"Will?"
"Wish I'd had something like that when I was mixing it up with Jerry," was Cromwell's answer.
"Rene?"
"With that kind of weapon," the Frenchman said quietly, "I could have doubled, maybe tripled, the Boche I shot down."
Indy looked to Gale. "What do you think?"
"About what?" she exclaimed. "I'm strictly bow and arrow, remember? Or a crossbow. The professionals say go with it. No arguments from me."
Indy laughed, and pushed together the charts and schematics and the lists they had compiled. "Gentlemen, that does it. Colonel Henshaw, the sooner all this is done, the better."
"Yes, sir. Like I said, my men will be working on double shifts, right around the clock."
Sergeant Korwalski hesitated before speaking again, but he couldn't hold back the question that had been growing in his mind. "Sir, this may be out of line, but can I ask you something?"
"Feel free, Sergeant."
"Everything you're doing with this airplane. I mean, we're building some special bombardment models of the Ford."
"You can tell him," Henshaw said. "It's the XBnine oh six project."
"But this is way ahead of our schedule," Korwalski went on. "Sir, are we going to war?"
Silence hung among the group like a fog. Indy rose slowly to his feet to face Korwalski, and Indy wasn't smiling.
"Unfortunately," he said slowly, "the answer to that is yes."
7
"Change."
"What?"
"I asked you to change," Indy said to Gale Parker. "You know, a different outfit."
Gale studied herself in the mirror. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?"
"It's great if we're going hunting, or mountain climbing," Indy answered, trying not to show a smile. "But not for dinner."
"Indy, we're inside a hangar at an army base where—" She studied him carefully, her head tilted slightly to one side.
"I had a dog used to do that," he jibed. "Goodlooking dog, too."
"You're comparing me with a dog?" she exclaimed. A touch of red appeared in her cheeks.
"Well, she didn't dress for dinner, either. But I meant the way you tilted your head to one side. Like you were listening extra carefully."
"Indiana Jones, you've lost your mind," she said sharply. "I will not change my clothes simply to sit with this gang of yours in this hangar and—"
"Who said anything about dining with a gang?"
"You said . . . " She faltered for a moment, trying to get his drift. Try as she could, she couldn't get past the poker face he was holding. "You said, dining," she completed her sentence. "Indy, are you asking me for a date?"
"You could call it that. You could also call it an order. But, yes," he admitted,
"it is a date. Not in a hangar, not with our crew. You, me. Downtown. You know, Dayton. There's a great Italian restaurant there. I've made reservations and we leave in ten minutes, so I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't waste any more time playing word games."
She started to answer but only managed an open mouth.
"Oh, yes, one more thing." He reached into his leather jacket and withdrew a strap holster with a .25caliber automatic snugged tightly within the leather. "Wear a dress. Strap this on just above your knee. I assume you know how to use this if necessary?"
She had recovered quickly. "Are we going to kill something for dinner? A wild lasagna, perhaps?"
"That's pretty good. I'll tell that to the manager at Del Vecchio. We're going to be late if you don't stop asking questions, lady." He started for the door, looking over his shoulder. "Ten minutes." He was gone.
She stood looking at the closed door for a good thirty seconds. She felt bewildered. Indy . . . taking her out to dinner? To a classy restaurant? She rifled through her closet. I'll kill him. This is an expedition, not a social event. . . .
Quickly she selected a flare skirt, hardly evening dress. But a silk blouse and a kerchief and— No high heels. The suede boots. They'll do. . . . She had barely finished dressing and was frantically trying to make something sensible out of her hair when she heard Indy knocking at the door.
She had only once seen him in anything but that beatenup leather jacket and rumpled trousers. She recognized the suede jacket he'd worn when he went to Chicago, and was amazed to see him in neatly pressed brown trousers. He had a bolo tie. Naturally, it's got the head of a rattlesnake for that real dressy look, she thought sarcastically.
He looked her up and down. "You, Miss Parker, are one spiffy lady."
"Spiffy?"
"It's a compliment."
"You have a strange language over here, Indy."
"Okay," he said pleasantly. "You look swell. Dynamite, in fact. Let's go." He turned and started down the corridor, letting her run to catch up. Outside the hangar a black Packard was parked. He opened the door for her. She wondered if he was going crazy. They were partners, everyone equal. She liked equal, and being offered the courtesies due a lady for an evening engagement was foreign to her.
They sat in silence for several minutes until they were on the road to Dayton.
"Indy?"
"Uhhuh."
"What's the occasion?"
"Great food, great wine, beautiful woman. What more could a man ask?"
"No hidden agenda?"
"Who? Me? You wound me."
"Is that natural or from a script?"
"Will you relax, please?"
"I'll try."
"Good girl."
She tilted her head. "Good doggie. That's me."
