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

by Michael R. Stern

  Aside from the sting, my tears were gone in seconds. At that moment, I wasn't those things she said, but once again, she proved that moms are pretty smart.

  The next afternoon, Lois McAllister called to tell me she had a contract for a store with plenty of space, and renters who lived above. She'd worked out the numbers, and the rent would pay the mortgage. She wanted to drop off the paperwork. I told her I'd buy it outright, so we could close anytime. I asked her how soon it would be vacant. She asked if she could come right over and we could discuss it then.

  “See you in a few.”

  When the doorbell rang, Mom opened the door. The voice wasn't who I expected. “Hello, Emily. Good to see you again.”

  “Come in, Mr. President. Other than all that gray hair, you look a lot better than the last few times I've seen you.”

  “Feeling that way too. Is Linda home?” I was at the door before he hit the question mark.

  “Hi, Mr. President. Come on in. Hi, Mel. What brings you here?”

  “You still don't believe me? I like it here. That's why I bought that house across town. I'm here with a few of the guys at the airport to start planning the transition. It seems that an ex-president has to worry about his neighbors more than at the White House. I just left them to do their thing. Are you doing okay?”

  “Not yet. But I will be. Lois McAllister is on her way with a contract for my shop.”

  “She's good. She negotiated my place too. She said I got a good deal. How's the bike business coming?”

  “Mom gave me a kick in the butt, so now that I have a place, it should move along pretty quickly.” He reached over and squeezed Mom's hand. The smile came right behind.

  “Want a drink?” Mom asked them.

  Mel refused but he said sure. Two sodas. Mel said she didn't want to be any trouble. He told her to put her training in the trunk. They were with friends.

  When the back door opened, Mel already had her gun out. “Whoa, it's just me,” Jane said. “Hi, Mr. President, Mel. Didn't expect you here. But I'm glad. I spoke to Tom Andrews a few minutes ago. They tracked Koppler to Paris. He's gone again, but he's left a strange story behind. He just left without a trace, literally. The agents followed him to a bistro, where he met with Arthur Salzmann. The waiter said when he brought their food they were gone. They would have been seen leaving, but nobody saw them. After last night, I think Fritz and Ashley are stirring things up in the portal.”

  Emily poured a third glass and brought them to the table. Brushing behind his left ear, the president thanked her while staring into the backyard. “I've asked Tony if someone else could get inside the portal. So many of us have been there, I wonder if any of it rubbed off. He didn't think so.”

  When the doorbell rang again, I questioned who else might show up. Mom answered again, and multiple voices floated to us. Lois came in first but Tony and Nat were right behind, both beaming.

  Nat said, glancing at the full table, “Well, Linda, you saved us a bunch of trips.” She held up a sparkly finger. “Hi, Mr. President.”

  The hubbub of congratulations, hugs and kisses woke TJ. An unexpected crowd again, warm and joyful at the news, bypassed me. I looked over at Jane, watching me. “Life goes on,” she said.

  When Mom carried TJ in, he started to chatter almost as if he had missed having company. Mom put him in the swing so he could see everyone. I hadn't noticed before how quiet he'd become. He wasn't now and had everyone smiling. I wished I shared his joy.

  Mom must have figured that with all the good moods, she had a perfect opportunity because she invited everyone to Christmas brunch. She hadn't said anything to me.

  “I know you probably can't come, but Mr. President, you and your family are welcome too. Eleven sharp.”

  “Thank you, Emily. Let me mention it at home and I'll let you know. It's a little busy around my place. Regardless of what the news is reporting, I am still the president.” Laughter filled the room.

  Chapter 18

  Fritz

  WITH ONLY A couple more weeks to Christmas, and because Kate would be gone in a couple of days, I did what I had avoided for years—I went shopping. Since I'd refused her offer to join her going-away party, buying a small gift impressed at least me as appropriate. I had seen an attractive shop in one of the upscale areas of the District, and headed over before going home. Only after I had parked did I realize I had company. Tim McNamara pulled to the curb and called me over. I didn't know what role he was playing.

  “Get in, Russ. We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “You. Get in.”

  “I'm going shopping. A Christmas present for Cindy. Before they close.”

