There; he'd done it.
"Where is that American ship, this cruiser, now?"
"I do not know."
"Can you tell us its port of call?"
"I cannot, because I do not know."
"When will the treasure arrive in Chicago?"
He was tempted sorely to say When it gets there, you idiot, but he held his tongue, smiled, and took the exit opportunity. "I'll see what I can find out for you," he told the reporter. "In the meantime," he paused as Dr. William Pencroft was pushed in his wheelchair to the edge of the stage, "this gentleman will attend to your other questions."
At nine P.M. sharp the next night the train with eight boxes of ancient artifacts, plus a pyramid three inches across at its base, four inches in height, began to move from a siding where it had been kept under heavy guard through daylight hours. It rolled slowly onto the main line stretching east from Waterloo and began to pick up speed, and soon thundered steadily toward Dubuque where it would cross the Mississippi River. From the east banks of the river the rail line swung southeast. The train would roll on this track until it reached Savanna and then run east-southeast toward Milledgeville.
Beyond that unimposing railside town lay another community, Polo. Between the two the tracks ran alongside a small river, at the bottom of an appreciable valley nestled between hills.
"X marks the spot," Jack Shannon said to his men. His long thin finger tapped his map. "Right there. Now, we've got to do all this right on the money, y'know? Split the seconds right down their backside, so to speak. When the train stops, Morgan, you and Cappy and Max, you come with me to the third car. Make sure you bring all the stuff, okay?"
"Yah, Jack, okay," came the reply.
They rolled a tank truck across the tracks and shone their headlights on the bright red GASOLINE—DANGER! sign painted on the tank. Then they built a fire beneath the truck. There was no way to tell, of course, that the tank was filled with only water. When the train engineer saw this giant bomb sitting on the tracks there was no doubt he was going to slam on the brakes like there was no tomorrow. That's when they would make their move, and Jack would do just what Indy had given him by way of instruction. On paper, and with drawings, too.
"It's coming!" a lookout called. Far down the tracks they saw the locomotive headlight sweeping back and forth as the train began rounding the curve to the straightaway in the valley. From the engineer's station in that locomotive, the burning tank car and all those headlights would set up the next move.
It came off like clockwork. The locomotive pounded like echoing thunder between the hills. The engineer looked down the tracks, saw light reflecting on the steel rails, and then, as he came close enough to see the blaze beneath the tanker and that magic word GASOLINE, hauled down on the train whistle, locked the brakes, and tossed people in the following cars like tenpins dumped onto the floor.
Shannon's boys used an old trick. At the first car, the doors were thrown open. Armed guards froze when they saw one of their own gripped tightly about the neck, a revolver held to his head. A second man trained a Thompson on the guards. The routine went the same way in each car. Shannon's men used heavy gangster accents.
"Y'make one wrong move, we blow his head off. Y'wanna see his brains splattered all over everywhere? Throw down your guns! Right where we can see 'em! Now, get to the door at the end of the car, get off the train, see? When you get outside I wants you should keep in mind youse is covered with Thompsons and a buncha double-barreled hammers. Everybody does good, nobody gets hurt. When youse is outside, start walking. You'll see a road. Get on it and make pitty-pat with your feet, double time, like the devil hisself is gonna bite y'head off. Move!"
The guard, in the meantime, thrashed about as best he could, putting on an excellent show for the others, who had no way of knowing that the "prisoner" in the hands of the holdup crowd was actually one of Shannon's own men. It worked in the cars with the security teams, and the routine worked perfectly in the third car of the train where the priceless artifacts were kept behind doors barred with iron slats.
Shannon had never understood why they would secure the doors and so often forget the windows. A single burst with a Thompson "opened" the windows. Tear gas grenades followed, misty white swirled within the car, and men choking and with eyes burning hurled open the doors and jumped to the ground, stumbling as far as they could get from the train.
Shannon and his crew clambered into the transport car. Not a soul remained. Quickly they identified the containers with the artifacts. Shannon searched for one with a small pyramid stenciled on its sides. Strangely, unlike the others, it lacked the heavy steel bars and hasps for security. He turned to his men, pointing to the other containers. "Get those things out of here, now!" He glanced outside. "And put out that dumb fire under the truck! Max, you stay here with me."
