By Monkey

Chapter 39

Danger in the Ruins

     “Get down!” Indiana Jones shouted to Vadoma as he rolled away from his recently dug hole, grabbed her, and pulled her down with him on the opposite side of the marble pedestal.

     Two more gun shots sounded in rapid succession indicating that there was more than one gun man.  Each shot kicked up a small clod of earth in the space just vacated by the archaeologist only seconds before.

      “Indy, we’ve got to get out of here!” Vadoma shouted as she crouched down; the fear and shock at the sudden attack evident in her voice.

     “I’m not leaving without that scroll!”

     “Who are they?” She asked incredulously.

      “I don’t know,” Jones answered her, “but I don’t think they’re just some pissed off archaeologists angry at me for digging on their turf!  My guess is they’re OVRA…Black Shirts…..Mussolini’s version of the Gestapo!”

     Vadoma gazed at him anxiously, “But why….how….?”

     “Like I said before!” Jones peered around the side of the pedestal as he spoke, “after what happened back in Germany…..well, you can bet the Nazis weren’t too pleased with the outcome!” he pulled his head back just in time to avoid a gunshot round that ricocheted off the marble with a whirring, whistling, scream, “They probably put the word out to their Italian friends to be on the lookout for us, knowing we might be coming this way!”

      “Oh Indy, is there any country we can go where we won’t be hunted down like….like animals?” Vadoma said almost despairingly.

     Jones turned to her, “Yeah, the good old ‘US of A’, but it’s a long way from here to Chicago right now!”

      “Come on Indy, we’ve got to go…now!” she tugged on his arm as another gunshot shattered the stillness of the deserted Roman ruins.

     Jones could now hear distant voices shouting at them in Italian.

      “I told you I’m not leaving without that scroll!” He said before diving around the side of the pedestal and lunging for the hole again.

     The archaeologist all but dove into the freshly dug excavation, hoping that he wasn’t diving into his own shallow grave in the process.  He grasped and clawed desperately at the wooden box within but it wouldn’t budge.

     Two shots rang out again.  The first of them slammed into the marble pedestal, but the second one tore right through the open flap of Indiana Jones’ leather jacket, missing his body by less than an inch.  Jones fought with the box for another long moment before it finally gave way.  He pulled it up out of the hole and rolled out of the way of two more bullets, all in the same smooth motion.

     “Come on, let’s get out of here!” He shouted as he tucked the box under his arm and grabbed Vadoma’s hand.

     The couple ran through the ruins.  Their feet clattered down on well worn, aged cobblestones as gunshots rang out behind them, clipping off pieces of marble from venerable old columns and facades.

     Indiana Jones pulled Vadoma with him as he made a sudden sharp turn to the left, running between the remnants of two large dwellings.  Another left turn down an impossibly narrow alley led them out into a larger cobblestone lined thoroughfare.

     The shooting had stopped; a sign to Jones that they had at least temporarily lost their pursuers.  He resisted the overwhelming temptation to break open the sealed wooden box and view its contents. Instead he reached into his pocket and quickly retrieved his map of the ruins.  Breathing rapidly and squinting in the dim, last vestiges of daylight, he tried to make out his own handwriting.

     Vadoma too was breathless.  She searched around nervously with her eyes, throwing anxious glances backward, “Which way Indy?  I am confused.”

      “So am I,” Jones said as he looked up from the map at their surroundings trying to get some kind of bearings.

     The voices of the Italian secret police could once again be heard.

     Jones shoved the map back into his pocket and picked up the wooden box, “This way,” he pointed, making his best guess, and the pair once again began running through the silent, empty streets of the ancient Roman city.  A few moments later they entered an enclosed structure where they could hide from view.

      “What is this place?” Vadoma asked in a whisper as she looked around at its ornately painted walls.

      “The Stabian Baths,” Jones answered her as he yet again pulled out his map.

But it was useless to try to read it now; night had fully descended and Jones could no longer make out any of the map’s features.  Then he stood up and walked over to the entrance way again and peered out.

