Chapter 3
The street was deserted once more. It was not yet dark, and the sky was a palette of orange and red, with purple on the farthest horizon. The noise from the Grand King George grew as its patrons grew more inebriated.
"I'll be happy once we've shaken the dust from this town off our feet," Artemus said.
"Yes," Mrs. White agreed, "but I feel for the people who live here – the boisterous crowd at the King George can't be the whole of the population, but I'll wager they make life here a rather miserable existence for everyone else. "
"Unfortunately, Mrs. White, it's that way in a lot of places, especially in places where the rule of law doesn't mean much."
"Anna."
"Anna, then. I'm Artemus, pleased to meet you," he said, grinning, as he held out his hand to shake her's.
"Enchanté," she said, while executing a rather exaggerated curtsey. "Perhaps when this mission is completed we may return to this subject and take on righting the wrongs of the world."
"Let's pencil that in," Artie replied, still grinning.
"For now, I'd like to go over the plans I've made for you as Timofei. We arrive in San Francisco two days from now. Mladepovich has scheduled a fête in your honor for September 3rd – and we'll meet informally with him at least twice prior to that. We will, of course, spend the rest of our time in getting a better idea of his immediate plans, his organization, his supporters, and so forth. And –" She stopped suddenly
"Anna?"
"The church, would you like to talk in the church? I'm sure no one's there, and I'd love to see the sunset through the stained glass windows.
"With the Almighty's permission," Artie said as he opened the unlocked door.
The church was a humble clapboard structure, but boasted a large rose window behind the altar facing west. Mrs. White entered first and ran her hand over the back pew. The wood was yet warm and the rays of the dying sun had turned its dark walnut shade slightly reddish. "I love a church at sunset, " she said quietly.
"Peaceful, that's for sure," said Artie as he sat down. "Going to join me?" he asked.
Anna sat next to him, and smoothed the skirt of her dress while organizing her thoughts. " So..., hmm..., oh dear, I am so scatterbrained when I'm tired. Ah! For the entire time that we're there we must present ourselves at all times as Timofei and Arnaude, and we must be very, very careful when doing anything that Edviva would not be expected to do. Mladepovich is no fool and he must be expecting that sooner or later the U. S. government is going to take an interest in him.
"Agreed."
"Also, I think it would be in our best interests to be 'joined at the hip' so to speak. Two pairs of eyes will be better than one in the presence of these people, and I have an idea that if one pair belongs to a Frenchwoman, it will serve as thorn in Mladepovich's side – in my experience, if you can anger your quarry, you can get him in the trap more easily." Anna's whole demeanor brightened; she loved discussing strategy.
"But doesn't that also mean that the quarry might act more rashly? More destructively maybe?"
"That's the risk we take, but there's not much more that he's capable of at the moment. He could kill us, of course, but he's far from realizing his ultimate goal: turning all of the west coast of the U. S. into a Russian colony. "
"Oh, well, as long as he can't meet that goal yet." Artie couldn't help smiling. There was quite a brain behind those green eyes. "Not to change the subject, but how did you end up doing what you're doing?"
It was growing dark in the church, but there was just enough light to see the merriment in Anna's expression. "I failed the entry examination for teachers college."
"No, I can't believe it."
She placed her hand on his cheek. "Are you laughing at me? I can hardly see your face now."
"Not laughing, smiling," he said.
"Shall we go then, it's getting awfully dark in here now. Are you tired?"
"Nope, my engine isn't due to run down for at least another few hours."
"Then we'll walk some more and I'll bore you with my life story, if you're really interested in why I'm doing what I'm doing."
Darkness had fallen on the street, the only light coming from the King George. Anna beckoned Artie to resume their walk.
"Where were we? Oh - my curriculum vitae. Born Anastasia Radivilovna in Monmartre to Berenice Greenbough, late of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and Yvgeny Radivil of St. Petersburg, Russia."
"Not THE Yvgeny Radivil? The opera singer?"
"The very one."
"What an honor to meet his daughter!" said Artie with awe.
"Oh, I'm only one of many offspring born on the wrong side of the blanket. By the time he died, there were at least fourteen that I know of, and probably a few dozen more. He'd get us all together for summers at his dacha where he'd have us study art and music. That ended when I was ten -- he'd remarried that spring, and the new wife wanted nothing to do with any of us. By then, he'd long soured on Berenice, and she'd long been addicted to gin and laudanum so, other than the occasional wire of funds, I was pretty much on my own."
"I'm sorry."
