"So Jack Shannon, your big brother has been ignoring me, and here I thought we had an agreement about territory," Capone said.
"I'm a musician. I don't know what you're talking about."
One of Capone's henchmen thrust the blackjack into Shannon's gut. Indy stepped forward and the other thug clubbed him in the kidneys. Both men crumpled to the floor of the cell.
One of the thugs jerked Shannon to his feet and pressed his blackjack under his jaw. "Let's not play games, Shannon," Capone said. "Just answer my questions."
"What do you want from me?"
"This is your lucky day, Jack. I'm going to go real easy on you tonight. You're going to be my messenger boy for your big brother Harry. You got that?"
Shannon nodded.
"Good. You see, the Shannons broke our agreement. That was real stupid. But I'm going to try one more time to talk some sense into you. You tell brother Harry that there'll be no more Shannon booze in my territory, and you tell 'em that from tonight on I get half of the gambling take at the Nest. I heard you guys are doing real well, so we're going to share it, like buddies. You got that?"
Shannon tried to say something, but the blackjack cut off his windpipe.
"You either like it or join your dear old dad. You got that, Jackie Boy?"
Indy wobbled to his feet. "Let him go."
Capone stared at Indy. "Who is this guy, Shannon, another punk horn blower?"
Indy took a swing at Capone, who jerked his head back just in time. The thugs instantly slammed into Indy, knocking him to the floor. They pounded him with fists and clubs again and again until he couldn't feel a thing.
"Stop it," Shannon yelled. "You're killing him."
"Enough," Capone said. "Pick him up."
The thugs grabbed Indy by his shirt and pulled him to his feet. Indy could barely see, but he knew what was about to happen. Capone drew back his arm and slammed his fist into Indy's jaw, and that was the last thing he remembered.
6
The Gospel Truth
When Indy awoke the next morning, he found himself on a bed with white curtains draped around it. He vaguely recalled being carried on a stretcher and transported by ambulance to a hospital. He sat up, wincing as pain shot from his shoulders and arms, up his neck, and into his jaw.
He heard voices from beyond the curtain and recognized Shannon's. He tried to make sense of what was being said, but he only picked out disjointed words and phrases. "Possible concussion... bruises... lucky... no fractures... examine... later."
He heard footsteps as someone walked away. "Jack? You out there?"
Shannon pushed aside the curtain. "You're awake. How you feeling?"
"How do you think?"
"I was just talking to the doctor. He said it could've been a lot worse."
"Yeah, maybe if I'd been run over by a truck. I see we're out of jail."
"We were officially released about an hour ago. The charges were dropped."
"Why was that? Because they let goons in the cell to beat us up?"
"No. Because one of the circuit judges is a special friend of the family."
"Convenient."
"I thought you would think so. The doctor's going to be back around lunchtime to check on you. I guess you should stay here a couple of days."
"No thanks. I'm not in that bad of shape." He threw his legs over the side of the bed and tried to ignore the pain. "Hand me my clothes."
Shannon chuckled as he reached down on the lower shelf of a steel tray for the clothing. "I had the feeling you wouldn't want to stick around here."
"I've got to get my things out of the Blackstone before I go broke."
"Don't worry about it," Shannon said offhandedly.
Indy pulled on his pants. "What do you mean don't worry about it?"
"I extended your stay a couple nights. It's all taken care of."
"You did?"
"The family's got a little credit at the Blackstone, you could say."
"Huh. Well, in that case, thanks. How are you feeling?"
Shannon rubbed his side. "I'm okay. You're the one they laid into."
"So what are you and your brothers going to do about Capone?"
"Good question. I've got to talk to them today. It's not going to be an easy decision, I know that."
"Good luck."
"Say, do you still want to see Dr. Zobolotsky tonight?"
"Who?"
"The guy who found Noah's Ark. He's a Russian doctor. He lives in San Francisco now. Escaped after the Bolsheviks took over."
"Oh, yeah," Indy said unenthusiastically. It was about the last thing on his mind right now. "You think it's going to be worth it?"
"I can't promise you anything. But I'd really like you to go. As a favor for me. Besides, you ought to see his daughter, Katrina. I'm in love with her and I only met her for a few minutes."
"In love, uh?" Indy grimaced as he pulled on his shirt. Shannon was an independent sort who was not quick to fall in love. In fact, he'd only heard Shannon say he was in love once before.
"Yeah, I think I am. I really do."
Indy didn't give a damn about seeing the girl or her father. But he knew there was no way he could back out, especially after Shannon had covered his room at the Blackstone. "Now tell me again why he's speaking at your church?"
"I don't think I told you in the first place. He was originally going to talk at a Lithuanian church over on Wood Street. But the pastor backed out after he realized there was going to be publicity about it. Most of his parishioners have families back in the old country and they're afraid this sort of thing could cause trouble for them."
"The Russians don't run Lithuania."
"Give them time," Shannon said. "I hear they've got big plans for Europe."
Indy looked around for his shoes. "So your minister volunteered his church."
Shannon found Indy's shoes under the bed and handed them to him. "Not a Russian or Lithuanian immigrant in the congregation," he said with a grin. "But we've opened the doors to the Lithuanians and anybody else interested for this event. It should be interesting."
