The Adventures Of Indiana Jones

by Campbell Black

  “We’re getting out of Germany.”

  Indy pulled up to the main terminal of the Berlin airport and parked the motorcycle. As he hopped off, he adjusted the overcoat he had taken from the overweight S.S. officer.

  “If you’re going to keep taking other people’s clothes,” Henry said, as they entered the terminal, “why don’t you pick on somebody your own size?”

  “I’ll remember that next time.”

  They got in line at one of the boarding gates and waited to buy their tickets. “Any luck, we’ll be out of this country in an hour, and we’ll find Marcus tomorrow,” Indy said confidently.

  “Oh, oh.” Henry nodded toward an area to the side of the ticket counter. Each passenger buying a ticket was being questioned by Gestapo agents.

  “Yeah.” Indy took Henry by the arm and turned away from the line. They had taken a half dozen steps when he spotted more trouble. Colonel Vogel was striding across the terminal. “Look who’s here.”

  Both men quickly turned up their coat collars and lowered their hat brims, then briskly veered away from Vogel. Indy glanced back once and saw Vogel showing a couple of Gestapo agents a photograph.

  “It’s probably not a family portrait,” he muttered to himself, and they left the terminal. The adjoining building was another terminal, but it was smaller, newer, and decorated in a florid art deco style.

  They headed for the counter and stood in line behind several well-dressed men and women. Must be first class, Indy thought.

  “Why this line?” Henry asked.

  “Because, nobody’s checking it.”

  The line inched forward. Minutes ticked by. Indy kept glancing around, anxiety churning across the floor of his gut. He hated this. He hated waiting around for something to happen. He would rather be confronting it—and getting it over with.

  He started feeling conspicuous and forced himself to stare down at his shoes for a while. Then he raised his eyes and looked around again, but slowly, like a bored traveler who was wondering where he was going to sit once he was checked in for his flight. To keep from turning around, he read a plaque that was on a nearby pillar. It commemorated the zeppelin Hindenburg, which had flown from Lakehurst, New Jersey, to Friedrichshafen, Germany in forty-two hours and fifty-three minutes, August 9-11, 1936—a world record.

  He looked back down at his shoes, tapping his foot impatiently. Then he couldn’t stand it anymore, and his eyes roamed through the terminal again, hungry, curious. A burly woman, who was next in line, glared at him. He looked back at the plaque and read the last line: Certified by Federation Aeronautique Internationale.

  “What are you doing?” Henry barked.

  Indy jerked his head around and saw that the line had moved ahead, and his father was waiting at the window. They purchased their tickets, asking for the next flight. As they walked toward the door of the terminal, Indy asked his father if he knew where the flight was headed.

  Henry rolled his eyes as if it was a foolish question, but to Indy’s surprise said, “As a matter of fact, no. Do you?”

  It didn’t really matter where they were going at this point, as long as it was out of Germany. But he consulted his ticket. “Athens. Not exactly within walking distance of Iskenderun, but at least it’s in the right direction.”

  “Athens, of course.” Henry repeated, nodding his approval of their destination. “Things are starting to lookup.”

  Indy stopped as he noticed the drawing on his ticket and realized they weren’t taking an airplane to Athens. “Hey, Dad.”

  Henry kept walking and didn’t hear him. Indy hurried after him. They stepped out onto the tarmac and saw their ride to Athens parked in front of them.

  “Well, well,” Henry said.

  A zeppelin that was more than ten stories high and two football fields in length was moored on the tarmac. They not only hadn’t bothered to find out where they were headed, but neither of them had realized they were taking a zeppelin. As they approached the boarding stairs, Indy and Henry exchanged glances. Both were excited and surprised by the turn of events.

  “Hey, look at that,” Indy said, pointing to a pair of biplanes suspended on large hooks below the zeppelin. “How’d you like to ride down there?”

  Henry’s answer was succinct. “No, thanks.”

  They found an empty compartment and made themselves comfortable as the zeppelin prepared to take off. Indy sank down in his seat, folded his arms across his chest, and exhaled.

