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"Ahim sorry, sir. Ah figured that as long as ya were gonna court-martial me anyway-"
"You're lousy at figuring Pitt interrupted. "Next time keep your mouth shut. You admitted guilt when you didn't have to."
"Are ya still gonna bust me?"
"To begin with, I don't give a rat's ass whether you moonlight or not. Since I'm not stationed at Keflavik Air Force Base, I could care less about the policieschicken shit as they are-of your Colonel Nagel. Therefore, I won't be the one to bust you. All I want is the answers to a few simple questions." Pitt stared Cashman in the eye and smiled warmly. "Now how about it? Will you help me?"
The expression on Cashman's face displayed genuine awe. "Christ Almighty, what ah wouldn't give to serve under an officer like you." He extended his hand.
"Ask away, Major."
Pitt returned Cashman's grip. "First question: do you usually scratch your initials in the equipment you repair?"
"Yeah, it's kind of a trademark, ya might say. Ah d
o good work an ahim proud of it. Serves a purpose too. If ah work on the hydraulic system of an aircraft and it comes back with a malfunction, ah know the trouble lays where ah didn't work. It saves a lot of time."
"Have you ever repaired the nose gear of a twelvepassenger British jet?"
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Cashman thought for a moment. "Yeah, about a month ago. One of those new executive twin turbine Ulysses-a hell of a machine."
"Was it painted black?"
"Ah couldn't see paint markin's. It was dark, about one-thirty in the mornin' when ah got the call."
He shook his head. "Wasn't black, though. Ahim positive."
"Any distinguishing features or anything unusual about the repair that you can recall?"
Cashman laughed. "The only distinguishin' features were the two weirdos who were flyin' it." He held up a cup, offering Pitt some coffee. Pitt shook his head.
"Well, these guys were in a terrible hurry. Kept standin' around tryin' to push me. Pissed me off plenty. Seems they made a rough landin' somewhere and busted a seal in the shock cylinder. They were damned lucky that ah found a spare over at the B.O.A.C hangars."
"Did you get a look inside?"
"Hell no, you'd have thought they had the President on board the way they guarded the loadin' door."
"Any idea where they came from or where they were headed?"
"No way, they were tightlipped bastards. Talked about nothin, but the repair. Must have been on a local flight though. They didn't refuel. You ain't flyin' far in a Lorelei-not from Iceland anyhow-without full tanks."
"The pilot must have signed a maintenance order."
"Nope. He refused. Said He was behind schedule and would catch me next time. Paid me though. Twice what the job was worth." Cashman was silent for a moment. He tried to read something in the man standing before him, but Pitts face was as impenetrable as a granite statue. "What's behind these questions, Major?
Mind lettin' me in on your secret?"
"No secret," Pitt said slowly. "A Lorelei crashed a couple of days ago and nothing except a portion of the nose gear was left to identify. I'm trying to trace it, that's all."
"Wasn't it reported as missin'?"
"I wouldn't be here if it was."
"Ah knew there was something fishy about them guys. That's why ah went ahead and filled out a maintenance report."
Pitt leaned over, his eyes boring into Cashman's.
