I�ll give this a PG-13 � a little bit of violence and jeopardy, but nothing worse than what was in the show.
I love crossover stories. I�ve wanted to put Jim West and Artemus Gordon up against the Legend gang for a long time and finally, the right storyline came to me. Unfortunately, being a Brit I didn�t have as much access to Nineteenth Century American history as I would have liked, something this story relies on perhaps more than any other Legend story I�ve written. A lot of wonderful people came to my aid so my thanks goes to the following Sheridan club stalwarts: Mark Wright for his excellent information on Colorado railroads, President Hayes, for answering my numerous questions, being a great editor and gracious host for many of my stories on The Unofficial Nicodemus Legend Homepage, Tasha for her fascinating data and Heather for her great character insights (see how many of your ideas from our live chat in January 2001 found their way in here, Heather!), and to Dad, for his excellent beta- ing.
The scientist Michael Faraday was real and was working in the mid Nineteenth Century He pioneered the technique of electrolysis referred to in this story.
All Legend characters (except Helen Franklin) belong to Gekko and Paramount. All Wild Wild West characters belong to Warner. This story is written purely for entertainment and no money is made from it. No copyright infringement is intended or desired. This story copyright Sarah O�Donoghue 2001.
�Come on, Ernest, we�re going to miss the train!�
�Coming Professor!�
It was a beautiful late summer day in Sheridan, but Bartok�s mood was less than benevolent. Since his reinstatement back into EC Allen�s good graces he had taken on the additional responsibility of getting Pratt to his publicity engagements on time, something that his lady friend, Helen Franklin, had told him was harder than one of the Labours of Hercules.
Still, for once, they seemed to be ahead of schedule. The new Sheridan railroad spur had been completed less than a year ago, and for once the Legend team were going to take advantage of the new transportation, foregoing the Legend Balloon for something a little faster and more convenient. Helen Franklin was sitting in the velocipede, waiting patiently for Bartok and Pratt to join her, but, the Hungarian knew that she would not happily wait forever.
Helen, Bartok and Pratt were aiming to take the eleven o�clock train to Denver where the two scientists were scheduled to speak at a major convention the next day. All past difficulties in their relationship had been forgiven and forgotten, and they had recently co-authored a paper on propulsion that was being viewed as revolutionary in many circles. At the same time, Pratt was due to appear at one of the major Denver bookstores, in full Legend regalia, for a book signing; something he detested. This was the main reason for his tardiness.
Finally, after what for Bartok seemed an infinite wait, Pratt appeared in the late August sunshine, resplendent in his white Legend costume.
�I�m sweating like a pig, Bartok!� the author complained.
Bartok just rolled his eyes and ushered him into the velocipede. After giving some last minute instructions to Ramos, who was staying back at the Compound to complete work on a model of the new Sheridan Water Management System he had devised, the three friends headed towards the Rockland Pass Railroad station.
Just three short years before, it had looked as if Sheridan would never get a railroad. Vera Slaughter�s plans to manipulate the new transportation system sweeping West for her own profit had caused a great deal of trouble, but finally, just twelve months before, the sudden growth in the logging industry throughout Colorado had necessitated a new spur south into the town. This had already begun to breathe new life into the little town, which, save for being the home of the great Nicodemus Legend had little to recommend it. In fact, the new railroad was helping the Legend tourist industry, much to old Chamberlain Brown�s delight. Now he was retired from his position as Mayor he had spent a great deal of time with the Glover brothers, working on ways to extend their Legend museum. There was even talk of a new hotel being built at the North end of the town which was going to be twice as large as the old Silver King.
Despite Bartok�s gloomy predictions, the three friends were at the railroad station in plenty of time. They boarded the train and sat back, each to enjoy the journey in their own way. Helen took out some design specs that she had been working on, and began to discuss them with her beau. Pratt, who was working on some notes for a new Legend book glanced up and smiled. Bartok and Helen were a perfectly matched couple, and over the last year or so he had grown very fond of the petit blonde. She was Bartok�s intellectual equal and the two scientists shared many common interests. She had also been instrumental in negotiating a new contract for Pratt with EC Allen, reinstating Bartok as his scientific adviser after the dreadful incident at Niagara Falls, and had also been able to get Pratt a significant raise in the royalties he received.
The train clattered along through the breathtaking Colorado countryside at a decent pace, despite the lengthy detours around the shorter and faster logging routes and, with evening drawing in, they arrived at Denver.
Here again Pratt was struck by the recent rapid progress in the city. Denver was becoming a main thoroughfare for travellers going on to California. The logging industry and the new passenger services had swollen the numbers using the modest station far beyond capacity. Pratt, Helen and Bartok had to struggle through the masses to get to the entrance, and wait for a cab to take them to their hotel.
After a very long wait, Pratt went over to ask a porter why there was such a delay.
�Presidential train is coming in tomorrow, sir� answered the chubby porter, doffing his hat. �Lots of people come here to see him. President Hayes hasn�t been to Denver before, so a lot of people want to see him�.
Pratt nodded absently. Even in the relative backwater of Sheridan he had been able to follow the wrangling for the presidency the year before. The popular President Grant, whom Pratt had met and briefly worked for two years previously had left office and after a very messy election, the new Rutherford Hayes had taken office. Pratt had read that he was considered a good and honest man, but with the closeness of the election, many people saw him as a controversial figure and a not entirely legitimate president.
Pratt shrunk into the cab seat as they drove towards their destination. He hated appearing as Legend, and knew it would only get worse the next day at the book signing. Despite his precautions, numerous people shouted, smiled and waved as he went past.
�Cheer up, Ernest,� said Bartok with a smirk, �being popular is a wonderful thing.�
�I just wish I could be popular with nobody knowing me.� Complained the author with a scowl.
After a quiet night at the Lone Star Hotel, the three friends parted ways after breakfast.
�Now Ernest, are you sure you know where the bookstore is?� asked Bartok, as he and Helen left for their engagement.
�Of course, Bartok,� said Pratt as he sipped his tea, genuine tea for once. He dabbed his cookie duster with a convenient napkin. �Johnson�s Bookstore is only three blocks west of here.�
Bartok nodded an acknowledgement. �Very well, Ernest, we will meet you here at three o�clock to take the return train.�
�Now you kids have a good time!� Pratt called after them.
Bartok just frowned, and left his friend to finish his breakfast.
Pratt took out his watch to check the time. He had assured the bookstore that he needed no escort to the signing. He had never lived in Denver, but since moving to Sheridan he had spent a great deal of time in the city. He still missed the pace of San Francisco life, and although he could now appreciate Sheridan�s charms, he still needed to get away to a larger place once in a while. Deciding that if he left straight away he could nip into a saloon for a little snifter on his way to work he stood, paid his bill and left.
As he went out into the hot summer sunshine his heart was light, despite the stifling heat of his Legend costume. He always complained about his book signing commitments, but in his heart of hearts, he rather enjoyed the attention. In his minds eye he revelled in the adoration he expected to receive at the book signing: the lengthy line of ordinary citizens waiting patiently for their brush with greatness.
He had just been dreaming about a particularly beautiful red headed busty female fan when the sound of a cat yowling brought him out of his reverie. Despite being adamant he knew where he was going, the great �Nicodemus Legend� had managed to walk into one of the more questionable areas of Denver, and was now completely lost!
PART TWO
Pratt took a deep breath. He knew that he mustn�t panic, but there were far too many darkened doorways in this neighbourhood for his liking. He cautiously turned and started back the way he thought he had come, turning down an alleyway that looked promising.
Suddenly he felt a knife at his throat.
�Well, what�s a fancy gentleman like you doing around here!� laughed a voice behind him. The knife pressed harder. Pratt gulped. He thought quickly and took a deep breath.
�My name is Nicodemus Legend,� he announced, noting that his voice was quivering a little too much for his liking.
�Never heard of ya� growled the voice. �Now empty out those pockets of yours and give me all your money.!�
Pratt�s shoulders drooped. He really was in trouble.
�Well that�s not very hospitable of you, stranger�. A new voice rang out from across the alleyway.
The knife pressed even harder against the author�s throat.
�Whoever you are, this is none of your business!� Pratt�s assailant yelled out.
A dark figure in a black hat stepped out into the light. �I reckon it is, stranger.� The figure took a step forward. �Now, let the gentleman go.�
Pratt felt the pressure ease from his neck and before he could react he was pushed forward violently as the robber went for his gun.
From his vantage point in the dirt Pratt couldn�t even see the stranger move, but the next moment a bullet zinged over his head and hit the robber�s gun that was in his hand. He yelped and swore.
�What do you want!� he yelled, but now there was fear in his voice.
The mysterious figure seemed as relaxed as ever. �Just a display of Western hospitality.� A new edge crept into his voice: �now get out of here before I shoot you instead of your gun.�
Pratt�s world suddenly exploded with pain as the robber took a well aimed, vindictive kick at his stomach in revenge of a thwarted crime and ran off.
Pratt struggled to breathe. He really hated being kicked in the middle and it seemed to happen far too often for his liking. Hurried footsteps made him open his eyes and squint into the fierce overhead sun.
�Here, let me help you up,� said the stranger, who Pratt could now see was a dark skinned man of around thirty. Pratt couldn�t see his face clearly, obscured as it was beneath a black hat and smoked glasses, but his rescuer smiled and the writer accepted the offered hand.
He heaved himself up and started to dust himself off. �Thank you kindly sir, you saved me from a very unpleasant situation.�
The dark man smiled again and handed Pratt his hat, which had rolled away during the fracas. �Just doing my duty sir. You�re Ernest Pratt, the writer, aren�t you?�
Pratt jumped in surprise. �You know my real name!� he started.
