Indiana Jones and the White Witch

by Martin Caidin

  For a long time Caitlin did not answer. Nor did she move as she struggled within her own mind. Kill this murdering wretch and avenge the death of her mother... and at the same time break the code of honor and tradition. What Gale said was right. Caliburn was meant for battle, not execution of a helpless prey.

  Slowly the sword lowered. "What are you doing!" Cordas spat at her. A coughing spell racked his body; blood appeared on his lips. "Go ahead, she-devil!" He fought to get out the words. "Do it! Finish me off!"

  Caitlin brought up the sword again. Slowly she drew the tip of Caliburn down the side of Cordas's face. Just enough to create a long red welt. She leaned forward, moving the sword aside.

  "No. I will not kill you now." Her smile was icy cold. "I will bring you back to the king's law. And I will see you hang by the neck. As it was so long ago, it shall be again. You will swing at the end of a rope."

  For the first time in long minutes, Indy breathed easy.

  "How are we going to take them back with us? At least as far as Macclenny?" Gale studied Cordas and the second man. "That one has two broken legs, and Cordas can't ride a horse."

  "And I'm not leaving you here to ride for help," Indy said. "We've been together through all this and we'll stay together. I can get them back with us. They'll have a bumpy ride, but that's better than being dragged behind us by rope."

  "Your plan, Indy?" Caitlin asked.

  "You stay here with them," Indy told her. "And try not to kill them, please?"

  He'd never seen a colder smile. "Only if they try to ran."

  "Fat chance," Indy said, going along with her grisly humor. "Gale, come with me. We'll get the horses."

  Indy and Gale rode the two horses, the third behind Indy's animal. They left Caitlin's horse with her. Indy pointed to a nearby copse of trees. "Over there," he told Gale. "Let's go."

  In the trees, he selected long saplings. The survival ax from his pack soon had them cut and stripped of branches. He tossed Gale a long coil of rope. "Tie them together so we can take them back to Caitlin."

  Caitlin watched as Indy tied two of the thickest saplings with crossbars of thick branches. "We'll build a travois," he told the women.

  "What is that?" Caitlin asked.

  "It's how the old Plains Indians of America traveled. Two long poles, tied with smaller poles crossways. It's like a sled. We attach one end to the horse and the saddle. Then we lay these two on the back of the travois, and off we go. Oh, yes, tie them down tight. Like I said, it's going to be a bumpy ride. Especially the way they're all busted up. When we get to Mcclenny, we'll have a doctor set splints. Dave Barton can notify the authorities to come get them and transport them to the coast. We'll get word to Carruthers and Judson, they'll let Treadwell know we've got these two, and the rest is detail."

  He walked to the far side of the wrecked encampment to confirm how many bodies were sprawled on the ground. "Gale, give me a hand here. We haven't the time or the desire to bury these people, but we can cover them with branches until Barton can send a wagon back here. I'm sure they'll want to try to identify the remains."

  They pushed their way through tall grass, heading toward nearby low trees. Suddenly Indy tripped and tumbled headlong through the growth. He let out a howl of pain as he landed with his back against a concealed rock. Gale ran to his side, helping him up.

  "What happened?"

  "Blasted rock. In the grass. Didn't see it and"—he grimaced—"when I came down, I landed smack on my back against another rock."

  Gale glanced down. Her voice seemed strained. "Indy?"

  He groaned with the pain in his back, struggled to stand erect. "Good grief... of all the ways to—"

  "Indy, listen to me."

  The strange tone of her voice alerted him to her call. He shoved a fist into his back, forcing himself upright.

  "W-what? What's so important?"

  "You didn't fall on a rock," she said.

  "What then?"

  "A cannon. The barrel of a cannon, Indy." She made a sweeping motion with her arm. "This whole area, Indy. There are these strange barrels all around us."

  "What's so strange about them? Both armies left their artillery all over the countryside."

  "Will you come here and look for yourself!"

  He stumbled to reach her. She pushed aside the grass, revealing an old cannon barrel. "Okay, it's a cannon. So what?"

  "Don't you see it? What's so strange about these cannons?"

