“Jack, you need a really good tow guy.”
“I’ll call a guy who knows what he’s doing. Worked with him before.”
“I really appreciate it. I owe you one.”
“If you need me, here’s my cell number. Call anytime.”
“Thanks again, Jack.”
FRITZ LAY ON his stomach, his neck immobilized. When a nurse asked if he had any pain, he said it hurt when he laughed. James’s bleeding had stopped. The Millers were being treated—Emily for shock and bruises, Tim for a broken arm. Ashley, Jane, and Mel walked into the emergency room, followed by Fritz’s parents.
“Hi, Mom. Hi, Dad. Sorry to mess up Thanksgiving like this.”
“It’s no problem, son. Just want to get you whole again,” said John Russell.
“How bad’s the pain?” asked Martha.
“Bearable, Mom, but I’d like to get this done. Go see the Millers. They could use some company.”
“Excuse us all, but the surgeon is ready. We’re taking him now,” said a nurse.
In less than an hour, Fritz arrived in the recovery room. The doctor told everyone that the glass hadn’t splintered. Some of Fritz’s neck muscles had been cut, but he was able to sew him back together. “Mr. Russell, you have minor damage. Nothing permanent. You were very lucky.” He said Fritz was okay to go, but to have a doctor change the bandage on Friday or Saturday. He would normally keep James overnight for observation, but Jane had assured him she had the staff to do that and get him back to the hospital speedily if that proved necessary. The doctor handed Jane four prescriptions. “Painkillers,” said the doctor. “For each of them.”
Mel’s phone buzzed. “Jack Mahoney here, Mel. The car is off the road. My guy told me something, though. The wheels were burned off the axles, acid maybe. We have the wheels too. Just thought you should know. Hope it helps.”
“Thanks, Jack. It will. I’ll tell the guys in forensics to look. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Yeah, you too.”
IN LESS THAN half an hour, the group pulled in the Russell’s driveway. Jack Mahoney had sent them with a police escort.
“We don’t have our luggage,” Emily said.
“Can’t you wear something of Linda’s?” asked Tim.
Jane said, “I’ll have your things brought here. You’ll have it in an hour.”
“That’s wonderful. Thank you, Jane.”
“I still want to see Linda,” Tim said.
Jane said, “Let me see what I can do.” Linda’s parents looked at this pretty stranger, wondering how she could do these magic tricks. Jane called the president, explained what had happened, and the president said he’d have Linda call her parents. They talked a bit more. Jane said, “Yes, sir. I’ll get it set.”
GEORGE AND LOIS had stayed with Tony at the Russell house. Tony put a large lasagna in the microwave, and when it was defrosted, stuck it in the oven. Linda called and told her parents she would see them in a little while.
“Would you please tell me what the hell is going on?” Linda’s father was still in shouting mode.
“Tim, Linda made the lasagna. Eat, and we’ll go see her,” Emily said.
Dinner passed, quickly and quietly, not enjoyed, merely ingested. Even James didn’t talk about it. Ashley ate and watched Jane, who nibbled, engrossed in thought, not food. When the plates were as empty as they would get, Jane said, “We’re going to the school. Everyone.”
“Now? Why?” asked Tim. His irritability continued to make Fritz tense.
“To see Linda,” said Fritz. He didn’t respond to any of his father-in-law’s questions.
ASHLEY AND TONY started to set up the generator within minutes of George’s having unlocked the door. They followed Fritz into his classroom. Bending to remove the brochure from his bottom drawer, Fritz cringed when he turned his head. With the brochure placed on the left side of his desk, watched by an arms-crossed Tim Miller, Fritz said, “OK. Everyone back in the hall.”
Fritz looked at Tony squatting by the generator, grabbed the doorknob, and welcomed the familiar buzz. As he pulled the door open, he said, “You go ahead, Tim.” His father-in-law took a step and stopped. His daughter, very pregnant, stood with the First Lady and the President of the United States.
“Hi, Daddy,” she said, moving as fast as she could across the tan carpet with the Presidential Seal woven in the middle. “Hi, Mom. Mom and Dad, I’d like you to meet the president and First Lady.”
