Indiana Jones and the Unicorn's Legacy

by Rob MacGregor

  Suddenly, Indy knew what was going on. "It's not the credit that he wants. It's the artifacts."

  "You got it, Jones. There are more rooms and more relics, and I'm going to collect what's mine."

  "They're not yours to sell," Mara snapped. "You're not a treasure hunter. You're a scientist."

  "Think again," Indy said.

  Walcott waved the gun. "Enough talk. Get back into that room. I want to see how you got here."

  As Indy retreated to the first chamber, he spotted his pack on the floor. His whip was inside it. But before he could do anything about it, Mara and Walcott moved into the cavern with him.

  "Where's the entrance?" Walcott asked.

  Mara pointed to the hole.

  Walcott grabbed Mara by the back of the neck and pushed her toward the hole. He held the gun to her head as he peered through the hole. "So it goes right down to the river. Very good."

  "Leave her alone, Walcott," Indy growled as he moved between his pack and the Englishman.

  "If you don't want me to hurt her, you'd better do what I say." Walcott backed away from the opening, still holding Mara by the neck. "I want you to crawl feet first through that hole, Jones."

  Indy knew instantly that Walcott planned to shoot him and then push his body into the river. He had to take a chance and do it fast. He held up his hands and pleaded: "Please, don't kill us. Don't kill us." He bent over and clutched his stomach. "Oh, I don't feel so good." He said it in a high-pitched, hysterical voice.

  Walcott laughed, and as he did Indy grabbed his pack and flung it over his shoulder. But in his rush, he missed his target. I'm dead, he thought.

  Walcott aimed his gun at Indy's head. "You bloody, no-good..." Mara threw her body across Walcott's legs, catching him behind the knees, and the gun exploded into the cave ceiling. Indy dived, tackling Walcott around the waist, and they rolled over as they fought for the gun. It fired again, then again. Indy grabbed Walcott's wrist and slammed it down, and the gun fell from the Englishman's grasp. Walcott lunged for the weapon, but Mara kicked it out of his reach.

  Indy jerked the whip from his pack and lashed it at Walcott as he crawled for the revolver. The lab instructor yelled in pain as the knot at the end of the whip caught him across his cheek. He reared back, then reached for the gun, but the whip caught his arm and Indy pulled him away from the weapon. Walcott struggled, but Mara scooped up the gun and aimed it at him.

  "Stop!" Mara yelled.

  "The game's over, fellow," Indy said.

  "Hey, can't you chaps take a little joke?" Walcott chuckled, holding up his hands and grinning. "I was just testing you."

  "Some joke, Roland," Mara said.

  "We passed the test, but you failed," Indy countered.

  Walcott unraveled the whip from his arm. "I hope you're not taking this seriously. Of course, the artifacts will go to the Sorbonne."

  "And you're going to jail for attempted murder." Indy glanced at Mara. "Better give me the gun. I don't trust him."

  As she passed it to him, Walcott suddenly dashed for the wall, dived, and disappeared through the hole. A second later, they heard a splash as he struck the water. Indy peered down into the darkness. "Walcott?" he yelled.

  Water gurgled through the silence.

  "I tell you one thing. I won't miss him. Not a bit," one of the students said as they all sat on the shore of the river waiting for the police to return. "Me neither," someone else said.

  Indy and Mara had returned to camp and spread the word about what had happened. Oddly enough, no one had seemed overly surprised about Walcott's murderous assault. While Indy walked into Montignac to report the incident, Mara led the others to the cave, presumably to search for Walcott. When he returned with the gendarme and a few villagers, Indy found Mara and a couple of the others waiting outside the cave while the rest of them roamed about inside it, examining the rock art and the figurines.

  The gendarme took charge, ordering everyone out of the cave. Now, while the villagers conducted their own search, Indy was growing tired of listening to the cynical comments of his fellow students, and decided to take a walk.

  "Can I join you?" Mara asked.

  "Sure."

  "They're all acting so giddy, like it's a big joke," she said.

