Stalemate: Clockwerk Thriller Book One

by Thomas Webb

  “Dining car’s the one ahead of us,” Greg said, having just arrived with Copperhead, Scarlet, and what remained of the boarding party. “How do you want to play this?”

  Montclair thought for a beat. “Get this car secured,” he said, “and have someone stay back to see to these passengers’ hurts.” Montclair’s eyes narrowed. “Horton is in the next car. I can feel it. I want you, the captain of my ship’s guard, and the agents with me when we take him.”

  Scarlet studied the dead Shadow Army soldier slumped in the doorway of the car ahead of them. “No way Horton doesn’t know we’re here now,” she said.

  “Colonel had no choice in the matter,” Copperhead said, checking the ammunition in his rifle. “Surprise is no longer on our side, but we’ll make it work somehow.”

  Eager to see an end to this, Montclair crossed the coupling between the passenger and dining cars. The luxury dining car’s green door hung half open, flapping in the wind, banging against the body of the dead Shadow Army soldier. Montclair eased the door all the way open and stepped over the enemy soldier’s body. Greg, the agents, and the rest of his troops followed close behind him.

  Montclair’s Colt swept the length of the coach. He didn’t like what he saw over its sights. He lowered his pistol. “Looks like you were right, Scarlet.”

  The passengers had been roused from their sleeping booths and moved ahead to the dining car. They’d been lined up along the walls, huddled between tables covered with white linen cloths and fine crystal. Men, women, and children, all dressed in sleepwear more expensive than most people’s best Sunday clothes, stood or sat in terrified silence. One of the children, a little girl, whimpered. The child’s mother, in tears, tried desperately to soothe her.

  At the far end of the car, two Shadow Army regulars stood watch over a prisoner seated between them. The prisoner was small, with chalk-colored skin covered in a clammy sheen of sweat. The man’s thick head of black hair, graying at the temples, was in disarray. A poor attempt at makeup did little to hide the bruises and cuts on his face. A pair of spectacles, a crack spreading across one lens, sat perched above his long nose and pencil-thin mustache.

  “Professor Telacivic?” Montclair said. His voice sounded unnaturally loud in the tense silence of the luxury coach.

  The prisoner in the rumpled suit nodded with more enthusiasm than Montclair would have expected.

  “We’ve come to get you out of here,” Montclair said.

  A tall, powerfully built man with dark shoulder-length hair stood from a table near the front of the car. The man turned to face Montclair. “Afraid that’ll be easier said than done,” Horton said.

  26 The Demilitarized Zone, Onboard the 3:00 AM to Washington, July 1864

  Scarlet squeezed the rifle’s pistol grip until her knuckles cracked. She watched as Horton locked eyes with Montclair from the far end of the dining car. Scarlet looked from one man to the other. A silent battle of wills raged, and it could only end one way. With the spilling of blood.

  Across the aisle to Horton’s left were two of his Shadow Army soldiers, both their pistols pointed at the head of one Doctor Mudrac Telacivic. Three more, dressed as civilians, rose from their chairs and moved to stand next to their general.

  Damnation! Scarlet thought. A hollow pit formed in her gut. If Montclair’s technists in the baggage car failed, Telacivic was their only chance at defusing the device, but Horton’s men had him at gunpoint, and time was running out. Come on, Agent Alayne. Think!

  Scarlet wondered how fast she could shoulder the Chassepot and sight in. Could she do it faster than two Shadow Army regulars could pull their triggers? She did a quick mental calculation. Her pretty lips twisted into a frown at the conclusion. She was good, but not that good. As Scarlet desperately searched for a tactical solution, Horton spoke up.

  “Figured us out, have you?” Horton asked, the question aimed at Colonel Montclair.

  Colonel Montclair smiled, a look of satisfaction on his face. “Wondering where your ride is, General? She’s not coming.”

  Horton’s eyes flashed with rage a brief second before Horton regained control, the cold, calculating demeanor returning as quickly as it had left.

  “All right, then. Hadn’t planned on this being a suicide run.” Horton shrugged. “She was a fine ship, at any rate.”

  “She is a fine ship,” Colonel Montclair said. “She belongs to the Union now. I imagine you’re re-thinking that exit strategy right about now?”

