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INDIANA JONES
AND THE
LAST CRUSADE

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It was just past 3pm in Barnett college, one of its more soporific periods. Halfway along the hallway Marcus still hadn't looked up, despite the attention the newcomer was getting from the scattered students and lecture skippers, and Indiana Jones decided he'd try to catch him surprised.
"Hello Marcus!" he exclaimed.
Marcus looked up. "Indy! You're back!" And what he was thinking was... why on earth is he soaking wet?
"Yes!" said Indy. From the inner folds of his (soaked) leather jacket Indy brought out his right hand - and in it was a heavy golden cross. "And I have the Cross of Coronado!"
"Wonderful!" said Marcus. "I know how long you've been looking for that."
"All my life!" confirmed Indy. He was happy.
Marcus didn't say anything. Instead, he looked downward at Indy's apparel, as everyone in the (thankfully quiet) hallway seemed to be. "Indy," he finally said, scratching his neck, "why are you all wet?"
Indy looked down at his clothes, then back up. "Don't ask! Er, I better go change." He walked past Marcus, toward the gym.

The gym was only one turn of the hall away. Inside were a couple of people sitting bored in the stands, someone shooting a basketball, a huge guy with cramp, and, throwing punches in the ring, his sparring partner Kent.
Indy changed into shorts and singlet, and they went for several rounds in the ring. He still felt great, and Kent had to concede something of a defeat. "Good thing you don't discover archaeological finds all that often!" Kent joked, although Indy couldn't really see the humour.
After a shower and a trip to the laundry, Indy was back and changed into his teaching clothes. The change from hardy adventurer to bookish professor could not be more complete. It was almost like a second identity.
It was now late afternoon. Indy walked along the deserted corridors of Barnett College, his mind at ease. He paused to look at the various display cases, filled with the finds of Barnett College professors, quite a lot of them Indy's. He saw the faculty photographs, the College awards, and walked on past the bulletin board and drinking fountain.
Indy hummed softly under his breath as he reached the door to his office. The handle turned easily in his hands, and a little bit of reality re-entered his life.
His office was full of irate students waving pieces of paper, and a secretary almost in tears, screaming and ripping up papers from her desk.
Indy pushed through the students - it seemed like his whole class had turned up. "Irene! What's happening here?" he asked. He had to shout to be heard above the din.
Irene looked up, eyes wide and starey. "Oh, Dr Jones! I'm so glad you're back! These students are very upset!"
Indy didn't need Irene to tell him that. All around him, students were making noise and shoving cards in his face. "Wait!" shouted Indy, and finally managed to get some quiet. "Maybe you should see another faculty adviser," he said. Indy was in too good a mood for work today.
"All the archaeology professors are booked!" protested the students, seemingly in unison.
Indy quickly held up his hands. "Just a moment, folks. I'm sure we can work something out."
This time the response was far from uniform. "What are you going to do?" shouted someone. "I was here first!" added another. "No, I was!"
Indy waited it out. "Please relax," he said when there was a gap of silence. "I have a solution that is fair for everyone."
"Well, as long as there's a fair way," said someone.
Indy looked at Irene. "Irene, take down names and I will see everyone in order." Then he pushed through the crowd to the doorway beyond, leaving behind a chaos of "I was first!" "No, it was me!" "I'm behind him!" "Stop shoving!"
The doorway led into Indy's real office - his storeroom. Indy got inside, shut the door, and locked it. It wouldn't hold them for long, but Indy wasn't planning to spend any amount of time in here.
He walked amongst the tables and benches. This had used to be part caretaker equipment shed and part toilet, but Indy had managed to requisition the area several years ago. It was still pretty run down and there were lots of pipes in the ceiling, but it was also Indy's little private area and he was pretty attached to the place.
There were ten years of memories in here. A mask he got from an African shaman near Kinshasa, a curious totem pole in the corner he'd gotten from a strange Brazilian tribe that worships dogs and rabbits, a crystal shard from a Mayan temple that some flakes from San Francisco were after, even replicas of the Sankara stones. And, of course, there was the less serious stuff, like a mask he'd used on Halloween once, and some statues donated by some people he knew in Sculpture 101. Indy saw all of these and more, but what he was most interested in was the huge pile of mail which had accumulated on his desk during his absence.
Indy started to sift through it. At the top, there was nothing but junk mail. Underneath that, the junk letters. Indy noted the addresses and threw them aside. Under all that was the more usual clutter of archaeology papers. Indy shifted them aside, and at the bottom was a square package.
It was from his father.
Indy was immediately curious. What on earth could his father have sent him? Whatever it was, it seemed to have arrived here before everything else.
He opened the package, and gasped. The Grail Diary! Henry Jones had sent him the Grail Diary!
As Indy started to thumb through the yellowing pages, his first thought was: why?
It was a thought which made him stop reading and look up. Finding the Grail was something of an obsession for Henry Jones, considered to be the foremost Grail scholar in the world. An entire lifetime of work, sifted and collated, rested in these pages which Indy now held. As far as Indy knew, Henry would rather part with his son than his diary. He'd never give it up.
Unless he thought it was in some kind of danger.
Indy felt a stab of worry. And he thought: there was no letter with it. Just the diary.
The moment passed. Indy put the Diary safely inside his coat pocket, then walked toward one of the large glass windows opening on a view of the Barnett College lawn.
Irene was going to kill him for this, but...
Indy opened the window. He climbed on the sill, jumped out, and landed on a group of roses. Now not only Irene but the caretaker would be after him, as well. Indy rose, smiling at the thought, and brushed himself off. He started walking along the lawn toward the street, in a good mood again.
At the front of the college, the street was just about empty. Just about, because parked at the kerb was a huge blue Plymouth, and standing by it, two large men in black suits. They seemed to straighten up as he approached.
Indy kept on walking forward.
The two men came toward him. "Dr Jones," said one, "come with us, please." Indy stopped, and looked at them. He somehow got the impression they wouldn't take no for an answer.
A little nervous, his worries about Henry renewed, Indy got in the back of the car.

They drove, quickly and expertly, into the city. The car stopped in the garage of a large apartment block, and Indy and the two men rode up a lift to the upper floors.
They showed him into a spacious, modern art deco apartment adorned with all sorts of precious relics and seemingly designed with the words 'light' and 'ethereal' in mind. Indy waited in the sitting room, with its massive curved window giving almost a 180 degree view of the city, in the light of the setting sun. He was a little more at ease - he'd already recognised the owner of the place from his collection.
Soon, Walter Donovan came in to join him.
Donovan was a rich man, old, well travelled. He had some fame as a scholar, but more as a philanthropist - the volume and quality of materials he had devoted to public collections was remarkable. He was a polite, well-mannered, and confident person. Indy had never met him in person, but he knew him through his numerous donations.
"Good afternoon, Dr Jones," he said as he came into the living room. "I hope I didn't alarm you."
Indy nodded. "Well, I'm not used to such unorthodox methods of introduction."
"I'm sorry if my men inconvenienced you," said Donovan. "My name is Walter Donovan."
"I know who you are, Mr Donovan," said Indy. "Your contributions to the museum have been most generous. And, I must say, some of your pieces here are very impressive."
Donovan nodded, as from one professional to another. "Like yourself, I have a passion for antiquities." He turned, and Indy found himself following Donovan past several of these antiquities to a small wooden table. "Have a look over here," said Donovan. "You may find this interesting."
On the table was a broken stone tablet, with deep-scored inscriptions. Indy knelt down, putting on his glasses for a closer inspection, and ran an exploratory finger over the surface. "Early Christian symbols... middle twelfth century, I'd say." He looked up at Donovan. "Where did you find it?"
"In the mountains north of Ankara," answered Donovan. "Can you translate it?"
Indy looked back down, and reconcentrated. "The top part is missing, but..." He mused in silence, mouthing possible phrases. Then he spoke, slowly and haltingly, as he translated the writings.
"... a spring welling up inside him for eternal life. Through the desert to the canyon of the crescent moon. Where-"
Indy looked up at the impassive Donovan in disbelief.
"Where the cup that holds the blood of Jesus Christ our Lord resides for ever," he whispered.
"The Holy Grail, Dr Jones," said Donovan, with the barest stirrings of emotion. "It will bring eternal life to whoever drinks it."
"An old man's dream," said Indy, contemptuously.
Donovan smiled, and shook his head. "Every man's dream. Including your fathers, I believe. He's the foremost grail scholar in the world today, I believe."
Indy didn't have to reply to that one. Of course he was. And now he was suspicious, too. He'd just been mailed his father's Grail Diary, his most treasured possession, several hours ago; and now Walter Donovan was talking about trying for the Grail himself. There was a connection concealed somewhere, and that connection was worrying Indy.
"In any case," said Donovan, "an attempt to recover the grail is now underway."
"But the slab's incomplete. You won't know where to look," Indy pointed out. And he realised - if his father was the world's foremost Grail scholar, why didn't Walter Donovan ask him to help? Why was he talking to Indiana Jones?
Walter Donovan started to walk around the room, talking slow, measured paces. "This slab is one of two markers left by three Knights during the First Crusade." He paused by an alcove, where an open manuscript was displayed. "This Franciscan manuscript tells of the second marker buried with one of the Knights. It suggests that a description of the Grail can be found on the way to the Knight's tomb."
Indy, his curiosity piqued, came over and peered at the manuscript. He read along for a page then looked up. "It also says," he spoke to Donovan, "a painting was made of the Grail that answers a question my father had - does the Grail actually glow?" Amazing - he was already using the present tense. "But it doesn't say where the Knight's tomb can be found."
Walter Donovan walked away. "Our team leader believes it is in Venice - and that is where he disappeared!" He paused. "We'd like you to take over his quest."
Indy stared at Donovan. Those bad feelings were just getting worse. "You've got the wrong Jones," he protested. "You should talk to my father."
What Donovan said next made Indy feel sick.
"We already have. Your father is our project leader. He's the man who disappeared."

It was dark by the time Indy reached his Dad's apartment.
After a few more minutes with Walter Donovan, his men had taken Indy back to Barnett College. Indy, churning with all sorts of feelings, went straight to Marcus Brody's office.
Brody was instantly concerned. "Dear God," he said, "what has the old fool gotten into now?"
"I don't know," Indy had replied, "but whatever it is, he's in over his head!" Indy took out the Grail Diary from his pocket and showed Ma rcus.
"The Diary?"
"Yes. Why would he send it to me?"
Marcus looked stern. "I don't know. But someone must want it pretty badly."
They talked for a few more minutes. Finally, Indy said, "I guess I'll call Donovan and take a ticket to Venice."
"Make that two tickets," said Marcus firmly. Indy called up Donovan and asked him to arrange two tickets. They talked for several minutes, Donovan giving him the name of his contact and a rough outline of what the team had been up to. "Be careful," advised Donovan. "Don't trust anyone."
It was only an hour later now. Why was he coming here? He and his father weren't that close. They'd grown apart. Why was he so suddenly concerned about him?
It had started out as such a great day, and now he was being hit with shock after shock. As he opened the door on the carnage inside Henry's apartment, another one came.
The apartment had been ransacked. The floor was literally covered with torn strips of paper, overturned chairs, books, all of his possessions.
This was Henry's house, not Indy's, but he felt a deep shock all the same. What on earth were they after? Indy had a good idea. But who were 'they'?
He walked into the room, picking a way through the rubbish and mess. And now Indy wondered if they'd managed to open his chest. Indy went to the shelves - their books were strewn on the floor, but the shelves were intact - and pulled down one. Sure enough, the key was still there, taped to the back.
There was a small table by the door, with a plant resting on top of a white tablecloth. Indy put the plant on the floor and pulled off the tablecloth, revealing it wasn't a table after all but a small chest, raised on four legs. With the key, Indy raised the lid of the chest.
Well. His Dad seemed to have cleared most of the stuff out of here. All that was left in the chest was a small book.
Indy instantly recognised it. When he was a little boy, Indy had made a diary that imitated his father's far more valuable Grail Diary. This was it.
Frowning, Indy took the diary. It might come in useful. He took another look around the living room, sorry he wouldn't be able to clean up properly before leaving for Venice. Then he walked into the bedroom.
Whoever had ransacked the place had done a thorough job. All of Dad's clothing was strewn across the floor, and even his mattress was askew. At least the decorations were intact - a picture of their old house in Four Corners above the bed, and hanging by the window, a small picture Indy had drawn himself. The painting was completely unrelated to the Grail - it was just of a trophy his father had won. From some angles, however, it did bear some sort of resemblance to a chalice.
Indy looked at it for a while, then walked back to the living room. Time to start cleaning up.