He burst into laughter and she couldn't help it; she joined in.
"Indy, dinner was fabulous," Gale said with genuine feeling. It was a meal she had never before encountered.
Steamed mussels with wine sauce, Caesar salad, rolls baked right in the kitchen, broiled Maine lobster, and a white wine she had never heard of but that equaled anything she had ever had in England or France. "I've never had better.
I'm overwhelmed."
"Dessert?"
She shook her head. "I'll pass. But I will accept a cappuccino."
He leaned back in his chair and motioned for their waiter. "Cappuccino for the lady, and I'll have a brandy."
The waiter wasn't gone a minute, but he returned emptyhanded. "Dr. Jones, the manager would like you and your companion to be his guest for afterdinner drinks in his office."
Indy lifted an eyebrow. "Ah, you must mean Dominic Carboni."
"Yes, sir."
"We'd be delighted. Just give us about ten minutes, then come back for us."
The waiter beamed. "Yes, sir," and he was gone.
Gale frowned, leaning forward. "How did he know who you were?" Before he could answer she went on. "Of course.
You made reservations."
He nodded, but she was still puzzled. "But how, I mean, why would the manager, this fellow—"
"Carboni."
"Why would he want us for company in his office? And how would he know who you were? I don't mean by name, Indy, but—"
"Let me cut this quickly, Gale. He knows who we are because we were in the newspapers today."
"We were?"
"There's a strange echo in here."
"I can't help it. I don't understand what's going on."
"A newspaper story was set up. Professor Jones and Doctor Parker are visiting the workshop of the Wright Brothers. Research on the beginnings of flight.
Remember, the original airplane the Wrights built went to England.
They were unhappy with the American government and that was their way of telling everybody off. So," he straightened his napkin, "we came here to see how much influence the Wrights had on aircraft design in the early days of flying in the British Isles."
"But that's no secret!"
"No, but it does well enough for a newspaper blurb."
"And this Carboni fellow has something to do with airplanes?"
"I don't believe he's ever set foot in one."
"Indy,
you're toying with me."
"Not really. I had to make sure that certain people would know I'm in Dayton tonight. They could find out easily enough that I made dinner reservations here."
"But why?"
"Well, I figured that was the best way for them to find me."
"You wanted to be found?"
"You're getting the idea."
"You didn't tell me why."
"They want something very badly."
"It couldn't be that strange little pyramid, could it?"
"Brilliant deduction, Miss Parker."
"But—"
"Let it rest, Gale. Here comes our guide." The waiter withdrew Gale's chair, and she and Indy followed the waiter through a curtained doorway and down a long corridor, stopping before a door of massive wooden construction. Indy scanned it carefully. He listened as the waiter knocked on the door, judging that sandwiched between heavy wooden panels was a layer of steel. He knew he was right when he saw the effort it took the waiter to push the door open.
A bulletproof door.
Dominic Carboni rose from a deep leather couch to greet them. Their drinks waited for them on a marble table. Gale looked about the room. "You have exquisite taste," she told Carboni.
"Thank you. The finest there is. I don't hold back nothin' when it comes to the real goods. Real swell, huh?"
A lout in a marble palace, she judged immediately. He has no more business with Indy than he does with me. He's a front for someone else.
They went through small talk as they drank. "This your first trip to Dayton, Miss Parker? How does our town hit you?"
"I haven't really seen it," she parried. She remembered Indy's description of the cover story he'd dropped into the papers. "Mostly I've seen the bicycle shop of the Wrights, studied their wind tunnel, gone over their notes. It's really quite fascinating."
"Uhhuh. I guess it's real interesting," Carboni said. "If that's what you like, I mean. Me, I'll take the nightclub scene any time. I ain't never seen an airplane that looks better than a great broad." He guffawed with pleasure at his own remarks.
Gale couldn't miss the change in Indy's demeanor. Even the way he sat had undergone a subtle shift. She had been a huntress long enough to recognize when someone moved from relaxation to being a human coiled spring. He placed his brandy snifter gently on the marble table and again shifted position in the chair.
"Carboni, lay it out."
In that moment, Carboni too seemed to change to a different person. The expensive suit and furnishings couldn't disguise the lowlife before them.
"I didn't know you were in a hurry, Jones." There it is. Gale spotted it immediately. No more Professor or Doctor; just Jones.
"My driver is waiting for us at your back entrance," Indy said. "And he is a very impatient man."
Would Indy ever stop catching her by surprise? What driver? They came here in that Packard that Indy drove himself. She forced herself to remain quiet, to watch. She shifted in her own seat so that the .25 automatic nestled against her leg was easier to reach. Somehow she knew the polite chitchat was just about over.
"How'd you know about the back entrance, Jones?" Carboni looked at Indy with suspicion. "You ain't never been here before."
