The Time Portal 2: Escape in Time

by Joe Corso [time travel]

  Also by Joe Corso

  The Time Portal Series

  The Old Man and the King

  The Starlight Club Series

  The Revenge of John W

  The Adventures of the Lone Jack Kid

  The Comeback

  The Time Portal

  (Book 2 - Escape in Time)

  By Joe Corso

  The Time Portal

  (Book 2 - Escape in Time)

  ©2013 by Joe Corso

  Published by

  Black Horse Publishing

  Cover Art by Marina Shipova

  Formatting by BZHercules.com

  Black Horse Publishing

  www.blackhorsepublishing.com

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval systemwithout the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law or by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  All Rights Reserved

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter one

  Chapter two

  Chapter three

  Chapter four

  Chapter five

  Chapter six

  Chapter seven

  Chapter eight

  Chapter nine

  Chapter ten

  Chapter eleven

  Chapter twelve

  Chapter thirteen

  Chapter fourteen

  Chapter fifteen

  Chapter sixteen

  Chapter seventeen

  Chapter eighteen

  Chapter nineteen

  Chapter twenty

  Chapter twenty–one

  Chapter twenty–two

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Lubyanka KGB Headquarters

  Lubyanka Square is often first on a tourist’s list. It’s hard to miss the massive structures in downtown Moscow that formerly housed the KGB. What originally began as the site of the All-Russia Insurance Company eventually morphed into the most prominent address in all of Russia. At one time or another, various KGB directors, from Lavrentiya Beriya to Yuri Andropov, had occupied offices on the third floor of the grand dame. A statue of Felix Dzerzhinsky, founder of the first communist secret police, the Cheka, known for their signature style execution method – a shot to the back of the neck that left very little blood – is no longer there.

  The main yellow building of the Lubyanka is the one most often seen, the one taken over by the Bolsheviks in the 1900s. Inside the building, situated firmly in the middle of its courtyard, was the prior site of the Lubyanka Internal Prison, famous for its basement inmate torture and interrogation. Automobile engines revved to drown out the noise of prisoners being shot. The structure now serves as the headquarters for the Border Troops and its Federal Security Service (FSB) Directorate. This building is a dull, lifeless gray building, No. 1/3. Its construction began under Andropov and was completed under Chebrikov. Nowadays, the buildings also house a KGB Museum, open to the public. This was the result of KGB chief and chairman of the Communist Party, Yuri Andropov, and his desire to improve the KGB's image. The ground floors are used for conferences and a clubroom for retired KGB officers. It features, among other things, a disco, and since the Soviet collapse in 1991, Russia's intelligence agencies have given guided tours through the yellow Lubyanka in an attempt to create an impression of openness. Across the square is Dyetski Mir or “Children’s World,” the largest children’s shop in the country.

  For almost twenty years, Vladimir Putin served as a KGB Lieutenant Colonel. As the President of Russia today, members of the FSB now report to him.

  Chapter One

  Oleg Karpov, Head of Security for the KGB, read the report on his desk for the third time. He still had trouble believing it. He wondered if the Americans were purposely trying to goad him into reacting to this nonsense. He didn’t think so, but no matter, he would have to present this information to President Vladimir Putin and let him decide whether this information was important enough to warrant action or if perhaps this might be a carefully designed ploy to create frustration and confusion.

  Each morning, problems in the form of files in folders with different names on them were placed on his desk. Karpov was the one who made the difficult decisions – how best to handle these problems. If one supposedly innocuous threat to national security fell through, it was his hide on the line. Granted, an issue such as this one only manifested itself maybe once in a chief’s career. He smiled as he imagined the expression on Putin’s face as he opened the file and read it. Karpov experienced a modicum of satisfaction knowing that this was one of the few times he could justify passing the file, and therefore the problem, to a higher up; that higher up being only one of two, or two of two men. What awesome power he held in his hands. That thought brought about another smile as he picked up his phone and pressed the button linking him to the President’s secretary.

  Chapter Two

  Lucky couldn’t wait to test out his new executive jet aircraft. He decided how better to do so than by taking the gang – Samantha, his ex-girlfriend; Mickey, his CIA colleague and childhood friend; Nicky, a friend Dukie, Casey, Sal, and Jimmy Lamb, to Monte Carlo for . . . a cup of coffee. The “cup of coffee” was his euphemism for vacation. The coffee break was now nearing its third week of days of lounging on the edge of the clean, white sands of man-made Larvotto beach. The sun’s warmth, as well as that from the voluminous intake of beach served exotic drinks, was intoxicating. They figured out the trick. By submerging their knees and allowing the ocean water to splash about their skin, it almost neutralized the heat.

  Lucky sat transfixed as he watched the sun’s rays pierce through the topaz sky. Bouncing off the undulating rivulets of water was a kaleidoscope of color, glittering like thousands of sparkling stars. No matter how many times he looked into the clear ocean water, he still marveled at the curious multi-colored fish swimming, unafraid, around and around his body, right through his legs. It was hard to tear away from the beauty of it all, but hunger pangs told him that it was now time for lunch.