  “We made it, Dad.”

  Henry took out a handkerchief and wiped it across his forehead. “When we’re airborne and Germany’s behind us, I’ll join you in that sentiment.”

  Indy gazed out the window. “Relax. In a few hours we’ll be in Athens and on our way to Iskenderun, and Marcus. Sit back and enjoy the scenery.”

  Just as he finished speaking, he saw a now too familiar figure rushing across the tarmac. It was Vogel, followed by one of the Gestapo agents Indy had seen in the airport. His body suddenly felt leaden as he watched the pair board the zeppelin.

  He sensed it was going to be a rough flight.

  SIXTEEN

  Aerobatics

  “STAY HERE,” Indy said to his father.

  He flew out of the compartment before Henry could say anything, his mind racing, seeking a plan. His only advantage was that he knew Vogel was on board. He didn’t know how he could use it for leverage but felt sure he’d come up with something before it was too late. He always had before, so why not now?

  He felt like a cat with nine lives. Nine lives. Do I have any left?

  He was barely out of the compartment when he spotted Vogel headed down the passageway in his direction. He ducked through a door marked Crew Only. As the Nazi colonel walked past the door, Indy heard a steward tell him that the zeppelin was about to take off and that he must find a seat. He opened the door a crack and saw Vogel following two other late-arriving passengers into a compartment, the same one he had just vacated.

  “Oh, God,” he whispered, wondering how his father would deal with Vogel.

  Before he could do anything, the steward slid open the door and nearly ran into Indy. “What are you doing here?” the man asked loudly in German. “This is the crew room, can’t you see? We’re about to take off. Please . . .”

  Indy pointed toward the ceiling, and the man glanced up. As he did, Indy connected with a short punch under the jaw. He disliked assaulting innocent bystanders, but with Vogel seated only a few feet away, he knew he had to deal quickly with the man.

  Unlike the butler, the steward only stumbled back a step. In his concern about not hurting the man, he hadn’t hit him hard enough. The steward gave Indy a startled look, then threw his own punch. Indy blocked it, and this time connected with a powerful blow to the man’s cheek. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

  When the zeppelin rose from the tarmac a few minutes later, Indy returned to the compartment where his father was. But now he wore the hat and jacket of the steward. For a change, the borrowed apparel fit perfectly.

  “Tickets please. May I have your tickets?” he said in German.

  Henry peeked over the top of a magazine, and his eyes widened as he saw who was collecting tickets. Indy nodded as his father passed him his ticket.

  “Your ticket, sir,” he said to Vogel and held out his hand.

  The colonel glanced up, recognized Indy, and reached for the gun inside his coat. But Indy grabbed his arm, collaring him, and jerked him out of his seat. He removed his Luger and, with a boost from his father, shoved Vogel out the window and onto the tarmac.

  The other passengers in the compartment drew back, startled and frightened by the aggressive behavior of the steward with the foreign accent.

  Indy smiled and shrugged. “No ticket.”

  Everyone in the compartment immediately produced his ticket and held it up in Indy’s face.

  As he collected them, Indy glanced out the window to see Vogel on his hands and knees, peering up as the zeppelin lif
ted off. “Next time, you get a ticket first,” Indy yelled at him.

  He moved out of the compartment and ducked back into the crew quarters. He wondered what he’d do next. Vogel hadn’t been alone.

  A few minutes later the Gestapo agent hurried down the passageway. He stopped a few steps past the crew quarters. He looked worried and disgruntled, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. After all, the poor sucker hadn’t been able to find him or his father, and now he couldn’t even find Vogel.

  Indy stepped out of the crew quarters and tapped him on the shoulder. He was about to club him with the butt of the Luger when one of the passengers who had seen him toss Vogel out the window emerged from the nearby compartment. Indy asked the Gestapo agent for his ticket.

  “I don’t need one,” the man snapped.

  The passenger walked by, heading for the bathroom. “You’ll be sorry,” he mumbled to the agent.

