*****************
"Across the Pond"
*****************
INDIANA JONES AND THE GOLDEN AGE #04
Written by D. David Lee
Edited by Tommy Hancock
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.
***
France: Paris [July, 1938]
It had taken only a few weeks for von Röhm to form and ready his strike team. A select group of junior SS officers, they had been the pride of the Hitler Youth. Not just soldiers, they were also scientists and scholars, each expert in a different field of expertise.
First, there was young von Richthofen, his aviation expert. Indeed, there was no telling how far and wide his small team would have to travel to acquire their goal. He hailed from a most glorious bloodline, and he was performing as admirably as his pedigree would indicate, despite its illegitimacy.
Second, there was Goeth. His family name was not nearly so famous as that of von Richthofen, but he had a keen mind as well as great ambition. Beyond that, he also had a singular bloodthirstiness, a taste for pain and suffering, that no other officer known to von Röhm could match.
Third, there was von Strucker, a promising SS officer whose blood was as blue as that of von Richthofen's legendary father. An expert in the use of weapons, hand-to-hand combat, languages, and cryptography. Their intelligence expert, is loyalty to the Fatherland was beyond reproach.
And last, but not least, there was Dommes. Older than the rest of his charges, he was also the highest ranking officer beneath him, already holding the rank of Oberleutnant zur See. Their expert on U-boat operations, von Röhm considered him the single most indispensable member of his team.
Indeed, von Röhm had selected his team well. He was, in fact, quite proud of their accomplishments, but that did nothing to lessen his frustration at their inability to find the clues they were seeking so desperately. Indeed, this was the third such building they'd been forced to search so far.
"It must be here! It has to be here!" yelled von Röhm, his gloved hands hurling books to the ground and smashing furniture with frightening ease. "Keep searching!"
"I am sorry, Sir, but the documents we are searching for either aren't here or are too well-hidden to be found so easily," said Dommes clicking his heels. "The local authorities will be here soon, and we cannot allow our actions to be discovered. Our orders from Berlin are to operate in secrecy."
Clearing the anger from his head, von Röhm reminded himself not to allow his frustration to get the better of him. Such furious outbursts had propelled several officers to prominence in Berlin, but those incidents had been few and rare exceptions to the rule.
"You are right, Wilhelm," said von Röhm, putting his hand on the man's shoulder. He was a good officer, and he admired the courage it took to question a superior officer's orders. "We will leave immediately, going our separate ways, and meet at the Eiffel Tower at noon tomorrow."
Silently, each of the five men von Röhm had hand-picked for this assignment nodded his understanding and left as discretely as he'd arrived. Pleased by their efficiency and professionalism, he was still disappointed by their failure. Still, this was hardly the end of their mission.
Stepping over the body of a dead French guard, the recently promoted Colonel von Röhm left the building, an ominous smile on his face, leaving behind the disheveled remains of a once historic building and its contents. Still, it mattered not to him as he had no love for history that was not German.
"No, this is hardly the end," he said aloud.
***
New York City: Airport
The day was humid and the sun was hot as Indiana Jones stood on the airfield as the plane he'd been waiting for finally touched down. He had only been waiting a few minutes, but it felt like he'd been waiting for months. In a way, he had.
The hatch was opened, and Indy carefully scrutinized each and every disembarking passenger, keeping an eye out for one passenger in particular. He had no idea what this pilot the feds had found for him would look like, but he was pretty sure he'd recognize him when he saw him.
A number of men in suits made their way down the stairs, followed by women and children in their Sunday best, all of them smiling. Indy ignored them completely, his eyes drawn immediately to the man in the aviator jacket who was looking as out of place, disgruntled, and uncomfortable as he possibly could. 'That's my man,' he thought to himself.
Taking a few steps to meet him halfway, Indy extended his hand. "Cliff Secord?" he asked.
"Huh? Yeah, that's right..." said Cliff, looking confused, but taking Indy's hand never the less. "And you are?"
