Biological Families
Author: duane at duaneaakre dot com
Disclaimer: As always I own nothing. Well I own a house, two cars, a pair of jetskis, and a lot of other junk, but none of these characters.
Story Rating: R The story may drift into the HBO range rather than stay in the WB range, so to be on the safe side, I am rating this R.
Chapter 10
After the image on his phone faded out, Clark pressed the recessed button on the side of the silver cylinder which retracted the screen. Even before it was fully stowed his eyes were restlessly scanning the area; talking to Lana had driven home how long he had already lingered down here. What if something bad happened to Lana or Whitney before he was able intervene? Until they had reached the chateau he had kept most of his attention focused on them and could have reached them in a fraction of a second, if the need had arisen. But for the past few minutes all of his attention had been on events down here in the dungeon.
Perhaps more brusquely than he had intended, Clark grabbed Indy's arm and hoisted him to his feet.
"Can you walk? We need to get out of here now before more guards show up."
Indy nodded, but his legs were spasming and his knees looked about ready to buckle. Quickly Clark threw Indy's right arm across his own shoulders and then reached around Indy's back with his left hand and grabbed a solid handful of the waistband of Indy's pants. Straightening slightly, Clark nearly hoisted the other big man's body completely free from the floor. As soon as he had Indy settled in his grip, Clark started off at a slow steady pace across the floor of the black cathedral towards the solitary exit. He could have just picked Indy up and carried him, but Clark was hoping movement would help get Indy's mind and body working a little faster. Indy had a lot more experience dealing with Nazis and Clark might need his help before this night was over. Besides, he wasn't certain he wanted to reveal any more of his abilities to Indy than was absolutely necessary. After all, they were only a little over sixty years in the past; it was remotely possible they could meet up again in the future.
"Ah, kid," began Indy. "What did you say your name was again?"
"Clark Kent, Doctor Jones. And the girl on the phone was a friend of mine, Lana Lang. Another friend, Whitney Fordman is with Lana and your wife."
"Okay, Clark, but seeing as how you are rescuing me and all, just call me, Hank."
Well, thought Clark as he nodded, at least having him say it is a rescue is a step forward. "Hank it is."
Clark wondered about the Indy nickname. Back at the hotel Marion had only referred to him as Hank and then again on the phone. Was the name Indy just some invention by George Lucas to make Jones seem more dashing? Time enough to worry about that later thought Clark. He just hoped he didn't accidentally call him Indy. At least Hank didn't look at all like Harrison Ford; hopefully he would be able to remember to call him Hank and refer to the Harrison Ford 'Jones' as Indy.
"So, Clark, what was that device? I have never seen, hell, even heard of anything like it. I may just be an old archeology professor, but I do play poker occasionally with the physics department staff when I need to pickup some extra cash and something like that would have them all talking. For months they seemed to talk about nothing but the new cathode ray tube televiewing machine they were putting together. Finally, one night when the game was breaking up we all hiked back down to their lab. They had a cabinet about the size of an icebox with a little tiny display, which was smaller than the screen in your device. A huge mass of cables and wiring connected it to the camera which was also almost as big as another icebox. And the picture, well, it was all in shades of gray and you could just barely recognize a person's face. But your device, wow, it was like the women were in the room with us, the picture was so clear. And the screen is as thin as a sheet of paper. How is it possible?"
Clark almost cranked his brain up into 'super-speed' trying to come up with an appropriate response. He had known from the moment he pulled the video screen from the cell this question was coming. What answer would best head things in the direction of their ultimate objective? Not the rescue of Indy and Marion, but the retrieval of the device at the opening ceremony?
"What I am about to tell you is classified by the United States government as top secret. It is important you understand what is going on as we need your help, but you are going to have to sign the necessary confidentiality papers when you get back stateside. Agreed?"
Indy took a moment to ponder his decision. He was as American as the next guy, but the resolution of the 'Ark' situation had left a bad taste in his mouth. He had risked life and limb keeping it out of the Nazis' hands and then the government simply took it away claiming they had 'experts' working on it. What experts? He knew all of the experts and if any of them were working on it, or were even aware of its existence, he would have heard about it. No, the 'Ark' had disappeared as effectively as when the sandstorm had buried the ancient city of Tanis all of those centuries ago.
They were just reaching the exit from the black cathedral as Indy turned to look Clark in the eye to try and read the situation in his face, perhaps if they really did need his help they would a little more forthcoming with the truth. The electric lights from the corridor gave him his first opportunity for a good look at the kid. And a kid he definitely was, no more than sixteen tops, maybe even fifteen.
"Aren't you awfully young to be working for the government?"
As they stepped into the corridor, Clark could hear the pounding reverberating in the corridor, which previously he could only feel as vibrations through the soles of his feet. Turning his x-ray vision towards the far end where he had entombed the two guards, he could see a pattern of large cracks spreading from their location even as he watched. So far the repeated pounding they were doing against the walls of their chamber had only spread the cracks eight or so feet, but at the rate of their growth, the men would probably be free in no more than thirty minutes. What were these guys?
