“Let me go check,” said Fritz. “Stay inside. Tom, stay by my door.
“See, he is here, Mr. Gilbert,” said Nicole.
“Were you lying, Mr. Gilbert?” asked Rachel. “Shame on you. Mr. Russell, Nicole and I had an idea. Since we're discussing World War II, could your friend be Roosevelt or Churchill, and come to class. You know, the guy who plays Ben Franklin.”
“That's a great idea, girls. I'll ask him, but no promises.” Ashley shook his head. “Why are you guys still here?”
“The new English teacher. We were…” Nicole interrupted Rachel. “Introducing ourselves. Telling him about our projects. But we're leaving now. He gave us five bucks. Bye. Bye, Mr. Gilbert,” they said together.
Ashley said, “You, my friend, are in for one helluva year.”
When the president was safely home, Tony began to collect his equipment. Fritz asked him to wait. The stack of books in his desk called to him.
“Tony, the girls gave me an idea. I'd like to go see Winston Churchill. Would you mind?”
Before he could answer, Ashley said, “I'm coming too. If you're crazy enough to keep going, I want to keep you out of trouble.”
“You mean you want to go.”
Tony said he couldn't keep the planes up for long, but if they hurried, he'd hang around. Fritz placed the clip on a picture of Churchill painting at his home at Chartwell.
“Fritz, you're taking a risk. What do you want with Churchill?” Ashley asked.
Tony added, “And remember that messing with the past can change the future.”
Tony's reminder stopped him for a second, and an image of his wife flashed through his head. He nodded to Tony. “Ash, I want to ask him how he felt fighting the Germans alone, after Europe fell. The Russians had the Non-Aggression Pact. That had to be a lonely feeling.”
“If he'll talk to you.”
“We're likely to startle him. But if the picture caption is right, we'll catch him when he's most relaxed. He's an accomplished artist.”
“So let's go already.”
They stepped through into a garden with a view of the late afternoon countryside, changing colors announcing the end of summer. Fritz walked to the edge of the terrace and looked over a molded concrete balustrade. Churchill was packing his oils.
“Mr. Prime Minister?” Fritz called. Churchill looked up at the trespasser.
“Who are you? How did you get in here?”
“Sir, my name is Fritz Russell, but your second question requires a bit of an explanation.”
“So explain. And then go away.”
“I arrived here from the year 2016.” Churchill glared, but Fritz continued. “Sir, we have found a way to travel back through time, and I did wish to meet you.” Churchill took a quick puff of his cigar and then chomped down on it.
“Hmph. And I suppose you can prove this to me. Who's your friend, H.G. Wells?”
“Sorry sir, no. His name is Ashley Gilbert. We're teachers in New Jersey.”
“I knew you were Yanks. I've seen a few of them.”
“Mr. Churchill, would you like to see our transportation?”
As gruff as his reputation, Churchill said, “Of course I would. Then I'll have you arrested, but you probably knew that was inevitable.”
“As inevitable as the Russians taking Eastern Europe, sir.”
“That wasn't inevitable.” He stopped closing his paints. “We could have stopped them. Franklin couldn't be persuaded.”
“Can we help you?” Ashley asked.
“You can carry my case, thank you. I'll take the canvas. You, Mr. Russell, may carry my easel.”
Fritz and Ashley went down the stairs, and Ashley walked to Churchill, his hand extended. Churchill looked at it. “2016, eh? What will happen if I shake your hand?”
“Sir, I've shaken Robert E. Lee's hand, and nothing happened then,” Ashley said. “But I may need to wash mine after.”
“Brash, aren't you?”
“Maybe, but the colors would be hard to explain when I get home.”
Churchill examined his hands, looked at Ashley. “Yes, cheeky.”
“You should talk. Brash, cheeky. You're a little cheeky yourself. You faced down the Nazis. Alone,” Ashley said.
Churchill straightened and stared at Ashley, his cigar tight between his teeth, and then said, “I like your spirit, my boy. It'll do you good in that jail cell.”
