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

by Michael R. Stern

  “Then, these are your spring training. The regular season opens in just a few minutes.”

  She was right. Flynn and Cindy walked in to opening day ovations without the need of a public address announcer. She waved and sat down next to me while Flynn worked the room. The handshakes and hugs reminded me of a reunion of long-separated friends. I asked Cindy. She said Flynn had a ritual. They all loved him and most had been pulled out of harm's way when Flynn had come to their rescue.

  “You know all these guys, too?”

  “Every one. Some for most of my life. What are you eating?”

  “I didn't look.” She pushed a menu in front of me.

  “Look. Kelly's one of the best chefs around. She could have her own TV show and make some of them look like fast food drive-in cooks. Do you like corned beef and cabbage? Drink up. It's on the house.” For a woman who'd spent a couple of days in jail, she exhibited more animation than I'd ever seen from her. And no tips were involved. For the first time in years, I had a warm, belonging feeling, like I'd come home.

  While Flynn continued to make the rounds, the crowd came to say hello, one at a time, with a handshake for me and a kiss for her. I asked her what she'd asked me earlier, and she told me her story.

  She'd been shipped to America for the first time at eight years old when the Troubles were at a crisis point. The Connollys were related on her mother's side and had raised her like a daughter. She'd gone to school and returned home for a few weeks each year. She said she had been back and forth for the past thirty years. In that time, cooking for crowds and cleaning guns at safe houses rounded her education. She had opened Cindy's Cozy Corner sixteen years before.

  “And running guns since then?”

  “All we can get, every few weeks.”

  “When did the cops find you?”

  “A long time ago. And a lot of them are sympathetic. I go through this a couple of days every few months.”

  “I never noticed.”

  “I didn't tell you. Just a couple days off, I said. So you were a history teacher?”

  “Hold on. You already know my story. So you came here at age eight and you've been doing this for thirty. How old are you?” She laughed and chided me for my impolite question. “I'm a teacher. The history doesn't fit with the math. So?”

  “I'm thirty-nine, and I'll never have another birthday.”

  “We're all having corned beef,” said Flynn. I looked at the empty chair. “He'll be here. Have another porter, Russ.”

  “Still working on this one. So Cindy, what's your real name?” I asked.

  Flynn chuckled. “You think your story's strange.”

  She said, “Kathleen Scarlet O'Hara. My father loved 'Gone with the Wind,' although he rooted for the rebels.”

  “What did you do before you became an international criminal?” Flynn turned a hard glare on me.

  “He's joking, Flynn,” she said. “I did like most American girls. I went to college. My bachelor's is in political science, with minors in history and music. Georgetown. I'm a well-educated terrorist.”

  “That's not a joking matter, Kate. You've done the family proud. And she's learned a useful thing or two, like picking pockets, taking out bullets, and she can make a disguise for anyone. That's been real useful. Oh, here he is, finally.”

  The last person I expected sat down. Flynn waved to Jane, as I gaped at the staring cop. “Russell Furst, meet Tim McNamara. We named the place for him.” A stronger handshake than I expected squeezed my hand.

  “So where's my dinner?” he asked.

  While I ate, I listened to the chit-chat, and a report of all the police activities surrounding my new friends. Friends—that was a word that had vacated my vocabulary for quite some time. The corned beef melted in my mouth and I'd never had cabbage and boiled potatoes that tasted so good. My fourth pint of dark beer guaranteed a swimming head and a hangover in the morning.

  “And what do they have on our friend here?”

  They had my attention in spite of the porter. “Nothing yet. But the secret service has been told that with a black president, they needed to tie off loose ends. You're one of those, Mr. Furst. I have a friend who's pretty high up at the Bureau, and she said they were opening any and all cold cases that might pose a danger. That includes shooting campaign donors.”

