Storm Portal (Quantum Touch Book 1)

by Michael R. Stern

  “Fritz, I don’t like it. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” I reached out and squeezed her hand softly.

  “Should I tell Ash we’ll go out with him this weekend?” I asked. Changing the subject didn’t change her expression.

  “Why not? Let’s go to a nice place, not one of his usual dives. Why don’t you suggest the Old Lion Inn?”

  On Tuesday, my tires were puddle magnets after the night’s rain, splattering the windshield while the wipers kept time to the tunes on the radio. Classroom, doorknob, no buzz. I went to the windowsill where the books were still piled and started looking at titles. Where can I go and be safe? Discarding book after book, I reached for a biography of Robert E. Lee, turned to the last few chapters, and read about Lee’s time as President of Washington College in Lexington, Virginia. I took out a paperclip and marked the section. The next book was the one I had looked at on Friday. What would I do? I put a paperclip back on the Ford’s Theater pages.

  Ashley walked in, stopped short. “What exactly are you doing?”

  “Planning my trip.

  “Have you figured it out?” he asked. His scolding voice had changed to excitement.

  “No, but the weather is lousy, so I’m going to try to set up some trips. If I get a buzz during school, I’ll take the kids to the room George fixed up for me.”

  “And if it’s before or after?” he asked, worry in his voice.

  “Then I can open the door, see if it takes me where I plan, and walk back out.”

  “How do you know you can get out?”

  “I don’t, except for knowing that I did before. And Ash, if I can’t figure out how it works, I’ll be forever at the mercy of random events. I’ve got to find out how to stop it.”

  Monday had been gloomy, but nothing abnormal occurred. Tuesday, the weather cleared a bit, so once again, it was business as usual. As classes ended, I returned to planning. On the left, Lee. On the right, Ford’s Theater, although I was still unsure of the wisdom of that. I need a third one. Rummaging through my books, I spotted the travel brochure and was picking it up as Ashley walked in.

  “What’s that?” he asked.

  “The White House tour brochure that got me to the Oval Office.”

  “Don’t do that again,” Ash said.

  “Look, I’m trying to find safe places to go if this happens again. When, I should say. What could be safer? The president knows me and knows about the portal. He also knows that I’m still trying to figure out how it works.”

  “What if a secret service agent shoots first and asks second, or if the president just decides you’re too dangerous, and oops, you disappear?”

  “Good point. I should let him know I’m trying to repeat the visit. Thanks, buddy. Good idea.”

  “Not my idea. Don’t blame me,” said Ashley. “I don’t think you should go at all.”

  A face appeared in the window of the classroom door. Short brown hair, a happy glint in her eyes. I waved Sandy in. A raincoat was draped over her left arm. I said, “I forgot to tell you. Linda suggested we all go to the Old Lion Inn. Would Saturday be okay?”

  Sandy hadn’t had time to say hello, but she smiled when she heard me. Ashley looked at her. “It’s okay with me. Is that okay, Sandy?”

  She said, “That would be great. I’ve only been there once. It’s really good.”

  “I’ll tell Linda. Oh, by the way, Ash, you’re buying.” I watched as his face turned red.

  Sandy asked, “Are we driving or time traveling?”

  Ashley laughed at me. “Gotcha.”

  On Wednesday morning, the storms were back. I ran to the door to get out of the rain and not be outside if lightning visited again. I came in early to see if I could open the portal. Nothing. No progress, no answers. I put the books and brochure away in the same order: left, middle, right. I took out my phone, paused for a moment, and punched in the number of the White House.

  “Good morning, Mr. Russell,” came a female voice.

  “Is that you, Ms. Evans?”

  “Yes it is. I’ll see if the president can speak with you now.” After a minute or so, the president’s voice came through the phone.

  “Mr. Russell, I was wondering when I’d be hearing from you. Have you figured it out?”

