The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history

by James S. Peet

  Bill smiled at the old Jordanism and was still smiling as Jordan and Summer drove away. He wondered if John Wayne existed on this planet.

  The sun was finally starting to make its way through the man-made canyon of buildings and streets near the train station when Bill and Lane walked up the steps. The city was also starting to come alive, with people and cars actually out on the street. Of course, the majority of those moving about were the ones who had to be ready for when the rest of the population decided to rise and go to work; milkmen, newspaper delivery boys, short-order cooks and waitresses to staff the diners that seemed ubiquitous around all train stations in the world.

  By now, they had gotten used to this timeline’s version of a train station. With the exception of no air-conditioning, smoke from countless cigars and cigarettes usually wafting through the air, and a lack of anything that resembled a computer screen in sight, it could have been mistaken for a station on Earth. Maybe even Hayek.

  Lane waited on the steps outside while Bill went inside and bought two tickets for the next train to Charleston. It was leaving in less than an hour. Hopefully, Jordan and Summer would be back by then. Stepping outside, he handed them off to Lane to give to Jordan. Bill then returned inside, went to a different ticket window, and bought two more tickets. If nothing else, anyone trying to track them might be thrown off by the purchases while looking for somebody buying three tickets for the three suspects, or looking for an Asian purchasing tickets. Bill didn’t know if the desk clerk had put two and two together when Summer followed them out of the hotel.

  Rather than join Lane, Bill bought a local newspaper from the newsstand and took a seat on a wooden bench, making sure that his seat had an unobstructed view of the entrance. After a glance at the headlines, he held the paper up in front of him as if reading it, while watching the entrance and the lobby for any threats. Occasionally he would turn the page, just so it looked natural.

  With ten minutes left until the train was supposed to depart, he saw Lane enter, face buried in a newspaper, his fedora style hat pulled low. Bill smiled at the tradecraft. A bit hard to identify somebody if you don’t really see their face.

  He almost missed it when Jordan and Summer entered. Expecting to see the two either walking together or separately, he was intrigued when he saw them enter the station amongst a group of five or six other blacks. As he watched, the group made its way to the ticket booth, where several of them purchased tickets. Jordan and Summer made a good show of appearing to do the same, so Bill deduced that Lane had already passed theirs on to them.

  Five minutes later, Bill went to the platform. Lane stood alone, leaning against a steel support column, the rivets already rusting in the steel beam with streaks of iron running down from them. His face was still buried in his newspaper. Casually walking up next to him, Bill leaned against the support and slipped one of the tickets into his jacket pocket. A few seconds later, Bill walked away, checking his watch.

  The train was already in the station, and it was just a matter of boarding it. As Bill did so, he saw Lane boarding the same car at the other end. The two would meet up in the train, but even the appearance of boarding separately would help with their deception.

  Bill made his way toward the rear of the car, where he found Lane seated against the window, facing backward, newspaper still up to his face. He would likely remain that way until after the conductor had checked his ticket. Bill sat opposite him, barely acknowledging his companion.

  A few minutes later, the train lurched, then began moving, picking up speed as it left the platform, then the station. Bill saw few people standing on the platforms, which wasn’t unusual, due to the early departure.

  It wasn’t long before the conductor came into the car, not quite yelling “Ticket’s please.” Lane had decided to look like he was napping, head leaning against the window, hat pulled down over his face. When the conductor approached them, he simply held out his ticket, not even bothering to look up. Apparently, this was a common enough behavior on the early train that the conductor didn’t even blink an eye, just took Lane’s ticket and punched it with a handheld hole punch.

  Handing the ticket back to Lane, who still had his hand out for it, the conductor turned to Bill, who handed the man his ticket and received the same treatment. After punching Bill’s ticket, the conductor moved on, not sparing either a second look.

  For the next five hours, the two kept their silence, hats pulled low, staring out the window. Anyone walking by them would have been hard-pressed to describe them, other than two men who kept to themselves.

