Storm Portal (Quantum Touch Book 1)

by Michael R. Stern

  “Yet here we are,” I said, looking from one to the other. “And George can verify that we were just in New Jersey a couple of minutes ago.” George shook his head in agreement. Then I recounted the events of the day, including my wound, watching the growing look of amazement on each man’s face.

  When finished, I said, “Mr. President, I apologize that we’ve taken up so much of your time. The only way to prove where we came from is to leave. If you’re as curious as I am, maybe your secret service agent can take us to the door. Then we all can see what happens. We’re clearly not a threat.”

  “Mr. Russell, that’s not what concerns me. If somehow you’ve made an entry into the space-time continuum, then you’ve proven part of Einstein’s theories, and I really need proof of your proof. Why Mr. Russell, you could be top secret!” the president said.

  I felt my stomach tighten. Although spoken with a smile, our surprise appearance had to concern him. His secret service agents would be worried. I was. I suggested we try to return to the school so he could see for himself and have Tom check that it was a school. “You can stand by your door and watch. I think that as long as the door is open, we have a connection. And once the door closes on our side, everything will go back to normal.”

  “Tom, what about it?” asked the president.

  “Mr. President, they don’t seem dangerous. We’ve verified their personal information. We have locations. If this is real, we’ll know in a second.”

  “You’re game?” asked the president.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Okay, let’s try. But first, Tom Andrews, meet Mr. Russell and George, uh, sorry, didn’t get the name.” George mumbled, “McAllister” and started to reach out his hand, but then thought better of it when Tom’s hand moved to his waist.

  We moved toward the door. I said, “I think I probably have to be the one who opens the door.” Tom gestured for me to go first. Through the doorway, we saw a hallway, granite floor, light green tiling bordering lockers on the walls. “Wow,” Tom said. Locking stares with him, I said, “You should be in my shoes.”

  Standing behind, the president, seeing the familiar view of a typical school, said, “Amazing. Tom, I want to take a look.”

  “Mr. President, I don’t think that’s a good idea. At least, let me go and check it out further.” Tom walked down the hall, looked in classroom windows, and turned the corner.

  I told the president I didn’t think it was a good idea either, that I didn’t know how to control it. “Mr. President, I don’t know if I can get you back. I think I’m in enough trouble already.”

  Tom returned and told the president he had seen the trophy case with the name of the school on it. The president told him to call James. Tom pulled out a phone and spoke briefly. In less than five seconds, another agent ran in, with his hand on his pistol.

  The president said, “It’s cool, James, no gun,” and held up his hand. James walked to the door, but his eyebrows rose when he saw the lockers. He kept his hand where it was and looked questioningly at the president. “I’ll explain later.” Looking to Tom, he got a nod telling him it was ok.

  “This is what I want to do,” said the president. “If closing the door breaks the link, we need to keep it open. Tom, you and I can go through, just to look, and James, you’ll stay here at the door to keep it open.”

  “Mr. President, I really don’t think the risk is worth it,” I said. “I don’t know what will happen.”

  “James, if I don’t reappear in five,” said the president, “call for the helicopter to head to Riverboro High School in New Jersey. Was it April tenth when you left?” I nodded. I also showed him my watch. “We’re both on today’s date and our watches show the same time, so we know we can get back. Also, James, if something happens, tell them I wanted a hotdog from Nathan’s, the original in Brooklyn, so that’s where we went.”

  James looked at Tom, who said, “It’ll be fine, James. I’ll be with them.” James said, “Yes, sir.”

  The president said, “Mr. Russell, I’ve been taking risks since I took office. You must be aware of the constant shelling I’ve taken from Congress.” He smiled. “Okay. Let’s go. Oh, by the way, the fellow in the door is James Williams. We’ll do the rest of the intros later.”

