Chapter 4. Pursuit
[
]
"Steve?" Christian ran to the young blond agent that was on the ground. He was holding a hand to his left thigh and rolling in pain. "Steve, wait," she gasped again, dropping to her knees next to him. "Stop moving and let me help you."
"No," he gasped, "Jim. You need to help Jim." He tried to look around her toward Jim's body.
"I can't," Christian gasped. "He's dead. He's got to be." She pulled a handkerchief from her neck and held it against his wound. "Now stop moving so I can stop this bleeding."
"He can't be," Steve said, his voice breaking. "Jim can't be dead. He can't be. He always wears that bullet proof vest."
"He took a face full of buckshot," Christian cried, tears streaming down her face. She unhooked Steve's belt and pulled the length of leather from his pants. She wrapped it around his thigh, holding the cloth to the bloody hole. She pulled the leather tight, making an awkward knot
"He's moving," Steve gasped, struggling to sit up. "Look! He isn't dead."
Christian turned to see Jim rolling slowly over to his stomach. He struggled to push himself up with his hands. "Jim!" She leapt to her feet and hurried to his side. Grabbing an arm, she helped him move to his knees.
"Richmond?" Jim gasped.
Christian moved to kneel in front of him, turning his face to the flickering light of the lantern. His face was bleeding on his cheeks and chin where the pellets had cut his skin. Her hands went to his vest and jacket. The material was in shreds, showing the smooth metal of the bullet proof vest underneath. "Oh, thank God," she breathed, feeling faint with relief. "You did have your vest on."
"Where's Richmond," Jim hissed again, his eyes opening in slits. "And Lori? Where…?" He winced in pain as his right hand moved over his chest.
"Gone," Christian whispered, "in that carriage. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to follow them but Steve was hurt. I thought you were dead. If it wasn't for Steve, I would have followed them but…"
"Stop," Jim said, putting a bloody hand on the girl's shoulder. "Just stop." He squinted into the darkness, looking over at Steve. "You alright?" The young agent nodded. He looked back at Christian, "get him to the hospital. I'm going after them." He let out a long whistle into the darkness and was immediately answered by a horse's whinny.
"How?" Christian protested, "you don't know where they went? Besides you need to go to the hospital too. You're bleeding all over your face."
Jim held a hand out as the black horse trotted into the light. He grabbed the stirrup and pulled himself up. Squinting around the dark street, he suddenly leaned over and snatched up his revolver out of the dirt. He turned back to Cristian, "that carriage looked flat black to me. Did you see any markings on it? Anything to make it stand out?"
"No," Christian said. "It's just like all the others. Maybe if you can get near it, Lori will motion to you or signal somehow." She ran a hand over her throat, "oh, I hope Richmond is ok. They hit him so hard on the head. We just have to find them."
Jim swung up into the saddle, "oh, I'll find them eventually. This is just turning into a mess. Life suddenly seemed easier on the damn whaling ship." He tugged at the reins and turned the horse down the road, quickly disappearing into the darkness.
]
[
Later that night…
]
"You aren't moving," the doctor said, her lady-like voice taking a sharp edge, "I think you've had enough excitement out on the street tonight." She tapped the fresh, white cloth wrapped around Steve's upper thigh, "That wound will open up and start bleeding again if you move."
"There is nowhere to go anyway, Steve," Christian said tiredly. Her thin form was barely visible in the dim light of the hospital's hall. "Nowhere to look, at least not until Jim is back."
"Jim's back," his deeper voice said from down the hall. "And I still have no idea where to look." He stepped to the doorway and looked in at Steve. "How you doing?" His eyes went from the wide bandage to the young agent's face. His friend looked very pale as he sat on a hospital exam table.
"Ok, I guess," Steve said weakly, lying back against a pile of pillows. "Maybe we all need a rest and start again tomorrow?"
"You aren't starting anything tomorrow," Doctor Harrison said, washing her hands. She turned to look at Jim, her eyes going from his torn clothing to his face, looking for injuries. "And what about you, James? I hear you were at the same party."
"Hello, Mary. You know me, I hate to miss a party. I think I have a few bits of lead shot that need to be dug out," Jim said slowly, carefully touching a finger to his chin, feeling an odd lump under the skin. His hand came away with fingertips covered in flaking dried blood. "It could have been a lot worse," he sighed.
"That's for sure. I keep seeing you falling off your horse," Christian said, almost too low for him to hear. "Now I know why Artie worries so much. That was bad." She rubbed her finger tips over her eyes.