�Why, sure,� said his rescuer. �You helped out my old boss a few years ago. I heard all about it.�
�Your old boss?� now Pratt was thoroughly confused.
His rescuer took off his smoked glasses, and met Pratt�s questioning gaze. �President Grant, Mr Pratt. My name is Jim West, Secret Service Agent. I�ve heard all about you.�
Fortunately West knew the streets of Denver better than Pratt and offered to walk him back to the bookstore. Along the way, Pratt learned more about his rescuer. A former captain in the US Army, Jim West was a Secret Service agent, charged with the safety of the President. He, and his partner, a certain Agent Gordon, had travelled ahead of President Hayes� visit that day to follow up some disturbing rumours of a plot against the president. West had spotted Pratt walking in a reverie, and, knowing of him, decided to follow him and make his acquaintance. That was how he�d been in the right place at the right time to help thwart Pratt�s attack.
The walk was fairly short and the two men soon reached the bookstore. �Thank you again, Agent West� said Pratt as they paused at the back of the bookstore. West smiled and touched his hat. �You�re welcome, Mr Pratt. See you around.� And with that he was gone.
Pratt took a deep breath and turned to the store. He could already see a long line of people snaking out of the front of the building and off down the street. This signing was going to take a long time.
PART THREE
Whilst Pratt confronted his dreadful fate of a bookstore signing, Helen and Bartok were having a far more pleasant time. They had arrived early at the hotel where the convention was being held and had a pleasant time mingling with distinguished guests from all over the country. Bartok was just enjoying a stimulating conversation with a metallurgist from Boston on the potentials of mercury when he felt a discrete tug on his coat sleeve. He turned, mildly annoyed at the interruption. It was a waiter, one of many circulating and supplying drinks to the guests awaiting the start of the proceedings.
�Professor Bartok?� the man enquired.
�Yes, I am Bartok,� replied the scientist, rather puzzled.
�I was instructed to give you this package, sir,� said the waiter, proffering a silver tray containing a small, brown package. Bartok took it and tipped the waiter, intrigued.
He excused himself to the metallurgist and went to the side of the room to examine the package. He was just working at the string when Helen drifted over.
�What have you got there, Janos?� she asked, sitting down beside him.
�I�m not sure. A waiter just gave it to me.� Bartok frowned as he fiddled with the string.
Helen was bending over to look at the package when suddenly she snatched it out of Bartok�s hands.
�Helen?� Bartok was shocked. Helen continued to examine the parcel gingerly.
�Janos, look at this.� She held the parcel in front of him but wouldn�t let her beau touch it. She pointed. �The knot in the string is attached to a wire.� She gently passed it from one hand to the other. �Approximately two kilograms�, she mused. �Janos, I think this is a bomb.�
Bartok started. �A bomb?!� he questioned, a little too loudly.
�Ssh! Don�t scare people!� admonished Helen. She grabbed his hand. �Let�s find somewhere private and examine it more closely.
The couple drifted towards the door and then left hurriedly, going round to the rear of the hotel. Helen set the package down on the ground and knelt down next to it, not giving her dress any thought. Bartok opened his coat and took out a small toolkit that he always had on his person and passed it over to Helen.
He scootched down next to her. �Have you done this before?� he asked.
�What, examined a suspected bomb behind a hotel with the man I love?� she smirked, despite being extremely worried.
Bartok let that one pass.
�I�ve had some experience with explosives through my work into electrical charges and storage batteries�, the blonde continued as she carefully peeled back the brown paper to find a mass of wires and miniature electronic devices. �Several unscrupulous writers at The Scientist magazine were working on explosive yields of concentrated dynamite for use in mining. Extremely dangerous.� She took out a thin screwdriver and a tiny pair of scissors from the toolkit.
As much as Bartok trusted Helen, he was rather worried that the two of them were in real danger of a nasty, if somewhat romantic end in dying together. �Are you sure you should be doing this Helen?� he asked warily.
�Of course, Janos,� she looked up and smiled. �If someone is sending bombs to my beau I want to know why!� she cocked an eyebrow and continued with her work.
Mere moments later she let out a deep breath and sat back. �There. I�ve disconnected the primary lead wire.� She carefully pried back the wiring to reveal several containers of some kind of chemical explosive. She handed them to Bartok who set them gingerly on the ground.
Helen dug deeper into the mass of wiring and slowly drew out a small cloth wrapped bundle. �What on earth?� she wondered. Bartok took the bundle and carefully unwrapped it. His normally healthy colour drained away.
�Janos, what is it?� asked Helen.
Janos carefully drew out a tiny gold dagger with a golden eagle fashioned on the hilt. He held it up in the sunlight and scowled.
�It�s the calling card of a madman,� he whispered.
Suddenly he came back to himself and jumped up. He grabbed Helen�s hand and hauled her none too gently to her feet. �We�ve got to find Ernest, quickly!� he declared, and set off at a jog towards the main street, and hopefully a cab that would get them to Pratt before disaster struck.
Ernest wiped the sweat from his brow and stretched his cramping hand. He glanced up at the clock on the wall: he�d only been signing for thirty minutes but already it felt like an eternity. His gaze fell on the seemingly never ending line of awed, grinning faces looking at him and decided that although it was nice to be popular he did not appreciate feeling like an animal in a zoo for people to stare at. And his stomach still hurt from the kick he had received earlier.
Fan number 57 approached (he knew this from the numbered chit that all those waiting had been required to present.) As usual, the grin was huge, the eyes were wide and a stuttered: �Mr � Mr Legend�this is such an honour for me�� came out of the mouth.
Pratt sighed and gave a wan smile as he took his pen and scribbled quickly on the proffered page of his dime novel. He knew that the manager of the store had cut the line off fifteen minutes ago, but at this rate he wouldn�t be finished for several hours yet.
Number 57 departed and number 58 approached. Pratt�s interest perked up slightly. Unlike the mainly middle aged, middle class people he had so far met, this man was very young, probably in his teens, and decidedly scruffy. There was no awe-struck speech from this �fan�. Instead, he slapped his chit down hard on the table and placed a large fat book on the signing table in front of the author.
Pratt looked up and smiled apologetically. �I�m sorry son, this isn�t one of mine. I�m not allowed to sign any books unless they�re out of the EC Allen Publishing Company of Maine.
The boy looked sullen. �I was told to show you this, Mr Legend. Never read no Legend books anyway.�
Pratt started, but pulled the book closer. He gulped at the message he found scrawled on the title page.
Well hello again, my legendary friend.
I bet you never thought you�d hear from me again.
The game never stops, Pratt. Now your scientist friends have met a nasty end, it�s going to be just you and me. Be at the railroad station, platform three at four o�clock. We�ll have a little reunion there.
FC
�No!� Pratt breathed. In a most uncharacteristic display of anger he jumped out of his chair, quite startling the young assistant the bookstore had seconded to the signing table and grabbed the youth in front of him by his collar.
�Who gave you this?� he whispered through gritted teeth.
The boy in front of him remained sullen. �Fella with an eye patch. Paid me a whole dollar to deliver this to you. Don�t know nothing else.�
Pratt let him go, his mind working furiously. Bartok and Helen were in dreadful danger; if they weren�t dead already, and it looked like his old nemesis, Flintridge Caine, was back.
Flintridge Caine had crossed Pratt�s path three years before and with every encounter he was becoming increasingly dangerous. Pratt�s first dealings with Caine were indirect: he wrote a humorous piece about an inept burglar when he was still a reporter in San Francisco. The burglar had not seen the funny side, and had come after Pratt several years later and after being hired to murder General George Armstrong Custer he decided to go after Pratt at the same time. He had been stopped that time, and again more recently when he had blown up a mine near Sheridan and nearly killed many innocent townspeople. But now he was back, and probably more dangerous than ever before.
PART FOUR
After a torturous wait for a cab the two scientists had decided that it would be quicker for them to proceed to the bookstore on foot. Helen spared no thought to ladylike appearance as they raced through the streets of Denver. Fortunately Bartok knew the city well having regularly visited there to secure scientific supplies long before he�d met Ernest Pratt. He confidently led the way; dodging the horse drawn carriages and wagons in the street and weaving through the pedestrians going about their normal routines.
After what felt like forever he sighted Johnson�s Bookstore and broke into a full run, reaching the door and the bemused signing line just as Pratt was storming out.
The two men collided and nearly lost their footing. �Janos! Helen! You�re alive!� yelled Pratt.
Janos pumped his hand warmly. �For now, my friend, but we must get away from here quickly. We are all in terrible danger.�
Pratt nodded grimly. �I know. Caine. I just had a calling card from him and I guess you did too.�
Helen spoke, still breathless from the run. � An explosive device, Ernest. Luckily we were able to defuse it.�
�You mean you defused it, my dear,� said Bartok gratefully. He turned to Pratt. �If Helen had not kept her head we would both be dead now.�
A large figure loomed behind the author. �Excuse me sir,� said an extremely annoyed man in the line, �are you going to finish your signing or not? My wife and I have been waiting for over an hour to get our book autographed.�
Pratt started guiltily but turned and took a deep breath. �Ladies and gentleman!� he announced in his loudest tones. �An incident requiring my full and immediate attention. With great regret, I must withdraw from these proceedings but,� he paused with a flourish, �never fear, for Nicodemus Legend shall return!�
And with that the author and the two scientists raced off leaving a very stunned crowd in their wake.
