By Monkey

Chapter 23

Jailbreak

     After the bogus policeman entered the building Jones crept around the outside and along the wall until he came to the building’s one large window.  He held his Webley at the ready as he peered in through the glass.

     He needed to be sure before he acted.  The man might well be a legitimate policeman after all, and there might be a logical explanation for his actions with the Luger pistol.  And the more Jones thought about it, he’d have a lot of explaining to do right now if that were the case and another of Scotland Yard’s personnel were to come upon him at this particular moment.  But Indiana Jones was going with his gut feeling on this one, and he’d learned never to bet against it.

     As he watched through the glass Jones saw the man with the thermos approach the guard at the desk.  Indy looked for some sign of recognition on the part of the guard, but just as he thought, the guard’s face instead registered somewhat of a surprised look.  But this was quickly followed by some nods and smiles, and Mr. bogus held up the thermos.  The guard then held out his cup while bogus poured tea; one for the guard and one for himself.  They both drank.

     It took only a few seconds more for Indiana Jones’ suspicions to be vindicated.  The apparent drug was fast acting and the guard’s eyes suddenly took on a glazed look.  He quickly collapsed down on to the wooden table.

     Bogus wasted no time.  He grabbed the large key ring from the unconscious guard’s belt before he was even all the way knocked out and hastened towards the stairway leading down to the cells.  Jones wasted no time either as he ran back around to the front door of the building.

     It was locked.

      “Damn it!” Jones exclaimed in frustration; then he ran back around to the window.

     The archaeologist studied the window for about two seconds, then he placed his Webley handgun back into his pocket and unzipped his leather jacket freeing his cast laden left arm.  He swung the decorated, heavy plaster mass at the window, shattering the panes and breaking the wooden slats in between.  He then pulled his jacket up around his face and catapulted himself through, landing roughly on the floor.  He was back on his feet in an instant though, and running down the stairwell towards Vadoma’s cell below.

     Jones took the steps three at a time and almost fell as he reached the bottom.  Running forward through the unlocked cellblock door he reached Vadoma’s jail cell in just a few seconds.  And it wasn’t a second too soon.

     The door to her cell was open.  Bogus was inside with her and had a death grip around her neck.  He was choking the life out of her.  She was struggling, but the man’s strength was overpowering.

     Indiana Jones reached for his Webley.  He brought the weapon out and ran forward with his arm upraised.  He brought it down in a hard blow to the side of the surprised, ‘would be’ murderer’s face.  The man let go his grip on the gypsy woman’s throat as he reeled backwards into the back wall of the cell and fell down on to the floor.  But in a lightning quick motion the man reached into his pocket, withdrew his Luger pistol, and fired point blank at Indiana Jones.

     The bullet, which was on a direct trajectory for Jones’ chest, struck the forearm portion of his cast instead.  It struck at an angle, chipping off a small piece of the decorated plaster and ricocheted up where it glanced off Jones’ forehead.  The deflected bullet tore a small gash but did no real harm.

     Indiana Jones kicked out with his foot at his prone enemy and knocked the man’s weapon out of his hand before he could squeeze off another round.  The Luger clattered across the floor of the cell and out of reach.

     Indy aimed his Webley, “Hold it right there!” He shouted as a trickle of blood flowed down from the gash in his forehead.

     The man grimaced menacingly for a moment and then pointed with his finger over Jones’ shoulder, “She’s gone, you idiot!”

     Indy made the mistake of turning to look for just a fraction of a second.  It was all the time his enemy needed.  Bogus leapt to his feet with surprising alacrity and grasped hold of Jones’ right hand with both of his.  Indy was out-armed two to one as he grappled with the man.

     So he used his legs instead. 

     The archaeologist swung his leg out in a sweeping motion that caught bogus behind the knees and dropped him back down to the floor.  But as he fell he pulled the Webley out of Jones’ hand.  The weapon fell to the floor of the cell and bogus scrambled to pick it up.

     Before the man could reach the Webley however, Indiana Jones reared back and swung his plaster encased left arm down hard.  It impacted the man’s skull with a resounding thud and put him out for the count.  Rather than be a handicap, the cast was turning out to be more of a secret weapon than anything else, Jones thought as he stared at it for a brief moment.  Then he scooped up the Webley and ran out of the cell.

      “Vadoma! …Vadoma….wait!”  Jones called out to her.

     He ran out of the cell, down the passageway and up the stairs to where the guard still lay unconscious; Vadoma was nowhere to be seen.  He ran out the door of the building and back out into the foggy night.  A light drizzle was beginning to fall.

      “Vadoma!” Jones shouted again as he frantically searched around the grounds with his eyes, trying to pierce the shroud of fog and drizzle that hampered his efforts.

     He caught a glimpse of motion to his left and gave chase.

      “Vadoma!  Stop…wait!”

     From the kennels came the sounds of dogs barking.  Then some shouted voices could be heard.  Indiana Jones ran as hard as he could in the direction of the fleeting motion he’d seen.

