The Time Portal 4: The Inquisition

by Joe Corso

“Okay, then let’s take this ship into outer space. That’ll cool the ship and shorten our trip. Do it Professor.”

  “Impressive, Mickey,” the professor said. “Looks like you’ve been doing some research.”

  Mickey was quite matter-of-fact. The professor knew the man and he knew it wasn’t a request; it was an order. He just wanted to get to Lucky fast. The professor could sense the worry on board. He lifted the controller and eased the saucer onto the fringes of outer space. Next, he pushed the lever up another notch until the ship lurched forward again, speeding to three thousand miles per hour. He flipped another switch, this time putting the GPS in control of the ship. The ship suddenly started to descend.

  “What’s happening?” Mickey asked. “Why are we going down?”

  “We’re over China,” the professor answered. “We’ll be approaching Chan’s location soon.”

  The saucer dropped almost vertically in a straight line, down towards the earth. The men clinched the arms of their seats as their faces paled.

  “Damn,” Nicky said.

  “Oh shit,” said Duce.

  “What the . . .” was all Sal could muster. As soon as the ship reentered the earth’s atmosphere, the professor cloaked the ship, making it completely invisible to any and every set of eyes. The four men quickly donned their invisibility suits and the professor clicked on the circuit, telling the ship’s computer to activate the electronics built into their suits. The professor picked a landing sight from one of the photos that was in the report Jack Kinsey had given them. But instead of using the pre-arranged parking site, the professor decided to land on the building’s flat roof. He eased the invisible ship onto the roof until it landed lightly. He instructed everyone to wait on board for at least ten minutes, making sure that the roof didn’t trigger any silent alarms. They were now all clear. Nothing happened. The professor warned the men to tread softly on their feet as footsteps might be heard.

  “If that happens, I might be forced to take off and if so, I will contact you about the new landing location,” the professor said. “I’ll drop down and land in a new area and get you should it be necessary for me to leave the roof. As it stands now,” he continued, “contact me by radio. Remember to whisper.”

  The men, themselves now cloaked and invisible acknowledged him verbally. The door of the saucer slid open and the men stepped quietly onto the roof of Shan’s building. They rushed to the door leading down from the roof. It was locked. Mickey removed his lock pick tool from his inner pocket and clicked open the lock. The door easily opened. The four men took the stairs to the next level down and onto the stairs’ crowded landing. This was a busy building. Mickey pulled a floor plan from his jacket and could see that they were only three floors from street level and that the prison was two levels below that. Lucky had lost all contact with them. They were sure Lucky was being held there. Cautiously, they proceeded down the stairs when suddenly a door opened and two officers in uniform walked toward them, busily chattering in Chinese. Even though they knew they couldn’t be seen, the men flattened themselves against the wall on the landing so that the many military officials and soldiers would not run into them. When the Chinese men had passed, Mickey and the rest of the boys started down the steps to the main floor. Mickey, once again, glanced over the floor plan. The men followed Mickey’s lead. Even though they couldn’t see him, they could feel Mickey and hear his feet lightly move about. The men saw an officer leaving an office so Nicky grabbed the door before it had a chance to close and lock behind them. They made their way to a room. Sure enough, it was the right office. Deputy Zhixin was seated behind a desk, looking out of the large window taking up the entire wall. To the right of his desk was a wooden sign that had “Quiang Shan, Director” on it. Mickey strode over to Zhixin’s desk, stood behind him and abruptly clamped his hand over his mouth. Zhixin felt the body behind him.

  Mickey whispered in his ear, “Be perfectly quiet. Do you understand?” Zhixin nodded and Mickey spun him around. “Where is the American? Tell me and you live.”

  The man looked around the room, but no one was there. He could not see anyone.

  “Who spoke?” he asked.

  “It does not matter. I see you. You cannot see me but I see you.”

  “Downstairs in the holding area,” the deputy answered quickly. This was all surreal to him – like spirits . . . and he wanted no part of it. “The American is there – hostage,” he said.

  “Dead or alive?” the ghost of Mickey asked.

