Quantum Touch (Book 1): Storm Portal

by Michael R. Stern

  I decided to move my classes. I put a note on the door, and the kids, with their overloaded book bags, all that knowledge that I hoped would make it to their brains, followed me. I took them to the room that George had prepared and explained that mine might get painted that day, if we were lucky. They were appropriately dubious. For the entire day, I taught in a classroom foreign to me. I had much more on my mind now than teaching. Each class seemed twice as long as usual. Finally, eighth period ended after a rousing game of government-baseball won by Mary Anne Leslie's team on a home run by Dennis Rogers. The question, which had been a trick, was which state was the last to ratify the end of slavery, and when?

  Dennis' answer, “Mississippi, in 1995.”

  “Going, going, gone,” I said, wondering what bowl of historical Wheaties had energized Dennis. “That's correct, Dennis, the state legislature passed it in 1995. But the ratification was never filed with the National Archives. The actual ratification was completed in 2013. Class, remember this. You might find it on a test.”

  As Dennis finished his home run trot from desk to desk, the bell rang, ending the day. When the students left, so did I. As I grabbed my classroom doorknob, I got another shock. I slowly opened the door and again walked into the classroom. It was unchanged. I walked to the desk and again reversed the books. I walked out, opened the door again, and got shocked again. Still nothing. I slapped the wall next to the door, went back in and sat. Ashley and Sandy came in. I said to them, “It happened again. What am I missing?” I tapped my fingers on the desk. I felt like frustration was fencing me in.

  “Did anything happen in the other room?” asked Sandy.

  “Nothing.” But I had to think about it for a moment. “Except one of my kids had the answer to a very obscure question. I wonder if all this portal business is changing the kids. I gotta get out of here. Why don't you come over?”

  I told Linda that Ash and Sandy were coming, and she asked, “What happened? I can see it on your face.”

  I put my briefcase down and tossed my keys on the counter. Ashley and Sandy came in, and we all sat at the kitchen table. Linda asked if I had heard about the plane crash in Philadelphia. The pilot hit the front of the runway, so no planes could land.

  Planes were backed up for miles.

  * * *

  “SORRY TO INTERRUPT, Mr. President,” said Tom. The president looked up from his desk. “His fingers got a shock. But no portal opening. It happened at the beginning of the day and then again after school.”

  The president looked behind him. “It's a nice day,” he said. “Thanks, Tom.”

  The president pondered—a nice day. None of this is making any sense. He returned to the papers on his desk. He was still searching for a way through the crisis in Middle East. Jim Koppler listened to the president's conversation. He said to himself, “So he's got the classroom bugged. It's time to up the pressure.” He picked up his phone, dialed, did not bother to introduce himself, and said, “I need something.”

  * * *

  “THAT'S THE FIRST TIME it's happened on a sunny day,” I continued. “I'm missing something, and I can't see it.”

  “Well, it feels like we're closer,” said Sandy.

  “But to what?” said Ashley. “Maybe the weather really does make the difference.”

  The remainder of the week was ideal, sunny and just warm enough and the kind of days that Ash and I could choose a basketball workout or a round of golf. But I wasn't ready for basketball. There was no recurrence of Monday's shocks, and classes settled down as soon as I started talking about final exams. Like many other teachers, I pick up the pace to make sure we covered all the course material by end of term. During the next weekend, I began to prepare the finals, knowing I had only a few weeks left. Classes seemed to return to their norms. But my students' spring fever had no antidote, and keeping their attention was more difficult. I also had the feeling that my time was running out; black Suburbans appeared everywhere I went.

  By the second week of May, news reports were starting to mention the lack of rain, and there was discussion of a drought come summer. “Are there any predictions for rain this century?” I complained to Linda. “If we don't get some bad weather, I'll never be able to solve this.”

  “At least, you haven't had any shocks again,” Linda said, trying to find something positive.

  “Lin, I've said this before. Can you imagine me, or anyone, being upset about the weather we've been having? But that has to be it.”

