The Final Gambit

by Christopher Healy

  “I’m sorry,” Molly said, the weight of her guilt forcing her back to the floor. “This is all our fault. You ladies managed to avoid detection for a year. Then, three seconds after you open your doors to us—slam!”

  “Rector used you to get to us,” Hertha said in a tone that was probably meant to make Molly feel better, but didn’t.

  “I, for one, am glad for the company,” said a familiar male voice. Molly peered toward the back of the chamber. In one of the farthest cells sat Thomas Edison.

  “Don’t panic,” said Mary. “He’s the real thing.”

  Molly squinted at him. “Tell me something only the real Edison would know,” she said.

  Edison fumbled around in his coat pockets and pulled out a handful of loose gears and broken metal rods. “You broke this,” he said bitterly. “I’m still trying to remember how it goes back together.”

  “Trust me, it’s him,” said the man in the cell next to Edison’s. “Just as annoying as ever.”

  “Mr. Bell!” Molly exclaimed. “So the bit about you being kidnapped was true?”

  “Sadly, yes,” said Alexander Graham Bell. He slumped in the corner of his cell, his suit wrinkled and his beard haggard. “You know, if you hadn’t abandoned me on that ship, none of this might have—”

  “Oh, quiet down,” Cassandra snapped. “You know full well you were going to turn us in when you reached New York.”

  Bell lowered his head. “I wouldn’t say full well,” he grumbled. “Half well, maybe. I hadn’t decided yet. It was a tricky situation. But I know for certain that if you hadn’t run off, I would never have agreed to meet up with that ersatz Edison when he offered to help me find you.”

  “So, you got yourself captured trying to capture the Peppers?” Sarah said. “I officially take back the sympathy I gave you.”

  Emmett paused his search for hidden escape routes. He looked suddenly queasy.

  “Are you all right, dear?” asked Josephine.

  “Yeah, I just . . . um . . .” Emmett turned to the men in the rear cages. “Mr. Edison, how long have you been here?”

  Edison counted silently on his fingers, then looked up. “I’ve lost track. Is it eleven or twelve?”

  “Days? Or weeks?” Hertha asked with concern.

  “Months,” came the answer.

  Molly’s mouth grew dry. “We’ve been working with Rector this entire time?” she squeaked out.

  “So this is the first time I’m meeting the actual Thomas Edison?” Captain Lee asked, scratching his head. “Hmm, not sure which one I like better.”

  “I’m confused,” said Cassandra. “What about your presidential campaign?”

  Edison’s thick eyebrows shot up. “I’m running for president?”

  “Technically speaking,” said Hertha. “Though, as it is now patently clear, it’s Rector who has been running under your name.”

  “Me as president?” Edison laughed. “Well, that’s all the proof we need that the man is a lunatic. I’m not even a politician. Why would anyone consider voting for me?”

  “You’re winning,” said Josephine.

  Edison leapt to his feet with renewed vigor. “Get me out of here—I’m going to be president!”

  “Sit back down, Tommy Boy.” The room’s thick steel door swung open and Rector strode in.

  Molly scowled at the villain. He wore no mask this time, no makeup—just his own pasty, sweat-glistened face. He’d changed clothes, though, from his brown-checked “Edison” outfit to his preferred long-tailed black suit. In his right hand, he casually twirled what looked like a two-foot-long aluminum baton—the mysterious weapon that had zapped Agent Clark into unconsciousness. “You’re not going to be president, Tommo,” Rector continued. “You’re not going to be anything, because you’re never leaving that cell. But, hey, at least you won’t have to endure it much longer. Why’s that, you ask?”

  “I didn’t,” Edison said dourly. “I’m assuming it’s a death threat.”

  “It is,” Rector said plainly. “I’ve only been keeping you alive long enough to witness my ultimate triumph. And like the racing aardvark whose impressive tongue crosses the finish line long before his feet, I can taste victory already.”

  “I see your analogies are as sharp as ever,” said Molly. She might be behind bars, but she refused to act like this man’s prisoner. She stood tall—chin up, shoulders back—and stared him in the eye.