"Time was short when the need for a team in Berlin became apparent. The only immediate cover story we could come up with which would give us freedom of movement around Berlin and not instantly label us as spies was to infiltrate the U.S. Olympic Team. So they picked out the youngest looking members of our organization. Now, will you agree to the confidentiality agreement?"
Indy was really curious to find out what was going on; what was so urgent the U.S. government was willing to break him out of Nazi custody? And not from some backwater neutral country, but the heart of Nazi Germany.
"Okay, I agree to the confidentiality requirement. Now what is going on? And what is that pounding?"
By now they were part way down the corridor and dust was being shaken loose from the ceiling by each mighty blow the guards were delivering to the wall of their temporary prison.
"Ahh, there is a vault down beyond the end of this passage and I managed to lock the guards in there."
"A couple of guys dressed in black? Very strong guys?" asked Indy.
Clark realized Indy must know about the guard's special gift, probably that was part of the reason he had been grabbed in the first place. "They did seem inhumanly strong, but I got lucky and managed to trick them into the vault."
Indy took in the gaping holes in the walls and the piles of debris all along the corridor. None of this damage had been here when he had been brought in a few hours earlier. It looked like a terrific battle had taken place before Clark had 'tricked' them into the vault. If so, how had Clark held his own against these men for the length of time required to accumulate all of this damage? No, that question could wait for the moment; he was still more interested in Clark's story.
"Anyway Clark about the device?" asked Indy.
"I am sure from your own experiences you are aware the Nazis are searching the globe looking for mystical, occult relics to use in the upcoming war."
Indy actually paused in their trek to the stairway at Clark's calm, assured usage of the word 'war'. The only person talking about an upcoming war in a voice louder than a whisper was the British politician, Churchill. Everyone else avoided speaking about it as though they were ostriches and by sticking their heads in the sand they would make it go away. But Clark's tone made it seem like a war was a foregone conclusion.
"I know about the relic hunts," interjected Indy. "But is a war actually inevitable?"
Clark shrugged. "Our computers project a ninety-five percent probability that Germany will, within the next four years, instigate a war which ultimately engulfs all of Europe. The odds are sixty-three percent America will also be drawn into the conflict; however there is a pretty wide standard deviation on that final estimate with the time it takes Germany to beat France a major factor."
"Com . . . Computers? You mean those big calculating machines?"
"More or less. I guess this brings up the basic philosophical difference between us and the Nazis. They like the 'all or nothing', 'go for broke' solution to reaching their goals. That's why they find the 'Ark', the 'Grail Cup', and all of the biblical stuff so intriguing."
Indy almost nodded; whatever branch of the government Clark worked for, they definitely had a complete dossier on him. Of course, if they didn't, then they wouldn't be here looking to get his help.
"So, you are not here about some biblical relics?"
Clark shook his head. "No. We are looking for more scientific-type solutions for besting the Nazis in any future war. We want to develop things that can be mass produced and put into the field in large quantities, things like that communication device you saw."
Clark paused to look Indy directly in the eyes. "This next bit is the top secret part. We might have followed the same path as the Nazis except for one thing. Five years ago, a spaceship crash landed near Roswell, New Mexico."
"Space. . . spaceship?" stuttered Indy as this turn took him completely by surprise. "You mean spaceship as in 'little green men' spaceship?"
"Well, the survivors of the crash aren't little. And they aren't green; well okay they do have green blood. Our scientists say their hemoglobin is based on copper rather than iron which accounts for the coloration. So, I guess if you really want to stretch the point you could say they are green. However, if you ever meet T'Pol, you won't call her a man."
"You mean the creatures from the spaceship are alive?" asked Indy as he tried to get a grip on the situation.
Clark nodded. "There were two survivors, a male, Spock, and a female, T'Pol. But don't call them creatures, except for pointed ears and a slightly different shape to the eyebrow, they look perfectly human. Well, Spock looks perfectly normal; T'Pol looks more like a famous movie star." Clark paused for a moment trying to remember the names of some movie stars from the nineteen thirties. Picking someone from a later period wouldn't mean anything to Indy and would ruin the believability factor of the story. "Umm, sort of like Garbo or Dietrich. Except I have never seen T'Pol crack a smile. Spock has tried to explain the calm, tranquil image they always project to me several times; it has something to do with their religion. Anyway, they seem almost human, particularly after you have talked to them for more than a few minutes."
"They speak English?"
"Yeah, they speak several Earth languages. Their civilization has been monitoring Earth's technological progress for a long time, but started active surveillance thirty years ago when the Wright brother's successful first flight was announced. Apparently, with all other young civilizations they have encountered, the first heavier-than-air flight indicates a number of key scientific and engineering fields have reached a critical juncture and rapid progress to space flight capability usually follows. They like to keep a close eye on things so they can reveal their presence at the proper time."
