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Post by qohart on Apr 27, 2009 14:11:37 GMT -8
I want to thank Pet for all her help on this story. Not only did she beta this in just a few hours, there were several nights where we brainstormed late into the night. One night in particular she stayed up almost all night with me solving some serious issues I had with how the story was developing. So another BIG thank you!
As usual I don’t own them, I just love them.
The Night of the Completed Equation by Cris Hart
“Douglas, I don’t like this one bit,” President Ulysses Grant said to his friend Colonel Douglas Richmond.
“I know, sir. I don’t like it any better than you do,” Richmond agreed.
“What this little bastard is doing is tantamount to holding this presidency hostage to his wishes!” Grant thundered.
“Yes sir,” the Colonel replied sympathetically, “but by the same token, he is right. If you refuse him a chance to be an agent in the Secret Service, he can say you did not want him or allow him in because of your personal relationship with Gordon. You did speak in Gordon’s defense against Westbury’s charges and the press ate it up voraciously,” Colonel Richmond concluded.
“I remember! I read the headlines!” President Grant snapped more harshly than the Colonel deserved. Then he quoted, “President denies wastefulness in Secret Service’, ‘President refutes charges of high salaries for HIS agents’, or my favorite and most rankling for Gordon, ‘President defends aging agent’.” He slammed his fist against his desk.
“By thunder, I let Westbury take that training course. He couldn’t pass the physical aspects of the training and failed the academics. The only thing he excelled in was map reading!” the President railed. Richmond wisely remained silent and Grant continued.
“He’s soft! With an enormous amount of training his fighting and defensive skills have improved. When it comes to arms and munitions, tactical strategies and, oh Lord, chemistry and explosives, the man has the intelligence of a flea. He can’t pass one of the courses. Did you see what he did to the Academy’s lab, Douglas? Why should he be given the right to special training in the field?” President Grant demanded.
“For no other reason than to prove you are not biased against him, Mr. President, for his unfounded witch hunt against Gordon and because he IS the one who brought the Senator Edgemoor’s fiasco to light,” Colonel Richmond answered quietly and calmly.
Mr. Grant glared, still fuming. “Edgemoor,” he seethed, “Westbury would love to use this as a way to make known Edgemoor’s removal as the head Senate Finance Committee and embarrass this office. If I hadn’t had him removed immediately as Westbury suggested, we’d be in a terrible mess right now. Tom Edgemoor has always been a hard worker and a staunch supporter and a good friend. But this committee was not the right place for him.”
The President was thoughtful for a few moments. “This really is the only reason I’m giving Westbury another chance.”
“Yes, sir.” Colonel Richmond responded quietly.
The President chewed his mustache and paced considering for another long moment before asking, “When are you meeting with James?”
“In a few minutes, sir,” Richmond told him.
“Bring him to me when he arrives. I tell him myself,” Grant answered soberly and dismissed the Colonel.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
James West opened the door to the train to see his partner, Artemus Gordon, an apron tied around his waist, kneeling on the floor, wiping a window with a sheet of newspaper.
"Hi, Artie," he greeted smiling.
"Well, James. So good of you to get back just as the cleaning is done," Artie said sarcastically then rising and turning to greet his friend. He saw that Jim was hanging in the doorway, an odd look on his face. “What’s going on?” he asked suspiciously.
“Uh, Artie, I’ve brought someone with me,” Jim admitted quietly.
"Why didn't you tell me you were bringing company back with you?" Artie growled quietly, crumbling the sheet of paper and dropping it into the wastebasket. His collar was open and his shirtsleeves were rolled up. His hands were stained with the remnants of dirty water. He looked himself over and concluded he was wearing a good half of the dust and grime he’d cleaned during the day.
“I didn’t know,” Jim answered just as quietly then stood aside allowing their guest to enter. "You remember Clarence Westbury," Jim gestured to the young man with him. It was a rhetorical question. Neither agent could ever forget the ridiculous, unexplained manhunt Westbury had launched against Artie almost one year ago.
"Mr. Gordon, a pleasure to see you again, sir," the blonde young man said coming forward hand outstretched. He looked a bit hesitant but otherwise sure of himself. “I know you’ll let by gones be by gones,” he smiled.
Artie was surprised and wary to see him again.
"Pleasure to see you again, Mr. Westbury," Artie said with a nod, keeping the insincerity out of his voice admirably and not taking the offered hand, "Uh, I won't shake your hand. I've been cleaning all morning and I'm filthy," he explained throwing a quick sour look at his partner.
"As you wish," Clarence Westbury said pulling his hand back quickly when he saw how dirty Artie's hands actually were. He was secretly glad he did not have to have direct contact with the man. He almost sneered outwardly but caught himself.
"Clarence has gone through the Secret Service Academy program and is going to train with us a few weeks," Jim explained.
"Congratulations," Artie smiled wanly. “Excuse me,” he said opening the door and tossing the water from the cleaning bucket over the side of the platform. He began to gather the scattered cleaning supplies into the empty bucket.
"I'll show you to your quarters, Clarence," Jim said grinning. He knew he’d peeved his partner.
"Hey, where is he staying?" Artie asked as he ducked into the galley and stowed the bucket in a cupboard and pulled off the dirty dish towel.
Jim chuckled softly, "Your room," he said.
"My room? And where am I supposed to stay?" Artie asked. He didn't find Jim's answer one bit amusing.
"We'll have to double up," Jim answered congenially.
"Oh, fine," Artie replied unhappily as he pumped water and began to wash up, scrubbing his hands furiously. “Why can’t he stay in the guest room like he did the last time he was here?”
Leaning closer to his friend, Jim answered sotto voce, “Because one of us was trying out a new explosive and blew a hole in the wall between the guest room and his lab thereby rendering the guest room unusable,” he reminded Artie with a smirk.
Artie raised an eyebrow and muttered, “Yeah, well. It was an accident.”
"Artie," Jim admonished with a touch of sarcasm and using his normal voice, "You're going to make Clarence feel unwelcome," he teased.
"Oh, well I certainly didn't mean to do that,” Artie returned with equal sarcasm. “I'm sorry, Clarence," he said to the quiet young man, "I was just caught unawares," he explained with a smile. "And he kicks in his sleep," he teased back, thumbing at Jim.
"I don't want to put you out, Mr. Gordon. I can sleep anywhere. The sofa, perhaps," Clarence suggested with a touch of martyrdom that was not lost on his hosts.
"Nonsense, Clarence. I promised we'd make you comfortable during your training," Jim told him picking up on the attitude. "Artie doesn't really mind, do you Artie?" he smiled at his friend trying to keep things easy. It was going to be hard enough explaining the situation to Artie as it was.
"No, I don't really mind. I'll just get my things," Artie answered mockingly.
He preceded them down the corridor where they entered Artie's room and he packed a small valise with his personal items.
"Why don't you settle in, Clarence, unpack then join us in the parlor. We'll be under way soon," Jim said graciously to their guest. He closed the door and followed Artie to his own room.
Once inside, Artie dropped the valise and asked, "What’s he doing here and to whom did you promise we’d make him comfortable?"
"The President," Jim informed him.
"Oh brother. Is this a babysitting assignment?" Artie asked suspiciously.
"No, I told you our assignment. Clarence's along for training. President Grant felt he'd learn a lot from observing us work," Jim explained evenly.
"What kind of training has he had so far?" Artie asked unconvinced. “His last visit was a nightmare, if you’ll remember.”
"He went through the Secret Service training program," Jim answered hesitantly, picking up Artie's valise and putting it on the bed. He opened it and began to remove the contents.
Artie watched Jim placing his razor, comb and other items on the bed. Jim was not looking at him and that was a bad sign. "Successfully?" he asked standing next to his partner.
"Sort of," Jim answered cryptically.
"Sort of?” Artie asked crossing his arms and looking surprised. “How does one ‘sort of’ successfully complete a training program?" When no answer came right away, "Will you stop that and look at me?" he demanded snatching items out of Jim's hand and tossing them onto the bed.
Jim turned, "The truth?" he asked.
"If you wouldn't mind," Artie answered with a less than pleased smile.
"He went through the program, but he wasn't very good at it. The President feels we can get him ready to go through the program again," Jim answered.
"Wasn’t very good at it? What does that mean? What part was he not good at?" Artie fired off the questions in quick succession.
"He wasn't very good at any of it. Mostly because he came in with the attitude that he knew it all already so he didn't listen to the instructors. He did pass map reading, though," Jim confessed.
"Uh huh," Artie replied, "What if we get an assignment while we’re preparing him to go through the program again?”
“He can make sure we don’t get lost,” Jim tried to appease with humor.
“He’ll be a hazard, Jim,” Artie growled humorlessly. “We run into any trouble out there, then what?"
"Then nothing. We've been given job to do. If we get an assignment we just do it our way," Jim said calmly.
"And him?" Artie asked glancing over his shoulder at the wall that separated them from the other room.
"He observes. Gets to see first hand what's involved and maybe gets to the realization that he doesn't know it all," Jim answered.
“What about the academic classes? Did he pass any of those?” Artie wanted to know.
“What difference does it make?” Jim asked evasively.
“Because the last time he was here, we had to ignore him. I didn’t think he was very bright, but then he was trying to get me fired. Now you tell me he wasn’t very good at any of the training because he was a know it all which does nothing to improve my impression of him. I’d like to have something to gage his intelligence on,” Artie explained.
“He passed the map reading class,” Jim repeated with a chagrined look.
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Post by qohart on Apr 27, 2009 14:12:22 GMT -8
"Map reading,” Artie mumbled to himself, “Can we refuse? I mean you didn't promise the President or anything did you?" Artie asked hopefully.
"Artie," he gave his partner a withering look, "I had no choice. The President asked me as a personal favor. Besides, if he didn’t let Clarence have a shot at becoming an agent, the press would have a field day," Jim explained, “What with the President coming to your defense against Clarence a year ago and all, it would look like he was singling him out, discriminating against him. You can understand that.”
"That's just great," Artie said sourly.
"Give him a chance. President Grant wants us to give Clarence this special training. He thinks Clarence might acquire a better attitude. Besides, we’ve both helped at the academy in the past training raw recruits. This time we only have one student," Jim urged his friend.
“I just don’t understand. After all the grief Clarence put us through the last time, and the Old Man’s comment after the hearing, I don’t understand why he wants to give him a chance?” Artie asked turning away.
“Well, there is more to it, Artie,” Jim responded.
Artie rolled his eyes, “There always is,” he fumed. He shook his head and turned his back to Jim, placing his hands on the edge of the bureau. “Ok, let’s have it.”
Jim told him about the Senator Edgemoor situation.
Artie did not speak. He trusted Jim's judgment, but had a bad feeling about what he'd heard about Westbury’s attitude and could not put their last meeting out of his mind. He drew a deep breath and faced his partner resigned, "All right. But he does what we say and we cut him no breaks on his studies. If we get an assignment, he stays out of the way. He observes only. Agreed?"
"Agreed," Jim said smiling.
Jim clapped Artie on the back and left him to sort his possessions while he went to speak to the engineer about moving them to a more remote location to work with their charge.
