A/N: Disclaimer: I don't own the 'Indiana Jones' series or any of the characters. If I did, he would have stayed with Marion so Willie and Elsa would have never had a chance. I DO own Charlotte Desmona Jones, though. Let's keep it that way.
"I kinda feel bad for taking that guy's car," I say as we speed down the road in the stolen vehicle.
"Eh, don't worry," Dad tells me casually. "It was a genius idea on your part." I smile. It was a pretty good idea. I've been getting better at this line of work under Dad's guidance. The German plane is desperately trying to follow us, clumsily shooting. I have no idea where the second one went, but I have no time to find out. There's a tunnel ahead that the pilot of the plane would be crazy to think he could slip into without damaging his plane.
"Go faster through the tunnel," I tell Dad. He slams on the gas even harder as we pass through the dark tunnel, if that's even possible. I hear a loud slamming sound coming from the entrance. The light from a fire is easy to see in the back of us. I suspect that he lost his wings. We're driving as fast as we can, but the fire is getting closer to us. I can feel the heat against my skin, just like at the book burning parade. When the fire nears, I turn to my left to see what he lost. The plane is skidding along the road with us, still fiery, and with a very confused looking pilot in it. He stares back at us as his plane passes, leaving the tunnel quickly while we lag behind, and for good reason.
It explodes when it reaches the end, scattering tiny pieces everywhere and killing whoever was inside. Dad faces it head on, as if it's no big deal. I duck, expecting the car to catch fire. It doesn't. Instead, it crumbles when Dad drives through it. The pilot is finally dead, but we have yet to deal with the other one. Dad slams on the brakes very suddenly, causing us all to fly forward. I grab Dad's back to stop me from being hurled out of the car. Surprisingly, I'm much less terrified. I'm just exhilarated now. It's a Jones thing.
We're on a rocky beach, the type you know you'd find in Europe that you would never want to relax at. It's beautiful, though. I can see the next plane in the distant sky, closing in on us with enthusiasm. Grandfather simply looks up at it and takes out his umbrella. I shake my head. What good will an umbrella do to us right now? He walks towards the annoying, loud seagulls, bringing his umbrella in and out to scare them away. Why, I'm not sure. I exchange a look with Dad, one that says 'Has he gone insane?'.
The bird gather into a messy group and fly off towards the plane. I realize what Grandfather's plan was when I see the bird's beaks smashing through the windshield, blocking the pilot's view. The plane starts to fly clumsily and zooms right over our heads, only to crash into the rocky hills in the distance and explode from impact. I'm impressed. Who would have thought Grandfather was that smart when it came to dangerous situations? He strolls towards us with his umbrella flung over his shoulder.
"I suddenly remembered my Charlemagne. Let my armies be the rocks and the trees and the birds in the sky.." He hums as he goes along past us. For the first time in my life, I can see pride in Dad's eyes, directed at Grandfather. It's like he's finally realized that the two have something in common. Like father, like son.
The trek to Jordan was not an enjoyable one. With the heat and the lack of good transportation methods, it can be tedious. All was forgiven when I saw Sallah, Dad's good friend and one of my many adult friends, waiting for us. He was the friend Mom and Dad were visiting when Mom died. He was present at the wedding and when I was born. Sallah, Harold Oxley (better known to us as Ox), Collin Williams, and Mr. Brody are among some of the friends of Dad's that have gotten as close to my heart as Belinda. I really need to socialize this kids my own age, but oh well.
"Sallah!" I exclaim as I jump into his arms for a welcoming hug. He laughs happily, a booming, yet comforting sound.
"It's good to see you too, little one! The children always ask about you." I beam at his comment. I absolutely love Sallah's children, all 15 of them. 9 are older than me, while I've been able to babysit 6 of them.
"I miss them too," I answer genuinely. Dad taps me on the back, bringing me away from Sallah. He and Sallah shake hands and smile at each other, having not seen the other in quite a long time.
"Where's Marcus?" Dad asks him. Sallah's smile fades and he freezes nervously. I don't know what happened to Mr. Brody, but judging from the look on Sallah's face, it can't be good.
"The Nazis have him." My heart sinks. They had me, and I still have the scar to prove it.
"Oh," Dad whispers. "I see. He has the map." How many problems do we have to encounter on this trip?
"We have to track down Donovan," I say determinedly. "If we find him, we find Mr. Brody." Dad puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezing comfortingly.
