Indiana Jones and the Unicorn's Legacy

by Rob MacGregor

  What good did it do for Shannon to spend hours reading the Bible when he was so inconsiderate? He didn't even give Indy a warning. Nothing. Just drove away, and left behind his whip and hat, as if Indy would need them to get back to town.

  An old man with a big white beard pulled up in a buckboard as Indy approached the boardinghouse he and Shannon had checked into when they'd arrived in town. "What can I do for you, sir?"

  "You seen a 'twenty-four Ford around?"

  "I've seen more than one around from time to time," the man said as he climbed down. "Any Ford in particular you looking for?"

  "Yeah. Mine. My friend and I were just at Sand Island and he took off without me. I thought he'd be here."

  "You staying here?"

  "That's right."

  "Are you Shannon?"

  "No, Jones. How do you know Shannon?"

  "Professor Jones?"

  "Yeah, who are you?"

  "I own the place. Name's Oscar Smithers. But you can call me Smitty. Everyone else does. The woman who checked you in was Rosie, my wife."

  "Glad to meet you." They shook hands.

  Smitty took off his hat, revealing a bald pate, fringed by long wisps of white hair. The man's sad brown eyes studied him. "What are you doing here, anyhow? I thought you were out at Mesa Verde."

  "Who told you that?"

  "My daughter. She went off looking for you."

  Indy was more baffled than ever. "Who's your daughter, and why would she know anything about me?"

  "Her name's Mara. She said she was going to meet you here in Bluff."

  "Mara Rogers?"

  "That's right. After her mother and I divorced, the old lady moved to Santa Fe and took back her maiden name and gave it to the girl, too. Didn't want anything to do with me, anymore. I didn't see Mara again until she was eighteen."

  Indy didn't want to hear the family history. More immediate matters were on his mind. "But I got a telegram from Mara saying she couldn't meet me."

  "Don't know nothin' about that. I took her on my buckboard all the way to Cortez, and she got herself a horse and a guide to lead her into Mesa Verde."

  "But why did she think I went there?"

  "She just seemed to know. But to tell you the truth, Professor, the girl and I aren't on the best terms. I paid for all her schooling over in Europe, and even bought her a little place in Santa Fe when she came back. But she don't appreciate it. When she comes around, she usually talks more to Rosie than me."

  Indy was exasperated. Smitty was no help.

  "Now what's this about your Ford?" Smitty asked when Indy didn't respond.

  With the news of Mara, he'd almost forgotten about Shannon. "I came here with a friend. He drove off from Sand Island with my Ford."

  "So ya walked back?"

  "Yeah, I walked."

  Smitty shrugged. "Ain't a bad walk.... Say, there was a fellow here asking about you this morning. Didn't leave no name, though."

  "What did he look like?" Indy asked.

  "I'd say he was a few years older than you. Bigger than you. A round face with a goatee. Curly hair about the color of the sandstone and a turned-up little nose. Pushy fella. I took him for sort of a troublemaker."

  "What did he want with me?"

  "Didn't stick around to talk. Had some English way of talkin', too. Bloody this, bloody that."

  Indy had no idea what was going on. None of it made sense. Everything around him had suddenly shifted into a strange twisted nightmare. It all started about the time he crawled into that crevice. And he had the feeling it was only beginning.

  6

  Walcott's Call

  Walcott inhaled deeply from his cigarette and blew the smoke over the head of the man in front of him. He had been waiting for a half an hour outside of the telegraph office in Cortez, and there was still no sign of his benefactor. He hated waiting for people, but he had no choice. Diego Calderone, after all, was going to pay him a fortune for the staff.

  He lit another cigarette off the burning end of the last one, then crushed out the other with his heel. Two men entered the tavern across the street, and he wished he was with them. He needed a drink, and he'd get one when he was finished with Calderone. Maybe two or three. And why not? Their plan was working out just fine. They'd lured Mara to Mesa Verde, and now they had Jones. Tonight, they'd let them escape and Mara would do the rest.