  Eventually, the train pulled into Charleston, and the two Explorers disembarked. Making their way with the rest of the passengers down the platform, the two emerged into the main terminal, where they waited for Jordan and Summer. Bill decided to purchase a street map at a kiosk while they waited. By the time he had paid for the map and returned, Jordan and Summer were heading to the station exit, after ensuring that Lane had spotted them.

  Soon, all four were on the street but still separated. Bill came alongside Jordan and said, “Catch a cab to the Francis Marion Hotel. We’ll catch up there.” Jordan just nodded, and he and Summer made their way over to the Colored cab area. Bill and Lane split up, each taking a different taxi to the hotel.

  At the hotel, Bill found Matt already waiting for them. He was in the lobby when they walked in, having lunch and a cup of coffee with Rhodes and Ford. Bill rightly suspected that Rhodes was drinking tea. Without saying a word, Matt nodded to Bill, who promptly joined the three men in the hotel’s waiting area, taking one of the two empty chairs. Matt looked at Bill’s newly acquired gun bag with curiosity but didn’t say anything. Bill was slightly surprised that they were eating lunch in the lobby, but this was the Confederacy, after all, and stranger things existed. And the smell of Matt’s bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich was intense enough that Bill could smell the bacon from several feet away, causing his mouth to water.

  “Well?”

  “We found ‘em, but we’re too late. They already sailed.”

  Bill’s eyebrows rose on that news.

  The waiter appeared, asking if the gentleman would like a menu and a drink.

  Bill told the older black man yes on the menu and asked for a glass of sweet tea.

  Matt took a sip of his coffee. “Turns out they had a small tramp freighter waiting for them, the Kleine Sassnitz, and they set sail immediately upon arriving. It’s now likely more’n a couple of hundred miles offshore, which is a bit further than we feel comfortable flying without more knowledge on the capabilities of the repulsive electromagnetic technology.”

  “That’s adjustable repulsive electromagnetic technology,” Ford chimed in.

  With a deferential nod toward Ford, Matt continued, “Right. What he said. Regardless, Einstein’s the man who knows its capabilities the best, and I, for one, would hate to be in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean if it failed.”

  Matt then held up his hand to ward off any arguments from Bill. “I know what you’re thinking. We flew all the way down here, so why not go further? Because Ford can’t guarantee the range on that thing.

  Ford nodded. “That’s true. Mr. Einstein was a little vague on what the range is, and how long recharge time is.”

  “Recharge? I didn’t think it required recharging. How do you recharge it?”

  “Just some basic 120-volt electricity. It’s mainly to prevent degaussing. We’ve got it parked in a warehouse at the dock recharging right now,” Ford explained.

  “Remind me again, what’s degaussing?”

  “It’s just that all magnets lose their ability to hold a magnetic field. Technically speaking, it’s the process of decreasing or eliminating the remnant magnetic field, but we just say it loses its magnetic abilities. We infuse the material with electricity and it seems to recharge it, reversing the degaussing process.”

  “How far is it from here to Atlanta?” Bill asked.

  “Straight line? About two h
undred and fifty miles or so,” Ford answered.

  “So, we know it can go at least two hundred and fifty miles. If we can get out to sea, that’ll give us a bit of room to search, then.”

  At this point, Lane joined the group. The waiter had also returned with the menu and Bill’s tea. Lane ordered a tea, and Bill told him, “We’ll share the menu.” The waiter left to get Lane’s drink.

  Rhodes then took over the conversation. “So, do we have a plan? Short answer is yes. Long answer, the British Government is renting a rather substantial yacht, one that we can land the car on. We’ll put the car on it with a crane, so fewer people can see its capabilities, and head out to sea to find the Heinies. We’ll all have some sort of life preserver we can wear, along with some parachutes His Highness’s government will provide, and the role of the Dixie Flyer will be to act as a short-range, high altitude scout.” Glancing at his watch, Rhodes continued, “If all goes according to schedule, we should be out to sea by two o’clock this afternoon.”

