One step completed. But he knew they'd get back on the road and come after him again. He glanced in his side mirror: yeah, sure enough. They were slithering back up from the incline, reversing across the road, straightening, coming after him. He shoved the gas pedal to the floor. Give me all you've got, he thought. And then he was on the outskirts of the city, the staff car immediately behind him. City streets: a different ball game.
Narrow thoroughfares. He drove quickly through them and sent animals and people flying, turning over stalls, baskets, the fruits of merchants and vendors, scattering beggars in his way. Pedestrians scurried into doorways when the truck wheeled through; then he was threading ever more narrow streets and alleys, looking for the square where Omar had his garage, replaying the geography of Cairo in his mind. A blind beggar suddenly capable of sight-a holy miracle- jumped out of the way, dropping his begging bowl and raising his dark glasses to peer at the truck.
He pushed the truck harder. The staff car still came on.
He swung the wheel. Another narrow alley. Donkeys jumped out of the path of the truck, a man fell from a stepladder, a baby in its mother's arms began to howl. Sorry, Indy thought. I'd stay and apologize in person, but I don't find it convenient right now.
Still he couldn't lose the staff car.
Then he was in the square. He saw the sign of Omar's garage, the door hanging wide open, and he drove the truck quickly through. The door was shut tight immediately as he brought the truck to a whining halt. Then several Arab boys with broomsticks and brushes began to erase the tracks of the vehicle while Indy, wondering if he'd made it, sat slumped behind the wheel in the darkness of the garage.
The staff car slowed, crossed the square and continued on its way, Belloq and Dietrich scrutinizing the streets with expressions of anguish and loss.
In the back of the truck, safe in the crate, the Ark began to hum almost inaudibly. It was as if within it, locked away and secure, a piece of machinery had spontaneously begun to operate. Nobody heard the sound.
It was dark when Sallah and Marion arrived at the garage. Indy had fallen asleep briefly in a cot Omar had provided, waking alone and hungry in the silent darkness. He rubbed his eyes when an overhead lamp was turned on. Marion had somewhere washed and brushed her hair and looked, well, Indy thought, stunning. She stood over him when he opened his eyes.
"You look pretty beat up," she said.
"A few surface cuts," he answered, sitting up, groaning, realizing that his body ached.
But then Sallah entered the room and Indy suddenly pushed aside his tiredness and his pain.
"We have a ship," Sallah said.
"Reliable?"
"The men are pirates, if I may use the phrase loosely. But you can trust them. Their captain, Katanga, is an honorable man-regardless of his more doubtful enterprises."
"They'll take us and the cargo?"
Sallahnodded. "For a price."
"What else?" Indy, stiff, got up. "Let's get this truck down to the harbor."
He gazed at Marion a moment, then he said, "I have a feeling that our day isn't quite finished yet."
In the ornate building that housed the German Embassy in Cairo, Dietrich and Belloq sat together in a room more commonly used by the Ambassador, a career diplomat who had survived the purges of Hitler and who, all too gladly, had vacated the room for their purposes. They had been sitting in silence for some time now, Belloq gazing at the portrait of Hitler, Dietrich restlessly smoking Egyptian cigarettes.
From time to time the telephone rang. Dietrich would answer it, replace it, then shake his head in Belloq's direction.
"If we have lost the Ark . . ." Dietrich lit another cigarette.
Belloq rose, walked around the room, waved a hand dismissively. "I will not countenance that prospect, Dietrich. What has happened to your wonderful Egyptian spy network? Why can't they find what your men so carelessly lost?"
"They will. I have every faith."
"Faith. I wish I had some of it myself."
Dietrich closed his eyes. He was weary of the sharp edge of Belloq's mood; and fearful, even more, of returning empty-handed to Berlin.
"I cannot believe such incompetence," Belloq said. "How could one man, acting alone-alone, remember-destroy most of a convoy and disappear into the bargain? Stupidity. I can hardly believe it."