Indy and Marcus took a plane - it went through Newfoundland, the Azores, Lisbon, and finally landed on the mainland near Venice. After a short rail trip, and a gondola ride through the canals of the city, they found themselves in the Piazza San Marco, or St. Mark's Square. It was the heart of Venice, home of the Basilica of San Marco, Doges' Palace and Museo Correr. Around them circled the busy canals, and a thousand years of history.
Indy knew that Venice was in decline - quite literally. The land had sunk six feet since Roman times, so that now there were frequent floodings at high tide. But standing here on this bright spring day, a warm breeze blowing in from the Adriatic, walking along the Piazza past picture-perfect flower stalls and outdoor cafes, it felt more like a heyday to Indy and Marcus.
They stopped at an outdoor restaurant, raised twelve feet above the Piazza and overlooking San Marco. The tables were full of lazy afternoon diners. "Ah, Venice!" said Indy.
"Yes," said Marcus, who was still a little worried. "How are we going to meet our contact, Dr Schneider?"
"Maybe he'll recognise us," said Indy. "This is definitely the place."
"Dr Jones?" asked a woman behind him. Indy turned, and was stopped by what he saw. She was young, with blonde hair, attractive features, and intelligent, deep blue eyes. She was wearing a black skirt and light blue blouse.
"Uh, yes?" Indy managed to get out.
"I knew it was you," continued the girl. "You have your father's eyes."
"And my mother's ears," responded Indy with a grin on his face, "but the rest belongs to you." Marcus watched him with a mixture of amusement and concern.
"Looks like the best parts have already been spoken for," said the girl, not taking her eyes from Indy. "Marcus Brody?" she said, now shifting her gaze.
"That's right," said Marcus, looking up from a surreptitious glance at his watch.
"I'm Dr Elsa Schneider," she said.
Indy's grin faded. "Oh... So, ah, could you tell me about my father's disappearance?"
"Of course," said Elsa. She had a faint Austrian accent. "We were working in the library when it happened. I'll show you."
Marcus didn't move. "Why don't you two go ahead without me?" he suggested. "I think I'll take a nice relaxing gondola ride."
Indy nodded. "Very well, Marcus. Dr Schneider, lead the way."
She led him down the steps to the Piazza. Sansovino Library was on the opposite side, so they walked past the statue of Bartololommeo Colleoni; ornate, fluted lampposts; and the Campanile Fountain.
The library, when they finally entered through the huge wooden doors, was quiet, cold, and drafty. Statues sat on the marble floor, and the windows were stained glass.
"It looks more like a church," said Indy in a low voice. Sounds carried in here - they heard footsteps from both sides.
"You couldn't be more right," said Elsa, leading Indy through the second set of doors and into the book collection. "It was a church, during the Crusades." They stopped here, Indy looking around curiously. "Now, just before your father vanished he was muttering something about Roman numerals. He said he'd searched everywhere for them - without success."
"What happened?" asked Indy.
"I left your father working in the library," said Elsa. "He sent me to the map section to fetch an ancient plan of the city. When I got back to the table he was gone." She looked to the main desk, where an aged man was stamping away at a whole pile of books. "I'll make sure we won't be bothered. Then we can take a look around."
Elsa walked to the front desk. "Excuse me, sir," she said politely. The library official didn't look up. "Pardon me," she added, louder.
No response.
"Hey you!!" she shouted, loud enough for every single library patron to hear - but not loud enough for the library official.
Indy came over. "I doubt he'll be much trouble," he said.
"Hmmpph!" said Elsa, and walked away into the library.
Indy grinned, and likewise started to explore the library. He soon discovered its regular structure - basically, the place was a donut. Because it was hard to build curved walls, the general effect was achieved by dividing the place into six segments, or stations, with sharp angles and long lines of bookshelves connecting the segments. The stations themselves were bare - they didn't house any bookshelves, or even reading desks. It was a pity, as the way the afternoon sun came through the stained glass window illuminating each station would have made reading a joy.
Indy, browsing along the bookshelves, came across some interesting books. The first, in a shelf all by itself, was a first edition of Mein Kampf, in very bad condition. The second Indy found while happening upon a section containing Maps of Ancient Italy. It was called Secrets of the Roman Catacombs, and flipping through Indy found maps of catacombs which, the book said, lay directly underneath. "Deep beneath the city," proclaimed the book soberly, "lie the paths to the tomb."
The tomb of the second Knight? wondered Indy. In any case, this book was a real find, so he pocketed it alongside Mein Kampf. His next few steps brought him out into the next station, and suddenly Indy realised the source of the Roman numerals.
He must have been blind. On the tiled floor of the station was a three by three grid. From top left to bottom right, the grid contained the first nine Roman numerals, painted in a fading purple. The multicoloured sunlight coming through the window tended to soften, rather than exaggerate, the contrast.
Indy stared downward. "Dad searched for Roman numerals everywhere?" He felt sure he'd found the source of the numerals - but which numerals? Which station? He looked around for further inspiration, and saw there were two stone columns either side of the window - each about twelve feet high, and supporting a majestic stone lion. Each column, Indy saw with a quickening heart, had numbers etched onto an inscription. On the left column, they were II VIII I. On the right column, V III IV. It was an intriguing clue, but Indy just as quickly forgot about it. He was staring at the stained glass window.
Two angels prayed on either side of the window, facing inward. At the top, the head of John the Baptist on a platter was illuminated by the sun's rays. Underneath John was a shield, intricately etched.
It was teasingly familiar. Quickly Indy pulled out the Grail Diary and flipped through the pages. Almost immediately, he found a double page spread.
Note the particular care taken in drawing the shield, wrote the pen of Henry Jones, the areas above it, and the angels. The cryptic message below seems to have something to do with Roman numerals and stone pillars.
That was the left page. The right page held an illustration of a stained glass window similar to the one Indiana Jones was standing in front of, but differed in a few key areas. The message below read: If ye would enter, follow the second on the right.
Indy remembered that the stained glass windows at the stations were had pretty much the same general design. Almost instantly he was off, striding through the bookshelves and looking keenly at the windows.
He wanted to find Elsa, to tell her his discovery, but she was nowhere to be found. And when Indy came across the matching window, only twenty feet from the entrance doors, he forgot all about her again.
Mouth open, Indy peered at the inscription on the right hand column. The second number was III.
He looked at III, painted on the tiled floor, and he finally realised what his Dad had been up to here. He wasn't looking for a book on the Knight's tomb - he was looking for the tomb itself! And Elsa had said this place was a Church during the Crusades.
Indy tried to grasp the tile around the edge and heave it up. It was impossible. There was a red cordon under the window, held in place by three brass stands. Indy untied the cordon and picked up one of the stands. He thought for a moment, then took the cordon as well.
This was going to make some noise. Indy looked left and right, and listened. It was quiet, and had been so for the last few minutes. The only sound was the stamp of the librarian's, er, stamp, far off in the distance. It was coming as regular as a pendulum, and was just as easy to ignore.
Indy timed the delay between each stamp. Then he stabbed down with the stand, hitting the tile in perfect sync.
The librarian, stamping another volume, was a little taken aback when the sound reverberated violently through the library. He looked at the stamp curiously.
Indy looked down at the cracked tile, waited for the stamping to begin again, and hit it again. The second strike broke the tile. It fell down a fair way before striking bottom, leaving jagged edges poking out into the gap. Cold air and a wet, rancid smell wafted up.
"Bingo," said Indy softly. Grasping the edges, he lowered himself into space.

Indy had been in plenty of dark places before. Very quickly, his eyes had adjusted to the gloom.
He was in a much larger space than he'd expected. The shelf he was on was small, and wet underfoot, but all around it was a large open space, leading to three low tunnels. The walls, curved and adobe-like, countered this impression by containing, at regular intervals, skulls glaring at the centre of the room. The passing of centuries had discoloured them considerably.
Indy knew he didn't have much time before his vandalism was discovered, but for a moment he couldn't move. His sense of professional detachment was, for the moment, mere background noise against the sense of wonder and awe he now felt, being perhaps the first in centuries to walk along the slime-filled tunnels, in the very burial grounds of the second Knight. Indy stepped off the shelf and onto the floor, away from the light coming from the opening. Each movement, every noise he made seemed profane in this deathly stillness.
Quickly, he took a cigarette lighter and examined symbols, carved into the walls between the skulls. His hands brushed away the cobwebs and dirt, working faster and less precisely than usual. Very soon, the origin of the symbols, if not their meaning, became clear. They were Pagan, and roughly 5th or 6th century. If the Christian Crusaders had established their own catacombs here, as Indy was certain they would, they would be further on.
Indy was suddenly very glad he'd found that book. He opened it, flicking briskly through the pages until he found the maps of the Venice catacombs. He moved back toward the opening, staring down at the diagram.
Thirty seconds he spent there, staring at three diagrams - two extremely large, one small. At any moment he might be discovered, but Indy pushed such concerns out of his mind and concentrated on memorising. When he had it, he pushed the book shut and headed for the left tunnel, as fast as his meagre light source would allow.

The tunnel was low and bare, and wet underfoot. It turned sharply right, ran through a crossroads intersection (which Indy, from the map, could safely ignore), and came together with two other tunnels to another open area. On the diagrams Indy had memorised, certain areas were marked with wide circles - these were presumably points of interest. This was the first.
There were two skeletons here, propped up against the wall. One wore the rotting remains of a hat, the other, its head lolling, wore a rusty hook as its right hand. Indy picked up the hook and examined it - it smelt coppery, and could probably give someone a nasty tetanus scare. He took it, and looked around for anything else notable. There was nothing - no tombs, no markers, nothing. Indy shrugged, and moved toward the tunnel on the right. There was simply no time to make a detailed perusal.
This tunnel ran straight for a long distance, finally coming to a T intersection. Indy went right, then right again. He was heading downward, and it was getting wetter - droplets of water would occasionally drop from the ceiling and hit him. Sloshing clumsily, his wet footsteps reverberated far more violently than his gentle pads through the moist dirt. Unconsciously, this made him slow down a little.
This turned out somewhat fortuitously, as it was his slightly lower speed that allowed Indy to see the torch, attached to the inner wall of a gentle curve left. Indy looked at it longingly - he really did need a better source of light than this suspect cigarette lighter. When he tried to pull it from its holder, however, it refused to yield. Examining the metal circle, he saw hard, dry mud was encrusted all over the holder, and the base of the torch. Time had sealed it, rock hard. Disappointed, Indy moved on. With this lighter he could barely see the walls either side of him, let alone anything important.
The tunnel continued onward, kinked left, and at this point was flanked either side by a pair of flaky wooden doors. The doors gave Indy some hope - he was starting to think no-one had built beyond the first few feet. There was a turn left, which Indy ignored, and very quickly afterward the walls widened both sides of him.
On the map, this was the third circle. Indy at last had something to do - following the right wall, he examined the recesses hollowed out of the soil, and the skeletons reclining peacefully within, barest scraps of flesh hanging from their bones. Three deep and three tall these skeletons were arranged along the wall, with nothing to identify them or tell them apart. Indy scanned them all - but saw no shield.
He moved toward the centre of the room, scanning the floor. He saw a huge stone slab set in the ground - remarkably clean, and regular. He knelt down and tried to pick it up, but the sides were too smooth. Undeterred, Indy walked past, to the far side tunnel.

This tunnel branched off left, which Indy ignored, and very quickly branched right. Now, for the first time, Indy had a choice. Straight ahead led to a single black circle, and the right hand turn also led to a black circle, and the remainder of the catacombs. Indy went right, very quickly finding the next point of interest.
Indy realised he really should have thought of this earlier.
The remainder of the catacombs were flooded out. Before him now was a flat, black expanse of water, perfectly smooth. It was almost impossible to make out the far side, but Indy could see the general direction of the ceiling was arching downward. He'd need a spelunking degree to get any further.
He stood there for a few minutes, staring vainly at the opposite wall, trying to see some kind of ground on the other side. His poor lighter wasn't up to the task, and reluctantly Indy finally turned back. At the intersection he turned right - this was his last chance. Soon, he started to feel uneasy.
Bit by bit, odd, anachronistic details were starting to make themselves felt. His weak light source seemed a little more effective. The almost total, womb-like silence of the tunnels was gradually replaced by odd ambient noises, unidentifiable - a constant background hum.
What he actually found at the black circle was completely unexpected and oddly deflating - if he wasn't so disappointed, he would have broken out in laughter.
The tunnel rapidly emerged into a small enclosed space, the size of a living room, the clay soil under his feet now turned to concrete. The space before him was a maze of small steel pipes, concrete slabs and quiet water flows, thrown together with all the organisation of a set of building blocks.
Two exits led from this mess - a steel pipe six feet in diameter which led to a grate door, shut; and, right at the top of the room, reachable by a spiral staircase, a small manhole. Aggressive, bright shafts of light came through tiny apertures in the manhole cover, accompanied by the now recognisable clatter of mechanised vehicles and people talking.
It was a bit deflating to learn that the Venice catacombs were presently being used as a sewer. Indy smiled, but there was no humour to the situation: it was a reflex action, pure and simple. Still smiling, he worked his way through the water - knee deep, far more than he'd encountered in the catacombs - and investigated the steel pipe.
Behind the steel grate was something interesting - confounding his dour predictions. Not more steel pipe, but a huge room hollowed from the ground, and further reinforced with masonry and concrete bricks. The walls alternately held alcoves, occupied by reclining skeletons, or arrays of glaring skulls pointing outward. At the centre of the room, alone, was a huge casket with sloping sides, seemingly made from metal.
But there was no way through the grating. The grating had a lock, and despite being old and rusty it was still able to withstand the best Indy could muster.
He turned back. It occurred to him that this was the second time he'd turned back in ten minutes. For him, it was an almost unheard of failure rate. Walking up the rickety staircase to the manhole, Indy realised he wasn't done in here yet. Not by a long way.

The manhole cover was heavy but well oiled, and came up fairly easily at his first push, squealing its way over the concrete. Indy pulled his dripping, slightly smelly form out into the open, much to the interest of surrounding diners.
He looked around the genteel crowd. This was the outdoor restaurant - exactly where they'd started. There were slightly fewer people around now, and the first tint of orange could be seen in the sky, rapidly filling up with clouds from the south.
Indy wanted an idea. He got the glimmerings of one when he saw two young diners by the archway, dressed up and chatting idly. Standing on the table between the couple was a bottle of wine, open and three quarters full. They seemed to find it pretty funny.
Indy came over. The two diners only had eyes for each other, and so barely saw him until he reached the table. Indy had seen the label - 1924, a very bad year as he recalled.
The young man looked up at Indy, curiously. His partner on the far side stared adoringly at him, hardly seeming to notice this wet newcomer at all.
"Mind if I take this?" asked Indy.
"Of course not," said the man amiably. "It was a dreadful wine."
"Thank you," said Indy, taking the bottle by the neck. He walked through the diners, and took the open steps down to the Piazza. He stopped at the fountain, and, much to the bafflement of those watching from all corners, emptied it into the fountain. Then he filled it with fountain water, and walked back to the manhole.

