THE NIGHT OF THE FAKE HAND

By Andamogirl

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ACT THREE

Suddenly three other attackers entered the parlor car, using shotguns and immediately fired at their targets: Jim and Artie.

The two agents of the USSS dove forward to the broken-glass-covered floor in a flash, cutting their hands and knees on the sharp shards and receiving a rain of splinters as the dresser and the door of the galley literally exploded behind them.

They opened fire, killing an assailant each, but had to retreat as the third man fired again and was joined a couple of seconds later by two associates.

Grabbing Loveless by the arm Jim marshaled him to the narrow walkway while Artemus kept the shooters at bay with his gun.

Once in the bathroom he manhandled a terrified Loveless into a large cupboard and then commanded, "You stay here, you don't move, you don't make a sound and that's final!" And then he closed the door, locking it with a key he then pocketed.

He rushed into Artie's lab, opened a box and filled his pocket with knockout gas bombs but found only one respirator in a drawer. He put it on his face and joined his partner.

Once back in the parlor he discovered Artemus, gun-less, kneeling on the floor next to the remnants of the dining table, submerged beneath four men and doing his best to counteract the hard punches that descended on him, as the bandits were pummeling his bloodied face.

Seeing this Jim's jaw tightened in anger and he didn't hesitate one second. He threw two knock-out gas bombs amidst the men and they exploded in a cloud of red smoke.

He watched his best friend and the bandits collapse to the floor, unconscious, then hearing footsteps as other men entered the room, he sent another volley of knockout gas bombs and again the parlor was enveloped in a much larger cloud of red smoke.

More bandits fell down to the floor, passed out.

No one entered the parlor car after that.

Standing on the heavily damaged rear platform of the train, his respirator still on his face, Jim watched the other train backing off and moving away as the bandits were retreating too.

He sighed in relief. The attack was over.

The Wanderer braked several times and started to slow down as the thick cloud of red smoke progressively dissipated in the air.

Jim went back inside and cleared his best friend of the unconscious men piled on top of him. Then he dragged Artie onto the closest couch and did a rapid survey of his partner: Artemus was bleeding from the gash at his left eyebrow again and blood was pouring from his nose – fortunately not broken, and he had new bruises on his face to add to his collection.

He noticed blood on Artie's right arm too soaking the fabric of his white shirt. He ripped the sleeve open, pulled it up and frowned in concern seeing a long sharp piece of glass was embedded in Artemus flesh, just in the middle of his coiled dragon tattooed on his bicep.

He slowly removed it and blood gushed out. Then he tied his handkerchief around the injured muscle, stopping the bleeding.

He spotted a series of bleeding cuts on Artie's hands and knees – then realized he had those two and remembered their dive to the floor covered with pieces of glass. He didn't find any other injury on his companion and, relieved, he looked around him: the parlor car and the rear part were ruined. The train was rolling but it would take days to repair the damages, he mused.

Looking down at the four unconscious assailants his first thought was: 'the cell is going to be too small to hold everyone'.

He frowned in concern and asked, "Where are the cats?" Seeing the tip of a tail coming out from under the couch, he knew. He gently scooped the sleeping felines one by one and settled them on the free couch. "Now, let's take care of Artie."

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Much later

Miguelito Loveless pointed at the men held in the rolling cell, standing behind the bars furious to have been captured and that their mission had failed. "They wanted to kill you to capture me," he said. "I told you Mr. West, other countries are interested in my fabulous machines and they'll do everything to have me and them. Do you know where they are from?"

Loveless was right. Other nations were interested in him and his fantastic machines and they would try to kidnap him and use any means necessary to reach their goal, Jim thought. He sighed as he continued his musing. First the Russian agents, then the British agents… Who were those bandits? Where did they come from? For whom did they work? Who will attack them next? The ride to Washington would take at least 6 days. Anything could happen on the way.

Irritated Loveless clapped his hands twice. "Mr. West! Stop daydreaming and answer me. Do you know where they came from?"

Shaking his head Jim replied, "I don't. They didn't say a word, but one of them had a photograph of you, and there was a short text written on the back – in a language I don't know."

Loveless nodded. "They wanted to kidnap me. Who's next? Spanish agents? French agents?" He suddenly realized that Artemus wasn't there. "Speaking of agents, where's your partner?"

