“Mr. Zofski is much better company when he has nothing to say, don’t you agree, Mr. President?” Lucky asked. Oleg could no longer restrain himself. He let out a nice hearty laugh. Putin looked up at him, but showed no emotion.
“So you see, Mr. President,” Lucky continued. “Contrary to what your buddy here thinks,” he said pointing to Zofski, “it is you who is in danger from me and not me from you. But let’s not concern ourselves with that because I did not come here with the intention of harming anyone. I allowed Oleg to bring me to you, after he insisted and only after he, um, captured me, of course, and for that, I have to give the man credit,” he said as he nodded to Oleg. Oleg smiled. He had no idea why Lucky did that, but he was appreciative. “Now, onto your other questions. I really want to complete this little mission, as I would like to make it home in time for dinner. Somewhere there’s a nice steak with my name on it.”
Putin put up his hand to cut him off and said, “And you can do this to someone else, a different person if I were to call him into this office?”
“Yes, please call anyone you like.” Putin picked up his phone and asked his secretary to come in.A few seconds later, the door opened and a petite, blue eyed, quite attractive, blond young woman entered the room and he asked her to stand still.
The President looked at Lucky and said, “All right. Do it again. Point your finger at her.”
Lucky smiled at the woman said, “Sorry,” lifted his hand in her direction, and pointed his finger at her and, plop, she collapsed where she stood. Gingerly, he picked her up and lay her down on the floor next to the wall. Just about that time, Zofski opened his eyes, lifted his head, appeared bewildered for a second or two, and asked, “What happened?” No one answered him. The President, still seated behind his desk, was not sure if he should continue with his questions or not. This secret, this magic of Lucky’s had him perplexed – perplexed and pissed. Why hadn’t the men of the KGB developed this technology or this magic?
“Mr. President, you asked me another question and now I would like to answer it.”
“Yes, do,” Putin said. “Please explain how you can disappear in the middle of a field, vanish into the air.”
Lucky explained how he stepped into time portals and proceeded to once again emphasize how none of it mattered, as his gift, the result of a head injury, served no benefit to the military, other governments, other countries, or covert operations. And . . . just so you know,” he added, “it is quite dangerous to others. You see, only I can travel freely. Only I. All others who may have the bright idea of following me or attempting it will meet certain doom, and that . . . is no bluff, as we say in poker.”
Zofski was still looking around the room, half hearing what Lucky had said. He jumped up and demanded, “What happened? Why do I have no memory of things? How did I get into that chair?”
“Sit down,” Putin ordered. “And I would advise you to remain silent. The man here, the one you insulted, has provided proof of his ‘magic.’ You, on the other hand, have no magic, so until you have some, I suggest you sit there and say nothing, absolutely nothing.”
Zofski’s face turned red. How dare someone speak to him like that, even the President of Russia? He was as important, if not more so, than the man behind the desk, he thought.
Lucky concluded with, “I cannot teleport. I cannot choose to disappear whenever I want and be gone like that,” he said as he snapped his fingers. “A person that can disappear on demand, whenever he wants, now that person and that person’s psyche or techno or magic powers, now those could certainly be of interest to others and yes, perhaps be used in some warped fashion for intelligence or have military implications, but not the ability that I have. It is far too limiting.”
Lucky wasn’t quite sure if President Putin was convinced or not. By all accounts, he was an intelligent man and perhaps he was grappling with whether any of what Lucky said was true. Putin moved on to his next question.
“I understand that you have a unique system of travel, outside of your special doors . . .”
“Portals,” Lucky corrected.
“Outside of your portals,” Putin repeated.
“Well, yes, Mr. President, I do have a carefully designed and operational propulsion system, but I will not tell you anything about that. I don’t think I’m even going to tell this to my own government. But I have taken the liberty of demonstrating the spacecraft to your KGB Chief, Mr. Oleg Karpov.”
The Russian president looked at Oleg. Oleg nodded slightly as if to acknowledge that what Lucky was saying was true.