  Walcott had found out about the precious relic years ago when he was studying at the Sorbonne. He was working weekends in an antique shop when a young woman walked in one day and said she wanted to sell an old family document which purported to be proof of the 1798 sale of an alicorn, or unicorn's horn, to an ancestor of hers. She said her mother had recently died, and she'd found the paper among her belongings. Walcott not only didn't believe in unicorns or their horns, but considered the document worthless. But he liked the woman and wanted to get to know her, especially when he found out that she was also a student at the Sorbonne.

  Walcott paid Mara Rogers five pounds for the document. She tried to get a couple more pounds out of him, but he held firm. Instead, he invited her to dinner. After a moment's hesitation, she'd accepted. Over dinner, she talked more about the alicorn, and its history. He was impressed when she said that it had been owned by an emperor and later housed in St. Mark's Cathedral in Venice, and that she could prove it.

  It occurred to Walcott that he might be able to buy the relic itself from her for next to nothing. Mara was being supported by her father, but not very well. She'd no doubt be grateful. The alicorn was probably just a piece of carved elephant tusk, but its historical value might make it worth obtaining. Besides, he might even find someone who thought it was a real unicorn's horn, and that would greatly increase its value. But he didn't want to sound too eager, or Mara would want too much for it. So he hadn't said anything that first night.

  But a week later, when he saw Mara at the Sorbonne, Walcott invited her to go see the cave paintings with him in southwestern France. On the second day of the trip, he'd casually asked her about selling the relic to him, but she hadn't given him an answer. She said she would think about it. Well, she'd had years to think. Her time was up, and he was going to get it one way or another. Walcott blew out a cloud of smoke as the door of the tavern opened, and a man in a fancy wool suit stepped outside. Calderone. So he's been over there drinking while I'm waiting out here. The bloody... Control yourself, Roland. Calderone's going to make you rich.

  The Italian walked with his head held high, and he carried a shiny, black cane even though he didn't seem to need it. He looked out of place in Cortez. It was hard to believe that someone with such an aristocratic demeanor was a leader of a resistance force. But Calderone was intent on overthrowing Benito Mussolini from power, and the two brawny bodyguards, who walked a few paces behind him, showed that he meant business.

  Calderone never even looked at Walcott. But as he walked by, he uttered one word: "Inside."

  Walcott followed him into the telegraph office and over to a high table used by customers for composing messages while standing. The two thugs stayed outside. "So how did it go?" Calderone spoke under his breath as he took out an expensive-looking fountain pen and opened the bottle of ink on the table.

  Walcott stubbed out his cigarette on the floor. "Just like we planned. No problem."

  "Are you sure?" Calderone was a handsome man with slicked back hair, a trimmed mustache, and a black mole on his cheek.

  "I saw him get picked up myself."

  "Good." He scrawled something on a piece of paper. "And our young lady friend?"

  "She's not talking yet."

  Calderone smiled as he scratched out a few words and composed another line. "I didn't think she would. But now she's ready to go get it, don't you agree?"

  "I think so."

  "Good. Something has come up. I can't wait any longer. I have to leave for Rome today."

  "But we're so close."

  Calderone waved a hand. "It might take another
few days yet. I can't afford being away any longer." He handed Walcott an envelope. "You'll find enough money here for your train and boat tickets to Italy, and expenses. When you get the staff, leave immediately. Don't waste any time."

  In a deadly cold voice, he added: "And don't let me down. Do you understand?"

  Walcott slipped the envelope inside his jacket. "Don't worry."

  "So, how are you going to let them escape?" Calderone asked.

  Walcott was so pleased about the money and the fact that Calderone wouldn't be breathing down his neck any longer that he had to think a moment to recall his plans. With Jones involved, he knew it probably wasn't going to take much for them to get away. "I was thinking I'd send one of my boys down into the kiva later tonight to get Mara. You know, let Jones think the worst. I'm sure he won't sit still for that."

