For all the pixel pushers who brought Fate of Atlantis to life.

Nur-Ab-Sal made me write this.

My sincerest gratitude to Jan Hofmeister, for the German translations; Jaimee Comstock- Skipp, vintage fashion consultant and Arabic scholar extraordinaire; Amalia G. Kakissis, archivist at the British School at Athens, who kindly answered my historical questions about the Knossos excavations; Rob MacGregor—The Master—for all the Indiana Jones adventures which inspired my imagination, and the years of friendship and advice that made me a better writer; Juliet Singleton, founder of the DeviantArt Fate of Atlantis club, whose enthusiasm and support kept the creative flame alive; and Christian Guldager, the most brilliant and talented artist since Drew Struzan. I am forever indebted to you for creating the breathtaking artwork for my story. Fate of Atlantis could not exist without you. What can be more enthralling than penetration into the secrets of the past, and throwing light upon the history of civilization itself?

— Colonel P.H. Fawcett Lost Trails, Lost Cities PROLOGUE

Indiana Jones was in a tight spot. Literally. The passage was dark and cool, its walls pressing against his shoulders with a vise-like grip. He moved awkwardly in the confines of the narrow space, crawling on his knees, pulling himself forward with one hand while aiming a thick electric flashlight into the darkness. Its weak, flickering beam illuminated only a couple feet ahead to reveal a featureless ribbon of ground that seemed to stretch away into infinity. He hoped the batteries would hold out long enough to reach the other end of the tunnel, otherwise he would be forced to navigate in the dark. He was pressed for time, facing dire consequences. If he didn’t return with the idol, Marcus Brody was as good as dead. “Come on, just a little further,” Indy muttered to himself in the dusty silence. Sweat beaded on his brow and trickled into his eyes. He squinted against the salty sting, but couldn’t pause to wipe his face. He had to keep moving. Suddenly he stumbled over a protrusion on the floor, jarring his elbow roughly against the wall. The flashlight clattered to the ground, blinked out, plunging him into a pitch-black cocoon of darkness. “Damn it,” he cursed, patting around on the floor until he found it again. Indy thumbed the switch on and off repeatedly with no effect. He thumped the end of it against the ground in frustration, and the beam stuttered back to life. “Good. Now stay on.” “Do you see anything yet, Jones?” The muffled voice echoed through the passageway. Evidently Mr. Smith was not a patient man, and Indy knew that he couldn’t afford to keep the tall, blond-haired stranger with the indeterminate accent waiting much longer. “Not yet,” he called back over his shoulder. “Then keep looking,” ordered Smith, who was holding a gun on Marcus at the beginning of the passageway. The English curator was in his mid-sixties, and that was no age for a man of his disposition to be gallivanting around the world after artifacts. In spite of his fretful nature, Marcus had grown considerably bolder in the pursuit of archaeological relics ever since their quest last summer for the Holy Grail. While the experience had given Brody a much-needed bolster of confidence, Indy didn’t like to encourage his old friend. But it was too late now. Marcus was here, and they were both in trouble. If he couldn’t find the statue, Indy didn’t know what he would do. Especially since he didn’t have his whip or gun with him. He clawed his way through a gauzy sheet of cobwebs that spread across the corridor like a gray veil, and wondered if the passage would ever end. No sooner than he contemplated the thought, the floor dropped away, spilling him onto a hard, flat surface. Indy rolled over and quickly jumped to his feet. He slashed the light in every direction to reveal his surroundings. He found himself in a large hall with thick wooden beams that crossed the ceiling high overhead. Dusty shelves lined the walls. The archaeologist blinked in disbelief as his beam skipped over row upon row of pots and vessels, dull golden ingots and ornate statuary fashioned out of brass, wood, stone, and ebony. There were literally thousands of artifacts, a virtual storehouse of ancient wealth, more treasure than one person could acquire in a lifetime of collecting. The sight left him breathless. “I’m through!” Indy shouted back down the passage. Hopefully the announcement would soothe the gunman’s impatience and buy him a little more time. He moved forward, swiping the flashlight along the first row of cluttered shelves to begin looking for the particular item that Mr. Smith sought. As much as he wanted to linger and examine the artifacts in detail, Indy knew he had to focus. He had already searched two similar treasure rooms without luck. This was his last chance to locate the idol that would spare Marcus Brody’s life. He had to find it. “Indy, please hurry!” Brody urged in a voice laced with panic. I’m working on it, Marcus, he thought, sweating profusely in the stifling darkness. As he scanned the collection, Indy tried to envision what the object looked like, based on Smith’s description. It was supposed to be a short bronze statue about seven inches high, with upraised arms and horns on its head. He gazed over crude stone tools, potsherds and arrowheads, a gilded mask inlaid with precious jewels. Moving deeper into the vast repository, Indy struggled to tune out his expert eye that stubbornly attached an historic identification to every relic that he saw. He glossed over an elliptical battle shield made of hammered copper, and ignored an elaborate jade votive bowl from the Qin Dynasty. This was taking too long, Indy thought. He could just imagine Smith waiting outside with his gun pressed to Brody’s head, knowing that he would pull the trigger without the slightest hesitation if Indy returned empty-handed. No. It wasn’t going to happen, he promised resolutely. The myriad of arcane relics became a dusty blur as the search grew more desperate. Indy abandoned his academic mantle and reverted to the more primitive visual medium of shape, looking for anything with pointy appendages. He turned left and right, attempting to survey both sides of the room simultaneously. Shelves crammed with blunt vases, intricately carved stelae, mosaic tiles, a fragmented bas-relief frieze that once adorned some ancient structure... All of it became meaningless to the frantic archaeologist. Then all at once, Indy froze as he spied the statue on a high shelf, nestled between a chipped funeral urn and a shallow clay bowl etched with a flowing, wave-like design. He reached up and plucked the horned idol from its lofty perch where it had rested in the darkness for untold years. It was a curious-looking thing. The small, cylindrical copper body was tinted with the green patina of age, and unusually heavy. The statue regarded him with a cold obsidian gaze while the mouth was frozen in a silent whisper. Its thin, pointy arms were held upright in mock worship. A pair of short curving horns protruded from its head. The style was both ancient and futuristic, and Indy noted that it looked vaguely Minoan. He rubbed his thumb over the crust of corrosion that ringed the seam where the torso joined together. Flakes of ancient blue rust crumbled away, and the top half of the idol rotated with a dull mechanical hum, like a piece of clockwork. Indy held the statue close to his ear and twisted it back and forth, listening closely. This time there was the unmistakable grind of gears engaging. He wondered why somebody would put such a mechanism inside of an ancient statue. “Jones, where are you?” Smith shouted angrily, snapping Indy out of his reverie. In his curiosity about the idol’s design, he’d forgotten about the steely-eyed gunman impatiently awaiting his return. Indy hurried from the treasure room and ducked into the passageway, clutching the horned idol tightly against his chest. “Take it easy, I found it!” “Very good. Now please bring it quickly if you value your friend’s life,” he taunted. Indy’s mind raced as he clambered through the darkness. Smith might shoot him the moment he stuck his head out of the tunnel, then take the statue and kill Marcus anyway. He needed to come up with a plan, and fast. The problem was that he didn’t have any weapons handy, and the size of the tunnel made it difficult to spring out and catch the gunman off- guard. Maybe if he threw the statue on the floor, the distraction might buy Indy enough time to subdue him. Of course that could backfire if Smith was a trigger-happy fellow. He might shoot first and ask questions later. That was about his only option, because the air was growing brighter as he neared the end of the passage. Was he willing to risk it? Before he could act, Indy tumbled out of the crawlspace and squinted in the bright sunlight that streamed through the windows of Caswell Hall. Beyond the ivy-framed portal, he saw a bright blue sky laden with fluffy clouds. Birds flitted among the leafy trees that were in full bloom across the manicured green lawn of Barnett College. It was a picture perfect summer day on campus. The only thing out-of-place was the imposing figure of Mr. Smith, dressed in an unseasonably long overcoat, and pointing a Luger at Marcus Brody. The elderly curator sat in a chair nearby, looking pale and flustered. A sheen of perspiration glazed his forehead as he clung to his very last shred of sanity. “I’m back.” “Oh, thank heavens,” Marcus breathed with relief. The tall stranger trained his pistol on Indy as he stood up. “You don’t look at all well, Doktor Jones.” Indy’s hair was disheveled and streaked with cobwebs. The sleeves of his tweed jacket were covered in dust and soot, and the toes of his patent leather wingtip shoes were scuffed. “Exploring our collections can be dangerous,” he quipped tensely, “But I found your statue.” “Excellent. Now hand it over.” Smith’s native accent became thicker, his faux English deteriorating in his urgency. “First I want to know why it’s so important to the Reich,” Indy demanded, holding up the strange horned idol. He’d already concluded that Smith was a Nazi agent, but he didn’t understand why the Nazis were so interested in a worthless copper statue. “Indy, for goodness sake listen to the man. He has a gun,” pleaded Marcus. If Smith was impressed by Indy’s perceptiveness, he kept it well-hidden behind a mask of Aryan superiority. His razor-tight grin was both smug and condescending. “You cannot begin to imagine the power in this relic, Doktor. It belonged to a supreme technological empire, a military sovereignty which ruled every nation at the dawn of history. Now we will harness that power for the Fatherland, and fulfill our destiny as rulers of the world.” Indy made an effort not to roll his eyes at the spiel, which must have been memorized by every SS lackey below Hitler. “You mean the Hyperboreans. Die Herrenrasse?” He regarded the tarnished bronze figure with a sneer. “Germany is going to need a lot more than this to conquer Europe.” Smith’s grip tightened on his pistol. “You have wasted enough of my time, Herr Jones. Give me the statue before I lose my temper.” “Then take it,” Indy said, lobbing the heavy idol at him. The blond gunman turned up his hands to catch the statue, apparently not expecting Indy to give up the prize so easily. The moment that the gun was pointed away to the side, Indy leaped forward and tackled him around the waist, driving Smith into a nearby table. The Luger fell from his grip and clattered away. Marcus Brody jumped out of his chair as the two men rolled around trading punches on the floor. Smith was larger and stronger, but Indy was faster. He landed a hard right fist to the Nazi’s jaw, followed by another to the side of his head. He was ready for a third when Smith responded with a powerful, lightning-fast jab that snapped Indy’s neck back. Smith used the moment of opportunity to make a swipe for his lost gun while the stunned archaeologist recovered from the vicious blow. Realizing what he was doing, Indy quickly pushed off of his knees in a desperate lunge and managed to grab hold of the attacker’s foot just as he reached his weapon. His hand was curling around the grip of his automatic pistol when Marcus Brody suddenly intervened by slamming Indy’s discarded flashlight against Smith’s wrist. He let out a howl of pain, and retracted his arm before Marcus could strike again. Still smarting from the punch, the Nazi clutched his injured wrist and looked around frantically. Indy made another grab for him just as he spotted the copper statue lying beside Brody’s chair. Smith deftly twisted his body to the side and snatched up the idol, bolting for the door as pinpoints of light spangled his vision. Indy was fast on his heels. “Marcus, call the police!” Smith fled the archive room and raced down the hall of the vacant building, which was usually empty on weekends. However on this particular Saturday, an elderly janitor had just finished applying a fresh coat of wax to the main lobby. A cacophony of rapid footsteps caught his ear. He looked up to see two men charging out of the Antiquities department. The taller one in the blue overcoat was being pursued by a familiar-looking professor wearing a gray tweed suit. Too startled to yell, the janitor quickly pulled his mop bucket out of the way as the men barreled towards the polished wooden floor at breakneck speed, oblivious to the newly-posted sign that warned: Caution — Wet floor! The lanky fugitive reached the glossy parquet just as the professor snagged the tail of his long overcoat, and dug his heels into the carpet at the periphery. The blond man unleashed a cry of startled surprise as his feet shot out from under him. The momentum of his flight pulled his arms free of the coat. He slid across the floor on his back and crashed into the opposite wall, cursing in German. The professor, also unable to stop, pitched forward and skidded across the wet wax like an ice skater, waving his arms wildly for balance. Still clutching the horned idol, the German agent scrambled up from the slippery floor just in time to avoid Indiana Jones, who raised his arms to cushion the impact as he slammed into the wall. Smith reeled across the lobby and plowed through the front doors by the time Indy had regained his footing. “He went that way, Professor!” The old janitor pointed after the thief. Indy ran outside and quickly scanned the lush campus mall, but Smith was nowhere in sight. It was no use for him to keep running, because the Nazi was gone. The chase was over. “Damn it!” He ambled back to the steps and sat down to catch his breath, still trying to figure out why the strange copper statue was so important to the Nazis. Smith had first approached him in the faculty dining hall where Indy was having lunch with Brody, claiming to be a researcher from the American Museum of Natural History. He was looking for a Bronze-Age statue in one of the many collections that Barnett College housed for other institutions. Indy agreed to help him when Smith produced the necessary paperwork to validate his story, and they set out for the seldom-used archive rooms. As it turned out, the tall German spy had an innate knowledge of the campus layout. He knew exactly where to find the maintenance passage hidden behind a bookcase in the corner. When Indy protested that it was only a ventilation shaft, Smith pulled his gun and forced him to enter the narrow tunnel, keeping Brody hostage to assure Indy’s cooperation. As it turned out, the passageway led to a long-forgotten storage room that had been walled shut during renovations in the 1920’s. Indy had heard rumors about Barnett’s immense and largely uncatalogued repository of artifacts, but Smith couldn’t have possibly known about the secret room unless he had obtained a set of blueprints for the building. Indy estimated that any resourceful and well-funded person could easily accomplish the feat, but he still had a few unanswered questions. Namely, where did the Nazis learn of the bronze statue, particularly its location among the dusty relics that were sequestered away in Caswell Hall? Then Indy realized that he might already have the first clue.

Back in his office, Indy rummaged through the pockets of Smith’s lost overcoat under Brody’s watchful eye. Along with an SS passport which identified the blond man as Klaus Kerner, they discovered a ragged copy of National Archaeology. A page in the middle of the magazine was earmarked at an article entitled ‘Icelandic Antiquities’, which detailed the 1929 Jastro expedition to Iceland. Indy’s photograph adorned the top of the page, directly opposite the portrait of an attractive redhead with a winsome smile and bright green eyes. Her name had been circled in red pen below her picture, along with a crudely drawn exclamation point. “Who’s the woman?” Marcus asked, looking over Indy’s shoulder. “Sophia Hapgood. She was my assistant on the Jastro dig.” “She looks positively charming, Indiana.” Indy scowled. “Don’t you believe it. She’s a spoiled rich kid from Boston, rebelling against her parents. They expected her to be a social debutante. Then she got hold of some crackpot book and went flaky on theories about lost continents and reincarnation, that sort of nonsense.” “Where is she now?” “She gave up archaeology to become a psychic. Threw her whole career away,” he said with a disdainful head shake. “How odd,” Brody remarked, scratching his chin thoughtfully while Indy tried to discern what valuable information, if any, could be gleaned from the magazine. Then it clicked. The article linked him to Sophia, who’d spent years collecting artifacts that reflected her passion for Atlantis—the technologically advanced civilization that Kerner championed for the Nazi cause. The Jastro dig turned up a number of unusual artifacts that defied classification, including a strange bronze pendant that Sophia had found in a hidden cavern. She claimed it was from Atlantis, and became so enamored with the necklace that she quit the dig and fled with the artifact, leaving Indy in hot water with the site director. The episode nearly cost him his job, and Indy hadn’t seen or spoken to her since. Although he couldn’t prove it, Indy was willing to bet that several other choice pieces had found their way into her personal collection as well. Suddenly his heart plummeted as he realized that she was probably the Nazi’s next target. Brody must have read his mind. “Indy, Kerner found you. What if he finds her? We should warn the woman.” “I’m way ahead of you,” he said, removing his fedora from a hook on the wall. “I have to get to New York and find Sophia before Kerner does.” He put his hat on, and then paused thoughtfully in the doorway. “You know something, Marcus? The coldest year of my life was the one I spent in Iceland with Sophia.” 1 THEATRE ROW

New York City June 1939

Dusk had nearly set by the time Indy’s taxi squealed to a stop at the curb of the Imperial Theater on West 45th Street. The last rays of sunlight traced the skyscrapers in threads of silver fire against the cool indigo sky as he stepped out of the cab and handed the driver his fare, plus a generous tip for whisking him downtown from the train station in record time. Turning from the street, he raised his eyes to the glowing marquee that soared across the front of the building. Indy shook his head in disbelief. Long ago, Sophia Hapgood had promised him that her name would be in lights someday, but he never truly believed it. Yet there it was for all to behold: Madame Sophia. In smaller letters beneath the title billing was the addendum: Oracle of ancient wisdom! Then he noticed that the block was devoid of people clamoring at the box office to get inside. The electric tiara proclaiming Sophia’s greatness illuminated an utterly empty sidewalk. Indy felt a pang of regret, and hoped that she wasn’t too crushed by the abysmal turnout. He strolled up to the glass ticket booth, where a young dark-haired girl was busy counting the day’s receipts. Her long red fingernails were a blur as she tallied the ticket sales against her cash box. She was clearly in a hurry to leave for the day. He tapped on the window politely. “Excuse me. Can I get one for Madame Sophia’s show?” The cashier looked up in surprise, having been absorbed in her work. “I’m sorry, the show’s sold out, sir,” the teenager apologized in a thick Bronx accent made worse by the piece of gum that she was chewing. “You’re kidding,” he grimaced. The girl shook her head. “No seats, no standing room, no exceptions.” “Thanks a lot,” he said, tipping his fedora. Terrific, Indy thought, lingering by the gilded front doors, which were guarded by a surly uniformed police officer. Inside, the plush lobby was aglow, lit warmly by a series of opulent beaded crystal chandeliers. The beat cop admonished Indy’s loitering with a stern look that urged him to move on. Hands jammed in his pockets, Indy ambled down the sidewalk in frustration. For all he knew Kerner was already inside the theater, sitting in the front row, while Indy couldn’t even get into the building. Or could he… A short distance away, the building terminated at a wide alley. Indy hurried past a vacant newspaper stand and rounded the corner by a telephone booth. He felt a surge of hope when he spotted a utility entrance at the side. A buzzing light bulb above the door threw a splash of dull yellow ambience across the alley, illuminating a collection of discarded packing crates and garbage cans. High up on the side of the theater, a fire ladder climbed the sooty brick wall, passing a nearby window on its way to the roof. He sized up his options and decided to try his luck with the door first, rather than risk charges of breaking-and-entering. If it was locked, he could always claim that he was a fire inspector. He twisted the handle several times, but it was bolted securely shut, as expected. Indy was about to make for the ladder when the door swung open, and he was confronted by a Neanderthal in a tuxedo. The heavy bouncer squinted at him with small, beady eyes, jutting out a wide lantern jaw stained by a gritty five o’clock shadow. His overstuffed suit jacket stretched tightly across his chest, barely containing his massive girth. A comically small red bowtie added a touch of forced elegance to the brute’s ensemble. The guard scowled in irritation. “Whaddaya want, pal? This ain’t no ticket office.” “I’m here to see Madame Sophia.” Best to start with the truth, Indy figured, and see how far it got him. “You go in through the front door or you don’t go in at all, see?” The hired muscle brandished a meaty fist, threatening Indy’s face. “Now hit the bricks!” Indy didn’t have time to argue with this Darwinian nightmare. He slammed the goon’s teeth together with a piston-like uppercut to the jaw, and the man hit the pavement like a sack of potatoes. Out cold. “After you.” He grabbed the unconscious doorman by his ankles and dragged the tough guy behind the crates to sleep it off. Then he slipped inside the building and made his way to the auditorium. Indy poked his head through a velvet curtain and gazed over an audience that filled every plush seat in the house, including the latecomers who had paid full admission just to stand in the aisles. He couldn’t believe that Sophia was packing them in like this. Indy was wondering how she’d managed to book such a prestigious venue when he spied a large signboard by the stage:

The New York Theosophical Society presents Madame Sophia: The Light of Atlantis

Then everything suddenly made sense. The whole room was full of crackpots. Indy scanned the faces in the front row, and felt relieved when he didn’t see Kerner. At least he’d arrived in time to prevent the Nazi from doing anything to her. Finally turning his attention to the woman of the hour, he was stunned at how much Sophia had matured since Iceland. When he’d last seen her, she was a fresh-faced grad student of 23—just a kid. Now she was positively stunning. The slender archaeologist-turned-mystic was garbed in a violet silk blouse with loose- fitting sleeves, and a stylish black knee-length skirt that emphasized her hourglass figure. Her dark crimson hair, pinned up in a neat coif on the back of her head, gleamed in the ambience of the powerful footlights lining the stage. Dazzling silver earrings complimented the shiny bracelets that encircled her wrists. Although he couldn’t see it, Indy somehow knew that Sophia was also wearing her prized necklace. She never went anywhere without it. Except maybe the shower, he mused with a smile. The elaborate golden proscenium arch soared high above her, framing a massive sixty-foot projection screen where fanciful images of Atlantean life played out to Sophia’s enthusiastic narration. Indy nearly cringed as she spun a hackneyed yarn of pseudo-history that might have been lifted from a pulp novel. The sold-out crowd was hanging on every word in rapt attention. The place was quiet enough to hear the proverbial pin drop. He couldn’t believe that anybody would actually pay to see Sophia, who had filled his ear with this garbage for the entire duration of the Jastro expedition—six long months tenting out in the remote Icelandic wilderness. Back then, he would have paid gladly just to get away from her. But these people were here voluntarily. Water always finds its own level, he supposed. Indy was startled by a tap on the shoulder. He wheeled around, prepared to slug the duplicitous Nazi officer, and stopped short of decking an elderly man in a visor cap. The guy wore a pair of loose-fitting pants with suspenders, and puffed on a thick cigar. Indy saw a folded-up newspaper tucked under his arm. A racetrack gambler. “You must be the new doorman. It’s about time they got rid of Biff. He was such a pushover.” “Uh, yeah. I’m the new guy. Jones is the name.” The gambler stuck his hand out. “I’m Lenny, the projectionist. Nice to meet you, Jones.” Indy shook it with an amicable smile, relieved that he hadn’t put the projectionist’s lights out. “Likewise.” Lenny blew out a puff of smoke. “So, what do you think of her?” he asked, nodding to the stage where Sophia expounded on the virtues of her utopian society. “She’s… something else,” Indy offered noncommittally. He didn’t want to offend the man’s obvious admiration for the celebrated mystic. “I hear ya.” The stagehand’s gaze wandered off, as if suddenly distracted by something behind the curtain. “Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have to run the ghost in a few minutes. That’s always a big moment.” “Nice talking to you,” Indy said. Lenny gave him a pat on the shoulder and hobbled off with his newspaper and cigar. Indy canted his head in confusion. “Ghost?” He followed the old pensioner around the corner and found himself in a forest of ropes that dangled from ceiling-to-floor. A white, filamentous form with outstretched arms hovered in the rigging. A closer look revealed that Sophia’s star attraction was about as supernatural as anything that could be purchased from a linen shop. The faux apparition consisted of a bed sheet drawn over a wooden kite frame, with some kind of horned mask attached to the front. Same old Sophie, Indy thought with a smile. The woman was a consummate shill for anything to promote her far-fetched schemes about Atlantis, especially if she could make a buck doing it. Not that she needed the money, because Sophia came from a rich family. Her passion was driven by a genuine belief in her mythical lost kingdom at the bottom of the sea. Tonight’s event was undoubtedly financed by a stable of wealthy clients who regarded her as a spiritual advisor brimming with Atlantean wisdom. If Indy still knew her like he used to, Sophia supplemented her bankroll with palmistry, tarot readings, and a crystal ball. Some people never change, he marveled. But Indy’s amusement was short-lived. Through the curtains he noticed a pair of fidgety- looking ushers advancing towards the stage. They sported the red-and-gold uniform of the Imperial Theater staff, but their features were distinctly European. More Nazis. Just what he needed. He looked around, expecting to see Kerner, but the SS colonel was nowhere in sight. He had to act quickly. Indy clambered up the backstage ladder, disappearing into the curtains. “Hey, you can’t go up there!” Lenny protested. “Don’t worry, I’m also a fire inspector,” Indy called back. He made his way across the narrow steel catwalk in search of a loose rope among the fly rigging. He found one that seemed long enough, reached over the hand rail, snaring it just as the ushers positioned themselves on the stairs at either side of the stage. They eyed the crowd nervously, waiting to make their move. Indy heard a sudden commotion below. “All right, where did he go?” roared the furious bouncer that he’d sacked earlier. “Who?” Lenny asked. “The guy in the brown hat! Where is he?” “You mean the fire inspector? He went up there.” The old projectionist pointed up at Indy among the velvet folds. Biff snapped his head up in murderous rage, spotting him. “You’re dead, pal!” A moment later, the whole lighting grid shook as the gorilla thundered up the ladder in pursuit. Out in the auditorium, the Nazis mounted the stage, creeping along the shadows of the blue curtain toward Sophia, who was oblivious to their presence. “Aw hell,” Indy muttered. Only one thing to do. Holding his breath, he took a firm hold on the rope and launched himself over the rail. The fedora flew from his head as he swung across the stage, landing directly between Sophia and the startled Nazi ushers, who paused at his unexpected entrance. Indy saw a flash of white in the corner of his eye. The crowd let out a collective gasp as the linen phantom screamed out of the rafters with a pitched wail, its rope blazing around the wheels of an ancient pulley. He released his grip on the line and watched the silk specter crash to the floor in a heap of broken sticks and rags. Indy winced. So much for Sophia’s big finale. “Hi, Sophie. Can we talk?” The outraged mystic turned three shades of red while she glared at the man responsible for wrecking her big production, a man whom she hadn’t seen in almost 10 years. “Indiana Jones!” She was about to slug him when a bellow of anger drew her attention to the catwalk above, where Biff had spied his escaped quarry. They both looked up as the tuxedo-clad thug vaulted over the side and dropped from the ceiling on the same line Indy had used. Sophia’s ghost was miraculously re-animated as his three-hundred-pound girth pulled the rope taut. The fluttering mass of rags shot into the rafters and shattered an arc lamp, bursting into flames while the bouncer hit the stage with a bone-jarring crash. The crowd was on its feet now. They were getting more action than they had paid for tonight. The Nazis, recovered from their surprise, charged at Indy from the left while the livid bouncer lumbered toward him from the opposite direction, stomping his fedora into the floor. Indy glanced up at the beautifully projected Atlantean scenery with regret. Things were about to get ugly. “Sophie, get out of here!” he shouted. Then the four men collided, and all hell broke loose. Indy ducked as the burly doorman plowed into him, using the momentum to throw Biff over his shoulder into the two ushers. The floorboards trembled as they crashed to the stage in a heap. Indy was ready when the first soldier jumped to his feet, unhurt. His less-fortunate companion was pinned under Biff’s massive bulk. Indy collared the Nazi with a right hook that sent him back to the wood. He was about to punch him again, but paused in surprise when he saw that the soldier was just a kid of about twenty. The moment of hesitation cost him. Biff grabbed Indy’s legs and yanked his feet out from under him. The archaeologist quickly found himself on the floor with his adversaries. “I’m gonna kill youse!” the doorman growled, pummeling Indy with cannonball fists. “Stop it! Stop that you brute! You’re ruining my show!” Sophia ranted. Indy gritted his teeth in pain, twisted and thrashed, struggling to get away. Biff grabbed his tie and pulled hard, snapping his head back roughly. Indy’s face went red as the enraged bouncer throttled him viciously with his own tie, trying to squeeze the life out of him. The second Nazi finally managed to extricate himself from the behemoth’s mass. He quickly regrouped with his partner, and together they advanced on Indiana Jones, confident that the American could be dispatched easily now that he was at a disadvantage. “Indy, look out!” cried Sophia. Behind her, the projector splashed the final images of Atlantis across the screen as the show neared its conclusion. The futuristic buildings of the city were shattered by an enormous tidal wave in a scene of destruction that seemed to mirror the chaos below. Suddenly confronted by the two uniforms, Biff paused to regard the Nazis defiantly. “You fancy-pants bums want a piece of me, too? Come and get it!” He shoved Indy away roughly as the agents came forward. Gagging for breath, Indy quickly loosened his tie and wobbled to his feet. Spots danced before his eyes. The younger Nazi grappled ineffectually with the huge bouncer until Biff picked him up and tossed him off the stage like a mannequin. The remaining Nazi drew a compact pistol from his jacket and pointed it at Indy. A woman in the front row shrieked at the sight of the weapon. Distracted by the outburst, the Nazi agent glanced into the audience, letting his aim falter. Seizing the moment, Indy dove forward and caught the German around the legs. They hit the floor together and wrestled for control of the gun. The assassin fought in silence, exhibiting a steely lack of emotion. In fact, neither of the foreigners had uttered a word since the brawl first commenced. “What’s wrong, you guys forget how to talk?” Indy said in German for his opponent’s benefit. Enraged by the taunt, the soldier threw a vicious punch. Indy ducked the flying fist and slammed the Nazi’s gun hand against the stage twice before he finally released his weapon. He kicked the gun out of reach and pulled his arm back to deliver a knockout blow when he suddenly felt an iron grip on his wrist. Before he could react, Indy was pulled away bodily. Biff spun him around, grabbed Indy by the lapels of his suit jacket, and stared nose-to- nose at him. “Hey, what are you, some kinda Nazi?” Indy might have laughed if his predicament wasn’t so dire. He pointed at the gun-toting attendant. “No, he is.” Biff looked quickly between the two of them. His dim eyes narrowed in suspicion. “I heard your Nazi-talk, smart guy, and I don’t like Nazis!” “That makes two of us, then.” Indy said, driving a knee between his legs. “Oof!” Biff toppled to the floor like a chopped tree, clutching himself in agony and moaning. With the doorman down for the count, Indy squared off with his last adversary. They circled each other, waiting to see who would strike first. The Nazi flexed his fingers into fists with a grim smile, anticipating the fight. Before either man could act, Sophia came up behind the German spy and clocked him over the head with the Madame Sophia signboard. He slumped to the stage, out cold. Indy looked at the redhead in surprise, grinning. “That’s my Sophie. Still knocking ‘em dead!” Smoke drifted across the mezzanine from the ceiling. Somebody coughed. Indy looked up, suddenly aware of the audience who had witnessed the entire fray. Fifteen hundred people stared in open-mouthed silence. He smiled weakly and shrugged, jabbing a thumb at the bodies piled onstage. “No ticket.” Lenny stepped out from behind the curtain and began to applaud. It was the best performance he’d seen in his forty years as a stagehand. After a beat, the crowd rose to their feet and joined him. A standing ovation. Indy took a ceremonious bow. Sophia Hapgood stomped away furiously, exiting the theater, stage left. 2 DEPARTURE

Sophia Hapgood angrily jabbed the key into the doorknob of her Park Avenue flat, pushing her way inside of the apartment with Indy on her heels. He raised his hand to block the door, anticipating that she would try to slam it in his face. “I was trying to help you.” She was furious and he didn’t blame her, although Indy hadn’t planned on getting involved in a fistfight on the stage of the Imperial Theater, and subsequently thrown out. He tried to convince her on the ride home that he’d only intervened to prevent Nazi agents from kidnapping her. Sophia replied that he’d embarrassed her in front of her most prestigious devotees and tarnished her image as a legitimate spiritualist. She pulled off her beige overcoat in the darkened foyer. “Do you have any idea what I had to go through to book that venue? My parents were there tonight, Indy. This was my big break, and you ruined it!” “Knock it off. You don’t need all of this psychic mumbo-jumbo,” he countered, trying to talk some sense into her. “You’re better than that.” “I am so mad at you right now!” She raised her hand as if to strike him, paused to check her temper, then snapped on the light switch. They stared across the apartment in shock. Sophia’s mouth fell open. The place had been completely ransacked. The furniture was turned over and her paintings were torn from the walls. The bookcase was rifled, its volumes lying scattered across the floor in a heap. A velvet-covered antique chair was smashed beside the window. Her desk had been completely gutted. Its drawers were pulled out and emptied onto the carpet. The green glass reading lamp lay shattered on its side. Hurrying to the bedroom, they discovered a similar scene. Sophia’s bed was stripped bare, the mattress upended and propped haphazardly against the wall. Her mirrored vanity was the victim of similar treatment: its doors flung open, clothing strewn frantically about. She dashed into her office to confirm the worst. The shelves were empty. All of her artifacts were gone, cleaned out, stolen. “What happened to my apartment?” she cried. “My things…” “Kerner,” Indy muttered darkly. No wonder he had been absent from the theater. He was here searching for Atlantean relics. “What does a Nazi spy want with old statues?” he wondered aloud. Sophia’s dismay abruptly shifted to anger. “They’re looking for the power of Atlantis.” Indy couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Sophia was crazier than he thought if she actually believed Germany would expend the resources to search for a fabled city under the sea. The country was gearing up for a full-scale march on Europe, a campaign driven by a maniacal, power-hungry dictator. While Indy doubted that Hitler had a vested interest in Plato’s literary lost island, the Ahnenerbe certainly did. He’d already encountered them on several occasions, and knew the degree of their fanaticism. The Nazis would relentlessly pursue any artifacts Hitler deemed important enough to obtain for the Reich. In that sense, Sophia was right about one thing: It was all about power. And the Nazis would achieve it by any means necessary. “Be serious. I used to think you’d make a good scientist.” He knelt to pick up a crystal paperweight from the floor. “Yet you stole things from my expedition.” He held the billiard-sized sphere, feeling its cool, heavy shape in his palm. Inside the crystal was a miniature coral reef populated by tiny orange fish. The whimsical image touched something inside of him, and Indy suddenly realized the degree of Sophia’s passion. She truly believed in her lost continent. Not as a carnival show theme, but stone cold reality. The woman lived and breathed for Atlantis every day of her life. It was her dream. Not unlike his own father, whose lifelong obsession for the Holy Grail spurred Indy on a dangerous worldwide race against the Nazis for the ancient cup. Having been drawn into one fanatical quest, he wasn’t eager to get involved in another. “Irreplaceable relics,” he added, hoping to dissuade her before she carried things too far. “So what if I kept a few pieces? Not that it matters now. At least I still have the most important one.” Sophia drew open the top of her blouse to reveal the necklace from the Jastro expedition. Somehow he wasn’t surprised that she still had it. Cast in tarnished bronze, the thick, wedge-shaped pendant bore an eerie resemblance to the idol Kerner had stolen. The horned chevron’s narrow, triangular eyes were bisected by a flat nosepiece adorned with a concentric spiral. Its diamond-shaped mouth combined with the other features to give the ancient icon a disturbingly pig-like appearance. The two relics were definitely related, Indy concluded with archaeological certainty. But he wasn’t convinced that they came from the lost city of Atlantis. Moreover, he couldn’t understand how Sophia had been so enchanted by the ugly thing. “Interesting. But what makes it so special?” “Follow me and I’ll show you.” Sophia went back into the living room and retrieved a blood-red metallic bead from a desk drawer. She held it up to the light for him to see. The gem burned like a drop of solid lava between her fingers, a miniscule sun reflecting the chandelier’s ambience. “This is orichalcum, the metal first mentioned by Plato. Now observe.” She pushed the bead into the medallion’s mouth, and waited. The lights dimmed suddenly, flickering in the surge of a power flux. Then the room went dark. An ethereal green mist sparkled around the demon-faced pendant. Indy took a step back, startled by the phenomenon. Sophia shut her eyes in concentration. The emerald glow intensified, disseminating into filaments of slithering light that encircled the woman’s body like a snake, enveloping her limbs. Indy was chilled to see the mist spread, forming a luminous mask in the darkness. Sophia opened her eyes. A pair of glittering ruby spots simultaneously materialized in the ghostly face, startling Indy so bad that he stumbled backwards and almost tripped over the chair lying on the floor. The apparition vanished by the time he recovered. The lights burned brightly again. Sophia crossed her arms. “What do you think?” Indy couldn’t explain what he’d just witnessed, but hoped it was another one of her parlor tricks. “It’s a hell of a lot more convincing than your flying kite. How did you do that?” “I didn’t do anything. That was Nur-Ab-Sal, my spirit guide.” Sophia explained that he was an Atlantean king who projected his spirit essence into her necklace before the cataclysm struck, destroying the great city. It seemed like a wildly implausible story. But if she was telling the truth, Indy thought, the king’s bid for immortality had apparently paid off. Then, almost on cue, Sophia held an arm to her forehead, swooning as if she might faint. “Wait, I’m getting something!” She wiggled her fingers dramatically in the air. “Come on Sophia, give it a rest.” He wasn’t anxious to experience the creepy illusion again. “I see…” Sophia’s brow furrowed in perplexity. “A book?” Her eyes flicked open, looking away distantly beyond the walls of the apartment. Her mouth moved silently, but no words came out. Indy touched her arm in concern. “Hey, are you okay?” She blinked rapidly and her gaze snapped into focus again. “Hermocrates…” “What about him?” Indy asked, recalling the general from the Peloponnesian War. “No. It’s one of Plato’s lost dialogues. Nur-Ab-Sal says the Hermocrates contains the answers that we seek.” That book was a legendary hoax, Indy thought. Along with the Timaeus and Critias, Plato’s Hermocrates was another narrative dialogue speculatively attributed to the famous Greek philosopher. Like many other rumored and sought-after documents, it was lost to history when the library at Alexandria was destroyed by fire in 48 B.C. No proof of its existence had ever been found. She stared expectantly at him. “Well? Are you going to help me or not?” “What are you talking about?” “Find Plato’s book, of course. I’ll need your help.” “The last time I checked, the only platonic thing that you wanted from me was a relationship.” She regarded him coolly. “You’ve got that right. Now quit wasting time and give me an answer.” Now it was Indy’s turn to be upset. He couldn’t believe she was trying to push this on him. The spring semester at Barnett had just ended, and he was looking forward to the upcoming break before classes reconvened in the fall. He’d already spent most of his sabbatical leave on last year’s impromptu Grail quest, and he wasn’t about to waste the remainder of it chasing after some phantom book to satisfy Sophia Hapgood’s crackpot fantasies. She could go look for Atlantis on her own. Indy had better things to do. “Forget it, Sophia. That book is a myth.” “What if the Nazis have already found a copy? Did you ever think of that?” “It doesn’t exist, so what difference does it make?” he argued. “This Kerner guy wasn’t searching for a book. He was after my collection of Atlantean pieces, but he missed the grand prize—my necklace. And I think you know why.” Indy’s face hardened into a sober mask. He could easily imagine the consequences if the Nazi regime got their hands on a source of energized metal like the pearl that activated Sophia’s pendant. It would propel German scientists to the forefront of technology, elevating Hitler’s Wehrmacht to the world’s ultimate military power. The Nazis would bomb their opponents into oblivion and take over whatever was left of the globe—an Aryan-controlled world in which all inferior races were purged out of existence. He couldn’t let that happen. “I’m getting really tired of those guys,” he sighed wearily. “Then let’s do something about it,” she insisted. Indy pulled a jaded scowl. “Believe me, I have. Seems like it’s never enough.” “We can start with the Jastro dig. I’ll even pay for airfare,” she offered, trying to bargain with him. “Iceland?” “Yes. Our old dig site is the most logical place to start,” she reasoned. “After all, that’s where my collection began.” “That’s putting it mildly. You’re lucky Jastro didn’t have you arrested.” She folded her arms tight. Resentment stung her cheeks. “I only took the pieces that were rightfully mine. Besides, a rusty old pendant is hardly valuable.” “No argument there,” he said lightly. She grasped his hands, pleading in earnest now. “This might be our only chance to find Atlantis. If we don’t do it first, they will. Now I’m asking you as a friend. Will you please help me? I can’t do it alone.” Her green eyes implored him with desperation. Indy weighed his alternatives. If he stayed at Barnett, he was in for a long summer of tedious curriculum planning while Sophia went traipsing off alone to God-knows-where, and probably getting herself killed in the process. It wasn’t a fate he relished for his exiled colleague, despite her transgressions. If joining her on some wild goose chase for Atlantis made Sophia happy, then he could certainly spare a couple of weeks. Besides, it might be a good time to rekindle the all-too-brief romance that kept them alive in the deep freeze of winter all those years ago. “Fine,” he relented. “We’ll go to Iceland and see if anything turns up. But I’m not making any promises.” She embraced him with a bright, optimistic smile that left Indy dazed. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you!” She went to her desk and sifted through the debris until she uncovered a fancy brass telephone. “Who’s working the old site these days?” “Björn Heimdall, I believe,” she said, paging through the dense Manhattan directory book. “Maybe we should pay him a visit,” Indy suggested. “I thought you’d never ask,” she replied warmly, as if agreeing to his unspoken romantic scenario. Cradling the earpiece on her shoulder, Sophia dialed the phone and waited. “Operator, please connect me with the Pangaea Travel Agency... Thank you.” Indy sealed the bargain with his cavalier smile that she had always found irresistible. Hell, what did he have to lose? At the very least, Heimdall might be able to shed some light on the strange bronze artifacts that interested Kerner. If not, the trail would go as cold as the Arctic tundra, and they could return to New York with enough time to enjoy a summer fling. With luck, Indy could sort out this Atlantis nonsense before the new quarter commenced. In fact, he was counting on it.

***

Karl and Torsten stood stiffly in the uncomfortable silence of the opulent hotel room, scarcely daring to breathe. They were too nervous to appreciate the velvet drapes, plush carpet, and polished gold trimmings of the upscale Manhattan hotel that served as the team’s base of operations during their mission in America. The air was like ice as Klaus Kerner paced before them in crisp, measured steps. His glossy patent leather wingtips glided silently across the floor, like the prowl of a great cat stalking its prey. The silver Reichsadler pin gleaming on the lapel of the colonel’s expensive suit was the only outward sign of his fealty to the Nazi party that marked his civilian disguise. The SS leader gathered his thoughts before he spoke, so that his words would have maximum impact while utilizing as little breath as possible. An immaculate Aryan soldier, Kerner did not like to waste anything, especially time. After narrowly being thwarted by Indiana Jones and failing to locate the necklace at Sophia Hapgood’s apartment, he was anxious to return to Germany with the horned statue, and Kerner wanted to make sure that his instructions were executed perfectly in his absence. “I am leaving tomorrow. You are to follow Fräulein Hapgood and acquire the artifact in her possession—the necklace.” “But Jones is protecting her, Herr Oberst,” protested Karl, the young recruit whom Indy had collared at the theater. The commander’s verdict was swift and harsh. “If Jones interferes, kill him. If you fail me again, mark my words you will spend the remainder of your career on corpse disposal at Dachau. Is that understood?” The Abwehr agents exchanged fearful glances. “Jawohl, Herr Kerner.” It required extreme discipline to resist clicking their heels and saluting their superior officer, who had briefed them about proper conduct on American soil. Any slip-up would be an unacceptable risk to the secrecy of their mission. Kerner consulted the most recent intelligence report from their liaisons at the German Embassy. “The Americans are leaving for Iceland in the morning. Here is their flight information. Do not show any mercy to the woman,” he addressed Karl pointedly, causing him to flinch. The nervous young agent was a recent graduate to the Abwehr program, inexperienced on his first assignment outside of Germany. At least he could rely on Torsten, a veteran OKW officer who epitomized the ruthless fortitude valued by the National Socialist Party. If Karl faltered in his duties, Kerner knew that Torsten would complete their mission without fail. “Report to me when you have the necklace,” he concluded, handing over the file to his men. “You are dismissed.” Kerner turned on his heel and marched out of the room without another word.

***

Relaxing with his hands clasped over his chest, Indiana Jones dozed peacefully in the crowded Pan-American Airways lounge in Port Washington, New York. Sitting across from him, Sophia twisted anxiously in her chair as they waited for their boarding call. She glanced at the clock with an impatient sigh. “I wish they would hurry up so we can leave already. I hate just sitting here when Kerner is on the move.” “Now boarding flight 138, non-stop to Atlantis,” Indy said under the brim of his downturned fedora. Then he smiled. Sophia didn’t. “You think that’s funny? Well I can’t wait to see your face when we really do reach Atlantis.” “I can hardly wait.” She scanned him from head-to-toe, frowning at his outfit. Indy wore his battered leather jacket over a khaki shirt, rumpled wool trousers and scuffed workboots. “I can’t believe you’re dressed like that in public. You’ll wind up getting heatstroke in that jacket,” she predicted. “It’ll be cold when we land,” he said without looking up. “You should bundle up, too, unless you want to freeze.” “I’m not packing a coat in June. I prefer to travel light. It’s more efficient.” Sophia was dressed casually in an airy button-up blouse, with green denim jeans tucked into a rugged pair of equestrian boots. “Fine then, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The redhead eyed her tiny suitcase doubtfully. “If it’s really that cold, then I’ll buy something when we get there.” She leaned forward, squinting at him in the shady lounge. “Is your hat brown or gray?” “Leave my hat alone.” Indy didn’t like people criticizing his style, especially a stuck-up rich girl like Sophia. “Listen, I’m footing the bill for this trip, Mister, so I can say anything I want. Do you know how much these tickets cost?” Indy shook his head. “No idea.” “They were expensive, even by my standards.” “I didn’t ask you to buy them,” he reminded her. “Well, I like to travel in style.” “Great. Then why don’t you pull a few strings with Nur-Ab-Sal and get us a seat in first class?” “We are traveling first class, professor.” “You never disappoint me.” “Get bent, Jones.” Indy chuckled. He was looking forward to the trip already.

Across the room, Karl and Torsten watched the pair closely. They had been following the Americans since sunrise, shadowing them to the airport from Sophia Hapgood’s mid-town flat. Jones had arrived by taxi cab, which indicated that he was not romantically involved with the woman, although he seemed to regard her with familiarity. According to the intelligence dossier provided by Kerner, they had been colleagues in Iceland when Jones was field supervisor on the Jastro dig. Hapgood was his assistant. They separated after the 1929 expedition, without further contact or communication until now. Consulting the profile, Torsten knew that Hapgood was allegedly a clairvoyant medium with a passion for Atlantis lore, while Jones was a certified archaeologist and tenured professor at Barnett College in upstate New York. He wanted to know more about him to help anticipate any trouble they might expect, but the rest of Jones’ file was classified. Kerner, in typical fashion, only gave them the minimal information required for their mission. Torsten would have to regard Jones with caution until they could learn more about him, because he would not underestimate the American again. An announcement broadcast over the intercom sent the room into a burst of activity as passengers began to gather up their things and move to the exit. Karl tapped him on the shoulder, nodding at the redhead, who swatted the brim of Jones’ hat and berated him for being so lazy. The Abwehr agents were on their feet at once, following the couple at a safe distance, lest Jones recognize them from their previous encounter. They trailed them to the boarding gate, handed their passes to the smiling flight attendant without a word, and moved outside to the waiting plane.

“What’s wrong with you, Indy? This is an historic occasion!” Sophia said as the newly- christened Yankee Clipper taxied down the channel of the Long Island Sound. “You’re missing all the excitement!” “Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night,” he replied beside her. Indy slumped casually in his seat with his hat shading his eyes again. He was eager to resume his nap after boarding the plane from the marine terminal dock bustling with newsmen and cheering well-wishers eager to see the new clipper depart on its maiden flight. She jabbed him in the shoulder. “Quit slouching like that. It’s bad for your posture,” she scolded him. “I’m comfortable. Now let me get some rest,” he grumbled. “But we’re the first passengers ever to fly on this plane!” She peered out the window anxiously, watching the wing pontoons churn a white furrow through the water as they began to pick up speed. Indy didn’t share her enthusiasm. “I’m here. Isn’t that enough?” “But you’re not enjoying the moment!” “I’m trying to. Just wake me up when they serve dinner.” “You’re hopeless—oh! Here we go!” she exclaimed, clutching the armrests of her seat. The massive Boeing 314 accelerated into the wind under the screaming thrust of four Wright Twin Cyclone radial engines and lifted off the water in a spray of cascading white foam. Gleaming in the late morning sunlight, the aluminum-skinned airliner soared east for the tropical Azores Islands, where a connecting flight would take them north to the Arctic Circle.

3 FIRE AND ICE

The Vatnajökull glacier stretched across Iceland’s coast like a glassy doormat, welcoming visitors to the end of the world. The frozen river of ice flowed westward into the vast arctic desert spanning the continent’s barren interior. After landing at Reykjavík in a blustery gale, Sophia demanded a stop at the nearest clothing store. She selected a supple, ochre-toned sealskin parka with a fur collar—the most expensive coat they offered. Once she was bundled up against the cold, they set out across the glacial ice cap in a rented 1920’s coupe, heading towards the remote archaeological site where they had first met a decade earlier. “Cold enough for you?” Indy asked from behind the wheel as they motored along the bumpy volcanic road that split the whitewashed landscape. “This heater is a joke. My ears are freezing.” Sophia shivered. Her gloved hands were tucked under the armpits of her new jacket for warmth. “I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but this bucket doesn’t have a heater.” “I believe it.” “They didn’t make ‘em back then,” he added. The Tin Lizzie bounced over a large snow-covered rock, nearly jarring Sophia out of her seat. “Apparently they didn’t have suspension, either,” she winced. Through the Ford’s dirty windshield they observed an endless sheet of snow and ice, intermittently broken by black rock formations that scarred the jagged terrain. Low, dark clouds saturated the sky, pressing down upon the bleak landscape while a frigid gale buffeted the frozen tundra. “Why is it so dark?” she complained. “That’s the Arctic twilight. At this latitude, we’re just below the Polar Circle.” Indy glanced over at her. “How are you feeling?” “Wretched,” she mumbled. “I wish we’d never come back here.” “This trip was all your idea,” he reminded her. “Well I’m sorry I ever thought of it.” She settled back and crossed her arms to discourage further conversation. They passed the trip in silence, and Indy could sense that each mile nearer to their old dig site brought her uncomfortably closer to the past. She clearly didn’t relish the memories of her time there. She barely moved until the lake finally came into view. As they rumbled over the beaten path towards the familiar barrow mound, Sophia sat up with cheerless expectation, her hands folded primly in her lap. “We’re here,” she announced. Indy shut off the car and reached into the back seat for his coiled bullwhip. He opened the door and stepped outside, snapping it onto his belt. Sophia eyed the whip. “You’re still carrying that old thing around?” He tugged the brim of his hat down against the wind. “It’s my favorite piece of equipment.” “It’s barbaric. Who needs a whip in this day and age?” “Actually, it can be useful in the right spot.” She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Anyway.” They surveyed the area, trying to get their bearings after being away for so long. The Jastro dig was situated on the slope of a broad, snow-patched hill, overlooked by the imposing shadow of Mount Hekla rising to the southeast. The bleak atmosphere cast a pall of desolation over the countryside. Sophia stood rigid as a statue, hands tucked inside her coat pockets, shivering in the breeze. “What a godforsaken place.” “You’d make a great travel agent,” Indy quipped. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” They hiked up the dirt path to the ruins, past a large cabin tent shivering on its frame in the gusty wind. They saw a cluster of wooden crates and a selection of artifacts lying on a table nearby, waiting to be catalogued. The main entrance protruded from the hillside, framed by a pair of thick stone pillars capped with a heavy lintel. Indy recognized the Norse barrow immediately. Heavy, angular wall slabs appeared to grow directly from the dirt where a corner of the buried structure had been excavated. The grassy slope grew to the edge of the roof, terminating on the stone. “Let’s take a look.” He cautiously led the way inside, not knowing what to expect. Sophia followed closely behind. The diminutive figure of Björn Heimdall stood on a crate, dressed in a bulky fur-lined coat, knit cap, heavy leggings and boots. He drove his hammer against a chisel positioned at an angle on the ice-covered wall, methodically chipping around an object encased within. He looked up in surprise when he detected movement at the end of the corridor. Heimdall worked the Jastro site by himself, and rarely welcomed visitors into his private sanctuary. He preferred to work alone and unaided, without any bothersome social contact. Leave that for the archivists who put his work on display at the Nationalmuseet in Copenhagen. Still, he was willing to adopt a mantle of civility for his unexpected guests, who might be contributors come to lend financial support to his research. Heimdall paused from his efforts and waited patiently while the interlopers made their way down the shadowy, ice-covered passage. His congenial expression vanished when he realized who was paying him a visit. “Doctor Indiana Jones, I believe. And Madame Sophia Hapgood. This is my dig site now. Go away.” He wasn’t interested in discussing his work with the Jastro veterans, particularly ones whose departure had left the site with such a reputation of disgrace. Indy frowned at the cold reception, dispensing with any pleasantries he had planned. “Not feeling very friendly today, are we Doctor?” “I do not associate with thieves.” “We’re not here for artifacts—” “And you won’t get any!” Heimdall retorted haughtily. “You thieving Americans nearly ruined my work here.” “Hey, our work made your work possible!” Sophia fumed, clenching her fists in outrage. “Calm down.” Indy restrained her with a placating hand to prevent her from attacking the arrogant little Swede. “We just need some information.” Heimdall wiggled his shoulders, reconsidering his misplaced accusation. “Oh. Well that’s different.” Before he continued, Indy noticed the ice-obscured relic that Heimdall was exposing. He moved over to examine it. “What’s this you’re working on?” “It’s probably a homing beacon for wayward spaceships. Soon I’ll have it out of the ice,” he said confidently. “I thought you were digging up Norse graves in Denmark,” Sophia cut in. Heimdall’s moustache twitched with irritation. The old professor was not accustomed to being interrupted. “I was. Obviously now, I’m not.” Indy’s curiosity was piqued by the strange metal spiral embedded in the side of the cavern. “What do you expect to find here?” “The secret of Hyperborea. That’s what the Greeks called Iceland, you know. You read how they sailed north to a fog-shrouded land, but how they never set foot upon it. After traveling thousands of miles, mere fog wouldn’t turn them back,” he insisted. “Some idiots claim they were repelled by ghosts.” “That’s fascinating, Doctor.” Indy lied. He was just humoring the old man to ensure his cooperation. “As I was saying, I am convinced that these travelers came to earth to form colonies like Atlantis.” “That makes sense,” Indy said. If Atlantis, like any mighty empire, was conquering lands far beyond its borders in an attempt to widen its base of power, it would need outposts to maintain its rule. But now it was time to discuss the matter-at-hand. “Have you ever heard of Plato’s lost dialogue?” Heimdall considered the question. “Yes, there are rumors about such a book, but I’ve yet to see it. There are two people you might want to visit. Charles Sternhart, in Tikal, a shady fellow who claims he translated the whole thing. And Filipe Costa, in the Azores Islands. As a researcher he’s a farce, but he’s a sharp trader,” advised the elderly archaeologist. Sophia wandered over to a wooden table set up against the wall. Like the one outside, it was covered with relics yielded from the ground by months of painstaking work. Indy noted an immediate change in her sour demeanor as Sophia scanned the assortment with all the enthusiasm of a bride selecting her wedding ring. He turned his gaze back to Heimdall. “What can you tell me about orichalcum?” He was vaguely familiar with the term, but knew little about it. Since the old Prof was in such a talkative mood, Indy had a few questions for him. Namely, he wanted to know more about the fiery bead that activated Sophia’s necklace. “Ah, yes. The metal of the gods. The name first appeared among the Greeks. Literally translated, it means ‘mountain bronze’. It is said that the inner wall of Atlantis was covered in orichalcum.” “Which burned with its reddish gleam,” Sophia added, examining another metal coil with keen interest. The artifact resembled an eel, and had the ubiquitous open mouth shared by the horned idol and her own necklace. “Almost sounds like Corinthian bronze,” Indy remarked. It was known to be an alloy of copper and gold. “But what was it used for?” “It’s a potent source of power,” explained Sophia. “No, it was a form of currency.” Heimdall argued. Indy looked between the two scholars, amazed at how people with such a firm conviction in their beliefs could be divided over the purpose of a simple metal bead. “I’m sorry I asked.” Sophia smiled indulgently. “Could you please give us a few minutes, Indy? We’re going to talk shop for awhile.” “By all means.” Indy doffed his hat and made his way back down the ice-covered hallway. He didn’t care to waste an afternoon listening to the Atlantologists discuss their imaginary continent. Indy had the information he came for. From his view atop the berm, Indy gazed out over the barren wastes. The surrounding landscape was a craggy relief painted in shadows. Patches of verdant greenery appeared almost black against the foreboding sky, lending the country a dismal atmosphere. The glacier lay to the west, a flash-frozen river of ice that drained out of the rugged foothills in frosty, rippling folds. In the distance he saw the cone of the ancient stratovolcano looming in the preternatural dusk. At least they would soon be heading for a warmer climate, he thought with satisfaction. Costa’s location was convenient since the Azores were the hub of Atlantic travel. From there, Tikal was just a hop away by plane. They could pay a visit to Filipe on the way down to the Yucatan Peninsula. Sternhart was in Guatemala, which was fine with Indy. He’d been on several digs in the area, and knew the country fairly well. Sophia would certainly enjoy the change of scenery. He looked up as she joined him on the hillside, carrying a cloth-wrapped parcel. Evidently she had bargained her way into another piece for her collection. They stared over the tundra in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Indy spoke up. “Why did you take them?” She didn’t say anything for so long that Indy thought she wasn’t going to answer him. “I was afraid that you guys wouldn’t give me credit for the artifacts I found,” she said, fingering the pendant around her neck. “You mean Jastro? He was the one in charge—not me. I had nothing to do with it.” Her nod of acknowledgement was barely perceptible, as if she were still afraid of being punished for what happened all those years ago. “And you thought it would be better to take your cut of the glory and split? How many pieces did you have to sell before the guilt was gone?” “Enough to finance a career change, since I obviously wasn’t going to be promoted, Doctor Jones.” Her sharp emphasis on Indy’s title caused him to flinch. “Who else did you sell to, besides Costa? I need to know if I’m going to help you.” She crossed her arms like a petulant child being unjustly punished. “I dealt with Alain Trottier and Omar Al-Jabbar. We did everything by mail. I never met them.” “And Heimdall,” Indy added. She regarded the parcel tucked under her arm, and sighed. “We should leave now. I think something bad is going to happen here.” She was trying to change the subject. “What makes you say that?” “It’s Heimdall. I could see his aura. It was dark… clouded. His future is uncertain. I think he’s going to die.” Indy glanced at her. She looked out across the gray fields with a somber expression, her pale face taking on a waxy cast in the dim light. A sudden breeze whipped her hair. He didn’t know how to respond to her grim prediction. “There’s a storm coming,” he finally said. Sophia shivered in the cold. “I can feel it, too.” “No, I really mean it. Look,” he nodded. She followed his gaze to see a wall of blackness covering the horizon, blocking out the distant volcanic ridge. The enormous cloud swelled upward like a charcoal tidal wave, churning with malevolence as it rolled across the earth in a nightmarish cascade. Her eyes went glassy with terror. “Oh no…” “Run!” Indy yelled.

Torsten peered through his binoculars from their vantage point behind a cluster of large rocks, watching Jones and the redhead several hundred feet away. There were not many places to use for cover in this freezing, godforsaken country, he reflected. Then he smiled, thinking that he would like to get the American woman alone. She was a spirited hellion, and he knew several ways that she might keep him warm. “What are they doing?” Karl asked from nearby. “Nothing. Jones is just standing there in the snow like an idiot.” “What about the Fräulein? Is she still inside the cave?” “Nein. She is there with him now. They are talking.” He set the binoculars down and reached into his breast pocket, fishing out a pack of cigarettes. It was going to be a long day. Karl gave him a look of disdain as Torsten lit up and savored a deep, long drag. “I wish you wouldn’t do that here. They might see the smoke.” “They are not even looking this way.” “But if Kerner was here right now—” “Well Kerner is not here,” he snapped irritably, “So I don’t want to hear anymore about it.” It was pathetic, Torsten thought as Karl turned away, smarting from the reprimand. His protégé was a disgrace, weak-willed and prone to intimidation—unworthy to serve the Führer and the Fatherland. The only reason Kerner paired them off together was so that Karl could obtain some firsthand reconnaissance experience in the field. But he hadn’t learned anything on this trip so far, particularly in taking advantage of the many freedoms that one could enjoy while on assignment abroad. Such a shame. On the other end of their lookout spot, Karl gazed longingly at the photograph in his hand. He sighed, wishing that Mercy were here with him now. He studied her smiling monochromatic image, remembering the color of her sparkling blue eyes and wavy golden hair, the sound of her laughter and the warmth of her touch. He missed her badly, and wondered when he would see her again. Karl despised this assignment, which had taken him to this miserable gray country, so far away from his beautiful young wife and their home in Germany. “Do you have to beg for Mercy, or does she come to you willingly?” Torsten asked with a wicked smirk. “Shut up!” Karl hastily tucked the photo back into his jacket while his companion laughed. Torsten was such a bastard, he thought ruefully. The senior agent had a reputation for overstepping authority, like back in New York when he’d pistol-whipped the two theater ushers rather than acquire their disguises in a discreet manner. Karl felt bad because he didn’t like to see people hurt unnecessarily. But Torsten relished the opportunity to dispense pain or suffering, as evidenced by some of his interrogation anecdotes. Torsten flicked his cigarette away carelessly, sending a shower of glowing ashes to the ice. He raised his binoculars again. “The Americans are moving,” he reported tersely just as a strong wind gusted over them, kicking up dust and snow. The Abwehr looked beyond the dig site and suddenly realized why they were running like mad. A massive storm was sweeping across the landscape like a black plague, heading directly for them. He threw down the field glasses and bolted for their car, parked behind a low ridge about forty yards away. “Get to the car! Schnell!”

“What is that?” Sophia yelled as the storm swept down from the glacier. Indy huddled by the grille of the Model T and unfolded the starting rod. “Volcanic dust storm! Get the key ready, because this is going to be close!” He pulled out the choke lever and hand-cranked the car. It took him several tries before the cold engine finally sputtered to life. Indy jumped inside and slammed the door shut, throwing the clutch into gear. They peeled off down the road, spewing dirt and gravel as the dust cloud swelled, filling the sky behind them until Indy’s rearview mirror resembled a piece of smoked glass. “Go faster, Indy!” urged Sophia, clutching her seat as she watched the advancing storm in the back window. “I’m trying!” He drove the ancient Flivver hard. The speedometer needle crested at 45 miles per hour—the car’s maximum speed—and shivered, the twenty horsepower engine practically screaming as Indy pushed the Ford to its limit. But it still wasn’t fast enough. The black wall kept coming, bearing down on them like a living nightmare. Suddenly they heard a series of sharp reports from the back of the car, and Indy feared the worst. The muffler was backfiring. “Whoa!” Sophia cried as tufts of snow kicked up alongside the speeding vehicle. Somehow Indy knew it wasn’t the muffler. They looked back to see another vintage roadster in fast pursuit. It was driven by a pair of dark-clothed men. One of them aimed a sleek, compact pistol through the passenger-side window, firing at them. “Who are those guys?” “Nazis,” Indy snarled. And it wasn’t difficult to imagine what they were after. Spurred on by the gunfire, he practically ripped the throttle lever off the steering column trying to coax more speed from the automobile. Another bullet tore Sophia’s door mirror away—inches from her gloved hand. Silver fragments of glass splintered everywhere, stinging her leather-padded jacket arm. “Ow!” “Hang on!” Indy shouted, swerving the car from side to side in an effort to avoid the Nazi gunfire. He wanted to see them try to hit a moving target in the dark. The Ford suddenly slipped, its tread-worn tires struggling for purchase on the slushy mixture of gravel and snow. Sophia screamed as the car slewed sideways, fishtailing wildly. Indy gritted his teeth in determination. He tapped the brake gently and the car straightened out, realigning itself with the road. Sophia’s face was gray. “Are you trying to kill us?!” “No, but they are!” Then he felt the weight of the Webley holstered on his hip. He glanced at her. “Can you fire a gun?” “I’ve never even touched one before!” “There’s no better time to learn,” he said, quickly thumbing open the flap. She stared at him in disbelief. “Are you serious?” “Serious enough for the both of us! Now take it!” She reached for Indy’s belt and gripped the handle, gingerly drawing out the massive revolver. “It’s heavy!” “It’s supposed to be. Try to aim for their tires,” he instructed just as another bullet spanged off the rear fender. The redhead bit her lip uncertainly. She pointed the gun out the window and squeezed the trigger, flinching as the Webley bucked in her hand with a deafening blast. It was like firing a cannon. She beamed at Indy with a bright grin. “Hey, I did it!” “Great, now try to actually hit something!” he growled, dodging another shot as the onyx leviathan spilled across the ice, relentlessly devouring everything in its path. Sophia narrowed her eyes at his challenge. “Okay tough guy, watch this!” Twisting around in the seat, she extended her arm along the body of the car and sighted the Webley on the pursuer’s front wheel. Her crimson hair blazing in the wind, Sophia squeezed off another round. The Nazis’ headlight imploded as if struck by a brick, and they swerved abruptly to the shoulder of the road.

“Verdammt! The Fräulein is armed!” Karl cursed, trying to keep his gun steady while they bounced along the rutted highway with the roiling black storm nipping at their fenders. “Forget about her. Just put a bullet through the back of Jones’ seat!” Torsten ordered angrily. He wanted to end this chase once and for all. But before Karl could take another shot, the woman fired again. The car suddenly listed to one side, stumbling as their front tire went flat. Torsten fought the wheel to bring it back under control. Jones swerved abruptly on the road ahead, but they struck the massive rock before he could match the swift maneuver. The German’s car nosed up into the air and plunged into a deep crevasse beside the rural highway. Dazed by the impact of the crash, Karl saw the fractured windshield fog over, the glass becoming opaque as the air grew pleasantly warm. The car seemed to shiver in the depths of the snow bank as the ground rumbled angrily below them. The layer of snow slid from the hood and gathered on the fenders, melting away in the hot steam that suddenly filled the pit. Then he realized the danger they were in. “Earthquake!” he cried, forcing open his door against the weight of the piled snow. Torsten’s door was wedged firmly against the wall of the crater, so the senior officer clambered across the front seat and scrambled up the side of the fissure on Karl’s heels. The pair ran for cover as the ground exploded behind them, erupting in a pillar of boiling water that sprayed into the blackened sky. The geyser blasted the sedan upwards, throwing it sixty feet in the air. Karl and Torsten covered their heads and ran as hard as they could in the opposite direction, praying that it didn’t land on them. The car slammed nose-first into the permafrost, crumpling on impact nearly a quarter of a mile away. “Scheiße!” Torsten swore angrily, watching the Americans speed off into the distance. Karl screamed. The Abwehr officer wheeled just in time to see the geyser consumed by the plague of windborne ash that swept down on them. Before he could think or act, they were enveloped in darkness.

“Well, that takes care of those guys. Nice shooting, Sophie,” Indy congratulated her. “Thanks!” she beamed proudly. Then the Ford began to sputter, its engine stumbling. Sophia frowned. “What’s wrong with the car?” “I don’t know.” Indy looked at the fuel gauge and blinked in disbelief. “What the hell? It says we’re out of gas.” He’d filled the car before they left Reykjavík, but they had only driven about fifty miles, not nearly far enough to deplete the Model T’s 10-gallon tank. “What?!” Sophia cried, looking behind them to see the black wall advancing with unabated fury. Indy looked around frantically as the roadster decelerated over the uneven terrain. They were going to have to find a place to hide, and fast. “I think we’re in trouble.”