“And I am sure that he,” Lucky continued, “will provide you a complete report on all that he has seen and experienced. In fact, it is my desire to allow him to accompany me on a longer flight where he will see firsthand how our ship functions. So now that I have voluntarily answered your questions, if there is nothing further to discuss, I would appreciate Mr. Karpov escorting me safely outside of the building. But, before I go, I would like your gentleman’s word that you will call off your men, that I no longer be considered someone on your capture list, and that the entire KGB is notified immediately that your agency no longer has any need for my presence or assistance.”
Putin did not answer. Instead, he sat there as though his mind was a flurry of thought, trying to decide how to handle this brazen intruder.
Lucky looked at President Putin sternly and said, “Mr. President, I am ready to leave now.”
The President collected himself and answered, “I appreciate your candor, Mr. Campo, and while I’m not completely satisfied with this interview, as you have not explained your flight system to me, yes, of course you have my word. My men will no longer bother you, as of this moment.”
Lucky thanked him and, as he and Oleg turned to walk away, he stopped and said, “If you have any other questions, please convey them to Mr. Karpov and I will be happy to answer them. Mr. Karpov knows how to reach me. After all, he is the one who found me. Good man here, Putin, uh, Mr. President. Good soldier, this one.”
“Good day, Mr. Campo,” Putin said. “Until we meet again.”
The two men took their time as they exited the building and continued chatting about what had happened in the President’s office. They made their way about a quarter of the way up the sidewalk when out from the side of the building stepped two men. There, standing before them, were none other than Zofski, with Mikilov by his side, each man sporting a sneer, trying their best to issue a challenge by looks alone. That dumbass Zofski must have texted Mikilov or something while Lucky and Putin were talking. That was the only explanation Lucky could think of. Lucky did not react. He and Oleg just kept walking. Zofski hurried along, caught up with them, stepped out in front of Lucky, and stopped. Oleg did not react. He already knew Lucky’s abilities. Poor Zofski was all he could think. The poor idiot man never knew when it was quitting time.
“This is not over,” the Secretary of State said. “I will find you. You will pay for humiliating me in front of the President.”
Lucky looked at him and responded, “Did you hear the promise your president just made to me, or are you also deaf in addition to being just plain stupid?”
Mikilov, a full head taller than Lucky, stepped between the men, not so much as to protect Zofski, but to intimidate Lucky.
“Mikilov,” Lucky said. “I can smell your breath, your thick, borscht-breathing breath and you, Mikilov, are standing in my way. You just may be the dumbest man I ever met. I already owe you something. It’s called revenge, payback for taking my friends. Now if you keep pushing me, like you’re doing right now, then that payback is going to come soon, like right now.”
Mikilov stepped toward Lucky. Just as Mikilov retracted his arm, preparing to land a punch, he fell to his knees, grabbing his gonads. One of Lucky’s friends, lurking behind, completely invisible, had nailed him. Oleg stood silently. Zofski didn’t know how to react. He, too, stood quietly, not understanding, but trying his best to rationalize it. Lucky looked down
at Mikilov, then over to Zofski, and smiled. He continued walking as if nothing had happened. Oleg followed his lead. Once they were a safe distance away, Oleg looked at Lucky with and said, “I not see Mikilov so defeated in all the years he work for me. It happen fast. Sudden. Zofski has no knowledge what happened. He does not understand and with honesty, I do not understand either, Lucky.”
It was all a mystery really. First, the men around Oleg, then the guards in the President’s office, and now, here outside the Kremlin, a man goes down and in the words of Oleg, “Yet you, Lucky, did not move. Your body did not move.”
Lucky said nothing as he continued to walk back toward the spacecraft area. He kept thinking that he surely hoped the KGB, through some sophisticated technology, had not caught wind of the craft being parked in not-so-plain view, completely cloaked, invisible to the human eye. Only those with inside knowledge of its whereabouts knew.