  “As, I see, is your sarcasm,” Rector returned with a devilish grin.

  “Molly,” Captain Lee warned from his cell.

  “How are you even here?” Cassandra asked, voicing a question that was probably running through most of the heads in that room. “We left you in Antarctica. With no food, no shelter, no transportation. How in heaven’s name did you get back?”

  “That, um, that would be my fault,” the real Edison said sheepishly. “You see, my buddy Bell here wasn’t the only one who built a secret ship for a covert voyage to the South Pole.”

  “You what?” Bell glared at him from the adjacent cell.

  “Oh, come on, Alec,” Edison said. “Do you honestly think that, after finding out you were defying presidential orders to sneak off and find the South Pole, I wouldn’t take a stab at getting there before you? Friendly competition! It’s the Guild way!”

  “Yeah, how’d that work out for you?” Margaret snarked.

  “Well, for your information,” Bell huffed, his face up against the bars of his cell, “I wasn’t going against presidential orders! I had a secret deal with President Arthur!”

  “Of course you did!” Edison snapped. “Well, let’s see how many secret deals you make with the White House when I’m president!”

  “You’re not going to be president!” Rector shouted. “I am! Let’s bring this back to me! Although I suppose I should thank you, Tom-Tom, for the ride home. You see, Mrs. Pepper, you did indeed leave me in a sorry state down there. But I didn’t have to wait even a week before Edison’s expedition arrived upon those snowy shores. Then it took me about—what would you say, Tom? Five minutes—to capture his crew and commandeer his ship. Once I sailed back to America with Edison as my prisoner, it felt like the situation was practically begging me to assume his identity again. It’s poetic, isn’t it? That I will end up taking over the United States government with the same disguise I used on my first attempt?”

  “So, you’re now hoping to become president as Edison,” said Mary.

  “Dear me, no!” Rector said. “When I rule this country, it’s going to be as me, not this thistle-browed miscreant. And I’m going to take control the good old-fashioned way—by force! I don’t even care about the election. I only decided to run for president because I was spending so much time in Washington and I couldn’t bear all the attention going to those other two fools who are running. Seriously, have you seen those guys? Grover Cleveland is nothing more than a shrugging mustache. And who even is James G. Bland?”

  “James G. Blaine,” Sarah corrected.

  “My point exactly!” Rector shouted. “If I hadn’t forced myself into the mix, America would end up voting for one of those losers to rule them. Pah! You people don’t deserve democracy. But deciding to throw myself into the competition has had scads of benefits for me. It’s given me access to just about anywhere I want to go in this town. Plus, as it turns out, campaigning for president is fun. You get to hold big rallies, hear thousands of people screaming your name—”

  “Pretty sure it was Edison’s name they were yelling,” Molly taunted. “Nobody even knows your name.”

  “Shh!” Captain Lee hissed. “Don’t antagonize him!”

  “Sheesh, Wendell,” Rector said, turning his attention to the captain. “After three years in an ice cave, I figured you’d be better at keeping cool. You get it? ‘Cool’? Because you were in Antarctica?”

  Captain Lee gripped the bars of his cell with such intensity that Molly wondered if he might actually rip them loose. “That was your biggest mistake,” the
captain sneered.

  “The ‘cool’ joke?” Rector asked. “I mean, it wasn’t my best, but—”

  “Leaving me alive in Antarctica. That was your mistake,” Captain Lee said, seething. Everyone else fell silent. “You stole everything from me in that moment—my livelihood, my dreams, my son,” the captain continued. “Keeping me from my boy for so long, forcing me to miss so much of his formative years, preventing me from seeing the man he would become, all while knowing he was missing me, assuming I was dead? That was a fate worse than death. But you underestimated me, Ambrose. Because I’m back now—three years stronger, three years smarter, and three years angrier. You should have taken me out when you had the chance.”

  “You realize I have the chance again right now, don’t you?” Rector said. He waltzed up to Captain Lee’s cell.

  The captain stood firm at the bars, refusing even to blink.

  Rector raised high his metal baton.

