Indiana Jones and the Unicorn's Legacy

by Rob MacGregor

  As she stepped onto the dock, a man in a dark coat and hat approached her. "Mara Rogers?" he asked in a thick accent.

  "Yes?"

  The man's eyes darted for an instant to the long, slender box she carried under her arm. "Please come with me." Suddenly, she was surrounded by several identically dressed men who took her luggage and rushed through the crowd.

  "What's going on? Who are you?" She clutched the box tightly to her chest.

  An elegant Pierce-Arrow whispered to the curb and stopped. One of the men opened the rear door, motioning for her to enter. "Who are you and what do you want?" she asked, striving for a confidence she didn't feel.

  "Get in, Mara," said a man's voice from inside.

  She stooped and slid inside, where Diego's dark eyes gleamed.

  "I didn't know it was you. I was getting worried." She was relieved, but at the same time on guard. He leaned over, hugged her, and bussed her on the cheek. She returned the greeting, but didn't linger in his arms. They were business partners now, not lovers. She had to keep that in mind.

  "Everything's going to be just fine. Just fine." Diego was dressed as impeccably as ever, and he smelled of expensive cologne. His mole twitched as he smiled. "Relax, and tell me about your adventure. I want to hear all about it."

  But she wasn't ready to relax. Not yet. "Do you know a man named Roland Walcott?"

  "Who?"

  "Answer me. Do you know him?"

  "I've never heard of him. But please tell me about him."

  She met his gaze, and searched for a sign of deceit. "I hope you're telling me the truth. Because if you're not..."

  "Mara, why are you upset? What did this man do to you?"

  She eased back into her seat. It was over with Walcott. It didn't matter anymore. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." She ran her hands over the polished teakwood box on her lap, and noticed Calderone's shiny black cane with its silver head resting against the door. "I've got something that will make you want to throw away that cane, Diego. Wait till you see it."

  Marcus Brody stared out the window of the airplane that circled above Rome. "It should be a very interesting symposium, Indy. I'm glad that you were able to join me, after all."

  "I'm sure it will be," Indy answered, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

  The summer was only half over, and it had been a disappointing one. But then again, he was lucky he was still alive. Aguila had found Indy and Shannon at the rock that day, and had tended to them. He'd left them with a canteen of bitter tea, and told them to stay where they were. A few hours later, the authorities had arrived and escorted Indy and Shannon out of the canyon. They were taken to a hospital in Blanding, and released the next day. The doctor who had examined them had commented that they were in remarkably good condition, considering their injuries. But when they told him about Aguila's tea, he just laughed and said that he wished he could heal his patients with tea. Upon their release from the hospital, Shannon had called an end to his so-called vacation and returned to Los Angeles, and Indy had headed for the East Coast.

  When he'd arrived in New York, Indy didn't even feel like telling Brody much about what had happened. But Brody pressed him for details and Indy simply gave him Mara's journal. After that the story slowly came out. The cold facts were that his love affair with Mara had never materialized—that she had used him for her own purposes, and left him for dead.

  Brody sensed the pall of depression that had fallen over his young friend, and persuaded Indy to accompany him to the symposium as a way of forgetting about the unfortunate events in the Southwest. Indy had reluctantly agreed. Maybe Brody was right. The trip would do him good. But in the back of his mind a thought lingered: Mara herself might be in Rome. But he had no intentions of doing anything about it, and the possibility that he would see her was so slim it wasn't even worth thinking about how he would react.

  The trimotor plane touched down on the runway, and Brody seemed to relax for the first time since they'd taken off from London on the second leg of their flight. "There's something I've been wanting to tell you. But I've been waiting until we arrived."

  "What is it?" Indy asked, warily.

  "Well, I think you should know that the guest list for the soiree tomorrow evening includes Diego Calderone."

  "What? You told me there were not going to be any political figures involved. No Fascists, no Communists, no—"

  "Shh... not so loud," Brody murmured, glancing around. "You've got to understand that the Calderone family is a great supporter of the arts. He simply couldn't be overlooked, any more than the premier's cultural affairs attache. They'll both be in attendance."