  The president stepped through into the hallway, George lagging behind. James stuck his head through just to see. “This is SO cool,” said the president. Tom and James shared an anxious look of understanding. The president had taken a risk, and they needed to be alert. The president looked through the door into the Oval Office, whispering, “wow.” He looked at George and me and said, “There are a number of considerations here. First, we need to document this. Does anyone have a phone?” Everyone did. “James, call Lily Evans and ask her to bring her camera.” When Lily, the president’s secretary, rushed into the office, she halted, her hand over her mouth. The president said, “Lily, I’ll explain later. Please take pictures of us here and make sure you get the lockers. And we won’t be mentioning this for tonight’s news.”

  “No, sir,” she answered. “No, sir,” said Tom and James in unison.

  “Lily, James, stay in the doorway. Tom, please take pictures of all of us from here.”

  I told the president that I’d like one, and after Tom took his, I photographed all five of my unlikely companions.

  The president was thinking, an unfocused look on his face. That look makes Tom itchy, I later discovered. The president asked, “I’d like to walk around the school, if that’s all right.”

  “Mr. President, to do that I think we have to shut the door and that will break the connection,” I said. “I think right now we are still in your office, like we’re in a tunnel. I don’t think we should leave it open to anyone who wanders by, but I don’t know if I can open it again.”

  “Hmmm. I’m in New Jersey now. Right?”

  “Well, yeah, sort of. I guess so.”

  The president took out his phone, pushed a number. The phone rang on his desk. “So now we know that I can call home. Like E.T.” He alone thought that was funny, but he shrugged off the lack of response. “Tom, the helicopter is on its way?” Tom nodded. “So, George, want to show me around?”

  Tom begged him not to go further. “Mr. President, please sir, don’t do this. Mr. Russell has said he can’t be sure he can get you back.”

  “Tom, this could be more important than anything else I do in office. Tell you what. I want you and James to come with me. Lily, when the door shuts, I’m going to call you immediately.”

  He told her he wanted her to call him back to have a record of the outbound call. James stepped into the hallway, and the door clicked shut. Through the window, my classroom reappeared. The president motioned for Tom to open the door, and we went in.

  “Interesting,” said the president. “Looks like a classroom to me. Interesting color, Mr. Russell.” George frowned. I had been asking him for years to have my room painted. The president and the agents scanned the room. Despite the strangeness, he was smiling at me. We had a connection.

  “Mr. President, you need to make that call,” said Tom.

  As the president dialed, a face appeared at the door, clearly startled by what he was seeing. Both agents reached for their waists.

  “Mr. President, that’s Ashley Gilbert,” I said. “He teaches here, his classroom is down the hall, and he’s my ride home.” I raised my hand to tell Ashley to wait and looked at the president, who nodded OK. I waved him in. Ashley walked in. He was followed by Sandy Horton, an English teacher with a quick brain and fast wit. They each took one step and stopped. Ashley gave me a quizzical look as he entered. The president walked toward them as Ash watched James and Tom.

  “Come on in. Ash, Sandy. I’d like to introduce you to the president. These gentlemen are secret service agents. This is Tom Andrews. And this is James Williams.” The president shook hands with the new arrivals. Ashley glanced at George and the agents and then turned to me.

  “So it’
s true?” said Ash. In his left hand, he had a book, his finger as his bookmark. “Sandy and I were talking and heard noise in the hallway.”

  “I told you it was going to be an interesting dinner.”

  “What’s the book?” asked the president. The question combined caution and curiosity.

  “Just an old yearbook I found. I was showing it to Sandy.”

  “Can I see it?” the president asked.

  Ashley opened the book and laid it on a desk. The president checked the pictures and laughed.

  “That’s a foul, for sure,” he said. “Charging.” The picture showed two young teachers playing basketball. “I play too, you know.”

  “What year was that, Ash?” I asked.

  “2006, my first year. You’ve gotten better under my tutelage.”

  “Do you have portraits in here?” asked the president. Ashley turned to the English Department and his picture, then flipped to the History Department and mine. “I played in high school, you know.”

