Shot in the Dark

Tem West felt a tight mixture of yearning and dread as Wanderer II pulled into the oh-so-familiar Chicago railyard two days after they'd left Washington D.C. Cole and Micah between them had kept the train going day and night, and it had performed beautifully as expected on its maiden voyage. But this wasn't anything like the homecoming Tem might have expected after previous trips out of the area. It had been hard enough to return to his childhood home after first his Mom and then Uncle Arte had been lost to them, but now . . . there would be no family at all waiting for the three when they got onto the platform. No welcoming committee or Sunday suppers with the adults, or . . . .

"Look! There's Aunt Kate!" Jimmy shouted with eager anticipation, face pressed against the Wanderer II's window glass. She couldn't see them back, of course, but sure enough, there was Aunt Kate waiting dutifully for their return. She seemed to have a good idea which train she was waiting for too, in spite of Wanderer II's distinct lack of distinctive markings. Had everyone in the Secret Service except the three recruits been let in on this project?

"No sign of Uncle Jeremy with her," Amanda murmured. But Aunt Kate wasn't looking worried or sorrowful. Perhaps with so many agents in town for the funeral two weeks earlier, Kate Pike had been able to arrange for the special sort of 'sitters' she needed to help look after her husband. Their fathers' old friend's descent into dementia had been much too soon, sudden and startling for them all, occurring just a few years earlier and leaving Jeremy Pike in need of careful supervision – emphasis on the careful. Uncle Jeremy's secret agent skills made what was already a heartbreaking task hazardous in ways no ordinary caregiver could anticipate. In addition to being kept away from guns, knives and sharp objects, Uncle Jeremy also had to be kept away from blunt objects, heavy objects, flammable objects, liquids, gases, chemicals, explosives, flash powder, ropes, disguise materials, crossbows, harpoons, trebuchets, anything that could be made into a primitive lathe . . . . The list was endless. Aunt Kate bore her plight with grace, love and her indomitable sense of humor. Tem, Amanda and Jimmy had all taken their turns watching over their honorary uncle too, not wanting him to hurt himself or, God forbid, others. But Uncle Jeremy certainly had a way of making life interesting. Just as well if he wasn't on the platform with her to greet them, even if they could all have used the extra hug.

Tem waited to give Aunt Kate an affectionate embrace until after Amanda and Jimmy had their share. Katherine Pike could still hug like a bear too, and she reached up a hand to touch her oldest honorary nephew's face after she pulled back, looking him over appraisingly.

"Artemus West," she asked, "are you all right?"

"No," he admitted. "But I'm trying to get there. How are you and Uncle Jeremy doing?"

He thought he saw the briefest shadow of doubt pass behind her eyes before she answered.

"As well as can be expected," she sighed. "I can tell you more once I've taken you back to the house. I want to talk to you about a proposition."

One from her or the one they'd already been given by the President? Tem wondered.

Aunt Kate led them to a rented horse cart hooked up to a pair of bored draft horses and equally bored driver. Tem was looking forward to seeing Canasta again and just as glad to leave his Secret Service-assigned mount behind on the train. Baccarat might be a beautiful piece of horse-flesh, but the nasty tempered creature had even tried to bite him! Maybe Tem's father had given the Bureau a little too much help training the stallion and now Baccarat, like Blackjack, wasn't going to accept any other rider than James West.

With a circumspect eye on the rental cart driver, Aunt Kate and the three of them made only the blandest of small talk until they were back inside the Gordon house along with the small valises they'd packed originally for the trip to Washington.

"So," Aunt Kate said at last, "how was your trip to the Capitol really? And before you answer, yes, I already know about most of it."

"You knew, then? Knew about the train and . . . ?" Tem didn't want to say more.

Kate nodded.

"Let's just say Jeremy and I have known Teddy for a really long time. He keeps me posted," Aunt Kate informed him. "So did that blasted father of yours. We have a lot to talk about, and not as much time as I'd like to talk about it in. I have to get back to your uncle before he starts fussing, you know." There was that shadow again. "I'm just sorry Teddy had to go and spring it all on you the way he did, and without your father talking to you about it first. Sorrier too, that our Commander-in-Chief thinks this young'un," she gestured to Jimmy, "is anywhere near ready to go with you. I'd like to talk him out of that."

"You won't," Jimmy informed her defiantly.

Tem could only agree. Whatever Tem's feelings, or Amanda's, Jimmy seemed determined to stick with his decision. His young brother-in-law might not be lacking for nerves, but he wasn't lacking for courage either. Worse, whether they wanted to admit it or not, Tem and Amanda might need Jimmy's talents for what lay ahead. Certainly they'd need all the gadgets he could design for them, just as his father had designed for agents before him.

