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"Waiting in the Wings"
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INDIANA JONES AND THE GOLDEN AGE #02
Written by D. David Lee
Edited by Erik Burnham
The YesterYear Fan Fiction Group acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of characters used here and ALL related characters may be owned by others and that said owners retain complete rights to said characters. These names, concepts, and images are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a combined setting. This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author.
***
May, 1938
The stillness at FBI headquarters was suddenly broken by the ringing of a phone, a sound that interrupted a ballgame on the radio. It was a Sunday afternoon, and as a general rule, most of the agents had families to spend time with. Agents Robinson and Gallagher were the exception to that rule. Irritated, Gallagher picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear.
"Hello and whaddaya want?" he said, still leaning back in his chair. "Don't you know the Dodgers are down two runs?" he continued, conveying his annoyance to the person on the other end of the line.
"I must be talking to Gallagher," said Indy, not surprised by this particular agent's rudeness. "This is Jones. Put Robinson on before I hang up."
A startled look coming over his features, Gallagher straightened up before motioning to his partner to pick up the phone. "Hey, Rob, it's Jones callin' finally. Looks like he's finally made up his mind."
Picking up his end of the office line with alacrity, Robinson began to read Jones the riot act. "Jones?! It's been over two weeks since we had our little talk! What the hell took you so long to get back to us?!" ranted Robinson, who'd expected a much more patriotic attitude from the famous professor of archaeology.
"I've been busy," said Indy, not thinking he owed anyone any explanations. "But you'll be glad to know I've decided to help you guys out. Three conditions, though. First, I get to pick my own team for this little mission of yours. Second, I'm in charge, and I get to do things my way. You got any problems with that?" he asked, ready to hang up.
"Don't ask for much, do you Jones? Uncle Sam realized that those would probably be the rules a man with your background and experience would want to play by. As far as that goes, you've got the green light. But you said three conditions. What's the third?" asked Robinson, expecting something big.
"I'm going to need a pilot, a real ace, and preferably an American. All the good pilots I know are European and too well-known for this kind of operation. I need you to get me someone I can trust, someone with a low profile. Can you handle that?" asked Indy, disbelief evident in his voice.
Insulted, Robinson made his answer a quick one. "The United States Government is more than capable of fulfilling any reasonable requests you might have, Dr. Jones, and a pilot will be provided for you. No problem. When will you be ready to leave?" he asked.
"The end of this month. I'm going to need a week or two at least, just to get the rest of my crew together. You just hold up your end and have this pilot of yours meet me in New York asap. And he better be good."
***
Los Angeles: Private Airfield
All eyes were cast skyward as a one-man plane streaked across the skies, the sound of its powerful engine clearly audible to all on the field below. The hot sun glinted off black wings as it began a steep turn back towards the landing strip on final approach.
"Now that's a plane," said Peevy, a white-haired gentleman who had been mesmerized by the plane's performance all afternoon. "How fast do you think it was going this time? 350 miles per hour? 400 maybe?" he asked, listening to the sound of the engine as the plane made its landing and came to a halt directly in front of the engineering team that was still busily taking notes.
Popping the top open, the test pilot hopped out, a look of excitement beaming off of his handsome face. "Peevy, I hit 395 on that last run. This Peter three eight is every pilot's dream," he said, climbing out of the cockpit with easy, practiced movements.
"I'm just glad it got you down safely, Cliff," said Peevy, trying not to look impressed. He didn't entirely approve of this test pilot job that Cliff had taken. After all, Cliff had everything to live for: a beautiful girl who loved him, a great career as a racing pilot, and a full life ahead of him. This restlessness would do him no good.
"Yeah, yeah..." began Cliff, who'd heard this particular lecture one too many times. "I always check the plane out myself before each test run. Every good pilot does, and this one was good to go. You saw that yourself, Peevy. It flies like a dream."
"How much extra weight were you carrying this time?" asked Peevy, wondering what the test was for. A one man plane wasn't much good for carrying cargo, and the purpose of the test eluded him.
"One ton," replied Cliff, not really knowing or caring why that mattered. "Pretty fast for a plane carrying a load like that."
"Yeah, it is," said Peevy, not really liking what he thought the plane might be designed to carry. "It's a real beaut, alright. Anyway, I'm supposed to remind you to pick up Jenny for that shindig at Howard's place tonight. You didn't forget, did you?"
