Chapter 8

Wednesday, June 28, 1893

Fergus Healy, the Fort Birney Division Chief Dispatcher, had lowered the speed limits by an additional ten miles per hour, or, according to the general train order for the Fort Birney Division, “twenty miles per hour (20 m.p.h.) below posted limits, with a five miles per hour (5 m.p.h.) minimum permitted, until further notice.” That general order included a further stipulation that passenger trains were to be accompanied by a pilot locomotive which would travel one mile in advance of the passenger train. That locomotive would have a crew car coupled to its number one (front) end, with the crew acting as spotters for track damage or other dangers.

As a consequence, Wednesday’s southbound passenger train, preceded by its pilot locomotive, was ninety-six minutes late in reaching Waypoint. The only four disembarking passengers were Nate Vargas, Dixie Yeats, Karla Wodehouse, and Frank Tremaine. The men handled the luggage, after handing the women onto the depot platform.

Gerald Timmons, the conductor, hurriedly greeted Malik and told him, “Barely two dozen customers, today. Seems no one wants to get their name in the newspapers for being the victim of a train wreck.”

“Who knew our passengers could be so publicity-shy?” Malik replied, as he gave Timmons a friendly slap on the shoulder.

The conductor immediately called his customary, “All aboard.” With the locomotive’s accompanying huffs, the train rolled away from the station, its escorting pilot engine already crossing the Rio Isabella bridge.

“Dixie, Karla, thanks for coming out,” Malik said, shaking hands with each woman, in turn. “Please join us in the Lincoln Falls Loop, where we will enjoy a buffet luncheon.”

Yeats held onto Malik’s hand momentarily, while she said. “Emil, I must speak with you privately about Raul’s meeting with Sweeney.”

“Fine, Dixie. Unless it’d urgent, we’ll wait until after lunch,” Malik replied.

Twenty-five minutes later, Dixie and Malik were in the Manuela de Ortega, the Malik family’s private coach, which was parked on Malik siding No. 2, the adjoining covered spur, behind the depot.

“So, what’s up?” Malik asked.

Yeats said, “I sat in with Raul for his meeting with Sweeney. Oh, your wire about the safety message on the picket signs arrived about a minute before Sweeney did. Raul understood the veiled threat right away. In fact, now that I think about it, he must have expected something like that by the way he eventually responded to Sweeney.”

Yeats described how Castillo had dispensed with the niceties rather quickly, and had asked Sweeney why he sought the meeting. “Sweeney told him he wanted to buy the Fort Birney Division and offered thirteen million dollars. When Castillo made it clear the Division wasn’t for sale, Sweeney offered a hundred twenty million for the entire railroad, with the provision that neither Raul nor any of the executive committee members work for any railroad west of the Mississippi for ten years.”

She added that Castillo later admitted to her that Sweeney’s offers, outside the no-work provision, were just shy of fair, under the current economic conditions, but well under the real value of the road under normal confitions.

“Then Sweeney said that he understood that we were having labor problems and that it might cause our value to fall off dramatically, especially if the road was brought to a standstill by striking workers.

“Raul told him he didn’t think that was likely. Sweeney told him that even a few disgruntled workers could have a ‘deleterious effect.’ Raul said that we had procedures that allowed dissatisfied workers to get action on their complaints and that, to date, that system had been effective.

“Sweeney said that maybe he should be making his offers to you, Emil, personally, as the principal shareholder and president. Raul laughed. He said, ‘You mean you want to threaten Emil Malik directly?’ Then Raul shook his head, like he’d just heard something unbelievable. He asked, ‘Do you have any idea with whom you would be dealing, Mister Sweeney?’

“Sweeney said, ‘Well, not to put too fine a point on it, but Emil Malik’s a country lawyer who inadvertently jumped from a small pond into a big one. You and he are both out of your depth.’

