Storm Unleashed (Quantum Touch Book 4)

by Michael R. Stern

  “Thanks, Nat. This puts us over $100,000. Too late to announce it, but I will on Friday.”

  “Fritz, I have a question. Have I earned a shot at seeing the portal in action? I'd love to meet an early Mark Twain. He was a believer, you know. Connecticut Yankee.”

  “Nat, I don't want to flat out say no, but right now, I'm afraid the portal is getting dangerous. Until we get a handle on these attacks, we really don't know who's on our side. So let me say maybe. And let's not talk about it except in my house.”

  * * *

  FRITZ WALKED in the back door still wearing his tee-shirt. The usual greeting was preceded by a snort and a laugh.

  “They are a terrific bunch, aren't they?” Linda asked.

  “Lin, they haven't missed a trick. By the way, Ash's team won big today. And Natalie Johnston gave me two more checks.”

  “How much?”

  “Twenty grand.”

  “Oh Fritz, that's fantastic.”

  “My mind has been elsewhere. We had clues that led somewhere with Koppler, but this feels like digging holes and filling them in again. I'm trying to picture a group of men working to disrupt the country, maybe the world. I don't get it.”

  Linda looked out the window at the birds in the yard. “Maybe that's a way, Fritz. Get a picture.”

  “I don't remember seeing any in the files.”

  “You said Koppler's office was full of pictures. What happened to them?”

  “Mel will know.”

  When Ashley and Jane showed up, they brought dinner. Ashley was almost strutting. Fritz told him to knock it off. He hadn't won yet. “My pitching days are done. Tom Jaffrey and Liz Chambers are pitching the next two games.”

  When Linda mentioned the pictures, Jane said, “They're still in his office, I think. We only wanted papers. Good idea.” Her phone appeared, now a routine. “Mr. President, sorry to bother you.” She told him about the pictures and hung up with “yes, sir.”

  “What did he say?” Fritz asked.

  “He'll call you shortly. He wants to use the portal to get them. He's working on something else, but he said he'd get everything ready.”

  “Why the portal?” asked Linda.

  “He doesn't want anyone seen going into the building or the office. If anyone is watching, it won't be safe.”

  The president called a little after ten. He said he had arranged for three agents to go in and that Tony was on the way. “See you shortly, Fritz.”

  * * *

  THEY WEREN'T gone long. Although Fritz had the clip on his old photo of the Oval Office, the room was obscured by scaffolding and tarps. The president walked to the portal, grimacing as he looked at his office.

  “Let's see what we left behind,” he said. The president introduced the agents with him, Bill Sharp and Lou Masanelli.

  Fritz took out Koppler's office floor plan and opened the portal. While they waited, he said, “Mr. President, I've got a bad feeling about what's been happening. I feel like the answer is at my fingertips, and it slips away. But it feels like time's not on my side. Still, everything leads to one conclusion—someone is trying to keep you from getting things done.”

  “It comes with the job. My concern, my question, is whether they're after me personally or are trying to prevent policy from working.”

  The three agents returned with full boxes. Before Fritz left, the president told him he would have to skip the tournament final but was sending the secretary of education. “Talk soon. Good night.”

  A police car in the far corner started toward them.

  “Hi Jim. What's up?”

  “I heard you were on another adventure, Mr. R. I'm just making sure everything's okay.”

  “Thanks, Jim. This one was easy.”

  Chapter 33

  EVENING RAIN HAD curtained the ocean. Only the relentless crashing of the waves and the salt smell remained to keep him company. The man picked up the buzzing phone.

  “Do you know who this is?” asked the caller.

  “I do.”

  “You know the office where the man shot himself?”

  “I do.”

  “I check it daily. Tonight, the pictures are gone. No one came through the lobby. No alarms for the rear door. Nothing on video. Just thought you should know.”

  “Thank you.”

  The man peered into the darkness and wondered what else he didn't know.

  * * *

  THE TOURNAMENT semi-finals intruded on classes for the rest of the week. Nail biting, hand rubbing, and other fidgeting broadcast which students were still playing. Ashley was the worst. Between classes, he fluttered from wordlessness to verbal waterfall.