"Other civilizations? How many are there?" asked Indy.
"I don't know exactly. Spock and T'Pol are from a planet called Vulcan. Each planet is relatively independent, but they have an organization called the United Federation of Planets which is similar to the League of Nations and is used to settle disputes and organize a coordinated defense against the more belligerent worlds. I get the impression there are at least fifteen or twenty different races in the Federation."
This ongoing discussion of the highlights from 'Star Trek' had kept them occupied as they walked down the corridor to the stairway exit. Now, Clark paused at the two slumped bodies of the men who had originally attacked him with the machine guns. Carefully, Clark leaned Indy back against a nearby wall before grabbing the nearest unconscious man and hoisting him aloft with one hand. The man, barely five-eight, dangled with his feet just touching the ground.
"Well," began Clark as he lowered the man back to the floor. "For a master race, these Nazis sure are a scrawny bunch."
"Clark, I learned long ago, beggars can't be choosers. Even if their jackets aren't going to fit, it will give us a couple of extra seconds when we first run into opposition."
Clark nodded as he bent to strip the uniform jackets off the two soldiers. He handed the first one to Indy and then slipped on the second. Even sucking in his stomach, the gap in the front of the jacket stubbornly remained at least four inches, so he was forced to leave it hanging open. Even with the jacket undone, there was still something creepy about finding himself at least partially dressed in a real Nazi uniform.
Indy's jacket wasn't doing any better at covering him as he pressed himself away from the wall. But the few minutes of movement since Clark had released him from the chair had returned his circulation and the spasms from the electric shock torture had finally died away. Now he took the first step towards the daunting flight of stairs.
"So, Clark," continued Indy to distract himself from the effort of the climb; although he did drop his voice to near a whisper to keep it from carrying up the stairs ahead of them. "These . . . ah . . . aliens gave you the communication devices?"
"Not the devices themselves, but the technology necessary to produce them. And give is probably not quite the right term. I think it was more in the form of a trade, some of their technology in return for our help in building them a transmitter to send a signal requesting a rescue by their people. Although based on a lot of conversations I have had with Spock and T'Pol, I think they are nervous about the possibilities of the Nazis coming to dominate human civilization and they are trying, in a small way, to tip things in favor of the United States. They have told me a lot of stories about numerous warrior races in this region of the galaxy like the Klingons, the Romulans, and the Andorians. I think they want us to be an ally of Vulcan when earth becomes a space-faring civilization and if the Nazis are in charge when that day comes, that's not likely."
While Indy had thought of the Nazis as an inconvenient annoyance during many of his recent adventures, he had never seriously considered them a major threat to human civilization. But if what Clark was saying and implying was true, something needed to be done.
"Clark, exactly what kind of help do you need from me that was worth the risk of breaking me out of this dungeon?"
"Spock told us your help was needed. It is not completely clear to me whether the Vulcans have true psychic abilities or if they have equipment they haven't yet revealed to us which allows them to get glimpses into the future. After dealing with them for awhile, it has become a common saying around Area 51, the facility were the Vulcans are kept, that 'Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic' because they have so many devices which sure seem like magic at first glance. Anyway Spock has on several previous occasions provided us with information which he couldn't possibly have known without some way of seeing into the future. So when he makes a suggestion, we have learned to listen."
Wow, thought Clark, Star Trek, Area 51, and a quote from Arthur C. Clarke, I hope I am not laying it on too thick. This is getting a lot more convoluted than the Lord of the Rings story I spun to entertain Emperor Caligula back in Rome. I sure hope aliens are a more believable story than the truth that we are time-travelers from the future. Should I have gone for a variation of the H.G. Wells Time Machine story instead? Oh well, too late now, I guess Star Trek it is. Hmm, was that Arthur C. Clarke quote from before or after 1936?
"Spock didn't provide us with much information; just that a German Luftwaffe Major would be passing you a very important alien artifact during the opening ceremonies at the Olympic Stadium. It took us a couple of days once we arrived in Berlin to locate your hotel without being too obvious. Then when we reached the hotel, we found out from Marion you had disappeared. I'm afraid we had to allow the Nazis to grab your wife so they would lead us here, but don't worry, my friends are very capable. We do have a few tricks, like the communicators, up our sleeves."
Indy nodded his head as he continued to climb the stairs and listen to Clark. So that was the reason Horst had called him in Paris and insisted he come to Berlin. His old friend Major Horst Eckmann, although it had been Lieutenant Eckmann when they had first met in a small tavern at the airfield in La Paz, Bolivia way back in 1925. Indy had been on his way to Lake Titicaca on the border of Bolivia and Peru to lead his first dig since becoming a full professor and achieving tenure at the University. He had long held a personal belief that a previously unknown offshoot of the Olmec civilization had existed along the shores of Titicaca. He had been at the airport hoping to find a float-plane and pilot to investigate possible dig sites before the remainder of his team arrived in La Paz two weeks later by train from Buenos Aires.