  “I hope you're right, Fritz. I know it's wearing on you, and I think about it all the time.”

  * * *

  “TOM, DO YOU HAVE a minute?” asked Mel Zack.

  “Sure, Mel, what do you need?”

  “I got a call. From a friend, I can't tell you his name. He asked me what's going on with the service. When I asked what he was talking about, he said a rumor was floating that the secret service was involved in a conspiracy to drop the level of the president's protection. “Tom, it's a black bag job. He told me that within the next month, either the service is going to be exposed, or the teacher will be, well, you know. Are we talking about that guy in New Jersey?”

  “Mel, I don't want a name, but can you tell me the agency?” He ran his tongue over his teeth.

  “I'd rather not, but you can be sure no one will find out. Accidents happen.”

  Tom leaned back in his desk chair. He could feel a knot growing in his shoulders. He thought he knew which agency, and he knew Mel was telling the truth. Mel was one of the best.

  “I need to think about how to handle this, Mel. Slandering the service is serious. But, don't tell anyone you told me. It could put you in the crosshairs. Literally.”

  * * *

  THE PRESIDENT AND First Lady were sitting in the private sitting room off their bedroom. She walked to the door of the Truman Balcony and watching the traffic pass the Washington Monument, said, “You can't expect him to have an answer if he needs bad weather to complete the connection. He can't do anything, good or bad, if the weather isn't cooperating. Besides, you really do have more things to worry about.”

  “I know, but it still makes me nervous. At least, so far, none of them have been talking, as far as we can monitor. I think our boy Fritz has scared the bejesus out of them.”

  “He's a smart guy. He has you figured out, and he's willing to trust you, but not too far. He knows you only trust him so far. If we get the weather, I bet he'll be calling you.”

  The president didn't have long to wait. Each spring, for as long as he could remember, Tornado Alley became active. Some years, there were a lot of storms but few twisters. The year had been quiet so far, but in mid-May, the warm weather across the southern tier of the U.S. had begun to produce tornadoes in clusters. Mornings were clear and warm, but as the days heated up, storm clouds and strong winds blew in. From the Gulf of Mexico to Pennsylvania, through the heartland, east to the Atlantic, storms appeared. Even early tropical storms had begun off the coast of Africa. Half the country was under cloud cover, tornadoes playing hide and seek with the stormchasers. Reports of damage came daily to the president's desk, and he knew he would need to tour the areas most severely affected when the storms subsided.

  * * *

  I WATCHED THE weather reports, and Linda watched me. “Be prepared for strong winds and late afternoon thunderstorms into the evening for the next few days,” said the local news. Relieved, I said, “It's about time.” On Wednesday, I went to school in a better mood than I had known for weeks. On the way in, I met Ashley and Sandy.

  “Looks like the weather is finally ready to help,” I said. My life wouldn't be back to normal until I found the portal's secret.

  Ashley asked, “Are you sure you want to do this alone?” Ash was laser-focused on me. “I'll go with you if you want.”

  “Thanks Ash, but I need you here to report if I don't get back.” He and Sandy looked at me, signs of worry on their faces. “If this goes as I planned it, I'll go in and come right back
. The problem is still the connections. I don't know the trigger.”

  As we approached our classrooms, Ashley and Sandy watched as I walked into mine. Sandy looked at Ashley and raised her hands with fingers crossed. When I came out, I could hear them exhale from down the hall. “Nothing yet,” I said.

  As the day passed, all three of us went through the motions, class after class. I was continually staring out the window. I wondered if there had been a local sale on Suburbans. When seventh period ended, Jennifer Bennett asked me if I was planning a trip. As she was leaving, she said, “Come back safely, Mr. R.”

  By the end of the eighth period, the sky blackened and the storm arrived in force. I was prepared, books and brochure in place. Ashley and Sandy stood at their doors. The kids hurried out, and the wind picked up. A flickering flash, a loud thunderclap. I went to the door. I looked at Sandy and gave Ash a salute. As I reached for the doorknob, another flash lit the hallway. I grabbed it. Nothing. I grabbed the doorknob again. I threw my hands up, and said, “WTF!” Only letters. I knew better than to swear in school. The storm flashed again. I grabbed. Nothing. I was defeated for the moment.

