a door left unlocked, a careless guard
looking the other way during a working party, that sort of thing. They
generally involve a prisoner acting on his own. Nine times out of ten, he's
rounded up quickly, usually because he's cold and wet and he can't find food or
clothing, he's no idea where he is and he daren't ask directions because he
can't speak the language. They don't last long. Many end up turning themselves
in voluntarily - and not just to the military. They've even surrendered to
people in the street. But when it's more than one, when two or three at a time
have made a run for it, that suggests they've devised
a plan, hoarded food and spare clothing, maybe bribed a guard to sell them a
map so they know how far it is to the coast, and where they can steal a boat.
Even so, not many make it. All it takes is one careless word; someone overhears
them speaking Frog or talking English with an accent and the game's up. But
these recent escapes, they've been different."
"How
so?"
"As I said,
we weren't able to pick up their trail."
"Which
means what?"
"In my
book, it means someone's definitely helping them."
"Like
who?"
"That's
what we sent Masterson and Sark to find out."
"What do
you think?"
"My own
theory? Free traders, most likely."
"Smugglers?"
"My guess
is that they're passing the escapers down the line to the coast. They've got the
routes all set up, they've got the men and the boats."
"That,
Hawkwood, is the third part of your assignment," Read said. "If there
is an organized escape route, I want it disrupted, preferably disbanded."
"It might
explain why your Lieutenant Masterson was found in the Swale," Hawkwood
said. "Could be he was thrown from a vessel."
"Could
be," Ludd agreed. "I'd deem it a personal favour if, along the way,
you could find out what happened to my men. If they were done away with, I'd
prefer to be told."
"If free
traders are involved, it won't be easy," Hawkwood pointed out.
"They're a law unto themselves. Anyone going in and asking questions is
sure to make their ears prick up. It's more than likely they'll see me coming a
mile away."
Ludd and Read
exchanged glances.
"Quite
so," James Read said quietly. "But in this case they're going to be
looking in the wrong direction."
"Hindsight's
a wonderful thing," Ludd said. "Our mistake was sending Masterson and Sark through the front door. They were competent men, but they were naval
officers first and landsmen second. In this situation they were out of their
depth, no pun intended. We might just as well have dispatched a marching band
to accompany them. Masterson's brief was to try and infiltrate the smuggling organizations.
We thought the best way for him to do that was to have him pose as a former
seaman looking for work and to make it clear he wasn't too bothered whether the
work was legal or not. Trouble is , the smuggling
fraternity's too closely knit. My feeling is he ended up asking the wrong
people the wrong questions - and that Sark made the same mistake."
"You can
take the man out of the navy but you can't take the navy out of the man,"
Hawkwood said.
"Something like that," Ludd agreed unhappily.
"You, on the
other hand, will not be quite so obvious," James Read said. "We
hope."
"You mean
I'll be using the tradesman's entrance," Hawkwood said.
The corner of
Read's mouth twitched. "Providing we can manufacture a
suitable history for you." The Chief Magistrate paused. "My
initial thought was that you should pass yourself off as a French officer, but
I'm not sure that's entirely practical. While I appreciate that your knowledge
of the language is considerable, could you maintain the deception for any
length of time? Captain Ludd and I have discussed the matter and we believe the
current crisis with the United States has provided us with the perfect
solution. You will pass yourself off as an American volunteer."
"An
American?"
"As you
know all too well, from your recent encounter with William Lee, our American
cousins