When Indy first met him, Lieutenant Eckmann had been on indefinite leave from the German Luftwaffe as a direct result of the Versailles Treaty which had ended the Great War in Europe. While the treaty had required major reductions in the size of the German Army, it had been the German Navy and Air Force which had been truly devastated. At the end of the war, the Germany Navy had had fifty-four battleships and battle cruisers. By 1925 only four remained in service, all of the rest had been confiscated, scuttled, or broken up for scrap. Equally hard hit had been the German Air Force; under terms of the treaty they were not allowed any fighter or bomber aircraft, only a modest number of transports and trainers. In an attempt to maintain a core of trained officers until the term of the treaty ran out, the Luftwaffe had place pilots with German sympathetic militaries throughout the world, but particularly in South America.
So on the hot, muggy day when Indy had walked into the bar looking for a pilot, he had found Acting-Captain Horst Eckmann of the Bolivian Air Force in residence. Horst was the commanding officer of the 42nd Bolivian fighter squadron, which sounded more impressive than it really was as the Bolivians actually only had three active fighter squadrons - the 28th, the 37th, and the 42nd. And even these three meager squadrons were largely financed by the German military and only included a couple of token Bolivian pilots.
Even though Horst was on active duty with the Bolivian Air Force, things were a lot more flexible than back in Germany. After striking up a conversation with Indy and learning that he was an archaeologist, Horst had quickly agreed to locate an appropriate aircraft and act as Indy's guide for the next two weeks. It had been only two and a half years since Howard Carter had uncovered King Tutankhamen's Tomb in the Valley of the Kings over in Egypt and the world-wide enthusiasm for archeology and hidden treasures had not yet abated. And Indy remembered Horst had been no exception. His stipend from the Germany Air Force provided him with a comfortable living, certainly a better living then he would have had back home where rampant inflation was requiring wheelbarrows full of money to buy a loaf of bread. But a comfortable lifestyle in La Paz hadn't prevented visions of rooms filled with gold from dancing through his head, as Indy saw the 'gold fever' in Horst's eyes like he had seen in so many others before.
They hadn't found any rooms full of gold during that first summer in Bolivia, but Horst had become a friend and developed a bit of an archeology bug. Every couple of years since then, Indy would hear from Horst about some new item he had acquired in his travels and that he would happily pass on to Indy for a modest commission. Several of the artifacts had been of real value, so when Horst contacted Indy in Paris, he had been happy to make the small side trip to Berlin. He and Marion had planned to be in Europe for another month anyway before they needed to return to the States for the start of the fall semester. Indy had actually been on his way to meet Horst when the Nazis had kidnapped him as he left his hotel.
"Clark, I think I know who you are talking about. Marion and I came to Berlin at the invitation of an old friend, Major Horst Eckmann. He called me in Paris and was all excited about a new and in his words 'most unique' artifact he had recently acquired. I was on my way to meet him this morning when I was grabbed."
"A friend?" asked Clark.
Understanding the unasked part of the question, Indy explained. "Not everyone in the German military is a Nazi. I have known Horst for over ten years, long before anyone heard of Nazis. We met in South America and he helped out on a couple of my early digs. He occasionally contacts me about artifacts he has acquired. But politics and even archeology are of little importance to him; his one true passion is flying."
Clark and Indy reached the last sub-basement level on their climb from the dungeon level. Like at the other levels they had passed, they paused for a minute to listen for any occupants. Clark discreetly used his x-ray vision and found the level was used for storage, but was currently unoccupied. As he motioned Indy forward towards the continuation of the stairs, he continued in a hushed tone.
"It's good to know Spock was right about you and this Major Eckmann. But Hank, why are you here? What information are these Nazis trying to get from you?"
For a second, Indy's mind flashed back to his initial thought upon awakening down in the dungeon: was Clark part of some scheme by the Nazis to trick him? But as quickly as the thought occurred, Indy realized how ridiculous it was. No way would the Nazis have ever come up with the insane story Clark had been telling. Alien spaceships. Galaxy-spanning civilizations. Machines that could see into the future. It was one of those times where the story was so crazy, it had to be true. And Clark did have that almost magical communication device as proof of his story. It looked like Marion's and perhaps his own safety were in the hands of these kids; maybe it was time for a little trust on his part.
Indy took a deep breath. "Clark, have you heard of 'The Machlaphah of Samson'?"
For a second as Indy said the words, Clark thought he heard the same eerie music which played whenever the Ark was on screen during 'Raiders of the Lost Ark'. Then he realized it was the creaking sound of a door being opened, the door to the main level of the chateau at the top of the stairs. There was still one bend in the stairs between them and the squad of soldiers Clark could see with his x-ray vision, but the soldiers would be on them in less than a minute.
Clark knew he could take the whole squad, but either he would have to move so fast he would give away his secrets to Indy or if he moved slower there was always a chance one of them would get off a shot and alert everyone they were coming. They had passed the locked door to the highest basement level two turns back. If they hurried, he and Indy could get back there and hide until these men passed.
