Orders of Magnitude (The Genie and the Engineer Series Book 2) Page 8

  “I did?” the Oni responded. “I don’t remember doing that.”

  “Not surprising,” observed the image of McDougall dryly. “I’m surprised you remember your own name.” The wizard leaned closer. “You do remember your own name, don’t you?”

  “Of course. Aduir. Yeah, that’s right. I’m pretty sure. Aduir is my name.”

  “Congratulations. And the others?”

  Aduir swung around slowly (gee how that made the throbbing worse!) looking at four other Oni all sitting in a comfortable looking room that he couldn’t place. They too looked hung-over.

  “Sure. Ovidius, Belibni, Zaidu, and Serakh. Uh, where are Quique, Telal, and Kenzo?”

  “They didn’t make it,” the image of McDougall replied. “Those two rogue wizards killed them.”

  “Wow,” Aduir responded, slurring the word. “Can we kill those wizards? Please?”

  “Maybe later,” came the answer. “Right now I want them taken east. And I need one of you to take charge.”

  Aduir looked really surprised at that. “You aren’t going?”

  The image of McDougall pointed over to a corner. There, for the first time, Aduir noticed the images of Paul and Capie lying on their stomachs, hog-tied, their hands to their feet. They also appeared to be unconscious.

  “No, this is a simple transfer and I have other important business to attend to. At least, it should be a simple transfer. But I need one of you to take charge, the most sober of you. Which one will it be?”

  Aduir started to pout. “I have seniority!”

  McDougall raised his palm up to stop further argument. “Yeah, normally. But the lot of you are really drunk right now—”

  “I’m not,” volunteered Serakh. “I can do it.”

  Aduir held both hands to its head. Oh, why did its skull hurt so much? And why did it feel like everything was wrong here. Serakh never volunteered for anything, the sloth.

  “Tell you what,” McDougall was saying, his hands on his hips. “I’ll give the job to the Oni that can remember where we took that old Normie, the father of that woman over there. Professor Kingsley. Whoever can remember that will be the one to take charge. And I’ll give him another bottle too!”

  • • • •

  “That was fairly clever,” Capie remarked, staring at all the Oni bodies lying around her father’s living room. “The spells, the holograms and such. And you didn’t have to use torture.”

  Paul nodded grimly. “It helped that I ran them through a portal that reduced their glutamate levels. That’s an excitatory neurotransmitter in the brain. Reducing those levels makes a person sluggish, slurs their speech and slows their thinking process.”

  “Like they were drunk,” Capie said. “And then the spell you cast to increase the electrical activity of their…what did you call it?”

  “The Ventral Temental area of the brain,” Paul replied. “It’s responsible for the brain’s reward mechanism, for love, drugs, sex and so forth. With electrical stimulation, I made them more pliable than usual and more motivated to overlook things that didn’t seem right. Normally, that hologram of McDougall would not have fooled them. And the fact that none of them had their talismans didn’t bother them either.”

  “And then you used the vacuum permittivity spell to put them back to sleep. I wish you could do spells like this all the time,” his wife said wistfully. “It seems like a better way to fight than with BBs loaded with deuterium and such.”

  Paul produced a half-hearted shrug. “Like I said earlier, these sorts of spells only work if you catch them off-guard. But enough discussion for now. It’s late. We need to dump the Oni someplace where they will be safe for at least several days, before we go rescue your father.”

  “Someplace fast,” Capie urged.

  “Agreed,” Paul said, waving a hand in the air and creating a display linked to the internet. “Let’s see what Google suggests.”

  • • • •

  With Paul now using McDougall’s talisman, he was easily able to portal the eight Oni (four of them badly injured) to a small speck of land known as Halfmoon Island in Canada’s Georgian Bay at just a few minutes before midnight, and under a waning gibbous moon. The island was only a little over 4,000 feet long, uninhabited, with no man-made artifacts, very little in the way of vegetation and no rocks. Moreover, it was 7 miles from the next nearest island, also uninhabited. Paul left the Oni four first aid kits, several cases of Ramen noodles (the variety flavor packs) and a dozen packages of Girl Scout Cookies (the Rah-Rah Raisin variety, of course). There was no need to leave them drinkable water since Georgian Bay, at 5,792 square miles, was one of the largest bodies of freshwater in the world.

