Bridgeworlds: Rise of the Magi (2 page)

General John Elder had been a longtime supporter of Dr. Metzger’s previous inventions. He was a head taller than everyone else in the room. Only his white hair and what Omar called the "thousand-yard stare" in his hazel eyes hinted that he was older and more battle-weary than he looked.

“You’re correct, sir. Most of it is faded, but what we can make out reads, 'I AM the Way.’”

Even old Klaus is fighting a look of curious anticipation.
Jack Raven, the youngest in the group, cleared his throat before asking, “Why did you need the coma patients? How do they fit into all of this? Does this somehow involve your sister?”

Omar regarded Jack Raven.
The most mysterious of my investors and one of the richest, most powerful men in the world. I'm glad he chooses to spend his fortune and build his fame on outlandish projects and adventures and that he loves taking risks.
Jack carried himself with quiet confidence. That curly brown hair and smile looked boyishly charming but his grey eyes were like steel.

“That’s a good question, Mr. Raven.” Omar responded with his utmost charm. “I will explain that after a quick demonstration.”

Omar turned and pointed to the grid screen attached to the tunnel. “This device was designed to show me where this dog, Sheba, goes. It can track her signal anywhere in the world by satellite using the device implanted in Sheba’s mastoid bone. I’ve tested the equipment and it’s sound. However, when Sheba goes through the portal, she’s gone. She doesn’t show up anywhere in the world. At first I thought the portal was neutralizing the tracking device. But now I think it’s something much larger than that.”

“Are you saying that you’re teleporting this dog into space?” asked Professor Romanov.

“No, but it will be better to explain by demonstration. I’m going to tell Sheba to go into the portal to the other side, pick something up, and come back. Please excuse me. She takes commands in German. What I'm saying to her means, 'go, find.'” Omar pointed to the tunnel. “
Gehe. Finden
.”

As Sheba entered the tunnel, a blinding light burst out of it, eclipsing the silhouette of the dog. The blip on the map screen disappeared at the same time as Sheba. Every member of the board seemed to have stopped breathing until Sheba came back through the tunnel holding a rock in her mouth. The blip on the screen reappeared as well and a long, collective release of breath went around the table.

Omar took the rock from Sheba and held it up. “I’ve had Sheba come back with rocks, sticks, and grass. The minerals in the rocks and almost all of the elements are recognizable, with the exception of one I can't identify. Also, the cellular make-up of the grass is entirely different from any known in this world. It has advanced regeneration capability. It’s my hypothesis that Sheba is not going to outer space or to some other place on this planet, but to another dimension.”

General Klaus stood up and pulled down on his jacket forcibly as if the action emphasized his disgust. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m done. We asked for teleportation, not dimensional travel. The United States Army will not participate in funding a misguided project that’s failed its original purpose. It would be against military regulations and a complete waste of time. Dr. Metzger doesn’t even know what he’s found, if anything useful at all. My vote to cut funding stands.” He turned and marched out the door.

General Elder was the first to speak after his colleague’s outburst and departure. “To get back to Mr. Raven's question, please tell us what you’re doing with the coma patients. I don’t see how this all fits in with them. I don’t even know that I understand what you’re proposing. But I personally need to know what you’ve done with these people. I do not find it coincidental that your sister is a coma patient, and you’ve involved coma patients in a seemingly unrelated project.”

Omar tried to control his excitement. “I participated in the study of a Belgian patient who’d been in a coma since 2003. He’d shown no sign of consciousness or awareness of the outside world for many years. However, during tests we conducted, this Belgian patient was able to successfully answer questions about the events of his life. He’d signal
yes
by thinking about tennis and
no
by mentally touring his own home. These questions stimulated different parts of his brain while an MRI machine scanned it.

“While the majority of coma patients exhibit no brain activity, we tested 150 coma patients and found that twelve of them exhibited significant brain activity. Seven of those patients, including my sister Misaki, didn’t react to any of the questions we asked.

“Here’s where it gets interesting. I believe that they don’t react to our questions because they’re experiencing something real to them in their dreams. Dreams have never been adequately explained, but it’s my hypothesis that dreams are our connection to alternate dimensions. If this is true, then while the average person slips in and out of multiple dream dimensions, someone in a coma could be stuck in a more permanent state. In other words, they’re in an alternate dimension and can’t respond to us in this dimension. This is why I chose individuals like my sister who went to sleep and never woke up.”