"Oh, I did well enough," Anna said airily. " Papa noticed early on that I had an unusually high level of hand-eye coordination, and he began teaching me billiards almost as soon as I was big enough to hold the stick. By age eleven, I was supporting myself in pool halls in Philadelphia - Berenice and I had left Europe when I was four -- then I came to the notice of some neighborhood reformers, and ended up an orphanage. At sixteen and fully emancipated, I became a governess - with a little billiards on the side. One family whose children I taught moved to Washington and brought me along with them. I gained entry into the homes of a number of politicians and foreign ambassadors, and just fell into intelligence work from there. You've no idea how having a steady hand with a pool cue opens doors!" she laughed.
Artie smiled in response, but he couldn't help thinking the story was a little sad. His own mother had died shortly after he was born, but he'd been raised in the happiest and most secure of environments by his father and the many friends and family who frequented the rooming house his father owned.
"And your husband, what does he do?"
"I'm a widow."
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Anna."
Anna sighed. "Artemus, I was married for less than six hours."
Artie was temporarily speechless. Then all he could manage was "Indeed."
"I had an assignment at a field hospital – the North was sending spies disguised as injured Confederate soldiers. They'd assume the identity of a dead soldier and arrange to get sent to a crucial area. Anyway, a real Confederate soldier was brought in raving – it was thought he had brain fever. Roderick White. In his lucid moments, he'd go on and on about his sweetheart, whom he had promised to marry. When I came in, he became convinced that I was she – he kept a photograph of her with him, and there was some slight resemblance.
The same day he first laid eyes on me, word came from his family that the girl had married another. Naturally, we kept it from him, but I believe on some level he knew what had happened, even though he continued to insist that I was that girl and that we must marry so that she – I – wouldn't be left a spinster. It was heart-rending to hear his pleading – he was only a boy of eighteen. Finally we knew there was no hope, and so I consented to marry him at one in the afternoon on April 10, 1862, standing by his bedside. He was so happy and he did begin to rally, even ate a full meal. But in a few hours he drifted off and was gone by early evening."
By now they had walked over a mile out of town and the road gave way to weeds and scrub. It was no longer warm, and the wind had returned. Anna walked with her arms folded.
"Anna, are you alright?" Artemus asked as he put an arm across her shoulder.
"Just a little chilly – how quickly one forgets that nights in the desert are cold."
He removed his jacket and offered it to her; she accepted gratefully. They turned and walked back into town.
"Your talent for knife-throwing –"
"Yes? Well, as mentioned, I have superhuman hand-eye coordination," she laughed. "One thing I learned from those Northerners – the ones who were impersonating Confederate soldiers – is that there are a few spots on the head that bleed quite spectacularly when cut, even if the damage is not all that serious. So those men who got cut today, they'll be up and drinking tomorrow, I'm sure."
Artie thought a moment. Even if that hadn't been seriously hurt, wouldn't they – at the first opportunity – attempt to avenge themselves? If not personally, would they put their friends up to it? Would it be safe for Anna to spend the night at the hotel? He wasn't so sure.
"Anna, I'd like to suggest that you don't spend the night in the hotel."
"Really? I was thinking that myself. I'm starting to fade, and I don't think I'd sleep well there. Would it be appropriate for me to curl up on the settee in your parlor?"
"I can do better than that – you take my bed, I'll take the settee."
They walked to the Wanderer, where Anna handed him her room key, with instructions to retrieve a cotton nightgown that should have been in the third packing case from the top, a blue dress, stockings and brown boots that would be found in the top packing case, and the small alligator suitcase he should find next to the packing cases.
"Now how is it going to look, with me carrying all those ladies' clothes out of the place?" He'd meant it as a joke but... While he'd known far more difficult missions, few promised to be so embarrassing.
"By now, anyone who would object is probably pie-eyed, so I wouldn't be too concerned. Unless you'd prefer to drag the packing cases here. "
"No thank you, ma'am. I'll be back soon."
* * *
Getting to the second floor of the King George entailed stepping over a number of bodies in various stages of inebriation, most of whom who were covered with bruises. One of the few still standing was Mr. Hakimoglu.
"Hey, fella – that buddy of your's put on some show! Like to have him here every Saturday night, ya know, sorta as free entertainment. Maybe we could get some ladies coming in if we had him to keep a lid on the more rowdy elements."
"He's doing very well as a buttonhook salesman, but I'll mention it to him."
"Thanks, chief."
Jim met him at the top of the stairs. "Where's the lady?"
"On the Wanderer. I – we – didn't think it was a good idea for her to return."
