Raiders Of the Lost Ark

tory?'

Indy nodded and glanced first at Marion, then at Marcus Brody.

Brody said, 'I don't understand yet why the mu­seum can't have the Ark.'

'It's someplace very safe,' Eaton said evasively.

'That's a powerful force,' Indy told him. 'It has to be understood. Analyzed. It isn't some game, you know.'

Musgrove nodded. 'We have our top men working on it right now.'

'Name them,' Indy said.

'For security reasons I can't.'

'The Ark was slated for the museum. You agreed to that. Now you give us some crap about top men. Brody there-he's one of the best men in this whole field. Why doesn't he get a chance to work with your top men?'

'Indy,' Brody said. 'Leave it. Drop it.'

'I won't,' Indy said. 'This whole affair cost me my favorite hat, for openers.'

'I assure you, Jones, that the Ark is well protected. And its power-if we can accept your description of it-will be analyzed in due course.'

'Due course,' Indy said. 'You remind me of letters I get from my lawyers.'

'Look,' Brody said, sounding strained, 'all we want is the Ark for the museum. We want some reas­surances, too, that no lasting damage will be done to it while in your possession-'

'You have them,' Eaton said. 'As for the Ark go­ing to your museum, I'm afraid we will have to re­think our position.'

A silence. A clock ticking. The faceless bureaucrat fiddled with his cuff links.

Indy said quietly, finally, 'You don't know what you're sitting on, do you?'

He rose and helped Marion out of her chair.

'We'll be in touch, of course,' Eaton said. 'It was good of you to come. Your services are appreciated.'

Outside in the warm sunlight, Marion took Indy's arm. Brody shuffled along beside them. Marion said, 'Well, they aren't going to tell you anything, so maybe you should forget all about the Ark and get on with your life, Jones.'

Indy glanced at Brody. He knew he had been tricked out of something that should have been his.

Brody said, 'I guess they have their own good rea­sons for holding on to the Ark. It's a bitter disappoint­ ment, though.'

Marion stopped, raised her leg and scratched her heel a moment. She said to Indy, 'Put your mind on something else for a change.'

'Like what?'

'Like this,' she said, and kissed him.

'It's not the Ark,' he said and smiled. 'But it'll have to do.'

The wooden crate was stenciled on the side: top se­cret, ARMY INTELL, 9906753, DO NOT OPEN. It Sat

on a dolly, which the warehouseman pushed in front of him. He hardly paid any attention to the crate. His was a world filled with such crates, all of them mean-inglessly stenciled. Numbers, numbers, secret codes. He had become more than immune to these hiero­glyphics. He looked forward only to his weekly check. He was old, stooped, and very few things in life en­grossed him. Certainly none of these crates did. There were hundreds of them filling the warehouse and he had no curiosity about any of them. Nobody did, it seemed. As far as he could tell nobody ever bothered to open any of them anyhow. They were stacked and left to pile up, rising from floor to ceiling. Crates and crates, hundreds and hundreds of the things. Gather­ing dust, getting cobwebbed. The man pushed his dolly and sighed. What difference did another crate make now? He found a space for it, slipped it in place, then he paused and stuck a finger in his ear, shaking the finger vigorously. Damn, he thought. He'd have to get his hearing checked.

He was convinced he'd heard a low humming noise.