Cliff had forgotten and couldn't help sucking in a quick breath and looking guilty. Telling falsehoods was not something that he was good at. "Um...no, of course not. What time does that thing start again?" he asked.
"In about three hours from now. You'd better get going," said Peevy, who smiled knowingly. "Jenny is not the kind of girl you keep waiting."
***
New York: The Palmer Estate
Servants hustled busily from place to place within the estate, polishing the silver and dusting the furniture, not that anything was even remotely out of place. Yet another in a string of soirees had been planned for the evening, and everything had to be perfect.
Trying to stay out of everyone else's way, the young lady of the house was taking care of some last minute invitations, and the young man with her was trying hard not to start yawning out of boredom.
"So there's going to be another party tonight?" asked Kit, tapping his fingers idly against the tabletop. "Doesn't the excitement ever end?" he continued sarcastically.
"In New York? Never!" joked Diana, trying to ignore Kit's tone. She continued to check off names and numbers on the list in front of her, making sure Dr. Jones and his family had been invited. Finally, she relented. She was well aware of the restless streak that had overcome him of late but wasn't sure what she could do about it. "Alright, what's bothering you?" she asked.
"Nothing... something... I don't know," said Kit, fidgeting in his seat a little. "I'm just not used to sitting around doing nothing. It's been almost six months since we put an end to Kabai Sengh and his brotherhood, and I haven't put on the Phantom costume since."
"Is that necessarily a bad thing?" asked Diana. "Maybe there just isn't anymore evil in the world left to be fought. Maybe this is the world's way of telling us that it's okay to be happy."
Diana was being absolutely serious, and the look she sent Kit's way was enough to melt his heart, but not enough to wipe away centuries of tradition and family obligation. "I wish that were true, but we both know that it's not. Evil does and always will exist. That's not the problem, Diana," said Kit, being just as serious. "The problem is that I'm here instead of out there looking for it."
"Damn it. I hate it when you're right," said Diana, turning away to regain her composure. It was the most ladylike movement Kit had ever seen her make, and it was a sure sign that she was really upset. "I was told to keep this a surprise, but Uncle Dave is planning to make an announcement tonight. He's going to offer you a job as a reporter for his newspaper, make you an international correspondent."
Kit's initial reaction was that he didn't need a job since the family fortune was more than sufficient to finance several small countries. Then it dawned on him that such a position would be the perfect cover for his activities as the Phantom.
Before he could thank her, his heart was stabbed yet again by the expression on her beautiful face, a look that said she wouldn't be going with him this time. No longer knowing what to say, he went to her, pulled her to him, and thanked her with a deep and passionate kiss.
The servants did their best to ignore them.
***
Berlin: SS Headquarters
The young guard snapped to attention as a superior officer made ready to enter the room whose entryway he monitored. Captain von Röhm was expected and not a man who liked to be kept waiting. Snapping his right hand forward and clicking his heels, he yelled the standard greeting with great fervor. "Heil Hitler!"
Captain Werner von Röhm responded with the same words and gesture, applied much more casually than the guard who stood before him, the nonchalant act of a man who knew his loyalty would never, ever be questioned. Without even bothering to knock, he opened the door and entered the office.
"Heil Hitler. Good morning, Captain. I trust you had a pleasant trip," said a man seated at the desk, not really interested in making such pleantries, but a man who continued to do so out of habit.
"Heil Hitler. Yes, sir. Very pleasant," said von Röhm, who was one of the few officers that the man before him trusted completely. And Heinrich Himmler trusted almost no one.
"Very good, Captain. I have a mission for you of the greatest importance," said Himmler, who passed a file of papers and documents into von Röhm's waiting hands. Quickly glancing over them, von Röhm's eyes widened as the significance of the significance of the secrets contained within the documents in his hands quickly dawned upon him.
"And my mission is to recover this vessel?" asked von Röhm, who barely succeeded in keeping awe from creeping into his voice.
"Exactly," said Himmler, standing up to emphasize the importance of the vessel that von Röhm was being assigned to find. "Your nautical experience and archaeological training make you the ideal candidate. You will be allowed to handpick the members of your team, but speed is of the essence, not to mention secrecy."
"Then I shall leave immediately to form my unit, sir. Heil Hitler!" said von Röhm with more fervor than he had when he first entered theoffice, pride making his voice stronger.
"Heil Hitler."