"Dr. Indiana Jones," said Indy, smiling, and trying to size up the man who was the latest addition to his team. "But my friends call me Indy."
"Dr. Jones?" asked Cliff, looking over the man in the fedora. "Sorry, it's just that you don't look like any college prof I've ever known, not that I've ever known any. And my friends call me Cliff," said Cliff, smiling back.
Indy watched as Cliff tried to make himself more comfortable, using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow and trying to loosen up the stiffness in his shoulders. "Rough flight, Cliff?" he asked, somewhat concerned, thinking that a pilot should be more comfortable with travel by air.
"Let's just say I'm used to flying them, not riding them," said Cliff. "I guess I'm just not comfortable in anything other than the pilot's seat."
Indy smiled. "Then maybe we'd better get you into that pilot's seat as soon as possible."
***
On the far side of the airfield, Kit Walker and Diana Palmer were locked in each other's embrace, trying very hard not to say goodbye. Indeed, time seemed to stand still for them, their hearts beating practically as one, but eventually their lips parted.
"Would it do any good if I asked you to be careful?" asked Diana, her hand lingering in his.
"The Phantom is always careful," replied Kit jokingly, taking hold of Diana's other hand as well to keep her from leaving. "Besides, I'm more worried about you. Every minute I'm gone, your mother will be trying to marry you off to Jimmy Wells."
"You just leave Mother to me," said Diana, laughing. "She's much too powerful for you. Just remember to write me every week. Otherwise, I might just decide to take Jimmy up on one of his offers," she finished.
Still, both of them knew that could never happen. Even if high society hadn't been informed yet, Diana Palmer and Kit Walker were already engaged. He'd asked her hand in marriage when he'd revealed to her that he was the Phantom, and she had silently accepted when she'd kept his secret.
From outside the hangar, they could both hear the sound of a car pulling up. Realizing that they wouldn't be alone much longer, Kit bowed in gentlemanly fashion, pulling her hand upto his lips, kissing it on top of the bandages still wrapped around her knuckles.
"Until we meet again, Mrs. Walker."
***
"Um, is there any particular reason why we're just waiting out here?" asked Cliff, eager to get in the hangar and check out the plane he was going to be flying.
Finally seeing Diana Palmer's car pulling away from the rear of the hangar, Indy just smiled. "No reason," he said. "C'mon. Let me introduce you to your teammate and new best friend."
Walking into the hangar, Indy could see that Kit's attention was still focused on the rear entrance from which Diana had just departed. Luckily, Cliff wasn't offended as his attention was pretty much focused on the Ford Trimotor parked in the hangar.
"Ahem," coughed Indy, trying to bring both men's attentions back to introductions. "Kit Walker, I'd like you to meet Cliff Secord. He's going to be our pilot on this little jaunt of ours. Cliff, this is Kit Walker, he's going to be our... well, let's just say he's a man of many talents. Get to know each other. You'll be spending a lot of time together."
Indy then took his leave to find a phone and make some last-minute calls. Now alone with each other, Kit and Cliff looked each other up and down as they shook. Kit wasn't really sure what to make of Cliff as he'd never had much in common with working-class Americans. For his part, Cliff never felt comfortable around rich people with only one noteworthy exception, and the way Kit was dressed left no doubt in his mind that he was rich. Well, richer than he was, anyway.
"Nice to meet you, Cliff," said Kit. "You're from California, right?"
"Yup. Los Angeles," answered Cliff. "Sorry, but do you mind if we continue this discussion while I check out the plane?"
"Not at all," said Kit, gesturing toward the rather large aircraft. "Every good pilot checks out his plane before taking off."
"You a pilot?" asked Cliff, smiling genuinely for the first time since he'd left his home state. "What do you fly?"
"Nothing like this, I'm afraid," answered Kit. "Mostly just old World War I fighter planes. Fokkers and stuff like that. Might come in handy if we ever have to do any cropdusting on this mission."
"Heh." Laughing, Cliff checked the various lines, cables, and pressure gauges. "Don't sell yourself short. What I wouldn't give to be able to fly one of those babies..."
