Indiana Jones and the Unicorn's Legacy

by Rob MacGregor

  "I'm afraid that won't be possible. Not tonight. Maybe next week. Now excuse me."

  "That's too bad. I'm going to be leaving tomorrow, very early, for Munich. I was hoping to take a look. I understand a man in America is making staffs from ivory that are imitations of certain ancient staffs. I was curious to see if this was an original or one of the new copies."

  The man, who had taken a couple of steps, quickly retraced them. "Wait. Don't go anywhere." He held up his hands as if to hold the old German in place.

  As Indy waited, he saw Mara looking directly at him. There was a puzzled expression on her face as if she couldn't quite place where she'd seen the old man. Indy stepped to one side so that her view of him was blocked.

  The Sicilian seemed to stiffen as his aide whispered in his ear. Calderone's gaze roved over the crowd and settled on Indy for a moment. Then he made a terse remark to the man, and Indy wondered if he was saying he'd expected something of the sort would happen.

  Calderone waded through the crowd in Indy's direction. Indy glanced at Brody and saw that he had occupied Mara in conversation. She was trying to look over Brody's shoulder toward Indy, but Brody was motioning with his hands and obscuring her view.

  Calderone stopped at Indy's side. "What do you know about this staff?"

  "Let me see it. I can authenticate it for you." In this crowd it would be easy to make the switch. Even though Indy still had to remove the other one from the zippered case, he would need just a few seconds with no one watching him.

  "Come to my villa."

  "Why not here?"

  "No," Calderone said firmly.

  Indy knew he'd better take advantage of the offer, even though it wasn't what they'd planned. "Yes, yes. I suppose." He sounded slightly annoyed and his German accent was thick. "Away from all of these people. It will be better."

  "I'm leaving soon," Calderone explained. "There will be a car waiting outside in ten minutes."

  As Calderone moved away, Indy stroked the leather-covered crest of the fake staff. He'd still make the switch tonight.

  19

  The Switch

  "You're actually going through with it?" Brody looked astonished.

  "It's the only way, Marcus. Gotta go."

  "What if you don't turn up tonight?"

  "Then it didn't work. Wish me luck,"

  "But Indy..."

  A sleek, black Pierce-Arrow was waiting outside. "Over here, Professor Schultz," one of Calderone's men called to him.

  Indy hobbled over to the second car, leaning on his staff as he walked. The guard held the rear door open for him, and Indy slid onto the back seat. He found himself sitting next to Mara. Swell, he thought. Real swell.

  Calderone was on the other side of Mara, and he introduced her as the car pulled away. She extended a hand and Indy shook it. He was grateful that it was dark in the car, because Mara peered at him curiously.

  "You work for Signore Calderone?" Indy asked in a heavy Germanic accent.

  "We are business partners," Mara responded.

  "Oh, what's your business?" he asked.

  "None of yours," she answered brusquely in English.

  "Mara!" Calderone snapped. "I'm sorry, Heir Schultz. She's upset. A personal matter. She buys art for me."

  "I'm sorry," Mara said. "So you are an expert in ancient staffs?"

  "That is true, young lady, and the alicorn is a specialty."

  "I'm sure you will find Signore Calderone's staff very interesting, as well as genuine."

  Indy cleared his throat. "We will see." He turned his gaze toward the window, ending the conversation and making it more difficult for Mara to study his features.

  They passed a park and he realized he had no idea what direction they were going. They could be headed toward the Colosseum or approaching the Spanish Steps for all he knew. Then he spotted a landmark he recalled from his first visit to Rome. It was Porta Pia, one of the main city gates. Designed by Michelangelo, he thought. His last major architectural project. His father had made him memorize such details every time they visited a historic city. Now years later, he recalled the fact as if he'd learned it yesterday.

  A few blocks later, the Pierce-Arrow slowed. A high iron fence bordered the roadway and halfway down the block several black-garbed men appeared near a gate. One of them signaled the car to enter, and they followed a narrow, winding road lined by trees. When they reached a three-story villa, the automobile pulled up to the front door.

