"Yes, it certainly is." said Lucas.

“I'm sorry to come so late, but I just got my orders." Carruthers said.

"Col. Steiger told me to report to you."

"Why did Steiger know there was an Observer stationed here and we didn't?" said Delaney.

"Because my commission's not in the Observer Corps.” Carruthers said. "I'm Temporal Intelligence, section chief in this sector."

"Section chief?" said Lucas "That implies you have a fully staffed field office here.”

"That's right." Carruthers said, sitting down in one of the chairs. "I'm in charge of thirty field agents spread throughout the thirteen colonies.”

"How come we didn't know about it?" Lucas said. "There was nothing in the briefing tapes about a field office here.”

"That's because we're deep cover," said Carruthers. "The C.I.S. has already raided our data banks once, so the I.S.D. established undocumented, deep-cover units in a number of high risk temporal scenarios. Besides, there's also another reason. We've discovered that the Network has a very active branch here.”

"Terrific." said Delaney. "Steiger sets up his own deep. cover operation and doesn't even tell Forrester about it. Anyone else involved in this scenario that we don't know about? The Girl Scouts, maybe?"

"What about the Network?" Lucas said. “What've you got on them?"

"Not very much," Carruthers admitted. "We know they've infiltrated the East India Company and we have good reason to believe they have some influence in the British Parliament, as well. They're involved in the colonial smuggling trade, but we haven't been able to establish exactly how or with whom. There are so many smugglers in the colonies that it's been difficult to get a line on their activities. But we know they're here."

“And so is Drakov," Delaney said. "Or maybe the C.I.S. Or maybe both Drakov and the C.I.S. And we've got a temporal disruption going down in the middle of the whole damn thing. Jesus, what a mess."

"Yes, it could get a little sloppy," Carruthers agreed. "That's why Col. Steiger ordered me to put my entire section at your complete disposal. We can't predict what the Network's going to do, but by now, they probably know that an anomaly is taking place in Boston. The question is, how will they respond? A temporal disruption threatens them as much as it threatens us. The trouble is, they're not very likely to offer us their help, for obvious reasons."

"In other words, we could easily wind up working at cross purposes." said Lucas. "That's just wonderful. If Drakov is behind this, he couldn't have picked a more ideal situation."

“What are your plans'," Carruthers asked. "We're supposed to be patriots from New York, working undercover as Tories for the Sons of Liberty," said Andre. Your friend, John Hewitt, promised to take us to a meeting of some kind of secret Tory organization that's behind this headless horseman."

"The Hellfire Club." Carruthers said. "I know about it."

"I seem to reall something about the Hellfire Club." Delaney said. "Wasn't that—“

"A society of sexual libertines, in England, headed by Sir Francis Dashwood and John Wilkes," Carruthers finished for him. "This isn't quite the same thing. though it's apparently modeled on that group. I've managed to get a few people on the inside, but it hasn't helped much."

"What do you mean?" said Andre.

"Nobody seems to know who started it or who's behind it." Carruthers said.

"It's almost as it' it all sprang up spontaneously, practically overnight. Ask too many questions and you get frozen out, suspected of being a radical. They meet at a small abandoned church outside of Boston. The property belongs to a local Tory. They all know one another and the times of meeting are passed informally by word of mouth. It's impossible to track down the source. They put on black robes and masks and have themselves an orgy with booze and naked women, also wearing masks. It's a nice touch. You know who's there, but because everyone is masked, you can't tell just who is doing what to whom. I suppose it keeps their Puritan sensibilities from being offended. And at some point during the festivities, they receive their orders from the horseman."

"You mean he actually shows up?" said Finn.

Carruthers shook his head "No. only his voice is heard. With the dim candlelight and the weird acoustics in that place, there's no way of telling where it comes from We've searched that chapel after they all left, but we didn't find anything unusual. Whoever he is, he's probably among the crowd, wearing a robe and mask, and he leaves with them."

"What about the women'?" Lucas said. "It's widely assumed that they're all prostitutes," said Carruthers. "but we've found out that a good number of them are young local girls from good families and even a few prominent Boston wives. Makes things rather interesting. In that dim light and with all those robes and masks, they could be doing it with their neighbors' wives or their own daughters and not even know it. Swinging Boston. eh? And it gives them all something in common. Booze, politics, and sex. Half the Sons of Liberty are liable to defect just to join the party."

"Well, so much for my attending the meeting," Andre said.

"Yeah. I guess that leaves you out." said Lucas.

"But you and Finn are still going. I suppose." she said dryly.

"I'm afraid we'll have to," Lucas said. But you'll try to bear up under the strain." she said sarcastically.

"Very funny," Lucas said.

"I wonder if Johnny Small is busy tomorrow night," she said.

Lucas gave her a wry look, but said nothing.

"Exactly how many of your people are in Boston at the moment?" asked Delaney.

"An even dozen, myself included." said Carruthers. "Six are stationed in New York, three in Virginia, three in Rhode Island, three in Pennsylvania, and three in Carolina. I can mobilize the entire section at any time. Want me to bring them all here?"

Not yet." Delaney said. "For all we know, the opposition could have disruptions planned in the other colonies, as well. Leave your men where they are for the time being. Don't take this the wrong way. Carruthers, but how certain are you of your men?"

“I picked them all myself and every one of them has been cleared," Carruthers said. "Col. Steiger has personally taken charge of the section. He's assigned two of my men to keep Hunter under surveillance so he could have maximum mobility. He just left to brief the rest of my people. He said to tell you he'll be difficult to get in touch with, so my orders are to coordinate things at this end. I'm to report directly to you. I've already established my cover as a Tory sympathizer, so under the circumstances, our being seen together shouldn't raise any suspicions."

"Where can we get in touch with you'?" asked Lucas. "It'll be easier for me to get in touch with you," Carruthers said. "You can leave word with the bartender downstairs, a man named Horace Stedwell. He's not one of my men, he's a local, but I pay him under the table to can", messages for me. I've been infiltrating the smuggling trade here in Boston, trying to get a line on the Network. But if an emergency comes up and you need me in a hurry, you can get in touch with my men in that apartment Steiger rented to keep an eye on Hunter. Just don't go clocking over there. We've established security procedures so that nobody makes transition directly to the surveillance post, just in case the Network gets a line on the place and attempts to drop some people in on top of us. If anybody clocks in over there, my people are under orders to shoot first and ask questions later. Use the back stairs, instead. The password is 'counterstrike.' okay?"

"Counterstrike." said Lucas. "Got it. Who are your people on the inside in the Hellfire Club?"

"That's not going to help' you," said Carruthers. "Everyone'll be disguised, so you won't be able to spot them in any case and they won't be able to spot you. However, just in case anything goes wrong and you have to shoot your way out of there or something, they'll use the same password to identify themselves. Just remember that if you're going to the meeting, you'll be badly outnumbered and on their home ground. They also keep guards posted outside. Their number varies and they move around. It's not a good place to start anything."

"We'll keep that in mind, thanks." Delaney said. "Just to keep the record straight, what orders do you have concerning Hunter?"

"We're to keep him under close surveillance: said Carruthers, if he makes contact with anybody and we can't absolutely verify who it is, we're to take him into immediate custody and await further instructions from Col. Steiger. He doesn't want to take any chances that Hunter might be contacting a C.I.S. team if there's one in the vicinity."

"All right: said Lucas "but you are not to clock out anywhere with Hunter unless you've had specific instructions from me, is that clear? Regardless of what Col. Steiger says."

Carruthers gave him an appraising look. You mind explaining that?"

"Col. Steiger is not in charge of this mission. I am," Lucas said. "I just don't want anybody doing anything unless I know about it. Any questions'?"

Carruthers shook his head. "No, sir, but suppose the situation should come up and Col. Steiger decides to take custody of the prisoner personally. I have no authority to prevent him, and with all due respect. I'm not going to put my ass in a wringer just because two senior officers might disagree on how to conduct a mission. I just want to make sure you understand that. I don't want to get caught in the middle of anything."

"Noted," said Lucas. "In that case, you are to report directly to me and inform me immediately of Col. Steiger's action."

"Yes, sir," Carruthers said. "Is there anything else?"

"Just make sure your people understand that I don't want anyone taking any direct action whatsoever unless they've been cleared by one of us to do so," Lucas said. "And if Col. Steiger issues any orders to the contrary, I am to be informed of it at once. Understood?"

"Understood," Carruthers said. "Colonel, you mind telling me what this is all about? Is something going on between you two that I should know about?"

"Like you said, Carruthers, you don't want to get caught in the middle," Lucas said. "If you've got a problem with any of my orders, I want to know about it now."

"No. sir, no problem." said Carruthers.

"Good. That's all, then."

Carruthers came to attention and saluted. "Yes, sir." he said, a touch stiffly. "I'll be in touch."

"He didn't seem very happy about that." Andre said when he had left.

"Well. I'm not either." Lucas replied. He sighed. "We've got enough to worry about without having Steiger running his own operation in the middle of all this. We're all supposed to be on the same team, for God's sake."

"Steiger's never been much of a team player." Andre said. "Maybe we'd better have a talk with him."

"Won't do much good." Delaney said. "For one thing, we don't know where the hell he is right now and for another, if he feels strongly enough about it. he'll just go ahead and do it his way. You're not going to convince him that he's wrong."

"We could have Forrester order him off the mission," Andre said.

"No. that's not the way to handle it," said Lucas. "There's already too much friction between the I.S.D. and the regular personnel. I'm not going to exacerbate the situation just because of Hunter. We'll handle Creed ourselves."

"Can I make a suggestion?" Delaney said. "Why not just clock Hunter out of here right now? Let's take him to the confluence point we brought him through and send him home ourselves before he becomes a problem.

"We've been over that already." Andre said. "You know how he's going to respond to that suggestion."

"I don't think we can afford the luxury of giving him a choice. Andre." said Finn. "The situation's changed. There are simply too many ways it could go wrong. Carruthers is Steiger's man. I'd rather risk annoying Steiger now then get into it with him when it's already hit the fan. Frankly, Hunter simply isn't worth it."

"I agree," said Lucas. "We don't really need him anymore and if we allow him to remain here, he's going to be a liability. We've given him more than a fair shake already. I say we send him back."

Andre nodded. "Okay. I guess he's got no right to expect any more than that."

"Right." said Lucas. "Let's get it over with."

"Right now?" said Andre.

"Right now Let's clock over there and do it before Carruthers decides he doesn't like his orders."

Moments later, they materialized inside Hunter's house on Long Lane. Moving silently, they made their way up to his bedroom and woke him up. He came awake instantly.

"What the . oh, it's you! Christ, you scared the hell outta me! What's up?"

“Get dressed," said Lucas. "Quickly." Hunter wasted no time in getting out of bed. Andre stepped out into the hall while he got dressed.

"What's going on" he asked, quickly tucking his shirt into his breeches and sitting on the bed to pull on his stockings and his shoes.

"You're going home," said Lucas.

Hunter glanced up at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Just what I said. Go on, finish getting dressed. We're taking you back through the confluence."

Hunter remained sitting on the bed. He glanced from Lucas to Delaney. "What is this? I thought we had a deal.” .

"That's right." said Lucas, "and now we're living up to our end of it. Come on."

“Hold on a minute. pilgrim." hunter said. This wasn't our agreement. I thought we'd been through this already. You promised me a crack at Drakov. What's happened to make you change your mind?"

"Not that it's any of your business," said Delaney. "but something's come up and we have good reason to believe that some of our people might decide to put you through interrogation and see if you were on the level about that conditioning of yours. They figure it's worth taking a chance to get some information out of you and if you happen to fall into a coma in the process, then it's your hard luck."

“It's Steiger, isn't it?" said Hunter.

"Look, you want to get home in one piece or don't you?" Lucas said. "We're trying to be fair about this. We'll take you back ourselves and send you through. from there you're on your own. It's the best we can do. Take it or leave it, but stop wasting our time. You're being watched."

Hunter grimaced tightly. "Damn it to hell," he said. "All right. I appreciate what you're doing. I'11—"

"Hold it right there," said a voice from behind them. "Don't anybody move. -

" Shit.” said Hunter, looking past them.

Finn and Lucas froze. "Slowly now, put your hands on top of your heads and clasp them,” the voice said. All three of them complied, being careful not to make any quick movements.

`"Now turn around, very slowly." They turned. There were two men standing behind them in the darkened bedroom. They were both holding laser pistols aimed straight at them.

`"It's a good thing we had a mike aimed at this place, in case our boy talks in his sleep," one of them said.

`"Are you guys crazy?” Lucas said. "Put those weapons down. That's an order. The password's counterstrike."

"Sorry. I'm afraid we don't take orders from you. Colonel." one of the men said.

"I think you'd better do as he says." Andre said, standing in the doorway behind them. "I’ve got a gun aimed right at your backs, gentlemen. Drop your weapons on the floor. Now.”

The two men hesitated, then dropped their pistols at their feet. "That's just fine," said Andre. "Now kick them over—“

She stopped suddenly as she felt the barrel of a laser pistol press against the back of her head. "Hold the gun out to your side, Lieutenant." Carruthers said, standing in the hall behind her, "Two fingers, please."

Andre tensed. "Don't do anything stupid." said Carruthers. "I don't want to kill you.”

Her shoulders slumped. She held the laser out from her side where Carruthers could reach around and take it from her.

“Carruthers, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Lucas said. “Put the gun down

"Sorry. Colonel." he said. '"I can't do that." He pushed Andre ahead of him into the room. "You should have left well enough alone. We were going to try to work with you on this, but you had to go and blow it, didn't you?"

"You're not I.S.D.." Delaney said, with sudden realization. 'You're with the Network."

"That's right," Carruthers said. "And I'm afraid that knowledge is going to cost you." He glanced at his men. "Don't just stand there, you idiots. Pick up your weapons."

As the men bent down to retrieve their pistols. Hunter lunged across the bed and reached under his pillow. Carruthers quickly shifted his aim and fired, but Hunter was already on the floor and rolling. As Carruthers aimed again, Lucas disappeared. He reappeared instantly, standing beside Carruthers, and knocked his arm up. The shot went wild. Hunter's silenced 9 mm. semiautomatic coughed twice. The two Network men went down with slugs through their foreheads. Lucas drove his fist into Carruthers' solar plexus, threw him back against the wall, and punched him again. Carruthers slumped down to the floor, the wind knocked out of him.

Delaney reached for his gun.

"Don't do it!" Hunter said sharply.

Delaney froze.

"Come on. Hunter, take it easy."

"Hands back on your head.” said Hunter. leveling the automatic at him. "All of you, right now!"

"Reese. listen-“ Lucas said.

"Shut up! I've got to think, damn it!"

Carruthers sat on the floor, clutching his middle and gasping for breath.

Hunter moved back against the wall, his gun moving back and forth, keeping them all covered. He centered his aim on Andre. "Don't try anything. Priest, or I'll put one right through her, so help me."

"All right. Hunter, take it easy . . . “

"There could be more of them." he said. "Carruthers said he had only two men in that apartment . . ." Delaney's voice trailed oil as he realized what that meant. "Damn it! They've got Steiger!"

Ignoring Hunter. he bent down over Carruthers and dragged him to his feet.

"Where's Steiger, you son of a bitch? Where is he? What've you done with him?"

Carruthers couldn't talk. He was still struggling to get his breath back. Delaney slammed him hard against the wall.

"Talk, you bastard!"

"Hold off, Finn," said Lucas. 'Give him time to gel his breath back."

"Get his warp disc." Hunter said.

Delaney grabbed his arm and pulled the warp disc off his wrist.

"Toss it here." said Hunter.

Delaney glanced at him. "Like hell I will."

Hunter fired. The pistol coughed and Andre cried out, grabbing at her shoulder where the bullet had just grazed her flesh.

"Do as he says, Finn." Lucas said quickly.

"Toss it on the bed," said Hunter.

Scowling, Delaney threw the warp disc on the bed.

"Stay right where you are. Priest," Hunter said, keeping his gun steady on Andre. "Please. Don't force me to do something I don't want to do."

"All right, Reese." said Lucas. "Stay cool. You're calling the shots for now. We had a deal, remember?"

"Yeah. I remember," Hunter said, edging over carefully and picking up the warp disc without taking his eyes off them. "I just want sonic insurance."

He fastened the warp disc around his wrist.

"When you deliver me safely to that confluence point, you'll get this back," he said. "Meanwhile, I'm not going anywhere until I'm good and ready. Now I believe you wanted to ask that man some questions. Go ahead. I'll wait."

Delaney and Lucas exchanged glances. Lucas nodded.

"All right, Carruthers." Delaney said, holding the man up by his shirtfront.

"Talk, Where's Steiger?"

"You go to hell." Carruthers gasped.

Delaney brought his knee up sharply into the man's groin. Carruthers made a brief, high-pitched keening sound and sagged in his grasp. Delaney lifted him up effortlessly and slammed him against the wall again.

"You tell me what you've done with Steiger or I'll break every bone in your body." he said.

Carruthers shook his head. Delahey brought his fist back and smashed it into his face. Blood splattered on the wall behind Carruthers as his head snapped around with the force of the blow. His nose was broken.

"Your ribs are next," Delaney said. "And then your kneecaps. Where is he?"

Carruthers coughed and drew a ragged breath. "If I tell you. I’m dead."

"You're dead if you don't tell me." said Delaney. "Did you kill him?"