  Indy went from one to another. The Rebels had obviously been forced to dump a whole contingent of artillery here.

  Then he understood what had Gale so worked up. "You're right," he said. "Something's wrong here. There are cannon barrels all over the place. But... no mounts. And no firing mechanisms."

  He moved through the grass, stopped, and looked up at Gale. "Have you seen any metal rims from old wagon wheels?"

  "None."

  "Neither have I." Indy withdrew his hunting knife. He tapped the hilt against a barrel. "It doesn't sound right, does it?" he said to Gale.

  "No. It doesn't ring. The sound is too dull. Indy?"

  "Go ahead."

  "Try to cut the barrel," she said.

  He understood what she hesitated to put into words. Gale held up one hand, fingers crossed. Indy felt the same way. This could be that stroke of fortune combined with perseverance. He shifted the heavy knife, hilt in hand, placed the sharp blade at midcenter of the cannon barrel, bore down with all his strength, and slashed against the barrel.

  The blade cut through the curved surface of the barrel and left a gash behind it.

  He stared at Gale; she held his gaze, her eyes wide. They both looked down again at the cannon barrel. He pushed the blade into the groove opened by his first thrust, put all his weight behind his hand, and slashed again.

  The blade cut through old gray paint.

  Beneath the cut, beneath the gray paint, the cannon barrel gleamed with a clean color.

  Gold.

  "Indy... I can hardly believe this." Gale spoke in a whispered, stunned voice.

  He looked back at her. "This knife will not cut through a cannon barrel." The words sounded stupid to him, but it was all he could say at the moment.

  "I know," she said.

  "So do I," he repeated.

  "It's... well, who would ever expect..." Her voice trailed off.

  Indy went to another cannon barrel, slashed several times at the curving shape. Gold gleamed at them, reflecting brightly in the noon sun.

  "We've found it!" he exclaimed.

  "This whole area..." Gale turned, holding out her arms to include the tumbled cannon barrels half-buried in ground and grass.

  "It's the gold, all right," he said.

  "The missing treasure," she murmured. "It's been right here all the time!"

  Indy cut through the top of another cannon barrel. Gold glittered before them.

  "They melted down the bullion," he said quietly. "They couldn't transport it through the battle area. Maybe they didn't have enough mule trains to carry it through. Fighting, the weather, disease; anything could have stopped them. So they melted the gold into the shape of cannon barrels and dumped it just like so many other pieces of artillery were dumped and abandoned."

  "And hoped to come back here when the South won—"

  "Or the North. They'd retrieve the gold and help rebuild what was shattered by the war."

  Caitlin watched them from a distance, wondering at the excitement that carried their voices across the field.

  Indy went to a sapling, slashed the trunk, and hacked off the branches until he had a long pole. He went to another cannon barrel. "Pray there are no snakes," he said to Gale.

  He pushed the pole into the open mouth of the cannon. Halfway down, it stuck. He prodded whatever had blocked the pole. "There's something in there. Could be a dead animal."

  "Or..." She left her words unfinished.

  "Yes," he said, sharing her thoughts.

  He leaned down, ins
erting his arm deep into the cannon. "It feels like leather, or oilskin," he told Gale. "It's too heavy for me to pull out like this. Grab my arm and help me."

  Together they dragged out a heavy oilskin packet, a large sheet rolled over several times and bound with wire. Indy laid it on the ground, cut the wire with his knife. They unrolled the packet until its contents shone brilliantly in the sunlight.

  The ancient coins of Rome flashed in their eyes.

  26

  Caitlin St. Brendan walked through the administrative halls of London University with all the muscle-tensed wariness of a feral cat in dangerous territory. She felt as out of place as the stiff-collared professors she passed would feel in her own beloved forest. Robed men with bewhiskered faces stared at her leather garments as much as she looked upon them—they might as well be visitors from another planet.

  Not that Indy, walking by her side, was much help. Again, as she had done so many times since their return to England, she couldn't avoid furtive glances at Professor Henry Jones, authority in archaeology, ancient languages, and medieval literature. Clad in a three-piece gray tweed suit and polished shoes, wire-rim glasses on his face, and his hair as neat as a barber's advertisement, he was far from the daring and dangerous man she had finally come to know so well.