  "Ah, Marcus. Why didn't you say something about this earlier?"

  "I didn't want you spending your whole trip fuming about it, and wondering what you were going to do about it if Mara showed up."

  "Mara! Do you think she will?"

  "I don't know," the museum director mused. "But it would certainly be interesting if Calderone brought her along, and the staff."

  Brody's response made Indy suspicious. "Marcus, did you have anything to do with Calderone's invitation?"

  "Me? Well, there is something more to this matter. I just couldn't stand seeing you moping around, and trying to act as if you'd forgotten about the staff and Mara."

  "All right. Let's hear it. What did you do?"

  "It's not only what I did, but what we're going to do." The door of the trimotor opened and the passengers prepared to disembark. By the time Indy and Brody stepped down onto the runway a few minutes later, Indy had a whole new outlook on his visit to Rome.

  It was still light outside as Indy crossed the Piazza della Republica on his way to the soiree for the opening of the Symposium on the Future of Roman Antiquities. He paused at the fountain in the center of the piazza, where voluptuous bronze women were wrestling with marine monsters amid the sparkle of the bubbling fountain. They didn't look worried; they were smiling. He'd have to take their cue, he thought, and ambled on.

  Indy walked alongside an ancient Roman wall, the facade of the church of Santa Maria degli Angeli, which bordered the piazza. Since it was still early, he decided to go inside. He already knew what he'd see; he'd been here several times in his travels. But he still found the church an architectural curiosity, since it had been built on the site of an ancient public bath.

  As he stepped inside, he looked up at the row of mammoth, red granite columns that were more than five feet in diameter and nearly fifty feet high. They were intact from the original building, the Baths of Diocletian, a colossal structure built about 300 A.D., and the greatest of the ancient baths. In the mid-sixteenth century, Michelangelo converted the central chamber into a church. To Indy, no other building in the city displayed the grandeur of ancient Rome so well.

  Indy walked slowly forward, passing one column after another. He stopped as he saw a lone figure standing near the next column. She was a tall woman with short blond hair. Mara! What was she doing here? He couldn't let her see him, not now. He took a step backwards, hoping to disappear into the shadows, but his foot scraped against the stone floor and the woman turned.

  She was every bit as attractive as Mara, but the resemblance ended there. Indy was relieved. "Quite a remarkable building," he said, smiling politely.

  "Non capisco," she answered, shaking her head. She didn't understand. She turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the stone floor.

  "Me neither," he said to himself. "They should have left it as a bath."

  Outside, Indy followed a path through an expansive garden as he headed to the building behind the church. It was the Museo Nazionale Romano, which occupied the rest of the site of the ancient baths. In the sixteenth century, the building had become a Carthusian monastery before it was adapted into a museum. In recent decades, the building had deteriorated, but during the past year, when it had become known that the international symposium would be held here, a restoration project had been undertaken at what was considered brea
kneck speed. Brody had talked at length about all the preparations, and Indy couldn't help feeling like an insider, privy to all the gossip.

  He took his wire-framed glasses out of his pocket and placed them low on his nose. Then he bent over slightly and walked with a limp as he approached the door, completing his disguise as an old man. With an unsteady hand, he raised his invitation for the guardian of the entrance. Inscribed on it was the name Dr. Felix Schultz. The man nodded and signaled him to enter the hall. Schultz was a professor of classical antiquities in Munich. He was also an ardent supporter of the Nazis, and because of some Nazi activities he had backed out of his plans to take part in the symposium. That, of course, had worked out just fine for Brody and his plan, which had become Indy's plan.

  One of the marks of renovation was immediately apparent. Several mirrors with baroque frames had been added, which not only covered crumbling parts of the walls, but made the hall seem larger and brighter. Indy saw the image of a wrinkled old man with white hair, glasses, and a slight hunch, who was wearing a tuxedo, and realized it was himself. His disguise had aged him forty years. As he gazed in the mirror, Indy also noticed at least half a dozen men dressed in black who looked like security guards. He wondered if they were here to protect the museum's relics or were advance men for Calderone.

