Chapter 43
Deliverance from Evil
Why do the bad guys always make that one fatal mistake; that one mistake that always foils them and lets the good guys win?
Indiana Jones turned that question over in his mind for a brief moment as he prepared to take action to save Vadoma from a terrible fate.
Just as in Germany, where Jones had made the SS pay a high price for arrogantly leaving their armored vehicles unattended, so too did these sea going criminals make a mistake for which the archaeologist hoped he was going to make them pay.
In all the excitement none of them had thought to search Jones for weapons.
Despite the fact that they held his arms tightly, holding his elbows in close against his body, Jones was still able to freely move his wrists. More importantly, while the thugs were distracted by their excitement at the anticipated sordid entertainment about to take place, Jones was able to slip his right hand unnoticed into the pocket of his leather jacket.
With smooth and calculated motions he slowly and carefully wrapped his palm around the hand stock of his Webley hand gun, slipped his finger around the trigger, and pulled the hammer back with his thumb. Then, with the weapon still inside his pocket, Indiana Jones deliberately placed the muzzle up against the kneecap of the fellow holding him to his right.
The curious feeling of something hard pressing up against his knee caused the man to look down; just in time to see the muzzle flash, and to see his own leg nearly blown off.
While the series of events that now took place took only seconds to occur, each calculated, desperate move was clearly defined in the mind of Indiana Jones as if they were happening in slow motion.
The Webley boomed as the .45 caliber bullet, fired at point blank range, shattered the man's kneecap and pitilessly tore through tendon, bone, and muscle. The explosive force of the impact caused the lower leg, now attached to the upper by a few mere tendrils of bloody, tattered flesh, to fly up into the air in a crazy arc. The useless appendage then flopped back down; followed quickly by the man himself who dropped his knife, released his grip on Jones' right arm, and crashed to the deck clutching in shock at the bloody remains.
With his right arm now free, Indiana Jones pulled the weapon out of his pocket and turned to the man on his left. He quickly brought the Webley up to bear against this second adversary. But the man, seeing what had just happened to his unfortunate cohort, reached his hands down to block Jones' weapon. However, unfortunately for him his actions only served to guide the powerful handgun's muzzle directly into his own groin.
Jones squeezed the trigger, with the expected results.
Now Indiana Jones was free of any grasp and he stood up. On the deck to either side of him two men lay bleeding and writhing in shock and agony. In front of him the ragged, filthy criminal who had been preparing to assault Vadoma now instead turned around, with his pants still down around his ankles, and found himself staring down the muzzle of Jones' .458 Webley.
At the sound of the gunfire and the sight of their stricken comrades the rest of the thugs had hurriedly run for cover. But Indiana Jones knew that many of them probably had their own guns...or were running to get them. He knew that he and Vadoma had little or no time, possibly even just seconds, if they were to somehow escape.
Jones aimed the weapon directly at the face of the pant less lowlife standing before him. The man searched his eyes around for a brief moment before falling to his knees, clasping his hands together, and shamelessly begging for mercy from the fedora clad, pistol wielding archaeologist.
How quickly the evil become penitent when faced with retribution, Jones thought.
Vadoma, now no longer in the grasp of the filthy horde of criminals, stood up. She quietly sobbed as she hurriedly tried as best she could to straighten her dress and fix the straps to cover her breasts.
But then her sobs turned to shouts. She very nearly shrieked as she hurled an unbroken barrage of gypsy curses and insults at the dirty figure now kneeling before Indiana Jones. She punctuated her curses with a violent kick of her shoeless foot to the kneeling man's face that crushed his nose. Blood gushed as he fell face forward on to the deck.
"Come on! Hurry!" Jones shouted and reached his hand out to Vadoma.
She grasped on to his hand tightly with one of hers, while the other struggled to hold the remains of the front of her dress up. Together the pair fled towards the stern of the ship.
"But where will we run to Indy!?" Vadoma said in a terrified voice, "There is....nowhere...only the ship!"