Looking again at the still-sleeping bandits, Jim replied, "He's sending a message to Washington, telling Colonel Richmond what happened" Jim said. "The Wanderer is going to be immobilized in Kansas City's railroad yard for two days for emergency repairs."

Loveless frowned in worry. "But we're going to be sitting ducks there!"

Suddenly the door of the stable car opened and Artie entered the compartment. He glanced at the bodies of the dead bandits lying in a corner between several blocks of ice and then headed toward Jim and Loveless standing beside the 'rolling cell'.

He used sign language to say: "Colonel Richmond told me that we'll have an escort until we reach Washington DC. We're going to be a little cramped with 20 heavily armed troopers on board but I prefer that. They will protect us. Once in Kansas City, Colonel Finley from Fort Brown will be here with a detachment of cavalry to take charge of our guests."

Smiling, Jim nodded. "That's good news," he said.

Loveless frowned, frustrated. Glancing at Jim, he asked, "What did he say to you?"

Ignoring Loveless's question and ignoring the diminutive man too, the younger special agent furrowed his brow in concern. "Are you okay Artie? You're a little pale buddy."

Artie waved a dismissive hand and then used his hands to respond. "That's nothing," he mouthed. "It's just the after effects of the knockout gas. Headache and nausea. It will pass. By the way it was a very good idea to use it." He touched his newly stitched left eyebrow then his bandaged arm wincing each time. "Thanks for playing nursemaid Jim."

Jim's smile broadened. "You're welcome."

Loveless crossed his arms on his chest, upset. "I can't read lips you know. What the hell did you say Mr. Gordon?"

Glaring at the little man Artemus huffed and turned his back.

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Later that night

Loveless looked at the chess board, frowning, irritated, upset. He was checkmate, again, in less than two minutes and for three times in a row.

He looked up at Jim sitting on a chair in front of him. The other man was grinning in victory. "I never lose at chess. How did you do it?"

Jim cast a glance at Artemus. The other man was sitting heavily on the couch, his shoulders slumped, the side of his head was leaning on the backrest. He was sleeping soundly, wrapped in a blanket with a loaded Winchester and a gun both resting in his lap. "Artie is a Master in chess. He taught me everything I know. If you're not happy, then sue him."

The little man curled up in his armchair and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. Almost all the windows had been smashed by the bullets and a cold draught came through the glass-less openings and bullet holes. "It's freezing in here, I'm going to catch a cold." And then he sneezed.

Pointing at the door of the galley, Jim said, "You could go in the galley a make coffee on the stove and prepare something to eat for us. The galley is intact. It's not freezing in there."

Looking at his partner again, Jim saw that Marmie and Aztec had taken possession of the top of the backrest of the couch. AG had chosen to sit on the work table.

The three cats were gazing at Loveless, in defense mode, ready to shred Loveless into tiny pieces if he did something bad to Artemus.

Loveless muttered something under his breath and stood… and was thrown against the table as the train abruptly braked with a loud screeching noise.

He groaned. "Not again!"

In a flash Jim grabbed his revolver he had placed on the table in case something happen again (and he was right, it had just happened), cocked the hammer and stood. "No stop is scheduled before the next town to take on water, so yes, again," he said as the loud whistle of the Wanderer resounded, twice signaling an immediate danger. He shook Artie's shoulder. "Artie Wake up!' And the older man awoke with a start and sat upright on the couch, blinking dazedly, still groggy from his nap.

Artie breathed, "What…?"

In a flash Jim placed a finger on his partner's lips, silencing him that way. "Shhh," he whispered. Fortunately the train was still slowing down in big screeching noises and the diminutive man didn't hear anything. "Artie, come with me."

Holding his gun, Artie followed his partner onto the remnants of the rear platform. "Are we going to be attacked again?" he asked in a hushed voice, wincing. His voice was still warped, and speaking was painful.

Nodding Jim said, "Unfortunately, yes."

The train braked again until he was at full stop. Loveless decided it was time for him to defend himself and grabbed Artie's rifle which was sitting on the coffee table.

Unaware of that Jim placed a hand on Artie's shoulder. "Stay here with Loveless. Protect him." Then he jumped to the ground as there were no steps anymore – and Colt in his hand, he ran toward the locomotive, noticing large tree trunks that had toppled across the railroad, as he reached it. he noticed they had been chopped down to force the Wanderer to stop. Yes, no doubt, it was a trap!