***
Los Angeles: Howard Hughes' Mansion
The valet's eyes widened as Cliff helped his date climb out of his car. Jenny Blake was one of the most beautiful women in the world, and for some reason Cliff couldn't understand, she was his girl. Absolutely radiant in her Chanel evening gown, all eyes were drawn towards her, and to a lesser extent, the man with her.
"Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?" asked Cliff, who enjoyed watching the jaws of all the men they passed by drop in succession. He tugged awkwardly at the collar of the tuxedo he'd rented for the occasion, not really comfortable in anything other than his flight gear.
"Only about a hundred times," said Jenny, "and I love you for it." She was very excited. Howard Hughes was as big a man in Hollywood as he was in aviation, and some of the most important people in show business would be at this party tonight. One of the servants led them to the dining room, where they were seated next to the host, Mr. Howard Robard Hughes, Jr.
"Cliff! Jenny! Glad you could make it!" said Hughes, kissing Jenny on the cheek and shaking Cliff's hand. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you privately later tonight after the party's over."
"No problem," said Cliff, glad to do anything Hughes asked of him. As a general rule, he had no use for millionaires like most of the people at this party tonight, but Howard Hughes was the exception. A man to be reckoned with, he'd personally broken the world airplane speed record just three short years ago, and his film, "Hell's Angels" was still one of Cliff's favorites.
Indeed, Hughes was planning to break the around the world speed record later that year in July. The party tonight was being held to wish him well as he began preparations for that journey.
"Let me introduce you to some of the other guests this evening," said Hughes, who gestured towards the guests seated immediately around them at the table. "To my right are Mr. and Mrs. Martin Dies. Martin is a congressional representative for my home state of Texas."
"To their right are Mr. Walter Disney, whose new animated film, 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,' is still the talk of Tinsel Town, and his guest for the evening, Ms. Adriana Caselotti, the voice talent for Snow White in the same film. And to your left are seated Mr. and Mrs. David Selznick. David is an important producer in Hollywood who's working on a film adaptation of Margaret Mitchell's work," finished Hughes. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr. Cliff Secord and Ms. Jenny Blake."
Jenny was more than pleased to be in such distinguished company, but Cliff just felt very out of place. "So what do you do?" asked Dies, who already knew everyone else at the table.
Not certain how to respond, Cliff just sat there wondering what he should say so Hughes answered for him. "Cliff is one of the best and most daring young pilots in the business," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "And Jenny is an extremely talented actress, the one I was telling you about, David."
"Really?" said Selznick, who looked Jenny over more carefully with a producer's eye. Cliff didn't like it, and neither did Selznick's wife. Still, it was an aspect of working in Hollywood to which Jenny had become accustomed. "Then you'll have to help me out in my new film. I'm afraid Vivien Leigh has already been cast in the lead, but my production can only benefit from the addition of another actress as beautiful as yourself in one of the supporting roles."
"Well, I thank you for the opportunity," said Jenny, who aspired to become as famous as Vivien Leigh one day and welcomed the opportunity to work with her in the same picture. "I've heard very good things about your 'Gone with the Wind' production, and I'd be honored to work with you."
"Excellent!" responded Selznick. "Here's my card. Just contact my office and tell them that I sent you."
"You're making a film version of that book by Margaret Mitchell?" asked Mrs. Dies, trying not to look shocked. "Are you certain that's an appropriate subject for something that will be seen by millions of viewers? I read the book, and certain scenes were of questionable taste. I'd almost say that they were un-American."
"And I suppose that's something that the wife of the head of the House Un-American Activities Committee would know," said Selznick with some irritation. Freedom of expression was very important to him, besides which, he'd already started production.
"No offense, Mr. Selznick, but one particular event in the novel could be misinterpreted to mean that women desire to be... raped," she finished with some embarassment.
"Well, I'm fairly certain that most Americans are too intelligent to fall for such a misconception," said Mrs. Selznick in defense of her husband although she actually shared some of Mrs. Dies misgivings.
"House Un-American Activities Committee?" asked Cliff, trying to change the subject. "What's that?"
"It's a Committee set up by Congress to investigate Nazi activities here in the United States," said Hughes, thankful for Cliff's surprisingly tactful intervention in what could have turned into a heated argument. "Martin is in charge of it."
"Nazi activities?" asked Cliff, a look of surprise taking over his features. "That's good to hear. It's about time the government didsomething to put an end to their spy network here."
"Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure the Nazis are really a threat to the United States," said Dies, snapping his fingers for more champagne. "Personally, I believe that communism is a much bigger threat. In fact, the 'New Deal' proposed by Roosevelt smacks of communist policies, and I refuse to support it."
Incredulous, Cliff just stared at Dies, wondering whether he was a Nazi spy like Neville Sinclair or just stupid. "Are you telling me you think Nazis aren't dangerous? That you're going to ignore them and investigate communism instead?!"
"Please calm yourself, Mr. Secord," said Disney, who shared Dies' feelings on this matter. "The Nazis aren't a threat to America. They're just trying to improve the state of Germany following the depradations forced upon them following the last war. And judging by their success, I'd say there's much to admire about them."
Smiling, Dies picked up his wine glass and clinked it against Disney's in thanks for his support. Indeed, he was a politician through and through, and Disney was an important ally.
However, Hughes, who knew better, decided to change the subject quickly before Cliff started speaking his mind more forcefully. "Gentlemen, please, let's not discuss politics. This is supposed to be a celebratory occasion."
At these words, Cliff calmed himself, and Dies stood to raise a toast in Hughes' honor. "To a safe and successful flight," he said as glasses of champagne were raised in Hughes' honor all the way down the table. "Cheers."
"Cheers!"
***
Later that evening, Cliff went off to speak with Hughes in his private den as he'd requested earlier. "Sorry about my little outburst earlier," said Cliff as he loosened his collar and pulled off his tie. "I just couldn't believe how naive those guys were, especially that Disney guy. Politicians I expect to be ignorant. After all, they're the people the feds work for."
"Nonsense. If I'd have gone through what you had with Sinclair, I might have done the same thing," said Hughes, lighting himself a cigar. "Actually, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. Some federal agents contacted me earlier this week, asking me to recommend a skilled pilot for an important mission overseas. Here, take a look at this letter," he continued, passing Cliff an envelope.
"What is it?" asked Cliff, opening the envelope and looking over its contents.
"It's a letter from Charlie Lindbergh to Joe Kennedy. He's our ambassador to Britain. Charlie's been hiding from the press in Europe after... you know... what happened to his kid," said Hughes, coughing into his hand, uncomfortable with the topic.
"Yeah, the kidnapping,,, and the murder. I really felt for him when it happened," said Cliff. "Wow. It looks like he's been pretty busy. Surveys of British, German, and Soviet airpower?" he asked.
"Yeah, Charlie's still a popular guy in Europe. All of the great pilots in Europe were more than happy to give him a tour, even the Germans," said Hughes, taking a drag on his cigar. "As you can see, he doesn't think the Brits stand a chance in a war in Europe, even with American aid."
"Well, I'd think Lindbergh would know," said Cliff, who'd finished reading the letter. "My gut reaction is to believe what a famous pilot like Lindbergh has to say."
"Unfortunately, most of the people in Congress have had that same reaction," said Hughes, shaking his head. "Listen, Charlie's a good guy, but he tends to think too much of military traditions, and the Germans have that in spades. He may not be looking at things objectively."
"Alright, I'll take your word for it," said Cliff, shrugging his shoulders, "but what does that have to do with me?"
"I want you to re-evaluate what Lindbergh had to say so that I can write a report to Congress that counters what Charlie has to say," said Hughes, looking Cliff in the eyes.
"You mean in Europe?" asked Cliff, dumbfounded. "Why me? I'm no spy. Hell, I'm not even sure where Europe is!" he exclaimed.
"And that's exactly why I want you to go," said Hughes, chuckling. "You're the last person that the Germans would expect to be spying on them. You know planes inside and out, and you're a good man, a loyal American if ever there was one!"
Walking upto Cliff, Hughes put a hand on his shoulder before he continued. "Look, Cliff, the government's putting together a crew to spy on the Germans and let us know what they're upto. They need a pilot, and they asked me to recommend one. I'd like that pilot to be you. You know the Germans have their eyes set on America, and we've got to prove that to Congress. Your country needs you. I need you. What do you say?"
"What can I say?" asked Cliff, who'd been raised on stories about Sgt. York and other war heroes. And he wasn't about to let either his country or Howard Hughes down.
"Where do I sign up?"
