Not a moment too soon. He glanced about him. They'd put out the fire by the truck.
In the distance he saw the guards running away.
Shannon sat on the roof. He looked about him until he found one of the security rings used atop these cars when security men rode shotgun up here. He snapped a heavy safety hook to the ring, then extended the raglike balloon.
'Hang on to this, Max. Whatever you do, don't let it go.'
The deflated bag, the lines, and the heavy leather case were stretched out on the car roof. Shannon inserted a thin hose from the pressure container he'd carried with him, turned a valve to full on, and listened to the sharp hiss of gas flowing from the container to the balloon. Quickly the helium inflated, struggling to rise, but was held by Max's weight.
'Okay, Max, let it up slowlike, you got me?'
Max grunted, nodding. He eased off on his grip and the helium balloon, now fully inflated, rose to its maximum reach of thirty feet above the railcar roof. Wires were taped to the restraining line; the wires went from a battery remaining atop the train to two lights on the balloon, one on top, the other on the bottom so that it stood out sharply in the night.
Shannon looked down the tracks to the west. He hadn't had a moment to waste. The light in the sky was brilliant and it was getting bigger and brighter all the time. Thunder boomed down the valley, rebounding from the hills on each side, a roar rasping and howling all at the same time.
'Flatten out!' Shannon yelled to Max. 'Hit the deck!' Both men dropped prone. The light swelled as it rushed at them, the sound pounding against their ears.
Willard Cromwell cinched his seat belt just a tad tighter until he was comfortably snug in the left seat of the Ford Trimotor's cockpit. To his right, Gale Parker kept her finger moving along the map line marking the course of the railroad tracks. As they passed recognizable landmarks she called them out to Cromwell.
'That's Milledgeville. The tracks will swing just a bit northward here,' she told him; shouting above the roar of the three Pratt & Whitney engines.
Cromwell clapped a hand to his right ear. 'You don't need to shout,' he reminded her. 'Just use the bloody intercom. We can all hear you quite well. Don't forget that they're listening to you back in the cabin.'
She nodded assent. 'All right. Just a few miles to go. Can you see where the tracks ease off on that long curve into the valley?'
'Got it,' he said brusquely. He was right at home; this was just like another bomb run, although he'd have to be as accurate as he ever was. He eased in left rudder and a touch of left aileron, a gentle bank to stay directly over the tracks.
'Give me the searchlight,' he directed her. 'We're past the town now and it looks like open country from here on in.'
Indy called from the cabin. 'Can you see the train yet?' 'We should any moment now, and—yes; there it is! I've got the red lights at the back, and there's a bunch of cars there with their headlights on.'
'Let me know the instant you see that double light above the train,' Indy called back on the intercom.
He lay prone on the cabin floor, a gaping hatch open beneath him, the wind howling inches away. Tarkiz Belem had wedged himself against two seats and he had a powerful death grip on Indy's ankles. Indy could see a few hundred yards ahead of the aircraft.
'I've got that double light atop the train!' Gale sang out. 'It looks steady.'
Indy and Foulois checked the cable snatch system extending beneath and trailing the airplane. It was the same system used for years by mailplanes to snatchandgrab mail bags hung on a cable between two high poles; the plane would come in at minimum altitude, trailing a hook system and snatch the bag, and then an electric motor would reel it in.
'Airspeed is ninetyfive, Indy,' Cromwell reported. 'We're right on the money at just under fifty feet above ground.'
'Hold it there . . . okay, I've got the train in sight, I see the bag. Get ready! Make this run perfect, Will —'
The Ford thundered out of the night, its powerful landing light a cyclopean monster racing through darkness. The landing gear swept over the train. Cromwell held the airplane rocksteady as they rushed over the last cars, and he felt the slight thud as the hook snagged the cable beneath the helium balloon.
They'd worked this out with machinelike precision. The moment Indy sang out into the intercom, 'Got it!' Cromwell eased back on the yoke in his left hand, held the throttles exactly where they were, and pulled the Ford into a gentle climb, bleeding off airspeed to just above seventy miles an hour. Back in the cabin, Tarkiz held Indy steady while Foulois rotated a large handle that brought up cable on the winch secured to the floor and seat braces.
'Hold it! Okay; right there!' Indy ordered. He held out his right hand. Foulois handed him his Webley. Indy held the heavy revolver in both hands, aimed carefully, and fired a single shot into the helium balloon. It deflated instantly into a fluttering rag. Moments later the entire assembly was in the airplane. They slid shut the floor hatch and locked it in place. Indy swung around to a sitting position. Foulois spoke into his microphone. 'Cromwell, stay in the climb. Follow the flight plan.'
Gale held up a chart and printed instructions. 'Eight thousand feet,' she called off from the checklist. 'All running lights and landing lights out.'
'Very good,' Cromwell said easily, smiling. 'Piece of cake, that was.'
'You are good,' Gale told him with honest admiration. She was right. Cromwell had made this run as if he'd done it a hundred times before.
Foulois and Belem watched Indy open the leather case. He withdrew the gold statue and handed it to Belem. The big man's eyes lit up at the sight and heft of the gold. Indy laughed. 'It's not what you think,' he told Tarkiz. Dark eyes narrowed.
'What do you mean, Indy?' 'Try cutting it with a knife. It's plated. Under that plating that thing is lead.'