“Raul said, ‘You might be right about me, but I can tell you know nothing about Emil Malik. He has been dealing with threats worse than yours since he was in secondary school. Those who have attacked him, or his family or friends, have not fared well, at all.’

“Sweeney looked like he wasn’t impressed. He said, ‘That’s a pretty thin bluff, Mister Castillo. Some schoolboy rowdyism isn’t going to impress me.’

“Raul just stared at him for several seconds, then reached into his coat.” Yeats chuckled. “For a second, I thought he was reaching for his gun, but he drew out a folded sheet of paper.

“That’s when Raul surprised me by asking me to wait in the conference room for a few minutes. Of course, I did as he asked, and maybe ten minutes later, he opened the door and invited me back into his office.

“As he was walking back to his desk, he said to Sweeney, ‘Be that as it may, Emil also has your correspondence with Justin Abernathy, indicating that you are supporting the union’s activities with substantial cash contributions. One of our agents found the letters in the trash barrel behind the house in Galveston.’

“Eventually, Raul asked Sweeney, ‘So, Mister Sweeney, would you like me to arrange a meeting between you and Emil Malik?’

“After sitting there a moment without saying anything, Sweeney told him, ‘No, not just yet. I’ll get back to you. But my offers stand.’

“That was about it. Sweeney left, looking somewhat less pompous than when he first arrived. Becky, from down in Intelligence, followed him from our building. She reported that he went to his hotel, packed up and, checked out. Then he walked to the train station and bought a ticket to San Antonio, and he boarded Santa Fe number fifty-four.” Yeats ceased her narration and looked at Malik.

“Becky? Becky Robards? She’s a clerk, not an officer.”

“She’s had the surveillance training, and no officers were available. They were all out here.”

Malik shrugged. “Okay, I guess. But what did Raul say about the meeting with Sweeney?”

Yeats reached into her briefcase, saying, “He just said to give you this. I’ve not seen it.” She produced a wax-sealed envelope and handed it to Malik.

Malik could see the impression of Castillo’s ring in the wax. He used his pen knife to slit open the top of the envelope, then extracted a single folded sheet of paper. He opened it and read, in Castillo’s tight, precise script:

I suggested Carter Sweeney might want to consult one of these, before he chose threats and intimidation against you. He said that the only names he recognized were of people who were dead. I told him they all were dead, save Mister Ogilvie. He seemed to come to understand my point.

There exists no other version of this list.

Aldecott, Cable, Arenoso state senator, directed attacks against Emil Malik

Banks, Barnabas Ranford, Sheriff, Jackson County, Arenoso, assassin

Banks, Timothy Ranford, County Clerk, Prosecutor, Jackson County, directed attacks

Benchley, Gordon, Texas Ranger; kidnapper, attempted murder

Bohr, Albert, thief, rustler, Arnold’s brother, Dos Picos, New Mexico Territory

Bohr, Arnold, Albert’s brother, thief, rustler, Chama, NMT

Canby, Armitage, Texas Ranger; kidnapper, attempted murder

Gunderson, Trey, assassin of Chief Sheriff’s Deputy, Jackson County

Ivanov, Stanislaus, Galveston; arsonist, murderer, Jackson County

Lestly, Granger, erstwhile businessman, attempted murder, Jackson County

MacDonald, Charlie, Texas Ranger; kidnapper, attempted murder

Macready, Patrick, bodyguard to Senator Ranford, attempted murder and rape

Mao Wuying, Leader, Tiger Poppy Triad, San Francisco, kidnapping, murder

McInerney, Hazel Beaufort, San Antonio, directed attacks on Malik family

Nestor, Bertram, Horatio’s brother, rancher, Jackson County, assassin

Nestor, Edwin Horatio, Horatio’s son, Indian Agent, Sonora County, assassin

Nestor, Horatio Regis, Edwin’s father, Federal Judge, Galveston, directed attacks

Norton, Joseph, Sheriff’s Deputy, Jackson County, attempted murder

Ogilvie, Rabbie Burns, Texas Speaker of the House, retired, San Antonio, directed attacks

