Chapter 11

Monday, February 5, 1894

Malik and Peng were at the round table in the corner of Malik’s office when Raul Castillo knocked on the connecting conference room door and stuck his head in.

“Come on in, Raul, sit down, have some coffee,” Malik said.

Producing a mug, Castillo said, “Brought my own.”

Malik stood as Castillo approached the table. The General Superintendent set down his mug and turned to Malik. Already misty-eyed, he said, “I’m so sorry I could not attend the funeral.”

Malik opened his arms and Castillo willingly embraced him. Malik murmured, “Don’t give it a thought. I know there wasn’t enough time for anyone to travel from Wichita.”

They broke their embrace and Castillo turned to Peng, who had remained seated. He said, “Yan, I cannot even imagine how terrible it must be to lose someone as precious as your own child. Please know that, even in the limited manner that is possible, Rita and I share your grief.”

Peng, who had raised her eyes to him as he spoke, simply nodded, her eyes glittering in the glow of the electric lamps, still lit in the early winter morning.

Castillo turned back to Malik and said, “Rita and I would like you and your family to come to supper tomorrow.”

“Everyone?”

“Yes, even the children. We will have a cake for them and will have a space for them to play. We have even laid in a few playthings.”

“That’s very generous, Raul. If you can accommodate one more, we’ll bring along their governess, Consuela Vargas. You’ve met her brother, Natan, that is, Nate. In any event, she can see to the children while we visit.”

“Is Nate with you?”

“Yes. He’s part of my security and acts as a general assistant, though for the time being, I have him watching out for the family.”

“Then you should bring him, too.”

“That’s quite a crowd. Isn’t Rita teaching?”

“Our cook can handle it. Rita will be home early enough to assist. And no fancy dress. It will be a casual meal, with food the children should enjoy. I intend to be in shirtsleeves and without neckwear,”

“That alone should make it memorable. Seriously, though, thank you, Raul. I’ll confirm our acceptance with Beatrice and let you know later this morning.”

At that point, Dixie Yeats knocked on the on the frame of the hallway door, and the cycle of condolences began, again. It was nearly ten-thirty before all the other directors and senior staff had extended their sympathies.

At that point, following a privy break and the arrival of a carafe of fresh coffee from the canteen, along with two dozen oatmeal crisp cookies, Castillo and Dixie Yeats sat down with Malik and, after she closed the office door, Peng.

Castillo began with, “I know you do not require advice or suggestions from me regarding the use of your time during your bereavement. Suffice it to say that I am aware of your mourning and expect you to arrange your time to suit your personal concerns and that of your family.”

“Thank you, Raul. I appreciate it. By the way, I telephoned Beatrice. We gratefully accept your invitation to supper tomorrow. Beatrice will telephone Rita this evening.”

Then Malik looked toward Dixie. “So, did you leave the Western Missouri as a working branch line?”

Dixie wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips, grousing, “I’ll have you know we read the riot act to some of those shippers, the ones who had the sweetheart deals with their kickbacks and all. They’ll either be walking the straight and narrow or they’ll be shipping by ox cart from now on.”

“So they’re shipping by ox cart, now?”

“Au contraire, O Lord of the Rails. Their oxen have been well and truly gored.”

“You said ‘we’?”

“Sure. Frank looks really handsome in a Kanzona lieutenant’s uniform.”

“And Frank’s good looks won the day?”

“Sure did. We’re gettin’ hitched at the end of June.”

At one thirty, a secretary from the third floor reception area knocked on Malik’s door frame.

Malik, still working from the round table with Peng, said, “Yes, Miss Hoyo?”

“There is a Chinese lady who would like to see you, a Miss Zeng Shu. She says that she represents a Mister Fu-Chun Li.”

“Had she called for an appointment?”

“No, sir.”

Malik hesitated, glancing toward Peng, who shrugged.

“Very well. Show her in.”

A minute later, Pilar Hoyo brought Zeng Shu to Malik’s office. She was thirty years old, slim, comely of face and, at five-foot-seven, relatively tall for her race. Malik stood and invited her to one of the guest chairs in front of his desk. He introduced her to Peng Yan, by name only, and then sat down opposite her in the other guest chair. Peng remained at the table.

“Would you care for some tea or other refreshment, Miss Zeng?”

“No, thank you, Mister Malik.” Her voice was a soft British English with Mandarin tones lightly bending the syllables. “But please allow me to apologize for coming here without an appointment. However, there is some urgency involved.”

“Normally, I would prefer that an appointment be set, but I understand that some situations demand immediacy. With that in mind, then, allow me to inquire as to the purpose of your visit.”