Holding his gun, hammer cocked, ready to fire, Artemus scanned the area around him, trying to see something in the almost obscurity thanks to the full moon. But there was nothing, nothing but big trees and deep shadows lining the railroad.

They had stopped in the middle of nowhere. He mused. it was perfect for an ambush. He was going to turn around to see what Loveless was doing, when he froze as he heard a faint hiss, very short. Then a split second later something hit his head, hard, above his ear and he instantly felt a sharp and violent pain. He yelped and seeing stars dancing in front of his eyes he staggered backward his hand pressed on the aching and bleeding side of his head. His vision blacked out and he collapsed beside the bullet-damaged work table like a deadweight, passed out.

Suddenly a feminine silhouette dressed in black came out from behind a group of trees, holding a sling in her hand.

It went down the slope bordering the railroad and stopped beside the heavily damaged rear platform of the train. The woman picked up the well-rounded white stone lying on the ground before putting it back in the small pouch containing her other projectiles.

She leaped on the train with agility and then moved toward Artemus's immobile frame. She put her sling in the pocket of her tight jacket and pulled out a long knife from her right knee-high boot.

She knelt beside Artemus and… paused. She trailed his jawline with a gloved fingertip. "Ilyen jóképű ember, kár," she said. (Such a handsome man, it's a pity). She lifted up the knife she was holding above Artie's chest, right above his heart and… froze hearing a door open.

She looked up and found herself face with the muzzle of a rifle – held by a little man with gray hair, blue eyes and smiling coldly.

Holding a Winchester Loveless grinned and said, "If you want to stay alive, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Even if I'd love to see Mr. Gordon's dead body. But I will be the one to kill him – not you."

She muttered a series of 'foreign' curses, her eyes flashing. She dropped the knife to the floor and reluctantly lifted her hands above her head in surrender.

Marmalade looked up at Loveless, spat and hissed at him, then Aztec did the same thing to the woman dressed in black.

Crouching beside Artemus, still unconscious, AG started to lick his owner's face.

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Later

Pointing his Colt at the feminine silhouette in black clothes Jim pulled back the black hood covering the woman's head and discovered a blue-eyed blond.

She shot a black look at the Secret Service agent and spat something in her language that neither Jim nor Loveless recognized.

Ignoring the young woman's insults – they supposed they were insults - Jim again checked the ropes tying her tightly to the chair then used her black hood to gag her. "I'm sorry to keep you like this, and here, but the cell is full – and putting you in there with men wouldn't be correct – and dangerous for you."

Loveless grinned. "It looks like she's not happy. She failed and she's now your prisoner. Her only achievement is to have knocked out Artemus Gordon with a sling. A very interesting weapon the sling, it's very old, it's unsophisticated, but it's very efficient and very deadly. You can kill a man using a sling and a stone." He looked at the other man laid on the gold embroidered couch, still passed out. "Fortunately, she just hurt him and Mr. Gordon's head is hard."

Frowning in concern Jim moved toward the bullet-riddled dresser and took out the miraculously intact first aid kit and came to sit on the edge of the couch.

He glanced at the diminutive man and said, "I thought I would never tell you this one day but thank you." He extended his right hand. "Thank you. for saving Artemus and capturing this woman."

Loveless met Jim's eyes and took his hand. "You're welcome, Mr. West." He grinned. "I couldn't let her deprive me of the pleasure of killing you and Mr. Gordon myself, later and in the most painful way possible for you both," he said, glee evident in his voice.

Seeing the younger man glare at him the little man cackled and then added, "Just kidding. I have decided to change my life. I'm a different man now. The Miguelito Loveless you knew is gone, forever. I wouldn't harm a fly now."

Looking down at Artie, Jim said, "Saving Artie's life and capturing that woman is certainly a good start for a new life without crime." Then he furrowed his brow again, not believing that Loveless could change. His always trustworthy intuition was telling him that something was wrong with Loveless. He was hiding something. But what? Did he really want to kill the President as Artemus thought? If so, how?

He opened up the first aid kit and grabbed a small bottle of disinfectant and a cloth. He observed the graze, not deep which meant that Artie wouldn't have a scar and wouldn't need stitches and noticed that there was blood slowly drying all around it. "It's a graze, nothing serious."

