The Adventures Of Indiana Jones (61 page)

“One step forward, please, Mein Führer,” she called out in German.

Hitler took a step back.

“All right. That’s fine. That’s fine. Everybody else, one step back now.”

Instead, everyone took a step forward, and Hitler was barely visible.

The director threw up her hands and shook her head. “Please, please. You are blocking the Führer.”

Indy laughed to himself. “Looks like I understand German better than the High Command,” he remarked to his father, who had forced him to learn several foreign languages before he was eighteen, something he resented at the time but appreciated now. “Thanks to you,” he added, elbowing his father gently in the side.

Henry snorted.
“Now
he thanks me.
Now
he listens to me.”

Indy laughed.

The rally was breaking up, and Indy pressed his way past a throng of torch-bearing Nazis. The zealots repelled him, but outwardly he maintained a placid look of indifference. He skirted the platform and snaked through Nazi officers and their staff cars. He perused the dispersing crowd and spotted Elsa walking alone, her hair thick and gold in the sunlight.

Henry trailed behind, keeping a discreet distance. He had agreed that Indy should be the one to approach Elsa, and they decided to meet in half an hour near one end of the platform.

Indy hurried after Elsa, approaching her from behind. He slowed as he neared her, waiting until she was well away from anyone who could overhear them.

“Fräulein Doctor.”

“Indy,” she gasped.

His voice was quiet and tough, his eyes hard and unforgiving. “Where is it?”

“You followed me.”

She said it in a way that made him wonder if she was still attracted to him. It was as if her emotions pulled her one way, while her logic and her orders directed her on another course—a deadly one for Indy and his father.

Her hand touched his face, her mouth opened slightly, and her eyes shone with longing. “I missed you really bad, Indy.”

He brushed her hand aside and slipped his hands over her body, searching her pockets for the Grail diary. “I want it. Where is it?”

His voice and the roughness of his search snapped her back to the reality of the situation. For a moment he thought she was going to beg him to forgive her. Her mouth quivered, her face seemed to come undone at the seams. But then something changed; he could see it happening, a pulling together somewhere deep inside her. Her reply was cool and crisp.

“Everything is right where it was the last time you looked.”

Indy continued with his search, ignoring her. He slid his hand along her legs and stopped as he felt something. He glanced around, then quickly reached up her dress and pulled out the Grail diary, which she had strapped to her leg.

“Sorry about the inconvenience.”

Elsa shook her head, confused by Indy’s urgent search. “I don’t understand, Indy. You came back for the book? Why?”

“My father doesn’t want it incinerated in one of your parties here.”

She glared back at him. “Is that how you think of me, like I’m one of these Brownshirts?”

“I don’t know why I would think any other way,” he answered coldly.

“I believe in the Grail, not the swastika.”

“Yeah.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the platform. “And you stood up to be counted with the enemy of everything the Grail stands for. Who cares what
you
believe?”

“You do,” she snapped.

Indy’s hand shot out and clutched her throat. “I only have to squeeze.”

“I only have to scream.”

It was a standoff, and he knew it. Love and hatred, back and forth, a tug-of-war. He wouldn’t follow through on his threat, and she knew it, just as he knew she wouldn’t scream. In spite of everything, the allure and fascination of her presence was as strong as ever.

Indy released her and backed away. They shared a look that said everything, that told of lovers whose lives met and diverged through matters that appeared beyond their control. But at the same time some part of him knew it was their own choices that had brought them together and would separate them.

“Indy,” she called out.

He took another step backward, then spun around and left. He found his father waiting near the platform. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

“Well, did you get it?” Henry asked as they walked away.

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Wonderful. How did you get it away from that Nazi whore?”

The comment angered him. For some reason he felt compelled to defend her. He was about to lash out at his father for the crack when he realized that the crowd they were walking through consisted of Hitler and his entourage. About fifty kids surrounded the Führer, pushing autograph books at him for his signature.

Hitler paused to sign them, then looked at Indy, who towered well above the heads of the youngsters. Their eyes locked. The contact lasted only a moment, but Indy felt the pull of Hitler’s charisma. For the first time, he understood the attraction and allegiance the man drew from his followers. But he also knew the horror of Hitler’s regime, the devastation and suffering, and the horrible potential for worldwide chaos. And that made his appeal all the more frightening.

Hitler broke the spell when he took the Grail diary from Indy’s hand to autograph it. He opened it before Indy could react, but his father’s groan was clearly audible behind him. Then Hitler signed the diary and handed it back to him.

Indy quickly recovered his sense of place. He clicked his heels and delivered a straight arm salute. At the same time, he secretly countered his show of fealty. He held his other hand behind his back, and crossed his fingers.

A moment after Indy withdrew his salute and stepped back, Hitler was whisked away into the backseat of a waiting limousine and the crowd of students dispersed. But his direct encounter with Hitler had created enmity from other Nazis who witnessed the incident. One of them, an S.S. officer whose obesity was wrapped in a long overcoat, lingered behind to castigate the low-ranking Nazi.

“What are you doing here?” the officer demanded in crisp German. “This is a restricted area. Get back to your post at once.”

Indy stood bolt upright, raised his hand in another “Heil Hitler” salute. Realizing there was no one else around, he jerked back his arm, balled his fingers into a fist, and smashed the officer in the face.

Henry groaned again.

“Now we’re going to do things my way,” Indy announced to his father.

“Meaning what?”

“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.

“
S
TAY 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.