Caraway’s face firmed. “We lost people,” he said quietly.
“No one ever said this life was a safe one.”
“Yeah, but I wish it was,” he said, nodding in understanding. “Sit tight and I’ll have one of the boys get you some coffee. They make it a slurry here, so you’ll be awake for days.”
Betty allowed herself a chuckle. “Wonderful.”
Caraway waved over Officer Heidelberger and the two men walked over to Caraway’s old office, his name still written in gold block letter across the frosted glass. He twisted the handle, kicked open the door, and was hit with the faint, dry smell of paper and stale whiskey. A thick blanket of dust—or perhaps debris, the police station had been nearly demolished several times—covered every surface.
“Nice to see you guys kept the place clean for me.”
“It is a bit of a disaster area, sir,” Heidelberger commented, wiping his finger across the thick icing of dust and dirt covering Caraway’s desk.
“A demon, a Nazi, and a golem saw to that,” Caraway ruminated aloud as he paced around his old office. He was surprised to realize he had missed it. “Honestly, how this building is still standing is a testament to American engineering. Or stubbornness.”
“We didn’t have that many major catastrophes since you left, but… you know, when your baseline is destruction, it’s hard to work up from there. But no one’s touched the room since you left,” Heidelberger added quietly. “At least, I wouldn’t let ’em.”
Caraway glanced over at Heidelberger.
The officer shrugged. “I guess you could say I run on hope.”
Caraway found himself smiling at that. “We could use a bit of that now. How long have you been on the force, David?”
“With you or as a policeman in general?”
“In general.”
“Three years.”
“So you’re barely out of the academy and you start working with the Special Crime Squad. Tough break, kid.”
Heidelberger puffed out his sunken chest. “Wouldn’t have had it any other way.”
Caraway clapped his hand on Heidelberger’s shoulder. “I appreciate that, David. I really do.”
“So, what can I do for you, Sir? Much as I enjoy the conversation…”
“I need you to get me every case file we have on the Green Lama, even the ones we’re not sure were him.”
Heidelberger crossed his arms and pinched his eyebrows together in the thought. “That’s anywhere between fourteen and sixty-three, though I think one of those cases might be a duplicate. Either way, no matter your measure that list is growing.”
“Might be in the hundreds by the time this whole thing is done.” Caraway grumbled as he wiped the seat of his desk chair clean and sat down. “Just bring up whatever you can find and we’ll go for there.”
“Sure thing, boss.” Heidelberger turned to leave when he hesitated. “If you don’t mind me asking, Sir, how did you talk Woods into putting you back on the force?”
“Not back,” Caraway responded, shaking his head. “But we’re inching closer.”
“And why’s that?”
Caraway nodded to the two detectives heading toward his office. “Hang around a minute, you’re about to find out. Jeff, Pete,” he said as Fulton and Crevier entered.
“Jesus, you weren’t in that fire, were you?” Fulton asked, indicating Caraway’s singed suit.
“Near enough to make it count,” he commented, pulling off his tie and tossing it into a heap of papers and dust. “How do you like my new old digs?”
Crevier blew the dust off a stack of papers, clouding the air. “Could use with a maid, much like everything else you do.”
Caraway gave him a mirthful grin. “Always a sweetheart.”
“Why don’t we cut to the chase, eh?” Crevier said, pacing the room. “Woods sent us down here, and based on where you’re sitting, I’m guessing there’s been a change in the tide.”
“Not yet,” Caraway said, leaning back in his chair.
“Not anything we didn’t already smell on the wind,” Fulton added.
“If we could cut the nautical talk, maybe we can get to business,” Crevier said. Caraway could tell there was something on the detective’s mind, but he wasn’t about to go prying. Let the Cajun chatter if he wanted, until then, it was Caraway’s show.
“You boys know where I stand, we’re all on the same team.”
“No one’s denying that, John,” Fulton said with a nod. “What’ve you got for us?”
