Chapter 2

Back at the hotel, West was giving himself the grand tour. If there was to be some chaos later on, a knowledge of the entire layout would be helpful, especially considering that they were now saddled with a woman who needed to be protected. He realized his resentment was not entirely warranted - after all, President Grant himself had approved her participation. He did not want to face the fact that while he knew how to handle women, that was not the same as knowing how to work with one.

He approached Colonel Richmond's room. The door was open and the colonel was on the bed, propped up against the pillows, writing in his notebook. Also shirtless, which pained Jim to see. Richmond's body was covered with ugly scars, souvenirs of his war service. Without looking up, Richmond beckoned to West to come in.

"Take a seat, West" he said, indicating a rickety Windsor chair with much of its black paint chipped off to reveal a coat of green underneath. "Judging from what I've been reading here, these Russians appear to be extremely well-organized. This is no rag-tag bunch of hoodlums after a little tussle with the Government. It would appear that we either stamp this out now, or we'll pay dearly later."

"So why have we engaged this woman no one's ever heard of?" As soon as it came out, Jim regretted it, but it was at the moment the number one question on his mind.

Richmond smiled involuntarily, and sighed. "I hate to say it, but the reason no one's ever heard of her – or at least the reason we've never heard of her, is because she is so good at what she does. We have abundant proof that she worked for both sides during the war, and also for the British and French governments at one time or another."

"Both sides? What on earth is Grant thinking?"

"He's thinking precisely the way you and I should. First of all, the war is over. Secondly, the mark of a good agent is that he – or she – look out for the best interests of whomever he or she is working for. Documentation proves that her work saved a thousand American lives or more."

"That's fine, but what's her excuse for working for both sides? If she's motivated by who'll pay her the most, what's to stop her from joining forces with Mladepovich?"

Richmond sighed once more. "The President trusts her – that's good enough for me."

"What about Mr. White?"

"There is no Mr. White, or at least there's not one anymore – she's a widow."

"Well, what happened to him?"

"You'll have to ask her." Richmond knew the story, and it was of no importance whatever to the mission. The circumstances of her husband's death did not reflect poorly on Mrs. White, as he was guessing West hoped. He also knew that West probably wouldn't put a widow on the spot, unless expediency forced him.

Artemus and Anna walked silently back to the hotel. Neither one was comfortable making small talk, especially considering the stares they were getting from the people on the street. There appeared to be more out now than there were on the way to the telegraph office.

Upon entering the Grand King George, they assumed they'd see Jim still seated at the table, but he was gone and the table was now occupied by four men, each with a drink, one of whom was shuffling cards. Another five men were standing at the bar, and six others were pushing two of the remaining tables together. One of these hooted at Mrs. White.

"Hoo-wee honey, how long it take to unwrap that there winding sheet?" The man cackled and winked at his buddies. "Hey doll, whatsat little present you hidin' under there?" And addressing the rest, "Betcha old John Smith'd like to take a bite outta that tomato!"

Anna looked up at Artemus and whispered "I'm going upstairs to rest little while and then change. "

"May I accompany you?" And in answer to Anna's raised eyebrows, he continued, "At least to your room. I hate for you to have to be an object of ridicule, and there's no telling what the rabble are thinking."

Anna shook her head. "I have an idea I know exactly what they're thinking, but if it gets too rowdy here, they're in for a surprise. Let's all meet again in an hour. If I'm late, just knock." Gordon followed her to the whitewashed door. At she stood in the doorway, he noted in the corner, neatly stacked, were at least five large packing cases.

"Planning a trip?" he asked wryly, indicating the pile.

"Oui. How clever of you to notice. Alas, one must have the very best – and lots of it – to attract notice of la société élevée."

"Right," he laughed heartily, for the first time all day. "Rest well, I'll see you in an hour." He went to the door through which Richmond's voice was audible, and paused to listen before knocking.

