The Adventures Of Indiana Jones

by Campbell Black

  And I fell for it.

  “I didn’t trust her. Why did you?” Henry muttered, tilting his head toward Indy.

  The man in the chair rose to his feet and answered Henry’s question. “Because he didn’t take my advice. That’s why.”

  Indy gaped as Walter Donovan strolled over to them, his bearing as regal and aristocratic as the room. Jesus. He couldn’t believe it.

  “Didn’t I tell you not to trust anyone, Dr. Jones?” Donovan smiled benignly as he flipped casually through the Grail diary.

  Indy had no snappy response; he didn’t say anything at all. This was the man who had told him his father was missing, the man who had told him to meet Dr. Schneider in Venice, the bastard behind the whole scheme. What could he possibly say that would make any difference?

  Everything was moving too fast. In the past few minutes, he had been betrayed by Elsa and by Donovan. To top it off, he had found out Elsa had gone to bed with his father, who had inadvertently clobbered him over the head with a vase.

  Henry gave an indignant snort, but when he spoke, his voice was old and tired. “I misjudged you, Walter. I knew you’d sell your mother for an Etruscan vase; I didn’t know you’d sell your country and your soul to this bunch of madmen.”

  Donovan ignored Henry. The crease in his forehead deepened as he paged through the diary faster and faster. Something was obviously wrong.

  “Dr. Schneider!” he stammered.

  Elsa rushed over to him. “What is it?”

  Donovan held up the Grail diary and shook it in her face. “This book contained a map—a map with no names—but with precise directions from the unknown city to the secret canyon of the Holy Grail.”

  “Yes,” she said. “It’s known as the Canyon of the Crescent Moon.”

  “Where is the map?”

  Elsa shrugged and looked a little uneasy. She said she didn’t know, she thought it was in the diary. Donovan, his face pink with anger, looked from Elsa to Indy. “Well, where are the missing pages? We must have them.”

  Henry glanced at Indy, looking surprised and quite pleased.

  Indy smirked.

  “You’re wasting your breath asking him,” Elsa said. “He won’t tell us. And he doesn’t have to. It’s perfectly obvious where the pages are.”

  She flashed a triumphant smile at Indy and turned to Donovan. “He gave them to Marcus Brody.”

  Henry squeezed his eyes closed as if to shut out what he had just heard. When he opened them again, he turned them on Indy. “Marcus? You dragged poor Marcus along? My God, Junior, he’s not up to the challenge.”

  “We’ll find him,” Donovan said, and turned away, dismissing them.

  “Don’t be so sure,” Indy called after him. “He’s got a two-day start on you, which is more than he needs.”

  Donovan paused, considering what he had just heard. Indy rushed on. “Brody has friends in every town and village between here and the Sudan. He knows a dozen languages and every local custom. He’ll be protected. He’ll disappear. You’ll never see him again. With a little luck on his side, he’s probably found the Grail Cup already.”

  Henry grinned. “That’s very impressive,” he muttered. “I hope you’re right.”

  Donovan walked up to Indy and studied the man as if he were looking for flaws in a work of art. “Dr. Jones, it’s too bad you won’t live to find out what happens. Neither of you will.”

  The way he looked at him made Indy feel as if Donovan knew more about him than he was letting on. Maybe he did. He suddenly wondered if Donovan had anything to do with the Cross of Coronado. He recalled that the man in the Panama hat had said the buyer wanted him dead. Maybe the reason had not only been to stop him from looking for the cross but to keep him from looking for his father. Then, when things had gone wrong—when the diary had disappeared, when Indy survived—everything had changed.

  But that was just speculation. He was certain, if he asked, Donovan would deny knowing what he was talking about. The man was too arrogant ever to admit that anyone could outwit him.

  “Something on your mind, Dr. Jones?”

  Indy stared back and remained silent.

  Donovan turned to the guards. “Take them away.”

