Implosion, part 5
Kluger Electronics, Ltd.
Washington, D.C.
Erik Kluger's shop in D.C. differs very little from the one he had in Massachusetts all those years ago: a shabby, unassuming hole-in-the-wall filled with dying florescent lights and narrow corridors barely wide enough to accommodate a grown man. Even the smell is the same, a mixture of dust, solder, and fish. (Why fish? Artie could never figure that out. He'd never seen the man eat a fish, or anything else, for that matter.)
"Hello?" Artie calls again, slowly edging his way into the shop. The door was unlocked, and the lights are on, but he can't hear any sounds of movement that he's not making himself. Kluger should have greeted him by now, shouldn't he? Unless he's working on something, and then that should be making a noise of its own...
Artie takes another step in, then stops dead in his tracks.
On the floor a few yards ahead is set of frayed and rumpled men's clothing--the sort Kluger always wore--still buttoned and buckled together, with fine powdery dust spilling out of the collar and sleeves.
There was a time when Artie would have been horrified at such a sight. Now, he just lets out a long sigh.
"Ohhh, you should've kept your promises, Erik."
Well, the good news is that this probably means Artie's on the right track. The question is, who did this to Kluger, and how to track them?
The insistent buzz of the Farnsworth in his pocket cuts through his thoughts. He pulls it out and hits the On/Off switch. "The tsuba, did you find it?"
"Well--" begins Myka, but Pete cuts her off.
"Well, it wasn't easy. It took some digging. But, uh, it turns out an antiques dealer had it in Tokyo in the 1920s."
"Now it's here in Washington. Artie, it's at the Secret Service."
"Secret--? What the hell's it doing there?"
"Well, the Japanese government presented it in the 1920s to Woodrow Wilson as a symbol of peace."
"Guess that didn't work out so well," says Pete dryly.
Myka gives him a Look, then continues. "And the curator at the Wilson Museum of Peace made the connection a couple days ago and offered it to be united with the sword at the gift ceremony."
"But freaky explosions tend to put the kibosh on ceremonies, so it's going back to the museum in the morning."
"The sword and the tsuba in D.C. at the same time? Nonono, that's--that's too much of a coinc... too much..." Artie trails off as something catches his eye on Kluger's workbench. There, underneath a discarded rag, are the schematics for an implosion grenade. "Coincidence."
"Well, Artie, says Myka, "we're sitting on the Secret Service building, but--look, if this thief is coming to get the tsuba, we have to warn Dickinson."
Artie looks up sharply. "No, no, absolutely not."
"Artie, you saw what this guy is willing to do," protests Pete.
"Yeah, and so did you, and imagine what he's capable of with the sword," says Artie, adamant. "Nonono, this thief is ruthless, and smart, so if you warn the Secret Service and they do anything out of the ordinary, anything at all, then he. will. be. tipped. off."
"So you wanna use 'em as bait."
Myka looks appalled. "No! Artie, no."
"Hey hey hey hey," Artie snaps. "This is not a discussion. When I--" He stops. He's just spotted something else out of the corner of his eye. Something on the floor.
"Look, Artie..."
"Artie?"
Artie barely hears them. The world seems to have gone into slow motion as he bends down to carefully pick up the object on the floor. It's small and cylindrical--a half-finished foil-wrapped roll of something. He sets it down on the table and pulls the work light over for a better look. What's left of the packaging is enough to identify it as a roll of chewable calcium supplements.
It's not the same brand Artie remembers from fifteen years ago (God, it's really been that long?), but... it's not a coincidence. It can't be.
"James."
Artie snaps back to life, grabbing the Farnsworth. "Okay, I think I know who this is, and I've gotta go. Don't tell the agents, grab the tsuba, watch out for implosion grenades, goodbye." He shuts off the Farnsworth before Pete and Myka have a chance to protest.
This shouldn't be possible. James is dead. At least, they were told he was dead. But if they were wrong, if James is still out there somewhere, and he's mixed up in this...
Things just got much, much, much worse.
[Dialogue from Warehouse 13 episode 1x08, "Implosion."]
