Indiana Jones & the Sky Pirates Read online

  Indy swilled a taste of whiskey around his mouth to cut down the fish and garlic and to remove the last of the powder he'd held in a capsule until he needed it to cut down the doorman. He put down the glass, still half full.

  "It's simple, Jack," Indy said, his tone suddenly serious. "No one but you is to know that I've—that is, Professor Henry Jones—has been here tonight."

  "I don't get it," Jack Shannon answered, as straight as Indy had spoken to him. "In the old days you were a fixture here every now and then. Something wrong, Indy? I mean, you've got to have a good reason for laying low like this."

  Shannon thought of the past and chuckled. "But then again, you always had a good reason for anything you did. So what's the score, pal?"

  Indy studied the man with whom he'd grown up in his Chicago days. "Jack, you still with the church?"

  "What?"

  "I mean, you always stayed with what your family felt was important. I don't remember you ever missed Sunday in church."

  "I still don't miss it. Just like it always was. Why?"

  "It could affect what I have to ask you."

  "Only way to find out is to ask, Indy. But first, tell me: What did you do to Patterson?"

  "Who?"

  "The gorilla we keep at the front door. I've seen him take on a whole bunch of troublemakers and flatten the place.

  You had him crying like a schoolgirl."

  "Oh, that." Indy nodded. "Tiger Tears. It's a powder I had some chemists whip up for me. They put it in a capsule and you release it by biting down. Makes the eyes smart and tear. Your man won't see much before tomorrow, but he'll be fine after that."

  "Thanks for telling me. I mean, Patterson's a pretty good guy. He never made it big in the ring and he works hard to protect us in here. Okay, that's all I'm going to ask you, Indy. The way you're talking I guess you're in town for a quick visit and then you're going to split, right?"

  "Right."

  "Same way you came in? Beard, limp, the old bum routine?"

  Indy shook his head. "Uhuh. When I leave here I'll be a welldressed society heel, mustache, racing cap, the works.

  You still have that private exit to the alley for your car?"

  "Sure do."

  "That's how I'll go, then. Want to give me a ride?"

  "You got it. Now, look, Indy, you're not in trouble, are you? I know I asked you before, but, well, I'd do anything for you. You're the best friend I've got."

  "Thanks, Jack. No, I'm not in trouble."

  "You sure you've got to cut out? I mean, buddy, I could play you a couple of your favorite numbers, just for old times' sake, and that allnight joint is still open.

  Ham, cabbage and beans, right, Indy? Just like we used to do."

  "Just save those cornet numbers for me, Jack. Look, friend, I'm going to ask you for help. But it's not for me. Would it sound too corny for you if I said it was for your country?"

  Shannon's eyes widened. "You a Gman, Indy?"

  Indy laughed. "Nothing like that. I'd like to tell you more, but I can't. Maybe later but not now. You'll have to take my word for it."

  "Okay; shoot."

  "Your partners ran a newspaper delivery business. They still got their fleet of trucks?"

  "Sure thing."

  "Can you get them working if you call them in the middle of the night?"

  "That's when they do most of their work, Indy."

  "I need a bunch of them, Jack. Not tonight, so there's plenty of time."

  "Where you want them?"

  "Milledgeville."

  "What's Milledgeville? Sounds like a home for midgets."

  Indy smiled. "Not quite. It's a town about ninety miles west of here. Bunch of small towns in that area. Polo, Oregon, Chadwick, and Milledgeville. There's a rail line that runs right down a valley where they're located."

  "Maybe you'll tell me why later. How many of my people do you need?"

  "Enough to bring a train to a stop and hold it up tomorrow night."

  Shannon's jaw dropped. For several moments he could hardly speak. Then he burst out laughing. "I thought this was on the level! What'd you do, Indy? Join up with Jesse James and his gang?"

  Indy shared his laughter. "No. But it is on the level. It's a special job, Jack.

  Like I said, it's for your country."

  "If I was hearing this from anybody else I'd . . ." Shannon shook his head.

  "Okay, Indy. I trust you.

  What's in that train?"

  "Gold. Artifacts. Some stuff like that."

  "What are you after?"

  "We don't care about the gold."

  "Well, that's different. What happens with the gold after it's lifted? I got a hunch you'll be picking that up, too."

  "You're right. But I want the gold returned."

  Shannon's eyes narrowed. "So there's some sort of, uh, well, something you're after. I got to ask you this, Indy. Will you be keeping it?"

  "Only for a little while."

  "This is crazy. I suppose next you'll tell me nobody gets hurt in this caper."

  "That's right."

  Shannon sighed. "I got the right people for this. Okay. I guess you're after one car in particular. Will you have it marked for us?"

  "I'll leave all the details with you."

  "What about guards?"

  "A detail. I don't mind noise and shooting, but nobody needs to get hurt. And I want you to use some special equipment."

  "Okay. In for a dime, in for a dollar."