Carruthers shook his head. "No . . . we’ve got him . . .

" Where?"

Carruthers shook his head again.

Delaney drew his fist back once more and drove it with pile driver force into the man's chest. Something cracked. Carruthers made a grunting, wheezing sound and sagged down once again. Delaney let him fall. He knelt over him, his knee over the man's leg, his hand grasping the back of his calf.

"Okay, hard guy, your knee goes next. I can keep this up all night."

"Do your worst, damn you," Carruthers said in a croaking voice. "But if you kill me. Steiger's had it."

Delaney was about to yank up on the man's leg when Lucas stopped him. "Finn, wait! Forget it. Let him go."

Delaney stood up. "I'll make the bastard talk," he said.

"No. It's no use. We're not going to get anything out of him this way." Lucas said. "Let's clock him back to headquarters and let the I.S.D peel back his mind and take a look inside."

Carruthers suddenly lunged toward the bodies of his two men. His fingers closed around one of the pistols they'd dropped Hunter shouted a warning and fired. Carruthers collapsed to the floor, a bullet through his shoulder. Before any of them could respond, he pulled the pistol toward him, put the barrel in his mouth, and squeezed the trigger. His cheeks seemed to light up and a thin beam of light came up through his skull. He fell down, dead.

"God damn it!" Delaney swore.

"I'm sorry." Hunter said. "I couldn't get a clear shot at the gun . . ."

"It wasn't your fault.” said Lucas.

Hunter shook his head. "Yes, it was. It's my fault all this happened in the first place. I wanted a crack at Drakov and now I've got you in a real mess." He sighed. "I'm sorry about the shoulder, Andre, You all right?"

She nodded. "It's just a minor flesh wound. But I'm glad you're a good shot."

Hunter grimaced. "What happens now?"

Lucas gave him a long look. "I guess that's up to you." he said. "You're the one who's got the gun."

Hunter glanced down at the gun, then tossed it on the bed with disgust.

"What the hell are we doing?" he said, a note of genuine confusion in his voice. He shook his head. "You're supposed to be the enemy and here I'm trying to help you. You don't trust me and meanwhile your own people are trying to kill you. This whole thing is a fucking joke.”

“Nobody's laughing," Lucas said, "Except maybe Drakov."

“Look,” said Hunter. "you're up against both Drakov and the Network now. They've already got Steiger. Frankly, far as I'm concerned, they can keep him, but if we don't work together on this, Drakov's going to win and then everybody loses. We can't afford not to trust each other. The bottom line is you're going to need my help, whether you like it or not”

“He's right. Lucas," said Delaney. "We've got no choice now. We have to find Steiger, fight the Network, and stop Drakov. We're spread too thin. We're going to need all the help we can get."

"Yeah," said Lucas, nodding. "It's time to send for some reinforcements. Andre, you clock back to headquarters and tell Forrester what's going down. Get him to send as many teams as he can spare. We don't know for a fact how many Network people there are back here, and they know about this place and our rooms back in the Peacock Tavern. Hunter, we need a secure location for a transition point. You got any suggestions?"

"Yeah." Hunter said. took the precaution of arranging a safehouse for myself, just in case you people tried to double-cross me. It's where I had the gun stashed and a few other things, besides. I always clocked directly there from this place, so I don't think that Steiger or anybody else watching me could've known about it. It should be fairly safe."

"All right, where is it?"

"I'll give you the coordinates. It's a small house near Hudson's Point, on Lime Street, by the cemetery and the foundries. And speaking of-coordinates . . ." He took off the warp disc and tossed it to Lucas. "Call it a gesture of good faith." He picked his gun up off the bed and tucked it in his breeches. "Now I strongly suggest we dispose of those bodies and get the hell out of here before the Network finds out that three of their people have been wasted."

7

Johnny Small was feeling an exhilaration unlike anything he'd ever known. Consciously, he put it down to finally being included among the members of the Sons of liberty, but subconsciously, it was much more than that. At the age of seventeen, he was beginning to experience sexual awakening and he had fallen in love. He could not get Andre out of his mind.

Paul Revere had several apprentices, so he could easily afford to excuse Johnny from his duties at the silversmith shop, so that he could devote most of his energies to his assignment for the Sons of liberty. Johnny regarded this vote of confidence almost with reverence. He was one of them now, a patriot, and they were no longer treating him like a boy. Revere had been impressed with his report and he had taken him straight to Samuel Adams himself, in the middle of the night. so that he could tell their leader what he'd learned.

Adams, dressed in his nightclothes, had listened impassively in the drawing room of his house on Purchase Street while Johnny told him about following Andre to the street where Hunter lived and then described how the headless horseman had appeared out of nowhere and attacked them. He had not told either Revere or Adams: what he had discovered about Andre, but her explanation of the night's events had colored his report, so that he described an unknown man who had stepped out of the shadows and fired a pistol at the horseman, missed, and how the horseman had taken advantage of the confusion and the noise in the street to escape down some convenient alleyway. He told Adams that the three New Yorkers had made contact with some Tories in the Peacock Tavern and had taken rooms there, the better to pursue their inquiries. When he had finished, Adams nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.

“You've done well, lad," he said. “Very well, indeed.”

Johnny felt flushed with pride at the praise.

"Perhaps we can trust these New Yorkers, after all." said Revere. “If they can help us find out who this horseman is, then they will indeed have proved their worth.” said Adams. “However. I believe it would be prudent to keep watch on them, just the same. There is much at stake. Can we count on your help in this matter?"

"I will do anything you ask." said Johnny, proudly. "Good.

We still do not know these people well enough. It would be wise to remain cautious." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Part of our problem, Paul, is that there are many patriots like us throughout the colonies that we do not know well enough. We are united in our aims, but not in fact. There is too little contact between us. I have been giving much thought to this."

"What do you have in mind?" Revere asked. "Our strength here in Boston is in our unity." said Adams. "We must unite ourselves with patriots in the other colonies, as well. It is not enough to merely express our views in the Gazette and urge all good citizens to join our cause. We need more direct action. A means of keeping in touch with other patriotic groups. These new commissioners that Townshend has sent to the colonies have been incorruptible because they are all wealthy men. There is little we can offer them in the way of inducements that they do not already have, but unfortunately. there is much that they can offer to our friends.

“I have been hearing most disturbing news," he continued. "We have driven our own commissioners to seek refuge in Castle William, but in the other colonies, it is said that these new commissioners draw sympathy from people by entertaining lavishly, inviting merchants and influential citizens to balls and dinners, turning their heads with their fine clothes and splendid carriages and sumptuous repasts. I have heard that in Philadelphia. good Whig wives and Tory gentlemen drink rum punch together and dance the minuet. Such gaiety and idleness are destructive to our cause. We must give people a reason to unite against such frivolous displays."

"What do you propose to do?" Revere said.

"The new strict enforcement of the customs duties has resulted in a growing shortage of hard currency." said Adams. "My father had sought to bring stability to our paper currency, but when the Land Bank was outlawed by those mountebanks in Parliament, the people took to hording British silver, as you well know. They hide silver coins in mattresses and jars until they accumulate enough to bring them to a silversmith such as yourself and have them melted down, to cast into such things as cups and punch bowls. We all trade and barter with one another, but the customs commissioners accept only British silver, as do the British merchants, and the supply of hard money is dwindling more and more. Imported goods from England are becoming ever dearer and fewer people can afford them and they feel poorly for it, embarrassed when they cannot afford the luxuries their neighbors have. If we can turn that to our advantage by making a virtue of their insufficiency, we can give people a reason to unite behind our cause."

"How can we do that?" Revere asked, while Johnny listened with fascination, immensely flattered that these two men would discuss their plans in front of him.

"By uniting all the colonies in a concerted boycott of all imported British goods," said Adams. "We can give those plagued with debt a virtuous excuse for cutting back on their expenses if they can say they do it for the common good, rather than for lack of money. We can help them to look upon it not as insufficiency, but as self-sacrifice, an act of pride and patriotism. A wife who cannot afford to make a dress of silk can then take pride in wearing homespun and be able to look with disdain upon her neighbor, who can afford a finer dress, because she does not choose to sacrifice her comfort and her luxury for a common good, you see? If we can make an act of pride out of their need to tighten up their pulse strings, we will give them a reason to support us in our cause."

"Aye, and save husbands' money in the bargain, which will help them to look kindly on our methods." said Revere. "It is an excellent idea. Sam. But how shall we implement it?"

"I have drafted a circular letter, which I intend to send around to all the colonies and have printed in the newspapers," said Adams. "We will ask all in the colonies to sign the letter as a form of personal commitment. We will ask them to agree to give constant preference to those merchants who do not import from London. We will ask for a boycott of all ships that continue to bring in British goods. We will ask them to consider all traders who do not sign as traitors to our cause. We will sway the common people to our cause first. A dock porter or a washerwoman could never afford to purchase silks or velvets, much less imported furniture and ready-made apparel, but if they sign an agreement to not purchase them, then they can say that they refuse, not that they are unable. Thus, we elevate their station."

"But there is no way that we can force everyone to join the boycott." said Revere. "And there are many merchants who will undoubtedly find a way around it."

"Then we shall see to it that those merchants will have their names published in the newspapers," said Adams, "and it will hurt their trade. And meanwhile, those merchants who are less well off will see that trade improve by agreeing to join us in the boycott. If we appeal to their pocketbooks, Paul, then we shall win their hearts."

"It is a sound plan," said Revere. "When do you intend to start?"

"As soon as possible," said Adams. "Bernard daily sends requests to Gage for troops and petitions Parliament for help. The commissioners who have taken shelter in Castle William add their pleas to his. The troops are certain to arrive before too long. There can be no doubt of it. We must take steps to sway popular opinion to our side so that when they do arrive, they will be widely perceived as an intrusion on our liberties."

He turned to Johnny. "Your role in this is especially important. Jonathan." he said.

"It is?" said Johnny, his eyes wide.

"It is absolutely vital," Adams said. "We must find out who this mysterious horseman is and who his followers are, so that we may take the proper steps to stop them. We cannot work against them if we do not know who they are. I have heard rumors of the foul things that they do at their secret meetings, depraved practices that I shall not enumerate for your young ears. It is clear to me that the leaders of this 'Hellfire Club' seek to draw men to their cause by appealing to their basest instincts. And we have already seen that once amused, these instincts will make them stop at nothing, not even murder. It is a very dangerous assignment you've been given. Jonathan. Whatever happens, you must steer clear of these men. If you can, try to discover who they are, but you must avoid contact with them at all costs. Let us see what information the New Yorkers bring us. Your task is to keep watch on them, but no matter what occurs, do not involve yourself. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Johnny said breathlessly, wondering what sort of "foul practices" these terrible men indulged in and feeling suddenly afraid for Andre.

"Good," said Adams. "Take this, then." He pressed something into Johnny's hand. "You've earned it."

Johnny felt a lump in his throat as he gazed down on the silver Liberty medallion in his palm. Given to him by Sam Adams, himself!

"You're one of us now," said Revere, squeezing the boy's shoulder. "Go and do us proud."

Johnny left the house on Purchase Street in a daze. He could hardly wait to show Andre the medallion. He felt a slight, momentary twinge of guilt at not having told Adams and Revere what he had learned about her, but he was certain that they wouldn't understand. Each time he thought of her, He remembered how she had realized that he was trailing her despite all the precautions that he took, how she had outwitted him, how she had bravely stood up to the horseman, whom even grown men feared!

She reminded him of the Indian girls that he had seen when he lived on the frontier and sometimes accompanied his uncle on his trading trips to their village. He would often lay awake at night and think about those Indian girls, about how different they were from all the white girls he had known, the simple and yet somehow beautiful way they dressed in their buckskins, the delicate way their feet looked in their leather moccasins, their pretty ankles and the way they walked, with a purposeful, slightly pigeon-toed stride, never flouncing or primping or flirting. The way they'd look at him and then shyly avert their eyes when he looked back. 'He would dream about them sometimes and wonder what it would be like to talk with them, to walk through the woods and perhaps even to hold their hands, but of course he didn't dare.

And he kept thinking about how it had felt when he kissed Andre. He did not know what had come over him. He did not know how she could possibly forgive such insufferable boldness, and yet she had not reacted angrily. She had been just as surprised as he was, but she had not looked angry. He felt like a fool for running away. And he kept thinking about that brief instant when his hand had come in contact with her breast. More than anything, he wanted to see her once again. There was a bond between them now, he told himself. They shared an adventure and a secret. For the first time since he had come to Boston. he felt happy and alive. He felt a sense of purpose. And. somehow, he knew that something wonderful was going to happen. For a long time, he had felt that he had a destiny that he had discovered. He believed that now, at last, he knew what it was.

The house on lime Street had been rented from a merchant who owned several similar properties along the waterfront. It was a boxy, wood frame structure with heavy wooden doors and mullioned windows with wood shutters. The brick chimneys rose about three feet above the shingled roof and the exterior was weathered from exposure to the salt sea winds. The house was located on a bend in the road where Lime Street curved around and met with Lynn Street. There was a foundry across the street and from the windows of the upper story they could see the docks near Hudson's Point. Not far away was the ferry to Charles Town near the old windmill and within several blocks of them was Christ Church, on Salem Street.

Hunter had rented the place with some of his ill-gotten gains from the riots and he paid the landlord extra to insure his privacy. The landlord did not inquire into this special need for privacy. He was simply grateful to have the property rented and to receive the added bonus. He understood about men who did not want anyone inquiring into their affairs. After all, he was himself a smuggler. Perhaps Mr. Hunter was using the house as a place of assignation where he kept a mistress on the side, as many of his own friends did. Perhaps he was engaged in the smuggling trade himself and was using it as a place of storage for his goods. Perhaps he was a radical and holding clandestine meetings there in the middle of the night. The landlord didn't really care. If anyone had told him that Hunter was a soldier from another universe and that the house on Lime Street was being used as a temporal transition point and field headquarters for a strike force of elite commandos from the 27th century, the landlord might merely have nodded absently and said. "No skin off my nose, so long us the rent is paid on time."

Corporal Linda Craven stood at the window, looking out discreetly front behind the curtains, watching a merchant sloop sail past on a parallel course with the shore. She was twenty-two years old and this was her third mission. She had received her baptism of fire during her first assignment, in 19th-century London, when she was just a rookie, part of a support unit attached to the team of Delaney, Cross, and Steiger. When it was all over, only two of that support unit had been left alive. She had learned fast and she had learned the hard way. Since then, she and the other surviving member of that unit, Corporal Scott Neilson, had completed one other temporal adjustment mission, during the Second World War. On that occasion, they had been teamed with Lt. Wendell Jones, but the logistics of this assignment had required a new partner for them this time. Jones was black and there were certain historical scenarios where a black man simply couldn't function very well. In colonial Boston, there was a fairly large population of blacks, but most of them were slaves, and even though many of the Boston colonists--such as Sam Adams, who objected to slavery in principle—had freed their slaves, they still did not possess the same rights as white men did and would not for many years to come, Because of this. Craven and Neilson had been teamed with Master Sergeant Rico Chavez, a veteran of Anglo-Chicano ancestry, whose physical characteristics could easily allow him to pose as anything from a Spaniard to an Italian to a Balkan or what was known as a "black Irishman." descended from mixed Irish and Spanish stock, In addition to them. Forrester had dispatched another team, two being all that he could spare, consisting of Capt. Michael Seavers, one of the original members of the First Division. Sgt. Ivan Federoff, a veteran of over two dozen missions, and Lt. Geoffrey Stone, a former field agent for the T.I.A,

As Linda Craven was getting her first look at colonial Boston. Stone, Federoff, and Seavers were in the other bedroom, taking advantage of the time to grab some sleep. Chavez was behind her, relaxing on the bed and reading, but Nielson, as usual, was too keyed up to rest. A trick-shooting enthusiast and collector of antique firearms, he was eagerly examining the small arsenal of handguns Hunter had obtained in the 20th century.

‘A Cz-75." he said admiringly, picking up a black 9 mm. Czech-made semiautomatic. "This one's a collector's item. And a 45 Colt Combat Commander; a couple of Berettas, a Model 84 .380 and a 9 min. 92F; a snub-nosed Colt King Cobra

.357 Magnum; a couple of small double-action Walther .22s: a 10 mm. Springfield with convertible barrels and magazines; and Christ, look at this thing!" He picked up a huge cannon with a dull black steel frame. "An Israeli Desert Eagle .44

Automag with a ten-shot clip! He's even got a reloading press complete with dies!

You'd think he was expecting an assault team!"

"He was," said Chavez. without looking up from his book. “Us."

"Us?" said Nielson, puzzled. "Well, not us specifically," Chavez said, "but he didn't trust Priest and the others any more than they trusted him. Not that I can blame him. If I were in his shoes, I'd have done the same thing. Prepared a safehouse and laid in some weapons, just in case. Looks like he picked some good ones, too."

"Why only lead projectile weapons?" Linda asked. "If he thought he might have to go up against the agency, we'd have him easily outgunned."

"I wouldn't bet on that,” said Chavez. “Never underestimate any sort of firearm," he said. "I'd sooner go up against a street punk armed with a laser than a good shooter armed with a .22 rimfire. In the hands of somebody who knows what they're doing, it would kill you just as dead. In the 20th century, where Hunter picked these up, a semiauto .22 rimfire was frequently the chosen weapon of professional assassins. It's a very high-velocity round, and soft, so you get good expansion with practically no recoil. Light and very accurate."