“Termites, sir,” she said, in a calm voice that belied her presumed exigent message. Having made the statement, she sat silently, her back straight, her hands crossed in her lap.

Malik smiled. “Termites, Miss Zeng? Would you be good enough to elaborate?”

“Of course, Mister Malik.” She seemed to sit up even straighter as she looked at him directly. “Termites are threatening the integrity of two structures that will likely affect train operations when they fail. Should that failure occur when a train is present or the damage is undiscovered prior to the approach of a train, losses would likely be compounded, including a potential loss of life.” Her eyes dropped to look at her hands in her lap.

Malik sat, nodding, his curled fingers pressed lightly to his lips as he observed Zeng. After long seconds, he said, “Am I to understand you represent Mister Fu-Chun’s intelligence service, Miss Zeng?”

She looked up at his question. “Quite so, Mister Malik.”

“Then would you be good enough to tell me how much this intelligence will cost us?”

“Two thousand five hundred dollars, sir.”

Malik was obviously surprised. “And what percentage is that amount presumed to represent?”

“Twenty percent, sir.”

“May I ask how you arrived at that figure?”

“Of course, sir. In general terms, we calculate that failure will most likely occur due to the vibrations transferred to the structures at the approach of a locomotive pulling a goods train. In consequence, the locomotive and its crew will be adversely affected, as would be the coal tender and most likely the first two or three goods wagons. It is somewhat less probable, though still possible, that a passenger train would be the proximate cause of failure, in which case, damages by lawsuit would be much greater due to the involvement of passenger carriages. However, the heavier goods train presents a greater risk. Recovery and repair of affected equipment are part of the calculation.” She again fell silent, with her eyes downcast.

Malik looked toward a window, stroking his chin.

The office, which he had inherited from Chen Ming-teh, had been redecorated extensively when Malik assumed the railroad’s chairmanship. Chen’s taste ran to dark wood paneling, heavy draperies, and a red color palette, the familiar color signifying good fortune from his childhood in southern China. Malik, on the other hand, took his lead from both Judge Clarence Westcott and Waypoint builder Ivan Kozlov, along with a color palette of the American Southwest. The draperies were a translucent aquamarine, the paint ecru, his desk and furnishings a bleached oak, and colorful Sonora and Navajo rugs covered large portions of the polished wood floor. The overall effect was a bright and colorful office, a departure from the normal dark, heavy decor common among American business executives.

The drapes were normally drawn back, and Malik could see the cold, blue, Kansas sky, smudged somewhat by the smoke rising from the nearby Santa Fe switch yards. At last, he looked toward his visitor.

“Very well, Miss Zeng, I accept your terms, but not the amounts. I believe the cost of repairs must be deducted from your projection of potential damages, and I allow only fifteen percent.”

Zeng looked uncomfortable and uncertain. “I will have to consult with Mister Fu-Chun about that, sir.”

“He has not given you the authority to negotiate?”

“Well, yes, sir, he has. However, we had not anticipated a proposal excluding repair costs. But to advise you, I think he will insist on the twenty percent.”

“Let me ask you: Do you find my proposal unreasonable, Miss Zeng?”

“No, sir, not unreasonable. Only unexpected and somewhat inequitable.”

“So, you are willing to accept the liability that any delay brings to you and Mister Fu-Chun.”

“Liability, Mister Malik?”

“Certainly. I have agreed to your terms in principle to purchase information regarding dangerous conditions on our railroad. I have made a counter-offer which you agree is reasonable, but you will withhold the information while you consult your superior about the details. By withholding the information in the face of a reasonable counter-offer while you work out the details, a portion of the liability transfers to your organization, Miss Zeng, should this catastrophe occur as a result of any delay on your part in advising us of the details that would allow our intervention.”

Zeng was, once again, looking at her hands in her lap, but now those hands were wringing one within the other.

She finally looked up and said, “On the San Angelo Division, the Peterson Siding water tower and the Montecito Wash trestle appear to have been built with beams insufficiently impregnated with creosote oil. Both have been subject to termite infestation and are significantly weakened.”

“Thank you, Miss Zeng.” He turned toward Peng and said, “Peng, see to immediate notifications to Mister Castillo, Mister Pottinger, and the San Angelo Division Superintendent.” Peng rose and left the room.

Turning back to his guest, he asked, “Will there be anything else, Miss Zeng?”

“No, sir. I will return after I have instructions from Mister Fu-Chun.”

Malik stood and Zeng followed suit. He offered his hand, but she offered a deep bow, instead. Eyes downcast, she said “Good day, Mister Malik,” and left the office.

