Thieves Of Mercy

was sure of it, even though he could barely make her out against

ing past, and he followed her with the glass.

What is it? What is it?

He could see the full length of her hull. That was it. He could see bow and stern sections, usually submerged, and not just the casemate. The top of the two-bladed prop broke the water with every revolution and made it flash white. They had lightened her, raised her draft.

The only reason for raising her draft was to get her somewhere she could not go before. Why? Where do they want to take her?

He tried to divine motives. Were they hiding her from the Yankees? Springing some trap? If so, he had to find out.

The significance dawned on him slowly. This was important, damned important, perhaps the most important bit of information in the whole theater of operations. The Union forces, army, navy, everyone in Washington, all of them were more worried about Merrimack than they were about all the other Confederate military forces in southern Virginia combined. McClellan had almost canceled his Peninsular campaign for fear of that one ship.

And here he was, Roger Newcomb, the only man in all the Union who knew for certain where the Merrimack was. If they were going to make him a captain for bringing in the two bitch assassins, what would they do when he also brought them word of the trap Merrimack was waiting to spring?

She was south of him now, and soon she would be lost from sight on the dark river, and he could not let that happen. He had to tail her, dog her, know where she went. The Union Navy would be there soon, and he would report from his secret mission with two dangerous assassins as prisoners, and the most crucial military information imaginable, all in his possession.

He put the telescope back in the haversack and raced up the beaten path. He felt as if he had been born again.