"No stopping power, though." said Neilson.

Chavez chuckled. He made a "gun” with his thumb and index finger and pointed it at Neilson. “I know what you're thinking." he said in a slightly breathy, menacing voice. "This here's only a .22 rimfire, a piddly little round with no stopping power to speak of. So I'm just going to have to shoot you six times in the head.”

Neilson grinned. "I see your point."

"Actually." said Chavez, "what the pros used to do with those things is a technique they called 'the zipper ' They'd start at your midsection and work up in a straight line, rapid fire—bang, bang, ,bang, hang, bang.' he demonstrated with his finger gun, moving up an imaginary line along Neilson's body. "That way, even if none of the individual shots proved fatal, the cumulative effect of the trauma would be. All this talk about stopping power you antique collectors get into is just a lot of nonsense. Shot placement is what counts. Of course, you don't have that problem with lasers, plasma pistols, or disruptors. You don't need to be as accurate, but then it would have been difficult for Hunter to get his hands on those without some connections. Hell, even the regular troops don't get issued disruptors, they're so paranoid of letting those get loose. And they're not easily concealable. Let me see that automag," he said to Neilson.

Neilson picked up the Desert Eagle, made sure the safety was on, and handed it to him.

"Jeez. heavy sucker, isn't it'!" said Chavez, hefting it experimentally.

"Never fired one of these myself. Must have one hell of' a kick."

"About the same as a compensated .45." said Neilson. "I have a .44 Magnum in my collection, but it's a revolver. Kicks about twice as much as that thing. But the nice thing about that round is that it gives you a lot of versatility it you load your own cartridges, which is what that press is for. See, depending on what kind of bullet you use and how much powder, you can pretty much tailor-make your ammunition to suit your purpose. You can load a soft-point bullet that'll spend most of its energy on impact and hit like a sledgehammer or you can load for penetration. Use a copper-jacketed hollow-point bullet, stoke the casing with enough powder, and you can shoot through walls or vehicles."

"Primitive, but nasty," Chavez said. "I wouldn't underrate them."

He gave the pistol back to Neilson.

"With weapons like that, I'm surprised they didn't have stricter firearms regulations in the 20th century." said Linda.

"The laws varied, but they' had the same basic problems we've got." Nielson said. "The law of supply and demand. Hell, look at Boston. Right now, the British are enforcing the customs regulations more stringently than ever, with the Royal Navy backing them up, yet at least half the merchants here are into smuggling. If people really want something, somebody will provide it. You could ban weapons manufacture, but someone would simply set up a machine shop and start turning them out illegally."

"I remember an assignment I had in L.A. back in the 20th century," said Chavez. "We had to bust up a Network drug-running operation. The kids in the barrio could get just about anything they wanted, but even if they couldn't buy a gun, they sometimes made their own by breaking a radio antenna off a car, taping it to a wooden handle, and using a piece of metal and a rubber band for a firing mechanism. Stick a .22 shell in the damn thing and you've got yourself a singleshot zip gun. as they called them. Liable to blow up in your face, but it could be surprisingly effective if it didn't."

"They tried gun control laws." said Neilson, "but they only wound up taking weapons out of the hands of honest people who deserved the right to protect themselves. If a person takes it in his head to kill somebody, he'll manage to find a way. You can control weapons to some degree, but you can't really control people."

"So what are you saying, Scott?" Linda said. "Let anyone who wants to buy a plasma gun or a laser? The streets would be a war zone."

"In case you haven't noticed, the streets are a war zone." Neilson said.

"Okay. I understand what you're saying and I'm really not unsympathetic, but consider where we are now. In a few years, these people are going to fight their war for independence and the incident that's going to kick the whole thing off is when the British troops march on Lexington and Concord. They'll fail because the farmers of this time have access to muskets and powder and they'll fight to protect their rights."

"The old argument about the constitutional right to keep and bear arms," said Linda. "The founding fathers weren't talking about the right to own and carry guns, you know. They were talking about a militia."

"Really? Then why wasn't everyone disarmed when Cornwallis surrendered?" Neilson said. "What did they mean by a militia, after all? It's when you gather armed citizens together for defense, like they did at Lexington and Concord. The exact wording in the Constitution is, 'A well-regulated militia, being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.' It doesn't say that the right of the people to bear arms in a militia shall not be infringed, it says that the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed because there may be a need to raise a militia. The Minutemen didn't turn their guns in when they stopped drilling. They took them home with them because they were their own personal property."

“It would be interesting if we could speak with some of the founding fathers and find out exactly what they had in mind when they framed the Constitution," Linda said. "Unfortunately, the timing isn't right, let alone the fact it would be dangerous."

"I wonder what they'd say if we asked them what they meant when they wrote

‘the right to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’?" said Chavez. "Did they mean the right to live free or did they mean no abortions? And that phrase appeared in the Declaration of Independence, not in the Constitution. In the Constitution, it merely says that no person shall be deprived of life, liberty, or property without due process of law. It certainly never occurred to them that it might become necessary to define exactly what constitutes a person. They also guaranteed freedom of religion, but contrary to popular belief, nowhere in the Constitution does the word 'God' even appear. 'One nation, under God' is only in the pledge of allegiance, which technically has no constitutional authority behind it. Let’s face it, they never realized that things would get so complicated."

`"But you have to admit one thing," said Neilson, "if it wasn't for the fact that the colonists were able to keep and hear anus. the British would have rolled right over them."

"Well, maybe so." said Linda, "but I'd hate to think what would happen if any citizen in the 27th century could walk into a store and buy a plasma weapon. I somehow doubt the founding fathers would have approved of that."

"Oh. I don't know." said Neilson, with a grin. "Just think what the Minutemen could have done with a few plasma guns and laser rifles. And it's interesting that when you take relative population figures into account, the incidence of violent crime with firearms was far less in times when weapons were not regulated than when they were."

"Maybe, but you gotta watch that," Chavez said. "Statistics are always misleading. It depends on what you use for your data. It doesn't make much sense to compare 19th-century Dodge City, for example, with 21st-century New York. You can take relative population figures into account, just as you said, but that still doesn't make for a complete picture. You're

forgetting about the

psychological factor of stress given increased population density and things like pollution and noise, which had demonstrable adverse effects upon the central nervous system. making people more aggressive. It's inevitable that with increased population density and industrialization, you'll get increased violence. Besides, come to think of it. Dodge City would be a bad example anyway. One of the first things Wyatt Earp and other frontier marshals did was to institute a very basic form of gun control at shotgun point. Surrender your gunbelt within city limits or get out of town. Or take your chances with a load of 'double-ought.' They had to run the towns and they understood real well that a gun only gives you power when no one else has got one.”

"You know. right now in Boston, there are no laws of any kind restricting firearms." said Nielson.” In fact. there were no such laws at all in America until the middle of the 19th century, when carpetbaggers started passing them to disarm former Confederates. Up until that time, the courts upheld the right of citizens to carry arms, openly or concealed, in order to defend themselves. At this time in Boston, it's very common for men to carry swords or pistols. There's been rioting in the streets, but interestingly, not one citizen of Boston has been run through or shot.”

“Not yet, but they will." said Linda.

"Only after the British troops arrive." said Neilson. 'Remember, the first fatalities didn't occur until the Boston Massacre. The Sons of Liberty were a rowdy bunch of street fighters with easy access to firearms, but though they busted a few heads and tarred and feathered a few Tories, they never actually killed anybody until the British sent armed troops against them. To seize their arms and ammunition."

"Yeah, like you've seized mine," said Hunter, coining into the room and seeing his cache of weapons spread out on the table along with the commandos'

gear, suppose you found the hand grenades and the plastique, as well?"

" What?" said Linda.

Hunter grinned. “Just kidding, Corporal. You've got it all, scout's honor."

"Cross your bean and hope to die?" said Linda. wryly.

"Hey, not me." said Hunter. "I'd like to get out of this thing in one piece, if you don't mind." He smiled. "You know, I couldn't help overhearing some of your conversation. It's funny, in a way."

"Funny?" Neilson said, "Yeah. We have the same sort of conversations over on our side," Hunter said, He grinned. "Get a bunch of C.I.S. agents together and they start sounding like a faculty meeting of some university history department."

"Not so unusual," said Chavez, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "What we all have in common is that our lives often depend on our knowledge and understanding of historical events." He lit one and tossed the pack to Hunter.

"Thanks." said Hunter, he glanced at the label. "Noncarcinogenic, huh?"

"The benefits of genetic engineering," Chavez said. "Taste better, too."

"We banned 'em," Hunter said, lighting up, "our tobacco companies started selling dope instead."

"Seriously?" said Linda.

"Seriously," said Hunter. We instituted a system of addict registration. Cut the market out from under organized crime and still managed to turn a tidy profit and generate some tax revenue. You guys ought to try it. 'Course. now the crime families push cigarettes . .

Craven and Neilson exchanged glances, not certain if he was serious or not.

"No, it’s a funny thing about soldiers." Hunter continued, inhaling deeply and blowing out a long stream of smoke. "Not just modern temporal soldiers, but even soldiers in the past, wherever you're dealing with a culture that's got a decent rate of literacy. You've always got a substantial number of military personnel with academic or philosophical inclinations. 'They read like crazy. Take graduate degrees. Write books. Learn languages. Study everything from psychology to engineering, but especially history. History's always been big with soldiers. I wonder why."

"Maybe it's because soldiers never get to see the big picture." Chavez said.

"It's what we're always told, isn't it? Some poor grunt in the middle of an Asian jungle, thousands of miles away from home, just can't understand why he's been asked to take the same fucking hill six times, only to pull back each time and let the enemy have it once again. He's told its all part of the big picture, which is something he never gets to see because only the high command sees the big picture. So if he's lucky, he survives the action and when he gets back home, he picks up a book and reads about some old battle, hoping he might be able to see the big picture there and relate it somehow to the big picture that he had been a part of. Try to figure it all out. Only that doesn't make sense, either, because he reads about how the high command screwed up in that old battle and got all these people killed for nothing.

"So he reads some more about the history of that period where the old battle took place, to see if there was some reason for it, only he can't find one, so he continues reading, still trying to figure it all out. And meanwhile, while he's doing all this reading on the side, he gets promoted and eventually he winds up a general, part of the high command, and now suddenly he's supposed to be in a position to see the big picture for himself. Only he still can't see it, because some politician is telling him to do something that makes absolutely no sense to him at all and when he says he doesn't understand it, he's told it's because he can't see the big picture. Only the politicians get to see the big picture."

Neilson chuckled.

"So he studies up on politics," Chavez continued, "serves his time, retires with a pension, and runs for office. Gets, himself elected to the Senate. So there he is in the Senate, being asked to vote for some ridiculous appropriation that makes no sense to him at all, but he's told it's all part of the big picture. Only he still can't see it, because only the President and his advisors get to see the big picture."

Hunter was grinning.

"So he runs for President." Chavez went on, in a slow, drawl. "Wins in a landslide because he was a war hero and a great American. Now, finally, the big picture! But no. The corporation heads who contributed to his campaign tell him that they're the only ones who really get to see the big picture, so he does what they tell him to and after he completes his term of office, they reward him with a seat on the executive board and now he's really excited. He's finally made it, he's going to get to see the big picture at last . . ."

“And?" said Neilson.

"And they all gather together in the boardroom, and they light up their cigars, and they go over their reports, and they examine all their charts, and they go over all their profit statements, and they have someone come in and explain it all to them so they can understand it, and they pour brandy into their snifters and loosen up their ties and congratulate one another and talk about how things will be even better during the next quarter, and they schedule their next meeting, which will take place in the Bahamas at a corporate resort complete with hookers, and they get ready to leave, and our guy suddenly jumps up and says. 'But wait! ‘ What about the big picture? ’ And they all look at him like he's crazy. 'The big picture!' he says again. 'What about the big picture?' And the chairman of the hoard looks at him with absolute amazement and says. 'Man, you mean to tell me you were on that fucking hill. too?'"

Hunter burst out laughing. "Give me that gun." said Linda. 'I'm gonna shoot him."

"Got a permit?" Neilson asked.

You go to hell.”

Delaney walked in the door. "Dinner's on," he said. He glanced around at them. “What's the joke?"

You ever hear the one about the big picture?" Neilson asked.

Delaney grimaced, "Yeah. I was the idiot on that fucking hill. Now come on. well have the briefing during dinner.

8

The small, secluded country chapel stood in the middle of a grove of trees, well hidden from the road. The estate on whose property it stood was out of sight over the next hill. It belonged to a wealthy Boston Tory who only made use of it on weekends, except on those nights when the Hellfire Club met. On those nights, he would saddle up his horse and ride over to the chapel. tie the horse up outside in the grove, take the hooded black robe out of his saddlebag and tie it around him with a monk's cord, then put on the black mask that covered his entire upper face and join the "congregation." He always felt a profound thrill of anticipation at such times, like a small boy about to do something that he knew was wrong. His young wife, with whom he had sexual relations perhaps once a month, would have been surprised at the vigor with which he participated in the night's events.

It was late and the moon was full as John Hewitt rode up to the chapel in his carriage with Lucas Priest and Finn Delaney. When told that "young Andrew" would not be joining them. Hewitt had merely shrugged and said. As you think best." Then he grinned and added, "But it would have been a good education for the lad.”

The grove was already full of horses and several carriages, being attended to by servants. Finn and Lucas both noticed several men moving about, armed with muskets, pistols, and swords. A wooden table stood not far away, beneath the trees, with several men seated around it, drinking wine, smoking their pipes, and playing cards by lamplight. Several more men were gathered around a crackling fire. Except for the carriages, the scene resembled the camp of a band of forest brigands.

"It seems that most everyone's arrived." said Hewitt. He reached beneath the seat of the carriage and pulled out two black parcels tied with cords. "Put these on." he said.

They were the robes and masks.

Now remember the rules." said Hewitt in a somber tone. "You are not to ask anybody's name, under any circumstances. This is a secret brotherhood."

"How can it be secret when you all seem to know one another?" Delaney asked.

Hewitt looked irritated at the question. "That is another matter. Once the vestments have been donned, each man is without a name. We are all merely secret brothers of the Hellfire Club. Keep your vestments on at all times, and especially you must not remove your masks nor ask anyone else to remove theirs. You may not leave until the meeting is concluded. The doors to the chapel shall be bolted, if you need to relieve yourself at any time, use the side door of the chapel and follow the path to the outhouse. Remember that wandering about outside is not permitted. There are guards on duty. We must protect ourselves against unwanted intruders. Afterward, we shall meet back here at the carriage. Any questions?"

Delaney glanced at Lucas. "No. no questions," he said. "Shall we 'don our vestments.' brother?"

Lucas gave him a warning glance and Delaney rolled his eyes. They put on their robes and masks and stepped out of the carnage, allowing Hewitt to proceed ahead of them.

"I feel like Zorro disguised as a monk," whispered Delaney.

"Keep a handle on it, Finn." Lucas whispered back.

"Shouldn't we be chanting something?" said Delaney.

They joined a group of silent, hooded figures moving through the chapel doors. Spread out and hidden in the woods around them, dressed in black and with their faces camouflaged, were the other two commando teams, ready to move in quickly it anything went wrong or if Nikolai Drakov put in an appearance, though it was doubtful if they'd recognize him among all the hooded figures. They had no idea what they could expect, so they were prepared for anything. The armed guards moving around outside presented no real problem. The commandos could easily stay out of their sight, and if, by chance, one of them were spotted, the guard would be quickly rendered unconscious before an alarm could be given. Inside the chapel, the glow of candlelight provided a dim, shadowy illumination. The pews had been removed and in their stead were wooden tables, chairs, and benches with cushions, giving the interior of the chapel the aspect of some bizarre religious coffeehouse. There was no altar, merely a tall wooden pulpit looking down upon the congregation. The robed figures were seated at the tables, many of them smoking, while masked women, dressed in white robes, moved among the tables, serving drinks. The soft undertone of conversation was broken only by the rustling of robes, the sound of pewter mugs being put down on wooden tables, some coughing and the tapping out of pipes.

“You believe this?" whispered Delaney, standing close to Lucas. They had lost sight of Hewitt, who had vanished among the hooded figures.

"I figure at least forty, fifty men," said Lucas, glancing around.

They found a table and sat down. A white-robed woman, hooded and with a white mask tied around her face, leaving only her eyes, mouth, and chin visible, wordlessly set down two mugs of wine before them. She gave them a knowing smile and proceeded on to the next table. Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of the chapel organ playing a dirgelike, somber melody and the white-robed figures all retreated to the back room. Everybody stood. A man robed and masked in black like all the others mounted the pulpit and stood with his hands braced on the sides, surveying the room. The organ stopped and there was silence.

“Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty!" the man at the pulpit said, in a loud voice that echoed through the chapel.

“Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty!" the congregation responded in chorus.

“Be seated, brothers." They sat with a rustling of robes.

"You recognize the voice?" Delaney whispered.

Lucas shook his head.

"The horseman is among us," said the figure at the pulpit and an excited ripple ran through the crowd. "He is pleased to see so many loyal subjects of the king gathered here together. Long live His Majesty. King George!"

"Long live His Majesty. King George!" the congregation responded.