  "They weren't in the cave with us." Indy gazed toward the point where the river reappeared from under the hills. He saw the gendarme in the distance moving toward them.

  "Still..."

  "I know. I'll be glad when this is all over, and we're back in Paris," Indy said as they headed toward the gendarme.

  "Me, too."

  He smiled at Mara. "Maybe we can get together and go down in the sewers or something."

  She didn't answer for a few seconds. "I'd like to do that, but..."

  "So you have a boyfriend?"

  "No, it's not that. I like you, Indy. I really do. It's just that I'm leaving Paris next week."

  "You're skipping next semester?"

  "I'm not coming back to the Sorbonne. I've got a scholarship to finish my Ph.D. at the University of Rome. It's really the place to be for art history."

  "I'm happy for you... I think. Good luck."

  "I wish I'd met you earlier," she said, wistfully.

  Indy shrugged. "It happens that way sometimes."

  "Will you write me?" she asked.

  "If you want."

  She touched his arm. "I'd like that. I'll write you when I get settled."

  "There's no sign of the body on the other side of the hills where the river comes out," the gendarme said as he reached them. "Of course, that doesn't mean much. The body could be trapped underground somewhere, or it might have floated down river."

  "But you do think he's dead?" Mara asked.

  "He probably broke his neck in the fall."

  Maybe, Indy thought. For some reason, he couldn't let go of the thought that Walcott might have somehow survived and escaped.

  3

  The Three R's

  New England—May 1928

  Men in white overalls stood on long ladders trimming the lattice of ivy vines that threatened to turn a square window into a porthole. They worked under the watchful eye of a gargoyle, which stared down from the cornice of the old brick building. Below them, students crowded the sidewalks of the campus mall as they hurried between classes.

  Indy paused a moment watching the work. He took in a deep breath of spring air, then moved on. A couple more weeks of classes and he'd be free, he thought, and he smiled to himself. His bags were already packed and his train ticket for Cortez, Colorado, was on his dresser.

  It would be a great summer, and his thoughts were already skipping ahead to his plans to pursue the three R's—roaming, recreation, and romance. The first two were assured, and the last was a fair possibility as things stood right now. Of course it would all be lumped under a fourth R, research, the real reason for his trip, and the reason the college was supporting it. But as research went, this summer's work in Four Corners would be a labor of joy.

  Not only would he be returning to the Southwest, where he'd spent several years of his youth, but he was meeting up with Mara Rogers for the first time since he said good-bye in Paris four years ago. Their romance had been cut short before it had even blossomed, but in the last couple of years, they'd rekindled it through the mail, with their letters becoming more and more frequent.

  As he reached the administration building, two coeds from one of his classes crossed his path and bumped into him. He knew the collision hadn't been accidental, but he apologized anyway. "Professor Jones, have you read that new book, Anthropology and Modern Life, by Franz Boas? I heard that it confutes the theory of a master race?"

  Indy smiled. "I've heard of it, Millie, but to tell you the truth I've been too busy studying ancient life. Maybe one of these days, though, I'll catch up to modern times. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got a luncheon date."

  "I wonder who his date is," the coed said as he walked away.

  He ro
de the elevator to the top floor of the administration building accompanied by a professor with bushy white eyebrows and a cane. He was still in a good mood and without thinking about it started humming a popular song from the radio. The old professor frowned, then asked: "Do I detect an attempt to hum 'Makin' Woopee ?"

  Indy laughed. "Well, it ain't 'Button Up Your Overcoat.'"

  The elevator squeaked to a stop, and he stepped out onto the plush carpeting of the faculty club. Rich mahogany paneling and massive paintings of former presidents of the college covered the walls. Several overstuffed chairs were spread about the lobby area, most of them taken by men reading the New York Times and smoking pipes.

  "Good afternoon. Can I help you, Professor..."

  Indy turned to see a man with slicked-back hair who was garbed in a tuxedo. "Jones. I'm waiting for someone. He should be here any time."

  "I'll put your name down for a table for two," the maitre d' said, and he walked away.

