Lincoln's Ransom

by Tim Champlin

  The conductor, a fleshy, middle-aged man with bushy side-whiskers that protruded from under the sides of his pillbox cap, looked very dubious. Three strangers showing up in the middle of the night at a remote water tank and freight dépôt with such a story and such a cargo. Evidently, except for the non-existing papers he demanded, he could detect no cracks in the story. But still he stuck to railroad procedure.

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t let you load that thing up until you can show the freight has been paid on it.”

  “Our lost bill of lading was for another rail line,” Kinealy shrugged, “so it would not help now. But this is an emergency. I realize how irregular this is, but if we can’t get to the West Coast by Friday, we will miss the opening of the exhibition. It was I who persuaded the board of directors at Harvard to allow this mummy out of the university’s hands in Boston for this exhibition. I personally guaranteed its safe delivery. If I can’t keep my word, or if these underworld body-snatchers catch up with us here in the middle of the night, it will undoubtedly cost me my job.” His anguish certainly sounded convincing to Packard — until he realized that they were the body-snatchers. “If anything happens to this box, it won’t be just my career.” Kinealy almost sniffled. “The Egyptian government will lodge a protest with Washington and....”

  “O K, I haven’t got time to listen to all that,” the conductor interrupted, glancing around to see if the crewmen were almost finished watering up. The messenger was throwing two small boxes up into the open door of the baggage car. “Maybe I could take the payment for the rest of the run, and you can straighten it out with the freight agent at the Hannibal dépôt.”

  “That would solve everything! What is your name, sir?” Professor Lyle Desmond gushed gratitude.

  “Perkins,” said the conductor. “Of course, I couldn’t do this if you weren’t accompanying the body. And I’ll have to have the fare for the three of you as well. It’s another sixty-six miles to Hannibal at five cents per mile for each of you. Let’s see...that’s....”

  “Nine dollars and ninety cents,” Kinealy prompted, when he saw the conductor was having trouble calculating this in his head. “Absolutely. That’s no problem.” Kinealy dug into his pants pocket for his billfold and began leafing through a thick wad of bills. “There you are Mister Perkins,” he said, counting out three tens into the conductor’s hand. “I believe that will more than cover the freight bill and the fare for the three of us. And here’s a little something extra for your kindness.” A double sawbuck went on top of the small stack.

  “Well, I don’t know. I’m not supposed to...I mean, I don’t want this to seem like a bribe. I’m just trying to do what’s right.”

  “If porters can take tips for good service rendered, then why can’t conductors?” Kinealy concluded briskly, reaching out and closing the man’s hand over the greenbacks. Packard fervently hoped those crisp bills had not been printed from some of Ben Boyd’s plates, but he felt confident that, when Kinealy was playing for high stakes, he wouldn’t do it with bogus money. That was the main reason Kinealy had not been arrested and brought to trial — he was careful never to let any of the fake money pass directly through his hands.

  “Roscoe,” the conductor addressed the baggage car messenger who had come up just then, “help these men load that box. There’s no address label on it, but they’re riding with it to the end of the run at Hannibal. I’ve taken care of the freight. We’ll talk later.”

  “If you like, I could ride in the baggage car with it,” Kinealy offered, all helpful smiles. “I’d actually feel safer about it, if it were in my sight all the way.”

  “I’m sorry but that’s against Wells Fargo regulations,” Roscoe said.

  Enough, you big ham, Packard thought. Don’t overdo it!

  The three of them and the messenger grasped the tan canvas bundle by the tight rope lashings and lugged it to the train.

  “Ugh! Those old dead guys are heavy,” Roscoe grunted as they lifted the load into the open side door.

  “It’s the coffin,” Kinealy said lightly. “Plus the gold masks and breastplates they’re buried with.”

  Packard shot a hard look in his direction, wondering what had prompted him to make such an idiotic statement.

  “Really?” The messenger’s interest was immediately piqued.

