The Darkest Hours

And now it had come to this. Tem had known from the day he had first been sworn in as a Secret Service agent that he would be called on to face danger and possibly give his life for his country. He could accept that, just as his father had before him. Tem could even accept that his beloved Amanda, his lifelong friend, his partner, his wife, had taken that same oath with that same knowledge and willingness for self-sacrifice. Either one of them might be killed in the line of duty. Tem hoped and prayed it would never come to that, especially for Amanda, but they were equally committed to the same cause that their fathers had embraced. But Jimmy? What had he ever done to deserve such a fate, to be the first of them to fall into the hands of the enemy? He was just a kid . . . .

Tem firmly believed what he had told Amanda. Jimmy was still alive out there – for now. How long would he remain that way, though? He was possibly hurt, would definitely be scared, and the gang they'd been seeking didn't know the meaning of the word mercy. Tem would a hundred times over rather it had been himself taken prisoner than his innocent young brother-in-law. Irony of ironies . . . while he and Amanda had faced nothing more dangerous that day than a sunny picnic in the park, it was the youngest and least trained of them that had been sent on an errand they'd thought relatively safe. Now, if they couldn't find him, and quickly, Jimmy would pay the price for Tem's strategic foolishness. Tem didn't want to have to meet his wife's eyes. The loss of their remaining parents had been unbearable enough. Losing Jimmy too would destroy Amanda. Tem could bear a lot of things, but he couldn't bear that. It would destroy them both.

Neither West said much as they went back to their auto-mobile after alerting the one and only college security guard on duty that something appeared amiss in Professor Niebhausen's lab. They should probably contact local law enforcement authorities too, as well as Washington, to let them know about Jimmy's and the professor's abductions. But who could they trust down here? Who might or might not be secretly working for the mysterious conspiracy? Neither of them had any real clues to go on yet.

Some heroic agent I am. Tem had to try to sound confident, but that wasn't how he felt. What would his father think of him now, after he'd messed up so badly and allowed a boy he loved like a kid brother himself to be captured? Jim West's own Godson? Tem had strived for as long as he could remember to be like his father, but he wasn't doing a very good job of it right now. We just have to find him! Tem berated himself. Alive, please!

It was as he kept his face turned away from Amanda's in his shame and the fading last rays of daylight that Tem saw something that jolted him out of his despair.

"Stop!" he yelled to Amanda as they drove past one of the open taverns just outside the college's section of the city. "Stop the vehicle!"

Amanda hit the brakes so hard they were both jolted forward almost into the dashboard. She looked at him in confusion, seeing nothing in front of the auto.

"What?"

Tem recovered and pointed to what his eagle-sharp eyes had seen. The neat streets of Murfreesboro were kept well lit even at dusk, and there, in the glow of the streetlights, at a hitching post just at a corner near the tavern, was a small chestnut mare with a particular white splash on her nose. Amanda's eyes weren't as good as Tem's, but after she realized what he was pointing to she also recognized the horse.

"Daisy!" she whispered in excitement.

Except for that white splash, Jimmy's horse was unremarkable of appearance, but Tem and Amanda would still know Daisy anywhere by now. Here was Jimmy's horse all right. Did that mean Jimmy was being held prisoner somewhere nearby? Tem could feel his heart pounding quicker and he leapt out of the car while Amanda was still pulling over and parking it. One or two strangers on the street gaped a bit to see a middle-aged man leaping so quickly and ably, but he didn't care. He'd been praying for some key to help solve his brother-in-law's disappearance and this might be his prayers answered. He dashed across the street and held his hand out to her, softly calling her name. In spite of his disguise, she responded to him immediately, knowing all of the agents by their voices and smells as much or more than on sight. Amanda quickly joined him and gave the mare a rub on the nose as if the horse was a lucky talisman. But both agents drew back as they heard footsteps and a voice from behind them.

"You there!" an imperious – and slightly inebriated – bar patron called to them. "What are you doing with m'horse?"

"Your horse?" Amanda rounded on the speaker even faster than Tem. But it was Tem who caught the man by the arm in an iron-strong grip and held him firmly as he protested and tried to get loose.

"Where did you get this horse?" Tem demanded, shaking him.

"I bought him," the nameless man gulped. "Tonight. He's mine!"

Tem's heart sank. If this man was so drunk that he mistook Daisy for a stallion or gelding, they probably weren't going to get much useful information out of him.

"Trouble, folks?" another voice asked.