"Like I told you once before!" Jones said as they ran towards the ladder that led up to the aft deck, "There's always somewhere to run!"
A gunshot rang out and clanged off of the bulkhead in front of them. Indiana Jones knew to expect it, but had hoped that that they would have more time.
"Go!" Jones shouted to Vadoma, "Up the ladder! Hurry!"
More gunshots pelted against the bulkhead as Vadoma scurried up. Indiana Jones raised his Webley and fired a blind shot back to provide cover for the gypsy woman.
With her usual graceful alacrity Vadoma was up the ladder and on to the upper deck in a flash.
"Stay down!" Jones shouted up to her as he now put away his pistol and ascended the ladder himself.
Upon reaching the upper deck Jones dove for cover behind the deck fitting where Vadoma huddled; the same place from which they had watched the fight and the murder earlier.
"Keep an eye on that door!" Jones motioned with his head towards the door to the upper cargo compartment while he re-loaded the Webley.
Jones loaded six fresh bullets into the gun's magazine, and then briefly glanced at the small box of .45 caliber bullets in his hand. He counted about fifteen more, which represented all of the ammunition that he had left, before thrusting it back into his pocket.
Jones peered over the deck fitting a moment later and watched as the horde of human vermin began to emerge from their cover and proceed aft, towards him and Vadoma. They proceeded cautiously at first but within moments they were charging en masse and shouting as they ran towards the ladder to the after deck where the archaeologist and the gypsy woman were huddled. Indiana Jones raised his Webley and fired, and then fired again and again. One criminal was dropped in his tracks.
But then the door to the upper cargo compartment behind them burst open. A ragged looking man with a butcher knife in his hand and madness in his eyes charged out. Jones dropped him with a single shot to the chest.
The archaeologist then turned his attention back forward, only to see that two men had already ascended the ladder and were running towards him. Jones fired the last two rounds in his Webley, and then scrambled to reload the weapon.
But Indiana Jones knew that it was a lost cause. There was no way that he could hold off these savage criminals indefinitely; there were too many. He cast his eyes around hopelessly. There was nothing but ocean in any direction.
Maybe that was best, he thought as he gazed into Vadoma's eyes which reflected the same hopelessness that he felt. Maybe they had no choice but to jump into the dark waters and take their chances. Jones knew that it would mean almost certain death. But it would be a death infinitely preferable to the one that these beasts would have in store for them.
Jones finished reloading the Webley just in time, as two more men emerged through the cargo door. He fired two rounds in that direction and the criminals ducked back inside.
Vadoma looked at him, and then gazed out at the ocean around them. There were tears in her eyes.
Gunfire erupted now from the cargo doorway and Jones and Vadoma crouched down even lower behind the deck fitting that provided cover for them.
Jones looked directly back into Vadoma's eyes, as if in silent, solemn agreement, before taking another shot at the cargo door and then one in the direction of the ladder; trying to keep the murderers at bay, and forestall the inevitable.
"Indy..." she said quietly with her head down, "Indy, we....."
"Wait!" Jones shouted at her suddenly in a voice that was anything but hopeless, "Wait Vadoma! Look!" He shouted and pointed his finger.
There, on the other side of the afterdeck, a small life boat hung from a davit. Indiana Jones wondered why he hadn't seen it before. And even more encouraging, Jones noted that the craft appeared to be motorized. He could clearly see the propeller and shaft protruding from under the stern.
"There's our ticket off of this ship from Hell!" He said as he finished reloading the Webley.
"Indy watch out!" Vadoma screamed.
Indiana Jones whirled around and poured lead out of the muzzle of the Webley in the direction of the cargo door. Two new bodies flopped down on top of the earlier victim.
Jones studied the lifeboat, and the davit from which it hung, for a few more moments, and then turned to Vadoma.
"When I say go, make a run for that boat!" Jones said as he loaded the last of his bullets into the Webley and threw the empty box down to the deck, "But make sure to grab that fire axe on the way!" He pointed to a fire axe mounted on a bulkhead.
