Chapter 3

The Restaurant

A car pulled up along a curve, only a short distance away from the restaurant where Indy and Betty had eaten dinner. The driver's side car door opened and Helga von Himmdrich determinedly stepped out. Immediately afterward, the door on the passenger's side opened where Marcus Brody followed in suit.

"Now remember," von Himmdrich whispered to him, "just stay out of ze way and everyzing will go fine."

Marcus nodded. "Don't worry, I won't do anything rash."

They slowly began to make their way to the restaurant when von Himmdrich suddenly stopped.

"Now Mr. Brody," she said in a whisper, "we don't want to get close to ze guards so we should—"

However, Marcus was not listening to her. Instead, he continued walking towards the restaurant—and towards the guards.

"Wait!" von Himmdrich hissed, but Marcus was already there, climbing the steps to the restaurant's entrance. She ran after him.

"Halt!" one of the guards commanded before Marcus arrived at the last step.

Despite the guard's imposing height, black uniform of the SS, and a rifle in his hands, Marcus showed no fear. He stood unwavering in front of the German and even managed to give a friendly smile.

"Can I go in?" Marcus asked politely.

"Nein," the guard replied.

Marcus glanced at his watch. "What happens at nine?"

The guard rolled his eyes. "Amerikans," he murmured.

"What was that?" asked Marcus, cupping his hand to his ear.

"You can't go in!" the guard snapped.

"Oh."

"Marcus!"

Marcus recognized the voice as belonging to Helga and heard her footsteps rushing towards him. He felt her grab his arm, pulling him away.

"They won't let us in," Marcus explained, but von Himmdrich did not seem to hear him. She continued to pull him away, looking away from the restaurant.

Suddenly, a guard cried out. Marcus did not understand German but he felt Helga hesitate for a moment and tighten her grip on him. When Marcus turned back, the guards had straightened their positions while the one that Marcus had talked to was running over to them.

"Helga, I mean von Himmdrich," Marcus stumbled.

"What?" von Himmdrich coarsely asked.

"I think that—"

But the guard was already there, situating himself in front of Helga. He bowed to her slightly and began to speak German. Marcus was about to tell him that he did not speak German but Helga responded instead in the same language. Only a few words were exchanged before the guard saluted, saying "Heil Hitler," and returned to his post. Von Himmdrich released the grip on Marcus' arm and turned back to him.

"Zey'll let us in now," she said, proceeding to the restaurant's entrance.

Marcus could not move for a moment, stunned by what just happened. He ran over in order to catch up with her. "But-but what happened?"

Helga grabbed Marcus' arm again as they passed two guards posted at the door. She acknowledged them with a nod before stepping inside.

The restaurant was quite fancy with a carpeted floor, chandeliers, and lush draperies. However, much of it was spoiled with the presence of so many Nazis. Some were searching the area, scanning the floor, overturning the tables, and tearing down the curtains. Others were questioning the restaurant workers and even the guests. On the whole, there appeared to be much chaos within this small atmosphere.

"You still have not answered my question," Marcus stated.

Helga tightened her grip and led Marcus to a corner of the restaurant, away from everyone else.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Why did they let us in?" Marcus asked, nervously. "They would not let me in alone, but when the guard talked to you, we were both let in. What did you say?"

"Well . . ." von Himdrich hesitated, "zere is a perfectly good reason why we were let in."

Marcus nodded his head, encouraging her to explain further.

"I told zem zat I was ze wife of an important German official and zat you were my brozer-in-law, so we were let in," she said confidently.

"Oh," Marcus said, sounding satisfied.

"Alright then, we should—"

"But won't we get into trouble if they find out you really aren't the wife of some German official?"

Von Himdrich let out a long, irritated sigh. "Mr. Brody, if you want to help me, zen much of what we will be doing would get us arrested or even shot. You need to learn to take risks and anyzing zat zey might believe, like myself being a wife of an important German official, must be used to get ze job done."

"That is true. I just . . ."

"Just what?"

"Never mind."

"Well, if you have nozing to say, zan we should get underway."

When they headed back to the main dinning area, Marcus approached a table. He scanned it intently before turning back to Helga.

"Do you think they sat here?" he asked.

"It does not matter," Helga replied.

"Well, Indiana must have left behind some sort of clue."

"You mean he might have left a clue of his whereabouts?" Helga asked interested.

"Sure!"

Helga brushed past Marcus. She leaned herself close to the table's surface, examining it.

"We can only hope zat ze Nazis did not get to it first!" she said in a voice hushed but filled with excitement.

"Actually . . ."

Helga groaned, straitening herself before turning back to Marcus.

"What?" she asked annoyed.

"Well . . . he's never done it before."

Helga rolled her eyes. "Zan what makes you sink zat he did zat?"

Marcus turned his head dejectedly to the ground and shuffled his feet. "It's a possibility."

"I zink it is much more likely zat someone here knows somezing."

"Like who?"

"Like him."

Marcus looked up and turned his head in the direction where von Himdrich was staring—a chef was leaning against a wall, staring back. Helga started to approach him, while Marcus trailed along behind.

The man jerked his head to the side and began to walk in that direction. Helga and Marcus followed him until they were led into one of the kitchens. Apart from themselves, it was empty.

"Who are you?" Helga demanded.

"Whoo I am doos noot matter," the chef said in a slight, lilting Swedish accent. He turned to Marcus. "Yoo are Marcoos Broody, Indiana's best friend, are yoo noot?"

"Why, yes I am," Marcus replied, surprised, "but how did you—"

"Sere is noot mooch time," the chef interrupted. He gave a covert glance at Helga. "Can she be troosted?"

"She's my friend."

"Alright, I'll try to make sis quick. Indiana has been captoored by se Nazis."

"We know zat!" Helga said angrily.

"And I knoow where yoo can find him."

"Where?" Helga questioned eagerly.

"Sere is a restaurant in Swooeeden owned by my coosin, Shmitty. Here, I'll write doon soome directioons." The chef pulled out a pad of paper and pencil from a pocket in his apron. He quickly scribbled on it, handing the paper to Marcus. "Find se restaurant and yoo find Shmitty; find Shmitty and yoo find Indiana."

Before Marcus could read the paper, Helga snatched it from his hands. She frowned at the Swedish chef.

"Where did you get zis information from?"

"Indiana Jones is a friend oof Shmitty," he said in an earnest manner, "and any friend oof my cousin is a friend oof mine. I alsoo knoow for a fact sat he has been dooing soome digs oover in Swooeeden. My biggest guess is sat soose digs have gootten soome unwanted attentioon. In any case, Shmitty shood knoow moore."

Helga's eyes narrowed. "How do we know we can trust you?"

"Don't worry," Marcus said optimistically, "he's a chef!"

Helga and the chef glanced awkwardly at Marcus before turning back to each other. The chef shrugged his shoulders. "Whoo else can yoo trust?"