Tem stifled a curse as a man with a U.S. Marshal's badge and 'lawman' practically written all over him came upon them too. Normally Tem would welcome a Marshal's assistance, but now? It looked like he and Amanda weren't going to have any choice but to trust that this new arrival really was a fellow federal officer, and an honest one. Amanda, as she was forced to do so often, stood back and prepared to let her husband do all the talking. Tem knew she would be keenly observing everything, ready to take action in a split second if she needed to. But the decision of what to do or say next was going to be all his. He loosened his grip on the inebriated bar patron's arm, but not enough for the man to get away.

"Marshal," he said, "this man claims to be in possession of a horse that is the property of the United States Treasury Department."

"I bought hit," the subject of the conversation said again with a hiccup. "Is mine! Bought him, her, it tonight!" The drunk reached out unsteadily for Daisy's reins, but Amanda stood between him and the mare. The Marshal, for his part, looked as unimpressed with this claim of ownership as Amanda and Tem were.

"Come on, Pete," the Marshal said, putting a hand on the shoulder of the man who he obviously knew. "Tell us where you got the horse from."

"Bought it! Tonight!" Pete repeated. "Paid five bucks! Fair and square!"

The Marshal rolled his eyes, but the drunk had Tem's full attention.

"Who?" Tem asked, knowing that Jimmy would sooner sell one of his own limbs than his beloved horse. "Who sold her to you? Can you give us a description?"

The Marshal gave Tem a curious glance but did nothing to interfere. For an un-sober man, Pete managed to give a surprisingly sober account of the party he'd purchased Daisy from, a short, wizened old type, balding, with white sideburns and a white mustache. Out of the corner of his eye, Tem saw Amanda stiffen.

"Did he have an accent?" she asked. "Did he sound like he might be a foreigner?"

Pete nodded.

"Talked kind'a funny," he admitted, reaching out for the reins once more. "So? A deal's a deal!"

"Now hold on there," the Marshal said, restraining him by the shoulder. "Sounds to me like you might have gotten taken for a ride!" He nodded to Tem. "And how about you? Can you prove ownership of this animal?"

Tem nodded and slowly, carefully reached into his jacket and pulled out his own federal identification.

"Secret Service, eh?" the Marshal muttered, though not in a hostile fashion as he leaned forward and squinted to read the credentials in the faint light. "That still doesn't prove anything about the horse."

"Maybe this will then." Gesturing to Amanda first, Tem unhitched Daisy from the post and gave a whistling command that all three of their horses had been taught to obey – Baccarat too, in theory at least. At the command, Daisy kneeled down in front of them. In response to another whistle, she got back up, and at a third took several steps backwards before a fourth whistle made her halt and then move forward to nuzzle Tem's hand with familiar affection. She performed with such precision that Tem wished he had a treat in one of his pockets to give her. But this was no time for stray thoughts. "Satisfied?" Tem asked, as both the Marshal and Pete stared at the mare goggle-eyed. Tem patted Daisy. "Highly trained for duty by the bureau. She wouldn't be for sale for five dollars – or five hundred."

The Marshal scratched his chin and gave a whistle of his own, to which the horse did not react at all except to put her ears back a bit.

"Guess she's yours all right." He patted Pete on the back. "Best get along on home, Pete - walking. Looks like you're out your five bucks."

"But . . . but . . . ." Pete gaped some more and held up all of the fingers on one hand. "My money!"

Tem, grateful for the information the luckless inebriate had been able to give them, took out a five dollar bill along with an additional single and handed the cash to him. Pete, smiling at the twenty percent return on his investment, went toddling off, though the Marshal stayed behind.

"Decent of you," the Marshal said, offering Tem his hand. "Jeffers, by the way. Bill Jeffers."

"Artemus West," Tem said, shaking hands, but without a smile. "Marshal, the truth is, we could use your help. This horse was stolen from another agent, who has disappeared. We believe he has been abducted or met with some form of foul play." Tem gave a brief description of the scene they had found over at the laboratory on the college campus, but omitted his earlier suspicion that Professor Niebhausen had been a victim as well. From her unspoken expression, Amanda had recognized Pete's description of the horse trader all too well. As it turned out, though, the Marshal was already on his way to the college campus after being called there as a result of Tem and Amanda's report to the solo campus security guard.

"I just got a call about someone reporting a break-in," Marshal Jeffers admitted. "You?"

"Yes." Tem gave Jeffers a description of the missing agent, leaving out the detail that Jimmy really was every bit as young as he looked, but included his newest suspicion that the professor working in that laboratory might be one of the agent's abductors. "We'd be grateful for any help you could give us. The men we're looking for must be regarded as heavily armed and extremely dangerous. I know it isn't a small favor to ask. We may not have much time to find our fellow agent, but three can search better than two."

