The Portal At The End Of The Storm (Quantum Touch Book 6)

by Michael R. Stern

  Jane waved me over and opened her trunk. I started to reach in.

  “That's not why I called you. The president called. He's located Richemartel.”

  I snorted and then chuckled. “I get home and all hell breaks loose. He must be bored without all the action. Where's Koppler?”

  “He said he'd have information by the time we got here. I told him I'd call when the movers are gone.”

  “I want to call Linda before we do anything. She needs to know, too.” I could feel the tingling of muscles in my neck and shoulders, foreshadowing the approaching danger. My memory of many things remained unclear, but the neck and shoulder muscles had a memory of their own. “We better hustle.” I nodded to the sky. I grabbed a box and said, “Those clouds look angry.”

  The couch fit, the boxes owned the living room, and the movers took off. Jane's furniture filled the guest bedroom, the kitchen and some of Ash's personal space. Her careful labelling organized the final deposit locations, but until the boxes could be emptied, we hauled them to the basement. She said they could wait, but the president couldn't. When she called, he said he wanted to discuss exactly what he planned to do.

  “I think we've got him,” Jane said. “Tony's coming with him. He'll tell us everything when he gets here.”

  The Suburban pulled into Ashley's vacated driveway, and the president climbed out after a quick secret service scan of the area. Koppler had been spotted three days earlier in Paris, at the same place he'd vanished from in November. He told us that the informant said Koppler had arrived in a costume, acting disoriented, like he'd been awakened from a bad dream.

  “That's when the dimension closed. When I got back,” Fritz said.

  “I was thinking the same thing,” the president said. “Is it possible you sent him somewhere else and he only came back when you did?”

  “Without questioning him, I can't be sure. But it fits. I'd say, even probable. Another Ashley showed up here. I know we have twins in the other universes. Where is he?”

  “Paris. A penthouse apartment. I'd like to go after him, but I have the same problem as before. No planes.” He couldn't ask the French for help, either. “We either ask the president to cooperate, or rely on today's forecast to be accurate. I want to confront Koppler personally.” My frown prompted him to add that he would have the agents with him, and another intermediary to secure the contact.

  “So all I need to do is get you to Paris? What are you going to do with him? He's dangerous.” I said.

  Ashley's anger boiled in an instant. “He's killed people. He's responsible for what happened to Jane and Linda.” He said the man needed to answer for what he'd done. I've seen Ashley mad, but he spewed like a dragon spitting fire.

  The president held his ground. “I'm no less angry than you. But I can't arrest him. There's no chance of extradition. He knows his money will win. Too many campaign chests owe their expanse to him.”

  “Then why do you want to see him?” I asked.

  “I still want to know why.”

  “Does it matter?” Ash asked. “He's a murderer, a predator, and an accessory, at the least, to everything the Caballeros did.” Ashley strained not to yell at the former commander-in-chief. “More likely, he planned it all.”

  The president said, “What he did is what counts, what we can prove.” Ashley started to respond but the first rumble of thunder cut him off, and had us on our feet. I told the president he shouldn't go. Before he could answer, the front door opened and Linda came in, and stared at the drawn pistols.

  “She's my wife,” I said. “I called her to say we were back.”

  “Obviously, something's up,” she said. “I had customers or I'd have been here sooner. Nice greeting.” She said hello to us, not a degree of warmth in her voice. The president apologized and introduced her to the agents she'd not yet met. “They were with you when you bought the bikes. I remember their faces. So, is anyone going to tell me?”

  Jane said, “Koppler is back.”

  “And you're going after him?” The question was general, but aimed straight at me.” I nodded. “Then I'm going with you.”

  The president shook his head. “No one is, Linda.”

  “Jane and I have a right to confront him. He may only be the mastermind, but he gave Joe free rein. This is personal.”

  “That's why I'm going alone.”

  Chapter 79

  Jane

  WHEN WE REACHED the school parking lot, Tony walked to the curb. Without planes, the generator wasn't needed. The president handed Fritz a photocopy of a section of Paris, which Fritz gave to Ashley.