Porter, Frank, Sheriff’s Deputy, Jackson County, attempted morder

Ranford, Paulus III, Senator’s grandson, Sheriff’s Deputy, Jackson County, attempted murder

Ranford, Paulus, US Senator, Banks brothers’ cousin, Wash., D.C., directed attacks

Ranford, Petrus, Senator’s brother; alias Martin Doyle, sex slaver, murderer, Arenoso

Snow, Oliver, assassin of Chief Sheriff’s Deputy, Jackson County

Vandeventer, Marvin, union organizer, Labor Pioneers, Kansas City, Kansas, directed attacks

Volkov, Boris, labor agitator, assassin, Labor Pioneers, assassin

Whitby, Arnold Samuel, ruffian, assassin, labor agitator, Labor Pioneers

Williams, Michael, Deputy Sheriff, Jackson County, attempted murder

“Holy god,” Malik whispered. Looking up at Yeats, he said, quietly, “Uh, thanks, Dixie. I think I’d like to be alone for a while, if you don’t mind.”

Yeats said, “Raul told me you might feel that way. He told me to tell you that he was proud to be your friend and gratified to be working with you.” She hesitated, then added, “And, if I might be so bold, Emil, I feel exactly the same way.”

Malik gave her a wan smile. “Thank you, Dixie, it’s a generous sentiment and I appreciate it, quite sincerely. Still, if you’d be so kind as to allow me a few minutes?”

“Of course, Emil. I’ll see you later.” Yeats stood and left the coach.

Eventually, Malik telephoned the Lincoln Falls Loop and told Peng that he was going to go home for the night. He asked her to let the others know and told her to let Nate spend the night with his family. Malik said he would wait for her to join him for the walk up to the house.

He was still pensive on the walk home and, when they got there, he went immediately to the children’s playroom, and he spent the remainder of the afternoon with them, until they were all called to supper.

That night, he made love to each of his three wives.

(Wednesday, June 28, 1893)

Thursday, June 29. 1893

Malik and Peng arrived at the Lincoln Falls Loop at a quarter past seven. After having breakfast with the family, they had ridden down to the depot in the enclosed four-in-hand coach that was carrying the rest of the family out to the ranch. Two Kanzona police officers had joined Andy Malik as escorts for that twenty-seven mile trip.

Joining the others in the Lincoln Falls Loop, they had coffee, and tea, while Lonegan and the ad hoc cadre partook of the breakfast Zou and Fei had prepared.

Malik informed them that, pending other developments, he intended to spend some time at his law office that day. Lonegan said he would take the southbound down to Dorado Springs, just to check things on the reservation, and he asked Long Hand and Dick Schroeder if they would like to go along. Both agreed.

It was a few minutes later, and Malik had just risen to leave, when the stationmaster, Symington, came in the door of the coach. He said, “Here’s something of possible interest from down at the Springs,” while waving a telegraph form. Then, with less certainty, he said, “Uh, Boyd Jameson’s on the key, and he can translate our code in his head, else --”

“Don’t worry about it, Mister Symington. Good for Boyd. Let’s see what you have.” Symington handed him the sheet and Malik read it, then looked up at Lonegan. “They think that Ivanovich character is staying at the Spa,” he said, an undercurrent of anger discernible in his voice.

“The hombre you figure shot Emma Watts?” Lonegan said.

“Exactly. It’s a miracle she survived that craven attack,” Malik said, his anger adding emphasis to his words. After a moment, visibly calmer, he looked at the message again. “There’s a man registered as Alexander Romanov at the Spa and they say he has one of those long rifles with a targeting telescope on it. This morning, he received a coded telegram, just like those that the picketers get every morning.”

“You think this Romanov is the same man?” Lonegan sounded skeptical.

Peng said, “Alexander Romanov is the name of Alexander the Third, the current Emperor of Russia.”