  “Alive two hours ago – see him with my eyes. Director Shan is a very thorough and persuasive man. Takes pride in the fact that everyone always gives answers. All except this American. Shan hurt him more than others.”

  Mickey felt a rush over his body. It was the surge of heat that overtook him when he was angry, turning him into someone, something, almost abnormal, with supernatural strength.

  He whispered once again into Zhixin’s ear, “If the American is dead, I will return to kill you and everyone here. I will destroy this building. No one will live. Pray that he is still alive.”

  “Nicky,” Mickey said, “spray him. With a large dose. A very large dose. I want him unconscious for a long while.”

  A mist filled the air and the man, Zhixin, went to sleep.

  Mickey thought for a moment. “You guys stay here and watch him. If anyone else comes in, spray them too. I’m heading downstairs to see if I can get Lucky outta there. If I need you, I’ll use the radio. If you hear me call, drop everything you’re doing and come running.”

  Mickey quickly left the room, not caring about any noise that his footsteps might make. He ran down the hall to the stairs leading to the basement. Once he hit the stairs, he regained his wits and began to tread lightly again on his feet, not wanting to call attention to himself, even though he was invisible. The stairs were metal, but Mickey’s padded feet didn’t make a sound. He took off and made it down one flight successfully and started to descend to the next level when he heard someone coming up the stairs. He eased back onto the landing and watched as a rather large, muscular man took his time coming up the stairs. The man’s white apron was covered with blood. That son of a bitch, Mickey thought to himself. When the man reached the top step, Mickey didn’t think. He just reacted as he hauled off and kicked Shan right in the balls, not once but twice, then punched him hard in the face until the man fell backwards tumbling hard all the way down the steps until he landed flat on his back. To Mickey’s astonishment, he sprang back onto his feet, dusted himself off and looked around to see who had dared assault him . . . but there was no one there. Shan leaned over and looked down the stairwell and then up again. He pulled out a gun. He fired nine rounds at every possible angle up the staircase, emptying his gun. When he finished, he stepped back and leaned against the wall opposite the stairway, moved his apron to the side, and took out another full clip from his trouser pocket and reloaded his gun. He hesitated going back up the steps. Something was amiss, but he couldn’t quite figure it out. He reached for his radio, but it wasn’t on his belt, forgetting that he had left it in his office. Shan wondered if he had hit whomever it was that had attacked him. He had to, he decided. Somewhere in China, more specifically this area, this province, someone would have to be lying dead or at the very least, be actively seeking medical treatment.

  Two men, alerted by the gunfire, suddenly appeared on the top of the stairs. “Director, we heard gunfire,” one of the men shouted.

  “It’s fine. Someone hit me. Just not sure who,” Shan replied.

  Shan was deep in thought. He was facing a foe he couldn’t see, didn’t see. The bruise on his face was growing more noticeable by the seconds. Mickey waited, for a while, interested in the scene unfolding before him, but anxious to get to Lucky. Cleverly, he had positioned himself right next to Shan’s side or directly behind him, each time he fired. Mickey was never within his gunshot aim. Neat little trick. Mickey was proud of himself.

  Shan’s men stepped off the stair
s and walked toward their boss. As they did, Mickey misted them both with the special knockout concoction developed by the scientists at The Compound. They collapsed right at Shan’s feet. Shan knew that only one person had the ability to do something like this. Now concerned that Lucky might have escaped, he ran back down to the room where Lucky was chained. Mickey hoped this might happen. He wanted Shan to lead him straight to Lucky. Mickey stayed right behind Shan as he ran back toward the torture room. Once at the door, Mickey spotted Lucky hanging there, unconscious, strapped in chains. Mickey stopped in his tracks and stared at the bloody scene, wondering if his friend was alive and already planning his next Shan move.

  Satisfied that Lucky had not gotten loose, Shan turned to leave. Mickey, fuming over what he saw, inched his way right over to Shan’s face and readied himself with the spray. He aimed it right in the center of his face, at his nose, and then . . . instead of using it, he called out, “Shan.”

  Shan turned, but no one was there. Mickey moved to the other side of him.