  Indy preferred having lunch at a coffee shop on the outskirts of the campus when he didn't eat it in his office, but he knew that Marcus Brody would appreciate the quieter, more august surroundings of the faculty club. As he looked around for a chair, he spotted a couple of his colleagues from the archaeology department seated on a couch. They were glancing toward him and exchanging comments. Swell, he thought. Now he had to go over and chat like they were good friends. But he was saved as the elevator door opened and Brody stepped out.

  "There you are, Indy. Good to see you." Brody smiled and gave Indy a paternal pat on the shoulder. "Hope I haven't kept you waiting."

  "Not at all, Marcus." Indy took the older man by the arm. "C'mon. There's a table waiting for us."

  They'd barely been seated when a waiter arrived and took their orders, Hungarian goulash for Brody, and a bowl of minestrone for Indy. "So, I was in town, and decided to stop by and see how things were going," Brody said.

  "Couldn't be better. I like the college and the town, but most of all I like the fact that I'm not as confined as I was when I was teaching Celtic archaeology."

  Indy had lost his assistant professorship at the University of London because his interest in Celtic archaeology had waned. He'd wanted to explore other ancient cultures and that had been seen as a lack of commitment. Here, it was another story. Instead of specializing in a particular culture, his interest focused on the archaeology of ancient languages and symbols. It was a means of opening doors for him to the study and exploration of any culture and any time period. It was just what he wanted.

  "Well, I'm glad to hear it." Brody nervously threaded and unthreaded his fingers. "I've heard good reports."

  Brody had been a benign substitute father in the years since Indy had forsaken linguistics for archaeology and his real father had stopped talking with him. Brody, in fact, had guided his career, recommending him for his current position, and had also played a role in helping him land his first teaching job in London. Indy knew him well and could always tell when something was on his mind.

  "Now tell me what you really want to talk about. What is it, Marcus?"

  Brody pulled his fingers apart and flattened his hands against the table. "I'm just a little confused about this matter concerning your relationship with some of your female students."

  Indy laughed. "There's nothing to it."

  "Where there's smoke, there's usually fire, Indy."

  "In this case, the fire's been on the low burner for quite awhile."

  "How do you account for these rumors?" Brody persisted.

  Indy shrugged. "It's just the statistics, Marcus. Some of my colleagues are a bit jealous."

  "Statistics?"

  Indy was only in his second year at the college and already there was a waiting list to attend his classes. But the statistic which excited the most curiosity was the male-female makeup of his classes. "Three quarters of my students are women, and ninety percent of archaeologists are men. Those statistics."

  "I see," Marcus said as their lunches arrived. "That is a bit unusual," he added after the waiter had moved away.

  Indy didn't bother telling Brody that he'd become the butt of a running series of jokes in the department. Jones's career goal is to put skirts on every other archaeologist.... Have you heard that he's going to teach a course in how to apply makeup to skulls?.... He's teaching a special seminar on how to use a trowel without breaking your fingernails or getting your knees dirty.... I understand his lectures on fertility rites are especially popular.

  Brody pointed his fork at Indy. "Maybe it is about time you get involved with someone again. It's been quite a while since Deirdre died."

  Deirdre Campbell had been the love of his life, and Indy still doubted that he'd ever meet anyone quite like her again. But he knew he had to move on, and he'd finally put her behind him.

  Indy swallowed a spoonful of minestrone. "Marcus, I'm not abstaining from women. I just haven't found the right one."

  Since joining the staff, he'd had casual relationships with a graduate student in history and a teaching assistant in the literature department. But both had heard the rumors about him and his students, and ended the relationship in spite of his denials. If they didn't believe him, he figured their friendship wasn't worth anything anyhow.

  Brody nodded, a pensive look on his face. "Indy, there was another reason I wanted to see you today."

  Now what? Indy wondered.