Artie finished quickly and went to the parlor. As he entered, he felt the familiar lurch of the train getting under way. He saw Clarence toying with the pedal that controlled the pistols mounted as one of their security features. He ducked quickly back into the corridor as the pistols, aimed at the space he occupied, went off when Clarence stepped on the pedal. Both rounds slammed into the wall right in front of Artie. He crossed the threshold slowly, drawing a calming breath.
"Rule number one," he said pleasantly to Clarence, "Don't meddle with things you know nothing about." He gently pushed Clarence away from the pistols and turned them harmlessly away from the entrance to the hall.
"I didn't know what that pedal was for," Clarence explained as Jim rushed in.
"My point exactly," Artie nodded.
"What happened?" Jim asked hurrying through the doorway.
"Oh, nothing," Artie said in a calm voice, though he was fairly fuming, "Clarence just accidentally fired the pistols," he told Jim as he set the pedal back under the table.
“Clarence, you should not meddle with things you are unfamiliar with,” Jim told him sternly.
"That's a very dangerous item, Mr. Gordon," Clarence said, "Surely it could have been locked. Very careless, in my opinion."
Artie whirled toward him, opened his mouth to say something then closed it again. Composing himself he said, "If it's locked, it defeats the purpose of having it as a security feature, Clarence," in an even voice.
"Why don't you show Clarence the other security features, so there are no more ‘accidents’,” Jim intervened, “I’ve asked Orrin to move us down the tracks so we have more privacy while we train Clarence." This was going to be a long trip if the young man didn't respect their quarters. Clarence’s know it all attitude was starting to show itself.
"All right," Artie agreed and proceeded to show Clarence several other hidden guns, sliding panels, and security features.
"You've really got this place rigged," Clarence said admiringly, "but is it all necessary?"
"It has been from time to time," Jim answered for Artie. He suspected his partner might still be on a short fuse.
"Oh, come now, Jim," Clarence scoffed, "I’ve heard about your incredible exploits over the years. I've always felt that a well prepared agent could handle any situation that came his way. Strength and a good gun are what carries an agent through it, no?" Clarence asked.
"Even the strongest, best armed man has to relax sometimes, Clarence," Jim said evenly. "And a little extra protection is needed now and then."
"But there are two of you," Clarence continued, "Surely a guard system would be more effective than all this," he said spreading his hands.
Now Jim's patience was beginning to wear thin. He saw his partner curling his fingers into a fist then stretching them out again. "We live here as well as work here, Clarence. If one of us was on guard while the other was off all the time, we'd never even have normal conversation. The security on this train is as necessary to our doing our jobs properly as any preparations we make for a case."
"I wouldn't want to work with a partner like you do, Jim. No offense, Artie," Clarence said to Artie switching to the more familiar address the agents used then addressed Jim once again, "but if I was forced to, I'd certainly hope I could rely on him for assistance and protection."
Artie narrowed his eyes slightly, it rankled to hear the young agent to be address him in such a familiar way, but he chose to ignore it.
"Will you excuse me, please?" Artie asked pleasantly though his teeth were clenched, leaving the room. Behind him he heard Jim defending him.
"Artie is the most reliable man I know," Jim said, "and I'm not forced to be his partner, it's mutual respect and recognition of our individual talents that makes it work," he told the agent to be, clearly annoyed.
Artie turned back into the parlor. "You don't have to defend me, Jim," he stated gesturing angrily. "You, Clarence, are here to observe and learn, not comment and criticize. I have no doubt you'll work alone. No one in his right mind would want to be partnered with a know it all, little," Artie paused, his mouth working as he searched for the right adjective, "pipsqueak," he chose, "like you," Artie spat caustically.
"Pipsqueak?" Clarence repeated, "That's uncalled for. You don't even know me," he said indignant.
"And you do not know me," Artie said with a nod, his voice low and menacing.
"Are you challenging me to a fight?" Clarence looked gleeful at the prospect of showing off what he considered to be his greatest asset. He imagined himself as able as James West in a fight.
"No I am not," Artie answered in a deadly quiet voice then with an alligator grin, he added, "but don't push me."
He turned to Jim, “I’ll be in the lab working out a plan for Clarence’s lessons,” and he went to his lab and closed the door. He began to mentally plan out lessons for his student while idly puttering with a new explosive he'd been mixing. He ruined it through lack of concentration and it exploded with a soft whump and a flare of flames. Artie jumped up, slapped them out and sighed in frustration. A few seconds later there was a knock on the door.
Jim entered quietly. "Artie," he called.
"What?" Artie snapped a little more curtly than he intended, beginning his mixture again.
"I'm sorry," Jim answered.
"What are you sorry for? It's that moonfaced little twerp that's going to be sorry," Artie looked up at his partner seriously, "He's never going to make it as an agent, Jim."
“All we can do is try and train him,” Jim commiserated.
“At least you’ll get to hit him,” Artie joked half heartedly. Then he brightened, “Although, I suppose I could blow him up,” he teased.
“Careful what you wish for buddy,” Jim grinned and left his partner to work out his lesson plans.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Jim decided to give Artie a much needed break from their pupil and told Clarence he wanted to run him through some basic training moves.
Jim and Clarence made room and removed their jackets. After a brief warm up, Clarence took a challenging pose. Jim matched it and waited for Clarence to strike first. As the man came forward, Jim swept his legs from under him. Clarence rolled left and came up. He circled then rushed in again. Jim struck him in the chest with his knuckles, grabbed Clarence and spun him around pulling his arm up painfully behind him. He held it while Clarence struggled to extricate himself.
"I give up," Clarence finally cried when he could not take the painful twist in his arm any longer.
Jim released him and Artie applauded from the doorway. Clarence flushed with anger and embarrassment.
"Let's see you do better," he spat at Artie.
"Oh, no…I know better," Artie answered leaning casually against the door jamb, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Ha! You know Jim would beat you," Clarence said smugly.
"I thought we just established that," Artie answered mildly.
Losing his composure, Clarence rushed forward and punched Artie in the jaw snapping his head to the side.
Artie recovered quickly from the blow and was furious. "You little…" he muttered moving quickly and punched Clarence square in the nose sending him reeling back against Jim who had moved toward them intending to intervene.
"He hit me," a shocked Clarence sputtered through the blood pouring from his nose.
"What did you expect?" Jim asked righting the man.
"I didn't know he could fight," Clarence sounded surprised.
"I warned you not to push me," Artie answered, "Did you expect I wouldn't fight back?"
Clarence wiped his nose on his sleeve, "Actually, yes, that is what I expected. I'd heard you relied on guile and cunning, not physicality."
"I do rely on guile and cunning, but not when I'm physically attacked. Then I fight back," Artie told him heading toward the galley. He turned, tossing a towel at Clarence and landing it on his face, "Clean yourself up."
Without a word, Clarence went to the guest washroom and they heard him pumping water.
"Nice punch," Jim said grinning.
Artie rubbed his jaw, "It was wasn't it. He really nailed me," he said with a hint of surprise and appreciation.
"I meant yours," Jim chuckled. "Pure perfection."
"Pure instinct," Artie countered. "I was so surprised, I just reacted. You think I broke his nose? It was bleeding pretty profusely." He glanced down the corridor.
"No, I think he's fine. And you shut him up. Maybe he'll behave from now on," Jim said hopefully.
"Yeah, and maybe pigs will fly," Artie shot back then matched Jim's tone. "Say, why do you suppose he has such a dislike for me anyhow?" Artie asked curious.
"I don't know, but he does seem bent on provoking you, doesn't he?" Jim answered.
"And apparently it's working. He's really gotten my goat," Artie said shaking his head. "I really behaved badly, didn't I?" he asked his friend.
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Post by qohart on Apr 27, 2009 14:12:56 GMT -8
"You're not thinking of apologizing are you?" Jim now sounded surprised.
"Not on your life," Artie chuffed, "But what am I supposed to put in our report? 'Agent Westbury got in a good right cross to Agent Gordon's jaw and he countered with a right of his own'? That will look good on the record," Artie said.
"Call it a training exercise accident," Jim suggested beaming.
"That was no accident, Jim," Artie stated.
Clarence returned, his shirt stained with his own blood. "Lucky punch, Artemus, albeit a good one," he said his puffed up opinion of himself intact.
"Training accident it is," Artie muttered to Jim.
"I think I'll retire, gentlemen," Clarence announced and went off to Artie's room.
“Rest well, Clarence,” Artie called to his retreating back, “We’ll be spending time in the lab tomorrow morning early.”
Clarence closed the door quietly enough. He was frustrated and angry and began to pace the room. Gordon’s room! He fumed as he ran a hand through his hair and swiped his left hand across his mouth and chin. His mind reran the events that had brought him to this moment in time.
Paul Edgemoor sat at his desk deep in thought. As the son of a senator, he felt things should be easier for him. His father thought differently. Two years to prove himself to his father. Paul began to formulate a plan.
“The Secret Service?” Senator Edgemoor asked his son. “You?”
“Why not, father,” Paul responded, “You want me to prove myself to be a man and you have many times touted to me the virtues of certain agents even President Grant himself considers men among men. What better way to prove myself and start on a suitable and lifelong career,” he concluded.
The Senator paused, regarding his flabby out of shape son then sighed. “All right, Paul, if you are serious about this, you have my blessing. The next class of recruits will be meeting next week at the academy. I can add your name to the list,” he said.
“No, father, I will submit my application without your help. That is what you want me to do isn’t it? To do things on my own?” Paul answered caustically.
“Very well,” Senator Edgemoor nodded. Perhaps the experience would open the boy’s eyes. And the President’s 2 top agents were doing a stint at the academy during this new class’ training. The Senator had hopes that Paul would see the type of men they were and set himself on a brighter path.
Clarence sank into the chair by the bed. “This will show you what your little Pauley can do without your help, father.” Slowly he undressed and climbed into bed.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Clarence woke to the smells of coffee and bacon and the sounds of the agents talking and getting on with the day in the parlor car. He looked at the clock on the bureau and saw it was only 6:00. He grudgingly threw back the covers and began to ready himself.
“What do you have planned for your student today, Artie?” Jim holding his coffee cup as Artie poured. “Thank you,” he said taking a sip of the hot brew.
“Nothing too spectacular, Jim. I still need to see exactly what he knows or doesn’t know. I thought a little basic chemistry to start,” Artie informed him. He set a plate of eggs and bacon in front of his partner then began to serve himself.
“Good morning,” Clarence mumbled entering the parlor.
“Good morning,” Jim replied, “You almost missed breakfast.”
Clarence sat down without a word and poured himself a cup of coffee. After a swallow he raised his eyes to the agents. “It’s awfully early isn’t it?” he asked.
“Not really. We have a lot of material to cover and not a lot of time,” Artie answered setting a plate in front of their charge.
Clarence dug into the food hungrily. They didn’t even offer a bit of supper last night, he thought, Probably Gordon’s doing. Can’t even manage to plan a decent meal, he continued unreasonably. He was, after all, shoveling quite a nice meal into his gullet even as those thoughts consumed him.
The two agents watched the young man eating greedily. They exchanged a look that said this must not be his normal eating habit or he would be a fat, flabby man, not the svelte figure before them.
Clarence glanced up and saw them watching. Immediately he straightened his back and wiped his mouth. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“You seem pretty hungry this morning,” Jim smiled pleasantly.
