Atlantis

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 and Jens, for the German
translations; Jaimee Comstock-Skipp, vintage fashion consultant
and Arabic antiquarian 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; Martin Schlierkamp and
Norman Eschenfelder, for promoting my novel to Indy fans in
Europe, and finally Christian Guldager, the most brilliant and
talented artist outside of 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. Unfortunately he didn’t have his leather jacket for protection.
Indy 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 inky 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. The batteries were almost depleted, but he hoped that
they would hold out long enough for him 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.
Indy 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, blondhaired
stranger with the indeterminate accent waiting much longer.
“Not yet,” he called back over his shoulder.

DALE DASSEL
“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 that was nearly ten feet wide, and
maybe three times as long, with thick wooden beams that crossed
the ceiling high overhead. Dusty shelves lined the walls of the
chamber. 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
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INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 identification medium of
shape, commanding his eye to respond only to anything that had
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. His breath caught in his throat as he spied the
statue on the top shelf, nestled between a chipped funeral urn and a
shallow clay bowl whose rim was 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 open
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; A blend of disparate
cultural influences, although he couldn’t say which ones. He
rubbed his thumb over the crust of corrosion that ringed the seam
where the two halves of 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 inner workings, he’d
momentarily 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 hurry back if you value your friend’s
life,” he taunted.
3

DALE DASSEL
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 main problem was that he didn’t have
any weapons handy, and the size of the tunnel made it difficult for
Indy to spring out and catch the gunman off-guard. Maybe if he
threw the statue on the floor, the distraction might buy him enough
time to take him down. 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, the end of the passage was coming up fast. 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 what he didn’t
understand was why the Nazis were so interested in a worthless
copper statue.
“For goodness sake, Indy, 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
can’t even begin to imagine the power in this relic, Doktor. It
belonged to an empire of supreme technological power, a military
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
sovereignty which ruled every nation at the dawn of history. Now
we will harness that power for the Fatherland, and fulfill our
ultimate destiny as the rulers of the free world.”
Indy made an effort not to roll his eyes at the Nazi 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
5

DALE DASSEL
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 said, pointing
after the thief.
Indy ran outside and quickly surveyed the lush campus mall,
but Smith was nowhere in sight. It was no use for him to keep
running, because the Nazi was long gone. The chase was over.
“Damn it!” Indy ambled back to the front 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
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 who went into archaeology to rebel against her
parents. They expected her to be a social butterfly, or something.
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,” Indy 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 back to Boston 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.”
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DALE DASSEL
“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.”
8

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 once 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. Unless he was mistaken it was
Friday night in the heart of Manhattan’s theater district, but the
electric tiara proclaiming Sophia’s greatness illuminated an utterly
empty sidewalk. Indy felt a pang of regret, and hoped that Sophia
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?”

DALE DASSEL
The cashier looked up in surprise, having been absorbed in her
work. “I’m sorry sir, the show’s sold out,” the teenager apologized
in a thick Bronx accent made worse by the piece of gum that she
was chewing.
“You’re kidding,” he flinched.
The girl shook her head. “No seats, no standing room, no
exceptions.”
“Thanks a lot,” he said, tipping his fedora at the ticket girl.
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 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, as expected. A buzzing lightbulb 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
brick wall, passing a nearby window on its way to the roof. Indy
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.
Indy twisted the handle several times, but it was bolted securely
shut, as he’d expected. He was about to make for the ladder when
the door swung open, and Indy was confronted by a heavy bouncer
who looked like a Cro-Magnon in a tuxedo. The man squinted into
the darkness with a set of small, beady eyes, jutting out a wide
lantern jaw stained by a gritty twelve o’clock shadow. His
overstuffed suit jacket stretched tightly across his chest, barely
containing his massive girth. The buttons were pulled so tight Indy
thought they might pop like a balloon. A comically small red
bowtie added a touch of forced elegance to the brute’s ensemble.
The guard scowled at him. “Whadda ya 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 balled his hand into a meaty fist,
threatening Indy’s face. “Now hit the bricks!”
He didn’t have time to argue with this Darwinian nightmare.
Indy slammed the guard’s teeth together with a piston-like
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INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
uppercut to the jaw, and the goon 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 kneelength
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
slender 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 the redhead spun a hackneyed
yarn of pseudo-history that sounded like something pilfered from a
dime novel. But 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.
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DALE DASSEL
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 guy’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
scratched 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 bedsheet 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 changed, 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
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INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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.
Out in the auditorium, the Nazis mounted the stage, creeping
along 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 high-pitched wail, its rope blazing around the wheels of an
ancient pulley. He released his grip on the line and watched the
counterfeit spirit 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 Biff let out a bellow of
outrage, spying his escaped quarry from the catwalk above. They
both looked up as the tuxedo-clad thug began to climb over the
railing. Then Sophia’s ghost was miraculously re-animated as he
dropped from the catwalk and came down on the same line Indy
had used. His three-hundred-pound girth pulled the rope taut, and
the fluttering mass of rags shot into the rafters and shattered an arc
lamp, bursting into flames. The crowd was on its feet now. They
5

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were getting more action than they had paid for tonight.
Meanwhile, the Nazis recovered from their surprise and charged
across the stage. The livid bouncer lumbered toward Indy 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 at the top of his lungs.
Then the four men collided, and all hell broke loose.
Indy ducked as the burly doorman plowed into him, using the
man’s 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 body. Indy collared the Nazi with a powerful right hook
that sent him back to the wood. He was about to hit 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 leg with an angry growl 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
swore, pummeling Indy’s body with cannonball fists.
Indy gritted his teeth in pain, twisted and thrashed, struggling to
get away. The fight was not going well. Then Biff grabbed the
professor’s 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 usher finally managed to pull himself free of the doorman’s
bulk. 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 from
strangling Indiana Jones to regard the Nazis in surprise. “You want
a piece of me, too? Come and get it!” He shoved Indy away
roughly as the men came forward. Gagging for breath, Indy
quickly loosened his tie and wobbled unsteadily to his feet. Spots
danced before his eyes. The remaining Nazi drew a compact pistol
from his jacket and pointed it at Indy while Biff picked up the first
soldier and tossed him off the stage like a sack of rice.
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. Indy quickly seized the moment.
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
He dove forward, catching the German around the legs. They hit
the floor together and grappled for control of the gun. The assassin
fought in total silence, exhibiting a steely lack of emotion. In fact,
Indy realized that neither of the foreigners had uttered a word since
the brawl first commenced.
“What’s wrong, you guys forget how to talk?” He repeated
himself in German for his opponent’s benefit. “Habt ihr Typen
vergessen, wie man spricht?”
Enraged by the taunt, the soldier threw a vicious punch at his
face. 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, grabbing him by the lapels of his jacket,
and stared nose-to-nose at him. “Hey, what are you, some kind of
Nazi?”
Indy might have laughed if his predicament weren’t so dire. He
pointed at the gun-toting attendant. “No, he is.”
Biff looked quickly between the two of them. “I heard your
Nazi-talk, smart guy, and I don’t like Nazis.”
“That makes two of us, then.” Indy said, kicking him between
the legs.
“Oof!” Biff clutched himself and toppled to the floor like a
chopped tree. Down for the count.
With the doorman out of the picture, Indy faced off with his last
adversary. They circled each other, waiting to see who would strike
first. The Nazi smiled grimly, flexed his fingers into fists,
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 toppled to the floor, 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 at him in open-mouthed silence. Indy smiled weakly and
shrugged, jabbing a thumb at the unconscious bodies piled on the
stage. “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 rest of 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.
7

8
DALE DASSEL

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 railed back, saying that
he’d embarrassed her in front of her most prestigious devotees,
tarnished her image as a legitimate spiritualist, and that her career
might never recover from the incident. She was clearly
overreacting, and Indy told her as much.
“Overreacting?” she exclaimed, pulling off her beige overcoat
in the darkened foyer. “Oh, you’ve got some nerve. 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, Sophia. You don’t need flying rags and all 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 and got a grip on her temper, then snapped the
light switch on. 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

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 takeover of Europe, a campaign
driven by a maniacal, power-hungry dictator. While Indy doubted
the Führer 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 that Hitler deemed
important enough to obtain for the Reich, Atlantean or not. 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 understood the degree of
Sophia’s passion. She truly believed in her vaunted lost continent.
Not as a carnival show theme, but stone cold reality. The woman
lived and breathed for Atlantis everyday of her life. It was her
dream. Not unlike his own father, whose lifelong obsession for the
Holy Grail had 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 for emphasis, 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
2

DALE DASSEL
her blouse to reveal the relic that Indy hadn’t seen in nearly a
decade: 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 vertical
nosepiece adorned with a raised concentric spiral. Along with its
diamond-shaped mouth, the features combined 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 her purse. She held it up to the light for Indy to
see. The tiny gem burned like a drop of solid lava between her
fingers, a miniscule sun reflecting the chandelier’s ambience
tenfold. “This is orichalcum, the mystery metal first mentioned by
Plato. Now, watch this.” She placed the bead into the medallion’s
mouth, and waited.
The lights in the room suddenly grew dim, flickering in the
surge of a power flux. An ethereal green mist began to sparkle
around the stone-faced pendant. Indy took a step back, uncertain
whether or not the phenomenon was dangerous. The redhead
closed her eyes and tilted her face upward in concentration. The
emerald glow intensified, disseminating into filaments of slithering
light that encircled the woman’s lithe body like a snake,
enveloping her limbs. Indy squeezed his eyes closed reflexively,
shutting out the sight as he recalled the Ark of the Covenant. The
golden chest had eradicated an entire platoon of Nazi soldiers in a
fiery blaze of destruction which was preceded by a creeping mist.
Although Indy and Marion Ravenwood were spared, he wasn’t
taking any chances now.
“Watch,” Sophia urged. Indy looked up to see the mist disperse,
forming a shape in the air not unlike the malevolent image on her
pendant. Sophia opened her eyes, and a pair of glittering ruby spots
simultaneously materialized in the ghostly face, startling Indy so
badly that he stumbled backwards and almost tripped over the
chair lying on the floor. The apparition had vanished by the time he
regained his balance.
Sophia crossed her arms in satisfaction. “What do you think?”
Indy couldn’t explain what he’d just witnessed, but hoped that 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?”
3

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“I didn’t do anything. That was Nur-Ab-Sal, my spirit guide.”
Sophia explained that he was an Atlantean king during the final
days of Atlantis, who projected his spirit essence into her necklace
before the cataclysm struck, destroying the great empire. 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 stretched her other hand into the air and wiggled
her fingers dramatically.
“Come on Sophia, give it a rest.” Indy said warily. He wasn’t
anxious to experience the creepy ghost illusion again.
“I see…” Sophia’s brow furrowed in perplexity. “A book?” Her
eyes flicked open, looking away distantly beyond the walls of the
room. 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 suddenly snapped into focus
again. “Hermocrates…”
“What about him?” Indy asked, recalling the general from
Syracuse.
“Not the man. The book. Nur-Ab-Sal says the Hermocrates
holds the answers that we seek. It’s one of Plato’s lost dialogues,
and we have to find it.”
That book was a legendary hoax, Indy thought. Along with the
Timaeus and Critias, Plato’s Hermocrates was another dialogue
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.
“The last time I checked, the only platonic thing that you
wanted out of me was a relationship.”
Sophia regarded him coolly. “You’ve got that right. Now, are
you going to help me or not?”
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. He had better things to do.
“Forget it, Sophia. That book is a myth. It doesn’t exist.”
“What if the Nazis have already found a copy? Did you ever
think of that?”
Indy’s face hardened into a sober mask. She didn’t have to spell
out the rest. He could easily imagine what would happen if the
Nazi regime got their hands on an unlimited source of Plato’s
4

DALE DASSEL
super-energized metal. It would propel German physicists to the
forefront of weapons technology, making Adolf Hitler’s
Wehrmacht into the world’s ultimate 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. Indy couldn’t let that happen.
“I’m getting really tired of those guys.”
“Then let’s do something about it,” Sophia insisted, her green
eyes imploring him with desperation.
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 the plane
tickets,” she offered, bargaining with him.
“Iceland?”
“Of course. At our old dig site. It’s the most logical place to
start,” Sophia rationalized. “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 tightly and glanced away, upset that he’d
called her on it. When she met his gaze again, resentment stung her
cheeks red. “I only took the pieces that Nur-Ab-Sal said were
rightfully mine. Besides, a rusty old pendant is hardly valuable.”
“No argument there,” he said lightly.
Sophia dropped her anger and took his hands, pleading now.
“Come on, Indy. This might be our only chance to find Atlantis. If
we don’t do it, they will. And if that happens, I’ll never forgive
myself; and neither will you. We have to at least try. Will you
please help me?”
Indy weighed the alternatives. If he stayed at Barnett, holed up
in his dark, cluttered office, he was in for a long summer of tedious
faculty meetings and 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 that he relished for his
exiled colleague, despite of what she had done in the past. Not one
to hold a grudge, Indy was willing to make amends. If joining
Sophia on some wild goose chase for Atlantis made her happy then
he could certainly spare a couple of weeks. Besides, it might be a
good time to patch things up and rekindle the all-too-brief romance
that had kept them alive in Iceland all those years ago.
“Fine, I’ll do it,” he relented.
She gave Indy a quick hug, flashing a bright, optimistic smile
that left him dazzled. “Thanks. I knew I could count on you.” Then
she immediately went to her desk and began sifting through the
chaos.
“What are you looking for?”
5

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
A moment later, she excavated a brass telephone from the
debris. “I need to make flight reservations, unless you plan on
swimming to Iceland.”
“Who’s working there these days?” Indy wondered as she pried
open the dense tome of the Manhattan phone directory.
Sophia absently fingered the bronze pendant on her chest while
she browsed the travel agency listings. “Björn Heimdall, I
believe.”
“Maybe we should pay him a visit,” Indy said capriciously,
smitten by her enthusiasm. 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 the Nazis were so interested in. If not,
the trail to Atlantis would go as cold as the Arctic tundra and they
could return to New York with enough time to enjoy a summer
fling. Indy couldn’t think of a better way to spend his vacation.
“What do you say?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” Sophia replied warmly, as if
agreeing to his unspoken romantic scenario. She cradled the
earpiece on her shoulder, dialed and waited. “Hello, operator?
Could you please connect me with the Pangaeascape Travel
Agency?”
Indy sealed the bargain with his cavalier smile that she’d always
found irresistible. There was no turning back now. With luck, he
could sort out this Atlantis nonsense well before the fall teaching
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 that gleamed on the breast of the Colonel’s
expensive suit was the only outward sign of his fealty to the Nazi
party that he allowed to mark 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 Berlin and
present the horned statue to Dr. Übermann, and Kerner wanted to
6

DALE DASSEL
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
nervous young recruit whom Indy had collared in the theater.
Their 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 the corpse disposal squad at
Dachau. Do I make myself clear?”
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 Allied soil. Kerner explained that they were not
to speak in their native tongue, nor exhibit the military reflexes that
were so rigidly cultivated by their training. Any slip-up would be a
risk to the secrecy of their mission, and that was unacceptable.
Kerner’s goal was nothing short of complete world domination.
They could not afford to fail in their campaign to increase the
power and influence of the Fatherland across Europe and beyond.
If he succeeded, history would remember him as the man who
handed the Reich its ultimate victory.
He consulted the most recent intelligence report from their other
agents in New York. “The Americans are leaving for Iceland in the
morning. Here is their flight information. Do not show any mercy
to the woman,” Kerner addressed Karl pointedly, causing him to
flinch.
The nervous young soldier was a recent graduate of the Abwehr
intelligence program, unsure of himself on his first assignment
outside of Germany. The kid was weak, an untested soldier with no
combat experience to harden his nerve or strengthen his fortitude.
At least Kerner could rely on Torsten, his senior officer by more
than three years. Torsten had completed several important missions
for the Regime, proving himself in campaigns on the battlefields of
both Poland and France. He epitomized the cool efficiency valued
by the National Socialist Party. In short, he was a perfect Nazi
soldier. If Karl faltered in his duties, Kerner knew that Torsten
would complete their mission without fail.
“Report to me when you have the other item,” concluded
Kerner, handing over the file to his men. “You are dismissed.” He
turned on his heel and marched from the room without another
word.
***
7

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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
Hapgood twisted anxiously in her chair as they waited for their
boarding call. She consulted her wristwatch with an impatient sigh.
“I hate this.”
“Don’t worry, we’ll get there.” Indy promised.
“I just wish they would hurry up so we can leave already. I can’t
stand just sitting here when Kerner is already on the move.”
“Now boarding flight 138, non-stop from New York to
Atlantis.” Indy smiled under the brim of his downturned fedora.
“Look, Sophie, there’s your call.”
“Very funny. But we’ll see who has the last laugh when we
really do get to Atlantis.”
“I can hardly wait.”
She scanned Indy from head-to-toe, frowning at his outfit. He
wore a battered leather jacket over a khaki shirt, loose-fitting
brown trousers and a pair of scuffed work boots. His second skin,
she thought sarcastically. “I can’t believe you’re wearing a jacket
in June. You’ll wind up getting heatstroke,” she predicted.
“It’ll be cold when we land, and I don’t feel like changing my
clothes.” Indy said without looking up. “I suggest you bundle up,
too.”
“I’m not packing a coat in the summer,” Sophia argued. “I
prefer to travel light. It’s more efficient.” She was dressed casually
in dark green jeans, a loose-fitting cotton blouse, and a pair of tall,
rugged boots.
“Fine then, just freeze to death. See if I care.”
The redhead eyed her tiny suitcase on the floor doubtfully. “If
it’s that cold, then I’ll just buy something when we get there.” She
suddenly leaned forward and squinted at Indy’s hat in the dim light
of the lounge. “Is your hat brown or gray?” It was hard to tell.
“Leave my hat alone,” Indy groused irritably. He didn’t like
people criticizing his style, especially Sophia.
“Listen, I’m footing the bill for this trip, so I can say anything I
want. Do you have any idea how much these tickets cost?”
Indy shook his head.
“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.” Sophia declared firmly.
“Then why don’t you pull a few strings with Nur-Ab-Sal and
see if he can get us a seat in first class?”
The redhead crossed her arms petulantly. Indy didn’t have to see
her face to know that she was blushing. “Get bent, Jones.”
Indy chuckled to himself. He was looking forward to the trip
already.
8

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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 ten years previous
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 further trouble they might expect,
but the rest of Jones’ file was classified. Kerner, in typical fashion,
only gave them what minimal information was required for their
mission. They 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? Don’t you want to see the
scenery?” Sophia asked as the newly-christened Yankee Clipper
taxied down the channel of the Long Island Sound.
“Sorry, I didn’t get much sleep last night,” Indy replied from the
seat beside her, his fedora pulled low over his eyes once more.
He’d resumed his nap immediately after boarding the plane from
the marine terminal dock.
“This is an historic occasion. We’re the first passengers ever to
fly on this plane!”
Indy didn’t share her enthusiasm. “I’m here. Isn’t that enough?”
“But you’re not enjoying the moment!”
“Yes I am. Just wake me up when we get there.”
The massive Boeing 314 accelerated into the wind under the
screaming thrust of four Wright Twin Cyclone radial engines,
rising from the water in a spray of cascading white foam. The
aluminum-skinned airliner gleamed in the late morning sunlight,
winging its way east for the tropical Azores Islands, where a
9

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
connecting flight would take them north to Iceland, on the rim of
the Arctic Circle.
10

3
FIRE AND ICE
The Vatnajökull glacier stretched inland from Iceland’s coast like a
glassy doormat, welcoming visitors to the end of the world. The
frozen river of ice flowed westward from the North Atlantic into
the vast sub-arctic desert spanning the continent’s barren interior.
After landing in Reykjavík, Indy stopped at the nearest clothing
shop for Sophia to buy a coat. She promptly selected the most
expensive one that the store offered, a supple ochre-toned sealskin
parka with a removable fur collar. Once she was bundled up
against the cold, they rented an old 1924 Ford and set out across
the glacial ice cap towards the Jastro dig, a remote archaeological
site that lay somewhere in the mysterious regions of eternal ice.
“Cold enough for you?” Indy asked from behind the wheel as
the Ford 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 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.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“They didn’t make ‘em back then,” he smiled.
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, then added: “Why can’t Atlantis
be in someplace warm, like Florida?”
“Some people think it was,” Indy replied. He’d heard various
rumors attributed to the location of the fabled continent, including
the Caribbean Sea just off the coast of southern Florida. “But this
isn’t Atlantis, is it?”

DALE DASSEL
“Not according to Nur-Ab-Sal. He says that the Jastro site is
just an outpost, founded by survivors in the aftermath of its
destruction.”
“Survivors, huh? And where else might we find these other
outposts, because you can bet that Kerner will be looking for them,
too.”
Sophia grimaced. “I don’t have a list, if that’s what you’re
asking for, but Nur-Ab-Sal will tell me when we get close.”
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 of the central highlands.
Low, dark clouds saturated the sky, pressing down upon the bleak
landscape while a frigid gale buffeted the frozen tundra. They were
completely alone in the cold, windswept realm. Sophia grew quiet
and withdrawn as they traveled the forty miles inland to reach their
destination. Each mile nearer to the dig site brought her
uncomfortably closer to the past, which she recalled with
increasing clarity. By the time they finally arrived, the redhead felt
as if she’d never left.
Indy turned off the car and reached into the back seat for his
coiled bullwhip. He opened the door and got out, snapping it onto
his belt. Sophia eyed the whip. “You’re still carrying that old thing
around?”
“It’s my favorite piece of equipment.” he said defensively,
tugging on the brim of his fedora.
“Right.”
Turning from the car, they surveyed the desolate site, 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 that hugged the
shore of some unnamed lake, overlooked by the imposing shadow
of Mount Hekla rising in the gloomy distance to the southeast. The
bleak atmosphere cast a pall of desolation over the countryside,
and Sophia wondered how she managed to keep her sanity for the
many months they had lived at the remote location. The answer,
she realized, was as close as the medallion around her neck. Nur-
Ab-Sal imbued her with the fire of ancient knowledge, and told her
exactly where to find many secret artifacts hidden among the
forgotten corners of the lost outpost. As long as Sophia had her
necklace, she wanted for nothing else.
Indy and Sophia 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 and packed for transport. The
main entrance protruded from the raw dirt of the hillside, framed
by a pair of thick stone pillars capped with a heavy lintel. The
columned architecture had a distinctively Minoan flavor that
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
reminded Indy of similar sites in the Aegean. Heavy, angular wall
slabs appeared to grow directly from the dirt where a whole corner
of the buried structure had been excavated. The grassy slope grew
directly to the edge of the roof, terminating on the stone.
“Let’s take a look.” Indy cautiously led the way inside, not
knowing what to expect. Sophia followed closely behind him.
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. Clearly they had interrupted the man.
“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 tiny 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
thing 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.
3

DALE DASSEL
“I thought you were still 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 fogshrouded
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, playing along. 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-athand.
“Have you ever heard of Plato’s lost dialogue?”
Heimdall considered the question absentmindedly. “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 noticed her scanning
the assortment with all the enthusiasm of a bride-to-be 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 brought Sophia’s
necklace to life.
“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.
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Almost sounds like Corinthian bronze,” which Indy knew 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 every aspect of their
imaginary continent. Indy had what 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, dreamy
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 far distance he could see the faint red glow of ancient
volcanoes glittering in the preternatural dusk. At least they could
soon leave this miserable place and head for a warmer climate, he
thought with satisfaction.
Costa’s location was convenient since the Azores were the hub
of cross-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. Indy looked up as Sophia 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?”
Sophia didn’t say anything for so long that he 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.
So that was it. “You mean Jastro and Thorskald? They were the
ones in charge—not me.” said Indy defensively. “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.
5

DALE DASSEL
“And you thought it would be better to take your cut of the
glory and split, is that it? 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 have 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. Sophia regarded the parcel tucked
under her arm, and sighed.
“We should leave now, Indy. I think something bad is going to
happen here.”
“What makes you say that?”
“It’s Heimdall. Something is wrong with his aura.” In talking to
the lone excavator, Sophia noticed that Heimdall’s aura was
clouded by darkness, his future uncertain. She knew he was going
to die soon, but didn’t know how.
“There’s a storm coming,” Indy said.
“I can feel it, too.”
“No. I mean there really is a storm coming. Look,” he nodded.
She followed his gaze to see a wall of blackness covering the
horizon from one side to the other, 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. Sophia’s eyes went glassy with
terror while a bitter lump of ice settled in the pit of her stomach.
“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 miserably.
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.
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 were 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 quickly,
smarting from the reprimand. His young protégé was a disgrace to
the Swastika, 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 from him 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 laugh and the warmth of her touch. He
missed her badly, and wondered when he would see her again.
Right now he despised Kerner for giving him this assignment,
which had taken him to this miserable gray country, so far away
from his beautiful young wife and their home in Germany. But he
chose to serve his country, and accepted that duty like a good
soldier. For that honor, Karl had no regrets.
Torsten saw his partner looking wistfully at the picture. “Do
you have to beg for Mercy, or does she come to you willingly?” he
teased with a wicked smirk.
“Shut up!” Karl hastily tucked the photo back into his jacket
while his companion laughed and blew a puff of smoke in his
direction. Torsten was such a bastard, he thought ruefully. The
senior agent had a reputation for overstepping his 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 about it because he didn’t like to see people get hurt if they did
not deserve it. But Torsten relished the opportunity to dispense
pain or suffering when he could, as evidenced by some of his battle
stories from the front lines. Still, it was probably better to work
with Torsten than against him.
Torsten flicked his cigarette away carelessly, sending a shower
of glowing ashes to the ice. He raised his binoculars to check on
Jones 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 the
7

DALE DASSEL
Americans 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, which was
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 grill 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 handcranked
the car. It took him several frantic tries before the cold
four-cylinder 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!”
“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 coming from the back of the car, and Indy feared the
worst. The muffler was backfiring.
“Whoa!” Sophia cried as tufts of snow kicked up in a rapid line,
sprouting alongside the speeding vehicle, pacing them. 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 overworked automobile.
Another bullet tore Sophia’s door mirror away—inches from
her hand. Silver fragments of glass splintered everywhere, stinging
her arm. “Ow!”
“Hang on!” Indy shouted, swerving the Ford 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 bald
tires struggling for purchase on the slushy mixture of snow and
gravel. Sophia screamed as the car slewed sideways, fishtailing
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
wildly. Indy gritted his teeth in determination. He wasn’t going to
let the Nazis win. 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 thought about the Webley holstered
on his hip. But Indy couldn’t drive and shoot at the same time. He
glanced at Sophia. “Can you fire a gun?”
“I’ve never even touched one before!” she confessed.
“There’s no better time to learn! Take mine,” 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. Now shoot. Try to aim for their tires,” he
instructed just as another bullet spanged off the rear fender.
The redhead bit her lip uncertainly, and made up her mind. She
couldn’t very well find Atlantis if she was dead, and she certainly
wasn’t going to let the Nazis have it either. She pointed the gun out
the window and squeezed the thick trigger, flinching as the Webley
bucked in her hand, discharging a .455 round with a deafening
blast. It was like firing a cannon. She beamed at Indy with a bright
grin. “Hey, I did it!”
“Great, now actually try to hit something!” he growled irritably,
dodging another shot with the Ford 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!” She twisted her body around in the seat and extended
her arm along the body of the speeding car, sighting the Webley’s
barrel in line with the pursuer’s right front wheel. Sophia felt like
she was in a gangster movie as she squeezed off another round.
Her hair blazed a crimson flame in the wind. The Nazis headlight
imploded as if struck by a brick, and they swerved abruptly to the
left shoulder of the road, away from her gun.
“Hey, this is actually kind of fun!” she cheered with
enthusiasm. “How did I do?”
“Better,” Indy replied tersely, “Now do the same thing, but aim
lower.”
“You’re the boss!” she grinned with exhilaration. Sophia was
enjoying herself immensely.
“Verdammt!” Karl cursed, trying to keep his gun steady while they
bounced along the rutted highway with the roiling black storm
nipping at their fenders. “The Fräulein is armed!”
“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.
9

DALE DASSEL
But before Karl could take another shot at the Americans, the
woman fired at them again. The car suddenly listed over 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 jumped up in 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
snowbank 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 massive pillar of
boiling water that sprayed into the blackened sky. The geyser
blasted the car 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 concrete permafrost, crumpling on
impact nearly a quarter of a mile away.
“Scheiße!” Torsten swore angrily, watching the American car
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 that.” Indy announced proudly. “Nice
shooting, Sophie.” Then the Ford began to sputter, its engine
stumbling. Not good.
“Indy, what’s wrong with the car?”
“I don’t know.” He looked at the gas gauge, blinked in disbelief.
“What the hell? It says we’re out of gas.” He filled the car with
petrol 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.”
10

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
11

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, Indy?” 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

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 simply 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 worldshattering
blast of annihilation they had expected. The windows
were quickly obscured by a coat of volcanic sand, plunging Indy
and Sophia 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.
Her mouth was dry from screaming.
“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 before nightfall. They had to make
civilization by sundown or they would freeze to death from
exposure to the elements.
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, and he
actually felt a sort of weightlessness in the dusky void. The
archaeologist leaned back in his chair, suddenly overcome with
exhaustion. He 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.
Indy grew drowsy, 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 tiny 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
2

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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 magnificently overwrought
edifice of gold and silver which was 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. Like Atlantis, they were forever lost. 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. It wasn’t a contemporary
obsession by any means. People had been fascinated by the story
of Atlantis since antiquity.
One particular account that stood out in his mind was that of
Ogygia, a great continent described by Plutarch in his Morals,
located “five days’ sail west from Britain.” However, Indy was
3

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
more inclined to believe that the legend was inspired by an actual
event like the destruction of Helike, a Bronze-Age city near the
Gulf of Corinth, which plunged into the sea in a single night.
‘Immense columns of flame’ preceded the mysterious destruction,
which was attributed to the wrath of Poseidon. But Indy knew from
experience that there was usually more to a story than posterity
often recorded. Unfortunately for his theory, the disaster occurred
twenty-five years after Plato wrote the story of Atlantis, which
ruled out Helike as the basis of the legend. Maybe Plato just
wanted to write an allegorical tale, as most scholars agreed. Simple
as that.
Many have been the destructions of mankind, and many shall
be… Indiana Jones suddenly shivered as Plato’s words leapt to
mind, unbidden. They made him stop and focus. Indy 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 as-yet-unknown
weapon which allowed it to subdue all the nations it reputedly
conquered, and subsequently was destroyed through a misuse of
that power? Then another thought occurred to him, something that
was literally within his grasp: Sophia’s necklace. More specifically,
the small bead that she fed into its mouth receptacle. It was
orichalcum, the metal specified by name in Plato’s account—the
reddish material which clad the inner circuit of Atlantis in a fiery
gleam that burned in the light of every sunset that fell upon the
great kingdom until its end. What if the ghost illusion was more
than just an optical trick wrought by a discharge of green
electricity? What if it was something more?
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, self-contained 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. Time to take a look. 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
4

DALE DASSEL
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. “Hey sweetheart, welcome back.”
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 zipped up their jackets and climbed out of the car, only to
find themselves on another planet. Sophia Hapgood stared in
stunned awe, but Indy had known what to expect. The snowy
ground was black in every direction, stained with powdery
volcanic ash to the limits of their sight.
“What happened?”
“Dust storm, like I said. 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 passenger door and lifted the front seat. He
rapped his knuckles on the gas tank, producing a hollow tone. Indy
unscrewed the gas cap and peered inside. A sliver of light
illuminated the bone-dry reservoir. He 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.” Indy swept his hand over the rear
wall of the gas tank and found a dime-sized hole in the metal. He
stood up and brushed 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 is going to say
when they see this?”
Indy picked up his own suitcase and closed the trunk, pocketing
the key. “I don’t know, but we’ll be long gone by the time they
do.”
Sophia’s shoulders fell wearily as she looked at the stretch of
endless road vanishing into the gloomy distance. “I don’t want to
do this…”
“The sooner we start walking, the sooner we get there,” Indy
stated with certainty.
5

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“How philosophical,” she mused, “Is that from one of your
lectures?”
“No, that’s just practical insight.”
“Next time try using some practical foresight, and remember to
bring along extra gasoline.”
Indy tugged on the brim of his fedora, and grinned wryly at the
redhead’s wit. “How philosophical. Did Plato teach you that, or
was it Nur-Ab-Sal?”
Sophia returned the smile with a hint of admiration for his
smooth come-back. “Let’s go, Indy.”
Indiana Jones and Sophia Hapgood 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 asked, dropping his
suitcase onto the mattress of their single-bed 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.”
She smiled. “I don’t hate you that much, Indy. Only a little.”
It was nearly six o’clock by the time they stumbled into
Reykjavík with their luggage, tired, grungy, and sore from their 35-
mile trek across the frozen Icelandic tundra. Indy wanted to stop at
the first hotel they came to, but Sophia deemed it un-classy, and
insisted on finding a better place to stay. Four blocks later they
came to the Hotel Reykjavík, a towering ultramodern steel-andglass
high-rise building. The five-star establishment suited her
much better, and Sophia rented a room while Indy called the
airport to confirm their flight the next morning. He tried to hire a
charter plane without luck, due to a heavy snowstorm heading in
from the coast. In the end, there was just one deluxe suite
available, and it had a single queen-size 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 Indy noticed her dubious
expression, and realized that a little more persuasion needed to be
forthcoming. “Besides, you can always trust a doctor.”
“Yeah, unless his name happens to be Jones. I remember what
you tried to pull the last time we were here. It didn’t work then,
and it’s sure as hell not going to work now.” Then she paused in
reflection with a knowing smirk. “I think you tried to use that
‘doctor’ bit on me the first time, too.”
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Indiana Jones grinned. “Can you blame me?”
Sophia relented. The smile was all it took. No matter how she
tried, she couldn’t resist that crooked smile of his. “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 and settled in, Indy had to admit
that Sophia had good taste. The deluxe hotel room was an exercise
in chic minimalism, with its gleaming Formica walls, luxuriously
soft gunmetal carpeting, recessed lighting and floor-to-ceiling
windows draped in jet black silk. Their queen-sized bed featured a
quilted pillow mattress with satin sheets and a lavish matching
bedspread, and silk pillowcases adorned with a dark chocolate
mint. 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 elegant, with a double vanity sink, walllength
beveled sheet mirror, walk-in shower, gleaming silver
fixtures, and checkered marble floor tiles.
“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, Indy, 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 toiletries kit and robe
into the bathroom, stuck his head out the door. “Dibs on the
shower.”
“Indiana Jones!” Sophia pounded her fist on the door a moment
after he locked it. Indy pounded back, mocking her, and she could
hear him laughing as he turned the shower on.
Indy 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. Don’t take too
long,” he teased with a smile.
“I hate you.” She gave Indy a vindictive punch on the shoulder
and shoved past him into the bathroom, slamming the door behind
her.
Not to be outdone, Sophia was in the shower nearly twice as
long, but Indy didn’t care. He was relaxing comfortably in bed
when she finally came out, dressed in a pair of shiny emerald green
silk pajamas, with a towel draped over her shoulder. Her damp
crimson hair glowed like copper wire under the vivid electric
lighting of their hotel suite. Indy noted that she was holding her
necklace by the chain, with the pendant dangling at her side. So
7

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 stuck in the car.”
She padded across the thick carpeting and flopped onto the bed
beside him, resting her back against the cushioned headboard.
Sophia cupped the bronze chevron in her palm so that Indy could
study it. “What are you thinking?”
“The orichalcum, it’s some kind of energy source, isn’t it?”
“I never really thought about it that way, but I assume so.”
“Does that ghost thing happen every time you use it?”
“Yes, but Nur-Ab-Sal does not require a physical manifestation
to commune with me. The medallion is just 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 it at the Jastro dig.”
“Where did you get the orichalcum from?”
“I found samples of it in almost every Atlantean relic that I’ve
come across. Most of them have hidden storage receptacles with a
small supply of beads inside.”
Indy nodded as if he suspected as much. “Just like batteries.”
“Yeah. I had a jar full of them before my apartment got cleaned
out. Why 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 Nazis a serious advantage
in munitions capabilities. “With a big enough supply, Germany
could make the most terrible weapons of all time. That’s why
Kerner is so interested. He doesn’t care about Atlantis, he just
wants its energy source.”
When Sophia considered everything she’d just 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 a means to that end. We’re the
only ones standing in their way.”
“So we’re going to take on the whole Reich all by ourselves, is
that it?”
“Why not?” he shrugged, “We have all summer. Unless you
have other plans.”
Indy was crazy, but she admired him for sticking to his guns
when she needed him. Heck, she was even willing to forgive a few
8

DALE DASSEL
past misdeeds for the sake of his support. “Actually, I do have
something else in mind.” Sophia slipped her pendant over her head
and snuggled closer to him with a coy smile. The mischievous
gleam in her green 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 red hair and pulled her close to kiss
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.
“I’m starting to get over it,” she smiled back, then pushed him
down onto the mattress and slid on top of him.
They rolled over, kissing and groping in a fever of sudden
passion. Indy sucked on her earlobe, biting softly with his teeth,
teasing with his tongue. He still remembered her weak spot after
all these years, and Sophia knew it. But she didn’t care anymore.
She just wanted to lose herself in the delicious cocoon of pleasure.
Indy slipped his hands into her pajamas and stroked the smooth,
hot flesh of her back, splaying his fingers open to grip the flare of
her hips. 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 Nazi regime and 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.
“What’s wrong with you?” he said, rubbing his sore lip.
“I—unhh!” She dug her fingernails into the mattress as her
body stiffened in a violent spasm. Her medallion glowed with a
soft green aura, its eyes burning vividly red. 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,
what’s going on? Are you okay?”
9

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Mmh, let go of me, Indy. I think I’m having a vision,” she said,
grimacing painfully.
He slid off the bed and stood back to give her room, unsure of
what to expect. The redhead thrashed wildly, ripping the top sheet
halfway off the bed. Then she sat up and pulled her legs beneath
her, assuming an Indian-style position. Indy kept his distance, but
watched closely. Sophia placed her hands palms-down on the
mattress, and raised her face to the ceiling. The bed lamps winked
out, plunging the room into darkness. Tendrils of electric energy
sparkled through the links of the chain as the pendant projected its
eerie fluorescent light across the woman’s upturned face. Her
mouth was parted slightly, her eyes closed. She looked more like a
sorceress now than a seeker of Atlantis.
When she spoke, her voice was cool and clear. “The first
key…” she whispered.
Indy reached out and touched her hand gently. “What is it,
honey?”
Her mouth moved silently until she found her voice again. “I
see a pyramid…”
Indy still wasn’t sure if he believed in Nur-Ab-Sal, but he did
have faith in Sophia. “Describe it for me,” he urged.
She touched the medallion on her chest, holding it between her
thumb and forefinger, concentrating hard. “It has five tiers… stairs
on all sides… partially covered by jungle, and yet to be
reclaimed.”
“Then it’s not the Temple of the Jaguar,” said Indy, 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 Hapgood looked
around in a daze, blinking rapidly. “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, but Sophia drew a blank. “I said that?”
“Yeah. Does it make any sense?”
She smoothed out her nightshirt and tugged the elastic waistline
of her pajamas back 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.”
Indiana Jones turned off his lamp reluctantly and crawled into
bed beside her. “Thanks a lot, Nur-Ab-Sal,” he muttered sullenly.
Sophia giggled in the darkness beside him. “Sorry, Indy. Better
luck next time.”
10

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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 1935 Ford
sedan cruising along the mountain road, he saw a florid blaze of
mission-style Spanish roofing overspreading the verdant green
slopes of Horta. The paradisal tapestry of orange-topped stucco
buildings nestled around the glittering bay could have been a
picture postcard advertising the beautiful Azores Islands. Too bad
they weren’t here to enjoy the scenery. Indy focused on the road
snaking up the spine of Cabeço Gordo, ignoring the gorgeous vista
and the riotous flush of hydrangea flowers gliding past the car. He
was trying to stay focused on their mission, but his partner wasn’t
helping very much.
Sophia Hapgood, wearing a pair of expensive sunglasses and a
blue silk headscarf, flew her hand out the window like a glider on
the warm breeze. “Ah, this is nice. But Iceland was more fun.”
“No,” Indy corrected her, “Iceland was almost fun.”
Sophia giggled, and apologized for the tenth time. “I can’t
control Nur-Ab-Sal. He’s a blessing and a curse.”
“Definitely a curse. You owe me.”
“I’ll take a raincheck,” she laughed again. Sophia couldn’t keep
the giddiness out of her voice. She was on the quest for Atlantis,
and having the time of her life. Nothing could dampen her spirits.
“Are you having fun volcano-hopping?”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“The Azores are located on a tectonic ridge that runs all the way
back to Iceland, so we’re basically sitting on a volcanic seamount.”
“It’s summertime, Professor Jones. School’s out. Try to relax
and have some fun for a change.”

DALE DASSEL
Having spent much of the day crammed into airplane seats,
Sophia was thoroughly enjoying her newfound freedom. They had
flown out of Reykjavík that morning 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,
Sophia contacted Filipe Costa by telephone and was politely
surprised that the esteemed professor was anxious to meet the
celebrated mystic of Atlantean lore. Costa promptly invited them to
lunch at his hacienda above Horta, where they were currently en
route. Meanwhile, Indy still had a few more questions for Sophia,
if he could get her to pay attention.
“My God, this is beautiful!” she gushed as they rounded another
curve. The trees parted to reveal a breathtaking panorama of lush
volcanic hills bordering a turquoise sea whose crystal surface
mirrored the dreamy clouds dappling the sheet of endless blue sky.
“Tell me something,” Indy said, navigating the uphill slope.
“How did you get so hopped-up on Atlantis?”
The redhead smiled, pleased that Indy was finally coming
around. “The search for Atlantis is the search for our human
origins, the meaning of our existence. The proof has been all over
the world for centuries, right there in plain sight for those who
aren’t blinded by the so-called ‘historical’ record to see it. We can’t
even begin to reproduce their wonders with modern technology.
But who were the Atlanteans, and why did they leave so many
monuments behind? That’s the real mystery.”
“What’s your theory?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“I think they were trying to leave us a message, or maybe even
a warning. It makes sense that they would preserve it in huge stone
structures, built on such a colossal scale to withstand the ravages of
time. I’m trying to figure out what the message is, and why it was
so important for all the trouble they took to pass it down to us. Is it
a warning to not repeat the mistakes of our Atlantean forefathers
and suffer their tragic fate, or knowledge that will benefit mankind
so that we can fulfill the potential of our species?” She paused to
look at Indy, who remained focused on the road ahead. “You think
I’m crazy, don’t you?”
Indy had to smile at her enthusiasm. She sounded like one of his
overzealous grad students, ready to go blazing through the jungle
with a machete to uncover a lost city like the next Hiram Bingham.
“Crazy? No. Misguided? Yes. So you really think that all the
cultures of the world are related?” It all sounded a little too pat.
“I didn’t say they were all related, but many of them, possibly
yes. Are you familiar with the Pyramid Belt?”
Indy thought about it for a moment, then shrugged. “Tell me
about it.”
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Okay, if you look at a globe you will find that all of the major
pyramid-building civilizations, Egyptian, Mayan, Peruvian and
whatnot, stagger the equator along the 31-degree longitudinal
parallel.”
“So now we go from chasing volcanoes to chasing pyramids?”
“It beats chasing shadows, which is probably what the Nazis are
doing right now,” she quipped. “Anyway, the pyramid-builders
established their civilizations along the equator because it ran
through Atlantis before it sank. The survivors were trying to
rebuild their homeland in the places they fled to, which surround
the original colony. Does that make sense?”
Indy shook his head in disbelief. “If I heard that story from
anyone but you…”
“I know it sounds crazy, but I put a lot of research into this. And
Nur-Ab-Sal backs me up.”
“Then why don’t you just ask him where to find Atlantis, since
he knows so much about it? It would save us a lot of trouble.”
“Don’t you think I’ve already tried that? Nur-Ab-Sal says
everything will be revealed in due time. I think he likes me to
follow clues so that I can prove my worthiness.”
“Okay, let’s drop the spirits for a minute. What do you know
about this guy we’re going to see?”
“Costa is a retired professor from the University of Coimbra.
He taught history and civilization for over twenty years until he
caught the Atlantis bug. From what I’ve heard, he’s more of an
armchair adventurer than a practical archaeologist, so now he
mostly collects Atlantean relics and studies its history. I think he’s
also writing a book.”
“Great. Why do I get the feeling this is going to be a long
lunch?”
“Oh, it’s not that bad, Indy. If you like my theories, I’m sure
you’ll be fascinated by his.”
“I can hardly wait.”
The road curved around a palm-covered ridge two miles later,
finally merging into the driveway of an impressive two-story
hacienda. It was immediately evident that Filipe Costa was doing
very well for himself in his post-tenure days. His immaculately
landscaped estate featured rows of sturdy palm trees which shaded
his beige stucco residence, built directly on the side of the
mountain overlooking the broad Atlantic horizon. The main
entrance, a pair of large wooden doors, was flanked by
Romanesque marble columns that supported an ornate decorative
arch. Orange and red hydrangeas punctuated every windowsill and
ledge with a burst of color, swaying gently in the breeze from their
clay flower boxes. The overall effect was distinctly Mediterranean,
3

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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
onto the front porch.
“Pretty sure, but I’ve never actually met him.”
He eyed the parcel that she’d acquired from Heimdall. “What’s
in the package?”
“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
lifted her sunglasses into her hair. She cleared her throat, knocked
twice on the front door, and waited. “Mr. Costa?” It opened a
moment later, and Costa hobbled out to greet them.
Indy expected the landlord of such a resplendent manor to be
attired in an expensive white suit and a tropical hat, but the
hunched figure of the seventy-year-old professor resembled a
fisherman more than a distinguished scholar. His faded shirt,
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 in his lap rather than chasing
down proof of his lost kingdom.
Costa leaned heavily on a gnarled cane, quaking as if he might
fall over without its support. He regarded them suspiciously until
his flinty eyes lit with recognition at the sight of the redhead.
“Madame Sophia, the renowned psychic?”
“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Professor Costa.” she said
pleasantly, and shook hands with the old man.
“Boa vinda! Welcome!” Costa regarded Indy, dressed in his
customary travel clothes—minus the leather jacket—and scratched
his snowy beard. “And who might you be, sir?”
Indy extended his hand. “I’m Dr. Indiana Jones.”
Costa shook it 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.”
“Another historian. Very good, very good. The world needs
more teachers.”
“We need your help, professor.” Sophia was unable to keep the
urgency out of her voice.
“At your service, Madame. Entre. Please come inside, we have
much to talk about.”
The hacienda was ordinary-looking enough on the outside, but
inside it was a whole other world. Filipe Costa lived in a museum
devoted to the pursuit of his passion. The main hallway was home
to a row of rich wooden cabinetry displaying a collection of arcane
relics he’d accumulated in the years after his retirement. Paintings
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
of underwater cities populated by mermaids and seahorses formed
a gallery on the pale stucco walls. The floor was a mosaic of
verdigris and bronze clay tiles. The old timer shuffled along with
giddy energy, like a kid trying to impress new friends with his toy
collection. Indy followed Sophia as Costa escorted them to his
private study, a spacious room in the back of the house with a
vaulted ceiling, where bookcases lined every wall.
The library, unsurprisingly, was crammed with hundreds of
publications devoted to lost continent lore, all vying for shelf space
with more ancient relics. While Costa eagerly consulted Sophia’s
expert opinion on several prominent acquisitions, Indy took a
closer look at some of the purportedly ‘Atlantean’ finds. He
quickly realized that Costa’s historical expertise did not extend
beyond the borders of his own country. Among the curios were a
golden Aztec mask, Mayan funerary tributes, and a hand-carved
wooden Inuit statue.
Indy browsed the room looking for another horned idol like the
one Kerner had stolen. He noted that many of the items exhibited a
common design element in the form of a sinuous running spiral
which seemed to represent sea waves. “What can you tell us about
Atlantis?”
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.”
“You’re kidding.”
“I am not.”
“In that case, what led you to place Atlantis in the Azores?” He
just had to hear this.
“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 below. If only it were
that easy.
“So, do you talk to Atlantean spirits like Sophia does?” The
redhead shot him a dirty look for attempting to embarrass her in
Costa’s presence.
“All the time,” he replied without missing a beat. “They have
me collecting their material things so they can come back to earth.
I speak mainly with Antinéa, a princess from the Second Age of
Atlantis.”
“How do you communicate with these spirits?” He thought
about Sophia’s necklace, but said nothing because he was positive
that Costa would try to buy it off her if he knew about it.
5

DALE DASSEL
“They talk to me through this ring I find on a dig in the
Pyrenees.” He splayed his wrinkled fingers to show them a hefty
band made of reddish metal, inlaid with a dark green jewel. Indy
noticed the evil horned face with the triangle eyes glaring from the
side. It was a miniature version of Sophia’s pendant.
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.” Conchita curtsied with her red dress and bustled
from the room.
Costa led his guests from the private study to a spacious
upstairs balcony overlooking Faial’s tranquil aqua bay, where a set
of wicker chairs were clustered around a wrought iron table,
shaded by a massive umbrella. The patio railing was lined with
flower boxes showcasing a riotous assortment of red hydrangeas
and indigo lilacs, all kissed by the gentle breeze flowing in from
the sea.
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. “I could stay here forever.”
Indy gazed down at the lower patio, and wished they were
dining below. The backyard featured a large swimming pool with
an adjoining hot tub, framed by a sprawling path of orange adobe
tiles. He leaned close to Sophia, whispering. “Did you bring your
bathing suit? We could go for a swim after dinner.”
“You wish!” She tried not to blush at his brazen suggestion.
Conchita bustled around the table, placing hot dishes on the
woven reed mat. 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.
Professor Costa settled into a chair and filled everyone’s 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, feeling distinctly out of place, hastily followed
her example while Conchita prepared her father’s dish. Then she
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
distributed bowls among the guests and ladled them full of a gray
oatmeal-textured substance with thick chunks of meat.
“Aprecie con meus elogios,” Conchita smiled pleasantly.
“Enjoy.”
Indy picked up a spoon and sampled the strange soup. He
winced at the bitter 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 rice soup.”
Indy explosively spat the mouthful of gruel back into the bowl.
Sophia giggled fitfully as he wiped his tongue thoroughly clean on
a cloth napkin. Conchita’s plump face turned red, and she huffed
back into the house, outraged by the rude American’s behavior.
“I am sorry, Dr. Jones,” Costa apologized, “but my daughter is
not versed in your American cuisine. Lamprey is a great delicacy
in this part of the world, and she takes pride in the dish.”
“No, that’s okay. I appreciate the effort. I’ll just find
something… not so snakey.”
Sophia stifled a meaningful cough as Indy scanned the other
plates for 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 knew 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?”
Filipe Costa nibbled on a piece of bread thoughtfully. “Not
exactly.”
“Do you know where we could find it?” she asked, growing
desperate now.
“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.”
“I’ll never trade away my necklace,” Sophia declared, clutching
her pendant 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 artifact she
7

DALE DASSEL
cajoled from Heimdall in Iceland. She carefully unwrapped the
linen strips and held the bronze coil out for his approval. “This is
an extremely rare piece that I recently acquired from the Jastro
dig.”
Costa fumbled to retrieve his eyeglasses from his vest pocket,
and held the artifact close to his face in order to appreciate its
detail. He traced the eel’s head with a thumb, prodding the sharp
metal teeth, the diamond-shaped eyes. “Magnifico!” he breathed
with excitement.
“Can you tell me what it is?”
“Yes, I believe this is an Atlantean heater. It most likely adorned
a bed chamber of the royal palace during winter.” He held the
statue aloft and viewed it from different angles. “Very interesting.
You’ve got a deal.”
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. Got that?”
“I’ll be damned.” Indiana Jones pounded his fist on the table
hard enough to rattle the crockery, startling Sophia and Professor
Costa.
“What is it, Indy?”
“Barnett College owns the Ashkenazy collection!” He stood and
paced the balcony, working furiously to anticipate Kerner’s next
move, if the SS colonel even knew about the book. “We have to get
back to New York right now.”
Sophia was on her feet instantly. “No! Remember my vision of
the pyramid? We have to go to Tikal.”
“I can’t believe it. We’ve been looking all over Christ’s
Creation and it was at home the whole time.”
“You don’t ignore visions of ancient wisdom,” Sophia warned,
“Otherwise you’re just asking for trouble. The book is safe, but the
key to Atlantis is out there in the jungle somewhere. What if the
Nazis find it first?”
At this point, Indy knew that Sophia was calling the shots,
especially since they were burning through her personal fortune to
fund the whole expedition. “Fine, we’ll go to Tikal,” he relented.
She turned to Filipe Costa. The old man was muttering to
himself, still 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, by all means,” 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!”
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“By the way,” Indy said, “Sophia mentioned you were writing a
book.”
“My third, actually. It will be the culmination of my life’s
research, 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 gave Indy a nod, assenting that the brash
archaeologist was okay. “I will send you both a copy, since you are
dedicated students of Atlantis.”
“Thank you very much, professor. I look forward to reading it.”
***
“That’s our ship!” Sophia announced, pointing to the flying boat
bobbing in the cobalt water at the edge of Horta Bay. The mooring
crew moved around the seadock with machine-like efficiency,
preparing the giant silver-skinned amphibian for its flight. A trio of
stewardesses in green dresses 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 the length of the boardwalk, basking in the warm 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 form of passenger air travel in the
world. After conquering the Pacific with its fleet of Martin M-
130’s, Pan-American was now 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 and even months 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, whose tips gleamed like mercury flames in the late
afternoon sunlight, pondering at the things hidden in the black
fathoms below the impenetrable shroud of water. Professor Costa’s
words haunted him, and Indy suddenly wished that he could part
the sea like Moses and reveal the treasures buried in the ages of
seaweed and muck. Then he might finally know the truth, whether
Atlantis was reality or myth, because not knowing was the most
frustrating part of it all.
9

DALE DASSEL
His intense silence did not go unnoticed. “What’s on your
mind?” Sophia wondered.
“It’s really out there, isn’t it? I never really believed in it. I
don’t want to believe it.”
“Why not?”
“Because if we prove Atlantis existed, it would change
everything we know about human civilization.”
“Change is not a bad thing, Indy. Just think, you could be the
man who rewrote history.”
“Yeah, I suppose.” he said without enthusiasm. It sounded like
more of a burden than an honor. Aside from shattering the
foundations of archaeology, the discovery would also alienate
hundreds of his colleagues all over the world, not to mention upset
his father, with whom Indy was enjoying a newfound relationship
after their Holy Grail quest. Was he willing to jeopardize a lifetime
of achievement just to help Sophia find the waterlogged ruins of
some prehistoric society that may not even exist?
“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 the Lost Kingdom, mankind will
achieve true enlightenment.” She suddenly embraced Indy,
hugging him tightly while her red hair danced like electrical sparks
in the salty breeze. “Thank you for doing this for me.”
Her sincerity moved him to an unexpected degree, and Indy felt
like less of a partner and more of a hero to the woman. When
Sophia pulled back to look at him, her green eyes were filled with
expectation like a child on Christmas morning. “What do you think
we’ll find when we get to Atlantis, Indy? An underwater paradise?
The answers to all of the world’s greatest mysteries?”
Indy hadn’t given any real thought to the possibility of finding
the place. “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, practically
the first time she’d touched him since Iceland. The fleeting
moment of pleasure was over before Indy realized it. “Look,
they’re boarding now!”
She scooped up her luggage and dashed away before he could
pull her close again. “Come on, let’s go!”
Indy shouldered his backpack in disappointment, and followed
her down the ramp to join the line of passengers by the plane.
“There they are!” Karl hissed as Hapgood’s red hair and Jones’
brown fedora came through the doorway of the lounge. The
Abwehr quickly raised their newspapers to cover their faces while
the Americans filed onto the plane amid the boarding passengers.
Sitting on the outer seat, Karl held his breath as they moved down
10

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
the aisle close enough to touch. Being in such close proximity to
their targets was risky, but their mission demanded it. So far their
strategy had worked perfectly. They would keep out of sight until
the plane landed, let Jones and the woman depart first, and then
follow them. 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 had 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 that the Oberst would make good on his promise if they
did not retrieve the necklace. They backtracked to the dig site and
found the old man busy digging away in the ice cave, oblivious to
the storm outside. Fortunately, he was more than willing to divulge
Jones’ destination when threatened, but they killed him anyway,
much to Karl’s distress.
They drove the professor’s antique automobile back to
Reykjavík and bought tickets for the Azores connection flight,
followed by a systematic search of the major lodging
accommodations to find out where Jones was staying. They
endured a fitful night of sleep in a room down the hall from the
Americans, waking up early the next morning to prevent another
escape by their quarry. Torsten was still upset with the way Karl
had handled the pursuit, and even more so by the junior officer’s
squeamish remorse about killing the old man. But at least they
were back on schedule.
When they arrived on Faial, the Abwehr gave Jones a good lead
and trailed them to the mansion above the city. They surveyed the
house from their hiding place in the bushes until Jones appeared on
the balcony with Costa. Torsten watched them through binoculars.
He spoke excellent English, but unfortunately was not adept at
reading lips, so he could only guess as to what they were
discussing. His attention piqued when Hapgood gave the eel
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.
Jones and Hapgood left soon after the trade. Torsten wanted to
storm the house and threaten the old man for whatever he told
them, but Karl talked him out of it by arguing that the Americans
could escape by the time they finished interrogating him. Torsten
was disgusted because he knew his partner was anxious to avoid
another murder, but he also realized that Karl was right. They ran
back to their car, hidden in a palm thicket off the roadway, and
followed Jones to the airport. He secured tickets for their flight to
Central America while Karl sent off a coded telegram informing
11

DALE DASSEL
Kerner of their progress. With any 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.”
Torsten repeated the pilot’s instructions to Karl, whose grasp of
English was far inferior to his own. The flight attendant pulled the
outer door closed and latched it securely, then took his seat beside
a stewardess.
A muted rumble shook the green-paneled cabin, vibrating the
plush carpeted floor beneath their feet. All faces peered expectantly
out the windows to see the four massive propellers whirling faster
and faster, blurring as the engines powered up to full speed. There
was a slight lurch and the plane began to move on the dark waves.
The pilot churned a wide arc across the bay until the massive
Boeing was pointed into the wind. The Clipper roared across the
water, shedding a plume of white mist, gathering speed until the
world suddenly fell away and it lifted into the ocean of sky,
heading west after the blazing sun.
12

6
URANVEREIN
Oranienburg, Germany
The Auergesellschaft 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 the development of industrial-grade, highpurity
uranium oxide. In fact, the unremarkable facade was
designed to conceal the true purpose of the massive factory,
constructed less than six months earlier, as the heart of the German
nuclear program. Its main floor was a whirring hive of activity,
where rows of gas centrifuge machines utilized artificial gravity to
separate Uranium-235 from Uranium-238, yielding higher
concentrations of the element for weapons production. But the
truly important work occurred far belowground, safe from the
cameras of Allied spy planes.
Six levels of research laboratories comprised the subterranean
core of the Oranienburg complex, all devoted to the singular
purpose of exploiting Hahn and Strassmann’s revolutionary fission
process. Only persons with the highest security clearance had
access to the electro-chemical facility on the lowermost level, via a
series of strict security checkpoints, and even fewer still were
permitted entry into the clandestine inner sanctum designated
simply as Research Laboratory D, a spacious room of angular
concrete surfaces built to virtually bomb-proof specifications. This
labyrinthine security network safeguarded the classified research
occurring within the most secret laboratory in Europe.