  “This won't take long. Just a couple trips around the block.” After a frustrated exhale, I slid into the passenger's side and he pulled into traffic.

  “You should go with Kate. The news stories of her arrest had a picture of you. An enterprising young Fibbie has been playing with facial recognition and every photo in the news. Took him a while to get to yours.”

  “So they're after me, and know where to find me? If I go with her, neither of us is safe.”

  “You need to disappear and going with her serves two purposes. First, she really wants you to come. Flynn told me. The second is that we can plant sightings of you elsewhere.”

  “That only delays things. They don't have evidence of anything. The gun is long gone. I left no prints and you guys can set me up with a good lawyer.”

  “After the Inauguration, things will get back to the usual. Besides, she'll make Christmas fun. You'll be gone until late January.”

  “What about the 'Kitchen?' I have regulars.”

  He snickered. “I'll have to do without your waffles, and the extra five pounds. But I'll let Flynn know your concerns.”

  He slid back to the curb, and pulled out a roll of bills. “Flynn said to buy what you need, for both of you. When you're done come up to the bar for dinner. Buy yourself a change of clothes for tonight. You'll want to look nice, but comfortable.”

  “I hadn't planned on going. What's so special?”

  “You ask too many questions. You'll see. Flynn said to be there by six-thirty.”

  He barely waited for me to get out. I had to jump out of the way when the door closed. I pulled the wad of cash out and thumbed through the bills. I didn't count it, but the denominations weren't small. I stashed the roll in my pocket, checking to see if anyone saw. The next car that passed had a face watching. I nodded at Flynn as the car drove past.

  I found a bench and sat. Were they watching me, or watching out for me? I didn't have a passport or any idea how to pack for an Irish Christmas. Strange as it might seem, before the semi-kidnapping, I had been heading to an Irish boutique. I had planned to copy Ashley—a nice scarf. But now that I had marching orders, I figured I'd ask what would be appropriate for the trip if I changed my mind. I'd think about going later. First, the things on my list.

  The store had a simple name—Irish Lovelies. When I walked in, the door tripped “When Irish Eyes Are Smiling” in bells. At the counter, a “lovely” young woman, with dark hair and deep blue eyes glanced at me, stood up and smiled. “May I help you, sir?”

  “I'm looking for a gift, or gifts. And do you know anything about the climate in Ireland this time of year?”

  “I think I can help you on both counts, but I'm afraid we'll have to hurry a bit. I'm closing early today.”

  “This your place?” She flashed the proud smile of successful ownership, not a lot different than if I'd asked, “Is this your child?”

  “Are you looking for something in particular?”

  “Just some nice things. I have a friend who's going to Ireland for Christmas. She's particular, and I'm clueless.”

  “Then let's look around.”

  As we stepped into the merchandise, I asked, “What's your name?” She told me she was Mary Connolly, and that almost everything in the shop was Irish-made. Twice a year, she visited on b
uying trips. As we walked from rack to rack, and shelf to shelf, she handed me sweaters, scarves, shirts and jackets. I'd grown up near New York City, and my mother had taught me about clothing and quality. Although most of the garment industry had long ago fled the City, quality retail shops lined the streets. The feel of the linens and wools begged me to touch each piece to my cheek.

  “Do you have a size in mind?”

  After so many years of spending nothing, my stomach tightened at the prices. I looked at her. “Pardon my staring. Comparing.”

  “I understand.” Then she slowly turned around, modeling herself. “Does this help?”

  “She's about your height.” She kicked off her heels. “Now she's a little taller than you. And a bit older.”

  “I'm afraid that's not going to help.” She placed her hands under her breasts. “Bigger or smaller?”

  I'd worked with Cindy for a year and really hadn't paid much attention until she changed into Kate, with jeans and that tight tee. “Smaller, I think.”

  She lowered her hands to a narrow waist, and raised a questioning brow. Kate was slim but I had no way to know. “Probably a little bigger, but I'm guessing just because she's older. But not much.” She nodded and put her hands on her butt. “I don't know. She's on her feet all day, she can get away with jeans that are form fitting. Mostly, she wears loose and comfortable, stuff that's probably easy to wash. She owns a restaurant.”

