Quantum Touch (Book 3): Shadow Storm

by Michael R. Stern

  “I saw the whole thing,” the stranger said. “Are you okay? You did some slick driving to miss getting hit. It almost looked like he did it on purpose.”

  “Yeah. I had the same impression.” Fritz took a deep breath. “Say, would you mind giving me your name and phone number. He could have hit one of my students. I'm going to report this guy to the police. I'm Fritz Russell.” Fritz held out his hand.

  The man took it, tilting his head. “Russell? History teacher? Baseball tournament?”

  “Yeah, that's me.”

  “My daughter Nicole is in the tournament. It sounds like fun. I'm Curt Ginsburg.”

  “I know Nicole very well. Good student. She and her friend Rachel, too.”

  “You mean the Dough Twins.” Startled, Fritz stared at him. Her father chuckled. “Nicole told me that's their nickname.”

  “Then I guess you know they've created characters for themselves and do a great job raising money for charity and creating awareness of so many people in need. Thanks for stopping, Mr. Ginsburg. I appreciate it. I'm a little shaky.”

  “Call me Curt.”

  “Call me Fritz. It's good to know you.”

  “Oh, and my phone number is easy to remember. 555CARE. That's the house phone.”

  “You're kidding.”

  “Nicole's idea. Rachel's is 555GIVE.”

  Despite his close call, Fritz appreciated the calming effect of talking to a witness. “They're very creative. I bet they have constant surprises for you. Curt, I have to get going, but again, thanks for stopping. It's always nice to meet students' parents.”

  Fritz had no intention of reporting the incident to the police. He headed for the restaurant, carried his dinner order back to the car, and checked for a black Suburban. All clear. And no sign of his attacker on the short drive home. Before going in, he sent a text message to Jane. “Need to talk. You and me only. Trouble.”

  “HE WAS JUST lucky this time. I'm not worried, but he should be. I hope he's getting scared. Keep the pressure on and let me know. We only need a few more days.” He hung up and looked out his spotless window. “What a lovely afternoon.”

  THEY HAD ALMOST reached Wilmington when Jane's phone beeped. “It's a text from Fritz,” she said.

  “What does he want?” asked Ashley. “I wonder why he called you.”

  She glanced at the message. “He knows you're driving.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he wants to talk to me.” Her brain shifted gears.

  “Why?”

  “Didn't say.”

  “I'm going to call him.”

  “Ash, we'll be there in an hour. We'll find out then.”

  “We ought to tell him where we are, in case they're planning dinner.”

  “I'll send a message.” She typed, “Be there in an hour. Talk then.” Jane said nothing more.

  Chapter 28

  GARLIC AND BUTTER assaulted Jane and Ashley as they walked in the front door. Fritz was uncovering the pans of pasta he had carried home. Garlic bread, just out of the oven, bubbled in a basket. In the family room, Linda watched the TV as it reported nothing new. Fritz looked up from placing the knives and forks on placemats when Jane came out to say hello. He eyed the heavy bandage on her neck.

  “Are you okay? Do you guys want a drink?” he asked.

  “I'm as okay as I can be. Good enough to help. Ash, go sit. You just drove for three hours. Tell Linda I'll help Fritz with dinner. Both of you can relax.”

  Pouring the sodas, Fritz whispered, “I've been followed for the past couple of days. A guy almost hit me broadside this afternoon. He was aiming for me. Black Suburbans.”

  “Something's going on. It's not just you. I have a feeling. We'll talk later.” She carried the drink to Ashley and returned with Linda's glass.

  Fritz said, “I have a description, license plate, and a witness. I would have called Tom right away, but…” She nodded but stared out the window and ran her left hand through her hair.

  “I'll call the plate number in later. You should probably stay home over the weekend.”

  NO ONE WANTED to talk about the week's events during dinner, but after discussing Thanksgiving plans, the tournament, and Eric and Jean's play, that's where they ended up.