Walking back along the dim corridors of the catacomb, lighter in his right hand, wine bottle in his left, Indy knew this was a slim-to-none chance. It seemed like the best option - his vandalism in the library would have been discovered by now, and he didn't have enough time to find Elsa or Marcus. But Indy was far from sure.
He had a lot to think about, retracing his steps. Indy found himself recalling his conversation with Walter Donovan, who had in the end been somewhat less than helpful. Indy knew Walter had planned an expedition to find the Grail, and that Elsa and his father were members of his team. But Henry Jones was gone - and who had kidnapped him? Elsa seemed to have no idea. Likewise Donovan.
It could have been another archaeology team, Indy supposed. International archaeology was an ordinarily quiet discipline, not one normally associated with espionage and kidnapping. The Grail, however - that had surely upped the stakes. Visions of glory and honour might compel one researcher to forcibly enlist the world's leading Grail scholar. It was possible.
Indy didn't think it was likely, however.
The next possibility he considered - and it seemed plausible, given the nature of the Grail - was that Henry had been kidnapped by religious fanatics. But who? Henry had been kidnapped without a trace left behind - surely fanatics would at least have disclosed their identity, and their motivations.
Indy lingered on the problem for a while, drawing close to the halfway point of the catacombs, mainly because he could see ahead to the third possibility, and it so filled him with fear that he didn't want to think about that, just yet.
The third possibility was religious fanaticism, of another kind.
It was only several months ago that Indy had found the Ark of the Covenant, only to lose it again in a Pentagon warehouse. He'd been brought a lot closer than he'd cared to Hitler's known obsession with artefacts of power. If Hitler got word of the Holy Grail...
It was a rhetorical question. Indy knew the answer, even as he shied away from it. Thankfully, his objective was finally coming into view. Indy happily left aside these dark thoughts and remembered his plan.
The plan was thin - hardly a plan at all. Simply, Indy was far from sure that the flooded passage he'd seen earlier really was flooded. The light from his lighter gave out before you could see the far side. But the light from a torch - that was another matter.
He was at a tunnel U-turn, where a long neglected torch lay, fastened tight by mud.
Indy lifted the bottle, and gently tipped water onto the brace. With his left hand he massaged the encrusted mud, feeling for it in the total dark. At first it was like gripping concrete, but as the water continued to flow he felt the mud start to give, and then bend in his hands. Soon it was flaking and crumbling from the brace.
He set down the bottle, and flicked the lighter back on. Sure enough, at the first tug the wooden torch fell out.
Simultaneously, a hidden trapdoor underneath Indy's feet fell open. In a hail of water and mud, Indy fell downward, flailing.

He fell about twenty feet, landing awkwardly on more damp dirt. The torch, fortuitously, had fallen through the gap with him and glanced him on the head, landing nearby. He had lost his grip on the lighter, and it had gone out.
Indy lay there for a while, not really hurt, but just stunned and confused. His brain was like a record player stuck in a groove - What? What? What? Occasionally, small particles of dirt rained down on him.
What on earth was that? he finally managed to think. He managed to raise himself to a sitting position. Around him was impenetrable darkness, concealing unknown and untold dangers. He couldn't feel a wall behind him, and had hardly any sensation of his surroundings at all. Indy wouldn't consider himself prone to claustrophobia, but he was having difficulty staying calm right now.
He did his best, breathing slowly and deeply. It was the only sound down here, and it died - there was no echo. Either his surroundings were really tight, or the walls baffled the sound. While he breathed, his hands scrabbled through the dirt, searching for the lighter.
After an age, they felt the metal casing. Indy sighed, relieved, and flicked it on. Light came on, blessed light. It gave him the barest outline of two tunnels, diverging from Indy like a Y, and the wooden torch, lying on the floor just out of reach.
Indy glanced upward, hopefully. He saw nothing but a black hole. The tunnel ceiling was too high for him to get a grip, and probably there was nothing to get a grip on, just a shaft with dirt walls.
Keeping a tight lid on his panic, Indy walked forward and picked up the torch. He wasn't doing anything until he had some better light.
Indy tried setting the head of the torch alight directly, with his lighter. It didn't work.
Sweating but undaunted, Indy leafed through his books. He was a scholar, a book lover, and Secrets of the Roman Catacombs looked too good to waste. He didn't want to touch his fake Grail Diary, either. The first edition Mein Kampf, however - that seemed perfect for what he had in mind. Indy ripped ou t a few pages from the back, and tied them as best he could to the torch. Soon the torch was blazingly brightly, casting healthy strong light around him. Indy felt the last vestiges of claustrophobic stress going. He still had problems, but finally he felt able to cope with them on his level.
Indy started by consulting his handy travel guide, Secrets of the Roman Catacombs. It seemed that he'd fallen into the small section of catacombs he'd been wondering about. Was there a way out? The map wasn't very clear.
He began to walk, along the left tunnel. It came to the same thing in the end - the right tunnel rejoined it, several yards later. It went on some way, twisting right and left (in an almost natural manner), before coming to a T intersection. According to the map, there were two areas of interest here.
Indy went left. He could hear a faint dripping noise from that direction. Shortly, he found it. Water was dripping from the edges of a wooden circle, somehow set in the ceiling.
It wasn't the water, however, which made Indy stop and forget to breathe. The tunnel had suddenly widened out - hugely widened out, and now Indy stood at the opening of a huge chasm. Its widths and depths could only be guessed at - Indy looked left and right and down, but even his upgraded light source couldn't reveal anything.
The tunnel continued on over the chasm as a narrow pathway, arching for twenty feet before reaching the far side. It was narrow - barely three feet wide - and unsymmetrical. It did not look constructed. Where water from the ceiling hit it, it ran in puddles and to the edge of the pathway, before falling into the chasm. Indy could catch no sounds from the bottom, not even the 'plink' of an underground aquifer.
He had no alternative but to edge out onto the narrow bridge, waiting tensely for any sign of weakness. It held. Further out he edged, and air blew up around him from the depths, warm and wet. The opening on the far side was as black as ever, and surely that would be where he'd find the tomb. How better could it be concealed?
But the tiny hollow, barely tall enough for him to stand in, was empty. Nevertheless, holding the torch head high, Indy still found something very interesting.
Writing, carved into the walls. There were three rows of it, the best preserved of these a small inscription, set beside several grinning skulls. Indy bent down, peering at the early Christian symbols.
"Wait a minute," he said softly, running a finger over the carvings, confirming their existence. "These look familiar."
The inscription described the physical characteristics of the Grail. Indy drew in breath, and quickly flipped through the Grail Diary. His father had been right. Checking between the inscription and the Diary, Indy soon narrowed the choices to two. It was either the Welsh verse Taliesin wrote, or Sir Richard Burton's tale, written by Lady Elanora. One of these two was the correct account of the Grail.
Indy jotted this down, quickly, in the womb of the earth many feet underground. This was useful, but only if he knew where the Grail actually was. And the Second Knight's tomb was still undiscovered.
Indy came back out, taking just as much care as he recrossed the chasm. On the far side, however, he paused. A strange idea had occurred to him. He stared up, at the wooden trapdoor in the chasm roof. It was about two metres above the bridge. Indy had a very good sense of direction, and right now it told him that he was under the watery pool which had defeated him before.
It was a very rugged, gnarled piece of wood. It looked ancient. Indy walked underneath it, and fighting vertigo, reached up and touched it. It was wet, and gave alarmingly.
He could rip out the wooden plug now, and cross the pool upstairs. With one problem - standing on the narrow bridge, the water would push him into the chasm, easily. Indy thought about this a while, then hit on an ingenious solution. He took the hook he'd found some while back (it seemed like hours, now), and gingerly wedged it into the wood. Then he retreated back to the side of the chasm.
It hadn't been used for a while, but now Indy's bullwhip was seeing some action. He took it, uncurled it, then lashed it at the hook. It struck, and curled tightly around the metal. Indy took a deep breath, then yanked the whip, simultaneously jumping back.
The trapdoor fell open toward him. With a mighty roar that shattered the silence, a solid wall of water fell out. It neatly sliced a metre long chunk from the bridge, like a hot knife through butter, falling through the depths before finally hitting water, somewhere below. The room of inscriptions was now permanently cut off.
Indy picked himself up and curled the bullwhip. For a full minute water fell roaring through the hole, and soon the ceiling around began to crack and leak water. Indy took the hint and got the hell out.

He ran back down the passage, along the second fork of the T intersection. The noise behind him was constant, until it quickly crescended to a enormous blast which rattled the ground. Then it got quiet again.
The second point of interest, here at the far side of the tunnel, was most unexpected and very welcome. A ladder. It was made from sturdy-looking wood and led upward someway to a stone square in the ceiling. Indy climbed it, ducking around the water (there was an underground stream here, and it seemed to have swelled recently - hardly surprising), and at the top heaved the stone up.
He'd found his way back into the mausoleum. This was the stone square he'd been unable to pick up. Delighted, Indy wasted no time in racing toward the pool of water.
Reaching it, he found more good fortune. The water was gone - completely. The ground was wet and slimy, and led down to a huge gaping hole in the ground. Clustered around the rim of this hole were three horizontal tunnels. Taking extreme care, Indy slid down to the base of the pool and looked around.
Two tunnels were dead ends. The third, however, rose upward some way before coming to a crossroad. Indy consulted his map. Straight on and right both led to the same area, something unspecified on the map. Left, was one of those black circles. Indy went left. What he found staggered him.
A ring of bricks around the tunnel archway signalled entrance into a huge, developed area of the catacombs. Here in this enormous space was a wooden contraption, so huge and convoluted, it nearly took up the size of a house. It had numerous wheels, pulleys and belts, and its purpose seemed to be to get one wheel to make all the other wheels rotate. This one wheel was by the doorway - it resembled a ship's wheel, and was connected by two ropes to the main machine.
Indy didn't know what to do first. What an utterly special find. He contented himself with pulling the ship's wheel. It rotated fluidly in his hands, amazingly greased, and Indy got several revolutions out of it. The machine responded, first with creaks and groans from deep within, and then with two wooden wheels, which started to rotate independently. Everything stayed still - too many belts had decayed.
Indy came over and looked critically at the machine. Undoubtedly its central component was a huge wheel in the middle, ten feet in diameter, around which was curled iron chains, plunging deep into a chamber. It had remained motionless, and wasn't connected by belt or pulley to any other part of the machine. That seemed to be the problem. Indy still had the red cordon, so he tried belting it over the main wheel and another, smaller wheel. Then he returned to the ship's wheel and span it again.
This time the response from the machine was immediate. Everything started to gyrate in position, even the huge main wheel. Iron chain was pulled out of the chamber, and far away Indy heard a clank.
Then it all stopped. The machine fell silent. What it had done, Indy had no idea. He shrugged, and walked back to the tunnel.

He went on from the crossroads. The path forked again, with no indication which way he could take. At random, he went left. This tunnel curved upward, and back around right, until it came to a very interesting diorama.
Set into the stone wall were three wooden bas-reliefs, several feet taller than Indy. By these flat figures was a thick wooden door. Indy stared for some moments at the wooden designs. The leftmost one was that of a old kindly king, holding a bible. In the middle was a towering castle, reachable only by a thin mountain pass. The rightmost statue was a majestic winged creature, serpentine and serene. They looked familiar. Quickly he flipped through the Grail Diary, and soon came across a double page spread.
The first page held similar designs to those before him - the middle and the rightmost figures seemed the same, but the leftmost was an illustration of a saint in holy contemplation. Underneath, Indy read, This configuration is labelled "correct." The right page had different figures. A skeleton, arrayed in mail, armour and holding a sword - did it represent the Second Knight? The middle figure was a standard, waving in a stiff breeze. The rightmost figure was a dragon, reclining on its haunch. The text underneath read, This one is labelled "certain death". How curious!
Indy, the figures memorised, shut the book. It didn't seem so whimsically curious right now. He felt the outlines of the figures, running his fingers over the dry wood. Then he pressed his hands more firmly against the leftmost figure, the one seemingly out of place.
Amazingly, it swung leftward, out of view, and another figure clicked into place. It was the winged saint. However the pattern was spoiled, as the middle panel, too, swung around and into place clicked a new standard - a bright glowing sword, held in a clenched fist.
Hey, thought Indy, a little indignantly. He pushed the middle figure. It revolved, revealing a catapult, mobile and ready. But there was no movement on either side. He could safely alter this panel without the others being disturbed. So he cycled through the figures, through a fluttering standard that was almost a castle, until the actual castle, alone on the hill, returned to view.
On his right was a fearful scraping sound. Indy jerked around to see the wooden door drawn up into the ceiling, into a recess only to be guessed at. The way beyond was now clear - stone steps leading down into the gloom.
Indy groaned - how much further did he have to go down?

Quite a lot further, as it turned out. As he found out soon enough by consulting the map book, he'd found an entrance into the second great catacomb system - on the map, it was as big as the first. Amazingly, he was only halfway through.
Down here, the heat grew more noticeable. The air was worse - thick and cloying, it had lain undisturbed here for centuries, moulding. And Indy had to take deep breaths of it too - the oxygen was minimal down here.
The tunnel work was worse, or else the forces of nature were even more oppressive down here. Regularly he was stumbling through patches of water knee deep, climbing over rockfalls and slides of mud. Keeping his torch dry was a task in itself, for water rained down from above, dripped from the walls, and was kicked up by his feet.
What nature had done to the brick tunnels was bad, but what had happened to the dead was worse. They lay disregarded on the floor, heaped there by flood and tremor. Bones littered the ground, literally everywhere. The water and the heat had somehow conspired to preserve some of them, so that even now leathery scraps of flesh clung to their skeletons. It was a massive feeding ground for the rats, which swarmed down here in large numbers, splashing and chittering incessantly, like a miniature army. Indy was often forced to pick another way around some of the more choked passages. A memory of his Dad brought back a chuckle - he'd never have gotten past the rats! He hates them!
It was lucky Indy had the map, because the layout here below was even more labyrinthine and convoluted. From the stairs, Indy had taken the first turn left, ignoring a huge dead end, passing through a thick matrix of passages before turning left again, making a right turn around a huddle of rats, until he saw an archway in the distance.
Through he went, into an open space that recalled the huge underground chasm. Here on this side was Indy, standing on a wide platform. There on the far side was another platform, leading to an archway out. Between the two platforms was nothing but sheer drop, and a narrow stone bridge looking suspiciously clean and unweathered.
Indy quickly crossed it, trusting to its strength. It held. On the far side he consulted the map again, and was soon thick in the necropolis.
It made a certain kind of sense. After all, on an island city like Venice there wasn't any room for a cemetery. It was either head over to the mainland, or dig down deep. Whatever the impetus, the area Indy now found himself in must once have been a thriving burial spot. The tunnel he walked on was straight and That was its only blessing. Along the right hand wall were tens on tens of alcoves, holding the deceased at their final rest. Many were no longer at their final rest, having been dislodged by forces unknown to the tunnel floor, where they clustered forlornly. At regular intervals tunnels branched off left, spaced close together like a comb. These tunnels were packed full and deep with skeletons, three to every carven alcove in the walls. Scores lay jumbled on the floor, either dumped there by flood or by careless morticians. The smell alone was bad enough, but it seemed the rats had established their nests here, because Indy heard an incessant pattern and chirp from the tiny rodents. Their black bodies were beyond sight, but somehow Indy sensed their motion - a sinuous, writhing black carpet.
Holding his jacket over his mouth, Indy stumbled on. Past five and six tunnels he went, until finally the tunnel widened and banked left. He was past. The tunnel widened further to a room, where the walls were packed full of skeletons, lying peacefully in the walls. Here the chaos had somehow passed over. The floor was clean, and dry. Indy checked his bearings and continued on. He knew there was a large area here could simply ignore, which he did by turning right and right again at the junctions offered to him. Soon the tunnel he followed ran alone, coming to a bulbous opening in the earth. The skeletons were half buried in the walls, and the door at the far side was shut.
Here was the strangest security device Indy had ever seen. A row of skulls topped a strange contraption of metal bars and tight wires. When he pushed the skulls down, different skulls made different notes, flat but with definite pitch. They were arranged in a primitive scale.
Indy wondered what the Grail Diary might have to say about this. Soon he came upon a section Per Hos Sonos Sepulcrum Aperies. Below this heading was a short bar of five notes, apparently taken from a manuscript of Abbes Hildegard of Bingen. Noted Henry, The excerpt uses an obscure musical notation, and I am not sure why it never has more than six notes.
There were exactly six skulls. Doing the best he could with the music, Indy hammered out five notes. Clanking and protesting, the wooden door was drawn up. Indy went through, shaking his head.
He was running out of room. This tunnel went straight on, narrowing slightly, and there was nowhere left to go. He'd run out of map. But here was something. Was it a room?
No.
With a sinking heart, Indy saw the steps lead downward.