  Calderone chuckled to himself. "That's good. Make it someone who's guarding him. Do it after everyone else is asleep. But make sure Mara and Jones don't suspect anything. Maybe the guard should actually think he's going to get the woman. You know, as a bonus for good work. That'll make it real."

  "What if he shoots Jones?" Walcott asked.

  "So what? Just make sure he doesn't shoot her."

  The Englishman nodded. Even though he thought Calderone was a fool for wasting his time chasing the staff, he had to admit that the Italian was a clever tactician.

  Shrewd was the word. More shrewd than Walcott knew, or even suspected.

  Indy paced under a cottonwood tree outside the boardinghouse. He wracked his mind, trying to make some sense of everything that had happened. Who was the guy with the English accent? Why did Shannon take off with his car? And why did Mara say she wasn't going to be able to meet him, and then arrive here anyhow, just to go off to Mesa Verde to look for him? Why Mesa Verde?

  It was baffling. All of it.

  "Professor Jones?"

  Indy turned as Smitty stepped out of the house after taking a box of groceries inside. "I've been thinking. Maybe your friend just went for a drive while you were studying the rock drawings. He could be back there now waiting for you. We can ride down on the buckboard if you want."

  Indy shook his head. "If that's the case, he can just drive back here himself when he gets tired of waiting for me." Even though Indy doubted that Shannon had simply stolen his car and gone off on his own, he couldn't imagine him hanging around Sand Island for long, either. Something else was going on, and the more he thought about it, the more he suspected that all the puzzling occurrences were somehow related.

  "Smitty, if Mara went to Mesa Verde, spent a day looking for me, then came back, would she be here yet?"

  The old man ran his fingers through his beard. "Probably not for another day."

  "Does she come around here much?"

  "The last couple of years since she got back from Italy, we've been seeing more and more of her. Where did you meet her? She didn't say much about you."

  "Paris... well actually it was in southwestern France on a field trip."

  "I'll tell you one thing about her. She's an independent sort. Women never used to be that way, you know. This one goes off to Paris and Rome by herself to get more education than any woman needs. Sometimes she goes wandering around the desert alone, too. That's dangerous for a girl."

  "Can I see the room where she stayed, and maybe talk to Rosie?"

  Smitty shrugged. "Don't see why not. She's a little mad at me right now because she wants her old granddaddy to move in with us. He lives way out in the middle of nowhere. But I'm against it. We lose another room, and anyhow that old man can take care of hisself."

  They walked into the two-story house and climbed the stairs. "You got a great house, Smitty."

  "Biggest one in Bluff," Smitty said, matter-of-factly. "Most of the houses here were built around 1880 after the Mormons arrived. I'm not a Mormon myself. I like my booze too much. At least, I used to. Don't drink anymore. Decided to rent out the extra bedrooms, because people kept coming around all the time, asking if I rented rooms."

  He paused at the top of the stairs. Then he added in a quieter voice, "Besides, I needed the money. Most of what I put away from prospecting went right to Mara's education. I promised her mama that I'd pay as long as she wanted to go to school, and that girl just kept on going."

  "Mara recommended the place in one of her letters," Indy said. "I'm surprised she didn't mention her father owned it."

  "I'm not. That's the way she is with me. She only recommended it because it's where she figured she would be staying."

  Smitty opened the door of a room and they moved inside. The room was clean and tidy. "Did Rosie find anything when she cleaned after Mara left?"

  "Don't think so."

  Indy looked under the bed and in the closet. He went through the dresser drawers, then walked over to a desk. There was a Bible and a copy of the Book of Mormon in one of the drawers. Nothing else. He was about to give up when he noticed a slip of paper in a trash basket next to the desk. It was a note to Mara's attention. Indy read it aloud.

  "I got here early, and went directly to Mesa Verde. Why don't you join me? I'll be at Spruce Tree House. Indy."

  "Well, I'll be," Smitty said.

  "You didn't see it before now?" Indy asked.

  "Nope."