Richard Hayes and Jack Raven started a whispered conference. Omar knew he had captured everyone's attention but he could only wait and hope that their reactions would justify his soaring hopes.

Professor Romanov just sat silent, staring at the rock. She’d worked with Omar on several of his government solar power projects. She was there to represent the scientific community and the funding supplied by them. Omar had always been attracted to Sasha. It was a bit of a distraction to him when working on projects with her, but they had similar interests and he was sure there was a connection between them.

Once again he found himself getting lost in those striking brown eyes of hers, downcast as they were, hidden behind those glasses she rarely wore. She had her jet-black hair in a severe bun and wore a white lab coat and conservative clothes, as always. But her skin was so pale, so delicate, and Omar thought she might be the only professional woman he knew who could get away with wearing such bright red lipstick.

General Elder rubbed his temples and grimaced. “How long have you been using government money to research this dimensional travel?”

Omar looked him straight in the eyes and said, “Five years.”

General Elder began, “There’s no doubt in my mind, Omar, that you’re a brilliant man ...”

Omar fought the urge to roll his eyes at General Elder’s flattery, waiting for the "but" and the announcement that his funds would be withdrawn.

“You may even be on to something, Omar, but you’re nowhere close to the initial task given to you. I’m going to have to vote that we pull funding. The government has given you six million dollars in the past ten years and now we learn that you've been completely off-track for five. The Air Force needs teleportation, not dimensional travel. And as much as I hate to agree with General Klaus, it’s against regulations to continue funding a project that seems to have lost its focus and shifted to another purpose.”

Billionaire Richard Hayes sat quietly, clearly weighing General Elder’s comments. Hayes was in his 30s and had perfectly-styled dark brown hair and a red power tie. “The government should probably pull its funding. However, Jack and I have decided not to pull our funding, on one condition. Omar, we’ll give you a week to prove your hypothesis.”

Richard was a former student of Omar's who’d recently come into his fortune.
Only a week?
Omar gave Richard a look of anguish.

Jack stood up. “Omar, you’ve worked on several projects privately funded by my father. You even did field work with me on one of my wild goose chases to find ancient relics. But truthfully, I don’t care about inter-dimensional travel. It’s obvious that you have a strong desire to find your sister in some alternate dimension on the other side of that portal, and I want you to succeed. I realize that a week is not nearly enough time for science. But Rich and I believe in miracles, and a week is more than enough time for a miracle.”

A Christian response,
thought Omar,
and a genuine and loving one from two people I could almost call family. But a week of time is still not enough, and I don’t believe in miracles.
So Omar smiled at Jack and Richard. “Thank you much for at least that much time. I’ll try not to fail you.”

Jack and Richard nodded to him, gathered their things, and left the room. At the same time, General Elder reluctantly rose and left with them. When they were gone, Omar looked over at Sasha Romanov, who still gazed at the rock.
I hope she hasn’t lost faith in me,
he thought.

After a moment of silence, he spoke to her. “What about the scientific community, Sasha? Where do my peers stand on this matter?”

“I think it would be foolish to pull your funding. You’re on to something significant. I want to look through your findings. May I have a copy of your records?”

Omar handed Sasha a thick file in response. As he did, he noticed that her hands were soft and warm. He fought against being distracted by her touch or her smell. “This will be a start, when you are done I will give you access to the rest of my records,” was all he said to her.

Sasha sighed. “I know what you’re going to do. We’re too much alike. You may not even realize it yet yourself, but I know what I would do if I were you. Your passion for science is only matched by your passion for your sister.” Sasha looked away for a moment, as if considering her words carefully, and then turned back to Omar with an odd expression.

No, don’t say it. I can’t let you distract me.

She moved closer to him. “We’ve ignored this thing between us for far too long.” She stood there, waiting for Omar to respond.

But Omar couldn’t breathe. No woman had ever gotten this close to him. He’d always been driven by his love for his sister and allowed nothing to interfere, but this woman had some kind of hold over him. His mind began to race as he thought,
her pheromones must be strong. I can’t move. I can’t talk.

When he didn’t say anything, she backed away a little bit.
She must be able to see how uncomfortable I am.