Quickly, Clark grabbed Indy's arm and then put his index finger to his lips. After pointing up the stairs and silently mouthing the word 'company', Clark turned and led the way back down at almost a run.
By the time they reached the landing, Indy could hear the approaching footsteps too. When Clark paused at the door, Indy motioned for him to continue down the stairs knowing breaking through the locked door would create too much noise. But Clark shook his head 'no' as he pulled the communication device back out of his pocket. As Indy watched, Clark pointed one end of the device towards the lock in the door. Almost instantly the lock began to glow red and then quickly climbed to white-hot. Indy could feel the heat radiating from the lock as the metal softened and began to flow. Carefully, Clark pressed against the door and it swung open. Seeing the expression on Indy's face, Clark quirked an eyebrow and then flashed a boyish grin while he pocketed the device. Once again it was driven home to Indy how young Clark was. From his whole attitude it was like penetrating to the center of a highly secure Nazi facility was nothing more than a juvenile prank.
The soldiers were almost at the last turn before reaching the landing when Clark motioned Indy through the now wide-open door. Indy only got a brief glimpse of the room they were entering before Clark closed the door plunging the room into darkness. That glimpse had been enough to show this level was used as storage for the kitchen above, and immediately his stomach began to grumble. How long had it been since his last meal? Eight hours? Twelve?
Clark's eyes shifted into x-ray vision mode as he guided Indy away from the door and back into the stack of crates. But most of his attention was focused on the intriguing words Indy had spoken – The Machlaphah of Samson. He had no idea what the first word was, but he suspected Chloe would, or now maybe even Lana. Regardless of that, who wouldn't recognize the name, Samson, as in 'Samson and Delilah'? The legendary strongman who killed a lion with his bare hands, destroyed temples, and killed thousands of men. A true biblical version of Hercules. For a moment Clark had a flashback to a conversation he had had back in Rome when he had been pretending to be the god Aries and sometimes friend of Hercules. And then it hit him. Strongman? Were the incredibly strong men he had been fighting somehow connected to the legendary Samson?
As they headed back into the stacks, they passed an open crate of oranges. Clark snagged a couple as he spotted the perfect hiding spot. After they reached it, he guided Indy to a seat on a crate facing away from the door and took a seat himself where he was facing both Indy and the door hidden beyond two rows of intervening crates. Even though it was almost six months since he had first developed his x-ray vision, he still found it a little disconcerting to be sitting here in the dark looking straight through Indy's body at the skeletal outlines of the soldiers in the corridor beyond.
Pushing one of the oranges into Indy's hands, Clark started to peel his own before continuing in hushed tones. "The Machlaphah of Samson? Of course I have heard of Samson, but that first word doesn't ring any bells."
Indy finished peeling his own orange and stuck the first slice in his mouth before responding. He discovered his body was craving the liquid in the fruit as much as the sugar. And the slight acidic taste was helping to further clear his head.
"Machlaphah is an ancient Hebrew term generally translated as 'lock of hair'. However in this instance, I believe 'braid of hair' would be more accurate. I am sure you know the basic story of Samson. How he was given this great gift from God of superhuman strength as long as he never cut his hair. However there are additional details to the story that usually only scholars bother to know. Samson was part of the Nazarite branch of the Jewish religion. Like most of the other Jewish sects of the time, they felt it was a blasphemy against God to trim any of a man's body hair. But each of the sects had their own traditions on how a man's hair should be worn, even if they all agreed it mustn't be cut. Now it was Nazarite tradition that a godly man wore his hair in seven braids or machlaphah to honor the seven days of creation."
Immediately at least part of the situation jumped into focus in Clark's head almost like the proverbial light bulb going on. "So unlike in the movies," and for a moment Clark almost froze. Surely there had been at least one movie about Samson by 1936? "Samson's hair would have been hanging in seven long braids rather than loose? And Delilah would have simply snipped off the braids?"
"Yes."
Before Indy had a chance to continue, Clark quickly completed his thought. "And somehow, whoever possesses the braids gains some of Samson's legendary strength?"
For a moment Indy felt a twinge of disappointment, it was always fun, though the opportunities were rare, to get to tell this kind of story to someone for the first time just to see the look in their eyes. But this time they were sitting in total darkness and Clark had guessed the situation with only the smallest hint.
"Yeah, Clark. Although from the nature of some of the questions the Nazis were asking me, I think you have to be in direct physical contact to experience the effect."
"Hank, if simple possession of Samson's hair bestows this incredible gift, why haven't I ever heard about it before?"