"I've listened to this already," Dietrich said, annoyed.
Belloq walked to the window and stared out across the darkness. Somewhere, wrapped in this impenetrable Cairo night, was Jones; and Jones had the Ark. Damn him. The Ark could not be let go now; even the prospect caused him a chill, a sensation of something sinking inside him.
The telephone rang again. Dietrich picked it up, listened, and then his manner changed. When he hung up he looked at the Frenchman with a vague expression of vindication on his face. "I told you my network would turn something up."
"Did they?"
"According to a watchman at the docks, an Egyptian named Sallah, the friend of Jones, chartered a merchant steamer by the name of the Bantu Wind."
"It may be a ruse," Belloq said.
"It may be. But it's worth looking into."
"We don't have anything else anyhow," Belloq said.
"Then shall we go?"
They left the Embassy hurriedly, reaching the docks only to discover that the tramp steamer had sailed an hour ago. Its destination was unknown.
11: The Mediterranean
In the captain's cabin of the Bantu Wind, Indy stripped to the waist, and Marion dressed his assorted cuts and wounds with bandages and a bottle of iodine. He stared at her as she worked, noticing the dress she'd changed into. It was white, high-necked, somewhat prim. He found it appealing in its way.
"Where did you get that, anyhow?" he asked.
"There's a whole wardrobe in the closet," she said. "I get the feeling I'm not the first woman to travel with these pirates."
"I like it," he said.
"I feel like a-ahem-a virgin."
"I guess you look like one."
She regarded him a moment, pressing iodine to a cut. Then she said, "Virginity is one of those elusive things, honey. When it's gone, it's gone. Your account is well and truly spent."
She stopped working on him, sat down, poured herself a small glass of rum from a bottle. She sipped it, watching him as she did so, seeming to tease him over the rim of the glass.
"Did I ever apologize for burning down your tavern?" he said.
"I can't say you did. Did I ever thank you for getting me out of that burning plane?"
He shook his head. "We're even. Maybe we should consider the past closed, huh?"
She was silent for a long time.
"Where does it hurt?" she asked tenderly.
"Everywhere."
Marion softly kissed his left shoulder. "Here?"
Indy jumped a little in response. "Yes, there."
Marion leaned closer to him. "Where doesn't it hurt?" And she kissed his elbow. "Here?"
He nodded. She kissed the top of his head. Then he pointed to his neck and she kissed him there. Then the tip of his nose, his eyes. Then he touched his own lips and she kissed him, her mouth gently devouring his.
She was different; she had changed. This was no longer the wild touch he'd encountered in Nepal.
Something had touched her, softened her.
He wondered what it had been.
He wondered at the change.
The crated Ark lay in the hold of the ship. Its presence agitated the ship's rats: they scurried back and forward pointlessly, trembling, whiskers shivering. Still silent as a whisper, the same faint humming sound emerged from the crate. Only the rats, their hearing hypersensitive, picked up on the sound; and it obviously scared them.
On the bridge, as the first light of dawn streaked the ocean, Captain Katanga smoked a pipe and watched the surface of the water as if he were trying to discern something that would have been invisible to landlo
cked men. He let the sun and the salt spray play against his face, streaks of salt leaving white crystalline traces on his black skin. There was something out there, something emerging from the dark, but he wasn't sure what. He narrowed his eyes, stared, saw nothing. He listened to the faintly comforting rattle of the ship's weary engines and thought of a failing heart trying to pump blood through an old body. He considered Indy and the woman a moment. He liked them both, and besides, they were friends of Sallah's.
But something about the cargo, something about the crate, made him uneasy. He wasn't sure what; he only knew he'd be glad to get rid of it when the time came. It was the same unease he experienced now as his eyes scanned the ocean. A vague pulse. A thing you just couldn't put your finger on. But there was something out there just the same, something moving. He knew it even if he couldn't see it.