Vadoma followed Jones' finger to the axe on the bulkhead and nodded her head; not questioning the reason why. She knew to trust this man; to trust him more than any other man she had ever known.
"Go!" Jones shouted, and then fired two bullets each in the directions of the cargo door, and the ladder to cover her.
He watched as Vadoma made it to the bulkhead, grabbed the fire axe, and then leapt into the lifeboat in what appeared as one smooth, choreographed motion. As soon as she was in Jones made a run for it.
Bullets flew as he made his own desperate run. Jones had only two bullets left in his own gun, but he turned and fired blindly back before leaping into the craft where Vadoma was already huddled down.
"Give me the axe!" He shouted to her as he watched a crowd of angry, vengeful criminals now swarm up the ladder and on to the afterdeck in pursuit of him and Vadoma.
With his ammunition gone, Indiana Jones knew that what he was about to attempt was their last chance. Failure meant death; either at the hands of this mob of murderers, or in the cold depths of the sea, thirty feet below them.
"Hold on tight to something! Don't let go!" The archaeologist shouted to Vadoma just before he swung the axe in a wide arc and struck at where the davit lines held the stern of the boat.
The axe made a clean cut through the lines and the boat dropped down suddenly and abruptly by its stern. It dangled twenty or so feet above the waters of the Mediterranean at a precarious angle; hanging now by its bow davit lines only. Vadoma screamed in both terror and surprise as she grasped on to one of the benches inside the boat and held on tightly to keep from falling into the sea below.
But Jones missed as he swung for the forward davit, and the horde of criminals reached the boat before he could try again. Filthy hands reached out for them. One of the men tried to climb into the boat. Jones swung the axe down on top of the man's head in a vicious blow that smashed his skull and catapulted him over the side and into the water.
"Hold on!" Jones shouted as he swung for the forward davit lines again. This time he was on the mark.
The boat, now cut free of the ship, plunged downward into the sea; splashing roughly into the waters of the Mediterranean. Indiana Jones only hoped that the little craft would not capsize. Despite the rough launching though, the boat remained afloat. But Jones knew that was only half the battle.
The ship continued to move, and as their small boat sat stationary in the water each blessed second put more distance between Jones and Vadoma, and the thugs and criminals on board the ship who now receded off into the distance. But as Indiana Jones knew would happen, the lumbering freighter eventually began to turn in a slow, lazy arc as it endeavored to come about. Jones was counting on the fact that freighters like this rarely had much steering capability. That would work in their favor, it would give them a little time, he thought. But then again it wouldn't matter if they couldn't get the engine started.
The archaeologist now turned his full attention to the boat's engine. As he looked around Jones quickly realized that the craft they were in was more of a motor launch than a lifeboat. As he checked the fuel tanks and opened the fuel line Jones conjectured that such a well maintained craft on a such a run down, rust bucket freighter crewed by murderous cutthroats probably served a rather sinister purpose.......piracy. The engine was large, and looked capable of making good speed.
The freighter had almost completed its turn about, and from about a thousand yards away was beginning to point its bow back in their direction. Jones made the last few checks to make sure of all the engine's connections and then cranked over what appeared to be the starter switch, crossed his fingers, and prayed. The engine coughed, sputtered, and then roared to life. Jones engaged the linkage mechanism, pushed the throttle forward, and grabbed the craft's small steering wheel as it lurched forth in the water.
Instead of steering away from the pursuing freighter though Indiana Jones cut his throttle and spun the wheel around to bring the motor launch about, its bow now pointed directly at the ship.
"Indy what are you doing?" Vadoma asked incredulously.
"Trust me," Jones answered, and then pushed the throttle all the way forward.
The motor launch sped forward on a direct course back towards the slow moving freighter. Jones closed rapidly on the ship. But as he brought the swift boat directly upon it, he altered his course so as to pass down along the port side. He was careful to maintain sufficient distance to keep out of range of any gunfire. Some distant crackling confirmed the wisdom of that precaution.