"Grant is particularly interested in securing Vancouver first. For obvious reasons, but I think also because he spent some time there, and would like to visit once more, as soon as we've taken Mladepovich down. Some of the items Mrs. White's report were corroborated by the commanding officer at Fort Vancouver. A number of small lumber mills were torched, and two of the largest landowners in the area have gone missing, with their entire families. Neighbors have reported that the estates are now occupied by Russians in military uniform. According to General Forster, the uniforms are not worn by any branch of the official Russian military, at least not today. "

"So if Vancouver is where greater amount of activity is, why put a valuable agent to work in San Francisco?" Jim objected.

"That's two valuable agents, West."

Gordon, feeling it was time to make his entry, rapped on the door. A moment later the door was opened by Jim, who appeared somewhat surprised to see his partner standing there alone.

"Where's your sidekick?" he asked while returning to his chair.

"Resting. She'll join us in an hour or so." Seeing that the only chair was now occupied, Artie settled himself on the window sill.

"Resting, uh huh. So I suppose when she's rises, she'll take a bubble bath and then–"

"Not another word," said Richmond sharply. "Considering that Mrs. White has been up for at least the last fourteen hours, I'd say she's due a rest. I'd also like to say that the sooner you get rid of this animosity, the better for all. The simple truth is that she has more experience than any of us, in that we've only worked for own government. She's also worked in Europe and that, gentleman, is experience that is, at the moment, worth its weight in gold."

"Speaking of which," Artie began, "looks like a lot of it has gone to pay for her wardrobe."

"Yes, well, we must put forward a convincing front. And fancy clothes cost far less then a hundred or so troops would," said Richmond, rising to refill his glass from the pitcher on the washstand.

A train whistle was heard in the distance. Artie looked over his shoulder to see dozens of people rushing toward the station – far more than anyone would guess lived in the town. "I'll bet anything that's the welcoming committee for – uh... What did they say his name was? The fella who's supposed to be getting out of prison today?"

"John Smith," Jim replied as he walked to the window. "If this is where the welcome home party is going to be held, the barman was right about us not getting any sleep here. And not a respectable-looking citizen among 'em" he said as he shook his head.

"Great Aunt Maude's very definition of riff-raff, I'd say." Artie then turned to Richmond. "What do you think?"

"Hmmm?"

"We've finally met up, we could all get on the Wanderer, and Mrs. White and I could be dropped off at the next station and from there get a train to San Francisco. I have a bad feeling about this."

Richmond had returned to the bed and to his reports. Without looking up he asked "You're afraid of them?"

"Of course not. It's–"

"How about you, West – afraid of them?"

"Colonel..."

"Answer me West, yes or no."

"No."

"Then that settles it. You're not afraid of them, I'm not afraid of them, and I'll warrant that Mrs. White is also unafraid. Now back to business. I'm thinking that what we'll first need to do, West, is determine the means by which Mladepovich is keeping contact with the Vancouver contingent. If we can do that and interrupt the flow of communication, then it's a simple case of divide and conquer."

"I don't know about that, sir." West started, tentatively.

"You don't? Care to elaborate?" Richmond asked, while continuing to scan the brief on his lap.

"If they're as organized as you say, then they're probably very self-motivated as well – not the drifters and ex-cons we've seen in Dr. Loveless's operations. With him, divide and conquer always works."

"That's true," said Artie. "Yep. As soon as we've gotten our hands on him, all his plans fall apart. The challenge there has always been to just keep our hands on him."

"But you both agree," Richmond interjected, "that seizing Mladepovich would make it a great deal easier to destroy the rest of the operation."

"Maybe, maybe not. It might be a hydra situation: cut off the head and five more pop up. I think the only way we'll know for sure is when all of us have taken a good look at the who and the what and the when."

Richmond shook his head. "Cryptic as always, West. But I guess you're right, we don't know what we're up against until we've seen it in person. I remember --" He was interrupted by a rap on the door.

