You guys continue to blow me away with all the support you've shown this story. It's been out for less than three weeks and we're almost at 2,000 views! Incredible! As long as you guys continue to have an interest in this story, I'll keep the chapters coming.

-Hawkfrost

"Oh, before I forget, I've placed the Loyalist Tavern under surveillance. We intercepted a rebel transmission and we're waiting on the courier. Once we bag him we can work our way up the chain."

General Clinton pondered that for a moment. The Loyalist Tavern wasn't just another inn, it was a vital part of British interest in the area. The tavern was owned by a Mr. Samuel Charleston. He owned both the tavern and the small newspaper mill in the basement. They had quite an unusual but mutually profitable business. The British army would launch a raid or an incursion and in exchange for exclusive rights to publishing, Mr. Charleston allowed them to use his tavern as a cover for all sorts of covert activities. If they wanted the enemy to think they were in one location so they could attack another, they would simply tell Mr. Charleston and he would print the disinformation.

Any contraband or loot that the army brought back could be 'sanitized' through this store as well. The war was expensive and the war budget didn't always cover the cost of operations vital to success. The Seven Years War had brought the Crown vast amounts of territory at the cost of about all their money. So, General Clinton and Major Henry improvised. A few months back they had acquired 10 slaves from a rebel camp, using Mr. Charleston they were able to sell them for 1,200 pounds. A very hefty sum that was transferred to the discretionary fund that they used to bankroll operations that no one else needed to know about. Three weeks back it was iron ore seized from a Rebel camp, next month it would be crops seized from rebel sympathizers, and so forth and so forth. This business venture needed to be protected at all cost.

"Be gentle with him Henry, we need him."

"I know. Our chaps will be discreet. That's what they pay us for after all."

"Good. Anything else I need to know before I head off." The general had stood and collected his things.

"No, sir. That was all."

"Okay. You have my permission to verify the new information you've received, any way you can. Once you get an update, let me know at once."

"Of course general."

They shook hands and he left, leaving Henry to sit alone on his couch wondering if this might be the beginning of the end of this dreadful war.

00000

She was home now. She had left the tavern at the end of her shift and by the stars, she was exhausted. Dealing with those goatish fly-bitten codpieces taxed not her intelligence but her patiences. She peeled back her curtains and glanced up and down the street, just because she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary doesn't mean it wasn't there. Damnit! She hated this part of intelligence work. The only way to effectively counter against counter-intelligence was to suspect everything and everyone. But that wasn't healthy or plausible, she couldn't kill someone just because their paths crossed more than twice in one week, and she couldn't up and stop trusting people without good reason.

As she looked out of the window at the moonlight street, she saw nothing of concern. She saw houses with lamps still flickering, she could hear the low murmurs of voices, the sounds of laughter. The sounds of family. No one out there looked like a spy, but that was it, wasn't it? If there were any spies following her, they wouldn't be very good at their job if they shouted it from the rooftops. With a final glance, she made her decision. She blew out her candle and sat in the chair by the door. She waited approximately 20 minutes before quietly making her way downstairs. Once she was out on the street she pulled her hood over her head and followed the road out of town. As she walked she paid attention to the sounds around her, she listened for anything out of the ordinary. The sounds of irregular breathing, hoof beats, iron scraping against stone, any one of these things could signify the presence of a follower.

She heard nothing, which did little to put her at ease. You're getting paranoid. She laughed to herself, wasn't that a part of the job description? She shook her head to clear it and continued on her journey. The route was one of several she pre-memorized. She would meet the courier at a pre-designated drop site. Usually, the courier would simply drop the message and leave, that way should one of them be discovered no one could give information on the other. But tonight was different, someone in the High Command wanted the information to be delivered personally and with further instructions.

The sounds of the forest always comforted her. Her feet crunching through the leaves, the sounds of owls hooting, the smell of wood and fresh grass, it all helped to put her at ease. No matter what happened, she could always come out to these woods to work out some stress, who was she fooling, rage, on a few unlucky trees. She smiled as she passed one in particular, the tree was a tree no more. In her rage, she had smashed her ax straight through and created a hole in the middle of the damn thing. She traced her fingers along the opening, remembering that day, and the pain and hatred she had felt. She sniffed and blinked rapidly. It's done, thinking about it won't change anything. Move it, soldier.

Without looking back, she kept on walking. Her contact would arrive via boat and dock on the shore of the lake. She had to be there at a specific time and if she didn't show he would take off. She was so glad she had deigned not to wear a traditional skirt and instead had put on a shorter one with leggings underneath. This outfit gave me far greater mobility and allowed her to run at her full speed. Thick boots and a knife at her belt with a reassuring weight completed the set. She fingered the edge of her skirt while she knelt behind a shrub bush. Training said she should always check for a tail. There were many ways to go about doing this, one way was to use reflective surfaces to check for faces you had seen one too many times or people who seemed to be paying more than the usual attention to you. That, of course, didn't help her in her current situation. A second option was the one she was currently employing.

Find a hiding spot with a clear view of the path you've just come from and wait to see if anyone comes along. Her instructors had always said this one was one of the more dangerous options as it forced the target, herself in this case, to remain in a potentially hostile environment. So, she found a comfortable position and waited. And waited. Her senses were on high alert listening and looking for the slightest provocation. She could hear her heart slamming into her rib cage so loudly she was sure every bird in the area must have heard it as well. Her eyes scanned the forest in front of her constantly, looking for shadow movement or anything that could indicate the presence of another human. She continued to wait until it seemed she was going to become one with the plants around her. Then, she slowly disengaged from the bush and stood up.

Careful not to step on any branches, she continued on her path. She was tired, and she was looking forward to making the meet and going home to her nice, war- Stop! She froze instantly. Her heart was beating erratically. The warning had gone off in her brain like a musket shot. She swallowed, failed, and swallowed again. She gently eased herself back down onto the ground and let out a whistle. It was security check mimicked after the Black-capped Chickadee. If any friendlies were out there they would respond with the whistle; if there weren't any friendlies out there it wouldn't give the impression they had been discovered. She waited ten seconds before repeating the whistle and still heard nothing. Think girl think! Her heart was galloping way to fast. She took a deep, shaky breath and tried to focus. What did you hear? She hissed to herself in frustration. She hadn't seen or heard anything, so why had she stopped? What had she missed that her subconscious didn't?

The sweat that had beaded on her forehead was starting to sting her eyes and she wiped it away quickly. As she did, she heard the slightest noise, like someone wasn't carefully brushing a side bush. Shit! Her heart was really pumping now and the pit of her stomach was lead. She forced herself to breathe quieter. The noise didn't repeat itself, whoever had made it was smart enough not to make the same mistake twice.

"CRACK" the sound of the musket going off nearly caused her to jump out of her skin. She bolted and slid down a ravine before her brain had caught up with her muscles. She looked around frantically for where the shot had come from.

"Run! Run! Get away!" His voice was the high pitched shrill of a alarm, common to people who fully understood the danger they're facing.

She hugged the ground and tried to listen to everything at once, she could hear the sounds of footsteps pounding the earth. One, no, two sets. She sniffed and shifted, trying to merge into the ground and disappear. She could hear the sounds of branches snapping and rocks being kicked, along with the sounds of heavy breathing.

"Elizabeth, Run!"

There was more running and more noise, then everything fell silent. Nothing but the gentle sounds of the waves lapping against the shore could be heard.

"CRACK." She buried her head into the forest floor and tried to make herself a smaller target. To her horror, she realized that this shot was followed by a gurgled scream, a loud thud, and then silence.