Within a few moments Jones and Vadoma in the motor launch had passed down the entire length of the ship and were speeding away. Vadoma now understood his maneuver.
She gazed over at him as the Mediterranean wind whipped her dark hair, "I see now," she said, "by the time they turn again we will be even further away."
"Exactly," Jones said, "by the time they manage to get that clumsy rust bucket turned around again we'll be miles ahead. Then when you figure we can make at least three times their speed...." He let his words trail off.
Indeed they were rapidly putting huge distance between themselves and the freighter. The only worry Jones had was fuel. But it seemed that both tanks were topped off, which should be sufficient for many miles, he thought.
"Do you think they will be able to catch us Indy?" Vadoma asked in a worried voice.
"I don't think so," Jones answered.
"But we have stolen their boat."
Indiana Jones turned and gave her a reassuring smile, "I don't think they'll waste too much time chasing us," he said, "we were just some unexpected....entertainment. They've got too valuable of a cargo to waste too much time trying to catch us. With as much opium as their carrying they could buy a hundred boats like this."
"But what about the men you....."
"Killed?" Jones finished her sentence for her, stating the word starkly, "I'm not so sure you can use the term 'men' to describe them," he said grimly, "but it doesn't matter, they'll just dump them over the side and get more somewhere else. There's no shortage of bad men in this world."
Vadoma gazed across at Indiana Jones with her dark eyes and swept some strands of raven hair from her pretty face, "Yes," she said in her soft, low voice, "there are many bad men in this world.....I know. And there are not enough good men. But you...Indiana Jones...you are a good man. ...You are a good man in a bad world."
Indiana Jones just looked over at her and gave a self conscious, wry half smile as they cruised on southward through the blue-green waters.
The sun was now full up and radiant; spreading it's warmth across a beautiful Mediterranean morning. Indiana Jones and Vadoma Maniskelko had escaped the worst kinds of dangers thus far in their quest. But what dangers lay ahead in their odyssey to reach the land of the Pharaohs?
Perhaps only the Gods knew.
Deliverance from Evil
Why do the bad guys always make that one fatal mistake; that one mistake that always foils them and lets the good guys win?
Indiana Jones turned that question over in his mind for a brief moment as he prepared to take action to save Vadoma from a terrible fate.
Just as in Germany, where Jones had made the SS pay a high price for arrogantly leaving their armored vehicles unattended, so too did these sea going criminals make a mistake for which the archaeologist hoped he was going to make them pay.
In all the excitement none of them had thought to search Jones for weapons.
Despite the fact that they held his arms tightly, holding his elbows in close against his body, Jones was still able to freely move his wrists. More importantly, while the thugs were distracted by their excitement at the anticipated sordid entertainment about to take place, Jones was able to slip his right hand unnoticed into the pocket of his leather jacket.
With smooth and calculated motions he slowly and carefully wrapped his palm around the hand stock of his Webley hand gun, slipped his finger around the trigger, and pulled the hammer back with his thumb. Then, with the weapon still inside his pocket, Indiana Jones deliberately placed the muzzle up against the kneecap of the fellow holding him to his right.
The curious feeling of something hard pressing up against his knee caused the man to look down; just in time to see the muzzle flash, and to see his own leg nearly blown off.
While the series of events that now took place took only seconds to occur, each calculated, desperate move was clearly defined in the mind of Indiana Jones as if they were happening in slow motion.
The Webley boomed as the .45 caliber bullet, fired at point blank range, shattered the man's kneecap and pitilessly tore through tendon, bone, and muscle. The explosive force of the impact caused the lower leg, now attached to the upper by a few mere tendrils of bloody, tattered flesh, to fly up into the air in a crazy arc. The useless appendage then flopped back down; followed quickly by the man himself who dropped his knife, released his grip on Jones' right arm, and crashed to the deck clutching in shock at the bloody remains.