      “Vadoma!  You’ve got to stop!  Please!  Wait!”  He could now clearly make out the figure of the beautiful gypsy woman running at full speed across the open grounds of Scotland Yard.  She was headed directly for the wrought iron fence that enclosed the compound.  Indiana Jones was gaining on her steadily.

     Now more voices could be heard, and lights were being turned on.  The commotion was drawing attention.

     A moment later Jones watched as the woman leapt with surprising agility on to the fence, scaled it, and dropped down on to the other side in short order.  The one armed archaeologist didn’t like his own chances of accomplishing the feat quite as acrobatically, but nonetheless he would try his best.

     He struck the fence hard and immediately began a one armed struggle to pull himself up, trying at the same time to avoid the rather pointy tips at the top of the wrought iron poles.  Clumsily he toppled over the fence and landed roughly upon some protruding tree roots from the trees lining the sidewalk next to the compound.

     Vadoma was just getting ready to continue her run when she tripped over some of the same roots and sprawled forward.  Jones half crawled, half leaped on top of her and held her fast.  

      “Just what in the hell are you trying to do?!”  He shouted at her.

      “Let me go!” She struggled to free herself.

      “No!  You’ve got some explaining to do!”

      “I said let me go! Let me go!” She continued to fight with him.

      “Look, I’ve got you; I’ll protect you.  That…whoever it was, he can’t hurt you now.  But you’re going to have to calm down and let me help you.”

     She stopped struggling and turned to face him.  Her eyes, which shined mysteriously in the filtered moonlight, were only inches from Jones’.

      “You saved my life Indiana Jones.”

     Suddenly a multitude of voices could be heard within the compound.  Vadoma’s escape had been detected, and now several excited policemen moved about the grounds with flashlights.

      “Come on,” Jones said to Vadoma, “we’ve got to go and explain what happened.”

      “Explain to who?!”  She whispered loudly, “I’m not going back there Indiana Jones,” she said with conviction.

      “We’ve got to go and explain what happened, about the man who tried to kill you.  They’ve probably already got him in custody, we’ll …”

      Jones stopped talking and listened to the voices of some policemen who approached close by to where they lay outside the fence.

      “There was two of ‘em,” Indy heard a voice say, and then he felt a chill at what he heard next.

      “One of ‘em was that archaeology fellow.  The other one workin’ with him drugged me with something.”

     It was the guard speaking; the one who’d been slipped the Mickey Finn in his tea.  He sounded groggy but he was awake, and talking, and it was apparent that he thought Jones and the bogus policeman were in cahoots.

      “They think I was in on it,” Jones said quietly to himself with a trace of incredulity in his voice, “they think I…I broke you out of jail; me and…..”

     Vadoma looked into his eyes, “and they won’t believe the truth if you tell them Indiana Jones.  We’ve got to get away from here.”

      “Now wait a minute, wait a minute,” Jones said, “We’re not going anywhere…” but in his mind he knew that her simple summation of the situation was probably pretty accurate.

     He’d come to Scotland Yard, in the middle of the night, on New Year’s Eve no less.  He’d lied to the guard at the gate, and then he’d gone and tried to see the prisoner.  They’d turned him away and the next thing they know, someone has drugged the guard and the prisoner has escaped.  Jones now realized that the Nazi assassin had probably slipped away in the commotion also.

     It didn’t look good for Indiana Jones.  It didn’t look good at all.  Jones sat there in the foggy, dark shadows of the tree trunks and contemplated the situation for a few moments.  The more he thought, the more it sunk in that he was in some for some deep trouble.  Who would believe him?  Who could corroborate his story?  Vadoma?  Jones didn’t think they’d put much stock in anything she could say.  The assassin sure wasn’t going to come along and back up Jones’ story.  Probably the only person in England right now who would believe him would be Marcus Brody, and he was leaving for Cairo in the morning.  Jones now wished that he hadn’t kept his nocturnal sojourn from Marcus and Allenby.

     But he had.  He’d come here secretly, and while he was glad that he’d been able to save Vadoma’s life, things hadn’t quite worked out as he had hoped or expected.  By morning he’d be a wanted man in England.

     He turned to Vadoma and grasped her hand, “Come on,” he said, “let’s go.”

      “Where will we go?”

      “We’ve got to get out of here.  And I’ve got to make a phone call,” he answered her as they started to get up.

     The sound of voices drawing closer to them caused Jones and Vadoma to throw themselves back to the ground to try to sink back down into the dark shadows.  They both held their breath at the sound of the approaching policemen.

     As he lay there, dreading the approaching footsteps, Jones suddenly realized the full extent of what he was doing.  If they were to discover him now, trying to hide like this with the escaped prisoner…  No amount of explaining would do.

     Approaching flashlights pierced the darkness, searching in wide arcs for the escaped prisoner…and her accomplices.  A moment later one of the beams of light flitted over the prone huddled figures of the archaeologist and the gypsy woman.  But it didn’t linger.  Jones breathed a sigh of relief as the beams of light moved on past their hiding place.

     Then his breath caught in his throat as one of the beams returned, and directed its bright light directly into his eyes.

      “Stand up!” a harsh voice called out, “The two of you, nice and slow.  Don’t try any funny business mate.”

TO BE CONTINUED…

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