Indy shrugged and then realized Clark couldn't see him or read his body language in the pitch dark. "Probably because 'The Machlaphah' seemed to disappear from the pages of the Bible and history immediately after it was cut off. And it has come to light very few times down through the millennia to foster any legends. The only story I have heard were it seems likely Samson's hair was involved occurred in Palestine during the later stages of the Crusades. In the late twelfth century a new military leader rose to power within the Moslem forces. His name was Saladin and he was credited with having nearly super-human strength. It is recorded in numerous historical records from both sides that on several occasions he single-handedly broke up massed charges by Christian knights. The strange part of the story is how the gift seemed to be passed on after his death in 1193 to his mortal enemy, Richard the Lionheart. Richard had already left Palestine several years earlier to return to England, but it wasn't until about a year after Saladin's death that Richard also started to exhibit impossible strength and physical abilities during tournaments and battles. It is known Saladin and Richard met on several occasions outside the battlefield, so I guess for some unknown reason Saladin bequeathed 'The Machlaphah' to Richard."
"What happened to the hair next?"
"It disappears from history once more. There were the faintest hints it was given to the Knights Templar for safekeeping, but truthfully, no one knows."
Clark chewed another slice of his orange. No one had entered this storage level, but men continued to move passed the door on their way to the lower levels.
"So how did the Nazis end up with it and why did they grab you?"
"I don't know where they discovered it, but from their line of questioning it seems like they have been in possession of it for at least a couple of years. Or at least some of it. I think they possess at least two of the braids, but I don't know if they have all seven."
Clark knew they had at least four; two with the men back at the hotel and two more with the men trapped down in the dungeon level. No way could the four of them have been just sharing two of the braids, the timing didn't work.
"Is having all seven of the braids together important?"
"I have no idea, Clark. The Nazis seem to think there is some way to make the holder of the braids impervious to weapons fire in addition to very strong. They have been looking for a solution for a long time now without any success. They have some stupid idea I am an expert and that's the information they were trying to get from me."
"Aren't you the expert, Hank? I have seen the files on your involvement with the Grail Cup and the Ark of the Covenant."
"I am hardly an expert. The Grail Cup was always my father's obsession, not mine. I just got pulled in while trying to locate my Dad. And it was the government's search for Marion's father that dragged me into the whole 'Ark' situation. No, I have only the same general knowledge of biblical relics any other archeology professor would have. My personal interest has always been the ancient Olmec civilization of South America."
Clark thought back to Marion's ring and the conversation they had shared back at the Jones' hotel suite. "Hank, once we catch up with the others, you will have to find time to chat with my friend, Lana. She, too, has an interest in ancient South American civilizations. Although if I remember it right, she was most interest in some obscure civilization centered on the shores of some lake. Maybe Lake . . . Titicaca?"
Indy found himself staring in the direction of Clark's voice. Even after the couple of papers he had published and the relics, like Marion's ring, he had recovered, very few people in academia believed his theory. Now someone he had barely met starts talking about his favorite topic.
"Your friend has heard of the civilization by Lake Titicaca?"
Clark had a hard time keeping his grin from creeping into his voice. "Oh, more than heard of it. Back at the hotel she didn't seem to have any trouble reading the inscription on Marion's ring."
"What?" exclaimed Indy in a voice significantly louder than the whisper they had been using.
"Sorry," he continued with his voice once more reduced. "She can actually read the inscription? I have been working on it for almost ten years with only limited success. If she really can, why haven't I ever heard of her before?"
"Hmmm," responded Clark. "I think you better ask her that. And speaking of Marion and Lana, I think it is time we check the door. I don't want to linger here any longer than necessary."
Standing, Clark reached down and pulled Indy to his feet. Clark led the way back to the door while scanning the stairs for activity. At the moment no one was on the stairs between them and the main level of chateau, but Clark had no idea how long that would last. As he reached the door, he flipped the switch which turned on the lights in the storeroom. Quickly he started scanning the labels on the nearby crates before realizing they were all in German, which he couldn't read.
"Hank, can you read German? What is written on the crates?"
It was taking a minute for Indy's eyes to adjust to the suddenly bright light. Plus his thoughts were still focus on what Clark had said about his friend Lana's ability to read the inscription on Mar's ring. From the image on Clark's communication device, she looked just as young as he did. How did she know a language which had been lost for several thousand years? A language which pre-dated the Mayans, Incans, and Aztecs by centuries?
"Sorry, Clark. What?"
"The crates. What do they say?"
Indy forced his attention back on their current situation. "Ahh . . . Potatoes, salted pork, Brazilian nuts, salt, coffee. It's all just supplies for the kitchen."
"Well, pick us out a couple of crates each. It will help camouflage our appearance if we run into anyone on our way up."
Indy looked at Clark and grinned. "I like the way you think, kid. I suddenly have the feeling this isn't the first time you have done something like this."
Clark nodded. He had a lot of experience at hiding things in plain sight. It was very tempting to forego all of this sneaking around and just reveal his secrets. He could just wade straight through whatever the Nazi threw up against them until they had rejoined the others. But the last time he had tried that approach, back in ancient Rome, the end result had been Lana and Chloe executed in the arena. No, for now, maintaining a low profile seemed like the best approach.
