I didn't answer. I had other things to worry about.
A couple of hours and a couple of pitchers later, we left as the 'entertainment' was setting up.
“Won't you tell me where we're going?” Sandy tried for a last time. I looked at Linda, who nodded. “The White House.”
Surprised, Ash said, “But we can't discuss it here. I'll tell you on the way home.”
“Are we, I mean, you in trouble?” asked Sandy. “Why didn't you tell me before?”
“Too many ears at school,” said Fritz.
It'll be nice, Sandy,” Linda said. “I think we'll enjoy it. Besides, Lois McAllister will keep you occupied. She will want to make sure you get all the dirt on Ashley. See you tomorrow.”
James Williams was parked in the rear of the parking lot when we left.
I took advantage of a couple of extra hours in bed. Linda had been up and about since seven. I got up and walked down to the kitchen where she was sitting at the table with her laptop, typing. I poured a cup of coffee, kissed her, and asked what she was doing.
“Typing out the lasagna recipe for James. I didn't get it for him when they were here. I figured I'd be more formal and bring the First Lady one that was printed, instead of the handwritten one I gave her. Someday she might want to play with it.”
“Did you check the news, by any chance?” I asked, taking a sip. The coffee was hot. It hit me that one benefit of weekends was sitting and sipping.
“No. I've been wrapping up the lasagna and working on a project for work.
“A book?”
“Uh huh,” she answered.
“Anything interesting?” This time I blew on the cup before I sipped again.
“A sci-fi story about alternate universes. I'm not far into it yet, but it has potential, I think.”
Before I had a second cup, I got my laptop and returned to the kitchen. I asked Linda if she was excited. “Not really. Met one president, you've met them all. But I can't help wondering why we were invited, Fritz. What do they really want?”
“They want to test me to see if I have some weird thing that makes me able to open the portal. The rest is cover. They still think I can screw up history. Or endanger the country. And they could be right.”
“Not if you don't go through,” she responded, still looking at her laptop.
“Subtle,” I said. I opened a screen for the news. “Nothing's been attacked or exploded yet today. There's a story about the president's meeting in Brussels.” I looked up at her. “He's got to be tired. He'll be back when we get there.”
A knock on the door announced Ashley and Sandy, both in jeans. As they walked in, Ashley said, “The usual suspects, complete with fresh bagels and whipped cream cheese.”
Linda, a bit annoyed at not being prepared for guests (Sandy was still a guest) said, “Coffee's hot. Get your own. Morning, Sandy.”
Sandy said, “I tried to talk him out of coming, that it was too early and we have a long day ahead.”
“Sit,” I said. “We're used to his strange, yet predictable habits.”
“I'll get my coffee first. He doesn't know how I take it.”
As the refrigerator closed, Ashley emerged with milk. He asked, “Anyone want a bagel?” We all said yes. “Toast mine, will you Ash?” said Linda. “Mine, too,” said Sandy. Ash got to work; he knows his way around our kitchen better than his own, I think.
Conversation about the trip to the White House began with Sandy asking why Ash hadn't told her before.
“Sandy, I told him to wait. An overheard comment could become another story. You know how fast rumors fly at school.” I leaned forward and met her look. I told her they wanted to do some tests to see if I had some physical reason that allowed me to open the portal.
Our trip wasn't all that was bothering me. I had taken the UAW book home to show Linda the copyright page. It had been published in 1994. “Look at this.” I swiveled the book. “Twenty-one years ago. Now look at the picture again. I'm sure those are my shoes, that it's me. But how could a picture from 1937 be in a book published fifty-seven years later when I was only there two weeks ago?”
“Fritz, I don't like where you're going with this,” Linda said. “You were there then and back almost immediately. Accept that it happened and find a way to end it.”
She was between tears and blowing her top, and she was probably right. But I had crossed time and space and left an imprint. I might have changed what happened on the overpass. “Lin, maybe it was me that made their confrontation so brutal. Maybe they were only going to threaten, but when I was hit, they just kept going. First blood.”
“Or maybe you saved them from something worse,” said Ashley. “Maybe your being there and disappearing took some of the steam out. You'll never know.”
“It doesn't matter,” she said. “What does is that you know you can be hurt. You could have been killed. Didn't they break one man's back? That could have been you.”
Exhaling, I touched my face. “I was lucky. I had an escape route. I'm glad one of them didn't follow me. Sorry, Lin. I was just thinking out loud.”
With the conversation in a downward spiral, Sandy asked, “What should I wear?”
Linda said, “Sandy, it's like we were going to the Old Lion. Except we have to go farther. Wear what you were going to.” Then she warned, “Ashley, wear a tie.”
We ate and had more coffee refills. We talked about what living in the White House must be like. Never having a truly private moment. Always having secret service agents around. The morning sprinted away. As they were leaving, Sandy said, “I thought your projection story was pretty good, Fritz. There's so much we could do with it as teachers. This, on the other hand, is petrifying.”
I agreed. “See you later.”
At 2:30, Linda took two trays out of the refrigerator.