4 SOPHIA’S VISION

The Model T rattled and sputtered, its engine coughing fitfully as it consumed the very last drop of fuel in the tank. Ahead of them, the desolate stretch of dirt road continued into the bleak horizon, urging them to keep going when Indy knew it was hopeless. He was ready with the clutch, shifting the car into neutral to keep from throwing a flywheel. Indy scanned the plateau, a barren waste of rocks and stunted grasses, looking for somewhere—anywhere —to take cover from the oncoming storm. Sophia watched in awestruck horror as the black tidal wave rolled over the stranded Nazis, whose car was destroyed in the gushing plume of the geyser, and kept moving forward, its hunger unsatisfied. “What are we going to do?” she pleaded as they continued to decelerate. “It’s almost here!” “Sit tight, and hope it’s not as bad as it looks.” He tried to steer the antique roadster on a clear path, swerving around large rocks and treacherous potholes, determined to milk every last bit of momentum out of the car. But Indy knew that he was only prolonging the inevitable. It was just a matter of time before the Ford rolled to a stop, leaving them stranded in the path of destruction. His worst fear materialized a few moments later as the steady crunch of rubber on frozen gravel lapsed into grim silence. They were at a dead standstill in the middle of the remote Icelandic wilderness. Alone, with nowhere to run or hide. And the storm was coming up on them fast. The frigid wind howled like a hungry beast, ready to gobble them into its gaping maw. Indy set the parking brake to anchor the Ford in place. Sophia quickly rolled up her window, scooted over on the seat and put her arms around him, trembling with fear. She closed her eyes to the wall of black chaos and buried her face against Indy’s chest, praying to Nur-Ab- Sal for all the help they could get. Indy held onto her tightly and braced himself as the amorphous blackness bore down on them like some impossible freight train. When the storm finally hit them, it nudged the car gently, rocking the Model T on its creaky suspension bars, swaying it from side to side like an oversized cradle. Not quite the world-shattering blast of annihilation they had expected. The windows were quickly obscured by a coat of volcanic sand, plunging them into complete darkness. As they sat huddled in silence, listening to the wind swirl relentlessly beyond the pitch-black veil, Indy imagined that the storm was infuriated by its failure to kill them. “How long do you think it will last?” Sophia asked hoarsely. “Hard to say,” Indy replied. “These summer storms can come up pretty quick. Depends on how big the cloud is, and the speed of the wind.” He knew that dust storms could spin themselves out within a few minutes, or last for many hours, depending on the conditions. Who knew how long they would be there? While he tried to sound confident, Indy left his other concern unspoken. If they had survived the raging dust storm, then so could the Nazis, and since both parties were without vehicles they would have to travel on foot once the storm finally passed. Indy estimated that the chase had taken them roughly ten miles from the Jastro dig, which meant they had about thirty miles to walk before they reached Reykjavík. It was close to noon, so they still had the better part of the day to travel. They had to make civilization by nightfall or they would freeze to death from exposure. Sophia fell asleep after awhile, leaving Indy to ponder their fate alone. Peering at the blackened windows reminded him of being inside of a submarine floating through a deep ocean abyss. He leaned back in his chair, suddenly overcome with exhaustion. Indy closed his eyes and listened to the sand pelting the glass windows of the car. It was a continuous, hypnotic drone, like radio static hissing on an empty bandwave. He was hovering on the border of sleep when he heard a new sound, one that came from inside the car. It took him a moment to source the chain links of Sophia’s bronze necklace, which clinked together as she shifted position in her seat. Indy felt the shape of her warm body nestled protectively in his arms, and smiled, thinking there were certainly worse places for a man to be than holding a beautiful woman in the dark. Then he pictured the eerie horned face on her pendant, and he was immediately reminded of the quest which was responsible for their current predicament. Indy thought about Atlantis. From his recollections of the ancient myth, Indy knew the story of Atlantis was first told by Plato in two of his dialogues, the Timaeus and Critias, written about 360 B.C. But the Greek philosopher noted that the account originally came from Solon, an Athenian statesman, who heard the tale during a visit to Egypt, where knowledge of the disaster was inscribed on pillars of wisdom in the great temple at Sais. Plato described a highly-advanced civilization situated on a continent of unparalleled natural beauty, set out in the deep ocean ‘Beyond the Pillars of Hercules’. The city itself was laid out in three concentric rings of alternating land and sea, divided by a large canal that admitted entrance to the interior. The central island was home to the Temple of Poseidon, a magnificent edifice of gold and silver dedicated to the sea god who founded the great marine empire. Atlantis met its tragic destiny when its citizens became corrupted by power and greed, their divine nature degenerating into baser human depravity. The city was destroyed by a massive earthquake and swept from the face of the earth by tidal waves in a single day and night, disappearing into the sea forever. But the intriguing legend was compounded by a mysterious twist. The Critias dialogue inexplicably ended in mid-sentence at the moment when Zeus was about to proclaim his punishment for Atlantis to the assembled gods. Thus, his exact words were denied to the historical record. It was unknown if Plato was interrupted in his writing and never bothered to finish it, or whether he intentionally abandoned the fate of Atlantis at its climax for dramatic effect, like Edgar Allan Poe’s epic Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym. The quest to find Atlantis fired the imagination of mankind in the centuries since Plato first wrote about it, and its location had been the subject of wide-ranging speculation. There were dozens of possibilities, only a few of which Indy could recall at the moment. Traditionally, the city was said to reside in the Atlantic Ocean which bore the name of Atlas, the first king of Atlantis. But other seekers contended their own theories about its ultimate resting place, in locations ranging from South America to Antarctica, and everywhere in- between. Many have been the destructions of mankind, and many shall be… Indy shivered as Plato’s words leapt to mind, unbidden. They made him stop and focus. He set aside his academic skepticism and tried to picture Atlantis as an historical place, a civilization now lost to time, and he wondered what force could be sufficiently powerful enough to destroy an entire city in one night. He drew a blank, but pressed on stubbornly, following his train of thought to a logical conclusion. Suppose Atlantis had possessed some type of weapon which allowed it to subdue all the nations it conquered, and subsequently was destroyed through a misuse of that power? Then another thought occurred to Indy, something literally within his grasp: Sophia’s necklace. The small bead that she fed into its mouth was allegedly orichalcum, the metal specified in Plato’s account. What if the ghostly illusion was more than just an optical trick wrought by a discharge of electricity? If that meager display was any indication of what orichalcum was capable of producing, it didn’t require much imagination to realize what German physicists would do with a large supply of the portable, high-powered energy source. Kerner was already on the trail of the lost continent, and Indy knew the world would pay dearly if orichalcum should fall into Nazi hands. He was already committed to helping Sophia find Atlantis, but now Indy was determined. They had to stop the Nazis at all costs. Hours lapsed by in bone-rattling isolation as the storm raged on around them. Sophia shivered while she slept, and Indy hugged her tightly, sharing his body heat to keep them both warm. Finally, the wind fell to a soft whisper. Indy lifted his head and listened carefully. Everything was silent. He reached over and gently rolled the window down. A skin of volcanic ash fell from the glass, tumbling to the doorsill as a cool breeze flowed in from outside. The sky was dismally gray, but at least now he could see the horizon, where the volcanic backbone of Iceland slumbered like some gigantic beast. Sophia stirred in his arms. She sat up, squinting in the harsh daylight. “Is it over yet?” “Yeah, and we need to get moving if we’re going to make Reykjavík by sundown.” They climbed out of the car, only to find themselves on another planet. Sophia stared in awe. The snowy ground was black in every direction, stained with powdery volcanic ash to the limits of their sight. “What happened?” “Dust storm. They come sweeping down from the mountains and leave everything like this. Just be glad we weren’t outside, or we might have suffocated.” They stretched their stiff bodies in the refreshing air while Indy walked around the car to survey the damage. Like the surrounding landscape, the Model T wore a thick coat of black dust. He found two bullet holes in the trunk, and a silver gash on the rear fender where a Nazi bullet had shaved away the paint. The passenger side mirror was also gone, but the automobile was otherwise in good shape. Too bad it was out of gas. Then a thought suddenly occurred to him. Indy opened the door and lifted the front seat. He rapped his knuckles on the gas tank, producing a hollow tone. He unscrewed the gas cap and peered inside. A sliver of light illuminated the bone-dry reservoir. Indy dropped to the ground and slid under the car for a better look. “What are you doing down there?” asked Sophia, taking her suitcase from the trunk. “Making sure I’m not crazy.” He swept his hand over the rear wall of the gas tank and found a dime-sized hole in the metal. Indy stood up and brushed the soot from his jacket, satisfied to have found the source of their misfortune. “I knew we didn’t run out of gas. They shot a hole in our tank.” “Great. What do you think the rental agency will say about the car?” Indy picked up his own suitcase, tossed the keys into the trunk and shut the lid. “It doesn’t matter, because we’ll be long gone by the time they find it. Let’s get moving.” Sophia looked at the stretch of endless road vanishing into the gloomy distance. Her shoulders fell in despair. “I don’t want to do this…” “The sooner we start walking, the sooner we get there,” he said optimistically. “If you’d brought some extra gasoline we wouldn’t have to walk.” Indy tugged the brim of his fedora. “Some fresh air will do us good. Come on,” he beckoned, urging her to follow him. “You’ll feel like a million bucks, I promise.” “I feel like taking a hot bath right now,” she commiserated. “If we find a hot spring on the way back to town, I’d be happy to join you,” he grinned. She gave him a withering look. “Keep dreaming, Jones.” They put the shadowy cone of Hekla to their backs and began walking south along the deserted road, with the Nazis behind them and Atlantis waiting somewhere ahead.

***

“Which side of the bed do you want?” Indy dropped his suitcase onto the mattress in their hotel room. “Ho-hoo no,” scoffed Sophia. “You’re sleeping on the couch, Mister.” “Well that’s generous. I thought I’d be lucky to get the floor, if you had your way.” “And you probably deserve it. Luckily, I don’t hate you that much. Only a little,” she smiled. It was nearly eight o’clock when they finally stumbled into Reykjavík with their luggage, tired and sore from their trek across the countryside. Indy stopped at the first hotel they came to, but Sophia insisted on better accommodations. Four blocks later they found the Hotel Reykjavík, a towering five-star establishment which better suited her tastes. Indy called the airport to charter a plane the next morning, but their luck had finally run out. All flights were cancelled due to a snowstorm heading in from the coast and the hotel was nearly booked full with stranded travelers. There was only one deluxe suite available and it had a single bed, which they were now arguing over. “Come on, Sophie. It’s been a long day, and I’m exhausted. I promise I just want to sleep.” Then he noticed her dubious expression, and realized that more persuasion was needed. “Besides, you can trust me. I’m a doctor.” “Yeah, a dirt doctor. I remember you tried to pull that one the last time. It didn’t work then, and it’s sure as hell not going to work now.” Indiana Jones grinned. “Can you blame me?” Sophia relented. “Fine, you can sleep in the bed with me. But no funny business. We’re just traveling together, okay?” “Trust me,” he said suavely. “I’m still working on that.” As they unpacked their bags, Indy had to admire her taste. The deluxe hotel room was an exercise in chic minimalism, with its luxuriously soft carpets, recessed lighting and floor-to- ceiling windows draped in jet black silk. Their king-sized bed featured a quilted pillow mattress with satin sheets and a lavish matching bedspread, and silk pillowcases. A tall silver torchiere with an onyx shade stood on either side of the massive headboard—one lamp for each occupant. The bathroom was equally resplendent, with a double vanity sink, wall-length beveled mirror, walk-in shower, gleaming silver fixtures, and marble floor. “I like traveling with you,” complimented Indy. “Well, what can I say? I travel in style.” “That’s easy when you have the dough. I have to rough it on a professor’s salary. Not that I’m complaining, mind you.” “Well, enjoy the amenities, because it will probably be a long time before you get to stay in a place this nice again.” “Thanks a lot, Princess.” Indy carried his shaving kit and robe into the bathroom. “Dibs on the shower.” “Damn it, Indy!” Sophia pounded her fist on the door a moment after he locked it. Indy pounded back, mocking her, and she heard him laughing as he turned the faucet on. He took his time, finally emerging twenty minutes later in his bathrobe, toweling his mussed brown hair while a cloud of hot steam rose behind him. “Shower’s all yours, Sophie. I hope the water is still warm,” he teased. “I hate you.” She gave him a vindictive punch on the shoulder and shoved past him, slamming the door behind her. Not to be outdone, Sophia showered nearly twice as long, but Indy didn’t care. He was relaxing comfortably in bed when she finally came out, dressed in emerald green silk pajamas. Her damp crimson hair glowed like copper wire under the vivid electric lighting of their suite. Indy noted that she was holding her necklace by the chain, with the pendant dangling at her side. So she did take it off when she showered. “Let me take a look at that thing for a minute.” Sophia bit out one harsh word: “Ha!” “Just let me see it, will you? I had an idea about it when we were in the car.” She padded across the thick carpeting and flopped onto the bed beside him, resting her back against the cushioned headboard. She cupped the bronze chevron in her palm so he could study it. “What are you thinking?” “The orichalcum is some kind of energy source, isn’t it?” “I never really thought about it, but I assume so.” “Does that ghost thing appear every time?” “Yes, but Nur-Ab-Sal does not require manifestation to commune with me. The medallion is simply a vehicle for his spirit.” “How long have you been… visited?” Indy desperately tried not to ridicule her spirit guide, or offend Sophia in the process. “Since I first found the necklace at the Jastro dig.” “Where did you get the orichalcum from?” “I found samples in almost every Atlantean relic I’ve collected. Most of them have hidden receptacles with a supply of beads inside.” Indy nodded as if he suspected as much. “Like batteries.” “Yes. I had a jar of them before my apartment was robbed. Why are you so interested?” “Because I think the Nazis want to use it against us.” Indy went on to explain his theory about the destruction of Atlantis as Plato described in the Critias. He reasoned that if orichalcum was as potent as he suspected, it could give the Germans a serious advantage in munitions capabilities. “With a big enough supply, they would be unstoppable. Kerner doesn’t care about Atlantis, he just wants its energy source.” When Sophia considered everything she’d heard, it made her furious. “Atlantis was founded on the ideals of universal peace and harmony, knowledge and respect for all mankind —not something to be exploited for war.” “They’re Nazis, Sophie. They don’t care about that. Germany wants weapons, and orichalcum is the key unless we stop them.” “So we’re going to take on the whole Reich all by ourselves?” “Unless you have other plans. Remember, you dragged me into this.” “Actually, I do have something else in mind.” She slipped the pendant over her head and snuggled closer to him with a coy smile. The mischievous gleam in her eyes made Indy suddenly forget how tired he was, and just how badly he wanted to go to sleep. He touched her face tenderly, caressing her cheek, then threaded his fingers through her damp hair and kissed her deeply. The taste of her lips was worth every cold, miserable mile that he’d walked to finally enjoy her in their extravagant surroundings. “I thought you hated me,” he breathed. “Not so much. I just had to warm up to you again.” She pushed him down onto the mattress and slid on top of him. They rolled over, kissing and groping in a fever of passion. Indy sucked on her earlobe, biting softly with his teeth, teasing with his tongue. He slipped his hands into her pajamas and stroked the smooth, hot flesh of her back. His fingers splayed to grip the flare of her hips as she moved against him, feeding the sexual magnetism burning inside. As the wave of heat consumed them, the last thing on their mind was the lost continent of Atlantis. They were startled by a knock at the door. “Herbergaþjónusta! Room service!” the maid called out in her thick Icelandic accent. “Kampavín? Kavíar?” “No, we don’t need any champagne or caviar!” Indy growled. Talk about lousy timing. “Heitur handklæði?” Sophia gritted her teeth in irritation. “Not now!” “Ho-kay!” said the maid cheerfully. “Góða nótt!” “Next time, don’t pay extra for room service.” Indy muttered, eagerly resuming his explorations. “Tell me about it.” Sophia gasped as he began to slide her pajama pants down. Then she bucked violently, throwing him off. Her head snapped back, hitting Indy on the mouth. “Ow! What’s wrong with you?” he said, rubbing his sore lip. “I—unhh!” She dug her fingernails into the mattress. Her medallion glowed with a soft green aura. The lamps flickered, alternately dimming and brightening on either side of the bed. Something was happening. Indy grasped her by the shoulders with concern. “Sophie, are you okay?” “Mmh, let go of me, Indy. I think I’m having a vision,” she said, grimacing. He slid off the bed and stood back, unsure of what to expect. She sat up and drew her legs beneath her, assuming an Indian-style position. Indy kept his distance, but watched closely. She placed her hands palms-down on the mattress. The lamps winked out, plunging the room into darkness. Tendrils of electric energy sparkled through the chain as the pendant projected its eerie fluorescent light across her upturned face. Her mouth was parted slightly, her eyes closed. When she spoke, her voice was cool and clear. “The first key…” she whispered. Indy reached out and touched her hand gently. “What do you see?” Her mouth moved silently until she found her voice again. “I see a pyramid… deep in the jungle.” “Describe it for me,” he urged. She touched the medallion, concentrating. “It has five tiers… stairs on all sides… partially covered, and yet to be reclaimed.” “Then it’s not the Temple of the Jaguar,” Indy said, dismissing the most famous pyramid in Tikal. “In the temple lies the keeper of the first key… and that is all.” Her eyes flicked open and the medallion went out. The bedside lamps abruptly sputtered back to life. Sophia looked around in a daze. “What happened?” “I think you were possessed by that necklace. You said something about a pyramid in the jungle, and ‘the first key’.” Her brow knitted in perplexity as she tried to remember what she’d seen. “I said that?” “Yeah. Does it make any sense?” She smoothed her nightshirt and tugged the elastic waistline of her pajamas up with a sigh. “No, but I need to sleep on it. Maybe I’ll have the answer in the morning.” Indy looked crestfallen. “So you still don’t want to...” Sophia pulled back the covers and switched off her lamp. “Good night, Indy.” He turned off his lamp and reluctantly crawled into bed beside her. “Thanks a lot, Nur-Ab- Sal,” he muttered. She giggled in the darkness. “Sorry, Indy. Better luck next time.”

5 THE BLUE ISLAND

If clay tiles were gold, then Indiana Jones was looking at a fortune. From his lofty perspective behind the wheel of the sedan cruising up the mountain road, he saw a florid blaze of mission-style Spanish roofs overspreading the verdant slopes of Horta. The tapestry of orange-topped stucco buildings nestled around the glittering bay could have been a picture postcard advertising the beautiful Azores Islands, he thought, following the snaking spine of Cabeço Gordo. Sophia lounged in the passenger seat, wearing sunglasses and a blue silk headscarf. She flew her hand out the window like a glider on the warm breeze, and admired the riotous flush of hydrangea flowers gliding past the car. She smiled in blissful satisfaction. “This is like paradise, Indy. We should have come here sooner.” “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he said. “I’m really sorry about my behavior. Iceland just didn’t agree with me.” “Yeah, I noticed.” Having spent the past few days crammed into airplane seats, Sophia was enjoying her newfound freedom. They’d flown from Reykjavík to Foynes, Ireland, followed by a connecting flight to Lisbon, and finally westward on Pan-Am’s return clipper to the Azores. When they landed on Faial, she contacted Filipe Costa by telephone. She was politely surprised that the professor was anxious to meet the celebrated mystic of Atlantean lore. Costa promptly invited her to his hacienda, where they were currently en route. “My God, that’s beautiful!” she gushed as they rounded another curve. The trees parted to reveal a breathtaking panorama of lush volcanic hills bordering the turquoise sea. Its surface mirrored the clouds dappling the sheet of endless blue sky. “What do you know about this guy, Costa?” Indy said, navigating the uphill drive. “He’s a retired professor from the University of Coimbra. He taught history and civilization for twenty years until he caught the Atlantis bug. Now he collects relics and studies its history. I think he’s also writing a book.” The road curved around a palm-covered ridge, and they turned into the driveway of an impressive hacienda. Filipe Costa was enjoying his post-tenure days in style. Rows of sturdy palm trees shaded the beige stucco residence, built directly on the side of the mountain overlooking the broad Atlantic horizon. The entrance was flanked by Romanesque columns. Hydrangeas decorated every ledge and windowsill in clay flower boxes. The place had a distinctly Mediterranean flavor, and Indy could easily picture the villa perched on a hill above Athens or Barcelona. “Are you sure this is Costa’s house?” he asked as they stepped from the car. “Pretty sure, but I’ve never actually met him.” He eyed the parcel from Heimdall. “What is that?” “Leverage. I’ve been in the trading market for a long time, and I know how to deal with these guys. Now let’s get down to business.” Sophia tucked the wrapped parcel into her handbag and knocked on the front door. “Mr. Costa?” It opened a moment later, and Costa hobbled out to greet them. “Well, hello, beautiful!” he greeted her with an overjoyed smile. “Professor Costa? My name is Sophia Hapgood. I believe we have an appointment.” The old man leaned heavily on a gnarled cane, quaking as if he might fall over without its support. His flinty eyes lit with delight. “Madame Sophia, the renowned psychic?” “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” she said pleasantly, and shook hands with him. “Boa vinda! Welcome!” Costa regarded Indy, dressed in his field clothes, and scratched his snowy beard. “And who might you be, sir?” “I’m Dr. Indiana Jones.” Costa shook hands quickly, annoyed by Indy’s presence. He clearly wasn’t expecting anyone else but Sophia. “What exactly are you a doctor of, Mister Jones?” “I teach archaeology at Barnett College, in New York.” “We need your help, professor.” Sophia was unable to keep the urgency out of her voice. “At your service, Madame. Please come in, we have much to talk about.” Indy expected the landlord of such a resplendent manor to be attired in an expensive white suit and tropical hat. But Costa’s flannel vest, baggy trousers and worn leather slippers belonged to a man who preferred to spend his afternoons lounging in a comfortable recliner with a book rather than chasing down his lost kingdom—more armchair adventurer than practical archaeologist. His hacienda, unsurprisingly, was a museum devoted to the passion of his quest. The main hallway was home to a row of rich wooden cabinetry displaying the relics he’d accumulated over the years. Paintings of underwater cities populated by mermaids formed a gallery on the pale stucco walls. The floor was a mosaic of verdigris and bronze clay tiles. A bubbling indoor fountain provided a soothing ambience to the sprawling house. Costa escorted them to his private study, a spacious room with a vaulted ceiling, where bookcases lined every wall. The shelves were crammed with hundreds of publications devoted to Atlantis lore, all vying for space with more ancient relics. Indy had seen libraries with less fiction. A massive aquarium stood in the middle of the room. It was filled with a variety of brightly-colored tropical fish that flitted among miniature sculpted ruins. While Costa consulted Sophia’s opinion on several prominent acquisitions, Indy browsed the room for another horned idol like the one Kerner had stolen. Among the purportedly ‘Atlantean’ finds were a golden Aztec mask, Mayan funerary tributes, and a hand-carved wooden Inuit statue. Hardly the relics of a lost civilization. He noted that many of the items exhibited a sinuous running spiral design which seemed to represent sea waves. “What can you tell us about Atlantis?” he asked, hoping that his inquiry would not provoke a lecture about the fabled city. Costa looked up from a copper fish statue that he was showing to Sophia. “I can tell you this: You’re standing on it. It never sank, at least not all the way.” Indy tried to keep a straight face. “You’re kidding.” “I am not.” “What led you to place Atlantis in the Azores?” “I didn’t place anything, it’s just the facts. Plato’s dialogue spelled it out in plain Greek. Go look for yourself if you don’t believe me.” Sophia laughed at the old timer’s wit. Indy smiled at the notion of walking off the beach in a weighted diving suit and following the shelf down to a world of spectacularly preserved ruins just waiting to be discovered on the abyssal plain. He wished it was that easy. “So, do you talk to Atlantean spirits like Sophia?” The redhead shot him a dirty look for attempting to embarrass her in Costa’s presence. “All the time,” replied Costa without missing a beat. “They have me collecting their material things so they can return to earth. I speak mainly with Antinéa, a princess from the Second Age of Atlantis. She is my spirit guide.” “How do you communicate with these spirits?” He thought about Sophia’s necklace, but said nothing. Indy was positive Costa would try to buy it off her if he knew about it. “They talk to me through this ring I find on a dig in the Pyrenees.” He splayed his wrinkled fingers to show off a hefty band made of reddish metal, inlaid with a dark green jewel. They were interrupted by the appearance of a matronly young woman with a round face, dark hair, and deep brown eyes. “Papa, lunch is served on the veranda.” Costa smiled benevolently. “Allow me to introduce my lovely daughter, Conchita, the pearl of my life. Obrigado, meu doce. We will be along in a moment, dear.” “Sim, pai.” She curtsied with her red dress and bustled from the room. Costa led his guests to a spacious upstairs balcony overlooking Faial’s tranquil bay, where a set of wicker chairs were clustered around a wrought iron table shaded by a massive umbrella. Flower boxes lined the patio, showcasing an assortment of red hydrangeas and indigo lilacs, all kissed by the gentle breeze. The old man swept his arm over the stunning Atlantic seascape. “Welcome to Ilha Azul, the jewel of the Azores.” Sophia leaned on the railing and closed her eyes as the cool river of wind washed over the balcony and stroked her face with its delicate currents. “It’s magnificent. I could stay here forever…” Conchita bustled around the table, placing hot dishes on woven reed mats. A veritable seafood buffet was laid out in steaming clay pots. Plates of squid, a giant boiled slipper lobster glazed in warm butter, bacalhau—codfish soaked in olive oil; Shellfish stew made with vegetables, fava beans served with chouricos, a generous bowl of caldo verde, a potato soup mixed with pork sausage and sprinkled with chopped greens, and a loaf of soft floured bread called broa. Costa settled into a chair and filled their glass from a bottle of expensive red wine. “Let us indulge our appetites for good food and the subject of our passion.” “Yes, lets!” Sophia clapped her hands with delight, and began to fix her plate. Indy felt distinctly out of place, and hastily followed her example while Conchita prepared her father’s dish. Then she distributed bowls and ladled them full of a gray oatmeal-textured substance with thick chunks of meat. “Aprecie con meus elogios,” she smiled pleasantly. “Enjoy.” Indy picked up a spoon and sampled the strange soup. He winced at the salty taste, but tried another spoonful for the benefit of their gracious hosts. Costa’s daughter beamed with culinary pride. “You like, Señor?” “Yes, it’s very good,” he lied. “What is it?” “Sopa da lampreia. My specialty. Papa, how do you say in English?” “Ah, lamprey soup.” Indy spat the mouthful of gruel back into the bowl. Sophia giggled as he wiped his tongue on a cloth napkin. Conchita’s plump face turned red, and she huffed back into the house, outraged by his rude behavior. “I am sorry, Dr. Jones,” Costa apologized, “My daughter is not versed in your American cuisine. Lamprey is a great delicacy in our country, and she takes pride in the dish.” “No, I appreciate the effort. I’ll just find something less… snakey.” Sophia stifled a cough as he selected a normal fish to eat. “What’s in this ‘Lost Dialogue’ you mentioned?” she asked, finessing her way out of the awkward moment. “You, of all people, should know, Madame.” “Actually, that’s what we’re trying to find out. I was told that you know something about it.” “Why, it’s the last word on Atlantis, young lady!” Encouraged, she pressed on. “Do you have it?” “Nope.” “Have you read it?” Costa nibbled a piece of bread thoughtfully. “Not exactly. It is quite a rare book.” “Do you know where we could find it?” she asked, growing desperate. “Well now, that depends. I might trade the information for a rare Atlantean artifact, such as a certain necklace I’ve heard so much about.” Indy sliced the fish on his plate with particular care to hide his amusement from Sophia. “I’ll never trade away my necklace,” she declared, and clutched it possessively. The old man was undeterred. “Well, if that’s how you feel—surprise me.” It was just the moment she’d been waiting for. Sophia reached into her handbag and produced the cloth-bundled relic she’d carried from Iceland. She carefully unwrapped the bronze coil and displayed it for his approval. “This is a piece that I recently acquired from the Jastro dig.” Costa retrieved his eyeglasses from his pocket. He held the artifact to his face and scrutinized it closely to appreciate its detail. “Magnifico!” he declared. “I’m told that it’s genuinely Atlantean, but I was hoping for a second opinion before I put it on the market. There’s an Algerian collector who has been searching quite a long time for one of these eels, and he’s offering top dollar.” A flash of panic betrayed Costa’s fear that he might lose the unique relic. Indy suppressed a smile. Sophia was playing him like a piano. “Yes, I believe this is an Atlantean heater. Most likely it adorned a bed chamber of the royal palace. It requires much study, of course, but I am certain it is authentic.” Costa held the statue aloft, viewing it from different angles. “Simply fascinating.” His eyes casually strayed from the bronze artifact to its owner. “How much is the Arab offering?” She threaded her fingers together and feigned embarrassment. “Oh… ah, while I’m awfully tempted by his price, modesty forbids me from revealing my clients’ bids,” she admitted. “But I am very interested in the lost manuscript. I’ll gladly donate this eel to your collection if you would give us a clue about the book. I simply must have it.” “Madame, you’ve got a deal!” Costa declared triumphantly. Indy leaned forward, ready for the crucial bit of information that Heimdall had sent them for. “Now listen carefully, I don’t know exactly where to find it. But the lost dialogue of Plato is in the Ashkenazy collection, as I understand.” “I’ll be damned.” Indy pounded his fist on the table hard enough to rattle the dishes, startling his companions. “What is it?” Sophia said, alarmed. “Barnett College owns the Ashkenazy collection.” He stood and paced the balcony, working furiously to anticipate Kerner’s next move. “I can’t believe this. We’ve been chasing that book all over creation and it was right upstairs from my office the whole time. We need to get back to New York.” Sophia was on her feet instantly. “No! Remember the pyramid in my vision? The key to Atlantis is somewhere in Tikal.” “But the book has all the answers,” he countered. “The book is useless without the key. What if the Nazis find it first?” At this point, he knew that Sophia was calling the shots, especially since they were burning through her personal fortune to fund the expedition. “Fine, we’ll go to Tikal,” he relented. She turned back to Costa. The old man was muttering to himself, preoccupied with his new prize. “I’m afraid we must take our leave now, Professor. We have more outposts to find, and the Nazis may already be ahead of us.” “Then go,” he said, rising to shake her hand. “Stop those madmen from capturing the glory of the Lost Kingdom. You have my blessings.” “Thank you for the delightful lunch.” “It has been my pleasure, Madame. Don’t be a stranger now!” “By the way,” Indy said. “Sophia mentioned you were writing a book.” “Yes. It will be the culmination of my life’s work, a final attempt to prove the existence of the lost continent once and for all. I am calling it: ‘Imagining Atlantis’.” “Sounds intriguing. I’ll have to take a look when you’re finished.” The old scholar rose from his chair and offered Indy a hearty handshake. “Perhaps you are writing the final chapter as we speak, Dr. Jones.” Sophia beamed with pride. “I certainly hope so, Professor.” “I will send you both a copy, since you are dedicated students of Atlantis,” he promised them. “Now go and make history, fellow believers!”

***

“That’s our ship!” Sophia announced, pointing to the flying boat bobbing in the cobalt waters of Horta Bay. The mooring crew moved around the sea dock with machine-like efficiency, preparing the giant silver-skinned amphibian for its flight. A trio of stewardesses chatted in the shade of the Boeing 314’s broad wing as uniformed porters wheeled carts up to the plane, loading baggage and mail into the cargo holds. Passengers milled along the boardwalk, basking in the tropical weather, taking pictures of the American Clipper and buzzing optimistically about the upcoming flight. Indy could understand the excitement. The new Atlantic fleet was the toast of the aviation industry, representing the most luxurious passenger air travel in the world. After conquering the Pacific with its fleet of M- 130’s, Pan-American was prepared to take on the rest of the globe, offering regularly scheduled flights from the eastern United States to Europe and South America via Newfoundland, Bermuda, Lisbon, and the Azores. The new transatlantic service promised to shave off weeks from traditional ocean liner cruises. It was the dawn of a new era in travel, and they were there to witness it. Indy’s own excitement was tempered by the implications of what lay ahead. He leaned on the railing and stared over the choppy waves gleaming in the late afternoon sunlight, pondering at the things hidden below the impenetrable water. Professor Costa’s words haunted him, and Indy suddenly wished that he could part the sea and reveal the treasures buried in the ages of seaweed and muck. Then he might finally discover the truth, whether Atlantis was reality or myth, because not knowing was the most frustrating part of all. His intense silence did not go unnoticed. “What’s on your mind?” Sophia wondered. “I never really believed it. I don’t want to believe it.” “Why not?” “Because Atlantis would change everything we know about human civilization.” “Change is not a bad thing, Indy. The world would be a better place if more people were open to life’s possibilities, rather than being narrow-minded and biased. Once we accept the reality of Atlantis, mankind will achieve true enlightenment.” She suddenly embraced him. “Thank you for doing this. It means everything to me.” When she pulled back, her eyes were filled with expectation. “What do you think we’ll find when we get there?” He hadn’t given any thought to the possibility of actually finding the lost city. “Illumination,” he said with a wry grin. It was the perfect answer, guaranteed to please her. “Yes!” She gave him an impulsive kiss on the lips. The fleeting moment was over before Indy could return the favor. “Look, they’re boarding now!” She scooped up her luggage and dashed away. Indy shouldered his backpack in disappointment and followed her down the ramp to the plane.

“There they are!” Karl hissed. The Abwehr quickly raised their newspapers to cover their faces while the Americans filed into the cabin with the other passengers. Sitting on the outer seat, Karl held his breath as they moved down the aisle close enough to touch. Being in such close proximity to their targets was risky, but their mission demanded it. They would keep out of sight until the plane landed, let Jones and the woman depart first, and then follow. Torsten still had no idea why they were going to Central America, but they could not afford to fail again after the fiasco in Iceland. By the time the storm passed, the Americans were gone and they had no way of catching up to them, or learning their destination. Torsten was worried about Kerner’s reprimand, knowing the colonel would make good on his promise if they did not retrieve the necklace. They backtracked to the dig site and found the old man digging away in the ice cave, oblivious to the storm outside. Fortunately, he was more than willing to divulge Jones’ destination when threatened, but Torsten killed him anyway, much to his partner’s distress. When they arrived on Faial, the Abwehr trailed them to the mansion above the city. They surveyed the house from a distance as Jones and Hapgood appeared on the balcony with the elderly landlord. Torsten watched them through binoculars. Although he spoke excellent English, he was not adept at reading lips, so he could only surmise the general context of the meeting based on their gestures. His attention piqued when Hapgood gave the artifact to the professor, an exchange made even more interesting when she received nothing in return. It was apparent that she traded the artifact for some kind of information. They left soon after the trade. Torsten wanted to storm the house and threaten the old man for information, but Karl talked him out of it by arguing that the Americans could escape by the time they finished interrogating him. They ran back to their car and followed Jones to the airport. He secured tickets for their flight to Central America while Karl sent off a coded telegram informing Kerner of their progress. With luck they could kill them in the jungle, take the necklace, and return to Germany at last. The captain’s voice came over the flight intercom. “Welcome aboard Pan-American flight 153 to Bermuda. Estimated travel time is 18 hours. Please fasten your seatbelts securely as we prepare to take off. Thank you for choosing Pan-American Airways, the system of the flying clippers. Enjoy your flight.” A muted rumble shook the green-paneled cabin, vibrating the plush carpeted floor beneath their feet. All faces peered expectantly out the windows. The four massive propellers whirled faster and faster, blurring as the engines powered up to full speed. There was a slight lurch and the plane began to move. The pilot churned a wide arc across the bay until the massive Boeing was pointed into the wind. The Clipper roared across the water, gathering speed until the world suddenly fell away and it lifted into the ocean of sky, heading west after the blazing sun. 6 URANVEREIN

Oranienburg, Germany

The sprawling compound resembled a large warehouse from the air, but nobody flying over the 25-acre spread of nondescript buildings in the rural countryside northeast of Berlin would guess that its inauspicious roof and plain brick walls encompassed a production plant for industrial-grade uranium. The unremarkable facade concealed the purpose of the massive factory as the heart of the German nuclear program, but the truly important work occurred belowground. Six levels of research laboratories comprised the subterranean core of the Auergesellschaft complex, all devoted to exploiting the revolutionary new fission process. Only persons with the highest security clearance had access to the sub-level facility, via a series of strict checkpoints. Fewer still were permitted entry into the clandestine inner sanctum designated simply as Laboratory D, a spacious room built to virtually bomb-proof specifications. This labyrinthine network safeguarded the most secret weapons development laboratory in Europe. It was here, deep underground and far from the prying eyes of the world, that Klaus Kerner placed the corroded bronze statue on the table before Professor Hans Übermann. “See what Herr Jones has kindly provided?” “What on earth?” The bespectacled senior physicist leaned forward to examine the horned idol. Nikolaus Riehl, the director of the facility, regarded the crude artifact with a dubious frown. Kerner crossed his arms expectantly, confident that he’d succeeded on his vitally important mission. “Isn’t it amazing?” Standing proudly at his full height of six-foot-three, Klaus Gerhard Kerner considered himself an elite warrior. The blond, square-jawed German was the epitome of Aryan perfection, right down to his piercing blue gaze. After his recent undercover trip to America, he was grateful to be attired in his familiar SS uniform once again, free to display the symbol of his devotion to the Third Reich: a red swastika armband with black piping, the crowning achievement of an illustrious military career. During the Great War, he had served on the Sturmabteilung mortar team in the German 3rd Army. The capture of an enemy tank on the Western Front earned him an Iron Cross for bravery. Afterwards, Kerner chose a police career in his desire to bring order to his country, which was embattled in revolution following its bitter defeat. He joined the fledgling SS in 1928 as a guard for prestigious Nazi speakers. His fierce devotion culminated in a post on Adolf Hitler’s personal regiment, and Kerner was elected into the Reichstag with a promotion to full-fledged Oberst. Shortly thereafter, he was assigned to the Wehrmacht’s weapons procurement division. It was there that Kerner met Hans Übermann, one of the chief researchers working with the Ahnenerbe to locate arcane historical weaponry that might be developed for military use by the German Army. Their first priority involved an ancient mineral called orichalcum, described by Karl Zschaetzsch in his book, Atlantis: Die Urheimat der Arier. The element promised untold power if they could locate a source in existence, and its pursuit set him on the trail of several notable Atlantis experts rumored to possess artifacts from the vanished kingdom. Now, having acquired the statue from Jones, Kerner’s efforts were about to pay off. “What do you think, Herr Doktor?” Übermann turned the robust idol in his hands. He noted its tarnished condition with distaste. “I send you to America to find the weapon of the age, and you bring me this… prehistoric knick-knack?” “This ‘knick-knack’, as you call it, comes from the lost city.” Kerner’s tone was irate. He had no time for the inane opinions of this ancient windbag. He wanted confirmation on the success of his mission, and nothing more. “Then we have failed! I see no evidence here of a magical metal that Plato called ‘orichalcum’.” Übermann rose from the table and strolled over to a large diagram pinned on the wall. The word Uranbombe was boldly printed in white letters across the blueprint, which depicted a cross-sectional cutaway of a large bomb with fins. He tapped a red circle inside the bulbous warhead, indicating the source of its destructive power. “You see Diebner’s device, Herr Kerner? It is perfect! We need only the fissionable material for the core and it will be ready for production. Uranium is the only element capable of sustaining a chain reaction, but we are unable to manufacture it in sufficient quantity. Der Führer is unsatisfied with our progress,” he fretted, wringing his bony hands nervously. “He was displeased by the early miscalculations, saying the timeframe for our program is too long. Science cannot be rushed, you know.” “I am well aware of this, Doktor, but it shall not permit us moving forward with our endeavor. Once we prove ourselves with this device, we will gain the full support of the Heereswaffenamt.” “Yes, yes, but we only have thirty tons of uranium at present, and the quality is unsuitable for our purposes. Alas, I’m afraid we need something else.” “This might prove useful.” Kerner withdrew a glass vial from his uniform. “I found these curious metal beads among Fräulein Hapgood’s relics. It is my guess that we found the treasure we seek.” Übermann held up the vial and studied its brilliant copper luster in the stark lights of the laboratory. He picked up the horned idol. “Notice how the statue mouth is open, ja? Let us place a bead inside and see what happens.” He opened the tube and withdrew one of the shiny pearls. Kerner watched as he pushed the bead neatly into the idol’s mouth and set it down again. The statue’s eyes glowed to life. They stepped back as it began to vibrate, emitting a high- pitched whine. The torso rotated in a circular motion, faster and faster. It jittered across the lab table, the upright arms a blur. “Mein Gott!” Nikolaus Riehl exclaimed in astonishment. The idol tumbled over the edge and struck the floor, where it continued to whirl madly. Sparks flew as its metal arms grated against the unyielding stone. The statue flopped in an awkward circle, writhing like a wounded animal until its dose of orichalcum was depleted. Its blazing eyes finally went dark again. Kerner was awestruck by what he’d witnessed. “You saw that? Think of trucks powered by these beads. Think of tanks. Think of airplanes…” “Use your imagination, Kerner,” Übermann chided. “Think big like the Americans. Think of bombs!” “Yes! This will make the Reich an unstoppable force!” he exclaimed in triumph. “But first we must test! Let us submit the orichalcum to the Evonik.” Übermann picked up the glass vial and hobbled towards a large machine which dominated the austere laboratory. Kerner scooped up the horned idol and followed, anxious to learn if this new material could give their army a dominant edge. They had a decisive advantage thanks to the Degussa Corporation, a refinery of precious metals contracted to furnish the Auergesellschaft with the very latest in scientific technology. Their state-appointed benefactors had spared no expense in providing all the tools necessary for ordnance research. As a result, Germany had one of the most sophisticated manufacturing facilities in the world at its disposal. Kerner saw the promise of success everywhere he looked. Rising above them was a massive Tesla coil slaved to a high-voltage induction capacitor that stood humming against the wall. The Van de Graaff generator, topped by a large silver sphere, was positioned on the other side of the laboratory. A chain of oversized plasma globes were suspended from the ceiling like a model of the universe, joined together by a network of glass condenser lines. But the centerpiece of Übermann’s domain was the Uranmaschine, a particle accelerator engineered for isotope separation and the measurement of nuclear constants. Cloaked in his white lab coat, Übermann donned a pair of goggles and slipped his hands into a set of insulated rubber gloves. He opened a panel in the machine and slid out a metal tray. He carefully placed several of the metallic beads into a lattice of tiny cubes. He placed the tray back into the accelerator and shut the heavy door, locking it with a deft twist of the handle. He double-checked the seals and pronounced the machine ready. “Initiate the start-up procedure, Doktor.” Riehl flipped a sequence of switches on the control panel, and a row of indicator lights blinked on in response. The machine came to life with a sibilant hum that slithered across the floor like oil beneath Kerner’s boots. The scientist adjusted dials with practiced finesse. He checked the indicator readings on the display gauges. When the electromagnets were primed to full capacity, Riehl activated the cyclotron. Almost immediately, a deep, ominous whirring sound emanated from the machine. The sheer power of the rapidly accelerating centrifuge produced a thrum felt through every surface in the room. Kerner swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth and clenched his vibrating teeth together as the concrete floor trembled underfoot. Even from a distance, he saw the skin of the Uranmaschine blur like a mirage that might suddenly disappear. “Frequency rate is constant,” Riehl reported calmly as if he were announcing a chess move. Übermann was irresistibly drawn to the machine. He cupped his hands over the viewport and peered into the fission chamber, enthralled. The lenses of his thick goggles glowed with an unearthly light. “Das ist wundervoll,” he breathed reverently. “The energy that drives the universe…” The luminous blaze suddenly erupted with blinding intensity. Übermann staggered back as a blue corona lit the reinforced lead-glass window. The accelerator shivered, struggling to contain the violent reaction blossoming within its over-clad shell. “Critical!” Riehl yelled in panic. He slapped the emergency button, cutting power to the reactor, and then dropped to the floor behind the control bank, anticipating the explosion to follow. Intense heat scorched the laboratory as the shockwave hit the Tesla coil, shattering the overcharged electrodes. Kerner threw his arms up for protection. White-hot sparks rained over him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Übermann run for cover in the midst of the chaos. “Himmel!” the wiry physicist cried out in alarm when a wild snap of electricity leapt for the ceiling, attracted by the ionized gases inside the plasma lamps. The rampant power surge traveled through the condenser lines overhead, bursting each sealed globe with a sharp explosion. A blizzard of glass covered the floor like crystal ants, scattering in every direction. The accelerator whirled to a halt. Everything was silent. Kerner stood warily in the haze of electrical smoke. He looked around in shock. Nearly half of the laboratory was destroyed, including the main power generator. But the Evonik machine was miraculously intact. Übermann hurried to join Riehl at the control board. They consulted the instrument readings in disbelief. “Amazing! There is significant neutron multiplication without any trace of radioactive contamination,” Riehl gushed ecstatically. “Do you realize what this means? We are on the verge of sustaining a chain reaction!” Übermann held up the vial of orichalcum. “We need more of this material, Kerner, much more. Can you get it?” “This is all that Fräulein Hapgood had in her possession. I have two agents following her and Jones to see if they can lead us to another source. We also recovered a journal which may prove useful in discovering the origin of this material.” Übermann shook his head irritably. “Seven months ago, we bombarded uranium with neutrons to produce fission, and now our work is obsolete.” He jabbed an emphatic finger toward the ruined reactor. “By all rights we should be dead from such a mishap, yet we are not. I think the message is quite clear. We must act now unless you want the Americans to supersede our work.” Kerner felt like throttling Übermann’s skeletal neck until it snapped. “I brought you exactly what you asked for,” he said with restrained patience. “Yes, but all our toil is meaningless unless we can deliver the Uranbombe first! It is imperative that we get more orichalcum at once.” “We are preparing to launch a mission to monopolize this ore, and I have every resource to succeed at my disposal. Until then, I suggest you remember the extent of your authority, Doktor.” Übermann was undaunted by the threat. “Good. Then I will make a report to the Ministry announcing our progress. The future of Germany is in your hands, Kerner. Try not to drop it.”

***

Uranverein Institute, Berlin

The buzz of conversation in the auditorium lapsed into respectful silence when Hans Übermann mounted the stage and made his way to the podium. He did not bring a sheaf of research papers as was customary for such an occasion. Instead, he placed a small aluminum box on the corner of the stand. The elderly physicist adjusted his glasses and surveyed the roomful of colleagues that filled the tiered rows to capacity. He was pleased that all the key figures of the Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Kernphysik were present to witness the first victory of the newly-established Uranverein, formed only two months earlier. “My esteemed colleagues, tonight I am here to make an historic announcement: We have the key to nuclear armament.” Opening the small box, Übermann withdrew the bead of gleaming red metal and raised it high. “Behold, orichalcum! The energy of uranium, without any radioactivity!” The proclamation elicited a wave of chatter from the audience, who found his bold promise exciting as it was unrealistic. Several upraised hands begged for immediate attention, but Übermann waved them down. He would not be drawn into a debate about the validity of his claim. Tonight’s meeting was intended to show that the Institute was ready to deliver on its purpose. In addition to providing material to the Heereswaffenamt ordnance office, the Uranverein was charged with developing an atom-based weapon to deploy in future conflicts. Their mission was hampered by the inherent production difficulties of nuclear material, and pressure from an impatient war department. Things might have continued this way until Kerner’s timely discovery rendered uranium obsolete. If Degussa could produce quantities of the Atlantean metal for the construction of orichalcum-based weaponry, the possibilities would be limitless. “Our progress on the Uranbombe has been restricted by expensive methods to produce miniscule amounts of energy until now. This simple bead holds the key to unlimited power. Orichalcum is exponentially more powerful than uranium, far exceeding the potential of the atomic reaction,” he said with growing fervor. “This mineral will enable us to surpass America as the dominant military power! No nation will dare oppose our might!” Übermann exclaimed with maniacal zeal. “The age of the Wunderwaffe has arrived!” Watching from the shadow of the curtain off-stage, Klaus Kerner smiled broadly as the roomful of scientists stood and applauded in unison. The speech was a triumph. Der Führer himself could not have done a better job. He didn’t need their approval, of course, but the show of support reinforced his belief that Germany would shape the world as it was intended to be. Kerner brushed back his crop of sandy blond hair and strolled from the auditorium with renewed purpose. It was time to take control of Germany’s future, and he would not fail.

7 TIKAL

Strands of misty light filtered through the dark jungle canopy, tinting everything below in a perpetually greenish hue. The air was sticky and humid, the ground spongy with dead vegetation. A machete flashed in the gloomy dusk as Indy chopped a prickly escoba limb from his path. Sophia trudged wearily a few paces behind him. She mopped the sweat from her face with a damp cloth. Her long red hair, tied in a ponytail to prevent snagging on the dense underbrush, stuck to her neck in a thick clump. The straps of her heavy pack dug into her shoulders with each step, chafing her skin through her wet blouse. “Are there head-hunters in this part of the jungle?” she fretted, voicing her latest concern in a growing list of worries that began the moment they entered the wilderness. “Not in a few centuries,” Indy replied. “It’s the cannibals you have to watch out for.” “What?!” she panicked, looking around quickly. Indy chuckled, and then she realized he was joking. She gave him a vindictive shove. “That’s not funny.” “I thought it was.” She waved her hands in a burst of irritation, scattering the cloud of gnats drawn by the taste of her sweat. “Argh! Damn insects! Leave me alone!” He hacked down another thorny branch. “Why are you rich girls always so fussy?” “Because we can afford to be.” “Then it’s true. Money really can’t buy happiness.” Sophia made a nasty face. “Get bent, Jones.” Indy smiled again. She’d been in a foul mood all day, and her attitude wasn’t improving. Not that he could blame her. After an exhausting 18-hour flight, they endured the last leg of the journey in the cramped cabin of a tiny charter plane from Belize, riding the crest of a violent storm that was battering the Guatemalan coast. The nerve-wracking flight ended when they touched down on a muddy airstrip in Santa Elena sometime after midnight in a torrential downpour. The bone-weary travelers slogged to the nearest hotel and fell into bed after a long overdue—albeit separate, much to Indy’s dismay—shower. Emerging refreshed after ten solid hours of sleep, they gathered provisions from a tent market near the outskirts of town and ferried north across Lake Petén Itzá by boat. Sophia was appalled to discover that man-made roads did not extend into the vast wilderness beyond the capital city of Flores. Indy had to convince her that they couldn’t simply rent a truck and drive to Tikal. They would have to carve their way to the site by machete, a task she readily relinquished to him once they reached the jungle. In spite of her eagerness to visit the Mayan ruins that she had foreseen in her vision, Sophia’s enthusiasm quickly waned after traversing a mile of wet rainforest in an envelope of tropical steam that plastered their clothing to their bodies like a second skin. She complained every step of the way, bemoaning the dangers of tropical diseases, wild animals, and the shrill, omnipresent chatter of locusts which grated on her ears until she wanted to scream. And now she was worried about head-hunters, of all things. But she was taking the hardships of the journey about as well as could be expected, Indy supposed. Central America presented some of the most challenging terrain on earth. The Petén Basin alone covered more than 12,000 square miles of dense lowland rainforest—one-third of the total area of Guatemala. The ancient Mayan empire, which extended from the Atlantic coast of the Yucatan to the Pacific, was home to a wide range of animal species including jaguars, panthers and an incredible variety of birds, monkeys, bats, and spiders. In essence, they were exploring the largest natural zoo on the planet, which was no picnic for a cosmopolitan girl like Sophia Hapgood, raised in a world of carefree luxury and privilege. “Why would anyone build a city in this malaria-infested hole?” “Because Tikal was the center of a major trading route across the region,” Indy explained, stepping over a large tree trunk. “Think of it as the London of Central America.” “In that case, point me towards Oxford Street, because I need a new outfit,” she grunted, and awkwardly mimicked his move. “Sorry, but the fashion district went out of business a few thousand years ago.” “Damn, and I wanted to paint the town,” she said sarcastically. “Not today, Madame Sophia.” “By the way, how did you know I was in New York when you decided to drop in?” “I read an article in the Times that said you postulate on stage. I had to see that for myself.” Sophia wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. They made it sound so dirty, like those lurid tabloids.” “Perish the thought. I like a woman with a great cerebrum,” he said, smiling back at her. “Yeah, I bet you do.” A large, furry creature suddenly scampered across the path, nearly running over her feet. Sophia let out a squeal of surprise and latched onto him in fright. “Ooh! What was that?” Indy disentangled himself from her grip. “I didn’t see anything.” She pointed insistently to the spot where the animal had disappeared. “It looked like a giant hamster!” He peered into the dark underbrush, and shrugged. “Probably just a capybara.” “What’s that?” “A big hamster,” he grinned. The redhead pursed her mouth in scorn. “I hate you.” “Hate me later, sweetheart. We still have a lot of walking to do.” “How much further is it?” she whined. They had been hiking more than five hours, and she was ready to collapse from exhaustion. “You don’t want to know,” he told her. “Just keep moving.” Her shoulders slumped in despair. Sophia took a deep sigh, adjusted her pack with a grimace, and fell into step once more. Indy’s blade slashed left and right, methodically flaying a path through the tangled foliage. Marching behind him, Sophia lost all track of time. She put herself in a trance, timing her footsteps to the pace of Indy’s boots. Staring fixedly at the ground, she wasn’t prepared when he abruptly stopped. She bumped into him and looked up with a rude scowl. “Do you mind?” Indy stepped aside to let her see the rain-swollen creek that flowed through the wilderness on a meandering course, blocking their way. Leaves, branches, and other debris churned in the swift current. “Care to go for a swim?” He gestured her to proceed. She forced a tight smile. “No thanks.” Indy sized up the situation. The creek was too wide to jump across, and no telling how deep. “Then I guess we’ll have to find another way.” She watched incredulously as he used his machete to chop a thick vine that ascended into the canopy overhead. Indy hauled it over to the shore and gave it a few experimental pulls, testing his weight. “You’re out of your mind! I’m not crossing that thing. Let’s walk around it,” she suggested, pointing upstream. “It’s a creek. It goes on forever in both directions.” “I don’t believe this. You really want to play Tarzan right now?” “Do you have a better idea?” “Fine, then.” She snatched the vine away from him. “I’ll go first, if you don’t mind.” Her uncharacteristic bravado took him by surprise. “Are you sure?” “Of course. I’m lighter and you might break it before I swing across.” “Take your pack off,” Indy suggested, shedding his own bag. “Less weight. I’ll toss it over when you reach the other side.” “I can handle it, thank you very much.” She stood at the edge of the sloping bank and peered into the turbulent green tide below. Uncertainty etched her face, even though she’d already committed to the endeavor. “Me Indy, you Jane,” he joked with an encouraging smile. She gave him a withering look. “Me tired. Let’s go.” Taking a firm grip on the vine, Sophia leapt into space and sailed over the creek. The crack of breaking wood echoed like a gunshot in the trees above. She cried out in surprise as the vine abruptly dropped several feet. Gravity deposited her unceremoniously in the mud on the opposite shore. The rotten branch slapped the water a moment later, splashing her all wet. “God damn it!” Indy laughed at the sight of Sophia Hapgood, the princess of Park Avenue, floundering in the jungle stream and swearing like a sailor. He lobbed his rucksack over the water, cut another vine free, and swung across to help his companion, who was still raving when he pulled her up the slippery bank. “Do they teach you that kind of language in charm school?” “Shut up.” Flushed with humiliation, she tore off a large, waxy leaf and began to wipe the mud off her pants. “I hate this damned place, and I’m tired of walking around. This is ridiculous.” “Don’t blame me. Nur-Ab-Sal sent us here. Remember?” She gave him a murderous glare, unable to argue for once. He squinted at the leafy canopy, trying to judge the angle of the sun. “It’s going to be dark in a few hours. I’d feel better camping in the ruins instead of out in the open tonight.” “And I’d like to stay at the Biltmore. What do you expect me to do about it?” “Ask your spirit guide for directions. We should be somewhere in the vicinity by now.” “You are really pushing it, buster.” Swallowing her anger, the psychic closed her eyes and took several deep breaths to clear her mind. She swished her hands in the air, summoning an invisible essence from her surroundings. Then, with arms outstretched, she turned in a slow circle like a human divining rod. Her hands trembled spasmodically. “Yes… I sense Nur-Ab-Sal. His spirit is close,” she declared. Closer than Atlantis, that’s for sure, Indy thought, but kept it to himself. After a few moments, her arms dropped. Sophia’s eyes flicked open. “This way,” she told him, striding off purposefully. Indy grabbed his saber and followed her. He hoped Nur-Ab-Sal had a good sense of direction, because the ruins of Tikal spanned more than 50 square miles of jungle. They could be searching for a very long time. His concern was put to rest a few minutes later when they came to an abrupt clearing, where a ribbon of white stone cut through the lush wilderness like a deserted rail bed, vanishing from sight in both directions. Sophia gave him a vindicated nod. “Nur-Ab-Sal never leads astray those who seek his path.” “Okay, I’m impressed,” Indy admitted. “Which way now, enlightened one?” “Just follow me.” She turned left and continued along the path, which was covered in sparse vegetation. Indy’s compass pointed to a westerly heading. He was positive they were traveling on the sacbe, a network of paved roadways that spread across the country like a great limestone web, joining all the ceremonial centers of the Mayan empire. The true extent of the ruins was unknown since the jungle had reclaimed the ancient civilization after it was abandoned around 900 A.D. But Indy knew that if they followed one strand of the web, it would inevitably lead to a major site. Sophia paused on a rise, where a break in the trees offered them a good view of the surrounding terrain. She shielded her eyes against the sun. “Lots of hills around here,” she observed, scanning the horizon. “Those aren’t hills,” Indy said, moving up beside her. “They’re unexcavated buildings. Temples, pyramids… probably hundreds of ‘em. It’ll take more than a century to uncover everything,” he estimated. “But don’t hold your breath.” A pale flash amid the green suddenly caught Sophia’s eye. She trained her binoculars on the bright spot. The distinctive shape of a Mayan roof comb peeked over the treetops in the distance, capping an unseen temple below the horizon. “I see the pyramid!” She passed him the binoculars eagerly. “Take a look!” Indy saw the telltale signs of ancient weathered structures in the glare of the afternoon sun. “Good eyes. Looks like you found it.” The sight of the monument renewed her strength. Sophia stalked off toward the ruins at a determined pace. Within minutes they could see patches of stark limestone through intermittent gaps in the foliage. Unable to contain her excitement, she broke into a run. “Hey!” Indy exclaimed as she plunged into a grove of kapok trees and disappeared. He caught up to her a few moments later and found her kneeling in the shadow of a massive pyramid overgrown with vegetation—exactly like she had described. The ancient Mayan edifice towered over them like a stoic guardian of the jungle. Trees grew rampant up the slopes of the terraced mound, which narrowed to a truncated platform 200 feet above. From the peak, a large temple knifed the blue sky with its blade-like roof comb, while a broad staircase descended to the plaza below. Only a quarter of the hulking structure was exposed under the gnarled vines that wrapped the stone in a thick green web. Despite the work of the excavators, it appeared as if the jungle was trying to swallow the pyramid back into the earth to keep its secrets hidden forever. Sophia knelt in the grass, clutching the pendant around her neck. Her eyes were glazed in rapture. Indy remained silent, unwilling to disrupt her moment of glory. Gazing up at the majestic limestone pyramid, he was struck by the same awe that Ambrosio Tut must have felt when he first came upon the ruins in 1848. Tikal was one of the largest and most spectacular pre-Columbian cities in the Yucatan. Less than half of the known buildings had been reclaimed from the clutches of nature in the decades since its discovery. The rest lay hidden beneath shapeless mountains of dense vegetation that dotted the Guatemalan wilderness. Each hill represented a structure yet to be unearthed, a time capsule of ancient knowledge just waiting to be opened. “Thanks for letting me have my moment,” Sophia said. They gazed at the pyramid in silence. “Is this what it always feels like?” “Well, it’s one of the perks,” he replied modestly. In truth, being in the presence of ancient ruins evoked a sense of euphoria unmatched by anything else. It was a feeling of humility that electrified every fiber of his being with the promise of long-forgotten secrets waiting to be revealed. Time was irrelevant when one became attuned to the past. Indy could reach across history and connect with the people who left these monuments as a legacy to their existence. The wonder never failed to amaze him. “The stepped tiers symbolize the levels of the Mayan underworld,” he informed her. She stared across the clearing in a daze. The sight of trees growing atop the pyramid was absurd, whimsical, like something out of a dream. “What are those?” she asked, pointing at some long-tailed animals darting through the tangled overgrowth. “Coatis. They’re sort of like big squirrels.” “Are they dangerous?” “Not really.” “Then let’s go. We have to find that key.” She took a step towards the pyramid when Indy snared her by the arm. “Watch your step.” He pointed at a large circular hole in the ground, inches from her feet. The opening was nearly camouflaged by foliage. “These things are all over the place.” The dark void appeared bottomless. Sophia shivered at how close she’d come to falling into the pit. Her ashen face was etched with confusion. “It’s a chultun.” He explained that the Mayans used the reservoirs to collect drinking water during the rainy seasons, and alternately as food storage or crypts for human burials. They sidestepped the hole and crossed the open plaza. Piles of dead foliage was heaped along the base of the temple from the excavation efforts. Sophia approached the pyramid and placed her hands reverently on the stone while Indy examined the temple with academic detachment. He lifted a web of vines to discover a large square hole cut into the rock behind the leafy screen. A quick survey of the foundation revealed that the cavities punctuated the lower course of the pyramid at regular intervals. Indy was mystified. He’d never seen such a feature on any Mesoamerican structure before. Unfortunately the holes were clogged with vines, making it impossible to see inside. “Let’s take a break.” Indy shed his knapsack beside the staircase and stretched his sore arms after their arduous trek. Taking his cue, Sophia dropped her own bedroll on the grass and sat down on the lower steps. She fished out her canteen and took a long drink. Indy quenched his thirst with a swig of tepid water. They both looked up at a sudden rustling overhead. A bright green parrot lit on the branch of a tree growing on the lower course of the pyramid. Sophia glanced at the bird with disinterest, but Indy decided to have a little fun. “Polly want a cracker?” “Polly want a cracker?” echoed the parrot in a shrill voice. “You just had to do that, didn’t you?” “Smart bird,” Indy remarked. The parrot fluffed its wings, and whistled, “Smart birdy! Smart birdy!” Sophia gritted her teeth. Keeping her eyes riveted on the parrot, she slowly extended her hand. “Give me your gun. Right now.” Indy clapped her on the shoulder. “C’mon, it’s just being a parrot.” “Being a parrot! Bwaak!” “Someone needs to shoot that damn thing before it drives me crazy.” Her wish materialized a moment later when a loud gunshot shattered the solitude. The bird flapped off wildly into the air, shedding a trail of green feathers in its panicked flight. Bushes thrashed and footsteps pounded nearby. Indy drew his revolver and pulled Sophia down behind the staircase just as another shot blasted the air. He didn’t know what was happening out there, but one thing was certain. They were under attack.

8 TOMB OF AN ATLANTEAN KING

Footsteps rustled the dry ground foliage: frantic, desperate, and surprisingly swift. Indy aimed his gun over the stone banister. He scanned the plaza, tense and ready to return fire. Huddled in the crook of the ancient staircase beside him, Sophia listened in wide-eyed fear as the frenzied pattering marked the approach of the unseen enemy. He tightened his grip on the Webley just as a lithe orange shape burst into view and streaked across the clearing in a flash. The animal vanished into the jungle with a feral growl before he could shoot. More footsteps quickly followed. Then a tall man in khakis dashed around the corner of the pyramid with a long rifle. He dropped to one knee, aimed, and fired into the underbrush where the big cat had fled. The shot echoed through the green canyon and faded away in the balmy air. “Bloody jaguars!” Sophia jumped up from her hiding spot. “Did you get it?” “Good lord, man!” The rifleman wheeled in surprise, startled by the unexpected voice. He stared at the disheveled redhead in her dirty, sweat-soaked clothing. A broad grin spread across his tanned features. “I say… fancy meeting you here!” Indy stood up beside her and holstered his gun. “Likewise.” The Briton’s smile evaporated at the sight of Sophia’s companion. “Oh. Hello, Jones,” he said in a tone flatly devoid of enthusiasm. “Have we met before?” Indy’s gruff voice matched his displeasure. “No, but I recognize you from the journals.” He gave Indy the once-over. “And I must say that you certainly write better than you photograph,” he added with a distasteful sniff. Sophia giggled at the jeer. “I’m sorry, but we haven’t been introduced. I’m Sophia Hapgood.” The hunter shifted his rifle in the crook of his lanky arm, and kissed her hand with a gallant flourish. “Charles Sternhart, Ph.D., independent thinker, researcher, and merchant.” “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Sternhart,” she replied, blushing lightly. “The pleasure is all mine, darling. And please, call me Charles.” Indy checked the snaps on his satchel to conceal his sardonic expression. Anyone who would cite a list of credentials to bolster their over-inflated ego didn’t deserve to be taken seriously. Sophia was clearly charmed by the British archaeologist, but Indy thought he was a pompous ass, and opted to treat him like one. “Why are you hunting jaguars?” he asked sarcastically. “I’m not hunting them, you blithering idiot. Those damnable creatures keep getting into my food supply.” Tall, handsome, and lean, Charles Sternhart was cut from the same cloth as every turn-of- the-century British explorer. He cultivated the image in his choice of attire: An impeccably crisp safari outfit, sturdy leather boots with tall knee socks, and the customary white pith helmet to shield his eyes from the harsh sun. Even his neatly waxed moustache echoed the tradition of his Victorian forebears, though it looked painfully outdated in the present decade. Sophia offered her sympathies for all his troubles. “Oh, it’s nothing I can’t handle without my trusty Winchester.” He patted his gun affectionately. “So, what brings you all the way out here, Jonesy? Decided to take a holiday from teaching?” “Not exactly.” Indy threw a furtive glance at his partner. Sophia nodded encouragingly. “Actually, we’re hoping to find some evidence of Atlantis.” No reputable archaeologist would ever admit such a thing, but Indy didn’t give a damn what Sternhart thought about him one way or the other. “Evidence is easy, you’re surrounded by it. Proof? Now that’s hard.” The response immediately pegged him as another zealot on the quest for the lost city, just like Heimdall and Costa. Indy dispensed with his academic pride and got down to business. “What can you tell us about Plato’s lost dialogue?” Suspicion clouded Sternhart’s face. “Why do you want to know about it?” “One of our colleagues said you were an expert on the subject, and that’s why we came to ask about it.” “I’m the one who translated it, I can tell you that. I’d worry that you were here to steal my last copy, but someone called Mr. Smith beat you to it.” Sophia looked flabbergasted. “Who’s Mr. Smith?” Sternhart took some fresh ammunition from his pocket and proceeded to reload his rifle. “He showed up last week, a tall man with a German accent and a pistol. He could have taken all my souvenirs, but he only wanted the book.” “That was Kerner, using his customary alias,” surmised Indy. Sophia kicked the ground in frustration and cursed the Nazi general. “I found him a rather unlikeable chap, myself,” Sternhart replied, as if that were some consolation for their misfortune. That confirmed it, Indy thought. The Nazis had the horned idol and a copy of the Hermocrates manuscript. They couldn’t afford to waste anymore time. But there was still the matter of Sophia’s vision about the ‘keeper of the first key’. If the SS colonel was in a hurry to leave after obtaining the book, then he probably missed it altogether. The information would be useless without a way to enter Atlantis. Finding the key would give them a critical advantage, but first they had to get inside the pyramid. “What can you tell us about the temple?” Indy asked in an effort to further the cause. “The locals claimed Mayan Indians built it. Now I ask you, does this look like the work of primitive savages, or does it seem much too civilized?” “Exactly,” Sophia agreed. “It would be impossible to produce such monumental architecture without the technology of the Atlanteans. By the way, do you know Sylvanus Morley? I recently read that he was searching for clues about the original inhabitants of this area.” “That publicity-seeking twit doesn’t know a funerary crypt from a bathtub,” Sternhart snorted with contempt. “He has this ridiculous notion that inscriptions have more value than the artifacts of a civilization. Well, I’ll be hanged the day he carts a stone mural off to the British Museum. He’s digging at Chichen Itza, if you must know, but I am the one in charge here.” The list of archaeologists who had worked at Tikal was brief, but distinguished. Frederick Catherwood and John Lloyd Stephens had surveyed and mapped the city in the 17th century, while Alfred P. Maudslay literally wrote the book on Mayan history in his definitive 5- volume Biologia Centrali-Americana. However, his most visible contribution to Mesoamerican archaeology was the stunning vistas he’d cleared around Tikal’s main plaza during his 1881 expedition. Sternhart, for all of his pomp and pride, had barely excavated a single pyramid, Indy thought smugly. Unless he uncovered a massive treasure trove, he would be lucky if history gave him a passing glance. “My work is truly significant,” he boasted to Sophia. “I made a thorough survey of the outer casing when we began to uncover it, and there were no tunnels penetrating the interior. I was the first one to set foot inside of the temple since antiquity.” In spite of his dislike for the British scholar, Indy was grudgingly impressed. Most of the well-known Mayan sites had been ravaged by greedy looters searching for gold artifacts that could be sold for quick profit. A virgin temple was one in a million. Sternhart was a lucky man indeed. Indy gestured to the forested mound looming above them. “How long did it take to clear off the overgrowth?” “Nearly four months. We’ve been at it since March, and I say it’s progressing quite nicely. I had hoped to have it entirely uncovered by the end of summer, but a hurricane passed through recently and brought the excavation to a complete halt. My workers deserted me and returned to the city to aid the repair effort. Rotten bit of luck, I’m afraid,” he lamented. “Who knows when the dig will resume?” “That’s too bad. It’s a beautiful temple.” Sophia remarked. “Oh, don’t worry. There’s plenty here to keep me busy for quite awhile.” Indy imagined that Sternhart’s spirited optimism concerned Sophia more than his archaeological agenda. “I’m sure there is.” “Say, I don’t suppose we can take a look inside?” she asked capriciously. “But of course, my dear! I would be delighted to show you. Please follow me.” Fawning like a schoolgirl, she took his arm and threw Indy a playful wink as Sternhart led them around the forested pyramid. A network of splayed roots clung to the mossy base stones like pale spider webs, anchoring the lowermost trees to the artificial ridge. The campsite was set up on the lawn beside the temple. It consisted of a tent village and some work tables clustered around a large central mess tent. Boxes of food and supplies were strewn across the grass where the foraging jaguar had been interrupted. There was also a crude souvenir stand brimming with Mayan paraphernalia. Sophia picked up a scale miniature pyramid. “How remarkable! Did you make these?” “Well, yes, actually. I sell them to help finance my workers’ salary. I also have souvenir postcards, if you’re interested.” Indy examined one of the replicas and saw a price scrawled on the bottom. “Jungle tourism,” he marveled. Some people would do anything to make a buck. “I foresee the day when Tikal will be a thriving tourist destination like Cairo. I am simply capitalizing on the trend.” Indy regarded the dense wilderness around them. “I wouldn’t bank on it anytime soon, that’s for sure.” “Let’s get on with it, then.” Sternhart grabbed a lantern and escorted them towards the pyramid.

