by Joe Corso
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
Fire Stories
The Time Portal 4
The Inquisition
By Joe Corso
The Time Portal 4
Joe Corso
Copyright 2013 by Joe Corso
Published by
Black Horse Publishing
Cover Art by Marina Shipova
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 system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.
All Rights Reserved.
Table of Contents
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
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Epilogue
Chapter One
During a hearing of the House of Representatives Judiciary Committe, FBI Director Robert Mueller was asked about Beijing's spy programs aimed at the United States. He was polite, but firm, stating that he could give few details in an unclassified setting. Joel Brenner, head of the US Office of National Counterintelligence, said China's intelligence services were waging a "very aggressive" campaign to obtain US military secrets.
Mueller was concerned that the Chinese were determined to catapult ahead of the United States, not only in terms of military technology, but also in economic productivity.
"We have reiterated many times that the so-called stealing of US military secrets is groundless and these accusations are due to ulterior motives," Chinese foreign ministry spokesman Qin Gang said.
Qin Gang. The man whose name signifies strength, much like the position he held. The Chinese give their children meaningful names and often, oddly enough, the names fit.
The Director of China’s Secret Police was Qiang Shan, meaning “strong mountain” and his name, like Qin Gang’s, suited him well. Qiang Shan was a bull of a man – large in stature, both in height and muscular build. His daily workout consisted of at least one hour of martial arts plus another two to three hours of weight training and cardio. His permanent scowl, on top of his six feet four inch frame, made for an intimidating presence – a formidable opponent even before speaking. He was a results driven man with a fighting style that mimicked the movements of animals while focusing on the “harnessing of quenergy”. Qiang Shan considered himself to be the most proficient practitioner of this external style and more particularly, Shaolinquan, characterized by fast, explosive movements centered around physical strength and agility. He was efficient, competent, ambitious and ruthless. Human rights were no concern of his. Getting the job done was . . . and if that included torture and mutilation, so be it. Qiang Shan was many things, some not so pleasant, but he was also a dichotomy. Above all, he was patriotic. He loved his country. Nothing came before his country. And so it was now, with trepidation, that he read the report just handed to him by his deputy Quon Zhixin. It detailed a meeting Shan had with a man three years ago.
Interpreted, Quon Zhixin’s name means bright – man of ambition. Quon Zhixin was indeed quite ambitious, but carefully so. He yearned for his boss’s job. Pragmatism was key. The only real hope of securing this position was either of two ways – if Qiang Shan was promoted or . . . if he somehow met an untimely death. Qiang Shan was not interested in becoming part of the Politburro and its Standing Committee, as its members were not always able to dictate policy decisions, and Shan would not have the power and freedom he so enjoyed in his current position. No, any sort of promotion or lateral move would have to be something that excited him, thus lessening the chances that Zhixin could step right into Shan’s position and fill his shoes. Quon Zhixin was aware that the party’s commitment to remaining in power meant continually adapting to changing circumstances and making incremental compromises with other participants in the political process when it was wise to do so. He was the one to do it.
And now, Quon Zhixin understood something else. He knew fully well that the report Qiang Shan held in his hand could be his ticket to the director’s job.
Chapter Two
As soon as they returned from twelfth century England, Lucky and Mickey decided to visit Jack Kinsey at The Compound. Kinsey could thank Lucky for placing him into his prestigious position. A relationship that began with two archenemies evolved into a great friendship, albeit at first a coerced one. Lucky had forced Jack into a confession, a signed confession, stating that he was a co-conspirator with Dirk Sommerville in aiding a terrorist as he brought three suitcase nukes into the country with the intent of detonating them in three different major cities in the United States. The reason Jack helped Sommerville was simple. Money. But it wasn’t as shallow as pure greed. He needed the money to help cover his gravely ill, young son’s medical costs. The deal was this: Lucky would make sure that Jack became Director of The Compound, but Kinsey must never betray Lucky, must never sell him out to enemies, no matter who they were, for any amount of money. It worked. Jack Kinsey was the big man, with a big salary and Lucky now had a big friend in a big, high place. They were a team and it worked.
Mickey and Lucky exited the portal in the hallway, not far from the door to Jack Kinsey’s office. Jack was the conduit through which all information flowed – the man on top of things. If there was anything new to report, he would fill them in. Mickey opened the door and walked right in, surprising the man seated at his desk. Jack looked up just as the automatic door that Kinsey insisted on closed behind Mickey and smiled, happy to see him. The door was clever, a layer of protection, allowing only one person at a time inside before snapping itself back into place. Mickey turned back toward Lucky. Both he and Jack were staring, not saying anything, just staring at Lucky. Lucky looked at Mickey, then at Jack, and his head then bounced from one to the other.
“What?” Lucky asked. “You both look like you saw a ghost.”
