Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard (19 page)

Paul couldn’t agree more, and with his right hand against
the boulder, he created a circular display in mid-air in front of him. “I’ll
concentrate my search eastward. If I don’t find anything within a mile of this
location, I’ll move a mile to the east and try again. If necessary, we’ll go
all the way to the Mediterranean Sea. And the nice thing about the gold, if I
find enough of it, is that I can keep some and use it for a second-rate talisman.
Oh, I know. It won’t be nearly as powerful as a real talisman, but it will be much
better than what I’ve got right now, right?”

“I suppose. In a pinch, as they say in this century,” Merlin
agreed with a shrug of his shoulders. “By the way, all by itself, the gold would
be called an amulet, not a talisman.”

“Gotcha. An amulet. A rose by any other name,” Paul muttered
as he studied the display.

• • • •

The gathering of a sufficient quantity of gold turned out to
be a straightforward and routine exercise. It was tiring, but quite successful.
And it didn’t take all that long to achieve, either.

At noon, he finished with the prospecting task and used a
magical spell to focus sunlight into a beam of energy to finish refining the
gold he had gathered. The melted gold was then poured into several small molds
made of locally gathered sand. He made one four-pound gold bar and a few small rings
and items of gold jewelry. After cooling the finished products in a small
mountain lake, Paul began portaling to the northeast, down out of the mountains,
and into the hilly southern French countryside with its alternating thick
forests and rolling farmland. He passed to the east of Tarbes but to the west
of Toulouse. Indeed, he took care to avoid any and all human habitations,
especially the large cities. His primary goal was to avoid attracting the
attention of any wizards. True, according to Celeste, there were only a few
hundred of them in all the world, but Paul didn’t know how many of those
wizards might be in France. There was no point in taking any chances when such wasn’t
necessary.

Portal by portal, he made his way towards Germany as the
afternoon wore on. The skies were taking on an ominous overcast, the clouds
gathering and looking more storm-like with each passing hour. Exhausted,
thirsty, and hungry, he found refuge for the night in an old abandoned French barn
twenty-five miles southwest of the German-French border.

As he curled up on the scruffy, but dry straw, he fell
almost instantly into a deep, but troubled sleep.

• • • •

He awoke to the sound of light rain outside the barn. A
heavy fog hung over the soaking wet countryside, the air dank and chilly. The
dismal weather fit in nicely with his mood. He felt the urgent need to escape
from Europe just as fast as he could manage it.

Three quick portals took him into Germany and two more after
that into the outskirts of Frankfurt.

With quiet efficiency, he used magic to find and take him to
three small jewelry stores around the metropolitan area. In each one, using
falsified identification in the name of Hans Müller (the equivalent of John
Smith in the States), he sold pieces of his fabricated gold jewelry as scrap.
With more than €1,500 in his pockets, his next stop was to a discount
department store.

In the store, Paul marched up and down the aisles, grabbing
a variety of clothes in a willy-nilly fashion from racks, shelves, hangers, and
bins, before tossing everything on a sales counter.

As an astonished clerk began to ring up the purchases, Paul
drummed his fingers on the countertop and said, “Bitte, schneller. Ich habe ein
Flugzeug erwischen. (
Please, faster. I have a plane to catch
.)”

When the details of the purchase were completed, Paul
gathered up the shopping bags and smiled at the young man, saying, “Dank.
Halten die Äunderrung. Ein Vergnügen, das Geschäft mit Ihnen. (
Thanks. Keep
the change. A pleasure doing business with you
.)”

The young clerk frowned in puzzlement. “Sir, wie Sie wissen,
diese Dinge werden Sie fit? (
Sir, how do you know those things will fit you
?)”
he protested, watching Paul head for the exit.

But Paul was already pushing his way through the front glass
doors.

• • • •

A quick trip to a local Asian shopping market allowed Paul
to pick up some ziplock baggies and a few food items, namely soybeans, onions,
salt, and garlic. Then, by portal, he dropped in at a local
Kochlöffel
outlet, where he bought three colossal cheeseburgers with extra-large side
orders of fries and two jumbo soft drinks. Outside the building, he took a
portal straight to the airport.

• • • •

Frankfurt International Airport was the third busiest
airport in Europe, with four active runways, capable of servicing 65 million
passengers per year. Even though LAX (which Paul was very familiar with) was
larger, he was still impressed by Frankfurt’s size and how busy it was.

Dressed in a new set of clothing, carrying a small
roll-around suitcase and his take-out order, Paul was standing in front of
Terminal Building One, on the concrete median between the set of two-lane
roads, watching all the buses and cars roll by, disgorging passengers by the
score.

