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Chapter Forty-One
The Perfect Crime
Charleston, South Carolina
June 1811
If they were going to steal it, tonight would be the perfect time. The pirates watched.
And waited.
The moon was nothing more than a sliver in the sky, leaving the night almost as dark as pitch. A single sentry strolled along the street in front of the warehouse. He passed the main doors and continued until he reached the far corner. He yawned, stretching his arms out wide. Removing his floppy hat, he scratched his head vigorously and then jammed the hat back on. After a lazy glance up and down the street, he pulled a bottle from his pocket and took a swig before he leaned against the wall and yawned again.
A dog barked in the distance, provoking a shouted curse from one of the city’s sleepy residents. The