  Linda said, “As usual, the news makes no sense. They can't add one plus one. The top words are coincidence, random. Who would know the president would stop? I don't believe any of it. What worries me is they're treating this like an accident. It can't be.”

  “Here's what I know,” said Jane, sitting up and edging forward. “The president's meeting had been planned, but the time and location weren't announced until ten minutes before we left, which sent the press scurrying. The president never announces his travel routes, so coming back, the press had cars ready to go. He took a straight line to the White House. All of a sudden the car shook, like a blow-out or a problem with the suspension. The president is angry. Very angry.”

  Linda said, “Jane, the shooter was waiting. That means they knew exactly where he would stop and probably when. Or at least where he would pass by and be forced to stop. Then a bomber, dressed like a cop, made sure the shooter couldn't talk. The blast killed people in the crowd. Innocent bystanders. That sounds like terrorists to me.”

  “Could this be a follow up to Geneva?” asked Fritz. “The world knows the president wants to end this stuff.”

  “If he's the target, why is he going ahead with the meetings? He's easier to protect at home. Jane, do you know what he's going to do?” Linda asked.

  “Not yet. He doesn't know. Whoever is doing this hid the pieces very well. But the FBI and Secret Service, and the DC police, will find them.”

  “HE CAN'T BE arrested,” the man said. “The problem can't be solved that way. An accident is the only way.” The call disconnected. He picked up the phone. “Write this down,” he said. “Put this out on Sunday night. 'An unconfirmed but reliable source has revealed a security problem at the White House, leaving the president vulnerable. The source has informed us that Friday's attack has the signs of an inside job.' Got all that. Good.” He hung up, leaned back, and put his feet up.

  WHEN JANE and Fritz were alone, she told him the license plate was phony.

  “That means I'm not a random target, doesn't it?”

  “Probably. Be careful. But don't get paranoid. I told the president what happened. He also thinks it's suspicious.”

  JUST BEFORE FRITZ left for school on Monday morning, Linda told him to look at a news report. A source had reported a monumental failure by the Secret Service and alleged that the attack had been “an inside job.” The newsman said he would be talking to a former FBI investigator after the break.

  “Call me if anything else comes out. See you later. What time are your folks coming in?”

  “The flight arrives in Philadelphia at 4:36 on Wednesday. Your mom said they would also get here Wednesday afternoon. They'll all be at the house at about the same time. UGH.” Fritz kissed her and headed for school. He spotted a Suburban on a side street, but it didn't move. As he turned onto the school's road, another Suburban turned in and followed him. Two cars separated them, so he couldn't see the license plate. Instead of turning into the parking lot, he drove a bit further, slowed down until the car behind was almost on his bumper and turned hard left into the circular drive. After screeching rubber and stopping cars, Fritz glanced at the Suburban. The driver watched him but kept going. Ashley stood at his car in the parking lot, as Fritz climbed out.

  “I saw that. Did you forget where you work?”

  “Did you see the Suburban? He's been following me.”

  “Are you sure? There are…”

  “Ash, that same guy, I saw his face, tried to hit me on Friday. He aimed right at me. He almost took off my door on Thursday, downtown.” The smell of rubber drifted on the northbound breeze.

  “Did you tell anyone?”

  “I told Jane. She's trying to do something. The license plates
are fake.”

  “Why don't you call Jim Shaw? See if he can keep an eye out.”

  “Good idea. I will as soon as we get inside.”

  Fritz took another legal pad out of the packet he had bought and wrote “Black Suburbans” on top. Waiting for Jim to answer, he noted Thursday and Friday's events.

  “Hi, Mr. R. What can I do for you?”

  “Jim, I'm not sure, but it looks like I have a problem.” He gave Jim the details, including the Suburbans going by his house.

  “Mr. R, there are a lot of them around here. If I see the fake plates, I'll keep an eye on the car. I'll ask Steve to look too.”