DALE DASSEL
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 while Nikolaus Riehl, the
director of the research facility, regarded the crude artifact with a
dubious frown.
Kerner crossed his arms expectantly and waited for the
professor’s assessment, 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 soldier was the epitome of Aryan perfection, right
down to his piercing blue gaze which subordinates and strangers
alike termed ‘cold’. After his recent trip to America, he was
grateful to be attired in his familiar green SS uniform, once again
free to display the symbol of his loyal devotion to Germany: a red
swastika armband with black piping, the crowning achievement of
an illustrious military career.
Kerner served his country in the Great War, as a soldier 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, and a position on the Bavarian Storm Tank
detachment. After the war, he chose a police career in his desire to
command respect and provide order for Germany. Kerner joined
the fledgling SS in 1928 as a guard for prestigious Nazi speakers
during political rallies, exhibiting a fierce devotion that enabled
him to rise quickly in the organization, culminating in a post on
Adolf Hitler’s personal guard regiment. He was elected into the
Reichstag two years later, and finally promoted to a full-fledged
Oberst in charge of overseeing the Waffen-SS program in its
mission to acquire new weapons for the Nazi party.
It was there that the Colonel was paired with Hans Übermann,
one of the chief weapons developers working with the Ahnenerbe
to locate arcane historical weaponry that might successfully be
applied to the German Army for the war effort. His first priority
involved a mythical substance called orichalcum which was
described in Karl Zschaetzsch’s book, Atlantis: Die Urheimat der
Arier, or Homeland of the Aryan. The ancient element promised
untold wonders 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 Lost Kingdom. Now that
he’d acquired the statue from Jones, Kerner would see if his efforts
were about to pay off.
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Übermann turned the robust little idol in his hands to study it
from all sides, noting its tarnished condition with distaste. “I send
you all the way to America to find the weapon of the age, and you
bring me this prehistoric knick-knack?”
“Herr Doktor, this ‘knick-knack’, as I believe 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’.”
Riehl scratched his chin but said nothing. This Atlantis
operation was entirely Kerner’s affair until he gave the institution
something worthwhile to produce. Otherwise Riehl would stay out
of it and leave the colonel free to embarrass himself as he saw fit.
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 top of the blueprint, depicting a
cross-sectional cutaway which revealed the inner workings of a
large bomb with fins. He tapped a large 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, and says the timeframe for our program is
too long, our technology too unreliable. Science cannot be rushed,
you know.”
Kerner knew of the situation. “I am well aware of Herr Hitler’s
lack of patience, Doktor Übermann, but it will not permit us from
moving forward with our endeavor. Once we prove ourselves with
this device, we will gain the full support of the Heereswaffenamt.
Then Germany will be unstoppable, and the Americans will cower
before our nuclear superiority.”
“Yes, yes,” he said irritably, “but we only have, at present, thirty
tons of uranium, and the quality of the material is unsuitable for
our purposes. Alas, I’m afraid we need something else.”
“This might prove useful.” Kerner withdrew a sealed glass vial
from the breast pocket of his uniform. “Among Fräulein
Hapgood’s possessions were these curious metal beads. They were
stored with her other 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 electric lights of the laboratory, then returned to the
table and picked up the horned idol. “Hmm… Notice how the
3

DALE DASSEL
statue mouth is open, ja? Let us place a bead inside and see what
will happen.” He twisted the lid off the vial and rolled a shiny bead
into his palm.
Klaus Kerner watched closely as Übermann pushed the bead
neatly into the idol’s mouth receptacle and set it down again. The
statue’s eyes immediately came to life with a glowing yellow light.
The men all stepped back as the small statue began to vibrate on
the table, emitting a high-pitched whine like a power saw turned up
to full speed. A brief snow of rust flew from the torso, which spun
at the waist, whirling in circles with increasing speed. The glowing
eyes were a blaze of light as it jittered across the surface of the
steel lab table, the upright arms a greenish blur.
“Mein Gott!” Nikolaus Riehl exclaimed in astonishment.
The horned idol tumbled over the edge and struck the floor with
a dull thud, where it continued to whirl madly. Sparks flew as its
metal arms grated against the unyielding stone. The statue
stumbled awkwardly in a wide circle, writhing like a wounded
animal. The stunned onlookers thought its frenetic dance might
continue forever until the torso began to slow as its dose of
orichalcum was depleted. The triangular-shaped eyes pulsed
weakly and finally went out. The ancient icon lay still in the
sudden quiet of the laboratory. The intensity of the display left
them breathless at the possibilities of their newfound energy
source.
Although he was not an easily-impressed man, 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,” chided Übermann
condescendingly. “Think big like the Americans. Think of bombs!”
“We will make the Reich an unstoppable force!” Nikolaus Riehl
cried in triumph.
Übermann, the ever-practical physicist, maintained his focus in
the midst of all the excitement. “But first we must test! Let us
submit the orichalcum to the Evonik.” He picked up the glass vial
and hobbled towards a large machine which dominated the austere
laboratory. Behind him, Kerner scooped up the horned idol and
quickly followed, anxious to learn if this new material could give
his army a dominant edge over their American enemy.
They had a decisive advantage thanks to the Degussa
Corporation, a refinery of precious metals which was contracted to
furnish the Auergesellschaft with the very latest in scientific
technology. Their state-appointed benefactors had spared no
expense in providing all of the tools necessary for the Army
Ordnance war effort. 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.
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Rising above them was a massive Tesla Coil slaved to a highvoltage
induction capacitor that stood humming against the wall.
Situated opposite the capacitor was the notably shorter Van de
Graaff generator, topped by a large silver sphere, positioned on the
other side of the stark gray expanse. A chain of oversized plasma
globes were suspended from the ceiling like a glass model of the
universe, strung together with a network of condenser lines. But
the centerpiece of Übermann’s domain was the Uranmaschine, a
blocky refrigerator-like device that housed a circular apparatus
mounted on a thick spindle. The particle accelerator was precision
engineered for isotope separation and the measurement of nuclear
constants, however Übermann was confident that it could be used
for other purposes, as he was about to demonstrate.
Riehl manned the green-paneled control board while Übermann
slipped his hands into a set of insulated rubber gloves and donned a
pair of goggles. Twisting a thick handle, he opened a door to the
accelerator and slid out a flat metal tray. The research director
flipped a set of red switches in sequence, and a row of
corresponding 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, making the SS leader
uncharacteristically nervous. In truth, Kerner understood very little
about this new technology, and what he didn’t know frightened
him. But the physicists worked with single-minded confidence, so
Kerner brushed away his foolish trepidation as the experiment
began.
Übermann, cloaked in his long white lab coat, gently placed
several of the red orichalcum beads into a lattice of cube-like
boxes that resembled an oversized ice cube tray, slid the tray back
into the particle 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. “Activate the reactor,” he
instructed.
Adjusting a pair of dials with the finesse of a jewel thief
cracking a safe, Nikolaus Riehl called out the indicator readings to
his aged colleague. When the electromagnets were primed to full
capacity, he initiated the cyclotron. Almost immediately, a deep,
ominous whirring sound emanated from the great 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 his
safe distance, he could see the skin of the Uranmaschine blur like a
mirage that might suddenly disappear.
“Frequency rate is constant,” Riehl reported as calmly as if he
were announcing a chess move.
5

DALE DASSEL
Übermann shuffled closer, irresistibly drawn to the accelerator.
He cupped his hands over his forehead and peered into the
viewport. A series of rapid flashes stunned the narrow portal with
the radiance of the sun, each one more brilliant than the last.
Kerner and Riehl flinched warily while Übermann continued to
stare into the fission chamber, enthralled by the desire to bask in
the awesome power they had unleashed.
“Das ist wundervoll,” he breathed. The lenses of his thickrimmed
goggles glowed with an unearthly light. He reached up and
touched the machine reverently. “The energy that drives the
universe…”
The luminous blaze suddenly erupted with blinding intensity.
Übermann staggered back in horror as a blue corona lit the
reinforced lead-glass window, followed by a blast of intense heat
that scorched the laboratory air with tropical warmth. The
accelerator shivered, struggling to contain the force of the violent
reaction blossoming within its over-clad shell.
“Critical!” Riehl yelled in panic. The research director slapped
the emergency button, cutting power to the reactor, then dropped to
the floor behind the control bank and pulled his lab coat over his
head, anticipating the explosion that was certain to follow.
The shockwave hit the Tesla Coil, shattering the overcharged
electrodes. Klaus Kerner threw his arms up for protection as a
discharge of white-hot sparks rained over him. From the corner of
his eye, he saw Hans Übermann scrambling for cover in the midst
of the chaos like the coward that he was.
“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 disaster ended with a series of sharp reports when the
energy flux ravaged a vacuum diode console, shattering its cluster
of cathode tubes. The accelerator whirled to a halt, and everything
became silent. Kerner stood warily in the haze of electrical smoke,
amazed that they were still alive. He primly brushed away shards
of delicate glass from his neatly-starched uniform and looked
around in shock. Nearly half of the laboratory was destroyed,
including the main power generator. But the Evonik machine was
miraculously intact. Hans Übermann hurried over to join Riehl at
the control board. Together they consulted the instrument readings
in disbelief.
“Amazing!” Riehl gushed. “There is significant neutron
multiplication without any trace of radioactive contamination.” It
seemed almost impossible to consider, but the data did not lie.
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Do you realize what this means? We are on the verge of
sustaining a chain reaction!” Übermann paced over to Kerner and
clamped a bony hand around the SS captain’s arm. He held up the
vial of orichalcum. “We need more of this material, Kerner, much
more. Can you get it?”
“This jar represents all that Fräulein Hapgood amassed. In
addition to our field operations abroad, I have two agents
following her and the American professor to see if they can lead us
to another source. In the meantime, I have recovered a journal
which may prove useful in discovering the origin of this material.”
The old man shook his head irritably. “Let me show you
something, Kerner.”
Übermann led him from the main laboratory into an adjoining
room occupied by a sturdy plywood table. Its surface was covered
with a complex network of diodes, vacuum bulbs, and something
that resembled a round sponge cake with a battery stuck in the
middle. Kerner surveyed the meaningless clump of devices in a
brief glance, unimpressed by what he saw. He plucked at a springy
wire and released an impatient sigh. They were wasting valuable
time. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded sharply.
“This is where it all began. Seven months ago we bombarded
uranium with neutrons to produce nuclear fission. In seven months
we went from this to that.” He jabbed an emphatic finger toward
the ruined site of the reactor experiment. “And now our work is
obsolete. By all rights we should be dead from such a mishap, yet
we are not. I think the message is quite clear. We are destined for
greater things in the future, but we must act now unless you want
the Americans to supersede our work.”
Kerner maintained a veneer of cool patience to cover his
seething temper. He felt like throttling Übermann’s skeletal neck
until it snapped. “I brought you exactly what you asked for.”
“Yes, but all of our toil will be meaningless unless we can
deliver the Uranbombe first! Do you understand how important
this is? 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 matched Kerner’s venomous smile, undaunted by
the threat. “Good. Then I will prepare a report for the Ministry of
War announcing our progress. The fate of the world is in your
hands, Kerner. Try not to drop it.”
***
Uranverein Institute, Berlin
7

DALE DASSEL
The steady buzz of conversation in the auditorium lapsed into
respectful silence when Professor Hans Übermann mounted the
stage and made his way up to the podium. He did not bring a sheaf
of papers for a speech as might be expected for such a momentous
occasion, or even a rolled up diagram to share with his audience.
Instead, he carried a small aluminum box which he placed on the
right-hand corner of the stand. The elderly physicist adjusted his
thick glasses and squinted in the bright stage lights, regarding the
roomful of colleagues that filled the tiered rows to near capacity.
He scanned the prominent faces in attendance: Kurt Diebner,
Walther Bothe, Robert Döpel, Hans Geiger, Wolfgang Gentner,
Wilhelm Hanle, Gerhard Hoffmann, Otto Hahn and his assistant.
Übermann smiled to himself, pleased that all the key figures of the
Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Kernphysik were present to witness his
moment of triumph. The occasion marked the first victory for the
newly-established Uranverein, which was formed only two months
earlier. The fact that they had progressed so far in such a short time
convinced him that Germany was destined for greatness, and Hans
Übermann was responsible for that success in no small part.
Übermann had been one of the founders of the Verein für
Raumschiffahrt, and concurrently held a chair as director of the
Kummersdorf Experimental Station at Brandenburg, where he had
received the title Doktor. It was in that capacity that he worked
alongside Professors Hahn and Strassman to split the atom. When
that dream was finally realized late last year, he urged the military
to provide funding and capital to support further research for their
program. The results, he promised, would yield Germany the
ultimate weapon.
Now he was pleased to bestow his finest achievement on the
organization which would lead his country into the future. “My
esteemed colleagues, I am here tonight to make an historic
announcement: We have beaten the Americans in the race for
nuclear armament.” He opened the box and withdrew the bead of
gleaming red metal, then raised it high to show the roomful of
assembled physicists. “Behold, orichalcum—the Wunderwaffe of
the age!” he declared triumphantly. “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
refused to take questions. 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.
Aside from providing uranium to the Heereswaffenamt
ordnance office, the Uranverein was charged with building an
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
atomic weapon to deploy against their enemies in the forthcoming
conflict. Their progress was hampered by the inherent production
difficulties of working with nuclear material, and ceaseless
pressure from an impatient war department. Things might have
continued this way until Kerner’s timely discovery rendered
uranium obsolete. If Degussa could mass-produce quantities of the
Atlantean metal for the construction of orichalcum-based
weaponry, the possibilities would be limitless.
“Orichalcum is the primal source material which created the
world. According to legend, the gods of Atlantis build their great
empire from this remarkable alloy. It is exponentially more
powerful than uranium, and far exceeds the potential of the atomic
reaction. Today we harnessed that power for Germany!” cried
Übermann, shaking his fists in the air with maniacal zeal. “The
first Überbombe will soon be dropped over America by our planes,
and the Allies will surrender before our might! We stand on the
cusp of a new era in human history!”
Watching from the shadow of the curtain off-stage, Klaus
Kerner smiled broadly as the roomful of scientists stood and
applauded the speech in unison. 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 purpose. It
was time to take control of their destiny, and he would not fail.
9

7
TIKAL
Strands of misty light filtered through the dark jungle canopy to
stain the humid air a perpetually greenish hue. A machete flashed
in the gloomy dusk, startling a toucan from a nearby tree in an
explosion of yellow feathers as Indiana Jones chopped a prickly
escoba limb from his path. Trudging a few paces behind him,
Sophia Hapgood mopped the feverish glaze of perspiration from
her face with a saturated handkerchief and swished her hands to
disperse a cloud of gnats drawn by the taste of her sweat. Her long
red hair, tied in a ponytail to prevent snagging on the dense flora
hedging the narrow trail, stuck to her neck in a thick, wet clump. A
heavy layer of mud coated the soles of her boots. The straps of her
field pack dug painfully into her shoulders, chafing her skin with
each labored step. It was like toting a bag of rocks through a sauna.
Sophia had never been more miserable in her entire life, and they
were still miles from Tikal.
Hiking in the shadowy isolation of the rainforest, surrounded by
nature at its most primitive, the rest of the world and its troubles
seemed so very far away. The harsh discomforts of the jungle
almost made it easy to forget that Adolf Hitler was arming the Nazi
regime in the wake of the recent Pact of Steel agreement, which
assured mutual cooperation between Germany and Italy in the
event of war; A war that could break out in Europe at any time.
That sobering thought reminded Sophia that her present suffering
was for the benefit of the greater good. They were the only thing
standing between peace and total devastation if Kerner succeeded
in his mission, because the ruthless SS colonel would turn the
power of Atlantis against humanity the moment he attained it.

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Sophia touched the pendant on her chest and felt a surge of
hope that Nur-Ab-Sal would protect her from any dangers they
might face. Too bad he couldn’t do something about the insects.
As they marched deeper into the temperate jungle, she kept a
wary eye out for any sign of standing water. Her anxiety stemmed
from a lifelong phobia of diseases, fueled by accounts of malaria
that were prevalent in so much of the popular travel literature. To
Sophia, each shadowy pool was a stagnant breeding hole swarming
with clouds of blood-sucking parasites eager to infect her with
some incurable virus. Whenever they neared a patch of water, she
enacted a frantic ritual of rubbing her arms, neck, and face to
prevent any mosquitoes from landing on her. Indy laughed at her
paranoia, but Sophia didn’t think it was very funny.
She began the day refreshed and eager for their hike to the
Mayan ruins of Tikal, but her enthusiasm quickly waned after
traversing a quarter mile of dew-laden underbrush in an envelope
of tropical steam that plastered her clothing to her body like a
second skin. The jungle was much more frightening than she’d
ever imagined. It was a dark, primal world, constantly alive with
movement and sound. Swift black shapes leaped through the
overhanging branches like ghostly shadows, emitting unearthly
howls that were answered by the scream of a jaguar somewhere in
the unseen distance. The air buzzed with the shrill, ever-present
chatter of locusts, which escalated into a maddening symphony of
noise that grated on her ears until she wanted to scream.
As if her frayed nerves weren’t punishment enough, everything
had gone from bad to worse since they left the trail. Thanks to a
psychic nudge from Nur-Ab-Sal, she and Indy had spent the last
two hours bushwhacking their way through the sweltering
lowlands of Guatemala in search of the pyramid from her vision,
where the first key to Atlantis was allegedly located. While her
spirit guide had never led her astray before, Sophia was regretting
her decision to veer from the well-established road to Tikal for an
aimless trek through the uncharted green hell. It was her fault that
they were lost, although she would never admit it.
Just ahead of her, Indy paused to flay a web of thorny vines that
stretched between a pair of trees in their path. Sophia, who had
been staring fixedly at the ground, suddenly bumped into him. She
looked up with a rude scowl and prodded him in the back. “Quit
being so pokey! Keep moving.”
The archaeologist ripped away the severed vines and turned to
confront her. “What’s your problem?” he said testily. “You haven’t
stopped complaining all day. If you have something to say to me,
then spit it out right now, because I’m getting tired of this.”
Sophia stood nose-to-nose with Indy, her cheeks burning with
scorn. “You want to know what’s wrong? I’m tired, I’m hungry,
2

DALE DASSEL
and I’m sweating like a pig. I hate this place. I wish we’d never
come here.”
“Then blame Nur-Ab-Sal. Don’t take it out on me.”
“You said this was going to be a nice walk.” Her voice rang with
accusation.
“It was until you decided to leave the path,” Indy countered.
“Only because Nur-Ab-Sal said we were going the wrong way.”
“Fine. If you’d rather trust some phony spirit over a
topographical map, then lead the way.” He extended his arm,
beckoning her to go first.
She preoccupied herself by repositioning the weight of her
backpack to avoid his icy stare. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re doing
a fine job. And Nur-Ab-Sal is not phony.”
Indy glanced at the unused machete hanging at her side, and
felt a burst of irritation. He’d given it to her at the start of the hike,
thinking that she would help him slash through the trees in an
effort to make better time to the ruins, but the redhead hadn’t so
much as touched it.
“You know, it wouldn’t kill you to give me a hand with this,” he
said, gesturing at the surrounding brush with his own greenstreaked
blade.
She raised her hands and gave three slow claps of mock
applause, along with a humorless smile. “Happy now?”
“You can’t have Atlantis delivered on a silver platter, Miss High
Society,” he said sternly, “and I’m not carrying you. Now let’s
move.” He held her gaze for a lingering moment and then stalked
off, leaving Sophia alone in the middle of the jungle.
She gaped at the empty spot in disbelief, stunned that he would
abandon her like that. As if her day wasn’t going bad enough, the
last thing she needed was to be lost in this godforsaken place. She
swallowed her pride and hurried to catch up with him.
As much as she hated to admit it, Sophia Hapgood admired
Indiana Jones. She caught herself appraising the lean, fedora-clad
figure with the burnished leather whip on his belt more than once
during their hike. Indy personified the archetypal explorer: A
trailblazing soldier of fortune, completely at home in the harshest
jungles on earth. Not only was she drawn to his ruggedly
handsome looks and cool machismo, but also to the man’s
relentless perseverance in the pursuit of whatever goal lay before
him, no matter how formidable the obstacles. Even if that obstacle
was her, Sophia smiled as Indy’s blade slashed left and right,
methodically disposing every bit of foliage barring the way. They
were finally making the first real progress towards Atlantis, and
nothing was going to stand in the way of her dream, not all of the
gnats or mosquitoes in the jungle.
3

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
A large, furry creature suddenly scampered across the path,
nearly running over her feet. Sophia let out a squeal of surprise and
latched onto Indy in fright. “Ooh! What was that?”
“I didn’t see anything.”
She pointed insistently to the spot where the animal had
disappeared. “It looked like a giant hamster!”
Indy peered into the underbrush, and shrugged. “Some kind of
jungle rodent. Probably a capybara. Don’t worry, it’s harmless.” He
disentangled himself from her grip and continued walking.
She waved her hands in a burst of irritation, scattering the
persistent halo of insects that hovered about as if she were
sweating honey. “Why would the Atlanteans build an outpost in
this malaria-infested hole, anyway?”
“Because it was the central hub of a major east-west trading
route,” he explained, stepping over a large tree trunk lying across
the trail. “Besides, the hardest path is often the best one to take.”
“Did you learn that from a shaman, or something?” she grunted,
awkwardly mimicking his move.
“Nope. I read it in a fortune cookie.”
“Dime-store philosophy?” she sneered, loathing his attempt at
humor. She was in no mood to be amused. “How’s that working
out for you, Professor?”
“Not bad, actually. Makes for easy bonus questions on tests, and
my students love it.” Indy grinned, enjoying their banter.
Despite her caustic remarks, Sophia was adjusting to the
hardships of the journey quite well. But Indy sympathized with her.
He knew the wilderness was a new experience for the Boston-bred
psychic, whose life was rooted in a world of luxury and privilege.
Given the circumstances, he needed all the cooperation that she
could offer.
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. In addition to being the heartland of the ancient Mayan
empire, which extended from the Atlantic coast across the Yucatan
Peninsula to the Pacific, the region was home to a wide range of
animal species including jaguars, panthers and an incredible
variety of tropical birds, monkeys, bats, rodents, and spiders. In
essence, they were exploring one of the largest natural zoos on the
planet, which was no easy feat for a posh cosmopolitan girl like
Sophia Hapgood.
After an exhausting 18-hour flight from the Azores, their tiny
charter plane touched down on a bumpy dirt airstrip in Santa
Elena, near the capital city of Flores. That was when Juan, the pilot
who’d flown them in from Belize, informed them that his fee had
nearly doubled since takeoff, and all because Sophia had promised
4

DALE DASSEL
to spare no expense if he could get them into the country as
quickly as possible. Indy protested the increased rate, but relented
because he was too tired to argue. He just wanted to sleep. The
bone-weary travelers trudged from the airport to the nearest hotel,
and fell into bed after a long overdue (albeit separate, much to
Indy’s dismay) shower.
The next morning they awoke refreshed and ready to hit the
trail after ten solid hours of sleep. Emerging from their hotel room,
they were stunned to find that the town in which they had arrived
under the cover of darkness was a disaster in broad daylight. Palm
fronds were plastered against buildings with broken windows, and
rooftops devoid of shingles. Pieces of corrugated siding and other
debris littered the muddy streets. Everything was glistening wet.
Citizens piled wreckage in heaps alongside their damaged houses,
trimmed broken tree limbs, mended walls, and gradually restored
order to their town with a perseverance attesting to the fact that
hurricanes were a way of life in Central America.
Securing provisions from a tent market near the outskirts of
town, they hired a pair of guides willing to show them the quickest
route to Tikal. Indy had not visited Guatemala in over ten years,
and he knew the old trail leading to the ruins had long since
disappeared, probably reclaimed by the jungle within months of
the 1926 London University expedition. The party crossed Lake
Petén Itzá by boat, only to find that man-made roads did not extend
into the vast wilderness beyond. So they were forced to travel as
far as they could with mules, and forge the remainder of the 40-
mile distance to the site with machetes.
The air was humid and sticky in the jungle, the ground spongy
with dead vegetation. They were forced to abandon the pack
animals after only a mile due to the increasingly muddy conditions.
Indy paid the guides and sent them back to civilization with the
donkeys. Sophia watched them leave with regret. In spite of how
much she hated riding the ill-tempered beasts, she wasn’t thrilled
about slogging through the tangled undergrowth on foot. She
shouldered her heavy bedroll and reluctantly followed Indiana
Jones into the mist, searching for her lost outpost.
Checking her watch now, Sophia was amazed to see that they
had been hiking for more than five hours. The jungle was a
continuous blur of green and black in every direction, with no end
in sight. Her aching shoulders slumped in despair. She didn’t know
how much further she could go before she finally collapsed from
exhaustion. She wanted to stop and rest, but knew they had to keep
moving. Suddenly she bumped into Indy’s outstretched arm, and
realized that he’d stopped.
“Again?” she exasperated, trying to disguise her relief.
“Really?”
5

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Unless you want to go for a swim.” 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 hurricane debris churned in the swift green current, which
resembled liquid jade amid the verdant foliage.
Sophia rubbed the back of her neck with embarrassment. “Oh.
Thanks, Indy.”
Indy sized up the situation and realized the creek was too wide
to jump across, and there was no telling how deep it was. “We
could ford it if we still had the mules. Guess we’ll have to find
another way.”
“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. Besides,
there could be snakes or crocodiles.”
Her eyes darted around warily, but found no sign of danger. “I
thought you were an adventurer. Did you lose your nerve?”
“Yeah,” he replied, chopping a thick vine that ascended into the
canopy overhead. “Right after I hooked up with you.” Indy hauled
the vine over to the shore and gave it a few pulls, testing his weight
on it.
“I don’t believe this. You really want to play Tarzan right now?”
“It’s the only way across, unless you have a better idea.”
“Fine, then. I’ll go first, if you don’t mind.”
“Why?”
She grabbed the vine from him. “Because I’m lighter and you
might break it before I can swing across.”
“Take your backpack off,” Indy suggested, shedding his own.
“Less weight. I’ll throw it over when you reach the other side.”
“My backpack is fine where it is, thank you very much.
Besides, I pack light, remember?”
With that, she approached the edge of the bank where the
ground sloped away. She peered into the brackish water, took a
firm two-handed grip on the vine, and leapt into space. She was
halfway across when a loud snap echoed like a gunshot in the
branches above. Sophia cried out in surprise as the vine abruptly
dropped several feet. Indy winced as gravity deposited her
unceremoniously in the mud on the opposite shore.
“God damn it!”
Indiana Jones chuckled 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 fallen companion,
who was still raving when he pulled her up the slippery bank.
“That’s no way for a guardian of the forest to talk,” he chided.
6

DALE DASSEL
She gave him a murderous glare. “What the hell are you talking
about?”
He touched the tiny red flowers of a plant growing nearby.
“Ixcanan. Also called red heads.”
Flushed with humiliation, Sophia viciously tore off a large,
waxy leaf and began to wipe the mud off her pants. “I hate this
damn place.”
Indy scratched his nose to cover his amusement, and turned his
attention to the surrounding jungle. “We should be in the vicinity
of the ruins by now. Are we getting close?”
“How should I know?”
“Why don’t you ask your travel agent, Nur-Ab-Sal?”
“Are you making fun of me?” The hard edge in her voice
warned him to choose his next words with care.
“No, I’m serious.” He plunged his machete into the ground and
squinted at the leafy canopy above, judging the angle of the
sunlight. “It’s going to be dark in few hours. I’d feel better
camping in the ruins tonight instead of out in the open.”
Frowning at his impatience, she looked around as if their goal
was hiding behind a nearby tree. “Let me see if I can contact him.”
Sophia closed her eyes and swished her hands in the air,
summoning an invisible essence from her surroundings. Then, with
arms outstretched, she turned in a slow circle, witching over a wide
swath of uncharted wilderness like a human divining rod. Her
hands began to shake, trembling spasmodically. “I sense Nur-Ab-
Sal. His spirit is close.”
Closer than Atlantis, that’s for sure, Indy thought wryly, but
kept it to himself.
“There.” Sophia let her arms drop. Her eyes flicked open and
she strode off with purpose in a seemingly random direction. Indy
grabbed his saber and followed, wondering how they were
supposed to locate one particular pyramid based on a psychic
vision that occurred halfway around the world, from a person who
had never set foot in the country before. He hoped that 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 white ribbon of road cut through the
wilderness like a deserted railbed, vanishing from sight in both
directions.
Sophia gave a vindicated nod, reaffirming the wisdom of her
Atlantean guide. “See, I told you to trust Nur-Ab-Sal.”
“Okay, I’m impressed,” Indy admitted. “Which way do we go
now?”
7

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Just try to keep up, Jones.” She turned left and continued along
the path, which was covered in sparse vegetation. Indy’s compass
pointed to a westerly heading. He was almost positive they were
traveling on the sacbe, a network of paved roadways that spread
across the country like a great limestone spider web, joining all the
major 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
them to a structure.
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 midday sun, a ball of white flame in the azure sky.
“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 her eye. Sophia
whipped out a pair of binoculars and trained them 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. “Indy, I see it! 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, sweetheart. Looks like you
found it.”
The sight of the monument gave Sophia renewed strength. She
put aside her previous misery and 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 with the redhead a moment
later and found her kneeling in the shadow of a massive pyramid
overgrown with dense vegetation—exactly as she had foreseen.
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
in the air. 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 layer of 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.
8

DALE DASSEL
Indy glanced at Sophia kneeling in the grass, clutching the
pendant around her neck, eyes sparkling with emotion. He gave her
a gentle squeeze on the shoulder but remained silent, unwilling to
disrupt her moment of rapture. He understood perfectly. Gazing up
at the majestic limestone pyramid rising above the jungle, he was
struck by the same awe that Ambrosio Tut must have felt when he
first came upon Tikal in 1848. Indy envied the gum sapper for
being the first modern person to arrive on the site since it was
abandoned at the end of the 9th century. After all, it was every
archaeologist’s dream to find a remote, pristine civilization,
untouched by the hand of man, while Tut had stumbled across one
literally by accident.
He wondered what the pioneer would think of the most recent
visitors, guided there by the disembodied spiritual ancestor of the
Mayans who had built the ancient city of Mutal, as it was known
from hieroglyphic inscriptions found in the ruins. Also called ‘The
Place of the Voices’, 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 one, Indy knew, represented a
structure yet to be unearthed, a time capsule of ancient knowledge
just waiting to be opened.
He felt a touch on the shoulder. “Thanks for letting me have my
moment,” Sophia said with a bittersweet smile. They stood
together and gazed at the pyramid in awed silence, unable to move.
“Is this what it always feels like?”
“Well, it’s one of the perks,” he replied with characteristic
modesty.
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 longforgotten
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.
Sophia stared across the clearing in a daze. The sight of trees
growing atop the pyramid was absurd, whimsical, like something
out of a dream. She couldn’t believe that she was actually here.
“What are those?” she asked, pointing at some large, dog-like
animals with tiny ears and long tails which darted among the
tangled overgrowth.
“Coatis. They’re sort of like big squirrels.”
“Are they dangerous?”
“Not unless you’re a lizard.”
9

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Then let’s go. We have to find that keystone.” She was about
to take a step toward the pyramid when Indy snared her by the arm.
He pointed at a large circular hole in the ground, inches from her
feet.
“Watch where you’re walking,” he warned. “These things are
all over the place.”
Peering into the dark void, which 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,” Indy supplied. He added that the chambers
were excavated by the Mayans directly into the limestone bedrock,
and used as reservoirs to collect drinking water during the rainy
seasons, food storage, and also for human burials.
They sidestepped the hole and crossed the open plaza, where
piles of dead foliage were heaped along the base of the temple, the
refuse of the excavation efforts. Sophia approached the pyramid
and placed her hands reverently on the stone while Indy examined
the Pre-classic temple with academic detachment. He lifted a web
of thorny vines to reveal a layer of crumbling orange stucco that
adorned the monument in antiquity. The Mayans originally painted
their buildings in blazing colors that could be seen for miles. Now
all that remained was bare limestone speckled with black mold and
lichen. Then he noticed something else, a large square hole cut into
the stone 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 into them.
Indy shed his knapsack beside a nearby stelae and stretched his
sore arms after their arduous trek. Taking his cue, Sophia dropped
her own bedroll on the grass and plunked herself down at the
bottom of the pyramid staircase. She fished her canteen out of her
pack and took a long drink while Indy perused the inscription on
the upright stone.
“You’re sitting by a giant snake, you know.” he remarked
casually.
The redhead came off the stairway like it was on fire. Indy was
doubled over with laughter as she scanned the area in alarm. “What
the hell is so funny? I don’t see any snake.”
He ambled over to the staircase and patted the ancient carving.
A crimson flush arose in her cheeks when Sophia realized that the
end of the stone banister was carved into the head of a giant
serpent whose body extended up the face of the pyramid. She had
been sitting by the snake’s head. Enraged, she darted forward and
slugged the archaeologist on the shoulder.
10

DALE DASSEL
“Ow!” Indy rubbed his arm tenderly. “That wasn’t very nice.”
“Well neither is scaring the hell out of me!”
Fuming with embarrassment, she retrieved her hastily discarded
canteen and sat down again. Indy offered her an unconvincing
apology and reached into his backpack for his own canteen. He
unscrewed the cap and 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.
“Oh my God, you just had to do that, didn’t you?”
Flapping its wings noisily, the parrot whistled, “You had to do
that? Bwaaak!”
“What a smart bird,” Indy observed.
Sophia gritted her teeth in irritation. Keeping her eyes riveted to
the parrot, she slowly extended her hand towards Indy. “Give me
your gun. Right now.”
“Give me your gun! Give me your gun! Awwk!”
Indy clapped her on the shoulder. “C’mon, it’s not that bad.”
“It’s not that bad! Bawwwk!”
Sophia threw a nasty look at the annoying bird. She really was
prepared to shoot the damn thing if it didn’t shut up. Her wish
materialized a moment later when a loud gunshot shattered the
jungle solitude, followed by a scream. The parrot flapped off
wildly into the air, shedding a trail of green feathers in its panicked
flight. Bushes thrashed and footsteps pounded nearby. Somebody
coming closer. Indy drew his Webley and pulled Sophia down
behind the stone 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.
11

8
TOMB OF AN ATLANTEAN KING
Footsteps rustled the dry ground foliage: frantic, desperate, and
surprisingly swift. Indy aimed his gun over the thick stone banister
and 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. Indy tightened his grip on the Webley’s trigger
just as a lithe orange shape burst into view and streaked across the
clearing in a flash of color. 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, adding with a distasteful sniff, “And I must say that you
certainly write better than you photograph.”

DALE DASSEL
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 at the intimate gesture.
“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 looked like 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
tropical sun. Even his neatly waxed moustache echoed the tradition
of his Victorian forebears, though it looked painfully outdated in
the mid-twentieth century.
Sophia offered her sympathies for all of 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, who
nodded her encouragement. “Actually, we’re hoping to find some
evidence of Atlantis.” He nearly winced. No reputable
archaeologist would ever admit such a thing, but Indy’s
professional record wasn’t exactly spotless, and he 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 blind zealot
on the quest for the Lost Kingdom, just like Heimdall and Costa.
Indy dropped his mantle of academic credibility 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 your colleagues said you were the expert on the
subject.”
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“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.”
Kerner no doubt, using his customary alias. That confirmed it.
The Nazis really were ahead of them, and they 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 so-called keeper of the first key. If the SS captain
was in a hurry to leave after obtaining the book, then he probably
missed it altogether. Kerner might have all the clues, Indy
conceded, but the information would be useless without a way to
enter Atlantis. Finding the key would give them a critical
advantage, and it was up to Sophia to locate it. But first they had to
get inside the pyramid.
“What can you tell us about the temple?” Indy asked, hoping 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 architectural wonders without the technology of the
Atlanteans.” Then she recalled a recent news article about Yucatan
archaeology. “Do you know Sylvanus Morley? I 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 contemptibly. “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.
3

DALE DASSEL
“My work is truly significant,” he boasted for Sophia’s benefit.
“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 ancient times.”
In spite of his dislike for the British scholar, Indy was
grudgingly impressed. Most of the major well-known 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.
He gestured to the forested mound looming above them. “How
long did it take you to clear off the overgrowth?”
“Nearly four months. We’ve been at it since March, and I say
it’s progressing quite nicely. I’d hoped to have it entirely
uncovered by the end of summer, but the hurricane put an end to
that goal. It passed through just last week and brought my
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,” Sophia remarked, earning a look of
disapproval from Indy.
“Don’t worry, darling. 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.
“Can we take a look inside?” she asked.
“But of course. Please follow me.”
Fawning like a schoolgirl, Sophia took his arm and threw Indy a
playful wink as the British archaeologist led them around the
forested pyramid. A network of splayed roots clung to the mossy
base stones like a pale spider web, anchoring the lowermost trees
to the artificial ridge. Sternhart’s 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 replica with
delight. “How cute! Did you make these?”
“Yes, actually. I sell them to help finance my workers’ salary. I
also have souvenir postcards and mugs, if you’re interested.”
Indy turned over one of the models and saw a price scrawled on
the bottom. “Jungle tourism,” he marveled in disbelief. 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 surveyed the dense jungle around them. “Not anytime
soon, that’s for sure.”
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“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 ten feet overhead. The temperature was
noticeably cooler inside the temple, where the ancient stone
leached the moisture from the air. The pungent odor of moss filled
their nostrils. The trio followed the passage to an L-shaped 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 even a painted mural
that commonly adorned most royal Mayan tombs. The place was
completely barren. The only decoration was a pair of wave-like
designs that ran from floor-to-ceiling in a vertical band, bookends
to a blank section of wall at the angle of the passage.
Indy traced a finger along one S-shaped link of the interlocking
chain. “Engraved symbols of water and life.”
Sophia surveyed the featureless expanse of limestone in acute
disappointment. “This is it?” she balked. The emptiness came as a
shock after she had endured so much agony on behalf of Nur-Ab-
Sal, who had promised her the key to Atlantis. “I can’t believe this!
There’s really nothing here.”
“Well, almost nothing.” Sternhart beckoned them over to a large
sculpture hidden in shadow at the far end of the room. His lantern
revealed a stylized elephant head with large ears and stunted tusks.
Its trunk was missing. There was a slot in the wall between the
tusks, indicating the place where the animal’s ubiquitous
appendage had 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.
Sophia touched the carving with excitement. “There were
elephants in Atlantis! Remember how Plato wrote about them in
the Critias?”
“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 or tails of this room. It does
seem rather strange that a temple of this size and 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 strength or 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.
5

DALE DASSEL
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 that had accumulated around the wave.
The British archaeologist scratched his chin nervously. “I hope
you know what you’re doing.”
“I do now.” 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. “Look!”
Indy methodically traced the wave, chipping away dust and grit
until the frieze was defined as a separate piece fitted into the wall.
Sternhart quickly added his own hunting knife to the effort.
Together the two men carefully pried the heavy stone free and
lowered it to the dusty floor of the chamber. 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.
Charles Sternhart brushed his hands on his shorts. “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. Sophia helped
them pick up the spiral and maneuver it over to the elephant head,
wrestling one end of it into the hollow niche between the tusks.
Indy pushed in with his shoulder and felt the nub of the stone wave
settle into the socket. The sculpture was finally complete after
untold centuries. They stood back to admire their teamwork.
“What happens now?” Sternhart wondered aloud.
Sophia stepped forward confidently. “I know.” She crouched
under the elephant head and used her shoulder to raise the trunk,
pushing it from vertical to horizontal.
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
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
spiral design that adorned the outer walls of the crypt. 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.
“Bless my soul, the tomb of an Atlantean king!” the site director
gushed jubilantly.
“Oh my God!” Sophia leaned into the tomb, her green eyes
sparkling with the wonder of discovery. She pointed to an object
clenched in the corpse’s bony hand. “We found it! I can’t believe
we really found it! Nur-Ab-Sal was right!”
“Let me see that.” Sternhart carefully pried open the skeletal
fingers to retrieve a flat, circular stone. Indy pushed the lantern
closer 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!”
Indy reached into the alcove and touched the femur bone,
rubbing his fingers together as cinnamon ash trickled between
them. “Calcium,” he mumbled. “This guy must be at least five
thousand years old.”
“Impossible. This is a Pre-Classic tomb, Dr. Jones, therefore it
cannot be any older than 1,800 B.C.,” declared Sternhart
adamantly.
“Tell that to him. The growth rate of calcium is something like
six millimeters per year, I think.”
“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 like that, Indy?”
“Paleolithic tribes used red paint to confer immortality on an
important person. Red is the traditional color of life. It became a
mummification ritual in absence of actual mummification, which
didn’t develop until much later in history.”
“You mean like reincarnation?”
“Sort of.”
“Wait. There’s something else. Look,” she said, pointing to the
back of the tomb.
The lantern spilled its orange glow over the wall to reveal an
inscription etched into the moldy stone behind the grotesque
skeleton. The shadowy characters moved under the wavering
flame, dancing back and forth in the light. Indy pushed back the
crown of his hat for a better view. The script resembled Mayan, but
appeared to be a stylized form that he’d never seen before, a
curious mix of Itza' and something vaguely Sahidic.
“Can you read it?”
7

DALE DASSEL
“Maybe with a little help from Nur-Ab-Sal,” Indy said dryly.
“Leave that to me.”
The redhead leaned into the secret crypt and pressed her hands
to the wall. Closing her eyes, she moved her hands over the
characters and felt the ancient script with her fingertips. Her brow
furrowed in concentration. Her lips moved silently, but she did not
speak for a long moment. Then she began reciting the ancient
words in monotone, like the full-trance medium that she professed
to be.
“Azatlán will live on, past fallen cities and wars that overthrow
the mighty empires of the earth, beyond civilizations stomped into
the dust of history, reborn in the dreams of our descendants, and
returned to its former glory. Time… is the seed of the universe.”
“That’s from the Mahabharata,” Indy said, bewildered. “What
is a Hindu inscription doing in a Mayan tomb?”
“You have me there,” Sternhart admitted.
When Sophia Hapgood turned back to her companions, her face
was damp with perspiration. “I told you, everything is connected to
Atlantis.” She jabbed a finger at the engraving on the wall.
“There’s your proof, Mr. Sternhart.”
“Sorry, but I’m afraid I’ll need a little more,” he said, pulling a
gun on them. His expression was as cold as the stone walls around
them.
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 and aimed the gun at
Sophia. “I’ll have your necklace, as well.”
A wave of anger surged through Indy when he noticed the
Walther P-38 in Sternhart’s grip. His hand flew to his holster, but
froze as the Englishman primed his pistol with a sharp click. “Not
so fast. Put down your gun and don’t try anything foolish. Nobody
has to get hurt here.”
Smarting from the unexpected betrayal, Indy placed the Webley
on the floor and backed away several steps. “How much are the
Nazis paying you?” he snarled.
“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. He couldn’t
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
let this happen to Sophia because he knew the loss of her prized
necklace would be like raping her soul. Sternhart stepped forward
anxiously to claim his prize when Indy unfurled the bullwhip and
cast it towards him in a fluid arc. The leather hissed through the
ancient gloom like a sinuous bullet, slashing the Briton’s face with
a livid red stripe. Sternhart dropped his pistol with a sharp 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 above. An ominous grinding
emanated somewhere deep within the core of the pyramid, a sound
that rippled the cool air like slush. The swatch of pale daylight
flickered in the doorway as a stone panel began to descend over it,
an ancient safeguard to insure that the king’s treasure would not be
taken by an unworthy intruder. 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 green 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
passage and hastily scrambled under the trap with only inches to
spare.
Indy arrived just as the slab closed firmly against the floor,
sealing them inside of the chamber with the parrot. He pounded his
fist on the wall. “Damn it!”
All at once, the tremor stopped. Everything was silent. The only
light came from the oil lamp which had been abandoned by the
duplicitous archaeologist. Perched on the head of the elephant
statue, the parrot fluffed its wings restlessly in the darkness. Sophia
rubbed her face in agitation. She couldn’t believe her luck. It was
bad enough to be trapped inside the pyramid with no hope of
escape, but now she was imprisoned with that damned bird.
“This is not happening.”
“Unfortunately, it is.” Indy said, re-coiling his whip. He
snapped it to his belt and retrieved his Webley from the floor. He
raised the lantern, scanning the walls. Moving from one corner to
another, he ran his hands over the damp stone, searching every
surface in the room with keen attention.
“What are you looking for?”
“Another way out. These places usually have more than one
exit, just in case the builders ever got trapped inside a tomb of their
own making. We just have to find it.”
“Find it!” repeated the parrot.
9

DALE DASSEL
“Then why not start with the most obvious place?” The psychic
took two quick steps to the elephant statue and deftly swatted the
bird, which abandoned its roost and flapped around the room,
bumping off the ceiling above them. Sophia pushed the elephant
nose back to its original position and the crypt slid shut. Then she
bumped it a notch further using her hip. There was a muffled
ratcheting sound as a new door opened in the wall adjacent to the
sealed exit where Sternhart had escaped. The parrot winged for the
hallway and vanished through the door.
Indy tipped his fedora, admiring her ingenuity. “I knew there
was a reason I liked you.”
“Just get me out of here and I might give you a few more,”
Sophia said suggestively.
Indy smiled, intrigued. “Is that a promise?”
“We’ll see.”
She was about leave with him when a bright glimmer on the
floor caught her eye. Indy watched her kneel and pick up the tiny
object. She held the familiar red bead up to the lantern and
watched it gleam in the firelight.
“Orichalcum. It must have fallen out of the tomb. We may need
it later.” She dropped it into her breast pocket and followed Indiana
Jones deeper into the Atlantean pyramid.
10

9
TRAPPED!
The crash of stone reverberated in the tunnel with a bone-jarring
thud. They whirled in surprise as the doorway suddenly vanished
behind a massive granite slab, and they were engulfed in a cloud of
dust.
“No!” Sophia slapped her palms against the monolithic barrier.
But it was too late. The door was closed forever, and there was no
chance of going back.
“You didn’t know that was going to happen?” Indy said with
smug condescension. “I thought you were a psychic.”
“I’m only as psychic as Nur-Ab-Sal wants me to be. I never
said I could predict the future.”
In that moment, Indy felt like punching Ignatius Donnelly in the
face. If the Minnesota congressman hadn’t written that infernal
book that influenced Sophia Hapgood as an impressionable young
student, she might be a legitimate archaeologist now, rather than a
mystic on the quest for Atlantis, and they wouldn’t be trapped
inside of a pyramid in the sweltering Guatemalan jungle.
“Terrific.” He adjusted the lantern to burn brighter. “All right,
stay behind me, and don’t touch anything. We have to find a way
out of here.”
“Spare me the sarcasm, Jones. The Atlanteans were a peaceful
society. This isn’t some booby-trapped temple in a Republic
serial.”
“Really?” Indy rapped a fist on the enormous stone block that
sealed the portal behind them. “Are you sure about that?”
Sophia crossed her arms. “Okay, smart guy. You have a point.”
“I’m serious. This isn’t a game.”
Caution governed every step as Indy led the way down the
narrow tunnel. He swept the lantern back and forth, looking for

DALE DASSEL
any signs of a trap. The walls were hewn from enormous stone
slabs, fitted together with razor-like precision, and spaced closely
enough that he could almost touch both sides at once. The inner
passage was in pristine condition compared to the pyramid’s
crumbling exterior, and that worried him because it meant that any
arcane security precautions would be in good working order. Indy
wasn’t fooled by the primitive design. He’d been through enough
death-riddled tombs in his career to know that things were never as
simple as they looked.
In locations from South America to India, 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 he could anticipate the horrific trials they devised.
Other times, he couldn’t. He was lucky, but they still managed to
surprise him.
The silence was disrupted by a frantic rustling noise as the
parrot careened down the hallway in search of a way out.
“Do you think we’re really trapped in here?” Sophia’s voice
bounced off the walls with a hollow ring.
“Not if we can find a passage to the top.”
“How do you know there’s a way out?” she asked anxiously.
“I don’t. But I’m counting on it. We need to get out of here and
find the Lost Dialogue before the Nazis get too far ahead of us.”
“I’m glad to see that you’re finally coming around.”
“Yeah, well I can’t argue with proof etched into the wall of a
5000-year-old sealed crypt.”
“Hey, what’s that?” Sophia pointed ahead, where the floor
glittered like a thousand tiny 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 until they were nearly on top of the
spot. He spun and tackled Sophia just before the floor split open
like an inverted drawbridge, falling away beneath them.
In that instant of panic, Indy grabbed her around the waist with
one arm, while the other—holding the lantern—shot out to grasp
the edge. He nearly lost his grip when the trapdoor slammed
roughly into the ground. Hanging from the steep incline, Indy
glanced over the collar of his leather jacket and saw rows of razorthin
obsidian knives meticulously staggered down the length of a
10-foot drop. In a diabolical feat of engineering, the blades were
oriented edgewise to present a nearly invisible profile in the
darkness.
A loose pebble 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
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
shuddered. An unwary trespasser would be flayed to ribbons on the
ancient razor slide, and then deposited onto a salt bed lined with
iron nails to suffer an agonizingly painful death.
Sophia twisted her body, trying to shake him free. “Get off me!”
“Stop moving!” Indy struggled to maintain his grip on the
thrashing woman.
“Ow! Your purse buckle is digging into my back!”
“It’s a satchel,” he hissed into her ear. “Hurry up and grab the
ledge!”
She reached up and curled her fingers over the protruding stone
slab. Indy released her and quickly grabbed on with his other hand.
The lantern burned his wrist, but his sleeve protected his arm from
the worst of the heat. He felt the shape of Sophia’s body pressed
below him, smelled the scent of her sweat-soaked hair.
“We’ll have to do this again sometime without the spikes,” he
suggested.
The redhead tensed like a bristling cat. “If you don’t move right
now—” she warned. Indy quickly redistributed his weight and
eased over. Sophia scowled at him. “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. Check out their welcome mat.” He directed her
attention to the legion of razorblades gleaming just below their
heels.
Sophia looked over at Indy, her ashen face riddled with guilt.
“Sorry. I didn’t know.”
The archaeologist managed a humorless grin beneath the brim
of his fedora that was mashed against the wall. “Don’t worry about
it. You still owe me a couple more reasons, remember?”
She smiled in spite of their predicament. Indy always did look
on the bright side. “Okay, I definitely owe you now.”
“Great, now let’s get the hell out of here so we can settle up.”
“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 pit while the parrot
flew easily across and perched on the wall above them.
“Hermocrates, a friend of Socrates! Bawwk!”
Sophia threw Indy a weary glance. “Remind me to kill you if
we get out of here alive.”
He surveyed the black razors and crystalline sand at the bottom
of the pit. In all his years of adventure, Indy had never seen such a
nasty trap. What was it protecting? Was there something else in the
pyramid besides the king’s tomb waiting to be discovered? He
looked across the gulf, where fifteen feet of deadly space separated
them from the rest of the floor. The passage beyond was obscured
3

DALE DASSEL
in a veil of black fog. There were no wooden beams to snare with
his bullwhip. No easy way across.
Sophia bit her fingernails nervously. “Any ideas?”
“I’m working on it.” The parrot suddenly flapped its wings,
drawing his attention to its perch on a narrow sill above them.
The ledge ran the length of the hallway, and provided the only
way to traverse the deadly razor pit. Sophia fidgeted anxiously. Her
composure had been reduced to a spastic bundle of nerves after
surviving the booby-trapped floor. If she panicked, there was no
telling what she might do. They had to keep moving.
Indy set the lantern down. “Are you ready to get some fresh
air?”
“God, yes.”
“Then turn around,” he said, spinning her to face the wall.
Before she could protest, he crouched down and grabbed her
around the hips, then lifted her up.
“What are you doing?!”
“Getting us out of here. Just like you wanted. Grab onto that
ledge.”
She traced the path of the narrow lip until it vanished into the
darkness mid-way across the pit. Then it suddenly dawned on her
what he had in mind. “Are you trying to get us killed? We can’t do
that! Indy, put me down!”
“Put your toes on the bricks,” he said, struggling to keep her
steady.
The parrot flapped its wings uneasily as Sophia reached for the
stone outcropping. She took a swipe at it. “Shoo! Get out of here!”
The green bird flew off to escape her vindictive attack.
With her weight distributed between the wall and the ledge,
Indy put his hands on Sophia’s bottom and pushed her closer to the
ceiling.
She glanced back at him, smiling. “See anything you like down
there?”
“Maybe if I had some more light,” he confessed. The lantern
was still resting on the floor by his feet.
“Hmm, that’s too bad.”
Sophia pulled herself up until she was hanging by her
fingertips. The stone was in perfect condition. It felt solid and
capable of supporting her weight. Indy watched from below as she
carefully slid one hand along the sill, testing the method that would
carry her across the pit.
“Good. Now try each handhold before you move, and whatever
you do, don’t look down. I’m coming up next.”
He secured the lantern to his belt and jumped up to catch the
slim vestibule jutting from the wall. Then, toting three pounds of
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
British steel holstered on his waist, along with the heavy kerosene
lamp, Indy began to follow her over the pit.
The redhead inched along with deliberate slowness. To
counteract her rising panic, she stared at the texture of the ancient
limestone, inches from her face, acutely aware of the ebony razors
gleaming in the faint sphere of lantern light. Her muscles quivered
like rubber. Her arms felt like they were on fire. Salty sweat burned
her eyes, but she couldn’t wipe them without losing her grip. One
wrong move and she was dead.
“I’m going to kill that miserable bastard...” she huffed, sidling
along the rim.
Indy grappled his way closer. “Sternhart? What did you see in
him, anyway?” he asked, remembering how she’d flirted
shamelessly with the British explorer.
“Charm,” she replied without hesitation.
“What, I’m not handsome enough for you?”
Sophia 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 her belly—and Sophia plummeted into
the terrible jaws waiting to swallow her up in the darkness below.
White hot pain scraped her chest like a fiery rake when she
struck the edge of the pit and folded over. She kicked her legs
frantically, her boot tips skimming the razorblades while she
scrabbled to grasp the floor seam. Just as she was sliding
backwards, Sophia deftly plunged her fingers into the crevice, that
shallow canyon of salvation, and held on for dear life. Indy
hurriedly spanned the rest of the sill, avoiding the broken gap,
dropped to the floor and quickly pulled her to safety.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you now. Everything’s okay,” he
soothed, holding her close while Sophia trembled uncontrollably.
She felt his rough whiskers on her face, smelled the musky
odor of his cologne mixed with sweat, and burrowed her head into
his leather jacket. There was no safer place in the world. After a
moment, she pulled back with a look of wistful longing. Indy
closed his eyes in anticipation, but the kiss never happened.
“Indy, look! I see a light over there!” She pointed to a group of
orange spots hovering in the distance. “Maybe it’s the way out!”
The archaeologist sighed with disappointment. “Be careful,” he
called after her. “That light at the end of a tunnel is usually a train.”
“Don’t worry. Nur-Ab-Sal says it’s not a trap.”
“I don’t trust Nur-Ab-Sal,” he muttered irritably, peeved at the
ancient spirit for ruining yet another intimate moment.
He found her at the end of the hallway, confronting a wall
decorated with nine circular mirrors that were arranged in three
5

DALE DASSEL
parallel rows. The metal discs, polished to a glassy brilliance,
reflected the lantern light and scattered their image across its
various faces: A swatch of brown leather, a curl of red hair, the
crown of Indy’s hat.
Sophia positioned herself so that her pendant appeared in the
central mirror, and spread her arms in supplication. “Nur-Ab-Sal is
a mighty king, and his eyes see through!”
The parrot flapped around in circles overhead. “A mighty king!
Awwk!”
The pendant’s eyes flickered green, and the stone barrier
dropped into the floor to reveal the next chamber. The parrot
immediately flew through the opening with a delighted whistle.
Anticipating another trap, Indy grabbed Sophia by the belt and
hauled her back before she could follow. The whole temple shook
with a deafening crash, like an oversize train rocketing through a
narrow tunnel. They were blown off their feet by a powerful rush
of air that exploded from the passage, followed by a gut-wrenching
tremor that knocked them senseless.
They sat up, dazed, amid a snowstorm of green feathers. Indy
touched his ear, felt blood on his fingers. A kaleidoscope of colors
swirled in his vision. What the hell just happened? He fumbled for
a bright orange blur nearby, and grabbed the lantern before any of
the fuel spilled out.
Sophia picked up a feather and regarded it with disdain. “Good
riddance.”
A cool blue aura filtered through the doorway. Indy crawled
forward and cautiously peered into the room to see a cavernous
space defined by weak light streaming through a series of holes
along its lower walls. They were the same ones he’d seen from the
outside, now free of the choking vines. Indy guessed that they had
reached the center of the pyramid, but its hollow core was a
completely unique design feature, unheard of in traditional Mayan
architecture where newer temples were built over the older, more
primitive ones.
“Indy, look at this…” He brought the lantern to the middle of
the cavern, where a wonderstruck Sophia stood gazing at a thick
metal column that rose from the floor and vanished into the
darkness above.
The 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. They were joined by their
spindles to a large housing that embraced the pillar. Indy was
dumbstruck by the anachronistic device. It looked like something
produced during the Industrial Revolution, not by the ancient
Maya.
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Maybe Sophia really was onto something. When he stopped to
consider it, the Mayans were a good candidate for the descendants
of an advanced civilization, given their sudden rise from Neolithic
obscurity into a full-fledged society of unparalleled scientific
brilliance. The only comparable example of such spontaneous
cultural development was the Egyptian, which sprang to life in its
first two dynasties. What were the odds that each independent
culture, separated by half a globe and several thousand years,
shared a common ancestor? At the moment Indy had more
questions than answers, and it was not a situation that he enjoyed
on a quest of such magnitude.
“Do you know what this is?” Sophia said, pointing to a horned
face on the control panel that was identical to her pendant.
“Probably another trap,” Indy predicted. “Be careful.”
She fed the orichalcum bead into the open mouth. The tiny eyes
gleamed red and the floor heaved with a metallic groan, like the
death cry of some prehistoric beast. They were thrown to their
knees as the ancient wheels of the mechanism chewed into the
bronze column. A large square platform lifted from the floor and
climbed into the darkness, taking them with it.
“It’s an Atlantean elevator!” she cried over the noise of
prehistoric gears ratcheting together in a coppery blur.
“I thought Mr. Otis invented the elevator!” Indy shouted back.
She laughed with delight as they hurtled blindly through the
void in a terrifying rush of euphoria. Indy pulled her down beside
the control panel, afraid that they would be crushed against the
roof of the pyramid. The odor of burning metal singed their nostrils
just moments before a fiery spray of sparks erupted from the
wheels. A sharp jolt wracked the platform. Sophia cried out in
terror as it suddenly listed to one side, scraping the walls and
raining a shower of fire into the black abyss.
They were thrown to the floor when the ancient elevator came
to an abrupt halt in the middle of a small stone room. “Move! Go!”
Indy shoved her ahead roughly. They tumbled off of the lift just as
the metal spire shattered like brittle 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 200-foot shaft.
Indy peered over the side, looked back at her. “Let’s take the
stairs next time.”
“N-no kidding,” Sophia stammered.
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 the evening sky. Sophia shoved past him and
wiggled through the curtain of vegetation, eager to get out of the
pyramid. Indy was about to follow when he noticed something
etched into the lintel above the doorway. He raised the lantern and
7

DALE DASSEL
saw the peculiar, omnipresent running spiral design, luring them
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
stretching across the horizon. The buzz of arboreal insects filled
the night. Sophia stood atop the western stairway, basking in the
last rays of sunlight. She fingered her pendant, muttering to
herself.
He touched her shoulder. “Hey. Are you okay?”
“I can’t believe I almost died in there,” she said quietly. “My
life nearly ended.”
“Do you still think it’s worth it?”
She looked at him, appalled. “We can’t quit! If the Atlanteans
couldn’t handle their own power without destroying themselves,
what will happen when the Nazis get hold of it? We have to find
Atlantis before they do. We are not giving up.”
“I never said we were. Do remember that spiral design in the
king’s chamber?” Indy described the scrollwork he’d just seen over
the door lintel, and how the motif matched the designs on the other
artifacts, forming a tangible link to this unknown culture that he’d
never encountered before.
Sophia nodded, pleased that he was beginning to see the truth.
She pointed to the nose on her medallion. “That’s the symbol for
Atlantis. The waves signify its nautical heritage and naval
dominion. We should find the running spiral at every Atlantean
colony that we visit, but first we need the Lost Dialogue to locate
them.”
The pieces of the puzzle were starting to fall into place. While
he certainly wasn’t about to base the validity of her claim on some
old copper artifacts, Indy had seen too much evidence to dismiss
her theories out-of-hand. He was confident that they were on the
right trail. Whether it would lead them to Atlantis remained to be
seen, but Sophia was right. Once they found that book, they would
have the answers they needed to continue the quest.
Indy shook off the reverie when he noticed how dark it was.
“Come on. Let’s get moving while we can still see our way down.”
He took her hand and they carefully descended the steep
stairway 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. He doused the lantern.
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
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 pulled his gun out. “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 plaza 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 noisy gunfire. “Who on earth would be shooting at us?” she
said frantically.
“Our friends from Iceland.”
“You mean those two ushers who attacked you in New York?”
“They’re Nazi agents working for Kerner,” Indy said, breaking
open his gun to reload. The star-shaped extractor automatically
discharged the spent cartridges, which clinked against the stone
like tiny bells. He dug into his satchel for a speed loader and
plugged six fresh bullets into the Webley’s cylinder. Indy snapped
the revolver shut, and paused uncertainly. The air was suddenly
quiet. Too quiet. The Nazis had stopped shooting. He cautiously
peered over the serpent banister, but couldn’t see anything in the
overwhelming blackness.
“Jones!” The shooter called out from the base of the pyramid.
“Give us the necklace and we will let you live!”
Yeah, right, Indy scowled. “Since when did you guys become so
reasonable?” he shouted back at his invisible enemy.
“Since it is too dark for me to shoot you now,” Torsten replied
matter-of-factly.
Indy knew that he was right. It was pitch black, and they were
now just voices in the dark. He holstered his gun. “Well that’s
considerate!”
“Now throw down the necklace, please.”
Sophia clutched his arm with a look of scathing intensity.
“Don’t you dare!”
“I wasn’t,” he argued.
“Fräulein Hapgood! Surely you value your life over a piece of
old jewelry? Under the circumstances, it would be best for you to
comply, since you are in such an unfortunate position.”
“If you want it so bad, then why don’t you come up here and
get it?” challenged Indy.
“Because I lack both the time and the patience. Now you have
one last chance. Give me the necklace or die.” Torsten paused,
smiling in the darkness. “Though it would be a shame to waste
your lovely companion before I enjoy the pleasure of her
company.”
9

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“Your mother!” Indy pointed the Webley in the direction of the
Nazi’s smug voice and emptied the gun into the sea of blackness,
hoping to hit the sadistic bastard.
The German laughed. “Your aim is terrible, Dr. Jones! I think
maybe you could use a little more light. Here, let me help you.”
From the bottom of the staircase they saw a small flicker of
flame. The flash was bright enough to reveal a pair of hands
holding a lantern with a rag sticking out of the fuel reservoir. “Oh
shit,” Indy cursed as the Nazi hurled the firebomb at the temple.
The glass globe shattered against the stone with a tremendous
whoosh! and a gigantic ball of orange light stunned the inky night.
The flames spread across the vine-covered pyramid in a sheet of
liquid fire, devouring the ancient behemoth. Indiana Jones snared
Sophia by the arm and fled along the terrace to outrun the
heatwave that incinerated the air like a broiler oven. The roaring
flames lit the courses of the pyramid in sharp relief, throwing a
writhing serpent shadow on the side of the staircase in an
impromptu equinox. Bullets raked the stone steps as the Nazis
opened fire on their newly-illuminated targets.
The temple surged with movement. Wildlife poured from the
blazing slopes like water from a compressed sponge as animals
abandoned the thick vegetation. Bats squealed from the raging
inferno amid the smoke and glowing ashes that flickered like
fireflies in the night sky. Coatis and howler monkeys scampered
away in panic, bounding helter-skelter 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 and terrified animals. Sophia coughed in the thick, acrid
smoke that choked their lungs. She cursed as she stumbled and
scraped 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. High above them, the temple’s
burning roofcomb pierced the night sky like a flaming dagger.
They ran through the tangled lush, meandering along the stepped
courses while the foliage hissed and popped in the distance.
“Watch your step,” Indy advised as they sprinted for the broken
stairway.
The fire suddenly crested over the pyramid, 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, tripping over roots that snaked over the broken
stone ledge until they reached the broad staircase, which was
relatively open, with only a few trees growing on it. Indy and
Sophia descended the burning pyramid in the shadow of the
10

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
flaming avalanche. They reached the ground and ran across the
plaza for the jungle.
Sophia focused Indy’s shape in the darkness, intent on keeping
him in sight. Suddenly a fiery pain ringed her torso and Indy
vanished as the ground swallowed her. She landed hard on her
back, stunned. She lay gasping for breath as bright stars swam
before her eyes. Dazed, she sat up and found herself in a small
room with stone walls. A large cockroach scurried up the damp,
moss-covered walls. Flickering orange light rimmed the contour of
a round hole in the ceiling, one of the chultuns that Indy warned
her about. She gingerly touched her sore ribs. It hurt badly, and she
didn’t know if she could climb out of the pit.
The hissing flames grew louder as the fire swept into the jungle.
Sophia knew that she had to get out of there before she was burned
alive. She was reaching for the hole when she saw something move
above. Was it Indy or the Nazis? She called out for help. Her cry
was answered by a feral growl. Her blood turned to ice when she
saw the golden eyes of a jaguar peering through the entrance.
Startled, she scrambled back into the chamber, which extended
about 10 feet into the bedrock. The big cat dropped into the hole
with graceful ease. It hissed at her, baring its fangs.
The jaguar flexed its claws out, preparing for the kill. A low
growl rumbled in its throat. Sophia pressed her back against the
wall in fright. It was steeled to pounce when a burst of ruby light
scathed the passage, startling the cat. Its ears flattened in response.
The eyes of her pendant were ablaze. The jaguar 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 in a
heap. Indy’s familiar brown fedora appeared behind it. Crouching
by the hole, he pushed back the brim with the barrel of his smoking
Webley.
“Are you okay?”
“Indy! Thank goodness it’s you. I thought I was catnip.”
“Not tonight, hon. Let’s get out of here.” He dropped his
bullwhip into the cenote and braced himself while she climbed the
braided lash. He took her by the wrist and pulled her out.
She threw her arms around him tightly. “Thanks, Indy!”
“Anytime.”
Sophia looked around in concern. She could see Sternhart’s
campsite ablaze in the distance, but the fire hadn’t crossed the
plaza into the jungle yet. “Where did the Nazis go?”
“I guess they didn’t stick around. Probably figured we were
done for.” But Indy had a more important question on his mind.
“Why is everyone so interested in your necklace?”
“They think it will lead them to Atlantis. But it won’t.”
11

DALE DASSEL
He took her by the hand, and they began to walk. “Why not?”
“Because I am the vessel for Nur-Ab-Sal. He can only manifest
himself through me, so the necklace is useless by itself.”
“Well, considering that Hitler’s Secret Scouts are on the case, it
must be a top drawer priority in Berlin,” Indy surmised. “We have
to find that book fast.”
“I think they failed to earn their merit badges in fire safety,” she
joked sourly. “Maybe we could wire Marcus Brody to find the Lost
Dialogue and mail it to us. That would save us some time.”
“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.”
12

10
FORTUNE-TELLING
“I know it has to be around here somewhere,” said Marcus Brody,
patting down the front of his suit jacket.
Sophia Hapgood adjusted her gold pince-nez glasses with a
frustrated sigh while the elderly curator searched his pockets for
the key to the archive room on the second floor of Caswell Hall.
She was trying hard to maintain her patience, but they were
running out of time. They couldn’t proceed without the long-lost
Hermocrates manuscript, which hopefully would reveal the
location of the Lost City. The longer they spent searching for it, the
closer Kerner and the Nazis would come to finding Atlantis. The
archaeological discovery of the era was at stake, and they couldn’t
even get into the library!
“Ah, there it is. I knew I had it!” Brody announced, producing
the key from his breast pocket. He jabbed it into the lock upsidedown,
and fumbled to make it fit.
Sophia coughed impatiently. It was all she could do to keep
from grabbing the key and unlocking the door herself. Indy gave
her a stern look of rebuke.
“Oh, Dr. Jones! Professor Jones!” They turned at the excited
voice, and saw a well-dressed young lady running down the
hallway, waving frantically. The pretty co-ed’s shoulder-length
brown hair swirled as she came to an abrupt stop in front of Indy.
She brushed her bangs back with 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. She hugged a clipboard to her chest and twisted from
side to side like a giddy schoolgirl.