  “You were pretty good, they say,” said Ash. The president smiled and looked at Sandy.

  “I’m guessing you’re not in here. Ms. Horton, is it?”

  “I was in high school in 2006, Mr. President.”

  “This sure brings back some memories. Your book is in pretty good shape.”

  “I was digging through a closet last night. Didn’t find what I was looking for, but I figured Fritz might like to see it, too. His is probably buried in his garage.” I nodded. We have a lot of pictures in yearbooks, Ash and I. The chronicles of our careers. Ashley’s annual poetry readings, the chess club he supervises, and my history baseball.

  “I look a lot younger,” said George.

  “You were never young, George,” Ashley said. “You were born a principal.”

  The president said, “We were about to tour your school.” We suddenly heard “Hail to the Chief” coming from his phone. He looked at everyone and said, “Still don’t know who did that. Yes, Lily, it’s me.” He asked her to stay by the phone and said he would call again in ten minutes. “If the world appears to be ending, please call me back.” Then he looked back at us. “So let’s go.” All seven of us walked out of the classroom and turned into the heart of the school.

  “You know,” said Ashley, “according to all the laws of physics, including the theory of relativity, this is impossible.”

  I said, “I thought you teach English. When did physics become your thing?”

  Twitching like he had bugs in his shirt, George said, “If you turn left here, we’ll get to the gym. The core of the school was built by the WPA in 1936. We added wings, three of them, plus the cafeteria, the gym, and the auditorium in the 1950s and 60s, as Riverboro’s population swelled from the baby boomers.” George kept turning around while he lectured. “We keep the gym open after school for pickup basketball. One corner has mats and a couple of gymnastic pieces, and we use it in inclement weather for team practices, Mr. President. This is our cafeteria,” gesturing to his left. George was nervous; his voice rose and fell, but there was pride in it.

  George led us to the gym and held open the door. “Looks like a gym to me,” the president said. Heads had turned as the door opened, and when the players began to look, the basketball game slowed and then stopped. A ripple of silence washed over the visitors. The president held out his hands, asking to be passed the ball.

  Before there was time to react, he said, “Hold on a second.” He slipped off his suit jacket and handed it to Tom. Turning back, he signaled for the ball. Jerry Warner passed it to him, and the president turned in one smooth motion and shot. A low arc and a barely audible swish. Jack Dylan retrieved the ball and threw it back to the president, who stepped to his left and shot again. The net barely moved. Ash whispered, “I can do that.”

  Clapping and a few whistles reverberated through the gym. When the students moved closer, the president said, “Sorry to interrupt. We’re just looking around, guys.”

  Chris Brothers asked, “Could we get your autograph, Mr. President?” He held out the basketball and then glanced at George for an okay. George nodded. The president took his jacket back, pulled out his pen, and scrawled “To all the gym rats at Riverboro High.” He scribbled his name and handed the ball back. As he was putting his jacket back on, a couple of students walked up, holding notebooks, with a “would you sign my book?” look on their faces.

  He asked them their names and chatted with them. Just like General Lee, I thought. Other students had disappeared into locker rooms to find their own objects for autographs, and in a short time, a group of kids spread out in front of the president.

  As he began to sign, I said, “Mr. President, you need to make a phone call.” The president nodded.

  “Hang on kids. Gotta make a call.” It was answered instantaneously, and he said, “Everything is fine, Lily.” Then he said, “Where is the helicopter? OK, see you soon.”

  Turning back to the kids, he asked, “Okay, who’s next?”

  While the president greeted and signed, Ashley whispered to me, “What’s going on?”

  I whispered back, “Dinner.”

  Although the line was still a dozen long, George said, “We really should move along, Mr. President.” In contrast to the president’s calm, George was fidgeting, shifting foot to foot, his hands going from pants to jacket pocket and back.