With his right arm now free, Indiana Jones pulled the weapon out of his pocket and turned to the man on his left. He quickly brought the Webley up to bear against this second adversary. But the man, seeing what had just happened to his unfortunate cohort, reached his hands down to block Jones' weapon. However, unfortunately for him his actions only served to guide the powerful handgun's muzzle directly into his own groin.
Jones squeezed the trigger, with the expected results.
Now Indiana Jones was free of any grasp and he stood up. On the deck to either side of him two men lay bleeding and writhing in shock and agony. In front of him the ragged, filthy criminal who had been preparing to assault Vadoma now instead turned around, with his pants still down around his ankles, and found himself staring down the muzzle of Jones' .458 Webley.
At the sound of the gunfire and the sight of their stricken comrades the rest of the thugs had hurriedly run for cover. But Indiana Jones knew that many of them probably had their own guns...or were running to get them. He knew that he and Vadoma had little or no time, possibly even just seconds, if they were to somehow escape.
Jones aimed the weapon directly at the face of the pant less lowlife standing before him. The man searched his eyes around for a brief moment before falling to his knees, clasping his hands together, and shamelessly begging for mercy from the fedora clad, pistol wielding archaeologist.
How quickly the evil become penitent when faced with retribution, Jones thought.
Vadoma, now no longer in the grasp of the filthy horde of criminals, stood up. She quietly sobbed as she hurriedly tried as best she could to straighten her dress and fix the straps to cover her breasts.
But then her sobs turned to shouts. She very nearly shrieked as she hurled an unbroken barrage of gypsy curses and insults at the dirty figure now kneeling before Indiana Jones. She punctuated her curses with a violent kick of her shoeless foot to the kneeling man's face that crushed his nose. Blood gushed as he fell face forward on to the deck.
"Come on! Hurry!" Jones shouted and reached his hand out to Vadoma.
She grasped on to his hand tightly with one of hers, while the other struggled to hold the remains of the front of her dress up. Together the pair fled towards the stern of the ship.
"But where will we run to Indy!?" Vadoma said in a terrified voice, "There is....nowhere...only the ship!"
"Like I told you once before!" Jones said as they ran towards the ladder that led up to the aft deck, "There's always somewhere to run!"
A gunshot rang out and clanged off of the bulkhead in front of them. Indiana Jones knew to expect it, but had hoped that that they would have more time.
"Go!" Jones shouted to Vadoma, "Up the ladder! Hurry!"
More gunshots pelted against the bulkhead as Vadoma scurried up. Indiana Jones raised his Webley and fired a blind shot back to provide cover for the gypsy woman.
With her usual graceful alacrity Vadoma was up the ladder and on to the upper deck in a flash.
"Stay down!" Jones shouted up to her as he now put away his pistol and ascended the ladder himself.
Upon reaching the upper deck Jones dove for cover behind the deck fitting where Vadoma huddled; the same place from which they had watched the fight and the murder earlier.
"Keep an eye on that door!" Jones motioned with his head towards the door to the upper cargo compartment while he re-loaded the Webley.
Jones loaded six fresh bullets into the gun's magazine, and then briefly glanced at the small box of .45 caliber bullets in his hand. He counted about fifteen more, which represented all of the ammunition that he had left, before thrusting it back into his pocket.
Jones peered over the deck fitting a moment later and watched as the horde of human vermin began to emerge from their cover and proceed aft, towards him and Vadoma. They proceeded cautiously at first but within moments they were charging en masse and shouting as they ran towards the ladder to the after deck where the archaeologist and the gypsy woman were huddled. Indiana Jones raised his Webley and fired, and then fired again and again. One criminal was dropped in his tracks.
But then the door to the upper cargo compartment behind them burst open. A ragged looking man with a butcher knife in his hand and madness in his eyes charged out. Jones dropped him with a single shot to the chest.
The archaeologist then turned his attention back forward, only to see that two men had already ascended the ladder and were running towards him. Jones fired the last two rounds in his Webley, and then scrambled to reload the weapon.
But Indiana Jones knew that it was a lost cause. There was no way that he could hold off these savage criminals indefinitely; there were too many. He cast his eyes around hopelessly. There was nothing but ocean in any direction.