He smelled, as certainly as the salt flecks in the air, the distinctive odor of danger.
He continued to watch, his body poised in the manner of a man about to jump from a high diving board. A man who cannot swim.
When Indy woke, he watched Marion for a time. She was still asleep, still looking virginal in the white dress. She had her face tilted to one side, and her mouth was slightly open. He rubbed at his bandages where his skin had begun to itch. Sallah had had the foresight to fetch his clothes, so he changed into his shirt now, made sure the bullwhip was secure at his back, then put on the leather jacket and played with the rim of the battered felt hat.
A lucky hat, he thought sometimes. Without it, he would have felt naked.
Marion turned over, her eyes opening.
"What a pleasant sight," she said.
"I don't feel pleasant," he answered.
She stared at his bandages and asked, "Why do you always get yourself into such scrapes?"
She sat up, stroking her hair, looking round the cabin. "I'm glad to see you changed clothes. You weren't convincing as an Arab, I'm afraid."
"I did my best."
She yawned and stretched and rose from the cot. He thought there was something delightful in the movement, a quality that touched him-touched him obliquely, in an off-center way. She reached for his hand, kissed the back of it, then moved around the cabin.
"How long are we going to be at sea?" she asked.
"Is that a literal or a metaphorical question?"
"Take it any way you like, Jones."
He smiled at her.
And then he understood that something had happened: while he'd been so involved in the act of introspection, the ship's engines had stopped and the vessel was no longer moving.
He rose and rushed to the door, clambering onto the deck and then the bridge, where Katanga was staring across the ocean. The captain's pipe was unlit, his face solemn.
"You appear to have some important friends, Mr. Jones," the man said.
Indy stared. At first he couldn't make anything out. But then, following the sweep of the captain's hand, he saw that the Bantu Wind, like a spinster courted by an unwanted entourage of voracious suitors, was surrounded by about a dozen German Wolf submarines.
"Holy shit," he said.
"My sentiments exactly," Katanga said. "You and the girl must disappear quickly. We have a place in the hold for you. But quickly! Get the girl!"
It was too late: both men noticed five rafts, with armed boarding parties, circle the steamer. Already the first Nazis were climbing the rope ladders that had been dropped. He turned, ran. Marion was uppermost in his mind now. He had to get her first. Too late-the air was filled with the sound of boots, German accents, commands. Ahead of him he saw Marion being dragged from the cabin by a couple of soldiers. The rest of the soldiers, boarding quickly, rounded the crew on deck, guns trained on them. Indy melted into the shadows, slipping through a doorway into the labyrinth of the ship.
Before he vanished, his brain working desperately for a way out, he heard Marion curse her assailants; and despite the situation, he smiled at her spirit. A good woman, he thought, and impossible to subdue entirely. He liked her for that. He liked her a lot.
Dietrich came on board, followed by Belloq. The captain had already given his crew a signal not to resist the invaders. The men clearly wanted to fight, but the odds were against them. So they lined up sullenly under the German guns as Belloq and Dietrich strode past, shouting orders, sending soldiers scampering all over the ship for the Ark.
Marion watched as Belloq approached her. She felt something of the same vibrations as before, but this time she was determined to fight them, determined not to yield to whatever sensations the man might arouse in her.
"My dear," Belloq said. "You must regale me with the tale-no doubt epic-of how you managed to escape from the Well. It can wait until later, though."
Marion said nothing. Was there no end in sight to this whole sequence of affairs? Indy apparently had a marvelous talent for dragging wholesale destruction behind him. She watched Belloq, who touched her lightly under the chin. She pulled her face away. He smiled.
"Later," he said, passing on to where Katanga stood.
He was about to say something when a sound seized his attention and he turned, noticing a group of soldiers raise the crated Ark from the hold. He fought the impatience he felt. The world, with all its mundane details, always intruded on his ambition. But that was going to be over soon. Slowly, reluctantly, he took his eyes from the crate as Dietrich gave the order for it to be placed aboard one of the submarines.
