We'll have time enough for our needs." He twisted, glancing back at the third rider, a length behind to his left. They won't rock the boat, at least, not soon. They've been looking for months for someone to replace Jed Brannagan. "Just how long do you imagine the Gang will swallow your tale of us being landless mercenaries, dishonourably discharged no less, particularly once you take full command? You've been a major for years, landed gentry all your life. "And perhaps not." He blinked, and straightened. "I thought, once we'd investigated any recent human cargoes, you'd shut the Hunstanton Gang down." It occurs to me that while our principal aim is to ensure no spies go out through the Norfolk surf, and perhaps follow any arrivals back to their traitorous source, we might now have the opportunity to do a little information passing of our own - to Boney's confusion, needless to say." "Captain Jack's only been with us half an hour and already you're getting ideas. "We might even be able to use the traffic for our own ends." We're in a perfect position to ensure no information gets to the French by this route." His brows rose his expression turned considering. We've been accepted by the smugglers - I'm now their leader. "Stop grouching - our mission's proceeding better than I'd hoped, and all in only a few weeks of coming home. "Poor blighters - they've no idea what they've let themselves in for." "You have to admit Captain Jack's perfect for this job - a fitting leader for the Hunstanton Gang." "He's merely been in temporary retirement." Captain Jack had been active in more devil-may-care days, when, between army engagements in the Peninsula, the Admirality had recruited Jack to captain one of his own ships, harrassing French shipping up and down the Channel. I've lived the last years in the comfortable belief that Captain Jack had died." "Who else?" Mounted on his tall grey, Jonathon Hendon, better known as Jack, gestured expansively. "Captain Jack!" As he swung his horse onto the road, George Smeaton frowned at the man beside him. They would return, nights from now, meeting under the light of a storm lantern to hear of the next cargo their new leader had arranged. Afterwards, the smugglers had left, slipping into the night, mere shadows in the dark. Earlier, within its walls, the Hunstanton Gang had gathered to elect a new leader. The Old Barn stood silent, watchful, guarding its secrets. Clouds shifted, drifted moonlight shone through, bathing the scene. Harness jingled, faint on the night breeze, as they turned their horses' heads to the west.
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