Drew had a brief bit of annoyance, thinking I just said Peters, didn’t you listen?
He pulled himself to a sitting position, he responded. “Yeah?”
“Captain Leake of the Birmingham Police, sir.”
Drew waited for him to continue. After a brief pause, the man on the other end of the line said, “Got some info on them there fellows you been trackin’. Turns out they hopped a train to Atlanta shortly after getting into town.”
“All of them?”
There was a slight pause on the other end. “Well, on that, we ain’t quite certain. We know that the two whites, Clark and Green, and that there Chinaman, West, did, but we ain’t certain about the nigger.”
Hawaiian, not Chinese, was Drew’s first reaction. His second was more vocal.
“Why not? He’s the main murder suspect.” He immediately regretted his outburst. “I’m sorry. I just woke up and I’m not tracking a hundred percent. Tell me what you found about Washington.”
“Weren’t nobody by that name on the train. We checked out all the single bucks traveling either alone or with a white, but not one fit the description.”
Drew took a moment before responding, letting his mind track on what he was hearing.
“So, if the two whites and the Hawaiian boarded a train to Atlanta, it’s likely the suspect did, too. You got any idea on when that train’s supposed to arrive in Atlanta?”
“It’s supposed to have arrived by yesterday morning, about this time, if it was on time, that is.”
“Well, damn.” Drew thought rapidly. “All right, I’m betting they’re all still together, so I need to get on my way. Thanks for your help, Captain. I’ll make sure word gets back to CBE. If we catch this killer, it’s going to be in large part due to your work.”
The sound of satisfaction could practically be heard across the telephone line as Captain Leake answered. “Glad the Birmingham Police could help our brothers in arms. Next time you’re in town, and if you’ve got more than a couple of hours to spend, don’t hesitate to call me. Happy to actually meet you in person, and to hear about this case over a glass of something stronger than coffee.”
Drew chuckled. “You’re on, Captain. I’ll call next time I’m in town, meanwhile…” The captain couldn’t see, but Drew had turned his left wrist so the inside was facing him, allowing him to read the watch. Still barely six o’clock, but time to get moving.
It seemed like all Drew did these days was eat a greasy breakfast, slurp down coffee — some good, some not so good — and drive until he wound up collapsing in a dingy hotel. This time, he was driving into the sunrise. Luckily, the sun had already been up an hour, so it wasn’t directly in his eyes. When that was the case, he usually wound up having a sneezing fit.
Rather than sit down and have breakfast, he had the hotel kitchen staff make him up a couple of bacon and egg sandwiches and a thermos full of coffee. Atlanta was only about 180 miles away, so with any luck, he’d be pulling in before noon.
Soon, he was crossing the southern extent of the Appalachian Mountains. They definitely weren’t the mountains he had seen on his trips to other parts of the Confederacy, nor like the northern extent in New England on the one time he traveled to the United States on business, but they still held the same valley and ridge form as they did their entire length. They didn’t have the grandeur of the European Alps, which he saw when he took a semester abroad in college. As he drove and looked out the window, he wondered what the Rocky Mountains looked like.
Must’ve been something to be a mountain man before the South seceded. Makes you wonder what the world would look like if it hadn’t.
Driving gave Drew time to think. He reflected on his own life and pondered where he was heading. Growing up in Virginia’s Shenandoah Valley, near the small town of Luray, didn’t offer a young man much, other than farming, unless he was willing to move. Even then, it was either to become a logger or a miner. Drew was a lot different than his compatriots. Along with being the only child of an elderly couple, the fruit of many years of trying, he was also more educated as a kid and more inclined to question things. He decided early on that staying on the farm wasn’t his cup of tea, so he studied hard enough to get into the University of Virginia where he pursued a liberal arts degree with an emphasis on the law. He had even considered getting an actual law degree once he graduated. For the most part, he paid his way, trying not to burden his parents any more than necessary. Being an only child, though, meant that they were willing to do anything within their powers to ensure he succeeded.