  An hour later they were through. "Where do you need to go now?" Shannon asked.

  "Farmhouse. Isolated. Twenty miles south of Dubuque, maybe a hundred miles from here."

  "I know it."

  "We'll need to stop at the bus station downtown. My stuff is in a locker there."

  "Okay."

  "I really appreciate this, Jack."

  "I'll appreciate it myself when you tell me what's really going on, Indy."

  Shannon held up a hand. "Okay, okay. I'll wait."

  Indy clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll lay it all out for you one day. In the meantime—" He reached into his pocket and withdrew a leather bag. "Make absolutely sure this is with the take tomorrow night. Put it in the lift sack."

  Shannon took the bag. "Do I look?"

  "I'd prefer you didn't."

  Shannon shrugged. "What's it worth?"

  "Oh, a zillion bucks or so."

  "When'd you become a comic, Indy?"

  Three hours later the team heard the powerful car approaching along the river road leading to the farmhouse. Gale looked out between window drapes. "Looks like a limousine," she told the others.

  "How many?" Tarkiz barked.

  "I see only one set of headlights," she answered. "Douse the lights in here so I can—"

  Rene Foulois had the lights off before she finished her sentence. "It still looks like just one. The car's stopping. One man is out from the passenger side. He's coming around to stand in front of the headlights."

  "Good," Rene judged. "He's making sure we know who he is."

  "It's Indy!" Gale exclaimed. "I didn't recognize him in that . . . that dandified outfit he's wearing. He looks like a racetrack tout."

  "Never mind that. Is he still alone?" Tarkiz demanded in his heavy accent.

  Gale heard the metallic thud of an automatic pistol loading a round into the chamber. She knew without looking that it was Tarkiz. She became aware she hadn't heard a sound from Willard Cromwell. How could so big a man be so silent? She turned to scan the room. He was gone.

  Looking again through the window, her eyes now more acclimated to the gloom, she saw the hulking shadow by a tree trunk to the left of the car. No mistaking that portly figure, or the Thompson submachine gun in his hands. She knew if anyone from that car made a sudden move towards Indiana Jones it was all over for them. Willard would riddle the car with steeljacketed rounds that could punch right through a socalled bulletproof limo. But there was no need.

  Indy gestured a goodbye
to the figure behind the wheel, stepped aside, and stood on the roadside as the car made a wide turn in the yard and headed back in the direction from which it had approached.

  Indy called out in the darkness. "Nice cover, Willard. I appreciate that."

  Cromwell moved forward and became more visible. "And just how did you know where I was and who I was, if I may ask?" he said with goodnatured joviality.

  "Easy," Indy told him as they walked to the farmhouse. "I just put myself in your place and said, now, if I was good old Willard and I was bored out of my mind, sipping warm whiskey in the middle of this godforsaken nowhere, and there's Indy, and maybe he's in a spot of trouble, I would—"

  "Enough!" Willard laughed. Even from the house, Gale heard the distinctive click of Willard snapping on the safety to the Thompson.

  When they were all gathered in the living room, Indy stopped the rush of questions with a raised hand. "Food, first," he told them. "Time enough for a round table after that, and then a good night's sleep. We'll be up all night tomorrow, and I want everything ready to go by sunset."

  "Before we eat I want the dogs in place."

  Dinner—steaks and frankfurters grilled across the open fireplace—was almost ready. Preparations for their evening meal had led them into small talk and, as Indy had hoped, they began to take a more relaxed attitude toward each other. He was pleased to see that Gale Parker showed no discomfort at being the only female in the group. Indy smiled to himself. Only he knew of her prowess as a hellion in a fight, that she was expert in the use of a wide spectrum of weapons.

  Just as important to Indy was how the men regarded the fiery redheaded woman. He had rarely joined in a fraternity of this close nature, in which every man was a true and dangerous professional in his own right. So far, not one of the men indicated even a mild measure of contempt for the female in their midst. Either they had accepted the opinion of one Indiana Jones regarding Gale Parker, or two, they would judge for themselves just how she performed when the boom came down upon them all.

  There was a third possibility that might measure the track of their thoughts: that Indy had his own personal interest in Gale Parker as a woman to be desired.

  That was true in only one sense. Gale was most definitely one of the most outstanding women he had ever met, but his mind was anything but bent on romantic inclinations. There was this assignment, which more and more appealed to his curiosity as well as demanded a complex strategy. And strictly on a personal level, there was still a heavy measure of pain to be washed from his mind and emotions. He still had nightmares of Deirdre dying in that smashup in the Amazon—

  He forced himself back to the moment. The dogs. They had four of them in the barn. Mastiffs: big, ugly brutes, all of them attacktrained. But also trained to obey commands instilled in them as younger animals. "You want to feed them now?" Tarkiz asked.

