Storm Unleashed

by Michael R. Stern

  “It was as exciting as being in a stadium.

  “Our teachers have been dragged through the political mud for a long time for a variety of unfair and inaccurate reasons. This single innovation is a sample of the possibilities our teachers bring to the education of our children. To which I say, 'well done.' ”

  “That's terrific,” said Fritz. “Kids, it doesn't matter that he didn't mention us. The message is what's important. Besides, we live in a viral age. The story will probably get out in more detail.”

  As they left, Ashley walked in. “Want to play golf next weekend? I need to do something besides watching the news.”

  “I thought you were going to Jane's parents' place.”

  “We're going tonight and coming back by mid-week. We may stop in Washington on the way home, but we'll be back for sure by the weekend. So, you wanna play?”

  “Sure. If it's nice. What are you doing about your team and the play?”

  “My team has informed me that they will be practicing without me, and Jean and Eric are taking turns going through the scenes and rehearsing at their houses. Fritz, they're incredible.”

  “The portal, I think.”

  “Could be. I wouldn't be surprised anymore.”

  The kids were already in vacation mode, which made keeping their attention more difficult. Fritz talked about how the atomic bomb changed the nature of war as well as the bomb's influence on international relations. “Tomorrow we'll talk about the Cuban Missile Crisis.”

  The next class discussed independence movements in Africa and the battles for influence between the Soviet Union and the United States. He showed them maps of Africa in 1950 and the present.

  “Mr. R, it seems like Africans were better off in a lot of ways under colonial rule,” said Bob Bee.

  “That's just wrong, Bob,” said Cheryl. “No matter what happened, they made choices for themselves. In their own countries.”

  “And how many people were killed in all the revolutions. They're still fighting,” Bob fought back.

  “Hold on a minute,” said Fritz. “These arguments have been around for more than sixty years. Africa has vast natural resources, which the Europeans claimed, and the Russians and United States also wanted. Under European rule, much death and brutality were commonplace.”

  “Mr. R, couldn't the president have a plan for Africa like the one for the Middle East?” Dan asked.

  “Dan, I think the president hopes his Middle East plan will be a blueprint. Let's hope it works in the Middle East and then elsewhere.”

  Chapter 31

  BY THE TIME the day had crawled to an end, Fritz had surrendered to vacation. “No homework,” he told each class. But he reminded them that another primary was coming and to pay attention.

  When he arrived home, Fritz was surprised to find Jane at the table. He figured she and Ashley would be on the road.

  “Hi, honey, I'm home. Hi, Jane. When are you leaving, and do you want me to do anything?”

  “I was just telling Linda that Mel will be bringing Wixted's files. You remember him.”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Sort them like I did with Koppler's stuff. The president told me he thinks it's better to keep it away from Washington for now. Insiders might still be involved.”

  “If that's true, the portal is in jeopardy again,” said Linda.

  With his usual bang, Ashley entered frowning. “Hi. Jane your phone is off. Call the president.” She walked to the dining room.

  “Are you driving straight through?” asked Fritz.

  “Depends on all this. If we get out of here much later, we'll hit traffic all the way, so we'll probably spend the night in Washington and go the rest of the way in the morning.”

  Jane returned, shaking her head. “The NSA picked up a phone call, but he didn't want to talk. He sent me a message.” She lifted her laptop to the table and read the note. “The sender is a big shot and was here during the summit. They're trying to find out who he called.”

  “Another Caballero?” Fritz asked.

  “The president is having him checked out. Ash, let's go, or we'll be driving until midnight.”

  “I was naïve to think the people at the summit would be scared silent,” Fritz said.

  * * *

  JANE AND ASHLEY spent the night at her apartment and went to the White House in the morning. The president was digging through a desk drawer, his lips pressed tight, when they entered his office. He told them to sit as he dug through a pile of yellow pads on his desk.

  “I can't tell you how much I miss Lily.”

