by Pam Crooks
Her breath quickened. She would, of course. She had to, for the justice he deserved. But only after she reunited with her mother first.
Nikolai didn’t seem to notice her lack of denial. He took a step toward her, then another.
“We must prepare for our act of demolition, beautiful Gina, so that a better society can be built for the people.”
“You talk crazy,” she said, going a little crazy herself.
“Man must be free to create his own happiness!”
“Then let me go.”
From behind her on his horse, Alex snorted. “Do you really think he will? After what you did to him?”
Her gaze dropped to Nikolai’s thigh and the blood seeping through bandages. She swallowed and dared a different way to convince him.
“I hurt you, Nikolai,” she said. “You need a doctor. Strong medicine. Come with me. The hospital will help you.”
He faltered, his hand finding his injury. “I must go to the healing waters again.”
She shook her head carefully. “Not even the waters can help you. You are too sick.”
“There is no time for the waters,” Alex said. “And we cannot keep sitting here having useless conversation.” He leaned forward, looking pale and distressed. “The mercenary will come after her, Nikolai. He will find us and kill us.”
“Quit whining!” Nikolai snapped.
“He will.” Gina seized upon Alex’s worry. “He is a skilled soldier. You cannot win over him.”
A sniveling sound slipped from Alex’s throat. “Kill her, Nikolai. She is only a burden to us!”
The burly Russian’s fevered glance jumped over each of them. He swiped his forehead with the cuff of his sleeve.
“Get on my horse, Emma,” he said, as if his brother had never spoken. “The president is coming. Together, we will ride to meet him.”
A shiver wrapped around her spine from his confusion. His intent. “I will not help you hurt him. I swear I will not.”
The revolver jabbed toward the waiting mount. “Get on my horse!”
Alex appeared distraught. “Do it, will you? Just do it!”
She had no choice. Nikolai wouldn’t hurt her if she didn’t resist, and she wouldn’t be able to thwart an assassination attempt if she was dead.
Because, for now, there was no one else. No guarantees, only dwindling hope, that Creed and his father’s men would find her in time to help her save President McKinley’s life.
Talons of fear gripped Creed at the sight of Graham’s runabout lying on its side in the road.
He pulled up sharply, and the others reined in beside him. He twisted back and forth in the saddle, a sweeping search for some sign of Gina, hoping against hope she’d been thrown clear in the accident and not left crushed and broken from it.
Marcus searched, too. “Maybe she went looking for help.”
Smoke veered right and walked his horse off the road. He pointed to the ground. “She landed here. By the trampled look of it, the grass cushioned her fall.”
The carriage lay on its right side. The theory fit, and Creed took some comfort from it.
“No blood that I can see,” Smoke added.
Pa rubbed his jaw in consternation. “Then we have to believe she walked away, free and able.”
Creed nudged the palomino forward, skirting the downed carriage. “Able, maybe, but not free. She would’ve been hell-bent on getting to her mother.” He studied the tracks in the dirt, smeared footprints with two sets of iron hooves, as plain as rain. “And she sure as hell didn’t walk. The brothers took her.”
He ambled the palomino beyond the hoof prints, but the search yielded nothing more. Since there were no more tracks in the dirt, it could only mean the brothers had turned off the road.
His glance lifted to the left. The horses had trod over the range grass on this side, breaking the stems and leaving an obvious trail to where they were headed.
He scanned the horizon, on the right. If the Sokolovs intended to lose themselves in the bowels of the city, it would’ve made for a faster ride to stay on the road. Had they left it to avoid being pursued?
Or did they have a different destination?
His scrutiny swung back to the left again. Not much lay beyond the Los Angeles boundaries except for the Santa Fe and Southern Pacific Railroad lines.
And the warning bells began to clang.
“Graham, what time is it?” He urged the palomino onto the trail of trampled grass, and the others followed.
The Secret Service agent pulled his watch from his vest pocket. “Just after noon, sir. Twelve thirty-two.”
