Chapter 40
Destination Unknown
After a time Vadoma Maniskelko stopped crying. Maybe Indiana Jones had gotten out of the car before it sank, she thought with renewed optimism. Maybe he was in the water right now trying to swim back over to the pier. Maybe he needed her help.
She stood up suddenly and began to walk hurriedly and purposefully towards the end of the pier. But a set of hands that seemed to come from out of nowhere reached out, grabbed her from behind and pulled her back down behind the cargo crate and on to the planks of the pier.
"Where are you going?" A voice interrogated in a loud, forceful whisper, "I thought I told you to wait here".
Vadoma turned and gazed into the ruggedly handsome face of Indiana Jones, "Oh Indy!" She nearly shouted, and threw her arms around him, overwhelmed with relief at seeing him unharmed.
Then she pulled back and studied him for a moment, "But you're....you're dry." she said with confusion evident in her voice, "You did not go into the water?"
"Did it look like it?" Jones asked.
"Yes." Vadoma answered simply.
"Good," Jones said, "let's just hope I convinced our policemen friends."
"But how did you ...?" Vadoma shook her head slightly in disbelief.
"I got a little help from Grachius Calvertus," Jones said.
Vadoma continued to stare at him incredulously.
"...Or I should say, from his wooden box," Indy clarified his meaning, "it was just the right size to jam between the front seat and the accelerator pedal before I bailed out."
Vadoma's look of incredulity changed to one of concern, "But what about the scroll?" She asked.
"Right here," Jones pulled open his leather jacket, and in the dim illumination of one of the pier side freighter's quarterdeck lights he showed her the ancient Roman scroll tucked into his inside pocket; next to those two other precious possessions, the envelope full of Malboury's money, and their fake identity papers. Jones suddenly pulled his jacket closed, cocked his ear, and pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for Vadoma to be silent. He then cautiously poked his head around the side of the crate behind which they hid, and surveyed the pier.
He turned back to Vadoma, "Maybe I didn't fool them as well as I thought," he said with concern, "They're searching the pier with flashlights. We've got to get out of here, now."
Jones and the woman stood up and began to make their way down the darkened wharf and back towards the streets of Torre Annunziata; stealing their way stealthily along from behind one shipping crate to another. But as they crept alongside one of the hulking freighters and approached closer to the end of the pier Indiana Jones froze.
Several more policemen were searching down the wharf with flashlights from that end. Jones turned to look back down in the other direction from which they'd come and was alarmed to see that the policemen coming up the pier from behind were methodically and rapidly closing in on them.
He'd fooled no one with his trick, he thought, and now he and the gypsy woman were caught in a squeeze. They could try to hide, but it was unlikely they'd escape the powerful light of the flashlight beams converging on them.
Jones knew that they needed to find an escape, and had probably less than one minute to do so. He momentarily fingered his Webley tucked inside the pocket of his leather jacket, but then thought better of it. A shootout in these circumstances would be sheer suicide; especially with these OVRA policemen who'd shown no aversions thus far to firing their own weapons. Then his eyes alighted on the cargo crane that stood just behind them, and alongside the decrepit looking tramp freighter in whose shadow they crouched.
Indiana Jones had an idea.
He studied the crane, or more precisely the cargo hook which hung down from the crane's rusty boom by a long, heavy chain. Then his eyes went to a side cargo bay of the freighter. The bay was large, at least three or four meters on each side. In keeping with the slovenly appearance of the rest of the dilapidated craft the door hung carelessly open, and it was apparently unattended.
"Follow me," he whispered to Vadoma.
Jones took her hand and guided her through the darkness as he climbed up on to the crane. The pair took extra care to step as quietly as possible on the metallic rungs of the ladder, which despite their efforts produced maddening, muffled clangs with each step. Luckily the sound escaped the notice of the policemen.
Once atop the main structure of the crane Indiana Jones grasped hold of the large cargo hook. He paused for a moment to study the open cargo bay of the freighter, which beckoned across fifteen meters of open water, and did some quick mental calculations. It would be close, he thought, but as he gazed down at the encroaching flashlight beams closing in on them from both sides he felt there wasn't any other option.
Vadoma watched him as he studied the freighter's cargo bay.
"Indy ...you're not thinking of...."
"I sure am," Jones answered her before she finished her question, "it's our only chance."
"But...."
"No buts," Jones said grimly, "come on."
He grabbed hold of the large metal hook and ascended higher up on to the superstructure of the crane. Vadoma followed, though somewhat reluctantly.
"Indy, I really don't think we can make it across."
"I do." Jones said.
"But what if we fall into the water?"
