recording everything, scanning for his prey.
Major Christopher Manly had performed many tasks for the governor over the past six months, though none had begun with an interview such as this. He was confident, however, that the end result would be entirely the same.
Manly had a truck full of talents, but his physical appearance belied his skills and strength. He was well over six and a half feet tall, standing a good head and shoulders above most every other man in the army. His body weight was not similarly portioned: his arms and legs were as thin as the branches on a year-old birch tree, and a girl would blush to have a waist as thin as his. His height made him appear awkward when he walked or ran, though his long strides actually made him fleet and he’d learned to use the leverage inherent in his limbs to great advantage in a fight. He was another breed of man on a horse; so light and yet so sinewy and pliant that he seemed to blend with the animal; the pair became a different being altogether.
But as far as the British army was concerned, Major Manley’s most attractive trait was his willingness to do whatever his commander asked — no, not asked, but hinted. For the major was a member of His Majesty’s Secret Department, an agent of the shadowy brigade assigned specifically to Governor Carleton to carry out whatever tasks were too delicate for other branches to handle. If he appeared awkward at rest — even standing erect he was an unlikely collection of limbs put together by a sculptor in jest — he was a fluid and efficient as a Caribbean hurricane once set in motion, and twice as deadly.
“ Burgoyne may be right about the rebels,” continued Carleton after a new round of pounding on the desk finally drained his anger. “They are quite sharp when they face old men as they did taking Ticonderoga, but put a real army together and they fall back, as they did last fall. Still, he is a fool for overestimating his own abilities and the loyalty of these people. The Canadians — I’m boring you Major, am I not?”
“ You never bore me, Governor.”
Carleton smiled. He had that rare ability in a British commander to know flattery when he heard it — and to turn away from it.
“ Jake Gibbs is a deadly fellow. He helped stir up the populace against me while he worked at my right hand, and he scouted the Canadian defenses most effectively.”
“ If his work at Quebec is any indication,” said Manley dryly, “I should think you’d be happy to have him spying about.”
“ The Americans attacked out of desperation,” answered Carleton, aware that his great victory two years before was due partly to luck. “No, Gibbs is quite something. I’d heard rumors that he was killed; obviously they were wishful thinking.” Carleton rose from his desk and began pacing through the room. “He could have assassinated me tonight.”
“ I doubt that, sir.”
“ No, it’s true. He could have. Burgoyne as well. He’s quite capable of such treachery. All of these Americans are. Show them kindness, and this is how they repay you.”
Manley nodded, understanding what was meant perfectly. For in such a way are orders for gruesome assassinations given, veiled with words of what others might have done. It would be against the nature of things to kill a gentleman, but a treacherous snake who did not observe the proprieties of life — such a fellow was not a gentleman, and might be disposed of without prejudice.
“ I have no doubt he will escape the patrols,” said Carlton. “He did so in Quebec, and that was in broad daylight. They will not be mounted long in any event, and will not follow with the discipline necessary even if they are lucky enough to catch a whiff of his trail.”
“ I would think a man like that would have to be followed wherever he went.”
Carleton nodded. The reader will wonder at the delicacy of the British commanders, so careful to skirt the truth of what they were saying. But officially the Secret Department did not even exist, and it was imperative that certain forms be kept — for otherwise, how was a true British gentleman like Governor Carleton to sleep at night?
“ You know this fellow Herstraw, the messenger from New York?” Carleton asked.
“ No, sir.”
There was the slightest bit of disdain in Manley’s voice. Messengers were ordinarily not part of the department’s ranks, and even those who ventured far through enemy lines such as Herstraw were looked down upon as mere errand boys, no matter how difficult their jobs might be.
“ He seemed competent enough,” Carleton said. “To have come all this way from New York — it could not have been an easy journey.”
“ It is a long journey,” allowed Manley.
The governor smiled at the grudging admission. “I assume that he will return to General How. Gibbs undoubtedly overheard us talking and will be on his trail. I would not want him overtaken.”
Manley nodded.
“ If you have occasion to find Herstraw before Gibbs, you will see that he carries a coded coin as an identifier,” said the governor. “Captain Clark is familiar with the path he will take; knowing it should allow you to track our Mr. Gibbs more easily. The hunter becoming the prey, as it were.”
Manley nodded.
Carleton returned to his desk, standing over it for a moment. It is only fair to admit that he felt the slightest hesitation before sealing his order for Jake’s death. Lurking in his soul was the shadow of the initial affection that had attracted him toward the able young man years before in London, the emotion of father toward son. If circumstances had been different, he would have proved an affectionate and powerful mentor.
But the governor had not achieved his position in life without mastering his emotions. He reached inside his waistband and produced the key to the bottom desk drawer. Without further ceremony he unlocked it, removing a long, narrow silver box. As second key was retrieved from his watch pocket, and the box was opened to reveal a dagger as slender in proportions as Manley’s body. The tempered blade shone even in the study’s dim light, and as the governor reached across to hand it to his minion, the red jewel at the end of the hilt glowed like a flame stolen from the fires of hell. And so was a mission of the Secret Department commissioned, the knife an identifier to any officer of sufficient rank and position to realize such a thing as the department existed. The blade was not, as some writers have suggested, a mark that assassination had been ordered — but then, the mistake is understandable, since so many of their missions had that as their only goal.
Carleton returned the silver box to the bottom drawer. Reaching deeper, he retrieved a small bottle of brandy and two silver snifters. He poured out two small portions — this personal addendum to the ceremony that the authorized mission was followed only by the governor, as far as Manley knew.
Should he succeed or should he fail, only the two men in this room would ever know of the assignment. Once sent on his way, Manley would let nothing stop him, not even a command from the king or Sir Henry Clay Bacon, who as the ranking officer of the branch in America would be presumed to be acting on the king’s behalf. But not even the king nor Bacon could be given details of the mission, and as the first was across the ocean and the second was several hundred miles away in New York, their intervention was more than unlikely.
Manley folded himself forward to take the silver cup, sealing Jake Gibb’s fate — and perhaps his own.
“ To Jake Gibbs,” said Carleton, raising his drink.
“ Yes.” Manley smiled. “To his good health.
Chapter Twelve
“ Monsieur, impossible!”
“ Certainly you can,” said Jake. He had the cart’s horse by the bit, and despite the animal’s protests, had no intention of letting go until his owner agreed to take him south. “You just told me you’re going that way.”
“ Oui,” said the man, a French farmer traveling with his charette, or wagon, to a small town several miles south of Fort St. John. “But it is a long way and difficult, and I could not possibly carry a passenger.”
“ There’s plenty of room. Your cart is empty.”