“I guarantee you, Winston, you'll not be sending us to jail, not after you see what we're about to show you.”
With the paints, easel and canvas in hand, the three men climbed the stairs, and Churchill saw the pulsating rectangle next to his house. “Let me take these inside and then I'll join you.”
“Mr. Churchill,” said Fritz, “we really must leave, but if you'd like to take a look, you can bring the painting with you. I'll leave your easel right here. Ash, leave the case.” Fritz walked to the portal. Ashley grinned at Churchill and again held out his hand.
“You're quite serious, Mr. Gilbert. I can go to 2016 with you?”
“If you'd like. We'll send you right back. But travelling through time takes courage. Are you brave enough?”
“Ash, be nice. Let's go.”
Churchill said, “I was in London during the Blitz. The rockets, the Luftwaffe. Artillery that could cross the Channel. I stared down Hitler. I believe I'm brave enough.”
“Then stop telling us and do it.” Ashley walked through with Churchill behind. Fritz shook his head and joined them. Winston Churchill stood in a granite-floored hallway, looking at lockers, and glanced through the door at the terrace he had just left. Fritz closed the door.
“Mr. Churchill, allow me to introduce Tony Almeida.” Churchill still refused to shake hands. “Come inside my classroom, sir.” Fritz reached into his briefcase, removed the newspaper, and handed it to the former prime minister. He pointed at the date. Churchill asked if he could sit.
“Take any chair,” Fritz said. He sat in Fritz's chair.
“Extraordinary. You must tell me how you did this.”
“First, I need to explain the danger,” Fritz said. “Mr. Churchill, you have lived in a remarkable time. And a dangerous one. One we cannot truly appreciate. We have found that the past influences the future. What you have done and seen here can change the world. I'll tell you what I can, but ask you to consider the risks of disclosing what you now know is real.”
“Tell me more, Mr. Russell. I assure you that as much as I talk, not a single person would believe me. No one listened when I warned them about the Nazis. Why would they listen now?”
“They would listen because you have been proven correct.”
Churchill studied his cigar. “You may be right, but I'm retired now, and when public men are no longer in sight, they are forgotten quite quickly. I have been. You were going to explain.”
“Briefly, a connection between my desk and my door brings the past to the present under the right conditions. I found the portal last spring, 2015, when the door opened to a clearing where my classes met Robert E. Lee. I opened the door to the White House and met the president that day. Ashley and I have even met Shakespeare.”
“Shakespeare? That must have been exciting. Are these portals everywhere?”
“This is the only one I know of, and I'm the only one who can open it.”
The prime minister stood, walked to the bookcase, and pulled out a book about Roosevelt and himself. While he turned the pages, he said, “I'm a bit of an historian myself. Says here I die in 1965. I must have a few kilometers left.”
“What is the date in your time, sir?”
“When I awoke this morning, it was September 19, 1949.”
Churchill continued to turn pages. Fritz asked, “Mr. Churchill, before the Japanese brought America into the war, and the Germans invaded Russia, England stood alone in the fight against Hitler. How did it feel to be so alone?”
Churchill put a finger where he had been browsing, and raised his head slowly. “Fr
anklin said in his first election address that we had nothing to fear but fear itself. The people of England were magnificent, Mr. Russell. In spite of their fears, the bombings, the men off to war, and the Germans as close as thirty-five kilometers across the Channel, my countrymen joined together, resolved that we should never surrender. Alone, yes alone, we fought tyranny as we have always fought tyranny. And with the grace of God, we were the victors.”
“That sounds like one of your speeches,” Ashley said.
“My speeches were nothing compared to the will and perseverance of the people, Mr. Gilbert. It was their finest hour.”
“Mr. Churchill, I would love to talk longer, but I don't want to risk not getting you back home. We need to leave the room.” Fritz checked the paperclip and the book. When he opened the door, he looked into a cluttered room.