This time there was no problem in finding a cab � the great �Nicodemus Legend� seemed to have a large number of fans within the transportation community � and in a matter of minutes the three friends were heading off to the station.
In the cramped and hot carriage Bartok quickly sketched out his and Helen�s adventures. Pratt didn�t seem enormously surprised when he heard about the calling card of their old �friend�.
�So Flintridge Caine has finally reared his ugly head again,� he sighed, pulling out a cigar. Noticing Bartok�s frown he decided not to light it, but did begin to chew thoughtfully on the end of it.
�What do you think he wants this time?� asked Bartok.
Pratt shook his head. �Who knows, but Caine seems to be getting more and more dangerous as the years go by,� he observed.
�This wouldn�t all be connected with the President coming today, would it?� asked Helen. �Janos has told me about your dealings with this Mr Caine and he sounds like a lunatic. Our experience today has shown us that he is a very clever lunatic.�
Pratt shook his head. �No. I don�t think so. Caine�s after me, or rather us� he corrected himself, looking up at his Hungarian friend.
Bartok frowned. �Just remember, Ernest, we�ve managed to underestimate Mr Caine at every meeting so far. I would say that this villain may well try anything.�
At ten minutes to four the cab pulled up smartly in front of the Denver Railroad Central Station. Bartok quickly paid the driver and the three friends hurried inside. Bartok had tried to persuade Helen to return to their hotel, so as to avoid any more danger, but she refused, firmly stating that her place was with him and that her scientific expertise had helped once before and could do so again.
Pratt spotted the same chubby porter he had spoken to the day before. �Could you tell us how to get to Platform three?� he asked anxiously.
�Platform three, sir?� the porter replied, scratching his belly thoughtfully. �It�s the farthest one, I�m afraid, Sir. You�ll have to go clear round the station and back in the other side.�
�What!� exclaimed Pratt, �why can�t we just cut across the tracks.�
The porter frowned. �Security measures, sir. The Presidential train is here, remember. No one�s allowed within fifty feet of that thing.�
Pratt glanced over the porter�s shoulder, and, sure enough, there was the magnificent gold and green livery of The Wanderer, the Presidential train.
Bartok tugged Pratt�s sleeve. �There�s no time to argue, Ernest, come on!�
Pratt settled for giving the porter a dirty look and dashed off after his friends. They quickly retraced their steps, desperate to make it to the rendezvous and to catch Caine while they had a chance. They were just running past an old carriage in one of the sidings when�
The ground shook violently, and at first, Pratt thought it was an earthquake: he�d experienced many tremors in California and instinctively threw himself flat on the ground. Bartok and Helen stumbled to the ground and it was only as all three looked up that they saw a huge fireball shooting up into the air. Pratt gulped.
It appeared that half of the station had been destroyed in an enormous explosion. The central station platform had been completely destroyed, and several of the train tracks had been lifted clean into the air and twisted into charred and melted knots.
Slowly, Pratt got to his feet, stunned. Miraculously, the Presidential train was intact: dozens of heavy � set, smartly dressed men; presidential security, Pratt guessed, were swarming all over it and escorting a figure away � undoubtedly the President.
Bartok slowly got to his feet and helped Helen to stand. As she stood, Pratt saw a missile coming directly at them out of the sky.
Pratt�s amazing self � preservation instincts kicked in once again. �Run!� he shouted. They had covered less than twenty yards as something metallic fell to earth with a clang behind them. Pratt cautiously approached the blackened and smoking piece of metal. �It�s the Platform Three sign!� he gulped.
Bartok�s exceptional brain put together the evidence in an instant. �Ernest, the central platform must have been number three, where we were supposed to meet Flintridge Caine. It was another trap. If we had been there we would have been killed.�
Pratt slowly nodded. �So why did that porter give us wrong directions, and why wasn�t the President�s train destroyed? It would have been the perfect target.� He frowned. �What on earth is Caine up to?�
PART SIX
Fortunately, Bartok, Pratt and Helen had avoided harm: save a little dirt and dust on their clothes they were fine.
�I smell a rat, Bartok�, said Pratt thoughtfully as they headed back towards the station entrance. �Why did that porter give us wrong information?�
�Perhaps he was new in his position,� hazarded Bartok.
�I doubt it,� said Pratt, frowning, �more likely he knew what was going to happen.�
�How?� asked Helen incredulously, �he wasn�t this Mr Caine in disguise was he?�
Pratt shook his head. �No way, but I think he could have been a Secret Service agent. Those guys always know what�s going on. I�ve never liked these government people,� he continued, his face darkening, �they always know more than anyone else and they always try to manipulate other people into doing their dirty work.�
Bartok tutted. �Well, be thankful he warned us, Ernest.�
�Yeah well,� Pratt continued, �I don�t think he was doing us any favours. Let�s get back into the main station building and see if we can do a little snooping.�
It didn�t take them long to get back to the ticket office, but it had already been deserted: the general public either fleeing in terror or having been booted out by federal agents. Pratt spotted a side door marked Staff Only � no admittance � always a promising start in his book. He beckoned the two scientists and slowly opened the door.
Inside was a dingy hallway leading to a flight of narrow wooden steps. Cautiously Pratt started to climb, anxious that the stairs wouldn�t creak too much. Bartok sighed but followed, rather amused that for once the writer was taking the lead on a reconnaissance and rather glad that their experience in midnight raids on various offices had trained them to move stealthily. Helen brought up the rear, determined not to be left out.
As they ascended the stairs, the sound of faint voices began to drift towards them. By the time they reached the top, and a heavy wooded door, the conversation going on in the room behind it was intelligible.
�We can�t let this go any further, Mr President,� came the first voice, that Pratt recognized as belonging to the agent who had helped him earlier in the day.
�I agree, Mr President, but there are subtler ways of dealing with the problem,� came a second voice.
�That may be, Mr Gordon,� came a third, which the three companions realised must belong to President Hayes, �but today�s incident shows that we must act swiftly and decisively.�
�Exactly, Sir,� said the first. �Now, we know that The Eagle is after that writer, Pratt. We�ve used him as bait once and it didn�t work so lets throw a cordon round the city and flush him out. We know this man�s crazy so let�s stop him before he gets a chance to blow up any more of this place.�
�You�ve got a point, West,� said the President, �but I�ve got to take this man�s threats seriously. Remember, he�s holding the country to ransom, and whilst he probably is some cowardly lunatic he�s managed to put several of my men in hospital and panicked an entire city. This must not continue.�
The three eavesdroppers heard the scrape of a chair being pushed back across the wooden floor. �Right men, I�ll get Jones to take me to the safe house. I want both of you to find this Pratt. Grant found him useful, and I think you could to. He knows more about this Eagle than anybody. Find him.�
�Yes, Mr President,� said the other two voices in unison.
�And Gordon,�
�Yes, Mr President?�
�Lose the padding. It looked fake when you tried to impersonate my predecessor and it looks even worse now.�
�Yes Mr President. But, if I may, I don�t think we will need to go far to secure the services of Mr Pratt and his friends, they�re standing right outside of the door, listening to every word we say.�
�What!� hissed Bartok, �How has he deduced that?!�
�Let�s get out of here,� whispered Pratt, and the three companions turned and edged back towards the stairs as quickly as they could.
They froze as they heard a gun being cocked behind them.
�I think that would be a really bad idea, Mr Pratt,� said a voice and the three turned.
�Well hello again, Mr West,� said Pratt airily, �My friends and I were just touring the lovely facilities of this station when��
West rolled his eyes and gestured with his gun. �Save it, Mr Pratt. Just get in here.�
And with that Pratt, Bartok and Helen were ushered into the presence of the President of the United States.
The room was much as Pratt had imagined it: small and dingy and bare save for a few wooden chairs and a table. Behind the desk stood President Hayes, whom Bartok, Pratt and Helen all recognized from photographs in the papers. Aside from West, who was still frowning at them but had holstered his gun, was the porter that Pratt had spoken to earlier, although he now appeared to be much younger and thinner. Without the greasy wig his hair was short, dark and wavy and his face, although obviously covered in grime and make up seemed serious and intelligent. His porter�s jacket was open revealing the padding that they had just heard Hayes grousing about.
The �porter� stepped forward and indicated a chair to Helen. �Please Madam, take a seat.� He turned to face the other men. �You must be Mr Ernest Pratt,� he said, smiling slightly, �and the famous Janos Bartok. It is an honour to meet you sir, I have been following your work for years.�
Bartok looked surprised. �And you are�?� he asked, none too politely.
�Artemus Gordon,� replied the other. �I am something of a scientist and I believe, sir that you and I have similar interests in steam, electricity and propulsion. I have wanted to make your acquaintance for some time. I would love your input on a new electrical generator that I�ve been��
�Quiet Gordon,� said the President testily. �Gentleman, sit down. We can handle the pleasantries later.�
Pratt and Bartok shrugged but did as they were told. The two agents took seats to their left, forming a semi circle with Helen, Bartok and Pratt on one side and the agents on the other.
President Hayes appeared to gather his thoughts, stroking his impressive Victorian beard and frowning over a small pair of silver spectacles. He was slim, and appeared to be in his fifties, although, behind his considerable facial growth it was difficult to tell.
