25
Fugitives
Indiana Jones and Vadoma Maniskelko walked hand in hand down the quiet, fog shrouded London street. It was the darkest part of night and there was little or no activity on the mostly deserted streets. However there was the occasional vehicle that drove by, feeling its way through the pea soup. For the most part the cars that passed by carried revelers celebrating the New Year; jumping from party to party, or tavern to tavern, or maybe for the more prudent, going home. But Jones and the gypsy woman could never know when it might instead be a police car out searching for the fugitives, and so each time a vehicle passed them by they pressed themselves into the shadows of buildings, or ducked into alleys.
After a time they approached a large building and Indiana Jones stopped and looked up. Though he could just barely see it through the fog, there high up above them was the venerable old clock of Big Ben.
To Jones' surprise he realized that rather than being carried down the Thames, they had instead been carried a short ways upstream before being deposited on the north bank of the river.
"Must have been some kind of countercurrent," Indy mumbled to himself as he continued to look at the building in front of them.
"What did you say Indiana Jones?" Vadoma asked.
"Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud" Jones answered, and then turned to face her, "and you can call me 'Indy', OK?"
She looked into his eyes, "Yes ...Indy," She said.
Jones felt something inside when he heard her speak his more familiar nickname for the first time with her soft, low voice. It was brief, but it was something.
"Come on," he took her hand again and led her across, and then down the street in the direction of a tavern where music was playing and light shone out from the windows onto the damp, slick sidewalk outside. It was apparent that these New Year's Eve celebrants weren't calling it quits for some time to come.
Vadoma looked at him curiously, "You're surely not going to go in there are you?"
"No," Jones answered her, "though if there's ever been a time when I could use a drink, it's now."
Outside the boisterous tavern was a long line of parked vehicles. By the number of Rolls, Bentleys, and Aston Martins, Jones could tell that this could probably be regarded as a rather upscale group of party-goers.
"No," Indiana Jones continued talking, "unfortunately I won't be joining any of these fine people for a drink," his eyes went up and down along the row of automobiles, "but one of them is going to need a ride home tonight."
Indiana Jones chose a low profile, Aston Martin, two-seater Roadster. It was small, and the low profile would make it harder to spot from any distance; and in case it came down to it, it looked faster than any police car.
The archaeologist threw wary glances all around, and then using his increasingly versatile cast once again, he broke out the front fly window of the sports car. The glass shattered with a quietly violent, crystalline sound. Jones reached in and lifted the door latch mechanism and opened the door. Then he slid in behind the wheel, reached over and opened the passenger's side door.
"Get in, hurry up!" He called to her, and then angled his head down towards the underside of the steering column.
Vadoma looked around nervously and then got into the vehicle. She studied Indiana Jones curiously as the archaeologist seemed to fumble around with something under the steering wheel.
"What are you doing...Indy?" She shook her head as she continued to watch him.
Jones ignored the question for a moment, and then sat up and looked out at the dark street, "Look in the storage compartment in front of you," he said to her, "Find me something sharp, and I think you'd better hurry."
A lone figure approached along the sidewalk in front of them. Jones and Vadoma both looked up and held their breath. It was dark, and they hoped that the interloper might pass by without seeing them, but Indiana Jones was going over in his mind what he might have to do if not. Jones hoped whoever it was wouldn't take any notice of the broken pane of glass on the fly window either.
They both sat perfectly still as the figure approached closer, and then Jones breathed a sigh of relief. It was a man who walked along towards them, but judging from the way he was staggering he was lucky if he could even see the ground under his own feet, never mind Indy and Vadoma.
"Happy New Year," Jones mumbled, and then turned to Vadoma again, "go ahead, look inside the compartment, I need something sharp."
Vadoma did as he said, opening the little storage compartment in the dashboard and fumbling around inside for a moment. She pulled out an object and held it up, "Will this work?" she asked as she held up a small pen knife.
Jones snatched it from her hand and angled his head back down under the steering column as before. A few moments later he touched two wires together and the vehicle's engine coughed, and then started up. Indiana Jones twisted the wires together then sat back up, put the car in gear, and peeled away from the curb and into the street.