  “Why me?”

  “It's Paris.”

  While Ashley set up the portal, I warned the president not to go alone.

  “I'm meeting my informant,” the president said. “Then we'll see. It's night there now.”

  The storm hadn't produced, so we waited in Ashley's classroom. The classroom acted as a catalyst for Fritz, and he walked to the front of the room and began a lecture, the story of his first day in the portal. Fritz said that since that day, our lives changed regularly. He didn't know the technical answers, but could provide live, vivid examples of how he had learned the intricacies of using the portal.

  Tony laughed. “You know that none of this is possible. Even with all our technology and the greatest brains in the world, time travel has too many paradoxes to work. And the natural world will rebel against attempts to change physical laws.” In spite of the seriousness, we had become a tiny extra-worldly family. We could smile at the unbelievers.

  Ashley chuckled. “I read a lot of quantum physics when I was in the other universe to try to find a way home. Most of the pros think that. Some have hypothesized that bridges between worlds can exist, and that there are multiple dimensions, parallel universes. And none of that is possible, either.”

  Fritz continued, “Except that I've been in three universes, Ashley has crossed bridges into two, we've met Shakespeare, Robert E. Lee, Winston Churchill, the Wright Brothers, and we've seen Hitler and Lincoln.” I glanced at Linda. Her eyes narrowed, but she bit her lip.

  The storm outside began to rival the one in our conversation. Fritz said we should head to the hall. Tony asked if calling the new president might help.

  “I've thought about it, but I don't want him to know more than he does. This is complicated.”

  “Who knew it could be so complicated?” I said. My sarcasm evaded Fritz and Ashley, but the others responded with smiles, smirks and a chuckle.

  Fritz asked Ashley if he was ready, then tapped the doorknob. “Nothing.”

  We waited until the thunder began in earnest. Nine o'clock on a Saturday sounded more like the song lyric than the right time to go to Paris in the middle of the night. I had resigned myself that Koppler would slip away again. The story that I wanted to happen, Ash and I slipping away unbothered by the past, would wait until we could find an end to the current tale. Which one was the fairy tale, I didn't know.

  We tingled with the lightning flashes and the booms of the late evening thunderstorm. The president said, “Bring the generator.”

  “We have planes?” Tony asked.

  “Use the Oval Office picture. We have another guest. I asked him if he wanted to go to Paris. He doesn't know why yet.”

  Fritz said, “I don't want him to know. We've been in danger for too long. I promised when you left office, we were done with this. This is too much to ask.”

  “Fritz, he's never seen what the portal will do. So he hasn't internalized the danger. Maybe he'll get serious. The middle of the night in North Korea, and then the middle of the night in Paris, could also be the White House.”

  “That's a big 'if',” Linda said.

  “It is. But going from his office to here, then somewhere else, alone, might shake him up. When you first portalled in, Fritz, I knew then the world had changed. I hope he can see that.”

  “He's done that already. Why would this time be different?”


  “He's not part of a crowd. No accolades and pats on the back. Only a job to complete.”

  “You're still an optimist,” Ashley said. “I'm not.”

  “Then let's find out.”

  The door opened and the new president stood a few steps away, talking to Bill Sharp. He walked through first, Sharp right after.

  “Where am I now?”

  “Same place as before.”

  “Where are the soldiers?”

  “We don't need them,” said the president.

  “What about security? This is dangerous.” He stared at the civilians surrounding him. “I've seen you before,” he said to Fritz. “Where are you taking me?”

  “Unfinished business. Are you ready?”

  “I'm here, aren't I?” Listening to the tone, the belligerence covered his fear and uncertainty.

  “We're going to Paris. It's four in the morning.”

  On a dimly lit, empty street, a solitary man viewed the new arrivals, his head cocked. Four secret service agents, two in front, two behind, escorted the two presidents. The stranger approached. I recognized him, and so did both presidents. Linda stared at the man, and ran into the portal. I followed.

