Storm Unleashed (Quantum Touch Book 4)

by Michael R. Stern

  “Oh, come on, Fritz. I'm a reporter, not an idiot. That's ridiculous.”

  “Now do you believe I'm writing a novel?”

  “No,” she said over the cup at her lips. “I just talked to the president. But time-travel?”

  “It's real.” For the next few minutes, he told her what had happened, how the portal had been used, and why he was trying to figure out all the connections. “You can see why we want this to be a secret. Also, anyone who knows can be in danger.”

  “This is unbelievable. This is the biggest story of the century, and I can't say a thing.”

  “Not a word. Nat, dangerous people engineered this. We just don't know who. They've already killed people to cover their tracks.” She asked who he meant. “Remember the story about Jonathan Hartmann and his girlfriend.” She nodded. “They killed her and her lawyer. Cyanide cocktail.”

  She glanced at her watch and then at the kitchen clock. “Fritz, I've got to go, but if I can do anything to help, please ask.”

  He walked her to the door and thanked her again for the check. “Nat, the president means business. So do the bad guys.”

  She headed to her car as Linda turned into the driveway. Linda rolled down the window and called. “Hi, Nat. What are you doing here?”

  “Hi, Linda. Wait, Linda Russell?” She pointed from Linda to Fritz, standing on the front steps. “He's your husband.”

  “I know. But why are you here?”

  AS THEY WALKED in the back door, Linda looked at the table and understood immediately what had happened.

  “You left all this stuff out?” Linda barked.

  “The doorbell rang. Nat was delivering a check for the tournament. I offered her coffee. I'm exhausted. That's my only excuse for not thinking.”

  “Linda, I figured out that something was going on. But the portal!” Natalie pointed to the yellow pad.

  “Do you want another cup, Nat? I need one. Fritz, get two cups, will you please? She lifted TJ, kissed him, and grimaced. “Fritz, he's soaked, again. Don't you pay attention? You change him while I get the coffee.”

  Fritz sighed, put down the cup, and took TJ. “Come on, pal. Looks like our quiet time is over.”

  Linda ignored him. “Sit down, Nat. Tell me what happened.” When Fritz returned, Linda was talking about the summit and the attack on the White House.

  Fritz said, “I don't think it was terrorists. At least, not from the Middle East. How do you know each other?”

  “Fritz, sometimes I wonder about you. Natalie lived down the hall from me in New York. You met her at a party. She also dated Ashley. Twice, if memory serves. Four or five years ago.”

  “You knew about that?” asked Nat.

  “Only the name. I didn't make the connection until just now.”

  “Ash and Jane are on their way. Should be here soon, in fact,” said Fritz, looking at his watch. “The president said it was better to let Nat know than to have a reporter asking questions. He made her swear to secrecy.”

  “He means it Nat, not a word. Not even to yourself,” said Linda. “The more people who know, the more dangerous it is for us.”

  Natalie asked, “What's Robert E. Lee like?” Before either could answer, Ashley stepped through the back door and stopped like his feet were in wet concrete.

  Chapter 32

  “WHAT ARE YOU doing here?”

  “Nice to see you too,” Natalie said. Jane pushed in behind him. “And you must be Jane.” She reached out to shake hands. “I'm Natalie Johnston.”

  Jane peeled off her jacket and handed it to Ashley, who draped it over a chair in the dining room. “Hang it up,” Linda called.

  “You're the reporter? So what's going on,” asked Jane. Fritz explained. “So the president is okay with this?”

  “He is, Jane. I spoke to him.”

  “And how do you know Ashley?” she asked.

  “We had a couple of dates a few years ago. He stopped calling.”

  Their conversation traveled through the afternoon, and Natalie asked one question after another and took notes, which Fritz said she would have to leave with them. Linda asked her to join them for dinner.

  “I'd love to. Even if I can't write about this, it's a fascinating story. No one would believe it, but I'd love to see the faces of readers if I could write about it.”

  “Some of those faces are killers,” Ashley said. “And you're not safe now, either.” Looking at Fritz, he said, “It would be better if you hadn't found out, Nat.”

