It was nightfall when Landon and Conal met Commodore Hall and Sheriff Pinkerton outside a pub near the waterfront. The air was still thick with humidity, even though the sun had set over an hour ago. They walked along the pier rather than meet inside. Spies were everywhere, and extra cautions had to be taken to avoid being overheard. A small sliver of a moon occasionally darted from between quick-moving clouds. The wind had picked up and was caressing the land below with gentle gusts hinting of rain.
Sheriff Pinkerton’s voice was steady. Confident. “We have a total of sixty able seamen and deputies between the four of us, Commodore Hall.” He checked the priming of his pistol. “If Captain Hart is correct about the men in the warehouse, we’ll have them outnumbered. Let’s hope they’re smart
