Indiana Jones and the Genesis Deluge

by Rob MacGregor

  Indy wondered why the man didn't have anything better to do, but then he realized that judging him by his own Western standards was probably meaningless. "Okay. Let's go."

  As they moved through the market the man asked why they had come to Turkey. He was muscular, in his late thirties, with a face adorned by a full mustache that curved around his cheeks and melted into his sideburns. He had large, dark eyes, a long chin, and a hawk nose.

  "We're going to climb a mountain," Indy said offhandedly.

  "Why do you want to climb a mountain?" Hasan asked

  "To look for a boat," Indy quipped.

  "Indy!" Shannon shook his head.

  "What's wrong?" Indy asked under his breath.

  "Too many eyes watching and ears listening."

  When they arrived at the restaurant, Indy reached into his pocket, but Hasan raised his hand and shook his head. "No charge. You are guests in our country."

  "Tesekkur ederim," Indy said, and tipped his fedora.

  The dining room was crowded, so they took a table outside on the porch. "Nice guy, that Hasan."

  Shannon ran a hand through his auburn mop. "I wonder."

  "Wonder what?"

  "What he was after. I didn't trust him."

  "Why not?"

  "His eyes."

  "Cut it out. You're just not used to seeing Turks."

  Shannon gazed out at the nearby cluster of shops and the activity on the street. "Don't get me wrong; I like this place. Life in the bazaar sort of appeals to me. But I know a suspicious character when I see one."

  12

  Aya Sophia

  At the waiter's recommendation, they both ordered cerkez kebabi Circassian, a dish consisting of peas, lamb, potatoes, eggplant, tomatoes, and peppers in a sauce. When it arrived at the table, it was accompanied by bulgur pilaf, beans, and bread.

  Indy noticed a furrow on Shannon's brow and asked him if the food didn't agree with him.

  "No, it's tasty. Real tasty. I was just wondering why they changed the name of this place from Constantinople. I mean if they renamed Chicago, people would go nuts."

  "Stin poli," Indy said as if that explained everything.

  "So what's that mean?"

  "That's Turkish for 'in the city.' The phrase was used so much here that people just stopped calling it Constantinople, and stin poli became Istanbul when the Ottoman Empire died after the war."

  "Why did the empire die?"

  "Why does any empire fade? The world changed. Constantinople was the center of a great power for centuries, first under the Byzantine, then the Ottoman rule."

  "What made this place powerful?" Shannon asked.

  Indy dipped his bread in the sauce, took a bite, and swallowed. "Mostly because it's located on both the land and sea routes between the East and the West."

  "So it was a rich country."

  "Yeah, but the sultans milked the wealth from their provinces to pay for their palaces and fortresses, mosques, and all the excesses."

  "What about now? It seems to me like there's a lot of confusion."

  "There is. Mustafa Kemal is remaking the country. The last of the sultans were banished with the Ottoman Empire five years ago. They've got a constitution now. Polygamy was abolished. No one is supposed to wear fezes anymore, and now the Latin alphabet is replacing the Arabic."

  "Why can't they wear fezes? I kind of like them," Shannon said.

  "They're a reminder of the sultans and harems and the backwardness of the Ottoman Empire."

  "If you take away someone's hat, you're only gonna make him mad," Shannon said.

  Indy laughed. "You're probably right there."

  Shannon sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Have you ever forgotten anything?"

  "What do you mean?"

  Shannon made a snatching motion with his hand. "You're always pulling facts out of the air like they're just there for the grabbing."

  Indy shrugged. "Makes me sound intelligent. It's a requirement of my profession. Sometimes at least."

  "Hell, until yesterday, I didn't even know that Istanbul used to be Constantinople or Byzantine."

  "Actually, only part of Turkey was Byzantine, but it was all Roman."

  "See, that's what I mean."

  By the time they'd finished lunch, the onlookers had lost interest in them, and they left the Covered Bazaar unaccompanied. They crossed Sultanahmet Square, passing pools and fountains and flower gardens. Just ahead of them was the Byzantium church known as Aya Sophia, which in English meant Divine Wisdom.