Maybe that was best, he thought as he gazed into Vadoma's eyes which reflected the same hopelessness that he felt. Maybe they had no choice but to jump into the dark waters and take their chances. Jones knew that it would mean almost certain death. But it would be a death infinitely preferable to the one that these beasts would have in store for them.
Jones finished reloading the Webley just in time, as two more men emerged through the cargo door. He fired two rounds in that direction and the criminals ducked back inside.
Vadoma looked at him, and then gazed out at the ocean around them. There were tears in her eyes.
Gunfire erupted now from the cargo doorway and Jones and Vadoma crouched down even lower behind the deck fitting that provided cover for them.
Jones looked directly back into Vadoma's eyes, as if in silent, solemn agreement, before taking another shot at the cargo door and then one in the direction of the ladder; trying to keep the murderers at bay, and forestall the inevitable.
"Indy..." she said quietly with her head down, "Indy, we....."
"Wait!" Jones shouted at her suddenly in a voice that was anything but hopeless, "Wait Vadoma! Look!" He shouted and pointed his finger.
There, on the other side of the afterdeck, a small life boat hung from a davit. Indiana Jones wondered why he hadn't seen it before. And even more encouraging, Jones noted that the craft appeared to be motorized. He could clearly see the propeller and shaft protruding from under the stern.
"There's our ticket off of this ship from Hell!" He said as he finished reloading the Webley.
"Indy watch out!" Vadoma screamed.
Indiana Jones whirled around and poured lead out of the muzzle of the Webley in the direction of the cargo door. Two new bodies flopped down on top of the earlier victim.
Jones studied the lifeboat, and the davit from which it hung, for a few more moments, and then turned to Vadoma.
"When I say go, make a run for that boat!" Jones said as he loaded the last of his bullets into the Webley and threw the empty box down to the deck, "But make sure to grab that fire axe on the way!" He pointed to a fire axe mounted on a bulkhead.
Vadoma followed Jones' finger to the axe on the bulkhead and nodded her head; not questioning the reason why. She knew to trust this man; to trust him more than any other man she had ever known.
"Go!" Jones shouted, and then fired two bullets each in the directions of the cargo door, and the ladder to cover her.
He watched as Vadoma made it to the bulkhead, grabbed the fire axe, and then leapt into the lifeboat in what appeared as one smooth, choreographed motion. As soon as she was in Jones made a run for it.
Bullets flew as he made his own desperate run. Jones had only two bullets left in his own gun, but he turned and fired blindly back before leaping into the craft where Vadoma was already huddled down.
"Give me the axe!" He shouted to her as he watched a crowd of angry, vengeful criminals now swarm up the ladder and on to the afterdeck in pursuit of him and Vadoma.
With his ammunition gone, Indiana Jones knew that what he was about to attempt was their last chance. Failure meant death; either at the hands of this mob of murderers, or in the cold depths of the sea, thirty feet below them.
"Hold on tight to something! Don't let go!" The archaeologist shouted to Vadoma just before he swung the axe in a wide arc and struck at where the davit lines held the stern of the boat.
The axe made a clean cut through the lines and the boat dropped down suddenly and abruptly by its stern. It dangled twenty or so feet above the waters of the Mediterranean at a precarious angle; hanging now by its bow davit lines only. Vadoma screamed in both terror and surprise as she grasped on to one of the benches inside the boat and held on tightly to keep from falling into the sea below.
But Jones missed as he swung for the forward davit, and the horde of criminals reached the boat before he could try again. Filthy hands reached out for them. One of the men tried to climb into the boat. Jones swung the axe down on top of the man's head in a vicious blow that smashed his skull and catapulted him over the side and into the water.
"Hold on!" Jones shouted as he swung for the forward davit lines again. This time he was on the mark.
The boat, now cut free of the ship, plunged downward into the sea; splashing roughly into the waters of the Mediterranean. Indiana Jones only hoped that the little craft would not capsize. Despite the rough launching though, the boat remained afloat. But Jones knew that was only half the battle.
