Storm Unleashed

by Michael R. Stern

  * * *

  THEY MET CARTER at Penelope Wise's apartment. Ashley went with Mel and Jane.

  “What are we looking for?” Ashley asked.

  “Some indication that she and Caitlin were more than friends,” Jane said. “Just in case the story about Caitlin and Hartmann was disinformation. Check especially for photos or other personal things.” She turned to Carter. “Mr. Carter, I'd like your reporter's eye to see if you spot anything unusual.”

  “You mean more unusual than the rest of today?” he sighed. “I don't know what you expect to find.”

  The spacious two-bedroom apartment was furnished with Persian carpets, antique furniture, and solid walnut dressers. The closets, which had been fitted with built-in drawers and shelves, housed expensive clothing. But not one picture of Caitlin Morgan sat on tables or hung on walls.

  They found a photo album in a closet drawer. Jane placed it on the antique secretary and turned to the back, looking for the most recent pictures. Again, no picture of Jen Wise and Caitlin Morgan, although she had photos of vacations, parties, and holidays.

  “This is very strange,” said Carter. “Not a thing. And it doesn't look like anything has been disturbed. It's like she flew out the window.”

  Jane stared at Carter with the look that meant she was about to make a call.

  “Mr. President, I know the M.E. is far from finished, but can you have the mayor ask if she was dead before she hit the sidewalk.” She listened. “Mr. Carter made an observation.” She turned to the anchor. “Yes, sir.” She closed the connection. “He said to say thanks.”

  “Jane, no sign of forced entry, no struggle,” Mel said. “We have the security camera film. Let's go.”

  “How come I've never heard your name before?” Carter asked Jane as they headed for the door.

  “Mr. Carter, I'm a forensic analyst. I thought you might have a sense of Ms. Wise given that you spent some time with her. You're a pretty good interviewer.”

  She smiled. Ashley could almost see ropes or tentacles extend to wrap up her prey. He watched the CWN anchor lean slightly forward and smile back.

  She has him. Does he have a clue? Did she do that to me?

  * * *

  THEY SAW CARTER home and called Fritz to reopen the portal. Driving from the school, Ashley said, “With so many details floating right now, it's almost impossible to sort them.”

  “That's why I make lists,” Fritz said, navigating slowly through the large snowflakes that had begun falling. Turning into the driveway, Fritz slid sideways. Jane bumped her head on the window. “I'm fine,” she said. Ashley told her again that she was accident-prone.

  Fritz sat at the kitchen table telling Linda how crazy things were. She said she didn't see normal returning any time soon. Leaning back, he sighed, longing for a cigarette, a feeling that had come more frequently in the past month. Ashley joined them. He asked if Jane could leave the papers on the table because they were going home. Mel and Tony were going with them. When Fritz opened the front door, the swirling snow had piled calf-deep on the walk. He hated to disturb it.

  The house had a residual hum. Fritz brought his laptop and a yellow pad to the kitchen. Thumbing through the folders, he scribbled a new note for each class. Linda focused on the latest manuscript from her publisher, trying to speed up her review. Behind her on the counter, two stacks waited patiently for their turn. She looked like she was smoking her pen.

  “Stop staring at me,” she said. “You're distracting me.” They both remembered other times when they stared at each other and wouldn't have stayed in the kitchen long.

  “I'm not staring. I'm thinking.”

  “If I didn't have so much to do, I'd ask what you were thinking.” She smiled.

  “I can tell you. I was thinking I love you and tomorrow's Sunday.” They drifted into their own thoughts. Saying that he loved her was easy. It was true. He had fallen for her at their second cup of coffee, but he didn't say it for a long time. He was afraid of chasing her away. She had felt his hesitance. She knew his stint with Teach for America would end, and then he'd be gone. But she didn't give up easily. He was comfortable to talk to. And he was cute. This one had the potential to be a keeper.