  “You said you found a link to a phone call from the Emirates to California.” He was poring over the pile in front of him.

  The president handed Jane a sheet of paper. “They traced the call to another disposable phone. The guy is close to the head of state, and he's rich. Oil.”

  “Who's working it?”

  “Mel.” He motioned them to step onto the walkway outside the Oval Office. “An analysis of the Hay-Adams films showed two men entering the elevator just before the attack. He said the men avoided the visible cameras, but another was disguised in the floor-button panel.” The president said he saw photos, but didn't recognize the face. “It's in an envelope. Whoever he is, he is part of this. He didn't touch anything we could see or say anything. But he looked like, I don't know, like he had an attitude. Like the Asian was a servant.”

  “Mr. President,” asked Ashley, “could the IRS help?”

  “I'm not ready to open that door yet. Too many people would be tipped off. Especially in Congress. When we get closer, maybe.”

  * * *

  ON THE DRIVE south, Jane looked out her window and gave only grunts and one-word answers to Ashley's continuous talking. As the road curved west, the Blue Ridge rose up along the horizon. When he asked if the mountains in front of them were the Rockies, she said, “Uh-huh.” He abruptly pulled off the highway.

  “I've been chattering for an hour, and you're not here. What's wrong?”

  “Sorry, I've been thinking.”

  “I figured that out. What?”

  “Ash, I'm going in a hundred directions. The president, my mother, the wedding, but mostly the attacks. We can't even use the tools we have. We can't trust them. And everywhere we go, we hit another dead-end. I don't think the attacks are over. I really don't want to be here. My mother will be another distraction.”

  “It's only for a couple of days. It might be fun. And we could use a break.”

  “And you think we'll get one? With my mother? Ha!”

  “Jane, we have to do this. So don't make it harder on either of us. We'll be there in less than an hour. Want the top down?”

  Jane leaned over and kissed him. “Yeah, let's get some fresh air.”

  A few houses away from her parents', she said, “Oh no,” and pointed. “I can't believe she did this.”

  “What?”

  “See those cars. She invited everyone. You're on the spot, bucko. I'm gonna kill her.”

  “Relax, Jane. I teach teenagers. This will be a piece of cake.”

  “Listen up, Yankee. You are in the midst of what some locals still call the War of Northern Aggression. Lee and Stonewall Jackson are alive in these parts.”

  * * *

  FRITZ WROTE “What's Happened.” On a second pad, he wrote, “What Do We Know.” Side by side, the blank sheets began to fill. He titled a third pad, “The Portal,” leaving room for notes by skipping lines. When he listed the names of the victims, he stopped at Lily Evans and looked at TJ, who returned his smile. “You'd have liked her, TJ. She always asked about you.”

  Jonathan Hartmann, Georg Badenhof, the North Korean, the Asians at the Hay-Adams. Colonel Mitchell had said the soldiers weren't Eledorians. The attack on Camp David and the White House. No survivors in Geneva. What about the guys who worked for Koppler? And his car-accident report, where was that? The money trail. The pads were yelling, but in what language?

 
“TJ, don't ever smoke. It's hard to stop. I could use a cigarette right now.” TJ blew him a raspberry. While he stirred sweetener into a newly poured second cup, he remembered the business card he had. He lifted TJ from the swing and said, “I need my wallet, buddy,” and he wrinkled his nose. “And you need a fresh diaper.” He taped the new one, grabbed his wallet and phone from the dresser, returned his son to his comfort zone, and called Mike Morgan.

  “Mr. Russell, I was just thinking about you. We aren't done with the report yet, but we have confirmed the chemicals are foreign-made. By a company in Poland owned by a German conglomerate.

  “Mr. Morgan, can you tell me the name?”

  “I'd like to, but I can't. I'll let Jane know. Chain of command, need-to-know, that kind of thing. You understand.”

  Fritz said he did and that it was time urgent. He asked Morgan to call her right away.

