Indiana Jones and the Genesis Deluge

by Rob MacGregor

  When the cook wasn't looking, he crept into the next kitchen and found the Janissaries. There were six or seven of them and they were standing in a circle around the largest pot of soup he'd ever seen. They each held a bowl and spoon and lifted their spoons at the same time in a slow, formal manner.

  When Indy returned to the second court, his father was nowhere in sight. He crossed the courtyard and opened a door near where he'd last seen his father. He peered into an empty council chamber, then closed the door and walked around the side of the building where he found another door. This one was to prove far more interesting. While he didn't find his father, Indy did discover something else.

  In a courtyard at the end of a corridor, a dozen girls were seated on benches and an older woman was talking to them. This was the sultan's harem; he knew he wasn't supposed to be here.

  He turned to retreat down the corridor, but now two chubby Negro eunuchs were moving toward him, carrying baskets filled with freshly laundered clothing. He knew they were eunuchs because his father had told him about the men who guarded the sultan's concubines. He'd also said it was strictly off limits, and now here he was.

  He slipped back into the courtyard, ducked behind a column, and waited for the eunuchs to move past him. But as soon as they reached the courtyard they set down the baskets and one of them clapped his hands twice. Two women appeared and took away the clothing, passing within three feet of Indy, while the eunuchs lounged near the entrance to the corridor.

  Now he had to find another way out. The women had left the baskets of laundry in the corner of the courtyard, which gave him an idea. He dashed into an alcove, reached out, and grabbed a billowy dress from one of the basket. Quickly, he pulled it over his head. It was too large for him, but he could hold the bottom off the floor.

  He didn't look much like a girl with his short hair, so when he was sure no one was looking, he stepped out from the alcove and rummaged through one of the baskets until he found what he thought was a scarf. As he spread it out he realized it was an undergarment for a large woman. He cursed and was about to put it back when the laundry women returned. He ducked out of sight, and watched as they toted away the baskets. The underwear would have to do. He wrapped it around his head as best he could and steeled himself for his walk past the courtyard of concubines.

  He didn't like the idea of dressing like a girl, but he knew his hero, the late adventurer Richard Francis Burton, would have done it, and if it was all right with Burton, it was okay with Indy. Burton was a master of disguises, a dauntless fighter, rider, and athlete who also spoke twenty-nine languages and dialects. He had roamed the frigid mountains of Afghanistan, the baked plains west of Karachi, unknown Central Africa, and the forbidden cities of Islam. He was a scientist who founded the first anthropological society in England, a translator of the Arabian Nights, and a student of mysticism. He was known to disguise himself in the garb of the native people, and he did so on numerous occasions to escape certain death. If there was anyone Indy wanted to be like when he grew up, it was Burton, and now he was getting a chance to prove himself.

  He couldn't wait any longer. He stepped out of the alcove and crossed the courtyard to the far gate. No one said a word to him, but as he reached the gate he was disappointed to find himself peering into an even larger courtyard where more concubines languished and several Negro eunuchs watched over them. Life in the harem, Indy thought, wasn't for him, and the quicker he found a way out the better.

  He walked along the side of the courtyard away from the eunuchs and kept his head down until he saw an old woman moving his way. There was a scowl on her face that suggested she was more than slightly curious about him. Trouble, he thought, and looked for a way to avoid her. He opened the first door he reached and stepped inside.

  It didn't take but a glance to see that he'd found the common bath, and at least a dozen women in various stages of undress were sharing it. He started to back out, but bumped into the old woman. She laid a hand firmly on his shoulder.

  "Do you want to take a bath, young lady?" she asked.

  Indy's knowledge of Turkish was minimal, but it wasn't difficult to figure out what she'd said. He shook his head and tried to squeeze past her, but she grabbed his arm and pulled the underwear off his head.

  "Who are you?" she demanded.

  "I'm lost," Indy said in English. "I was with my father, but he was too busy to wait for me."

