Quantum Touch (Book 3): Shadow Storm Read online

  Shadow Storm

  Quantum Touch Book 3

  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

  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

  Other Books by the Author

  Chapter 1

  “ARE THEY CLEAR?” With elbows resting on the hand-tooled leather surface of his mahogany desk in a room the size of most houses, the man listened through the crackling. “American troops? Inside? How do you know?” He absorbed the answer and glanced at the colorful Chinese wood panels and his eclectic collection of antiques. “If they weren't close, how could they know they were Americans?” He was growing red. “The Eledorians are still denying involvement. That will work.” He tapped his fingers hard enough to imprint the leather desk pad. “Get them out.”

  For a moment, he contemplated the importance of his next call. “There were American troops. I don't know where they came from. A few of our men were killed. We didn't change anything.”

  “Nonsense. Don't worry about the dead. We don't have to pay them. We achieved our purpose. We have their attention. The Eledorians deny involvement. The Narians are impotent. Everyone points fingers. And the Americans don't know which way to turn. We have them all where we want them. Now watch the stock market.”

  “We don't need the money.”

  “You wanted, no, insisted, we do this from the inside, so we need the money. We still don't own enough candidates, and the elections are going to be expensive. We have to be ready. We don't want more of the same. We need the money. Unless, of course, you want to spend your own.”

  There was no response. The man in the elegant office knew he could indeed spend his own, he had plenty, but why should he when a little manipulation added still more. “Of course not,” he finally said. “But he'll be gone in a year and half. Why be so blatant?”

  “Because uncertainty breeds fear. Fear wins elections, and even better, scared people don't want more of what made them afraid. Your grandfather taught you that many years ago.”

  “Then we move to the next … performance.”

  THE PRESIDENT sat at his desk in the Oval Office, watching the cable news coverage from Naria. The Secretary of Defense and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs sat on the couches. Reporters had been allowed into Naria early in the day and had been interviewing people throughout the capital. The reporter said the general response had been overwhelming happiness and relief that their government had come to its senses. One of the reporters had managed to catch a senior official who said only that the Narians expected an equal response from the West. “End the sanctions.”

  “We're not going to rush on that score,” said the president. “I've had no contact from the leader and there have been no feelers from any of his partners.” He looked exhausted. His quick trip to Riverboro High School the previous night had not led to a good night's sleep. He'd had to work as soon as he returned to Washington. The portal had performed as hoped, but he had to keep it under wraps.

  The secretary said, “Mr. President, I think you know that Mr. Russell and his people are not likely to disclose what happened, but can we trust the Israelis to be quiet?”

  “I had a long talk with the prime minister, Charlie. His biggest threat is gone. He rescued his people. You saw the reports. All wrong, but he gets the credit. I don't think he wants to make me angry. At least not for now.”

  General Beech said, “Colonel Mitchell is writing an after-action report, but he told me he has questions about what really happened. 'Misgivings,' he said. He doesn't think the Eledorians were real soldiers, at least not Eledorian soldiers.”

  The president frowned. “Get me a copy of the report, please, General.”

  “Yes, sir. You should know his report complimented Mr. Russell, Mr. Gilbert, and the rest. The colonel said he wouldn't hesitate to work with them again.”

  “I'm glad. They're good people. I like them a lot. I hope we don't need them again too soon.” He remembered the first time Fritz walked in on him and told the assembled group the story of that first portal visit and his own adventure going back to New Jersey that afternoon. An image of Robert E. Lee ran through his head. “I'll call him later.”

  FRITZ RUSSELL packed his briefcase with a weekend's worth of work and headed for the parking lot. Ashley Gilbert was waiting for him. “The president hasn't called.”

  “Given what happens when he does, I'd think you'd be delighted.”

  “Well, yeah. I do hope he'll give us this weekend off. I have a lot of grading to do. You want to come for dinner?”

  “Yeah, that would be great. Really. I've been eating sandwiches all week. But I expect better food this weekend. I'm going to DC tomorrow and Sunday.”

  “Sightseeing?”

  “You might call it that. I've been told that Washington has some exceptional landmarks.” Ashley grinned.

  They ate dinner early, and Ashley didn't hang around. Fritz and Linda were sitting on the sofa watching the news, when Linda said, “Wow! That kick. Like a field goal. Here, feel.” She placed his hand on her growing belly.

  “Nope, I think it's a soccer game.”

  THAT EVENING, the president worked late. Colonel Mitchell's conclusion that the soldiers weren't really the Eledorian army troubled him. He jotted notes on a pad that rested on his leg and watched the purple sunset cast shadows across the South Lawn. He wanted more intelligence.

  Earlier, he had consulted with the leaders of England, France, Germany, Russia, and Turkey about the Narian announcement but said nothing about what had really happened. He had then spoken to the Israeli Prime Minister about an upcoming summit. Before the conversation ended, the prime minister asked if he could offer an appropriate reward for “the people from the school.”