�Mr Pratt,� he began. �I apologise to you and your friends for this unusual meeting, but I�m sure that you�ve gathered by now that we have a serious situation. Two weeks ago a telegram was received in Washington from an apparent crank. Now, this is nothing unusual, but just twenty four hours later a rather unpleasant package containing a stuffed eagle was left in the Presidential suite of the White House � an unforgivable lapse in security. I learned that this was connected with the earlier package and launched an immediate enquiry, putting two of my agents on the case.�
He nodded to the dark skinned agent. �Mr West, you can tell them the rest of the story.�
West nodded and turned to the others. �Agent Gordon and I traced both items to a known troublemaker called Flintridge Caine, your old friend, Mr Pratt. We have quite a large file on Mr Caine, although these days he seems to like to be called the Eagle. We have records going all the way back to his petty theft days although he seems to like to play in the big league now. After your first run in with him in �76 he went down to Mexico to stir up trouble and then returned to the United States in early �77 when he came after you and your friends in Sheridan.�
�Since then he�s been working his way up from blackmail to armed robbery, attempted murder and now grand extortion and treason. He apparently honed his explosive skills down in Mexico and is really enjoying blowing up stuff everywhere we�ve traced him to. With the contacts he�s made recently he could easily cause some pretty big trouble.�
Bartok and Pratt exchanged glances and the writer decided to speak.
�With all due respect, Mr President, agents, I can�t believe that the Flintridge Caine we know is a threat to national security.�
�You�d be surprised, Pratt,� said the President. �He stated in his next telegram, received a week ago, that unless the United States paid him the sum of five hundred thousand dollars within the next seven days he would detonate explosives that he claimed had been placed at key points all over the American railroad system. Within the last two hours there have been four explosions around the country: all exactly ten miles outside the city limits of Chicago, Memphis, Charleston and New York. �
�But, Mr President, I don�t see how he could ever do that,� spoke up Bartok. �He has had some shady associates in the past and has certainly made no secret of his hatred for Mr Pratt but I don�t believe he could mastermind and execute a scheme of such complexity.�
�Well don�t you think it�s mighty strange that all of you have had two near misses today?� asked West quirking an eyebrow. �I�d been following you, Mr Pratt, and I can tell you that attack was pretty well planned.�
�And you, Professor Bartok,� added Gordon. �the parcel that you received at the convention this morning was a calling card from The Eagle as well. It was fortunate that the lovely Miss Franklin and you were able to disarm it.�
Bartok and Pratt frowned, but Helen had been thinking rapidly and cut in.
�The explosion outside just now seemed to have had a double objective Mr President, not only to kill Mr Pratt and Professor Bartok, but perhaps to send you a warning as well. I know from Janos that this Caine has a great deal of expertise with explosives and our experience this morning has certainly proved that in my mind. That bomb could as easily have been placed aboard your train as on platform three so I would suggest that Caine doesn�t wish you personal harm.�
�Exactly, Miss Franklin,� said the President. �Caine appears to be trying to build himself a little nest egg out of blackmailing the country and disposing of Pratt and Bartok at the same time.�
Hayes turned back to the men. �I�m going to have to stop all rail travel temporarily whilst you sort this mess out; I don�t want innocent people being killed by this man, but I refuse to allow this madman to cause our entire rail system to grind to a halt permanently. The railroads have become the arteries along which the lifeblood of this country flows. If we lose them we may lose the country�s unity. Gentleman, it appears that you all have a common need to stop Flintridge Caine: Mr Pratt and Professor Bartok, for your own safety, and Agents West and Gordon because I�m ordering you to. I suggest that the four of you work together. You have a week to sort out this mess. �
Hayes stood as did the other four men out of courtesy. �Now I�m going to go and get some dinner. I�ll leave this little problem for you to ponder. Miss Franklin, would you care to accompany me to the safe house? You will be safe there and I�m sure that the First Lady would like to meet you �
Bartok was a little discomfited by this but Helen knew that one could hardly refuse a �request� of the President of the United States. She glanced at Bartok who reluctantly gave her a little nod. �At least she�ll be safe�, he thought, as she left the room with him.
As the President and Helen departed the four men resumed their seats, each pair eyeing the others warily.
�Well,� said Gordon brightly, �this is going to be an interesting exercise in teamwork.�
Three pairs of eyes glared at him.
The sun had long sunk into the west and the oil lamps had been lit as the four men pored over a huge pile of schematics and ideas that they had generated. Maps showing different parts of the country were strewn over the floor, with each bomb discovery and detonation carefully marked. They had spent hours trying to find a pattern in the placing of the bombs, but so far with no success.
It had taken some time, but eventually the four men had begun to work together. Bartok and West had been deeply suspicious of the other side, both disliking working with others but they had naturally gravitated into two teams: Bartok and Gordon had spent several hours going over Gordon�s surveillance equipment, including the ingenious High Frequency Miniature Triangulation Unit that West had planted on Pratt in the alley enabling Gordon to know his precise whereabouts. They were now covering huge sheets of paper with complex designs for transportation and bomb defusion devices.
West and Pratt on the other hand had been having an extremely heated discussion about how to proceed. Jim West, former captain in the US Army was in favour of an all out attack on The Eagle when they found him, but Pratt was much keener to find him and contain him.
As the volume on one side of the room continued to escalate the two scientists looked at each other and shook their heads.
�Is Agent West always so keen on finding a solution with his guns?� asked Bartok.
Gordon shook his head sadly. �Unfortunately, Jim has never grasped the finer points of subterfuge in espionage, and I don�t think he�ll ever abandon his primitive weaponry for more sophisticated and less violent technology.�
Eventually the long day began to take a toll on all concerned and tempers began to fray.
Bartok stood. �Will you gentlemen *please* try to find a more constructive way of settling your differences!�
West jumped to his feet. �Well at least we�re not away dreaming in your fancy gadget fairy land!�
�Jim, don�t do this. We all need to work together!� Gordon warned
Pratt threw his two penn�orth in �Oh come on! None of us want to be here and none of us seem to enjoy team efforts. I say we give up and head back to the hotel.�
Bartok�s expression became even darker. �Ernest, a hotel saloon is not the answer to our problem either.�
Gordon sighed and rubbed his temples, trying desperately to ease the mother of all tension headaches.
�Perhaps there is something to be said for each approach. It seems that we are all working on this problem from different ends. Professor Bartok and I have found a possible way to locate and defuse the bombs but at first light we must gather the remains of the one that exploded outside to be certain.�
Pratt nodded, �Agent West and I have got a couple of ideas going for finding Caine, but we�ll need your technical expertise, Professor.�
Bartok smiled slightly, perhaps the four of them could work together. �Agent Gordon has been telling me about the High Frequency Miniature Triangulation Unit he has created. It seems remarkably similar to my Bartok Long Distance Emergency Electrical Signal Transmitter.�
Jim West smirked. �Do all you scientists like giving your inventions long names, Arte?� he called over.
Pratt burst out laughing as both scientists rolled their eyes simultaneously.
The tension broken and definite progress made, the four men decided to adjourn for the evening, and resume their discussions at first light.
After a sleepless night, Pratt, Gordon and West met the next morning in the hotel dining room for breakfast. Pratt and West started to brief Gordon on their plan to track down Caine.
�We don�t have much to go on,� began Pratt, �But knowing Caine, he will want to be as close to the action as possible so that he can gloat as he shows his hand.�
West nodded. �I got Agent Jones to retrieve the parcel that Professor Bartok and Miss Franklin received yesterday and it looks like it came from a mining town about seventy miles west of here. It seems as good a place to start the search for The Eagle as anywhere.�
�Fascinating!� remarked Gordon, flexing his arms and causing a notepad to shoot out of one sleeve and a pencil from the other. He jotted down West�s information. �Janos and I will perform a metallurgical analysis on the bomb fragments at the station to ascertain their origin.�
Pratt and West looked at each other. �Is your scientist as bad as him, Ernie?� asked West, nodding towards Gordon who was merrily scribbling away on his notepad.
Pratt shook his head sadly. �You don�t know when you�re well off, Jim�.
They had just ordered breakfast from a bored looking waitress when Janos Bartok burst in.
�Where�ve ya been, Janos?� asked Pratt.
�I�m so sorry for not being punctual gentlemen,� said Bartok as he slid into the empty seat at the table, �but I had a rather pressing engagement to attend to.�
Pratt smirked. �You been over to the Presidential safe house?� he asked his friend.
Bartok appeared flustered. �Well, I thought it prudent to update the President on our progress�� he began.
Jim West smiled knowingly. �How�s that lady friend of yours, Professor?� he asked cheekily.
�Miss Franklin is in fine health, thank you Agent West,� replied Bartok, haughtily. �She has kindly agreed to contact my colleague, Huitzilopochtli Ramos in Sheridan.�
He turned to Gordon. �I thought that his expertise in anti � weaponry measures could be invaluable to us, not to mention the fact he will be flying here in the Legend balloon which will give us transportation now that the railroad system has been shut down.�
Gordon nodded. �Excellent work, Professor, but if we are going after the bombs in your balloon, how will Mr Pratt and Jim go after The Eagle?�
He looked over at his fellow Agent. �Jim, you�re welcome to use the Desert Wasp, it�s stored aboard the Wanderer��
West frowned. �No way, Arte. I don�t like that thing even when you�re driving. Ernie and I are going to travel the old fashioned way � by horse.�
Pratt�s face fell. �Swell,� he sighed.
A busy morning was had by all: the two scientists returned to the railroad station and spent the morning going over the explosion site and analysing bomb fragments with Gordon�s portable lab aboard the Presidential train.
Despite the Emergency Presidential Order of the previous day, the warning had not filtered across the entire country in time to prevent more near misses and a real tragedy when a bomb had detonated under a lumber train just outside of Philadelphia killing the driver. Time was running out.
After collecting his horse from the hotel stables and hiring a second horse for the writer, Pratt and West headed out of Denver; their destination, the silver mining town of Aspen.