The president shook hands, laughing. Tim Miller, statue-like, his mouth open and eyeballs attempting an escape from his head, said, “Nice to meet you.”
“And these must be your folks, Fritz. Welcome, Russells. The rest of you, well, hello, but we’re old friends. We were hoping to see you a bit earlier, but under the circumstances, I’m just glad you’ve made it. We have coffee and dessert set up for you,” he said, turned to Ashley, and added, “and something a little stronger.” He smiled again.
“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Variations of that plaintive, staccato question continued to be Tim Miller’s endless mantra for the evening, despite the plaster surrounding his arm.
“Mr. Miller, why don’t we go into the dining room, and we’ll tell you the whole story. But while you absorb this, I want to speak with Fritz, Linda, and Mel, just for a minute,” said the president. The Oval Office emptied. Last one out, Tim spotted a document framed on the wall, the Emancipation Proclamation, and looked again at the president.
“Borrowed from the Smithsonian, Tim,” said the president. Tim shook his head, still unable or unwilling to adjust.
“Fritz, Linda, we think we have most of the puzzle put together. They’re after you to get to me. So until we find the last pieces and fit them in, I want you to be safe. All of you. Linda, I know your reluctance to use the portal for anything short of a crisis, but I think we need to if we’re going to finish this.”
Linda said, “Mr. President, I’ve had a couple of days here, and I’ve seen all you have on your mind. If you can end this before the baby comes, and if I can spend some calm time visiting with my parents, if such a thing is possible with my dad right now, do what you need to do. Fritz, do what you can to help.”
“I will. Are you sure?” He and Linda shared an intense look, and she hugged him.
“Yes,” she said. “But I think Thanksgiving is going to be a little different from our plan.”
“Why don’t you join everyone else,” said the president.” I’ll be there in a second. Mel, I need to talk to you.”
“LINDA,” SAID LOIS, “we had lasagna before we came. I hope you didn’t have plans for it. It was the only thing big enough to feed everyone. There’s some left in the refrigerator.”
“Delicious again, Linda,” said James, his head and face in bandages.
Linda said. “You’re getting there. Well done, James. Twice in a row.”
The door opened. A Secret Service agent entered, and in response to a subtle head nod, the president excused himself. “I’ll be right back.”
“Daddy, I know this seems a little strange, but Fritz and others are still working on an explanation.”
“A little? This is the strangest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Fritz said, “You should be in my shoes.” The president returned, eyelids pinched, jaw clenched.
“Fritz, Linda, James, would you come with me, please.”
THE PRESIDENT explained that Mel had a source who needed to be taken out of harm’s way. “If we can do it now, we may be able to get this over tonight. Linda, I hope this is ok with you.” She met his expectant stare. “Get it done, Mr. President.”
Fritz, the president, James, and ten agents went back to the school through the portal. Mel and Fritz walked into the classroom, Mel with a floor plan in hand. The agents looked around but said nothing. In spite of what they had been told, standing in the corridor one hundred and fifty miles away from the White House left them in disbelief. When Fritz and Mel returned to the hallw
ay, Tony said the planes were up and the energy level exact.
“Be careful,” said the president. Fritz opened the door and Mel, gun in hand, led the agents’ rapid entry into the portal. It took a few minutes, but Mel escorted a man in a naval officer’s uniform back into the hallway, his hands bound behind him, knotted loosely enough to slide from. “Thanks, Mel,” said the prisoner. Then he saw the president. “Holy mackerel.”
Mel said, “Mr. President, this is Lieutenant Commander Aaron Burdett.”
“Commander Burdett,” the president said, extending his hand. “Come with me, if you would. Mel.” They went into the empty classroom across the hall.
Fritz waited with Tony and James for the other agents to return. While the president waited in the classroom across the hall, the agents came out of the portal as a group. They had no prisoners. “They were . . . uncooperative,” one said. James nodded and went to speak to the president.