  McDougall was a different story. At Capie’s suggestion, they left him in an even more remote location, a small nameless sandbar only 100 feet long and twenty feet wide, also out in the middle of the Georgian Bay. In McDougall’s case, Paul provided the still unconscious wizard two boxes of dry unsalted crackers. And no first aid kit, despite the wizard’s broken arm.

  “That should hold them for a couple of days,” Paul mumbled as he opened another portal, back to Wisconsin. “When we are done rescuing your father, I’d like to come back and take them to a more permanent location, one that will hold them for years, at least. But if for some reason we don’t get back soon enough, well, Georgian Bay has a lot of boating and shipping. It won’t take long and someone will spot them and pick them up.”

  “Why don’t we take him with us?” proposed Capie, as she rubbed one arm and followed Paul back through the portal to her father’s house. “With him as a prisoner, couldn’t we do an exchange? From their point of view, a Normie for a wizard should be a pretty good trade.”

  “No,” Paul said with a vigorous shake of his head. “We don’t know how to contact the wizard that is holding your father. And don’t forget that these wizards love to bump each other off, as a means of getting rid of the competition. The only person they want in exchange for your father is me. And, if it comes to that, if I could get your father back safe and sound, then I would make that trade.”

  Capie took a deep breath. “No. You know that you can’t trust them. They would take you and kill both of you.”

  “Yes. I agree with you. That’s why we have to go rescue him.”

  She grimaced, looking worn and tired. “When?”

  Paul took another look at his watch. 12:31 a.m., CDT. It had already been a very long day and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of calling it quits for a few hours, at least. They could sleep and tackle the task of the rescue of her father in the morning.

  But a part of him acknowledged that, as good as a night’s sleep might be, there were advantages in pressing forward now. In the morning, the enemy would be rested too. Moreover, in the morning they would know about the failed ambush at the hospital and that McDougall and eight Oni were missing. This Clarke fellow that McDougall talked about would beef up security at the place where Chris was being held or, worse, he would move Chris to a completely different location.

  No, it was best to go tonight, ASAP.

  “Cast a spell on yourself, please,” he told Capie. “Keep yourself frosty. We need to go after your father tonight.”

  “I couldn’t agree more.”

  “We need to get some night vision goggles and then reload our airsoft weapons…”

  • • • •

  Aduir had enthusiastically revealed that the location Errabêlu was holding Capie’s father was at the Defense Intelligence Agency Headquarters in Washington D.C on Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling, on the east bank of the Potomac River.

  From Chris Kingsley’s house, Paul and Capie portaled back into Chicago and visited an all-night pawn shop, purchasing from an elderly bald-headed clerk a used Yukon NVMT Head Mount and an Armasight Vega Gen 1+. Both were night vision goggles with IR viewers.

  Capie fingered hers dubiously. “Wouldn’t it just be easier to cast a spell on our visi
on, rather than to wear these things?”

  “For the vision part, yes,” Paul agreed, as he held open the front door for her. “But these things have an IR illuminator built in. We could do that with a magical spell too, but the energy used for the spell might be detected. Better to use technology for this.”

  Out in the parking lot, they left via portal, emerging into a rain shower in the center of the Wheeling Island Racetrack in West Virginia. Hurriedly, they took another portal from there to the fifth hole of the Winchester Country Club in Winchester, Virginia. It was cooler there but also drier. A third portal leap took them to Fort Washington Park, Maryland, right in front of the White Battery emplacement, less than a hundred yards from the Potomac River. With McDougall’s talisman, they could have portaled directly to Bolling from Chicago. It was easily within range of the talisman’s capabilities, but Paul wanted to sneak up to the base and do a bit of reconnaissance rather than marching straight into the lion’s den. And he was still leery of using too much energy near the enemy.

