The Time Portal 4: The Inquisition

by Joe Corso

  Flackstein got right to it. He logged onto his computer, brought up Lucky’s account then turned the screen so both he and Mickey could see it.

  “Gentlemen, your portfolio value is currently at one and a half billion dollars.” Lucky smiled inwardly. He knew something that Flackstein didn’t. Even though only a day had passed in Lucky’s time, years had passed in Flackstein’s, which explained the sudden increase in the value of their portfolio.

  Lucky, acting totally unaffected, shot back, “You say you can put in for your pension right now?” It was more than a statement than a question. Flackstein had said nothing of the sort.

  “Yes,” Flackstein answered without missing a beat, “that’s right. That’s what I said.”

  “The last time we met,” Lucky continued, “I told you that there would be another bonus waiting for you when I saw you again. I’m giving you a half million dollars for taking good care of my account all these years, but . . . if you sign this agreement today, I’ll make it a cool, even one million. Now, I really don’t see what’s keeping you here, do you?”

  “No,” Flackstein answered, “can’t think of a thing that’s keeping me here. Nope, nothing.”

  “Good. Well then, so . . . Mr. Flackstein . . . first thing tomorrow, begin the search for an office space befitting a billion dollar company – sleek, elegant, all the amenities. I’m waiting.”

  “Okay, I’ll do that,” Flackstein answered. “I will most certainly do that. I will put someone on it to assist me.” He was almost giddy as he said it, relishing the idea with each passing second. “Let’s see. Today is Tuesday. Give me a few days to put my affairs in order and I’ll get started fulltime Monday morning.”

  “Good, because I want you to meet the rest of the corporate shareholders and before we do that on Monday, I want you to think of where we could safely invest our money so that we can see growth, ideally in the short term. I don’t mind investing risk dollars in any venture that shows promise, so keep that in mind. I want you to also think about moving our funds to another bank, if in your opinion, it would be a smart move to do so. If you feel it’s better to keep it here, that’s fine with me as long as we have access to our money whenever we want. Good with all that?”

  “Can I hire the people I need to make this work?” Flackstein asked.

  “Absolutely. Hire the best. Hire the brightest. Pay them well. Give them incentives. You’re the boss. Do whatever you need to do to make us all successful. But I think I need to be clear on something and please make sure to convey this to whomever you hire, in whatever capacity – I will not, I do not tolerate theft, theft of any kind – not a stapler, not a paper clip, nothing. That’s where I draw the line. Make sure your people know that. I’m giving you a free hand to run a company that you will someday own a piece of . . . after you’ve had some time to prove yourself to me and . . . the board.”

  Chapter Nine

  Quiang Shan kept replaying the video. Each time he watched it, he had a hard time believing what he was seeing. He looked up from his computer and over at his deputy.

  “You know, Quon, if I had not heard directly from the Russian Premier’s lips, I would think we had been fooled. I have seen great magicians in China walk through walls, but that was just entertainment, nothing more than a parlor trick, albeit a very convincing parlor trick. But if what is in this video is real, and this man can not only travel in time, but he can walk through solid objects, think of what he could do to our country. He could simply walk into our top secret facilities and take whatever he wanted, whatever secrets, whatever plans, whatever anything – take it all home to the Americans. My God. We cannot allow that to happen. We must bring him here to our country. He must be held and guarded around the clock. I will personally interrogate him. And now I wonder how many others like him there are in the United States. If he can do what I witnessed in this video, then I want to find out his secret so we, too, can employ his abilities and resources.”

  Deputy Quon Zhixin, was careful, knowing how quick to anger his superior tended to be. He spoke slowly and measured each word. “Honorable Director, what if he doesn’t know how he does it? What if it just happens when he wants it to happen?”