DALE DASSEL
Indy blinked in surprise, disoriented by the strong scent of rose
water perfume that washed over him. She must have poured the
whole bottle on herself, he thought. “Why uh... thank you,” he
smiled uncertainly.
After more than a week traveling abroad, Indy was glad to be
back in his clean-shaven professional mode: a beige tweed suit,
glossy bal-oxford patent leather shoes, and black wire-frame
glasses. Meanwhile, Sophia had gratefully shed her field clothes
for a conservative pastel V-neck blouse with an orange jacket, a
yellow thigh-length skirt, and stiletto heel 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 student. “Now Miss Marc,
Professor Jones is busy with some very important work, and he
really cannot afford any interruptions.”
“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!” The student’s inquisitive blue eyes
sparkled happily. Her voice was cheerful and melodious, a sound
of pure joy.
Kathleen Marc had a cherubic face with a broad forehead,
prominent eyebrows, and a dainty button of a nose. She was
impeccably attired in a long-sleeved gray dress with a squared
neckline framed by rhinestone pins. A beret was folded over her
dark brown bangs at a jaunty angle.
Indy knew the petite co-ed well. Not because she was the head
reporter for the Barnett Bugle, but because she had an intense
crush on him. She was a familiar face around the archaeology
department, despite being a journalism major. She always found
reasons to visit Indy during office hours, and freely volunteered to
run errands and generally help out in any way possible. While
some of his colleagues considered her behavior disturbing, Indy
found it amusing. He’d had his share of female admirers over the
years, but Kathleen Marc was by far the most persistent.
Some students gave their favorite professors small store-bought
gifts for the holidays, but Kathy presented him lavish, handmade
cards adorned with archaeology-inspired motifs. Last year he’d
received a birthday card written in Sanskrit and a Christmas card
composed in Arabic. To her credit, the text was completely
accurate. Indy was impressed because her attention to detail
showed more effort than some of his own students put forth in
class.
Another time she decorated his entire office in roses for teacher
appreciation week, much to the jealousy of several girls who’d
placed a single flower bashfully on his desk. Indy was surprised
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
when Kathy didn’t change her study major to archaeology, but she
was firmly devoted to a career in journalism. She promised that as
long as he continued making incredible archaeological discoveries,
she would report them. He was also certain that she was
completely serious about being his biographer someday.
“Well, if you insist.” Brody said. He’d finally managed to open
the door. “Right this way, ladies. Please watch your step, because
it’s a bit untidy in here.”
“And you don’t have tenure,” Indy reminded Sophia, who gave
him a predictably withering expression in return.
Marcus flipped a switch, and banks of fluorescent lights
revealed the length of the sixty-foot hall.
The archive room of Barnett College was part library and part
warehouse, a jumbled chaos of history. Skulls, pots, and bowls
were crammed into odd niches on the dusty shelves that held the
university’s collection of historical documents. The floor was
cluttered with stacks of books piled haphazardly amid crates of
surplus relics. Indy gazed across the room, awed by the sheer
volume of material. It would take a month for even a cursory
inventory of the place, he estimated. He drew the blinds open 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 stale books. The odor of aged paper filled the air,
tantalizing the imagination with long-forgotten knowledge that
would reveal the secrets of the past for anyone bold enough to
search for them.
Brody fanned the dusty air. “I’m afraid there hasn’t been a
proper inventory in quite some time. So please excuse the mess.”
The expansive archive which had been so carefully maintained
in the early days of the college now resembled a rummage sale,
since there was no longer a dedicated archivist. Indy had spent
hours searching the neglected storage rooms of Caswell Hall
whenever he required relics to augment his lectures.
The collections of contributors like Dunlop, Sprague, Ward, and
Pearce had been stored away since the golden age of the university,
when wealthy benefactors funded digs all over the world. But
those days were long gone. The funding dwindled between the
Great War and the stock market crash of ‘29. Now nobody had the
cash to spare for the frivolous pursuit of sending scholars around
the globe to search for the dusty relics of history. Indy didn’t blame
them. How could they afford to be so charitable when their own
society was laboring under the shadow of the Great Depression?
The glory days, much like the artifacts here, belonged in a
museum.
3

DALE DASSEL
Kathleen picked up a life-like 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. The university
takes great pride in upholding the National Museum’s reputation of
moral integrity, and as the chairman of the archaeology
department, I insist that every artifact is obtained in accordance
with those standards,” he said confidently.
“Because I’ve heard some interesting stories about Professor
Jones’ expeditions...”
Marcus 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.” Brody looked
at him for support. “Isn’t that right, Indy?”
“Stories often get exaggerated in the retelling, Kathy, and you
can’t believe everything you hear.” Indy placed the statue on a
nearby shelf and withdrew a book. He patted its cover. “It pays to
discover the truth for yourself. The library is usually the best place
to start.”
The pretty brunette stepped closer and gazed into his eyes.
“That’s why I’m here, Dr. Jones.” she confessed brazenly. “So let’s
discover some history together.”
Indy noticed Sophia’s look of pointed amusement. “Yes, let’s
discover some history, Dr. Jones. The card catalog is a good place
to start.”
“Plato’s lost dialogue should be here somewhere,” Indy said in
his most businesslike tone. He followed her to the card catalogue
in the middle of the room. Kathleen trailed after him like an
adoring puppy.
“Does it have anything to do with the statue that was stolen last
week?”
“How do you know about that?” Indy asked suspiciously. He
pulled out the ‘S’ drawer and began to flip through the cards
looking for Sternhart’s name.
“I interviewed Dr. Brody after he filed his report with the
police. I’ve been waiting for you to get back from your trip so I
could corroborate everything.”
Marcus rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Well, I saw no harm in
telling her about it since a major theft does qualify as news, and so
little of interest happens on campus during the summer.”
“That’s great, Marcus. We’ve had enough trouble already. I
don’t think advertising the purpose of our expedition is going to
help.”
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Oh, please,” scoffed Sophia. “Like the Nazis really keep tabs
on you through the Barnett Bugle.”
Kathleen stifled a nervous titter. Then her eyes grew large. She
looked back and forth between them. “Nazis? As in real Nazis?
What expedition?”
Indy’s glare could have melted lead. “They tracked you down
through a 10-year-old copy of National Archaeology.” He glanced
at Kathleen. “You’re not actually going to publish this, are you?”
“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 by next
week!”
“Great,” he said glumly. “I always like making headlines.”
“Don’t worry! I’ll paint you in the most positive light, Dr.
Jones, I promise.”
Undeterred by Indy’s reluctance, Sophia decided to indulge the
girl’s curiosity. “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.” She jotted a note on her clipboard. “Are
you planning to add more mythology to your curriculum?”
“Yeah, something like that.” Indy muttered vaguely. The last
thing he wanted to do was announce to the entire academic world
that he was looking for Atlantis. Sophia had destroyed her
reputation for that very reason, but Indy saw no benefit in
tarnishing his already checkered past. Besides, if his father found
out that he was entertaining serious notions of the fabled lost city,
he would never hear the end of it.
“Don’t lie to her, Indy.” Sophia admonished. “We’re trying to
find clues that might lead to Atlantis.”
“But isn’t Atlantis a myth?”
“It is. But try telling that to the Germans.”
“No, it isn’t,” Sophia interjected firmly. “Atlantis is as real as
Manhattan. Only disbelievers and fools think otherwise.”
The reporter scribbled furiously. “Okay, then why is it so
important to the Nazis?”
“The Atlanteans created a metal called orichalcum that contains
a powerful energy source. Dr. Jones thinks the Nazis might use it
to make some kind of weaponry, but we’re not sure yet.”
Indy shook his head while he methodically thumbed through the
catalogue. He couldn’t decide what irritated him more, Sophia’s
loose tongue, or the fact that he couldn’t find any listing for
Charles Sternhart. Maybe the document was a ruse, he thought.
Maybe the double-crossing archaeologist lied in order to throw
them off the trail. It made sense considering that he was
cooperating with the Nazis. But a false lead was better than none at
5

DALE DASSEL
all, so they had to keep searching for the book until they eliminated
the possibility of its existence.
After four hours combing the library for the Hermocrates, they
were no closer to finding Plato’s mythical book than they were a
week ago when Björn Heimdall confirmed Nur-Ab-Sal’s cryptic
message. When the card catalogue failed to turn up any leads, Indy
delved into the literature, gathering every book about Atlantis that
he could lay his hands on. He browsed the yellowing pages of
forgotten tomes for any clues that might reveal the location of the
Lost Continent while Kathleen quizzed Sophia, who acted like a
celebrity being interviewed about her latest movie role. By the
time they were finished, the student knew enough about their quest
to satisfy a federal inquiry.
Sitting at a long table, Indy rubbed his sore eyes and glanced at
Kathleen, who dozed beside him with her forehead resting on her
notepad. Its curled pages were filled with dense notations for her
article. “Okay, let’s call it a day.” He stood and gathered up an
armload of reference books that he wanted to study further.
Sophia bolted to her feet instantly. “We can’t give up now! We
still haven’t found Plato’s lost dialogue!”
Marcus Brody spoke up. “Indy’s right, Miss Hapgood. Why
don’t you two go have dinner together, and I will continue to work
here. In fact, I’ve taken the liberty of making reservations for the
two of you at a fine restaurant downtown.”
“You did?” Kathleen balked, surprised and more than a little
envious.
It was difficult to tell who was more stunned by the news, Indy
or Sophia. “Marcus, you shouldn’t have!”
“Don’t be absurd. It’s the very least I can do after everything
you’ve been through. Go and enjoy yourselves. You deserve it.
And please don’t fret, Miss Hapgood. We haven’t exhausted all of
our resources yet.”
“Really?” she asked in disbelief. It seemed they had turned the
whole library upside-down with no trace of Sternhart’s book.
“Oh, far from it. There are still two more archive rooms to
search through.” Brody checked his watch. It was quarter-to-seven.
“You two had best be getting along now. Dinner is at eight.” He
reached into his jacket and handed Indy a pair of reservations.
“How long have you been planning this?”
“Oh, I’ve had some time on my hands since you two left for
Iceland. Now have a pleasant evening.”
Kathleen stepped forward impulsively and shook Indy’s hand.
“It’s been a pleasure, Dr. Jones. I just know everyone is going to be
thrilled when they read about your expedition.”
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Thanks, Kathy. Now don’t forget what I said about
embellishing the truth.”
“Facts, truth, it’s all the same, right?” she said, trying not to
blush.
“You’ll figure it out,” he laughed.
When Indy turned to walk away, Kathleen Marc was filled with
a warm glow because she saw that her idol was blushing, too.
“How perfect!” Sophia laughed when she stepped out of the car
and saw her name written in flowing cursive italics on the
restaurant that Marcus had recommended.
The Sophia Café was a posh Mediterranean venue clad in
burgundy stucco. Fig trees dotted the cobblestone sidewalk lined
with wrought iron tables. Grape vine-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 to admit the next automobile in line. Before he could
escort her to the door, Sophia trotted up the marble steps and posed
below the glowing sign as if she were the headliner for a
spectacular show.
Only a woman like Sophia Hapgood could make the act of
smoking look elegant, Indy thought as she took a puff from the
long cigarette holder that she held in a lace-gloved hand. His eyes
traveled her svelte body, tracing the smooth curves of her hips and
waist, so tantalizingly defined by the tight shimmery fabric of her
calf-length indigo dress. A matching brimless hat covered her hair,
which fell to her shoulders in a gentle copper wave. She
accessorized her outfit with a button-on wrap trimmed in white
waffle crêpe. A subtle touch of rouge, and green eye shadow
enhanced her porcelain complexion. Indy frowned at the telltale
bronze chain that vanished into her bust line. Swell. They couldn’t
even have dinner without Nur-Ab-Sal.
“Did you know that in finishing school I was known as the
Cassandra of Commonwealth Avenue?” she said, breaking his
reverie.
Indy joined her at the top of the steps. “You went to finishing
school? I never would have guessed.”
She brought up her cigarette holder with a flourish. “Can’t you
tell by my poise, dah-ling?”
He chuckled at her theatrical falsetto. “Ah, how could I have
missed it? Snappy outfit, by the way.”
“This is a J. L. Hudson original. It costs more than a year of
your salary.”
“And guess what? At the end of the day, it’s still just a dress.”
Indy countered smoothly. He opened the door and beckoned her
inside. “After you, Princess.”
7

DALE DASSEL
The sonorous violin strains of Beyond the Sea played over the
soft clatter of silverware and the murmur of the crowd as 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 mix of
highbrow socialites who were too absorbed in their dinner
conversations to appreciate the charming Old World atmosphere
that surrounded them. The cafe had pleasant beige walls decorated
with oil paintings of serene natural vistas, dark cherry wood tables,
and weathered sandstone floor tiles. Bulbous electric lamps
punctuated the haze of cigar smoke that hugged the wood-paneled
ceiling. The savory odor of spiced meat scented the air, tempting
their appetites. The place wove such a convincing spell that Indy
almost believed that he was sitting in some tavern in Morocco.
“Sophia’s. Nice place,” remarked Indy.
Sitting across from him, Sophia glanced up from her own menu.
“I’m glad you like it. Is the service any good here?”
Indy locked eyes with her. “I don’t know. I’ve never tried it
before.”
“Well, maybe you just have to give it a chance. There’s a first
time for everything, you know.”
“It’s just hard to find the time to visit, but I always heard it was
nice.”
“You were never curious about the food?” she teased playfully.
Her cheeks displayed a touch of scarlet.
“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 dinner soups. “Pretty good from
what I can recall.”
“You didn’t stay for a meal?”
He gave her a wry smile. “Oh, I wanted to, but they were pretty
busy that night. Besides, I know how hard it is to get a reservation
at such an exclusive place.”
Sophia’s face reddened more deeply. It was obvious they were
no longer discussing the restaurant. She cleared her throat.
“Sometimes you have to wait for a quality dining experience. But
it’s always worth it,” she promised.
“I don’t know,” he groused. “These fancy places are usually
overrated.”
The redhead bolted up from her chair. A flush of dark scorn
simmered on her face. Indy glanced up nonchalantly. “Where are
you going?”
“I— I have to go powder my nose,” she huffed in outrage.
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Turning on her heel, Sophia nearly collided with a tuxedoed
waiter carrying a gift-wrapped package on a linen-covered serving
tray. “Watch where you’re going!”
“Excuse me, Miss Hapgood. I have a gift for you and Mr.
Jones.”
“What?” Sophia shot daggers at Indy. “If this is your idea of a
joke, I’m not in the mood for it.”
Indy’s expression of bewilderment convinced her that he was as
baffled by the delivery as she was. “Who sent it?” he asked.
“Sir, I’ve only been instructed to present you the gift, along
with this card.” The waiter set the small parcel on the table with a
beige envelope. “Have a pleasant evening.”
When he was gone, Sophia took her seat and studied the flat
parcel. “I swear, Indy, if this is some kind of joke—” She left the
threat unfinished.
“I don’t know anything about it.” he said adamantly.
She set aside her animosity and peeled the paper away. Her
pulse quickened at the sight of a faded leather-bound book. She
hastily flipped to the first page. Before she read even a single word
of Sternhart’s handwriting, Sophia knew that she held the last
remaining copy of the Hermocrates in her hands. Indy scooted his
chair around the table and read over her shoulder.
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 was overwhelmed. They really had it! Indy opened the
card and found a note from Marcus Brody: 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?”
“Come on, I think we have some reading to do.”
“Hold on a minute. We haven’t even had dinner yet,” Indy said.
“Marcus obviously went to a lot of trouble to show us a good time,
I think the least we can do is enjoy it.”
He raised a hand to summon the waiter back to their table. Indy
ordered baked tilapia fish and kakavia soup, while Sophia chose a
vegetable couscous platter with steamed rice, and sesame seed
9

DALE DASSEL
Ka'ak bread rings. They paged through the journal over cups of
mint-flavored coffee until the food arrived. Dinner was an
agonizingly slow affair for Sophia, who wanted to scarf down her
meal and leave. But Indy made her set the book aside and savor the
fine cuisine. All the while, they puzzled over Marcus Brody’s
cryptic note.
“Our jungle friend Sternhart is quite the scholar,” Indy said,
closing the cover of the book.
It was close to midnight when they finished reading the
Hermocrates, which was nearly twice the length of Plato’s Critias.
The pages of the leather-clad tome bulged with paperclips where
they had marked the most important passages for easy reference.
Sophia yawned and stretched her arms. They were sitting in the
living room of Indy’s small brick house on Lincoln Street, two
blocks from the gently rolling hills of West Canada Creek. A 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
numbers against the projected size of the city, but there was a
discrepancy in the translation. For some reason the math didn’t
work, and Indy was too tired to think about it anymore.
He picked up their empty wine glasses and headed for the
kitchen. It was a lot for him to absorb. Sternhart had a lot of time
on his hands considering that he not only wrote the book, but also
made several copies. He 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 open ridicule?
No wonder the book was holed away in some obscure library
collection. He was probably too embarrassed to publish it.
Sophia quickly rose to her feet and touched his arm gently. “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 much easier to look away from the unknown. But it
takes real courage to confront it.”
Deep down, he knew that she was 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 really was some truth
to the account, even if he couldn’t prove it at the moment. At least
they got a good meal out of the bargain, he conceded. Then
everything suddenly fell into place.
“The restaurant,” he said with conviction.
“What?”
10

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Mediterranean food. Marcus figured it out already. Look,” he
said, pointing at the oversized study atlas that lay open on the
coffee table. “Plato’s tenfold error.”
The redhead sighed wearily. “We’ve already been over this. He
got his dates mixed-up. Why is that so important?”
Indy looked at her patiently, the way he did with a student who
couldn’t quite connect the dots. “It means distances could also be
wrong. We may not find Atlantis in the Atlantic at all.”
He flipped the pages 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.”
Sophia 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. He once told me he came from the middle
of the world. That’s what ‘Mediterranean’ means.”
“But where in the Mediterranean?” he 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. One of them was the worldstone that Sternhart had taken
in Tikal. They were still no closer to finding Atlantis than before
they had read his book. Indy glanced at Sophia’s necklace. “Maybe
Nur-Ab-Sal can tell us,” he said, reaching for it.
“No!” she exclaimed. Indy’s hand was seized by a flash of
intense heat. The sharp odor of sulfur stung his nostrils. He
released the necklace like a burning coal. Sweat covered his face.
“What happened?” she asked.
He dipped his fingers in the glass of wine. “I don’t know. Are
you sure that thing leads to Atlantis?”
“Sorry. Nobody else is supposed to touch it.” She took the wine
glass from him and set it on the table. “I’m going to tell your
fortune.” Before Indy could accuse her of having too much to
drink, Sophia gently took his face between her hands and locked
gazes with him. “Look into my eyes. Deep into my eyes...”
Indy liked the feeling of her soft hands on his skin. “If you
insist.”
“You are a remarkable man, Dr. Jones. You possess great
strength of character. You are resourceful...”
It felt strange to hear Sophia speaking to him her pseudodramatic
trance voice, but he allowed her to continue, if only to
prolong their moment of closeness. As Indy stared into her eyes,
his skepticism evaporated into wonder. He followed the gentle
curve of her eyelids, tracing their shape, and suddenly imagined
that they belonged to an omniscient being scrutinizing the
existence of the world from some other reality. Their emerald
intensity drew him inward with an irresistible hypnotic spell. Indy
11

DALE DASSEL
felt as if he were a million miles away, separated from his body by
a great distance. The sensation was frightening, but not entirely
unpleasant, he decided. Her soothing voice brought him back to the
present.
“Always eager to solve life’s deepest mysteries...” she
continued. While she spoke, Sophia admired the rugged curve of
his jaw, the scar on his chin... She could read the man like an open
book. Every line and crease on his face told a story that revealed
much more about him than the average person would ever realize.
As the words poured out, her hands unconsciously slipped down
his arms, touched his broad chest, simultaneously feeling his inner
and outer strength while she lost herself in his hazel eyes.
“Is that part of my fortune?” Indy asked.
The question disrupted her psychic flow. She blinked in
surprise, suddenly aware that her arms were draped around his
waist. How did that happen? Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it
was the late hour, but she didn’t care anymore. “Do you want me
to tell your future?”
“Sure, why not?” Indy 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.”
“Well, first this is going to happen,” she said, sliding one hand
around the back of his neck. Sophia pulled him closer, tilted her
face slightly. “And then this.” Their lips brushed for a brief,
electrical moment, but she did not commit herself to the kiss.
Instead, she hovered there, drawing out the suspense. Her lower lip
grazed his like a feather, touching him with the lightest caress. She
didn’t want to give him everything at once. “Then this,” Another
quick buss on the lips. “And this,” she whispered, pecking him
again, and again. Each kiss had more force behind it, each one
lingering a ravenous moment longer. Sophia’s heart pounded. Her
pulse raced like lava in her veins. She couldn’t believe how badly
she wanted to give herself to him after fighting the urge for so
long.
Indy slowly walked her backwards until she was pressed against
the wall. He nuzzled her jaw and kissed her throat while his hands
explored the flowing curves of her body, devouring her natural
shape through the thin fabric that separated him from her warm
flesh. Sophia shuddered with pleasure as a warm glow spread
through her body. His touch was like magic, and she just wanted to
melt. Then he kissed her slowly, tasted the wine on her lips,
savoring their softness.
“Sophia, I luh—”
She quickly put a hand over his mouth to silence him. “Don’t
say it, Indy. You don’t have to say it.”
12

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Indy was crestfallen. “Why not?”
“Because it’s not love. Not this. We’re just good friends. Let’s
not spoil it, okay?” He saw the brief, sad flicker in her gaze, but
nodded his acceptance to treat the woman on her own terms. If she
didn’t want him to profess the yearning that he felt so strongly,
then he would respect her wishes. He stroked the side of her face
gently, brushing back a lock of crimson hair. Their lips met in a
tender union, feeding each-other’s desire.
“What does this remind you of?” she asked him.
“I don’t know,” he breathed.
“The Jastro dig. Remember what we almost did at the back of
the fourth antechamber? Up against the wall?”
He smiled at the forgotten memory. “We were cold.”
“Not for long,” she gasped. The heat of passion flushed her
cheeks as they kissed with more intensity.
Indy’s mouth devoured hers. “We were searching for…
artifactual evidence of the Viking settlement in the last
unexcavated passage.”
She put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled him closer,
kissing him more urgently as if she couldn’t get enough. “Don’t
stop,” she whispered.
Indy didn’t need anymore encouragement. He gripped her
shoulders and pressed himself against her forcefully. The redhead
thrust her hips forward, enjoying his aggressiveness. Indy pushed
back with equal vigor, pinning her against the wall. She squirmed
against him, and he could feel the pulse of her rapid heartbeat
through her chest. Sophia reached behind her neck and unbuttoned
the clasp of her dress, letting it fall in a silky pool around her
ankles. The bronze pendant and chain followed a moment later.
The sight of the woman in her lingerie galvanized him with desire.
Her pale, freckled skin practically glowed in the dim light.
Sorry, Nur-Ab-Sal. I’ll take it from here, Indy thought, kneeling
down to kiss her belly. He pressed his cheek against her smooth
abdomen, savoring the natural scent of her skin radiating from the
heat of her body.
Sophia combed her slender fingers through Indy’s tousled hair
and held him close. “Did I ever thank you for saving my life?”
“I don’t remember,” he confessed.
“Well, I think it’s time to enjoy your reward,” she said, her
voice low and sultry. She swayed her pelvis towards him for
emphasis. “All of it.”
He stood immediately and kissed her deeply again. “Let’s both
enjoy it.” Sophia unhooked her front bra clasp, pulled off her
brazier and discarded it without a blink. Indy’s hands explored her
firm, porcelain-white breasts, thumbs grazing her nipples that
13

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stood erect in anticipation. Their kisses grew frantic, more
desperate.
Reaching down, Sophia quickly slipped off her panties. “Now,”
she urged him. “Take me now.”
Overcome with desire, he suddenly picked her up by the waist
and carried her over to the sofa. He gently deposited her onto the
cushions and slid on top of her in one smooth motion. Sophia’s
hair splayed out across the pillow like strands of burning copper,
framing her lovely face in a fiery halo. She parted her creamy
thighs invitingly with a devious smile. Indy moved rhythmically
against her, his longing fueled by her softness, aching for the
passion she had denied him for so long. Gasping breathlessly,
Sophia frantically peeled away his clothes and their bodies merged,
sliding together in a wave of velvet ecstasy that Indy never wanted
to end.
14

11
DESERT SANDS
“Yaa jamila!”
The jubilant cry rang out in the hot, dry air, echoing from the
stucco walls of the narrow cobblestone street. Sophia Hapgood
shaded her eyes against the glaring sun and spied her caller, a
young Arab kid resting below a canvas awning nearby. He waved
at her with a bright smile, obviously unaccustomed to seeing
women with flaming red hair wandering through the open-air souk.
“Hello! Hello!”
She gave the teenager a dirty scowl, and quickly thumbed
through the small English-Arabic dictionary that she’d bought
when they arrived. After a futile search, she stuffed the book into
her purse and deferred to Indy. “What did he say to me?”
“Give the kid a break. He just called you beautiful. That’s a
compliment, you know,” he replied, sidestepping a merchant who
guided a donkey over-saddled with crates of fruit. Indy felt sorry
for the poor animal as it staggered through the overcrowded street
with its heavy load.
“Oh.” She turned and waved back, returning her admirer’s
enthusiastic smile. “Sorry, I didn’t understand you!” The kid
laughed good-naturedly, and yelled a more provocative phrase that
Indy didn’t bother translating for her.
Indy laughed. “See, you haven’t been in the country for a day
and you’ve already made a friend.”
“Yeah, right.” she laughed. “I think he just likes my jeans. I bet
women don’t wear fashions like that in this country.” As if on cue,
they strolled past a rack of colorful robes displayed by a clothing
vendor. Sophia let her fingers trail through the sheer fabric of a
transparent lace veil.

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“Well, I can’t blame him,” Indy said lightly. He felt giddy and
carefree, still riding the wave of euphoria from their tryst earlier
that week. He relished the tide of sweet intimacy they had indulged
in for hours, the unrequited passion of their lovemaking. Sophia
was amazing. Indy had never been so satisfied in all of his life, and
he never wanted it to end. But they eventually fell asleep in the
early hours of dawn, exhausted as they basked in the warm
afterglow of total fulfillment.
The next morning they made travel arrangements for Algeria,
which he decided was a more promising location for the
continuation of their quest than Monte Carlo, the home of Alain
Trottier, a stuffy French scholar who traded relics with Sophia by
mail. Based on his research, Indy reasoned that they were more
likely to find a tangible lead in North Africa than the French
Riviera.
The southeastern Tassili Mountains were said to harbor the
ruins of an unknown civilization to which more than one
nineteenth-century scholar accorded Atlantean origins. Others
claimed that the ancient harbor of Carthage was a replica of the
legendary city. In 1874, French archaeologist Félix Berlioux
declared that he had found the Lost City in the foothills of the
Moroccan Atlas range, between Casablanca and Agadir. The
rumors stemmed from a widespread belief that Atlantis represented
a prehistoric memory of the flooding of the Mediterranean basin,
which left numerous outposts across the region.
It could have been a page from The Arabian Nights, Indy
marveled as they strolled through the bustling Casbah, the original
walled city founded on the former Roman settlement of Icosium.
Stark sunlight gleamed on a gilded minaret that punctuated the
forest of spires needling the cloudless blue sky above the capital.
Jaunty music wove a hypnotic thread in the rich tapestry of
marketplace life, provided by a trio of turban-clad street musicians
playing a hide-covered dumbek drum, accompanied by the reedy
whistle of a nây flute, and a 5-stringed oud. The air buzzed with a
fragmented babble of voices in a mix of French, Arabic, and
Berber so dense that it was impossible to focus on any particular
conversation amid the constant sing-song call of merchants
offering their wares. The scent of overripe fruit decaying in the
gutters mixed with the pervasive aroma of hookah smoke tainting
the warm afternoon air.
Following the address provided by Sophia, they climbed
another flight of innumerable stairs which traversed the winding
streets of the High city. Indy felt the weight of the Hermocrates in
his pocket, and shook his head incredulously. He still couldn’t
believe that he was actually pursuing the myth whose insistent
appeal spurred the imagination of every archaeology student who
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
entered the field with hopes of uncovering Plato’s nautical Utopia.
And here he was, the stuffy professor who categorically dismissed
those frivolous freshman dreams, traipsing through the alleys of
North Africa with a self-proclaimed psychic to locate an obscure
antiquities dealer who may or may not be willing to help them. Just
perfect, Indy thought, spying the twin-domes of Ketchaoua
Mosque rising up like giant chess pieces in the distance. He
pointed them out to Sophia, who was unimpressed.
Architecture in the Middle East looked the same to most people
unfamiliar with the Islamic world. They only saw a jumbled
assortment of bulbous domes, vaulted archways, and strangelyshaped
windows. But Indy’s trained eye readily discerned the
varied styles between the Egyptian and the Algerian, whose
buildings were pronounced by a more angular design than Cairo’s
Mamluke era filigree-laced minarets and Ottoman-inspired
mosques. Yet there was a degree of similarity amid the diversity.
The broad peak of the Sultan Hassan Mosque in Cairo, built from
stones at the Giza Necropolis, somewhat resembled the Djemaa-
Djedid Mosque in Algiers. So the confusion was understandable to
those who couldn’t appreciate the difference.
Amid the compact tangle of masonry that enclosed the
labyrinthine streets, the careful observer could also spot elements
of the French influence that permeated the native style: Ornate
rosettes woven into the elaborate scrollwork of the door frames,
and arched windows embellished with classical fleur-de-lis and
flèche point motifs. When Sophia remarked her surprise that so
many people in the city spoke French, Indy explained that the two
cultures had been inseparable since the colonization in 1830.
Evidence of the French occupation was touted in bilingual signs on
every street corner and building, in addition to the overwhelming
French populace which rivaled the native Algerians in sheer
numbers. Naturally, she drew a parallel between the French colony
and the Atlantean outpost they were searching for.
When they came to an intersection at the confluence of three
streets, Indy consulted a basket vendor for directions. They went
left, and followed an uphill staircase nestled between two buildings
pressed so close together that their overhanging roofs nearly
touched. Sophia’s florid mane turned more than one head in the
shadowy alley, a dark channel bisected by a narrow strip of
sunlight. She moved closer to Indy for safety until they emerged
into another jam-packed marketplace teeming with activity.
All along the busy street, merchants shouted over the
commotion, frantically hawking their wares as if there were no
tomorrow. The assortment of goods was diverse as the languages
offering them: colorful hand-woven tapestries, paper lanterns, blue
glassware, and copper pots. Beyond the textiles and pottery was a
3

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commissary lined with baskets of produce. A crowd of spectators
were gathered a respectful distance around a turban-wearing knife
thrower who juggled five blades with incredible dexterity. Nearby,
a beggar in rags observed the act with disinterest while patiently
soliciting donations. He had seen the knife show countless times,
and the novelty had long since worn off. But the juggler performed
with enthusiasm nonetheless, eager to impress the tourists that
were the source of his livelihood.
Sophia grabbed Indy’s hand, like a child afraid of being
separated from its parent, as they cut through the sea of robed
figures and made their way towards the largest food stand. She was
grateful to give her sore feet a rest when they finally stopped in the
shade of the broad canvas awning that protected the grocery from
the blazing sun. The variety was impressive. Aside from domestic
staples like figs, dates, olives and cashews, the vendor offered
bananas, oranges, plums, loaves of fresh-baked bread, and an
assortment of meats and spices. The sight of so much food made
Sophia realize how hungry she was. They hadn’t eaten anything
since breakfast.
Indy greeted the shopkeeper, a tall, grim-looking Arab in yellow
robes. “Salaam alaykum. What looks good today?”
“Wa alaykum us-salaam. Ah, English. Today we have a special.
Squab on a stick, only 20 dinars.” He gestured to a row of small
birds impaled on sharp wooden skewers. The daily special was
crawling with flies in the heat.
Sophia’s appetite was instantly erased by the parasite-covered
squabs, which looked suspiciously like barbecued pigeons. Indy
glanced at her. “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head quickly, and took a step back for emphasis.
“Ah, no thanks,” he declined the spoiled poultry with a polite
wave. “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 street, skirting the dense flow of
pedestrian traffic. “I knew we were in the right neighborhood.”
“Do you actually trust that guy? He could have been saying
anything.”
“There’s no reason for him to lie. What’s wrong?”
Sophia sighed. “I don’t know. I just have a hard time trusting
people that I don’t understand.”
“Because you don’t speak the same language?”
“Yeah, I guess.” she admitted bashfully.
The reluctant confession told him that she wasn’t proud of
harboring such suspicions. But Sophia wasn’t as traveled as he
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
was, and Indy could sympathize with her anxiety. “Don’t worry,
I’ll take care of you,” he promised.
She forced an uneasy smile. “Thanks, Indy.”
He squeezed her hand. “Here, I’ll teach you something right
now. Look,” he said, pointing to a frayed banner that was strung
across the mouth of the alley:
اثآر رائعة على اثمان صادقة
“Omar Al-Jabbar: Splendid antiquities in accordance with
sincere prices,” he declared.
She watched him scan the baffling assortment of squiggles from
right to left. “Why are you reading it backwards?”
“It’s not backwards,” he said patiently. “That’s how Arabic is
written and read. You’d be surprised how many foreign languages
work like that when you’re only used to English.”
“Oh, and I suppose you’re some kind of an expert?”
Indy adjusted the fedora on his sweat-soaked brow. “I know
enough to get by. Now, let’s just see how honest Omar’s prices
really are.”
The narrow alley led to a dead-end lot where three buildings
abutted, forming a stucco canyon that was shaded by a thick
canvas awning stretched between the surrounding balconies.
Above the makeshift ceiling, a web of linen-filled clothes lines
danced in the wind. The shop was overcrowded with cracked
vases, and shelves full of worthless trinkets that might have been
scavenged from a dumpster. It was more like a rummage sale than
a curio shop, Indy thought. Aside from several clay pots of recent
vintage, he couldn’t find a single genuine artifact among the
assortment of bootleg merchandise that Omar offered with such
integrity.
His dubious attitude was lost on Sophia, who pawed over the
junk-laden tables with surprising enthusiasm. Indy never would
have pegged the wealthy socialite for a thrifty shopper.
“I bet they have some great deals,” she said, scrutinizing a price
tag as if she could magically extract the U.S. dollar value from the
quoted amount of dinars.
“Yeah, like two for the price of three,” Indy quipped dryly as he
browsed another table piled with garbage: A small red wagon with
only three wheels, a hopelessly tangled yo-yo, and a brass spittoon
that was apparently still used. If the selection was any indicator of
what they could expect from Sophia’s Algerian connection, Indy
knew their chances of locating an Atlantean relic were slim.
He was examining a faux ruby ring when a swarthy man in
purple robes appeared from behind a line of hanging rugs. “That is
5

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a very wise purchase. They say it has the power to cloud men’s
minds.” Omar tapped his fingertips together nervously like a pair
of dancing spiders.
Indy dropped the ring back into a box of costume jewelry.
“Somehow I doubt it.”
“You are very funny, my friend,” the proprietor chuckled.
Omar Al-Jabbar was a round, girthy Arab with dark hair, and a
fidgety disposition. His chubby face was dominated by a thick
moustache, and bushy black eyebrows that overshadowed a pair of
shifty eyes. They positively gleamed with greed when he caught
Sophia admiring a pair of ivory earrings.
He swept past Indy as if he didn’t exist, and sidled over to the
redhead, eager to make a sale. “These lovely earrings were carved
from the tusks of a prehistoric mammoth,” he informed her.
“Really?” exclaimed Sophia in genuine surprise. She had no
idea that she was holding such a valuable treasure. She placed the
earrings back on the table reverently.
“Yes, it is true!” Omar snatched a dirty plastic brush from a
rusted coffee can full of hair utensils. “And this ebony comb was
once owned by Mata Hari herself.” The spidery fingers danced
again.
He spent the next few minutes bustling around the dingy
rummage store, bragging about his dubious wares, most of which
invariably had some type of royal provenance, Indy noted with
amusement. The fact that Sophia Hapgood actually believed the
man’s outrageous claims was only half as funny.
“You know, for a psychic you’re almost as gullible as your
clients,” he said, interrupting a sales pitch for a white cane touched
by Queen Victoria that had inexplicably found its way to Omar’s
back-alley shop in Algeria. Indy set aside the freshly-painted cane
and confronted the slimy peddler.
“Let’s get down to business. I hear you deal in Atlantean relics.”
The rotund merchant offered a bemused smile in reply. “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?” Indy demanded.
“Yeah, how?” Sophia added unnecessarily. She was equally
surprised since they hadn’t introduced themselves.
“My dear Miss Hapgood, when you are Omar Al-Jabbar you
know these things.”
A visible flicker of astonishment crossed her features. Indy’s
hand immediately went to his holster. “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 with them.
They are hardly worthy of my loyalty,” he assured. But Indy
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
wasn’t convinced by the smooth reply, and said as much. Omar
shrugged. “That is the way of things in this world, Dr. Jones. You
can only trust yourself. But I will help you find the German
infidels if you desire. Please wait here a moment.”
The portly Algerian trundled to the back of the shop and
disappeared through a jeweled curtain. He returned a moment later
with a piece of folded cloth.
“This map will lead you to their dig site,” he said, unfolding it
on a table. The hand-illustrated map of the region was devoid of
names, aside from that of the capital city. The beige expanse was
otherwise punctuated with vague mountain ranges and a sparse
assortment of blue spots that indicated oases.
Omar drew a plump finger along the Mediterranean coastline
that spanned the upper part of the document. “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 gave Indy a
wry smirk. Contrary to his teachings, it seemed that ‘X’ once again
marked the spot.
“Piece of cake, right?”
“Oh, don’t say that, Indy. I’m hungry!” Sophia complained.
The map was probably next to worthless, Indy judged, but at the
moment it was all they had to go on. The interesting part would be
negotiating its value with the antique dealer, and he had a feeling
that the price would be considerable. He was surprised by Omar’s
terms of sale.
“The map is yours. The only thing I ask in return is that you
bring back a particular item for me, a large stone disk with a hole
in the middle. I believe it is known as a sunstone.” 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
that it is one of the keystones to the Lost Kingdom. I had one of
these stones many years ago. Unfortunately it was stolen from me,
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 go look for it?”
“Alas, the desert is no place for a civilized man like myself,”
Omar said with feigned pity. He was obviously not anxious to
expend any more effort than necessary to acquire his relics, as
evidenced by the domestic junk that cluttered the surrounding
shelves.
“But why should we get it for you?” argued Sophia. “We have
better things to do.”
Omar refolded the map and tucked it under his arm with
finality. “Like wander the desert aimlessly until you find the lost
7

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outpost?” The Arab stroked his moustache with a devious grin
while Sophia gawked in disbelief. “Trust me, you cannot afford to
bargain this way with Omar Al-Jabbar. My offer is worth its weight
in gold.”
“Wait. I’ve got a better one,” Indy growled. His patience had
finally run out. He drew his Webley on the sizeable purple target.
“The map for your life.”
The conniving merchant darkened with outrage. He grudgingly
handed over the map. “May a goat be the mother of your children.”
“See, I knew we could make a deal. You just need to use the
right kind of currency.” Indy stuffed the map into his satchel, but
kept his gun out in case Al-Jabbar had one hidden within reach.
Omar recovered his smooth demeanor in an effort to save face.
“Very well, Dr. Jones. I can see that you are a man not easily
persuaded. I would be grateful if you could recover as many
artifacts as possible from the Germans, and have them delivered to
me in compensation for the generous use of my map.”
Eager to be done with the slimy shopkeeper, Indy nudged
Sophia towards the alley. “I’ll see what I can do,” he replied with a
vengeful glare. “No promises.”
“Nice doing business with you!” Sophia beamed with a cheery
wave.
Before departing the open-air shop, Indy offered his own lessthan-genial
farewell which left Omar’s face as purple as his robes.
“Waalidatuka shar mutah.”
“Can you believe that he was actually going to keep the map after
he showed it to us?” Sophia asked when they returned to the
marketplace.
“Yeah,” said Indy. Omar’s double-cross really didn’t surprise
him that much. Right now he had other things on his mind.
Namely, finding a way across the desert. They hadn’t seen too
many vehicles in the city, and certainly none in the Casbah, where
the ancient streets were too narrow for anything larger than a mule
cart. Their best option was to buy some camels from the livestock
market, and hire a guide to take them into the Sahara. First, they
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
antiques dealer would not voluntarily seek out the police.
Sophia tugged on Indy’s sleeve. “We really need to stop for
lunch somewhere. I’m starving.”
“Me, too,” he replied, suddenly aware of his own hunger pangs.
He was looking down the street for a cafe when Sophia vanished
from his side.
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“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 turbanwearing
juggler was guiding her towards his painted target board
while the audience jeered enthusiastically. His first instinct was to
grab her back, but Indy knew that it would ruin the show. These
Arabs just wanted some entertainment, and Sophia’s red hair made
her the most attractive target in the souk. So it was all just harmless
fun. To her credit, Sophia actually looked scared as the knife artist
positioned her against the pockmarked wooden board. It was
spattered with faint brown splotches that were supposed to
resemble dried blood, Indy knew. She was probably more
embarrassed than anything else.
He clapped indulgently along with the rest of the audience
when the performer proudly declared himself to be the greatest
knife thrower in North Africa. To validate his claim, he tossed a
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 knife artist
paced off and turned to face his target. Sophia tensed when he
pulled his arm back for the throw.
Sunlight burned the razor-edged blade that was about to fly
towards her. Then Indy saw the performer sneer with grim
determination as he prepared to fulfill his mission. It suddenly
dawned on him what was happening. Indy belatedly reached for
his bullwhip as the assassin cast his arm forward. But he knew that
it was too late. Sophia would be dead before the whip uncoiled.
A robed figure suddenly sprang from the crowd. There was a
blur of movement, followed by a silver flash. Indy heard a metallic
ring. Sophia gasped, and for a terrible moment he thought the
worst had happened. He couldn’t believe his eyes when the knife
skittered harmlessly to the ground. The swordsman had intercepted
the flying knife in mid-air with one swift slice of his weapon. The
knife thrower’s face clouded with anger, and he quickly slung his
remaining daggers in rapid succession. The Arab’s blade became a
ribbon of liquid metal as he deflected the volley with an
elaborately flowing series of slashes that sent all of the deadly
projectiles clattering against the cobblestones.
In a final act of desperation, the assassin reached for another
blade tucked in his boot. This time Indy was ready. His bullwhip
flashed through the dusty air with a leathery hiss, and the knife
went tumbling away as the juggler’s arm jerked like a broken
marionette. Clutching his wrist, the knife thrower glared at
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Sophia’s rescuers with murderous rage. He spat a vehement curse
at them and fled the market in disgrace.
The crowd cheered while Sophia hugged Indy tightly. He tipped
the brim of his fedora at the robed warrior, and complimented his
incredible skill. “Anta maahir ma’a hatha as-sayf.”
“'Afwan.” The swordsman bowed and introduced himself as
Abdul Aziz. Indy recognized the flowing blue robes as that of the
Tuareg, a tribe of Berber nomads known for their great
swordsmanship.
Sophia was captivated by the lean figure swathed in a billowy
powder blue robe that flowed like a sheet of wind wrought in
material form. His face was hidden by a length of indigo cloth that
wrapped around his head, leaving only his intense coffee-brown
eyes visible. She had a desire to touch the elegant bronze hands
that wielded the weapon of her salvation, but she knew that such
behavior was considered inappropriate in some cultures. She didn’t
want to offend her new hero.
“How did you know that guy was going to kill me?”
The Tuareg ignored her and addressed Indy in Arabic. “Al-
Hazzan’s loyalty can be purchased for the price of a goat. The
Germans got to him very quickly when they learned you were
coming to North Africa.”
“The Nazis are here?” Indy asked, re-coiling his whip.
“Al-Almaan, yes. The presence of foreigners in my country is
growing everyday,” he reported gravely. The fact clearly disturbed
him.
“Yeah, I’ve heard.”
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 of 1871 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 by 1914,
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 Indy knew that the Nazi forces assembling
outside of the capital wasn’t going to improve the situation. Were
the Germans mounting an invasion army, or did they have another
purpose? They had to work fast.
“How did they find out?” Indy asked. “Nobody knew about our
trip except for my boss.”
“The Abwehr have eyes everywhere in this part of the world.
I’m sure they watch us even now.”
Sophia felt invisible while the two men conversed in Arabic.
Eager to introduce herself, she discreetly retrieved her translation
dictionary and skimmed through it for an appropriate greeting.
10

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Then she gave the Tuareg her most winning smile. “Salaam,
effendi.”
Abdul chuckled politely, but remained focused on Indy. “Her
attempt is very good, but the proper greeting is ‘Salaam alaykum’,”
he spoke in thickly-accented English.
The grammatical chide made Sophia’s blood boil, but not so
much as Abdul’s blatant refusal to look at her. Humiliated, she
stuffed the book into her purse. “God, I feel so stupid reading this
thing!” She turned on Indy in exasperation. “Why is he ignoring
me? Am I not good enough to talk to?”
Once again, the swordsman spoke to Indy, who translated on his
behalf. “Abdul says he’s sorry that he can’t talk to you directly, but
it is a custom of his tribe that men cannot speak to foreign
women.”
“What kind of stupid rule is that?”
“Look, you’re in a whole different world, and that’s just the
way things work,” Indy said evenly.
The Tuareg gestured at Sophia without making eye contact.
“Sha’arukee halwa, yaa amiratee al-baydaa’ al-jamila.”
“He said your hair is pretty,” Indy reported, then smiled when
Abdul added something else. “He asked if all Western women are
as beautiful as you.”
“They wish,” she exclaimed with characteristic immodesty.
Indy laughed, but Abdul did not seem to comprehend her sarcasm.
“How do you know about the Abwehr?” Indy was surprised to
hear the name of the German intelligence organization, but even
more amazed that a Tuareg nomad would know of them.
Abdul surveyed the marketplace uneasily. “It is not safe to talk
here. Too many ears to catch our secrets.” He pointed to a cafe
down the street. “Let us go someplace safe.”
11

12
THE PEOPLE OF THE VEIL
They resumed their conversation 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
ceiling fan stirred the warm air just enough to irritate Sophia, who
devoured a honey-flavored pastili cake and struggled to keep her
eyelids open in the laconic atmosphere. Their new ally, meanwhile,
explained the situation, speaking English for her benefit as Indy
sipped from a cup of mint-flavored tea.
The mysterious 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 now forced to
operate in secret. Abdul had joined the organization as a
representative of his tribe, the nomadic Tuareg who wandered the
Sahara Desert, in order to keep track of French activity outside of
the capital.
“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. Can you imagine such a thing?”
Indy could. “What are they protecting?” he asked.
“They find old things with strange markings, buried long ago
and forgotten,” Abdul said, obviously puzzled that such
insignificant items would warrant open violence from the
Germans.
Sophia gave pause to her snack. “What kind of markings? Can
you describe them?”

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
The Tuareg made a swirling motion in the air with his finger.
“They were like circles, joined together.”
Indy nodded grimly. “Looks like Kerner found what he was
looking for.” Abdul corrected him, saying that the operation was
led by an Englishman, something that Omar had failed to mention.
“Sternhart,” he muttered. “That figures.” How else could the
Nazis have found a dig site in the middle of the desert without
clues from the Hermocrates dialogue provided by the scholar who
had originally translated it? He wondered aloud what was
important enough for the Nazis to post armed guards out in the
desert.
“The dig site is the next outpost!” Sophia declared in abrupt
realization. “I bet that guy tried to kill me to keep us from finding
it. Right, Indy?”
The archaeologist begrudged her with an unhappy nod. “Yeah.
For some reason the Nazis seem to think we’re better off dead.
Can’t imagine why...” He looked at Abdul. “How did you know
they were after us?”
“We monitor all foreign communications. When the Germans
found out you were alive, they hired a local assassin to kill you, so
as not to cause alarm. Why, I cannot say.”
“Must be something damned important if they want us dead so
badly.”
“It has to be the next keystone,” Sophia said with conviction.
“They need all three stones to get into Atlantis, just like it said in
Plato’s lost dialogue. That’s why we need to find it before they
do.”
“Unless they already have it,” he interjected. Turning to Abdul
again, Indy asked, “Are they still out there?”
The Tuareg nodded. “Yes. I saw them only last week, still
digging. They brought with them trucks and equipment; many
soldiers. It is a very large encampment. They will not leave soon.”
“Okay, so we’re still in the game,” Indy said, feeling a little
better about the situation. He knew that Berlin wouldn’t waste
valuable resources tearing up the desert for nothing, which meant
the Nazis hadn’t found whatever it is they were looking for yet.
He took the canvas map from his satchel and unfolded it on the
table, smoothing it flat. “This will show us the location of the site,
if it’s accurate. What do you make of this map?”
Abdul Aziz examined the tattered cloth in silence for a few
moments, nodding thoughtfully, and then tapped the red ‘X’. “This
is near Bou Saâda, perhaps two days’ journey south.”
Indy studied the rough topography around the marked site.
“Hm. The Atlas foothills. Looks fairly remote. Can you take us out
there?”
2

DALE DASSEL
“Yes. This I will do happily. We must not allow Al-Almaan to
take power in our country. They respect us even less than the
French, who constantly destroy our way of life. Things must not
continue this way.”
“Wait a sec!” Sophia’s face lit with a flash of insight. “Atlas.
Atlantis. Don’t you see the connection? The mountain range was
named by the refugees who settled there after Atlantis sank!”
Indy rubbed his whiskery chin with tedium at her hackneyed
logic. “Don’t push this too far, Sophia. That’s a pretty wild
conclusion to draw from a few letters.”
“But it makes perfect sense!” she beamed in triumph. “It’s a
sign from Nur-Ab-Sal!”
Here, Abdul’s blue-shrouded head turned fractionally in the
psychic’s direction, but his veiled face was inscrutable. Indy
couldn’t tell whether he was confused or intrigued by her
rambling. “Who is this Nur-Ab-Sal?”
“A spirit that supposedly inhabits her necklace,” Indy supplied.
“She thinks he will lead her to Atlantis.”
A beat passed. The nomad blinked uncertainly, trying to
comprehend what he’d been told. “You seek the country of
Atlasee?”
Indy downed the rest of his tea, wiped his mouth on his sleeve
and set the cup on the table. “Yep. And so do the Nazis. That’s why
they’re digging up the desert. The French have nothing to do with
it.”
Abdul chuckled gently while a rosy blush simmered on Sophia’s
face. “There’s nothing funny about this,” she said with unflinching
severity. “They’ll use the power of Atlantis against the world if
they get there first. That’s why we have to stop them.”
“Ah, but the seeker of the First Land is doomed to travel a road
whose end is not its conclusion,” he said with a cryptic smile.
“What are you saying?” she challenged.
Abdul fixed his gaze solemnly on Indy. “A place that is beyond
all existence can never be reached. It is a philosopher’s journey
towards an ideal.”
“He means you’re chasing a dream,” Indy clarified for her.
This was too much for Sophia. She wasn’t going to sit idly
while the nomad dismissed her life quest as a mere fantasy. She
lifted the bronze chain from her neck, and slapped the medallion
on the table. “Plato didn’t write this.”
Abdul gaped at the horned visage in amazement. “Wallahee...
The god-king speaks to a Western woman?” He reached for the
necklace, but Sophia quickly covered it with her palm.
“Look, but don’t touch!” she warned. Indy displayed the mark
on his hand, and vouched that the talisman burned the uninitiated.
3

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Resuming his native tongue, Abdul regarded the pendant
gravely and told Indy that the face represented a powerful jinn, or
evil spirit, known as the Great Deceiver, who would lead them
astray.
Indy relayed the message. “Nur-Ab-Sal is not evil,” Sophia
responded indignantly. “He represents Atlantis, the unity of all
nations, and he seeks to bring its wisdom back into this troubled
world for the good of mankind. I am his vessel, and I will spread
the light of his glory.”
“Jeezam, you sound like a fanatic,” Indy groaned. Her gospel
spiel was wearing thin, no matter how convincing Sophia made it
sound. Right now, she was one step away from a carnival fortuneteller.
Abdul quickly made up his mind. He stood, grasping the
pommel of the sword that protruded from his blue sash. “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 soil of these infidels once and for all, my friends.” Without
another word, he headed for the door.
Indy rolled up the map while his partner slipped her necklace
back on. “I’ve got to hand it to you. That thing is better than a
passport.”
“What can I say? Nur-Ab-Sal opens doors.”
“Yeah, and not just Mayan ones,” he said, recalling the mirrored
passage in Tikal.
“The student of Atlantis is the world’s guest,” Sophia
philosophized with smug optimism.
Indy replaced the map in his satchel and snapped it shut. “Great.
Just don’t wear out your welcome.”
***
“You should have retrieved that necklace from her burnt corpse,”
Klaus Kerner sneered contemptuously when Torsten had finished
his report of their Central American foray.
“We could not reach Jones or Fräulein Hapgood because of the
fire, Herr Oberst. The necklace was an unfortunate casualty of my
oversight,” the operative confessed, hoping to appease his angry
commander. “But we acquired the stone, which is one of the items
on Doktor Übermann’s manifest.”
Beside him, Karl withered under Kerner’s critical gaze, but said
nothing to bring the SS leader’s wrath upon him. Torsten was
getting exactly what he deserved, as far as Karl was concerned.
“I approve of your methods, Agent Fleischer, creative as they
may be,” Kerner said, turning the worldstone over in his hands to
4

DALE DASSEL
study the crude orbs carved on its rough surface, “but you lost the
necklace, the primary objective of your mission.”
Torsten mustered all of his courage to voice the burning
question that had been on his mind since the beginning of their
assignment. “This necklace relic… Why is it so important?”
Kerner slammed the thick stone against his desk hard enough to
dent the wood. The two Abwehr agents jumped involuntarily. “I
am asking the questions, here! Do you understand?”
“J-jawohl, Herr Oberst!” Torsten quickly stammered while his
younger comrade tried to keep his legs from shaking like rubber.
Neither took comfort from the stark beige walls of the
debriefing room on the third floor of the German Embassy in
Algiers, where they had been ordered to report via communiqué
following their assignment in Tikal. The atmosphere was
uncomfortably hot and grim. A trickle of sweat ran down the side
of Karl’s face, but he dared not wipe it away. He glanced at the
tightly shut window, fervently wishing for it to be open, if only to
admit an equally hot breeze to dispel Kerner’s boiling anger.
Aside from the lost necklace, Kerner’s mood was soured
because he despised this godforsaken country. He shared the
Führer’s opinion that Africa was a barren, dirty wasteland,
populated by inferior races of people. Additionally, it offered no
resources of value for the German empire, unlike the oil-rich
Balkans, or Turkey, with its vast supply of metal ore. This hellish
desert was not even worth colonizing for military purposes because
nobody wanted to fight over it. Kerner’s presence was required
because Berlin considered the Atlantis project a top priority. He
was anxious to leave at the soonest possible convenience, and
never set foot in Algeria again.
The tall SS commander glared back and forth between the
trembling intelligence agents, who awaited his verdict in rigid fear.
Then he smoothed his blond hair back with a swipe of his hand, as
if trying to restore an air of dignity to the office. Kerner was
pleased that he was a feared leader, because fear was the ultimate
sign of respect. And he deserved to be respected.
He looked Torsten directly in the eyes, challenging, daring him
to protest further. “Due to your ‘oversight’, Agent Fleischer, you
and Agent Sankt are assigned to patrol duty at the desert outpost
until the other keystone is found. When it is located, you will
deliver it to me personally, ja?”
Torsten snapped a crisp salute. “Jawohl, mein Herr. I
understand—”
He was disrupted by a sharp knock at the door. Kerner frowned
in irritation. “Was?” he snapped angrily.
A young courier from the diplomacy office timidly stepped into
the debriefing room, saluted Kerner, and handed him a typewritten
5

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
report. “Khalid Al-Hazzan failed to kill Fräulein Hapgood, Herr
Oberst.”
“And what about Jones?”
“The Amerikaner is also still alive,” he confirmed.
Kerner felt like chewing nails. “How did this happen?” he
demanded.
“Apparently, they were assisted by a nomadic warrior from one
of the desert tribes.”
“You are dismissed.” He sent the messenger slinking away with
a steely look. The air in the room seemed chilled by several
degrees. Nobody spoke in the heavy silence that followed. Kerner
turned his frigid gaze back to Torsten and Karl, jarring the petrified
Abwehr with an unexpected smile, as if some cheerful thought had
just occurred to him.
“Follow me, gentlemen, and I will show you how I deal with
failure.”
He led them to the basement, where he ordered a pair of
uniformed SS guards to release the knife-thrower from a holding
cell usually reserved for political prisoners. The soldiers promptly
opened the door and hauled the Arab roughly from the wooden
bench where he had been sitting. Following on Kerner’s wellpolished
heels, they dragged the bewildered man up the narrow
stairwell to the roof of the German embassy.
Outside, under the broad blue sky and hot sunshine, the colonel
directed them to take the prisoner to the edge of the roof. The
troops backed away, leaving the handcuffed Arab standing alone in
the open. Karl felt a cold lump in the pit of his stomach when
Kerner unfastened the flap holster on his belt.
“You were ordered to kill the Americans, and you failed.”
Drawing his Luger P08 semi-automatic pistol, Kerner looked
directly at the Abwehr agents. “The Schutzstaffel does not accept
failure. Let this be an example.”
The Arab wrung his chained hands together, frantically pleading
for mercy in his native tongue, but his efforts were in vain. Kerner
methodically leveled his gun, aimed, and fired without even
flinching. There was a sound of thunder, and the Arab’s head
snapped back violently. A bright red stain blossomed on the front
of his turban. The knife-thrower reeled backwards and tumbled
over the edge of the roof, plummeting with a dull thud to the dusty
cobblestones, four stories below.
Karl choked in horror, wobbled, collapsed to his knees and
retched on the gravel rooftop. Torsten laughed nervously, and
patted him on the back like a drinking buddy who’d had one too
many.
Re-holstering his gun, Kerner regarded the weak-willed agent
with disgust. “Go collect his filthy brown carcass and bury it in the
6

