The Indiana Jones franchise is owned by Paramount. I make no claims of rights or ownership to any names, characters, places, or events from said franchise, and have not profited from them in any manner whatsoever. Talespin and all related characters, places, and events is owned by Disney, and the same disclaimer applies. Except for Sam...she's all mine, but if Disney wanted to use her...well, I guess turnabout is fair play.
While this story stands by itself just fine, there are subtleties the reader might miss or better understand with a little background. I recommend reading Past and Future and, at minimum, Chapter 3, sections 3 and 4 of Old Loves and New Flames.
GW
"Clear prop!"
Kit engaged the starter and the gleaming Hamilton Standard propeller rotated several times before the big Pratt caught and its 450 horses began an easy trot. He gave a thumbs up indicating he was ready to taxi and the rampie marshaled him out of the parking area. They exchanged a quick salute as he passed and then Kit keyed the push to talk switch on the stick.
"Decatur traffic, Stearman six five zero three eight taxing from parking to runway two three via alpha."
Kit was particularly fond of taildraggers because they were far more challenging than a tricycle gear airplane. He expertly s-turned down the taxiway. Stopping at the hold short line he ran through the before takeoff checklist, checked for traffic, and keyed the mike again.
"Decatur traffic, zero three eight taxing into position for takeoff, runway two three, Decatur."
He eased the big biplane onto the runway, and lined up on the centerline.
"You ready to see what this like new old bird can do?"
Sam raised both hands, thumbs pointed towards the sky. Her voice came through the intercom from the front cockpit.
"Let's do it!"
"Make sure that harness is tight. Here we go! Decatur traffic, zero three eight departing two three, Decatur."
Tailwheel locked, flight controls free and correct, a quick scan of the instrument panel, and a good rudder waggle to get his feet in the mood. A final tug on his own harness, stick back full, then smooth but quick application of the throttle and they started forward. He danced on the rudder pedals, watching carefully out the left side of the cockpit as they accelerated down the runway. He eased the stick forward as their speed built, kicking in a little extra right rudder as the tail came up, then fixed his eyes on the end of the runway now that he could see over the nose. Slowly, the airplane made its desire to be free of the ground known, and Kit eased the stick back just a little. The old bird rose gracefully off the ground. He settled in just above the runway, staying in ground effect and letting the airspeed build until they were scorching down the runway. As the threshold came rushing at them and the airspeed indicator hit 130 mph, Kit yanked the stick back into his lap. He heard Sam squeal with delight as they nosed up sharply, pulling close to 6 Gs. He kept the airplane in the near vertical climb, rolling through 720 degrees until his airspeed decayed below 90, then rolled over into a 45 degree left bank, and rolled out smoothly on the downwind leg.
"Well, that was different!" Sam said.
"It gets better. But I'm going to pay for this."
"How's that?"
"Baloo's gonna kill me when he finds out I got to fly this thing before him."
"Nah, he wouldn't do that. Maim, perhaps, but not kill."
"Yeah, well, that's only slightly more desirable."
"Well you've given him three months. I think you've got perfectly solid ground to stand on."
He guided them out over the open ocean to have plenty of free airspace to maneuver. He started with some simple maneuvers: wing overs, chandelles, and Cuban 8s. Then he worked them up to inside and outside loops, snap rolls, hammerhead stalls, and fully developed spins. Sam laughed the entire time.
"How's the stomach?"
"Just fine!" she replied.
"All right. I've got one more for you, then we'll head back."
"Already?"
"Trust me, fifteen or twenty minutes of this is the max you ever want to do."
"Okay, I trust you."
"All right, here we go."
He eased the nose down to pick up airspeed, then pulled into a steep climb, rolled left, kicked the left rudder in to the stop, and as they started to come around threw the stick forward, sending them tumbling through the sky in a full three-axis lomcevak. Sam was giddy.
"That was crazy!"
"You should see it from the ground. The airplane looks completely out of control. You think you can get us back?"
"You bet!"
"All right, you have the flight controls."
"Roger, I have the flight controls."
She guided them easily back to the airfield and made an impressive three-point landing, then expertly taxied to the parking area and shut the engine down. As they were climbing out of the cockpit, a small man in a dark business suit came running up to them.
