Quantum Touch (Book 3): Shadow Storm

by Michael R. Stern

  “The gates just opened, Fritz.” Ashley pointed to his right. “They'll pass us and then come back en route to the finish. Look how far behind he is.”

  “How did he win from back there?” The horses rumbled by in the blink of an eye. “He's what, tenth or eleventh behind?”

  “Can we go to a higher place, so we can see?” They stepped through the portal. “Did you see the people looking at us?”

  “They were trying to watch the race and party. They didn't notice us. I hope the cameras didn't either.” Fritz opened his computer and searched for images of the race. “Let's go up here, in the grandstand. Let's get this picture copied. But we'll keep the first picture and go back there at the end of the race.”

  They went to the new vantage point. “He's still so far behind. This is amazing.”

  “Look. He's making a move now. He's in fourth. Fritz, he doesn't look like he's working. Kind of like you.” They had been in the grandstand for less than a minute and a half. “Look at that. He's in the middle of the track and still gaining ground.”

  The crowd around stood and yelled horses' names and told them, in all variety of colorful ways, to get a move on. “Holy mackerel,” someone shouted. “Secretariat's outrunning them all. He's got only one more to catch.”

  “This is exciting. Let's go down again.” Again, they disappeared.

  “I really hope no one paid attention to us.”

  “They'll think they had too much to drink or that the natural euphoria of the race caused hallucinations,” Ashley said. “You want to get a julep on the way out?”

  “It's a little late in the year for mint. But I have some bourbon at home. We can pretend. Only Linda would know we've been portalling again.” Fritz placed the first picture on the desk. “Let's move up the track so we can see Secretariat pull away from the other horse.” He nudged the clip.

  “Sham.” Fritz raised an eyebrow. “That's the last horse he passed. Did you know Secretariat still holds the track record, more than forty years later?”

  “I do now. Let's go.” They returned to the infield fence, and the crowd of horses passed them. The race had begun a second time.

  Ashley tried to see above people surrounding them but could only hear the noise. He looked at the women's wide-brimmed hats and long dresses. “Thanks, Fritz. This is fun.” He patted Fritz's arm. The thunder of hooves far to their right signaled the horses entering the final turn. “Where is he?” Ashley asked no one.

  “Look,” Fritz pointed. “That's him, the big red one.” Fritz heard an echo of his words and thought of the 1st Infantry Division. Known as “The Big Red One,” it fought in France during the First World War and then, in World War II, in Sicily, Normandy, and the invasion of Germany.

  “Here they come. Look at how graceful he is. He's not running, Fritz, he's flying.” In a final burst, Secretariat passed Sham and won by two and a half lengths. When the friends returned to the hallway, they were both covered with a thin film of the dust kicked up by the galloping horses.

  “Brush yourself off, or Linda will have no doubt we've been up to something,” said Fritz.

  Chapter 9

  FRITZ ANTICIPATED another quiet weekend. So when the doorbell rang on Saturday afternoon, he grimaced. Now what? Jim Shaw stood outside in jeans and a Riverboro High sweatshirt.

  “Hope I'm not bothering you, Mr. R. I'm heading to the range and had to drive by your house. I wondered if you might want to take a crack at shooting.” Fritz invited Jim in and went to see if Linda needed him.

  “Curiosity,” he said to her baffled expression. “I've never shot a gun. You know how I feel about them. But maybe I'll learn something.”

  “Call me when you're on your way home,” she said.

  Fritz and his former student headed for the shooting range. Jim told him he had brought a variety of weapons and would explain all of them. At the range, Jim showed Fritz how to operate several different pistols, a shotgun, and a semi-automatic rifle with an oversized clip. He taught him to squeeze the trigger, how to sight his target, and how to use a scope. They discussed safety and what to do if a gun jammed. After two hours of instruction and target shooting, Fritz's hands vibrated as if he had been driving over miles of potholes. His shoulder ached.

  “That's normal, Mr. R. If you did it for a while, you'd get used to it. You'd know how tight to hold each weapon and what to expect from the recoil. For a first timer, you did pretty good.”

