A brawny man with thinning hair and no neck to speak of had stepped from the gatehouse. The tenseness in his body suggested that he might reach into his suit coat for his weapon at any moment.
"What can I do for you, fellow?"
"I'm looking for the Shannon residence. It's supposed to be—"
"You found it. What do you want?"
Indy stared up the drive, which curved in front of a three-story, red-brick manor set back fifty yards from the road. It looked like a fortress not a home.
"Well?" the gatekeeper asked when Indy didn't immediately respond.
"I'm here to see Jack Shannon."
"He expecting you?"
"Not really. But I'm an old friend."
"What's your name?"
Indy told him.
"I heard about you," the man answered in a tone that was neither hostile nor friendly. "Hold up your arms."
"What?"
The gatekeeper stepped forward and patted him down, searching for weapons. "You're okay. Wait here."
The man moved back inside the guardhouse and wrote something down on a piece of paper. He lifted a small wooden box from a peg and stuck the paper inside it. He called one of the dogs, bent over, and secured the wooden box to a hook on its collar. Then he said something in the dog's ear and unleashed it. The shepherd instantly sprang away and scampered toward the house.
"Your messenger?"
The gatekeeper nodded.
"What if nobody sees him coming?"
"Listen."
The dog barked at the front door and a few seconds later a man stepped outside and bent down. "Smart dog," Indy said.
"Vicious dog. With the right command, he'd tear out your lungs."
Indy cleared his throat. "I'll take your word for it."
The conversation lapsed, but the gatekeeper didn't retreat to his house. He kept an eye on Indy and the remaining shepherd did the same. Indy paced about as he waited. The drizzle was still coming down, and an occasional raindrop ran over his jaw and down his neck. At this rate he wouldn't have to worry about taking a bath for a while.
"We need to find out who lives there," Boris said as he watched Indy pace back and forth in front of the gatehouse. He and Alexander were crouched behind a hedge halfway down the block and across the street.
"Maybe it's one of the czar's nobles," Alexander answered.
Boris shook his head. "We would know." That was the advantage of the print shop. He printed a newsletter for Russian immigrants, and he heard all of the gossip.
Alexander took a pair of opera glasses out of his pocket and focused on the man. "Maybe we're wasting our time. Maybe this guy doesn't have anything to do with Zobolotsky and his expedition."
"He must," Boris snapped. The guy had stuck his nose into the wrong Russian's business. Now he'd become Boris's business.
Finally, Indy heard a bark and saw the dog race toward the gatehouse. For an instant, he thought the shepherd was charging right at him. He held his ground and tried not to show any sign of fear. The dog leaped the last ten feet and skidded to a stop in front of the gatekeeper. The man calmly reached down and unhooked the box as if deliveries by dog were an everyday occurrence. He opened it and unfolded a piece of paper.
"Jack's waiting for you." He jerked his head toward the house. "Go around to the porch door on the left side."
"Thanks."
Indy moved carefully past the dogs and strode toward the house. He knew that the Shannons were successful in their enterprises, which were a combination of legal and illegal businesses ranging from bootlegging and gambling to trucking and laundry-and-linen delivery. However, he'd never thought of Shannon as wealthy or living the sort of opulent life that this estate symbolized. After all, Shannon had lived in one-room apartments for years in Paris and London. Now, though, he had an idea why Shannon hadn't said much about the place. It embarrassed him.
Shannon was standing in the doorway of the porch, and he didn't look very pleased to see him.
"Indy, I told you not to come here."
"No, you didn't. You said I couldn't stay here."
"Yeah, well, what do you want? It's not the best time to stand around and bullshit. I'm sort of busy."
Indy was surprised by Shannon's wariness. "I just came to say good-bye. I'm leaving in the morning."
Shannon stepped out on the porch. "Where're you going?"
"To Turkey with Zobolotsky."
Shannon looked puzzled. "You changed your mind, I see."
