7

Artemus Gordon bypassed his usual custom of picking the lock to the backstage entrance of the opera house; why remain out in the cold fiddling with the lock, instead he decided to use the remainder of the acid that he had used to liberate Col. Richmond, Agent Barclay, and Chief Constable Duggan from their own jail earlier that night. Swirls of smoke danced from the iron bolt and melded into the surrounding fog as he finished applying the corrosive and returned the rubber ball to his vest pocket.

Fairplay had taken the horses further down the alley and hitched them to some boiler pipes leading from the building. By the time she reached Artemus, the acid had eaten through the bolt and the door was opening.

"Horses out of sight," the striking Cassandra notified Artie while brushing one of her fiery locks from her forehead with the barrel of her Colt .45 Peacemaker.

"From what I remember from the blueprints," Artie motioned to their left, "the light activation is along the south wall."

"Why," Fairplay questioned as Artie entered behind her.

She was right, for long slivers of light framed the stage curtain; the lights in the theatre were already illuminated. Both agents' alarms sounded in their heads and they quietly made their way to the center curtain, where they slowly peered between the red-velvet sheets into the immense room.

Gordon felt a rush of energy as their cheeks fell together, Fairplay felt it also, but she obviously was able to conceal her reaction better than Artie. As they scanned the area Artie asked in a whisper, "No offence Fairplay, but how long exactly have you been in the Service?"

She momentarily glanced his way; a look of disbelief across her lovely face, "What?"

"Small talk," Gordon answered her, "simply small talk." His eyes fixed in the shadows of the theatre boxes that ran from each side of the room.

Cassandra continued her search of the balcony at the rear of the building, "Wouldn't this discussion be better discussed over a dinner…" she left her question hanging.

"With champagne…" he added as he concluded that no one else was in the theatre with them.

Fairplay let the curtain drop and looked into Gordon's eyes for a brief moment, a small smile gradually surfaced between her dimpled cheeks, "I would be happy to join you for dinner, Mr. Gordon."

Artie pulled the curtain back and let Fairplay precede him into the theatre, "Tomorrow night?' 'Around seven?"

"The rumors I hear about you are true," she said over her shoulder, "You do not waste any time."

"So true," Artie began and he guided Fairplay to the steps leading to the floor, "If you would position yourself at Officer Huet's post, I'll make my way to the shooter's location."

"Gotcha," she replied and headed toward the rear of the room, Gordon weaved his way through the orchestra pit and to the stairs leading to the box seats east of the stage. About forty feet in he entered the suite and peered out, he found the spot where the Emir went down and turned toward Huet's post. Artemus couldn't see Fairplay anywhere; he adjusted his eyes and looked again as a small wave of panic washed over him. Artie called out, "You there?"

"Yes," she answered as she waved an arm.

Gordon caught a flash of her hand and he leaned slightly over the railing to glimpse around one of the banners that hung from the ceiling directly in the visual path between the two points.

Gordon realized that Huet could not have seen Jim, or anyone else, fire a shot from the box as a large banner obscured the view.

"Head on up here," he directed, "I have a little surprise to show you."

"That's not all…" a voice came from behind him, startling Artie enough for him to almost drop to the floor below.

Gordon spun off the rail fumbling back into the box, his heart raced as he tried to quickly gather himself.

From under the step leading onto the balcony lay James West; he was on his back and appeared to be holding a hinged plank with a tiny handle. West continued, "A makeshift door," he pulled it shut for a couple of seconds then opened it, "an excellent hiding place for our assassin."

"James, you about gave me a heart attack!" Artie exclaimed with his hand on his chest and a scowl upon his face.

West chuckled and repeated his demonstration, sliding back into the space and sealing the secret panel.

"Well I'll be," Gordon said as he stooped down to get a better look and elaborated when West reappeared, "Our killer was tucked safely underneath the floor as you were led away in chains above, brilliant."

Artie helped Jim to his feet as he went on, "All he had to do was shoot the Emir and roll into his hideaway, leaving the weapon and me behind."

"There is something else," Gordon pointed out, "The assassin had to know that you would not be here when the time came," he rubbed his chin, "He had to know that you would not be here."

West understood where his partner was heading, "He needed me gone just long enough to fire his shot, but close enough for me to stumble into his trap."

Artemus grew evermore concerned, "James my boy, as my Great Aunt Maude always used to say, 'I think we're on the thin end of the wedge,' he pointed out, 'The witness could not have seen you from where he said he was at, in addition was the impeccable timing of the plan to place you here with the murder weapon," Artie waved across the way, "There was plenty of other vantage points for him to use, why this one?"

Gordon's observation hit West hard, "You're right, there's more to this than a simple assassination," Jim's tone hardened slightly, "I was to be out of the picture, maybe permanently.' 'Who's here with you?"

"Fairplay," Artie answered, "she should have been here by now."

As if on cue, Fairplay frantically called up to the box, "Artemus we're not alone!"

Gunfire erupted from below and West and Gordon instinctively dropped to the floor as the balcony was riddled with bullets. The colorful ribbons and the red velvet rail casing exploded as hot lead pounded the box, sending crude confetti throughout the tiny area. Both men bolted for the exit, Gordon brandishing his revolver while West let out a disappointing groan as he palmed the pint-sized, petite Swiss-Vulcan .22.