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agreement with Keen's prejudices. "The king has, on occasion, used foreign agents on missions of elimination as a temporary expedient. I am personally acquainted with the disappearance of a cardinal that was associated with the workings of an Amsterdam native. Nonetheless, to meet this man — he possesses a certain crude ability, but one would sooner take him for a stage clown than an agent."
    "There are ways to validate his identity, I assume," said Major Dr. Keen.
    "It is not easy. I would have to send someone to London, and then have certain questions asked, which could lead to difficulties. Nonetheless, it will be done, if you fail."
    As Keen was sworn to carry out any mission assigned or die in the process, this was an unnecessary if subtle threat. But the doctor was too mannered to respond directly.
    "What hints could he have made?"
    "He possessed a knife," said Bacon, almost as an afterthought. "He managed to show it to me discreetly."
    The knife Bacon referred to was a long, thin-bladed weapon with a ruby set into its ornate hilt. The stone was modeled after one of the crown jewels and was the department's signifier. A member of the brotherhood was given the dagger at the moment he was assigned a specific task, and it was returned when the job done. There were less than two dozen such knives in existence; to possess one was as sure a sign possible that a man was a member of the small, bloody coterie.
    "But you are suspicious nonetheless." Keen had never heard of a member of the department being impersonated; indeed, the very nature of the organization and its members made that unlikely. The knife was impossible to counterfeit and would be guarded to the death by its possessor. Still — a Dutchman?
    "I sent a man with them from the ship in New York, after Howe released them. He was merely an intelligence agent, but he was a very good one. I had him pose as a member of the Sons of Liberty." Bacon lifted a small, mangled piece of lead from the top of his desk and stared at it. The metal had once been a bullet; it had been removed from his leg by Keen several years before in London. "The man's body was discovered today in the ruins of the rebel powder house that blew up last evening. If this van Clynne was a rebel, then he alerted the rabble and had the man killed."
    "But if he is truly a member of the Secret Department, you would expect him to have killed the man, and blown up the powder stores in the process. It would be his duty if the fellow stood in his way."
    "There is something in my soul that weighs the first possibility as much greater than the second," said Bacon. "Or I would not have called you. I have learned to trust my suspicions, and act on them."
    "A difficult problem, indeed." Keen's hand reached involuntarily for the flask of wine on the table next to him. He caught himself but took up the bottle anyway, ignoring Bacon's ironic smile — the general would be congratulating himself on knowing the limits of his underling's willpower. "Where was this Dutchman going?"
    "He said back to Burgoyne, though of course that might be merely a cover story. He couldn't divulge his mission, even to me."
    "Assuming he's authentic."
    Bacon shifted in his chair, then looked back out the window of his study into the blackness of the night. Unlike Keen, he longed to return to England; he longed to be truly recognized and acknowledged. But he had even less chance than the doctor of seeing his native shores again.
    "I want you to locate him and settle this for me," Bacon said without changing his gaze. "Find his assistant as well, Gibbs."
    "And if they are rebels?"
    "I would think they have much information that would be useful. Your methods of extraction would be called for."
    "Naturally."
    "After that, Gibbs should be killed outright, as long as it can be done in a painful manner. But this Dutchman — to impersonate a member of the Secret Department is not something that can be punished by simple death."
    "There is a