"Something wrong?" asked Kit as Cliff's voice trailed off.
In response, Cliff just whistled low, scratching his head. "This is some plane. I was kind of disappointed to find I'd be flying a 'Tin Goose,' but this baby's had some impressive custom work done on it. Gun placements. Extra steel plating for bulletproofing. Damn, what does Indy think we're flying into here? A second world war?"
***
"Yes, Dad. No, Dad. Alright, Dad," said Indy, the phone pressed to his ear. Indy would never know or understand why fathers insisted on offering their sons unwanted advice about things they knew very little about. Granted, his father was an expert on many things, but international espionage wasn't one of them.
"Look, Dad, I know what I'm doing, and I'm going to be careful. No, don't wake Marcus up. Let him sleep. Just tell him I said goodbye when he wakes up. And don't worry, I'll write as often as I can," said Indy, using his other hand to block out the sound of air traffic. "Yeah, I love you, too, Dad," he said finally, hanging up.
Relieved that the conversation was finally over, part of Indy was sad that it had to end, knowing it would be some time before he heard his father's voice again. Stepping away from the phone booth, he signaled for the two federal agents to approach.
"It's about time," said Gallagher, flexing his overly-built shoulders. "What's with this? I mean, does the Doc think we got nothing better to do than stand around while he yaks on the phone?"
"Beats me," said Robinson, putting out his cigarette. "Anyway, it doesn't matter what we think. The higher-ups want Jones on this mission, and if he's willing to go traipsing off to Europe, then that's fine by me. The Cubs are going all the way this year, and I'm going to be here to see it."
The two federal agents followed the famous archaeologist into the hangar, curious as to the nature of the team he'd assembled. As they walked in, Cliff and Kit were keeping busy by loading their luggage and equipment onto the plane.
"That's what I like to see," said Indy. "My industrious team hard at work. Guys, these are the feds, Robinson and Gallagher. They're here to make sure we actually leave."
In response, the two federal agents just stared daggers at Indy, but otherwise ignored him. It was obvious that the good doctor was not very fond of the government, but that wasn't their concern. As much as they might dislike him, Dr. Jones was a known quantity with full government backing, and the same could be said of Cliff Secord, who had been recommended by Howard Hughes himself. Kit Walker, on the other hand, had no such support.
"I'm surprised to see Mr. Walker so willing to get his hands dirty," said Robinson, trying to get a rise out of the man. He had no use for the idle rich, and what little information they did have on Kit Walker described him as something of a playboy socialite.
"Well, actually, I'm not," said Kit, raising his hands and displaying that they were gloved, a mischievous smile on his face. "And no, I don't mind the occasional bit of manual labor as I like to keep fit and trim," he finished, patting his washboard stomach.
Neither Robinson nor Gallagher was very pleased by the exchange, both of them having eaten far too many donuts during their careers to boast the same. Distrust was quickly turning into dislike.
"That mouth of yours isn't going to do you much good against the Fuhrer, buddy," said Robinson, glaring at him.
"I bet he doesn't even know who the Fuhrer is..." said Gallagher, trying to follow his partner's lead.
"Isn't he the current leader of Nazi Germany?" asked Kit, trying to do the best impression he could of Jimmy Wells. "Terrible sense of style, I must say. You'd think the most feared despot in the world would be able to find a better barber, or at least a passable one."
Seeing the angry visages of the two federal agents, both Indy and Cliff had difficulty hiding their amusement, and Cliff retreated to the interior of the plane.
"Figures a pretty boy like you wouldn't care about nothing besides that stupid moustache of his," said Gallagher, raising a ham fist. "Hitler's dangerous, buddy!"
"Hmm?" asked Kit, feigning disinterest. "Oh, yes, I've heard that his Charlie Chaplin impression is supposed to be most atrocious. Yes, he is a most dangerous man."
From somewhere near the cockpit, raucous laughter could be heard and that was enough to coax a similar outburst from Indy. Kit's mouth widened into a smile, and the two feds finally realized that they were being played for fools.