  “You know you're more nervous than the kids.”

  “I just wonder if I've done enough. I don't want to let them down.”

  “At this point, there's not much more you can do, except calm down. If they lose, you don't want them to think they've let you down. Losing is not the end of the world, and they need to learn that, too.”

  The ninth graders were more excited than anxious. “We've sold out of tee-shirts. Two thousand already. Mr. Witcannon said he would make some more and have a special one for the finals,” said Jay. “This is so cool.”

  “Everyone is proud of you. Especially Mr. McAllister.”

  “Mr. Harkness at the UPrint shop is making a program for the championship round,” Susan said. “He's going to put in all the teams. And pictures. We gave him a list of everyone who donated. Mr. Hoffmann is making trays of sandwiches, and Pluto's Pizza is making forty, not thirty, pizzas for after the game. We told Ms. Chambers we needed room in the cafeteria. And more trash cans.”

  Fritz leaned on his desk, beaming. “Did you tell Mr. McAllister?”

  “He said he'd make sure everything was ready. He didn't even turn red,” said Jay.

  Susan asked, “Mr. R, can we sell stuff at the play?”

  “Wow. You don't quit, do you? I don't see why not, but you need to ask the boss.”

  “He's used to us now,” Nancy said. Fritz marveled at how his class had matured during the year. The bell sounded. Ashley was waiting, and they headed down the hallway. Before they reached the cafeteria, Ashley turned into the backstage entrance. As Fritz reached the cafeteria, he poked his head in. The first rows of seats were already taken. At the far door, Jay stood with Ms. Bergstrom, selling tickets.

  “Hi, Mr. R.”

  “Hi, Jay. Hi, Brenda. Looks busy.”

  “The auditorium is full.” She pointed behind him. “We may fill the cafeteria. Thank you, Fritz. This has been great fun. I don't think I've ever enjoyed teaching more. A lot of us feel that way.”

  In the auditorium, Lois was glancing around with an approving head nod. “Well, Mr. Russell, you certainly have everyone's attention. Eight school principals are here today as well as eight members of the business council. And parents everywhere.” She leaned in and whispered, “George even bought me a ticket. Imagine.”

  “Lois, I would never have guessed. George, when this is done, please make a speech of sorts. The kids have earned our enormous thanks. The auditorium is full, the cafeteria is filling. They've sold two thousand tee-shirts.”

  Lois looked at George. “Tee-shirts? You didn't buy me one?”

  “The kids are selling them in the hall, George. Mark Witcannon made more. He has a special one for the final game.”

  “Let's go, George.” Lois took a step and stopped. “Never mind. I'll go. You go get this started.”

  When she had her back to him, George rolled his eyes and walked to the stage. His presence was not enough to quiet the crowd. He tapped the microphone and a roar stormed the stage. As he had for most games, George covered his ears. He welcomed the VIPs and introduced the teams for the first game and the pitcher, Mr. Jaffrey.

  Tom turned pages on the list, and Fritz knew he was altering the questions. Curveballs. Studying the lists would not have helped the hitters. Fritz glanced at Liz Chambers, who was watching and taking notes.
She worked her way past the teachers lining the wall.

  “He's changing the questions, Fritz.”

  “I know. Pretty clever, don't you think?”

  “I didn't know I could do that. That spoils all the memorization. I'm going to try that.”

  “You're the pitcher, Liz. Go get 'em.”

  A home run brought the abrupt conclusion of the first game when Tom Jaffrey asked, “In 1945, a former artillery officer was the president of the United States. In August, he ordered an air attack. Who was the president, what weapon was used, what date, what location, what was the plane named, and who was the pilot?” Fritz grinned. That's not a curve, that's a knuckleball. Liz was laughing. Johnny Autumn asked Tom to repeat the question and answered each part. “Harry Truman was the president. The weapon was the atomic bomb. August sixth, Hiroshima, Japan was bombed.” He scratched his head, closed his eyes, and said, “The pilot was Paul Tibbets, and the plane was named for his mother, Enola Gay.” The auditorium went wild.