Darkness closed around them as they passed through the corbeled entrance into the main hall, a long corridor with angled walls that narrowed to a point overhead. The temperature was noticeably cooler inside the temple, where ancient stone leached the moisture from the air. The pungent odor of moss filled their nostrils. The trio followed the passage to a bend which culminated in an empty chamber. From there, daylight reached them as a faint blue halo in the outer doorway. The room had the appearance of a burial crypt from what Indy could see, but there was no sarcophagus or painted murals that commonly adorned most royal Mayan tombs. It was completely barren. The only decoration was a pair of wave-like designs that ran from floor- to-ceiling in a vertical band, framing a section of blank wall at the end of the passage. “Engraved symbols of water and life,” he noted, tracing a finger along the interlocking chain. Sophia looked around the featureless corridor in acute disappointment. “This is it?” she balked. “There’s nothing here!” “Well, there is one thing.” Sternhart beckoned them over to the far corner, where a large sculpture was hidden in the shadows. His lantern revealed a stylized elephant head with large ears and stunted tusks. There was a slot in the wall between the tusks, indicating the place where the animal’s trunk had once been. “What do you think, Dr. Jones?” “It could be a representation of Ganesh, the Hindu elephant god,” Indy mused. “He was known as the Remover of Obstacles.” “But of course there are no elephants on this side of the ocean,” Sternhart pointed out. “There were elephants in Atlantis! Plato wrote about them in the Critias!” Sophia chimed in excitement. “By jove, you’re right! I never made the connection!” Sternhart puzzled at the significance of this new information. “I’ve been here all year, and I couldn’t make heads nor tails of this room. It does seem rather strange that a temple of this grandeur would serve no apparent purpose, don’t you agree?” “I do.” Indy peered into the cavity between the tusks. He put his hand inside and felt a smooth, round socket. It wobbled slightly when he pushed down, but he didn’t have the leverage to move it any further. He withdrew his arm and went over to the sculpted wave design for another look. Its shape gave him an idea. Moving from top to bottom, he traced the carving with his fingertips and noticed how the incised motif grew noticeably deeper as the spirals intertwined near the middle of the wall. “Hmm…” “What is it, Indy?” “Give me that lantern.” Sternhart obliged. Indy took a rag out of his satchel, unscrewed the fuel reservoir cap and doused the rag in kerosene. Then he rubbed it into the crevice to dissolve the centuries of grime accumulated around the wave. The British archaeologist watched him nervously. “I hope you know what you’re doing.” “Trust me.” Indy unfolded his pocketknife and deftly inserted the blade into the crevice at the edge of the spiral, much to Sternhart’s horror. “Now hold on a moment, old bean. You can’t possibly—” Before he could finish, Indy wedged the knife back and forth around the curve of the wave, which lifted a fraction of an inch out of the wall. “Aha!” Sophia clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s coming loose!” Indy methodically traced the wave, chipping away grit until the frieze was defined as a separate piece fitted into the wall. Sternhart quickly added his own knife to the effort. Together they carefully pried the heavy stone free and lowered it to the floor. Carved from a single piece of limestone, the twisted sculpture measured nearly three feet long, and over four inches thick. Moreover, it seemed to resemble a curved elephant trunk as Indy had suspected. Sternhart slapped him on the back. “Brilliant thinking, lad!” “I bet Ganesh will be happy to have his nose back,” Sophia said. “Then let’s not keep him waiting,” Indy replied. She helped them pick up the spiral and maneuver it over to the elephant head, wrestling one end into the hollow niche between the tusks. Indy pushed with his shoulder and felt the nub of the stone wave settle into the socket. They stood back to admire the completed sculpture. “Well, that’s all very nice, but what purpose does it serve?” Sternhart wondered. Sophia stepped forward confidently. “I know.” She crouched under the elephant head and pushed up to raise the trunk, moving it to a horizontal position. They heard the muted click of a hidden mechanism, followed by an ominous grinding sound. A section of the wall rumbled open directly across the passage, sliding upward to reveal a hidden chamber within. Lying prone on its back was a robed skeleton wearing an elaborate silver crown engraved with the same running spiral design that adorned the outer walls of the crypt. “Bless my soul, the tomb of an Atlantean king!” Sternhart cried in triumph. “Oh my God!” Sophia leaned into the tomb eagerly. Her green eyes sparkled with wonder at the discovery. But her delight quickly shifted to revulsion at the skeleton’s appearance. The remains featured knobby protrusions on the wrists, misshapen teeth, and stunted horns growing from its forehead; a hideously deformed parody of a human being. Strips of reddish leather were tightly wrapped around the malformed appendages. The exposed bones were covered in a furry moss-like texture. Sternhart grimaced in disgust. “How positively revolting.” “Look, it’s holding something.” Sophia pointed at an object clenched in the corpse’s bony hand. “Let me see that.” Sternhart carefully pried open the skeletal fingers to retrieve a flat, circular stone. Indy used the lantern to illuminate the artifact. “What is it?” “It’s a small stone disk with images of land and sea engraved on it. I do believe it’s a worldstone!” Sophia clapped her hands. “The key to Atlantis! We found it! Nur-Ab-Sal was right!” Indy reached into the alcove and touched the skeletal femur bone, rubbing his fingers together as cinnamon ash trickled between them. “Calcium. This guy must be at least five thousand years old.” “Impossible. This is a Pre-Classic tomb, Dr. Jones, and therefore cannot be any older than 1,800 B.C.,” declared Sternhart adamantly. “Gosh, it gives me the creeps.” Sophia prodded the crusty leg and then quickly wiped her hands on her pants. “Why are the bones red, Indy?” “Paleolithic tribes used red paint to confer immortality on an important person, such as a king or chieftain. It was essentially a primitive mummification ritual.” “You mean like reincarnation?” she asked. He gave her a wry glance. “Don’t tell me that you think this is Nur-Ab-Sal.” “No, he perished in Atlantis long ago. These are the remains of another survivor.” She gazed over the entombed skeleton, studying it for clues. “He must have been an important dignitary or an Atlantean high priest, if he was buried with that keystone,” she reasoned. “Wait. There’s something else,” Sternhart said, pointing to the back of the tomb. Indy raised the lantern. Its orange glow spilled over the wall to reveal an elaborately carved frieze etched into the stone behind the grotesque skeleton. The scene depicted a Mayan in a canoe, paddling across a watery expanse. In the background was the crude image of a mountain spewing tendrils of curling smoke—a volcano. On the left side of the panel, a stepped pyramid crumbled into the sea.

Indy pushed back the crown of his hat for a better view. Then he noticed the image of a drowning figure and a dead fish on the water’s surface. The scene moved under the wavering flame, dancing in the lantern light. The carved waves seemed to ripple and flow. The volcanic smoke glowed red. An expression of worry flickered on the rower’s face as he fled the destruction. Sophia stumbled back, swooning. “I don’t believe it… This was the first Atlantean king to reach the New World. The carving commemorates his journey.” The panel was fascinating, but Indy had a more logical interpretation. “It could be the Mayan flood myth from the Popol Vuh.” But Sophia was insistent. “Don’t you see? It’s the story of Atlantis!” She jabbed a finger at the engraving. “There’s your proof, Mr. Sternhart—right in front of your eyes!” “Sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll need a little more.” He pulled a gun on them with an expression cold as the stone walls of the crypt. Indy felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. “What are you doing?” “I know some chaps who are rather keen to get their hands on this piece.” He pocketed the worldstone, then aimed the gun at Sophia. “And I’ll have your necklace, as well.” A wave of anger surged through Indy as he noticed the Walther P-38 in Sternhart’s grip. His hand flew to his holster. The Englishman primed his pistol with a sharp click. “Not so fast. Be a good chap and don’t try anything foolish. Now put your gun down.” Smarting from the betrayal, Indy placed the Webley on the floor and backed away several steps. “How much are the Nazis paying you?” “You can’t put a price on self-preservation, Jonesy, but it’s a substantial amount I can assure you.” He twitched his fingers in Sophia’s direction. “Now my dear, if you would be so kind.” She covered her pendant protectively. “No…” “Give it to him,” Indy ordered. “But Indy!” “Now.” She reluctantly lifted the chain from her neck with the pouty expression of a child relinquishing her doll to a scolding parent. Her visible anguish stoked Indy’s outrage to the limit. Sternhart stepped forward, anxious to claim his prize. Indy unfurled the bullwhip and cast it in a fluid arc. The leather hissed through the ancient gloom, slashing a livid red stripe across the Briton’s face. Sternhart dropped his pistol with a howl of pain, and covered his bleeding face. Indy kicked the gun away into the shadows. “Give me the stone.” Suddenly the temple began to shake. The floor rumbled below their feet. Dust rained from the ceiling. An ominous grinding emanated deep within the core of the pyramid. The swath of pale daylight flickered in the doorway as a stone panel began to descend over it. Charles Sternhart stared at the necklace dangling from Sophia’s hand, caught between the goal of his mission and the desire to escape with his life. Then everything happened at once. He made a frantic dash for the corridor and nearly collided with the parrot that winged its way into the room, squawking in alarm. Startled by the bird, Sternhart stumbled back and tripped over his own feet, landing on the floor. He dove towards the opening and hastily scrambled under the trap with only inches to spare. Indy arrived just as the slab closed against the floor, sealing them inside the chamber. He pounded his fist on the wall. “Damn it!” All at once, the tremor stopped. Everything was silent. The only light came from the lamp which had been abandoned by the duplicitous archaeologist. Now perched on the head of the elephant statue, the parrot flapped its wings restlessly in the dark. Sophia rubbed her face in agitation. “This is not happening.” “Unfortunately, it is.” Indy said, coiling his whip. He snapped it to his belt and retrieved his gun. He raised the lantern and scanned the walls of the darkened chamber. Moving from one corner to another, he ran his hands over the damp stone, searching every surface with keen attention. “What are you looking for?” “Temples like this were generally built with a series of hidden passageways to confuse grave robbers, and the builders always left themselves a way out in case a jealous king wanted to keep his tomb a secret.” “You mean they were buried alive?” Sophia was appalled. Indy shrugged. “It happened more often than you think. Now, we just have to find the exit.” “Exit!” repeated the parrot. “Then why not start with the most obvious place?” Sophia swatted the bird from the statue. It flapped noisily around the room, bumping off the ceiling. She pushed the elephant nose back to its original position and the crypt rumbled closed. Then she forced it against the wall. There was a muffled ratcheting sound and another door opened adjacent to the sealed exit where Sternhart had escaped. The parrot winged for the new opening and vanished through it. Indy tipped his hat to her ingenuity. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” “Play your cards right and I might give you a few more,” she said suggestively. Indy smiled, intrigued. “Is that a promise?” “We’ll see.” They moved towards the passage when Sophia stopped. She knelt down to pick up something on the floor. “What is it?” She held up a tiny jewel. Its fiery gleam burned in the lantern light. “Orichalcum. It must have fallen out of the tomb. We may need it later.” She put it in her pocket and they moved deeper into the pyramid. 9 TRAPPED!

Indy felt the cold rush of terror a fraction of a second before they heard the chilling noise. He pushed Sophia forward and they hit the floor as the crash of stone reverberated in the tunnel with a bone-jarring thud. Darkness cloaked the passageway in a thick veil of shadow. The doorway had vanished behind a massive granite slab. Sophia sat up, stunned. Her face was pale with shock. Then she came to her senses. “No!” She leapt to her feet and slapped her palms against the monolithic barrier, but it was too late. The door was closed forever. The dust settled around them. Indy scowled at her. “I thought you were a psychic. You didn’t know that was going to happen?” “I’m only as psychic as Nur-Ab-Sal allows. I never said I could predict the future.” “Terrific,” he sighed. He adjusted the lantern to burn brighter. “Okay, stay behind me and don’t touch anything.” He fixed her with a stern expression. “I’m serious. This isn’t a game.” “Whoever said it was?” “We still have to find a way out of here.” “Lead the way.” Caution governed every step as Indy moved along the narrow tunnel with the lantern held aloft, scrutinizing their path for any sign of a trap. The walls of the inner passage were in remarkable condition unlike the pyramid’s crumbling exterior, and that worried him because any arcane security measures would also be in good working order. Indy wasn’t fooled by the primitive architecture. He’d experienced enough death-riddled tombs in his career to know that things were never as simple as they looked. In locations around the world, he’d seen the lethal defense mechanisms employed by the ancients to safeguard their most valuable treasures. There were a thousand gruesome ways to die, and the next unwary step could be a man’s last. Survival often depended on quick reflexes and a keen sense of intuition. Sometimes Indy could anticipate the horrific trials they devised. Other times, he couldn’t. He was lucky, but somehow they always managed to surprise him. The heavy silence was disrupted by a frantic rustling as the parrot careened down the hallway in search of escape. “Do you think we’re really trapped in here?” Sophia’s voice echoed off the stone with a hollow ring. “Maybe for a little while, but I don’t like to stay trapped anywhere for too long. We need to find that book before Kerner gets ahead of us.” “Well I’m glad you’re finally coming around,” she said. “It’s hard to argue with proof etched into the wall of a 5000-year-old crypt.” “What’s that?” She pointed ahead, where the floor glittered curiously like gems on a sheet of black velvet. Indy pushed the lantern forward as they drew closer, but the darkness refused to give up its secrets. “Maybe it’s diamonds! It could be the king’s treasure!” She trotted past him in a burst of excitement, forgetting about his previous warning. “Damn it, Sophia!” He ran after her and caught up just in time. The floor suddenly split open, falling away like an inverted drawbridge. Sophia gave a startled yelp. Her arms flailed in panic as she tried to keep from pitching forward into the chasm. Indy spun and tackled her, hooking an arm around her waist. His other hand shot out to grasp the edge of the yawning pit. The trapdoor slammed roughly into the ground and he nearly lost his grip. Hanging from the steep incline, Indy dared a look over his shoulder. He saw rows of razor-thin obsidian knives staggered down the 10-foot drop. In a diabolical feat of engineering, the blades were oriented edgewise to present a nearly invisible profile in the darkness. Sophia twisted her body, trying to shake him free. “Get off me!” “Stop moving!” He struggled to maintain his grip on the thrashing woman. A loose stone fell into the pit with a metallic plink, disturbing a sheet of glittering sand that covered the bottom. The smooth white powder stippled into a grid of geometric pinpricks. Indy shuddered. An unwary trespasser would be flayed to ribbons on the razor slide, then deposited onto a salt bed lined with iron nails to suffer an agonizingly painful death. “Hurry up and grab the ledge!” he urged her. She reached up and curled her fingers over the protruding slab. Indy released her and quickly grabbed on with his other hand, easing the strain on his muscles. The lantern was burning his arm, but his leather sleeve protected him from the worst of the heat. He felt the shape of her body pressed beneath him and smelled the scent of her sweat-soaked hair against his face. “We’ll have to do this again sometime without the spikes,” he muttered suggestively in her ear. Sophia bristled like a cat. “If you don’t move right now—” she warned. Indy redistributed his weight and eased over to hang beside her. “That was some cheap trick, Jones. You’ll do anything for a thrill, won’t you?” “Can it, sweetheart. I just saved you from your peace-loving Atlanteans.” He directed her to the legion of gleaming razorblades below their heels. She glanced down in horror, then flashed him a guilt-stricken look. “Sorry. I didn’t know.” “You can thank me later. Now let’s get the hell out of here.” “Sounds good to me.” Grunting with effort, Indy pulled himself up and eased over the edge until he was sitting on the hallway floor. He set the lantern down and quickly hauled Sophia out of the trap while the parrot circled the abyss and perched on the wall above them. “Hermocrates, a friend of Socrates! Bawwk!” She gave a weary sigh. “Remind me to kill that bird if we get out of here alive.” Indy looked across the razor-lined pit. A fifteen-foot gulf separated them from the passage beyond. There were no wooden beams above to snare with his bullwhip. No easy way across. Sophia bit her fingernails nervously. “Any ideas?” “I’m open to suggestions,” he admitted. The parrot flapped its wings, drawing Indy’s attention to a narrow sill above them. The ledge ran the length of the hallway, and provided the only way to traverse the deadly pit. Sophia fidgeted anxiously. Her composure had been reduced to a bundle of nerves after surviving the booby-trapped floor. If she panicked, there was no telling what she might do. “Are you ready to get some fresh air?” “God, yes.” “Then turn around.” He spun her to face the wall. Before she could protest, he crouched and embraced her legs, then lifted her towards the ceiling. “What are you doing?!” “Getting us out of here. Now grab onto that ledge.” Tracing the narrow sill across the pit, Sophia realized what he had in mind. “Are you trying to get us killed? We can’t do that!” She writhed frantically in his grip. “Indy, put me down right now!” “Hold still,” he grimaced, struggling to keep her steady. “Stand on the bricks like this. Here.” He clutched her boot heel and guided her toes into a crevice in the ancient stonework. She immediately locked her other foot into the wall. The parrot flapped its wings uneasily as she reached for the stone outcropping. Sophia took a swipe at it. “Shoo! Get out of here!” The bird flew off to escape her vindictive attack. With her weight distributed between the wall and the ledge, Indy put his hands on her bottom and pushed her closer to the ceiling. She glanced back with a smile. “See anything you like down there?” “Maybe if I had more light.” The lantern rested on the floor by his feet. “Hmm, that’s too bad.” She got a firm grip on the ledge. Indy watched as she carefully inched sideways on her toes, testing the method that would carry her across the pit. “Good. Try each handhold before you move, and don’t look down. I’m coming up next.” Securing the lantern handle over his holster, Indy jumped up and caught the slim vestibule protruding from the wall. He jammed his boots into the stone crevice and began to negotiate the treacherous chasm, acutely aware of the ebony razors gleaming below. It was a delicate balancing act, he quickly realized, like a tightrope walker without a safety net. A few feet away, Sophia crept along with deliberate slowness. Her arms quivered with the strain of supporting her entire body. Sweat burned her eyes, but she couldn’t wipe them without losing her grip. “I’m going to kill that miserable bastard...” she huffed, sidling cautiously along the rim. Indy grappled his way closer. “Sternhart? What did you see in him, anyway?” “Charm,” she replied without hesitation. “What’s the matter, I’m not handsome enough for you?” She put a little more distance between them. “You’re a different kind of handsome, Indy.” “Thanks. That makes me feel better.” A piece of the ledge suddenly broke free with a sharp crack!—a sound like a cold knife in his belly—and Sophia fell screaming into the void. Startled, Indy nearly lost his grip as her sharp cry of pain shattered his soul. He clutched desperately at the ledge, trembling with heartache at how swiftly her life had ended. He glanced over his shoulder, fearing the worst sight imaginable. Indy gushed a sigh of relief when he saw that she’d landed at the edge of the pit with her legs dangling over the side. “Indy! Help me!” Sophia kicked frantically, her boot tips skimming the lethal razorblades just inches below her. Her arms scrabbled for a grip on the stone floor. She slid backwards, unable to stop herself. Spurred by her terrified cries, he reached across the broken gap and grasped the other side of the ledge in a feat of heart-stopping dexterity. Indy let go and dropped to the ground. He rolled over, snaring her by the wrists just as she was about to plummet into the terrible jaws below. “Don’t let go of me!” she pleaded hysterically. Indy dug his heels into the floor and resolutely pulled with all his might, drawing her out of the pit until she lay beside him. Sophia burrowed her head into his jacket, sobbing. Indy held her protectively. “I’ve got you now,” he soothed her while she trembled in his arms. “Are you okay?” She nodded wordlessly in the flickering lamplight. Then her fear was replaced by a look of wistful longing. She raised her face to his. Indy leaned closer in anticipation. “Indy, look… I see light over there.” She pointed down the tunnel. “Maybe it’s the way out!” He grabbed her by the arm. “Be careful. That light at the end of a tunnel is usually a train.” “Don’t worry. Nur-Ab-Sal says it’s not a trap.” “Your spirit guide has nothing to lose—we do. Let’s take it one step at a time.” They moved slowly down the hall towards the spot of light which appeared to hover in the gloomy darkness. The end of the passage was blocked by a solid wall. In the center was a polished metal disk embedded in the stone. “It’s an ancient mirror.” She touched the silver plate. “This must be a door.” “I don’t see a keyhole anywhere.” Indy swept his hands over the smooth limestone, searching for a concealed handle. “There has to be a way to open it. I just want to get out,” she pouted, and leaned against the wall in desperation. Indy saw a green flash of light. The eyes of her pendant glowed brightly, reflected in the mirror. The wall rumbled. “Get back!” They retreated a safe distance and watched as the stone barrier sank into the floor to reveal another chamber beyond. The parrot swept down and flew through the opening with a delighted whistle. Sophia began to follow it, but Indy grabbed her by the belt and hauled her back. The temple shook with a deafening crash. They were blown off their feet by a powerful rush of air that exploded from the passage, followed by a gut-wrenching tremor which knocked them senseless. They sat up in a daze amid a snowstorm of feathers. Indy touched his ear and felt blood on his fingers. A kaleidoscope of colors swirled in his vision. He fumbled for a bright orange blur nearby, grabbing the lantern before any fuel spilled out. Sophia picked up a green feather and regarded it with disdain. “Good riddance.” Cool blue light seeped from the new doorway. Inside, they found a cavernous space defined by weak ambience streaming through a series of holes along the distant walls—the same ones Indy had seen outside, now free of the choking vines. They had reached the center of the pyramid, but its hollow core was a completely unique feature that he had never encountered in traditional Mayan architecture. “Indy, you have to see this…” In the middle of the cavern, Sophia stood gazing at a thick metal column that rose from the floor and vanished into the darkness above. He carried the lantern over, startled to find the strangest object he’d ever seen in his life. The towering beam was sandwiched between a pair of carriage-sized bronze wheels that were countersunk into the floor. Each one was rimmed with gear teeth that neatly interlocked with a knurled channel in the sides of the column. The wheels were joined to a bulky housing that embraced the pillar. Indy was dumbstruck. The anachronistic device looked like something produced during the Industrial Revolution, not by the ancient Maya. “This is incredible…” he said with genuine awe. “But what is it?” Sophia circled the contraption, studying it from all sides. “I think it’s some kind of a machine. In fact, it almost looks like—” She snapped her fingers in realization. “Of course!” She dug in her pocket for the shiny bead they’d found earlier. Indy joined her by a panel mounted between the oversized gears. Embossed on its tarnished surface was a horned face identical to her pendant. “Be careful. This thing looks dangerous,” he warned her. “Don’t worry. I’m the Atlantis expert, remember?” She fed the pellet into the icon’s mouth. The demon’s eyes flashed and the floor beneath them heaved with a metallic groan. They were tossed to their knees as the bronze wheels chewed into the column. The mechanism rose into the air, lifting a section of the floor with it. “It’s an elevator!” cried Sophia over the noise of the prehistoric gears ratcheting together. The platform climbed into the darkness, picking up speed. “I thought Mr. Otis invented the elevator!” Indy shouted as they hurtled blindly skyward in a terrifying rush. Sophia laughed with delight, but Indy’s heart was lodged firmly in his throat. At the periphery of the lantern’s glow, he saw the surrounding stone walls narrow as they ascended rapidly. Indy pulled her down beside the control panel, fearing they would be crushed against the ceiling when they reached the top of the pyramid. The odor of burning metal singed their nostrils moments before sparks erupted from the rapidly-spinning wheels. A sharp jolt wracked the platform. It listed alarmingly to one side and scraped along the wall, raining a shower of fire into the black abyss. Sophia howled in terror and clutched the bronze panel to keep from falling. Indy snared her around the waist, holding on tight until the ancient elevator came to an abrupt halt in the middle of a small room. The ominous creak of metal turned his blood to ice. “Move! Go!” He shoved her roughly and they tumbled to the floor just as the column shattered like glass. The platform vanished in a cloud of rust, and fell for a brief eternity before crashing in a thunderous heap at the bottom of the shaft. Their lantern clattered down the abyss after it, gone forever. Indy sat up, badly shaken. “Let’s take the stairs next time.” “N-no kidding,” Sophia stammered. Her face was paler than usual. A faint buzzing sound came through a rectangular doorway covered in a screen of thick vines. Beyond the foliage they could see the dim glow of evening. Sophia got to her feet unsteadily and wiggled through the curtain of vegetation, anxious to leave the pyramid. Indy was about to follow when he noticed something etched above the doorway. Squinting in the dim light, he saw the running spiral design, urging him onward.

Daylight was a memory in the sky when Indy emerged from the pyramid at dusk. Its overgrown summit was covered with trees and plants, a green plateau floating above the sea of endless jungle that stretched across the horizon. The buzz of insects filled the air. Sophia stood atop the western stairway, basking in the last rays of sunlight. She fingered her pendant absently, lost in thought. Indy touched her shoulder. “Hey. Are you okay?” “I can’t believe I almost died in there,” she said quietly. “And for what? We didn’t even get the key.” “Do you still think it’s worth it?” She looked at him, appalled. “We can’t quit now. If the Nazis get a hold of the Atlantean’s power—” “Look, I know what’s at stake, but the odds are so remote that Kerner will find anything besides a couple of old stones. And I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s just not worth the risk.” She embraced him in the twilight. “Please stay with me, Indy. I promise I’ll be more careful from now on.” He gave her a gentle kiss on the head. “Okay. We’ll keep going then.” “Thank you for saving me back there,” she told him sincerely. “Come on. Let’s get moving while we can still see our way down.” He took her hand and they carefully descended the steps on the excavated side of the pyramid. Halfway to the bottom, gunfire shattered the evening tranquility. Bullets punched into the limestone masonry, stinging them with flying rock chips. Indy pulled Sophia onto the nearest rampart and ducked beside the staircase. There was a pause in the strafing. “Guten Tag, Herr Jones! So nice of you to join us this evening. We were getting anxious that out prize might have been lost. And here you are, just in time to deliver it to us.” “What prize?” he yelled back. “The necklace, of course. Do you still have it?” Indy drew his gun. “Yeah, I’ve got it right here!” He aimed over the staircase and blasted off a few shots until the hammer fell on an empty chamber. Standing in the clearing below, the gunman leveled his weapon up the slope of the pyramid and fired again, briefly revealing his position by the flash of the muzzle. Sophia covered her ears against the noise. “Who on earth would be shooting at us?” “Our friends from Iceland,” he said, breaking open his gun to reload. “They’re agents working for Kerner.” Indy plugged six fresh bullets into the Webley and snapped the revolver shut. He paused. The air was suddenly quiet. The only sound was the chirr of jungle insects buzzing in the dark. The Nazis had stopped firing. Indy peered over the banister, but couldn’t see anything in the overwhelming blackness. “Jones!” The shooter called from the base of the pyramid. “Give us the necklace and we will let you live!” “When did you guys become so reasonable?” he shouted back. “Since it is too dark for me to kill you now,” Torsten replied matter-of-factly. He was right. It was pitch black, and they were now just voices in the dark. Indy holstered his gun. “Now, throw down the necklace and nobody will be hurt.” Sophia clutched his arm with a glare of scathing intensity. “Don’t you dare!” “Fräulein Hapgood! Surely you don’t value a piece of jewelry more than your own life?” “If you guys want it so bad, then come up here and get it!” Indy challenged. “You have one last chance, Jones. Give me the necklace or die.” Torsten paused in the darkness. “Though it would be a shame to waste your lovely companion before I enjoy the pleasure of her company.” “Your mother!” Indy pointed the Webley at the smug voice and emptied the gun into the sea of blackness. The German laughed. “Your aim is terrible, Dr. Jones! I think you need some more light.” From the bottom of the staircase they saw a small flicker of flame in the darkness. The flash was bright enough to reveal a lantern with a rag sticking out of the fuel reservoir. “Oh shit,” Indy swore as the Nazi hurled the firebomb at the temple. The globe shattered against the stone with a tremendous whoosh! and a gigantic ball of orange light stunned the night. The flames spread across the vine-covered pyramid in a sheet of liquid fire. Indy snared Sophia by the arm and fled along the terrace to outrun the heatwave that incinerated the air like a broiler oven. Bullets raked the steps as the Nazis opened fire on their newly-illuminated targets. The temple surged with movement. Wildlife poured from the blazing slopes as animals abandoned the thick vegetation. Bats squealed from the raging inferno amid the smoke and glowing ashes that flickered into the night sky. Coatis scampered away in panic, bounding down the mountain of fire while the Nazis hosed the pyramid with bullets. Insects and snakes crawled through the burning flora, desperate to escape the flames. They ran flat-out for the end of the pyramid, oblivious to the gunfire. The roaring flames were now the deadlier threat. Sophia coughed in the acrid smoke. She stumbled, scraping her knee on the rough stone. Indy dragged her around the corner and they plunged into the jungle, a vertical black wilderness untouched by the hellish blaze. They ran through the tangled brush, meandering along the stepped courses while the foliage crackled in the distance. High above, the temple’s burning roof-comb pierced the night sky like a flaming dagger. The fire suddenly crested over the monument, bathing the western face of the temple in vivid orange light. The flames rushed down the other side in a roaring tidal wave. They tore recklessly through the thick trees and roots that snaked over the broken stone ledge until they reached the staircase. Descending the pyramid in the glare of the flaming avalanche, they reached the ground and ran towards the jungle.

Sophia focused on Indy’s shape in the darkness, intent on keeping him in sight. Suddenly a fiery pain ringed her torso and the ground swallowed her up. She landed on her back, stunned and gasping for breath. Dazed, she sat up in a small room with circular stone walls. Flickering orange light rimmed the hole above her. She’d fallen into one of the chultuns Indy had warned her about. Sophia touched her sore ribs and winced in pain. It hurt badly, and she didn’t know if she could climb out of the pit. The roaring flames grew louder as the fire swept closer to the jungle. She jumped up resolutely. She had to escape before she was burned alive. Sophia was reaching for the hole when she saw movement outside. “Indy! Help me!” she called out in panic. A feral growl answered her cry. Her blood turned to ice when she saw the golden eyes of a jaguar peering down at her. Startled, she scrambled back into the chamber. The big cat dropped into the hole with graceful ease. It hissed, baring its sharp fangs at her. Sophia pressed against the wall in terror. She was trapped. The animal steeled to pounce when a burst of ruby light scathed the passage, startling the cat. The eyes of her pendant were ablaze. It froze uncertainly, mesmerized by the spirit of Nur-Ab-Sal. There was a quick movement from above. A loud blast shattered the calm. The jaguar’s head snapped violently to the side, and it collapsed with a grunt. Crouching by the hole, Indiana Jones pushed back the brim of his hat with the smoking barrel of his gun. “You won’t find Atlantis down there.” “Indy, thank God. I thought I was catnip.” “Not tonight, hon. Let’s get out of here.” He dropped his bullwhip into the cenote and Sophia climbed the braided lash. She threw her arms around him tightly, trembling from fright. “It’s okay now,” he said, returning her embrace. She looked around in concern. Sternhart’s campsite was ablaze in the distance, but the fire hadn’t crossed the plaza into the jungle yet. “Where did they go?” “I guess they didn’t stick around. Probably figured we were done for.” But Indy wanted to be sure. He took her hand and they crept along the jungle, circling back towards the burning pyramid. Hidden in the trees, they surveyed the plaza for any sign of the Nazis. When he was certain they were gone, they dashed for the temple to retrieve their packs. Their supplies were scattered over the grass by the staircase. The Nazis had searched their bags. The heat from the roaring fire was unbearable, so they quickly stuffed what they could grab into their rucksacks and returned to the safety of the forest. As they began walking, Indy had one question. “Why is everyone so interested in your necklace?” “They think it will lead them to Atlantis. But it won’t,” she said. “Why not?” “Because I am the vessel for Nur-Ab-Sal’s spirit. He can only manifest through me, so the necklace is useless by itself.” “Well, considering that Hitler’s boys are on the case, it must be a top drawer priority in Berlin. We need to get back to New York and find that book, fast.” “Maybe we could wire Dr. Brody to help us. That would probably save some time,” Sophia suggested. “Marcus isn’t the best person for finding things,” Indy confessed. “But I’ll send him a telegram to let him know that we’re coming home.”

10 FORTUNE-TELLING

“It must be here somewhere,” Marcus Brody said, patting down the front of his suit jacket. Sophia Hapgood adjusted her pince-nez glasses with a frustrated sigh as the elderly curator searched his pockets for the key to the archive room on the second floor of Caswell Hall. Indy knew she was anxious to find the Hermocrates manuscript, the purported lost dialogue of Plato which would reveal the location of Atlantis. Sophia had obsessed over it for the duration of their trip back from Central America, contemplating the secrets it promised to reveal once they found the book. The sooner the better, as far as Indy was concerned, because he was tired of hearing her talk about it. “Ah, there it is!” Brody announced, producing the key from his breast pocket. He jabbed it into the lock upside-down, and fumbled to make it fit. Sophia coughed impatiently. Indy shot her a stern glare. Fortunately, Brody was too preoccupied with the door to notice her rudeness. “Oh, Dr. Jones! Yoo-hoo, Dr. Jones!” They turned to see a well-dressed coed running down the hallway, waving frantically. The girl came to an abrupt stop and quickly reached up to catch the beret that slipped off her forehead. She gave him a sheepish smile. “Professor Jones, I’ve been looking all over for you!” “Hi, Kathleen. Nice to see you again,” he said pleasantly. “Gee, you sure look dandy today!” she beamed with unalloyed admiration. Her dark, curly hair danced around her shoulders as she twisted from side to side, hugging a clipboard to her chest. Indy blinked wide in surprise, disoriented by the strong scent of perfume that wafted over him. She must have poured the whole bottle on herself. “Why, uh... thank you,” he smiled uncertainly. After more than a week traveling abroad, Indy had resumed his clean-shaven professional image: a beige tweed suit, bal-oxford patent leather shoes, and wire-frame glasses. Sophia, meanwhile, was dressed in a conservative pastel blouse, thigh-length skirt and stiletto pumps. Her ovoid spectacles and neatly-pinned hairstyle reminded Indy of a librarian. It was a look that he found oddly attractive. Brody frowned at the impetuous brunette. “Now Miss Marc, Professor Jones is busy with some very important work, and he cannot afford any disruptions at the moment.” “Oh, I only have a few questions this time, Dr. Brody, I promise.” “It’s okay, Marcus. She’s not bothering me.” “Thank you, Dr. Jones!” Kathleen gushed in her melodious trill. Her inquisitive blue eyes sparkled with joy. Kathleen Marc had a cherubic face with prominent eyebrows and a dainty button of a nose. Her full lips displayed an impish curl at the corners whenever she smiled. Indy knew the petite coed well. Not only as the editor of the Barnett Bugle, but because she had an intense crush on him. Kathy was a familiar presence in the archaeology department, despite being a journalism major. She always found a reason to visit during office hours, and freely volunteered to run errands for him whenever possible. Although some of his colleagues found her antics disturbing, Indy thought it harmless and, quite often, amusing. Of all his female admirers over the years, Kathleen was by far the most persistent. “Right this way, ladies,” Brody said, finally opening the door. “Please watch your step, because it’s a bit untidy in here.” A row of lights buzzed to life, illuminating Barnett’s main archive room. Part library and part warehouse, the sixty-foot hall was a jumbled chaos of history. Skulls and pots were crammed into odd niches among the rows of dusty shelves that held the university’s collection of historical documents. The wooden floor was cluttered with stacks of books piled haphazardly amid crates of surplus relics. Indy drew open the first set of blinds to allow more light in. Taking his cue, Kathleen traipsed over to the far end of the room and worked her way back towards him. Soon, a curtain of warm golden sunlight streamed in through the windows, warming the piles of stale books. The scent of aged paper filled the air, tantalizing the imagination with long-forgotten secrets of the past still waiting to be discovered. Brody fanned the dusty air. “Please excuse the mess. I’m afraid there hasn’t been a proper inventory in quite some time. A shame, really,” he lamented. The collections of Dunlop, Sprague, Ward, and Pearce had been stored away since the golden age of the university, when wealthy benefactors financed digs all over the world. But those days were long gone. Funding dwindled in the years following the Great War, and charitable donations completely dried up after the stock market crash of ‘29. Now nobody had cash to spare on the frivolous pursuit of historical relics. Indy didn’t blame them. Food and shelter were arguably more important than dusty artifacts sitting behind glass. The glory days were over. Kathleen picked up a statue of Bast, the Egyptian cat goddess, perched precariously on the edge of a crate. “Dr. Brody, do you believe museums are legitimate repositories of cultural artifacts, even if the items have been procured by less than noble measures?” “Well, that’s quite a socially-conscious question, Miss Marc. The university takes pride in upholding the National Museum’s reputation of moral integrity, and as chairman of the archaeology department, I insist that every artifact is obtained in accordance with those standards,” he declared confidently. “Because I’ve heard some interesting stories about Professor Jones’ expeditions...” Brody cleared his throat. “Yes, well, Dr. Jones is a certified archaeologist, but his methods may vary from standard practice as befits the circumstances of each particular dig site.” He looked at Indy for support. “Stories are often exaggerated in the retelling, Kathy, and you can’t always believe everything you hear.” Indy placed the Egyptian idol on a nearby shelf and withdrew a book. He patted its cover. “It pays to discover the truth for yourself. The library is always the best place to start.” The pretty brunette gazed into his eyes. “That’s why I’m here, Dr. Jones,” she confessed brazenly. “So let’s discover some history together.” Sophia wore a look of pointed amusement. “Yes, Dr. Jones. Let’s discover some history. The card catalog might be a good place to start.” “Right. Plato’s lost dialogue should be here somewhere,” he said in his most businesslike tone. Indy led the way to the cabinet in the middle of the room. Kathleen trailed after him like an adoring puppy. “Does this have anything to do with the statue that was stolen last week?” Indy looked up in surprise. “How do you know about that?” “I interviewed Dr. Brody after he filed his report with the police and I’ve been waiting for you to get back so I could corroborate everything.” Indy frowned at his old colleague. Marcus rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Well, I saw no harm in telling her since a major theft does qualify as news. And besides, so little of interest happens here in the summer.” “That’s great, Marcus. We’ve had enough trouble already. I don’t think advertising our expedition is going to help.” He pulled out the ‘S’ drawer and flipped through the index cards, looking for Sternhart’s name. “Oh, please,” Sophia scoffed. “Like the Nazis keep tabs on you in the campus newspaper.” Kathleen’s eyes grew wide. “Nazis? As in real Nazis?” Her fountain pen was instantly poised for action. “And what’s this about an expedition? Tell me everything!” Indy’s glare could have melted lead. “They tracked you down from an old magazine article.” He glanced at Kathy uneasily. “You’re not actually going to publish this, right?” “Are you kidding? My news director would kill me if I kept the lid on a story this big! It’s going to be front page news!” “Great,” he said glumly. “I always like making headlines.” Brody stepped in to assert his authority. “Dr. Jones’ business is not a matter for public scrutiny, Miss Marc. Particularly when it may denigrate this institution. Please exercise some professional courtesy before you go off writing fanciful stories.” “Don’t worry! I’ll paint Dr. Jones in the most positive light, I promise,” she assured him. Ignoring both men’s reluctance to talk, Sophia indulged the reporter. “As a matter of fact, we’re trying to find a rare book called the Hermocrates, which is Plato’s final dialogue on Atlantis. It’s supposed to be somewhere in this library.” “Oh, that’s interesting. Atlantis…” Kathleen jotted a note on her clipboard. “Are you planning to add mythology to your new curriculum, Dr. Jones?” “Yeah, something like that,” he muttered vaguely. The last thing he wanted to do was announce to the entire academic world that he was looking for Atlantis. Sophia had already destroyed her reputation for that very reason, and Indy wasn’t anxious to follow her example. “Don’t lie to her, Indy,” admonished Sophia. “We’re trying to find clues that might lead to Atlantis.” Kathy looked up with a quizzical frown. “But isn’t Atlantis a myth?” “Try telling that to the Germans,” he said. “Atlantis is as real as Manhattan,” Sophia interjected. “Only narrow-minded fools think otherwise. The more enlightened souls among us know the truth and embrace it for the hope of a brighter future.” The reporter scribbled furiously. “Well, just for the sake of argument, why is it so important to the Nazis?” “Because the Atlanteans created an energized metal called orichalcum. Dr. Jones thinks they might use it to develop some type of weapon, but we’re not really sure. That’s why we’re here today.” Perusing the library catalogue, Indy couldn’t decide what irritated him more: Sophia’s loose tongue, or the fact that he couldn’t find a listing for Charles Sternhart. What if the document was a red herring? Maybe the double-crossing archaeologist lied about the book to throw them off the trail, especially if he was cooperating with the Nazis. Or perhaps Costa’s memory was failing, and the old man sent them off on a lark. Either way, it was their only clue at the moment. They had to keep searching until they eliminated the possibility of its existence.

Three hours later, they were no closer to finding the Hermocrates than when Björn Heimdall first mentioned the book in Iceland. They had turned the entire library upside-down, with no trace of Sternhart’s elusive book. When the card index failed to provide any leads, Indy delved into the literature, gathering every book about Atlantis he could lay his hands on. He browsed the yellowing pages of forgotten tomes for clues that might reveal an historical basis to the location of the lost city. Indy leaned back in his chair, stretched and rubbed his sore eyes. Kathleen dozed softly beside him, using her folded beret like a pillow. Across the table, Sophia combed listlessly through a stack of moldy field journals while Brody returned with another box to sort through. The windows were cool blue mirrors as the sky began to dim with the approach of dusk. “Okay, let’s call it a day.” Indy stood and gathered up an armload of reference books to study further. Sophia bolted to her feet instantly. “But we still haven’t found Plato’s lost dialogue! We can’t give up now!” Brody spoke up. “Indy’s right. It’s awfully late. Why don’t you go have dinner together and I will keep searching here. I’ve taken the liberty of making reservations at a fine restaurant tonight.” “You did?” Kathleen balked in surprise, and more than a little envious. “Marcus, you shouldn’t have.” Brody waved a hand. “Don’t be absurd. It’s the very least I can do after everything you’ve been through. Consider this a well-deserved break.” “But I’m not dressed for dinner!” Sophia fretted. “There are plenty of fashionable boutiques downtown. I’m sure you can find something suitable to wear before 8 o’clock,” he assured her. She checked her watch. “We’d better get moving, then.” “Relax, we’re going to dinner—not a fashion show,” said Indy. Brody handed over the reservations. “Don’t be late now.” “But what about the book? It has to be somewhere we haven’t looked yet.” “Please don’t worry, Miss Hapgood. There are still two more archive rooms to search through. I’m sure it will turn up eventually.” “I hope so.” She didn’t look convinced. Kathleen shook Indy’s hand. “It’s been a real pleasure, Dr. Jones. I just know everyone will be thrilled to read about your expedition. Good luck finding… Atlantis,” she said with a giggle. He nearly winced, but forced a smile for his devoted admirer. “Thanks, Kathy. Now don’t forget what I said about embellishing the truth. Always stick to the facts.” “Facts, truth, it’s all the same, right?” she said, trying not to blush. “You’ll figure it out,” he laughed.

***

“How perfect!” Sophia exclaimed when she stepped from the car and saw the name of the restaurant that Marcus had chosen. The Sophia Café was a posh Mediterranean venue clad in burgundy stucco. Fig trees dotted a cobblestone sidewalk lined with wrought iron tables. Grapevine-covered trellises fanned the large ogee arch windows of the building. Indy handed over his keys to a uniformed valet, who promptly drove away his green Plymouth sedan. Before he could escort her to the door, Sophia trotted up the steps and struck a pose beneath her name like the headliner of a Broadway show. Indy smiled in admiration. Sophia Hapgood certainly cut a glamorous figure. His eyes traveled her svelte body, tracing the smooth curves of her hips and waist, so tantalizingly defined by the shimmery fabric of her indigo dress. A matching brimless hat covered her auburn hair, which fell to her shoulders in a gentle copper wave. She accessorized her new outfit with a button-on wrap trimmed in waffle crêpe. A subtle touch of rouge highlighted her natural porcelain complexion. “You look ravishing, Miss Hapgood,” complimented Indy as he joined her atop the steps. “Of course. I always do.” She whirled her shawl with an elegant flourish. “Not to mention gorgeous, fabulous, and striking.” “And modest, too,” Indy said dryly. He opened the restaurant door and beckoned her inside. “After you, Princess.” The languid strains of Glenn Miller’s Moonlight Serenade played over the soft clink of silverware and the murmur of patrons in the shadowy club. They were seated by a tuxedoed maître d’ who took their drink orders and vanished into the well-dressed crowd. Indy flipped open his menu and glanced around at Fairfield’s upper-crust society, a pretentious assortment of highbrow socialites too absorbed in their dinner conversations to appreciate the charming Old World atmosphere that surrounded them. A haze of cigar smoke hugged the paneled ceiling, where bulbous pierced brass lamps filtered their golden ambience over the diners occupying rustic wooden tables below. Oil paintings of natural scenery decorated the pleasant beige walls. Weathered sandstone tiles paved the floor. The savory odor of spiced meat scented the air, tempting their appetites. The place wove such a convincing spell that Indy almost believed they were sitting in some tavern in Morocco. “Sophia’s. Nice place,” he remarked. Across the table, Sophia glanced up from her menu at the sound of her name. “Hmm?” “I said this is a nice place.” She smiled pleasantly. “Yes it is. Everything looks delicious. How is the service, by the way?” Indy locked eyes with her. “I don’t know. I’ve never visited before.” “You were never curious about the food?” “I tried a sample once,” he confessed, turning a page in the menu. “And how was it?” She folded her hands indulgently as she awaited his answer. Indy browsed the selection of entrées. “Pretty good, as I recall.” “You didn’t stay for a meal?” “Oh, I wanted to, but it’s hard to get a reservation at such an exclusive place.” Her cheeks displayed a touch of scarlet. It was obvious they were no longer discussing the restaurant. Sophia cleared her throat. “Well sometimes you have to wait for a quality dining experience. But it’s always worth it,” she promised. “I don’t know. These fancy places are usually overrated.” The redhead bolted up from her chair. A flush of humiliation simmered on her face. He glanced up nonchalantly. “Where are you going?” “I— I have to go powder my nose,” she sputtered in outrage. Turning on her heel, she nearly collided with a waiter approaching the table. “Watch where you’re going!” “Excuse me, Miss. I have a special delivery for yourself and Mr. Jones.” He displayed a small wrapped package on a serving tray. “What?” Sophia shot daggers at Indy. “If this is your idea of a joke, I’m not in the mood for it.” Indy’s look of bewilderment convinced her that he was equally baffled. “Who sent it?” “Sir, I’ve been instructed to present this gift, compliments of your patron.” The waiter set the packet on their table and bowed ceremoniously. “Have a pleasant evening.” When he was gone, Sophia resumed her seat. She glared at Indy, still fuming at his veiled insult. Suspicion ranged across her features. “Well, are you going to open it, or not?” he asked her. She took the flat parcel in her hands. There was an envelope tied on with string. She flicked it away dismissively and began peeling off the paper in quick little rips, venting her anger on the unwanted gift. Then she abruptly stopped, having revealed a faded leather-bound book. She flipped to the first page and stared in goggle-eyed amazement. “Oh my God…” “What?” “It’s Plato’s lost dialogue… We have it!” she cried ecstatically. Indy scooted his chair around the table for a better look.

Now at last I have Plato’s Lost Dialogue translated entirely. The Greek original is lost, so I’ve used the Arabic text I found in an Italian monastery years ago and always thought was a hoax. Now I wonder… could this remarkable book hold the secret to long-lost Atlantis? Probably not. No one will publish it, that’s for certain. The fear of ridicule is too great. To be safe, I’ve sent a copy to Ashkenazy.

—Charles Sternhart London, 1922

Sophia trembled in excitement, overwhelmed that she held the last remaining copy of the Hermocrates in her hands. She couldn’t believe it. Indy opened the envelope to find a note from Marcus Brody:

Indy,

I chose this venue to set the theme for your continued excursions. Good luck with Sophia. I wish you both the very best.

He showed her the card. “Does he know something that we don’t?” “I think we have some reading to do. Come on, let’s get out of here.” “We haven’t even had dinner yet,” he objected. “Marcus obviously went to a lot of trouble for this, I think the least we can do is enjoy it.” He summoned the waiter back to the table and placed their orders. Dinner was an agonizingly slow affair for Sophia, who was so absorbed in the journal that she barely touched her meal. Indy made her set the book aside and savor the fine cuisine. All the while, he puzzled over Marcus Brody’s cryptic note.

“Our jungle friend Sternhart is quite the scholar,” Indy said, closing the cover of the book. Sophia yawned and stretched beside him. It was close to midnight when they finished the Hermocrates, which was nearly twice the length of Plato’s Critias. The leather-clad tome bulged with paperclips where they had marked the most important pages for easy reference. “But he’s thorough, I’ll give him that.” They were sitting on the floor of Indy’s den, scattered with books. A fragile copy of the Kircher map lay on the carpet between them. In the middle of its aged surface was a lozenge- shaped continent labeled: Insula Atlantis. For the past hour they had been comparing Plato’s text against the projected location of the city, but there was a discrepancy in the numbers. The math just didn’t add up, and Indy was too tired to think about it anymore. He picked up his half-empty wine glass and headed for the kitchen, ready to call it a night. Sophia quickly rose to her feet and touched his arm. “I’m not asking you to believe in Atlantis, Indy. I’m just asking you to believe in it for me.” “It’s easier to disbelieve.” “Yes, it is easy to look away from the unknown. But it takes real courage to confront it.” Deep down, he knew that she was probably right. There was more to Atlantis than the folk tales and old myths that spread throughout history. If so many world cultures shared a consistent memory of such a place, then Indy had to believe there must be some truth to the account, even if he couldn’t prove it. At the moment, all they had to go on was the spurious chronicle attributed to the famous Greek philosopher. Sternhart had a lot of time on his hands considering that he not only translated the book, but also made several copies. Indy wondered how much of it was actually based on its purported historical source, and how much the British scholar had embellished where it suited his purpose. What did he expect to gain from such an elaborate hoax, besides ridicule? No wonder the book was holed away in some obscure library collection. He was probably too embarrassed to publish it. At least they got a good meal out of the bargain, Indy conceded. Then everything suddenly fell into place. “The restaurant,” he said with conviction. “What about it?” Sophia asked, baffled at his cryptic remark. “Mediterranean food. Marcus figured it out already. Look,” he said, pointing at the oversized study atlas lying on the coffee table. “Plato’s tenfold error.” Sophia sighed. “We’ve already been over this. He got his dates mixed up. Why is that so important?” “Because it means that distances could also be wrong. We may not find Atlantis in the Atlantic at all.” He flipped to a two-page spread of the globe, and traced a finger across the watery expanse between Spain and Turkey. “If Plato is right, Atlantis is in the Mediterranean.” She canted her head for a better look at the map. “You mean 300 miles from Greece instead of 3000.” “Yes, the cradle of civilization.” “You could be right. Nur-Ab-Sal once told me he came from the middle of the world. That’s what ‘Mediterranean’ means.” “But where in the Mediterranean?” Indy wondered aloud. The Hermocrates mentioned colonies and outposts, but didn’t name them. It also confirmed that three keystones were needed to enter the city, including the worldstone that Sternhart had swiped in Tikal. They were still no closer to finding Atlantis than before they had read his book. Indy glanced at Sophia’s bronze pendant. “Maybe Nur-Ab-Sal can tell us,” he said, reaching for it. “No!” she exclaimed as his hand was seized by a flash of intense heat. “Ow!” He released the necklace like a hot coal. “What happened?” He dipped his fingers in the glass of wine. “It burned me.” “Nobody else is supposed to touch it.” She took the glass and set it on the table. “Let me see your hand.” “Hurts,” he murmured as she examined his reddened fingertips. “It’s just a little burn,” she said, rubbing them gently with her delicate fingers. “I don’t think Nur-Ab-Sal likes you.” “Believe me, the feeling is mutual.” “Sorry. Here, I’ll take your mind off the pain.” “How?” “I’m going to tell your fortune.” Before Indy could accuse her of having too much to drink, Sophia took his face in her hands and locked gazes with him. “Look into my eyes. Deep into my eyes...” Indy liked the feeling of her cool hands on his skin, enjoying their moment of closeness. “If you insist.” “You are a remarkable man, Dr. Jones. You possess great strength of character. You are resourceful...” Staring into her eyes, their emerald intensity drew him inward with an irresistible hypnotic spell. Indy felt as if he were a million miles away, separated from his body by a great distance. The sensation was both frightening and pleasant at once. “Always eager to solve life’s deepest mysteries...” she continued in her soothing tone. As the words poured out, her hands unconsciously grasped Indy’s shoulders, slipped down and felt his chest. “Is that part of my fortune?” he said, disrupting her concentration. Sophia blinked in surprise, suddenly aware that her arms were draped around his waist. “Do you want to know your future?” she teased with a mischievous look. “Sure, why not?” he shrugged, playing along. She leaned close and whispered in his ear. “You’re going to get lucky tonight, Professor Jones.” A smile of intrigue tugged at his mouth. “Hmm. Tell me more.” “First this is going to happen.” She slid one hand around the back of his neck and pulled him closer. Their lips brushed for a brief moment. Sophia paused, drawing out the suspense. “And then this.” Another quick buss on the lips. “And this,” she said, pecking him again, and again. Each kiss lingered a moment longer. Indy walked her backwards until she was pressed against the wall. He stroked her face, brushing back a wave of crimson hair. Their lips met in a tender union. His hands explored her body through the fabric of her dress. Sophia shuddered with pleasure, melting at his touch. “What does this remind you of?” she asked breathlessly. “I don’t know,” he mumbled against her face. “The Jastro dig. Remember, at the back of the last antechamber?” Indy smiled at the forgotten memory. “We were cold.” “Not for long,” she said as he devoured her mouth. She pulled him closer and held him tightly. “Don’t stop,” she begged. Indy didn’t need any more encouragement. He pressed her against the wall and pinned her firmly in place. Sophia’s eyes narrowed in defiance but a fierce smile betrayed her enjoyment. Indy felt the rapid pulse of her heartbeat as she squirmed against him, feeding his desire. He tugged on her sleeve. “Your dress—” She reached behind her neck and unbuttoned the clasp, letting the gown fall in a silky pool around her ankles. She stood before him in her lingerie. Her petite body was firm and compact. Her alabaster skin glowed softly in the dim light. Indy reached out in eagerness, but hesitated at the sight of her necklace. Sophia discarded the bronze pendant without a blink. “I’m safe now,” she breathed, her chest heaving with exertion. They fed on each other’s mouths. Indy caressed the flowing curves of her hips and legs through her sheer stockings, tracing her lovely shape. She combed her fingers through his hair. “Did I ever thank you for saving my life?” she purred. “I don’t remember,” he confessed. “Well, it’s time to enjoy your reward.” She swayed her pelvis toward him for emphasis. “All of it.” Overcome with desire, Indy carried her to the sofa. Red hair splayed out in a fiery halo as he lowered her onto the cushions. Sophia unbuttoned his shirt with a devious expression. “Help me find Atlantis. Find my lost city.” Indy smiled. “When you put it that way, how can I refuse?” Their clothing disappeared in a flurry of passion and they merged in the night, moving together in a sweet wave of ecstasy that Indy never wanted to end.

11 UNDER THE KNIFE

“Yaa jamila!” The jubilant cry rang out in the hot air, echoing from the walls of the dusty cobblestone street. Sophia shaded her eyes against the glaring sun and spied an Arab teenager leaning against the wall beneath a nearby awning. “Hello! Hello!” He waved at her with a bright smile, unaccustomed to the novelty of seeing a woman with flaming red hair wandering through the open-air souk. She gave him a dirty scowl, and quickly leafed through the small Arabic dictionary she’d bought. “He said you’re beautiful,” Indy informed her, sidestepping a donkey laden with crates of sun-withered fruit. He felt sorry for the animal as it staggered through the crowded street with its heavy load. “Oh.” She turned and waved back, returning her admirer’s enthusiastic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t understand you!” The boy laughed good-naturedly and yelled a more provocative phrase that Indy didn’t bother translating for her. “See, you haven’t been in town for a day and you’re already making friends,” he said encouragingly. “Right. He’s probably never seen a woman in jeans before,” she remarked as they walked past a line of colorful robes displayed by a clothing vendor. She let her fingers trail through the sheer fabric of a transparent lace veil. “I just gave that kid the thrill of his life.” “I’ll say. Those pants are downright provocative.” Indy felt giddy and carefree, still riding the wave of euphoria from their tryst. It was everything he’d hoped for since they reunited, and the journey wasn’t over yet. Sophia jabbed him with her elbow, disrupting his pleasant reverie. “Keep your mind on the road. We still have to find Al-Jabbar.” “How did you get mixed up with this guy?” “I have connections. Everyone trades on the international market. It’s the only way to find the really good pieces.” “Well, this place is about as international as it gets,” he remarked as they strolled into the bustling Casbah of Algiers. Sunlight blazed on the dome of a gilded minaret which punctuated the forest of pale spires needling the cloudless blue sky. The heady aroma of shisha filled the air, abuzz with a disorienting babble of French, Arabic, and Berber, all clamoring to be heard over the sing- song call of merchants offering their wares. For the turban-clad multitudes, life moved to the jaunty rhythm provided by a quartet of street musicians playing reed flutes. As they walked past the group, Indy capriciously dubbed them The Sultans of Swing, to Sophia’s grudging amusement. “Well I’m glad you’re in a good mood. This chicken scratch is impossible to read,” she complained, scrutinizing a faded sign printed in Arabic script. “At this rate, we’ll never find the place.” “Let me see that card again.” Indy glanced at the address of her Algerian dealer. “Hm. It looks like we’re in the right neighborhood. Let’s try the next street over,” he suggested. They climbed another flight of innumerable stairs traversing the winding labyrinth of the High city, founded on the Roman ruins of Icosium. From his vantage point, Indy spied the twin domes of Ketchaoua Mosque rising up in the distance like giant ivory chess pieces. He pointed out the landmark, but Sophia was unimpressed. She was anxious to find Al-Jabbar’s shop. The staircase topped out at another street of whitewashed stucco buildings that looked identical to the last one. Indy paused to ask an old man for directions. The wizened Arab urged him to continue down the block and he would find the address he sought. Following the busy street, they emerged into another teeming marketplace where the merchant stalls offered colorful tapestries, glassware and copper pots. Beyond the textiles was a commissary stocked with baskets of produce. Sophia grabbed Indy’s hand as they cut through the sea of robed figures and made their way towards the food stand. She was grateful when he stopped in the shade of the canvas awning that protected the grocery from the blazing sun. “God, my feet are killing me. I’ve never climbed so many stairs in my life.” “Take a rest. We’re not in a hurry.” He looked over the goods while Sophia caught her breath. The variety was impressive. Aside from domestic staples like figs, olives, and cashews, the vendor offered bananas, oranges, plums, loaves of fresh bread, and an assortment of meats and spices. The sight of so much food made Sophia hungry. Her stomach growled. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Let’s order something. I’m starving.” Indy greeted the shopkeeper, a tall, unsmiling Arab in yellow robes. “Salaam alaykum.” “Wa alaykum us-salaam,” replied the grocer. “What looks good today?” “Ah, English. Today we have special. Squab on a stick, only 20 dinars.” He gestured to a row of small birds impaled on sharp wooden skewers. Indy leaned closer and grimaced. The daily special was crawling with flies in the heat. Sophia wrinkled her nose in disgust, repelled by the spoiled poultry. Indy grinned at her. “Still hungry?” “I’d rather eat your hat,” she replied with complete sincerity. The vendor mistook the colloquialism. “I have good food. Very tasty. Your woman is hungry, yes?” he nodded eagerly. Sophia crossed her arms indignantly. “Excuse me? I am not his woman, and if you say it again I’ll shove one of these barbecued pigeons right up your—” Indy put a restraining hand on her arm. “Calm down, it’s just an expression. He didn’t mean it literally.” The Arab stared in surprise, shocked by her behavior. A woman in his country would never speak in open defiance to her husband, especially in public. Sophia tapped her foot angrily. “The nerve of this guy. Let’s get out of here, Indy.” The clamor of cheering drew their attention to a street performer nearby. A crowd of spectators gathered a respectful distance around a knife thrower juggling five blades with incredible dexterity. Meanwhile, a beggar in rags observed the act with disinterest. He had seen the knife show countless times, and the novelty had worn off long ago. The grocer tapped Indy on the shoulder. He held up a sun-cooked bird in an effort to entice their appetites. “I sell the squab for half price to appease the fire woman. Two for one special, just for my American friends.” Sophia’s expression was priceless. “Is he kidding me?” Indy declined the offer with a polite wave. “Ah, nothing today, thanks. But can you tell me where to find Omar Al-Jabbar?” “Omar?” The grocer spat on the ground. “His pitiful excuse for a shop is down the alley.” He pointed to a keyhole-shaped archway that led behind the marketplace. “Shukraan.” Indy thanked him. “Come on, it’s this way.” They walked along the edge of the narrow street, skirting the dense flow of pedestrian traffic to reach the gate. “There it is,” he said, pointing to a frayed banner strung across the mouth of the alley:

اثآر رائعة على اثمان صادقة

“Omar Al-Jabbar: Splendid antiquities in accordance with sincere prices,” he translated. She scanned the baffling assortment of squiggles. “It’s not exactly poetry, but it gets the message across.” “That’s Arabic for you.” Indy adjusted the fedora on his sweat-soaked brow. “Now, let’s just see how honest Omar’s prices really are.” The alley dead-ended in a stucco lot shaded by a thick canvas awning stretched between the surrounding balconies. Above the makeshift tent, a web of linen-filled clotheslines danced in the wind. The shop was cluttered with dusty clay pots and shelves full of worthless trinkets that might have been scavenged from a dumpster. A quick glance around told Indy that their chances of finding a genuine relic were slim. Sophia gawked at the shabby store in dismay. “This isn’t an antique dealer. It’s a thrift store.” She gestured helplessly at the junk-laden tables around them. “What did you expect—Sotheby’s?” Indy examined the price tag on a brass spittoon that was apparently still used. “The advertisement said he was the premiere antiquity dealer in Algeria. Just look at this garbage!” She picked up a hopelessly tangled yo-yo and threw it across the room angrily. “Tawqf! Please be careful with my merchandise!” A swarthy man in purple robes bustled out from behind a line of hanging rugs. “That toy was hand-painted by an Arabian princess!” Sophia advanced on the rotund Arab, furious. “That’s bullshit! You have a lot of explaining to do, buster.” The merchant pressed his hands to his chest in theatrical surprise. “My apologies if I have offended you, Madame. Have we met before?” “My name is Sophia Hapgood. I’m a client of your mail-order catalogue.” His face lit with recognition. “The illustrious Madame Sophia? Prophetess of ancient wisdom? What an unexpected delight! I am Omar Al-Jabbar.” He was a heavy-set Arab with dark, curly hair, and a fidgety disposition. His chubby face was dominated by a thick moustache and bushy black eyebrows that overshadowed a pair of dark, shifty eyes. Omar bowed as deeply as his ample girth would permit. “It is truly an honor gracing my humble store with your presence. How may I be of service?” “I traveled halfway around the world to visit a prestigious antique dealer, and instead I find this junk-filled rummage shop? That’s false advertising!” The shopkeeper blinked innocently. “What have I done to earn your displeasure? I am but a simple merchant.” “You’re a goddamned liar!” Omar bore the tirade with remarkable dignity. “Your perceptions are misplaced, my dear. Despite the appearance of my shop, I can assure you that I offer a variety of genuine treasures for the discerning collector.” He went to a table cluttered with old boxes filled with costume jewelry. “For example, these lovely earrings were carved from the tusks of a prehistoric mammoth.” Sophia crossed her arms dubiously. “Give me a break. I wasn’t born yesterday.” Undeterred, he displayed a cheap-looking ruby ring. “They say this has the power to cloud men’s minds.” Al-Jabbar tapped his fingertips together nervously like a pair of dancing spiders. “Tell us another one,” Indy replied. “You remain unconvinced?” Omar snatched a plastic brush from a dented coffee can full of utensils. “This ebony comb was once owned by Mata Hari herself.” The spidery fingers danced again. Sophia answered with a scornful glare. Desperate to make a sale, Omar reached for a broken umbrella rack and produced another certified treasure for her approval. “All right, that’s enough,” Indy said, interrupting the pitch for a white cane touched by Queen Victoria which had inexplicably found its way to Omar’s back-alley shop. “Let’s get down to business. I understand that you deal in Atlantean relics.” The rotund merchant wore a bemused smile. “Really? I had no idea the famous Indiana Jones was such a fool, traveling so far and risking so much in pursuit of a mere myth.” “How do you know my name?” “Yeah, how?” Sophia added unnecessarily. “My dear Miss Hapgood, when you are Omar Al-Jabbar you know these things.” Indy reached for his gun. “Are you working for the Nazis, too?” he snarled. Omar laughed quietly. “Al-Almaan steal my own treasures from under my nose, and threaten me if I do not cooperate. They are most unworthy of my loyalty.” Indy wasn’t buying it. “Oh yeah? Prove it.” He twirled the tip of his moustache. “Very well, Doctor Jones. I will help you find the German infidels if you desire. Please wait here.” The portly Algerian disappeared through a beaded curtain and returned a few moments later with a piece of tattered cloth. “This map will lead you to their dig site,” he said, unfolding it on a table. The hand-drawn map was devoid of names, a beige expanse punctuated with vague mountain ranges and a sparse assortment of blue spots indicating oases. Sophia pursed her lips. “A map with no names. That’s useful.” Omar drew his plump finger along the Mediterranean coastline that spanned the upper part of the cloth. “As you can see, this map is very crude. I was able to construct it based on reports from scoundrels who come to trade from time to time. They tell me the dig site is located here, deep in the Atlas Mountains.” The bold red symbol under Al-Jabbar’s fingertip confirmed that ‘X’ once again marked the spot. The map was probably worthless, but it was all they had to go on. The interesting part would be negotiating its value with the antique dealer. Indy had a feeling the price would be considerable. “How much do you want for it?” “The map is yours, in return for a small favor. I ask that you bring back a particular item for me, a stone disk with a hole in the middle. It is known as a sunstone, if I am not mistaken.” Indy and Sophia exchanged a glance of surprise that the shrewd merchant did not miss. “Ah, I see that you are familiar with it. Then you also know it is one of the keystones to the lost kingdom. I had one in my possession many years ago. Unfortunately it was stolen, and I desire to have it back.” Indy pointed out the glaring hole in Omar’s conundrum. “If you have the map, then why don’t you look for it?” “Alas, the desert is no place for a civilized man like myself,” he said with feigned pity. He was obviously not anxious to expend more effort than necessary to acquire his relics, as evidenced by the domestic junk that cluttered his dusty shop. “Why should we get it for you?” argued Sophia. “We have better things to do.” Omar folded the map and tucked it under his arm. “Like wander the desert aimlessly until you find the lost outpost?” He stroked his moustache with a devious grin. “Trust me, you cannot afford to bargain this way with Omar Al-Jabbar. My offer is worth its weight in gold.” Indy’s patience had finally run out. “I’ve got a better one.” He drew his gun on the sizeable Arab. “How about the map for your life?” Omar’s face darkened with outrage. He grudgingly handed over the map. “May a goat be the mother of your children.” Indy stuffed the document into his satchel and nudged Sophia towards the alley, keeping his revolver on the slimy merchant. “Let’s get out of here.” “Nice doing business with you!” she beamed with a cheery wave.