  My companions laughed while I gagged on my last bite. When I could finally swallow, I asked how long they'd known. Flynn said they did a better job vetting employees than the voters ever did. McNamara said he'd checked me out my first week at the job. Facial recognition turned a match at about sixty percent, so he dug further. The picture from the Koppler security system wasn't good enough, but nothing else fit. “We kept a close eye on you, and you made the rest easy. Regular routine, you showed up for work, never a problem. Never went anywhere. So we left you alone. When you told me this afternoon that you didn't know anything, we knew we'd made a good choice. You're a pretty good liar. My partner didn't suspect a thing.”

  “So, what do I do now. If you've figured it out, then someone else is bound to, eventually.” Kate excused herself, stepping out of sight in the back. “I don't need any trouble, and neither do you.” My head cleared fast. “I think it's time for me to move on.”

  “I told you before, we can protect you better than anyone. Kate needs someone we trust to keep the shop running while she's gone. If you go, you'd have to start over with no background to verify anything.”

  “You could vouch for me.”

  Flynn said, “And why would I do that? I want you here. I'll not make it easy for you. So, make it easy on yourself.”

  “So I'm a prisoner?”

  “Don't be stupid, man.” Flynn's hands resting on the table clenched, his knuckles turning white. “This is hardly jail. Out there, no one is gonna watch your back. We will.”

  “He's right, Mr. Furst. And I'll know before almost anyone if the Feds are coming.”

  Flynn leaned forward, inching toward me. For a second, I thought he would climb over the table. “Now, what's your real name?”

  “Fritz Russell.”

  At that moment, the front door opened and a nun walked into the bar to another round of cheering and clapping. Obviously well-known, she began collecting money for some charity. I noticed no jingle of coins, but wads of cash, and not one-dollar bills. Flynn pulled cash from his pocket, as did Seamus and the cop. The nun didn't miss a patron, and as she headed toward us, I could see bills popping above the rim. A large movie popcorn tub doubled as her collection plate. I reached into my empty pocket, and remembered that I had given Kate all the money, even mine. When she reached our table and the others dropped the money in, she stuck the tub in my face. I looked up at her, and said I wasn't carrying any cash. The firm jaw jutted and the smile faded.

  “And how were you going to pay for your food and drink. You don't look a pauper. Mr. Connolly, what sort of friend have you made?” Her brogue was as thick as his, and her face as serious.

  “Sit down, sister. Join us for a pint.” He signaled to Jane and circled his index finger for a round. “Sister Katherine, I want you to say hello, nicely now, to Mr. Fritz Russell. He's new to our family.”

  I glanced at him, thinking he'd lost his mind. He winked and turned to the nun.

  “I guess you don't recognize me,” she said to me, holding out her hand.

  I looked at her face and shook my head. “Sorry, no. Should I?”

  Jane plunked down the glasses around the table, laughing at me. Each of my companions wore grins that reminded me of Ashley.

  “What?”

  Flynn asked, “Sister, do you know where Kate's gone off to?”

  “She'll be only a moment. Jane dear, would you lend a hand?” With her back to me, and Jane blocking the view, she removed the habit, and when she took her seat, a version of Cindy I hadn't seen before smiled at me. My stunned look set the place in uproarious laughter.

  Flynn said over the noise, “Kate O'Hara, meet Fritz Russ
ell.” He then stood, and the room settled to a low din. He lifted his glass and said, “My friends. I'm asking you to bid welcome to Fritz Russell.” The glasses rose as one, and “Slainte” filled the room.

  “Drink up, boyo. They're feisty about their welcomes.”

  I lifted my pint and sipped. “I have to be at work, and sober, in a few hours.”

  Kate tapped my arm. “Enjoy it, Russ. Seamus will open and get things started.” Seamus nodded when I turned to him. Then she took my hand and told me to come with her. “I want to talk to you. Alone.”

  Through the cheering and wolf-whistling, we exited by a back door to a small foyer with a locked, steel-reinforced door, and up a flight of stairs to a second door. The clang of heavy metal climbed the stairs behind us. When the door opened, two men jumped up, like they had been called to attention. “Kevin, Joe, meet Fritz Russell.” I shook their hands, hard and rough, and saw the shoulder holsters beneath their coats. “Fritz will be here a while. Pass the word when you leave.”

