There was a moment, just before he reached the middle of the river, when the tide slipped back. Another man might have thought the luck that had brought him to the craft had now gone against him. But Keen merely pushed his oar harder, and the boat rewarded him with a swift slide toward the opposite shore. A bright moon gave him plenty of light to steer by, and he soon found a landing on the other side of the water.
He would not have paused at a tollhouse had he seen one, nor did he hesitate as he drove his team onto the south road near the river. The land here was called neutral, meaning that both sides claimed it and neither could control it. The doctor's earlier adventures had made it somewhat familiar, and Keen realized that he had only to go a few miles south to find Dobbs Ferry, which was a Tory haven.
A Loyalist militiaman attached to a British guard unit was posted near the road when Keen arrived two hours before dawn. In actual fact, the man was fulfilling his duty with a surfeit of snores; he was stretched out with his head against a pile of wood and his bayonet idling nearby. Keen kicked the musket into the woods with disdain. When this failed to wake the man, he turned his boot to the laggard's ribs.
"I am Major Dr. Harland Keen," he said over the man's groans. "Take me to your commander immediately."
The guard's reaction was to reach for his musket, moving in slow motion as if still dreaming. When his hand failed to discover it, he reached further; finally he rolled over as if flopping in bed. Keen was in no mood for this. He bent and grabbed the sentry's neck, hauling him up with a sharper grasp than a huntsman chastising a young pup.
"I will give you a choice: you will take me to your captain now, or I will take you to your Creator. Which do you prefer?"
"Th-the captain," stuttered the unfortunate soldier, who received one last kick from Keen's well-crafted shoe as he hurried into action.
His commander proved to be a hardened lifer who had been up and down the command ranks several times, advancing as high as major twice before descending to start again. He did not take kindly to being woken in his bed by his private, but his reaction was somewhat different when Keen plunged the end of his walking stick into his stomach.
"You will rise and find me fresh horses to pull my carriage, and an escort to King's Bridge," said the doctor. "You will do so quickly."
"Who the devil are you?"
"I am Major Dr. Harland Keen, of General Bacon's staff. And if you ask another question, I will answer with the sharp end of my stick, instead of the blunt knob I have in your stomach. Be thankful that I do not have any more explosive powder for its charge, or you would be examining the floorboards through the hole in your middle right now."
Similar rough treatment of fellow members of His Majesty's service brought the doctor to Manhattan toward four p.m. He learned one piece of good news along the way: Bacon, along with his aides, had gone out to the ships with Howe. Keen was thus afforded a brief opportunity to intercept Gibbs and dispose of him without his knowledge.
But finding the rebel spy in the city could easily prove as difficult as catching him on the road south of New Windsor. Keen was loath to call on the military establishment for direct assistance for several reasons, the most prominent being that General Bacon might inadvertently be informed. Besides, Gibbs wasn't likely to present himself to them for their inspection.
The first time they had tangled, Gibbs had infiltrated a Loyalist ranger group and foiled their plans to destroy the chain blocking the upper Hudson against the fleet. The next time, Gibbs had been meeting with Indians and assorted whites friendly to the king. Keen, who had never had a chance to properly question him on the matter, hypothesized that dealing with Loyalists must be his enemy's specialty. Perhaps in coming to the city of New York he was aiming a direct blow at the men responsible for Loyalist spying throughout the several colonies.
And so, starting with a few hints and prejudices, Keen worked out a sound plan, deciding to call on civilian officials in a position to interest Gibbs. At the very top of his list was Clayton Bauer, whose house being north of the city proper made the late afternoon stop particularly convenient. Keen prepared his face with a slight touch of rouge, lightening his heavy jowl before descending from his carriage and walking up the precisely laid path to the front door.
This solid piece of wood was meant to be most imposing. Carved completely from a chestnut tree several hundred years old and polished with the same care a gemstone would receive, it glowed a garish hue that clashed with the rustic hillside leading down to the river.
Keen curled his lip in contempt, thinking of how easy it was to make a fortune in America, but how difficult to display it properly.
His Colonial host met him in the front parlor with a less than enthusiastic gait, ushering him toward a settee with a perfunctory gesture.
"I hope you are well," said Bauer with a voice that suggested otherwise.
"And I assume that you have gotten over the Portuguese ailment."
The unsubtle reminder that Keen had cured Bauer's venereal disease a few months before was all the doctor needed to demonstrate his power over him. Bauer nodded, gave up his pitiful airs, and waved a hand to the servant, dismissing him.
"My sister and brother-in-law are here from England," said Bauer.
"How pleasant," answered Keen. "I have not seen Lord Buckmaster in quite some time. I believe I treated him for an ailment similar to yours some years before he married your sister."
Bauer's face immediately brightened. In his case, Keen's cure had gotten to the cause of the disease as well as the symptoms, taking care to remove a certain individual who could have complicated his life to a great degree. He wondered whether the same service had been performed for his brother-in-law. In any event, the doctor had just generously given him ammunition against his lordship, should he ever need any.
Though his manner remained brusque, Keen was in fact treading cautiously, careful not to give away the true nature of his situation. It would not do to let Bauer have any power over him.
"I was in the vicinity," said Keen. "I had hoped to meet a friend."
"A friend?"
Assured from the tone that he had left Bauer with the implication that he was seeking a fellow agent, Keen proceeded to describe Jake carefully — without using his name. "He is a fellow doctor, in a sense," he noted. "I had hoped to meet him when he came to the island. He has been away.”
"Where?"
Keen smiled. "He is quite a traveler, my friend."
"His name?"
"It is perhaps best not to say."
"When did he arrive?"
"I believe within the last day, though it is possible I am returning before him. He is the sort much given to delay. I am sure you know the type."
"Indeed. There was a man here this morning who washed up on shore. His name was Jake Stone or some other such thing, and he said nothing of you, nor of being a doctor."
"I would hope he would not."
"I think him a poor spy. He quickly gave himself away and even mentioned Bacon."
Keen smiled, not bothering to inform Bauer how completely he had been fooled. "I have had some association with General Sir Henry myself," said the doctor. "I would not think one of his men would give himself away."
"Bacon's intelligence people are not as smart as you believe. We are not enemies, General Bacon and I. Nor are our people. You are here, for example."
"Come now, surely you don't believe I am in his employ. I am assigned to the admiralty as a surgeon and doctor."