"We live in perilous times, my brothers," said the man at the pulpit. "We have seen the Sons of Violence attack our fellow loyal citizens of Boston. We have seen them burn and pillage. We have seen them loot and plunder. We have seen them stone our houses and smash out our windows while our families huddled terrified within and we ourselves shook with rage and indignation, helpless in the face of their superior numbers. We have been forced to stand by and watch while they tarred and feathered our officials and belabored them with clubs. And then we have all read how they justify their actions in their lying newspapers, accusing us of treason, accusing us of disloyalty, accusing us of being the oppressors!" An angry undertone ran through the crowd.

“They want the freedom to speak out, but only for those who would agree with them! They want the freedom to assemble, but only so that they can fire up the common mob and break into our homes and make off with our possessions! They demand freedom of the press, but only so that they can fill their newspapers with their seditious lies! They demand freedom from taxation, but only so that they can continue smuggling with impunity! We, who import our fabrics and our wines from England, our carriages, our furniture, our tea and other necessaries, must pay our legal duties to the Crown as loyal subjects, yet they, a bunch of upstart common laborer, and rabble, feel that they must be exempt! They cry out that Parliament oppresses all Americans, yet who among us has not felt oppressed by them? Ours are the families who have founded these thirteen English colonies. Ours are the families who have built the cities, who have fought the Indians and the French, who have built the ships and founded trade and established our colonial assemblies! Ours was the toil, ours the sweat and blood! And now these dock porters and simple cordwainers, these rope makers and illiterate apprentices descended from indentured servants would bite the hand that feeds them and dictate terms to us! Well, we shall suffer these indignities no longer! We say to them, no more!"

"No more! No more!"

“It’s like a revival meeting," whispered Delaney.

“There is one among us who has set us all an excellent example," said the speaker. "One who has spoken to the Sons of Violence in the only language that they can understand. Until now, the rabble has been unopposed, free to strike at night and to terrorize anyone they pleased. My friends, that time has ended! The choice is ours, my brothers! We can unite and end this reign of terror, or we can huddle, quaking in our homes, waiting fearfully and helplessly to see whom the Sons of Violence will choose for their next victim." He suddenly pointed at one of the robed figures below him. "Will it be you?"

The man shifted uncomfortably. The finger moved on.

"Or will it be you? Or you? Or you?" He pointed at another man. "Will yours be the next home that they tear down'?" He pointed again. "Will you be the next one to be seized and dragged into the Common, stripped naked for all to see, and basted with a coat of steaming tar and feathers'?"

He pulled his hand back and clenched it into a fist. "And can we believe that the outlaws will stop there'?" he said. "With no one to oppose them, will they not grow bolder still? In the middle of the night, they will come and visit you," he said, pointing suddenly at another member of the congregation, and in their frenzy of destruction, while they hold you helpless, they will look upon your daughter and they will find her pleasing. Two of them will hold her while she struggles, yet a third will tear her nightdress from her innocent young body; they will run their filthy, rough, and callused common hands over her sweet virgin flesh; they will bear her down and have their way with her while she weeps and screams in terror and you are forced to watch! And afterward, when you walk the streets together, which one of the carters who pass by you will smirk with secret knowledge? Which one of the drunken dock workers will call out her name after you pass?"

He looked around at the entire congregation.

“It could happen to any one of you," he said, "And it will happen, unless we stop it now!"

The sense of outrage and indignation surged throughout the crowd.

"These common criminals must be taught a lesson!" he shouted. Who will be the next to learn?"

“Ebenezer Macintosh!" a deep and resonant voice coed out.

“Drakov!" said Delaney, looking all around, as did many of the others, but there was no way to tell where the voice had come from. The speaker waited until the undertone died down.

"Our friend has chosen well," he said. "The horseman has named Ebenezer Macintosh. A drunken cobbler. A common brawler, the leader of the South End Gang. It was he who led the mob against the home of our good friend "Thomas Hutchinson, thereby reducing our proudest citizen to penury. And was he punished for this crime? No sooner was he thrown into jail by our sheriff than he was released as a result of threats from the very rioters he led! And today, he swaggers through the streets and boasts of his invulnerability! Is he invulnerable'?"

No!" the crowd yelled.

"Is he beyond the law?"

" No!"

"Is he going to pay for what he's done?"

"Yes!" voices called out. "Yes, hang him, make him pay! Hang him!"

"The jury has reached its verdict," said the speaker. "The accused, Ebenezer Macintosh, stands guilty, as charged. So say you all?"

" Aye! Aye!"

"Then, Ebenezer Macintosh, for your crimes against the loyal citizens of Boston, we hereby sentence you to hang!"

"Jesus, now what do we do?" Delaney said.

"We'll have to stop them," Lucas said. "We'll have to get to him before they do and warn him."

"In ancient times," the speaker continued, "warriors united in a common. sacred cause would gather on the eve of a great battle to celebrate their courage and to fortify their manhood. Thus do we revive this ancient custom. Thus do we celebrate our unity and fortify our cause! “Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty, my brothers!"

" Hellfire to the Sons of Liberty!"

The organist began to play as the speaker descended from the pulpit and the white-robed women came filing out with trays of wine, ale, rum, and food. The women moved along the tables, setting down their trays and being pulled into the laps of the robed men. At the table next to theirs, a man pulled the cord holding a woman's robe fastened around her waist and it fell open, revealing her to be completely naked underneath. He started fondling and kissing her. None of the men undressed. They merely pulled open their robes and loosened their clothing underneath, pulling the laughing women down into their laps, dragging them to the floor, laying them out on top of tables and benches. One of the women came and sat down on Delaney's knee, smiling and reaching for the cord that tied his robe.

"Not now." he said. "A moment. Nature calls."

She shrugged and moved on to another man.

"Let's get the hell out of here." he said to Lucas.

They rose and moved to the side door. All around them, the orgy was in progress as masked men and women fumbled inside one another's robes, laughing and indulging in the license of anonymous sex. Finn and Lucas left by the side door and stepped out into the cool night breeze.

"Stand where you are!" said a voice out of the darkness. "Raise your hands above your heads!" They froze and did as they were told. Several men stepped out of the shadows, holding muskets and pistols aimed directly at them.

"What is this'?" Lucas said, in an angry tone. "Can't a man even relieve himself in peace? Put down those guns!"

Another man, this one dressed in a black robe and a mask, unlike the guards, stepped forward.

"Hold your arms out straight, away from your sides." he said. They both recognized the voice of the speaker in the pulpit. They did as they were told.

"Pull back their hoods and remove those masks. If one of them so much as blinks, shoot them both at once."

They stood absolutely motionless as one of the men stepped forward, yanked back their hoods, and removed their masks.

"Do any of you know these men?" the speaker asked.

The guards all shook their heads.

"Neither do I," the speaker said. "It appears that we have caught ourselves sonic spys. Search them."

The man who had removed their masks suddenly jerked, then with a surprised expression, he collapsed to the ground. There were several rapid hissing noises and the remaining guards all fell, dropping their weapons. The robed man glanced around him with alarm, and then he jerked and fell as well. Chavez. Seavers, and Federoff stepped out of the shadows, holding their stinger pistols.

“Nice work," said Lucas.

"What do you want us to do with them?"' asked Seavers, "Pull them back into the trees. They'll come around. But I want that one," he said, pointing to the robed man.

Chavez bent down and removed his mask. It was Moffat

"Know him?" he asked.

Lucas shook his head. "No. But he seemed to be the one in charge. He's working with Drakov."

"So Hunter was right, he is here." Seavers said.

"Yeah, he was inside," said Finn. "You want us to take the place?” asked Federoff.

"Are you kidding? There's seventy or eighty people in there and about half of them are women. There's no way I want to risk that. Besides, Drakov could easily clock out in all the confusion, if he hasn't already. No, have everyone pull back to the safehouse. We're taking this man with us for interrogation. I want him alone in one of the bedrooms, restrained, with the windows and drapes closed, so he won't know where he is. We don't know who he is, so let's not take any chances. He sees nobody who's not in colonial dress, understood?"

"Got it." Seavers said.

"Good. Move out." Within moments, they were all back in the safehouse, where Hunter was waiting for them with Linda and Andre. They had not risked leaving him alone. Hunter raised his eyebrows when he saw Federoff and Seavers carrying the unconscious robed man into the back bedroom on the upper floor.

“What the hell did you do, kidnap a monk'?" he said.

"One of the leaders of the Hellfire Club," said Lucas.

"You were right, Hunter. Drakov is here."

"You saw him?"

"No, but we heard his voice. I'd know that voice anywhere. It seems we owe you an apology. You were right all along."

"Don't mention it," Hunter said. "How well do you know Ebenezer Macintosh?" asked Lucas.

"Mac? We're old drinkin' buddies, him and I. Why, what's up?"

"They've targeted him for assassination," said Delaney. "They're going to hang him. We've got to get to him first and warn him."

"I'm on my way," said Hunter.

"Neilson, you go with him;" Lucas said.

"Still don't trust me, huh?" said Hunter.

“No I just don't want to lose you." Lucas said. "You're the only one of us Macintosh knows, so you'll have to be the one to warn him, but by now, the Network's got to know something's gone wrong. They won't find any trace of Carruthers or the other two and you've dropped out of sight, so they'll be looking for you. I want you covered and Neilson's lightning with a gun and a crack shot. Sean, take a stinger with you, but I'd rather you carried something with a bit more authority, as well. I see Hunter's got silencers for some of those pieces and I'd rather not risk using a laser or a plasma weapon on the streets of Boston."

"Help yourself, kid." Hunter said to Neilson.

Neilson walked over to the table and unhesitantly chose the .45 Colt Combat Commander. He started to attach the silencer.

"Wouldn't you like a bit more firepower?" Hunter said. "That only holds a seven-shot clip with room for one more in the chamber."

"If I can't get the job done with eight rounds. I probably won't get it done at all," said Neilson.

"But I'll take some spare clips, just in case."

"Go ahead and make your choice," Lucas said to Hunter.

Hunter glanced at him.

"Be my guest." said Lucas. He smiled. "Call it a gesture of good faith."

Hunter chose the Beretta 9 mm. He screwed a silencer onto the weapon and pocketed several spare clips. He slapped in a magazine, racked the slide and jacked a round into the chamber, and stuck it in his waistband, cocked and locked, in the “Mexican carry" mode. He picked up several spare magazines and slipped them in his pockets.

`"What do you think they'll do with Steiger?" he asked.

`"I'm hoping they'll keep him alive so they've got something to deal with if they're backed into a corner." Lucas said tensely, 'but I can't afford to worry about him now. The mission comes first. He'd have done the same in my place. But if you run into any Network people, try to take at least one of them alive."

`"You mind if they're wounded just a little?" Neilson asked. "Not in the least," said Lucas.

`"Good." said Neilson. "What about if we run into these Hellfire characters?" "Try not to." Lucas said. "But if you do . . . He took a deep breath "If they get to Macintosh before you do, don't interfere if it means shooting anybody."

"You mean let them hang him."

"Yeah. That's what I mean."

The room was silent for a moment."

"Okay." said Neilson, after a pause. 'If that's the way you want it."

"It's not the way I want it, but it's the way it's got to be." said Lucas.

"We're here to stop a temporal disruption, not create one," He hesitated. "Hunter. I know that as a C.1.S. agent—"

"You don't have to say it, pilgrim." Hunter said. "We've got a deal."

"Yeah. I hope so." "What do you want us to do once we've warned Macintosh?" asked Neilson.

"Warn Macintosh and tell him what the Hellfire Club is planning," Lucas said. "It looks like they're going after individual leaders of the Suns of Liberty in which case Adams is the most logical target. We'll have to keep an eye on him, but we can't keep track of all of them. If we can get the Sons of Liberty to do part of our job for us, so much the better. Tell Macintosh to assign some of his South End boys to watch the leaders. Have several people on each of them if possible. Hancock, Otis, Edes, Revere, all of them. Then get right back here. We're going to have to play this by ear and I don't want to have to worry about where anybody is. Drakov knows we're here and that may force his hand. If our friend in the other room can't help us, we could be in a world of trouble."

Not long after Neilson left with Hunter. Moffat started to come around. They had all changed into colonial clothing by then, but their attempt at deception didn't last long, At first. Moffat was confused and disoriented. He awoke to find himself tied to a chair in a strange room with all the curtains drawn. As his eyes gradually focused and he realized that he'd been taken captive, his lips drew tight into a stubborn line and a defiant look came into his eyes:

"You have been captured by 'the Sons of Liberty." said Lucas. "We have some questions to put to you. If you cooperate, then you will not be harmed. But if you refuse to answer. it will not go well with you."

Moffat's gaze traveled around the room. taking in his surroundings, sizing up his captors.

"You don't fool me, "he said, "I know who you are." He gazed pointedly at Andre. "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

Andre stared at him. "You're the headless horseman." she said.

"That's right,” Moffat said proudly. "But killing me won't do you a bit of good. You're too late. You're much too late to stop it. I don't really matter anymore, so do your worst. I'm not afraid."

"Our worst could be much worse than merely killing you." said Lucas. "But there's no reason it should come to that. I don't think you know what you're really involved in. If you help us, perhaps we could help you."

Moffat gave a short bark of derisive laughter. "The way you helped my master, I suppose?"

"Your master?" Lucas said.

"Lucas . . ." Finn said. "He's a hominoid."

"Of course," said Andre. "It would make perfect sense. Whom else could Drakov trust to carry out his plans?"

"I may have failed," said Moffat, bitterly, "but my master will succeed. There is nothing you can do to stop him. You've lost and in that. I'll take my satisfaction."

"Why?" said Lucas. "Why should you take satisfaction in a temporal disaster, in all the untold damage it could cause; in all the loss of life? What possible satisfaction could you find in that?"

"Forget it. Lucas.” said Delaney. “Drakov has him thoroughly programmed and conditioned. You'll never get through to him."

"Maybe not," Lucas said, "but it's got to be worth a try. He can still think. He can still feel. He's still as human as the rest of us."

Moffat stared at him. "What did you say?"

“I said that no matter what Drakov may have done to you, you're still a human being, with a mind and will of your own. Think for yourself, man. At least listen to what we have to say.”

Moffat glanced around at them in bewilderment. "What sort of trick is this?" he said. “Why do you tell me that I'm human?"

Lucas looked at him with surprise. "Because you are, of course." he said.

“You mean to tell me that Drakov told you you're not human? What did he say you were?"

Moffat's defiance started to slip away in his bafflement. He had expected brutal interrogation, but not this. "You're trying to confuse me," he said. “I know what I am. I am one of my master's hominoids, he created me."

"That's right." said Lucas. "but that doesn't make you a machine or some sort of subhuman creature. You're serious, aren't you? You really believe that's what you are?"

Moffat had been programmed and trained to resist interrogation, but this was something he had not expected. He swallowed nervously, and deep within his subconscious, a flicker of impassible hope appeared. "You admit that my master has created me. and yet you still say that I'm human? How can that her

Lucas pulled up a chair and sat down in front of him, seeing a slim chance to get through to him, perhaps to circumvent his programming. No amount of psychological conditioning could be absolutely foolproof. The mind was a versatile, resilient thing. There was a chance. There had to be.

"What is your name?" he asked.

Moffat did not reply. "Surely you can tell us what you're called." said Lucas. That will give us no advantage over Drakov."

"My name is Jared Moffat." "What do you know of your creation, Jared?" Lucas asked.

Moffat swallowed nervously again. but said nothing.

"All right. let me tell you what I know of your creation." Lucas said, "and you decide for yourself if it rings true or not. You know about the parallel universe?"

Moffat hesitated, then nodded.

"All right, then." Lucas said. "Hear me out. The story of your creation began in the parallel universe. It started with a man, a scientist, called Dr. Phillipe Moreau. He was a brilliant genetic engineer, a genius. He was the head of an experiment called Project Infiltrator, funded and established by the Special Operations Group, our counterparts in the parallel timeline. The scientists there believe that the way to overcome the confluence phenomenon is to try and create temporal disruptions in our universe, leading to a timestream split. They are convinced that this will result in our two timelines being forced, and quite honestly, they may even be right. Built might also make the situation worse. There simply is no way of telling.

"The point is," Lucas continued, "in order to accomplish their aims, they have to send soldiers through into our universe by way of confluence points, where our two timelines intersect. If those soldiers succeed in disrupting our timeline and bringing about a timestream split, then they will never be able to get back home again and the Special Operations Group had a plan to insure that these troops would be unquestioningly obedient ... and totally expendable. Moreau was part of that plan. He had originally intended to use genetic engineering to create humans who could be designed to perform specific tasks that ordinary humans couldn't do, to be stronger, more adaptable, able to survive environmental conditions that would be hostile to normal humans. He honestly believed that he would be introducing a stronger, more versatile strain into the human race that would eventually result in an improvement in the breed. But as often happens, his obsession gave him tunnel vision. He didn't foresee all the staggering implications of what he planned to do.