  The old woman pulled him out of the common bath and marched him across the courtyard. She signaled one of the eunuchs, gave him an order, and he hurried away. She walked Indy over to an imposing door, opened it, and directed him into a large room.

  A fountain bubbled in the center of it, and there were chairs and couches around the walls. She pointed to a chair and Indy sat down. He could see through a partially open door into another room with a canopied bed and an ornate fireplace.

  "These are my son's quarters," the old woman said in perfect English. "He is the sultan, and I am known as the valide sultan."

  "This is where the sultan lives, in the harem?" Indy asked in astonishment.

  The valide sultan laughed. "Let me explain. In every traditional Moslem household, there are two parts: the greeting room, like this one where we are sitting, and the harem or private household quarters where the family lives. In the palace, of course, we have a very large harem because the sultan has a large household with four wives and many concubines.

  Indy nodded. He had heard somewhere that some sultans also had boys as concubines, and he wanted to make sure that he didn't become one of them. "I'd better be going," he said, and pulled off the dress as he stood up. "My father will be worried."

  "Sit down," the woman ordered. "Your lost father will be found. Not everyone has the opportunity to talk with the valide sultan. You should feel fortunate."

  Katrina was frightened. They were in some dark, deep hole. She was tied to Indy, and for a long time he'd been so quiet that she'd feared that he was in a coma. But now he was muttering to himself and moving. "What did you say, Indy? Can you hear me?"

  "I said I do feel fortunate to be here, but I think my father must be worrying about me."

  "It's okay," Katrina said. "You're going to be all right." He was delirious; she hoped it wasn't a permanent condition. "Do you know where you are?"

  It was a silly question; she didn't know herself. But she needed to make Indy aware of his surroundings. Right now she wasn't sure he even knew she was tied to him.

  Indy was confused. He was a kid and a grown man at the same time and something was seriously wrong. The old woman was talking to him about a strange place in Turkey, and Katrina was speaking in his ear.

  "Do you know where you are?" Katrina asked for a second time.

  "Someday you should go there," the valide sultan said. "The odd shapes were caused by lava from ancient volcanoes and thousands of years of erosion. The people in the valleys have carved out very extraordinary houses from the stone, and instead of trees there are tall needles of rock with boulders balanced on top."

  "What is the place called?"

  "Cappadocia. Remember that name, young man."

  "Indy, can you hear me?" Katrina asked.

  He blinked his eyes and the sultan's palace was gone and he was no longer a kid. He was groggy and back in the dark place. It was earthy, damp, cool. He was sitting up, leaning against something that moved when he did. His hands were tied behind his back, and a rope was bound around his arms.

  "Katrina?"

  "I'm right here. Do you know where you are?" Her voice was near his ear, and he realized that they were tied back-to-back.

  "Cappadocia," he said without thinking.

  "What?"

  He was confused, uncertain about what was real and what was hallucination. But the drugs seemed to be losing their hold on him. "I think that's where we are, and these men are from the Janissary Corps."

  "That doesn't mean anything to me."

  "I think it means we're in big troubl
e."

  Sekiz's thick braid swayed from side to side, a dark pendulum as she walked through the narrow streets of Istanbul. She moved surprisingly fast, and Shannon did his best to keep track of the swinging braid in front of him and Zobolotsky behind him. Finally, they walked out onto the Galata Bridge, which spanned the Bosphorus River, and Shannon no longer had to worry about losing sight of either one of them.

  When they reached the center of the bridge, Sekiz stopped and waited for them. "They say that this is where Asia ends and Europe begins," the girl said.

  Shannon gazed at the network of winding streets on the hill rising from the west side of the river. "Is the blind man a European?" he asked as they continued across the bridge.

  Sekiz laughed. "Don't you know, we are all Europeans now in Turkey. That is the new way. The old ways are over."

  "How much further?" Zobolotsky asked.

  "You see Galata tower over there? We're going very near it."

  "Don't tell me there's a special street over there for blind prophets," Shannon said, recalling how the streets were organized in the covered market.