  "You want to go take a look at the church?" Indy asked, looking up at the Aya Sofia.

  "What's so special about it?"

  "Look at it. It's supposed to be the most impressive dome ever built. In the sixth century, there was nothing like it in the world. The Byzantines said it was suspended from heaven by a golden chain."

  "I don't like looking at old churches. It's just a shell. The spirit's in the word, not the building.

  Indy shrugged. "I didn't say we were going to look at God."

  "I think I'll go the telegraph office and see if there're any cables for me. You want me to check for you?"

  "Sure. Why not?"

  While they were in Athens, Shannon had cabled his mother to tell her he was okay and to ask what had happened in Chicago after he'd left.

  Indy wasn't expecting any cables, not unless he got one from Marcus Brody. He thought about his conversation with Brody in New York as he headed toward the Aya Sophia. Indy had explained the latest developments with his teaching career, and he'd told him about the expedition he was about to embark upon. Brody, who was usually open to the unusual, surprised him. He thought Indy must be desperate to join such a farfetched undertaking and offered him a job in his museum. Indy had thanked him and gently turned down the offer.

  "Have you checked this Dr. Zobolotsky's credentials?" Brody asked.

  "Not really. I know he's saved his money for years to finance the expedition. He's very religious and anti-Bolshevik. He thinks that proving the Ark exists will help bring down the revolutionary government."

  Brody frowned and shook his head. "I hope you know what you're doing. Let me check on this man myself."

  "That's not necessary, Marcus."

  "No, no. I insist. I'll cable you in Istanbul if I come up with anything. Please be careful. This sounds like it could be dangerous." Then Brody's frown had vanished. "When you're in Istanbul, don't forget to visit Aya Sophia. Think about me when you're inside that incredible church."

  Indy smiled to himself as he entered a side door of the church. Instantly, his gaze was literally pulled up to the dome one hundred and eighty-one feet above the floor. Flanking the great dome was a network of smaller semidomes, vaults, arches, and columns leading to the ground. It was impressive, Indy thought, but it was also barren and cold. The church's gold-leaf mosaics and chandeliers were stripped away, as was its golden altar. Oddly, it was the crusaders who had sacked the church of its gold in the thirteenth century, and the Moslems who had repeatedly overseen its repairs when it seemed destined to crumble to the ground. Now it was neither Christian nor Moslem, but a symbol of monotheism.

  In spite of its lack of embellishments, the beauty of the structure itself still remained. On the capitals, atop the columns, were monograms of Justinian, who rebuilt the original fifth-century church after it was burned to the ground in the Nike Revolt. As Indy walked under the dome, a lone figure in the massive ancient building, he could almost hear the walls reverberate with Justinian's words upon the completion of the Aya Sophia: "Solomon, I have surpassed thee!"

  The massive columns had come from even more ancient structures, the red ones from the Temple of the Sun in Baalbek, the green from the Artemision of Ephesus. He gazed up at a pair of green columns in the center of the gallery at the far end of the church. The two columns marked the spot where the empress used to worship.

  He glimpsed the ghostly figure of a woman as she moved between the columns. She was tur
ned away and seemed to examine something on the wall. Her hair was long and loose. For a moment, he imagined it was a spectral figure of an empress returning for a visit. Then she was caught in a beam of light from one of the upper windows and Indy recognized her.

  "Katrina!" His voice echoed between the walls.

  She gazed down at him and placed a finger to her lips. He turned up his hands as if to ask what she was doing here. She leaned forward between the columns and motioned for him to join her.

  Elated, he crossed the floor to the ramp that led up to the gallery. When he reached the top, he saw her camera perched on a tripod. The rest of her photography equipment lay in a canvas bag inside a cart, which she'd wheeled into the church.

  "What a surprise," he said. "I thought you were going to be busy with paperwork."