"We'll find him, Kiddo." I can only hope he's right, the same way I just had to hope the other times, too.
"Take a look at this." I reach for Dad's binoculars and look at Donovan's tanks like he told me to. Sitting in a car, leading the army is none other than Donovan himself, a prim and proper Elsa, who manages to look good in desert gear, at his side while Mr. Brody sits unhappily in the back seat of the car with his arms crossed defiantly across his chest. I don't know how Donovan got the cars, tanks, weapons, and army when the world is at war, but the point is he has them and we have to do something about it.
"What's our plan?" I ask. Immediately after asking, I regret it, knowing what the answer is. Dad shoots me a fake glare.
"Char, what's my motto?" he asks slowly. I sigh, having heard his motto more than my own name.
"I'm making this up as I go..." I mumble in response. He nods, a satisfied smile on his face.
"Exactly. We'll see just how good his fleet really is and develop our plan from there." From living with him for all sixteen years of my life, I know that 'plan' really means 'poorly sketched out course of action that is never followed anyway'. I know it's better this way, though. Dad doesn't do well under structured activities.
"Can't they see us from here?" Grandfather asks. Dad shakes his head.
"We're way out of range. They can't hit us." His second sentence is overshadowed by a loud explosion behind us. I whip my head around to examine the scene. We've been fired at by Donovan, who missed and hit a boulder.
"Out of range, eh?" I joke. Sallah laughs quietly.
"We have no time! Move, move, move!" Dad exclaims. What happens next goes by in a huge blur, like one big feverish dream. Have you ever done something so fast or been so afraid that you can't even remember what happened? That's what it feels like. If I were to try to recount it, I would fail miserably. I base my actions on pure instinct instead of logic. All I know is it involves at lot of blood and gunshots. I'm broken out of my dehydration-induced reverie when I feel someone shake me. My hand automatically flies up, smacking the person on instinct.
"Ow!" I turn around, prepared to fight, but then I see Grandfather rubbing his sore cheek.
"Sorry! I thought you were a Nazi. What do you need?" I know we don't have much time to discuss anything, so I try to rush him along as he speaks.
"Marcus is in the tank. It's unguarded and I thought maybe we could..."
"Rescue him?" I guess. He nods sheepishly. Grandfather is definitely not used to Dad's world of fast thinking and even faster actions. He still thinks his ideas aren't good enough to be used. However, I'd rather not miss any opportunity. I hop on the slow-moving tank and motion for Grandfather to follow. Moving along the top is easy. The soldiers are in the convoy and not bothering with the large tank. As I jump down the hatch, I look around one last time to make sure I'm not being watched by a Nazi.
"Charlotte!" Mr. Brody slaps me on the shoulder affectionately when I fall into place in the tank.
"What a marvelous rescue mission!" he declares.
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" Grandfather agrees. I swear, when these two get together, they lose at least twenty IQ points between the two of them. I shake my head.
"We have no time for this! Let's get outta here." I turn around to climb the stairs of the tank. Before I can reach for the latter, I'm faced with a sight worse than death. I'm certain I'm staring into the eyes of pure evil, the evil that almost cost me my life once before;
Vogel.
He grabs my wrist painfully.
"There you are, Miss Jones. It's good to see you again." Sarcasm drips from his words, just like I'm sure hatred drips from my stare.
"Let go of me, Vogel," I demand with a sharp edge in my voice. He smiles coldly.
"You're in a position unsuitable to give orders, Miss Jones. But, we've been warned about your rather feisty personality. If we can handle your father, I think I can handle you." His grip on me tightens as he turns around to look at Grandfather and Mr. Brody.
"What a bunch we've collected here. Hello, Dr. Jones Sr." Grandfather walks up to him.
"Let her go, Vogel. Ask me anything you must, but leave her out of it." Vogel shakes his head and rolls his eyes, as if we're all idiots that he has the burden of dealing with.
"You really don't understand, do you? The girl is more a part of this than you know. She's a part of something bigger than all of this, bigger than the Grail. We need her." I shiver involuntarily. What am I part of? Why do they need me?
"But," Vogel starts. "We do have a few questions for you, Dr. Jones." He pushes me away, pulls his leather glove off and weighs it around in his hand for a minute.
"Why do you need the diary?" He smacks Grandfather across the face with the glove.
"Why was the map not enough?" *Smack*
"What does it tell you that we don't know?" He moves to smack him again, but Grandfather catches his wrist.
