“These are different elevations and details of a fort defending a river bend.”

Ericsson took them and nodded agreement. “Obviously. A typical construction that you will see right across all of Europe. It is roughly a triangular redan. These spurs flank the approaches to the fort, and see, opposite the salients here, the walls take the form of a star, a development of a tenaille trace. This ravelin has an important defense role in defending the main entrance. A well-worn design — but also well past its time. It cannot stand up to modern artillery. I assume you want to reduce this fortress?”

“I do.”

“Easily enough done. Get a siege train within range, and in three or four days you will have reduced the walls to rubble.”

“That will be impossible. It is surrounded by water and swamps. Also — that would take too long.”

“Too long! You want a miracle, then.”

“I don’t want a miracle — but I do want the guns destroyed in hours, not days. I am not interested in the fabric of the fort itself; it will be bypassed in any case.”

“Interesting,” the engineer said, picking up the aerial view of the fort. “The river here, of course. With the guns silenced, the ships of war may pass. You come to me because I am a nautical engineer and this will require a nautical solution. May I take these drawings with me?”

“You may not. Study them as long as you like — but they must not leave this room.”

Ericsson scowled at this prohibition and rubbed his jaw in thought. “All right, I can do that. But one more question: The fleet that sails up this river, will they be riverine ships?”

“No, they won’t be. They will have crossed an ocean before they reach the river mouth.”

“Very good, then.” Ericsson climbed to his feet. “I will show you how it can be done when I see you in a week’s time to demonstrate my new hay bale.”

“Tank.”

“Bale, tank — it is all nonsense.” He started for the door, then turned back. “At that time I will be able to show you how to reduce those guns. An idea I already have been working on.” He went out, slamming the door behind him.

“Do you think he can do it?” Grant asked.

“If he can’t, why, there is no one else in the world who can. He is an original thinker. Never forget that it was his Monitor that changed naval warfare forever.”

On the other side of the Atlantic a far more commonplace event was taking place. In the port of Dover, the morning steam packet from Calais had just arrived after an uneventful crossing of the English Channel from France. Albert Noireau was just one of the many passengers who came down the gangway and stepped onto the English soil.

Most of the other passengers hurried on to board the London train. But a few, like Monsieur Noireau, had business here in the seaport. His visit could not have been intended to be an extensive one, for he carried no baggage. He also appeared to be in no hurry as he strolled along the seafront. Sometimes stopping to gaze at the ships gathered there, at other times he looked at the shops and buildings that faced the docks. One in particular attracted his attention. He peered at the chiseled nameplate outside the door, then went on. At the next turning he paused and looked about. As far as he could tell, he was unobserved. He took a moment to glance at the slip of paper in his pocket and nodded slightly. It was indeed the same name he had been told to look for. Trinity House. He walked back toward it, then entered the public house in the adjoining building. The Cask and Telescope. Très naval.

The newcomer ordered a pint of beer in good English — although he had a thick French accent. His French was perfect, he had lived in France for many years, and had long since submerged Mikhail Shevchuk under his new persona. But he never forgot who his masters were.

It was easy to strike up conversations at the bar. Particularly when he was most generous when his time came for buying rounds. By late afternoon he had talked to a number of pilots from Trinity House and had discovered what he needed to know. To them he was an affable agent for French ship’s chandlers, with well-filled pockets.

They called after him cheerfully when he hurried to get the afternoon packet back to France.

BOOK TWO

THE WINDS OF WAR

SEAGOING THUNDER

The year 1865 ended with a winter of discontent. It proved to be the coldest December in many years, with endless snowstorms and hard ice. Even the Potomac froze over. The British government’s continuing legal and diplomatic assaults on the Americans had eased somewhat when Lord Palmerston, who had never recovered his strength after his stroke and was now in his eighty-first year, caught a chill and, after a short illness, died in October. Lord John Russell relinquished his office of Foreign Minister and became Prime Minister in his place. Government policies continued unchanged, and although there was a brief hiatus when his new government was formed, the pressure on the United States continued into the spring of 1866.

A second delay had occurred in December when King Leopold of Belgium died. His intercession had aided the difficult negotiations between the two countries. His son ascended to the throne as Leopold II, but he was never the diplomat that his father was. Difficulties and confrontations continued unabated, but outright war was still avoided.

Lincoln had kept his promise and bought the time that General Sherman had said that he needed. Sherman was a perfectionist and a very hard man to please, but by March 1866 he felt that he had done everything possible to prepare the country for war. Not just to fight a war — but to win it. It was a raw and blustery day when he met General Grant and Admiral David Glasgow Farragut at Ericsson’s foundry and ship works in Newport News.

“Have you seen the new sea batteries yet?” Admiral Farragut asked, then took a sip from his sherry glass. They were waiting for Ericsson in his office, but as usual, he was busy somewhere else in the giant factory.

“I haven’t,” Sherman said. “And I look forward to them with great anticipation. Our victory or defeat depends on these batteries. But I did inspect the new transports in the harbor here and am more than pleased with them.”

Farragut frowned deeply. “I am concerned with those ramps inside the ship that exit at various levels. They violate the integrity of the hull.”

“They are vital to our success, Admiral. Accurate measurements were made at high and low tide at our intended port, enabling the ramp doors to be precisely engineered to the correct height.” He did not mention how these measurements had been obtained; Fox and the Russians were working closely together.

“The pressure of heavy seas should not be discounted,” Farragut said.

“Presumably not. But Ericsson assures me that the watertight seals on the doors will be satisfactory even in the most inclement weather.”

“I sincerely hope that he is right.”

General Grant looked at the inch of sherry in his glass and decided against adding any more. “I have every faith in our Swedish engineer. He has been proven correct in everything that he has done so far. Have you inspected the gun-carrying tanks, Admiral?”

“I have — and they are indeed impressive. An innovation that I can appreciate, but only abstractly, for I cannot imagine how they will be used in battle. I am more at home at sea than on land.”

“Believe me,” Sherman said, with grim certitude. “They are not only important but are vital to my strategy. They will change the face of the battlefield forever.”

“Better you than me going to war with those contraptions.” Farragut was still skeptical. “The new armored warships with their rotating turrets and breech-loading guns are more in the line of work that I am interested in.”