  "No. This man is very special. He is not a Gypsy fortune-teller. You will see."

  After reaching the far side of the bridge, they continued along the road until they arrived at a square. They crossed it, then walked down a narrow, stone-paved street marked Galip Dede Caddesi. Sekiz pointed to a door on their left. Above it was a sign in both Arabic and Latin lettering, which read: Galata Mevlevi Tekkesi. She opened the door and they entered a well-tended garden. Flowers bloomed in a riot of colors on either side of them as they followed a path toward a modest, wood-frame building.

  "Where are we?" Shannon asked, but Sekiz put a finger to her lips. "Wait."

  She knocked on the door of the building, and after a short time, an elderly woman looked out. Sekiz addressed her and the woman motioned toward the side of the house, then closed the door.

  "This way," Sekiz said, and led the way along another path. They approached a shaded nook, sheltered by a high hedge and trees. A bearded man was seated on a bench. His head was bowed against his chest, and he appeared to be asleep.

  "Who is there?" he asked in a low voice without raising his head.

  "Grandfather, it is me, Sekiz."

  The old man raised his head and smiled. A ray of sunlight illuminated his face. His eyes were white and filmy, his beard was gray, but his hair was as red as Shannon's own. "And who is with you, little one?" he asked as she sat next to him and took his hand.

  "I've brought two friends who are from far away. They are in need of help."

  The old man patted the bench next to him. "Sit down, please."

  Sekiz pointed to the bench and translated her grandfather's words.

  The old man clapped his hands three times. "We will have tea and talk. Now, what are your names and where are you from?"

  Shannon had no idea if anything would come of this venture, but he remained patient and listened closely to Sekiz's translation. He and Zobolotsky sat down and introduced themselves.

  "You can call me Alfin," the old man said. He reached out a hand and Shannon shook it, but the old man didn't let go of it. "Do you know we are from the same ancestor?"

  "I don't think so," Shannon said. "My grandparents came to the United States from Ireland."

  "Yes, and my distant ancestors traveled to the British Isles from this very land, which was then known as Anatolia. They were called Galacians, but you know them as Celts."

  "I didn't know that." Shannon made a mental note that he would ask Indy if the Celts came from Turkey.

  Alfin let go of Shannon's hand and reached for Zobolotsky's. The Russian hesitated, then extended his hand. "Please help me find my daughter."

  "Your God and your daughter, and now your daughter and your God," Alfin said, and Zobolotsky pulled away his hand.

  The old woman who had opened the door of the wooden house appeared with a tray of tea and set it down on the bench. Sekiz passed cups to Shannon and Zobolotsky. She was about to hand another to the old man, but his head had nodded against his chest again. Shannon glanced at Zobolotsky, who was frowning and shaking his head.

  "You, Dr. Zobolotsky, know nothing of who I am," Alfin said. It was a statement, not a question. "You should not judge what you do not know."

  "I thought it best not to say too much about you," Sekiz said.

  Alfin patted the air as he raised his head again. "I am from a long tradition, which our new government is trying to abolish, but they will fail. The house in front of you is a tekke, where we hold our ceremonies. We are known as the Mevlevi, one of the Sufi brotherhoods. We seek mystical communion with God through sema—chants, prayers, music, and the whirling dance."

  "But the government doesn't allow them to dance here anymore," Sekiz added after she translated her grandfather's words.

  "Whirling dervishes," Shannon said, sipping his tea. "I've heard about them. When I lived in Paris, a girlfriend of mine played me a recording of lute music that she said was played by dervishes."

  "Did you like it?" Sekiz asked as she passed a cup of tea to Alfin.

  "It was hard to listen to, and I've listened to a lot of music."

  Sekiz smiled. "Maybe you have to be a dervish to appreciate it. You would like our folk music better."

  "Listen," Zobolotsky interrupted. "My daughter is missing, and I will not sit here and drink tea. I must find her. Can he help us or not?"

