“She’ll do no such thing.” Luke’s eyes narrowed.
“My brother is fascinated with the American West—cowboys and Indians and other such things,” Elizabeth interrupted. “He was very excited to meet you.”
“Maybe that’s why she got the better of him.” The corners of Luke’s mouth twitched. “Must be hard for you to admit you were bested by a woman.”
“I was distracted.” Whitfield rubbed his head. “She may have hit me with a skillet, but I wasn’t stabbed in the chest, nor did I require an extraction from Fort Bastion. I came out of it with a knot on my head, but you came out of it with a wife. Seems she got the better of you, too.”
Luke laughed.
Elizabeth turned to the fifth man in the room, a man with sandy brown hair, and round, wire-rimmed glasses. He wore a tan suit and vest, a crisp white shirt and brown string tie, and expensive boots. In his hands, he clutched a bowler hat. Attractive, with kind eyes, he seemed overly refined among the men in the room. It wasn’t the cut of his clothes, or even the filigreed pistol in the holster at his hip, because, as far as she could tell, every one of them wore well-made clothes and carried expensive weapons.
He possessed a certain gentleness to him Jessie didn’t sense in the others.
“I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Dupree, of the Pinkerton Agency. Mr. Dupree, this is… ah…” She cast a glance at Luke. “This is Jessica White, George White’s daughter.”
“Bradshaw. Mrs. Bradshaw,” Luke said. The smile he gave Jessie looked a little embarrassed.
Dupree laid a kiss upon the hand Jessie extended to him, and she pulled away, startled.
“A pleasure to meet such a lovely woman,” he said. “I regret we had to meet under such dire circumstances, Mrs. Bradshaw.”
“Circumstances are always dire these days.” The muscle in Luke’s jaw worked, and he crossed his arms over his chest.
Dupree’s intelligent, brandy-colored eyes appraised Luke. Though Luke was several inches taller, Dupree didn’t seem to be put off by his demeanor.
“Indeed.” Dupree adjusted his spectacles. “These are dangerous times.”
“They certainly are,” Elizabeth said, her voice soothing and agreeable. She turned to Jessie. “Now, once we got word from Luke about the Pinkerton Agency’s involvement with your father at some point before his disappearance, we contacted the nearest field office. They sent Mr. Dupree with the records we requested, and he has brought us the information he has in regard to your father’s case. Mr. Dupree?”
Dupree gestured to the pictures and papers scattered across the table, and motioned for Jessie to follow him. He handed her the map she’d taken from her father’s study,
She studied it while Dupree dug into his leather satchel. She traced the area her father had circled with her finger like she would trace the lines of his face if she could. Beneath her searching fingertips, she felt the slightest spark, the smallest sensation of him, and the voices in the back of her head began to whisper.
Her father had known about Hiram’s betrayal, yet said nothing to her. He’d hired the Pinkerton Agency to investigate instead, and borne the burden alone.
Oh, Pop, why didn’t you trust me?
Jessie tore her eyes away from the map and the memories of her father.
Dupree cleared his throat. “As I’m sure you are aware, Mr. White had been working on another invention for quite some time before his unfortunate accident. Approximately, uh…” He leafed through some papers.
“Two years,” Jessie filled in for him.
“Right. Two years, then,” Dupree said. “As far as inventions go, he’d had a few missteps, and things hadn’t come off quite as your father planned.”
“I know.”
There had been so many failures, so many plans drawn up that hadn’t worked. So many of his ideas never even made it past the pre-planning stages.
Dupree gave Jessie’s hand a gentle pat and began again. “In any case, several months ago, we at the Pinkerton Agency were contacted to investigate what your father called… ah, here we go, ‘industrial espionage and treason.’ The case got kicked around for a few weeks—I’m sure you’re not surprised to learn we receive a number of reports of industrial espionage from these loony scientist types. The world is full of them these days, and they’re forever contacting the agency with some crackpot plot or another.” He studied Jessie and colored beneath his wire-rimmed glasses. “Then someone in the company realized who George White was. He hadn’t been forthcoming with such information. In any case, we immediately sent an agent out to interview him and investigate his claims.”
