Orders of Magnitude (The Genie and the Engineer Series Book 2) Page 2

  The pilot, amazingly enough, was still alive, lying on the deck in a fetal position, his hands tightly gripping his stomach.

  “I obviously need more time at the gun range,” Kuzman muttered angrily as he maneuvered for the tiny cockpit.

  He fell in the pilot’s seat and nearly blacked out. Blinking his eyes clear, he focused on the controls.

  Only the starboard engine was going and it only at an idle. Out the windows, he saw five soldiers running for the plane. His time was up.

  “Goodbye, my friend. I’ll see you on the other side.” With that, he released the plane’s brakes and shoved the throttle with his left hand.

  The plane snapped forward, the soldiers flinging themselves out of the way barely in time. Kuzman let the plane accelerate into the night, gathering speed. On one engine, it couldn’t take off so he let it run, his knees against the steering yoke to keep the plane from turning. In the meantime, he began running the checklist for starting the port engine.

  A minute later, with the flip of several switches, the port engine was spooling up. He pulled back the throttle on the starboard engine and brought the plane to a stop with the brakes. He would be safe enough here for a few minutes, since there were no cars or trucks back at the test site for Omar or the soldiers to use. By the time they could run to this location he would be ready to take off for real this time.

  Getting back out of the pilot’s seat was one of the harder things he had ever done in his life, or so he thought at that moment. Back in the cabin, he found and collected the gun that the pilot had used to shoot Burkov. With an evil grin on his face, he leaned downward, getting on his knees and down to the pilot’s level.

  “Hey, there! Hey! Listen to me!” he said, prodding the man in the stomach with the barrel of the gun.

  The Iranian was barely able to open his eyes and he groaned again as he saw the figure above him.

  “You shot my friend, do you hear me?” screamed Kuzman. “You killed him! A man I’ve worked with for many years! The greatest friend I ever had, you hear? And you shot him in the back! You gutless coward!”

  Kuzman swung the pistol as hard as he could in his weakened state, smashing the barrel against the Iranian’s nose. The pilot screamed in pain, reaching out with one hand to ward off another blow.

  But Kuzman instead grabbed one of the man’s ankles. Pulling for all he was worth, he managed to drag the man the short distance to the ramp, which was still in the down position. Then leaning forward again, he aimed and shot the man point blank in both arms and then both legs until the gun clicked on empty cylinders. By that time, the pilot was unconscious—indeed hovering at death’s door.

  Kuzman rolled the body out of the plane, letting it bounce off the steps until it hit the ground.

  After all of that exertion, he needed several minutes of rest before he could move again.

  He needed another minute after that just to pull himself to his feet and then more time still to pull and latch the ramp door closed. Wheezing like a man having a heart attack, he stumbled back to the cockpit and back into the pilot’s seat.

  The port engine had had more than enough time to reach operational temperatures. Still wheezing, Kuzman released the brakes and worked hard, left-handed, to run both throttles up again a bit, enough to taxi with.

  The next part was a risk. He didn’t have a regular runway outside. The desert sand was soft in spots with rocks and holes in other places. A stretch of desert had been marked off, not only for the Falcon’s use but for the other aircraft in the test program as well. But he couldn’t see any of those markers, not at night.

  His only clue was the direction the Falcon had been aimed in, back at the test site. Kuzman assumed that it had been lined up on the ‘runway’, ready for take-off. And the fact that he had moved the plane this far without running into anything seemed to have proved out that theory.

  But there couldn’t be enough ‘runway’ left ahead of him now for takeoff, not with as far as he had taxied thus far.

  The only real choice he had was to turn the craft around 180 degrees and take off back in the direction he had come instead.

  There were two problems with that option. First and foremost, all of the Quds forces and Omar were back there. They would shoot at him and it was possible that they might bring him down. Second, he wasn’t sure how far he had moved in the dark. If it was not far enough, then he might not have enough space and he could crash into the C130 before he reached take off speed. Or he might run off the ‘runway’ in that direction instead.