“What time did the newspaper say the President’s train was due?”
“Nine o’clock tonight. Why?”
“It’s coming sooner than that.”
The men exchanged puzzled glances.
“You know something we don’t?” Marcus asked.
“As a matter of fact, I do.” He thought of the coded message he’d sent to Washington and was confident his orders would be followed, that Jeb and General Carson would see that they were. He thought, too, of the little-used siding he hadn’t seen for more than six years, the auxiliary track off the main line that was far enough away from the train depot that no one would see McKinley ride in. “Forget what the papers say. The president is coming in on an express train that’ll pull into the Diamond Bar Station in a little over an hour’s time. A carriage will be waiting to rush him and his wife to a private hotel for the duration of their stay.”
Graham whistled, long, low and surprised. “I’m impressed, Mr. Sherman.”
“Don’t be. He’s not out of danger yet.” Apprehension churned through him in waves. The brothers had fled in the very direction the train would be coming from. “And neither is Gina.”
“But having him arrive this far in advance of the publicly announced time and at a different station besides will have the anarchists waiting for a train that’s not going to come,” Graham exclaimed. “By nine tonight, the McKinleys will be safely hidden away.”
“That’s the plan,” Creed said, grim.
“Smart thinking, son,” Pa said. Pride flowed rough and genuine from his voice, but Creed couldn’t allow himself to take pleasure from it.
“A tunnel leads up to the line, doesn’t it?” he asked.
His father nodded. “Several miles back from the Diamond Bar. The tunnel opens up right next to the trestle bridge.”
They drew closer to the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains, blanketed with the oak woodlands which grew thick amongst the sage scrub.
He held up a hand, and the men halted. He studied the gaping mouth of the tunnel, hewn out of a low hill and capped with a roof of scrub and grass. The bridge butted up against the hill and carried the tracks over a narrow canyon, where they connected on the other side with the main lines leading into Los Angeles.
He stared hard at the tunnel roof and caught movement. Three indistinct figures, but there wasn’t a doubt of who they were.
Once they realized it was President McKinley’s train heading toward that tunnel, Nikolai would seize the chance to kill him. There wouldn’t be a better place to try than right there, on top, while the train was running through. No one would see a bomb drop, and even if they did, there’d be no way to stop the train before the bomb exploded.
Creed had to stop the brothers. He had to get Gina out of their clutches.
A slow, feral smile formed on his mouth.
And he knew just how he was going to do it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Does nothing scare you, Creed?”
The Old Man looked plenty serious as he crouched in the stand of ponderosa pines and handed over the Remington. Creed put his arm through the leather sling and slid the weapon high over his shoulder.
“Not when I have a job to do,” he said.
“A battle to fight, you mean. Another war to win.”
Creed shot him a hard look. Pa’s cynicism put a bite in his ton
e. Reminded Creed of the long stream of arguments they’d had before he left for West Point.
“Call it what you want. Won’t change things.” He tossed his Stetson aside to retrieve later.
“Don’t reckon it would.”
With the way he pressed his lips together, Creed couldn’t help but think his father was determined not to say the words right there on his tongue.
Creed had no time to wonder what they were, anyway. The rest of the Sherman outfit was in position and waiting. All that was left was for Creed to make the first move.
“I’m heading up,” he said. “You know what to do.”
The Old Man nodded. But he reached out and grasped Creed’s shoulder with one callused hand.
“Be careful, son,” he said roughly.
Creed went soft at the closest thing he’d gotten to an embrace from the Old Man in how long? “This is what I do, remember?”
“Yeah. That’s what scares me.”
Creed’s mouth curved. Adrenaline curled through him, and he turned his mind toward what lay ahead.
Getting Gina away from Nikolai first and foremost.
It’d been hard being apart from her, harder not being able to see her, but his gut instincts told him Nikolai wasn’t going to hurt her just yet. He wouldn’t have brought her all the way out here and onto the top of a tunnel to wait for McKinley without having a perverted reason for having her there.
