“I don’t need help.”

Albert pushed off from the wall and entered a bright room. Windows lined one side and sunlight streamed in. A huge oil painting hung on the back wall. It depicted a silver haired man holding the world in one hand and flashes of light coming from the other one. His beard hung in waves down his chest. Dark, beady eyes stared menacingly at something in the distance.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” a loud boisterous voice demanded.

Turning toward the voice, a mirror caught his attention. He stopped and examined his reflection. With an expression of amusement, Albert studied his slender, medium tall form. Hair usually so carefully groomed, now lay dirty and greasy plastered against his head. Beard growth indicated three maybe four days. A healing bruise streaked down the right side of his face. Long johns usually a meticulous white was streaked with stains. Bare toes wiggled in the soft carpet. So much for dignity.

"Welcome! " A silver haired man identical to the picture sat at his desk and waved at him. "Goodness, what happened to your clothes?”

"I wondered the same thing."

Tattoo shrugged. "You told us to remove all his gadgets. So, we took off everything. They were full of stuff."

"Well at least bring him his pants and shirt."

"And my belt too. I have trouble holding them up without it," Albert demanded.

The two men climbed in the lift, closed the door, and pulled the squeaky chains. His eyes gleamed with amusement. Their return could take a while.

"Can I get you anything while we wait for your garments?"

He felt dirty. Always a neat dresser, this put him at a disadvantage. "I could do with some answers, but first water to wash with."

“Of course.” The man reached to a series of levers fastened on his desk and pulled one forward. A wall panel slid down. Flowing water bubbled into a basin. Next to it was a folded towel and bar of soap.

When finished washing, Albert dabbed at the bump on the side of his face.

"I'm afraid the men were a little rough. But I needed you here immediately."

Loud squeaks followed by a thump gave notice of the lift’s arrival. The door opened a couple of feet above their floor.

"Your pants are here. Slip them on and we will talk."

Tattoo threw his shirt, pants, and belt down to him. Albert pulled the pants up and tucked his shirt in. While fastening the belt, fingers stealthily examined the large buckle. It had not been torn apart. One gadget was still intact. Though barefoot, he felt civilized again.

"Sit." His captor motioned to a large leather chair placed in front of him. The man pulled a lever at his desk and another panel opened to reveal a food cart. Bursts of steam propelled it toward them. The captain pushed a lever back and the cart stopped beside him. Tattoo in the interval managed to get the lift even with the floor and walked over. He poured coffee into cups.

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Albert took the cup and let his body sink into the soft cushion. He accepted a plate filled with finger sandwiches. Munching on the food, he studied the room. No clocks ticked. That was fascinating. How did the man keep time? An amber glowing box on the wall caught his attention. It looked vaguely familiar. Of course, it was the tube clock. Something he invented and described in a scientific journal. Numbers brightened as power was applied to the cathodes. The time changed as he watched. “I made one of these. Needs continually recharging with neon gas.”

“Yes, my man comes in every morning and evening to pump in more gas. Your details were accurate, though. That’s where you first caught my attention. My engineers were able to build a precise copy.”

With the plate of food now finished, he felt a little more in control. What more gadgets did the man have? But first, and the most important piece of information, “I need to know why I’m here."

"Ah, but I forgot the introductions. You of course are Doctor Albert Timmons, engineer extraordinaire. I am Captain Caesar Napoleon.

At the man’s name, Albert's hand shook with suppressed laughter. He decided to play a little game with him. "What if I told you that I'm not Timmons, only a lowly professor of theology? You took the wrong man!"

"Ah, that's good, a joke. You already gave yourself away, but adding to the humor, here's a newspaper article." He held out a clipping with Albert's face clearly exposed. "What I can't understand is why a hot air balloon?"

He shrugged. "One of my devices got stuck in a tall tree. I used the balloon to get it loose. I didn't want it to fall and break."

"Tangled together in the tree, you were more worried about the machine than yourself. When you unfastened the straps and fell, it says you cracked a rib. Also, the scar on your cheek is new." The captain smiled.

Albert ignored the man’s comments and leaned forward in the chair. "Not all experiments go as planned. Now, tell me why I am here."

The captain drummed his fingers on the desk. "A project I am working on is stuck. Something about the design is defective. Our trials have been unsuccessful.”

“That happens with prototypes. That still does not explain why me. If it is ransom, my father does not have that kind of money.”

“No, you mistake the reason. I need flying machines for a special job."

"You could have asked me to go over your plans, see what is wrong."

"I don't have time to waste. From your drawings, I have built three models but can't get them to work." Captain Napoleon’s fingers pounded in frustration on his desk.

"My drawings?”

“My men took photographs of your plans. With a magnifying glass, we studied them and duplicated your work. Everything is exactly to your drawings. The device won't stay up. Keeps crashing.”

“Ah, that explains it. Six months ago, you broke in, right? I reported it to the police but didn't find anything missing. If I don't help you?" Albert asked.

"I throw you overboard and my engineers keep working on it until the device works."

The clock moved a minute forward. In the background, small bursts of steam emitted from the room’s various devices. A muffled sound, almost like clicking came from somewhere. Albert leaned forward and gave his cup to Tattoo.

The captain stood. "I have a meeting to attend. My men will escort you to your quarters. Work starts early tomorrow."

"You make a lot of assumptions. I didn't say I would do this."

"We'll see. Sleep on it. If not, I hope you can swim." He waved to his two men. They lifted Albert by his armpits and dragged him from the room.

This time the lift arrived on a different level. Stopping a foot too low, the men jumped out and dragged him out over its metal ledge. They laughed as Albert fought to stand and jerked him forward down the hall. Bare feet and ankles scraped along the floor. At an open doorway, he hit the floor hard as a fist shoved him in. Raucous laughter echoed as they slammed the metal door shut.

Again, in the dark with no light visible, Albert shuddered. Trapped. No brother to rescue him. He crawled across the floor, inch by inch, and searched the room. Encountering a bed fastened on the wall, he climbed on it and fell face down on a soft mattress.