  Indy shook his head. "No. We'll clip their cables to the ground posts. Put the biggest one by the plane. The other three will form a wide circle around this house and the barn. And leave them hungry. If we feed them they'll simply go to sleep.

  Give them water; that's all. Okay, I'll go with you. Tarkiz, Willard, you come with me. Rene, you and Gale finish getting dinner ready."

  Everyone complied. That was the value of a great team. No job was too important, no job too small. They moved the animals to their guard positions around the house and barn, then returned to the farmhouse where dinner waited for them all.

  Then they burned the wooden plates and forks in the fireplace along with leftovers from dinner. The knives were no problem. Everyone used his own blade weapon as a utensil.

  "We take off tomorrow night at precisely ten o'clock. That will give us plenty of time to use that Hollywood paint to cover our company sign and paint a false NC number on the tail. In fact, the more I think about it, we'll cover the Greatest Wines sign with one that reads Department of Public Works. Even if someone sees us they'll see that lettering and pay no attention to the plane."

  Indy turned to Willard Cromwell. "Will, you fly this trip. Gale, you'll be up front with him, navigating and helping him in any way you can. We'll talk to each other with the headsets and helmet microphones for intercom.

  Rene, I'll need you to work with me and the maps. Tarkiz, you'll work the snatch hook and the cradle reel. Everybody understand?"

  They all nodded.

  "And after we leave," Rene offered, gesturing to take in the farm, "what happens here? From the beginning you have stressed repeatedly, my friend, we leave nothing behind us, wherever we are, no matter what, that will be useful as personal identification."

  "Right," Indy agreed.

  "You do not mind elucidating for us?" asked the Frenchman.

  "We feed the dogs just before we take off. Arrangements have been made for them to be picked up one hour after we're gone. Whoever retrieves them drives in, puts the dogs in cages in his truck, and leaves. He does nothing else but that."

  "He won't come come into the house?" Cromwell asked lazily.

  "Not if he knows what's good for him. No shillyshallying around. In and out.

  And all trace of us is gone."

  "How can you hide our flying machine!" Rene Foulois objected suddenly. "You have magic to do this?"

  The group laughed. But Indy didn't want questions lingering. "Sort of," he told Foulois. "You're right, Frenchy.

  We can't hide the airplane. No way to disguise a big machine like the Ford.

  Not with three engines banging away. So what you can't hide, you disguise. I told you we'll paint that public works sign on the ship. And tonight, in fact, another Ford will be flying nearby. Tomorrow, during daylight, a Department of Public Works trimotor, the real thing, will be cruising around this area. It's on a highwayandfloodcontrol survey and it will keep right on flying for a few days after we're gone."

  Tarkiz Belem had remained silent through the exchange. "What is all this for, Indiana Jones?" he asked, his tone showing some concern about a detailed plan that seemed to have nowhere to go.

  "We're going to rob a train," Indy said. He laughed at the reactions about him.

  "Rob a train?" echoed Gale Parker.

  "That's right."

  Tarkiz studied Indy with suspicion. "I know you do many things, but train robbery . . ." He shook his head.

  "Well, I see I've got your interest," Indy said lightheartedly.

  "For someone who is an archeologist," Foulois broke in with a touch of sudden jocularity, "you seem to be taking on a new persona. What will be next, Indy? Holding up a stagecoach?" He held out his hands with extended fingers and upraised thumbs in the manner of holding two sixshooters. "Bang! Bang!" he shouted. "The fearless international wine merchants blaze their way through hostile redheads—"

  "Redskins," Indy corrected.

  "Of course. We blaze our way through and hold up the stagecoach. Indy, we might as well have stayed in England and become bandits in Sherwood Forest!"

  For someone who was connected with the highest levels of this operation, mused Indy, Foulois was doing a wonderful job of expressing doubts he knew were shared by the others.

  He spread out maps on the dining room table and motioned for the others to move in closer.

  "Tomorrow night," he said, moving his finger to a circled spot on the map, "this is where we make the hit. Figuring everything necessary to be ready, we'll take off precisely one hour before we're over the train. That way we'll have enough time to correct any problems—mechanical, weather, whatever it might be—so we can be right on time. That's necessary. The timing, I mean. There's a schedule we must keep."

  Gale could hardly contain herself. "Indy, are you saying that we're going to rob a train from the airplane?"

  He looked up at her, his face showing no sign of his thoughts. "Yes, I am."

  She leaned back, bewildered, but obviously ready to wait for more of whatever wild scheme Indy had cooked up.

  "May I ask a question before you go further?" Cromwell broke in. In
dy nodded and Cromwell continued. "It's really a small matter, I suppose. But I'm a bit new to this wild and woolly America of yours, Indy. What happens, the consequences, I mean, if we're identified?"

  "Oh, I have every intention of our being identified," Indy told him casually.

  "Not under our names, of course, but as a group under a different name. Robbing the train wouldn't be worth the bother if we didn't get the blame that way."