Bartok and Gordon busied themselves at the station. Even though Bartok didn�t have access to his magnifying goggles he found that his Secret Service counterpart had created a similar device with two lenses attached to an elongated spectacle frame that he found fascinating.
The two scientists soon fell into a rhythm: one of them would be outside collecting and cataloguing bomb fragments whilst the other was using the lab facilities in the second carriage of the Wanderer to analyse the fragments they had already collected. Before long the grey slab table in the middle of the carriage was filled with piles of metallic fragments, all labelled in Bartok�s elegant copperplate or Gordon�s sophisticated script.
Bartok sat up from his stool and rubbed his tired eyes. He seemed to have been analysing this fragment, a small complicated spring arrangement no more than four millimetres long, for hours. Despite the good portable facilities that the Secret Service agent had placed aboard the train, Bartok couldn�t help thinking that his Bartok Microscopic Metallurgical Analyser would be invaluable to him right now.
The sliding door at the end of the carriage opened and Artemus Gordon entered, carrying yet another box full of metal. Bartok squinted at the sudden brightness of daylight streaming in: after the soft gaslight within the carriage and defused natural sun coming from the skylight it was quite a shock to his eyes. He rubbed them again: yet another symptom of eyestrain, he realised.
Gordon crossed over to the table, setting his box of fragments down on the small counter at the rear of the carriage where bottles of chemicals and lab equipment where stacked neatly against the carriage wall.
�Are you making much progress, Janos?� asked Gordon, as he neared the main table.
Bartok sighed. �Not as much as I would wish, Artemus,� he replied. He held up the fragment he�d been studying with tweezers. �I have identified this as part of the detonation system: a very advanced counterweight and spring timing device I believe, but without a higher magnification lens, or a spectrographic analysis, I don�t believe I will be able to identify it�s components or metallurgical make up.�
Gordon frowned, his quick brain easily grasping his new friend�s dilemma. �I�m afraid I don�t have a spectrographic analyser on board, Janos, but have you tried my Portable Forensics kit?�
Janos� eyes lit up. �You employ forensics in your work?� he asked incredulously.
Gordon shrugged. �Of course! I have found that it is often the only way to establish chemical composition and find incriminating evidence.�
Bartok smiled. �I have met so many law enforcement officers that ignore the field of forensics and refuse to allow it as evidence in criminal cases.�
�Ah,� smirked Gordon, �but you have to remember I am a man of many talents. I have been an actor, a scientist, and a Government Agent. I like to be flexible!�
He gestured over at his lab area in the corner of the carriage. �Let�s see if we can establish the composition of this mysterious component, shall we? An English scientist named Faraday has developed a technique which may aid us��
If Pratt knew that Bartok�s biggest problem was in identifying the metal used in the bomb, he would have wished to trade places with him in an instant. As it was, he was riding across the open plains of Colorado on a horse that decided it was out for a gentle morning stroll rather than a race across the State with a highly trained Army Captain and Government Agent.
Pratt would never be intentionally cruel to an animal, but long hours of frustration, coupled with an increasingly numb butt were beginning to wear on his temper. He dug his heels into the horse a little harder than he normally would have, but rather than forcing the horse into a gallop, it actually stopped and turned it�s head to look balefully at him.
The writer scowled and looked up to where he could just make out the silhouette of Jim West and his gallant steed near the horizon and getting smaller by the moment.
He exploded.
�Come on you stupid, stubborn nag!!!� he yelled, �You know I don�t like you and you sure as heck don�t like me. But can�t you�please�MOVE!!!�
Anger spent, he sighed and looked to the sky in supplication. �I never thought I�d actually want to ride on one of Bartok�s gizmo�s but right now I�d give anything for some scientific progress!�
Suddenly, Pratt heard nearing hoof beats. He looked up and saw West riding back towards him at breakneck speed. He was at Pratt�s side in a matter of moments.
�What�s wrong, Ernie?� he asked cheerfully, �You�re riding like a greenhorn. Haven�t you ridden a horse before?�
Pratt scowled. �Of course I have West, but this�.horse has decided that a short ride to save multiple lives and the United States from a madman�s reign of terror will take a bit more effort than it wishes to make today!�
West smirked. �Don�t worry, Ernie, I know a lot of you professional gentlemen have problems with horsemanship.�
West easily dismounted and crossed to Pratt�s horse. He held the nag�s head and whispered softly in it�s ear. Pratt just rolled his eyes in silent protest.
After a moment, West drew back and gazed deeply into the horse�s eyes, then, apparently satisfied, he looked back at Pratt.
�There you go, Mr Pratt,� he said, calmly, �she shouldn�t give you any more trouble. Give her a little kick and she�ll be galloping off into the distance.�
�Sure,� said Pratt sarcastically, but he gently touched his heels to the horse�s sides. He�d barely made contact when the horse shot forward. He yelped in surprise and grabbed onto the reigns for dear life as the horse shot off like a rocket.
West just smirked. �City folks,� he sighed, and swung back up onto his own horse, racing into the distance to catch up with Pratt.
�There� said Gordon. �See how the catalyst solution is thickening? That indicates a significant quantity of precious metals within the alloy.�
The two scientists were standing side by side over Gordon�s lab bench, mixing and remixing solutions, pouring different coloured chemicals into all manner of flasks and apparatus. To one side were an array of beakers, each with electrodes attached and each containing a microscopic fragment of a bomb component. They had soon realised that chemical analysis and ionisation would yield them far more results than mere visual identification and had begun subjecting identified fragments to a battery of chemical and electrical tests. There results had proved rather interesting.
Bartok picked up a pair of tweezers and gently eased the fizzing metal from the test tube containing sulphuric acid. He quickly plunged it into a basin of water and then placed it onto a glass slide and slipped on the magnifying spectacles.
�That�s it Artemus!� he announced. He quickly scribbled some notes on one of Gordon�s multitude of notepads. He looked up at the Secret Service Agent. �The presence of significant amounts of electrum. This result confirms it. The most crucial parts of the bomb�s timing and detonation devices are constructed of lead encased in an artificially strengthened version of the natural gold and silver alloy, electrum.�
�That�s a very expensive bomb!� noted Gordon. �It would seem our Eagle has acquired a portion of wealth since you last encountered him.
Bartok smiled grimly. �Indeed.� He gazed into space for a moment, thinking rapidly. �Have you got the map that pinpoints the locations of the discovered and exploded bombs?� he asked.
Gordon frowned. �I think so,� he said and quickly went through into the front carriage of the train. He returned in a matter of moments with the map.
The two scientist quickly cleaned off the main table and laid out the map.
Bartok studied the map for a few moments. He looked up at Gordon, a triumphant gleam in his eye. �As I suspected. Apart from a few isolated bombs placed at strategically important railroad connections, the largest clusters have been centred around Nevada, Arizona Territory and Colorado.�
Gordon nodded, understanding, �Which all have deposits of gold and silver ore.�
Bartok smiled grimly. �Our Mr Caine does seem to like the finer things doesn�t he. I suggest that we mount a search of all three areas.�
Gordon frowned. �That�s going to be a big job, Janos, but,� he smiled, �that�s what the Government is for. I�ll go over to the safe house and tell the President what we�ve discovered. He should be able to put a full scale search in operation within twenty four hours.�
Bartok nodded. �I think it would be a good idea to start adapting the High Frequency Miniature Triangulation Unit to detect the explosive units. It should be possible to calibrate the frequency to the resonance of the bombs now that we know what they are made of.�
Gordon smiled. �I�ll suggest a three wave plan to the President. Military personnel can perform trackside checks in the low risk areas, government agents can cover Nevada and Arizona, and you and I can sweep the railroads in Colorado from your balloon.�
Bartok frowned. �When it gets here, Artemus. I don�t know what can be keeping Ramos.�
Gordon shrugged and gathered up his coat. He opened the door and jumped in surprise. There was a short dark man with a handlebar moustache and a very serious look on his face.
�Good afternoon, I�m looking for Professor..�
He didn�t get a chance to finish. Bartok had jumped up as soon as he heard the familiar voice. �Ramos!� he exclaimed. �We were just wondering where you had got to.�
Gordon stepped to one side allowing Ramos entrance to the carriage. �My apologies, Professor�, said Ramos, crossing over to his colleague, �but I had some problems with Presidential Security.�
Gordon frowned. �I can straighten that out for you, Mr Ramos.�
Bartok looked up, remembering that the two men hadn�t met before. �Excuse me, where are my manners! Agent Gordon, this is Huitzilopochtli Ramos, my colleague in Sheridan. Ramos, this is Agent Gordon, who is working with Ernest and I to resolve the problem with Mr Caine.�
The two men shook hands and Gordon excused himself, leaving to brief the President. Ramos sat down at the table, where Bartok had gone back to fiddling with a Triangulation Unit. �So what have I missed, Professor?� he asked.
Thanks to Jim West�s knack with horses, the two men made excellent time to Aspen. The sun was just beginning to sink below the horizon as they arrived in the little mining town. Tumbleweed blew along the main street as the two horses trotted into town. The only life seemed to be in the saloon at the end of the street where they could hear rather tuneless piano playing, laughing and singing. It seemed the logical place to begin any enquiries.