"Ya," Jim said, shaking his head, "like he doesn't give me gray hairs. I cannot believe he disappeared just down the street from the office after what we've gone through lately." He stepped further into the room and pointed at Steve, while looking at the doctor. "Can you keep him here a few days? I need to run an errand but could use his help later." Steve opened his mouth to speak but Jim hissed at him, "you will just be in my way for this next step. But I really need you at one hundred percent when I get back." Steve nodded and lay back on the bed again.
"I'll keep him secure. Now let's get you cleaned up in another room," the doctor said, walking past Christian. "You shouldn't hang around these men. You'll just get shot or trampled or something."
"The waiting is worse," Christian said, "the not knowing." She looked at Jim as he passed her, "could I be of help in this next step? I don't want to be in the way but…"
Jim paused, obviously thinking. He nodded suddenly, "yes, I could use your help, if you're up to it. Pack your bags for a few days and meet me at the train. We roll out at midnight." The girl nodded and hurried down the hall to the front door. Jim continued to follow the doctor into the next exam room, "thank you for patching Steve up. I think that's the first time he's been shot."
"I hope it's the last," she said, pointing to a table." So you fell off a horse and then you were shot with a shotgun?" She tsked at him, shaking her head.
Jim stepped onto the table rail near the floor and, twisting, sat on the edge of the table. "No," he grinned, "I was shot with a shotgun and then fell off my horse." He laughed as she rolled her eyes. "At least my horse wasn't injured." He watched as she unrolled a length of cloth bandage and picked up a set of tweezers. "I should bring more bandages back to the train. If I stock up on wound supplies, maybe I won't need them."
"Always need what you don't have?" The doctor raised one eye brown at him, "I guess that's a theory on how to keep from being injured. I can send you home with a few rolls and some thread. Can you remove a bullet or stitch a wound shut?"
"Yes," Jim said, sighing tiredly, "learned in the war; tourniquets for bullet holes, saber cuts, and everything in between. Even adjusting medication for a person's weight," he grinned, "guessing someone's weight was the most difficult part to learn. If you guess wrong, people get very upset."
"I bet," she chuckled, "now stop talking so I can remove these pellets." She touched his chin and looked closely. Picking up a piece of cloth and a small bottle, she damped the material. "This may sting a bit but you are a rough and tumble guy so you probably won't even feel it." She touched the cloth to his chin, wiping away the dried blood, and noticed his jaw clench and his hands grip the edge of the cushioned bench, but he didn't move. "There is something in there," she muttered, picking up the tweezers again. A quick poke into the hole and a small, silver pellet came out. She held it out to him.
"That's interesting," Jim muttered, taking it from her. He rolled it in his fingertips and then put it in his pocket. "Keep going, there's more in there. But please keep handing them to me as we go."
"Make a necklace for a pretty girl?" She turned his chin to the other side, "you may even have enough for matching earrings." Jim growled deep in his throat but didn't move as she worked.
[
]
Later that night at the train...
[
]
Jim opened the ornate door of the train and stepped inside. The gas lamps were lit throwing their flickering light over the people inside. Cobb was standing in the living room while Christian sat on the long couch. They both turned to him as he entered.
"Good to see you again, Jim," Cobb said quietly, his sharp eyes looking over Jim's bandaged face and tattered clothing. "The young missus was telling me what happened. She made it sound unique but I assured her it was the routine for you." He put his pipe back in his teeth and grinned.
Jim gave him a tired grin back, "it sure seems that way, Cobb. Are we ready to pull out tonight?"
"Midnight, sharp," the older man said, the pipe rattling off his teeth. "I fed the animals, big and small, but I'll get your horse now too, before we go." He walked to the door as Jim moved to the cabinet beyond the dining room table.
"Thanks, Cobb," Jim said, as he picked up a whiskey bottle from the glass case. "It won't be long to New York. You may need to wake me when we arrive."
"Will do," the old man said as he walked out of the door.
Christian stood and stepped quietly to the table. She slid into a chair, silently, her hands twisting nervously. "How are you feeling?" She watched as Jim moved to the opposite chair.
"Oh, I'm all right," Jim said, sipping from the glass. "Please, have a drink if you like. There is wine in the case too. I'm afraid I'm too tired to be a good host." Christen smiled and shook her head no. "Seems so quiet when Artie isn't here," Jim said, trying to give Christian a tired grin. He took another sip and looked around the room, under the table and chairs. "And where is that cat? Sophie?" He gave a short whistle. "Sophie?"
