"Go on."
"Here it is. The Yankees are sending a ship to Fort Monroe. On that ship is a very powerful new weapon. A new kind of shell."
"I heard of that," said one of the men, in tones of awe. "Blew up a whole Japanese city in one go. Man! That be the day of judgment, sure enough!"
"You've heard of it, then. Now — we've found out that the Confederate Army's going to try to take that ship. Board it and capture it, on the way in."
"What's that got to do with us?" said Turner.
"Just this. Those Army people are going to be disguised as coloreds. They're going to tell the Yankees we did it."
He nodded. He was beginning to see what the man was driving at. But he had the feeling he wasn't going to like it. "Go on, brother."
"So here's the plan. Railroad wants that shell. Using it can get us what we want. Freedom."
"How?"
"Load her on a truck." Leo grinned. "Drive her up to Richmond. Park her, right between the White Mansion and the Tredegar Works. Then — make our demands."
"Shit," said Turner. He looked around at his men, who stared back, blinking. Some had their mouths open. He turned back to Leo. "That might work, maybe not. Guess that's up to you and the Road. But first you got to get it. How you going to do that?"
"I'm not going to," said Leo.
"Who is?"
"We hope your people will."
"Oh, hey now, slow up. We've done a few things — set a fire or two, put some sand or ground glass where it'll do the most good — but hijack a ship?"
"The ship will already be hijacked. The Confederate Army will take care of that. All you have to do is take custody of one little piece of cargo."
"That's all? Shit. Look at these men here. Ain't one of them ever done anything like that in their life. All they know is longshorin'." He shook his head. "Won't work anyways. The government never give in even if you got that thing up there. They too stubborn, and too dumb, too. You'd have to blow up all of Richmond to convince 'em."
"So?"
He stared at the thin man and laughed a little. "Say, you're a real fire-eater, ain't you, boy?"
"I've been called worse," said Leo, returning the stare. "At least I've never been called a whitey-lover."
He rose to his feet, very slowly. "Are you callin' me that, nigger?"
"No. Now sit down. We have things to plan," said Leo. "Here, you — hand me that lunchbox. Thanks. Now, this here is a chart of the Hampton Roads area. Turner, you see this line?"
Johnny leaned forward. His leg burned, but he put it out of his mind and traced the chart with a finger. "This one?"
"Yes. That's the ship's path coming in."
He followed it with his thumbnail. Dates and times were penciled in lightly where turns were shown. "So this — Yankee ship'll be comin' in from out in the Atlantic. Morning of the twenty-fourth. Makes this turn in toward the channel at two-forty-five. Goes past Port Davis out on Cape Henry, at about four-thirty. Then goes on in to the Union fort."
"That's the plan."
"What's this mark here?"
"That's where the Army plans to take it over."
He studied the chart. At that point, at three in the morning, the ship would still be fifteen miles out at sea. "Then what they going to do?"
"Continue on in for a short time, long enough to meet a CSN boat… here. They'll offload the shell into the boat, which will then take it in to the Navy base at Sewell's Point. From there it goes to Georgia by rail, under guard."
"What'll they do to the ship after that? Union don't like having their ships taken."
"They have that figured out," said Leo. "They'll take it back out to sea after the shell's offloaded. The idea is that black terrorists — us — took over the ship to escape, without knowing what was aboard. They have radio messages prepared to give the Yankees that impression. The Confederate Navy will supposedly have a destroyer on patrol out there and will try to do the Union a favor and recapture their ship for them, from the 'pirates.' The terrorists resist, set fire to the ship, and it sinks in water too deep to salvage from. The terrorists and, as a neat incidental, all the ship's crew go down with her. In reality the destroyer will take the Army boarding party aboard and then shell the ship until it goes down. If the Union gets suspicious, they can even put into a Northern port and let them search the destroyer. There won't be anything aboard."
The men looked at each other and nodded. Turner looked at the chart. "Okay, man. That's what they're going to do. Now, what are you asking us for? This better be one fucking good plan, Mister Leo."
"I know," said Leo. His young face suddenly became serious. "I know. It's a good plan, we think, but it'll be dangerous. We need men who know boats, who know the area — and we need strong men. That's why we came here, to Johnny Turner's longshoremen."
"We're still waiting," said Turner. "Forget the compliments and tell us how we going to get this shell away from the Army, the Navy, and the Union, too."
"Look here." The octoroon pulled back a corner of the chart, which had started to roll itself up again. "Up to this point — four-thirty, off Fort Davis — we go along with whitey's schedule. Let them take out the Northerners, the original crew. Now, see, they're steering in toward land, and the boat that's waiting to take the shell off before they head back out.
"The boat's waiting… here. Two miles offshore. It'll be dark that early in the morning. We know the recognition signal; two red lights, same as for a breakdown at sea."
"We know," said Turner.
"If the boat meets the ship at four-thirty, that means, standard military procedure, that the boat's crew will have to get it out there by at least one A.M. And then they'll sit there and wait.
"While they're waiting, we take 'em."
"Kill them?" said Turner.
"That bother you?"
"Killing white soldiers doesn't bother me."
"Good. That leaves us waiting in the boat. Ship heaves to, they lower down the shell to us, then we head on off into the dark. They turn around and carry out the rest of their plan. Meanwhile, we go into Lynnhaven Inlet, not Sewell's Point. That's miles shorter and we'll be ashore well before they expect the boat back there."
Finnick cleared his throat. "No piers back in Lynnhaven. Only white folks' places."
"Correct. That's where the muscle comes in. We'll have to run in close to shore, get the boat as close to the truck as we can, and then carry the shell ashore."
"Man, that could be mean," said Turner. "Mud — this will all be in the dark — how much does it weigh?"
"Not sure. Anywhere up to two tons. Standard Northern thirty-inch weighs two and a half, but this is supposed to be lighter."
Leo straightened and the map rolled shut with a snap. Some of the men started. Turner rubbed at his chin and looked at the floor. There was a long moment when no one spoke or even breathed.
"Well?"
"You right, it's dangerous. Men in that boat might be armed."
"The Road can give you guns. New, fresh from the factory."
"What do we do afterward?"
"Go to work in the morning. If we work it right, no one will be left alive who's seen us. Why should whitey suspect you when the shell turns up later in Richmond?"
"How you going to drive a truck through town?" said Finnick. "Nigger can't drive no vehicle. Not legally. You know that."
"I have a blue workpass, false papers for a shipment of coffee, and an ID for a trucking company. I can drive, and," — he pointed to his face — "in the dark, at least, I can pass for white."
"You boys well organized up there," said Turner.
"You're part of the Railroad yourself," said Leo. "You know how long we've been in business."
"What about the boat?" said Finnick. "Wait — don't tell me. We going to steal one, right?"