  The president said, without stopping, “There are only a few more,” and continued signing. He seemed less offended than I was that George would try to tell him what to do. He stopped for a moment to exercise his hand. When he had signed all the notebooks and other objects handed to him, including Jack Dylan’s left sneaker, he said, “I’ve gotta go, guys. Nice to see you all.”

  “Thanks” and “thank yous” echoed as we walked out. Applause reached us from behind. He poked his head back in, smiled and waved, and let the door close with its usual clang.

  George took the lead again, but the president hesitated and spoke to me. “I’d like to go back to the classroom.” George skittered to a stop and turned around.

  Backtracking, we returned to my classroom, stopping at the door. I said, “Keep your fingers crossed.” Not knowing what would happen, I hoped for a shock, although I wasn’t sure why. I grabbed the doorknob and pulled, knowing it would open to the Oval Office. From behind me came the sound of exhaled relief. I straddled the doorway, one foot in the corridor and the other in the Oval Office. Lily Evans stood by the president’s desk. Many staff members filled the room.

  The president stepped through and turned to us. “I don’t think I’ll be able to walk through this door again without being apprehensive.”

  George said, “Before you go, Mr. President, would you consider coming to our graduation? It’s on June twenty-third, a Tuesday.

  “Lily, please note my schedule to see if we can do graduation on June twenty-third,” the president said. “George, we’ll have to get back to you, but believe me, I’ll try.” He then turned to me. “Mr. Russell, I believe you and I will need to have another conversation soon. Thanks for a most interesting afternoon.” When he shook hands with Ashley, I realized they were about the same height. So was Tom Andrews. His secret service agents shook our hands and headed through the door. The president ushered them in and, for a final handshake, took my hand in both of his and whispered, “I’ll be in touch.” He walked back into his office. I waved, stepped back into the hall, and let the door close.

  ••••

  AFTER THE INTRUDERS had departed, the president scrutinized the stunned crowd in his office. They were all waiting for an explanation, a story, something. He had no doubt that they all would have something to say to someone. “Everyone, this has become top secret as of right now. You are all sworn to secrecy. Who’d believe you anyway?” he shrugged and then smiled. He went from person to person asking for a verbal answer, not just a head nod. “We don’t know what just happened and we’ll investigate. What you just witnessed, whatever it is, however it happe
ned, is important. But you will say nothing. Now, we all have other things to do. Before you leave, give your name to Mr. Clemmons,” he said, referring to his chief of staff. “Back to work.” As the room cleared and his chief of staff took names, the president wrote notes on a yellow legal pad, trying to recall the exact details of his visit to a high school in New Jersey through a door in his office. He was interrupted by a throat clearing.

  “Mr. President, may I take a few minutes,” asked his national security advisor. “We need to act now. This intrusion can’t be ignored. I suggest using my ops squad tonight. If they can get here, they can get anywhere. Our security is in jeopardy.”

  “Mr. Koppler, I was just there. It’s a high school. They’re teachers. They’re less dangerous than you are. We have a discovery that may lead us to a better world and a better understanding of the universe.”

  “Sir, I’ve seen a lot in my career, and nothing good ever comes when science runs amok. Better to end it now and not have consequences.”

  “Jim, before I consider that, I want to know more. I will handle this. If we really have a problem, you’ll have plenty of opportunity to advise me.”

  “Mr. President, I’ve dealt with bad actors my entire working life. None of them appear to be what they really are. At least let me take them into custody for more questioning. I am responsible for the security of this country. You CAN’T let it be.”

  Gripping the edge of his desk, the president said, “You are not singlehandedly responsible for anything more than keeping your office analyzing the world. I CAN let it be. And so will you. If I need further assistance, and if you can provide it, I’ll ask. Until then, leave them alone. Is my point taken?”

  “It is, sir, but with deep misgivings. Your safety has just been jeopardized, and everyone has his price. That endangers the security of the United States.”

  “Jim, if you prove to be right, then I, not you, will be responsible. No one will blame you. But, I’ll say it again. I will take care of this. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”