Indy held up his wineglass for a silent toast to the captain and "Mrs. Parker."
After dinner, the Graf trembled in ever-stronger gusts, making complaining sounds as the structure twisted and yielded. They watched a sun diminished in brightness by an ever-darkening haze along the western and northern horizon. The familiar deep red of sunset failed to make its appearance; instead, lowering with extraordinary slowness, the sun changed to a salmon-pink color. The hue, never before seen by most of the passengers, unnerved them more than the wind gusts and thickening clouds.
Passengers left their tables, returning from their cabins with heavy fur coats, hats, boots, and gloves. They became more and more subdued, watching crewmen packing away everything that could be secured. Captain Pruett turned from watching crewmen lashing down loose tables and chairs. "Just like being aboard a ship at sea," he commented. "Battening down the hatches against the oncoming storm."
"That's the first time you've used that word," Indy noted. "Storm, I mean."
"Sorry, it wasn't deliberate. I've been watching the sky for some time. Spoke to that fellow Jaeger earlier. We agree on what's causing this bit of fuss in the atmosphere. Major low-pressure area across northern Canada. Behind it, in the arctic regions, high pressure. You know the old saw. Nature abhors a vacuum. Likewise, a high-pressure area always displaces one of low pressure. So the arctic is pushing downward, and the low that's starting to dump on us is heavy with moisture. Being hammered this way from the north, the air is unstable and begins to pile up in strange masses, and that's the turbulence we're feeling."
As if in response to his words, a heavy gust pounded the zeppelin. The Graf rolled and twisted, and Captain Pruett grinned. "Just like an old sailing ship creaking and groaning in heavy weather. I sort of like the sound."
"How interesting," Indy said with a straight face. He did not like the sound at all. A long time ago, as a youth driving a cranky old Ford on a rutted country road, he'd heard sounds oddly similar to those he was hearing now. The difference was that the Ford was in its final gasps of life. A burst of creaks and groans heralded falling fenders, an erupting radiator, breaking fanbelts, a cracking engine block, and finally a transmission dropping with a great dusty thud. Anything that moved and creaked and groaned at the same time, Indy found less than relaxing.
Within the hour light rain enveloped the zeppelin. They were long done with dinner and had braced themselves in their seats, struggling to keep the contents of coffee cups from splashing about their tables. The icy rain made a hissing sound against the observation windows, and a deeper hoarse echo proceeded from the body of the Graf. "This," Captain Pruett said quietly, leaning closer to Gale and Indy, "I do not like. The temperature is at its worst. That rain we're hearing—it freezes onto the outer surfaces of this ship after it strikes. And I'm sure you know what that means."
He sat back, wrapped in his own unfinished warning. Gale understood. Indy didn't yet know, but he was figuring it out rapidly. Icy rain that froze as it reached a surface. Ice forming on the outer cottony skin of the Graf Zeppelin.
Ice equals weight, weight reduces positive buoyancy, and the ocean is already too close for comfort.... As if in response to his conclusion, they all heard the powerful Maybach engines throttling up, the propellers whirling faster to offset the growing weight of ice.
"Things are getting interesting." Captain Pruett grinned as he rose to his feet. "I must see to my cabin. Dinner was most enjoyable, Mr. and Mrs. Parker."
"Toodle-oo," Gale said merrily.
"Aren't we the social set," Indy said with a frown. "You trying to hide your real concerns about this storm?"
She gripped his forearm. "You had bloody well believe it," she whispered.
Indy laughed. "That makes two of us. Do you feel like a coward?"
"Yes!" She moved closer to Indy for comfort. "Now, if I were flying a real machine, something with wings on it, I'd feel much better, and—"
She stopped short with the approach of Kurt Jaeger, who bowed quickly and then handed a sealed envelope to Indy. "This is for you, Mr. Parker. It just came over the wireless. We were fortunate to receive it now. Communications are going down."
Indy held the envelope. He'd open it in private. "Thank you, Mr. Jaeger."
Again Jaeger bowed. "Hang on tightly, my friends. You will now excuse me, please? Duty calls."