  “I have a sense of what will work perfectly.” She took me to a rack of plain white blouses, pushed a couple aside, and held out the softest, smoothest piece of linen I had ever touched.

  “I'll take it. It's lovely.” I smiled at her. “Can I return it if it's the wrong size?”

  “As long as it's still in good shape. This is hand-sewn, so it's one of a kind, not a mass production number. Now how about a sweater? More for lounging than fighting the outside.” She walked me to the rear and handed me a red cardigan, with a cable-knit kind of design. The buttons looked like snowflakes.

  “I'll take it. I like that. It's a little different.”

  “Would you like anything else? I have some lounging pajamas that are perfect for those cold and damp nights.”

  “Sure, let's look.” The door music jingled. She looked at her watch, and then the door.

  “I'll be right with you,” she called, and told me to look through the ones she pointed at. “I'll be right back.” I watched her walk away, still barefoot and I looked out at her new customer. Kevin, one of Kate's bodyguards, held up his wrist, and wiggled his watch back and forth as she approached him. They were everywhere I went. I didn't like it. I grabbed a set of green lounging pajamas and walked toward them. Kevin stopped talking when he saw me.

  “Hello, Kevin. Are you following me, too?”

  “No, Russ. Flynn's waiting for Mary. We have some other stops to make.”

  “You obviously know each other,” she said, taking my selections. Then, one eyebrow raised as the other lowered. “Wait. Russ? These are for Kate?”

  “Yup, and Connolly, so your related to Flynn?”

  “Yup,” she mimicked. “Baby sister. And you have a discerning eye, Russ. Exact sizes for her. Kevin, tell Flynn to come back for me. I'm not finished yet. These things need to be giftwrapped. I'll be another fifteen minutes.”

  “He's not gonna be happy.”

  Grinning at me, she said, “Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn.” I understood the connection, and her subtle humor. I grinned back. Kevin shook his head and hurried out.

  “Kate's going to love these, Russ. Really. But I do need to hurry. Flynn doesn't have much of a sense of humor. Do you want anything for yourself? I have some lovely sweaters to brave the winds off the ocean.”

  I said no thanks, with a twinge of guilt paying Flynn's sister with his money. I didn't want the kind of debt that Flynn could hold over me, so I'd skip shopping for myself, stop home, and get my own money. I'd be a little short until payday but I still had a few presentable pants and shirts.

  Mary returned with three colorful packages, wrapped perfectly. She rang up the bill and as I pulled out the cash, Flynn walked in.

  “Don't bother, Russ. She's just gonna give it to me anyway.”

  “That's between you two. I pay my bills. You should know that, Flynn. And I'll have yours later. These are from me. If you want to buy Kate something, here's a lovely scarf.” As his face darkened, I thought of George McAllister, again. Flynn's wild red hair crackled with electricity. I handed Mary five one hundred dollar bills, picked up my packages, and thanked her. As defiantly as I could, I grinned at Flynn as I walked by.

  I drove home, showered and changed, still with time to spare. A quick stop at the ATM, and I was on my way, in time to beat traffic. When I arrived at McNamara's, cars were double and triple-parked. As I pulled closer, a man I'd never seen waved me forward. I rolled down the window, as he lowered his face. “Valet parking tonight, Russ.” I asked him his name. “Mary's cousin, and Flynn's, a'course. Tommy Connolly.” I reached out and shook his hand. “Out now, and don't forget your packages.”

  The music blared through opening and closing doors, and through the window, I could see a crowd on its feet clapping a beat to someone I couldn't see. I checked my watch to be sure. Only a quarter past, I'd managed to arrive on time, early even. Whatever the reason, this party started early and showed no sign of ending any time soon. As I opened the door, air conditioning at full blast balanced the oncoming and unseasonably warm night outside. In full skirts, frilly white blouses, and pointy shoes, Mary Connolly and the sisters Sullivan, attached to three enormous smiles, ushered me in. In a far corner, a Christmas tree, with more decorations than I'd ever seen, blinked green. I noticed the absence of a topper.

  My seasonally-wrapped gifts matched the merriment, as Mary made a path to Flynn's table. She offered to take the boxes, but I said I would keep them with me. I wanted to give them to her myself. With the table unoccupied, I put the gifts on a chair, watched and waited. Jane pushed her way to me, with a mug of porter and a shot of an amber liquid. I sniffed the whiskey. Kate's own special. Jane clicked as she walked.