“Can you believe he was actually going to keep the map?” Sophia asked when they returned to the marketplace. “What a swindler.” “That’s what you get for doing business long-distance. It’s always a gamble.” Omar’s double-cross really didn’t surprise him that much, but Indy had other things on his mind. Namely, finding a way across the desert. Their best option was to buy some camels from the livestock market, and hire a guide to take them into the Sahara. But first he needed to convert their cash into local currency so they had something more than a gun to barter with. Indy wasn’t worried about legal repercussions from Omar, because he knew the shady dealer would not voluntarily seek out the police. “We really need to stop for lunch somewhere,” she reminded him. “Yeah, I know,” Indy replied, suddenly aware of his own hunger pangs. He was looking around for a cafe when Sophia vanished from his side. “Hey!” she cried as the knife thrower deftly snagged her by the arm. “Look here, ladies and gentleman. A volunteer!” he exclaimed to the gaggle of onlookers. By the time Indy realized what was happening, the juggler was guiding her towards his painted target board while the crowd cheered enthusiastically. His first instinct was to grab her back, but Indy knew it would ruin the show. These Arabs just wanted some entertainment, and Sophia’s red hair made her the most attractive person in the souk. It was all just harmless fun. To her credit, she looked genuinely terrified as the man positioned her against the pockmarked wooden board. Indy clapped indulgently with the rest of the audience when the performer declared himself to be the greatest knife thrower in North Africa. To validate his title, he tossed a spinning knife into the air, twisted his body and caught it behind his back in one smooth motion, and then repeated the feat with his other hand. The crowd roared in approval, eager for more. The Arab paced off and turned to face his target. The stack of blades rested on the palm of his left hand, ready to be drawn. He peeled off the first knife and paused dramatically, holding the dagger aloft. Sophia tensed as he pulled his arm back. The audience held a collective breath. Sunlight burned the razor-edged blade that was about to fly towards her. Then, almost imperceptibly, the thrower’s face hardened in a look of grim determination. Indy belatedly reached for his bullwhip as the assassin cast his arm forward. But he knew it was too late. Sophia would be dead before the whip uncoiled. Suddenly a robed figure sprang from the crowd. There was a blur of movement, a silver flash. Indy heard a metallic ring. Sophia gasped, and for a terrible moment he thought the worst had happened. The knife skittered harmlessly to the ground. Indy couldn’t believe his eyes. The swordsman had intercepted the flying knife with one swift slice of his weapon. The knife thrower angrily slung his remaining daggers in rapid succession. The Arab’s blade was a ribbon of liquid metal as he deflected the volley with a flowing series of slashes that sent all of the deadly projectiles clattering against the cobblestone street. In desperation, the assassin reached for another blade tucked in his boot. Indy’s bullwhip flashed through the dusty air with a leathery hiss. The juggler’s arm jerked like a broken marionette and the knife went tumbling away. Clutching his wrist, the knife thrower glared at Sophia’s rescuers with murderous rage. He spat a vehement curse at them and fled from the market in disgrace. The crowd cheered while Sophia hugged Indy tightly. He tipped the brim of his fedora at the robed warrior, complimenting his incredible skill. “Anta maahir ma’a hatha as-sayf.” “Afwan.” The swordsman bowed and introduced himself as Abdul Aziz. His face was hidden by a length of indigo cloth that wrapped around his head, leaving only his intense coffee-brown eyes visible. Indy recognized the flowing blue robes of the Tuareg, a tribe of Berber nomads known for their great swordsmanship. Sophia was captivated by the mysterious hero who had saved her life. “How did you know that guy was going to kill me?” “Al-Hazzan’s loyalty can be purchased for the price of a goat. The Germans hired him quickly when they learned you were coming to North Africa.” The news blindsided Indy. “The Nazis are here?” he said with disbelief. “Al-Almaan, yes. The presence of foreigners in my country is growing every day,” he reported gravely. The fact clearly disturbed him, and Indy could understand why. Algeria had been a hotbed of civil unrest since 1847, when the French began a mass immigration in an attempt to replace the indigenous culture with their own. The Muslim revolt only added more fuel to the fire, and the government had been steadily restricting freedoms ever since. Eager to expand their empire, the French greedily claimed large tracts of Berber territories, and then had the audacity to draft Algerian soldiers to fight alongside them in the Great War. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the Nazi forces assembling in the capital didn’t help the situation. They had to work fast. “How did they find us?” Sophia was equally amazed that the Nazis were one step ahead of them. “Nobody knew about our trip to Algeria except Dr. Brody.” Abdul surveyed the marketplace uneasily. “The Abwehr have eyes everywhere in the city. I’m sure they watch us even now.” Indy was surprised that a Tuareg nomad knew of the German intelligence organization. “How long have the Nazis been here?” The swordsman leaned close and kept his voice secretive. “The street is not safe. Too many ears listening. Let us go someplace we may speak freely.” 12 THE PEOPLE OF THE VEIL

They settled at a table in the shadowy Dar Maghreb café, secluded behind a latticework jali screen that filtered the harsh daylight into a blurry glowing mosaic. The wailing strains of the marketplace music drifted in the door with the heat and the flies, infusing its weird melody in the sweetly lingering scent of hookah smoke. Overhead, a creaky wicker fan stirred the air just enough to irritate Sophia, who nibbled a honey-flavored pastili cake as their new ally explained the situation. The veiled swordsman was a member of the Algerian People’s Party, a resistance group dedicated to promoting national independence through non-violent opposition. Persecuted by the French colonial government, they were forced to operate in secret. Abdul joined the organization as a representative of his tribe, the nomadic Tuareg of the Sahara, in order to keep track of French activity outside the capital. Now the recent Nazi occupation commanded his interest. “Six months ago, Al-Almaan began to dig holes in the sand, far from the city. They put up fences, with guards that shoot anyone who comes near.” “What are they protecting?” Indy asked, sipping from a cup of mint tea. “They find old things with strange markings, buried long ago and forgotten,” Abdul said, puzzled that such insignificant items warranted open violence. Sophia sat up with piqued interest. “What kind of markings?” The Tuareg made a swirling motion with his finger. “Circles, joined like flowing water.” Indy scowled. “Damn. It looks like Kerner found his prize.” “I do not know this Kerner, but there was an Englishman in the desert helping the Germans recently.” “Sternhart. That figures.” “The dig site is the next outpost,” Sophia declared. “How else could they locate it without his help? That knife thrower tried to kill me to keep us from finding it.” Indy begrudged her an unhappy nod. “Yeah. The Nazis seem to think we’re better off dead. Can’t imagine why...” “It has to be one of the lost keystones. They need all three of them to reach Atlantis. We have to find it before they do.” “Unless they already have it,” he interjected. “Are they still out there?” Abdul nodded. “Yes. I saw them only last week, still digging. They brought trucks and equipment. Many soldiers. It is a very large encampment.” “Okay, so we’re still in the game,” he said, feeling better about the situation. He knew that Berlin wouldn’t waste valuable resources tearing up the desert, which meant the Nazis hadn’t found anything important yet. “Do they employ local diggers?” “No. It is strictly a German operation. One cannot approach without being fired upon. No outsiders.” Indy rubbed his whiskered chin. “That’s strange. From what I’ve seen, the Nazis aren’t fond of manual labor. They usually let natives do the backbreaking work, then take anything valuable for themselves.” “Bastards,” Sophia swore darkly. Indy unfolded Omar’s map on the table, smoothing the canvas flat. “What do you make of this map?” Abdul examined the tattered cloth for several moments, and then tapped the ‘X’. “Yes. This is the German’s camp. It is near Bou Saâda, two days’ journey south.” Indy studied the topography around the site. “The Atlas Mountains. Looks fairly remote. Can you take us there, Abdul?” “This I will do gladly. We must not allow Al-Almaan to take power in our country. They respect us even less than the French, who destroy our way of life. Things must not continue thus.” Sophia’s face lit with a flash of insight. “Atlas. The mountain was named by the refugees who settled there after Atlantis sank! It’s a sign from Nur-Ab-Sal!” Abdul turned to her, his veiled face inscrutable. “Nur-Ab-Sal?” “He’s a spirit that inhabits her necklace,” Indy supplied. “She thinks he will lead her to Atlantis.” The nomad blinked uncertainly. “You seek the country of Atlasee?” Indy downed the rest of his tea. “And so are the Nazis. That’s why they’re out there digging up the desert.” Abdul chuckled to himself. “The seeker of the First Land is doomed to travel an endless road.” “What?” “He means you’re chasing a ghost,” Indy quipped. A rosy blush simmered on her face. Sophia lifted the chain from her neck, and slapped the medallion on the table. “Plato didn’t write this.” Abdul’s eyes lit at the sight of the horned pendant. “Wallahee... The god-king speaks to a Western woman? It cannot be!” Resuming his native tongue, he gravely explained that the ancient talisman represented a powerful jinn, an evil spirit known as the Great Deceiver, who would lead them astray. Indy relayed the message to his partner. “Nur-Ab-Sal is not evil,” Sophia responded indignantly. “He represents Atlantis, the unity of all mankind, and seeks to—” The Tuareg abruptly stood and grasped the pommel of the sword protruding from his belt. Sophia covered her medallion protectively, fearing that he was about to destroy it. “Allah has brought you to stop Al-Almaan from stealing our heritage. For this, I pledge the support of my people. Let us go into Tinariwen and rid our land of these infidels once and for all.” Without another word, he strode out the door. Indy rolled up the map. “I’ve got to hand it to you. That thing is better than a passport.” “The student of Atlantis is the world’s guest,” she philosophized. “Great. Just don’t wear out your welcome.”

***

Outside the bustling port city of Algiers, the desert was eternal and unchanging: an infinite ocean of golden sand scorched by a perpetual sun. Jagged mountains hemmed the distant horizon, bridging the parched landscape and soaring blue sky. Indy sleeved the sweat from his face and squinted in the harsh glare. The fedora shaded his eyes, but did little to protect him from the sunlight reflecting off the burning sand. His khaki shirt was unbuttoned, while his leather jacket was folded up in the saddlebag of his dromedary, along with Al-Jabbar’s map. As he loped across the boiling wasteland, Indy could almost hear the shifty merchant cursing him with glee: “May the sun addle your brains and cook your flesh.” He pushed away the negative image and focused on something more pleasant. Looking ahead, Indy admired the burnished glow of Sophia’s rusty mane in the desert light. Her long hair fell in loose, shimmering waves down her back. Unable to find a wide- brimmed hat in the marketplace, she simply wore her sunglasses and a white silk veil draped modestly around her half-open blouse. She gripped the tall forked saddle for balance as she bobbed to the gait of her camel. Her bare forearms had turned pink from exposure to the sun while she read the Hermocrates to pass the time. The sweeping, dune-covered landscape appeared misty and vague as it stretched further away. Almost like a painting of a desert instead of a real one, Indy thought, surveying the dark ridge of the Atlas mountain range on the horizon. The German dig site was located somewhere in the rugged foothills. Indy shook his head. It didn’t look good from any direction. “What’s wrong?” Sophia asked, perturbed by his grim expression. “The terrain is too flat. They’ll see us coming for miles unless we wait for nightfall.” “We need to get there as quickly as possible before they find the keystone.” “Easier said than done. It’ll take us another day to reach it, and even then we’ll need some cover to get close. Don’t forget, they have armed guards.” “A disguise is needed,” Abdul said, falling back to join them. Indy looked at the nomad’s billowy robes with newfound appreciation. “Good thinking, Abdul.” “Then you will be Tuareg,” he declared with a firm nod, as if the matter was settled. “But first we must speak with the marabout for guidance in our quest.” Sophia gave Indy a questioning look. “A tribal prophet, or holy man,” he said. “They’re religious leaders in Berber society. Like priests.” She leaned close, keeping her voice low. “I don’t have time to sit around smoking hash with some mumbo-jumbo swami. We need to stop the Nazis and then get the hell out of this godforsaken desert.” “That doesn’t sound like the enlightened wisdom I’d expect to hear from Madame Sophia.” She forced a humorless smile. “Sorry. I’m just not cut out for travel in this part of the world.” “Besides, it’s disrespectful to enter a kingdom without paying honor to the king. That’s just common courtesy.” Sophia sighed. “You’re right. But let’s make it fast, because my patience is running out.”

The dunes rippled like water in the late afternoon sun; liquid folds of sand striped with dark, shadowy ribbons. But the golden sea was frozen by some impossible magic that defied reality. An austral wind blew misty plumes of spray from the crests of the sandy waves. The dreamy illusion vanished in an explosion of red spots when the trio topped a high dune, and a patch of domed structures shattered the beige monotony like mushrooms. The Tuareg village fanned across the flat plain in a wide circle surrounding a drystone well equipped with a modern rope-and-pulley system. The curious dwellings were covered in animal skins, lashed over a framework of thick wooden branches by ropes that were staked into the ground. Reedy woven mats formed the outer walls. The low door openings, each guarded by a wooden totem, hugged the sand to keep the temperature cool within. As they entered the camp, Indy felt as if he’d stepped back into history. The air was filled with the braying of livestock, children laughing, the tinny ring of metal being forged; sounds of life that seemed miraculous in such an inhospitable environment. The settlement was a time capsule—a living portrait of the caravan culture as it existed in the Sahara more than 2000 years ago, when pastoral nomads tilled their life out of the hot sand centuries before the great cities of Europe were founded. The Tuareg inhabitants were a lean, almond-complexioned people with Arabic physiognomy. Sophia immediately noticed a puzzling feature of the robed society. The younger generation displayed their faces openly, yet the women were uncovered while the men were all veiled. It was the exact opposite of life in Algiers. “Why do the men wear veils instead of the women?” Indy explained that the Tuareg were a matriarchal society, in which the women were not bound by traditional Islamic practice to wear the all-concealing burqa in public. “It’s considered inappropriate for a woman to be seen by any man besides her husband. Any violation of his namus—his virtue—is a mark of dishonor on the whole family.” Sophia was appalled that Arabic women were conditioned to view their bodies as something sinful that must be covered. “That’s terrible! It’s like being a prisoner in your own clothes!” “Sure, it’s repressive from a Western viewpoint, but the veil actually provides women more freedom to go about their lives without harassment. Or at least in theory.” “And to think that I was actually starting to like it here, too.” she grumbled. “We have arrived,” Abdul announced, reining his camel to a stop near the largest tent, covered in lavender hides. Its reedy walls displayed a complex pattern of interlocking triangles reminiscent of Celtic knot-work. They gratefully dismounted their camels and stretched while Abdul bound the animal’s legs together for some reason that Sophia could not fathom. He instructed them to remove their shoes before entering the sacred tent. The cool, shadowy darkness was a welcome shock from the relentlessly blazing sun outside. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Indy was surprised how much the dwelling resembled a primitive house. Woven rugs lined the walls, effectively blocking the oppressive heat. The space within was neatly partitioned into separate quarters by wicker screens. The sweet odor of hashish permeated the air. Abdul told them to wait in the main living area, and then disappeared behind a heavy blue curtain. Sophia sat down beside Indy on a large patterned rug that covered the floor. She twitched her nose at the cloying incense. “It smells like a damn cake in here.” “Watch your language. This is the tent of the tribal chieftain. Show some respect.” “Then take off your hat,” she countered. Indy removed his fedora and placed it beside him on the ground. “Are you happy now?” She was about to respond when Abdul re-emerged from the cloth door. “May I present Prisha, descendant of Tin Hinan, Mother of Us All.” He drew open the curtain and the Amenokal glided across the carpeted threshold. She was a stunning young woman with dark olive skin, deeply-painted indigo lips, and vibrant cinnamon eyes that sparkled like warm honey. Her beautiful face was framed by the voluminous hood of a silky violet kaftan robe embroidered with silver thread. Indy saw that she was of East Indian descent, but moreover that she was gorgeous. She practically radiated an aura of wisdom, intelligence, and mystery that left him breathless. Abdul met Sophia’s gaze and proudly proclaimed: “My wife.” “His WIFE?!” She nearly bolted to her feet in outrage, but Indy gripped her arm to keep her firmly seated. In truth, he was equally surprised because Tuareg religious leaders were traditionally men. Prisha settled gracefully before them. She took Sophia’s hands into her own with a warm smile. “Hello, sister. I am so pleased to meet you at long last.” “You are?” she asked, baffled. “I have watched you from afar, and I knew our day of reunion would come.” “Thank you for inviting us into your home,” Indy said with a respectful nod. She regarded him with a pearlescent smile that glowed against her dusky complexion. “You have my eternal gratitude for bringing my Bahana. I have much to tell of the quest which occupies her soul.” Sophia looked skeptical. “How do you know about my quest if we only just met?” The priestess lifted her cowl to reveal a small tikka pendant on the middle of her forehead. “Because we are of the same spirit. Soulmates.” Sophia jolted in shock. The silver icon was an exact copy of her Atlantean medallion, except its eyes were rectangular slits, rather than the menacing daggers of her own necklace. “You worship Nur-Ab-Sal?” “We do not worship graven images. At-Hal-Bar is the counterpart of your heathen god.” “You don’t know anything about my spirit guide,” Sophia said in a voice laced with quiet scorn. Indy could see her anger simmering just below the surface. He hoped she didn’t lose her temper, because he was unsure of the penalty for sacrilege among the warrior tribe. “They form a twofold spirit of the eternal struggle between good and evil; A balance of darkness and light. One cannot exist without the other.” While she spoke, Prisha spread a black cloth on the floor and withdrew a small leather pouch from her robes. She poured out a handful of tiny lizard bones into her palm. She closed her eyes, muttered an incantation in Tamasheq, and released them. The bones fell against the velvet in a spindly pattern. The tiny skull stared up at them with its hollow little eye sockets. She waved her purple-stained fingers over the skull. “Do not be deceived by the Dark One whose path leads only to destruction. Resist the power at all costs, or follow him into the oblivion that consumed his kingdom.” “But we’re trying to stop an even darker force that will destroy the world using the power of Atlantis.” The Amenokal pressed her hand against Sophia’s forehead. Her dark eyelids fell in concentration. “I am impressed. You have a strong hold on your spirit guide. His darkness has not yet tainted you. Beware, his influence will grow stronger in the Lost City, where he reigns in spirit, if not the flesh. There, you will be at his command unless you rid yourself of his legacy.” Sophia touched her pendant with reverence. “I could never give away my necklace.” Indy remained silent during the séance, absorbing the wisdom of Prisha’s message. As he had suspected, the necklace was a malevolent thing, a force that would poison Sophia’s soul until she returned it to Atlantis. She had to get rid of it before it was too late. “If you go to the city of our ancestors, you will destroy it.” Prisha warned. “But I just want to see it,” pleaded Sophia. Prisha regarded her with a genuinely curious expression. “Why must you see if you already believe?” “To reaffirm my faith. I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life. I can’t turn back now that we’re so close.” The priestess gathered up the cloth full of bones with a weary sigh. Her amber eyes glistened. Indy could see that she was clearly distraught as the bittersweet struggle of emotions played across her face. “I, too, have seen the evil forces which will soon overtake the world. The conflict will threaten the interconnectedness of all things. You, my dear sister, have the strength to prevent it. But I pray that you also find the strength to save yourself.” Sophia reached for her hand impulsively. “Don’t worry. I know when to stop. I promise.” Prisha gazed at her with a melancholy smile. “Find peace on your journey. Its reward is greater than the goal which you seek.” “I will,” she vowed solemnly. The two women embraced. Indy looked at Abdul, who had observed the meeting impassively. The warrior gave him a curt nod, a silent pledge that he would help them succeed. The message was clear. No matter what happened, Sophia Hapgood must be protected. The fate of the world depended on it.

13 DESERT SANDS

“How do you tie this damned thing?!” Sophia’s muffled voice exploded through the wall of the tent. The outburst was followed by Prisha’s good-natured laughter. Standing outside in the cool air, Indy secured the cheche wrap of his own djellaba with a wry smile. He glanced to the east, where the soft glow of dawn profiled the desert horizon against the indigo sky. A gentle wind brushed the shadowy dunes as the last stars winked out of existence. The scene was so peaceful that he couldn’t imagine the Nazis anywhere close by. But he knew they were out there digging under the sand for Atlantis, and they had to be stopped. The calm was disrupted by the agitated braying of livestock, and a jabber of hushed voices in the dark. Indy saw a shadowy blur of activity in the nearby picket-post corral, where Abdul and his men struggled to herd the camels that would carry them to the dig site. He took his canteen from the saddlebag and headed for the stone well at the heart of the village. He had a feeling that it was going to be a hot day. As Indy drew the water bucket from the depths, he recalled their night among the Tuareg. When the tribe learned that they had come to stop the Germans from invading the country, their mission was heralded with joy and a celebration was held in their honor. The blue nomads entertained their guests with a traditional sword dance. Circling a roaring bonfire to the pulse of a hollow drumbeat, the warriors twirled their blades in a dazzling acrobatic display that grew in fervor until the night was ablaze with fiery ribbons. The dance was poetic; a lethal ballet of ancient skill honed by bloodshed through the centuries to preserve the Tuareg legacy. Indy felt privileged to observe the age-old ceremony that few westerners had seen. It was a spectacle unlike anything he had ever witnessed, and one that he would never forget. “There you are. I thought you were still sleeping.” Turning at her voice, Indy nearly dropped his canteen into the well at the sight of Sophia in her Tuareg outfit. The curvy redhead was draped in a teal chiffon abaya with a sheer gossamer veil. The morning sun glowed behind her, a halo of white flame that silhouetted her head in a fiery wreath. Sophia admired the light blue folds of his Arabian disguise until her eyes settled on his bulbous turban. Then she giggled. “Aw, I’m going to miss your hat.” Indy tucked the canteen back into his knapsack. “Don’t worry. It’s right here with my jacket.” He fingered the sleeve of her silky robe. “You should have brought yours, too.” “How am I supposed to know that it gets cold in the desert at night?” The sound of gentle thunder shook the ground as Abdul galloped up to the tent, followed by a dozen lapis-robed Tuareg soldiers veiled in ominous black head wraps that masked everything but their eyes. The cavalry was equipped with antique flintlock rifles and ammunition belts, in addition to the traditional meter-long takoba blade of their tribe. Their camels snorted, pawing the ground restlessly, anxious to move out. “A most blessed morning to you, Saheb Indee. I present our finest warriors to fight the German infidels,” he announced, gesturing with pride to his mounted brethren. “Today we ride to victory!” Indy had to admit that the group of cloaked Arabian warriors was impressive, but it was too much. “We don’t need a caravan to announce our presence. Just the three of us. Anything more would attract the kind of attention I’d like to avoid.” “As you wish, my friend.” Abdul nodded keenly, assenting to his wisdom. He turned to address his men. “Follow us at noon. Ride half a day behind.” “Good. That way we’ll have back-up in case we need it.” Indy brought his dromedary to its feet with a snap of the reins. “Let’s get moving while the weather is still cool.” The tent flap opened as Prisha came outside to bid them farewell. She offered a prayer of good fortune for their journey, and then pressed a small object into Sophia’s hand. The psychic held up a small amber fish jewel tied to a length of gold cord. “What’s this?” “A compass to your dreams. It will guide you to the Lost Kingdom when you lose your way. Always remember me by it.” Holding the fish up to the light, Sophia noticed how the bauble was exactly the same color as Prisha’s compassionate eyes. Eyes that suddenly twinkled with a mysterious, knowing smile as the tiny fish whirled on its cord. They shared a final embrace. “Blessings be upon you, sister. We shall meet again in another life.” “I know we will. Thank you for everything. I promise that I’ll never forget you.” As she saddled up on her camel, Sophia felt a surge of hope in the spiritual awakening she had received from the oracle in their brief time together. Indy beckoned her to take the lead. “After you, jamila.” “You’re too kind, Dr. Jones.”

The sun began its ascent as they headed south across the carpet of glittering sand, riding towards the imperious band of gray rock that marked their destination. They moved steadily towards the mountains, but found themselves chasing an illusion. The Atlas range that appeared so close at the outset seemed to recede into the distance the further they rode, perpetually out of reach beyond the sea of golden dunes that rose and fell with maddening regularity. They were riding in place but getting nowhere, like some kind of cruel magic trick. The Sahara Desert covered more than three million square miles—an area larger than Europe—spanning the equator, and dividing the continent into North and Sub-Saharan Africa. It was a landscape of endless dunes, barren flats, and dusty, arid plains. A person could easily burn or freeze to death in the extreme subtropical climate, depending on the time of day. The temperature fluctuated from blistering highs of 120 degrees in the afternoon, to bone-chilling sub-zero after sundown. Indy pushed the sobering figures from his mind and ruminated on Plato’s lost dialogue, which he had studied late into the night. The Hermocrates, ironically, was a narrative debating the existence of Atlantis, in which the titular character refuted his skeptical colleagues with numerous facts about the Lost City. Indy was most intrigued by the mention of a Greater Colony and a Lesser Colony, whose gates could only be opened with the very same keystones they had been searching for. Unfortunately, the text failed to name these outposts. The curious absence of detail made Indy suspect the dialogue wasn’t written by Plato at all. In fact, the book read more like an instruction manual on the workings of the Atlantean empire, replete with descriptions of technology that seemed like imaginative fiction penned by the bored scholar who had labored over the translation. Still, it was the only thing they had to rely on until more concrete evidence came to light. The hours wore on in a monotonous sludge as they crossed the trackless desert. By midday, the heat rose from the sand in shimmery, transparent flames that blurred the air and played tricks with their vision. Dark, snake-like mirages slithered across their path, only to vanish when they drew near. Weak from exhaustion, Sophia clung to the saddle horns like a rag doll and blinked her leaden eyelids, trying to stave off the deadly fatigue that would claim her life if she drifted to sleep. Her skin felt tight across her face. Her throat was parched. She lifted the canteen to her chapped lips and painfully swallowed the last drizzle of warm water, desperately wishing that it was chilled with frosty ice cubes. Indy noticed her flagging constitution. “Hey, are you feeling okay?” Wobbling dizzily, she managed a dull, glassy gaze. “I think my brain is on fire,” she rasped. He touched her forehead. “You’re burning up. Abdul, we need to find water and shade. Fast.” “There.” The warrior pointed to a tiny dark spot in the middle of the beige wilderness. “Two kilometers, perhaps three.” “We need to hurry. Here, put this on.” Indy reached into his saddlebag and placed his hat firmly onto her head to provide some relief from the sun. He grabbed her reins and prodded his camel towards the distant oasis, pulling her along with him. Sophia squinted through her heat-induced fugue as a thicket of vegetation materialized from the hellish wasteland. She almost wept when they finally trotted beneath the umbrella of thick palms that ringed a crystal clear pond. The cool shade was a shock to her overheated body, and Sophia slipped from the saddle in a dead faint. Indy caught her before she fell. He lowered her onto the sandy shore and splashed water on her face until she regained consciousness again. Scooping handfuls of water from the pond, he urged her to drink. When her eyes refocused, she saw Indiana Jones gazing down at her in concern. “Feel better now?” She handed his fedora back with a feeble smile. “Thanks, but I think it looks better on you.” He stroked her head fondly. “If Abdul hadn’t spotted this oasis, you’d be a goner.” She reached up and clutched the nomad’s hand in a gesture of gratitude. “Thank you, Abdul. I owe you everything.” “You owe me nothing. Friendship has no price, apart from love.” Sophia was disarmed by the nomad’s words. Although the blue veil masked his expression, it magnified a disarmingly compassionate gaze from eyes that had avoided her for so long. “I think you’re in good hands now,” Indy said, rising to his feet. “I’ll try to find some food around here. You like dates?” Before she could respond, he strolled off into the palm jungle to give them some privacy. The Berber took an oilskin bag from his robes and filled it in the pool. Sophia wasted no time in kindling their friendship. “Won’t Allah be mad at you for talking to me? I’m not a Tuareg.” As much as she admired the man who had saved her life twice, she didn’t want him to violate his religion on her behalf. “Allah is merciful and understanding. He knows that I love my sweet wife Prisha, but also that I will not ignore friends in their time of need. For that, I am pleased to help you on your quest.” He tied the water pouch and looked around for their camels, which had strayed into the shady grove to escape the heat. “But—” “Rest now. We shall talk more later,” he promised. She watched him go in a daze, scarcely believing what had just happened. Only when she removed her headscarf did Sophia realize that her Arab clothing made her more appropriate to converse with. Oddly, she didn’t mind. But Abdul was right: it was definitely time to rest. Unlacing her boots, Sophia slipped her aching feet into the cool water, and lay back on the sand with a sigh of contentment. Above her, the blue sky glittered between the swaying palm leaves. “I could stay here forever.” A dark shadow suddenly eclipsed her face, followed by the barrel of a rifle. “For breaking the law, you just might.” Startled, she rolled over to see a thin, acne-scarred Arab with shifty eyes. The scoundrel wore the brimmed kepi and white tunic of a legionnaire, with baggy trousers tucked into tall riding boots. His wiry frame barely supported his worn leather gunbelt stocked with spare bullet cartridges. “This post belongs to the French government. You dare trespass without authorization?” He motioned her with his gun. “On your feet. Now.” Sophia quickly stood and raised her hands like a hostage. “Don’t shoot. I just needed a drink.” He stared in astonishment at the sight of her florid mane uncurling over her shoulders. “You are not Tuareg. Where did you come from?” “I’m an American.” She tried to sound confident, hoping that her nationality somehow accorded her a higher status than the average prisoner, or at least prevented her from being shot. The rifle dropped a little. “Show me your passport,” he commanded. “It’s in my purse, but my camel ran away with it.” The explanation sounded ridiculous, but it was all she could think of at the moment. “Then give me a reason to not arrest you for polluting my oasis with your filthy, unwashed feet.” “I don’t know what you mean,” she said calmly, wondering where the hell Indy was. The Arab glanced around furtively, suddenly anxious. “Remove your clothes.” “Excuse me?” Sophia balked in disbelief. “No, I don’t think so.” The soldier drew a bead on her with his ancient rifle. “Undress now. If you satisfy me, then maybe I let you live. If not, you will get your wish to stay here forever.” “Well, how can I refuse hospitality like that?” She slowly unfastened her belt sash, mentally cursing Indy while the scruffy fiend savored her with lustful eyes. The poor wretch probably hadn’t seen a woman in months. It wasn’t hard to imagine what he had in mind. A fusillade of heavy raindrops suddenly rattled the tree canopy. The startled soldier aimed his gun skyward as dried figs pelted the sand all around him. Indy sprang from the bushes and wrenched the weapon away. He jabbed the legionnaire in the gut with the rifle. Abdul appeared on the other side of the trail with their camels. Sophia glared at them. “It’s about time!” Confronted by the new arrivals, the disarmed Arab railed in outrage. “You have assaulted a duly-sworn officer of the Foreign Legion, and you are all under arrest!” Indy trained the mercenary’s gun on him. “I think you’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty, soldier. Why don’t you call it a day?” “I am Tarak Ben Ammar, First Battalion regiment. This is my post, and I do not take orders from lawless kafir like you,” he spat vehemently. Incensed by the insult, Abdul swept forward, gripping the hilt of his sword menacingly. Ammar flinched, but stood his ground. Indy tensed, knowing that the Tuareg resistance leader would kill the colonial enforcer without a second thought. He had to act quickly before things got out of hand. “What would it take to forget we ever met?” he asked, remembering a few pieces of worthless statuary that Sophia had purchased in the Casbah. A well-placed bribe just might spare some unnecessary bloodshed. Ben Ammar stroked his beard shrewdly, reconsidering his hasty threat in light of the proposal. “Well now, it depends on what you have to offer.” Indy dug in the saddlebag and gave him a soapstone figure of an archer drawing back his bow. “Here you go, friend. A rare carving of obvious value.” The patrolman dropped the statuette in the dirt with barely a glance. He brushed his hands together in disgust. “Fah! I have no need for such material trifles; only gold or silver.” He glanced at Sophia again. “Or the woman.” The last of Indy’s patience was gone. “Then maybe I’ll just file a report with Governor le Beau. I’m sure he’d be thrilled to know that his troops are open to bribery.” Ammar’s eyes betrayed his fear. He knew that he would lose his job if word of the incident got back to the capital. He stomped off through the trees, mounted his camel and galloped away in a furious cloud of dust, hurling a string of profanities behind him. Sophia retied her loose robe. “What a charming fellow.” “You seem to attract those types,” Indy conceded. He pitched the legionnaire’s rifle into the bushes. “Let’s restock our water supply and keep moving.”

14 LOST OUTPOST

Indy raised his binoculars to the desolate landscape, surveying the area for any sign of movement. Lying beside him on the rocky ledge, Sophia lifted her gauzy veil and drank deeply from her canteen, savoring the tepid oasis water. “God, it’s hot out here.” “That’s why they call it the desert, sweetheart.” Indy panned his binoculars over the 10- acre dig site, a quarter mile away. He traced an imaginary path to the heart of the excavation, a branching, multi-leveled pit cut into the desert floor. There was a sizeable mound of dirt piled beside the main trench, along with a dusty bulldozer. On the opposite side of the hole, a portable crane was mounted to a concrete slab which also held a cluster of 50-gallon drums shaded by a large canvas awning. Further back, Indy saw a steel water tower rising above the compound. Sophia nudged his arm. “What can you see?” “A lot of equipment, some vehicles…” He tallied an ancient pickup truck, two motorcycles, and a strange half-track type automobile. “At least there are no tanks,” he muttered. “Any Nazis?” Indy shook his head. A small tent village flanked the inner perimeter fence, but there was no sign of activity in the camp. “The place looks abandoned. I guess Adolf’s boys are slacking off today.” Sophia rolled over to face Abdul, sprawled on the ledge beside her. “I thought you said there were soldiers here?” “Do not be deceived. They sleep when it becomes too hot to work, and dig at night in darkness.” “That should make it easy then.” Indy stowed his field glasses. “Let’s go.” Leaving their camels in a shady cluster of palm trees below the ridge, the trio scurried across the gravel shoal spanning the barren plain. They’d nearly reached the dig when a dust cloud billowed into the sky on the far side of the compound. They froze at the unmistakable sound of an engine. “Shit. I knew it couldn’t be this easy. Keep low, and follow me,” said Indy. “Hurry.” They raced the beige smoke plume to the German encampment and reached the fence just as a half-track came into view. Indy quickly slid under on his belly and lifted the barbed wire for Abdul and Sophia. He put a finger to his lips, urging them to keep quiet, and they darted between the tents, looking for a place to hide. He held his breath, praying that the soldiers wouldn’t see their footprints in the sand. Fortunately, the patrol motored past without stopping. When the car was gone, they crept through the silent camp, using the excavating equipment for cover until they reached the pit. The top of a ladder was sticking up. Indy peered into the stygian depths and spied the remains of a wooden ship in the shadows below. He paused, listening for any voices in the cavern, but his ears met with stark silence. He eased onto the ladder, gripping the top rung for balance. “I’m going down. Keep your eyes open, and yell if you see anyone.” Sophia, huddled nearby with Abdul in the shade of the bulldozer, nodded. “Be careful.” Descending the shaft through a razor-sharp wedge of sunlight that bathed the sandstone wall in a rosy glow, Indy landed beside the shipwreck in the subterranean gloom. Shadow closed around him, instantly extinguishing the heat. The air was dry and cool, the oily darkness almost thick enough to breathe. It was a welcome relief after crossing the blazing desert. He knelt by the ship and noted a pile of broken clay wine jugs lying within the dry-rotted cedar skeleton. The curved wooden ribs described a broad-hulled vessel with a pronounced keel. He brushed a layer of sand from a crude stone anchor, half-buried in the soil. Indy scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Early Iron Age. Phoenician… or possibly Greek,” he estimated. It might have classified as a boat grave, if not for the absence of human remains. Indy wished he had more time to examine it, but it was too risky. The longer they stayed, the greater their chances of being caught. He wanted to find the keystone and get out of there as quick as possible. The unexpected noise of a motor chugging to life startled him. Indy stood tensely, steeling for a Nazi ambush as the darkness wilted away in the glow of electric lamps hanging from the ceiling. The wan light revealed a large stone chamber reinforced with stout wooden posts. Indy relaxed when he saw that he was alone in the room. Aside from the noisy gasoline generator that supplied power to the lights, there was only a work table and a length of mine car track which spanned the rubble-strewn floor. Piles of rocky debris were heaped along the walls, but the chamber was surprisingly bare. Maybe they were too late, he thought. The Germans might have already found the prize and moved on. But if that was the case, why were they still patrolling the site? “Ooh, it’s nice and cool in here.” Sophia climbed down the ladder, followed by Abdul. She pulled back her veil and gave the barren room a cursory glance before settling on the ship. “Wow, a Phoenician bireme! How do you suppose it ended up here?” “Perhaps this was the harbor of some long-vanished sea,” Abdul speculated thoughtfully as he studied the wreck. “That’s my guess, too.” Indy said. “The Mediterranean was much larger in ancient times. There are probably hundreds of shipwrecks scattered across the desert.” Sophia caressed one of the broken ship ribs. “This vessel carried refugees after the sinking of Atlantis. I’m sure of it.” Then she stood alertly, as if summoned by a silent, omnipotent voice. “I sense the presence of Nur-Ab-Sal nearby.” Dowsing the room, she discovered a mural hidden in the shadows on a wall behind the generator. The painting showed a pair of dark-haired females garbed in billowy dresses, tossing a ball-like object in the air. The vibrant colors were remarkably well-preserved in the dry, shady atmosphere belowground. Indy noted how the figures were depicted in profile, common to Amarna style artwork. He traced the painted orb with a finger. “It’s the Aten, the sun disk of Ra. This was an Egyptian outpost.” “No. These are the Sisters of the Light—the gatekeepers of Atlantis. They were the twin children of Poseidon and Cleito.” “You need to brush up on your mythology. Poseidon had five sets of male twins, and none of them were gatekeepers of anything.” “Don’t contradict me, Jones. I have spiritual guidance from the last king of Atlantis. Nur- Ab-Sal knows and sees all.” “Then where’s the gate?” he challenged. “Why it’s right here, of course.” Closing her eyes, Sophia ran her hands over the stone painting like a Braille reader, but her face skewed in frustration after several fruitless moments of searching. She stepped back from the wall, her confidence visibly waning. “Strange, Nur-Ab-Sal tells me this is the right place, but I just can’t find it.” “That’s because it’s only a picture. If the keystone really is here, it’s probably buried in an antechamber. Look over there.” Indy pointed at two adjacent alcoves filled with rubble. “Maybe we need more light?” Abdul chimed in helpfully. “Yeah, and some shovels,” Indy grumbled. After all the trouble they had endured to reach the dig site, the last thing he felt like doing was clearing a tunnel on the remote chance that it might contain the artifact they were searching for. Sophia scrutinized the mural intently, literally willing the stone to give up its ancient secret, when Abdul’s comment hit her like a ton of bricks. “Light. The Aten… The sun disk. A disk.” Her hands traveled up the wall. Sophia grasped the chiseled rim of the bas-relief sphere with her fingertips, pulled, and the ‘sun’ fell from its shallow recess. “Hidden in plain sight!” “Clever,” Indy remarked. “We finally have the key to Atlantis,” she announced, displaying the stone ceremoniously. “Or at least one of them. There are three stones, according to Plato. Remember?” The granite disk was nearly a foot in diameter, with four distinct solar images carved along the outer edge at quarter intervals. Around the central spindle hole was a recess to accommodate the next key in the set. Sophia explained that the circular shape of the stone signified unity and perfection—the virtues of Atlantis. Indy handed the sunstone back. “Here, you hold onto it. I think Abdul’s found something.” Across the room, the nomad beckoned them over to a damaged section of wall, where the fractured rock had been hastily patched with mud. Indy touched the plaster. “Still damp. Somebody covered this up recently. Let’s see what they were hiding.” He scraped at the wall with his pocket knife until bits of wet clay littered the floor. Beneath the crude veneer, they found the image of a single landmass carved into the ancient sandstone. It was a slender island with a jagged coastline. “The island of Crete,” Indy assessed. “That’s it! Crete must be the Greater Colony!” exclaimed Sophia, clutching the sunstone to her chest. “We really found it!” “Well, it certainly fits Plato’s description of a mountainous island with an oblong shape.” “Do you know what this means? Now we can find Atlantis!” She tugged on Indy’s sleeve, practically bouncing in excitement. “Come on, let’s go right now!” “Yes. Let us take a visit there together,” said a German-accented voice. Klaus Kerner strode boldly from the shadows, flanked by two plainclothes agents with pistols. It was the first time Indy had seen his nemesis in full regalia. The statuesque colonel cut a striking figure in his custom-tailored SS Waffenrock made of jade gabardine wool, and matching Jodhpur breeches. His tunic displayed a modest assortment of badges, but the pride of his ensemble was the blood-red swastika band on his left sleeve. Flawless blond hair. Chiseled features. Icy blue eyes that cut like a knife. Indy loathed everything about him. Kerner extended his hand in formal greeting. “Fräulein Hapgood, I don’t believe I have made the pleasure of your acquaintance.” When she made no move to accept, he pulled the sunstone from her grasp. “This relic is the property of the Ahnenerbe. Thank you for providing us both the key to the Lost City, and its location.” He touched the mud-splotched wall, rubbed his fingertips together primly. “It seems we require the assistance of another Atlantis expert since Doktor Sternhart has outlived his loyalty. You will prove useful in our quest.” “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not going to help you monsters find anything.” “Monsters? On the contrary, unlike you beastly Americans, we are descendants of the nordisch atlantic, the superior Aryan race who founded this magnificent lost civilization. Such a distinction is hardly the legacy of monsters, I think.” Indy sneered at the medals gleaming on the Nazi’s crisp uniform—awards for bloodshed. The bold cantilevered runic armband glared in his face, a once-benevolent icon turned perpetually evil. His contempt poured out in a bitter torrent. “You bastards turn the swastika sideways, persecute innocent people, and commit wholesale atrocity in the name of cultural heritage. And for what? Because your psychotic Führer buys into some crackpot Russian mystic’s bullshit theory about a so-called ‘Master Race’? Yeah, that’s real noble.” “Atlantis was perfect. This world is not.” Kerner said with icy calm. “Ridding the human race of its inferior people is the price of progress, and a very small price to pay, I might add.” The tall, square-jawed German circled Indy, keenly appraising his rugged visage from all sides. “Perhaps, Herr Jones, you might even be harboring some Jewish blood yourself.” “Fuck you, Adolf.” With those words, Indy had struck the very core of the Nazi’s patriotic devotion. Kerner’s face burned with outrage. He trembled in fury, then regained his composure with a frigid little smile. “That is quite enough mud-slinging, Doktor Jones. Time is short, and I have need of Fräulein Hapgood’s services.” “I wouldn’t help you if my life depended on it!” Sophia seethed defiantly. Kerner drew his gun with a sigh of tedium. “It does. I am offering you a choice, Fräulein. Join us, and fulfill your life’s ambition. Or join your friend, another rotting corpse on the road to glory.” He aimed the Luger at Indy’s chest. “Auf Wiedersehen, Doktor Jones.” A tremendous roar shattered the air. Indy tensed, but felt nothing. The electric lights flickered as a massive dirt avalanche poured into the chamber, obliterating the patch of blue sky above the entrance. Everything vanished in a thick cloud of dust. Primed with adrenaline-fueled hatred, Indy lashed out blindly with a vicious kick. Kerner’s gun flew into the haze. His cry of pain was cut short by a knockout blow that sent the Nazi to the dirt, unconscious. “The sunstone!” Sophia practically dove to the floor after the precious relic. “Du da! Jones!” Torsten stabbed his pistol towards Indy and fired a deafening blast in the tight confines of the chamber. He stared with disbelief because he’d missed in the smoke. Indy leaped towards the dumbstruck agent and sacked him like a linebacker. The Abwehr stumbled over the rail tracks and fell backward against the rubble-filled mine cart. His head struck the metal with a dull thud and he slumped to the ground. The second agent deftly raised his gun to retaliate, but froze when he felt the razor-sharp tip of Abdul’s sword pressed against his throat. “Drop it, son.” Indy advised him. Karl immediately put his hands up in surrender. “Ich habe nur Kerners Befehle befolgt.” “Just following orders? I’d find some better friends if I were you,” he responded in German while relieving the young soldier of his weapon. “Because you’re keeping bad company, kid.” Sophia rejoined him with the sunstone. “Got it.” “Great. Now let’s get the hell out of here.” Returning to the ladder, they were astonished to find the bulldozer crashed face-down in a landslide clogging the entry shaft. Splintered wooden planks protruded from the dirt mound where the ancient galleon had been pulverized in the collapse. A sliver of daylight glowed in the very corner of the alcove—all that remained of the opening. Sophia peered up at the narrow blue slice. “What happened? Did the roof cave in?” “I don’t think so. That earthmover was on solid ground,” Indy said. “Salamu aleykum!” A blue-veiled face appeared above them. “Izem! Thank Allah you are here!” Abdul quickly scaled the dirt pile and vanished through the crevice. Indy and Sophia wasted no time in following. A pair of bronze hands pulled them into the blinding sunlight. Their rescuer was a lean Tuareg in dust-caked robes. Indy gave the bulldozer driver a hearty pat on the back, thanking the man whose timely action saved his life. Thunder echoed across the cloudless sky. Shrill battle cries filled the dusty air as the legion of blue-robed warriors galloped across the dig site with swords raised high. The cavalry had arrived, and not a moment too soon. Bleary-eyed Nazi soldiers poured from their tents, disoriented by the commotion. The sight of the rampaging Arab riders snapped them to instant sobriety. “Zu den Waffen! Wir werden angegriffen! Beeilung!” Bullets sparkled off the bulldozer’s steel treads like fireworks. Indy grabbed Sophia by the arm and ran hell-bent towards the cluster of vehicles parked by the crane while gunfire raked the parched soil around them. “Yalla! Yalla!” Abdul climbed onto the upended excavator and waved his sword to rally his men to battle. The Tuareg riders unleashed a volley of musket fire that drove the Nazis back among their tents in surprise. Indy slid behind the steering wheel of the nearest half-track, a small, angular car made of corrugated gray sheet metal. Sophia took the passenger seat. “What is this thing?” The sedan appeared to be a hybrid, with a triangular caterpillar tread configuration in place of normal rear wheels. There was a spare tire mounted on the hood, and a 10-gallon gas can strapped to the front fender. The side panels featured the word ‘Volkswagenwerk’ stenciled above a toothed sprocket emblem. “Who cares, as long as it runs.” Indy fired the engine, jammed the gas pedal down, and the half-track lurched into motion. “Where’s Abdul?” Indy twisted around in his seat, and saw him dash towards the crane. The blue nomad ducked out of sight among the other vehicles, then reappeared a few moments later, running like mad. “What the hell is he doing?” “Abdul, come on! Hurry!” Sophia waved frantically, urging him to run faster. The Tuareg dove headfirst into the back of the moving vehicle as a hail of lead stitched the burning sand close by. “Imshee! Go!” Indy didn’t need any motivation. He floored the accelerator and they sped across the compound while the helpless German soldiers watched in disbelief. “Die Araber entkommen! Zu den Wagen! Haltet sie auf, bevor sie das Tor erreichen!” Incensed by Indy’s brazen theft of the car, the troops laid down a line of counter-fire against the marauding nomads. They scrambled for their vehicles, piling into the old flatbed truck and the other half-track. Motorcycles roared off ahead of them, intent on catching the fugitives before they reached the open desert. “Here’s where the fun begins.” Indy muttered grimly as the convoy peeled after them in pursuit. The second Kübelwagen shot forward, spewing sand furiously in its eagerness to join the chase. Behind them, the crane boom suddenly came to life on its own. The massive arm pivoted in a circle as if magnetically drawn to the speeding car. The steel cable went rigid and the half-track jumped violently off the ground in a shower of gears and bolts. The spinning treads frayed apart, unbelting from the drive train, and the vehicle crashed back to earth in a cloud of dust. Sophia gawked in astonishment. Its rear axle had been torn from the undercarriage. “Where did you learn that trick?!” Abdul shrugged modestly. “To stop a camel from running away, we simply tie its legs.” A sharp burst of gunfire suddenly ripped through the windshield, chopping the plate glass to shards. “Get down!” Indy punched the ruined screen flat against the hood to clear his line of sight, then stomped the pedal down, running the sedan to maximum speed. The air-cooled engine screamed to propel the ungainly tracked vehicle through the thick Algerian sand. “Indee, look what I found!” Abdul popped up from the back seat with a Karabiner field rifle. “Great, let ‘em have it!” he growled as the German motorcycles arrowed in on either side to intercept them. The first soldier drew alongside the car and reached for his holstered gun. Abdul whipped the rifle up and blasted the Nazi at point-blank range. The speeding bike crashed to the ground and skidded into the path of its twin. The other rider swerved sharply to avoid the collision, but the handlebar of the fallen motorcycle went into his whirling spokes, and the two machines twisted into a tangled heap of metal. Sophia cheered. The truckload of Nazis roared past their fallen comrades with its deadly cargo, a pincushion of steel gun barrels. The troops standing behind the cab leveled their guns on the roof and opened fire on the lumbering half-track. “Sonofabitch!” Indy twisted the steering wheel hard, and the car slewed sideways to evade the gunfire. Bullet holes riddled their fenders as the German vehicle see-sawed like a block of lead on ice. “This thing doesn’t steer worth a damn,” he grimaced, trying to regain control of the skittering vehicle. “We don’t have time for this!” Sophia jerked the rifle from Abdul’s hands, and took aim at the cluster of red 50-gallon drums beneath the awning by the crane. The steel barrels were marked: Lebensgefahr! Entflammbar! in bold white letters. She cradled the heavy rifle as the car bounced roughly over the dirt, focused, and pulled the trigger. Click. Nothing happened. Another string of German bullets kissed the half-track’s rear treads. Icy panic flashed through her body. Click. Click. Click. Sophia fumbled the rifle desperately, struggling to make it shoot. “What’s wrong with this thing?” “It’s a bolt action! You have to chamber each round!” Indy yelled over the crack of gunfire piercing the austral wind. The redhead clumsily worked the lever and jammed the bullet into place. Huddled low in the seat, she raised the gun and sighted down the barrel. The Tuareg veil tickled her face in the blowing wind. Dust particles stung her eyes as she squinted in the phosphorescent sun glare that burned the world in a vivid white glow. Her target was a smudgy red blur dancing on the Karabiner’s muzzle. Sophia took a deep breath, steadied her aim, and fired. The crane vanished in a fiery orange blossom that engulfed the fuel pad, igniting the remaining barrels with a series of deafening whomps! A massive pillar of flame scarred the blue Saharan sky. Bodies flew screaming through the air as the concussion slapped the Nazi truck like a tin cracker box, pitching it onto its side. The force of the blast shattered the water tower, unleashing a torrent that swept away the tents and flooded the excavation pit. Abdul released a cry of celebration that was echoed by the ring of Tuareg soldiers that galloped around their half-track. The Berber cavalry discharged their guns in a triumphant victory salute. Sophia held up the sunstone with a bright grin. “You call this archaeology?” “No, but I seem to have a talent for it!” Indy replied. They crashed through the wooden security gate and raced into the desert wilderness, leaving the ruined dig site far behind.

***

“This is a floating death trap,” proclaimed Sophia, staring up at the enormous yellow globe that would carry them to Greece. She warily circled the ancient hot air balloon. Its creaky wicker basket was attached to the airship by a rope lattice netting which looked as if it might disintegrate in the wind gusting over the rocky Gouraya peninsula, on the Mediterranean coast. She apprehensively eyed the word ‘HYDROGEN’ stenciled on the dented gas canister hanging from the outside of the basket. “Does anybody else remember the Hindenburg?” Indy turned from the lanky Arab who was explaining the flight controls to him. “Well, it’s not exactly the Clipper, but it’s the best we can do on short notice. Besides, it’s free.” It had been three days since they fled the dig site for the Algerian port city of Béjaïa, where Abdul’s cousin operated an aerial balloon tour service. Indy was anxious to put as much distance as possible between Africa and Greece, because he was certain they hadn’t seen the last of Klaus Kerner. With good tailwind and a little luck, they could beat the Nazis to the Greater Colony, and ultimately Atlantis, if the city actually existed. He watched carefully while Kareem demonstrated how the parachute cord peeled open the top of the balloon to vent gas for a quick descent. The rim of the basket was saddled with heavy sandbags used for ballast during ascension. The airship could be flown with little or no heat during the day, while the burner was used to keep the hydrogen at a constant temperature after sundown. Only a small amount of fuel was needed to fly for lengthy periods of time, Kareem said. This last bit of information piqued Sophia’s interest. “How long can we fly before we need more hydrogen?” The Arab scratched his beard for a moment. “The longest flight that I hear of lasted twenty days.” He beckoned to the swollen balloon. “Gas leaks sometimes, so probably less.” A particularly strong gust of wind swirled around them, buffeting the tethered balloon. Kareem grinned happily. “Good wind today! You will travel far, I promise!” He fired the blast valve with a loud roar. A gout of orange flame leaped into the balloon’s narrow throat like a blowtorch, and the basket lifted off the ground several inches. The airship strained at its mooring ropes, tied to rusty iron rings embedded in stone blocks around the craft. Standing at the edge of the clearing, Abdul watched the balloon dance in the salty breeze. Sophia stared in disbelief as the Tuareg lowered his veil to reveal his handsome bronze features. She strolled over and gazed wistfully upon the face of her guardian for the first and last time. “You are a noble warrior, Abdul. Thank you for protecting me.” She took his hands in hers. “I wish we could have spent more time together.” “The sands are always shifting, Al anesah Sofeea. Such is life.” She embraced the desert warrior. “May Allah smile on you always,” he told her. “You, too.” She pulled away reluctantly, then picked up her valise and handed it to Kareem, who placed it inside the basket along with Indy’s rucksack. As he helped Sophia onto the wooden crate to climb inside, the balloon owner paused at her appearance. She wore tall knee boots over dusty green jeans, her disheveled blouse flapping loosely in the wind. “Sha’ar ahmar-ma ajmal! You fly around the world like Meel- ya Errhart?” Sophia couldn’t help smiling that her outfit conjured up the famous aviatrix. She turned up her hands with a shrug. “Sure, why not?” Kareem laughed. “Please do not get lost, I hope. You are too beautiful!” “Don’t worry, Kareem. Not as long as she’s with me.” Indy chuckled, guiding her into the basket. “After you, Miss Earhart.” Abdul clasped Indy’s shoulder. “Farewell, Saheb Indee. I am forever in your debt for vanquishing the Nazi infidels. May they never return to my country.” Indy returned the gesture of friendship. “Not after the licking we gave ‘em,” he grinned. “You are a good and honorable friend. May Allah be with you.” The nomad bowed his head in return. “And with you as well. I will pray for your safe journey.” “Ready to fly?” Kareem asked them. Indy climbed into the basket and took the control cables. “Ready.” Together, the Berbers freed the mooring ropes and the giant balloon lifted into the sky. The earth shrank beneath them. Sophia waved at Abdul until his tiny blue figure vanished from sight. She put her arms around Indy as a strident wind blew them eastward over the sea. 15 HORNS OF CONSECRATION

Golden sunlight scorched the Aegean sky, glimmering across the sapphire waves that crashed against Crete’s rocky shore while seagulls winged on the gusty currents, swooping low to catch fish near the surface. Sophia inhaled deeply and savored the pleasantly-scented breeze that whispered through the swaying pines and brushed her hair into silky red ether. She gazed across the pastoral vista with blissful satisfaction. “Can you believe how beautiful it is here? The weather is absolutely perfect!” “This isn’t a vacation,” Indy reminded her as they surveyed the ruins of Knossos from a grassy slope overlooking the cluster of ancient stone buildings on the verdant countryside. Sir Arthur Evans’ restoration of the Minoan capital sprawled across six acres, an elaborately stacked complex of apartments, staircases, and rooms that, in its heyday, would have resembled a lavish hotel rising above the forested landscape. The palace was a marvel of engineering. Its revolutionary design used light wells to naturally illuminate the building without smoky torches and oil lamps, while its elevated position channeled sea breezes through a network of air shafts to cool the rooms during summer months. The royal apartments featured hot and cold running water, a complete drainage system, and adjustable partition doors that slid neatly into the walls. “Look, Indy. Red, black, and white—the colors of the Atlantean empire, just as Plato described!” Sophia pointed at the fading red columns that stood like bold sentinels amid the chalky buildings. The florid entasis columns were ringed with circular black capitals that buttressed a fragment of the palace’s now-vanished roof. Most visitors assumed the tapered pillars were made of stone, but they were actually carved cypress trees, planted inversely to keep them from sprouting. “Your powers of observation are astonishing,” he remarked with dry humor. “My powers work better at close range. I’m going down for a look,” Sophia declared, moving towards the site with eagerness. When he reached the stone pathway at the southwest corner of the palace, Indy climbed the steps with humbled reverence. The fractured walls and buckled streets were a stark reminder of the devastation that brought an end to Europe’s oldest civilization. The jumble of sun-baked ruins was the result of a massive earthquake that struck the island in 1700 B.C., shattering the magnificent city. In the aftermath of the disaster, the citizens of Crete fled to the Greek mainland, abandoning their once-glorious capital to the ravages of time until Evans came along to dig it from the earth more than two millennia later. Although Indy followed his progress from afar, he never had the opportunity to visit Knossos until now. Examining the site in person gave him a newfound respect for what Arthur Evans had accomplished in his career. But success did not come without a price. Most of his work was highly speculative, based on imagery from Greek mythology. The stunning frescoes, in particular, were fanciful renditions cobbled from fragmented pieces scattered through the rubble of the collapsed buildings. The academic world criticized Evans’ flagrant inaccuracies, scorned his use of contemporary materials in the restoration process, and vilified the wealthy amateur archaeologist who defined an entire culture at his leisure, while his jealous contemporaries struggled to gather financial support for work that would ultimately pale in comparison. Personally, Indy doubted that these were the remains of Atlantis, but Sophia’s conviction was evident as she walked briskly down the boulevard, clutching her bronze pendant. “We’re so close. I just know there’s something important hidden among these ruins.” “Evans went over this place with a fine-tooth comb.” Indy knelt to pick up a potsherd from the ground. He brushed a layer of dust from the broken fragment and saw the faded blue curve of a wave painted on its surface. Pithoi, he thought, recalling the term for the oversize vases used for storage. There were dozens of the clay vessels scattered across the site and tucked among the deserted niches of the Minoan palace. “Believe me, there’s nothing left to find.” “That’s where you’re wrong. Nur-Ab-Sal tells me that in his travels he has walked this ground, and bids us find the underworld passage to his ancestral home.” Indy propped his boot on a truncated pillar and regarded the desolate ruins around them. “So, you really think this is the Greater Colony?” “I’m sure of it. Crete was a travel hub to the main island of Atlantis. This palace was a hotel for visitors waiting to enter the capital, rather like a modern airport.” Indy raised an eyebrow. “Airport, huh? That’s a new theory.” The quip drew an irresistible smile from her. “Now let’s go find the next keystone,” she said, beckoning him to follow. Crossing the main courtyard, they saw a strange, pitiful sight that made Indy lament the grandeur of the original palace. A solitary staircase climbed into the sky towards the second floor of a nonexistent building. The summit now offered a vista of the olive-laden Kairatos River valley beyond. The gypsum-clad mansion with its vibrant rose-pillared balconies would have impressed any visitor during the reign of Knossos. The roofline was fenced with a row of paired bull horns that formed a thorny battlement around its rim. The largest example of the sacred Minoan icon was the prominent Horns of Consecration that overlooked the terraced fields at the southern end of the complex. Sophia was too preoccupied by her search to notice the monument, however. They paused to examine a wooden shed built conspicuously into the hollow doorframe of another vanished structure. The hut contained a wheelbarrow, some picks and shovels, a collapsible surveying instrument, stakes and string for grid-making. Archaeological work had apparently ceased with Evans’ departure. Indy closed the shed and was about to move on when a familiar design jumped out at him. “Look, it’s the running spiral again,” he said, pointing out the aquatic wave pattern spanning the doorframes. Sophia was pleased to see the reassuring symbol. “Naturally. This is the gateway to Atlantis. Nur-Ab-Sal says that we’re very close now.” Holding her pendant like a compass, she pivoted slightly and headed for a timbered portal on the eastern side of the courtyard. Indy followed her into the shadowy doorway and through narrow, twisting halls. At every turn, the walls displayed a rich legacy of artwork that reflected the Minoans love of nature. Elegant white gazelles stood attentively on bold crimson panels in one corridor, followed by a school of blue dolphins gliding across the soothing vanilla tapestry of the next. Beautiful figures of men and women populated the rooms, ageless denizens of the palace, forever frozen in time. Underscoring the ancient imagery was the omnipresent spiral that lined the passageways with linear consistency. Sophia’s route took them through the residential quarter of Knossos, to a remote, shattered building north of the palace. “Time hasn’t been too kind to this room,” Indy said after a brief glance around the chamber. Soft clouds drifted serenely across the open sky where the ceiling had been. A large, jagged fracture split one corner to reveal distant pines swaying in the breeze outside. Besides a few dusty vases, the only notable feature was a sun-bleached mural that dominated a wall trimmed in red molding. Indy wiped his hand across the faded painting. Years of exposure had taken its toll, the once-vibrant colors now muted by time. But the design was still legible enough to see a large red circle with the distinctive horns in the center. A trio of symbols surrounded the horns: a small circle above it, a bull’s head and tail below, all joined by lines which converged above the icon, forming a triangle. “Fascinating…” Sophia caressed the stone with delicate reverence. “According to Nur- Ab-Sal, this is the clue that we needed to find, but he won’t reveal anything more. I think we’re on our own.” “Just the way I like it.” Indy retrieved his small field notebook and sketched the diagram. The ring above the horns represented the sun, as commonly depicted in ancient world cultures. In fact, it was very similar to the Egyptian mural they had found in the Algerian dig site. Then it dawned on him. “I think I know what this mural means,” he announced to Sophia, who had been studying the wall intently. She looked surprised. “You figured it out already?” “Yeah, and without Nur-Ab-Sal’s help. Follow me and I’ll show you.”