“Well there wasn’t any supper last night,” Clarence whined shooting a glare at Artie.
“You’re right, Clarence,” Artie answered flicking his eyes toward his partner first, “We had a late dinner yesterday before you arrived. Why didn’t you say something last night if you were hungry?”
“I didn’t want to put you out,” Clarence resumed eating at a slower pace idly separating his food into portions to be consumed or left behind.
“You wouldn’t have put anyone out,” Artie replied mildly, “you can fix yourself something to eat anytime you’re hungry. We don’t always keep regular meal times,” he smiled.
Clarence looked startled a moment. Is he goading me or making fun of me? “Thank you. I’ll bear that in mind,” he answered pushing his plate away half full. “When do lessons start, Artie?” he asked trying to sound interested.
“As soon as breakfast is finished,” Artie answered and took another forkful of egg.
Artie left Jim to clean up after breakfast, chuckling to himself that it was one of Jim’s least favorite chores and one that his partner managed to avoid on a regular basis. Not today, he grinned.
He worked with Clarence in the lab for several hours. He covered some basic chemistry as he had planned and moved on to identifying the chemicals in the lab and explaining their function or purpose. Outside it began to thunder and soon the rain was pelting the high windows in the lab. Artie turned up the lamps as he explained the properties of gun powder.
“Clarence,” he called, “are you listening?” Artie had asked that same question a dozen times or more already.
“I’m listening,” Clarence gave a huge sigh as he played with a ceramic pestle.
As Artie returned to the table, Clarence rubbed the pestle against Blackjack’s sleek coat. He saw the horse’s hair rise up with static electricity. He smiled inwardly as he laid the pestle next to the mixture Artie had prepared and was now explaining.
Artie was leaning close to the gun powder mixture as he explained his intentions to Clarence. He glanced up to see if his student was listening and saw him rubbing the pestle on Blackjack’s coat. He was about to admonish Clarence when the young man turned his attention back to Artie. Artie poked the gun powder with a finger as he spoke. From the corner of his eye he saw Clarence putting the pestle down next to the mix.
“No don’t!” Artie yelled too late.
The static electricity built up from rubbing the ceramic against the horse’s hide set off the gun powder. It exploded with a loud bang and flashed up into Artie’s face. It was not enough to do any damage but it left Artie’s face blackened with sooty residue. Artie sat stock still blinking owlishly as Clarence nearly doubled over with laughter.
Jim burst in demanding, “What happened?” then caught sight of Artie and chuckled also.
“Clarence,” Artie started in a modulated voice holding his temper, “didn’t we go over what static electricity could do to a mixture like this?”
“Yes we did, Artie, and still you went on with your experiment during a thunderstorm,” Clarence responded tartly. “Very careless of you, don’t you think?”
All mirth left Jim’s features as he recognized Artie silently counting. “Uh, Clarence, why don’t you come into the parlor with me,” he said and hurried the young man out of the lab before there was another explosion of a different nature. “We’ll do a little sparring before dinner.” Jim pulled the door closed behind them.
Could it have been a static charge from the thunderstorm? Artie wondered. Something was niggling at his memory. It was almost a feeling of déjà vu. Had something like this happened to him before? As if from a distance he could hear the same words, “No don’t!” shouted by him and “Very careless” spoken by someone else. It was in another situation, another time, similar yet different from this one. He mulled it over as he wiped his face and cleaned up the lab before joining Jim and Clarence in the parlor.
After a light dinner, Clarence once again joined Artie in the lab. He’d done well sparring with Jim and his confidence was high. He listened half heartedly to the lesson Artie presented. It was boring to him. He knew this material much better than he let on. His mind was spinning a plan for tomorrow.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
“Jim,” Artie began slowly his face a mask of concentration.
“What’s on your mind, Artie?” Jim asked noting the expression.
Artie shook his head, “I don’t really know.” He gestured with his hands, “Does anything about this situation seem familiar to you?” he asked.
“What situation?” Jim put down the paper he was reading and gave his full attention to his partner.
“With Clarence,” Artie said, “I feel like I’m experiencing déjà vu.” He saw Jim frown not understanding and shook his head again, “I can’t explain it any better than that, Jim. I can’t help feeling like this has happened before. Now hear me out, please,” Artie motioned with his hand then went on, “Earlier in the lab, when the gun powder went off, I felt like I had spoken the words I shouted at Clarence sometime before in a similar situation. His response felt familiar too,” Artie explained.
“Can you remember when it was?” Jim asked.
Artie visibly relaxed. He believes me. He doesn’t think I’ve lost my mind. “No, only that it was somehow familiar.”
“What can we do about it?” Jim asked reasonable.
Artie shrugged, “Nothing I suppose. I just wondered if any of it was ringing any distant bells with you.”
“Not so far, but I’ll let you know if it does,” Jim answered and picked up the newspaper to finish reading.
In his room, Clarence again felt the fury rising in him. It was getting harder to keep control. He paced, running his hand roughly through his hair, pulling it hard as he did. The pain helped distract his rage. Clarence withdrew a pocket knife and carved a slice into the decorative wood on the back of the arm chair drawing the blade over the spot over and over as he thought.
”No don’t!” Artemus Gordon yelled too late. The student added the yellow powder to the mixture a split second before.
A loud explosion shook the walls of the academy’s laboratory and billows of smoke filled the room.
Artie sighed then opened the windows to clear the smoke. Students were coughing and waving their hands in front of their faces, tears streaming from their eyes. He saw panic in some of their eyes.
“It’s all right,” Artie called out trying to calm his students, “it’s a diluted form of the formula we were discussing. It won’t harm you but your eyes will sting for a few minutes,” he explained.
The smoke cleared quickly and soon everyone’s eyes, Artie’s included, stopped tearing. He looked over the mess left behind by the explosion.
“I think that’s all for today,” he announced, “Class dismissed.”
As the students filed out of the room, Artie called to one of them. “Paul, would you stay a moment please?”
Paul Edgemoor spoke quietly to the one female in the class, Beatrix Belmont who smiled sweetly at him before leaving. He turned to his teacher. “Yes, Mr. Gordon?”
“Paul, I’m concerned about your progress in this class,” Artie began.
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Post by qohart on Apr 27, 2009 14:13:30 GMT -8
“I’m sorry about the explosion, sir,” Paul interrupted, “I was just sure you were going to tell us to add that chemical in next.”
“I was, but I was going to tell you how to add it and how much to add,” Artie answered.
“Which brings me to part of my concern. You do not know everything and should not presume to know what I am going to tell you next. These experiments are a process that needs to be followed exactly and precisely. Had it not been diluted, adding that chemical the way you did could have caused much more damage than a charred lab table and tearing eyes. You could have killed someone,” Artie explained patiently.
“It seems to me, sir, that you should not use dangerous chemicals in a class where students are still learning,” Paul answered disrespectfully.
“Paul,” Artie narrowed his eyes at his student, “Let me start by telling you that you will maintain a respectful tone with me and all your instructors. Are we clear on that?”
“Yes sir,” Paul answered off handedly.
“Next, you are going to be using these chemicals in their most potent forms IF you become an agent so you must be taught the proper handling and use of them.”
He saw Paul roll his eyes and Artie’s anger flared. He took a breath to help hold his temper before continuing, “Then there is the matter of your grades. This course is almost complete and you are currently failing. You never come for extra help as your classmates do. I am dissatisfied with your attitude. You do NOT know everything,” he stressed.
“You do not pay attention in class,” Artie began ticking off the points he wanted to make, “It does not seem that you are studying for the tests at all. Your lab work is sloppy at best and you still owe me a research paper,” he continued. Taking another calming breath, he went on in a calm voice, “Next week is the final exam. If you turn in your research paper and you pass the final exam with at least a 90% on each, you will pass with just above a 60% average in this class. Obviously lab work will not be your forte in the field but you do have to have a working knowledge of chemistry. Do you understand?”
“Of course, sir,” the young student replied with an impatient air.
“Fine. Then I will expect your research paper on my desk tomorrow morning,” Artie dismissed him and turned to clean up the mess young Edgemoor had created.
Clarence smiled, remembering the formula used that day and knew what he would ask Gordon during tomorrow’s lesson.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Clarence found no opportunity to ask his question about the formula. He was barely paying any attention to the explanation Artie was giving on a knock out gas when the words “Turn in a paper on the properties of this gas” caught his attention.
“A paper? You expect me to do a research paper?” Clarence asked insolently.
“I do. It’s the perfect opportunity to evaluate your research skills as well as your understanding of the lessons we’ve covered so far,” Artie answered. “I’ll expect it first thing Friday morning.”
“You gave us more than three days before,” Clarence cried.
Artie stared at him. “Before?” he asked, “What do you mean before?”
“I meant we were given more than three days when we had papers to do at the academy,” Clarence covered his blunder smoothly. He’d almost given away his gambit.
“I see,” Artie answered not at all convinced, “Well this isn’t the academy and you don’t have as much time with us as you would at the academy so Friday it is. That’s all for today so you have an opportunity to start working on that research paper.”
Clarence glared but said nothing more. He strode out of the lab pulling the door closed with a slam.
“Before,” Artie mused aloud and began to wrack his brain as to what the young man really meant by that comment. His suspicions were aroused and the nagging déjà vu was stronger than ever.
Jim heard the slamming of the door and went to investigate. He hoped there was not yet another issue developing between Clarence and Artie. He knocked on the door and heard Artie call him in.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“No,” his partner answered flatly.
Knowing there was more to Artie’s response than a simple No, Jim prepared for a lengthy story and pulled up a stool. He listened raptly as Artie related the exchange between Clarence and himself.
“Do you think you’ve met Clarence before? At the academy?” Jim asked.
“You’d think I’d remember THAT young man. But something is beginning to take form in my memory,” Artie answered with a shake of his head.
“He’s upset right now. I think I’ll have a training session with him. Men under stress are more likely to reveal themselves if they are hiding something,” Jim told him as he went to the door. “Maybe I can trip him up somehow.”
Artie nodded pulling a sheet of paper from a drawer and began making notes. “Yeah, thanks,” he answered absently.
Clarence was fuming. He carved another gouge in the chair trying to calm himself. But his anger rose and he plunged the knife into the back cushion and slashed it over and over. It left him breathing hard but feeling better when he heard a knock on the door. Clarence tossed his jacket over the chair covering his vandalism before answering.
“Yes,” he called.
“It’s time for a sparring session, Clarence,” Jim answered through the closed door. He tried the knob and found the door locked.
“Five minutes, please?” Clarence asked mopping his brow with his handkerchief.
“Alright. Be ready,” Jim responded.
Jim had the floor cleared and his shirt off when Clarence entered the parlor. They started with some warm up exercises in measured slow moves.
“Are you upset with Artie?” Jim asked bluntly. He saw an emotion flash across Clarence’s face. Anger?
“Not upset,” Clarence lied, “Just frustrated at having to do a research paper without the proper amount of time to complete it.” He felt his anger returning.
Jim positioned himself in a boxer’s stance and Clarence followed suit. As they began to spar, Jim evaluated the young man’s stance and the delivery of his punches. He noted that Clarence did not take notice of the same qualities and therefore never got in a solid punch.