  "You live here?" Indy asked.

  "I live in many places," Calderone said. "I move around. For me, it's not safe to stay in one place for long."

  A guard opened the car door and Indy climbed out. As Mara stepped out after him, he turned his back to her and pretended to study the villa. Calderone escorted her to the door and two of his men accompanied Indy as if he might not be able to make it on his own. They entered a large foyer with marble floors and the largest chandelier Indy had ever seen. A broad staircase curved toward the second floor, and at the bottom of the stairs stood two more black-clad guards.

  "I can't wait around here all night," Indy grumbled to Calderone, trying his best to avoid looking at Mara. "I'm usually in bed by ten with my glass of warm milk."

  "Don't worry," the Sicilian answered. "We'll handle this matter right away, and I'll have a car waiting to take you to your hotel as soon as we're done."

  Indy glanced at Mara and caught an odd look in her eyes. She knew, he thought. Swell. He braced himself, ready to take flight or defend himself. But when she didn't say anything, he decided he'd misread the look. She was just miffed that Calderone had brought him here.

  When they reached the staircase, Indy motioned Mara to go first. He intentionally took his time climbing the steps, and leaned heavily on his black staff. At the top of the stairs, they followed a corridor until Calderone gestured toward a door, then opened it for the aged scholar.

  "Please make yourself comfortable. Can I get you anything? A glass of warm milk, perhaps?"

  "No, thank you. I want to stay awake."

  As Indy walked into the library, he overheard a quick exchange between Mara and Calderone. She wanted to be present when the staff was examined, but he told her to go to her room. If she was needed, he'd send for her. "You can't order me around. I don't work for you," she snapped, and the conversation abruptly ended.

  So all was not well in the Calderone household, Indy thought with smug satisfaction.

  He padded across the thick carpeting toward a long, mahogany table in the center of the room. The library smelled of old books, and several thousand volumes were shelved around the room. He spotted another door, walked over, and opened it. It was a bathroom, a mere cubicle with a toilet and a sink and a window high on the wall. He turned away, walked past rows of bookshelves, and settled into one of several overstuffed chairs which surrounded the table. He found the zipper on the leather covering of his walking stick and pulled it down several inches. Then he laid the fake staff across his knees.

  A couple of minutes later, Calderone stepped into the library carrying the staff. He took a seat across from Indy. "Mara has retired for the evening, but she's looking forward to hearing your analysis."

  Indy took the staff in his hands, and squinted at the relic. He adjusted his glasses, muttered under his breath, and held it close to his face. Calderone waited. Then Indy set the staff on the table, looked up, and shook his head. "It's far too dark here. I need light, Signore Calderone. Much more light. Can you get me a table lamp? That's what I need."

  The Sicilian hesitated, then nodded. "I'll be right back."

  The moment Calderone headed for the door Indy pulled the fake staff out of the leather case. All he had to do now was make the switch. But Calderone merely stuck his head out the doorway and ordered someone to get a lamp. Then he returned to the table.

  "A glass of water, too," Indy said.

  Calderone frowned.

  "Please. My throat is dry."

  Calderone spun o
n his heel, and strode to the door. This time he left the room.

  Indy laid the fake staff on the table, and quickly fitted the real one into the case. But he had trouble fitting the leather top over the double-headed eagle. The door swung open and Calderone stepped inside with a guard. For a terrible moment, Indy thought he'd been caught. But Calderone turned to the guard, and told him to put the lamp on the table. "Your water is coming, Professor."

  The lamp was set in place under Calderone's watchful eye; Indy continued to fumble under the table to close the leather top over the staff. Just as the guard turned on the light, a woman dressed in a white uniform entered the room. She carried a silver tray with a pitcher of water and a glass. She poured the water, and set it in front of Indy. He thanked the woman and took a sip from the glass, stalling for time. He leaned forward and studied the fake staff. "Yes, yes, ja, sure. That is it."

  "What?" Calderone asked.