Caraway cleared his throat, swiped a bit of dust off the edge of his desk before resting his elbows and lacing his fingers together. “It’s all connected. The cannibal killers, the theatre murders, the fire at Dumont’s… It has to be. Whoever kidnapped Dumont—”
“Come on, John,” Fulton guffawed. “Pull the other one. Dumont’s dead. Ain’t no question he died in that fire.”
“Dumont’s missing,” Caraway corrected. “Trust me, it’ll take a lot more to kill him than—whatever it is we’re facing.”
“And you’re certain of this how?”
Crevier suddenly kicked one of Caraway’s chairs across the office. The crash of wood clattering against wood echoed in the room as they stared at the detective in silent shock.
Fulton took a half step toward his partner and put a placating hand on the other man’s shoulder. “Pete…”
Crevier swiped Fulton’s hand away. “John and I need to speak in private.”
“You’re going to tell me what goin’ on, Petey?” Fulton asked through his eyebrows.
Crevier shook his head. “If what I’m thinking is true,” he said under his breath, “one of us needs to be outside of it, just in case this whole thing goes belly up.”
Heidelberger glanced nervously at Caraway, who gave the officer a simple nod.
“Close the door, David,” Caraway instructed. “The good detective has something he needs to say.”
Fulton and Heidelberger exchanged a look before they moved to the exit.
“Sorry about the outburst, I did it more for effect than anything,” Crevier said quietly after Heidelberger closed the door behind them.
“It definitely had an effect,” Caraway said eyeing the broken chair. He leaned forward and gestured for Crevier to come closer. “All right, out with it. We don’t have much time for games.”
“Jethro Dumont is the Green Lama,” Crevier said deliberately.
Caraway kept his eyes locked on Crevier. “That’s a pretty bold statement,” he said with a knowing grin.
“Cut the act, John, I’m a detective. Give me some credit,” he said with an arched eyebrow. “Dumont’s main squeeze Jean Parker—or Farrell—shoots a woman infected with whatever the hell’s going around. You find a way to sweep it under the rug, because that’s just what you do. But the next day, Farrell goes missing while her costars get gutted like cattle. No more than twelve hours later, Dumont’s main residence goes up like the Fourth of July. The only way that sorta shit happens is if some idiot rich kid is running around playing dress up. And of all the millionaire playboys bouncing around this damn country, only one of them is a full-fledged Buddhist. So you tell me Jethro Dumont is the Green Lama so we can go about doing our job and solve this damn case before more people die.”
Caraway extended his hand, which Crevier hesitantly took into his own.
“Welcome to Gang Green,” Caraway said with a crooked smile as he pumped Crevier’s hand.
Crevier’s face fell. “Is that seriously what you call yourselves?”
“Nope,” Caraway said, slapping his desk, “but I’ve been meaning to suggest it. Usually there would be a whole ceremony with robes, butter candles, and a whole lot of prayers, but we’re short on time.”
“R—really?”
“Nah, I’m just pulling your leg. You shoulda seen your face, though. But congrats on figuring it out faster than the rest of us.”
The detective let out a short laugh. “Well, uh… Thank you.
I’m glad that’s all been cleared up…” He turned on his heels and headed toward the door. He put his hand on the knob when Caraway called after him.
“There’s just one thing, Peter,” Caraway croaked, suddenly serious.
“And what’s that?” Crevier asked over his shoulder. “If you’re worried I’m gonna start telling the gossip rags, or worse, Fulton…”
Caraway shook his head. “No. It’s not that.” He creaked himself out of his chair. He needed to be on his feet, though he wasn’t sure why. He walked over to Crevier so the two were standing face-to-face. “What you gotta understand is, you’re part of this now, and this ain’t just some simple whodunit. This ain’t a case, it ain’t even a conspiracy. This is a fight for our lives, protecting all that’s right in this world against all that—Well… against the stuff of nightmares. I need to know if you’re willing—if you’re able to handle all that comes with it.”
Crevier eyed Caraway for a moment before he said, “It’s why I put on the badge, John.”