  “That’s the main reason a gang of thieves is out to steal it,” Kinealy continued, warming to his story. It sounded as if he were actually beginning to believe his own lies. The tale was expanding with the telling.

  A sudden blast on the steam whistle cut off any further conversation. Roscoe looked as if he wanted to question Kinealy some more about the contents of the coffin, but he reluctantly jumped into the car and shoved the coffin to one side. As he slid the door shut, he called: “I’ll take good care of this for you.”

  “Just give it the same protection as you would that safe in there,” Kinealy replied with the tone of a worried parent as the three of them hastened toward the first passenger coach.

  The conductor swung his lantern from the caboose, and they clattered up the iron steps of the car just as the train jerked into motion. At first, Packard thought of chiding Kinealy about calling undue attention to the coffin by his ridiculous story of it containing gold, but then he decided to let it go. Maybe Kinealy would just talk himself into getting caught, and Packard wouldn’t have to do anything.

  These thoughts were driven out of his head quickly by the welcome warmth of the coach. He took a deep breath and relaxed as they made their way down the aisle. By the subdued lighting of the three overhead oil lamps, he scanned the seats on both sides for some sign of Janice Kinealy and Rip Hughes. The car was three-quarters full of men and women and several children, most of them slouched in positions of strained repose, hats over eyes, shawls and overcoats thrown around the shoulders, feet up on carpetbags or the opposite seats.

  Packard glanced over his shoulder at Kinealy and shook his head, then proceeded out the end door onto the swaying platform where the sharp wind took his breath. They stepped across the metal platform to the next car, the wheels and couplings grinding and clanking just below them.

  The second coach was also stuffy-warm from the stove just inside the door. This car was less than half full, and most of these passengers were also dozing. Two men, who might have been drummers, were playing cards in the dim light as they faced each other across the flat side of an upturned leather case. All this registered automatically while Packard’s eyes swept along both rows of seats, seeking their contacts. And, suddenly, there was Janice Kinealy, sitting near the back of the car next to Hughes. It was quiet in the coach, but Packard imagined her presence flashing across at him like heat lightning. He grabbed the seatbacks on either side of the aisle and took a deep breath to calm his heart rate. This was ridiculous — a man nearing forty reacting like a schoolboy at the sight of his first love. And her a married woman at that!

  She and Hughes were very much awake, but they didn’t acknowledge the barely perceptible nod Kinealy gave them. Kinealy and McGuinn slid onto the plush maroon cushions several rows ahead of them, while Packard flipped the seatback forward so as to sit opposite, facing the rear. If he was going to exorcise the devil of this woman from his emotions, he had to keep her in his sight and ignore the cynical laughter of his conscience.

  After settling into his seat, he noticed Janice was dressed in a white shirtwaist and a short, gray jacket with a full matching skirt. She was hatless, and her brown wavy hair was swept back from her face, falling to her collar. Hughes was wearing a black suit, a white shirt with paper collar and string tie, his dark hair perfectly parted and pomaded. A typical, nondescript couple who would draw no attention from other travelers, as long as they stayed to themselves and kept quiet. Since the original plan had been just to leave the crate for pickup by the Wells Fargo messenger, Janice and Hughes were probably wondering why the others had boarded the train. She caught Packard’s eye over her husband’s shoulder. It wa
s a curious but happy-to-see-you look. At least that was the way he interpreted it. He gave her a reassuring smile to let her know nothing was amiss. He would get an explanation to her soon enough.

  The Toledo, Wabash & Western may not have been a long haul line like the Union Pacific, but it did make some pretensions of elegance. None of the newer Pullman sleepers were in evidence, nor did they haul a dining car, but the day coaches were well-appointed with plush seats and burnished woods, a closeted commode and washbasin at one end of each car, along with the standard potbellied stove. The conductor even kept a pot of coffee steaming on each stove for those who wanted it, along with a rack of porcelain cups and a jar of sugar.