"Why you little..." began Gallagher, moving forward to teach Kit some manners as his partner tried to hold him back to no avail. Gallagher was a big man, easily weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds, and all steamed up, well... Robinson just found himself being dragged along.
As Gallagher swung his meaty fist at Kit's jaw, the lithe young man just sidestepped the blow as casually as you please, extending his left foot to trip the much larger man. Spinning his arms with a pinwheel motion, Gallagher tried to regain his balance, but ultimately ended up falling on his face, Robinson collapsing on top of his back.
Knowing full well what Kit was capable of, Indy had allowed the scene to happen, thinking that Gallagher, at least, could use a lesson in humility. Still, enough was enough.
"Well, I hope you're satisfied," said Indy, going on one knee so he could talk to the feds face to face. "I don't care what reservations you might have. I told you at the start that I reserved the right to pick my own team, and Kit is on this team whether you like it or not. If he goes, then I go. Now, get that through your thick heads before they get cracked open."
Picking themselves up and dusting themselves off, Gallagher and Robinson both turned menacing glares at Kit, and each would remember the slight that took place this day.
"Just watch your back, Jones, and don't say we didn't warn you," said Robinson, prodding his partner in the direction of the hangar gate. For his part, Gallagher said nothing, but his face said that this incident was far from over as he stormed out, fuming.
"Well, that was entertaining," said Indy, who'd enjoyed the entire spectacle, but nevertheless found himself wondering for the first time whether having the Phantom on his team was really such a good idea. He really didn't know that much about him. Or Cliff, for that matter. Even so, it seemed like they were both his kind of people.
Clapping Kit on the side of the arm, Indy led him into the plane, taking one last look at the clear blue American sky before closing the hatch. Kit sat himself down in the navigator's position, and Indy took the co-pilot's chair. "We ready for takeoff?" he asked.
"Whenever you are," said Cliff, still chuckling. Adjusting a few knobs, switches, and dials, Cliff got the plane's motors running and began taxiing onto the runway. The floor of the cockpit shook with the power of those engines, and Cliff found himself surprised by it.
"Damn, Indy, how'd you get your hands on this baby?" asked Cliff, some awe registering in his voice. "According to the instruments, this plane can fly higher, faster, and farther than any other model in its class. Even Howard Hughes doesn't have anything like this."
"Let's just say that the Ford name and I have a long personal history," said Indy, thinking that was a story for another time. Looking at the pilot's side window, he noticed a photograph taped to it, a celebrity photograph by all appearances, complete with an autograph.
The photograph was of a beautiful woman with long dark hair, and the autograph read: "For Cliff. My boyfriend, my best friend, and my biggest fan. Keep flying high. Love, Jennifer Blake."
"Wow. Is that your girl?" asked Indy, his eyes widening a bit.
"Better believe it, boss," said Cliff, gunning the engines and getting ready for takeoff. "The most beautiful woman in all of Hollywood. Jealous?"
"You better believe it," said Indy, letting out a wolf whistle. "Still, it's kind of comforting to know that my pilot is the luckiest man alive. Well, one of them," he continued, still having a clear image of Diana Palmer's beautiful face.
"Well, which way are we headed?" asked Cliff, pulling back on the yoke and causing the plane to soar heavenward, becoming airborne.
Leaning back in his chair, Indy crossed his hands behind his head, lowered his fedora over his eyes, and started to relax.
"We're headed all the way to France, boys. Paris, to be exact. Some friends of mine at MI6 say there's been some unusual activities at historical sites in the city. Nothing's been taken, but they've been ransacked pretty heavily. I've got a sneaking suspicion that the Nazis might be responsible, out hunting for relics or artifacts."
"What makes you say that?" asked Kit, puzzled as to what value such things would hold for a military regime.
"Let's just say I know what I'm talking about and leave it at that. Trust me."