  “Papa, no!” Emmett cried. “You don’t need to do this! Back down! Please! I need you!”

  Rector lowered his weapon. “Well, isn’t that sweet?” he said. “Relax, Emmett, I’m not going to kill your father. Yet. I don’t want his death to upstage my big moment, and I wouldn’t put it past you people to still be crying over it then.”

  Emmett melted against the bars of his cell.

  “Ha,” Molly scoffed, hoping to break the tension. “We should’ve figured you wouldn’t hurt any of us. No, you want to force us all to watch you erupt a volcano under the White House, or whatever it is you’re planning. Your ego won’t let us miss it.”

  “First of all,” said Rector, “you talk about my ego like it’s a bad thing. No one ever conquered the world without believing they could do it. Secondly, you’re right—I can’t wait to torture you all with screams of mind-melted Washingtonians. I want to see you all crushed by the knowledge that you couldn’t stop me, that your last acts on this Earth were an abysmal failure. It is almost as important to me as taking over the country. Why do you think I went through all those Machiavellian machinations to bring you all together? It would have been much simpler to kill each of you where I found you. But I need you all to be here for this, all of you who’ve bested me in the past. And for the record, that does not include Bell and Edison. Those two clodpoles have never bested anybody. I kidnapped them strictly for the torture and humiliation.”

  “Wait a minute. Did you say ‘mind-melted Washingtonians’? You actually built another Mind-Melter?” Molly laughed. “I can’t believe you really are using the same exact plan again!”

  Rector scowled. “Do you have any idea what a challenge it was to stay in character while you were going on about that back in Edison’s office?” he said. “Because it’s not the same plan! This is the new and improved Mind-Melter! It’s on top of the Washington Monument! And the Star of Ceylon will amplify its signal throughout the nation’s capital and beyond!”

  “But it’s still a Mind-Melter!” Molly snickered. “That big brain of yours couldn’t come up with something different?”

  “Why would I need something different,” Rector retorted, “when I’d already devised the perfect plan for the World’s Fair last year?”

  “Do you own a dictionary, love?” Hertha asked him. “I think you need to check the definition of ‘perfect.’”

  “Yes, I’m not sure how something ‘perfect’ can be ‘improved,’” added Cassandra.

  “That’s because you lack imagination,” Rector said, sniffing haughtily.

  “Well, I was under the impression that ‘perfect’ plans generally worked,” Josephine taunted.

  Rector’s nostrils flared. “It did work! Until it was thwarted!” he said, his face taking on an unhealthy level of pink. “That’s why I owe my perfect plan a second shot at success!”

  “Are you even listening to yourself?” Margaret asked.

  “Enough!” Rector shouted, kicking the bars of Captain Lee’s cell. “I made one mistake at the World’s Fair!” he shouted. “One mistake!”

  “You underestimated us,” said Molly.

  “No! My mistake was taking hostages in New York, as if the venal dimwits in Washington would care about anyone other than themselves!”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it was underestimating us,” Emmett said, joining in.

  “Grrrrahh!” Rector lifted his silver baton and lurched forward, as if he were going to charge straight across the room to Emmett’s cell. But before he could get anywhere, Captain Lee reached out and grabbed the villain’s coat collar. He yanked Rector backward, slamming him into the iron bars. The madman was caught off guard, but quickly recovered and rapped his silvery baton across the captain’s hand. There was a sizzling sound and sparks flew as the baton hit. Everyone gasped as Captain Lee yanked back his scorched, red hand and fell to his knees, grimacing in pain.

  “I guess it was you who was wrong, Molly,” Rector said, jaw tight and shoulders heaving. “You said I wouldn’t hurt anybody yet.”

  “Papa!” Emmett called out. “Are you okay?”

  “I . . . I’ll survive,” his father replied, his voice strained. “I’ll always . . . always keep you safe.”

  Molly tried to stop her legs from shaking. In the past, she’d used Rector’s fragile temper against him. Needling him with frustrating questions and snarky barbs had become a kind of game to her; eventually Rector would lose his composure and make some grievous error. She’d used this tactic to escape from him multiple times in the past. But she’d forgotten just how dangerous the man could be when pushed too far. And now Captain Lee had suffered for it.