  Caitlin felt an instant dislike for and discomfort in her surroundings. The New Forest and the Glen seemed a million miles from this stuffy, massive, corridor-laced building with its strange sounds, strange smells, and even stranger people. Yet Indy had convinced her that she was needed in a conference set up in the office of Sir William Pencroft. Indy had called him the "biggest wheel of all" in the university system of London.

  "He's old, feeble, unpleasant, argumentative, insulting, and he gnashes his teeth a lot," Indy had described the chairman of the Department of Archaeology of London University.

  "Then why do you trouble yourself to be in his presence?" Caitlin asked, honestly confused.

  "There's a couple of good reasons," Indy went on breezily. "First, he runs this entire university. Second, widiout his assistance, and his cooperation with government authorities, we would never have been able to go after Cordas and his men the way we did. That venture cost lots of money."

  "This terrible old man paid for it?"

  "Not directly. But he convinced the board of directors, and Whitehall, to foot the bill, arrange for special diplomatic freedoms, such as our carrying weapons, and provide us with the full cooperation of the American Secret Service and a half-dozen other agencies in Florida."

  "Then we are in his debt," Caitlin said solemnly.

  "Unfortunately, yes."

  "Why is it unfortunate?"

  "Because he has a memory like an elephant. He never forgets the favors he bestows. He considers them debts he collects in the form of favors he wants from me."

  "It is only fair, Indy."

  "Caitlin, please. Don't defend the old buzzard. He doesn't need any help."

  They rounded a corner, sending startled students scurrying out of their way. "Tell me again why you need me here, Indy."

  "I don't need you, Caitlin. I confess I want you with me and—"

  "Your words please me," she said quietly.

  "Every time you talk like that I feel I'm falling down a long well back in time," Indy told her. "Caitlin, you're here because your government needs you. You were witness to Cordas committing murder. Not only of your mother, but many of your people. You will have to swear to that, describe what happened, when Cordas and the other man—whose name is Scruggs—are put on trial. Your eyewitness accounts will send them to the gallows."

  "I wish to be there when that takes place," she said grimly.

  "We'll talk to Treadwell about that. I'm sure he'll make the proper arrangements."

  "Thank you, Indy."

  There it was again. That stiff, formal manner of speaking, as if Caitlin still lived in a world of knights and castles and magicians. Well, maybe she does, Indy thought suddenly. Maybe that's what I've been missing all this time. Caitlin isn't acting. She really lives it! To her we're the outlanders and her world is the real one.

  They made a final turn and faced a set of large double doors. Entrance to the private office of Sir William Pencroft. The hallowed inner sanctum of the university.

  Armed British soldiers barred their entry. They snapped to attention. "Sir, madam! Your names, please!"

  "Professor Henry Jones and Miss Caitlin St. Brendan," Indy announced.

  "Sir! One moment, please!"

  One soldier pressed a buzzer, turned, and snapped back to attention. Moments later the doors opened. Indy and Caitlin looked upon the frail figure of Sir William Pencroft.

  "All! The colonial black sheep has returned to the fold. I suppose"—Pencroft spoke in a mixed wheeze and growl—"I should defer to the amenities and tell you how glad I am to see you. But I never did lie very well."

  "Sir William, I—"

  "Oh, shut up, Jones. And get out of the way!" The old man brandished a cane at Indy. "Move, move!" he shouted. He stared at Caitlin. His eyes narrowed, widened, and narrowed again. "So you are the maiden from the Glen. I have heard much of you, Caitlin St. Brendan. You are a most beautiful young woman."

  "And you are as grouchy as I have heard," Caitlin said, a smile tugging the corner of her mouth, "but there is fire in your heart."

  "How long is this mutual admiration society to continue in session?" Indy said with feigned weariness. He could not have been more delighted.

  "Before we venture back into my chambers and the dregs of our modern society, Caty, I feel I should—"

  "You called me Caty." The words came forth in a tone of wonder; it was as if a secret had been suddenly exposed.

