Indiana Jones & the Sky Pirates

by Martin Caidin

  "Airspeed is ninetyfive, Indy," Cromwell reported. "We're right on the money at just under fifty feet above ground."

  "Hold it there . . . okay, I've got the train in sight, I see the bag. Get ready! Make this run perfect, Will—"

  The Ford thundered out of the night, its powerful landing light a cyclopean monster racing through darkness. The landing gear swept over the train. Cromwell held the airplane rocksteady as they rushed over the last cars, and he felt the slight thud as the hook snagged the cable beneath the helium balloon.

  They'd worked this out with machinelike precision. The moment Indy sang out into the intercom, "Got it!" Cromwell eased back on the yoke in his left hand, held the throttles exactly where they were, and pulled the Ford into a gentle climb, bleeding off airspeed to just above seventy miles an hour. Back in the cabin, Tarkiz held Indy steady while Foulois rotated a large handle that brought up cable on the winch secured to the floor and seat braces.

  "Hold it! Okay; right there!" Indy ordered. He held out his right hand. Foulois handed him his Webley. Indy held the heavy revolver in both hands, aimed carefully, and fired a single shot into the helium balloon. It deflated instantly into a fluttering rag. Moments later the entire assembly was in the airplane. They slid shut the floor hatch and locked it in place. Indy swung around to a sitting position. Foulois spoke into his microphone. "Cromwell, stay in the climb. Follow the flight plan."

  Gale held up a chart and printed instructions. "Eight thousand feet," she called off from the checklist. "All running lights and landing lights out."

  "Very good," Cromwell said easily, smiling. "Piece of cake, that was."

  "You are good," Gale told him with honest admiration. She was right. Cromwell had made this run as if he'd done it a hundred times before.

  Foulois and Belem watched Indy open the leather case. He withdrew the gold statue and handed it to Belem. The big man's eyes lit up at the sight and heft of the gold. Indy laughed. "It's not what you think," he told Tarkiz. Dark eyes narrowed.

  "What do you mean, Indy?" "Try cutting it with a knife. It's plated. Under that plating that thing is lead."

  Tarkiz showed his confusion. He snatched a long blade from his boot and sliced into the statue. He stared at the gray lead beneath the thin outer plating of gold.

  "Why in the name of three blue devils did we go through all this, then!" he shouted.

  "Because we needed to get that pyramid everyone is talking about," Indy told him. "And we have it?" asked Foulois.

  "It's in the bag." Indy tweaked him. "But . . . how could you know?" They watched Indy retrieve the small leather sack from the larger bag. He opened the sack and held the pyramid with its cuneiform etchings for them to see for themselves.

  "But . . . how could you know it was in that little sack?" Belem said, more confused than ever.

  Indy moved to a seat and sprawled, his long legs stretched out. "Easy," he said with an air of nonchalance. "I knew where it was because I'm the one who put it there."

  He tossed the pyramid to Foulois, who grabbed desperately for what he had until this moment believed was one of the most anxiously sought artifacts in the world. "You hang onto it for now," Indy told him. He secured his seat belt and pushed his hat over his eyes.

  "I'm going to take a nap. Wake me when we're ready to start down."

  "Mon dieu," Foulois groaned. He looked at Belem. "I am beginning to believe our man Jones is really crazy."

  Tarkiz Belem glared at the worthless statue. "Either he is," he grated, "or we are."

  6

  "Wright Tower, this is Crazy Angels with you at eight thousand, estimate two zero miles out, and landing.

  Over."

  Gale Parker and Tarkiz Belem showed their questions in their sudden stares at one another. Cromwell and Foulois were together in the cockpit, this time with the Frenchman at the controls and Cromwell working radio communications. But who was this Crazy Angels?

  "It fits perfectly," Belem said to Gale Parker. "This whole affair has been crazy, no? From the beginning. Crazy Angels, it is our call sign, I judge."

  Gale nodded. "Sounds reasonable. "What I don't get is why we're going into an army field."

  "As soon as Indy awakens, little one, I'm sure he will come up with something new that is even crazier than everything that has happened so far."

  Behind their seats, Indy slowly pushed back the brim of his wellworn hat. It was an Indiana Jones trademark and had held off broiling sun and howling snow. An old friend. He peered owlishly from beneath it.

  "We're landing at Wright Field," he said to both Gale and Tarkiz, "for some magic."

  "Magic?" they echoed.

  "Uhhuh." Indy stretched and yawned. "We need to, well, disappear."

  "They have vanishing cream, I suppose, at a military field," Gale said with easy sarcasm.

  "Close to it." He was on his feet. He clapped Tarkiz on a broad shoulder.

  "Hang in there, friend. The doors will swing wide very soon and from there you will see daylight."

  Indy went forward to the cockpit, standing behind the two pilot seats. He stared through the sharply angled windshield, watching the scattered lights of small towns passing below. Isolated twin beams poked along dark stretches of highway, and he could even make out glowing red taillights.

  "They call you back from Wright Field?" he asked Cromwell.

  "Only to stand by for landing instructions. They— Just a moment. Here they are now," Cromwell replied. "Here, Indy." He handed Indy a headset.