DALE DASSEL
desert, then report immediately to the dig site. You have your
orders. Both of you.”
Time was of the essence, Kerner thought, and they had wasted
quite enough. He needed that necklace to find the Lost Kingdom,
and the Hapgood woman was the key to reaching it. Not only was
she an expert on the city, but she likely knew all of its secrets as
well. He also suspected that her psychic powers were attuned to the
ancient medallion. Without her it might be useless, so her
involvement was now essential for them to succeed. Kerner was
ready to take matters into his own hands, because he wanted Jones
out of the picture once and for all.
***
They presented a sobering image from afar, Indy knew: Three tiny
dark spots inching across an infinite ocean of golden sand scorched
by a perpetual sun. Beyond the bustling port city of Algiers, the
desert was eternal and unchanging. Jagged mountains hemmed the
distant horizon, bridging the parched landscape and the soaring
blue sky. It reminded Indy of Utah, where his dad relocated their
family to continue his Grail studies after his mother’s death. In the
years that followed, the gulf between estranged father and son
grew as vast as the desert that now surrounded him. But they had
mended the bitter past, and if they could cross that impossible
expanse, Indy reasoned, their tiny caravan could surely conquer the
50-mile tract of Sahara to the Tuareg village, a day’s ride to the
southeast.
It seemed they had been riding forever. Every dune-covered
mile was indistinguishable from the one before it, and the one that
lay ahead. Indy sleeved the sweat from his face, squinted in the
harsh glare. The fedora shaded his eyes, but did little to protect him
from the stark 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 his whip and satchel
containing Omar 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.
Indy looked ahead of him and admired the burnished glow of
Sophia’s rusty mane in the desert light. Her long red hair fell in
loose, shimmering waves down her back. Unable to find a widebrimmed
hat in the marketplace prior to their trip, she simply wore
her sunglasses and a white silk veil draped modestly around her
half-open blouse. Her bare forearms had turned pink from
exposure to the sun while she read the Hermocrates to pass the
time. She gripped the tall forked saddle pommel for balance and
7

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
fought to keep the book still as she bobbed to the awkward gait of
her plodding mount.
The Berber called them ‘ships of the desert’, but Sophia thought
the camel was the ugliest creature she’d ever seen. Despite the
bumpy ride, it was the most efficient animal for desert travel,
perfectly adapted to the harsh climate of the Sahara. The camel’s
thick fur actually repelled hot sunlight while its long, doublejointed
legs kept its body high above the scorching sand. The
distinctive hump did not store water as commonly believed, but
was rather a deposit of fatty tissue that would otherwise trap heat
in the rest of its body, while its flat, sealable nostrils and long
eyelashes deflected windblown sand particles.
Sophia’s attention strayed to the lean silhouette of Abdul, riding
nearby. She was drawn to his bright azure robes, which seemed
like part of the sky itself. His blade gleamed in the sunlight, and
she imagined him to be a noble knight of the desert, proudly
surveying his golden kingdom astride his royal mount. Despite her
initial frustration at his refusal to speak to her, she now found that
very same aloofness intriguing.
Indy noticed her dreamy expression. He leaned over and gave
her a nudge. “I didn’t know you had a sheik complex.”
The redhead blushed because her feelings were so obvious.
Following the Tuareg warrior across the open desert, she felt like
Agnes Ayres in the immortal desert motion picture epic. “Well,
he’s no Valentino, but I’ll take it.”
“He’s better than Valentino. He’s the real thing,” he said,
chuckling.
Indy regarded the sweeping, dune-covered landscape, which
appeared misty and vague as it stretched further away. Almost like
a painting of a desert instead of a real one, he thought, surveying
the dark ridge of the Atlas mountain range on the horizon. The
German dig site was located somewhere in the foothills. He shook
his head. It didn’t look good. Not from any direction.
“What’s wrong?” Sophia asked, perturbed by his grim
expression.
“The terrain. There’s absolutely no cover unless we wait until
nightfall to make our approach. Otherwise they’ll see us coming
miles ahead.”
“Well, we can’t do that,” she said. “We need to get there and
stop the Nazis as quickly as possible.”
“Easier said than done, sweetheart. It’ll take us another day to
reach it, and even then we’ll need cover to get close, since they
have armed guards.”
“A disguise?” suggested Abdul, falling back to join them.
Indy looked at the nomad’s billowy robes with newfound
appreciation. “That’s perfect. Good thinking, Abdul.”
8

DALE DASSEL
“Then you will be Tuareg,” he declared with a firm nod, as if
the matter was settled. “But first we will 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.”
“But why would he want to see us?”
“Good question. I was wondering the same thing myself.”
The rippling dunes resembled water in the late afternoon sun:
liquid folds of sand striped with dark, shadowy ribbons. But the
water did not flow. The golden sea was frozen by some kind of
impossible magic that defied reality. Time also seemed to stand
still as they drifted through the endless desert. An austral wind
blew misty plumes of spray from the crests of the sandy waves.
The dreamy illusion suddenly 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 poisonous mushrooms.
The village fanned across the flat brown plain in a wide circle
surrounding a drystone well equipped with a modern rope-andpulley
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
tribal totem, hugged the sand to keep the temperature cool within.
Indy guessed that the tents could be quickly disassembled for
travel, although the camp had the look of a permanent settlement.
When he mentioned this, Abdul said that the Tuareg were being
suppressed after more than two thousand years of nomadic
freedom as leaders of the trans-Saharan trade route across North
Africa. In the late nineteenth century, they were massacred in a
hard-fought rebellion against the French colonial invasion of the
Sahel. The caravan trade that was once their livelihood had now
been replaced by railways, while their territories were annexed by
the French government like the American Indian reservations.
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
Tuareg village 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; a society that even predated
the Dark Ages.
The people of the veil were as timeless as the desert itself.
Physically, they were a lean, almond-complected people with
9

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Arabic physiognomy. Sophia noticed how the younger generation
displayed their faces openly, but the women were uncovered while
the men were all veiled. She was confused because it was the exact
opposite of life in Algiers.
“Why do the men wear veils instead of the women?” she asked,
unable to contain her curiosity any longer. 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. “I don’t understand.”
“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.”
She was appalled that Arabic women were conditioned to view
their bodies as something sinful that must be covered, and behave
accordingly. “That’s terrible! It’s like being a prisoner in your own
clothes!”
Indy grimaced at the ignorance of her statement, which lacked
consideration for the political and religious complexities of the
culture. “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.”
Sophia grumbled.
“Relax. We only have to wear the robes for a day or so. Then
we can go back to being ourselves.”
“We have arrived,” Abdul announced, reining his camel to a
stop near a large tent covered in lavender hides. Its reedy walls
displayed a complex pattern of interlocking triangles that were
reminiscent of Celtic knotwork. They gratefully dismounted their
camels and stretched while Abdul bound the animal’s legs together
to prevent them from running away. He instructed them to remove
their shoes before going inside.
The cool, shadowy darkness was a welcome shock from the
relentlessly blazing sun outside. The air was pleasantly cool. When
his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Indy was surprised by how much
the tent resembled a primitive house. Woven rugs lined the
outermost walls, effectively blocking out the oppressive heat. The
space within was neatly partitioned into separate quarters by
wicker screens.
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 glanced
around nervously, then drew her knees up and curled her bare toes
into the cool sand at the edge of the carpet.
“Wouldn’t it be nice if it rained?” she said wistfully.
10

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Indy looked at her as if she’d lost her mind, but offered no reply
because they were on sacred ground. He hoped she would take his
respectful silence as a hint.
A moment later, their host emerged from behind the curtain and
stood proudly beside the cloth door. “May I present Prisha,
descendant of Tin Hinan, Mother of Us All...”
He drew open the curtain and the Amenokal glided gracefully
onto 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 immediately 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. But
Sophia was even more stunned when Abdul met her gaze for one
startling moment.
“And…” he smiled broadly, and proclaimed: “My wife.”
“His WIFE?!” Sophia 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. Then Indy recalled the Hindu inscription from
the pyramid in Tikal, and he wondered if her nationality was more
than just a coincidence.
Prisha bowed politely and settled gracefully before them. She
took Sophia’s hands 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. He removed his hat and placed it on the ground
beside him.
The Amenokal regarded him with a pearlescent smile that
glowed against her dusky complexion. “You have traveled far
today, and for that you have my eternal gratitude for bringing my
Bahana. I have much to tell her of the quest which occupies her
soul.”
Sophia looked skeptical. “Really? And how do you know about
my quest if we just met?”
The Tuareg priestess lifted her cowl to reveal a small tikka
pendant on the middle of her forehead. “Because we are of the
same spirit. Soulmates, as you call it.” Sophia Hapgood jolted in
shock. Indy sat up attentively. Things had just become interesting.
The silver icon was an exact copy of Nur-Ab-Sal, except its eyes
11

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
were rectangular slits, rather than the menacing daggers of
Sophia’s necklace.
“You worship Nur-Ab-Sal?” she blurted, anxious to learn more
about her spirit guide from another person familiar with him.
Never in her life did Sophia imagine that other examples of her
Atlantean god existed.
“We do not worship graven images. Nat-Hal-Bar is the
counterpart of your heathen god.”
“Evil? 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 of ribs and legs.
The tiny skull stared up at them from the center of the jumble with
its hollow little eye sockets.
She waved her purple-stained fingers over the skull. “Do not be
deceived by the Dark One. His path leads to destruction. Resist the
power at all costs, or you will 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 the Lost Kingdom.”
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 in the flesh. There, you will be at
his command unless you rid yourself of his trappings.”
“I could never give away my necklace,” said Sophia, touching
her pendant with reverence. “Even if I wanted to. Nur-Ab-Sal has
never led me astray.”
Indy remained silent during the séance, absorbing the wisdom
of Prisha’s message. As he suspected, the necklace was a
malevolent thing, a force that would feed on Sophia’s soul and
poison her mind with false hope until she returned it to Atlantis.
Then it would kill her. 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.
12

DALE DASSEL
“Why must you see if you already believe?”
“To reaffirm my faith,” she confessed. “I’ve never wanted
anything more in my whole life. I can’t turn back now that we’re
so close. You understand, right?”
The priestess gathered up the cloth full of bones with a weary
sigh. Her amber eyes were glistening, and Indy could see that she
was clearly distraught as the bittersweet struggle of emotions
played across her face. She was obviously concerned about Sophia,
but Prisha knew that the willful redhead would follow her destiny
with unwavering devotion, heedless of the danger involved, until
she reached her goal.
“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 have the strength to save yourself.”
Sophia reached for her hand impulsively. “Don’t worry. I know
when to stop. I promise.”
“Find peace on your journey. Its reward is greater than the goal
which you seek.”
“I will,” she vowed solemnly.
The two women hugged each-other tightly and wept. Indy
looked at Abdul, who had observed the meeting impassively. The
Tuareg warrior gave him a curt nod, a silent pledge that he would
help them succeed at all costs. Indy returned the gesture. The
message was clear. No matter what happened, Sophia Hapgood
must be protected. The fate of the world depended on it.
13

13
LOST OUTPOST
“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, enjoying her latest tantrum.
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. Their evil simply could not exist in a world of such serenity.
But it was wishful thinking. He knew they were out in the desert
somewhere, digging under the burning sand for Atlantis, of all
things.
As Indy placed his rumpled fedora into the saddlebag of his
camel, he wondered how the wheels of fate invariably determined
that he was the best person to oppose the Germans. He was an
archaeologist. Certainly not an occupation especially suited to
thwart a mechanized army of Teutonic efficiency. No matter what
the odds were, he always seemed to triumph in the end. Maybe it
was just the luck of the draw, he figured, but Indy wondered how
long his luck would hold out. He was getting older, and he couldn’t
keep it up forever. Someday he would have to quit. That day was
still far off, but he was looking forward to it. Right now, though, he
still had a long, dusty road ahead of him.
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

DALE DASSEL
stone well at the heart of the village. He had a feeling that it was
going to be a hot day, and not just because of the sun.
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 German
soldiers from invading the country, their mission was heralded with
joy, and a celebration was held in their honor. The blue men of the
desert 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 ever seen. It was a spectacle unlike anything he had
ever witnessed before, and one that he would never forget.
“There you are, Jones! I thought you were still sleeping.”
Turning at her voice, Indiana Jones nearly dropped his canteen
into the well at the sight of Sophia Hapgood 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. For one
breathtaking moment Indy mistook her for Brigid, the pagan
goddess of eternal light. As the deity approached him, she lifted the
hem of her billowy caftan above the sand to reveal Sophia’s rugged
leather boots.
“I always did look good in bed sheets, but I don’t see how these
people walk around in them all the time without tripping.”
The divine illusion was shattered. “Well, they are more fun to
roll around in than wear,” Indy said dryly.
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?”
“I don’t mind keeping you warm,” he grinned.
“Well consider it a privilege, smart guy. But keep up that
attitude, and you will need your jacket.”
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
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 Arabian warriors cloaked in
silent anonymity 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 the Amenokal’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 fought
back tears for the pure, selfless love and spiritual awakening that
she had received from the woman who had become closer than a
sister 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.
3

DALE DASSEL
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 salt 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 of existence as they
crossed the trackless desert. By midday, the temperature was
unbearable. 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 Hapgood
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, sweetie, are you
feeling okay?”
Wobbling dizzily, Sophia 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.”
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“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. Luckily,
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, Sophia saw Indiana Jones gazing
down at her in concern. “Feel better now?”
The redhead handed his fedora back with a feeble smile.
“Thanks, but I think it looks better on you.”
He stroked her head fondly. “That’s my girl. 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,” he said, finally breaking his silence.
Although the blue veil masked his expression, it magnified a
disarmingly compassionate gaze from eyes that had avoided her
for so long.
She gaped in amazement, stunned by the first words that he’d
ever spoken to her. “Now you talk to me?” Sophia winced,
immediately wishing that she’d held her tongue.
Abdul Aziz chuckled. “The desert keeps its secrets. I am not
worried.”
“I think you’re in good hands now,” Indy said, rising to his feet.
“I’ll try to find us 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
now, 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 he also knows 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—”
5

DALE DASSEL
“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 her accoster, a thin, acne-scarred
Arab with shifty eyes and a pointy goatee. 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 wanted a drink.”
He stared in astonishment at the sight of her blood-red 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 getting 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 agitated soldier drew a bead on her with his ancient rifle.
“Undress now, please. If you satisfy me, then maybe I let you live.
If not, you will get your wish to stay here for long time.”
“Well, how can I refuse hospitality like that?” She slowly
unfastened her belt sash, mentally cursing Indy while the scruffy
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
fiend savored her with lustful eyes. The poor wretch probably
hadn’t seen a woman in months, and it wasn’t hard to imagine
what he had in mind. Where the hell was Indy?
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. Indiana Jones 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! I am taking you back to the
city.”
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-Kenobi, 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. Ben flinched, but stood his ground. Indy
tensed, knowing that the Tuareg resistance leader would kill the
scrawny 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 Kenobi 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, and he was fed up trying
to negotiate with the scrawny desert rat. “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.”
Kenobi’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
7

DALE DASSEL
furious cloud of dust, hurling a string of profanities behind him in
Arabic.
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.”
***
“God, it’s hot out here.”
Sophia Hapgood peered through her gauzy veil at the desolate
landscape, then pulled out her canteen and drank deeply, savoring
the rapidly warming oasis water. She shifted positions on the rocky
slope, but found it impossible to relax on the griddle-hot stone that
burned her skin through the fabric of her silky robes.
“That’s why they call it the desert, sweetheart.” Indy, lying
belly-down beside her on the ledge, slowly panned his binoculars
over the 10-acre dig site, a quarter of a 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.
Anxious to explore the dig, 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 with relief.
“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. “No.
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 lots of soldiers here?”
“Do not be deceived. They sleep when it is too hot to work, and
they dig at night, in darkness.”
“That should make it easy for us then,” Indy said, continuing
his surveillance.
“How was the site found?” Sophia asked.
“Many moons ago, a terrible sandstorm uncovered a tree
growing in the sand, a tree without branches. It was the mast of a
buried ship. A team of scholars came out from the city to see it.
The Germans followed soon after.”
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“But who would build a ship in the middle of the desert? It
doesn’t make any sense.”
Indy stowed his field glasses. “Let’s find out.”
Leaving their camels in the shady fig valley 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. Try to 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 made it to 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, Indy.”
Descending the shaft through a razor-sharp wedge of sunlight
that bathed the sandstone wall in a rosy glow, Indiana Jones 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. Indy paused
to let his body adapt to the shocking temperature change. It was a
welcome relief after crossing the blazing desert.
The archaeologist 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. Still, it was an interesting find. 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 by the
9

DALE DASSEL
Nazis. 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 portable 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 were the case, why were they still patrolling the site?
“Ooh, it’s nice and cool down here.” He looked up as 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. That was the real prize. “Wow, a Phoenician bireme! How
do you suppose it ended up out here?”
“Perhaps this was the harbor of some long-vanished sea,” Abdul
speculated thoughtfully as he studied the condition of the wreck.
“That’s my guess, too.” Indy said. “The Mediterranean was
much larger in ancient times. There are desert ruins from here to
Iraq. I’ve even worked on some of them myself. Who knows,
maybe Atlantis was an empire of the sand?”
“The true believer can find proof in the largest pyramid or the
smallest stone,” Sophia said, caressing one of the broken ship ribs.
“This mighty vessel carried refugees here after the sinking of
Atlantis. I’m sure of it. Wait!” She stood alertly, as if summoned
by a silent, omnipotent voice. “I sense the presence of Nur-Ab-Sal
nearby.”
Dowsing the room, she led them to a relief hidden in the
shadows on a wall behind the generator. The painting showed a
pair of dark-haired females garbed in billowy blue dresses, tossing
a ball-like object in the air. Indy saw a familiar golden chest
between the twins. It looked like the Ark of the Covenant. The
vibrant colors were remarkably well-preserved in the dry, shady
atmosphere belowground. Indy noted how the figures were
depicted in profile, which was common to the Amarna style of art.
“Look,” he said, tracing the painted orb. “It’s the Aten, the sun
disk of Ra. Sorry to disappoint you, but this was an Egyptian
outpost.”
“No. These are the Sisters of the Light. The gatekeepers of
Atlantis. They were one of the twin children of Poseidon and
Cleito.”
10

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“I think you need to brush up on your mythology. Poseidon had
five sets of male twins, and none of them were the gatekeepers of
anything.”
“Don’t contradict me, Jones. I have spiritual guidance from the
last king of Atlantis. Nur-Ab-Sal knows all, and sees all.”
“Then where’s the gate?” he challenged.
“Why it’s right here, of course. Just look.” Closing her eyes,
Sophia ran her hands over the stone painting like a person reading
Braille, but her face skewed in frustration after several moments of
fruitless searching. “Well, it’s… It should be…”
She stepped back from the wall with a heavy sigh, her
confidence visibly waning. “Strange, Nur-Ab-Sal tells me that 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.” He
pointed at two adjacent alcoves filled with rubble.
“Maybe we need more light?” Abdul chimed in helpfully.
“Yeah, and some shovels,” Indy grumbled unhappily. After all
the suffering they had endured to get to the dig site, the last thing
he felt like doing was clearing a tunnel on the remote chance that it
may contain the artifact they were searching for.
The clairvoyant 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. The solution was staring her in the face.
“Light. The Aten… The sun disk. A disk. Follow the light, and the
kingdom will be revealed.”
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. “Ha! Hidden in plain sight.”
“Clever,” Indy remarked.
“We finally have the key to Atlantis,” proclaimed Sophia,
offering him the stone with great ceremony.
“Or at least one of them. There are three stones, according to
the book. 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 pointed out that the circular shape of the
stone signified unity, wholeness, 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.
“Cement… still damp. Somebody covered this up recently. Let’s
see what they were hiding.”
11

DALE DASSEL
He chipped 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 against 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. Especially since we are
all searching for the same place.”
Klaus Kerner strode boldly from the shadows, flanked by two
plainclothes German agents with pistols. It was the first time Indy
had ever 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. The pretty boy was 100-percent Nazi, all the way down to
his polished jackboots.
Torsten gestured at them with his Mauser HSc. “These Arabs
speak English quite well, Herr Colonel. Too bad they did not cover
their tracks equally well. Araber tragen keine Stiefel, meine
amerikanischen Freunde.”
“I’ll remember that next time,” Indy said sourly, upset for
neglecting to erase their footprints in the sand. Hell, they deserved
to be caught for leaving the Nazis a trail to follow.
Kerner extended his hand to Sophia in formal greeting.
“Fräulein Hapgood, I don’t believe I have made the pleasure of
your acquaintance.” When she responded with a bitterly caustic
glare, he snapped 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. Your powers
are truly remarkable. They will prove useful in our quest.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not going to help you
monsters find anything.”
“Monsters? What is it Herr Jones has said to give us such a
distasteful reputation?”
12

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Nothing that you haven’t earned for yourself,” Indy jibed.
“Unlike you beastly Americans, we are descendants of the
nordisch atlantic, the superior Aryan race, founders of this
magnificent lost civilization which predates history itself.” Kerner
preened his pale coiffure with such a theatrical flourish that Indy
might have laughed if he weren’t being held at gunpoint. “Such a
distinction is hardly the work of monsters, I think.”
“Do you really believe that?” 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 oncebenevolent
icon turned perpetually evil. Indy’s contempt poured
out in a bitter torrent.
“You bastards turn the swastika sideways, persecute innocent
people, and commit wholesale atrocity in the name of national
pride. And for what? Because your psychotic Führer buys some
Russian mystic’s bullshit theory about a so-called ‘Master Race’
from Atlantis? Yeah, that’s real noble.”
“Atlantis was perfect. This world is not.” Kerner said in a voice
measured with icy calm. “Ridding the human race of its inferior
people is the price of progress, and a very small one 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 Jew yourself.”
“Fuck you.”
With those words, Indy had pitted his life against the very core
of the Nazi’s patriotic devotion. Disbelief and fury mottled
Kerner’s face like measles, but he regained his composure with a
frigid little smile. “That is quite enough mud-slinging, Doktor
Jones. Time is short, and I have need of your Fräulein Hapgood’s
services.”
“So do I,” Torsten snickered lewdly.
“Agent Fleischer! Ruhe!” Kerner’s sharp reprimand stifled the
officer’s amusement instantly.
“You’re not using me for anything, you son of a bitch.” Sophia
seethed, red-faced with fury. “I wouldn’t help you find Atlantis if
my life depended on it!”
Kerner drew his gun with a dispassionate frown. “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. Then the 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
13

DALE DASSEL
vicious kick to Kerner’s wrist. The SS colonel bellowed in agony
as his gun flew into the haze. Indy delivered a knockout blow to
Kerner’s handsome face that sent him 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 cannon blast in the tight confines of the chamber.
He stared in disbelief because he’d missed in the smoke. Enraged,
Indy leaped towards the dumbstruck agent and sacked him like a
linebacker, driving him over the mine car tracks. Torsten fell,
striking his head against the metal rails with a dull thud that made
Indy wince. The second Abwehr agent raised his gun to retaliate
when he felt 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.” I was just following Kerner’s orders.
“Then I’d find some better friends if I were you,” he responded
in German while relieving the young agent 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 the massive 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 that Indy recognized as
one of the warriors from the support squad 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 to
thank the man whose timely action had saved his life.
Thunder echoed across the cloudless sky. Shrill Tamasheq battle
cries filled the dusty air as the legion of blue-robed warriors
galloped across the dig site with their swords raised high. The
cavalry had arrived, and not a moment too soon. Sleepy Nazi
soldiers poured from their tents, bleary-eyed and disoriented by the
commotion. The sight of the rampaging Arab riders snapped them
to instant sobriety.
14

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Zu den Waffen! Wir werden angegriffen! Beeilung!”
Bullets sparkled off the bulldozer’s steel treads like fireworks.
Grabbing Sophia by the arm, Indy ran hell-bent-for-leather 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 responded
by unleashing a volley of musket fire that drove the Nazis back
among their tents in surprise. Indy used the cover to slide behind
the steering wheel of the nearest half-track, a small, angular car
made of corrugated gray sheet metal.
Sophia took the passenger seat beside him. “What is this
thing?”
The sedan appeared to be a hybrid model, with a triangular
caterpillar tread configuration in place of its 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. Lucky for us Kerner left his keys
in the ignition.” He started the car, jammed the gas pedal down,
and the half-track lurched into motion.
“Waitaminute. Where’s Abdul?”
Indy twisted around in his seat, and saw him running towards
the crane with Izem. The blue nomads ducked out of sight among
the other vehicles, but reappeared a few seconds 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 seat of the moving
vehicle just 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 dig site 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 theft of the car, the Nazis laid down a line of
counter-fire against the marauding nomads. They broke from their
position and scrambled for their vehicles. Half of the troops piled
into the old flatbed truck while several more took the other halftrack.
The motorcycles roared off ahead of them, intent on catching
the ‘Arab’ fugitives before they could reach the open desert.
“Here’s where the fun begins.” Indy muttered as the military
convoy peeled after them in hot pursuit.
The second Kübelwagen shot forward, spewing sand furiously
in its eagerness to join the chase. Behind them, the crane boom
15

DALE DASSEL
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 clean from the undercarriage.
“Wow! Where did you learn that trick?!” She had never seen
anything like it before.
Abdul shrugged modestly. “To stop a camel from running,
simply tie his 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 jammed the pedal down,
running the sedan to its maximum speed. The weak, 4-cylinder aircooled
engine screamed to propel the ungainly tracked vehicle
through the thick Algerian sand.
“Indee, look what I find!” Abdul popped up from the back seat
with a Karabiner field rifle.
“Great, let ‘em have it!” Indy growled as the BMW 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 picked off 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.
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 swore. He twisted the steering wheel hard,
and the car slewed sideways to evade the gunfire. Bullet holes
riddled the fenders as the German vehicle see-sawed like a block
of lead on ice, but the shots miraculously missed the rear engine
compartment. “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 declared impatiently. She
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 half-track bounced
roughly over the dirt, focused, and pulled the trigger.
Click.
16

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 again. “What’s wrong with this thing?”
“It’s a bolt action! You have to chamber each round!” Indy
yelled over the crack of gunfire shredding the austral wind.
The redhead clumsily worked the lever and jammed the bullet
into place. She rose to her full height, ignoring the staccato chatter
of death that buzzed around her like annoying mosquitoes, raised
the gun and sighted down the barrel. Dust particles stung her eyes
as she squinted hard in the phosphorescent sun glare that burned
the world in a vivid white glow. The Tuareg veil tickled her face in
the blowing wind. Her target was a smudgy red blur dancing on the
Karabiner’s muzzle. Sophia took a deep breath of searing hot air,
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. The force of the blast
shattered the water tower, unleashing a torrent that swept away the
tents and flooded the excavation pit with mud.
Abdul released a cry of celebration that was echoed by the ring
of Tuareg soldiers that galloped around the speeding half-track.
The Berber cavalry discharged their guns in a triumphant victory
salute. Sophia held up the sunstone to Indy with a bright grin. “You
call this archaeology?”
“No, but I seem to have a talent for it!” he replied. They crashed
through the wooden security gate and raced into the desert
wilderness, leaving the ruined dig site far behind.
***
It was a floating death trap, Sophia decided, warily circling the
enormous yellow hydrogen-filled globe that would carry them to
Greece. They would be riding in a creaky, phone booth-sized
wicker basket attached to the silk balloon 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 wrinkled her nose at the sharp odor of rubber doping that
stung her nostrils, even from a distance. “Do you actually know
how to fly one of these things?”
Indy turned from the lanky Arab in the green robes who was
explaining the flight controls to him. “Kareem is teaching me the
basics. I haven’t piloted one since the war, but there’s nothing to
it.”
17

DALE DASSEL
In truth, the archaic hydrogen balloon wasn’t so different from
the Rozière-type aerial surveillance platforms that he had used in
the Belgian army. Indy was confident that he could handle the
aircraft once he understood the gas venting and ballast operations.
Sophia apprehensively eyed the word ‘HYDROGEN’ stenciled
on the dented gas canister hanging from the outside of the basket.
“Does anybody else remember the Hindenburg? There’s a reason
they don’t use this stuff anymore.”
Indy doffed his hat. “Well, it’s not exactly a luxury flight, but
it’s the best we can do on short notice, hon. 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 fabled city actually existed.
In spite of everything, Indy still had his doubts. But they had come
this far, and he was obliged to see it through, as he’d promised
Sophia.
He watched carefully while Kareem demonstrated how the
parachute vent 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 to be used for ballast during ascension. The airship could
be flown with little or no heat during the day, while the burner was
used after sundown to keep the hydrogen at a constant temperature
for level flight. 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 and considered the
question. “The longest flight that I hear of lasted twenty days.” He
beckoned to the swollen balloon. “Gas leaks out sometimes, so
probably less.” A particularly strong gust of wind swirled a dirt
devil around them. “See? Good wind for flying! You will travel far
today, I promise!”
There was a loud roar as he fired the blast valve. A gout of
orange flame leaped into the balloon’s narrow throat like a
blowtorch, and the basket lifted off the ground by several inches.
The airship strained at its mooring ropes, tied to rusty iron rings
embedded in a quadruplet of stone blocks around the craft.
Standing at the edge of the clearing, Abdul watched the balloon
dance in the salty sea breeze, eager to whisk his new friends off
into the wide blue sky. Sophia stared in disbelief because the
Tuareg had lowered his veil to reveal his handsome bronze
18

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 carried it over to the balloon. Kareem placed it inside of
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, with a disheveled blouse flapping loosely
in the wind. “Sha’ar ahmar-ma ajmal! You fly around the world
like Meel-ya Errhart?”
Sophia Hapgood 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. “Do not get lost, I hope.”
“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. “At least not anytime
soon, after the licking we gave ‘em,” he grinned. “No debt
necessary. You are a good and honorable friend. May Allah be with
you.”
The nomad bowed his head in return. “And with you as well,
my friend. I will pray for your safe journey until we meet again.”
“Ready to fly now?” Kareem asked them.
Indy climbed into the basket and took the control cables.
“Ready.”
Together, the Berbers freed the mooring ropes and the giant
yellow balloon lifted into the azure sky. As the earth shrank
beneath them, Sophia waved at Abdul until his tiny blue figure
vanished from sight. She put her arms around Indy with a regretful
sigh, knowing that she would always miss him. A strident wind
blew them eastward over the Mediterranean, towards Atlantis.
Towards destiny.
19

20
DALE DASSEL

14
DIVING FOR ATLANTIS
Dark waves lapped at the faded ‘Port of Kalymnos’ legend painted
on the hull of the rusty fishing trawler plowing through the Aegean
Sea. Dimitri Valsamidis checked his compass bearing against the
coordinates marked on his navigational chart, rolled the wheel
several degrees to port and, after several more minutes of traveling,
determined that he’d arrived at the precise location requested by
his passengers. The old Greek fisherman cut power to the
grumbling marine diesel and dropped anchor in the middle of
nowhere. The Paradise Lost glided to a standstill in the choppy
surf, 40 miles north of Crete. The island’s distant, jagged profile
was the only feature breaking the panorama of watery desolation
around them. The rest of the world was composed of water and
sky.
Dimitri stepped out of the wheelhouse and kicked one of the
dented wire baskets piled amid the rolls of tangled netting that
cluttered the deck of his boat. “These are the coordinates you
provide me, but there is nothing here, not even a good harvest.” he
complained to the tough-looking man in the brown hat and leather
jacket who was huddled by the aft gunwale with his beautiful redhaired
companion. The Americans were too preoccupied with their
old book to be concerned about the rough current threatening to
capsize his ancient hook boat. “You waste my time, but you pay
good money, so I don’t complain so much.”
Sophia Hapgood flashed him a bright smile. “Relax, Dimitri,
we’re after a lot more than sponges. We have a whole world to
discover.”
The sailor’s bushy gray eyebrows knitted with skepticism,
adding another decade of creases to his weathered face. “Under the
water is nothing but mud,” he said, gesturing to the foaming swells

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
that rocked the boat. Not many sponge divers worked the waters
around Crete anymore, although he knew of several lucrative reefs
in the area. None, however, were this far out, so he couldn’t
imagine what they possibly hoped to find in this remote patch of
sea.
Sophia returned her attention to the Hermocrates. “Okay, let’s
go over it one more time, just to be sure.”
Indy heaved a tedious sigh, and read the text aloud for the fifth
time that day. He could almost recite it by memory. “So glorious
Atlantis founded two colonies, the Lesser 340 miles north of the
City and the Greater 390 miles to the south.” He slapped the book
shut. “That’s all it says.”
“Now, factoring in Plato’s tenfold error, we divide by ten, so the
Greater Colony,” she turned, pointing to the rocky pinnacle
climbing out of the cobalt waters in the distance, “would be 39
miles to the south, which should put us directly over Atlantis.” She
stomped her heel twice on the wooden deck for emphasis.
“If it even exists,” Indy reminded her.
“Which is precisely why I’m going, and you’re not.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You are a disbeliever, unworthy to gaze upon the Lost
Kingdom. I am destined to see it first. It is my privilege and
birthright, according to Nur-Ab-Sal.” It was then that Indy realized
she wanted to make the dive herself. It was crazy, suicidal, and he
was putting his foot down.
“Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.” Deep sea diving was risky,
even to a trained professional, let alone a complete novice like
Sophia. “Besides, you can’t even swim, and I’m not going to let
some imaginary spirit talk you into you to an early grave.”
“For the last time, Jones, Nur-Ab-Sal is not fake. He’s my spirit
guide, and he’s calling to me now. And I don’t have to swim
because I’ll be walking.”
Indy reached over and grasped the steel winch cable on the back
of the ship. “This dive line is probably less than a mile long. You’ll
never reach the bottom.” He pointed to the old captain who had
observed their debate passively. “How long is this cable?”
Dimitri shrugged. “A few hundred feet. Good for shallows,
mostly. Depends on depth.”
“That’s more than enough,” Sophia insisted stubbornly.
Desperate now, Indy tried a different tack. “Maybe Atlantis
never sank. Did you ever think of that? It could be the thousands of
shattered Greek islands spread out across the Mediterranean. Why
don’t we search around for more clues? We’re bound to find
something.”
“Fragments,” she scoffed. “Pieces. The main landmass sank
into the sea 11,000 years ago,” she said in complete ignorance the
2

DALE DASSEL
tenfold error that she was recklessly betting her life on. Her
impatience was affecting her judgment, Indy realized, and she
wasn’t thinking clearly. Not a good sign.
“This is crazy. What are you going to do if you reach the
bottom? Walk around in the dark and hope to find Atlantis? It’s a
myth, Sophia. Wake up.” Indy swept a hand over his face in
frustration. He couldn’t believe he’d followed her fantasy this far.
What was he thinking?
Her features softened to the border of desperation. “Please let
me go, Indy. I’ve waited my whole life for this moment. Don’t
deny it now that we’re so close.” The archaeologist met her
pleading gaze that speared him with a pang of guilt. He knew there
was no way that he could talk her out of it.
“You sure you really want to do this?” Sophia nodded firmly.
”Okay, I’ll help you suit up.”
“Be careful with my suit or you buy me a new one,” Dimitri
said as they headed for the hatch below deck.
They went downstairs into the cramped cargo hold, where the
diving equipment was stored. Sophia, eager to fulfill her dream at
long last, promptly stripped down to her underwear with no sign of
inhibition.
“You’ll need clothing to keep warm,” Indy stated in his most
businesslike tone. He handed her a set of long thermal underwear
from his travel valise, and tried not to stare at her smooth, bare
limbs while the petite redhead stepped into the oversized pajamas
and pulled them up to her slender waist, holding them up with one
hand. Indy helped her snug the baggy top over her torso. Sophia
held up her arms with a sheepish smile. The broad shirt wilted off
of her narrow freckled shoulders. The sleeves trailed several inches
past her hands. He cinched his webbed belt around her waist to
keep her pajamas secure, and then gave her a pair of thick wool
socks to put over the set that she was already wearing.
“Don’t you think this is a bit much? I’m already sweating. This
is June, remember?”
“You won’t be sweating in a few minutes, trust me. Sit down,”
he said, pointing at a narrow bench. She complied while he pulled
the bulky diving suit from the locker, then wrestled the leadweighted
boots, belt, and spherical brass helmet onto the cabin
floor. Indy unzipped the rubberized twill canvas bodysuit and
helped her step into it. Sophia grunted when he lowered the heavy
12-bolt corselet onto her shoulders. The brass yoke bore the oval
seal of the Xyth Pio factory, stamped with the year of its
manufacture: 1899. Lastly, she stepped into the massive boots,
which buckled securely over the legs of the diving suit.
3

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Sophia wobbled unsteadily to her feet. Her head emerged from
the gaping neck ring of the oversized outfit, which hung loosely on
her small frame. “I hope this canvas relic holds together.”
Indy leaned forward, took her face in his hands, and kissed her
tenderly, savoring the softness of her lips. “Are you warm
enough?”
Her cheeks darkened with a rosy blush. “I am now.” She turned
around awkwardly, her boots thumping on the wooden floor, and
trundled upstairs. Indy draped the weight belt over his shoulder,
gathered the helmet in his arms and followed her to the deck,
where Dimitri was preparing the crane. Sophia sat on the transom
and worked her lead-weighted legs over the side until both feet
were dangling above the water. The old sponge diver clipped the
crane hook to a thick metal ring on the top of the helmet, and
connected the air hose into the brass nozzle on the backside. He
switched on the compressor by the port railing, and the rubber
umbilical hose stiffened and hissed as pressurized oxygen flowed
through it.
“You dive before, Miss?” he asked, winching the brass globe
into the air.
“Of course I have,” Sophia lied cheerfully while Indy
maneuvered the leaded canvas belt around her waist and buckled
it.
“Good. Remember to breathe normal, and do not touch helmet.
I give you one hour, then you come up, okay?”
“That’s more than enough time. Just make sure to keep that air
machine going.”
“Yes, I understand. Here is a light also, because it is dark down
below,” Dimitri said, opening a cabinet in the deck. He took out a
small, cone-shaped electric lamp and affixed it to the front of
Sophia’s heavy corselet.
Indy stood before her with the enormous helmet between his
hands. “Are you really sure you want to do this? It’s not too late to
turn back.”
“I haven’t come all this way to quit now. Atlantis is waiting for
me down there. I have to go.”
He held her solemn gaze and knew that she was right. He
couldn’t stop her from realizing her dream now that it was so close
at hand. He reached up and stroked her cheek softly, then motioned
for Dimitri to lower the winch. Indy guided the heavy brass globe
over her head and blurted the words, “I love you,” just before the
helmet sealed against the neck ring. The salty old Greek worked
his way clockwise around Sophia’s neck, twisting the wing nuts
securely to form an airtight seal while Indy looked on and prayed
to God for the integrity of the ancient suit.
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Indy tapped on the side of her helmet. “Can you breathe in
there?” he said loudly. Sophia’s small face nodded behind the
round glass viewport. She looked so helpless inside of the bulky
suit that he had to restrain himself from forbidding her to go. He
maneuvered the L-shaped hoist over the water while Dimitri
cranked some slack into the line. Sophia waved to signal that she
was ready to dive, and then pushed herself over the edge, into the
waiting depths.
***
Sophia wiggled her toes apprehensively inside of Indy’s thick wool
socks as the steel cable lowered her through the sapphire water
towards her destiny below. The lead ingots sewn into the pouches
of the weight belt pressed heavily around her hips, pulling her
down into the abyss. A sugary mix of hope and terror tickled her
veins, for she was experiencing a moment that she never thought
would come. Her lifelong dream was soon to become a reality.
Still, she was alone, with nobody to share it with. Then she smiled
at the memory of the kiss she had shared with Indy. His impulsive
profession of love warmed her as the cold water temperature bled
through the rubbery skin of her suit. The thrill was quickly erased
as doubt gnawed at her psyche, rendered even more fragile by the
bitter cold grip of the unknown. What if she was wrong about
everything? What if there was no Atlantis? What if Indy was right?
Maybe it never existed at all. Was he telling the truth about her
dive line being too short? How deep was the Aegean? She’d
forgotten to ask. All of these worries skewered her like icy needles
as she continued the interminable descent to the bottom.
The minutes wore on like hours, and her mind drifted with
thoughts of Atlantis to distract her from all of the fears that plagued
her. She dreamily envisioned how the silt-covered ruins might look
at the bottom of the sea. Would she discover fluted Doric columns,
or angular Mayan-style masonry? Perhaps the buildings would
exhibit elements of cyclopean Egyptian architecture! Or maybe it
would be a harmonious blend of influences that spread across the
world from the homeland of civilization? How fantastic that would
be! Sophia could hardly stand the suspense. The greatest mystery
of all time was about to be revealed to her, and she could finally
put those years of ridicule to shame, starting with Indy. When she
returned to the surface, she would send him down to see it for
himself, and he could never deny the existence of Atlantis again.
Then they would get some cameras and—
What are you looking for down here?
The voice came from the darkness, jarring Sophia from the
reverie that anchored her calm. It was the voice of the ocean itself,
5

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
challenging the puny mortal who intruded its domain on a flimsy
steel thread.
“The lost city of Atlantis,” she answered automatically.
Listen to yourself. Isn’t that absurd?
“No, because I believe.”
In an old bronze necklace that represents an empty, worthless
dream?
“It’s my dream.”
You are here for something else.
“Like what?”
Maybe you need to find yourself, suggested the abyss.
“I know exactly who I am. Who are you?”
I am that which you seek, but you will not find me in the mud.
“What mud?”
Suddenly there was a sharp jolt behind her shoulders, a noise
that sounded like a muffled gunshot from inside of her helmet. Her
body jerked roughly, and Sophia felt herself falling into the
midnight void. White-hot panic burned in her mind like a torch
when she realized that the dive cable had snapped. Her thicklygloved
hands flailed uselessly as she shot through the black water,
dragged down by her lead-weighted boots and belt. She fell for
what seemed like an eternity until her legs plunged into a thick,
gelatinous material, and she was mired chest-deep in the mud on
the seabed. Only her arms and helmet protruded from the slimy
muck. Sophia struggled in vain, but she wasn’t going anywhere.
Did you forget that you are wearing a cursed necklace? the
voice was now smugly condescending. Such a small thing to die
for, don’t you think?
Through the round lens of her viewport, there was just enough
dim light for Sophia Hapgood to see the steel cable drifting down
in a great lazy loop to circle the site of her imminent grave. She
was all alone on the bottom of the sea, anchored in the soggy
morass by a 400-pound dive suit. An empty expanse of bumpy
green mud spread across the submarine horizon. There were no
roads or buildings, no soaring pyramids, not even the great glass
dome that protected the city in her wildest dreams. There was no
Atlantis. The dark realization was like a cold slap in the face. Her
dream was dead, and so was she.
A cauldron of bubbles erupted from the air hose connection on
her helmet. She cried out in panic when a ribbon of frigid sea water
slithered down her spine, soaking her wool pajamas into a sopping,
icy skin. The water filled the legs of her suit, rising to her thighs,
her belly as death seeped higher and higher. Sophia thrashed her
arms and bent her knees, futilely trying to extract herself from the
cement glove that held her in its impossible grip. Her breath came
in ragged hiccups, fogging the viewport of her helmet into an
6

DALE DASSEL
opaque veil as she fought for air. Panic slithered like ice through
her veins, numbing her senses into oblivion. The water pressed
against her helmet, the freezing mud against her body until it felt
like a mass of rubber wrapped in a canvas cocoon. By the time the
water reached her chest, there was no sensation left at all.
Then she felt a spot of intense heat between her breasts, a
soothing warmth which radiated outwards, bringing a vestige of
life back into her frozen limbs. Sophia tilted her chin down into the
water and saw a luminous green glow staining the neck ring of her
suit. Who knew death could be so beautiful? She had trusted Nur-
Ab-Sal, arrogantly believing herself immune to the Atlantean
king’s influence, and it was her undoing, as Prisha had foreseen.
The fluorescent water reached her chin. The salty flavor of death
seeped into her mouth. She managed one final gasp before it
grazed her lower eyelids. She blinked warily, but refused to
relinquish herself to the darkness. A tiny stream of air bubbles
tickled her cheek as the last of her precious breath escaped.
Moments before she succumbed to the water, Sophia noticed a
small, dark shape sitting upright in the mud, inches from her
faceplate. A familiar pair of triangular eyes flickered to life in the
inky deep, revealing the curving brass horns of the Atlantean idol.
She stared helplessly, watching those impassive eyes blur into red
smudges as the sea masked her vision. It was the last thing she
would ever see.
“Sophia, wake up.” A hand touched her face inside of her
helmet and she opened her mouth in terror. Frigid saltwater filled
her throat, muffling her scream. Sophia jolted awake on a rough
woven surface, gasping for air. Bright sunshine warmed her body.
Cool wind against her skin. She was lying on a blanket surrounded
by wicker walls. A sheet of blue sky wrapped the bulbous yellow
orb high above her. The balloon, of course.
“Welcome back, kiddo. I thought you were going to sleep all
day,” said Indy, patting her arm. His familiar lopsided grin bristled
the mask of stubble on his face.
“You need to shave,” she said in a dry voice.
He reached into the backpack and offered her the canteen. “First
chance I get.”
She sat up, took a long drink, and rubbed her eyes. She took
another deep breath, inhaling the sweetest air she had ever known,
and puzzled over the meaning of the terrifying dream, trying to
draw out the unconscious metaphor. Diving. Taking the plunge.
Was she in over her head? At the end of her rope? In deep trouble?
Was the mystery of Atlantis unfathomable? No. She refused to
believe that.
“Where are we?”
7

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Right on target over the Greater Colony, believe it or not. Take
a look.” Shivering in the cool air, she wrapped the blanket around
her and wobbled to her feet, bracing herself on the rim of the
swaying basket. They were floating about two-hundred feet over a
deep blue sea that crashed against Crete’s rocky peninsula. Sophia
looked down in disbelief when she saw a small white fishing boat
with a hoist on the stern, directly below them.
“Drop a rope and ask the captain to reel us in. His name is
Dimitri.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“Because we’ve met already, trust me.”
“Friend of Nur-Ab-Sal?”
“Don’t ask. Just get me on the ground as soon as possible.”
“I’ll second that. There’s too much air up here. It’s hard to
breathe.” Sophia glared at Indy as he quickly vented off hydrogen
until the giant balloon hovered barely fifty feet over the water.
“Kali mera!” he yelled down. “Ahoy there! Can we get a ride to
shore?”
The wiry old fisherman looked up in surprise as the gigantic
balloon eclipsed the sun over his boat. He yelled back to them in
Greek and, after a bit of negotiating, caught the mooring line and
reeled them in, concluding their 5-day aerial odyssey across the
Mediterranean.
8

15
HORNS OF CONSECRATION
Sophia Hapgood stopped at the end of the rutted dirt path that
wound through the rolling hills of northern Crete. She closed her
eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the pleasant evergreenscented
breeze that whispered through the barrier of pine trees atop
the knoll. Golden sunlight flickered through the needled branches,
painting her face with gauzy amber threads as the wind brushed
her hair into silky red ether. Exhaling deeply, she looked across the
pastoral vista with a smile of utter satisfaction.
“Can you believe how beautiful it is here? The air, the
temperature... just perfect!” she beamed. The creaky squeal of
wood rudely disrupted the blissful tranquility.
A knit of irritation stitched her brow as Indiana Jones picked his
way across the rickety, slatted footbridge that spanned the narrow
ravine. Anchored between a large block of stone embedded in the
ground on one side of the gully, and the exposed cornice of a larger
structure on the other, the treacherously decayed walkway was in
danger of disintegrating in a stiffer wind. Using the single guide
rope provided for balance, the archaeologist deftly trod the last few
skeletal planks and planted his boots on solid ground beside her.
Indy tipped his fedora at the decrepit bridge, vowing never to
cross it again. “Yeah, perfect weather for discovering a lost
continent,” he remarked sourly. Sophia had never been to Greece
before, but it annoyed him how she acted like they were on
vacation instead of in a desperate race against the Nazis to prevent
world domination. In fact, she had been strangely exuberant since
they had arrived, a mood which clearly sprung from the goal of her
obsession. But she was absolutely right about the locale. They
couldn’t have wished for a more perfect day to visit the island.

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Stark sunlight scorched the clear Aegean sky, casting a blaze of
mercury gems across the sapphire waves that crashed against
Crete’s rocky shore, several miles north. Seagulls winged through
the gusty currents, occasionally swooping low to catch fish near
the surface. Greece definitely beat out Iceland for scenery and
comfort. At least you couldn’t freeze to death in the Mediterranean,
Indy thought, surveying the ruins of Knossos from the grassy slope
of Kephala Hill, which overlooked the cluster of stone buildings
huddled like a broken ivory tile on the verdant countryside.
Sir Arthur Evans’ restoration of the Minoan palace stretched
across six acres below them, an elaborately stacked complex of
apartments, staircases, and rooms that, in its heydey, would have
resembled a lavish hotel rising above the thickly-forested
landscape. The heart of the ancient capital was a broad, open
courtyard where dignitaries and guests of the royal family could
enjoy the pristine climate amid the beauty of cleanly-sculpted
architecture wrought in gleaming white stone.
The palace was truly a marvel of ancient engineering. Its
revolutionary design used light wells to naturally illuminate the
building without smoky torches and oil lamps, while its elevated
position on the hill channeled sea breezes through a network of air
shafts to cool the rooms during the summer months. The royal
apartments once featured hot and cold running water, a complete
drainage system, and adjustable partition doors that slid neatly into
the walls to regulate light. With such amenities, Indy could easily
see how the Minoan culture might have inspired the story of
Atlantis.
Gazing over the ruins now, he recalled the most famous legend
about Knossos. According to myth, the palace 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 an
effort to spare the annual crop of sacrificial victims offered to
appease the monster, 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 help guide
him back to the entrance when his task was done. Indy was pretty
sure that Sophia would never do anything that generous for him.
She nudged his arm and pointed at the gleaming red columns
that burned like fiery sentinels amid the whitewashed buildings of
the ruined Bronze-Age city. “Look, Indy. Red, black, and white—
the colors of the Atlantean empire, just like Plato described.”
She was right. The florid entasis columns fronting the chalky
ashlar block walls of the palace were ringed with circular black
capitals that buttressed a fragment of its now-vanished roof. Most
visitors assumed the tapered pillars were made of stone, Indy
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DALE DASSEL
explained, when they were actually carved from cypress trees,
planted upside-down to keep them from sprouting once set in
place. Their living counterparts, the dense groves of pine trees
planted by Evans himself, screened the ancient site from the
nearby modern city of Heraklion, preserving an illusion of
unspoiled wilderness that Indy could appreciate.
“Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go take a look!” Sophia
exclaimed, sprinting eagerly down the hill. Indy pushed his hat
back on the crown of his head and followed at a leisurely pace,
refusing to be hurried on such a pleasant day.
When he reached the stone pathway at the southwestern corner
of the palace, Indy climbed the steps with humbled reverence
while Sophia bounded up the fractured staircase like a kid in a toy
store. Strolling among the crumbled walls of Europe’s oldest
civilization, he was awed by the scale of devastation that brought
an end to the Minoan empire. The broken 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 with Mackenzie to dig it from the earth more
than two millennia later.
Indy followed Evans’ progress with envy, but he never had the
opportunity to visit Knossos until now. The most amazing feat,
besides the state of meticulous preservation achieved, was that
Evans and his team of local workers had managed to excavate the
palace in only five years, a brief time by archaeological standards.
The site was much more impressive in-person, and it gave Indy 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 upon imagery
from Greek mythology. The stunning frescoes, in particular, were
fanciful renditions cobbled from fragmented pieces that were
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
leveled aspersions, Indy suspected, with particular spite against the
independently 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 fractured mosaic boulevard, clutching her pendant
compulsively. Invigorated by her surroundings, she stroked the
bronze-faced amulet and muttered to herself. “So close... We’re so
3

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
close. I just know there’s something important hidden among these
ruins.”
“Evans went over this place with a fine-tooth comb,” he said,
kneeling to pick up a potsherd from the ground. He brushed a layer
of dust from the chip and saw the faded blue curve of a wave
painted on its ceramic surface. Pithoi, he thought, recalling the
term for the oversize clay vases used for storage. They originally
contained supplies of grain, oil, and fish. There seemed to be
hundreds of them, lined up collectively in the trench-like
magazines of the West Court, and standing alone among the
deserted niches of the open courtyard.
“Trust 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 dropped the ceramic wedge. “Archaeology is based on
careful research and methodical planning,” he reminded her. “Not
messages from ghosts.”
“Don’t lecture me, Jones. I’m not one of your students. He led
us to the pyramid in Tikal and the sunstone in Algeria. How can
you still doubt his power, after everything you’ve seen?” Her
irritatingly smug look promised Indy that nothing he could say
would make any difference. Her mind was stubbornly set in
concrete as solid as the buildings around them.
Propping his boot on a truncated pillar, Indy regarded the
desolate ruins with a sigh of defeat. Why did she always have to be
so difficult? Hoping to improve her mood, he changed the subject.
“So, this is the Greater Colony?”
“Yes. Crete was established as a travel hub to the main island of
Atlantis, sort of like an airport. This palace was a hotel for visitors
waiting to enter the capital. It was also a marketplace. There were
shops that sold goods, a cafeteria, and an office for granting travel
visas.” She spoke with such certainty that Indy half-believed it
himself.
“Airport, huh?”
The quip drew an irresistible smile from her. “And no—before
you even say it—Thera was not the baggage claim, wise guy. Now
stow it and help me find the keystone. It’s the whole reason that
we’re here, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Indy’s stomach growled, suddenly reminding him of how
hungry he was. He wondered what was taking Melina so long. Not
that he’d really expected her to return.
The ten-year-old Greek girl had promptly attached herself to
Indy and Sophia 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. “My father used to work for Mr. Evans
4

DALE DASSEL
before he left, and I play in the ruins all the time,” Melina had
boasted when she learned of their interest in the archaeological
site. “I can show you many things that tourists don’t see,” she said
for added incentive.
“Like what?” Indy doubted that the eminent British
anthropologist had missed anything of notable significance.
“There are some very strange paintings, and things that are still
buried in places where people never look. But I find all of the
secrets, and I can take you there,” she promised, batting her large
brown eyes at them.
Equally moved by pity and intrigue, Sophia dug into her purse
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. They hadn’t seen her since. Indy suspected
that she used the scam on every tourist, charming an endless
parade of rich foreigners with disposable travel money. Offering to
feed hungry travelers after a long journey from the mainland
seemed like a convenient way for a needy waif to score some cash.
Apparently it worked, Indy marveled at Sophia’s naiveté. When
would she learn to stop trusting strangers?
“Follow me, Indy,” she beckoned him.
Crossing the main courtyard, they saw a strange, pitiful sight
that made Indy lament the lost 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 oliveladen
Kairatos River valley beyond.
The gypsum-clad mansion with its vibrant red-pillared
balconies would have been impressive to any visitor during the
reign of Knossos. The soaring 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, but Sophia had been too excited to
notice the great sculpture.
They stopped to examine a wooden shed built conspicuously
into the hollow doorframe of a free-standing facade; the sad
remains of another vanished building. The hut contained a
wheelbarrow, some picks and shovels, a collapsible surveying
instrument, stakes and string for grid-making. Apparently there
wasn’t much archaeological work going on since Evans’ departure
in 1931. Closing the shed, they were about to move on when a
familiar design jumped out at Indy.
“The running spiral,” he said, pointing out the aquatic sine
wave pattern spanning the doorframes. Sophia was pleased to see
the reassuring symbol of her beloved city.
5

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Naturally. This is the gateway to Atlantis, Indy. Nur-Ab-Sal
says that we’re very close now.” Holding the pendant to enhance
her spiritual connection, Sophia pivoted slightly, orienting herself
to a half-timbered portal on the eastern side of the courtyard that
was anachronistically reincarnated in concrete.
Like a determined bloodhound stalking an elusive quarry, she
plunged into the shadowy door and stalked the narrow, twisting
hallways of the royal apartments. 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 them all was the omnipresent
spiral that flowed through the passageways with almost linear
consistency. Whether guided artistically or spiritually, Sophia
proceeded with a befuddling confidence that lent more credit to
Nur-Ab-Sal’s reputation than Indy cared to admit.
“Time hasn’t been too kind to this room.” His indifferent tone
offered neither remorse nor regret, but merely a simple
observation. Sophia’s route had taken them on a circuitous path
through the residential quarter, to a broken room adjacent to the
Pillar Hall, north of the palace.
Like several other buildings, it was ravaged beyond repair. Soft,
fluffy clouds drifted across the serene blue sky where the ceiling
had once been. A large, jagged fracture split one corner of the room
to reveal distant pines swaying in the breeze outside. The other
corner seams were similarly cracked. Indy was mildly horrified:
The thick stone walls bulged outward, as if the room had filled
with water until it burst like a balloon. He toed a piece of rubble
lying in the dirt amid the remains of the ceiling, and wondered
what unearthly force could do such a thing.
Considering its remoteness from the main palace and general
state of neglect, Evans might have deemed the broken room plain,
and unworthy of the attention that he lavished on his masterpiece.
Aside from a group of large ceramic vases by the door, the only
interesting feature of the room was a sun-bleached mural that
dominated a periwinkle wall trimmed in red crown molding.
Indy wiped his hand across the faded painting. Years of
exposure to the weather had taken its toll. The once-vibrant colors
were washed out, their potency muted by time, but the design was
still legible enough to see a large red circle with the distinctive
Horns of Consecration in the very center. The horns were
surrounded by a trio of symbols: a small circle above it, and a
bull’s head and tail below, all joined by an acute triangle which
6

DALE DASSEL
converged above the great horns. He reached up and tried to pry
out the disk, as they’d done in Algeria, but found that the circle
was merely painted on the wall.
“You didn’t really think that was going to work again, did
you?” Sophia smirked.
“It worked before,” he said lamely.
She touched the sacred horns in the middle of the circle.
“According to Nur-Ab-Sal, this is the clue that we needed to find,
but he won’t say anything more. I think we’re on our own for
now.”
“I’ll copy it down,” he said, retrieving the small field notebook
from his satchel. As Indy sketched the mysterious diagram, he
wondered what Evans had made of it, assuming that he’d actually
seen it. Even though Greek archaeology wasn’t his specialty, Indy
knew that the small ring above the horns represented the sun, as
circles and spirals commonly symbolized in ancient cultures
throughout the world. It was similar to the Egyptian mural they had
found in the Algerian dig site. Was it just a coincidence, or
something more? Then he had an idea about its meaning.
He turned to tell Sophia about it. She was standing in the corner
with her hands on the ragged stone gap where the horizon was
visible outside. Her eyes were closed. “The sky was purple... It was
dawn when the world was erased.”
Panic suddenly seized her features, and she let out a gasp of
terror. Her fingers clenched at the jagged crevice, digging into the
rough limestone. Her body stiffened as if she were being
electrocuted. Indy hauled her away from the corner, breaking her
grip on the wall. The psychic looked around in bewilderment,
uncertain of where she was. “Are you okay?” he asked with
concern.
She crumbled into his arms, trembling badly. “Oh, Indy, it was
terrible!” she sobbed.
“What did you see this time?” he prompted her.
“The wave that destroyed Atlantis... I saw it happen.” Her voice
faltered with emotion, so Indy just held her securely until she quit
shaking. Once she was calm, Sophia described her terrifying vision
with blood-chilling clarity, as if she had witnessed the disaster
firsthand.
She was dining on the balcony of the royal palace with her
friends. The air was warm and pleasant. Birds were singing in the
trees. Then a deep, ominous rumble filled the air, and the ground
began to shake. The dishes on the table shivered, clinking like
glassy bells in the growing tremor. She looked up in horror to see a
thousand-foot tidal wave looming towards the beach. It crested
over the city, an impossible wall of churning water that seemed to
hang in the air for an eternity, dwarfing the buildings of Knossos. It
7

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
was a mesmerizing sight. She stared in horrified fascination,
waiting breathlessly for the inevitable end.
But Indy’s quick action had spared her from the annihilation
that followed. Sophia suddenly clutched his face and kissed him
hungrily through the tears that blurred her vision, depleting her
fear with desire to rid herself of the negative energy from the
nightmare. When it was gone, she released him and smoothed her
hair in a businesslike fashion.
“Sorry about that. I just needed to re-balance my aura.”
“Glad to help.” He smiled with a warm glow of appreciation at
the unexpected tryst.
“I don’t want to be in here anymore.” She abruptly exited the
room and strode into the warm sunshine, but felt none of the cheer
she had taken from it earlier. If this room harbored such intense
psychic trauma, what would Atlantis be like? The experience might
be too much to bear.
“What were you saying before?” she asked, trying to take her
mind from the uncertainty of what lay ahead.
He held up the notebook. “I think I know what this mural
means.”
“You figured it out already?”
“Yeah. Without Nur-Ab-Sal’s help. Follow me.”
It was an hour past noon when Indy unfolded the tripod surveying
instrument on the chalky flagstones of the South Propylaea
courtyard. Stark, crystalline 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 represented a physical counterpart among
the ruins. The puzzle was astonishingly simple to anyone with a
little common sense, and the right equipment to solve it.
Meanwhile, Sophia wandered over to the sculpture and dropped
her backpack by the pedestal that supported the massive icon. The
rising heat only worsened the spiritual malaise caused by the tidal
wave vision. Feeling dizzy and light-headed, she sat down to rest
in the curve of the horns.
Indy panned the theodolite in her direction and smiled when
Sophia appeared in the lens, gripping the upright stone prongs like
a girl on a swing set. He chuckled at the image. “Having fun?”
“It’s so hot,” she replied, fanning herself with a folded map.
“I thought you said it was beautiful here?”
The redhead grinned weakly, looking faint. “Okay, so it’s hot
and beautiful.”
8

DALE DASSEL
“So are you,” he complimented, peering into the scope again.
Sophia waved back at him cheerfully. She was blushing, but tried
to pretend like she wasn’t embarrassed by his attempt at flattery.
She drew a hand along the contour of the rough, weathered
horns. “So, what is this thing anyway? It looks like the town
centerpiece.”
“Probably a ceremonial altar,” Indy replied, adjusting the focus
dials. “The Mycenaeans sacrificed bulls to appease Poseidon, the
Earth-Shaker, 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 to ensure safe
travel on the sea. It was their livelihood as traders.”
The psychic lifted her hands from the stone and wiped them on
her pants, grimacing. “Thanks. There goes my appetite.”
“It could also represent a sun deity, like Hathor,” continued
Indy, sighting up the distant saddle of Mount Jutkas beyond the
limestone fork. “The bull was the main symbol of the sun in
ancient Egypt, which had close contact with Crete in the second
millennium. The Egyptian symbol for the horizon is nearly
identical to the Minoan horns.” He pointed out how the stone horns
also echoed the profile of their stolen bronze idol, with its upraised
arms. The similarity was too strong to dismiss as a coincidence.
Now that he was on Crete, Indy was more certain that his initial
assessment was correct. The statue was clearly a Minoan relic—
probably a ceremonial effigy of Hēliakos, the great bull in the sky
—and not a product of Sophia’s mythical lost city.
Just as he was about to move the scope, Indy saw Sophia’s face
light up as if a remarkable idea had just occurred to her. She
slipped off of her seat and dug frantically in her backpack.
“What is it?”
“I’ve got it!” She retrieved the Hermocrates and blazed through
the paperclip-marked pages to the middle of the book. “Here it is:
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. “How can the moon rise at mid-day? That
doesn’t make any sense.”
Indiana Jones grinned broadly at his partner. “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’s date?”
She 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, precisely demonstrating how the timepiece evolved.
Sophia clapped her hands in delight. “It’s a sundial!”
9