      “I’m not sure but I think if we just follow the Via Stabiana,” he pointed at the road outside, “it will lead to the Vesuvius Gate on the North side of the city.  It’s just a short walk from there to the Herculaneum Gate where we came in.”

     Vadoma nodded as Jones continued to peer out through the doorway of the ancient Roman bath house, checking as best he could to see if their antagonists were anywhere in view.  Barring the chance that the Black Shirted secret policemen were waiting in ambush, the way looked clear.  With a motion of his head Indiana Jones silently indicated for Vadoma to follow.  The pair stepped out of hiding and back out into the dark ruins where they began to stealthily make their way up the Via Stabiana.

     Apparently they had indeed given their pursuers the slip because minutes later they safely reached the Vesuvius Gate.  Indiana Jones made doubly sure that no one lay in wait for them there before he and Vadoma quietly slipped out of the ruins and made their way back towards where they hoped their taxi still waited for them.

     Their luck held, as both taxi and driver waited patiently.  The driver sat lazily next to the cab smoking a cigar.  At the approach of his customers he stood up and smiled warmly.

     But then their luck gave out again.

     From a distance Jones saw them.  Two Black Shirt policemen were running towards them with side arms drawn.  They were shouting loudly in Italian.  The cab driver glanced over at the approaching policemen, and then back at Jones and Vadoma; now he was no longer smiling. 

     A few seconds later a shot rang out. The cab driver’s cigar dropped from his mouth as he threw his hands up into the air, shouted some kind of panicked prayer for his life in Italian, and ran off screaming into the night.

      “I just hope he left the keys in the ignition!” Indiana Jones shouted as he tossed the wooden box into the back seat and jumped into the front seat of the taxi.

     More gunshots sounded behind them as Vadoma jumped into the passenger’s side.  A moment later they streaked away, leaving a trail of burned rubber from the squealing tires.

      “But where will we go Indy?” Vadoma asked breathlessly after they were back on the coast road.

      “I don’t know,” Jones answered, “but the first thing we’ve got to do is get off of this main road.  We’ll be sitting ducks here.”

     Jones glanced anxiously at the rearview mirror.  A set of headlights followed them in the distance.  The archaeologist tried to gauge the speed of the pursuing vehicle by the motion of the lights.  It was going fast …very fast.  It was them, Jones knew it.  He cut off the lights of the taxi and pressed the accelerator to the floor.

     The sudden darkness and the increase in speed on the winding coastal road alarmed Vadoma.

      “Indy! What are you doing?!”

      “I’m trying to lose them.” he said, “Somewhere up here there should be a road that branches off for the port city of Torre Annunziata.  I saw it on one of the maps in the library, and I think I saw the sign on the way down earlier.”

      “Indy!” Vadoma shouted in alarm as Jones nearly ran off of the dark road and into a ditch.

     Jones swerved back over to the right and narrowly avoided disaster.

     He cut the headlights back on, “Maybe we’d better just leave the lights on,” he said sheepishly.

      “There!” Vadoma shouted and pointed up ahead, “The sign; the sign for Torre Annunziata”

     Jones saw it too.  He down shifted the vehicle, cut the headlights, and took the sharp left turn with a squealing of tires and a cloud of road dust.  Then he once again punched the accelerator to the floor.  A few moments later he cut the lights back on. 

     The road sloped downward toward the port city and it was relatively straight, allowing Jones to pick up even more speed.  But another quick check in the rear view mirror revealed that the pursuing policemen hadn’t missed the turn either.  Like an angry pit bull they clung tenaciously to the trail of the fleeing archaeologist and his beautiful gypsy woman companion.

     Vadoma watched Jones’ eyes as he studied the rearview mirror, then she turned her head around to see the pursuing headlights for herself.

      “What will happen if we can’t lose them?” she asked anxiously.

     Jones glanced over at her with a grim expression etched on his face, “They’ll catch us, and turn us over to the Nazis,” he said with chilling clarity.

      “I’d rather die,” Vadoma said bitterly.

      “Reach in my pocket,” Jones said to her as he gripped tightly to the steering wheel and motioned with his head towards the pocket of his leather jacket, “take out my gun.”