  Lucky and friends had frequented a number of lunch eateries, but they always ended up at "The Yellow Bar" or Spiaggia, located at the far end of the beach. It became their go-to place. Today was no different. Nothing could beat it, and besides, the little bit of exercise to walk there made him feel somewhat better in light of the number of calories that each drink held.

  Eventually, the sun abandoned them, opting to descend, having fulfilled its duty for the day, and the group gathered up their beach belongings and began the slow walk up the sand toward the Monte Carlo Sporting Club, to their cars, to initiate the short drive back to their hotel – the luxurious SBM Monte Carlo Beach Club. It was Saturday night, a big night in Monte Carlo, but Lucky had instructed Bobby Boots, his personal pilot, to prepare the jet for an early morning takeoff, so the gang opted to quickly shower and meet in the hotel dining room for dinner only. It was a wonderful evening as they recounted their many stories from their recent travels with Lucky; Lucky their generous friend who loved life and loved adventure. With their appetites now sated with outstanding French cuisine and the best that the local vineyards had to offer, the group turned in early.

  The following morning

  Bobby Boots and his co-pilot buddy, Tommy Sheridan, completed their preflight inspections and were cleared for takeoff. Methodicall
y, he inched the throttles forward until they unleashed the full power of the sleek jet’s engines. The plane shot down the runway, gaining speed with every foot of forward momentum. Bobby gingerly coaxed the plane skyward into a smooth, upward arc and onto its designated path. Once in the air, and after the aircraft had reached its proper altitude, Lucky abruptly instructed Bobby to change the flight plan to Rome, and just like that . . . it was done, on a whim. He wanted to see Italy.

  Things had changed for Lucky and “life is meant to be lived” was now his philosophy. His reasoning was simple: Lucky’s former boss had attempted to kill him by booby-trapping the building that was the scene of one of Lucky’s CIA agent assignments. What Lucky endured after being blasted out of that sixth story window was almost unfathomable. Rows and rows of clotheslines, filled with laundry, had saved his life by breaking his fall, but the blow to his brain had left him teetering between life and death for quite some time. Skilled specialists worked for hours connecting veins and arteries and reattaching his severed cranium. Unlike Humpty Dumpty, he was indeed “put back together again.” The doctors, aware that this kind of brain trauma could cause blindness, coma, and irreversible motor senses damage, had no idea what to expect. But Lucky was “lucky.” He beat the odds. He awoke. He was coherent. He could walk. He could talk. He was . . . a living miracle. His memory was completely intact, but it was his sight. His sight was affected. He saw things – things that other people could not see. There were these life forces of energy, suspended mostly in fields, surrounding objects, but with no apparent energy source. Lucky had no explanation for them. They were curious indeed. Upon closer examination, he discovered that what he saw was actually two energy fields, one behind the other. When Lucky walked directly through the two fields, nothing unusual happened. But when he tried walking between the fields, to his amazement, he found he could enter something and be transported to another time – times such as twelfth century England and Roman gladiator days, where he witnessed men fighting each other to their deaths. He called his discovery a “time portal” and learned through trial and error that one time portal led to another. As a result, Lucky had already seen the ancient Roman Coliseum, but on this day, he wanted to see it in its modern day form and Lucky’s friends, well, they were all too happy to accompany him on this little detour. They were along for the ride.

  Bobby Boots loved hovering above the Earth, steering this big machine. He enjoyed flying. Many years ago, he had passed the million-mile mark, but since leaving his pilot’s position at a major commercial airline, his accumulated flight hours had slowed. Bobby and Lucky had grown up together and were still the best of friends. After the fall of the Twin Towers, Bobby was pretty pissed. He swore that someone would pay. Soon thereafter, he enlisted in the army, and given his experience, he was soon flying

  F-16’s. For a few years there, he and Lucky had lost track, until that one day when Bobby received a call from Mickey, also a hometown boy, who was Lucky’s faithful right hand and sidekick and his CIA agent comrade. On the phone, Mickey casually asked what Bobby “was up to these days.” As luck would have it, Bobby was bored, looking for a challenge and was more than pleased to hear of Lucky’s offer to earn more money than he had ever made in his life, and as a bonus, get to reunite with old friends at the same time.

  Instinctively, Bobby reached over, pushed the button that brought the aircraft’s landing gears down, and expertly guided the plane onto the tarmac at Rome’s Fiumicino Airport. Inside, the lines were long and taxing, but quite amusing, filled with native Italians signaling their words by expressively talking with their hands. Ah, the Italians, Lucky thought. There was something about them, something that you had to love.

  The group finally cleared customs and, once outside, they split up to take several different cabs to the five-star Sofitel Rome Villa Borghese, located in the heart of Roma. They hastened to stow their luggage in order to savor every moment in the city of fountains, “The Eternal City.” Once outside on the Via Lombardia, they spent a leisurely afternoon strolling, taking in the sights, sipping espresso, watching the tourists amble by.