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Right. A solar alignment marker. The summer solstice is when
the sun is at the furthest point from the equator. Congratulations,
Sophie. You figured it out.”
“But what about the mural?” she asked.
“It’s a map. The shadow points the way to the treasure.” Indy
opened his notebook and scrawled a calculation from the diagram,
then consulted the azimuth compass on the transit. As he adjusted
the scope and took the new bearings from it, Indy noted how the
horns were aligned with the mountain, where the remains of a
Minoan sanctuary temple used for astronomical observations was
located. The ancient priests recorded the equinoxes and solstices,
and used the quarter points to establish the annual planting and
harvesting cycle that was critical to the Neolithic farming society
that first occupied Crete.
Sophia just shook her head in wonderment. “You are some kind
of impossible professor.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re like a walking history book. Nobody knows that much
about every culture,” she said accusingly.
“I guess I read a lot,” he shrugged.
Skeptical, she said, “When?”
Indy rested his arm casually on the scope. “In my spare time,
between teaching classes and helping beautiful rich girls find lost
civilizations. Now, could you walk over there?” he asked, pointing
to an area some distance away. He directed her to the spot through
the lens of the transit, moved the surveying instrument across the
courtyard, adjusted her position, and ordered Sophia to stop.
“Right there. Don’t move.” The sight lines intersected at a 50-
degree angle, converging on a well-worn flagstone ten feet away
from the Horns of Consecration.
She jokingly scratched a pair of crossed lines in the dust with
the heel of her boot. “X marks the spot, right?”
Indy smiled wryly. “Yeah, sometimes. Let’s get to work.”
He pulled a trowel from his satchel and chiseled at the edges of
the slab until he could finally slip the blade under the stone. They
lifted the tile free. Below it, lying flush with the compressed earth,
was a rectangular piece of brown metal stained with the blue patina
of age. The tip of the trowel produced a hollow ring when he
tapped it against the plate. Sophia wore a mask of pure glory as
Indy extracted a small bronze box from the damp Minoan soil. “It’s
a larnax,” he said. Something heavy rattled inside when he shook
it.
“Well, open it already!” she urged impatiently.
“Did you find some treasure?” They both looked up to see the
slight figure of Melina Nikitis traipsing across the courtyard
carrying a wicker basket. The Greek peasant girl wore a threadbare
10

DALE DASSEL
cotton dress and braided leather sandals. Her long, curly dark hair
was decorated with a light blue ribbon.
“No, it’s a chest used for sacred burials,” Indy said. “They
usually hold cremated remains. Let’s take a look.” Everyone held
their breath while he gently pried the lid open. The ancient hinges,
now reduced to shapeless lumps of metal, crumbled to dust as hot
sunlight poured into the box.
Inside, lying on a cushion of green velvet, was a glittering disk
of pure white alabaster. Half the diameter of the larger sunstone, its
edges were softly rounded like a bar of soap. A quadruplet of lunar
orbs and crescents were delicately cut into the milky stone: a full
moon, a slivered half-moon, a waxing moon, and a waning moon,
all oriented to the horizon of the disk’s curved edge.
“The moonstone!” Sophia took the disk with trembling hands.
“Now we can access the gateway to Atlantis!”
Indy folded the box lid back. “Right where the Lost Dialogue
said it would be—under the tall horns at noon.” Indeed, a perfect
image of the Horns of Consecration was etched into the metal
underside of the lid. The moonstone had lain between the sentinel
fork.
Melina lifted up the basket with a bright smile. “Are you
hungry? I brought for you lunch like I promised.”
“I think it’s a good time for a break,” Indy agreed. He fitted the
stone tile back into place and masked the chipped seams with dust
to hide their discovery.
They gathered up their things and settled on the steps of a
nearby shaded alcove to escape the hot sun. Melina unpacked
home-made sandwiches, cheese crackers, and a thermos of cold
tea. “I hope you like this. My mom helped me make it.”
“Oh, that’s nice. Thank you, sweetheart.” Sophia said
pleasantly. She unwrapped her sandwich and took a ravenous bite,
then paused with a strange expression. She carefully peeled the
bread apart. “Honey, what is this?”
“Peanut butter and mayonnaise. It’s my favorite!” Melina
beamed with pride.
Sophia offered a mawkish smile, and reluctantly forced herself
to take another bite while the girl watched intently to see if she
liked it. She chewed and swallowed, took a deep breath, and
regarded the unfinished sandwich with a greenish pallor.
Perspiration beaded on her forehead, and not just from the heat.
Meanwhile Indy devoured his own sandwich with gusto to show
how much he really enjoyed it.
Then he wiped his mouth with a napkin, took a drink of tea, and
picked up the stone disk while Sophia continued eating with great
effort. “The moon was an ancient symbol of fertility,” he explained
casually. “Each symbol represents one of the four lunar phases
11

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
throughout the month. It’s also a metaphor for the female
menstrual cycle, particularly when it appeared swollen and bloodred
during a full eclipse.” Sophia dabbed her forehead with a
napkin, and shuddered while Indy savored every second of her
discomfort in retribution for the lamprey dish he’d endured on
Faial.
“Finish it,” he ordered with a smile of toothy malice.
Melina looked on earnestly, oblivious to the battle of wills
transpiring over her sandwich. Sophia’s gaze simmered with
venom. “If I get sick, your satchel is going to be filled with more
than just Atlantean relics,” she vowed icily.
Indy gave the leather strap a nervous tug. “Okay, I think you’ve
had enough.”
Her shoulders fell with relief. She patted her stomach in
theatrical exaggeration. “Oh look, I’m all full!” she proclaimed
cheerfully so as not to hurt Melina’s feelings.
The girl rewrapped the leftover and gave it back to her. “You
can keep the rest for later.” Sophia reluctantly stuffed it into their
backpack while Indy tried to hide his amusement.
“Let’s get back to work now.”
She brought out the Hermocrates and set off with no particular
destination in mind. Indy followed, toting his backpack over one
shoulder, 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 replied. “My legs are
still sore.”
“I am so glad you come to Crete. My homeland is very
beautiful, yes?”
“Yes, it’s gorgeous,” Sophia said, leafing through the book. “I
feel as if I’ve lived here my whole life. Like a part of me that has
been missing.”
“And now you are complete?”
“Once we find the gateway to Atlantis, then I will be complete.”
“We learned about that story in school. My teacher says that
Plato invented it.”
“Well, I’ve been studying Atlantis for a long time, and I
promise that it’s real.” She finally found the text that she had been
looking for. “In fact, here’s what Plato says about it: 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 surmised.
They went back to the monument for another look.
12

DALE DASSEL
It was the same as before, except now the lengthening shadow
no longer pointed to the tile where they had found the hidden box.
Standing under the blazing mid-day sun, Sophia shaded her eyes
with a frustrated sigh. It was nowhere near sunset, and her patience
was running out. They were in the right place, with all of the
necessary keystones in their possession, but the cryptic text was
too vague to make any sense. She had no idea how to proceed
without Nur-Ab-Sal. But admitting her dependence on the spirit
guide wouldn’t improve her mood, so she kept it to herself.
“I don’t see how the color of sunlight on the horns would make
any difference,” she complained.
“Maybe we could paint them red, like Alice in Wonderland?”
Melina suggested helpfully.
“That makes about as much sense as waiting for sunset, and we
don’t have that long.”
“I think we’re reading this too literally. Look at the color of the
stones.” Indy pressed the moonstone neatly against the larger
sunstone so that she could see how the pale alabaster disk vividly
contrasted the polished red granite. Its burgundy hue seemed to
echo the terms in Plato’s text, since an image of the setting sun did
appear on it, while the new moon was likewise depicted on the
smaller stone. “Notice how the hole is the same size in both disks,
as if they were made to fit onto a post or something.”
“Let me see those.” She took the keystones and felt a small
protrusion against her hand. Turning the disks over, she made a
remarkable 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 underside of the
moonstone was a thin, semi-circular channel that inexplicably
followed the contour of the smaller disk. Somehow both features
had escaped their attention until now. The groove traveled halfway
around the moonstone until stopping abruptly in a hole clearly
intended for the nub on the disk below it. When she tried a test fit,
Sophia found that the metal pin was engineered to travel the
channel and stop at the end of the groove, which locked the two
stones together like a combination lock.
“What do you know? A perfect fit,” Indy remarked.
Standing nearby, Melina watched Sophia twist the stone wheels
together until the symbols were aligned. Suddenly her eyes lit up
with recognition. “That is part of the stone cake!” she exclaimed.
Sophia almost dropped the disks in surprise. She grabbed the
Greek peasant girl with a look of desperate hope. “What stone
cake? Where is it?”
“At the bottom of the hill. It has a metal candle that can fit into
the stone like this!” She threaded her fingers through the hole in
the moonstone, and whirled the disk like a top.
13

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Show me. Take us there,” Sophia begged.
“Okay, follow me!” Melina darted across the open plaza while
the adults hurried to keep her in their sight. They chased her to a
steep dirt path which descended to the base of Kephala Hill on the
far side of the palace. At the bottom was a conspicuous-looking
mound overgrown with weeds. Indy might have overlooked it at
any ordinary dig site, but the unexcavated pile was distinctively
out of place among the neatly landscaped ruins of Knossos.
Melina pointed at the hill. “Look in there.”
Sophia fell to her knees before the conical mound, transfixed.
Nestled in the thicket of dry grass was a corroded bronze spindle.
“This means something... It’s important,” she said more to
herself than to her companions. Suddenly she began to rip away
the vines with ravenous obsession, clawing and scraping feverishly
at the raw dirt. Tears blurred her sweat-streaked face as she tore
away tufts of grass and weed stalks in utter desperation. Indy and
Melina stared speechlessly. Had she lost her mind?
Then she abruptly stopped when one side of the mound was laid
bare. “Indy, look!”
He crouched beside her and saw part of a curved stone object
that she had uncovered. He brushed more soil away to discern a
smooth, beveled surface that was definitely not natural. His
curiosity piqued, Indy moved to the other side of the mound and
stripped the weeds down to bare soil. Melina quickly joined them
in clearing away the centuries of dirt accumulated on the flat,
circular pedestal. Sophia used a small twig to clean the dirt out of a
hollow groove beveled into the surface, and whisked the altar clean
with a brush. Only then did she notice the Horns of Consecration
logo engraved in the stone above the bronze post.
Sitting Indian-style on the Aegean dirt, she held up the disks.
“It’s a lock. See, there’s also a pin on the bottom of the sunstone.”
She carefully fitted the larger disk onto the spindle, locking the
tiny metal knob into the pedestal groove, and then placed the
moonstone atop it. Indy had to give the Minoans credit. It was a
primitive but efficient system. Altogether brilliant, and of a
complexity unheard of in its day. When the keys were stacked,
Sophia turned the wheels, aligning the symbols to the sequence in
Hermocrates text. Below the horns, the New Moon slid smoothly
above the Setting Sun.
Everything was quiet. Sophia held her breath tensely, not
knowing what to expect.
“What happens now?” Melina asked.
Immediately, 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
14

DALE DASSEL
were amazed to see a tall, narrow opening framed by a set of
identical stone pillars.
“It’s a secret door!” Melina cried with delight.
Sophia Hapgood rose in disbelief. Her knees trembled like
rubber as she took several wobbly steps towards the portal. Indy
grabbed her arm until she regained her balance. Sophia stopped in
front of the entrance and touched her bronze amulet with awe. “Oh
my God... This is the doorway to Atlantis. I see it with the eyes of
my soul.”
Melina’s face was a mask of wonder as she peered into the
yawning darkness. “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 whistle of a far-off locomotive. Or an angry bull. The girl’s
eyes grew solemn and fearful.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a large ball of string in that bag,
would you?” Sophia asked.
“Afraid not. But I do have this,” Indy said, pulling out a
flashlight. He thumbed the switch on. “Feeling adventurous,
Princess?”
Sophia smiled. “Let’s go find Atlantis, Dr. Jones.”
“Don’t forget the keys!” Melina dashed back to the pedestal to
collect the stone disks. Together, they entered the unknown.
15

16
LABYRINTH
Legend became reality the moment Indy touched the lintel-post
doorway recessed into Kephala Hill. It felt cold, solid. Real. How
could Evans and every other archaeologist for the past sixty years
have missed it? As he stepped into the beckoning shadows, his
brittle faith in the tenets of established history shattered with a
final, resounding blow from the hammer of impossibility. 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. And if Atlantis, what else? The entire pantheon of
Olympian gods? The fountain of youth? Time-travel? The idea
opened up a whole new realm of possibilities too disturbing to
dwell on.
Following anxiously behind him, Sophia stepped over the
mound of soil piled between the stone pillars with a sense of déjà
vu. The portal in the hillside almost perfectly mirrored the Jastro
dig in Iceland. In fact, they looked identical. “Doesn’t this qualify
as site contamination?” she pointed out at seeing Indy’s boot prints
embedded in the dirt.
“Maybe at an authorized dig, but since it’s not…”
“You’re an inspiration to future archaeologists,” she
wisecracked, and then tried to shoulder past him into the tunnel.
“Now let me go first, if you don’t mind.”
He barred the way using his arm, and warned her about the
danger of ancient traps. She gave an exaggerated sigh. “For the last
time, there are no traps here.”
“That’s what you said in Tikal.”
“The Mayans were protecting a royal tomb,” she argued. “The
Minoans were condemning prisoners to the Minotaur. That was the
trap.”

DALE DASSEL
Indy stopped her cold with a somber look. “I don’t want
anybody getting hurt.” He nodded at Melina, wading across the dirt
pile to join them. “Especially her. So let’s take this one step at a
time, okay?”
“Fine,” she relented. “Lead the way, Indy.”
Inside the tunnel, 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. Sophia carefully traced his
footsteps with Melina following close behind. A slight breeze, faint
as a whisper, stirred the darkness, drawing another ominous moan
from the deep recesses of the earth. Now they knew that it was
only the wind, channeled through 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, fear gave way to wonder
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, sharp, needled spikes pincushioned the
floor, and waxy limestone columns bridged the mouth of the cave
like jaws opening wide to swallow the group of explorers
venturing deeper into its throat.
Sophia took Melina’s hand tightly, more for her own comfort
than for protective reasons. “Don’t worry, I will not get lost,” the
girl promised.
“I’m worried about all of us getting lost.”
“Just stay close, and don’t touch anything,” Indy said. “I mean
it.”
The psychic cast a wary glance into the suffocating darkness.
“This isn’t the kind of cave with bears, is it?”
“There aren’t any bears on Crete,” he reassured her. “It’s an
island.”
“Indy is right, no bears here. I will show you.” To prove it,
Melina picked up a rock and fired it into the shadows. They were
startled when a loud metallic clang shattered the silence. The sharp
report echoed through the tunnel, followed by a distant squealing;
A concert of rusty hinges turning by the thousands. The agitated
noise carried through the passage on the frigid current. Bats, Indy
knew. Creatures that thrived in perpetual night until dusk permitted
them to roam beyond the underground cavern.
More than a little unnerved, Sophia squeezed her hand tightly.
“Don’t throw things,” she commanded with as much parental
authority as she could summon given the circumstances.
“Sorry,” Melina apologized with a guilty look.
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
When they reached the end of the passage, they found the rock
lying at the base of a heavy bronze gate that screened another
lintel-framed portal identical to the doorway at the entrance. Indy
painted the area with a splash of electric light, searching for any
sign of a trap before he turned his attention to the ancient metal
barricade. Almost medieval in design, the cross-hatch grid was
bolted together where the flat bars intersected. It was yet another
archaeological anomaly in the Minoan ruins of Crete. But what
purpose did it serve?
“Maybe this gate was meant to keep the Minotaur in?” Sophia
joked half-heartedly. Melina giggled, but Indy said nothing.
Instead, he handed her the flashlight and crouched before the
gate. He hooked his hands through the grating and strained to lift
it. After a few seconds of useless struggle, he pounded his fist
against the bars in defeat. “It’s too heavy,” he gasped. “We’ll never
get it open.”
Melina Nikitis peered through the bronze cage and jumped up
and down excitedly. “I see a handle inside! We can open the door!”
“What?” Indy aimed the flashlight through the rusty latticework
and saw a spindle-operated pulley mounted on the wall just beyond
the gate. He stuck his hand through the grating, but his jacket
sleeve was too bulky for him to reach any further than his elbow.
Indy withdrew his arm in frustration. Sophia began to roll her
sleeve back for a try when Melina spoke up.
“I can do that, too.” She slipped her skinny arm through the
grating with ease, but the pulley was still beyond her reach.
“Here, use this.” Indy unsnapped the bullwhip from his belt and
instructed her to use the handle to reach the pulley.
Standing on her tip-toes, she fed the whiplash through the fence
and extended the heavy turkshead knob towards the control wheel.
Melina flexed the bullwhip sideways, trying to snag the lever with
the dangling wrist loop. After several tries, she finally succeeded.
Indy took hold of the whip, being careful to keep the lash taut, and
slowly pulled back on it. The braided leather creaked as it
stretched, rotating the pulley wheel counter-clockwise. The bronze
gate shuddered as the lock mechanism was released for the first
time in centuries. 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 pushed forward into the next chamber and
stopped in disbelief when they were confronted by three more
columned openings. There was a door on either side of them, and
one directly ahead. All were identical. “Are we lost?” the girl
wondered.
Sophia grimly assessed each portal with a glance. “No, but
we’re getting there. Okay, Indy, which way now?”
3

DALE DASSEL
“Why don’t you ask Nur-Ab-Sal? He seems to be helpful in
situations like this,” he said, gathering his bullwhip into a coil.
“I tried to summon him back, but he won’t listen. I think he’s
mad at me.” Then her face brightened. “Or maybe we’re close
enough to Atlantis that he doesn’t need to guide me anymore. That
must be it!”
Melina watched Indy fasten the leather weapon to his belt.
“Why do you carry a whip?”
He smiled in the dark. “Because Sophia likes it.” The redhead
swatted him on the arm for the inappropriate remark. Indy
coughed. “Actually, it can be useful in the right spot. Like a rope or
a lasso, I can grab things, and sometimes use it for climbing.”
“Where did you get that stupid thing, anyway?” Sophia
scowled, upset by the double entendre.
“From a guy named David Morgan, in Chicago,” he said,
recalling the elderly braider with the crooked fingers who had
made the whip for him in the early 1920’s. Indy stroked the
kangaroo hide lash fondly. The slick herringbone strands were
darkened and worn with age, but the whip had saved his life more
times than he could count. Like his cherished fedora, it was an
inseparable companion that he never traveled without.
“Well, it doesn’t look very dangerous,” she scoffed.
“Don’t kid yourself,” Indy said. “It can kiss like a feather or cut
like a razor, depending on how it’s used.” He tapped the scar on his
chin. “Do you think I was born with this?”
She gave another impatient sigh. “Can we just get on with it?”
Circling the room slowly, Indy cast the light into the adjoining
passages. Each one offered another group of branching doorways
to choose from. But in the far corner of one expansive chamber,
Indy 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. He beckoned them to the other side
of the cavern, took out a piece of chalk and scratched a bold ‘X’ on
the floor between the columns.
Indy 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. He 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.”
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Perish the thought.” Her quip drew a dubious gaze from
Melina. “I just meant… because I’m not feeling very hungry right
now. So let’s keep going.” Then Sophia realized that the air was
brighter, and she could see their surroundings with her own eyes.
“Indy, there’s daylight coming in from the outside!”
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 that they had been wandering so
blindly through. “Turn off the flashlight. You’re just wasting the
batteries.”
They could plainly see how ancient earthquakes had shattered
the Neogenic strata, compressing the limestone into the broken
tunnels around them. Indy estimated from the condition of the
fractured masonry that the labyrinth pre-dated the earthquake,
meaning that it was older than the palace of Knossos itself; Ancient
beyond belief, with no precedent except the civilization which built
the city. If such a place truly existed, it would be the archaeological
find of all time.
“Maybe this was Plato’s cave, where shadows become reality?”
Sophia postulated while Indy evaluated their choices.
He was impressed that she knew of the famous allegory. “It
makes more sense than your ancient airport theory.”
“Hey, look at this!” announced Melina, who had found a flat
panel carved into the rock wall beside one of the passages. 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,
holding up a crescent sunbeam. It looked like nothing produced by
any culture Indy had ever seen before.
“That’s the Atlantean symbol for happiness,” Sophia told them.
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve studied Atlantean hieroglyphics for ten years.
Take my word for it, I know what I’m talking about.” She looked
at him expectantly, waiting for a decision.
“Well, I’ve never been one to turn down a good omen, so I’ll
trust the Atlanteans.” He patted the stone glyph for luck, and
proceeded through the doorway beside it, hoping that they were on
the right path.
After an hour of wandering the hopelessly convoluted passageways
and scratching chalk marks that would be next to useless on the
return trip, Indy was mentally cursing whatever team of ancient
architects designed the infernal place. Every room looked the
same. Each doorway was a mirror duplicate of the preceding one.
He tried to memorize the layout of the maze, but it was a futile
effort. His mental floor plan became hopelessly confused after the
5

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seventh room, with all of its adjoining passages branching off in
various directions. 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.
Having descended into the blackness once more, his flashlight
illuminated their path down a narrow brick-lined alley littered with
stones that spilled inward from the collapsed roof. They were
forced to move in an awkward crouch to avoid hitting their heads
on the nubbled rock that pressed against their backs. Joining hands
to keep from getting separated, Sophia maintained a firm grip on
Melina while clenching Indy’s hand in a trembling vise of steel as
claustrophobia throttled her with renewed vengeance. Indy
predicted that if he let go, she would snap into a hysterical fit and
probably kill herself trying to escape from the cave.
“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 instead of
crawling through a cold, dark tunnel. “But this place is different
from the traditional style of labyrinth, carved on the nose of your
pendant. 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.”
“It all seems pretty random to me,” she admitted. “Maybe there
is no center. But what would be the point, then?”
“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,” Indy revealed. The hall curved
to the left, and he 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 that you’ve been preaching to all those
crackpots for years: enlightenment. Though I’m not really feeling
it at the moment.”
The psychic ignored the professional jab. “I know what you
mean. I’m t-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 doorway. Indy stabbed a finger at the carved post,
indicating for her to mark it.
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Sophia chalked a jagged ‘X’ on the stout 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.”
“Okay, but do you think there’s a way out?”
Indy could hear the obvious concern in her voice. “There are
probably dozens, if they weren’t sealed off by the builders. I think
we need to find the center of the maze, whether it leads to Atlantis
or not.”
She finished his unspoken thought. “Which you’re pretty sure
exists by now.”
He rubbed the back of his neck with a wan smile. “At this point,
I’d be surprised if it didn’t exist. But I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Why must you find the city?” Melina chimed in, finally
breaking her spell of silence.
“Because we have to stop some really bad people from getting
there first.” She hated to oversimplify the situation, but she didn’t
want to frighten her.
“You mean like the Nazis?”
Sophia flinched in the dark. She’d carefully avoided mentioning
the Nazis in her presence, but the fact that the Third Reich’s
notoriety was known by a Greek peasant girl half a world away
disturbed her at a level too deep for words. “Yeah... them.”
“Don’t worry, Nazis do not come to Greece. We are too far
away for them to find us here,” she said confidently.
“And I hope they never do.” Suddenly her mind was assaulted
by a brief, intense vision that scarred her psyche.
The images were shocking: She saw hundreds of parachute
troops dropping out of the sky over Crete. Nazi soldiers with guns
storming the beach. The green hillsides raked by gunfire. Bullets
shattering the golden summer calm. The sound of German voices
shouted frantically, echoing in the tunnels around them. Sophia
tensed, but Indy and Melina continued walking, apparently deaf to
the voices from the future which resounded so sharply in her
clairvoyant mind.
Her eyes grew misty as she watched Melina shuffling along
without a care in the world. The sound of her hollow footsteps fell
like thunderbolts in the dim cavern. She felt the child’s small hand
in her own. Her heart was wrenched with guilt and sadness because
she would not be there to protect Melina on that terrible day.
Sophia knew that it was going to happen without a doubt, and
nobody could stop it.
7

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Melina detected the emotion in her ragged breathing. “It is
okay. We are not lost if we stay together, right Indy?”
The optimistic words brought Sophia Hapgood to a halt. She
couldn’t remain silent any longer. Her eyes were gleaming with
emotion when she knelt down and took Melina by the shoulders.
“In two years, when the Germans come, you fight. All of you. Tell
everyone that you know to fight back. This is your home. Don’t let
them take it from you. Protect the Greater Colony.”
The bewildered Greek girl nodded, unsure of how Sophia knew
of these things which had not happened yet. “But my teacher says
that fighting is bad,” she protested.
“Yes, it is bad, but sometimes you have to fight to protect what
is good. Always remember that.”
“Hey, don’t scare her,” Indy said gently, knowing that she’d had
another vision. “She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I am not afraid of Nazis,” boasted Melina, hoping to impress
her new friends with her bravery.
Sophia leaned close to Indy, and kept her voice low. “These
caves will be crawling with Nazis in two years. I saw an aerial
invasion. Parachute soldiers with guns, explosions… I want her to
be prepared, because I couldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t try to
help.”
“That’s all you can do, and you have. The last thing we need
right now is a panic, so try to relax. Everything’s going to be fine.”
“No it won’t,” she said, sullen. “Let’s just keep going. This
place has too much negative energy.”
The tunnel bent sharply to the left, and ended in yet another
columned doorway. Its top lintel post was split diagonally, skewed
by the geological upheaval that shattered Knossos. Framed with a
pair of double columns, this portal was larger and more grandiose
than the others. The outermost pillars were clad in the blood red
heraldry of the palace aboveground, while the inner posts wore a
coat of deep blue paint like the domed churches on Santorini.
Darkness shrouded the chamber within.
A look of apprehension paled Sophia’s face, and she hesitated.
It was clear that she wasn’t anxious to proceed, despite her feigned
bravado. Eager to prove herself once again, Melina grabbed the
flashlight and marched bravely through the door to show them that
there was nothing to fear in the vacant maze of caverns. A split
second of quiet passed. Then she screamed bloody murder.
Sophia’s heart nearly stopped when they dashed into the room
and saw the Minotaur looming over Melina in the darkness. The
terrified girl stumbled backwards to escape the four massive horns
projecting from the bulbous forehead of its grossly deformed skull.
The jouncing flashlight cast fiery rings around the creature’s
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
hollow eyes, making them appear to glow with rage. A thick
bronze ring pierced its bony snout.
Indy released the breath that he’d been holding. The monster
was dead. Melina scrambled behind Sophia for safety as he
illuminated the skeletal remains.
Draped in a sheet of dusty cobwebs, the giant yellow bones
gleamed dully in the lantern light. Below its 6-foot span of double
horns, softball-sized eye sockets stared blindly at the first humans
to set foot in the labyrinth since the Minotaur’s demise. A jagged
ridge of spines lined the back of 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. Indy was glad it
was dead, because nobody could survive an encounter with such a
beast.
But someone had slain the ancient nightmare.
The fight must have been nothing short of epic. The crown of
the bull’s enormous skull was fractured with a deep split line, and
the pommel of a large knife was buried in one of the eye sockets.
Lying on the floor nearby was a heavy double-bladed axe head. Its
wooden handle had disintegrated ages ago. Unbelievable as it
seemed, Indy knew that he was looking at the result of Theseus’
encounter with the fabled monster of legend.
“What in God’s name is that thing?” Sophia gasped.
Indy examined the heap of bones in grim silence. “It’s an
auroch, a prehistoric bull that went extinct centuries ago. But the
Minoans had a different name for it.”
“The Minotaur...” whispered Melina in awe. “I thought it was
only a story.”
“Don’t worry, sweetie, it’s dead,” she reassured her. When she
took her gaze from the skeleton, Sophia realized that the bull had
been slain at the foot of a towering Minotaur statue that presided
over the chamber.
The giant effigy, nearly twice the height of a man, stood
between a pair of thick stone pillars in a lintel-framed alcove that
was carved into the wall. Its powerfully sculpted body was broad
and muscular, clad in a stone tunic that was trimmed with the spiral
wave design. As Indy’s flashlight skipped over the statue, Sophia
thought she saw an ancient script carved into the stone kilt below
the running spiral. She immediately grabbed his wrist and moved it
back to the spot.
“I’ll be damned,” he said, climbing the steps for a closer look.
The spiral waves formed a belt around the Minotaur’s waist,
clinched by a labrys buckle. The strange-looking script decorated
the front panel of the tunic in four parallel rows.
“What does it say?”
9

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Indy studied the glyphs for a second, then shook his head in
annoyance. “I can’t read it. Nobody can. It’s Minoan Linear A. The
alphabet shares some symbols with Linear B, but the words come
out as gibberish when you try to decipher it.”
“Let me give it a try.”
“Be my guest. If you can decipher Linear A, then I’ll eat my
hat.”
She scanned the text using the flashlight, and beamed
triumphantly. “I hope you brought some ketchup, because I happen
to be quite adept at reading old Atlantean.”
He crossed his arms skeptically. “Enlighten me, Princess.”
“Simple. It says that this cave is the realm of Nandi, guardian of
Atlunus, and all who trespass shall be destroyed.”
“Who is Nandi?” Melina asked Indy.
“The sacred bull in Hindu mythology. It was the gate-keeper of
Shiva.” He gestured to the double-bladed axe on the tunic, and the
physical weapon lying near the monster’s skull. “Some depictions
showed Nandi accompanied by a four-armed person, holding a pair
of axes.”
“If this is the real Minotaur, then it means we’re at the center of
the labyrinth,” Sophia reasoned. She descended the steps, followed
by Melina, who clearly regarded the redhead as a surrogate mother.
“So the gateway to Atlantis—called Atlunus here—must be
nearby.” Indy, still smarting from his colleague’s incredible feat of
translation, joined them in the middle of the room to admire the
fearsome statue.
The stone giant suddenly grew taller when the floor sank
beneath them. “Oh! What’s going on, Indy?” Sophia cried out in
alarm. She grabbed onto him for safety as the platform floated
steadily down between a pair of stout, grooved columns. But Indy
wasn’t worried. It was obviously an ancient pressure plate,
activated by weight.
“You forgot the rest of the legend: Nandi fell at the feet of
Parvathi to plead forgiveness for cheating in a game of dice, thus
sparing Siva from death. So, those who fall at the feet of the
Minotaur are spared from death, in turn.”
They settled to the floor of a new cavern, nearly fifteen feet
below the Minotaur chamber. The gush of moving water drew their
attention to a glassy sheet falling down the wall to their right.
When they stepped off of the elevator, the platform, now relieved
of their weight, began to rise, climbing back into the darkness
above. “There goes our ride,” Sophia groaned. “Now how do we
get back?”
“We’ll find a way.” Indy strolled across the room and painted
the rock wall in slow horizontal stripes, trying to determine the
layout of the cave.
10

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Ew! I just stepped on something!” Melina wailed in distress.
“What is it? Indy, shine your light over here, quick.” ordered
Sophia, sounding more motherly than she probably would have
liked. When he lowered the 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, tall boots, and
pith helmet of the man who had betrayed them for the very object
which lay only inches from his dead hand. “Sternhart,” he muttered
grimly. He unsnapped his front jacket pocket and slipped the
worldstone inside without ceremony.
Slumped on his side, the lanky explorer had perished a short
distance from the elevator shaft. Sternhart had been 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, once-handsome face was gaunt and
pale, his eyes recessed into hollow, bruised sockets. The welt from
Indy’s whip striped his face like a long blue worm feeding on his
waxy flesh.
Sophia knelt beside Indy. “Oh my God, he’s dead.”
Melina stood back at a distance, unwilling to get near the
corpse. “Is he really dead?” she whispered solemnly.
“I’m afraid so,” Sophia said gently, so as not to scare her. “But
it’s okay. He just fell asleep and didn’t wake up. How did he get
down here?” she wondered.
“Evidently there must be another entrance into the labyrinth,
and more than one set of keystones,” Indy said, opening the
Briton’s pack. He nodded in silent confirmation as he withdrew
exact copies of the sun and moonstones. Then he felt something
cold and heavy inside the bag. He pulled out a book and opened
the clump of damp, wrinkled pages of a journal. Carefully peeling
apart the saturated pages, Indy found the last 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 the near darkness
during his last moments of desperation. On the floor nearby was a
pool of dried wax, the remains of the candle that had been his only
light source. As he read the blurred letters on the soggy, ink-stained
page, Indy almost pitied the misfortune of his ex-rival.
This Kerner fellow is quite mad, but I double-crossed him at my
own peril, and so have only myself to blame for my lamentable
fate. Still, it is better that I find the secrets of Atlantis before these
Nazi brutes, because I fear the world will pay a terrible price if
they should achieve it first. The vengeance they have in store for
their enemies is almost unspeakable, and I shudder to see it come
to pass. So, whether I fail or succeed, I can at least die with the
11

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satisfaction that I did everything within my power to stop them.
God have mercy on my poor soul.
Now to the problem at hand. 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. I grow weaker with each passing hour.
My aching belly is my own punishment for entering the labyrinth
without suitable supplies. Time was of the essence, and in my haste
I did not prepare as thoroughly as I might otherwise have. At least
sleep brings a welcome respite from the torturous pangs of hunger,
and I shall go peacefully now, in the hopes that I am destined to
find the Lost Kingdom in my dreams, if not reality.
Sophia broke the grim silence. “What does it say?” Indy passed
her the book. When she finished reading Sternhart’s last entry, she
dropped the diary beside his corpse. “Serves him right, the son of a
bitch. We almost died in that pyramid, thanks to him.” she said
bitterly.
Melina was appalled by her insensitivity. “That is not very
nice,” she scolded.
“He was a very bad man,” explained Sophia without a hint of
remorse. She crossed her arms, and regarded the cavern angrily.
“And now we’re trapped again.” She restrained herself from
kicking the corpse in the girl’s presence.
“Not necessarily,” Indy said. He walked over to the waterfall.
Light spilled faintly down from the cavity in the ceiling. He
looked at it closer, intrigued. The sheet of falling water had a deep
ripple in the middle where the currents folded inward, as if
diverted by some unseen force. Indy reached through the water and
grasped a heavy chain with thick, torus-shaped links. Following it
down to the floor, he found that it was attached to a massive stone
cylinder, resting in a hole. It was the elevator’s counter-weight.
The chain remained taut when Indy tugged on it with all of his
strength, which meant they could climb its length back into the
upper chamber. He told Sophia as much.
“Wait. What about the map room?” She walked to the far end of
the cavern, where another door was all but invisible in the
darkness. “It’s just around the corner.”
Caught up in the excitement, Melina beckoned him insistently.
“Come on, Indy! It is this way!”
He withdrew his hand from the chilly water and joined them at
the passage. Inside, they found a craggy, rock-lined cavern with a
single doorway blocked by Sternhart’s immovable gate. Gazing
through the bronze grid, they were dismayed to find that the pulley
12

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
was positioned well beyond reach. Indy cast the light around the
chamber, desperately 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 through the passage into the waterfall room.
Captivated, Indy scanned the flashlight across the wall behind the
fence and saw a corresponding opening above the pulley. The bat
fissure tunneled through the rock to the inside. It was their only
hope of escape.
He looked at Sophia, whose perception stunned him less than
her harsh reply. “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 will do it!” Melina volunteered. “Bats do not scare me.”
“No, sweetie. It’s too dangerous,” Sophia told her. “We’ll find
another way out.”
Indy pushed the argument. “There is no other way, unless you
want to climb through a freezing waterfall and die of hypothermia
trying to find your way back to the surface.”
“Don’t start with me, Jones...”
“Look, do you want to get out of here, or not? It’s that simple.”
Unwilling to listen to them argue anymore, Melina scaled the
gate and crawled into the hole before the adults realized what she
was doing. She stuck her head out and asked for the flashlight.
Indy tossed it up to her, and she disappeared, leaving them in the
dark. Moments later, a smudge of yellow lit the wall behind the
gate. Then Melina dropped to the floor with a delighted smile,
clearly enjoying the adventure.
“See? Just like Tarzan!”
“Oh, brother,” Sophia groaned. “What does that make us:
Tarzan, Jane, and Girl? Just don’t start swinging on vines like
Jones does.”
Indy took the flashlight and spotted the pulley while she pushed
on it with all of her strength. The wheel barely moved. “Kick it
with your feet,” he told her.
Grabbing the wall for balance, Melina struck the handle
repeatedly with the heel of her right foot until the lock finally
clicked free. The gate squeaked open, and Sophia congratulated her
with a hug. “You did great, honey! That was so brave of you to
crawl through that hole for us. Tarzan would be proud.”
“Really?” Melina beamed happily.
“Come on, just a little further to go,” urged Indy.
A dozen yards beyond the gate, the tunnel vanished around a
corner. Darkness clung to the walls like a plague, but a sheen of
13

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pale, milky light coated the floor, illuminating the path to the inner
sanctum. Sophia shared a silent look with Indy. There were no
words to convey her hope and anxiety. All of her dreams lay just
around the corner. She drew her hand along the cold rock wall to
anchor herself to reality because her body suddenly felt light as a
feather, as if she might float away at any moment.
Moving past Indy, she stepped into the light, and gasped.
Before them spread an expansive chamber made of cut stone
blocks which 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 barely noticed them as she gazed upon the
single most captivating sight she had 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. Indy was amazed. The model represented the unity all of
the cultural vestiges they had encountered in their journey:
Egyptian, Mesoamerican, Greek and Indian architecture melded
into a flawless aesthetical style that seemed inevitable, and yet
somehow alien all at once.
Beautiful beyond words, its very existence defied
comprehension. 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 found
the willpower to approach the model. Pausing at the rim with her
hands folded in reverence, she looked back to her companions, still
standing by the tunnel entrance.
“Atlantis. The city of yesterday’s forever...”
She beckoned them to join her. Indy and Melina drifted over to
the elaborate model and circled it slowly, absorbing every detail in
sheer wonder. Plato’s three-ring configuration was present, but
there was no hint of the main canal that bisected the inner island.
Although immensely pleased by the physical copy of her dream in
stone, Sophia was disappointed that the Atlantean architecture
didn’t resemble the city depicted on the slides at her presentation.
Then, realizing that a vital clue was missing, she looked around
quickly. “Where is Crete?”
Indy didn’t see it either. Without a compass, there was no point
of reference to indicate the orientation of the model, and therefore
locate the actual city. Then another problem occurred to him.
“How do we even get into Atlantis?” The question made Sophia
feel like an idiot, because she had never considered it before.
14

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Use the key thing,” Melina pointed to the middle of the island,
where a single bronze post occupied the place accorded to the
temple of Poseidon in mythology. Sophia took the stone disks from
her backpack, slotted the pins and grooves together, and snapped
her fingers at Indy for the worldstone in his pocket. The psychic
then carried the disks to the barren patch of rock at the heart of
Atlantis, where she knelt and threaded the wheels onto the spindle.
She paused to admire the set with renewed awe. “Like the
island it’s built upon... Do you see it now, Indy?”
He couldn’t believe how blind they had been. The stacked
keystones perfectly mirrored the circular layout of Atlantis. Indy
found the subtle detail unnerving, because it proved beyond the
shadow of a doubt that the advanced prehistoric civilization had
truly existed. Then he 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?
“Quit daydreaming, and give me the Lost Dialogue.” Indy
hastily dug the book from his satchel and tossed it into her waiting
hands. Consulting the Hermocrates for the alignment code, she
read Plato’s text aloud: “It says: To approach Atlantis itself a
Worldstone was required as well, with a waxing moon the sky’s
only reply to the fires below. Meaning that we should line up the
volcano with the waxing moon.”
As he watched her dial the keystones, Indy felt anticipation
creeping into him for the first time. He was actually excited about
Sophia’s quest, which now held the promise of a discovery
unrivaled by any other in history. She pressed the spindle, but
nothing happened. She pushed the button again, with the same
result. Sophia blinked in confusion, then re-read the text only to
find that she missed the last cryptic clue: “Final entrance yielded
only to contrary minds.”
Melina grasped the solution immediately. “The stones are
backwards. Turn them around!”
Sophia reversed the symbols from the Horns of Consecration
icon, then mashed the bronze pillar down with purpose. There was
a potent click! and the room came to life.
A tower on the model’s perimeter suddenly rotated in place.
Two slitted windows glowed green, and the small statue shot into
motion, circuiting the radius of the miniature city. The floor
churned into a hive of activity as the stone buildings rose and fell,
joggling randomly like a set of bizarre lock tumblers. At the same
time, a stream of water poured from a thin opening at the base of
the wall and filled a shallow channel leading to the stone basin.
The water flowed around the outermost ring before seeping
through vents below the harbor walls to flood the two lesser moats.
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A pool of soft, ambient light poured into the shadowy chamber
as the centermost portal scraped open with a loud groan. The air
was electric. Every single pore of Sophia’s body tingled with
exhilaration. She abandoned the stone disks and moved, trancelike,
towards the doorway. Melina quickly hopscotched across the
model, gathered up the keystones and returned them to Indy. He repocketed
the worldstone, deposited the larger ones into the
backpack, and they went after Sophia, who had gone ahead of
them.
The room was immensely long, with a cavernous ceiling
spanned by a row of thick, squared pillars from one end to the
other. Cut into the floor was a shallow channel that ran parallel to
the columns. Huge concrete ribs vaulted the ceiling above the
track. Indy was amazed. The place looked, for all the world, like a
modern, albeit eerily abandoned, 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 very end of the track,
beside a huge stone 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 railbed, 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. “This thing is made of solid rock. Two or three tons, easy.
To lift it alone would take—”
“Orichalcum. And magnetic levitation,” she supplied. “Rock
becomes weightless, gravity a mere nuisance. The Atlanteans
mastered all the forces of nature. How do you think the pyramids
were built?”
“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 stormtroopers fanned out in a semicircle around them, guns
drawn. “Thank you for showing us the way through the labyrinth,
16

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Fräulein Hapgood. Once again you have proven your value to us.
Now you will come with me.”
“Like hell I will,” she seethed.
“I see that a little persuasion is needed.” Drawing his gun, the
SS commander snatched Melina by the arm and pulled her away
roughly, pressing the Luger into the girl’s neck with a cruel sneer.
Melina 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. The
switch was immediate and without argument. Kerner released
Melina, and she 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.
He wanted to snap the Nazi’s neck and stomp his skull into the
ground with his boot until it shattered like a glass ornament. The
potency of his anger vaguely mortified Indy in the haze of red rage
that consumed him. Their hatred was contagious. God, he was
beginning to think like them now. “This is a new low, Kerner, even
for the Nazis.”
Kerner looked at Indy, as if noticing him for the first time. “Ah
yes, how could I forget our unfinished business?” He fired the
Luger point-blank, shooting Indy in the gut. The deafening roar
echoed like thunder across the subway, mixing with the screams of
the women as Indy folded over and collapsed in a heap.
“Indy!!! INDY!!!” Shattered, Sophia fell to the floor as if she
had taken the shot. Her heart was blown out of her chest the instant
Kerner pulled the trigger, leaving a hollow, ragged void of despair.
She saw Indy lying motionless on the ground through tear-blurred
eyes.
Her pain turned to rage when she saw Kerner absently shining
the barrel of his smoking pistol on his sleeve. She 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, yes,
all in good time. But for the present, Fräulein, I have more
important business to attend.” 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 stone floor.
Sobbing, she crawled back to Indy and hugged him protectively.
Not one glimmer of human emotion stirred Kerner’s stony
features. “Now, you will help us find Atlantis, or end up like Jones.
17

DALE DASSEL
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 through it 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?”
With her face downcast, 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, as we have seen. We will find another.” The
Nazi captain surveyed the wrecked train and the collapsed tunnel,
and determined that there must be other ways into the city. “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 in concern while Melina
sobbed with grief 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

17
CIRCUIT OF THE OUTER RING
After a few moments of silence Indy rolled over, groaning at the
fiery pain burning in his gut. The point-blank shot had struck him
like a sledgehammer. He sat up on one elbow, grimacing in agony.
Melina pulled back in surprise and blinked in tearful disbelief.
“Indy? Indy, you are alive!” She threw her arms around him tightly
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 granite worldstone into his abdomen. He gasped sharply, but
knew the gunshot wasn’t fatal because there wasn’t a drop of blood
anywhere. Unbuttoning his shirt, he found nothing more serious
than a dark, crescent-shaped bruise from the impact. One of his
lower ribs was certainly fractured, if not broken. A small price to
pay for being alive, Indy thought gratefully as he tried to stand.
Sniffling, Melina wiped her tears on the sleeve of her dress and
helped him up. “Thank you for not dying, or I would be here all
alone.”
Once the dizziness faded, Indy opened his left front pocket and
withdrew the relic which had saved his life. A small bullet hole
pierced the leather. He fished out the crumpled lead slug and threw
it away, silently praising the stonemason’s durable craftsmanship.
The peasant girl tugged anxiously on his sleeve. “Why did they
take Sophia?”
“They think she can lead them to Atlantis with her necklace,”
Indy replied, tucking the stone into his satchel.
“Is it a magic necklace?”
“It belongs to an Atlantean spirit called Nur-Ab-Sal. Sometimes
he talks to her.”
“He’s a ghost?”

DALE DASSEL
“I’ve never seen it, but Sophia can.” He surveyed the shadowy
cavern, trying to locate the source of the light that revealed its
expanse. It was the same eerie ambience that permeated the upper
labyrinth.
“The Nazis trapped us in here. What are we going to do?”
Melina said worriedly.
“Well, I could use a little fresh air. Let’s take a walk.” Clutching
his tender side, Indy ambled towards the far end of the corridor,
where a faint stream of light issued from an unseen opening near
the ceiling. Near the corner adjacent to the map room entrance,
they discovered a flight of stairs hidden behind a solid banister
carved into the rock. The steps climbed into a large cavern with a
wedge-shaped stone altar that pointed towards the opening to the
outside world.
It was dusk when they emerged onto 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 in a glowing
spray, glazing the sand in a thick wet skin that dissolved as the
water retreated into the blackness again.
“Where are we?” Indy clamped his fedora to his head against
the buffeting salt breeze.
Trying to get her bearings, Melina looked further down the
beach and saw a long wooden pier extending out into the ocean.
“Amnissos.”
“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 womb-like caverns below
Crete since Neolithic times. The bull-worshipping Minoan
civilization had neatly 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 offshore, excited. “Indy, look at that
big ship out there!”
Squinting in the dark, Indy 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?” the girl asked, rubbing her arms vigorously
in the chilly air.
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Yeah,” Indy sighed with the sobering realization of how the
Germans planned to reach the fabled underwater city.
Melina shivered, hugging herself to keep warm. The
temperature was falling fast. Thanks to him, she’d been put
through enough danger already, and barely escaped with her life.
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 from here?”
“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 hesitated, unsure of what to say. He stuck out his hand in
farewell. “Well, I guess this is it, kiddo.”
She clasped it and fixed the archaeologist with an intense look.
“Before you go, please tell me. Are more Nazis really coming here,
like Sophia said?”
Indy swallowed the lump in his throat, and nodded solemnly.
“Yes.” He didn’t know what else to say, but he couldn’t bring
himself to lie about the future when Sophia had spoken of it with
such conviction.
“What can we do?” she implored him.
Kneeling, Indy looked into her innocent brown eyes with all the
compassion that he could manage. “Go home and stay with your
family. And always be safe.”
She hugged him gratefully. “Thank you so much, Indy. I will
say prayers for Sophia tonight. Please come visit us when you find
her.”
“I will,” he promised, returning the hug. “Take care of yourself,
and don’t talk to any strange Nazis.” Melina switched on the
flashlight and 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.
Trying to keep low, Indy had nearly made it to the jetty when
his foot caught in an unseen crevice and he tripped, sending a
cascade of stones clattering across the shoal. The guard turned
alertly at the sound and strode towards Indy with his automatic
rifle. Indy flattened himself against the rock, praying that the
soldier couldn’t see him in the dark. The guard was only ten feet
away when Indy made a desperate move. He grabbed a mediumsized
stone, rolled sideways and hurled it towards the U-boat with
all of his might. The rock clanged loudly against the hull. The
startled Nazi whirled at the disturbance with his gun. Indy leapt
forward, brandishing the blunt end of his bullwhip like a blackjack,
and clubbed him at the base of his skull with the lead-weighted
handle. The sentry dropped to the ground, unconscious, and Indy
quickly dragged him under the pier, out of sight.
3

DALE DASSEL
Two hours later, he heard voices approaching from beyond the
stony ridge. Now dressed in the uniform he’d taken from the
guard, Indy tensed when he saw the line of shadowy figures
marching down the trail by lantern light. Sophia was in the middle
of the group, appearing subdued as the Nazis shuffled her across
the beach. Misery etched her features, and even in the dark Indy
could see that she’d been crying.
As Kerner neared, looking immaculate despite his lengthy
subterranean hike, Indy snapped a sharp Sieg Heil salute while
crossing the fingers on his other hand to jinx the show of fealty.
Darkness concealed his face, and Kerner strode by without a
glance. Indy dropped his hand to the rifle by his side and curled his
finger over the trigger as he considered shooting the SS captain on
the spot. But he knew the other soldiers would gun him down
instantly, so he shouldered the Nazi 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 heart of the submarine. With a single
bullet, the heartless Nazi had turned her care-free world into an
absolute nightmare. Her beautiful dream was gone, shattered
forever. Her soul ached with a sadness deeper than any she had
ever known, but Sophia was exhausted from crying and too numb
to feel much of anything except the urge to vomit.
The stench in the depths of the sweltering U-boat churned her
gut. It was the most nauseating smell imaginable: An unholy blend
of oil and grease ripened with human body odor, sweat, rotting
fruit and spoiled meat that was draped over every fixture
throughout the ship. Moving through the cloistered passageway,
she stumbled over crates of moldy vegetables, wilted cabbage,
mushy potatoes thick with fuzz, and fossilized loaf bread that
couldn’t be cut with a chainsaw let alone a knife; A vile grocery of
provisions for the long sea voyage.
She crinkled her nose and took shallow breaths, trying
desperately not to inhale 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 lonely men who had not seen a woman
in almost a month. Unable to escape the hungry gazes that
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
undressed her, Sophia avoided the eagerly groping hands with as
much dignity as she could manage, and endured the lewd phallic
torpedo jokes only because she, mercifully, didn’t speak German.
Despite the horrible circumstances, she actually felt relieved when
Kerner escorted her into a lavish wood-paneled cabin and pulled
the curtain shut behind them.
Inside, a balding old man in a lab coat was hunched over a
narrow table covered with paperwork, busily making notes and
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 a pair of thick spectacles,
frowning 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 replied, pushing Sophia firmly onto
the wooden bench. “I have collected our guide, and the keys which
have eluded us for so long.” Kerner sat down beside her and
Sophia immediately scooted away from him.
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, pleased to take credit for the
accomplishment. “Isn’t that right, Fräulein?”
Sophia stared at the table, avoiding his keen 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 horned statue from Barnett College, the very artifact
which spurred their entire quest. He set it down in front of her. “A
fascinating relic, wouldn’t you agree? And one with unlimited
potential, as we discovered.”
Kerner produced a glass tube filled with blood-red beads and
placed it by the bronze idol. “It is time to share your knowledge,
Miss Hapgood. You can begin by explaining how to unlock the
power of this ancient metal, the so-called orichalcum which Plato
described in such tantalizing detail. Tell us, how does it work?”
Across the table from Sophia, the old man hovered over the
statue with a hollow smile that sickened her worse than the foul air.
5

DALE DASSEL
The manic zeal in his eyes proved that Indy was right about
everything. The Nazis were eager to turn the fiery pearls into a
weapon of mass destruction, and unleash its power on an
unsuspecting world.
She folded her arms and looked away in disgust. “Go to hell.”
“There is no point being difficult, Fräulein. We are making the
greatest discovery in human history, and you are a part of it
whether you like it or not. I suggest you cooperate before I am
forced to persuade you.”
Fed up with the harassment, Sophia glared at Kerner. “Just who
do you goddamn people think you are, anyway? What gives you
the right to torture and kill indiscriminately, and then parade all
over Europe like you own it?”
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, outraged. “I am in charge of this
operation, you spineless sausage! How dare you challenge my
authority!?”
“MY authority,” Übermann corrected. He 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 that his leadership had been
usurped by the wily physicist. “What is the meaning of this?!” he
demanded.
Planting his bony fists on the table, Übermann rose to confront
his colleague. “Can’t you read, Klaus? Due to your incompetence
in Algeria, 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
seated redhead with a devilish sneer. “Perhaps Madame Sophia
foresees a change of rank in your future?”
Klaus Kerner could only tremble with rage while Hans
Übermann, empowered by the flimsy document, indulged his anger
with a simpering smile.
“Now please try to show some respect to our esteemed guest,
Colonel. She is here to help us, after all.”
Sophia tossed her hair dismissively. “I could give a damn.”
“Schwein!” Kerner slammed his fist against the paneled
bulkhead, ripped the curtain aside and stalked out of the cabin in
livid fury.
Übermann drew the curtain shut and resumed his chair once
more. “You must forgive the Colonel. He has been under some
stress lately.” Then he chuckled as if the notion amused him.
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Now, I believe you share the same fascination with the occult as
Reichsführer Himmler. He was delighted to learn of your
participation in our project, considering that he personally
recommended you for it.”
***
Deep in the belly of the U-boat Orogeny, the bank of powerful
electric motors growled at full capacity to drive the 850-ton
German leviathan into the dark abyss like a gigantic steel blade,
knifing its way towards the Aegean seabed north of Crete. Plying
steadily through the dense water, the ship trembled with an
ominous shudder; a prolonged hiccup of metal groaning in pain as
the sea tightened its grip on the U-41. At 140 fathoms, the
submarine had already surpassed maximum crush depth, and was
now pushing the limits of its reinforced hull, specially clad in a
jacket of double-plated steel by the AG Weser shipyard in Bremen.
In the bow torpedo bay, Captain Heinrich Wilhelm cast a
nervous glance at the web of stout bracing that spanned the walls
in place of the loading tubes which normally cluttered the deck.
The metal struts, wet with condensation, gleamed like blood in the
ambient red interior lights. The commander lifted his
Kriegsmarine cap to sleeve the cold sweat from his brow before
turning his attention back to the broad windows, fit snugly into the
torpedo door recesses on either side of the hull. Outside, 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. Directly in front of him, an ocean of
black death pressed against the thick Plexiglas with a force of 300
pounds per square inch, enough power to crush his U-boat like a
tin can.
The ship was an iron coffin ferrying every soul on board to a
watery doom at the bottom of the sea, yet Klaus Kerner savored
the ride into oblivion with a glassy smile while the strains of
Wagner’s Parzival filled the narrow deck. The music lent the scene
an air of deceptive calm as the deadly water pressure continued to
build outside, but it did little to ease Wilhelm or the American
woman beside Kerner, who stared into the darkness in vacant
rapture, indifferent to the danger lurking just beyond the window.
Turning from the viewport, Wilhelm sighed tensely. “I can’t
believe that you sacrificed my shark’s teeth for eyes that are
useless at this depth. This water is black as oil, Kerner. What in
God’s name do you expect to see down here?”
“True, Oberleutnant, a shark without teeth is an ineffective
predator, but we are not hunting.” The SS commander stroked the
acrylic shield with a leather-gloved hand. “We are on the brink of
7

DALE DASSEL
reclaiming our ancient homeland, and a weapon so powerful as to
make your precious torpedoes seem like matchsticks. When we
succeed, history will remember you as the man who rediscovered
Atlantis. Such a prestigious honor outweighs any inconvenience
that must be endured on behalf of your service to the Reich.”
It was a novel prospect, but Wilhelm refused to be swayed by
Kerner’s megalomania. “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.
Then a parade of dull thumps drummed the ceiling overhead, the
cacophony of a ghostly platoon marching across the submerged
deck. Sophia pulled the checkered wool blanket around herself
tighter and shivered as the ocean clenched the U-boat in its watery
vise.
Kerner was quick to spot 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
uncomfortably at his touch.
“There is no reason to fear when destiny is so clearly in our
favor. Once we find our lost kingdom, the Aryan renaissance will
begin, and Germany will stand forever united in our ancient
legacy.” The Nazi commander swelled with pride as he spoke. “As
prophetess of the new Atlantis, you will have a place of honor in
the World Reich, and enjoy the respect of millions who once
branded psychics as charlatans. Even Jones could not give you
such undreamed-of prestige.”
Fed up with his delusions of grandeur, Sophia finally broke her
morose silence. “Are you really that conceited, or is it just the
uniform?”
Wilhelm adjusted the brim of his cap to hide his grin, but
Kerner was not amused. “You Americans lack pride and vision in
equal measure. I almost pity your country.”
“Speak for yourself. At least we’re capable of pity.”
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, followed by a pronounced change in
momentum as the submarine slowed its headlong drive through the
crushing blackness.
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“We are still on course with the underground tunnel, yes?”
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 looking out into a
universe devoid of starlight; the end of existence. The sonar
continued to pulse 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. Her cocoon ripped open at the sound
of the phonograph needle zagging across the record. Wagner’s
symphony died with a raspy scrape. Red emergency lights flashed,
and a deafening alarm claxon blared urgently throughout the ship.
“What the devil is going on?” Kerner bellowed in the sudden
chaos, grabbing for a pipe as the ship trembled violently in the
water. 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 again.
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 sub 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.
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. Everything was still. Nobody moved,
uncertain if the danger had passed. Still hugging the support girder,
she looked up warily, expecting the burst of cold black fire to
devour the tinfoil walls the moment her guard was down. But it
didn’t happen. Miraculously, they were still alive, and the darkness
was gone. Vivid teal light shimmered across the windows, filling
9

DALE DASSEL
the deck with a breathtakingly beautiful glow that tinted the hellish
red glare into an eerie green pallor.
Wilhelm quickly crawled over to the lower portal, anxious to
see where they were. His wondrous expression shifted to terror.
“Gott im Himmel!” Slipping on the wet floor, the mariner 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!” His orders thundered over the loudspeaker like the voice of
God.
Fresh panic spurred Sophia to the window. She let out a startled
yelped when she saw the seabed rising up to meet them. Kerner
grabbed onto the nearest strut and managed to stand when the U-
boat heaved with an abrupt jerk. Gravity slammed him roughly to
the floor again. Outside, the sapphire water vanished in a sheet of
boiling white bubbles as the ballast tanks were evacuated. The
Orogeny rose on a cushion of elastic buoyancy and then settled
gently to the bottom like a chunk of lead.
Wilhelm clutched the phone in a white-knuckled grip. “Schulte,
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 submarine from bow to stern. Moments later the radio crackled
again: “No injuries, Herr Wilhelm. The engine room is taking on
water, but not very much. The boat is sound.”
“Very good. Stand by for orders.”
Kerner sat up, scowling in anger. “What in the hell happened?”
“I told you, it’s the pressure!” Wilhelm spat furiously. “The hull
is like an eggshell at this depth. We are lucky to be alive.”
Sophia glanced out the window. The submarine hovered above
the seabed, its iron belly nearly resting on the sandy bottom. She
slumped against the wall, dizzy with relief. “Damn, that was
close.”
“Was ist das...?” Wilhelm dropped the radio phone and stared
out the starboard viewport, mesmerized by something outside.
Following his gaze, Kerner’s contempt quickly shifted into a
mask of shock that mirrored Wilhelm’s expression. The men
crowded the window, unconcerned about the lethal water pressure
chiseling into every seam of the ship.
Sophia edged forward anxiously, more frightened than curious
after their brush with death. She stared out in disbelief.
The ocean was glowing.
A vibrant cerulean mist stained the water, casting a perpetual
twilight over the desert of smooth silt rippling off into eternity. The
10

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
cool aura waned in the distance, where an indigo storm shadowed
the foothills of a velvet-black mountain range on the horizon.
“Where is the light coming from?” said Kerner, more annoyed
than wonderstruck.
Nobody bothered to answer him. They could only stare across
the abyssal plain bathed in the cool, ethereal light. Wilhelm took
up the phone calmly. “Schulte. Make the bow planes level. Come
twenty degrees to port.”
After the customary delay, the submarine pivoted slowly in
place, 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.
Kerner observed the dull scenery with disinterest until he
suddenly stiffened in surprise. “Look there!” He jabbed a finger at
the starboard glass.
Across the desolate plateau, Sophia only saw trackless mud in
every direction. Then, focusing on the spot indicated by Kerner,
she glimpsed a slender object planted upright in distance, obscured
by the hazy blue fog.
“Main motors ahead one-third, and remain steady on this
heading,” Wilhelm ordered.
Clouds of pale sediment billowed up in the cobalt water as the
Orogeny rumbled into motion and set off across the open seabed.
Inside, the anxious observers watched the terrain unroll in the
platinum brilliance of the search beams. Fifty yards away, the sand
vanished under a wilderness of thick sea grass that blanketed the
ground like moss. The leafy green tongues licked the belly of the
U-boat as the iron behemoth plowed an invisible furrow through
the field. In the radio room, the asdic sonar pulses 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 submarine, the immense pillar wore a skin
of furry algae that shivered in the current stirred by its passing.
Sophia discerned an ornate pattern of radial spiral grooves beneath
the thick brown slime, but she was unable to tell if the column was
made of stone or metal.
Kerner pursed his lips in satisfaction, pleased by the
indisputable evidence of human civilization resting on the ocean
floor. “Do you still doubt me, Herr Captain?”
Heinrich Wilhelm gaped at the eerie sentinel, too stunned for
words as they glided past the monument. Sophia just prayed that it
wasn’t the cargo of some ancient shipwreck. She felt a surge of
hope when the spotlights bathed another kelp-sheathed post lying
11