“As an agent, you’ll often be called upon to do something without the amount of time you want to get it done and still you’ll have to,” Jim posed as he landed a punch to Clarence’s midsection.
“But I’m not an agent yet,” Clarence answered through clenched teeth.
“Doesn’t matter,” Jim countered, “You have to get used to short deadlines so it might as well be now.” He popped Clarence on the ear and saw his face turn red with uncontrolled rage.
Clarence lost his temper and threw a straight armed punch catching Jim off guard. It landed squarely on his jaw and sat him down with a thud. Immediately, Clarence’s features cleared and he helped Jim up.
“I’m sorry, Jim,” he apologized.
“Don’t worry about it,” Jim rubbed his jaw gingerly. “Where did that punch come from?”
“I don’t know. What do you mean?” Clarence asked.
“It was a pretty unconventional blow. Your stance was off and you let your arm go straight too early,” Jim corrected the problems he had observed.
“When I lose my temper that happens,” Clarence admitted.
Jim’s eyes narrowed as Clarence hung his head. He was having one of Artie’s déjà vu moments. Haven’t I had this conversation with someone before? he wondered.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Jim told the agent in training, “Why don’t you go work on that paper,” he suggested.
“Yes I believe that is enough for today,” Clarence replied, “Thank you,” he added as he left the parlor.
Jim set the parlor to rights and headed for the lab for a conversation with his partner.
“There’s definitely something strange going on,” Jim concluded. “I just can’t remember who or when I’ve had that conversation before.”
“My feelings exactly,” Artie answered.
They were interrupted by the sound of an incoming message on the telegraph. Leaving the lab they went forward to the parlor where Artie jotted down the message, tapped out a response then handed the sheet over to Jim.
Proceed to Fort Fetterman, Wyoming Territory. Investigate theft of gold ore. Details to follow.
“So now we have an assignment. Remember our agreement, Jim, Clarence is an observer not a participant,” Artie commented.
“I remember,” Jim answered, “But he may be of some use while we’re out there. If nothing else it will show him how a real investigation works. How we work,” he concluded.
"Look, this assignment's important. We can't have him mucking it up in any way," Artie added soberly.
"I know," Jim replied quietly.
They talked more making initial plans, consulted maps to locate Fort Fetterman and finally concluding they could go no further until the rest of the details came in. Jim went to speak to Orrin as Artie went to fix supper.
While they ate, Jim told Clarence of their assignment and that he would be an observer.
“And, Clarence,” Artie added, “Your research paper is due tomorrow since there won’t be time while we are on assignment.”
“That’s an impossible deadline!” Clarence protested hotly but received unwavering determined looks from the two agents.
“You’ve had most of the day to work on it. Just wrap it up quickly tonight. It’s not that big an assignment,” Artie answered as he cleared the table.
Clarence went to his room without a word. It was an impossible deadline and he had no intention of trying to meet it. He undressed and climbed into bed.
Artie was in the galley washing dishes when Jim entered.
“We just got some more details.” He gave him the rest of the information received.
"Anything planned for when we arrive?" Jim asked when he finished relaying the information.
"Well, we know the gold disappeared, right from under the noses of fort personnel," Artie stated.
"Right. So someone either wasn't doing his job as a guard or they were in on it," Jim posed.
"Exactly. I already have my orders. All drawn up and signed by Col. Richmond," he smiled motioning for Jim to follow him as he headed to his lab. Artie pulled the letter from the desk drawer and handed it to Jim. “I’ll ferret out who the spy or accomplice is.”
"When did you get this?" Jim asked surprised as he read the orders.
"I forged them, of course," Artie grinned at Jim, and shrugged, "Pretty good, huh?"
"A little too good," Jim said handing the paper back to his partner. "Does Col. Richmond know you can sign his name almost as well as he does?"
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Post by qohart on Apr 27, 2009 14:14:10 GMT -8
"No, and I don't plan on telling him, do you?" Artie asked.
"Not me. I'll let him find out for himself next time we have a furlough he knows nothing about," Jim teased chuckling.
"What about you?" Artie asked going back to his mixture.
"I plan to play it straight. Investigate the theft openly. One of us is sure to run into the culprit," Jim told him. "What are you working on?" he asked picking up a mound of the failed clay like substance and tossing from one hand to the other.
"Uh, don't fool with that, Jim. It's a reject and I'm not sure how stable it is," Artie said taking it from Jim's hand. He packed the doughy mixture he was working on, kneaded it and handed it to Jim. "A new explosive. A little bit goes a long way. No fuse necessary. Just put it in place, tap with something solid and stand back," he explained.
"Does it work?" Jim asked hefting the small ball of pliable explosive.
"I haven't finished testing it, yet, but it'll work perfectly by the time we get there," Artie said taking it back. "Care to watch?"
"Sure," Jim agreed glad Artie's mood had improved.
Artie pinched a tiny piece off and pushed it against an iron plate on the counter. He took a mallet and rapped it against the tiny pellet. Two seconds later, the pinch began to smoke and then exploded on the iron plate with a quiet thud. The plate split in half.
"Powerful stuff," Jim said admiringly, "but I'm not so sure I want to carry that in the heel of my boot."
"Don't worry. I'll shape it into a coin and you can carry it in your pocket. It hardens quickly but kneading it softens it back up just as quickly," Artie told him taking the halved iron plate up, examining it, then laying it aside. "I think I'll work on my disguise. I can't decide if I should go with old worn out drunk of a soldier, or reckless sleazy bon vivant."
WWWWWWWWWWWWWW
The next morning they entered the parlor to see Clarence setting up a billiard game. They saw he had one of Artie's exploding cue balls and was lining up to break.
"Should we tell him?" Artie asked sotto voce.
"He's the President's project," Jim answered simply.
Artie plucked the cue ball from the table, pocketed it, and replaced it with a regular ball.
"I think you'll find this one a better choice," he said pleasantly.
"Don't tell me, the other one explodes, right?" Clarence laughed.
"As a matter of fact it does," Artie replied laughing with a good natured tone.
"Oh, ho, ho," Clarence laughed harder, "You're serious."
"Yes, I am," Artie laughed harder along with him, then leaned closer to Jim and muttered, "Can I please put it back?"
Jim chuckled softly, "Some other time, maybe," he answered.
"A game, Jim?" Clarence asked, finally containing his mirth.
"All right. We'll play to 13 points," Jim answered getting a cue stick from the rack.
"Artie?" Clarence asked.
"I'll play the winner then you can get to your paper," Artie smirked and went to the desk. He pulled out his sketch book and began to work on two potential characters. As he sketched, he formulated scenarios for his characterizations and in the end chose to be the old drunken soldier. The more innocuous, he felt that drunk, the others may talk without any regard to him. Slightly too old for real duty, he would follow orders but complain about needing money for retirement. Satisfied, he put away his pad and pencil then fired off a wire to the post informing them of the addition of a guard who would arrive in two days time.
Jim won the billiard game and Artie stepped up to play him next. "There's a watering station a day's ride outside of Douglas. I'll get off there and ride to the post," he said banking a difficult shot and landing the ball in the side pocket.
"Nice shot," Jim complimented, "Who are you going to be?"
"Elmer Tyding, a tired old wreck who wants nothing more than to retire with a large bottle," Artie smiled slyly, missing his next shot.
Jim took over and landed the shot Artie had missed. "Don't send a wire about my arriving. I'll introduce myself when I get there. The post commander is Col. Renquist. He's as straight as they come," Jim continued.
"I know him. We crossed paths during the war. Good man," Artie answered remembering the colonel as an older gentleman even then. "He must be close to retirement," he commented.
Jim made his next shot, banking the cue ball off three points before sending his intended target into the corner pocket. "He is. That's why he's the commander at Fort Fetterman. Easy post until retirement," Jim agreed. He missed his next shot and stood back.
Artie paused thinking.
"Your shot Artie," Clarence piped up.
"Yes," Artie answered absently then to Jim, "You don't think Renquist has anything to do with this do you.” Artie stated rather than asked.
"I don’t believe he does but it is an option," Jim agreed.
“What if he is in the same situation I'm going to be playing," Artie suggested, “Nearing retirement and not enough money to retire on.”
"That puts your thoughts in a whole new light," Jim answered soberly.
Artie did not answer. Eyes narrowed in concentration, he took careful aim at a shot that would put him ahead, "Corner pocket," he said and hit the cue ball soundly, dropping the ball into the corner as predicted. "But suppose he is, Jim," Artie continued his previous line of thought.
"I really can't imagine Renquist stooping to stealing from the government," Jim replied. He watched his partner line up an easy shot that would win him the game. He silently put his cue stick in the rack. Artie would not miss this one. As he turned back, he saw Clarence deliberately bump Artie. His cue missed its mark and the cue ball jumped off the table.
"Oh, I'm sooo sorry," Clarence said in a saccharine tone, "And that would have won you the game, too. Shame."
"Yes, isn't it," Artie answered eyeing their charge with a murderous look. He retrieved the cue ball and dropped it into the nearest pocket.
"Take the shot, Artie. That was outside interference," Jim told him.
"No. I think I'm through," Artie answered, "You take it, or we'll just call it a draw." He put his stick away. "I'm going forward to tell Orrin where to drop me tomorrow," he said with a final glance at Clarence. “Don’t forget you owe me a paper.”
"Poor sport," Clarence commented off handedly as Artie exited.
"You cheated," Jim stated flatly.
"It was an accident," Westbury defended himself.
"No it wasn't," Jim answered evenly, "I saw you."
Clarence flushed and changed the subject. "Do you want to train a while?"
"Yes." Jim challenged with a grin.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
A little after noon the next day, they stopped at the watering station and Artie left the train, dressed in a dusty old cavalry uniform, a grey wig and mustache, his unshaven stubble stained grey as well. He rode off toward Douglas, Wyoming.
Clarence did not recognize Artie in disguise and asked, "Who was that old goat?"
"Just a guard from the post," Jim answered not revealing who it really was. Clarence had been present when Artie had said he'd be leaving at the watering station. If he was to have any kind of career with the service, he'd have to listen more carefully, be more observant, and remember.
"Did he come to see if Gordon was on time?" Clarence asked sorting.
"Something like that," Jim answered pleasantly as the train took off again.
They arrived in Douglas the following day and rode out to the fort. At the gates, Jim introduced himself, produced his credentials, and introduced Clarence as an associate. They were led to Renquist's office.
"Jim West!" the colonel greeted him warmly, "I haven't seen you since you were aide de camp to Gen. Grant," he shook Jim's hand firmly.
"Yes, sir, it has been a long time. Colonel, I've been sent to investigate the disappearance of the gold," Jim dispensed with the pleasantries.
"I don't understand it, Jim. These men have been under me for two years at least. I can't imagine how someone could have taken the gold right from under our noses…MY nose…undetected," Renquist answered.
"So you know and trust all your guards?" Jim asked.
"Except for the new man who just arrived, yes."
"Mind if I look around and talk to your men?" Jim asked.
"I welcome it, Jim. Why don't I show you where the gold is being held," the colonel offered.
"Let me look around first, Colonel, then I'll come back and you can show me," Jim countered.