  “Jim, I think this may tie in to the attack on the president. So be very careful.”

  “I will, Mr. R. You too.”

  ALTHOUGH FRITZ wanted to discuss the map of North America before and after the Seven Years' War with his first class, he was distracted by black Suburbans. He mentioned Spanish expansion into the New World and Russia's expansion as a major power. He told them to read “a wonderful section” in their books about the new Russian Empress, Catherine, illustrating the thread they had talked about all year, the intermarriage of European ruling families to gain power, territory, and influence.

  “We'll be talking about the importance of our war for independence on Europe after Thanksgiving,” he told them.

  His American history classes also began discussing the War of Independence. Fritz enjoyed this time of year because the war overlapped in four classes. His seniors were working on the play and were focused on the 1930s, the Great Depression, the New Deal, and the run-up to World War II.

  Before he went to the cafeteria, he called Jim Shaw again and told him that black Suburbans had been passing the school all morning, and it might be a good place to watch. At lunch, he told Ashley he had spoken to Jim. Ashley's ruts returned.

  “You're really scared, aren't you? Couldn't it be coincidence?”

  “Remember last spring. You said the same thing then.”

  “I'm going to call Jane and tell her to go stay with Linda. If this is real, Jane has a gun.”

  Fritz gasped. “You don't think they would go after her? I can't imagine.”

  “Fritz, if they're after you, they'll try to provoke you. What could be better than threatening Linda to get to you? Jane will know what to do to protect her.”

  “Yeah. Thanks, Ash.” Who are those guys?

  FROM HIS CLASSROOM window, Fritz noticed a police car parked on a side street by the main road. A Suburban drove by again. They're not very subtle. The police car didn't move.

  At the end of sixth period, Ashley stopped in and whispered that Jane had left her office. Three Suburbans were missing from the airport.

  “Three. Missing. How did that happen?”

  “She doesn't know, but there's not a lot of security there. She said she called Washington to tell them. She also called Linda to let her know she's coming.”

  “Thanks, buddy. That'll make me a little less nervous.” He pointed out the window. A black Suburban, with a police car close behind, turned left.

  “DON'T WORRY about the locals. The news story is also working. But tell them to lose the Suburbans. Use Camrys. Use anything.” He listened a moment. “I don't care.” The man stared at a car at the stop light below. “Steal them if you have to,” he yelled. He needed only a little more time for the final pieces to be fully in place.

  Chapter 29

  FRITZ PICKED around the main points of his lesson in his history of work class, focusing on the steam engine. He knew he would call home when class was over. Until then, he studied the traffic. Finally, the ninth graders brought him back. Their enthusiasm for their tournament overflowed and animated their discussion of the Reconstruction Amendments.

  “Mr. R, if slavery is wrong today, it was wrong then. And if Lincoln was really against slavery, why did he wait to free the slaves?”

  “Good question, John. When he was elected, the South feared that he would free the slaves. He did, but not right away. In the beginning, he wanted to avoid the breakup of the country most of all. Lincoln waited until he thought the time was right to make it happen.”

  “So, even for Lincoln, slavery wasn't a moral issue, but a political one. Mr. R, do you think he would have freed the slaves if the South hadn't seceded?”

  “John, class, that is a great question to think about. Lincoln detested slavery. It was a moral issue for him. But that doesn't mean he would have freed them if the South hadn't left, much as he wanted to. And I don't know if we could have avoided the Civil War. Slavery presented a serious problem for the government, but the war had other causes, too. Let me ask you a question. Do politicians have a moral responsibility when they're elected?”

  As a chorus, they said yes.

  “Then, let's talk about two things. First, should the United States send troops to other countries to aid those being killed by governments elected by their people? Second, should the government stop people from owning guns, knowing how many people are killed by them?” Before he gave them a chance to answer, Fritz reminded them that both were moral questions that politicians currently faced. “I don't want your answers now, but I want you to think about how difficult a choice Lincoln confronted. He faced the moral question of ending slavery and the moral tradeoff between keeping the nation together, perhaps with slavery, and going to war. These were decisions that involved not only morality and the relative importance of mutually exclusive goals but issues of what was practicable and achievable. We'll talk about all this tomorrow. See you then.”