  "Yes, I did, my dear," Pencroft said, folding his hands on his lap. His eyes seemed to be laughing.

  "But..." Caidin looked to Indy. "That was what the people of the Glen called me when I was a... a—"

  "It's not so difficult to say. When you were a little girl," Pencroft said gently.

  "But how... how could you know!"

  "Ah, I am betrayed by a slip of the tongue, I fear," Pencroft answered with full pleasure in the moment. "Because your grandfather and I were the closest of friends, Caty. Or Caitlin, as you now seem to prefer." He leaned forward. "Give me your hand, child." He held her fingers in both his frail hands. "Long ago, so long ago it seems lost in the mists of time, Caty, I held you on my lap. And carried you on my shoulders."

  Caitlin's eyes widened. "They called you the oracle," she said in a half whisper.

  "You?" Indy stared at Pencroft. "The man who could read the secrets of the ages with only a glance? You. The one they compared to a crystal ball!"

  "Shut your mouth, you sassy pup!" Then, more quietly: "It stays among us three, you understand?" Pencroft said in a hushed tone.

  "If that is your wish—" Indy began.

  Pencraft's lapse into gentleness vanished in a flash. "Leave this bungling fool, Caitlin. I would like you to push me back into the room." He swung the cane with a solid whack against the leg of his assistant, who quickly yielded to Caitlin.

  Indy followed. Miracles will never cease...

  Neither would surprises, he discovered, for as Indy entered the room behind Caitlin, who wheeled Sir William before her, a large man in a glittering uniform detached himself from a group to rush at him. His first reaction was to assume a defensive posture, then he recognized the hulking form of Matteo Di Palma. He never expected the Italian agent to wrap his arms about him, hug him fiercely, then holding him tightly by the arms, kiss him once on each cheek in true Italian fashion.

  "You have done it!" he cried. He turned to point to another room adjacent to the large office. Indy saw armed guards at the door. "The coins. Ah, truly a wonder, a miracle! Others may not see it in this way, but I"—his fist pounded his chest—"I know! The coins, Indy, my friend, have been examined by a dozen of our greatest scientists, metallurgists, and historians. They are authentic. Their lo
ss for so many years has been a grave disappointment to the Vatican, which is now overjoyed."

  Indy blinked and separated himself from the unfettered enthusiasm of Di Palma. "What's with the uniform?" he asked quickly to change the subject. "You look like a doorman from the Waldorf-Astoria."

  "Ah, for several weeks I am again Admiral Matteo Di Palma, of the venerable and ancient Di Palma family, which helped bring Italy into the world. It was thought best by Rome if my appearance this time"—he leaned forward for a conspiratorical whisper to Indy—"was not, as we say, as an undercover or secret agent. This time I lead the group that will return the coins to their original place in the palace in Rome. A group that is most heavily armed. Indeed, the English are sending with us one of their special raider units for added security. But"—he waved a hand in the air—"all that is nothing compared to what you, and this wonderful lady with you, have accomplished. Someday, Indy, you must tell me what really happened aboard that piggish German balloon on which you made such a perilous crossing of the ocean!"

  Indy patted Di Palma on the shoulder, unable to keep from laughing with the excited Italian. "I promise. But right now you will excuse me."

  "Of course! Thomas awaits you and the lady in the next room."

  Thomas Treadwell shook Indy's hand with a firm, almost intense grip. He turned and with a small bow offered his greetings to Caitlin.

  "I won't burden you with a speech," Treadwell told them both. "But I bring you the deep gratitude of our government and the Italian government. You already know that Sir William's testiness with you, Indy, is simply his way of expressing his own gratitude for once again raising the name and reputation of London University to great heights."

  "I thought you weren't going to make a speech," Indy observed.

  "Right. Cordas and Scruggs are the first order of business. There will be a speedy trial; that I assure you. Your presence as witnesses is vital. Caitlin for what happened at the Glen, and afterward. You, Indy, for the attempted killings on the zeppelin flight and also what happened in Florida. I also assure you the trial will be brief."