  SLEEPING IN on Saturday wasn't in the cards. When Linda came to the kitchen, Fritz's papers, laptop, and a cup of coffee occupied the table. A website on the age of exploration stared at her when she kissed him.

  “Are you including yourself in the lesson?�
� she asked.

  “Hi, Ash. When did you get here? Hmm. You look like Linda.” He stood and kissed her. “How do you feel?”

  “I'm okay. Glad I didn't get up early. I spent too much time on my feet this week.” He poured her a cup of coffee. They talked about Naria and how the people interviewed in the street were smiling. Linda told him about a woman who had said she was happy because she didn't have to worry about being bombed.

  “It's kind of quiet without Ashley having popped in by now,” she said. “He's smitten. But she's going to be a problem for him.”

  “He'll figure it out. It's a nearby trip, as commuting relationships go, but still, I'll bet he's single again by Christmas. She's just so different from all the other women he's dated. She's either brave as hell or just plain crazy. Do you want breakfast?”

  THE SUNROOM, with books lining shelves from floor to ceiling, was probably not the best place for Fritz to work. Its windows tempted him to daydream. But the quiet snapped when a phone call dragged his eyes back from the outdoors.

  “Hi. What's up?”

  The president laughed. “I guess you're getting used to my calling. Hi, Fritz. I haven't bothered you so you could get some downtime. The prime minister asked me to convey his appreciation. Right now, I'm outside Bethesda Naval Hospital. I came to see how Jane's doing, and it seems she has company. I just left.” His smile seeped through the phone.

  “Ashley, I expect.”

  “Yeah. I think I may have created a monster. Mr. Gilbert's apparently been here since first thing this morning. Her doctor said that he sweet-talked his way past everyone.”

  “That figures. How is she?”

  “Going home this afternoon. She's still weak and in a lot of pain, but I think she'll have an attentive nurse. He might make her take it easy. Fritz, I've known her for quite a while now, and Ashley has changed her. She smiles more.”

  “We've known him forever, Mr. President. I've seen him with lots of women, but last weekend, wow. I'll tell you this. He surprised me when he went to rescue her, not knowing if there was live fire.”

  “Pretty gutsy, I agree. I'm beginning to think your visit to the Oval Office is proving to be really lucky. Not just because of the good the portal has made possible, but for the people I've seen do extraordinary things.” Fritz grinned at a compliment he had never expected.

  “Thanks. Is there something I can do for you, Mr. President?”

  “Fritz, on a personal basis, I can't thank you enough. But I keep forgetting to tell you. The prime minister wants to reward you all. Maybe an all-expenses trip. And in your mail next week, you'll find more tangible thanks. I intended to tell you yesterday, but we had some distractions. Once things settle down, maybe we can get together for dinner.”

  “Mr. President, thank you. But do me a favor. Stay out of trouble for a few weeks. Let me get back to teaching. Linda could do without the extra stress too, and we need to set up a nursery. Pretty mundane after this week, but kind of important, you know.”

  “I'll talk to you soon. If you need anything, give me a call.”

  “Okay, thanks. Say hi to the First Lady.”

  Chapter 2

  THE SUN CALLED in sick. When Fritz arrived at school, he felt a shock as he grabbed his classroom doorknob. He rubbed his fingers. That shock meant the portal could be opened and a trip would be possible. He reached into his pocket and removed his desk key. As long as the key was not in his desk lock, the portal would remain unconnected and the paperclips wouldn't do their job. There must be a storm nearby for me to have gotten a shock, he thought. If this lasts all day, I won't need the planes and generator. So instead of going in, he went across the hall, where Sandy Horton, Ashley's no-longer girlfriend, was preparing to start the day. “Sandy, what are you doing right after school?”

  “Packing. Why?”

  “Give me the Shakespeare book. I just got a shock. I think there's a storm coming. If it hits, the portal should be open.”

  “Really? Can we really go?” Sandy's face brightened. She handed him the book, paperclips placed throughout.

  “We can only go to one of these,” he told her, handing it back. Sandy thumbed to each marked section and removed all but one clip. On the way back to his own room, Fritz looked at the page that she had chosen.

  IT FELT LIKE a short day. The last classes zoomed by like the clouds outside. Lightning flashed when the final bell rang, and Sandy walked in before his students were gone. After the room cleared, he said, “We don't know exactly where we'll be or what we'll find, and we're clearly not properly dressed.” Fritz cleared his desk and put the key in the desk lock. They returned to the hall as Ashley walked out of his classroom. Although he was hesitant to approach, his curiosity got the better of him.

  “Hi, guys. Where are you going? To see Shakespeare?”

  “Ash, keep your voice down.”

  “You're really going? Can I come?”

  Fritz glanced at Sandy, who said yes. “Okay. When I open the door, go in quickly. We're likely to frighten whoever is there.” They walked through and found themselves in a dark, empty hallway with plank floors and wooden walls.