Whatever that perverted reason might be tied his stomach into knots. He left the shelter of the pines and sprinted toward the rim of the canyon, out of sight from the Sokolovs on the tunnel.
He could hear voices. Nikolai’s, mostly, on one of his anarchist ramblings, and Creed regretted Gina’s being forced to endure it. He squatted beside some brush and sought out Smoke and Marcus, both of them perched like crows on the wooden beams bracing the bridge.
Each gave him a silent nod to indicate their readiness. Graham would be farther up the side of the tunnel, closer to Gina. Hube, too, his job to cover the Old Man. And all of them would cover Creed.
He took a breath and leapt to the nearest truss. He monkey-climbed upward, his movements stealthy in the shadow of the rails. He pulled himself through the ties, then crept up the side of the hill to the transom. A few careful steps took him to the center of the ledge; he pulled his rifle from his back, acutely aware that one wrong move, one wild shot, would send him hurtling backward to the bottom of the canyon.
He straightened, high enough to peer over the tunnel’s top. He took in the trio’s positions with one swift glance: Gina sitting, looking miserable with her knees folded to her chest. Nikolai standing in front of her, one leg bearing his weight, preaching like a professor to his student. Alex, never still, pale and anxious and looking ready to throw up any minute.
But it was the knapsack lying open at Nikolai’s feet that turned Creed’s blood cold. The vitriol bombs waiting to explode.
Creed had the advantage. The Sokolovs wouldn’t expect him to appear like this, from below the tunnel, like a devil from the fires of hell.
Slowly, he straightened, lifted the butt of the rifle to his shoulder…
“We must assert our independence!” Nikolai railed, his back to Creed. He flaunted a bottle of vodka, but his .44 hung loose at his side, as if he’d forgotten he still carried it. “We must rebel for the benefit of the masses.”
Gina lowered her dark head and covered her ears with her hands. “Stop, Nikolai! I will not listen to you anymore!”
He flung aside the vodka. “You must listen so you will believe!” He lunged toward her with an awkward limp, grabbed her wrist and jerked her to her feet. “I have a way to end the hypocrisy, Emma. See?” He swung back toward the knapsack. “I know the ways for revolution.”
Creed had heard enough. He cocked the rifle, and the sound cracked through the air like a whip.
“Get back from that knapsack, Nikolai,” he snarled. “Drop your gun at the same time.”
Nikolai jolted in surprise, as if struck by a lightning bolt. Gina and Alex cried out in shock.
Creed stepped from the transom onto the tunnel roof. They stood frozen. He kept his aim true.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” he said slowly, succinctly.
Nikolai’s lips curled back in a sneer. “Do you hear what the American says, Emma? He thinks he can fight all three of us.”
“He knows I will not fight him.” Gina’s bosom heaved. “Do as he said, or he will kill you.”
Nikolai let loose with a drunken, maniacal laugh. “Karlov, do you hear what he says?”
Alex appeared near tears. “I hear him.”
The man was delusional in thinking Gina was Emma Goldman, that Alex was their informant in Washington. Creed dared to take a step closer. He willed Gina silent strength to trust him, to know he’d get her out of this mess if it was the last thing he ever did. And he had to use every skill he possessed to make sure that it wasn’t.
“You’re surrounded, Nikolai,” he said. “I’ll bet you didn’t know that, did you?”
To punctuate the announcement, Marcus popped up over the tunnel roof and cocked his rifle. Smoke did the same, standing beside him on the transom. From the side, Hube and the Old Man and then Graham appeared, each with their weapons pointed.
Gina tugged against the Russian’s grip. “Give up now while you still can. Please!”
His face flushed, sweat poured from Nikolai’s forehead. His breathing rasped harsh and labored in the tense silence. He appeared to waver, weighing his dedication to his cause against the merits of his life.
Creed’s finger moved over the trigger. It wouldn’t be easy for Gina to see him kill Nikolai in cold blood. He held back, waited until the time came when he couldn’t wait anymore…
“Do something, Nikolai!” Alex pleaded.
