The Green Lama: Crimson Circle (6 page)

The screen flashed white before a close up of Hollywood stars Betty Hall and Ronald Tolman appeared. They were talking, their words unheard as the audio for this section had been removed. The camera zoomed out to a wide shot of a stage ballroom, with dozens of cookie-cutter pretty faces dancing around in circles. A shadowy figure appeared out from the background, dressed in a monk’s robe, the hood pulled low, covering his face. The audio popped back on as the figure paused and starred directly into the camera and whispered: “It is written that justice will seek you out even though you hide beneath the smallest pebble.
Om! Ma-ni Pad-me Hum!
” The figure turned away and disappeared back into the background.

“When is this from?” a man with silver Σ—Sigma—cufflinks asked between two long drags of his cigarette. His voice was hoarse, as if he had just finished shouting at the top of his lungs.

“March 1936, during the Sanctuary Kidnappings,” Gamma replied.

“He was in Hollywood?” a man with a Λ—Lambda—tattooed on his wrist asked in a deep and lyrical baritone.

Gamma nodded. “On several occasions. Most recently, he was involved in the events surrounding the death of actress Fay Reynolds last year.”

“He certainly does get around with some regularity…” Delta commented.

Gamma nodded. “There have been numerous appearances throughout the country and abroad. There are rumors he once engaged German forces in Tibet, but those claims have yet to be substantiated…” Gamma trailed off and there was a brief rustle of papers before the next clip appeared. “Item number nine-six-four-point-five was taken shortly after the attack on the German consulate in New York early last year.”

The footage was a grainy vision of night, heavy black and blinding whites of the street lamps. The camera whirled around in a frenzy; up and down, spinning left and right as people ran screaming as the street exploded out from below, concrete and stone launching into the air. The camera fell suddenly to the ground, landing on its side so that the street became a long hill. A robed man tumbled down with the debris, his body limp, the robes stained with dark splotches of blood. Seconds later, a large rock-like hand appeared from the crater in the ground.

“What is that?” Sigma gasped in muted horror as they all watched the massive creature climb out of the crater.

The creature’s face was rudimentary, the mouth nothing more than a slit. On its forehead were three symbols dug deep like a child’s name in wet cement. The feet balanced the massive body, but even they were too large, too rounded and fat. The legs were thick and stubby compared to the long sequoia-like arms. Its eyes were vacant holes of darkness, impossibly glowing from within.

“We don’t know,” Gamma replied as the robed man weakly pushed himself off the ground.

“How can we not know?” Lambda pointedly asked, anger lacing his droll, old voice.

“We believe the creature was behind the slaughter at the German consulate, but whatever it was,” Gamma began as the robed man’s hand began to glow on screen, “it is something we have never seen before… or since. We have theories, but they remain only that.”

The twenty-two figures shifted uncomfortably in their chairs as a beam of energy shot out from the robed man’s hands hitting the creature square in the chest and the screen went white.

“What happened to the creature?” a monotone voice asked from the far end of the table.

Gamma’s body straightened. “Destroyed, or so we believe,” he admitted and left it at that. “We also have reason to believe the Green Lama was somehow involved with the
Bartlett
crash on Liberty Island, though the events surrounding the accident still remain under investigation.”

“Who is the Green Lama?” the monotone voice asked after several moments.

Gamma licked his lips. His hands were shaking as the projector rattled on to another clip, a blurry cacophony of motion and grey. “He’s been described as everything from Caucasian to Negro to Oriental. More often than not, he’s been associated with the ‘Buddhist Priest’ Dr. Charles—or James—Pali; but upon further investigation we’ve established Pali is an alias. While the Green Lama could conceivably be several men pretending to be one, we believe he uses theatrical makeup to disguise his identity. Additionally, based on the frequency of his travels, we believe he is a wealthy man, perhaps a millionaire of some standing.”

There was a brief moment of silence as papers were shuffled in the darkness. Gamma tried to ignore the sweat dripping down the roll of fat on the back of his neck.