Malik chuckled, in a dark tone. “I thought that named seemed familiar. But I doubt that the Czar of all the Russias is staying at the Dorado Springs Hacienda and Spa.”

Lonegan said, “The Spa’s not on the reservation, so it’s not a federal matter. In any case, you don’t even have a warrant from Texas, and he’s apparently broken no laws in Arenoso. What do you want to do?”

While Lonegan had been speaking, Long Hand had caught Malik’s eye and had casually touched his own chest. Malik gave him the briefest quizzical look and Long Hand returned a similarly abbreviated nod. Malik gave a subtle nod of agreement; he would let Long Hand deal with the situation in Dorado Springs.

Malik said, “Maybe you’d best stay away from it, then, Connor. Let’s let the locals handle it. Long Hand, what do you think?”

“I think the sheriff’s office could question him. I will go down there today. May I have that telegram?”

“Oh, sure,” Malik said, handing it to him.

Schroeder said, “You want some help?”

“No, that will not be necessary,” Long Hand replied. “The Sonora County Sheriff has a goodly force of deputies. But thank you for the offer.”

Malik said, “I wonder what Ivanovich is up to? They said he checked in just last night.” After a moment, he added, “We’d best warn our people to be on alert. Peng, code a warning message for Mister Sanchez.” Jesus Sanchez was the Stationmaster at Dorado Springs. With the Kansas & Arizona Southern Railroad, a stationmaster was the senior staff member for all operations at that “station.” This included not only the depot, but all train operations, including any switchyards, freight and sales offices, or scales and loading ramps, within the station’s yard limits, a denotation not dissimilar to a city’s incorporation limits. In practice, most senior staff and crews worked independently but, when required, the stationmaster served as the central contact point.

Peng said, “I have suggested they be alert for a man carrying a scoped rifle or a suitable case.”

Malik nodded. “Good idea.”

Just as Malik was sitting down to supper with Peng and the family’s cook, Wu Jianhong, in the kitchen at their Sundown Ridge home, the front doorbell was rung. Malik said, “I’ll get it,” and he rose from the table and walked through the front hall to the door; Peng followed him. Outside was a panting ten-year-old boy holding a telegram envelope.

“Telegram, Mister Malik,” the boy gasped.

“Did you run all the way up here, Mister Jameson?” Malik asked, as he accepted the envelope from the boy. Blaine Jameson was the younger brother, by eight years, of Boyd Jameson, the decoding telegrapher.

“I stopped at the drinking fountain in the park.”

“Smart man,” Malik said. “Here you go.” Malik handed the boy a dime, more than twice the going rate.

“Thank you, sir, very much.”

“How’s your mother, Blaine? She still making gloves for Missus Palmer?” Eve Palmer was the proprietor of a women’s dress and millinery shop In Waypoint. Shirley Jameson, a widow, had, for a period of time, worked as the housekeeper at Stella Norman’s brothel, that is, until Eve Palmer had noticed the fine gloves being worn by Stella’s consorts. Now Mrs. Jameson and her two sons resided in a small apartment above Eve and Tom Palmer’s carriage house.

“She’s fine, sir, and she is still making gloves. Almost all the ladies in town are wearing her gloves. Missus Palmer even sends some up to a dress shop in Fort Birney.”

“That’s good to hear. Please give her my regards.”

“I will, Mister Malik. Good evening, and thanks again.” Blaine waved his hand over his head, the dime, held between finger and thumb, glinting in the light from the westering sun, as the boy turned and ran down the front walkway toward the street.

Standing in the doorway, with the sun, at six-thirty, still high enough in the summer sky, Malik opened the message and read:

Emil Malik K&ASR, Sean Edwards Sheriff, Connor Lonegan US Marshal, Gregory Symington K&ASR Waypoint, Aren 20Jun1893

Present whereabouts specified individual unknown. His tool not in shop.