Fritz whispered to Tony, “Does that mean what I think it means?” Tony said he thought so. The other classroom door opened, and the president entered the hall, his left hand massaging his scalp behind his left ear. He frowned.
“We have a new problem. But this time, we know where to go.”
THE PHONE RANG. “What?” He listened, a frown forming. “Then give them something to be thankful for.” Not accustomed to bad news, the man threw the phone across the room.
A UNIFORMED POLICE officer stood at the door, surprised to see the hallway occupied and door locked. He banged to get attention and in a finger snap, Jim Shaw had a dozen guns pointed at him.
“He’s OK,” said Fritz.” Local cop and a friend. He’s been helping with all this.” Fritz opened the door.
“Again?” Jim asked.
“I think it’s coming to an end. I think the president has a line on who killed Steve.”
“Mr. Shaw, nice to see you,” said the president. “In fact, I’m glad you’re here. Do you think you can arrange for about twenty officers, fully armed and in armor, to come here right away?”
“Jeez. Let me call Chief Dempsey. What’s going on?” Jim glanced at Fritz as he walked down the hall, looking at the men who had just had him in their gun sights. But his questions would have to wait. “Mr. President, he wants to know what you want him to do.” The president reached for the phone.
“Chief, I need a quick response, no sirens or lights. A team of men will be here soon to attack the school. Word is that they will have explosives. They’re fighters, mercenaries. I have backup on the way, but it may be too late. Stay on the side streets, come on foot once you get close. You’ll see them. Watch out for the street lamps. It’s pretty bright here.” Never before having heard that tone, the agents stared at the man they protected.
“We’ll be there in no more than fifteen minutes, Mr. President.”
“Thanks.” Turning to Jim, the president said, “We know the school will be attacked. Why, I don’t know. Or how they know where to hit. Take them alive, if you can.” The president opened the door across from the portal. He didn’t need to say more.
“COMMANDER BURDETT, you’ll go first. We’ll bring the bastard straight back. Mel, take them in. James, you and I will stay in the hall.”
“Mr. President, the attackers will be coming to this part of the school,” said Burdett. “They know the classroom number.”
Fritz said, “Mr. President, you should wait in your office. I’ll set you up and when this is over, I’ll come get you right away.”
“He’s right, sir,” said Mel. “You and James should go now.”
“Thank you. Mel, when you come back, bring everyone in here. Tony, leave the generator, and you and Fritz stay in here too.”
James handed Fritz another floor plan for a typical suburban tract home. The master bedroom was circled. Fritz looked at James and asked, “If he isn’t in the bedroom, couldn’t he get away? I think you should go through into the yard and cover the doors.” James agreed. Fritz set the Oval Office brochure first, sent the president and James through, and said he hoped he would be back very soon. Next he set the floor plan on the desk and placed and adjusted the paperclip, his only light coming from the street.
Fritz nodded to Tony and opened the door, silenced pistols rushing by him. When the door closed, he and Tony walked across the hall to sit in an empty classroom. Within minutes, the door opened. A man in pajama pants and a white undershirt was pushed in and pressed into a chair. A pillowcase covered his head.
HIS FACE OBSCURED by a ski mask, a man crept to the door and peered into the dark, empty hallway. The metal in his hand reflected light from the parking lot. The lock opened. He signaled toward the shrubbery for the other shadows to join him and then took out a cell phone. His call went unanswered. He made another call, this time to the white panel truck parked across the street, its front pushed in. Its motor rumbled, and the truck entered the parking lot, lights off. It idled by the door. The three men entered, flashlights waving from door to door as they checked room numbers. They didn’t see the driver jerked to the ground when he opened the truck’s back door. When the beams lit Fritz’s room, the door across the hall banged open. The agents’ surprise appearance deprived the intruders of time to grab their guns. Two agents ran to the truck.
“Still three more to catch, Mel,” Burdett whispered. “Probably on the other sides of the building.” The remaining agents went outside to check the school grounds and passed Jim Shaw muscling the truck driver inside the building. Within minutes, three more captives were pushed into the classroom, followed by Chief Dempsey and eight Riverboro policemen. Not a shot had been fired. With the captives corralled and under control, Fritz brought the president back. Moments later, Mel yanked the pillow case off the seated man’s head. Focusing his eyes at the pointed guns, he looked up. “Mr. President?”