It was an hour past noon when Indy unfolded the tripod surveying instrument on the chalky flagstones of the South Propylaea courtyard. Stark sunlight burned the tall horns, throwing a pair of sharp, dagger-like shadows across the ground. He positioned the transit at an angle to the monument, confident in his theory that the mural had a physical counterpart among the ruins. Looking fatigued, Sophia dropped her backpack by the pedestal supporting the massive sculpture. She studied the curious formation a moment, then sat down to rest in the curve of the great horns. Indy panned the theodolite and peered through the scope. He smiled when Sophia appeared in the lens, gripping the upright stone prongs like a girl on a swing set. “What is this thing anyway? It looks like the town centerpiece.” “Probably a ceremonial altar,” he replied, adjusting the focus dials. “The Mycenaeans sacrificed bulls to appease Poseidon, who destroyed the Minoan culture that ruled Crete before them. They guided the bull’s head through the horns and cut its throat, allowing the blood to pour over the stone in a ritual of supplication.” The psychic hastily vacated her seat. She wiped her hands on her pants, grimacing in disgust. “Thanks for the warning.” “It could also represent a sun deity,” Indy continued, sighting up the distant saddle of Mount Juktas beyond the limestone fork. “The Egyptian symbol for the horizon is nearly identical to the Minoan horns.” He noted how the altar mirrored their stolen bronze idol, with its upraised arms. The statue was probably a Minoan relic, a ceremonial effigy of Hēliakos, the great bull in the sky. Through the scope, Indy saw her face brighten in abrupt revelation. Sophia dug frantically in her backpack. “I’ve got it!” She retrieved the Hermocrates and blazed through the paperclip-marked pages to the middle of the book. “Listen to this: When the great bull leaps through the sky at mid-day, the sun will freeze as the moon shines forth in all of its splendor...” Her brow scrunched in confusion. “That doesn’t make sense. How can the moon rise at midday?” Indiana Jones grinned broadly. “Moon cults dominated the Bronze Age. The bull was a lunar deity in Mesopotamia. Its horns represented the crescent moon. The sun only freezes in the sky twice a year. What’s today?” Sophia consulted her wristwatch. “June 22nd. Why?” He pointed to the ground. The sun’s languid arc merged the shadow of the twin horns into a black needle that slanted sharply to the northeast, splitting the alkaline tiles like the hour hand on a clock face. She clapped her hands in delight. “It’s a sundial!” “Right. A solar alignment marker. The summer solstice is when the sun is at the furthest point from the equator.” “But what about the mural?” “It’s a map. The shadow points the way to the treasure.” Indy scrawled a calculation in his notebook, then consulted the azimuth compass on the transit. He adjusted the scope and took new bearings on the horns. Sophia scanned the area with sudden annoyance. “What’s keeping Melina? I’m hungry.” “I told you she wouldn’t come back. She took off and left you with an empty promise. You’re too gullible.” “I am not,” she protested. The ten-year-old Greek girl had promptly attached herself to the pair when they first arrived on Crete, saying that she could guide them around the island in exchange for money to help feed her poor family. When she learned of their interest in the archaeological site, she’d boasted that her father worked with Evans on his digs, and confided that she knew many secrets in the ruins that tourists never saw. Moved by pity and intrigue, Sophia dug into her wallet and offered Melina a generous donation. When they reached Kephala Hill, the girl ran off, promising to bring back lunch while they explored the site. Indy suspected she used the scam on every tourist, charming an endless parade of rich foreigners with disposable travel money. Offering to feed travelers after a long journey from the mainland seemed like a convenient way for a needy waif to score some cash. “Could you walk over there?” He pointed to an area some distance away. Indy directed her to the spot through the transit lens, moved the surveying instrument across the courtyard, adjusted her position, and ordered her to stop. “Don’t move.” The sight lines intersected at a 50-degree angle, converging on a well-worn flagstone ten feet away from the tall horns. The redhead scratched a pair of crossed lines in the dust with her boot heel. “X marks the spot, right?” Indy smiled wryly. “Yeah, sometimes. Now let’s get to work.” He produced a trowel and chiseled at the edges of the heavy slab until he could slip the blade under the stone. Together they lifted the tile free. Below it, lying flush with the compressed earth, was a rectangular piece of metal stained with the green patina of age. The tip of the trowel produced a hollow ring when Indy tapped it against the plate. Sophia wore a mask of pure glory when he extracted a small bronze box from the damp soil. “It’s a larnax. These things are as rare as rocking horse teeth.” “Did you find some treasure?” They looked up to see Melina Nikas traipsing across the ruins, carrying a wicker basket. The Greek peasant girl wore a threadbare cotton dress and braided leather sandals. Her long, curly dark hair was decorated with a light blue ribbon. “It’s a chest used for sacred burials,” Indy explained. “They usually hold cremated remains, but I’ve never heard of one sealed beneath a stone.” “Well, open it already,” Sophia urged impatiently. Indy gently pried the lid open. The ancient hinges, now reduced to shapeless lumps of metal, crumbled as hot sunlight poured into the box. Sophia gasped. Inside, lying on a cushion of moldy velvet, was a glittering disk of pure alabaster. Half the diameter of the sunstone, its edges were softly rounded like a bar of soap. A quartet of lunar orbs and crescents were cut into the milky stone along its curved edge. The center of the wheel was bored out with a hole. “The moonstone!” Sophia clutched the disk in ecstasy. “This is the second key! Now we can open the doorway to Atlantis!” “We learned about that story in school,” Melina said. “My teacher says Plato invented it.” “Well, I’ve been studying Atlantis for a long time, and I promise that it’s real.” The girl raised her basket with a bright smile. “Are you still hungry? I brought lunch!” “Am I ever!” Sophia was more enthused by the stone disk than whatever food was inside the kid’s basket. “I think it’s a good time for a break,” Indy agreed. He slid the stone back into place, covering the hole, and masked the seams with dust to hide their discovery. They gathered their belongings and settled on the steps of a nearby shaded alcove to escape the heat. Melina unpacked home-made sandwiches for them. “I hope you like this. My mother helped me make it.” “Oh, that’s nice. Thank you, sweetheart.” Sophia unwrapped her sandwich and took a ravenous bite, then paused with a strange expression. She carefully peeled the bread apart and looked inside. “Honey, what is this?” “Peanut butter and mayonnaise. It’s my favorite!” Melina beamed. “Very tasty, yes?” Sophia offered a mawkish smile, forced herself to take another bite, and swallowed with great difficulty. “Boy, that sure hit the spot. I’d better save the rest for later.” Indy devoured his own sandwich under Melina’s watchful gaze while Sophia packed the unappetizing leftover in her bag with a guilty look. She opened the Hermocrates and set off across the courtyard. Indy followed, toting his backpack, while Melina hopped onto a wall foundation and walked alongside them, balancing with her outstretched arms. “I saw you come down in the balloon. Did you fly all the way from America?” “No. But it sure felt like we did,” Indy said. “My legs are still sore.” “I am so glad you come to Crete. My homeland is very beautiful, don’t you think?” “It’s gorgeous,” Sophia agreed as she leafed through the book. “I feel as if I’ve lived here my whole life, like a part of me has been missing.” “And now you are complete?” “Once we find Atlantis, then I will be complete. Here’s what Plato says: Gates of the kingdom opened only with the aid of special stones. At many outposts, a Sunstone sufficed, if sunset made the tall horns red. At the Greater Colony a Moonstone was also needed, with the sun dying as a new moon is born.” “Well, the ‘tall horns’ can only mean one thing,” Indy said. They went back to the monument for another look. The midday sun blazed overhead. The lengthening shadow no longer pointed to the secret tile where they found the box. Sophia shaded her eyes with a frustrated sigh. “I don’t see how the color of sunlight on the horns would make any difference.” “Maybe we could paint them red?” Melina suggested. “That makes about as much sense as waiting for sunset, and we don’t have that long.” “I think you’re reading this too literally. Look at the stones.” He pressed the moonstone neatly against the larger sunstone. “The hole is the same size in both disks. They were obviously made to fit onto something. I think we’re missing a piece.” “Let me see those.” Sophia took the keystones and examined them. Turning the disks over, she made a discovery. “Look at this!” Near the sunken rim atop the sunstone was a small metal nub about the size of a pencil eraser. Cut into the back of the moonstone was a thin groove which followed the contour of the smaller disk. She fit the disks together and saw that the metal pin was engineered to travel the channel, locking the two stones together. “What do you know? A perfect fit,” Indy smiled admiringly. Melina was watching Sophia twist the stone wheels together when she gasped in recognition. “That is part of the stone cake!” she exclaimed. Sophia almost dropped the disks in surprise. “Stone cake? What is that? Where is it?” “At the bottom of the hill. It has a metal candle that can fit into the stone—” She threaded her fingers through the hole in the moonstone, and whirled the small disk like a top. “Like this!” “Show me. Take us there,” Sophia begged. “Okay, follow me!” Melina darted across the open plaza while they hurried to keep her in sight. They chased her to the far side of the palace, down a path covered in bushy thickets and brambles. At the bottom was a conspicuous mound overgrown with weeds. Melina pointed at the hill. “Look in there.” Sophia crouched before the mound, transfixed. Nestled in the grass was a corroded bronze spindle. “This is it! We found it!” She began to rip away the vines, clawing and scraping with ravenous obsession until part of a smooth, curving stone surface protruded from the dirt. “Help me uncover it.” She took out the trowel and attacked the mound with renewed effort. Indy moved to the other side and stripped the weeds down to bare soil. Melina quickly joined them in clearing away the centuries of dirt accumulated on a flat, circular pedestal. Sophia whisked the surface clean with a brush, revealing the horned icon engraved in the stone above the bronze post. “This must be the tall horns mentioned in Plato’s text,” she said with certainty. They knelt around the altar while she fit the larger disk onto the spindle. She carefully placed the moonstone atop it. They heard the metal pin click into place. “I have to give the Minoans credit. This is a brilliant device,” acknowledged Indy. “Primitive but efficient.” “The Atlanteans,” Sophia corrected him. “Now everything makes sense. The symbolism is both literal and metaphorical.” She rotated the stone wheels, aligning the symbols to the sequence in Plato’s cipher. Below the horns, the moon slid smoothly above the setting sun. Everything was quiet. Nobody moved. Sophia held her breath tensely, unsure of what to expect. “What happens now?” Melina asked. Suddenly they felt the ground tremble. Then a portion of the nearby hillside sagged inward like a deflated balloon, crumbling into a heap of dirt. A cloud of pale dust billowed into the air, masking the area in a chalky haze. When the dust settled, they were amazed to see a narrow opening framed by a set of stone pillars. “It’s a secret door!” Melina exclaimed with delight. Sophia stared in disbelief. Indy helped her to her feet. Her knees trembled as she took several wobbly steps towards the portal. She stopped in front of the entrance and touched her bronze amulet. “This is the doorway to Atlantis. I see it with the eyes of my soul.” Melina peered into the darkness apprehensively. “What do you think is inside? The bull monster?” Indy shook his head. “No, that’s just a story.” From deep within the cave issued a prolonged roar, like the muted blast of a distant locomotive. Or an angry bull. Melina’s eyes grew solemn and fearful. Indy pulled out his flashlight. “Feeling adventurous, Princess?” “Get the keystones,” Sophia told the girl. Melina dashed back to the pedestal to collect the disks. “Let’s go find Atlantis, Dr. Jones.” Together, they entered the unknown. 16 LABYRINTH

Legend became reality the moment they stepped through the stone doorway. Moving into the beckoning shadows, Indy’s faith in the tenets of established history shattered with a resounding blow. If the myth of the Labyrinth hidden under the ruins of Knossos was true, then he had to accept that the lost city of Atlantis might be every bit as real. The very idea made him light-headed. Sophia followed close at his heels, tense and jumpy. Her initial bravado melted away as the darkness wrapped around them. “What were you saying about a bull monster?” she asked Melina. “It lives under the palace, and eats people,” the girl said ominously. “It’s an ancient Greek myth, one of the oldest in existence,” Indy told her. He explained that Knossos was home to King Minos, the ruler of Crete, and more famously the Minotaur—a mythical bull-headed monster said to dwell in a massive underground labyrinth below it. The Athenian hero Theseus, in a quest to spare the annual crop of sacrificial victims offered to the creature, entered the maze and killed the Minotaur with the help of the king’s daughter, Ariadne, who gave him a sword to slay the terrible beast, and a ball of string to guide him back to the entrance when his task was done. “I don’t suppose you have a large ball of string in that bag?” “Afraid not. Just don’t wander off,” he advised her. The air was cool and moist, sacred and untouched. Indy tasted the scent of ancient dirt with every breath. He swept the flashlight beam across the floor, peeling back the shadows that stained the craggy rock. A slight breeze stirred the darkness, drawing another ominous moan from the deep recesses of the earth. Now they realized it was only the wind, channeled by the natural acoustics of the cave into a bone-chilling howl that evoked visions of the creature rumored to inhabit the subterranean depths. Once their vision adjusted to the dark, wonder dispelled fear as they beheld their surroundings. Eons of groundwater erosion had sculpted the cavern into a bizarre geological dreamscape. Sheets of wavy, paper-thin calcite rippled down from the rocky ceiling in stone curtains, needled spikes pin-cushioned the floor, and waxy limestone columns bridged the cavern like jaws opening wide to swallow the group of explorers. Sophia clutched Melina’s hand tightly. “This isn’t the kind of cave with bears, is it?” “There aren’t any bears on Crete,” Indy reassured her. “It’s an island.” “There are no bears here. I will show you.” Melina picked up a rock and fired it into the shadows. They were startled when a loud metallic clang shattered the silence. The report echoed through the tunnel, followed by a distant squealing. The noise carried through the passage on the frigid current, a concert of rusty hinges turning by the thousands. “It’s only bats,” Indy said. “Nothing to worry about.” More than a little unnerved, Sophia squeezed the girl’s hand tightly. “Don’t throw things,” she commanded with as much parental authority as she could summon. “Sorry,” Melina apologized. When they reached the end of the passage, they found the rock lying beside a heavy bronze gate blocking a lintel-framed portal identical to the first doorway. Indy painted the area with a splash of electric light, searching for any sign of a trap before he turned his attention to the metal barricade. The cross-hatch grid was bolted together where the bars intersected. It was almost medieval in design. Another archaeological anomaly, he thought. But what purpose did it serve? “Maybe this keeps the monster trapped inside?” Melina speculated. “Please don’t say that,” Sophia said nervously. Indy crouched before the gate. He hooked his hands through the grating and strained to lift it. After a few moments of useless struggle, he pounded the bars in defeat. “It’s too heavy. We’ll never get it open.” Melina peered through the cage. “I see a handle inside! Look!” “What?” Indy aimed the flashlight through the rusty latticework and saw a pulley mounted on the wall beyond the gate. He stuck his hand through the grating, but his jacket sleeve was too bulky to reach any further than his elbow. Sophia was rolling her sleeve back when Melina spoke up. “Here, let me try.” She pushed her slender arm through the grating with ease, but the lever was just beyond her reach. “Try this.” Indy unsnapped the bullwhip from his belt and instructed her to snare it with the handle. Standing on her toes, she fed the whiplash through the fence and extended the heavy end towards the control wheel. She flexed the whip sideways, trying to snag the lever with the wrist loop, and finally succeeded after several tries. “Got it!” “Good work,” Indy said. He took hold of the whip and slowly pulled back on it. The braided leather creaked as it stretched, rotating the pulley towards them. They were startled by a loud metallic snap. The gate shuddered. Indy flicked the whip loose and quickly pulled it free. Melina cheered as the gate lifted towards the ceiling in a trickling shower of rust. They cautiously moved into the next chamber only to be confronted by three more columned openings. There was a door on either side, and one directly ahead. “Are we lost?” Melina wondered. Sophia grimly assessed each portal. “No, but we’re getting there fast. Okay, Indy, which way now?” “Ask Nur-Ab-Sal. He seems to be helpful in situations like this,” he said, gathering his whip into a coil. “I tried to summon him, but he won’t listen.” Then her face brightened. “Maybe we’re close enough to Atlantis that he doesn’t need to guide me anymore. That must be it!” Circling the room slowly, Indy cast the light into the adjoining passages. Each one offered another group of branching doorways to choose from. In the far corner of one expansive chamber, he spied a broad rise of steps leading to a foyer where the ground had been artificially leveled. His instinct urged him to follow the break in the monotony. It had to lead somewhere besides another baffling array of intersections. Indy took out a piece of chalk and scratched a bold ‘X’ on the floor between the columns. He gave the chalk to Sophia. “Mark every doorway that we pass through, so we can find our way back.” Her expression was priceless. “I take back everything bad that I ever said about you.” They crossed through the next room and climbed the crude staircase up to the landing, where two more doorways awaited them in the shadows. Indy took the passage on the right, which led to another flight of stairs that corkscrewed along a gradual curve to a higher level of the cave. Sophia groaned when they found themselves at the crossroads of another four- way junction. “You might want to break out that sandwich, because we may be here for awhile,” Indy muttered. “Perish the thought.” Her quip drew a curious gaze from Melina. “Uh.. because I’m not feeling very hungry right now.” Indy looked around, suddenly aware that the room was brighter, and he could see their surroundings with his own eyes. Sophia noticed too. “Turn off the flashlight. You’re wasting the batteries.” The murky gloom which plagued them in the lower level of the cave was dispelled by pale, diffused light seeping from hidden fissures in the ceiling. The natural ambience gave them a whole new perspective on the maze they had been wandering so blindly through. They could plainly see how ancient earthquakes had shattered the Neogenic strata, compressing the limestone into the broken tunnels around them. The foundations of the original palace dated to about 2000 B.C. Indy estimated from the condition of the fractured masonry that the labyrinth pre-dated the earthquake, meaning it was older than Knossos itself. The historical implications were staggering. “Maybe this was Plato’s cave, where shadows become reality?” Sophia postulated while Indy evaluated their choices. “It makes more sense than your ancient airport theory.” “Hey, look at this!” Melina pointed to a flat panel carved into the rock wall. Etched into the stone was a crude glyph of a human figure with a blocky torso and spindly limbs. Its upraised arms were spread wide, displaying a crescent sunbeam. The pictograph was like nothing Indy had ever seen before. “That’s the Atlantean symbol for happiness,” Sophia informed them. “How do you know that?” “Because I’ve studied Atlantean hieroglyphics for years. Take my word for it.” She looked at him expectantly. “Are we just going to stand here all day?” Indy regarded the symbol with a resolute nod. “I’ve never been one to turn down a good omen, so I’ll trust the Atlanteans.” He patted the stone glyph and proceeded through the nearest doorway, hoping they were on the right path. Sophia chalked the wall and followed with Melina in tow.

After an hour of wandering the convoluted passageways, Indy was mentally cursing the ancient architects who had designed the infernal place. Every room was identical. Each doorway was a mirror duplicate of the last. He tried to memorize the layout of the maze, but it was a futile effort. The task of mapping the cave system would require an entire team of cartographers, and an ambitious one at that. Now, Indy absurdly wished that he really did have a giant ball of string to guide them through the labyrinth. Although he couldn’t be sure, Indy sensed that they had descended into the lower caves again. The natural ambience was gone, replaced by overwhelming blackness once more. His flashlight illuminated a narrow passage littered with stones from the collapsed roof. They were forced to move in an awkward crouch to avoid hitting their heads on the low rock ceiling that pressed against their backs. Sophia clenched Indy’s hand in a trembling vise as claustrophobia throttled her with renewed vengeance. “Do you really think this is the labyrinth of myth?” Her voice quavered as she fought to stay calm. “Daedalus was the architect of the Labyrinth, according to legend. He modeled it on the Egyptian version at Hawara.” To help allay her paranoia, Indy spoke in his dry classroom oration style, as if he were delivering a lecture at Barnett College. “But this place is different from the traditional style of labyrinth. If it were a straight-line Celtic maze, then all of the paths would fold together, and we would eventually find the center no matter which one we chose.” “Maybe there is no center. But what would be the point, then?” She couldn’t keep the worry out of her voice. “In ancient times, labyrinths were designed as traps for evil spirits. Later, during the medieval era, the maze took on religious significance as a path to God that could be achieved through a symbolic pilgrimage to the center,” he explained. The hall curved to the left, and Indy hoped that it would end soon, because he didn’t know how much longer she could hold out. Melina, whose smaller stature was more suited to the low ceiling, followed them in silence, showing none of the fear that gripped Sophia. “What was the purpose?” “The exact same thing you’ve been preaching to those crackpots for years: enlightenment.” The psychic ignored the jab. “I’m too lost to feel enlightened.” The ceiling began to rise, and they gratefully stood, easing the strain on their aching backs. The passage finally ended at another Minoan style doorway. Indy stabbed a finger at the carved post. “Mark it.” Sophia chalked a jagged ‘X’ on the column and hurried into the next room, eager to leave the flattened cave. She was relieved to see that they were back in the maze again. “What do you think this place is?” “It’s obviously a natural cave system that the Minoans adapted for their own use. Judging by the rock formations, I’d say it’s limestone karst. You can see how they fitted the passageways with doorframes, and carved staircases into the elevations.” “Do you think there’s a way out?” Indy heard the concern in her voice. “There are probably dozens of exits, if they weren’t sealed off. I think we need to find the center of the maze, whether it leads to Atlantis or not.” “I’m glad to see you’re finally coming around, Jones.” “At this point, I’d be surprised if it didn’t exist,” he admitted. The tunnel bent sharply to the left, and ended in another doorway. Its top lintel was split diagonally, skewed by the geological upheaval that shattered Knossos. Framed with a pair of double columns, the portal was larger and more grandiose than the others. The outermost pillars were clad in the red heraldry of the palace aboveground, while the inner posts wore a coat of royal blue. Darkness shrouded the chamber within. Indy stepped aside with a ceremonial gesture, inviting Sophia to proceed first. “Atlantis awaits.” Melina giggled nervously. Apprehension paled Sophia’s face. She hesitated. It was clear that she wasn’t anxious to proceed. Melina grabbed the flashlight from Indy and marched bravely through the door to prove there was nothing to fear in the vacant maze of caverns. A split second of quiet passed. Then she screamed bloody murder.

17 MAP TO THE LOST CITY

They dashed into the room and froze in horror. The Minotaur loomed over Melina in the darkness. Sophia let out a startled shriek. The terrified girl stumbled backwards, scrambling to escape the four giant horns projecting from its bulbous head. The flashlight rolled across the floor, illuminating the creature’s burning eyes—hollow sockets that glowed in fiery rage. A thick bronze ring pierced its bony snout. The giant yellow bones gleamed dully through a veil of dusty cobwebs. Its enormous skull rested on the floor. Below the 8-foot span of double horns, softball-sized eyes stared blindly at the first humans to set foot in the labyrinth since the Minotaur’s demise. A jagged ridge of spines lined the bull’s massive trunk, driven by legs as stout as a ship mast. Each cloven hoof could churn a spadeful of soil with the force of a steel piston. Sophia released the tense breath she’d been holding. Melina clung to her, trembling. “What in God’s name is that thing?” Indy illuminated the heap of skeletal remains. “I’d say it’s an auroch, a prehistoric bull that went extinct centuries ago. But the Minoans had a different name for it.” “The Minotaur...” Melina whispered in disbelief. “It’s real.” “Don’t worry, it’s dead,” Sophia reassured her. Indy was glad, because nobody could survive an encounter with such a beast. But someone had slain the ancient nightmare. A deep split line fractured the great horned skull. Lying on the floor nearby was a heavy double-bladed axe head. Its wooden handle had disintegrated ages ago. The pommel of a large knife was buried in one of the eye sockets. Unbelievable as it seemed, Indy was looking at the result of Theseus’ encounter with the fabled monster of legend. “Oh my God…” Sophia stared up into the darkness with awestruck wonder. “What?” Indy followed her gaze and realized that the bull had been slain at the foot of a towering Minotaur statue that presided over the chamber. The giant stone effigy stood between a pair of thick pillars in an alcove hewn out of the wall. Its powerfully sculpted body was broad and muscular, clad in a tunic that was trimmed with the spiral wave design. Indy’s flashlight skipped over the statue, revealing an ancient script carved on the front panel. The belt on the Minotaur’s waist was clinched by a labrys buckle. “I’ll be damned.” Indy climbed the steps for a closer look. “What does it say?” Melina asked. He studied the glyphs for a moment, then shook his head. “It’s Minoan Linear A. Nobody can read it. The words come out as gibberish when you try to decipher it.” Sophia took the flashlight. “I happen to be quite adept at reading Atlantean. Let me try.” Indy folded his arms with skepticism. “Enlighten me, Princess.” The psychic scanned the text, mouthing the words silently to herself until she understood the message. “This is the realm of Asterion, guardian of Atlunus. All those unworthy who trespass without due reverence shall be destroyed.” Melina wore a quizzical expression. “Asterion?” “The guardian of the underworld.” Indy gestured at the twin-bladed axe emblem on the statue’s belt. “The labrys is the symbol of the maze. The word ‘labyrinth’ is literally derived from it.” “That means we’re at the center of the maze.” Sophia descended the steps, followed quickly by Melina. “So the gateway to Atlantis must be somewhere nearby. We just need to find it.” Indy joined them in the middle of the chamber, admiring the fearsome statue in all its grandeur. “I always wondered why the Minoans were so obsessed with bull-headed figures,” he mused. “Come to think of it, I still wonder.” They were startled by a raspy growl from the imposing sentinel, which appeared to grow taller as the floor sank beneath them. “Oh! What’s going on, Indy?” Sophia clung to him in panic as the platform floated steadily down between a pair of stout, grooved columns. “It’s a pressure plate—an elevator. Our weight is enough to trigger it, apparently.” She glanced around quickly. “Is it a trap?” “No, it’s actually the safest place in the room. Those who show reverence to Asterion are spared from death.” “I don’t understand.” “This elevator. We’re literally bowing at the feet of Asterion.” Looking up through the passageway, only the feet and legs of the Minotaur were visible. The upper portion of the colossal statue was lost in the darkness. The elevator settled to the floor with a jarring stop. They stepped off. The platform, now relieved of their weight, began to rise, climbing back into the chamber above. “There goes our ride,” Sophia groaned. “Now how do we get back?” “We’ll find a way.” The gush of moving water drew their attention to a glassy sheet falling down the wall nearby. Indy painted the rock in slow stripes, trying to determine the layout of the subterranean cavern. “Ew! I just stepped on something!” Melina wailed in distress. When Indy lowered the flashlight beam to the floor, they saw the body. Both women shrieked in unison. Their screams echoed down the corridor. Indy recognized the dirt-stained khakis of the man who had betrayed them for the very object which lay only inches from his dead hand. “Sternhart,” he muttered grimly. Indy reclaimed the worldstone and dropped it inside his jacket pocket. Sophia knelt silently beside him to examine the body. The lanky explorer had perished a short distance from the elevator shaft. Sternhart was using his field pack for a pillow when he died. A walking stick lay nearby. His body was cold and stiff, his clammy flesh saturated with moisture from the waterfall. His lean face was gaunt and pale, his eyes recessed into hollow, bruised sockets. The welt from Indy’s whip striped his face like a blue worm feeding on his waxy flesh. Melina stood back at a distance, unwilling to get near the corpse. “Is he really dead?” she whispered. “I’m afraid so,” Sophia said gently. “It’s okay. He just fell asleep and didn’t wake up. But how did he get down here?” “There must be another entrance into the labyrinth,” Indy said, gingerly opening the Briton’s mildewed rucksack. Inside, along with copies of the other stone disks, he felt something cold and soft. Indy withdrew a leather-bound journal, soaked with dampness. Carefully peeling apart the saturated pages, he found the last journal entry, dated more than two weeks earlier. Sternhart’s normally elegant script was shaky, almost illegible; the words of a cold, starving man written in darkness during his last moments of desperation. On the floor nearby was a pool of dried wax, the remains of a candle that had been his only light source. As he read the blurred letters on the soggy, ink-stained page, Indy almost pitied his ex-rival’s misfortune.

I am convinced the map room lies beyond the next chamber. Alas, I cannot get past the gate. I believe that static electricity will respond to orichalcum, but since I’m trapped down here, I’m not sure I have all the pieces for a makeshift detector or not. With each passing hour I grow weaker. My aching belly is my own punishment for entering the labyrinth without suitable supplies. Time was of the essence to evade the Nazis, and in my haste I did not prepare as thoroughly as I might have otherwise. At least sleep brings a welcome respite from the torturous pangs of hunger, and I shall go peacefully now, certain that I am destined to find the Lost Kingdom in my dreams, if not in this cruel world.

When they finished reading Sternhart’s final words, Sophia dropped the diary beside his corpse. “Serves him right, the bastard. We almost died in that pyramid, thanks to him.” “That is not very nice!” Melina scolded, appalled by her insensitivity. “He was a very bad man,” she said without remorse. “We were lucky to escape the last time, and now we’re trapped again.” “Not necessarily,” Indy said, moving towards the waterfall. Light spilled faintly down from the cavity in the ceiling. The sheet of falling water had a deep ripple in the center where the currents folded inward, as if diverted by some unseen force. Wincing, Indy reached into the icy stream and felt a length of cold metal with bulbous interlocking parts. It took a moment before he realized that he was grasping a heavy chain with thick, torus-shaped links. “What on earth are you doing?” Sophia said with undisguised annoyance. “There’s a chain behind the waterfall.” Following it down to the floor, Indy found that it was attached to a massive stone cylinder, resting in a hole. “I think it’s holding the elevator’s counter-weight. We can probably climb out of here.” “Are you out of your mind? We’ll freeze to death before we reach the top! And we still have to find the map room.” She gestured toward the far end of the cavern, where another door was all but invisible in the darkness. “It’s just around the corner.” Melina beckoned Indy to join them. “The map room is this way. Let’s go find it!” Indiana Jones withdrew his hand from the chilly water and ventured through the passage with his companions. They emerged in a craggy, rock-lined grotto with a single doorway blocked by Sternhart’s immovable gate. Gazing through the bronze grid, they were dismayed to find that the pulley was positioned well beyond reach. He cast the light around the chamber, searching for another way out. Melina gave a startled yelp when a large spider scuttled across the roving flashlight beam. A flock of bats, disturbed by the noise, flapped out of a hole in the wall above the gate, chattering in panic as they disappeared into the waterfall room. Captivated, Indy scanned the wall behind the gate and saw a corresponding opening above the pulley. The bat fissure tunneled through the rock to the inside. He grinned at Sophia, relishing her role in his escape plan. The medium’s perception stunned him. “Forget it. I’m not climbing through that goddamn hole. It’s full of bats.” “Fine, then we’ll rot down here like Sternhart,” he said brusquely. “I can do it!” Melina volunteered. “Bats don’t scare me.” “No, it’s too dangerous,” Sophia told her. “We’ll find another way out.” Indy pushed the argument. “There is no other way, unless you climb through that waterfall. Now, do you want to get out of here, or not?” “Don’t start with me, Jones...” Unwilling to listen to them argue anymore, Melina scaled the gate and crawled into the hole before they realized it. She stuck her head out and asked for the flashlight. Indy tossed it up and she disappeared, leaving them in the dark. Moments later, a smudge of yellow ambience lit the wall behind the gate. The girl dropped to the floor with a delighted smile, clearly enjoying the adventure. “See? Just like Tarzan!” “Oh, brother,” Sophia groaned. “Just don’t start swinging on vines like Jones does.” Indy held the flashlight while Melina turned the pulley with all her strength. The wheel didn’t move. “It’s rusted. Kick it with your feet.” Holding onto the wall for balance, she struck the handle repeatedly with her heel until the ancient lock finally clicked free. The gate squeaked open. Sophia congratulated her with a hug. “You did great! That was so brave of you to crawl through that hole. Tarzan would be proud.” “Really?” Melina beamed happily. “Let’s see if Sternhart was right about his so-called map room,” said Indy, moving down the gloomy passage. A dozen yards beyond the gate, the tunnel vanished around a corner. Darkness clung to the walls like a plague, but a sheen of pale, milky light coated the floor, illuminating the path to the inner sanctum. Sophia shared a silent look with Indy. He saw the fevered hope gleaming in her eyes. All of her dreams lay just around the next bend of the passage. Impatience took hold of her and she quickly brushed past him. She disappeared around the corner, and gasped in delight. Before them spread an expansive chamber made of cut stone blocks. The walls seemed to emit a leaden shine—the source of the ambient glow. A gallery of sealed cyclopean doorways lined the walls. Each slab was engraved with a solar or lunar symbol, like the keystones. Sophia Hapgood was in rapture, gazing upon the most captivating sight she’d ever beheld: A scale model of Atlantis, carved with incredible detail and precision. The miniature city lay within a large circular basin in the floor. Radiating from the central island were two concentric rings of land populated by a breathtaking array of buildings. Pyramids, obelisks, and temples wrought in a perfect fusion of ancient design elements; Egyptian, Mesoamerican, Greek and Indian architecture harmoniously melded into a flawless aesthetic that seemed inevitably natural, yet somehow alien all at once. Indy was stunned sober. Indisputable proof, in cold, hard stone, that Atlantis was real. Nobody moved or spoke. They stared in humbled silence, afraid to blink as though the model would vanish like a dream if they took their eyes from it. Finally, Sophia approached with her hands folded in reverence. Her expression was serene, visibly moved by the sight of her lifelong passion. “Atlantis. The city of yesterday’s forever...” Indy circled the elaborate model, absorbing every detail with academic fascination. Melina crouched over the toy-like city in wonder, enchanted by the scaled grandeur of Plato’s legendary lost empire. Sophia knelt beside her to view the landscape at eye-level. She surveyed the three-ring configuration, poring over the minute architecture with satisfaction. Her eyes flicked up to him. Her mouth was pursed in a wry smile. “What do you think now, Professor? Still don’t believe in Atlantis?” He shook his head in wonder. “It’s amazing. Really.” She deserved to gloat. The scholar who had endured a lifetime of ridicule for her outlandish beliefs was reveling in her vindication. But Indy dampened her moment of glory. “Too bad you didn’t bring a camera.” Her triumph shifted to dismay. “Damn, why didn’t I think of that?” Sophia sat up abruptly. “Where’s the Greater Colony? Crete should be on this map.” She paced around the model, searching the floor of the room. “We can’t find Atlantis without it.” Indy didn’t see it either. Without the Greek island as a point of reference to the orientation of the model, it would be impossible to locate the actual city. Then another problem occurred to him. “How do we even get into Atlantis?” “Use the keys, like we did before.” Melina pointed to the middle of the tiny island, where a single bronze post occupied the place in mythology accorded to the Temple of Poseidon. Indy couldn’t believe how blind they had been. In their preoccupation with the incredible model, neither of them had noticed the spindle axis at the very center of the room. Sophia took the disks from her pack. Indy followed as she carefully stepped across the miniature city to a barren patch of rock at the heart of Atlantis. Kneeling ceremoniously, she threaded the wheels onto the spindle. Indy added the worldstone from his pocket. They paused to admire the set. “Like the island it’s built upon... Do you see it now, Indy?” The stacked keystones perfectly mirrored the circular layout of the model city. The subtle detail proved beyond the shadow of a doubt that the advanced prehistoric civilization truly existed. Indy turned his attention to the row of stone doorways that suddenly brimmed with possibility. Any one of them could lead to Atlantis. But which one? Consulting the Hermocrates, Sophia read aloud: “To approach Atlantis itself a Worldstone was required as well, with a waxing moon the sky’s only reply to the fires below.” “Line up the volcano with the waxing moon,” Indy said. As she dialed the keystones, Indy felt anticipation buzzing in every pore of his body. The air in the room was electric. Their quest held the promise of a discovery unrivaled in human history. Finding Atlantis would change the world forever. Sophia pressed the spindle, but nothing happened. She pushed it again with the same result. She blinked in confusion, then re-read the text and found that she missed the last cryptic clue: “Final entrance yielded only to contrary minds.” She exchanged a blank look with Indy. “What does that mean?” Melina grasped the solution immediately. “The stones are backwards. Turn them around!” Sophia reversed the symbols from the horned icon, then mashed the bronze pillar down firmly. A potent click! sounded in the stone panel beneath them, and the room came to life. A tower on the model’s outer edge suddenly rotated in place. Two slitted windows glowed green, and the small statue shot into motion, circling its perimeter. The floor churned in a hive of activity. Tiny stone buildings rose and fell, joggling randomly like bizarre lock tumblers. Then everything stopped. The stone city was frozen once more. Sophia stood, tense with anticipation, staring at the row of doors expectantly. The centermost portal scraped open, admitting a pool of soft, ambient light into the dismal chamber. “That’s it!” she cried out. She abandoned the stone disks and sprinted towards the doorway in excitement. Indy pocketed the small worldstone, depositing the larger disks in his backpack. “We’d better go find her before she gets lost,” he told Melina. He took one last look at the model, a mental snapshot for posterity, and then stepped through the doorway after Melina, who scampered ahead to see where Sophia had gone. The next room was a surprise after the narrow, twisting convolutions of the labyrinth. It was immensely long, with a cavernous ceiling supported by thick pillars from one end to the other. Cut into the floor was a shallow channel that ran parallel to the columns down the middle of the enormous hall. Huge concrete ribs vaulted the ceiling above the track. Indy was amazed. The place looked, for all the world, like a modern subway platform. The stout columns were fractured, chipped, and filmy with cobwebs. The last train had left the station ages ago. But there was no sign of Sophia. She had simply disappeared. Melina looked around, perplexed. “Where did she go?” Indy spotted the redhead standing at the far end of the track, beside a huge object buried under a collapsed section of the wall. “There she is. Let’s go see what she found.” When they reached her, Indy immediately saw that any chance of reaching Atlantis was gone. The large stone subway car sat askew on the rail bed, buried nose-deep under a pile of blocks that must have once been the entrance to a tunnel. Water trickled from the ancient rubble and pooled in the channel. Melina knelt at the edge of the track to watch some glowing blue minnows dart around in the shallow ditch. “Rapid transit. Simply amazing,” she marveled. “A little too rapid, by the look of it,” observed Indy. He touched the train. “Too bad it’s wrecked. It probably would have taken us straight to Atlantis, if the city wasn’t underwater.” He looked at Sophia with regret. “I hate to say it, but this really does look like the end of the line.” “What perfect choice of words, Dr. Jones! I could not have said it better myself.” Klaus Kerner strode down the platform with a small group of Nazi soldiers and his omnipresent Abwehr agents. The troops fanned out around them, guns drawn. Indy was genuinely startled, as if the Germans had walked out of the nearest wall. He had no idea how they could have entered the ancient concourse ahead of them. Kerner tipped his hat. “Thank you for showing us the way through the labyrinth, Fräulein Hapgood. Once again you have proven your value to us. Now you will come with me.” “Like hell I will,” she seethed, blushing with scorn. “It seems a little persuasion is needed.” Drawing his gun, the SS commander snatched Melina by the arm and pressed the Luger into the girl’s neck with a cruel sneer. She struggled and tried to break free of his grasp, but Kerner only squeezed her arm tighter until she cried out in pain. He looked pointedly at Sophia. “Yes?” It was too much for her to bear. She crossed the dim cavern without hesitation, and stood by the squad of armed Nazis. Kerner released Melina, who scrambled to Indy’s side for safety. “You are very bad people,” she pouted with an accusing scowl. Several of the soldiers laughed. Indy glared at Kerner. Adrenaline-shot fury burned in his veins. “This is a new low, Kerner, even for the Nazis.” Kerner looked at him with mild surprise, as if noticing Indy for the first time. “Ah yes, we still have unfinished business.” He fired point-blank, shooting him in the gut. The deafening roar echoed like thunder across the subway. Indy folded over and collapsed in a heap. “Indy!!! INDY!!!” Sophia fell to the floor as if she had taken the shot. She saw Indy lying motionless on the ground through tear-blurred eyes. Kerner absently shined the barrel of his smoking pistol on his sleeve, wholly unconcerned with the life he had just taken. Sophia threw herself at the Nazi captain, punching and kicking in blind fury. “God damn, you, you son of a bitch! I’ll kill you!” Two soldiers immediately restrained her by pinning her arms behind her back. Kerner smoothed the front of his uniform passively. “Yes, all in good time.” He lashed out with a vicious slap that snapped her head sideways. Karl flinched and averted his gaze. Melina screamed and rushed to help Sophia. Torsten snagged the girl by the arm and shoved her roughly to the floor. Sobbing, she crawled back to Indy and hugged him protectively. Not one glimmer of emotion stirred Kerner’s stony features. “Now, you will help us find Atlantis, or end up like Jones. It is a simple choice.” Sophia managed a feeble nod. The white shadow of the Nazi’s hand burned her cheek. Kerner opened the rucksack and searched methodically for the stone disks. “Very good. You found the second key. But where is the third stone? The one Herr Sternhart paid for with his life?” Sophia stared at the floor, unwilling to look into the eyes of the monster who had taken everything from her. Tears glistened down her face. “It was crushed by the elevator,” she mumbled. Kerner’s mouth twitched with an angry tic. “No matter. There are many such stones. We will find another.” The Nazi studied the wrecked train and collapsed tunnel. “Agent Sankt. Note the compass heading of this track, and radio Captain Wilhelm to chart a course based on the distance cited in the lost dialogue.” “What about the girl?” said Karl while Melina grieved over the dead archaeologist. “We don’t need the brat,” Kerner sniffed. “Leave her to rot with Jones, and seal the door so that she does not escape.” He turned on his heel and strode away. Torsten laughed wickedly as the Nazis retreated and pulled the heavy stone door closed behind them, leaving Melina crying in the gloom beside Indy’s still body.

18 DESCENT

After a few moments of silence Indy rolled over, groaning at the fiery pain burning in his gut. He sat up on one elbow, grimacing in agony. The point-blank shot had struck him like a sledgehammer. Melina pulled back in surprise. She blinked at him in tearful disbelief. “Indy, you are alive!” She threw her arms around him tight enough to make him wince. “Yeah, I’m okay, kid… I think.” He reached beneath his jacket and gingerly touched the spot where Kerner’s bullet had punched the worldstone into his abdomen. Unbuttoning his shirt, Indy found a dark, crescent-shaped bruise. A small price to pay for being alive. A small bullet hole pierced the leather of his front pocket. He withdrew the granite relic which spared his life, silently praising the stonemason’s craftsmanship. The peasant girl tugged anxiously on his sleeve. “Why did they take Sophia?” Indy put the stone into his satchel. “They think her necklace can lead them to Atlantis.” “Is it a magic necklace?” she asked, intrigued at the idea. “She says it belongs to an Atlantean spirit called Nur-Ab-Sal, if you can believe it.” “Is he a ghost?” “I don’t know, but he seems to cause more trouble than it’s worth.” Indy surveyed the cavern, trying to locate the source of light that illuminated its vast expanse. “The Nazis trapped us in here. What are we going to do?” Melina said worriedly. “We’re going to find a way out. Let’s take a walk.” Clutching his sore rib, Indy ambled towards the far end of the chamber, where a faint ambience emanated from an unseen opening near the ceiling. In the corner, they discovered a flight of steps carved into the rock. They climbed the stairs into a large cavern and found a wedge-shaped altar that pointed towards a distant opening. Indy heard the faint roar of cascading water. Melina hopped onto the stone and gazed down the tunnel. “I see the way out!” “Good. I could use some fresh air. Let’s get out of here.” They emerged on a rocky slope overlooking the sea. High above, the moon glowed like a silver coin in the sky, casting its milky shine on the dark waves crashing against the shore. The incoming surf burst against the rocks, glazing the sand in a thick wet skin that dissolved as the water retreated into the blackness again. Indy clamped his fedora to his head against the buffeting salt breeze. “Where are we?” Trying to get her bearings, Melina looked further down the beach and saw a long wooden pier extending out into the ocean. “We are near Amnissos, I think.” “The ancient harbor of Knossos,” he said, surprised to find that they had traveled nearly three miles from the ruins. His geography reoriented, everything suddenly became clear. The labyrinth joined the Cave of Eileithyia, the goddess of childbirth whose cult had existed in the caverns below Crete since Neolithic times. The bull-worshipping Minoan civilization had integrated the Mother Goddess with their own deity in the Horns of Consecration, a physical representation of the sanctuary birth canal presided over by Eileithyia. Melina suddenly pointed at something offshore. “Indy, look at that big ship out there!” Squinting in the dark, he saw the menacing shape of a German U-boat riding the tidal swell beyond the breakwater, its distinctive conning tower rising from the black tide like a steel monolith. A lone soldier patrolled the pier with a rifle. Considering their distance from the ruins, Indy knew that Kerner would have to backtrack through the caves and travel overland to reach the sub. That would buy him enough time to stow away on board, and plan how to rescue Sophia. “Is it a Nazi ship?” “Yeah,” Indy sighed with the sobering realization of how the Germans planned to reach the underwater city. Melina shivered, rubbing her arms vigorously in the chilly air. Thanks to him, she’d been put through enough danger already. The last thing she needed was to catch a cold. It was time for her to go home. Indy gave her the flashlight. “Can you find your way back to the village?” “Yes, there is a road at the top of the hill, with lots of traffic to Iraklion. I will catch a ride home. It is not so far.” Indy stuck out his hand in farewell. “Well, I guess this is it, kiddo.” “Thank you, Indy. I will say prayers tonight for Sophia. Please come visit us when you find her.” “I’ll get her back, I promise. Take care of yourself, and don’t talk to any strange Nazis.” Melina climbed the ridge, leaving him alone on the hillside. Once she was out of sight, Indy picked his way down the slope and sprinted across the beach towards the U-boat. He nearly made it to the jetty when his foot caught in an unseen crevice. Indy stumbled and tripped, sending a cascade of stones clattering across the shoal. The guard turned, alerted by the noise. Indy flattened himself against the ground, praying that the soldier wouldn’t see him in the darkness. The sentry moved closer, searching for the source of the disturbance. Moonlight gleamed on his automatic rifle. He paused only a few yards away, lingering at the base of the slope. Indy stealthily grabbed a medium-sized stone and hurled it at the U-boat with all his might. The rock clanged loudly against the hull. The startled Nazi whirled at the disturbance with his gun. Brandishing his whip like a blackjack, Indy leaped forward and clubbed the soldier at the base of his skull with the weighted handle. The man dropped to the ground, unconscious, and Indy quickly dragged him under the pier, out of sight. Two hours later, he heard voices approaching from beyond the stony ridge. Now dressed in the uniform he’d taken from the guard, Indy saw the line of shadowy figures marching down the trail by lantern light. Sophia was in the middle of the group. She appeared subdued as the Nazis shuffled her across the beach towards their waiting ship. Misery etched her features, and even in the dark Indy could see that she’d been crying. He tensed as Kerner drew near, although darkness concealed his face. Indy snapped a Sieg Heil salute while crossing the fingers on his other hand to jinx the show of fealty. The Nazis strode by without a glance. He dropped his hand to the rifle by his side and considered shooting the SS captain on the spot. Indy knew the other soldiers would gun him down instantly, so he shouldered the field pack with his clothing, and followed the procession aboard the submarine.

***

Sophia didn’t care about finding Atlantis, or even if she lived. Nothing mattered since Indy had been killed, and Melina was left to die in the bowels of the labyrinth. I might as well be dead, too, she thought miserably while Kerner hustled her down the gauntlet of hissing machinery in the belly of the submarine. With a single bullet, the heartless Nazi had turned her carefree world into a nightmare. Her soul ached with a sadness deeper than any she had ever known, but Sophia was too numb to feel anything except the urge to vomit. The stench in the U-boat was the most nauseating smell imaginable: An unholy blend of oil and grease ripened with human body odor and sweat, rotting fruit and spoiled meat that was draped over every fixture throughout the ship. In the cloistered passageway, she stumbled over crates of moldy vegetables, wilted cabbage, and fossilized loaf bread, a vile grocery of provisions for the long sea voyage. Sophia took shallow breaths, trying desperately not to choke on the foul air as she was paraded into the sleeping quarters where a dozen young sailors were relaxing and playing cards. The reaction was immediate. Cheering erupted at the sight of the curvy redhead, whose presence drew suggestive jeers and whistles from the crew of men who had not seen a woman in months. Unable to escape the hungry gazes that undressed her, Sophia avoided their groping hands with as much dignity as she could manage. Despite the circumstances, she actually felt relieved when Kerner escorted her into a wood-paneled cabin and pulled the curtain shut behind them. Inside, a balding old man in a lab coat was hunched over a table covered with paperwork, busily making calculations. Kerner cleared his throat for attention. The geriatric scientist raised his wispy gray head from the map he’d been studying. He peered at them through his thick spectacles and frowned like a bitter toad. “Where have you been, Kerner? We should have left hours ago! There is a timetable for this mission, you know.” “Relax, Herr Doktor.” He pushed Sophia firmly onto the wooden bench. “I have collected our guide, and the keys which have eluded us for so long.” The physicist adjusted his glasses for a better look at her. “Ah yes, Madame Sophia, the renowned psychic. I am so pleased that you decided to join us at last,” he greeted her in thickly-accented English. “Where is your meddlesome colleague, Dr. Jones?” “Jones is out of the picture, and we will have no more trouble from him,” Kerner said smugly. “Isn’t that right, Fräulein?” Sophia stared at the table, avoiding his gaze. Anguish crumbled her pale brow. Her lip quivered but she maintained a stony expression, unwilling to break down in front of her captors. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry. “Forget about Jones. How can you expect a man to lead you to Atlantis when he can’t even find a way out of the Labyrinth?” he taunted. “Now, my dear, we have much to discuss concerning the subject of your expertise.” The old man opened a cabinet and withdrew an object that Sophia had never seen before, yet recognized instantly. It was the stolen horned statue from Barnett College, the very artifact which spurred their entire quest. “A fascinating relic, wouldn’t you agree? And one with unlimited potential, as we discovered.” Kerner placed a vial of orichalcum near the bronze idol. “It is time to share your knowledge, Miss Hapgood. You may begin by explaining how to unlock the power of this ancient metal which Plato described in such tantalizing detail. Tell us, how does it work?” She folded her arms and looked away in disgust. “Go to hell.” “There is no point being difficult. We are making the greatest discovery in human history. I suggest you cooperate before I am forced to persuade you.” Sophia glared at the Nazi. “Just who do you goddamn people think you are, anyway?” The scientist was taken aback by her vehement outburst. “How rude of me to forget myself on such a momentous occasion. I am Doktor Hans Übermann, the director of this mission on behalf of the Uranverein Institute in Berlin.” Kerner bolted to his feet. “I am in charge of this operation, you spineless sausage! How dare you challenge my authority!?” “MY authority.” Übermann calmly reached into his pocket and unfolded a typewritten letter stamped with the swastika-bearing Imperial War Eagle. Kerner scanned the document in disbelief. Scarlet fury consumed his face when he realized his leadership had been usurped by the wily physicist. “What is the meaning of this?!” Planting his bony fists on the table, Übermann rose to confront his colleague. “Can’t you read, Klaus? The Waffenamt has granted me full control of this expedition. From now on you will follow my orders, unless you want to lighten that uniform by a few medals.” He glanced at the redhead with a devilish sneer. “Perhaps Madame Sophia foresees a change of rank in your future?” “Schwein!” Kerner slammed his fist against the paneled bulkhead, then ripped the curtain aside and stalked out of the cabin in livid fury. Übermann drew the curtain shut. “You must forgive the Colonel. He has been under some stress. Things have not been going well for him lately.” “That makes two of us, then,” Sophia muttered darkly. “First, let me thank you for joining us on such short notice. I realize it must be an inconvenience for you.” “Like I had a choice? That bastard kidnapped me at gunpoint.” “For that you have my sincerest apologies, but time is of the essence, and your participation is necessary for the success of our mission.” The rationalized politeness grated her nerves. “What makes me so special?” she challenged him directly. “Don’t be so modest, Fräulein. As the world’s foremost authority on Atlantis, your knowledge is invaluable. I am delighted to have your expertise on this project, as is Reichsführer Himmler, who personally recommended you for it.”

***

Deep in the belly of the Orogeny, the bank of powerful electric motors growled at full capacity to drive the German leviathan towards the Aegean seabed like a gigantic steel blade, knifing its way into the dark abyss. Plying through the dense water, the ship trembled with an ominous shudder; a prolonged hiccup of metal groaning as the sea tightened its grip on the U- boat. At 140 fathoms, the submarine had already surpassed maximum crush depth, and was now pushing the limits of its reinforced hull. In the bow torpedo bay, Captain Heinrich Wilhelm lifted his cap and sleeved the sweat from his brow as he stared out the broad windows recessed into either side of the ship. Outside, an ocean of black death pressed against the thick Plexiglas with a force of 300 pounds per square inch, enough power to crush his boat like a tin can. Pale silt particles glittered in the pressurized xenon spotlights. The swirling sediment had a hypnotic effect that might have been soothing if Wilhelm wasn’t so terrified. “This is madness,” he said to the man standing beside him. Klaus Kerner stared out into the darkness in vacant rapture while the strains of Wagner’s Parzival filled the narrow deck. The music lent the scene an air of deceptive calm as the deadly pressure continued to build outside, but it did little to soothe Wilhelm or the red-haired American woman who appeared as nervous as the Colonel was calm. Turning from the viewport, Wilhelm sighed tensely. “This water is black as oil, Kerner. What in God’s name do you expect to see down here?” The SS commander stroked the acrylic shield with a gloved hand. “We are on the brink of reclaiming our ancient homeland, and a weapon so powerful as to make all the torpedoes in the Kriegsmarine seem like matchsticks. History will remember this very U-boat as the ship which rediscovered Atlantis, and its brave captain who dared to find it. Such a prestigious honor surely outweighs any inconvenience on behalf of your service to the Reich.” Wilhelm refused to be swayed. “If Großadmiral Raeder had not personally appointed me to this suicidal mission of yours—” He was silenced by a sonorous moan as the submarine bellowed like a dying whale. A hollow popping echoed through the vessel, followed by a parade of dull thumps which drummed the deck overhead. Sophia pulled the checkered wool blanket around herself tighter and shivered as the ocean clenched the U-boat in its watery vise. Kerner spotted her weakness. “Nervous, Miss Hapgood? You should relax. It is only a little... pressure.” He gave her shoulder a light squeeze, and grinned when she shrank at his touch. Down the aft passageway, the sonar pinged sharply in the cold air. Wilhelm snatched up the radio phone. “Funker Schulte, what is our depth?” he said tersely. “Twenty-three hundred meters and descending, sir. Bearing eight degrees northeast at seven knots,” the technician reported. “Very good. Maintain our present heading, decrease speed by five knots.” “Yes, Kapitänleutnant.” The instructions were quickly relayed to the engine control room. They felt a pronounced change in momentum as the submarine slowed its headlong dive through the crushing blackness. “We are still on course with the underground tunnel?” Kerner said anxiously. Wilhelm repeated his inquiry to the navigator. “Ja, Herr Oberst. Four hundred meters and closing. The signal is clear.” They drifted in silence. All eyes were focused on the windows, tinted by the dark water into plates of onyx glass. Beyond was a universe devoid of starlight; the end of existence. The sonar pulsed steadily. Sophia yawned, overcome with fatigue. She snuggled into her blanket and closed her eyes, allowing the reliable tones to guide her into a state of deep relaxation. The seconds and minutes stretched into an elastic eternity, wrapping her in a timeless cocoon, warm and secure. She was drifting away into the blackness when another prehistoric groan shook the submersible. Wagner’s symphony died with a raspy scrape as the phonograph needle zagged across the record. Red emergency lights flashed, and a deafening alarm claxon blared urgently throughout the ship. “What the devil is going on?” Kerner grabbed onto a strut as the ship trembled violently. The floor tilted like rubber, tossing everyone off-balance. Kerner reeled into Wilhelm, and the two men toppled to the deck in a heap. The captain pushed him away roughly and tried to regain his footing. Water dripped from the ceiling and streaked the glass windows, pooling on the floor. The phonograph crashed to the deck. Metal squealed in torment. Sophia clung to the bulkhead, feeling the cold wet steel shiver beneath her hands. She felt the bronze pendant warm against her chest, pulsing with the familiar presence of Nur-Ab-Sal. He promised her that she would be safe, but Sophia didn’t care anymore. It was too late. Everything would be gone the instant that the walls caved in. There would be no pain or suffering. Just the swift, cold embrace of the deep, and then all of her problems would be gone. She bowed her head and counted off the last moments of her life in ragged breaths, waiting for the inevitable crush of death to reunite her with Indy. She just wanted it to be over.

19 CIRCUIT OF THE OUTER RING

Just when the world seemed to be coming undone at the seams, the trembling stopped. The alarm died abruptly, and an uneasy silence fell over the ship. Nobody moved, uncertain if the danger had passed. Still hugging the support girder, Sophia opened her eyes warily, expecting a burst of cold black water to crush the U-boat’s flimsy iron shell the moment she relaxed. Miraculously, they were still alive. Wilhelm crawled over to the viewport, anxious to see where they were. His expression shifted to terror. “Gott im Himmel!” The captain launched himself at the radio phone dangling from the wall. “We’re grounding! Anblasen! Blow main ballast tanks and trim tanks, one through five! Halt engines immediately! Set all dive planes at zero!” Fresh panic spurred Sophia to the window. She let out a startled yelp when she saw the seabed rising up to meet them. Kerner grabbed onto the nearest strut and managed to stand when the ship heaved with an abrupt jerk. Gravity slammed him roughly to the floor again. Outside, the sapphire water vanished in a boiling sheet of bubbles as the air tanks were evacuated. The U-41 rose on a cushion of elastic buoyancy and settled gently to the bottom like a chunk of lead. Wilhelm clutched the phone in a white-knuckled grip. “Give me a full damage report! I want to know everything right now!” “Schnell, schnell!” The din of rushed footsteps and shouting filled the iron tube as the crew scrambled to assess the condition of the submersible from bow to stern. Moments later the radio crackled again: “No injuries, Herr Wilhelm. The boat is sound.” The captain breathed a sigh of relief. “Very good. Stand by for orders.” Kerner sat up, scowling. “What in the hell happened?” “It’s the pressure!” Wilhelm spat furiously. “The hull is like an eggshell at this depth. We are lucky to be alive.” The submarine hovered above the seabed, its belly resting on the sandy bottom. Sophia slumped against the wall, dizzy with relief. “Was ist das...?” Wilhelm stared out the starboard viewport, mesmerized. Vivid teal light shimmered across the windows, filling the deck with an eerie glow. Following his gaze, Kerner moved to the window, unconcerned about the lethal water pressure chiseling into every seam of the ship. Sophia stared in disbelief. The ocean was glowing. A vibrant cerulean mist stained the water, casting a perpetual twilight over the desert of silt rippling into eternity. The aura waned in the distance, where an indigo storm shadowed a velvet-black mountain range. “Where is the light coming from?” Kerner said in a tone of undisguised annoyance. Nobody bothered to answer. They could only stare across the abyssal plain bathed in cool, ethereal light. Wilhelm spoke into the phone calmly. “Make the bow planes level. Come twenty degrees to port.” After a moment’s delay, the submarine pivoted slowly, revealing the monotonous expanse of bleak gray silt. There was no sign of life anywhere; not a single fish to be seen, no coral reefs, or even the sponges that were so prized by the local Greek divers. Sophia found the stillness unnerving. Kerner suddenly jolted in surprise. “Look there!” He jabbed a finger at the starboard glass. Across the desolate plateau, Sophia glimpsed a slender object planted upright in distance, obscured by the hazy blue fog. “Main motors ahead one-third. Remain steady on this heading,” Wilhelm ordered the navigator. Clouds of sediment billowed in the cobalt water as the Orogeny rumbled across the open seabed. Inside, the observers watched the terrain unroll in the brilliance of the searchlights. Fifty yards away, the sand vanished under a wilderness of thick sea grass. The leafy green tongues licked the belly of the U-boat as it plowed an invisible furrow through the field. In the radio room, the asdic sonar clicked louder as they approached the mysterious object. “Incredible!” Wilhelm exclaimed when the spotlights burned through the chalky haze to reveal a stout column jutting from the mire. Towering above the U-boat, the immense pillar wore a skin of furry algae that shivered in the current stirred by its passing. Sophia discerned an ornate pattern of spiral grooves beneath the thick slime, but was unable to tell if the column was made of stone or metal. Kerner pursed his lips in satisfaction. “Do you still doubt me, Herr Captain?” Wilhelm gaped at the eerie sentinel, too stunned for words as they glided past the monument. Sophia felt a surge of hope when the spotlights bathed another kelp-sheathed post lying beside the upright column in the grass. Then a dozen more pillars appeared, scattered across the seabed like megalithic dominoes. Breathless now, she glued herself to the window as they crested a ridge where the ground sloped into a steep valley strewn with large stone blocks. The silt-covered masonry was close enough that Sophia could almost embrace the stones. She jumped back in fright, startled when the ground abruptly vanished in a watery abyss, the rim cut cleanly by some ungodly knife. It was like the entire sea floor had collapsed into a vast, bottomless crater. “Mutter Gottes!” Kerner swore as the world seemed to drop away beneath his boots. The U-boat soared across the canyon like a tiny steel minnow, piercing the amethyst water with its twin-bladed light rays. Ahead in the distance, a multitude of slender green shapes darted through the sea like ghostly bullets. The creatures moved effortlessly, diving and looping in broad parabolic arcs, tracing fluorescent rainbows through the water in a graceful ballet. Kerner squinted against the glare of the spotlights. “Captain, what are those things?” Wilhelm shook his head vaguely. “I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like it before.” “Dolphins,” Sophia said in hushed wonder. Having never seen a real dolphin before, she found the animals indescribably beautiful. Wilhelm cupped his hands against the glass to block out the ambient lights in the ship. “Simply amazing… Why do they glow like that?” “Because they’ve been sanctified by the water.” Just then, one dolphin separated from the group. It shot towards the canyon floor like an emerald comet, pulling her gaze down to the enormous shapes resting there, shrouded in the cool blue mist. Sophia pressed against the window for a better view. More rock formations? No, she decided with a quickening pulse. The forms were too regular, their arrangement too perfect to be a product of nature. She held her breath as the fog evaporated with agonizing slowness. The sonar pinged faster in time with her own rapid heartbeat. And then she saw it. After a lifetime of passionate longing, it was right in front of her. Atlantis. From their lofty perspective, the city appeared in the mist below as it would be seen from an airplane descending through clouds. Sophia felt her body go limp, and she had to brace herself against the wall for balance. “Oh my God.” Immersed in the shadowy deep, the ruins looked vague, dreamlike; a ghostly mirage that only half-existed in the azure twilight. Sophia had always imagined an alabaster metropolis resting peacefully on the sea floor, untouched by time, perfectly preserved. The reality was devastating. Her glorious paradise was a lumpy blanket of sediment that scarcely resembled civilization. Eons of silt draped everything in a gauzy texture, like monuments carved in algae rather than stone. Only the largest structures protruded from the mud, scattered across the ocean like mossy gravestones in the cold blue water. The rings, channels, and bridges depicted on the scale model at Knossos were forever lost in the deluge of muck that mired the pyramids to their summit. Sophia touched the Plexiglas viewport as the dolphins flew over the ruins like fiery torpedoes, blazing a luminescent trail across the liquid sky where clouds once soared above the great empire. “I just— I don’t believe it’s real…” she sobbed, overcome with emotion. “How on earth is this possible?” exclaimed Wilhelm, convinced he was hallucinating the glowing dolphins cavorting among sunken buildings at the bottom of the sea. “What is this place?” “It’s Atlantis…” she whispered reverently. Klaus Kerner folded his arms in triumph. “We are sailing into history today, Captain. Be grateful you are here to witness it, unlike our leader who is too ill to enjoy this moment of destiny.” Kerner sneered with relish because Übermann was holed-up in his cabin, miserably seasick. The Orogeny drifted across the moraine, projecting its lights over the ghostly ruins while they watched the decaying stonework materialize in awed silence. The sediment-laden pyramids, rising defiantly through the swampy oblivion, appeared strangely fragile, like they might evaporate into dust if the submarine passed too close. Sophia noted that the megalithic temples exhibited a hybrid Meso-Egyptian style, featuring angular stepped courses with beveled corners, uniting at a truncated capstone. In the aquatic dusk, the pale green ledges, heaped with mud, seemed to melt into the fluorescent water. Other buildings appeared with architecture too bizarre to classify: Two pyramids fused together side by side; another capped by a domed temple, with columns flanking a grand staircase descending into the mud; and still another whose layered tiers were punctuated by gaping black holes that reminded Sophia of a whimsically tapered modern high-rise building. But most intriguing of all was how every surface touched by their floodlights reflected a curious, glassy shine beneath the mottled skin of silt. What befell this serene city? Was it the sea level, slowly creeping higher? Or the earth itself, suddenly shifting? We may never know for sure. However it happened, panic must have gripped the citizens on that fateful day when proud Atlantis sank beneath the waves… Confronted by the moldering decay of the magnificent civilization, the words of her lecture sounded hollow and sanctimonious; the melodramatic prose of a carnival fortune-teller hawking wisdom as phony as the linen ghost that she summoned in her séance. Sophia felt sick with guilt, ashamed of herself for capitalizing on the greatest tragedy in human history, of profiting from the souls who perished in the terrible cataclysm. She gazed upon the ruins in subdued rapture, tortured by a bittersweet sense of elation. After years of wishful dreaming, she had finally found Atlantis, a place that Sophia never expected to see in her lifetime. But how could she be happy when Indy was gone? She never would have come this far without his support, all of the sacrifices he made, in spite of his skepticism, to help realize her quest. He wasn’t here to share the wonder of discovery. Kerner studied her morose expression. “Is it how you imagined?” “What do you care?” she growled at the cold-hearted Nazi who had stolen the greatest moment of joy in her life. “This isn’t about your Aryan race or the glory of Germany. It’s about building some damned bomb. That’s the only thing that matters to you, isn’t it?” “How very perceptive. I see that your psychic reputation is well-deserved. You don’t have to enjoy what I ask of you, but remember that your life depends on…” Klaus Kerner stared off into the distance, struck speechless by the spectacle that loomed over the rubble of Atlantis. Sophia turned and stared across the ruins, thunderstruck. There, beyond the pyramids which clustered together like pale blue mountains in the fog, towered an impossible cone of prehistoric rock, a majestic Olympus of the deep. It was the largest mountain she had ever seen. “The pillar at the center of the model.” “What does that mean?” Kerner prodded her impatiently. “The mountain is where the spindle was on the model of Atlantis, in the map room on Crete.” “What is that moving up there, on top?” Wilhelm said, pointing at the misty pinnacle that soared high above the plain. A fountain of silver bubbles rose from a circular temple that crowned the summit, disappearing in a steady stream into the darkness above. The temple appeared to be a tower with smooth, cylindrical walls, topped by a softly-rimmed turret. In fact, it almost looked like the neck of a gigantic vase emerging from— Sophia was thunderstruck. “They built the city around a volcano, just like Pompeii. Earthquakes and fire. It was a volcanic eruption.” Kerner nodded. “Exactly as Plato described. If that is the center of the island, then we must locate the main canal.” He mapped the landscape intently, searching. “Go that way, Captain.” He pointed to a distant spot that was devoid of structures. The U-boat altered its course, heading northwest, and the ruins were left behind as they plied across the barren wasteland. From the observation deck, they watched the contours of the sea floor unfold beneath the spotlights. After a short distance, the trackless mud suddenly dropped, spilling over a broad shelf that extended out of sight in both directions. The drop was subtle but plainly visible, as the whole seabed cascaded over a prominent ledge dulled by the thick sediment into a valley which Sophia imagined was the first canal that ringed the capital of Atlantis. “There.” Kerner pointed out a prominent depression that emerged from the morass, traveling in a geometrically straight line, exactly like a road through the mud. “That’s the main canal!” she blurted out, suddenly excited. Kerner nudged Wilhelm. “Keep following this channel. It should lead to—ah, yes. There it is now.” Almost on cue, the lamp beams dissipated in open water where the mud poured into the darkness. Kerner directed Wilhelm to proceed north, and the Orogeny glided alongside the plateau, skirting the rugged shelf over the abyss. All eyes were glued to the ridge, absorbing every detail. Below the cliff, the lights revealed a lumpy surface covered in thick gray sludge which had accumulated on the natural rock like melted wax. “You see the uniformity. This was clearly the perimeter of the island,” mused Kerner. “Now to find the entrance.” The humbled silence was broken by a fresh squeal of torment from the ship, a nerve- shredding apocalyptic siren that reminded them of the terrible pressure outside. The U-boat was resisting the crushing water with its last bit of strength. “Take us down,” Kerner said nonchalantly, possessed by a maddening coolness while the overstressed hull groaned its final agony. “What?!” Wilhelm snapped in alarm. “I told you, we cannot go any deeper! This is suicide!” “Hm. It seems our good captain is lost, Miss Hapgood. Would you kindly show him the way?” Sophia branded him with an insolent stare, but offered nothing in reply. “Come now, it is time to put your expertise to use. This is the reason we brought you, after all.” “I never promised to help you, especially since you killed Indy. Find your own way in.” The Nazi pushed her forcefully against the window. Sophia felt the cold gun barrel pressing into her throat. Kerner leaned close with the intimacy of a lover, his face cast in lead. “Now listen to me, you rich bitch, I do not have time to play these games with you. Show us the way into the city or you will die. It is quite simple.” “Put that gun away!” Wilhelm barked. “This is a pressurized hull! If you fire that weapon you’ll kill us all!” Sophia glared at Kerner, but his chilling smile left no doubt he would shoot if she continued to be uncooperative. She nodded in resignation. “I hate you.” “Yes, I know.” Kerner lowered his gun and stepped back. Turning to the window again, Sophia scanned the rugged wall scrolling past the submarine. The fossilized clay blurred on endlessly, but offered no sign of refuge. What if there was no way inside? Was Kerner actually crazy enough to shoot her dead, killing everyone on board, including himself, in the process? Sweat beaded on her forehead. She wiped her damp palms on the front of her jeans and felt something in her pocket. The amber fish jewel. She’d completely forgotten about it. Prisha called it a compass to her dreams. “It will guide you to the Lost Kingdom,” she had promised. A compass. Sophia held up the golden bauble to the window and concentrated, mentally envisioning a way into the ruined city. A cave, a grotto… anything. The fish twirled aimlessly as the string unwound. Where is the entrance? Please tell me. She grew dizzy watching the fish spin around until it finally came to a stop, all tension expelled from the cord. It hung motionless before the glass, pointing out into the gloomy water for what seemed like an eternity. Sophia’s heart pounded with dread. Please… The fish abruptly flicked to the left and froze, pointing towards a distant part of the escarpment where the mud overshadowed a dark opening beneath the rocky ledge. Relief melted through her like a warm breeze. “There.” She pointed at the hole. “Dive inside and surface. It’s a harbor.” “Do it, Captain.” “She’s insane! It’s just a cave! We can’t dock at this depth! Kerner, for God’s sake listen to me!” Wilhelm was raging now, delirious with fury. He stepped forward in protest when Kerner suddenly turned the pistol on him. “I am the ranking officer here, and when I give an order I expect it obeyed. Now dock the U-boat, Captain.” Wilhelm froze, torn between fear and anger. “Where is your loyalty? You wouldn’t be pointing that gun at me if the Führer were standing here!” “Don’t flatter yourself. We both know the Führer would never set foot in this stinking cigar tube. It is your loyalty that is in question, I think.” “I’ll have you court-marshaled for this when we return to Berlin, so help me God,” vowed Wilhelm. Kerner’s pale eyebrows crested inquisitively, bemused. “Will you?” It was a stand-off between the SS officer and the outraged mariner. Sophia, trapped between them with her back against the window like a fly stuck to a glue pad, felt the damp glass throbbing to the pulse of the motors. Outside, the cave yawned open to swallow the approaching U-boat. It was their last vestige for survival. The stress was too much. Sophia finally snapped. “Put that thing away, you’re going to get us all killed!” Kerner favored her with a hollow smile. “You are beginning to worry our guest, Herr Captain. Let me help you decide.” Without warning, he jabbed the pistol against the window beside her head with a sharp clink! Sophia flinched at the sound, like the taut whine of a steel cable splintering apart. “Would you sacrifice our lives and the glory of the Reich for one pitiful act of insubordination? That is hardly the example of a good leader.” He drilled the gun barrel into the acrylic, producing the cringe-inducing symphony of a razorblade sawing violin strings. Kerner curled his finger around the trigger. Sophia gasped sharply. The flimsy barrier was at its breaking point, barely resisting the millions of tons of seawater that would come crashing through the glass the instant he fired. Wilhelm glowered at him with pure rage. “God damn you.” He snatched up the phone and conferred with Schulte in a clipped tone while keeping his furious gaze on the psychotic Nazi. The ship nosed towards the ragged portal and into the waiting darkness. Sophia relaxed. Kerner’s gun went back into its holster. “Danke.”

