Author's note: The events of this story take place some time before TNOT Big Blackmail, which explains why Baron ((Hedley Lamarr)) Hinterstoisser is present at the embassy instead of, um… well, wherever he wound up after Our Heroes were done making such a complete and well-deserved fool of him.

Also, I probably should have mentioned this in one of my previous stories that feature Herr Vogel (those being TNOT Unexpected Visit, The Days of Courtship, and TNOT Florentine Phoenix), but I based Vogel the Rumormeister squarely on the character of Baron Von Stuppe from the movie The Great Race — and probably most of you know that the evil Baron in that marvelous movie was played by none other than the actor who embodied our own beloved Artemus Gordon: Ross Martin.

And so, on with the show!

Teaser

"Well, good morning, gentlemen! I trust you had a safe trip back from San Francisco?"

"Good morning, Mr President," said James West. "Safe enough, yes."

"And uneventful, I'm glad to say," added his partner Artemus Gordon, casting a sidelong glance at Jim.

"Good, good," Pres Grant beamed. "And you delivered the little, ah, package you picked up out west to the Smithsonian?"

"As soon as we arrived here in Washington last night, yes sir," Jim affirmed.

"Excellent! I'm looking forward to this private viewing the curator has graciously consented to. It isn't often one gets to admire an object of such antiquity, you know."

"Yes sir."

"Not to mention," Grant added as he settled his top hat on his head, "something that was purportedly designed and built by Leonardo da Vinci himself!" He paused and eyed his agents. "Is there any way to prove da Vinci made it?"

"Prof Montague believes it to be genuine," said Artie as he and Jim accompanied the president out to his carriage.

"Montague? Montague…" Grant frowned. "Sorry, I don't place the name."

"He's one of our instructors at the Secret Service Academy out in Denver, sir," Jim prompted.

"Yes, and he met us in San Francisco, sir," Artie added, taking the seat next to the president in the carriage. "He both authenticated the Florentine Phoenix as being the work of da Vinci, and made a replica of it in a bit under twenty-four hours."

"Oh, just twenty-four hours? My, that's impressive! I… Wait — replica!" With a massive frown, the president snatched the cigar from his mouth and pointed it at Mr Gordon. "Hang it all, men, why did we want a replica?"

"Oh, well, sir, it's, ah…" With a sheepish grin, Artie rubbed at the back of his neck. "It's rather a long story…"

Jim, now mounted on his prancing black stallion alongside the carriage, gave a small smile as he added, "But Mr Gordon will be happy to fill you in on all the details during our trip across town to the Smithsonian. Won't you, Artie?"

Artie shot his partner a ferocious glare, then sighed and began to spin the yarn of just how many people, both foreign and domestic, had attempted to make off with the Florentine Phoenix before West and Gordon could even get the golden bird out of San Francisco.

…

"Amazing!" said Grant as his carriage drew up before the building that was beginning to be nicknamed the Nation's Attic. "So what became of those greedy miscreants? You arrested them all, I trust?"

"All but Ecstasy La Joie, sir. She managed to escape, despite the fact that I hid a knock-out gas bomb inside the valise which she believed held the Phoenix."

"Nor," said Jim, holding the carriage door for the president to disembark, "were we able to arrest the German agent."

"Mm. The man with the multiple names. Mr Bird, you call him?"

"Well, Herr Vogel, sir. Yes, he had diplomatic immunity."

"Pity. You know, gentlemen, sometimes I think — thank you, Mr Gordon," Grant nodded as Artie held the door of the museum for him. "Sometimes," the president went on, his two Secret Service agents flanking him as they walked through the halls of the Smithsonian, "I think diplomatic immunity is more trouble than it's worth. Think of all the espionage foreign nationals get away with under its aegis!"

"But then think of the protection it provides to our own ambassadors and their staff, keeping them from being arrested on trumped-up charges by regimes that hate us, sir," Artie pointed out.

"True, true," Grant had to agree. "Ah, Dr Ames!" he added. "There you are!"

A mousy bespectacled man, graying at the temples, came rushing down the hall towards them. "Mr President! You're early." Realizing how reproachful that sounded, Ames sputtered, "I, I mean… well, that is… My… my apologies, sir, that I wasn't at the door to greet you upon your arrival. Mr West, Mr Gordon," he added, nodding to each agent in turn, "it's good to see you again. Now, the Phoenix is this way, Mr President." He gestured back up the hall in the direction from which he had come. A sudden smile lit his face. "Oh, and Mr President, I can't begin to describe what a treat is in store for you!"

"By all means, then, Ames, let's have a look!" The president followed the curator to a doorway with an impressive set of iron bars blocking their path. Ames quickly unlocked the bars and ushered his special guest inside. "Here we are, sir. Just allow me to…" He stepped over to a cloth-draped pedestal and after a moment's search, he found and flipped a switch. "There! That's the security system deactivated. Now we may safely…" With a flourish Ames snatched the cloth off the pedestal, exposing to view a glass case, an object roughly the size of an ostrich's egg ensconced within it.