  He rose early when he heard the baby cry. On a clear day, the sky would be visible, but the snow reflected all available light back to the clouds. “Come on, buddy.” He changed TJ's diaper, took him to the kitchen, and turned on the coffee. With TJ on his lap, he headed to a news website. A story about Penelope Wise quoted her parents. They said they had never heard of Caitlin Morgan and had no idea, as her father said, “that she liked girls.” Fritz looked for other stories, bookmarking them all. They sat in the window seat, watching the blowing snow.

  Chapter 13

  AS SUNRISE APPROACHED, the president studied the white blanket on the lawn. He had read the story of another dead woman. His jaw tight and lips pressed, he knew he was partly responsible for her death. He should have moved her out of harm's way. He put his cup to his lips not knowing that Fritz was doing the same.

  * * *

  WITH TJ IN the swing, Fritz spread his yellow pads on the table. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes. “Compartmentalize,” he said to himself. He started with the tournament, now less than five weeks away. With a random number generator, he paired the forty-four teams to determine the schedule. That was easy. He made a note to collect the team names. I'll bet the kids already have them.

  Not knowing who might show up for breakfast, he took out the waffle iron and began to mix batter. He was enjoying the quiet time. His thoughts drifted, like the snow on the window ledge. He was startled when Linda said, “Good morning.”

  “Hi, Lin. I was wandering.”

  “I know. I've been here for three minutes. Good smells woke me.”

  “Sorry. I was getting hungry, so I figured I'd get started. Want a waffle?”

  “Not just yet.” She kissed TJ's head and looked out at the winter portrait. “I don't think there will be much going on today.”

  Mary McElroy in jeans and a sweatshirt poked her head around the corner, rubbing her eyes. “Sorry, folks, I overslept.” She gazed at the backyard. When Fritz asked if she wanted breakfast, she said, “Just coffee for now. I haven't seen this much snow in a while, at least not without skis.”

  Fritz asked, “Mary, do you want to go home? I mean to Washington?” Linda glanced up, wondering why he was asking.

  Mary shook her head. “This is like a vacation. I mean, look at me. I couldn't be wearing jeans. Don't get me wrong. I love my job. But the long hours. And always, a gun.” She gently patted her sweatshirt.

  “FRITZ, WHAT are you up to?” Linda asked.

  His eyebrows raised in feigned innocence, he said, “Me? Nothing.” The crunch of waffle took her eyes off him.

  “That sounds good. I'll make myself one,” said Mary. “Linda?” Linda nodded.

  The thumping of a snowplow reminded Fritz to get the snow blower from the garage. He parked the thought in the list of things called “Later.” When the doorbell rang, he set down his fork. Ashley and Jane had trudged up the walk. A moment of snow-flecked wind blew past him when Jane opened the storm door. Red scarves covering red cheeks, they hustled into the warmth.

  “It's cold out,” said Ashley. “Some people bother to clear a path.”

  “It's only eight o'clock,” said Fritz. “Come on in, Jane.” Fritz turned toward the kitchen. “Jane, toss your stuff in the family room. Leave him there.”

  “Well, then, I won't make the snowman I planned,” Ashley responded.

  “Shut up. Breakfast is waffles. Why are you out so early anyway?”

  Jane said, “The president called at six-thirty. He said to watch the TV news shows. He thinks something is cooking.”

  Ashley told them that he and Jane had shoveled for half an hour to free their car. “We have a while. Get some coffee and tell us,” said Fritz. She cloaked her warm cup with her cold hands, and related her conversation.


  Before Fritz sat down again, he got dressed and called Jim Shaw, inviting him for breakfast. He took over the waffle iron and made a stack, brown and crispy, and put them in the oven. Waffles took him to childhood, when his mom taught him to maneuver in the kitchen. He wasn't much help now. Linda made meals that looked like magazine photos. Fritz helped sometimes, peeling potatoes or carrots, or grating cheese or cabbage, but mostly he stuck to making breakfast. Still too early for the news shows, Fritz donned his down coat and prepared for a tussle with the still-blowing snow.

  “Save me one,” he said.

  He shivered at his first step into snow almost up to his knees. High-stepping to the garage, he was able to get the snow blower started right away, and he pushed his way to the street. He had to lift the machine to get through the pile where the driveway had been plowed in. The first run created a walkway, and as he finished the path to the front door, Jim Shaw pulled up in his own car.