20 INTO ATLANTIS

The air was buzzing with activity by the time Sophia emerged from the conning tower, flushed and sweating. She drank in the fresh air, savoring its coolness after suffering the hellish confines of the U-boat. Outside it was pitch black—the darkest night imaginable. Disoriented, she blinked in confusion, trying to get her bearings. Light suddenly flared in her face, and she quickly averted her eyes. When her vision returned, Kerner was at her side. Nearly blinded by the flash himself, the Nazi berated the careless sailor operating a Morse lamp fastened to the bridge railing. Captain Wilhelm leaned against the 20-millimeter flak gun, shouting orders to his men swarming over the deck below. He leveled a terse glare at Kerner for his treachery, then continued supervising the docking procedure. “Lampen! Wir brauchen mehr Licht!” someone yelled amid the cacophony of boots on metal. “We need more light!” The watchman swiveled the makeshift spotlight back and forth. Its roving beam sheared the thick gloom and splotched ugly rock walls in every direction. They had surfaced in a cavern, just as Sophia predicted. The light swept across the glistening deck, spotting the forward guns and the ribbon of steel antenna cable that stretched from the tower down the length of the submarine. Far ahead, the Orogeny’s platinum searchlights glowed brightly underwater, illuminating the U-boat’s dagger shape in the oily channel. In the residual ambience, Sophia glimpsed a ledge of stout masonry running alongside the ship—a stone pier! “Secure the lines fast, and make them tight!” directed Wilhelm. The harsh grating of metal broke the calm as removable deck plates were pried from the U-boat. The mariners unspooled coils of thick rope and quickly assembled a steel gangplank. They clattered across the scaffold, armed with flashlights that threw pale beams in the murky gloom. Mooring lines were lashed to ancient stone posts while the deck crew anchored the ship in place. At Kerner’s command, the Nazi troops clambered ashore with their weapons. The colonel took her by the arm. “I’m sure you are eager to begin exploring, so let us not waste any more time.” He stepped through the gate and descended the ladder. Sophia followed him to the deck. They were astonished by the damage caused by their deep dive. The intense water pressure had warped the ship’s armor plating into a lumpy steel road cratered by the weight of the sea. We’re lucky to be alive, she thought as Kerner surveyed the area with a flashlight. His amber beam slid up the conning tower to reveal an emblem painted on the dimpled gray steel: A stylized sun disk radiating jagged light beams. “The sonnenrad,” he proclaimed with a swell of pride. “Each spoke of the wheel signifies a pure knight of the Aryan order. It is the ultimate rank of achievement. Soon I shall join them and take my rightful place in the Obergruppenführersaal at Wewelsburg.” Sophia regarded him with pointed disdain. “Are you really that conceited, or is it just the uniform?” Watching from the tower, Wilhelm smirked at the redhead’s barb. Kerner was not amused. “I am surprised you are not more open-minded, Fräulein. We are on the same mystical journey, both seeking enlightenment for a better world.” “At least I don’t have to do it at gunpoint.” She turned and headed for the scaffold, gripping the taut radio cable for balance as her boots squeaked along the deck. Sophia felt a surge of elation when she stepped onto the weathered flagstones. I’m in Atlantis. I’m really here! All around her, the pier bustled with activity. Crewmen unloaded crates from the ship and passed the boxes down the ramp, where Kerner’s troops stacked them neatly along the waterline. A trio of sailors fumbled to extract a Klieg light from the aft torpedo loading hatch under the captain’s watchful gaze. Sophia wandered away from the commotion. Light-headed with disbelief, she needed a few moments alone to process where she was. Atlantis. The rock beneath her felt solid, yet she had the dreamlike sensation of walking on air. When she looked back towards the ship, Sophia witnessed a jarring sight. The grim, futuristic profile of the U-boat was silhouetted by the leaden glow of the sea beyond. She’d assumed that the cavern enclosed the submarine, yet it was plainly visible—a dark shadow on a gloaming gray sheet. Captivated, she was irresistibly drawn to the transparent shield. She touched the membrane warily, expecting the seal to explode and release billions of tons of seawater into the cavern. The opaque skin felt cold, moist and rubbery. Outside, dolphins danced like tiny green fireflies in the distance while fish swam by close enough to display their shimmering scales. She gazed into the aquatic night with the weight of the ocean pressing down from above, awed and terrified by the immensity of the moment. Kerner joined her at the edge of the cavern. “Amazing how it has maintained pressure for centuries.” He poked the gelatinous barrier with a leather-gloved fingertip. “How is it possible?” She shook her head vaguely. “Does it really matter?” Despite all the activity occurring, Sophia had never felt more alone in her entire life. She didn’t expect to find Atlantis this way. It should have been her and Indy’s discovery together, their personal reward for beating the Nazis to the lost city. The thought of his death brought another pang of remorse. She had to fend for herself now. More importantly she had to survive, because she owed him that much. She couldn’t help shivering in the chilly gloom. Kerner noticed her trembling. “Come, Fräulein, we cannot let you freeze.” He guided her back towards the U-boat and hailed the nearest sailor. “Leutnant Holtz, find a coat for our guest immediately. It is much too cold in here.” “Jawohl, Herr Oberst.” The seaman quickly dashed away to fulfill the order. “Willkommen, Miss Hapgood.” Übermann hobbled down the bridge with his armload of papers, guided by a pair of soldiers who steadied him until he was on solid ground. “Here we are on the doorstep of the lost city. The start of our grand adventure!” “Don’t expect to find the key under the mat,” she mumbled sullenly. The signal lamp swept over them. Übermann shaded his eyes from the glare like a nocturnal creature suddenly exposed to light, and Sophia could see how truly old he was. The geriatric scientist was frail and gaunt, like a reanimated corpse struggling against the bonds of rigor mortis. The man belonged in a retirement home, not in a subterranean cavern at the bottom of the sea. “You are looking well today, Doktor,” Kerner patronized with cool dispassion. “Though in your condition, I might prescribe new leadership for this endeavor.” “Save your breath, Klaus. We may need it down here. I have much to accomplish without your petty jealousy. Now stop wasting valuable oxygen.” He brushed past Kerner and shuffled over to a collapsible table set up on the pier. He was organizing his papers when a heavy crate dropped to the ground nearby with a loud thump. “Horst, be careful! That’s expensive radio equipment!” Wilhelm scolded a hefty crewman with tattooed arms. “Aye aye, Herr Kaleun!” The muscled sailor threw a gruff salute, then gave the crate a vindictive kick before heading back to the ship for another box. Sophia looked at the stenciled container. “Why do you need a radio?” They were miles beneath the ocean. Surely no signal could reach them from the surface. Übermann indulged her a sickly smile. “The city is quite extensive, and we must locate the orichalcum with peak efficiency.” Two soldiers pried open the crate and lifted out a radio console. Another box yielded an oversized field pack with a telephone handset mounted on the side. “We are fortunate to have the very latest in communication technology.” He gestured to the canvas pack. “These transmitters will be used to coordinate our expedition, and eventually mobilize troops on the battlefield; a revolution in logistical warfare.” Kerner admired the radio pack. “A portable telephone. Simply remarkable, Doktor.” “Surely it is the wave of the future!” chimed an enthusiastic voice from the canal. Sophia turned to see a clean-cut officer striding off the gangplank with a set of headphones draped casually around his neck. Tall and lean with a genial smile, he was garbed in a natty blue sweater, corduroy pants, and the same thick leather boots worn by his fellow crewmen. Übermann greeted him with a spindly handshake. “Ah, Mr. Schulte. We are indebted to your superb navigational skills today. A commendable job, young man.” Kerner offered a salutary nod. “The Fatherland is proud of your exemplary work.” Schulte brought his heels together and saluted the colonel with pride. “Thank you, Herr Oberst. It is truly an honor to test this new equipment for the Reich.” “It is, indeed. Now establish our communication center so that we may begin immediately.” Kerner gave his flashlight to the young technician, who promptly set to work calibrating the console’s frequency to the array of radio packs laid out across the table. Holtz returned carrying an olive-colored wool jacket with brass buttons. “This is for you, Fräulein.” She accepted the coat with an odious expression, as if it was a dead animal skin. She slipped it on, surprised by the almost perfect fit. Kerner was pleased. “A suitable garment for our foreign advisor. I hope it is to your liking.” “Well, if gas chamber green is the height of fashion this year, I’ll have to suffer it.” “You Americans are the most ungrateful swine in the world,” he sniffed arrogantly. He strode away, leaving her alone in the darkness. Along the canal, sailors emptied crates of spoiled food into the water in anticipation of their harvest, preparing to exploit the once-great civilization to fuel Germany’s terrible war machine. It was a sickening spectacle, and Sophia wanted no part of it. With Kerner occupied, she wandered deeper into the inky gloom, anxious to explore Atlantis before it was ruined forever. She was confident that Nur-Ab-Sal would guide her. Half a dozen steps into oblivion, the curtain of blackness evaporated as crystalline light flooded the cavern. Sophia covered her eyes and froze, inches from a steep ledge that was invisible only moments earlier. She squinted back at the ship, thinking the crew had the spotlight working. The men on deck stood around their partially built Klieg, shading their eyes from the radiance blazing through a broad archway separating the airlock from an expansive inner chamber. The light emanated from a large concentric spiral mounted on a plaque inside the vault. Sophia’s lofty vision of paradise withered at her first glimpse of Atlantis. The ambient wheel cast its vivid glow on the surrounding walls, illuminating drab masonry stained with mold. No effort had been made to beautify the raw, undressed blocks. The only decoration was the swirled aquatic filigree etched into the archway that framed the platform. The Nazis gathered at the entrance, chattering with excitement. Kerner and Übermann peered across the spacious room. Disappointment etched his narrow face. “How primitive! Not at all how I imagined the splendor of the lost kingdom.” “For once I agree, Doktor. It is positively crude,” conceded Kerner. “Hardly the magnificent city glorified by legend. It seems Plato was misinformed in his views.” “But surely there are wonders awaiting us within. It is only a matter of time before we find them.” Sophia looked past her boots with a chill of revulsion. Staring up at her was an oblique stone mask carved into the ledge. The sleek, mold-creased visage of some long-forgotten deity screamed silently from the antediluvian past. She pulled her gaze from the eerie face to observe the rest of the chamber. At either end of the platform, a short flight of steps descended to the floor, where a shallow trench ran parallel to the ledge. The track disappeared in a rubble-filled alcove beside the glowing light coil. On the wall opposite from the cave-in, a rusty metal barricade blocked egress to the track. The place seemed oddly familiar. A flash of déjà-vu told her it was the terminus of the subway beneath Knossos. “Look, Herr Doktor—the gateway to Atlantis!” Kerner exclaimed, pointing suddenly. On the far side of the room, they saw an imposing bronze door nested in the wall atop a stone terrace. Another ambient coil illuminated a totemic statue guarding the portal. Übermann clapped his hands in delight. “Wunderbar!” “What are we waiting for? Let’s open it.” Kerner moved towards the stairs impulsively. “Not so fast, Kerner. How soon you forget your place.” Übermann turned back to the radio table. “Officer Schulte, are we ready to proceed?” The technician looked up from his console. “The system is operational, sir. All radio packs are charged for use.” “Excellent. The floor is yours, Herr Colonel.” “Achtung! Form ranks for briefing. Mach schnell!” The clatter of jackboots drummed the grimy stone floor as the soldiers filed down the stairs with their weapons and formed a line along the subway trench. Standing atop the ledge, Kerner smoothed his Waffenrock jacket and surveyed the platoon. “Today we are opening a new chapter in history, for the glory of the Fatherland and the Führer. It is both our duty and supreme destiny as soldiers of the Reich, to reclaim our ancestral homeland and the power that rightfully belongs to us.” His voice rang strong and clear in the cavern. “No matter what obstacles we face, remember this: Great questions will not be resolved by talk, but by iron and blood.” He stiffened and extended a rigid salute. “Heil Hitler!” The squad repeated the oath in unison, their voices echoing through the chamber. Sophia shivered at the totalitarian display, wishing more than ever that Indy was there with her. The ceremonious moment was punctuated by an impatient cough. Kerner flinched in annoyance, but obligingly stepped aside for Übermann to address the soldiers. “Gentlemen, this mission is of the highest priority. Our goal is to stockpile all the orichalcum we can retrieve. This material is necessary for our war department.” He unrolled the sheaf of papers and displayed them for the assembled troops. “There will be four survey groups to map the city, each team consisting of a cartographer, scout, and a radioman. Carefully note the shape of all rooms and adjoining passageways, and mark your map accordingly. Since time is of the essence, only general measurements will suffice.” Schulte distributed the radio packs while Kerner organized the teams from a roster sheet. “Report any discovery of interest immediately, and note the location,” he instructed. Übermann continued: “Once your survey is complete, return to base camp and turn in your map, along with any mineral samples you may find.” Like a big scavenger hunt, Sophia thought sarcastically from the sidelines. “Let’s begin, shall we?” Kerner said. He led the way across the chamber to the crumbled staircase and managed to scale the ancient rubble with dignity. Sophia scrambled up next, ignoring his proffered hand. Übermann was raised with the help of two soldiers. They gathered at the bronze door while the SS regiment crowded onto the terrace behind them. Kerner removed his glove and touched the burnished metal with reverence. The corroded slab was embossed with the nightmarish image of a squid-like creature. “What do you think, Miss Hapgood? An ancient sea god, perhaps?” “How should I know?” she glowered. But Kerner found a more pressing concern. “This door has no handles. How do we open it?” Sophia noted that the brooding sentry bore the enigmatic likeness of her pendant. A metallic gleam at the base of the statue drew her attention to a gilded spindle post. Übermann spotted the lock mechanism. “The stones, Herr Colonel. We have the answer in our hands.” He retrieved the Hermocrates from his coat pocket. Kerner snapped his fingers. “Bring the stones.” Torsten stepped forward with Indy’s rucksack. Übermann placed the disks on the pedestal. He consulted the book with a troubled frown. “The final gate requires all three stones. It seems we are missing one key.” The commander’s jaw clenched. “Yes, I told you this already. The worldstone was lost in the labyrinth. If we cannot unlock the door, then we will simply blast it open.” Sophia grimaced. The barrier was made of orichalcum, which had attracted the amber compass from outside the cave. She kept silent, knowing that Kerner would have the door pried from its hinges if he suspected it. But fate mercifully intervened before he could carry out his drastic plan. “Herr Colonel, I found something!” One of the soldiers pushed forward, holding a wheel- shaped stone. It was only slightly larger than his palm. Kerner snatched the disk in disbelief. “Where did you get this?” The soldier pointed to the crumbled stairs. “I found it just now, lying in the rocks as I was climbing up.” “The final key to Atlantis.” He waved the stone at Sophia with a bemused smile. “Under the doormat, as it were. You see, Doktor? I told you destiny is on our side.” Übermann studied the disk and its primitive engravings. “Yes, this is clearly the worldstone Plato wrote about. Very good.” He set the disk atop the moonstone. “Now according to the text, Atlantis can only be entered when—” The spindle depressed with a sharp click! They stared in amazement as the disks began to spin automatically, each wheel rapidly counter-rotating until the symbols aligned themselves in sequence to the horned icon carved on the pedestal. “How remarkable!” Kerner exclaimed in awe. The bronze door split open, folding into the ancient darkness with an ominous groan. The soldiers all jostled for a better view inside. “Now our mission truly begins,” Übermann proclaimed with satisfaction. “Perhaps Fräulein Hapgood would like the honor of leading us? She is the reason we are here, after all.” Sophia stared into the darkness, paralyzed with apprehension. She felt Nur-Ab-Sal beckoning her to fulfill the pact she’d made long ago—to return the medallion so that he might rule his kingdom once more. Now that she was actually in Atlantis, her devotion wavered. The king’s spirit whispered his disapproval in her mind. Her fists clenched tightly, steeling for the flood of psychic turmoil to sweep her away, but nothing stronger than a wash of cool, musty air seeped from the dark void. Sophia breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was over… for now. Her tension was oblivious to Kerner, aggravated by yet another problem. “Verdammt, the stones will not come loose.” He wrenched the worldstone deftly but it remained locked on the recessed post. Übermann tried and found them cemented in place. “Nevermind the stones. The door is open, so they are no longer needed. Leave them behind.” “As you wish, Doktor. Let’s see what treasures this sunken museum has to offer.” He switched on his flashlight and stalked into the blackness. Sophia cautiously followed and almost immediately encountered a wall blocking her path. She touched the damp stone, looked around in confusion. It seemed as if he had just vanished. “Here, come this way.” He beckoned from a wedge-shaped opening to the right. She went through the door and found herself in a wide corridor that stretched into infinity. Light coils illuminated the passage at regular intervals. Across the hall was another doorway identical to the one they had just emerged from. Moments later, Übermann’s regiment clattered through the door and splashed into the ditch. Their eager faces registered instant disgust. The state of decay was appalling. Moisture gleamed like oil on every surface. Along the tunnel, each pulsing light coil spilled its ambience on the mildewed floor. The stagnant air was damp with the earthy scent of mushrooms and cucumbers. The odor reminded Sophia of a moldy aquarium. Kerner surveyed the desolate passage with a flinty gaze. “Where are the wonders you spoke of, Doktor—the technology we have journeyed so far to discover?” “They are here, Colonel, if you have the vision to see them.” He unrolled his map. “Note how the city is constructed in a perfect circle. Based on Plato’s description, I theorize that Atlantis is patterned on the atomic structure of orichalcum.” Glancing at the diagram, Sophia saw the concentric rings of Atlantis superimposed on the shape of an atom. Dense calculations were scribbled in the margins. Übermann traced the map with a bony finger. “Due to the curvature of particle trajectory, the circuit of these walls allow the particle to transit indefinitely with continuous acceleration. Atlantis exemplifies this principle in stone.” Kerner sighed impatiently. “The nucleus is located at the precise center of the atom. Every schoolchild knows this fact. But science has revealed that splitting the atom will unlock its infinite potential.” “This is all very fascinating Doktor, but please come to the point.” “Simple. Proceed to the middle of the city, and we will find a nucleus of unimaginable power.” Kerner motioned to the soldiers. “Follow this hallway to the next entrance and begin your survey work. Notify us if you locate the mineral we seek.” The group dispersed, heading down the flooded track in both directions. The plick! plick! plick! of their footsteps receded into the distance. Only the two Abwehr agents remained behind. An eerie sense of desolation permeated the vacant hallway. Sophia hugged herself against the chill. The blond agent offered a suggestive smile: I can warm you up, Fräulein. Giving him the cold shoulder, she wandered over to the nearest coil while Kerner studied the map with Übermann. Sophia had never seen an artificial light of such brilliance. The intertwined filaments exuded a crystalline glow that brightened in her presence. She watched in fascination as a vivid pulse traced the labyrinthine pathways, flowing from the outer spiral to the center of the golden maze. When the streams converged, the sinuous pattern repeated itself endlessly. Liquid light, she marveled. She placed her hands near the coil, but it offered no warmth. The light dimmed when she moved away from the wall. She realized, incredibly, that somehow it responded to motion. “How remarkable…” said Kerner, mesmerized by the display. “Note the absence of wires,” Übermann pointed out. “This lamp is a self-contained system, likely fueled by orichalcum.” “Do you really think so, Doktor?” “Remember, we are exploring a civilization that harnessed the power of nature like we play with toys. This is but a taste of things to come, I promise you.” “Then let’s find the power station. Split the atom, as you say.” “Ja. Victory goes to the bold!” Übermann flourished his roll of charts like a sword. Invigorated with purpose, he strode for the passageway, followed by the pair of agents. The younger one looked unhappy to be saddled with the cumbersome radio pack. Kerner invited Sophia with a gallant gesture. “Fräulein, if you would kindly join us.” “Like I have a choice?” He touched his weapon with an arrogant sneer. “Precisely. Now start moving.” “Bastard.” Sophia shoved past him through the doorway. The Nazi trailed after her, chuckling in amusement.

21 ANTEDILUVIAN WORLD

The design was impossible. Indy traced the stone doorframe with his fingers. Through the green skin of mildew, he saw that each spiral wave was cut with razor precision, flowing seamlessly along the robust lintel as if etched with a template. He’d never seen ancient scrollwork of such pristine quality. If he didn’t know better, he would have sworn it was carved last week. How did the engineers accomplish such striking detail in the remote epoch of Atlantis? “Adler! Pay attention! You’re supposed to be scouting ahead for us!” Indy looked up to see the Nazi glaring at him over the map that he was sketching. The cartographer’s name had slipped his memory since the briefing, and Indy faltered a moment before answering. “Sorry, Hauptmann Schelker. I was just admiring this stonework. It’s quite fascinating,” he explained in German with a passable accent. Unreal was more like it. Never had Indy been confronted with so much archaeological evidence without lifting a shovel, yet he was exploring the remains of a pre-Bronze Age city at the bottom of the sea. He finally understood Sophia’s obsession. He had to admit there was a certain historical intrigue about an advanced civilization ending in the blink of time’s eye. Given the active history of the Aegean seabed, it was a miracle the city wasn’t pulverized between tectonic plates during the ages of geologic upheaval that ravaged the planet since Atlantis had last seen daylight. But Poseidon’s empire was now a place of decay and ruin; the moldy bones of an extinct city, doomed by whatever fate had befallen it. In spite of the drab architecture, Indy noted a variety of details that piqued his academic curiosity. The angular doors exhibited a vaguely Egyptian quality, while the glowing light coils represented the sun to countless ancient cultures, from the Celts to the Anasazi. Everything was fused together in a bizarre unity that defied classification. Indy was convinced there must be a visible evolution to explain how these disparate elements were joined in this remarkable civilization—the missing prologue to human history. He wanted to find written records of the people who lived here. The complete absence of information was frustrating, and he was desperate to solve the mystery. “Well quit lagging. Kerner will have our ass if we don’t complete our survey within an hour, and we can forget about being promoted.” The third soldier in their party hefted his transmitter pack with enthusiasm. “How did we get so lucky to be hand-picked for this assignment by Colonel Kerner himself? To the Mediterranean, no less! This is like a vacation!” “You can celebrate once we’re out of this godforsaken place. We’re finished with this room. Move it, Adler. This isn’t a sight-seeing trip.” The radioman threw him an accusatory look and tromped across the barren chamber. Indy shouldered his field pack and followed. He was anxious to go after Sophia, but first he had to get rid of his companions. Based on conversations Indy heard aboard the ship, the exploration squad was hastily culled from different regiments of the Waffen SS. Nobody, including the U-boat crew, knew the truth of their harrowing journey to the Aegean seabed. Speculation was rampant, the predominant rumor being that ‘Atlantis’ was the operational code word for an invasion of Tripoli or Malta. It was only after they came ashore in the man-made air lock miles underwater, did Kerner’s patriotic speech finally cement the situation into reality. The impromptu detachment was clearly unprepared for an assignment of such magnitude, and since Indy was dead as far as Kerner was concerned, he planned on using the situation to his advantage. With the freedom to move around the city disguised as a soldier, he could whisk Sophia away before the Germans knew it. He just needed to find the opportune moment to act without being shot, or having his presence alerted by radio. Magnesium ambience welcomed them into next room as another light coil blazed to life. Indy nearly bumped into his companions, who had stopped to gape at a remarkable scene. Unlike the previous empty chambers they’d surveyed, this one served a purpose. Set against the far wall was a large stone table displaying the remains of a sentry statue. They gathered around the slab to examine the disassembled pieces. The decapitated torso was cradled by lengths of thick, rusty chain spooled through a system of pulleys in the ceiling. The sentry’s legs stood on the floor at the end of the table. Its head sat upright near the body. Indy’s curiosity was infectious as he picked over the broken parts with his companions. Surprisingly, the statue was made of metal rather than stone, reminiscent of medieval armor, but without rivets. Lifting one of its arms, he was surprised to find that the limbs were hollow. A network of rusty cables were clipped to thick bronze posts which were drawn through the arm shell. The internal skeleton was a revelation to the explorers. Schelker was beside himself. “Do you realize what this is? It’s a robot! Who would have imagined such advanced machinery among the ancients?” “Unglaublich! A mechanical soldier!” The radioman peered into the gaping chest cavity. “Kerner will give us the Iron Cross for this discovery! We will be heroes!” Indy leaned over the robot and saw a jumble of corroded gears draped in a skin of glittering cobwebs. The arachnid weavers had perished ages ago, leaving the delicate latticework as the only testament to their existence. Rivulets of rust stained the front of the stone slab, as if the robot had bled to death during its final surgery. “This was a workshop,” he said as he gazed over the dismembered sentry. The others ignored him as they eagerly picked through the scattered assortment, pocketing a few smaller pieces for souvenirs. Indy carefully lifted a bronze cogwheel, which left its rusty shadow on the ancient stone. The fingerprint of time, he thought, replacing it gently. The idea that he was looking at the oldest relics in existence was sobering. The squad leader noticed Indy’s humbled expression, and found it incongruous for their task. “Which division were you re-assigned from, Sturmmann Adler?” Indy looked up in surprise, unprepared for the question. “Uh.. Rhineland-Pfalz 5 th Infantry,” he stammered, grasping at his hazy knowledge of German geography. His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “There is no such regiment.” “It’s a new unit, recently assembled in the Hunsrück.” Schelker wasn’t buying it. “Show me your papers right now, soldier,” he demanded. “I want to see them.” “Jawohl, Herr Captain.” Indy set his field pack on the floor and knelt to unbuckle it. He glanced around for a weapon to use. His eyes settled on a rusty chain dangling from the table, inches away. Reaching into the bag, he grabbed the chain and yanked it free of the pulley just as the Nazi drew his gun. The bronze whip snaked around Schelker’s arm with a bone- cracking rattle. He dropped to the floor with a cry of pain, clutching his injured wrist. “It’s the American spy!” The radioman shed his backpack and belatedly reached for his own pistol. Indy pulled back for another strike, but momentum tore the heavy chain from his grasp and it clattered harmlessly against the wall behind him. “Shit.” Indy dove at the remaining soldier and tackled him to the floor, knocking his helmet off. He twisted sharply to avoid a flying fist, quickly pinned the German’s other wrist to the ground, and took a punch to the jaw in the process. The hit was a blessing in disguise, as he reeled back just in time to see Schelker groping feebly for his pistol. Rolling sideways, Indy snared the chinstrap of the lost helmet and swung it wildly. A hollow peal rang out as the bell clobbered Schelker’s own steel helmet, and he sprawled to the ground, unconscious. Dazed, the radio operator fumbled to un-holster his weapon. Indy hurled the helmet back at him. “Here, catch!” He raised his arms, deflecting the blunt missile. “But Kerner shot you! I saw it!” he protested. “His aim was off, but mine isn’t.” Indy sprang forward and delivered a swift kick to the face that put the Nazi out cold on the floor. “Nice try, pal.” Indy glanced from the radio pack, sitting upright nearby, to the partly- finished map, and then back to the unconscious radioman. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to make a phone call.”

***

Atlantis had all the cheer of a mausoleum, Sophia decided as they combed the ruins for a passage to the center of the city, where Übermann was convinced they would find a power plant supplied by vaults of orichalcum. They might have been exploring for hours or even days, but it hardly mattered in the dismal maze of stone, where time blurred into a monotonous sludge and every turn opened into another vacant corridor glistening in the pellucid light. Occasionally, the drab masonry was disrupted by the presence of a bronze grating, but her gloom deepened as Übermann’s map grew into a rambling network of passages arranged with complete disregard for symmetry. Plato’s legendary city, Sophia realized, was an aimless labyrinth of mold and rust. The abysmal scenery sat equally unwell with Kerner, whose tedium reached its peak as they followed an endless tunnel of mildew-skinned stone. “This wandering is madness, Doktor. How much time do you intend to waste searching for this passage that clearly does not exist?” “Calm yourself.” Übermann pored over his map with deliberate care, methodically sketching the course of the hallway. “The Atlanteans may have boldly displayed their atomic knowledge in plain sight, but they were also clever enough to make its power inaccessible to the unworthy. I am confident we will soon decipher the way.” “What the hell is that thing?” Torsten said, pointing to an orange tube-like creature trailing a patch of slime across the floor. The prickly mass inched forward, oblivious to their presence. The Abwehr nudged it with his boot. Revulsion puckered Sophia’s face as the pulsating lump contracted into a tight ball, bristling its pale thorns in defense. “Disgusting.” Hans Übermann peered at the creature with academic disinterest. “Do not worry. It is only a sea slug, common to the deepest parts of the ocean. They are quite harmless,” he assured them. Torsten stomped the spiny cucumber against the stone in a burst of tangerine jelly. Karl winced and Sophia quickly looked away. The agent scraped his boot against the wall. “Yes. Harmless indeed.” “Enough!” Kerner fumed. He regarded Sophia with sudden interest. “Herr Doktor, it occurs to me that in all the recent excitement we have neglected to use our best resource for locating the prize. What is more disturbing, she has chosen to let us wander aimlessly, knowing well that we could not locate the treasure on our own.” Übermann brightened. “An excellent idea. I should have realized it sooner had we not been so preoccupied.” “Hey, I didn’t volunteer for this cesspool survey squad. You kidnapped me,” she reminded him. Torsten snickered at the outburst. Sophia shot him an annoyed glance. “Shut up!” Rolling up his map, the physicist eyed her with fresh potential. “Now, my dear, we will see if you are as gifted as our own Fräulein Oršić, who is a mystic like yourself. She believes that one’s hair length is the key to astral viewing powers; a cosmic antenna of sorts.” He circled her keenly, admiring her scarlet waves like a valuable jewel. “Such lovely hair must surely enhance your spiritual connection to this place.” “I’m not a metal detector. The power of Second Sight requires focus and concentration.” “We did not ask for an explanation, only results. Now it is time to put your talents to use.” Kerner crossed his arms expectantly. Sophia scathed him with a look of pure hatred. “I hope you bastards don’t find a grain of orichalcum.” “We had better, for your sake,” he warned her. Sophia ignored the threat. She had resigned herself to the fact that her life was essentially forfeit once Kerner found what he was looking for. The idea that she would take her last breath in Atlantis seemed noble, a fitting end to her lifelong devotion to the lost city, and she felt completely at peace with her decision. It was her destiny. She closed her eyes. She brought her fingertips to her temples with a sigh, concentrating. The room was silent as she turned slowly, letting her senses flow through the empty corridors in every direction. Dowsing for a prolonged moment, she turned her head sharply as if she’d heard a sudden noise. She extended her arm, hand splayed in the direction she’d chosen. It was a terribly theatrical display, but she could feel the Nazis’ eyes on her, scrutinizing every move with rapt attention. Their behavior was as predictable as her well-heeled clients who paid handsomely for spiritual consultations. Except her current patrons were neither grateful nor wealthy, and Sophia would pay with her life if she failed to please them. “Well?” Kerner prodded. “Tell us what you see.” Sophia opened her eyes and pointed in the direction she’d randomly picked. “This way. The vibrational energies are very strong. I sense a great source of power close by.” “You are certain?” “Absolutely,” she lied without even flinching. In truth, Sophia sensed nothing at all. She gambled her proclamation on the simple fact that the hallway followed a curving length of wall that lacked a single opening. In all likelihood it enclosed a large chamber which hopefully contained something sufficiently interesting to validate her abilities, or an object that she could take another false reading from to prolong their search until she could make an escape. Dangerous odds, but she had no other choice. “Then let’s not waste anymore time.” Kerner took the lead and the group resumed their march down the mold-fissured corridor. After several hundred yards, to Sophia’s immense relief, they came upon a lintel-clad entrance trimmed with the running spiral design. Kerner stalked through the doorway without hesitation. The rest of them quickly followed. The lights burned to full ambience. “Mother of God!” someone exclaimed. Sophia nearly choked in astonishment. Everyone stared at the incomprehensible spectacle. A gigantic alabaster pyramid sprawled across a cavernous auditorium with towering walls. Glow coils illuminated a gallery of Atlantean masks gazing imperiously upon the ivory temple. Twin staircases climbed the sloping ziggurat. Nestled within the stepped tiers was a complex array of wheels and pipes. A pair of curving funnels arched above a bronze cauldron at the summit. Decorative, cat-like statues perched at the corner of each tier like gargoyles with mouths grossly agape. The whole assembly reminded Sophia of a pipe organ built on an ungodly scale. “What the Hohenzollern is that?” Übermann goggled in open amazement. Karl eased his radio pack to the ground. “It looks like a pyramid.” Sophia’s heart pounded with euphoria as she approached the hulking edifice. “It’s a machine.” “Atlantean technology. Splendid!” Kerner strode regally across the room, gesturing to the temple with a triumphant sweep of his arms. “This is exactly what we came for.” “It is hellish yet exquisite,” Torsten decreed, like an art critic appraising a work of interpretive sculpture. “Can you determine its function, Fräulein Hapgood?” Übermann inquired. “You are the expert, after all.” Sophia visually assessed the pyramid, scaling its machinery-laden courses from top to bottom. The monument struck her as utilitarian, lacking the aesthetical qualities of a shrine or site of worship. Then she noticed a demon statue crouched at the base of the temple. Its mouth yawned open as if preparing to drink from a large bowl held in its hands. A stout pipe hidden in the shadows behind the statue clued her in. The grandiose structure, for all its complexity, had a simple function. “It’s an orichalcum refinery.” “An incredible deduction.” Kerner scooped a handful of tarnished beads from the troll’s dish. He made a tight fist, letting them slip through his fingers. The red pearls clinked against the metal with a musical resonance. “Truly we have underestimated your expertise.” His words were laced with sarcasm. Übermann rewarded her with an oily smile. “Would you care to enlighten us as to the source of the raw material?” “Probably a mine somewhere,” she answered vaguely, still mesmerized by the pyramid. Then a jarring revelation shattered the spell of quiet grandeur, a detail so subtle that she’d been blind to it. “Damn…” She drew her hand across the pale stone. “What is it?” Sophia took a few steps back for a better view of the hulking structure. “The whole thing is solid. Look at it.” “Gott im Himmel, she is right!” Kerner exclaimed, realizing the magnitude of the revelation. Each course of the temple was hewn from a single piece of cut rock. He stroked the polished monolith in wonder. “Look at this surface, like glass! How is it possible?” “That is precisely what we intend to find out.” Übermann touched the satin-smooth alabaster, testing its quality. “Human hands are incapable of achieving this degree of perfection. This stone was unquestionably machined.” “Can you imagine the sheer amount of power required to cut stone of this density?” “I can, in fact.” He clutched Sophia’s wrist with surprising strength. “And I’ll wager she can, as well. Now that our psychic has proven herself, it should be an easy matter to locate the mother lode, yes?” She freed her arm from his skeletal grip. “Not exactly.” Kerner towered above her imposingly. “But you will try.” Sophia took a deep breath. It was the moment that the entire mission had been building to, and now it was squarely on her shoulders. The outcome would determine her fate. If she found a vision that led to the orichalcum, they would be in her debt. If not, she would certainly die. She felt like a traitor for helping the Nazis locate a source of power that would be turned against all nations which opposed them. It was too late. Without Nur-Ab-Sal’s guidance, her abilities were practically nonexistent, and that was her only source of hope now. Closing her eyes, Sophia Hapgood touched her fingertips to her temples, concentrating. Her brow scrunched with effort as she drifted in the darkness behind her eyelids, straining her inner vision to grasp anything of significance that might satisfy her captors. Gradually, an image began to materialize. Faint and indistinct at first, she locked onto it and enhanced her focus. Then it came to her all at once, a whimsical sepia-toned scene of sheer madness: A spinning house in the darkened sky. It was a powerful image, something that would affect many thousands of people in the near future, but she found it confusing, nonsensical; completely discordant from anything she sought. She didn’t understand the significance. She opened her mouth but hesitated, unsure of how to describe the vision, or simply lie about it. “Strange…” “Spill it. What do you see?” “I see… a house being carried away by a tornado.” Finally, she opened her eyes again with a sigh of defeat. “Sorry, I don’t have the energy for two shows a night. I just can’t do it.” Kerner scrutinized her face for any hint of deception. “Either you are a very poor psychic, or a very good liar. I cannot decide.” She waved him off like an annoying insect. “Oh, please. You’re not even worth lying to.” A wintry frown settled on the commander’s face. “Your arrogance has become tiresome. It is a simple matter to find the orichalcum on our own, using the key that we sought from the beginning.” He reached for the pendant on her chest. Sophia held her breath, anticipating Kerner’s pain when he clutched the searing medallion. The minute he let go, she would run like hell and get lost in the maze of halls before the others could catch her. She would rather die of starvation in the chilly depths of Atlantis than face a Nazi firing squad. His fingers were curling over the brass amulet like a hungry spider when the radio phone suddenly buzzed in alarm. Karl hastily picked up the receiver and winced as the handset emitted a shrill crackle of static. “Please repeat.” He listened for a moment. “It’s Schulte at base camp, Herr Doktor. He has an important message for you.” “Our first progress report. Splendid.” Übermann cradled the receiver to his wizened skull. After several moments, delight energized his features. “Ja, that is fantastic news!” The scientist gestured impatiently. Kerner stepped away from Sophia. “Report your position.” Übermann scribbled on his map. “Very good. Stay there and do not touch anything until we arrive.” The Germans conversed in hushed excitement before Kerner took up the phone. “Achtung. All teams report to the southwest quarter immediately. That is an order.” He regarded Sophia with triumph. “What a most fortunate turn of events. Just as your usefulness has expired, we locate our prize.” “They found the orichalcum already?” “Indeed. But that is no longer any of your concern.” He snapped his fingers at the blond Abwehr who had shadowed Sophia closely since they arrived. “Agent Fleischer. Since Miss Hapgood’s assistance is no longer required, she is now a prisoner of the Reich. Take her to the detention chamber we found earlier, and make sure that she is very comfortable.” Torsten pinned Sophia’s arms firmly behind her back. “You may count on it, Herr Oberst.” As he led her away, she gave Kerner a nasty smile. “I’ve got news for you, Klausi. I’ve seen the future, and Hitler’s Thousand-Year Reich won’t last for ten more years. You can take that to the bank.” “I do not believe the lies of a gypsy wench who has regrettably lost her powers, if she ever possessed any at all.” “Fuck off.” The Nazi pomped his hair arrogantly. “It is unfortunate that our relationship was not a more productive one, Madame. Enjoy your stay in Atlantis. Auf Wiedersehen.” He touched the brim of his cap, and Torsten marched her away.

They proceeded down the hall at a steady pace, but once they were out of sight he pulled her ahead impatiently. “Hey, what’s the big rush? Got a hot date tonight?” The agent smiled but remained silent until they put a few more turns behind them. Apprehension slithered down Sophia’s back like a cold snake while she tried to imagine what hellish torture was in store for her. She didn’t have long to wonder. “Madame Sophia, the Light of Atlantis. So hard to obtain an audience with you these days. I must say how honored I am to be your escort.” She detected admiration in his voice. “Don’t tell me you want an autograph.” He smiled wryly. “No, no… nothing quite so mundane, although you are something of a celebrity among our crew.” “Really. And how’s that?” His grip on her arm tightened when the dungeon came into view. “You cannot imagine the dedication of our men in uniform. Every last one of them expressed a desire to… how did they phrase it?” He frowned a moment, then recalled it with a wicked sneer. “Load your torpedo tube, or words to that effect.” Sophia shivered as the snake’s icy venom tingled through her loins. She knew that he was going to rape her, and she was powerless to stop it. “I must admit how long I’ve burned with the idea myself,” he said, whisking her into the detention chamber. He prodded her past the skeletal remains on the floor and practically dragged her up the steps to the cell blocks in the wall. He shoved her beneath the half-drawn gate, which was partly recessed into the ceiling. He pulled it down, trapping them in the darkened alcove. Sophia backed against the damp wall as he faced her with a ravenous look. “It’s a pity that I don’t carry the proper armament for the job, but I shall make do.” The timbre in his voice shifted, becoming smoother and softer than possible. When the meaning of his words finally sank in, the truth hit her like lightning. Sophia stared in shock. “You’re a woman…” “I had wondered when you would finally notice.” The agent removed her cap and raked her fingers through her short, androgynous golden crop. “My name is actually Tristen Fleischer, and as I was saying before, I find you incredibly attractive. Gorgeous, in fact.” Her ice-blue eyes savored Sophia’s body in an appreciative sweep. “Given the choice between yourself and Marlene Dietrich, I would be hard-pressed to choose.” Beyond the abrupt semantic shift, Sophia noticed the fine physiognomy she had previously ignored in her hatred of the lascivious agent. Tristen had exceptionally smooth Saxon features: high cheekbones, a delicately curving jaw line, full lips, pale, thin eyebrows, and a petite nose which tapered to a gentle point. And she wasn’t much taller than Sophia. The woman sidled nearer with a cloying smile. Her gaze smoldered with anticipation. “Now, at last, I have you all to myself.” Sophia recoiled in disgust. “What do you want with me?” “I’m sorry if you find my desire unappealing.” She unbuttoned her jacket to reveal her petite bust, tightly restrained by a lacy brazier. “But there is an indescribably delicious quality in being with another of your specimen; to enjoy a certain finesse that even a skilled man cannot achieve.” “You’re sick. Leave me alone.” Sophia shrank into the corner of the dank cell, wishing she could evaporate into the stone to escape from the lustful Nazi. “Your imprisonment here doesn’t have to be so unpleasant if you give me a chance.” She reached up and stroked Sophia’s face. “In fact, I might even let you go free if you satisfy me.” The psychic struggled to escape, but Tristen caught her flailing arms and pinned Sophia’s wrists to the wall above her head. The other woman was surprisingly strong. She flashed a seductively predatory smile; a hungry piranha about to devour its prey. “You are the Light of Atlantis.” She leaned close, flicking Sophia’s earlobe with her tongue. She caressed Sophia’s chest and slid down her abdomen. “Now show me the light. I want to see it.” Her hand plunged into Sophia’s pants and cupped her greedily. Consumed by white-hot rage, Sophia bashed her forehead into the agent’s nose. “Agh—!” Tristen stumbled back, stunned by the impact. She withdrew her hands to protect her face. She stared in disbelief as blood poured between her fingers. The instant she let go, Sophia drove her knee between Tristen’s legs. The other woman dropped to the floor, blind with pain. Blood gushed from her nose, staining her uniform. Sophia seized her by the hair and slammed her skull into the gate, bashing her head against the bars until the intelligence officer slumped to the floor, unconscious. She stepped over the German’s body and crawled out of the cell beneath the rusty bronze gate. She leaned against the wall, shaking with adrenaline. A sour ball of ice churned in her stomach. She felt sick, mortified by the swiftness and violence of her attack. She pressed one side of her face against the cool stone and tried to calm her breathing until the nausea finally passed. Now that she was free, Sophia only had one priority: To find the Temple of Poseidon. Trapped in the underwater city with the Nazis on the loose, she had nothing else to live for. She wanted to gaze upon the glorious golden edifice sanctified to the god of Atlantis. That was her singular goal, the only dream that she could hope to accomplish before she died. And she didn’t need Nur-Ab-Sal anymore. She could do it herself. Sophia stared across the dungeon at the door, mentally clearing a path through the city which avoided Kerner and his troops. She sprinted for the exit, keeping her weight on the outer edges of her boots to mute the sound of her footsteps on the stone. Just as freedom seemed within reach, a Nazi soldier suddenly appeared in the door, blocking her escape. And Sophia was moving too fast. Too fast to stop, too fast to think, too fast to even scream before he clamped his hand over her mouth. Then she was in his grasp, and it was all over. 22 REUNION

Sophia tensed, ready to drive her knee into the Nazi’s groin when she was disarmed by a familiar lopsided smile. “Hey, kiddo, sorry I’m late.” The color drained from her face, rendering it into a brittle porcelain mask. The sight of Indy stunned her into disbelief. Her eyes glistened reproachfully. Her lip trembled. She threw her arms around him and squeezed for all she was worth. Indy gasped in pain. “Hey, take it easy. I just crawled through a mile of mud for you.” “Oh, Indy, I’m so sorry I dragged you into this,” she sobbed against his chest. Her relief at seeing Indy again was almost as painful as losing him before. She pulled back to look at the face she never thought she would see again. “How... how did you...?” He patted his abdomen. “Bullet-proof worldstone. And the old Jones luck.” “Are you hurt?” “Just a little sore, that’s all.” She broke their embrace with abrupt concern. “Where’s Melina?” “Don’t worry, she’s safe with her family.” He briefly recounted their escape from the labyrinth, and told her how he’d stowed away on board the U-boat disguised as a soldier. Sophia wiped the tears from her face. “God, I was so worried about her.” “Hey, what about me?” he asked in a wounded tone. She stared at him with reddened eyes, her expression somber. Her voice was dry when she spoke. “I thought you were dead, and it nearly killed me, too.” Indy gave her a tight hug. “I promise I won’t leave you again.” He looked past her and saw the barred cells on the far side of the chamber. “I had a feeling you’d wind up here sooner or later, with all the hell you were giving Kerner.” “Never mind, let’s just get out of here. This place gives me the creeps.” They moved back into the hall when Indy finally noticed her green wool coat. He tugged on her sleeve. “Nice jacket. Is that standard issue?” “Speak for yourself, Herr Jones.” Indy glanced down at his stolen uniform. He’d been so preoccupied with everything that he had completely forgotten about it. “Hey, I wasn’t planning on joining up. It’s just a disguise.” “Good, because your goose-step needs a little work,” she joked, smiling at last. “Thanks,” he said sarcastically. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.” He un-shouldered the Nazi field pack and ducked into the dungeon, leaving her alone in the corridor. “Those jackboots were killing my feet,” Indy remarked when he emerged a few minutes later in his regular outfit. “Much better,” she said, admiring his familiar battered ensemble. “Well, they say clothes make the man. Speaking of which, I saw your parole officer in there,” he said, unfolding the survey map he’d kept. “Nice work.” Sophia shrugged. “She tried to get fresh with me, so I let her have it.” Indy studied the floor plan with an absent smile. “I wonder if Kerner knows that his right- hand man is a double agent?” “I don’t even want to talk about it.” She looked at the unfinished map. “What’s our plan?” “First we need to find a way out of here.” He rotated the page to reorient himself to their current position. “I want to show you this incredible pyramid that we found. It’s right about.. here.” She pointed to the area on the chart. “Sorry kid, but we don’t have time for a sightseeing tour. In case you’ve forgotten, this place is crawling with—” “Hey, Amerikaner! Komm her!” They both looked up, startled at the voice that suddenly boomed in the hallway. Sophia’s green eyes widened in horror. “Uh-oh.”

Hell, I should have kept the uniform, Indy belatedly realized when he saw the beefy U- boat mechanic striding towards them with a cigarette in his mouth. The tall, muscular crewman was decked out in a filthy Kriegsmarine cap and green fatigues. A sweat-stained tank top defined his massive chest like an anatomical Renaissance sculpture. Indy slumped wearily. “Why is there always a big one?” Sophia stepped back as the brute approached them with suspicion. He looked Indy from head to toe, scowling. “Was machst du hier, Cowboy? Hast du dich verlaufen?” “Cowboy?” Indy touched his hat self-consciously. Of course, the whip and gun belt. To the German, he probably looked like a typical western movie character. Hoping to avoid a confrontation, Indy decided to play innocent. He gave an exaggerated shrug, and suddenly found inspiration on his sleeves, of all places. “Uh, I’m selling these fine leather jackets.” The mechanic tilted his head in confusion. “Was?” Wonderful, Indy thought. This guy doesn’t speak a word of English. The language barrier was the perfect opportunity to diffuse the situation. Putting on his most winning smile, Indy ran his fingers along the storm flap in a showy manner, as if exhibiting merchandise to a prospective buyer. “Ah… yeah, our jackets are made with durable, full-grain cowhide and superior tailoring…” Sophia tossed up her hands in exasperation. “What are you doing? He’s going to kill you!” Horst glanced at the redhead, cowering a few feet away, and loomed over Indy, dubious and unconvinced. “Geht das auch auf Deutsch, kleiner Mann?” Ignoring the request to speak German, Indy rattled on: “This Luftwaffe bomber style features a hidden pocket for secret documents. See?” Making a show of it, he drew open his jacket with his left hand to reveal the leather-bound pocket in the lining. The burly sailor leaned closer, frowning. Indy suddenly drove a hard right punch to his head. The ogre barely flinched. Indy followed up with a quick jab to the stomach, but the shield of rippling muscle repelled his shot like a cannonball wrapped in leather. Growling with anger, Horst unleashed a jackhammer that sent Indy to the floor in a glittering swirl of stars. Sophia cringed helplessly. “Jetzt nehm ich dich auseinander, du dreckiges kleines Weichei. Steh auf und wehr dich!” He spat out his cigarette, reached down and grabbed a fistful of shirt that included Indy’s satchel strap. The dizzy archaeologist was lifted like a rag doll. He tried to curl his hands into fists, but his motor coordination was dulled and they refused to tighten. The sailor whirled him around and let go. Indy slammed against the wall, blinded by a white flash of pain. He crumpled to the ground again. “Indy!” Sophia’s voice echoed from somewhere across the universe. The giant hauled him to his feet for another round of pummeling. Knocked senseless, Indy saw two blurry, ham-sized fists orbiting his face and realized that he was seeing double. He blinked hard, trying to focus through the blackness seeping into his vision. “Truce?” he offered belatedly. Horst leered at him with a malicious grin that reeked of garlic and promised severe pain. “Träum schön, Cowboy. Zeit zurück auf deine Ranch zu gehen.” He drew his fist back dramatically, prolonging the moment with deliberate suspense. Indy flinched, steeling himself for the hit. A sharp whistle cut the air. “Hey!” Horst froze, his fist poised in mid-air, gawking in stunned amazement. His iron grip dissolved. Indy drew back like a coiled spring. He let fly with the swiftest punch that he could manage. The mechanic never saw it coming. The dull crack of bone echoed in the hall as the brute went down cold. Out like a light. Indy looked at the fallen giant in bewilderment. “What the hell?” “You’re a terrible salesman.” He turned to see Sophia buttoning her blouse closed. “I think he was more interested in my goods,” she smirked, a touch of scarlet on her cheeks. He rubbed the side of his jaw. “Ow.” “Let me take a look.” She stepped over to examine his face. Indy winced when she gently touched his bruised jaw. She wiped the blood from his lip. “I think you’ll live.” “Thanks.” He reached for the slumbering behemoth sprawled on the ground. “Let’s move this big kraut out of sight before anybody sees him.” “Good idea.” They each took a wrist and dragged Horst into the detention chamber. “You know something? I played cards with this guy on the sub. I’m surprised he didn’t recognize me,” Indy said. “Let me guess. He beat you there, too?” she predicted. Another crooked smile. “Yeah. I really could have used that pair of aces.” Sophia’s embarrassment matched the crimson shade of her hair. “Ha-ha, I’m laughing.” They pulled the crewman behind the stone partition. Indy began to unlace his stolen Nazi boots. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Making sure Hansel and Gretel don’t sound the alarm when they wake up,” he replied, binding the mariner’s hands together. He tied the German’s bootlaces around the rope that secured his wrists. “That’s not going to hold him for long,” Sophia judged as he pulled the knots tight. “At least it’ll slow them down for awhile.” Indy repeated the process on the unconscious female officer in the cell. He pulled the gate shut and they returned to the hallway. Sophia surveyed the dreary stone passage with a hopeless expression. “This will take forever to explore,” she commiserated. “We’re not here to explore,” Indy reminded her as he examined the map by the nearest light coil. “We need to find the orichalcum before Kerner does.” “It’s too late. The Germans already know where it is. They’re probably loading it onto their sub as we speak.” “Not really. I radioed off a set of fake coordinates before I came after you. Kerner and his goons are forming a bucket brigade on the other side of the city right now.” He casually folded the map, looking immensely pleased with himself. Sophia’s devilish smirk vanished. “So it was your little stunt that landed me in this hell- hole. Thanks a lot!” “Hey, I was coming to get you,” he argued. “You’re lucky Übermann didn’t recognize your voice, or your brilliant rescue plan would’ve been shot.” Eager to forestall another argument, Indy set off in the direction he figured would take them closer to the inner circle. “You mean that crazy old buzzard in the lab coat?” “Hans Übermann. He’s a Nazi top brain. Believe it or not, he’s the one behind this whole operation.” Indy turned right at the next corner, tracking along another mold-fissured tunnel. “Germany must really be desperate if the pencil pushers are leading expeditions now.” “Kerner hates him,” she revealed with a note of satisfaction. “Well that’s encouraging. Tell me some more good news.” “The mission is shaping up to be a disaster.” As they followed the dank hallway, she recalled the drama between Kerner and Wilhelm just before they surfaced in the cave. They turned another corner. “There’s something I don’t understand. Where did Kerner find the worldstone to open the door?” “I dropped it in the rubble when I was climbing the ledge. I figured somebody would spot it sooner or later, otherwise he might’ve recognized me if we were stuck there too long.” Sophia smiled at him with gratitude. “Thanks. I’m glad you came back for me.” “If we get lost, we might as well do it together.” The hall made a left turn, straightened out for a length, then branched to the right. Sophia sighed wearily. “You’re not kidding. Atlantis is a lot more confusing than I imagined.” “We can beat Kerner to the middle if we keep heading inward, especially since we have a head start on him.” As they trudged through a pool of greenish water, Sophia wrinkled her nose in distaste. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined the splendor of the Lost City.” “The seduction of myth,” Indy said. “You took Plato at face value, and that was your mistake.” “I know, but it was such a beautiful fantasy,” she lamented. “Schliemann had to dig like hell to find Troy. At least you can stroll through Atlantis without turning a spade. That doesn’t happen every day.” She mulled over the comparison as she listened to their footsteps echo in the empty corridor. “Well as long as we’re on the subject of archaeology, I’d like to hear your professional opinion.” Indy surveyed the tunnel in a glance. “It’s basically like the ruins on Crete, except with lights. Did you notice the walls?” She looked at the tightly interlocked stones glazed in algae. “What about them?” “Polished drystone without mortar. The shape and fit are exactly the same as the ruins at Tiahuanaco. The blocks are melted together. It’s pretty incredible.” “There’s nothing pretty here as far as I’m concerned, but why is it so incredible?” “Because it explains why this place is still intact and air-tight from the ocean. It’s damn near indestructible.” The hallway forked and a new opening appeared, offering them the choice of turning right or continuing straight and following the passage into a dark infinity. Indy veered right without hesitation. Lamp coils burned to life in their presence, revealing how the floor buckled as it sloped towards a corner where the paths diverged again. One corridor branched left, while their present course bent into a right angle, folding back alongside the outer wall of the previous tunnel. Going left put them on a glassy road that vanished into the distance. Sophia checked Indy’s reaction. “You were saying?” “So maybe it’s not completely air-tight,” he conceded. He prodded the brackish pool with his boot tip. “The water’s only a few inches deep. We should be okay.” Behind them, a curtain of blackness swallowed the vacant, mildewed passage as the lights dimmed in hibernation. “There’s no turning back now,” she agreed. They moved forward, advancing slowly down the flooded hall. Tiny glowing minnows scattered in panic as their footsteps rippled the soupy mirror, shattering the amber reflections thrown by the light coils along the walls. Suspicion furrowed Sophia’s brow, and Indy could tell that something else was troubling her. “What’s the matter?” “I just don’t understand. There are pyramids on the seabed above us, but nothing here is organized like a regular city. There are no streets or written inscriptions besides that spiral wave design on all the doors.” “Almost like a sewer,” he offered. “Well, yes, and—” Her eyes bulged as it suddenly hit her. “We’re in the goddamned basement!” she cried in dismay. Indy didn’t even blink. “You knew it all along and you didn’t say anything?” “I thought you already knew.” From his survey of the grimy, reinforced tunnel system, Indy had the impression of a vast subterranean maintenance area, but Sophia hadn’t recognized its true nature until now. “I can’t believe this. It’s just…” She rubbed her face with both hands, overwhelmed with frustration. He touched her arm gently. “Hey, I know it’s not how you imagined, but this is still Atlantis, so try to enjoy it.” She gave him a sullen look. “That’s easy to say when your dream isn’t a crumbling ruin.” “Look on the bright side. At least you accomplished your dream. Most people never do.” “I guess that’s true,” she finally conceded with a heavy sigh. “Let’s keep moving.” They set off down the flooded hallway, treading cautiously across the veneer of rancid slime beneath the water. The ooze-covered floor was slick as ice, making each step a treacherous feat. The water gradually receded as they negotiated the tunnel, and soon they were slogging through a layer of mud that stained the sides of the passage like putrid wallpaper. “Oh, what the hell is this now?” she complained. “Post-flood deposit.” Indy brushed the damp residue that coated the bricks. “It’s a geological marker. You can see how the water level rose to the ceiling before the air pressure forced it back out again.” Sophia tiptoed nimbly through the muck, trying to avoid it as much as possible, but each squishy step released a pungent whiff of decay into her nostrils and, despite her best efforts, the green paste clung thickly to her boots. “God, this is disgusting.” “Looks like it clears up just ahead,” he reported encouragingly. “Well it sure can’t get any worse.” The mud gradually thinned out until they were treading damp stone again. All the while, Indy had noticed the absence of doors or alleys branching from the hallway. Its unbroken path bolstered his hope that they were approaching an area of importance, until the featureless corridor abruptly ended in a pile of rubble that curiously seemed to flutter like a mirage. Sophia swore when they came to the pile of mossy stones dislodged in a massive heap across the floor. The stones appeared to throb in time with a rapidly pulsing light that flashed across the dim passageway. Indy soon realized that the ancient rubble spill disguised a sharp turn, and the hallway continued around the bend. “It’s just a cave-in. We can climb over it,” he told her, scraping his boots on a fallen block. Sophia gratefully cleaned her own muddy footwear. “Do you think it’s safe?” He assessed the damage. “It looks solid enough. Just watch your step.” He carefully straddled the avalanche, then reached back to help her over the moldy jumble of rocks. Rounding the corner, a flashing monochromatic kaleidoscope stunned their vision. Sophia flinched in the relentless light storm. “What is that, Indy?” “I don’t know,” he said, blinking. The effect was disorienting. Indy masked his eyes and peered between his fingers to see the light flickering from a doorway at the end of the hall. The odor of salty brine wafted from the portal, joined by a frantic rustling sound, like a river of wet corn husks sliding together. Edging closer, they saw a million tiny fireflies buzzing in a luminescent fog, a swarm of chaos. The oily clicking grew louder, the salty smell overpowering. Sophia clutched Indy’s arm tensely as they peered inside. The stuttering flicker of a damaged light coil strobed the walls of a dusky chamber swarming with crabs. Sophia gasped. The floor was alive with hundreds of the spidery creatures, a writhing, snapping deluge of glistening cartilage. Their cerulean shells radiated a soft blue aura. The ‘fireflies’ glowed at the end of their swiveling eyestalks. They snapped and scuttled, pinched and clawed, flowing across the floor in a riot of claws and legs. The crabs congregated in the middle of the room around a water-filled pool that seemed to disgorge an endless stream of glowing crustaceans. They skittered through the brine and scrabbled along the green walls, disappearing into low semi-circular openings on either side of the chamber. “This must be crab central,” Indy determined as the creatures ran amok. “Forget it. There is no way I’m setting one foot in there,” she stated adamantly. Across the room was another door with its own ambient coil glowing like beacon for the weary explorers. It was their only way out. “We don’t have a choice, unless you feel like taking another mud bath.” A pair of glowing dots crept closer. Indy stomped it and heard a wet crunch of bone splintering under the heel of his boot. More skittering to his right. It was another curious crab, eager to investigate the prospect of a fresh meal. He crushed it into oblivion. “Mud or crabs, take your pick.” The mystic pursed her mouth indecisively. Neither option appealed to her. Sophia angrily kicked at an oversized crab near her foot. It struck the wall, cracking its shell open, and was ravenously devoured by its brethren. “I’m glad I wore my tall boots,” she relented. “But let’s make it fast.” Indy cast around, searching for a way to get through the swarming tide. The dim flicker to his left drew his attention to the damaged sun coil. He rapped his knuckles on the glass. “Do you like seafood?” “What?” It was absolutely the last thing Sophia expected to hear. “Sure, I guess...” He drew his Webley. “How does spiced crab sound?” “Delicious,” she grinned, catching onto his plan. “Good, because it’s on the menu tonight.” Brandishing the revolver like a hammer, he began pounding on the damaged filament while she viciously booted away several more crabs drawn to the disturbance. The dense crystal resisted the flurry of blows, but Indy kept at it until a crack finally splintered the glass. Encouraged, he slammed the plaque with determination. The filament shattered with a stunning flash, and the room went dark as glowing fluid streamed down the wall and pooled in the water below. He nudged her towards the door. “Get back.” He crouched in the archway and fished a tin of matches from his satchel. “Is there anything you don’t carry in that bag?” she asked. “It always helps to be prepared.” “You sound like a Boy Scout.” He struck the match on the stone lintel. “I was.” The redhead tied her hair into a compact ponytail. “Why am I not surprised?” “Behind the wall,” he ordered, holding the flaming match. “I hope this is a good idea,” she said uncertainly. Indy pulled his hat down tight. “We’ll know in a minute.” The fluorescent liquid had spread across the water like a glowing oil spill. He flicked the burning match towards the bubbling fountain and quickly ducked beside Sophia, huddled in the corner with her eyes shut, preparing for the blast. There was a loud whoosh! and a wave of intense heat baked the pillar beside them. The crackle of snapping claws escalated into a frantic sizzle as the inferno blazed across the water, incinerating the swarm of crabs in a sheet of boiling flame. The flash fire quickly evaporated as the fuel was depleted. When the noise subsided, Indy stepped into the room to admire his handiwork. The air was thick with the smell of roasted crab meat. The population was decimated in a charred soup, except the few dozen crabs which had been trapped underwater and now struggled to the surface, crawling through the smoking remains of their colony. One blackened crab skittered awkwardly along a raised ledge, missing two of its legs and one claw. It tumbled off the wall and struck the water with a hiss, sinking out of sight. Indy tipped his hat to her. “Dinner’s ready.” “My compliments to the chef,” Sophia quipped as they made their way to the opposite door. Halfway across the room, Indy felt something moving against his leg. He looked down to find a crab dangling persistently from the wrist loop of his bullwhip. He pried it free and pitched it back into the water. “I think that one’s a little undercooked.” They exited the crab room into another bleak hallway. A few burnt survivors skittered after them in pursuit, their bony legs clicking a scratchy staccato on the floor. Sophia glanced behind her and giggled at the multitude of tiny glowing eyes. “I think we’re being followed.” “Unless they’re wearing swastikas, I don’t care,” Indy replied without a backward glance. 23 GATEWAY TO ETERNITY

When Klaus Kerner arrived in the southwestern quadrant of Atlantis after his interminable trek through the decayed city, he fully expected the first cache of orichalcum to be ready for transport back to the ship. Instead, he found his troops milling around a rhomboid structure that stood in a wide open space at the confluence of several passages. He stalked towards the blockhouse, vowing that heads would roll after he delivered his Waffenamt mission report condemning Übermann’s leadership and citing the physicist’s many shortcomings in meticulous detail. “Colonel, please slow down!” Übermann ambled after him, wheezing with effort, but Kerner ignored his pleas. The survey leaders gathered around him. Kerner immediately noticed the absence of the fourth patrol captain. “Where is Schelker?” They looked at each other uneasily. The first squad leader stepped forward. “We do not know, Herr Oberst. Captain Schelker’s team has not reported in yet. They are missing, sir.” “What do you mean ‘missing’?” “They haven’t been here since we arrived,” Hofmeister explained. “But he radioed from this location.” “Unless he was mistaken in his coordinates,” Übermann said, gasping from his arduous hike. “This place is maddeningly confusing. It is easy enough to become lost if one is not careful.” He suddenly broke into a fitful cough as a phlegmy spasm rattled his body. He gestured the nearest soldier for his canteen. “Wasser, bitte.” Kerner sneered in contempt while the aged physicist refreshed himself. “Have you searched for them?” “We do not know where to look,” Eschenfelder said calmly. “Our maps do not cover this area.” The others nodded in agreement. “And the orichalcum?” “There is nothing here, Mein Herr. The sector appears to be empty,” Hofmeister reported. Kerner’s face darkened. “What in the hell is going on?” “Have you tried contacting them by radio?” suggested Übermann with a patience bordering on senility. Kerner blinked in disbelief. It was as if the old man didn’t comprehend that a full quarter of their squad had vanished, and the operation was now at a standstill. “Yes sir, but there is no response.” “Perhaps the signal cannot penetrate the stone walls. This radio system is an experimental design, after all,” he reasoned. “We are essentially field-testing it under less than ideal conditions.” By now the entire squad was gathered at the stone building. Kerner cast his gaze around, noting another conspicuous absence. “Where the devil is Fleischer? Surely he must be finished with her by now.” “Never mind him. We must inventory the orichalcum supply.” “There IS no orichalcum!” Kerner snatched the map from Übermann and thrust it at Karl, who stood watching the affair in uncomfortable silence. “Sankt, go find Agent Fleischer and return immediately with Miss Hapgood. We may need her again. Beeilung!” “Jawohl, Herr Oberst.” The young officer took off like a scolded puppy and disappeared from sight. The remaining soldiers shuffled nervously, uncertain of what to do next. The sight of his idle troops was too much for Kerner. “Don’t just stand there! I want this entire quarter searched until you find Schelker! Look in every room, every corner! Find him now!” The squad quickly scattered, leaving Kerner and Übermann alone in the sprawling corridor. The Nazi colonel raked his scalp in exasperation. Everything was falling apart. There was too much at stake now. Failure was inexcusable to the Reich Chancellery, and Kerner would not disgrace himself before the Führer. Hitler had broken the shackles of the Weimar Republic and assured the nation that the crippling humiliation of the Versailles Treaty would never be repeated again. Germany was growing more powerful than ever before; superior to its weaker neighbors, which would soon be eradicated in the Fatherland’s inevitable expansion as the sovereign ruler of Europe. It was his sworn duty as an officer of the Reich to uphold that destiny at any cost. This was all Übermann’s fault. That senile old fool was constantly spouting his vision of the future when he was too blind to see that it was happening right now. They were making Germany’s future today. Only the Atlantean mineral would insure the Reich’s power in the world, and what more poetic destiny than to reclaim that power from the Aryan homeland itself? Of course Hitler would shower him with accolades when Kerner delivered the ore to the Waffenamt, but his ultimate reward would be achieved when Himmler bestowed upon him the coveted rank of Obergruppenführer at Wewelsburg castle. As a member of the elite Oberste SA-Führung, Kerner would return to Berlin in glory and oust Walther von Brauchitsch as head of the German Army, thereby securing his rightful place in history forever. Future generations would remember Klaus Kerner, he thought with immense satisfaction. Übermann noticed his rapturous look. “What are you smiling about, Klaus?” Kerner blinked away the reverie and turned his cold blue eyes on the cadaverous scientist quaking within tantalizing range of his holstered gun. “The future, Herr Doktor. Only the future.”