Almost he called the whole thing off there. Two levels of catacombs was bad enough, a third would be hell. But he kept going. If it was just an archaeological find he was after, or some famous artefact, he'd have turned back instantly. But he had to find it, because he had to find his father. No one else would.
The tunnel continued downward, then turned sharply left. The ground here was muddy, and far from solid, but mercifully the rats had been left behind. The bulk of the bodies must have been upstairs.

But soon, the tunnel forked. Indy halted. He faced a real danger of getting lost down here. He surveyed the two ways closely. It was just a hunch, but the left tunnel seemed the better option - a little lighter, more open. Indy went along it. It continued straight, a tunnel branching off it to the right, but it was narrow and choked up. Indy went on, curving right as the tunnel curved right.
He hadn't seen a single skeleton down here. That was good in some ways, but bad in others. It felt so lonely down here. Like a corner of the world that everyone had forgotten.
A path branched off to the right. Indy ignored it. This proved to be a mistake, as the tunnel went straight on before landing him at a dead end, in which was a lumpy mass of dirt, stone, and - interestingly - masonry. Indy went back, and took the tunnel. Onward he went, deeper and deeper into the catacombs, like a small splinter working its way into the flesh. Occasionally he came to crossroads or junctions, and took the best way he could. Often the choice was made for him, as one path or another led to a tunnel collapse, or impassable lakes, or staggering chasms. But he kept on, and he did seem to be heading in a definite direction. Down here, of course, he had no idea where that direction was. He was just as likely to be under the centre of Venice as under the sea.
The archways, erected at intervals by the builders of the catacombs, had now been left long behind. It felt to Indy that he was leaving the inhabited regions behind, moving from the constructed to the natural. How long had these tunnels been here? And how much work did the Venetians really have to do?
Left, left, right and left again. Indy staggered over mounds, collapses, crawling through narrow gaps where they presented themselves. His torch had been reduced to half size, and barely gave out illumination. These were the tunnels of the rats - though no rats lived down here. It was inconceivable humans might once have used these. The Second Knight was surely not down here.
But suddenly the tunnel straightened up, and grew taller. Indy lifted himself to his feet, staring open mouthed at the smooth stone walls. He stumbled on, and suddenly staggered into an open space where the air was clean and the walls unstained.
Alcoves in the walls, not a single bone out of place - Indy ignored these details. He was staring at the huge deep freezer in the centre of the room. A heavy, metallic, angular, and impossibly large casket sat there, unperturbed by his arrival.
Now if this wasn't the casket of the Second Knight, Indy would tear his hat off and shoot himself.
He laid his hands on the lid, feeling the run and bump of the contours, then got a firm grip. He heaved. The lid scraped, scraped further, then fell to one side on the ground, gouging a deep hole in the earth. No chance of him putting that back on.
Indy was staring at the Second Knight.
His flesh had rotted, and his body was eaten to the bone. But he was still dressed in his armour and mail, and still clasped the steel shield over his chest. On it were written symbols identical to those of the first marker.
The second marker.
Indy hadn't taken a breath in thirty seconds. He took from his coat a rubbing he'd made of the first marker, at Donovan's. Quickly now he sketched in the missing top half. The last marks were a little blurry and indistinct, because Indy was already getting excited. The ancient city of Alexandretta was mentioned.
The location of the Grail finally specified. His father would be overjoyed. Alexandretta - of course! Alexandretta no longer existed, but the present day city of Iskenderun was built on its ruins. It was perfect.
Indy finished the writing, pocketed it, then looked around. For a moment he was unsure. Surely there must be some secret exit around here leading to the surface? Don't tell me I have to walk all the way back up there...
He did.

The stretch was long and arduous.
Indy's best guess of the time was that it was about midnight. It seemed like a whole day had passed down here, sweating, filthy and nauseous. Passing the rats a second time was the hardest - Indy simply ducked his head and ran, crushing skeletons and, occasionally, rats under his wet feet. Then he was past and pounding feverishly up the stairs, gasping at the cooler air.
Presently he reached the top level, and the sewer room. Filthy as the water was here, it seemed mountain-spring fresh to Indy. He cleaned himself up a little. Amazingly, light was coming through the manhole - it was still daytime. His legs were a little rubbery, so Indy took the stairs slowly. He heaved the manhole aside and levered himself into the open air.
Immediately he tasted it, fresh and inviting, laden with exciting and exotic smells. It was early evening, and though the outdoor restaurant had shut up shop, traffic around the Piazza was heavy.
"Dr Jones!" shouted a female voice as he replaced the manhole. For a moment Indy didn't know who this was. Then he remembered - Elsa! He looked up at her, as she walked quickly toward him, a concerned expression in her face. The sun was setting behind her, and its dying rays had caught the strands of her straw blonde hair as it swayed in the wind, creating a heavenly corona. Indy fell a little in love with her at that moment. "I've been looking all over for you!" continued Elsa, concerned and relieved. She reached him and stopped.
They stared into each other's eyes for several motionless seconds. Indy felt deep currents racing through him, which he couldn't even identify. He saw Elsa shift her head, tilting it slightly. His lips moistened.
"Indy!" shouted another, male voice, close by. The moment was destroyed. Looking around, Indy saw Marcus running along the plaza, now making his way up the steps toward them. Frustrated, Indy saw with some measure of satisfaction that Marcus was soaking wet.
"Marcus!" he hailed.
Marcus barely stopped for breath. "I've found out where your father is!" he said.
All of Indy's ill will toward Marcus evaporated. "Where?"
"He's being held captive in the Brunwald Castle on the Austrian German border," said Marcus, shaking his clothes.
"Great!" said Indy. With that sentence Marcus had released all the pent-up tension which had been accumulating in the catacombs. Indy now had a target -and he was going to hit it hard. "And I found out where the Grail is! It's in Iskenderun!"
"Of course!" said Marcus. "Iskenderun!"
There was a brief pause. Indy, who had regained a lot of his good humour, looked downward curiously at the puddle of water at Marcus' feet. "Uh, Marcus, why are you all wet?" he asked.
Marcus had gone through a lot. After a long, relaxing gondola ride, he'd been attacked by three Turkish men with machine guns. They didn't hesitate to fire them in an open space, and Marcus was only saved by leaping off the pier and into a speedboat. He roared around Venice, through the port, followed by two motorboats. He led them through a steadily narrowing gap between two cargo ships, and one was crushed to splinters. The other roared closer as the engine of his motorboat suddenly cut out. It came aside and one fierce Turk leapt onto his boat. They grappled, being drawn by the current toward the giant, turning propellers of a steamer. Finally, just as their motorboat was being chopped into matchsticks, Marcus was able to convince the Turk they were just searching for Indy's father. The Turk, whose name was Kazim, supplied him with the name of the castle. Marcus was still out of breath.
"Don't ask!" he said.
Indy was itching to get going. "Ok, I'll rescue Dad! You meet me in Iskenderun!"
"Sure!" said Marcus. "No trouble!" He walked away briskly, then stopped. He thought, then turned back to Indy. "Uh... where is Iskenderun?"

Night-time at Castle Brunwald, on the Austrian-German border. Elsa parked the rented car at the back of the castle, and Indy stepped out. Rain, blown by fierce winds, lashed him. He stared at the mighty stone monolith, draped with fluttering Nazi emblems - there must be hundreds of rooms in there. Those Nazi emblems, too - they brought back a lot of bad memories. And encouraged unhealthy suspicions.
"I'll go scout around," he said to Elsa, who nodded.
"All right. I'll stay in the car."
"I'll come back in a few minutes," assured Indy. A thought struck him. "Hey, what do you know about this place?"
Elsa considered. "I do know the Brunwalds are famous art collectors. Why, what are you going to do?"
"Don't know," said Indy, reaching for his bullwhip. "Think of something." He crept toward the castle. In truth, in the fierce gale and incessant thunder, he needn't have bothered. He came around the side and was soon at the archway of the front door. Out of the wind, he shook himself dry and pounded on the door.

Castle Brunwald had a very experienced, very unflappable butler. With his impeccable uniform and stone bald head, he might have been related to Colonel Klink. Now he strode briskly over the stone floor of the entrance hall, toward the banging on the door. He pulled it open.
"Hello," said Indy, walking past him into the welcome warmth of the interior. He remembered his persona, and grew severe (and Scottish). "And not before time, too! Did you mean to leave me standing on the doorstep all day? I'm drenched!"
The butler followed. "And who might you be?" he inquired.
Indy sneezed. "Don't take that tone with me, my good man. Now buttle off and tell Baron Brunwald that Lord Robert McFalfa is here to view the tapestries. Och aye!" He winced as he said this. Definitely too far.
"Tapestries?" asked the butler.
"Dear me, the man is dense," marvelled Indy. "This is a castle, isn't it? There are tapestries?"
"This is a castle," confirmed the butler. "We have many tapestries. But if you're a Scottish Lord, then I'm Mickey Mouse." He moved to take Indy firmly by the arm.
"How dare you!" said Indy, simultaneously knocking the butler to the floor with his fist. He lay there motionless. Indy dragged the body out of the way, then had a look around.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the castle...
Colonel Vogel sat at his desk, in the glow of a white spotlight. Blue eyes, perfect blonde hair, lantern jaw and a vicious expression - he was a genuine Nazi poster boy. His office was large, and plastered with Nazi regalia. On the floor by his feet was an Doberman, unchained. This was not a dog you would want unchained. This dog, with its prominent canines and sleek, muscular hide, would have to be chained and drowned before you felt safe. It made a perfect guard for Vogel - on a filing chest behind it, he had placed a valuable trophy.
A Nazi guard came in. He strode confidently to the desk, and saluted. "Sir, you sent for me?" he asked.
"Yes," said Vogel. "I want you to protect that priceless painting we just acquired."
The guard blurted out, "Priceless? It's just a painting of an old cup!"
"SILENCE!!" roared Vogel.
Red faced, the guard saluted again.
"The Fuhrer is very interested in it," explained Vogel. Matter of fact, he was, too. "Do you dare to question the Fuhrer's judgment?"
"No, sir!" said the guard instantly.
"Then leave me and return to your post!"
"Yes sir, Colonel Vogel!" said the guard smartly. He saluted, turned on his heels, and marched out.

Indy saw three exits, a stone statue, and, uncomfortably, more Nazi posters. It was the one closest to the door that he eventually took. It went up a flight of stone steps, to a cold and drafty landing. From the landing a passage stretched out, revealing one door before turning left. Indy tried this door.
It opened on a bare room, so bereft of furnishings it was like a warehouse. There was just a blue rug on the wooden floorboards, a spotlight hanging from the ceiling, shining on a moth-eaten tapestry. Indy had to smile. He closed the door. The next door opened on a similarly empty room - the distinguishing feature here was a rusty chandelier. The passage went on, and Indy tried door after door, but they led nowhere. He seemed to have stumbled into a disused area of this huge castle. Occasionally he heard a faint rumble of thunder, but no rain - the stone walls really muffled sound,
The passage was ending. Only two doors remained unopened. Indy tried the first, and saw a German guard standing there inside, watching him. Indy nearly jumped, then he saw the off-focus eyes and the slack, open mouth. The guard, in a shabby grey soldier's uniform, was looking slightly downward, and leaning feebly against the wall.
Indy grinned. This guy was drunk.
He walked over. The guard tried to rouse himself. "Hello (hic) my good friend," he mumbled.
"What are you doing here?" asked Indy in an amused tone.
"Me?" asked the guard. "Here? Shay... why are any of ush put here in thish life?"
This was unusually deep thinking by drunken standards. "I didn't expect to find a philosopher here!" exclaimed Indy, surprised.
"Oh, there are all sorts serving in this cashtle," said the drunk.
Indy stared. "You have a whole garrison here?"
The drunk snorted. "Don't be shilly, we're not at war - yet. There are only about a dozhen of us."
"Anyone I should avoid?" hinted Indy.
A hilariously solemn expression crossed the drunk's face. "Hmmm. The big fellow on the third floor can be nashty when he's shober. And watch out for that text-book Nazi who minds the alarm."
"How is your commanding officer?" asked Indy. He couldn't believe the information this idiot was giving away.
"Colonel Vogel?" asked the drunk. "He's an absholute terror! But remember, you didn't (hic) hear that from me."
"Don't worry about it," said Indy. Smiling, he left the drunk to his sobering business.
"Auf wiedersehen!" called out the guard as he left.