Malik followed her to the door and said to the young man at the desk just beyond, “Mister Glenn, would you be good enough to escort Miss Zeng to the front door and see to her mode of transportation?” Individuals not employed by the K&ASR were not permitted to move about the headquarters unescorted.

Peng returned from her errands a few minutes later. Malik was already back at the table, working through the stack of paper that had accumulated in his absence.

As she crossed the office, his eyes remained on the document before him, but he said, “Fu-Chun thought I might be distracted by an attractive, submissive woman.” He looked up as Peng seated herself. “I reckon he’ll learn that didn’t work.”

Peng said, “He will not make the same mistake again. Nor will your gibberish about liability likely be effective again, either.”

“No, probably not,” he sighed, as he bent, once more, to the paper work. “Do you reckon we’ll see Miss Zeng, again?”

Peng smiled to herself.

(Monday, February 5, 1894)

Tuesday, February 6, 1894

Peng Yan returned to the office with the telegram in hand.

Malik, at his desk, said, “Go ahead and read it.”

She slit the envelope, using the stiletto she carried, hidden in her dress. Removing the form and eyeing it quickly, she said, “It is from Fu-Chun Li: ‘Your terms for San Angelo Division termite problem are acceptable.’” She looked from the telegram to Malik. “It is not as if you left him much choice,”

Malik nodded absently and said, “I wonder what happened to Zeng Shu?”

(Tuesday, February 6, 1894)

Friday, February 9, 1894

Malik awoke to find Paul sleeping between him and Peng Yan. Beatrice, on his other side, was sleeping with her arm across Malik, her hand resting on Paul’s shoulder. It had become the boy’s habit, in recent weeks, to come to their bed during the night. Malik looked toward Peng and found her awake and looking back at him.

She said, quietly, “Perhaps we should move his bed into the nursery. We can tell him he is responsible for Gunnar and Robin.”

From the other side of the bed, Beatrice mumbled, “Let’s put Robin in with Aspen. Give both Paul and Aspen the notion that they’re to provide examples to their younger siblings.”

Peng said, “Yes, that has merit.”

Malik, Peng, Raul Castillo, and Dixie Yeats were eating a late lunch in the employee canteen in the headquarters basement.

Yeats, who had returned late the prior evening from the Lamy Division, said, with a grin, “We now hold five percent of the Ojo de Montaña (OH-ho day mon-TAHN-yah, mountain’s eye) gold mine. For thirty-five hundred dollars, we could own seven percent.”

Malik was smiling, but looked puzzled. He asked, “What’s all this about?”

Castillo said, “Remember that tip from Fu-Chun Li about the water theft?” Malik was nodding, so Castillo went on. “Our security officers found a diversion dam on that creek up by Dos Picos. Three brothers had a ditch carrying it to a mine just south of our property line.

“Which way are they digging?” Malik asked.

“Southeast,” Yeats said, “Their vein moves away from, not toward our property.”

“What do they need the thirty-five hundred bucks for?”

Yeats, ticking off on her fingers, said, “Explosives, half a dozen mules, a freight wagon, a couple tilt ore buckets on rail carts, and several hundred yards of rail.”

“Is thirty-five enough?” Malik pressed.

“They say they’ve got it priced out, mostly used equipment from defunct mines. It’s the mules that are pricey.” She took a sip of coffee, then went on. “They’ve been running everything through a sluice box, which is why they took our water. But they’re seeing more gold tied up in quartz and want to switch to sending the ore to a hammer mill and a smelter.”

“What has it assayed?”

“Eighteen ounces a ton,” Yeats replied. “Between the three of them, they figure they can move at least eight tons a day, once they get the explosives, the mules, and the rest.”

Malik eyes widened in surprise.

Castillo said “That comes to more than forty-six hundred dollars a day.”

Malik asked Yeats, “Is their claim solid?”

“It is, according to the man at the territorial claims office.”

“And they’ve proved up?”

“With the assay report at the same office.”

Malik looked at Castillo and shrugged. Castillo smiled and said, “Rather than deal with banks in these uncertain times, I will arrange to send them cash by courier.”

Malik smiled broadly. “Nicely done, Dixie.”

Malik and his qie had no sooner returned to his office than the telephone rang. Peng, who was closer, picked up the candlestick set.

“Mister Malik’s office, Miss Peng speaking.”

“Certainly, please connect her.”

Then, seconds later, Peng’s posture went rigid and her eyes narrowed. She began speaking, rapidly, in Mandarin. She was listening, then, interjecting the occasional question, still in Mandarin. Malik, looking anxious, walked over to stand next to her.