“Merlin?” he muttered under his breath.

The image of the old wizard appeared, floating an inch above
the concrete. Several nearby pedestrians, startled by the sudden apparition,
blinked in surprise and edged away quickly.

“So, this is progress,” Merlin said sarcastically.
“Civilization is at its peak with air you can’t breathe, noise that deafens you,
and streets filled with wheeled weapons to kill the unwary pedestrians. Isn’t
it grand?”

“Whatever doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, I suppose,” was
Paul’s distracted reply. “Oh, please, Merlin, not the hat this time,” he said
with a small shake of his head.

The cone-shaped hat popped out of existence. Paul glanced
around, reassuring himself that they weren’t about to cause a riot. Though
several people were still giving them doubtful looks, none were pointing
fingers or screaming in hysteria. It seemed safe enough.

“Merlin, I have the food and money I need,” Paul stated
quietly. “Can you show me where this CargoCity Nord is located? I feel very
exposed here in this city. The sooner I am on my way, the safer I will feel.”

• • • •

The Frankfurt International Airport had a large cargo
facility at the northwest corner of the complex, with connections to virtually
anywhere in the world. Paul cautiously paused in the large hangar door opening
of Building 451 of the Lufthansa Cargo Center, watching people in various
uniforms perform a wide variety of chores, including driving forklifts, loading
cargo bins, running through checklists on clipboards, inspecting customs
stickers, and other sundry tasks. As Paul glanced around, he considered looking
for a flight schedule, but then another thought intruded.

“Merlin, how closely do the wizards of
Errabêlu
control
the various governments?” Paul asked, thinking furiously. “For instance, could
they have Interpol hunting for me?”

The bearded wizard stayed floating in mid-air as he answered
with a grim smile, “Absolutely. “They have their tentacles in all sorts of
government agencies, including your CIA, FBI, NSA, and virtually every other
alphabet soup of the United States government. Also in every similar agency in Europe
and Asia.”

“So, they have access to a great many resources,” Paul
observed, still deep in thought. “Then I really do need to get out of here ASAP,”
he grimly stated. “And the CIA guy was right. Not directly to the United
States. Too obvious. They could have someone meet every flight, even the cargo
flights, when they arrive in the USA. I need a different destination, one that I
have time to reach before they start looking for me here in Germany.”

After a brief search, Paul found a list of departing flights
on a large display board. Ah, there was a Lufthansa Cargo flight, LH8222, a
Boeing MD11BCF Freighter, leaving for Mexico City in just half an hour.
Perfect! Paul casually waved his hand, and Merlin vanished.

“In the name of Claude Rains, Vincent Price, and Romulan
warbirds, let a cloak of invisibility surround me, such that no one can see me
or my shadow or hear me.”

The air around him darkened slightly, and he strode out of
the building, heading for Flight LH8222, confident that no Normal would see him,
let alone intercept him.

• • • •

On the flight apron, a ULD loader stacked with pallets of
cargo boxes was approaching the side of a Boeing aircraft. Paul assertively walked
over and climbed on, just as the pallet load was lifted upward. When the level
was right, the operator below triggered the conveyor, sliding the pallets
toward the hatch of the plane.

There were two workers inside who shifted the pallets onto
rollers built into the plane’s deck, shoving each pallet deeper into the plane and
then locking them into place with clamps. Carefully, Paul maneuvered around the
two men and into a small space between two pallets. He wasn’t very comfortable,
but there would be time to change positions later, after the workers were gone.

And that didn’t take long. Fifteen minutes later, they
locked down the last pallet and left, closing and latching the aircraft’s hatch
behind them.

Silence.

Paul eased himself downward to sit on the deck. Reaching into
the food sack, he pulled out some french fries and began to munch on them. He
now had plenty of time to eat. It would take most of the day, but by the day’s
end, he would be in Mexico.

Over the Gulf of Mexico

36,000 ft

January

Monday, 5:20 p.m. EDT

T
he
eleven-and-a-half-hour flight was uneventful. Paul napped uncomfortably in the
cargo hold, using his gold bar to keep a bubble of warm air around himself.

He also took the opportunity to think over his situation and
the events of the previous two weeks, wondering what he should do in the long
run. This whole business of magical powers had caught him by surprise, and so
far, all he had done was react to things other people were doing. Yes, he had escaped
from captivity and possible death, but for what purpose? Other than his freedom—-and
yes, that was important in its own right—-what goal did he have? Survival was
wonderful, but, he wanted to do more with his life and his newly acquired
magical powers than just that. And it didn’t seem possible now to execute his
original plan, namely, to wander the earth and help the needy. Obviously, the
other wizards weren’t going to permit him to do that.