Since West was closest – Artie was still on the windowsill watching the crowd – he opened the door to see a woman in a simple green dress. For a split second he didn't recognize her, then he noted the very green eyes, which almost matched the shade of the dress. Mrs. White had abandoned the Arabian costume. She smiled wearily. "Difficult to rest while that riot is going on outside. Perhaps we should have cabled ahead to find out if any local celebrities were planning to come to town."

"Mrs. White? Come in please," Richmond beckoned as he pulled his shirt on.

Mrs. White entered, looking around for a place to sit. Just at that moment the sound of bullets hitting the building were heard and Artie fell to the floor. Guns were still being shot – it sounded as if the entire town was under siege – as his three companions rushed to his side. Artie raised his hand. "No, no don't worry about me. I'm still among the living. But I think we ought to vacate the premises."

The group huddled together while the shots continued for another ten minutes or so, when a cheer went up that was almost as noisy as the shots. The sound moved from the street and took residence inside the first floor of the hotel. A few hoarse voices were singing "When Johnny Comes Marching Home."

When it appeared that all the celebratory shooting was over, West moved carefully to the window. The street was as empty as it had been only a few hours ago. "Looks like the party has moved indoors," West muttered.

"Sounds like it, too," Artemus observed. As he got up, he absently ran his fingers through his hair, and when he pulled his hand away, it was bloody. After a brief moment of shock, he grabbed the ancient shaving mirror that stood next to the wash basin and tried to see where the blood was coming from.

Soundlessly, Mrs. White moved behind him and began rooting through his hair. Artie froze, not quite sure whether to complain or comply. "Oh, I see it! The bullet just grazed your scalp for maybe an inch and a half. My, you are lucky, Mr. Gordon. Just a little abrasion, but I would recommend that you wash out your hair – Heaven only knows what dirt and disease lay on the fingers of whoever loaded that gun. I have a special soap somewhere in my luggage, it'll be just the thing – an herbal combination a woman in Virginia taught me how to make. I'll be right back with it."

West's eyes followed her as she floated out of the room. When he was certain she couldn't hear, he said "and don't forget your curling iron."

Richmond had went back to his reading, leafing through the pages with annoyance at West's latest comment.

"James, you know my hair is naturally curly, " said Artie as he began scanning the room looking for the bullet that had grazed him. "I think you must be jealous." Jim shot him a look, to which Artie answered only with a wide grin before returning to his search.

"Hello..., what have we here?" he said as he pulled a small projectile from the plaster about seven feet above the floor. "Hey, Jim, Colonel, look at this." Artemus was carefully holding something slightly larger than a minnie ball, around which was coiled a very shiny, razor-sharp metal. As they came toward it, he accidentally pressed on it and instantly dropped it. As it bounced on the floor, a few drops of blood from his fingers fell on it.

"Isn't that the damndest thing?" Artie asked while searching his pockets for a handkerchief. Locating one stuffed into his back pocket, he used it to retrieve the bullet and held it up for inspection once more.

"What would be the point of that, do you think? That razor wrapping?" Jim studied it intently, and was silent for a moment. "You know... " He took it from Artie's hand and trailed off, in an attempt to organize his thoughts. "Mrs. White may not have been far off the mark – a bullet with razor around it might injure even if it does not enter the body – that is, if it's coated with a virus or a dangerous bacterium. A minor flesh wound could end up being as deadly as a bullet to the heart."

Mrs. White re-entered with a large cake of soap in one hand, and a full pitcher in the other. "Here we are, Mr. Gordon." She moved briskly to the washbasin and filled it. "If you will allow me, I'd like to handle the job – men are so careless when it comes to washing out their hair."

"Oh, I..." This was really too much.

"Mr. Gordon, I am able to see exactly where the wound is and what it looks like. So, unless you have eyes on the back of your head–"

"Well, first I'd like to wash my hands with that soap," he said, reaching out for the soap and the pitcher. "Jim, show her what we found."

