Chapter 4

Indiana Jones lay prone on the narrow stone ledge over the door of his jail cell. He'd gotten up there with the help of one of the boards he'd torn off of his 'bed', and the bolo he'd manufactured by tying his leather shoelaces together and tying a boot on to each end. While it wasn't as good as his bullwhip, it did the job. And it would do the job again when the guard returned; at least that's what he hoped.

He and Jock had ceased talking to each other over an hour ago when a new prisoner was brought in and placed in the cell between them. Better not to take any chances.

Now it was just a waiting game, and Jones had been waiting for nearly two and a half hours. Actually his perch was more comfortable than it looked and he'd already dozed off several times as his exhaustion caught up with him. He was starting to fall off to sleep again when he quickly snapped awake at the sound of footsteps on the stones in the hallway outside.

Jones listened intently while he grasped a boot in each hand and wound the laces around each wrist a couple of times. A look of satisfaction spread across his face as he heard only one set of footsteps. He hoped it would be Ali Ajca. He had a score to settle with the imbecilic brute; not to mention the fact that the last place the idiot would probably look would be up. But he couldn't count on it, he thought to himself. He would have to be ready to move quickly.

The footsteps approached closer and stopped in front of his cell. From his perch he heard an audible exclamation of surprise come from the guard as he peered in the bars of the small window and saw the empty cell. Jones smiled, it was Ali Ajca. The guard then roared something unintelligible as he began hurriedly fumbling with his set of keys. Jones tensed, and waited. He counted on the guard being stupid enough to rush into the cell. He also counted on him not thinking about the stone ledge over the door.

Jones was right on both counts.

As soon as he got the door unlocked Ali Ajca kicked it open and rushed into the cell with his rifle in the ready position. With perfect timing Jones looped his shoe lace bolo down and around the guard's neck before jerking up with all of his strength.

Ali Ajca was lifted off his feet. As the bolo tightened around his neck he instinctively dropped his rifle and reached for the strangling noose with desperately clutching hands. The Enfield rifle clattered down on to the hard stone floor of the cell. With another quick motion Jones dropped one of his hands for a split second and looped another length of the laces around the struggling guard's neck.

Now he had a death grip.

Ali Ajca's legs flailed helplessly while Jones braced his feet harder against the stone wall of the cell to better keep his position. The laces cut deeply into the soft flesh. Eyes bugged out in fear as both circulation and airway alike were totally cut off. The archaeologist held on tightly, waiting for the sadistic guard to pass out. It wasn't a long wait. In less than a minute the Arab's eyes rolled back in his head, his legs ceased kicking, and his arms fell limply to his sides. Jones let go and Ali Ajca fell to the floor like a rag doll.

Quickly he leaped down off of his perch and pushed the cell door closed.

"Alright pal, time to wake up," he slapped the sides of the guard's face "Come on, wake up, I've got something especially for you."

Ali Ajca's glazed eyes slowly opened. Indy shook him by the shoulders. "Wake up you son of a bitch so I can really put you to sleep!" He shook harder and the guard's eyes sprang open with a sudden look of recognition and fear.

"Got something for you," he said as he drew back his fist. "A little going away present!"

With that, Jones grabbed hold of Ali Ajca's turban with one hand and brought his fist down in a thunderous blow to the side of the guard's face. The sound was like that of a grapefruit being struck by a mallet. Ali Ajca head smacked hard down on the stone floor, and his eyes rolled back in his head again before closing.

"Goodnight pal, sleep well," Jones said as he began pulling off the guard's turban.

"Jock!" He called out to his pilot. "Jock!"

"Yeah, Indy?"

"Pack your bags Jock, we're checking out."

Jock ran to the door of his cell and peered out through the bars.

In no time Indy had stripped Ali Ajca of his clothing and donned both turban and long white robe. He picked up the rifle and key ring and exited the cell, locking it behind him. As he passed the next cell on his way to free Jock, the other prisoner, the new one, peered intently out of his cell window, his face pressed up against the bars. Jones turned and faced him.

