Indy leaned back with his eyes closed, but far from sleep.
He was moving himself into the immediate future when the chasing and longdistance flying would be behind them.
Now they'd be in a position to flush out their quarry.
And the quarry, Indy had come to learn so well, might just be ready and waiting for them.
Colonel Harry Henshaw spread out flight charts, road maps, and highaltitude photographs of longstrip areas within Texas and New Mexico. Indy stood to his left, Gale to his right, and at the huge planning table with them were several military intelligence officers. Along the opposite side of the table, waiting to be questioned, were several civilians: drivers of tanker trucks and, almost as if he were an intruder in working clothes, a high member of the Council of the Acoma Indians. While they remained within the inner security building inside the aircraft hangar at Wright Field, Cromwell and Foulois were ministering to the Ford Trimotor.
'These are the latest aerial photos taken by our pilots,' Henshaw said to Indy, but speaking as well to the entire group. 'Let's review with Mineral Wells as a starter.' He moved the maps to place aerial photographs in position so that they could be compared. 'The main source of helium, as you know, is here.' He tapped the map with a pointer.
'The wells are just to the west of the area of Fort Worth. Usually helium is transferred in railway tank cars because of ease of transport, storage, and the bulk involved. However, using tanker trucks is also common.
'Now, what emerges from our surveys is that the road traffic has increased enormously in the past few weeks.
These photos were taken above three main highways in the past week. The planes flew high enough not to attract too much attention from the ground, and we used transports, mainly, with camera mounts in belly hatches. Our people have circled positive identification of tanker trucks along these roads, and the circles are along lines heading in two main directions. One group works towards Lubbock, which is a main transport center, and the second main group takes the highway down to Midland and Odessa, and then starts to work their way generally northwest into New Mexico.'
'How many go into Albuquerque?' Indy asked.
Henshaw motioned to a truck driver. 'Indy, this is Mike Hightower. Mike, you want to field that question?'
The burly man leaned forward. 'Sure, Colonel.' He looked to Indy. 'We hardly ever carry helium to Albuquerque.
Not much call for it there. Our biggest customers are the navy, for blimps and those new dirigibles they got, and also some manufacturing outfits. Some of them, they ain't got any rail facilities, so we need the trucks.'
Hightower moved a map into a position so he and Indy could share the same area. 'Bunch of our trucks, they were dispatched to Santa Fe. That's right here.' He stabbed the map with a thick forefinger. 'But that's pretty crazy to me.
There ain't a thing up there in Santa Fe needs that much helium. Unless, of course,' he glanced at Henshaw, 'the military got some kind of secret project in the works. The colonel tells me no. Even the delivery is kind of screwy. I mean, we drive the trucks to where the drivers are told to go, and then they're told to leave the shipment there. Trucks and all. I raised hell about that, but then I got told by my boss that some big company bought us out and they're using new drivers in shifts. Our boys come back to Mineral Wells by chartered bus. They ain't complaining none, you understand. They get bonuses for what they're doing, and that kind of lettuce keeps everybody happy.'
'Any deliveries into Albuquerque itself?' Indy asked.
Hightower rolled a short cigar stub in his teeth. 'Uhuh. Some other trucks, they go direct from Mineral Wells to Roswell, here,' again he tapped the map, 'and they drop off the trucks there. A few of our guys, they were told to drive to Las Cruces, that's way south.'
Henshaw drew a finger northward on the map. 'From Las Cruces it's almost a straight shot north toward Albuquerque. That's pretty desolate country. You go through Truth or Consequences, the road parallels the Rio Grande River, then the trucks keep going through the lava fields by Elephant Butte and on up to Socorro.
When they reach Belen, they take a cutoff toward Acoma.'
'It's a dumb way to go,' Hightower offered. 'Lousy roads, I mean. Not too many of them paved. Beats hell out of the trucks. But like I said, whoever's bossing this operation, they're throwing dough around like there's no tomorrow, so our guys ain't kicking none.'
Indy studied the maps. 'But all roads lead to Acoma, don't they, Harry.' It was a statement more than a question.
'Yep,' Henshaw acknowledged. 'Hightower, the drivers, the ones who take over from your people, didn't you say they bring the trucks all the way back to Mineral Wells?'
'Yeah. It's a tough haul, but that's the way they do it. By the time we get
'em back we got to service them pretty good. They're beat up from that kind of pushing through that country. If we complain the trucks are busted up, they tell us to just junk 'em and give us new trucks. Craziest way to run a business I ever saw.'
'Anything else you might add?' Indy asked.
'No, sir. In fact, I shouldn't even be here. I mean, these guys are paying me a bonus to keep my trap shut. Don't answer no questions, they tell me. Then a bunch of guys, Feds, I mean, they visit me and say if I want to keep my license and stay in business, all I got to do is have a little chat. Like I'm having now. I been promised I leave here like I came in.'
'And how was that done?'
'I went to Gainesville. That's north of Fort Worth. Just below the Oklahoma border. Some army camp. At night a plane comes in, I climb in, and the next thing I know is that I'm here. Like I said, mister, I go out the same way.'
'Mr. Hightower, you've been a big help. You forget about this little visit, we'll drop you off at night at that camp outside Gainesville, and we never saw you.'