  "It was too boring. We were just waiting in offices and Papa knew I wanted to photograph the church, so he said it was all right for me to go." It was the first time he had seen Katrina without her hair tied back or on top of her head. Her hands were folded in front of her and a faint smile brightened her angelic, heart-shaped face. The more he was around her, the more intrigued he became. He imagined that she was keeping some deep secret and yearning to tell him. Maybe this would be the moment when the tension between them would collapse and her secrets would spill.

  "Look at this mosaic. It's Empress Zoe and her husband. Her third husband. His face was painted over the second one."

  "That's the way it goes," Indy said.

  "If I get married, it'll be forever," Katrina said softly. "How about you?"

  "I was married once, and thought the same thing."

  "You were?"

  At first, he didn't feel like talking about it, but he'd brought up the topic and he could see that she was curious to hear about his marriage, so he told her about Deirdre.

  When he finished, she looked up, obviously moved by the story. "I'm so sorry, Indy. I didn't know."

  "It's okay. It's over now."

  "Will you never love another woman?"

  He reached out and took her hand. Without a word, he leaned toward her, kissed her gently on the lips. Then he abruptly pulled his head back as he heard footsteps on the ramp and a muttering of voices. A few minutes ago, he'd thought he was alone in the church. Now it sounded as if the gallery was about to get crowded.

  "I'd better go," Katrina said, and turned away from him to pick up her camera.

  But she wasn't going anywhere, at least not on her own. A half-dozen men appeared at the top of the ramp, and they didn't look like they were here for the mosaics. They stared intently at Indy and Katrina as they fanned out. They were garbed like no one Indy had seen in Turkey: baggy pants made of thick raw cotton and long tunics, which were tied about their waists with brightly colored sashes. But what made their appearances particularly peculiar was their headgear. They each wore a tall, black hat that made them look like they were at least seven feet tall.

  "You guys looking for someone?" Indy asked.

  No one answered. Indy tried some more happy talk, hoping that if he didn't take them seriously, they wouldn't present any danger. "What's with the hats? You hiding your fezes?" Again, no one responded. Not the right thing to say, he thought.

  Then Indy recognized one of the men from the bazaar. "Oh, it's you. Hasan, isn't that your name? Thanks for the recommendation on the restaurant. My friend and I enjoyed our meal."

  The man stroked his thick mustache. "It was your last."

  Swell. The men closed in on them. "Things are getting a little dicey," he said to Katrina as they edged back toward the railing. She said something to him under her breath.

  "I didn't catch that," he muttered.

  "They're going to kill us."

  "No, just him," Hasan said.

  "You wouldn't kill anyone in a church, would you? That could cost you in the long run."

  "We are guided by Allah," Hasan said. "We act upon his commands."

  The men were within six feet of them; Indy's back was pressed to the railing. One of them kicked the tripod that Katrina had abandoned and the camera crashed to the floor. One of the others dumped over the contents of the cart, and for a moment Indy glimpsed what he thought was the ark wood wrapped in a cloth.

  "Why is He commanding you to pick on us?" Indy asked. "We haven't done anything."

  "You told me yourself that you are here to climb Ararat to find the Ark."

  "Did I say that?"

  "It's not time yet to find the Ark."

  "We're not planning on stealing it." Indy kept an eye on the men as they edged closer. "We just want to take a few pictures. We probably won't even find it."

  Indy could see there was no use arguing with him, but he had to try to talk his way out of the situation. The chances of saving himself and escaping with Katrina weren't good. "Okay, we'll talk to the leader of the expedition, and tell him your concern. Maybe you'd like to meet with him yourself."

  "You don't understand. We are not going to talk about it. You are not going to Ararat."

  If they didn't want to talk, then it was time to act, Indy figured. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out his .455 Webley. "Stop right there. Fun's over for you guys and just starting for me. I've got a bullet for each of you." He hoped he sounded convincing.

  The men stopped, then drew their own guns. "Hey, no fair." Indy put his revolver away.