  “I don't get it. I thought that would be it,” I said. “Everything is where it's supposed to be. What am I missing? I'm going home.” I scratched my head, gently, behind my left ear. “Linda will be worried. See you later.” I put the books and brochure away, locked the desk and left. Sandy and Ashley watched me go.

  I called home on the way to the car. “Are you okay?” Linda answered.

  “Fine, nothing happened. I'm on my way home. I'm really puzzled by this. I tried three times, including after one of those big flashes. Nothing. Just nothing.”

  “I'll see you in a minute then,” she said.

  * * *

  THE PRESIDENT PICKED up his phone. “Yeah, Tom?”

  “Sorry to disturb you, sir. Russell tried again during the storm in New Jersey. To quote him, 'Nothing'.”

  “Really?” said a surprised president. “I'll be going west to the tornado sites tomorrow. If anything happens, you know how to reach me.”

  “Yes, sir. Mr. President, do you have a moment to talk.”

  * * *

  “GOOD. HE'LL BE GONE. Tomorrow.” He hung up the phone. Koppler sat, looking grim.

  * * *

  LATER, THE FIRST LADY asked, “Can't you think of a way to help him?” The president complained that he had too much to do given the storms in the Midwest and the continuing problems in the Middle East to spend more time worrying about the portal. She said he should give Mr. Russell more time, that the weather had just begun to cooperate. He asked her to consider what would happen if Russell found the portal again and changed history so they had never met.

  “Listen to yourself,” said the First Lady. “That should be enough for you to want to help. Isn't there a way to use the portal to do good?”

  “I've thought of that. But all he could do would be to become some kind of spy.” He paused. “Hmm, I wonder if he would agree to something like that?” Then he said, dismissing what he knew was pointless, “Even if he would agree, he's a teacher, not a field operative.”

  “Now you sound like Koppler. What if someone went with him, like Tom? Or some CIA person?”

  “That just means more people know.”

  “But they all have top clearances.”

  ”Maybe I should let Jim Koppler have some time with him.”

  Just then the phone rang. Another problem in Eledoria, this time a hostage-taking. He called Tom.

  * * *

  WHEN I WALKED IN, Linda had already poured me a soda. Lightning flashed just as the door clicked shut. “Hi,” I said and kissed her on the cheek. I took the glass, looked at the bubbles, and exhaled. “I can't believe this. Not even the buzz.”

  “Fritz, you've considered all the variables. Maybe it's just the order of things, or maybe it really is random.”

  “Lin, if it is random, we're in trouble. That means we'll never figure it out. Then I disappear.”

  “Don't say that!”

  “If the storms continue, we're going back tonight to try again.” It didn't sound like it, but I was really asking her.

  “Okay,” she said, sadly.

  The storms did continue. At about 7:30, Linda and I went to the school. Linda brought a flashlight, but with all the flashes and the street lights, we didn't need it. I set up everything, went to the hall, and tried the door. Nothing.

  “I'm missing something. I just don't know what,” I said.

  “Let's go home, Fritz.”

  * * *

  “MR. PRESIDENT, just to let you know. Russell was at the school just now. Still nothing.”

  “Thanks, Tom. You know,” he continued, “I've been considering this whole portal situation. I think we need to do something. Let's step outside. This is what I want you to do.”

  Tom listened carefully to the president's idea. “Yes, sir. I'll take care of it,” he said.

  “Tom, take someone with you,” said the president.

  * * *

  THURSDAY'S FORECAST was more of the same. Linda was in the bathroom when I was ready to go.

  “Is your stomach still bothering you?” I asked. “Why don't you go to the doctor?”

  “Fritz, it's just nerves. This situation is starting to take a toll on me, too.”

  “I wish you would make an appointment and get it checked.”