He begins to speak slowly and dangerously, "It tells me that Nazi morons like yourself should try reading books instead of burning them!" I laugh lightly, amused, but still scared out of my mind. Another soldier climbs down, and then another.
"We have some problems out there with Jones." Vogel waves them off.
"Both Joneses are right here." The soldier shakes his head.
"The other Dr. Jones, sir." I smile. Dad always finds a way to defeat his challengers.
"Dad!" I hear someone yell. The soldiers, led by Vogel, immediately stand back up.
"Jones!" one of them exclaims. While they're distracted, I see a gun drop down onto the floor next to me. It's obviously Dad's doing. He wants us to escape.
Grandfather notices it, too. As he reaches for it, I beat him to it, grabbing the gun as quietly as possible. He looks at me quizzically. We both know the gun was not meant for me, but I got us into this mess, and I intend to get us out. I lean in closely to Grandfather and Mr. Brody.
"Make a scene," I whisper. Vogel is gone, leaving us with two soldiers to deal with. This should be easy. Vogel would have kept a close eye on us, while these two don't seem to care. I point the gun towards one of the men who isn't paying attention, while Grandfather and Mr. Brody walk toward the other one who is manning the tank. I wink at them, giving them a cue to hit the man over the head.
I feel myself pull the trigger, getting the man in the back, but not quite killing him. I don't need to be responsible for a death. Grandfather and Mr. Brody succeed in knocking the other man out cold. He hits the floor with a thud. I sigh in relief.
"Now let's get out of here," I say. Grandfather and Mr. Brody climb out on the ladder as I hook my legs on it, following them. I feel resourceful and safe, two things I haven't felt since this trip started.
When my body hits the fresh air, I feel two strong hands reach out and grab my forearms, pinning me to the tank. No, no, no! I just escaped, this cannot be happening. I thrash and squirm, not even bothering to look up at my captor in the confusion. I can hear Dad, soldiers, and the sound of the tank hitting rocks and dirt, painting a picture of a large, fast-paced battle. It's all happening too fast.
"You can't escape us this time, sweetheart," a cold voice whispers in my ear.
Of course, Vogel expected me to escape! I'm my father's daughter. As much as I hate him, I have to admit he's a smart man. He holds me closer to the tank, leaning in so closely to my ear that I can feel his warm breath on my neck, making me squirm even more.
"We want you, Charlotte Jones, and we always get what we want. Always." I smirk at him and spit in his face, catching him off guard.
"Not this time." When he brings his hand up to wipe the saliva off his cheek, I knee him in the groin harshly with as much power as I can muster. Vogel reels back in pain, howling as he falls down. I stand up on the moving tank slowly, trying to stay stable. Dad's riding a horse along the side of the tank, trying to keep up.
"I have this handled pretty well!" I yell to him, trying to keep him from helping me. He shakes his head at me, extending a hand.
"Pull me up!" I do as he says, grabbing his hand and helping him on the tank. He manages to pull himself on, just as Vogel regains his strength. Dad turns around quickly, punching Vogel in the face. Vogel lunges back at him. As they battle, I come to a shocking realization; no one is driving the tank. The two soldiers are injured and knocked out and Vogel is too busy with Dad. This is my chance.
With both Dad and Vogel's backs turned, I climb back into the open hatch quickly, watching my step. No one is in the tank. How could they be this careless? Well, it gives me the upper hand. I grab the... what are they called? You know, the things that you look at your targets through? Whatever it is, I look out of it, trying to find the cars the majority of soldiers are on. Finally, I find it. Much to my dismay, Elsa is not on it. I have a personal vendetta against her. I want to blow up the convoy, but I have no idea how the inerworkings of a tank.. well, work. How do I shoot at a target?
"I'll kill you, Jones!" Dad's fight is getting heated. This needs to happen, fast. Just push a gosh darn button, Char! I start to smack the various buttons in a panic. Red ones, green ones, blue ones. All the buttons are hit.
"Work, darn you! Work!" I scream in frustration. Finally, I hear a missile launch from the tank. Grabbing the ladder, I start to climb up, not even waiting to see if I hit the convoy. I know I did.
Much to my horror, only Dad and Vogel remain on the tank, which is dangerously nearing the cliff. I rush to Dad's aid, boldly jumping on Vogel's back and wrapping my arms around his neck. The adrenaline is rushing through my veins to a point where I'm sure I wouldn't feel it if Vogel hit me.