  WHEN FRITZ left the room, George and Ashley were chatting in the hall. They stopped talking when they saw him. George swayed, first to one side, then the other, as he watched Fritz approach.

  “Fritz, we have a problem.”

  “What is it, George?” he asked. He was not in the mood for another meaningless rant.

  “I just had a call. He said they were aware that the school housed a secret weapon, that they knew all about it.”

  “Who, George? He? They?”

  “I don't know. He just hung up. Fritz, do you know what's going on?”

  “No, George. I wish I did. And I don't know how they know, whoever they are. But this means the portal's been leaked. I need to talk to the president. You and Lois should come to my house. I'm not sure that any of us is safe. I'll let Linda know you're coming.”

  “MEL, YOUR teacher's on the list. Wednesday.” Click.

  Tom's not here. Mel pondered. Who to trust?

  LINDA SAT, both hands on her stomach, distressed and disbelieving. Jane had her computer on her lap and had sent a message to the president about the Suburbans and George's strange phone call and said she was pretty sure it was all connected to the attempted assassination. They were waiting for a response.

  “The president's online right now. He's seething. Someone has leaked info about the existence of the portal. He's reviewing the list of people who know about the portal. Tom had a handwritten analysis, the president said, of where security breaches might occur. No one's found that yet.

  “Tell him to look on the underside of his desk drawers,” Ashley said. “That's what he did here.”

  “I'm sure they've already looked, Ash,” Fritz said.

  “Then look in the curtain rods. Jane, it can't hurt. Unless they've experienced Tom's way of doing things, they might not recognize what he would do. Look again.”

  “Okay, Ash, I'll suggest it. But I think Fritz must be right.”

  “Jane, you know about your feelings. Well, I have a feeling about this. Don't suggest. Tell him. Or I will.” Jane typed the message and tapped SEND.

  “He says thanks,” Jane said after a minute.

  “What should we do about dinner?” Ashley asked.

  No one had stopped to pick up food. Getting dinner had been a dangerous prospect the previous couple of days, but George volunteered to be the driver. “They won't think about me. Besides, they won't fool around with a Cadillac. I
have a little armor of my own.” He grinned, trying to boost morale, including his own. Lois said she would go with him but suggested that delivery would be safer and not much slower.

  “But not pizza,” she said.

  The food arrived sooner than they'd hoped, and George went to the door to get it. Ashley followed him with credit card and cash tip. Neither noticed the tan Camry, the only car on the street that belonged to none of them or to the delivery woman.

  After dinner, everyone gathered around the TV to see if there had been any news they hadn't already seen. Just before George and Lois left, a breaking news bulletin flashed. “White House denies theft of new secret weapon.” A few minutes later, the network's White House correspondent reported that the White House had just released a statement that said no weapons of any kind, secret or otherwise, had been stolen. She also pointed out the White House had not denied the existence of a new weapon.

  The anchor returned with more details. “An unnamed source revealed this afternoon that a new weapon, known throughout the intelligence community, had been stolen and might have been used in last Friday's attempt on the president's life. We turn now to our intelligence analyst, Frank Dunston. Frank.” They listened to a completely wacky commentary by the security expert, who zeroed in on the failure of the White House to share the weapons information with Congress. “Withholding something so important endangers the nation's security, not only the president's.”

  “Unbelievable,” said Ashley. “That's some expert.”

  “Linda, change the channel. Please. Or turn it off. George and Lois are leaving.” Before the last word left his mouth, his phone vibrated in his pocket. “It's the president.” Everyone sat back down. “Hi, Mr. President. How are you?” Fritz asked.