"I haven't seen her," Christian said, "Cobb said he fed her. She's probably sleeping somewhere."
"Sophie does love a cat nap," he said, putting his drink down. He put his hand in an inner pocket and pulled out a handful of shotgun pellets. "This is what the good doctor dug out of my face." He rolled them on the table, counting them. "I have a few in my vest too I need to dig out."
"Why did you save them," Christian asked, staring at the small silver pellets.
Jim rolled them on the table cloth, "don't they look odd to you?" Jim looked up at her. "These are the size someone would use to shoot a bird, like a dove, for hunting food." He paused, hearing the thump of little feet. "Well, here's my girl. Come here, Sophie," he said, reaching a hand down to the carpet. The cat eagerly ran to his fingers and he scooped her up in his palm. He held her against his chest, patting her head. "How are you? Did you miss me?"
"Meow," the kitten said, licking his fingers. She squirmed around and sniffed at his chin and bandages. A little paw reached up and caught a bandage, pulling at it.
"Owe, owe," Jim laughed, pulling at the paw. "That's a little sore. " He put the kitten down on the tablecloth and dropped into a chair. "Ok, Sophie, you can help too. Look at these." He pushed the pellets with his finger. "Don't these seem too small to you for hunting men?"
"You almost sound disappointed," Christian said, watching him.
"I'm suspicious," Jim said, "thankful but still suspicious. Shot shells are made with all sorts of different sizes depending on the game, and even solid slugs. This is almost the smallest made."
"Yet it still knocked you off your horse," Christian countered.
"Yes, it still has a blast and the pellets would have injured me more if I didn't have my vest on," Jim continued, as he watched Sophie paw at the pellets. "But usually the pellets are larger and cause more injury, can even go through this vest if large enough." He looked back at the girl, "have you ever made shot shells?" She shook her head no. "Well I don't feel up to making any tonight but I can take one apart easy enough." He turned to open a drawer behind him. He removed a box and opened it on the table, dumping out a couple of brass shells with paper tube sides. "The paper patch at the end can be removed to expose the pellets and leave the powder inside intact below the wad." He pulled at the paper, making an opening, and poured pellets onto the tablecloth.
"Meow", Sophie said, batting at the much larger pellets.
"See the difference," Jim said, as Christian leaned closer, "much larger."
"But much fewer inside then," she said, "this is what you always use? If you had been hit in the face with these, you would have had more serious injuries, lost an eye, or…"
"Let's just stop with that," Jim snorted. He leaned back and sipped from his glass, watching Sophie dance over the tablecloth, scattering pellets onto the floor. He picked up the open shot shell and the box, putting them back in the drawer behind him. "Well I need to go to bed and sleep. You can use Artie's room. He wouldn't mind. Just be careful nothing falls on you from his overstuffed cupboards. We've had avalanches in that room." Christian smiled but her eyes were filled with tears. "He's alright, don't worry too much. These," he said, rolling a finger over the small pellets, "I'm not sure but I just have a feeling." He stood slowly, "we'll know more tomorrow." He picked up Sophie and moved to the ornate door, locking it.
"Locking a glass door?" Christian smiled, standing. "Or is it unbreakable glass?"
"No," Jim sighed, "it's made of very breakable glass and wood as strong as paper machete. But it keeps out some people. And if broken, does make a loud noise to alert me. Besides, we'll be moving soon. I'll see you in the morning." He walked down the hall, yawning, and moved into his bedroom. He tossed the cat onto his bed and moved to a wash basin. He peeled off his jacket and then the bullet proof vest, pausing to inspect the inside. The surface was pushed inside toward his skin. "Well I should hammer that flat again tomorrow but it did its job tonight."
"Meow", Sophie said, reaching a paw at the pieces of torn cloth.
Jim tossed it onto the bed, watching the kitten attack it. "Remove that cloth for me, would you? Easier to fix it." He pulled off his shirt, noticing blood stains on the color. "Hmph, one more ruined shirt to add to the collection." He poured water into the ceramic bowl out of the matching pitcher and splashed water on his face. He picked up a washcloth and dipped it into the water and grabbed a bar of soap. He rubbed the soap onto his neck and chest, making a fine lather. "Maybe I should give you a bath, fuzzy. I bet Cobb hasn't." He turned to watch the kitten grab a long strip of cloth and drag it across the bedspread, tripping on the lose strings, to disappear underneath the pillows. "Don't hide things under my pillows," Jim laughed, watching the tiny face, without the bits of cloth, reappear from under the pillowcase.