"Then we'll drown, or our pals here will shoot us like fish in a barrel. Either way it's preferable to being turned over to the Nazis," Jones gripped her by the shoulders and looked her directly in her pretty eyes, "you said yourself you'd rather die."
Vadoma gave a brave little smile, glanced across at the open cargo bay of the freighter, and then leaned forward and kissed Jones on the cheek, "I trust you Indy, I'm sorry."
"Get on my back. Hold on, and don't let go!" Jones whispered forcefully before he grabbed tightly to the hook, stepped off to the side, and swung across the open water between the wharf and the freighter.
He knew they'd only get one chance.
To Jones it seemed that they were moving in slow motion as they swung out over the open space towards the old freighter with the evening wind whistling in their ears. They were completely in the shadows, which was a good thing in that it kept their daring acrobatic gambit from the view of the searching policemen. But it made it more difficult to judge the distance. And so it was with an abrupt, surprising suddenness that they swung hard into the side of the freighter. Indiana Jones, with Vadoma clinging to his back, reached out for the lip of the cargo bay door.
To his dismay he failed to gain a grip anywhere and the pair began to swing helplessly backward; back toward the pier where the police were now almost upon the crane in their converging search. There was no way the police would fail to see them if they swung back over. Jones knew they were doomed. The daring ploy to escape had failed.
Then with a sudden jolt they stopped, and hung frozen in the air right beside the open cargo bay.
"Huh?"
For a moment Indiana Jones could not comprehend what had happened. But then he looked down behind him to see that Vadoma had managed to catch the lip of the cargo platform with the heel of her shoe, which she now endeavored to lodge more deeply into the small foothold in order to better hold fast to it.
"Good work!" Jones couldn't contain his elation at Vadoma's deft use of her foot wear.
"Yes," Vadoma replied coolly, "and to think that in Amsterdam I almost did not buy these shoes....but they were on sale...fifty percent off."
"Thank goodness for sales," Jones quipped as he struggled to reach over and find a hand hold on the rusted and rutted skin of the old freighter, "just whatever you do, don't let go yet."
A moment later he got a solid grip.
"On three," he instructed Vadoma, "...one, two, three!"
With Vadoma clinging to Jones' leather jacket the couple swung the short distance into the door and landed in a rough heap on the steel deck. Jones let go of the hook.
Hook and chain, no longer encumbered by the combined weight of the archaeologist and his gypsy woman companion, swung gently back over towards the crane on the pier. The large hook struck the crane's boom and the result was a loud, metallic bell tone which startled the policemen. A short volley of pistol rounds were fired in the crane's direction before the police swarmed on to it.
Concealed behind a crate on the freighter's cargo deck Jones peered out through the open bay and watched the activities on the pier carefully. He only hoped that they wouldn't put two and two together. They didn't, and after a frenzied search on and around the crane, the police continued on with their search of the rest of the wharf area.
On the freighter Jones leaned his head back against a cargo container, closed his eyes, and relaxed for a moment.
The ship was quiet, and seemed almost to be deserted. But the action and the gunfire on the pier had finally begun to stir some activity on board. Jones determined that they were on the second deck, one below the main deck, and he began to hear a jumble of footsteps and activity above.
"Indy..." Vadoma started to say something but Jones quieted her with a gesture. He cocked his ear and listened. Voices were moving towards them from somewhere on the ship. They crouched down lower behind their crate, hiding themselves from view just as a compartment door opened and two men entered. Dim lights were switched on.
Jones placed his hand into his pocket and laid his fingers on the cold, nickel plated steel of his Webley handgun.
But the men were apparently just passing through the space and into the next, where they ascended a ship's ladder up to the main deck. They were speaking in a foreign language that was not Italian.
"What language is that Indy?" Vadoma quietly asked Jones.
"I don't know, I didn't hear it well enough, but it sounded like Turkish," he answered her.
More men passed through and more voices could be heard, both around them and on the deck above. It was a jumble of different tongues that Jones heard. He could now discern not only Turkish, but Arabic as well.
Within minutes the ship that had lain so quietly, and seemingly deserted, was a bustling nest of activity. One sailor moved towards Jones and Vadoma's hiding place but passed it by without seeing them as he swung the large door of the cargo bay shut and secured it. Though he could not see them, Jones and Vadoma could see him. The man presented a rather unkempt and dirty appearance which, Jones mused, reflected that of his ship.
A minute later they could feel the vibrations of the ship's engines coming to life.
Uh-oh," Jones said subtly.
"What?" Vadoma knew too that something was happening.
"Don't look now but I think we're about to get underway," he said. "You mean we're leaving...the pier...going..." Vadoma furrowed her brow.
