The Silver Bullet (12 page)

“
Arnold was an ass,” added Du Calvet.

“
I quite agree,” said Jake, who blamed the commander for his friend Captain Thomas’s death. “But your spies have not done a good enough job informing General Schuyler. Otherwise I would not have had to come north.”

“
Perhaps the problem is that neither Schuyler nor Gates wants to believe what we tell them,” answered Du Calvet. “And perhaps Congress would do better not to keep changing commanders every time the wind blows.”

“
Since you don’t want me here, I assume you will help me leave.”

“
Gladly. I will have a wagon and papers waiting for you tonight.”

“
Tomorrow morning, on the Post Road south of Montreal. I am otherwise engaged this evening.”

“
Where?”

“
At the ball.”

“
You’re insane!”

“
Frankly, I think I dance rather well,” said Jake. “Have the wagon waiting.”

“
The British army would love to hang you,” said Du Calvet solemnly. They were his parting words, except for curses when Jake promised to save him a dance.

Upon reflection, Jake might have admitted that he had gone about things a bit rashly. A more cautious spy would have snuck into town at night, waking Du Calvet or some other American sympathizer in bed, persuading him to gather information while he hid in the attic or cupboard. But Jake considered the words “cautious” and spy to be contradictions. Besides, he didn’t particularly like attics and grew claustrophobic in cupboards.

In any event, any admonition toward caution was now beside the point: He was sitting in a room of the Governor General’s Palace, enjoying the attentions of a small coterie of ladies, none of whom he recognized from his last sojourn in Montreal – and none of whom, he had reason to hope, would recognize him.

He’d breezed past the most difficult portion of the gauntlet nearly an hour before, clutching Marie’s arm firmly as he captain took her forward and with great ceremony introduced them to Burgoyne.

It was not for nothing that Burgoyne was called Gentleman Johnny. The general was a handsome man, perfectly tailored – if Jake looked like a dandy, Burgoyne had him beat by three leagues and a half. The fifty-four-year-old general’s jaw clenched and jutted as he threw a gratuitous bon mot in Marie’s direction, showing off his Parisian French. She looked quite ravishing in her fine yellow dress, he said; she would fit in perfectly in Westminster.

Burgoyne then turned to Jake, who pretended to practically faint at the introduction. The general looked at him oddly for a moment, as if they had met. They hadn’t, as far as Jake knew, though he proclaimed such had long been his ambition.

There was a vast line of guests, and the general’s attention quickly turned to the woman behind Jake, whose breasts were bulging from the top of her stomacher. Just in time, too, for Carleton had entered the hall and was bearing down quickly on the general.

Jake’s disguise now included a gold-embroidered eye patch as well as his strategically placed face plasters, along with a bit of rouge and some deft work on his eyebrows. Still, he could not trust any amount of makeup or patches to keep him safe from Carleton. He slipped quietly into the background. Leaving Marie to the greasy grasp of Captain Clark, he worked his way through the crowd, gathering female admirers as a protective screen.

The entire building was filled with talk about the coming offensive. Burgoyne told everyone – literally everyone – that the whole thing had been his idea, how he’d written a book to impress the king with the grand plan to separate the rebellious colonies, etc., etc. The book, a few wags commented in the hallway, was nothing more than a hastily printed and error-strewn pamphlet, but with similar allowances for exaggeration, Jake had no trouble putting together the outlines of the campaign. Burgoyne would start out from Crown Point and take
Ticonderoga, and then with the aid of a second prong sent through the Mohawk Valley, fall on Albany. He had thousands of men mustering to sail down Lake Champlain, and it seemed obvious from various hints that he would proceed along the east side of Lake George. Two things were critical to his grand design – a populace that would return to the British as the Canadians had, and an assault force up the Hudson by Howe from New York City.

The northern drive would not only pacify the towns and villages along the river, but would threaten to surround the rebel’s army of the Northern Department. Schuyler would find himself between Burgoyne’s hammer and the anvil of General Howe in New York. Washington would either retreat to New Jersey as Howe advanced – Burgoyne apparently through the American general was too cowardly to attack – or be crushed. Either way, the rebel army in the north would evaporate and the middle colonies would be secured.

Jake’s own knowledge of the terrain from Ticonderoga south, vague as it was, supplied a second reason Burgoyne would attempt to get as far south as Albany as quickly as possible. Any large force would have trouble being supplied from Canada; its lines of communication would stretch thin and be an easy target for irregulars. By contrast, the river could move tons of food and supplies. Winter, too, would be easier in Albany than on the lakes.

Any man or woman in the hall could have told you the general’s plan within a half hour of arriving. A woman with a stomach strong enough to stand the general’s incessant preening – and breasts large enough to hold the general’s attention – could even say which army units were heading south with him, inept subalterns or no.

But no one could say when the attack was due to be launched. Such information was now Jake’s greatest desire, and it induced him to continue wandering through the party, chatting with everyone he met, always ready to gracefully retreat at the slightest sign of the governor. Fortunately for Jake, Carleton did not like Burgoyne, and kept his distance from the general. The spy could always escape his attention by heading toward Gentleman Johnny.

“
There you are,” said Marie, finding him as he prowled a corner of an elegantly appointed sitting room just off the ballroom. “What are you doing?”

“
Admiring the drapes.”

“
She’s cuckolded her husband twice in three years,” hissed Marie, nodding at the neighbor who stood before the red velvet fabric.

“
Is that a recommendation, cousin?”

Marie frowned heavily.

“
Do you know when the invasion is to begin?” Jake whispered.