He turned back to the mirror, picking up the washcloth and wiped the soap off, careful to avoid the bandages. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled off his boots, then stood to remove the rest of his clothing. He climbed into the bed, feeling the cool sheets against his skin.
"Meow," Sophie said, crawling to her usual spot on his chest under his skin. "I could sleep for a week. I hope Artie and the others are as comfortable as me, wherever they are." He ran his hand along the kitten's soft fur. "Damn it, Artemus, you had better be alright." He finally drifted off to sleep.
]
[
Early the next morning….
]
"Good morning," Jim said as Christian appeared in the doorway of the galley. "I didn't hear you get up this morning," The dark haired girl blinked and held a hand to shield her eyes from the bright sunlight slanting low in the window. "Grab a quick breakfast and get ready to head out."
"Are we in New York now? It looks the same as in Washington," she said, leaning over to look out the window. "I guess all rail yards look the same.
"They do in the east," Jim said, making a sandwich on the counter. "Out west they aren't as large, unless it's a big city like San Francisco. I think Pennsylvania is the largest we visit." He smeared yellow mustard on thick break and added pieces of cooked chicken. "The train will be kept hot; I don't think we'll be here long. I have sent a message to the prison to let the warden know I want to meet with him."
Christian turned back to the room, "you'll have to take Lori to Pennsylvania to see the trains. She loves train and.." Her voice broke, and her hands went to her face. He body went stiff as she tried to control herself.
"Hey," Jim said, putting a hand on her shoulder, "Everyone is fine. Trust me."
"How do you know," she whispered through her fingers. Her cobalt blue eyes opened wide, filled with tears. "You can't be sure."
"I showed you the pellets in the shot shell last night," Jim said, staring at her. He removed his hand and shrugged, "well know more today. You'll just have to trust me. Now make a sandwich and let's get going." He looked at her clothing, his eyes going up and down her black shirt and pants, "Except we need to do something about your outfit. You can't walk around New York like that." He sighed and shook his head. "Make a sandwich and we'll go through Artie's large wardrobe. He has dresses in there, somewhere, for guests and women who help us occasionally."
Christian quickly made a sandwich, her eyes darting over to the coffee pot. "No coffee this morning?"
"No time," Jim said, "besides my coffee is terrible. I can barely drink it. Artie says it's better for cleaning rust off old tools." He grinned as he put the meat and bread back into the ice box. "I never seem to add enough water or the right amount of grounds." He walked down the hall toward his partner's room as Christian followed, carrying her breakfast.
"I don't know if I would fit in anything," she said, worriedly, following Jim into the small room. "Why is this room so much smaller than your room? I would have thought they were the same size."
"We walled off part of it for a storage room at the end of the car," Jim said. "He didn't mind, at the time, but now he has collected so much stuff." He paused, hands on hips, to look around the room. He pointed at a closet door, "In there, hopefully. And the clothes all have adjustments inside that can loosen or tighten them at the waist. We get all sizes."
Jim opened the closet and began handing out dresses, passing some to Christian. She held them up to herself, turning each one to a mirror. "They are all really nice. I had no idea these were all in there. So many too." Jim grumbled as he dug deeper, pulling out one more deep blue dress.
"Last one," Jim said, handing it to her. He turned to watch her. "That would be good for today. But try them on, shove the rest back in there. I'm going to get ready." He walked out of the room, with a "Be ready in five," as he went to his own room.
"Meow", Sophie said as she followed him in. She zoomed ahead of him as he walk, knocking into the bullet proof vest on the floor. It tipped over with a thud and she scampered under the bed in fright.
"You shouldn't be scared of that, Sophie," Jim said, kneeling down to pick it up and look under the bed. The kitten was sitting behind a leg of the frame lapping her paws. "I guess you aren't too scared," he laughed, watching her. "I have to go out for a bit but I'll be back soon." The kitten looked at him, and then lay down, wrapping the fluffy tail around her face. "You just have your mid-morning nap." He laughed again and stood back up. He picked up the leather straps for the Derringer and pulled it onto his right arm and then fit the small handgun in place. He picked up his dark blue traveling coat and checked for the knife in the back neck pocket and the lock pick behind the lapel. He pulled it on over his white shirt. He picked up the gun belt and holster, wrapping it around his waist, and dropped the hand gun in place. He tied the thin leather strap around his leg and grabbed up his hat. "All right, free loader, I'll be back."