***
End of Indiana Jones and the Golden Age #04
***
Dave's Homepage
http://home.hawaii.rr.com/shaxberd/
"Across the Pond"
*****************
INDIANA JONES AND THE GOLDEN AGE #04
Written by D. David Lee
Edited by Tommy Hancock
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.
***
France: Paris [July, 1938]
It had taken only a few weeks for von Röhm to form and ready his strike team. A select group of junior SS officers, they had been the pride of the Hitler Youth. Not just soldiers, they were also scientists and scholars, each expert in a different field of expertise.
First, there was young von Richthofen, his aviation expert. Indeed, there was no telling how far and wide his small team would have to travel to acquire their goal. He hailed from a most glorious bloodline, and he was performing as admirably as his pedigree would indicate, despite its illegitimacy.
Second, there was Goeth. His family name was not nearly so famous as that of von Richthofen, but he had a keen mind as well as great ambition. Beyond that, he also had a singular bloodthirstiness, a taste for pain and suffering, that no other officer known to von Röhm could match.
Third, there was von Strucker, a promising SS officer whose blood was as blue as that of von Richthofen's legendary father. An expert in the use of weapons, hand-to-hand combat, languages, and cryptography. Their intelligence expert, is loyalty to the Fatherland was beyond reproach.
And last, but not least, there was Dommes. Older than the rest of his charges, he was also the highest ranking officer beneath him, already holding the rank of Oberleutnant zur See. Their expert on U-boat operations, von Röhm considered him the single most indispensable member of his team.
Indeed, von Röhm had selected his team well. He was, in fact, quite proud of their accomplishments, but that did nothing to lessen his frustration at their inability to find the clues they were seeking so desperately. Indeed, this was the third such building they'd been forced to search so far.
"It must be here! It has to be here!" yelled von Röhm, his gloved hands hurling books to the ground and smashing furniture with frightening ease. "Keep searching!"
"I am sorry, Sir, but the documents we are searching for either aren't here or are too well-hidden to be found so easily," said Dommes clicking his heels. "The local authorities will be here soon, and we cannot allow our actions to be discovered. Our orders from Berlin are to operate in secrecy."
Clearing the anger from his head, von Röhm reminded himself not to allow his frustration to get the better of him. Such furious outbursts had propelled several officers to prominence in Berlin, but those incidents had been few and rare exceptions to the rule.
"You are right, Wilhelm," said von Röhm, putting his hand on the man's shoulder. He was a good officer, and he admired the courage it took to question a superior officer's orders. "We will leave immediately, going our separate ways, and meet at the Eiffel Tower at noon tomorrow."
Silently, each of the five men von Röhm had hand-picked for this assignment nodded his understanding and left as discretely as he'd arrived. Pleased by their efficiency and professionalism, he was still disappointed by their failure. Still, this was hardly the end of their mission.
Stepping over the body of a dead French guard, the recently promoted Colonel von Röhm left the building, an ominous smile on his face, leaving behind the disheveled remains of a once historic building and its contents. Still, it mattered not to him as he had no love for history that was not German.
"No, this is hardly the end," he said aloud.
***
New York City: Airport
The day was humid and the sun was hot as Indiana Jones stood on the airfield as the plane he'd been waiting for finally touched down. He had only been waiting a few minutes, but it felt like he'd been waiting for months. In a way, he had.
The hatch was opened, and Indy carefully scrutinized each and every disembarking passenger, keeping an eye out for one passenger in particular. He had no idea what this pilot the feds had found for him would look like, but he was pretty sure he'd recognize him when he saw him.
A number of men in suits made their way down the stairs, followed by women and children in their Sunday best, all of them smiling. Indy ignored them completely, his eyes drawn immediately to the man in the aviator jacket who was looking as out of place, disgruntled, and uncomfortable as he possibly could. 'That's my man,' he thought to himself.
Taking a few steps to meet him halfway, Indy extended his hand. "Cliff Secord?" he asked.
"Huh? Yeah, that's right..." said Cliff, looking confused, but taking Indy's hand never the less. "And you are?"
"Dr. Indiana Jones," said Indy, smiling, and trying to size up the man who was the latest addition to his team. "But my friends call me Indy."