DALE DASSEL
beside the upright column in the lush grass. Then a dozen more
toppled pillars appeared below them, scattered across the mud like
megalithic dominoes. Breathless now, she glued herself to the
window as they crested a ridge where the seabed sloped into a
steep valley strewn with large stone blocks. The silt-covered
masonry was close enough to touch that she would have plunged
into the freezing water and embraced the stones if she could have.
“Aaah!” Sophia 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 filled with milky blue smoke.
Wilhelm, the stoic submariner, recoiled from the gaping
underwater chasm with a pitched cry of terror.
“Mutter Gottes!” Kerner swore as the world simply dropped
away beneath his boots.
The soundman, blind to the dramatic change in topography,
issued another clinical report from the aft cabin. “The signal is
stronger now, Kapitänleutnant, lying directly north of our position
on frequency three-nine-eight point two.”
Startled, Wilhelm fumbled the radio with shaky hands. “Uh..
good, v-very good, Schulte. Remain on this heading until I give
further orders.”
The U-boat soared across the yawning 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
fiery rainbows through the water in a graceful ballet.
Klaus Kerner squinted against the glare of the spotlights, trying
to determine what he was seeing. “Captain, what are those things?”
“I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Dolphins,” Sophia said quietly. Having never seen a real
dolphin before, she found the animals indescribably beautiful.
Wilhelm cupped his hands around his face to see them more
clearly. “Incredible… 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.
Jolted from her peaceful reverie, 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, layers of
opaque onion skin flaking away, dissolving while the sonar pinged
12

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
faster in a rhythm that was matched by her own thundering
heartbeat.
And then she saw it. After a lifetime of passionate longing, it
was right in front of her.
Atlantis.
The legendary city lost beneath the sea.
From her lofty perspective, the city appeared in the mist below
as it would be seen from an airplane descending through the
clouds. “Oh… my God.”
Immersed in the shadowy deep, the ruins looked vague,
dreamlike; a ghostly mirage that only half-existed in the azure
twilight. One thing, however, was crystal clear. The magnificent
ringed city depicted at Knossos had been absolutely erased by
time.
Sophia had always imagined an alabaster metropolis resting
peacefully on the sea floor, untouched by time and perfectly
preserved in the water. She should have known better than to
embrace her cherished storybook fantasy of a paradisiacal stone
city with flawless buildings marbled by shimmering sunlight,
mighty walls encircling sandy plains and lush groves of seaweed.
The reality was devastating. Her glorious utopian Atlantis was a
lumpy blanket of sediment that scarcely resembled civilization.
Eons of silt draped everything in a gauzy texture, as if the
monuments were carved in algae rather than stone. Only the largest
structures protruded from the mud, scattered across the seabed like
gravestones in the cold blue water. The smaller buildings that
Sophia had seen on the scale model were forever lost in the deluge
of muck that clogged the streets and mired the pyramids to their
summit. The rings, channels, and bridges were obliterated when
the island was swallowed by the sea.
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
don’t believe it’s real…”
“Was there ever any doubt?” Kerner said, breaking her reverie.
“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.
“We are sailing into history today, Captain. Be grateful you are
here to witness it, unlike our fearless leader who is too ill to
partake in our destiny.” Kerner sneered with relish, knowing that
Übermann was miserably holed-up in his cabin, stricken with
nausea since they began the dive.
The Orogeny drifted across the moraine, projecting its lights
over the ghostly hills while the stunned observers watched the
decaying stonework materialize from the mist in awed silence.
13

DALE DASSEL
Like the jungle-shrouded ruins of Tikal, the sprawling alluvial
desert over Atlantis was an artificial landscape sculpted by the
ruins below. Much of the buried city was suggested by amorphous
mounds of sludge, while other edifices were clearly identifiable
beneath the veneer of clinging muck. The sediment-laden
pyramids, rising defiantly through the swampy oblivion which had
consumed the great city, appeared strangely fragile, like they might
evaporate into dust if the submarine passed too close. From what
Sophia could tell, the megalithic skyscrapers exhibited a hybrid
Meso-Egyptian style, featuring angular stepped courses with
beveled corners, uniting at a truncated capstone. In the cool aquatic
dusk, the vertical faces were bands of deep gray shadow, while the
pale green ledges, heaped with mud, seemed to melt into the
fluorescent water.
Traveling on, they spotted an ovoid ziggurat with softly
rounded terraces that gave the stone a strangely melted appearance.
Other buildings emerged from the mist with architecture too
bizarre to classify: Two pyramids fused together side by side;
another capped by a domed temple, with columns flanking the
grand staircase which descended 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 bones 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 that shattered
Atlantis to the bottom of the sea. Now the only thing left was the
somber remains lying buried in the mud, surviving only in the
memory of those who still believed.
She gazed upon the ruins in subdued rapture, tortured by a
bittersweet sense of elation. After years of longing, she had finally
found Atlantis, a place that she never expected to see in her own
lifetime. But how could she be happy when Indy was gone? She
never would have come this far without his support, and all of the
sacrifices that he made, in spite of his skepticism, to help realize
14

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
her dream. Sophia owed her very life to him, but he wasn’t here to
enjoy the moment of discovery that she wanted to share more than
anything else in the world. She couldn’t celebrate her achievement
without him. It just wasn’t right.
“Is it how you imagined?” Kerner said, studying her morose
expression to discern whether they had truly found the legendary
city.
“What do you care?” she growled, bristling at the cold-hearted
Nazi who had stolen the greatest moment of joy in her life. His
aura was black and vile, a hardened soul incapable of feeling the
sense of mystery and wonder that captivated her. “This isn’t about
your so-called Aryan race or the glory of Germany. It’s about
getting orichalcum for some damned bomb. That’s the only thing
that matters to you, isn’t it? You make me sick.”
“How very perceptive, Miss Hapgood. 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 scattered 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, 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 Atlantean 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. The style was
cold and futuristic, unlike that of any culture in the world. In fact,
it almost looked like the neck of a gigantic vase emerging from—
“Oh my God, it’s not a mountain at all. They built the city
around a volcano, just like Pompeii. Earthquakes and fire. It was a
volcanic eruption.”
Kerner nodded. “Exactly as Plato described in the first dialogue.
If that is the center of the island, then we must locate the main
canal to the outside.” He mapped the landscape intently, searching.
“There. Go that way, Captain.” he said, pointing 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
15

DALE DASSEL
the observation deck, they watched the contours of the sea floor
unfold beneath the spotlights. After a short distance, the trackless
mud suddenly dropped like a waterfall, 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.
She wondered if any of the bridges remained intact far beneath
the alluvial sludge when 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. “Follow it, Captain. It should lead us
to—ah, yes. There it is now.”
Almost on cue, the lamp beams dissipated in open water where
the mud poured into the darkness. Here, Kerner directed Wilhelm
to follow the rim north, and after a bit of maneuvering the Orogeny
glided alongside the plateau, skirting the rugged shelf over the
yawning abyss. All eyes were glued to the ridge, anxiously
absorbing every detail as they traced its perimeter. Below the cliff,
the lights revealed a lumpy surface covered in thick gray sludge
which, through time, had accumulated on the natural rock like
melted wax.
Kerner nudged Sophia. “You see the vertical uniformity. This
was clearly the perimeter of the island. 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 drew a tedious sigh and 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
16

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
to play these games with you. Show us the way into the city or you
will die. It is that 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, she 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. Panicking, she wiped her damp
palms on the front of her jeans and felt something in her pocket.
The amber fish jewel. She’d forgotten all 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. Her 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
said, pointing 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.”
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.”
17

DALE DASSEL
“I’ll have you court-marshaled for this when we return to
Berlin, so help me God,” he vowed.
The Nazi’s pale eyebrows crested inquisitively, bemused. “Will
you?”
It was a stand-off between the SS officer and the outraged
mariner held at gunpoint. 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, only a
short distance away, the cave yawned open to swallow the
approaching U-boat. It was their last vestige for survival.
The stress was too much. “Put that thing away, you’re going to
get us all killed!” she exploded at the top of her lungs.
Kerner brushed a strand of limpid red hair from her face and
pitied Sophia 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 now 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
grudgingly took 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.
Kerner’s gun went back into its holster. “Danke.”
18

18
ANTEDILUVIAN WORLD
A sliver of crescent light pierced the velvet darkness and swelled
into a golden halo, accompanied by a metallic clang as a din of
angry voices poured from the glowing ring. Then a bulbous orb
eclipsed the pale disc, followed by the bulk of an ungainly form
squeezing through the narrow opening. After a brief struggle, the
man in the diving suit grabbed onto a nearby rail and finally
extracted himself from the iron tube, reaching back to draw out a
length of air supply hose which snaked into the ship. Standing in
the pitch black void, the diver unclipped a small electric lamp from
his belt and flicked it on to view his surroundings. The roving
beam sheared the thick gloom and splotched cavernous rock walls
in every direction. Satisfied that the area wasn’t flooded, he
stomped his lead-weighted boot twice on the ladder, giving the
‘all-clear’ signal to those waiting below.
Almost immediately, the ladder shook with the rapid clatter of
somebody ascending. The scout moved away from the pressure
hatch and the lithe figure of Sophia Hapgood appeared moments
later, flushed and sweating. The redhead climbed from the conning
tower and drank in the cool, moist air, savoring its freshness after
suffering the hellish confines of the U-boat. Far below, the riot
swelled to a crescendo as Kerner and Wilhelm continued the
argument which erupted the moment they surfaced in the cavern.
“I’ve navigated minefields more pleasant than your infernal
dive to hell!” the captain’s voice blasted from the iron manhole
like steam ghosting into the darkness.
Kerner yelled furiously in German, and Sophia turned away
from the hatch in disgust. “God damned Nazi pirates.” The brasshelmeted
diver stared at her blankly from the vacuum of his mute
prison. “Hey Fritz, let me see that for a minute.” She took the

DALE DASSEL
lantern from his hands and swept the powerful beam 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
ship.
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 was thrilled to see a
ledge of stout masonry running alongside the ship. A stone pier!
She descended the bridge, eager to begin exploring, but stopped
cold when she reached the deck and saw the severity of the
damage. The intense water pressure had warped the armor plating
into a lumpy steel road cratered by the weight of the sea. We’re
lucky to be alive, she thought as her amber flashlight beam slid up
the conning tower and revealed an emblem painted on the dimpled
gray steel: A triangular volcano emitting a curl of smoke. The
stylized cone saddled the familiar swastika, overshadowed by the
blocky U-41 stenciled in bold white characters.
Turning her back on the Nazi crucifix, the psychic gripped the
taut radio cable for balance and squeaked along the deck until she
found a gap narrow enough to jump across. She propelled herself
from the bulbous saddle tank and landed on the flagstone shore
with a surge of elation. I’m the first person in the modern world to
set foot in Atlantis. I’m really here!
“Fräulein, halt! Do not even think of trying to escape. You have
nowhere to run.”
Sophia shaded her eyes against the glare of another flashlight
and saw Kerner standing on the bridge with his pistol drawn in
warning. His figure appeared small and insignificant amid the
grim, futuristic profile of the U-boat silhouetted by the leaden glow
of the sea beyond. Sophia was stunned at the sight. She’d assumed
that the cavern enclosed the submarine on all sides, yet the ship
was plainly visible from a distance, a dark shadow on a gloaming
gray sheet. Was it some kind of optical trick? She didn’t have long
to consider the mystery. The harsh grating of metal broke the thick
silence as removable deck plates were pried from the U-boat. The
crew began to assemble a steel gangplank while Kerner shouted
orders in German.
Sophia was torn by indecision. The darkness beckoned her with
the lure of ancient secrets, but she was irresistibly drawn to the
transparent shield encapsulating the U-boat from the crushing sea.
She just had to see how it worked. Up close, the wall appeared
solid as concrete. She hesitantly touched the membrane, halfexpecting
the seal to explode and release billions of tons of
seawater into the cavern. The opaque skin felt cold, moist and
rubbery like jelly. Outside, the dolphins danced like tiny green
fireflies in the distance while iridescent fish swam by close enough
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
to display their shimmering blue scales. Sophia gazed out into the
aquatic night with the weight of the entire ocean pressing down
from above, awed and terrified by the immensity of the moment.
“Amazing how it has maintained air pressure for untold
centuries,” Kerner said casually, joining her at the end of the canal.
He prodded the gelatinous barrier experimentally with a leathergloved
fingertip. “How is it possible?”
“Does it really matter?”
She flicked a glance at Kerner, staring passively out into the sea
as if he were visiting an aquarium. Then she noticed that his sleeve
now displayed a satin-black armband with a stark white swastika
circled by a silver ring, a distinctive reminder of his allegiance.
“Say, aren’t you forgetting to jam your gun in my back, like a good
Nazi?”
The German adopted the sneer of a bemused gargoyle. “That is
quite unnecessary now. You’re not going anywhere.” The statement
was emboldened with the certainty that her life was squarely in his
hands.
“Lampen! Wir brauchen mehr Licht!” someone shouted.
“Es gibt hier drin keine Lampen!” yelled another invisible voice
amid the rattle of equipment as Nazis clattered down the steel
scaffold. Pale beams lanced the cavern while the disoriented troops
milled about, trying to get their bearings in the hazy twilight. On
the U-boat deck, two sailors were helping the diver out of his
helmet.
Despite all of the commotion, 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 in the race for the lost city. The
thought of his death brought another stab of remorse, causing her
to shiver in the chilly gloom. She had to fend for herself now.
More importantly she had to survive, because she owed him that
much.
“Come, Fräulein, we cannot let you freeze down here.” Kerner
steered her back towards the ship and hailed the nearest sailor.
“Leutnant Holtz, find a suitable jacket for our guest immediately.”
“Jawohl, mein Herr.” The seaman gave a sharp salute and
quickly dashed away to fulfill the order.
“Just like a good robot,” Sophia said wryly.
“Obedience breeds a superior soldier, whose duty to the Reich
is his sole purpose.”
“Spare me.”
“Welcome home, Miss Hapgood.” Hans Übermann hobbled
down the newly-finished bridge with his armload of papers, guided
by a pair of soldiers who steadied him until he was on solid
3

DALE DASSEL
ground. “Here we are on the doorstep of the Lost City. Quite
exciting, is it not?”
“Yeah, well don’t expect to find the key under the mat,” she
mumbled sullenly.
“You are a very unhappy woman,” Kerner observed. “I should
think the realization of your life’s quest would offer more delight.”
Sophia forced a cheerfully nasty smile. “What can I say? You
bring out the worst in me.”
“Indeed.”
Around them, the pier bustled with activity as crewmen
unloaded crates from the U-boat, passing the boxes down the ramp
to the SS troops on shore. Atop the conning tower, Wilhelm leaned
against the 20-millimeter flak gun and observed the dusky scene
like a warden keeping watch over his prison yard.
“Bringt die Signalleuchte hoch!” he shouted into the access
hatch. The Morse lamp was thrust into his hands almost
immediately from below. He fastened the light into its cradle and
swiveled it towards the shore, projecting its powerful beam
through the slatted shutters to illuminate the area beside the ship.
Übermann shaded his eyes from the glare like a nocturnal
creature suddenly exposed to light. Frail and gaunt, the old
scientist was practically creaking with age, a reanimated corpse
struggling against the bonds of rigor mortis.
Kerner frowned with disgust, incensed that such a pathetic
being—a scientist, no less—could oust a ranking military official
for command of such an important operation. “You are looking
well today, Doktor.” he patronized with cool dispassion. “Though
in your condition, I might prescribe new leadership for this
endeavor.”
Detecting the snide pleasure in his voice, Übermann spurned
him with a glare of hatred magnified by his thick glasses. “Save
your breath, Klaus, because we just may need it down here. I have
much to accomplish without listening to your petty jealousy. Now
move aside.” He brushed past Kerner dismissively 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 with that box! That’s expensive radio
equipment!” Wilhelm scolded the burly chief mechanic from the
tower.
“Aye aye, Herr Kaleun!” The muscular sailor threw a gruff
salute at the captain, and then gave the crate a vindictive kick after
Wilhelm’s gaze moved aft to supervise a trio of crewmen
extracting a portable Klieg light from the torpedo loading hatch.
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Sophia frowned at the stenciled crate. “Why do you need a
radio? To play Mozart for atmosphere while you pillage the last
remaining wonder of the world?”
Übermann indulged her humor with a sickly smile. “The city is
quite extensive, and we must locate the orichalcum with peak
efficiency.” On his command, two soldiers pried open the crate and
unpacked a high-frequency radio console, placing it on the table.
One of the smaller boxes yielded a clunky backpack with a
telephone handset mounted on the side.
“For that purpose we have the very latest in communication
technology available.” He lifted the canvas pack to show her. “This
network of portable transmitters will be used to coordinate our
expedition, and eventually mobilize troops on the battlefield as
well; a revolution in logistical warfare.”
Kerner examined the radio pack with satisfaction. “Very
impressive, Doktor. I approve.”
“I hardly need your approval,” Übermann replied absently,
extending a collapsible antenna from the console.
“The portable telephone, surely the wave of the future!”
They 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, the blond kid was garbed in a natty blue
knit sweater, dirty corduroy pants, and the same thick leather boots
worn by his fellow crewmen.
“Thank you, Mr. Schulte. We are indebted to your superb
navigational skills.” Übermann welcomed the radio officer with a
spindly handshake.
Kerner offered a salutary nod. “Yes, without a doubt your
expertise contributed to the success of our mission today. The
Fatherland is proud of you.”
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.”
“Indeed it is. Now establish our communication center
immediately so that we may begin.” Kerner gave Sophia’s
flashlight to the young technician, who promptly set to work
calibrating the console’s frequency to the array of radio backpacks
laid out neatly beside the first.
Holtz returned from the U-boat carrying an olive-colored wool
jacket with brass buttons embossed with the Kriegsmarine anchor.
Sophia accepted the coat without a word of gratitude and shrugged
it on, surprised to find that it was a near perfect fit.
“A suitable garment for our foreign advisor. I hope it is to your
liking,” Kerner said.
5

DALE DASSEL
Sophia buttoned the coat with an odious expression, as if it was
a dead animal skin. “Well, if gas chamber green is the height of
fascist fashion this year, then I guess I’ll have to suffer it.”
“You over-privileged Americans are the most ungrateful swine
in the world,” he sniffed arrogantly. “Someday we will benefit
humanity by destroying your country.”
“Go screw yourself.”
Kerner raised his hand to strike her when Übermann snapped,
“Klaus! Leave her alone! Come over here at once!”
“Oh, look, your master’s calling,” Sophia cloyed, then turned
on her heel and strode away from the outraged Nazi.
Along the canal, SS troops and Orogeny crewmen emptied
crates of spoiled food into the water in anticipation of the
orichalcum stockpile to be harvested. Sophia took in the whole
scene at once: the spotlights illuminating the uniformed soldiers
and the Kriegsmarine sailors, now free of their iron prison, joking
cheerfully as they prepared to exploit the once-great civilization to
fuel Germany’s terrible war machine. It was a sickening spectacle,
and she wanted no part of it. With Kerner occupied at the radio
base, she wandered toward the inky gloom, anxious to explore
what remained of Atlantis before it was ruined forever.
Half a dozen steps into oblivion, the curtain of blackness
evaporated as a crystalline glow flooded the cavern. Sophia
covered her eyes and froze, inches away from tumbling over a
steep ledge that was invisible moments earlier. Luckily, the drop
was only a couple feet. She squinted back at the canal, thinking the
crew had finally gotten the spotlight working. The men on the U-
boat stood around their partially built Klieg, shading their eyes
from the radiance blazing through a broad archway separating the
pier from the inner chamber. The Nazis cautiously trickled through
the beveled vault with their guns drawn, chattering in excitement
as the artificial sunrise blossomed to dispel the darkness which had
shrouded the legendary realm for ages.
Sophia’s vision of a classical Grecian paradise withered at her
very first glimpse of Atlantis. The light beamed from a large
concentric spiral mounted on a plaque near the archway. The
ambient wheel cast its vivid halo on the surrounding bricks,
pushing back the shadows clinging to a sheet of drab masonry
stained with dark mold. Sophia was dismayed. No effort had been
made to beautify the raw, undressed blocks which formed the walls
of the expansive chamber. To call the place dreary was an
understatement. The decayed stone was downright ugly. The only
decoration that she could see in the oppressive cavern was the
swirled aquatic filigree etched into the archway that framed the
platform.
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Torsten joined the crowd of soldiers gathering at the threshold to
the crude, almost medieval chamber. “Christ, it looks like a
dungeon,” he muttered, sticking a cigarette in his mouth. He
flicked on his lighter when Kerner’s authoritative voice stopped
him cold.
“Fleischer, if you light that cigarette I will extinguish it with my
gun. Is that understood?”
“Jawohl, Mein Herr.” The intelligence agent grudgingly
discarded his unused smoke in a rectangular pit below the ledge.
“Hell…”
Kerner and Übermann joined Sophia at the ledge. The scientist
peered across the moldy chamber with a disagreeable frown. “How
primitive! Not at all how I imagined the splendor of the lost
kingdom,” he said with a trace of concern.
“For once I agree, Doktor. It is positively crude,” Kerner
conceded with open disgust. “Hardly the city of legend glorified by
Plato.”
“Indeed. But we must not judge the book by its cover. Surely
there are wonders awaiting us within. It is only a matter of time
until 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 angled ledge,
which spanned the vast threshold like a stage. The sleek, moldcreased
visage of some long-forgotten Atlantean deity screamed
silently from the antediluvian past. Its puckered amphibious face
belonged to a creature that she didn’t want to encounter in her
worst nightmares. Sophia pulled her gaze from the eerie mask to
survey the rest of the chamber.
On either end of the platform, a short flight of steps descended
to the floor, where a shallow trench crossed the room parallel to the
ledge and disappeared into a rubble-filled alcove beside the
glowing light coil. The collapsed tunnel seemed oddly familiar,
and a flash of déjà-vu told her that this cavern was the terminus of
the subway below Knossos. On the opposite wall, a rusty metal
barricade blocked access to the continuation of the track. The
chamber probably once functioned as the hub of the entire
Atlantean transit system, she figured. But with both passages
sealed, they weren’t going anywhere.
“Look, Herr Doktor, the gateway to Atlantis!” Kerner hissed,
pointing to an imposing bronze door atop a stone terrace across the
ditch.
“Magnificent!” Übermann clapped his hands in delight.
Above the rusty metal slab, another ambient coil spread its glow
on a totemic statue solemnly guarding the portal. Sophia had a jolt
of surprise when she realized that its face looked exactly like her
pendant.
7

DALE DASSEL
“What are we waiting for? Let’s open it,” Kerner said, moving
towards the stairs impatiently.
“Not so fast, Kerner. How soon you forget your place. We will
move on my command.” The old man turned back to the
communication center. “Officer Schulte, are we ready to proceed?”
The technician waved back from the transceiver console. “The
system is operational, sir. All radio packs are fully charged and
ready for use.”
“Excellent.” Übermann clapped his hands at the soldiers.
“Achtung! Form ranks at the canal for briefing.”
Nobody moved for one leaden moment. Übermann’s expression
soured as the Nazis deferred to Kerner, whose shrewd smirk told
him that the soldiers were trained to obey the Waffenrock of SS
leadership, not a white lab coat. Satisfied that his point was clear,
Kerner set the regiment into motion with a sharp gesture. The
clatter of guns echoed as the men obediently filed through the
archway and lined up for duty in the middle of the chamber.
Kerner strode past the steel-helmeted platoon. “Our goal is to
retrieve the orichalcum with peak efficiency and stockpile all that
we can take aboard. I want every crate filled to capacity.”
Übermann gathered his papers from the table and began
handing them out. “There will be four survey groups to map the
city, one per quadrant. Each team shall consist of a cartographer, a
scout, and a radioman. Carefully note the shape of each room with
all adjoining passageways, and mark your map accordingly. Since
time is of the essence, only generally accurate measurements will
suffice.”
Kerner organized the teams from a roster sheet while Schulte
distributed the radio packs to the soldiers. “Report any discovery
of interest immediately, and note the location.”
“Once your survey is complete, return to base camp and turn in
your map to be compiled with the others,” continued Übermann.
A hand went up in the front, begging permission to speak. “How
big is this place?”
“According to my estimate, the city is approximately 3.5
kilometers in circumference. Your transmitter packs should
function with adequate range, but only radio when necessary to
conserve battery power.”
Kerner turned to address the sailors lined up on the pier, where
stacks of metal buckets were now piled alongside the empty crates.
“Prepare to load the mineral once we confirm the location of its
source. Großadmiral Raeder has promised your full cooperation on
behalf of the Kriegsmarine, and I expect nothing less.”
Wilhelm affirmed his compliance with a dour nod from the
bridge, clearly unhappy with the situation. Übermann noted his
disdain.
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Do not despair, Captain. This mission will benefit your
organization above all others.” He gestured grandly to the ship
resting low in the dark water. “Imagine U-boats powered by a
single orichalcum engine; a lifetime of performance without
refueling; no more need for expensive oil or diesel fuel. An entire
fleet of such advanced U-boats will be at your command while the
rest of the world toils with primitive internal combustion engines.
The future is within reach, Herr Wilhelm, and we will bring it to
you.”
The submariners cheered at their prospective role in history,
eager to assist the Nazi mission after the rousing speech.
“I’ll contact the Nobel Prize committee when I get back to New
York,” Sophia wisecracked. Having patiently endured the briefing,
she was ready to get moving. “Okay, now that the pep-talk is over,
does anyone have a camera?” The soldiers exchanged uneasy
looks. “Are you kidding me? This is the greatest discovery in
history and nobody brought a camera!?” She tossed up her hands in
exasperation at their blatant shortsightedness. “How can we
document an entire civilization without a camera?!”
Kerner’s glare could have melted ice. He, too, had assumed all
of the essential photographic equipment was included in the
expedition manifest prior to departure. “Agent Sankt,” he said
calmly.
Karl stepped forward, hesitant. “Yes, Herr Oberst?”
“Go back to the ship and find a camera for our American tourist
if it makes her happy.”
“No. We have wasted enough time already,” Übermann
declared. “Anthropology is not the purpose of this expedition, Miss
Hapgood. Science and technology will scatter the dust of history as
we march towards the future. Atlantis is dead. Now let it rest in
peace.”
“Until you vultures pick the bones clean,” Sophia said darkly.
“Quite so,” Kerner agreed. He primly smoothed his tunic,
adjusted the leather cross brace, and surveyed the assembled SS
troop with a keen gaze. “Today we are opening a new chapter in
history, for the glory of the Fatherland and the Führer. It is our
duty and supreme destiny as soldiers of the Reich, to reclaim our
ancestral homeland and the power that rightfully belongs to us.”
He stiffened and extended a rigid salute. “Heil Hitler.”
The squad returned the oath in unison, their voices echoing
loudly throughout the chamber. Sophia shivered at the totalitarian
display, wishing that Indy was there with her now more than ever.
Corralling her between himself and Übermann, Kerner led the
stormtroopers into the subway chamber and across the track to the
remains of a staircase crumbled at the base of the opposite
platform. Kerner, with typical aplomb, managed to climb the
9

DALE DASSEL
mildewed rocks with dignity. Sophia scrambled up next, ignoring
the Nazi’s proffered hand, while the frail scientist was raised with
the help of two soldiers. The trio gathered at the heavy bronze door
as the rest of the SS division scaled the rocky incline and crowded
onto the terrace behind them.
Kerner removed his glove and touched the burnished metal with
reverence. “The timeline of man’s history on earth began here,
with the pure race...” The corroded slab was embossed with the
nightmarish image of a four-armed creature with a squid-like head.
“What do you think, Miss Hapgood? An ancient sea god,
perhaps?”
“I thought this wasn’t about anthropology,” she glowered.
Her snarky reply went unchallenged as Kerner found a more
pressing concern. “This door has no handles. How do we open it?”
Sophia sized up the brooding sentry which bore the same
enigmatic likeness as her pendant. A coppery gleam at the base of
the statue drew her attention to a keystone pedestal like the one
they had found at Knossos. The spindle post was capped by a small
mask with a bronze-gilded nosepiece that glowed in the ambient
coil above the door. In a flash of insight, she realized that the portal
was made of orichalcum, which had attracted the amber compass
from outside the cave. Sophia kept silent. If Kerner knew he would
probably have the door pried from its hinges and lashed to the U-
boat for transport back to Germany, and she wasn’t giving the
Nazis any more help than they could threaten out of her.
“The keystones, Herr Kerner. We have the answer in our
hands.” Übermann reached into his lab coat and retrieved
Sternhart’s copy of the Hermocrates.
“Yes, yes, the guidebook. I’d forgotten.” Kerner snapped his
fingers impatiently. “Bring me the stones.” Torsten stepped
forward with Indy’s rucksack and he took out the plate-sized
sunstone and its smaller companion.
Übermann frowned as he stacked the disks on the spindle. “The
final gate requires all three stones.”
The commander’s jaw clenched in anger. “Yes, I told you this
already. The worldstone was lost in the labyrinth. But perhaps we
can unlock the door with only two keys. Otherwise we will blast it
open.” Sophia cringed at her perceptiveness, but fate mercifully
intervened before he could carry out his drastic plan.
“Herr Colonel! I found something!” One of the troops pushed
urgently through the crowd, holding up a flat, wheel-shaped stone
only slightly larger than his palm.
Kerner snatched away the disk in disbelief. “Where did you get
this?”
The soldier pointed back to the crumbled stairs below the ledge.
“I found it just now, lying in the rubble as I was climbing up.”
10

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Kerner examined the relic, bemused. “The final key to
Atlantis.” He waved the stone before the stunned psychic. “Under
the doormat, as it were. You see, Doktor? I told you destiny is on
our side.”
Taking the stone, Übermann peered at the primitive engravings
of the temple and volcano spaced amid the swirling waves. “Yes,
this is clearly the worldstone that Plato wrote about. Very good.”
He placed the disk atop the moonstone and referenced the book
again. “Now according to the text, Atlantis can only be entered
when darkness ruled—”
Before he could act, the spindle suddenly depressed with a
sharp click! The eyes flashed green as the tiny mask nestled flush
with the upper keystone. Everyone stared in amazement as the
disks began to spin automatically, each wheel rapidly counterrotating
until the elemental symbols aligned themselves to the horn
icon carved on the pedestal. The sentry’s eyes glowed in approval
and the bronze door split open with an ominous groan, folding into
the ancient darkness. The soldiers murmured with excitement and
jostled for a better view.
“Now our mission truly begins,” Übermann proclaimed
triumphantly. “Perhaps Fräulein Hapgood would like the honor of
leading us? She is the reason we are here, after all.”
Sophia froze before the yawning door, paralyzed with
apprehension. Her fists clenched tightly, steeling for the anticipated
flood of psychic turmoil to sweep her away, but nothing stronger
than a wash of cool, musty air seeped from the dark void. She
relaxed with a deep sigh of relief. The worst was over now.
Everything would be fine from now on.
Her tension was oblivious to Kerner, who was aggravated by
yet another problem. “Verdammt, the stones will not come loose.”
“What?” Übermann said.
He wrenched the worldstone deftly but it remained locked on
the recessed post. “See for yourself.”
Übermann pried the smallest disk in futility. It might as well
have been cemented to the pedestal. “Nevermind the stones. The
door is open, so we no longer need them. Let’s proceed now and
see what treasures this sunken museum has to offer.”
Kerner switched on a flashlight and stalked into the blackness,
leaving his aged colleague behind. Sophia hurried after him and
immediately found a wall blocking her path. She touched the damp
stone in confusion. The Nazi had simply disappeared. “Come this
way.” His bold silhouette gestured from a wedge-shaped opening
to the right. Sophia glided through the portal and stumbled into a
wide stone corridor divided by a flooded subway track that
stretched away into infinity. Across the hall stood another angular
doorway identical to the one she’d just emerged from. A moment
11

DALE DASSEL
later, Übermann’s regiment clattered out of the tunnel and splashed
into the ditch. Their eager expressions registered instant disgust.
Now that they were actually inside Atlantis, Sophia was glad
that nobody had a camera. The state of decay was appalling.
Moisture gleamed like oil on every surface. Along the barren
passageway, each pulsing light coil spilled its pool of soft
ambience on the mildewed floor, illuminating the dull, greenish
pallor of neglect. The stagnant air was chilly and damp, thick with
the bitter, earthy scent of mushrooms and raw cucumbers. The
place reminded her of a moldy aquarium.
Kerner measured the desolate passage with a flinty gaze. “This
is the super-civilization you spoke of, Doktor?” he disdained.
“Crude, primitive. Where are the wonders, the technology of the
ancients?”
“They are here, Herr Colonel,” the scientist assured him as he
patiently unrolled his charts. “If you have the vision to see them.”
“All I see is a fucking sewer,” Torsten sneered.
“Oh, shut up,” Sophia groaned wearily.
“Dreams die hard, don’t they, Fräulein?” he taunted her.
“You’re an asshole.” All of the soldiers laughed at the
vindictive exchange.
“Thank you, Miss Hapgood, but I am capable of handling
disciplinary matters,” Kerner said. “And I can assure you that
Agent Fleischer will keep his opinions to himself if he values his
security rank.” Torsten acknowledged the threat with a restrained
nod. “Good. Now then, Doktor, how shall we proceed?”
“Look at the map, Herr Colonel. 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.”
Sophia glanced at the diagram and saw the concentric layout of
Atlantis superimposed on the shape of an atom, with dense
calculations scribbled in the margins. She’d already known that
they were on the city’s outermost ring before Übermann revealed
his theory.
While the flooded subway track appeared to needle off in a
straight line until the gray walls blended into infinity, it was just an
illusion. The corridor did follow the curvature of Atlantis’
legendary shape, though its broad scale was subtle from their
stationary perspective. If she walked only a few hundred yards
down the hall, the Nazis would vanish from sight. Sophia wished
they actually would disappear and leave her to explore the city
alone, but she knew it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
“I have calculated that one kilogram of orichalcum is equivalent
to tenfold the amount of uranium. Even a fraction of the mineral
supply in this city will render our mines in Joachimsthal obsolete.”
12

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Kerner was annoyed by the prattle. “Yes, yes, but how do we
find it?” he groused. The soldiers were also growing restless,
shuffling impatiently in the dank hallway, anxious to begin their
important mission.
Hans Übermann adjusted his glasses with a tedious sigh. “The
nucleus is located at the precise center of the atom, Colonel. Every
schoolchild knows this. But science has revealed that splitting the
atom will unlock its infinite potential. Proceed directly to the
middle of the city, and there we will find a nucleus of
unimaginable power.”
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life,”
Sophia scoffed.
Übermann canted his bony head in surprise. “Really, Miss
Hapgood? As a student of Atlantis, certainly you must have seen
how the revolving keystones function like the charged particles
within the atom.” He traced the mapped circuit with a crooked
finger. “Consider how the curvature of particle trajectory is
proportional to the charge, but inversely proportional to its
momentum. Atlantis exemplifies this principle in stone. The circuit
of these ancient walls allows the atomic particle to transit
indefinitely with continuous acceleration. It is an engine unto
itself.”
“This is all very fascinating Doktor, but we are wasting time.”
Klaus Kerner motioned to the soldiers. “Survey teams, follow this
hallway for one kilometer, then enter the city and begin your
work.”
“Wait! Remember we are at the bottom of the ocean, and this
city is pressurized from the outside,” Übermann warned. “Do not
fire your weapons under any circumstance. Is that clear?” A dozen
steel helmets bobbed in unison. “Good. You are dismissed.”
The regiment split up, heading down the flooded track in both
directions. Sophia relaxed as the hollow plick! plick! plick! of their
footsteps receded into the distance. Only the two Abwehr agents
remained behind. Her relief was immediately replaced by the eerie
sense of desolation that permeated the vacant tunnel. The
unsettling chill seeped into her body like an ice crystal in every
pore. She tucked her hands into the armpits of her jacket and
hugged herself against the cold.
Heat. That’s what she needed most.
The sharp-featured blond Abwehr agent gave her a devious
smile as if he’d read her mind: I can warm you up, Fräulein. She
turned away from him and wandered over to the nearest light coil
while Kerner and Übermann pored over the map, discussing the
fanciful technologies they would find in Atlantis: telephones
capable of transmitting images, X-ray goggles, memory metal, and
a score of other outlandish devices. The physicist confidently
13

DALE DASSEL
predicted that Germany would be using the Atlantean technology
within a year. Tired of their egotistical ranting, Sophia studied the
glowing light. She had been surrounded by Nazis since leaving the
U-boat, and this was the first chance she had to see it up close.
She had never seen an artificial light of such brilliance before.
The intertwined filaments reminded her of an oversized stovetop
burner. Gleaming like crystal, the swirled cables exuded a platinum
glow that seemed to brighten in her presence. Sophia watched in
fascination as a bright pulse traced the labyrinthine pathways,
flowing from the outer spiral to the center of the golden vortex.
When the light streams converged, the display began anew,
endlessly repeating the sinuous pattern. The effect was
mesmerizing.
Liquid light, she marveled, holding her palms near the coil. But
the ambience offered no warmth. Just like her captors. The coil
dimmed when she stepped away from the wall, and she realized
with amazement that it was sensitive to motion. Brilliant and
unheard-of in the ancient world. Or the modern one, for that
matter.
“Note the lack of wires,” Übermann pointed out, stepping over
to admire the display.
“Maybe they’re inside the wall,” she reasoned.
“Nonsense. Whoever heard of such a thing?” Kerner sneered in
derision.
“Perhaps the lights are powered by orichalcum like the statue,”
theorized Übermann. “Fluid energy. Simply astonishing. This is
but a taste of things to come, Colonel, I promise you.”
The fact that the city still had functional power was nothing
short of a miracle, but not half as amazing as the light coil itself.
While Sophia had always believed Atlantis was a center of
unparalleled knowledge, it was jarring to find evidence that a
prehistoric civilization had achieved mastery of electricity ages
before the modern world. She was intrigued, anxious to see other
examples of Atlantean technology, and Kerner shared her
enthusiasm judging from his look of unbridled avarice.
“Then let’s find the power station, Herr Doktor. Split the atom,
as you say.”
“Ja. Victory goes to the bold,” the frail octogenarian declared,
clutching the nuclear diagram. He tugged his thick spectacles
firmly in place and set off towards the doorway across the shallow
track.
“Fräulein.” Kerner made a sweeping gesture, indicating for
Sophia to go next. She gave him a dirty look and followed
Übermann through the door with the Nazi on her heels. Torsten
quickly trailed after them without waiting for his comrade, who
14

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
wrestled the bulky radio pack onto his shoulders and struggled to
keep up with the group.
***
The design was impossible, Indy marveled, tracing the stone
doorframe with his fingers. Each spiral wave was cut with razor
precision, seamlessly flowing along the robust lintel in a
continuous pattern 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 in surprise to see the Nazi scowling at him over
the map that he was sketching. The cartographer’s name had
slipped Indy’s memory since the briefing, and he faltered for 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 was beginning to understand Sophia’s obsession.
The story of Atlantis was universally appealing, and he had to
admit that 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 that the city wasn’t
pulverized to rubble between the subduction of tectonic plates
during the ages of geologic upheaval that ravaged the planet since
Atlantis had last seen daylight.
But Poseidon’s legendary empire was now a place of decay and
ruin; the moldy bones of an extinct city, doomed by its own
wickedness. In spite of the drab, utilitarian architecture, Indy
discerned a variety of subtle details that provoked his academic
curiosity. The pyramid-shaped doors exhibited a vaguely Egyptian
quality, while the horned sentry had the angular, pseudo-Mayan
visage of Sophia’s pendant. The glowing light coils universally
represented the sun to countless ancient cultures, from the Celts to
the Anasazi, and underscoring all of these traits was a prominent
Minoan influence. Everything was fused together here in a bizarre
unity that defied classification. Indy was convinced that there must
be a connection somehow, a visible evolution to explain how these
15

DALE DASSEL
disparate cultural elements were joined in this remarkable
civilization, the missing prologue to human history.
“Well quit lagging. Kerner will chew 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, the wiry blond radioman, hefted
his transmitter pack with enthusiasm. “How did we get so lucky to
be hand-picked for a special 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 sightseeing
trip.”
The radioman threw him an accusing glance and tromped across
the barren chamber. Indy saddled his field pack and followed them.
He was anxious to go after Sophia, but first he had to get rid of his
companions.
Based on the conversations he’d overheard aboard the ship,
Indy knew that the exploration squad had been 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. Disbelief and speculation was rampant among the troops
lined up to disembark, 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,
thousands of feet 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 in their presence. Indy nearly
bumped into the Nazis, who had abruptly stopped to gape at the
remarkable scene before them. Unlike the previous empty
chambers they’d surveyed, this one served a purpose. Set against
the wall on the other side was a large stone table displaying the
remains of a sentry statue. The men 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 recessed into the ceiling above. The sentry’s thick legs
stood on the floor at the end of the table, while its head sat upright
near the body.
16

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 devoid of
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, hinged at
the elbows with an elaborate mechanical joint. The presence of an
internal skeleton was a revelation to the explorers.
Schelker was beside himself with excitement. “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 exclaimed,
peering 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.
“This was a workshop,” he realized aloud as he gazed over the
dismembered sentry. Rivulets of rust stained the front of the stone
slab, as if the robot had bled to death during its final surgery. The
Germans 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
behind 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 both staggering and sobering, and Indy was
humbled in a way he’d never experienced before.
The squad leader frowned when he suddenly noticed the look of
intense scrutiny on Indy’s wonderstruck features. “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.
The soldier’s 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.
“Jawohl, Herr Captain.” Indy set his field pack on the floor and
knelt to unbuckle it, glancing around for a weapon to use. His eyes
settled on the rusty chain dangling from the table, inches away.
Reaching into the bag, he quickly 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 and he
17

DALE DASSEL
dropped to the floor with a cry of pain, clutching his wrist in
agony.
“It’s the American spy!” The radioman shed his backpack and
belatedly reached for his own pistol. Indy jerked the chain back for
another strike, but the momentum of the swing 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 desperate punch to the jaw in the process. The hit was a
blessing in disguise, because 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.
“Here, catch!” Indy said, hurling the helmet back at him.
He raised his arms, deflecting the blunt missile. “But Kerner
shot you! I saw it!” he protested.
“His aim was a little off, but mine isn’t.” Indy sprang forward
and delivered a swift kick to the face that put the Nazi out cold on
the moldy stone floor.
“Nice try, pal,” Indy huffed in exhaustion. He 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 moldy 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 maze of dismal
stone, where time blurred into a monotonous sludge of existence as
every turn opened into another vacant corridor glistening in the
pellucid light. Or, more often, a dead end. Occasionally the drab
masonry was disrupted by the presence of a bronze grating, but her
gloom deepened as Übermann’s map-in-progress grew into a
rambling network of passages arranged with complete disregard
for symmetry. Her romantic illusions firmly crushed, Sophia was
now convinced that Plato’s once-legendary city was nothing but an
empty, aimless labyrinth of mold and rust, as dead in spirit as her
dreams of Atlantean glory.
The abysmal scenery sat equally unwell with Kerner, whose
tedium reached its peak as they followed an endless tunnel of
18

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
mildew-skinned stone that reeked of decay. “This wandering is
pointless, Doktor. How much time do you intend to waste
searching for this passage to the interior that clearly does not
exist?”
“Calm yourself, Colonel. I have no doubt that this is the city of
the immortals.” Übermann pored over his map with deliberate
care, methodically sketching the course of the hallway without
concern. “The Atlanteans may have boldly displayed their atomic
knowledge in plain sight, but they were clever enough to make the
power inaccessible to the unworthy. But I am confident we will
soon decipher the way.”
“What the hell is that thing?” Torsten exclaimed, pointing ahead
to an orange tube-like creature trailing a patch of slime across the
floor. The prickly mass inched forward, oblivious to their presence,
until 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 bony cucumber against the stone in a burst
of tangerine jelly. Karl winced and Sophia quickly looked away.
“Yes. Harmless indeed,” mused the agent, scraping his boot against
the wall.
“Enough!” Kerner fumed. He turned to Sophia with renewed
interest. “Herr Doktor, it occurs to me that in all of the recent
excitement we have neglected to use the best resource for locating
our 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 at the prospect. “An excellent idea. I
should have realized it sooner had we not been so preoccupied in
our task.”
“Hey, I didn’t volunteer for this cesspool survey squad. You
kidnapped me,” she reminded him. Torsten snickered at the
outburst. Sophia shot an annoyed glance at him. “Shut up!”
Rolling up his map, the old physicist eyed her with fresh
potential. “Now, my dear, we will see if you are as gifted as our
own Fräulein Orsic, who is a mystic like yourself. She believes
that one’s hair length is the key to astral viewing powers,
functioning as a cosmic antenna of sorts.” He circled her keenly as
he spoke, admiring her scarlet waves like a valuable jewel. “Such
lovely red hair must surely enhance your spiritual connection to
this place. I hope it is adequate for our purposes.”
19

DALE DASSEL
“I’m not a metal detector. The power of Second Sight requires
focus and concentration, like it matters to you people.”
“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 the Nazi 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 and brought her fingertips to her temples
with a sigh, concentrating. The room was silent as she turned
slowly in place, letting her senses flow through the chilly air, down
the empty corridors in every direction. The place was a spiritual
vacuum, devoid of psychic energy. Not even the ghosts of
Atlanteans roamed the bowels of the dead civilization. Their
absence confirmed her long-held belief that the inhabitants of the
doomed city had ample warning to flee before Atlantis sank.
Dowsing the ether for a prolonged moment, Sophia 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 nobody made a sound. 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 appease them.
“Well?” Kerner said impatiently. “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 of this?”
“Absolutely,” she lied without even flinching.
In truth, Sophia sensed nothing at all. The city was a dead zone,
and her attempt to detect any kind of spiritual essence was like
swimming in a dense fog with a thick shroud covering her eyes.
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.
20

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“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, and 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
chamber with towering ornate walls. Twin staircases climbed the
face of the ziggurat as it rose toward the ceiling in an elegant slope.
Nestled within the stepped tiers was a complex array of wheels
joined to driving arms, surmounted by a row of compact vertical
pipes. At the summit, a pair of curving funnels arched inward
above a bronze cauldron flanked by thick granite pillars that braced
the soaring roof. Decorative, cat-like statues perched at the corner
of each tier like gargoyles with mouths grossly agape. The whole
assembly reminded Sophia of a primitive pipe organ built on an
ungodly scale.
The monument was guarded by a broad-faced demon crouching
inside of a trapezoidal stone archway at the base of the temple.
Unsurprisingly, the statue wore the same severe features as
Sophia’s pendant. Its mouth yawned open as if preparing to drink
from a large copper bowl held in its oversize hands. The squat
figure was flanked by large bronze disks recessed into the vaulted
gate, adorned with carved solar and lunar symbols, while the
wheels bore the image of a primitive horned being.
More details emerged as they pulled their awestruck eyes from
the hulking edifice to the room itself. The light coils burning along
the walls of the great auditorium lit an arcade of Nur-Ab-Sal panels
gazing imperiously down upon the ivory temple. The gallery of
stoic masks was crowned with a band of molding embellished with
the ubiquitous running spiral before the walls resumed their climb
to the ceiling high above.
Sophia Hapgood swallowed her pounding heart as she
approached the pyramid with a euphoria so intense that the psychic
felt as if she might vaporize if she moved any closer.
“What the Hohenzollern is that?” Torsten goggled in open
amazement.
Karl eased his heavy radio pack to the ground. “It looks like a
pyramid.”
Sophia stepped closer, intrigued. “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.”
21

DALE DASSEL
“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 her. “You are the expert, after all.”
Sophia visually assessed the pyramid, scaling its machine-laden
courses to the bulbous kettle at the peak. The colossal monument
struck her as utilitarian, lacking the aesthetical qualities of a shrine
or a site of worship, yet it was built with the angular symmetry of
the Mayan pyramids in Tikal. It didn’t make sense until she noticed
a stout vertical pipe hidden in the shadows behind the openmouthed
statue. The grandiose structure, for all of its elaborate
complexity, had a simple function, she realized.
“It’s an orichalcum refinery.”
“An incredible deduction.” Kerner scooped a handful of
tarnished beads from the troll’s dish and 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 proclamation with an oily smile.
“Would you care to enlighten us as to the source of the raw
material?”
“Probably a mine somewhere,” Sophia answered vaguely, still
mesmerized by the pyramid. Then a jarring revelation shattered the
spell of quiet grandeur, a subtle detail that was so obvious she’d
been blind to it. “Damn…” she whispered, running her hand across
the pale stone.
“What is it?” Kerner said anxiously.
She took a few steps back for a better view of the sprawling
structure. “The whole thing is solid. Look at it.”
“Gott im Himmel,” he exclaimed, realizing the magnitude of her
discovery. Each course of the temple was hewn from a single piece
of rock, unlike the millions of blocks used in traditional pyramid
construction. He stroked the polished stone in wonder. “And look
at this surface, like glass! How on earth is this 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 that she can, as well. Now that our
psychic has proven herself, it should be an easy matter to locate the
mother lode, yes?”
Sophia freed her arm from his skeletal grip. “Not exactly.”
22

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 would lead them to the orichalcum, Kerner would be in
her debt. If not, she would certainly die. She felt like a traitor for
being in the Nazis’ presence, let alone helping to locate a source of
power that would eventually be turned against countries helpless to
resist.
It was too late now. Everything was out of her hands, regardless
of what happened. Without Nur-Ab-Sal’s guidance, her abilities
were practically nonexistent, and that was her only source of hope.
Closing her eyes, Sophia took a shallow breath and cleared her
mind. She 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 with desperation
and enhanced her focus until it came to her all at once, vividly
clear, a whimsical sepia-toned image 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 whether to simply lie to Kerner about it. But she
couldn’t keep it up forever. Sooner or later her luck would run out.
“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 can’t seem to
penetrate the astral veil tonight.”
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 off his critique 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, and your paltry deception has only
served to delay the inevitable. It is a simple matter to find the
orichalcum on our own, using the key that we have 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 was
going to run like hell and get lost in the maze of halls before the
23

DALE DASSEL
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 telephone handset
emitted a shrill crackle of static.
“Please repeat.” He listened for a moment and then beckoned
Übermann. “It’s Schulte at base camp with an important message
for you, Herr Doktor.”
Kerner let his hand drop as Übermann took the unexpected call,
and then stepped away from Sophia when the scientist gestured
impatiently for him.
“Report your position.” Übermann consulted his map and
scribbled some coordinates on it. “Very good. Stay there and do
not touch anything until we arrive.”
The Germans conversed in hushed excitement before Kerner
took up the telephone handset. “Achtung. All teams report to the
southwest quarter immediately. That is an order.” He hung up the
phone and regarded Sophia with a triumphant expression. “What a
most fortunate turn of events. Just as your usefulness has expired,
we have located the prize we seek.”
“They found the orichalcum already?” she said, incredulous
because she herself didn’t believe the ore existed.
“Indeed. But that is no longer any of your concern.” He snapped
his fingers at the blond Abwehr who had been shadowing Sophia
closely since they had arrived. “Agent Fleischer. Since Miss
Hapgood’s assistance is no longer required—”
“It never was,” she interjected.
“She is now a prisoner of the Reich. Take her to the detention
chamber that we found earlier, and make sure that she is very
comfortable.”
Torsten stepped forward and pinned Sophia’s arms firmly
behind her back. “I will indeed, Herr Oberst. You may count on it.”
Sophia gave Kerner a nasty smile as Torsten led her away. “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. And you can
take that to the bank.”
“I don’t believe the words 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, unfazed. “It is unfortunate
that our relationship was not a more productive one, Madame.
However it is quite a fitting epitaph to spend your final days in the
kingdom that you so longed to discover. Enjoy your stay in
Atlantis. Auf Wiedersehen.” He touched the brim of his cap, and
Torsten marched her away.
24

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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?”
Torsten 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 the admiration in the agent’s voice, and gave him a
sharp look. “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 fine 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. The Abwehr,
suddenly anxious now, prodded Sophia 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, and 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. Then the meaning of his words finally sank in, and
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.”
25

DALE DASSEL
Beyond the abrupt semantic shift, Sophia noticed the fine
physiognomy that 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 the hell do you want with
me?”
“I’m sorry if you find my desire unappealing,” she said,
unbuttoning her jacket to reveal her petite bust, tightly restrained
by a lacy white 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 that she could evaporate into the moldy
stone to escape from the lustful Nazi.
“Your imprisonment here doesn’t have to be so unpleasant if
you give me a chance. In fact, I might even let you go free if you
satisfy me.” She reached up and stroked Sophia’s face with a cool,
trembling hand. “You are so exotic, my flame-haired American
vixen... I want to count every delicious freckle with my tongue.”
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 stronger, and her frantic resistance
only seemed to encourage her. 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, and whispered, “Show me the
light. I want to see it.” Her hand plunged into Sophia’s pants and
cupped her pelvis greedily.
Consumed by white-hot rage, Sophia bashed her forehead into
the agent’s nose. “Agh—!” Tristen stumbled back, stunned by the
impact, and 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 Abwehr dropped to the floor, blind with pain. Blood
gushed from her nose, staining her open 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 nearest wall,
shaking with adrenaline. Her stomach churned in a sour ball of ice.
26

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 and she could
think clearly again.
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’s
help anymore. She could do it herself.
Staring across the dungeon at the door, Sophia mentally
repelled the Nazis, 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.
Her plan was going to work. It had to.
Just as freedom seemed to be within reach, a Nazi soldier
suddenly appeared in the door, blocking her only 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.
27

19
GATEWAY TO ETERNITY
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 like lightning. 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 that 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.”