The next room, Indy found, was the kitchen. It had a huge open fire, roaring away at a couple of faggots, which Indy eagerly went to, warming his hands. On the fire, the carcass of a boar was being roasted on the spit. Around the fire were several shelves stacked full of tins, cans and loaves of bread. Above one shelf was a Nazi eagle hanging on the wall - someone with a sense of humour had given it a chef's hat.
And in the corner was the largest keg of ale Indy had ever seen. You'd need four people just to lift it. Instantly Indy remembered his drunken friend - and decided to pay him back. He searched the shelves for a beer stein. Maybe he could plump the soldier for more information.
He found one in a cupboard, and filled it from the spigot. The drunk soldier, when Indy gave it to him moments later, was very pleased. "Hey, thanks lots!" But, alas, he drank it and fell silent. Indy could get nothing out of him.
Disappointed, Indy walked back along the passage toward the entrance. Henry was nowhere around here. The two exits that were left to him at the start were fairly indistinguishable, heading in basically the same direction, deeper into the castle. Indy chose one at random.
The hallway became an extended T intersection, heading left and right. The lighting was better and the floor was covered with thick blue rugs. The bad news was that Indy could hear at least two pairs of feet, pacing back and forth. The Germans were patrolling both passages.
Indy went forward, and left. Barely twenty feet away a soldier had just turned around. "Halt!" he cried. Indy stayed where he was. Maybe he could bluff this one out.
The soldier stopped. "Halt! Are you here on official business?"
"Where is the prisoner?" said Indy urgently. "I've come to interrogate him."
"They're holding him upstairs," said the soldier. "But who are you?"
"Gestapo," said Indy. He searched for a name. "Special investigations. I'm Dietrich's successsor."
"Dietrich!" said the soldier. "Wasn't he killed in that 'Ark of the Covenant' fiasco?"
You're damn right he was, thought Indy. "How do you know that?" he demanded. "Are you leaking information?"
"No sir!" said the soldier quickly. "Er... you may go now sir, sorry." He walked past Indy. The hallway now in front of him was a dead end, and three doors branched off from it. To allay suspicion, Indy chose one at random and entered.
What he entered was little larger than a broom closet, and poorly lit by a single naked bulb. But the goods inside were very interesting - clothing. Folded on a shelf was a white servant's uniform. Indy unfolded it and checked the size - his. Two grey soldier uniforms were also hanging from metal racks - one of them seemed just his size. From the decorations Indy could see it held a quite higher rank than the guards he'd seen so far - an officer's uniform. Unfortunately, the uniform was secured by a metal lock. Indy stared some time at the lock, trying to memorise the shape. Maybe he'd come across the key.
For now, Indy had to be content with picking up the white servant uniform. There wasn't enough room to conceal it in his jacket, so he tucked it under one arm. Out into the hallway he emerged, and it was empty. He walked back to his starting point, and went right.
He had forgotten the second soldier. Immediately he was spotted. "Halt!" cried the second soldier, who was a bit more rotund and sounded pretty thick. "You in that leather jacket! What are you doing here?"
Indy had a flash of inspiration. He improvised. "Hi," he said grandly, "I'm selling leather jackets like the one I'm wearing." He waved the bundle under his right arm vaguely, as proof.
"Jackets?" said the soldier. "What? Who let you in here?"
"I've got authorisation," said Indy confidently. "How else would I get here?"
"Well, that's true enough," said the soldier, no brains trust. "How much are the jackets."
Indy guessed a price. "Fifteen Marks. Just the thing for guard duty on cold nights."
"Sounds reasonable," said the guard. "Put me down for an order - Colonel Kruger."
Indy didn't want to press his luck, but this guy was so stupid... "Ah, cash in advance, thanks," he said, hopeful.
"Sure!" said the soldier. Indy took the money, somehow keeping his face straight. Then he walked past the soldier, who saluted him proudly.
The passage went straight, no doors leading off, until curving sharply back in a U turn. Here a long set of stairs led to the second floor. Indy bounded up these, chuckling. He'd actually gotten the money!
Up on the second floor, Indy found a convenient doorway and entered. This room was bare, except for a chest in the corner, and little-used. He put down the servant uniform and tidied away the money. Then he considered his next move.
There might be up to eight or nine soldiers left in the castle. None of them would be as stupid as those two. In these clothes he wouldn't have a hope. He had no choice but to put the uniform on.
If only I had the officer uniform, Indy thought as he changed. He picked up his IndyWear� and headed for the chest. That would be as good a place to store it for the moment.
Opening the chest, he had a pleasant surprise. There were fifty Marks in there. That made sixty-five - not a bad haul. He shut the lid softly and walked outside. The uniform was thin and uncomfortable - how servants avoided freezing to death Indy had no idea. Perhaps it was the fit - not quite as good as he'd first thought. Continually Indy found himself readjusting cuffs or his bowtie.
Though he didn't know it, Indy was getting close to the art treasures of the Brunwalds. The first sign he had of this was when he was spotted by a tough-looking soldier. Indy stood his ground.
"And what might you be looking for?" asked the soldier.
"I'm on an errand for one of your fellow soldiers," said Indy.
"Really?" asked the soldier. "What is the nature of this errand?"
"I am supposed to pick up some boots to polish," said Indy. He didn't like where this was going.
"Where did he leave those boots?" asked the soldier.
Worse and worse. His story couldn't withstand this guy's relentless picking at the details. "On the second floor. Their owner is on guard duty."
The soldier asked a $%@Aing question. "Second floor? Where's he stationed?"
Indy knew he couldn't give an answer without raising the soldier's suspicions. He glanced around, and happened to see a tapestry hanging on the walls. He remembered: the Brunwalds were supposed to be art collectors. And Hitler too reputedly had a taste for fine art. Now German soldiers were in the castle. There was the link.
As the soldier waited for an answer, Indy's neurons began blazing. Hitler, of course, was searching for the Grail. With his passion for antiquities of power, there could be no other conclusion. And he had snapped up the castle, because... it had artwork that looked like the Grail.
Artwork that looked like the Grail. Indy had some artwork that looked like the grail on him, folded in four - a painting of a trophy his father had won.
Indy scrabbled through his pockets. The soldier, expecting some sort of written order, was most taken aback when he was handed the small ragged painting.
Indy waited tensely for the reaction.
The soldier stared at the painting for several seconds. Then he looked up at Indy, and amazingly his whole mood had changed. "What are you doing with that?" he demanded. You know the help isn't supposed to touch anything valuable!" The soldier walked away, muttering.
It had worked beyond belief. Indy was stunned. What happened? Two doors were open to him now that the soldier had gone, so Indy tried these. The first opened on a small room, with a table and a large painting of dogs playing poker. His dad had once bought a copy of this at a flea market, but it was hardly high art. He tried the second door.

Soon afterwards...
Holding Indy's painting gingerly, the soldier entered Vogel's office. He saluted at the desk. "Sir, I just received a new painting to add to the collection."
"Good work!" said Vogel, taking the painting. Then he stood up, holding another piece of paper. "Here, I wrote the combination to the vault on the back of this form. Memorise it now."
The soldier stared at it closely for several seconds. "I've memorised it."
"I'll keep it in this drawer if you ever need it again," said Vogel. He walked to the filing cabinet, still guarded by his loyal dog, and opened a drawer. In went the form.
"I'm sure I won't," said the soldier. "I have an excellent memory!"
"Good!" said Vogel.

The second door Indy tried led to the largest of Brunwald's art storage areas. In the huge expansive area before him, many a canvas was lying horizontally or vertically, half covered by dirty sheets. Indy had a look around - it was a really excellent, diverse, collection, far too good to be left in a dusty warehouse. Edward Manet's "The Fifer." "Seashore," by Mark Ferrari. Georges Seurat's pointillist masterpiece "Sunday in the Park." Painting of German country houses and sci-fi monsters. Then there was the more Modern material, some of which Indy mistook for a dropcloth until he noticed it was set in frame.
Not just paintings, either - there were statues of nude models, imported from the Louvre, and Hellenic busts. But none of this was what Indy was really looking for - Grail artwork. Not even remotely.
He saw a huge painting against the far wall - at first impressions it was the Mona Lisa. Drawing nearer, he saw this was actually a paint-by-numbers Mona Lisa (!) He didn't think Leonardo would be pleased about this!
It looked suspicious - not as dusty as everything else. And far too large. Indy pushed it to one side and peered behind.
Aha. A huge metal door. There were some art treasures here, after all. Indy made a few tries at opening the door, but he didn't know the combination. He gave up.
It occurred to Indy that the soldier might soon be returning, with his painting. Quickly he pulled the painting back in position, and got out of there.

He was now further along the passageway. Room after room he'd tried, and not found a soul. Where were all the guards? And, for that matter, where were the furnishings? The next door he tried was the same as all the others - a blank room, nothing in it but a chest.
Indy opened the chest. There was something in there - a uniform. It was an officer's uniform, which was good, but the size was far too small. Indy searched the pockets, and felt something thin and hard. It was a small key. He looked at the key, tossing the uniform back. What might this be for?
It was in an officer's uniform. Maybe it opened the lock on the officer's uniform downstairs! Indy thought it was worth a try.

It fit perfectly. Several minutes later Indy was back on the second floor in a clean, pressed officer's uniform, his IndyWear� and servant uniform stored away safely. The delay came about because Indy had to change back into his IndyWear� on the first floor, otherwise the guards down there might get suspicious.
Something about the uniform changed Indy's behaviour, he found to his amusement. Whereas before he'd been slinking around, trying to avoid all eye contact, now he strode grandly through the passageways like he owned them.
Soon he came across a second guard, a fat respectful fellow. "Greetings, Sir," he said.
"I'm on official business," said Indy, sounding bored with the routine. "May I pass?"
"But I don't recognise you," said the soldier.
"What! You don't remember me?"
"No!" said the soldier. A confrontation was looming. "Who do you think you are, anyway?"
"Soldier!" said Indy sternly. "Is that any way to speak to a superior officer?"
"I'm sorry, sir," said the soldier apologetically, "but I was not told to expect anyone today. I must ask you for proof."
Indy dropped a name. "Colonel Vogel knows of me. Please call him right away."
The fat soldier changed his tune somewhat. "Well, perhaps that is not necessary. Heil Hitler!" And he let Indy go about his business.
"Heil Hitler!" said Indy as the soldier departed. He had a look around the various passages available to him. No stairs, as yet. He kept on searching around.
Minutes later he had something of a scare. One of the rooms turned out to be occupied after all, by a German soldier. "Oh, hmmm - do you want something?" he asked as Indy appeared in the doorway.
Indy came in slowly. "Greetings, my friend. How is sentry duty today?"
"Boring, as usual," said the soldier. "Do I know you?"
"What? You don't remember me?"
"No, I do not! Please identify yourself!"
Indy got flustered. "I'm Captain Heinrich. I'm here to inspect your unit."
The soldier started. "We had an inspection this morning. Halt!" And he came toward Indy, hands raised.
Indy held his ground, and when he was in range lashed out at the guard. The guard ducked his head back, Indy's fist just missing him. Indy leapt forward and hit him in the gut. The soldier snarled, jerking his knee up. It caught Indy in the groin. He staggered away, pale.
The soldier followed him with a fist to the chest. Indy ducked the next blow, but he was against the wall. He raised his hands and grappled with the soldier, working his way out of the corner.
His boxing skills were coming back. Now he was clear. The soldier turned, right into the path of Indy's right cross, which struck him in the jaw. The soldier's eyes boggled, and he wavered.
Indy waded in, following it up with a left uppercut which jerked the soldier off his feet. The soldier fell down on his back and was still. Indy fell down beside him, and waited for the pain to subside. Then he searched the guard. Twenty Marks.
That made eighty-five, Indy thought as he shut the door on the unconscious guard. He tried the next one.
Indy immediately knew he'd found something important. No drab brick walls and bare floor here - no, here the room was brightly lit by electric lights, and painted a metallic blue. Wires and pipes led everywhere. He heard an electric hum. The hum came from a large machine on the far wall, covered with banks of flashing lights. It was watched closely by a German guard.

The guard noticed he had a guest. He greeted Indy with a "Heil Hitler!"
Indy returned the salute. "Heil Hitler!" Immediately, he thought of the drunken soldier, and his description of a 'textbook Nazi' on the second floor. This looked like the guy - alert, loyal.
"A visitor!" said the guard. "Life has been getting pretty boring."
Indy didn't want to risk conversation. If this was the text-book Nazi, then this room was the security area. They wouldn't put a bozo here. Maybe a gift might go down better.
He still had it on him somewhere - Mein Kampf, the original Nazi textbook. He found it, and gave it to the guard.
The guard looked at it. "Hey, this is my favourite book! And it's a first edition! Would you mind watching the lights while I reread my favourite passage?"
"Not at all," said Indy. The guard looked grateful, and left.
Idiot, thought Indy. He had a look at the security system - if, as he suspected, his father's door was being monitored, he'd have to disable this first.
There were dozens of switches, and no labels. None looked more prominent than any other - there was no immediate candidate for an off/on switch, for example. All Indy could tell was that it was definitely armed.
He looked around the side for a power cord. No luck - it was flush against the wall. The motion did bring into view a large grating running from head to toe of the machine. Inside, Indy saw a lot of wires and glowing vacuum tubing.
Indy stood up, and looked at the guard's desk. There was a full beer stein there. Indy had an idea. He took the stein and threw the contents through the grating. Steam flashed up. There was a boiling sound, while tiny flashes of light could be seen through the white cloud. Now smoke was coming out of the grating.
Indy looked at the front of the machine. Every light was off.
That was the security machine taken care of. Quickly Indy left the room and shut the door. No sense being caught down here.

Soon, he found the staircase to the third floor. Now up here there was supposed to be a big, nasty fellow. But the first person he saw was not this fellow. He was a thin, weedy soldier, the kind who ran the projector at Nazi party screenings.
Nevertheless, he cried "Halt!", halfheartedly, as he saw Indy. Indy obliged.
"Uh, sorry," said the soldier, "this is restricted - I mean, this is a restricted area."
Indy was unconcerned. He knew how to deal with this guy. "Soldier!" he barked. "Your pants are wrinkled!"
The soldier was flustered and apologetic. "I'm sorry sir, there was no time to-"
"And no time to remove the stain on your jacket?" asked Indy, an angry expression on his face. He was enjoying this.
"Well, you know how the cook bastes everything with his 'Silesian Surprise Sauce'," said the soldier, rubbing frantically at his uniform.
"Sauce? You buffoon! You waste my time, stand aside!"
"Yes sir," nodded the soldier. "Whatever you say." He turned around on his patrol and didn't look back. Indy opened the first door he came to.
He saw a lot of things in the instant before he shut the door, quickly. Close to the door, he saw a kennel. In the middle of the room, a varnished desk gleamed under a bank of electric lights. At the far side of the room was a huge filing cabinet. On it was a trophy, and under it was a fierce Doberman.
It was this last item which caused Indy to panic and slam the door shut. He waited tensely for the inevitable volley of barking.
Some seconds passed. More passed, in silence. Soon, Indy was able to relax. The soldier would be back soon, so he ducked into the next room. Fortunately, this one was deserted.
What he had stumbled onto? Indy guessed it was Colonel Vogel's office. That trophy looked intriguing, as did the filing cabinet, one drawer slightly ajar. But how could he get to them?
Indy had an idea.

