The Time Portal 2: Escape in Time

by Joe Corso [time travel]

  “There is a young Russian princess who misses her country, but cannot return home because her family was murdered. She is currently under my protection.”

  “Who is this princess? There are no ladies called princesses in Russia missing. So I don’t see how you have Russian princess in your care.”

  “Think, Oleg. Who was the last Russian princess to remain alive? Think carefully who might have survived.”

  Oleg stood, his mind racing, trying his best to comprehend who it might be. Lucky tried another clue. “Wasn’t there one of the tsar’s daughters whose body was never found?”

  “You can’t mean . . .”

  “Go on,” Lucky encouraged.

  “The only person I can think, but . . . it is impossible. It cannot be. Anastasia Nikolayevna,” he uttered softly to himself.

  Lucky smiled lightly as if to affirm his answer. Oleg stared, raised one eyebrow as though intrigue had turned to anger.

  “You do not amuse, Lucky,” he said.

  “No, I am not amusing, Oleg. But I am truthful. Pravda. I am known for my pravda. So here is the truth. Somehow, in my travels, the ones that take me to crazy places and crazy times all over the world, well, I ended up in Siberia where I stumbled upon a horrible scene. I can honestly say that it was the worst thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life – a family being murdered by men pretending to be soldiers. They were killing everyone in sight – men, women, children – attacking them viciously with their guns and knives and executing them one by one. So . . . I pulled out my gun and shot them, with the help of a friend traveling with me. They had never seen guns and firepower like ours. It was too late for many of the family members, but we were able to get her out of there. I brought her here to the present with me, in order to protect her. Her name is indeed Anastasia . . . Nikolayevna.”

  Oleg gasped. How could it be? This man before him must be delusional, yet already Oleg had witnessed, with his own eyes, inexplicable mad powers from this man. How could he doubt him now? Should he doubt him now?

  “Lucky,” he said. “I see no reason for you to say this, but you admit this is story unlike others. The magic you performed, well there is probably simple answer, one that brilliant Russian scientists have not yet perfected, but nevertheless, I give you that credit. Also, this machine that flies is brilliant and yet can be developed through brightest of engineers and physicists so that, too, can be explained, but rescuing duchess (and by the way for sake of accurate history, she was Grand Duchess, not princess) from another time, well, I’m afraid, Lucky, that I cannot let my mind believe this.”

  Lucky laughed and said, “Well, I can’t say that I blame you there, Oleg,” and he began to walk. “I’ll consider returning her to you on two conditions,” he added.

  “Lucky, there is no princess, so may I suggest we end nonsense?”

  “If she herself agrees to return to Russia and if you give me your personal guarantee that she will not be harmed and will be treated like the princess, duchess, that she is,” Lucky continued, completely ignoring Oleg. “She is a Russian treasure. She is royalty and deserves to be treated as such.”

  “Lucky, it would be foolish man to make deal such as this over such preposterous story. How can this be and besides, if there is young woman and she professes to be duchess, and you go along with her story, and I go along with both stories, how do I know is really Anastasia Nikolayevna, of Pererhof, daughter of Alexandra Feodorovna and Nicholas II the tsar?”

  “Oleg, you know as well as I that there are laboratories that perform genetic tests that can prove or disprove her heritage. It will be an easy way to find the truth.”

  Oleg was about to respond, but without warning, the flying machine appeared, seemingly from nowhere, swooped down, and perched itself right on the pavement before them.

  “I did not expect,” Oleg said as he grabbed his heart. “Lucky, you said you had no intentions of killing me. I beg to differ, Lucky. You almost did. You should warn man before surprise him like that.” Lucky laughed and laughed and Oleg, once he regained his composure, joined in.

  “So, here you have it. This is the mysterious, intriguing space machine, conceived and built by the man who flies it. I can show you inside if you trust me. I have no intentions of any malice. As I said before, I simply want to show you so you can issue your report.”

  The steps extended from the ship and the men climbed aboard. Once inside, Lucky introduced Oleg to Professor Lindstrom.

  “Oleg, this is the man you were so anxious to meet.”