"Dr. Jones?" asked Cliff, looking over the man in the fedora. "Sorry, it's just that you don't look like any college prof I've ever known, not that I've ever known any. And my friends call me Cliff," said Cliff, smiling back.
Indy watched as Cliff tried to make himself more comfortable, using his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow and trying to loosen up the stiffness in his shoulders. "Rough flight, Cliff?" he asked, somewhat concerned, thinking that a pilot should be more comfortable with travel by air.
"Let's just say I'm used to flying them, not riding them," said Cliff. "I guess I'm just not comfortable in anything other than the pilot's seat."
Indy smiled. "Then maybe we'd better get you into that pilot's seat as soon as possible."
***
On the far side of the airfield, Kit Walker and Diana Palmer were locked in each other's embrace, trying very hard not to say goodbye. Indeed, time seemed to stand still for them, their hearts beating practically as one, but eventually their lips parted.
"Would it do any good if I asked you to be careful?" asked Diana, her hand lingering in his.
"The Phantom is always careful," replied Kit jokingly, taking hold of Diana's other hand as well to keep her from leaving. "Besides, I'm more worried about you. Every minute I'm gone, your mother will be trying to marry you off to Jimmy Wells."
"You just leave Mother to me," said Diana, laughing. "She's much too powerful for you. Just remember to write me every week. Otherwise, I might just decide to take Jimmy up on one of his offers," she finished.
Still, both of them knew that could never happen. Even if high society hadn't been informed yet, Diana Palmer and Kit Walker were already engaged. He'd asked her hand in marriage when he'd revealed to her that he was the Phantom, and she had silently accepted when she'd kept his secret.
From outside the hangar, they could both hear the sound of a car pulling up. Realizing that they wouldn't be alone much longer, Kit bowed in gentlemanly fashion, pulling her hand upto his lips, kissing it on top of the bandages still wrapped around her knuckles.
"Until we meet again, Mrs. Walker."
***
"Um, is there any particular reason why we're just waiting out here?" asked Cliff, eager to get in the hangar and check out the plane he was going to be flying.
Finally seeing Diana Palmer's car pulling away from the rear of the hangar, Indy just smiled. "No reason," he said. "C'mon. Let me introduce you to your teammate and new best friend."
Walking into the hangar, Indy could see that Kit's attention was still focused on the rear entrance from which Diana had just departed. Luckily, Cliff wasn't offended as his attention was pretty much focused on the Ford Trimotor parked in the hangar.
"Ahem," coughed Indy, trying to bring both men's attentions back to introductions. "Kit Walker, I'd like you to meet Cliff Secord. He's going to be our pilot on this little jaunt of ours. Cliff, this is Kit Walker, he's going to be our... well, let's just say he's a man of many talents. Get to know each other. You'll be spending a lot of time together."
Indy then took his leave to find a phone and make some last-minute calls. Now alone with each other, Kit and Cliff looked each other up and down as they shook. Kit wasn't really sure what to make of Cliff as he'd never had much in common with working-class Americans. For his part, Cliff never felt comfortable around rich people with only one noteworthy exception, and the way Kit was dressed left no doubt in his mind that he was rich. Well, richer than he was, anyway.
"Nice to meet you, Cliff," said Kit. "You're from California, right?"
"Yup. Los Angeles," answered Cliff. "Sorry, but do you mind if we continue this discussion while I check out the plane?"
"Not at all," said Kit, gesturing toward the rather large aircraft. "Every good pilot checks out his plane before taking off."
"You a pilot?" asked Cliff, smiling genuinely for the first time since he'd left his home state. "What do you fly?"
"Nothing like this, I'm afraid," answered Kit. "Mostly just old World War I fighter planes. Fokkers and stuff like that. Might come in handy if we ever have to do any cropdusting on this mission."
"Heh." Laughing, Cliff checked the various lines, cables, and pressure gauges. "Don't sell yourself short. What I wouldn't give to be able to fly one of those babies..."