  He laughed and spun the wheel, moving the plane in a tight turn, aligning the compass in a full 180 degree rotation. Then throwing the throttles all the way forward, he watched the airspeed carefully.

  30 km/h. Now 50 and accelerating smoothly. A glance out the cockpit window and all he could see was sand rushing at him, but the lights only reached out forty feet or so. Beyond that was the dark of night. Anything could be out there, just waiting for him to hit it at full speed. He would have almost no warning if that happened. Another glance at the airspeed. 80 km/h and moving higher. Now the plane was bumping along, hitting a few uneven spots here and there.

  Kuzman would rotate the yoke the moment he had enough speed.

  100…130…almost enough…there, 160!

  He yanked back on the yoke; the plane leaping for all of it was worth into the air—

  —and right over the nose of the Hercules C-130 which suddenly appeared in front of him, passing quickly beneath the Falcon. He couldn’t have missed the other large aircraft by more than a few feet.

  Laughing again, he took the near miss as a good omen. Reaching forward, he raised the landing gear before turning off the landing lights and the plane’s transponder. Now they couldn’t track him, at least, not easily. A glance at the fuel gauges told him he had plenty of range. He could go nearly anywhere in the Middle East he wanted. He might even be able to reach Russian airspace, if he wanted that.

  No, that was a bad choice. His wound could not wait that long before it got proper medical attention. Indeed, he needed to put something on it now, to slow the bleeding as much as possible.

  So, he would set the autopilot, as quickly as he could pick a destination.

  Nothing in Iran, of course. He had contacts in the country, yes, but the Iranian authorities were too great a risk. Iraq to the east and Afghanistan to the west were out. The meddling Americans still held a presence in both countries. Kuwait too was not a good choice for the same reason. Pakistan? Hmm, from here, too far. He needed something closer.

  Ah, of course, Dammam, Saudi Arabia. At the Falcon’s top speed, a little over an hour’s flight time. He’d be there before sunrise. And there were people there, such as Karem Salib, that would help him with his wound, no questions asked. The Russian might even trade the Falcon for that service.

  A gentle turn of the wheel and he lined up on a heading of 240 degrees. Only a few flips of some switches and he was on autopilot. Now, to take care of the shoulder and in an hour, he would land in Dammam and get some real professional help.

  Poor Burkov. They had come so close to escaping together. Kuzman was sorely going to miss his friend.

  He grew angry thinking about that monster, Omar. As soon as his wound was taken care of, Kuzman would see to it that the whole world knew of the detonators that he had helped the Iranians build and the bomb design he had given them. Yes, that would be a nice revenge. Burkov would like it.

  Kuzman sneezed.

  TWO

  On top of the scoreboard

  Lambeau Field

  Home Field of the NFL Green Bay Packers

  1265 Lombardi Ave

  Green Bay Wisconsin, WI

  June

  Saturday 6:31 p.m. CDT

  Both Capie and Paul were seated precariously, perched on top of the field’s scoreboard. Capie’s hands were locked on the metal edge, her knuckles white, her eyes wide and focused on the far horizon, her forehead covered with a light film of per
spiration.

  Even Paul was not too comfortable. Only his greater experience with heights and his magical powers was helping him deal with the challenge.

  Jaret, on the other hand, was nonchalantly standing on the very end of the scoreboard, totally oblivious to how far off the ground he was.

  “Not bad,” he said as he surveyed all of the playing field and stadium seats below them. “And man-made too. What is this place again?”

  “Lambeau Field,” Paul repeated. “It’s a sporting arena, for playing football. Seating capacity is over 81,000.”

  “Ah, football?! When I was still a genie, one of my former ‘owners’ wanted to win a string of bets made on this game’s outcomes. I never got to see the games themselves.”

  “They are widely watched,” Paul informed him. “The typical pro NFL game lasts three hours. They are played from September through January each year. If you decide to watch one, I suggest you study the rules first, learn a little about the teams. It can be a complicated sport.”