"Miss Beckett! Miss Beckett!" He seemed quite frantic.
"What is it, Mr. Orr?" she asked.
As the man reported she pulled up her goggles, tugged off her gloves, and unraveled the silk scarf from around her neck.
"There's a man at the bank demanding to see you. I told him you were unavailable today, but he insists. He says it's very urgent and that he won't leave until he sees you."
Sam sighed as she pulled the leather aviator's cap from her head and attempted to smooth her mussed hair.
"Very well. Return to the bank and tell him I'll be along shortly." She looked at Kit. "I'm sorry, Kit. I'm afraid I have to take care of this."
"No problem. I understand."
He jumped down from the wing and Sam jumped down after him. She motioned to one of the rampies.
"Hey Josh, can you get her buttoned up and put away for me? I've got to tend to a situation at the bank."
"Sure thing, Sam." She reached into a pocket and pulled out a small stack of folded cash, fished for a ten, and handed it to him.
"Thanks a bunch."
"Happy to help."
She smiled at him and gave him a wink. "That's because I keep you happy."
"You sure do," he said, returning the smile.
She led Kit to her car, a pristine black Studebaker. "Hopefully, this won't take long," she said.
"This is your day, Sam. We'll spend it however you want to spend it. Or need, anyway."
The bank was only a few blocks away. Sam pulled around back and parked in the owner's space. Kit couldn't help but chuckle as they got out.
"What?"
He gestured towards her, indicating the baggy pocketed aviator's pants, calf-high black leather boots, and sheepskin lined leather flight jacket. "You don't exactly have the look of an executive."
"Yes I do. One who's been disturbed on her day off."
"Uh-oh, Miss Beckett's angry."
"Not angry…at least not yet. But definitely a little miffed."
They walked into the bank. Still being relatively early in the morning, the sun was streaming through the large east-facing windows and Kit elected not to remove his sunglasses. Mr. Orr was standing next to Sam's office speaking to a man seated on one of the plush leather wingback chairs facing away from them. He noticed them as they approached and gestured toward them. The man turned toward them and stood. Sam looked up at him. And up. He was Bengal Tiger and better than seven feet tall. He towered over Sam's 5'9 frame. He was older, lean almost to the point of being skinny, and dressed in an immaculate three-piece suit from John Phillips, London.
"Miss Beckett, may I present Mr. Amolatti Suscratchums," Orr intoned solemnly.
"Samantha Beckett, at your service."
He shook her hand once and let it go. "I was led to believe you would be a bit more," he pointedly looked over her attire, "Professional."
His voice was incredibly deep and his accent was decidedly Cambridge. Sam somehow managed to stare down at him despite his height advantage.
"Mr. Suscratchums, I am happily here to serve you on my day off, since you have chosen to conduct whatever urgent business you have without bothering to set up a proper appointment. And since you have called me away from my recreation to conduct this urgent business, I appear as I do when involved in that recreation. However, if my appearance bothers you that much, you are welcome to sit in one of these uncomfortable chairs for the next two hours while I go home, shower, change, and make myself up. Or you can speak to my assistant Mr. Orr here and make an appointment to see me tomorrow, when I will be dressed in attire appropriate to conducting business as the owner of this bank."
Suscratchums' eyebrows raised slightly. "You are right, of course, Miss Beckett. I apologize for my presumption and my rudeness."
Kit had the feeling that the man's slight had been solely to see her reaction and size her up.
"Consider it forgotten. Now, how may I help you?"
"I believe we should conduct our business in private."
"Very well. Step into my office, please."
She gave Kit a look of apology as she followed him in. She closed the door behind them and drew the blinds shut as she waited for Suscratchums to sit, then took her own seat behind her desk. Suscratchums looked around the office appreciatively.
Sam sat behind an immense Louis XIV desk trimmed in bronze with intricate gold and ivory inlays, and studded with jewels. To her left was a pristine 19th century English Regency breakfront, mirrored on the other side of the office by a medium sized side table dating from the Song Dynasty, also intricately inlaid, here with jade and ebony. Behind Sam was an elegant Victorian grandfather clock nearly as tall as Suscratchums.
"You seem to appreciate the décor," Sam commented.
"Yes, it is quite…impressive."
"It took my father nearly twenty years to acquire all of these pieces. Each had some type of personal connection to him."