“The Special Operations Group established a top secret military lab for him to carry on his work." said Lucas, "and Moreau believed he had their full support, that they shared his aims, but in fact, what the Special Operations Group had, in mind was something altogether different. What they wanted were genetically tailored, cannon-fodder soldiers, intellectually inhibited and emotionally stunted, with their pain centers blocked and their minds programmed so they could fight like automatons. Moreau wanted no part of it and his frustration and sense of betrayal made him vulnerable to Drakov, who was working with the Special Operations Group at the time. Working with them entirely for his own ends. I might add. Drakov abducted Moreau from Project Infiltrator, along with all his notes and experiments in progress, and he brought him to a hidden laboratory he had set up especially for him. He convinced Moreau that he had the same goals as he did and that he shared in Moreau's sense of betrayal. What Moreau didn't know was that Drakov, himself, was already an accomplished genetic engineer, as well as a lot of other things, and a genius in his own right. He watched Moreau and worked with him and learned from him and then he took Moreau's work and carried on from there.

"A hominoid is nothing more or less than a human clone, developed from human genetic material. The only difference is that hominoids are mules, incapable of reproduction, and their genetic material can be altered or augmented to suit a specific purpose. Drakov took those purposes much further than Moreau ever intended. He created a wide variety of hominoids, some from ordinary human genetic material carefully selected for specific traits, some with human and animal genetic material combined, and he sent them back through time, so that they could mature and he could clock back and make checks on them at various points of their development."

Lucas saw a reaction in Moffat and realized that he had struck a chord.

"The result was that years would pass for the hominoids while they matured, but only days or even minutes would pass for Drakov. With some of those hominoids, at various points in their development. Drakov would bring them back to his laboratory for conditioning or biological augmentation brought about by complex surgery. At the end, some of them looked perfectly normal, but some of them were monsters. He created genetically engineered giants, harpies, werewolves, vampires, even a centaur. Because, you see Drakov may be a genius, but he is hopelessly insane."

"No." said Moffat, shaking his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "No, it cannot be.”

"What do you know about Nikolai Drakov?" Lucas asked him. "What do you know about his past?"

Moffat moistened his lips and shook his head. "Nothing." he said. "It was not my place to ask such things. It was—"

"I'll tell you about his past." said Lucas "I'll tell you who he is. Have you ever heard him mention General Moses Forrester?"

"Yes," said Moffat. "Often. I know that he is your commander. The director of the T.I.A. My creator's greatest enemy."

"And also his father," Lucas said.

Moffat stared at him with astonishment.

“Hle never told you that, did he'?" said Lucas. "Nevertheless, it's true. If you could see' Moses Forrester, if you could look at his face and eyes, you'd have no doubt that he is Drakov's father. When Forester was a young temporal soldier. out on his first mission, he became stranded in time Trapped in 19th-century Russia. He was badly injured, crippled, and he believed he'd never get back home again. A young Russian gypsy girl nursed him back to health and they fell in love. She became pregnant with his child. Forester planned to spend the rest of his life with her, but our people finally found him and he had to go back to the future. He did not belong in that time. Only Vanna, Drakov's mother, could not go with him. Forrester knew that if he told his superiors that Vanna was pregnant with his child, they would abort the fetus. He simply couldn't do it, so he never told them she was pregnant. He said good-bye to her and tried to explain why he had to leave, and though their hearts were broken, they each understood it had to be.

"But in the brief time that he had with her." Lucas went on, "he couldn't fully explain all about time travel and the antiagathic drugs that extend our lifespans and make us immune to disease, and she would never have understood all that anyway. What she did understand, she told her son. but what she didn't understand, she filled in with her own superstitious beliefs and imagination. The result was that a young, impressionable boy came to believe that he was somehow the result of a supernatural union between his mother and some sort of a demon from the future. That, and the hardship that they suffered, and her subsequent death, and his failure to understand why he never became sick and why he aged so much slower than everyone else around him resulted in a raging hatred for his

'demonic' father and a deep self-loathing. Over the years, it drove him utterly insane.

"What Drakov wants,” said Lucas, "is to strike out against Moses Forester, against time travel, against the very world that brought him into existence. And you are an unwitting part of that insane plan of vengeance. And there's something else you may not know. The real Nikolai Drakov is dead."

Moffat stared at him with incomprehension.

"At least, we think the original Nikolai Drakov is dead." said Lucas, "but we really can't be sure. Because, you see, one of the things that Drakov did with the process he stole from Phillipe Moreau was to use his own genetic material to replicate himself. We don't know how many times. The man you know may be the original Nikolai Drakov, but for all we know, he might be a hominoid just like yourself.”

"No." said Moffat, his lower lip trembling. “No, that isn't possible.”

“It's not only possible," said Lucas, “it's very probable. Chances are he doesn't even know himself. But one thing is for sure. Nobody can make life out of nothing. You may not have been born in the conventional manner and you may not be able to have children, but you are the result of genetic engineering. You may have been cloned in a Petri dish and gestated in an artificial womb, you may have been programmed and conditioned with certain psychological imperatives, but you're as human as the rest of us. You think. You bleed. You feel. No matter what you've been conditioned to believe. Your own independent thoughts may have been subverted in some ways, but what do your feelings tell you?"

“Oh. God." said Moffat. very softly. "Sally . . ." A tear rolled down his cheek.

Lucas stood. "Leave him alone now.” he said softly, he shook his head sadly.

“Poor bastard.”

They left the room and softly closed the door.

9

Johnny Small was frantic. He couldn't find Andre and the others anywhere. The innkeeper at the Peacock Tavern said he hadn't seen them and there was no one home at Hunter's house on Long Lane, either. It was as if they'd all simply disappeared without a trace. It was his job to watch them and now he had no idea where they were. He fingered the Liberty medallion Sam Adams had given him. Adams had expressed confidence in him and now he'd failed him. He had no idea what to do.

As he walked through the dark streets of Boston, he tried to think where they might have gone. They wouldn't have gone to one of the radical taverns, surely, because except for Hunter, they were all posing as Tories. The last time he had seen them. Andre had been on her way to meet with Hunter, so perhaps they were with him, but where? He tried to think where Hunter might have gone, who his close associates were. Perhaps one of them could tell him where Hunter could be found. He tried to think and then it came to him.

Hunter had been sponsored into the Sons of Liberty by Ben Edes and Ebenezer Macintosh. The hour was late and Edes was known to retire early, but Macintosh was a notorious carouser. He hurried to The Bunch of Grapes, but was told that he'd missed Macintosh by only twenty minutes. He had gone staggering home, full of rum, as usual. Johnny showed his Liberty medallion and said he had an urgent message for Macintosh from Samuel Adams and the he produced Macintosh's address. He ran all the way there, desperately hoping that Macintosh Was not so drunk that he would be passed out by the time he arrived. As he ran, he had no idea that he was being followed.

"Mac, wake up." said Hunter.

"Whhuh? Who izzit?"

"Mac! Come on. Mac. wake up, God damn it!"

Hunter grabbed Macintosh by his shirtfront and slapped him several times across the face. He had fallen into bed completely dressed, without even bothering to take his shoes off. Macintosh came awake with a drunken roar, sat up in bed, and took a wild swing at Hunter. Hunter easily avoided it and threw him out of bed onto the floor. Macintosh rose to his hands and knees and shook himself. He looked up and saw Hunter.

“Reese! Damn your eyes! What in God's name are ya doin' here?" he said, his voice thick with drink. "How'd ya get in here, anyway?"

"You left the door open, you drunken idiot. Come on, get up. We've got to get you out of here."

Macintosh remained sitting on the floor, squinting at Hunter.

"Man can't even sleep in peace . y’want? Breakin' inta a man's home at this ungodly hour.”

"Mac, get up!" said Hunter. "If you want to live, move yourself!"

“What kinda way is that ta talk? Go 'way. Lemme alone."

"Damn it, Mac . . ." Hunter went over to the washstand and picked up the basin. He threw the water into Macintosh's face.

" Aaarrghr

Macintosh lunged up off the floor and came lumbering at Hunter like an angry bear. Hunter ducked his swing and gave him a sharp jab in the solar plexus. Macintosh wheezed and doubled over. Hunter threw him up against the wall and slapped him twice across the face.

"Snap out of it. Mac, damn you!"

Macintosh made a small stunting, squealing sort of noise. "Gonna be sick . .

."

"Oh, for Christ's sake

Hawke Hunter stepped away as Macintosh doubled over and threw up on the floor.

"Mac, you're a fucking mess." said Hunter.

Macintosh wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Now look what ya gone an' done," he said. "I'm gonna break yer bloody neck . . ."

"It's your own neck I'm trying to save. you fool." said Hunter.

"They're going to hang you!" Macintosh blinked. “What? Who? What the devil are ya talkin' about?"

"The Tories! The Hellfire Club. you idiot! The followers of the headless horseman! They could be on their way here right now to lynch you, just like they did to those four friends of yours!"

Macintosh paled. "The horseman's men'? They're gonna hang me?"

"That's right, you fool. Sober up if you don't want to die! You've got to get out of hem right now!"

"Sweet Mother o'God," said Macintosh. "And ya come ta warn me. God bless ya. Reese. you're a real friend. I'm sorry I took a poke at ya--"

"Never mind that now," said Hunter, impatiently. "You've got to get out of here. Are you sober enough to remember what I tell you?"

"Aye, if comes to my own neck, that I am," said Macintosh, rubbing his face.

"They're not gonna hang Ebenezer Macintosh. by God!"

“Listen to me carefully," said Hunter. "We haven't got much time and lives depend on it. The horseman's men are going to try to kill off the leaders of the Sons of Liberty, one by one. Get to your South End boys. Tell them that they've got to place a constant watch on Adams and the others or they'll wind up dangling from the Liberty Tree. Have several men watch each of them at all times, especially at night. And you stay out of sight, yourself. You got that'?"

Macintosh took a deep breath and nodded. “The horseman's men are gonna try ta kill Adams an' the others. Have my boys watch 'em, day an' night."

"Good man. Now come on, we've got to get you out of here. Have you got a place to go where you can hide out?"

"Aye. I'll go an' see my boys. They'll take care o' me. They'll know what ta do."

"All right, get moving. Quickly, now!"

Macintosh grabbed his coat and hat and lumbered down the stairs, Hunter right behind him. "God bless ya. Reese," he said as they stepped outside. "You're a good friend. I won't forget this--“

"Yeah, yeah. I'm a saint, I know. Get moving. And for God's sake, keep to the alleys. Don't let anybody see you. And don't forget what I told you."

"I won't forget. I'm on my way." He shambled off into the darkness and turned into an alleyway. Hunter sighed with relief. And then he heard the sound of running footsteps. His fingers closed around the butt of his Beretta, but he relaxed when he saw Johnny Small come running up to him.

"Mr. Hunter! Mr. Hunter! Thank God I've found you!" The boy was out of breath. Hunter grabbed him by his shoulders.

"Steady on, lad. What is it? What's wrong?"

"Its'—it's your friends, Mr. Hunter." Johnny gasped for breath. "Andre and the others. I—I can't find them anywhere! I—have to—"

"Easy, lad, easy, get your breath back first," said Hunter.

"Hold it right there. Hunter!" said a voice from the darkness. "Don't move or the boy gets it!"

Two men with drawn weapons came walking out of the darkness. They both looked a little out of breath. As they came closer, Hunter saw that they were dressed in colonial clothing, but holding laser pistols, Network men. They must have picked the kid up at his old place and followed him. Johnny glanced up at him with fear and uncertainty.

"All right, hands out from your sides, very slowly, and clasp them on top of your head," one of them said. Hunter did as he was told. Looking at him fearfully, Johnny did the same.

"Get lost, kid." the other Network man said.

Johnny didn't move: "Didn't you hear me'?" the man repeated. "I said get lost! Run! Get out of hem!"

"No," said Johnny. "No, It—I will not run. I have my duty!"

"Stupid kid. You want to die? I said, get out of here!"

"Do as he says," Hunter said.

"No. No, I will not leave you like a coward."

"Damn it, Johnny." Hunter said, "don't be a fool. Get out of here! Run!"

"No, I won't run away!"

"Have it your way, kid," the Network man said, aiming his pistol at Johnny.

"Drop your weapons, now!"

The Network men spun around and Neilson's pistol coughed rapidly, four times. The first shot from the Colt took one of the men right between the eyes. The second shot struck the other man's gun hand and he cried out as he dropped the laser, then the third and fourth shots struck each of his kneecaps dead center, knocking his legs out from under him as if someone had yanked the street out from beneath his feet. He fell to the ground, moaning with pain. Hunter hadn't even had the time to draw his gun.

Neilson ran up and quickly stuffed a handkerchief into the wounded man's mouth, jamming it in deeply. The man started to gag. He was already in shock. Neilson picked up the laser pistol the second man had dropped and tucked the Colt into his waistband.

"Jesus Christ." said Hunter. flabbergasted. "Priest said you were lightning with a gun, but . . . Jesus! Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?"

Johnny stood, speechless, staring at Neilson with astonishment.

"Practice." Neilson said. "Lots and lots of practice." He pulled a disruptor out from underneath his coat. He aimed it at the dead man and fired a stream of neutrons. The corpse was briefly wreathed in the blue glow of Cherenkov radiation, then it disappeared.

"Let’s get out of here." he said, nervously glancing up at the surrounding windows. It had all taken merely seconds, and fortunately, there hadn't been much noise. "Come on. We'll have to take him with us," he said, nodding toward Johnny as he adjusted his warp disc to a wider pattern.

Johnny didn't understand what had happened. The stringer had fired his peculiar pistol four times, with astonishing accuracy and impossible speed, all without reloading, and it had barely made a sound. And then he had somehow made the dead man's body disappear without a trace in that strange blue glow that came from that even stranger, second weapon. He was still trying to take it all in when Hunter brought him up to stand close beside Neilson and the wounded man and the next thing Johnny knew, he was no longer standing in the middle of the street outside Ebenezer Macintosh's house, but in the center of a room somewhere, in a completely different place, and he was feeling nauseous and dizzy. He gasped and looked around him wildly, and then his eyes rolled up and he fainted. Hunter just barely managed to catch him before he hit the floor.

Moffat was missing. Drakov didn't have to wonder where he was. He would never have had the nerve to take all somewhere on his own without first asking permission and saying precisely where he was going and when he would return Both he and the female were like servile dogs in that respect, thought Drakov, falling all over themselves to attend him. Moffat's disappearance could only mean one thing. The Time Commandos had him, which meant there was no question of returning to the house on Newbury Street. It was no longer secure.

Moffat would hold out against interrogation for a while, but they were sure to break him, as Drakov had intended that they should. He knew that people always valued something a great deal more when they had to work for it and they would have to work to break down Moffat, but break him down they would, and then they would believe him when he talked—as Moffat would, of course, believe himself—when the fact was that neither of the hominoids knew what the real mission was. They believed the plan was merely to kill Samuel Adams, the revolution's Grand Incendiary, as Thomas Hutchinson had christened him, but if the Hellfire Club succeeded in assassinating Adams, which was entirely possible, it would only be an added bonus. But though it was part of what Drakov intended to accomplish, he did not need Adams dead to achieve what he had planned.

The hominoids had served their purpose. Moffat would distract the Time Commandos and by the time they realized their mistake. it would be too late for them to do a thing about it.

Steiger heard the door open and, slowly raised his head, staring at the newcomer through swollen eyes. He was dressed in well-tailored, elegant colonial, clothing with a silk brocade waistcoat and lace at the throat and cuffs. He heard the man expel his breath sharply as he saw him.

“Jesus Christ." he said, staring at Steiger. "What the hell is going on here? What did you do to him?"

“Softened him up a little," said the other man, still wearing the black leather gloves he'd donned to administer the beating.

“What for?' said the man who'd just come through the door.

"What for? What are you, crazy? Don't you know what's going on? Don't you know who this guy is?"

"Do you?"

"You'd damn well better believe I do." the gloved man said. "He's Col. Creed Steiger, head of the goddamned I.S.D."

"You didn't have to do this." said the newcomer, his mouth tight. "There was no call for this."

"No call for it? Are you nuts? The son of a bitch is lucky he's alive!

There's a contract out on him, in case you didn't know. You know what he's worth dead?"

"Is that what it's come, to, Stevens?" said the newcomer.

"We're taking contracts now? We're hitting our own people'?"

"Shut up, you stupid bastard! Don't use my name in front of him!"

"What difference does it make? Do you intend to let him live?”

"Only as long as necessary." Stevens said grimly. "They got Carruthers. They took out Stiers and Aaronson, as well. Left no trace of them, not even a wet spot on the floor. This bastard's our security. They come after us, we got a hostage."

"How much is he worth dead?" asked the newcomer.

"A smooth five mil." said Stevens. “Five million fucking dollars."

"And you'd kill one of our own people for it," said the newcomer.

"He's not one of our people, you damn fool! He's I.S.D.!"

"And what the hell is the I.S.D.?" the newcomer snapped.

"It's the internal security division of the goddamn agency, you moron!'

"Don't talk to me that way!" -Do you even realize what you're doing?" the newcomer said. "It's one thing to run a few illegal operations to make some money, but what you're talking about now is murder!"

"They took out Carruthers and the others," Stevens said harshly. "What do you call that?"

"Carruthers must've forced their hand. He went too far. When I heard what he was planning, I thought he had gone crazy. We're supposed to be helping these people, for God's sake! There's a temporal disruption going down! We're supposed to be on the same damn side!"

"Is that so?" said Stevens. He jerked his head toward Steiger. "Is that why this son of a bitch is trying to nail us? Because we're on the same side? Don't make me laugh. He sold out, the bastard. He was a field agent, just like us, and he sold out!"

"To whom?" "To the goddamned bureaucrats and politicians, that's to whom!