"Fine, Jim, whatever you think is best," the colonel acquiesced. He held the door for Jim and Clarence to exit.
Outside, Clarence asked, "Why didn't you ask him more about the guards? He said there was a new one. How will you know who the new one is?"
Jim stared at him in disbelief and rolled his eyes, "The colonel said his men have been with him two years or more. It's unlikely they would betray him now. Other gold shipments have come through with no incidents," Jim explained. After a pause he asked, "Were you not listening yesterday when Artie and I discussed his coming here as the new guard?"
"I don’t recall hearing that,” Clarence answered with a frown.
“During the billiard game,” Jim prompted.
“During the billiard game? Frankly I wasn't paying much attention to the conversation," Clarence scoffed.
"If you want to be an agent for the Secret Service, Clarence, you better start listening," Jim admonished and walked away from him. Clarence followed close behind as Jim studied the layout of the post. He took in the mess hall, the brig, the barracks and the infirmary, committing it to memory as they approached a group of soldiers standing by an unmarked building.
"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Jim greeted them.
One soldier looked up and snapped to attention. "Capt. West," he saluted.
"Corp. Green, good to see you again," Jim replied touching two fingers to the brim of his hat. Green had served in his company under then General Grant. Jim knew him to be honest and loyal.
Another soldier in the group, a young man in his early twenties, heard their exchange and stood at attention as well. "Private Masters," he introduced himself.
"Private. You're a little young for this duty aren't you?" Jim asked.
"Yes, sir. I hurt my leg, in an Indian skirmish. I was sent here to recuperate and I've been here since," the private explained.
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Post by qohart on Apr 27, 2009 14:14:46 GMT -8
"You're satisfied being here?" Jim queried.
"Yes, sir. The pay is good, and I get to have my wife here with me. We're awaiting the birth of our first child," the private beamed.
"Congratulations, private," Jim said sincerely. He turned to the third soldier, a stooped old man whose uniform was as unkempt as the rest of his appearance. "How about you, old timer," Jim asked.
"Sgt. Elmer Tyding," he replied gruffly. He did not stand at attention. Nor did he salute.
"You satisfied with your post here?" Jim questioned.
"Nope," came the one word response.
"Why's that, old timer," Jim asked suppressing a smile.
"Cuz I AM an old timer. All's I want’s to retire. But the army don't see fit to pay enough fer that," Artie complained.
"You look like maybe you drink up your pay, grandpop. Haven't you saved anything?" Jim asked.
"Not a dime, sonny, not that it’s any a yer nevermind," Artie replied insolently.
"Well, maybe things will work out for you," Jim dismissed him. To the group he said, "Carry on."
Jim turned away and headed back toward the Colonel’s office. Clarence was not behind him. He was glaring at the old soldier. Jim saw Artie look up and wink at the young man who was clearly taken aback. Stumbling in his attempt to hurry, Clarence caught up to Jim.
"That was Gordon!" he told Jim sounding surprised.
"Yes, it was," Jim replied nonchalantly.
"I didn't even recognize him. It was he who left the train yesterday. You said it was a guard from the post," Clarence said.
"No, you ASKED if it was a guard from the post," Jim corrected him.
"I'm flabbergasted," Clarence said honestly.
Jim chuckled, "Come on."
Back with Col. Renquist, Jim told him he'd spoken to the guards on duty and asked if that was where the gold was being held. Renquist confirmed it was.
"I know Corp. Green from the war," Jim told Renquist, "He was a good man."
"Still is. He really should be captain of the guards, but the army won't let me promote him," the colonel said a little sadly.
"And the young corporal?" Jim asked.
"Another of my best. He's young, but he's been with me since his accident. He actually likes this quiet post. Expecting his first child, you know," the colonel said.
"So he said," Jim answered.
"The third man on duty is the new man I told you about, Elmer Tyding," Col. Renquist told Jim.
Before Jim could speak, Clarence piped up. "That's Jim's partner Artemus Gordon, you know," he said boastfully showing the colonel how much he knew.
Jim threw him an angry look, Renquist looked surprised.
"Jim, is this true?" he asked.
Jim tilted his hat back, a friendly and pacifying gesture, "Yes, sir. He's undercover trying to see if there's a traitor among your guards. No one was supposed to know," Jim said pointedly. Clarence flushed and looked at his feet.
"Well, I must tell you I don't appreciate the chicanery, Jim. As commander here, I think you would trust me with this information," the colonel said offended.
"I'm sorry, sir, it couldn't be helped. Until we know more, no one is above suspicion," Jim explained.
"Not even me," the colonel stated.
"I'm sorry, Colonel," Jim told him, sorely sorry for the need to investigate a man he hoped was still as honest and true as he remembered.
"I understand. Will you be staying here tonight?" Renquist asked.
"Yes, sir, if you have room for us," Jim answered.
"There's the guest quarters. I'll take you there," the colonel answered still sounding disappointed at Jim's mistrust. He led Jim and Clarence to the small cabin. "Will you join me at my table tonight?" he asked graciously.
"Thank you sir," Jim accepted, "And Colonel, please keep Artie's identity secret. It's important to our investigation," he asked.
"I most certainly will, Jim," the colonel assured and left them.
As soon as the door was closed, Clarence began to explain, "Jim, I didn't know you had no intention of telling the colonel."
"I don't want to hear your excuses," Jim answered angrily, "You're supposed to observe, not participate. You may have just put Artie's life in danger and undermined our investigation."
"I didn't mean to ruin the case, I was just…" Clarence began.
"Showing off,” Jim completed. “Remember what I said about listening?" Jim asked poking the young man in the shoulder, "Take it to heart and learn to shut up." Jim stormed outside leaving Clarence standing staring dumbfounded.
Jim stood on the stoop a moment scanning across the compound, regaining his composure. Two men came and took the place of the three on guard duty. Artie walked, stoop shouldered and bowlegged, behind the other two men toward the barracks. Jim stepped off the stoop and called to him.
"Hey old timer," Jim called.
Artie turned, "What is it, sonny?" he answered.
"I need your help with our horses and bags," Jim answered walking toward him. "Our horses are just over there," he pointed to the horses in front of the headquarters. He stayed next to Artie as they approached them and said quietly to his partner, "Watch yourself. Clarence couldn’t wait to spill it to the colonel who you really are."
Artie clucked his tongue against his teeth. "Tch. Big mouthed, son of a mule," he answered just as quietly. "Do you trust the colonel?"
"I want to, but until we know more, no one is in the clear. Find anything out yet?" Jim asked.
"Green and Masters aren't involved, I'd stake my life on it," Artie answered.
"Watch what you wish for," Jim joked.
"Yeah, right," Artie agreed, "I have guard duty later with Privates Watkins and Smith, until the detail comes to get the gold," he told Jim. "I have a few hours off before I meet up with them."
"I'm dining with the colonel tonight. I'll know by supper's end if he has anything to do with this," Jim said handing Artie one of the bags. They started back to the cabin.
"Hey gramps," Watkins called to Artie, "Be sure and bring your bottle tonight," he said and elbowed Smith. They laughed at him.
"Young whippersnapper, ya jist watch yer tongue!" Artie snapped back at them.
"We just heard you like to taste a bit," Watkins answered.
"Well, I only share with folks I like, and callin me 'gramps' ain't gonna to help yer case none, sonny," Artie called. He dropped the bag on the stoop and started back across the compound to tend the horses with a whispered, "See you later, Jim."
Jim watched as the two guards jeered at Artie and shoved him roughly. Artie let himself be pushed between the two before stumbling and falling. He shouted obscenities at the two and took the horses to the stables.
At supper, Jim renewed his acquaintance with the colonel. With discreet and casual questions, he learned that the colonel had saved for a nice retirement and that, coupled with his pension from the army, would allow him to live comfortably the rest of his days. His wife looked forward to his retirement and their move to a house they had purchased years ago in Washington. Jim was sure the colonel was not involved in the theft.
Clarence, meanwhile, made polite conversation with the other officers and boasted about being the son of an influential man. He drank too much wine and unbeknownst to Jim, told the officers who Artie was and what they were working on. He'd assumed that as officers they were automatically trustworthy. After supper, he retired to the cabin and fell asleep. Jim stood on the stoop smoking a cigar and watching the guards. Just before midnight, he woke Clarence.
"Come with me," he told the young agent in training, "We're going to keep an eye on the guards and the gold."
Clarence was still half drunk but went with Jim outside. Quietly, under cover of the moonless night, Jim led Clarence around to the back of the cabin. He reached up and grabbed the edge of the overhang and flipped himself up onto the roof. He reached down and helped Clarence up, motioning for him to stay quiet then climbed up onto the roof of the structure. He pointed toward the building across the compound as Clarence joined him.
"That's what we're interested in tonight," Jim whispered to the would-be agent.
Clarence yawned. He was tired and a little nauseous from too much drink but tried to focus on what Jim seemed to find so interesting.
At midnight, Artie joined Watkins and Smith. After Watkins left to go to the latrine, Artie pulled out a bottle of whiskey and took a swig. Smith eyed the bottle enviously.
"How about a taste, gramps," he asked.
"I got a name like everbody else, sonny," Artie answered corking the bottle.
"Ok, Elmer," Smith said in a friendly tone, "How about it?"
"Well now…THAT’S better," Artie answered handing him the bottle.
Smith drank greedily, then wiped his mouth on his sleeve and gave the bottle back.
"You seen it?" Artie asked.
"Seen what?" Smith asked.
"The gold, dummy. What we's a guardin," Artie answered saucily.
"Sure, it's right in there," Smith replied thumbing toward the door.
Artie began to open the door.
"What are you doing?" Smith asked stopping him.
"I ain't never seed that much gold, sonny. I want me a look," Artie said slapping the guard's hand away from him. He opened the door and stepped into the dimly lit room. Bags of gold were piled in the middle of the room. He hefted one of the bags.
"Put that down!" Smith said sharply.
"I ain't hurtin it none, sonny," Artie answered. He opened the bag and pulled out a large gold ore nugget. He held it up and admired it.
"Sure is a beauty, ain't it?" he breathed in admiration.
Watkins entered, "What's going on here?" he asked gruffly.
"He wanted to see the gold," Smith told him.
"And you let him? Are you stupid? Come on, gramps, put that away and get your carcass out here," Watkins commanded.
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Post by qohart on Apr 27, 2009 14:15:22 GMT -8
"I'm comin," Artie said and looked around as though wondering if anyone was watching. Watkins was, Smith had gone outside. Artie pretended not to see Watkins and slipped the nugget into his pocket, closed the bag and put it on the pile then went outside. Watkins said nothing.
The old coot just took a gold nugget, Watkins said to himself. A perfect scapegoat, he thought. "I must’ve eaten something bad, I gotta go again," he announced and quickly headed back to the latrine. In reality, he met with one of the officers, which Clarence had entrusted with the information about Artie. Watkins told him what had just happened.
"That old codger is a Secret Service Agent," Capt. Gentry told Watkins, "We go with the plan just as it is. He's trying to trip us up." Gentry ordered.
“But what about Gordon?”
“Kill him.” Gentry told him.
"How?" Watkins asked.