With West and Gordon on guard for anything untoward that might happen around him, Pres Grant leaned forward and peered through the glass. There on a cloth of deep blue velvet lay a beautiful golden egg with swirls and eddies of tiny rubies chasing all over its surface in playful patterns.

His voice breathless with rapture, Ames murmured, "Isn't it exquisite, sir?"

"It certainly is," replied Grant. Straightening up, he gestured with his cigar and said, "Well, let's have it out of there and see what it does, Dr Ames!"

"Ah…" For a moment the curator just stood there, jaw sagging towards his breast as he blinked at the president. Then he snapped his mouth shut again. "Oh. Oh, yes sir. Of course sir. You'll want to see it, ah…" Ames produced another key, touched a small panel on the pedestal which slid aside to expose the keyhole, and unlocked the glass case. "Yes sir, I'll bring her out in, in just a second, and we can…" His voice trailed off as he lifted off the case. He laid it gently on the floor by the foot of the pedestal. "There! Now, if you'll indulge me as I don the, er…" He pulled a pair of white linen gloves from his pocket and slipped them on.

Artie leaned toward Jim and muttered, "Doesn't finish his sentences much, does he?"

From alongside the golden egg Ames took up a key, also golden, its bow studded with rubies and garnets. Then with a touch that was almost reverent he turned the bejeweled egg over, revealing that centered within its flat base was a keyhole. Ames inserted the key into the slot and cranked the key around once, twice, thrice. He removed the key and gently placed the egg flat side down on its velvety stand upon the pedestal, then stepped back.

Jim and Artie, having seen this many times in the past week or so — most recently the night before when they had turned the art treasure over to the curator — watched the exhibit only peripherally, their attention on guarding the president from any threats that might pop up unexpectedly.

Pres Grant, on the other hand, leaned forward again, his eyes fixed on the Florentine Phoenix. A light sound of gears turning, almost musical in its delicacy, met his ears. For a long moment nothing happened, then abruptly the egg cracked open, its golden shell splitting six ways into scallop-edged segments like the petals of a flower, each one slowly falling outwards to expose an elegant little bird within, its body greenish-white and inlaid with amethysts.

"White gold?" asked the president, glancing up.

Ames shook his head. "No sir. It's electrum. Oh, but isn't the Phoenix simply marvelous?" the man gushed.

Grant made a hmm of agreement, his attention riveted on the treasure before him. As he watched and the unseen gears continued to mesh softly, a ring of tongues of flame sprang up all around the bird, little rippled blades of red gold, looking like so many tiny flaming swords surrounding the bird. The flames grew taller and taller, becoming broader at their bases, curving up and over the bird until at last the flames joined up together into a solid shell again that hid the bird completely from view.

He waited. The six petals of the outer orb were still splayed out upon the velvet. Curiously, the clicking of the gears had ceased. Grant glanced at the curator at his side. "Is that it?" he asked.

Ames frowned. "Why… why, no. No, it isn't. The inner shell is supposed to, to split open anew, revealing a different bird, tinier, and made all of silver encrusted with sapphires. Then it… gentlemen?"

For West and Gordon had stepped forward on either side of the president. "The tinier bird," Artie said, peering narrowly at the closed Phoenix, "is supposed to lift its head and wings just as the first bird did, then bow its head and fold its wings around itself as if going to sleep. After that the outer petals slowly rise up to enclose the reborn phoenix within the smooth rounded egg again. So why isn't…?" Artie reached out to prod the inner shell with a finger.

Abruptly, as the sound of gears cranking began again, the six slivers of the outer orb flew up and snapped themselves shut.

"Yikes!" exclaimed Artemus, just barely snatching his hand away in time. "Great jumping balls of St Elmo's fire, it's not supposed to do that!"

"It's not supposed to be playing music either," Jim put in.

No, the Florentine Phoenix that the two agents had accompanied all the way across the continent certainly was not a music box. But the egg before them, its gears clicking merrily along, was cranking out a bouncy and familiar tune.

Pres Grant glowered. "Well, gentlemen," he growled, "Leonardo da Vinci is credited with many wonderful and amazing inventions, but I do not believe that amongst them was a time machine, do you?" He pointed his cigar at the golden egg. "Because either he was able to teach that thing to play a piece of music that wouldn't be written until a few centuries after his time, or that, Mr West, Mr Gordon, is not the Florentine Phoenix!"

Sure enough, as they all watched with sinking hearts, the egg cracked open again. The backmost petal split away from the rest in order to emit a tiny flag with sapphire blue in the top corner and horizontal stripes of ruby-red alternating with pearly-white making up the rest of it. The little flag waved back and forth jauntily in time with the music:

O Columbia! the gem of the ocean,
The home of the brave and the free,
The shrine of each patriot's devotion,
A world offers homage to thee…

Jim and Artie turned a glance towards each other. No, this wasn't the Florentine Phoenix. This was Prof Montague's clever replica — and they both knew precisely in whose hands the ersatz Phoenix had last been seen.