“You,” Jessie said.
Dupree laughed. “Oh, heavens no. I’m based out of Chicago. No, we sent an agent from our San Francisco office.” He leafed through the papers and came out with what looked to be bank statements. “During our interview, your father said he had an invention, but he was terrified his creation would fall into the wrong hands if it were ever built. He wanted our assurance that the device would go nowhere except the Union. He wanted any machine he built to be used to win the war, not prolong it.”
“Hard thing to promise.” Luke’s tone was cold.
“Sure is.” Dupree turned to Jessie. “Your father wasn’t certain whom to trust, and shortly after our agent’s conversation with him, he found the bank accounts, and hundreds of thousands of dollars in payments to various scientists over that last year or so.” Sympathy lined his refined features. “You must understand, many of those scientists are unsavory types. Men willing to work both sides for the sake of the almighty dollar. Or, in the case here, British pounds sterling.”
“They were paid in pounds?” Jessie asked.
“Most stable currency in the world,” Whitfield told her. “Makes the most sense, if you’re paying out huge sums of money, to use a widely accepted, stable form of currency.”
“Right,” Dupree confirmed. “We also found the government payments to these alternate accounts, and payments from the Confederacy, as well. We found what appeared to be payments from other governments, too, dating back as many as five years. Possibly further.”
From before Bear Creek.
The plans for her father’s shelling mechanism hadn’t been stolen. They’d been sold.
Hiram was responsible for the shelling of Washington, of New York. For the Battle of Bear Creek and her brother’s death. Gideon was no casualty of war.
Her brother was the victim of Hiram’s greed.
Jessie’s knees went weak, her vision hazing over until she felt a hand on her shoulder, and a glass of water appeared in front of her. She accepted the glass from Dupree and leaned back against the hand, seeking the comfort only one person could provide.
“You don’t have to do this, Jessie,” Luke said. “I can take things from here.”
Jessie shook her head and resisted the urge to fold herself in his arms. “No, I need to hear this.”
Dupree cleared his throat. “Certainly, if you’d like to wait for a better time…”
“Absolutely not.” Her voice sounded too harsh, even to her own ears. “I’d like to continue this now, if you don’t mind.”
“Absolutely.” Dupree concurred. “In any case, large sums of money from both the Confederacy and the Union had appeared in those accounts within the last eighteen months or so. Granted, we at the Pinkerton Agency don’t have access to those kinds of records, but your father suspected the payments were for the invention he was working on right before his death.”
“How could they possibly know what the invention was?” Jessie asked. “The device was in the planning stages, and hasn’t been built yet. Why would they buy something that doesn’t exist?”
Even as she said the words, the realization hit her. Before Bear Creek, the Confederacy had been days from defeat. That battle had broken the Union surge, and the Union had taken months to recover, allowing the Confederacy a chance to regroup.
Three years later, both sides stood at a precipice
, caught in a bitter stalemate. Another battle of such magnitude would break one side or the other.
Perhaps the only honest thing Hiram had said to her was when he told her he’d sold her father’s invention on spec. Both sides needed this invention. Both sides would do anything to possess it, which made Jessie and her father pawns caught in the middle of a brutal game between nations.
If the map of scars on Luke’s back were any indication, he’d risked his life for his cause more than once.
“I can’t answer that,” Dupree said. “You’ll need to ask them.” He gestured with his chin to Jameson.
Jameson stared back at him blandly.
Dupree broke eye contact first. “In any case, I’m sure this would have come to light sooner, but, unfortunately, our agent disappeared a few months back. At first, we thought perhaps he’d just gone off plan—it’s not unusual for our agents to disappear for a few weeks before checking in.”
“Don’t have much control over your people, if they can just disappear willy-nilly,” Luke said.
Dupree turned his eyes to Luke. “We give our agents the autonomy to investigate cases as they see fit.”