What were his options? Even if he could convince Ruggiero
not to kill him, Paul wasn’t certain that he wanted to be associated with any
of the other wizards. He drew the line at wholesale warfare for the advancement
of science. That was too cold-blooded for his tastes. Celeste had told him that
there were some wizards that had turned inward, hermits from the world stage.
But that option seemed undesirable to Paul, like a dead end.

And then there was his present predicament. Paul was
starting to wonder how much trouble he was currently in, exactly. He had fled
from Ruggiero and injured the other wizard in the process, destroying his
talisman. But so far, there had been no indication at all that anyone was
really in pursuit. And perhaps they were not. Perhaps Paul’s tendency toward
paranoia was overreacting. Yeah, sure, Ruggiero might think that Paul was a spy.
But Ruggiero was just one of hundreds of wizards. The other wizards of
Errabêlu
might have told him by now to cool it, that Paul wasn’t worth a global
manhunt.

Most decidedly, Paul was erring on the side of caution,
which seemed to be the best policy for the moment. If later, when he reached
the United States, there was still no sign of pursuit, then he might relax a
bit and reevaluate his options. But for the moment, he had no idea what long-range
goals were possible. He would need to consult some more with a
super-intelligence before making any decisions like that.

• • • •

On the descent path, heading toward Benito Juarez
International Airport, Paul was using a small magical display to look out of
the plane at the surrounding mountains and Mexican countryside. He was watching
the outskirts of Mexico City when Merlin’s disembodied head appeared in front
of him.

Startled, he jerked backward, hitting his head against the
unyielding pallet of cargo behind him.

“Relax,” said Merlin in a reassuring tone. “I didn’t mean to
affrighten you.” He glanced around. “Are there no chairs in this metal flying
box? Is this what it means to be taken for a ride in this century?”

“It’s a long story,” Paul replied with a tired voice.
“What’s up?”

Merlin tugged a little on his beard. “Red Alert. At least, I
think that’s what they call it. Someone just used a portal below and ahead of
us, probably at the airport, and judging from the energy involved, they came in
from somewhere a very long way away. Could be as far as Europe.”

Paul nodded in understanding. So, that answered that
question. He really was being chased. Was it Ruggiero doing the chasing or
someone else? Did they know for certain that he was on this plane? Or were they
just covering all the possible flights leaving from Europe? If it was the
latter, then there must be a large army scattered across the globe, looking for
him.

No matter who was after him, Paul was right to be paranoid.
The chase was on, and just what would he do to evade them?

• • • •

Since he wasn’t sure what would happen to him if he tried to
portal from the plane while it was moving at 550 mph, it seemed advisable for
Paul to wait until the plane landed before he tried to leave. Of course, by
that time, he might be trapped. They might be close enough at that point that
they could detect any portal he might form, thus instantly knowing where he
was. Perhaps, if he kept a low profile, he might be able to just sneak off the
plane, using a minimum of magical energy. If they were just covering the bases
here, whoever was looking for him might not be all that serious in their search
efforts. As long as he didn’t draw any attention to himself, Paul figured he
had a shot at leaving the plane, and then the airport, without his pursuers
knowing that he was even in Mexico City.

Gripping the gold bar and his carry-on simultaneously was
difficult with only one hand and without the aid of a magical spell, but Paul managed.
The noise of the landing gear deploying told him how close they were. A minute
later, the plane jerked hard, and there was a loud, but brief screech as the
wheels touched down on the tarmac.

The plane braked hard, swaying slightly side to side as it
slowed to a taxi speed. If he wanted to escape by portal, now would be the time
to do so. And with the gold bar he was sorely tempted. But with only the gold
bar to work with, his portal jumps would be too short to do him any real good,
not when compared to how far the enemy could portal. Paul judged that his best
option was as he had originally planned: Bide his time and see what happened.

He felt the plane coast to a stop, its jet engines spinning
down. There would be a wait now, while the cargo handlers moved into position, before
the hatch was opened. Even then, it would take some time before they began
moving out the pallets at the front and working their way back to his location.

Paul sat still, waiting patiently, the pinky on his right
hand occasionally twitching.

And indeed, it did take a few minutes before he heard
snapping sounds. He watched with nervousness as the hatch swung upward on its
hinges, the lights mounted outside of the terminal building streaming into the
interior of the plane. With great care, Paul edged forward, peering out through
the large opening, looking for anything out of the ordinary.