  “He’s right,” Indy said, and cracked him behind the ear with the Luger. The agent crumpled. Indy dragged him into the crew quarters, took his gun, and opened the storage closet. Inside, the steward was bound and gagged.

  “Company.” He lowered the agent into the corner.

  The steward was wide awake and yelling into his gag. Indy brandished the gun over his head, and he immediately calmed down.

  He noticed a cluster of wires running into a box marked Radio Transmitter and yanked them out. Then he saw a leather jacket hanging from a hook. It looked a lot like his own. He couldn’t resist trying it on.

  Another perfect fit.

  At the bar in the zeppelin’s lounge, Indy eavesdropped as a World War I German flying ace relived his daring exploits, using a pair of model airplanes as props. Several enthralled onlookers bought him one drink after another, and the stories grew more and more fantastic.

  The steward arrived with drinks for Indy and his father, who were seated several tables away from the now drunken flying ace. Both men had settled for non-alcoholic beverages. Neither was now certain their ordeal with the Nazis was finally over. If it was, fine. But if more trouble was ahead, they wanted to remain as alert as possible.

  Henry was so absorbed in the Grail diary, he didn’t even know his drink had arrived. He was studying the pages that described the lethal devices defending the Grail. Now and then, he would mutter to himself, and all of it brought back old childhood memories for Indy, of his father in his study, lost in the ancient past. Some things, he thought, would never change.

  Indy stared out the window, watching bright wisps of clouds sail past the zeppelin. He wondered what Elsa was doing and if she was thinking of him. Despite the fact that she had been standing up there with Hitler, he believed her primary interest was in the Grail, an obsession he could understand, since it was something she shared with his father. But he couldn’t condone her association with the man who was quite possibly the most heinous human being to walk the face of the earth since Genghis Khan.

  He turned away, shutting off his secret longings. He looked down at the Grail diary and focused on his father’s tiny handwriting, which was inscribed in medieval Latin. There were three complex diagrams that made no sense to him. The only thing he understood was their labels. The first was called The Pendulum, the second, The Cobbles, and the third, The Invisible Bridge.

  He was about to ask his father to explain the devices, when Henry looked up at him. “Sharing your adventures is an interesting experience.”

  “That’s not all we shared,” Indy said, thinking of Elsa again. “By the way, what did she say in her sleep?”

  “Mein Führer.”

  “I guess that’s pretty conclusive.” He thought back to his last moments with Elsa in Berlin. He was sure that she had been sincere and yet . . .

  “Disillusioned, are you? She was a beautiful woman, and I’m as human as the next man.”

  “Yeah. I was the next man.”

  Henry smiled as if he was thinking about his own experience with her. “Ships that pass in the night. Can we drink to that?”

  He raised his glass, and Indy did the same. They clinked glasses. “Ships that pass in the night,” Indy repeated. He thought a moment. “Also the afternoon.”

  Henry cleared his throat and straightened his shoulders. “Well, back to work.”

  He leaned over the diary and began reading. “ ‘The challenges will number three. First, the Breath of God; only the penitent man will pass. Second, the Word of God; only in the footsteps of God will he proceed. Third, the Path of God; only in the leap from the lion’s head will he prove his worth.’ ”

  “Meaning what?”

  Henry tapped the page. “I think we’ll find that out when we get there.”

  Sunlight broke through the clouds, casting a beam through their window and dividing the table into equal parts of light and shadow. As Indy reached for his drink, he noticed that the ray was moving across the table like the hand of a clock. He stared at it, puzzled by the phenomenon. Then suddenly he understood what it meant.

  “Dad.”

  “What is it?”

  “We’re turning around. They’re taking us back to Germany.”

  They quickly rose from the table and made their way to the crew quarters. The storage closet door was smashed open, and the Gestapo agent and steward were gone. Indy looked around and saw that the radio wires had been repaired with tape.

  “Shit.”

  “Ah, Junior. I think we’ve got a problem here.”

  “I know. I know. You don’t have to tell me,” he said, as he tried to figure out what they should do.

  “No, you don’t understand. I forgot the diary in the lounge.”

