President Lincoln's Spy by Steven Wilson

Author:Steven Wilson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington Books
Published: 2012-02-08T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

An abandoned warehouse

The Island

Washington, DC

An hour had passed before they arrived at their destination. Fitz was certain that they had made a roundabout circuit to hide the location. They could have driven straight to it with a brass band and a troop of clowns, Fitz thought as he climbed out of the carriage, and I still wouldn’t know where I am.

He stretched his legs as Whaley alighted and gave instructionsto the driver.

“Take this off,” Fitz said to Pockmark, holding out his hands. He’d managed to work his wrists back and forth, loosening the rope, but his hands ached. And he didn’t like being bound.

“Listen to that, will ya,” Pockmark said to Whaley. “Givin’ orders like he’s a general or somethin’.”

“You heard him,” Whaley said. “Take them off.”

“What?”

Pockmark whipped a knife from his coat and waved it at Fitz. He sliced through the rope in one sharp motion.

Fitz jerked his hands back, rubbing the circulation back into his wrists.

“Didn’t nick you there, did I, Cap’n?” Pockmark asked. “Draw a little blood?”

Whaley pushed open a rough board door leading into an abandoned warehouse. The sharp creaking of the hinges pierced the silence of the night.

“In here,” he said to Fitz. Whaley threw an arm across Fitz’s chest. “Listen closely,” he said. “You go in there and you throw in with us. Hear me? It’s all or nothin’.” Whaley would not hesitate to kill if he thought he was being betrayed.It would take nothing more than his suspicion.

Fitz pushed Whaley’s arm aside and entered the darkened interior of the warehouse.

Bishop was there with two men that Fitz had never seen before. Pockmark and Whaley followed. Pockmark lit an oil lamp on a small table and rummaged through a chest in one corner of the room.

“Let it be,” Whaley ordered him.

“But I’m thirsty,” Pockmark whined.

“Captain Dunaway,” Bishop said in surprise. “I had no idea you’d be here tonight.”

“Nor did I,” Fitz said. As Pockmark rose with a jug in his hand, Fitz’s right fist shot out, catching the man on the jaw. He straightened, staggered back, and fell over the chest.

Fitz shook the pain out of his hand and returned to Whaley. Pockmark clambered to his feet, staring at Fitz. “What’d you do that for?”

“The rope was too tight,” Fitz said.

“Enough!” Whaley commanded. “You can kill each other later but now you do exactly as I say.” He warned Fitz, “I won’t tell you again.”

Bishop placed a hand on Whaley’s arm. “Mr. Whaley, please don’t. He can help us. Can’t you, Captain Dunaway? He’ll throw in with us, Mr. Whaley, just give him a chance.”

“I already have,” Fitz said. “Mr. Whaley knows that. Don’t you, Mr. Whaley?”

“There’s too much at stake for this foolishness,” Whaley said. “Everything we do is a hanging offense. This doesn’t make us brothers, Dunaway, just because we’re workin’ together.Don’t get any sentimental notions about that.”

“Why should I trust a Yankee soldier?” Pockmark asked.

“Because I have nothing left to lose,” Fitz said. “If I play you false, you’ll kill me.

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