Blanchefort and Rennes. You can't hide that sort of thing. Nungesser's people took elaborate photographs of both chateaus. They located unusual radio antenna almost perfectly concealed among the towers and battlements. The moment they saw those, they began a sweep of all radio frequencies that might be used for longdistance transmissions. Nungesser is very sharp, indeed. He struck paydirt almost immediately and, wisely, made no move to interfere or let it be known the places were under surveillance. It wasn't enough to suspect strongly, or even to know that this was, if not the headquarters, at least one of the prime locations of the group behind these attacks. We needed to get inside.'
'So that's how you used Castilano,' Dr. Pencroft said quietly.
'Yes, sir,' Treadwell confirmed. 'First we set up all that uproar in the press about Christ's bones in a tomb. The Vatican called for an investigation. Which called for Cardinal Castilano, with the blessings of the French government, to make his pilgrimage to the two chateaus and to Arques. Filipo needed to get inside to talk with as many people as he could, to see if he could recognize a face, a voice; anything.'
'It sounds to me as if you sent a lamb into the lion's den,' Gale said, her criticism unconcealed.
'Filipo Castilano is a professional intelligence and espionage agent,'
Treadwell said quickly. 'He is no lamb.'
'Did he find what he was after?'
'We believe he made a breakthrough. Apparently he recognized one man's voice. His mannerisms. He managed to get a note out with one of his priests—who became ill and had to return to Rome—with his suspicions.' 'Who was it?' Pencroft demanded. 'It's still a bit sticky, sir,'
Treadwell replied. 'The name we received was Cordas. Konstantin LeBlanc Cordas. Extremely powerful. Also, as Professor Jones has indicated, someone in that group is familiar with archeology. We know that Cordas is a dedicated evolutionist, a man who believes in sociallydirected control of the masses. He is also quite competent in metallurgy.
He owns vast steel plants and machine shops. He fits the pattern perfectly.'
'But Cordas . . . he was killed in that terrible accident in Switzerland!'
Pencroft protested.
'Not likely,' Indy said. 'Not if he did just what we did with the Barclay. Put a double on that flying boat. The difference is that Cordas likely killed many of his own people.'
'Charming fellow,' Pencroft murmured. 'Did we hear any more from Filipo?'
Treadwell's face darkened. 'No, sir. And I don't believe we ever will. If there was even a hint of suspicion, they would have done him in.' Treadwell sipped water.
'But it gave us a lead that we needed desperately. We're following through on it, of course.'
'And in the meantime,' Indy said with sudden authority and no small impatience, 'there's that airship and the discs. And that huge ship we saw in the Atlantic.'
'That ship is gone,' Henshaw came into the exchange.
'Gone?' Pencroft echoed.
'The American and British governments believe the ship, in bad weather, perhaps struck an iceberg and went down without warning,' Henshaw said with a straight face.
A smile creased the old man's face. 'How ruddy convenient,' he chuckled.
'Serves the buggers right.'
Indy turned to Henshaw. 'It couldn't be one of those icebergs that fires torpedoes, could it?'
'Difficult to tell,' Henshaw said, still with a straight face. 'It appears there were maneuvers in that area. Multinavy, so to speak. American, British, French, even one or two submersibles from Italy, I believe. No one's quite sure.
Terrible weather, storms at sea, that sort of thing.'
'You know, Indy,' Treadwell came into their exchange, 'it does seem to me there were reports of a most severe explosion in the area. Now, if a berg did slice into an engine room and cold sea water hit the boilers, the effect could be very much like that of a warhead doing the same thing.'
'In the confusion of the maneuvers, there's simply no way to tell which submarine was where at what time,'
Henshaw added.
Indy's hand suddenly slapped the table. 'By God, that's perfect]' he exclaimed.
'You are demonstrative at times,' Pencraft chided him.
'I think we've just boxed them in,' Indy said with visible excitement.
Gale smothered a laugh. Even the prospect of getting out of these meeting rooms and interminable conferences was enough to get Indy's blood racing.
'I do believe I get your drift,' Treadwell said to Indy.
'Would someone mind telling me?' Pencraft said testily.
Indy turned to the impatient man by his side. 'It works this way, sir. From what Colonel Henshaw has been able to find out, there's only one of these giant airships in operation. Now, when we confirmed the existence of that floating dirigible carrier, which seems'—he smiled—'to have been caved in by a very fast iceberg, we pretty well confirmed their method of operation. They couldn't hide that ship when it landed for resupply. It's too big, impossible to conceal. So they modified a tanker or some other big ship that could accommodate that airship and refuel it and give it whatever else it needed.'
Indy almost banged his fist on the table. 'But now it hasn't got that floating base any more! It's got to come down somewhere, to some kind of a permanent base. Something that's big enough to move the airship into, so it isn't visible either on the surface or from the air. Does that make sense to you, Dr. Pencraft?'