  The second game promised to be close. Fritz knew what Ashley's kids had done to prepare, but Dr. Nesbitt, a history teacher, had drilled his team hard on the hardest questions and made the easiest ones more complex. Liz changed every question Fritz had given her. At the end of the fourth inning, the score was tied. Ashley's team was up first, and the last inning's lineup was stacked. The first four batters answered correctly, and one run scored. Matt was the next batter. Liz asked, “The Civil War ended in 1865. In what month?” Fritz saw a wide smile bloom on Matt's face. He had asked for a home-run. “November,” he said. “You're out,” said Liz. An argument began. Fritz let Liz and Matt go for a minute as the crowd egged them on. He walked to the microphone and said, “Instant replay.” The crowd was whooping and yelling. He hastened to Liz and told her that Matt was right.

  “Fritz, that's not what the answer sheet says.”

  “That's not the same question, either. The answer to your question, the one you asked, is November, not April. The Confederate ship, Shenandoah, surrendered in November. He's right.”

  Liz turned to Matt and said, “Instant replay says it's a home run.” As he crossed the plate, Matt said, “1963, Ms. Chambers. That's when the instant replay was introduced.” The few who heard, laughed. The Aristocrats scored two more runs and led by seven when their rivals finally got their last ups. They couldn't catch up. Ashley high-fived his team all the way back to the classroom.

  * * *

  DINNER AND NEWS greeted Fritz and Ashley when they walked in. Before he could greet them, Linda said her father had called and Jane said the president had called.

  “Ash's team won,” Fritz said, digesting their welcome. “Hi, Mary.”

  “Dinner's ready, Fritz.”

  “What did your father say?”

  “I'll tell you while we're eating.”

  Turning to Jane, he asked, “What did the president want?”

  “I'll tell you while we're eating.”

  “Then, let's eat,” said Ashley.

  Mary took two bowls from the oven. The first was filled to the lip with mashed potatoes. The second, bigger one, was piled with fried chicken.

  “Move over,” said Ash. “You all can have what's left. He spooned half a plate of potatoes and took three pieces of chicken. “Any gravy?”

  “On the stove. Use the ladle.”

  “So your kids won?” asked Jane.

  “Yeah, they were great. We won by two runs.”

  “You beat Bill Nesbitt's kids, right?” asked Linda. “English beats history. Pretty good.”

  “He's up against Andy Slate's crew in the finals. You remember Sean Little, Lin. He's their captain.”

  “Isn't he the kid that was so shy he blushed if someone said hello?”

  “That's the one. Big change this year.”

  Mary came down, wearing a dress and conversation was put on hold.

  “You look nice,” said Fritz. “Where are you going?” The doorbell rang. Mary brought Natalie Johnston into the kitchen.

  “Oh, sorry. Didn't mean to bother. Fritz, I have another check. I'll just leave it.”

  Linda said, “Have you eaten? Want some chicken?”

  “It's another $10,000 from one of James Sapphire's fellow Wall Streeters.”

  “This is very generous. I'll have to thank him.”

  “You can. Next week. He's coming to the final game. Fritz, I don't think you know how big this is.”

  Linda asked, “What do you mean?”

  “The Wall Street Journal and New York Times are sending reporters.”

  “The Secretary of Education is coming,” said Jane. “The president called to say a videographer is coming with the secretary so he can watch later.”

  “Wow,” Fritz whispered, with a deep inhale. “I hate to say it, but I better warn George tonight. He'll be impossible if he finds out Monday.”

  Jane's thousand-yard stare returned. Ashley asked why. “Pictures. Maybe, Natalie, you'd be willing to look at some?”

  “Sure. Of what?”

  “People who might be involved in all this. And your oath is operative.” Jane waited for an acknowledgment.

  “Jane, I don't know how much help I can be, but I'll look.”

  Jane started to get up, but Ashley grabbed her arm, held her in place, and said, “Eat.”