They opened the marked container. Gold statuary glearned in the overhead lights. Shannon removed one statue of some kind of ancient god. It meant nothing to him. "Max, give me my bag. Move some boxes over here so we can open that sliding trapdoor in the ceiling."
"How did you know about—"
"Just do it!"
Shannon opened the zippered bag. Everything had been prepared for use, including a thick leather case cable-fastened to a line that stretched to a deflated balloon. He removed the small leather bag Indy had given him in Chicago, and placed that item, along with the gold figurine, in the larger bag.
"Max, help me up," he ordered the other man. They climbed the boxes, slid back the trapdoor, and soon were on the railcar roof. Shannon glanced at his watch. Not a moment too soon. He glanced about him. They'd put out the fire by the truck. In the distance he saw the guards running away.
Shannon sat on the roof. He looked about him until he found one of the security rings used atop these cars when security men rode shotgun up here. He snapped a heavy safety hook to the ring, then extended the raglike balloon. "Hang on to this, Max. Whatever you do, don't let it go."
The deflated bag, the lines, and the heavy leather case were stretched out on the car roof. Shannon inserted a thin hose from the pressure container he'd carried with him, turned a valve to full on, and listened to the sharp hiss of gas flowing from the container to the balloon. Quickly the helium inflated, struggling to rise, but was held by Max's weight.
"Okay, Max, let it up slow-like, you got me?"
Max grunted, nodding. He eased off on his grip and the helium balloon, now fully inflated, rose to its maximum reach of thirty feet above the railcar roof. Wires were taped to the restraining line; the wires went from a battery remaining atop the train to two lights on the balloon, one on top, the other on the bottom so that it stood out sharply in the night.
Shannon looked down the tracks to the west. He hadn't had a moment to waste. The light in the sky was brilliant and it was getting bigger and brighter all the time. Thunder boomed down the valley, rebounding from the hills on each side, a roar rasping and howling all at the same time.
"Flatten out!" Shannon yelled to Max. "Hit the deck!"
Both men dropped prone. The light swelled as it rushed at them, the sound pounding against their ears.
Willard Cromwell cinched his seat belt just a tad tighter until he was comfortably snug in the left seat of the Ford Trimotor's cockpit. To his right, Gale Parker kept her finger moving along the map line marking the course of the railroad tracks. As they passed recognizable landmarks she called them out to Cromwell.
"That's Milledgeville. The tracks will swing just a bit northward here," she told him; shouting above the roar of the three Pratt & Whitney engines.
Cromwell clapped a hand to his right ear. "You don't need to shout," he reminded her. "Just use the bloody intercom. We can all hear you quite well. Don't forget that they're listening to you back in the cabin."
She nodded assent. "All right. Just a few miles to go. Can you see where the tracks ease off on that long curve into the valley?"
"Got it," he said brusquely. He was
right at home; this was just like another bomb run, although he'd have to be as accurate as he ever was. He eased in left rudder and a touch of left aileron, a gentle bank to stay directly over the tracks. "Give me the searchlight," he directed her. "We're past the town now and it looks like open country from here on in."
Indy called from the cabin. "Can you see the train yet?"
"We should any moment now, and—yes; there it is! I've got the red lights at the back, and there's a bunch of cars there with their headlights on."
"Let me know the instant you see that double light above the train," Indy called back on the intercom. He lay prone on the cabin floor, a gaping hatch open beneath him, the wind howling inches away. Tarkiz Belem had wedged himself against two seats and he had a powerful death grip on Indy's ankles. Indy could see a few hundred yards ahead of the aircraft.
"I've got that double light atop the train!" Gale sang out. "It looks steady."
Indy and Foulois checked the cable snatch system extending beneath and trailing the airplane. It was the same system used for years by mailplanes to snatch-and-grab mail bags hung on a cable between two high poles; the plane would come in at minimum altitude, trailing a hook system and snatch the bag, and then an electric motor would reel it in.
"Airspeed is ninety-five, 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 rock-steady 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 well-worn 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.
"Uh-huh." 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 straight-in 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 follow-me 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° to settle for the straight-in approach and landing.
"I've got the runway in sight," Cromwell told him.
"Roger that," Rene said; a mome
nt 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. You 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."
Indiana Jones and tyhe Sky Pirates Page 8