“I expected to return to the terrace. This is my office. A bit messy, but I have been writing.”
“Your books about the war?” asked Tony.
“Yes. Only one published so far. But, I have a number of books in mind.”
“They're classics, sir. My dad gave me his copies.” Fritz stared at Tony to stop him.
“I am glad someone will read them.”
Ashley again extended his hand and this time, Churchill took it. He looked at the clasped hands. “See. Nothing happened,” Ashley said. Churchill growled.
“Mr. Churchill, I hope you'll remember not to say anything about your visit here today. It could be dangerous.”
“Mr. Russell, I understand secrets. We discovered how to break Enigma…” He stopped and stared at Ashley for a moment. “Have we met?”
Ashley said, “You're memorable enough that I might remember, so no, I don't think so.”
Churchill scowled. “Now where was I? Enigma, yes, and we kept it secret, even at a high cost. Trust me. I will say nothing.” He looked again down the hallway and back at Ashley. “It has been a pleasure to meet you. Perhaps we will meet again. But right now, I could use a nice glass of sherry. But I'll need to get to work. That book says I'll be Prime Minister again.” He picked up his painting and walked back to England.
Ashley called to him before Fritz closed the door. “Nice jail, Winston.” Churchill chuckled and with his back to the portal, raised his hand in farewell.
Chapter 23
THE PRESIDENT STOOD behind his desk, staring at the top of the Washington Monument. General Beech sat on the couch, a yellow pad on the table in front of him. They traded speculations on the upcoming Caballeros meeting. With almost a month to prepare Florian and their agent, the general suggested trying to get an agent in the crew, and finding out what companies supplied it.
Without moving, the president said that if they could, maybe some listening devices could be put in place. “We need to make Gabrielle a foolproof reality. No holes. They'll check, I'm sure.”
“They will probably look for devices regularly,” Beech said. “They've been cautious so far. I worry about Florian. He's in over his head. We'll need to introduce him to Gabrielle soon and find a way to get them some time together. If they're watching him, it might be good to get them together in Antwerp and London. Public appearances, maybe a couple of nights together.”
“That makes sense. I'll arrange for them to meet on Sunday. I'd put them in crowds so they can talk. Tours, maybe. Like Athens, or Rome. Florian might have some better ideas. But we should avoid New York or London.”
“I think making her a businesswoman was a good idea. She'll be able to interact more convincingly, but she really has to learn the business stuff. Do you think she can do it?”
“One thing of which I'm certain is,” said the president, “we would be hard pressed to find anyone better.”
Chapter 24
Friday afternoon, September 9th
THE FIRST WEEK had ended. Fritz had warned all his classes that his new teaching plan would include more tests, more homework, and more outside reading. When he pulled in the driveway, Emily waved from a reclining lawn chair, a book perched on her bent legs, a beer bottle in the cup holder. Fritz crossed the lawn, adding a weekend warrior event to his to-do list.
“Just us tonight, Emily.”
“I'm not unhappy about that. We could do with a night of quiet. And I want to talk to you. I spoke to Linda.”
Not sure how to react, he asked how she was and about TJ. But a gnawing cramp tightened in his stomach.
“She's fine. TJ is babbling up a storm. But that's beating around the bush. I asked her when she planned to come home.”
“And?”
“She couldn't say. She said you'd stopped calling. She wasn't sure if you would want her to come back. Do you?”
“That's a hard question, Emily.”
His mother-in-law eyed him. “And that's not an answer. I've been here for three weeks and a lot has happened. But you haven't spent much of it talking about her.”
He rolled his shoulders and exhaled. “What's the point of calling when she doesn't answer and doesn't return my calls? She's punishing me. Why? Because I had a fight with Tim? Because of the portal? I just don't get it.”
“I told her we've been having a grand old time. She wasn't happy about my chatting with Ben Franklin. She asked when I was coming home.”
“What did you tell her?”
“You know the answer—when she comes home.”