"You saw him take the gold. Call him on it. He'll resist, I guarantee it. Shoot him. I had the prisoners load the rocks they were breaking into the wagon and the painted gold is mixed in. Tomorrow when we haul the rocks out of the post, the gold goes with them. We can pick it up at our leisure. DON’T mess this up," Gentry concluded.
"Don't worry," Watkins assured him and returned to his post.
Jim lay flat on top of the cabin watching the compound. He saw Watkins talking to an officer before returning to his post. If they made a move tonight, Jim would see them.
"Hey, gramps, bring out your bottle," Watkins ordered.
"Nope. Got me a name, ya know," Artie answered.
"I don't care what your name is, give me that bottle," Watkins repeated.
"Nope," Artie said stubbornly.
Smith pulled it out of his back pocket and tossed it to Watkins. They tossed the bottle between them drinking from it while Artie tried half heartedly to get it back. They finally finished off the booze and Smith was rather tipsy. Watkins was not. He shoved the empty bottle into Artie's chest.
"There you go, gramps," he taunted.
"It's empty," Artie said loudly and threw the bottle on the ground smashing it.
Smith got in his face, "Hey keep it down, gramps, you'll wake everyone."
"I don't care," Artie countered louder, "he owes me fer that whiskey."
Watkins kicked Artie in the backside. Artie made a show of falling forward against Smith. Smith pushed him off roughly, spinning him around and tossing him back toward Watkins. Watkins kicked Artie soundly in the groin and Artie went down for real. The gold nugget fell out of his pocket as he knelt on one knee, head down.
"Son of a bitch," Smith breathed looking at it.
"A common thief he is," Watkins said and kicked Artie in the ribs sending him all the way to the ground.
Artie rolled onto his knees and slowly rose.
"I jus wanted one so's I could retire," he pleaded to Watkins.
"You'll end up in front of the firing squad, gramps," Watkins threatened.
"No! I'm too old fer the firing squad, sonny. Ya got it back. Lemme go," Artie begged clutching at Watkins' shirt front.
Watkins picked up the nugget and tossed it into the middle of the compound. "Tell you what, if you can get it you can keep it," he taunted.
"Fer certain?" Artie asked.
"Sure. Go for it," Watkins smiled.
"I will, I will," Artie stammered convincingly, "Then I'll go. They kin call me a deserter, I don't care," he said letting them think he was truly relieved. He shuffled toward the thrown nugget as quickly as an old man could.
Jim and Clarence watched Artie's performance from their perch on top of the cabin. Then things started getting rough. When Watkins felled Artie with his kick to the groin, Jim shimmied down to the ground. When Watkins landed his boot to Artie's ribs, Jim was about to leave his cover of shadow next to the cabin when he saw Artie rise. His performance continued and Jim relaxed a little. Clarence came down from the roof staggering. He went to the side of the cabin to throw up and found Jim there.
"I'm sick," he said weakly, standing in front of Jim.
"You're not sick you’re drunk," Jim retorted and stepped around the young man so he could see the guards.
"Help me, Jim," Clarence said grabbing Jim's arm.
"Get off me!" Jim shrugged out of Clarence's grip and heard a shot fired…Artie! He whirled toward the guards.
His ribs hurt and his groin hurt worse. But Artie started for the gold nugget. Lucky for me I'm supposed to be an old codger. I don't have to win any races getting to that nugget, he thought to himself. He picked up the chunk of gold and turned toward Watkins and Smith, holding it up. Too late he saw Watkins aim and fire. Artie took a step to the side and dropped the gold nugget as the force of the bullet staggered him. He went down hard, landing on his back.
Jim rushed forward as Watkins cried out "Thief! We caught us a thief!"
Jim raced past the barracks to where his partner lay sprawled on the ground. He could see the dark stain of blood spreading across Artie’s chest. Sliding to his knees, Jim peeled off the wig and mustache and checked for a pulse.
“Artie,” he spoke softly but Artie was unconscious.
Behind him, the barracks door opened and other guards rushed out. The Col.'s residence lit up and he hurried out in his robe. Two officers, Gentry and Crane hurried from the officer's quarters. Everyone gathered in the middle of the compound and stared down at the old guard now transformed to a much younger man.
"You," Col. Renquist said to Watkins, “What happened here?”
“Caught this man trying to steal some of the gold, sir,” Watkins reported holstering his pistol and coming to attention.
Renquist saw Smith open his mouth to speak but silenced him with a look not wanting to hear the whole story in front of everyone.
"Watkins, wait for me in my office. Smith, lend Mr. West any assistance he needs,” the colonel snapped his orders. “You two," he addressed Green and Masters, "Take the guard. Gentry, Crane, to my office with Watkins."
Col. Renquist finished giving his orders and joined Jim and Private Smith.
"Help me get him to my quarters, Private," Jim ordered. He and Smith lifted Artie and carried him into the cabin and laid him on the bed. "Do you have a surgeon?" Jim asked Col. Renquist who nodded.
"Get him, Smith," Renquist ordered and Smith rushed out to the infirmary.
Clarence entered as boldly as his half drunken state allowed. "Look what I found in a wagon around back, Jim," he said holding up a badly painted gold nugget. "There's a whole bunch of them loaded on the wagon with a pile of rocks."
Jim's anger exploded from him. He grabbed Clarence and slammed him into the wall. "You arrogant, little, twerp!" he shouted, "Who exactly did you tell about Artie?" he demanded and slammed him against the wall again.
"But I found the gold, Jim. I solved the case," Clarence stammered blinking stupidly.
"You solved the case? Good for you!" and Jim slammed him so hard, he nearly knocked Clarence out. “Now who exactly did you speak to at supper!” Jim demanded.
"Just Capt. Gentry, one of Col. Renquist’s officers," Clarence answered stunned.
"I told you to keep your mouth shut!" Jim seethed and this time he did knock Clarence out when he slammed him against the wall. He let go of the younger man and let him fall to the floor unceremoniously.
Col. Renquist took Jim by the arm and pulled him away from Clarence having let him have the leeway he was due.
They heard a moan from the bed and rushed to Artie’s side. "Hang on, Artie,” Jim said in a low voice.
Artie tried to sit up struggling against Jim’s restraining hands on his shoulders.
“I’m all right,” Artie said. He pulled open his jacket and revealed the bullet proof vest he wore underneath. “Fake blood,” he grinned at Jim plucking the remains of a pellet from next to the bullet lodged in the vest. He held it out to Jim and dropped it in his open palm. “The force knocked me down and I hit my head on the ground. Knocked me out,” he grinned.
Jim sighed, a mixture of relief and disbelief. “Didn’t I tell you to watch yourself, Artie,” he said shaking his head.
“I thought I was. I thought I was going to walk away from that little fiasco,” Artie returned in the same low tone, “When you told me about Clarence’s spilling of the beans, so to speak, I decided I’d take some extra precautions. By the way, what exactly went wrong?”
Jim smiled then turned to Col. Renquist.
"Col." Jim said, "Capt. Gentry and Watkins are in on the gold theft. Our associate, Clarence, solved the case. He found the gold hidden in a wagon load of rocks."
"Gentry," the colonel repeated, "He's in there with Crane and Watkins. Are you sure, Jim?"
"Positive. I saw Watkins talking to Gentry by the latrine shortly before Watkins shot Artie," Jim answered.
"Clarence solved the case?" Artie asked sounding surprised and angry at the same time.
“He found the stolen gold through dumb luck. He was puking his guts out after drinking too much wine and shooting his mouth off to Capt. Gentry about who you are and what we are doing here. Gentry and Watkins were in on it together," Jim explained.
"So that's what went wrong. Miserable little nincompoop," Artie said disgustedly. "So he gets the credit and what do we get?" Artie grimaced swinging his legs over the edge of the bed.
"We get to report to the President what our trainee accomplished," Jim answered.
"That he found the gold," Artie sounded disgusted.
"That too," Jim told him.
"That too?” Artie repeated, “What else?" he asked stripping out of the jacket and vest. Through his undershirt, he rubbed the spot on the center of his chest where the bullet had hit.
"He has a long way to go before he can be an agent. He's a cheat, a liar, and a braggart, not very observant, doesn't know when to shut up or even how to follow orders,” Jim ticked off the points he was making.
“So basically he’s unchanged from when he first came to us,” Artie wise cracked.
There was a long pause then Artie said, “So now we question Gentry and Watkins and get them to confess.”
“That’s the plan,” Jim agreed. “And Smith needs to be questioned too. Why don’t you talk to him while the colonel and I speak to the other two,” Jim suggested.
“What about Clarence?” Artie asked just now spotting Clarence heaped on the floor. He pulled the jacket back on over the undershirt leaving it unbuttoned.
“He’ll keep, for now,” Jim replied preceding his partner out the door.
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Post by qohart on Apr 27, 2009 14:16:00 GMT -8
They met Smith and the doctor as they stepped off the porch. Smith skidded to a stop a look of surprise on his face at the sight of the injured man walking toward him.
“Dr. Peters,” Col. Renquist addressed the doctor, “You’re services aren’t needed after all.”
“I was told a man was shot in the chest,” Peters frowned in confusion.
“It was a miraculous recovery,” Artie quipped stepping up to stand next to Smith. “We need to have a little chat, Private,” he nodded and steered Smith back into Jim’s assigned quarters by the elbow.
“That’ll be all, Peters,” the colonel nodded as he and Jim walked quickly to the colonel’s office.
“Gentry, come with me,” Renquist ordered and opened the door to his office. “Watkins, Mr. West has some questions for you. You will give him your full cooperation,” he held Watkins’ gaze a moment before closing his door.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWW
The questioning of the three men, though conducted separately, was largely the same.
In the cabin, Artie sat at the small table across from Smith.
“What do you know about the gold theft?” he asked bluntly.
“I know some was taken, that’s all,” Pvt. Smith answered. He was studying Artie’s face. “You sure look different now, if you don’t mind me saying, sir,” he said using the respectful appellation now that he knew who Artie was.
“Yes, I suppose I do,” Artie acknowledged then resumed his questioning. “Do you know who is involved?”
“No, sir. I vow. I just do what I’m told to do. Now, Cap’n. Gentry and Watkins there, they seemed pretty tight. Kinda odd bein’ as one of em is a Cap’n. and the other’s a Private,” Smith answered.
“Gentry and Watkins were friendly?” Artie asked for clarification.
“I always figured Cap’n. Gentry was just issuing orders to Watkins. Seemed like Watkins was always the one givin’ em out to the rest of us,” Smith said.
Artie was pretty well convinced that Smith was telling the truth. This man was a follower not a leader.
“Anything unusual ever happen?” he asked.
“How do you mean, sir?” Smith replied.
“Oh, anything. Like you noticed that Gentry and Watkins were chummy. Anything else strike you as odd in any way?” Artie expounded.
“Well, sir, now that you mention it, every time one of the other men seemed to get in with either the Cap’n. or Watkins, something happened to em,” Smith offered.
“What happened? Be specific, Private,” Artie said seriously.
“Well like Cpl. Bill Cook. For a while there, he was hanging around with them and got assigned to the crew who took the prisoners out to dump the rocks they’d busted up. One day he just didn’t come back. Watkins said he had an accident and was killed,” Smith told him, “There was a couple of others too. Tucker and a fellow named Bass. Funny how all three of em had an accident and got killed while out with the prisoners,” he mused.
