"We know this operation was German. Not only was there a certain Teutonic efficiency involved," Treadwell explained, "but we do keep tabs on how Germany is transforming itself from a beaten nation into a new power.
Officially, that part is nonsense, of course, because our leaders still believe in the goodness of men, including the Germans, which," he interjected, "I do not. They are too busy beating their plowshares into weapons. They have created an entire new secret service organization. We know that Hermann Goring has been making the rounds of industry. There are all the signs of rearmament."
"The diamonds," Indy broke in. "I imagine this is part of their program to finance a new military force."
Treadwell nodded. "But that's not the way it worked out, Professor Jones."
Something in his tone told Indy he'd soon find out why he'd been called in here with all this secrecy mumbo jumbo.
Pencroft gestured. "How did you confirm the Germans in all this?"
"Aside from keeping tabs on certain individuals," Treadwell said quickly, "we keep an ongoing record of Germany's movements within, to, and from Africa. They are unabashedly making their move to control most or all of that continent, just as they are doing through their Condor airlines and other groups in South America. I do not wish to get off the track, so to speak, but the more I can impress upon you that we know what Germany is doing, the better you may comprehend what follows.
"We know that a certain German airline captain, von Moreau, was flying a Rohrbach commercial flying boat on its regular run between Germany and South Africa. We, ah, obtained the passenger manifest without the knowledge of Aero Lloyd—"
"Skullduggery, is it now," Pencroft offered with a smile.
"Yes, sir. My point is that we checked on a number of the passengers listed on that manifest. They were not on the flying boat. Their names, reservations, passport numbers, everything was in order, except that they never made the flight.
Obviously, it was a covert operation of some kind. Also, we worked with the South Africans who went over the wrecked trains. Their chemists, working with us, have identified the type of explosives right down to the factory, the chemical plant, where they were produced. No one else we know of has that very particular chemical substance.
Enough small debris was remaining for absolute confirmation."
"There was something else I'd heard about," Indy said carefully.
"You heard about this affair? Before now, I mean?" Treadwell asked sharply.
"Not exactly," Indy said. "But there might be a connection."
"Please, Professor, if you would—?" Treadwell pressed.
"It's no secret between this university," Indy said, "and our associates at the Archeology Division of the South African university, that some sort of incredible find may have been discovered deep in one of the diamond mines.
They're very sticky about security when it comes to those mines, but what was found was so bizarre that even the mining company people had no choice but to make what they thought were discreet inquiries as to the nature of what they had in their possession. I must alert you to the fact that none of this might have even a grain of truth to it, but in our business, Mr. Treadwell, you never overlook any kind of a lead."
"What, ah, was the nature of this find, Professor Jones?"
"A cube, with markings of a type never seen before." i Pencroft broke in, looking aggrieved. "I hadn't heard any of this, Indiana. You must keep me better informed."
"It may be nothing but balderdash, sir," Indy responded, using one of Pencraft's favorite expressions.
"The cube supposedly came from a section of the mine being dug for the first time. It is deep. Very deep. The engineers estimate the surrounding quartz is anywhere from a hundred thousand to perhaps several million years old.
"And what," Indy went on softly, "is a cube with cuneiform markings doing in a diamond vein, while mankind was still climbing down from the trees?"
"You're that certain of the age?" Treadwell asked.
"No way!" Indy retorted. "All this is still unconfirmed. Normally it would be discarded as so much errant nonsense. But that cube, if it exists, could be only a thousand years old. Or, as some people in Rome seem to think, two thousand years old."
Treadwell showed his confusion. "Rome? Two thousand years old?"
"About the same time as Christ," Pencroft said, a touch of glee in his voice.
"You remember him, don't you, Mr.Treadwell? Jehoshua, Jesus, the Savior, by those names and others. As for Rome, I'm certain you know where the Vatican is located."
"That's why," Indy added, "even the slightest thread, the most tenuous possibility that the cube exists, that it is a cube, that it may have cuneiform inscriptions, that it might be two thousand years old, or that perhaps it has some connection with Christ, apparently has the highest levels of the Vatican almost frantic with desire to gain possession of this object. If it exists, with all the ifs, ands, or buts that I've mentioned to you."
Treadwell sank back in his seat. Finally he looked up, first at Pencroft and then back to Indy. "What you have just told me makes what I still haven't related to you even more incredible."
"This isn't a suspense show," Indy said, impatience in his voice. "Get on with it."
"Yes, yes," Pencroft pushed. "I'm out of tea and brandy and at my age that's more important to me than this conversation that seems to have no end to it." Indy knew the old man was in pain but was concealing it beneath sudden brusqueness.
Treadwell took a deep breath. "The flying boat, that Rohrbach with the diamonds aboard and perhaps this mysterious cube as well, never made it to Germany. "
That brought up both Indy and Pencroft, fully attentive. "Don't tell me that someone hijacked the German airliner!"
Pencroft said, on the edge of bursting out into laughter.
"What happened?" Indy asked quietly.
"We were told what happened," Treadwell said, hesitating.
"Speak up, man!" Pencroft shouted.
"There is one man we talked with," Treadwell said slowly and carefully, "who apparently was a member of the Rohrbach crew. The only survivor of an attack on that airplane. He told us they had flown the night through to cross Africa. The pilot kept the airplane high, at fourteen thousand feet, which is about the limit for a Rohrbach with a heavy fuel load. He also spoke about the cold at altitude, and some of the crew having headaches from the lack of oxygen."
"Yes, yes," Pencroft prompted. "Then what?"
"There was a great deal of excitement in the cockpit. He saw the radioman—he remembered him as Stryker, and we've confirmed that, by the way—anyway, Stryker was upset about his radios not working, and then after some more excitement in the cockpit, while they were
over what was apparently the center of the Mediterranean, von Moreau started his descent to land on the water."