***

Sophia Hapgood stumbled over her own feet and quickly grabbed onto Indy for balance. She clung to him, sagging like a lead weight. “We have to stop, Indy. I haven’t slept in almost two days. I need to rest for awhile.” He saw her bleary, red-rimmed eyes. Exhaustion had worn her down until she was barely able to stand. Checking his watch by the glow of the nearest light, Indy realized that it was nearly 3 a.m. After hours of wandering the subterranean maze, they were no closer to finding the inner ring of Atlantis than when they had set out from the detention cell. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “That’s okay, kid. We’re a few laps ahead. Let’s call it a night.” She threw her arm over his shoulder as they left the main corridor. “God, it feels like we’ve been running in circles forever.” “I think we have.” They trudged down a hallway lined with doors like an ancient tenement building. At the end of the hall, they sought refuge in a nondescript room lit by the blossoming glow of a sun coil. Indy spread his jacket on the floor below the light, and they sat down against the damp wall. He stretched his legs with a grateful sigh. It felt good to give his aching feet a rest. He gazed across the room with stinging eyes that suddenly ached for sleep. The only feature besides the lamp was a rusty bronze grate in the opposite corner. Indy glanced at the exit, wishing it had a closable door. But the labyrinthine city was so large that the odds of being discovered were practically nil. They could rest safely for a few hours before moving on. Sophia snuggled against him and leaned her head on his shoulder. “I still can’t believe we’re actually in Atlantis. It’s like a dream.” “It is pretty amazing,” he agreed. She yawned quietly. “I wonder what their society was like.” “I don’t know. What do you think?” His question was met with silence. “Sophia?” Indy felt the rise and fall of her body, heard her breathing softly, asleep at last. He pulled her close and kissed her cinnamon hair. “Goodnight, sweetheart.” He settled against the wall, utterly drained of energy. Indy felt as if he’d boxed ten rounds with the burly U-boat mechanic. He pondered Sophia’s question, but his mind was listless and unfocused. It really didn’t matter, he thought as the light coil dimmed. They would never know the answer. Overcome by fatigue, Indy shut his leaden eyelids and succumbed to the welcoming darkness.

***

The moment he awoke, sore and stiff from sleeping on the stone floor, Indy knew something was wrong. He blinked in the harsh glow of the light. Sophia was gone. Wobbling to his feet, he dashed out into the corridor. There was no sign of her anywhere, just the series of darkened portals lining the empty hall. Turning back to the room, he accidentally kicked a metallic object that clattered against the wall. Indy picked up the steel canteen that he’d kept from the German field pack. The half-empty flask had been deliberately placed outside the door. He went back inside to look for clues. His jacket was crumpled on the floor where they’d slept, and his pack lay beside it with the flap open. His flashlight was missing but the Hermocrates was still there, which meant Sophia hadn’t left to explore on her own. There was no sign of a struggle in the room. Surely she would have screamed if someone had tried to abduct her while they were asleep. Indy pulled on his damp jacket and wondered why she hadn’t bothered to wake him. He looked at his watch. They’d slept for nearly six hours. He paced the room, feeling antsy. It wasn’t like Sophia to run off by herself, especially with the Nazis around, unless she was compelled by something. Like that damned necklace, he thought darkly. But her so-called spirit guide had abandoned her on Crete, which made her disappearance all the more puzzling. Indy finally made up his mind. He had to go find her. But as he reached the door, indecision gnawed at him. What if she returned while he was gone? Separated with no way to communicate, they could wander the sprawling city for weeks trying to find each-other again. It suddenly occurred to him that Sophia had left the canteen in the hallway as a marker to help her find their room, which meant she intended to come back. He placed it outside again. Everything is fine, he told himself. Be patient and give her a chance. He sat beneath the light coil, hoping she would return soon. In the meantime, Indy wanted to learn as much as possible about Atlantis. He took out the Hermocrates and realized that he hadn’t studied the book since Algeria. It seemed like ages ago. He paged to the back of the diary and began reading:

...as the waters rose around their city, the Kings of Atlantis, one after another, sought to hold off fate. Knowing mortal men would never rule the sea, they planned a huge colossus, which by use of orichalcum would make them like the gods themselves.

He paused to consider the text. The term ‘colossus’ traditionally meant a large statue, but Plato seemed to be describing an edifice with transformative powers. While mythology was rife with stories of shape-shifting gods and creatures, Indy couldn’t recall any mention of a statue with such abilities, and certainly none that could bestow a mortal with divine power using a mineral element like orichalcum. It was another mystery for Sophia. Too bad she wasn’t there to help unravel it. Just then, she casually strode into the room as if materialized from his thoughts. “Good morning, Indy. Did you sleep well?” He scrambled to his feet. “Where did you go? I was getting worried.” She patted him on the shoulder. “That’s sweet of you, Jones, but I’m fine. I just needed a little privacy for awhile.” He stared at her blankly. “There aren’t any bathrooms in this place, you know.” “…Oh.” Indy knelt to retrieve the journal, but not quick enough to cover his embarrassment. She was grinning when he stood again, red-faced. “I thought you might’ve been kidnapped by the Germans, that’s all.” “Believe me, you would have noticed.” She returned his flashlight and the canteen, and they sat down together. Sophia rubbed her face vigorously. “I’d kill for a hot shower right now.” “Join the club. This place might not have running water, but at least we have electricity.” She glanced at the glow coil above them. “Did you notice how there are no lights on the ceilings here? Only the walls.” In truth, Indy hadn’t registered the oddity until she mentioned it. “Every civilization evolves differently. We put lights on our ceilings, they didn’t. Maybe it never occurred to them.” “You might find the answer in here.” She picked up the Hermocrates with a bemused look. “How long have you told your students that Atlantis is just a myth? Honestly.” Indy examined his fingernails with keen interest. “Since I started teaching,” he confessed. “Well now that you’ve seen it with your own eyes, what are you going to say?” “What can I say? Nobody will believe this place unless they see it for themselves. Hell, I’m sitting here right now and I still don’t believe it.” “I rest my case.” He heard the sting of resentment in her voice. “What are you getting at?” She gave him a faint, sad smile. “That’s why I gave up on my Ph.D. I didn’t want to end up as a narrow-minded intellectual stuck on a concrete history of civilization. The past isn’t set in stone.” Sophia turned over the journal introspectively. “They don’t award degrees in Atlantology, you know. That’s what you told me at the Jastro dig, and I’ve never forgiven you for it.” Indy suddenly felt sick, overcome with guilt for shattering her dreams and the lingering bitterness that she’d harbored since Iceland. It was all his fault. He took her hand and looked into her eyes with solemn forgiveness. “I’m sorry. I truly am.” Her expression went sober. “How do you think I feel?” The sound of nearby voices shattered the poignant moment. “Ihr drei, überprüft den Gang. Beide Seiten. Seht in jeden Raum.” Boots stomped down the corridor. The clatter of machine guns. They both made a mad dash for the wall grate. Indy frantically pried back the rusty latch and tore the gate open. The ventilation shaft was just large enough to crawl through. “Go!” he hissed. Sophia dove into the crawlspace headfirst. He shoved her in by the seat of her pants and jammed himself inside, pulling the door shut behind them. She clambered into the darkness, her boots echoing in the passage. Indy bent the latch back on itself and blindly scrambled after her, moments before the Nazis entered the room. Flashlight beams lanced the bronze grill, throwing a checkerboard shadow into the tunnel at the spot he’d just vacated. Indy sprang forward and hooked his right hand into her back pocket. “Don’t move,” he whispered. “Hey, what are you—” “Shh!” He froze, listening to the faint voices. “In diesem Raum ist nichts, Herr Hauptmann.” Indy bent his neck awkwardly, peering upside-down through the crook of his armpit to see back down the tunnel. Blood rushed to his head and pounded in his temples, making him dizzy. At any second he expected the grate to be wrenched open, followed by a hail of bullets cutting them to ribbons while they were wedged in the narrow shaft. He held his breath, praying that Sophia wouldn’t make a sound. Stay still. Don’t move. They can’t see us. “Los, zum nächsten.” The footsteps grew fainter. The Nazis had moved on. Indy strained his ears for a maddening eternity, and finally relaxed. “I think they’re gone,” he whispered. “Good. Now get your hand off my ass.” He released his grip on her. “Sorry.” “Sure you are.” “Keep moving, sweetheart. There’s no going back.” “I can’t see a thing,” she complained. “Give me your flashlight.” He reached into his satchel and passed it between her thighs. “Here.” “You just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?” “It’s hard not to,” he grinned. She flicked on the light and pointed it down the tunnel. “God, it just goes on forever.” He craned his head, trying to see past her. “This is an air shaft. It probably connects to another room somewhere. Start moving. We’ll be there in no time.” “Well I’m glad you’re feeling optimistic.” The flashlight beam jumped between the ceiling and floor as she moved awkwardly ahead. The passage was dank and cold, lined with a film of green mud. It was just wide enough for them to move single-file in a crawl. Damp silt clung to Indy’s palms as he followed her illuminated shadow. After awhile, it seemed that the tunnel really did go on forever. Then she stopped with a startled shriek. Indy bumped into her. “Hey, what’s the big idea?” There was a dull crunching sound. The flashlight blinked out. She fumbled in the darkness and it came back on. “Damn crabs,” she muttered, and continued moving. Easing forward, Indy swept the crustacean’s twitching remains behind him. As they crawled through the concrete vein, the sound of panicked breathing disrupted the silence. Sophia’s frantic respirations became faster. The narrow crawlspace was testing the limits of her claustrophobia. He had to get her mind off the situation. “There’s something I don’t understand about you.” “J-just one?” she gasped incredulously. “If you really are psychic, then what’s with the Phantom of the Laundry routine?” The fear in her voice evaporated instantly. “Simple. Because I can’t summon an Atlantean god to appear in front of 2,000 people on a nightly basis. I had to sell myself as a spook act otherwise the management wouldn’t let me book the hall.” Her tone grew cynical as Sophia shuffled along. “Apparently a dignified lecture on the subject of Atlantis is too high-brow for those Broadway hacks.” “I guess it’s tough being a professional spiritualist,” he sympathized. “It’s not a talent you can put on a résumé,” she said. “People always think I’m a fraud. Real psychics are few and far between.” She paused in the tunnel. “Finally.” “What is it?” “Another vent.” She leaned on the grate with all her strength, grunting with effort. “Damn. It must be locked.” “Move over. Let me try,” he said, pushing in beside her. “Are you kidding? There’s not enough room in here.” She rolled sideways on her hips and flattened herself against the wall. Indy wiggled forward until they were practically face to face in the air shaft. “Excuse me,” he apologized. “Oh, you are impossible.” “Hold on a minute, maybe I can—” Seeking leverage, he pushed with his boots and tried to slide forward. The effort gained him a few inches but Indy was now jammed in the crawlspace, wedged between his holstered gun and his satchel and bullwhip. “Great, I knew this would happen,” Sophia sighed. He twisted in a desperate burst of energy, trying to get his arms unpinned. “If I can just reach the grate…” “Quit moving. You’re only making things worse,” she complained. “Well, it’s not an entirely bad situation,” he said, kissing her lightly. Sandwiched together in the narrow vent, the urge was overpowering and Indy couldn’t resist. “This is hardly my idea of a romantic interlude,” she said without enthusiasm. “As long as we’re stuck here, let’s make the most of it,” he reasoned, and kissed her again. Sophia surrendered to the intimacy that bound them tighter than the mud-lined tunnel. Her lips tasted sweet, and Indy devoured her mouth slowly until they were both gasping with desire. “Hey, is that your whip down there, or are you just happy to see me?” “Guess,” he breathed in her ear. She pulled back. “Okay, we have to stop now…” “I know,” he said breathlessly. The crawlspace felt uncomfortably hot after indulging their passion, and Indy needed fresh air more than anything. Cool air. He could feel it caressing his scalp, and he realized that his fedora had fallen off during their tryst. He turned his head and saw pale light filtering through the bronze grid, only inches away. “Okay, let’s see about this grating.” “You can probably pry it open now,” she quipped. Indy gave a wicked chuckle, enjoying her wit. It was just the thing he needed to clear his mind. “Lean down just a little,” he told her. “Like this?” She slipped down the wall and Indy eased into the vacant space. Clutching the metal grating, he pulled himself level while she slid under him until they were finally extricated. He crouched beside the vent and pounded it with the side of his fist, but the gate held firm. He drew his leg back and slammed his boot against the latch. Ancient green rust trickled from the weakened hasp. Encouraged, Indy hammered the door with a series of kicks until it burst open. He scrambled from the vent and quickly helped Sophia out. Free of the tunnel, she stood blissfully in the open space and brushed off her soiled clothes. “I never want to do that again.” Indy re-shaped his hat and put it back on. “Watch your step,” he warned, pulling her away from a gaping fissure that split the floor and extended through the wall. Moisture trickled down the moldy stone, dripping into the dark crevice where the blocks had tumbled eons before. Sophia gazed into the depths and saw tiny blue specks illuminating the abyss like a grotto. The pool was teeming with luminescent minnows. “Why does everything glow in this place?” “Maybe it has something to do with the water. It could be poisoned. Why don’t you ask Nur-Ab-Sal over there?” He pointed across the room. “What?!” Sophia whirled so fast that Indy thought she would tumble into the watery chasm. “Oh my God!” she cried. On the other side of the chamber, a towering statue stood against the wall. The hulking sentinel was nearly twice their height, with enormous legs, stout metal arms and thick grasping hands. A heavy bronze yoke saddled its broad shoulders. Its head was crowned by a set of burnished horns that swept into a nosepiece down to the sentry’s gaping mouth. Its dark, lifeless eyes were hooded in a malevolent furrow. Indy rapped his knuckles on the statue, producing a hollow ring. “Maybe it’s Talus.” Sophia gave him a quizzical look. “He was a bronze giant that guarded the isle of Crete. According to Greek legend, he would circle the island, throwing rocks at any ship that approached.” “Well he’s not guarding anything in here, that’s for sure.” Sophia glanced back at the dark tunnel, then struck the statue angrily with her fist and swore. It was then that Indy realized the chamber didn’t have an exit besides the ventilation shaft they’d emerged from, and Sophia wasn’t eager to retrace their path. He stepped onto the sentry’s blocky feet and clasped its arms, pulling himself up. “What are you doing?” “I want to see if this thing still works.” “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s just a statue.” He pried open the chest plate. “It’s a robot. We found one just like it in a repair room yesterday. Look.” He moved aside to reveal the intricate cluster of gears packed into the torso cavity. “A robot...” She gazed at the metal giant with awe. “Plato never mentioned that in his dialogues.” “That’s because Plato never set foot in the place.” Satisfied that the machine was in good working order, Indy closed the panel and reached for its gaping mouth. “I wish we had some orichalcum.” Sophia dug into her jacket. “Ta-da!” A dozen coral beads glittered in her palm. “Hey, where’d you get those?” She handed him the pellets. “I grabbed them from the refinery when Kerner wasn’t looking.” “Nice work. Now let’s see what this thing does.” Clutching the jaw, Indy reached up and deposited the pearls into the robot’s gullet. He dropped to the floor and stepped back a safe distance, unsure of what might happen. The redhead crossed her arms skeptically. “You don’t think this piece of junk actually works? It’s probably rusted solid,” she wagered. “This machine is older than the Egyptian civilization. It would be a miracle if it worked at all.” The bronze giant shuddered with a weary groan, summoned back to life after centuries of slumber. The rattle of un-oiled gears meshed inside its chest, followed by a creaky wooden stutter, like a brittle bow flexing. Its dark eyes burned with fiery light. The robot suddenly raised its massive arms dramatically and lurched forward. “Holy God!” Sophia howled in terror as the ancient behemoth lumbered towards them. “Get back!” Indy drew his gun. The floor trembled under its weight as the sentry took a reeling step. But before he could shoot, the robot staggered and pitched forward, striking the floor in a thunderous heap. Metal pieces struck the walls. A thick cloud of rust filled the air. Sophia coughed and fanned the hazy air with her hands. Indy holstered his gun. “Breathe through your shirt,” he advised, using his collar for a mask. When the dust settled a few moments later, they discovered a dark passage hidden in a recessed alcove behind the statue. “How did you know about that?” “Common sense. Guardians always protect doors, usually important ones. Come on, let’s take a look.” He moved towards the unsealed passage, but Sophia was drawn to the wreckage. “Hold on a minute.” She knelt by the shattered robot and picked out a few gears from the debris. “Put these in your bag. I want to keep them for my collection.” “Souvenirs? You’d never make it as an archaeologist.” He stowed the relics and gave her the flashlight again. “I knew that a long time ago,” she grinned, and climbed onto the robot’s back to reach the secret opening. She thumbed on the flashlight and ducked into the passage. Indy followed her into the tunnel. It was larger than the previous air vent, allowing them to move in relative comfort. The gleaming tunnel stretched into infinity like a well-oiled vise. Its walls were banded with the running spiral, yet devoid of the omnipresent lamp coils that lit the dreary underworld. A wan glow materialized beyond another tapered portal ahead, shortening the eternal draw to a mere dozen yards. They entered a room with parallel walls angled slightly inward, forming a subtle trapezoid. Across the wedged chamber, a solitary light coil glowed on the face of a pyramid-shaped altar with a truncated top. Sophia approached the stone. “This is an altar.” “It looks like a commemorative marker,” Indy observed. “Like the cornerstone of a building, or a foundation stone.” On the wall behind the altar was an expanse of gleaming black inscribed with a startling image: A pyramid flanked by the ubiquitous wave symbols, with each spiral curling towards the triangular edifice. A row of hieroglyphs was carved beneath the design. The text was in plain Egyptian. Sophia looked at him expectantly. “Can you read it?” Indy examined the inscription for a moment. “It says, ‘Time without time’.” “What does that mean?” He contemplated the wave-cascaded pyramid for a few moments until the message became clear. “Eternity.” He flicked the dark material with his fingernail, producing a dull thump. “Strange. It’s made of lead.” The granite pyramidion was topped by a short bronze post encircled by a shallow depression. “It’s another lock, and we don’t have the keys. We’re stuck,” Sophia said with disappointment. “Not today.” Indy unsnapped his satchel and took the sunstone from the canvas bag. She blanched in surprise. “Hey, where did you get that?!” “I stopped by the airlock on the way to find you.” Indy fit the plate neatly on the post and then stacked the other two disks on the altar, completing the stone layer cake. She gave him a tight hug. “Indy, this is wonderful!” Recalling the correct placement order from the Hermocrates, Sophia aligned the symbols to the icon engraved on the pedestal. She crossed her fingers for luck and pressed the spindle post into the altar. The air suddenly rumbled. Then, as they watched in growing trepidation, the hieroglyphic panel slid sideways and vanished into the corner. Indy turned around just in time to see the passageway drifting to the left, pushed inexorably by a mass of cyclopean stone, until it also disappeared behind the wall. “Oh God, did I set off a trap?!” Sophia clung to him as the moldy brick masonry scrolled by at a leisurely pace. “I don’t think so.” Indy took out a piece of chalk and pressed the tip against the wall behind the altar. Immediately, a powdery line rolled away to the right, extending across the stone surface and vanishing into the corner where the lead panel had disappeared. “The wall is moving!” she cried. “No, I think it’s the floor.” Indy glanced at the ceiling. “One way to find out.” He jumped up and made a deft slash at the roof, scoring the rock with another chalk mark. This one remained stationary while the bricks continued to revolve past them, which meant that— incredibly—the entire city was turning, or at least a very large section of the floor in a movable ring. “The whole room?!” Sophia gawked in amazement. Indy nodded with satisfaction. “It’s a turntable.” “Just like the stone disks!” she cried in delight. The most remarkable part of the phenomenon was the absolute lack of sensation. Except for the ancient bricks visibly gliding by, it was impossible to tell that they were moving at all. Indy was boggled by the sheer mechanics required to rotate an entire portion of the subterranean city. “But where’s it taking us?” Before he could reply, the bricks were suddenly interrupted by a sheet of vibrant scarlet stone etched with the image of a fish creature with arms, and blunt horns on its head. “Did you see that?” He thought the design was just another bit of Atlantean symbolism like the aquatic imagery prevalent throughout the city. The fish glyph disappeared behind the wall, followed by another length of blackened rock that passed by for a few moments until a panel of dazzling green marble came into view. Indy expected to see a squid or maybe a seahorse. Instead, he was surprised by the running spiral, stacked in two parallel bands. “It’s the zodiac,” Sophia said instantly. “The next sign will be a fish,” she predicted with confidence. Her words proved true moments later when the image of a thick-lobed fish drifted by on a sheet of purple amethyst. “How do you know that?” Indy said, fumbling to comprehend the relationship of the two symbols. “You forget that I’m also an astrologer.” She kept her eyes fixed on the scrolling expanse of brick. “It’s the procession of the equinox.” Then her expression shifted to puzzlement. “I didn’t think the zodiac was this old.” “Actually, it goes back to the Sumerians. But Atlas was the founder of astrology in Greek myth.” “Wait,” she said, thinking fast. “The signs are in order, so there must be some kind of significance to them.” Offhand, the only thing Indy could think of was her remark about the age of the zodiac. Then it suddenly dawned on him. “The most ancient constellations.” “Well, what are they?” she prompted him anxiously. “Let me think for a minute,” he blinked, trying to recollect them from the dim confines of memory. She gripped the keystones in exasperation. “We don’t have time!” “Uh... Taurus, Leo, Scorpio, and Capricorn, I think. They marked the four cardinal points of the year during the Bronze Age.” “Of course! That’s when Knossos was built! Okay, so right now it’s summer, and the solstice was yesterday. But the sun enters Cancer on the solstice,” she frowned. “That can’t be right.” “In Western astrology,” Indy reminded her. “But Leo marked the solstice during the Bronze Age.” The moldy bricks crawled by at a glacial pace. Sophia calmly recited the next signs in the sequence. “Aries, Taurus, and then Gemini.” She dimly realized that each astrological sign was carved upon the ancient birthstone that represented it. The ram was followed by the bull (the Minoan horns, not surprisingly), then a pair of twins rendered in Hellenic style. Her hand hovered over the spindle, ready to disengage the keystones when the image of a rampant lion stalked across a sheet of sanguine coral. Sophia mashed the button at the sign of the great cat flaying the air with its claws. The rumble stopped and the florid panel dropped with a gravelly hiss, opening into a broad, curving avenue lit with golden lamp coils. At long last, they had reached the inner ring of Atlantis. 24 THE AWAKENING

The spacious corridor was a relief after navigating the cloistered passages that preceded it, although no less dreary. The rancid sheen of mildew gleamed across the curving expanse of masonry. Stone panels depicting eerie squid-like masks decorated the green-stained walls. Crabs roamed freely, scuttling across the damp floor. Sophia walked along the hall, idly taking in the scenery, when she suddenly froze, as if caught in an invisible block of ice. She canted her head, listening. “What is it, kid?” “Can you hear it, Indy? An old king is calling my name.” His ears were smothered by overwhelming silence. “I don’t hear anything.” “Prepare yourself and follow me.” She strode purposefully down the hall without another word. Indy felt a stab of alarm when she disappeared around the corner. Amid the recent excitement with the Nazis, he’d completely forgotten about Prisha’s dire warning. He rushed after Sophia just in time to see her disappear into one of the archways along the circuit. A wave of heat enveloped him when he stepped inside. Indy stood at the threshold of an expansive chamber lined with stout columns that spanned the ceiling like enormous stone ribs. A florid glow emanated from a large square pit in the center of the room. From his vantage point, Indy could see that it was filled with molten lava. Broken skeletons littered the floor around the hellish pool, some lying on coffin-like slabs. The entrance was hedged by a pair of squat cylindrical fire altars. The shallow bowls were filled with dust and ash. Sophia stood motionless before the burning pit with her back to him. Indy descended the stairs. “Hey. Are you feeling okay?” She didn’t acknowledge him. She stared across the lava pit, where another pair of fire bowls flanked a steep flight of stairs that scaled a raised platform overlooking the grim sanctuary. On the elevated dais was a stone chair in the shape of the Minoan horns. The throne was positioned between a third set of fire cisterns. “Sophia?” Indy eased around her, unsure of what to expect. She wore a vapid expression. Her eyes were glassy, lost in a trance of unfathomable rapture. He waved a hand in front of her face without effect. She stared vacantly ahead, her glazed eyes open but unseeing. The woman was physically present, but her consciousness was not. Then he noticed her pendant, wreathed in a crimson halo. Its wicked blazing eyes pulsed with the fire of some hellish netherworld. He touched her shoulder anxiously. “Say something. Come on, talk to me.” The psychic raised her arms to encompass the chamber of lava-baked bones. “Bow down before our mighty king; the true heir to the throne of Atlantis!” The power of her voice startled him. It was a deep, gravelly timbre that rumbled from her throat in a harsh rasp. The hair on Indy’s neck rose with a chill. He sensed a malignant presence in the room, like an invisible beast stalking him among the twisted, inhuman remains. Sophia drifted past the lava pit and moved towards the stairs at a languid pace. Her gaze was focused on the summit. Behind the horned throne, another grisly skeleton lay in repose on an ornately carved slab; the bones of Nur-Ab-Sal, whose spirit ravaged her vocal cords to produce the sinister growl. “Hey, where do you think you’re going?” “The vessel which has carried my soul through this life must be purified and consecrated,” she proclaimed. Indy suddenly realized what was happening. Nur-Ab-Sal had been preparing Sophia since she first discovered the necklace in Iceland. For ten years the Atlantean priest had impressed his will upon her, gradually drawing her to this moment when he would transfer his consciousness into her body. The transformation would be complete once she took his place on the throne. Indy grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her back roughly. “Get rid of that necklace, Sophia. It’s got you by the throat.” She yanked free of his grasp. “It’s not my necklace. It’s what LIVES INSIDE!” she growled in fury. “You’re living in the past,” he accused her. “But it’s a past worth re-living,” she snapped harshly. Her eyes blazed with fiery indignation, daring him to challenge her. “What about the future? Our future?” “I have a new life, mortal. Stay out of it!” Her caustic words stung like a knife wound. Indy couldn’t believe what she was saying. The real woman, his friend and lover, was occasionally abrasive but never cold-hearted. Nur- Ab-Sal was using her like a puppet. Indy stood in front of her, blocking the stairway. Sophia stared through him, but didn’t advance. Her eyes were vacant green mirrors devoid of humanity. He had to get the pendant away before it consumed her soul. “Sophia, you have to get rid of that necklace,” he implored her. Her empty gaze sharpened, and she focused on him through the veil of possession. Her mouth slid into a nasty little smirk. “You know how this works, Indy. I’ll give it to you when you stop asking for it.” Her voice was cool, smoothly intimate, taunting. Indy felt a queasy sensation, like cold eels twisting in his stomach. He was already losing her. The Atlantean high priest was using Sophia’s memories to mock him before enslaving her spirit permanently. And he wasn’t finished yet. “Do you believe in my powers, Dr. Jones?” she wondered, putting him on the spot. “I, uh…” He didn’t know how to respond without angering the possessed woman. She stepped closer, intrigued by his uncertainty. “Are you afraid of my powers?” Her gaze bore into him like sharp spears. Her mouth was drawn into a hungry smile. Under other circumstances, Indy would have been aroused by her intensity, but it was neither the time nor place. “No, I’m not afraid,” he said truthfully. “Well you should be. I am the supreme ruler of this kingdom which you have invaded with the unworthy outsiders.” “I’m not with them.” “But you came here together, and that makes you as guilty as the rest,” Nur-Ab-Sal declared. The blazing pendant glared brightly in accusation. “What is your purpose in my domain?” “I came to stop the Nazis, who are here to steal your power.” The redhead chortled a thick, demonic laugh. It sounded like her throat was stuffed with cotton. “Nobody can steal my power, for I am the almighty Belial, guardian of the ancient sea-fire.” “Come on, snap out of it.” He made a desperate grab for her arm. She stunned him with a vicious slap. “Do not touch me, mortal!” she seethed. The necklace glowed with livid intensity, bathing her features in a demonic light. “The violators will soon pay for their transgression, and my wrath will be severe.” Indy puzzled at the relic around her neck. Sophia wore the medallion against her bare skin, yet the metal scorched anybody else who touched it. But why not her? Indy felt the weight of the orichalcum in his pocket and wondered what would happen if he activated the necklace with Nur-Ab-Sal manifesting. It’s worth a try. He took out a pellet and tentatively moved closer. Sophia stood like a mannequin, her body unnaturally still, gazing off into the distance while her spirit hovered somewhere between worlds. Indy admired her soft features: the arch of her coral eyebrows, her delicately-tipped nose, the inviting fullness of her slightly parted lips. He knelt before her in a show of mock supplication. The demon smiled. “You are wise to respect me, puny mortal. Nur-Ab-Sal is pleased.” While she was talking, Indy held the orichalcum between his thumb and forefinger and slowly raised it to her chest. He carefully fed the gleaming pearl to the medallion. The pendant inexplicably transformed as he watched, the metal somehow liquefying, becoming malleable. The stunted horns grew into sharp points while its eyes narrowed with ruby malice. The demon’s mouth creased into an evil grin, sprouting needle-sharp fangs. The medallion sizzled against her chest with a wicked hiss. Sophia pulled the malevolent icon from her neck with a scream of agony and held it by the chain at arm’s-length. “Sophia? Are you okay?” he asked with concern. She stared at him helplessly, her expression tortured. A tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Indy.” “Drop it,” he said firmly. “I can’t. Nur-Ab-Sal won’t let me.” Then her pleading eyes went unfocused again. Sophia stared at the pendant in wonder, transfixed by its pulsing, hypnotic light. Indy could hardly believe it when she skipped away and began to dance in circles. With arms outstretched, she twirled across the floor, babbling in a sing-song voice: “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing; Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before...” She pinwheeled merrily around the chamber, scattering dry bones across the floor as she cavorted over the skeletons like a sadistic marionette. “...caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster, followed fast and followed faster...” Indy tensed when she traipsed along the rim of the glowing pool in spiritual ecstasy, oblivious to her fatal position. Blackened bones roasted in the fiery depths. It was his last chance to save her. His whip sliced the air with a lethal hiss. Sophia let out a surprised yelp as the chain was torn from her grasp. The cursed medallion flew into the molten lava where it blossomed into a stream of liquid bronze and quickly dissolved away. Sophia blinked in sudden awareness, as if startled out of a deep dream. She turned her stunned expression on the archaeologist holding the bullwhip loosely in his hand. “Did you just whip me?” she glowered indignantly. Indy re-coiled the lash. “Yeah, and I saved your life.” She approached him with eyes blazing, her jaw set in anger. Indy warily stood his ground, expecting another slap in the face. Instead, she hugged him with gratitude. “Thank you.” “Are you okay?” “I’m fine now. Really.” He nudged her towards the door. “Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here.” “From now on I’ll buy my jewelry at Tiffany’s,” she promised as they climbed the steps to leave. “So long, Nur-Ab-Sal,” Indy said. “And good riddance,” added Sophia.

***

“See how this hall curves? This is definitely the inner ring. And somewhere within is the Temple of Poseidon. Plato described it as an incredible palace of gold and silver. It was the most magnificent shrine in the ancient world, a monument without compare.” Indy surveyed the moldy walls glistening in the sterile glow of the lamp coils. “Don’t get your hopes up,” he muttered, glancing into the shadowy doorways along the elliptical passage. “Oh yeah? Then what’s that?” She pointed down the hallway. Splinters of light striped the floor, emanating from a broad archway at the periphery of the bend. As they drew closer, a brilliant crimson gleam drew their attention. Sophia rushed ahead, then gasped. “Indy, you have to see this!” The portal framed an astonishing sight: a large train poised on a virtual copy of the subway platform in the airlock. The nearest light coil set aflame the polished bronze face of the transport. The oblong shield was an image of Nur-Ab-Sal. A large spiral headlamp projected from its forehead. The sleek mask sloped elegantly backwards like the nose of a Zephyr, giving an impression of speed to the ungainly stone monster. It seemed ready to leap forward and fly. “It’s an Atlantean vehicle! Can you believe it?!” Sophia crowed in amazement. Indy tipped his hat back, silently impressed. Nearly the length of a streetcar, the open- sided vehicle angled to a flat, narrow roof. It looked, for all the world, like an oversize toolbox with bench seats. “Welcome aboard the Atlas Express,” he said, climbing inside for a closer look. Sophia grabbed onto a bench and pulled herself up, only to discover the skeletal remains of the very last passenger slumped across the middle seat. “Oh!” “I guess this really was the end of the line,” remarked Indy, moving forward. “Show some respect for the dead, will you?” she chastised. Indy smiled over his shoulder. “He probably just fell asleep and missed his stop.” At the front of the car, he found a bronze control stick topped with a small pair of Minoan horns for handles. Indy didn’t see an ignition switch anywhere. “How do you start this thing?” “Got me,” Sophia shrugged in response. Disembarking on the opposite side, Indy went back to the ornate face shield with its doleful stare. The gaping jaw formed a sink-like tray with a funnel pipe leading into the base of the vehicle. He dropped into the sunken track and knelt before the ancient locomotive. “Look at this.” Sophia moved around the front and saw him peering into the thin layer of darkness underneath the train, which slotted neatly into the recessed track, making the vehicle appear to float an inch or two above the ground. “No wheels.” “Levitation. A few years ago I wrote an article about it for Atlantis Quarterly.” “I must’ve missed that issue,” he replied sarcastically. He pressed his shoulder against the train and gave it a push. He was surprised when the massive car actually glided a few inches with relative ease. “It’s like moving balsa wood. Incredible.” Sophia looked down the track to see the tunnel from which the subway car had emerged in some remote age. “Where do you think that goes?” “Let’s find out,” he suggested, and began walking down the shallow channel. Sophia trotted nimbly alongside him. When they neared the subway tunnel, they saw that it was lit from within. They entered cautiously, as if another train might come roaring out at any moment. Inside, the concrete walls were smooth and damp, streaked with cobwebs and patches of mold. “Where’s the light coming from?” Sophia’s voice echoed back hollowly. “Look at the seams,” he said. Instead of mortar, each section of the concrete passage was fused with a glowing translucent material that bathed the tunnel in soft ambience. Indy prodded the crystalline substance. “Quartz?” Sophia guessed. “Feels like it, but I couldn’t say,” he admitted. They walked in silence, their footsteps echoing from the smooth walls. The pale glow strips faintly revealed the curvature of the tunnel. When they reached the bend, they saw light beyond the exit, only several yards down the track. Sophia wrinkled her nose at a sharp, tangy odor. “Ugh, what’s that smell?” Indy sniffed the air. “Sulfur.” The tunnel opened onto a broad curve where the track came to an end beside a sprawling concrete pad. Climbing out of the ditch, they found themselves at the crest of a sloping hill inside an enormous cavern of jagged red rock. The vast arena was lit by glow coils spaced along the raw stone walls. The temperature was noticeably warmer, the chill now gone from the air. Sophia unbuttoned her wool jacket. “We’re in the mines. This is where the orichalcum was gathered.” Turning slowly to survey the area, she recoiled in startled surprise. “Oh my goodness!” Pivoting quickly, Indy saw an enormous monster crouched on the hill below the track. The behemoth had a mouthful of tree-length bladed teeth. He fumbled for his gun before he realized it was some type of machine the size of a house. Covered in a fine yellow crust, it looked like a gigantic tank without treads—the bizarre mutation of an elephant and a six-legged beetle with a stone carapace. The gaping jaws were comprised of four massive crystal forks in a pronged ‘X’ formation, like two stag-horn beetles melded together. In the faint luminescence of the cavern, the blades gleamed silver along their razor-sharp edges. Indy holstered his gun and ventured towards the stone beast. Sophia followed him downhill. “What on earth is that thing?” He crossed his arms and appraised the enormous machine. Up close, he saw that its face was patterned on the standard Atlantean mask, with triangular eyes slanting backwards behind the long blades. “I’d call it a Megataur.” “Megataur?” she repeated. “Great bull. Nice taxonomy.” He brushed the stone behemoth and studied the yellow powder on his fingertips. “Sulfur,” he confirmed. “Definitely volcanic.” Then Indy touched the glassy blades. “God, it’s made of diamond. Carved from a single piece,” he said, breathless with awe. “What?! Are you serious?” She placed her hands reverently on the translucent, shimmering forks. They followed the tines back to where the neck of the crystal drill socketed into a thick bronze collar. Indy looked feverish. “This must be worth a fortune.” Sophia braced herself against the machine as the cavern spun around her in a rocky blur. “The biggest diamond in the world...” she gasped. “It’s priceless.” “This is impossible. Diamond is the hardest mineral in existence. It can only be cut with diamond. How did they do it?” “The people of Atlantis mastered the forces of nature. They could grow crystal into any shape or size desired,” she said. “No. It takes millions of years for a gemstone to form in nature, and I don’t think the earth is old enough for a diamond this big to exist,” he maintained. Sophia shrugged. “It’s right in front of you.” Indy moved to the rear of the machine, where he found a series of carved footholds leading to a platform cut into the sloping trunk. He noted the presence of a hollow cavity through the belly of the excavator. He shined his flashlight into the contoured passage, which appeared to slope upward as it met the crystal blades. He crawled under for a better look. “Efficient. It cuts through rock and channels the gravel out of its path. I bet this thing runs on something stronger than the usual 6-volt battery.” “Orichalcum, the fuel of the gods,” she reminded him. But Indy didn’t hear her, because he’d spied an object half-buried in the gravel by the rear foot of the machine. He dug out the upper torso of a bronze idol—a duplicate of the statue Kerner had stolen. He backpedaled out of the cavity and showed her the crushed statue. “Look familiar?” “And broken,” she lamented. “What I don’t understand is, if this is a mine, where’s all the orichalcum?” “Look,” he said, indicating the area below the excavator. She turned slowly and her jaw dropped. Sulfur-crusted equipment was scattered across the field below the massive drill. One machine had a giant plow blade mounted on a pair of hinged arms, while another variation bore an enormous box filled with chunks of burgundy ore. The sloping quarry was littered with excavating machinery and sentry robots. The bronze automatons lay frozen in the dirt where they had fallen in millennia past. “The machinery that built Atlantis!” “Or mined it, at least,” he replied, picking up another tarnished idol. The ground was strewn with hundreds of ruined statues. Some were missing arms; others had fractured torsos packed with rusted gears. Indy gazed across the valley to the distant cavern wall. The rock was riddled with gaping tunnels, pockmarked with tiny holes. “They’re pilot drills. The miners probably used them to score the rock for the boring machines.” Sophia appraised her own statue with fresh eyes. Its corroded metal shell was banded with rotational scratch marks. The tiny horns were blunted from wear. “I think you’re right.” “The evidence fits the hypothesis.” He searched the ground for a statue that was relatively intact. He slipped a new router idol into his bag. “I owe Marcus one for the museum.” Looking over the abandoned mine, the unspoken question begged an answer. “Why did they leave everything behind?” “Maybe the well ran dry.” “No, I don’t think so.” Sophia crunched across the gravel to the nearest sentry and plucked a chunk of metal from the container by the ancient robot. She tossed the coppery nugget to him. “Do you call this a shortage?” He turned the reddish ore in his palm. “Raw orichalcum.” “I don’t see how this stuff can be so dangerous.” “It’s like super-refined uranium. Atomic energy.” “Dr. Übermann mentioned that. What is it, exactly?” “I’m not sure, but it’s powerful stuff according to the lab coats at Barnett.” For months, Indy had overheard the term repeated among the physics professors, whose lively banter often disrupted the usual peace of the faculty lounge. Although he didn’t pretend to understand any of it, Indy had gathered enough to know that this new type of energy had the potential for unprecedented power. And power, as history had proven time and again, could always be turned to destructive purposes. Indy wore a look of grim resolve. “We can’t let this get back to Germany.” “Halt! Ihr zwei, Hände hoch! Sofort!” At the crest of the hill, a Nazi soldier aimed a submachine gun down at them. Indy and Sophia immediately raised their hands. They were captured. 25 SUBTERRANEAN DEATH

The soldier eased by the hulking drill machine, covering them with his weapon as he approached. “We finally got you damned Americans,” he sneered contemptibly. His English was marred by his thick accent. “Kerner will be most pleased.” Indy expected more troops to descend on them at any moment, but the solitary Nazi was hesitant without reinforcements. “Too bad you don’t have a radio to call him.” “Shut up and keep your hands where I can see them. Now start moving.” The soldier gestured with his rifle. “Better do what he says,” Indy conceded. “This is some fix we’re in,” Sophia grumbled, following him uphill. The Nazi kept his distance, shepherding them past the excavator at gunpoint like a pair of dangerous felons. He obviously wasn’t taking any chances, but he was so intent on his task that he hadn’t bothered to disarm Indy. “You must’ve been separated from your team. Easy to get lost in a place like this.” If Indy could distract the soldier just long enough to draw his gun, they would be home free. “It’ll probably take days to find our way back to the submarine, if we don’t starve first.” He gave the officer a pointed look. “You did bring enough rations for all of us, right?” “I said be quiet, and don’t try anything or you’ll be sorry.” “Button it, Jones. You’re not helping the situation,” Sophia told him. “Don’t worry. He won’t shoot because Kerner wants us alive. Am I right?” Visibly irked, the soldier tightened his grip on the rifle. “Sarkastisches Amerikaner- Schwein. Just wait until the Colonel gets hold of you, and then see how confident you are.” All hope of escape vanished when one of the Abwehr agents appeared on the road above them. “Can this day get any worse?” Sophia moaned. “Thank goodness you’re here,” the Nazi said, relieved to see his colleague. “I don’t know what Kerner was thinking when he told us to search this place. I’ve been lost for hours.” He prodded Indy and Sophia forward with his gun. “I caught these Americans in here scheming against Dr. Übermann.” “Good work, soldier. I’ll take them into custody now,” replied Karl Sankt, descending the gravel slope. “Nein. I captured these prisoners and I will deliver them. But you can escort us in case they try to escape.” “Kerner gave me explicit orders to find Fräulein Hapgood and bring her back. Besides, I am not answerable to the Waffen-SS,” Karl stated adamantly. “Now stand aside.” “You may outrank me in Berlin, but not here. These are my prisoners, and if you don’t like it then go complain to Admiral Canaris about protocol when you get back.” The Abwehr’s pistol was out in a flash. He aimed it at the soldier’s head. “I’ve had enough. Put your weapon on the ground and step back.” “What in the hell is this?!” he sputtered in outrage. “Are you serious?” Karl primed the Walther with a sharp click and the soldier quickly dropped his rifle to the ground. Sophia was dazzled by the rapid shift of allegiance. “What’s going on here?” Karl said, “Sie haben nicht viel Zeit. Kerner sucht in diesem Moment nach Ihnen. Aber ich werde Ihnen helfen, zu entkommen.” “Why would you help us?” Indy asked him. “Because of what Dr. Übermann plans to do with the new mineral. I know of my country’s atrocities in Europe, and it has to stop before the world meets the same fate.” “Verdammter Verräter!” the Nazi exploded with rage. He dived at Indy and grappled wildly for the discarded weapon. Karl hesitated, then lunged forward and clocked him with his pistol. The soldier slumped to the ground. “Tut mir leid,” he apologized. “I don’t like to hurt people.” Indy picked up the MP-40. “Vielen Dank, mein Freund.” “He’s really helping us?” Sophia said in disbelief. Karl smiled at her surprise. “Not all of us are Nazis.” She nodded appreciatively after Indy translated. “Well I’m glad to hear it. So, what’s the plan for getting out of here?” “You’re not going anywhere!” Tristen stepped out from behind the Megataur with her gun aimed at them. Mud stained her uniform and boots. Her nose was swollen and visibly askew. She glanced from the unconscious soldier on the ground to Indy holding the submachine gun, rapidly assessing the situation. “What’s going on here?!” “You’re a sick bitch,” Sophia replied immediately. “Shut up!” She jabbed her pistol at Indy. “Drop that gun right now!” Indy tossed the MP- 40 away. Tristen Fleischer glared at her partner with disgust. “Consorting with the enemy, Sankt? The Führer would be mortified by such treason.” “I never agreed to murder civilians,” Karl responded in German. “Then you have the necklace, at least?” “No, but I’ll be happy to show you where it is,” Indy answered. Sophia smirked, remembering the lava pool. Tristen acknowledged him a shrewd smile. “Jones, of course. Who else would be bold enough to radio false coordinates when your lovely partner was in our custody all along?” “Who knew you’d be gullible enough to fall for it?” “Rest assured we would have caught you sooner if I had spoken to you personally. As luck would have it, Officer Schulte lacks the discerning ear of an intelligence expert. But I think we’ve all done quite enough mindless wandering thanks to you.” “Well, it was fun while it lasted.” She regarded him coldly. “We will see how much fun you have when I bring you back to Kerner. I am certain he will have a suitable punishment in store.” She gestured with her gun. “Now get moving, both of you.” Karl stepped forward. “No. They have done nothing wrong. Let them go.” Fleischer gave her partner a murderous look. “Have you forgotten your allegiance?” Swallowing his fear, the young agent stepped in front of the Americans, shielding them from her aim. “You’re not taking them back to Kerner, and I’m not giving you a reason to kill them.” “I don’t need one,” replied Tristen. The pistol roared. Sophia screamed. Karl clutched his stomach in shock and collapsed. A fraction of a second after the shot, Indy lashed out and kicked the gun from her grasp. Fleischer bolted for the monolithic drill. Indy blasted a few shots over the agent’s head to spur her on. He paused to check on Sophia, who sobbed helplessly beside the wounded agent. Tristen used the opportunity to scramble uphill, disappearing into the subway tunnel before Indy could get off another shot. “We have to help him.” Sophia held Karl’s head above the rough gravel. A dark crimson stain covered the agent’s uniform. His face had grown pale from blood loss, and he began to shiver. Indy knew that he wouldn’t survive much longer. “He needs medical attention. There’s nothing we can do.” “Mercy… Mercy! Bitte…” Karl gasped through shock-glazed eyes. “He’s begging for mercy,” Indy told her grimly.

Sophia Hapgood clutched the Abwehr’s hands, trying to comfort him, when she was assailed by the mental image of a beautiful young woman with golden hair and sapphire blue eyes that sparkled with joy when she smiled. “No, he’s asking for his wife. Her name is Mercy.” Karl tightened his grip with a look of astonishment. “Ja! Meine süße Mercy! Sie kennen sie?” Indy’s face reflected his own amazement. “How—?” “I don’t need the necklace. Tell him that I can see her now,” Sophia instructed. Indy complied, quickly explaining that she was a clairvoyant seer. Holding the agent’s trembling hands, Sophia let the visions pour through her. She saw the blonde girl in a white hospital room in the near future, only months away. She was in labor. It was a boy with the same dark brown hair as Karl. Then darkness clouded her vision with images of a war-ravaged country plagued by suffering. Soldiers were everywhere, always focused on the sky with grim apprehension. The earth was scarred with ragged trenches and barbed wire barricades. She watched anxiously as the young woman fled with her infant, seeking friends and relatives in broken cities clogged with thundering artillery and armored vehicles; traveling along muddy roads that laced rural pastureland gaping with bomb craters. The years fluttered by like the pages of a book, and Sophia was relieved when Mercy and her son emerged from the ruined country alive. She looked into the eyes of the dying agent with hope. “She’s carrying your son. He will be named after you, and...” Sophia was choked by emotion. Brandishing his gun in readiness, Indy translated her words with as much compassion as he could manage in the tense climate. Karl blinked at her in wonderment. “Ich habe einen Sohn?” Sophia nodded. “They will go through a time of darkness and uncertainty, but your grandchildren will live in a free Germany, unclouded by the evil of the Nazi regime.” “Ist das wirklich die Zukunft, die Sie sehen?” This is truly the future that you see? Sophia smiled sadly, nodding. She didn’t need Indy to translate now, for they were communicating through pure emotion, a language more powerful than words. “Ich habe einen Brief…” Karl groped feebly at his uniform pocket. Sophia understood immediately. She took out his wallet and found a folded envelope sticking out. Tucked carefully inside was a crinkled photograph of the blonde girl from her visions. He squeezed her hand imploringly. “Bitte schicken Sie ihn meiner Liebsten.” Please send it to my love. Sophia tearfully agreed as the light in his eyes began to dim. “I promise.” “Sie sind wahrlich eine Seherin. Gott segne Sie, Fräulein Hapgood.” Karl gazed at her with eternal gratitude, and then stared into nothingness. He went limp in her arms, and Sophia felt a chill pass through her as the life went out of his body. “No… No!” she cried in despair. But the young agent was gone. An acute pall of sadness flowered inside of her. She gently shut his eyelids, arranged his hands peacefully over his chest, and placed the photograph of his wife against his heart where she had always lived. Pocketing the letter, Sophia stood and wiped the tears from her face. “Why did this happen? He was going to have a family.” Indy put his arm around her consolingly. “He was a good kid, and he was just doing his job. This wasn’t your fault, so don’t blame yourself.” “But he was only trying to help us.” “I know,” he said gently. “It’s not fair,” she sniffled. Indy’s expression sobered. “It never is. Just make sure to hold up your end of the bargain so everything works out like it’s supposed to.”

The dim pounding of jackboots and muffled voices echoed from the hilltop, emanating from the subway tunnel. “Sounds like the Nazis finally got their act together.” Indy snatched up Karl’s gun and pulled Sophia behind the excavator. “Here, take this.” He pressed the Walther into her hands. “Uh, thanks,” she replied, fumbling the compact pistol. “You’ve only got seven shots, so make ‘em count!” He cracked open his Webley and reloaded the empty chambers while the tromping footsteps grew louder. Indy sidled to the edge of the tank and stole a glance around the corner just as a trio of SS troops burst from the subway tunnel, led by Tristen. “The Americans attacked us and killed Agent Sankt! I don’t care what Kerner says; if they refuse to surrender, shoot them!” The soldiers fanned out along the concrete pad and surveyed the quarry with the snouts of their automatic rifles. One of them had a radio pack. “They must be hiding in here somewhere,” Tristen seethed, masking her natural voice with anger. Indy glanced at Sophia and saw her frightened expression. He felt exactly the same way. “Just keep your head down and stay behind this rock. And if anything happens, don’t be afraid to use that thing,” he said, gesturing to the pistol in her hand. Keeping his back to the wall, Indy edged around the machine and slipped into the notch behind its stout rear leg. He turned and sent a pair of shots around the corner. The deafening chatter of gunfire immediately filled the cavern as the group unleashed all its firepower in unison. He ducked behind the vehicle again, stunned to find that Sophia was gone. He called her name tensely, praying that she hadn’t run away. Her coral-tressed head poked out from beneath the granite leviathan. Her face was pale with fright. “There’s no way out of here!” she cried in alarm. “I know, I know!” he growled as the relentless hail of bullets kicked up clouds of red dust all around them. Pinned behind the vehicle in the middle of the open quarry, they would be killed once the Nazis circled the machine. “They’re trapped behind that building! Go capture them before they can escape!” Fleischer screamed in German. The SS squad charged down the slope with guns blazing, showering the Megataur with hot lead. Indy flattened himself against the ground, burrowed into the gravel behind the excavator’s heel and returned fire. The soldiers, belatedly realizing that they were exposed, took refuge behind various pieces of mining equipment. The closest Nazi dove behind the yellowed hulk of a sentry robot while another took cover behind a bin of orichalcum ore. Indy couldn’t see the third soldier, but he watched Tristen dash madly for the protection of a bulldozer parked against the cavern wall. Pausing to reload again, he grimly assessed the situation: Four enemies with automatic assault rifles against his heavy six-shot revolver and a dwindling pocketful of rounds. It didn’t look good. Sophia remained hidden in the excavator’s belly, too terrified to participate in the deadly firestorm. Indy coughed in the acrid sulfur fumes disturbed by all of the action. His itching, bleary eyes made it hard to focus. They had to get out of there, and fast. He took another desperate blast at the German hiding behind the fallen robot. Sophia, taking a cue from his shielded firing strategy, wiggled deeper into the tunnel until she reached the next gap in the tank’s feet. From there, she fired a salvo at the Nazi huddled by the ore crate. A sharp whiff of sulfur provided the spark of inspiration that Indy needed. He took aim, sighting the Webley a fraction of an inch above the sentry, and squeezed the trigger. The bullet skimmed across the powdered metal with a flash, and the Nazi was engulfed in a cloud of blue flame as the robot ignited with a phosphorescent WHUMP! Screaming in agony, the soldier leaped up and ran across the quarry, firing his weapon blindly in every direction. One of his companions instantly fell to the wild barrage. Before Indy could take him down, the human torch ran into the crossfire of his other SS comrade, still determinedly canvassing the excavator. The Nazi’s bullet-riddled body danced like a flaming marionette and collapsed in a smoking heap. The third soldier, crouched by the ore box, froze in horror when he realized what he’d done. Then he frantically shed his radio pack and tried to dial out for backup. In the temporary cease-fire, Sophia quickly pumped three Walther rounds into the pile of sulfur-frosted orichalcum. The crate exploded like a bomb, instantly decimating the radio operator. Gravel and radio parts pelted the cavern walls and ceiling. The odor of cooked flesh tinged the dusty air. Nazi corpses littered the ground. Tristen Fleischer emerged from behind the bulldozer to find herself the sole combatant for Kerner’s battalion. The whole violent episode had transpired in less than a minute. She glared at the Americans in fury. “You bastards! I’ll kill both of you!” She opened fire, blasting recklessly at the giant machine. Indy ducked around the corner and returned fire. Beside him, Sophia crawled out from under the excavator and scaled the ladder to its top. “What the hell are you doing?!” he shouted. Moments later, a massive rumble shook the cavern. The ground abruptly turned to slush and Indy sank knee-deep in a V-shaped furrow that formed beneath the growling excavator. He stared up in terror as its megalithic foot rose into the air, masking him in its terrible shadow. Tristen immediately fired at the archaeologist’s newly-revealed position, but Indy hardly noticed the shots pelting the ditch because the enormous leg dropped, pulverizing the gravel with a thunderous force that reverberated through his entire skeleton. Indy frantically dug free and staggered for the carved footholds in a kaleidoscope of stars. The Abwehr’s blistering bullets followed him up the flank of the rumbling beast to the operating platform, where Sophia was fretfully working the controls. “How do you drive this thing?” she panicked. “Get down!” Indy yelled, pulling her to the floor. A quick survey showed that the controls were disarmingly simple. They consisted of two levers slotted into a bronze panel embossed with the omnipresent Atlantean signet. To one side, an orichalcum-filled tray was built into the dashboard, which explained how Sophia had been able to start the excavator. Kneeling at the controls, Indy mashed the button into the panel. The triangular eyes flashed green in readiness. Time to take the bull by the horns, he thought, grasping a control stick in either hand. Figuring that the excavator functioned basically like a tank, Indy wrenched the right lever up and the left one down, engaging its enormous motors. The prehistoric drill lurched into motion with a high-pitched whine, its razor tines whirling to speed while the massive stone legs thundered up and down like boulder-sized pistons. The Megataur clambered in an awkward circle, shaking its passengers like a pair of dice. “What are you doing? Make it drive straight!” Sophia yelled. Indy shoved the left handle up, locking the other set of legs in the same direction. Properly synchronized, the cyclopean drill stomped ahead like an enormous stone spider. “Whoa!” Sophia dropped her gun in surprise and held onto the rim of the control panel. The Walther skittered across the deck and fell over the side. “Are you actually driving this thing?” “Once I get the hang of it,” Indy growled in response. The Megataur steamrollered down the quarry, crushing sentry robots and flattening piles of bronze ore as it plowed towards the Swiss-cheesed rock wall at the bottom of the mine slope. Tristen blazed away at them until her clip was spent, but the thundering machine repelled the lead barrage like mosquitoes on an elephant. “Verfluchte Scheiße!” she swore vehemently. Determined to avenge her SS compatriots, the Abwehr snapped in her last clip and gave chase down the hard-packed trail left by the heavy machine. The open control deck offered only partial cover, leaving them exposed to gunfire from behind. Indy groped in his bag for the last few remaining bullets while being jostled around. The simple task of reloading was like trying to play Chinese checkers on a tractor mowing an unplowed field. He dropped three shells before snapping the Webley shut again. Sophia huddled in the corner and peered at Indy through her arms. “Is she insane?!” He flinched as a bullet ricocheted off the stone rim, inches above his head. “Why don’t you ask her?” He drew a bead on Fleischer but the bumpy ride threw off his aim. Two shots blasted the gravel a dozen yards from the pursuing agent. Saving his last bullet, Indy squeezed into the niche beside the control levers and waited for her to get closer. Three more shots smacked into the stone panel between them. Sophia gritted her teeth angrily. “Goddamn it!” Before Indy knew it, she had slid across the floor and pulled the horned idol from his bag. She stood and hurled the statue at Tristen. The Abwehr jumped to avoid the bronze missile, then stumbled and plowed face-first into the gravel. Sophia cheered, but her triumph was short-lived. Tristen was on her feet again almost instantly. Driven by adrenaline-fueled hatred, the blonde agent raced after the stampeding machine, blasting furiously at Sophia until her gun clicked empty. She pitched away the useless weapon and closed the distance to the Megataur. Indy was caught by surprise when she suddenly appeared at the top of the ladder. He primed the Webley and fired, but nothing happened. Belatedly, he realized that he’d advanced the chamber past the final bullet. Tristen lunged at Sophia with a feral growl. Indy shoved her back into the wall and kept them apart. Fleischer glared through a dust-caked mask of bleeding scratches. “Stay out of this, Jones. I have some unfinished business with your lady friend.” “You’re disgusting,” Sophia sneered defiantly. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t enjoy it,” she teased with a vicious smile. “Argh!” Sophia pushed Indy aside and kicked out at the Abwehr, cuffing her on the leg. Tristen laughed at the ineffectual hit. “So it’s true what they say about a lover scorned.” “Leave her alone,” Indy barked, momentarily unsure which woman he was actually addressing. “I can take care of myself,” declared Sophia. “Can you?” Tristen mused. “Let’s see, then.” In the blink of an eye, the intelligence agent dropped to the floor and clubbed Indy behind the knees, causing his legs to buckle. He let go of the Webley and fell as Tristen swept Sophia’s feet out from under her with a drop kick. The medium landed on her back, dazed. “What’s wrong? I thought redheads liked it rough,” she leered with predatory glee. “You murdering bitch!” Sophia launched herself at the other woman, but Indy snared the psychic and whirled her behind him to the other side of the control deck, safely out of reach. He winced as the German’s vicious punch connected with his back. “Stop defending her, you coward!” She pulled a sleek knife from a hidden waist scabbard and slashed at Indy, who jumped back in surprise. Tristen advanced on them with a deranged look. “She’s all mine, Jones.” Indy nudged Sophia back. “Get out of here now!” Tristen lunged again but Indy feinted sideways and her knife scraped the control panel with a wicked rasp. Following Sophia, he quickly climbed onto the Megataur’s carapace, an area of flat stone broader than a two-lane highway. Leaping onto the control panel in pursuit, the German’s foot mashed one of the drive levers down. The excavator lurched sharply to the left, throwing everyone off-balance as it trundled towards the un-mined side wall of the cavern. Indy recovered his footing and uncoiled his whip to fend off the bloodthirsty agent. Tristen waved her knife like a flaming torch. “Get out of my way or I’ll slice your guts to ribbons.” Indy flicked the lash upward in a liquid crescent. Tristen flinched at the loud crack, springing nimbly away from its bite. She circled the rumbling excavator for an opening to reach Sophia, but Indy countered her movements to keep the women apart. Darting forward, Tristen cleaved the air with a ferocious growl. Indy repelled her with a defensive X slash, driving her back again. The agent glowered in frustration, realizing that the leather weapon was infinitely faster than her blade. The whole world suddenly jumped as the Megataur plowed over a large mound of rock and tipped sideways, tossing the combatants across the granite machine like toys. Indy found himself lying flat on his chest after an involuntary somersault, while the impact propelled Tristen Fleischer—sans knife—directly at the target of her rage. Sophia, screaming in terror, was thrown backwards over the side of the excavator. Then, by some unfathomable quirk of fate, she latched onto Tristen’s arms just as the Megataur heaved in the opposite direction. Red gravel exploded across the cavern in a deafening cacophony as the howling drill blades chewed into the shifting ore pile. Gravity reversed itself and Sophia pitched forward moments from being crushed between the excavator’s thundering legs. The women collided with Indy, who had just recovered his balance when inertia propelled him towards the other side of the hulking machine. They both grabbed onto the archaeologist as the Megataur settled heavily to the ground again. Indy planted his boots in a seam to anchor the human chain that he was unexpectedly linked to. Clutching his wrists, Tristen pulled herself towards him while Sophia retained a death grip on the German to keep from plummeting overboard again. The deadly ballet continued as Tristen immediately attacked Indy, pummeling him with a flurry of swift punches. Enraged, Sophia threw herself at the Abwehr and wrapped her arms around her slender neck. “Leave him alone!” Tristen flailed wildly, gagging. She uttered a gurgle of rage and threw a quick reverse punch. Sophia staggered away, stunned by the blow. Tristen rubbed her throat with a savage sneer. “What’s wrong? You don’t like to fight fair?” She kicked Sophia hard on the back of her thighs and the redhead fell with a cry of pain. “Get up and defend yourself, you pathetic witch!” She cracked her knuckles and started to advance on Sophia when Indy hauled her back roughly. “Hey, I’m not finished with you.” She laughed in amusement. “Are you jealous, Herr Jones? I prefer to handle your girlfriend gently, but I think she finds the pain quite pleasurable. Just like I do.” Indy grabbed her by the collar and drew his fist back, then hesitated when her cruel yet undeniably feminine features softened with mock reproach. “So, you’ll shoot at a woman but you can’t bring yourself to hit one?” “No, but I can!” Sophia appeared from nowhere and punched her squarely in the face. Tristen stumbled backwards in surprise. Her damaged nose bled freely again. Her dirty face twisted in vengeance. “You bitch!” she screamed with murderous rage, and charged Sophia like a savage animal, intent on ripping her throat out. Sophia plowed into the sadistic agent in a burst of adrenaline-fueled anger and sent her reeling across the Megataur. Tristen Fleischer pinwheeled around and threw her arms up, shrieking in terror as she dove headfirst into the churning blades. Indy gasped as he saw the woman torn apart like a rag doll, evaporating in a gush of red mist. Mortified at what she’d witnessed, Sophia collapsed on the spot. Her porcelain complexion was a blood-flecked mask of horror when Indy gathered her into his arms. “I… it was an accident,” she choked. Her body trembled convulsively, wracked with nerves. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to kill her,” she sobbed hysterically. “Oh God…” The Megataur began to shudder with a high-pitched whine. Indy snapped his gaze up in alarm. The panorama of jagged rock loomed before them, and it was growing larger by the second. “Move!” He dragged Sophia to her feet and shoved her towards the control deck, but they only managed to run a few steps when the rampaging behemoth hit the cavern wall with a thunderous crash. They were thrown to the floor in a shower of hot sparks as the excavator’s gore-stained jaws traced a flashing ring on the stone. The silver cyclone bored into the surface with a deafening scream, pulverizing the rock to slush like a hot nail through butter. Indy had only seconds to absorb this astonishing spectacle, because the tunnel was rapidly devouring the machine and they would be crushed to a pulp by the inexorable stone vise. His mouth fell open, but Indy was mute for an oath strong enough to convey his mortal terror. Sophia wobbled to her feet in a daze, too shell-shocked to realize their fatal position. “What’s wrong?” “Get down!” Indy tackled her and they tumbled across the excavator, dropping over the control panel with moments to spare before a cocoon of rocky darkness engulfed the Megataur, sealing them inside of a living nightmare. Dust choked their lungs, coated their perspiration-slicked faces as the drill bored into the earth. Its whirling tines grated the rock with a force that vibrated Indy’s clenched jaw until he thought his teeth would shatter. The friction ignited the vehicle’s sulfurous skin and filled the air with burning fumes. They were showered by a constant rain of hot rubble that stung like wasps. Sophia thrashed violently and howled in sheer terror. It took all of Indy’s strength to restrain her. “Stop it, Sophie! Control yourself!” He bound her struggling form with his arms and legs, but it was like wrestling a wildcat. She pushed him off with a burst of adrenaline, scraping Indy’s back against the rock passing above the control deck. The odor of burnt leather filled the air-tight space. The woman was gripped by a full-blown fit of hysteria, and Indy had to do something before she killed them both. Using the bronze levers for reinforcement, he pinned her to the floor and held her down with his knees. “Get off of me! Let me up! Stop it, stop it! Arghh!” Sophia protested, but Indy grimly kept his weight on her, knowing it was for her own good. The harsh grating roar went on relentlessly, and Sophia’s claustrophobia became contagious as the drill tunneled deeper into the rock. Indy had no idea how far the Megataur would bore, or if it would even stop. Squinting at the controls with bleary eyes, he grasped the drive levers determinedly and then thought better of it. Abruptly reversing the engines might break the machine and strand them in the shaft. The heat was unbearably intense, and they would suffocate in the hellish vacuum if they weren’t cooked alive first. They were stuck on a one-way trip into the depths of the earth unless they could somehow escape without being crushed to death by the excavator’s rampaging stone feet. “Damn it, Indy! Let me go! Aaahhh!” the redhead shrieked bloody murder. Sophia thrashed stubbornly, jabbing his legs with her pointy elbows. Sympathizing with her panic, Indy eased up on the pressure. The control sticks buzzed painfully in his hands, coupled by a turbulent shaking from the great machine. Indy was knocked sideways into the wall, bashing his head against the cabin. The shrill whine of the blades hiccupped in their furious velocity, and the Megataur surged forward with a sudden burst of speed. Sophia immediately sprang up. “Stay down!” Indy grabbed her shoulders to keep her from standing. A deluge of burning gravel slurried over the lip of the control panel and filled the deck. Harsh red light flooded the gritty tunnel, revealing the smoothly-cut walls hewn by their vehicle. Above them, Indy saw the rocky ceiling recede. He poked his head warily over the rim of the platform to receive a blast of intense heat. They were in an enormous cavern, a wide-open amphitheater, the largest enclosed space Indy had ever seen. “I think it’s safe now!” Sophia sat up with relief. “Really?” Indy stared in horror, cooled by a refreshing chill of adrenaline when he saw that they were trundling towards a precipice cloaked in a hellish red glow. The tank’s piston-like legs thundered madly ahead as the machine scrambled towards the searing blast furnace. Beyond the rim, everything simply vanished. Indy jerked Sophia to her feet and spied his bullwhip slithering across the Megataur’s rumbling top. He snared the handle and reclaimed the lash with a sharp flick. “Oh my God, what are we going to do?!” she cried in panic. “Jump!” Indy grabbed her arm and leapt as the excavator plunged over the cliff.