Mickey shook his head. “I can’t believe what I just saw. No, not a ghost.”
“What?” Lucky asked again. “What?!”
Mickey, still shaking his head, said, “I can’t believe what you just did. You just walked through that door, a closed door.”
“No way,” Lucky said.
Jack spoke up. “Like an apparition. You just walked through the door like a ghost. No kidding Lucky. Spooky watching it happen.”
“Yeah,” Mickey added, “it was kind of weird.
Do it again,” he said smiling. Nothing rattled Micky. He was getting a kick out of this.
“Go ahead and do it again,” Mickey insisted. “Walk through the door. Only this time do it from right here inside the office. Do it leaving the office. Go ahead … try it.”
Lucky turned and took a few short steps to the door until splat! He bounced right off of it. He attempted it once more, but there was no way he could penetrate the heavy, solid oak door.
“You guys must have been seeing things. I can’t walk through that door. I’ll try one more time.”
Lucky placed his hands against the door and pushed, but nothing happened. He then rapped at the door a couple of times with no luck. The door was solid.
“See. Nothing happens. You guys must have imagined it.”
“Then both of us imagined it? Come on, get real Lucky. We both couldn’t have imagined it,” Jack said. “We saw what we saw. It happened. You walked right through that door.”
“Let’s think about this a minute,” Mickey chimed in. “Let’s start from the beginning and break this down,” he suggested. “Now, what were you thinking when you entered the room? I mean precisely what were you thinking about the very second you walked inside this room?”
“Nothing really,” Lucky answered. “My mind was kind of wandering, busy thinking of the things I wanted to ask Jack. I was just reviewing the things I needed to talk about.”
“Were you nervous?” Mickey asked.
“Come on Mickey. When’s the last time you saw me nervous?”
“Okay then, if nervous doesn’t work, then the opposite of nervous is relaxed. You were relaxed then?’
“I guess,” Lucky mumbled.
“Okay,” Mickey said while studying him. “Lucky, come on over to where I’m standing.”
Lucky took the few steps toward Mickey and positioned himself in front of the door near him. Mickey took his two fingers and pointed at his eyes.
“Look at me, Lucky.”
Lucky glanced at him and waited for him to continue.
“Take a deep breath.”
Lucky did as he was told.
“Good. Now take another one. That’s it. Deep breath. Now let it out. Take another one. Now, when you feel completely relaxed, raise your hand and touch the door,” Mickey instructed.
Lucky stood there, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling, willing himself to relax. Relaxing came easy to him; it was the underlying discipline of his martial arts training. Within moments, he had entered a complete state of calm.
Jack Kinsey got up and walked around his desk, positioning himself for a better look. Mickey was on one side of Lucky; Jack took a position on his other side. Both waited.
Lucky raised his right hand and reached toward the door to touch it . . . only . . . he didn’t touch it – his hand passed through it, slicing through it like a hot knife to butter. Lucky watched intently as his hand pierced the door as though it wasn’t there. He was aware of what he was doing now. He closed his eyes and began experimenting.
“I think I got it now,” Lucky said, his eyes still closed. “It’s almost like self-hypnosis. I have to condition myself to go into a deep level of relaxation – an alpha level of sorts.”
Lucky opened his eyes. He removed his hand and eased his face into the door. He was now peering into the adjoining room. He pulled back, took a deep relaxing breath and stepped through the door into the adjoining room. Lucky looked around the room and then glanced at Jack’s secretary, wondering if she saw anything. She was busy typing a memo. When she looked up, she saw Lucky staring at her, calm as could be, just standing there, sporting a smile. Not knowing what to make of it, she simply smiled back and turned her attention back to her computer and the memo she was typing.
Lucky opened the door and walked back into Jack’s office.
“Well,” Lucky said as he approached the two men, “I had no idea I could do that. I’ve been feeling some odd things taking place for a while now, but couldn’t explain it, had no idea what any of it meant, some crazy stirrings, like that feeling you get on the Ferris wheel or a roller coaster when you’re going down a steep incline. From now on, I have to be even more careful. Up until now, for all my enemies knew, I’ve had limitations. I couldn’t just go anywhere I wanted, so I really wasn’t much of a threat to them. That encounter with Koros, when he imprisoned me in his castle, in that dungeon, that was when I discovered I could create a portal on the fly, with hardly any effort. I couldn’t come close to doing that in the beginning.”
“Buddy, this has taken your talents to a whole other level,” Mickey said.
“Yeah,” Jack added. “Amazing. This means that there pretty much isn’t anything you can’t do, Lucky. Don’t know how it happened. Don’t really care, but you and your ‘gifts’ could be attractive to certain individuals.”
