They moved on down the hangar. As they went, Joe’s eye was caught by a rolled-up mattress neatly propped against a wall in a small ante-room the size of a horse stall. ‘I hear you sometimes have a guest for the night?’ said Joe speculatively.
Stuart smiled. ‘Bahadur, you mean? Doesn’t take you long to work out the comings and goings in this labyrinth! I feel sorry for that poor little feller. He thinks he’s in danger and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s right. He’s got the idea that if he’s a target, then he’s going to be a moving target. Speaking as a flyer who’s survived, I think that’s sound tactics. I help him out when I can. But, you know, Joe, if someone around here wants him dead, then dead is what he’s going to be sooner rather than later.’
He spoke with the matter-of-fact acceptance of death Joe was accustomed to hearing from men who had lost comrades every day in the war and continued cheerfully enough with his guided tour. ‘Parked over there you’ve got a Sopwith Camel and then at the far end you’ll see two enemies from the war. This here’s a Nieuport 17. .’
‘That’s what you flew in France, isn’t it?’
‘It is. The Lafayette and the French Storks, both outfits flew it. Helped us get on top of the Fokkers that had been doing us so much damage.’ He smiled. ‘You can imagine what we called it!’
Stuart stood by the side of the bi-plane and patted its gleaming wooden propeller. Joe could see how one could get fond of this little plane. Nearly half the size of the Jenny, with a gently rounded fuselage, it reminded him of his first pony. The compulsion to stroke its shining flank was irresistible.
‘You’ve not been tempted to paint the insignia of the Lafayette on the side?’ Joe asked, fingers trailing along the sleek grey paintwork. ‘The Apache head, I mean.’
‘Seminole,’ said Stuart. ‘It was a Seminole wearing a war bonnet. No. Some things are better forgotten.’
He strolled over to the last plane. ‘And this here’s the best plane built in the war years. German air force wasn’t supplied with it until the spring of 1918. If they’d had it earlier. .’ He shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t be standing here and the whole war could well have swung the other way. You’ve got to admire it though. And you have to picture it with Manfred von Richthoven at the controls.’
‘The Red Baron? Is this what he flew?’
‘Yep. His unit was the first to be issued with it.’
Joe had never seen the Fokker D. VII close to and found himself murmuring in agreement. The single-seater biplane had a narrow, razor-edged fuselage and squared-off wings. Was it handsome? No, rather it was purposeful and sinister, though Joe acknowledged that this could have been the effect of the black paintwork relieved only by a stylized white imperial eagle stencilled on the fuselage behind the pilot’s seat.
‘160 h.p. Mercedes engine, max speed 124 m.p.h., climbs to ten thousand feet in just over nine minutes. A killing machine. But its best trick is its ability to hang on its propeller at altitude. When the Nieuport will stall or have to lose height, this baby just keeps on soaring.’
The clink of china and a musical call drew their attention back to Ahmed. ‘There’s our coffee! We’ll go sit in the shade over there and you can ask me some policeman-style questions. . some more policeman-style questions!’ he said with slight emphasis. ‘Now we’ve both established who we’re talking to,’ he added.
‘Was it so obvious?’ asked Joe, disarmed by the man’s openness.
‘No. You’re good. But, then, so am I. I may take risks in the air but when my feet are on the ground I’m a careful man. And I take no one at face value either. Plenty of carpet-baggers and scoundrels around after the war; folks who’d never heard a shot fired in anger suddenly awarded themselves medals and turned con-artist. Old pros like us can suss them out straight away but most folks are easily taken in. But I guess you can’t do much bluffing flying a plane! Either you can or you crash!’
His eyes clouded for a moment as he sipped his coffee with an appreciative grimace. ‘But the question you’d really like an answer to is why am I still alive and why is Prithvi dead in my place? And I’ll tell you, Joe, I’d like to hear some answers myself.’
‘Well, whichever of you was the intended victim — and we’ll examine that later — the method of killing may give some solid evidence. List for me, will you, the people who had the technical skill and the opportunity to cut through the elevator wires.’
‘Four people. I would, of course. My sister Madeleine. Ahmed, the engineer you saw just now. And Ahmed’s brother Ali.’
‘This may sound ridiculous but I leave nothing to chance. . Prithvi himself? Would he have had the knowledge?’
Stuart snorted at the deviousness of the question and considered his answer.
‘No, I don’t believe he would. He’d have been able to tell you what the elevator did because he used it but he probably thought it started and ended with the joy stick. I could never get him interested in the mechanics of the planes. For him, airplanes were like horses — you climbed aboard and rode ’em. You didn’t concern yourself too much with the feeding and watering and the state of their teeth and tack. But I see what you mean. . a sort of suicidal last grand gesture. Cocking a snook at his papa? “Here’s how much I think of your state — I’ll splat myself all over it.”’
He shook his head, still thoughtful. ‘Naw! That wasn’t Prithvi. He could be a bit of a jerk but underneath he was all Rajput. A scrapper. I admired him. He took on his father and his uncle and faced them both down. I’m talking about his marriage now. He stood by Madeleine in the face of a lot of opposition. He had guts. The arm-twisting went on right from the moment they were married. First off Prithvi was told not to get involved with an American girl and when he took no notice and did and was rash enough to bring his bride home with him, well, you can imagine, the reception was not exactly warm. They never let up on the pressure to get him to marry some respectable Indian girl of their choice. I lost count of the princesses that were dangled before him — they were still trying right up to his death. He rejected a daughter of the house of Jodhpur only last month. All out of loyalty to Madeleine. She’s a tough girl, my sister, and she knows what she wants. Made Prithvi swear she’d be the only wife. Maddy’s not one to play second fiddle to anyone. Prithvi was as good as his word. And he was more than half-way to becoming a good pilot.’
Joe looked around the small airfield. ‘I don’t see. . Ali — did you say?’
‘No one sees Ali,’ said Stuart bodefully. ‘Guy’s disappeared. He worked on the planes with his brother. Ali was my rigger and Ahmed my fitter. I’ve questioned Ahmed. First thing I did! You bet! No one’s seen Ali since yesterday morning. Early. He was working on the plane as normal and then just lit out. No one saw him go. Ahmed turned up to check the engine before the flight.’
‘And Ahmed failed to notice the cables?’
Stuart’s jaw tightened and he squinted into the distance, unable to hold Joe’s gaze. ‘He didn’t notice. But why the hell should he? His responsibility was the engine. He assumed his brother had left the plane ready for flight. He always had. That’s what always happened. If I’d taken the flight instead of Prithvi, I might have noticed. But, Joe, I can’t be certain.
‘Those cables are fine — from a few feet away you can hardly see them and the saboteur had a little trick up his sleeve.’
He gestured to the hangar. ‘Come and have a look.’
Coiled on a work bench were the blackened remains of the lethal cable. Joe picked up the raw edge and ran a finger over it. He considered the smear of thick black engine oil on his hand.
‘Right,’ said Stuart. ‘He put that stuff over the cut strands so’s there’d be no shine of freshly sawn metal to give him away. And I’ll tell you something else. When you line this up in the position it would have occupied — and I already have — you’ll see that the frayed part is right over the dark-painted part of the fuselage. Just where it doesn’t show. Camouflage. Careful type.’