The Arab began shouting loudly and waving his hand.

Jones pressed his finger to his lips. "SHHHHH, shut up you idiot!"

But the prisoner wouldn't stop shouting.

"What the hell is going on out there Indy?" Jock strained to look sideways out the narrow window of his cell.

"Don't worry Jock, it's under control."

"He's going to bring every guard in this damn prison if you don't shut him up!"

Jones raised the rifle he'd taken from Ali Ajca, pulled the bolt back and then slammed it forward to chamber around. This caught the Arab's attention and he quieted momentarily.

Jones walked up to the door and placed the barrel of the gun between the bars. The prisoner ran to the back of the cell, covered himself with his hands and began to whimper and plead for his life.

OK, I'll make it simple," Indy said. "Shut up, or die!"

The man nodded his head fearfully.

Jones placed his finger to his lips again. "Shhhhhh".

The prisoner quickly emulated him, placing his own finger to his lips while nodding his head.

"Good," Jones nodded his head.

He moved over to Jock's cell door and tried several keys before finding the right one.

"So what's the plan from here?" Jock asked after Indy freed him from the cell.

"I don't know, I guess we'll make it up as we go."

"I thought you had a plan."

"Just get in front of me and put your hands up," he said hurriedly.

"Huh?"

"Just do as I say!"

Jock stood in front of Indy and raised his hands. Jones pointed his rifle at his friend's back. "OK, just play along; let's go"

As they passed the Arab prisoner's cell Indy stopped for a moment, looked in, and pressed his finger to his lips once again. "Remember…shhhhh".

The pair warily walked down the long stone passage, listening for the approach of any guards. At the end of the passage they turned right and walked down another long empty corridor with a wood floor. At the end of this there was another jail door with bars, but it wasn't closed or locked.

"Alright just play it cool Jock, you're my prisoner."

"This aint gonna work Indy, they're going to recognize you."

"You have a better idea? Just keep your hands up and don't walk too far ahead of me."

Jock walked in front with hands raised. Indy endeavored to lower his head and stay as close to Jock's back as possible in order to hide his fair complexioned face. He hoped the turban would do the rest.

They entered the next room. Jones breathed a sigh of relief to see only one guard, seated behind a small beat up looking wooden desk. But the guard, surprised by the sudden appearance of the Caucasian prisoner with his hands raised, immediately stood up. When he noticed Indy standing behind with the raised rifle, he seemed to relax, but only for a second. He peered intently at him and issued a challenge in Arabic. Jones lowered his head further and mumbled something unintelligible into the sleeve of his robe. The guard again issued the challenge. Indy continued to mumble and started pointing his finger at Jock. He began to raise his voice, mumbling more loudly and pointing more demonstratively with his finger; all the while edging closer.

The ploy worked. The guard took his eyes off of Jones for a brief moment to look in the direction of the pointing finger. In that second Jones brought the stock of his rifle up and struck him hard in the side of the head. The blow staggered the guard but did not knock him out. He reached for his sidearm, but before he could pull it out Jock delivered a second blow, with his fist that put him down and out.

"Good work Jock," Indy smiled. "Where'd you learn to hit like that?"

Jock threw him a sarcastic look. "Well you see I've got this friend, this crazy archaeologist, and he keeps getting me mixed up in these situations where I have to…"

"Never mind, just take his clothes and put them on, we've got to hurry up. I can hear that idiot back in the cell yelling and screaming again. He's going to bring this whole place down on us. Maybe I should have shot him after all."

"Do you think there's anyone guarding the float plane Indy?"

"Let's hope not," Jones walked over to the far end of the small room and gazed out at the courtyard below while Jock fumbled with the turban and robe of the unconscious guard. Two parked open air sedans caught his attention. "But make sure to take that pistol with you," he motioned towards the guard's holstered firearm. "You might need it."