"It looks like we're putting out to sea," Jones stated simply.
As if on cue, a moment later a shudder, and then a long, rolling, swaying motion confirmed Jones' statement.
"But Indy, what will we do?"
"Relax," Jones calmed her, "we need a ride out of here anyway. Just like every other country we've been through so far, we've worn out our welcome in Italy," he said.
Then he narrowed his eyes and mumbled, "But I do wonder why we got underway so suddenly."
"We don't even know where we are going," Vadoma said.
"No," Jones said, "all we can do is just hope that maybe this ship is heading in the direction of Egypt."
He held her gently by the shoulders again and looked into her eyes, "Look, for now we'll just try and rest," he said, "it'll give us time to put some distance between us and Mussolini's goons. In the morning I'll go and talk to the ship's master," Jones then lifted his jacket flap to show the envelope full of money in its inside pocket, "I'm sure I can afford to pay for our passage."
Then Indiana Jones pulled out the Roman scroll that he'd taken from the wooden box that had lain buried for two thousand years at the feet of the Goddess Isis in her temple in Pompeii, "Besides," he said as he unrolled the ancient papyrus document, "I still haven't had a chance to read this yet."
Jones fished his reading specs out of his top pocket, put them on, and began studying the ancient document in the dim light of the ship's cargo compartment. It took only a few moments for a broad grin to spread across his face.
"Look," he said to Vadoma as he motioned to the bottom of the scroll, "the signature, it's Calvertus," then he waved his hand around the scroll, "this is it Vadoma!" He spoke excitedly, "This is the map to the location of the Sun Tablets of the Pharaoh Akhenaton!"
She gazed at the Latin writing and an assortment of pictographs and drawings.
"So where does it show that they are? Where are these Sun Tablets that so many want so desperately to find?" Jones adjusted his glasses and studied the scroll some more, "I'll need more time to study it, but from what I can see here this map leads to a location somewhere in the Valley of the Kings."
"Valley of the Kings," Vadoma spoke the exotic, provocative words slowly; words that evoked images of the greatest age of the ancient empire of Egypt, and the mighty Pharaohs of the New Kingdom.
Meanwhile the ship rolled rhythmically and gently as it eased from the Bay of Naples and out into the Mediterranean Sea.
Destination unknown.
Destination Unknown
After a time Vadoma Maniskelko stopped crying. Maybe Indiana Jones had gotten out of the car before it sank, she thought with renewed optimism. Maybe he was in the water right now trying to swim back over to the pier. Maybe he needed her help.
She stood up suddenly and began to walk hurriedly and purposefully towards the end of the pier. But a set of hands that seemed to come from out of nowhere reached out, grabbed her from behind and pulled her back down behind the cargo crate and on to the planks of the pier.
"Where are you going?" A voice interrogated in a loud, forceful whisper, "I thought I told you to wait here".
Vadoma turned and gazed into the ruggedly handsome face of Indiana Jones, "Oh Indy!" She nearly shouted, and threw her arms around him, overwhelmed with relief at seeing him unharmed.
Then she pulled back and studied him for a moment, "But you're....you're dry." she said with confusion evident in her voice, "You did not go into the water?"
"Did it look like it?" Jones asked.
"Yes." Vadoma answered simply.
"Good," Jones said, "let's just hope I convinced our policemen friends."
"But how did you ...?" Vadoma shook her head slightly in disbelief.
"I got a little help from Grachius Calvertus," Jones said.
Vadoma continued to stare at him incredulously.
"...Or I should say, from his wooden box," Indy clarified his meaning, "it was just the right size to jam between the front seat and the accelerator pedal before I bailed out."
Vadoma's look of incredulity changed to one of concern, "But what about the scroll?" She asked.
"Right here," Jones pulled open his leather jacket, and in the dim illumination of one of the pier side freighter's quarterdeck lights he showed her the ancient Roman scroll tucked into his inside pocket; next to those two other precious possessions, the envelope full of Malboury's money, and their fake identity papers. Jones suddenly pulled his jacket closed, cocked his ear, and pressed a finger to his lips, motioning for Vadoma to be silent. He then cautiously poked his head around the side of the crate behind which they hid, and surveyed the pier.
He turned back to Vadoma, "Maybe I didn't fool them as well as I thought," he said with concern, "They're searching the pier with flashlights. We've got to get out of here, now."
Jones and the woman stood up and began to make their way down the darkened wharf and back towards the streets of Torre Annunziata; stealing their way stealthily along from behind one shipping crate to another. But as they crept alongside one of the hulking freighters and approached closer to the end of the pier Indiana Jones froze.
