Heaven's Fire (9 page)

First, the ingredients were sifted together using a series of increasingly fine screens. Though the individual
"
recipes
"
were kept under lock and key, all stars contained the basics: oxidizers, fuels, binders, special effects, color and the propellants, of course. The black powder and the flash powder.

Once properly sifted, water would be
added and the whole mess kneaded into what looked like black bread dough and pressed into trays or loaf pans to dry. Once dry, the dough could be cut into cubes or formed into balls. The cubes were used in cylindrical shells, the balls in round. Both shapes were called stars for some reason Simon never quite understood.

Tudy answered Simon’s question as Pat wandered over to a woman slicing stars in the opposite corner.
"
Nah. Mixing’s too messy, so we do that outside. We just keep the screens in here. We mostly load and wrap here.
"
He pointed toward a workbench where the man who had come by the coffee room earlier was wrapping brown paper around a cardboard cylinder.
"
You remember how we do this, Simon?
"

Since Simon’s job consisted of a whole lot more bombs and
structure
fires than fireworks, he figured a refresher course couldn’t hurt. Besides he wanted to observe the Firenzes’ methods,
given
it had been two years since his earlier investigation.
"
Show me.
"

Tudy called out to the man building the shell.
"
Maxie, bring that here.
"

Maxie carried the shell over. He was wearing an apron now, not only to protect his clothes from the chemicals, but to cover
any
belt buckles and zippers that might accidentally
strike something and
cause a spark.
"
Yeah, Tudy?
"

Tudy gestured toward Simon.
"
This is Simon Aamot.
"
Tudy always pronounced it A-met, long
"
a,
"
but Simon never bothered to correct him. He was used to mispronunciations and, besides, probably only relatives he'd never met in Norway were really sure how the name should be pronounced.
"
Show him what you’re doing.
"

Maxie held up the large cardboard tube.
"
This is an eight-incher. I’ve already got the stars in here and a salute.
"

Salutes were the noise. Without a salute, a breaking shell would pop instead of boom. Salutes were what rattled windows and caused babies to cry. Pasquale had loved them.

Simon looked into the cylinder.
"
Are the stars already primed?
"
Priming was rolling the stars in black powder--a high explosive
--like cookies in coal-colored powdered sugar
.

"
Oh, yeah,
"
Tudy said,
"
the stars are primed before they’re dried, remember?
"
He took the shell from Maxie.
"
This here is a weeping willow, right Maxie?
"

Maxie stepped back and nodded.

A metal tube ran down the center of the larger cardboard tube and the stars were packed around it.
"
Black powder in the tube, Tudy?
"
Simon asked.

The old man sucked on his tongue as he scooped the black powder into the tube.
"
That’s right. You remember, huh? Black powder for the bursting charge, and we let a little spill over into the stars. Just a little more priming.
"

Finished with the powder, Maxie pulled out the metal tube, leaving a ring of stars with a black powder center. Then he topped the cylinder with a cardboard disk attached to a fuse. The fuse, this one an internal time fuse, delayed the break of the shell until it had climbed high enough to be safe. Or at least that was the idea.

"
You said there were ten-second internal time fuses on the sixteen-inchers, right?
"
Simon asked.

Tudy nodded as he folded the brown paper down around the shell and added another cardboard disk to hold the time fuse in place. He seemed happier now with fireworks in his hands, like working with them would lessen the horror of having his best friend and probably his own son killed by them.
"
The sixteen-inchers, they had a four-inch time fuse: two-and-a-half seconds an inch. This little girl has a four-second delay cuz she doesn't have to go so high.
"

"
Do you spike the shells then?
"
Spiking was wrapping the shell tightly in string soaked in wheat paste. The wheat paste made the string shrink as it dried, creating a tighter shell and a better break when the black powder exploded.

Tudy nodded.
"
And then three wraps.
"

"
Three?
"
Simon asked.

Pat came up behind them.
"
First a band, then a cover, then a final wrap.
"

Tudy explained.
"
They’re all brown paper covered in paste. The band just goes around the shell. We let that dry, then the cover goes around the whole thing--even the time fuse. Then the final wrap.
"
He picked up a sheet of craft paper and crumpled it.
"
We wrinkle it all up. That breaks the grain of the paper and makes it dry nice and tight.
"

"
And you did all that to the sixteen-inchers?
"
Simon asked.

"
Sure,
"
Tudy said,
"
and Pasquale added a fourth wrap for the TV. Colored paper--red, for one, silver for another and blue for...
"
He let it trail off.

Simon turned to Pat.
"
I assume the wraps were intact when the shells were loaded on the barge?"

"Of course they were."