     His eyes went to the rear view mirror again and he studied the reflection of the pursuing headlights for a moment,” If they come too close….shoot at them,” he said.

     Vadoma withdrew the Webley from Indiana Jones’ pocket and nodded grimly.

     They were now entering the town of Torre Annunziata and were forced to slow down. Like most small Italian cities the roads of Torre Annunziata were narrow and haphazardly interconnected in what could best be described as a maze.  But the maze of small streets was just what the doctor ordered for Jones and Vadoma, as the archaeologist once again cut his headlights and endeavored to lose his pursuers.

     After a series of twists and turns that Jones maneuvered carefully in the darkness, he switched his lights back on and discovered that they had reached the waterfront, and the city’s main pier complex.  Three dilapidated tramp freighters were tied up there.  And two tired looking, rusted, old cargo cranes stood stoically above a helter-skelter jumble of shipping crates and cargo boxes strewn up and down the length of the pier.

     Indiana Jones finally brought the taxi to a halt; pausing to gather his thoughts and plan their next move, uncertain what to do next.  But the pause was brief, because a moment later the policemen’s car rounded the corner of the street from which Jones and Vadoma had just come.

     Indiana Jones slammed the taxi back into gear and punched the accelerator.  Tires squealed and the vehicle swerved and twisted as its wheels spun, and then finally gripped the cobblestone street.  But he didn’t get far before he realized that the road, which suddenly narrowed up ahead, was blocked off by a parked truck.  There was no way around it.  Behind them the policemen were closing in fast.  Jones knew that he had only seconds to react if they were to escape the trap.

     In a desperate move the archaeologist spun the steering wheel hard over to the left.  The taxi skidded sideways before turning a full one hundred and eighty degrees.  Now they were grill to grill with the oncoming police vehicle.

     Indiana Jones pressed the accelerator to the floor once again and sped forward in a brazen game of ‘chicken’.  But Jones was going to add another element to the game.

      “Shoot at them!” He shouted to Vadoma.

     She looked for a moment at the Webley revolver in her hand and then back over at Jones.

      “Shoot!  Now!” He shouted again.

     Vadoma quickly rolled down the window of the car and leaned out, holding the weapon with both hands.  She squeezed off three rounds, one of which impacted with the windshield of the police vehicle.

     The policemen were caught by surprise by the unexpected fire and the driver temporarily lost control of his vehicle which swerved to the side of the narrow street and sent a shower of sparks into the air as it scraped along the side of a brick building.  Jones and Vadoma roared past them close enough to clip off their side mirrors.

     Indiana Jones now made directly for the pier.

      “I’ve got an idea!” he said as he began to weave between and amongst the jumble of shipping crates.

     Meanwhile the police vehicle had recovered, turned around, and was once again chasing after the pair of fugitives.

     On the pier Jones slammed on the brakes and brought the vehicle to an abrupt stop next to a large crate, “Get out here!” He said to Vadoma.

     She looked confused for a moment.

      “Hurry!” Jones urged.

     Vadoma opened the door, got out of the car, and stood on the dark pier..

      “Get down!” Jones said, “Stay here.  Stay out of sight.  Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right back.”

     Then Indiana Jones floored the accelerator.  The wheels of the taxi spun on the oily, wooden surface of the pier for a moment before the vehicle took off again.  He glanced back up at his rear view in time to see the police car turn on to the pier in pursuit of him.  That was good, Jones thought, he wanted them to see him now; he had a plan.

     The final stage of the chase was on.  But as Indiana Jones continued on down the length of the pier, weaving between the shipping crates, he was rapidly running out of room.  The police vehicle doggedly continued to pursue.

     As she crouched in her hiding place Vadoma tried to watch, catching intermittent glimpses of the taxi and the police car as they dodged in and out of view between the huge crates.

     Vadoma had a clear view of the very end of the pier.  And a moment later to her shock and horror, she saw the taxi driven by Indiana Jones hurdle off of the edge.  The car flew a considerable distance through the air before it plunged into the cold waters of the bay, where it quickly sank.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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