9

Artie retrieved the saddlebags that he had created for West; he had packed a fresh set of clothes, a throwing-knife rested in a sheath situated within the back of his suit jacket, and behind it's lapel was a tiny slot with a picklock. Stuffed also in the bags was Jim's gun-belt and holster, with it was his Colt Peacemaker. Forty .45 caliber rounds encircled the belt, and its buckle held four ounces of high-explosive, along with a ten second fuse, hidden behind its face. He also stored West's sleeve-derringer and the forearm apparatus that housed it.

Gordon was particularly proud in introducing his improved pocket-watch, and almost seemed giddy when he familiarized West with it, "From my pocket to yours," Artie let it dangle high from the chain as he handed it over, "It holds just the same amount of explosives as it did before…"

"Does this one keep time?" West asked with a raised brow.

Artie shook off his friend's sarcastic barb and with an equally cynical smirk he continued, "…there are two ways to detonate it," he demonstrated in the air as Jim listened, "Turning the chain-latch on the watch clockwise will reveal a small wire, ten feet long.' 'Simply wedge the watch and tie off the free end and wait for it to be tripped."

"The other way?"

Gordon answered with a satisfied smile, "Turn counter-clockwise and the wire becomes a timer.' 'The first six inches of the wire is color-coded; each inch is either red or white, signifying ten second intervals."

Grasping the concept West finished, "So I can chose anywhere from ten seconds to a minute…"

"Before detonation," concluded Artie while he pulled from his jacket a roll of bills and tossed it to his friend, "Here's a couple of hundred for spending cash."

Artie had sent Fairplay for the police and would wait for her return, but for now he continued searching the area and the deceased attackers for clues while West changed his clothes.

"Jim," Gordon called back to West, "their attire suggests something of a sailor's profession or something thereof," he pointed out.

"You mean like a dock worker or stevedore?" West pulled his shirt over his bronze shoulders, fastening the buttons while he ventured over aside Gordon.

Both men knew that they did not have the luxury of hanging about and digging for more evidence, as Fairplay and the police would be arriving at any minute.

West finished dressing and gathered the rest of his belongings, they exchanged well wishes as he and Gordon exited the building.

Gordon sent Jim off with his horse. At first, he dreaded the thought of hitching a ride, but he then remembered the warmth of Fairplay's cheek earlier on center stage, and figured that sharing a ride with her wasn't going to be bad at all.

**********

Jim's journey back to the Barlow Arm's was a lot nicer and less time consuming than his trip to the opera house, unless you counted the fog, which had significantly increased as it sank deeper into the night. The Colonel's overcoat and being on horseback, off of the cold, cobbled streets kept him warm while the early morning temperatures continued to drop.

The assassination, set up, jailbreak, and ambush during his last six hours was beginning to ware on him and he recognized his need for rest, but fumes of rage and bitterness was churning inside him, prodding and taunting him, as the thought of Anastasia possibly being mixed up with this fueled Jim to push past his fatigue and injuries, and on to the truth.

**********

A wave of unease washed over West on discovering that Anastasia's apartment door was not locked. After noticing that it had not been forced open, he slowly and with great care, opened the door with his left hand and with the other, he cocked his revolver and had it primed within a blink of an eye.

The darkness of the room swallowed the light from the hall as the door inched open, West had already recalled the arrangement of her home and where a possible bushwhacker could be located. Gradually, he peered around the corner, catching only the faint reflection of the furniture from the hallway's glow.

Jim waited a brief moment; only after the door had opened completely did he slide in, stealthily, as if he was walking on air, he made his way through the parlor to the bedroom. The surrounding stillness unnerved West as he ventured into Anastasia's bedroom, finding her upon the bed, he already knew that she was dead; her body lay above the covers, splayed arms and closed legs told West that her killer had straddled Anastasia as he strangled her.

A whiff of tobacco smoke forced West to find its source, a voice from behind him startled the agent, "You wouldn't want to kill me Mr. West…" his whiney tenor resonated throughout the room. A fiery end of a cigarette blossomed in the dark and West raised his revolver to meet it.

"Why wouldn't I," James asked with a hint of revulsion as he trained his eyes on the stranger in the dark.

The stranger's mocking tone surfaced once more, "…Why?' 'For you would undoubtedly be dead." Unexpectedly, light filled the room as the sconces were lit, exposing the stranger and a half-dozen henchmen peppered throughout the room, each one had a gun leveled on West.