“And seeing it from your ship, Captain Semmes, appears to be the safest way of going about that task.”

Captain Fosbery, commander of HMS Valiant, was awoken by his servant soon after dawn. Valiant and her sister ship Intrepid were stationed just offshore of the Mexican coast.

“Lookout reports smoke on the horizon, sir. East-northeast.”

“Bring me some coffee.” He yawned broadly as he pulled his trousers on. He had only been asleep a few hours. But he had left orders to be informed of anything sighted out to sea.

“There sir,” the watch officer said when he came up onto the bridge. He handed his binoculars to the captain.

“Ironclad,” Fosbery said. “With those lines — certainly not one of ours. Notify Intrepid if she hasn’t seen her yet. And get up steam.”

They were anchored as close to the port as they could get without running aground, with less than two fathoms beneath the Valiant’s keel. Well within the covering range of the land-based batteries. Still, in war, one never knew. He did not like the possibility of an enemy finding him dead in the water.

Aboard the Virginia General Grant was slowly sweeping the defenses with his glasses. The small fleet of transports at anchor, the two warships getting up steam. He did not speak, but his jaw was hard set, his expression grim.

“Quarter speed ahead,” Captain Semmes said. He had no fear of the smaller ironclads, but had great respect for the batteries dug into the hills ahead.

They were still over four thousand yards from the shore when there were three sudden bursts of light from the batteries, instantly obscured by clouds of smoke. Two pillars of water rose up not two hundred yards from their flank. Another was almost directly in line with the ship’s bow.

“Hard aport,” Semmes ordered. “Give me full steam.”

“That’s pretty good shooting,” Grant said.

“Too good,” Semmes said as water fountained off their starboard bow. Where the ship would have been if they hadn’t changed course. “We can’t go up against those guns without suffering serious damage — even with our armor.”

“Any chance of a large force taking that port from the sea?”

“I doubt it. Ironclads might be able to stand their fire, but wooden transports wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s about what I thought. So I guess we will just have to see how it looks from the landward side.”

From the reports he had read things were not a lot better there. Well, he would see, he would see.

Gustavus Fox was too busy a man to enjoy any variety of a social life. Nor did he dine out very much — or not at all, when he came to think about it. But he always ate a hearty breakfast, because many times that would be all the food that he had for the entire day. Too much of the time it was just bread and cheese in Room 313, or at best some cold fried chicken. But this invitation had been too good to refuse, considering the identity of his host.

Nor had he ever been to Wormly’s before, despite its reputation as the finest restaurant in the capital — which boasted some fine restaurants indeed. He paused at the entrance, looking through the cut glass in the door at the brightly lit interior; at the well-dressed diners inside. Should he have changed into his navy uniform? There really had not been time. And here he was, gawky as a youth on his first date. He smiled at his own hesitation and pushed his way in.

“May I help you, sir?” The maître d’hôtel wore a handsome tailcoat; his moustache was waxed and curled to points in what must have been an attempt at a continental manner. His accent however was pure tidewater.

“Yes, please. I’m joining the party in room six.”

“Of course, sir. If you will be so kind as to follow me.”

They went down the corridor beside the main dining room, to a discreet door that was half concealed by beaded drapes. His guide knocked lightly, then stood aside and opened the door. Fox went in. The gray-bearded man at the table rose and extended his hand.

“Mr. Fox. I’m delighted that you could join me at such short notice.”

“It is indeed my pleasure, General.”

Although his host wore a dark suit and foulard tie, few would ever take him for a civilian. The erect stance, the keen eye. And, perhaps, the cavalryman’s boots. In uniform or out, General Robert E. Lee was a man who commanded respect.

“I have been told,” Lee said, “that the mint juleps here in Wormly’s are the best that can be found in Washington City. Being a Virginian I am mighty partial to this particular drink. Will you join me?”

“Delighted, sir.”

Not that he had much choice; the drinks were already poured and waiting on a side table. Fox raised his glass.

“To your very good health, General.”

“Why thank you — and to yours as well.”

They took their drinks to the table, already set with crystal and silver.

“I don’t think they lied,” Lee said after they were seated. “These are indeed fine mint juleps. I believe that the terrapin soup is excellent, excellent. I have taken the liberty of ordering it for both of us.” He leaned back and gave a quick tug on the hanging bell pull.

The door opened in what could only have been seconds later. The uniformed Negro waiter entered with a large steaming tureen. He put plates before them, ladled them full of soup, serving them in silence. He left and closed the door behind him.

“That is good,” Lee said, sipping a mouthful. “Canvasback duck to follow, also a house specialty.”

Fox murmured something agreeable and spooned up some soup. It was indeed very, very good. He wondered why Lee had invited him here, but could think of no way of broaching the question.

They talked a little as they ate, about the early summer, other items of no real consequence. It was only after the table had been cleared, and the port had been poured, that Lee came to the heart of the matter. He locked the door after the waiter, sat back down and sipped some port, then looked directly at Fox.

“I could have seen you in your office, but I wanted to keep this a private matter. Perhaps because of the importance of what I want to discuss.”

“Understandable, General.”

“How acquainted are you with the minutes of the War Room?”

“Not at all. I supply information upwards to my superiors. There is little that comes back down in return.”

“When I asked the Secretary of War whom I should consult with about all matters having to do with war information, as well as matters of secrecy, he unhesitatingly recommended you. He also said you might know more about me than I did about myself.”

Fox returned his smile. “Not more — but hopefully I know enough. Let me assure you that you were a mighty hard man to keep track of during the War Between the States.”

Lee smiled. “Well that is thankfully a thing of the past. We are united in a different war now. And that is what I want to talk to you about. The British.”

“You have read my reports?”

“I have. They are most detailed, but you never state the source of your information.”

“That is done only to protect my agents. If you have reason to query any facts or conclusions I am sure that I can verify their accuracy.”

Lee raised his hand and wiped away the thought. “Not at all. I am sure that your sources are reliable. What I wanted was information of a more general nature. Perhaps of a more strategic nature. Such as the road in Mexico that the British are building. Are you sure that it will be used to invade this country?”

“I have no doubt whatsoever. It has no use other than to permit troops to cross from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Those troops have only one possible objective. To be loaded aboard ships in order to take part in the invasion of this country. The Gulf coast is our soft underbelly. If they get a foothold there it will be desperately hard to winkle them out. Therefore we must try to stop the invasion before it starts. If it is at all possible we must stop the ships from sailing.”