"I might need it?" Jock emphasized the word 'I'.

Indy turned away from the window and walked over to investigate a small cabinet behind the wooden desk. As soon as he opened it his eyes lit up and he broke into a broad smile.

"These are what I need right here."

There on the small shelf inside were his bullwhip, his .455 Webley pistol, his fedora, and his field pack; all taken from him when he was arrested.

Jock looked up momentarily. "Don't you think you'll be just a little bit conspicuous with that damned whip?"

Indy opened the magazine of the Webley and spun the chambers, pleased that the weapon was still fully loaded with six bullets. "Don't worry Jock; I'll keep it under my robe," he snapped the magazine shut. "Let's go, our ride is waiting down below."

"Our ride?" Jock looked puzzled.

As his pilot struggled to get his turban on straight Jones led the way out and into another corridor that led to a set of stone steps. These brought them down to the courtyard below. The courtyard formed the center of the small compound where several guards milled about.

They approached one of the two parked sedans.

"Just keep your head down and get in the car. You drive," Jones spoke quietly.

Jock got in and pushed the starter. The engine coughed and sputtered but would not start.

From the passenger's seat Indy looked around nervously. "Come on Jock, start the damn engine," he spoke quietly without moving his lips.

The sound of the sputtering engine caught the attention of a couple of the guards standing nearby. Jock tried again…and then again. The engine refused to start and now several sets of eyes looked over their way. Jones had a sudden sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Two of the guards approached out of curiosity. They shouted a question in Arabic.

Jones tried to keep his head turned to the side.

The engine refused to start.

The guard again issued the challenge in Arabic.

"Come on Jock, we really need to start this car," Indy spoke in a singsong voice as he watched one of the guards start to slowly and menacingly raise his rifle.

"Aw, it's no use Indy, she won't start!" Jock said in a defeated voice.

"Get in the other car and get it started, I'll take care of this," Jones got out of the car and opened the hood. He lowered his head in towards the engine, keeping his face somewhat hidden as the guard warily approached. Jock held his head down to hide his face and entered the other vehicle. The other guard watched him and slowly slung his rifle down off of his shoulder.

Jones was relieved to hear the 8 cylinder Rolls Royce engine come to life as Jock started the second car.

Cars and women… he thought to himself …I always pick the wrong ones.

But now he had to deal with the guard who approached right up next to him with rifle raised. He once again issued the challenge in Arabic.

If it worked once it would work again, Indy hoped as he pointed demonstratively at the cylinder block of the engine and mumbled something unintelligible.

Incredibly, it did work. The guard lowered his rifle for a moment and moved his head under the hood to take a look where Jones pointed.

In an instant Indiana Jones jumped back and slammed the hood down. The guard's rifle tumbled out of his hands as he found himself jammed half in-half out of the engine compartment. He feebly kicked his legs and issued muffled curses from under the hood as he struggled to get free.

The second guard, surprised by the sudden commotion, looked away from Jock and over at his struggling comrade's flailing limbs. He shouted loudly to raise the alarm and then brought his rifle up and took aim at Jones. The archaeologist ducked as a bullet narrowly missed his ear and shattered the windshield behind.

"Go Jock, go!" He shouted.

Before the guard could chamber another round Jones rose up and executed a perfect flying leap across Jock and into the passenger's seat of the sedan just his pilot popped the clutch and floored the accelerator. The vehicle twisted and spun its wheels as it struggled for traction in the soft ground.

Now the alarm had been raised, and in no time a hail of bullets began kicking up the sand around the speeding car as it made straight for the prison gate.

Jones pulled his Webley and fired a couple of poorly aimed covering rounds.

"They're closing the gate Indy!" Jock shouted above the roar of the engine.

Indiana Jones looked ahead at the gate and the sick feeling returned to the pit of his stomach as he watched it slowly start to swing closed, pushed by several of the guards.