  Alfin didn't wait for a translation. "Sit still, doctor. Stay calm. I will tell you what you want to know. You came to the right person even though you do not believe it."

  After a few moments of silence, Alfin set down his cup of tea. He nodded his head low on his chest until Shannon thought he was going to tip over. Then he rocked back and forth and spun his head in circles. Shannon was dizzy from just watching.

  When he stopped, he spoke in a voice that was even deeper than normal. "The ones who kidnapped your daughter are known as Janissaries."

  "Who are they?" Shannon asked.

  "Soldiers, evil soldiers," Zobolotsky answered, "the most terrible of all."

  "When the Ottoman Empire was strong, the Janissaries were the best soldiers in the world," Alfin said. "They were excellent swordsmen and could cleave a head with a single blow."

  "That's impressive," Shannon said, and touched his neck.

  "But they became very powerful and manipulative. They could remove a sultan from power. They are Sufis, but of another sect known as the Bektasis. They are the reason that the new government outlawed all the Sufis in 1925."

  "But why would they want to kidnap my friend and this man's daughter?" Shannon asked.

  Alfin was silent a moment. "Why are you here in Turkey? The question is your answer."

  "I don't understand," Zobolotsky said. "We're here to climb Mount Ararat to search for Noah's Ark."

  "Then that is the reason," Sekiz said without hesitation.

  "But why wouldn't they want us to look for the Ark?" Shannon asked.

  "The teachings of Islam say the Ark will only be revealed by God on the Day of Judgment," Alfin explained. "The Janissaries believe it is their mission to protect the Ark from those who would reveal it before God's chosen time."

  "The Bible says nothing of this," Zobolotsky said. "God wants us to find the Ark to reaffirm our faith," he insisted.

  Alfin said nothing.

  When Zobolotsky spoke again, it was in a meeker tone. "Can you tell us where my daughter is?"

  "Cappadocia is the land of the Bektasis," Alfin said. "That is where they will be found."

  "Is it a city?" Shannon asked.

  "No, it's a part of Turkey that was once a kingdom," Sekiz said.

  "Where will we find them in Cappadocia?" Zobolotsky asked.

  "In an underground city," Alfin said. "There are many of them in Cappadocia, but the Janissaries live in only one of them."

  "How do we find it?" Shannon asked.

  Alfin rocked back and forth,
his blind eyes staring straight ahead. "You will find a house with three peribacas. There you will meet a man who knows where your companions are and how to find them."

  "What's a per-i-baca?" Shannon asked.

  Sekiz asked her grandfather to explain. "He says that you will know when you see them."

  Alfin turned his head and seemed to stare at Shannon with white eyes. "There will be one among you who lies and cannot be trusted. This one will cause sorrow before the journey is over."

  "What's he look like?" Shannon asked.

  Alfin raised a hand, cutting off the discussion. "You will see for yourself."

  They thanked Alfin for his time and walked with Sekiz to the gate. "I am going to stay a while longer with my grandfather." She wished them well on their journey.

  "Thanks for taking us to him," Shannon said. "I think he sees better than I do." They started to leave, but Shannon stopped. "By the way, which direction is Cappadocia?"

  "To the south," Sekiz said. "South of Ankara."

  "South," he said, and smiled at Zobolotsky. The Russian, it seemed, was a bit more humble now than when they'd arrived.

  Boris waited until Shannon and Zobolotsky were out of sight before he spoke. "It doesn't do us any good to just follow these idiots around. We've got to find out what's going on."

  The brothers had arrived several days earlier, worried that they would be too late. But they'd soon learned from their contact in Istanbul that the Zobolotskys were attending a secret conference in Athens and would be delayed. So they'd waited.

  Their plan had been to kill Zobolotsky in Istanbul and get it over with. When he was dead, the others would give up. But no sooner had the expedition arrived than Jones and the girl disappeared, and that changed everything. Boris knew that Zobolotsky was not to be trusted and he suspected that the sudden disappearance of two party members might be some sort of scheme to mislead anyone who wanted to follow them.