Peng set the telephone back on the desktop and returned the receiver to its hook. She said, “That was Fei Weisheng. Three men attempted to snatch Gunnar and Robin as the family exited the carriage at home as they were returning from a shopping excursion. The attempt was not successful. Beatrice and the children are safe. Consuela stabbed one of the men and Natan shot another. Both men are presumed dead. The third man, who was holding their horses, escaped, but may have been wounded by Natan. Consuela was shot in the hand or wrist. Natan is bringing her here, to our clinic.”

“What about Aspen and Paul?”

“Apparently they had not accompanied them. They were finishing lunch in the kitchen with Fei Weisheng when this incident occurred.

Malik turned away and Peng used the telephone to alert the clinic. The headquarters medical staff, a doctor and nurse, were conversant in the treatment of railroad injuries, though most treatment there was not of the emergent variety, but more in service as consultants. Doctor Hiram Matthews served as the clinical director for all of the divisional medical services. Even so, the headquarters clinic, in the basement, was fully equipped.

Malik turned back to her as she completed the telephone call and said, “See if Frank Tremaine is in. If he is, have him meet us in the lobby. Then let’s get down there.” Peng made the telephone call while Malik donned his overcoat. Peng connected with Tremaine and passed the message.

As Malik helped her into her coat, he asked her, “Did they contact the city police?”

“She did not say, but had they, I suspect she would have mentioned it.”

“Yes, likely so. Let’s go talk to Frank.”

As they stepped out of the office, he said, “Let’s see if Dixie is in. She can tend to Consuela and inform those who should be.”

Yeats was in and at her desk. Standing in her doorway, Malik said, “Dixie, please come with us. It’s urgent.”

Looking up, she asked, “Will I need my coat, too?”

“Perhaps,” Malik said, then turned and left. Yeats hurried around her desk, retrieved her coat from a armoire near the door, and walked rapidly out of her office.

Less than two minutes later, Malik and Peng, trailed by Dixie Yeats, emerged into the first floor lobby, where Frank Tremaine was waiting, already in his overcoat.

There were visitors seated in the waiting area and Malik said, “Let’s step outside for a minute,” and he led them out the door. Tremaine grasped Dixie’s hand as they followed.

On the sidewalk, in the chill wind, Malik drew them against the building. He said, “There was an unsuccessful kidnapping attempt at our house a short while ago. Beatrice and the children are unharmed. Two of the three men were likely killed by Nate and his sister, the third got away, but may be wounded. However, Consuela was shot in the arm and is on her way here now to see Doctor Matthews.”

Looking at Yeats, he said, “Dixie, I want you to tend to Consuela and keep us informed. Also, tell Raul what happened.”

Then, turning to Tremaine: “Frank, I’d appreciate it if you would contact the city police to be sure this has been properly reported, because we suspect none of our people have done so; everyone is likely in a defensive posture. Use your discretion in making the report to whomever you feel is appropriate. Go ahead, now. We’ll take Consuela down to the clinic, and then I’d like you to accompany us to the house.”

Tremaine said, “Yes, sir,” and went back inside.

Malik said, “I’ll have Nate take us home, after we see to--”

A clatter of hoofs on cobblestone brought Malik’s attention to the farther street corner. An open landau carriage, drawn by a matched pair of chestnut mares, slid around the corner on the cobble pavers.

Moments later, the driver, Nate Vargas, was pulling back on the reins with one hand while pushing on the brake lever with his foot. He shouted “Whoa back, girls, whoa back!”

As the carriage came to a halt at the curbing, Malik hurried over and found Consuela looking pale and dazed. She was half-reclining on her right elbow while cradling her left arm, the lower part of which was wrapped in a towel, below a blood-soaked coat sleeve.

Nate twisted around in his seat and said, in a breathless voice, “There’s a tourniquet on her arm.”

Malik said, “Peng, go ahead and alert Dr. Matthews. We’ll bring her down, directly.”

Standing on the sidewalk, Malik opened the low door of the open carriage and said, “Consuela, can you move over here? I’ll carry you inside.”

Nate turned in the seat and reached down behind his sister. With one arm on her back and the other underneath her right arm, he helped her slide to her knees, her back to Malik, who said, “Just lean backward. I’ll take your back in my left arm so your injury isn’t pressed between us.”

As she slumped toward him, he reached behind her, pulling her to him. With his left arm behind her back, his articulated hook was exposed, immediately beside her own injured hand. She reached her right arm around his neck and, with his right arm, he gathered her legs and the long skirt that covered them at her knees, and, easily lifting her, turned toward the building. Yeats went ahead and held the door, while Nate followed Malik inside. A staff hostler had come out to walk the horses.