  While Fritz and Ashley picked up dinner, Ashley questioned Fritz's judgment, his sanity, and his ability to protect himself. He said that Natalie was extremely nosy. And a talker. “How could you have invited her in with all that stuff out?”

  “So how was your trip?”

  “Something that even H. P. Lovecraft couldn't imagine.”

  After Natalie left, Fritz asked again about their trip. Jane laughed. She let Ashley start. He said that Jane's mother had invited more than seventy people, who were all waiting when they arrived. People spilled into the backyard, men and women intent on grilling him about anything they could think of, but especially politics and religion. He'd been dragged from person to person, like a sack, and he stood for almost eight hours as his audience drank and ate, in that order. Jane's mother kept her going in opposite directions, so he had no rescue. His gracious host thanked him for taking her spinster daughter off her hands. They all laughed when he said her mother whispered that she had wondered if Jane was, Ashley leaned in to imitate, “you know, gay.”

  “And I spent the day refighting the Civil War. I heard about ancestors who fought in this battle or that and who was killed by Yankees. I finally excused myself to go to the bathroom. They followed me.”

  “That was just the start,” said Jane. “Most people didn't leave until after dark. Mom ran out of paper goods, so they started using plates and glasses and left the stuff everywhere. And get this. She said she was exhausted and went to bed. Told us to clean up. 'Well, it was your party, you know.' So at ten o'clock, Ash and I were scouring the yard with flashlights. I didn't know there were so many places to leave stuff.”

  “Why not wait until morning?” Fritz asked.

  “You don't know my mother. She'd have flipped.”

  “I'm glad I put my top up,” said Ashley. “Six plates were stacked on my roof and six glasses were leaning on the wipers. That was just Saturday. It started again on Easter. The food was good, but another crowd showed up.”

  “My uncle came with a hangover and started drinking right away. Then he started railing about Yankees stealing 'the best of our southern blossoms' while Ash and I just sat like we were invisible.”

  “We decided yesterday to come back today after we discussed the wedding with Jane's mom and four, what were they? Relatives? Anyway, the five of them argued about every single thing on the list, and no one asked Jane what she wanted.”

  “So let me get this straight,” said Fritz. “You were outtalked for three days?”

  “Shut up. I told Jane we should just get married.”

  “I couldn't do that to my family, Ash. They've been planning this for ten years.”

  “And they still can't agree.”

  “I'm the only girl left. My aunts have been after me almost as long as Mom. And this is only going to get worse. Mom knows what she's going to do. She'll have to argue with the aunts until at least three months after the wedding.”

  “How did it feel to be home with all that's going on,” Linda asked.

  Ashley answered with a description of Jane's childhood bedroom. “My favorite was her prom picture.” Fritz imagined the room as Ashley described it. A gun collection seemed so out of place with the chess club, but not for Jane. Pink he couldn't see, but oil and rags and the smell of gunpowder somehow fit.

  When Ashley finished, Jane snorted.

  “In answer to your question, Linda, it was nice to visit, and very nice to leave. When Ash's parents visit, knowing my mother, it'l
l be another circus. And she loves being the ringmaster.”

  “Jane, I hate to interrupt the fun, but I have two things to talk about,” said Fritz. “Did you speak to Mike Morgan? And I found another list.”

  “Fritz, this can wait until tomorrow,” said Linda. “Let them unwind.”

  “We're fine, Linda,” said Jane. “I want to compare the lists. Then we'll go. It's been a long day for all of us.” Fritz was on his feet in a flash and brought both lists from the folders.

  After a quick scan, Jane looked up. “The initials are the same, but we have different phone numbers.” She studied the lists, her tongue between her teeth. “Here's another one. IM. The president said they picked it up on a phone call. Ibrahim Massoud. His initials are on both lists too. But this will be tricky. He's rich and well-protected. We'll talk about him tomorrow.”

  * * *

  FRITZ'S WEDNESDAY started late. Linda was scanning the new documents, a cup of coffee on her left and TJ in his swing on the right. Filling his own cup, Fritz asked how far she'd gone. She told him she was almost half done.