Some minutes later he was back on the third floor, lugging the roasted carcass of a boar around. His confident demeanour was momentarily gone - if someone saw him like this, there would be questions, all right.
He pushed open the door to Colonel Vogel's office, tentatively. The dog was still there. Indy shut the door behind him and held the boar up, smiling. It was huge - easily fifty pounds. As Indy crept forward, the Doberman roused itself, snarling.
Indy put the boar down in front of it. The Doberman stopped, looked down, and sniffed the boar. Then it sank its teeth deep into the boar, lifted it, and trotted past Indy to the kennel, where it sat down and proceeded to eat into the meat with the most disturbing collection of eating sounds Indy had ever heard.
He tried to put them out of his mind as he looked at the trophy. Apparently, this had been given to Colonel Vogel for 1st place in the 1937 book burning contests, category: non-fiction. Judging by the size of the trophy it must have been an important contest - you could probably fit ten gallons of champagne in there. Indy set the trophy down at his feet and opened the slightly ajar drawer.
Sticking out like a sore thumb was a white piece of paper. Indy picked it up - it was an unsigned travel pass, and some numbers were scrawled on the far side. They looked like a combination. Of course - the combination to the art room vault!
Indy was done in here. He picked up the trophy, tiptoed past the dog, and shut the door. Leaving the trophy hidden in an adjacent room, he hurried downstairs.

The vault door opened first time. Inside the small place, Indy found two things. One, his tiny, pathetic painting. Two, a large painting of a Arthurian Knight, holding a grail in his hands. It was slightly rectangular, but otherwise shaped like a normal chalice. Indy looked through his father's Grail Diary. In the diary were dozens of different designs for the Grail, but this painting looked like just one. Indy circled it, then shut the vault door as he left.
Upstairs on the third floor, he hadn't gotten much further when the passage forked. One way, which Indy tried first, was just bare rooms. The second was guarded by a huge muscular guy with enormous bulging biceps, which was why Indy hadn't tried here first.
This, certainly, was the big guy who was nasty when sober. But looking at his tanned and exercised girth, Indy didn't think there was enough beer in the world to get this guy drunk. Handing him a stein would be like handing him a thimbleful of beer. Indy walked past nonchalantly, mulling over the problem. Almost immediately he had a solution.
Fifteen minutes later he was back, holding Colonel Vogel's trophy. It was full to the brim with ale. Again, no-one saw him taking it from the first floor kitchen to here - even more questions would be asked.
The big guy, when Indy came into view, immediately assumed an aggressive and menacing pose. Seven feet, 300 pounds - he towered over Indy. "No one allowed near the prisoner. Colonel's orders."
Indy offered him the trophy. "Here, take this."
The big guy's eyes lit up. "Ahhhh!" With one hand he lifted the trophy to his mouth, tilted his head back, and drank. And drank. And drank. Tiny streams of beer ran down his neck and soaked his singlet.
It took him thirty seconds to drain the trophy. Finally, he dropped it to the floor, empty. He hiccupped, and looked very unsteady. "Er, that was... (hic) ... good! But I'll still (hic!) have to teach you (HIC!) not to come up here!" He raised his fists.
Indy shrugged, bunched his fists, and tapped him on the jaw.
The big guy's eyes rolled up. His knees buckled. He crashed to the floor with a mighty slosh (all that liquid in his stomach). Indy had a look, but there was nothing on him. He walked past.
The passageway here split in two. Indy went left. The hall went on straight, then turned right. Coming around this corner Indy saw three doors, and an tall officer on patrol. The officer saw him, and hurried over. "Greetings, sir!" he said. "I must inform you this is a top secret zone!"
"I'm on official business," said Indy. "M ay I pass?" It might work again.
"But I don't recognise you," the officer pointed out.
"No, I was transferred here today. New orders."
"Orders?" asked the officer. "May I see them?"
"Sure thing," said Indy. He reached into his uniform, then pulled his hand out like lightning and struck the officer. Stunned, the officer fell back. Indy followed up quickly with another punch, then he grabbed the officer by his jacket and slammed him against the wall.
The officer struggled. Indy did it again, harder. Five times he slammed his body into the wall, before the officer's face became dazed. He let go, and the officer crumpled onto the floor. On him Indy found twenty five Marks - he was getting quite a haul out of this castle.
Indy walked past. All three doors led nowhere, but fortunately a fourth one came into view. In here was a dining table and a plush blue couch. On the table was a lit candelabra, with - most strange - a silver key dangling from it. Indy took the key.
He left, returning to the T intersection (the big guy was still down. He'd need a week to sleep that one off), and went right. It brought him to a row of three doors, identical except for one thing. The first door was wired.
Now Indy had definitely done something to the security control. But he had no way of knowing if this wire was still active. So Indy tried the door next to it. It was locked, but the silver key unlocked it.
Here's where all the furnishings had gone - well, maybe some of them. Here there were actually curtains, rugs, tables, chairs, chests, desks, stands, even an unlit fireplace. Someone could actually live in here. No one did at the moment, however - the room was empty.
It was the window Indy was interested in, anyway. He pushed them open, allowing the cold wind to rattle the curtains. Outside the thunder seemed to have stopped, but it was raining as hard as ever.
That made Indy think. The sill outside was stone, and it was wet. That meant it would be slippery... Perhaps, it was time to change back into his action clothes - IndyWear�.
He'd brought it with him when he filled the trophy. Now he quickly changed, and clambered onto the window sill. He edged out, in the direction of Henry's room. The sill curved into an alcove, which bought him some shelter out of the wind. The next window was only several feet from here, and soon Indy peered inside.
There was light, and someone had lit a fire, but he couldn't make out anything else. He pulled the window open, and partly helped by a sudden gust, jumped into the room.
An enormous vase was smashed over his head. Indy collapsed.
Henry Jones looked down on him, holding the shattered remains of the vase. He was getting old these days, with his white hair and beard, but his intellect was as sharp as ever. "Junior?"
The voice got Indy quickly to his feet. "Yes, sir!" he said. It was a knee-jerk reaction, on his part.
"It is you, Junior! You've come to rescue me!"
The name. His father still used that name. "Don't call me that, please," said Indy. It was a familiar irritation.
Henry dropped the vase on the floor. "What a waste of a perfectly good vase!"
"No! Dad, get your stuff. We've got to get out of here."
Henry didn't have anything to get together. "Well, I'm sorry about your head, though. But I thought you were one of them."
"They use doors, Dad," reminded Indy, moving to the door. He unlocked it and pushed it open - no alarm went, at least not around here.
"Good point," said Henry, laughing. "I knew I did the right thing when I mailed you my Diary. You obviously got it."
"I got it and I used it," said Indy. "We found the entrance to the catacombs."
Henry was getting excited. "Through the library? I knew it! And the tomb of Sir Richard?" He trembled with anticipation.
Indy paused, holding the suspense. "Alexandretta."
Henry was overjoyed. "Alexandretta... on the pilgrim trail from the Eastern Empire. Junior, you did it!"
Indy led the way out of the room. "No Dad, you did. Forty years." The passageway renewed his caution, and he thought of something. "What do the Nazis want with you, Dad?"
"They want my Diary," said Henry. Yeah? thought Indy, moving his hand close to his chest pocket. "I knew I had to get that book as far away from me as I possibly could," continued Henry.
"Yeah..." said Indy, thoughtfully. They rounded the first corner. This was going to be difficult. How were they to get out, unseen?

It hadn't worked. Indy didn't know this, but the security system was still at least partly operational. And when Indy had opened the electrified doorway, the Nazis were instantly alerted.
Now a huge guard carrying a machine gun was running toward them. He fired above their heads. "Going somewhere?" he yelled. Indy and Henry stopped, frozen. "Dr Jones!" he yelled.
"Yes?" said Indy and Henry, simultaneously.
"You have an item Colonel Vogel wants," continued the guard, looking at Indy. "The Grail Diary."
Henry laughed out loud. "You dolt! Do you think my son would be so stupid that he would bring my Diary all the way back here?" At this point, aided by silence from Indy, an awful thought struck Henry. "You didn't, did you?" he asked Indy, concerned. "You didn't bring it, did you?"
"Well, uh..." said Indy.
"You did!!" Henry couldn't believe it.
Indy wanted to crawl into a hole. "Look, can we discuss this later?"
"I should have mailed it to the Marx Brothers," muttered Henry.
Now Indy was starting to lose his temper. "Will you take it easy?"
"Take it easy!?" yelled Henry. "Why do you think I sent it home in the first place?" He pointed at the guard, who seemed amused by the argument. "So it wouldn't fall into their hands!"
"I came here to save you," said Indy, sorely aggrieved.
"Oh yeah? And who's gonna save you, Junior?"
Indy's eyes blazed. His nostrils flared. He ripped the gun from the startled guard and turned it on him.
"I told you," he shouted at Henry as the bullets cut up the German guard, "don't call me JUNIOR!"
Henry stared down in horror at the corpse. "Look what you did! I can't believe what you just did..."
Indy grabbed Henry and pushed him ahead, keeping a firm grip on the weapon. He might need it.

They got as far as the second floor before the way was blocked by two people. Indy ran forward, bringing up his gun, then stopped.
It was Elsa. Some German soldier had her in a firm grip, his pistol pressed into her neck, held in one gloved hand. He had bright yellow hair and intense blue eyes - this must be Vogel.
"That's enough," barked Vogel. "Put down the gun, Dr Jones. Put down the gun or the Fraulein dies."
Henry had come up alongside Indy. "Don't do it, Junior! She's one of them!"
Elsa looked pleadingly at him. "Please, Indy!"
"She's a Nazi!" Henry yelled.
"What?" said Indy. He was thrown. He didn't know what to do. Suddenly it seemed like three people were vying for his attention, all at once.
"Trust me!" said Henry.
"Indy, no!" cried Elsa.
"I will kill her!" Vogel shouted. He looked insane.
"Oh yeah?" challenged Henry. "Go ahead!"
Indy stared at his father in horror. "No! Don't shoot!"
"Don't worry, he won't," muttered Henry.
Elsa wailed, "Indy, please! Do what he says!"
"And don't listen to her!" continued Henry.
Vogel jammed the gun barrel into her neck. "Enough! She dies!"
"No!" shouted Indy. "Wait!"
He gave in. He dropped the gun onto the floor. Henry groaned. When the clatter of the gun had stopped, Vogel drew back his gun and pushed Elsa toward Indy. Indy grabbed her.
"I'm sorry," said Elsa, her face buried in his chest. She sounded near tears.
"Don't be," said Indy.
She ran a hand around his chest, then stepped back. Her face was clear, and she was holding the Grail Diary. "But you really should have listened to your father." She stepped back to Vogel, who now had Indy and Henry in the sight of his gun.
Indy was stunned. Henry looked at him witheringly.

Hands tied, they were brought into a room elsewhere in the castle, accompanied by Vogel, Elsa and two other guards. Indy hadn't been here. It was large and baronial, decorated with ancient tapestries and suits of armour.
Elsa crossed the room to a high-backed chair facing the fireplace. A hand reached out and took the Diary.
"How did you know she was a Nazi?" Indy whispered to Henry.
"She talks in her sleep," said Henry.
Indy nodded. Then he started. How did Henry know that?
"I didn't trust her," said Henry. "Why did you?"
Before Indy could answer, the man in the high-backed chair stood up and turned around.
"Because he didn't take my advice," said Walter Donovan.
Indy and Henry were both shocked. "Donovan," said Indy.
"Didn't I warn you not to trust anybody?" said Donovan. He smiled, and flipped through the Grail Diary.
"I've misjudged you," said Henry, in a marvelling tone. "I knew you'd sell your mother for an Etruscan vase. But I didn't know you'd sell your country and your soul to the slime of humanity!"
Donovan suddenly grew angry - not at Henry, but at something he'd seen in the Diary. "Doctor Schneider! There are pages torn out of this!"
Elsa hurried over and looked. She glanced at Indy. "This book contained a map - a map with no names - precise directions from the unknown city to the secret Canyon of the Crescent Moon."
"So it did," said Indy.
"Where are those missing pages?" asked Donovan. He didn't sound patient. "This maps... we must have those pages back!"
Henry looked at Indy with surprise, like a teacher looking at pupil who's done unexpectedly well. Indy smirked.
Elsa was unconcerned. "You're wasting your breath," she said to Donovan. "It's perfectly obvious where the pages are - he's given them to Marcus Brody."
Henry groaned. "Marcus?!" he whispered to Indy. "You didn't drag poor Marcus along, did you? He's not up to the challenge!"
Donovan liked this news. "He sticks out like a sore thumb. We'll find him."
"The hell you will," replied Indy. "He's got a two day head start on you, which is more than he needs." He paused. "Brody's got friends in every town and village from here to the Sudan. He speaks a dozen languages, knows every local custom. He'll blend in. Disappear. You'll never see him again. With any luck, he's got the Grail already."
Henry looked amazed. Iskenderun.
Brody disembarked from the train, amidst a crowd of other passengers. Somehow, amongst the throng, he was able to look like the only one not knowing where he was headed.
"Does anyone here speak English?" he called out. "Or even Ancient Greek?"

