He traced the curve of the Mississippi River gently, lifting his hand to see a detail here, a notation there. The map was an older one and it had been abridged, amended, and scrawled across to make it more pertinent to the present situation. This sheet included not only the serpentine bends and miniature ports that dotted the way between the city and the ocean; it also included the canals, both commercial and semiprivate—and the docks that Texas likely didn’t know about. The electric lamps had been dimmed down to nothing, leaving only the oil lamps and rickety wire-frame lanterns to give them any light. Outside, there were no sounds of soldiers or rolling-crawlers. No marching feet or passing patrols. The Texians had left—at least, those who were leaving were long gone, and no more were on the verge of exiting, so the time had come to put the finishing touches on the plan before putting it into action. Night had not yet fallen, but it was coming, and it would be there within the hour—black and thick, a perfect shield from the eyes of anyone too interested in knowing about the giant machine hidden inside the nondescript storehouse.