She shook her head. It seemed to be the one secret Burgoyne was intent on keeping.

There was a cry of violins from inside; the entertainment was about to begin.

“
So would you like to dance?” Jake asked Marie.

“
Must you tempt fate?”

“
Oh, come on,” he said, adding, as if he missed her point, “My leg is perfectly healed.”

Marie sighed and took his arm, letting him lead her to the dance floor, where they took up a place in the line of dancers. The first dance was a minuet, begun with its requisite bows and curtsies to the guests of honor. As Carelton’s attention was drawn by a consultation with one of his aides at the other end of the room, Jake put himself quite into the dance. He kissed his hand with great flair as he offered it to Marie, bending his knee slightly and then stepping forward on his toes, forward and lower, moving to the left, facing his partner, flourishing, taking hands and whirling around, working through a set of four and ending back with his cousin.

The American hadn’t danced in several years, and leading through the ring of dancers, he realized he was starting to get just a tiny bit heady. That was quickly cured – Jake saw from the corner of his uncovered eye that Governor Carleton was heading down the row toward him.

But the dancer was caught by the beat of the music. Their turn had come to play second couple, and Jake and Marie stood idly, waiting as the first pair took up with the fourth.

Well, Jake thought to himself as the governor approached, this shall certainly make an interesting story for the crier to shout in the morning – notorious spy caught out of turn at the ball on the eve of the invasion.

-Chapter Ten–

Wherein, Jake makes certain discoveries of extreme interest to the Cause, and the British make discoveries of their own.

G
overnor Carleton was
no more than ten feet away when Jake realized Marie was clearing her throat quite loudly. Did she expect him to run?

No, she expected him to step forward and take the hand of the lady across from him – they were, after all, dancing.

He bowed with perfect timing, if just a bit of unnatural flourish, as Carleton passed behind him in a fury. The governor was so focused on his business that he saw no one else in the room, not the American agent or even the aide scrambling behind him. And now Gentleman Johnny was excusing himself and coming in the same direction.

Curiosity is an extreme motivator for a man in the spying profession, where naturally the mind tweaks itself toward inquiry. True, such a trait has its drawbacks, but for an agent on special services it is the engine of innumerable achievements. So it should not be surprising that Jake, having escaped discovery by the narrowest of margins, instantly decided to double the odds by following the two British officials and seeing what they might be up to. He bowed to his dancing partners, all seven of them, and excused himself, holding his hand to his stomach as if overcome by a sudden ailment. Then he made for the door as if he had taken a double dose of cathartic.

His quick exit brought him nose-to-back with General Burgoyne, who had stopped to confer with some aides near the door. Jake slipped off to the side as the general first gently criticized the men for interrupting, and then said, reluctantly, that he would go up with the governor and see what this new message was about.

The stairs were unguarded. Jake waited for the general and his minions to ascend and go down the hallway. He was after them in a flash, taking three steps at a time, checking for his pocket pistol as he climbed. Snug in his waistband, it was primed and ready; he had only to flick the safety and fire.

It was purely a weapon of last resort, since using it would draw immediate attention to himself. His weapon of first resort consisted of all his senses – hearing in particular, which led him down the hall to the secretary’s room, just outside the governor’s office. The interior chamber was closed, but even the thick door could not muffle Carleton’s loud voice as he upbraided Burgoyne.

Not upbraided, exactly; more like complained against the general’s libels and the willingness of Lord Germain to hear them.

“
My resignation is on its way to that coward Germain as we speak,” said Carleton.

“
Intemperate words,” said Gentleman Johnny. “Lord Germain enjoys the full confidence of the king.”

“
He has not changed his stripe.”

The argument continued, but Jake’s eavesdropping did not – someone was approaching down a hallway. Jake looked quickly for a hiding place, but found nothing more suitable than the underside of a large desk as an officer and a man dressed in civilian clothes entered.

“
Wait, while I get the governor,” the officer told the man, going in the meantime to the window and pulling the drapes closed. The window was right next to the desk – Jake was close enough to smell the grease polish on the officer’s boots.

“
My orders are to give the letter to the general, not the governor.”

“
The governor is still in charge,” said the officer testily. “He is waiting with the general.” He turned sharply on his heel and knocked on the adjacent office door before entering.”

Jake flattened himself beneath the desk while the messenger paced a few feet away. A canteen hung from a leather sling at his side: undoubtedly that contained whatever he’d come to deliver. But even as Jake considered the wild thought of snatching it and dashing for the patriot lines, the door to the office was reopened and the man summoned inside.

Jake got up and snuck next to the chamber to hear what was going on. Burgoyne apparently took the fact that the message was to be delivered to him personally as a veiled insult to his choice of staff officers. Carleton, for his part, was annoyed that Burgoyne and not he was the recipient. The general ripped open the letter and read it aloud, both as a feigned courtesy to Carleton and a dramatic display of trust in his subordinates.

Burgoyne’s voice betrayed some regret as he proceeded. How had made it clear that he had no use for his plans to invade New York, and indicated that he would not bother to support the action with his troops.

Jake had little time to consider the strategic import of this happy news – Burgoyne exploded in fury and led the whole mess of them, governor, messenger, and assorted hangers-on, into the secretary’s room, in search of something to write on. Jake nearly lost his eye patch to a splinter in the floorboard as he dove back beneath the desk.

“
You will deliver my message to Howe himself,” Burgoyne declared as he entered.

“
Begging your pardon, General, but that is explicitly against protocol. We have an elaborate procedure. I’ve never met Sir William; I have a staff officers I deal with, who in turn deals with another officers.”