Several more policemen were searching down the wharf with flashlights from that end. Jones turned to look back down in the other direction from which they'd come and was alarmed to see that the policemen coming up the pier from behind were methodically and rapidly closing in on them.
He'd fooled no one with his trick, he thought, and now he and the gypsy woman were caught in a squeeze. They could try to hide, but it was unlikely they'd escape the powerful light of the flashlight beams converging on them.
Jones knew that they needed to find an escape, and had probably less than one minute to do so. He momentarily fingered his Webley tucked inside the pocket of his leather jacket, but then thought better of it. A shootout in these circumstances would be sheer suicide; especially with these OVRA policemen who'd shown no aversions thus far to firing their own weapons. Then his eyes alighted on the cargo crane that stood just behind them, and alongside the decrepit looking tramp freighter in whose shadow they crouched.
Indiana Jones had an idea.
He studied the crane, or more precisely the cargo hook which hung down from the crane's rusty boom by a long, heavy chain. Then his eyes went to a side cargo bay of the freighter. The bay was large, at least three or four meters on each side. In keeping with the slovenly appearance of the rest of the dilapidated craft the door hung carelessly open, and it was apparently unattended.
"Follow me," he whispered to Vadoma.
Jones took her hand and guided her through the darkness as he climbed up on to the crane. The pair took extra care to step as quietly as possible on the metallic rungs of the ladder, which despite their efforts produced maddening, muffled clangs with each step. Luckily the sound escaped the notice of the policemen.
Once atop the main structure of the crane Indiana Jones grasped hold of the large cargo hook. He paused for a moment to study the open cargo bay of the freighter, which beckoned across fifteen meters of open water, and did some quick mental calculations. It would be close, he thought, but as he gazed down at the encroaching flashlight beams closing in on them from both sides he felt there wasn't any other option.
Vadoma watched him as he studied the freighter's cargo bay.
"Indy ...you're not thinking of...."
"I sure am," Jones answered her before she finished her question, "it's our only chance."
"But...."
"No buts," Jones said grimly, "come on."
He grabbed hold of the large metal hook and ascended higher up on to the superstructure of the crane. Vadoma followed, though somewhat reluctantly.
"Indy, I really don't think we can make it across."
"I do." Jones said.
"But what if we fall into the water?"
"Then we'll drown, or our pals here will shoot us like fish in a barrel. Either way it's preferable to being turned over to the Nazis," Jones gripped her by the shoulders and looked her directly in her pretty eyes, "you said yourself you'd rather die."
Vadoma gave a brave little smile, glanced across at the open cargo bay of the freighter, and then leaned forward and kissed Jones on the cheek, "I trust you Indy, I'm sorry."
"Get on my back. Hold on, and don't let go!" Jones whispered forcefully before he grabbed tightly to the hook, stepped off to the side, and swung across the open water between the wharf and the freighter.
He knew they'd only get one chance.
To Jones it seemed that they were moving in slow motion as they swung out over the open space towards the old freighter with the evening wind whistling in their ears. They were completely in the shadows, which was a good thing in that it kept their daring acrobatic gambit from the view of the searching policemen. But it made it more difficult to judge the distance. And so it was with an abrupt, surprising suddenness that they swung hard into the side of the freighter. Indiana Jones, with Vadoma clinging to his back, reached out for the lip of the cargo bay door.
To his dismay he failed to gain a grip anywhere and the pair began to swing helplessly backward; back toward the pier where the police were now almost upon the crane in their converging search. There was no way the police would fail to see them if they swung back over. Jones knew they were doomed. The daring ploy to escape had failed.
Then with a sudden jolt they stopped, and hung frozen in the air right beside the open cargo bay.
"Huh?"
For a moment Indiana Jones could not comprehend what had happened. But then he looked down behind him to see that Vadoma had managed to catch the lip of the cargo platform with the heel of her shoe, which she now endeavored to lodge more deeply into the small foothold in order to better hold fast to it.
"Good work!" Jones couldn't contain his elation at Vadoma's deft use of her foot wear.
"Yes," Vadoma replied coolly, "and to think that in Amsterdam I almost did not buy these shoes....but they were on sale...fifty percent off."
"Thank goodness for sales," Jones quipped as he struggled to reach over and find a hand hold on the rusted and rutted skin of the old freighter, "just whatever you do, don't let go yet."
A moment later he got a solid grip.
"On three," he instructed Vadoma, "...one, two, three!"
With Vadoma clinging to Jones' leather jacket the couple swung the short distance into the door and landed in a rough heap on the steel deck. Jones let go of the hook.