  “Hi, Jim. Follow me to the back door while I do the driveway.”

  “Mr. R, you need to cover your face. You're getting frostbite.”

  “I think I'll go in for a bit. Do you know what the temperature is?”

  “Below ten, and with the wind, maybe below zero. You're totally not dressed for this.”

  “Maybe my ears will fall off.” He smiled and regretted it when his lips stuck to his teeth for a moment.

  “Hi, Jim,” said Linda, shivering as the cold blew in with him.

  “Hi, everyone,” he said, looking around the table. Seeing a new face, he stopped short.

  “Jim Shaw, meet Mary McElroy,” said Linda. “Mary, Jim Shaw.” Jim reached out his gloved hand, but pulled back and took the glove off.

  “Too cold to do it all at once,” said Fritz. “I'll have another waffle and finish after.”

  “Some of us are hardier folk,” Ashley said. “You'd never have survived prairie winters. We put you to shame.”

  “I forgot. You're supposed to be out on the front landing. Why did I let you in? Remind me.”

  “To try to poison me with your cooking? Just a guess.”

  Linda took Jim's coat, told him to sit in the corner seat. “Make Jim a waffle, and then have your second breakfast, Frodo.”

  Ashley raised his hands, fingers wiggling at Jim. “Poof. You are now a waffle.”

  Mary walked to the counter, and said she would make them. Jim watched every movement she made.

  “Mary, Jim is one of the officers who helped rescue the president in Geneva,” Linda said. Jim frowned. “Mary is a Secret Service agent, Jim. The president wanted us to have extra protection.”

  Jim nodded, not taking his eyes off Mary. She watched and then smiled. “Oops.” Batter missed the waffle iron. Jim and Mary sneaked peeks at each other. Fritz stared at Linda, and her grin made him think he had done the right thing.

  * * *

  THE SPEAKER WAS on two of the major Sunday programs. He noted his concern about the slow pace of the inquiry into the ship bombings and that the administration had not yet found the attackers. Later, he said he fully supported the president's planned summit agenda and hoped for a solution to the Middle East conflict. He said he expected all the governments of the region to participate.

  “Why do you think that?”

  “The president can be very persuasive.”

  On the second show, asking his reaction to the death of Jonathan Hartmann, the host noted that Hartmann had been an outspoken supporter of the Speaker and a significant campaign contributor. Jane reached for a pad.

  The snow continued, and the plows blocked the driveway again. Another street plow came by, but the driver saw the dirty look Ashley gave him, and placed the blade at the edge of the pile and pushed it all out of the way. Ashley waved, put the shovel over his shoulder, and followed Fritz back and forth up and down the driveway.

  “You're just gonna follow me?” Fritz asked.

  “I'm done,” he said, pointing to the cleared entrance. “What's taking you so long?” Fritz turned the chute and covered him with snow.

  As Ashley shook off, Fritz said, “Ash, this place is a zoo. I'm worried about how we're using the portal. We won't be able to use it again, fortunately, until this snow stops.”

  They came in to a very quiet house. The TV was background noise, and TJ was gurgling in his swing. Linda looked up from her books and told Fritz to mop the floor.

  Jane was holding the list in front of her, her head swiveling, and her lips moving. “This is a numerical nightmare,” she said. “If I can match any of these with one of Hartmann's phone numbers, we have the key. But I'm not sure these are phone numbers.” She turned back to the table. Ashley said it scared him when she did that. “It's like she's talking in her sleep,” he said.

  Mel was watching a repeat of a talk show. Jim and Mary were talking in the sunroom. Ashley said, “Greetings, Professor Falken. How about a nice game of chess?” By the late afternoon of the most uneventful Sunday in what felt like months, Fritz realized he hadn't had lunch, nor had anyone else. Linda sat at the kitchen table, talking with Jane, a copy of the Caballeros list in front of her. Jane's eyes were bloodshot, but she managed a tired smile when he came to the table.

  “You found something,” Fritz said.