Fritz glanced at the tomato plants and the dark soil. “Thanks for watering the garden.” He twisted the gold band on his finger.
“Are you thinking of taking that off?”
His answer came slowly, choosing a path that spoke his true feelings. “No. It reminds me. And it makes me mad. It's been more than two months. The door's been wide open to her, and still she stays away. I've said that in my messages.”
“Are you sure you want her back? You've managed so far.”
“We should be able to work this out. But she's being stubborn and I can't change that. I wonder if we can even fix this. Marriages fall apart all the time.”
“That's pretty honest, Fritz. Have you done everything you can?”
“Probably not. But I'm not the one who left. And she hasn't given me any reason to believe she wants to come back.”
“Do you want a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“Write her a letter. Pen and paper, not email. Tell her how you feel. Write so she has to respond. If she doesn't, you can try something else. Or not.”
Sunday September 11
The conversations centered on foreign policy and the president's Middle East development plan on the Sunday talking head shows. Representatives of both campaigns were featured guests, making Fritz question if the moderator or the guests had bothered to learn anything about the topic. His phone interrupted his annoyance.
“Good morning, Mr. President.”
“Fritz, I hate to interrupt again, but we need Florian here. Tony is on the way.”
“Anything happen?”
“No. We're prepping him for the meeting. Come and get me first.”
“I'll be a few minutes.” He headed to the shower. Linda's right. He doesn't even ask anymore. On his way out, he handed Emily the letter he'd written.
The route to school took him past his fellow warriors, uniformed in shorts and sweaty tees, already at their tasks. Even with the car's windows shut, the hum from gardens and lawns buzzed along with him. Tony and Natalie were waiting at the door. Minutes later, the president was in the hallway with General Beech.
“Sorry to interrupt your day,” the president said. “We'll be done around seven tonight. Would you return him home then?”
“I can do that. Tony?” He nodded. “Will you tell me what's happening?”
“We're setting up a cover story for his trip to California. This will be dangerous, and for him, strange. We've arranged a companion for him, but we have to be sure about the details. He's happily married. I hope that's not about to change.”
* * *
Ashley thru
st Fritz's letter at him as he walked in. “I think you need to be more forceful,” Ashley said.
“Hi to you, too. What do you mean?”
“It's fine to say you miss her and wish she'd come home. But you should tell her that if she's not home by next weekend, you're coming to get her.”
“Look, like I told you before, if she doesn't want to be here, she'll just leave again.”
“But she doesn't know you won't follow through. Use the portal in the middle of the night. Don't tell her when. It'll be a surprise.”
“I'm not doing that,” Fritz said. Emily frowned, placing her half-eaten bagel on the plate.
“I told you, Emily,” Ashley said. “He's not sure he wants her back.”
“And why are you here?”
“To correct your grammar and spelling.”
Fritz ignored him. “Emily, what do you think?”
“Tim's made everything easy for her to stay. You need to rattle her cage. I agree with Ashley. Tell her to grow up, that she's a married woman with a child who needs his father. I could say that to her, but she won't listen to me. Coming from you is what matters.”
Fritz snatched the letter from Ashley and walked from the room. “I'll think about it.” He didn't see Ashley and Emily grinning.
* * *
“FLORIAN, THIS IS GABRIELLE SANDERSON.” The president passed a folder of photos to the Belgian. “She's an American from Pittsburgh and owner of an international cosmetics business. Upper tier, custom products. Her offices are in New York. We'll use one of ours. And the phones and computer will be covered. You met her in London, when you bumped into her, and she dropped a suitcase full of samples on your foot.”
“Isn't that a little far-fetched?” asked Declercq.
“It's an attention-getter,” said General Beech. “And plausible enough because it's unusual. She insisted on buying you a drink.”
The president and the general laid out the relationship, and Declercq continued to ask questions and poke holes in the story for an intense five hours. The president told him that the general would give him the prepared outline, and would send a courier with the rest of the details.
Storm Surge (Quantum Touch Book 5) Page 11