  “Shan. Look at me.”

  “Who are you? Show yourself.”

  Shan pulled out his gun and once again, fired random shots around the room. Shots ricocheted off the walls. Mickey was a street fighter, a brawler. It was the only way he knew how to fight so Mickey couldn’t resist. He hauled back with his arm and punched Shan with a roundhouse right as hard as he could. Shan did not go down. Mickey’s victims normally went down immediately but no, not this Shan guy. Mickey hit him again and again with a series of hard right and hard left punches. The punches continued back and forth until suddenly by accident, a clip from underneath his right arm, dislodged from Mickey’s invisibility suit, making him instantly visible. When Shan saw him, he began to attack viciously, like a wild man on a mission, a mission of vengeance. Mickey pointed a finger at Shan and laughed at him, taunting him. It worked. This infuriated Shan. He charged Mickey like a bull.

  First gunshots and now the sounds of bodies being flung around like rag dolls. Lucky stirred and managed to open his eyes just enough to get a glimpse of what was taking place. He peered through two tiny slits in his swollen eyes and tried to speak, but his words came out as gargle. It was no use. He wanted to remind Mickey of the knockout spray. Little did he know that Mickey wanted none of that. He wanted this guy with his bare hands. The trouble was . . . Shan was too good a fighter. Mickey’s streetsmart style of fighting was good, but no match for Shan’s martial arts training. Time was running out. Mickey landed a hard left hook, long enough for him to click on his radio and tell the guys to get down to the basement. The guys immediately made their way down the steps without any interference from any of Shan’s men. As they approached the stairs leading to the basement, they could hear fighting. When they reached the bottom of the steps, they were surprised to see Mickey, completely visible, fighting Shan. The men were beating the shit out of each other, to put it bluntly, and from the looks of it, Shan was getting the best of Mickey – not a sight often seen by Lucky and his gang. Nicky walked in, calmly walked over to Shan and misted him with a hefty shot of the knockout spray right into his face. He fell over onto the floor.

  Nicky looked at Mickey and said, “Are you crazy? Why didn’t you just knock him out?”

  Mickey shot back to Nicky, “That’s exactly what I was trying to do . . . knock him out.”

  The rest of the gang, seeing this, clicked off the power to their suits, so they could now communicate visually with each other. Mickey fished through Shan’s pockets until he found his set of keys. He tried a few before he finally found the right one. Lucky was barely alive.

  Nicky asked, “What are we going to do with Shan?” He pulled out his gun and pointed it at Shan’s head and was just about to pull the trigger when Lucky, as weak as he was, surprised everyone when he managed to mumbled, “Leave . . . him . . . will come back . . . for . . . him. Owe . . . him.”

  Lucky then closed his eyes and passed out again. The boys had a problem. They had to get Lucky up the stairs and onto the roof. Mickey was a bit weak and bloody. So now the guys had two injured men. Nicky checked Mickey’s suit, looking for a plug or a wire that may have come loose. He found it under his right arm. He tied the two wires into a temporary knot. Mickey disappeared, becoming invisible once again.

  “Hold on a moment,” Nicky said to Mickey and the other guys. He had something he wanted to do. He walked over to Shan, lying on the floor, and chained him. He secured the locks and put the key in his, Nicky’s, pocket. Nicky picked up the metal bar he found on the floor, the one he thought might have been used on Lucky and swung it, hitting Shan right in the ribs. He then walked around behind him and hit him in his back, hoping he might break it. He walked back in front of Shan, once again, and slammed him, flush in the nose, with the butt of his gun, breaking it. He finished him off with a left and a right and left and right hand as hard as he could punch. He stepped back and looked at his handy work. Not bad he thought.

  The boys stood there in silence. They had never seen Nicky so angry ever. Mickey dared not interfere. Lucky had said not to kill him. He never said they couldn’t teach him a lesson. Shan deserved it. Lucky was in bad shape. Mickey was hurting.

  “Okay,” Nicky said, “enough fun. Let’s get going.”