  “I think so. Actually, Linda did. These are phone numbers, all right. Each one on the list has its own number also.” Linda pushed the sheet over so he could see. “It's a formula.”

  “How did you figure that out?”

  Linda said, “It's from a spy novel. A writer I worked with. Jane showed me where she got stuck. Fritz, I can't believe we could be that lucky. I only read the book to get a feel of how he wrote. And it wasn't a big seller.”

  “Do the numbers match up?

  “I called,” said Jane. “Got an answering machine or voice mail. A woman's voice. I called the president. We can track the number, and I'll bet that it was Caitlin Morgan's voice. We're getting tapes of the interrogation. Maybe voice analysis can tie them together.”

  Chapter 14

  “YOU'RE EARLY,” Ashley said, walking into Fritz's classroom on Tuesday morning.

  Fritz returned his gaze to his notes. Ashley interrupted him again.

  “Jane was up most of the night. I think she wants to be in Washington.” Fritz lifted his head when he heard the tone.

  “Is something wrong?”

  “I don't know. She's distracted, and I think she misses the action. It's almost too domestic here.” Sadness was speaking, the same sadness that Fritz had seen briefly each time a woman had left Ashley's life.

  “She's got a lot on her plate, Ash. And she's tired. So are you. That's probably all it is.”

  “This is what I was afraid of. That she'd get bored here.”

  “Ash, sit down. Look at me. How can she be bored? We, all of us, haven't had a quiet moment in almost half a year. But if it worries you, you need to tell her what you think. You can't be a loner when you're married.” Ashley's droop-eyed misery stunned Fritz. “You're still getting married, aren't you?”

  “I don't know.”

  “Maybe you need some time by yourselves. No bombings, no babysitting. Just you and Jane. Ash, talk to her.”

  His World History classes had already reached the 1800s. His train of thought about European wars continued as he discussed Napoleon. But he enjoyed most the discussion of the westward movement in his U.S. history course—wagon trains, steamboats and railroads. The rest of the year would be busy, but fun. At the end of the day, after a discussion of Marbury v. Madison, his ninth-graders didn't leave at the bell.

  “What's up, guys?”

  “We have a surprise, Mr. R,” said Susan. “Then we'll get the mail.” Heads turned to Ted, his pale cheeks turning a deepening pink.

  “I spoke to Mr. Montgomery last night. He said the Phillies would donate $10,000 and that he had told a bunch of Phillies sponsors and will let me know how much they'll donate. Mr. R, he didn't say if, but how much!” Reserved clapping told Fritz the
story wasn't complete. “He said he'll have a surprise for the final game. Some Phillies will be the pitchers. The class erupted. They were so loud, Ashley yanked the door open and ran in.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Ted, why don't you tell him?” Before the story could be repeated, George scurried through the door.

  “I heard noise. What's going on?” The door opened again. Tom Jaffrey and Liz Chambers came in.

  “Looks like you have an audience, Ted.” Fritz smiled.

  “Does he have a fever?” George asked. The kids laughed.

  “He's fine, Mr. McAllister,” Fritz said. “But he has a good story. Go on, Ted.” When the story reached its punch line, the class cheered as loudly as before.

  “I could hear you in the office,” said George. “I guess that's very good. I'm glad everything's all right.” He turned to leave, but Liz Chambers grabbed his shoulder.

  “George, did you hear the story? The Phillies and their sponsors are donating.”

  “Yes, well, um, uh, I must have missed that. I'm glad everything is all right.”

  “George,” Liz said, “the kids did this. No teachers.”

  “Yes, that's very good.” He waved at the class staring at him.

  “I'll tell you about it later,” said Fritz. “See you then.” The principal left. The teachers looked at each other and started to laugh.

  Fritz turned to the kids. “Thank you all. This is great for the school and the whole town. You know what? I think you should all go home now. The mail will be here tomorrow. And no homework.”

  The teachers formed a greeting line and all four shook hands with the students as they left.

  “What is wrong with that man?” asked Liz.

  “Don't worry, Liz. When has he ever been different?” Ashley said.

  “I better go down and explain it to him,” said Fritz.

  “George, what's wrong?”