“The only two people in the world who know what I can do are the people in this room right now with me,” Lucky interjected, “and let’s keep it that way. Man, I had no idea that the weirdness I’ve been feeling lately was something that was in the process of altering my body’s vibratory frequency . . . to the point of allowing me to . . . pass through solid objects.” He stood there in amazement at the words he had just uttered.
Lucky walked over to Jack’s coffee machine, grabbed a mug and poured himself a cup of the black pick-me-up, as if that would calm his nerves rather than pump him up more. With his back to Mickey and Jack he said, “This changes everything. When people find out that I can create a portal, go anywhere in time, anytime I desire, I’ll be hunted down like a ten point deer. Don’t think for a minute that they won’t find out.”
Mickey and Jack knew he was right. Each stood silent, not really knowing what to say. Things had indeed just taken a different turn.
“Somehow, they always do,” Lucky continued, breaking the silence, “and this time‘ll be no different. And I’ll go one better – ” he added, “once it’s out there, the fact that I can walk through walls, I won’t be safe anywhere.”
Lucky looked at Mickey.
“It’s too bad you didn’t have this ability when we were cracking rich peoples’ safes. It would have made things a helluva lot easier,” Mickey said as he laughed. “Why do these things happen when you don’t need them? I could care less about walking through solid masses,” he said trying nervously to shrug it off.
Lucky settled into the large leather chair opposite Jack’s desk and was quiet for a few moments. He gazed out the window, collected his thoughts, and looked up at Jack.
“Has anything happened while we were gone?”
Jack shook his head.
“No. As a matter of fact, it’s been quiet since you’ve been gone.”
“Good. I have some loose ends to tie up. Call me if anything comes up. I want to know everything, no matter how trivial. Understand?”
Jack nodded.
“Understood. Don’t worry. If anything comes across my desk that concerns you, you’ll know about it.”
“Good.”
Deep underground, in the lower lever of The Compound, Lucky and Mickey exited the building. A man assigned to monitor security was busy making a copy of the day’s video surveillance tape. This tape meant money to him. A lot of money.
Sam Irwin was his name. His title said ‘Assistant Deputy of Security’. He was
forty– eight, about five ten, and way overweight. For nine years, he had sat behind a computer, staring at monitors, his only exercise that of walking to his little frig that held his twelve pack of soda. He just sat there all day, in this cramped office, looking at four monitors, ten pictures per monitor, with an image flashing approximately every ten seconds as he munched away at junk food while searching for the unusual, anything out of the ordinary that might equate to something big. Rarely was there anything of interest, but secretly he hoped that he might one day have that CSI type moment that would get his adrenaline pumping and propel him into some sort of action that might just make him a household name,
a hero. For now, though, he focused on duplicating everything that had been captured on the day’s digital memory card. All he had to do was transfer it onto a flash drive. No one would be the wiser. Besides a flash drive was safer than sending the information by email, because emails sent from the compound were likely being monitored.
Six years ago, Sam had been approached by the Chinese. The promise was cash, enough of it to allow him to retire, anytime, anywhere he so chose, in the entire world. All they wanted in return was any information regarding the national security of the United States. Sam pulled the business card from his wallet. He looked at it, almost willing something to happen so he could call the contact listed.
“Taiwan Imports, James Lee President,” the card read. Sam vividly recalled the meeting he had with Mr. Lee. It was six years to the day after he had begun work here at The Compound. Sam had been invited to dinner at the Four Seasons, compliments of Mr. James Lee. No reason was given, but for someone in security not quite so accustomed to dinners of this magnitude, it had been worth the evening to find out.
When Sam Irwin arrived, a waiter escorted him past crowded tables to a corner table to “Mr. Lee”. The man had positioned himself facing the entrance. He watched as Sam approached his table, smiled faintly and rose to greet his guest. Almost immediately the smile turned into a scowl (his signature expression) and almost just as immediately, Irwin felt intimidated by his presence. Lee tried unsuccessfully to hide the scowl with a smile that never quite made it. Drinks were poured. Shan Lee did his best to make Sam Irwin comfortable. But it was his size, his sheer size that was hard to get past. The perpetual scowl and the muscular build of the man did little to put Sam at ease. But somewhere around his fourth drink, he began to relax a little and enjoy Lee’s company and the conversation a bit. They finished their meal, had dessert, and walked outside to the veranda where they found a table facing the grounds. A waiter brought over two Monte Cristo cigars and a brandy snifter of Sambucca. Sam took a sip of the liquorish flavored drink, dipped the tip of his cigar into it, took a puff and savored the sweet flavor of the licorice drink mixed with the smoke. Ah, this always relaxed him. But he was still intimidated when he looked over at Lee. He was a big ass man. Somebody that size didn’t need to invite somebody like Irwin out to dinner, he thought. There was an uncomfortable silence.