He looked at Katanga. "Where is Jones?"
"Dead."
"Dead?" Belloq said.
"What good was he to us? We killed him. We threw him overboard. The girl has more value in the kind of marketplace in which I dabble. A man like Jones is useless to me. If his cargo was what you wanted, I only ask that you take it and leave us with the girl. It will reduce our loss on this trip."
"You make me impatient," Belloq said. "You expect me to believe Jones is dead?"
"Believe what you wish. I only ask that we proceed in peace."
Dietrich had approached now. "You are in no position to ask anything, Captain. We will decide what we wish to decide, and then we must consider the question of whether we will blow this ancient ship out of the water."
"The girl goes with me," Belloq said.
Dietrich shook his head.
Belloq continued: "Consider her part of my compensation. I'm sure the Fuhrer would approve. Given that we have obtained the Ark, Dietrich."
Dietrich appeared hesitant.
"If she fails to please me, of course, you may throw her to the sharks, for all I care."
"Very well," Dietrich said. He noticed a brief expression of doubt on Belloq's face, then signaled for Marion to be taken aboard the submarine.
Indy watched from his hiding place in an air ventilator, his body hunched and uncomfortable. Boots scraped the deck unpleasantly close to his face-but he hadn't been discovered. Katanga's lie seemed feeble to him, a desperate gesture if a kind one. But it had worked. He peered along the deck, thinking. He had to go with the submarine, he had to go with Marion, with the Ark. How? Exactly how?
Belloq was watching the captain closely. "How do I know you are telling the truth about Jones?"
Katanga shrugged. "I don't lie." He stared at the Frenchman; this one he didn't like at all. He felt sorry for Indy for having an enemy like Belloq.
"Have your people found him on board?" the seaman asked.
Belloq considered this; Dietrich shook his head.
The German said, "Let us leave. We have the Ark. Alive or dead, Jones is of no importance now."
Belloq's face and his body went tense a moment; then he appeared to relax, following Dietrich from the deck of the tramp steamer.
Indy could hear the rafts leaving the sides of the Bantu Wind. Then he moved quickly, emerging from his place of concealment and running along the deck.
Aboard the submarine Belloq entered the communications room. He placed earphones on his h
ead, picked up the microphone and uttered a call signal. After a time he heard a voice broken by static. The accent was German.
"Captain Mohler. This is Belloq."
The voice was very faint, distant. "Everything has been prepared in accordance with your last communication, Belloq."
"Excellent." Belloq took the headphones off. Then he left the radio room, walking toward the small forward cabin, where the woman was being held. He stepped inside the room. She sat on a bunk, her expression glum. She didn't look up as he approached her. He reached out, touched her lightly under the chin, raised her face.
"You have nice eyes," he said. "You shouldn't hide them."
She twisted her face to the side.
He smiled. "I imagined we might continue our unfinished business."
She got up from the bunk, went across the room. "We don't have any unfinished business."
"I think we do." He reached out and tried to hold her hand; she jerked her arm free of him. "You resist? You didn't resist before, my dear. Why the change of heart?"
"Things are a little different," she answered.
He regarded her in silence for a time. Then he said, "You feel something for Jones? Is that it?"
She looked away, staring vacantly across the room.
"Poor Jones," Belloq said. "I fear he's destined never to win anything."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
Belloq went toward the door. There, on his way out, he turned around. "You don't even know, my dear, if he's alive or dead. Do you?"
Then he closed the door and moved into the narrow passageway. Several seamen walked past him. They were followed by Dietrich, whose face was angry, stern. It amused Belloq to see this look: in his anger, Dietrich looked preposterous, like an enraged schoolmaster powerless to punish a recalcitrant pupil.
"Perhaps you would be good enough to explain yourself, Belloq."
"What is there to explain?"
Raiders Of the Lost Ark Page 15