"Don't blame me if I try!" Kate exclaimed. "But in case you're wondering, yes, both your fathers knew about what you might be in for. They didn't necessarily share all their feelings about it with me, so I can't tell you those. Jim, Arte and Teddy wanted me to give you the benefit of my experiences, though, so I'll bloody well do that while I can. In return, I'm hoping since you'll be away so much, you might consider lending me and your Uncle Jeremy a place to live."

"A place to live?" Amanda gasped. "Your landlord didn't . . . throw you out, surely?"

"Nothing like that," Aunt Kate shook her head. "The poor dear would never do that. But the truth is, kids, your uncle isn't getting any better and neither is the city of Chicago. I've caught him wandering off lately – caught him just barely in the nick of time. There's too much traffic, too many train tracks, too many strangers, too much new crime . . . ."

Especially the kind Dad found, Tem thought.

"The big city just isn't safe for ol' Jeremy Pike anymore. I was kind of hoping you might rent us some room out here in the country skirts, where there's fresh air and just the horse trolley and the occasional cart to worry about."

"Rent!" Amanda and Jimmy both looked scandalized, and Amanda put an arm around her honorary aunt. "As if we'd take a penny! You and Uncle Jeremy are family, Aunt Kate! Just about the only immediate family we have left! We didn't want to burden you with looking after the houses while we're gone, but you certainly can have all the room you need to stay here as far as I'm concerned."

Jimmy nodded his head enthusiastically too.

"And I can continue to pay Maisie to help," Tem offered. "She's probably been wondering what would happen to her job now that Dad's gone. But as you know, she isn't just your typical maid-of-all-works." Maisie was a former female cat burglar converted to the forces of good by Jim, Arte and their wives. Some of her unique talents would make her handy for Jeremy-sitting. More help would be needed if Jeremy was getting as bad as Aunt Kate said, but it was a start. Tem wondered if the Secret Service might be convinced to regard this duty as hazard-training for future agents. "You'll have to do some Jeremy-proofing, of course."

Aunt Kate's eyes glistened with pent-up tears of gratitude as she gave each of the three another rib-bending hug.

"It's settled," Amanda said firmly. "And it's the very least we can do. But before you go off, there are a few things we need to ask you about our fathers' old stories . . . ."

[WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW]

So this is where it happened, Tem thought as he looked at the still-roped-off, ashen remains of the riverfront warehouse that had suffered a run-in with his father. The city of Chicago had gotten much better at responding to fires since the incident supposedly started by Mrs. O'Leary's cow in 1871, but this fire still left an impressive hole in the waterfront that local tradesmen wouldn't have thanked James West for.

The trip home hadn't been purely aimed at gathering belongings, of course. If Tem, Amanda and Jimmy were going to hunt down their parents' killers, they'd need every clue they could get. The most recent ones were still here in their figurative back yard. For the umpteenth time, Tem wished he could have brought Amanda to the burnt warehouse ruins with him, but society had its own peculiar views about where a woman did or did not belong. Even the so-young Jimmy Gordon would have looked out of place exploring a crime scene, Tem's wife still more. As was often the case, Tem would have to go it alone before reporting back to his partners.

Well, not quite alone . . . . Another Secret Service agent was waiting for him at the warehouse site when he arrived.

"Agent West?" the ruddy-faced redhead held out his hand. "I'm Danny Elser. Pleased to meet you."

Elser - Agent Hamilton's previously unmet partner. Hamilton himself would be arriving in another day or so by a slower train after making a detour for the investigation he and Elser had been working on before this Chicago case had literally blown up on the Secret Service.

"Artemus West," Tem said, shaking the man's hand. "Wish I could say I was pleased to be here, but . . . ." I'd rather be anywhere else.

Agent Elser winced, knowing what the unspoken words must be and showing none of his partner's stoicism.

"Yeah. Sorry, I know this has to be rough for you."

"Not your fault," Tem told him. "Can you show me what you've found so far?"

Elser nodded and led Tem over to a small patch of Warehouse Row that had been cordoned off from the rest, more or less in the middle of the street. The agent lifted a canvas sheet that had been draped over the cobblestones to reveal a discolored section sharply pitted in two places, and a larger discolored section just a short distance away. Tem knelt down to lightly touch the stain, knowing already what it was.

"That's where your father fell. We sent the cane and the remains of the bullets on to Washington," Elser explained.

Tem nodded and stood back up.

"He was shot by someone on the rooftop," Elser continued. "The witnesses haven't been much help, beyond telling us that. They've given us descriptions of the gunman – several different descriptions, actually."