I picked up one tray, Linda took the other. When we arrived at the school, George and Lois were waiting with Ashley and Sandy. A small bus pulled up and James Williams stepped out. James looked at the trays and then at Linda.
“Lasagna,” she said.
“Linda, I don't mean to be a downer, but you may not be able to bring this in. It's security protocol, but I'll call ahead and let the president decide. Sorry.”
“James, it's a gift. I brought you the recipe too.” Linda's disappointment resonated. “I never thought to ask.”
“James,” I said, “we never go anywhere without some kind of a gift for the hosts. They just live in a bigger house. Sorry.”
Sandy asked Ashley, “Shouldn't we have brought something?” she said in a quiet voice.
George, carrying a couple of paper bags, started to put them down. James said, “Let me take them for you, George,” and as he took them, looked inside, and said, “Same goes for the wine, George. I'll check on it too.” He escorted everyone onto the bus and sat in the driver's seat.
Ash said, “Now we find out more about the secret airport.”
We reached the airport in twenty minutes using main roads I had driven for years. A couple of turns and a couple of miles down a poorly maintained path, and we were there. As we approached, we saw ongoing construction. I asked James what was being built. He said he didn't know.
When we reached the plane, we boarded and took off immediately. Lois said to Sandy, “I've known these two delinquents for years. You and I should sit together. I'll educate you about your friend over there.” When the plane touched down, we barely felt the bump. “You know,” Lois said, “When I first heard everything, it was hard to believe, but having the president show up and then stay for dinner, well, let's just say, it's been an interesting couple of weeks.”
“You should be in my shoes,” I said. I touched my still-bruised cheek.
A large helicopter was sitting nearby under storm clouds. We climbed in, and James motioned the pilot to take off. Within a few minutes, after a brief glimpse of the city, we landed on the White House South Lawn.
Sandy said, “You didn't mention a heli
copter.”
James smiled and said, “Not a helicopter, the helicopter. If the president were aboard, this would be Marine 1.” Sandy turned. “Really,” she said to no one in particular.
Walking across the lawn, already a rich green, we reached a door where the president himself was waiting. He looked tired, but he greeted us with a broad smile. Sandy was mesmerized. The president said to her, “Pretty cool, isn't it?” She just nodded. “Let's go to my office,” the president said and led the way to the Oval Office, through the door George and I had used. I looked at the door as the president said, “I keep expecting to see you walk through every time it opens.”
The First Lady was waiting. Linda said, “I've made a couple of pans of lasagna for you, for those slow nights, you know, family dinners.” James set the bag of wine on the table.
I said, “George brought more of the wine we had at our house.”
“James, would you mind taking care of these?” the president asked.
“No, wait,” said the First Lady, looking at the lasagna containers. “These are pretty,” she said to Linda.
“ 'Temp-tations Old World.' QVC.”
“Really. They're charming. I'll have to check it out.”
Linda said, “Oh, by the way, I've typed out the recipe,” and reached into her purse. In spite of the metal detector we had passed through, and barely noticeably, James moved his hand to his belt. I assumed his reaction was reflexive. I didn't say anything, as Linda handed him a copy for himself.
“Thank you, ma'am, I mean, Linda.”
James removed both the lasagna and the wine, knowing the president had said to accept them. He was headed to the kitchen when Jim Koppler appeared around a corner.
“Mr. Williams, you know the danger and the rules. Why did you let them bring this into the White House? It could be poisoned or could hide explosives.”
“Sir, I was taking it to be checked. I've met these people. It's a gift. And frankly, I let the president decide what he wants to do with it.”
“I'll be speaking with him later. The secret service should know better. This is a dangerous attitude to take.”
“Sir, with all due respect, if they don't want it, I'll take it home,” and he continued to the kitchen. Koppler returned to watch the president and his guests on his office monitor.
“Please, everyone, sit down,” said the First Lady. I waited for directions. The president said they would get a private tour of the house and that he would be going with them.
He said that James would take me for the tests and bring me back. “We should still be poking around when you get here.” My immediate thought was how wonderful it would be just to “poke around” the White House. As we left, the First Lady offered refreshments. I was jealous.
James and I walked through the halls to the doorway of the North Portico, where all the important visitors enter. I had to remind myself why I was standing there. James opened the back door of the Suburban for me and climbed in the passenger's seat. James said, “This is Mel Zack.” I nodded.
“Where are we going?”
“G. W. Hospital. They're all set for you. No paperwork.” Within ten minutes, I was in a chair with fat arms. The phlebotomist called it the bleeding chair. Next I was taken to the Radiology Department for a series of scans by different machines. “All done,” the tech said to James. A doctor came in and said, “I'll have a first look done in a few minutes.”
I dressed and put my tie back on. So far, James had been with me the entire time. “We'll be back at the White House in no time now,” he said, trying to reassure me.
“Thanks.”
When the physician returned, he said, “You're in good health, Mr. Russell. I'll send over a preliminary summary today and have a detailed report sent to the White House when all the results are back.”
“Doctor? Is there anything that appears unusual to you?” I asked.
“Nothing medically,” and the doctor left the room quickly. What does that mean?