She smiled at him. “When you find your sister, if you can come back, come back. Otherwise, I’ll come for you.”

That almost sounds psychotic. Why does it comfort me?
Omar still couldn't respond. All he could do was nod.

Sasha walked to the door, lingered for a moment, and said, “Just…be careful.” Then she left.

After everyone was gone and he was able to push Sasha out of his mind, Omar sat down at his desk. Everything that had happened over the past two days had left him wrung out. Now he only had one week left, although he felt he needed years.

Sasha is right. There is only one way to prove my findings, probably the most scientifically unprofessional thing I can do.
One week would give me plenty of time to gather materials and books and then test my hypothesis. But a portal is a strange concept. It’s like a door, but there are many kinds of doors. Some open both ways and some revolve, but others only open one way. If a portal was like one of those three kinds of doors, the math would suggest that there was a 33% chance that once I get to the other side; I won't ever be able to return.

The only way to prove his hypothesis was to step into the portal himself and record his findings. Omar was glad that he’d already tested the passage of time between both sides of the portal. He’d measured the time differences from the data encoded on the chip in Sheba’s ear. It looked as though one day here was equal to two days there, maybe longer. He decided he’d use two days to gather the supplies and books that he’d want to have with him. On the third day he’d enter the portal in hopes of being back after one day on this side, which ought to be two days on the other side. He believed that would give him enough time to find what he needed from the other side and return before his week was up. That assumed, of course, that he’d come back at all.

One question haunted Omar as he made his preparations. He kept remembering Misaki’s words when she "came alive" for those few minutes. She had said,
“Come quick. Bring the gambler.”
Well, now he was coming. Would he find Misaki on the other side of the portal? Or was he just obsessed, because of his sister, with a crazy hypothesis?

And who was the gambler, anyway?

2

The Truth

Myles Callaghan walked from the bathroom where he had just given himself a clean shave. He put on his white under shirt and black pants lined with hidden pockets. He looked down at the dresser where he had neatly organized 12 different passports. He picked one up.
Tonight I am Ragnar, the Illusionist.
He opened one of the drawers and emptied its varied contents out onto the bed of his hotel room in the casino as he listened to the television in the background.
Another night of helping fools part with their money.
Magic tricks, pickpocketing, cheating, or lying—they are all skills that I’ve acquired over the years to attract marks. Who am I to deny them the opportunity to lose their money?

He looked back at the wide mirror hung above the dresser. He was tall and muscular. His long brown hair parted in the middle and hung to his shoulders. Dark blue eyes, a prominent nose, a sharp jaw line, and a smile completed the face he knew could always charm the ladies.

He looked again to the passport as he put it in his back pocket.
I will regret having to leave Venice and all of its charm.
But, as always my welcome has worn out and after tonight I will need to move on quickly.

Myles heard a commercial from the television that used the tune of “Entrance of the Gladiators”.
The Circus.
Even now it seems like just yesterday.

The tune took him back to Oklahoma City, when he was eighteen. It had been his chance to ditch his dull life of farm chores, homeschool, and honest work. Myles smiled.
I hunted down that Grand Master and convinced him to hire me on as a stable hand.
That night Myles had left with the circus.
So what if my family grieved over my disappearance? I'd caused them enough trouble. And I'm never going back to Sallisaw, Oklahoma again.

Myles went to the closet and grabbed an outfit still wrapped in dry cleaners’ plastic. He took it out, handling it with care.
No traditional magician’s costume for me.
From one thick hanger he took a black western trail coat. He grabbed several throwing knives from the odds and ends he had emptied onto the bed and inserted them into hidden sheaths in the sleeves of the coat. He placed a deck of cards, jingling coins, and juggling balls in other pockets in the coat.

Myles heard something on the television. The International News Network was broadcasting. He stopped for a moment to listen.
I think this is the special I was waiting for.
A female announcer spoke. “For a man who's wanted in three different countries for Ponzi Schemes, blackmail, and identity theft, art theft, and robbery Myles Callaghan had pretty humble beginnings. Believe it or not, the world renowned con-man was raised on a farm here in Sallisaw, Oklahoma.”
That’s five countries, actually, but hey, who’s counting?

Really? They went to Sallisaw? Surprised it's on the map. She said renown instead of infamous… I think I have a fan!

