by Thomas Webb
Greg hesitated but then shook the agent’s hand.
The agent turned to Montclair. “Which would make you Colonel Montclair.”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” Montclair said. The old man’s grip was firm and cool. “You’ve obviously been briefed on who we are, but how should we address the two of you? And wasn’t there supposed to be a third?”
“Call me Copperhead,” the senior agent said. “My young friend here doesn’t have a moniker, but you can call him Fortenberry for now.”
Fortenberry nodded but otherwise stayed quiet.
“And, yes, there are three of us. My protégé is busy, but I expect she’ll be joining us any second.” Copperhead glanced down at his gold pocket watch.
Montclair saw a look of concern, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
“Not every day you get to meet the hero of the Potomac face to face,” Copperhead said, catching Montclair off guard.
“I-I’m no hero, Mr. Copperhead.”
“In that you are very much mistaken, Colonel. And please, just ‘Copperhead,’ if you don’t mind.”
“Much as I enjoy pleasantries, Mr. Copperhead, we’re in a bit of a hurry,” Greg said. “Horton’s already gone, and instead of chasing him, we’re wasting time here with you.”
The old spymaster studied Greg for a while before he responded. “I’m aware of your history with the department, major, and for what happened to Ms. Sanchez, I’m truly sorry. I want you to know I had no part in that operation. I promise you that when this assignment ends, I’ll do everything in my power to help you find the answers you’ve been looking for.”
Greg’s eyes grew wide. Montclair could almost feel the major’s body tense up at the mention of Carmen Sanchez’s name. Greg started to speak but seemed to think better of it. Montclair had never seen Greg at a loss for words. He found it more unsettling than anything the Marine major could have spoken aloud.
“The major may not have put it very well,” Montclair said, “but that doesn’t mean it’s any less true. We should have left here a quarter turn ago.”
“Just waiting for my protégé, colonel,” Copperhead said. “I’d bet whatever she’s found is worth the extra time. Besides, your support troops will tell us exactly which way Horton’s headed. Your shooters had a fine view of him through the glass on their long rifles, didn’t they? They’re positioned all around the property, correct?”
“How the hell did you know that?” Montclair asked.
The old spy shrugged. “I didn’t until just now, but it’s what I would have done.”
“Sir,” Fortenberry interrupted. He whispered something to the older man that Montclair couldn’t quite hear. Then, Fortenberry pointed toward the ballroom staircase.
“Yes, I see her, Mr. Fortenberry. Good eye, young man. Looks like our wait is over.” Copperhead pointed his champagne glass in the direction of a woman approaching through the crowd. “Here comes my protégé now.”
Montclair saw a young woman push her way through a nearby group of guests. She had hair as red as a pile of embers. Her sapphire blue eyes focused straight ahead. Her gown hugged the curves of the young woman’s body as if it were made for her, which Montclair guessed it was. One look at her face, lovely as it was, told Montclair something was terribly wrong.
She spotted Copperhead and made right for him, shoving several people aside in the process. Ignoring Montclair, Greg, and the agent called Fortenberry, she grabbed Copperhead by the shoulder and whispered something in his ear. The color drained from the old man’s face.
“Time to go, gentlemen,” Copperhead said.
18 Outside Greenville North Carolina, Near Rosetree Estate, July 1864
The steam carriage raced into the night. They’d burst through the gates of Rosetree and pushed the aether-powered vehicles hard. After several miles, they pulled off the main road where Abe’s carriage circled behind a copse of trees and came to a stop. He followed Copperhead and Scarlet out of the carriage and into a wide, grass-covered clearing. The first things he saw were the brutes.
He’d never actually operated one, but Abe had seen the mechanical horses before, agricultural models built mostly for pulling plows and carts. Nothing like the machines at the edge of the clearing. These were heavier than their farm cousins, with limbs as thick as tree trunks and heavy armor plating. These brutes, bristling with weaponry, were never meant to haul corn or potatoes. They were machines of war.