  “Pretty well,” Fritz said. “Sorry, Jim, but I will never let you get away with bad grammar. I don't think I'm capable of being quiet about that. Thanks so much. It's different from what I expected.” Fritz rubbed his right shoulder. “Thanks for bringing me. How often do you come out here?”

  As he packed each weapon in its case, Jim said he went every couple of weeks. As a cop, he got a discount on ammunition. “It's a good thing, or I'd have to choose between shooting and eating. Though you know, I've never needed to shoot in Riverboro.”

  Recognizing that Jim was only partly kidding, Fritz offered to pay for the ammunition he had used. “No. You're my guest. If you'd like to do it again, then you can buy ammo. Okay?”

  “Sure, although I'm not sure it's my thing, Jim. Let me absorb this one first. Thanks for thinking of bringing me. And let me feed you dinner one night.”

  “Thanks, Mr. R. It's nice to have company. The guys at work think I'm obsessive. But I enjoy it.”

  When Fritz got home he made notes of everything he could remember. For future reference.

  Chapter 10

  FRITZ ARRIVED at school with Ashley's Mustang in his rearview mirror. Ashley's smile told him all he needed to know about the weekend in Washington.

  “So, crummy weekend, huh?”

  “Better than great. We sat on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial for hours on Saturday and just talked. And ate ice cream. Fritz, I've never had a conversation like that. I'll tell you more later. Can I come for dinner? Jane will be here on Thursday, and I need Linda's ideas.”

  “I'll let her know. I think you're mystified. So we'll want to hear your tale of romance.”

  “It's a lot more than that. Who won the football game?”

  “We did, 35-7. Apparently Grant Township isn't very good this year.”

  “You didn't go?”

  “No. But I did go with Jim Shaw to a shooting range. He's got quite a collection, and I shot them all.”

  “No kidding! You? Shooting? I'd love to have seen that.”

  “He said I did pretty well for a rookie. I'll tell you more later,” Fritz said at Ashley's classroom door. “I've got to make an appointment with George. My ninth graders finished the plan for the history baseball tournament, and I want them to discuss it with him. See you later.”

  “Hey, Fritz. If it rains this week, could we go somewhere? We're getting to the end of thunderstorm season. Maybe back to Paris?”

  “I'm not sure it's fair to Linda. But maybe.”

  Without stopping at his classroom, Fritz headed to the principal's office, briefly explained what the ninth graders had created, and asked George if he would talk with them.

  “You certainly have your fingers into a lot this year, Fritz,” George said. “A play, a tournament, the portal.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “I think you might want to give some other teachers a chance to do something.”

  Fritz fought back the urge to punch his boss. In his uncanny way, and almost without exception, George found a way to be contrary in the most minor circumstances. “George, I'm not going to discourage my kids, and I'm certainly not going to wait for someone else to maybe suggest something. Besides, we'll need a bunch of teachers to work on the tournament. The kids think you should be the commissioner.”

  “Let me think about it,” said George.

  “Don't take too long, George. There's a lot of work to do, and we'll want to get started on publicity.”

  “Publicity?”

  “Yeah. The kids suggested prizes,
including scholarships. They want to see if the Phillies would participate. I'll talk to you later. Right now, the kids only want to explain it to you.” Rather than waiting to be dismissed, Fritz left George to imagine the publicity.

  THE DAY ZOOMED to the end, the kind of day he liked, the kind of day when his kids jumped from their seats to join discussions. He told each class they would have tests the following week on everything they had covered that far, and he let the ninth graders know that Mr. McAllister would think about their tournament but not to count on getting an okay. By the last bell, none of his students were happy with him.

  That evening, Ashley gushed to Fritz and Linda about how much he and Jane had in common. Politics, religion, sports, books, relationships, travel. All compatible. They had only one problem, he said. She lived in DC and he in New Jersey.

  “That could be a big problem, Ash,” Linda said.

  “I know. She has an important job and likes the action. I told her she's accident prone.”

  “Well, there's no rush. You'll see how this works out over time.”

  “You only met her a month ago,” Fritz reminded him.

  “That's why I want to fix up the house. You know, a good impression. And I'm considering getting my master's degree.”