"All right. I'll take it easy today and see you there tonight."
"Great. I've got a real good feeling about this, Indy."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Something is going to come out of this for you. I'm almost sure of it."
Probably a good laugh, Indy thought.
The man read the article in the Chicago Tribune for the second time. He read it slowly and carefully, making sure that he understood every line. He had lived in America for ten years, but his English was not as good as it could have been. The article was about plans to search for Noah's Ark on Mount Ararat. The mountain was located in Turkey, his homeland, and he had to do something to stop this Zobolotsky before it was too late.
"What are you reading there? You look like you're going to start the paper on fire with that stare."
Ismael looked up at his young wife, Jela, whose dark hair fell over her shoulders. She had just put their year-and-a-half-old son into his crib for his afternoon nap. "Take a look."
She read over the article much more quickly than he had, then looked up at him. "What are you thinking?"
"This can't be allowed. It's not time for the Ark to be found. You know the scriptures. The savior has not returned."
"Don't talk like that. You're not carrying the future of the world on your back. If that man wants to go to Turkey, you can't stop him."
"But he must be stopped."
"Ismael, please. You have your family to think about. Maybe he'll change his mind or maybe he won't find it. Don't ruin your life over something like this. Think about our children."
She was right. Maybe nothing would come of it. But he would contact his brother right away and warn him. Hasan was difficult to reach, but he knew someone in Istanbul who would get a message to his brother.
He pushed away from the table.
"Where are you going?"
He t
ook her hand. "Don't worry. I'm just going to send a cable to Istanbul. Hasan must be told. He will take care of what must be done."
Humidity clung to the air like a cloak, but a fresh breeze was blowing off the lake as Indy left the Blackstone and headed up Michigan Street. It had rained late in the afternoon and the streets were slick and glistening. Shannon's church was located about a mile south of the hotel just off Michigan, and he'd decided to walk.
He was glad now that he'd committed himself to going out. The walk would give him a chance to clear his head and work out the aches and pains. It was probably not what a doctor would recommend, but he knew his body and his ability to recover from injury better than anyone.
After all, he'd spent the day in the hotel soaking in his bath, resting in bed, and ordering room service. He was still sore, but he felt surprisingly improved from this morning. He took his time, though, and he wasn't going to make it a late night. He wanted to be ready to see Angus O'Malley tomorrow.
He'd called the archaeology department at the university that afternoon and was told O'Malley was out of the office. When he identified himself, the secretary told him that O'Malley had received his telegram and was interested in seeing him as soon as possible.
"That's fine with me," Indy had said, and made an appointment for two-thirty.
"Oh, wait a minute. Dr. O'Malley just walked in the door. Let me tell him you're on the phone."
"Indiana, how are you?" O'Malley's voice boomed so loudly that Indy had to pull the receiver away from his ear.
"I'm fine. I just got into town yesterday." Fine wasn't exactly the right adjective to describe the way he felt. But he certainly wasn't going to tell O'Malley that A1 Capone and a couple of his henchmen had beat him up in jail last night after he'd been arrested in a bordello. "And please, just call me Indy."
"Well, I'm glad you called... Indy. I was very pleased to get your telegram. The timing couldn't be better. It just so happens that one of my staff is leaving quite unexpectedly and I have a part-time position open this summer, if you're interested."
"I think I might be. What about the fall?"
"By then I should have the funding for a full-time assistant professorship for you, if you're willing to stay on with us."
"That sounds great." O'Malley, it seemed, was actually true to his word.
"There is one thing, Indy. I can't assure you that all of your classes will be in Celtic archaeology. We like our staff to be as versatile as possible. In fact, this summer you would be teaching an introductory course with an emphasis on North American archaeology."
"Oh, well, I suppose I could manage." He tried his best not to sound gleeful at the unexpected and welcome development.
"Don't worry about it. I'm sure you can handle the course with ease."
"I would think so."
"I see you're scheduled to come in at two-thirty tomorrow. I have another appointment just before that, but I don't expect it to take long at all."
"I'll see you then," Indy said, and rang off.
No, he wouldn't mind getting away from the Celts for a while. Not at all, he thought, as he neared his destination.
The Gospel Chapel of New Life didn't look like a typical church. There was no high steeple or sharply sloping roof, no stained glass or arched windows, and no impressive doors. It was an unimpressive two-story brick building, where a dozen or so people were filing through the door ahead of him. He followed them inside and up the aisle past rows of wooden seats that were already filled.
He'd no sooner entered the church than he heard Shannon's cornet accompanied by a clarinet and a piano. The three-piece band was set up in a corner near the front of the church. The music was intended as a soothing background sound and it was one of the more tranquil horn pieces he'd heard Shannon play in a long time. The usual flurry of sixteenth- and thirty-second-note runs had been replaced by long, drawn-out notes that made Indy think Shannon was moving in slow motion. Gone was the dissonance that seemed almost part of his instrument. In its place was a smooth, flowing sound that rippled gently over the assembly.