"Something wrong?" asked Kit as Cliff's voice trailed off.
In response, Cliff just whistled low, scratching his head. "This is some plane. I was kind of disappointed to find I'd be flying a 'Tin Goose,' but this baby's had some impressive custom work done on it. Gun placements. Extra steel plating for bulletproofing. Damn, what does Indy think we're flying into here? A second world war?"
***
"Yes, Dad. No, Dad. Alright, Dad," said Indy, the phone pressed to his ear. Indy would never know or understand why fathers insisted on offering their sons unwanted advice about things they knew very little about. Granted, his father was an expert on many things, but international espionage wasn't one of them.
"Look, Dad, I know what I'm doing, and I'm going to be careful. No, don't wake Marcus up. Let him sleep. Just tell him I said goodbye when he wakes up. And don't worry, I'll write as often as I can," said Indy, using his other hand to block out the sound of air traffic. "Yeah, I love you, too, Dad," he said finally, hanging up.
Relieved that the conversation was finally over, part of Indy was sad that it had to end, knowing it would be some time before he heard his father's voice again. Stepping away from the phone booth, he signaled for the two federal agents to approach.
"It's about time," said Gallagher, flexing his overly-built shoulders. "What's with this? I mean, does the Doc think we got nothing better to do than stand around while he yaks on the phone?"
"Beats me," said Robinson, putting out his cigarette. "Anyway, it doesn't matter what we think. The higher-ups want Jones on this mission, and if he's willing to go traipsing off to Europe, then that's fine by me. The Cubs are going all the way this year, and I'm going to be here to see it."
The two federal agents followed the famous archaeologist into the hangar, curious as to the nature of the team he'd assembled. As they walked in, Cliff and Kit were keeping busy by loading their luggage and equipment onto the plane.
"That's what I like to see," said Indy. "My industrious team hard at work. Guys, these are the feds, Robinson and Gallagher. They're here to make sure we actually leave."
In response, the two federal agents just stared daggers at Indy, but otherwise ignored him. It was obvious that the good doctor was not very fond of the government, but that wasn't their concern. As much as they might dislike him, Dr. Jones was a known quantity with full government backing, and the same could be said of Cliff Secord, who had been recommended by Howard Hughes himself. Kit Walker, on the other hand, had no such support.
"I'm surprised to see Mr. Walker so willing to get his hands dirty," said Robinson, trying to get a rise out of the man. He had no use for the idle rich, and what little information they did have on Kit Walker described him as something of a playboy socialite.
"Well, actually, I'm not," said Kit, raising his hands and displaying that they were gloved, a mischievous smile on his face. "And no, I don't mind the occasional bit of manual labor as I like to keep fit and trim," he finished, patting his washboard stomach.
Neither Robinson nor Gallagher was very pleased by the exchange, both of them having eaten far too many donuts during their careers to boast the same. Distrust was quickly turning into dislike.
"That mouth of yours isn't going to do you much good against the Fuhrer, buddy," said Robinson, glaring at him.
"I bet he doesn't even know who the Fuhrer is..." said Gallagher, trying to follow his partner's lead.
"Isn't he the current leader of Nazi Germany?" asked Kit, trying to do the best impression he could of Jimmy Wells. "Terrible sense of style, I must say. You'd think the most feared despot in the world would be able to find a better barber, or at least a passable one."
Seeing the angry visages of the two federal agents, both Indy and Cliff had difficulty hiding their amusement, and Cliff retreated to the interior of the plane.
"Figures a pretty boy like you wouldn't care about nothing besides that stupid moustache of his," said Gallagher, raising a ham fist. "Hitler's dangerous, buddy!"
"Hmm?" asked Kit, feigning disinterest. "Oh, yes, I've heard that his Charlie Chaplin impression is supposed to be most atrocious. Yes, he is a most dangerous man."
From somewhere near the cockpit, raucous laughter could be heard and that was enough to coax a similar outburst from Indy. Kit's mouth widened into a smile, and the two feds finally realized that they were being played for fools.