“You are truly a man of mystery, Mr. Campo,” Oleg said. “I have no pity for Mikilov. Actually, it is good for him. He is not accustomed to humiliation and ‘bring him to his knees,’ the way Americans say,” he said as he chuckled. “Is probably something he needs. All he knows is how to cause pain, not receive it. So, it’s good he is defeated even if it something simple like kicking him in area we know is sensitive of all men.”
Lucky laughed. “Oleg,” he said. “It may not have been this big fight scene like you see in the movies, but sometimes it is best to humiliate, simply, expeditiously. What I mean by that is, when we use basic means, primitive old street fighting tactics, it often will make the big bully look even smaller, sillier, especially if he has to admit that he was defeated by . . . a hit to the balls!”
Oleg started to laugh a goofy laugh and Lucky started to laugh as result of Oleg’s laugh and from there it escalated – two powerful guys, each of whom held or had held a respectable position for his government, standing outside on the Kremlin sidewalk, bent over laughing, over something as silly as a big ole menacing Russian begging for Jesus as he fell to the ground in pain, holding his testicles. They were laughing so hard that for a moment, they forgot that someone else was still there, farther away, up the sidewalk, closer to the doors.
“Hey,” Lucky said to Oleg, still holding his stomach laughing. “We left Zofski standing there.” The men looked up to see Zofski standing over Mikilov, yelling at him.
“Hey, Zoff,” Lucky called out. “You wanted to see our ship. Well, it’s right here.”
Zofski looked at Mikilov, just staggering to his feet, and looked around to see who else might be looking. He told Mikilov to get up and follow him. Oleg and Lucky continued their walk until Lucky came upon the location where he felt certain the professor was parked. Oleg asked why they were stopping.
“Because we’re here,” Lucky answered.
“Lucky, okay, not funny. Enough tricks. Where is machine?” Apparently, Oleg had failed to realize that the ship was cloaked. He had stepped off it and walked outside of it without looking back.
“Here,” Lucky answered simply.
Oleg rolled his eyes.
Zofski and Mikilov, both breathing heavily, caught up with Lucky. They stopped and bent over with their hands on their knees as they attempted to catch a breath. Mikilov eyed Lucky as if to send a message of revenge.
“Mikilov,” Lucky said. “You stay right here. I am not asking. I am telling you. This is between Zofski and me. We are going to take a little walk and I advise you to remain right here. If you do not, then I have a little torture of my own, much worse than being hit in your reproductive gland.”
Mikilov did not budge. He did not find Lucky’s words funny. Perhaps he couldn’t understand them all or perhaps he was still just a little pissed, but he stood, emotionless, and did not move.
Then, out of nowhere, Oleg turned to Lucky and began to say things that made no sense whatsoever. “You use word ‘torture’ but we do not believe what your country says is torture. Your political figures tried to close down Guantanamo naval base. They say you cannot torture prisoners. Your elected officials say that wartime prisoners should have same treatment as civilians in civilian courts. We do not understand in our country. War was declared on U.S. when it was attacked on 911. Has U.S. forgotten that over three thousand people were killed that day, including three hundred firefighters and first responders? That’s problem with people in your country. They forget too soon. They forget what happened only years ago. They forget their neighbors murdered that day. I tell you, Lucky, if this happen in Russia, we eliminate the country who attack us. This president of yours will be tested.”
Zofski and Lucky both looked at him like he was crazy. Oleg was impassioned in his speech and all it took was for Lucky to use the word “torture.”
“Well said, Oleg, but for now, let’s enter the spaceship,” Lucky said almost flippantly.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Zofski looked around. He could see nothing but the trees at the end of the parking lot.
“Where is this ship of yours that is supposed to be only a little distance from where we stand Mr. Campo?” he asked.
“I’ll show you in a minute,” Lucky said as he motioned him to follow. “Just to be safe, Oleg will come along to protect you.” Lucky laughed.
Zofski raised his head, puffed his chest out defiantly, and said, “I do not need anyone to protect me. I am perfectly capable of protecting myself.”