  When they finished, Jane took Natalie to the boxes in the dining room, while Fritz and Ashley cleared the table and Linda went to feed TJ. Natalie studied the photos and frames piled on the table.

  “He knew everyone. Some we don't know.” Jane gave her a couple of pictures. She recognized them as Wall Street people.

  “Nice suit. You can smell the money from here.”

  Fritz said, “We need to check his closet.” Jane already had her phone out. “Thanks, Nat.”

  Startled by the reaction to a throw-away comment, she said, “Sure, but I didn't do anything.”

  “Mr. President, we need to get into Koppler's house and check his suits. We need to find his tailor. Was he referred by anyone? Or did he refer others. He was part of a pack.” She listened again. “I'll tell him.”

  When she looked at him, Fritz asked, “When?”

  “Now. He's calling Tony.”

  “Can I ask?” Natalie glanced from face to face, not understanding.

  “We're going to use the portal to get the names of all tailors he used,” Jane said.

  “Linda, bring TJ. We shouldn't be long, and you shouldn't be here without Jane,” said Fritz.

  “Can I come?” Natalie asked.

  * * *

  WITHIN FIVE minutes of their arrival, the president entered the hallway with two agents. When the door opened to the Oval Office, Natalie's gasp echoed. Jane said, “Mr. President, this is Natalie Johnston. She's the reporter you spoke with.”

  The president shook her hand, hugged Linda, and said hi to Tony. “I brought the floor plan, Fritz. Let's get this done.” Jane showed the agents what to look for, told them to check all the labels, and said not to disturb anything.

  The president warned them to get out fast. Fritz told them to expect a second floor entry. He opened the door, and Mel led the other agents into the portal. They were back in minutes.

  “The labels were all the same,” Mel said. “Lipton and Son, London”. I went downstairs to see if anything had been moved. Looks like it did when James and I were there before.”

  “Okay. Let's get out of here. Natalie, I enjoyed your articles on the tournament.”

  Natalie said, “Thank you, sir,” in a soft voice the rest of them hadn't heard before.

  “Thanks, Fritz. Good luck in the final, Ashley.” Then he was gone.

  Nat slapped her face and pinched her arm. “Did that just happen, or am I in a trance?” She looked at the lockers and the soft green of the walls. “This sure looks like Riverboro High.”

  Chapter 34

  JANE LEFT before dawn. The president had sent a plane. Ashley was at Fritz's door a little after seven, a bag in han
d. Ashley sliced a bagel for each of them, popped them in the toaster, and wiped the crumbs into the sink.

  “You're up and annoying early,” said Fritz. “Any news?”

  “Yup.”

  “What?”

  “Jane was up most of the night looking at info about the tailor. The suits are hand-sewn from custom-made wool. $5,000 each. Minimum. She said the president wants her to go to London.”

  “You've seen her when she charms men. They'll tell her anything she wants to know.”

  “Fritz, do you get the same feeling I do, that we're in over our heads. That we don't belong.” The toaster popped.

  In answer, Fritz handed his stack of pads to Ashley, with Why? on the top. He spread them out and went from list to list. Glancing out the window, Ashley said, “It's like they're daring the president to do something, double-dog-daring. Pushing every button. Or maybe warning him to back off. And not caring about what he does or its ramifications.”

  “What scares me is how many people know about the portal. If they don't care about the damage, none of us is safe. They've timed the attacks to create distraction and disruption. Who the hell are they?”

  “We keep finding clues, so we'll find them eventually.” Ashley pushed onion flakes around his plate as he read the lists again.

  “Assume Mitchell is right about the Eledorians. We know the North Korean didn't answer to North Korea. So this is all a stage production. Did Jane find out anything about IM?”

  “With the suit thing, she was going in another direction. I didn't ask.”

  “Hand me a new pad, will you?” Fritz wrote a title: Things to Ask Jane.

  * * *

  WHEN JANE ENTERED THE president's office, General Beech was already seated on a couch. The president frowned deeply. He pointed to the coffee tray and motioned for her to sit.

  “How soon can you go to London, Jane?” asked the president.