In the encroaching gloom Pratt could see West frown. �This could be nasty, Pratt. Best let me do the talking.�
It was Pratt�s turn to frown. �Excuse me for saying so, Jim, but folks this far out in the woods may not take kindly to a Negro giving orders. I�ve had a fair bit of experience in these sort of places, and I�ve learned how to appeal to a man�s less violent nature. Besides,� he said, puffing up a little, �I am Nicodemus Legend.�
West rolled his eyes. �Yeah, right, Ernie. Tell you what, you go in and do your �Nicodemus Legend� thing and I�ll have a snoop around. My guess is Caine is right here. It looks like the perfect set up for him - small isolated town, away from any authority.�
�Alright then,� said Pratt decisively, getting down awkwardly from his docile horse. He stretched, wincing at the stiffness in his muscles after a day riding. West meanwhile, jumped down easily and led his steed over to the wooden post at the front of the saloon. He tipped his hat to Pratt.
�See what you can find out, but try to stay out of trouble.� He warned. �I don�t want to have to go in there and scrape you off the floor.�
Pratt scowled. �My reputation will protect me far better than a firearm would,� he announced proudly, albeit in a whisper.
West smirked. �You�ve got your lightning gun though, right? Just in case?�
Pratt�s face fell. �Yes, I�ve got my fulminator,� he said through gritted teeth. West just smiled wider and headed off into the night.
Pratt drew himself up to his full height, straightened his battered hat and strode into the bar. Nicodemus Legend was on the case.
Nicodemus Legend, Paladin of the Prairies and Defender of the Weak pushed open the saloon swing doors and promptly fell flat on his face over a mangy dog skulking in the doorway.
The laughter, talking and music stopped. You could hear a pin drop as everyone stared.
Pratt rolled smoothly to his feet, well used to tripping over in undignified ways he had developed an excellent recovery technique which had become reflex over the years. He brushed his now rather dusty white Legend suit and spoke up. �Good evening ladies and gentleman! I am Nicodemus Legend and I was wondering if any of you folks would like to be in my next book.�
Everyone continued to stare, then a gruff voice over Pratt�s shoulder yelled �Let�s get him!�.
Pratt went down under a hail of fists and kicks. His last thought was that perhaps he should have let Agent West deal with this side of things, and then he knew no more.
Whilst Pratt continued to lurch from problem to problem, the three scientists in Denver were having a much easier time of things. Gordon spent most of the afternoon briefing the President and didn�t return to the railroad station until sundown. Meanwhile, Bartok and Ramos, well used to each other�s ways of working after years of partnership, quickly calibrated a High Frequency Miniature Triangulation Unit and were busy attaching it to the balloon basket when Gordon returned. Bartok had used the time to fill Ramos in on what he had missed and by the time the Agent was back he was able to participate fully in the planning for the mission ahead.
�President Hayes is keeping the Emergency Presidential Order in place for now,� explained Gordon, �and he has accepted our plan as the best way to go forward. Orders are being sent all over the country by telegraph and military and governmental teams are going out on horseback at first light to start searching for bombs.�
Gordon looked across at Bartok, a wary look on his face in the dim gaslight from the station. �I gave the President the frequency the bombs operate on. Apparently Thomas Edison has created a frequency sweeping device that he thinks should help the teams to identify the bombs. He turned his factories in New York over to full production last week in anticipation of someone working out the frequency the bombs operated on and they are being calibrated and sent out to Army posts along the Eastern seaboard. It should speed the search up considerably at that end of the country.�
Bartok just looked stonily ahead, refusing to react to this news about his old nemesis.
Ramos broke the awkward silence. �We seem to have finished here, Agent Gordon. The balloon is fully stocked with supplies and emergency equipment. We are fully equipped for night flying, and time would seem to be of the essence in this matter. We could begin the search now if you wish.�
Gordon nodded. �That would seem a sensible thing to do. We can at least start searching and mark the position of any devices we discover.�
Ramos looked warily at his old friend. �Janos?� he asked warily.
Bartok seemed to shake himself out of his reverie of dwelling on ghosts in his past. �Yes, that would be a sensible course of action,� he muttered.
While Bartok completed final pre-flight checks Gordon helped Ramos to light and affix the special torches designed for the outside of the basket, and within the hour they were ascending up into the star speckled cloudless night sky.
Pratt woke when the first rays of sunlight warmed his face. He opened his eyes and groaned. He seemed to be one giant bruise. Everything hurt.
He seemed to be lying in a heap on a dirty wooden floor. With effort he managed to roll onto his back and get a better idea of his surroundings. As he suspected, he was in a jail cell; iron bars blocking the window and the front wall of the tiny room. He gingerly moved his arms to check his belt for the fulminator he�d been carrying, but was not greatly surprised to find that the non-lethal weapon was missing.
Nicodemus Legend had only been in cells when wrongly accused of the main villain�s crime, and was always rescued in the nick of time by a beautiful damsel, Morie, his faithful horse or by his own phenomenal ingenuity. Ernest Pratt on the other hand, had spent more time than he cared to admit drying out in various town jails after rowdy celebrations in the local saloon.
He slowly got to his feet. �Hello,� he called, �anyone around?�
Silence.
Pratt shrugged, stretched out and started whistling.
He�d just composed the first verse of a song he�d named The Ballad of Unlucky Ernest when a shadow fell across his face. He opened his eyes that had been half closed against the glare of the sun to see a rather bemused Captain West looking down at him from the barred window.
West smirked. �So the reputation of the great Nicodemus Legend stunned them, huh Ernie!�
Pratt scowled. �Just get me out of here West. I need a hot bath and a beautiful woman.�
West�s smile grew wider. �Well I can�t help you there, but will the location of Caine�s hideout do?�
Pratt sat up in shock and winced as his bruises sent pain through him. �You found it?� he managed through gritted teeth.
The other man nodded. �I�ve got to get you out of here before we can do anything. Hang on.�
And with that his face was gone. Pratt slumped back and resigned himself to a long wait.
Less than a quarter of an hour later Pratt started from the light doze he�d slipped into to find the army captain trying different keys in the door of his cell. The writer looked up questioningly.
West looked sheepish. �Everyone seems to be sleeping off the late night partying, but I managed to find these keys over in the Sheriff�s office.� He frowned. �Doesn�t look like any of these keys are going to work though.�
Pratt gestured over to the guard�s table just outside the cell. �Check the drawers for my fulminator,� he suggested, �Your gun�ll make too much noise if you try to shoot the lock but the fulminator has a beam adjuster. If you can find it we can shoot the lock off without waking everyone up.�
West nodded and did as Pratt suggested, finding the fulminator stuffed into the top drawer. He smiled. �Doesn�t look like they thought you were too much of a threat, Ernie,� he remarked.
Pratt winked. �Or that I was accompanied by someone else. If Caine had been expecting me and Bartok he would have been looking for a balloon. No balloon equals no Pratt I guess. He always was unimaginative.�
West handed the fulminator through the cells and Pratt started to fiddle with the myriad of controls that Bartok had added over the last few months. �There,� he muttered, �that should do it.� He handed West the modified fulminator. �Aim it at the lock,� he instructed.
West nodded and depressed the trigger. There was a bright flash and West dropped the fulminator with a yelp.
�Are you trying to kill me!� he exclaimed, nursing his sore fingers.
Pratt looked sheepish. �Sorry, let me try again.�
West cautiously handed the gadget back. �This time,� he warned, �you can fire it. I didn�t come here to be killed by the person I was trying to rescue!�
It had been a long night for the three scientists in the balloon with each man taking turn at running the balloon, swinging down to the ground on a rope to disarm the discovered bombs, a relatively simple matter for the scientists now that they had worked out the trigger mechanism. and the third sleeping. Despite the exhausting work Gordon found himself enjoying the adventure; his quick brain and adaptability helping him to master the balloon�s controls in no time.
They worked right through the darkness and by first light had made safe over twenty bombs, despite having to work by torchlight. At first light Ramos was steering, Gordon was disarming and Bartok was grabbing a few minutes sleep.
Ramos studied the High Frequency Miniature Triangulation Unit fixed to the side of the balloon basket next to the steering system. Suddenly the needle leaped from zero to ten on the dial. �Looks like we have another one Artemus,� he called, �the reading needle is rising again. I�ll follow the strongest pulse to lead us to the next device, but with this frequency reading we can only be a mile or two away.�
Gordon couldn�t suppress his groan. �Another one? We only found the last one ten miles south of here. How many of the things has that lunatic planted?�
Bartok stirred at the sound of the raised voices and Gordon crossed over to Bartok so that they could continue speaking without waking the Hungarian. The Secret Service agent looked at the Triangulation Unit and then looked again. He nudged Ramos.
�How high has this reading got to before?� he asked.
Ramos shrugged. �It gets higher the closer to the devices we get. When we�re directly overhead it seems to read between thirty and forty five.�
Gordon nodded. �Exactly. That�s what it should read when we�re within two hundred feet of a device operating at that frequency.� He indicated the Triangulation Unit. �In that case, why is the needle registering one hundred and fifty?�
Fortunately Pratt�s cell door lock had given on the second attempt with the fulminator and the two companions were soon heading cautiously down Main Street in the morning sun.
As West had said, the town was deserted, but the men moved as quietly as they could; occasionally hearing gentle snoring coming from the open windows of some of the buildings. The town really had had a good time last night, Pratt reflected.
Aspen was a small place that had only recently been founded as a town after the discovery of silver in the area and it took no time to traverse it�s length. West lead them to the large mining facilities that dominated the eastern end of the town and motioned towards the assay building at the foot of the hill leading to the mine.
He motioned Pratt to get down behind a cart and whispered, �that�s it Ernie.�
Pratt nodded and peeked over the top of the cart to get a better look. The assay building was a small wooden hut; the door closed and the structure obviously temporary. It was nestled right into the hillside leading up to the main mine.
�Why do I get the feeling that there�s more to that building than there appears?� he wondered aloud.