Jim retrieved the bullet from the table and held up the bullet for her inspection, while Artie took the opportunity to plunge in and wash his hair himself. As soon as Mrs. White got a good look at the bullet, she gasped and turned pale. Recovering herself, she choked "How very – unusual."

West tried to read her expression, certain that she knew something about this most unusual form of ammunition. "Seen anything like this before, ma'am?"

She did not reply, but continued to stare at the bullet

"Mrs. White, do you recognize this type of bullet?" Jim persisted, holding it in front of her face

"Hmmm?" Mrs. White had turned her attention to Artemus, who was groping blindly for a towel.

"Mrs. White, I'm asking– "

"I don't shoot guns, Mr. West," she replied coldly, "nor do I keep up with the latest ways men have found for killing one another."

"I didn't ask you if you shot guns, I asked if you recognized this type of bullet."

"I'm sorry, Mr. West, I know little about guns, and even less about bullets." With that she turned her back to him, and handed Artie the towel. West looked over at Richmond, who, fully engrossed in his paperwork, did not meet his gaze.

Once Artemus had blotted most of the water from his hair, he rose and shook out the towel. His bottle of hair tonic was back on the train, and he was embarrassed by the halo of curls that now covered his head. It didn't seem professional.

Yet Mrs. White was charmed.

"Oh, how perfect! I love a man with curly hair."

"You do?" came the slightly uncomfortable response.

"Of course – all women do."

"They do?"

"Certainly, didn't you know that?"

Here's a chance to lighten the mood, Artie thought, so he began in a stage whisper, "Well, I did, of course. But poor Jim here -- he has such trouble attracting women, what with that straight hair and all – I've never wanted him to know that I had an unfair advantage."

Mrs. White also wanted to make the atmosphere more congenial – that way it would get their minds off of the bullet. She knew what it was, of course – she could tell them all about it, but now was not the time, nor the place. "Oh, Mr. West's not bad. He has a certain animal magnetism, I suppose."

West decided to play along. Maybe he could charm her himself, and then charm whatever information she had out of her. "Do you think so, Mrs. White?"

"I do." she smiled.

"See, Artie, I may not know a lot about the ladies – having straight hair and all – but I do believe animal magnetism trumps just about any follicular superiority you may have."

"Oh, James my boy, you're laboring under such a –"

The rest of his response was drowned out by heavy steps on the staircase, accompanied with loud laughter and a voice calling out "Here, kitty kitty! Hey, where are ya, little chicken?"

Another cried out "Aw, she's gotta be here somewhere, still wrapped up in them sheets I hope. I do so love to unwrap a little present."

The footsteps sounded like they might have belonged to four or five men – fortunately only a fraction of the men in the building – but all of them were, by now, roaring drunk. When the last of the group stepped off the landing, they began pounding on doors. West, Gordon and Richmond steeled themselves for whatever might happen next. Mrs. White was strangely calm and wandered over to the chair, upon which she placed her left foot, as if she was about to re-tie the lace on her kidskin boot.

Presently, they were banging on Richmond's door. One began whistling, another to interpret. "Gotta be in there, honey. See, he's givin' you a lovebird call. C'mon sweetie, let us loverboys in."

"You heard them, gentleman. Someone open the door," Mrs. White whispered. West, Gordon and Richmond looked at the door, now shaking from the fists pounding on it, and then to Mrs. White. "Must I repeat myself?"

"Mrs. White... Mrs. White..., " Artie started helplessly. He was certain they could deal with whatever came through the door, but it was certainly not a good idea to invite them in.

"Mr. West, would you please do what I ask? I would like you to open the door, and then stand clear. Please." She smiled as if she were asking him to pass the salt, then flashed a rather irritated glance at Artie.

Something about her calm – almost overly calm demeanor – touched West. For the first time, he had a hint of why Grant had placed his faith in her. It was a little odd, though, that she had not moved, her foot was still on the chair. Was she going to knock it over and throw it? No, that wouldn't make much sense – it wouldn't hold them off for more than a moment or two. Was she going to reason with them? Maybe. Woman do have a way of addling one's thoughts and plans, that's for sure.

