Indiana Jones and the Unicorn's Legacy

by Rob MacGregor

  Then he heard a voice like a thought, but it was so strongly impressed upon him that he knew it was not his own. It was as if the thought was radiated directly by the double-headed eagle.

  Only he may possess me in whom there is no guile; in whom all passion has been transmuted into compassion, all natural ignorance into divine wisdom, all selfishness into selflessness; for I am a sacred emblem of all greatness, all perfection, and all truth. I am the symbol of the gatekeeper, for with one face I behold the radiant countenance of my Creator and with the other, the expanse of the universe which He has fashioned. I clutch the alicorn, the flaming spirit-fire with which the miracle of my existence was wrought. I am the symbol of the Initiator who through the ages carries Ganymedes upon his back into the presence of the gods.

  The light dimmed around him, and Indy looked back at the triangular entryway. It was pulsing open and shut, open and shut, and with each pulse, the opening grew smaller and tighter, constricting like the pupil of an eye. He knew he had to leave and quickly, or he would be trapped here for eternity. But it would be so easy to stay. A part of him urged him to flee quickly; another part of him asked, why? What would be better than moving further and further into the warm embrace of the underworld?

  That was where he was, the underworld. He didn't belong here. Couldn't stay here. He rushed toward the entryway, threw himself down, and crawled on his hands and knees. But the opening was already tight; it was about to close. He flattened out, wriggling forward as fast as he could, fearing that at any moment he'd be caught, frozen in rock at the gate to the underworld.

  His head, then a hand, slipped out of the narrowing tunnel, and he pulled himself through. He dropped onto the floor of the outer rock corridor. The chimes had stopped. Sunlight no longer beamed through the crack. Gloom swallowed the passageway. He straddled one of the holes in the floor as he sat up, and rubbed his face.

  Indy looked up at the wall. The sacred Anasazi symbols were there, just as he'd first seen them. But there was no sign of a triangular opening. His feeling of wonder shifted and transformed into suspicion. It must have been some sort of illusion, another trick by Aguila, he told himself. He saw what the old Indian wanted him to see. Aguila must have mesmerized him and imbedded the thought in his mind after he'd drunk the tea. When you find these symbols, this is what you will see.

  His gaze dropped to the object in his hands, a magnificent silver and ivory staff, the unicorn's horn. It must have been disguised somehow. That was the only logical explanation. In spite of his certainty that he was the victim of an illusion, he could't help being astonished by the staff. It was both myth and reality, a relic and a legacy from the ancient past.

  17

  Twists of the Horn

  "Nice going, Indy. Where'd you find it?" Shannon's lanky figure filled the entrance to the corridor.

  "Jack, what happened to you? What are you doing here?"

  "Never mind. But I think you better give that thing to me."

  "What?" Something was wrong. It didn't sound like Shannon. Then Indy saw the shadow behind his friend, and knew it was Walcott.

  "He's got a gun in my back and he'll use it if you don't cooperate, Indy."

  Walcott passed Shannon a long, hinged box. There was no doubt about its purpose. "Put it in there, Jones," Walcott ordered. "Now."

  Indy wished he could bash the Englishman in the head with the double eagle, but Walcott wasn't taking any chances. Not only was Shannon between them, but Walcott's .38 was cocked. "What are you going to do with it, Walcott? Tell me that."

  "I'm taking it to Italy."

  Indy laughed. "What are you going to do, sell it to Mussolini?"

  "Not a bad guess, but wrong. It happens that one of his opponents is very interested in it. He even thinks it will protect him from Mussolini."

  "I don't believe it."

  "You know the popes once held unicorn's horns in high regard. This staff, in fact, was taken from St. Mark's in Venice nearly two hundred years ago."

  "So what?"

  "My benefactor, Signore Calderone, is a very religious man, as well as a strong adversary of Il Duce. He believes in the power of unicorn's horn."

  Walcott was serious. Indy was no fan of Mussolini's, but if he had any say in the matter, Walcott wasn't going to take the staff anywhere.

  "Put it gently into the box," the Englishman ordered.