  “Nonsense. He has trained himself in these ways. He has somehow taught himself to do what he does. I will find out how he does it or he will suffer greatly. Everyone who has ever been sequestered in our dungeons has eventually answered my questions. We have to devise a plan. So . . . how do we capture this man? And once we have him, how do we keep him? How do we prevent his escape? Let me think for a moment. Yes . . . I remember. When I attended a conference in Russia, I met a man by the name of Zorski. He was the deputy minister to President Putin. He seems to have disappeared, but he had an assistant named . . .”

  He hesitated trying to recall the name.

  “Yes, I remember now. His name was Mikilov, Andrenovich Mikilov. I will call President Putin and ask him if . . .”

  He stopped mid-sentence.

  “No, I think it’s better if he knew nothing of this. I will call Mikilov directly and speak to him.”

  Shan scrolled through his list of contacts until he came to Mikilov’s name. He was afraid he might not have recorded it, but he needn’t have worried. He recorded every name on every card ever handed to him, always in the name of caution, just in case it might come in handy in the future, perhaps when he needed someone’s assistance. That was exactly what he was about to do in this case – ask for someone’s help. He picked up the phone and made the call. A man answered.

  “Is this Andrenovich Mikilov?” Shan asked.

  “Yes,” came the reply. “Who wants to know?” the gruff voice questioned.

  “Mr. Mikilov, my name is Quiang Shan, Director of the Chinese Secret Police. Do you have a moment?”

  Mikilov straightened up. If this was true, this was an important Chinese official calling. Abruptly, he asked what the Chief of China’s Secret Police might want to talk with him about. He was about to hang up when Shan asked him if he knew a certain Lucky Campo from America. Mikilov snarled back at the Director.

  “Yes, I know him and if I see him again, I will kill him. Does that answer your question?”

  Shan contorted his face into what was his version of a smile.

  “Good,” he said. “If you can arrange it, I would like to use your services to capture this American. I need to have a few words with him myself. Can you do that?”

  “Under one condition,” Mikilov answered.

  “And that condition is?”

  “After you finish with him, I am the one who kills him.”

  “That sounds absolutely reasonable to me,” Shan replied. “He is yours after he answers my questions. Do you have two or three trusted men you could bring with you? And in answer to the question that’s on your mind which you haven’t asked yet, I need you to do it because we Chinese stand out in a Caucasian neighborhood. I have studied the area of Queens, New York where he lives. If this was the Flushing area, which is almost a hundred percent oriental, then I would handle it myself. So you can see how I need someone I trust to go in my place.”

  “When do we start?”

  “As soon as you can be ready.”

  “I will put in for week’s vacation. Should be approved in a day or two,”

  Mikilov said. “I will recruit two of my men to do same. What about transportation to the United States?”

  “I am sending my Deputy Quon Zhixin with our jet to Russia. Which would you prefer? Sheremetyevo 2 or Domededovo International Airport? Domededovo is best airport in Moscow, most comfortable and newly renovated a few years ago.”

  “No, we wait for the plane at Sheremetyevo. It is closer and more convenient for us.”

  “Good, Sheremetyevo airport it is then. One more thing. In America, my deputy will be in charge. Is that understood?”

  “Yes. Understood. All I care about is killing Campo.”

  “Then it’s settled. Call me back to confirm the time and
date you wish our plane to be there.”

  Shan tried to smile, but his sinister scowl took over. His plan was taking shape.

  Chapter Ten

  Andrenovich Mikilov submitted his vacation papers for approval by Oleg Karpov. Karpov, the onetime head of the KGB, had been promoted to the US equivalent of Secretary of State after Lucky successfully and permanently ‘removed’ the then Russian Secretary of State, Rudolph Zorfski after he tried to kill Lucky. Foolish move on his part as Lucky retaliated by taking him to ancient Eqypt, during the era of the building of the great Pyramid of Cheops, where Lucky proceeded to unceremoniously dump him. Zorfski, was stranded in another time, in a foreign land.