  Lucky and Oleg each took a seat, as did the invisible gang behind them, without Oleg realizing they were close enough to breathe on him. The ship fascinated Oleg. His eyes darted around, examining every inch of the interior of the craft, professionally analyzing it and committing as much to memory as possible. The truth was that he kind of liked Lucky, but trained professional as he was, he would need to include all of this in his report to President Putin.

  At that moment, Oleg’s intense scrutiny and gaze was interrupted by Lucky’s hand on his arm.

  “Oleg,” he said. “You and I are going to the Kremlin. We’re going to walk right into the President’s office.

  “What?” Oleg answered. “You tricked me! I cannot ‘walk’ into President’s office unannounced,” he exclaimed.

  “I want to talk to him,” Lucky continued. “I’ll answer his questions if that is what it takes to get him off of my back. I don’t want to keep looking over my shoulder any longer. He can ask and I will tell him anything he needs to know as long as it does not compromise my country or my government’s national security or violate any secrecy policies.”

  Oleg sat quietly. He looked toward the door, wondering if he should make a go for it down the steps, yet he had seen that tape of Lucky. He knew that the man before him had some crazy powers. Why, he witnessed a room full of armed guards fall one by one to the ground like a stack of pick-up sticks. Lucky motioned to the professor and said, “The Kremlin, please, professor.”

  Within seconds, the professor landed the ship at the far end of the main parking lot, alongside some trees. He then he propelled the spacecraft as far into the trees as safety would permit and slowly turned the ship around, so that the steps would not be visible from the building.

  “Everything I told you, Oleg, concerns only me, no one else. Understand that, while I’m able to see portals and travel to another time, there is no other human being that can duplicate it. Not a soul on earth. When a man in high places in the CIA tried to kill me, it was luck, strictly luck that I survived. Divine intervention, by means of that laundry, saved my life at first. Then divine intervention and the doctors did the rest. My brain was a pile of mush. The doctors were certain I would not survive, but I was always lucky, that’s why I have the name I do, and this time I was luckier than ever before.

  “Oleg, by you walking me into President Putin’s office, you will be the hero, the only man who could bring me in. As far as you are concerned, you have followed your president’s orders. And, when all is said and done, and when this nonsense is over, you and I will take that trip through time. You will experience it for yourself, and of course, it will be my pleasure to have you accompany me when I drop off Zofski.”

  Oleg looked around as though he was half expecting his boss to walk in and hear. He began to whisper.

  “Lucky? You really go for him? You speak the truth? You eliminate Zofski?”

  “I sure am,” Lucky answered quickly. “Yes to all of the above.”

  Then Oleg asked, “Will you do in President’s office what you did in my office? The trick of falling men?”

  “Sure will, Oleg, if you think I need to. It’s probably a good idea, huh?”

  Lucky and Oleg made their way over to Lubyanka Square and the grand building, home of the Kremlin and the KGB. The massive building, as majestic as its presence in size, was rather plain and barren, in fact, cold on the inside. The men walked up two flights of steps and down a hallway. Lucky held the
door long enough for his invisible back up team to enter and he himself then walked right into President Putin’s office.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Zofksi was seated to the side of the President’s large desk. Apparently, Oleg and Lucky had walked in on a heated discussion between the two men. Lucky looked around the room and was surprised to see that the room was rather austere, sparse, with few accents, except for a couple of pictures of Putin adorning the walls. It was a far cry from the fancy trappings of the Oval Office. Lucky began to wonder if this was not an indication of the man’s personality – no nonsense, serious, a let’s-get-right-down-to-brass-tacks type of guy.

  The President got up from his chair and greeted Oleg.

  “Who is your friend here?” he asked in Russian.

  Oleg began to speak in English, making sure that there was no misunderstanding or confusion on Lucky’s end. He did not want any trouble.

  “This is American you ordered we bring to you.”

  Putin’s face said it all as he stood there looking at the unrestrained man before him. Where are the handcuffs, the chains, he wondered? Why was this man seemingly unafraid, not cowering before a man as great as he?