  I said, “Mr. President, this man is a Caballero. Isaac Martin. Please go back.”

  “I'm well aware of Mr. Martin. I'll tell you later.”

  “Mr. Martin, you may not remember me,” Linda said.

  “Of course I do, Linda. You're Tim Miller's daughter. You're married to the man who discovered the portal.” She spluttered a confused response. I, on the other hand, touched the pistol holstered against my back, ready to act. Ashley and Fritz stood in the rear, not sure what would occur next.

  “Okay, so you all know each other. Isn't that nice,” said the new president. “Why am I here, Isaac? There better be a good reason.”

  Martin looked at the new president. “I've located Thomas Koppler. You've been told what he's done. Every accusation is true. He headed a conspiracy against the country.”

  “That's ridiculous. I've met him many times. You could say we're friends. He even contributed to my campaign.”

  “He tortured Linda and Jane, and almost killed me,” Fritz said, pushing to the front of the pack. “He planned the attack on the White House during the Summit.”

  “That's enough, Fritz,” said the president. “I'm here, you're here, Mr. President, to get a confession. And frankly, I want you to see how dangerous the portal can be. You think it's dangerous. You don't have any idea how right you are. Especially on your own.”

  “Why would it be dangerous for me? My agents will protect me, if they want to keep their jobs.”

  “If you get killed, they'll still have their jobs. You won't. Don't dismiss the enemies of our country, foreign or domestic. And don't take our allies for granted. We have more than you know, and they're not all leaders of countries.”

  “Stop arguing,” Fritz said. “How are we going to get him?” Martin handed Fritz a floor plan of the apartment.

  “I got this yesterday, but I wanted to be sure he settled in.”

  “So we need to go back. Are you coming, Mr. Martin?”

  “Yes. No one is in there with him. He knows I'm nearby. I made a point of letting him see me. We talked for a few minutes. He has an unusual story that will interest you, Mr. Russell.”

  A minute later, we portalled to a room surrounded by windows. A balcony bordered our entire view. Sparse furnishing presented a different image from the man, Thomas Richter, who collected antiques and no-expense-spared decorations, but cared so little that he burned down his mansion. Yet they were one and the same man. A desk, two stuffed chairs and a coffee table sat on the bare parquet floor. Lights had turned on as we stepped through. Motion detectors covered all directions, so the muffled buzz behind the closed door ahead promised that we would be in the company of our prey shortly.

  The door opened and a wide-awake Koppler sauntered in. “Nice of you to visit. I wish you had told me you were in the neighborhood. But never mind. Let's see, who do we have here?” He scanned the group. “Mr. President, highly unusual. Glad my help paid off. And your predecessor. You seem to call when I'm not at my best. Ah, Ms. Sanderson. Your blonde hair seems to have deserted you. I assume these are agents. I'm flattered that you think you need so much protection from me. And you two gentlemen, I believe we've met. I'm sorry I don't have my boots on to greet you again.”

  “He's with me,” said Martin.

  “Yes, Mr. Isaac Martin, my financial genius. I owe you for your training. But you seem out of place.”

  The president had run out of patience. “Sit down, Mr. Koppler. We're going to have a conversation that's been long coming.”

  Before the president could proceed, Fritz said, “Where did the portal take you?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Russell. My curious location begged the question as to how that happened. I've been witness to the days leading to Napoleon's return from Elba. We aristocrats have become rather edgy of late. An interesting experience, but not enough modern conveniences for my taste. I'm quite happy to see Paris again, with running water. Is that glowing thing your transportation?”

  Linda inched next to Fritz. “Why did you let Joe torture me?” Fritz took her hand, both in support and restraint.

  “Because secret weapons belong in private hands. Your father can explain why. He so easily gave you up to Mr. Sapphire. Now if you're done with your questions, please leave and I'll return to a pleasant dream.”

  The new president said, “Thomas, I've heard some disturbing stories about the Caballeros. By the way, you never invited me. Are the stories true?”