  Fritz returned to his yellow pads. “TJ, I smells a rat.” The baby just looked at him. “Sorry, buddy, I'm used to talking this time of day.” He tapped his pen on the table. When he added the bank transfer to the list of events, he said, “TJ, someone is financing these attacks. Why?”

  Another pad appeared.

  His fingers massaging his forehead, Fritz stared at the title. “Why?” he said. He wrote, “1. To kill the President.” He shook his head. “They didn't try hard enough.” Then, he added “2. Money. Who makes money by blowing up hotels, ships, the White House? Builders.” He underlined the word. Big builders, he thought. International? Ships and planes? People with government clearances? People who make explosives? People who can afford to hire mercenaries?

  He jumped, disturbed by the doorbell. “Let's go see who's here, TJ.” With the baby in his left arm, he opened the door. Mel and stacks of storage boxes. “Do you need help?”

  “No, Fritz, just a couple more.” Fritz offered her a cup of coffee. In the kitchen, she draped her jacket over a chair and grinned at the yellow covering the table.

  “I've seen this scene before,” she said. “You too?”

  “He told me about it last fall. It works pretty well for organizing your thoughts.”

  “I think yellow pads may become an endangered species in Washington.”

  “Have you looked at the stuff you brought?”

  “Sorry, Fritz. We've been doing other things.”

  “Yeah. I haven't had any down time, either. So I just started making notes. It's like a spider web. You can see the thread, but where's the spider?”

  “It sure has a lot of twists and turns. I hope we find the spider soon.”

  Fritz brought a new box of folders to the dining room. He thought they should go piece by piece and make folders when they were done.

  “Hi Mel. You've got a lot done. Did you scan the papers?”

  “Hi Linda. Not yet. It'll be easier to keep it together once it's out of the boxes.”

  Linda brought her laptop and scanner to the table. “How much is left?”

  “About half a box.” Linda said she would wait to scan until the boxes were empty.

  Fritz carried the empty boxes to the kitchen. From one, a small note fluttered to the floor. He took it to Mel, who put it in a folder.

  Tuesday clicked forward. Fritz and TJ returned to their conversation of the previous morning. Fritz hoped that maybe they would have a little time to finish what they had started.

  “Now where was I?” TJ gurgled. “Thanks, TJ. I think you're right.” Fritz spread the pads on the table and stared at them. He took out a new one. “What country?” he wrote. Resting his cheek on his fist, he wrote a list, including each country associated with the various events. “Eledoria, Naria, Switzerland, North Korea, Israel, Pakistan, Russia, Cuba, the summit countries. What am I missing?” TJ chirped. “Thanks again, buddy. USA.” Sucking his pen, he whispered, “Hmm, maybe.” Staring at him, Mel's empty boxes lay on the floor behind the backdoor. “Right.” He went to the folders, opening each until he found what he had ignored earlier. Stuck at the top of a file marked “Miscellaneous” was the piece of paper that had fallen when they were putting the boxes aside. He wished he'd glanced at it then. A list of initials and numbers vaulted from the fragment. One set of letters was underlined, JK. “Jim Koppler.”

  “I'm back, TJ. Didn't go far. But I think we have another connection.” He looked at the other sets of letters, TR, JH, GB, DI, MA, LW, SI. JH, he thought, was Jonathan Hartmann. “We already knew that.” There were ten sets, three he knew were dead. “Ten little Indians. But why?” He reached for his phone and dialed Ashley.

  “Hi Fritz,” said Jane. “Ash's driving.”

  “Hi Jane. I probably should have called you anyway. Wixted's papers have a list like Koppler's. When are you coming back?”

  “We're on our way now. ETA around noon.”

  “I'm glad, but why so soon?”

  “We'll tell you when we see you.”