  Horton bared his teeth. “Enjoy your victory while you can, half-breed.” Horton took off his suit jacket, revealing a pair of revolvers harnessed to either side of his ribcage. He folded the jacket into a neat square and placed it on the back of his seat. “If that airship isn’t coming, then it looks like this is a one-way ticket for all of us. What? You think with Telacivic you can put a stop to the device? He’s mine, mongrel. If I’m gonna burn, at least the last thing I’ll see is every man, woman, and child in Washington burning with me.”

  “You’re going to fail,” Montclair said.

  While Colonel Montclair engaged Horton, Scarlet noticed the man standing next to her. He was one of Major Gregory’s Marines. He held his repeating rifle at the low ready position. His finger was straight and off the trigger, but the rifle hung only inches from his shoulder. She’d seen him in action last night, in the woods outside the barn. He was an outstanding shot, almost as good as she was, and he was quicker than most getting his rifle on target.

  Then, it dawned on her.

  How would two rifles instead of one affect their chances? Scarlet did the calculations again, only this time the frown from earlier was replaced by a cocky half-smile. Success wasn’t guaranteed, but the stakes were sky-high, and time was running out. They had to risk it.

  “Going to fail, am I?” Horton laughed. “So you say, but fate’s a cruel bitch sometimes, isn’t she? If mine is to die today on this train, I’m resigned to it, but I’ll make sure our ‘package’ reaches its intended recipients before I go. Make no mistake about it.”

  Colonel Montclair shook his head. “Not going to happen, Horton.”

  Horton laughed again. “You got grit. I’ll give you that. You’re nobody’s damned manservant, that’s for sure. What are you, boy? Freedman? Or somethin’ else? Since we’re layin’ all our cards down, why don’t we skip the foreplay? Who do you work for? Union Army? DSI? What’s your name, half-breed?”

  “Colonel Julius Montclair, 21st Union Army Air Corps, and you’re coming with us, Horton. Either dead or alive, though, I certainly have a preference as to which.”

  Horton’s smile faded. “Well, I’ll be. They sent the goddamned Hero of the Potomac himself to bring me in? Somebody must have a pretty high opinion of me, going to all that trouble.” Horton’s pale blue eyes grew cold. He shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll tell you this much, half-breed. Today might be the day I stand before the gates of hell, but it’ll be a pleasure to send your mixed-breed hide there ahead of me.”

  Montclair cocked his revolver. “You’re welcome to try.”

  With everyone distracted, Scarlet seized her chance. “How fast are you with that?” she whispered to the Marine. She eyed Telacivic and his two guards, weighing the chances of success a final time.

  The Marine followed Scarlet’s gaze. “I’ll take the one on the right.”

  Scarlet nodded once. “On my three,” she whispered. “One,” she breathed.

  Her grip on the Chassepot tightened. Scarlet focused on the Shadow Army soldier’s face. Fat beads of sweat ran down his forehead. A greasy shock of hair hung limp, just above his right eye. His cheek bulged from a plug of chewing tobacco.

  “Two.”

  The soldier pressed the barrel of his pistol tight to Telacivic’s temple. Scarlet focused, visualizing the rise of her rifle, sighting in, squeezing the trigger. Her body tensed, muscles tightened, ready to explode into motion.

  “Three.”

  Scarlet’s body moved faster than her thou
ghts, the hard-earned muscle memory of countless hours of practice taking over. Two rifle shots cracked the air simultaneously. Before anyone had time to react, it was over.

  Scarlet, now kneeling beside a table set for breakfast service, took her eye from the smoke-colored looking glass mounted atop her rifle. A welcome sight greeted her as she lowered the barrel. One badly shaken scientist was flanked by two red splotches where the Shadow Army soldiers had stood.

  For a few seconds, there was only stunned silence. Then, the dining car erupted in panic. Passengers dove for the floor as the remaining Shadow Army regulars opened fire.

  With two less soldiers, Telacivic free, and a coach full of panicked passengers to cover his retreat, Horton turned and headed for the exit.

  “Horton!” Colonel Montclair shouted.

  “Come find me, boy!” Horton replied. “I’ll be waiting!”