Groups of men and women moved about the clearing. Some saw to the brutes, while others loaded pistol and rifle and readied themselves for the coming fight. Most had shed their formal suits and gowns, trading them instead for oddly patterned shirts and trousers. They passed sticks of charcoal between themselves, rubbing the soot onto their faces and hands. No one spoke above a whisper, but the air crackled with pent-up energy.
“I’m headed to the colonel’s carriage,” Copperhead said. “We’ll need a few minutes to discuss what happens next.” He tossed Scarlet a canvas rucksack. “Three minutes,” he said, before walking off toward the opposite side of the clearing.
To Abe’s surprise, Scarlet shimmied out of her evening gown. He blushed crimson at the sight of her in a dark-colored corset and lace underclothes. Scarlet paid no mind to his discomfort. Nor had the other female soldiers as they changed, come to think of it. Modesty took a back seat to practicality in the field, he supposed.
From the canvas sack, Scarlet pulled a set of clothes similar to the uniforms the soldiers wore. Abe stared open-mouthed as she faced away from him and wiggled into the patterned trousers.
“At least do me the courtesy of picking your jaw up off the ground,” she said, her back still turned. She laughed as Abe turned a deeper shade of crimson.
A soldier arrived with a message just as she was buckling her gun belt. “Colonel Montclair and Major Gregory have requested your presence, ma’am,” he said.
Scarlet thanked the soldier and followed him, pulling Abe along as she walked. The soldier led them to a steam carriage at the far end of the clearing.
“Took you long enough,” Copperhead said as they stepped up into the cabin. The old spymaster was alone. He had removed his suit jacket and was loading rounds into a rifle magazine.
“We’d expected Colonel Montclair and the Marine major,” Scarlet said.
“Relaying the information you found to their troops. They’ll be along in a minute. Some damn fine work you did back there, girl. If you hadn’t uncovered those plans. . .”
“We’ve still got our work cut out for us,” Scarlet said.
Copperhead grunted his agreement and picked something up from the seat next to him. “For you, Mr. Fluvelle.” He tossed Abe a revolver, still in its holster. “I’m hoping you won’t have to use that, but better to have it and not need it, as they say.”
Abe took the weapon without a word. He’d hunted with his father in Pennsylvania, but he’d never touched a revolver before. He fumbled with the holster’s straps and buckles for several minutes before Scarlet took pity on him and led him outside.
Scarlet slipped the shoulder holster over Abe’s arms and reached up to buckle the strap at his chest. For a brief second, it felt almost like an embrace. Abe felt the swell of her breasts against his torso. He smelled the jasmine in her hair. He fought the impulse to take her in his arms. Abe looked down at her, and their eyes met. His heart beat quickly, and his skin felt flushed.
Scarlet gave the shoulder holster a final tug and cinched it tight. “You’re going to have to do something about all that blushing,” she said.
Abe took a deep breath and looked up through the break in the trees. The night sky was clear and full of stars. A bank of clouds moved in from the east, threatening to obscure what little moonlight there was.
Scarlet snapped her fingers to get his attention. “Abe! That’s the third time I’ve called your name. If you expect to survive this mission, you’re going to have to start paying attention!”
“I’m sorry,” Abe said.<
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Scarlet sighed. “None of this is your fault.” She seemed to soften a bit. “I think I owe you an apology, Abe. But I’m afraid I’m not very good at it. I—”
“Hope we’re not interrupting?” Colonel Montclair asked.
Abe had been so preoccupied with Scarlet he hadn’t heard them approach. The colonel was still in his evening clothes. His friend, the Marine major, had changed into the same brown, black, and green uniform Scarlet and the other soldiers wore.
Colonel Montclair greeted Abe with a nod. “Mr. Fortenberry,” he said. Colonel Montclair stood ramrod straight, his chest and arms straining the material of his formal vest and shirt. The colonel had rolled up his shirtsleeves as if anticipating the fight to come. A revolver in a black holster lay strapped to the colonel’s right leg, a large knife was strapped to his left. The colonel wore a black leather glove on his left hand. Strange he would need gloves in August, Abe thought. Stranger still he wore only the one.
The powerfully built brown-skinned man extended his hand to Scarlet. “I’m Colonel Julius Montclair,” he said. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure?”