Thinking of his parents brought on a bout of melancholy, despite the beauty of the passing landscape. I wish they could’ve seen me graduate.
Drew had just finished his final exam in Confederacy History, which he rightly suspected he’d aced, and was stepping out of the classroom when he was met by his undergraduate adviser, Jeffrey W. Allen, Ph.D. The look on Professor Allen’s face immediately put young Drew on edge. Allen, in his fifties, portly, with a full head of gray hair, and of Italian heritage, was unable to talk without serious gesticulating. It took a few minutes of hand waving and a lot of “ums” before he got the story out.
It seems some hillbilly, driving well above the legal limit from too much moonshine, had elected to take his beat-up jalopy for a drive into town. He apparently didn’t see the stop sign, nor the elderly couple crossing the street.
At the young age of twenty-one, despite being considered an adult, young Drew Peters was now alone, officially an orphan. All of his grandparents were already dead, some before he was even born. He had some relatives but didn’t know them all that well. His parents didn’t really interact with them once they had elected to become members of the Religious Society of Friends and secretly strive for equality for all, while the relatives remained committed to the separate races policy of the Confederacy. Drew couldn’t even relate to his cousins, which had led to him considering himself the black sheep of the family, despite the fact that he was actually the opposite of one.
That summer was his one trip to Europe, paid for with the proceeds of his father’s insurance and the sale of the farm. No way was Drew ever going to return to that place. Despite the good memories, he felt the pain of returning, which he experienced during the funeral, was too much to bear in the foreseeable future.
It was shortly after graduation that Drew joined the CBE. Now he was wondering why. The image he had of what the CBE did before he joined didn’t quite match up to what he found out they did after he had been on the job a few years, and it was causing him some consternation.
Arriving in Atlanta, the first stop he made was at the Police Department headquarters on Decatur Street. After parking in the space reserved for police cars in front of the building, he got out and looked up at the red brick steeple rising above the surrounding area. It reminded him of a fort with a watchtower, keeping an eye out over the city, with its Romanesque architecture an overbearing presence.
A quick trot up the stairs brought him inside into the lobby. Just like almost every other police station Drew had been in, this one contained a duty desk manned by a sergeant, a waiting area with wood benches lined up against the wall, and a wood bench with a metal pipe running along the bottom of the seat, the latter to allow arrestees to be handcuffed while awaiting whatever fate the officer had in mind for them. Again, as usual, there were a large number of black males seated, handcuffed to the rail.
Drew introduced himself to the desk sergeant, showing him his CBE identification.
“What can Atlanta PD do for the CBE?” The sergeant was almost as old as dirt, and was probably hired when the building was new in 1893.
“Tracking down some murder suspects.” Drew briefly explained what had happened in Memphis and who the suspects were, passing over the artist’s drawings of the Explorers. “Birmingham PD said they took the train here a couple of days ago. Probably arrived yesterday. Any chance we could get a couple of your uniforms to canvass the train station and find ou
t where they went?”
Taking the drawings, the sergeant glanced at them. “Let me call the captain out. Shouldn’t be a problem, though.” He set the drawings on the desk, picked up the phone, and dialed a four-digit number.
“Hey Cap’n. We got a CBE agent out here working a case. Needs a little help from us. You wanna come out and handle it?” A pause. “Yessir, he’s right here.” Another pause. Drew could hear noise coming from the earpiece of the handset, but couldn’t quite make it out. I really need to start wearing earplugs at the range, he thought. A lot of law enforcement agents wound up partially deaf due to all the time spent at pistol ranges. “Yessir. I’ll tell him.”
The sergeant hung up and informed Drew that the captain would be out momentarily.