He stepped into the hall and moved to the living room. He paused, hearing a door shut behind him. Turning, he watched Christian enter the room. The change caught him by surprise, "well you look different. Much more appropriate." He looked at the dress, which appeared to fit perfectly. Her hair was piled in a long twist on the back of her head. Small earrings hung from her ears.
"I hope Artemus won't mind," she said, a hand going to an earlobe. "I noticed a box of jewelry. With my hair up it just seemed better…"
"I'm sure he would be happy you used them," Jim said, knowing there were boxes of fake jewelry squirreled away everywhere on the train for various reasons, "Especially if it helps find him and the others." He turned, looking outside out the window. "I'm waiting for a carriage Cobb sent for."
"If I may summarize," Christian said, "we are going to the prison where Voltaire was being held to try to determine why he was sent there and how he escaped? And you think this is connected to their disappearance?"
"Yes," Jim said, sighing, "there should be transfer orders with the name of who ordered it. And how he escaped, which probably wasn't that difficult from this prison. It's a low level, state prison. Not the Federal one he was held in. There has to be something bizarre going on and combined with the disappearances, which is also bizarre. These two situations must be connected. Hopefully it will point us in some direction."
Christian nodded, her hands twisting together. "I'm not sure how I will be able to help."
"Just listen and keep your eyes open," Jim said, "hang back a couple steps. Maybe someone will speak to you or pass you a note. Strange things happen and I can't see everything." He nodded to the window as the carriage rattled up, moving to open the door for her, "just do not leave my side. I don't want to have to look for you too." The girl nodded and walked outside. Jim walked out behind her and they moved quickly to the carriage.
]
[
At the State prison...
]
A guard held the door open for Christian as she, followed by Jim, walked into the front door of the prison. The carriage pulled away but moved to a large area of shade near a tall hedge, waiting for their return trip to the train yard.
Another man, in a black suit with deep blue pin striping, stood just inside the door. I am Officer Gerard", the man said, tipping his hat to Christian, as his eyes moved over her slender form. He turned to Jim, "do you have an appointment, sir?"
"I do," Jim said, handing a card to the guard, "James West, of the Secret Service. I am here to speak to the warden about the recent loss of a prisoner."
The guard handed the card back, his attitude becoming even more stiff, "sir, yes, you must be part of the Federal investigation. We were told more would come. I will lead you to the warden's office myself. This way, please." He turned and started to walk down a long hall.
Jim waved a hand to Christian to walk first. He stepped behind her, his eyes looking everywhere with a practiced ease. He noted the guards stationed in various locations in the hallways as they moved through the building, many doors to additional hallways, even an occasional boarded up windows. He looked up to the ceilings, noting the peeling paint. He shook his head, not surprised at the condition of an obviously poorly funded state prison.
"Almost there," Gerard said, holding another door for them. "Just up those stairs, miss." He nodded to Christian as she moved past, but then stopped Jim, "excuse me but we just don't get a lot of women in here, since it's a men's prison. But now two pretty ladies in the past few weeks."
"Another lady was here visiting recently?" Jim asked, curious and desperate for any clue.
"The warden will tell you," he said. He moved to open the door at the top of the stairs, leaning past Christian on the landing, "Miss, straight ahead now." He waited for Jim to move into the upstairs hallway. "The end of the hall," he said, hurrying forward to hold the last door. "Inside, please, and I will speak with the warden. Please have a seat, miss."
Christian sat on the edge of a small divan, as Jim moved to a window. He looked down at the exercise yard, noting the location of the guards and the prisoners. He turned as an older man came out from the inner officer.
"Mr. West?" The older man walked forward, eagerly holding his hand out. He was shorter than Jim, slightly pudgy, with a round face and huge smile. "Thank you for coming, sir, thank you." They shook and Jim held a hand out to Christian as she rose from the couch.
"My assistant, Miss Shepard," he said. The warden took her outstretched hand and gave her a short bow. "Miss Shepard." He stepped back and gave Jim a short bow, "I am Warden Mosely, the leader of this humble place. And you are here to inquire of this missing prisoner? Please step into my office." He turned and led them into the inner room and shut the door.
"The missing prisoner?" Jim asked slowly, "or the escaped prisoner?"