  “Not yet, but I have some hunches, and I’m going to try to get to the Oval Office again, if I find the portal. I need to stay safe. And it’s usually pretty safe at your place.” His snort made me pull the phone from my ear. “But I wanted you to know. No surprises.” I walked to the windows while we talked. A black Suburban slowed and stopped directly in front of me.

  “Thanks for the warning,” he said. “You know, my invitation stands. I would still like to do some tests.” He paused for a moment. “How about this? Why don’t you come down on Saturday afternoon? The tests will take less than an hour, and then we can have dinner here.”

  Thank you, Mr. President, but I’ve made plans for dinner with Ashley. He has a new, let’s call it relationship. Sandy Horton, you met her, sir. Linda and I are trying to help.”

  The Suburban’s window opened and a rifle barrel slipped out, aimed at me. Not sure what I was seeing, I ducked. I waited a few seconds and peeked over the radiator. The car was gone.

  “Mr. Russell, did you hear me?”

  “Mr. President, someone just drove by with a rifle aimed at the school.”

  “Did anything happen?”

  I told him I’d ducked beneath the level of the window sill and that I had no question I was the target. After a moment of silence, he said, “That makes getting together all the more important. How about all of you coming, including George and his wife. I’ll have a plane fly you down.”

  “Well, we’re trying to get Ash to think about taking his dates to nicer places. Yours would work.” I thought later that I had sounded calm. Ha!

  “I think it would,” the president said.

  “Mr. President, I don’t want to sound paranoid, but the only people who know about the portal are yours. The car was a black Suburban, like the one you rode in when you were here.”

  “Mr. Russell, I know you have reason to doubt me. I didn’t order or send anyone. Let me check. And if you agree, I’ll have some security set up for you, just in case.”

  “Let me think about all this, sir.” Then I asked, “Mr. President, what tests do you have in mind? Frankly, I’m a little more concerned now.”

  “I was wondering when you would ask. Look, you know why I’m uneasy. What I want tested is basic. Do you have any physiological condition that would explain why you can open the portal? I asked my best medical guy what to do. The tests will be routine blood tests and a couple of different radiology exams—scans, X-rays, that kind of thing. Nothing unusual or sinister. If it can’t be picked up routinely, then you and I can talk about what more can be done.”

  “I’m still anxious about it. Can I let you know later?”

  “Sure, but soon. We have to arrange it,” said the president. “I should be back from Brussels by then. I still have a little problem vis-à-vis Eledoria. I’ll have my agents pick you up at the school at three.”

  “I’ll try to call back later today, Mr. President. And I want to apologize again for being so ill-tempered last week.”

  “No problem. Talk to you later,” and the president hung up.

  I went to see Ashley. “We need to talk. First, about Saturday, how about dinner somewhere else?”

  “Where?”

  “Let’s just say it’s a surprise.”

  “OK, but the food better be good and cheap.”

  The bell rang, and as I turned to go, I said, “I think you’ll like it. But we’ll need to leave a little earlier. Then I told him about the rifle. His worry ruts and first group of students appeared together.

  After the first period ended, I walked to the office and spoke to George, inviting him and Lois to join us for dinner on Saturday. George said he’d ask Lois and get back to me. “I’ll need to have an an
swer by the end of the day, George. Reservations and arrangements, you know.” I didn’t tell him where we were going.

  After my next class, I called Linda and told her about the president’s invitation. “I’ll make lasagna for them. Ash can get some wine.”

  The school day ended as it had begun. Thunder boomed overhead. I tried the door a couple more times and then gave up and headed for the office to find George. He was walking down the hallway toward me as I turned the corner. “Lois asked me to ask you come to our place.”

  “We have reservations made already George, but I have to confirm soon. Here’s my phone. Call Lois and tell her.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “It’s a surprise, but it’ll be worth it.”

  George called home and told Lois what I had said. “Okay, I’ll tell him.” Passing the phone back, he said, “Thanks, but we’re going to pass, Fritz.”

  I thought about telling him where we were going. I didn’t. “Some other time then,” I said.

