Storm Surge (Quantum Touch Book 5)
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Storm Surge
Quantum Touch Book 5
Michael R. Stern
Copyright (C) 2018 Michael R. Stern
Layout design and Copyright (C) 2018 by Creativia
Published 2018 by Creativia
Cover art by Cover Mint
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
Table of Contents
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 49
Part Two
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
The Portal at the End of the Storm - Chapter 1
The Portal at the End of the Storm - Chapter 2
Dedication
For Linda
Without her support, none of these words would be written.
Acknowledgements
The completion of any book is a combined effort of many. Some we don't even know. But thank you is always appropriate and is never enough.
My teacher, coach, mentor and taskmaster, and friend, Amy Davis, has pushed me beyond a comfort zone to where I can confidently say that I had never dreamed of reaching.
To the team at Creativia Publishing who have expanded the Quantum Touch series to new heights.
Special thanks to Michael Kenney whose knowledge of the sea enabled me to create a part of the story with credibility.
An extra special thanks to my nephew, James Childs, Jr., for his advice and patience as he begins his career in graphic design.
I would also like to thank those of you who have read this series. I hope my effort has given you what all readers look for—engaged entertainment.
The most special thanks go to the men and women who teach our children. Too often, teachers' efforts are unnoticed and unknown, unappreciated and unrewarded. They are heroes.
Part One
Chapter 1
AFTER MIDNIGHT, Thursday, August 25
“Jim? Florian Declercq here. Sorry to call so late. Have you a moment?”
“No problem, Florian. Just sitting and reading.” The general clicked mute on the TV. “What can I do for you?”
“I've received an invitation to join a group of businessmen. You were my first thought. A man came to my Antwerp office, saying he represented someone whose interest was stirred by my company's participation in the president's development plan.” General Beech listened with pen in hand, a yellow pad on his lap. “When I asked about the group's purpose, he referred to them as 'the Caballeros.”
The pad flew, pages flapping on the way to the floor. “Florian, may I call you from my office? In say, an hour?”
* * *
IN THE DEEP of night, the White House operator told the president to pick up line two for General Beech. Turning on the bedside lamp, he said, “What's happened, Jim?” The general reported his conversation with Florian Declercq, the Belgian shipping magnate. When Beech mentioned 'the Caballeros,' he stood up. “General, where are you now?”
“At my office, Mr. President. I wanted the call recorded and secure.”
“Meet me here in half an hour.”
As the president dressed, he wrote notes on his yellow pad. The Caballeros, again. During the past year, a conspiracy of wealthy businessmen and industrial tycoons had surfaced, interfered with his administration's foreign and domestic policies, attempted assassinations and just when law enforcement had them identified, one by one, the members were killed, each in suspicious manners. Now, they're reforming. What more damage can we expect?
Chapter 2
AFTER A LONG and solitary summer, Fritz Russell had frittered away another hot August day preparing for the new school year. As he reached for the front porch light switch, the doorbell chimed. The outside light threw shadows in its forty-watt beam. A familiar face, with shoulder length hair and a full, unkempt beard stared in at him.
“Good to see you, Ash.” He held the screen door open. Not sure what to expect after two months, Fritz reserved his joy.
“I saw the light on. Then I saw the family room light go off.” Ashley remained motionless on the porch. “It's late.” He apologized with a shrug.
“Come on in. Not like I have anywhere to go.”
Ashley downed a first glass of soda and poured another. Across the kitchen table, Fritz waited to hear a story, of where Ashley had been, what he had done. But mostly, he wanted to find out what had happened that day in Palestine, two months earlier. That day had made the portal's danger real. He had saved the president once again, but Jane was killed, and Ashley was severely wounded. Shortly after, amidst his grief, Linda had taken their son and left. Ashley returned home briefly, and before Fritz had had a chance to talk with him, he too had disappeared. Ashley hadn't answered his calls or returned his messages. But here he was now, the prodigal having come home. Fritz studied his disheveled friend. So prominent only an eye-blink ago, Ashley had lost the joyful gleam in his eyes.
“I guess you want to know where I've been.”
“It's been a long summer. Tell me whatever you want. I have a few things to tell you too.” Before either could say another word, Fritz's phone rang. “Who can that be at this hour?” Fritz ran to the family room, switched on the light he had just turned off, hurried to the sunroom, and grabbed the phone just before it switched to voicemail.
“Hello?” he panted.
“Sorry, Fritz. Hope I didn't wake you.”