"Yes well, I am here in part, to discuss another piece of archeological history that had some type of personal connection to your father."
This definitely got Sam's attention. Suscratchums reached into his suit jacket and produced an 8x10 envelope. He removed a photograph from it and slid it across the elegant desk towards Sam, who gasped when she saw it. Gingerly, she picked it up.
"I take it, from your reaction, that you know what it is."
The picture was of a wall covered with hieroglyphs, focusing on a drawing of a leopard in flowing robes, holding a small statuette that seemed to contain a blue ball of light.
"The Vessel of Gopala, named for it's likeness of the first ruler of the Pala empire from 750 to 770 AD. Shown here being held by King Devapala, who commissioned the artist Dhiman to sculpt it so that it would contain a great power. The Vessel is said to contain the Light of Buddha."
"Very good, Miss Beckett. Perhaps you will also recognize this photograph."
He slid another across the desk. Sam picked it up, inhaled sharply, and immediately dropped it.
"Again, from your reaction, I surmise you recognize him."
"Mr. Suscratchums, my professional courtesy is, at the moment, keeping me in my seat. That having been said, you now have about one minute to explain what you want before I come across this desk, grab you by your balls, and drag you out into the street."
"I understand that you might have heated emotions regarding Mr. Kane. But rest assured, I am not associated with either him or the other people involved in your father's death."
"What do you mean 'other people'?"
"Miss Beckett, John Michael Kane was not a random criminal, neither was his attempted robbery of your father's bank a random act, and what he desired from inside the safe out there had nothing to do with money."
Sam sat behind the desk, unmoving, in shock, though her expression belied merely deep thought. After a long moment she stood, went to the door, and opened it.
"If you please, Mr. Suscratchums, I need a few moments to confer with my associate."
"Of course." He levered himself out of the chair and exited the office, ducking under the doorframe.
"Mr. Cloudkicker, could I see you please?"
Kit kept his expression neutral as he passed the enormous tiger, but turned to Sam with concern, pushing his sunglasses up onto his forehead as she shut the door behind them. As soon as the latch clicked Sam threw herself into Kit's arms, trembling, attempting to muffle her choked sobs in his chest. Kit held her tightly, shushing and whispering nonsense words in her ear until her fit calmed a minute or so later. Kit took her face gently in his hands.
"Sam, what is it?"
She quickly filled him in on the conversation, promising to clear up the backstory as soon as the opportunity presented itself.
"I just…when he said Daddy had been targeted…I couldn't…it was too much." She hugged Kit tightly. "I'm so glad you're here."
He returned the embrace, which she broke in a moment.
"You don't mind staying with me for the rest of this, do you?"
"Not at all."
She returned to her desk, removed a kerchief from a drawer, and wiped her face and eyes. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, folded her arms in front of her, and raised her chin. The transformation from distraught young woman to calm and collected young executive was instantaneous. She nodded at Kit, who opened the door.
"Mr. Suscratchums?"
No doubt from years of practice, he managed to maintain every bit of his bearing as he ducked through the doorway.
"Mr. Cloudkicker will be joining the rest of our discussion."
She glanced over at him. He had pulled his sunglasses back down and adopted a chiseled in stone expression that even championship poker players would have been jealous of. Though certainly not anywhere close to being the size of Suscratchums, Kit stood well over six two. Broad in the shoulders and narrow at the waist, he still had the body of the star track and field athlete he had been in high school. He cut an imposing figure, even if Suscratchums was too large to consider him intimidating. After he closed the door, he took up an arms-crossed standing position behind Sam's left shoulder. She hadn't given any consideration to what Kit's bearing ought to be, but when she saw this, she realized that it struck the perfect chord.
"He advises me on matters that are, shall we say, outside the ordinary. I think this qualifies."
"Might I presume, then, that my balls are no longer in peril?" Suscratchums asked, somewhat sarcastically, as he sat.
"Immediate peril, yes. Now you obviously have some information regarding my father's murder that is not known to the authorities. How you came to possess this information is of particular interest to me."
"I represent a group of cultured individuals who, like your father, believe the legend that the Vessel of Gopala does indeed contain the Light of Buddha. And that in the wrong hands, it would endanger the entire world. Your father believed it to be a power too terrible for anyone to possess. He intended to find it, and either find a way to destroy it, or drop it into the deepest chasm the ocean had to offer."