***
End of Indiana Jones and the Golden Age #02
***
Dave's Homepage
http://home.hawaii.rr.com/shaxberd/
"Waiting in the Wings"
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INDIANA JONES AND THE GOLDEN AGE #02
Written by D. David Lee
Edited by Erik Burnham
The YesterYear Fan Fiction Group acknowledges that names, concepts, and images of characters used here and ALL related characters may be owned by others and that said owners retain complete rights to said characters. These names, concepts, and images are used WITHOUT permission for NO PROFIT, but rather a strong desire to peer into the potential these characters have in a combined setting. This also acknowledges that original concepts presented here are the intellectual property of the author.
***
May, 1938
The stillness at FBI headquarters was suddenly broken by the ringing of a phone, a sound that interrupted a ballgame on the radio. It was a Sunday afternoon, and as a general rule, most of the agents had families to spend time with. Agents Robinson and Gallagher were the exception to that rule. Irritated, Gallagher picked up the phone and pressed it to his ear.
"Hello and whaddaya want?" he said, still leaning back in his chair. "Don't you know the Dodgers are down two runs?" he continued, conveying his annoyance to the person on the other end of the line.
"I must be talking to Gallagher," said Indy, not surprised by this particular agent's rudeness. "This is Jones. Put Robinson on before I hang up."
A startled look coming over his features, Gallagher straightened up before motioning to his partner to pick up the phone. "Hey, Rob, it's Jones callin' finally. Looks like he's finally made up his mind."
Picking up his end of the office line with alacrity, Robinson began to read Jones the riot act. "Jones?! It's been over two weeks since we had our little talk! What the hell took you so long to get back to us?!" ranted Robinson, who'd expected a much more patriotic attitude from the famous professor of archaeology.
"I've been busy," said Indy, not thinking he owed anyone any explanations. "But you'll be glad to know I've decided to help you guys out. Three conditions, though. First, I get to pick my own team for this little mission of yours. Second, I'm in charge, and I get to do things my way. You got any problems with that?" he asked, ready to hang up.
"Don't ask for much, do you Jones? Uncle Sam realized that those would probably be the rules a man with your background and experience would want to play by. As far as that goes, you've got the green light. But you said three conditions. What's the third?" asked Robinson, expecting something big.
"I'm going to need a pilot, a real ace, and preferably an American. All the good pilots I know are European and too well-known for this kind of operation. I need you to get me someone I can trust, someone with a low profile. Can you handle that?" asked Indy, disbelief evident in his voice.
Insulted, Robinson made his answer a quick one. "The United States Government is more than capable of fulfilling any reasonable requests you might have, Dr. Jones, and a pilot will be provided for you. No problem. When will you be ready to leave?" he asked.
"The end of this month. I'm going to need a week or two at least, just to get the rest of my crew together. You just hold up your end and have this pilot of yours meet me in New York asap. And he better be good."
***
Los Angeles: Private Airfield
All eyes were cast skyward as a one-man plane streaked across the skies, the sound of its powerful engine clearly audible to all on the field below. The hot sun glinted off black wings as it began a steep turn back towards the landing strip on final approach.
"Now that's a plane," said Peevy, a white-haired gentleman who had been mesmerized by the plane's performance all afternoon. "How fast do you think it was going this time? 350 miles per hour? 400 maybe?" he asked, listening to the sound of the engine as the plane made its landing and came to a halt directly in front of the engineering team that was still busily taking notes.
Popping the top open, the test pilot hopped out, a look of excitement beaming off of his handsome face. "Peevy, I hit 395 on that last run. This Peter three eight is every pilot's dream," he said, climbing out of the cockpit with easy, practiced movements.
"I'm just glad it got you down safely, Cliff," said Peevy, trying not to look impressed. He didn't entirely approve of this test pilot job that Cliff had taken. After all, Cliff had everything to live for: a beautiful girl who loved him, a great career as a racing pilot, and a full life ahead of him. This restlessness would do him no good.
"Yeah, yeah..." began Cliff, who'd heard this particular lecture one too many times. "I always check the plane out myself before each test run. Every good pilot does, and this one was good to go. You saw that yourself, Peevy. It flies like a dream."
"How much extra weight were you carrying this time?" asked Peevy, wondering what the test was for. A one man plane wasn't much good for carrying cargo, and the purpose of the test eluded him.
"One ton," replied Cliff, not really knowing or caring why that mattered. "Pretty fast for a plane carrying a load like that."
"Yeah, it is," said Peevy, not really liking what he thought the plane might be designed to carry. "It's a real beaut, alright. Anyway, I'm supposed to remind you to pick up Jenny for that shindig at Howard's place tonight. You didn't forget, did you?"