After Clark pulled the door open, Indy handed him a couple of crates and then picked up a couple himself. The crates covered them from mid-thigh to almost their chins. The fact their jackets didn't fit was conveniently concealed.
"Hank, why don't you lead the way? I bet your German is a lot better than mine, which is effectively zilch."
"Zilch?" asked Indy as they stepped out into the corridor and turned to the ascending flight of stairs.
Damn, thought Clark. Wasn't that piece of slang around back in the thirties? What other words don't exist back here?
"Sorry, zilch is the Vulcan word for zero. I guess I have been spending too much time with Spock. He has been trying to teach me a little of his language."
With that comment the conversation died out. Indy was straining to hear anyone coming down the stairs from above. Clark's attention was also on the stairs ahead. Fortunately, the stairs remained clear all the way to the top.
The stairs let out into a side passage off the main central corridor near the kitchen in the back. The door to the main hallway was standing open and a steady stream of people were passing by. Many of the people were in uniform, but some were in civilian attire and some were obviously members of the chateau's domestic staff.
"Showtime," said Indy. "The main entrance is down the hallway to the left. I seem to remember passing the ballroom down there near the front entrance when I was first brought in."
Clark nodded and then gestured with his head for Indy to lead the way. Hopefully, Indy was right. When he had first entered the chateau, Clark had reached these stairs from the opposite direction and hadn't passed near anything which resembled a ballroom.
Compared to the back areas Clark had explored when he first arrived, this area of the chateau was bustling with activity. Although whether this area was always this busy at this time in the evening or if events down in the dungeon had precipitated things, Clark wasn't sure.
Clark followed single-file behind Indy as they hugged the right side of the grand hallway to stay out of the way of others and hopefully not draw too much attention. But Clark couldn't help but let his eyes wander over their surroundings. Unlike the dark and foreboding dungeon level, this area was very bright and almost gaudy with gilt-edged mirrors and electric candelabra lining the walls, which were covered with deep burgundy-colored silk tapestries. The two story tall hallway had numerous doorways and passages on the side to their left, but the right side only had a few widely spaced double doors.
At the third set of closed doors on their right, Indy paused and tried the handle being careful not to let his crates slip or his unbuttoned jacket to be revealed. The doors on this side had all been open when he had first been brought into the chateau and if he remembered correctly, this was the first of two doors leading into the ballroom. He was surprised when the handle turned freely and he was able to push the door open with the side of his foot. Was this the wrong door? If Mar and the others were being held in here, either the door should be locked or there should be guards.
As the door swung slowly open, Indy could see this was the ballroom, but he couldn't immediately see any occupants. Quickly he stepped inside and made room for Clark to enter before turning to set his decoy crates down. Once he was free of the crates, which had greatly hindered his view, Indy swung back to give the room a more thorough inspection. At first glance the room seemed unoccupied. Then he spotted the large pool of drying blood not more than ten feet away. A large cold spike of fear hit him in the guts and it hurt as bad as a real blow by someone wearing brass-knuckles. What had happened here? Where were Marion and the others? Were they dead?
Clark had followed Indy into the room and had then swung the door closed behind them. Before he even set his own crates down, he was already scanning the area with his x-ray vision. Only one person was in the room and he was hidden behind the heavy drapes covering the windows overlooking the exterior balcony beyond. Clark couldn't immediately tell who it was other than the figure was way too large to be Lana or Marion. Before he even noticed the pool of blood on the floor, Clark ran over to the drapery and pulled it aside.
Ever since Lana and Marion had been taken away, Whitney had been waiting for Clark from this position behind the drapes. Lying on the floor had felt way too exposed and he didn't know if someone else would enter the room before Clark and Indy would arrive. He sure didn't want someone to decide to carry his body away and then discover he was still alive.
So Whitney felt a great wave of relief when it was Clark who jerked the drapes open.
"Thank god you are finally here, Clark. The Nazis took Lana and Marion away. We have to go find them."
Clark stared at Whitney and almost didn't recognize him until he started speaking. Whitney's face was coated with drying blood. His blond hair was matted down and sticking out to one side with more blood. The whole front of his white shirt and gray suit coat were soaked with even more blood. It was like something from those post-game celebratory scenes where the large container of Gatorade is dumped over the coach's head except with Whitney they had used a giant container of blood.
"Fuck, Whitney. What happened to you?" exclaimed Clark once he found his voice again.
Whitney looked down at the red soaked mess his clothes had become, not even fully realizing his face and head looked even worse. He had almost forgotten his appearance while standing behind the curtain. But then the buzz he always got after Lana activated his nanobots made the aches and pains of over-exertion, injury, and even death seem sort of vague.
"Some dumb-ass Nazi pig decided to empty his machine gun into me. I was just lucky Lana managed to heal me before they dragged her away."
Indy walked over to join them, but it wasn't until he got close that he got a good look past Clark's shoulder at the other man. The man was soaked in blood and the front of his shirt was laced with what could only be bullet-holes, which Indy had seen way too often during his previous encounters with the Nazis. What the hell was going on? How could the man be standing there so nonchalantly? A million questions seemed to run through his head at once, but all that came out of his mouth was a strangled, "Marion?"
