Free Assassin's Honor (9781561648207) by Robert N. Macomber

tide, the quarter-forward spring line stretched taut, vibrating with the tension of holding the ship parallel fifteen feet from the wharf.
    Lambert’s next command would be the crucial one. If bungled, the ship’s starboard forward half would be swept back down on the wharf—right in front of the admiral.
    â€œStand by on the starboard quarter-forward spring line. All engines half astern.” The rumble faded, then quickly built again, the deck shuddering as both engines increased the shaft revolutions. Their propellers bit into the water, rushing water forward past the bow. A cloud of black smoke erupted from the funnel, to be scattered into wisps by the wind.
    Down on the main deck aft, sailors watched as the sole remaining line stretched even more, becoming a thin strand, shaking with the strain.
Bennington
’s starboard side moved farther away from the wharf.
    Rork cleared the others from the deck around the starboard quarter bitts, for if the line parted, it could whipsaw a man in half. The starboard quarter-forward spring line was figure-eighted three and a half times around the bitt, and Rork himself stood gripping the tail of the line, using his good right hand. I could see the line beginning to smoke as it tightened against the iron horns of the bitt, while Rork focused on the bridge, waiting for the signal to let go.
    Gardiner was grumbling beneath his breath, alternating his glare between Lambert and me.
    Lambert waited another fifteen long seconds—about five more than I would have—and as I was about to step in and give the order, he coolly said to Pocket, “Let go the starboard quarter-forward spring line,
smartly
.”
    Pocket roared the command to the main deck. Rork let go the end of the spring line and stepped away. The ship, no longerrestrained, surged backward into the harbor. The line ran off the bitts and out through the chocks, flying over to the wharf where the naval station’s line handlers had already ducked behind cover. The eight of us on the bridge held our breath, waiting to see what would happen forward.
    All attention was on the starboard bow, for that was the location of danger and this was the moment of truth. While moving astern,
Bennington
also slid sideways, downcurrent, toward the end of the wharf. Two seconds later the bow cleared the timbers on the wharf’s corner with ten feet to spare.
    â€œGood thing we don’t have a bowsprit or we would’ve lost the rig,” Gardiner muttered to Lieutenant Lambert, to my displeasure. It was petty, unworthy of an officer in his position.
    â€œAll engines stop. Left full rudder,” said Lambert, ignoring Gardiner’s comment.
    The helmsman and lee helmsman repeated the order as they executed it. By the time the engine room telegraph lever had been rung to “All Stop” on its dial,
Bennington
was away from the line of wharves and her bow had swung to leeward, pointed down the channel.
    When the ship lost her sternway, Lambert continued his orders. “Rudder amidships. All engines ahead slow. Steady on course two-zero-zero. Steer nothing to the left of course two-zero-zero.”
    Gneisenau
was well ahead of us in the outer channel, nearing the line of reefs that separated the islands from the Straits of Florida. Then she was gone, Fort Taylor’s bulk hiding her from us. In another ten minutes,
Gneisenau
would be in the open ocean and free to settle onto her course. From that I would know her probable destination.
    But what was her mission?

13
The Mystery Man
    U.S.S. Bennington
    Key West Naval Station
    Sunday morning
    11 December 1892
    Over on
Chicago
’s bridge, a grinning Admiral Walker waved to us. I recognized
Chicago
’s captain pointing out something on the wharf to another officer. Beside them, a signalman was pulling out code flags from the locker, preparing to hoist a message.
    Suddenly, Rork’s voice boomed out from the port side of the main deck below the