Cliff had forgotten and couldn't help sucking in a quick breath and looking guilty. Telling falsehoods was not something that he was good at. "Um...no, of course not. What time does that thing start again?" he asked.
"In about three hours from now. You'd better get going," said Peevy, who smiled knowingly. "Jenny is not the kind of girl you keep waiting."
***
New York: The Palmer Estate
Servants hustled busily from place to place within the estate, polishing the silver and dusting the furniture, not that anything was even remotely out of place. Yet another in a string of soirees had been planned for the evening, and everything had to be perfect.
Trying to stay out of everyone else's way, the young lady of the house was taking care of some last minute invitations, and the young man with her was trying hard not to start yawning out of boredom.
"So there's going to be another party tonight?" asked Kit, tapping his fingers idly against the tabletop. "Doesn't the excitement ever end?" he continued sarcastically.
"In New York? Never!" joked Diana, trying to ignore Kit's tone. She continued to check off names and numbers on the list in front of her, making sure Dr. Jones and his family had been invited. Finally, she relented. She was well aware of the restless streak that had overcome him of late but wasn't sure what she could do about it. "Alright, what's bothering you?" she asked.
"Nothing... something... I don't know," said Kit, fidgeting in his seat a little. "I'm just not used to sitting around doing nothing. It's been almost six months since we put an end to Kabai Sengh and his brotherhood, and I haven't put on the Phantom costume since."
"Is that necessarily a bad thing?" asked Diana. "Maybe there just isn't anymore evil in the world left to be fought. Maybe this is the world's way of telling us that it's okay to be happy."
Diana was being absolutely serious, and the look she sent Kit's way was enough to melt his heart, but not enough to wipe away centuries of tradition and family obligation. "I wish that were true, but we both know that it's not. Evil does and always will exist. That's not the problem, Diana," said Kit, being just as serious. "The problem is that I'm here instead of out there looking for it."
"Damn it. I hate it when you're right," said Diana, turning away to regain her composure. It was the most ladylike movement Kit had ever seen her make, and it was a sure sign that she was really upset. "I was told to keep this a surprise, but Uncle Dave is planning to make an announcement tonight. He's going to offer you a job as a reporter for his newspaper, make you an international correspondent."
Kit's initial reaction was that he didn't need a job since the family fortune was more than sufficient to finance several small countries. Then it dawned on him that such a position would be the perfect cover for his activities as the Phantom.
Before he could thank her, his heart was stabbed yet again by the expression on her beautiful face, a look that said she wouldn't be going with him this time. No longer knowing what to say, he went to her, pulled her to him, and thanked her with a deep and passionate kiss.
The servants did their best to ignore them.
***
Berlin: SS Headquarters
The young guard snapped to attention as a superior officer made ready to enter the room whose entryway he monitored. Captain von Röhm was expected and not a man who liked to be kept waiting. Snapping his right hand forward and clicking his heels, he yelled the standard greeting with great fervor. "Heil Hitler!"
Captain Werner von Röhm responded with the same words and gesture, applied much more casually than the guard who stood before him, the nonchalant act of a man who knew his loyalty would never, ever be questioned. Without even bothering to knock, he opened the door and entered the office.
"Heil Hitler. Good morning, Captain. I trust you had a pleasant trip," said a man seated at the desk, not really interested in making such pleantries, but a man who continued to do so out of habit.
"Heil Hitler. Yes, sir. Very pleasant," said von Röhm, who was one of the few officers that the man before him trusted completely. And Heinrich Himmler trusted almost no one.
"Very good, Captain. I have a mission for you of the greatest importance," said Himmler, who passed a file of papers and documents into von Röhm's waiting hands. Quickly glancing over them, von Röhm's eyes widened as the significance of the significance of the secrets contained within the documents in his hands quickly dawned upon him.
"And my mission is to recover this vessel?" asked von Röhm, who barely succeeded in keeping awe from creeping into his voice.
"Exactly," said Himmler, standing up to emphasize the importance of the vessel that von Röhm was being assigned to find. "Your nautical experience and archaeological training make you the ideal candidate. You will be allowed to handpick the members of your team, but speed is of the essence, not to mention secrecy."
"Then I shall leave immediately to form my unit, sir. Heil Hitler!" said von Röhm with more fervor than he had when he first entered theoffice, pride making his voice stronger.
"Heil Hitler."
