"The man has no taste," said van Clynne. "He believes wine better than beer."
"If I were Howe," said Alison, "I would attack Philadelphia. It's full of pompous puffs who will gladly bow to the king."
"So now you are a politician as well as a soldier," said Daltoons. "Shall we call you General Alison, or Congressman?"
"I do not think that I will allow you to call me anything," said Alison. "And why do you wear that red cloth around your neck? Is it your sweetheart's sign?"
The lieutenant turned red. "My mother gave it to me before I joined the army," he said. "I do not have a sweetheart."
"I could have predicted that," said Alison.
While the pair were engaged in their light fencing, Jake made a mental list of the men who must know Howe's true plan. General Clinton surely would know where his commander was going, even if Culper's efforts to infiltrate his staff had so far revealed nothing.
Kidnap him? If easier than swimming out to Howe, it was still difficult in the extreme. Nor was Jake likely to find any knowledgeable member of his circle an easy target. Keen would probably have alerted the entire British force by now.
He began thinking of prominent Tories who might have been let in on the secret, and once more came to Bauer. Surely his network of Loyalists would have been of use to Howe in his planning. Bauer had also helped organize Tory cabals in the city of New York before the invasion, and it would be logical to have him help or at least advise in setting the stage in Boston.
Or Philadelphia. Or Georgia. Or the Carolinas.
He had a company of guards, but that obstacle might not prove insurmountable. If he were kidnapped, he might be rowed from his own dock without an inordinate amount of trouble.
But how to get him to say what he knew? And how to know it was true?
Bauer's fierce reputation was not unwarranted. Fight off his guards, kidnap the man, torture the answer from him — and then be victimized by a simple if well-told lie?
Worse, kidnapping might alert the British, and possibly cause them to change their plans.
Brute force would be unreliable, Jake realized. Claus — dare he concede it? — was right about that.
Bauer must be the solution; Fate had not thrown them together so often today without some purpose. Too bad he couldn't just kill him, then dissect his brain for the answer.
Jake's mind lit with an idea.
"Do you think Bauer will show up for the duel?" he asked Daltoons.
"Of course." The lieutenant had laughed at the story earlier with a touch of envy; he wished he might develop his older friend's flair, as well as find his luck.
"Even if he knows I'm an American?"
"How will he know?"
"Keen will tell him." Jake reconsidered. "Well, perhaps he has reason not to. Bauer still thought I was a spy for Bacon just now. Lady Patricia seemed to think Keen and I were friends, which is an idea that could only come from Keen. He must have some reason for keeping my identity secret."
"In any event, I would think Bauer's reputation guarantees his presence at the duel," said Daltoons. "But why would you attend?"
"To kill him and then raise him from the dead."
"What?"
Jake jumped from his chair. "We are going to kidnap him and steal the answer, without anyone else realizing it. We will need some contingency to distract his dragoon guard, in case they feel obliged to attend the duel. Can you arrange an order to take them away from his house?"
"I'm sure we can find a diversion," said Daltoons, unsure what Jake was up to. "But don't you think you should consult with Culper?"
It was as useless to try and stop Jake when he was launched on a plan as it was to argue with van Clynne about Dutch superiority. The patriot spy waved him off as he ran to grab his coat. "The first trick is to kill him, the second to cure him. That way we'll keep others' suspicions down and only worry about his. Have everything ready for me. I must see a friend. In the meantime, organize some sort of order or delay for the guard. I want to make sure Bauer arrives on the Jersey shore without it."
Alison sprung after him.
"You can't come with me," Jake said.
"The British are looking for you," Daltoons told Jake. "And Culper specifically said for you to stay in hiding."
"The beauty of being on a mission for General Washington," said the spy, "is that I take orders directly and only from him. A mission has but one chief."
"I knew we would hear the theory at some juncture," muttered van Clynne as he slipped toward sleep. "Though usually it is to give me some base assignment."
"Deliver Alison to Culper, and tell him to continue his efforts. With luck, my stage tricks won't be needed."
"I want to help you." Alison caught hold of Jake's arm as he started down the stairs.
Jake reached back and took her arms firmly, gripping not quite hard enough to hurt her, but surely pressing his will into her rebellious flesh. "If you truly care about our Revolution, you will go with Daltoons and not utter another word."
"But — "
"And hand me back my Segallas."
Even in the dim light, there was no obscuring the look in Jake's eyes. Alison nodded meekly.
"I shall pursue my own plan in the morning," vowed van Clynne between his snores.
"Do that," said Jake, tapping his shoe as he left.
Chapter Twenty-eight
After General Howe and his troops succeeded in turning the American line at Brooklyn Heights on Long Island in the fall of 1776, General Washington orchestrated a daring nighttime retreat. Having escaped the cauldron, the Continental troops hunkered down in the city opposite, preparing defenses for the inevitable assault. The ensuing disaster of Kipp's Bay, where Howe routed our boys with a heavy rain of cannon, is nearly too depressing to mention. Only by the most heroic of measures was the commander-in-chief able to regain control of his army and retreat north. It was not until the brave battle at White Plains that the tide was finally turned. That skirmish may well have preserved our Revolution, and shall undoubtedly be praised by generations to come, once we have won our Freedom.
In the days following Washington's withdrawal from New York, a massive fire broke out in the western precincts. From Broadway west to the fort, from the water north to Barclay Street, no building was untouched by the flames. Even the magnificent steeple of Trinity Church glowed with the red flickers. The destruction was several times greater than that caused by the cannons of war; it may truthfully be said that no conflagration of similar proportions had ever raged on the continent. The wounded precincts have since become host to a city within a city built of ruins and canvas, the poor huddling for whatever shelter they can find.
But as Claus van Clynne would cheerfully point out, ever since its establishment by the Dutch, New York has been a city of great resources and strength. The presence of the British in the fort at the island's southern tip — and even more importantly, on the fields to the north and the waters to the east and south — proved a magnet to all manner of Tory. American industry, ignorant of politics, constantly seeks to build and grow, no matter who sits in the governor's house or mans the battlements.
Indeed, the city Jake proceeded through after leaving the infirmary hideout was enjoying what van Clynne's favorite philosopher Adam Smith might call an economic boom. Despite the late hour, the streets were filled with people going about their business. Even the notorious city pigs, supplemented by an occasional loose dog, walked with purpose. The air was as filled with the smell of money being made and spent as it was with horse dung.