The Adventures Of Indiana Jones (53 page)

It was a sketch of what appeared to be a stained glass window of a knight. Below it was one word: Venice. He wondered about its significance.

It wouldn’t be long before he would find out.

“
A
H,
V
ENICE
.” Indy sighed, looking around, nodding to himself, drawing a kind of sustenance from his surroundings. Venice was like no other city on earth and was a perfect balm for his dark mood. As he and Brody traversed the city by water bus, the gloom that had hovered over him ever since he found out about his father’s disappearance lifted.

The air smelled sweetly of water, the sky overhead was a soft cushion of blue, and Indy’s spirit soared. It’s going to be all right, he told himself. He would find his father. He had to believe that.

“Think of it,” Brody said, “a city built in a lagoon on a hundred and eighteen islands.”

Indy nodded. “And look what they built.”

Venice’s heritage was visible along virtually every street and waterway. The city was a harbor of culture and knowledge, of history and romance, and no doubt intrigue and adventure as well.

As he and Brody disembarked from the water bus at a boat landing, Indy’s sense of euphoria abruptly evaporated. A band of Fascist militiamen passed by with a civilian suspect in tow. At the sight of the boat, the civilian started struggling to escape. The militiamen reacted swiftly and harshly. They struck the man with their clubs, kicked him with their heavy boots, and the man whimpered and cried out and tried to get away. He finally collapsed against the cobblestones, his face bloody, his body as still as a dead man’s.

It disturbed Indy at a level too deep for words. He sensed a vengefulness in the militiamen’s attitude that far exceeded military code. They obviously enjoyed their work, and reminded him of the sailors he had tangled with on the cargo ship.

“Ah, Venice,” he said again. But this time his voice was heavier, thicker, reflecting his concern for what was taking place in Italy and throughout Europe. Fascists and Nazis had thrown the continent into havoc. Who the hell knew where it would all end? Or when? Or how? Or if?

Some of his earlier gloom returned.

“I find that sort of thing very disturbing,” Brody remarked as they made their way across the dock. “I hope we don’t encounter any more violence on this trip.”

Indy glanced at him; Brody wore his fretful expression again. “Yeah, me, too.” But he had the feeling that wouldn’t be the case.

As they looked around, Indy wondered aloud how they would recognize Dr. Schneider when they saw him. Donovan hadn’t given them any description of his father’s colleague. He just said he’d be there waiting.

“Maybe he’ll be holding a sign,” Brody suggested hopefully.

A woman suddenly approached them from the crowd, and smiled. She was an attractive blonde with high cheekbones and a slender figure. Her lapis-colored eyes were bright and intelligent.

“Dr. Jones?”

“Yes.” Indy smiled. Schneider must have sent his secretary to pick them up, and he didn’t mind one bit.

“I knew it was you.” Her manner was brazenly flirtatious. “You have your father’s eyes.”

Indy was instantly attracted to her. “And my mother’s ears. But the rest belongs to you.”

He expected her to be flustered. Instead, she laughed. It was a light, beautiful sound, full of life, and for a second, he thought she was laughing at him. What the hell, he thought. So it wasn’t the most original line. Who cared? He would have said it again just to hear her laugh once more.

“Looks like the best parts have already been spoken for,” she said.

Indy grinned, enjoying the repartee.

The woman turned to Brody. “Marcus Brody?”

“That’s right.”

“My name is Elsa Schneider.”

Indy’s grin faded.

Brody tried to cover his surprise but without success. “Ah, Dr. Schneider. I see.”

He shook her hand as she extended it. He cleared his throat, glanced at Indy as if hoping he would pick up the conversation, then looked back at the woman. “It’s nice to meet you. Walter didn’t, ah . . .”

She smiled and turned. “I thought as much. I guess Walter likes to surprise people. This way, gentlemen.”