  Indy and Henry were tied back-to-back in a pair of chairs and watched over by two hulking Nazi guards. They had been moved to another room in the castle, one in which heavy, floor-length drapes hung from all the windows blocking out the wet night. As in the room in which Donovan had condemned them, an immense fireplace dominated one wall. But here there was no cheery fire; the room was dark and cold.

  They had been bound for several hours when Elsa and Donovan entered the room. Donovan addressed the guards in German and asked if the captives had behaved themselves.

  “Must we be tied up like this?” Henry complained after one of the guards told Donovan that the prisoners weren’t going anywhere. “We’re gentlemen, not common criminals.”

  Donovan laughed. “I’ve seen your son’s handiwork upstairs, and so have these guards. I wouldn’t call that the behavior of gentlemen. Would you, Henry?”

  “You’re hardly one to comment, Walter, considering your associates.”

  Donovan crossed his arms. “It won’t be long now, and neither of you will be tied any longer. Everything will be all over.”

  Indy didn’t like the sound of that. Nor did he like Donovan’s gleeful chuckle, a kind of rolling, mad sound that made him realize Donovan, in his own way, fit in well with the Nazis. It wasn’t hard for him to imagine the man chatting with Hitler as they talked about relics and antiquities, their values and uses.

  Indy turned his attention to Elsa. She stood in the shadows, off to one side. There was just enough light for him to see her eyes, which were fixed on him. He thought she seemed sad, withdrawn, introspective, but maybe that was just wishful thinking. Besides, why should he care what she felt? She had tricked him. Used him. Betrayed him. And slept with his father.

  So maybe she doesn’t like herself for it.

  A door swung open, and Indy heard the voice of Colonel Vogel. “Dr. Schneider, a message from Berlin. You are to return immediately—a rally tomorrow at the Institute of Aryan Culture.”

  “So?”

  “Your presence on the platform has been requested.” He cleared his throat. “At the highest level.”

  “Thank you, Herr Colonel.”

  Her eyes slid toward Indy, then away from him as she addressed Donovan. “I’ll meet you at Iskenderun as soon as I can get away.”

  Donovan handed her the Grail diary. “Take this with you. It’s no use to us without the map, but it will show them we’re making progress. Take it to the Reich Museum. It’ll be a nice souvenir.”

  Vogel stepped between Donovan and the captives. “Allow me to kill them. Then we’ll have no more accidents like upstairs.”

  “No,” Elsa said. “If we fail to recover the pages from Brody, we will need them alive.”

  Donovan hesitated, uncertain. He regarded Indy and his father as though they were interesting and possibly valuable artifacts. To Vogel, he said: “Always do what the doctor orders. We’ll wait. Then they are yours.”

  The colonel frowned, stared coldly at Indy, then nodded to Donovan without comment. It was obvious to Indy that he thought they should be executed immediately. He was probably more concerned about punishing the ones who were responsible for the deaths of his men than with finding the Grail Cup.

  “Come along,” Donovan said, and walked over to the fireplace. He stepped into it and opened a hidden door. Vogel and the guards followed him. Donovan allowed them to go on through and glanced back at Elsa.

  “You coming?”

  “I have a couple of things to take care of before I leave. I’ll be ready in a few minutes.”

  Donovan nodded, and smiled at Indy and his father as if they were simply friends or business partners. He’s a madman, Indy thought, as Donovan disappeared through the fireplace.

  Elsa watched the fireplace
until she was sure they were gone. Then she turned to Indy, her expression a perfect duplicate of their most intimate moments together in Venice. What the hell was she up to now?

  He looked away.

  “Indy, that wasn’t my real reason for keeping the colonel from killing you.”

  He raised his eyes and grinned. “Yeah? You must be the good Nazi I keep hearing about.”

  “Don’t look at me like that. We both wanted the Grail Cup. I would have done anything, and you would have done the same.”

  “Too bad you think that way, Doctor.” His voice was as flat as stale soda water.

  She ran a hand down the side of his face, but Indy jerked his head away. Elsa bent closer to him and spoke quietly, her breath warm against his ear, and the side of his face. Her skin smelled faintly of soap and perfume and stirred memories he preferred not to think about.