Washington, D.C.
Erik Kluger's shop in D.C. differs very little from the one he had in Massachusetts all those years ago: a shabby, unassuming hole-in-the-wall filled with dying florescent lights and narrow corridors barely wide enough to accommodate a grown man. Even the smell is the same, a mixture of dust, solder, and fish. (Why fish? Artie could never figure that out. He'd never seen the man eat a fish, or anything else, for that matter.)
"Hello?" Artie calls again, slowly edging his way into the shop. The door was unlocked, and the lights are on, but he can't hear any sounds of movement that he's not making himself. Kluger should have greeted him by now, shouldn't he? Unless he's working on something, and then that should be making a noise of its own...
Artie takes another step in, then stops dead in his tracks.
On the floor a few yards ahead is set of frayed and rumpled men's clothing--the sort Kluger always wore--still buttoned and buckled together, with fine powdery dust spilling out of the collar and sleeves.
There was a time when Artie would have been horrified at such a sight. Now, he just lets out a long sigh.
"Ohhh, you should've kept your promises, Erik."
Well, the good news is that this probably means Artie's on the right track. The question is, who did this to Kluger, and how to track them?
The insistent buzz of the Farnsworth in his pocket cuts through his thoughts. He pulls it out and hits the On/Off switch. "The tsuba, did you find it?"
"Well--" begins Myka, but Pete cuts her off.
"Well, it wasn't easy. It took some digging. But, uh, it turns out an antiques dealer had it in Tokyo in the 1920s."
"Now it's here in Washington. Artie, it's at the Secret Service."
"Secret--? What the hell's it doing there?"
"Well, the Japanese government presented it in the 1920s to Woodrow Wilson as a symbol of peace."
"Guess that didn't work out so well," says Pete dryly.
Myka gives him a Look, then continues. "And the curator at the Wilson Museum of Peace made the connection a couple days ago and offered it to be united with the sword at the gift ceremony."
"But freaky explosions tend to put the kibosh on ceremonies, so it's going back to the museum in the morning."
"The sword and the tsuba in D.C. at the same time? Nonono, that's--that's too much of a coinc... too much..." Artie trails off as something catches his eye on Kluger's workbench. There, underneath a discarded rag, are the schematics for an implosion grenade. "Coincidence."
"Well, Artie, says Myka, "we're sitting on the Secret Service building, but--look, if this thief is coming to get the tsuba, we have to warn Dickinson."
Artie looks up sharply. "No, no, absolutely not."
"Artie, you saw what this guy is willing to do," protests Pete.
"Yeah, and so did you, and imagine what he's capable of with the sword," says Artie, adamant. "Nonono, this thief is ruthless, and smart, so if you warn the Secret Service and they do anything out of the ordinary, anything at all, then he. will. be. tipped. off."
"So you wanna use 'em as bait."
Myka looks appalled. "No! Artie, no."
"Hey hey hey hey," Artie snaps. "This is not a discussion. When I--" He stops. He's just spotted something else out of the corner of his eye. Something on the floor.
"Look, Artie..."
"Artie?"
Artie barely hears them. The world seems to have gone into slow motion as he bends down to carefully pick up the object on the floor. It's small and cylindrical--a half-finished foil-wrapped roll of something. He sets it down on the table and pulls the work light over for a better look. What's left of the packaging is enough to identify it as a roll of chewable calcium supplements.
It's not the same brand Artie remembers from fifteen years ago (God, it's really been that long?), but... it's not a coincidence. It can't be.
"James."
Artie snaps back to life, grabbing the Farnsworth. "Okay, I think I know who this is, and I've gotta go. Don't tell the agents, grab the tsuba, watch out for implosion grenades, goodbye." He shuts off the Farnsworth before Pete and Myka have a chance to protest.
This shouldn't be possible. James is dead. At least, they were told he was dead. But if they were wrong, if James is still out there somewhere, and he's mixed up in this...
Things just got much, much, much worse.
[Dialogue from Warehouse 13 episode 1x08, "Implosion."]