  Horton snatched up his cavalry saber and dashed through the door as the three remaining Shadow Army soldiers covered his escape.

  Copperhead kicked over the nearest table, sending china and silverware crashing. He dropped to a knee and took aim at the Shadow Army soldiers. “We’ve got Telacivic!” he shouted to Montclair. “You get Horton!”

  Scarlet watched the colonel acknowledge her minder with a nod. Union rifles opened up on the Shadow Army troops, forcing them to keep their heads low long enough for Colonel Montclair to dash toward the rear of the dining car and back the way they’d come in.

  Smart, Scarlet thought. By climbing over the top of the dining car, Montclair would bypass Horton’s rear guard.

  “He’s going to need some backup!” Scarlet said to her minder.

  “I’ve got him!” Major Gregory yelled. “Just give me some cover!”

  The major zigzagged toward the back of the dining car, keeping his head low as he moved from overturned table to overturned table.

  “No!” Montclair shouted from the door. “Stay where you are, Greg! Horton’s mine!”

  “Don’t be a fool, Julius! You’ll need help to—”

  “I said stay put!” Colonel Montclair roared. “I’m your commanding officer, and that’s an order!”

  Major Gregory swore a streak that would put a Union sailor to shame, but he did as he was ordered. Scarlet leaned out from behind a pane of frosted glass and began sending aether rounds downrange as fast as she could work the rifle bolt, covering Colonel Montclair’s exit. Between herself, Copperhead, Major Gregory, and the rest of the boarding party, they managed to see Montclair safely through the door.

  All around Scarlet, passengers screamed, and bullets flew. The Shadow Army soldiers had regrouped and were firing indiscriminately into the crowded train car. Their aim was to destroy a city full of innocent people. Scarlet didn’t suppose they had any qualms about killing a few railroad passengers in the process.

  Scarlet leapfrogged from cover to cover, communicating and returning fire as she went. As Scarlet, Copperhead, and the Union forces drew closer to the front of the car, the three remaining Shadow Army decided to mount a retreat. One by one, the soldiers peeled off, covering each other as they moved until the last Shadow Army regular darted out the door.

  “Captain!” Scarlet shouted at Montclair’s captain of the ship’s guard. “Follow them!”

  The head of Vindication’s ship’s guard grabbed the three nearest Union troops and raced after the fleeing enemy soldiers. Scarlet watched as she and the three men she’d taken with her rushed past.

  “Corporal,” Scarlet said to the Marine who’d helped her take out the first two Shadow Army soldiers. “Get a working party formed and secure this train car.”

  “What about Major Gregory and the colonel?” the Marine asked, concern for his commanding officers evident in his voice.

  “Nothing Colonel Montclair’s captain of the ship’s guard and her men can’t handle. Right now, I need you to lead the effort of seeing to these civilians and making sure this coach is clear of Confederates.”

  “Aye, ma’am,” the Marine replied.

  “Before I forget, corporal,” Scarlet added. “That was some damn fine shooting back there. Good work.”

  The corporal smiled his thanks and took off to follow Scarlet’s orders.

  Scarlet walked to the front of the coach and joined Copperhead. Her minder stood at the end of the carpeted aisle, watching as Telacivic quivered beneath a bench. His two Shadow Army guards lay next to him, each of their heads containing one fresh hole apiece, courtesy of Scarlet and the Marine corporal.

  “You look like you could use a hand,” Scarlet said.

  She took Telacivic by the elbow and helped him to his feet. The slightly built physicist brushed bits of broken glass from his jacket.

  Her minder was forced to look down at the scientist, who stood about a foot shorter than Copperhead. “Doctor Telacivic,” Copperhead began, “this young lady and I,” he nodded toward Scarlet, “are representatives of the department. Are you injured? Can you walk?”

  “No,” the scientist mumbled. “I mean, yes. I mean, I’m not severely injured, and I can walk. The department, you say? Then you are with Strategic Intelligence, yes?”

  Scarlet strained to understand Telacivic’s heavily accented English. “That’s correct,” she replied. Scarlet spoke four languages with conversational ease, but English with a thick Armenian accent was not one of them.

  “I’d hoped as much. If I was to be captured, your organization is the best by far of many bad options.”