  It was time for a decision. Indy could call the staff a fake, and easily prove it. But if he did so, he would draw attention to the staff and Calderone might realize that it wasn't the same one. "This is either a very good copy or the original of one of the two alicorns which were taken at the fall of Constantinople in 1204 and then resided for centuries in St. Mark's before disappearing."

  "I knew that much. Which is it?" Calderone sounded exasperated.

  "Well, now..." Indy moved his legs and the partially encased staff rolled to the floor. He bent over, but Calderone was quicker. The toe of his shoe rolled the staff toward him. He picked it up and saw the silver double eagle head protruding from the leather case.

  "What is this?" he demanded.

  "It's my staff."

  "But it looks like—"

  "Like trouble," Indy said, and he flipped over the table, knocking Calderone onto his back. He reached for the relic, but Calderone snatched it away from him and leaped to his feet. He swung the staff, but Indy ducked and drove a punch into Calderone's stomach, then another to his face, and he crumpled to the floor.

  "I hereby authenticate this staff," Indy said as he scooped it up. "Now I've gotta run." He started for the door, but it swung open before he reached for it and a massive black-shirted guard blocked his path. The guard took one look at Calderone, who was on his hands and knees, and yelled for help.

  Indy knew he was in for trouble now. He sprinted toward the bathroom, and reached it just steps in front of the guard, who was no doubt surprised by the old man's sudden agility and speed. He threw the steel bar through the catch, locking himself inside. The guard slammed into it. The door rattled and groaned, but the lock held.

  There was no way to go but up. Indy scrambled up onto the sink, stretching his arms as far they would go. His fingers were just below the window sill. The narrow, rectangular window was the kind that swung out from the frame. It was propped open only a couple of inches, but it was his only hope.

  The door shuddered in its frame. Although it was made of heavy wood, the lock was weak and Indy knew it wouldn't hold much longer. He reached up with the leather-covered staff, and pushed the window up until the glass was nearly horizontal with the floor. Carefully, he laid the staff on the sill, then leaped and grabbed the window frame with both hands. He pulled himself up and swung a leg through the window, and felt a narrow ledge. Hopefully, the door would hold long enough for him to get out and find a way to the ground.

  The guards bombarded the door, but somehow the lock held. Indy sucked in his stomach and pushed, but the opening was too small for him to squeeze through. He shoved his back against the window, which was held to the wall by strips of ancient copper. The metal stretched, but not enough. He pushed again, certain the window was about to shatter. Somehow it held together, but one of the copper strips snapped.

  Then the door burst open and the guards rushed into the bathroom. They bumped into each other as they looked around. "Up there! Get the old man!" one of them shouted.

  Indy slammed his back into the window and the other strip of copper tore loose. The window fell into the bathroom just as the guards looked up. Glass rained over their heads, and Indy rolled out onto the ledge. He reached back for the staff, but inadvertentiy pushed it off the sill. He looked down just in time to see Calderone reach up and grab it.

  "Shoot him," Calderone shouted as the guards brushed broken glass off their heads and wrestled with the window frame.

  Indy didn't want to leave the staff behind, but then he saw the guns. He dropped straight down, and caught the ledge with his hands. Bullets ripped through the windowsill, showering wood splinters over him. He looked down. He was at least thirty feet above the ground. He'd be lucky not to break a leg.

  He pulled himself up and climbed onto the ledge just as a head poked through the window. He kicked the guard in the jaw, sending him tumbling down on top of the others. He sidled away from the window, his back to the wall. He felt like a tightrope walker, performing for an invisible audience.

  Indy opened the jacket of his tuxedo, and jerked the bow tie to one side. He had no time to think about what to do next, because suddenly he was faced with another obstacle. The wall made a ninety-degree turn, jutting out a dozen feet, and the ledge on the inside corner had crumbled away. Ten feet of open space separated him from the point where the ledge continued, but a flagpole protruded from the wall about halfway across the gap.

  He glanced back. A guard had crawled onto the ledge. He had no choice. He leaped, heart pounding, his breath stalled in his throat. He caught the flagpole with his fingertips, swung forward, back, forward again, and let go. He landed on the balls of his feet, tottered on the ledge, caught his balance. His breath rushed out of him.