Artie decided Smith didn’t have the smarts to be a part of the theft operation. He was just now realizing it was odd that three men died under similar circumstances? Artie made a mental note to ask Col. Renquist why HE didn’t think it odd.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
Col. Renquist sat behind his desk and motioned for Capt. Gentry to take a seat.
“What do you know about the gold theft?” he asked his officer.
“I don’t know anything about it, Colonel,” Gentry replied smoothly, “Watkins reported the theft to me and I to you. After that I was told nothing.”
“Do you have any idea who might be involved?” Renquist wanted to know.
“No sir,” Gentry calmly answered, “I had a few men looking into it, but they found nothing.”
“About these men, Gentry, they all were killed, weren’t they?” the colonel asked.
“Unfortunate accidents, but yes. They were careless.” Gentry sighed and spread his hands, “Face it, sir, the army isn’t going to send it’s best to a little fort like this one.”
Renquist narrowed his eyes at his officer.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWW
“What do you know about the gold theft?” Jim asked Watkins who sat hunched in his chair. He could tell the man was still feeling the effects of Artie’s whiskey.
“I know a whole heap of it has been stolen,” Watkins grunted.
“How do you know ‘a whole heap’ of it has been stolen, Private?” Jim cocked his head to one side.
“Cuz, Cap’n. Gentry told me so,” Watkins sat up a little and met Jim’s eyes. Watkins shifted nervously under Jim’s steady gaze.
Seeing the man squirm uncomfortably, Jim was assured of Watkins involvement. He hoped he could unnerve him enough to tell the story.
“Private, why are you so nervous?” Jim shot at him.
“I ain’t nervous,” Watkins answered running his hand down his face then scratching at the growth on his chin. I can’t stand them green eyes of his, Watkins fidgeted under the piercing glare. “Whatchoo lookin at me like that for?” he stammered.
“Do you know who might be involved?” Jim ignored the question Watkins asked. He wanted the man sweating.
Watkins blundered and answered, “Gentry.” He looked up eyes wide when he realized he’d spoken out loud.
“Why don’t you tell me about it,” Jim asked quietly.
Watkins started to try to rescind his answer then gave up. Now that he’d already given the name of his partner, he might as well tell all and hope for leniency.
“Gentry started talkin’ ta me ‘bout how this post was a nothin’ assignment. He’d yammer on about how a man’d never be able to retire off the wages paid here,” Watkins admitted.
“An’ he was right too. When we din’t have no Indian skirmishes going on, this place is plumb boring. And them Indians is dangerous to a man’s retirement ta boot,” Watkins continued. “Gentry wanted money, a lot of it and fast, enough to disappear and retire on. That sounded good ta me so when he asked fer my help, I went along,” Watkins concluded.
“So it was Gentry’s idea, Gentry who planned it out?” Jim asked.
“It was. And Gentry who ordered me ta kill that Artemus Gordon fella,” Watkins was quick to add, “I ain’t gonna hang for no murder alone.”
“That’s the one thing that won’t happen to you, Watkins,” Jim told him, “You didn’t kill him.”
Watkins looked relieved.
“Where’s the gold ore now?” Jim wanted to know and again, Watkins freely told him what he wanted to know.
“Out in the desert around the fort mixed in with a pile of busted up rock the prisoners have been unloading out there,” Watkins hung his head after admitting that last damning piece of information. “Gentry picked the spot. Far enough away and still close enough so’s we could get it when the time was right to high tail it out of here.”
WWWWWWWWWWWWW
Mixing the three together after individual questioning, and asking some of the same questions and receiving the same answers from Smith, who Artie assured them was not involved, Watkins then repeated the story he had told Jim.
Gentry explode. “Fool! Idiot! They didn’t have anything on any one of us!” he cried. Gentry sank into a chair head in his hands, disgusted and defeated.
Col. Renquist ordered Crane who had been watching the proceedings from the corner of the room the entire time, to put Gentry and Watkins in the stockade for the military courts to take care of them.
It took a day or so for the agents to supervise the recovery of the gold from the desert and secure to await transport away from the fort. After that they were free to return to the train. Clarence felt like a big man, the hero and tried to buddy up to Jim.
He talked the entire trip back to the train, boasting and bragging on himself and throwing smart remarks at Artie. He did not miss an opportunity to give his opinion of Artie botching his assignment, or his ineptitude at escaping a potentially dangerous situation.
Artie let it slide though it bothered him a great deal. Jim was about to remind Clarence that it was his stupidity that had nearly botched everything, but Artie motioned him to let it rest.
Artie’s chest was sore, bruised, a bit tender, and he occasionally rubbed the spot as they rode into the growing darkness toward the train.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW
They arrived back at the train late that evening. Jim sat on one of the plush sofas and removed his jacket and tie. Clarence sat next to him and stretched his legs out in front of him. He wore a very self satisfied expression.
“That was quite an experience,” he remarked to the agents.
“Yes it was,” Artie answered pulling off his fringed riding jacket. He gingerly rubbed at the bruise on his chest. “Clarence,” he began, “don’t you have something for me?”
Uh, oh, Jim thought, Clarence is in for some payback after all that conceited jabbering he did the whole way home. Artie style payback. Jim leaned back into the cushioned sofa, suppressing a grin and waited to see what would happen next.
Clarence thought for a moment before answering. “No, I don’t believe so, Artie.”
“Your research paper?” Artie prompted pouring brandy into snifters. He handed one to Jim, placed one in front of Clarence on the table and took a sip from his own.
Of course I don’t have that,” Clarence scoffed picking up the brandy and tasting it.
“It was due before I left for the fort,” Artie reminded their charge.
“And I told you then the deadline was impossible,” Clarence retorted. “There wasn’t sufficient time to complete that assignment.”
“If you are given an assignment, young man, you complete it. What would you tell your superiors? That there wasn’t sufficient time or the deadline was impossible?” Artie challenged.
“It’s not the same thing,” Clarence answered haughtily.
“Isn’t it?” Jim interjected.
“No it isn’t. Not at all the same. Obviously if a superior of mine gave me an assignment I would do my best to complete it in a reasonable amount of time,” Clarence explained.
“In this case, I AM your superior,” Artie told him, deadly calm.
Clarence made a scoffing sound. “You?” he asked peering up at Artie from over the rim of his brandy snifter as he took another sip.
Artie slapped the snifter out of his hand sending it crashing against the far wall. “Stand up,” he ordered. It was late, he was tired and sore, and his temper was short.
“First, you will maintain a respectful tone with Jim, me and all your superiors. Are we clear on that?”
Clarence rolled his eyes at him.
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Post by qohart on Apr 27, 2009 14:16:36 GMT -8
“Second, there is the matter of your attitude,” Artie continued.
“What about it?” Clarence asked.
“I don’t like it!” Artie roared. “I will not give a passing report to the President and will make it clear it is not Jim or me who are at fault but YOU, Clarence. Your pig- headedness, lack of interest, slip shod work ethic, know it all attitude, disrespect for authority are the major contributors to your failure in this short training period and I am sure, to your failure at the academy,” Artie thundered.
Jim sat poised ready to intervene if necessary. He had never seen his partner this angry before.
“You’re being unfair!” Clarence cried.
“Stop whining!” Artie shouted. “Take some responsibility for yourself! It’s high time.”
“You’re just trying to get back at me because of my investigation of you last year!” Clarence spat.
“Go to bed!” Artie commanded pointing toward the sleeping quarters.
“You can’t talk to me that way,” Clarence protested, “I’m not a two year old.”
“You act like a two year old, you get treated like one. Now go to bed,” Artie stated finally calming down.
Clarence left, red faced and fuming, muttering under his breath. “You didn’t like me before, took everything from me then but not this time.”
Artie watched him go, a far away look on his face. When the door slammed he turned and sat on the sofa next to Jim.
“You ok, Artie?” Jim ventured.
“Hmm?” Artie commented then paid attention. “Oh yeah.” Jim studied the look of concentration on Artie’s face.
“What’s on your mind, Artie?” he asked, “Déjà vu again?”
“Yes that, but what do you suppose he meant about not liking him before and having taken everything away form him?” Artie answered, “Clarence said something earlier about my giving more time for assignments ‘before’. He covered it by saying he meant when he was at the academy he was given more time.”
“I don’t know,” Jim answered. He could see it was preying on his friend’s mind.
The agents sat in companionable silence with their brandy and good cigars. Then they discussed and wired their report on the completion of the gold theft mission. They were fair but honest about Clarence’s role.
They also decided that in good conscience, they would have to recommend that Clarence not be allowed to become an agent. He was a hazard. He was unable to keep his mouth shut and could not be trusted. He could possibly defend himself but Jim admitted he had been relatively easy on him. At full force, Clarence would not survive his first fight. That was a report they would send off in the morning. Jim decided to turn in. Artie chose to go to the lab and putter a bit while mulling over what Clarence had said.
Later, while he was examining a slide, the lab door opened.
“Can’t sleep, Jim?” he asked not taking his eyes from the microscope. He got no answer so he turned to his left to face who entered. It was Clarence, pistol in hand and aimed at Artie’s chest.
“It’s not Jim,” Clarence spoke quietly, calmly.
“So I see,” Artie nodded and took a step in the young man’s direction. To his surprise, Clarence lobbed a small silver sphere at his feet. He was quickly engulfed in a thick cloud of his own knock out gas. Coughing violently, Artie tried to back away from the gas but was hit on the back of the head and crumpled to the floor.
Artie awoke to find himself tied to a chair at the desk, Clarence perched on the edge. He immediately struggled against the ropes. The distinctive click of a hammer being cocked stopped his attempt to free himself.
“I WILL shoot you if I have to,” Clarence informed him still quietly calm, “but that’s not my intention at the moment.”
“That’s good to hear, Clarence,” Artie nodded matching the young man’s tone.
Clarence began to move slowly about the lab. He peered into the glass fronted cabinets, reading the labels on the chemicals. All in Gordon’s neat precise handwriting, he observed. He opened a cabinet and removed a small brown bottle and set it on the lab table.
“Looking for anything in particular, Clarence?” Artie asked moving his hands slowly behind him trying to free them.
“Just looking,” Clarence had his back to Artie who felt the handle of the desk drawer at his fingertips. He started to pull the drawer open.
“It’s not there,” Clarence said without turning. He held up his other hand and showed Artie the gun that was always kept in the drawer. It had been dismantled, the firing pin removed. Clarence carelessly tossed it onto the lab table.
He strolled around the lab, pulling neatly labeled bottles and vials from various cabinets. He lined them all up on the table by the first one.
Clarence began to open lower cabinets looking for something. He came to to the far wall where the metal was curled back revealing a gaping hole through which a large charred area in the adjoining guest room could be seen.
Looking over at Artie with a sly smile he asked, “A new explosive?”
“Gone slightly awry but yes,” Artie replied.
“Careless, very careless,” Clarence said picking out a large beaker from the nearest cabinet and taking it to the table where he had lined up the selected chemicals.
Artie could clearly see which chemicals Clarence had chosen. A sudden flood of memory struck Artie as he watched as Clarence began to mix the chemicals in the beaker.