THE PRESIDENT HAD been right. We were back at the White House about an hour after we'd left. Washington traffic moved well for a Saturday. Mel Zack had called ahead when James and I got into the car, and everyone was waiting at the entrance when the Suburban arrived.
I joined the others, who'd been enthralled by the tour. I guess the grimace on my face took some of the air out of their sails. Linda asked me what was wrong.
Looking around, I said, “Nothing. I just don't have any info.”
The president said, “When the report comes in, I'll let you read whatever it says.”
“Thanks.” But I wasn't thankful. I was worried. The knot in my stomach felt like a basketball and bounced as much.
The First Lady led us on the rest of the tour. I couldn't help but be fascinated with the historical artifacts. My companions shared the feeling. The White House is a museum. My mood improved as my thoughts drifted to the paintings and the people who had walked those halls since 1800. I said, “It's ironic that the centerpiece of our country, our freedoms, was built by slaves.”
The president said, “This place has a very humbling effect when I walk through, when I'm as alone as I can get here.” Changing the subject, sounding cheerful, he said that he had asked the staff if we could eat in the Blue Room, just off the South Portico. “It has a super view, and it's a great room.”
“Mr. President, did you think they would say no?” asked Sandy.
“You know, Sandy, everyone thinks the president can do what he wants. But this house has its own rules, and some of the staff has served here since before you were born. I ask, and sometimes they say yes. Let's go in, shall we?”
A spectacular view explained why the president had asked. The full expanse of the South Lawn resembled a green ocean. The National Mall and the Washington Monument were visible through the windows. “Wait until you see it when the sun goes down,” said the First Lady. Her contagious excitement, even after so many years, overcame my doubts.
While we looked around the Blue Room, the Secretary of Energy, and her two assistants, Kim and Tony, walked in. “Sorry we're late, Mr. President,” said the secretary.
“Shall we sit?” the president suggested. The conversation was light and congenial. George's wine was served and dinner was individual Beef Wellington with asparagus.
“This is delicious, Mr. President,” said Ashley. We all agreed.
“The salad greens come from our garden,” said the First Lady, pointing out the window.
“You can't imagine how hard it is to keep from gaining weight around here,” said the president. “Thank goodness I have so many outside appearances that come with bad food.”
For dessert, we had pastries and ice cream molded into American flags, rippling stripes of peppermint and vanilla. “We have a full-time pastry chef and staff for small gatherings like this and full state dinners,” said the First Lady. “It's amazing what they come up with. And you should see this place at Christmas.”
When the table had been cleared, James appeared with a folder, marked: “PRESIDENT'S EYES ONLY.” The president looked over the contents and suggested we all go out on the Portico. He said, “It bothers me that not all Americans can get the thrill I get when I go out here, especially at this time of day.”
After a few minutes to enjoy the view, the president asked everyone to follow him to the West Wing. We went to the Roosevelt Room, adjacent to the Oval Office. It was already set up for a presentation. While everyone found seats, the president thumbed through the folder, which he then handed to me. I was surprised at the openness.
“You're in pretty good shape,” said the president. I read the report. It was one page plus the blood test results. It said simply, “There are no abnormal functions seen; there are no clinical indications for Mr. Russell's apparent conductivity of electricity. However, on a thermogram, there was an unusual activity in the thalamus area, indicating a hypersensitivity which could explain receptivity. When active, the color should be bright yello
w. Mr. Russell's scan showed bright green.”
I finished and handed it to Linda, who read it and looked back at me quizzically. I said, “I don't know what the color means, but the thalamus controls sensory activity. Everything else is normal.
“What I want you to see,” the president said, “is what the scan of your classroom picked up. I need to apologize to you again, and you too George. Sunday morning, I sent our team back in with a better antenna, which Tony had invented the night before. I want you to see what they collected.”
Disturbing as that knowledge was, no one said anything. Even George was subdued, despite the invasion of his fiefdom.
“Before we begin, I would like you all to understand that this is a secret, and needs to remain so.” There was no mistaking the president's meaning, and he asked each person individually to agree. He told us that our promise was being recorded. As the images appeared, the hush was interrupted by gasps. When it was complete, the president told Kim to run it again and stop it where it was marked. None of the pictures were clear, but we could make out ghostlike images. Near the beginning, my shoes glimmered. Usual activity, kids and adults, attracted our attention. Kim stopped the projection when a clear image appeared.
I got up and walked to the screen.
“That's Lee?” asked Linda. “He has a strong face.”
“Looks like him,” I said.
“This is what you saw?” said Lois, amazement in her voice. I nodded.
We returned to our seats and the projection continued. There was a building on fire, but not clear enough to linger at, and then a clearer image of the president. Kim stopped again. The final image was a bright light when the desk was scanned. The president continued, “When we saw these, we knew this needed monitoring. But I know from our contact that you're as concerned as I am,” he said, focused on me. “So you all understand, our ability to detect human images in blank space is a development we never saw coming. Someday, maybe, we'll announce this new find, but as I said, for now it remains secret—at the highest levels. I will hold you all to that.”
The First Lady, feeling the discomfort, said, “Would anyone like some coffee?”
Quantum Touch (Book 1): Storm Portal Page 19