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 al
l 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.
“The only way we can.”
• • •
“CHRIST, you’ve looked better,” crime reporter Luke Jaconetti said as he dropped behind his desk at the Herald-Tribune offices.
“You talk like that to all the girls, or just me?” Betty said as she worked furiously behind her typewriter.
“No, I say that to Din as well,” he said, running his hand through the thatch of grey hair on his temple. “Though usually under my breath… and from the other room.” He cleared his throat and glanced at the small pile of papers to the right of her typewriter. “What’re you working on, Dale?”
“Something,” she said in reply. She and Jaconetti had been desk mates for the better part of the three years, or thereabouts—neither of them really kept track. Whereas Jaconetti seemed to constantly move between the Herald-Tribune and the Amalgamated Press with little sleep—all while looking impossibly in his mid-thirties—Dale had dedicated her life to this specific typewriter, and a vast amount of stories featuring a secret agent named X.
Jaconetti leaned on his elbows. “You got a scoop, don’t you? Again.”
“Maybe I do, maybe I don’t.” Betty shrugged. She needed to focus on getting all the words on the page. She had no idea what was going on up at the Facility, but should things go belly up—as they always did—she wanted to be ready to go to press. “Only way to find out is to buy tomorrow’s paper.”
“You’re such a tease. How you’re single is beyond me.”
A coy smile tugged at the corner of her lips despite her focus. “You keep thinking that.”
“Come on, Dale, own up!” Jaconetti exclaimed. “Whatcha got workin’—”
A shockwave suddenly boomed through the city, resonating through the brick and stone. Jaconetti cried out and Betty cupped her ears as the windows shattered inward.
• • •
“GIVE ME some good news, Petey,” Detective Fulton said as Crevier ran up the steps.
“None to give,” Crevier said simply as he ran over to his desk. He flung his hat off and dropped it on the corner. Deep black pockets hung under his eyes, slightly puffy as if from an allergic reaction. He looked at his phone, mocking in its silence. “I get any calls?”
“Oh, yeah off the hook,” Fulton said. “Every bird in town was callin’ to let you know about all the little rascals you got runnin’ around town.”
Crevier gave him a distracted grunt in response. He sat down and stared at the various pages and files on his desk, his fingers tapping the wood. They had been gone too long. He should’ve gone with them, dammit.
Somewhere beneath Fulton’s walrus whiskers was a grimace. “Pete, you mind tellin’ me what you got going on?”
Crevier shook his head after a moment. “Better not, Jeff.”
“And why’s that?”
“Safer that way.” He looked across the desks at his partner. “Trust me, if these things go the way they seem to be going, I don’t want you to be a part of this.”
Fulton crossed his arms. “Come on, kid. Whatever it is, there hasn’t been nothing we couldn’t—”
The walls shook and glass shattered inward. Crevier winced at the sound, his ears ringing as he ran to the window. Every building’s glasses had been shattered, while dazed and confused pedestrians held their ears in agony. Several people were turning their heads to the sky. Crevier followed their gaze and found a cloaked figure soaring through the air.
“Jesus, what the fuck is that?” Fulton asked from behind him.
“The Green Lama,” Crevier said under his breath.
“What the hell is he doing?”
Crevier turned away from the window and wiped the shattered glass off his sleeves. “Something tells me he’s not here to save us.”
• • •
IN CARAWAY’S APARTMENt, Tsarong collapsed to the floor, screaming—from pain, from sorrow, from despair.
• • •
JEAN AND KEN drove down to the city in silence. Trees and buildings blurred past as Jean sliced past every obstacle and turn with a racer’s precision. Ken kept his hand wrapped around the door handle in the futile hope of preventing himself from sliding back and forth across the seat. He glanced over at Jean, her grim expression leaving little opening for conversation, though Ken silently admitted there was little left that could have been said. And even if there was, he didn’t know where he could have started. Murdoch had told them about the Collective, that Heydrich’s blood had been one part of a plan to secure an American victory in the coming war. But, the things they had seen in the Facility… Could anything justify those horrors? Ken had seen nightmares brought to life the last few years, but nothing was ever as terrifying as the crimes Man committed against itself in the name of virtue.
