By Monkey

Chapter 28

Dutch Road Trip

     Indiana Jones stood helplessly by on the little sidewalk café as he watched Vadoma being pulled back into the window above.  A small crowd was beginning to gather to watch the commotion and stare at the unusual American with the decorative cast on his left arm who had just jumped from the same window.  Jones knew that the police would undoubtedly be coming around in just a few moments to grab him too.  There wasn’t much time to decide what to do, and there weren’t many options.  If he just stood there he would be arrested.  If he fled then he would have to leave Vadoma.  If he tried to go back into the apartment building he would also probably just be arrested as well.

     Jones had already gone several moments overtime in making his decision, he thought, as he saw more and more people gathering around.  But he felt he couldn’t just leave Vadoma behind.  Not only did he need her to help clear up the mess with Scotland Yard, but also …

     Vadoma reappeared in the window.  She was fighting and struggling to get back out on the ledge.  Jones could have known the girl wouldn’t go down easily.  She was a fighter.  And it appeared that she might be gaining the upper hand.

     She was almost all the way back out of the window again but a gendarme’s hand still gripped tightly to the strap of her dress.  She fought and wiggled to free herself but the man continued to hold tightly.  Her dark hair flew wildly, and gypsy curses flew from her lips as she struggled to get free from the hands that held her.  Then Jones saw her raise up one of her legs and kick backward.  The blow struck firmly into the chest of her adversary, knocking him to his knees.  A moment later she jumped free of the window, bounced lithely on the café awning, and rolled off into the arms of Indiana Jones who then placed her gently to the ground.

     To Indiana Jones’ absolute surprise, the small crowd that had gathered around broke into a spontaneous round of exuberant cheers and applause.  But the five policemen who next rounded the corner weren’t cheering.

      Jones and Vadoma didn’t have time to take a bow or make an encore.

      “Come on!” Jones grabbed her hand, “this way!”

     They made their way through the small crowd, who parted for them, patting them both on the back and cheering them as they passed through.  The police gave chase, but the crowd was still enthralled by the unexpected and dramatic, live, street theater they’d just witnessed.  In a spontaneous group decision to protect the two star actors they swallowed up the gendarmes, jostling them and pushing them back.  It was just the delay that the two fugitives needed.

     Indy and Vadoma were again on the run through the streets of Calais.  Their police pursuers were now multiplying though.  The gendarmes didn’t like to be embarrassed and after the incident with the café crowd they were angry.  More than a dozen gendarmes now prowled the streets searching for the archaeologist and the gypsy girl.

     Jones knew that it would probably be best to get out of the town and into the countryside as fast as possible.  To that end they stealthily made their way through the back streets and alleys and headed inland, away from the sea.  But with the number of policemen now searching for them it might be unlikely that they would make it out of town at all.  They were both exhausted and needed to rest.  And so it was that as they rounded the corner of a largely deserted street, Jones saw the answer to their immediate needs.

     It was a farm wagon, piled high with hay.

      Jones pulled Vadoma over towards the wagon and stared at it for a moment, “This is it.  This is what we need.”

      “What are you talking about Indy?  There’s…no horse.”

     Indiana Jones studied the little street in every direction, satisfied as he could be that they were alone and unseen, “No, no, we’re not going anywhere with this, but we can hide here until nightfall.”

     Now it was Vadoma’s turn to check all around to make sure they were not seen by anyone, “Alright,” she said as Jones helped her up on to the wagon.

     Voices could be heard.  They were in the distance, but they were approaching.

      “Hurry Indy!”  Vadoma said as Jones climbed up on to the wagon behind her.

     Quickly they set about digging into the large pile of hay, creating a ‘nest’ in which they could hide.  Once inside they covered themselves over completely, spurred on by the approaching voices of policemen.

     Moments later the policemen arrived in the small back street.  Indy and Vadoma lay silently and held their breath.  The voices approached closer and Jones could only hope that they had covered up their hiding place without any tell-tale signs.

     The policemen were conversing with one another in French that was far too fast for Jones to keep up with.  And even if Vadoma knew French, he wasn’t about to ask her what they were saying now.  He closed his eyes and lay as still as possible to avoid any possible motion of the haystack atop them.

     This time luck was on their side though, and the policemen moved on without as much as a second glance at the hay wagon.  Finally Jones allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.  In the close dark confines of their ‘nest’ Vadoma could feel Jones’ body relaxing, and hers followed suit.  Both of them were beyond exhaustion.

     Wordlessly Vadoma snuggled her body up closer to Indiana Jones.  Just as wordlessly he reached out for her and pulled her closer to him.  He liked the warmth of her body and he liked the way her soft breasts felt against his chest.  A few moments later they both fell fast asleep.

     He didn’t know how long they had slept, but Jones was awakened in a most violent fashion.

      “Hey!” he shouted and stood up as he felt the prongs of a pitchfork jab at his backside.

     Luckily the pitchfork hadn’t hit with enough force to cause any harm, but Jones knew that the jig was up.