  “I'm going to the library when I'm finished,” she said. “We need food too. You can do that when I get home.”

  “Okay. I've been trying to remember exactly what your dad told you about the bank transfers. We have the puzzle pieces, but it has only one color, blank. I was close on Monday and yesterday. Everything links to a person or group with money.” He took a sip. “But it's a maze with constant dead ends. Maybe the new name will shed some light.”

  “He said that bank transfers are hard to pin down unless the countries are willing to help and force the banks to cooperate. You need political pressure. Many large depositors use couriers, not electronic transfers.

  “Money mules.”

  “Uh-huh. We're looking for one needle in multiple haystacks. It would help if we had pictures, so we could tie people together.”

  “If we had pictures, we'd know who we're dealing with.” Knowing they were no closer, he dug out the other pads from his desk and started to read his notes. The sunroom, warm and bright, was the opposite of how he felt.

  “Fritz, I'm leaving,” said Linda. “I won't be long, but do me a favor. Check TJ's diapers before I get back.”

  “You should check how many diapers are in the trash. He just times it well. I changed a bunch while you were gone yesterday.” He snatched up the pads and moved to the kitchen. “See you later,” she said, after she kissed TJ. Fritz blew her a kiss.

  With pen in hand, he stared at the pad labeled “Why?” At that moment, the president sat alone in his private office staring at a yellow pad amid the bangs of hammers and the whirs of electric tools.

  “TJ, how would you like to go for a walk?” Fritz lifted the baby. The warm dampness shouted that he had a job he needed to do first. A walk around the block on a nice day. Maybe that will shake something loose. He needed a new idea. Not expecting answers, he asked TJ questions, but he could see his classes, kids raising their hands. Then he heard the question that mattered. “Thanks, kids,” he said. “TJ, let's go.” TJ squeaked his agreement.

  When they entered the kitchen, Jane and Ashley, sat at the kitchen table.

  “The door was open,” said Ashley.

  “I know. I live here.”

  “You should lock your door.”

  “Then you'd never get in. Any coffee left?”

  “Jane made me make more. She treats me like a slave, but then, you know where her home is.”

  “I had a thought. What is it that's different about rich people?” said Fritz.

  “They have more money,” Ashley said.

  “You're annoying. We're not dealing with people who are comfortable. These people could buy all the comfortable people in the world and still have plenty to spend. So money can't be the motivation. What makes them tick? And what would be so important that they would kill, even each other.”

  “Good question,” Jane said. Fritz flipped a yellow page. “What Makes Rich People Tick?” he wrote. On the next line, he added, “besides money.”

  “Power,” said Jane. “Most people in Congress are rich. More than half in the Senate and the House are millionaires.”

  “That explains a lot,” said Ashley.

  “Control?” asked Fritz. “Keeping things the way they are. No surprises. For themselves and everything in their world.”

  “Good point. And they have big worlds that overlap,” Jane said.

  “Things,” said Ashley. “They can buy anything they want.”

  “Want, not need,” Fritz said. “Like what?”

  “They may think they need them,” said Ashley. “Like expensive cars, big houses, planes. Go anywhere, anytime. Like us with the portal. Does that mean we're rich?”

  “There has to be more than that. It's so superficial,” said Fritz.

  “Then let's pretend. If you had twenty million dollars, what would you do?” asked Jane. “Differently.”

  “I've thought about that when the lottery gets high. What would I do? I'd give a lot of it away,” said Fritz. “We don't really need much. I'd pay off debts, put money away for TJ's education. Maybe take a sabbatical.”

  “You'd keep teaching?” asked Ashley. “I don't think I would.”

  “Then what would you do all day, bother me?” asked Fritz.

  “I don't know. Fly around the world and have lunch and dinner in fancy restaurants.”

  “And make trouble because you can, so people will call you eccentric.”

  “And I'm eccentric because I'm rich. Then you couldn't call me weird anymore.”

  “Hold on,” said Jane. “You're on to something. 'Cause trouble because you can.' ”

  “Who's causing trouble?” asked Linda, coming through the door.

