Indiana Jones and the Dance of the Giants

by Rob MacGregor

  "Joanna, you never told me any of this," Deirdre said.

  "So you were one of them," Indy said. "Is that why you gave him your husband's pet store?"

  Joanna looked at Deirdre, at Byrne, then finally back at Indy. "All right. I'll tell you."

  "Joanna!" Byrne snapped. "Don't do anything foolish."

  "No, Phillip, it's time to get everything out in the open. Deirdre, Adrian is your half brother. He was born illegitimately and put up for adoption five years before I met your father."

  For long seconds, no one spoke or moved. Then Deirdre whispered: "My half brother? But who..." She stopped in midsentence, unable or unwilling to continue.

  Joanna pointed at Byrne. "Phillip is Adrian's father."

  "I don't believe it," Deirdre gasped, rising from her chair. "You never said anything to me."

  Joanna took a couple of steps closer to her, but Deirdre backed away. She looked horrified. "You kept it from me even when you knew I was seeing him."

  "I tried to keep you two away from each other. You don't know how much I wanted to tell you. But I was afraid of what he might do. I just hoped you would listen to me."

  "He knows. Doesn't he?" Deirdre's eyes brimmed with tears.

  "Yes, of course. Making friends with you was his way of getting at me. You see, he found me years ago. I told him the truth. I felt sorry for him, and when your father died, I gave him the pet shop, and I took him into the Hyperboreans."

  "How could you—"

  "Please listen to me." Joanna was pleading now. "If I had thought that there was any chance that you were serious about him..."

  Like King Arthur and his half sister Morgan le Fay, Indy thought. Except in reverse. Powell was the black magician and the seducer; Deirdre, the innocent one.

  "Why did you get involved with druids?" Indy asked, his curiosity piqued.

  "For spite and revenge," Byrne bellowed. "She joined them when I refused to leave the priesthood for her."

  "I can't believe what I'm hearing," Deirdre said, shaking her head. They were all on their feet, except Byrne, who remained seated with his tea as if attempting to save some decorum.

  "The Hyperboreans never had any evil intentions," Joanna said. "The druid path is about nature, earth, and spirit. It involves legends, songs, and dance, all dealing with man's relationship to earth and spirit."

  "What's it have to do with the Omphalos?" Indy asked.

  "We believed that the Omphalos would be discovered and eventually returned to Stonehenge where it belongs, and that the world would be better for it. The druid quest is about bringing the earth into balance and harmony with the universe, and returning the sacred stone to Stonehenge was a symbolic step toward that goal. That was our only intention related to it."

  "Why do you say it belongs at Stonehenge?" Indy asked.

  "Ancient, secret knowledge. That's all I can tell you."

  "You told Father Byrne about it, I guess," Indy said.

  "We made a bargain," Byrne said. "She told me certain druid secrets and in return I showed her the letter from the monk."

  "He also found out for me that the Vatican never received a gold scroll from Whithorn," Joanna said. "He didn't want to help me, but he was concerned about stopping Adrian as much as I was."

  Deirdre grabbed Indy by the arm. "Please, let's leave."

  "Let me finish," Joanna said. "Adrian is not the only one who is dangerous." She turned on Byrne. "I know about your soldiers, Phillip. You go out every week to the army depot, but it's not to take confessions, is it? You've recruited your own little army of fanatics to fight the Hyperboreans or anyone who gets in your way. They blew up the cave, and almost killed my daughter."

  Byrne knocked over his cup of tea as he stood up. "We can't allow anyone to find the scroll, you or Adrian. Your ignorance of evil cannot be tolerated."

  Just then there was a crashing noise from the kitchen. Everyone turned and the housekeeper appeared in the doorway. A pug-nosed man with black gloves covered her mouth with a hand, and held a knife to her throat. Indy saw the scar on his bullish neck and knew it was the one who had nearly drowned him. The man stepped into the room, and his partner, none other than Narrow Eyes, followed, revolver in hand.

  Then Adrian Powell stepped between the two men. "You're right, Father, we can't tolerate ignorance, especially the kind you espouse."