As usual. That was the problem with eyewitness accounts - you seldom got any two that would match up. The gunman might be tall and thin, in a short and stocky way, while his straight brown hair for one person turned into blond curls in the eyes of someone else. The only people who might have known what the shooter looked like for real were the ones who'd been killed at the hospital before they could talk – if they would have talked. A big-time illicit weapons ring wouldn't have attracted the faint of heart, although one conspirator must have talked before the explosion for the government to have had any idea of Jim West's part in it.

Agent Elser replaced the canvas sheet and the two men walked over toward the warehouse ruins. Almost nothing of it had been left standing. The ashes and rubble had been raked into large individual piles, which had no doubt been picked through and searched for contents and clues already. Obviously, the Secret Service and other law enforcement officers on the scene had found the remains of the weapons – enough to tip Washington off about what had gone on here. Tem hoped he wouldn't have to go through each of those rubbish piles a second time over, as it was more than he or any individual could do a thorough job of in less than a week or two.

"According to the records we were able to trace, the warehouse belonged to one Lemuel Clay, who was renting it out to a company that called itself J.D.P. Enterprises." Elser shrugged. "Of course, there is no record we can find of a legitimate company operating under that name. Mr. Clay is mad as hell and threatening to sue the government, but we've reminded him he could still be charged as an accessory to the gang's crimes."

"I take it Mr. Clay had no insurance?"

"None," Elser shook his head. "And naturally, he claims not to have known anything about the contents of the building. Claims he thought he was renting it out to a greengrocery distribution business. The agent who interviewed him thinks he's telling the truth about that."

"And none of the other folks working along this strip saw anything unusual either? Nobody noticed anything out of place before my father . . . ." pulled a James West on it?

Agent Elser shook his head again.

"Not that they'll admit to, unless they think there might be a reward in it, and then they'd tell us it was the ghosts of Jesse James and Christmas Past themselves to get their hands on some money or whiskey. No one reliable has come forward so far. We've found some other crimes, mostly petty, small scale stuff going on down here that people tried to cover up too. About what you'd expect."

That's what I'd expect if I was identifying myself as a Secret Service agent, anyway, Tem thought. What if the locals got interviewed by someone they didn't think was a law enforcement officer? Glancing at the row of shops and cheap establishments across the street from the warehouses, Tem had an idea of how Amanda could be a big help in this part of town after all, and not as an obvious federal agent. Fire, explosions and a rooftop assassin had caused the authorities to come down on this district a little too openly and hard. That would only have made the lesser crooks and frightened and observant people clam up. But Amanda had her father's talent for opening clamshells . . . .

Knowing that he himself was undoubtedly being observed by some of those locals at that very moment and that going over the crime scene with Agent Elser at his side would have labeled Tem as 'One of Them,' Tem resigned himself to finding out not much else from these picked-over ruins. Elser showed him what remained to be seen that hadn't already been hauled away by others – a few scraps of exploded rocket and bullet casings left behind. Tem found an overlooked, scorched revolver by practically tripping over it, to Elser's embarrassment. That too then needed to be bagged and taken as more evidence. The haste of the large scale, early searches of the disaster area had left behind that much at least, but little else as far as Tem could see. With a sigh of resignation, but also relief, accompanied by Elser he left the scene of his father's last battle.

"Your father was quite a legend," Agent Elser said quietly. "I met him once. I wish I could have known him longer."

So do I.

I was so lucky to know you, Dad, and I'm going to find the people responsible for your death, I swear.

With Amanda's help, of course. And Jimmy's. He'd never be able to tackle this all on his own. His father had been lucky too, to have found a best friend and partner like Artemus Gordon. The old team of West and Gordon had made life hell for the bad guys. Tem was betting the new team could do the same.

[WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW]

When did he start getting those white hairs near his muzzle? Tem wondered as he saddled up Canasta at the hostelry where he and Amanda boarded their horses. His old friend wasn't all that old, surely! Tem had only owned him for . . . let's see . . . thirteen years? And the stallion had only been four years old when he'd been presented to Tem, so . . . . Seventeen. That wasn't bad for a horse. That wasn't getting old at all. It just meant Canasta was more experienced. A horse with character.

Of course, Baccarat had character too – of the wrong sort. Tem knew that a lot of horses had been bred from Blackjack, including the one he was riding now. Why did the Secret Service want to stick him with one that had inherited all the wrong traits when Canasta would do?

"Once more into the breach, dear friend, eh?"

It felt good to be on this familiar horse's back as he rode out into the streets of midtown Chicago. The sun was still up, but it would be setting soon. Thankfully the streets had emptied of those noisy, smelly auto-mobiles. Jimmy might like such over-size gadgets, but Tem would take his horse over them any day. A horse was something you could rely on. Or should be something you could rely on, he corrected himself. He was grateful he didn't have to count on Baccarat for anything just yet.