  By local railroad time, Packard guessed it to be about one thirty in the morning. He discovered the basic physical need for sleep took precedence over everything else shortly after he squirmed into a comfortable position on the double seat and the warmth began seeping into his bones. Abrupt relief from many hours of tension and physical strain and fear and frigid air was draining the strength from his limbs and the starch from his eyelids. He fell into an exhausted sleep.

  Sometime later he was awakened by his head bumping against the glass of the window beside him when the train hit an especially uneven stretch of track. He sat up and stretched his aching muscles, twisting slowly against the pain of a neck stiffened from sleeping with his head cocked to one side. McGuinn was snoring, his head braced on one arm, while Kinealy slept with his mouth open, head thrown back against the seat.

  He quietly eased into the aisle to stand up for a minute to get some circulation back into his left foot that was asleep. Nothing but blackness lay beyond the windows as the train lurched through the night. He braced himself against the swaying motion, half listening to the rhythmic clicking of the wheels rolling over the rail joints.

  In this pre-dawn hour it appeared everyone in the car had succumbed to sleep. There was nothing he wouldn’t have given at this moment for a nice feather bed and the leisure to stretch out on it. Why was it that problems always seemed worse and troubles insurmountable in the late hours of a sleepless night? Probably because that was the time when humans were at their weakest and most vulnerable, both physically and mentally. No wonder so many sick people finally let go and died early in the morning.

  His mouth tasted like the floor of a chicken coop. He had gotten just enough sleep to make him feel worse than before, so he tried not to think about this bizarre mission, realizing that nothing but depressing thoughts of trouble would loom up in his fatigued imagination. His reverie was broken by a movement in the rear of the car. Janice Kinealy sat up and saw him, then silently gathered herself and stepped across her sleeping companion. She put a finger to her lips and pointed toward the far end of the car. He preceded her down the aisle to the stove where she signed that she wanted a cup of coffee. He retrieved two cups and poured each of them one, sweetening the bitter brew with several spoonsful of sugar. She looked her thanks at him over the lip of the cup as she sipped. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, and her hair was crushed down on one side where she had been resting on it. But when she gave him a tired smile, he felt a surge of adrenaline that banished any thoughts of further sleep.

  After a minute, she set her cup down and stepped to a mirror affixed to the wooden bulkhead just beyond the stove at the end of the car. By the dim light of the overhead lamp, she ran her slim fingers through her hair, then looked at him in the mirror with a smile and a hopeless shake of the head. She looked back at herself, and, for the first time, he noticed that the few threads of silver that had been scattered through her dark brown hair the last time he’d seen her were now gone. Apparently she had dyed her hair. It was his first indication that she had any vanity about her at all. As minor a thing as this was, he felt slightly let down by the discovery. He couldn’t say why exactly, except that he’d idolized her from afar, bestowing perfection on a woman who was only human, after all. Who wouldn’t want to stave off the signs of advancing age?

  While this was running through his mind, she silently took his hand and led him toward the door. He turned the brass handle and thrust it open against the swirling air that smelled of woodsmoke. It was still November outside. They stood on the platform in the dark under the overshot roof of the car, letting the cold wind clear their heads. He braced his feet and leaned back against the wall by the iron railing.

  It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to slip his arms around her, pulling her close, crushing her breasts against him. She was only an inch or two shorter than he, and she wrapped her arms around his neck as her warm cheek pressed against his cold, unshaven face. He was sure she could feel his heart pounding. But strength and reassurance seemed to flow from her, almost as it had that day years ago in the Georgia woods. And since they’d met again recently, he’d received subtle signals that she found him attractive. He couldn’t imagine why, even though he’d been considered handsome in his youth. He was still lean and athletic, but the wear of the years was beginning to show in the bags under his eyes and some small creases in his face. Maybe all this was only in his imagination. Maybe she was simply giving him an affectionate hug that one good friend gives another. He didn’t care — he would just enjoy the moment. Too much analysis would be like looking for pits in a free cherry pie.

