her feminine response to a man who fairly exuded masculinity, yet managed to treat her with the respect he felt she deserved as a woman and an equal.
It was a magnetism to the opposite sex she had never known, and this sudden upward boiling of emotions puzzled and even frightened her. She was well out of water in her personal life experience. Indy's seemingly split personality toward her was as baffling as it was welcome. Gale knew she was as stubborn as a mountain goat, but Indy never tested that streak that ran so strongly in her.
She would gladly have welcomed his personal attention, yet she could not shake the reality that Indy was still living with the ghost of his dead wife. A dozen times she had started to ask him about Deirdre—what she was like, what had brought them together into marriage, how they had shared the wonder of exploration and adventure.
She gasped with surprise at herself when she realized she was jealous of a woman who had died several years before this moment! The revelation came that she wanted a relationship that would permit herself and Indy to bond closer. Nigh unto impossible, she sighed, in this group of professional killers.
Put it aside, woman! she railed at herself. She would have to do just that.
She must. And then, alone with her thoughts, she realized she was smiling, that she would take every attempt to narrow the gulf between them, to bring Indy to regard her as a woman as well as a partner in this strange mission on which they had embarked.
But does he feel that way about me . . . ?
She slammed a fist into her pillow, frustrated, starting to twist inside. Was she falling for Indy? Could that really be the case? Would she ever be willing to give up her incredible sense of freedom, the lustiness of going with the wind if that was what she desired. I don't need any man! she shouted to herself in another attack of selfrecrimination.
Another voice inside her head spoke quietly, laughingly. You're a liar, Gale Parker.
Alone in her room, she buried her face in her pillow. Oh, shut up, Gale Parker!
Cromwell finished his third cup of coffee and stubbed out his cigarette.
'Dashing great breakfast,' he sighed. Tarkiz nodded and let fly with a horrendous belch, beaming at the others. Foulois ignored him, dabbing gently at his lips with his napkin. Indy smiled; Gale kept a straight face.
'I'd like to see our machine,' Cromwell said suddenly to Colonel Henshaw, who'd shared breakfast with them.
Before Henshaw could reply, Tarkiz leaned forward and gestured denial with a wave of his hand. 'No, no, you cannot do that,' he said as if reproving Cromwell.
Henshaw showed surprise; Cromwell responded in his own unique way.
'And why the bloody hell not?' he demanded.
'Ah, the English have such short memories!' Tarkiz said loudly, beaming, turning from one person to another to assure himself of his audience. 'Do you already forget what our good colonel here,' he pointed to Henshaw, 'told us last night? He has orders! And those orders are to make our machine invisible.'
Tarkiz leaned forward, a conspiratorial gleam on his face. 'And not even the English can see invisible machines.'
Tarkiz was just a bit too ebullient, judged Indy. He smelled some sort of deliberate confrontation. He knew how much Tarkiz hated being kept in the dark about anything, and that invisibility remark had been chafing under his skin the night through. 'Leave it be,' he said quietly to Tarkiz.
The big Kurd stared back at him. 'Indy! You wound me, my friend. I want very much to see our invisible airplane.
The good colonel apparently can work miracles.' He turned to Henshaw. 'Tell me, Colonel. Does our invisible airplane still fly? Even though we cannot see it?'
If he thought Henshaw would be taken aback by his sudden sarcastic thrust he was greatly mistaken. Indy busied himself with his coffee mug to keep from bursting into laughter. Henshaw, his face as bland as he could make his expression, looked directly at Tarkiz.
'Mr. Belem, the answer is yes. Your airplane is invisible, and it flies, and it matters not one iota if you can see it.'
'How marvelous,' Rene Foulois joined in. 'I've never flown an invisible airplane. I look forward to such a unique experience.'
Gale Parker studied the men about her. 'Does anybody get the feeling there's an enormous amount of legpulling going on here?'
They turned, as one, to her. 'Miss Parker,' Cromwell said with heavy civility, 'either you have the answer, or I suggest we go see our invisible aeroplane.'
'He does not yet understand,' Tarkiz jumped in quickly, enjoying the mild furor he'd brought to the table.
'It is like the British lion. All the British are proud of the way it rules so much of the world, but no one has yet seen that shaggy beast.'
'Everybody up and at 'em,' Indy broke in without a moment for the exchange to heat up. 'Colonel,' he turned to Henshaw, 'let's see your magic at work.'
The friction evaporated as they went to the bus parked inside the hangar. Henshaw stopped them by the entry door, handing each member of the group a clipon, glasssealed identification tag. 'You'll need these ID tags anywhere on this base,' he explained. 'Please have them clipped to your clothing at all times.'
Foulois studied his carefully. 'Colonel, you fascinate me. This tag has my name, physical characteristics, a photograph of me, and the thumbprint of my right hand.' He studied the colonel. 'I did not have my print or my photograph taken, so how could you—'
'Standard procedure, sir, when we prefer not to bother our guests with routine. Photographs, including films, have been taken of you a dozen times. And whatever you touched—a glass, a cup, personal articles—well, you left good prints everywhere. We simply lifted them for each of you. Standard procedure, Mr. Foulois.
Can we board now, please?'