"Of course," Gale said pleasantly.
Jaeger smiled. "I shall see you again when the sun shines," he said, and left.
"Sure hope so," Indy murmured to Gale.
The Graf was now shaking like a wet dog.
16
Indy locked the cabin door behind them. Gale eased onto her bunk, watching him as he opened the wireless message. He studied it for a moment. "The sender is Sherwood," he said.
She showed her surprise. "Sherwood?"
"The forest. Obviously it's from Treadwell. It's difficult to read aloud. Sounds crazy, I mean. You read it."
She waited with impatience, studying the deepening furrows along his forehead. Several times he smiled, frowned, then went poker-faced. Finally he handed the paper to her.
horse now behind cart. stop. confirm pyramid configuration johnny routes nineteen. stop. cloth yellow kingsley south pray st. john deliverance dead man. stop. old gray mare is dead. stop. follow ghosts seminole pursuit train sixteen ears many. stop. end.
She held out the paper as if looking at it from a distance might bring clarity to the tangled words. "Indy, I think I could understand Sanskrit easier than this jumble."
He laughed. "Okay, here goes. The first line reads, 'Horse now behind cart. Stop.' "
"Which means?"
"It's telling us that certain events are out of order, we're on a blind trail, and we've got to get back on track."
He stopped as a cabin loudspeaker sputtered to life. "All passengers. All passengers. Captain Eckener requests your presence in the lounge immediately. Please report to the lounge immediately. Thank you."
Indy folded the paper and slipped it into his jacket. "This will have to wait. Let's go."
The loudspeaker message was being repeated in different languages as they left their cabin. Many of the passengers were clearly frightened at the hard blows of wind that rocked the Graf Zeppelin. At times the nose pitched up sharply and the crew fought to bring the great airship back to an even keel. Maintaining balance was difficult for all, and some of the passengers, already suffering the first pangs of airsickness, needed help. People clung to the vertical structural beams of the lounge or sat in chairs secured to the decking, their hands gripping the chair arms for dear life.
Captain Eckener walked slowly to the lounge from the control room. His uniform was perfect, his bearing calm and confident. To their surprise he stood, legs apart, balancing into the rocking and pitching moments of the zeppelin, disdaining any support. A lifetime of sailing ocean storms at sea and flying in balloons and zeppelins had given him an extraordinary sense of balance.
"Ladies, gentlemen, thank you. I will not keep you long. You are entitled to know just what we face. First, we are in no danger. That is most important for you to understand. The Graf Zeppelin was designed and built to withstand any storm we could foresee. I believe you know that although our metal structure is light in weight, it is as strong as the best steel ever made. Our crew is experienced. But it is likely that when we encounter severe up-drafts and downdrafts, this zeppelin will seem to pitch up or down at alarming angles. The steepness of a climb or descent, however, is not at all dangerous. Please consider all I have said. Until further notice, I advise everyone to remain in their cabins, where you will be able better to brace yourselves against any unexpected turbulence. We hope to escape the worst of the storm in just a few hours. Thank you for your attention."
Moments later only three stewards remained, helping passengers back to their cabins. Indy and Gale preceded the group, anxious to return to the coded message from Treadwell.
"We started with the dancing of the ru
naway horse," Gale said, "right?"
"Almost," Indy corrected. "The precise wording was 'Horse now behind cart.'"
"Sorry. That means we've been barking down the wrong road."
Indy had to laugh. "I believe you mean we've been barking up the wrong tree."
She made a face at him. "Colloquial or colonial expressions leave much to be desired, Professor." She pointed to the paper. "Go on, please."
"Okay. The next line reads, 'Confirm pyramid configuration Johnny routes nineteen.'"
"That makes even less sense." Gale frowned, then fell back at a sudden sharp gust. They felt the Graf's nose swinging around in a high rolling circle. Gale rolled her eyes. "Give me wings," she murmured. "Sorry, Indy. Please go on."