***
Los Angeles: Howard Hughes' Mansion
The valet's eyes widened as Cliff helped his date climb out of his car. Jenny Blake was one of the most beautiful women in the world, and for some reason Cliff couldn't understand, she was his girl. Absolutely radiant in her Chanel evening gown, all eyes were drawn towards her, and to a lesser extent, the man with her.
"Have I told you yet how beautiful you look tonight?" asked Cliff, who enjoyed watching the jaws of all the men they passed by drop in succession. He tugged awkwardly at the collar of the tuxedo he'd rented for the occasion, not really comfortable in anything other than his flight gear.
"Only about a hundred times," said Jenny, "and I love you for it." She was very excited. Howard Hughes was as big a man in Hollywood as he was in aviation, and some of the most important people in show business would be at this party tonight. One of the servants led them to the dining room, where they were seated next to the host, Mr. Howard Robard Hughes, Jr.
"Cliff! Jenny! Glad you could make it!" said Hughes, kissing Jenny on the cheek and shaking Cliff's hand. "If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to you privately later tonight after the party's over."
"No problem," said Cliff, glad to do anything Hughes asked of him. As a general rule, he had no use for millionaires like most of the people at this party tonight, but Howard Hughes was the exception. A man to be reckoned with, he'd personally broken the world airplane speed record just three short years ago, and his film, "Hell's Angels" was still one of Cliff's favorites.
Indeed, Hughes was planning to break the around the world speed record later that year in July. The party tonight was being held to wish him well as he began preparations for that journey.
"Let me introduce you to some of the other guests this evening," said Hughes, who gestured towards the guests seated immediately around them at the table. "To my right are Mr. and Mrs. Martin Dies. Martin is a congressional representative for my home state of Texas."
"To their right are Mr. Walter Disney, whose new animated film, 'Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs,' is still the talk of Tinsel Town, and his guest for the evening, Ms. Adriana Caselotti, the voice talent for Snow White in the same film. And to your left are seated Mr. and Mrs. David Selznick. David is an important producer in Hollywood who's working on a film adaptation of Margaret Mitchell's work," finished Hughes. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I present Mr. Cliff Secord and Ms. Jenny Blake."
Jenny was more than pleased to be in such distinguished company, but Cliff just felt very out of place. "So what do you do?" asked Dies, who already knew everyone else at the table.
Not certain how to respond, Cliff just sat there wondering what he should say so Hughes answered for him. "Cliff is one of the best and most daring young pilots in the business," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "And Jenny is an extremely talented actress, the one I was telling you about, David."
"Really?" said Selznick, who looked Jenny over more carefully with a producer's eye. Cliff didn't like it, and neither did Selznick's wife. Still, it was an aspect of working in Hollywood to which Jenny had become accustomed. "Then you'll have to help me out in my new film. I'm afraid Vivien Leigh has already been cast in the lead, but my production can only benefit from the addition of another actress as beautiful as yourself in one of the supporting roles."
"Well, I thank you for the opportunity," said Jenny, who aspired to become as famous as Vivien Leigh one day and welcomed the opportunity to work with her in the same picture. "I've heard very good things about your 'Gone with the Wind' production, and I'd be honored to work with you."
"Excellent!" responded Selznick. "Here's my card. Just contact my office and tell them that I sent you."
"You're making a film version of that book by Margaret Mitchell?" asked Mrs. Dies, trying not to look shocked. "Are you certain that's an appropriate subject for something that will be seen by millions of viewers? I read the book, and certain scenes were of questionable taste. I'd almost say that they were un-American."
"And I suppose that's something that the wife of the head of the House Un-American Activities Committee would know," said Selznick with some irritation. Freedom of expression was very important to him, besides which, he'd already started production.
"No offense, Mr. Selznick, but one particular event in the novel could be misinterpreted to mean that women desire to be... raped," she finished with some embarassment.
"Well, I'm fairly certain that most Americans are too intelligent to fall for such a misconception," said Mrs. Selznick in defense of her husband although she actually shared some of Mrs. Dies misgivings.
"House Un-American Activities Committee?" asked Cliff, trying to change the subject. "What's that?"
"It's a Committee set up by Congress to investigate Nazi activities here in the United States," said Hughes, thankful for Cliff's surprisingly tactful intervention in what could have turned into a heated argument. "Martin is in charge of it."