Indy shrugged. "It didn't work out with the university. They dragged up that old episode with the dummies. I should've known."
"Jack!" Someone called him from inside the house.
"Who the hell you talking to out there?"
"It's Indy. He's here from London," Shannon called out.
A man with slicked-back red hair stepped outside. Indy recognized Shannon's oldest brother. Harry was a couple of inches shorter than Jack and at least twenty pounds heavier. Indy hadn't seen him since he and Shannon were in college together, but he didn't look much different. He'd always been mature and savvy, and now he was the head of the Shannon family.
"How's it going, Harry?"
He glared at Indy and it was obvious even before he spoke that he didn't want him around. "You know, you're calling at a bad time. We were just on our way out. We've got some business to attend to."
"I was just leaving. Good to see you again, Harry. Jack. Nice house." He nodded, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and walked off.
"I'll walk you down to the gate," Shannon said, then glanced at his brother. "Meet you out front."
"Make it fast," Harry said tersely. "And Jones. I hope you don't think you're going to drag Jackie Boy off to Europe again, because little brother here is settled down and part of the family. You understand?"
"Yeah. I sure do."
Shannon joined Indy and they walked in silence for a few steps. "I'm sorry about Harry. He's under a lot of pressure."
"I understand."
"Hey, look, I didn't mean to make it sound like you're not welcome here. It's just that things are a little tense right now, and we do have some business to take care of."
"You don't have to apologize, Jack."
"So you're going to Turkey after all. What about Katrina? What's she going to do while her father's gone?"
"She's going, too. She's the team photographer."
Shannon stopped near the gate. "Oh, ain't that just sweet. I should've known. That's why you're going."
"That's not true, Jack."
"You telling me that woman had no effect on your decision, that you just happen to want to climb some mountain in Turkey to look for a boat. I don't buy it."
"C'mon, Jack, I'm an archaeologist. This could be an important discovery." Indy knew he didn't sound very convincing. He couldn't hide anything from Shannon for long. "Besides, you wanted me to go look for the Ark. Remember?"
Shannon's eyes narrowed. "I wanted you to go with her old man, not her. You knew how I feel about Katrina."
"But she's not your girl, Jack. You hardly know her."
"You'd steal my girl right from under me. Nice friend you are, Jones."
"Jack, come on," Indy said.
"Get out of here, will you? Go have your fun."
That was when Indy noticed the bulge under Shannon's jacket. "What's that you're carrying?"
"That's my business."
"Don't let Harry push you around, Jack."
"What do you care?"
A shiny Cadillac moved slowly down the drive toward them. Suddenly, he understood. "I can't believe it. You're going out on a hit, aren't you?"
"I said stay out of it."
"You're going after Capone, aren't you? Don't do it, Jack."
"We're doing what we have to do. We've got to do it before he does it to us. It's just business."
Indy shook his head. "Is this what all your Bible study has taught you? To go out and kill anyone who gets in your way?"
Sh
annon grabbed Indy by the lapel and shoved him.
"Just get out of here. You got that? Get out!"
"You're some friend, Jack," Indy spat as he backed through the gate.
He heard a growl and out of the corner of his eye saw one of the shepherds dashing toward him. Then it leaped. The dog struck him on the shoulder and chest and knocked him off his feet. He saw snapping fangs and raised his forearm just in time to block the beast from ripping out his throat. The animal grabbed his arm and shook it.
A shot rang in Indy's ear, the dog squealed, then shuddered and collapsed on top him, its jaws still clamped on his forearm. He pushed off the dead weight. Shannon stood over him, his revolver in his hand.
"Get back, Gretel." Shannon snapped at the other dog, which was straining at its leash, fangs bared. "You shouldn't have cursed me like that, Indy. That was his command to kill."
"Sorry." Indy held on to his injured arm and backed away from the other dog. "And thanks."
"He was my favorite dog," Shannon said, staring down at the lifeless shepherd. "Richie, get him out of here."