"Well, Treadwell has confirmed a triangular route over which he believes the gold was shipped. The pyramid is three-sided. Now, 'Johnny routes.' That confirms a route used by the Confederate military forces in the American Civil War. The soldiers of the South were best known as Johnny Rebs."
"What about the word 'nineteen'?"
"Treadwell's counting on us to be able to work that one out. He's basing the number on our working out what went first."
"Indy, you're losing me," she complained.
"Just hang in there, carrot top. Look, the number we all know fits is for the year 1864."
"How do you get that?"
"Add it up. It comes out to nineteen, and we already know the time period of the war. The gold was shipped to the southern states at just about that time."
She shook her head. "Oh. I see. But not," she added hastily, "until you explained it. Now explain that 'cloth yellow' to me."
"That jumps right out at you, Gale. 'Cloth yellow' refers to both cotton and gold. The cotton to be shipped to England—which we know the Crown was prepared to escort with warships—and the gold as payment to the Confederacy. Now..." He opened a map of northern Florida and spread it out on the lower bunk. "'Kingsley.' It's a plantation near Franklintown and Little Talbot's Island. We go south from Kingsley and we end up smack in the St. John's River. Treadwell used the word 'pray' simply to emphasize the 'Saint' in the name of the river."
"All right, so now I'm in this river with you. What good does that do?"
"The key is the next phrase, 'deliverance dead man.' Look here." Indy's finger traced a line east and southeast of Port Jacksonville. "The gold was obviously brought in here. A deep-water port would have been necessary for those ships. From Jacksonville it was to be delivered to Steinhatchee. There, Confederate ships would load it and take it to New Orleans, which at that time was still well out of reach of the Union forces."
"But... Steinhatchee isn't even in the message! How could you—"
"You're right," he broke in. "It's not in the message, so clearly we were expected to return to the map. Look at it, Gale. Steinhatchee is on the gulf coast of Florida. It sits right on Dead Man's Bay. That's the key. 'Dead man' tells me the people handling this project were killed, probably in a battle."
"And now we get to the horse," she quipped. "That reference in the message. Isn't that from a song?"
"Almost. The song is about the old gray mare, she ain't what she used to be. The message reads, 'The old gray mare is dead.' That's a direct reference to a land convoy. Most transport at that time was by rail or horse-pulled wagons. 'Gray mare' is obviously a reference to a horse or many horses, and 'dead' means that for the most part the people were killed in some kind of battle."
Indy was interrupted by a long trembling wave passing through the Graf Zeppelin. Everything blurred before their eyes as the dirigible shuddered from one end to another, the resonance rushing back and forth from nose to stern. They heard a scream from a nearby cabin.
Gale shrugged. "While we're still airborne, would you like to finish deciphering this code? My curiosity knows no—oops!" Another blow nearly toppled her to the deck. She laughed as Indy grabbed her arm to keep her upright.
"You know what battle was what?" she prompted.
"Well, at that time of the war, the Seminole Indians, who had good reason to hate both the Confederate and Union forces, were killing off the palefaces—"
"Who?"
"The whites."
"Oh."
"They considered them invaders of their territory, and killed or stole their horses. So the Rebs turned to mules. And a mule train was made up of heavy wagons, each pulled by eight mules. That's pretty good on Treadwell's part."
"Does that mean that the 'sixteen ears' he refers to is a wagon pulled by eight mules? Eight mules, sixteen ears?"
"Right. Now put together the whole sentence. 'Follow ghosts Seminole pursuit train sixteen ears many.'"
"Who are—who were—the ghosts?"
"The Seminoles. Indian trackers could move like wraiths through he densest undergrowth. They'd follow the mule trains for miles, unseen and unheard, until they were ready to attack. So Treadwell is telling us to follow the same paths the mule trains and the Indians took."
She studied the map, rocking back and forth with the motions of the zeppelin. "I'm impressed. I really am, Indy. Until now we didn't know where we were going, and now we've got a map, rivers, trails, and historical markers to follow. You're incredible, Professor."
