Genie and Engineer 1: The Engineer Wizard (35 page)

Capie was on the verge of tears. Deeply shaken, Paul sat on
the edge of the bed and gathered her in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Capie!” he earnestly apologized, his stomach
churning nauseously. “I didn’t know. I swear to you that we will find a way!”

“I’ve had so many disappointments,” she pitifully mumbled.
“So many! I was so looking forward to being a wizard.” She paused, her face
scrunched in pain. “I guess that means the marriage is off now, right?”

He gripped Capie tighter. “Not on your life!” he growled.
“This isn’t over, not by a long-shot. If the genie can give me my powers, then
there must be a way to give you magical powers, too. I’ll find that way. In the
meantime, we are going to cure your spinal cord injuries.”

She pulled back from him. “How are you going to do that?”
she asked skeptically, studying his face intently.

Paul smiled reassuringly at her, feigning a confidence he
didn’t feel at all. “I can use my magical powers to slowly remove the scar from
your spinal cord and to re-grow the nerve tissue. It should only take a month
or so to do and, in the meantime, it means I will have to spend more time with
you.” He kept to himself the fact that he had already been performing that very
same magical task on her for over a month. Best not to confuse the issue, at
this point. Instead, he stretched out a hand to cup the side of her face. “That
doesn’t sound so bad, does it?”

She bravely smiled but he could see how disappointed she was
not to be a wizard. It crushed his heart, too.

Naperville, Illinois

East Bauer Road

Two bedroom rental house

May

Monday 12:42 p.m. CST

A
s
the days sped by, Capie reported more and more physical sensations below her
waist. By way of Igor, Paul’s magic spells were having a slow but steadily
positive effect on her, curing her spinal cord injury a degree at a time. In the
past couple of days, she was even able to actually ‘move’ her legs and feet.
Mostly, she just made them twitch but it was promising. And whenever Paul was
in her presence, he cast a spell to help her brain more rapidly learn the new neural
pathways to control her muscles.

Capie was ecstatic with the results so far and looked
forward to further progress. And Paul too was thrilled that the idea was
actually working. Well, to tell the truth, he was really insufferably pleased
with himself! And even though he was a little hard to live with, Capie managed
to endure his smugness. Thank God it finally wore off, before anyone actually
told him to go stuff himself.

They were also spending more and more time together, working
on wedding preparations. It was beginning to take on the dimensions of that Steve
Martin movie,
Father of the Bride
. Paul had always thought that movie to
be funny — until he now found himself to be in the center of the action.

During the weekdays, when Capie was at work, Paul concentrated
on the Master Plan. Half the time he spent down at the lake front, monitoring
the conversion process of the beryllium isotopes in the emerald from
⁹
Be
to
¹⁰
Be. The other half of the time, he worked on the AI project.

Paul grinned mischievously every time he thought about
creating his second talisman. All the equations told him how potent it would be
and he was
so
looking forward to using that much power.

• • • •

On Thursday, after spending the morning working on the
development of the AI program, Paul took a short break for lunch. Then he got
back to work, diving into the subtleties of one of the more difficult of the
subroutines. His intention was to work a few more hours and then stop at 5 p.m.
That would allow him a few minutes to change clothes and drive over to Capie’s
house in time to help her prepare a cozy dinner for the two of them at her
home. His plan was to spend most of the evening with her.

Another month to go until the wedding. In some ways, it
seemed a lifetime away and he was impatient for it to happen. The image of them
standing at the altar, of hearing Capie say “I do” and then going away on a honeymoon
thrilled him. He had such plans for where they would go, the places in the
world that they would visit and the things that they would see and do! His
spine tingled every time he thought about it.

The door bell rang, interrupting his thoughts.

He looked up and blinked.

Paul had been surprised after moving to this house how many
times a week that someone came to the front door. Mostly, it was door-to-door
salesmen trying to sell some product and/or service. They were indeed the most
obnoxious of his visitors. However, there were others too such as
representatives of the local churches, fund raisers for various organizations,
Girl Scouts selling cookies, local political candidates seeking re-election,
and various and sundry other individuals. The oddest one of the bunch had been
a man claiming to be a direct descendent of Pecos Bill who was asking people to
sign a petition that would outlaw automobiles in favor of horses. That nut had
wasted an hour of Paul’s precious time with his nonsense!

After that, Paul had consulted with Merlin, done the
research, gathered the necessary materials and then cast a warding spell on the
front door.