  “Fine, Rector,” she said solemnly. “You’ve won.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” Rector laughed, brushing off his coat and straightening his collar. “Now, listen closely and perhaps there will be no more . . . accidents. Tomorrow, when I go back to the National Mall for the monument’s dedication—”

  “Tomorrow?” Cassandra blurted. “It can’t be Election Day already. Have we been unconscious for two weeks? But . . . Oh. No, of course you didn’t actually command the crew to stall their work.”

  “Ding, ding, ding!” Rector sang out. “Yes, that was just a lie for you folks. Election Day is still weeks away. But, you see, Chester A. Barfer got a very different version of the ransom note; his said the process needed to be sped up or Bell would die. So, while you were running around, solving puzzles in crud-town Virginia, President Sheepdog has been scrambling to put together an impromptu dedication ceremony for tomorrow afternoon. And guess what? All the presidential candidates have been invited—Cleveland, Blaine, and, of course, yours truly.”

  “I think you mean ‘me truly,’” Edison said smugly.

  Rector stared. “There was more wrong with that sentence than I care to correct. But suffice it to say, I will be melting the brains of Washington tomorrow and you will all be stuck here, forced to listen to it. You see, I won’t be foolish enough to have you at the ‘scene of the crime,’ as it were.” He reached into his pocket and showed everyone what looked like a dotted black egg. “But I will be bringing this mobile version of my Vocal Empowernator, which will be beaming all the terrifying sounds back to this speaker box.” At the table by the wall, he pulled back the corner of the sheet to reveal a large gray metal case with a phonograph-type horn. “And don’t waste your time contemplating escape. I believe you’ll find your cells quite unbreakoutable. Though, just to be safe, I won’t be leaving you alone.”

  “Aha! We knew you had an accomplice—someone wearing that mask and pretending to be you!” said Emmett. “So where is Mr. Bumbles?”

  A tall, lanky redheaded man in a bright green suit poked his head in from the hallway. “Nae! Tha wid hae bin maself!”

  Oogie MacDougal—the infamous chief of the Green Onion Boys, the dangerous fugitive at the top of the government’s most wanted list, the Scottish maniac who’d had it out for Emmett for years—strutted into the room and flashed a sneering grin. “Guid day, Emmett, mah wee
jimmy. Lang time, na see. A’ve bin keekin tae th’ future fer anither meetin atween th’ twa o’ us.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed, until Captain Lee finally broke it. “Who is this man, Emmett? What did he say? Was that a threat? Was that English?”

  “’Tis Scots!” Oogie barked.

  “He was greeting your son,” said Alexander Graham Bell, whose childhood in Scotland gave him a slightly better understanding of Oogie’s thick brogue.

  “But none too kindly, I suppose,” said Cassandra. “This is the crime lord Emmett stole those loads of guns and cash from.”

  “Not stole exactly,” Emmett sputtered. “That was, you know, just a bit of . . . Did we have to remind him of that?”

  “Ah didnae forget!” Oogie snapped.

  “All right, all right,” Rector said, patting the red-faced criminal on the back. “I’ve already told Mr. MacDougal no killing until after the dedication ceremony.”

  “Oogie MacDougal,” Molly breathed, still not quite able to believe it. Another of their oldest foes back for vengeance. “So it was you we fought at the Smithsonian.”

  “Nae, tha Rector wis Rector,” said Oogie. “Bit ah wis Rector whin Rector wis shooting darts at Rector whin Rector wis Edison.” He scratched his head. “Ah’ve ne’er bin Edison, far as ah recall.”

  Molly frowned. “So Bumbles wasn’t involved? Feh. I’d been sure that stale old grumplebum was a bad guy. He even smelled evil.”

  “Oi! Once a man reaches a certain age, ’e can’t be held accountable for ’is natural aroma!” The white-haired coachman raged into the room, spittle foaming at the corners of his mouth. “And for the last time, my name ain’t Bumbles! It’s Grimsby! Uriah Grimsby!”