  After several long seconds, she drew back and regarded him. He was still smiling at the analogy.

  “What are you grinning about?” she asked, holding his hands and giving him a mischievous look.

  “Oh, nothing. Something I just thought of.” He could barely see her face by the dim light filtering through the small glass in the door beside them. And when she spoke in a normal tone, her voice barely carried above the rattling and clanking of the running wheels beneath them. The train was probably traveling thirty miles an hour.

  “I’m really glad to see you,” she said. “But tell me what you’re doing here.”

  “It’s a strange story,” he said, and then went on to relate briefly the tale of their adventures from the previous day. As he talked, she gazed at him intently, her attention never wavering.

  “So the whole plan had to be constantly changed as you went along,” she marveled. “It’s amazing that you’re even here at all.”

  “I’ll have to give your husband credit,” he said. “If it hadn’t been for Big Jim’s quick thinking, we probably would not have made it.”

  “Well, it’s not over yet,” she said after a few seconds of silence.

  “Even if we get to Saint Joe safely, it won’t be over,” he said.

  She didn’t reply immediately. He got the feeling that she was not the same self-assured woman who had been involved in the planning meetings a couple of weeks before. He decided to probe a little to see if perhaps she was having second thoughts about this operation. Maybe he could win her over as an ally. He told her about Kinealy’s mentioning that the “mummy” was buried with body ornaments of gold plate.

  “That was stupid,” she said. “Why would he say something like that?”

  “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I guess he just got carried away with his own story, trying to make it sound more authentic. Then, again, he had to come up on the spur of the moment with a explanation for the coffin being so heavy after the Wells Fargo man noticed it.”

  “I just hope nothing comes of it,” she added. “We’ll have to change trains in Hannibal, so there’ll be somebody different in the next baggage car.” She seemed to droop as she leaned against the railing next to him. “I wish this were all over, and we were back to dealing in bogus money. I’m afraid we’ve let the lions out of their cages with this. But Jim said he had to do something drastic to get Boyd out of prison.”

  “Do you know where he plans to hide the body once we get to Saint Joe?” he asked.

  She shook her head and looked away. “No.”

  Was she telling the truth and embarrassed that Kinealy hadn’t confided in her, or was she lying to keep his secret? Packard had no
way of knowing. “Then I guess we’ll all find out when we get there.”

  “I wish we were there already. I have a bad feeling about the rest of this trip.”

  “Well, we’ve been lucky so far,” he said, trying to sound cheerful. “Maybe we’re past the worst of it, and all the unexpected things have already happened. What else could go wrong?”

  He was immediately sorry he’d said that, when she gave him a wondering look. “I can think of all kinds of pitfalls,” she said, as if he had no imagination at all.

  “The trick is,” he hastened to add, “when you’re in mortal danger, just concentrate on one thing at a time and ignore all the bad possibilities.”

  “I guess you’re right,” she conceded. “There’s nothing else we can do now.”

  “If something should go wrong, all you have to do is pay no attention to it, as if you were just another passenger. As far as anybody else knows, you and Hughes have no connection to this operation.”

  “I couldn’t leave Jim, and just walk away,” she said simply.

  “He’d want you to. That was the plan.”

  “Let’s hope we don’t have to worry about that,” she answered, but her voice sounded forlorn. Here he was, trying to cheer her up, when a few minutes earlier he’d been drawing strength from her.

  “What made you get into grave-robbing?” she asked, suddenly changing the subject. “You just don’t seem the type for that.”

  He shrugged. “It’s a living. Times were tough, especially since the panic three years ago.”

  “Is that all you’ve done since the war?”

  “Not really. I’ve tried various jobs but never really found what I’d like to do. Just drifted into this.” He hated lying to her but had to maintain his cover. He consoled himself by vowing that he would tell her the truth someday, after all this was over. He tried not to think that someday might be when he had her and Big Jim in shackles.