  Jaret smiled broadly. “If there’s time. But for now, let us talk of you. Why did you want me to bring you here? Is this where you want to spend your honeymoon? Strange choice for that.”

  “No, we have a different location for our honeymoon picked out,” Paul explained. “But this place made a good choice to say our goodbyes. I thought it might impress you.”

  “Not bad,” Jaret said again. “So, this is goodbye?”

  “Not quite yet,” Paul said. “First, I want to thank you again for helping us acquire the gold from upstate Nevada for an amulet for Capie. Your help made it go a lot faster.”

  Jaret shrugged and grinned. “It is such a small thing. She should really have a talisman, you know. For that matter, so should you. We still have time to acquire the materials, if you like.”

  “Making a talisman would draw too much attention,” Paul said, shaking his head but offering a bemused smile. “Not a good idea, just yet. And Capie needs time to learn how to use her powers first.”

  “Probably wise,” Jaret acknowledged. “Is there anything else you want to talk about before I go?”

  “Yes, there is,” Paul affirmed. “Is there a way I can contact you in the future if the need arises? Some method that does not involve altering my mind?”

  Paul was referring to a spell, one that Jaret had placed upon him when the ex-genie first gave Paul magical powers, a spell that Jaret had just the previous day removed from Paul’s mind.

  “Hmm, that would also be wise, I think. There is a way.” With a flourish, Jaret held out his hand and a small portal appeared. Through it, two three-inch diameter crystals emerged, settling into Jaret’s palm.

  Even from where Paul was seated, the crystals looked exceptional, both of them half spheres and perfectly smooth, both a blend of colors ranging from dark blue up to a light pink.

  “They’re gorgeous!” remarked Capie, stretching out a hand for a closer look. “What are they?”

  Jaret bowed and levitated one over into her hand and the second one over to Paul.

  “They are officially known as a duhšiu-idȗ or crystal communicators. However, unofficially, they are known as Raconteurs. ”

  “Raconteur?” Paul asked, curiously while holding one of the crystals up to the light. “That’s a teller of stories.”

  “Quite correct,” Jaret said, with a mysterious smile.

  “It’s heavy,” Capie noted, twisting and turning the crystal to examine it. “I like all the colors. They seem to shift when looked at in different angles.”

  “How do they work?” Paul asked.

  “The crystals are very old, made by the first wizards. They take years to form properly, a blend of diamond, rhodonite, covellite and Lazurite. They are made as one crystal and then, in a certain step in the process, they are divided into two halves, as you see now. They are magically linked and can be used to pass messages back and forth, no matter how far apart they may be separated or where they are located.”

  “Perfect,” remarked Paul with an appreciative chuckle. “If you can loan one to us, then if we ever need to talk to one another, we can.”

  Jaret’s grin grew larger. “Yes, we could do that. However, I should warn you that there is a reason why the crystals are called Raconteurs.”

  Capie rolled her eyes. “There’s always a catch, isn’t there?”

  Jaret laughed and put his hands on his hips. “If by that you mean a disadvantage, then yes, there is one.” He waved a hand and said, “Awȗ!”

  Both of the crystals began flashing soft yellow and white light.

  And then they spoke, simultaneously, trying hard, it would seem, to drown each other out.

  “I wish my brother would learn a trade, so I would know what kind of work he’s out of,” one of the crystals shouted at a very loud volume.

  “Outside of a dog, a book is man’s best friend. Inside of a dog it’s too dark to read,” screamed the other.

  Paul winced, putting his hands over his ears. “Make it stop!”

  “You told that joke wrong! Really, you can never get it right!” shouted the crystal in Capie’s hand.

  “Like you would know a joke if it fell out of the sky on top of you!”

  “Hatāmu!” commanded Jaret.

  Both crystals ceased talking. The ex-genie shrugged. “They do better when they are not together like this. But they are tellers of stories and jokes, endlessly talking. If you want to pass a message from one to the other, you must first listen to them for a bit. At least one story and one joke. Then they will listen to your message and pass it on. That is the catch, as you say, madam.”