  “I know you’re angry, and I’m sorry. But I want to tell you, I’ll never forget how wonderful it was.”

  Henry, who could see none of Elsa’s actions, but could hear the voice, responded as if she were talking to him. “Yes, it was wonderful. Thank you.”

  Elsa ignored him. “Indy, you’ve got to understand my situation.”

  Indy wanted to spit in her face, but instead, he nodded, playing along with her in the hope that she would loosen the knots and give them a chance to get away.

  She leaned forward and kissed him passionately, stroking his head with her hand.

  “Dr. Schneider!”

  Elsa abruptly stood up, and turned toward the fireplace. Vogel had returned through the hidden entrance.

  “Yes, Herr Colonel?” She turned her head but kept her back to the Nazi.

  “Your car is waiting.”

  “Thank you.”

  She smiled at Indy and brushed strands of her hair from her cheek. “That’s the way Austrians say good-bye.”

  Elsa walked over to Vogel. “I’m ready now.” She slipped through the door behind the fireplace.

  This time the colonel stayed behind. He marched over to Indy, a good soldier, his rhythm perfect. His mouth slid into a sneer. “And this is how we say good-bye in Germany, Dr. Jones.”

  He jerked his arm back and punched Indy in the jaw. Hard. His head snapped back, blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, from his nose. Vogel turned and vanished through the fireplace.

  Indy blinked his eyes, clearing his head. “I like the Austrian way better,” he muttered to himself.

  “Stop chattering!” Henry admonished. “I need time to think.”

  “Oh, that’s great. And while you’re thinking, let’s try to loosen these knots again. We’ve got to get to Marcus before the Nazis do.”

  “I thought you said Marcus had a two-day start, and that he would blend in—disappear.”

  “Are you kidding? I made that up. You know Marcus. He got lost once in his own museum.”

  Henry swore under his breath. “That’s just great. Bad enough that monster Vogel is itching to kill us, but now we’re going to get Marcus killed and lose the Grail Cup to the Nazis.”

  “Something to think about, isn’t it?” Indy said as he struggled with the ropes.

  Now his father started pulling from his side. But the harder they pulled, the tighter the knots got, and the deeper the rope sliced into their wrists.

  Finally, they let their arms relax. That was better. Less pain. But just sitting there like a couple of mummies wasn’t going to get them out.

  Blood oozed over Indy’s upper lip from his nose and over his chin from his mouth. One side of his jaw was numb. His nose itched, and his wrists throbbed. His head felt as if it were tied in knots.

  Think. Think.

  There were probably Nazi guards posted outside the door and others beyond the fireplace. But right now that didn’t matter. He knew there had to be a way to get free of the ropes. So why couldn’t he think of it?

  The silence in the room seemed to stretch toward tomorrow. He wondered if his father had fallen asleep. Then Henry shifted on his chair and tilted his head back until it hit Indy’s.

  “Junior, what ever happened to that cross you were chasing after?” Henry asked.

  The Cross of Coronado had been a sore point between father and son since Indy was a kid. Henry had refused to believe Indy’s story that he had recovered the fabled cross from thieves and had actually brought it home, then lost it again. Indy had vowed to his father that he would recover the cross if it took a lifetime. Over the years, his father had treated the subject like a joke. If he wanted to annoy Indy, he’d ask him where the cross was.

  Usually Indy just simmered and said it wasn’t any more humorous than his father’s search for the Grail Cup. This time he had an answer. “I gave it to Marcus for the museum before we left New York. I finally got it back,” he said evenly. “Just like I said I would.”

  Henry was silent a moment. When he spoke, he sounded conciliatory. “Marcus was very interested in your search for that cross. I can imagine how excited he must have been. But now . . . now if Donovan catches him, he’ll never even have a chance to see it on display.”

  “That’s the least of his worries.”

  And the least of my worries. He thought about telling his father his theory about Donovan and the cross. But that could wait. Right now, he needed to find a way out of their predicament.