"We finally agree on something. Just after you left, a crew of them got together and practically tore the whole place apart looking for her. I have to admit, she can keep a cool head. "
They walked through the darkened hallway to Jim's room, nearly tripping over two bodies. "By dawn, they should begin staggering out of here, the barman told me. That should make it easier for you to drag all those packing cases out of here." Jim said.
"I'm dragging them out of here?? What about a porter? – the railroad stations in these little towns are always willing send a porter or five – keeps the local economy flush."
"You just stepped over him."
Artie stared a moment at the crumpled body, reeking of alcohol, whose nose appeared to have been recently broken. "Oh, that's fine. I'm sure my best buddy would be willing to get up an hour-and-half early to help."
"Sorry, he's exerted himself to the limit tonight – he might be sore tomorrow."
"Not as sore as he'll be if he bails on me. You follow?" Artie said darkly.
Inside the room, Jim lit the gas jet, and went to the desk to hand Artie his itinerary. "Arrive Vancouver on the 17th, meet with General Forster on the 19th –"
"I know, I know – have the entire area Russian-free by the 20th. The great Jim West does it again."
"If that happens, pal, you'll be the first to know. In any case, you'll be routing your telegraph communications through Jeremy Pike – he'll be the Chicago office. Direct the cables to "J. W. P." – if Mladepovich or one of his friends is keeping an eye on your communications, just make up whatever story you want about J. W. P. He'll also be forwarding my cables to you at the Palace."
"Sounds good. Listen, I –"
Jim dropped into the chair and stared up at Artie. Jim was one of those rare people who could command more authority sitting in a beat-up chair than any king on his throne. "You talk to our lady friend about the bullet?"
"No, why?"
"She knows something about it."
Artie sought a place to sit, approached the window sill, then thought better of it. He stretched out on the bed, his hands folded behind his head. "She said she didn't know anything about it, didn't she?"
"You didn't see her expression. I did."
"Since when does an expression trump words?"
"In this case it does," said Jim. "I'm not wrong about this, trust me."
"Well, maybe I'll talk to her about it later," Artie yawned.
"No," said Jim, with some urgency, "you talk to her about first chance you get."
"Why is this so important? Somebody in the middle of nowhere came up with a nasty new design. The bullets were probably all spent during today's celebration, and whoever came up with them will go back to shoeing horses. They couldn't be mass-produced – they'll be forgotten a week from now."
"I don't think so. A form of ammunition that could potentially spread a deadly communicable disease? The idea gets into the wrong hands – if it's not there already – and this whoever would work day and night making them."
"Alright, alright, " said Artie wearily. "First opportunity arises, I'll talk to her. Listen, I've got to retrieve some of her clothes." He got up and ambled to the door, Jim following.
"Artie, I'll meet you downstairs around six tomorrow morning. See if you can get a cart from the station office."
"Sure, but what if I can't? You want me to wake the station master?"
Jim rolled his eyes. "I handled at least twenty-five 190-pound men tonight. The very least you could do would be to contribute to handling five cases of ladies clothing."
"Only twenty-five men? You're slipping, my friend."
Artemus returned to the Wanderer, Anna's clothing draped over one arm. He'd assumed they'd continue discussing their plans, but when he entered, she was nowhere to be seen.
"Anna?" She wouldn't have gone out again, would she?
He headed toward his room, in order to hang up the clothes. When he opened the door, he found her sleeping in her chemise and petticoat, her green dress and his jacket hanging from the rack. It was still rather warm in the room, which was probably why the blanket lay folded at her feet.
"Sweet dreams, Miss Radivilovna." he whispered, then shut the door.
* * *
Early in the morning, Anna was awakened by a rap on the door. As she opened her eyes, she felt lost for a moment. This isn't the hotel. Relief came flooding back when she saw where she'd hung Artemus's jacket.
"Is that Artemus?"
"Yes, ma'am. Would you like some coffee?"
"Oh, yes. Just a minute." She hastened to wash her face and re-arrange her hair, then took the green dress off its hanger. The blue one was to be her traveling costume as Arnaud.
She opened the door to see him proffering a cup of very aromatic coffee. "How nice, thank you." She followed him to the parlor, where warm toast and jam awaited her. "My, you do have quite an establishment here. Are you and Mr. West going to join me?"
"I'll have coffee with you – Jim and I ate already, after we took all our luggage – yours and mine – to the train station. He's just now taking care of things at the hotel; in about an hour, he and Colonel Richmond will be shoving off."
