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"As a matter of fact, I have. Of course, my plan hinges on what I learn from Captain Towers. If I can get what I need from him tonight, I'll be riding directly to Allonshire. There, I'll elicit Drake Barrett's cooperation."
"Does that mean you intend to tell Drake Barrett of your work for the Crown? Prior to our fulfilling our mission?"
"Yes. I trust the man. His actions both at sea and at home have shown him to be
irrefutably loyal to England. Moreover, for what I have in mind, his assistance will be not only invaluable, but necessary."
"I see." Boyd coughed tactfully. "May I ask, is your newly conceived plan the only reason you're riding to Allonshire to speak with the duke?"
"I think you already know the answer to that question. No. I have another, all-important purpose for my trip. I intend to leave Allonshire with Drake Barrett's blessing to marry Samantha." A muscle flexed in Rem's jaw. "Not that His Grace—or anyone—could prevent me from making Samantha my wife. But Drake means the world to Samantha, and without his approval, our wedding cannot be the magical fantasy I intend for my starry-eyed bride. So, for Samantha's sake, I'll swallow my pride and make a proper request. But if he fights me ..." A poignant pause. "Who am I kidding?" Rem amended softly. "I'll grovel if that's what it takes to ensure Samantha's happiness." Roughly, he cleared his throat. "In any case, with Drake's assistance and a modicum of luck, my plan should work nicely. Then, you and I will have our culprits and Briggs will have our resignations." The shutters of the past lifted as Rem spoke. "At which point, Boyd, the war will finally be over."
Two hours later the final battle plan commenced.
"Gresham ... come in." Harris looked totally stunned to see Rem standing in his doorway ... and thoroughly exhausted from his forty-eight-hour vigil with Boyd.
"Sorry to barge in like this," Rem apologized, shrugging out of his coat. "But I'd like to try speaking with Towers."
"I don't know how much good it'll do. Between all my questions and his unfounded dread that the privateer who captured the Bountiful will somehow discover his whereabouts, I'd say Towers is at the end of his rope."
"Evidently." Glancing past Harris, Rem watched Towers pace anxiously about the sitting room. "It's a damp night, Harris. Coffee would be just the thing to warm the chill from my bones. Would you mind making some?"
Rem's offhand request needed no further explanation.
"Right away." Harris disappeared into the kitchen.
Draping his coat over his arm, Rem strolled into the sitting room and lowered himself into an armchair. "Good evening, Captain."
"If you've come to ask me about the privateer, I've already described him to Harris," Towers replied abruptly. "I can't remember anything more specific." Haggard and drawn, Towers continued pacing, running a shaking hand through his hair. "I wish to God I could—the bastard took my ship, my crew—but I can't even give you a decent enough description to ferret him out." With a guilty look, Towers paused. "In truth, I'm sure I'd recognize him if I saw him again. But, Lord forgive me, I'm too terrified to find out."
"You'd recognize him ... and he'd recognize you," Rem submitted quietly. "No, Towers, involving you in our search is not an option."
Relief flooded Towers's features. "I'm a coward, Gresham."
"That's not cowardice, it's caution. Stop berating yourself. It's undeserved. Your ordeal was harrowing. You're lucky to be alive." Casually, Rem lit a cheroot. "My suggestion is to stop trying to refine the description of your captor. Instead tell me about the island he took you to."
"The island?"
Towers looked surprised, and distracted, exactly as Rem had hoped. Experience had long ago taught him that people remembered far more when they spoke spontaneously and without pressure.
"There isn't much to say." Towers straddled a chair, rubbing his forearm across his sweating forehead, "The island was small, grassy, with a few scattered trees and narrow stretches of sand and rock. As I told you, I have no idea where it was; we were blindfolded, our hands and feet bound."
"They uncovered your eyes when you reached the island?"
"Yes. The sunlight was bright, though. It took me a while to recover enough to see."
"I'm sure. Could you hear talking?"
"Yes ... that's when that scum started taunting us about Atlantis. The rest of the time he was muttering to his crew."
"Were there many of them?"
"I saw twenty, maybe more. They did whatever he told them to."
"They feared him."
"We all did. There was something menacing about him."
"I'm sure he handled his crew as brutally as he did you."