"Section 31. Yes, I'm aware of all this."
"Though he had his differences with us, he recognized the urgency of finding the artifact before it falls into either Communist or Socialist control. Or worse, the control of some independent interest that might have goals that are unfathomable and unpredictable to the world at large. So we sometimes shared information we considered to be mutually beneficial."
Sam sighed. "Yes. Mr. Suscratchums, I know."
"Moving on, then. Do you recall a business trip to Hong Kong that your father took roughly eighteen months ago?"
"Yes."
"At the end of that trip, he traveled briefly to Cambodia, to the site of the ancient city of Angkor. We believe that, while there, he obtained a map that would lead to the exact location of the Vessel."
Sam raised her eyebrows. "And you believe that this map is what John Michael Kane was looking for when he murdered my father?"
"Precisely."
"So then you must also believe, since you're here, that I would have access to this map even if I had no prior knowledge of it."
"Perhaps not directly. But in some manner, yes."
"And pretending for a moment that I just happened to have it here in one of these desk drawers, what would you expect me to do with it?"
Suscratchums shifted his weight in his seat, for the first time appearing uncomfortable.
"You are direct, aren't you, Miss Beckett?"
"Yes, I am. And you haven't answered my question. But to save you from having to lie to me, you would expect me to hand it over. Yes?"
"Well, I'm sure we could come to some arrange-"
Sam stood abruptly, palms flat on her desk. "Mr. Suscratchums, I thank you for your time and your information. You may see Mr. Orr on your way out and leave any contact information you wish. Good day."
"Now, Miss Beckett-."
Kit cleared his throat and took a step forward, keeping his arms crossed. Suscratchums glowered at him and stood. He inclined his head in Sam's direction. "A pleasure meeting you, Miss Beckett. Hopefully we will have further business in the future."
He regarded Kit icily. "Mr. Cloudkicker."
Suscratchums turned and left the office, closing the door behind him. Kit let his breath out in a rush and collapsed into the nearest chair, ironically the one just vacated by their guest.
"There for a moment, I thought he was gonna turn me into puppy chow."
Sam reached across the desk and took his hands in hers, smiling at him. "That was a brilliant performance."
"Are you all right?"
"No, not really. I'm…in shock. Here I'd almost come to terms with what happened. Now this."
"So what's this Light of Buddha?" he asked.
"It depends on what legend you read. Some say it was an energy that came upon Buddha when he attained Enlightenment. Others say it was Buddha's actual life force, released when he reached parinirvana. Yet others believe the name is honorific only, and actually has nothing to do with the man himself. Some attribute an extraterrestrial nature to it. It could be some kind of power source, or maybe some type of weapon. Whatever it is it's believed to have caused, or had an effect on, the rise and fall of every Eastern Empire from 400BC until the 9th century. Finally, a Bengali king, fearing the fall of his own Empire, had the Light bottled up in a statue specifically created to contain it. He hid it away and it was never seen again.
"Daddy came across the legend of the Light of Buddha while studying archeology in college at Leeds. It became sort of an obsession with him. As for the map…he never said a thing about it to me."
"And Big Tall Scary Guy?" he asked, inclining his head towards the door.
"Never heard of him, but the organization he claims to represent calls itself Section 31. Daddy worked with them several times over the years."
"And the reason you were talking about his balls?" Sam laughed and told him about her threat.
"You do realize the guy could've eaten you and wouldn't have been able to call you more than an appetizer."
"You backed him down pretty good."
"Only because he knew gutting me would ruin his chances of getting his hands on that map."
Sam stood, walked around the desk, and sat on Kit's lap, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him deeply.
"Whaddya say we blow this juice joint, hmm Daddy-O?"
"Sounds Jake to me, Sheba. I can dig it."
The jazz slang was a private running joke that had developed between them, but there was no humor in her voice now. She buried her face in the soft fur of his neck the way she had done with her father, needing a good cry but trying to stave it off until they left the bank. Kit held her tightly, gently stroking her hair, saying nothing, knowing there was nothing that could be said. After a few minutes she managed to pull herself together, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and stood.
"Let's get the hell out of here."