Myles heard a familiar voice.
Dad?

“Myles was always too smart for his own good.” He had not heard his father’s voice since he was 18 years old.

“Myles’ father is the county sheriff, who also farms,” the announcer said.

“Yup. By eight years old the boy could best anyone in town in a game of chess. I always told 'em he could do great things if he applied himself. His failures in homeschool never fooled me one bit.”

Myles laughed.
Beating anyone in that town wasn’t that great of an accomplishment, pop. That was like, twelve people, and they weren’t the brightest folks on earth.

There was a familiar look on his father’s face. The years had been kind to him. Myles was the child that looked the most like his father and at this point in his life they only looked to be ten years apart in age. But Myles knew that look… His father looked down as he talked about him, he sighed a lot, and his eyes were distant.
Disappointment. Regret. I know you think I live my life to spite you but it just isn’t true, pop. I just don’t know how to live otherwise… it’s who I am.

As he listened he set the coat down and grabbed another hanger, from which hung a crisp white shirt. Over it he put on a crimson vest with silver buttons.

Myles tried to tune out something like a plea from his father. He couldn't help hearing the mention of God’s forgiveness and his father asking him to turn himself in.
Sorry, pop. You chose your path. This is mine.

From the bed he picked up a pipe and a small book of matches. He placed these in the pockets of his vest.

“Myles joined the circus and studied the art of illusion under Walter Fenton, whose stage name was The Ghost. Walter was known for being a modern-day Houdini.”

“Myles could have been one of the greatest illusionists alive.”
The old man is still alive? Wow!
Myles glanced at Walter Fenton's haggard face on the screen. “He had a natural talent for illusion like I have never seen. I tried to keep his interest but Myles wanted to be a jack of all trades, rather than master this one art. He was ambitious. He wanted to learn it all.”
Nah, I just learned all of your secrets and wanted more.

The television cut back to the reporter. “Myles apparently also worked with the trapeze artists, who say they taught him to perfect his balance. He was taught how to train and discipline the wildest of animals. With the purveyors of the "impalement arts", knife throwers, I'm told he learned both to throw accurately and to react with speed and precision.”

And don’t forget the blind sword master who taught me to fight while blindfolded and the fire-eaters who gave up their secrets. Even the clowns taught me their gifts so I'd have more ways of entertaining people and holding their attention. I learned a lot more than old Walter Fenton could ever have taught me.

Myles donned a black, flat-top western hat with a red feather in the band. He looked back at the mirror behind him.
Now that’s a little closer to my heritage.
He patted his hat and felt the six sheets of flash paper against his head that lay tucked away for fiery illusions.

“After four years with the circus, Myles had indeed become a Jack of all trades.”
Maybe, but I’m also a master of a few by now
. “The Grand Master had even taken Myles on as his apprentice, but life with the circus must not have been enough for Mr. Callaghan.”
You got the wrong guy. Mr. Callaghan is my father. And yeah, I got itchy feet, needed to move on.

Myles grabbed the last remaining items from the bed, which included his bag of pipe tobacco and a lock-picking set. He put these items in the hidden pockets in his black pants.

“He seems to have spent several years in Savannah, GA. Myles learned some of the arts at SCAD -- Savannah College of Art and Design, and that's where he seems to have begun teaching himself to gamble at the casino that used to be on the other side of the Savannah River Bridge.”

Between performances I wandered that city until I decided to stick around. The circus moved on without me. But they seem to have missed the fact that I didn’t actually pay for college. I just forged a college I.D. and attended random art classes to learn to sketch and paint. Valuable skills to add to my repertoire.

“This was where Myles first began his criminal career as a con artist. He had no home of record under any of his aliases and law enforcement has deduced that he was homeless at this time in his life. He convinced people to donate to some worthy cause that became money in his pocket, and reports say he was quite successful.”
Better than begging like a bum.

“As time went on, he took to smoking a pipe. His unique tobacco blend quickly became a signature for him. People at the casino smelled it and knew that he had arrived.”
I learned to card count. It was easy to avoid attention just by makin sure I was ‘deuce-to-seven’ now and then. It wasn’t for the money anyway—it was for the thrill.