About a minute later they were driving down Victoria Street. Jones kept the headlights off. The hour was late, and while there was more traffic than usual this night being that it was New Year's Eve, it still wasn't a time for vehicles to normally be about. The less attention they called to themselves the better.
Vadoma stared at Indiana Jones with a look that was a mix of curiosity, admiration, and something else that she didn't quite know how to label in her mind just yet.
"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked him with a curious smile.
"Oh, it was a long time ago, on the South Side of Chicago." He looked over at her, "...It's a long story."
"I wouldn't think that an archaeologist and a ...good man like you could also be a thief."
Indy gave a wry, half smile, "Don't worry, we're not stealing it, we're just borrowing it. ...And I'm not a thief."
"What about the window you broke?"
"I'll pay for it."
"I thought you said you didn't have any money."
Jones paused for a moment to read a street sign, and then turned back to her, "I didn't, but I will soon. That's where we're going right now."
"What are you going to do now Indiana Jones, rob a bank?"
"...not exactly," Jones answered.
Traveling with the lights off in the fog made for slow going, and Indiana Jones had to slow down at each intersection and street corner to read the signs; sometimes stopping altogether. But despite the slow going they eventually made their way through central London to Hampstead Road where they headed north. After a time Jones felt it was safe to cut the headlights back on.
He could drive faster now, but it wasn't easy driving the car with one arm in a cast. Jones had to control the steering wheel with the tips of his fingers protruding from the cast every time he had to reach across to shift gears with his right hand.
"Where are we going?" Vadoma asked him.
"The British Museum," Indiana Jones answered her, "There's one more chance for us to straighten this mess out, but I can't do it without the help of my friend Marcus Brody."
"I won't go back to the jail Indy," Vadoma said with conviction.
"You won't have to," Jones said, and then turned to look at her.
Vadoma read his eyes, and the message they sent went straight to her heart. Without the need for words she knew that she could trust this man; this man who had saved her life.
"But there won't be anyone at the museum at this time," she said.
"No but there's a telephone."
"The museum will be locked, how will we get in?"
Jones held up his cast, "I've got a key," he deadpanned.
They drove on in silence for several minutes. After a while Jones made a right turn on to New Oxford Street as they drew nearer to the Bloomsbury district, and the British Museum.
Jones turned to her, "So, what is a 'rikona'?" He asked her.
Vadoma seemed surprised at the question.
"You've used that word twice now tonight," Indy said, "once on me."
"A 'rikona' is a dog," she answered him.
Indiana Jones nodded, "I didn't think it was a compliment."
She studied him for a few moments, "I think you are a man who knows many languages Indy."
Jones said nothing, but gave a slight nod.
"But not many gadje...that is our word for outsiders...knows anything of the Rom language," she smiled, "but I can teach you."
"I'd like that," he said.
They turned left on to Bloomsbury Street and in a couple of minutes they arrived at the British Museum. Indiana Jones maneuvered the little sports car into the back lot of the museum and found a darkened spot next to a back entrance. He reached under the steering column and pulled the two wires apart that he'd connected before to start the vehicle, and the engine died.
Jones opened the door and got out. Vadoma followed him.
Indiana Jones walked around to the west side of the museum complex and then proceeded into the garden towards a row of shrubbery that flanked the building. A minute later he came upon a low window; a window that opened into the museum's basement.
Indiana Jones wasted no time; there wasn't any to waste. He swung his now seemingly omnipotent cast at the low window and shattered it. Then he cleared away the remaining shards with a few sweeping motions.
He offered his hand to Vadoma, "Come on," he said, and guided her through the opening he'd made. He followed her inside and in a few moments they found themselves outside the basement office of the archaeologist Lord Richard Malboury. Vadoma stared at the locked door for a moment, but then Indiana Jones reached up to the band of his fedora and pulled out the key.
"I knew there was a reason I kept this," he said as he placed the key in the lock and turned it.
They entered the office. Jones made sure to close the door before turning on the light switch.
He went to the desk and reached for the telephone, pausing for a few seconds to remember the number to John Allenby's home, and then dialed.