  “Do you understand Russian?” he asked Lucky.

  Lucky nodded and answered, “Yes, a little.”

  Putin started to speak again, but Lucky interrupted him.

  “Mr. President,” he said. “You had some questions that you wanted to ask me, am I correct?”

  “Yes, I have questions, many of them.”

  “Then may I suggest that you proceed and ask your questions?” Lucky replied.

  The president was clearly taken by surprise. After perusing Lucky’s file, he felt certain that the former CIA agent would be defiant, an obstinate soldier, rather than the compliant and reasonable man standing before him . . . with a smile on his face.

  “I’ll be happy to answer your questions,” Lucky repeated. “If they don’t involve my country’s security.”

  Putin was still a bit stunned by his brazen attitude. How could a man like this walk into his office, offer himself almost like a sacrificial lamb, unafraid, and present such eagerness to comply with the requests of another country’s leader? Nothing made any sense. Lucky let him know that he was reading his thoughts.

  “I can tell by your expression,” Lucky added, “that you’re wondering why I would agree to any of this. Well it’s simple.”

  Hah, thought Putin. Nothing is ever that simple.

  “I’ll gladly answer your questions as long as I have your guarantee that after providing you with the answers, you will stop harassing me.”

  “Mr. Campo,” Zofski interrupted. “You are in no position to demand anything.” He smirked as he said it, almost proud of himself. “You are completely in our control. Your demands mean little to us in this room. We have ways of getting you to talk and I do hope that you give me reason to prove to you.”

  Zofski was full of himself, completely celebrating. It was a triumph for him, both for speaking out on behalf of the President, and for the situation at hand. Lucky was their prisoner. Jubilant and snarky would describe him, Lucky thought – the very kind of person that Lucky loved to cut off at the knees, but nevertheless, Lucky was a bit surprised at Zofski’s gall. If a man can feel at liberty to speak for his President, then that man must be quite confident of his position, meaning his hierarchy. Lucky eyed Putin.

  President Putin interrupted and said, “Zofski, I think you are going a little too far.” Then he looked at Lucky and said, “Mr. Campo, I do not like to resort to extreme measures. I prefer to avoid them and keep my hands, as the President, clean. By all means, if your answers seem satisfactory, then all is well and ends here.”

  Lucky looked at him. “I’ll take your word, Mr. President. Even though we are from different countries, I think that we both recognize the importance of honor. But, I must admit that I am a bit surprised that a man with your intelligence has someone like this man here, this Zofski, as you call him, working so closely with you. His words and body language tell me that he is a liar – a sociopath with no morals or values. This man has no honor.”

  Zofski began to seethe with rage. He clenched his teeth. His fingers curled in anger and he leapt out of his chair and charged into Lucky, stopping right at his face as he spewed his words, growling into his eyes.

  “Who are you to come into this office and insult the President and me?”

  “I didn’t insult the President,” Lucky said. “I insulted you,” he added smugly.

  “How dare you insult me? I hope you enjoyed it, Mr. Campo. After we are finished here, you will say hello to the interrogation room, deep beneath this building. I doubt very much that you will be in any position to insult me or anyone else ever again.”

  “See,” Lucky said as he looked at President Putin. “This is exactly what I was talking about, Mr. President. This man is insane.”

  Zofski picked up a walkie-talkie lying on the President’s desk and uttered some Russian. Lucky understood. He had alerted security and requested that two-security men report to the president’s office immediately.

  President Putin’s expression was serious. “Mr. Campo, I have given you my word that no harm will come to you if I get the answers I’m looking for.”

  Zofski tried to jump in, “But . . .”

  “No buts. I am in charge here,” Putin said sternly. “Do not overstep your authority, Mr. Zofski. Now,” he said, turning back to Lucky, “I admire your bravery and I can see what an asset you must have been to your agency, but there is no need to insult my Chief of Staff. Mr. Campo, you are in an awkward position right now, a difficult one, on our land, in our territory.”

  “As difficult and awkward as it may seem to you, Mr. President,” Lucky countered. “You are in a more difficult position than I. It may seem hard to believe, but it is indeed true.”