The man moved behind a large desk and sat, waving them to two chairs. "Excuse my modest accommodations. Yes," he nodded, "escaped would be a more accurate word." He nodded, sighing, as a look of exhaustion flickered over his face. "And now you are here to ask even more questions. I still have no answers."
Jim took a deep breath, "well let's review from the beginning and maybe we can come to answers together. This looks like a well-run facility and I am sure this was a special case."
The man nodded eagerly, "yes, the men are happy here. I will show you some of our work when we are done here."
Jim nodded, glad to see the man becoming more comfortable around him. Comfort equaled conversation, usually. "There must have been a request of transfer when this prisoner, Voltair, arrived? Or did you know ahead of time?"
"No, no," the man said, "or I mean yes, actually. The man arrived unexpectedly with a group of soldiers. He had a letter of introduction almost, or reason of transfer. It was a remarkable letter so I have saved it. I thought it would be the beginning of a new era for my exercise program. He seemed so content with it and…"
Jim held up a hand, "wait, do you still have this letter? Let's start with that." He waited while the man opened drawers, grumbling about putting it somewhere. Soon a letter appeared and he handed it over.
"You see the warden in that prison had read my paper about my exercise program", he said, pointing to the flowing cursive. "That is the reason he was sent. Oh he was a big fellow, he would have been wonderful. And then," he paused, throwing up his hands.
"This letter," Jim said, turning it over to look at the back and holding it up to the sunlight, "no letter head and no official watermarks. Didn't you think it was odd to get such an informal letter?" Jim watched as the man shrugged silently. He turned back to quickly scan the words, which seemed to be congratulations about a prisoner exercise program and how this prisoner would be perfect for the job. His eyes reached the official signature and his heart skipped a beat. He sat up straighter and stared hard at the warden. "Did you also find it odd that the name of the signature was not the name of a Federal prison warden?"
"Oh, heavens," the man chuckled. "There are so many. I don't know many of them," he added, "I am relatively new at this. I only came here a few months ago but isn't that an interesting name?"
"Yes, very interesting," Jim said, his mouth taking a grim line. He handed the letter to Christian. "Skip to the end. Look familiar?"
"Wait," the warden said, "how did you know this person isn't a Federal warden? Do you know them all through your work?"
"The letter is signed Artemus Gordon," Jim said, his teeth grinding as he tried not to shout. "That is a personal friend of mine and he is not a Federal prison warden. Someone is playing their usual tricks."
"Tricks?" The warden's face had gone white with trepidation at Jim's obvious anger. "I don't understand. How can that letter be written by a friend of yours?"
Jim sighed, sitting back in the chair, tipping his head back to stare at the ceiling, "the letter was not written by my friend. The letter was written by someone else but used my friend's name. Someone who wanted the prisoner, Voltaire, moved from the Federal penitentiary to a state prison so it would be easier to plan an escape. I assume the Federal warden received a similar letter, telling them to move Voltaire here." He suddenly stood, to pace the room, "does no one ever confirm these things? If a letter arrives, not on official letterhead, not signed by someone you know, you should be suspicious."
"Well, the prisoner arrived here," Warden protested, "it's not like I released him, unlike the Federal prison. So if someone is at fault, it's them, not me." He stood also, pulling nervously on the edges of his jacket. "I think you should take this matter up with the other warden."
Jim held a hand out to calm him, "you're correct. I apologize. You received a new prisoner and did not send one away. You had no way to assume he would escape. Could you show me where the escape occurred?"
"Yes, yes, of course," the warden said, returning quickly to his cheerful self now that he was obviously off the hook for a mistake. He walked around the desk, "my dear, if you would like to remain here instead of accompanying us?"
"She would not," Jim said, "she will be safer by my side." He stepped to the door and Christian quickly moved closer, not wanting to be left alone in the office. The warden moved to the hallway and led them farther into the prison.
]
[
Hours later…..
]
"Now before you leave," Warden Mosley, "you must see my program. It's going to be used in every prison throughout the country. Even beyond our borders," the man gushed. "I am writing a report and will be presenting in France soon. I had hired a guard from France to help me learn the language but he was kidnapped during the escape."
Jim had only been half listening the man's voice, as he rattled on, while Christian followed silently a few steps back. She seemed to have sore feet or tired legs and had often stopped to adjust a shoe or rest. Jim had to repeatedly pause to wait for her. Annoyed at her apparent weakness, he wondered why it had seemed important to bring her. The broken bricks were in piles and smaller pieces of bricks were scattered everywhere. Men were working to patch the still gaping hole, adding new bricks to the wall and adhering them together with freshly made concrete. Men moved up and down the hall with tools and more supplies. A few stopped to speak to Christian, one even dropping tools to take her hand and help her down the hallway. Jim turned to look out a window, wondering for the hundredth time what Artie saw in this girl. At least Lori could walk down a hallway.
