The frost hadn't yet melted from the courtyard stones outside the Ministry of War when Moreau arrived.
He was early.
Purposefully.
He didn't wear his cap.
He hadn't needed it.
Inside the war ministry, few noticed the difference between haste and confidence.
He found the conference room on the second floor a narrow, windowless space that had once served as a map archive.
Now, the walls were stripped clean and a long table stood at the center, its surface freshly polished and empty, save for three folders laid neatly in front of the central chair.
Beauchamp entered ten minutes later, flanked by two civilians in wool coats and leather gloves.
One was tall and severe, with a shock of white hair and wire-rimmed spectacles the other shorter, balding.
"This is Monsieur Delorme," Beauchamp said, gesturing to the taller man. "Chief mechanical designer at Hotchkiss. And this is Monsieur Chevalier, senior ballistics engineer."
Moreau saluted instinctively.