"Hello?"
"May I please speak with Marcus Brody?" Jones spoke into the telephone.
Indy heard a multitude of voices in the background before Marcus finally came on the line.
"Indy!" Marcus said excitedly, "is that you?!"
Jones hesitated for a moment, "Yes Marcus, it's me."
"Indy where are you?!"
Jones paused, "Doesn't matter. Marcus, it's not what they think."
"Indy, you've got to stop! You've got to turn yourself and the woman in to the Police!"
Indiana Jones closed his eyes for a moment, "Marcus, like I said, it's not what you think...it's not what they think."
Inspector Davies came on the line.
"Jones! What in the hell are you doing?!" The Scotland Yard policeman shouted.
Indiana Jones pulled the telephone receiver away from his ear for a moment.
He placed the telephone back to his ear, "Put Marcus back on!" he commanded.
Jones heard more voices in the background before Marcus came on the line again.
"Indy, what on earth is going on!?"
"Listen Marcus, like I said, it's not what they think. I can explain everything...but it will take time."
"Indy they think you're helping the Nazis!"
Marcus' words sent a chill up Indiana Jones' spine.
"Listen Marcus! It's not what they think! You've got to trust me..."
"Indy, you know I trust you, but what in the devil is going on? They think you helped the Nazi agent escape from Scotland Yard."
Jones closed his eyes again and let out a frustrated breath.
"Listen Marcus, I think I know where they've taken Malboury. I'm...I'm going to go and get him. Tell them that!"
Davies came back on the line, "Jones! Surrender yourself and the prisoner immediately!"
Indiana Jones slowly placed the telephone back down. He paused for a few moments. Vadoma studied his tense expression, and then reached her hand out to him.
The archaeologist turned around and went to the back wall of the office. There he pulled the picture of Malboury in front of the Temple of Karnak off of the wall and placed it down on the desk. He spun the combination of the safe, opened it, and pulled out the envelope full of money.
"Let's go," was all he said to Vadoma as he stuffed the bills into his breast pocket.
Fugitives
Indiana Jones and Vadoma Maniskelko walked hand in hand down the quiet, fog shrouded London street. It was the darkest part of night and there was little or no activity on the mostly deserted streets. However there was the occasional vehicle that drove by, feeling its way through the pea soup. For the most part the cars that passed by carried revelers celebrating the New Year; jumping from party to party, or tavern to tavern, or maybe for the more prudent, going home. But Jones and the gypsy woman could never know when it might instead be a police car out searching for the fugitives, and so each time a vehicle passed them by they pressed themselves into the shadows of buildings, or ducked into alleys.
After a time they approached a large building and Indiana Jones stopped and looked up. Though he could just barely see it through the fog, there high up above them was the venerable old clock of Big Ben.
To Jones' surprise he realized that rather than being carried down the Thames, they had instead been carried a short ways upstream before being deposited on the north bank of the river.
"Must have been some kind of countercurrent," Indy mumbled to himself as he continued to look at the building in front of them.
"What did you say Indiana Jones?" Vadoma asked.
"Oh, nothing, just thinking out loud" Jones answered, and then turned to face her, "and you can call me 'Indy', OK?"
She looked into his eyes, "Yes ...Indy," She said.
Jones felt something inside when he heard her speak his more familiar nickname for the first time with her soft, low voice. It was brief, but it was something.
"Come on," he took her hand again and led her across, and then down the street in the direction of a tavern where music was playing and light shone out from the windows onto the damp, slick sidewalk outside. It was apparent that these New Year's Eve celebrants weren't calling it quits for some time to come.
Vadoma looked at him curiously, "You're surely not going to go in there are you?"
"No," Jones answered her, "though if there's ever been a time when I could use a drink, it's now."
Outside the boisterous tavern was a long line of parked vehicles. By the number of Rolls, Bentleys, and Aston Martins, Jones could tell that this could probably be regarded as a rather upscale group of party-goers.
"No," Indiana Jones continued talking, "unfortunately I won't be joining any of these fine people for a drink," his eyes went up and down along the row of automobiles, "but one of them is going to need a ride home tonight."