  The President shook his head, as if to say that Lucky was crazy, and looked around the room, checking to see if he was missing something. There were no visible threats in the room. Zofski looked at the two armed men who had answered his call, now standing in each corner at the back of the room. Putin reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a piece of paper. He scanned it as if trying to determine what to do with it.

  “Ask your questions, Mr. President,” Lucky said. “I really have other things to do and want to finish here and return to my home and prepare for my next vacation. I love vacations; can never get enough of them and have only . . .”

  “Ha,” chortled Zofski. “The only vacation you will be taking is one that does not involve ‘sightseeing,’ as you Americans say.”

  “Zofski,” yelled Putin. “I am ordering you to be silent!”

  Zofski was furious – furious at the president and furious at Lucky. He looked at Lucky and glared at him as if sending a message. Lucky gave a little grin, angering him further. The two were now playing this little game with each other – the battle of the stares; quite humorous actually, thought Oleg.

  The Russian president settled on his first question and asked, “I have seen the tape of you disappearing. How do you do this? What is this trick?”

  “No trick, Mr. President. I can disappear if the circumstances are favorable.”

  “Can you disappear now?”

  “No.”

  Zofski bolted out of his chair and faced the President. “Mr. President, can’t you see that this man is lying? He should be tortured until he reveals the truth!”

  Lucky looked at Zofski, smiled, and spoke in a calm voice, asking, “And who might be doing the torturing, Mr. Zofski? Would that be you, by any chance?”

  He looked at Lucky defiantly and sneered. “It would give me great pleasure to wipe the smile off of your smug face as you scream and plead for mercy.”

  Lucky waved him off as if to say that he’d had enough of his foolishness. He turned back to Putin. “Mr. President, I speak the truth regarding my time travels. I cannot just choose where I want to trav
el. Most of it is purely by accident and it is fairly treacherous, as I never know where I will end up and what I might see. There are atrocities in every time period, some that are rather difficult to stomach, but . . . I do have other powers that may interest you. If you will, then allow me to demonstrate some real magic right here in this room.”

  Zofski huffed, “Oh, please do. This I cannot wait to see.”

  “Would you like that, Mr. President?” Lucky asked, ignoring Zofski’s comment.

  “Mr. Campo, that is the purpose, the reason for our interest in you. Please do. Is there anything that you need from us in order to, uh, perform . . . this magic?” he asked. It was obvious that Putin was completely skeptical.

  “Not really,” Lucky answered. “See, that’s what’s great about what I do. I don’t really have to carry many things like the other magicians do. They have to have a rabbit, a hat, some cards, a big trunk, a saw, a beautiful lady . . .”

  “Mr. President,” Zofski said. “This man is making a mockery of you, me, this office. Allow me to have him removed immediately and taken for real questioning. Let’s see his magic get him out of the basement . . .”

  “Zofski,” Lucky said. “You are really getting on my nerves. Actually, you’re making me mad and I don’t like getting mad. Getting mad makes my blood pressure go up and my doctor told me not to do that, not to let my blood pressure go up. He told me to avoid those things that might make it go up. Now, you are one of those ‘things’ that is making my blood pressure increase. I don’t like that. I don’t like you.” Lucky then turned back toward the President, and said, “As I was saying before your rude little minion over here decided to interrupt again, as for my magic, I can show you right here. For example, if I just point my finger at Mr. Zofski, here, I can make him fall into a sleep.”

  Zofski laughed that uncomfortable laugh that said, “This is ridiculous, but it makes me skittish anyway.”

  “Let me demonstrate if for you, Mr. President.” Lucky pointed his finger at Zofski. Zofski crossed his arms in defiance and then immediately fell to the floor, seemingly unconscious. Lucky, walked over, grabbed his legs, and dragged him over to the chair that he previously occupied, draped his body face down over the seat of the chair, and dragged the chair against the wall, out of the way. Lucky looked over at Oleg and couldn’t help but catch the slight glimmer of a smile that he was trying hard to conceal.