Less than a minute later, the captain showed up, a cigar stuck in his mouth and a wreath of smoke trailing his head. He was looking at the sergeant, and out of the corner of his eye, Drew saw the sergeant nod in his direction. The captain, like many in law enforcement, was an older man, apparently in his fifties. It took a long time to rise up the ranks in law enforcement, and for many, captain was the top rank. Larger departments had several captains, while smaller departments might only have one or two. Atlanta Police Department, being one of the largest departments in the Confederacy, had not only captains but also some majors operating under the assistant police chiefs and the chief.
Once again, Drew displayed his credentials and explained his mission. He handed over the composite drawings to the captain, who glanced through them, then stopped on Lane’s image. Turning it to Drew, the captain surprised him by asking, “This guy Chinese or Hawaiian?”
“Hawaiian.”
“I think he’s one of those that witnessed a shooting earlier today.”
Drew’s eyebrows rose on that. “Shooting?”
“Yeah,” the old captain said, drawing on his cigar, causing the tip to glow with the burning leaf. A cloud of smoke ejected from his mouth and nostrils as he spoke. “Shootout between some Huns and a couple of Limey agents. Seems like a couple of Huns stole a new type of flying car, shooting one of the owners. Weren’t for the Limeys, they’d like to have killed both owners and stolen both the cars. As it is, two Huns were killed and one of the Limeys was hurt. This here fellow and a couple of others witnessed it.”
Drew felt his heart race. “Was one of ‘em from the Republic of California? Guy named William Clark?”
The captain shuffled the papers around, looking at each one. “Can’t say. I wasn’t on the call. You want I should get one of the detectives that was on the scene?”
The young CBE agent nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
“Gimme a couple.”He handed the drawings back to Drew. Turning, he started walking away, but stopped, turned back to Drew, and waved him forward. “Might’s well wait in my office rather than out here. Smell’s a whole lot nicer.”
Catching another whiff of the cigar smoke, Drew had his doubt,s but followed the captain regardless.
In the office, the captain placed a few calls while Drew sat on an overstuffed leather sofa. If he was correct, it was probably used as the sleeping accommodations for the night duty captain. It was certainly comfortable enough. Fortunately, the air conditioning was working, so not only was the office refreshingly cool, but it also managed to keep the worst of the cigar stench under control.
After the last call, the captain hung up and turned towards Drew. “Finally got aholt of the detective working the case. He’ll be down in a couple. You want some coffee? Got a good chicory blend from New Orleans.”
Drew accepted, and soon was sipping on a most excellent coffee blend. Definitely not the coffee/donut shop blend he usually partook of.
He had barely drunk half of the cup when a knock sounded on the door.
“Come,” shouted the captain.
The door opened and a young man in civilian attire entered. It was the same detective who had suggested Ford hire a private investigator or bounty hunter.
The captain introduced Drew to the detective, explaining why the CBE was involved. Drew handed over the composite drawings.
The detective flipped through them, nodding at the three showing Bill, Matt, and Lane. The drawing showing Jordan drew a blank stare.
“Yeah, these three were there. Weren’t involved in the shooting, just witnesses. Didn’t see the nigger, though. Matter of fact, weren’t none there.”
“Any idea where I can find them?”
The detective reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out the standard police notepad. Opening it and flipping through several pages, he finally got to the relevant page. “Look’s like they’re stayin’ at the Peachtree Palace, on the other side of town.”
Drew nodded, then turned to the captain. “Mind if I use your phone?”
With the captain’s consent, Drew reached over and pulled the phone toward him. He pulled a notebook out of his pocket and flipped it open until he found the information he was interested in. He picked up the handset and placed it to his ear, waiting for the dial tone, then dialed a number. Drew waited as the phone buzzed. The captain and the detective watched Drew.
“Agent Brown? Special Agent Drew Peters, Montgomery Office. I’m here in Atlanta and need a little help rounding up a couple of murder suspects, sir.” A pause. “Great, I’ll be down in a few. Would you please round up a couple of agents and have them standing by?” Looking at the captain, he continued, “Might even have a couple of Atlanta’s finest with me, that is if they agree.” Another pause. “Okay, see you soon.”