  17

  The Cave of Death

  Adrian Powell moved into the center of the room. He wasn't particularly impressive, except for his eyes. Eyes that pulled you toward him, Indy thought. Striking eyes, those of a leader, a man of vision.

  Powell stopped in front of Indy. "You asked about the Omphalos, Professor Jones? I assure you it's in good hands, and will be put to the best use possible."

  "I'd watch out with that stone if I were you, Powell. It can do strange things to you."

  Powell laughed. "Strange and wonderful. I have no doubt about that. Only fools would leave such a powerful relic in a museum case. You see, Professor, I've learned the art of necromancy, and I've learned it well. Look where it's gotten me. It's given me everything I've achieved. But it will be nothing compared to what's ahead."

  He smiled at Deirdre. "I'm happy you survived the mad priest's poison, my dear sister. A terrible way to die, I would think."

  He turned to Byrne and Joanna. "Mother and Father. You know, I've never seen you two together. It warms my heart."

  "What do you want, Adrian?" Joanna asked.

  "You should know, Mother. You were the one who introduced me to the knowledge. You brought me into the druids. What you didn't realize was that I would not only find their way a legitimate and powerful vision, but that I would usurp your own position."

  "The devil speaks within you," Byrne growled. "You can't escape the laws of the Lord."

  "Father, Father. Fornicater. Failed murderer. And still speaking for God." He moved closer to the priest. "It's been many years since I've seen the letter from the monk. I want to see it again."

  "Never," Byrne snarled.

  Powell turned to the man who held the housekeeper. He nodded, and the man pushed the woman forward, still holding the knife to her neck. "You want to see her throat slit or are you going to cooperate?"

  The woman's eyes bulged as the priest assessed his choices. "I don't have it any longer. I burned it."

  "You lie. Kill her," Powell commanded.

  "No. Stop. I'll get it," the priest snapped.

  Powell signaled Narrow Eyes to follow Byrne and they left the room. He turned back to the others. "Now where were we?"

  "You turned to the black arts, and that has nothing to do with the intent of the Hyperboreans," Joanna said. "The Omphalos is to be used for the good of mankind, not as a personal tool for power."

  Powell laughed. "The good of mankind. What does that mean, Joanna? What's good for some people is bad for others. It's always been that way."

  He turned to Indy. "Don't you agree, Jones? You're a down-to-earth, rational man."

  "And you're a very disturbed one," Indy answered.

  Powell stepped closer to him. Indy could smell the scent of his after-shave. His hypnotic eyes seemed to tug at him. "I knew the Omphalos would be found and that the one who found it would be my enemy to the death. I knew that you would come to England, and try to block the inevitable return of the Omphalos to its true home, Stonehenge."

  Indy looked away, and Powell laughed again.

  Narrow Eyes returned, and he was carrying more than the letter. "He was hiding it in a box under his bed. But look what I found in the closet." He held up a canister like the one uncovered in the cave. "Chlorine gas. He's got another one, too. Maybe more."

  Powell examined the canister, then looked at the priest. "Shoddy, my father. Very shoddy." He took out a pair of reading glasses and sat down with the letter. The two thugs, meanwhile, pushed everyone together and kept a close eye on them.

  Finally, Powell lowered the letter. "Father, tell us, why was this letter never sent
to the pope?"

  The priest stared at his son, and remained silent.

  Powell turned to Joanna. "Any ideas to contribute, Dr. Campbell?" When she didn't answer, Powell added: "Your contributions will be taken into account when we decide what to do with you."

  "You'd kill your own mother without a second thought, wouldn't you, Adrian?"

  "And the good father would kill to get what he wants. It's a cruel world, Mother. Sentiment only goes so far."

  Powell was the most detestable person Indy had ever met. How pleasant it would be to sink his fist into the member of Parliament's pretty face.

  Suddenly, Byrne spoke up. "They didn't have good transportation in the fifteenth century. The letter probably waited for months for a mail pickup. It must have been misplaced, or maybe the monk decided not to send it. It wound up in the records and diaries of the era."