  “Looks like we won’t be checking in here, then. And that’s probably a good idea. Somehow, I think we’ve become personas non grata around here. We had a bit of a dust-up with law enforcement.”

  Matt looked at Bill, recognizing there was more to the story, but Bill continued, “How long did it take you guys to get here?”

  Matt thought for a second. “About three hours. That thing’s pretty zippy.”

  Bill considered this. “So, if it took you three hours, and the Germans left Atlanta yesterday around noon, then they probably got here about three o’clock. Give them an hour to stow the car and shove off, that means they’ve been at sea about twenty hours. How fast is a tramp steamer?”

  “I thought you’d ask,” Matt said with a grin. “So, when we were on the docks, I asked around. We can figure on probably about eleven knots, or a bit over twelve and a half miles an hour. Which means our Teutonic friends are likely about two hundred and twenty knots, or about two hundred and fifty miles, offshore. At least two hundred miles. Of course, the big question is, what’s their destination?” Matt turned his attention to Rhodes, who caught his drift.

  “Right. Well, it all depends, but most likely they’re heading for the Fatherland itself. The Africa colonies are really just for natural resource extraction and agriculture, and most of the rest of the occupied lands are similar, if not a bit more civilized. Not much scientific research going on there, although the Heinies and us do test out weapons and tactics in our little flare-ups. Pretty much all serious research and development is in Germany, either at the universities or the Kaiser’s research centers.”

  The waiter returned and the group stopped talking long enough for Bill and Lane to place their orders.

  After the waiter left, Bill reminded the group that they had another member who needed notifying of the change of plans. As he said that, he looked more sharply at Ford and Rhodes. “Our fourth member and his companion are black. That won’t pose a problem, will it?”

  “Black, you mean Negroes?” Ford asked.

  Bill nodded. “Yeah, but we just say black.”

  Rhodes nodded. “Not a problem with me. We’re used to people traveling with their servants.”

  The look Bill gave Rhodes clearly made the older man uncomfortable.

  Bill’s voice sounded like it was coming from a glacier, it was that cold. “Jordan’s not my servant. He’s my friend, my coworker, my equal, and a man I owe a great deal of gratitude toward. He not only saved my life but the lives of my wife and our infant son. Don’t ever think of him as a servant. In my eyes, he’s more my equal than either of you or anyone else from this place. He’s even my better in some ways.”

  This caused the two men from this timeline to raise their eyebrows.

  71

  Drew came to, groggily. Somebody was screaming in the background. He wondered why he was having difficulty swallowing when he realized that something was stuffed in his mouth. A few seconds later, despite the pounding coming from his head, he made the determination that he not only had something stuffed in his mouth that he couldn’t easily remove, but he was also handcuffed, his hands behind him. That was unusual in itself because everyone Drew knew handcuffed suspects with their hands in front of them.

  A little more awareness over the pain and he realized his revolver was missing. At least, it wasn’t in his holster. He couldn’t remember if he had drawn it when they rode the elevator up, the last memory he had. Angling his head around, he could see Agent Brown’s body, cuffed like his. Despite the pain at the base of his skull, he tried to focus on the older man. Drew didn’t see any signs of breathing.

  Over the pain that swelled and receded with each heartbeat, Drew could hear sirens getting closer, even over the screaming that seemed to come through the open door to the hallway. He thought about trying to sit upright but decided against it when a bout of nausea struck.

  Great. All I need to do is vomit. I’ll drown in my own puke, finishing off the job that those assholes started. Probably a concussion.

  Laying his head back down on the musty carpet, Drew waited for somebody to find him. He knew there was no way he was getting out of this by himself. It didn’t take longuntil he heard a voice at the door.

  “You okay?”

  Drew grunted and didn’t move.

  A portly man in his forties came into the room, looking about. He came over to Drew, squatted down, and untied the towel that was wrapped around his head. As soon as it was removed, Drew was able to spit out the washcloth that had been partially shoved in his mouth.