“You also seem to be equally unaware when they might be in trouble, too.” Luke’s tone was lazy, almost bored, but Jessie didn’t miss the malice in his words.
She took Luke’s hand, there in front of everyone, threading her fingers through his, then she turned to Dupree. “Mr. Dupree. When Hiram—when Mr. Andersen was killed, the man who did it said the Confederacy had ‘taken care of his problem with the Pinkerton Agency.’ I think…”
Dupree held up his hand. “Say no more, ma’am. We, too, have come to the conclusion our agent met a foul end. A pity. He was a good and decent man, and an excellent agent. He will be sorely missed.” He paused for a moment, his eyes drifting from one person to the next. “I have nothing further. If you have any questions for me, you know where to find me.” He shook Jameson’s hand, bowed to Elizabeth, and gave Luke a strained nod.
“Certainly,” Elizabeth said. “I’ll see you out.”
Dupree turned to Jessie. “Mrs. Bradshaw, it truly was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I hope you find what you’re looking for. If you ever have need of us, or simply need to talk, please contact me.” He handed her a business card, on expensive ivory card stock, with the address of the Pinkerton Agency’s Chicago office.
“I will,” Jessie said.
Luke grumbled something under his breath.
Jessie picked up one of the photographs on the table and studied it for several moments. She couldn’t make much of the blurred photograph, except for what looked like high desert mountains. She tapped a photograph with her index finger. “Where is this?”
“Northwest of Logan,” Parker answered.
“Shoshone territory.”
“That’s right.”
In the center of the table sat a large sheet of paper. Calipers, a vernier scale, a slide rule, a math compass, and an artist’s kit lay nearby. The mountains matched the ones in the photographs, only the drawing contained far more detail, the hazy midsection clear and precise. In the picture, wikiups dotted a river, and a square building sat on the mountainside overlooking the valley.
Her eyes met Luke’s. “This is where you think my father is. In this building.”
“Not in that building, no.”
He and Jameson exchanged a look.
“It’s too exposed. But if he’s alive, he’s nearby. My bet is he’s in this mountain here.” Jameson tapped the drawing with his forefinger. “See this? We think it’s a cave or a mineshaft. He’s in this mountain, deep underground where no one will find him.”
Something in Luke’s voice had bothered Jessie, and she turned to him. “What is it?”
“Nothing.” The moment the words left his mouth, Jessie knew them for a lie.
Whitfield’s gaze shifted between Luke and Jameson. “We suspect this place is heavily armed and guarded. Even if we could get through hostile territory, we’d still have to fight our way past the Confederate soldiers.”
“The natives might not bother us,” Jessie said. “You forget, they’re a neutral nation, and there’s a lot of territory. Who’s to say they’ll even notice us?”
“They’re awfully close to this building,” Parker said. “You can’t honestly believe they wouldn’t notice four armed white men approaching on horseback.”
“They don’t hassle people who are minding their own business,” Jessie retorted.
Elizabeth’s lips pressed into a thin line, and she shook her head at Parker. “Jessie, we think they’re being paid to guard the site.” She pointed to one of the grainy photographs. “See how they’re clustered here along the river? I believe they’re also there, along the ridgeline.” With the tip of her pencil, Elizabeth traced an invisible line in the photo.
Jessie couldn’t discriminate any of the details in the blur of gray.
“Like Mr. Dupree said, large withdrawals have been made from the alternate business account. The last one was made a little more than a month ago. I suspect that’s when the Confederacy located your father and took control,” Jameson said. “This is no accident. I have no doubt these folks are being paid to guard the site.”
He looked up at the ceiling. “We’re looking at not only trespassing on Shoshone territory and violating the treaty both the Union and Deseret established with them, but also trying to get past hundreds of guards, if you count all the Shoshone in the area. We can’t guarantee that more than one tribe hasn’t been paid off. Not to mention the additional stress such a violation would put on relations between the Union and Deseret, if we start something with the Shoshone. There’s already talk of an independent Deseret. We don’t want that.”
