Tarkiz showed his confusion. He snatched a long blade from his boot and sliced into the statue. He stared at the gray lead beneath the thin outer plating of gold.
'Why in the name of three blue devils did we go through all this, then!' he shouted.
'Because we needed to get that pyramid everyone is talking about,' Indy told him. 'And we have it?' asked Foulois.
'It's in the bag.' Indy tweaked him. 'But . . . how could you know?' They watched Indy retrieve the small leather sack from the larger bag. He opened the sack and held the pyramid with its cuneiform etchings for them to see for themselves.
'But . . . how could you know it was in that little sack?' Belem said, more confused than ever.
Indy moved to a seat and sprawled, his long legs stretched out. 'Easy,' he said with an air of nonchalance. 'I knew where it was because I'm the one who put it there.'
He tossed the pyramid to Foulois, who grabbed desperately for what he had until this moment believed was one of the most anxiously sought artifacts in the world. 'You hang onto it for now,' Indy told him. He secured his seat belt and pushed his hat over his eyes.
'I'm going to take a nap. Wake me when we're ready to start down.'
'Mon dieu,' Foulois groaned. He looked at Belem. 'I am beginning to believe our man Jones is really crazy.'
Tarkiz Belem glared at the worthless statue. 'Either he is,' he grated, 'or we are.'
6
'Wright Tower, this is Crazy Angels with you at eight thousand, estimate two zero miles out, and landing.
Over.'
Gale Parker and Tarkiz Belem showed their questions in their sudden stares at one another. Cromwell and Foulois were together in the cockpit, this time with the Frenchman at the controls and Cromwell working radio communications. But who was this Crazy Angels?
'It fits perfectly,' Belem said to Gale Parker. 'This whole affair has been crazy, no? From the beginning. Crazy Angels, it is our call sign, I judge.'
Gale nodded. 'Sounds reasonable. 'What I don't get is why we're going into an army field.'
'As soon as Indy awakens, little one, I'm sure he will come up with something new that is even crazier than everything that has happened so far.'
Behind their seats, Indy slowly pushed back the brim of his wellworn hat. It was an Indiana Jones trademark and had held off broiling sun and howling snow. An old friend. He peered owlishly from beneath it.
'We're landing at Wright Field,' he said to both Gale and Tarkiz, 'for some magic.'
'Magic?' they echoed.
'Uhhuh.' Indy stretched and yawned. 'We need to, well, disappear.'
'They have vanishing cream, I suppose, at a military field,' Gale said with easy sarcasm.
'Close to it.' He was on his feet. He clapped Tarkiz on a broad shoulder.
'Hang in there, friend. The doors will swing wide very soon and from there you will see daylight.'
Indy went forward to the cockpit, standing behind the two pilot seats. He stared through the sharply angled windshield, watching the scattered lights of small towns passing below. Isolated twin beams poked along dark stretches of highway, and he could even make out glowing red taillights.
'They call you back from Wright Field?' he asked Cromwell.
'Only to stand by for landing instructions. They— Just a moment. Here they are now,' Cromwell replied. 'Here, Indy.' He handed Indy a headset.
'Crazy Angels, Crazy Angels, Wright Tower. Your clearance is confirmed.
You are cleared to begin your descent now. No other traffic reported, and you are cleared for a straightin approach to runway one six zero. Please read back.
Wright Tower over.'
Cromwell repeated their instructions and then added, 'We'll give you a call when we have the field in sight. Over.'
'That is affirmative, Crazy Angels. The followme truck will be waiting for you at the midway turnoff from the runway. No further transmissions are necessary but we will monitor this frequency in case you need us. Wright Tower over and out.'
'Cheerio.' Cromwell signed off. He turned to Indy. 'You catch all that?'
'Very good,' Indy confirmed. 'How long before we land?'
'Twelve, fourteen minutes.'
'Okay. When you shut down, take your personal belongings with you. I'll tell the others.'
Less than ten minutes later they had the rotating beacon in sight. Foulois had been descending steadily, and with the field lights growing steadily brighter he eased the Ford onto a heading of 160°eg to settle for the straightin approach and landing.
'I've got the runway in sight,' Cromwell told him.
'Roger that,' Rene said; a moment later: 'Got it.'