  “We're talking about the rich, how they're different,” Fritz said.

  A moment later she was on the phone. “I'm fine, Dad. We're trying to figure out who's responsible for the attacks. No, we're not. We already know that someone with money has to be behind it.” She covered the phone. “He thinks we're guessing. Stop. All we want to know is what character traits are different in the very rich that would motivate them, besides money. All right, then call me back. Love you. Bye.”

  Fritz decided to say nothing more.

  * * *

  VACATION RUSHED by, and the tournament and classes took over. On Sunday, the president called. “Hi, Fritz. If my calculation is correct, your tournament should wrap up next week. Am I still invited?”

  “Are you sure you want to come? With all that's happened, you might not be safe here.”

  “So I'm not invited?”

  “Of course you're invited. I'm just worried. So many people know about the portal's being here. It doesn't take a genius to figure one plus one. And we still don't know who's behind the attacks.”

  “You might be right. Let me think about it. What day is the final game?”

  “Thursday. The fourteenth.”

  “OK. Fritz, I also wanted to let you know that we have your accident report. There are three possible sources, one of which is Badenhof's company. I think we can say it's him. It's another connection. Gotta run. Talk to you later.”

  Linda asked, “What did he say?”

  “He wants to come to the tournament final, and he said he thinks Badenhof's companies supplied the metal and chemicals for my accident.” Fritz bit his lip. “I'm not comfortable with having him at the game.”

  Linda scrutinized his face. “I don't like that you're worried. That's the first time you've looked like this.”

  “With so much to do, I can't afford a distraction. I don't like that some rich guy who doesn't know me tried to kill me. And I just don't understand why.”

  “They've left a trail of bodies,” said Ashley.

  “Yeah. And they don't seem to care much whose they are.”

  * * *

  BEFORE HIS LAST class on Tuesday, while Fritz looked over the Supreme Court cases he wanted to discuss, his d
oor opened and the class marched in. A big picture of himself smiled back from every student's tee-shirt. His name on the front sparkled, and on their backs were the words Riverboro High 2016 History Baseball Tournament.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, you've outdone yourselves.”

  Ted said, “They're selling like crazy. Mr. Witcannon said he would trust us to pay him back. We make ten dollars for each shirt.”

  “We sold two hundred on Saturday, downtown.” Susan said. “Mr. Hoffmann let us set up outside his store.”

  “We have a special one for you,” said Ron. At that, Susan handed him a wrapped box as the class applauded. He removed the red ribbon and tried to avoid tearing the paper.

  “Come on, Mr. R,” said Don. “Rip it.”

  “Okay guys, here goes.” With a single smooth stroke, he stripped the box bare. Inside was a yellow tee with his picture and the signatures of each member of the class. He lifted the shirt, unfolded it, and put it on. Moments later, Ashley walked in, looked at Fritz, and started laughing.

  “I wasn't sure, but I had a feeling.” He waved to the class. “I've got mine ready for game-time.”

  “Thanks for the picture, Mr. Gilbert,” said Susan.

  “Susan,” he said, “I can't express how welcome you are. See you all later.”

  “Well, we're certainly not going to get done all I wanted to do today. Let's see how much we can.”

  The class discussed the cases and jumped when the bell rang. “We'll look at variations on the interpretation of free speech tomorrow.”

  The way to the auditorium was decorated with extra-large tee-shirts. Even George, who was waving the students into the auditorium, wore one. In the first game, the answer that the Supreme Court upheld the Fugitive Slave Act in the Dred Scott decision won the game. Fritz pitched the second game. Between games, he announced the donation from James Sapphire and noted that the scholarship fund had collected over $80,000.

  On Wednesday, Ashley's team ran up an early score to win. The principals of four local high schools were spectators, and Natalie Johnston was a member of the standing-room-only crowd. As the auditorium emptied, she approached Fritz, holding papers in her hand, smiling. “Hi Fritz. Got a present for you.” She handed him two checks. “Sapphire twisted some arms, looks like.” Each check was for $10,000.