Finn greeted him in return, leaping upon the dock.
“I’m Lieutenant Bowers. We’ve been expecting you, sir! And, please, whatever you’ve heard about the island and the fort, don’t condemn us before you’ve had your stay. Winter is the time to be here. Though it can grow cold, the days are dawning beautifully! It’s not wet and humid like the summer, and mosquitoes are at a minimum. There’s hardly a man in the hospital ward, and we’re praying we’ll not see another summer of war, sir, so we are.”
“We can all pray,” Finn assured him.
“Come along, sir.”
The fort was impressive, Finn thought as they entered. The causeway and drawbridge gave it a bastion against the island, and its high thick walls and multiple guns aimed at the sea provided for a threat against invaders from the water. On the grounds, the barracks seemed clean and even bright in the winter’s sun, while within the walls, Finn was certain, there was ample space for supplies, ammunition and further arms. As they walked, Lieutenant Bowers pointed out the dorm-style rooms where many of the fort’s occupants slept, the guard stations and the desalination plant, supplying the fort with its own mechanism for providing clean, potable water.
“Started out with cisterns here, but the rain didn’t come as thought. Then the seawater came in and the salt started eating away at the foundations,” Bowers said cheerfully. “We expected much more difficulty from the population, but … well, the citizens may call themselves Southern as we’re in a state in secession, but the place was filled with speculators, fishermen, a few rich and a few down and trodden. None has risen at arms, and while the few moneyed families are careful to keep their daughters under close guard, most of our men have managed to carry on decent relations with the Rebels. Oh, there’s a bit of jeering and even some spitting here and there, but nothing too bad!”
“And yet, you know that some of the populace must be plotting,” Finn said.
“Sir?” Bowers asked.
Finn smiled at him. “Please. Those running the blockade surely sift right through here. In small boats, there are many ways to move undetected or unnoticed. Fishermen still make a living, rum is reaching the bars and taverns. It would be impossible to police every transaction taking place.”
“True, of course,” Bowers said. “But you’ll note the east and west martello towers across the causeway on the mainland, sir. We are not a huge garrison, but we do manage something of control. Our power, however, is on the sea. We’ve learned well through the years.”
“We’ve learned a great deal through the years,” Finn agreed. “Where there is a will, dedicated men will always find a way.”
Finn was led to an office in one of the wooden barracks constructed on the grounds. Bowers opened the door and introduced Finn to his commanding officer, Captain Calloway, and then left.
“Agent Dunne,” Calloway said, standing. The captain had the weathered look of a man long familiar with the sea, and the very fact that his skin had begun to resemble one of the state’s famed alligators made him a man well worth his salt to Finn. Here was no pretty boy, no educated rich man sitting in power through academic hobnobbing. He’d been on a hard ride in service to his country.
Finn wondered what the captain saw in him, since he seemed to be measuring his worth in return. Finally, Calloway indicated a chair. “Sit, Agent Dunne, please. I must admit, I was surprised to hear that you were coming, and I hope we’ll be able to help you. I find it incredibly curious that you’re here, when President Lincoln is at the capital, and that still, in the midst of mayhem, you’re willing to track down every threat, obscure though some may be.”
“There is no threat against the president we deem obscure,” Finn told him.
Calloway nodded gravely. “Yes, but … well, I’m sure that President Lincoln has enemies everywhere—North and South. There are those in his own camp who believe he should have let the secessionist go. Those who were furious over the draft—Hell, there were draft riots. He surely has political enemies. Quite frankly, I’m surprised you have enough men to cover all threats. But to come here …”
“Here, to this is faraway, other world, you mean?” Finn suggested. “I certainly see your point, but we’ve learned through the years to separate what is probably an idle threat—angry talk—from what may well be a concerted plot being put into motion. My superiors consider this plot by the blockade runners and their coconspirators serious. We have a man incarcerated in the capital now, and the correspondence he carried was damning. Better to stop the situation at the seed than allow it to become a giant tree with branches sweeping across the continent.”
“I see,” Calloway said, though Finn was pretty sure he didn’t really. “And yet, in truth, how easily the president could be stopped by a single bullet, while riding in his carriage around the mall …”
Finn didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t an easy task protecting the man. While Lincoln was plagued with strange dreams and a sense that his lifespan would be cut short, he seemed unwilling to take the necessary steps to prevent such an outcome. “In the capital, and when the president travels, he is still under protection. He has the military, and he has Pinkerton agents. Pinkerton himself stopped an assassination attempt in Maryland. We have men in the capital, and we have men covertly stationed throughout the Southern armies. Captain, the point is not just to be at the president’s side and stop individual bullets. It’s also to stop what could become an event in which many people are involved, if you will—a situation in which the entire government is brought down.”
“Like, say, a civil war,” Calloway said gravely, still looking puzzled, though introspective. “Do you usually succeed in these intelligence missions?”
“We do, sir.” Inwardly, Finn flinched. Usually. Usually, he discovered the truth of every situation. But he still chafed over one particular failure: the day he had lost the woman at Gettysburg. Ostensibly, she’d carried nothing but a harmless scarf. But there had been something strange about the beauty, something he felt he recognized and that portended danger. The memories of that day had haunted him since.
“Well,” Calloway said, “I’m not privy to your means of intelligence, sir, but we’re pleased to offer all the assistance that we may. I believe that you want to set out tomorrow night?”
“Indeed. The moon will be all but black, and I understand that this time of year lends itself to good cloud cover. If I were setting out with contraband and communications, it’s the night I would choose to take flight.”
“You’ll be sailing with Captain John Tremblay, an excellent sailor, and a rare man—a native of St. Augustine. And,” Calloway admitted, “he pointed out to me himself that the date you have chosen does seem optimal for such a runner to take flight. I hope, sir, that you are not on a wild-goose chase, and that you catch your man. May God help us all in this.”
THE WAR, EVEN IN DISTANT Key West where little happened, had changed life.
Tara could remember being a child when it was easy to run down to the wharf at any time, when a friend might head out fishing or just take sail because it was a beautiful day. She remembered shopping the fish market without tension in the air, and when the cats and seabirds shrieked and cried out, trying to steal the best fish heads and the refuse tossed aside by the men and women working the stalls.
She remembered when the great ships had brought in new supplies from the Northeast, the Bahamas or even Europe. Women on the island would receive their copies of Godey’s Lady’s Book, and