  Karpov studied the vacation request. Mikilov had not taken time off in two years. It was a bit unusual for him. He certainly was entitled to a vacation, but it was still a bit out of the ordinary. Two things concerned Karpov – first his destination, and next, the answer to the question as to why did three of his men put in for vacation time at the same time also going to America? Not just America, but more specifically, New York City.

  Karpov was the third in line for the presidency. That meant a lot had to happen before he could ever become president. It was a lofty, vague goal – one that, truth be told, he wasn’t actively seeking. Karpov was a soldier, not a politician, and his present position gave him access to virtually any information he wanted, without just cause, which meant without impedance or interference . . . from anyone. So, now he needed to do some research. Normally, a man in Karpov’s position would not bother to engage in such a mundane exercise so simple as to interview someone who had simply requested vacation time, but this was all a bit suspicious, so much so that surely Mikilov himself knew it would raise flags. Is that what he wanted? Nevertheless, Karpov decided that this necessitated his intervention.

  Karpov personally called the newest member of Mikilov’s team and asked him to report to his office. The man arrived, understandably nervous, and full of angst as to why such a powerful man would want to see him.

  “Relax. Have a seat,” Karpov said. The man sat down and just looked at Karpov, too afraid to speak. “This won’t take long.”

  Karpov looked at the form the man had completed and said, “Ahh – Anatoly Frankov. So Anatoly, you’re going to New York? I see by your request that you want to vacation in New York. I took my vacation there recently and returned not long ago. Great city.” Anatoly shifted from one foot to the other not knowing why this powerful man had asked him that question.

  “Yes, I am looking forward to visiting New York City. I have heard many nice things about it.” Karpov nodded in agreement.

  “May I suggest that you visit the Statue of Liberty and you must take in a Broadway show?” Anatoly smiled.

  Karpov then began to engage the man in small talk, a little banter back and forth, hoping to put him at ease. It was the first line of interrogation – to create an atmosphere that creates relaxation. It worked. After chatting for a while, the young man began to say things that someone like Mikilov would not. Karpov was an expert in interrogation, getting what he needed, without the interrogees being aware of it. Judging by his seemingly natural response, it was a bit of a surprise to Frankov when he discovered that a Chinese jet was picking the four men up at Sheremetyevo 2.

  Karpov continued, “If you and your friends would like, I will write down the name of the theatre I visited.” Anatoly smiled and shook his head.

  “No sir. No need sir. I don’t think we will need you to do that. I am certain that we can find it.” Karpov nodded.

  “Good. I’m glad to hear that. Well then, I see that you haven’t had a vacation in two years. Go and enjoy this one with your friends. There’s so much to do in New York you can’t help but enjoy yourselves.” Anatoly turned to leave but Karpov stopped him.

  “Wait one moment.” Anatoly stiffened. Karpov removed his pen and scribbled something on a piece of paper and then handed it to him. Anatoly looked at the address written there but it meant nothing to him.

  “It’s the address for The Russian Tea Room in midtown Manhattan. You must go there. Every Russian who visits New York goes there.”

  Anatoly Frankov left and Karpov glanced at the gold Rolex on his wrist. He took it off, flipped it over and looked at the inscription on the back.

  “From one soldier to another . . . Lucky.”

  Karpov hadn’t heard from his friend Lucky for quite some time now, had no idea where he was or if things in his life had changed, but one thing that hadn’t changed was Mikilov’s hatred of Lucky. Mikilov’s nostrils would flare and it looked to Karpov like he was a dragon incarnate, breathing fire, his nose widening with each breath at the mere mention of Lucky’s name. This rather suspicious vacation to the states, especially to New York, was reason enough to alert Lucky. Now was the time to make contact. Oleg put the watch back on his wrist, told his secretary he was going to lunch and headed out. His secretary had learned long ago to never ask how long he would be as Karpov was erratic, time-wise, with his lunches. Sometimes, he would return within the hour; other times, he would not return until the following morning. As it just so happened, he had a lunch meeting scheduled. This would be a great opportunity to call Lucky. He dialed his number from his cell phone. Only Lucky’s closest friends had this number. Lucky Campo answered immediately.