     They had been discovered.

     Indiana Jones jumped straight up and out of the haystack like some kind of life-sized ‘jack in the box’, Vadoma stood up next to him.  The stunned farmer just stared at them with wide eyes for a moment, but then recovered from his surprise and leveled his pitchfork menacingly.

     Jones looked all around.  They weren’t where they had been before, and there was now a horse attached to the front of the wagon.

      “Do you know any French?” Indy asked Vadoma.

      “No,” she answered him.

     Indiana Jones then turned to the farmer, “Ah, er, do you speak English?” He asked sheepishly.

     The farmer ignored him and turned his head to the side while keeping his eyes on them.  Then he opened his mouth and took a breath as if getting ready to shout.

      “No!”  Indiana Jones shook his head imploringly.  He then reached into his pocket and pulled out several large denomination English Pound notes, “Do you understand this kind of English?”

     The farmer’s eyes opened wider as he stared at the money, “Oui,” he answered after a moment, and lowered his pitchfork.

*********

     An hour later Jones and Vadoma were enjoying a delicious breakfast in the home of Jacque Le Claire on his farm in the countryside just north of Calais.  It turned out that Jacque spoke very good English after all; but he also spoke the language of money.  For a handsome fee Jacque had smuggled the pair of fugitives out of Calais, and now as they ate, Jones discussed with him the details of the next favor he needed.

      “Amsterdam eh?”  The farmer said as he poured another glass of wine for himself.

      “Yes, Amsterdam,” Jones answered him as he spread some more pate on to his bread and took a big bite.

      “My brother, he has a motorcar.  He can take you,” Jacque said.

      “When?  …And how much?” Jones wasted no time in asking the most important questions.

     Jacque glanced at the clock on the wall, “Pierre has gone to Graveline, but he will be back before noon.  You can leave then.”

      “How much?” Jones repeated the earlier question.

     Jacque stared at him for a moment, “Five hundred American Dollars.”

      “One hundred English Pounds,” Jones countered.

      “Two hundred Pounds,” the old farmer haggled.

      “One fifty.”

      “One seventy-five.”

      “Deal,” Jones and the farmer concluded the deal with a handshake.

     After eating, Indy and Vadoma relaxed at the kitchen table and sipped some of the fine white wine that Jacque had provided.

      “Only the French would drink wine with breakfast,” he said with a chuckle.

     Vadoma looked across the table at him, “Indy, tell me again why we are going to Holland.  I think that I do not understand.  What is there for us in Amsterdam?”

     Jones sipped his wine and then placed his glass down on the table, “There’s a man there named Jan Van der Moot.  He owes me a favor…a big favor; and he can help us.”

      “Why does he owe you a favor?” She asked.

      “I saved his life once in Borneo,” Jones answered her.

      “Is this what you do Indiana Jones?  …go around the world saving peoples’ lives?”

      “Sometimes,” Indy deadpanned.

      “So how did you save this man’s life?” Vadoma asked curiously.

     Indiana Jones paused, and then shook his head slightly, “Oh, it’s a long story; too long to tell here.  It involves cannibals, head hunters, Chinese pirates, a shipload of opium, a fortune in smuggled rubies, and a Dutch Princess with a bad attitude.”

      “Sounds like an interesting story,” she said.

      “Yeah, I’ll tell you about it some time,” he said, “but not now,” he gazed out the window, “I think our ride is here.”

     A Peugeot sedan pulled up to the house and a short, middle aged Frenchman stepped out and walked up to the house whistling.

      “Ah, Pierre is back,” Jacque said as he came back into the kitchen.

     After Pierre entered the house he and his brother held a very quick discussion.  Pierre, who spoke no English, seemed pleased at what his brother told him and smiled amicably at Jones and Vadoma.

     A half hour later they were on the road.

     Indiana Jones and Vadoma Maniskelko slept for most of the four and a half hour trip up through Belgium and into Holland.  The fine breakfast they’d eaten at Jacque’s farm and the precious hours of sleep seemed to revive both of them and they awoke feeling refreshed as they entered the city of Amsterdam, Holland.

     Jones used hand signals and body language to direct Pierre.  It had been some years since Jones had visited the city, but his memory was good and he navigated skillfully using landmarks as his guides.

     Eventually they arrived at Nijmegen Street, and the residence of one Mr. Jan Van der Moot: scholar, international trader and adventurer.  And for those like Indiana Jones who knew better: ……smuggler, pirate, and most important to Jones right now…expert forger.

     Jones knocked on the door.

      It was getting close to sunset.  The first day of 1938 was drawing to a close; for Indiana Jones it had been a day to remember.  Four countries in one day, he thought to himself; not too bad, a few more and he might even make it to Egypt.  Then all he would have to do is find Richard Malboury somewhere along the five hundred miles of the Nile River valley, and rescue him from a detachment of hardcore Nazi fanatics.

     Sure…no problem.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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