  Consorting with the enemy, Indy thought. Where was the good father's self-righteous ardor now? He wasn't any better than his treacherous son.

  "Thank you, my father. I appreciate your help. Do you think the scroll is buried in the cave?"

  Byrne hesitated. "I don't know."

  "Well, friends, family members, my hunch is that the dig will be productive. What dig, you ask? Ours. We're all going to spend the night at the cave. No one will leave until we've found our answers." He turned to Deirdre, and smiled. "A night in Merlin's esplumoir. I spent a couple of days at your house after you left and had a chance to read your paper."

  "What were you doing in the house?" Deirdre demanded.

  "Talking with Joanna, trying to persuade her to join my quest. It's too bad she wouldn't listen."

  "Why do you want the scroll, Powell?" Indy asked. "You've got the Omphalos."

  "The scroll contains the key for unleashing the power of the Omphalos. Now you know a bit of ancient Celtic knowledge, Professor, that only initiates of the orders are told."

  "I'll be damned," Shannon said as the parade of captives was led away from the priest's house, and into a waiting wagon. "Now what?"

  He'd followed Joanna here, and watched her peer into a window, then stealthily sneak up to the side door. She'd moved about the property with a sense of knowing that was confirmed when she pulled out a key and opened the door. He'd moved to a front window and had just spotted her entering the room with the others when he heard a truck approaching. He'd ducked down and waited as Powell and two cohorts moved along the side of the house and quietly entered the same door Joanna had used.

  It hadn't taken long for Shannon to see that his buddy was in deep trouble, and it was up to him to help. But he hadn't thought of a thing he could do. Now he watched as the wagon pulled away. He moved away from the house and saw the direction it took. He was almost certain they were headed to the cave.

  "Oh, hell." Shannon started walking after the truck. When he'd arrived in Whithorn, he'd stopped at the pub and found out where the archaeologists were staying, and then when Lily had told him that Indy was at the cave, she'd given him directions. She'd assured him it was a pleasant walk. Good for the blood. But it had been late in the afternoon and he'd decided a lager or two at the pub would be even more pleasant.

  It took about ten minutes before the last traces of the village were gone and he was walking in the countryside. Shannon kept glancing into the dark woods on either side of the road. The place gave him the creeps. He walked about big cities in the middle of the night all the time never thinking twice about it. But out here it was different. Uncivilized. It had a feel to it that anything could happen.

  Just then he heard the sound of breaking branches off the road somewhere, and he stopped. What the hell was that? He waited. He couldn't see a damn thing. He considered turning around, but he realized he was probably halfway there already. Anyway, he couldn't abandon Indy. They had their differences, but he'd never met anyone who would risk his neck for other people the way Indy did. Back in Chicago, Indy had saved him from trouble in South Side bars on more than one occasion. Besides, Indy was the only other guy he knew who was willing to go to some of the places where jazz was being played those days.

  Shannon moved on. Whatever it was out there had better stay out there in the dark where it belonged. Playing hero wasn't Shannon's idea of a good time, and the further he walked the more he wondered what he was doing out here. He thought about the telegram again. That stone, the Omphalos, had something to do with the trouble Indy was in right now. He'd bet on it.

  Finally, Shannon arrived at the bottom of the cliff and found the empty truck. He knew the cave must be around here, but he had no idea where. He listened for voices, and heard none. He walked as far as he could along the base of the cliff, but saw nothing that looked like a cave entrance. Then he pushed aside a branch, craned his neck, and saw flickering light emanating from high above on the cliff wall.

  "Figures, the hardest place to get to." He made his way back to the truck, and after some effort found the trail leading up the cliff. He climbed a step at a time, pausing frequently, making an effort not to curse aloud when branches snapped at him.

  He stopped when he came within sight of the cave entrance, and huddled behind a rock outcropping. He was still too far away to hear anything or see into the cave. Heaps of rubble left over from the explosion were piled on the far side of the cave entrance, and he knew if he could get there without being seen he'd find a sheltered spot with at least a partial view.