  “We will, Kate,” said the man named Kevin. “Your door is open.”

  “Thanks, boys,” she said, and took my hand. The only other door led into an apartment that could have been a penthouse in upscale New York City, without the view. Hardwood floors, tasteful and coordinated wallcoverings and expensive furniture filled a large living room. Lace curtains were bordered by heavy floral draperies. On the right, a full kitchen, with a table seating eight and a granite-topped island with stools for six more left plenty of room for a cadre of cooks. On the front left, another door led to a bedroom, where she headed. “Make yourself comfortable while I get changed.”

  I walked to the window. Below me, a line of double-parked cars, two groups of three men talking and smoking, and the green sign reflecting off the cars and neighboring windows disguised a careful plan of defense. The slight blur of the light made me tap a thicker than standard plate glass.

  “They're bullet-proof,” Kate said, walking to a small bar. She poured us each a drink from the crystal decanters. “Sit down over here.”

  I took the proffered glass, and joined her on a couch, maybe the most comfortable seat I'd ever sat in. “This is your place?” She nodded. “It's like a fortress. Why?”

  “That's a long story, Russ. And it goes back a long time.”

  I looked at my watch. “Then give me the CliffsNotes version.”

  “Not tonight. Tonight I want to know about you. You're a strange man, living like you do. I've watched you for a year and waited until you trusted me enough to talk. The cat's out now, so tell me.”

  “I'll make you a deal, 'cause I have a question or two myself. I'll answer one for one. How's that?”

  “I may have some short questions in multiple parts. I'll start. Fritz Russell, that's your real name?” I nodded. “And where are you from, Fritz Russell?” I told her I was a Jersey boy originally and that before the portal, I taught history in Riverboro. “And you know the president, this fellow we just elected?”

  “In my world, he's just about to leave office after two terms. He beat McCain back in '08. I met him the day I discovered the portal.”

  “And the president and the portal almost got you killed. And it's left you here for eight years. Doesn't sound to me like you got the best of the deal.”

  Before answering, I looked at her, legs tucked under, tight jeans and a form-fitting tee shirt. For a year I'd worked with her, with nary a clue that she lived a disguise. I examined her face. The lines and creases had all but vanished. Her daily routine of pulled-into-a-bun brown hair, now floated in a shoulder-length red. I shook my head.

  “You're amazing. How long does it take to get ready every day?”

  “Not long. A mask and a wig, and a little make-up. No one really notices. I'm a waitress. And until you came, we had no real regulars. In the past few months, I've had to pay attention. It takes a little longer. Flynn's happy because the place is making money, finally.”

  “Why not just be yourself?”

  “For the same reason that you don't. Random cameras, coincidental meetings. Too many people depend on me, too many lives would be in jeopardy. Tell me about your wife.”

  She changed course so fast, I thought of Jane, who always stayed three moves ahead. I guess I grinned so she asked again.

  “When I came into this dimension, Linda and I would have been barely married. Most of the things that have happened only started a year or so ago.”

  “Your time or ours?”

  “My time. This is hard to explain. In my time, Linda and I have been married just over eight years. So in this time, we were just getting used to being married in the year I showed up here. Before I got here, before I came through, we had a fight about the portal, or her father, or something. I never could understand it. But whatever, she left and I only saw her once in six months. She told me she didn't love me anymore. But I didn't, I don't, accept that. The portal changed our lives, the way we thought, what we did. I came here to end the people who had made life so awful. I accepted that I'd probably change things, but I had no idea how much.”

  “You've changed life here, for me. Do you have a picture?” I pulled out a thin and battered wallet. Not much inside. No money or credit cards. My driver's license for here, my library card and a small now-wrinkled photo of Linda, TJ and I.

  While she looked at it, I said, “That's all I have left of them.”

  She handed back the wallet. “If you could find a way back, would you go?” Her dark eyes bored into me as I considered the query.