  Nicky walked over to Mickey and asked if he was okay. Mickey nodded yes and together, they picked Lucky up by the arms and held him upright as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Duke held the door. Since all the boys wanted to come along because of Lucky, Mickey told Casey and Sal to stay one flight ahead of them in order to take care of any problems that might occur and to clear the way to the roof.

  “Shhh . . . .” Sal turned and said, from the stairs above. He had heard the door to the stair level above open. Two soldiers, unaware of what was taking place, wandered into the stairwell discussing something. Sally sprayed them both. They fell forward right into Casey and Sally’s arms who propped them up, their backs to the stairwell, as if they were asleep. They then proceeded to the next landing. Eventually, the group made its way to the roof where the professor and his spaceship were waiting. As they were about to enter, Lucky grabbed Mickey and whispered something into his ear. Mickey nodded and told Nicky to help him stand Lucky up. They leaned him up against the shell of the invisible saucer. He raised his head barely and nodded his thanks to his friend. Lucky appeared to stumble as he tried to take a step forward and as his men went to help him, he disappeared before their eyes. Nicky stood there. Then he turned to Mickey.

  “What did he just say to you Mick?”

  “He asked me to get him on his feet. Said he was going to his Princess. Also said he’d be back to take care of Shan when he got better. By the way, I like the message you left for Shan or with Shan, I should say. Nice.”

  Nicky smiled.

  Chapter Fourteen

  12th Century England

  Even though he was in pretty bad shape, Lucky remembered enough to know that, in the past, he had created a portal that would take him to his Princess. The Princess and the Queen were busy discussing preparations for the baby’s arrival when Lucky suddenly materialized in front of them, bloodied almost beyond recognition. He leaned against the stone wall hoping the wall would keep him on his feet. He appeared not to notice the ladies as he fell at their feet. The Queen rushed to the door and ordered her guards into the room who hurried toward the man lying unconscious on the floor. They followed the Queen’s orders, placing the injured man, now clearly recognized as the King’s wizard, onto the bed. The Queen ordered the men to remove his bloody clothes and send for the doctor. The Princess wept as she and her sister shouted orders to all those around. The chamber maid brought a basin of warm water along with cloth swabs. The Princess and the Queen immediately set to work, washing Lucky’s wounds. It was evident that he had been savagely beaten about the face, neck and back, sparing no part of his body. There was no doubt. He had been burned and brutalized. His back had layers of flesh, hanging loosely, from a severe lashing. Th
ere were the distinct markings of chains around his wrists and ankles. As the Princess gently caressed his face and cleansed the blood from his face, Lucky must have sensed her presence. He opened his eyes and managed to form a faint smile. She smiled back, knelt down and kissed him gently on his forehead. He sank back into sleep once again.

  Days later, Lucky awoke. He looked around the room and noticed the figure sleeping on the chair, next to his bed. She was close enough to him to touch. Straining with his right arm, he stretched until his hand overtook hers. The Princess awoke with a startle.

  “You awaken,” she said as she raised from the chair and positioned herself on the side of his bed. “We had fear you would not return to us.”

  “How long have I been sleeping?” he managed to ask.

  “Three days and two nights,” she replied.

  Lucky struggled, trying to sit up, and with Krystina’s help, finally managed. He thought back to the explosion that almost killed him. The way he felt now was eerily similar.

  “The King’s doctor treated your back with a special ointment of his own invention. He tended the wounds with a poultice. It appears to have brought aid as it has already started to heal. He treated your fire burns as well and they, too, appear to be on mend. In short time now, my handsome wizard will be anew.”

  The door opened and the Queen entered, a chambermaid following close on her heels, holding a tray with a bowl of steaming hot soup. The Queens eye’s brightened upon seeing Lucky sitting up in the bed.

  “Well dear wizard,” she said. “It seems you have returned to us. How are you feeling?”

  Lucky smiled. “I’ve had better days, but the vision of two such beautiful women, well, that is enough to heal the soul.”

  The Queen smiled. “Well, you need not bestow upon us such words of praise. It is you who makes us smile.” She hesitated for a moment then asked, “Can you tell us how you came to be?”