"Cut it," Indy snapped, leaning forward. "You're just the agent for Mr. Big, whoever and wherever he is.
What's your pitch?"
Carboni smiled like an eel. "You're real cute, you know that, Jones? Besides, you go out the back door you're going to meet a couple of my yeggs who might not like your leaving here without I say so."
"What does Mr. Big want?" Indy pushed.
"Hey, how do you know I ain't Mr. Big?" Carboni sneered.
"Look in the mirror," Indy offered. "What you'll see is a twobit messenger boy."
Carboni's face flushed. His hands twitched, and Indy knew he was fighting the urge to reach for a gun. Even a messenger boy can be dangerous, when he's a big frog in a small pond.
But the fact of the matter was that as much as Carboni would have liked to put enough holes into Indiana Jones to make him resemble Swiss cheese, he didn't dare to cross or even interfere with the instructions of his overseer. Indy waited as Carboni swallowed both his anger and his pride.
"Hey, just joking, see?" Carboni said quickly. "No need to get upset."
"As a joker, you'd starve to death."
"I don't getcha," Carboni said, brow furrowed.
"Forget it. Cut the games, Carboni. What's the message you were told to deliver to me?"
Gale was amazed at Indy. It was incredible the way he could shift from a stereotypical professor to someone who seemed right at home with cheap gangsters.
Carboni lit a cigarette, watched the cloud of smoke he blew away to collect his thoughts, and then dropped his hammer.
"A cool million, Professor."
"A cool million what?" Indy demanded.
"One million dineros. A million of the long green. You know what I'm talking about. One—million—dollars," he emphasized.
"That's nice," Indy replied. "But what's it for? It's not even Christmas time."
"Look, Professor, we don't know how and why you got mixed up with that train caper the other night. We do know that some bigtime operators used a plane to snatch the real goods. Not them funnymoney dimestore things the papers wrote about."
Carboni took a deep breath. "One million dineros for that pyramid."
"What pyramid?"
"You think you're a hard case, doncha? We know you got it, Jones."
"And you want to make an exchange. I give you the pyramid I'm supposed to have, and you hand over a million dollars."
"Cash."
"When?"
"The sooner the better, Professor. In fact, if it's sooner, you get to live longer."
"What if I told you I don't have it."
"I'd call you a liar."
"And you'd be right," Indy laughed.
Carboni's eyes narrowed. "So you do have it." His breathing grew heavier.
They get that pyramid, and it's permanent occupancy in a deep hole in the ground for me and Gale, Indy knew without any question.
"The problem, Carboni, is that it's not for sale. At any price."
"No? We'll see about that." Carboni pressed a call button on his desk. A side door opened and two thugs came in fast, guns in hand. "Cover him," Carboni ordered. The weapons held level at Indy.
Indy paid close attention to his nails, rubbing them against his jacket. "This is so dumb," he said.
Carboni moved with unexpected speed, crossing the room to Gale. In a sweeping motion he gripped her hair and snapped her head back. The room lights glinted off the knife blade he held at her throat.
"You tell me where it is, Professor, or this little lady won't ever need to breathe through her nose again."
Indy scratched his stomach. "Go ahead."
Gale's eyes were huge, and she was in obvious pain from the angle at which Carboni was twisting her neck. "You're bluffing, Jones!" Carboni said wildly. "First she gets it and then you!"
"You won't do it, because if you do I'll have to take on all three of you mugs, and since your two buffoons have the drop on me, I'll probably go down—" "I guarantee it, Jones!"
"And if I go down your Mr. Big will never know where that pyramid is, and that means you and these twinkletoes, here, are next in line for cement shoes. Get stuffed, Carboni. You're just a big bluff." "I swear I'll cut her heart out, Jones!" Indy shifted slightly in his seat. Again he scratched his stomach, a cover for his fingers depressing his belt buckle. Barely a second later the door leading out the back way of the office burst open, a dark figure rolled like a great ball on the floor, and Tarkiz Belem remained in a crouch, firing with deadly aim. The Mauser in his hand, silencerequipped and modified to full automatic, sprayed a dozen rounds with a lethal hissing sound. Both men holding guns on Indy hurtled backwards, blood spurting.
Carboni had only that moment to see the carnage beginning when a loud crack! came to his ears; in
the same instant Indy's bullwhip, freed from around his waist, slashed through the air to whip about Carboni's knife hand. Indy jerked down hard, breaking Carboni's wrist with the violent motion and sending him crashing headfirst against the marble table.
Gale fell back into her seat, a thin line of red showing along her neck. Indy was by her side immediately. "Barely cut the skin," he said casually, bringing a handkerchief to her neck. "You won't even have a scar for a souvenir."
Indiana Jones & the Sky Pirates Page 11