“What about Jethro Dumont?” another voice asked, this one coming from the very head of the table.

Gamma gave a quick, propitiatory nod. “Yes, we have consid—”

“He fits the parameters, does he not?” the voice from the head of the table interrupted, his gold A—Alpha—cufflinks glinting in the dimmed light. “Millionaire, Buddhist; his return to America even coincides with the first appearance of the Green Lama. Our report even notes that Pali, Dumont, and the Green Lama have, more often than not, appeared in the same city within days of one another. There is even an unprinted article by Betty Dale of the
Herald-Tribune
postulating that very theory.”

“Then, this shouldn’t be an issue, should it?” Delta quickly added, always trying to curry favor. “Jethro Dumont is the Green Lama.”

Gamma cleared his throat and shifted through several of the documents in front of him as the next clip came to life on screen. “The following was filmed during the von Kultz Affair by an operative, marked item number five-seven-seven.”

Shot from a considerable distance, the footage showed the western tower of the Brooklyn Bridge, the bridge below filled with cars and people. There were seven people on the tower, two more climbing the cables. Of the seven atop the tower, two were clearly bound together by a thick rope, three were standing by as the final two—the robed man and a Nazi—were locked in a vicious struggle.

“We had assumed that Jethro Dumont was the Green Lama for some time,” Gamma began as he walked over to the screen. “The coincidences were too significant to ignore. The likelihood that three notable Buddhists would arrive in the same city, at the same time, but never be seen in the same place, were too convenient to ignore… That is, until this…” he said with a small wave toward the screen.

The battle was a stalemate until the robed man back flipped and kicked the Nazi hard in the chin. The violent blow threw the Nazi back into the air, and the Nazi landed hard on the tower. The Nazi then ripped open a small cylinder in his hand, tossed it at the robed man, unleashing a cloud of gas. The robed man stumbled back as a glowing shockwave of energy exploded out from his body.

“This occurred shortly after Heinrich von Kultz escaped police custody following his murder of Alexandrian Foreign Minister Georges Kitheron,” Gamma explained. “It should go without saying that the man in robes is the Green Lama, we’ve confirmed this with eyewitness and police reports. Obliviously, the Nazi was von Kultz—”

“It is unfortunate von Kultz was killed,” a woman with a Ψ—Psi—pendant necklace commented as the rest of the clip continued to play out. “His talents could have been put to use.”

Gamma shook his head. “Von Kultz was a true believer.”

“Pity,” a man with a Ξ—Xi—tie clip sighed, his voice full of gravel. “I do hate those.”

“Have we had any luck replicating von Kultz’s ‘Epsilon Mist’?” Psi asked, indicating the large gas cloud that enveloped the robed man.

“We’ve been able to reverse engineer it from the residue on a canister we retrieved, though we have still not determined why it has such a violent effect on the Green Lama,” the woman with the Φ—Phi—shaped earrings replied. “We have established it is based on Harrison Valco’s Delta Liquid Ray, but beyond that Dr. Metchnikoff has only made minimal progress,” she reluctantly admitted.

“Which means he still has no idea how the Germans made it… Russians,” Sigma scoffed.

“We are moving away from the point,” Alpha scolded as the footage showed the Nazi’s body tumbling down to the bridge below.

Gamma cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Yes. The most important aspect of this footage is this: That man there...” He stepped up to the screen and pointed at one of the bound men, tapping the screen with his long, manicured nail. “Is Jethro Dumont.”

For several moments the rattling of the projector was the only sound that permeated the room. Gamma peered into the darkness at the other end of table, futilely trying to read the thoughts of the man hidden within.

“Are we certain?” Alpha asked.

Gamma nodded. “It’s been confirmed.”

“Hm,” Alpha noised, his head tilted in consideration.

“What is our determination?” a man with a Π—Pi—pendent asked, his accent distinctly southern.