  About three blocks from school, I noticed a black Suburban pull into traffic behind me. When I pulled into the school parking lot, the Suburban kept on going. Am I being paranoid?

  George was waiting for me at my classroom with pursed lips and something to say. He asked if I had been in the school the previous night. When I told him I had, he reminded me I was supposed to call him. George being irritated was not how I wanted to start the day. It must have shown on my face. He asserted that he was responsible for insurance issues along with everything else, and that I needed to remember that. Then he asked if I had discovered anything new.

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  “Well, maybe you'll have some stormy weather for a few days.”

  I laughed. “For me, it's been stormy for a while.”

  “You know what I mean,” he snapped.

  I reached into my pocket for my keys and pulled out some cash that had gotten caught in the key chain. I put the cash on the desk and unlocked the drawers. I reached for the books and brochure, my new daily routine.

  Ashley walked in, and said, “You're early. What's up?”

  “Just got up early. Linda and I came in last night during the storm and tried again. No luck.”

  “What's with the cash?” Ash asked.

  “It got tangled up in my keys.”

  “You carry that much?”

  “Not usually. I got it before we went to D.C. Just in case. I haven't put it back yet.”

  Ashley picked up the $100 bill and looked at the picture. I looked at it too. “I think I like these new engravings.” I rubbed the bill between my fingers. “I didn't at first.”

  “Why not?”

  “I think historians just like some things to be traditional.” I slid the money into my pocket.

  “Are you going to try again today?” Ashley asked.

  “If the weather cooperates. You were right from the beginning, Ash. I think it's the lightning, but there's another link. I just don't know what yet.”

  As I was talking, I was also watching the cars drive by. “What's wrong?” asked Ash. I pointed to the passing Suburban and told him I had been seeing them constantly, that one had followed me to school. I said that either I was getting paranoid, or my time was running out.

  “Fritz, they've been everywhere for years. You are paranoid,” said Ash, who looked out the window again. “See, there's another one.”

  “Or the same one.”

  Chapter Twenty One

  I STEELED MYSELF for the teaching I had no interest in right then. The students noticed, and more than onc
e during the day asked if I was okay. I lost my train of thought with each crack of thunder. Something was roaming just beyond my reach. It bugged me. I popped an essay test on the kids during seventh period. It gave me some quiet time, a trick I'd learned early in my career. Another black Suburban went by. Scanning its details, I wondered if it was the same one. I walked around the perimeter of the class with my hands in my pockets, and it clicked. By the end of eighth period, I couldn't wait for the kids to leave.

  I took out the books, checked the paperclips, and placed one on the left, one on the right, and the White House tour brochure at the center. I walked into the hallway. Lightning flashed. I touched the doorknob. BUZZ. I walked in and found myself on the top step of a brick building in an alley. A young man with a mustache brushed by and said, “Pardon me,” with a southern accent as the door closed. Another man was holding a horse. Seeing the door outlined, I walked through, back to the hallway. I grabbed the doorknob again, no buzz. I walked into my classroom.

  “My God, that was John Wilkes Booth,” I said aloud. I grabbed the Civil War book, thumbed to Lincoln's assassination, and looked at Booth's picture. “I've got it.”

  I paused for a moment, my pulse pounding like a jackhammer, and walked out into the hall. I grabbed the doorknob again. I walked through and into the office of Robert E. Lee at Washington College. Lee, sitting at the table he used as his desk, looked up, not startled, almost as if he had expected me. He said, “Why, Mr. Russell. I wondered if I might ever see you again.”

  Taken by surprise that the general would remember me, I said, “General, this is an experiment. I can't stay, but may I visit again?”

  “Of course, but before you go, you should know that after your last, uh, visit, I sent some men to try to stop Mr. Lincoln's killer. They were unsuccessful.”

  “General, I think history doesn't want to be changed. The past fights back. I don't mean to be rude, but I must go.” I turned to leave, but a thought hit me. “General, what year is it now?”

  “1868. What year is it where you come from?”