  "Crazy Angels, Crazy Angels, Wright Tower. Your clearance is confirmed.

  You are cleared to begin your descent now. No other traffic reported, and you are cleared for a straightin approach to runway one six zero. Please read back.

  Wright Tower over."

  Cromwell repeated their instructions and then added, "We'll give you a call when we have the field in sight. Over."

  "That is affirmative, Crazy Angels. The followme truck will be waiting for you at the midway turnoff from the runway. No further transmissions are necessary but we will monitor this frequency in case you need us. Wright Tower over and out."

  "Cheerio." Cromwell signed off. He turned to Indy. "You catch all that?"

  "Very good," Indy confirmed. "How long before we land?"

  "Twelve, fourteen minutes."

  "Okay. When you shut down, take your personal belongings with you. I'll tell the others."

  Less than ten minutes later they had the rotating beacon in sight. Foulois had been descending steadily, and with the field lights growing steadily brighter he eased the Ford onto a heading of 160°eg to settle for the straightin approach and landing.

  "I've got the runway in sight," Cromwell told him.

  "Roger that," Rene said; a moment later: "Got it."

  Cromwell scanned the sky. "No traffic."

  "Ring the bell," Foulois said easily. Cromwell pressed the button that provided a final warning to their passengers to secure their seat belts. Foulois flew the Ford down the approach as if it were on a railway. In the calm and cool night air the Ford seem to float more than fly. The wheels feathered on without even a rubbery squeak. He let her roll, and picked up the truck with the lighted follow me sign. They taxied past rows of hangars and shops. Airplanes were lined up in all directions, a mixture of fighters, transports, bombers, trainers, and some civilian craft. The truck stopped, and a man jumped down and signaled the Ford pilot to cut the power.

  Moments later the only sounds from the trimotor were those of heated metal cooling off in a cricketlike singsong of snaps and crackles. A small blue bus came from around the side of a hangar and stopped by the Ford. An officer waited until Indy and his group climbed down to the tarmac. He studied them for a moment and clearly identified Indy.

  He walked up to him and snapped a salute. "Professor Jones, good to see you again." They shook hands. "With your permission, my men will bring your equipment and luggage."

  Indy nodded and turned to Tarkiz. "Go with them. Y
ou know what to bring."

  The big man nodded and climbed back into the Ford. Soon their belongings and other gear had been shifted to the bus.

  Indy's group gathered about him, and he introduced Henshaw. "You have your orders about our plane?" Indy asked the colonel.

  "Yes, sir." A smile played briefly across Henshaw's face. "It is to be made invisible."

  Tarkiz turned to Gale Parker with a grimace. "So! Like I said, he is crazy, and this colonel, I think he is crazy, too!

  They are going to make our machine invisible! Poof! We will be like the sky.

  Not even the birds will see us."

  Indy nodded with Tarkiz's outburst. "For a while, my friend, at least for a while."

  Cromwell moved forward to the colonel. "If you don't mind, I must insist on being with our aeroplane if there is to be any fueling or servicing."

  Henshaw studied the British pilot. "Cromwell, right? Don't you think we can take care of your machine properly?"

  There was just a touch of sarcasm in his reply.

  He didn't make a ripple on Cromwell, who moved up to go nose to nose with the American officer. "Quite frankly, Colonel, I do not. We fly this machine. If your people mess it up and we discover their hammy hands while we are at ten thousand feet or so, I don't believe it takes much imagination for you to judge who will pay the piper." Cromwell turned to Indy. "I insist. I myself, or Foulois, must be with the aircraft for any work or servicing."

  Indy turned to Henshaw. "They call the shots with the plane, Colonel."

  "No offense taken, sir," Henshaw said to Indy, directing his gaze to Cromwell. "I only wish this same attitude prevailed among all my men. You have my word, Mr.—"

  "Brigadier, if you don't mind?" Cromwell said icily.

  "Of course, sir." He gestured to the group. "The bus, please."

  As they climbed aboard Tarkiz nudged Indy. "It is maybe a bother, Indiana, but my stomach will no longer keep silent. I must eat soon or perish."

  "With that spread of yours, Tarkiz," Foulois quipped, "you could last as long without food as a camel could without water."

  "Skinny people always make stupid remarks," Tarkiz answered goodnaturedly. "But I do not want to talk. I want to eat. One more cold frankfurter and—"

  "It's all taken care of, sir. Just a few more minutes," said the bartender.

  The bus rolled through the sprawling base, then stopped before a high barricade of concrete posts and triple rolls of barbed wire. Signs reading restricted area and authorized personnel ONLY were all about the place.

  Guards removed the entry barrier, saluting Henshaw as they went through.

  Before them was another great hangar.

  Army guards rolled back huge sliding doors and the bus drove inside. The doors closed behind it, and with the muffled thump of the doors coming together bright lights snapped on above it.

  The group looked about them with interest. Within the great hangar was what seemed to be part of a small village: cottages, stone office buildings, even a lawn with trees. "This is home for the next couple of days," Indy told his group. "Colonel, I'll go with your men and make sure everybody's gear goes to their assigned rooms."