  Indy turned away from the mirror. Tables were covered with food that was laid out in layers and arranged in ornate designs too splendid to eat. Beautiful women in gowns and handsome men in tuxedos moved about. Many of the wealthy and well-known members of the florid Roman social set had been invited to complement the international delegates in attendance. Photographers darted among them, snapping pictures. The attractive people seemed to relish the attention; like the food, they were on display, a part of the decor. Mixed among them and barely noticed were others, mostly older and less attractive, the symposium's attendees.

  Indy was tempted to fill a plate with food, but he held off. He hobbled over to the stairs leading to the mezzanine, and slowly climbed them. He found Brody nervously flitting about in a gallery overlooking the main hall. "I've been waiting for you. My God, Indy, I thought you got lost. Where have you been?" Brody didn't wait for Indy to respond. He spoke rapidly in a hushed tone. "He's accepted the invitation, and he's bringing Mara. It's official."

  Their plan seemed so unlikely to succeed that Indy wasn't sure whether he was excited or disappointed. "Good, but will he bring the staff? That's the question."

  "I know, I know. But if he has any intentions of showing it in public, this would be the perfect place to bring it."

  "What makes you so sure?"

  "It's a formal occasion and one that deals with antiquities. The staff is not only ancient, but something of a ceremonial adornment. Besides, he always carries a cane with him, so the staff won't seem out of place."

  "Yeah, but he might not bring it for just those reasons. He might think something's up. Maybe Mara will warn him."

  "Don't be so skeptical, Indy. She has no idea you're here, or that you even know anything about this symposium." Brody adjusted Indy's bow tie. "You look great. But I do think you should stay up here out of sight until the moment of truth. We don't want to give Mara any extra time to see through your disguise."

  "I knew I should've gotten something to eat while I was down there."

  "Here's your walking stick, old man." Brody handed Indy a staff that was covered by a black leather case. "See the zipper? It's a little tight, but it fits."

  Indy tested the zipper. Under the covering lay a fair copy of the staff in Calderone's possession. The double-headed eagle was coated in silver and the spiral shaft was the exact dimension of the original. The main difference was that the shaft was made of milky-colored glass, instead of ivory, and to an expert it would be obvious that the inscriptions had been recently etched. The imitation had been made by two Roman artisans, one who'd molded the silver-coated crest, the other who had fashioned the shaft.

  Brody had planned the whole thing from New York. He'd used artisans in Rome who had restored works of art for him in the past. They had closely followed his specifications, which he'd taken directly from Mara's journal. The staff had been waiting for them upon their arrival, and they'd picked it up before they reached the hotel. Indy had etched the inscriptions himself, and the leather case had also been his idea. It had been made at a shop near the hotel, but much to Brody's consternation it had only been completed within the hour. He'd picked it up on his way to the reception.

  "It goes well with my black tuxedo, sort of an Old World touch, don't you think?" Indy said.

  They heard voices on the mezzanine, and two couples entered the gallery. Indy kept his back to the doorway as he examined a fresco from Empress Livia's villa at Prima Porta. It depicted an orchard filled with birds and a garden in full bloom. The colors were remarkably well preserved, he thought. Mara would no doubt know about the paintings here. Mara, who had been unable to shoot him, but who had no problem deceiving him and abandoning him and Shannon to an unknown fate. But he couldn't let his anger toward her interfere with their plans. He had to stay calm, and ready.

  As the couples moved out of the gallery, Brody wiped his brow and silently signaled his relief to Indy. "Not to worry," he whispered, and he moved out of the gallery, leaving Indy to muster his determination.

  Indy didn't have to wait long. He heard a buzzing in the hall below and moved cautiously toward the railing. Everyone had turned toward the door, and an aisle opened as if the crowd had been parted by invisible hands. Calderone had arrived.