"Oh."
"Anna, I want to revisit the issue of those bullets."
Anna didn't reply. She bowed her head and began to stir her coffee. Just before he was about to speak again, she looked up at him. "Artemus, have you ever met someone so deficient of heart and conscience that his every thought, his every plan concerned committing the vilest cruelty on his fellow human beings?"
It was a surprising question. Artie thought a moment. Even Loveless – for all his plans for world domination – had, he suspected, a tender side. There was always pain in his eyes and, had nature not deprived him of that "strong straight body" he once mentioned, Loveless might have done great things. As he went though his mental catalog of the miscreants he'd encountered over the years, he saw that they'd all had objectives that may have entailed some cruelty to achieve, but that was never the ultimate goal. It was always power and wealth, wealth and power.
"No, Anna, I haven't."
"The man who designed that bullet –" She stopped, in order to compose herself. "That man – I met him working in Paris shortly after the war. He was introduced to me by a contact from Britain as a great scientist and reformer who was experimenting – " She stopped again. "Artemus – that man is purest evil. I saw some of the subjects on whom he had tried some of his potions. I shall never forget it. A few years ago, he turned up in New York under an assumed name. He had abandoned chemistry and biology and had taken up physics, specifically the design of weapons of war. He would come through the streets and pick up drunkards, orphans, whomever he could lure, and try his designs out on them. At the time, I didn't realize it was the same man I'd met in Paris, and I had no idea of what he was working on. I had committed an ... indiscretion and he befriended me. When I finally realized who he was and what he was doing, I enlisted another contact to set fire to his papers. The contact was captured and admitted that it was me who put him up to it. The man – Warriner – has been hounding me ever since. He's had probably fifty opportunities to kill me, but I'm guessing his plans are even uglier than that. It was he whom I cabled."
She bowed her head once more, and tears could be seen falling onto the tablecloth. Artie reached across the table and grasped her hand, "Anna – I – how can I help you?"
"I hesitate to say this – but I'm certain he's killed or crippled dozens by now, perhaps hundreds, and I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he aims to kill thousands more – just for the pleasure of killing them. It is my prayer, of course, that the Almighty might see fit to call him to a final reckoning, but unless that happens soon, I must..." She trailed off and buried her face in the crook of her arm to hide her tears.
"Anna, why did you cable him?"
"Because I believe – God forgive me – that it would be easier to do away with him in San Francisco than in New York. "
Both were silent for some minutes. Anna, having recovered herself, rose and said, "Please, let's speak no more of it. I'll be ready to leave shortly. "
"Anna, I have to go over a few final things with Jim. I'll come back with him and Colonel Richmond, and then you and I can return to the hotel until our train comes."
"Certainly."
Before she turned to go, Artemus took both her hands in his. He tried to come up with something to say, something comforting, encouraging – anything, but words failed him. He dropped her hands. "See you soon."
At the hotel, only West and Colonel Richmond were in the bar room, having a heated discussion. They didn't notice Artie until he sat down next to them. "What's the topic, gentlemen?"
"Nothing of any importance – vacation scheduling," said Richmond.
"Great importance, sir – it's been nearly two years, and I haven't even one week off to de-compress, and I don't think –."
Artie broke in. "Anna and I discussed the bullet or, at least, I think we did."
"And?"
Artie sighed and looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know where to begin, she mentioned somebody – Warriner, I think the name was – he was doing biological research in Paris, then he moved to New York, and he'd switched to physics, in order to develop weaponry. According to her, he's some kind of sociopath – kills for the fun of it, and is looking to kill en masse."
Colonel Richmond became very excited. "Francis Warriner? He's in the U. S. now? I read a monograph about him a few years ago. Some kind of monster, I scarcely believed it was a real person. If even a quarter of what was written about him is true, he should be hung up by his thumbs."
"If this guy is what you say, why didn't they pick him up in Paris?" Jim, ever the cynic, asked.
"I don't know if they even tried, " Richmond said. " The story is that he keeps his activities under wraps by blackmailing anybody who knows anything about it. He was under suspicion in at least two murders of well-known French scientists about fifteen years ago, but they couldn't make it stick."
"And Mrs. White knows this man?" Jim asked incredulously.
"I don't know how well she knows him, she said she was introduced to him in Paris, and met him again in New York under another name. According to her, he's been involved in some very, very ugly activities."
"If they're anything like what I read, I'd feel privileged to kill him in cold blood," said Richmond with disgust.
"Well, you see, sir – I think that's what Mrs. White is planning."