  Linda met me at the back door. I put my briefcase down on the window seat and sat at the kitchen table. “George and Lois don’t want to come.”

  “To the White House?” she asked.

  “I didn’t tell him where. Ashley doesn’t know either.”

  “I think you should tell them both, Fritz. George wouldn’t want to miss it, and Ashley needs to dress up. You know him. He’ll show up in chinos and no tie if he thinks it’s the inn.”

  “I really wanted it to be a surprise. I don’t care if George and Lois come. But I guess surprises are probably a bad idea under the circumstances.” Outside, thunder rolled after a flash. “I hate having to depend on the weather,” I said. Then I told her about the drive-by and my chat with the president.

  “Are you scared? I am. Who could it be if it’s not the government?”

  “I don’t know. That’s why I want to cooperate. And yes, I am scared.”

  I called the McAllisters first. Lois answered. I told her that she and George should come on Saturday because the dinner was at the White House. She said, “Why didn’t you say so. Of course we’re coming. I’ll tell George.” Then, after a pause, she asked, “Fritz, why didn’t you tell George?”

  “I wanted it to be a surprise. A good surprise. I’m sorry. I should have told him.”

  “See you on Saturday then,” she said and hung up.

  Next I called Ashley. “The White House!” said Ash. He sounded like a puppy with a new bone. “I can’t believe it. I told you this would happen.”

  “You have to wear a tie, buddy.”

  Finally, as I had promised, I called the president. Lily Evans told me the president was in a meeting but would call back shortly. Linda had already started making lasagna and had three large dishes she was working with.

  I asked, “Are you planning to take all of them?”

  She said, “No, just two. Kind of a peace offering. I figured I would make one for us. For next week.”

  “What? You think the president doesn’t get fed. Feeling sorry for him?”

  “No, but maybe he can give the chefs a night off on a couple of different days.”

  Moments later, the phone rang. “The president,” I said. “Hello, Mr. President. Sorry to interrupt.”

  “No problem, Mr. Russell. Your timing is good. I was just saving the world.” Thunder rumbled. “So you’re coming?”

  “Yes, sir. Six of us.”

  “Good. Then you all need to be at the school at 2:45. I’ll ask James to pick you up. I’ve made arrangements for your testing to be done just down the street, and I’ll take care of everyone until you get back. Gotta go now. I’m leaving for Europe in two hours. I’ve asked Tom Andrews to arrange for agents to keep an eye out but not be too visible. They’ll watch your house and be near the school.”

  “Okay. Thanks, Mr. President. See you Saturday. Good luck in Brussels.” As I hung up, I wondered what “take care of everyone” actually meant.

  ••••

  “What?” Koppler listened. His caller reported that they had found the school and had a picture taken through a rifle scope of Russell in his classroom window.

  “He ducked, but I have a clear picture.”

  “Then, take care of it.” Koppler pushed “end”.

  ••••

  I wondered if the day would dawn with thunderstorms. But again, no buzz. As the day progressed, the weather got worse. I kept an eye on the traffic. By seventh period, I wanted nothing more than for the doorknob to buzz and relieve my obsession. I stood in the hallway before class began and kept grabbing the doorknob and opening the door. As my labor history class began to gather, I reached for the door once again. Nothing. “Damn,” I said, louder than I wanted. I held the door open as the class entered and then followed the kids in.

  “Mr. R?” said Larry. I acknowledged him. “Labor unions don’t have the same clout that they used to have. I’ve been wondering why. It doesn’t seem to make much sense to me.”

  I refocused on my job. “Good question, Larry. Why do you think unions have lost favor?” I asked.

  “Well it seems to me that in the old days, people didn’t get paid much, so the unions got pay up. But when companies moved out of the U.S., people blamed the unions. Now stuff costs as much, or more, than before, even at Wal-Mart.”

  “Keep going, Larry.”

  “Companies charge what they want, so the less they spend on production, the more they make. But couldn’t they make a little less and pay the people who actually make the stuff more?”

  “Would people still buy the product if it were more expensive?” I asked.