"Do you think he might be dead?" the warden asked.
"Who," Jim said, stopping to look at the still broken wall's ragged edge, while waiting again from Christian to catch up. He pulled his watch from his vest, checking the time. The train would be waiting but they weren't scheduled to use the track for hours yet.
"The guard who was kidnapped during the escape," Mosely repeated. He was twisting his hands together in obvious fear. "He was a good man, very patient, except that he complained about the low pay. That's why I was paying him a little extra for the French speaking lessons."
Jim turned to face the warden, "wait, none of this was written in your report. A guard was kidnapped during the escape? Or did he chase after them and may have been killed?" He thought for a minute, "but you said he wanted more money?" Knowing how easily Loveless acquired seemingly an endless supply of money, he thought out loud, "possibly the guard was bribed and helped Voltaire escape."
"Oh, no," Mosely said, his face turning red. "No, that's terrible thing to say."
"I have to look at all possibilities," Jim said quietly, trying to calm the man, "but I don't mean any insult. Now had this guard worked here long? Was he a good fighter? He may have been over powered by Voltaire, who is obviously very large but slow moving. Not real agile, if you know what I mean."
The warden nodded, "the guard, a mister Peter Harvey, had only worked here for a short time. He had been a Pinkerton man, you know, so I thought he would be trustworthy. I am sure he must have been kidnapped since he is gone completely, no sign of a struggle and no body found. He would never have gone voluntarily."
A loud snort was heard behind them. They both turned to see a guard helping Christian walk to them. He had taken her left elbow and wrist and was slowly guiding her closer. He spoke softly to the girl as he openly glared at the warden. Christian spoke quietly to him again as she moved to Jim's side. She nodded and thanked the man as he tipped his worn, woolen cap to her and moved off.
"He speaks French too?" Jim whispered, as Christian smiled but stayed silent. He turned back to the warden, irritated he had no idea what the guard had said, "do all of your staff speak French? Seems odd in a local prison."
"Oh, we have all kinds here," the warden said. "The prisoners are French, Italian, German, and other things we can't even identify. So we need to hire guards that speak many languages. That is why I was also trying to learn the languages, but I am very bad at remembering." He slapped his hands together eagerly, "and now, on your way out, I will show you my invention."
Jim gave the man his best poker face, "of course, on our way out. And while we walk, I have neglected to ask an important question. Have you had any other visitors either before or right after Voltaire arrived and then escaped in this mysterious explosion? The guard who escorted us in mentioned a pretty young lady that had visited so I assume she was accompanied by someone."
The warden smiled, nodding eagerly, "yes, yes," almost skipping with excitement. "Dr. Sansamour! He was a delight. Such an intelligent man and very interested in my invention. He wants to bring it back to Europe with him. He is also from France."
"What a coincidence," Jim said, shaking his head. "And what did the good doctor look like."
"Well now that you mention it," the warden said, "he was a dwarf, or even a midget, really. Sad, he seemed to be almost deformed, had a difficult time walking. But very agile of the mind to make up for his physical limitations." He nodded, "I think that is why he was so interested in my invention. He knew that physical exercise was important to a simple man's well being and peace."
Jim let out a long sigh, "and he was accompanied by a young lady with pale white skin and very dark hair."
"Yes, Antoinette," the warden said, his eyes becoming suspicious. "You sound as if you know these people. I assure you, Dr. Sansamour said he had written many scientific articles. He wants to travel with me to Europe and spread the system I have developed." The man's righteous indignation was becoming obvious as his voice raised in volume. He suddenly turned and pushed through two large wooden doors, parting them in the middle, and strode into a huge open space. In the middle, a huge wooden wheel was attached to the floor with a large frame. A dozen men were in a row, each stepping on rows of rotating steps. The wheel was similar to a giant water wheel run but run by the strength of men walking on the steps. The center rod was connected to a longer rod that rotated with the wheel, and the other end disappeared into the far wall.
Jim stopped to stare at the monstrosity. He turned as Christian stepped closer to him. "This is crazy," he whispered to her. "This is the exercise program?"
"Maybe it's a way to exercise inside because it's so cold outside," Christian said, "in the winter? In the snow?" Jim rolled his eyes and looked back to the warden.