Caraway gave him a thin smile. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
• • •
GAMMA WALKED into the medical bay, a thin folder tucked under his arm. The massive fans whirred overhead with an ever-present drone, mixing the sharp smell of chemicals and medicine with the scent of metal and oil. Cold light reflected off the pure white tiles. Omega lay shirtless on the examination table, his pale white skin practically glowing as the doctors and nurses tended to his various wounds. His normally shadowed face was a distorted mess with a swollen cheek and jaw, a blackened eye above a canvas of bruises and burns. Gamma watched from afar while the doctors worked to repair Omega’s sculpted ivory form.
“How is he healing?” Gamma asked as the doctors finished sewing up the last of the lacerations.
“I’m right here, Gamma,” Omega said before the doctors could respond. He waved the doctors away. “No reason to pretend I’m not.”
Gamma raised his chin. “You’ve made quite a mess of things.”
“Did I?” Omega said with false bemusement as he carefully slipped on a clean undershirt. Gamma noticed a small tick above Omega’s fattened lips, it was the closest he had ever come to seeing the operative wince. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Quite spectacularly so. A four-alarm fire at Eight-Twenty-Three-and-a-half Park Avenue? A third of the city’s firefighters are still trying to get it under control.”
“New York’s bravest,” Omega commented dryly as he buttoned up his shirt.
Gamma scowled at the interruption. “Some men work all their lives for something as dramatic as that.”
“Do they? Well, then I will be sure to gloat at every opportune moment.”
“Don’t try to be glib.” He moved to follow as the operative went to slip on his suit jacket. “You have been far too public on this.”
“Haven’t you been reading the papers, Gamma? There’s a Cannibal Killer prowling the streets of New York,” Omega said in riposte as he flipped over his collar and wrapped his tie around his neck. “Were I a lesser man, I would have taken this chance to remind you that you were the one who took me out of stasis.”
Gamma’s lips firmed into a white-hot line. “Needless to say your little stunt at the theatre followed shortly by setting blaze to the home of one of America’s most well known millionaires only compounded the issue.”
Omega finished knotting his tie and turned his collar back in place. “And how is our millionaire playboy?”
“The Epsilon Mist weakened him considerably, but we are taking the appropriate precautions. As to his mistress, we’ve sent men to retrieve her from the location you specified, assuming there is still something to retrieve…”
Omega replied with a cryptic smile.
Gamma stiffened. “Operative Omega—”
“Do not concern yourself, Gamma. I followed my directive. The Farrell woman is at your disposal. I’m sure Dumont will appreciate the company.” Omega ran his hands over his suit. “So, I suppose that’s it, isn’t it?”
“We want to keep you on site until the tests are complete.”
“Do I detect a lack of faith in our illustrious crimson gloved doctor?”
“A precaution,” Gamma admitted. “Should the unforeseen happen.”
“Isn’t that what you do? Foresee the unforeseen?”
Gamma bristled at the suggestion. “Tell me, Omega, was the Green Lama all that you anticipated?”
Omega laughed. “All and more.”
A sharp metallic click sounded from the other side of the medical bay. Gamma and Omega turned at the sound to find Dr. Pelham standing uneasily by the door. Their eyes locked on him, Pelham quickly straightened his back and rolled back his shoulders while he worked at cracking the knuckles of his right hand.
“Dr. Pelham,” Omega purred, the swollen corner of his mouth slanted upward. “So good of you to be so concerned for my wellbeing.”
Pelham cleared his throat three times before he spoke. “I was summoned,” he said to Gamma, careful not to meet Omega’s unwavering gaze.
“Is everything in place?” Gamma asked, indifferent to Pelham’s phobia.
Pelham managed a nod, refusing to move away from the exit. “Nearly there. We simply—We simply need to ready Metchnikoff’s device and to put the Green—the subject in place and we may proceed with the test.”
“Very good.” Gamma walked over and handed Pelham the folder.
“What is this?”
“A directive, from the Twenty-Two,” Gamma added, preemptively tramping down any discord. “We want you to use OBS-Two-Four-One on the subject.”
Pelham opened the folder and began reading the contents. He blinked three times before he could find the words to respond. “Valco injected the Delta Liquid Ray into the Substance? How?”