  "Nothing to it," he called to the guard. But the man pulled a gun and Indy literally raced to the corner. The guard fired before he was able to get around it. The bullet grazed Indy's neck and made a direct hit on his bow tie, which blew apart. He whipped around the corner, touched his neck, and felt blood. "Just a razor burn." Then he heard a long yell that began just around the corner and ended when he heard a thump below. "Guess he didn't make it."

  But Indy didn't feel much safer. The guards would be pouring out of the villa at any moment to take target practice, and he would be the target. He had to get down, and fast. Below him, a canvas canopy covered a walkway leading into a garden. He leaped onto the canopy just as several guards rushed out the door. The canopy collapsed, and the men were knocked to the ground.

  Indy bounded to his feet and raced across a courtyard. When he reached the side of the house, a guard with a rifle stepped out, and looked him over.

  "Who are you?"

  Indy had to think fast. Just beyond the guard the driver of a delivery truck started his engine. "There's trouble inside. They need help. Quick! A man with a gun. I was almost killed. Please. Go help!"

  Indy knew he had only seconds before the others would catch up to him. Shouts from the courtyard made up the man's mind, and he charged past Indy. The truck was pulling away as Indy bolted after it. He leaped onto the rear fender, and climbed into the back of the truck, which was stacked with cases of wine.

  He pulled a tarp over himself as the driver slowed at the gate. If they searched the back of the truck, it was all over. But no one had alerted the guards at the gate. The truck drove away. Just as Indy thought he'd escaped, he heard more shouts. He lifted his head and saw black-clad men pouring into the street. They fired, and bullets pinged off the back of the truck.

  Indy ducked down and the driver continued on, apparently unaware that he was being fired upon. Faster, get moving. After a few blocks the truck slowed and the driver called out to someone on the street. Indy raised up to see the man engaged in a casual conversation. He slipped out the back of the truck, crossed the street, and hurried down to the corner. He looked back once and saw the truck surrounded by Calderone's men.

  Indy walked swiftly, but not so fast as to draw attention. He followed a zigzag route with no destination in mind. He didn't know where he would go. Cer
tainly not the hotel where he and Brody shared a suite. It was where most of the symposium attendees were staying and Calderone would certainly be looking for him there.

  Indy had made no plans for this sort of outcome. He'd figured either he would succeed making the switch of the staffs or he'd get caught in the act. Now he wasn't sure what to do or where to go. He had no other clothing, no money, no ticket out of the country. The only thing he had with him was Mara's family journal, tucked in the inside pocket of his jacket. They had intended it to be his safety valve in case everything else went wrong. If Calderone was as superstitious as Indy thought, he'd be shocked by the journal. He'd think he was in possession of a cursed staff, rather than a relic of power. But what good was the journal to Indy now? He'd be shot on sight before he'd have a chance to give it to Calderone.

  He came to Via di Sant'Agnese, St. Agnes Street. He knew there was a church by the same name nearby. Maybe he could stay there tonight. He tried to orient himself, then realized the church was right behind him. More memorized history came to mind. Saint Agnes was supposedly martyred right here fifteen hundred years ago, and the church was built above her tomb. Indy moved around the side of the church and found a door leading down to the ancient catacombs. A sanctuary, he thought.

  He turned the handle and found it unlocked. Maybe the custodian was down there. He descended the steps, taking care to go as silently as possible. He didn't like the idea of sleeping in a catacomb, but he needed a place to stay for the night. Tomorrow, he'd try to get out of Rome.

  A single candle was burning at the tomb, but no one was there. The place was deserted; he was safe for the moment. But he hardly felt relieved. He'd failed to get the staff, and his future didn't look very promising. Maybe he should've just rejected Brody's plan and forgotten about Mara. But it was no time to reconsider what he'd already done.

  He heard the sound of voices outside, moved back against the wall, and listened. "Okay, you tell me when you are leaving, Signorina, then I will lock the door for the night," a man said.