  “Don't drink the whiskey. But the porter's on the house. Actually, Russ, everything is tonight.”

  “What's this all about?”

  “It's a special night, and a Christmas party, bon voyage and all that. You'll see.” She clicked back toward the door.

  Standing under an overhead light made me self-conscious and aware that people all around were glancing back at me. I sipped the porter and moved away from the still-empty table. I couldn't see through the packed room, but from the rear entrance to Kate's apartment, two men entered in costumes of green jackets and white shirts, carrying violins, each tucked into their left shoulders, and bows over their right, almost marching, as the cheering crowd cleared a lane. Out the window, a gathering throng pushed to get close enough to see in.

  Somewhere in a corner, a drum beat began a slow, tenor tap, tap, tap and sped up as the noise inside built. I imagined a balloon filling with sound, loud enough to blow out the walls. Again, George came to mind, his hands over his ears in the Riverboro High auditorium. A spotlight lasered in on the rear door and the drum beats rolled and roared, introducing an upbeat melody from the fiddlers. When the door opened, a leg stretched into the room, a long loose skirt sliding up, as the hoots and hollers reached a crescendo. With a hop and a tap, Kate stepped in. Long flowing red hair swung below her shoulders as she tapped her way to what had morphed into center stage.

  I hadn't seen them until now, but Jane, Kathy and Mary followed behind, stopping in front of the bar simultaneously. In a second, each was joined by two large men, one on each side, and in an eye blink, they were lifted to the bar. The music began slowly, and the tapping of the step dancing picked up speed with each drum tap. With Kate on the floor in front, all of them put on a show the likes of which I had never seen. I couldn't see more than brief glimpses of Kate until the pack separated in front of me, leaving an aisl
e between us. She pointed at me, wiggled her fingers in a 'come hither' command, and the crowd tugged me toward the front.

  “I can't do this,” I yelled over the cheers. She just smiled, and as the music continued, she danced around me, twisting, turning, taking my hand, our eyes locked. Then she stood next to me, urging me to follow her steps. Awkward, and in shoes unfit for the task, I tried to mimic her basic steps, not well, but, I'd said many times, 'fake it 'til you make it.' She was magnetic. With a massive audience clapping and shouting, the tapping on the bar and music no one could ignore, I joined in.

  In a moment, I'd run out of steam. The women continued for what must have been twenty minutes non-stop. I stood sweating, doing almost nothing. Kate had hardly begun to glisten. When the fiddlers stopped, she reached around my neck, pulled hard and kissed me. And I kissed her back, to the roars of the people around us. She took my hand and led me back to the table, now fully occupied, except for two seats side by side.

  “Thanks for being a good sport, Russ,” she said.

  “I feel a little foolish. With two left feet. You're quite a surprise.” She leaned over, kissed my dripping cheek, and said she had surprises to come. “I have a couple for you, too.” I scanned the nearby floor. Flynn had been eyeing me all along. He said the boxes were upstairs. I nodded my thanks.

  Fresh glasses of porter were passed around the table, and Flynn stood up. The raucous noise instantly drifted down to approaching a whisper as fast as you can draw a breath.

  “Welcome all,” he began. “We're here tonight to celebrate, and to remember. Katie's takin' our love and best wishes home with her for our friends and loved ones, along with some more substantial offerings.” Cheers rose, and ended as soon as Flynn raised his hand. “We have news. It seems that Her Majesty the Queen…” Boos filled the room. With a smirk, he said, “Don't boo, vote.” The laughter even caught me. I noticed their new president used that phrase often. I missed him too. Flynn said, “She's agreed to a cease-fire and withdrawal of all troops by the middle of next year.” Someone in the crowd yelled, “We'll withdraw 'em sooner 'n that.” Again the room filled with boisterous laughter. He held his glass up, again quieting the crowd. “So, to Katie, bon voyage, travel safe, and happy hunting. To us all, Happy Christmas, and most important,” he hesitated to be sure he had their attention, “to freedom.” The deafening roar even rattled the windows enough for the crowd outside to step back. “Slainte.”