky expectantly.

“Put me down,” Evangl said, wriggling free of Ken’s hold.

Caraway held her firm for a moment. “Are you—?”

“I’m fine,” she said, pushing him away. “I just need to sit down.” She staggered several steps before she caught herself on a tree and fought back a dry heave.

Ken moved to comfort her when Jean pulled him back. “Give her a minute,” she said.

Caraway glanced at his watch. “We have to get clear,” he barked. “Everyone get away from the entrance! Quick!”

• • •

DOWN IN THE COLD HEART of the Facility, Valco picked up two wires, their copper ends exposed. Shivering, he raised them up and silently considered them for a moment. This wouldn’t repair all the damage he caused, wouldn’t rewrite the past four years. But at least he would die knowing he tried to do the right thing.

Valco closed his eyes and breathed in a long sigh before he whispered, “
Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!
”

He touched the two wires together and everything became white.

• • •

THERE WAS a muted rumble and the earth shook beneath their feet. Distantly, they could here the crash of metal and stone. The leaves of the trees rustled angrily, sending birds soaring into the sky. A large plume of smoke and soot and dust rushed out of the cabin with a deafening
tha-THOOM
, before billowing up like a black and brown pillar into the stratosphere.

“What was that?” Jean asked, wiping the dust from her face, her ears ringing.

Caraway stared mournfully at the cabin. He brushed the back of his hand across his forehead. “Valco,” he managed after a moment.

Jean blinked at him, understanding but not comprehending. “But no, he—”

Ken touched her shoulder. “Doesn’t work like that,” he said, glancing at Caraway. “Not anymore.”

Before Jean could respond, a sonic boom echoed through the forest. They all turned toward the source of the sound. Jean could just make out the green robes fluttering in the wind.

Ken placed a hand over his eyes and watched the figure disappear over the horizon. “Jesus, was that who I think it was?”

“John, take care of Evangl and Murdoch,” Jean said, abruptly walking toward the nearest car. “Get them someplace safe. Ken, you’re with me.”

“Where the hell you going?” Caraway asked after her.

“To stop him, and maybe…”

“We should come with you,” Caraway said. “You have no idea how bad it could get.”

Jean paused and shook her head. “No, I know all too well, which is why I want you all to be somewhere safe, just in case…” She shrugged and turned away, leaving the rest unsaid.

“And just how are we going to stop him?” Caraway asked.

As she walked toward the car Jean drew her six-shooter, flicked open the revolving chamber, emptied out one of the spent shells and replaced it with the green bullet from her pocket. She twisted her wrist and clicked the chamber shut.