Read Chapter 6: ASHES AND INK

The fire had been small enough to look accidental.

A rag soaked in petrol lay beneath the bench. A spark from a lamp, a careless cigarette, any ordinary explanation would do. Only the missing ledger made its purpose clear.

Luc stood in the blackened corner after everyone else had gone.

His tools were scorched. A wooden drawer had split. The aluminium shim templates he had cut for Number Six curled like dead leaves.

Vautrin picked up a screwdriver and wiped soot from the handle.

"Can you remember what you wrote?"

"Most of it."

"Then the ledger did not help them."

"It tells them what I know."

That was the real loss.

The following morning Captain Delorme summoned Luc.

Squadron headquarters occupied a farmhouse whose windows had been sandbagged. Maps covered one wall. A bottle of cognac stood beside a stack of casualty reports.

Delorme did not offer him a chair.

"I understand there was a fire in your maintenance bay."

"Yes, Captain."

"Carelessness?"

"I don't believe so."

Delorme folded his hands. "Sergeant Perrin tells me you have been making private notes concerning maintenance."

Luc felt the trap.

"I record work on Lieutenant Vautrin's aircraft."

"Why outside official forms?"

"The forms have contained errors."

"Errors or accusations?"

"I did not say accusations."

Delorme's eyes were pale and very steady. "You are new to aviation, Moreau. You may not yet understand how destructive suspicion becomes in a squadron. Men must trust their machines, their mechanics and each other."

"Trust is easier when control screws remain where they were tightened."

A pause.

"Are you suggesting sabotage?"

Luc chose each word. "I am suggesting that several failures deserve more examination than they received."

Delorme leaned back. "The army is conducting an inquiry into Lemaire's accident. Besson has been detained. You are not an investigator."

"No, Captain."

"Then do your work."

Luc saluted and left.

Cazeneuve waited outside, smoking.

"The captain values initiative," he said, "but only when it serves the squadron."

"And when does it not?"

"When a mechanic begins imagining himself a magistrate."

Luc walked past him.

At lunch, Vautrin said, "You angered him."

"How do you know?"

"Delorme asked whether I considered you reliable."

"What did you say?"

"I said you were intolerably precise. He understood it as praise."

The joke did not lighten Luc's mood.

They needed information from Chardin, but a front-line mechanic could not simply visit a military prison. Vautrin could request an interview, yet that would advertise their interest.

Perrin found another way.

A cousin of his served as a driver with a transport unit making weekly deliveries to Clairvaux. Luc obtained three days' leave on the pretext of collecting specialized engine gauges from Troyes. He rode in the cab beside Perrin's cousin through rain and refugee traffic.

At Clairvaux, the old abbey walls had been turned to military use. Luc presented a forged depot requisition and asked for Chardin as a technical witness concerning stolen aviation equipment.

The clerk barely looked up.

War produced too much paper for paper to be respected.

Chardin entered the interview room thinner than Luc expected, with a bruise fading along his jaw.

"Who are you?"

"Luc Moreau. Escadrille N.127. I replaced a mechanic who replaced you."

Chardin's face closed.

"I stole nothing."

"I believe you."

That startled him.

Luc placed a spark plug on the table. It was ordinary, chosen only to make the meeting appear technical if interrupted.

"Fabre's elevator cable."

Chardin stared at the plug.

"What about it?"

"Did it fail from wear?"

Silence.

"They said I had missed corrosion," Chardin finally said. "There was no corrosion. The broken strands were cut halfway through before the flight. I told Captain Delorme."

"What did he do?"

"He told me grief made men see enemies. Two days later military police found carburettors in my locker. Stolen carburettors. I had never seen them before."

Luc's mouth went dry.

"Who knew you suspected sabotage?"

"Fabre knew before he died. Delorme. Cazeneuve. And one other."

"Who?"

"Adjudant Roche, the squadron clerk. Fabre gave him a copy of his complaint to send separately."

Roche.

Luc knew him: a narrow man in his thirties who controlled flight logs, victory claims, spare-part requests and official correspondence.

"Did Roche send it?"

"He swore he did."

"The copy is missing."

Chardin looked up.

"Then don't trust Roche."

A guard knocked on the door.

Luc stood.

Chardin caught his sleeve.

"Moreau. Fabre told me something the night before he died. He said it was not only promotions."

"What was it?"

"He said victories were being sold."