  Every few minutes someone pushed a cart filled with dirt and rubble to the edge of the cliff and dumped it over the side. Shannon waited until just after the cart pusher disappeared into the cave, then took a deep breath and darted forward. He was in full view, the moonlight casting his shadow across the rocky wall.

  He reached the other side of the cave entrance, and hid amid the rubble. His heart pounded. He almost expected a guard to appear out of nowhere and stick a gun to his head. When nothing happened, he peered into the cave. He could see torchlights on the walls, and about a dozen people digging in the dim orange light. Powell stood apart from the others. He'd removed his coat and loosened his tie and was smoking a cigarette.

  A gaping hole in the roof of the cave, the result of the explosion, started about ten feet back from the entrance. The sight of it gave Shannon an idea. If he could climb up to the relatively flat surface atop the cave he could watch from there without worry.

  He moved away from his hiding place, running on his toes, bending low in a furtive manner. He kicked a rock, stumbled, caught his balance, then slipped behind a rock outcropping. Shannon waited, expecting any moment to be set upon by Powell's men. But again, they'd neither seen nor heard him. Then he spotted what looked like a route leading up to the top of the cliff.

  He hurried over to the path, which was actually a series of footholds and ledges. It was the sort of trail which, under normal circumstances, he'd never even consider climbing during the day, much less at night. But the circumstances were far from normal, and here he was. He crawled, climbed, sidled his way up the cliff.

  He'd give anything to be on stage right now in a dimly lit, smoky club blowing his cornet, drifting, relaxing, escaping. But here he was caught up in the world he despised, the place of schemes, deceit, hatred. And it was all taking place in the great outdoors, in the moonlight.

  There was nothing archaeological going on in the cave, Indy thought. Nothing at all. It was like digging a well, a ditch, a grave. Yeah, a grave. That was a distinct possibility.

  At least three hours had passed. No one had found anything in the rear chamber where they were digging, but rocks and dirt, and more rocks and dirt. When they'd arrived, they'd found Carl and Richard, bound and gagged. Four others, all Powell's men, were busy digging holes. Powell had immediately taken over, and ordered the bound men to be released and given shovels. He'd ordered two of his men to haul dirt out of the cave in a cart while everyone else dug pits to a depth of four feet.

  Deirdre was digging near one wall a few feet from him. Joanna was working along the
opposite wall, and Byrne and the others were scattered between them. No one was talking; everyone's mood was sullen, including Powell's.

  How long could Powell possibly expect them to go on? Byrne's housekeeper was already curled up in a corner where one of the thugs had shoved her when she'd repeatedly dropped her shovel and begged for mercy. It could take a couple of days to lower the entire floor level by four feet, and their progress would be considerably slowed near the entrance where piles of rocks and dirt were strewn from the explosion.

  But maybe the longer it took to find the scroll, the longer they would live, and there was the growing possibility they would never find it. Maybe it was never buried here, or someone had dug it up long ago and melted down the gold. The thought had no sooner come to mind when he heard Deirdre call out to him.

  "Indy." Her voice was raspy.

  He moved closer to her. "What is it?"

  "I think I've found something."

  She'd stopped digging, and was on her knees. He glanced over his shoulder, and saw that no one else had heard her. He moved over beside her. In the hole, about three feet below the surface, was a partially exposed ceramic vase with a narrow neck. The top was sealed with a cork and wax, and the neck alone was at least eight inches long.

  "You think it could be inside?" she whispered.

  Indy started another hole, hoping to avoid attracting attention. "I don't know. Keep digging. Look busy."

  Deirdre chipped dirt from the side, widening the hole. Indy tossed another scoop of dirt aside, then with a quick move jabbed the neck of the vase with his shovel. It snapped and crumbled against the hard earth beneath it. He knelt down, and carefully reached inside.

  "Someone's coming," Deirdre warned.

  He tossed a shovel of dirt over the vase, then returned to his hole as one of Powell's men wheeled the cart past them.

  "Did you feel anything?"

  Indy shook his head.

  Deirdre stooped down, brushed the dirt off the vase, and turned it upside down. "Indy, there is something."