"Right away." The gatekeeper pulled the dog out of the driveway.
Indy didn't know what else to say.
"Are you hurt?" Shannon asked.
"No, but another few seconds and it would've been another story."
"What is this, Jackie?" Harry was standing next to the Cadillac, which had stopped at the gate.
"Hansel attacked Indy. I had to kill him."
Harry shook his head and looked disgusted. "Get in the car. Now!"
"Harry, I'm not going."
"What do you mean you're not going?"
"That's what I said."
"Are you part of this family or not?"
"I didn't like killing Hansel, and I don't think I'll like killing people, either."
Harry reached into the car and pulled out a tommy gun. He aimed it at Shannon. "Get in the car, Jack."
"Or what? You gonna shoot your brother, Harry?"
Harry lowered the tommy gun. "No, I've got a better idea. If you don't get in here, I'm going to give you an ugly little hairlip so you never play that horn of yours again. You got that?"
"Jack, get in here," another brother shouted as he stepped out from the passenger side.
"Stay out of this, Jerry," Harry snarled.
Just then a Packard slowed in front of the driveway. Indy took one glance and saw tommy guns sticking out the windows.
"Harry!" the gatekeeper yelled as he pulled a gun from his coat.
Harry's eyes widened until they were as large as the Packard's tires. He swung up the tommy gun. "Sonuva...," he growled, and was hit by a burst of gunfire.
Indy tackled Shannon and they rolled over near the gatehouse as the chatter of machine-gun fire filled the air. The gatehouse windows shattered; bullets tore through the wood walls and ricocheted off the iron fence inches above their heads. Shannon lifted his head; Indy grabbed him by the neck, smashed him to the ground.
Tires screeched and the Packard roared away. It all had happened in less than ten seconds. Slowly, Indy and Shannon picked themselves from the ground. Bodies and blood were everywhere. The gatekeeper and the two shepherds lay in pools of blood on the driveway. The burly man was coughing and spitting up blood.
"Oh, God," Shannon yelled. "Oh, God." He rushed toward the car. "I knew it. I knew this was going to happen."
Jerry was draped over the hood of the Cadillac, his blood streaming down the fender. Harry was sitting on the ground next to the car; his face was blood-splattered, his hands were crimson.
Shannon dropped down next to him. "You're going to make it, Harry. You're going to make it. We'll get you to the hospital."
Blood trickled from Harry's mouth. He lifted a hand. "Your fault, Jackie Boy. Your fault."
He slumped over dead.
9
Flaring Passions
"I'm sure he is the right one, Papa," Katrina said as they headed toward downtown and the hotel.
Zobolotsky gazed out the rain-splattered window of the taxi. "I hope so."
"What's wrong?"
"He seemed almost too eager, and I wonder about his background. If we had more time... but the Lord sometimes works in strange ways, and he did tell us we would find our archaeologist here in Chicago."
She never contradicted her father when it came to his beliefs, but she wasn't so sure that the Lord had anything to do with it, at least not in the way her father thought.
As a child, she had received impressions about things that were going to happen to her and other people around her, and when she'd told her father these things, he'd said that only the Lord could prophesize. At school, her teachers told her that no one could see the future, and so at age six her visions had stopped.
Years passed. Then, after her father came home from the war, he showed her the piece of wood from the ship on Mount Ararat, and it was as if she were a child again. When she'd held the Ark wood for the first time, she'd described the ship in detail. Things her father had seen, and other things he knew nothing about. For example, she'd told him that people in the village had climbed the mountain from time to time over the centuries to collect pitch from the ship, which they used as sacred amulets. Her father was impressed, then astonished, and from that day on he was convinced that the Lord spoke through her.
She didn't know quite what to think of this. But she figured that the Lord had some helpers. She liked to think that it was old Noah himself who spoke through the wood. She never told this to her father, though, because she knew that to his way of thinking, it was either the Lord Himself, or the devil.