He looked directly at her. "You're pretty great yourself. If you weren't with me, the way this ship is shaking and being slammed around, I'd be scared half to death."
"And you're not because I'm here?"
"You bet. Right now I'm taking my cues from you."
"Great. So long as you're doing that, let's ride out this storm in the lounge. I hate being cooped up in this little cabin while everything is rattling and shaking around me and I can't see very much of what's going on. In the lounge we've got those windows to look through. Besides, if everything falls apart and we go down, I'd like to see it happening so we can do something to protect ourselves."
They spent the next hour hanging on for dear life, pushing themselves into the chairs, bracing their legs against structural posts. The Graf rose and fell in great soaring swoops, following the dictates of the wind that swirled and pounded the giant structure.
"They're doing everything right!" Gale called to Indy.
"You mean the elevator ride?"
"Absolutely. Eckener is working to keep the attitude of the ship level. If he was fighting to hold altitude he'd be overheating the engines and putting some serious stress on the structure. It may feel like a roller coaster, but they're keeping the loads on this ship as low as possible. I'm really impressed with the way they're taking us through this mess."
"What about the ice?" Indy had been staring at torrents of sleet blowing against the observation windows. The temperature in the lounge remained cold, and ice had formed along the window frames. He could only imagine how bad it was on top of the zeppelin.
"It could be a lot worse," Gale told him. "You know what they're trying to do?"
"Sure! Get us out of this storm alive!"
"That, too. But they're chasing levels of warm air. That will melt the ice faster than you realize. And sometimes a difference of just a few hundred feet in altitude can take us out of a freezing level."
Another pressure wave rolled over the Graf. This time the effects were far more frightening. Invisible waves of turbulence, like a pounding surf on a shore, thundered against the Graf, sending spasms through the great ship. Then would come intervals of respite when the rain stopped and, amazingly, the moon shone through. Then it was again swallowed up by the storm. The Graf Zeppelin was a huge living whale of the skies, tossed to and fro, the crew in the control room working constantly to meet and then offset blows of turbulence and to keep the ship level.
Lightning tore through the clouds and rain. Indy stared at the green-and-blue bolts flashing about them. Lightning and hydrogen gas; what a combination! Gale read his expression correctly.
"The lightning's not a problem, Indy."
"Why not?" he demanded.
"The structure is designed to pa
ss the electrical charges right through us without damage. The electricity will flow through the ship from one side to the other and—"
"Look at those blue flames along the windows! That's not something to worry about?"
She followed his gaze. Indy was right to be concerned, but only because of the dancing blue flames and flickering small bolts playing along the window frames. "Static electricity," she explained. "Every now and then the clouds around us are highly charged, and they pass off the charge to us. This ship gathers the static, and finally it builds up to the point where we see it. Indy, I've seen that a hundred times in airplanes! When it builds up high enough, we'll discharge the electrical field away from the zeppelin structure."
"Away from us?" He stared, fascinated, at the miniature electrical storm dancing and sparkling only feet away from him.
"Away from us," she emphasized. "In fact, sometimes the discharge is a lightning bolt itself. We've had that in airplanes. An electrical charge builds up and we fly between two clouds, the charges are opposite, and wham! We'd discharge the—"
BANG!
Indy froze in his seat. A flicker of pure electricity, then a blue-white ribbon of fire flashed. The blast of thunder followed immediately, booming and echoing about them and then through the body of the zeppelin.
"You didn't have to do that," he told her. "A mere explanation would have sufficed;"
Gale laughed with delight. "You have a wonderful sense of gallows humor, Indy."
"Thanks." He grimaced as his hearing slowly returned to normal. He turned his head, staring. Gale followed his gaze. They stared at the "Japanese man" in ceremonial attire moving through the lounge, turning neither left nor right, walking purposefully for the hatchway that led to the interior of the airship structure.
Gale grasped Indy's arm. "Indy... it's her."
"I know," he said quickly, climbing to his feet, grasping the table for support as the zeppelin began another wide swing. "Stay here. I'll see where she's going."
Indiana Jones and the White Witch Page 17