Hook and chain, no longer encumbered by the combined weight of the archaeologist and his gypsy woman companion, swung gently back over towards the crane on the pier. The large hook struck the crane's boom and the result was a loud, metallic bell tone which startled the policemen. A short volley of pistol rounds were fired in the crane's direction before the police swarmed on to it.
Concealed behind a crate on the freighter's cargo deck Jones peered out through the open bay and watched the activities on the pier carefully. He only hoped that they wouldn't put two and two together. They didn't, and after a frenzied search on and around the crane, the police continued on with their search of the rest of the wharf area.
On the freighter Jones leaned his head back against a cargo container, closed his eyes, and relaxed for a moment.
The ship was quiet, and seemed almost to be deserted. But the action and the gunfire on the pier had finally begun to stir some activity on board. Jones determined that they were on the second deck, one below the main deck, and he began to hear a jumble of footsteps and activity above.
"Indy..." Vadoma started to say something but Jones quieted her with a gesture. He cocked his ear and listened. Voices were moving towards them from somewhere on the ship. They crouched down lower behind their crate, hiding themselves from view just as a compartment door opened and two men entered. Dim lights were switched on.
Jones placed his hand into his pocket and laid his fingers on the cold, nickel plated steel of his Webley handgun.
But the men were apparently just passing through the space and into the next, where they ascended a ship's ladder up to the main deck. They were speaking in a foreign language that was not Italian.
"What language is that Indy?" Vadoma quietly asked Jones.
"I don't know, I didn't hear it well enough, but it sounded like Turkish," he answered her.
More men passed through and more voices could be heard, both around them and on the deck above. It was a jumble of different tongues that Jones heard. He could now discern not only Turkish, but Arabic as well.
Within minutes the ship that had lain so quietly, and seemingly deserted, was a bustling nest of activity. One sailor moved towards Jones and Vadoma's hiding place but passed it by without seeing them as he swung the large door of the cargo bay shut and secured it. Though he could not see them, Jones and Vadoma could see him. The man presented a rather unkempt and dirty appearance which, Jones mused, reflected that of his ship.
A minute later they could feel the vibrations of the ship's engines coming to life.
Uh-oh," Jones said subtly.
"What?" Vadoma knew too that something was happening.
"Don't look now but I think we're about to get underway," he said. "You mean we're leaving...the pier...going..." Vadoma furrowed her brow.
"It looks like we're putting out to sea," Jones stated simply.
As if on cue, a moment later a shudder, and then a long, rolling, swaying motion confirmed Jones' statement.
"But Indy, what will we do?"
"Relax," Jones calmed her, "we need a ride out of here anyway. Just like every other country we've been through so far, we've worn out our welcome in Italy," he said.
Then he narrowed his eyes and mumbled, "But I do wonder why we got underway so suddenly."
"We don't even know where we are going," Vadoma said.
"No," Jones said, "all we can do is just hope that maybe this ship is heading in the direction of Egypt."
He held her gently by the shoulders again and looked into her eyes, "Look, for now we'll just try and rest," he said, "it'll give us time to put some distance between us and Mussolini's goons. In the morning I'll go and talk to the ship's master," Jones then lifted his jacket flap to show the envelope full of money in its inside pocket, "I'm sure I can afford to pay for our passage."
Then Indiana Jones pulled out the Roman scroll that he'd taken from the wooden box that had lain buried for two thousand years at the feet of the Goddess Isis in her temple in Pompeii, "Besides," he said as he unrolled the ancient papyrus document, "I still haven't had a chance to read this yet."
Jones fished his reading specs out of his top pocket, put them on, and began studying the ancient document in the dim light of the ship's cargo compartment. It took only a few moments for a broad grin to spread across his face.
"Look," he said to Vadoma as he motioned to the bottom of the scroll, "the signature, it's Calvertus," then he waved his hand around the scroll, "this is it Vadoma!" He spoke excitedly, "This is the map to the location of the Sun Tablets of the Pharaoh Akhenaton!"
She gazed at the Latin writing and an assortment of pictographs and drawings.
"So where does it show that they are? Where are these Sun Tablets that so many want so desperately to find?" Jones adjusted his glasses and studied the scroll some more, "I'll need more time to study it, but from what I can see here this map leads to a location somewhere in the Valley of the Kings."
"Valley of the Kings," Vadoma spoke the exotic, provocative words slowly; words that evoked images of the greatest age of the ancient empire of Egypt, and the mighty Pharaohs of the New Kingdom.
Meanwhile the ship rolled rhythmically and gently as it eased from the Bay of Naples and out into the Mediterranean Sea.
Destination unknown.