Images came to her every time she held the wood. She had seen her father talking to crowds of people about the Ark, and she saw people rejoicing and returning to their faith in God, and she had witnessed it coming true right here in Chicago. She had also seen her father climbing the mountain again, and she'd sensed that many people waited to hear about the expedition and to see the proof they would obtain.
Other times the visions confused her and made little sense. One recurring image continued to puzzle her. She was moving through a strange valley where everything was white and distorted, and it was both dark and light at the same time. In the vision, she was being taken to a place against her will.
But the future was by no means a well-paved road with no surprises. Things continued to happen to her and her father that she hadn't foreseen. Three months ago, they'd been ready to set off on their expedition when two nights before they were to leave, their sponsors held an emergency meeting and decided they would require Zobolotsky to bring along an archaeologist. The decision had disappointed them, but Katrina knew that it also made sense. It would help document their discovery, or, rather, her father's rediscovery of the Ark.
But they'd run into one barrier after another in their search for a reputable archaeologist. It seemed that no university was willing to endow her father's quest with credibility. Finally, she'd held the Ark wood one evening and asked where they should go to find the person they needed, and she'd heard the name clearly in her mind: the University of Chicago. They'd left the next day.
Since their arrival, she'd become increasingly anxious that the chairman of the archaeology department would be like the rest of the archaeologists they'd talked to, and it would mean that she'd been wrong. But when she'd taken out the Ark wood from the safe two nights ago, she'd felt the presence of the one who would join them, and she'd reconfirmed it the next night in the church. She'd sensed him there in the audience, and as she'd held the Ark wood above her head she'd tried to pinpoint him. But she'd been distracted when she'd spotted the twin watchers seated near the back of the church, and she'd lost her concentration.
"You like him, don't you?"
She smiled and turned her head away. During the past couple of years, Papa had started asking her about her feelings about men and it always embarrassed her. If her mother were still alive, she would have readily volunteered her thoughts and feeling
s. But Mama had died shortly after her father had returned from the war and she'd never confided in him in the same way.
"I think... he's interesting." She hardly knew him. The other man she'd met since they'd arrived in Chicago, the one who'd played the cornet at the church, was interesting, too. Jack—that was his name. There was a certain helplessness about him that appealed to her. She sensed that Indy was hiding something. It was almost as if a protective crust were hardening around the man's feelings, and she wondered what was behind it.
"It's okay if you like men. It's time you started thinking about finding a husband, you know. It's what God wants for His children when they grow up."
"Papa, I don't want to get married to anyone. I've told you that." She knew her father liked to hear her say that. He was proud that she was still content to live with him.
He laughed as the taxi pulled up to the curb in front of the hotel. "You will, Katrina. You will. All little girls grow up. But I want you to watch out for this Jones. I don't want him to hurt you."
As they entered the lobby Zobolotsky headed directly to the security room and unlocked the safe containing the Ark wood. "What are you doing, Papa?"
"I'm going to bring it up to the room."
"Do you think it'll be safe?"
"The Lord will protect us."
A few minutes later, Katrina sat on the couch and waited for her father. She knew that getting the Ark wood from the safe meant that he had a question and would want her to hold it again.
When he had taken a seat on the chair across from her, she picked up the cloth-covered Ark wood and carefully unwrapped it. She turned it over in her hands. It wasn't much more than a splinter of wood sixteen inches long and a couple of inches thick. On one side it was coated with a dull black resin. On the other side the wood was rougher, and it was apparent that it had been broken off from something larger.
She held the wood in her hands and closed her eyes as her father recited a prayer. "We thank Thee Lord for Your help. We are Your humble servants and we wish to serve You in all things. Please guide us now in the direction we should follow. We rely on Your wisdom and we trust it. Thank you, Lord, for listening to our humble petition. Amen."
Indiana Jones and the Genesis Deluge Page 9