They entered the vast Piazza San Marco, and she directed the conversation immediately to the matter at hand. “The last time I saw your father we were in the Marciana Library. That’s where I’m taking you now. He was very close to tracking down the knight’s tomb. I’ve never seen him so excited. He was as giddy as a schoolboy. He was certain the tomb would contain the map leading to the Grail.”

Dr. Henry Jones—Attila the professor—giddy as a schoolboy? That was a side of him he’d never seen, Indy thought. “He was never giddy, even when he
was
a schoolboy.”

Maybe working with Elsa Schneider had deranged the old man, Indy thought. Indy couldn’t take his eyes off her, and he had to admit he felt a bit giddy himself. As they strolled along, he noticed a vendor selling flowers from a cart. He reached back and pulled out a red carnation from a corner bouquet. The vendor was busy with a customer and missed his quick fingers.

He held out the flower to Elsa and smiled. “Fräulein, will you permit me?”

She eyed the flower, then glanced up at Indy. “Well, I usually don’t.”

“I usually don’t, either.”

She regarded him a moment longer. “In that case, I permit you.”

“It would make me happy.”

She took the carnation from Indy. “I’m already sad. By tomorrow it will have faded.”

“Then tomorrow I’ll steal you another. That’s all that I can promise.”

She laughed again, that beautiful laugh, that laugh Indy suddenly craved. He started to say something else, but Brody spoke up. “Look here, I hate to interrupt, but the reason we are here . . .”

“Yes, of course,” Elsa said in a serious voice, and reached into her purse. “I have something to show both of you. As I was saying, I left Dr. Jones working in the library. He sent me to the map section to fetch an ancient plan of the city. When I got back to his table, he was gone, and so were all of his papers. Except for one thing.”

She held up a scrap of paper and looked from Brody to Indy. “I found this near his chair.”

Indy took the paper from her and unfolded it. The only thing that was written on it were the Roman numerals III, VII, and X.

Indy contemplated that bit of information.

Elsa pointed her gloved hand to her right. “Here’s the library.”

They climbed the front steps, and Elsa led the way inside. Their shoes clicked against the polished marble floor. It was the sort of place, Indy thought, that encouraged you to speak in hushed, almost reverent tones. “I’ve been trying to figure out those numbers all week,” Elsa whispered. “Three, seven, and ten. They don’t appear to be a Biblical reference. I’ve checked every combination of chapter and verse in the gospels.”

Indy glanced up at the ceiling fifty feet overhead and at the stone walls interspersed with towering stained glass windows. The library was immense and shadowy, huge enough to get lost in.

Maybe his father was still here, he mused, absorbed in some ancient manuscript. He wouldn’t even know he was missing.

“Now I’m looking into the Medieval
Chronicles
of Jean Froissart,” Elsa continued. “This library has copies of the original text. Perhaps three, seven, and ten represent volume numbers.”

Indy nodded. He was impressed with the library, but he also felt uneasy here, knowing this was where his father vanished.

It was ironic in a way. He recalled Professor Henry Jones lecturing him about libraries. Storehouses of knowledge, Junior. Spend more time in libraries, and you’ll be the wiser for it. His father thrived in libraries, immersed himself in books, but he didn’t lose himself. Indy was sure of that. He had disappeared under duress, not voluntarily. He wasn’t the type who ran from trouble. He was too stubborn for that.

They walked between two massive granite pillars and entered a room with tall rows of bookshelves. Elsa led them to the corner of the room and stopped by a table, where she ran her hand lovingly over a couple of precious leather-bound books.

“Your eyes are shining,” Indy commented.

“A great library almost makes me cry. Even a single book. It’s almost sacred, like a brick in the temple of all our history.”

“Yeah. I like a good book,” Indy quipped.

“Like being in a church, I’d say,” Brody chimed sympathetically.

“In this case it’s almost the literal truth. We’re on holy ground. This used to be the chapel of a Franciscan monastery.” Elsa pointed toward several marble pillars. “Those columns were brought back as spoils of war after the sacking of Byzantium during the Crusades.”