The front door now displayed the image of a “door greeter,”
an imaginary personality that would magically converse with and determine what
sort of person was ringing the doorbell and what they wanted. Under the right
circumstances (which was most of the time), the warding spell would then discourage
the visitor and send him/her on their way. The door greeter’s image depended on
the nature of the visitor. Most of the time, the personality was an extremely
ugly, old, crossed-eyed man with a lower lip that covered the end of his huge
nose, warts on his face and a voice that screeched like fingernails on a
blackboard.

The door greeter was not a new idea. Paul was borrowing the concept
from
The Christmas Carol
and
The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy
,
among other sources. And so far the warding spell was very successful. Most of
the time, Paul never even heard the doorbell ring since the spell was geared to
silence the doorbell unless the visitor was someone Paul wanted to see — such
as a U.S. Postman, a delivery person, a policeman or a neighbor. In other
words, someone who had a legitimate reason to ring the bell.

And since on this occasion the spell was allowing Paul to
hear the doorbell, it meant that the warding spell ‘thought’ that he would probably
have to personally deal with the caller this time.

But then, to Paul’s surprise, he heard the warding spell
speak.

“Yes, and what is it you want?” it demanded to know.

“What the…?” asked a surprise voice, transmitted through the
door by the warding spell. “Is this a joke of some kind? Who in blazes are
you?”

“I’m the person answering the door, bonehead,” the greeter
responded. “Answer the question. What do you want?”

“Special Delivery,” Paul heard the man’s irritated voice
answer.

“I don’t see no package,” the warding spell answer.

“Look, I don’t have time for games! I need a signature here!
Open the door!”

“Let me see some ID!” the door greeter demanded.

“Open the door!” the voice demanded. “I need to see the guy
who lives here!”

Then the greeter’s voice changed, dropping into a menacing
tone. “You’re not a delivery man. You’re a liar. I’m monitoring your pulse
rate, blood pressure, breathing, galvanic skin response and brain wave
patterns,” the door greeter’s voice said, its voice dripping with contempt.
“And I have no trouble seeing that .40 caliber Glock 22 Gen 4 in your shoulder
harness under your coat, nor the two extra clips of ammo in your jacket pocket,
or the metal badge in your shirt pocket that says FBI!”

Paul’s heart skipped a beat. The authorities had found him.

There was a pause at the door and then the man at the door
yelled, “Paul Armstead, we know that you are in there. We have Capie in
custody! If you don’t come out in thirty seconds, I can’t promise your fiancée’s
safety!” barked the voice. “Don’t leave! Surrender now and she won’t be hurt!”

Outside, Paul heard a squeal of tires and brakes.

He rushed to the living room picture-window and peeked
through the blinds. Two—no, now
three
Army M998 Heavy Hummer Troop
Carriers were screeching to a stop, Army troops rapidly bailing out the rear,
M4 rifles in hand, seeking cover behind trees, cars and the sides of buildings.
One figure, carrying a flamethrower, strode swiftly to a spot behind his Camry
in the driveway.

Paul’s gut wrenched in horror and his heart beat suddenly
doubled. He swallowed a curse, a huge lump in his throat abruptly making it
difficult to breathe.

For several more seconds, he remained frozen in place, not
able to move a single muscle. Did they really have Capie, or was this some sort
of trick? What should he do? Take a chance the guy was bluffing and escape? Or
surrender? Fear for Capie’s safety overrode all his other concerns and worries.
God, what would Paul
do
if they hurt her?

With a tremendous effort of will, he moved, now on the verge
of panic. More than that, he also was inundated with a wave of anger and
hatred. His soul burned with it, from head to toe, and Paul seized it as a
weapon to make his body move faster with frenzied purpose.

Every second was precious now and he must act as fast as
possible and with the greatest efficiency. Without hesitation, he snapped
opened a portal to a location just down the road, fifty feet under the nearest intersection.
He used the portal to scoop out a small cavity in the bedrock, dumping the
residue in the kitchen sink. Then, with a wave of his hand, the emerald on the
card table and the desktop computer went sailing through the opening. He tossed
his wallet and the gold wrist band through the portal too.

“I am in touch by phone! You have fifteen seconds! Surrender
or she suffers the consequences!”

“He’s still lying!” the door greeter spell yelled. “His
phone is in his pocket and it’s not even turned on!”

There were two loud bangs, shots fired.

“Missed me! Missed me!” the door greeter cackled in delight.
“Geordi La Forge without his VISOR can shoot better than you!”

The anger burned in Paul’s blood. Did they really have her?
Was she really in danger? Would they hurt her if he disappeared?

He just couldn’t take the chance. Not really. Oh, they were
fully capable of lying to him. Even through the haze of his anger, Paul knew
that much. But the fact that they knew he was here and that they knew her name
told him enough. Paul could not take the chance that they were lying.