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Indy gave her a tight hug. “I promise I won’t leave you again.”
He looked past her and noticed 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?”
She gave him a pointed stare. “Speak for yourself, Herr Jones.”
Indy glanced down at his stolen uniform. He’d been so
preoccupied with trying to find Sophia that he had completely
forgotten about it. “Hey, I wasn’t planning on joining up. I just
needed 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
detention chamber, leaving her alone in the corridor.
Sophia leaned against the wall and crossed her arms with an
impatient sigh, but she couldn’t suppress her grin. It felt good to be
back with Indy again. When he was with her, Sophia felt like she
could take on the world. He might not perfect, she conceded, but
he was the perfect companion. Atlantis was the discovery of a
lifetime, and Indiana Jones was the only person that she would
rather share the experience with.
“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. “Last time I
checked, the Abwehr doesn’t recruit women. I wonder if Kerner
knows that his right-hand man is a double agent?”
“I don’t even want to talk about it.” Sophia looked at the
unfinished map, anxious to change the subject. “What’s our plan?”
“First we need to find a way out of here.” He turned 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 guided tour right now.
In case you’ve forgotten, this place is crawling with—”
2

DALE DASSEL
“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, obviously taking an unauthorized shore
leave. The tall, muscular crewman was decked out in his
Kriegsmarine cap and green fatigues. A thin, sweat-stained tank
top defined his massive chest like an anatomical Renaissance
sculpture.
Indy slumped wearily, deflating. “Why is there always a big
one?” Sophia stepped back as the brute approached them
suspiciously.
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 gunbelt. To the German, he probably looked like a
typical western movie character. Hoping to avoid a confrontation,
Indy decided to play innocent and see how far it got him. 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 before things got out of hand. Putting on his
most winning smile, Indy ran his fingers along the storm flap in a
showy manner, as if he were exhibiting a new automobile to a
prospective buyer. “Ah… yeah, our jackets are made with durable,
full-grain cowhide and superior British 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. “Sprechen sie kein
Deutsch, kleiner Mann?”
Indy rattled on, ignoring the request to speak German. “This
Luftwaffe bomber style also features a hidden pocket for top-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, when Indy suddenly
drove a hard right punch to his head.
Far from being one of his patented haymakers, the dirty shot
was the best he could manage. 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.
3

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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!”
“Probably should have said German tailoring,” Indy muttered,
slurring the words through rubbery lips numb with pain. Horst spat
out his cigarette, preparing to get down to business. He reached
down and grabbed a fistful of shirt that included Indy’s satchel
strap. The dizzy archaeologist tried to curl his hands into fists as he
was lifted like a rag doll, but his motor coordination was dulled,
and they refused to tighten. The sailor whirled him around and let
go. Indy slammed against the moldy brick wall, blinded by a white
flash of pain, and crumpled to the ground again.
“Indy!” Sophia’s concerned voice echoed from somewhere
across the universe.
The furious giant hauled him to his feet again for another round
of pummeling. Knocked nearly senseless, Indy saw two blurry,
ham-sized fists orbiting his face. It was a curious mystery since the
German was holding him up with one hand, until Indy realized that
he was literally seeing double. Warm blood dribbled from the
corner of his mouth. He blinked hard, trying to focus through the
persistent 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. Indiana Jones
flinched, steeling himself for the hit.
“Hey!” A sharp whistle cut the air. Horst froze, his fist poised in
mid-air, gawking in stunned amazement. His iron grip dissolved,
and that was all Indy needed. He drew back like a coiled spring
and 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, his jaw dislocated. Out like a
light.
“What the hell?” Indy looked at the fallen giant in
bewilderment.
“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. Sophia
wiped the blood from his lip and then planted a soft kiss on his
mouth. “I think you’ll live.”
4

DALE DASSEL
“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’m surprised he didn’t recognize
me,” Indy said. “I played cards with this guy on the sub.”
“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 quickly matched the crimson shade of
her hair. “Ha-ha, I’m laughing.” They pulled the crewman behind
the stone partition, where Indy began to unlace his boots. “What
are you doing now?”
“Making sure Hansel and Gretel don’t sound the alarm when
they wake up,” he replied, binding the mariner’s hands together.
Indy folded him into a fetal position and looped the cord below his
feet, then tied the German’s bootlaces around the rope that secured
his wrists.
“That’s not going to hold him for long,” she judged as he pulled
the knots tight.
“Maybe not, but it’ll slow them down for awhile.” Indy ducked
into the cell and repeated the process on the unconscious female
officer. He pulled the gate shut and resumed their study of the map
by the light coil near the dungeon exit.
Only the southwest quadrant of Atlantis, which Indy’s group
had surveyed, was relatively complete. The rest of it was a large
blank. “I don’t know why you keep looking at that stupid map. It’s
useless on this side of the city,” Sophia complained.
“Because it’s the only reference available. Why not ask Nur-
Ab-Sal for directions? This is his neighborhood, right?”
“He’s still out of touch,” she said quickly, then added in a
lighthearted tone, “So I guess it’s back to searching the oldfashioned
way?”
“Looks like it,” he agreed. They left the dungeon and returned
to the hallway again.
Sophia surveyed the dreary stone passage with a hopeless
feeling. “This will take forever to explore,” she commiserated.
“We’re not here to explore,” Indy reminded her, tracing the map
with his finger to estimate distances based on his travels through
the city. “We need to find the orichalcum before Kerner does.”
“It’s too late. The Germans already know where it is, and
they’re probably loading it onto their sub right now.”
“Not really. I radioed off a set of fake coordinates before I came
after you. Right now Kerner and his goons are probably forming a
5

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
bucket brigade on the other side of the city.” He casually re-folded
the map, looking immensely pleased with himself.
Sophia’s devilish smirk vanished just as quickly as it formed.
“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.
“And just in the nick of time. 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. “Who?”
“The scientist working with Kerner.”
Indy turned right at the next corner, tracking along another
mold-fissured alley. “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.”
“You’re kidding. Germany must really be getting 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, Sophia recalled the near-fatal drama between
Kerner and Wilhelm just before they surfaced in the cave.
Indy laughed. “Who needs orichalcum for a bomb when they
can just stick Kerner in a sub and get the same effect?”
“It’s not funny, Indy. We have to diffuse that bomb before we
get on board, because that ship is the only way back to the
surface.”
“You think Kerner is just going to let us hitch a ride? He’d
probably shoot me on sight and fire my corpse out of the torpedo
tube just for good measure.”
“Got any better ideas?” she challenged him.
“I’m working on it.”
“That’s a ‘no’ if I ever heard one.” They turned another corner.
“There’s something I don’t understand. Where did Kerner find the
worldstone to open the door in the air lock?”
“I dropped it in the rubble when I was climbing the ledge with
the others. I figured somebody would spot it sooner or later,
otherwise he might’ve recognized me if we were stuck there for
too long.”
Sophia regarded Indy with fresh admiration. “Nice plan.”
“I have been doing this for awhile.”
“Say, how did you get here so fast? You showed up ten minutes
after we received your radio message.”
6

DALE DASSEL
“I took the outer hall around the city. There’s an entrance at
every quarter.”
“Don’t tell me that you ran the whole way.”
“I was worried about you,” he confessed.
She smiled with gratitude, touched by his concern. “Thanks.
I’m glad you came back for me.”
“If we get lost, we might as well do it together. Although you
seemed to be taking care of things okay before I showed up.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve never been so scared in my life.” The
hall made a left turn, straightened out for a length, then branched to
the right. The medium sighed wearily. “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.”
“Well he didn’t get any help out of me, that’s for damn sure.
They made me dowse for orichalcum, but I couldn’t get anything.
Serves him right, too.”
“You mean you lied to him.”
“No. I didn’t have to because I really can’t sense anything down
here. Without Nur-Ab-Sal’s guidance, I might as well use a metal
detector, because my awareness is shot.”
“You don’t sound very upset,” Indy observed.
“Actually, I’m relieved. I can hear myself think for once
without his voice in my head all the time.”
“Maybe you’ve earned a break.”
“Believe me, I deserve it. It’s hard being a psychic when you’re
not always in control of your vision, otherwise I might have seen
how awful this was going to be.” As they trudged through the grim
tunnel, she grimaced at the mold-blackened walls gleaming with
decay. “What kind of place is this?”
“It’s the oldest civilization in the world. What did you expect to
find, a perfect city under a glass dome?”
“I never thought I’d actually find Atlantis. Not in my wildest
dreams. At the very most I’d have been happy just to get my
collection back. It’s all the proof I ever needed.” She traipsed over
a pool of greenish water and wrinkled her nose in distaste. “But
this isn’t exactly how I imagined the splendor of the Lost City.”
“The seduction of myth. You took Plato at face value, and that
was your mistake.”
“I know, but it was such a beautiful fantasy,” she lamented.
“When you put too much stock in a legend, you’re bound to be
disappointed. Look at Schliemann. He had to dig like hell to find
Troy, and it wasn’t exactly in the sparkling condition advertised by
Homer. At least you can stroll through Atlantis without turning a
spade. That doesn’t happen everyday.”
7

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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, 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 Sacsayhuamán and Tiahuanaco.
The blocks are melted together. It’s pretty incredible.”
Sophia wasn’t impressed. “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. When she was certain the water level
didn’t advance any higher than her heels, Sophia picked up the
conversation again.
“Maybe the Labyrinth is a prototype for Atlantis, like a rough
draft of the city,” she posited. “What do you think?”
“That Crete is older than Atlantis? Doubtful, since the Greek
isles geologically emerged millions of years ago. The Atlanteans,
whoever they were, obviously formed the largest island into their
capital. How does it look from the outside? I didn’t exactly have a
window seat on the trip down.”
She recalled the descent in a poignant tone. “It’s unreal. The
whole city is in a crater or a giant sinkhole, it’s hard to tell, but I
actually saw pyramids on the bottom. They were incredible. Some
8

DALE DASSEL
of the designs were like the ones in Tikal, but the rest... I’ve never
seen anything like it before. This has to be Atlantis. Do you think
an earthquake could really sink the entire island?”
Indy shook his head. “Islands are attached to the earth’s crust.
They can’t just sink.”
“I know that,” she said with a trace of irritation. “But water can
rise. Maybe Atlantis was flooded after the last Ice Age. The weight
of the water could have crushed the whole island into the ground.
We know that the Aegean is volcanic, right? The city could have
broken through the crust into an empty magma chamber and then
filled by the ocean. At least that would explain what I saw.”
He considered the psychic’s far-fetched theory. “It would take
one hell of a tremor to compress an entire landmass into the earth.”
“I wonder what their society was like,” she pondered, abruptly
shifting her line of inquiry.
“Ruins, even well-preserved ones, can’t tell you much about
how a society functioned,” Indy explained. “Social behavior is an
entirely different branch of study, and I doubt if archaeology is
even equipped to answer it.” Suspicion furrowed Sophia’s brow as
they continued walking, and he could tell that something else was
troubling her. “What’s the matter?”
“I just don’t understand. There are pyramids outside, on the
seabed above us, and everything else is buried in the mud. But
nothing here is organized like a regular city. There are no streets or
written inscriptions or anything besides that spiral wave design on
all of the doors.”
“Almost like a sewer,” he offered.
“Well, yes, and—” Sophia’s 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 more than Plato’s glorious Bronze
Age paradise, 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.
Indy touched her arm gently. “Hey, I know you’re disappointed,
but this is still Atlantis. Sure it might not be how you imagined, but
it’s as close as anybody will ever get, so try to enjoy it.”
She gave him a sullen look. “That’s easy to say when your
dream isn’t a crumbling ruin. And please spare my feelings the
next time you make a great discovery, because I don’t think my
nerves can take anymore surprises today.”
He smiled gamely. “Okay, no more secrets. I promise.”
9

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“You’d better. Now let’s keep moving while I still have a reason
to live.”
They set off down the flooded hallway again, treading
cautiously across the veneer of rancid slime beneath the water. The
ooze made the floor as slick as ice, making each step a treacherous
feat. The water gradually receded as they negotiated the tunnel,
and pretty soon they were slogging through a layer of mud that
stained the sides of the passage like wallpaper.
“Oh, what the hell is this now?” Sophia complained.
“Post-flood deposit,” Indy said, brushing 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.”
“Can the lesson, Indy, because I’m really not in the mood for
it.” 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 until they felt like blobs of lead.
“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 after a dozen yards 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 he saw that the featureless corridor
abruptly ended in a pile of rubble that curiously seemed to flutter
in and out of existence like a mirage.
“Don’t bet on it,” he said with disappointment. They had
reached a dead end. There was no choice but to backtrack and find
another way.
Sophia swore when they came to the pile of mossy stones
dislodged in a massive heap across the floor. Suddenly Atlantis
didn’t seem quite as indestructible as they’d thought.
The stones appeared to throb in time with a rapidly pulsing light
that flashed across the dim passageway, but Indy couldn’t find its
source until he realized that the ancient rubble spill disguised a
sharp turn, and the hallway continued to the right.
“It’s just a cave-in. We can climb over it,” he told her, scraping
his boots on a fallen block.
Sophia tried to peer around the corner as she gratefully cleaned
her own muddy footwear. “Do you think it’s safe?”
Indy 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.
10

DALE DASSEL
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 at the assault. The effect was
painful, disorienting. The archaeologist 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 semicircular
openings on either side of the chamber.
“This must be crab central,” Indy determined gravely as the
creatures ran amok.
“Forget it. There is no way in hell I’m setting one foot in there,”
Sophia stated adamantly.
Across the room was another door with its own ambient coil
glowing like beacon of hope for the weary explorers. It was their
only way out. “We don’t have a choice, unless you feel like taking
another mud bath.” The mystic pursed her mouth indecisively.
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.”
Neither option appealed to her. Sophia angrily kicked at an
oversized crab near her foot. It struck the wall, cracking its shell,
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 frantically, 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?”
11

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“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 Sophia 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.
Indy nudged Sophia towards the door. “Get back.” He
crouched in the archway and fished a tin of waterproof 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.”
“I was,” Indy said, striking the match on the stone lintel.
The redhead tied her hair into a compact ponytail. “Why am I
not surprised?”
“Get 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
majority of 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 soft hiss, sinking out of sight.
Sophia joined him to witness the outcome of the blast. “Wow.
That was a neat trick, Jones.”
“Something I learned in Venice last summer.” He tipped his hat
to her. “Dinner’s ready.”
12

DALE DASSEL
“My compliments to the chef,” she 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.”
As 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. They were
actually cute, in a creepy sort of way. “I think we’re being
followed.”
“Unless they’re wearing swastikas, I don’t care,” Indy replied
without a backward glance.
***
Klaus Kerner’s irritation shifted to anger when he arrived in the
southwestern quadrant of Atlantis after his interminable trek
around 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. Furious,
Kerner stalked across the austere cavern, weakly illuminated by
light coils on the distant walls.
“Kerner, slow down!” Übermann ambled after him, wheezing in
exhaustion, but Kerner had no time for his aged colleague. If the
doddering old fool couldn’t keep up, then he shouldn’t have come
in the first place.
As he neared the blockhouse, Kerner idly wondered whose head
would roll after he delivered his Waffenamt mission report, which
would condemn Übermann’s position as expedition leader and cite
the physicist’s many shortcomings in meticulous detail. The
prospect gave him a small measure of relish, but Kerner had more
pressing concerns right now.
Three survey leaders immediately gathered around him. Right
away, Kerner noticed the absence of the fourth patrol captain.
“Where is Schelker?” They looked at each other uneasily. “Well?
Speak up!”
The first squad leader stepped forward, hesitant. “We do not
know, Herr Oberst. Captain Schelker’s team has not reported in
yet. They are missing, sir.”
“What do you mean they are missing?”
“They haven’t been here since we arrived,” Hofmeister
explained.
13

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“But he radioed from this location!”
“Unless he was mistaken in his coordinates,” Übermann said,
gasping from the exertion of 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 yet?”
“We do not know where to look,” Eschenfelder said haplessly.
“Our maps do not cover this sector.” The others nodded in
agreement.
“And what of the orichalcum supply?”
“There is nothing here, Mein Herr. The entire sector is empty,”
Hofmeister said, confirming the worst.
Kerner’s face darkened with rage. “What in the hell is going on
here?”
“Have you tried contacting them by radio?” suggested
Übermann with a patience bordering on senility. Kerner blinked in
disbelief. It was as if his colleague didn’t care or even comprehend
that a full quarter of their squad had vanished, and that the
operation was now at a standstill.
“Yes sir, but there is no response.”
“Perhaps the signal cannot penetrate the stone walls? This
shortwave is an experimental design, after all,” Übermann
reasoned. “On this mission we are essentially field-testing it under
less than ideal conditions.”
The entire squad had gathered at the stone building. Kerner cast
his gaze around in sudden agitation. “Where the devil is Fleischer?
Surely he must be finished with her already.”
“Agent Fleischer is of no concern to us. Right now we must
inventory the orichalcum supply for transport.”
“There IS no orichalcum here!” Kerner exploded. He snatched
the map from Übermann and thrust it at Karl, who stood nearby
watching the affair in uncomfortable silence. “Sankt, go find Agent
Fleischer and return immediately with Fräulein Hapgood. We may
need her again. Beeilung!”
“J-Jawohl, Herr Oberst.” The Abwehr took off like a scolded
puppy and disappeared from sight.
The remaining soldiers shuffled uncomfortably, unsure of what
to do next. The sight of his idle troops was too much, and Kerner
finally snapped. “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 in all
directions, leaving Kerner and Übermann alone in the sprawling
field.
14

DALE DASSEL
The Nazi colonel raked his scalp in exasperation and paced the
floor. Everything was falling apart. No. He couldn’t fail. There was
too much at stake now. Failure was inexcusable to the Reich
Chancellery, and Kerner would not disgrace himself before the
Führer, not when Germany was growing stronger by the day. 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
towards destiny 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, Kerner decided. That senile,
raving 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, and not with his outlandish
fantasy of picture phones and memory metal, but with orichalcum.
Only the Atlantean super 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 a
grateful Himmler bestowed upon him the coveted rank of
Obergruppenführer on behalf of the Ahnenerbe. 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.
“Whatever are you smiling about, Klaus?” Übermann said
curiously.
Kerner blinked away the reverie and turned his cold blue eyes
on the cadaverous scientist quaking feebly nearby, 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 Indiana Jones for balance before she fell. She clung to him,
sagging like a lead weight. “We have to stop, Indy. I haven’t slept
in almost two days. I’m exhausted.”
Indy saw his partner’s bleary, red-rimmed eyes and slumped
posture. Exhaustion had worn her down until she was barely able
to stand. The tank was finally out of gas. Checking his watch by
15

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
the glow of the nearest light coil, Indy realized that it was nearly 3
a.m. After hours of listless wandering through the jade twilight,
they were no closer to finding the inner ring of Atlantis than when
they had first set out from the detention cell. “That’s okay, kid.
We’re a few laps ahead. Besides, they have to rest sometime, too.
Let’s take a break.”
Sophia threw her arm over his shoulder as they left the main
hall and trudged into a side corridor that was pocked with doors
like an ancient tenement building. “God, it feels like we’ve been
running in circles forever.”
“I think we have,” he said, guiding her to the end of the short
hall, into another nondescript room that materialized in 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.
Sophia leaned her head on his shoulder and put her arms around
him. “I still can’t believe that we’re actually here. It’s like a
dream.”
“It is pretty amazing,” he agreed, thinking that she must be tired
because she sounded almost happy despite her prior
disillusionment of the squalid subterranean world.
Indy gazed across the room with stinging eyes that suddenly
ached for sleep. The only feature besides the lamp coil was a rusty
bronze grate in the opposite corner. He glanced at the exit, wishing
it had a closable door to prevent any passersby from seeing them.
It didn’t matter now because 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.
“Do you know what the most amazing thing is?” Sophia said
drowsily. “The people of Atlantis were snuggled warmly in their
beds while the rest of humanity was huddled in caves during the
Ice Age. The darkest time for mankind was the golden age of
Atlantis.”
The idea that mankind barely clung to survival in an iceravaged
world while the Atlanteans escaped the freeze in blissful
comfort was sobering to Indy, and the irony of their situation was
not lost on him. “Now we’re the ones huddled in a cave. I’d say the
golden age has passed.”
Sophia yawned quietly and mumbled, “Makes you wonder
where they came from.”
“The Atlanteans? 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.”
16

DALE DASSEL
Just before he closed his eyes, Indy felt a rigid seam beneath his
hand. He glanced down and saw a razor-thin line splitting the
smooth floor. He rubbed his fingers across the cool surface,
thinking that it must be limestone hand-worked to a flawless grade.
But it didn’t really feel like stone. It was too flat. Too perfect.
Almost like poured cement. That was impossible because cement
wasn’t invented until Macedonian times, and then used centuries
later by the Romans. What the hell was a cement foundation doing
in a ruined prehistoric city at the bottom of the Aegean? Indy
settled back against the wall, too exhausted to care. He felt as if
he’d boxed ten rounds with the burly U-boat mechanic. It really
didn’t matter, he thought as the light coil began to dim. They
would never know the answer. Overcome by fatigue and the feel of
Sophia snuggled against him, Indy shut his leaden eyelids and
succumbed to the darkness.
***
Indy awoke, sore and stiff from sleeping on the concrete floor all
night. Something was wrong. He blinked in the harsh glow of the
light. Sophia was gone. Wobbling to his feet, Indy 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.
Draping the satchel over his shoulder, Indy pulled on his damp
leather jacket and wondered why she hadn’t bothered to wake him.
He looked at his watch. It was almost 10 a.m. They had slept for
nearly six hours. He paced the room, feeling antsy. It wasn’t like
Sophia to run off by herself in a place like this, especially with the
Nazis around, unless she was compelled by something. Like that
damned necklace, he thought darkly. But Sophia’s 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, he froze with indecision. What if she returned
17

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
while he was gone? Separated with no way to communicate, the
odds of meeting up again were practically nonexistent. They could
wander the sprawling city for weeks trying to find each-other, and
even if they came close one wrong turn would send them off on
another endless trail to nowhere. While doubt gnawed at Indy’s
mind, it suddenly occurred to him why Sophia had left the canteen
in the hallway—as a marker to help her find their room, which
meant that she intended to come back. He fished the thermos from
his bag and quickly placed it outside again. Everything is fine, he
told himself. Be patient and give her a chance.
He settled beneath the light coil, hoping that she would return
soon. In the meantime, Indy wanted to learn as much about
Atlantis as possible. He took out the Hermocrates and realized that
he hadn’t studied the book since leaving for Algeria. What was
that, a week ago? Two? It seemed like ages. 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 contemplate the passage. 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 as Indy made the wish, Sophia casually strode into the
room as if materializing from his thoughts. “Good morning. I’m
glad to see you’re finally awake.”
Indy 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. “So, the great
adventurer does have a sense of modesty.”
“I just thought you might’ve been kidnapped by the Germans.”
“Believe me, you would have noticed,” she promised.
“Yeah, I figured.” She returned his flashlight and they sat down
together.
18

DALE DASSEL
Sophia rubbed her face vigorously. “God, I’d kill for a hot
shower right now.”
“Join the club,” Indy agreed. “But look on the bright side. This
place might not have running water, but at least there’s 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 just never occurred to them.”
“You might find the answer in here.” She picked up the
Hermocrates with a bemused smirk. “How long have you been
telling your students that Atlantis is just a myth?”
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 don’t
believe it.”
“Fair enough, Dr. Jones. But just for the sake of argument, how
would you categorize the study of mystic places that are unknown
to history?”
He considered it a moment. “I’d probably label it pseudoarchaeology,
but the academic establishment would call it bunk.”
“I rest my case.”
Indy heard the sting of resentment in her voice. “What are you
getting at?” he asked, realizing that she still harbored a lingering,
decade-long bitterness that went back to Iceland.
The redhead 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.” She 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 felt sick all of a sudden, overcome with guilt for shattering
her dreams. He took her hand solemnly and looked into her eyes
with forgiveness. “I’m sorry.”
Her expression went sober. “How do you think I feel?”
The sound of nearby voices abruptly shattered the poignant
moment. “Ihr drei, überprüft den Gang. Beide Seiten. Seht in jeden
Raum.”
Footsteps echoed in the corridor.
“The canteen!” Sophia, panic-stricken, quickly scrambled to the
door and snatched the flask out of the hallway where she’d left it.
Indy dashed for the wall grate, frantically pried back the rusty
latch and tore the gate open. The ventilation shaft was just large
19

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
enough to crawl through. “Go!” he hissed as 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. Sophia
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 had 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 and frantically
hoping they hadn’t left anything behind to give themselves away.
“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
helplessly in the narrow shaft. Indy held his breath and prayed 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 just to be sure,
and finally relaxed. “I think they’re gone,” he whispered.
“Great. Now get your hand off my ass.”
“Sorry,” he apologized, releasing his grip on her.
“Sure you are.”
“Keep moving, sweetheart. There’s no going back.”
“I can’t see a thing,” she complained. “Give me your
flashlight.”
Indy reached into his satchel and passed it between her thighs.
“Here.”
“You just can’t keep your hands off me, can you?” She handed
the canteen back to him.
“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 without success. “This
is an air shaft. It probably connects to another room somewhere
ahead. Start moving. We’ll be there in no time.”
“Well I’m glad you’re feeling optimistic.”
“Hey, I’ve been in worse places before. Trust me, this is a
picnic,” he reassured, hoping she would be convinced.
20

DALE DASSEL
“I’ll take your word for it.” The flashlight beam jumped
between the ceiling and floor as she moved awkwardly down the
channel.
The passage was dank and cold, lined with a skin of green mud,
and just wide enough for them to move single-file in a low crouch.
Damp silt clung to Indy’s palms as he followed Sophia’s
illuminated shadow into eternity. After awhile, it seemed that her
words were proving true. The tunnel really did seem to go on
forever until she stopped with a startled shriek. Indy bumped into
her. “Hey, what’s the big idea?”
The flashlight abruptly died at the sound of a loud crunch.
Sophia fumbled in the darkness and then it came back on. “What
happened?”
“It was one of those damned crabs,” she complained, and
moved ahead once again.
Easing forward, Indy swept the bony remains behind him and
wondered if the tunnel would ever end. As he crawled through the
concrete vein in silence, Indy was abruptly seized by the reality of
their situation. He was in the lost city of Atlantis; the mythical
source of world civilization; a place that he never believed truly
existed. But it was real. The sobering thought shifted his
perspective, and Indy suddenly felt dizzy as he shrank to a
miniscule speck of dust in the eternal void of the cosmos that
spread out from that one spot. Swallowed up in the vastness of
eternity, Indiana Jones shrank into oblivion with the terrifying
realization that his life was as meaningless as the dead crab that
he’d trampled over in the darkness only moments before.
The sound of panicked breathing came as a surprise, because it
wasn’t his own. It was Sophia.
Her frantic respirations were growing faster, and Indy knew that
the narrow crawlspace was testing the limits of her claustrophobia.
He had to get her mind off the situation. And his, too.
“There’s something that I don’t understand about you.”
“J-just one?” she gasped incredulously.
“If you really are psychic, then why the cheap flying kite
routine during your act?”
The panic 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. It’s not possible, and I
would be abusing our sacred bond if I tried. Besides, a girl has to
make a living, right?”
“How’s it working out so far?” he pressed.
“Terrible. 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 showbiz
21

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
hacks. They thought it was going to be a big séance, so I brought in
the ghost prop to keep everyone happy.”
“I guess it’s tough being a professional spiritualist,” he
sympathized.
“People always think I’m a fraud. Real psychics are few and far
between, and it’s not a talent you can put on a résumé,” she said,
and then paused in the tunnel. “Finally.”
“What?”
“Another vent.” Sophia tried to open it without success. “It’s
locked.”
“Push it.”
She leaned on the grate with all of her strength, grunting with
effort. “It won’t budge.”
“Here, let me try,” Indy said, pushing in beside her.
“Are you kidding? There’s not enough room in here.”
“Move over.”
“Oh, you are impossible.” Sophia rolled sideways on her hips
and flattened herself against the wall as Indy wiggled forward.
Now they were lying parallel in the narrow shaft, practically face
to face.
“Sorry,” he apologized. Seeking leverage, he braced his left
boot on the wall between her ankles and pushed off. 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.
“Oh, great,” she sighed when she realized that he was stuck. “I
knew this would happen.”
“Hold on a minute, maybe I can—” Indy rolled and twisted in a
desperate burst of energy, trying to get his arms unpinned. “If I can
just reach the grate…”
“Quit moving. You’re just making things worse,” she
complained.
“Well, it’s not all bad,” he said, kissing her. Sandwiched
together in the concrete vent, the urge was overpowering and Indy
couldn’t resist.
Sophia scowled. “Hey, is that your whip down there, or are you
just happy to see me?”
“Guess,” he breathed in her ear.
“Well I’m flattered, but we’re getting nowhere fast.”
“Who says we’re in a hurry?” He nuzzled her neck persistently,
loving her softness.
“This is hardly my idea of a romantic interlude,” she sighed as
he sought her mouth. “Fine, let’s just get on with it,” she relented.
Indy smiled in the darkness as she surrendered to the intimacy
that bound them tighter than the cold, mud-lined tunnel. Her lips
tasted sweet, like warm silk ice cream, and Indy devoured her
22

DALE DASSEL
mouth slowly, savoring the taste until they were both gasping with
desire.
Sophia pulled back suddenly. “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 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,” Sophia quipped.
Indy gave a wicked chuckle, enjoying her wit. It was just the
thing he needed to clear his mind and focus on the situation. “Lean
down just a little,” he told her.
“Like this?” She slid down from the wall and slipped under him
while Indy eased into the vacant space. Now there was enough
room to move his left arm, and he gratefully extended it past his
head and clutched the metal grating.
“Good. Now move back.” Indy pulled himself level while
Sophia pushed off of the barrier, sliding under him until they were
finally separated. Indy crouched beside the vent and folded his hat
back into shape while he tried to catch his breath. He pounded the
latch with the side of his fist, but the gate held firm.
“Why don’t you kick it?” she suggested.
“That was my next plan.” 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
began brushing the mud from her soiled clothes. “I never want to
do that again.”
“Watch your step,” Indy 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
suggested, pointing across the room.
“What?!” Sophia whirled so fast that Indy thought she would
tumble into the watery chasm. “Oh my God!” she cried.
Indy couldn’t help grinning as the mystic sprinted for the
towering sentry statue in childlike wonder.
23

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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. Bronze rings covered its
arm joints. Its head was crowned by a set of burnished horns that
swept into a nosepiece down to the sentry’s gaping mouth. It stared
down at them with dark, lifeless eyes hooded in a malevolent
furrow.
“I hate to break it to you, Indy, but Nur-Ab-Sal was a king, not
a guardian,” she said matter-of-factly.
Indy rapped his knuckles on the statue, producing a dull, 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, Zeus gave him to Europa, who brought him to Crete
where he circled the island three times a day, throwing rocks at any
ship that approached.”
“Well he’s not guarding anything in here, that’s for sure.” Then
she struck the statue with her fists in anger. “Damn it!”
It was only then that Indy realized the chamber didn’t have an
exit besides the ventilation shaft they had emerged from. The
archaeologist rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm.”
Sophia glanced wearily at the dark tunnel, and then back to
Indy scrutinizing the bronze sentinel. “What are you looking at?
It’s just another ugly statue. Let’s get out of here.” She sounded
impatient, annoyed.
“Think about it. A sentry guarding an empty room doesn’t make
sense,” he said. “Remember the one on the subway platform? It
opened the door.”
“Wake up, Jones. Do you see a door anywhere in this room?”
“Hey, I’ve trusted your intuition so far. Now it’s your turn to
trust mine.” Indy stepped onto the sentry’s blocky feet and clasped
its arms, pulling himself up.
“What are you doing?” she exasperated.
“I want to see if this thing still works.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, it’s just a statue.”
“It’s a robot,” he said, prying open the chest plate. “We found
one just like it in a repair room yesterday. Look.” He moved
sideways to reveal the intricate cluster of gears and sprockets
packed into the statue’s 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 and opened her hand. “Ta-da!” A
dozen coral beads glittered in her palm.
“Hey, where’d you get those?”
24

DALE DASSEL
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, he reached up and deposited the pearls into the robot’s gullet.
Indy 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?”
“This machine is older than the Egyptian civilization. It would
be a miracle if it worked at all.”
“It’s probably rusted solid,” she wagered.
The bronze giant shuddered with a weary groan, summoned
back to life after centuries of slumber. They exchanged looks of
amazement at the rattle of un-oiled gears meshing inside of its
chest, followed by a creaky wooden stutter, like a brittle bow
flexing. Indy winced at the sound, hoping the machine wouldn’t
break. The robot suddenly raised its massive arms dramatically and
lurched forward.
“Holy God!” Sophia howled in terror as the ancient robot
lumbered towards them. Its rusty metal limbs shrieked from long
disuse.
“Get back!” Indy pulled her out of the way, drawing his gun.
The floor trembled under its weight as the sentry took a reeling
step. Before Indy could shoot, the robot staggered and pitched
forward, striking the floor in a thunderous heap. They ducked for
cover as chunks of metal pelted the walls of the chamber. 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?” Sophia said with genuine
surprise.
“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 instead.
“Wait a minute.” She knelt by the shattered robot and picked a
few gears and cogs from the debris. “Here, put these in your bag. I
want to keep them for my collection.”
“Souvenirs? You’d never make it as an archaeologist.” Indy
stowed away the relics and gave her the flashlight again.
“I think it’s too late for that,” she said, climbing onto the robot’s
back to reach the secret opening. She thumbed on the flashlight
with a giggle, shaking her head as she ducked into the passage. “I
can’t believe we’re trapped in the lost city of Atlantis with Nazis
25

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
and robots. It reminds me of a bad matinee serial that I saw a few
years ago. Minus the Nazis, of course.”
“How bad was it?” asked Indy, crawling after her.
“Cheap-looking robots, aluminum cars... typical Hollywood
fare.”
“I’ve seen worse pictures,” he replied.
“Believe it or not, it was actually fun to watch,” she admitted.
“Almost as much fun as the real thing.”
“Well I’m glad you’re finally enjoying yourself. I was
wondering when you’d come around.”
“I’ll be fine as long as there aren’t anymore crabs.” The
flashlight beam bounced up and down as Sophia plodded along the
new passage. It was larger than the previous air vent, allowing
them to move in relative comfort. More importantly, it was free of
mud.
Sophia stopped suddenly. “Do you hear that?”
Indy turned his head, listening. The hiss of rushing water
echoed faintly in the distance. “Sounds like water,” he decided.
“Here, give me the light.”
“Be my guest.” She moved over and let him take the lead.
Indy crawled forward with the flashlight, probing the tunnel as
they followed the liquid whisper into the darkness. After a hundred
yards the shaft ended with another bronze grating. The steady rush
of water filled the void of nothingness beyond. He unfastened the
latch and the door swung open easily. Indy slipped from the
passage and dropped to the floor. Sophia joined him a moment
later. “Don’t touch anything,” he warned, stepping away from the
wall.
A pair of light coils glowed to life on either side, followed by
another more distant set, and then a third in sequence. They
watched the lamps trace the perimeter of a large ovoid chamber
with a domed ceiling. The omniscient halo converged at a large
ornate fish mask on the opposite wall, the source of the gushing
noise. A torrent of water spilled from its mouth into a circular pool
on the floor. Pale mist rose from the waterfall, bathing the chamber
in thick fog. The glow coils tinted the mist with a golden hue.
Overhead, the vaulted dome appeared to shimmer as the rippling
current threw its bronze reflection against the ceiling.
“Indy…” Sophia breathed in wonder. “Where are we?”
“I was hoping you’d know,” he admitted. The psychic shook her
head wordlessly. “Let’s find out then.” Indiana Jones ventured into
the fog-shrouded cavern. The floor glistened with moisture and the
thick haze obscured his vision. He moved with caution, wary of an
unseen trap ready to spring from the nebulous ether.
Sophia clutched his arm tensely. “Look!” she said, pointing
across the pool. “Somebody’s over there.”
26

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Indy’s hand dropped to his holster, covering the Webley. He
strained his vision, but didn’t see anything at first. Then he
discerned a pale form silhouetted in the ghostly fog. The shape, he
realized, was a statue on a raised pedestal in the water. Indy
relaxed and pushed into the cloudy veil, the cool vapor enveloping
him as he crossed the room with Sophia glued to his back like a
shadow. Moving closer, he saw that the statue was clearly
feminine. A goddess shrine, he thought, approaching the misty
pool. Her eyes gleamed in the fog, but her face remained veiled in
mystery. Sophia gripped his hand tightly, but Indy barely noticed
because he was captivated by the goddess.
He couldn’t pull his gaze from her glittering eyes. They
beckoned seductively, promising to grant his every wish. Indy’s
heart pounded with sudden desire. He had to see her face. It was
the only thing that he’d ever wanted. Her arms were outstretched,
reaching for him. An object glowed in her hands like a beacon,
drawing Indy closer. His thundering heartbeat drowned out the
cascading water that poured down on the angel hovering in the
mist. Her body was lithe and pale, ethereal and flawless. He could
almost touch her now. Indy’s pulse raced as the mist evaporated
and the goddess smiled down at him.
“Oh my God…” Sophia gasped.
Indy was stunned with disbelief, because staring back at him
was the soft, aristocratic features of the woman at his side. The
cascading water flowed over her ivory features like a skin of liquid
crystal. Sophia stared speechlessly, thunderstruck by her alabaster
twin. The likeness was astonishing. It was a reflection in stone; a
perfect mirror image down to the finest detail.
Finally, she smiled with approval. “I always knew I was a
goddess. Now it’s just official.”
Indy didn’t respond. His mind was still reeling from shock. The
statue was impossible, and yet he couldn’t deny that it was an
identical replica of Sophia Hapgood, untold thousands of years old,
in a cavern at the bottom of the sea.
The goddess was beautiful and ageless, with deep viridian
gemstone eyes and a cryptic smile that provoked Indy with the
secret of the ages. She leaned forward in the mist, rising up to offer
the volleyball-sized sphere at arm’s-length. Her curvaceous
anatomy was defined by a form-fitting bodysuit sculpted in an
elaborate braided pattern like the strands of Indy’s bullwhip.
“Now you can add reincarnation to your list of shattered
myths.” Sophia couldn’t keep the smugness out of her voice. Indy
remained quiet. Then she noticed him admiring the sculpture with
more than just archaeological interest. “What are you looking at?”
“She’s very... statuesque.”
“I’m flattered.”
27

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Indy turned his attention to the silver sphere, and nodded in
confirmation. “This is a representation of Selene, the moon
goddess.”
Sophia looked at the silver orb. “It looks like the Perisphere
from the World’s Fair.” Then she looked closer. “That’s not the
moon. It’s the earth.”
“There aren’t any continents,” he pointed out.
“Well there are no pyramids on the moon. Look.” She drew her
finger over the gleaming surface, following a satin band which
circled the platinum sphere diagonally. The stripe had a mottled
texture that stood out against the smooth metal. Indy squinted at
the curious detail.
Hundreds of tiny studs glittered in the pellucid light, miniscule
gems staggered across the narrow band like the ridges on a steel
file. They might have been pyramids, but Indy needed a
magnifying glass to be sure. Most of the gleaming nodes were
clustered along the satin ribbon, but also scattered around the
polished orb at random. Then as he stepped back for a better view,
Indy noticed a pattern that became visible in the mist, an intricate
geometric lattice of triangles crisscrossing the silver globe. The
nodes were clearly focused at points wherever two lines
intersected.
“Don’t you see, Indy? It shows every pyramid in the world at
the time of Atlantis.”
Indy stared at the miniature globe, feeling like an omnipotent
god. “But what does it mean?” he asked.
“The Atlanteans built for eternity, while we live in a disposable
civilization. Brick buildings, tiny metal cars... Another great flood
would wipe the earth clean, and only the pyramids would be left
standing when the waters receded, just as they always have.”
“That’s a sobering thought,” he muttered.
“Isn’t it?”
Indy suddenly saw the truth of her reasoning. “That’s why
pyramids are built like they are. Solid stone fit together with each
face cut at an angle to reinforce itself. The design is perfect.
Indestructible.”
“Exactly,” Sophia smiled. “And I think it’s a message.”
The globe was a miracle of ancient craftsmanship, but Indy was
baffled by its meaning. “What is it?”
She pondered quietly for a minute, and then put everything
together in one brilliant flash of insight. “It’s a reflection of all the
stars in the galaxy!”
“Where did that come from?” Indy had never heard of anything
so outlandish in his life.
“According to Nur-Ab-Sal, the Atlanteans oriented their
buildings to the stars of their ancestors.”
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The archaeologist weighed the concept, deftly balancing her
words on the scale of reason. Sophia watched the struggle on his
face. “Open your mind, Indy. There is an order to the universe. You
must see it.”
The scales stabilized with shocking swiftness as thousands of
historical intangibles snapped into place with jolting clarity. Indy
suddenly felt as if he weighed a million pounds, his body turned to
lead. “I must be crazy, because I think you’re starting to convince
me.”
“By now, I shouldn’t have to,” she said. “Look at the globe and
tell me what you see.”
Indy stared intently at the silver orb, his mind racing to decipher
its meaning. “Rings.” He swirled his index finger around the
sphere. “Plato said Atlantis had three rings. The planets revolve
around the sun, and the earth revolves on its own axis—the
spindle.”
“Yes! The stone disks!” She clapped her hands in delight.
“The pyramid belt,” he said in a daze. “It’s astronomical data
disguised as a legend. Plato was right about everything, only we
couldn’t see it until now. We weren’t looking at it from the right
perspective.”
Sophia frowned. “Plato said there were three rings, but the orb
only has one. Look.”
The rest of the sphere was glass smooth, devoid of the
continental boundaries found on every map of the world. There
were no lines of latitude or longitude, only the web of triangles and
the pyramid belt circling the hemisphere just north of the equator.
“The other rings were probably symbolic,” Indy concluded,
citing the triple ring arrangement formed by the Tropic of Cancer
and the Tropic of Capricorn, divided by the equator.
“Of course! It’s the procession of the equinox.” Sophia
explained how the poles moved like a wobbling top, tracing an
invisible ring in the night sky over the course of the planet’s
26,000-year journey through the zodiac until returning to its
original starting point. “So the north and south poles would make
rings in the cosmos above and below the pyramid belt, forming the
galactic inner and outermost rings of Atlantis.”
Indy was floored. “How do you know that?”
“You forget that I’m also an astrologer.”
The revelation was absolutely mind-blowing. How many eons
of astronomical observation culminated in the creation of this one
incredible artifact? A million questions burned to be answered, but
Indiana Jones knew one thing for certain. The mercury orb was the
single most fascinating object he’d ever seen: a precise scale map
of the ancient world. It was an archaeological treasure. The
possibilities left him dizzy.
29

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“There’s enough knowledge here to rewrite history,” he
breathed, reaching for the globe with a trembling hand.
Sophia grabbed his wrist. “Don’t touch it!”
He pulled his arm back. “I thought you said there were no traps
here.”
“It’s not a trap. Don’t ask me to explain, because I can’t. All I
know is that it’s dangerous. I can feel it. Just trust me on this.” Her
grave tone was enough to convince him.
Indy reluctantly stepped back and looked around for a way out
of the misty chamber, but there was no doorway anywhere except
the passage they had emerged from. Sophia noticed his confusion.
“Watch and learn, Dr. Jones.”
Removing her necklace, she ducked beneath the goddess’s arms
and pressed the pendant into an inverse recess on the bosom of her
alabaster twin. Its gemstone eyes blazed to life with a brilliant
emerald flash. The waterfall thinned to a trickle as the fish god’s
eternal deluge subsided. Hidden behind the sheet of falling water
was an archway. Inside the arch, a bronze door tinged green with
age dropped to reveal a darkened hall.
Indy smiled appreciatively. “Hidden in plain sight.” He gave the
statue a lingering look while Sophia reclaimed her necklace. “Who
is she?” He couldn’t leave without knowing.
She took his hand gently. “Atlantis. The daughter of Atlas.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“I know,” Sophia smiled, pulling him towards the doorway.
“Come on, lover boy. I think we’re getting close to the inner
circle.”
Indy stepped behind the fountain and sent his flashlight into the
somber passage, prying its features from the darkness. “I think so,
too.”
The gleaming tunnel stretched into infinity like a well-oiled
vise, its walls banded with the running spiral yet oddly devoid of
the omnipresent lamp coils that lit the dreary underworld. As they
crept along the narrow channel, a wan glow materialized beyond
another tapered portal, shortening the eternal draw to a mere dozen
yards. Indy and Sophia entered a room with parallel sides angled
slightly inward, forming a subtle trapezoid. Across the chamber, a
small, solitary light coil glowed on the face of a pyramid-shaped
altar with a truncated top.
Sophia approached the stone in reverence. “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
30

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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’.” Indeed, the solitary chamber nestled deep within
the sunken city felt like a place where time was unimportant, the
outside world irrelevant.
“What does that mean?”
Prior to Sophia’s revelation, the symbolism of the wavecascaded
pyramid might have eluded him. But now the message
was clear. “Eternity.” Indy flicked the dark material with his
fingernail, producing a dull thump. “Strange. It’s made of lead.”
“Damn it!” 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 swore again.
Indy calmly unsnapped his satchel and handed her the canteen.
Sophia accepted it gratefully. “Thanks. I could use something a
little stronger right now, though.” She took a gulp and winced.
“Ugh, this tastes like cactus water… Hey, where did you get
that?!” she exclaimed as he produced the sunstone from the canvas
bag.
He grinned at her surprise. “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 pyramid altar, completing the stone layer
cake.
“How? They were stuck to the pedestal.”
“The stones are magnetic, but the spindle button releases them
again.”
She gave him a tight hug. “Fantastic!” Recalling the correct
placement order from the Hermocrates, she deftly aligned the
symbols to the horn icon engraved on the pedestal. “Okay, here
goes nothing.” Sophia took a deep breath and pressed the spindle
post into the altar.
The air suddenly rumbled. Dust trickled from the ceiling. 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 calmly 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!” Sophia cried.
31

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“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. “Just like
the stone disks!”
Indy nodded with satisfaction. “It’s a turntable.” The most
amazing 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 move an entire portion of the
subterranean city like a Lazy Susan.
“But where’s it taking us?” asked Sophia. Before Indy 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?”
Indy thought the design was just another bit of elegantly
displayed Atlantean symbolism like the nautical motifs 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 being cut off by a panel of dazzling green
marble. 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.
The redhead kept her eyes fixed on the scrolling expanse of
brick. “The procession of the equinox, remember?” Then her
confidence shifted to puzzlement. “I didn’t think the zodiac was
this old.”
“Actually, it goes back to the Sumerians,” Indy noted. “But
Atlas was the founder of astrology in Greek myth.”
“Waitaminute,” she said, thinking fast. “This room isn’t
spinning at random. The signs are in order, so there must be some
kind of significance to them. Quick, before we have to cycle
around all over again.”
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.
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“Let me think for a minute,” he blinked, trying to recollect them
from the dim confines of memory.
Sophia 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! 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.”
As 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 the Greek 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 spindle button at the sign of the great cat flaying the air
with its claws. The rumble stopped and the florid gemstone wall
dropped into the floor 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.
33

20
SUBTERRANEAN DEATH
“You’re amazing,” Indy praised her as they crossed the glassy
threshold. The spacious corridor was a relief after exploring the
cloistered passages that preceded it. Sophia didn’t respond. She
froze with an expression of rapt surprise, as if caught in an
invisible block of ice. “What is it, kid?”
“Can you hear it, Indy? An old king is calling my name.”
Indy’s ears were smothered by the overwhelming silence. “I
don’t hear anything,” he confessed.
“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 dash into
one of the many identical pyramidal archways along the circuit.
Stepping inside, Indy was enveloped in a wave of heat at the
threshold of an expansive chamber lined with stout columns that
spanned the ceiling like enormous stone ribs. The Atlantean spiral
snaked up the pillars, which were capped by the same eerie squid
masks that decorated the main hallway. A florid glow emanated
from a large square pit in the center of the room, staining the walls
with a ghastly reddish light. 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. More
blackened bones roasted in the fiery depths. Hedging the entrance
on either side of him was 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?” Sophia
didn’t acknowledge him. She stared across the lava pit, where

DALE DASSEL
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 great
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
some unfathomable rapture. He waved a hand in front of her face
without effect. Sophia stared vacantly ahead, her glazed eyes open
but unseeing. The woman was physically present in the room, but
her consciousness was not. Then Indy 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. “Sophia, say something.
Come on, talk to me.”
The psychic raised her arms to encompass the chamber of lavabaked
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 as 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 in a guttural tone.
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 evil 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 and wheeled on him. “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!”
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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. Robbed of her
conscience, she no longer had a will of her own.
Indy had to get the pendant away before it consumed her soul.
“Sophia, you have to get rid of that necklace,” he said firmly.
Her empty gaze sharpened, and suddenly 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…” Indy stammered. 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,” he said, trying to appease the ancient
sorcerer while he devised a plan to break his spell on her.
“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.” As
he spoke, Indy wondered if the Atlantean king even knew what a
Nazi was. The world had changed drastically in the millennia since
Nur-Ab-Sal’s era.
The redhead chortled in a thick, demonic laugh that sounded as
if her throat was stuffed with cotton. “Nobody can steal my power,
for I am the almighty Belial, guardian of the ancient sea-fire.”
Then Sophia was back, and she wasn’t happy.
“You goddamned scholars,” she snarled. “Your whole
profession is a fraud, and every time you stand in front of a class
you deny the legacy of the old gods and perpetuate the false history
3

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of mankind. Now, you can’t tell the truth even if you wanted to
because no one will believe a word of it. That’s the penalty for
living in a brainwashed society, Dr. Jones, and your students have
you to thank for it.”
The eels thrashed violently in his gut, invigorated by her
venomous barbs. Indy flinched because it was true. Everything he
had learned about the origins of human civilization, every fact
ordered into the comfortable tenets of established history was a
complete fabrication. Their discovery wouldn’t change a thing.
Atlantis was at the bottom of the sea. Nobody would ever see it
except for them, if they lived to tell the world about it.
“Come on, snap out of it,” he urged, making a desperate grab
for her arm.
Sophia 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 wax mannequin, her body unnaturally
still, gazing off into the distance while her spirit hovered
somewhere between worlds. Indy admired the woman’s soft
features: the arch of her coral eyebrows, her delicately-tipped nose,
and the inviting fullness of her slightly parted lips. Fighting the
overpowering urge to kiss her, Indy held the orichalcum between
his thumb and forefinger and carefully fed the gleaming pearl to
the medallion.
It worked instantly.
The bronze pendant suddenly transformed as if the metal had
somehow liquefied. 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?” Indy asked with concern.
She stared at him helplessly with a tortured expression. A single
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,
4

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
transfixed by its pulsing, hypnotic light. Indy could hardly believe
it when she skipped away and began to dance in circles.
With arms outstretched, the redhead 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...”
Sophia 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. It was his last
chance to save her. His whip sliced the air with a lethal hiss.
Sophia let out a yelp of surprise 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 Hapgood blinked in sudden awareness, as if startled out
of a 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 his lash. “Yeah, and I saved your life, Princess.”
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 gratefully. “Thank you.”
“Are you okay?” he asked her.
“I’m fine now. Really.”
He nudged her towards the door. “Come on. Let’s get 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.
***
“This is definitely the inner ring,” Sophia assured him. “See how
this hall curves?”
“What are we looking for exactly?”
“The Temple of Poseidon. Plato described it as an incredible
palace of gold and silver, built at the center of Atlantis to honor
Cleito, the queen-mother. It was the most magnificent shrine in the
ancient world, a monument without compare.”
Indy surveyed the moldy walls glistening dully 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.
5

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“Oh yeah? Then what’s that?” she said, pointing down the
hallway.
Splinters of light striped the gray floor at the periphery of the
bend, knifing from the angled rim of a broad archway. As they
drew closer, a brilliant crimson gleam drew their attention within.
Sophia rushed ahead. “Oh my God! 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 Atlantean
transport. The oblong shield was an image of Nur-Ab-Sal with a
large spiral headlamp projecting from its gleaming 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 actual Atlantean vehicle!” exclaimed Sophia, gawking
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 basically looked like an oversize toolbox lined with bench seats.
“Welcome aboard the Atlas Express,” he said, climbing inside the
train 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. On the
floor was a circular pedal, but 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. Indy 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.”
“Like I said before; levitation. A few years ago I wrote an
article about it for Atlantis Quarterly.”
“I must’ve missed that issue,” he replied sarcastically.
6

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Standing again, Indy pressed his shoulder against the train and
gave it an experimental push. He was surprised when the massive
car actually glided a few inches with relative ease. Sophia wore a
smug look. “Don’t even say it,” he warned her.
“Okay, but we both know I was right.”
Indy touched the open jaw. “If we had some orichalcum left we
could get a free ride.”
“Yeah, in the wrong direction.” Sophia looked down the track to
see the tunnel from which the subway car had emerged in some
remote age. “Where do you think it goes?”
“Let’s find out,” he suggested, and began walking down the
shallow channel. After a few steps, he noticed a peculiar sensation,
like his feet were dragging through a layer of thick jelly. Yet the
ground was clean. Indy made a rude face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Feels like I’m walking through mud.” Crouching, Indy waved
his palm above the floor and felt an odd tingling in his hand. He
rose, took a few more steps, and felt the sluggish resistance again.
The concentrated magnetic field must be affecting steel shanks in
his boots, he figured.
Sophia hopped into the ditch and took a few smooth steps. “I
don’t feel anything.”
“Must be my imagination. Let’s go.” He set off down the track,
plodding against the syrupy force with Sophia trotting nimbly
alongside him, completely oblivious to it.
When they neared the subway tunnel, they saw that it was lit
from within, though Indy didn’t see a lamp coil anywhere. They
entered the tube 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 white mold.
“Where’s the light coming from?” Sophia’s voice echoed back
hollowly.
“Look at the seams,” Indy said as they reached the first one.
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, which seemed to follow the contour of the main hallway
outside. When they reached the bend, they were surprised to see
light beyond the exit, only several yards down the track.
Sophia wrinkled her nose in disgust at a sharp, tangy odor, like
egg salad. “Ugh, what’s that smell?”
Indy sniffed the air. “Sulfur.”
7

DALE DASSEL
The tunnel opened onto a broad curve where the track finally
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
of an enormous cavern of jagged red rock. The temperature was
noticeably warmer, the omnipresent chill now gone from the air.
The vast cavern was dimly-lit by a few sparse light coils spaced
along the raw stone walls.
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. “God!”
Pivoting quickly, Indy saw an enormous monster with a
mouthful of tree-length bladed teeth crouched on the hillside below
the track. He fumbled for his gun before realizing that it was some
type of machine the size of a building, bathed in the pellucid
twilight. The strangest looking building he’d ever seen.
Covered in a fine yellow crust, it looked like a gigantic tank
without treads—the bizarre mutation of an elephant and a sixlegged
beetle with a stone carapace. The gaping jaws of the
ungainly thing were comprised of four massive crystal forks in a
pronged ‘X’ formation, like two stag-horn beetles melded together.
The wicked blades glowed in the faint luminescence, gleaming
silver along the tapering, razor-sharp edges.
Indy holstered his gun and ventured towards the stone beast.
“What on earth is that thing?” Sophia exclaimed, following him
downhill.
Indy 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?” Sophia 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 pale, feverish.
“This must be worth a fortune.”
Dizzy, 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?”
“Controlled growth. The stone was engineered into shape,” she
answered immediately. “Nur-Ab-Sal said that the people of
8

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Atlantis mastered the forces of nature. That’s how they were able
to move giant stone blocks to build the pyramids, or grow crystal
into any shape they desired.”
“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.
She shrugged off his concern. “Either way, the proof is right in
front of you.”
“Nevermind that.” Eager to see how it was assembled, Indy
knelt beside the megataur and aimed his flashlight into the crevice
where the leg joined the body, but the machine kept its secrets
hidden in a slice of cosmic blackness.
The redhead suppressed a smile as he peered blindly into the
next dark seam. “This is driving you crazy, isn’t it? Not knowing.”
“There has to be an answer here, somewhere,” he insisted. But
he sounded unconvinced. At the backside of the machine, they
found a series of carved footholds leading up to a platform cut into
the sloping trunk. Even more interesting was the presence of a
hollow cavity through the belly of the excavator. Indy shined his
flashlight into the contoured passage, which ran the length of the
machine and appeared to slope upward as it met the crystal blades.
“Efficient. It cuts through rock and channels the gravel out of
its path. I bet this thing runs on something a little stronger than the
usual 6-volt battery.”
“Orichalcum, the fuel of the gods,” Sophia reminded him.
Indy smiled up at her. “You should be in advertising.”
“Well, it’s the truth,” she said flatly. But Indy didn’t hear her,
because he spied an object gleaming in the reach of his flashlight
beam. He crawled beneath the drilling machine and found a small
bronze statue half-buried in the gravel by its rear foot. He dug out
the upper torso of a horned idol, an exact replica of the statue
Kerner had taken from him.
As Indy was backpedaling out of the cavity, Sophia asked, “If
this is a mine, where is all the orichalcum?”
He handed her the crushed statue. “Look familiar?”
“And broken,” she lamented dryly. “But it doesn’t answer my
question.”
“Turn around,” he said, indicating the area below the excavator.
“What?”
“Look.”
Her jaw dropped at the array of sulfur-crusted mining
equipment scattered across the field beyond 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
dull burgundy ore. The sloping quarry was littered with excavating
9

DALE DASSEL
machinery and sentry robots. The bronze automatons lay frozen in
the dirt where they had fallen in millennia past.
Sophia stared in glowing wonder. “The machinery that built
Atlantis!”
“Looks like it,” agreed Indy, calmly picking up another
tarnished idol. The ground was strewn with hundreds of them, all
broken or damaged. Some were missing arms; others had fractured
torsos packed with rusted gears. The profusion of ruined statues
was mind-numbing. The bronze cylinder in his hand was
crisscrossed with rotational scratch marks. Indy gazed across the
valley to the distant cavern wall. The rock was riddled with gaping
tunnels and pockmarked with countless 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 skin was banded with
horizontal marks and the tiny horns were blunted from wear.
“I think you’re right.”
“The evidence fits the hypothesis,” he concluded, searching the
ground for a statue that was relatively intact. “It makes perfect
sense.” 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.” Crunching across the red gravel to the
rusted hulk of the nearest sentry, Sophia plucked a chunk of
unpolished metal from the spilled container by the ancient robot.
“Do you call this a shortage?” She tossed the coppery nugget to
him.
Indy turned the piece of reddish ore in his palm. “Raw
orichalcum.”
She returned with her own rock. “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 looked at Sophia with grim resolve. “We can’t let this get
back to Germany.”
10

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Halt! Ihr zwei, Hände hoch! Sofort!” The harsh voice came
from the crest of the hill, where a lone Nazi aimed a submachine
gun at them. Indy and Sophia immediately raised their hands. 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 marred by his
thick accent. “Kerner will be most pleased.”
Indy expected more SS troops to descend on them within
moments, but the solitary Nazi was hesitant after his initial show of
bravado, unsure of what to do with his new prisoners without
reinforcement. “Too bad you don’t have a radio to call him,” Indy
said, trying to goad him into moving close enough to snatch the
gun away.
“Shut up and keep your hands where I can see them! Now start
moving,” the soldier snapped, gesturing angrily with the barrel of
his carbine.
“Better do what he says,” Indy conceded, and began walking.
“This is some fix we’re in,” Sophia grumbled, following him
uphill. “I hope you have a way out of it.”
“Give me a minute, will you?”
The soldier 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,” he sympathized.
“Easy to get lost in a place like this.” If he could distract the
soldier just long enough to draw his gun, they would be home free.
“It’ll probably take us days to find our way back to the submarine,
if we don’t starve first.” He gave the tense officer a pointed look.
“You did bring enough rations for all of us, right?”
“I said be quiet, and don’t try anything smart or you’ll be
sorry.”
“Button it, Jones. You’re not helping the situation,” Sophia told
him.
“You won’t shoot us because Kerner wants us alive,” Indy said,
ignoring her. “Am I right?”
Visibly irked by the jab, the soldier tightened his grip on the
MP-40. “Sarkastisches Amerikaner-Schwein. Just wait until the
Colonel gets hold of you, and then see how confident you are.”
All Indy’s hope of escape vanished when the Abwehr agent
suddenly appeared on the road above them. “God, can this day get
any worse?” Sophia said wearily.
“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. It’s madness. I’ve been lost for hours.” He
11

DALE DASSEL
prodded Indy and Sophia forward with his automatic. “I caught
these Americans in here scheming against Dr. Übermann.”
“That’s fine, sergeant. I’ll take them into custody now,” replied
Karl Sankt as he descended the gravel slope.
“Nein. I captured these prisoners and I will deliver them. But
you can escort me just in case they try to run away.”
“Excuse me, but Kerner gave me explicit orders to find Fräulein
Hapgood and I am not answerable to the Waffen-SS,” Karl stated
adamantly. “Now stand aside, soldier.”
Sophia didn’t understand a word of the exchange aside from her
name, but Indy followed the argument closely, waiting to make his
move when the time was right.
The Nazi was fed up with the intelligence agent. “You may
outrank me in Berlin, but not in the field. These are my prisoners,
and if you don’t like it then go and bitch 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. “Hey,
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.”
You don’t have much time. Kerner is looking for you right now.
But I’ll help you escape.
“Why would you help us?” Indy asked him.
“Weil ich weiß, was Dr. Übermann mit diesem neuartigen
Mineral, das er sucht, bauen will. Ich weiß, welche Greueltaten
mein Land in Europa begeht, und es muss aufhören, bevor den
Rest der Welt dasselbe Schicksal ereilt.”
“Verdammter Verräter!” the Nazi exploded with rage. He dived
at Indy and grappled wildly for the discarded weapon. Karl lunged
forward and clocked him with his pistol. The soldier slumped to
the ground.
“Tut mir leid,” he apologized. “Sowas mache ich nicht gern.” 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. “Nicht alle von uns sind Nazis. Wir
haben immer noch einen freien Willen.” Not all of us are Nazis. We
do have free will.
She nodded appreciatively after Indy translated for her. “Well
I’m glad to hear it. So, what’s the plan for getting out of here?”
12

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“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 rapidly
assessed the situation, glancing from the unconscious soldier on
the ground to Indy holding the submachine gun. “What is 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 was never assigned 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
with malice. Sophia smirked, remembering the lava pool.
She acknowledged the archaeologist with a shrewd smile,
unsurprised by his presence. “Jones, of course. Who else would be
bold enough to radio false coordinates to us when your lovely
partner was in our custody all along?”
“Who knew you’d be gullible enough to fall for it?” he parried.
“Rest assured we would have caught you sooner if I had spoken
to you personally. As luck would have it your call was relayed by
Officer Schulte, who lacks the discerning ear of an intelligence
expert. But I think we have all done quite enough mindless
wandering down here thanks to you.”
“Well, it was fun while it lasted,” Indy said.
“Fun?” Tristen 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 colleague a murderous look. “Have you
forgotten your allegiance?”
Swallowing his fear, the young agent shielded the Americans
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 as
Indy blasted a few shots in her direction. He paused to check on
Sophia, who sobbed helplessly beside the wounded agent. Tristen
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used the opportunity to scramble uphill, disappearing into the
subway tunnel before Indy could get off another shot.
“We have to help him,” urged Sophia, holding Karl’s head
above the rough gravel. A dark crimson stain covered the agent’s
uniform and his face had grown pale from blood loss. Already he
began to shiver and Indy knew that he wouldn’t survive much
longer.
Indy felt hollow inside, helpless. “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.
The psychic 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 amaze. “How—?”
“I don’t need the necklace. Tell him that I can see her now,”
Sophia instructed him. Indy complied, quickly explaining that she
was a clairvoyant seer.
Holding the agent’s trembling hands, Sophia Hapgood 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.”
14

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“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 felt a serene warmth flow
through her, melting the sting of sorrow. Karl’s final words would
give Mercy hope in the dark times ahead, and instill the strength to
continue into the bright future that she had foreseen.
She 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 said darkly. He 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!” Indy
cracked open his Webley and reloaded the empty chambers while
the tromping footsteps grew louder. He sidled to the edge of the
15

DALE DASSEL
stone tank and stole a glance around the corner just as a trio of SS
troops burst from the subway tunnel, led by the raging 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. “This isn’t going to be pretty. 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 of
its firepower in unison. Indy 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 captured or
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, Indy grimly assessed the situation:
Four enemies with automatic assault rifles against his heavy old
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.
16

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 saw her chance. She 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 alone in the mine cavern, the sole
combatant for Kerner’s battalion. The whole violent episode had
transpired in less than a minute.
Tristen glared at the Americans in fury and screamed, “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, cold 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. He frantically dug free and staggered
for the carved footholds in a kaleidoscope of stars. The Abwehr’s
blistering bullets followed Indy up the flank of the rumbling beast
17

DALE DASSEL
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, Jones? 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
Fleischer 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 Indy
and Sophia exposed to the 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 opposite corner and peered at Indy
through her arms. “Is she insane?!”
Indy flinched as a bullet ricocheted off the stone rim, inches
above his head. “Why don’t you ask her?” He drew a bead on
18

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 Walther shots smacked into the stone panel between
them. Sophia gritted her teeth angrily. “Damn it, I’m getting tired
of this!” Before Indy knew it, she had slid across the floor and
pulled the horned idol from his bag. Sophia 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 because 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 with astonishing speed. Indy was
caught by surprise when she 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.
Tristen 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. Indy 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 Hapgood 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.
19

DALE DASSEL
“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 slipped as
her 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.
She waved her knife like a flaming torch. “Get out of my way
or I’ll slice your guts to ribbons.”
Indiana Jones 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 whip slash, driving her
back again. The German agent glowered at Sophia Hapgood in
frustration, realizing that the leather weapon between them 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.
20

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 at Sophia’s head. 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 red 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 adrenalinefueled
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. Then 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. “Get
up!” He dragged Sophia to her feet and shoved her towards the
control deck, but they only managed to run a few steps when the
21

DALE DASSEL
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-struck 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 and 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. Indy and Sophia were
showered by a constant rain of hot rubble that stung them like
wasps.
Sophia thrashed violently and howled in sheer terror, and 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
22

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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. She 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 as the mechanical shudder
intensified. Harsh red light flooded the gritty tunnel, revealing the
smoothly-cut walls hewn by their vehicle. Above them, Indy saw
the rocky ceiling recede. They were free!
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 that 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 suicidal 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.
23

21
THE GOD MACHINE
A bed of soft gravel cushioned them from a fall that otherwise
would have broken more than a few bones. They tumbled to the
ground near the rock surface where the excavator had emerged. Its
bone-jarring footfalls abruptly went silent. Indy rolled over just in
time to see the megalithic tank vanish into the red smoke. He
crawled to the edge of the cliff and received a withering blast of
heat as he 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. Indy rolled onto his back and gushed a sigh of
relief. They were alive.
Sophia sat up nearby, grimacing in pain. “Are you hurt?” he
asked her.
“I think I bruised my dignity,” she said, rubbing her backside
tenderly.
“Sorry about that,” Indy apologized as he helped her stand.
Sophia hugged him tightly. She was still trembling from their
nerve-wracking ordeal. “It’s okay. I think I’ll live, thanks to you.”
“Don’t worry, honey, it’s over now,” he promised, giving her a
kiss on the forehead. When she’d regained her composure, Sophia
cautiously eased to the precipice and stared into the fiery chasm.
Shimmering waves of heat caressed her face like steam. She turned
away with a shudder at their close brush with death.
Indy collected his whip and returned it to his belt when he
realized that his Webley was gone. He’d dropped it during the fight
aboard the Megataur, which was now submerged in the boiling
cauldron below. He fastened his empty holster in dismay. “The gun
can be replaced,” Sophia reminded him. “We can’t.”