  ARMED WITH Linda's recipes for side dishes, Ashley dove into his dinner party plans. Fritz saw almost nothing of him between classes. At lunch, their discussion revolved around broccoli, baked potatoes, and shades of blue. Ashley's guest room would be robin's egg blue; he had rejected baby blue and sky blue. For his bedroom he chose forest green, a more mysterious color, he called it. “Like me.” After these conversations, Fritz shook his head at Ashley's altered identity. Given how good looking those two are, neither one of them will look at the color of the paint. Ashley went to a butcher on Wednesday to buy what he called a “real” prime rib, and the butcher gave him some tips.

  “He even bought a meat thermometer. Prime rib, broccoli, and mushrooms sautéed with onions, baked potato with the fixings, paint colors, Ash sure is taking this party seriously,” Fritz told Linda.

  “JANE'S HERE” and a grin greeted Fritz on Friday morning. Later in the day, George told Fritz he would talk to the ninth graders the following week.

  “Which day, George? They'll need to prepare.”

  “How about Tuesday? Lois liked the idea. But she won't have to do the work.”

  “Neither will you, George. Ash and I will be doing most of it. At least sixteen teachers will be coaches. Gratis, no overtime. All you need to do is introduce the teams and answer reporters' questions.”

  “Well, I have to make sure the school is in tip-top shape. I expect the parents are going to attend. And I have to make sure your tournament doesn't interfere with other school activities. It won't be the only thing going on here, you know.”

  “George, you continue to amaze me. You worry about all this stuff, but only a couple of weeks ago, we dealt with bullet holes and five-hundred Israelis and a building full of soldiers, and everything turned out fine. This will be a school-sponsored activity and the kids' only weapons will be their minds. Stop worrying.”

  “For your information, it's my job to be concerned about everything that goes on here.”

  “George, it … will … be … fine,” Fritz said. “I have a class now. I'll tell the kids you'll talk to them on Tuesday. You can tell them yourself that they have your permission. They'll be ecstatic. They'll love you until they graduate. I'll see you at the game.”

  The week's last class was a roller-coaster ride for both teacher and students. Not yet having Mr. McAllister's decision and eager to start, the ninth graders eyed Fritz as they settled into their seats. He told them that he had news. They clammed up so fast and so tight that Fritz sensed he had just pushed the mute button. “On Tuesday, Jay and Samantha have an appointment after school with Mr. McAllister.” Susan asked him if Mr. McAllister was going to let them do it. Fritz said that he hadn't made up his mind. He wanted to hear the proposal first, from them.

  “If you all are willing to work hard, and you show Mr. McAllister how enthusiastic you are, I hope he'll say yes.”

  Ted O'Neil raised his hand, the first time he ever had.

  “Yes, Ted?”

  “Mr. Russell, I hope nobody gets mad at me, but my dad knows the Phillies chairman. When I told Dad about the tournament, I asked if he thought we could get the Phillies to help.” He hesitated, his fair-skinned face turning shades of pink, then pomegranate.

  “Go on, Ted.” The kids studied Ted. He didn't see the looks of awe all around.

  “Dad told me he'd call Mr. Montgomery, but I had to tell him what I wanted.” Ted's pale face blazed.

  “How did it go?” Fritz said.

  “Well, I made notes of all I remembered, and then Dad called. Boy, was I nervous.” He rubbed his hands. “Anyway, I explained we were creating a history-baseball tournament and asked if the Phillies would be a sponsor.”

  Around the class, happy faces turned to him.

  “What did he say?” asked Todd LeMaster.

  “I figured he would say thanks and that he would think about it. Instead he asked me for more details. I told him about our class history baseball and how it worked. Then I told him about Susan's idea and the committee plan.”

  “But what did he say?” Todd exclaimed.

  “He asked me what I wanted the Phillies to do. So I told him we wanted a Phillie to be the pitcher for the championship game. And we were trying to get sponsors for prizes and scholarships.”

  “Come on, Ted, what did he say?” asked Todd, a hair's breadth from yelling.

  “He said that he had never encountered a project this ambitious. That was his word. And he said … yes.”