Men in coveralls were moving around, a ULD was approaching
the cargo hatch, and he could see a truck with aircraft steps moving up to the
pilot’s door. There were no flashing red lights, no SWAT vehicles, no police
cars, and no Army personnel carriers. From all appearances, there was nothing
unusual out there at all....

And then, two Oni strolled into view, both dressed in the
uniforms of Mexican Federal Police, flak jackets and berets, and each carrying
a Heckler & Koch MP5 submachine gun.

Great. Just...great.

He glumly considered the possibilities. He could take the gold
bar and portal out right now, from inside of the plane to some other location.
But he knew from personal experience how fast the Oni could move. Even though
they weren’t all that close, it would still be a gamble to try to get through a
portal before they countered his spell. The only reason that they hadn’t
already attacked him was that they didn’t really know he was here. Yet. But
they would soon.

So, what could he do now? Fear of being caught, of death,
gripped his heart.

Come on, Paul, think
!
Think
!

The ULD finished moving into the cargo hatch, blocking his
view, and Paul crept backward into the plane, dodging around the cargo pallets.

Trapped! The level of fear grew stronger, piercing his heart,
and he froze, unable to move for almost a minute. He considered summoning
Merlin or the CIA guy, but he was too afraid that even a low level spell might
be detected. In a few minutes—-possibly less time than that—-he would be
discovered. His only options seemed to be either submitting peaceably or attempting
to escape via portal. The odds of his survival seemed really low either way. For
a second, Paul toyed with a third option: the idea of the
4-D Man
play
again, dropping through the skin of the fuselage, but he was reasonably sure the
magical energy level involved would attract the Oni too.

Oh, if only Paul could make himself invisible to the Oni....

Wait a moment! That wasn’t a bad thought at all. Anxiously,
Paul considered the idea. Maybe he could.

A memory of his college Physics 101 professor came back to
him. Dr. Green had been a short man with a receding hairline, but he understood
physics backward and forward. Even now, Paul could remember him explaining
photons, electrons, spectrum energy, and Planck’s constant.

Planck’s constant. The relationship between photon energy
and wavelength.

Glancing up, Paul focused on the light coming from the
security lights outside of the plane. In the United States, most such security
lights were now metal halide lamps, which produced a whiter light, covering more
of the visible spectrum, especially into the blue end of the band, as far out
as 350 nanometers.

But here in Mexico City, the lights appeared to be more
yellow in color. It strongly suggested that they were still using the old high
pressure sodium lamps. Their spectrum didn’t extend very well into the blue
band, with hardly any output lower than 450 nanometers and nothing at all in
the ultraviolet band.

Merlin once told him that his magic could change some
aspects of physics, but not others. Paul wondered which group Planck’s constant
fell into?

He decided to find out. He knelt beside a pallet, gripping
his bag and the gold bar tightly.

“In the name of the Heisenberg Uncertainty principle, my old
college Professor Green, and Murphy’s laws, let Planck’s constant in the
surrounding area become half its current value.”

Instant blackness everywhere, as if all the lights had
suddenly been switched off!

Outside the plane, Paul heard howls of anger, and he sensed
magical spells released, throwing balls of light into the darkness. Of course,
that wouldn’t work; the light from the Oni spells would be instantly shifted
into the infrared end of the spectrum, beyond the visible, the same as with the
light from the airport security lamps. Paul could picture their confusion, and
he chuckled in delight.

But this was no time to be entertained by their anger, so
Paul snapped a portal open in the deck of the plane and fell into it, dragging
his carry-on with him.

• • • •

He hit the tarmac hard, on his left shoulder, but managed to
roll to one side. There would only be a few seconds before the Oni came roaring
though a portal after him. He snapped open another one and rolled through—

—out into the middle of the runway, a 767 on final approach,
its landing lights dazzling bright and only six hundred feet away and forty
feet in the air, heading directly at him! The glare of the lights and the sound
of the jet engines terrified him, threatening to paralyze him. Frantically,
Paul cast another spell, a portal opening up—

—which took him to the roof of Terminal Building 1. He took
a moment to heave a sigh of relief. And then another portal—

—took him inside the Terminal Building. Paul anxiously
dashed toward the window, his carry-on momentarily delaying him when one edge of
it slammed against an unoccupied chair in the departure lounge. Arriving at the
window, Paul watched the two Oni magically appear through a portal on the
runway, their silhouettes framed in the lights of the landing 767.

Neither one of them was able to make it out of the way in
time.