Long Hand, Special Deputy, Sonora County Sheriff, Dorado Springs, Aren

He passed the message to Peng and went back to the kitchen table, Malik, while he returned to discussing household concerns with Mr. Wu. Peng read the text, then folded the telegram form, and returned it to Malik, without comment.

Later, as they lay side by side in bed, their naked bodies still glistening in sweat some minutes after an especially intense lovemaking, Malik asked, “So where do you suppose Ivanovich is, then?”

She said, “I imagine he is already dead, possibly by some unfortunate accident.”

After a moment, he said, “Yes, I imagine you’re right.”

“Did you know that would be Long Hand’s intent?”

“I thought as much, yes.” Malik sighed. “He came to me, several years ago, and offered that he and his brother were willing to act the vigilante role. He had strong suspicions that I had already done the same. He knew the necessity of absolute secrecy. And then, this morning, he indicated his willingness to pursue Ivanovich.”

“I saw the exchange, while you were talking to Marshal Lonegan.”

“Did anyone else notice, do you reckon?”

“I doubt it. I saw no signs of awareness.”

She turned toward him, resting her head on his shoulder, arm across his chest, and her bent knee over his thigh. “I love you, my Master.”

“And I you, my Qie.

(Thursday, June 29, 1893)

Friday, June 30, 1893

Early the next morning, Malik walked through the depot waiting room on his way to the private coaches, which were parked on the roofed spurs behind the depot. While passing the telegraph office, just off the hallway leading to the rear of the stationhouse, the telegrapher on duty, Boyd Jameson, called to him, holding up an envelope.

“This just came in for you, Mister Malik.”

Malik stopped at the closed, counter-topped, bottom half of the Dutch door and asked, “Wha’cha got, Mister Jameson?”

Jameson rose from his swivel stool and offered Malik the envelope. “Sir, I decoded it, already. I know it’s not my place, but the code sort of translates in my head when I read it, so I figured I might as well write it down.”

“That’s a good skill to have, in this line of work. The only problem with that, Boyd, would be if some unauthorized person were to gain access to the file copy and read the decoded message. That’s why it’s best to let the recipient decode it.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, sir. I won’t do that, again.”

“Good job, then, Mister Jameson. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Mister Malik.”

Malik paused outside the depot’s rear door, now improved with a porch-like verandah, to complement its access to the Old Freight Dock mall. He pried up the glued flap of he envelope and read the message on the form.

Emil Malik K&ASR, Sean Edwards Sheriff, Connor Lonegan US Marshal, Gregory Symington, K&ASR, Waypoint, Aren 20Jun1893

Makar Ivanovich, alias Alexander Romanov, deceased as a result of apparent accident. Am arriving Waypoint Saturday NB, with body for identification by Abernathy. Have notified Abernathy same.

Long Hand, Special Deputy, Sonora County Sheriff, Dorado Springs, Aren

(Friday, June 30, 1893)

Saturday, July 1, 1893

All the members of what Malik had come to think of as his threat management team were on the depot platform to meet Long Hand. The plan was for the identification of the body by both Jason Abernathy and Israel Soriano.

The coffin, of unfinished lumber, was lifted from the baggage car and placed on a freight cart. The men moved the cart away from the passenger platform and to the extension that had formerly served as a freight platform. It ran south from the depot, between the Malik spurs and the depot siding.

Using a pry bar supplied by Gregory Symington, Long Hand removed the cover to reveal the corpse.

“What of these wound?” Abernathy asked, indicating cuts and abrasions on the left side of the corpse’s face.

Lonegan said, “First things first, Mister Abernathy. Is this the body of, uh,” he glanced at a page in his pocket notebook, “Makar Ivanovich?”

“Yes it is. Now, what about these wounds?”

Lonegan ignored him. Instead he said, “Mister Soriano, do you recognize this body?”

“Yes, Marshal. That man called himself Mark Ivanovich when he and Mister Abernathy came to meet with Missus Watts in San Angelo a week or so past.”