He gently and carefully cleaned the wound and bruised bump left by the small stone then placed a clean piece of gauze on top of it before cutting out a large strip of cloth. He placed it on top of the gauze before wrapping the band around Artie's head.

Looking at the blond woman again, Loveless said, "I'm going to make some coffee while you're playing nursemaid." Then he left the parlor car to go to the galley.

Hearing a moan, Jim took Artemus's hand as his partner was slowly opening his eyes. "Artie? Open your eyes buddy."

Blinking, Artie turned his pounding head to the side, making him nauseous and Jim's face swam into focus. He let out a breath. "I…don't feel very good, J'm. Headache… hurts."

In a flash Jim placed a finger on his partner's lips again, silencing him. "Hush, Loveless is in the galley making some coffee. He won't hear you if you keep your voice down, Artie." He breathed out a sigh of relief. "I know buddy, but at least you do recognize me. The last time you were hit in your temple by a bullet, you had a temporary memory loss, for two weeks. You didn't recall my name, yours, the names of our cats… Not even your mother and Harry when you came back home for a medical leave."

He stood and headed toward the galley. He came back shortly after holding a glass of water. Grabbing a bottle of liquid painkiller from the first aid kit, he let a few drops fell into it and said, "Your headache will vanish with that, in a few minutes."

Closing his eyes, Artemus rasped, "Wha' pened? S'thing hit me…" And he raised a limp hand at his aching temple, finding fabric under his fingertips. "Ban'age?"

Lowering Artie's hand, Jim replied, "Yes, and don't touch it. You were lucky, that projectile just grazed your temple. If that stone had hit you square on your temple, you'd be dead. Thankfully, the worst you'll get are headaches and some nasty bruising and a bump." He fluffed Artie's pillow and added, "She wanted to kill you, and she missed. I'm glad she did. That's why she tried to stab you…"

His eyes fluttering open, the older man mumbled, "What? She?" then he took a deep breath and said, "I God! Splitin' headache…"

Jim brought the glass of yellow-colored water to his best friend's lips. "Drink," he said.

Propping himself up on his elbows, Artie took a couple of sips then, slumped bonelessly onto the couch, in a wave of dizziness. "Mild concussion…" He whispered. He touched his aching temple again, hissed in pain and touched the piece of cloth again that Jim had placed around his head. "Am I bleeding?"

Smiling reassuringly Jim replied, "No, the bleeding has stopped, and it's just a small wound." He reached out and took the sling he had placed on the coffee table. "You were hit with a stone thrown by this sling. I confiscated that from our new friend there." Then he pointed at the blond woman.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise Artie took the sling then glanced at the all black-clad woman. Feeling instantly much better, he said, keeping his voice low. "Oh, I'm feeling better already. And she's lovely…" Then addressed her with a large smile.

Rolling his eyes, Jim said, "Stop flirting, she tried to kill you."

Chuckling, Artie managed to pull himself into a sitting position – fighting nausea – and keeping in what was in his stomach. "That's not fair you know, you can flirt with all kind of dangerous women, killers even, and I can't. Who is she?"

Looking at the female prisoner, Jim replied, "I don't know. Another foreign agent I suppose. The only thing I know is that she works alone. No partners. She had a good plan and it almost worked. She separated us, neutralized you – but wanted to kill you – and me later, then she would enter the Wanderer to kidnap Loveless while I was busy. It was Loveless who captured her, you know? And doing it, he saved your life."

Even more surprised than before, Artie croaked, "What?"

Glancing at the door of the galley Jim added, "His plan is not to kill us – at least not before seeing Grant and talking to him, after that it's another story - because he could have let that woman stab you in your heart with her knife and shot me with the gun he was holding. It was easy. But he didn't."

Immediately Artemus touched his chest, above his heart feeling his pulse accelerate at that revelation. "This is only a postponement, Jim. He has wanted to kill us for years. He'll try again, I'm sure. I'm not buying that he has changed at all."

Standing Jim said, "She said something to me earlier in a language I didn't know. She had nothing on her. I was counting on you to tell me where she comes from."

Pulling himself upright Artie swayed on legs like jelly for a few seconds before Jim offered him his arm to stabilize him. "Thanks Jim", he said. He pulled up a chair and sat in front of the blond woman. "Speaking of foreign language, the bandits who attacked us came from the Ottoman Empire," he said.