  “Mr. Shakespeare,” Sandy called.

  From a room to their left, a scraping sound resonated, and a young man with a high forehead and mustache stepped to the doorway. Seeing three strangers, he tried to close his shirt as he cocked his head to get a better view. “I am Will Shakespeare. What is it you want?”

  Sandy said, “Mr. Shakespeare, we are travelers. We have come to meet you and speak of your writing.”

  “What do you know of my writing?”

  “It is a tale worthy of your talents, sir. Would you hear it?”

  “I am not prepared for guests, but come in.” They followed him into a small room with a fireplace and a desk facing a grimy window. A sheet of parchment and quill lay on the desk. Two chairs furnished the corners.

  “My name is Sandra Horton. My companions are Fritz Russell and Ashley Gilbert.”

  “You said you wish to speak of my writing. What is your purpose?”

  “Your plays, Mr. Shakespeare. We would like to ask some questions about them.”

  Fritz spoke, choosing his words with precision. He had studied the writer's history and learned that although Shakespeare sold his plays, he acted to earn his living. “Mr. Shakespeare, we are travelers from the north. Your work is known and appreciated. We are teachers who have traveled far to speak to you.”

  Sandy asked, “What are you working on now?”

  Shakespeare studied his strangely-attired guests and said, “A story of young lovers and their battling families.”

  “In Verona. Romeo and Juliet,” Sandy said.

  “What did you say?” Shakespeare asked.

  “Romeo and Juliet,” she repeated.

  “I must write that down. I have struggled to name them. But how did you know the play is set in Italy?” Fritz realized that they must have traveled to 1594.

  Sandy said, “Your story, sir, is most excellent, yet lamentable.” Shakespeare tilted his head, picked up a quill and wrote what she had said.

  “You've a way with words,” he said. “I do like that.”

  Fritz said, “Mr. Shakespeare, I have not completed my story.” Shakespeare ignored him, continuing to stare at Sandy.

  “Sir, the way with words is yours, truly,” she said.

  Fritz asked, “Can you tell us somewhat of life here in London?”

  Recognizing his reluctance, Sandy said, “Please, sir. We wish you no harm.”

  “England is rife with distrust and suspicion. London hides the devil himself. The religions battle, the Church of England wars with Rome. A wrongly spoken word, and off to the hangman. Even I have run afoul of provocateurs who claim I am a servant of Rome.” At that moment, a skittering sound came from behind a wall. “Rats. The demons. Night and day, they disturb my peace.”

  “The plague?” Fritz asked.

  “Ah, the plague. Not only a killer but a
constant cause of theater closures. My livelihood is a full theater. A closed one is unfriendly to my purse.”

  Ashley said, “The Queen is your patron and has seen your plays performed. What is life at court like?”

  “You know much of me. Yet I have not seen you before.” He inspected his unusual and unexpected visitors. “Life at court is alive with intrigue. I trust no one but perform to please. Her Majesty, I am told, enjoys the spectacle we provide.”

  “Where is your family?” asked Ashley.

  “My wife and children live in Stratford-on-Avon, at my father's home, where I was born. I visit when work allows. Time does not often permit. Our company performs to large crowds, and I must write to please their lust for the new and different. Without it, my competitors, Marlowe and Jonson, fill their own pockets with my audience's coins.”

  “You could say, sir, the play's the thing,” Sandy said.

  A smile came to his face. “You could indeed.” He picked up the quill and made a note. Noise from the street brought him to his feet. Unsure of the source, he wiped the pane and watched as the soldiers of the guard marched past. “Much ado about nothing, but I must ask you to excuse me. I must prepare for this evening's performance. Mayhap we shall meet again, at the theater.”

  As he ushered them to the hall, Ashley reached to shake his hand. “An enjoyable meeting. All's well that ends well.” The portal glimmered at the end of the hall. With Fritz leading, they went back to New Jersey.

  “Oh, wow, thank you, Fritz. That's a great going-away present.”

  “Sandy,” said Ashley, “you just named a Shakespeare play. You created history. That's incredible.”

  She laughed as she said, “Thanks, Ash. I took it from a great source. Too bad no one will ever know.”

  “We will,” said Ashley. “Every time I read it or even hear the name, I'll think about you.” She hugged him, wiped her eyes, and crossed the hall to her own classroom.

  Fritz whispered, “Good job.”

  FRITZ THOUGHT it felt much later than only the third week of school. So much had happened. Sandy's sudden decision to move to a better position in her hometown should have been the biggest surprise of the new school year. But after the first day of classes, the president had visited Fritz's home with a full entourage that included the Secretary of Defense, the director of the CIA, and Dr. Jane Barclay, an Army major who worked for Homeland Security and as a White House advisor. They wanted Fritz to open the portal for a military operation to enter Naria and destroy its nuclear facilities. George McAllister, the principal, was not wild about using the school as a staging area, but he agreed.