"Now what?" he muttered.
He moved down the corridor to his right, but the room was a dead end. He backtracked and tried one of the branches leading from the opposite corridor. At first, it looked hopeful. There were no stairs, but the hallway rose at a forty-five-degree angle, turned, then turned again. The walls were open from above his waist, and in the faint light he could see rooms and other hallways. The place was part medieval prison and part funhouse. It was a beehive of madness.
He took a couple more turns and, when he saw the hallway was continuing upward, decided to backtrack and find Katrina. He counted the turns as he walked, but when he thought he should be near the dead-end room, he found himself in one with three doorways. He backed out the door, tried another room, and saw that the doorway on the opposite side led to more hallways stairs.
He looked around, confused and lost. He pounded a fist against a stone wall. The funhouse was turning into a nightmare. "Swell. Now what?"
Then he heard footsteps. Katrina was probably lost in this same network of madness. But he couldn't tell where the steps were coming from or which way they were moving. He wanted to call out her name, but suppose it wasn't Katrina? For all he knew, the Janissaries were already combing these corridors for them.
He crept quietly down the hallway and peered into the darkness. Now he couldn't hear anything. Either the person had moved out of hearing range or had stopped. Suddenly he heard the footfalls again. They sounded close. Right by his head. He spun around and there were the feet moving along another hallway at his eye level.
He had to make up his mind fast. He swung the butt of the rifle around, then he saw the boots. He grabbed Katrina by the foot, and she let out a scream.
"Shh! It's me."
"Indy?" She was on her hands and knees, looking around, then she saw him. "Oh, God. You scared me. I didn't know what happened to you. This place is crazy."
"I know. Are you all right?"
"I think so. Help me down." She swung her legs over the side and slid down into his arms.
"I missed you," she whispered.
He touched her cheek, and for a moment he imagined he was with Deirdre again. Then it occurred to him that he was falling for the woman that his best friend adored. He stepped back from her. "We've got to keep moving. I thought I found a ramp that was heading up, but I'm not sure which one it was now."
"There are too many choices. It's so confusing."
"C'mon. Let's stick together."
"Don't leave me again," she said.
She didn't really mean it the way it sounded, he told himself as he picked a corridor and headed down it. They'd barely gone ten yards when the hallway opened into a chamber with a high ceiling. He stopped and gazed at the wall on his right, which was illuminated by a torch. On it was painted a fresco of a man with a cross in one hand and a sword in the other, which he pointed defiantly at a winged beast.
"It's Saint George with his dragon," the young archaeologist said. The sight of the Christian icon triggered something in his memory. "For whatever good it does, I think I know where we are."
"You do?"
"When I was a kid, I came to Istanbul with my father and accidentally met the sultan's mother. She told me that back in medieval times, thousands of Christians lived in underground cities in a remote part of Turkey. She thought I should visit the cities while I was in Turkey."
"And you think that's where we are?"
Indy shrugged. "It's a good guess."
"Why did they dig all these passages?" she asked.
"They didn't. They were already here, built by some ancient people."
"Did your father take you to see them?"
"No, he doesn't like going into confined places. He gets claustrophobic." Indy spotted a couple more inscriptions a few feet away. "Hey, take a look here."
"Oh, my God. Is it what I think?"
It was a rough sketch of a fish and next to it was an ark. "The fish and the Ark were used as Christian symbols before the cross. The fish represented the Son of God, and the Ark stood for the judgment of God and the hope of salvation."
"So you're a Christian, too. Just like Jack."
Indy cleared his throat. "No, not just like Jack. To tell you the truth, my interest is more in the history and artifacts of the times."
"But aren't you a believer in the word of—"
"Listen!" Indy said. "Do you hear it?"
"It sounds like music."
They crossed the cavern and followed a hallway leading from the far side. The sound grew louder. But then the corridor came to an abrupt end. Indy passed through a doorway on his left. A faint light filtered through a narrow window, and the sound of the lute music filled the room.
"Take a look at this!" he whispered as he peered through the window. Below them was a huge cavern many times larger than the one they'd just left. Dozens of torches burned on the walls, and a placid pool in the center of the cavern reflected the flames. But the water wasn't what grabbed Indy's attention. On the far side of the pool a dozen men were spinning in circles with their arms straight out from their bodies. They were dressed like the ones who had captured them, complete with the high hats, and now he knew who they were.
"Dervishes!" Indy said in astonishment. "The Janissaries must be a Sufi brotherhood."
"I don't understand. What are they doing?"
"They're called whirling dervishes."
"Why do they whirl?"
"To imitate the movement of the cosmos. It's their way of gaining communion with God."
"Indy, look at the one in the center," she said excitedly. "Do you see it? He's got the Ark wood."
Indy had noticed that the man held something in one hand and now he realized Katrina was right. The man was whirling faster and faster, but Indy recognized the mustache. "It's Hasan."
The words were barely out of his mouth when the muzzle of a gun jammed up against his neck. "What a coincidence. Two more lost souls. Drop the rifle."
Indy did as he was told and slowly turned his head. He could hardly believe what he saw. It was the twin Russians from Chicago. "Don't tell me you're still mad about the trench coats."