"Get off the tank!" I scream at Dad. He pays no attention to me, instead trying to break me apart from Vogel, who I am savagely kicking on the legs. Vogel tries to elbow me in the side, but I avoid his blows, tightening my grip on his neck. Dad picks me up, detaching me from Vogel and setting me on the ground.
"Get off the tank," he says before punching Vogel in the face. I look over to the cliff, which we're now tipping over on. It's much too late for us to abandon the tank.
"Dad!" I scream, clinging onto his leg. Vogel looks behind him, probably realizing that he's done for. I now know how it feels to face your impending doom. I feel the tank begin to go over the edge and Dad hold me tight against him. My screaming is drowned out by the sound of crashing. I shut my eyes tightly and wait for the pain to begin.
Death is surely coming quickly, as I was on the tank. So... why don't I feel burning? Why don't I feel sharp pains? Should I open my eyes? I'm convinced that I'll just see white. I'm probably dead. No, I am dead.
"Junior! Charlotte!" I hear the screams from above me. How can I hear Grandfather when I'm dead?
"Indy! Char!" Sallah too? Reluctantly, I open my eyes. I can see the open desert, the deserted tank and the cliff above me. I'm alive. I don't know how, but the impact of the fall didn't kill me. I feel arms wrap around me, pulling me up from the ground. I freeze; could it be Vogel?
"Thank God you're alright." I relax. It's Dad. He survived, too. Turning to face him, I throw my arms around his neck. He pats my back gently and lets me bury my head into his chest.
"We should get up there before they assume we're dead.." he whispers. I nod, separating from him.
"How?" I ask, ignorant as to how we can get up the cliff. Dad smiles mischievously, a look I know well. He points to a tree root sticking out of the cliff edge, dipping down towards us.
"You can climb, can't you?" I let out a huff and push him out of the way.
"Ladies first." He laughs hoarsely despite our desperate situation.
I grab on to the root with my red, sore hands, pulling on it to hoist me up. I can feel my palms ache as I pull against the scratchy roots, my head still pounding from the noise of the tank. Finally reaching the dirt covered cliff is a welcome relief. I force myself onto the solid earth. Grandfather, Sallah and Mr. Brody are at the edge, staring into the distance. Sallah's hat is off, now placed near his heart, his expression one of shock and pain, along with Grandfather's. Mr. Brody's is confused. No surprise there.
Dad emerges from the abyss, out of breath and ragged like me. I beckon him over to our friends, who now have their hands on their hearts as a sign of respect for us. Are they blind? Nonchalantly, I tap Grandfather on the back. He turns around, still dazed, nods slightly to acknowledge my presence, and turns back to the cliff. Seriously?
I simply count down from five, waiting until it sets in for him. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... He turns back around, his mouth wide open, and gathers me into a hug. I stiffen momentarily. Grandfather never hugs me, or anyone, for that matter. Eventually, I relax in his arms.
"We thought you were dead, Charlotte!" I hug him back, smiling.
"You'll have to try harder than that to get rid of me," I say jokingly. Grandfather lets me go. His eyes widen when he sees Dad, who's looking on at my reunion with everyone. Grandfather grabs him by the shoulders and looks at him, examining his only son. Grandfather pulls Dad into a hug.
"I thought I'd lost you too, boy." Dad pats Grandfather on the back.
"I thought you had too, Sir." I just look at them. Two stubborn, estranged family members finally acting civil to each other. Heck, it's more than civil. Grandfather was devastated, even just for that moment, thinking he'd lost his son, whom he never really had a chance to bond with. Dad looks ecstatic to be hugging Grandfather. He never showed Dad much affection as a child, so that hug must mean the world to him.
As corny as it may sound, the sight of them hugging warms my heart. Geez, what's happening to me?
Grandfather lets go of Dad, awkwardly clearing his throat.
"Well done. Now, let's go." The thought of continuing in our condition causes both Dad and I to collapse, exhausted from our adventure.
"Well, don't just sit there resting when we're so close to the end!" I glare at Grandfather with a deadly gleam in my eye, cutting off his words. If looks could kill... Dad chuckles lightly, extending a hand to me.
"What do you say, Kiddo?" I smile in spite of my grouchiness and take his hand.
"I say we find ourselves a Holy Grail."
A/N: Can any of you guys guess what familiar character I'm bringing into the story later? ;)