Jesus, will you wake the hell up? This isn't some game we're playing here! This isn't the goddamned Boy Scouts! Forester sent this guy to take us out. He's out to bust the whole damn Network! We've gotta take them out before they get us first!"

"Them?" said the newcomer. "Wait a minute, let me get this straight. Are we talking about assassinating the director of the T.I.A .?"

"You're damn straight!" said Stevens. "And the bounty on the old man's been set at ten million! Where the hell you been? Me. I'm not crazy enough to try for Forrester. but Steiger here fell right into our laps. You don't want a share, just say so. You can go back to Virginia and plant tobacco for all I fucking care. Go anywhere the hell you want, but I'm telling you right now, you get in my way. I'm gonna roll right over you."

"That's the way it is. huh?"

“That's the way it is."

"And what about the disruption?"

"Who gives a fuck about the damn disruption? We send this jerk to the cell commander in a bag and we can all retire. Especially now that Carruthers and the others have been taken out. We don't have to cut the pie as thin."

"I see, I guess that does make for an incentive."

"You better believe it." Stevens said.

The newcomer walked over to where Steiger sat, firmly tied down to a stout chair. He took him by the hair and pulled his head back so that he could look down into his eyes. Steiger squinted up at him. The man's face was expressionless.

"He'd really take us out, wouldn't he'?" the man said.

"In a minute." "I suppose that would make it self-defense, then."

Stevens grinned. "Yeah, I guess it would."

“Five million dollars is a lot of money," said the man in front of Steiger.

"And I suppose if a temporal disruption did go down, we could always clock back further, where we wouldn't have to worry about it. Go underground. kick back and take it easy . . . “

"Now you're talkin'." Stevens said.

"I mean, between the rest of us in this section, we've already got a tidy sum salted away. Then there're the goods in the warehouses in Boston, Philadelphia, and Charleston, we could easily liquidate those at a fat profit. wouldn't have to cut that pie as thin, either . . . “

"Now you're getting the idea." Stevens said.

"You know, when you look at it that way. I suppose it does make a lot of sense - the man said, still looking down at Steiger with no expression on his face. He let his head drop and turned around to face Stevens. "Personally, I never cared much for Carruthers anyway."

"Well, you don't have to worry about Carruthers now," said Stevens.

"So tell me. what are we still doing here? We've got Steiger, why don't we just blow? Why take chances?"

"Because we don't know if Carruthers talked. Cash wants to make sure. He thinks they're onto us and he wants to cover our tracks before we risk moving the stuff. And there's still that shipment coming in.”

“That's stupid. Why worry about that? If Steiger's worth five million dead .

. .

"Cash said—“

"Yeah, well, I never cared much for Cash, either." The man turned around and walked over to the window. He pulled open the drapes and looked out. “If you ask mc. Cash is too damn greedy. So what if Carruthers talked? Who cares about the shipment'? The way things arc, hanging around here's way too risky."

“We stand to lose a lot if we leave now." said Stevens. "Cash says long as we've got Steiger—

"Long as we've got Steiger, who needs Cash?" the other man said, still looking out the window. “Who needs any of them? We've got five million sitting right there in that chair. Split two ways . . . I mean, we could always tell the cell commander that the commandos got Cash and the others, couldn't we?"

"Yeah . . . said Stevens. slowly. "Yeah, I suppose we could at that."

The man at the window turned around. There was a small stinger pistol in his hand. He fired and the needle dart struck Stevens in the chest. Stevens stared at him with astonishment, then collapsed to the floor.

"You stupid asshole." the man said, looking down at Stevens with contempt.

"You'd kill your own mother for a buck.”

He walked over to where Steiger sat. "So you're worth five million dollars. huh?" he said, still holding the pistol.

Steiger said nothing.

He put away the pistol. "I just saved your life, Colonel. I sure hope you're the grateful sort." He walked around behind the chair, took out a knife, and sliced through Steiger's bonds. He came around in front of him again.

"Can you stand?"

Steiger stared up at him uncertainly. "I'll manage." he said thickly. His lips were cut and swollen and several teeth had been loosened. He lurched to his feet unsteadily. "I don't get it. How come you're doing this?"

"Cause I want out." the man said. "I've had it. I draw the line at murder."

"What do you call that'!" said Steiger, nodding toward the man on the floor.

"That wasn't a lethal dart, he'll only be out for about an hour. Name's Murphy. by the way. Tom Murphy."

"Thanks. Murphy."

"Save your thanks. Just remember me at my court martial. Now come on, lean on me. We'd better get you out of here before the others get back.”

They laid Johnny out on the couch downstairs_ He was still unconscious. Andre knelt down beside him.

"What happened?" she said. "Is he all right?"

"He's okay, he only fainted." Hunter said. "The shock plus the effects of transistion. Always takes a lot out of you the first time.”

"You shouldn't have brought him here," said Lucas.

"He saw too much," said Neilson. "It couldn't be helped."

“Who would have believed him?" Lucas said. You should have left him. Scott. Bringing him here was stupid.”

“I’m sorry, but I thought—“

"That's just the trouble, you didn't think."

"Hey, lighten up. Priest." said Hunter. "He saved my bacon and brought you a prisoner to interrogate. The kid did all right."

Lucas sighed. “You're right. I'm sorry. Scott. I didn't mean to come down on you so hard. I guess it's just the strain, that's all. But the boy can't stay here. We've got enough to worry about as it is. We've got to get him out of here while he's still unconscious. Anybody know when: the kid lives'?"

"He's Revere's apprentice," Hunter said. "Stays in the back of his silversmith shop over by North Square."

"Andre. maybe you should take him there." said Lucas. "Since you seem to have established a . . . uh, rapport with the kid, convince him he was seeing things or something. But get him out of our hair. We have to interrogate the prisoners and I don't want him around for that."

"Okay. I'll take care of him.” said Andre. She started to adjust her warp disc.

Linda Craven came downstairs. "How is he?" Lucas asked her, referring to the wounded Network man.

"He's coming out of shock." she said. "I gave him something for the pain and I took care of his hand, but I can't do anything about his knees. Both kneecaps were shattered by the bullets. It's going to require major reconstructive surgery and prosthetics."

“Can he talk?"

"Yeah. he can talk, but he's still hurting. If I give him any more, he'll he too doped up to be coherent.”

"All right, let's go have a word with him," said Lucas. “Finn. Hunter, come with me. Mike, take Rico and Ivan and check on the leaders of the Sons of Liberty. see if Macintosh has anybody keeping an eye on them yet. Scott. I want you and Geoff on Adams, just in case the Hellfire Club pays him a call. If they do, I want you to get him out of there and I don't care how you do it. We can't let anything happen to him."

"Right, we're on our way." said Neilson.

"Okay, let's go see what our Network man can tell us.” Lucas said. "And then we'll have another talk with our friend Moffat."

"He's been very quiet in there,” Linda said.

"Yeah. He's had a lot to think about." said Lucas.

They went up the stairs. The Network man was lying on a bed, clearly in great pain, despite the narcotic analgesic Craven had injected him with, an opiate analog that dulled much of his agony. His breeches had been removed and his knees were bandaged and splinted, but mainly to stop the bleeding and prevent his moving them. There was little more that they could do for him under such primitive conditions except give him another injection that would put him out and Lucas planned to use that as a carrot on a stick.

The man was breathing raggedly, in short, gaspy little bursts, and clutching at the bedclothes spasmodically. Lucas pulled a chair up beside the bed.

"My name is Col. Lucas Priest." he said. "Can you hear me?"

The man nodded jerkily.

"What's your name?"

"Di-Dicenzo," he said, through clenched teeth. "Ro-Robert Dicenzo. God ... it hurts . . . Gi-Gimme another shot ..."

"We'll give you another shot and clock you out to a military hospital as soon as you answer a few questions." Lucas said.

"Shot first. God . . . the pain . . ."

"No shot," said Lucas. "Talk first, then we'll give you another shot. Knock you out and make the nasty pain go away. But I want some answers first and they'd better be the right ones. otherwise I'll get my shooter back in here and have him put a couple bullets through your ankles."

"You bastard . . ." Dicenzo gasped.

"Hey, you called it," Lucas said. "You got what you deserve. Now I don't have much time and I'm not a patient man, so what's it going to be?"

"Okay! Okay, damn you!"

"What have you done with Steiger?" Lucas asked. "Is he still alive?"

"Yeah . . . place on Short. Street . . . fourth house on— on the left from Pond. S-secend floor . . . end of hall." "How many men are watehing him?" "One . .

. maybe two . . . Stevens . . . maybe Cash . . ."

"You're doing fine," said Lucas. "How many of you are there?"

“ E i g h t . . . n o , y o u g o t C a r r u t h e r s . . A a r o n s e n a n d Stiers. . . your shooter got Morton. too, didn't he? Oh. C h r i s t . . . "

-You mean there were only eight of you in this Network cell to begin with?"

"Y-yeah. Not—not counting cell commander . . . Randall ... he's not here ... another—another time . . ."

"Okay. so the only Network men left in this scenario are yourself. Stevens. and this guy Cash, right? That's only seven."

"M-Murphy." said Dicenzo, his teeth chattering. "S-supp o s e d t o . . . c o m e u p f r o m . . . V i r g i n i a . . . "

"When?"

"Tonight."

"Carruthers said you had thirty men here." Lucas said. "You're saying only eight."

"Bluff . . ." Dicenzo said. "Not—not thirty. Only eight . . . Swear to God . .. Carruthers thought you were . . . onto to us. Wanted . . . to sidetrack you . .. keep you busy till—till we could clear the stuff. . . "

"What stuff?"

" M e rc h an d is e . . . i n w a re h o us e s . . . Bo s to n . . . Philadelphia . .

, Ch-Charleston . . . another shipment coming

"What sort of merchandise?"

" W i n e . . . s i l k s . . s - s p i c e s . . . "

"Commodities," Delaney said, with scorn. He snorted with derision. "Do you believe it? This whole thing was about commodities. They were willing to let a disruption go down just to protect a small-time smuggling operation."

"N-no t sm all . . . ti me," Dic enz o sai d. " Chea p h ere . . .b i g p r o f i t s sell further up timeline . . ."

"And for that you were going to let a temporal disruption occur?" said Lucas, with disbelief.

"We were gonna help . . ." Dicenzo said, twisting the bedclothes in his hands, "but—but Steiger . . .

"What about Steiger?"

" D a m n . . . o h . d a m n . . . h e — h e g o t o n t o u s . . . we—we got word . .

"You got word? You're saying someone informed on him?"

"Yeah—yeah . . ."

"Who?"

"Don't know. . . Honest. I swear, I'd tell ya .

"All right, go on."

"Carruthers and Cash said—said Steiger was worth five million dead'

"Five million dollars?" "Yeah. . ." said Dicenzo, gritting his teeth.

"Network's got a contract on him . . . the old man, too. Ten million for him. .

"What a bunch of sweethearts," said Hunter. "So you decided to stall us and try to move your goods, and then collect on Steiger," Lucas said. "Just a little business enterprise, isn't that right?"

"Wasn't—wasn't my idea ." said Dicenzo, "About Steiger. I mean. I swear . .

"But you were more than willing to go along with it for a share of the money." said Delaney. "We ought to just dump you out into the slit-et and leave you."

"No! No, please . . . you gotta get me to a hospital! I'll talk . . . I'll tell you everything I know . please . . ."

I want you to give Cpl. Craven full details on the warehouses," Lucas said.

"Where they are, what's in them, where your other safehouses are, everything you've got set up in this scenario. Then and only then will she give you another shot and clock you to a hospital. But if I find out you've held anything back, personally pay a visit to your hospital room, you understand?"

"I've told the truth. I swear . . ."

“You better have," said Lucas. "And you'd better hope that Steiger's still alive. Linda. take his statement."

They left the room. "I'm going after Steiger," said Delaney. "All right," said Lucas. "Take Hunter with you. I'll stay here and hold the fort. I still need to have another talk with our friend Moffat."

"What do you want us to do. with those Network men?" asked Hunter.

"Personally, I don't much care," said Lucas. '"Try to take them alive if you can, so they can be put through interrogation, we've already got Dicenzo, so don't take any chances. The mission has to come first, If they put up any resistance, take them out."

"You got it, pilgrim."

Hunter said. "And one more thing." Lucas said. "Stop calling me pilgrim." Hunter grinned. "Sure thing, pilgrim. Anything you say. Come on. Delaney. We gotta go rescue the guy that wants to squeeze my brain out like a sponge. Think maybe he'll be grateful?"

He chuckled and started down the stairs.

"Watch him. Finn," said Lucas. "I could still be wrong about him. I don't want any accidents, okay?"

"Sure." said Delaney. "You're taking a chance, you know?”

“You mean, sending Hunter with you? I've got no choice. We're spread too thin."

"That's not what I mean," Delaney said. "There's something likable about that guy, isn't there? Reminds us of the Hunter that we knew. You're figuring on making Steiger fccl obligated to him, aren't you? That many not play, partner. Steiger's awful cold."

"You may be right," said Lucas. "But what the hell, it's worth a shot."

"You getting soft on me?" said Delaney, with a grin.

"Go on," said Lucas. "Get out of here."

He watched Delaney leave, then sighed and went down the hall to Moffat's room. He opened the door and froze. The chair in which Moffat had been tied down was empty. The ropes holding him had been snapped with incredible strength and the window was open.

"Jesus Christ . . . said Lucas. He ran back out into the hall. 'Finn!"

But he was too late. They had already left. Linda Craven came running out into the hall.

"What is it?" she said.

"What's wrong?"

"It's Moffat." Lucas said grimly. "He's escaped."

10

Andre clocked with Johnny to the street outside Ebenezer Macintosh's house. It was a calculated risk, one she certainly would not have taken during the daytime, when the traffic on the streets of Boston would have made such a transition highly dangerous. Clocking into a set of temporal coordinates that already happened to be occupied at that particular instant by some passing citizen or cart or horseman would have proved extremely messy and extremely fatal. However, at this hour of the night, the streets of Boston were practically deserted and the lack of street lighting served to mask the transition, thereby decreasing the likelihood that anyone looking out a window would see two people suddenly appearing out of nowhere in the middle of the street. No sooner had she pulled him over close to Macintosh's door than he began to come around. He came to lying on his back. with Andre looking down at him anxiously.

"What . . . Andre! Where am I?"

"In the street outside Ebenezer Macintosh's house." she said. "Are you all right?"

He looked around. confused. "I—I don't understand. What happened? I was in a room somewhere . . ."

"You fell and struck your head." she said. "I was afraid you might be seriously hurt."

"I fell?" he said. "I don't remember. I was with Mr. Hunter . . . that man!”

“What man?"

"I don't know! I don't know who he was! He shot the other two!"

"The other two?" she said.

"Yes, the other two men! They had guns! They were going to kill us! And that man shot them both with that strange pistol . . . he fired several times without reloading! So fast! How could he have done that?"

“But. Johnny, there's no one here," she said.

"But I saw them. Andre! He shot them, I tell you! And then he made the body disappear—"

" What body? Johnny, what are you talking about?"

He stared at her. “You don't believe me!"

“You must have been dreaming." she said. "You struck your head."

"A dream?" said Johnny. "No, it could not have been a dream. I saw it. I tell you! I came running here. I was looking for Mr. Macintosh. I thought he could tell me where Mr. Hunter was and I could ask him where I could find you and then those men came and they were going to kill him and they were going to kill me, too. and—“

"But, Johnny, I just saw Reese Hunter." she said. "And he didn't say anything about two men trying to kill him."

"He—he didn't?"

"No." She shook her head. "He said he spoke to you about us and then you started to run off, but you slipped and fell and struck your head. I helped him carry you over here, out of the middle of the street, and he said you would be fine in a few moments and asked me to watch over you until you came around. He had to hurry to meet with someone."

Johnny shook his head slowly. "But—but it seemed so real! You mean it was all a dream?"

"What else could it have been?" she said. "How can someone fire a pistol several times without reloading and then make a dead body disappear?"

Johnny grimaced and rubbed his head. "I—I must admit it does sound foolish," he said. "I don't remember falling. But—but how did you come to be here."

"I came looking for Ebenezer Macintosh," she said. "I came to warn him. We've discovered that the horseman's men, the ones who call themselves the Hellfire Club, are planning to kill him. It seems that they intend to kill the leaders of the Sons of Liberty, one at a time, striking in the middle of the night."

Johnny gazed at her wide-eyed. "We must warn Mr. Macintosh!" "He already knows. He's gone to seek protection from his friends in the South End Gang."

"We have to tell Mr. Adams!"

"That is already being taken care of," she said. "The important thing for you to do right now is rest. You've had a nasty blow. After such a fall, rest is just the thing. Come on. I'll help you to get home."

She helped him up.

"I--I feel a little dizzy," he said.

"That often happens when one's had a nasty fall," she said. "Can you walk'?"

“Yes. I believe so."

"Come on, then. I'll walk with you."

"I feel so strange," said Johnny. "Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I was only trying to find you and Mr. Priest and Mr. Delaney . . . where were you? Where did you go? I looked for you everywhere!"

"We had a great deal to do," said Andre. "We were with the Tories, discovering their plot against the Sons of Liberty."

"I was afraid that something may have happened to you." Johnny said. "I feared perhaps the Tories had discovered your deception. I—I don't know what I would have done if they had hurt you."