  "This August there's going to be a month-long symposium on the archaeology of ancient Rome. The museum is one of the sponsors. You know we have the largest Roman exhibition, outside Rome, that is. Anyhow, I thought you might like to take part. I can arrange for your transportation. You'd be working for me, and I just bet you'd even meet some very interesting young—"

  "Marcus, I appreciate the thought, but I've already got plans for the summer. I am going out West, and as it happens, I am going to be seeing someone."

  Brody looked disappointed, but only for a moment. "I suppose I should've asked earlier. What are you going to do?"

  He told him about his plans, and about Mara.

  "It sounds as if you two do have a few things in common," Brody commented when Indy finished.

  It was true. Both he and Mara had returned to America for new starts, and Indy's interest in the pre-Columbian rock art of the Southwest happened to be shared by Mara. Not only did she live in Santa Fe, New Mexico, but she'd grown up in Bluff, Utah, the town Indy was planning to use as his base for excursions into the surrounding canyons.

  "So you're going to meet out in the desert. It's not my cup of tea for a romance, but I can just bet you're going to have quite a time."

  Indy smiled slyly. "She wanted to make sure that I arrive in time for the solstice. Maybe she has some sort of fertility ritual in mind."

  Indy was still thinking about his lunch with Brody as he walked down the hall toward his next class. He'd almost reached the door when he heard the department secretary calling his name. He turned and greeted the bespectacled young woman. "Professor Jones, glad I saw you. This just came for you." She handed him a telegram.

  "Thanks, Amy. Are you going to sit in on my class today?"

  "Nope. I've got a lunch date with a physics professor."

  "What about me?"

  She laughed. "You're just too slow, Indy. I couldn't wait forever."

  "Yeah, maybe so. But when your physics prof starts coming on strong with relativity theory, you'll wish you were over here listening to me talk about old bones."

  "Maybe so," she said, and she moved off.

  Indy glanced at the telegram and headed down the hall. "You better hurry, Jones," one of his colleagues sniped from across the corridor. "They're already batting their eyes in anticipation."

  Indy ignored him and stepped into the classroom just as the bell rang. He greeted the students. They were an attractive bunch, he thought as he scanned their faces. Most of the girls were dressed in calf-length skirts with white blouses and colored ribbons in their hair. The boys wore
blazers and ties. And, once again, there were more females than males. He set the telegram on the podium and opened his notebook. On either side of the class were glass cabinets with neatly arranged artifacts: bone fragments, pottery shards, a couple of skulls, stone spearheads, clay figurines, and a necklace or two made of quartz crystals and turquoise. At the rear of the class was a slide projector, one of the latest additions to the classroom. That was the advantage of teaching in a private college. There was always money for frills.

  Indy pulled on his black, wire-framed glasses and briefly examined his notes. He adjusted his tie, peered over the glasses at the students, and launched into his lecture without even bothering to introduce the topic. "I think you'll be surprised to know that one of the most important discoveries in the history of archaeology was made not by a prominent archaeologist, but by a little girl. We archaeologists usually don't like to admit such things, but I'll tell you about it anyhow and we'll keep it a secret between us... at least until the final exam."

  The students laughed at the joke and groaned at the mention of the exam. "The little girl's name was Maria de Sautuola. One day in 1879, she accompanied her father, who was exploring a cave on his property in Altamira near the northern Spanish coast. While Daddy was digging in the entryway of the cave in the hopes of finding artifacts, little Maria was gallantly exploring the cave on her own. Suddenly, Maria shouted, 'Toros pintados!' Painted bulls. Covering the walls were paintings of extinct bisons. Nothing like it had ever been seen in Europe."

  Indy paused as most of the students furiously scribbled notes. "However, science is usually slow to recognize new things and this discovery was no different. No scholars of the time believed that Stone Age Man had the ability to create graceful paintings of the sort that were found at Altamira. For twenty years, the paintings were seen as a fraud."

  He looked down at his notes. "The well-known artist, E. Lemus Y Olmos, wrote this about the paintings: 'By their composition, strength of lines, and proportions, they show that their author was not uneducated, and that though he was not a Raphael, he must have studied nature.' Lemus concluded that the paintings were 'simply the expression of a mediocre student of the modern school.'"