“You can call me Scarlet, colonel.” She placed her hand in his. “An honor to meet you.”
To Scarlet’s and Abe’s surprise, Colonel Montclair turned her hand and brought the back of it to his lips. “The honor is mine, agent.”
Scarlet laughed. “Colonel Julius Montclair, 1st Union Air Corps, West Point graduate, and commander of the Vindication. The youngest ever appointed full command of an airship if I’m not mistaken. Your reputation precedes you, colonel.”
Abe couldn’t be certain, but he thought he detected a flutter in her voice. A pang of jealously struck like a punch in the gut.
The Marine major cleared his throat. “We don’t have a lot of time, Julius.”
“Right.” Colonel Montclair placed his hand on the major’s shoulder. “Scarlet, Mr. Fortenberry, this is Major Aldan Gregory, Union Marine Corps, and as is sometimes the case, the major’s right. The clock isn’t on our side tonight.” The colonel held out his hand and helped Scarlet up into the carriage, affording himself a long look at her backside as he did. Then, he and the major climbed into the cabin.
Unsure if he was welcome, Abe stood outside the door.
“Come along, Mr. Fortenberry,” Copperhead said from the inside of the carriage. “We haven’t got all night.”
The colonel’s carriage was much larger than the one Abe, Copperhead, and Scarlet had taken to the gala. Twelve grown men sitting shoulder-to-shoulder could fit inside with room to spare. There were control consoles in the cabin’s front and rear. Wooden crates marked “ammunition” were stacked in neat rows underneath the bench seats. In the center of the cabin was a rounded table. On it lay a yellowed map that someone had done a poor job of smoothing out. Abe slid into a vacant seat next to Scarlet.
“Can your man be trusted, Copperhead?” Colonel Montclair asked.
“He and I came up through the ranks together, colonel. This was his last assignment before leaving the agency for good, so I know his work was thorough.”
“Good enough.” Colonel Montclair crossed his arms and stared at the map. “Greg?”
Major Gregory shrugged. “Our scouts verify all your information, Copperhead.” The major traced his finger along a line on the map. “They followed Horton the whole way in. The direction Horton took, the features of the terrain, even the description of the barn . . . they all match what your man gave us.”
“No reason they wouldn’t,” Copperhead said. “We’re all on the same side here.”
“We’ve confirmed Horton’s location,” Colonel Montclair said. “We can get eyes on him, but we can only see so much in the dark.” The colonel tapped his foot underneath the table. “I want this bastard before he has a chance to run. What else do you know about this barn, Copperhead?”
“Our people have seen Horton there before, and the reports say Smythe was recently seen with him. Going off what Scarlet told us about Smythe and Horton’s tête-à-tête during the gala, Smythe’s as much a part of it as Horton. The smart money says that whatever’s going on, that barn is smack-dab in the center of it.”
Abe watched as Colonel Montclair flexed his gloved hand open and closed. “We’ll deal with Smythe later,” the colonel said. “For now, the focus is Horton.”
“What about the building itself, Copperhead?” Major Gregory asked. “And the area surrounding it?”
“I’m sure your scouts have already told you the strangest thing about the place is its size. It’s at least three or four times that of a normal barn.”
“What can we expect to find in there, Copperhead?” Colonel Montclair asked.
“I’m afraid it could be anything, Colonel. We know from the plans in Smythe’s office that they are planning to use some powerful explosives, but that doesn’t tell us why the barn needs to be so big. Could be manufacturing for the explosive device, test facility for the rumored new brutes the Confederacy is working on, truth be told, we haven’t been able to get anyone inside, so there’s no telling what’s in there. Add those sentries to the equation. . .” Copperhead shook his head. “Not an ideal scenario, I know, but there it is.”
Major Gregory studied at the map. “Armed guards, huh? Anything that well-protected is important,” he said. “Now they’ve got me curious.”
Copperhead nodded. “The barn’s in an open clearing, nothing but several acres of field behind it. The only road in is this one.” He pointed to a line on the map. “There’s trees on either side all the way in. That’s to our advantage.”