The car took a turn and the sidearm tucked in Ken’s shoulder harness pressed into his ribs and he began counting all the lives that had been lost despite the Green Lama’s pursuit of justice.
“There he is,” Ken heard Jean say as the city came into view.
Leaning forward, Ken squinted at the small pinprick floating like a black star in the morning sky. “Really can’t believe we’re doing this.”
Jean frowned silently.
“Do you know if this is even going to work?”
Jean adjusted the gun tucked in her belt. “One way to find out,” she said hoarsely before slamming her foot down against the pedal once more.
• • •
THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING stabbed through the city like a shard. High above its serrated silver knifepoint, green fabric fluttered in the icy breeze, ragged edges rustling with a biting whisper.
Black blood coursed through the Green Lama’s veins without the rhythmic contractions of his heart, overflowing into his cranial cavity, and spilling out his eyes. The creature that had overtaken him could see the ants move through the streets in wild panic as they gaped in horror at the monster in the sky. Their thoughts filled his mind, pulsing like a wave; he knew all of them, their glories and their crimes.
The Green Lama looked down on his city and judged. Deep inside his mind, Jethro fought to regain control, but the creature was too powerful, its hold too strong.
“Look at your people, Jethro,” the creature hissed. “They’re all about to die.”
• • •
BARRICADES, flashing lights, and police cars encircled the Empire State Building, as cops struggled to push back the throngs of people daring to look. At the far end of the cordoned-off area Police Commissioner Woods was involved in an impassioned conversation with former commissioner and erstwhile governor Kirkpatrick. Crevier could only imagine what the two were debating, especially with Kirkpatrick’s long history with a certain murderous vigilante.
Holding up his hand to block the sun, Crevier peered up at the Green Lama floating more than a hundred stories overhead. A foreign sense of trepidation had bloomed in the city so long accustomed to destruction and the unexplained. Send in rampaging robots, madmen with intents of world conquest, those the citizens of New York knew how to handle; but a cloaked man floating above the center of the city? That, paradoxically, belonged to the shadows.
“Jean!” Crevier shouted, catching sight of the redhead on the other side of the barricade. He broke away from Fulton and shoved his way over to the uniformed officers blocking her way. “Let her through. Guys, come on, let her through!” An officer pulled aside one of the wooden barricades and let them in. Crevier did his best not to audibly react to their torn and blood caked state, but failed in the effort. “Jesus, what the fuck happened up there?” he asked under his breath.
“
Nothing you would have wanted to be a part of,” Ken answered.
“Has he done anything?” Jean asked as she stepped away, her eyes on the sky.
Crevier shook his head. “Just floatin’ up there, watchin’. Blew out damn near every window on the island when he flew in.”
“Yeah. We heard,” Ken sighed, watching Jean slowly approach the building. Her shoulders were arched back, her hands curled into fists, and her feet—Her feet seemed to float over the pavement, less the moves of the dancer and more the motions of the—
She looked back to Crevier. “Has anyone gone up there?”
“You kiddin’?” the detective scoffed. “I can get half the city to buy the Brooklyn Bridge before I could convince some poor sap to head up there.”
“Then I guess we’re the saps,” Jean said.
“As if it was going to be any other way,” Ken said with a shrug.
Jean looked to Crevier. “Can you get us up there?”
Crevier glanced back up at the man suspended over the spire, then at the commissioners arguing nearby. He gave Jean a hesitant nod. “Sure, but the trick is how you’ll get back down.”
• • •
THE ELEVATOR chimed and the doors slid open to the 102nd floor. Bits of glass, discarded tourist pamphlets, forgotten articles of clothing, purses, and hats littered the observatory floor, hinting at the mad dash that had occurred shortly after the Green Lama’s arrival. Jean’s skin prickled, whether from her nerves or from her proximity to the Lama she didn’t know. She kept her hand resting on her gun handle and walked onto the terrace, with Ken following close behind. It hadn’t been that long ago that Ken and Caraway had stood at this exact same spot waiting for Jethro and Rick Masters’ airship in hopes of saving Jean. How quickly things changed and yet somehow remained the same.
The Green Lama: Crimson Circle Page 35