  Just then Rosie walked by and Smitty called to her. She was a Navajo, who looked to be in her midforties, probably twenty years younger than Smitty. Her long raven hair was tied in a braid. Her skin was bronze, and her face was round, with high cheekbones and dark eyes. "Do you know anything about this here note?"

  She glanced at it. "I found it in an envelope a couple of days ago. It was taped to the outside door. I gave it to Mara when she arrived."

  "Thanks for telling me," Smitty groused.

  "Nothing to tell you," she shot back. "It was just an envelope."

  "Did she say anything to you about the message?" Indy asked.

  Rosie shook her head. "She just said she thought that she'd be back in a few days. That's all."

  "Been many strangers around here lately?" Indy asked.

  "Just your friend. Did he find you?"

  "Jack? You saw Jack?"

  "No, the Englishman," Rosie said. "I forgot to tell you about him when you checked in."

  "I already told him about that fellow," Smitty interrupted.

  "But he was back again. I told him you were at Sand Island. I thought he was going right out to look for you."

  "I don't know what's going on," Indy said, "but it's starting to come together."

  "What do you mean?" Smitty asked.

  "I've got to get to Mesa Verde. I've got the feeling Mara's in trouble, and so is Jack."

  "Well, let's hop in the buckboard and get on out there," Smitty said.

  Kivas were never meant to serve as jails, Mara thought ruefully. The round underground chambers were the spiritual centers of Anasazi villages. They were places where the ancients gathered for sacred rites, where they supposedly journeyed into the underworld or transformed into wild beasts and prowled the desert or flew to distant places. But here she was, a prisoner, at the mercy of a man who she had thought died four years ago.

  Even though it was abysmally dark in the kiva, Mara had explored every inch of it. It was about fifteen feet across and at least ten feet deep. Its single entrance, a hole in the center of the roof, was covered and of course there was no ladder to assist her in escaping. She had visited enough Anasazi ruins to know the layout of the kivas. Directly below the entrance was the ancient fire pit. On one side was a block of stone that had been used to deflect the heat and behind it was a ventilator shaft in the wall. Unfortunately, the shaft was far too narrow to even consider as an escape route.

  Opposite the fire pit was the sipapu. It was a fist-sized hole in the floor, a symbolic opening in the earth through which the Anasazis thought their ancient ancestors had risen from the underworld. Mara wasn't one to believe in spirits and ghosts, but now she wished that the spirits of
the ancients were around and could see what was going on. Maybe they would protect her from these horrible men, who had forced her into the kiva.

  She figured she'd been here nearly twenty-four hours now. But how long could they hold her before the authorities showed up? Mesa Verde, after all, was a national monument, and Spruce Tree House one of the larger pueblos.

  Yesterday had been the worst day of her life. Walcott and his brutish sidekick had climbed down into the kiva with her and had demanded to know where the staff was hidden. She kept telling him she didn't know. And each time, the heavy-browed goon had gestured obscenely with his torch. It wasn't hard to imagine what he had in mind for her. But Walcott, thankfully, held him at bay. She'd slept fitfully and she hadn't seen Walcott now for hours. Maybe he'd finally realized that she was telling the truth, and now he was trying to figure out what to do about it.

  Mara heard muffled voices, and suddenly bright sunlight flooded the kiva. She squinted and held a hand in front of her face. A ladder was being lowered through the hole. As her eyes adjusted, she saw a confusion of arms and legs and shouts. Then abruptly a man dropped to the floor beside her.

  "Have fun, Jones," someone yelled from above. Then the cover on the hole slammed shut.

  "Indy?"

  "Who's there?" a voice answered.

  Even though she hadn't seen Indy for years, she knew immediately it wasn't him. It was a trick. "You're not Indy."

  The man made a scraping noise as he moved. "Never said I was. Who are you? Where are we?"

  "Stay where you are!" she snapped.

  "I'm not going anywhere. My name's Shannon. Just tell me what's going on, and I'd appreciate it if you'd take off this blindfold and untie my hands."

  Mara walked around behind him. Her eyes were adjusted to the dark; she could vaguely make out his shape. She pulled off his blindfold.