  Donovan and Colonel Vogel stood near a causeway in an underground storage depot in the bowels of the mountain beneath the castle. They watched as Elsa was driven away in a Nazi staff car. A second staff car pulled up, and Donovan was about to climb into the backseat when he paused momentarily to exchange a final word with Vogel.

  “We’ll find Brody. No problem. Go ahead and kill them now.”

  FOURTEEN

  Burning Desires

  INDY’S HEAD JERKED UP. He suddenly knew how to get the ropes undone.

  Damn. And all along, it was right there and I just didn’t realize it.

  How could he have been so thick-skulled? If his hands hadn’t been tied, he would have pounded his fists against his head.

  “Dad, can you reach into my coat pocket?”

  Henry came alert. “What for?”

  “Just do it.”

  “All right, all right.”

  Indy squirmed against his restraints to shift his right hip as close to his father’s hand as he could. It took a couple of minutes before Henry could touch the top of the pocket. Finally, after more shifting around, his fingers slipped inside it.

  “What am I looking for?”

  “My good luck charm.”

  “Feels like a cigarette lighter to me.”

  Indy didn’t answer, waiting for his father to figure out his plan.

  “That’s it. Junior, you’re a pip!”

  Indy’s impatience burned through him. “Dad, just try to burn through the ropes, will you?”

  Henry fumbled to open the lighter, cursed as the top remained closed, and tried again.

  Exasperated, Indy said, “Just don’t drop it, Dad. Please.”

  “Confidence, Junior. Where did you get a lighter? You don’t smoke.”

  “It’s Elsa’s. I forgot to give it back to her after we were in the catacombs.”

  On the next try, the lighter’s top sprang open. Henry’s thumb flicked at the wheel. Indy felt sparks, but the lighter didn’t ignite. “Damn thing,” Henry grumbled. “I think it needs fluid.”

  Wonderful.

  “C’mon, work.” Henry shook the lighter, tried again. “There we go. I got it.”

  Instantly, Indy felt the flame on his fingers. “Dad, burn the rope, not my hand.”

  For the next few minutes, Henry held the lighter against the rope. Once, the flame went out, and he fumbled again until he reignited it.

  Indy’s back ached from holding the awkward position. He gritted his teeth and tried to hold his hands steady. The stink of the burning rope saturated the air and made his nose itch again.

  As the rope finally began to smol
der and burn, Indy heard Henry curse.

  “What happened?” Indy asked.

  “I dropped it.”

  Indy craned his neck, but couldn’t see where the lighter had fallen. He knew the only way to retrieve it was for them to tip the chairs over. Then they’d have to work on their sides. He said as much. “You ready to try it?”

  Henry didn’t answer him.

  “Dad?”

  “Junior, there’s something you ought to know.”

  Indy misinterpreted his father’s apologetic tone. “Don’t get sentimental now, Dad. Save it until we’re out of here. Okay?”

  Indy smelled something. “Hey, what the hell’s burning?”

  “That’s what I was going to say. The, uh, floor is on fire.”

  “What?” Indy cranked his head as far as he could and saw the tongues of fire. “All right, let’s move. Rock your chair. Do what I do.”

  They inched their way slowly across the room and away from the burning carpet. The chairs scraped against the floor and nearly toppled.

  “Head for the fireplace.”

  They rocked and hopped in their chairs, moving toward the only safe place in the room. Behind them the fire seemed to feed itself, spreading fast, racing across the rug.

  Indy rubbed his hands up and down, trying to get them free of the rope. As they wobbled into the fireplace, nearly toppling their chairs, Indy’s foot kicked out and accidently hit the lever that opened the hidden door. The fireplace floor rotated like a lazy Susan, and they found themselves in a communications room. Four Nazi radiomen wearing headphones sat behind an elaborate panel of dials, switches, and meters. Their backs were turned to them, and for a moment they didn’t see Indy or Henry.

  “Our situation has not improved.” Henry whispered his sentiments, but his voice was still too loud.

  One of the radiomen glanced over his shoulder and was startled to see the two men tied back-to-back in their respective chairs.

  Henry groaned. “Now what, Junior? Got any more good ideas?”