He cast a small spell to make his voice heard outside.

“I’m coming out! Don’t shoot!” he shouted angrily.

Paul dug the tantalum block out from under his shirt, wistfully
looked at it for only a moment and then he flung it through the portal.

It snapped shut with a loud pop.

Heaving a sigh, Paul yanked open the front door. With hands
held high, he walked out.

His left foot was barely out the door frame when the man
standing there grabbed him by the arm and yanked hard, pulling Paul off
balance, through the air, past the front two steps to land on one shoulder on
the concrete sidewalk. He tried to get to his feet but three soldiers in full
body armor hurled themselves through the air and tackled him, knocking the wind
out of him. Stunned, Paul struggled for breath, his body already starting to scream
in intense pain in a dozen places from the physical abuse.

Then he was yanked to his feet, spun around and hands
handcuffed behind his back. Two soldiers hauled him toward a Humvee, violently
shoving him through the rear door.

As he struggled to sit up, his face was sprayed with a cool
mist. He coughed and then gagged. His throat choked and then the feeling in his
face faded away. His vision blurred around the edges and tunneled inward. In
mere seconds, Paul could neither see nor hear.

Then blackness totally overwhelmed him.

• • • •

There was the impression of being carried. And not gently
either. He was very uncomfortable and, in addition, completely disoriented. Blinking,
he opened his eyes, and caught a glimpse of grass moving beneath him as two
strong men hefted him along, his arms locked in theirs.

With no more effort than was required to arm wrestle with a
Klingon, Paul lifted his head and through his hazy vision saw what appeared to
be a military helicopter, its rotors already spinning, sitting on the grass,
the pilot waving them on. Paul had the muted impression that they were in some
sort of park, with trees in the distance. The two soldiers dumped him like
excess baggage through the passenger door and onto the metal floor of the
helicopter passenger cabin.

“He’s waking up already!” He heard a voice in the distance yell
over the sound of the blades.

“That didn’t take long!” Another one yelled back.

Paul’s anger started to return and he struggled to sit up
but another spray of mist in the face quickly took him back down.

• • • •

“Paul, it’s time to wake up now. Paul, you must wake up. You
are in danger and only you can save yourself. Wake up, Paul!”

His eyes snapped open and Paul stared, confused and befuddled,
at his surroundings. For several seconds, he could make no sense of what he saw
nor could he form any lucid thoughts. Then his memories came flooding back. The
ring of the doorbell, the FBI agent, the Army troops, the helicopter.

And worst, the threat against Capie’s life.

He was sore all over. Even his bruises seemed to have
bruises. His anger returned in full measure. With adrenalin pumping through his
arteries. Paul was suddenly able to think again.

There was a leather couch and three leather swivel seats in front
of him. On either side of those, there were walls curved inward with small windows.
An aircraft of some sort. Small. From the droning noise, a jet. Perhaps a small
executive jet of some kind.

From his seat, Paul could see two Oni, one on the couch and
the other in one of the swivel seats. The remaining two seats were occupied by
Normals. All of them were dressed in Army desert camouflage fatigues and armed
with M4s and Beretta M9s. The Oni on the couch was turned slightly towards him,
the name above the breast pocket read “Pruitt,” the collar showing lieutenant’s
bars.

“Ah, good,” a voice to his left cheerfully remarked.

Paul spun to see who was talking and was totally shocked to
see a disembodied head — but not Merlin’s — hovering in mid-air. Paul’s heart
skipped two beats in sudden fear until he realized whose face he was looking
at.

“Genie!” he cried but then he precipitously remembered
similar sessions with Merlin. Instantly, he spun and glanced over at the Oni,
afraid that his outcry might have alerted them that he was awake.

Both Oni appeared to be sound asleep.

“Relax,” said the genie/wizard reassuringly. “No one can see
or hear our conversation. And by the way, my name is Jaret, not genie.”

“What’s going on?” Paul frantically insisted. “Where have
you been? Where’s Capie? How did you find me? Where are we going—?”

“Slow down!” Jaret patiently admonished him. “One question
at a time! Now, let me start at the beginning. You may remember that I had a
few things to take care of, after I left you on that mountain summit in the
Karakoram Mountains
. Well, I have only just returned
and I, uh, decided to see how well you were doing. I am
not
spying on
you. It’s just that, under the circumstances, you’ll understand that I feel
somewhat accountable for you. Anyway, imagine my surprise when I discovered
that you were bound with metal irons and guarded by armed soldiers on this
flying machine. And I was even more surprised when I discovered two of those
soldiers were not quite human and that they too possessed magical powers.” He
turned and looked at the closest Oni. “Ugly looking as well, I must say.”