  He didn't waste another second. Drastic measures were required and he didn't hesitate. He executed a backward somersault over the rail and caught the base of the railing with one hand. He dangled a moment, then hooked his arm through the railing. With his free hand, he unhitched the whip from his belt. Just as one of the men kicked at his arm, he unfurled the whip and snagged the nearest green column. The rope curled around it; his intent was to grasp the other end and slide down the column.

  But it didn't work out that way. The end of the whip didn't reach all the way around. It fell limply down the column. "So much for that," he muttered, and winced as a boot struck his forearm with another blow. Katrina's screams echoed through the church, then fell silent.

  He couldn't hang on much longer. Another kick would do it. He could try to climb down the column, but the chances were he would simply fall. His head was just below the base of the gallery floor, and as he twisted he saw iron rungs leading under the floor to the wall.

  The structure had been reinforced several times over the centuries and the rungs were probably part of the reinforcements. He jammed the handle of the whip in his mouth, grabbed the nearest rung, and unhooked his arm just in time to avoid another kick. His arm throbbed; he could barely hang on to the rung. But in times of great danger, the body reacted in seemingly superhuman ways. And this was one of those times.

  Hand over hand, he climbed until he reached another column. But this one's circumference was smaller. He snapped the whip around it and grabbed hold of both ends in one hand. He positioned his feet against the column and let go of the last rung. As he skidded downward, the whip started to slip from his grasp, but he snagged it with his free hand. He slid rapidly down the column, the whip cutting into his palms. He struck the stone floor and dropped to his hands and knees.

  As he started to get up he saw a pair of legs in front of him. Before he could react, a boot connected solidly with his jaw. He fell over backward, struck his head against the floor, and another boot slammed into his groin. Nearly blind with pain, he rolled over, tried to stand up. A rope tightened around his neck; no, not a rope. His whip. He was being strangled with his own whip.

  He gagged, clawed at the air with his hands. A tall hat dropped to the floor. The whip tightened, cutting off his air. He struggled, but he was losing his strength. He saw dark, beady eyes, a hawk nose, and a thick mustache that was twisted by a grimacing expression.

  Then everything went black.

  13

  Cocoon of Pleasure

  He was floating under the great dome. He felt warm, comfortable, relaxed. The dome was spi
nning and he smiled. Suspended from heaven by a golden chain, Indy thought. Or did he speak the words? He didn't know, didn't care. Nothing mattered. Not now. Not ever.

  He was on his back, gliding effortlessly. So easy. He felt hands on his arms and legs and realized he was being carried away. He wondered who was carrying him. They were taking him out of the dome, but he didn't want to leave. It was too nice here. He told himself to fight, to get away, but his body wouldn't listen to him. It felt too good.

  What did it matter where he was going or who was carrying him? He laughed. It was just a free ride. Go with it. No problem. No problem at all.

  Then the dome was gone and the bright sun seared his eyes and he was being held up and dragged down a street. He wanted to scream. A blur of color and forms moved past him. People. He should say something to them. But what and why? Was something the matter?

  Katrina.

  He remembered being with her and then he recalled the men with the tall hats. He'd tried to get away, but something had happened. His throat. He vaguely remembered being strangled by his whip. He moved his head, felt a burning in his throat; the skin on his neck was raw. But he was breathing now, so what did it matter? Nothing mattered. Not even Katrina. But why didn't anything matter? He should be concerned.

  Morphine.

  They'd drugged him. That was it. He had to do something... something... but...

  The bright light and crowd vanished and he was tossed inside an enclosed wagon. He was lying on something soft, and a wave of good feeling swept over him. Everything was all right again. He closed his eyes as he felt the wagon moving. He smiled to himself and drifted.

  Indy blinked his eyes at the gray canvas ceiling. Faint light oozed around him. He felt the motion of the wagon bouncing over a rough road. He could hear men's voices speaking Turkish. He rose up and saw vague shapes huddled together. Men. Someone saw him and spoke sharply. Immediately, the men moved toward him. They pushed him down, pulled at his arm, and held him down so he couldn't move. He felt a sharp stinging pain in his forearm.