West smiled knowingly. �Exactly what I was thinking, Ernie. Shall we go take a look?�
Pratt nodded his assent and the two men got up and moved out from behind their shelter, slowly edging towards the assay office�
Gordon and Ramos looked out over the balloon basket. Gordon tapped the dial on the Triangulation Unit a few times, but there could be no doubt: the needle remained stubbornly fixed at one hundred and fifty. Something very strange was going on.
Bartok had woken because of the excitement and got groggily to his feet, grabbing his telescope and joining his colleagues.
�There, south south west of here,� he announced, in an albeit raspy voice from waking. �That appears to be a town.�
Gordon consulted one of the maps they�d been using to chart the bombs. He looked up and checked the horizon again. �That appears to be a place called Aspen,� he remarked. �Isn�t that where Jim and Mr Pratt were heading?�
Despite the large number of midnight break ins that Pratt had been involved in he really hated subterfuge: the constant worry that you were going to be caught by some overenthusiastic security guard or henchman, or worse still, a great big Neanderthal brandishing a gun.
Pratt and West had found the door to the assay office unlocked and reluctantly following West�s lead, both men were now inside. At first glance the room appeared normal: a row of rickety, dusty wooden chairs where the miners and buyers would sit, an imposing desk filled with weighing and measuring equipment used to assess the purity of the silver ore and a sheet of paper stuck on the wall detailing weights purity and prices.
Sometimes the anticipation was worse than the actual moment of confrontation, and at this moment, Pratt was finding himself fervently wishing for something to happen � anything that would break his feeling of anxiety.
Whilst Pratt found himself lingering as close to the entrance as he could, West was delving further into the back of the room. Suddenly he gave a cry of triumph.
�Hey, Ernie, looks like we�ve found what we were looking for! Come over here.�
Pratt sighed but reluctantly moved over to where West was standing at the back of the office. West indicated a small, unobtrusive door and all but pushed Pratt through into the huge cavern beyond.
At first, Pratt couldn�t see anything, but as his eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom he could make out that they were standing at the edge of a huge space.
�We�re under the mountain!� he exclaimed, his voice echoing off unseen walls.
�Looks that way, Ernie,� said West, coming around to stand beside him, but Pratt barely registered his presence, his attention riveted on the remarkable sight before him.
The cave was lit by a low banked fire that cast an orange glow off to the left of where they were standing, a glow that was glinting off a mass of glass to their right.
As his eyes continued to adjust Pratt began to make out further shapes�a furnace�washing tanks�and on the right, electrodes�glass flasks�bubbling tanks filled with strangely coloured liquids�and, at the far end of the room, massive electrical conductors, similar to the ones in Bartok�s laboratory, periodically flashing blue crackling energy over everything.
Ernest Pratt loved to add scientific jargon to his stories, but he had to admit, more often than not he just concocted some plausible language and just got Bartok to check over the prose to make sure it made vague sense. Nevertheless he had picked up a reasonable grasp of chemistry along the way and knew a bomb making factory when he saw one.
�Looks like Flintridge has been busy,� he breathed.
�Yes, Mr Caine has been most industrious,� came a new voice from behind the men. Pratt jumped and whirled round, West already having drawn his gun.
�Arte!� he exclaimed �you son of a warthog, I nearly shot you!�
�Sorry Jim,� replied the newly arrived Artemus Gordon. Behind him, Pratt could see Bartok and Ramos crowding in the doorway.
�How did you guys find us?� asked Pratt.
�Our friend The Eagle left quite a trail of breadcrumbs,� replied Gordon.
�A little too easy to follow, I fear,� added Bartok, �We could all quite well be walking into a trap.�
�This is remarkable!� continued Gordon, stepping further forward, oblivious to Bartok�s voiced fears. �Caine has built himself a huge silver ore extraction facility, utilising electrolysis to separate the pure silver from it�s ore.�
�He�s generating the power from those towers at the back,� noted Ramos. �They appear to be based upon your design, Janos.�
In the low light Pratt could still see Bartok�s scowl. � I noticed,� he remarked darkly.
�Caine seems to be using electrolysis to refine his ore, and is then producing the gold and silver alloy electrum to form the basis of his bomb mechanisms,� deduced Gordon. �You see that cavern further on, where the ground drops away?�
Everyone nodded.
�That must be where the actual bombs are constructed. A cave on a lower level is partially isolated from the metal extraction area and is therefore protected, however minimally. Diabolical ingenuity!� Gordon exclaimed.
�I still don�t like the way we were all led here, Arte,� remarked West, nervously drawing and reholstering his gun.
�Well, one would assume that there will be a welcoming committee,� conceded Gordon.
�Then can I suggest we take some cover?� suggested Bartok from the back of the party.
�Sounds good to me!� said Pratt brightly, �Last one to the balloon buys a round at the Buffalo Head!�
�I�m afraid the drinks will have to wait, gentlemen,� said a new, dark voice from the shadows.
Suddenly the heroes could hear guns being drawn by unseen hands all around them.
�Uh oh,� whispered Pratt, �I have a bad feeling about this!�
�Welcome to my new home, gentleman,� said the mysterious voice once again. A dark silhouette of a man detached itself from the shadows and finally, the men were face to face with�
�Caine!� hissed Pratt.
Flintridge Caine smiled evilly, the low light shining off his golden eye patch. �We meet again, Mr Pratt, and this time you�ve brought along all your little friends. How nice of you.�
�What do you want, Caine,� demanded West. Realising he was the only one with military training he decided to move to the front of the group.
Caine looked at him disdainfully. �Oh, it�s the little Negro cowboy I�ve heard so much about. Don�t worry, little man, you won�t be able to beat me like old Arliss.�
Gordon started. �Arliss? Arliss Loveless?�
Caine nodded. �Old Arliss and I were old associates. When he started getting his plans together in Spider Canyon I helped him to set up the kidnapping operation to secure the brightest minds in the country. Proved a most profitable business venture.�
West glowered. �You�ve stolen his technology too, haven�t you.� He glanced around, noticing various features of the apparatus around them. �Well, well, well. Mr Ramos reckons you�ve got Professor Bartok�s electrical generators, I can see some of Arte�s chemistry gizmos and,� he continued walking over to a nearby bench, fingering a small design on a heavy set lab bench, �Old Loveless� spider insignia.�
West raised an eyebrow and smirked. �I hate to tell you this, Caine, Loveless may have been an old spider but you�re just a magpie, picking up a little thing here and a little thing there. You�re just a common old thief!�
Caine stepped forward menacingly, and the circle of men closed in around the friends. �I�m not a thief you stupid little cowboy, I�m a visionary!� he declared. He nodded towards the writer. �Mr Pratt, you should have killed me when you had the chance but you can�t even do that can you! You�re a failure! Your little scientist friends are failures, rejects from their own countries, and now who have you hooked up with? A washed up actor and a Black with ideas above his station!� He gestured to two of his men.
�Hook Mr Pratt over extractor A and lock his friends up.� He smiled coldly at the group. �You are going to have such a blast!� he said in an icy tone.
Two of Caine�s men grabbed Pratt and dragged him towards the glowing fires at one end of the cavern whilst eight more moved in to cover the remaining men with rifles. The other two dragged Pratt over to the glowing fires at the end of the cavern. The larger of the two grabbed a convenient chain and wound it round Pratt�s torso before throwing the other end up and over a girder. The two of them then proceeded to hoist the protesting author up like a worm on a hook more than twenty feet to over a large tank filled with silver ore and acid.
Pratt gulped. It looked evil and it smelled evil. He was in big trouble.
Caine held up his hands and circled his captors with glee. �Well, everyone, I have to get back across to Denver. In about twelve hours a nice big explosion is going to flatten the White House in Washington and I really want to see President Hayes face when it happens.�
He scowled. �You�ve been pretty clever figuring out the bomb mechanisms and thanks to you I�ve missed out on a lot of entertainment, but you haven�t been able to stop the really fun things from happening!�
Caine sighed. �Well, I�d better get over to Denver to collect my retirement fund and kill the President.� He grinned, � I decided why settle for extortion when you can get notoriety as well?�
Caine suddenly turned and looked at Bartok. �I thought I might pay a visit to your lady friend too, Professor. Now I�m retiring from the criminal profession I�m really going to need a good wife and mother for my children.�
�CAINE!!!!!� seethed Bartok. Anger all but gave him the strength to get away from his captors but just as he was about to break their hold one of them brought up the butt of his gun and cuffed the Hungarian around the head. He slumped into unconsciousness.
At a signal Caine�s men began to drag the four prisoners towards the lower chamber of the cave. As Pratt looked helplessly on his friends were taken out of his sight.
�Don�t worry fellas,� carolled The Eagle, �You won�t be in the cell long. I�ve set the best of my devices to blow up this whole cave in about thirty minutes� time. It�s buried six feet down under the cave so it can�t be defused. Can�t leave any evidence of my activities can I, and this way I get rid of all my problems in one go!�
Once they were safely out of the way Caine turned to address the author, and smiled.
�Well, that really is everything, Mr Pratt.� Suddenly he snapped his fingers. �Oh, well almost everything.� He nodded to the largest of his henchman and the great brute grabbed the rock that was securing the chain holding Pratt and dumped it into the vat below his dangling feet.
Pratt was yanked up another two feet: the air being knocked out of him by the sudden jolt. The chain was now tighter than ever around his chest, and added to the fumes, he was finding it increasingly difficult o breathe.
Caine noticed his discomfort. He smiled.