  "You better do what he says, Indy."

  Reluctantly, Indy slid the staff into the box and Shannon carefully slid it under Walcott's good arm. "Try anything and you're dead, Shannon," Walcott warned.

  "If this Calderone finds out about what's happened to the owners of this staff over the last two hundred years, he may not think he's gotten such a good deal," Indy said, stalling for time.

  "Smitty said something about a curse. I don't believe in such rot, and I don't think you do, either. But I appreciate your concern for my benefactor." Walcott's laughter was low and throaty and darkly menacing. "But neither of you is going to be around to tell him anything." He raised his .38 and aimed it at Shannon's head, and the sound of a gunshot exploded in the corridor.

  "No!" Indy yelled.

  Shannon's body jolted, and he tumbled into one of the holes he'd dug. Indy figured he wouldn't even hear the next blast; he'd be dead.

  But Walcott didn't fire right away. There was an odd expression on his face, and suddenly he dropped to his knees. He tottered a moment, fired in the air, and fell forward, dropping next to the box. His back was soaked in blood, and behind him stood Mara, holding Indy's Webley.

  Indy was astonished, and relieved. He looked from Mara to Shannon, who was seated in one of the holes and rubbing his neck. "Are you okay, Jack?"

  "Just surprised I'm alive. I thought that bullet had my name on it."

  "I saw Walcott climbing down the canyon toward this rock," Mara began. "I guess he didn't know I was here. I followed him and Jack, and..."

  Indy stepped over Walcott's body and embraced her. "Everything is going to be okay. It's all over."

  "I had to do it," she said. "I had to stop him. I couldn't let him..."

  He stroked her head. "I know. It's okay. Let's get out of here."

  Mara pulled back from him. "Do you have it?"

  Indy picked up the box and handed it to her as they moved out of the crevice. "It's all yours. I hope you've got a good place for it."

  "Oh, I do." She walked over to a boulder, set down the box, and opened it. "It's beautiful," she said in a hushed voice. "Just beautiful."

  "Where did you find it, anyhow?" Shannon asked, still rubbing his neck. "I was digging all night, and you walk in here and you've got it in five minutes. What did you do, pull it out of your hat?"

  "Five minutes? It seemed like an eternity to me." Indy adjusted his fedora, and glanced uneasily toward Rosie's body, which lay just a few yards away. "Maybe I did pull it out of my hat. That's as good an explanation as any."

  "I've decided I'm going to donate it to one of the Vatican museums," Mara said. "It'll be the best place for it."

  "The Vatican?" Shannon exclaimed. "That's pretty close to Italy, isn't it?"

  "Real close," Indy said. "Mara, did you know that Walcott—"

  Smitty suddenly stepped out from behind a boulder, his .45 in his hand. "She ain't taking it to no Vatican. She's gonna take it to—"

  "You betrayed me!" Mara shouted. "You were working with Walcott."

  "And for the same fellow as you, Mara. Walcott found out you were dealing with Calderone, so he made his own deal with him."

  "You're lying." Mara closed the cover on the box and reached for the Webley.

  "Nope. 'Fraid not, girl." Smitty's hand tightened on the .45. "You're no better than Walcott. You just want the money from Calderone, and you were going to cut me out. You never even said a word to me, and after I spent the last of my money on your schooling year after year." He turned to Indy. "This Calderone was her boyfriend, and now she thinks he's some kind of business partner."

/>   "Stop it!" she yelled. She pointed the Webley at Smitty. "Put it down, Dad. I'm not kidding. You shoot me and I'll shoot you right back."

  Smitty was wavering. His eyes were darting around. He didn't like the turn of events. "Okay." He set the .45 on the ground. "What are ya gonna do now, shoot your daddy?"

  "Kick the gun over here."

  Smitty did as she said.

  "Mara," Indy barked. "Give me the gun."

  She spun around, aiming it at Indy. "Stay where you are!"

  "Mara..." Indy held out a hand.

  "Hey, take it easy with that gun," Shannon said.

