'But—'
'It's a diorama,' Indy told him.
'It is big damned bear!' Tarkiz shouted.
'Ah, but this bear, and all the others,' Jocko broke in, 'are very dead.'
'Dead bears do not walk and roar,' Tarkiz grated.
'They're mechanical inside,' Indy said to Tarkiz, gently pushing down his arm and the weapon. 'Apparently this is where they set up the dioramas—that's a duplicate of the real world—before they move the display upstairs for the public.'
'You mean,' Tarkiz said, wideeyed, 'these are like big toys?'
'Sure,' Jocko told him. 'Electricity runs their mechanical systems.' He laughed. 'Like a player piano.'
Indy wanted as little as possible to do with meetings. He felt stifled, hemmed in. Best to get this one over with as quickly as possible. 'Jocko, let's keep it moving.'
'Yes, sir.' Jocko led them down another corridor and through a set of double doors, where a group of people watched their entrance. Filipo Castilano rose from a table to greet them. Gale took note that Indy obviously knew this man well. Her eyes swept the group; she recognized Yoshiro Matsuda from the gathering in Ohio.
Rashid Quahirah had been known to her from Egypt, long before the Ohio meeting.
She turned to Indy, and saw him studying a striking woman at the table's far end. At the same time she realized Indy was working the concealed wirelead camera trigger; the Leica was clicking away as Indy turned his body to capture everyone present on film. He stepped aside to let Gale pass him, and from the corner of her eye she saw the deft movement as he replaced the leather cover to the camera.
Indy locked his gaze with that of the woman. Castilano introduced her. 'It is my pleasure,' he told Indy. 'This is Madame Marcia Mason.'
Indy greeted her with a murmured, 'My pleasure, Madame,' and in return he received a nod and a study of himself from the woman. She had a powerful presence.
Indy could almost feel her strength, yet he judged her name to be a false identity.
He took in her severe yet striking features and dark hair. She was elegant in dress and presentation, and held herself with a confidence that came only with an athletic, hardmuscled background. Intelligent, tough, and accustomed to giving orders.
Castilano had introduced her as from Denmark. That was so obviously untrue; my money is on Romania or Russia, Indy figured. And a double identity in this closed circle doesn't fit. I'll have to watch this one carefully.
Indy took his seat, Gale and Tarkiz arraying their chairs behind him. Castilano spoke to the group. 'May we get right to the matter at hand?' Murmurs of agreement met his offer, and he looked directly at Indy.
'We know about last night,' Castilano said.
Word travels fast, thought Indy, but his face showed no idea of what he was thinking. He'd already made his decision to play this scene as easily and as quickly as he could. He shrugged. 'It wasn't the first time,' he said in reply.
Ah, that struck a chord. Marcia Mason had leaned forward, an easy movement that brought her the attention of the others. 'Perhaps you can tell us why such things are happening to you, Professor Jones. I, for one, fail to understand.'
'I'm a thorn in the side of the people we're trying to identify and to locate, Miss Mason. They have the idea that if they dispose of me, well, then they can continue their game unhindered.'
'Is your presence so important to them?' the woman came back smoothly. It was as much a putdown as a question.
Filipo Castilano glanced at Merlyn Franck, the real power behind the museum.
Castilano spoke quickly to head off what could become an unpleasant exchange between Indy and the woman.
'Mr. Franck, do you have any conclusions on this matter? Any further news as to what we're up against?'
Merlyn Franck didn't smile, which told Indy that he was in at least partial agreement with Marcia Mason. 'I confess,' he said slowly, 'that some people are of the belief that Professor Jones has created a furor about himself in order to give him carte blanche in his, well, his investigative process.'
'Doctor Franck, you're mincing words. If there's a criticism of what I'm doing, or how I'm doing it, just come right out with it.'
Franck nodded, sighing with some inner regret. He and Indy had worked on projects long before this meeting and he wanted to maintain the excellent relationship between them. Yet, now he felt he had no choice but to be blunt. 'We have been told, Professor Jones, that the incidents of personal attacks against you might never have taken place.
That you have told us these stories for some reason which, I confess, I myself can't fathom.'
Indy resisted a sharp answer. Franck meant well; that was what counted. He was simply in an unpleasant position.
'Sir, I can't be responsible for what people tell you. I don't even care to know who they are, but I will say that whatever you heard it wasn't from those men on the train. The old saying still fits: Dead men tell no tales.'
Franck sighed again. 'Professor Jones, there are members of our group who have difficulty with this 'evil empire'
we've been told about. The consortium supporting your, ah, activities, now has grave doubts about such an organization.'
'Fair enough,' Indy said. 'What do they believe?'
'That the evil empire as an entity is simply a front, and that none of us really have hard facts about what's going on.'