“Now,” said the president, “turn on the lights. Let’s see who wants to tell me what’s going on.” Amazement shone from the captives’ faces. “Since none of you will see freedom if you stay quiet, tell me who killed the police officer?”
“You’re bluffing,” said one of the prisoners.
“Bluffing? I’m not even here. I’m hosting a dinner party at the White House. Rest assured no one will believe you spoke to me. Now, who killed the police officer?” Trained eyes in the room spotted the subtle and probably unintended glances toward the man who had first entered the school. Chief Dempsey raised his hand to hold back his men.
Lights illuminated the parking lot and were followed by the sound of vehicle doors closing. Two dozen soldiers entered the school single file. Mel directed them to the classroom. Captain Dolan saluted the president and nodded to Fritz.
“It seems, Captain, we have everything well in hand,” the president said. “I’ll be asking you to escort some of our friends here to someplace they can think about what they’ve done, perhaps for a long while.”
“Yes, sir. Do you want us to leave with them now?”
“In a moment. Take them to the bus, but leave this one. There’s a conversation I need to have first.” He walked to the man in the pajamas, pulled up a chair, turned it backward and sat down. He leaned against the top rung, his jaw tight. As the room emptied, the president asked that the door be left open. His eyes boring into the man in front of him, he said, “We may be a while, Mr. Wixted. You’d best have some answers.”
SOLDIERS HERDED the handcuffed prisoners toward the bus. Policemen clustered by the door. Jim Shaw joined the soldiers, gun in hand. He grabbed the man suspected of shooting Steve Sullivan and slammed him against the locker. Jim pressed his forearm across his captive’s throat. Looking in the black, mirthless eyes, Jim asked, “Why did you shoot him?”
A cynical grin faced him. “He was in the way of the bullet.”
The president jumped at the pop, the crash of breaking glass, and the noise of a scuffle. Down the dark hallway, leaning against the lockers and surrounded by pointed guns, Jim Shaw waited quietly, expecting to be arrested. A body lay o
n the floor, a dark puddle forming. The president walked to him, frowned, and faced him. He looked at the men holding Jim and at the splattered blood on the lockers. He glanced at the body and then at the broken window. He said, loud enough so everyone could hear, “Captain Dolan, we’ll need a cleanup crew. Mr. Shaw just shot a prisoner trying to escape.” He passed the turned heads in the now-crowded hallway, heard Captain Dolan say, “Yes, sir,” and returned to continue a calm conversation.
The president asked James to take a seat. He walked to the door and called Mel. After a whispered conversation, Mel pulled a chair in front of their prisoner, also sitting backward with a pistol resting on the chair back. Mel released the safety. The president sat down and frowned at the man in pajamas. “Now where were we?”
THE PRESIDENT stuck his head into the hall. “Fritz, we have one more stop to make, but not tonight. We’ll let him stew a bit. Let’s go back to the White House. Tony, we’ll be a few more minutes, then you can pack up. Jane will be at the airport tonight. She will have instructions for you.”
“Yes, sir.”
PACING, HIS CALLS unanswered, the man sensed something had gone wrong. But how? He’d been assured the men were hand-picked, reliable. They were the best available, the best money could buy. He should have heard something. He had created his own self-protection, of that he was certain, but his power depended on information. And no news had reached him. No news other than the annual Thanksgiving nonsense. Pardoned turkeys. How to make stuffing. Alice’s something. Bunch of crap. The world needed him, relied on him.
“LINDA, IT’S BEEN a pleasure visiting with you. I’m sure you’ll feel a lot better at home tonight,” said the president. “And thanks.”
“Mr. President, thank you for your hospitality and for taking care of Fritz.”
“Are you forgetting?” the First Lady prompted her husband.
Shadow Storm (Quantum Touch Book 3) Page 18
