“So, you ready to lose?” the president asked, and jabbed my chest.
“Trash talk. Already? Not ready. I've been working out.”
“Me, too. On my bike. Let's warm up. How about a quick game to five?”
“You're on.”
Spectators continued to arrive as the warm-up began. I watched each move he made. A left-handed shooter, quick moves to his left, a little slower to the right. My leg had healed, and all the riding gave me the confidence as well as stamina. We tied at four, and he said, “Win by two.” I agreed. Elbows, hips, pushing and shoving, regular fouls. I wasn't losing this one. I stole the ball and shot a perfect jumper to take the lead. The president dribbled twice and I stuffed the jump shot, retrieved the ball and drove to the basket. I faked a lay-up, and smiled at the president flying by me. A little bank shot, and I'd won the warm-up.
Fritz announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, that concludes our first act. The real game will begin in a moment.”
“First to ten, right?” I asked.
The president said, “Works for me.”
I expected the game to be quick and that I would be an easy winner. I'd already worn him down and I had a fifteen year advantage in age. Our onlookers now surrounded the court, as many as five deep in places, cell phones extended to catch the action. They laughed and cheered at our non-stop trash chatter.
The end was memorable. And no doubt would become legendary. The last point, with a 9-8 lead, came when the president dunked over my straining, outstretched arm.
I said, “I can't believe you can still dunk.”
“Neither can I. I may never do it again. I'll feel that tomorrow.”
The long-awaited historical game ended with the crowd crushing in on us, with pens and pads being thrust in our direction while Jon Charles and Mel Zack moved everyone back. Coinciding with the end of the game, a clap of thunder raced above our heads.
I'd forgotten the forecast, but Fritz dangled the keys, and the crowd exited to avoid the lightning. I suggested we get inside to cool off. We walked through the emptying parking lot to our usual entrance, as the rain began to fall.
I told the president that he could shower or just wash off in the boy's room, but Fritz had something else in mind.
“Boy's room is fine,” said the president. We both cooled down with cold water. When we returned, Fritz had wedged his classroom door open. When we entered, he said that George replaced his desk with a used one from another room. He removed a book from his shelf, laid it on his desk, and put his key in the lock. “Mr. President, do you want to meet Albert Einstein?”
“Will it work,” I asked. “I don't have my desk key.”
Fritz shrugged. He said he didn't know, but we had the opportunity and would again, but he wanted to know if his time-travel days were in my hands.
“Let's do it, then,” I said.
The first try was a nothing. Then a flash and a crash, and his hand twisted the doorknob.
“It seems we have company, Dr. Franklin,” said the famous Austrian physicist, whose accented voice twinkled, as did his eyes.
“We don't mean to intrude, Dr. Einstein,” Fritz said. Three men sat at the table.
“But of course you do, Mr. Russell,” said Franklin. “That's what makes time travel fun. Ah, Mr. President, so good to see you again. I can tell you have questions. To explain, Dr. Einstein replicated your conditions, and here I am.”
The third man stood, a wide grin on his face. All of us had met him. While all the other introductions were made, we couldn't keep our eyes off Eric Silver.
Epilogue
Fritz
Our story has ended. Richter, Richemartel and Koppler would never again shadow our lives. Linda and I have spent hours talking about what happened in the time I was gone. I haven't shown her my memoir yet, but I have told her most. Oral history.
The bike shop is booming, so Linda and I share the hours and I help her plan the September race. The president has referred business on a regular basis. He said he refused to allow his guests to sit idly and took them for short rides to have serious discussions in private.
Linda and I share TJ as well, and he's had a chance to know his dad.
The weekend before Labor Day, just as they had planned, Ashley and Jane were married, and left for Paris for their honeymoon. But Ashley said that when they returned, he still intended to take his bride to meet Ernest Hemingway. The wedding guests included the president and First Lady, General Beech and his wife, Colonel Mitchell, Eric Silver and Lenore, and in his last official appearance, George McAllister gave a toast. Rachel and Nicole entertained the guests as part of Jane's bridal party, and collected over $1000 for their current charity.
Linda acted as Jane's matron-of- honor. And as we'd always planned, I stood as best man at the side of my best friend.
When the ceremony ended, we co-conspirators joined together and vowed that if the world needed us again…
If you have reached this point, you have finished Quantum Touch, and I thank you. I hope that you have enjoyed reading the story, as much as I have enjoyed writing it. May I ask a favor? Strangely, reviews matter whether good or not so good. Your comments are important to me, but are important to those who have yet to read the series. So, if you would leave a review on Amazon, Goodreads or elsewhere, I would be grateful.
If you wish to contact me, I welcome conversation with readers, some of whom have become friends over the past years.
[email protected] is my email address. Really, it is.
As I wrote the stories, I relied on other authors for information and inspiration. Please continue to the next page, where I have listed some of the books that helped me take you to historical places.
Again, many thanks.
Michael R. Stern
Selected Bibliography for Quantum Touch
The Wright Brothers, David McCullough
Gettysburg: The Last Invasion, Allen C. Guelzo
Benjamin Franklin: An American Life, Walter Isaacson
From Manassas to Appomattox: Memoirs of the Civil War in America, James Longstreet
How to Teach Relativity to Your Dog, Chad Orzel
No Ordinary Time: Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt: The Home Front in World War II, Doris Kearns Goodwin.
The Memoirs of Robert E. Lee, A. L. Long
Sylvia Beach and the Lost Generation: A History of Literary Paris in the Twenties and Thirties, Noel Riley Fitch.
Franklin and Winston: An Intimate Portrait of an Epic Friendship, Jon Meacham.
The Old Man and the Sea, Ernest Hemingway.
Revolutionary Summer, by Joseph J. Ellis.
Books by the Author
Storm Portal (Quantum Touch Book 1)
Sand Storm (Quantum Touch Book 2)
Shadow Storm (Quantum Touch Book 3)
Storm Unleashed (Quantum Touch Book 4)
Storm Surge (Quantum Touch Book 5)
The Portal At The End Of The Storm (Quantum Touch Book 6)
The Portal At The End Of The Storm (Quantum Touch Book 6) Page 38