“Hi, Mr. President. You didn't, but I had to find my phone. Things are a little less orderly since Linda left. What's up?”
The president needed the portal. Tony Almeida was on his way to the school. When he said that he might have a break on the Caballeros, Fritz responded, “I'll see you in twenty minutes.” Returning to the
kitchen, he told Ashley.
Ashley set his glass on the table. “Can I stay here? I'm not sure I want to see him yet.”
“Ash, it wasn't his fault. It was mine. You should see him and then you can decide how you really feel.”
“You're probably right, but not now. Not yet.”
ON HIS WAY to Riverboro High School, following the same route he had driven for the past decade, Fritz reflected on the year since he had found his classroom door opened the portal. Since he had discovered that he could time travel, his entire life had changed. Meeting Robert E. Lee, and the president asking him to use the portal to help make the world safer, began a series of adventures in spacetime. The mission which destroyed the Narian nuclear program had created a pattern. Quiet, then action, then quiet again. It couldn't have been quieter. Then Ashley shows up and the president calls. He tried not to hope that the next thing would be Linda coming home.
Chapter 3
HIS HEADLIGHTS STREAMED across the playing fields behind the school, where the teams would soon resume their daily practices. In two weeks, the lot would again be bustling with teachers and students. Lights from a car turning in brought Fritz back to the evening. Not evening. Morning, very early morning.
Tony parked at the door and opened the rear hatch. “Hi, Tony. Let me help you with that.” Fritz reached for the generator handle and they carried it to just outside his classroom door.
As he had so many times in the past year and a half, he placed the now-wrinkled brochure for a White House tour on his desk, took a paperclip from the drawer, and placed it on the Oval Office picture. Back in the hall, he tapped the doorknob.
“Are the planes up yet?” he asked. “It just hit me. It's been a year since you figured this out.”
Tony had calculated the mix of electricity and turbulence that opened the portal. The generator provided the power. They would wait for the turbulence from above. “Wow. We've sure been busy. They should be in place pretty soon,” Tony said.
When the expected buzz tingled Fritz's fingers, he pulled the door open.
“Hi Fritz. Hi Tony,” said the president, stepping through the portal. “You remember General Beech. Let's go in here,” he pointed to the classroom across the hall, “and I'll tell you what we're doing.” He pulled a folded page from his jacket pocket. “We're fetching Florian Declercq. He's at his office. Here's the floor plan.”
The general said, “We don't want him talking anywhere where others might hear. We've been through that before. He's been invited to join the Caballeros.”
Fritz set the portal to Belgium, and moments later, Florian Declercq entered the school hallway. The president reintroduced Fritz and Tony. Fritz said, “Nice to see you have a new wardrobe, Mr. Declercq.” Florian chuckled, remembering his last trip through the portal in his underwear.
“I've found a new tailor. In Brussels. Not as much fun as London, but safer.” He greeted his friend, General Beech, and then the president, before glancing up and down the hall. “I will never grow accustomed to this sight.”
“Florian,” said General Beech, “sorry for the cloak-and-dagger, but I didn't want to press our luck.”
“Mr. Declercq, you're aware that we've been tracking the Caballeros for quite a while,” said the president. “You might not be safe, or free to speak openly.”
“After our London adventure, I could not delay informing you. But the invitation seems innocent, the normal course of business. The gentleman explained he represented an exclusive group of men and women interested in international commercial cooperation.”
The president's glance warned Fritz not to speak. Even though chasing the elusive Caballeros had left a trail of dead bodies, Fritz held his tongue.
“Mr. Declercq, I'm sure you followed the stories of the death of Mr. Massoud, as well as other wealthy businessmen last spring. They were all members. We captured two who then succeeded in committing suicide right under our noses. The one remaining at large seems to be restocking the cupboard.”
“Florian,” said the general, “will you tell us about your meeting?”
For the next half hour, Declercq described everything he could remember. The man who had invited him sounded American, probably around forty, well-groomed, wearing an expensive suit. “I have his card.” Declercq passed an embossed business card to General Beech.
“Peter Seymour,” said the general. The unfamiliar name brought blank stares and shrugged shoulders.
“I assume he merely served as an emissary. Not one of them. Rather like a salesman for something people shy away from, like coffins. Very reserved, soft spoken, but with dead eyes.”
“Like a shark,” said Fritz. Declercq agreed. “Mr. President, we've seen that before. The guy Jim Shaw shot, the one that killed Steve Sullivan.”
The president stopped Fritz with a subtle head shake.