Turning off the projector, Gamma minimally raised the lights, an effort which did nothing to reveal the identities of his compatriots. Gamma placed his hands behind his back and began to pace around the long oval table. “For the most part he has been focused on petty criminals and less than capable Fifth Columnists, but his recent activities, such as the events in the South Pacific, have raised serious concerns within the Collective; especially over the last year in which he seems to have manifested abilities
far beyond those typically found of his ilk. And I’m afraid that is only the tip of the iceberg…”

Alpha tapped his pen against the table. “The South Pacific is where Four-Two-Zero-One-Ex-Oh-Bee-Ess-Ar was discovered, was it not?”

Gamma nodded. “We suspect the Green Lama is linked to the Substance, yes.”

“What is our assessment?” Psi asked.

“He is a potential threat to the security of the Collective. However, after the events in the South Pacific, we believe he may be useful to Project Obsidian.”

“Project Obsidian…” Alpha noised ponderously. “We understand there was an escape recently. One of the test subjects.”

“A field test,” Gamma replied. “Necessary to test resilience.”

Alpha tilted his head back in interest, but remained silent.

“What is our approach?” Xi asked.

Gamma placed his hands at the small of his back and looked directly into the darkness. “We have reactivated Omega.”

“Omega?” Phi said, a sound like silk. “Is that wise considering his… mercurial behavior?”

“He is the only operative capable of facing and capturing the Green Lama,” Gamma replied, keeping his eyes locked on the darkness. “And should the need arise, destroy him.”

Several seconds passed as the group silently considered the proposal. Gamma didn’t hold his breath but felt his heart flutter around his chest. It was all a long game of chess, he reflected, played with millions of pieces, on a board over five hundred thousands kilometers, and the game masters all sat in this room. There wasn’t power in this room—power was too small a term to describe how far and deep the fingers of this group spread over the world. How odd that one man should be such a concern…

“Very good,” Alpha said with finality. Gamma did his best to not sigh with relief. Alpha then looked over to his right. “What is the progress on the uranium tests?” he asked, moving on to other business.

• • •

THE WIND whipped around him, his cloak fluttering as if he were falling from the sky, reminding him of his battle above R’lyeh. The Green Lama closed his eyes, unable to push back the memories of the awful day. Standing on a rooftop of an abandoned building, he could hear the sirens of Washington, DC police heading toward the Fifth Columnist hideout off in the distance. It was another victory, he reminded himself, one among many, but then why did it feel so empty? His eyes moved to his right hand, the middle finger terribly scarred above the knuckle, thin green veins extending out.

“More today,” he quietly observed.

“Chilly night, Tulku,” Evangl said from the stairwell. “You better come inside or you’ll catch a death of a cold.”

The Green Lama allowed himself a small, sad smile and turned to face his companions. Both were still covered in the grime and filth of the sewers, but thankfully no worse for wear. Gary’s arm was instinctually wrapped around his wife’s shoulder. He would never really have that, the Green Lama realized. No matter how badly he wanted it.

His gaze dropped to the floor and he sighed. He was avoiding the issue at hand, had been avoiding it ever since they embarked on this latest adventure.

“Gary, Evangl…” the Green Lama managed as he walked toward them. “You were the first to join me on this journey, I owe you this much.”

“Owe us what?” Gary asked with a bemused smile.

“I have deceived you for too long,” the Green Lama frowned. “My intentions were pure but that doesn’t make the deception any less wrong. I am not Dr. Charles Pali, nor am I Hugh Gilmore or any of the number of aliases I have used in your company.” The Green Lama pulled back his hood. “I am, and always have been, simply Jethro Dumont.”

Evangl’s mouth fell open and Gary looked suddenly sick to his stomach.

“Jethro Dumont,” Gary breathed. “Jethro flippin’ Dumont, the biggest prick this side of the Atlantic… is the Green Lama. You’re kidding me, right?” he scoffed.

“I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t describe myself in
those
terms,” Jethro commented.