"This," warden said, "this is what all prisons will be using very soon. My invention," he said, pointing to the men, "and the center rod makes power as the wheel turns. So this building can be self-sufficient. And the more men, the better, especially larger men such as Voltaire. He was perfect, strong and eager to help once the situation was explained to him. I was so hoping he would have been with us for a long time."
"I bet you did," Jim said, nodding toward the wheel. "And what if the men don't want to do this activity? Are they forced? Do they get to rest?"
The warden turned to Jim, his face flushed in anger, "of course they have rest periods. And they are not forced," Mosely said, "they are given rewards for work, like any other worker. Some earn cash, some earn privileges. And Dr. Sansamour said he read my article that I had written and published, and then came to visit me in person."
"And then a main outer wall mysteriously explodes," Jim countered, his frustration finally overflowing. "A plain brick wall just blew up in the night. Also, the cell of just one prisoner is broken open, not unlocked, but broken. How does that happen? More explosions? Acid? So Voltaire just walked out? No guards stopped him, or even saw him? Or was he safely escorted out by the missing guard," he paused, leaning closer to the warden, "Peter Harvey? A Pinkerton man?" He stepped back, "I think you had better stop writing articles on exercise programs and start writing more details about what happened in this escape. I have a feeling more investigators will be visiting you after I leave. There seems to be a few lose ends still to cleared up about this situation." He paused again, taking a deep breath, noticing the color drain from the man's face. "Now I want to explain what really happened, in my opinion."
The warden drew a shaking hand over his face but remained silent, his eyes glued to Jim's.
"You wrote the article and had it published," Jim said, "in a magazine? Maybe about prisons? Somehow that doctor, who is a doctor but his real name is Dr. Miguelito Loveless, saw that article. He wrote the order to move Voltaire from a very strongly guarded Federal prison to this low level security, local prison. This was done with the idea of promoting your exercise system but it was really to just allow the escape." He stopped, putting his hat on his head. "I want to stress it isn't entirely your fault. Loveless is clever and usually gets what he wants, for a while anyway, so don't feel too bad. But you really need to write out every detail you can and cooperate with the investigators. I thank you for this tour and wish you well with this," he waved a hand at the wooden monster of a wheel. "Good day, sir." He tipped his hat and turned to Christian. He held out his left elbow. She took his arm and nodded to the warden . They turned and walked out, across the yard, and climbed into the waiting carriage.
]
[
Later…back at the train….
]
"You were so convincing," Christian laughed, as she relaxed on the couch. Jim walked to the glass case and pulled out a decanter. He splashed clear liquid into a whiskey glass. Her eyes followed him, "or did you actually believe I had sprained my ankle when walking past the broken brick wall. You were giving me some angry looks."
Jim hid behind the glass, remembering how annoyed he had been with her. "No," he said, winking, "or course I knew you were hanging back to speak to guards and workers. What did they say, now that we are in the seclusion of the train?" Sophie crawled out from under the couch and meowed at Jim, "oh, I see you. I knew you were under there." He reached down the pick up the cat as he walked to Artie's chair. Sitting, he held a glass to Christian, "feel free to get yourself a drink, by the way. You earned it."
Christian smiled, nodding, "I spoke to many people and they all said the same thing. Everyone hates that wheel, the prisoners and the guards. They think the warden is an idiot and is using everyone to make himself famous." She sighed, "the one man near the end that spoke to me in French said that the guard, Peter Harvey, left voluntarily. Apparently other guards saw him and tried to stop him. And they said other men came through the hole from the outside, half hidden in the smoke, to help Voltaire but the warden didn't tell anyone. They reported all this but it would make the warden look like he was out of control."
Jim sighed, "that's what I thought. Loveless has a lot of money, somehow, and buys everyone easily." He looked at Christian, "Dr. Sansamour? What is that in French? Amour is love, isn't it?"
"Yes," Christian said, "and 'sans' means less so it's really Loveless in French. I did wonder when I heard that." She wrapped her arms around her waist and let out a long sigh, tears suddenly coming to her eyes. "So your suspicions were accurate but how does it help us find Artemus and the others? Where do we start looking?"
Jim tipped his class back, emptying the contents. He leaned back in the chair, holding Sophie against his chest, and stared at the ceiling, whispering slowly, "I have no idea." The train whistle blew a long, lonesome sound in the night and chugged into motion, heading back to Washington, D.C.
]
tbc