Indy noted the columns, but at the moment he was more interested in the window above the table. It was stained glass and depicted a knight of the Crusades. He walked around the table to take a closer look at it, then turned to Elsa. “Is this the table where you last saw my father?”

She nodded, moved her fingertips over the edge of it. “He was working right here. That reminds me. I have to check with the reference counter. I left a picture of Henry. They said they’d be watching in case he showed up again.”

The moment Elsa was out of sight, Indy grabbed Brody by the arm and pointed at the stained glass window. “Marcus, I’ve seen this window before.”

Brody frowned. “Where?”

Indy took out the Grail diary and opened it to the sketch he had noticed during the plane flight. He tapped the diary. “Right here.” Brody studied the sketch, looked up at the window, down at the sketch again, and nodded slowly. “Good God, Indy. It’s the same.”

“Do you see it?”

“Yes, the Roman numerals are part of the window’s design.”

“Dad was onto something here.”

Brody handed the diary back to Indy. “Yes, but what? We know where the numbers came from, but we still don’t know what they mean.”

Indy saw Elsa approaching and quickly tucked the diary back into his pocket. “Dad sent me this diary for a reason. So until we find out why, I think we should keep it to ourselves.”

“Agreed,” Brody said.

Elsa shook her head. “No sign of him.” She frowned slightly, looking from Indy to Brody and back again. “You two look like you’ve found something. What is it?”

“Is it that obvious?” Indy asked.

He was scanning the walls and the ceiling. Somewhere around here there had to be a clue; he was sure of it. He had never been as sure of anything in his life.

Brody pointed to the window. “Three, seven, and ten. There it is, the source of the Roman numerals.”

“My God, you’re right.”

“Dad wasn’t looking for a
book,
but the knight’s tomb. He was looking for the tomb itself.”

Elsa’s expression was utterly blank. She finally shook her head. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you get it, Elsa? The tomb is somewhere in the library. You said yourself that this place used to be a church.”

Indy’s eyes rested on one of the marble columns. “There.” He jabbed his finger at it and strode across the room as Elsa and Brody hurried after him.

“Three.” Indy pointed at the Roman numerals embedded in the column and smiled triumphantly. “I bet they’re all numbered. Spread out. Let’s find the others—seven and ten.”

They headed off in separate directions, each one making a beeline toward a column. A moment later, Brody motioned to Indy. He found VII.

They kept looking, but none of them could find the last one—X.

They regrouped in the center of the room, about halfway between the III and VII columns. “Damn, it has to be here,” Indy muttered. “It’s got to be. I’m sure of it.”

He walked over to a ladder leading to a loft, climbed up it, and looked down, hoping that his new perspective would offer a clue. It took only a moment to see it, it was that obvious. The floor where Brody and Elsa stood was an elaborate tile design that contained a huge
X
that was visible only if you were above it.

“X
marks the spot,” he said aloud, and grinned. He rushed down the ladder and found the center tile where the
X
intersected. He bent down on one knee and started prying the tile with his knife.

“What’re you doing?” Elsa whispered, and looked about anxiously to see who might be watching the crazy foreigner who was ripping up the floor.

“I’m going to find the knight’s tomb.” The words hissed through his gritted teeth as he struggled with the tile. “What do you think?”

After several moments the tile popped free, revealing a two-foot square hole and proving him right. Cold air and a wet, rancid smell escaped from the dark cavity.

Indy looked up at Elsa and Brody and smiled broadly. “Bingo.”

“
Y
OU DON
’
T DISAPPOINT
, Dr. Jones,” Elsa said, brushing a strand of blond hair back in place. “You’re a great deal like your father.”

“Except he’s lost, and I’m not.”

Indy peered down into the blackness of the hole, then took a coin from his pocket and dropped it. He heard a soft plop a second later. The bottom was about six feet down. “Be back soon.”