  So rather than portaling the last twenty or so miles, Paul chose to approach it in a much stealthier mode, the energy level involved a lot lower.

  They flew at 100 feet altitude, following the west bank of the river, landing and taking up station at the eastern edge of the Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. Paul created a microportal at twenty miles altitude over their heads, linking it to a holographic display in front of them, and greatly magnifying the image of the Defense Intelligence Agency facilities to see what they were up against. In the display, a great many city and street lights cast illumination on the huge complex of buildings that made up the DIA compound, containing more than 850,000 square feet of floor space, so said the internet.

  “According to Aduir,” Capie said, studying the displayed image, “they are holding Dad in the Detention Center, which is in the rear of this building over here on the first basement floor.”

  Paul tried switching to an infrared view, but there was just too much concrete and too many floors involved.

  “There doesn’t appear to be any way to know how many people, wizards, and Oni are over there,” he noted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Security there should be minimal, at least in terms of Oni that might be present. And there shouldn’t be any wizards. Probably. After all, we aren’t supposed to know your father is here. On the other hand, there might be quite a few Normals here, as part of the security staff.”

  “That all seems reasonable. But it’s still just a guess, right?” Capie asked sullenly.

  Paul took a moment to study her. She was doing pretty well, considering the circumstances. But it wasn’t going to last forever. They needed to rescue her father just as soon as they could, before the stress load grew to be too much for her.

  “Cheer up, dear. They haven’t had him long. Less than ten hours. They will want to question him, probably in the morning, to find out what he knows. Then, tomorrow, when McDougall and his Oni don’t report in, they will probably move your father and set up another trap for us, again using him as bait.”

  Her eyes were tearing up. “We have to save him. Quickly.”

  Paul nodded in total agreement, his heart going out to her. “And we will do just that. Come, we need to get over there using the least amount of magical energy possible. I propose we find a cab.”

  They flew across the airport, avoiding all the air traffic, and landed near the terminal building. A spell kept the airsoft equipment and the night vision goggles invisible, though they didn’t try to hide the Motorola radios or headsets.

  Outside the baggage claim area, they hailed a cab and instructed the driver to take them around to the east side of the River, to 2750 South Capitol Street in Washington D.C. The driver, an elderly Hispanic man, pointed out that there was virtually nothing at that location, but Paul responded that they were meeting someone there. With a shrug, the driver drove out of the airport, taking the GW Parkway north.

  The taxi was able to quickly carry them to the I-395 loop and from there, to the I-695 freeway heading to the southeast of the city and across the Anacostia River. On the south bank, the interstate became the I-295 which quickly took them to South Capitol Street. Another couple of miles brought them to a padlocked chain link gate, an entrance to an empty parking lot in front of a small commercial business.

  Across the boulevard, to their west, lay the perimeter of the Joint Base Anacostia-Bolling military complex.

  Paying off the perplexed driver, Paul added a substantial tip.

  Even at this hour of the early morning, there were more than a few cars using the four lane road, and they had to wait for a gap before crossing to the west side of the pavement. Then they moved across a short strip of grass and a set of railroad tracks into a narrow line of trees. In front of them now was a barbed-wire topped chain link fence with signs declaring it to be US Government property and that trespassers would be prosecuted.

  Using the absolute minimum level of energy, they levitated over the fence and down to the ground on the west side.

  “The motor pool is right up against the other side of that second fence,” Paul said, nodding at another fence line in front of them. “We’ll find a vehicle there.”

  “How thoughtful of the US Government to give us a helping hand here. My feet certainly thank them,” Capie said with a great deal of sarcasm.

  Another brief levitation spell and they were into the central area of the motor pool. The area was brightly lit from several street security lights mounted high up on aluminum light poles. Around them, they could see a number of M35 2.5 ton trucks in both green and brown camouflage paint schemes.

