The Green Lama: Unbound (The Green Lama Legacy Book 3) by Adam Lance Garcia Page B

simply, adjusting his uniform. “ Ich habe aber immer noch ein ungutes Gefühl, Herr Obergruppenführer.”
    “ Bekannt, Herr Oberführer,” the Obergruppenführer replied, waving away the comment.
    Alexei smiled broadly. “Well, it seems as though the stars have come right for us all! This American has something we each want. This will be our chance to bring Dumont over to our mutual efforts, gentlemen. And perhaps,” he turned to the Twins, “even yours, my friends…”
    Vasili found himself staring at the Twins’ pale white hands. They were gnarled and bony, the joints knotted and arthritic, pushing out against the white flesh. Their nails were claw-like, extending out to sharp points that seemed capable of easily ripping into flesh. Their palms were covered in deep scars, like cigarette burns pushed into the very meat of their hands, reminding Vasili of a dead squid.
    Gottschalk allowed himself a small smirk and raised his glass to the Twins across the table. “Indeed, this mission may turn out to be more successful than even the Führer himself had anticipated!”
    The Twins bowed the heads in unison, croaking softly as they did.
    Vasili moved to leave when Alexei grabbed him by the arm. “Let’s arrange for our friends to meet this Mr. Dumont. Then we’ll find out what he knows of the American girl.”
    Vasili nodded quickly, understanding Alexei’s implication. “Yes, sir.”
    “There’s a good boy,” Alexei said, squeezing Vasili’s arm as he walked away.
    Like it or not, eventually, Vasili would have to kill Jethro Dumont.
    • • •
    “Do we even have a plan? I mean… at all?” Ken said, pacing up and down the presidential suite. They had only just arrived, and despite the lateness of the hour, all three were wide awake.
    “I think whatever plan the Lama had for us went out the window when we were attacked by a living storm ,” Caraway commented from the balcony, finishing a cigarette. A cool breeze came in off the shore, the Mediterranean air salty. The night sky was clear, pinpricked with white stars. Even Caraway had trouble believing that, mere hours before, the horizon had been painted a deadly ink black.
    “You don’t see many living storms in New York, that’s for sure,” Ken added.
    “Just rampaging golems, Nazi madmen, and the occasional demon,” Caraway said, his voice cracking. He paused to clear his throat and took a long drag of his cigarette. “But yeah, a livin’ storm is new.”
    Ken massaged his eyes, more out of frustration than exhaustion. “Of all the shit we’ve had to deal with over the years, now we have cognizant meteorological occurrences.”
    “Big words there, buddy,” Caraway said, flicking the remains of his cigarette toward the shore. “You startin’ to feel more like yourself?”
    “Now that I’m on solid ground, yeah.”
    “’Fraid of heights, eh? You were doin’ pretty well back at the Empire State Building.”
    “Once again, solid ground . I don’t mind tall buildings you can leap in a single bound, but once you remove the ground, then…” He took a deep, stuttering breath. “Then I start losing my lunch.”
    “Yeah, I noticed,” Caraway remarked. “What do you think about this whole mess, Jethro?” he said to the seated millionaire. “The Lama let you in on anything before we left?”
    Dumont stared at his steepled fingers, his face unreadable as he shook his head. “I believe the Tulku had only a glimmer of the dangers we might face here,” he said, his voice hollow. So far, Caraway had been impressed with his friend’s courage, but it was possible the pressure had already overtaken him. “Had he known the extent of the darkness we would be facing, I doubt he would have sent us out alone.”
    “So, we’re basically up shit’s creek without a paddle,” Caraway said. “Fantastic.”
    “He said this might all have had to do with Kuhchooloo,” Ken ventured.
    “Kookookachoo?” Caraway struggled. “Do either of you