The baronial room was dark, the fireplace extinguished. Indy and Henry were tied back-to-back in a pair of chairs, watched by Elsa and Donovan and the two guards.
"Intolerable," grumbled Henry.
Vogel entered. "Dr Schneider. Message from Berlin. You must return immediately: rally at the Institute of Aryan Culture."
"So?" asked Elsa.
"Your presence is required... at the highest level."
"Thank you, Herr Oberst," said Elsa politely. She turned to Donovan. "I will meet you in Iskenderun."
Donovan handed her the Grail Diary. "Take this Diary to the Reich Museum in Berlin. It will show them our progress, ahead of schedule. Without a map, I'm afraid it's no better than a souvenir."
Vogel, staring at Indy and Henry, spoke to Donovan. "Let me kill them now."
"No," said Elsa. "If we fail to recover the pages from Brody, we'll need them alive."
Donovan shrugged. "Always do what the Doctor orders," he said to Vogel. They went out, followed by the two guards. Elsa remained, walking across to Indy.
"Don't look at me like that," she said. "We both wanted the Grail. I would have done anything to get it. You would have done the same."
Indy shook his head. "I'm sorry you think so." He pulled away from her hand.
Elsa bent forward and kissed Indy. Henry glanced at them, a little disappointed.
Vogel appeared at the door. "Doctor Schneider! Your car is waiting."
Elsa finished the kiss. "That's how Austrians say goodbye," she said to him, getting up. She left.
Vogel lingered. "And this is how we say goodbye in Germany, Doctor Jones." He punched Indy viciously in the jaw. Indy's head rocked back, slamming into the back of Henry's head, which rocked forward. "Ohhhh," said Henry.
Vogel left. Indy shook his head clear. "I liked the Austrian way better."
"So did I," said Henry. "Now what do we do, Junior?"
"I don't know... I'll try to think of something," said Indy. He wrestled with the ropes, but they were too tight. If he had a lighter he could burn them, but he didn't have a lighter. He looked around the baronial room.
Looking at one suit of armour, holding its axe high and proud, Indy got an idea. "Dad?"
"Junior?"
"Rock your chair," said Indy. "Do as I do." He jerked the chair forward. Soon Henry got the idea, and they slowly inched along the floor, heading for the suit of armour. As they got closer he made progressively smaller movements. This would have to be very precise...
Finally they halted. Indy reached out with his foot, and kicked the suit of armour. It wobbled. Indy pushed it again, and now it lost its hold on the axe. The blade fell whistling down, falling right into the gap between the two chairs and slicing their bonds.
They stood up, rubbing their wrists. "Junior, do you always cut things this close?" asked Henry.
Indy was looking at the empty fireplace. Two statues either side held up the mantelpiece, but one of them looked rather strange around its belly. Indy grasped the statue and shoved.
Grinding, the fireplace rotated ninety degrees, making a pathway outside. Indy and Henry went through, finding themselves at the rear of the castle. Shielding themselves from the rain, they ran along until Indy found a motorcycle.
"Get in, Dad!" he cried. "We're going to Iskenderun!"
"No Junior," said Henry, softly but firmly. "We're going to Berlin."
"What?!"
"We have to get the diary back!" said Henry. "We won't survive the three tests of faith without it."
"All right," said Indy. They got on the motorcycle, Henry in the sidecar, and roared off.

They were, of course, stopped at the German border, early the next morning. "Uh, hold it," said the guard at the frontier post. "You've got to come over here. " Indy got off, telling Henry to stay put. He walked over to the guard. "I need to see your authorisation," said the German guard.
They didn't have any authorisation. "My authorisation? You insult me!" said Indy.
"Insult or not, you must have clearance," said the guard.
"You talk this way to a senior officer?" said Indy, his tone affronted. This would be a lot easier if he was wearing that officer uniform.
"Officer?" said the guard. "You are not in uniform!"
"I am operating undercover," said Indy, through gritted teeth. "It's classified."
To his great surprise, the soldier didn't see through the ruse. "Classified? A secret mission? Did they give you credentials?"
"It's top secret," said Indy. "I have no ID."
"No kidding!" said the guard. The most excitement he ever had on border patrol was frisking tourists. This guy, however, had charisma, and a great story. "OK, you can go." He lifted the bar.
They drove into Germany.

That night, at the Institute of Aryan Culture, a booming crowd had turned up for a good old fashioned book burning. The mound of books was twice as tall as a man, and burning merrily. College students and Nazi brownshirts were continually tossing more books on the pile. Flags, banners and standards, all bearing the Swastika, were waved from side to side.
Rumour had it that Adolf Hitler himself might turn up, and sure enough, soon after 9 PM Hitler entered, flanked on all sides by his bodyguards, and high ranking officers of the Third Reich. The crowd gathered around the bonfire cheered, and the band played through the first bars of Horst Wessel Lied with gusto. It was a fine night. The light of the fire somehow made the Nazi banners redder than ever.
Hitler went up to the podium, occasionally stopping to sign an autograph. "Heil Hitler!" people screamed, as he began to talk. The less feverish noted the presence of a woman standing beside him, blonde, bookish, polite. She stood there, almost motionless, until the speech ended. Adolf was led away to sign autographs for children, but Elsa went the other way, to a relatively calm and quiet corner.
It overlooked the mass of people in front of the podium, and the huge fire amidst them. She stood there, watching them, and thus failed to see a German officer come up to her and grab her roughly.
"Fraulein Doctor," said Indy.
"Indy!" cried Elsa. She nearly swooned. He'd come back for her! "How did you get here?"
"Where is it?" snarled Indy, searching her clothing. He pulled the book from her pocket. Elsa deflated.
"You came back for the book? Why?" she said. Behind Indy, German guards were approaching.
Indy heard them too. "See ya," he said, and turned to leave. He brushed past the German guards, and suddenly was face-to-face with Hitler.
Indy froze.
Hitler was puzzled. What was an officer doing here? He should be on crowd control.
Indy reached into his pocket, and came out with the travel pass. He offered it to Hitler. Hitler visibly relaxed. He signed it and gave it back, smiling benevolently. Then he and his entourage moved on.
Indy sighed with relief. He went and found Henry. "Well, did you get it?" asked Henry.
"Yeah, I got it," said Indy.
"Wonderful! Now let's go to the airport!"

It shut during the night, so they were forced to wait until morning. The next day, Indy and Henry turned up bright and early. Indy walked through the thin crowd to a vacant ticket terminal.
"May I help you?" asked the male ticket agent.
"We'd like two tickets on the first flight out of Germany," said Indy.
"That will be 175 Marks," said the ticket agent.
Indy groaned. "All I have is a hundred and ten Marks," he said.
"Sorry," said the ticket agent, bluntly. Indy walked back to Henry. He told him the gist of it.
Henry didn't have any money on him, apart from some pretty worthless coins. Indy looked around. There was a old man near them, a business type, reading the newspaper. He wore a blue overcoat. He turned away from them, and Indy saw two tickets sticking out of his back pocket. He must be waiting for someone.
"Talk to him," he said to Henry.
"What?" said Henry.
"Talk to him. Keep him occupied. I'll try something."
Henry shrugged, and walked over to the man. "Excuse me, sir," he said.
"Now what?" said the man. He looked accustomed to service, and servitude.
Henry didn't know what to talk about. He fumbled around for an opening sentence. "Tell me about your grandchildren," he finally said.
The man's eyes lit up. "Ah, my grandchildren! Let me tell you about them! I have fifteen of them, all boys!"
Jackpot. Indy crept up behind the man and reached gingerly for the tickets. The man was running through the names - "First there's Siegfried, then there's Kalani, and Boris..."
Indy's fingers closed around the tickets.

"-and Hans, Franz, Fritz, Friedrich, Gustav, Horst, Werner-"
He pulled them out smoothly, and walked nonchalantly away.
"-and Josef, Wolfgang, Johann, Sebastian, and little Albert!" said the man proudly.
Some distance away Indy examined the tickets. They were Zeppelin tickets. Soon he was joined by Henry. "I got them!" said Indy. Together, they walked to the departure doors.
It was sunny out here. A couple of mechanics were chatting and eating. A short grassy path led to the Zeppelin, which they followed. A short metal stairway led up to the passenger carriage.
As they reached the top, the stairway folded up behind them and the doorway shut. The Zeppelin pulled up off the ground - smoothly. They were just in time.
An attendant in a yellow jacket greeted them. "Tickets please. May I have your tickets?"
Indy gave him the tickets. The attendant checked them, and gave them back. "Thank you, and enjoy your trip!" Indy and Henry walked into the passenger lounge and sat down.

At that moment, back in the Castle Brunwald, Vogel was pacing back and forth in his office. Escaped! He was beside himself with fury. The Joneses could be anywhere by now. It was no consolation to know that they'd be drawn to Iskenderun like moths to a lightbulb.
One of his guards came in. "Sir!"
"Yes, what do you want?" said Vogel.
"We have reports that the Jones boys have boarded a Zeppelin leaving Germany!"
"So?" asked Vogel. "Radio to have it turned around at once!"
"Yes, sir!"

Henry looked out the massive Zeppelin windows at the ground below, still falling as it rushed past. It was an excellent view. He looked around at the other passengers on this half-booked flight, smiling. He was in a good mood.
"Well, we're airborne," he said. "We made it."
Indy was tense. "When we've got Germany behind us, I'll share that sentiment." He knew they'd be safe once they landed outside Germany (wherever that might be - he still didn't know), but he couldn't relax yet. What if the Zeppelin was radioed to return to Berlin?
"Relax," said Henry. Music started to play. There was a piano, somewhere in the back. Henry got up and walked over to the musician. He tossed some coins into the bowl set out for donations.
"Thank you," said the musician. "What would you like to hear?"
"I'd love to hear 'Whipcracker Suite'," requested Henry.
"I'm sure you would," said the musician, "but I'll play my favourite instead." He started to play, and Henry's annoyance faded as he heard the music. It was vibrant, strong and upbeat, and seemed to carry throughout the Zeppelin. Soon he found himself tapping along with it.
Indy, still slouched in his chair, was less impressed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone in a grey uniform head toward the piano. He pulled himself up. That guy had come from the boarding area.
The grey uniform looked like a soldier's uniform. The man reached the piano and leaned on it, tapping along. He loved this piece.
Unseen, Indy got up and walked back to the boarding area. There was only one place the man could have come from - a wooden door near the staircase. By the door was a metal hole with a bolt in it, the significance of which completely escaped Indy. He tried the door.
Behind was a small space, large enough for a desk, a stool in front of the desk, a metal locker and a large RF receiver/transmitter. The radio.
It was an opportunity too good to miss. Indy opened the locker. Inside was a strange triangular wrench. Strange or not, it looked hefty enough for the job Indy had in mind. He took it, shutting both the locker and the main door.
At t hat moment the radio crackled. Someone was sending a message.
Indy slammed the short wave radio with the wrench. He struck it again, but then the music, faint but audible, stopped.
Indy ducked outside and shut the door. Soon the radio operator came past and went back to his post. He wasn't going to like what he found. But Indy hadn't had time to do any irreparable damage. And, more forebodingly, someone was trying to signal the Zeppelin. Indy thought he could guess why.
His eyes were scanning the boarding area aimlessly. They rested on that curious hole with the bolt in it. Indy had a closer look. The hole was about the right size for him to stick the wrench in.
It fitted perfectly, as if it had been designed for this very purpose. The twin arms of the wrench stuck out, almost suggesting that Indy rotate them.
He pulled the wrench clockwise.
With a grinding click that was far too loud, a panel above Indy's head swung open. From it descended a metal ladder, painted bright red and sticking out like a sore thumb.
Indy ran into the passenger lounge and tugged at Henry's arm. "Come on, Dad, we have to go!"
"But-"
"Now!" Indy half led, half pulled Henry along. They climbed up the ladder.
"Where are we going, son?" asked Henry.
"Someone's signalling the Zeppelin to try and get it to turn around," said Indy. It was his best guess. "There's got to be a biplane around here." Winds were buffeting his head. Now they had reached the top of the ladder. All around them was the metal framework, the support structure of the Zeppelin balloon. They were in the open air, and it was a long way to fall.
They ran along the grated catwalk, up ladders, down ladders, seeking a way down to the lower levels. Finally, they came to a pair of metal doors in the framework. Abruptly the Zeppelin began to change direction.
"They've received the message!" said Indy. "Hurry!" He flung open the doors. There, on the end of a short catwalk, was a biplane. Indy ran to it and jumped into the cockpit. Henry followed him, taking the rear gunner position.
"I didn't know you could fly a plane, Junior!" he said.
"Fly, yes. Land, no," admitted Indy. He found the biplane release controls. "Hang on!"
They plummeted downward, causing Henry to nearly lose his hat. Indy pulled back on the stick and they soon levelled. It was perfect flying weather - flat air, a clear blue sky. Using the sun as his guide, Indy turned south, heading for the German border. Soon the Zeppelin was nothing more than a blip in the distance.

The five fighter planes converging on them, however, were growing bigger at a very threatening rate. Indy immediately pushed the stick down and jammed the throttle open, looking for ground cover. "Fire, Dad!" he shouted to Henry.
Henry did his best with the rear gun, although with Indy's evasive maneouverings it was very hard to get a lock on the planes. Bullets were whizzing into them left right and centre, tearing out fuselage. The fighter planes had spread out, and were now coming at them in a semicircle.
Henry finally hit one. Smoke trailed from its engine, and the plane plummeted downward. Henry wiped his brow. Using the rear gun was like trying to hold a jackhammer.
Indy was having trouble too. The engine had been hit, more than once, and smoke was flying in his eyes. Suddenly they lurched downward. "They got us!" shouted Indy. "We're going down!" He heaved back on the stick, trying to gain altitude. The rudder was gone. They had absolutely no steering ability at all, and they were still miles and miles from the German frontier.
Their plane jackknifed downward. "AAAAHHHHHH!" screamed Indy.

Indy wrestled with the stick. They were still falling, but the rate of descent was decreasing, and eventually, at one hundred feet, they were almost level. The scenery below, a patchwork of stone fences and livestock, whizzed past at frightening speed. Indy pulled back the throttle and jammed open the flaps - that helped.
No long field presented itself as a convenient landing spot, so Indy was forced to land in the middle of a corral of goats, crashing the plane into a farmhouse.
A cloud of dust was kicked into the air.
Indy climbed out of the cockpit. "Dad?" Henry wasn't in sight - Indy soon found him, however, sprawled on the ground by the side of the farmhouse. Indy roused him. "Hey Dad, get up! This is no time to take a nap!"
Henry pulled himself up. There was a look of excitement on his face. "Sorry Junior!" He looked around. "Hey, let's go steal a car."
There were two parked nearby, one looking drab and ordinary, the other a black convertible that seemed built for speed. Unfortunately, there wasn't any gas in this one.
They took the ordinary car, instead.