26 COLOSSUS

A bed of soft gravel cushioned them from a fall that should have broken more than a few bones. They tumbled to the ground near the rock surface where the excavator had emerged. Its thundering footfalls went abruptly silent. Indy rolled over in time to see the megalithic tank vanish into the red smoke. He crawled to the edge of the cliff and peered over the side. Five stories below, the dark speck of the Megataur lay upside-down in a lake of glowing magma. Its stubby legs were still pumping away madly as it was sucked into the fiery ooze. He rolled onto his back and gushed a sigh of relief. Sophia sat up, grimacing. “Are you hurt?” he asked her. She rubbed her backside tenderly. “I think I bruised my dignity.” “It could’ve been worse,” Indy said, helping her stand. She cautiously eased over to the precipice and stared into the chasm. Shimmering waves of heat caressed her face. Sophia shuddered. “That was too close.” Indy collected his whip from the ground. The lash was frayed, the leather charred and smoldering from its trip through the rock tunnel. It was ruined. “Damn.” He snapped it onto his belt in dismay, knowing that he’d have to get another one. She noticed his regretful look. “That whip can be replaced,” she reminded him. “We can’t.” “I know, but we’ve been through a lot together. It’s like an old friend.” She gave him a strange look. Repelled by the searing heat, she backed away from the cliff and peeled off her wool jacket. She carelessly tossed it over the side, then loosened the buttons of her blouse. “God, it’s hot in here.” “Yeah, I noticed.” The balmy temperature was an unpleasant contrast from the cool, moist air in the halls of Atlantis. Indy removed his leather jacket and draped it over his satchel. “You’re actually keeping that thing? It’s like an oven in here.” “Hey, I like mine,” he told her. She was about to add more when something caught her attention. Sophia tilted her head curiously. “What’s that sound?” Suddenly Indy became aware of it also. The superheated air hummed with energy; a steady mechanical drone that reminded him of a gigantic wasp. The vibration permeated his being and crawled over his skin like invisible ants. Sophia looked around uneasily, trying to locate the source of the noise, but it seemed to come from everywhere at once. The simmering magma cast an angry scarlet glare over everything, painting the cavern in ghastly purple shadows. To their left, the rocky ledge narrowed into the surface of the wall. In the other direction it widened, hugging the inner face of the caldera. “What kind of place is this?” she wondered in a disturbed tone. “It looks like hell.” “Close. We’re in a volcano, or rather a magma chamber,” Indy corrected himself as he tried to survey the extent of the hellish grotto. “What I don’t understand is how...” He trailed off when Sophia craned her head skyward with a look of stunned awe. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Following her gaze, Indy’s legs went rubbery. He managed to keep his balance while his shocked senses tried to process what he was seeing. Rising to the top of the cavern was a colossal stone tower that supported the roof of the volcano. Its mass was incomprehensible. The ungodly column was stabilized by a web of thick arms that radiated outwards to the sloping sides of the cone. The funnel walls were milled smooth and scored with hundreds of perfectly vertical lines which converged at the peak of the soaring superstructure. It was like standing beneath the canopy of a gigantic umbrella. A flat concrete expanse riddled with pipes and ventilation grates marked the point where the tower joined the mouth of the volcano. The mountain had been hollowed out. Billions of tons of solid rock had been removed to create the amphitheater, a feat of engineering that was impossible even with the oversized earthmoving equipment they’d seen in the mines. Indy’s astonishment gave way to concern that machining the volcanic walls had weakened the natural rock formation. He eyed the artificial ceiling with anxiety. The water pressure outside must be unimaginable, but he could see no cracks in the thick slab above them. Sophia tugged on his sleeve and pointed wordlessly down. Silhouetted coal-black against the blazing magma, a series of narrow bridge spans rimmed with firelight joined the cyclopean tower to the sides of the caldera. Further below, a circular pathway ringed the base of the mighty pillar. “Indy, look—a doorway!” Across the suspended bridge, a shadowy portal was visible in the side of the tower. “Good eyes. Let’s go take a look.” Following the rocky ledge, they made their way down to the crossing. From the outer wall to the tower, Indy estimated that it spanned a daunting length of nearly 200 feet. She prodded the bridge delicately with her boot as though it might crumble. “I don’t know. Are you sure this is really safe?” “It’s solid rock. Trust me, it’ll hold. Just stay in the middle and don’t look down,” he told her. When she didn’t budge, Indy went first, walking unhurriedly across the abyss. After he’d gone a dozen yards, she gathered her confidence and jogged after him. Waves of rippling heat baked them as they traversed the span. Moisture dripped from the tangle of machinery high above. Indy glanced at the concrete shield and wondered how many centuries the barrier would hold before the sea finally caved in. He tried not to think about it. Inside the tower, a twisting staircase descended to the lower switchback that returned them to the outer wall of the cavern. There, they found a smoothly-graded road that appeared to wind downwards along the perimeter of the volcanic basin. Before Indy could move towards it, Sophia grabbed him by the arm. “Wait. Do we really want to go any further? We don’t know what’s down there, and it’s so hot.” She fanned the front of her shirt. Indy looked at his partner. Perspiration glazed her weary features. Her cardinal waves were matted like a wet rag. She was tired and miserable, drained of energy. She needed motivation. “Don’t forget: Kerner and his troops are still behind us. Besides, we’ve come too far to turn back now.” With their goal clarified, Sophia found renewed purpose. She straightened her hair in a dignified manner. “Right. Let’s keep going.” They set off down the sloping embankment, following the rugged volcanic wall. The trail was cut deep into the rock, and shielded from the broiling heat by a natural stone ridge that ran parallel to it. The width of the road suggested that it was built to accommodate the machinery they had seen in the mines, but Indy couldn’t understand what purpose such equipment might serve in the crater of a subterranean volcano. His question was forgotten when the trail merged onto an artificial terrace and they suddenly found themselves in a village of ziggurat-like structures built upon the volcanic hillside. They stared in wonder, overawed by the unworldly architecture. The angular edifices were constructed of large, square-cut blocks that glowed incandescent orange in the lurid glare of the distant caldera. It was like nothing they’d ever seen before. The primitive stone buildings were stacked in clustered tiers so that roofs doubled as terraces for the structures above. They lacked windows, but featured triangular-shaped door openings in the uniform Atlantean style. Staircases connected the multi-level dwellings, neatly bisecting the stepped terraces of some structures, or laterally traversing the sides of others. At the top of the village, the uppermost doorways were hewn directly into the craggy basalt wall of the volcanic cone. Sophia uttered a sailor’s oath of astonishment. “You took the words right out of my mouth,” Indy said. “This can’t be Atlantis. What on earth is this place?” “Only one way to find out.” Indy went to the nearest doorway and peered inside. Tepid steam obscured the dark interior, but there was enough ambience in the cavern to reveal the twinkling gleam of orichalcum. The floor was heaped with it. Not the chunks of raw ore from the mines, but a sea of coppery pearls deep enough to swim through. “It’s the mother lode. We found it.” “How much do you think is here?” Sophia wondered. “Enough to make a million bombs, if Kerner gets his hands on it.” They moved on to the next building and found another dark vault overflowing with red gems. “This is a mining colony. They were stockpiling it.” Sophia was flabbergasted. “There must be tons of orichalcum here. Why did they make so much?” Indy wondered the same thing himself. “Good question. We need to find out where it’s being processed, then we might have our answer.” “Lead the way, Indy. I’m with you.” As they continued down the ancient street, they spied the telltale gleam of copper in each doorway they passed. They followed the terrace up a short flight of steps to a ridge overlooking the simmering volcano. There, Indy and Sophia were stunned as the full scale of the Atlantean mining project unfolded before them. “God almighty,” she gasped with awe. “Here’s your shining city,” Indy muttered somberly. Bathed in the hideous violet glare, the terraced ore buildings honeycombed the volcanic slopes like a gigantic ant colony, encircling the cavernous valley to the limit of their sight. There were hundreds, thousands of chambers heaped with orichalcum, enough of the energized mineral to power the world for ages. “There’s no way we can protect all of this from the Nazis,” she said, gesturing to the sprawling ore city. “They’ll never get it back to their ship. Look at everything we went through to get here. It’s impossible.” Sophia considered what he said. “I guess you’re right.” The humming noise bored into their ears with a deep and persistent throb that told Indy the ancient foundry might still be in operation. “Let’s get down there right now,” Sophia said with terse determination. “You read my mind.” “Well I’m a psychic. That’s my job.” They resumed their journey at a quickened pace, following the mine road through the sprawling complex, down into volcanic basin to the rim of the glowing reservoir. There, standing atop a steep stairway guarded by two horned statues, Indy conceded that Sophia was right. The place looked like hell. Everything was black and red and reeked of sulfur. Flecks of glowing ash drifted into the sky. Waves of blistering heat shimmered off the surface of the molten lake, repelling them with an almost physical force. The scalding temperature caused their skin to draw tight against their faces. The thick air felt like boiling molasses in their throats. Overwhelmed by the searing heat, Sophia swayed as if she might faint. Indy gripped her arm for support. “Take shallow breaths. Try not to inhale the vapors.” “I— I can’t…” she rasped. Then her eyes rolled back and an orgasmic moan escaped from her lips as Sophia Hapgood stared at the ungodly tower soaring upwards into the throat of the volcano. Indy went breathless at the glittering pillar of techno-primitive might rising into the darkness above. An oscillating band of green lights flashed around the ancient skyscraper. Neon ribbons rained endlessly from its dizzying height. Humming with energy, it reached out for the surrounding walls, braced by thick stone arms and pipes running in every direction. Below, a web of sulfur-crusted footpaths radiated from the tower like the spokes of an enormous wheel, joining the volcanic shoreline to the central island. And tucked deep within this hellish cathedral, Indy saw a circle of tall windows gleaming with the purest light he’d ever seen. For a long moment they stared in awe, silenced by its ominous majesty. Sophia’s hands were clenched together. Her eyes were glazed in rapture. “This is the colossus that Plato wrote about! Indy, we’ve found it!” She threw her arms around him with joy. “It’s the eighth wonder of the world!” “Not to mention the archaeological find of the century,” he added. Then he noticed a striking effect woven into the architecture so subtly as to be hidden in plain sight. On the lower portion of the tower, stout columns tapered inwards to its foundation. Each support was banded with an eerie, open-mouthed god mask eternally bellowing at the fires below. The grim visage of Nur-Ab-Sal peered from between the titanic girders. The vertical arms were mirrored by stone foundation pillars that pierced the fiery sea like Poseidon’s legendary trident. “I knew it. They’re harnessing energy directly from the volcano. It’s the central power station for the entire city.” “In the Hermocrates, it says the Atlanteans built the colossus to hold back the sea. That means it must regulate the internal air pressure,” Sophia reasoned. “And if it ever shuts down, the vacuum would fail and the whole city would be destroyed.” The implications were chilling if the Nazis reached it first. “C’mon, let’s take a walk,” he said casually, trying to lighten the mood. Worry darkened Sophia’s glistening features. “The heat might kill us. Do you think we can make it?” Indy gazed over the network of walkways that spanned the fiery reservoir. The bridge traveled well above the lake, extending from the base of the stairs to a wider staircase on the island. The distant mining city shimmered like a mirage in the scarlet haze. He saw a stream of liquid flame glowing brightly across the vast amphitheater. Lava poured from the mouth of an enormous mask hewn out of the volcanic rock above the city. Turning, he counted four Atlantean sentinels feeding the lake of fire. Sophia nudged his arm. “Indy?” “Okay, here’s the plan. Use your shirt like a mask. Breathe shallow, and hold onto my hand. We have to move fast, but don’t run. Got it?” She nodded nervously. “I think so.” “Let’s go then.” Indy pulled his damp shirt over his lower face and held it there. Sophia copied his example. They linked hands and carefully negotiated the broad flight of steps that plunged towards the glowing sea. When they reached the bottom, Indy paused to make sure that she was ready. Above her gathered shirt, Sophia’s eyes were wide with fright. He nodded at her. She returned the gesture. They stepped onto the bridge and moved forward. They were bathed in a broiling updraft the moment the rocky shoreline dropped away. Sophia gasped as the searing heat enveloped them like steam. Their clothes were instantly soaked in sweat. The roiling temperature burned their skin and stung their eyes. Keeping a firm grip on her hand, Indy maintained a brisk pace towards the rumbling tower that loomed before them. The sheet of glowing ooze simmered below. If they stopped, they would be cooked instantly. They had to keep moving. Sophia trotted alongside him, panting from exertion. They were halfway across the bridge, and the stairs appeared a mile off. As they came astride the tower’s foundation posts, crouching stone demons spewed lava from their gaping mouths while the icy light beckoned them with the promise of sanctuary beneath Nur-Ab-Sal’s grim mask. “Hot… too hot,” Sophia whispered hoarsely. Her face was flushed red from the blazing inferno. She stumbled, nearly falling, and then laboriously resumed her gait. “We’re almost there. Keep moving!” Indy urged, pulling her quickly along the sulfur- paved avenue that thrummed beneath their feet. The vibration became so severe that he thought the bridge might shake itself to pieces, but they pressed on with determination. Ahead, the stairs were bathed in crystalline light. They climbed on their hands and knees. Indy dragged her up the last few steps and flopped onto his back. His skin felt crisp, his body roasted. Sophia lay gasping beside him. The bright windows glowed tantalizingly, beckoning them inside. When he grasped her arm, Sophia’s flesh burned his hands. She was practically on fire. Indy marshaled his last shred of strength and pulled her towards the doors which appeared to be constructed of transparent glass. The doors parted automatically and they slumped across the threshold. A refreshing blast of cold air rushed from vents in the ceiling above, chilling them instantly. Sophia collapsed, wheezing for breath. Indy propped her up against the wall as the doors closed again. She coughed fitfully until her lungs accepted the fresh air. “Just take slow breaths, honey. That’s it. Nice and easy.” Sophia blinked her glassy eyes wearily. “I can’t believe you kept that damned jacket.” Indy had to smile. She was going to be fine. “Guess what? We made it.” She looked around in a daze. “Where are we?” “This must be Nur-Ab-Sal’s colossus.” “I’m just glad he’s not here to use it,” she sighed, and closed her eyes to rest. 27 THE GOD MACHINE

The heart of Atlantis was luminous and bright. The chamber within the tower was a circular theater enclosed in a protective shield of alternating stone and glass panels that reduced the fiery inferno beyond its walls to a garish tapestry. After basking in the cool atmosphere, Sophia had finally recovered enough to explore. Indy shrugged his jacket on, grateful that the leather was still warm from the heat outside. A large, shadowy aperture ringed the ceiling. The dark halo was reflected by a recessed pit beveled in the floor directly below. Indy examined one of the horned statues that presided over the room like gargoyles. There were four guardians, each a copy of the hulking lava pumps crouched on the tower’s foundation supports. The sentinel reached over the pit with outstretched arms, jutting forth its massive head. Its mouth was a gaping faucet. “Indy. Look at this.” Sophia had wandered down a short flight of steps to a crescent walkway that skimmed the concave pool, where a trio of wedge-shaped juts protruded into the sunken ring like the teeth of a sprocket. Standing beside a stone pedestal with a frog statue, she stared into the pit with a mortified expression. The hole was filled with hideously deformed skeletons like the ones populating Nur-Ab-Sal’s throne room. It wasn’t a mausoleum. The bodies were scattered haphazardly across the floor. No effort had been made to honor the dead. Indy crouched down for a better view. The skeletons were all horribly mutated, with twisted horns, clawed hands, and gnarled teeth. “Bones don’t grow like this naturally,” he mused aloud. “Where do you suppose they came from?” Sophia backed away, deeply disturbed. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know.” She turned her attention to the frog statue. The amphibian sculpture had bulbous crystal eyes. Its mouth was pursed in a hollow ring. “How cute.” “Yeah, cute.” Indy was more interested in the panel beside the pedestal. It featured an assortment of dials which resembled the controls of a stove, and inscribed with bizarre symbols, including a stylized flower and an eye-shaped icon. “Any idea what this means?” Sophia studied the control panel. “It’s not Atlantean. They could be magical symbols, but I have no idea. What does the book say?” Indy reached into his pouch for the Hermocrates. The leather book smoldered as he cracked it open. “As the waters rose around their city, the Kings of Atlantis, one after another, sought to hold off fate. Knowing mortal men would never rule the sea, they planned a huge colossus, which by use of orichalcum, ten beads at a time, would make them like the gods themselves,” he quoted. “Nur-Ab-Sal was one such king. He it was, say the wise men of Egypt, who first put men in the colossus, making many freaks of nature at times when the celestial spheres were well aligned.” “Celestial spheres... Planets,” Sophia realized. “It’s referring to a specific planetary alignment sequence 12,000 years ago. But how does that figure into this colossus tower?” “You tell me. You’re the astrologer.” Indy re-read the cryptic text. It wasn’t a clue or a revelation. It was just downright baffling. Sophia tentatively reached for the dial knobs. “Maybe these controls have something to do with it.” “Wait. Don’t touch anything. It says they put men into the colossus to make them like gods, but they ended up with…” He looked into the pit again. Dozens of horned skulls gazed back in mute horror. “Freaks of nature.” “What could possibly do this to people?” Indy knew. “A god machine,” he muttered grimly. “A god machine?” she repeated with an appalled expression. She briskly retreated from the pit, distancing herself from the control panel and the ghastly horrors it had wrought. Indy shared her disgust that the Atlanteans were capable of such atrocity. It disturbed him at a level too deep for words. He turned away from the machine and jolted in surprise to discover that they weren’t alone in the chamber. Automatic weapons clicked in readiness. A small group of ragged-looking SS troops surrounded them. They dropped their packs with a heavy thump. The bags were stuffed with metallic beads. It was the pitiful remains of Kerner’s expedition force. But nobody was more surprised to see them than the colonel himself. The blond Nazi stared in disbelief, gaping as if Indy had just set fire to a copy of Mein Kampf before his bloodshot eyes. “Jones! How did you survive?” he seethed. “The power of Nur-Ab-Sal,” Indy replied coolly. He didn’t bother to put up his hands in surrender. They were all prisoners of the volcano, trapped in the sea of molten fire. Sophia quickly retreated into the stone basin while Kerner’s troops posted themselves by the fire sentries around the rim. Übermann gazed around in delight. “Mein Gott, how beautiful! This tower is a vision worthy of the great Fritz Lang himself!” Kerner recovered his composure. “Well, my Anglo-American friends, it seems fate has deemed you worthy to witness our ultimate victory.” He circled the pit and stood on the spur opposite the frog pedestal, neatly trapping them on the walkway. “This incredible chamber is where the master race shall be re-born today.” “You’re insane,” Sophia blurted out. “Madame Sophia. How I have missed your charming company,” Kerner smiled. “It seems we were too hasty in dismissing you earlier, but I am pleased that you are here to witness this historic occasion.” “Hmph!” She turned up her nose at the venomous compliment. Hans Übermann raised his glasses for a better look at the man who had caused him so much trouble. “You look like hell, Doktor Jones.” “Speak for yourself,” Indy sparred. The journey had clearly taken its toll on the aged physicist. Bent and wheezing after the volcanic crossing, his mud-spattered clothes reeked of sulfur. His scalded head and bony chin recalled the collapsed face of a decayed jack-o-lantern. He looked like a man literally about to fall apart. It was amazing that he’d survived at all. “All my life have I waited for a breakthrough such as this; a revolution in science! And this is the glorious day that I shall achieve my dream!” “Yes, a revolution indeed,” Kerner said apathetically while the cadaverous scientist limped down the steps and hobbled over to the control pedestal. Übermann skimmed the array of symbols with his gnarled finger, mumbling to himself. “Herr Doktor, kindly enlighten us to the purpose of this fascinating machine.” The old man raised his filmy eyes to the ring-shaped opening in the ceiling above. “This is a self-contained gravitational centrifuge. With this device it is possible to spark the powers of creation itself. Clearly, this is a machine for manufacturing higher beings!” Sophia stiffened in alarm. She glanced down at the floor cavity with its gruesome skeletal occupants. Indy gave her hand a reassuring squeeze to remind her that he was still there, no matter what happened. She returned the gesture with a tight clench, more out of fright than comfort. “The Übermensch!” Kerner breathed reverently. “It makes perfect sense. Ancient prophecy ordained that the fifth Root Race shall arise in the fourth cosmic round. Now the time of the Aryan has come!” “You actually believe that mystical bullshit?” Indy sneered. “You’re more deluded than I thought. The Aryan race is a fantasy.” “Please, let us all behave like civilized adults, because we have much to learn from our ancestors,” Übermann implored them. “The Atlanteans were quite technologically advanced, to a degree I daresay greater than our own.” He spread his arms to encompass the surrounding chamber. “How else can you explain this magnificent structure? They built their colossus to harness the volcanic power directly into their machine, thereby enriching uranium to produce orichalcum. The magma seems to act as a purifying agent, neutralizing the radioactive qualities of the isotopes. It is all quite remarkable.” “There is enough material here to power Germany for centuries,” Kerner speculated. “We will send as many U-boats as necessary to stockpile the world monopoly of orichalcum. Then we will be unstoppable.” Indy couldn’t believe his rampant egotism. “You want to conquer the world like Atlantis? That story’s been told before, and it didn’t have a happy ending in case you’ve forgotten,” he pointed out. Übermann stroked the frog statue like a pet. “We Aryans are born to greatness. We alone possess the drive to remake the world into a paradise for the master race. That is the glorious future we are destined to achieve; truly the perfect dream.” “Keep dreaming, because it’s as close as you’ll ever get,” Indy said with disgust. The scenario illustrated the danger of interpreting myth as a religion, a hodgepodge of occult doctrines and dangerous socialism cloaked in a veil of spiritual enlightenment. The only thing more frightening was the motivating power of such beliefs, and the world that it would create if the Nazis succeeded. “Atlantis isn’t yours,” Sophia protested. “It’s the birthplace of civilization and it belongs to all mankind.” The old scientist laughed. “I almost pity you Americans. For all of your boundless ingenuity, you lack the willpower to advance the human condition. Mark my words, technology will determine our fate,” he predicted with a feverish gleam in his eyes. “And we will destroy any nation that stands in our way!” “Sure. Bomb the world back into the Stone Age,” Indy snarled. “That’s a great way to level the playing field for humanity. What the hell are you people trying to do?” “Bombs? The gods don’t need bombs!” Kerner scoffed self-righteously. Übermann cackled at the idea. “The uranium bomb is merely a trigger fuse for the Überbombe that we shall build. No military power on earth will dare oppose the Reich!” Sophia had heard enough. “You insufferable bastards. All you know how to do is wage destruction against life. Your souls are not evolved to wield the power of the ancients. You don’t even deserve to be here right now!” “Every step toward civilization is a step of conquest over nature, according to the writings of your esteemed mentor, who laid the groundwork for this historic moment.” Übermann reached into his pocket and brought out a handful of shiny red pearls. “And the solution, my dear, is as simple as these beads of energized metal. Godhood is literally within my grasp!” She gazed sadly at the mangled skeletons lying in the pit. Her eyes glistened with emotion. “How can you do this? These were human beings once...” “Nein. The gods did not invest such wretched creatures with souls. They were unworthy slaves sacrificed in the name of knowledge. But that is enough talk. Now, let us open the door to the future!” He pushed a red marble into the statue’s mouth and twisted a dial on the control panel. The lights dimmed and a low mechanical rumble traveled through the room. In the pit below, the ancient bones shifted, then tumbled off a circular plate that began to rise from beneath while a strange forked apparatus descended from the ceiling. White light flooded the cavity as the floor slowly dropped to expose a ring of glowing vents. Fresh magma poured into the pool, smothering the ancient bones. The SS troops along the pit were startled when the stone sentinels added streams of liquid fire to the blazing cauldron. Heat filled the chamber as if hell had opened beneath it. “What are you doing?!” Sophia cried. “They were trying to resurrect the gods, the great horned ones who came from the sky. It was a terrible mistake!” she pleaded desperately. She moved towards the control panel to stop him, but Indy held her back. “The gods?” Crimson light flashed across Übermann’s glasses to produce a demonic glare. “Do you know what separates us from the gods?” He wiggled his spindly fingers over the control panel in anticipation. “Mortality,” Kerner said, leveling his pistol at the archaeologist. His finger tightened on the trigger. Indy steeled himself for the inevitable. Then Kerner abruptly shifted his aim and blasted Übermann without flinching. The old man flew backwards into the lava pool with a piercing scream of agony that was quickly smothered. The sweetish tang of burnt flesh scented the balmy air. Sophia gasped in shock. Indy couldn’t believe what he’d just seen. Everything happened so quickly. “Such a frail, human condition,” lamented Kerner, unfazed by his casual violence. “Fortunately I suffer from no such imperfections.” The Nazi regarded his outstretched hands with an odd expression. “It is sad that we are limited by this pitiful human shell while the gods have achieved perfection. Now I shall transcend mortality and have both.” “Swell, send me a postcard from Valhalla.” Indy took a defiant step back, refusing to participate in the mad experiment. “One more step and you’ll get there first,” Kerner promised, jabbing his pistol at him again. Then he lowered the gun with a bemused frown. “No. A bullet is too merciful for you, Jones. You shall die feeling the wrath of a true god.” Taking his dead colleague’s place by the statue, Kerner scooped up a handful of spilled orichalcum and fed a string of beads into the frog’s mouth. He twisted the dial that had preoccupied Übermann, pressed a button on the control board, then deftly stepped onto the platform in the middle of the glowing lava pool. The air trembled with a deep, ominous hum. The amber light aureoled into a foreboding scarlet glare that darkened the room. The bronze plate rose upward, lifting the Nazi towards the ring-shaped portal. Kerner regarded his pistol with amusement and tossed it into the magma pool. “The time for mortal weapons has passed.” A sharp flash of light scathed the darkened theater as energy crackled between the triple-forked device above him. “Prepare to feel my wrath!” The ring apparatus began to spin with a pitched whirring sound, rapidly gaining speed until it was a gleaming bronze cyclone. The air hummed and the floor vibrated underfoot as the noise intensified into a constant thrum that spread through rock, flesh, and bone. Crimson lava light flashed from the metal halo like a ring of fire. Indy pulled Sophia back to the stairs on the outer rim of the pit, but the SS guards were too stunned by the display to even notice or care. “The agony is gorgeous!” Kerner cried as ribbons of electricity snapped around him. Then a sapphire corona enveloped the German, who suddenly grew taller in an instant growth spurt. His limbs thickened and his jaw seemed squarer, more finely chiseled. His eyes glowed with the piercing blue of an Arctic dawn. Even his blond hair shone with golden radiance. Within moments, Klaus Kerner became a towering Nordic giant before his astonished audience. The almighty being raised his arms in triumph like a living trophy and unleashed a deep, throaty laugh which seemed to rumble from the bowels of the earth below. The guards dropped their weapons and backed away in horror, their duty forgotten. “No!” Sophia rushed the platform in a fit of overwhelming jealousy that caught Indy by surprise. He lunged out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back. She thrashed violently, struggling to get free. “Let me go! It’s my power! Nur-Ab-Sal promised!” “Sophia, stop it! Stop it right now!” Indy screamed, shaking her roughly. They toppled back on the walkway, where she continued to fight him until a harsh snap of energy stabbed the ground, illuminating Kerner’s monstrous figure in a verdant aura. The redhead recoiled in fright when another green knife ricocheted from the polished bronze disc and zapped the ceiling device. She scrambled up the steps with Indy, her jealousy forgotten as the neon daggers zapped back and forth between the metal plates in a buzzing electrical storm. Kerner’s eyes flew open wide in shock. Something was wrong. The German clenched his fists in agony and—as they stared in disbelief—his palms swelled into thick, fleshy paddles. His plump fingers bubbled into knotted radishes. The edema spread quickly to his arms. Kerner’s limbs ballooned tightly from the sudden growth, bulging until his sleeves shredded and his blistered skin split to expose the throbbing red muscle beneath. “Gahhh!” He clutched his head between his lobed appendages. His temples pulsed visibly as if something inside was struggling to escape. Sophia choked in horror when a snake-sized tube of gray jelly burst from his ear in a vivid spray of blood. Kerner took a staggering step, flailing his massive arms with an unintelligible gurgle. Blood gushed from his ruptured ear as the oily snake twisted spastically with a life of its own, slapping his tattered uniform with lurid red stripes. Reaching up in desperation, the disfigured Nazi tore the gray serpent from his head and flung it into the lava pool. Kerner reeled on the blood-flecked bronze plate, unable to control his rapidly mutating body. His crimson-soaked uniform rippled and bulged. His neck sharply twisted at an unnatural angle and a segmented horn spiraled out of his other temple with a wet crunch, seeking freedom. He opened his mouth to scream, but his tongue had inflated like a blood- gorged leech, choking off his last breath of air. Kerner took his grotesque head between his hands and squeezed with all of his inhuman strength, desperate to end his suffering. “Rot in hell, you Nazi bastard!” Sophia yelled. She winced as Kerner’s eyeballs exploded from their sockets. The creature that was once Klaus Kerner sank to the burning platform, reduced to a smoldering pile of flesh and bone. All at once the lights went out, plunging the chamber into complete darkness. The stark glare of hell poured red through the windows. An ominous sound reverberated in the air: WOHHRRRRRR... The cold air vents ceased blowing and the centrifuge whirled to a stop. The bronze plate sank into the glowing lava with a sizzle as Kerner’s remains were devoured like so many of his predecessors denied godhood. There was utter, chilling silence. After untold millennia, the great Atlantean machine had finally shut down. Nobody moved or breathed in that moment of terrible uncertainty. Then the floor began to tremble, and Indy tasted the warm bile climbing up the back of his throat. 28 ATLANTIS RISING

The rumble began in a deep, faraway place—a low, soul-chilling groan that built to the ominous roar of a boulder circling some ungodly funnel. The stone guardians quivered, sloshing their molten ore on the rim of the pool with a wicked hiss. Far across the cavern, billows of glowing magma rained down the volcanic slopes as the carved fire gods explosively spewed torrents of liquid rock over the mining city. Then the windows fogged over, erasing the nightmare scene. Sophia began to sob in the darkness. Lurid red light bathed the room like a glass-walled oven as the heat began to rise. They heard a delicate crinkling noise moments before the windows exploded, showering the chamber in a blizzard of glass. Sophia’s scream was drowned by the tremendous bellow of rushing magma. Searing heat poured into the chamber. The tower shuddered violently and the lava guardians toppled in unison, shattering to pieces on the floor. The Nazis fled through the broken windowpanes, leaving their weapons behind. Indy pulled Sophia towards the door. “C’mon! We gotta get back to the ship!” She skidded over the carpet of broken glass. “We’ll never make it in time!” He dragged her outside into the raging furnace. The cavern was filled with noise. It sounded like the end of the world as the creeping shudder intensified into a sickening bellow. They heard water tearing through stone, rushing into the depressurized passages now unfortified by the artificial vacuum. “Let’s go!” Indy pulled her down the quaking staircase to the bridge. The Nazis scattered in terror. They raced across the pathways to the dark shore while the gargoyle lava pumps retched their glowing effluence into the broiling lake. On the tower above, steam billowed from the mouths of the massive god pillars while Nur-Ab-Sal cursed the fleeing trespassers with blazing eyes. Sophia looked at the bridge stretching away into infinity, the churning magma beneath it. She dug her heels into the ground in protest. “No! I can’t do this again,” she cried hopelessly. Indy took hold of her, an anchor of calm in the unfolding apocalypse. He looked into her frightened eyes. “Hey, listen to me. Think of somewhere nice that you want to be right now. Any place in the world.” “The Azores,” she rasped in the sweltering air. He smiled. “That’s right. A nice sandy beach on the cool blue water. Now keep that picture in mind, because it’s at the other end of this bridge.” Clenching her hand tightly, he led her down the stairs. “Try to breathe shallow, because we’re going to run like hell. Ready?” She squinted at the distant staircase through the blistering haze. “I think so.” “Okay, go!” Hand-in-hand, they set off running. The bridge trembled beneath them like an enraged creature. The whole world shook with the fury of the volcano awakening from its antediluvian slumber. The boiling air cooked their skin as they dashed headlong through the inferno. Here and there, luminous geysers exploded into the air as pockets of gas burst through the surface of the lake. The magma swelled higher, devouring the colossal support pillars in a tide of burning sludge. Over the constant rumble, they heard a pitched cry of terror as one of the soldiers plummeted off a pathway. Spurred by the man’s death scream, Sophia jerked free of Indy’s grip and surged ahead in panic. He tried to yell in warning, but his throat was punished by a gasp of scalding air. He ran harder, desperately trying to catch up before something bad happened. Then his worst fear materialized before his eyes. Sophia’s momentum outpaced her. She stumbled, tripping over her own feet. Indy stared in horror as she pitched forward and slid headfirst towards the edge of the bridge. Without thinking, he leaped and belly-flopped onto the crusted sulfur. Indy skidded across the griddle-hot surface with his heart lodged in his throat. He clamped his hands around her boots and stopped her fatal slalom, inches from going over the side. Hauling her up by the belt, he pulled Sophia along as they raced madly to the volcanic shoreline. By the time they reached the staircase, their clothing burned against their skin. They hit the steps running and frantically climbed towards the twin demon statues at the summit. When they reached the top, Indy threw himself on the ground and rolled over and over on the gravel to smother the intense heat that permeated his clothes. Sophia rubbed her limbs vigorously with handfuls of dirt to soothe her burning skin. Behind them, the bubbling magma continued to rise beneath the bridge, swelling higher. “Keep moving! Don’t stop!” Indy yelled hoarsely. He dragged her towards the mining road, where the glowing waterfall rained molten liquid on the ore city above them. The earth pulsed beneath their feet. The rattle of thunder filled the air, and the rain quickly followed. Everywhere, tiny red pearls pelted the ground like gleaming hailstones. Indy pulled Sophia uphill faster in panic. He knew what was coming before they saw it. As they rounded the curve to the first repository village, they were confronted by a roaring river of orichalcum. The earthquake had emptied all of the storerooms while gravity did the rest. Around the cavern, the thunderous deluge of metal poured down the hills. “Get off the road!” He dragged Sophia toward the nearest pair of buildings and shoved her deep into the alley between them. They huddled against the wall and felt the stone tremble against their backs. An instant later, the glittering flood swept past them. Orichalcum pellets ricocheted from every surface. Indy clung to her tightly while the relentless surge rocked the building, a river of copper obliterating everything in its path. If they’d been caught in the open, they would have been crushed to death in the raging torrent. Below them, the lethal sludge spilled over the volcanic shore while the avalanche raced to meet it. The bridges were submerged and the molten sea had engulfed the foundation of the colossus. The landslide gradually subsided as the ore vaults were finally emptied. Sophia coughed and waved her hands to dispel the dust that cloaked everything in a red haze. “Let’s go!” They dashed onto the road and waded uphill through ankle-deep orichalcum beads, which shifted as they plowed through them. Sophia slipped, fell, and struggled to regain her footing. “This is impossible!” she moaned piteously. “We’ll never make it to the top!” Indy suddenly had a flash vision of the U-boat crew casting off their mooring ropes and departing the air lock in a panic, leaving them stranded in the crumbling city. “Keep moving! Go! Go!” he urged, pulling her through the slushy tide. “I’m trying!” she insisted, scrambling awkwardly up the icy slope. Indy steered her towards the angular storehouses, which had deflected the beads onto the road and offered a narrow path through the treacherous debris. By the time they passed the first cluster of buildings, they were able to gain traction on the ground again. They raced around the broad funnel like a pair of Olympic runners, driven by the heat of the rising magma pressing against them. Indy didn’t look back. He knew it was coming, but he was more concerned about the volcano. It could blow at any moment, killing them instantly. That singular terror propelled him uphill faster than he’d ever run in his life. They flew up the spiral road, past a blur of ancient ore villages that ringed the fiery caldera. They were almost to the top. The end was in sight when Sophia stumbled to the dirt, gasping for breath. Indy threw on the brakes so fast that his feet shot out from under him. He scrambled back to her. He grabbed her arms, trying to pick her up. “Get up! Get up!” “I can’t,” she whimpered. “Too tired… can’t run anymore.” He clutched her tightly and screamed, “Do you want to die here?!” Tears filled her eyes. She waved him away feebly. “Just save yourself…” Cold rain spattered Indy’s neck like drops of acid. He glanced up at the concrete slab with a surge of panic. Water was beginning to seep from cracks in the ceiling above. The roof was weakening. It could all end at any moment. “Damn it, Sophia! Come on! Move!” The redhead pumped her legs weakly, sobbing while he desperately dragged her up the gravel slope. They could see the bridge a hundred yards away, shimmering in the heat like a mirage that might vanish at any moment. Sophia gazed up at the leaking stone shield and shook her head sadly. “I’m so sorry for everything...” Angered by her defeat, Indy seized her by the arms and looked her directly in the eyes. “Listen. You have a message to deliver. Remember?” Tears streamed down her heat-burned face, etched with fear and shame. “I remember,” she sniffled. “Then goddamn it do something about it.” Confronted by Indy’s stern glare and the rumbling volcano, Sophia pushed herself up determinedly and managed to stand again. She slipped her thumb into her hip pocket and felt the edge of Karl’s folded letter. She vowed to deliver it or die trying. Another spray of icy water rained over them. It was all the motivation she needed. Sophia limped towards the bridge as Indy pulled her swiftly along. Another tremor rocked the cavern. The rock span shook visibly, threatening to crumble. They moved faster, scaling the remainder of the mine road until they were back at the trailhead. “How do we get back to the airlock?” she cried in panic. “Rapid transit!” Indy said, pulling her across the shuddering span towards the tower. The dark staircase inside offered a welcome respite from the blazing furnace. They stumbled blindly up the narrow steps, bumping into the walls until they emerged at the first bridge. On the other side was the rocky ledge and the gaping tunnel carved by the Megataur. “Come on, we’re almost there!” The bridge quivered beneath them as they barreled headlong towards the cavern wall. Chunks of broken concrete pelted the walkway from above. The stone trestle heaved sideways with a massive thunder crack that spurred them on faster. Behind them, a large chunk of bridge span plummeted into the chasm. Far below, the magma had swallowed the base of the tower and was methodically devouring the ore city. There was a deafening roar as they reached the volcanic ledge, and the entire span fractured from the wall, plunging into the fiery caldera. They ran into the massive borehole and raced through the hollow pipe, deftly eclipsing the laborious pace of the drilling machine that created it. Indy pulled Sophia to the right the instant they emerged into mine cavern. As they scampered up the gravelly slope towards salvation, the volcanic rumble intensified. The monstrous excavation vehicles, which had remained still for ages, slowly began to slide as the gravel shifted like quicksand beneath them. Within seconds, it seemed that the entire world was falling apart. Piles of ancient ore disintegrated before their eyes. Loose rocks and horned statues quickly joined the escalating landslide. “Watch out!” Indy jerked her out of the way to avoid a sentry robot tumbling wildly past them. “This is a nightmare!” Sophia yelled in wide-eyed terror. He led her towards the side of the cavern, along the wall. It was the only safe path through the chaos. The noise grew deafening as the heavier pieces of machinery succumbed to gravity. An enormous ore crusher cartwheeled end over end, thundering downhill like a toy hurtled by an angry giant. The shovel-bladed excavator followed next, plowing a shower of rocks across the cavern on its nose-first slew to the bottom. Sophia screamed as the gravel fusillade peppered them like bullets, but Indy pressed on towards the gauzy lights at the summit. Keep moving, keep moving. We’re almost there. He ignored the choking dust, the cataclysmic roar of the tumbling machines, the sweltering heat and the strain of his aching body struggling uphill against the shaking earth. Throughout everything, he didn’t let go of Sophia. She was a part of him, inextricably joined to his being. They would both share the same fate, regardless of what happened. Either they would make it out together, or die trying. The bleaker outcome vanished when they finally staggered onto the concrete pad at the top of the slope. They leapt into the subway track and raced down the tunnel. They burst from the passage at full speed. The Atlantean train sat crouched like a sphinx, sleek and gleaming in the fluttering lamp coils along the platform. As they ran to the bronze mask at the front of the car, Indy prayed that it still worked. Sophia fished a handful of orichalcum from her pocket. “Is this enough?!” Indy dumped the fuel pellets into the gaping mouth. “I hope so, or this is gonna be a real short trip!” The vehicle shuddered to life with a whirring sound. Its headlamp glared brightly. They climbed aboard quickly. Indy slid into the control seat. “Sit down and hold onto something, ‘cause we’re getting the hell outta here!” Sophia wedged herself in the front bench. “You never told me that archaeology was this exciting!” “And spoil the surprise?” He pushed a button on the dashboard. Slim translucent panels rose from the floor to enclose the passenger compartment. Indy pulled back on the yoke. The train lurched into motion with startling speed, plastering them against their seats. “Ooh!” Sophia exclaimed as they flew into the tunnel. The subway platform instantly shrank to a glowing dot behind them. The Atlantean Zephyr hurtled down the track like a megalithic bullet. The thin glow strips merged into a flickering sheet of light as they rocketed through the tunnel. The speed and continuous illumination produced an exhilarating sense of weightlessness. Indy peered out the window ahead. The headlamp revealed a dizzying blur of cobweb-streaked stone. The tunnel dropped perceptibly. Inertia drew the passengers sharply to the left. Indy gasped in amazement. His stomach felt as if it had been ripped from his body and thrown a mile. Outside, the concrete flashed by at a blistering rate while the car hugged the track with magnetic precision, veering tightly along its trajectory. Judging by gravity, Indy had the impression that the vehicle was traveling along a broad curve which spiraled outward from the middle of the city. The lights flickered erratically when a deep tremor rocked the tunnel. The car shuddered, and Sophia screamed as they were plunged into complete blackness. Indy was shocked to suddenly find himself rocketing blindly through the dark while the world was coming apart around them. “Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God...” Sophia moaned with rising panic. Another jolt ravaged the tunnel. The lights blinked on again just in time to see a jagged crack suture the concrete ahead, circumcising the passage. The taste of bile soured Indy’s throat as they flew towards the broken floor. Their escape would come to an abrupt end if the speeding car snagged the ledge. Sophia clutched the back of his chair with a white-knuckled death grip as they hurtled furiously towards the misaligned gap. Indy squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself. Luck was with them. The train shot through the fractured ring with a mild jolt and the briefest rasp of grinding stone before continuing on their adrenaline-soaked race to freedom. Indy couldn’t believe it. They were still alive! Sophia clasped his shoulders with joy. “We made it! We made it!” she cheered. Within moments, gravity relinquished its grip on them. Indy sensed the tunnel rising again. The track straightened out and the car leveled off. Directly ahead, a splotch of light appeared in the distance; their headlamp projecting against a wall of rusty metal. Indy’s blood ran cold. The tunnel was blocked. “The door!” Sophia cried in alarm. “Put on the brakes!” The blurry spot narrowed into a sharply-defined disc as they flew towards oblivion. Indy gripped the controls in horror. They were moving too fast and there was no way to stop. Their string of miracles was used up. It was time to cash in their chips. He reached up and clenched Sophia’s hand on his shoulder, comforting her. If it was the last thing he ever felt in this world, Indy had no regrets. The wall flew towards them. Sophia screamed. Indy tensed. Just when doom seemed inevitable, a sliver of heaven-sent light split the onrushing wall. The light expanded, moving downward like a sheet of falling water. Sophia squeezed his arm in panic, terrified they would crash into the metal barrier before it cleared the mouth of the tunnel. Indy sucked in his final breath, waiting for the impact. But in a perfect feat of synchronization, the ancient bronze gate disappeared into the floor with seconds to spare. The train burst from the subway tube into the airlock. Indy jammed the control stick forward and the Zephyr settled heavily into the trench. U-boat crewmen scattered in alarm as the car pulverized the wooden crates that were piled along the track. On the row behind Sophia, the skeletal commuter clattered to pieces against her bench as the train rumbled to a stop only a few yards short of the avalanche that blocked the opposite tunnel. The window panels receded into the floor of the car. Indy jumped to the ground and yanked Sophia out like a rag doll. “Who in the hell gave you a driver’s license?” she fumed angrily. “Can it, sweetheart, we’re getting out of here!” The chamber was a scene of panic. Shouting crewmen ran helter-skelter through the air lock. Evidently they had arrived only moments ahead of the volcanic shockwave that radiated across the city. In the harbor, the U-boat rolled from side to side as water sloshed over the pier and spilled across the quaking platform. Chunks of broken stone fell from the ceiling. The archway splintered like glass. The lights fizzled and blinked out. They dashed up the stairs to the platform. “Get onboard! This whole place is coming down!” Indy hollered. “Raus! Raus!” Captain Wilhelm frantically beckoned his men up the gangplank of the wallowing ship. The panicked crew scrambled into the conning tower while two sailors quickly freed the mooring ropes that secured the ship to the dock. “Captain, let’s get the hell outta here!” Wilhelm was baffled by Indy’s presence. “Another American? Where did you come from?” “He’s my guide,” Sophia explained quickly. The last two sailors rushed past them up the swaying plank. “I’m a stowaway,” Indy confessed anxiously while the submarine tilted like a buoy in the choppy tumult. “Where are Kerner and the others?” “They’re all dead, and so are we unless we get out of here, fast!” The klieg lamp toppled over with a loud crash. Wilhelm’s men shoved the light overboard, hurriedly sealed the aft hatch, and ran for the conning tower. The captain accepted the news with a succinct nod. “Good riddance. One less piece of Nazi trash polluting Germany,” he said, urging them aboard. The rumble intensified in the cavern. Pieces of dislodged stone clanged off the hull and splashed into the channel. Indy helped Wilhelm disconnect the ramp while Sophia scaled the tower. Above the ship, the transparent membrane buckled grotesquely under the weight of the ocean. Indy shoved Wilhelm towards the ladder. “Go! Go!” They scrambled madly up the bridge after Sophia had disappeared inside. Halfway up, Indy was mortified to see a ragged red glow split the darkened cavern like a knife wound. Steam filled the air with a wicked hiss as gushing lava met the ice cold seawater pouring down the stairs. The hellish fog obscured the ravaged chamber, but nobody was watching anymore. Wilhelm dove for the hatch. Indy practically dropped onto the captain’s head as he quickly followed. The ship was already in motion when the brim of his fedora caught the hatch lid just as Indy was pulling it shut. The hat tumbled across the bridge as the U-boat reeled violently sideways. Indy froze in horror while his hat balanced precariously on the edge, teetering over the rising water that was rapidly engulfing the ship. “Close the hatch now!” Wilhelm screamed from below. Indy froze with indecision, torn between sentiment and survival. Once the lid was shut, his treasured hat would be lost forever. Fighting every instinct of self-preservation, he sprang out and deftly snatched up his hat just as the swirling tide wet the brim. He slipped back inside the tower and slammed the iron cover shut as water sloshed over the bridge. Indy dropped the fedora down the well and frantically twisted the handwheel to lock the pressure hatch. “We’re clear to dive!” he yelled to Wilhelm, staring up from the control room below. “Dive stations! Flood buoyancy tanks! All engines full reverse!” Indy slid down the ladder like a fireman and hit the metal floor plates with a thud. Sophia wore a malicious glare. She mashed his damp fedora onto his head. “Don’t ever do that again.” “Thanks,” he grinned breathlessly, still shaken by their narrow escape. “Get out of the way!” Wilhelm pushed them both against the wall to avoid the stream of human traffic. The control room was a hive of chaos. Frantic crewmen hustled back and forth while the commander issued a rapid string of orders. Almost immediately, the ship began to move. The planesmen and helmsman coordinated their efforts with manic precision to maneuver the vessel safely out of the air lock. Wilhelm brushed past Indy and hurried forward to the bow. “We’d better find a seat,” he told Sophia. They rushed to the viewing deck just in time to see the harbor wall drifting past the windows. Moments later, the moldy cyclopean blocks disappeared in a storm of vented air bubbles that masked their passage into the open sea. The Orogeny turned away from the cavern and slowly began to rise above the muddy plateau. Indy collapsed in the nearest bunk, exhausted. He was bruised, burned, and filthy. His entire body ached, and he just wanted to sleep. The steady rumble of the motors coaxed his heavy eyelids shut. Sophia slumped beside him, feeling equally miserable. Her clothes were muddy and reeked of sulfur. She laid her head against his shoulder with a weary sigh, and closed her eyes. But they didn’t rest for long. The U-boat suddenly rolled sideways, punched broadside by an explosive force that struck the ship like a speeding locomotive. Everyone was hurtled against the wall. The alarm klaxon screamed. Red lights flashed. Shouts of terror echoed through the ship. Unbeknownst to all, their departure had weakened the pressure seal, which collapsed, forcing the air out as the sea rushed into the cavern like a knife piercing a balloon. Indy clung to Sophia, blinking the kaleidoscope of stars from his vision. His head had struck the steel wall. Only his felt hat spared him from a concussion. Amidst the chaos, Wilhelm groped for the radio phone. “Hard left rudder, steer one-eighty! Bow planes and stern planes up thirty degrees! Motors all ahead full!” The ship gradually righted itself in the ebb of the shockwave. After a few uncertain moments, it turned and nosed upward, climbing laboriously along the muddy canyon wall. “Hold onto something.” The captain planted his boots firmly against the support girders. They braced themselves as the angle increased. Gravity swept away every loose item that wasn’t bolted down. The phonograph slid backwards, crashing against the aft bulkhead. The cacophony of tumbling debris sounded like an avalanche in the tilted vessel. The glow of an aquatic sunrise flooded the observation deck when the U-boat crested over the sunken plateau. Far away, the mighty volcano was alight. Scarlet flashes stunned the amethyst water. Smoke billowed from the summit. Glowing veins of lava trickled like wax down the peak. Wilhelm ordered the ship trimmed and the Orogeny leveled off. They stared in rapt silence as the fiery mountain illuminated the horrific spectacle below. Silt billowed from the shuddering monuments, obscuring the wondrous columns as they toppled onto the broad avenues of Atlantis. Pyramids shed their crystal skin while moldy stone blocks tumbled into the spongy sediment. Across the city, pockets of long-trapped air exploded from the shattered structures, boiling upwards through the water in silvery fountains. The shimmery columns appeared to suspend the pyramid-jeweled plateau above the seabed like chains holding a magnificent chandelier. Indy was accustomed to seeing a solitary pyramid or two, but the sprawling metropolis of angular structures was an alien landscape, a civilization from another world. It was like nothing he’d ever imagined. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the realization that he was looking at the lost city of Atlantis: no longer a fable, but a legend in stone. It was real. He felt a poignant sadness. The city looked delicate and fragile in the icy blue water, like a sculpture frozen in time. He was reminded of Sophia’s crystal paperweight. The enchanting sight existed for a few fleeting moments until the clouds of rising sediment obscured the crumbling ruins. Unable to watch anymore, Sophia buried her face against his chest. “What happened down there?” Wilhelm’s voice was filled with remarkable calm. Indy met his gaze. “Kerner overloaded the power plant. It shut down and the vacuum failed.” The captain was unremorseful. “Crazy bastard.” Wilhelm keyed the radio and gave the order to ascend. The U-boat’s engines growled determinedly, straining to lift the Orogeny in the dense pressure. Sophia sobbed quietly. Indy eased her back onto the bench. He put his arm around her comfortingly. The submarine began to rise in a slow spiral that carried them away from the erupting volcano. Within moments, Atlantis shrank into the darkness forever. Indy noted with significance that there wasn’t a single SS soldier aboard the sub, nor even a pellet of the orichalcum they had harvested from the mines. The Nazis had perished in their arrogance and greed, exactly like the Atlanteans they claimed ancestry from. But he took no satisfaction in the grim synchronicity. Too many lives had been lost in their insatiable quest for power, and Indy had a disturbing feeling that it wasn’t over yet. Everything was going to change soon. Suddenly a white flash streaked past the darkened window, startling him from his reverie. He gazed out into the blackness and saw a glowing apparition flying alongside the submarine. Indy blinked in disbelief. He thought fatigue was causing him to hallucinate. The luminous being was flat and aerodynamic, gliding through the water with a broad set of wings. Its beady eyes reflected an infinite sense of calm. It was an angel. An angel of the deep. “Indy, look,” Sophia whispered urgently. “I see it.” The angel, he realized, was a giant manta ray, glowing with pearly incandescence. “It’s so beautiful…” She watched in serene wonder, finally at peace with herself. Indy waved at the creature in silent appreciation. He knew that the manta was the aquatic form of his guardian eagle, his eternal protector which always appeared to reassure him that he was on the right path. The ray acknowledged him with a graceful flap of its wings, then flew ahead of the ship, leading them towards the faint sparkle of sunlight that beckoned them back to the world above. EPILOGUE

The Sea of Crete

The ocean heaved, swelled, and erupted in a cascade of roiling foam. The Orogeny burst through the surface and settled heavily in the water. Salt spray gushed through the ballast vents and hissed over its bulbous iron flanks. The U-41 rolled in the current, shedding its liquid skin with each powerful swell. The tumult gradually subsided, and everything was calm. Dark waves lapped against the dented prow of the German submarine before lapsing into the eternal rhythm of the sea once more. The hatch clanged open and Indy climbed onto the conning tower. He reached back and helped Sophia to the bridge. They squinted in the sudden brightness after their lengthy subterranean foray. It was evening. A cool breeze gusted across the sub’s glistening deck. Gauzy steel clouds smeared the pale western sky. They breathed deeply, savoring the fresh air and the vastness of the open sea. It was like they had a new lease on life. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Sophia sighed with contentment. Indy agreed. Then a booming rumble echoed across the water, drawing their attention to the north. Miles away, the sea boiled like lead. Plumes of dark smoke erupted from the churning waves. Staring over the conning rail in silence, they watched the pyroclastic geyser blast upward in a towering pillar of ash. As the column of smoke rose into the sky, it appeared to form the shape of a mighty arm corded in thick, billowing muscles and topped by a clenched fist. Indy imagined that it was Poseidon, punching the sky in rage for the destruction of his kingdom. However, the ancient sea god’s wrath merely lifted the U-boat on a subsident ripple that radiated across the sea from the volcano erupting far below. Indy stood with Sophia, observing the awesome spectacle until the last vestiges of thermal smoke dissipated in the fading sunlight. “You were right. It all started here,” he said quietly. The psychic regarded him with gleaming eyes. “So you really do believe this was Atlantis?” He nodded and then paused in reflection. “I think Atlantis was the ancient name of our planet.” Sophia was astonished as the implications dawned on her. “That means… we’re all Atlanteans. Every one of us. The whole human race. My God, what are we going to tell people?” “Let’s not upset the apple cart,” he said gently, trying to reason with her. “But we can’t keep this a secret! The world has to know about it!” “If this ever came out, it would change everything: history, religion, entire belief systems...” She nodded sadly, accepting the truth. She knew he was right. “It’s just easier to call Atlantis a myth, isn’t it?” His expression was tinged with irony. “Yeah. I guess it’s just not in the cards.” They gazed across the rosy water, lost in thought for awhile. “Maybe I’ll write a book about this someday,” Sophia mused aloud. “You’ll have to publish it as fiction.” She uttered a short laugh. “Yeah, I suppose. But a good story should stretch the imagination. Nobody knew that better than Plato.” A beat passed in silence while they listened to the waves lap against the submarine. “What would you call it?” Indy asked her, suddenly curious. She thought for a moment, and then a wry smile brightened her face. “Indiana Jones and the Fate of Atlantis.” He grimaced. “Sounds like a pulp novel.” Sophia shrugged. “Maybe it is.” Indy mulled over the idea. “It might be a good story, but it needs a happier ending.” The redhead smiled. “How about this one?” She reached up, traced the scar on his chin with her thumb, then cupped Indy’s face in her hands and kissed him tenderly. They embraced. Indy savored her soft touch, the closeness of their bodies, and the crash of the rolling sea. Sophia Hapgood bent her knee, raising one foot behind her in girlish ecstasy. “Much better,” he said when they finally separated again. “Let’s go home, Henry.” Indiana Jones tugged the brim of his hat in farewell as the last glimpse of sunlight warmed their skin. The ball of fire settled into the lapis water, leaving a creamy tapestry of rose-tinted clouds on the horizon. Day faded into blackness and the stars began to appear. As a chill wind swept the dark sea over the ruins of Atlantis, Indy knew that the lost city would remain a mystery sought after by mankind for all eternity, tantalizingly just out of reach. So close, and yet so far away… AFTERWORD

A Novel Idea

The LucasArts logo materializes out of the blackness with a somber quartet of notes, a hair- raising preamble which stokes the thrill of tackling an unfathomably ancient mystery with the world’s greatest explorer—Indiana Jones. The story, conceived with such bold imagination by Hal Barwood and Noah Falstein, far exceeded the scope of the digital medium which I first experienced Fate of Atlantis on a clunky Compaq Presario back in 1994. The game was an epiphany, like watching a lost Indy movie framed by my computer screen. It is positively cinematic, dripping with atmosphere, and so intriguingly labyrinthine that I wanted to crawl into the screen and explore that glowing world for myself. This magnificent story practically begged for a literary interpretation. I was absolutely convinced of this from the day that I first completed the game, burning with desire to read such a book should it magically appear in my hands, until the fateful morning of June 15 th, 2009 when a single line of text flashed through my mind: Indiana Jones crawled through the narrow tunnel, aiming a thick electric flashlight into the darkness. The light bulb of inspiration didn’t simply glow above my head—it exploded. I was immediately thrilled and terrified. Thrilled by the prospect of writing an Indiana Jones story after vowing I never would (Who could measure up to the sterling talent of Rob MacGregor and Max McCoy?); Terrified at the sheer scale of the project. Fate of Atlantis is a certified graphic adventure classic, celebrated by gamers everywhere. How in the world could I ever do it? I wondered as I feverishly jotted the line on a scrap of paper while sitting in traffic. Between the red light and the next intersection, my brain kicked out the first ambitious paragraph of a story that would take more than three years to complete.

Good luck, fellow believers!

From pixel to paper, writing Fate of Atlantis was an adventure unto itself. Once the ball started rolling (pun intended!), it refused to stop. The first week was an adrenaline-fueled blaze of creative euphoria. The words effortlessly poured from my fingertips as if I were channeling Rob MacGregor himself. A natural perfectionist and merciless self-critic, I was amazed by the quality of my writing. After completing the prologue at lightning pace, I went into the first chapter unsure of how to make the story work. It was at the alley beside the theater in New York where I caught myself stubbornly pantomiming the on-screen action, and realized that I had to break loose from the limits of the game. I refused to trap myself into penning a glorified walkthrough under the guise of a novelization. I had to re-imagine Fate of Atlantis for the written word. Like Francis Ford Coppola’s adaption of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, I knew the classic tale would benefit from a suitably exciting retelling in a contemporary way, while remaining faithful to the source material. My goal was to exceed the expectations of the game’s legions of devoted fans, beginning with myself. I couldn’t skimp on the details for the sake of brevity. I had to tell the whole story with complete honesty and realism. Anything that didn’t ring true would be discarded until the narrative perfectly matched the tone of the epic game and the blockbuster movies which inspired it. Early on, Rob MacGregor asked me how closely I was following the original scenario. The celebrated Indiana Jones author had never played the game before, and I was more than happy to share my strategy. I explained that I was painting the story in broad strokes, using the locations, characters, and some key dialogue, but it was necessary to expand the action. Being a vintage point & click adventure, most of the locales in Fate of Atlantis are static and eerily devoid of characters (due to the technological limitations of computer programming in the early 90’s). The game’s strength lies in the compelling storyline, interesting characters, and vibrant scenery, but its pace is abysmally languid. To remedy this, I approached each location like a completely new adventure, supplementing the plot with an action set piece to match the cinematic thrill of the movies.

Location, Location, Location

Writing a novel is like a movie production where one person does everything, from casting, wardrobe, and set design to directing, editing, and special effects. But the written world is all about location, the more convincing the better. Fate of Atlantis is a rare gaming experience where each locale is a visual treat to behold: a vibrant, richly-detailed feast for the eyes. The velvet-smooth atmospheric scenery evokes an eerily realistic world that is completely immersive, utterly engaging, and best played in the dark in order to be fully appreciated. As a writer, I strived to bring the screen to the page in a seamless transition that captures the digital grandeur achieved by the LucasArts design team. In a story based on actual historic places, an author draws from experience, research, and imagination. Fate of Atlantis challenged me to capture the essence of exotic places that, regrettably, I’ve never visited before. Hours of research into countless books and websites was required to bring each location of this period story to life, from Iceland and Central America to Algeria and the Mediterranean. Atlantis was much easier by comparison since it has no historical records to study. Screenshots from the game provided the necessary inspiration to build this mysterious world. Based on the concept of orichalcum as an energy source and the scores of eerie malformed skeletons littering the place, I determined that Atlantis was a nuclear empire where the ancients pioneered (or perhaps inherited) the ability to split the atom to power the God Machine at the heart of their volcanic city. The interesting challenge was showing the characters’ perception of a technology that barely existed in their time. In 1939, the Manhattan Project—the top-secret U.S. atomic research program at Los Alamos, New Mexico—hadn’t even been conceived of yet. The general population had never heard of nuclear fission, atomic energy, and radiation, nor seen the corresponding symbols which baffle Indy and Sophia yet make perfect sense to Hans Übermann. So I felt that a sense of thoughtful naiveté was appropriate. Hidden in Plain Sight

When you’ve watched a movie (or played a computer game) literally thousands of times, familiarity tends to narrow your focus so that you lose sight of the bigger picture; you stare at the screen so close that you become blind to the obvious. Approaching the game from a literary perspective was like playing Fate of Atlantis for the very first time. A fresh-eyed look at those classic scenes revealed a myriad of surprisingly blatant details which I strived to present faithfully in the novelization. For example: Why is Charles Sternhart excavating a massive pyramid in Tikal alone? Real world archaeological digs require dozens of people with a variety of purposes, from unearthing the ruin to documenting the relics found there. The practicality of storytelling required a plausible explanation for the deserted site. That was an easy solution: Sternhart’s workers joined the local hurricane recovery effort, leaving the solo archaeologist precisely as our heroes find him in the game. The Algerian sequence provided another narrative hurdle. Indy, without a reliable map or a guide, must scour the Sahara Desert in search of the German dig site. Those pesky legionnaires are easily bribed if one has the right valuables to bargain with, but armed Nazi patrol guards can’t be persuaded by anything short of violence. A realistic solution was met with assistance from a knowledgeable Tuareg warrior, only one roving Arab soldier stopping our weary heroes, and a few Kübelwagens running security around the remote Nazi encampment. But the biggest challenge, by far, was Atlantis: Kerner and his troops disembark the U- boat and kidnap Sophia right out from under Indy’s nose in the pitch-black airlock, march across the rubble-strewn chamber in complete silence, and enter the city through a metal door requiring a precision alignment of stone disks to unlock. Bear in mind that all of this action occurs in a matter of seconds onscreen, in complete darkness, without a single word of exposition. Piece of cake, right? Only ten pages were required to neatly establish the Nazi’s mission strategy and paint the setting for Indy to explore the vacant labyrinth of Atlantis policed by wandering SS troops. Other details jumped out with surprising force, such as the expansive orichalcum plant in the machine room. A few hundred plays tends to erase the fact that this convoluted, slumbering device is, in fact, a Mayan pyramid built indoors. I was absolutely gob-smacked the day it finally occurred to me. The hulking machine is another problem. It’s a house-sized tank made of stone, and its presence goes completely unexplained. Why is this rock-drilling monstrosity parked on the inner ring of Atlantis? What was it used for in ancient times? The obvious solution was an excavator for mining orichalcum, and it seemed logical in the context of the story.

Sophia Hapgood: Psychic or Psychotic?

As a gamer, I always felt that Sophia displayed an incredible lack of enthusiasm for a person who is finally realizing their lifelong dream, not to mention the greatest discovery of all time. In keeping true-to-character, I found it amusing to portray her as a reluctant tourist having an interminably bad vacation. Sophia really doesn’t want to visit all the places that hold clues to her Atlantean quest until she is confronted with the proof. Then she revels in the thrill of discovery. Personality-wise, she emerged on paper similar to actress Nancy Kelly (Tarzan’s Desert Mystery), a tough 1940’s screen vixen with a contemporary attitude. While outwardly cynical, Sophia is spiritually sensitive and cares deeply for others. This emotional affinity is the flip-side of her psychic abilities, making her a more sympathetic character than her digital counterpart. Although her ideas may seem flaky, they were shared by many respected scholars in the 19th and early Twentieth century. Lewis Spence believed that the pyramid-building cultures of Central America and Egypt were colonies of Atlantis, the ancient fountainhead of mankind. Other adherents to this theory include Erich Von Däniken, author of the revolutionary Chariots of the Gods, and Ignatius Donnelley, widely considered the father of Atlantology. On an interesting footnote, our fiery heroine’s name is an amalgamation of two historical people: Sophia Engastromenos, the Greek wife of archaeologist Heinrich Schliemann, discoverer of the city of Troy; and Charles Hapgood, the Harvard professor who pioneered the theory of a global Pole Shift responsible for the disappearance of Atlantis in Maps of the Ancient Sea Kings.

Axis and Allies

A universal tenet of the movie adaption is that what works on paper doesn’t always work onscreen, and vice-versa. Indy and Sophia travel a world rich with memorable characters but they always tough it alone, without help or hindrance. Developing a practical storyline from the computer game meant reasoning through every scene with logic and motivation. How far can Indy go before he needs help? What happens when he doesn’t know the answer? Who stands in the way of his goal? The singular revelation that emerged from this thought process was the appalling lack of drama in Fate of Atlantis. The Nazis are a grim reminder of what humanity is capable of at its worst, and their leader is the very embodiment of that evil: a remorseless killer who carries out cold-blooded executions with the tedium of scratching an itch. Klaus Kerner threatens Indy at the beginning of the story only to disappear until halfway through the game when he kidnaps Sophia on Crete. Aside from a brief laboratory scene where the Germans discover the nuclear potential of orichalcum, Indy and Sophia seek Atlantis unchallenged, pausing occasionally to muse on the Nazis’ progress. It became obvious that a more immediate danger was required to drive our heroes on besides the subdued threat of Nazis exploiting the Atlantean mineral for world conquest. Torsten and Karl, a team of relentless German agents out to acquire Sophia’s necklace, provided the motivation for Indy to stay one step ahead of the Nazis, while adversaries like Charles Sternhart and Omar Al-Jabbar became much nastier than they appear in the game. In the real world, great quests are seldom accomplished without the help of others. Even for an adventurer as resourceful as Indiana Jones, it would be impossible (and unrealistic) to solve every puzzle single-handedly. As they travel the globe searching for Atlantis, Indy and Sophia discover friends in the most unlikely places. Marcus Brody uncovers a crucial clue at home, while Sophia’s life is spared by Abdul, a mysterious nomad who leads them to an indispensable relic in the desert. On Crete, a local girl reveals a secret hidden in the ruins of Knossos that would be impossible to find otherwise. These new characters developed in the natural course of the story, each helping to bring our heroes one step closer to Atlantis. ESC

The first time I completed Fate of Atlantis, more than a decade ago, I remarked in a burst of juvenile zeal (and I literally said this verbatim): “Rob MacGregor should write a novelization of the game!” That wish, spoken in a time when I had neither the skill nor confidence to tackle such an ambitious project, is now a reality, and I’d like to think that Rob’s version would have been something like mine.

— Dale Dassel June 2012

DALE DASSEL has been a devoted Indiana Jones fan since he first saw Raiders of the Lost Ark in the mid-1980’s. A life-long writer, Fate of Atlantis marks his first foray into the adventure genre. When he is not writing, Dale’s interests include reading, movies and silent films, ancient earth mysteries, World War II history, antiques and vintage Americana, building scale models, and sport whipcracking.