Although Indy would've preferred sitting near the rear, all the seats in the back half of the church were filled, mostly with whites, who, like himself, were probably attending the church for the first time. He found a seat a few rows from the front and sat down. Shannon nodded to him and continued playing. Indy wondered how Shannon's meeting with his brothers had gone. He'd ask about it when the evening's address was over.
Just as Indy was starting to wonder how long the music would go on, a robed choir rose in unison to its feet and began to sing "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot." The congregation sang along. When "Michael, Row the Boat Ashore" followed, Indy realized the evening was going to extend longer than he had hoped. Halfway through the song, someone began to shout "Noah" in place of "Michael" and others quickly joined in. Then the pace quickened as the choir swung into a lively gospel song in which the crowd answered each line with the same two words.
"Won't you ring old hammer?
HAMMER RING
Broke the handle in my hammer.
HAMMER RING
Got to hammering in the Bible.
HAMMER RING
Gotta talk about Noah.
HAMMER RING
Well, God told Noah
HAMMER RING
You is a-going in the timber
HAMMER RING."
Suddenly people were rising to their feet, first the Negroes, then slowly the whites. They clapped their hands and shouted their response. A large, Negro woman tugged at Indy's arm, pulling him to his feet, and he joined the clapping. Shannon set his horn down on the piano and joined the call and response, and he grinned as he caught Indy's eye.
Finally, the musical warm-up came to a close and a Negro man who looked to be in his mid-fifties strode to the pulpit. He greeted the audience and many of them greeted him right back. He introduced himself as Ambrose Hinton, the pastor of the church, and welcomed all the new faces.
"Tonight we have a very special guest with us. During the war, Dr. Vladimir Zo-bo-lot-sky was a lieutenant in the White Russian Army and was stationed near Mount Ararat in Turkey. Mr. Z, as I like to call him, brings a message of great importance, not only for this assembled audience, but the entire world."
As he spoke his voice grew louder and stronger. "It is a message that not only documents the truth of the word of God as spoken through the Bible, but is a direct message from the Almighty, who is telling us here and now to reaffirm our faith and belief in Him, because it will ultimately be rewarded. O Lord, you know we're listening to you."
"Amen," several people shouted.
"I usually have more to say," he continued in a quieter voice, "but this is such a momentous occasion that I will now yield the pulpit to our honorable speaker so we can all hear his wonderful story."
"Hallelujah," someone cried out.
"I hope that's for our speaker and not for my quick departure," Hinton said. Laughter rippled through the crowd.
A slender man with sandy hair walked out with his spine held straight and his shoulders back. He moved as if he were in a hurry to reach the pulpit. He shook hands with Hinton, then moved behind the pulpit.
"Praise the Lord," someone shouted before the Russian had a chance to say anything.
"Yes, praise the Lord," Zobolotsky responded in accented English. "I am very glad to be here with you this evening."
"We're glad you came," someone responded.
Indy wondered what the Russian thought of the church. The Gospel Chapel of New Life, with its freewheeling style of music and the shouts from the assembly, was no doubt a far cry from the Russian Orthodox Church or any other church in his homeland. But Zobolotsky was not a timid man. He rose up on his toes and leaned forward over the pulpit as he spoke. His voice was strong and easily carried to the back of the room.
"Thank you, my friends, for inviting me. I am happy to have the opportunity to talk to you this evening about a great wonder," he began.
"During the war, I was an officer with the Nineteenth Petropovlovsky Regiment, which was stationed in a very isolated province of Turkey. Our mission was to guard the Aratsky Pass from the Turks, who were aligned with the Germans. It was very cold when I arrived there and I remember thinking about how I missed my home and wished I was there. Or actually any place but where I was. Then one day, it was late in 1916, something very startling happened. A pilot named Roskovitsky was flying over the mountain they call Ararat, and when he returned he said that he saw a great wooden ship up near to the top. Weil, I knew my Bible stories and I knew that the mountain was the one where Noah landed."
Zobolotsky paused and looked over the audience. The place was quiet now. A chair squeaked; someone cleared his throat and the sounds seemed to fill the room.
"I thought to myself that this pilot probably knows the Bible, too, and he's playing a joke on us. I am not a pilot, so I did not know him very well. But about a week after I heard the story, I saw Lieutenant Roskovitsky in the village and asked him what he had seen on the mountain. He became very serious and told me that, yes, it was a ship. His copilot was there with him and he said he saw it, too. I said, 'Well, maybe it was a big rock,' but both men said they saw wood beams. They were convinced it was a boat.
"Then Roskovitsky said I should see it for myself and invited me to fly over the mountain with him. So three or four days later, I joined Roskovitsky and two other officers, and I was very impressed with what I saw. It did look like a ship, maybe a very large submarine. But I asked myself, why would someone be building a submarine way up here on the mountain?"
He paused again and his eyes scanned the attentive audience. "I was very curious about what I saw, but to be truthful, all I wanted at that time was to go home to Harbin and my family. Every day I prayed that today I would hear that the war was over and we were leaving. Several months passed and finally we were told that the Nineteenth Petropovlovsky Regiment would be returning to Russia. I was so happy that I nearly wept when I heard the news.
Indiana Jones and the Genesis Deluge Page 6