�Don�t worry Mr Pratt, the chain will slacken soon. The acid in the vat should take, oh, about fifteen minutes to melt through the chain. Then the chain will break and into the acid you go.� He shuddered and then grinned. �Not a very nice death, but then, only the nastiest fate possible for the man who messed up all my plans. I trust you will use the last few minutes of your miserable excuse for a life to think about just what a waste you have been, and how you should have minded your own business instead of forever meddling in my plans.�
Pratt couldn�t reply. He just glared so coldly that even EC Allen would have quailed.
With a parting mock salute, Caine turned and left the scene, his henchmen once more melting into the shadows.
�Argh!�
West gave the cage door one final defiant rattle and flopped back down on the dirt floor of the cage he and the three scientists were imprisoned in. As Gordon had deduced this lower cave was the assembly section of Caine�s operation full of benches covered in wires, tools and half finished bombs.
Bartok had come back to consciousness fairly quickly, and save for a large bump on his head and a thin trickle of dried blood around his left ear was in reasonable shape. From his position on the floor of the cell he was looking anxiously at his pocket watch.
�How long did Caine say we would have?� he asked anxiously.
West looked out into the distance, trying to make out the small figure of Pratt dangling over the extraction vat in the higher cave. �Thirty minutes,� he replied sharply.
Bartok consulted his watch once more. �In that case we have approximately twenty minutes left,� he noted.
�Mr Pratt has rather less than that, Janos,� observed Gordon. �Caine said that the chain holding him up would melt in fifteen minutes. He doesn�t have much time.�
Bartok�s head whipped round. �We must do something!� he whispered.
Throughout this exchange Ramos had remained silent, his remarkable brain quickly running through the permutations and possibilities that were available to them in their current predicament.
Suddenly his eyes lit up. �Gentlemen, there is one possibility. We could��
�JANOS! ERNEST!� yelled a female voice at the front of the cave, �are you in there?�
Bartok jumped to his feet. �It�s Helen!� he whispered, his eyes wide with amazement.
The four men could hear Pratt�s voice, raspy from the acrid silver fumes but still clear in the higher cave. �Helen? Is that you? Get me down from here! I�m about to be fried!�
Now they could hear a series of male voices and sharp orders being given.
West smiled in relief. �Looks like the cavalry�s arrived,� he noted.
They heard the clanking of a chain, and the sound of metal grating and protesting, presumably as Pratt was rescued from a particularly unpleasant end. Bartok consulted his watch again. �The rescue party had better hurry,� he observed, �we have less than fifteen minutes until the cave explodes.�
Although Bartok was too weak Gordon, West and Ramos joined forces in shouting to the rescuers and moments later they heard running footsteps. Suddenly a slim figure clad in black pants and shirt, jumped over the low wall of the lower cave. It was Helen Franklin, bedraggled and dirty but unmistakably Bartok�s lady friend. She absently brushed back a strand of her blonde hair that had escaped from her pinned up bun.
�Hello again,� she smiled. �I�m so glad we were able to find you in time. The President thought we might be too late.�
�No time for chitchat Miss Franklin,� jumped in West, �this whole complex is going to blow in about twelve minutes. You must get us out of here.�
Helen started forward. A couple of similarly dressed men had joined her and she tersely gave orders for them to shoot the lock on the cage. Within moments the four captives were free. As soon as the door was open Gordon, Ramos and West helped their wounded companion out of the cell and into the arms of Helen.
�Glad you found us in time,� observed Bartok in a weak voice, but his soft smile conveyed everything that he wanted to say.
�I thought it was about time I got involved in the action,� said Helen with a smile, �you boys get all the fun!�
Within ninety seconds the rescue forces, Secret Service Agents drafted by a worried President had evacuated the cave and as the countdown to detonation got closer everyone took shelter at the far end of the town.
Suddenly the ground shook and a huge cloud of dirt shot into the sky, accompanied a fraction of a second later by a deafening roar as the entire mountain was blown into the air by a massive underground explosion.
�The time differential between the visual and aural elements of the explosion signify that it was a notable distance underground,� observed Bartok as the six friends huddled behind a water trough in Aspen�s Main Street.
Helen looked at him. �Shut up Janos,� she said kindly, softening her reproach with a quick kiss on his cheek.
By the end of the day everyone, save a few agents on mopping up duty, were back in Denver, the President himself welcoming them back. Whilst Bartok and Pratt�s injuries were being attended to everyone else adjourned to the Wanderer, Helen taking the opportunity to tell Ramos and the two Secret Service agents what had been happening in their absence.
After everyone had failed to report in for twenty four hours, Helen had managed to persuade President Hayes that someone needed to go after the missing men. Hayes had reluctantly agreed and given her special dispensation to head up a team of elite agents based on her scientific know how and prior knowledge of the situation and what Caine was capable of.
On arriving in Aspen she was met by an agent who had been working undercover in Caine�s gang and informed of exactly what had been going on. She had taken the decision to send three of the men back to Denver to warn Hayes of Caine�s plan to blow up the White House and assassinate him allowing the Secret Service to take steps to thwart the Eagle�s plans.
After this had been done, and they had observed Caine and his gang leaving the mine in such a hurry Helen had headed up a team to go into the mine and ascertain if any of the missing men were inside, knowing from past experience how Caine enjoyed humiliating Pratt and Bartok.
�And the rest you know,� she finished.
President Hayes smiled. �An excellent job, my dear,� he observed. �I have to confess that while you were our guest at the safe house I took the liberty of gathering some information about you and discovered that you were an extremely resourceful and level headed lady. After this remarkable success I would very much like to have you working with my Secret Service.�
Helen blushed as Gordon, West and Ramos smiled.
�It�s an excellent offer, Miss Franklin,� observed Gordon.
�And the pays pretty good,� observed West with a smile.
Before Helen could answer Bartok and Pratt walked into the parlour carriage of the train. Bartok crossed immediately over to Helen and clasped her hands. �It is so good to see you again my dear,� he said warmly.
Helen smiled at her beau and looked at the President. �May we be excused for a moment, Sir?� she asked.
Hayes nodded, knowing that the two sweethearts needed to have a serious conversation about what he had suggested, and Helen and Bartok stepped outside once more.
Pratt, oblivious to what had just transpired raised the question that had been nagging at him since they got back to Denver. �Mr President, have you caught Caine yet?�
Gordon and West joined Pratt in looking expectantly at the President who was frowning. �No, we haven�t,� he admitted, �although he has been sighted in Denver. This train is under tight security and my top men have told me he should be apprehended within the next few hours.�
At this moment, Bartok and Helen came back into the compartment, the former looking quite sombre.
�Mr President,� began Helen, �I would very much like to accept your offer.�
Hayes, West and Gordon smiled but Pratt, seeing his friend�s glum face leaned over to Ramos who was quietly sipping tea. �What�ve I missed, Ramos?� he asked.
Ramos carefully put down his cup. �President Hayes has offered Miss Franklin a position in the Secret Service, and by the look on Janos� face I think it safe to assume she will be leaving Sheridan soon.�
Pratt sighed. �Poor Janos,� he whispered. Ramos nodded but was prevented from saying anything as the President stood and took Helen�s hand.
�Excellent news my dear, we�ll be delighted to have you on board. I�ll make arrangements for your passage to Washington straight away.�
Pratt stood and went over to his two friends. �Congratulations Helen,� he said with a smile, still conscious of Bartok�s stony face behind her.
�Thank you Ernest,� replied Helen warmly. �It really is an excellent opportunity, for me.�
She turned to Bartok and gave him a small smile. �I�m going to be able to continue my research, Janos,� she whispered, �and I�m going to get a chance to make a real difference. It�s going to give me a chance to truly build on my great-great grandfather�s work.�
�And,� she whispered, leaning in even closer so that only Bartok could hear, �I�ll be back in Sheridan whenever I can. You haven�t lost me Janos, don�t ever think that.�
Bartok looked at her in wonder. �You really mean that?� he asked tenderly.
�Of course Janos, how could I ever leave you,� replied Helen, with a charming smile.
At this Bartok�s face brightened. �In that case my dear, I have something to ask you.�
Bartok gently took Helen�s arm and lead her to one side. He whispered softly into her ear. �At some point in the future, would you consent to being my wife?�
Pratt flopped down on one of the empty green upholstered chairs. �Well after everything we�ve been through, could this thirsty hero get a drink?� he enquired casually.
Gordon pointedly cleared his throat and West shook his head furiously, but President Hayes had heard the comment.
�I trust you�re not referring to an alcoholic drink, Mr Pratt,� he enquired with narrowed eyes.
�Erm�� stuttered Pratt looking at the others for support and finding none. Bartok and Helen were smiling and whispering in a corner, West and Gordon were deliberately avoiding his gaze and Ramos seemed to be finding something highly amusing.
�Mr Pratt,� continued the President in a lecturing tone, �alcohol is a deplorable crutch for weak minded people and a very tool of the devil. �
�Oh,� said Pratt weakly. �In that case Sir, could I trouble you for a cup of tea?�
High on a hill a lone figure lowered a telescope from his one functioning eye. Caine had been observing the gathering in the Wanderer for over a quarter of an hour and he was seething. His gang had been captured, his headquarters destroyed and worst of all his enemies had escaped once again.
At least, he reflected, he could take some small consolation in the chaos he had brought to the country. It was going to take weeks for the railroad system to get back to normal and, who knew, he thought; maybe one or two of those bombs will be missed and a few people would die. Then the name of Flintridge Caine would be remembered.
�Don�t worry Mr Pratt, I�ll get you and your friends some day,� he said to himself , �and the more allies you make the more powerful your enemies will become.�
FIN
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