She spoke again. "Mr. West?"

West looked back at Richmond, who by now was off the bed and standing. A gun rested on the bed in front of him. The whistling stopped, and the banging intensified. "We know you're in there darlin.' Johnny Boy, he's got a surprise for you! Big surprise." At that, they howled with laughter. "Now dontcha make us break the door down, honey. We wanna do this genteel-like."

Mrs. White straightened up, still with her foot on the chair, and directed West to the door. The other two men made a motion forward, but she waved them back. Again she whispered, "Mr. West, when you open the door, stand back. " She indicated the corner she wanted him to move after to opening the door.

"A surprise for me little ol' me?" she gushed. "Oh, how nice. So sorry to make you wait, boys. Just let me get the door." The sound that rose up from the hallway was almost deafening. She nodded at West, and the door flew open.

A split second later, Artie noticed her left hand held something shiny, and grasping it with her right hand, she threw with lightning accuracy three times. Within seconds the faces of the first men to enter were covered in blood, and they had begun to scream and stagger back into the hallway.

"I'm killed! That she-demon! " The other men in the hall were torn between rushing into the room and taking care of their companions, who appeared to be bleeding very heavily from their heads.

Mrs. White remained completely calm. "Thank you, Mr. West." She looked into the still-crowded hallway, and continued, "Mr. West, I understand that you yourself have a reputation as a brawler, so if you'd like to get a little exercise, you have my blessing."

No sooner had the words come out of her mouth than two huge men appeared at the doorway. Mrs. White nodded again to West, who flew into action. Richmond laughed heartily, but Artie was torn between laughing and sitting down to wonder what the service had gotten him into.

Mrs. White lifted her skirt a bit and Artie caught a glimpse of what appeared to be a leather sheath wrapped around her calf, which she was attempting to adjust. From the sheath protruded seven or eight mother-of-pearl handles, no bigger than those used for nail files. She was well aware Artie's eyes were on her, and looked up at him in feigned shock. "Mr. Gordon, are you trying to sneak a look at my limb? And to think that I had been told that you're a gentleman. Well, I simply couldn't be more disappointed in you." Artie's only reply was to turn beet-red.

A smiling Mrs. White finally removed her foot from the chair and went to the now-empty hallway. The sounds of a huge brawl issued from the stairwell, so she advanced close enough to watch the action for a few minutes. She disappeared into her own room and returned laughing to Richmond's room a short time later. "My goodness, he really ought to sell tickets, our Mr. West."

"Now there's an idea, " said Richmond, once again on the bed with his paperwork. "We could make the Secret Service into a money-making concern. Gordon, any opinion?"

Before he could reply, Mrs. White asked, "Colonel, may I borrow Mr. Gordon? I think we might have a good talk before we all retire this evening."

"Certainly, Mrs. White. Just make sure you return him after West has vanquished all these bums. If Gordon gets involved, that's more money we'll have to spend on ruined clothing."

"Of course. Mr. Gordon, it may be a little cooler outside – it's starting to get dark – would you like to take a walk?"

Artie jumped up, without regard to seeming over-eager. He had a million questions to ask this lady. He offered her his arm, and they passed into the hallway where Mrs. White stopped dead. "Oh, dear, we'll have to get somebody – a manager or someone – to get a mop. So much blood on this floor, and my poor boots --" she wrapped her arm around Artie's waist as she stood on one foot in order to examine a sole – "Ugh. And these are brand-new. I was so interested in getting my knives back I scarcely paid attention to the – ugh. " She looked up at him with the expression of a child disappointed to have dropped her ice cream cone.

His first impulse was to kiss her on the forehead and promise new boots, but he restrained himself, although not without difficulty. Involuntarily, he sighed before again offering his arm. They walked silently down the back stairs and into the twilight.