  It took a couple of tries before he could say anything. Finally, he was able to get the words out of his mouth with a croak.

  “CBE. Check on my partner and then see if you can find some handcuff keys. I usually carry a pair in my right jacket pocket.”

  The man quickly untied the towel around Brown’s face and removed the sock shoved in his mouth. Placing his hand under Brown’s nose, the man waited a few seconds before turning back to Drew. “Sorry, but I don’t think your buddy’s alive.”

  Drew wished he could feel more sympathy, but the pain in his head, compounded with the awkward position he was in, didn’t elicit any. “Yeah. Well, see if you can find a cuff key and get these off me.”

  Try as he might, the man’s search for a cuff key was in vain. While he was looking, he said, “I was in my room when I heard somebody yellin’, then two shots, damned near one, they were fired so close together. There’s a dead cop in the hallway. He part of this?”

  Drew just nodded. The news kept getting more and more bad.

  “Can’t find no keys,” the man apologized. “You want I should help you get up, maybe on the bed?”

  Drew croaked a simple “No,” not even wanting to shake his head.

  The sirens that had been getting louder abruptly ended. Drew assumed they had arrived at the hotel, probably drawn by the sound of gunshots in the hall.

  “Go downstairs and bring the cops up here,” he ordered the good Samaritan, in what he hoped was a polite manner. Of course, manners were practically the last thing on Drew’s mind. The man got up and hurriedly left the room.

  Drew continued to lie on the floor, staring at Brown as he wondered how it was possible a couple of college students could take out two seasoned CBE agents. He was still pondering this, between painful thuds of his heartbeat in his head, when a uniformed police officer entered the room, gun drawn. Looking around and not spotting any threats, he holstered his revolver and pulled a handcuff key from a leather key ring holder on his Sam Browne belt. “You the CBE agent?”

  Drew, his voice a little better, answered in the affirmative.

  The officer swiftly undid Drew’s handcuffs and helped the agent sit upright. Along with feeling nauseous, this time Drew became dizzy to the point of disorientation. The feeling passed long enough for him to lean up against the bed and begin rubbing his wrists where the handcuffs had chafed them.

  The officer looked around the room aga
in. “What the hell happened here? We got a dead man downstairs, one in the hall, and this fellow,” he said with a gesture toward Brown.

  “Wait,” Drew said, concentrating. “Who’s dead?”

  “Appears a little bitty nigger done killed that gorilla-looking CBE agent of y’alls with his bare hands, and knocked Officer Frost out cold down in the lobby. Whoever you were after up here apparently killed Officer Robinson and this here fellow.”

  “We’ve got a BOLO out for all three men. Should have ‘em soon.”

  “There’s four,” Drew said.

  The officer wasn’t quite sure he heard Drew properly. “There’s what?”

  “There’s four. There’s another one. Wasn’t he here? Didn’t anyone see him?”

  “Nope, only the three.”

  Drew held out his hand. “Here, help me up.” As the officer did so, it became clear that Drew wasn’t quite ready, and he promptly vomited all over the crime scene.

  “We got an ambulance comin’. You better sit back down until they get here.”

  Drew thought that was a good idea and lay back on the bed, draping one leg over the edge of it to stop the room from spinning. Worse than being drunk. At least when you’re drunk, the pain doesn’t start until the next day.

  The officer apparently decided it was best to start an investigation.

  “Can you tell me what happened?”

  Drew thought about it for a few seconds. “No, I don’t recall shit since starting up the elevator. We came to arrest four suspects for the murder of a police officer in Memphis. Two whites, one Hawaiian, and a Negro from California. I’ve got composite drawings of them here, somewhere.” As he patted his pockets, he added, “At least, I did.”

  The officer soon discovered that Drew knew very little of what had happened, but was able to determine that another Atlanta Police detective was working on a related case, information he was more than happy to pass on to Homicide.