  Mara glanced over her shoulder and saw Smitty dash behind a boulder. She fired once as he bolted to another rock. Then she spun around and pointed the gun at Indy and Shannon again. She took a step backwards and let out a short, harsh laugh tinged with irony. "That's just like him. He gets in a fix and takes off like a rabbit."

  "The gun, Mara."

  "I'm sony, Indy. Sorry that I have to do this."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "You don't understand."

  "You can say that again." Indy was about to grab for the Webley, but the look of desperation on Mara's face told him that it would be a big mistake. She didn't trust him or Shannon any more than she did Smitty.

  "Don't move or I'll shoot," she said.

  "We're not against you," Indy said. "We didn't know about Smitty, and we weren't with Walcott."

  "Definitely not," Shannon put in.

  "It doesn't matter. Turn around and walk slowly over to that wall. Then put your hands up on it.

  "I can't believe this," Shannon said. "Some vacation."

  "Just go along with her," Indy snapped.

  "Remind me never to go hunting unicorns with you," Shannon muttered.

  "Just stay calm, Jack. Stay calm." Indy placed his hands on the rock wall. Maybe Mara's mind had cracked when she'd realized her father was with Walcott. She was dangerous with that gun in her hand; there was no sense agitating her. He glanced over his shoulder at her.

  "Okay, Indy, get out the key to your car."

  "Mara—"

  "The key, Indy. Now!"

  The sharpness of her tone was forced, Indy thought. She didn't really want to hurt them. But he knew she would shoot in desperation if they defied her. He reached into his pocket and found the key.

  "Okay, throw it over here."

  He half turned and tossed it to her. It landed at her feet.

  She scooped it up and dropped it into a pocket of her khaki slacks. "I don't like doing this. But I have no choice."

  "What are you going to do, Mara?" Shannon asked.

  She didn't answer. A bad sign.

  "You know, Dad was right. I am taking the staff to Calderone."

  "Have a nice trip," Shannon said. "We're not stopping you."

  "Walcott must have found out what I was doing and figured he would beat me to it," Mara continued. "He probably thought that Diego would just forget about me and give him a fortune for the staff."

  Indy knew that Mara had spent nearly two years in Italy after she'd left the Sorbonne, but he had no idea she'd taken a gondola ride with the anti-Fascist underground. She'd never written to him about politics, but then she hadn't written about a unicorn's horn, either, or her friendship with an Indian named Aguila. "If Calderone puts politics first, he probably would do just that."

  "I don't believe it. Diego is an honorable man. He values art and his country's cultural traditions. He's a strong supporter of the Church, and he's not a Communist, either."

  "Let me guess: He's a Sicilian and he's in the mob," Shannon said. "They hate Mussolini from what I hear."

  Mara ignored Shannon.

  The more she talked, the more Indy realized how little he really knew her. "Mara, think about what you're doing," Indy said, making another attempt to bring her to her senses. "We're not against you."

  "I told you I don't want to do this, but I have to. I can't trust you any more than my own father."

  Indy stole a glance over his shoulder and saw that she was standing several feet away, too far for him to lunge for her, but close enough for her to blow the back of their heads off.

  "Don't look at me!" she barked. It would be over in an instant if her aim was accurate. He heard a click as she cocked the Webley.

  She had to do it, Mara thought. She wished she could just walk away, but she couldn't. Not now. They wouldn't let her; they knew too much. Besides, Diego might renege on their deal if he found out that she hadn't kept her promise of secrecy. She'd been nervous and she'd talked, so now she had to kill them. What else could she do? But maybe she was just overreacting. Maybe they wouldn't try to stop her or say anything to anyone about the staff. She was all confused.

  "I really think we ought to talk about this, Mara," Indy said.

  "No reason to get nasty," Shannon said. "If you want to take it to your friend, it's all right with me. We're not stopping you."

  "Shut up." She couldn't think. No, it was too late. She wasn't going to break her promise to Diego. She tightened her grip on the heavy Webley. She held it with both hands, and aimed it at the back of Indy's head. Pull the trigger. Now. Do it.