"Nazi activities?" asked Cliff, a look of surprise taking over his features. "That's good to hear. It's about time the government didsomething to put an end to their spy network here."
"Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure the Nazis are really a threat to the United States," said Dies, snapping his fingers for more champagne. "Personally, I believe that communism is a much bigger threat. In fact, the 'New Deal' proposed by Roosevelt smacks of communist policies, and I refuse to support it."
Incredulous, Cliff just stared at Dies, wondering whether he was a Nazi spy like Neville Sinclair or just stupid. "Are you telling me you think Nazis aren't dangerous? That you're going to ignore them and investigate communism instead?!"
"Please calm yourself, Mr. Secord," said Disney, who shared Dies' feelings on this matter. "The Nazis aren't a threat to America. They're just trying to improve the state of Germany following the depradations forced upon them following the last war. And judging by their success, I'd say there's much to admire about them."
Smiling, Dies picked up his wine glass and clinked it against Disney's in thanks for his support. Indeed, he was a politician through and through, and Disney was an important ally.
However, Hughes, who knew better, decided to change the subject quickly before Cliff started speaking his mind more forcefully. "Gentlemen, please, let's not discuss politics. This is supposed to be a celebratory occasion."
At these words, Cliff calmed himself, and Dies stood to raise a toast in Hughes' honor. "To a safe and successful flight," he said as glasses of champagne were raised in Hughes' honor all the way down the table. "Cheers."
"Cheers!"
***
Later that evening, Cliff went off to speak with Hughes in his private den as he'd requested earlier. "Sorry about my little outburst earlier," said Cliff as he loosened his collar and pulled off his tie. "I just couldn't believe how naive those guys were, especially that Disney guy. Politicians I expect to be ignorant. After all, they're the people the feds work for."
"Nonsense. If I'd have gone through what you had with Sinclair, I might have done the same thing," said Hughes, lighting himself a cigar. "Actually, that's kind of what I wanted to talk to you about. Some federal agents contacted me earlier this week, asking me to recommend a skilled pilot for an important mission overseas. Here, take a look at this letter," he continued, passing Cliff an envelope.
"What is it?" asked Cliff, opening the envelope and looking over its contents.
"It's a letter from Charlie Lindbergh to Joe Kennedy. He's our ambassador to Britain. Charlie's been hiding from the press in Europe after... you know... what happened to his kid," said Hughes, coughing into his hand, uncomfortable with the topic.
"Yeah, the kidnapping,,, and the murder. I really felt for him when it happened," said Cliff. "Wow. It looks like he's been pretty busy. Surveys of British, German, and Soviet airpower?" he asked.
"Yeah, Charlie's still a popular guy in Europe. All of the great pilots in Europe were more than happy to give him a tour, even the Germans," said Hughes, taking a drag on his cigar. "As you can see, he doesn't think the Brits stand a chance in a war in Europe, even with American aid."
"Well, I'd think Lindbergh would know," said Cliff, who'd finished reading the letter. "My gut reaction is to believe what a famous pilot like Lindbergh has to say."
"Unfortunately, most of the people in Congress have had that same reaction," said Hughes, shaking his head. "Listen, Charlie's a good guy, but he tends to think too much of military traditions, and the Germans have that in spades. He may not be looking at things objectively."
"Alright, I'll take your word for it," said Cliff, shrugging his shoulders, "but what does that have to do with me?"
"I want you to re-evaluate what Lindbergh had to say so that I can write a report to Congress that counters what Charlie has to say," said Hughes, looking Cliff in the eyes.
"You mean in Europe?" asked Cliff, dumbfounded. "Why me? I'm no spy. Hell, I'm not even sure where Europe is!" he exclaimed.
"And that's exactly why I want you to go," said Hughes, chuckling. "You're the last person that the Germans would expect to be spying on them. You know planes inside and out, and you're a good man, a loyal American if ever there was one!"
Walking upto Cliff, Hughes put a hand on his shoulder before he continued. "Look, Cliff, the government's putting together a crew to spy on the Germans and let us know what they're upto. They need a pilot, and they asked me to recommend one. I'd like that pilot to be you. You know the Germans have their eyes set on America, and we've got to prove that to Congress. Your country needs you. I need you. What do you say?"
"What can I say?" asked Cliff, who'd been raised on stories about Sgt. York and other war heroes. And he wasn't about to let either his country or Howard Hughes down.
"Where do I sign up?"
***
End of Indiana Jones and the Golden Age #02
***
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