"Get ready to die, Jones."
"How did you find us here?"
"We broke a few heads, and one of the peasants talked. They know all about these dancing bookworms."
Indy wasn't sure what he meant, but it was no time for idle chatter. He needed to act and fast. He pulled Katrina in front him and loosened his whip. "You're not going to hurt an innocent woman, are you?" he asked.
One of the twins laughed. "What kind of man are you using a woman to shield you?"
"You're right. That's not nice."
He pushed Katrina aside and snapped his wrist, unleashing his whip. The Russians were standing close enough together to allow him to lash the whip around both of their necks. A rifle fired and the bullet hit the wall next to Indy's head. Indy jerked hard and the twins toppled over. He took Katrina's hand and they rushed down the hallway.
But they didn't get more than a few yards before a Janissary, his sword at the ready, blocked their way. Behind him was another one with his sword raised over his head, and several more Janissaries had arrived to back them up. The Russians, free of the whip, bolted out of the room and into the same trap.
"I wouldn't exactly call these guys bookworms," Indy said.
16
Underground Cities
By the time Shannon and Zobolotsky had arrived in Ankara, Ahmet had joined the expedition. He would not only take them to Cappadocia, but would serve as their translator in their search for Indy and Katrina. That was fine with Shannon. Ahmet, it turned out, was a lute player, and while Zobolotsky slept across the backseat Shannon learned to play the string instrument with the driver's help.
They ate, then slept a few hours in Ankara, staying at the home of the driver's cousin. Then they were on the road again, heading south. "There is no place in the world like Cappadocia. You will see things there that you wil
l not believe."
"Have you been there?" Shannon asked.
"Of course. I have another cousin there. We will find him and see how he can help. Everyone in my family helps each other."
"I have heard this name, Cappadocia, but I don't remember where," Zobolotsky said.
It was late afternoon when they entered a valley near the city of Goreme and came upon a landscape like no other that Shannon had seen. As far as he could see, there were mounds of smooth, white rock in every shape imaginable and nearly every one of them was pocked with windows.
"These are the troglodyte houses made of tufa, the rock from the volcanoes," Ahmet said. "They say that if you lived on the moon, you would be at home in Cappadocia."
"I believe it," Shannon said.
"The tufa is soft and very easy to cut. It makes a good house, and when you want to add a room for a new baby, you just carve it out."
"The people must live like animals," Zobolotsky said.
"No, like Christians," Ahmet answered. "Many Christian monks lived in Cappadocia in monasteries hollowed from the rocks."
Zobolotsky was quiet a moment. "Now I know why the name was familiar to me. Cappadocia is mentioned in the Bible."
"Don't think I've read that far yet," Shannon said.
Ahmet's cousin, Omar, didn't live in a troglodyte house, but in a rectangular stucco one, a shape that Shannon found to be a relief after looking at houses with ballooning walls, conical tops, or completely nondescript shapes. But outside Omar's house were three narrow columns of tufa that formed a triangle, and resting atop two of them were boulders.
"Those are fairy chimneys, carved by the wind," Ahmet said when he saw the two men staring up at them as they stepped out of the taxi.
"Ferry chimneys?" Shannon asked.
"Yes, peribacas."
Shannon exchanged a glance with Zobolotsky as they followed Ahmet into the house. He was even more amazed by the blind man's foresight. Oddly enough, it seemed they were right where they were supposed to be. Shannon didn't know how Alfin could have known about this house, but he was even more confident now that the Lord was guiding them.
Omar looked like a younger version of the wiry Ahmet, with a mustache and thick, curly black hair, and greeted them as if they were all family members. When they explained their situation, Omar nodded and gazed thoughtfully out the window.
"I know about these outlaw Janissaries. They believe as strongly in the Moslem teachings as you do in the Christian traditions. They would kill for their beliefs."
"Then they are not truly religious people."
"Maybe not," Omar said. "But they are like the Christian crusaders who killed thousands of Moslems in the name of religion."
Zobolotsky was about to say something in response, but Shannon laid a hand on his arm. The Russian turned away in disgust.
"Can you help us, Omar?" Shannon asked.
The Cappadocian stepped away from the window. "I'm not sure what you want."
"Do you know where the Janissaries are hiding? That's what we need to know."
"They are not hiding. Many of us here know where they are. But few would dare to enter their city."
"A city?" Shannon asked.
"Yes. An underground city. A very old one. It is near Derinkuyu."
"Can you lead us there, cousin?" Ahmet asked.
"Just show us where it is," Zobolotsky said. "You must understand that my daughter's life is at stake."
Omar considered what he'd heard. "For me, the family is most important. You are friends of my cousin, and if he trusts you, then so do I. I will take you there."
"Great," Shannon said.
"I not only know the location of their city, but I know a way of entering it from another underground city."
"You mean there is more than one of these cities?" Zobolotsky asked.
"There are many. Maybe six or seven, and they are all connected. When I was a boy, I spent a summer with a cousin who lived near one of the cities and we explored them. I can show you the way."
They were in luck, Shannon thought. But in the back of his mind he still remembered that Alfin had said someone would be lying to them.