  But her finger wouldn't move. She couldn't bring herself to shoot him. She took the gun by the barrel and slammed it against his head. He groaned and toppled over. Shannon turned and she struck him on the forehead. His knees buckled and he fell back against the rock.

  Mara hurried away, the encased staff under her arm. She didn't know whether she'd hit them hard enough to kill them or not. The faster she got away from here the better. She'd drive to Santa Fe, then take a train to Miami, where she'd board an ocean liner to Italy. Once in Rome, she'd be safe.

  She'd covered perhaps a mile when the trail along the canyon floor curved around a rock outcropping. As she moved around it, she spotted her father lying next to a pool of water, which had formed at the bottom of a hollow. At first she thought he was asleep. She set down the box next to the trail and climbed down to the pool. She approached him warily, keeping the gun pointed at him. She waited for him to move, but as she stepped closer she saw that his lips were blue. She knelt down beside him. Felt for a pulse. There was none.

  She felt a twinge of anguish as childhood memories flashed through her head. She saw her father singing to her as she sat in his lap, and remembered him pushing her on a swing and her calling for him to push higher, higher. But then other memories, painful memories, flooded through her. He had hurt her and her mother over and over, and he'd deceived her right to the last day of his life. No, she knew she couldn't feel any sorrow for him. He was dead; she was glad.

  She stood up, looked around, trying to figure out what had happened to him. If he'd been bitten by a rattler, he probably wouldn't have died so quickly. Besides, he'd been bitten before, and survived. He'd built up an immunity to the venom. Maybe the shock of Rosie's death and Walcott's deception and her own actions had combined to cause a heart attack. It seemed the most likely explanation, she thought.

  Then she noticed a wooden sign partially covered by shrubbery. She walked over to it, and moved a branch aside. She saw a skull and crossbones, and the words: DANGER! POISON WATER. She stared into the crystal-clear pool. Not a single bug swam in the waters. No sign of life at all, a sure sign of danger, one her father had known. Had he drunk intentionally from the pool, knowing it was poison, or had he thoughtlessly taken a swallow? She would never know.

  She turned away from the pool and her father's body, and walked on. She barely noticed the shadow of an eagle as it crossed her path, and headed down the canyon in the direction from which she had come. Dying of poison, it seemed, had been the legacy of the unicorn's horn since the time unicorns had fallen out of history and turned to myth. But now, thanks to Aguila, it was time for the unicorn's horn to return to history, and to make history.

  18

  Roman Soiree

  Rome—A month later

  It had taken forever,
it seemed, but she was finally here. As Mara stepped down the gangway of the cruise ship, she put all of the complications and scheduling problems she'd encountered out of her head. She would take a train to the center of Rome and call on Diego. He'd be expecting her. The telegram she'd sent him from the ship had been brief and to the point, clear to anyone who understood her mission, yet deceptive to anyone who didn't: Arriving with staff July 26.

  She'd been introduced to him at a party not long after beginning her studies in Rome. He was a serious type, an intellectual who had studied the religious history of Italy and was knowledgeable about religious artifacts. As a way of making conversation, she asked him if he'd ever heard of the alicorn that had been kept in St. Mark's Cathedral in Venice. He not only knew what she was talking about, but corrected her, saying that there had been two such artifacts.

  She'd remarked that she only knew about the one that had been in her family for generations. She was about to tell him about her family's terrible history and how many of its members had blamed the alicorn, but it wasn't the appropriate time. Besides, Diego seemed so impressed that she didn't want to disappoint him. The fact was he'd been enthralled with her from the moment he heard about the alicorn.

  She soon found out he was wealthy, and she liked being in his company. But she didn't really love him, and besides, she knew from things he said that he would never marry her. When he continued to ask about the alicorn, she offered it to him. At first, she hadn't mentioned money. She didn't want to offend him. But when she realized that he considered it to be a relic of power and he was more interested in the alicorn than her, everything changed.

  By the time she finished her studies, they were no longer lovers, but business partners. She returned to New Mexico to search for the missing alicorn. If she found it, Diego would pay her one hundred thousand dollars in cash.