  He banged Tarkiz on the shoulder. "You and the others go with that sergeant. Right to the dining room. They'll take your orders there. Anything you want."

  "Dining room? In here?"

  "I thought you were starving to death."

  "You are right. My stomach knows my throat has been cut." Tarkiz grasped the nearest sergeant's arm. "You have ancestors? Ah, very good. Feed me, or you may meet your ancestors much sooner than you think."

  Indy refused answers to all questions after dinner, steering conversation to small talk about the events of the evening, leaving the others frustrated but respectful of his silence. That night they slept in comfortable beds, each within a fully furnished room. There were books and radio facilities in each room, as well as a telephone, but all calls had to be processed through a military security switchboard.

  Gale Parker had already learned that Indy's strange aloofness was his means of waiting for information from the outside world, or for the arrival of key people involved in their sometimes baffling machinations. Gale was learning the man. She was still confused by his methods, but tremendously impressed with the swift execution of plans he had drawn with meticulous attention. She felt more and more drawn to him, and was caught by surprise at her feminine response to a man who fairly exuded masculinity, yet managed to treat her with the respect he felt she deserved as a woman and an equal.

  It was a magnetism to the opposite sex she had never known, and this sudden upward boiling of emotions puzzled and even frightened her. She was well out of water in her personal life experience. Indy's seemingly split personality toward her was as baffling as it was welcome. Gale knew she was as stubborn as a mountain goat, but Indy never tested that streak that ran so strongly in her.

  She would gladly have welcomed his personal attention, yet she could not shake the reality that Indy was still living with the ghost of his dead wife. A dozen times she had started to ask him about Deirdre—what she was like, what had brought them together into marriage, how they had shared the wonder of exploration and adventure.

  She gasped with surprise at herself when she realized she was jealous of a woman who had died several years before this moment! The revelation came that she wanted a relationship that would permit herself and Indy to bond closer. Nigh unto impossible, she sighed, in this group of professional killers.

  Put it aside, woman! she railed at herself. She would have to do just that.

  She must. And then, alone with her thoughts, she realized she was smiling, that she would take every attempt to narrow the gulf between them, to bring Indy to regard her as a woman as well as a partner in this strange mission on which they had embarked.

  But does he feel that way about me . . . ?

  She slammed a fist into her pillow, frustrated, starting to twist inside. Was she falling for Indy? Could that really be the case? Would she ever be willing to give up her incredible sense of freedom, the lustiness of going with the wind if that was what she desired. I don't need any man! she shouted to herself in another attack of selfrecrimination.

  Another voice inside her head spoke quietly, laughingly. You're a liar, Gale Parker.

  Alone in her room, she buried her face in her pillow. Oh, shut up, Gale Parker!

  Cromwell finished his third cup of coffee and stubbed out his cigarette.

  "Dashing great breakfast," he sighed. Tarkiz nodded and let fly with a horrendous belch, beaming at the others. Foulois ignored him, dabbing gently at his lips with his napkin. Indy smiled; Gale kept a straight face.

  "I'd like to see our machine," Cromwell said suddenly to Colonel Henshaw, who'd shared breakfast with them.

  Before Henshaw could reply, Tarkiz leaned forward and gestured denial with a wave of his hand. "No, no, you cannot do that," he said as if reproving Cromwell.

  Henshaw showed surprise; Cromwell responded in his own unique way.

  "And why the bloody hell not?" he demanded.

  "Ah, the English have such short memories!" Tarkiz said loudly, beaming, turning from one person to another to assure himself of his audience. "Do you already forget what our good colonel here," he pointed to Henshaw, "told us last night? He has orders! And those orders are to make our machine invisible."

  Tarkiz leaned forward, a conspiratorial gleam on his face. "And not even the English can see invisible machines."

  Tarkiz was just a bit too ebullient, judged Indy. He smelled some sort of deliberate confrontation. He knew how much Tarkiz hated being kept in the dark about anything, and that invisibility remark had been chafing under his skin the night through. "Leave it be," he said quietly to Tarkiz.

  The big Kurd stared back at him. "Indy! You wound me, my friend. I want very much to see our invisible airplane.

  The good colonel apparently can work miracles." He turned to Henshaw. "Tell me, Colonel.
Does our invisible airplane still fly? Even though we cannot see it?"

  If he thought Henshaw would be taken aback by his sudden sarcastic thrust he was greatly mistaken. Indy busied himself with his coffee mug to keep from bursting into laughter. Henshaw, his face as bland as he could make his expression, looked directly at Tarkiz.

  "Mr. Belem, the answer is yes. Your airplane is invisible, and it flies, and it matters not one iota if you can see it."

  "How marvelous," Rene Foulois joined in. "I've never flown an invisible airplane. I look forward to such a unique experience."

  Gale Parker studied the men about her. "Does anybody get the feeling there's an enormous amount of legpulling going on here?"

  They turned, as one, to her. "Miss Parker," Cromwell said with heavy civility, "either you have the answer, or I suggest we go see our invisible aeroplane."