“Yeah, well, what about that fainting spell you had in your president’s office?” Lucky said as he laughed again.
“I do not know about your little parlor trick, Mr. Campo, but we are outside of the Kremlin. There are soldiers everywhere. I need not fear you. My men will be alerted instantly.”
“So then you have no worries, Zofski. Follow me for a tour of my special secret.” The three men, and invisible friends, walked to the far end of the parking lot and stepped a few feet into the woods. Suddenly, the spacecraft appeared from nowhere. The steps silently unfolded. Lucky boarded first, then Oleg and just as Zofski was about to ascend, an invisible Nicky stepped outside onto the steps and sprayed his face with chloroform. Zofski fell over right into Nicky’s arms. Nicky, with the help of some of the other guys, hustled him aboard. Oleg saw this, a body being moved with no one moving it, and headed back toward the steps in an attempt to deplane the vessel.
“Oleg,” Lucky said. “I told you earlier that you’re safe. I gave you my word. Now if Zofski’s men spot us, we are taking off immediately. So, I suggest you decide – either get in and I’ll take you on an adventure of a lifetime or you can stay behind. Makes no difference to me.”
Oleg hesitated for a moment, then stepped aboard. He took a look around and took the first seat he saw. He nodded hello to the professor again. Lucky fired up his computer and opened up Dirk Sommerville’s letter of resignation. This was the letter that Dirk had written and signed before he mysteriously disappeared. Lucky converted the letter into Russian, changed the date and name from Sommerville to Zofski, checked the document for errors and changed it to fit Zofski’s profile. The chloroform that Nicky used on Zofski was a light dose. Zofski was quickly regaining consciousness, but before he could come around, Mickey leaned over and, injected him with a modified truth serum – the same one the agency had used successfully on Marcov the Russian they captured in front of the safehouse in Queens—while Zofski was still in his groggy state. Lucky pointed at a line above the typed letters that spelled out Zofski’s name and told him to put his signature on the line. Zofski offered no resistance. Compliantly, he took the pen and signed his name, unaware that he had just ended his career as a public servant. Lucky placed the letter in an envelope and handed it to Oleg.
“Use this as you want,” Lucky said. Oleg dared not speak. He had no idea if Lucky Campo was a man of his word but, for now, he had no reason to test him. “Oleg, Zofski’s job just became vacant. You go ahead and turn in this letter. You’ve already turned me in, so you should be up for a big promotion. I’m interested in whe
ther you get his job and, even if you don’t, I would appreciate updates on any of the other key players who may be taking Zofski’s position.”
As Lucky studied Oleg, he could tell that the possibility of stepping into Zofski’s position was something that interested him. Lucky had no idea how much, but it most likely meant a quantum leap in salary. At the very least, it meant an escalation in rank and prestige.
“Oleg, why don’t you call your aide and tell him that you’ll be leaving town for a few days? Tell him you’ll be back at your desk when you’re feeling more refreshed. We’ll go through the portals. We’ll do a little ‘sightseeing,’ as we Americans call it.” He chuckled as he mimicked Zofski.
Oleg knew that it might be a crazy gamble, but working for the KGB had taught him a little something about body language, eyes, voice, truth, and how to read it all. While it was never foolproof, there was nothing about Lucky that was sounding a bell, creating an alarm. For some reason, Oleg did not fear him.
“All right, Lucky, let’s do it. I am long overdue for vacation and it appears that I may be taking travels I could never arrange myself.”
Oleg picked up phone and made a call to his second in command. All he said was that he was tired and was taking a short vacation. Lucky had Oleg move to a seat closer to the front. The invisible crew moved and took the row behind him. Lucky nodded to them and spoke out loud.
“Okay, guys, you can reveal yourselves now.” Oleg looked around the craft, trying to understand what Lucky was doing and saying.
Oleg turned back around to look toward the professor and, as he did, the men took off their suits and became visible without Oleg seeing a thing.
The Time Portal 2: Escape in Time Page 17