  Capie chuckled and sent the Raconteur back to Jaret through the air. “I recognize that second joke. Classic Groucho Marx. I think we can live with the catch. What think ye, Paul?”

  “I suppose it could be amusing,” he said. “Sure, we’ll take one. And thanks, Jaret. For all the things that you have done for us.”

  He bowed deeply in return. “My warmest wishes for you, your health and your success. And may the two of you be blessed with many fine strong sons. Once again, I feel that we shall see one another in this life time. Peace be upon you.”

  Paul bowed as well. “Take care, my friend. May the Force be with you.”

  “Goodbye, Jaret,” Capie added, as she smiled. “We will miss you.”

  • • • •

  As the first stop on their honeymoon, Paul, using his enhanced block of tantalum as his amulet, took Capie a few miles further south in short portal hops to the Osthoff Resort in Elkhart Lake, Wisconsin, and rented a two bedroom suite. Perched near the lake itself, the westward facing suite of the large resort gave them a wonderful scenic view of the evening sunset over the water. It was a most idyllic setting for the first night of their honeymoon.

  • • • •

  “Almost but not quite,” Paul said with a small smile the next afternoon. “You have to establish the correct mindset to go along with the spell. And yes I know that’s not very scientific. I still don’t know why words are important to casting spells. But they are. So the wording of the incantation can be very critical. The more energy used in the spell, the more important a role your mindset plays and therefore the wording of the incantation.”

  “So you’ve said,” Capie complained as she sighed. “More than once too. I just can’t seem to get it right.”

  “It took me nearly a week to get the hang of creating portals,” Paul pointed out. “You’ve only had magical powers for two days now and you’ve, ah, had other things on your mind too.”

  Capie grinned and snuggled closer to him on the sofa. Across from them, the crackle and warmth of the gas fireplace added to the romantic ambience of the room, the firelight dancing across the richly appointed accommodations of the Corner Lake View Premier Suite.

  “Yes, the wedding was quite a distraction,” she purred in his ear. “And then there was last night too.”

  Paul positively beamed and hugged her more tightly. With a
leer, he responded, “Ah, yeah, ‘distraction’ is not anywhere near the right word for last night. Um, did you want to talk about creating portals or did you want to conduct more sessions in ah, biological hanky-panky?”

  Capie laid her head on his shoulder. “We could say enough of portal practice, for right now, hmm, my husband?” She lightly stroked his arm. “We could take this back to the bedroom and do what any normal newlyweds do. Ones who aren’t hunted by evil wizards and mysterious monsters, that is.”

  He moved closer, both of them closing their eyes as their lips and tongues met. The taste, the fire, the ignition of passion. A newlywed’s kiss, born of both love and desire.

  Capie sighed as the kiss ended. “‘Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind.’”

  “A wonderful quote, my dear,” Paul observed in an abstracted tone of voice.

  “Princess Bride,” she said, hugging him close. “Peter Falk. You’re going to love the movie.”

  He kissed her again, lightly this time. “What were you saying about portals?”

  “Portals? Ah, yes, I was talking about those, wasn’t I? I think I was saying that creating a functional portal is hard work for me. Quite hard. I’ve watched you and all you do is wave a hand or snap your fingers and poof—there’s a portal big enough to walk through, one that can transport a person miles away. But I can’t seem to create a marble sized portal across the room!”

  “Practice, my dear. Practice.” Paul leaned back, giving her more room to work with. “Here, try again. Concentrate on the mental visual images, from both ends of the portal. Work on your words too,” Paul suggested.

  Capie sighed and answered with a small nod and, with her right hand, gripped the three pound gold band she was wearing on her left wrist, using it as an amulet to magnify her magical powers. Closing her eyes, she muttered something too quietly for Paul to hear. In response, two small shiny circles appeared in midair on opposite sides of the room. One was rather elliptical and canted at an angle. The other was nearly circular as well as perfectly upright. The only problem was its size, with its diameter closer to that of an orange, not a marble.