Paul Edgemoor watched the other students celebrating their accomplishments to date and waiting for the final exam to start. Artie stood talking to Beatrix Belmont. She smiled and laughed with him.
Clarence glanced in Artie’s direction and saw the recognition dawning on his features. He smiled. He knew what Gordon was remembering. The last day of class at the academy four years ago.
Paul fumed. How could she! His feelings for Beatrix had grown over these months. He loved her and planned to ask her to be his bride. And now she seemed to be flirting with Mr. Gordon!
Paul continued to fume as the class was called to order to begin the written part of the exam.
Artie remembered glancing over the written tests papers as his students began the practical lab portion of the exam.
Paul had not completed more than half of the written test. Artie shook his head. The boy was not going to pass.
Each of his students had been assigned a set of chemicals and a formula for mixing them. The formulas would produce the desired gas or explosive if mixed properly. All the compounds were full strength and undiluted.
Paul seemed distracted and angry, Artie noted. Young Edgemoor failed his final exam when he improperly mixed his chemicals and caused an explosion that blew out the windows and half the wall behind him. Beatrix Belmont lay dead at the table next to where Edgemoor had been stationed. But where was Paul?
Clarence remembered the explosion and hearing his classmates cries as several other chemical mixtures blew up in the fire flash from his own. He clearly remembered Gordon’s voice ordering someone to get a medic for the injured students. It was two days later that Paul learned of Beatrix’s death.
Virtually unharmed, Paul found himself on the grass outside the building staring at the gaping hole in the laboratory. He picked himself up and ran.
“You remember now?” Clarence asked.
“You’ve changed quite a bit in the last four years, Paul,” Artie acknowledged working harder than ever on his bindings.
“Yes I have. After I learned that you’d killed Beatrix, I spent almost a year in hiding. Living on the streets, fighting for food and your own survival in alleys, it all changes a man,” Paul told him. “Permanently.”
“I didn’t kill Beatrix, Paul, you know that,” Artie said calmly. There was something in the young man’s eyes that was disturbing.
“You took her away from me!” Paul shouted coming around the table to lean close to Artie’s face. “You charmed her, let her flirt with you!” he ranted.
Jim was awakened by the sound of voices. Clarence! Shouting at Artie, Jim thought as he rolled out of bed and pulled on his robe. I’d better see what started this up again.
He padded down to the next room and opened the door unannounced. Jim blinked disbelieving. Artie’s room was unoccupied but it was also destroyed. Jim took two steps into the room looking around at the devastation.
Artie’s bed and pillows were slashed and feathers floated through the air like snowflakes, his armchair was also slashed, the stuffing hanging out of great gashes in the covering material. Gouges were cut into the wood of the chair, the surface of the bureau was marred by deep grooved slices. And Artie’s books! That’s going to hurt him the most, Jim thought as he saw them strewn about the floor with pages torn out and fine leather covers in ribbons.
Jim heard Artie shout out in alarm from the lab. He pulled the door closed as he hurried down the corridor.
Artie felt the ropes loosening so he twisted his wrists and hands. He could feel his right hand slipping free. His eyes were riveted to Paul mixing the chemicals. He knew by the way he was mixing the formula that Paul intended to blow up the lab. He needed just a few more moments.
“You don’t want to do that, Paul. It’s dangerous to mix those chemicals that way,” Artie stalled.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Paul sneered. “I took my mother’s maiden name, Westbury, and made up a first name and I worked for the Treasury Department for three years. I studied, I learned. I read all about you and your gifted mind, the new inventions you came up with, the advances you made in science. But all the time I spent studying didn’t help me find a way to destroy you,” Paul added another powder to the deadly mix he was creating. “I failed last year because that boob Grant took your part and defended you,” Paul paused to look over at Artie. He held up a small bottle with a yellow powder in it. “This is the last ingredient. I add this and it’s good bye to you, MR. Gordon.” Paul laughed. “Isn’t that what you wanted from me? A respectful tone?” He measured out a large spoonful and held it over the beaker.
“It’ll kill you too,” Artie warned struggling furiously at the ropes.
“That doesn’t matter to me! I have nothing! Nothing but my revenge on you!” Paul cried starting to tilt the spoon.
He’s a madman, Artie thought as his right had was finally freed. He tugged his left hand free and dove at the wild eyed young man.
“No don’t!” Artie cried too late. He heard the explosion as he barreled into Paul knocking them both to the floor. He rolled them toward the far wall.
Jim put his hand out to turn the knob of the lab door and suddenly it was no longer there. It lay on top of him and he was on his back farther up the corridor. His ears rang from the boom of an explosion inside the lab.
Artie! Jim maneuvered his way from under the door and raced back to the lab. He choked on billows of dark smoke and waved his arm in front of him as he stepped over debris.
“Artie!” Jim called struggling to see through the tearing of his eyes. He heard a moan and followed the sound to where Artie lay next to Clarence against the wall by the hole into the guest room.
“Artie, you all right?” Jim asked helping his rousing partner to sit up. “What happened?”
“Oh, my head,” Artie moaned. Suddenly he looked around. “Paul! Is he alive?” he asked.
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Post by qohart on Apr 27, 2009 14:31:39 GMT -8
“Who’s Paul?” Jim asked as Artie checked the downed young man.
“Clarence. I’ll explain later, Jim, help me get him out of here,” Artie requested.
They picked Paul up and carried him into the corridor. “Let’s put him in my room,” Jim suggested.
“My room’s right here. We can just put him to bed. I think he’s going to be all right,” Artie said.
“No, I think my room would be better,” Jim insisted.
“Look, are we going to tug at him like a Thanksgiving wishbone or are we going to put him to bed?” Artie groused.
“We’re going to put him to bed, but in my room. I’ll explain later,” Jim echoed Artie’s words.
Artie relented and they put Paul on Jim’s bed. They returned to the lab but found that Orrin and his crew were taking care of the fire.
“Thanks, men,” Jim waved a hand at them then steered his partner to the parlor. He was not looking forward to this discussion.
They both started to talk at the same time.
“You go first, Artie. Who’s Paul? What happened in there?” Jim asked.
“Clarence Westbury is Paul Edgemoor,” Artie began. He saw Jim’s face light up with recognition of the name. “You remember him too?”
“I do, but he didn’t look like that,” Jim answered, “I remember a fat little weakling.”
“He was four years ago.” Artie went on to explain what had happened four years ago, a story Jim had heard then. As Jim listened the equation of Clarence Westbury’s witch hunt a year ago was complete. Revenge and hatred. Misplaced emotions that had driven the young man insane.
“Artie, he tried to kill you,” Jim observed when the telling was done.
Artie nodded, “I know,” he stated.
“We need to lock him in the cell for the trip back to Washington,” Jim continued, “there’s no telling what else he might try.”
“We better check with Orrin if the train is sound or if that explosion did any serious damage,” Artie added. He shrugged, “Of course the lab is destroyed. And there’s still a hole in the wall from my last mishap,” he commented then shook his head. “The train is going to need some major work.”
“Yeah, it is,” Jim replied quietly. He knew it was his turn and he hated having to tell Artie about his room. Before he could start, Artie asked a question.
“So why couldn’t we just put Paul to bed in my room? Why your room?” he asked.
“There’s a problem with your room, Artie,” Jim told him.
“Oh no, that explosion didn’t break something in there too did it?” Artie wanted to know.
“No, no it didn’t,” Jim looked down at the floor for a second then directly at his friend. “Artie, Clarence…I mean Paul,” Jim hesitated.
“What? Tell me,” Artie urged.
“He pretty much destroyed your room, pal,” Jim blurted out.
“What do you mean, he destroyed my room?” Artie’s back stiffened.
“It’s a mess,” Jim offered.
“Oh, I have to see this,” Artie turned and stalked down the corridor to his quarters. With his hand on the door knob he heard Jim say, “Now remember the boy’s insane.” Artie closed his eyes in a long blink then opened the door.
He staggered back two steps at his first glimpse of the demolished room. He felt Jim’s hand on his back steadying him and was grateful.
The feathers had settled, a few eddying with the opening of the door. Artie crossed the threshold and looked all around. His jaw dropped at the sight of the ruined bed and bedding, the damaged chair, and the vandalized bureau. Then Artie’s eyes settled on the books and he took in a sharp breath. His hand went to his mouth, covered it.
“My God,” he breathed as he went down on one knee and picked up a tattered book. “My Shakespeare,” he uttered softly and plucked up another ruined tomb. “No, not the first edition you gave me,” his voice cracked with emotion.
Jim watched his friend. He had no words of comfort, there were none that would help. Artie’s books were precious to him and Jim could not imagine what he must be feeling at this moment.
Suddenly Artie was on his feet. He turned and Jim’s eyebrows went up in surprise. He’d expected his partner to be devastated, he had not expected to see anger. But it was anger that was furrowing Artie’s brow and blazing in his eyes. Artie pushed past Jim headed for the parlor.
“Artie?” Jim called following him. He met Artie on the way back, pistol in hand. “What are you doing, Artie?” Jim smiled trying to relieve the tension in the air. He blocked Artie’s path.
“I’m going to kill him,” Artie stated firmly, “I’m not going to wait for some court to decide his fate,” he said trying to get past Jim. “Jim, move!” he shouted and managed to muscle past, “I’m going to shoot him myself!”
Jim caught Artie by the arm. “You can’t do that,” he held on fast. “You’ll be tossing your career right off this train if you do.”
Artie’s eyes flashed, “It’ll be worth it,” he growled trying to remove his arm from Jim’s grip. Jim would not let go and just held Artie’s eyes with his own. “Dammit, Jim.” Artie, realizing he was not going to get loose, hung his head and turned his gun butt first to Jim. “You better keep hold of this for a while,” he sounded disappointed.
“I will. What do you say we get him into the cell,” Jim suggested.
Artie looked up grimacing. “Do you think Orrin could help you with that, Jim? I’m liable to choke the life out of the boy if I get too close,” he asked.
“Sure, why don’t you go pour us a brandy,” Jim patted him on the back encouragingly. H
Artie heard Jim and Orrin moving their charge down the hall to the holding cell. He sat with his head in his hands thinking.
Two weeks later, James West and Artemus Gordon testified at the trial of Paul Edgemoor.
“What do you think he’ll get?” Artie asked as he stood with Jim and Col. Richmond at the courthouse doors.
“Whatever he gets, Artemus, he’ll deserve it,” Richmond assured. “I wish you could stay to heart he verdict but this assignment won’t wait.”
“What are you hoping for, Artie? A hundred years at hard labor?” Jim teased
“Leniency,” Artie spoke in a quiet voice. He was looking at Paul Edgemoor who’s eyes were fixed on Artie filled with venom.
Jim followed his partners gaze and understood. Artie’s got a big heart, he thought seeing the concern in Artie’s eyes.
“Leniency! Gordon, the man tried to kill you,” Richmond replied puzzled.
Artie put on his hat, adjusting the brim with both hands. “Yes, sir, but the poor boy’s mad, a prisoner to his own mind. He’ll spend the rest of his life bitter, hateful…lost. That’s a fate worse than anything the prison system could inflict,” he answered then walked out the courthouse doors.
The End
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