  “You what?”

  Henry smiled weakly at him and stammered: “Yeah, I’m afraid so.”

  Good going, Dad. “Okay, stay right here. I’ll be right back.” Indy hustled down the passageway, back toward the lounge. He started to push open the door but heard voices and stopped. He peeked inside and saw the agent and several crewmen standing in the center of the lounge near the table Indy and Henry had just abandoned. The diary was on it, but no one had noticed it.

  The agent called for everyone’s attention. “There are spies aboard the airship! Everyone loyal to the Führer, the Reich, and Deutschland come immediately with me.”

  Blasé passengers looked up, then returned to their conversations and cocktails, ignoring the agent’s command. The only one who responded was the World War I ace, who struggled to his feet from his bar stool and wobbled forward.

  Indy knew he had to act fast. He turned the collar up on the leather jacket and took out a handkerchief. He sneezed into it as he walked into the lounge, keeping his head down. He heard the agent giving orders.

  “You,” he pointed at Indy. “You come with us. We’re looking for American spies.”

  Indy kept the handkerchief to his nose. “I’ve got a cold,” he said in German. “Sorry.” He reached around behind him and slipped the diary into his back pocket. He recognized the steward he had knocked out standing near the agent. He was wearing an undershirt, and his face was a question mark as he looked over Indy.

  “I’ll guard my compartment,” Indy said, and hustled toward the door.

  “That’s him,” the steward yelled. “Stop him.” But Indy was already out the door and racing down the passageway.

  He ducked back into the crew quarters and looked around for Henry. “Dad, where are you?”

  Henry poked his head out of the storage closet. “Did you get it?”

  “Yeah, but I think I got a lot more, too.” Indy hurriedly prowled around the quarters, looking for a hiding place. He glanced up at the ceiling.

  “Trouble, you mean?”

  “No more than usual.”

  Quickly he pulled a chair across the floor, stepped on top of it, and hoisted himself up through a hatchway. He reached down to help his father.

  “Not another chimney,” Henry complained.

  Indy lifted him through the opening, then climbed to t
he top of the hatchway. They crawled out the top of it and found themselves in the belly of the zeppelin. Its skin was attached to an elaborate metal framework, and narrow catwalks connected the huge helium gasbags that gave the airship its lift.

  Henry paused in wonderment and awe. Indy glanced down the hatchway and saw the agent and steward peering up. He grabbed his father by the arm, and they rushed along one of the narrow catwalks.

  But they weren’t fast enough.

  The agent pulled a small gun from an ankle holster and aimed it at Indy. He was about to fire when the steward knocked his arm aside.

  “Nein! Nein!”

  Indy looked over his shoulder and saw the steward point to the gasbag, then gesture with his arms. “Kaboom!”

  The catwalk ended at a pair of doors framed on the outer skin of the zeppelin. Behind them Indy heard the pounding of feet along the catwalk. He opened one of the doors, and gripped the frame as the wind pounded him. He was staring into the blue sky and white clouds.

  Several feet below, he saw the biplanes suspended on hooks that were attached to a steel framework. Indy pointed to the nearest one, which had an emblem on the fuselage of a pelican with its wings spread wide. “Climb down, Dad. We’re going for a ride.”

  Henry looked terrified as he peered out the doorway. “I didn’t know you could fly a plane.”

  Fly, yes. Land, no. “Let’s go.”

  Henry ventured out of the zeppelin, climbing down a metal ladder to the biplane. Indy watched anxiously, then looked away. If his father fell now, he couldn’t help and didn’t want to see it.

  He glanced back to Henry and saw he had made it safely to the biplane. He started to follow, when the Gestapo agent grabbed him by the arm and attempted to pull him back. He twisted free and pushed the man away. He was about to resume his descent when the steward scampered down the ladder and dropped on top of Indy, wrapping his arm around his neck.

  Indy clung to the ladder and, to his surprise, saw his father climbing up toward him. Henry grabbed the man by the back of the collar and jerked him away. At the same moment Indy bucked as hard as he could.