“We’ll need to go in quiet,” Colonel Montclair said. “No need to wake the neighbors on this one.”
“I agree,” Scarlet said. “We can approach from three sides.” She pointed at the areas on the map surrounding the barn. “Just off the main road, then from the north and the west. Here, here, and here. These hills in front of the barn will give us the high ground.”
Major Gregory nodded. “The forest will give us some cover going in, but that single road equates to only one avenue of approach for our support. It’s sure to be well-covered.”
“Sure to be,” Colonel Montclair agreed. “I’d much prefer a different route. Actually, I’d prefer a platoon of Marines and more than one airship’s worth of support behind us.”
“So it’s settled then,” Copperhead said. “We’ll take him at the barn.”
Colonel Montclair rolled up the map. “We’ll take him at the barn. I want us on the move in five minutes.”
A turn o’ the clock later, Abe knelt on a pile of pine needles in the dark Carolina woods. He listened to Copperhead give Scarlet instructions as if his own life depended on it, which, come to think of it, it very well might. Sweat ran down Abe’s back, soaking the material of his dress shirt. His heart was beating faster than a jackrabbit’s.
“You’ll move in with the advance squad,” Copperhead whispered to Scarlet. “Don’t expect you’ll have enough light to make good use of it, but take the Chassepot just in case.”
Scarlet slung the precision French rifle across her back. With her Chassepot secure, she draped a repeater sling around her neck and put the butt stock into her shoulder. Even in her strange uniform, her face black with soot, Abe thought she was the loveliest thing he’d ever seen.
“Watch yourself,” Copperhead told her, “and good hunting.”
“You too,” Scarlet told her minder. She joined a group of soldiers waiting nearby and then disappeared into the blackness of the trees without so much as the snap of a twig.
The complaining of crickets was the only sound Abe heard. The clouds he’d seen earlier finally shifted, covering the thin sliver of the waning moon. The night turned black as pitch.
Copperhead turned to face Abe. “I want to make sure you well understand what I am about to tell you,” he whispered. “Where I step, you step. What I do, you do. Keep your mouth shut and follow instructions. Doing otherwise might get you killed
or, worse, get someone else killed. Do I make myself clear?”
Abe swallowed hard and moved his head up and down. He thought back to Philadelphia, when Assistant Secretary Field first made the offer that led him here. If he knew then what he knew now, he’d have told the assistant secretary exactly where to go with his offer.
Copperhead smiled in the darkness. “Good. Now try to relax. It’s just like shooting varmints up in Pennsylvania. Only difference is these varmints shoot back.”
Abe saw Scarlet and the soldiers move like shadows through the woods ahead. Colonel Montclair and the rest of his troops would follow behind them, while Major Gregory and his contingent of Marines would approach from the west. They’d all thought it best if Abe stayed by Copperhead’s side and brought up the rear. Abe couldn’t have agreed more.
“All right. We’re up, Mr. Fluvelle,” Copperhead whispered.
Abe drew the revolver Copperhead had given him earlier and followed the Union spymaster as he maneuvered through the trees at a crouch. Abe’s body was alive, every nerve ending firing as he strained all five senses. His eyes drank in every drop of available light. The smell of pinesap and loam was strong in his nostrils. Suddenly, the crickets were as loud as a marching band, their noise drowned out only by the sound of his own heart beating in his ears.
Abe caught glimpses of the soldiers as they floated through the darkness ahead of him. The deeper in they went, the more of them he saw, but he didn’t hear a single footfall. He had to give it to the soldiers under Colonel Montclair’s command. They were as stealthy as the Natives in the stories his mother had read to him as a child.
Far ahead, Abe spotted the barest hint of light. Several hundred feet ahead, the trees ended. Just past the tree line, the ground sloped before flattening out into the clearing from the map. There sat the barn. True to the description, it was the biggest one Abe had ever seen.
Light streamed from every mud-caked crevice of the structure. It leaked from the edges of the great double doors, and in that light, Abe saw silhouettes of the guards as they went about their rounds. Copperhead motioned for him to get down, and he did as he was told.