"Bueno apetito, Senor," the sinister-looking bandito said, placing a tray of tortillas stuffed with meat, cheese and vegetables next to his partner. Arte had wasted no time getting into character and costume as The Wanderer sped south. Jim picked up one of the tortillas and began eating, though he didn't have an 'apetito' of any kind at the moment. It was, like all of Arte's culinary creations, delicious. But Jim was still troubled by the larger legal, or rather illegal, implications of what they were doing.
"You realize that what we're doing could technically be considered an act of treason if the government of Mexico chooses to make trouble over this," he said. "That we could lose more than just our jobs? Possibly be sent to prison, and deservedly?" President Grant would want to pardon them, especially if they saved his life by their actions, but he might not have the leeway to do so in order to avoid war with Mexico.
"That's what I like about you, James," Arte exclaimed. "Always the optimist! You're already assuming we're going to live through this!" Arte sat down, gun belt and bullet belts clanking, and grabbed a tortilla for himself. "I confess, invading a neighboring foreign country to rescue a man who wants to kill us from a large and dangerous group of men who will also want to kill us wasn't in my game plan when I woke up this morning. But what choice do we have?"
Jim saw how slowly Arte bit into the tortilla, with as little appetite as he had. Jim bet that underneath his skin-darkening makeup and mustache, his partner was still pale with worry for his friend Grant. The task that lay ahead of them could not be more daunting. According to the brief Colonel Richmond had given them, Loveless was being held prisoner by a Mexican bandit chief who claimed to be a rival heir to the same Southern California territory that Loveless' maternal ancestors had once owned. Dr. Loveless had traveled to Mexico expecting to find an ally in his quixotic quest to seize the state back from the U.S. and had found a hostile competitor instead. Richmond's information came from one of the Secretary of State's most reliable informants, but how could they be sure it was up to date?
"You know as well as I do, Loveless may have already escaped by the time we get there." Jim finished his tortilla but couldn't bring himself to grab another. "How do we find him with an entire country for him to be hiding in?"
"Ah! It just so happens I've already thought of a plan for that!" Arte pulled a business card out of his sleeve and placed it on the table. "Mexico's finest piñata producer! Enrique gave me the reference last year. I thought we could have them make up a bunch of piñatas that resemble the two of us – Loveless won't be able to resist!" Arte saw the look on Jim's face and quickly sobered up again. "But seriously, that's an address for one of Enrique's good friends, in case we need one. I guess we just have to hope that Loveless is still a prisoner in a nearly impenetrable fortress. But who would ever have thought we'd be the ones springing him?"
"Hopefully not Hector el Tigre," Jim answered, flipping through more of Colonel Richmond's dossier. Loveless' cousin didn't sound like any charming picnic to deal with either, and unlike Loveless, he was a wholly unknown and unfamiliar opponent. Was he also the one person capable of doing what the U.S. federal penitentiary system could not?
The sole saving grace to their mission, as Jim saw it, was that Loveless might be a scientific genius, but he never ceased being careless. The little wizard's towering ego and unshakeable faith in his own schemes invariably led to his undoing. Whether it was a glaring error like trying to replace right-handed Jim West with left-handed Janus – who had been coached all about Jim's early life, but knew nothing of Artemus (or Great Aunt Maude) – or simply failing to take away Arte's lock-pick while holding him captive, Loveless could always be counted on to make some critical mistake. Perhaps Hector el Tigre had found that to be the case also, and perhaps it was true of el Tigre himself. If Jim and Arte were really lucky, then Miguelito's negligence was a family trait and the two agents might have a chance at success after all. If only the President could hold out that long . . . .
If not, the entire United States would be in serious trouble.