  “Once upon a time I would have said yes right away. I made a mistake thinking that I was the only one who could handle Koppler. He had escaped again before I left. Now, I have no idea how long I've been gone. Inside the portal, time shifts. We had already learned that. But not how much. Like I said, I had no idea that I would cause time to blow itself up. So, I don't know what I'd go back to. Maybe.”

  “You didn't blow time up. I've been on this path my entire adult life.”

  “How old are you really? You lost twenty years from the time we left the shop.”

  “I'm thirty-seven, been married, he's gone. He didn't stay long enough for kids. So you and I could have met at Celibates Anonymous.” She laughed. Despite the sense of humor, I sensed an underlying sadness.

  “Why'd he leave?”

  “Same reason I live here. The Feds and Interpol got very close. He didn't believe me when I told him about my involvement, and he tried to make me stop. Flynn had a long talk with him. I never found out what Flynn said, and he won't say, but two days later, Peter vanished. I've haven't seen him since. And how old are you?”

  “I don't know. I was thirty-six when I left. It's the same year here. But I don't know if I lost years or if it's been added on. I could be eight years older. So maybe forty-four.”

  “You don't look it. In fact, you don't look any different than you did when I first saw you. Maybe you won't age here. That would be interesting.”

  As we talked, Kate sipped and I finally tasted some of the best whiskey I had ever drunk. “What is this?”

  “Irish. Private label I bring back each time I go. Just for me.”

  I had lived apart, not just alone, and sitting here with Kate, began to relax and feel I'd returned from a long trip. “What were you collecting money for?”

  “The Church of Saints Smith and Wesson.” Her quick wit, engaging smile and off-center sense of humor explained why men so carefully protected her, men who couldn't miss her charm. I might be one. She reminded me of Ashley, which for me added both a joy and twinge of loneliness. “The boys were out collecting this week, and that's where those fat wads came from. We buy guns and food to ship back. We'll be sailing in a couple of weeks.”

  “We?”

  “Aye. I'll be gone for a couple of weeks. I want to see my mother. And some others. If you'd like to join me, you'd be welcome.”

  “What about…”

  “Seamus will run the place. Flynn and the girls will ma
ke sure all's well.”

  I straightened up as she leaned toward me. “Kate, I haven't…”

  “Been on a vacation? Been out of the country? Been with a woman?” She kissed my cheek. As she leaned in, I wanted to grab her and hold her, and kiss her like tomorrow didn't matter.

  “I was going to say, I don't have a passport.”

  When she laughed, her warm breath grazed my cheek. “Sure you do. Anytime you want one. In any name.” She took my hand, and stood, beckoning me to follow.

  “I don't think I should.”

  “Let me see if I can change your mind.”

  Chapter 13

  Fritz

  I CHECKED my watch. Nine o'clock. Sunlight streamed through cracks in the drapes, illuminating what had to be a formal country garden design. Alone, my little headache reminded me what I'd drunk. I readied myself for what lay ahead, not sure what that would be. Sleep had come fast and had stayed, longer and deeper than any I could recall. Kate had left a bottle of aspirin by the bathroom sink, whether for her or me, I didn't know.

  “Probably both,” I said aloud.

  I took a quick shower, dressed, heading for home and then work. Two men stood up when I entered the hall. “Morning,” I said.

  “And to you, Mr. Russell. We have a message. Don't go home. Have breakfast downstairs. Flynn's waiting for you.”

  “Did something happen?”

  “Flynn's waiting. I'll let him know you're on the way.”

  A half dozen heads turned when I walked in. Flynn waved me over, a cup of coffee already waiting for me. I hadn't noticed the shamrock-covered table cloth last night, the only one in the place.

  “Late sleeper, are ya?”

  “Not usually. What's up?”

  “Tim called. The cops are sitting outside your house.”

  “Why? Are they going to arrest me?”

  “No. Someone called in, probably a neighbor. You've had a break-in. Someone watching you saw that you didn't come home. That's my guess. Who might that be?”

  “No idea. I don't have anything worth taking. Unless a librarian wanted books back.”