Whitney looked at the other man standing behind Clark. He hadn't had a good angle on the screen of Lana's phone when she had been talking to them earlier, but this had to be Indiana Jones, even if he didn't look at all like the Indy from the movies.
"Doctor Jones. The last time I saw your wife she was okay. And Lana went with her to look out for her."
Indy just continued to stare at the blood-encrusted man.
Clark noticed the look on Indy's face and was afraid after the events down in dungeon, the appearance of Whitney, and the continued absence of his wife that Indy might be going into shock. Clark couldn't help but remember his own reaction back in the Roman arena at Chloe and Lana's apparent deaths. At least Indy wasn't blasting everything in sight with killer heat vision.
"Hank," Clark hissed as he grabbed Indy's shoulders and gave him a shake. "This is my friend Whitney. He's okay and your wife is too. We just need to keep it together until we find her."
Indy seemed to sag a little and then he nodded his head to indicate he was going to be okay.
Clark nodded in turn and then turned his attention back to Whitney.
"How long have the girls been gone?"
"At least fifteen minutes."
"Any idea where to?"
Whitney's eyes flicked over to Indy for a second. "Well, I was sort of dead at the time, but Lana said Major Biberach, the one who shot me, talked about taking them to Hitler."
Fifteen minutes, thought Clark. By car that was enough time for them to be anywhere by now. Just running off in search of them and leaving Indy and Whitney stranded here with all of these Nazis wasn't going to work. If they got killed and Lana wasn't around in time to revive them . . . Clark shuddered and realized they needed a plan.
Just then Indy spoke up. "Taking them to Hitler doesn't make any sense."
Clark and Whitney both turned to him. "What?"
"I remember reading in this morning's paper. Hitler is in Vienna meeting with the Austrian President. He isn't due back in Berlin until the evening before the opening ceremonies. I can't believe they would take Marion out of the country when they are trying to use her as leverage to make me talk."
Clark looked at Whitney. "You're sure Lana said Hitler?"
Whitney nodded. "Yeah. If it is not Hitler, then she must have misunderstood. As I said, I was out of it when that conversation took place."
'Damn,' thought Clark. 'Now we have no idea where they have gone. And I don't like the idea of having to wait for the Nazis to contact us. We need to start interrogating some people for ourselves.' As he stood there trying to decide how to proceed, he suddenly realized the vibrations he had been feeling ever since they were down in the dungeon had stopped. Either the guards he had trapped had given up or they were free.
"Double damn,' thought Clark. 'Now they are probably loose again and I will have to deal with them all over.' Then it occurred to him that Indy had provided the information he needed to defeat them permanently. The braids. And if he could get them away from the Nazis and give them to Whitney and Indy, well, it wouldn't make them bullet-proof, but it would certainly give them an edge. Then they could start worrying about gathering some Intel and starting to track the girls.
Clark grabbed Whitney and Indy by the arms and shoved them back towards the drapes. "You guys need to get back behind the drapes and then wait for me." Clark gave Whitney a knowing glance before continuing. "I have a quick errand to run. I will be back in sixty seconds."
Whitney understood Clark needed to use his 'special' abilities and that he wanted him to keep Indy out of the way. Whitney nodded and then pulled the curtains open enough to let Indy and him through.
Indy glanced curiously from Clark to Whitney. One of them was standing there after obviously having been shot full of holes from a large caliber gun. And the other had somehow managed to fight and beat two men with the Machlaphah braids. Whatever was going on, it was way out of his league.
As he stepped behind the curtain and it started to swing shut, Indy turned to Whitney. "So, are your healing abilities another benefit of one of the Vulcan devices?"
'Vulcan devices?' thought Whitney glancing over at Clark through the partially open curtain.
Clark shrugged with just a hint of embarrassment on his face. He hated to dump Whitney into the middle of things with no warning but hoped Whitney could cope. Hell, if he was going to hang around with Chloe and the new Lana, he better learn.
"I thought it was best to let Hank in on a little of what was really going on. He has agreed to sign the required confidentiality papers once we get back stateside." Then Clark gave Whitney a quick wink and sprinted to the door.
Whitney sighed and let the drape fall closed. Ever since the tornado there hadn't been a single dull moment.
Turning to Indy, he began in a whisper. "So, Hank, what exactly has Clark covered, so we won't have to go over things twice?"
End of Chapter 10
Author's Note:
Well, not much action in this chapter, however it will pick up in the next. I guess I have been a dialogue writing mood lately.
So, what do you think of 'The Machlaphah of Samson'? It is a relic I don't remember seeing anyone use before and I think it fits well into a Clark Kent story. Now I just need to come up with some interesting plot twists involving them. (Hmm, should they get to bring some of them back to the present for use by the others?)
Until next time,
Duane