  “I would. If the stuff was good, why not?”

  “Good start, Larry. Class, anyone have anything to add?”

  As hands went up, I felt good to be in the classroom. I wasn’t bored and stale. I smiled. “Yes, Mike.”

  Mike Malloy said, “Big industrial unions made the middle class possible, Mr. R. Collective bargaining allowed working people to have a say in how they were compensated for their work. For years, America produced the best and most of everything. But as costs went up, companies saw that there were lots of people in other countries that could do the same work, so they moved the work to places like China and paid dirt. But the pay for the Chinese was better than they had been making. So the companies could charge the same and make more profits.”

  “Good, Mike.”

  Another hand went up. Tim Andrews said, “Unions also spent a lot of money on things they shouldn’t have, like politics. I read that lots of unions were corrupt.”

  “Are companies corrupt if they give to political campaigns, Tim? Look back a few years. Politicians allowed the big banks on Wall Street to almost ruin the international economy. Are the banks corrupt? Or are they just doing what’s best for their shareholders, you know, making profits?”

  Tim replied, “But bank employees aren’t underpaid; they get big bonuses.”

  “All of them?”

  Tim paused and thought for a moment before he said, “I don’t know, Mr. R.”

  “Class, let’s look at the question from a different perspective.” We discussed the nature of organizations. I told them that organizations, whether for-profit or not, want to preserve their function and that people want those organizations to preserve the personal benefits they provide, such as jobs. We agreed that a union’s strength derives from improving the economic condition of its members. “Can we agree that power can be abused in any circumstance, by individuals and organizations?” More nods. “So why do workers today feel that unions are not a good thing, even if studies show there has been no significant increase in wages in years?”

  Bill Robinson said, “I can think of two reasons, Mr. Russell. First, we don’t make stuff here as much as we used to, so people have to compete for jobs, and for most of them, you need a more technical background. Second, PR. Lots of reports talk about how bad unions are, and there’s not much advertising about what’s good about them. S
o if all you hear is bad, why would you want to join?”

  “I like that, Bill,” I said. “Image is important in public discourse and certainly unions haven’t done much to promote their good points for years. Also, people have become skeptical about organizations and institutions that claim to represent their best interests. But people aren’t believers anymore. They simply forget that there are things that can be done better as a group than as individuals. Can you think of other factors at work here?”

  The discussion continued until the bell rang. As she was leaving, Jennifer stopped at my desk. She asked, “Are you trying to time travel, Mr. Russell?”

  Abrupt as it was, I was caught off guard. I looked at her, amazed. “You still don’t believe me, do you, Jen?”

  “No, Mr. R, I don’t. I saw you opening and closing the door before. Is the doorway how you do it?”

  As much as I would have liked to confide in this attentive, intelligent young woman, I said, “Jen, I can’t time travel.”

  “Have it your way. See you, Mr. R,” and she walked out as the last class of the day began to shuffle in.

  When we finished our discussion of presidential succession, Franklin Roosevelt’s four elections, and the Twenty-Second and Twenty-Fifth Amendments, the class exited to another round of booming thunder. The hall and classroom lights flickered, and the kids looked out the window, wondering if they should find better ways to get home. Not yet three o’clock, the hall lights were bright against the descending dark. Like my class, I walked to the exit to look.

  Earlier in the day, my U.S. history classes had recited Lincoln’s best speeches in the auditorium. Once each year, I devise a setting and have the kids imagine what Lincoln might have felt and envisioned with hundreds of people listening.

  Returning to gather my things, I touched the doorknob, stepped through with the buzz, and I caught, cascading over the surrounding crowd, “shall not perish from the earth.” Too far away for me to see, Lincoln had already taken his seat. The crowd, dozens in every direction, was quiet, stunned that the speech had ended. Next to me, an artist was sketching the scene. I turned as the wave of applause approached and walked through the rectangle directly behind me. On my desk the book of speeches lay open, a paperclip attached to a drawing of Lincoln on the stage.