There were border patrols set up throughout Germany, on every major highway. Indy and Henry were stopped more than once. The first time, Henry got a little agitated, but Indy was unconcerned.
"I've got a plan," he confided as he stepped out of the car and walked toward the soldier.
"I need to see your authorisation," said the soldier.
Indy had something better. From his pocket, he removed the travel pass signed by Hitler and showed it to the soldier.
The soldier's eyes boggled. "Signed by the Fuhrer?" He pulled up the barrier with all speed. "You may go at once!"
It was the same at the two other places they were stopped. Finally, they were in Austria. They refuelled, and pushed on with all speed, crossing the border into Yugoslavia.

Iskenderun was a medium-sized town on the southern coast of Turkey, close to the border with Syria. The whole coastal region was fairly densely populated, but as you drew inland the population fell off dramatically. Here, as the land rose to a plateau and the vegetation died, there was hardly anyone at all.
The directions in the Grail Diary were perfect. Indy and Henry came to a wide gash in the plateau floor, which, when they climbed down, turned out to be the valley of the Crescent Moon. It was hot work, the sun a coppery disk overhead, but at the bottom it became very cool.
They walked some way along the canyon floor, when a mighty structure seemingly carved out of a sheer rock face brought them to a halt. The stunning Grecian facade seemed to glimmer in the sunlight, like an ageless thing.
They were lost in contemplation when footsteps came from behind. They turned, and there was Marcus.
"Marcus!" said Henry.
"Ah, so you made it," said Marcus. He too looked hot and bothered, and not only that - his suit was covered in tracks of dirt. There was something regular about those tracks, in particular their even spacing.
"Uh, why are you covered in dirt, Marcus?" asked Indy.
It had been a trying day for Marcus. On horseback, helped only by Kazim's loyal army, he'd had to fight off Vogel, a platoon of German soldiers and two German tanks, during the course of which was nearly pulled under one tank's treads, narrowly avoided being crushed against a stone wall by another tank, nearly fell into a canyon, and blew up an army transport.
"Don't ask!" said Marcus.
They walked toward the city, looking from one amazing feature to the next, like a starving man at a sumptuous banquet, or, less politely, a country boy at a whore market. Indy was looking downward, noting the smooth steps and the sculpture work on the columns. Marcus looked around, seeing small plaques engraved on the inner wall of the facade. Henry looked forward, trying to pierce the dim interior.
None of them looked to the right, where the canyon continued past the temple and then curved left. There, several cars and camels were camped. Donovan was here already.
They walked into shadow, amongst the massive columns supporting the roof, each thicker than a man lying down. The way narrowed ahead to a short passage. Coming through, they found themselves in a wide space, with irregular, cave-like walls. The floor rose up several flat levels to a brighter area, lit from narrow fissures in the ceiling. The light had a strange dusty quality to it, that only deepened the impression of age.
Here, on the decorated marble floor, stood several figures, watching them as they cautiously came in. Around them, and the circle on which they stood, were several statues of Christian Knights, watchful. Two enormous bronze lions guarded a way deeper into the temple. On the floor in front of them was a wide circular decoration, some kind of seal set into the marble.
Before a word could be said, there was a sudden whoosh and a wet thwack, from somewhere further inside the temple. A head, spurting blood from its open neck, bounced into view of Indy, at the feet of the group.
The group was Donovan and Elsa. Donovan kicked the head away with disgust, and motioned to them with the gun in his hand. "Ah, Indiana Jones, you're just in time," he said. For all the emotion in his voice, he could have been welcoming Indy into his New York apartment. "It seems I have run out of volunteers."
Indy came over, followed by Marcus and Henry. "Donovan, Donovan, Donovan," he chided, shaking his head. He looked at Elsa, who was silent but struggling to contain herself.
He looked back at Walter Donovan. "There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that could convince me to get the Grail for your purposes."
Donovan didn't bother with debate. He shifted the aim of his pistol and shot Henry, the bullet entering his lower chest. Henry fell back onto the floor, gasping.
"No!" shouted Elsa suddenly.
"Except maybe that," said Indy dumbly. He knelt with Marcus by his father's side. He was still conscious, clasping a feeble hand to his wound.
"I thought you'd see it my way," said Donovan. "The only thing that can save your father now is the healing power of the Grail. I suggest you hurry, Doctor Jones."
Indy hadn't shifted his gaze from his father's face. "Junior," wheezed Henry, "remember my Diary. The three trials!"
Indy moved his hand to his pocket, feeling the rough outline. He stood up and walked to the steps. "Hang on, Dad. I'll be as fast as I can," he said, walking between the lions.

He could feel the stares of everyone behind him as he walked on. The space before him was narrow and dirty, crisscrossed with thick cobwebs. He had the text of the Grail Diary before him. This test was the Breath of God. "Only the penitent man will pass," said the text. Indy whispered it under his breath, like a mantra of good fortune.
He saw two bodies just in front of him, lying forlorn and headless on the ground. "Only the penitent man will pass," whispered Indy, horrified. He inched forward.
"The penitent man is humble before God," he whispered, taking a further step. He was level with the corpses. A rush of cold air blew past him, and the cobwebs in front of him parted. "He kneels before God... Kneel!!"
Indy threw himself on his knees. A whirling pendulum, razor sharp, came out of the stone and whizzed above his head, knocking his hat off. Indy rolled forward, avoiding the attention of a second pendulum in the floor, then sprang up and jumped past.
"I'm past!" he called out. He picked up his hat and walked on.

The second trial was the Word of God. "Only in the footsteps of God will he proceed," read Indy. Below this was a note... "In Etaskrit, Jehovah is spelled 'JEHOVU'."
Indy pulled aside a thick curtain of cobwebs, and he understood.
He had come to a long cobblestoned area, and each cobblestone bore an engraved letter. Each cobblestone was about one foot across.
Indy leapt gingerly from cobblestone to cobblestone, careful only to land on letters contained in JEHOVU. Each cobblestone was firm, and bore his weight easily. Soon he made the far side. The way continued straight ahead, then Indy stopped. He had to.
He had come to an enormous chasm, perpendicular to his passage, a hundred feet wide and as deep as the chasm in Venice. There was no bridge here, either, though there was a passage on the far side, faintly lit with a golden glow. It was at exactly the same height, and directly across the chasm.
Indy opened the Grail Diary at the third trial. This was the Path of Flood. "Only in the leap from the lion's head will he prove his worth." Indy looked upward, and inscribed in the rock over his head was the head of a snarling lion.
This was impossible! Nobody could jump this. Indy stood there, undecided. He remembered his father, bleeding to death.
He suddenly realised. It was a leap of faith. The question was... did he have faith?
There was no time to answer that question. Indy jumped forward. There was nothing there, nothing but air and a long fall to his death, when with a shock Indy landed sprawled on his hands and knees. He looked around w onderingly, and realised. There was a path between the two sides of the chasm, carved and painted to align perfectly with the far side cliff. The forced perspective image blended in perfectly, invisible from the near side. Indy leaned out left, then right, and now, when you weren't perpendicular to the bridge, you can see the trick. Quickly he got up, then walked across the chasm to the glowing passage on the far side.
This was a temple. Someone had lit a fire here.
Two fires, in fact. They were either side of a massive altar, above which hung a metallic diorama of - it looked like the Last Supper. The altar displayed a vast array of chalices, of all shapes and sizes. Golden, silver, copper. And kneeling at the foot of the altar was a man, praying. He was wearing armour, mail, and a helmet, the last open to display his long white beard.
The man opened his eyes and stood up, facing Indy. He was tremendously old, and his face radiated more than elderly wisdom and experience. It held some kind of joyous calm. This man had made his peace with the world many years ago.
Indy still couldn't believe he was staring at the Grail Knight.
"I knew you would come," said the Knight. He walked closer to Indy, walking like an old man. But that expression didn't change.
"Who are you?" asked Indy.
"I am the last of three brothers who swore an oath to find the Grail and guard it," said the Knight.
Seven hundred years ago, thought Indy. His gaze was rooted to this man.
"You are strangely dressed for a Knight," said the Knight. He sounded slightly confused.
"Me?" asked Indy, flabbergasted. "I'm no Knight. What do you mean?"
"It is no matter," said the Knight. "You proved your worthiness by passing the three trials. The honour of guarding the Grail is yours." He presented his sword to Indy.
"But you don't understand!" said Indy. "My father is wounded, here in the temple. I've got to find the Grail, or he'll die!"
The Knight took back the sword, studying his face. "Very well. I see your intentions are pure." He drew in breath. "Choose."
Indy stared at the vast array of chalices. Only one could be the true Grail. He looked at golden cups encrusted with jewels, at silver cups with finely engraved filigree patterns, at huge thick copper cups built for mead drinkers.
None seemed like the cup of a carpenter. One, however, drawing his attention precisely because it didn't draw his attention, was different. It was a ceramic bowl of uneven thickness, dusty and unused. It looked severely out of place.
Indy took it in his hands. No special vibration. He stared around, at the pool filled with Holy Water. There was only one way to find out.
He dipped the bowl into the water and drew it to his lips. In went the water, tasting just like any other water he'd ever had, along with dust from the bowl that nearly made him gag. He pulled the empty bowl from his mouth.
Several seconds passed. A strange sensation came over Indy, a feeling of peace and contentment that seemed to echo that he'd seen in the Knight. His collection of scratches and bruises, accumulated over the past week, began to heal.
"You have chosen wisely," said the Knight. "But remember this: the Grail cannot pass beyond the Great Seal. That is the price of immortality."

Indy came rushing back, the Grail in his hands. He found his Dad still alive, Marcus, and Elsa, but no Donovan.
"What happened to Donovan?" he asked, going to Henry's side.
Elsa joined him. "He was so eager to follow you, he just lost his head," she said simply. She watched tensely as Indy took the Grail, brimming with Holy Water, and tipped it onto the bloody wound in Henry's chest.
There was a faint hissing sound. The water mixed with the blood, and somehow, grew pinker and pinker until not a taint of red could be seen. A white cloud rose up, warm and aromatic.
Elsa's mouth was open. When the smoke or steam cleared, Henry's skin was smooth and unblemished. Henry blinked, and opened his eyes. He pulled himself up, with no sign of injury whatsoever.
He saw what Indy was holding in his trembling hands. "The Grail!" He took it and held it. "You did it, Junior!"
"No Dad, you did it," said Indy. "I just followed your Diary."
"And the third brother?" asked Henry. "Still alive?"
Indy nodded. "Yes. Even after seven centuries."
Henry drew in a quick breath. "Then it does grant immortality! All these years. My quest is at an end." There was a pause, during which Henry turned back to Indy. "But you found it, son. Its destiny is in your hands now." Henry placed the Grail on the floor, only six feet inward from the Great Seal. Then he walked over to Marcus. "Marcus! I haven't thanked you yet..." They started walking outside.
Indy stared at him, befuddled. He had just given the Grail away like that? His life's work, placed easily on the ground like a dinner plate in someone else's house. Indy didn't understand.
There was movement behind him, from two directions. Indy turned and saw Elsa, closer to him (and the Grail). There was an excited grin on her face. Behind her, the Grail Knight had come up to the steps.
"Remember the price of immortality," he said. "The Grail cannot pass beyond the Great Seal."
Elsa suddenly darted forward and snatched the Grail. "Elsa, no!" shouted Indy. "The Grail must remain here!"
She looked at him with flashing eyes, clasping the Grail protectively to her chest. "But Indy, the Grail, it can be ours!" She eyed the seal on the floor.
"You heard the Knight," pleaded Indy. "It cannot pass beyond the seal."
"No! I don't believe it! I won't lose it now!" She dashed forward, past Indy, who was helpless to stop her, and her feet crossed the seal.
The dull thud of her boots suddenly gained a new, hollow quality.
The place shook, as if snatched by a child. Columns collapsed, right in front of Elsa. She fell back onto the seal, coughing in the clouds of dust. Rocks were falling all around her, and now the Great Seal cracked down the middle.
The two halves tilted, and pulled apart. Elsa fell to her knees and slid into the crack, screaming. Indy jumped as close as he could, but her flailing hands were out of reach. They fell from view, Elsa's scream now faint and hollow.
It faded as a gradual silence fell. A temporary calm returned. Indy found a secure foothold near the crack, and peered down.
The Grail was still there, perched on a narrow ledge six feet below. Indy gauged the distance, then cracked his bullwhip. The whip clasped the Grail firmly, and with one tug it flew upward into his waiting hand.
Indy stood up. He looked once to his left, where forty feet away Marcus and Henry were waiting in the open sun, watching him. He looked to his right, at the Grail Knight.
He walked to the Grail Knight and gave him the Grail. "I give you my thanks," said the Knight. "I see you have indeed the heart of a true Knight. Of course-" he sighed "-I'll be picking this place up for years." He walked back up the passage, and was soon lost from sight.
There was nothing left to be done. Indy picked his way around the ruin of the Great Seal, and joined Henry and Marcus outside. "That was a just and noble thing you did, Junior," said Henry.
Indy cringed. "Don't call me Junior!"
"If I might interrupt," said Marcus, "what is all this Junior talk?"
"That's his name," said Henry. "Henry Jones, Junior."
"I like Indiana," said Indy. They started walking back through the canyon, in the still and hot air.
"We named the dog Indiana!" reminded Henry. "We named you Henry Jones, Junior!"
"Come to think of it," mused Marcus, "my father had a cat named 'Marcus'."
"Enough!" said Henry. "Let's get home! I think I'll start a Dead Sea Scrolls Diary." They came across the transport supplies of Donovan's group - a car, which had been in the sun for several hours and was terminally overheated, and three horses.
They readied their mounts and climbed up, Marcus and Henry with some difficulty. Once up, however, they were well at home.
"Ready?" asked Indy.
"Ready," said Henry.
Marcus was already riding on. "Indy! Henry! Follow me - I know the way!" He spurred his horse on with a cry.
"Got lost in his own museum, huh?" said Henry, to Indy.
"Uh-huh," nodded Indy.
Marcus was drawing away. "After you, Junior," said Henry.
"Yes, sir!" said Indy. He jerked the reins of the horse. "Haaaa!" They thundered away through the canyon, whose cragged, towering walls threatened to collapse on them. They rode from the canyon, riding coastward toward the setting sun.