'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.'