“It is all explained in your directive.”
“An energy source?” Pelham balked as he read further. “How is—That isn’t possible!”
“It seems you underestimated the Ray’s potential,” Omega said with a satisfactory hiss.
“I never underesti—” Pelham caught himself as his cheeks turned ruddy. “I simply doubted whether the Substance—”
Gamma held up his hand. “Suffice to say, Dr. Pelham, Valco’s theory proved to be effective, revealing far more potential than we could have hoped. In light of that—and considering the subject’s close history with the Ray and suspected involvement with the creation of the Substance, the Twenty-Two are curious to see how the subject will react to this new compound. We will still explore the energy potential for OBS-Two-Four-One, but only after we’ve exhausted all possibilities in creating enhanced soldiers.”
“Understood,” Pelham eventually said under his breath.
“Very good. We’d like to see the test in under six hours.” Gamma looked at Omega. “I expect to see you there.”
“Of course,” Omega said with a nod.
Without another word, Gamma moved past Pelham and toward the medical bay exit.
“There’s something else—” Pelham said tentatively.
Gamma stopped short of the door, slowly turned back to Pelham, and frowned. “Something else?”
Pelham stared at Gamma for several moments before he shook his head once and dropped his gaze to the floor. “I’d prefer to do the test on my own. Without observation.”
“Out of the question, Doctor,” Gamma said curtly as he spun on his heel and left the medical bay.
Pelham moved to follow when Omega grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back into the room.
“A moment if you would, Dr. Pelham,” Omega said in a hushed breath once Gamma was out of the room. He could feel Pelham trembling beneath his grip as the door swung shut, locking with an ominous click.
“Yes…?” Pelham whispered, not risking a glance at the operative.
“Why did you lie to Gamma?”
“I didn’t—!”
“Come now, Doctor. Don’t play me for a fool.” Omega let the silen
ce hang between them before he squeezed his fingers into Pelham’s bicep. “You see… A question has been weighing on my mind these last few weeks. One I believe you alone can answer. Tell me. For old time’s sake.”
Pelham turned round, audibly swallowing the lump in his throat while his eyes searched the floor.
“Dumont is something more than human, that much is clear. I have experienced it firsthand. There is power in his veins, unmatched by those of his ilk, and with the Substance we may even be able to harness that power ourselves. Yet, I have this growing suspicion that you are surprised by the revelations just as much as us. So, tell me, Pelham, honestly,” Omega whispered, “why is Dumont so integral to your experiments?”
Pelham slowly shook his head and frowned. “He wasn’t. Not ever.”
“Then why?” Omega asked, tightening his grip on Pelham’s arm.
“Revenge, my dear Omega,” Pelham said with a wan smile. “Would I need any other reason?”
Omega released Pelham’s arm and smiled. “No, Dr. Pelham. I just wanted to make sure you were being honest with me.”
“Always, Omega… You’re the only man I truly fear.”
“And I will make sure that’s always the case,” Omega said, lightly patting Pelham on the shoulder. “I would tell you to enjoy yourself, Dr. Pelham, but I’m almost certain you will.”
• • •
SUNLIGHT STUTTERED through the trees like a broken movie projector.
Jean felt lightheaded, her vision blurring. She cranked open the window, letting the cold air rush across her face, rustling her ratty, knotted hair. Hunger stabbed at her stomach. It had been hours, maybe days, since she had eaten. Even so, the sensation—having long transformed past the gurgle and moan of an empty stomach into the dull ache that seemed to radiate from every cell in her body—felt odd, that such a vital element should be so easily overlooked. Or perhaps it was exhaustion or blood loss, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t see straight, no matter how hard she tried to focus, the road simply shifted away.
Her head lolled to the side, her left eye drooped shut and the car began to drift toward the side of the road. The tremble of tires rolling off the pavement jolted her awake. She shifted in the driver’s seat and pinched her cheek, arm, and thigh. The now all too familiar pain echoed up her leg as she pressed her foot down, dried blood sticking to the pedal.
The Green Lama: Crimson Circle Page 27