  The class erupted. Shouts, cheers, high fives all around. Fritz let them go for a minute.

  “Okay, guys. Quiet down. Ted, that's great, a job well done. Congratulations.” In the remaining few minutes, Fritz reminded them that Mr. McAllister hadn't said yes yet and told them to include Ted's conversation as part of their presentation. He admired his student's sudden courage. This kid is afraid to raise his hand. What now? Is this the portal? When class ended, Fritz shook Ted's hand, and the smile Ted gave him wrapped around the boy's head.

  Fritz cleared his desk and as he got up to leave, Ashley hurried in, gasping.

  “Boy, am I glad you're here. I told Jane we would go to The Mill before the game.”

  “Great. We'll meet you later.”

  “No. I meant you and us. I forgot to mention it.”

  “Yes, you did. I'll forgive you. You've been struck.”

  “Well, will you come?”

  “We'll have to change our plans. We were going to a movie.”

  “Are you kidding? You aren't going to the game?”

  “Of course, we're going. I can't believe you're panicking. It's not like we haven't met her. It's not your first date. I'll call Linda.” Ashley sighed again, but he didn't leave. He stood and stared at Fritz, who pretended not to notice.

  “Well?” Ash asked.

  “Well what?”

  “Aren't you going to call?”

  “Oh. Sure. You want me to call now?”

  “Stop fooling around. I have to tell her when I'm picking her up.”

  “Oh, did I tell you that Tony Almeida's going to come by next week?” Fritz didn't often get Ashley riled, and he was having fun.

  “Why? Oh forget it. Call Linda.” Fritz snickered as he dialed home. Linda told him that she had expected to go out, that Ashley would need help.

  “Oh, that's too bad. Ash will be disappointed. He's having a fit now. I'll tell him we'll meet him after the game.”

  “Is he there?” she asked.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Stop teasing him, Fritz. Tell him we'll meet him at quarter to five.”

  “I'll tell him, The Mill at ten. Okay, hon, I'll be home soon.”

  “Fritz, you're being mean. Tell him.”

  “No, no
t right now, but I had a great time with the ninth graders. I'll tell you when I get home. Okay, I'll tell him you said 'see you later.' Bye.”

  “Tell him.” She hung up laughing.

  “I can't believe you're not coming.”

  “Well, you know how it is. You never said anything. All week. We figured you planned other … activities.”

  Ashley had no reply. Then Fritz started to laugh. “You are a bastard. You know that?” Fritz laughed harder.

  “Linda said we'll meet you at quarter to five.”

  “Maybe we'll go somewhere else. Without you.

  Chapter 11

  AT 6:45, the two couples climbed into the grandstand and found seats on the fifty-yard line, six rows up. A sleepy evening of deepening purple turned to day in the flood lights as the gladiators entered the coliseum. The national anthem played, and Fritz studied the field. “We who are about to die salute you.” Linda nudged his arm. “Sorry, I was thinking.” He glanced at the grinning faces surrounding him.

  “I know. We heard.”

  The game started at seven, but the stands were slow to fill. As kickoff approached, some students stopped to say hello. Rachel and Nicole said, “Hiii, Mr. Gilll-berrrt.” Jane looked at the girls, and Fritz turned to avoid catching an Ashley scowl. “Hi, girls,” said Ashley.

  “Jane, they do that to him almost every day,” Fritz said. “He always lets them get away with it. It'll be worse with you here. They call themselves the Dough Twins. They raise money for charities. Every teacher is blessed by one of their pitches every few months.”

  Jane asked, “How old are they? They look too old for high school.”

  “Sixteen, I think. They're in eleventh grade. They've been doing this act for the last two years. They even do it with George. Talk about funny.”

  “Are they flirting? Is it an act?” asked Jane.

  “I don't know. But they raise a bunch of money,” said Fritz. “They're both top students. The real fun is watching Ash get harassed. And it's his own fault.”

  “God, I wouldn't be sixteen again,” Jane said, looking over her shoulder. “Boys always scared me. I can't imagine how these two get up the nerve, and with teachers, no less. I'd love to talk with them.”