Gina darted a quick glance to Creed, and he read the message she implored in her dark eyes. That it was his turn to trust her. She faced Nikolai again. “The American does not believe as we do, comrade.” Her arm lifted, and she placed her hand over his. “Go with him for a little while.” Her voice had turned soft, soothing. “He will see that you get the medicine you need to be strong again. Then, when the time is right, you will be free to join me in our dream for revolution.”
The Russian’s gaze dropped to her hand, then lifted to meet hers. The ice in his eyes melted with indecision and pain.
“Emma, Emma,” he whispered.
She gave him a tentative smile of encouragement. “Trust me, Nikolai. Karlov and I will continue your work while you are gone. Will you trust me in that?”
“She is lying, Nikolai,” Alex yelled. “She is lying!”
“Shut up!” Creed snapped.
Nikolai’s head swiveled toward his brother. “Why must you always complain, Karlov? Do you not know by now you must be strong like her?”
Alex choked on the tears streaming down his face. “Nikolai. Oh, Nikolai!”
“Silence!” he thundered.
The kid whimpered but obediently fell silent.
“Drop your gun,” Gina said, and the Russian turned back to her. “Over there, by the American.”
He glanced down at the .44. Frowned. Then, amazingly, he tossed it toward Creed.
She sagged a little in relief and patted his hand in approval. “You are a man of honor, Nikolai. Our comrades will soon know of the sacrifices you make for the sake of our revolution.”
“My revolution.” He released a worried sigh.
“Now, let go of her.” Creed kept her strategy going by keeping his voice smooth, calm. “Step back when you do.”
Again, the man hesitated.
“It is all right,” she cooed. “We will be reunited again soon.”
He released her, as trusting as a child. “I will write you, Emma. Every day.”
She nodded. “Yes, yes. Our work must continue.”
Nikolai swayed from the effects of the vodka and fever and limped backward. She wet her lips and slowly, slowly, b
ent down to the knapsack at her feet.
“Your ways for revolution will not be forgotten, Nikolai. I will act. In your place.”
Gingerly, she grasped the bundle and straightened. One quick move, one careless knocking of the explosives inside could blow them all into pieces. Creed’s pulse pounded at her nerve when his own was at the breaking point.
Chuff, chuff, chuff…chuff, chuff, chuff…
The distant sound seeped into his awareness, and he dragged his sights from Gina to the short train clattering down the tracks on the other side of the hill, rounding the bend and heading toward the tunnel.
A top-secret junket, sleek and dignified, and arriving right on time, with the most important man in the United States of America.
“McKinley’s train, Nikolai!” Alex screamed. “The paper lies! He’s here! He’s here!”
Gina cried out, and with more speed, more courage, more patriotism than any woman Creed had ever known, she pivoted and hurled the knapsack away from all of them. The bundle sailed through the sky in a perfect arc downward toward the opposite side of the hill, out of sight—
Ka-boom!
Ka-boom!
Ka-boom!
One after the other, the vitriol bombs exploded, rocking the earth from its force. Clods of dirt and range grass flung upward. A cloud of dust mushroomed through the air.
Nikolai roared in pure, diabolic fury and lunged for her in retaliation.
Five Sherman rifles fired instantly. His big body jerked. Blood bloomed from his back and chest, and he dropped like a rock. Dead.
Gina screamed. Terrified she’d been shot, Creed spun toward her. She’d been close. Too damned close, and if one of his father’s men missed their mark, if one stray bullet slammed into her, oh, holy Lord—
But she was alive, standing there, beautiful and horrified and blessedly alive. Graham bolted toward her, grabbed her, and ran with her, taking her away, sparing her the ugliness of war, the ugliness of what Creed, of what all of them, had done…
Chuff, chuff, chuff…chuff, chuff, chuff…
The junket chugged closer to the tunnel. Closer, closer, and in the blink of an eye, the engine disappeared inside the gaping mouth. The roof shimmered from its roar.
