George raised his eyes heavenward. “Captain Jack’s only been with us half an hour, and already you’re getting ideas. Just what wild scheme are you hatching?”

“Not hatching.” Jack threw him a glance. “It’s called seizing opportunity. 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.”

George stared. “I thought that once we’d investigated any recent human cargoes, you’d shut the Hunstanton Gang down.”

“Perhaps.” Jack’s gaze grew distant. “And perhaps not.” He blinked and straightened. “I’ll see what Whitehall thinks. We’ll need Anthony, too.”

“Oh, my God!” George shook his head. “Just how long do you imagine the Gang will swallow your tale that we’re landless mercenaries, dishonorably discharged no less, particularly once you take full command? You’ve been a major for years, landed gentry all your life. It shows!”

Jack shrugged dismissively. “They won’t think too hard. They’ve been looking for months for someone to replace Jed Brannagan. They won’t rock the boat-at least, not soon. We’ll have time enough for our needs.” He twisted, glancing back at the third rider, a length behind to his left. Like himself and George, a native of these parts, Matthew, his longtime batman, now general servant, had merged easily into the smuggling band. “We’ll continue to use the old fishing cottage as our private rendezvous-it’s secluded, and we can guard against being followed.”