Jim was surprised. "Really? Did you translate what was written behind the photo of Loveless? I didn't know you speak that language."

Nodding, Artie took out the gag from the woman's mouth and replied, "I don't. But I know a few words and I recognized a few of them I was able to translate. I don't know what is written on the back of the photo, I suppose there are instructions to follow after the kidnapping." Then he asked her, in French, "Bonjour, puis-je savoir quel est votre nom?" but there was no reaction from the blond attacker.

He asked her the same thing in different languages, Spanish, Russian, Italian and German, etc. and saw her flinch almost imperceptibly when he talked to her in Hungarian.

He smiled, "Ah! She's Hungarian, Jim and an agent of the Österreichisch-Ungarische Monarchie or the Austro-Hungarian Empire."

Surprised Jim said, "I didn't know you spoke Hungarian, Artie."

Smiling, Artie waved his hand. "Well, I'm not fluent, I know only the basics. I had the opportunity to talk with Krisztina, the lovely daughter of the Ambassador of the Austro-Hungarian Empire when I was in Washington. She taught me many new words – amongst other things." He cleared his throat and winked at Jim, then, placing his hand on his pounding and aching temple he added, "But I'm a gentleman, I won't tell you anything else." Looking at the Hungarian agent, he repeated. "Mit hívsz magadnak?" but the blond woman didn't say a single word. He sighed. "She's not going to say anything, Jim, not even her name."

Miguelito Loveless entered the parlor car holding a pot of fresh coffee and three cups. "Ah! Mr. Gordon, you're awake, perfect. Coffee?"

Giving Loveless a black look, Artie grumbled noises under his breath and mouthed, "Still poisoned? Then no." and he added, half-heartedly, "Thank you for saving my life."

The little man beamed, looking quite pleased with himself. "You're welcome."

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Kansas City, the next evening

Railroad station yard

Colonel Edgar J. Finley of Fort Brown looked around him, with a hint of nostalgia. The parlor car of the Wanderer resembled a battlefield. "It reminds me of a house in Gettysburg I had commandeered for General Meade after the Grays used it as a command post before they had to flee our troops, their tails between their legs," he said then smiled.. "Well, it seems you had quite a gunfight here, gentlemen," he added, looking at Jim and Artie standing side by side. "Once your train is repaired and ready to depart, I'll have 20 of my best men board it with enough weapons to hold a siege. They will escort you to Washington. In the meantime, Colonel Richmond asked me to offer you hospitality at Fort Brown and specified that Majors West and Gordon had to stay there with Dr. Loveless for his protection and yours. So, you won't need to go to the local hotel. As for all the foreign agents they have been placed in custody in the cells at the fort. They will be transferred to Washington at the end of the week and delivered to the Secret Service. I suggest you pack a few things, gentlemen."

Smiling, Artemus pointed at the two travel bags sat on the sofa. "Already done, Sir," he mouthed very disappointed not to go to the hotel. He hated the lack of comfort at the military barracks. Turning toward Jim he used sign language to add, "That's too bad. I know a superb hotel in town, with comfortable rooms all equiped with a private bathroom. There's a restaurant inside where you can eat the best steaks in the whole country and there's a bar with fine French wines too…" He sighed. "I guess we'll have to settle for bad food, hard, narrow cots and a collective shower room." He sighed again. "And be woken to the sound of the bugle, at dawn, when we could have spent the morning sleeping. I hate this mission!"

Jim chuckled softly. "You're such a sybarite," he said. Seeing that Finley was intrigued, he explained, "My partner's neck was badly hurt a few days ago during a mission, Colonel. He can't talk. But fortunately it's only temporary."

Miguelito Loveless raised his hand. "I want to sleep in a priva te room, not in a dormitory. I need my comfort and my privacy, Colonel."

Finley nodded. "That won't be a problem, Dr. Loveless. I already thought about it." Looking at the two agents again he continued, "As you live here together I gave you a room with twin beds, gentlemen in the quarters of Lieutenant Johnson who's on leave. I didn't want to separate you."

Pleased by the attention Jim smirked. "That's perfect, Sir, thank you." He patted his best friend's shoulder playfully. "Artemus can't talk but he snores pretty good."

Artie gave Jim a hurt look. "I don't," he mouthed.

Tbc.