Myles sat on the bed and grabbed his black boots, custom-made in China, checking the secret compartments in the heels—one contained two vials and the other contained 25 feet of wire for illusions. One vial contained an acid that could eat through metal. The other contained a tarry poison made from tobacco leaves. It could render a man unconscious within a minute and kill him within three.
Just in case… I could never endure torture.
His life had indeed become exciting. “Myles moved on to the casino in Cherokee, NC.”
Savannah got old.
It was refreshing to live in the mountains.
“That is where Myles forged documentation so that he could claim Cherokee descent, allowing him to work in the casino.”
Hey! I’m 1/16
^th
!

“Myles perfected the art of cheating at the casinos by seeing how everything worked from the inside.”

Myles laughed. With that job I only meant to be a ‘railbird’, but that vault was too tempting.

“But he was banished from his adopted tribe and kicked off the reservation for trying to break into the casino vault. Since then he has just kept one step ahead of the law.”
Europe seemed a safer place to work than the United States with its more fluid borders.

“But the FBI assures us that these kinds of criminals are always caught eventually because of their daredevil nature. They are always wanting to outdo—“

Myles walked into the other room and used the remote to turn off the television.
That’s enough of that.

Tonight he was plagued by thoughts about possible repercussions, since he'd cheated mob boss Don Marinelli out of 2.5 million dollars, more than he’d ever taken in one night. He stared at the tiny note someone had slipped him just outside his room.
The don’s wife wants a secret meeting?
Myles had a weakness for dangerous, attractive women, and the don’s wife qualified in every way.

Myles passed by the tacky pink and pastel green-striped wallpaper of his room and shook his head at the vaulted ceiling with its dangling chandelier twenty feet above him. The lamps and furniture were antique knockoffs with gilded trim but Myles was glad he wouldn’t be enduring mob boss chic decor for another night.
Get out before they get you. Don’t play the game with a ‘cold deck’.

The woman’s message sounded fishy to him. Myles made his way back to the bedroom, packing the fake passports.
Where is the one I chose for my next identity? Ah, here it is.
Kevin Axtell, venture capital CEO from New York City, representing Middle East oil investors from the U.S. He savored his admiration of his own chameleon abilities for a moment.

Then he grabbed an airline ticket to Bahrain from his bags. Potential exploits danced like the sun on that sapphire Bahrain Sea. His head swung around just in time to see a fist about as big as his head punch through the door.

“Message from Don Marinelli.” A thunderous voice followed the equally thunderous crash.

Every gambler gets a ‘bad beat’ sometime. Guess this is mine.
This thug probably wouldn’t kill him, but Myles was fond of all his fingers and also of the 2.5 mil. The window wasn’t an option at eight stories up. The hired goon reached his arm through the hole in the door and jiggled the latch open while Myles locked himself in the bathroom.

Myles kicked straight through the drywall and rapidly widened the hole into the space between his room and the one next door.
Is there a class that guys take on punching holes through doors?
He wondered as the fist came through the bathroom door.

Myles squeezed through the hole into the narrow space just as the bruiser shoved open the bathroom door. Myles turned on the small flashlight he carried in one of the many pockets in his suit. He made his way as fast as he could down this narrow passage, through several twists and turns inside the wall. Surely the large goon behind him was going to have a difficult time following him.

Suddenly Myles hit the end of the passage, and to the left was a small room that apparently had been walled up for some reason. This hotel was in an old, gothic building that had been renovated many times over the past 200 years. Unused space in the walls was no surprise.

He stared for a moment in the dim light from his flashlight at the crumbling brick wall. A small opening, as if a fireplace had once been there, caught his eye. It almost looked like the back of the tall fireplace was just an empty space, maybe a small tunnel. The back of this space should be the wall of the unoccupied honeymoon suite next door. He decided that all he’d have to do was break through the back of that crazy dark space, and he’d be able to get away.

Kicking had worked before on the bathroom wall. He jumped up, aiming both feet at the shadowy spot in the wall. But Myles’ legs went right through what he thought was the back wall, his momentum flinging him into a black space. A flash of light blinded him and then he bashed into a wall, bricks scattering past him through the small hole his feet had made. The dim light beyond the bricks didn’t seem to come from another hotel room.
Where did I end up, anyway?

Myles threw his entire body against the damaged wall. The rest of the brick collapsed in front of him, sending him flying through.
Where am I going? If anybody’s there, get ready, because the gambler’s coming!