  The following morning, they once again piled into several cabs stationed in front of the hotel and made their way over to the Coliseum. The ticket lines, filled with eager tourists, moved surprisingly fast. Tickets in hand, Lucky and his gang of sightseers shuffled up the stone corridors until Lucky came to a screeching halt on a reconstructed section of the ruins. Now facing the once infamous arena of death, there they stood, taking in the view. It was a sight to behold, a glimpse into history, a period of time known for greatness and yet known for its barbaric games. It was a magnificent structure, rising one hundred forty-four feet into the air, an architectural wonder, replete with marble pedestals, seventy-six entrances, and thirty-two elevators. It was a masterpiece of its time and remained so now. On this visit, Lucky looked at it with different eyes than he had during his time travels; this time studying its every crevice as he envisioned the grand structure filled with sixty thousand spectators, all seated according to nobility and rank. He could imagine the gladiators awaiting the Emperor’s signal as to their fate – die or be spared. Even though Lucky had witnessed the gladiators firsthand, there was no way he could impart this to his friends, no one but Mickey. Mickey knew it to be true as he had dared to accompany his friend Lucky on some of his excursions into the past. So there he stood, marveling at the present day Amphitheatrum Flavium, the iconic symbol of Imperial Rome, knowing what it looked like hundreds of years ago.

  A rope prevented the group from traversing a partially restored portion of the sand filled arena floor. The new floor covered about a third of the length of the stadium and was there to illustrate the floor in its original form. Lucky couldn’t help but compare il Colosseo, in its early stages, to what it had now become. His eyes settled upon row after row of empty stone seats. He was disappointed. He gazed upward and visualized the statues, looking down from their sheltered alcoves, high above the heavily crowded boulevard, staring with stone eyes at the throngs of spectators entering the stadium. The life-like statues were works of art, marble from the quarries of Carrara, reminiscent of the one hundred forty statues that line St. Peter’s Square – marble brought to life by unknown artists. He felt privileged to have seen the statues in their original state. It was almost too much to absorb the juxtaposition of then and now. Unwittingly, Lucky wandered away from his friends as he continued to soak up its history. This marvel of architecture, the Coliseum, had given the world the first blue print for all the great stadiums to follow.

  Lucky glanced down for a moment and his eyes settled on a floor area that appeared to be recently reconstructed. Sprinkled on top was a layer of sand illustrating what it must have looked like two thousand years ago. The sand, during gladiator times, was used to absorb the blood from those who were wounded or killed in the sport. Lucky had witnessed men die on these sands, this ancient killing ground. Suddenly, he felt uneasy and had the urge to flee. Lucky walked back toward his friends, asked if they had all had their fill, and if they were ready to head to Tuscany. He suggested they check out the novelty shops that line the ancient narrow streets of the historic city of Siena, accessible only by foot. Afterwards, they would travel the short, one-hour distance to Florence to avail themselves of her designer labels and fashionable shopping.

  Legend has it that twin brothers, Senius and Ascanio, sons of Remus (of the duo Romulus and Remus who founded Rome) settled Siena; thus giving it its emblem of a she-wolf suckling twins. Statues of this sort were all throughout the city. History contradicted this mythology. It is written that in 30 AD, the Romans established a military outpost, called Siena, that blossomed into a small, busy trading post and when Italy formed a republic, Siena became part of the region known as Tuscany. Today, it prospers, thanks to its rich artistic offerings.

  Lucky and the group enjoyed walking Siena’s narrow streets, visiting the small shops, taking time to inspect the multitude of T-shirts, suits, dresses,
shirts, caps, ice cream and coffee shops. Siena remained an unchanged medieval city – mysterious, beautiful and exciting, with charming little stores built into the walls of the narrow walkways, each housing its own unique items. It reminded Lucky of his time portal travels to other places filled with merchants hawking their wares.

  The group made its way to one of the tiny shops apparently owned by a female doctor – a very attractive female doctor. It was hard for Lucky not to notice. In one corner of the store was a display of knives and swords and sword canes that reminded Lucky of his merchant friend, Frederick, from twelfth century England. This was the man who had singlehandedly made Lucky the billionaire that he was today. Through Frederick, Lucky had routinely purchased medieval treasures, had brought them with him into the present, twenty-first century, and had sold them at numerous Sotheby’s auctions. Lucky loved this stuff, this intricate weaponry. He picked up one magnificent sword cane, in particular, and slowly turned it around and around, examining it from every angle. He was tempted, but decided against it. It made no sense, really. Why should he settle for an imitation when he could buy a priceless original whenever he so chose, simply by traveling back in time? No, any purchases in Italy would be for Italian goods and not even so much in Siena. He would save his shopping for Florence where there was no finer leather in the world than the buttery soft, Italian kind sold in that city.

  The group was in no hurry to return to the States. With a friend like Lucky with unlimited resources encouraging them, they elected to tag along and enjoy the seventeenth-century villa that Lucky chose to rent, close to Siena. A comfortable van afforded them the ability to travel together as a group. It was a bit too chilly to take advantage of the villa’s pool, but it was close enough to Siena to walk and that was what they chose one fine morning. The walk took them past the beautiful Tuscan landscape filled with lemon trees, past fields of the largest sunflowers they had ever seen. Each day, the group explored a different area of Tuscany.