Whenever the Janissaries were in the underground city, they dressed in their tunics and pantaloons, as Hasan was now. Because they had been banished and outlawed by the new government, they did not dare to don their traditional garb when they were in Istanbul. But Hasan had made an exception when they'd captured the archaeologist and the Zobolotsky girl in the old church. He'd wanted to startle them, and although Jones had nearly escaped, it had worked.
But now they'd captured two other men, and this time Hasan had been the surprised one. He had no idea who these bald-headed twins were or what they were doing here, but he was determined to find out. The shirts had been stripped off the burly pair and they were dangling on ropes from the ceiling of the chamber, their toes barely touching the floor.
"Why did you come here?" Hasan asked for the fifth or sixth time, and once again neither man answered.
He nodded toward his lieutenants. The one who had taken Jones's whip cracked it across the back of the man in front of him, then struck him again. The other Janissary twirled a barbed rope, which was attached to a short stick, and snapped it again and again, slashing shoulders and neck. The results looked about the same. The backs, necks, and shoulders of the twins were crisscrossed with cuts and welts. Rivulets of blood and sweat ran down their backs.
Hasan waved a hand and the men stopped the beating. "Now answer me."
Neither said a word.
"Salt the wounds," Hasan commanded.
The two Janissaries flung open bags of salt over the men's wounds. Both cried out in pain.
"Talk," Hasan demanded. The Russians' heads hung and their faces were contorted in pain, but neither spoke. "So that's the way you want to be."
The Janissary chieftain pulled a sword from its sheath and moved it slowly in front of the men's faces. Its blade was curved and artfully inscribed with an intricate design. "This, my twin friends, is a blade made of Damascus steel. It is sharp and strong. It can slice a floating feather in two, or it can lop off a head with a single blow." He touched the tip of the blade to one of the Russians' throat. "And that is what I am about to do."
"What do you want from us?" one of them said.
"Alexander... nyet," the other warned.
"So, you are Russians." Hasan was more perplexed than ever. He moved closer to the first man. "Alexander, I only want to find out why you are here."
"We were following the other two, the man and woman."
"Why?"
"Don't say anything more," the other one warned.
"I'll say what I want, Boris."
"Okay. Let me do the talking," Boris said, and raised his head toward Hasan. "It was a personal matter. Our business."
"A personal matter. Tell me, where did you start following them?"
"Chicago. That's where we live. Not Russia."
"So you have come halfway around the world for a personal matter. Very interesting. Now tell me the truth. What did you want with them?"
"None of your business." Boris spat the words.
Hasan tightened his grip on the sword and raised it over his shoulder. He'd get rid of this one and then the brother would tell him everything.
"We were going to kill them before they got to Mount Ararat," Alexander said, and spared his brother's life.
Hasan lowered his sword and considered what Alexander had said. "Why?"
"We want to keep them away from the Ark. We don't want them to find it."
"I see, you want to find it yourselves. Now I understand."
"That's a lie. We don't want anyone to find it," Boris said.
Hasan looked suspiciously at the men. It wasn't the answer he'd expected. "Why not?"
"Because," Boris said, "the bishops will try to win back the people's hearts in our homeland."
Finally, Hasan understood. They were Bolshevik spies.
&
nbsp; "Hasan," a man called from the doorway. "We have news from Istanbul."
He stared at the twins a moment longer, then walked over to the door. "What is it?"
"Zobolotsky and the other one didn't leave for Athens by train or boat," the man said in a low voice. "The police are after them and they've disappeared."
"Why do the police want them?" Hasan asked angrily as he saw his plans falling apart.
"They say they killed an old Mevlevi dervish, and a girl and an old woman."
Hasan didn't know what to believe. But he knew now that Jones and the woman would have to die, and so would the Russians. It was a perfect time for the ultimate game. He smiled, excited about the prospects. He hoped Jones and the woman would make the contest interesting.
He turned to the men who were guarding the twins. "Cut them down. There's a game to be played."
Scaling rocks wasn't Shannon's idea of fun. He and the three others—Zobolotsky, Ahmet, and Omar—were climbing along the base of a cliff, searching for an entrance to a cave—a cave that would lead into an underground city. Shannon had stumbled twice, scraping a forearm the first time and bashing a knee the second. He was limping slightly and felt a trickle of blood on his shin.
"It must be here. I remember this place very well," Omar said.
Shannon looked around, wondering how these particular rocks and shrubs were any different from the ones they'd been climbing over during the past hour. Maybe Omar was lying when he said he knew about the Janissaries' underground city. For all Shannon knew, there were no underground cities, and everything Omar said about them was a lie.
Omar let out a whoop. "Here it is. I knew we were close to it." He was kneeling in thick underbrush and Shannon couldn't see a thing. He worked his way over to Omar and glimpsed a dark hole behind the branches of a bush the Turk was holding back. "We're going down there? Into that snake hole? You've got to be kidding."
"We have lanterns," Ahmet said. "It won't be so bad."
Shannon gave Zobolotsky a sour look.
Indiana Jones and the Genesis Deluge Page 16