She smiled. "I'm touched by your concern."

He stopped. "It is much more than mere concern." he said. "Andre . . . I—I have never said this to a girl before . . ."

She quickly put her fingertips up against his lips. "Don't say it. Johnny." she said softly. "I know. And I am flattered more than I could say. But please try to understand. I am not free."

“You—you are promised to another?" he said.

"Yes. Johnny, I am." He looked down at the ground. "I see. I—I suppose I dared not hope that you would—"

“There is much about you that a girl could love. Johnny," she said.

"Someday, you will meet the one who's right for you and then I'm sure that you will make her very proud and very happy. But I . . ." she stopped, listening. "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

"Sssh! Listen!"

The sound came to them on the stillness of the cool night breeze.

"Men shouting." Johnny said. "It sounds as if it's coming from the Common."

"Something's happening. Come on. Johnny, run!" she said.

They sprinted toward the Common, Andre leading the way. Johnny running hard to keep up with her. They crossed Marlborough Street and ran toward the granary, on the comer of Common Street. The sound grew louder as they approached. They pulled up short as they reached the tree-lined Mall at the edge of the Common. A large group of black-robed figures were heading toward the Liberty Tree. Several of them were dragging along a fiercely struggling man, whose hands had been bound and whose mouth was gagged.

"They've got Mr. Macintosh!" said Johnny. he looked at Andre with alarm. "My God, they're going to hang him, like the others! What are we to do?"

Andre thought fast. There was nothing she could do, not with Johnny there. They had already reached the Liberty Tree and were throwing a rope over one of its stout branches.

"Run, Johnny!" she said. "Get help!"

"But they will never come in time!"

She took out her dueling pistol. "I'll fire a shot in the air." she said,

"then reload quickly and fire again. They may think the Sons of Liberty have come to rescue him."

"They will not be fooled!" said Johnny.

"I have to try!" she said.

"They will kill you!" "Johnny, you're wasting time!"

"It's too late! I will not leave you! We have to run before they see us!"

They were putting the noose around Macintosh's neck.

" Johnny . . ." In desperation, Andre hit him with a hard right cross. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious. "I'm sorry. Johnny."

She'd run out of time. They were already hoisting Macintosh up off the ground. He was jerking on the rope like a fish. Andre slid the metal plate in front of the pistol's trigger guard forward, exposing the hidden magazine well, then she quickly reached into her coat pocket and removed a plastic magazine holding fifteen staggered rounds of specially designed ball ammo. She slapped the magazine into the pistol and racked the slide. She fired the pistol into the air and started running, heading around the circle of hooded figures gathered beneath the Liberty Tree, firing as she ran, trying to make it seem as if them were a number of men shooting from different directions.

At the sound of the first shot, the hooded men glanced around, startled, and with the second and the third shot, they started looking all around them in confusion. They began shouting and several of them started running. Andre kept on shooting into the air as she ran. The hooded figures bolted, thinking that a group of armed men was upon them, 'the men hoisting Macintosh up off the ground released the rope and ran. Macintosh dropped down to the ground and lay there, jerking, the noose still tight around his neck.

Andre reversed direction and ran back the other way, still firing. She had no idea how many rounds she had left, but she kept going, firing as she ran, and her deception worked. Since they were completely unfamiliar with the concept of a semiautomatic pistol, the members of the Hellfire Club naturally assumed that they were facing a force of armed men and they took off in all directions, running across the Common, some of them heading toward Frog Lane and Treamount Street, others going in the opposite direction, toward Beacon Hill, where Hancock's mansion stood. In moments, they had all scattered in panic and the grassy Common was deserted.

She ran over to the fallen Macintosh and kneeled beside him, loosening the noose around his neck. She pulled the noose over his head and then removed his gag. He sucked in air and started coughing and retching.

"Easy, man, easy." she said, working at his bonds. "Try to breathe slowly."

He gasped and there was a rattle in his throat as he made a series of horrible rasping sounds, trying to draw air into his lungs. Andre freed his hands and propped him up, steadying him with an arm around his shoulders. He was breathing like a patient in a cancer ward and clinching at his throat.

"Slowly," Andre said. "Try to breathe slowly. Take deep steady breaths."

She helped him to his feet and propped him up with his back against the tree trunk.

"Thought I was done for," he croaked.

"Don't try to talk," said Andre. "Where—where are the others?" he rasped.

"I said don't try to talk! They're all chasing the men who tried to hang you."

"Who—who are . . ." "I'm a friend of Hunter's," she said. "Stop trying to talk, for God's sake. Just breathe, slowly and steadily, in—out-in—out . . ."

His chest rose and fell as he tried to take slow, deep, steady breaths.

"You're going to be all right," said Andre. "Thank God we got to you in time."

"I—I am most grateful to you." Macintosh said, his voice still coming out in a wheezing croak. "You—you saved my life. What is your name?"

"Never mind that," she said. "You were just lucky my friends and I were passing by."

He nodded. "Must warn Adams . . . bastards could try for him . . ."

"Can you walk? You need my help?"

"Thanks, friend, you've done enough. I'll manage. Must hurry . . ."

He clapped her on the back and shambled off across the Common, his hand still holding his throat. Andre leaned back against the tree trunk for a moment and sighed with relief, then she started heading back toward the spot where she had knocked out Johnny. She got no more than ten paces when she was struck hard across the back of her head. She grunted and collapsed to the moist grass.

Lucas felt like a sitting duck. The first thing he'd done was to have Linda Craven clock to headquarters with their prisoner. She clocked back in only minutes later, though she'd actually spent hours in the future, getting Dicenzo admitted and briefing the hospital M.P. detachment and the T.I.A. interrogation unit that would question him. They had all gone without sleep and they were tired, but the razor edge of tension kept them keenly alert. It would have been pointless to try going after Moffat, by now he could be anywhere. Lucas cursed himself for not having kept a closer watch on him. He had underestimated the hominoid's strength, something he never should have done. They had to assume he had gone back to Drakov and now their base of operations was blown. If he didn't already know about the house on Lime Street, Drakov would know about it very soon, which meant there was a possibility they could be hit at any time.

The trouble was, they couldn't move the base. Their people were spread out all over the place and until they reported in. there was no way of letting them know what had occurred. Lucas had considered having Craven try to clock around the city, looking for them, but that would be too dangerous and he had no way of knowing exactly where the others would be at any given time. They had discussed it briefly, and when she had insisted upon staying because it would be too risky to leave him alone and vulnerable, he was forced to agree. He was not afraid for himself, but he could not risk being taken out and leaving the people under his command vulnerable when they returned to the field base, not knowing it was blown. They armed themselves and settled down to a tense wait.

"How about some coffee?" Linda said.

"You've got coffee?" Lucas said.

"What's a field base without coffee?" she said, with a smile. "Or should we go native and drink tea?"

"No, I could sure use a cup of strong black coffee." Lucas said.

"Make that two," said Darkness. "I'll take mine with sugar." Linda gasped and spun around, instinctively going for her weapon.

"All right, if it's that much trouble, forget the sugar," Darkness said.

She expelled her breath and put away her pistol. "Dr. Darkness! You almost gave me a heart attack," she said. Darkness had appeared sitting on the couch beside Lucas, his legs casually crossed, his right hand resting on a silver-headed, ebony walking stick, which he held upright, its tip resting on the floor. He was dressed in his habitual Inverness coat and tweeds, a faintly bored expression on his gaunt features.

"Doc, am I ever glad to see you!" said Lucas.

"Ah, well, such an enthusiastic greeting can only mean that you're in it up to your hips," said Darkness. "What have you done now, boxed yourself into your usual corner or are you experiencing difficulties with the transponder?"

While Linda went to make the coffee, Lucas quickly filled him in.

"Hmm. it does seem as if you've bitten off a bit more than you can chew this time," the scientist said. "Drakov and the Network. And this Hellfire Club, as well. Drakov really is becoming a considerable annoyance, isn't he

"Doc, you have a positive genius for understatement," Lucas said.

"I have a positive genius for everything," Darkness said, "but that is quite beside the point. The question is, what are we going to do about this situation of yours?"

He reached into his jacket pocket for a pack of cigarettes. It was a perfectly ordinary, casual motion, but his right arm left a blurred series of afterimages as he moved, giving the effect of rapid, stop-motion photography. He removed a cigarette and lit it, inhaling deeply.

"It really is most inconvenient that your people can't carry communicators all the time," Darkness said. "That would have solved this entire problem, but I suppose it wouldn't do to have voices suddenly coming out of little boxes in colonial Boston. It could tend to upset people. And miniature receivers might still have been spotted, but under the circumstances, it would have been worth taking the risk. "

"All right, so maybe I was being too cautious, but it's too late to do anything about that now. Talking about how I screwed up isn't going to help us. You got any ideas

"Well, part of your immediate problem can be easily solved. I can locate Steiger. Cross, and Delaney through their symbiotracers and inform them of the situation—"

"Hold it! Wait a minute!" Lucas said. You told me their symbiotracers were malfunctioning!"

"Oh. no. I solved that little problem. It turned out to be merely a minor glitch in my receiving equipment. Simply a matter of fine-tuning. I can locate them anytime I want.”

"And You didn't tell me?"

Darkness raised his eyebrows. "Well, you didn't ask."

Lucas leaned back against the couch and put his hands up to his head. " Sweet God All Mighty!" he said. "I don't believe it! Didn't you hear what I've just said? The Network's got Steiger! And all the time, you could have told me where he was!"

"As I recall," said Darkness, "the last time we spoke, they didn't have him or if they did, you neglected to apprise me of the situation. Frankly, I'm not really surprised. Steiger's knack for getting in over his head is rivaled only by your own. I suppose you'd like me to get him back for you?"

"Yes, if it wouldn't be too much trouble." Lucas said in an exasperated tone.

"No trouble at all," said Darkness. 'It's not as if I haven't got several dozen more important things to do. I really do wonder, Priest, how you ever managed before I came along. Every time I see you, you're in some sort of difficulty. All things considered, it's a miracle we haven't got at least a dozen temporal disruptions to contend with—"

" Doc For crying out loud!"

"Oh. I suppose you want me to leave now?"

"If you don't mind!"

"What about my coffee?"

"Jesus, give me strength! We'll keep the pot warm, okay'?"

"Well, all right, you don't need to shout. You realize that I have no way of getting any sort of fix on your other people, since they're not equipped with symbiotracers."

"Just get Creed, Andre, and Delaney back here." Lucas said. "Hunter's with Delaney. Andre should be on her way hack here by now. In fact. I don't know what's keeping her. . . unless. . . ”

"Unless what?"

"No. No. that's crazy, she wouldn't."

"Can two participate in this conversation or is it a soliloquy?" said Darkness.

"Never mind," said Lucas. "It's not important. Just get them back here right away. Please?"

"Certainly. Don't go away." He disappeared.

Linda came back into the room. "Coffee'll be ready in a min . . . where did he go? What's the matter?"

Lucas was sitting hunched over, with his head in his hands. "Just once." he said. "Just once, I'd like to catch him when he's solid . . .

Steiger groaned as he tried to stand. Murphy helped him tip out of the chair and pulled his arm around his shoulder. Steiger sagged."Come on, Steiger, you can make it." Murphy said.

“Son of a bitch really gave me a working over." Steiger said, through swollen and cut lips.

"I know." said Murphy. "I'm really sorry about this, Steiger. I never signed on for anything like this, believe me. It all seemed so harmless in the beginning. Moving goods from one time period to another, supplementing the section allocation with a little temporal smuggling on the side, just a simple business enterprise where no one would get hurt. It's practically impossible to operate a field section on our budget and they keep cutting our appropriations. I told myself the money was being raised for a good cause. And then, since we were doing so well, it seemed perfectly reasonable to divert a small portion of the profits, set a little aside for our retirement . . . ah, hell, the whole thing just snowballed. I never dreamed it would come to anything like this."

"Nobody ever does, Murphy." Steiger said, leaning against him for support

"Shit. My goddamn legs are cramped from being tied down to that chair." He shuffled one step forward. then another.

“Give me the coordinates for your base of operations." Murphy said. "I'll clock us out."

Steiger turned and stared at him for a long moment.

“You don't trust me." Murphy said. "You think I may still be working with the others." He nodded "Hell. I don't blame you. But look, I gotta take you somewhere."

“You're not taking him anywhere." said a voice from the door. They looked up to see a man in colonial dress standing in the doorway, a plasma pistol in his hand.

"Cash!" said Murphy

"Going somewhere. Murphy?"

"Put down the gun, Cash," Murphy said. "Don't be a fool."

"Going into business for yourself, eh?" Cash said. "I thought we all had an agreement." "It isn't what you think, Cash," Murphy said.

"I was taking him out of here."

"Were you'?"

"He needs medical attention. Stevens went crazy, he beat him half to death. Damn it, Cash, this has gone too far. I don't give a damn about the Network anymore. I went along with the enterprise, but I'm not going to be a party to murder. You can keep my share of the profits, I don't care, but let us go. I've had enough."

"You always were a bit too soft. Murphy." said Cash. "Too much of a guilty conscience. But like you said, you went along with it. You're in as deeply as the rest of us."

"I don't care!" said Murphy. "When we scan taking con-tracts on our own people, it's gone beyond the realm of sanity. It's out of control, Cash. It's got to stop! Think about what you're doing. for God's sake! We all took an oath—

"Oh. please. Spare me." Cash glanced at Stevens, briefly, is he dead?"

"No," said Murphy.

Cash shifted his aim quickly and fired. The low intensity plasma charge struck Stevens in the chest, incinerating most of his upper body. "He is now." said Cash.

" You crazy son of a bitch!" said Murphy.

"Morton and Dicenzo never made it back," said Cash. "The commandos must've got 'CM. I figured it was time to cut our losses and settle for what we've got. But now that it's you and me and the five-million-dollar bounty on our friend. frankly. Murphy. I don't feel like sharing."

He raised his pistol.

"So long, Murphy," he said.

The plasma pistol was suddenly plucked out of his hand by an unseen force.

“What the,—"

There was a loud, dull crack and Cash fell to the floor, blood streaming from the fracture in his skull. Darkness appeared out of thin air, standing over him and wiping off the heavy silver head of his walking stick with a white handkerchief.

"Who in their right mind would pay five million dollars for the likes of you?" he said to Steiger.

Murphy goggled at him. "I must be dreamin'," he said. "I can see right through that guy!"

"Friend a yours?" said Darkness.

Steiger glanced at Murphy. "Yeah. I guess he is at that."

"You look like hell." said Darkness.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Priest sent me. There seems to be some trouble at the field base They've moved it, by the way. It’s in a house on a bend in the road where Lime and Lynn streets meet." He gave them the coordinates. "And here, you might need this." he added, tossing him the plasma pistol. "I'd love to stay and chat, but I've a few more errands to run. Do try to get there in one piece, won't you? Priest is having some sort of an anxiety attack."

He vanished.

Murphy blinked several times. "Who in the hell was that?"

“It's a long story," said Steiger. "I'll explain later. We'd better get moving. Oh. and by the way, you're under arrest.”

“Yeah, right." said Murphy, with a grimace. He entered the transition coordinates Darkness gave them into his warp disc and they clocked out.

Hunter and Delaney materialized at the corner of Pond and Short streets and started moving quickly toward the house where Dicenzo said Steiger was being held. They turned the corner and hadn't gone more than twenty yards when a loud voice hailed them.

"Halt! Who goes there? Stand where you are and identify yourselves!"

"Damn, it's the watch" said Hunter.

"We don't have time for this," said Delaney.

"Take it easy. I'll take care of them," said Hunter.

Three men with muskets approached them.

“Identify yourselves." one of the men said.

"I'm Reese Hunter and this is Finn Delaney." Hunter said. "I don't know you. What are you doing abroad this time of night?"

"We're on our way to see a sick friend," said Hunter. "He's badly ill. I'm bringing Dr. Delaney to him.”

"A doctor. eh?" the watchman said suspiciously. "There was some sort of a disturbance in the Common tonight. We've had reports of shooting. I don't suppose you'd know anything about that?"

"Shooting in the Common?" Delaney glanced uneasily at Hunter” "No, we've heard nothing.”

"How do I know you're telling the truth?" the watchman said.

"They could be the Tories that we've heard about," one of the others said.

"No, wait," said Hunter, reaching down into his shirt. He pulled out his Liberty medallion and showed it to them. “Look.”

"Excuse me," said Darkness, suddenly appealing at their side. "I'd like a word with these gentlemen, if you don't mind."

The watchman leapt back with a startled cry.

"A ghost!" shouted one of the others. He threw down his musket and took to his heels. With cries of terror, the others followed him.

"And men like these managed to win the War for Independence." Darkness said, shaking his head.

"Doc, we need your help," Delaney said. "The Network has got Steiger. They're holding him in—"

"Yes, yes. I know, I'm way ahead of you," said Darkness. "I've already taken care of it. Steiger will meet you back at the field base on Lime Street. Priest wants you to get back there right away. Apparently, one of your prisoners has managed to escape."

"Moffat!" said Delaney.

"Yes, I believe that was his name."

"And he'll go straight to Drakov," said Delaney. "Come on. Hunter. We've got no time to lose." He quickly punched up the coordinates on his warp disc and they clocked out.