"Why you little..." began Gallagher, moving forward to teach Kit some manners as his partner tried to hold him back to no avail. Gallagher was a big man, easily weighing over two hundred and fifty pounds, and all steamed up, well... Robinson just found himself being dragged along.
As Gallagher swung his meaty fist at Kit's jaw, the lithe young man just sidestepped the blow as casually as you please, extending his left foot to trip the much larger man. Spinning his arms with a pinwheel motion, Gallagher tried to regain his balance, but ultimately ended up falling on his face, Robinson collapsing on top of his back.
Knowing full well what Kit was capable of, Indy had allowed the scene to happen, thinking that Gallagher, at least, could use a lesson in humility. Still, enough was enough.
"Well, I hope you're satisfied," said Indy, going on one knee so he could talk to the feds face to face. "I don't care what reservations you might have. I told you at the start that I reserved the right to pick my own team, and Kit is on this team whether you like it or not. If he goes, then I go. Now, get that through your thick heads before they get cracked open."
Picking themselves up and dusting themselves off, Gallagher and Robinson both turned menacing glares at Kit, and each would remember the slight that took place this day.
"Just watch your back, Jones, and don't say we didn't warn you," said Robinson, prodding his partner in the direction of the hangar gate. For his part, Gallagher said nothing, but his face said that this incident was far from over as he stormed out, fuming.
"Well, that was entertaining," said Indy, who'd enjoyed the entire spectacle, but nevertheless found himself wondering for the first time whether having the Phantom on his team was really such a good idea. He really didn't know that much about him. Or Cliff, for that matter. Even so, it seemed like they were both his kind of people.
Clapping Kit on the side of the arm, Indy led him into the plane, taking one last look at the clear blue American sky before closing the hatch. Kit sat himself down in the navigator's position, and Indy took the co-pilot's chair. "We ready for takeoff?" he asked.
"Whenever you are," said Cliff, still chuckling. Adjusting a few knobs, switches, and dials, Cliff got the plane's motors running and began taxiing onto the runway. The floor of the cockpit shook with the power of those engines, and Cliff found himself surprised by it.
"Damn, Indy, how'd you get your hands on this baby?" asked Cliff, some awe registering in his voice. "According to the instruments, this plane can fly higher, faster, and farther than any other model in its class. Even Howard Hughes doesn't have anything like this."
"Let's just say that the Ford name and I have a long personal history," said Indy, thinking that was a story for another time. Looking at the pilot's side window, he noticed a photograph taped to it, a celebrity photograph by all appearances, complete with an autograph.
The photograph was of a beautiful woman with long dark hair, and the autograph read: "For Cliff. My boyfriend, my best friend, and my biggest fan. Keep flying high. Love, Jennifer Blake."
"Wow. Is that your girl?" asked Indy, his eyes widening a bit.
"Better believe it, boss," said Cliff, gunning the engines and getting ready for takeoff. "The most beautiful woman in all of Hollywood. Jealous?"
"You better believe it," said Indy, letting out a wolf whistle. "Still, it's kind of comforting to know that my pilot is the luckiest man alive. Well, one of them," he continued, still having a clear image of Diana Palmer's beautiful face.
"Well, which way are we headed?" asked Cliff, pulling back on the yoke and causing the plane to soar heavenward, becoming airborne.
Leaning back in his chair, Indy crossed his hands behind his head, lowered his fedora over his eyes, and started to relax.
"We're headed all the way to France, boys. Paris, to be exact. Some friends of mine at MI6 say there's been some unusual activities at historical sites in the city. Nothing's been taken, but they've been ransacked pretty heavily. I've got a sneaking suspicion that the Nazis might be responsible, out hunting for relics or artifacts."
"What makes you say that?" asked Kit, puzzled as to what value such things would hold for a military regime.
"Let's just say I know what I'm talking about and leave it at that. Trust me."
***
End of Indiana Jones and the Golden Age #04
***
Dave's Homepage
http://home.hawaii.rr.com/shaxberd/