Jeffers tapped on his U.S. Federal Marshal's badge and grinned.

"I didn't pick out this tin star because I wanted to knit for a living! You can count on me."

"Thank you," Tem and Amanda said simultaneously.

The Marshal gave Amanda a sidelong glance, as if only just now realizing who had been included in Tem's party of searchers.

"Er," he mumbled to Tem, "isn't this kind of dangerous work for a . . . you know?"

"Dangerous for them," Amanda growled, as she swung her parasol back and forth. "Now may I suggest we get on with it?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" the Marshal saluted wryly, and struck off for the college campus, where he and Tem had both agreed the Marshal might be able to find out something more from campus authorities, when Tem had been giving his description earlier.

Tem, still holding onto Daisy's reins, waited until the Marshal had gone before they made a quick battle plan that, due to unfortunate necessity, meant going their own separate ways too. Neither agent was thrilled with the idea, but as with some of their previous Secret Service missions, it came down to practicality. Tem would ride Daisy back to Wanderer II and telegraph Washington to let the bureau know what had happened before resuming his part of the search. Amanda, still disguised and still equipped with the auto-mobile, would stay on the hunt for Jimmy, Professor Niebhausen, the man in the red hat and anyone dragging a foot and with a voice that matched the one they'd heard in Chicago. They'd check back with Marshal Jeffers later.

It wasn't nearly enough to go on. Tem knew he had to try to keep his spirits up as well as Amanda's, but all the way back to the train, galloping Daisy as hard as he dared, he berated himself again. If Professor Niebhausen was part of the weapons smuggling gang, and it now seemed that he was, then Tem and Amanda might as well have served Jimmy up to the enemy on a silver platter. Tem's fault again. Amanda might have been naturally inclined to trust an academic that she and her parents had visited with during Jimmy's college days, but why hadn't Tem been more careful and cautious? He should have been more concerned that a man working in Chicago 'coincidentally' turned out to be in Murfreesboro as well. Possibly the professor was an advance man for the gang? Tem hadn't even considered that possibility. He'd let himself be more preoccupied with an old grudge and a childhood nemesis who'd turned out to be a paper tiger – tissue paper at that. James West wouldn't have made such an amateur mistake.

By the time he'd reached the Wanderer II and its stable car, Tem was fairly certain of one thing: the President and the Secret Service had made a serious mistake in thinking he could ever measure up to his father's legacy. He was, instead, being the downfall of his own partners, of his family. Tem's mood wasn't improved any by the way Baccarat put his ears back and seemed to glare at Tem as Tem led Daisy in and removed her saddle and tack. Reflexively he gave Daisy a pat, but when he attempted to give each of the three horses an extra measure of grain, Baccarat nipped him! It was too much. On top of everything else that had gone wrong, it was just too much. Tem drew back his hand and almost slapped the horse before he caught himself and realized what he was about to do.

"Do you want to take a piece out of me?" he yelled instead to the stallion that was now keeping its ears back and baring its teeth at him. "Well, do you?" Backing away in revulsion at his own behavior, Tem slumped against the wall of the stable car and banged on it with his fist. He stared back at the black stallion in misery. "Is it the old man you want?" he croaked. "Is that it?" Tem wiped his face with both hands, feeling the hot, raw grief anew. "I miss him too. He isn't coming back," he shook his head, talking as much to himself as to Baccarat. "He's never coming back because he's been murdered. And I . . . I'm going to find my father's killers if it's the last thing I ever do! Which it probably will be . . . ." He felt himself sliding down the wall of the stable car until he was sitting cross-legged in the dust and straw on the floor, weeping his eyes out. "Oh, Dad . . . ."

Tem didn't know how many minutes he sat there, or pay much notice of the black horse staring at him. He hoped not too many, but as his tears stopped, he reproached himself and stood up. Any minutes wasted were too many right now. Beat yourself up later! You've got a job to do! Even if he felt he could no longer count on himself, others were counting on him, and that was what mattered the most. With no further delay, Tem raced into the train's living quarters and got on the telegraph to Washington. Five minutes later, he was prepared to head out on his search again. Much as he wasn't looking forward to it, that meant a return to the stable, and Baccarat. He hoped the horse had a short memory. He was tempted to saddle up Diamond instead, but Diamond was Amanda's horse, and Tem knew that working with the black stallion was his job. He wasn't going to manage that by losing his temper, though. If Baccarat was determined to be hostile, Tem couldn't let it get to him. He'd have to tame the horse with kindness instead.