The ship continued to move, and as their small boat sat stationary in the water each blessed second put more distance between Jones and Vadoma, and the thugs and criminals on board the ship who now receded off into the distance. But as Indiana Jones knew would happen, the lumbering freighter eventually began to turn in a slow, lazy arc as it endeavored to come about. Jones was counting on the fact that freighters like this rarely had much steering capability. That would work in their favor, it would give them a little time, he thought. But then again it wouldn't matter if they couldn't get the engine started.
The archaeologist now turned his full attention to the boat's engine. As he looked around Jones quickly realized that the craft they were in was more of a motor launch than a lifeboat. As he checked the fuel tanks and opened the fuel line Jones conjectured that such a well maintained craft on a such a run down, rust bucket freighter crewed by murderous cutthroats probably served a rather sinister purpose.......piracy. The engine was large, and looked capable of making good speed.
The freighter had almost completed its turn about, and from about a thousand yards away was beginning to point its bow back in their direction. Jones made the last few checks to make sure of all the engine's connections and then cranked over what appeared to be the starter switch, crossed his fingers, and prayed. The engine coughed, sputtered, and then roared to life. Jones engaged the linkage mechanism, pushed the throttle forward, and grabbed the craft's small steering wheel as it lurched forth in the water.
Instead of steering away from the pursuing freighter though Indiana Jones cut his throttle and spun the wheel around to bring the motor launch about, its bow now pointed directly at the ship.
"Indy what are you doing?" Vadoma asked incredulously.
"Trust me," Jones answered, and then pushed the throttle all the way forward.
The motor launch sped forward on a direct course back towards the slow moving freighter. Jones closed rapidly on the ship. But as he brought the swift boat directly upon it, he altered his course so as to pass down along the port side. He was careful to maintain sufficient distance to keep out of range of any gunfire. Some distant crackling confirmed the wisdom of that precaution.
Within a few moments Jones and Vadoma in the motor launch had passed down the entire length of the ship and were speeding away. Vadoma now understood his maneuver.
She gazed over at him as the Mediterranean wind whipped her dark hair, "I see now," she said, "by the time they turn again we will be even further away."
"Exactly," Jones said, "by the time they manage to get that clumsy rust bucket turned around again we'll be miles ahead. Then when you figure we can make at least three times their speed...." He let his words trail off.
Indeed they were rapidly putting huge distance between themselves and the freighter. The only worry Jones had was fuel. But it seemed that both tanks were topped off, which should be sufficient for many miles, he thought.
"Do you think they will be able to catch us Indy?" Vadoma asked in a worried voice.
"I don't think so," Jones answered.
"But we have stolen their boat."
Indiana Jones turned and gave her a reassuring smile, "I don't think they'll waste too much time chasing us," he said, "we were just some unexpected....entertainment. They've got too valuable of a cargo to waste too much time trying to catch us. With as much opium as their carrying they could buy a hundred boats like this."
"But what about the men you....."
"Killed?" Jones finished her sentence for her, stating the word starkly, "I'm not so sure you can use the term 'men' to describe them," he said grimly, "but it doesn't matter, they'll just dump them over the side and get more somewhere else. There's no shortage of bad men in this world."
Vadoma gazed across at Indiana Jones with her dark eyes and swept some strands of raven hair from her pretty face, "Yes," she said in her soft, low voice, "there are many bad men in this world.....I know. And there are not enough good men. But you...Indiana Jones...you are a good man. ...You are a good man in a bad world."
Indiana Jones just looked over at her and gave a self conscious, wry half smile as they cruised on southward through the blue-green waters.
The sun was now full up and radiant; spreading it's warmth across a beautiful Mediterranean morning. Indiana Jones and Vadoma Maniskelko had escaped the worst kinds of dangers thus far in their quest. But what dangers lay ahead in their odyssey to reach the land of the Pharaohs?
Perhaps only the Gods knew.