  “Lucky, is that you?”

  “Yes, who’s this please?”

  “Its Oleg, Oleg Karpov. I’m calling you from Russia. I’m on my way to luncheon but I have something important to tell.”

  “What is it Oleg?”

  “I am not sure but need to warn you.”

  “Warn me about what?”

  “It may be nothing, may be something. You remember Mikilov, the one you gave beating?”

  “Yes, what about him?”

  “He gave vacation papers. I approved. He has not taken vacation in two years, so he certainly is entitled. What is mystery is that three of his workers are going with him and his destination is New York City. It does not ring true and that is what concerns me. In addition, he will be picked up by Chinese jet. This is no vacation. Only thing that comes to mind is that he comes for you. Be careful, my friend. He comes to Kennedy Airport tomorrow morning. Now I must go. Be well. When this is over, call me. We need to share dinner and vodka. Good bye, old friend.” And he hung up.

  Lucky alerted Mickey. Told him to get all the guys together immediately – emergency meeting. Mickey hit the phone and twenty minutes later, the whole gang was on their way over. The guys knew what that meant. It normally meant that some crackpot was coming for Lucky, something that not one of the guys would stand for.

  “Guys,” Lucky said, slamming his fist on the table, “looks like a team of Russians are on their way here. My source tells me he has a hunch they’re coming for me. A guy who I kicked the shit out of in Russia by the name of Mikilov is headin’ here with a team of four men, him included. They’ll be landing at Kennedy shortly. I need to pre-empt them. Mickey, call the professor and tell him to get his magnetic propulsion flying saucer, aircraft, whatever you wanna call it, and get the invisibility suits ready. We’re gonna need them. Here’s what I wanna do. I need to find out the names, specific names, of all those behind this so . . . I’m going to cut right to the chase. I’m gonna let them nab me, and when they do, you guys will follow us in the saucer. It doesn’t take a genius to figure this one out. A Chinese plane with Russian goons. What does that tell us? The Chinese want me, but they don’t want to come after me themselves. They’d stand out like fireworks on the fourth of July. So they ask some Russian goons to do it for them. And they ask the one guy who they know won’t refuse them, the one who holds a grudge against me. Bet a hundred to one that he said he’d do it on the condition that he’d be allowed to kill me when it’s over.”

  “You got it,” said Nicky.

  “Yep, we’re here for you,” Duke chimed in.

  “This is a pain in the ass,” Lucky said, shaking his head. �
��It’s starting all over again. Now it’s the Chinese who are curious about my abilities to travel in time. The Chinese did not check with my friend, Karpov, at Russian Intelligence. This is all being done circumventing him and his power. Why would they not confer with him or Putin? What could they be after? What would make them desperate enough to hire a bunch of Russian goons? The only thing I can think of is the unthinkable – they may have learned of my ability to walk through solid structures. I’m sure President Putin probably told someone in the Chinese government about our visit and what he witnessed that day in his office when I pointed my finger at his men one at a time and they all fell unconscious to the ground. He didn’t know that you guys were in the room wearing those invisibility suits. He didn’t know that you hit them with that knockout spray. I explained to Putin the limitations to my time travel ability and that seemed to satisfy him. So if a superpower like Russia is satisfied, then so should the Chinese, right? Well, something has their interest. They’re coming to get me which means they must know something that no one else does. But how? How could they have learned about my ability to walk through walls?”

  It was Mickey who in his laid back way said, “You’re forgetting the obvious, Lucky.”

  “What’s that Mickey?”

  “Cameras. They’re everywhere. Surveillance. Security. Security watches the cameras. We never even gave it a thought at the time. Maybe we should just go and check out the guys that work there, the ones watching those cameras.”

  Lucky turned and gave Mickey a big kiss on the cheek.