Hanging up, Drew explained, “That was the SAC, Special Agent in Charge of the Atlanta CBE office. Any chance of getting a couple of your uniformeds as back-up? I’m going to have a couple of CBE agents help me with the collar, but I’d like to have a couple of uniformed officers standing by, just in case.”
“I think we can spare a couple. You head on over to the CBE office and I’ll arrange to have them sent over.”
Drew thanked the captain and detective, then left the office, feeling a lot more confident about the case than he had in days.
The young detective forgot to even mention to Drew that the case of the stolen flying car might be something the CBE might be interested in.
When Drew arrived at the CBE office, he found SAC Brown waiting for him. He recognized him from some of the training sessions he had taught at the academy on money laundering and fraud. Drew briefly explained the situation, showing Brown the composite drawings.
“I’d like to grab these guys in the hotel, so no fuss, no muss. They’re probably lightly armed, but shouldn’t be too much of a problem. They’re students, after all.”
Brown looked at the pictures, then gestured for Drew to follow him, telling the guard at the entrance to send back whatever uniformed officers from the Atlanta Police Department showed up. The two walked through a double door, into a small hallway, and then into a small conference room. Awaiting them was a large, beefy man, clearly, the type who enjoyed weight lifting for fun, and another man, younger and slimmer. Brown introduced the gorilla looking guy as Special Agent Andy Monk and the other as Assistant Special Agent in Charge Derik Williams.
“Monk’ll be our backup, along with whatever flatfoots APD can provide. I just wanted Williams here to be informed, just in case.”
“Should be a couple of uniformeds showing up here shortly,” Drew told them.
Brown nodded and suggested Drew and Monk get to know each other while he got some photos of the hotel. They struck up a conversation, the type whereby professionals feel each other out to find out who’s the more professional. In law enforcement, that’s usually by comparing cases solved and training attended. Drew learned Monk was responsible for solving some high-profile gun-running cases in Georgia and was almost single-handedly responsible for shutting down one of the many Underground Railroads that arose to get Negroes out of the Confederacy and into Latin America. By law, Negroes weren’t slaves, but they also weren’t citizens, couldn�
��t hold a passport, and were therefore ineligible to participate in the time-honored right of departure, the right to leave a place. By the time Brown returned, two uniformed police officers were waiting at the conference room entrance.
Ushering the two Atlanta police officers in before him, Brown had everyone take a seat around the conference table while he spread out several photographs of the Peachtree Palace.
“Here’s what we know. It’s five stories tall, got the typical dual-entry in the front, and a single loading dock entry and door in the back. Stairwell’s inside, and no fire escapes outside to worry about.” Everybody knew that dual-entry meant one door for whites, another for coloreds. “You want we should split up and try to get all at once or focus on one at a time?”
Drew pondered the photographs for a minute. He could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall, it was that quiet.
“Who’s good at identifying Negroes from pictures?” It was an honest question, as to many whites, all coloreds looked the same. Drew had also heard from several colored suspects that the reverse was true: a lot of whites looked the same to them.
Monk raised his hand. He was the only one. One of the police officers shrugged, explaining, “If’n I know ‘em, it’s easy. But not so from a drawing.”
Nodding, Drew understood.
“Since we’re facing four of them, and there’s only five of us, I recommend Monk go after this here nigger, Jordan Washington. SAC Brown and I’ll go after the other three.” Drew looked around to see if there was any dissent or confusion. None appeared on any of the faces, Monk’s being the blandest. Looking at the two uniformed officers, he said, “I’ll want one of you in the stairwell of whatever floor these guys are on, and the other one I want in the lobby, just in case they pass through while we’re upstairs. Clear?”
They all nodded.
“Well, then, let’s get going. I want you two,” he said to the police officers, “to study these images, just in case one or all of them show up without us.”
It wasn’t long before Drew pulled up in front of the hotel. Riding with him were Brown and Monk. The two Atlanta officers arrived in a radio-dispatched car they had been issued for the raid.
The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history Page 76