  “I’m afraid we don’t have time for pleasantries, doctor,” Copperhead said. “There is a device onboard this train that we’re going to need your help to disarm. Are you up for that?”

  The scientist nodded. “Yes. Yes, of course. I think I can be of some help, although I do not know where the Confederate general and his cohorts may have hidden the device.”

  “Horton,” Scarlet said. “His name is Horton. Come with us.”

  Scarlet and Copperhead flanked the smaller man and led him back the way they’d come. They rushed through the train cars as quickly as possible, ever conscious of the seconds ticking away. The train passengers moved about in various states of fear and shock. As Scarlet and her minder escorted the scientist through the passenger cars, they passed the soldiers and Marines of the boarding party tending to the wounded. The Union agents and the scientist attracted little attention from the Union troops, who were busy dressing wounds, calming survivors, and seeing to the dead. The soldiers performed like quiet professionals, exuding an air of calm and seemingly oblivious to thoughts of the massive bomb set to go off in mere minutes.

  Scarlet saw someone had managed to locate a doctor and press her into service. She was feverishly working on a man with an ugly gunshot in his abdomen. If they couldn’t stop Telacivic’s creation, it would all be for nothing.

  Two rail cars later, they arrived at the device. Scarlet noted the troubled looks on the technists’ faces as soon as they opened the door.

  “Can’t make heads nor tails of it, sir,” one of the soldiers, Scarlet couldn’t recall his name, said to Copperhead. “Ain't like anything we’ve ever seen. We figured we’d best not fiddle with it until the colonel got back, or at least ‘till time was near up.” The soldier pointed at the chronometer. “We’re cuttin’ it mighty close as it is.”

  As he spoke, the chronometer flipped from 5:00 to 4:00.

  Scarlet felt the train car shift. “Did you feel that?” she asked Copperhead. “Are we slowing down?”

  “Feels like it,” Copperhead said. “Major Gregory must have made it to the engine. I think we’re reversing course. Thank the Healer. We’ll likely die today, but at least Washington will be safe.”

  Telacivic’s gaze fell to the floor. “I am afraid that may not actually be the case, agent.”

  A feeling of dread washed over Scarlet. “What do you mean?” she asked. “What are you saying? We’re at least two miles outside Washington. There’s no way the blast radius is larger than that. I saw the project
ions myself.”

  “That is inaccurate,” Telacivic said, seeming to take no pleasure in correcting her. “Given the time required to slow a locomotive of this size, reverse its course, and again achieve full steam. . . I am afraid it will make little difference. The projections you saw were from an earlier estimate and were calculated using the measurements for standard aether only, not the dark version of the element. Where the blast radius for standard aether is only two miles, in its dark form, that radius increases to fifteen. My captors placed me under great. . .” Telacivic paused to collect himself. “They placed me under great duress. They forced me to increase the device’s yield. I am not a strong man, agents. Because of their persuasion, I did my work well. Too well.”

  Telacivic rubbed his arm, which Scarlet now saw was at an odd angle as if it had been broken and the bone improperly set. The pain must have been unbearable.

  “The radius of this device is beyond even what my captors had hoped,” Telacivic said. “Anything within fifteen miles of the point of detonation will be incinerated in an instant. Depending upon the prevailing winds, the damaging effects of the super-heated aether particles created by the blast will sicken and destroy any living thing within ten to twenty miles past the blast radius.”

  “Christ the Healer,” Scarlet swore. “What have you done?”

  The pistol was out and pointed at the scientist’s head before she even realized it.

  Copperhead grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her in close. “Cecelia!” he hissed into her ear.

  Scarlet averted her eyes, embarrassed by her actions and unable to meet her minder’s gaze.

  “No, agent,” Telacivic said. “This young woman is right. Death at the end of a pistol is more than I deserve.”

  “Like hell it is.” Copperhead released his grip on Scarlet’s wrist and shoved the slightly built scientist toward the device. “You’re going to fix this, doctor. Time to end what you’re responsible for starting in the first place. Disarm this damned thing! And you. . .” Copperhead turned to Scarlet. He took her by the shoulders, forcing her to look him in the eye. “I need your head back in this game. Are you with me or not?”