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ships and arms to the South.”
    While the news wasn’t surprising to Cole, it was still hard to accept. England was on the brink of recognizing the Rebels. According to rumor, so was France. McClellan’s Peninsula campaign had resulted in a wave of inglorious defeat and bitter stalemate, until the Union commander finally found something he was good at. Retreat He and his men were currently camped in the mud at Harrison’s Landing, awaiting the platoon boats that would carry them back to Washington.
    A heavy weight settled over Cole. Lee was on the offensive. Men like Sharpe were punching holes in the blockade. Lincoln was fumbling in the search for a commander capable of leading the U.S. armies. And the powers in Europe were one Rebel victory away from offering the South formal recognition. The future of the Union looked grim indeed.
    “How is Sharpe connected to these ships?” Cole asked.
    “His agent was captured carrying these papers, as well as instructions for the network of blockade runners Sharpe has in operation. The agent’s mission, apparently, was to solicit the funds necessary for the completion of the ships. As you can see, four of the vessels won’t be ready to sail for at least another six months. Those we can stop.”
    “What are you planning?”
    A glimpse of a smile broke across the admiral’s craggy face. “We intend to start a different kind of war. A bidding war. Those ships are all being built by private firms. The South might have a preferred trading status with England, but the North has a deeper pocket-book. I’ve authorized my men in London to use whatever funds necessary to secure those vessels.”
    “What about the fifth ship? The frigate?”
    “Unfortunately we’re too late to do anything about that one. Word is that she’ll be ready to leave harbor any day.” Billings cleared his throat and finished gruffly, “That’s where you come in.”
    Cole understood immediately. “If I find Sharpe, I find out where they’ll be routing the ship.” He thought for a moment. “What about Sharpe’s agent? Any information there?”
    The admiral shook his head. “Denies everything. Knowledge of the papers, working for Sharpe, even denies having murdered Lieutenant Prescott. We’re getting nothing but lies.” Billings paused, forming his fingers in a steeple over the sketches on his desk. “Any problems picking up the prisoner this morning?” he asked.
    Distaste rushed over Cole. “With all due respect, sir, surely there’s someone else who’s capable of escorting the woman to Washington. I would prefer to begin the hunt for Sharpe immediately.”
    “I’m sure you would. And I would prefer you do your duty as assigned, Captain.”
    Cole stiffened. The chore of escorting a prisoner was usually reserved for only the lowest of the low. But what had he expected after the debacle at sea, a medal? “Yes, sir.” He came to his feet, standing rigidly at attention. “Anything else, sir?”
    “Damm it, McRae, this isn’t a punishment. What happened out there could have happened to anybody.”
    Cole clenched his fists at his sides, ignoring the obvious lie. What happened out there hadn’t happened to anybody. It happened to him, to his men.
    “There’s a reason I picked you for this duty, Captain,” Billings continued brusquely. “Your prisoner is not only dangerous, but devious. She’s embarrassed us by escaping twice from her former guards. She’ll he, she’ll steal, and she’s not above using her charms as a woman to seduce her captors into releasing her. That’s why I need you.”
    Cole found an almost grim humor in the turn the conversation had taken. “You believe I’m above seduction?”
    “In this case, yes.”
    “Any particular reason I should inspire such unwarranted confidence?”
    Rather than being irritated by his junior officer’s impertinence, Admiral Billings settled back into his chair, looking supremely satisfied. “Devon Blake,” he replied slowly,