"What'll we do!? There's no other way out of this stinking sand pit!" Jock shouted excitedly.

"Gun it Jock! Gun it! Ram it if you have to!"

As the large wooden gate continued to swing closed it began to look hopeless, but Jock kept the accelerator to the floor.

"We're not gonna make it!" He shouted.

A bullet smashed into the windshield between them.

"We don't have a choice!" Jones shouted back.

After struggling through the sandy turf the spinning wheels of the car hit an unexpected patch of hard ground. The sudden solid traction caused the Bentley sedan to lurch forward and accelerate rapidly. In just a few seconds they reached the gate.

The guards' eyes grew wide and they had to leap out of the way to avoid being run down by the speeding automobile.

The vehicle struck the side of the prison gate, which tore part of the bumper off, jarring Indy and Jock, and leaving a piece of the car behind as an unintentional parting gift.

But they made it through.

"Whooee! That was close!" For a few seconds Jock lost himself in the thrill of the moment.

Jones looked back. Turn!"

"Where?!"

"Anywhere…Duck!" Indy's warning came just as the rapid staccato of a machine gun could be heard coming from the guard tower on the prison wall behind them. They both ducked down quickly as a succession of bullets chased up the street after them, kicking up little fountains of brown earth before finding the range.

Bullets tore into the speeding car, blowing out one tire, and puncturing the fuel tank, before creeping up to shatter what was left of the windshield.

Without looking Jock jerked the wheel hard to the right and turned off into a side street, clipping the edge of a fruit vendor's cart in the process. Fresh oranges, dates, and figs spilled over into the street. Jock raised himself up to take a look and narrowly avoided a collision with a camel. He swerved left, and then right, before turning left down another side street. The road quickly narrowed, and became more crowded as they approached a large open-air market where they slowed to a crawl.

Indy stood up in the car and shouted. "We've got to find our way out of here and into the desert! Which way is the Nile?"

He tried to wave people, camels, and merchandise laden carts out of the way, but to no avail. He only succeeded in drawing strange looks and unwanted attention.

Jock blew the horn. "They'll be coming after us Indy. Maybe we should just dump the car and try for it on foot. We've got at least one flat tire anyway."

Jones looked over at a row of camels tied together next to a small vendor's stall. "Back up Jock, we'll try the other way!"

Jock ground the gears and slammed the car into reverse. He swerved backward, back down the narrow street, raising a cloud of dust, and the ire of the local street vendors. When he reached the end he swung the wheel hard and to the left and veered back on to the main road. He then ground the gears again, the transmission making noises that would cause any decent mechanic to cringe, and slammed the car back into first gear…and not a moment too soon.

A few seconds later a truck full of prison guards veered around the corner behind them. The truck was going fast enough that it momentarily tipped up on two wheels before slamming back down on all fours on to the dusty street. It cut a ragged swath through a stack of wooden cages full of hundreds of chickens, spraying feathers and clucking hens everywhere. But when the feathers cleared they quickly spotted Indy and Jock in the stolen Bentley.

Jones took a quick glance back and rapidly summed up the situation. "Not good! Punch it Jock!"

Their tires spun, and then found traction, and despite the flat tire the sedan rapidly accelerated down the road with the truck in hot pursuit. A volley of bullets whizzed close by from behind, missing Indy and Jock but taking out their other rear tire. The rubber flopped clumsily. It made the car difficult to control and slowed them considerably.

"Keep your head down!" Jones shouted.

Jock struggled with the wheel as Jones took out his Webley. He turned around, took as careful aim he could under the circumstances, and fired three shots in rapid succession. One of them got lucky. It passed through the windshield of the pursuing truck and struck the driver on the hand. He involuntarily let go of the wheel and the vehicle careened out of control. It plowed into a cart full of wicker baskets and flipped on to its side, spilling guards out helter-skelter.

Jock took a quick glance back. "Nice shot!"