  “I see some Humvees over there,” Capie pointed out.

  “Let’s hope they left some gas in one of them for us too.”

  Choosing the one closest to the motor pool front entrance, Paul and Capie climbed in, using a spell to start the vehicle and another one to open the main gate.

  Paul spun the steering wheel, piloting the vehicle onto Mitscher Road and hitting the gas.

  “Now, to find the electrical substation,” Paul grumbled as he glanced around the base.

  They found it easily enough, in a small white one-story, non-descript metal building with no windows.

  Leaving the Humvee in the parking lot, they dropped a cloak of invisibility around themselves and strode briskly up the white sidewalk to the side door. The lock on the door snicked open at Capie’s command, the building alarm short-circuiting in a silent puff of smoke.

  Inside the dimly lit structure, Paul glanced around at all the machinery. There were step down transformers and buss bars everywhere.

  The two MCCs (Motor Control Centers) were not hard to find either. There, Paul studied the main breaker panels and switch designators.

  “Nice of the engineers here to organize things and keep them up to date,” Paul wisecracked before pointing to several large breakers. “Those breakers control the feeds to the DIA building where your father is.” He looked back at Capie. “Not only am I going to open those feeds, I am going to weld them open. It will take hours, perhaps days for the Normals to replace them. Are you ready?”

  “Do it!” Capie urged him.

  One by one, Paul grasped the handles and forced them downward. Then with a wave of his hand, the breakers arch-flashed in blindingly bright white bursts for a couple of seconds.

  “Let’s go,” Paul said hurriedly. “We need to get to your father before they try to move him to another location, such as a building that still has AC power.”

  • • • •

  The Humvee carried them over to Boundary Drive and up to the gate for the parking lot of the huge DIA complex. They noted with grim amusement the agitation of flashlights in the guard house.

  As they hurtled past, Paul muttered quietly in that direction, “This is not the car and we are not the people you’re looking for.”

  Spinning the steering wheel with one hand and leaning hard on the gas pedal, he raced up the ramp to the
top of the parking garage and straight to the covered walkway at the building’s rear entrance.

  As far as the two of them could tell, only a few emergency exit lights were on. Otherwise, the building was both dark and silent.

  Paul snapped on his night vision goggles, patted the pistol in his shoulder holster, and grasped the airsoft rifle.

  “Communications check,” he said softly into his mic.

  “Loud and clear,” Capie nervously replied. “Let’s go get Dad.”

  Paul gave her a quick smiling nod and got out of the Humvee. From there, the two of them jogged over to the rear door of the building. With a flick of a wrist, the lock snapped open and they dashed inside.

  “Okay, we need to go down two floors,” Paul announced as he fast scanned the hallways around them. “And I want to use the 4-D Man spell. Ready?”

  “Yes, I think so. Let’s go.”

  Paul stepped close to her and cast the spell. The two of them dropped through the floor, down past ground level and then into basement level B-1.

  It was one of the weirdest experiences of Capie’s life, passing through solid matter as if it was no more than smoke.

  Floating to a stop, they found themselves in a pitch black corridor, lit only with the IR of their night vision goggles. Everything around them was only visible in ghostly green images through the goggles.

  But they could hear someone talking.

  “…the whole building,” squawked one male voice. “Thankfully some of the exit emergency signs are lit up and the radios still work. Alan should be back with the flashlights soon.”

  Paul waved to his wife and advanced around a corner, silently stealing toward the source of the voice.

  There were two men there, dressed in security guard uniforms, restlessly shuffling around in the blackness of the corridor. Pointing his finger at both of them, Paul cast another spell and the two guards silently folded up on the floor, fast asleep.

  “I want to try the avatar spell,” Capie quietly volunteered.

  “While you are doing that, I will check for more security guards,” murmured Paul as he walked a few feet further up the corridor.