Baccarat fortunately was less edgy when Tem saddled him up, and Tem breathed one small sigh of relief. Whether the stallion liked him or not, he was counting on the horse's speed and strength to get him back to Murfreesboro quickly. Daisy might be better behaved, but she had only a fraction of the big stallion's power. Baccarat, at full gallop, was even faster than Canasta. And Tem would need every resource at his disposal if he was to rescue Jimmy. He would have to do it without the benefit of his fake mustache and eyebrows, however. Wiping a hand across his face as he and Baccarat sped toward town, he realized he must have rubbed them off earlier. So much for disguise. That wasn't his specialty anyway. Knocking Jimmy's kidnappers straight through a wall when he found them though . . . .

"Let's get 'em," he murmured to his galloping mount. And find Jimmy alive – please!

Tem didn't have to worry about Baccarat slowing him down – they reached town faster than he'd hoped. Murfreesboro had become less well lit in his absence. The town's night life, such as it was, had apparently gone to bed. The streets were now dark and deserted. Tem and Baccarat trotted past the shuttered and closed shops, including the butcher shop. Even the bars seemed to have shut down for the night. Tem could feel the bleak despair, as well as the long and exhausting day, closing in on him once more. Had Amanda or Marshal Jeffers been able to find out anything? He had to hope so, because somehow he didn't think asking random persons on the street if they were secretly part of a vast, global conspiracy of evildoers was going to be an effective strategy. Washington might be able to send help for the search, but if so, what form would that help take, and how far would it have to travel to get here?

Tem would take any help he could get. The thing that mattered most to him right now was his family's safety. Obviously, Agent Hamilton wasn't going to be able to assist them again anytime soon, if ever. For however much time Jimmy might have remaining, except for a hand from Jeffers, assuming he was trustworthy, the Wests were on their own.

Tem wearily checked his pocket watch. In an hour or so he'd be due at the rendezvous point he'd arranged with Amanda before they split up. They might find each other sooner, but in the meantime, he'd patrol these empty streets, grasping for any clue or hint of inspiration he could find. Even more than at the battlefield, searching for Jimmy or his captors in this city would be worse than looking for a needle in a haystack. But he had to do it. He couldn't let fatigue or sorrow stop him now. He couldn't let his family down. He just couldn't. There had to be something more he could do, if only his tired brain could think what it was . . . .

He was trotting his horse along one of the outer edges of town when he heard the scream. A woman's scream. Not Amanda's, heaven be thanked, but a cry for help nevertheless. Tem spurred Baccarat on toward the source of the sound, and the stallion needed no urging. Tem saw no one on the streets in this section of Murfreesboro. No lights on or in the nearby buildings, which appeared to be of a poorer quality than much of the rest of the city, but the scream had to have come from somewhere. Tem flicked his wrist to make the sleeve derringer snap into his right hand as he approached a dark alleyway where the sound might have issued from. Uncle Arte's battery light would help him to see better, but if the cause of the scream was an assault, he knew which item he'd rather have in his grip. The scream came again. Someone unseen was in danger in that alley. Rape? Mugging? As he drew closer, the sound of Baccarat's hoofbeats would already provide an alert to any alley denizen that he was nearby – give away his location. Tem wasn't going to get the advantage of surprise. Advancing in darkness, he had to trust Baccarat enough with remaining steady and obedient that he could loosen his grip on the reins and reach into his jacket for the battery light with his left hand. The beam would make him an easier target, but he'd have to take that chance. Urging his stallion ahead, he entered the alleyway, steeled himself for a confrontation and snapped the beam on.

The light fell on the source of the scream, just as it repeated. But to Tem's startlement, the cries weren't coming from a woman after all. There appeared to be only one other figure in the alley, a nasty-looking, leering man with an eye patch, who wasn't in distress at all, but was grinning up at him while letting loose with another false, and falsetto, cry for help. Too late, Tem realized it was a trap. The hairs on the back of his neck began to prickle right before he felt the impact of the dart going into his shoulder. He tried to turn around in the saddle to get off a shot at the assailant who'd just struck him, but with incredible swiftness, the numb feeling froze his finger on the derringer's trigger, froze the rest of him so that instead of turning he fell out of the saddle and crashed to the ground as Baccarat whinnied with alarm. The battery light went skidding out of Tem's limp left hand, and in the darkness and his dimming vision, Tem heard the sound of one foot dragging as the treacherous stranger with the eyepatch approached. Just before he lost consciousness, Tem realized he'd hit upon one answer to the question he'd been asking himself about what he could do next. The worst answer.

He could get captured . . . .