Tem had always loved this city. He'd been fascinated by its avenues and bustle, just as he'd been fascinated by his father's and Uncle Arte's tales of more distant cities – exotic places like New Orleans and San Francisco and Houston. He'd visited most of those places too, and even faced danger in them, though nothing quite so bizarre as what Dad and Uncle Arte had described. He wished he could hear those stories again and this time listen more carefully for the grains of truth he could glean from them.

"Too late now," he murmured to Canasta.

He hadn't begun this ride with any particular destination in mind. It was also too late to pay a call on the magnificent new Federal Building on Dearborn Street. That would have to wait until tomorrow. But riding had always helped him think. Canasta's steady gait aided his contemplation. What had his father been thinking to undertake such a dangerous task as trying to destroy that smuggling operation on his own? Why hadn't he told anyone or tried to get some help? Was it because he thought no one would believe him? That they'd think he was crazy like poor Uncle Jeremy?

We didn't treat him like that, did we?

Dad, why didn't you confide in us?

If only Uncle Arte had still been alive . . . . Tem's father would surely have confided in him, and Artemus Gordon was the one with the disproportionate share of common sense in that partnership. James West had been salt of the earth, no question, but he was rash and overconfident too, at least in his younger days. Tem hadn't seen much of that remembered brashness and overconfidence since his mother had died, and none at all since Uncle Arte had passed. But it had still been in there somewhere all right. Jim West had remained Jim West right to the end. Now it was up to Tem, Amanda and Jimmy to finish the job he'd begun, without meeting an explosive finish.

Explosives . . . .

It was a disturbing thought that came into Tem's mind at that moment, and he wondered why he hadn't had it sooner, or questioned Colonel Longworth or those in the know about the secret gang they were after. Tem had seen the ruins of the waterfront warehouse only that afternoon, and much would have been hauled away as well as raked through, but it was obvious that the destruction had been total. His father hadn't just blown up 'half their blasted arsenal' at the wharf as the President had said, but taken out the whole thing. Yet the other explosives that had destroyed the hospital only hours later had to have come from somewhere. Someplace local. Not from the destroyed operation, clearly, but not from far away either. The hospital wing had been as demolished as the warehouse, and no fist-sized lumps of putty could have done that. But there wouldn't have been time to transport such a quantity of powerful ammunition from a long distance in order to kill the wounded co-conspirators under guard, and that could mean only one thing.

Dad, there's a second nest of vipers here . . . .

Not just the murderers, but their murderous material, had been somewhere other than in the waterfront warehouse when it went up in flames and explosions. Another local source. If the Secret Service or anyone working for the President knew where that destructive force had been brought or bought from, they would already have informed their new recruits. But had those other agents even thought to look for it? With two massive crime scenes to deal with already, would they have been seeking a third? It seemed so obvious a line of inquiry, but Tem hadn't thought of it until now. Maybe no one else had either?

Of course, once the wharf warehouse operation was destroyed and the hospitalized arrestees dealt with – all of them, permanently – the most logical course of action for the killers would be to pull up the stakes and get the hell out of Dodge. That wouldn't be easy with so many law enforcement officials – or maybe greedy reward-seekers - blanketing the area all of a sudden. High-powered explosives and heavy munitions didn't make for the best and easiest transport either. Some remnant of a second operation might still be here in this city. Tem was glad that President Roosevelt had cleared out of town by now.

Tem hadn't planned to make this ride a short one, though he'd already told Amanda and Jimmy he might remain in town if he missed the last horse trolley or available cabs back to the Gordon residence. Now he felt it imperative to get back to them as quickly as possible.

"Sorry, old boy," he whispered to Canasta as he turned his faithful mount around. Old boy? Had he really just said that? "Uh, sorry again." Without meaning to, he jerked the reins a little sharper than usual, and Canasta, ever obedient, complied with a barrel turn that would have done any rodeo horse proud. As Tem shifted to compensate, he heard an all too familiar whistling sound as something hit the brim of his hat with enough force to knock it off of his head. Ducking down, Tem drew his gun and simultaneously gave Canasta the command to break into a gallop. Whoever had just taken a shot at him wasn't going to get an easy second chance!

Horse and rider had practiced a maneuver to deal with exactly this situation. Canasta kept his head down as far as he could too as he galloped first two lengths away from the sound and direction the gunshot had come from and then turned sharply into the nearest right turn, not only for an evasive maneuver, but so that Tem could get a good shot back. Tem thought he felt his horse stumble a little on one step, but he'd have to deal with that after he dealt with his unknown assailant. He raised his gun to return fire and scanned the evening shadows for the enemy. No other shots had followed the first one.

In the gathering darkness, Tem saw no one.

A second nest of vipers, he thought as the seconds rolled by, realizing his assailant hadn't been the only one to make a lucky escape that night. A second nest. And I'm going to be sending my wife to look for it . . . .