Indiana Jones chose a low profile, Aston Martin, two-seater Roadster. It was small, and the low profile would make it harder to spot from any distance; and in case it came down to it, it looked faster than any police car.
The archaeologist threw wary glances all around, and then using his increasingly versatile cast once again, he broke out the front fly window of the sports car. The glass shattered with a quietly violent, crystalline sound. Jones reached in and lifted the door latch mechanism and opened the door. Then he slid in behind the wheel, reached over and opened the passenger's side door.
"Get in, hurry up!" He called to her, and then angled his head down towards the underside of the steering column.
Vadoma looked around nervously and then got into the vehicle. She studied Indiana Jones curiously as the archaeologist seemed to fumble around with something under the steering wheel.
"What are you doing...Indy?" She shook her head as she continued to watch him.
Jones ignored the question for a moment, and then sat up and looked out at the dark street, "Look in the storage compartment in front of you," he said to her, "Find me something sharp, and I think you'd better hurry."
A lone figure approached along the sidewalk in front of them. Jones and Vadoma both looked up and held their breath. It was dark, and they hoped that the interloper might pass by without seeing them, but Indiana Jones was going over in his mind what he might have to do if not. Jones hoped whoever it was wouldn't take any notice of the broken pane of glass on the fly window either.
They both sat perfectly still as the figure approached closer, and then Jones breathed a sigh of relief. It was a man who walked along towards them, but judging from the way he was staggering he was lucky if he could even see the ground under his own feet, never mind Indy and Vadoma.
"Happy New Year," Jones mumbled, and then turned to Vadoma again, "go ahead, look inside the compartment, I need something sharp."
Vadoma did as he said, opening the little storage compartment in the dashboard and fumbling around inside for a moment. She pulled out an object and held it up, "Will this work?" she asked as she held up a small pen knife.
Jones snatched it from her hand and angled his head back down under the steering column as before. A few moments later he touched two wires together and the vehicle's engine coughed, and then started up. Indiana Jones twisted the wires together then sat back up, put the car in gear, and peeled away from the curb and into the street.
About a minute later they were driving down Victoria Street. Jones kept the headlights off. The hour was late, and while there was more traffic than usual this night being that it was New Year's Eve, it still wasn't a time for vehicles to normally be about. The less attention they called to themselves the better.
Vadoma stared at Indiana Jones with a look that was a mix of curiosity, admiration, and something else that she didn't quite know how to label in her mind just yet.
"Where did you learn to do that?" she asked him with a curious smile.
"Oh, it was a long time ago, on the South Side of Chicago." He looked over at her, "...It's a long story."
"I wouldn't think that an archaeologist and a ...good man like you could also be a thief."
Indy gave a wry, half smile, "Don't worry, we're not stealing it, we're just borrowing it. ...And I'm not a thief."
"What about the window you broke?"
"I'll pay for it."
"I thought you said you didn't have any money."
Jones paused for a moment to read a street sign, and then turned back to her, "I didn't, but I will soon. That's where we're going right now."
"What are you going to do now Indiana Jones, rob a bank?"
"...not exactly," Jones answered.
Traveling with the lights off in the fog made for slow going, and Indiana Jones had to slow down at each intersection and street corner to read the signs; sometimes stopping altogether. But despite the slow going they eventually made their way through central London to Hampstead Road where they headed north. After a time Jones felt it was safe to cut the headlights back on.
He could drive faster now, but it wasn't easy driving the car with one arm in a cast. Jones had to control the steering wheel with the tips of his fingers protruding from the cast every time he had to reach across to shift gears with his right hand.
"Where are we going?" Vadoma asked him.
"The British Museum," Indiana Jones answered her, "There's one more chance for us to straighten this mess out, but I can't do it without the help of my friend Marcus Brody."
"I won't go back to the jail Indy," Vadoma said with conviction.
"You won't have to," Jones said, and then turned to look at her.
Vadoma read his eyes, and the message they sent went straight to her heart. Without the need for words she knew that she could trust this man; this man who had saved her life.
"But there won't be anyone at the museum at this time," she said.