"Thank you, Dr. Darkness." Darkness said, with a wry grimace. "You're welcome. Don't mention it. Aaah, I don't know why I bother . . .

He disappeared.

Andre came to lying on a comfortable couch. She groaned and felt the back of her head. There was a lump there and blood was matted in her hair. She blinked, her vision focusing on a pretty young woman holding a laser pistol aimed directly at her.

"Please remain perfectly still. Miss Cross, otherwise Sally will be forced to shoot you and she is a very accurate shot. Show her how accurate you are. Sally."

Sally fired the laser and the thin beam burned a smoking hole in the couch right next to Andre's left ear. Andre didn't move.

"Drakov," she said.

"Ah, you remember." Drakov said, coming around to where she could see him_

He was dressed in flamboyant colonial finery, in black, as usual. His coat, was of black velvet with jeweled buttons, his waistcoat was black brocade shot through with gold, his breeches were black satin, and his shirt and hose were of white silk. He had silver buckles on his shoes and he wore a powdered wig. but Andre would have recognized him anywhere. That scar marring his dark. Byronic features and those unsettling, emerald-green eyes were unmistakable, as was the voice, rich and deep and resonant, a voice that stage actors would have killed for.

"Which one arc you?" she said. "Do you each have your own run number or do you all think you're the real thing?"

"That is a fascinating question, Miss Cross." he said, smiling down at her.

"In fact, I've wondered about it myself on occasion, not that it makes any real difference. You see, we are all Nikolai Drakov, sharing the same genetic template. the same memories and personality. After a certain point, that is. Childhood experiences must, of necessity, vary, but at a key point in development, each replicate's subliminal programming is triggered and from that moment on, the memory engrains of

the original are manifested. All previous individual

experiences are totally forgotten. Each of us shares the same memories from that point on, the same personality and past. Asking which of us is the original is pointless. We are all the same. You might say I am legion."

Sally's face was registering growing confusion, but Drakov proceeded as if she wasn't even there.

"Just think of it as an exponential increase in the opportunities for our paths to cross." he said, smiling. "You see, there you are. It’s happened once again. Actually, I quite look forward to our encounters, although I confess that each time I think it will be the last. Perhaps this time we will finally conclude our business. I feel rather confident on this occasion."

“You always do," she said. "But we've beaten you each time. And we'll beat you once again."

"Oh. I think not." said Drakov. "Not this time. Miss Cross. Not this time."

"We have Moffat, you know." she said.

The woman called Sally gave a little gasp and her eyes went to Drakov, but only for an instant.

"Yes. I had already surmised that," he said. He shrugged. "Unfortunate, but it is of no real consequence. He is conditioned to withstand a considerable amount of questioning, and when your friends think they have broken him, he will tell them only what he has been programmed to tell them. Moffat has served his purpose."

The stricken look on the woman's face only served to underscore what Andre had already concluded. Sally and Moffat were in love.

"Master . . ." she said in a pleading voice, but she got no further.

“Silence," Drakov said. He deigned to glance at her -Don't be concerned, Sally. You've done your part well. My promise to you still stands. I will provide another mate for you as soon as we are finished here.”

Sally said nothing and the laser in her hand wavered only slightly, but the anguish on her face spoke volumes.

"It isn't going to work. Drakov," Andre said. "Your Hellfire Club is going to fail, just like they failed tonight with Macintosh."

"Merely a minor setback." Drakov said. "The mere existence of the Hellfire Club has already placed a strain on temporal inertia in this time period. My final touch will deliver the coup de grace and bring about a timestream split. The plan is elegant in its simplicity. I have pinpointed the three most important men in this temporal scenario. The first of them will die tonight, right under the very eyes of your compatriots, who have been keeping such a very careful watch on him. And Macintosh will never reach his friends in time. My assassin is already on his way.”

He smiled. "I only regret that I will not be able to see the expressions on their faces when it happens. It would have been much more effective if his chief pawn, Ebenezer Macintosh, had died at the same time, but it will make no difference. Without Samuel Adams to lead the Sons of Liberty, the task will doubtless fall to Otis. Hancock is popular, but he has no real ability for leadership and he lacks the genius Adams has for influencing popular opinion. The others will fall to arguing among themselves, and though he has already proven himself to be erratic. Otis is the only one with fire enough to draw them all together. When his mind finally snaps, the blow to the patriotic cause will be irreparable. The Hellfire Club will serve to unify the Tories and the arrival of the British troops will put an end to the rebellious spirit in the. Massachusetts colony.

"The second man to die will be Lord William Howe," continued Drakov. "I have already established myself socially in England and Howe knows me as a friend. It will be an easy matter for me to see to his demise. Without his foolish indecisiveness and obstinacy, the British troops would have captured the entire Continental Army at the Battle of Long Island and the war would have been over before it even started. With Howe dead, Clinton or Burgoyne will be appointed in his place and either of them will easily prevail over the undisciplined colonial troops, especially without Washington to lead them."

He chuckled at the expression on Andre's face.

"Yes. George Washington will be the third to fall. The crowning touch. The father of his country will be assassinated by a bastard. A fitting irony. I think. I trust my father will appreciate it. The deaths of any one of those three men should be sufficient to bring about a timestream split. The assassination of all three should cause a chain reaction that will spread throughout all history."

He pulled back his sleeve and entered a set of coordinates into his warp disc. And now, Miss Cross, the time has come for us to say farewell. It has been a fascinating game, but I'm afraid it's over now." He turned to Sally. "Kill her."

Looking stunned, Sally aimed the laser at Andre's chest.

"Sally. wait!" said Andre. "Don't listen to him! Moffat is all right! Help me! I can take you to him!"

She hesitated.

"I said, kill her!" Drakov shouted.

“No. Sally, don't!"

"Jared!"

Drakov spun around to see Moffat standing in the doorway. holding a flintlock pistol in his bloody hand. Before Drakov could speak Moffat fired. The ball struck Drakov in the chest. Sally screamed. Drakov stared at Moffat with utter disbelief, then he toppled to the floor.

For a moment, no one moved and then the laser was suddenly plucked out of Sally's hand. She cried out as Darkness materialized, holding the laser pistol. Andre ran to Drakov and turned him over. he was still alive, but only barely. He looked up at her and coughed up blood.

"I seem to . . . have . . . miscalculated," he said, struggling to get the words out. He coughed again and brought up more blood. "No matter . . . you’re . .

. too late. I . . . still . . . win . . ." His eyes clouded over and his labored breathing stopped.

Andre glanced up at Moffat. "What did he mean, he still wins?" Moffat stood there with the empty pistol still held in his hand, staring at Drakov's corpse.

"Moffat! What did he mean?"

Moffat's lips moved, but he made no sound. Sally ran to him sobbing and threw her arms around his neck, but he was in a daze, as if entranced.

"It's no use," said Darkness. You won't get anything out of him now. He's in a fugue state. He's suffered a breakdown.'"

"Adams . . ." Andre said. "Drakov said he was going to die tonight, right under our very eyes. But if we were watching Adams, then how could . . . Doc, we've got to get out of here, right now!"

11

When Johnny Small came to in the middle of Boston Common, for a moment he could not recall what had happened. He seemed to remember hearing someone speak and then

. . . He rolled over on the damp grass and got up to his hands and knees. His head hurt and his jaw was sore. He felt it and his hand came away wet with blood. His mouth was cut. And then he remembered. Andre had hit him. He couldn't believe it. She had actually hit him! Why? He had only been trying to help.

He got up slowly and looked around. The Common was deserted. It was dark and he could barely see a thing He remembered all the hooded men. The Hellfire Club!

They had Ebenezer Macintosh! They were going to hang him! He shivered, though it wasn't a cold night. He swallowed hard. It must be over by now, he thought. With a feeling of dread, he started to walk toward the Liberty Tree. Andre had wanted to stop them. She had told him to run for help, but he had known that it was pointless. What was the use? To whom could he have run for help? By the time he could have reached any of the Sons of Liberty, any one of them, and by the time they could have roused the others, it would have been long finished. Mr. Macintosh would have been dead before he could have run three blocks. He had tried to make her see that it was useless, that there was nothing they could do. but she simply wouldn't listen, he had tried to pull her away from the scene before they could be spotted, thinking only of her safety, but she had gone crazy, she had struck him—

actually struck him and knocked him senseless! He was amazed that a girl could hit so hard. And now, as he slowly walked toward the Liberty Tree, he was afraid of what he would find hanging from its branches. But he couldn't help himself. As if in a daze, he kept on moving.

Her idea had been crazy. Firing a pistol into the air to make the hooded men think that Macintosh's friends had come running to his rescue! It might have fooled them for an instant, but he had known they would see through it. By the time she fired, and then taken the time that was needed to reload, and then fired once more, they would have realized that it wasn't a group that they were facing, but only one person. And they would have realized that there was no shouting, no sound of men approaching, no running footsteps pounding across the Common. They would have spread out and circled around her, captured her, disarmed her, and then

. . .

Johnny stopped and shut his eyes. The Liberty Tree was just ahead of him. He was afraid to look. And he couldn't nor look. He swallowed hard and took a deep breath, then forced himself to open his eyes. The old elm tree stood starkly silhouetted against the night sky. With a feeling of horrified dread, Johnny stared up into its branches, fully expecting to see two bodies hanging there.

The branches were bare of anything but leaves.

Johnny blinked and then came closer. There was no one hanging from the tree. Not Andre, not even Macintosh. He stared into the branches, relieved, but at the same time puzzled. How could it be? Something must have happened. Andre by herself could never have stopped those men, no matter how remarkable a girl she was. What could have occurred to prevent them from hanging Macintosh? They had already had the noose around his neck, his fate seemed sealed. His foot touched something and he looked down to see the rope lying on the ground. If someone had come to rescue them, then surely they would never have left him lying in the Common. Surely Andre would have returned for him.

Or perhaps she hadn't wanted to.

Someone must have warned the Sons of Liberty, thought Johnny. That was the only possible explanation. While he had lain unconscious, Macintosh's friends had arrived just in the nick of time and rescued him, and Andre hadn't bothered to return for him, disgusted with him, thinking that he was a coward when he had only been thinking of protecting her. That must have been what happened. And by now, she would have told them all what happened and they would all think he was a coward, ready to run away and let a fellow patriot die rather than risk going to his aid. And there was no way he would be able to explain it to them, no way that they would ever understand. They had been outnumbered. There were only two of them. How could they have hoped to stand against all those men alone? How could he have knowingly led a girl into such danger? A girl he loved. No. they would never understand, but he had to explain it to them somehow. He had to explain to Andre. He couldn't bear having them think he was a coward. Especially Andre.

He started walking away from the Common. He felt the Liberty medallion in his pocket. They would probably take it away from him now. He wanted to cry, but he simply couldn't. There were no tears in him. He just felt empty and hollow inside. And utterly, inconsolably miserable.

He headed south down Summer Street, his shoulders hunched, his hands jammed deep into his pockets. He wasn't sure where he was going. The streets were dark and silent. Before long, it would be morning and Johnny didn't want to see the sun. He didn't want anyone to see him. He simply wanted to run away somewhere and hide. But he couldn't run away. He couldn't hide. There was something that he had to do.

He took his hands out of his pockets and pressed them up against his temples as he walked. His head hurt. He couldn't think straight. He passed Bishop's Avenue and kept on walking straight, unconsciously picking up his pace. The pain in his head was getting worse. All he ever wanted to do was help and he had only made things worse. Mr. Revere had trusted him and he had let him down. Andre would never forgive him. And as for Mr. Adams, who had paid him the highest compliment by personally giving him the Liberty medallion, saying, "Your role in this is especially important, Jonathan. It is absolutely vital."

Absolutely vital. There was something he had to do that was absolutely vital. Johnny was running now, still clutching at his head. He ran past Cow Lane, still heading south on Summer Street, past South Street, toward the docks. He turned left on Purchase Street and kept on running . . . then he suddenly stopped. He waited to catch his breath. The pain in his head was gone now. The breeze coming in off the sea felt fresh and cool on his face. He was standing in front of Samuel Adams' house. He went up to the door and tried it. It was locked.

Still staring at the door, he reached inside his coat and too out a laser pistol. He aimed it at the door . . .

" Stop where you are!" someone called out. " Don't move!"

Slowly. Johnny turned around. Several men stood spread out in the street behind him, pointing weapons at him.

"Drop the gun!"

Johnny continued to hold onto the laser. He stared at the armed men with confusion.

"Johnny, put down the gun." He squinted at the dark, shadowy forms. "Andre?"

"Yes, Johnny, it's me. Put the gun down, Johnny. Please."

His mouth felt dry. He moistened his lips. His head had started to hurt again.

"There is—there is something that I have to do . . ." he said.

Andre came toward him. "Please, Johnny. Put the gun down. You don't want to hurt me. do you?"

"Hurt you? N-No. I—I would never . ." He started to breathe heavily. The pain in his head grew worse. "I must do . . . something . . ."

Lucas suddenly appeared standing close behind him. Andre shook her head slightly and Lucas hesitated. The boy's finger was right on the firing stud. If he didn't grab it quickly enough . . .

"I'll help you, Johnny,” she said, slowly moving closer and keeping her voice very steady. "We'll do it together, okay? But you must give me the gun."

"You—you hit me . . ."

"Yes, Johnny, I know." Closer, "I'm sorry: Closer still.

Lucas gritted his teeth and made ready to grab for the gun. Andre kept her gaze locked with Johnny's.

"I was only . . pounding in his temples now.

"I know, Johnny," Andre said “I understand. You meant well. I only wanted to apologize. Won't you please give me the gun and we can talk?"

Lucas tensed. Johnny's hand had started to shake. Andre was so close. if he grabbed for the gun and the kid tightened his finger. . .

"Please. Give me the gun, Johnny. You don't want to hurt me.”

"No," he said, his voice breaking. I . . . I love you."

Andre reached out for the gun and Lucas felt his heart in his mouth. Her lingers closed around the barrel gently and she took it from him.

" I ' m . . . s o r r y . . . " J o h n n y s a i d . a n d L u c a s l e t h i s breath out in a long sigh of relief. Andre handed him the laser pistol.

Johnny put his hands up to his face and started sobbing. Andre took him in her arms.

"It's all right. Johnny." she said, gently stroking his hair. As she looked at Lucas, he saw that she was crying too. "It's all right. Everything will be all right now.”

A moment later, a sleepy Samuel Adams came to his front door dressed in his nightclothes. He had been awakened by voices outside his open bedroom window. He held up his lamp and stared out into the darkness. The street was empty. He grunted, shut the door, and went hack upstairs to bed.

The outpost was located in the 2nd century B.C., high in the Alpine range overlooking the Po Valley. Several miles to the west was the mountain pass through which Hannibal would march his forces to meet the Roman consul Scipio at the Battle of Trebia. A short hop from the outpost was a small river. At a spot staked out about fifteen feat from the river's edge, a temporal convergence existed, a confluence point where two parallel timelines intersected.

The temporal range of this particular confluence point was three days and during that time, it was being patrolled by a unit of Temporal Corps Rangers under the command of Major Curtis. The "window" had been carefully chosen and they had only a short space of five minutes, during which time Curtis had been ordered to pull back with his men. He did not know why; he had no need to know. He only knew that something would be happening at the confluence point location during those five minutes that was of a highly classified nature and he had asked no questions.

“How does it feel to be going home again?” asked Lucas

"It feels a little strange, pilgrim," Hunter said.

"Don't—“

"Call me pilgrim." Hunter finished with him in chorus. He grinned. "All right. pilgrim. I won't.” He glanced at Steiger. "No hard feelings, Colonel?"

“No hard feelings. Captain.” .Steiger said. But just to set the record straight, if our paths ever cross again—“

"Yeah I know." said Hunter. -I'd like to say I'm looking forward to it, but then again . . . “

"Go on. Get out of here." said Steiger.

Hunter snapped to and threw him a salute. Steiger grimaced sourly and returned it.

"Take care of yourself. Reese." said Andre.

"You too. kid.” he said, shaking her hand. “Delaney . . . “

"Good luck. Hunter.” They shook hands.

"Lucas."

“Lucas took his hand. "I hope you'll understand when I say that I sincerely hope we'll never see each other again."

Hunter smiled. "Yeah. Likewise. Tell Forrester for me that I think he's a hell of a soldier and he has my respect."

“I will." "And that goes for you, as well. And give my regards to Dr. Darkness. Fascinating man. I suppose I ought to hate him for inventing that damn warp grenade, but I guess he was as much a victim as any of us were. I wonder if we have anyone like him on our side.”

"I hope not." Lucas said. "One of him is quite enough."

Hunter looked around at all of them one last time. “It's been interesting; he said. "I'm still not sure what kind of a report I'm going to make. I suppose I'll have to lie a little. Oh, by the way. I've got something for you.” He reached into his pocket and handed Lucas his Liberty medallion. "A souvenir," he said.

"Vaya con Dios.”

He turned and walked straight toward the riverbank without looking back. He passed through the confluence point and disappeared.

"You know, in a funny son of way. I'm going to miss him," said Delaney.

"Yeah, me too." said Andre. "And if we ever run into him again, we're probably going to have to kill him."

"That's if he doesn't get us first." said Lucas. "But at least we understand each other, which is a lot more than I can say for the rest of this screwed up world.”

He sighed and took one last look at the river that led to another flow of time.

“Come on. people." he said. “Let's go home