“And after that, there’s the Rebs to contend with,” Parker said. “This is an impossible task.” He caught Luke’s eye and something passed between the two men. “We can’t do this.”
“I’m going in,” Luke said.
“We can’t even be sure he’s still alive,” Parker countered.
“Then the Rebs are putting a lot of effort into concealing a dead man.” Luke said. “We want him, and we want his invention. More importantly, we don’t want the Rebs to have either one. We’ve got to get him out.”
Jameson folded his arms. “We do, but I’m not risking my entire team for one man.”
“Jameson,” Luke said.
“No.”
“Wait,” Jessie interrupted. Her eyes shifted from Jameson to Luke and back again. “You’re not thinking of leaving him there, are you? He’s been there for months. You can’t just leave him!”
Jameson’s scowl was so severe Jessie had to force herself not to flinch.
“It’s not something I want to do,” he said. “But should I risk my entire team for the sake of one man?”
“What about the invention?” Hysteria began to bubble up from deep inside her chest. “We’re talking about something so important the Confederacy is willing to do anything to keep him—house him, pay people to guard him, hide him in hostile territory rather than risk moving him. They tried to kidnap me. They broke into my house and shelled Virginia City. Every man on that airship must have realized such a mission would be suicide, because somewhere between Virginia City and Arizona one of our guns was bound to catch up to them, but they went anyway. So now tell me how unimportant this invention is. Tell me this one man is unimportant.”
“We don’t know their reasons,” Elizabeth began.
“We don’t?” Jessie’s voice rose and broke. “Hiram kidnapped my father and brought him into Shoshone territory, but the Confederacy has basically invaded Deseret, which wouldn’t go over very well if Deseret found out. Think of all they’ve risked and lost for the sake of this one man.”
Whitfield turned his brother-in-law. “She has a point.”
Jameson gave Whitfield a clipped nod, and when he turned to Jessie, his dark eyes were cautious.
“They haven’t had h
im all that long,” she said on a rush of hope. She pressed her finger into the table as she drove her point home. “It’s been over ten years of solid war. Aren’t you tired of fighting? Think about what it would be like to live in peace. Isn’t that what we’re after? Isn’t that why you do what you do?”
Elizabeth’s face was grim, the saucy smile gone. Her lips were tight, her expression serious. “Jessica, what do you propose to do?”
“You aren’t really considering this, are you, Lizzie?” Parker asked.
“Don’t call me Lizzie, Solo. I want to hear what she has to say.”
Jessie took a deep breath. “Send me.”
“No.” Luke pushed his chair back and stood up.
She flinched from the despair in that single word. Turning to him, she gestured to the maps. “That’s Shoshone territory. Any of you speak Shoshone?” She paused. “I do. Any of you related to Ewepu So’wina’?” She squared her shoulders and met each person’s eyes in turn, despite the way dread coursed through her veins. “I am.”
“Jessie,” Luke began.
“I violate no treaty if I tread on Shoshone lands,” she told him. “If my grandfather’s name carries weight among your people, think of what it will do with them. They followed him once. They have their land because of him.”
“No.”
She heard the plea in that single word, and ignored that too. “He’s my father, Luke.”
Luke took her by the shoulders and shook his head. “I’ll get him out for you. Don’t ask this of me.”
Jessie put her hands on her hips and forced herself to disregard his plea. It hurt to deny him, but she couldn’t give him this. He could have anything else he asked for—her body, her soul, her heart—but he couldn’t take this from her. “I’m not asking.”
“I agree with Luke,” Parker said. “We shouldn’t even be considering taking her along.”
“Why not? If I were a man, you’d let me go.” She stepped out of Luke’s grasp.
“If you were a man, this wouldn’t be an issue, because he wouldn’t be as involved.” Parker gestured to Luke. “You being there will be a danger to all of us.”
Jessie's War (Civil War Steam) Page 23