'Scotland. More gliders, then an old training plane. My mother had the money, and I spent another summer at a flying school up there.'
'I suppose you flew solo in powered machines?' asked Cromwell.
'Yes.'
'Well, will you get to the bleedin' point, Miss Parker! Do you have your certificate?'
She turned again with the smile of a lynx. 'Single engine, multiengine, commercial privileges.'
'I'll be hanged,' Cromwell said quietly.
'Indy, do you want to give it a go now?' Gale asked the perplexed man behind her.
'Let's let it wait until tomorrow,' Foulois broke in. 'I have the field in sight. Not enough time left for now. All right, Gale, I'll take it from here.'
She kept her left hand on the yoke and began easing back the throttles to start their descent toward the airfield.
'Why?' she asked.
'Well, it's obvious, I mean, ah,' he faltered.
'Why don't you work the radio?' she asked sweetly.
Indy seemed to have a thundercloud over his head. 'Sure, you work the radio, Rene,' he said in clipped tones. He couldn't believe this. She was going to try to land this thing, her first time on the controls!
She brought the Ford down in a perfect threepoint landing. She taxied off the runway onto the long taxiway back to their hangar. 'Would you mind taking it from here?' she asked Foulois as she started from her seat.
'Oh. Yes, of course. Thank you,' he said, feeling like an idiot.
She squeezed past Indy, close enough to brush his lips with hers as she went by. 'Excuse me, Indy. I need to fix my hair.'
10
Indy stood before the door to Cromwell's room. He raised a fist, hesitated, then slammed his fist against the door. He heard a startled 'Good God! Are the Huns attacking?' as Cromwell burst from a deep sleep. The next moment a loud crash ensued from the room as Cromwell lurched from his bed and fell over his boots. Indy pushed open the door, staring down at Cromwell with his face pushed into the floor. Indy grasped his arm and hauled the portly Britisher to his feet.
'Do you know what time it is, Will? Do you remember what we're supposed to do first thing this morning? Did you arrange for the plane to be ready?' Indy hurled a barrage of questions at the befuddled pilot still trying to shake cobwebs from his brain.
'No. What time is it?' he mumbled.
'It's already fivethirty, man!'
'Fivethirty? What are you doing up at this ungodly hour?'
'You're going to teach me to fly this morning, you nit! Wake up!'
'I'm trying, I'm trying. Maybe this is just a bad dream. Go away, Indy.'
Indy shook life into the sagging body. 'Ten minutes, Brigadier. See you in the mess.'
Indy stomped into the dining mess, poured a mug of steaming coffee, and slumped into a chair at the table.
Foulois studied him carefully. 'Someone left some hot coals in place of your eyeballs, Indy.'
Indy grunted, sipping coffee. 'Studied most of the night.'
'All fired up to get at the controls, no?'
'Something wrong with that?' Indy challenged.
'Perish the thought. I admire your spirit. Where's Colonel Blimp?'
Cromwell slouched into the room, wobbled before the coffee urn, filled his mug, and dragged himself to the table.
He eased into a chair. 'I tried your guaranteed, moneyrefunded, can'tmiss wakeup system, Professor Jones.'
'I would like to hear what that is,' Foulois said.
Cromwell looked at the Frenchman. 'He,' he started, pointing at Indy, 'said the way to come awake is to stand bloody naked in the toilet bowl and pour hot coffee over your head. I tried it. My scalp is scalded, the hair is burned off my chest, and not a drop made it down to my feet. The only problem is that while it is somewhat agonizing, it doesn't wake you up. It just sent me rushing into a cold shower.'
Indy nodded to Foulois. 'See? It works.' He turned back to Cromwell. 'Drink coffee. Eat if you can. Then we fly'
'Ah, but you are to be disappointed,' Foulois said with a gesture of defeat.
'Not today, mon ami. Have you looked upon the world outside?'
Indy stomped into the hangar and headed for a window. Before he reached it he knew the bad news. A hissing roar, a sudden flash of light, and a deafening crack of
thunder from the lightning bolt. At the window he stared at a monsoonlike downpour.