Declercq continued. “They are having a meeting on Saturday in New York.”
The president's focus drifted to the long distance stare Fritz had seen before. The president listened, finally asking, “Are you planning to attend?”
“I thanked Mr. Seymour for the invitation and said I would call tomorrow if my schedule permitted. Your project is keeping me quite busy, Mr. President.”
“I'd like to talk to you more about that, but at another time.”
“Please call me Florian.”
“Florian, thank you. Your attending would help us. Exchange business cards, find out who else will be involved.” The president waited, but Declercq didn't commit. “If you go, please be careful. They are dangerous, and they don't take prisoners. They'll be cautious. You'll be monitored.”
“I haven't decided to go. I have a business and a family to consider. Believe me, I would like to assist you, but I'm concerned that once I have entered that door, I won't be able to leave.”
“Florian, we can't force you,” said the general. “But if you can inform us where the meeting will be, a specific room, maybe we can stop them.”
Declercq glanced quickly at his wrist. “Jim, my morning is starting and I will be missed. Let me consider our conversation. I will call you later.”
In a snap, Declercq returned to Belgium. “Thanks, Fritz,” the president said. “We'll go now too. If we need to meet him again, can I count on you?”
“Of course.”
Fritz opened the door. The president shook his hand and whispered, “What I've told you before about your not putting yourself first. Declercq just did.” One step later, the president entered the Oval Office.
Chapter 4
TELESPHORE RICHEMARTEL sat alone in the dim of a Virginia farmhouse, sipping a one-hundred-year-old brandy, and reviewing his earlier conversation. With one last push, the pinnacle would be reached, the prize would be his. The new Caballeros were coming together. His messenger had invited new players from his list of sixteen. They would gather in New York in three days. By the time they returned home, the taps would be in place and the monitoring would begin. He had not yet met them. Nothing would be left to chance.
Chapter 5
RIVERBORO WAS THAT KIND of town. People left doors unlocked even when they weren't home. Ashley hadn't left. His car remained at the curb. Stretched out on the couch, hair covering his face, Ashley snored. The clock read 3:30. Fritz left him undisturbed.
The aroma of bacon dragged Fritz from slumber. Struggling to start his day, he buttoned his shirt as he walked into the kitchen. Ashley munched a bagel at the table, the local paper in front of him. Fritz poured his coffee. “Want some?” he asked.
“I'm fine, thanks. I bought bagels, eggs and bacon. I didn't want to wake you.” He looked at the bagel in his hand. “I missed these. Want some eggs?”
“Not right now. Coffee's not working yet.”
Ash returned to the paper. “Sorry I couldn't stay awake. Thanks for letting me crash.”
Fritz couldn't hold back. “Ash, where have you been? You didn't return my calls. I've been worried all summer.”
&nbs
p; “I just needed time. Jane and I were supposed to be married last weekend.”
“So where did you go?”
“Everywhere. When I left, I went to see Jane's folks. I stayed for two days, but they didn't want to talk. I went to the White House to ask the president where they buried Jane.” He had almost been arrested by a White House guard who refused to call the president, even when he name-dropped secret service agents. “Finally, I called the vice president, who met me at the gate. Fritz, the vice president and the president, they were … strange. Neither one of them helped. They just looked at each other, like they wanted to tell me something, then didn't. I told them I wanted to bring her home, or at least go and visit the grave.” He sighed, tears beginning to form. “The president said he would find out and that I should call him in a couple of days. He didn't take my calls and then my phone died.”
“Why didn't you just charge it?”
“Didn't want to.”
“So what did you do?”
“I headed west. It's a beautiful country from the ground.” He didn't have a plan, so he just drove. He stopped when he felt like it. “I went to Mark Twain's house in Hannibal, bought a collection of his works.
“I haven't read Mark Twain since Huckleberry Finn. Back in high school.”
Ash continued his travelogue. “I went to the Grand Canyon.”
“Were you alone the whole time?”
“Pretty much.” He pushed onion chips around his plate. “Occasionally I picked up hitchhikers.” His story went on. As Fritz listened, other mornings and other happy Ashley stories came to mind. But this morning, Ashley had talked to him more, non-stop, than maybe ever. With his happiness at Ashley's return, he just let him talk.
“You didn't stay anywhere for long.”
“I drove almost 14,000 miles, with all the back roads. I had the top down most of the time.”
As Fritz inspected his friend's new look, he asked what made him decide to come home.
“I got tired of driving around. I haven't talked to George since I left, so if I want a job, I figured I should get in touch.”