"Who transported them from here to the lakefront?
"

"
We had two semis full. Ray drove the one with the finale and the twelve and sixteen-inchers. I drove the one with the body of the show.
"
He met Simon’s eyes and then looked away.
"
And yes, the wraps were intact. I carted each of the sixteen-inchers onto the barge myself.
"

Simon thought about that.
"
Where were the shells dried? Here?
"

Pat eyed him.
"
In a magazine, of course.
"

Finished aerial shells were considered low explosives and could be stored in Type Four magazines, masonry buildings with metal doors and double locks. The black powder and flash powder, though, were high explosives and had to be kept in more secure Type One or Type Two magazines. Simon knew that, of course, and Pat knew that Simon knew.

"
A Type Four?
"

"No." Pat pointed out the open door.
"
Our north magazine. It’s a Two.
"

That was the way Pasquale had operated: If a Type Four was required, Pasquale went a step further and used a Two. In addition to the requirement for Type Fours, Ones and Twos
also
had to have quarter-inch thick steel doors lined with two inches of hardwood and be bullet-resistant. The mandatory double locks on the doors also had to use two different keys. Type Three magazines, called day boxes, were used for temporary storage of high explosives.

If the shells had been kept in a Type Two magazine, they were pretty damn secure. Depending, of course.
"
Who had keys?
"

Pat’s jaw tightened.
"
My father, myself, Angela, Ray and Tudy. Why?
"

It might be a moot point.
"
But the shells didn’t have lift charges yet?
"

"
No, they were brought back out for fusing,
"
Pat said. He turned to Tudy, who’d been uncharacteristically quiet.
"
Do you remember when Dad fused them?
"

"I know he wasn't feeling too good, so he put it off." Tudy shrugged.
"
Last week maybe?
"

"
Would he have done that here?
"

"
Probably,
"
Pat said,
"
this building is the closest.
"

"
Can you show me how the lift charge was added?
"
Simon asked.

Still carrying the 8-inch shell, Pat led him over to another table, which held a small bin of black powder and lengths of quickmatch.
"
First, we attach the quickmatch to the bottom of the shell and then we cover it with brown paper, letting the paper overlap the end of the shell.
"

More brown paper.
"
The excess paper makes the pocket for the lift charge, right?
"

"
Right.
"
Pat turned the shell over, dipped a little black powder out of the dish and poured it into the pocket he’d just made.
"
The higher the shell has to go, the more black powder you need.
"

"
So let’s think about yesterday,
"
Simon said.
"
The quickmatch would have ignited the lift charge on the first shell sending it up. At the same time, it would have lighted the internal time fuse. Meanwhile, the flame continues on down another timing fuse to the second shell. That shell’s lift charge and internal time fuse
ignites,
sending it up, and the flame continues on to shell number three.
"

Pat lifted the shell up by the quickmatch.
"
Right.
"

Simon looked the shell
over
. Eight inches in diameter-- peanuts compared to the one that had killed Pasquale, but lethal nonetheless.
"
So what are we saying? That the time fuse between the second and third shells failed?
"
he asked.

Pat set the shell down harder than Simon would have liked.
"
Then why did it explode at all?
"

"
Something your dad did when he went back?
"
Simon offered.

Pat and Tudy didn't answer. They didn't look at each other either. Simon
would
n't press for now. He
gestured to a
group of shells wrapped and ready for the drying racks.
"
You have a lot of shows scheduled for the Fourth?
"

Pat nodded.
"
Seven, including the
big County show back in Liberty. God knows what’s going to happen to that. Or the other ones if people start thinking we screwed up somehow.
"
He stopped.
"
Shit, my father’s dead, God knows what’s happened to Ray and I’m worried about the business that caused it all.
"
He looked at Simon.
"
Does that make any sense?
"

Tudy touched his arm.
"
You’ve said it yourself, boy. We've got people depending on us. Our families.
O
ur workers. The people who’re coming to see our shows.
"

"
If anybody comes.
"
Pat sighed.
"
I’m sorry, Simon. What else can we show you?
"

Simon thought people would come--out of morbid curiosity, if for no other reason. He looked around.
"
Nothing else here. I need to send some guys out to get samples, though. Try to match the residue on the barge.
"
They
started
toward the office.

"
I suppose it’s possible the chlorate was set off, but not by the fuse," Simon said as they rounded the building. "A spark, maybe--
"

The roar of an engine drowned him out, and all three of them turned to see a cloud of dust moving up the gravel drive. A red Miata was bouncing through the ruts. If Simon owned that car, he’d be a hell of a lot more careful with it.

The Miata crunched to a stop next to the Explorer. The woman in the driver’s seat whipped off her sunglasses as a TV8 van pulled up behind her.