As he struggled to control the crippled automobile the engine began to cough and sputter.

"Just in time too, we're out of gas! They must have hit the tank."

The car coughed one last time and abruptly died.

"And we've got company," Indy leapt quickly from the vehicle as a half dozen or more guards, screaming the direst of Arab curses, came running up the street.

"Give me your gun Jock; you probably shoot as good as you drive!"

Jock tossed him the Pistole '08 he'd taken from the guard back at the prison "Here, I don't like guns anyway."

Jones turned and fired a covering shot before turning and running further up the narrow street.

"Turn left! We'll try to lose them in the market!"

They turned left and ran down a narrow alley; a residential area of low square mud-brick houses. The few residents in the alleyway watched curiously as the two light-skinned strangers in full robes and turbans raced by. They quickly ran into their homes when Indy and Jock's pursuers came after them, firing as they went. Bullets whizzed and cracked down the alley, kicking up dirt and clipping off pieces of mud plaster.

The alley abruptly made a turn to the left, giving the two men a brief moment of cover from the gunfire behind them. Jones stopped in front of a low roofed house. His lungs burned as he gulped deep breaths of hot gritty desert air. Quickly he looked around in all directions, and then up. Satisfied that there was no one watching he turned to his pilot.

"Give me a boost Jock."

"A boost? A boost up there? Then what? Are you going to leave me down here?"

"Just give me a boost up, and hurry!"

Reluctantly, Jock locked his fingers together and lifted Indy up. Jones grabbed hold of the edge of the roof and hoisted himself up. He then reached back down to Jock.

"Take my hand. Hurry!"

Jones endeavored to haul his friend, and pilot up on to the roof. As he came up Jock's head struck the side of one of the roof pillars, knocking his turban sideways.

"Jesus, take it easy boss!"

Jones then reached out and grabbed him with both hands and hauled him the rest of the way up. But just as Jock got both legs up on to the roof his turban was knocked from his head. The white headdress fell at the very same moment that their pursuers rounded the bend in the alley where they hesitated, looking around in all directions.

Jones was horrified.

As if in slow motion he watched Jock's gleaming white turban tumble through the air, destined to land directly on top of their pursuers below.

Jones lunged, and caught the falling headdress on the end of a curled pinky finger.

Good thing these guys never look up he thought to himself.

Jock grabbed Jones' legs, preventing him from tumbling off the edge as the archaeologist snatched the white turban back and rolled himself back on to the roof. He closed his eyes and breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"Lay down flat," he whispered.

The two of them lay down as flat as possible on the roof of the small house. The surface was incredibly hot, having been baked by the cloudless afternoon sun. But they both remained motionless and silent. Jones clutched the handgun close to his chest, ready in case they'd been seen. But they hadn't, and their pursuers moved on, continuing to shout curses and fire weapons as they went. Indy let out an audible sigh of relief.

For a long moment they both just lay there breathing deeply.

Then Jock turned to Indy. "I meant what I said. This is the last time. Absolutely the last time! I'm through with archaeology. It's just too damned dangerous! And I'm through with you Indy. You can just look for another pilot."

Jones ignored him and reached into his pack, pulling out is scrunched up fedora. Carefully, almost tenderly, he pushed out the wrinkles and straightened the brim. Then, using his pack for a makeshift pillow he lay back down on the flat hard surface of the roof and placed the hat over his face to protect it from the withering rays of the desert sun. He breathed deeply, wiped the perspiration from his forehead and then closed his eyes.

"It'll be dark in a couple of hours; we can just stay here until then, and then make our way to the river."

"Stay here?"

"Sure," Jones said. "It's as good a place as any right now. They'll probably be looking for us all over town. Besides, if they're guarding the plane I'd rather try to approach it after dark."

Jock squinted, looking far to the west where an afternoon haze was the only indication of the distant White Nile River, and his airplane. "Whatever you say boss, but like I said, this is the last time…the last time."