  Indy glanced to his right, then his left. On either side of him, not ten feet away, were men dressed in black. They were definitely Calderone's guards, and their eyes were on him, marking him as a possible threat. One of them had fixed his gaze on Indy's walking stick. A bad sign. He should've figured that Calderone's guards would cover the mezzanine.

  He walked toward the stairs, taking short, tentative steps, leaning on his stick. He saw the zipper on the case was still open and part of a silver eagle head was peeking out. He nodded to the guard, and asked for the location of the bathroom. He spoke to him in Italian, feigning a German accent.

  Indy hobbled on, but when he reached the door to the bathroom, he paused and glanced back. The guard wasn't paying him any heed. He jerked up the zipper, then slowly descended the staircase. As he joined the crowd, a man at the podium announced the arrival of Calderone, and beckoned him to come forward.

  Swell, we're going to get a speech, Indy thought to himself. Even Brody hadn't expected that. Indy peered in the direction of the approaching mass of bodies, looking for Mara, but all he could see were the black-shirted guards. How in the world was he going to get through all of them? Maybe Calderone didn't even have the staff with him. Besides, was it really worth the risk? Did he actually care that Mara had sold the staff to Calderone? Maybe this was where it belonged.

  The handsome Sicilian mounted the podium to the cheers of a few supporters and the polite applause of everyone else. Then Indy saw it. The sight of the spiraled ivory and the silver double eagle in Calderone's grip transfixed and disturbed him. But then he realized Calderone was talking, and the speech started to infect him. The words grew in strength and power and drew him forward.

  Italy would soon flourish with a new leader who would bring the north and south together as one. When Fascism was destroyed, the flower of a new order would quickly blossom even before the snow was gone. The country would again spiral toward a cultural apex. Italy was bold, valiant, courageous, fearless, and so would be the new leadership. Strength... unity... power. A new order... new order... Calderone's new order.

  Indy listened in fascination to the hypnotic talk. He saw how Calderone clutched the staff. He sensed the man's power and felt it growing as he watched. He wondered if the others were affected as he was, and with considerable effort, he turned his attention away from the Sicilian, and struggled to block out the words. The crowd was nothing less than captivated. They followed
Calderone's every word, and they weren't doing so because they feared him. They believed him, they understood him, many for the first time. His words were a powerful drug and no one wanted it taken away.

  Indy spotted Brody in the crowd, and saw that there were tears in the older man's eyes as he gazed at Calderone. Tears of joy, not sorrow. Brody was enthralled, and literally hanging on every word. Not only did Brody openly despise politics, but he spoke very little Italian. The words literally transcended language.

  Indy had to jolt Brody out of the orator's spell. If they were to succeed, he needed Brody's help. He worked his way through the crowd, trying not to draw attention to himself. He was virtually the only one moving, but no one seemed to pay him any heed, so strong was the attraction to the Sicilian's words.

  Indy had nearly reached Brody when he saw Mara a few feet away. She wore a pale blue gown that left her shoulders bare. She held both hands to her mouth in a gesture that revealed a vulnerable side. She was as transfixed by Calderone as Brody and the rest of them.

  Indy moved over to Brody, and took him by the arm. "Snap out of it, Marcus," he hissed. "You told me he was as dangerous as Mussolini."

  For a moment, Brody didn't seem to recognize him. Then Calderone finished his speech, and raised both fists above his head. The crowd cheered madly. Brody looked startled and confused. He started to clap, then rubbed his face. "My God, Indy. I don't know what happened to me."

  "I don't either. But I'm going after the staff."

  Brody nodded. "Are you sure..."

  Calderone surged from the podium and into the crowd, shaking hands, smiling, chatting. "Now's the chance," Indy said. "Keep Mara busy. That's her." She stood near Calderone's side.

  Indy moved forward and hailed one of Calderone's aides. He introduced himself as Dr. Schultz. The man looked annoyed, then said it was nice to meet him, and tried to move on. But Indy kept shaking his hand, then took the man's arm.

  "Listen to me. I am an expert on ancient staffs. I would like permission to take a closer look at the one Signore Calderone is carrying this evening."