  “Of course not. If they were, I'd be in jail.”

  “You'd be in jail if you hadn't slipped the country,” the president said.

  While Koppler condescended, and the arrogance filled the room, I examined the apartment setup to see what tactical advantages Koppler had, even with us all around. His calmness as he baited the hook warned that he might have an exit or escape plan. I hated the man for his cruelty, but I grudgingly admired his attention to detail. I scanned the walls and ceiling, certain that cameras recorded each action, each word. Positioned where he sat, behind his desk, a weapon of some sort rested close by, I was sure. “Nice balcony,” I said. “Does it go all around? It's like your ship. Except the water is a softer landing.” I succeeded in distracting him. “Did you know that Joetta Dunsmore survived. She said you watched Joe toss her into the ocean.”

  “Who?”

  “And we have recovered all the recordings from your peep-show cabin. Including the audio. Voice analysis reports that you gave the orders.” I pressed my bluff. “We have an order to extradite, and Paris police are waiting for our signal.”

  I glanced at the others, engrossed in my speech, and not watching him. As if he had not a care in the world, he asked if we would like to experience the early morning beauty of the city coming awake. He walked to sliding doors which had camouflaged, almost invisible, handles. As though they had forgotten the mission, mesmerized by this modern-day Saruman, everyone followed him outside.

  He said, “I like it out here. Two bakeries two blocks apart compete for business, but the aromas force me to dress and buy a fresh loaf.” He pointed up and down the street. “There. Can you smell it?”

  His manner disarmed and his voice hypnotized, as if he were guiding a tour. The new president wandered away, with two agents following. With fewer bodies, Koppler maneuvered closer, pointing out the tourist sites we could see.

  The president said, “It's lovely. And distracting. Now, let's go back inside and finish this.” Koppler grabbed Linda from behind, lifting a pistol from the pocket of his robe.

  “Leave now. I'll keep her with me.”

  I slid my gun from behind, but another report beat me. A red mist puffed in the slight breeze. Koppler's left ear had flown off. When his instinct to grab the pain rose, his grip on Linda released, and she ducked, rose up, leaned back and pushed.

>   With so few people awake, the scream of his plunge dispersed and ended. Fritz said we needed to leave, but the president said he was going to the street to be certain. While the others took the elevator, Fritz poked through the portal, and said he would change the opening to street level, and meet us there.

  Bill Sharp hustled the new president to the elevator and we all went to see what I hoped to be the end of that evil man, and the organizations he built. The elevator descended, almost as rapidly as Koppler. When we reached the lobby, a puddle of blood already covered the sidewalk. Fritz stood over the body, smiling. Though the broken body lay bleeding and immobile, Koppler's head overlooked the avenue a story above us, impaled on an iron fence spike.

  “That's pretty messy,” the new president said. His antiseptic and detached comment was almost funny. “Can we go home now?”

  Before anyone moved, a shadow stepped into the light, a woman wearing a head scarf. Dark complexion, yet wearing make-up, clearly from the Middle East. She strode ahead despite the pointed pistols. “Mr. President, I would like to thank you.”

  “You're welcome.”

  “Not you. Mr. President, I am Safiya Massoud. My husband confided in me of his role with that man. I have waited many months to find him. His cousin's son, Mason Hamid, told me the full story. Ibrahim's ambitions overcame his caution, but I loved him. If you had not succeeded, I prepared to end the evil. You should go now. I will wait for the police.”

  “Mrs. Massoud, I regret your husband's death. I asked the Sheikh to fake the fall, and deliver him to us. He said your husband jumped. I am sorry.”

  Moments later, we had returned to the hallway. Ashley took my hand before I could cross. “Come with me. Fritz, keep the door open.”

  “Where are you going?” Fritz asked.

  “To buy some fresh bread.” In spite of the gore nearby, Ashley had dismissed Koppler's fall as easily as dismissing his first class of the day. Any regret he harbored hid behind the twinkle in his eye at the end of our long crisis. He didn't care.

  Chapter 80