  “We're having company, TJ. Uncle Ash and Aunt Jane are on their way home.” TJ squealed. Fritz wondered if the baby understood what he was saying. “So let's get back to work.” He reread his pads, put his head in his hands, and closed his eyes. “International, rich, industry, finance, weapons.” He sat up. Linda had talked to her father about money trails. “I should have paid closer attention. What did he say?” The doorbell rang. Fritz sighed and took TJ with him to the door. Natalie Johnston waited on the landing holding a piece of paper.

  “Hi, Fritz. You're not in school, so I don't need to call you Mr. Russell, do I?”

  “No, that's fine. I'm not in school, so can I call you a wiseass?”

  “Yup.” She grinned and held the paper out for him to take. “I have something for you. From James Sapphire.”

  “You didn't need to bring it. Next week would have been fine.”

  “Actually, I didn't want the responsibility. Here.” She handed him a check for $25,000. “He said he would have some friends help out, too.”

  “Wow, Nat. This is fantastic. Thanks. Want some coffee?”

  “I'd love some. I have another story to write that I'm avoiding.”

  Fritz realized the tables were filled. “Uh, the place is a mess. Sorry.” She marched by him toward the kitchen.

  “Not much of a housekeeper myself. This isn't bad.”

  “Uh-oh,” he said to himself.

  “Where do you keep the cups?” she asked, opening cabinets.

  “Next one,” he said.

  “You want a cup?” she asked.

  “No thanks. Milk's in the fridge.”

  “I should hope so. But I drink it black. So you didn't go to Florida for spring break. What do teachers do when their kids are off?”

  “I'm just working on a project.” He put TJ back in his swing.

  “So no break for you.” She sat in his chair and inspected the pads spread across the table. “Hmm. This looks like some very un-school-like project, Fritz. Looks more like detective work.”

  “I'm outlining a book plot.” He hoped the lie would be enough.

  “Yeah, and I'm the Easter bunny.” She continued to scan his notes. “What's the portal?”

  “The title.”

  “Okay, Fritz. I'm a reporter, and I've interviewed a lot of people. I can tell when they're uncomfortable and, usually, when they're lying. You're both. So, tell me.”

  “Sorry. I can't.”

  “That's even more interesting. Can't? Maybe I can help with your story. Can't? Why not?”

  She had so surprised him with the assault, he blurted, “National security.”

  “Really? Well then, call the president and get me clearance,” she said, a smirk appearing. “Seriously. This looks like the naval base bombings and the attack on the White House.” She gestured to the pads.

  “It is.” God, I'm easy, he thought, trying to blame it on exhaustion. “Look, Nat. You can't say anything or report anything. It really is national security. Hang on.” He picked up his phone. “Hi, Mr. President. I have a problem. I have a reporter named Natalie Joh
nston sitting across from me. I was working on our project when I offered her a cup of coffee, but I hadn't put the stuff away.” He listened to the response. “Okay.” He handed her the phone and gave her a pen.

  “Hello?” She looked at Fritz. Her face moved in all directions. She wrote a number. “Was that really him?” Fritz told her to make the call. The voice of the White House operator made her groan. When the president answered, her face blanched.

  “Yes, hello, Mr. President.” She listened to what Fritz knew was a request for silence. “Yes, sir. I understand.” She handed Fritz the phone.

  “Sorry, Mr. President. I was caught off guard. I can? If you think so. Sure, I'll talk to you then.” Directing his attention to his visitor, he said, “The president said I should tell you everything. He asked me to get your phone numbers and address first.”

  “You know the president? You called him direct. What's this about, Fritz?”

  “Phone numbers and address first, Nat.” She wrote them on a yellow pad.

  He started to type. “Thanks. Oh, and he said that you'll get a visit from a member of his secret service detail.” He told her he was sending her info to the president. Her complexion reminded Fritz of the view from the window last winter.

  “Last year,” he began, “I walked into my classroom, except on the other side of the door, we were at Appomattox and met Robert E. Lee the day after he surrendered.”

  “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.”