THE NIGHT OF THE FIRST MISSION

By Andamogirl

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9 years later, 1874

Washington railroad yard

President Grant was sitting in his favorite armchair – he brought with him anywhere he went after the war – on the rear platform of the Wanderer. He put a cigar between his teeth and lit it with short, quick inhalations, then took his first puff. He exhaled slowly, blowing a steady stream of smoke into the air, and turned towards his friend and personal physician, sitting on a chair beside him.

He pulled his cigar out of his mouth and asked, "What do you think of the Wanderer, Stephen? It's a very nice train, isn't it?"

Stephen Henderson nodded. "It's almost as luxurious as your own train, Mr. President. You have been very generous with those two…" He pointed at Jim and Artemus standing face to face, a few steps away, on each side of the railroad track, ready to fight.

Ulysses S. Grant nodded and took another drag of his cigar. "I know Stephen, but I wanted my best team of special agents to travel anywhere in the country comfortably – and rapidly." He took another drag of his cigar and continued, "Besides, I will use the Wanderer myself from time to time too when my own train is immobilized for an overhaul, to visit people, to visit new towns, to make speeches, etc. And I like my comfort. And I will use this train to be again with Artemus and Jim, of course." He smiled. "I miss them."

Colonel Henderson nodded. "And they probably miss you too, Sir."

President Grant pointed his cigar at the two men. "You know Stephen, as soon as I became President of the United States, they both accepted to work for the Secret Service Division under the Department of the Treasury – on one condition: to protect me, and of course to be at my side again. And to do the other missions assigned to special agents like the 'prevention and investigation of counterfeiting of U.S. currency and U.S. treasury securities', etc."

The physician smiled. "Yes I know, Sir."

Grant smoked his cigar for one minute and continued, "You were right Stephen."

Stephen Henderson lifted an eyebrow, puzzled. "I was? I was right about what?"

President Grant smiled. "You told me once that Artemus would become an actor again and Jim would stay at my side as my aide de camp."

Dr. Henderson nodded. "Ah, yes, I remember. Yes, that's true, I was right. Before you were elected, when you were Commanding General, Major West remained at your side, as your aide de camp and Major Gordon resigned and became Mr. Gordon, an actor again, in Chicago."

Grant took another pull of the cigar. "I invited him to Washington with his troupe once, and they played Richard III. He was a marvelous king. He's such a great actor… and when he accepted to be a special agent he was re-integrated into the Army with his old rank. He's again a Major in the United States Army, but as he works out of uniform now, he's Mr. Gordon. The same thing for James West."

Colonel Henderson nodded. "Sir, could you tell me why your special agents are punching each other? I didn't bring my black bag, you know. You invited me to visit the Wanderer and to chat with you like old friends do, not to tend Gordon and West's cuts and bruises."

President Grant grinned. "Don't worry, there's a medical kit in the Wanderer. But they won't need your assistance Stephen – they don't intend to hit each other too hard, just enough to collect some bruises and a few superficial cuts."

Henderson frowned, intrigued. "Why?"

Grant pointed his cigar at his two agents. "It's a kind of physical preparation for their new mission. You see Stephen, unfortunately, nine years after the end of the war; some old confederate officers still haven't accepted the defeat. Artemus, who has an extraordinary facility for picking up errant scraps of information, recently brought to my attention that a small group of those confederate officers had planned to assassinate me. To infiltrate that group – which Artemus has located - Jim and Artemus decided to impersonate two ex-gray officers who didn't accept General Lee's surrender and were imprisoned in the Old Capitol Prison." He took a puff and opened his mouth, blowing the smoke in front of him. "Artemus has planned every detail conscientiously to make their story credible. Fake bruises and cuts can disappear, real ones, no. This applies especially for their safety. You see, those two ex-officers managed to escape but had to fight hard for their way out. Jim and Artemus wanted their bruises and cuts to be realistic to completely fool the others. That's why they're punching each other. Once beaten, they will find them and befriend them to learn everything about their plan. Then, they will capture them. Simple."

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Smiling, Artemus punched James square in the mouth, propelling him backwards. He brought his hands back up in a guard, and grinned. "You're too slow," he said.

Using the back of his hand to wipe the blood coming out from his split lower lip, Jim moved towards Artie and hit the other man in his right temple with lightning speed, dropped down, and kicked Artie's legs out from under him.

Lying flat on the ground, Artemus let out an "Ow," rubbing his aching temple. Stars swam in his vision.

Frowning in concern, Jim asked, "Are you okay?"

Nodding, Artie said, "Yes, I'm fine" and then pushed himself to his feet, albeit warily. He swayed for a couple of seconds and made a beckoning motion with the fingers of his right hand. "Come on!" Then he punched Jim on the cheek.

Jim spat some blood at his feet and commented, "Not bad for an old man."

Gordon lunged, his fist connecting with the man's jaw, sending Jim back into the rear part of the Wanderer. "Be respectful young man! And I'm not old."

Moving towards Artie, Jim hit the other just above his right eye. Artemus immediately landed hard on his buttocks, dazed, close to blacking out. He closed his eyes for a brief second, head swimming.

Jim winced when Artie touched the cut right above his eye dripping a little blood. He took the other man's shoulders in each hand and looking him in the eyes. "Are you ok? I'm sorry, I hit you too hard. Do you want to make a pause? Do you want to stop?"

Gordon shook his head. "I'm fine," he said. He smiled. "Let's continue to have some fun!" and he punched Jim's chin, knocking his partner's head to the side as his fist connected with his jaw.

Smiling, Jim leapt forward to tackle the larger man. The two men fell together, painfully crashing to the ground as they wrestled, now laughing between jabs and kicks.

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Stephen Henderson turned towards the President, who was enjoying the show. "I know that they have to look as though beaten up by some guards before escaping Old Capitol Prison, but they are really enjoying all this a bit too much don't you think, Sir?"

Grant took a few mouthfuls of the heavy smoke, pulled his cigar out of his mouth and said, "They're just playing, they have fun. Boys are boys."

Dr. Henderson nodded. "Some people need another kind of fun. Personally I prefer reading books, which is not violent."

President Grant smirked. "It depends on the book."

Colonel Henderson shook his head watching Gordon and West throw punches at each other. "They look like two brothers fighting over a girl."

Grant nodded. "You're right Stephen, they're brothers – and there are girls, lots of them!"

The end