"No but there's a telephone."
"The museum will be locked, how will we get in?"
Jones held up his cast, "I've got a key," he deadpanned.
They drove on in silence for several minutes. After a while Jones made a right turn on to New Oxford Street as they drew nearer to the Bloomsbury district, and the British Museum.
Jones turned to her, "So, what is a 'rikona'?" He asked her.
Vadoma seemed surprised at the question.
"You've used that word twice now tonight," Indy said, "once on me."
"A 'rikona' is a dog," she answered him.
Indiana Jones nodded, "I didn't think it was a compliment."
She studied him for a few moments, "I think you are a man who knows many languages Indy."
Jones said nothing, but gave a slight nod.
"But not many gadje...that is our word for outsiders...knows anything of the Rom language," she smiled, "but I can teach you."
"I'd like that," he said.
They turned left on to Bloomsbury Street and in a couple of minutes they arrived at the British Museum. Indiana Jones maneuvered the little sports car into the back lot of the museum and found a darkened spot next to a back entrance. He reached under the steering column and pulled the two wires apart that he'd connected before to start the vehicle, and the engine died.
Jones opened the door and got out. Vadoma followed him.
Indiana Jones walked around to the west side of the museum complex and then proceeded into the garden towards a row of shrubbery that flanked the building. A minute later he came upon a low window; a window that opened into the museum's basement.
Indiana Jones wasted no time; there wasn't any to waste. He swung his now seemingly omnipotent cast at the low window and shattered it. Then he cleared away the remaining shards with a few sweeping motions.
He offered his hand to Vadoma, "Come on," he said, and guided her through the opening he'd made. He followed her inside and in a few moments they found themselves outside the basement office of the archaeologist Lord Richard Malboury. Vadoma stared at the locked door for a moment, but then Indiana Jones reached up to the band of his fedora and pulled out the key.
"I knew there was a reason I kept this," he said as he placed the key in the lock and turned it.
They entered the office. Jones made sure to close the door before turning on the light switch.
He went to the desk and reached for the telephone, pausing for a few seconds to remember the number to John Allenby's home, and then dialed.
"Hello?"
"May I please speak with Marcus Brody?" Jones spoke into the telephone.
Indy heard a multitude of voices in the background before Marcus finally came on the line.
"Indy!" Marcus said excitedly, "is that you?!"
Jones hesitated for a moment, "Yes Marcus, it's me."
"Indy where are you?!"
Jones paused, "Doesn't matter. Marcus, it's not what they think."
"Indy, you've got to stop! You've got to turn yourself and the woman in to the Police!"
Indiana Jones closed his eyes for a moment, "Marcus, like I said, it's not what you think...it's not what they think."
Inspector Davies came on the line.
"Jones! What in the hell are you doing?!" The Scotland Yard policeman shouted.
Indiana Jones pulled the telephone receiver away from his ear for a moment.
He placed the telephone back to his ear, "Put Marcus back on!" he commanded.
Jones heard more voices in the background before Marcus came on the line again.
"Indy, what on earth is going on!?"
"Listen Marcus, like I said, it's not what they think. I can explain everything...but it will take time."
"Indy they think you're helping the Nazis!"
Marcus' words sent a chill up Indiana Jones' spine.
"Listen Marcus! It's not what they think! You've got to trust me..."
"Indy, you know I trust you, but what in the devil is going on? They think you helped the Nazi agent escape from Scotland Yard."
Jones closed his eyes again and let out a frustrated breath.
"Listen Marcus, I think I know where they've taken Malboury. I'm...I'm going to go and get him. Tell them that!"
Davies came back on the line, "Jones! Surrender yourself and the prisoner immediately!"
Indiana Jones slowly placed the telephone back down. He paused for a few moments. Vadoma studied his tense expression, and then reached her hand out to him.
The archaeologist turned around and went to the back wall of the office. There he pulled the picture of Malboury in front of the Temple of Karnak off of the wall and placed it down on the desk. He spun the combination of the safe, opened it, and pulled out the envelope full of money.
"Let's go," was all he said to Vadoma as he stuffed the bills into his breast pocket.