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
“Yeah, I know,” he said glumly. “But it was one of my
favorites.”
She gave him an odd look and turned away from the cliff,
repelled by the searing heat. She fanned the front of her blouse to
generate some breeze. “God, it’s hot in here.”
Indy lifted his fedora and sleeved the sweat from his brow. The
balmy temperature in the cavern was an unpleasant contrast from
the cool, moist air in the labyrinthine halls of Atlantis. “Maybe you
should’ve worn an asbestos swimsuit,” he suggested.
The redhead smiled in spite of herself. “Fight fire with fire,
right? Boy, do you have a one-track mind.”
“Just trying to forget about the heat.”
“Right.” She peeled off her German-issue wool jacket and
carelessly tossed it over the cliff, then proceeded to loosen the top
buttons of her blouse. Meanwhile, Indy draped his own leather
garment over his satchel for safekeeping.
Sophia regarded him with disbelief. “Hey, I like mine,” he told
her.
“It’s only a jacket.”
“But it’s my jacket,” he replied defensively.
She was about to criticize him when something caught her
attention. She 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?” Sophia 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. Her distasteful expression
withered into stunned awe. Her mouth opened, but no sound came
out.
Following her fragile gaze, Indy’s legs went rubbery at a jarring
sight, a spectacle so unreal that his soul felt as if it had been ripped
from his body. He swooned with vertigo, but somehow managed to
keep his balance while his shocked senses reeled to process what
he was seeing.
2

DALE DASSEL
Rising to the top of the cavern was a colossal circular stone
tower that supported the roof of the volcano. Its mass was utterly
incomprehensible. The ungodly column was stabilized by a web of
thick arms that radiated outwards to the sloping sides of the ancient
cone. The funnel walls had been milled smooth, with hundreds of
perfectly vertical lines which converged at the peak of the soaring
superstructure. A flat expanse of concrete riddled with pipes and
ventilation grates marked the point where the tower joined the
mouth of the volcano. The effect was like standing beneath the
canopy of a gigantic umbrella.
The implications were staggering. The volcano had been
hollowed out. Billions of tons of solid rock had been removed to
create the hellish amphitheater, a feat of engineering that was
impossible even with the oversized earthmoving equipment they’d
seen in the surrounding mines. Indy’s astonishment immediately
gave way to concern that machining the volcanic walls had
weakened the natural formation, rendering the stout cone into a
thin rock shell. Indy eyed the concrete shield 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 stone
pathway ringed the base of the mighty pillar.
“Indy, look! There’s a doorway!” she exclaimed.
Across the suspended footbridge, a door was barely visible in
the shadowed wall of the tower. Indy patted her on the shoulder.
“Good eyes. Let’s go take a look.”
They followed the rocky ledge and made their way to the
crossing. Up close, the bridge was larger than it appeared. From
the wall of the volcano to the central tower, Indy estimated that it
spanned a daunting length of nearly 200 feet. Its width was
comparable to a highway.
Sophia delicately prodded the rock span with her boot as though
it might crumble like a cracker. “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 Sophia didn’t budge, Indy
went first, walking unhurriedly across the abyss. After he’d gone a
dozen yards, Sophia gathered enough confidence to make the trip
herself, and finally jogged after him.
Waves of rippling heat baked them as they traversed the stone
bridge. Moisture dripped from the tangle of yellowed machinery
high above. Indy glanced up at the concrete shield and wondered
3

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
how many centuries the barrier would hold before the sea finally
caved in, destroying its greatest mystery.
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. Stop. Do we really want to go any further? It’s so hot,
and we don’t know what’s down there.” She flounced her damp
shirt to cool herself.
Indy looked at his partner. Perspiration glazed her weary
features. Her cardinal waves were twisted and matted like a wet
rag. Her sweat-soaked blouse clung to her body. She looked tired
and miserable, drained of energy. Indy sympathized with her. He
felt the same way. “I thought you wanted to find the Temple of
Poseidon?”
“Yes, but Plato never mentioned a volcano in his dialogues;
only mountains.”
“That’s because Plato never set foot in the place. He wrote
about Atlantis a few hundred thousand years after it sank,” Indy
reminded her. “The survivors were long gone by then, and their
descendants only had incomplete records of the event; memories
and legends.”
Blinking hard, Sophia wiped the burning sweat from her eyes in
agitation. “So he was preserving the story based on fragmentary
sources?”
“Exactly. What I’d like to know is why anyone in their right
mind would build a tower inside of a volcano. It doesn’t make
sense. Besides, we’ve already come this far. Why turn back now?”
“I’m sorry. You’re right.” With her perspective clarified, Sophia
stood up tall, adjusted her wet collar, and straightened her hair in a
dignified manner. “Let’s keep going.”
They set off down the sloping embankment, following the
rugged volcanic wall. Fortunately, 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 heavy 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.
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His question was forgotten a few minutes later, 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 seemed to glow incandescent orange
in the lurid glare of the distant caldera. It was like nothing they’d
ever seen before.
Primitive by design, the 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 to
climb the face 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,” Sophia breathed in hushed 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,
5

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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. The
humming noise they had heard earlier 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,” Indy responded.
“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 steeled his nerves, but still wasn’t prepared for the
spectacle. The breath rushed out of him when he gazed up at the
glittering pillar of techno-primitive might rising into the darkness
above. An oscillating band of green lights flashed around the
ancient skyscraper while neon ribbons rained endlessly from its
dizzying height. Humming with energy, it reached out for the
surrounding walls, bracing itself in the mountain with thick stone
arms and pipelines running in every direction. Below them, a web
of sulfur-crusted footpaths radiated outward from the base of 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, most brilliant light he had ever seen. It was truly a sight to
behold.
For a long moment they just stared in awe, silenced by its
ominous majesty. Sophia’s hands were clenched together, her eyes
glazed in rapture. “The pillar to heaven... This is the colossus that
Plato wrote about! Indy, we’ve found it!” She threw her arms
around him with joy. “What do you think?”
6

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Indy doffed his sweat-stained hat. “It’s the eighth wonder of the
world.” It was the most apt metaphor that he could think of, and it
seemed to fit.
“More like the archaeological find of the century!” she gushed
feverishly, and hugged him again.
As he looked over her shoulder, Indy 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, hollowed out lengthwise to resemble a colossal
tuning fork. Each support post was banded with an eerie, openmouthed
god mask eternally bellowing at the fires below. The
grim, triangular visage of Nur-Ab-Sal peered from between the
titanic girders. What Indy had failed to see before was how the
vertical pillars were mirrored by equally colossal stone arms that
pierced the fiery sea like Poseidon’s legendary trident.
“I knew it,” he said with conviction. “They’re harnessing
energy directly from the volcano. It’s the central power station for
the entire city.”
“In the Hermocrates, it says that 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
Kerner or Übermann reached the tower first, they were all in
trouble. “Let’s get down there right now.”
Worry darkened Sophia’s glistening features. “The heat might
kill us. Do you think we can make it?”
Indy was all too aware of the boiling magma. He gazed over the
caldera and the network of walkways that spanned the fiery
reservoir. They had been built for the purpose of reaching the
tower, so the crossing must be feasible.
In the distance, the mining city shimmered like a mirage in the
scarlet haze. Indy saw a stream of liquid flame glowing brightly
across the vast amphitheater. The 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 patted his arm. “Indy? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah. I was just thinking.” He focused on the bridge below
them. Traveling about fifty feet above the lake, the span extended
from the base of the stairs to a wider staircase on the island which
also received an adjacent bridge. Altogether, the distance was
comparable to the path they had crossed at the top of the cavern.
“Okay, here’s the plan. Use your shirt like a dust mask. Keep
your mouth and nose covered, breathe shallow, and hold my hand.
We can make it if we move fast, but don’t run. Are you ready?”
7

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
She nodded nervously. “I think so.”
“Let’s go then.” Indy pulled his damp shirt over his lower face
and held it there with his hand. 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, the woman’s green eyes were wide with fright. He nodded at
her. Sophia 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 let out a gasp as the relentless heat
grilled them like frogs on a hot sidewalk. Their clothes were
instantly soaked in sweat. Indy kept a firm grip on her hand while
maintaining a brisk pace that kept the heat flowing around them. If
they stopped, they would be cooked instantly. They had to keep
moving, no matter what.
The rumbling tower loomed above them in the blood-red haze.
Below them simmered the sheet of glowing ooze. The fiery cavern
reminded Indy of a Thuggee temple he’d once seen in India, except
the chasm of lava beneath Pankot Palace was a trickle compared to
the blast furnace at the heart of Atlantis. Glancing down at the
bubbling magma, Indy knew that a single misstep here meant
instant death. There would be no invisible bridge to catch him this
time, no holy miracle to save him from the fire.
The roiling temperature seared their skin and burned their eyes.
Sweat poured over Indy’s face and chest, evaporating almost as
quickly as it was shed. His bullwhip swung limp from his belt like
a roll of soft licorice. The hot leather glistened with oils drawn to
the surface by the intense heat. Sophia trotted weakly alongside of
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 with outstretched arms
spewed lava from their gaping mouths. Ahead, the icy light
beckoned them with the promise of sanctuary beneath Nur-Ab-
Sal’s grim orange mask.
“Hot… It’s so hot,” Sophia sighed wearily. Her face was
flushed red from the blazing inferno. She stumbled, nearly falling,
and then laboriously resumed her gait. The heat sapped her energy,
making it an effort to continue.
“We’re almost there. Keep moving!” Indy urged, pulling her
quickly along the sulfur-paved avenue that thrummed beneath their
feet as they drew closer to the energy plant. The vibration was so
severe that Indy thought the bridge might shake itself to pieces, but
he pressed on with determination, vowing to reach the tower if it
was the last thing he did. Not for himself, but for Sophia. This was
8

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the culmination of her lifelong dream, and he would see it
accomplished. It was all that mattered now.
As they drew closer, the florid volcanic glow burned through
the skin of shadow that wrapped the tower and revealed the dark
greenish gleam of the stone masked within. Strange hieroglyphs
appeared in the deep crevices of the superstructure, chiseled on the
sides of the vertical struts. The symbols burned with livid intensity
as if etched by a fiery pen, but Indy couldn’t pause to study them.
They trudged the remaining distance as two sagging figures
desperately clinging together for support. When they reached the
stairs bathed in crystalline light, Indy and Sophia climbed it on
their hands and knees. Indy dragged her up the last few steps and
flopped onto his back, wheezing for breath as if he’d just
conquered Everest. His skin felt stiff and crisp, his body roasted.
Sophia lay gasping for air beside him. The bright windows glowed
tantalizingly within reach, only a few feet away. 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, surprisingly, appeared to be constructed
of transparent glass.
The doors parted automatically. They flopped inside, where
they were embraced by a refreshing blast of cold air that rushed
from vents in the ceiling. Sophia collapsed with relief. Indy
propped her up against the wall. The doors closed behind them.
“Just take slow breaths, honey. That’s it. Nice and easy.”
Sophia coughed fitfully until her lungs accepted the fresh air.
She looked at him wearily and mumbled, “I can’t believe you kept
that damned jacket.”
“Hey, at least I’m not wearing it right now.”
“Give me a few minutes and I’ll be asking to wear it,” she joked
with a feeble smile.
“I know what you mean.” Indy’s sweat-soaked clothes already
felt cool and clammy in the frigid blowing air. He guessed that the
large pane glass windows were somehow sealed to maintain the
internal temperature, but he didn’t have time to contemplate it
because Sophia had finally recovered. On her feet again, she
moved around the chamber, bright-eyed and eager to explore.
Brightly illuminated by a series of small, recessed light holes
dotting its perimeter, the circular theater was enclosed in a
protective shield of alternating stone and glass panels that reduced
the fiery inferno beyond its walls to a garish red tapestry. A large,
shadowy aperture ringed the ceiling. The dark halo was reflected
by a recessed pit beveled in the floor directly below. Indy walked
over to examine one of the horned statues that presided over the
room like gargoyles. There were three guardians, each one a
smaller copy of the hulking lava pumps crouched on the
9

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
foundation supports outside. The herculean sentinel reached over
the pit with outstretched arms, jutting forth its massive head. The
mouth cavity was a gaping stone faucet. Behind the statue, the wall
panel was covered in a bronze sheet engraved with the running
spiral design.
“Oh my God, 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. The psychic stood beside a
stone pedestal with a frog statue, but she was staring into the pit
below her with a mortified expression. When he joined her, Indy
discovered that the hole was filled with hideously deformed
skeletons like the ones in Nur-Ab-Sal’s throne room.
It wasn’t a mausoleum, because the bodies were scattered
haphazardly across the floor, but more like a human
slaughterhouse. 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 canine
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, and its mouth was
pursed in a hollow ring. “Oh, how cute.”
“Yeah, cute.” Indy was more interested in the bronze panel
beside the pedestal, which featured an assortment of dials and
levers, and was inscribed with bizarre symbols. One of them was
an eye-like image: a horizontally-split circle that lidded a smaller
sphere within. Beside it was a stylized flower comprised of an
overlapping series of ovals, with a large dot in the center and
several smaller dots orbiting the petals.
“What language is this?” asked Sophia, mystified.
“Actually, I was hoping you could read it.” Indy admitted.
She stared intently at the alien script and finally shook her head
in resignation. “It’s not Atlantean, or anything else I’ve ever seen
before. 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 open its warm pages and leafed to
the back. “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,” Indy quoted. “Nur-Ab-Sal was one such
king. He it was, say the wise men of Egypt, who first put men in the
10

DALE DASSEL
colossus, making many freaks of nature at times when the celestial
spheres were well aligned.”
“Celestial spheres... Planets,” Sophia said gamely. “Okay, so
we’re talking about a specific planetary alignment sequence 12,000
years ago. How does that figure into this colossus tower?”
“You tell me. You’re the astrologer. Remember?” Indy re-read
the cryptic text. It wasn’t a clue or a revelation. It was just
downright baffling.
Sophia touched the sides of the pedestal. “Maybe these controls
have something to do with it.”
“Wait a minute. 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 on earth 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 and returned to the main floor,
distancing herself from the control panel and the ghastly horrors it
had wrought.
Indy put the journal away and touched the bronze dials, which
superficially resembled the controls to a common stove. He shared
Sophia’s disgust that the Atlanteans were capable of such atrocity.
It disturbed him at a level too deep for words, and he didn’t care to
dwell on the feeling. In fact, he was ready to leave right now.
“Indy, over here. I found a passageway,” Sophia called,
beckoning him over to one of the curved wall panels behind a
sentry statue.
Joining her, Indy found a narrow flight of polished ebony steps
spiraling upwards into the tower. “No kidding.”
“It probably leads to the Temple of Poseidon,” she predicted
with a spark of her former enthusiasm. “Let’s go!”
As he climbed the steps behind her, Indy was filled with a giddy
sense of elation, the thrill of the unknown. He was literally walking
into a myth, a place heretofore relegated to the realm of legend. He
couldn’t imagine what awaited them. After everything they’d seen
in Atlantis so far, he wouldn’t have been surprised to find
Poseidon’s flying chariot drawn by rocket-powered dolphins.
Arriving at the top, they stepped into a large ovoid room
sheathed in burnished copper. The air was filled with a deep blue
mist that cast everything in a vivid lapis glow. Condensation
flecked every surface, making the walls appear to sweat. Overhead,
the ceiling rose to an ascending shaft lined with thin golden rods
that plunged into a narrow well in the floor surrounding the
chamber. Indy glanced over the stairwell and saw that the rods
went into a channel filled with glowing blue water far below the
11

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
main level. The fluorescent steam chilled their skin. Indy unfolded
his jacket and slipped it on, grateful that the leather was still warm
from the heat outside.
“Indy.” Her somber intonation of his name drew Indy’s
attention to the middle of the room, to an object unlike anything he
had ever imagined before.
The gleaming stone rested on a circular bronze plinth raised
above the wet floor. Its polished surface reflected the cerulean aura
in the chamber. Indiana Jones was mesmerized by its horrible
beauty. It was flawless; a lapidary masterpiece of exquisite
workmanship. No earthly hands could have achieved such
perfection, he thought, stepping closer as the oversized crystal
skull drew him under its spell.
“The Messenger of Light. The memory of the cosmos...” Sophia
announced. She was physically trembling in ecstasy, clasping her
hands together hard enough to turn her knuckles white. She
reached out and touched the skull gently. “A dreamstone. It’s made
of crystal. Frozen light; physical consciousness; a gift from our
ancestors in the stars.”
“The ancients called crystal ‘holy ice’ because they thought it
came from heaven,” Indy said, finding his voice at last. “In fact,
the skull is the holiest object in the Mayan cosmos.”
Sophia nodded. “Yes. To them, the skull represented wisdom.
They used crystal because of its ability to store information;
records which could be accessed by mankind in the remote future
when all physical material was gone. The libraries of Atlantis do
not have books, but instead crystals which can store untold
volumes of information.”
Rock crystal used as a container of information? Indy had never
heard anything so ridiculous before. “Crystal libraries?”
“The akashic record. A telepathic compendium of universal
knowledge, located in the Hall of Wisdom. Oh, I’d give anything
to see it, Indy,” she said wistfully. “Wouldn’t you?”
Indy gazed at the skull uneasily and it stared back with placid
calm, its large, hollow orbits unnerving him. “Some knowledge is
better left unknown.”
“How can you say that? You’re a teacher.”
“Absolute power corrupts absolutely. Look at what happened
here. If the Atlanteans destroyed themselves, what makes you think
that we can do any better?”
“After the fall of Atlantis, several skulls were rescued and taken
to various parts of the world, to preserve the knowledge for the
future. They wanted to warn others not to make the same mistake.”
“What’s that?” he said, peering into the azure crystal. Sophia
leaned close and gazed into the giant cranium. In the very center of
the skull, where the brain would normally reside, hovered a large
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silver sphere polished to a brilliant luster. Its surface was flawless:
brighter than chrome, smooth as satin; like a gigantic ball bearing.
“It looks like the orb that your twin statue was holding.”
“Hmm, that’s interesting. Let’s have a look.” Sophia held her
palms close to the crystal and felt a soothing warmth radiating
from its glassy surface. “I am attuning myself to the divine
channel,” she replied before Indy could ask. “This is Chronos. He
is the keeper of the Holonothic record; a gateway to the infinite
line of history: our past, present, and future.”
Chronos, Indy thought, recalling the inscription in the Tikal
pyramid. “Time is the seed of the universe... Cronos was the god of
Time, confined here for all of eternity by Zeus.”
His statement garnered a benevolent smile from Sophia. “Yes.
The skulls were created at the dawn of time. When life began to
evolve, so did they, transforming from spiritual entities to physical
objects that were used by ancient priests as lenses for manifesting
the universe itself. Now please be quiet while I speak to it.”
The psychic bowed her head and raised her arms above the
skull in a manner eerily similar to the horned idols. She spoke in a
low voice, chanting:
“Asteria. Starry One.
Bestow wisdom on daughter and son.
Holy water turned to stone.
The power of crystal now is known.
Knowledge, love, generosity.
Initiate me in the mysteries.”
Indy stood in respectful silence as Sophia held the skull’s broad
temples between her hands. Her face was beatific, serene. Her
eyelids trembled. Perspiration gleamed on her brow, furrowed in
concentration. Then she began to speak in monotone. “The day of
two dawns is approaching. The sun will rise twice when mankind
unleashes the power of the gods on earth once more.”
“What do you see?” Indy asked, gently probing the vision out
of her.
“A city on the sea... distant mountains. The sun is rising… light
spreading over the city, almost like a bubble. It’s beautiful.” Then
the redhead’s idyllic glow shifted to abrupt horror. “Oh God.”
Indy grabbed her with concern. “What is it? Tell me what’s
happening.”
Sophia shook her head, faltering as if the vision was too
powerful to convey in words. Instead, she grasped blindly for
Indy’s arm and pressed his palm against the smooth, warm crystal.
The effect was electrifying. Suddenly robbed of his physical
awareness, Indy found himself drawn into the depths of the crystal
13

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
skull with startling speed. Light flowed around him: bright glowing
lines of starlight that stretched into infinity, each strand a luminous
thread in time and space. He rushed faster and faster until the
millions of threads were woven into a blazing sheet of light that
wrapped around him like white fire. The journey was painful, but
mercifully brief as Indy suddenly beheld Sophia’s unfathomable
vision.
Viewed from a distance, he saw the enormous bubble of light
swelling into the sky, erasing the feeble sunrise glowing on the
horizon. Then came a blinding flash as the halo erupted into in a
nightmarish blossom. The cool dawn was abruptly stained livid red
as the sky absorbed the roiling fire like a blood-soaked cloth.
Paralyzed with terror, Indy watched the crimson storm boil indigo
as the terrible flower spread outward, regurgitating billows of
orange flame until the entire bowl of heaven was a blazing inferno
of eternal light. If a city had existed, it was instantly vaporized
beneath the towering scarlet mushroom that flattened the earth into
a charred wasteland.
Then Indy was back in the chamber, standing before the great
skull again. He jerked his hand away as if burned. Sophia put her
arms around him, shaking in fear. “It’s gone... It’s really gone,” she
sobbed, crushed that her peaceful Atlantean race had unleashed the
most devastating force in existence upon the world, a weapon
capable of destroying all life in the blink of an eye. “Why would
they build such a terrible thing?”
Indy could think of only one reason. “For defense. They needed
to protect themselves.” But he was staggered that they housed a
weapon of such magnitude inside an active volcano, of all places.
Were they out of their minds? Then he had a more immediate
concern. “What does it mean? Inside of each pyramid is a bomb
capable of destroying the whole planet?”
Sophia wiped her eyes. “No, Atlantis was the only colony that
became aggressive with its power. They fell from grace, like Plato
said. That’s why the gods destroyed it, to wipe the slate clean in
order for mankind to start over again.”
“You mean like a kid kicking over an anthill to see how long it
takes them to rebuild?”
“We’re an experiment; One of hundreds of such worlds.”
The idea made Indy’s head swim, but he pushed it aside in
anger. “What’s the point?”
“To achieve our full potential and join the galactic society. The
gods seeded the universe with colonies like Atlantis, bestowed with
the knowledge we would need to reach beyond our world and
establish contact with our creators. The worlds that succeed in
achieving galactic consciousness are worthy to join it.”
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“What if we don’t succeed?” Indy pressed. “The so-called gods
destroy the world again? Another Ice Age, a meteor? What?”
“No.” Her expression was chillingly sober. “We do. Humans.”
Indy stared at her in utter disbelief. “Just look at history. We’ve
been warring for thousands of years, developing more and more
terrible weapons as our hatred and intolerance grew. Basically,
we’re the perfect poison. Our own worst plague.”
“Self-annihilation,” he concluded in disgust.
The psychic nodded gravely. “That’s the fallacy of civilization.
It’s never stable.”
“Well the Nazis are proving that in Europe right now,” Indy
remarked sourly.
“Exactly. The worlds that fail to evolve are destroyed by their
own hand. This is only the start of our journey.”
“How long will it take?”
Her answer was a small, fragile smile. “Until we learn to
coexist.”
The skull seemed to glow brighter. Its cool blue surface
appeared ageless and benign, showing no hint of the terrible power
that resided within. Just looking at it now gave Indy a chill. But at
the same time there were so many unanswered questions that it
could show him, all the mysteries of the world yet to be revealed.
They had only just scratched the surface.
“We shouldn’t be here anymore,” Sophia told him. “Let’s go
now.” She drifted away, pulling him reluctantly towards the stairs.
But Indy didn’t want to leave. He kept his gaze on the skull,
mesmerized by its possibilities. She tugged his arm insistently.
“Indy, come on.”
He was jarred out of the somber moment by a quiet hissing
noise and the scent of burning metal. Indy felt heat on his chest.
Sophia pointed at him in shock. The buckle on his satchel strap
was beading with condensation. Indy quickly pulled the strap away
from his body. The smoking buckle stretched like rubber and
snapped as he tore the bag free and tossed it away.
“No!” Sophia cried, lunging for it with outstretched arms. They
watched helplessly as the satchel containing Plato’s journal and all
of their artifacts bounced over the ledge and fell into the deep
culvert beside the wall. They ran to the stairs and saw a neon
splash far below. Sophia was crushed. “Everything was in there; all
of the proof. Now it’s gone.”
“Don’t worry, they’re just old relics,” said Indy, nudging her
towards the stairwell. “Let it go.” Sophia Hapgood, bereft of her
Atlantean treasures, sulked from the tower with regret, convinced
that things couldn’t possibly get any worse. But she was wrong.
15

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
When they emerged from the hidden passageway, their
appearance was greeted with the click of automatic weapons. A
startled trio of ragged-looking SS troops surrounded them; 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 because nobody was going
anywhere. They were all prisoners of the volcano, trapped in the
sea of molten fire.
Hans Übermann hobbled forward and 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.
Übermann’s red-rimmed gaze smoldered behind his ruddy mask
of wrinkles. The journey had clearly taken its toll on the aged
physicist. Bent and wheezing after the recent volcanic crossing, he
was now a limp human rag shaking with palsy. His mud-spattered
clothes reeked of sulfur. Only a wispy layer of hair clung to his
bony head, which had been scalded so badly that it resembled a
boiled red cabbage. He looked like a man literally about to fall
apart. Indy found it amazing that he’d survived at all.
Kerner finally recovered his composure. “Well, my Anglo-
American friends, it seems fate has deemed you worthy to witness
our ultimate victory. Look around you. 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.
It seems we were too hasty in dismissing you earlier, but I am
pleased that you have turned up to witness this historic occasion.”
“Hmph!” Sophia turned up her nose at the venomous
compliment.
“Mein Gott, how beautiful! This tower is a vision worthy of the
great Fritz Lang himself!” declared Übermann, surveying the room
with delight. “All my life have I waited for a breakthrough such as
this; a revolution in science!”
“Yes, a revolution indeed,” Kerner said apathetically while he
watched the cadaverous scientist limp around the moon-shaped pit.
The dull crack of bones made Sophia cringe as Übermann labored
down the steps and hobbled over to the frog pedestal. Kerner
frowned at Indy. “Now it’s your turn, Jones. And this time you’re
not escaping.”
16

DALE DASSEL
Indy refused to budge. He just glared at the Nazi with silent
loathing. Übermann looked up from the control panel in
annoyance. “Really, Doktor Jones, you must cooperate.”
“Not a chance, cue ball.”
“Move. Unless you want my men to move you,” he warned.
Kerner gestured his troops with a sharp finger snap, and the
heat-fatigued Nazis lethargically brought their weapons to bear on
Indy. “You insolent Americans are as stubborn as cattle, and that is
how you deserve to be treated. This is my final warning, Jones.
Move before I have you shot.”
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Indy took Sophia by the hand,
leading her into the stone basin while the SS troops posted
themselves by the fire sentries overlooking the rim. Kerner circled
the pit and stood on the spur opposite the frog pedestal, neatly
trapping them on the walkway between himself and Übermann.
“I noticed you lost your hat, Colonel,” Indy observed with snide
satisfaction. “I think I’ve lost some respect for you.”
Sophia chuckled at the remark.
The tall German officer smoothed his golden hair selfconsciously.
“There was an unavoidable accident, not that it’s any
of your concern.”
“Oh, shut up, Kerner!” rasped Übermann, fidgeting over the
bronze control panel. He skimmed the array of symbols with his
gnarled finger and mumbled to himself.
“Forgive me, Herr Doktor. Please enlighten us to the purpose of
this fascinating device.”
Sophia stiffened in alarm, and 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.
Hans Übermann raised his filmy eyes to the cavernous opening
in the ceiling above him. “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!”
“The Übermensch!” Kerner breathed reverently. “It all makes
sense now. 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 pseudo-mystical bullshit?” Indy
sneered. “You’re more deluded than I thought. The Aryan race is a
fantasy. It’s a group of Indo-European languages, just in case you
don’t know.”
“Besides, I haven’t seen any swastikas around here,” Sophia
added indignantly.
17

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Kerner laughed at her. “Then you are as blind as Jones.
Otherwise you would know that every light in this city represents
the original Aryan sun. Surely that is something a true student of
Atlantis would recognize.”
“You’re a real son-of-a-bitch, you know that?” she told him.
“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 into the volcano in
order to harness its 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 into the 21 st
century and beyond,” Kerner speculated with escalating awe. “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.
“It is our destiny.” Übermann stroked the frog statue fondly 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 had their way.
“Atlantis isn’t yours,” Sophia protested. “It’s the birthplace of
civilization and it belongs to all mankind.”
The old scientist laughed with a scratchy rasp. “I pity the
shortsightedness of 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?”
18

DALE DASSEL
“Bombs? The gods don’t need bombs!” Kerner scoffed selfrighteously.
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. “Insufferable bastards. All you know
how to do is wage destruction against life,” she said, clenching her
fists in desperation. “Your souls are not evolved to wield the power
of the ancients.”
“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
reminded her. “Today we have arrived at that glorious threshold,
and the time has come to reclaim our destiny!” He 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!”
Sophia gazed sadly at the mangled skeletons lying in the pit.
Tears glistened in her eyes. “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. Science has no sorrow,” he philosophized. “But
enough talk. Let us open the door to the future!” Übermann pushed
a red marble into the statue’s mouth and twisted a dial on the
control panel. The stone amphibian’s eyes glowed brightly, pulsing
with a hypnotic swirl.
The lights dimmed and a low mechanical rumble traveled
through the room. In the pit below, the ancient bones crackled and
shifted, then tumbled off of a circular plate that began to rise from
beneath. At the same time, a strange forked apparatus descended
from the ceiling to align with it. White light flooded the cavity as
the floor slowly dropped to expose a ring of glowing vents.
Moments later, fresh magma poured into the pool, smothering the
ancient bones. The SS troops standing guard were shocked out of
their lethargy when the sentinels added streams of liquid fire to the
blazing cauldron. They jumped back, fumbling their weapons in
surprise. 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! You’ll ruin the world!” 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
19

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
the gods?” He wiggled his spindly fingers over the control panel in
anticipation.
Indy didn’t bother answering the rhetorical question. He was
tired of arguing.
“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 and
vanished into the lava 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 colonel 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.
20

DALE DASSEL
“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 SS 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 Sophia 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 Indy and
Sophia 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!” Kerner 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
21

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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.
Unable to watch anymore, Sophia burrowed her face against
Indy’s chest, moments before 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.
22

22
ATLANTIS RISING
The rumble began in a deep, faraway place. It gradually built from
a low, soul-chilling groan to the ominous roar of a boulder circling
the rim of some ungodly funnel before its inexorable plunge. The
stone lava guardians seemed to quiver in fright, sloshing their
molten ore on the rim of the pool with a wicked hiss. Far across the
cavern outside, billows of glowing magma rained down on the
volcanic slopes as the carved fire god masks explosively spewed
torrents of liquid rock over the mining city like a faucet turned
wide open. Sophia began to sob in the darkness. The nightmare
scene vanished as the windows fogged opaque in the rising heat.
Without the cold air vents blowing, the chamber became a glasswalled
oven, an impression that was only heightened by the lurid
red light glaring in.
A curious crinkling noise came from everywhere at once,
crystal sand in a mortar pestle. Moments later, the windows
exploded, showering the chamber in a blizzard of broken glass.
Sophia’s terrified scream was drowned by the tremendous bellow
of the rushing magma outside. Searing heat poured into the room,
smothering everyone. Then a jagged crack snapped across the
ceiling, fracturing the stone-rimmed centrifuge housing. The tower
shuddered violently and the lava guardians toppled in unison,
shattering to pieces on the floor. The Nazis ran through the broken
windowpanes in terror, leaving their weapons behind.
Indy grabbed Sophia and quickly pulled her towards the door.
“C’mon! We gotta get back to the ship before it leaves!”
She skidded over the carpet of broken glass and stone. “Oh
God, we’ll never make it in time!”
“Save it, honey, we’ve got a train to catch!” Indy dragged her
outside into the raging furnace. The cavern was filled with noise. It

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
sounded like the end of the world as the creeping shudder
intensified into a sickening bellow, the sound of water tearing
through ancient stone and 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 terrified Nazis had already scattered, racing across the
various pathways to the dark shore while the gargoyle-like lava
pumps retched their glowing effluence into the broiling lake. On
the tower above, steam billowed from the mouths of the massive
god pillars and 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.
“Hey, listen to me.” Indy took hold of her like an anchor of
calm in the unfolding apocalypse. He looked into her frightened
green eyes. “Think of somewhere nice that you want to be right
now. Any place in the world.”
A soothing flash of green and blue immediately came to mind.
“The Azores,” she rasped in the sweltering air.
Indy smiled, nodding. “That’s right. A nice sandy beach on the
cool blue water. Shady palm trees blowing in the breeze. Good.
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 hold your breath as long as you can, because we’re going
to run like hell. Ready?”
The psychic squinted at the distant staircase through the
blistering haze. “I think so.”
“Okay, go!”
Hand-in-hand, they set off running across the stone bridge that
trembled beneath them like an enraged creature. The whole world
shook with the fury of the long-dormant volcano awakening from
its antediluvian slumber. The thick, boiling air cooked their skin as
they dashed headlong through the blazing inferno. Here and there,
luminous geysers exploded into the air like bombs as pockets of
volcanic gas burst through the surface of the lake. The magma
swelled higher, devouring the colossal support pillars in a rising
tide of burning sludge. Amid the constant rumble, they heard a
pitched cry of terror from one of the soldiers that plummeted from
another quaking pathway. Spurred by the man’s death scream,
Sophia jerked free of Indy’s grip and surged ahead in panic.
Indy tried to yell in warning, but his throat was punished by a
gasp of scalding air. Keeping to the center of the path, he ran
harder, desperately trying to catch up before something bad
happened. Then his worst fear materialized no sooner than he’d
predicted it. Sophia’s momentum outpaced her balance and she
2

DALE DASSEL
stumbled forward, tripping over her own feet. Indy stared in horror
as she pitched onto her chest and slid headfirst towards the edge of
the bridge. Without thinking, he leaped after her and belly-flopped
onto the crusted sulfur. Indy felt a jarring pain in his bruised
ribcage where the worldstone had shielded Kerner’s bullet. He
skidded across the griddle-hot surface with his heart lodged in his
throat, and clamped his hands around Sophia’s boots. His weight
immediately stopped her fatal slalom, inches from going over the
side. Indy hauled her up by her belt and pulled Sophia madly along
as he raced the remaining distance to the volcanic shore.
By the time they reached the staircase, their clothing burned
like fire 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
ever higher.
“Keep moving!” Indy yelled hoarsely. He dragged her by the
arm towards the mining road that ascended the funnel, where the
glowing waterfall rained molten liquid on the ore city above them.
The earth pulsed beneath their feet, threatening to explode. The
towering rock walls throbbed visibly as if made of rubber. Then 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 a 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 the massive
storerooms and gravity did the rest. All around the cavern, the
thunderous deluge of metal swept down the hills.
“Get off the road!” Indy dragged Sophia bodily towards the
nearest buildings and pushed 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 flash flood roared past
them. Orichalcum pellets ricocheted like bullets from every
surface. Indy clung tightly to her while the relentless surge rocked
the building, scraping the stone walls; a river of copper obliterating
everything in its path. If they had been caught in the open, they
would have been swept away and 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.
3

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
The landslide gradually subsided as the ore vaults were finally
emptied. Sophia coughed and waved her hands to dispel the thick,
dusty fog that cloaked everything in a red haze. “Let’s go!” Indy
said. They dashed onto the road and waded uphill through the
ankle-deep orichalcum, which shifted constantly when they plowed
through it.
Sophia slipped and fell and struggled to regain her footing
again. “This is impossible!” she moaned piteously. “We’ll never
make it to the top!”
Indy thought so too, until he realized that the mire of pearls
would grow shallower as they moved higher, since the bulk of the
material had settled at the bottom of the valley. Then he 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 Sophia
against the slushy tide.
“I’m trying!” she insisted, scrambling awkwardly up the icy
slope. Indy steered her toward the angular houses, which had
naturally deflected the beads onto the roadway and offered a
narrow but clear path through the treacherously slick debris.
Using the buildings for support, they continued their frantic
climb while the cavern reverberated with the growing thunder. By
the time they passed the first cluster of buildings, they were able to
gain traction on the paved flagstones 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 that it was coming, but he was more worried that the volcano
could blow at any time, killing them instantly. That singular terror
propelled him uphill faster than he’d ever run in his life. Pure
adrenaline carried him up the spiral road, past the seemingly
continuous blur of ancient stone villages that ringed the fiery cone.
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 suddenly that his feet shot out from
under him. He hit the ground and scrambled back to her. He
grabbed Sophia’s arms, trying to pick her up. “Get up! Get up!”
“I can’t,” she whimpered. “I’m too tired.”
He clutched her tightly and screamed, “Do you want to die
here?! Move!”
Sophia waved him away feebly. “Just save yourself…”
Then a cold rain suddenly spattered the back of 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 the pipes above. The roof
was weakening. It could all end at any moment. “Damn it, Sophia!
Come on! Move!”
4

DALE DASSEL
The redhead pumped her legs weakly, sobbing while Indy
desperately dragged her up the gravel slope. She could see the
bridge a hundred yards away, shimmering in the boiling heat like a
mirage that might vanish at any moment. Her muscles quivered
like rubber. Her body burned in agony. She gazed up at the leaking
stone shield and just shook her head sadly. “I’m so sorry... We’ll
never make it.”
Angered by her defeat, Indy seized her roughly by the arms and
looked Sophia directly in the eyes. “Listen. You have a message to
deliver,” he reminded her. “Remember?” His gaze was stone
serious.
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
threatening to erupt at any moment, Sophia Hapgood’s perspective
suddenly became clear. She had to make it out alive for Karl, as
she had promised him. The destiny of two lives hinged on the note
that she carried. Sophia determinedly pushed herself up, trying to
ignore the pain in her burning legs, and somehow managed to
stand again. She slipped her thumb into her hip pocket and felt the
edge of the folded note inside. She vowed to deliver it or die
trying.
Another spray of icy water rained over them. It was all the
motivation that she needed. Drawing on her renewed strength,
Sophia ran towards the footbridge with Indy pulling her swiftly
along. The rock span shook visibly, threatening to crumble as
another severe tremor rocked the cavern. They ran faster, scaling
the remainder of the mine road in a fraction of the time it had taken
them to walk down, 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 door in the tower. The dark staircase offered a
welcome respite from the blazing furnace outside. They stumbled
up the narrow spiral, blindly bumping into walls until they finally
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!” he shouted.
The bridge quivered with rage, trying to shake them off like
ants as they barreled headlong towards the cavern wall. Chunks of
broken concrete dropped from above, pelting the walkway. Then
the stone trestle heaved sideways with a massive thunder crack that
spurred them to move faster. If Indy had looked behind them, he
would have seen a 20-foot section of bridge span plummet into the
blazing chasm, flipping end-over-end as it fell. Far below, the
magma had already swallowed the base of the tower and was
5

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
methodically devouring the ore city. The pyroclastic heatwave
surged up the funneled cavern, turning the lidded volcano into a
boiling pressure cooker on the verge of eruption.
Miraculously, the broken highway remained suspended long
enough for Indy and Sophia to reach the volcanic ledge. There was
a deafening roar as they ran into the massive borehole. Behind
them, the entire span fractured from the wall, tearing away a
ragged chunk of the ledge as it plunged into the fiery caldera. They
raced through the hollowed pipe in a matter of moments, 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 again.
As they scampered up the gravelly slope towards salvation, the
earthquake rumble intensified. The monstrous excavation vehicles,
which had remained still for ages, slowly began to slide as the
gravel shifted like quicksand beneath them. In seconds, it seemed,
everything was moving. The entire world was falling apart. Piles of
ancient ore literally disintegrated before their eyes. Loose rocks
and horned statues quickly joined the escalating landslide.
“Watch out!” Indy jerked Sophia out of the way to avoid the
metal bulk of a sentry robot that tumbled wildly past them.
“This is a nightmare!” she yelled in wide-eyed terror. “Please
make it stop!”
Indy led her to the side of the cavern and they moved 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 rapid nose-first slew to the bottom. Sophia
screamed as the gravel fusillade peppered them like bullets, but
Indy pressed on grimly through the swirling dust towards the
gauzy lights at the summit.
Keep moving, keep moving. We’re almost there. He repeated the
words like a mantra in his mind, willing it to be true. 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 it all, 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 they wouldn’t. The
bleaker alternative vanished in the burst of victory that Indy felt
when they finally staggered onto the concrete pad at the top of the
mine slope. They leapt into the concrete ditch and raced into the
subway tunnel.
6

DALE DASSEL
The volcano rumbled in the distance, its horrible growl echoing
off the walls of the tunnel. Another tremor shook the ground, and
the light seams flickered, creating a disorienting strobe effect. Indy
imagined the fluorescent magma flooding through the ancient mine
tunnels into the cavern, pursuing them with ravenous intent; the
carpet of liquid fire devouring them like burning quicksand. The
terrifying image pushed him to move faster. He pulled Sophia
quickly down the shuddering draw, towards the vaulted halo of
light at the other end.
They burst from the passage and ran down the track at full
speed, their boots slapping the concrete. Ahead of them, the
locomotive sat crouched like a sphinx, its sleek bronze fittings
gleaming in the fluttering lamp coils along the quaking subway
platform. As Indy raced towards the train, he prayed to God that it
still worked or they were as good as dead.
When they reached the vehicle, they jumped out of the ditch
and ran around to the great mask shield on front of the car. Sophia
fished the handful of orichalcum from her pocket and dumped
them into Indy’s waiting hands. Her face was etched with concern.
“Is this going to be enough?!”
Indy leaned out and pitched the fuel pellets into the gaping
mouth. “I hope so, or this is gonna be a real short trip!” The train’s
headlamp glared brightly. The vehicle shuddered to life with a
whirring sound. They both sighed with relief.
“Hurry up, it’s starting,” he said, urging her aboard. “Sit down
and hold onto something, ‘cause we’re getting the hell outta here!”
Sophia wedged herself in the middle of the front bench while
Indy slid into the control seat. “You never told me that archaeology
was this exciting!”
“What, and spoil the surprise?” he replied, taking the control
stick in his hands. Slim translucent panels rose from the floor on
both sides to enclose the passenger compartment. Indy pulled back
on the yoke and stomped the accelerator pedal flat. The Zephyr
lurched into motion with a velocity that plastered them against
their seats.
“Ooh!” Sophia exclaimed as they flew into the tunnel.
The subway platform instantly vanished and the keyhole portal
shrank to a glowing dot behind them. Indy let out a whoop of
triumph. The Atlantean Zephyr—four tons of solid granite—
hurtled smoothly down the track like a megalithic bullet. The thin
glow strips in the tunnel merged into one flickering sheet of light
as the train glided swiftly and silently ahead. The speed and
continuous illumination produced a sense of weightlessness that
was both exhilarating and frightening. Pulse racing, Indy leaned
close to the angled window panel to see where they were heading.
7

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Forward visibility was limited to a triangular wedge between
the sides of the train and the surrounding walls. The headlamp
revealed a dizzying blur of cobweb-streaked stone. The tunnel
dropped perceptibly while inertia drew the passengers to the left.
Indy gasped in shock. His stomach felt as if it had been ripped
from his being and thrown a mile. Outside, the concrete flashed by
at a blistering rate while the car hugged the sunken track with
magnetic precision, veering tightly along its trajectory. The
increasing pressure mashed their hips painfully against the stone
armrests of their seats. Judging by the effect of gravity, Indy had
the impression that the train was traveling along a broad curve
which spiraled outward from the middle of the city.
Then a spot of bright color materialized in the grayness ahead.
The walls were mottled with strange glistening orange lumps.
Before Indy could even question it, they shot through the orange
mass with a staccato of squishy pops like ripe fruit bursting. The
windows of the car were instantly smeared with tangerine slime.
“Eww!” Sophia blanched in disgust. “Sea slugs.”
The lights flickered erratically when a deep tremor rocked the
tunnel. The car shuddered. Sophia screamed. And then they were
plunged into complete blackness. Indy was stunned to suddenly
find them rocketing blindly through the darkness while the entire
world was coming apart around them.
“Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God...” Sophia moaned with
rising panic. Under different circumstances her desperate chant
would have aroused Indy, but not here. Not now.
Another jolt ravaged the tunnel and 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 band of stone. Their escape would
come to a disastrously abrupt end if the speeding car snagged the
ledge. Of course, a swift death was better than facing the lava, Indy
reasoned. At this point, they had nothing to lose. Brow furrowed
with determination, he pulled the control stick all the way back,
drawing maximum speed from the vehicle. Sophia clung to the
back of his seat with a white-knuckled death grip as they hurtled
furiously towards the misaligned gap. Indy squeezed his eyes shut.
It would all be over in an instant.
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
opened his eyes warily. He couldn’t believe it. They were still
alive!
“We made it! We made it!” Sophia cheered, clasping Indy’s
shoulders.
8

DALE DASSEL
Within moments, gravity slowly released its grip on them. Indy
sensed the tunnel rising again. The track straightened out and the
subway car glided swiftly along a level grade. 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, frozen in horror.
It was too late. They were moving too fast and there was no way to
stop. Their string of miracles was used up. Now it was time to cash
in their chips. Indy was comforted by the touch of Sophia’s hands
on his shoulders. If it was the last thing he felt in this world, he had
no regrets.
Just when doom seemed inevitable, a sliver of heaven-sent light
split the onrushing darkness. 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
wooden crates full of orichalcum that were piled neatly along the
track. On the row behind Sophia, the skeletal commuter clattered
to pieces against her bench as the train rumbled to a stop in a
glittering rain of beads and came to rest only a few yards short of
the avalanche that blocked the opposite tunnel.
The slime-streaked windowpanes receded into the floor of the
car. Indy jumped out and yanked Sophia to the ground 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. Everything was moving.
Shouting crewmen ran helter-skelter through the air lock.
Evidently they had arrived just 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. The ancient walls groaned in protest.
Chunks of broken stone fell from the ceiling and crushed the radio
communications table. The archway splintered like glass. The
spiral lights fizzled uncertainly and went out. On the U-boat deck,
the klieg light skewed the darkened chamber with its powerful
beam.
9

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
Indy dashed up the stairs, pulling Sophia towards the pier. “Get
onboard! This whole place is coming down!” he hollered at
Captain Wilhelm, who frantically beckoned his men up the
gangplank of the wallowing ship.
“Raus! Raus!” The panicked crew scrambled up the ladder into
the conning tower while two sailors quickly freed the mooring
ropes that secured the ship to the dock.
Indy and Sophia raced across the platform through a jumble of
discarded vegetables and copper pellets that scattered from the
overturned crates. “Captain, let’s get the hell outta here!”
Wilhelm was baffled by the archaeologist’s presence. “Another
American? Where did you come from?”
“He’s my guide,” Sophia explained as the last two sailors
rushed past them up the swaying steel plank.
“I was a stowaway,” Indy confessed, anxiously watching the
submarine tilt from side to side like a buoy in the choppy tumult.
“Where are Kerner and the others?”
“They’re all dead, and so are the rest of us if we don’t get out of
here, fast!” The klieg lamp toppled over with a loud crash, as if to
emphasize the danger they were in. The sailors shoved the light
overboard, hurriedly sealed the aft loading hatch, and ran for the
conning tower.
Wilhelm accepted the news with a succinct nod. “Good
riddance. One less piece of Nazi trash polluting Germany,” he said,
urging them to follow him aboard the U-41.
The rumble intensified in the cavern. Pieces of dislodged stone
clanged off the U-boat’s hull and splashed into the channel. Indy
helped the captain disconnect the ramp from the deck while Sophia
scaled the tower as if the deck was on fire. Above the ship, the
transparent jelly membrane buckled grotesquely under the weight
of the ocean. The shield would fail at any minute as the city shook
itself apart.
Indy shoved Wilhelm towards the ladder. “Go! Go!” They
scrambled madly up the bridge as Sophia disappeared inside.
Halfway up, they were mortified to see a ragged red glow split
the darkened cavern like a knife wound. Steam filled the air with a
wicked hiss as the gushing lava met the ice cold seawater pouring
down the stairs. The hellish fog obscured the earthquake-ravaged
chamber, but nobody was watching anymore. Wilhelm dove
recklessly for the hatch, shouting orders to the control room below.
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 he was pulling it shut. The hat tumbled
across the bridge as the U-boat reeled violently to the side. Indy
10

DALE DASSEL
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 at him from below.
Indy was galvanized with indecision, torn between sentiment
and survival. Once he shut the lid, his treasured hat would be lost
forever. The horrible realization shattered the fiery shell that
paralyzed his body. Fighting every instinct for self-preservation,
Indy sprang from the hatch and deftly snatched up his hat just as
the swirling tide wet the brim. He slipped back inside the tower,
slamming the iron cover shut as water sloshed over the bridge.
Indy dropped the fedora down the well and madly twisted the
handwheel to lock the pressure hatch.
“We’re clear to dive!” he yelled to Wilhelm, staring up from the
depths of the control room.
“Flood buoyancy tanks!” Wilhelm shouted. “Everyone at diving
stations! All engines full reverse!”
Indy slid down the ladder like a fireman and hit the metal floor
plates with a thud. On the wall nearby, the depth gauge needle was
parked at the very bottom of the scale, far below the red 'critical'
swathe which indicated the zone of extreme danger.
Sophia rose to her feet with a malicious glare. In her hand was
Indy’s damp fedora. She mashed it onto his head. “Don’t you ever
do that again.”
“Thanks,” he grinned, breathless and still shaken by their
narrow escape.
“Get out of the way!” Wilhelm growled, pushing Indy against
the wall to avoid the stream of human traffic.
The control room was a hive of chaos. Frantic U-boat crewmen
hustled back and forth to fulfill their duties while the commander
issued a rapid string of orders in German. Indy had trouble
following the naval jargon, but one thing was clear: they were
beginning their ascent.
Almost immediately, the ship began to move. The planesmen
and helmsman, coordinating their efforts with manic precision,
adjusted their array of wheels to maneuver the vessel safely out of
the air lock. Wilhelm brushed past Indy and hurried forward to
visually monitor the hazardous operation from the bow.
“We’d better find a seat.” Indy told Sophia, and quickly jogged
after him. As they rushed along the narrow passage, moldy hams
bludgeoned them like meat clubs. They arrived at the viewing deck
to see the harbor wall drifting past the starboard windows. Wilhelm
was directing the ballast trim operation by phone while surveying
the bottom of the channel outside the Plexiglas bay. Moments later,
the moldy cyclopean blocks disappeared in a storm of vented air
bubbles that masked their passage into the open sea.
11

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
The Orogeny turned away from the cavern and slowly began to
rise above the muddy plateau. Exhausted, Indy collapsed onto the
nearest bunk. He was bruised, burned, and filthy. His entire body
ached, and he just wanted to sleep for a week. The steady rumble
of the motors coaxed his heavy eyelids shut. Sophia slumped on
the bench alongside him, feeling equally miserable. Her clothes
were muddy and torn and she reeked of sulfur. She was terrified to
look at herself in a mirror because she probably looked like hell.
She certainly felt like it. Her discomfort was a small price to pay
considering they’d escaped with their lives, and for that she was
thankful. She laid her head against Indy’s 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 pain and terror echoed
throughout the vessel. Unbeknownst to all, their recent departure
had weakened the pressure seal, which had collapsed, forcing the
air out as the sea rushed into the cavern like a knife piercing a
balloon. Indy clung to Sophia, blinking at the kaleidoscope of stars
that speckled his vision when his head struck a steel beam. Only
the felt of his hat spared him from a near concussion.
Amidst the chaos, Wilhelm groped for the radio phone and
hollered: “Hard left rudder, steer one-eighty! Bow planes and stern
planes up thirty degrees! Motors all ahead full!”
The boat gradually righted itself in the ebb of the fluid
concussion wave. Then, after a few uncertain moments, it turned
and nosed upward, climbing laboriously along the muddy canyon
wall. “Hold onto something,” ordered Wilhelm, planting his boots
firmly against the support girders.
Indy and Sophia braced themselves between the narrow walls as
the angle increased. Gravity swept away every loose item that
wasn’t bolted down. The phonograph slid backwards, bumping
over the deck plates and crashing against the aft bulkhead. The
cacophony of tumbling debris sounded like an avalanche
throughout the tilted ship. The Captain leaned forward grimly and
muttered, “Climb, climb… Keep going.”
Rising higher still, traversing the endless wall of mud, the U-
boat finally emerged over the crest of the sunken plateau. The
observation deck was flooded by the glow of an aquatic sunrise.
Wilhelm quickly ordered the ship trimmed and the Orogeny
leveled off. Once stabilized, the alarms went off and they drifted in
silence.
Far away, the mighty volcano was alight. At the summit, a
relentless series of scarlet flashes stunned the amethyst water amid
12

DALE DASSEL
the fountain of smoke billowing into the liquid sky. Through the
torrent of cottony gasses, Indy glimpsed the white tower lodged in
the mouth of the volcano. Its curved sides reminded him of a
colossal vase. Glowing veins of lava gushed from the tower’s pale
concrete foundation and trickled like melted wax down the
shuddering peak. The frigid water instantly cooled the molten
rivers to flows of blue sludge, split with glowing orange sutures as
the elastic magma rolled downhill. The people on the U-boat stared
in sobered awe as the fiery mountain was wracked with silent
explosions that illuminated the horrific spectacle below.
Silt billowed from the shuddering monuments, obscuring the
wondrous columns as they toppled in onto the broad avenues of
Atlantis. Through the pale clouds, they saw the gleaming layer of
crystal that sheathed the buildings. Pyramids shed their skin,
loosing mosaic shards into the heaps of green sludge mired at their
base. Moldy stone blocks tumbled in slow-motion like gigantic
dominoes into the spongy sediment, which exploded into billowy
green mist.
“God…” Sophia sobbed emotionally at the unfolding
destruction.
Everyone flinched when a florid gush of fire lit the seabed like
a camera flash, freezing the entire city in blood red for a stunning
instant. As an archaeologist, Indy was accustomed to seeing a
solitary pyramid, or small groups of them, but the sprawling
metropolis of angular structures was an alien landscape, a city
from another world. It was like nothing he’d ever imagined. The
momentary sunrise reminded him of the unworldly explosion he’d
witnessed in the crystal skull. His terror was overwhelmed by the
awesome realization that he was looking at the lost city of Atlantis:
no longer a fable, but a legend in stone.
It was real.
The city looked smaller than he’d imagined, but also delicate
and fragile, its pyramids trapped in the icy blue water like a
sculpture frozen in time. The enchanting sight existed only for a
fleeting moment until the crimson bubble collapsed and the indigo
dusk resumed.
“What happened down there?” Wilhelm’s voice was filled with
remarkable calm as the sunken city was ravaged by the volcanic
earthquake.
“Kerner overloaded the main power plant. It shut down and the
vacuum failed.”
The captain was unremorseful. “Crazy bastard. He deserved to
die.”
Pockets of long-trapped air exploded across the city like bombs
from the shattered structures, boiling upwards in silvery fountains.
Indy could only stare in mute horror while Atlantis bled away the
13

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
last of its life. The shimmery columns of air appeared to suspend
the pyramid-jeweled plateau above the seabed like chains holding
a magnificent chandelier until the city disintegrated into oblivion
by the storm of rising sediment. Unable to watch anymore, Sophia
buried her face against Indy’s chest.
Wilhelm had also seen enough. He 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 of the deep.
Sophia was sobbing quietly. Indy eased her back onto the bench
again and held her while the submarine drifted in a slow spiral that
carried them away from the erupting volcano. They began to rise
from the seabed. Within moments the glowing blue sea light faded
and the crumbling ruins shrank into the blackness.
Then, just when things seemed calm, the ship was unexpectedly
buffeted by a column of rising air bubbles. It shuddered with
turbulence. Holding Sophia tight, Indy clutched the bulkhead
girder tensely and told Wilhelm, “I think we’re going to need a
bigger U-boat.”
“No, she will make it,” the captain assured with calm
conviction. Indy hoped to God he was right.
The unsettling rumble lasted only a few seconds until they were
past the invisible airstream. Wilhelm made a navigational
adjustment to their course, setting the U-41 on its final ascent.
As they climbed higher, the crushing black water gripped the U-
boat, wrenching a deep groan from the vessel, the sound of chalk
dragging across a monstrous slate. Wilhelm’s face was drawn in
agony as if he shared the pain of his injured ship. The icy water
pried into every riveted seam, threatening to split the steel boat like
a knife shelling a crab. Then a muffled explosion jolted the U-41
through its hull plates. Outside, a syrupy amber cloud obscured the
port window.
“Verdammt!” Wilhelm cursed as the illumination dimmed. He
issued a rapid string of German into the radio phone.
“What happened?” Sophia cried in panic.
“We lost one of our lights. The bulbs are filled with oil to
withstand the outside pressure,” he explained tersely.
It dawned on Indy what he was saying. “You mean we’re below
crush depth?”
“Far below the limit. We cannot rise too quickly, otherwise we
risk destroying the ship.”
“Then we need to slow down.”
As if in response to his words, the submarine grew sluggish,
heavier as the engine power diminished. A solid quiet filled the
bridge while the Orogeny limped higher, following its slender,
solitary bar of light upwards through the onyx water. Sophia
shivered in fear. Indy held his breath and prayed that the motors
14

DALE DASSEL
didn’t give out. The U-boat seemed to hang from the thread in
space. If the thread snapped, they would plunge into the black
abyss and be lost forever.
Indy noted, with significance, that there wasn’t a single SS
soldier aboard the sub, nor so much as a pellet of the orichalcum
they’d harvested from the mines. The Nazis had perished in their
arrogance and greed, exactly like the Atlanteans that they claimed
ancestry from. But he took no satisfaction in the grim
synchronicity. Many lives had been lost in the Nazis’ insatiable
quest for power, and Indy had a disturbing feeling that it wasn’t
over yet. Everything was going to change.
Suddenly a vivid white flash streaked past the darkened
window, startling Indy from his grim reverie. He gazed out into the
blackness and saw a large, glowing apparition gliding alongside
the submarine. Indy couldn’t believe his eyes. He thought that
fatigue was causing him to hallucinate. The being was flat and
aerodynamic, with a broad set of wings tapering to blunted points.
Its beady dark eyes reflected an infinite sense of calm. It was an
angel. An angel of the deep.
“Indy, look,” Sophia whispered in hushed wonder.
“I see it.” The angel, he realized, was actually a giant manta ray,
larger than any he’d ever seen, glowing with pearly incandescence.
“It’s so beautiful…” she said reverently. Indy glanced at Sophia.
Her features, bathed in the manta’s glowing aura, were cast in
serene wonder, finally at peace with herself.
Then he knew that they were going to make it to the surface,
because the manta was the aquatic form of his guardian eagle, his
eternal protector which always appeared to him in times of danger
to reassure Indy that he would survive. The pearlescent ray
acknowledged him with a graceful flap of its diamond-shaped
wings, and then flew ahead of the ship like a luminous arrow,
leading them towards the faint sparkle of sunlight that beckoned
them back to the world above.
15

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 like acid as 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 up 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 stunned 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 ungodly
rage for the destruction of his kingdom. However, the ancient sea

DALE DASSEL
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 by 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, hopeful eyes. “So you
really do believe that this was Atlantis?”
“Absolutely. The pyramid belt is proof that they colonized the
entire world, and it still exists.” Then Indy recalled the goddess
statue holding the silver orb, and he finally understood the message
of her legacy. “I think Atlantis was the ancient name of our planet,”
he told her.
Sophia gazed at him in astonishment as the implications
dawned on her. “That means… we’re all Atlanteans. Every one of
us. The whole human race,” she trembled. “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!”
“People don’t like being told they’re wrong, even if the proof is
right in front of them. If this ever got out, it would change
everything: history, religion, entire belief systems... it might even
provoke wars. You’ve already seen it happen.”
Sophia nodded sadly, accepting the truth. She knew he was
right. “It’s just easier to call Atlantis a myth, isn’t it?”
His voice was tinged with irony. “Yeah. I guess it’s just not in
the cards.”
They gazed out across the rosy water, lost in thought for awhile.
“Maybe I’ll write a book about all of this someday,” Sophia mused
aloud.
“You’ll have to publish it as fiction.”
She uttered a short laugh. “Yeah, I guess so. 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 at the title. “Sounds like a pulp novel.”
Sophia shrugged. “Maybe it is.”
Indy mulled over the idea. “It might be a good story,” he
conceded, “But it needs a happier ending, though.”
The redhead smiled. “How about this one?” She reached up,
traced the scar on his chin with her thumb, then cupped his face in
2

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
her hands and kissed him tenderly. Their spirits soared as they
embraced. Indy savored her soft touch, the closeness of their
bodies, and the crash of the rolling sea. He never wanted it to end.
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 Aegean sunlight warmed their skin. The ball of fire
settled into the lapis water, leaving a creamy tapestry of rose-tinted
clouds on the horizon. Dayglow faded into blackness and the stars
began to appear, tentatively at first, then brightening until infinite
points of luminescent fire blanketed the night sky. As a chill wind
swept the dark and keeping 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.
3

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.

INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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 fault, 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
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DALE DASSEL
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 (and a goodly amount of the
latter two when the former is lacking). 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 visual 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.
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INDIANA JONES AND THE FATE OF ATLANTIS
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? It only required about ten pages
to neatly establish the Nazi’s mission strategy and paint the setting
for Indy to explore the vacant labyrinth of Atlantis policed by
aimlessly wandering solitary SS guards.
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-styled 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 solid 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?
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Believe it or not, the voice of Sophia was miscast according to Hal
Barwood, who found her demeanor a bit cool when he wanted her
to emit more warmth. 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 of the places
that hold clues to her Atlantean quest until she is confronted with
the proof. Then she revels in the thrill of discovery. Personalitywise,
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’ to Indy, they were shared
by many respected scholars in the 19 th and early Twentieth century.
The ‘pyramid belt’ theory was first posited by Lewis Spence, who
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 and controversial Chariots of
the Gods, and Ignatius Donnelley, who is widely considered to be
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 (Roman) 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.
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INDIANA JONES AND THE 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 orichalcum’s
potential for warfare, 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 onward besides the subdued threat of the 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 hopscotch 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 contributing a distinct role to
bring our heroes one step closer to Atlantis.
Changing the Game
Long before Fate of Atlantis existed, I was fascinated with lost
continents, the Bermuda Triangle, UFOs, crypto-zoology, and the
assortment of mysterious phenomena gathered in the Folklore
section of the library, particularly Atlantis. Delving into the lore of
the lost continent, American psychic Edgar Cayce proclaimed that
the destruction of the city resulted in the Atlanteans abuse of their
technology, which he identified as power crystal termed the ‘firestone’.
This revelation coincided neatly with another favorite
esoteric subject of mine—crystal skulls, whose mystery captured
my attention more than a decade prior to the fourth Indiana Jones
movie.
The crystal skulls are considered Mesoamerican relics attributed
to the ancient Mayan civilization, which fashioned the objects from
quartz crystal to record their knowledge for mankind in a physical
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DALE DASSEL
form that would be preserved throughout the ages until such a time
as it was needed. Contemporary psychics claim that crystal skulls
can be ‘channeled’ to extract the information within, much like
accessing an ancient computer. I decided it would be intriguing to
place a crystal skull at the heart of Atlantis to reveal the truth of its
fate to Sophia—and the reader—in a way that was both
entertaining and faithful to popular Atlantean lore. This was easily
the biggest liberty I took with the novelization of the game, and
even if the legend of the crystal skulls is nothing more than fiction,
it’s the most fascinating fiction I’ve ever read. So it was a thrill to
combine the mythology of these two great world mysteries for
Indy to discover.
ESC
The very first time I completed Fate of Atlantis, well over a decade
ago, I remarked in a burst of juvenile zeal (and I literally said this
verbatim): “Rob MacGregor should write a novelization of this
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
P.S. - A word of sincere appreciation is due to the creators of the
ScummVM game emulator. Without their brilliant programming,
the LucasArts classics would have languished, unplayable, in the
MS-DOS-based obsolescence of the last century, alongside the
wistful dream of this novel.
7

DALE DASSEL
PLATO’S LOST TRIVIA
Prologue
Indiana Jones novelist Rob MacGregor proofread this chapter,
said it “definitely has the feel of an Indiana Jones story,” and
revised the text more concisely. His edits were incorporated into
the final draft, which became the stylistic template for all
subsequent chapters.
The vague setting tricks the reader into believing that Indy is
exploring the passageway of an ancient ruin instead of the storage
room at Barnett College, as expected by those familiar with the
game.
Chapter 1
The title ‘Theatre Row’ is a pun, describing both the New York
City district in which the Imperial Theater is located, and also the
action which occurs in the theater (the word ‘row’ being an archaic
term for a fight).
“No ticket.” is a reference to Indy’s humorous line aboard the
zeppelin in Last Crusade.
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Chapter 2
Indy’s quip: “flight 138, non-stop to Atlantis,” pays homage to
Lucasfilm’s traditional THX-1138 reference in their movies and
computer games.
In the Pan-Am terminal, Sophia asks Indy whether his hat is
brown or gray while waiting to board the flying boat. The color of
Indy’s fedora on the Pan-Am clipper in Raiders of the Lost Ark has
been a long-standing debate among Indiana Jones fans for decades.
Chapter 5
Filipe Costa’s daughter, Conchita, is described exactly as she
appears in the Dark Horse comic, wherein her father is called Dr.
Hector Uribe.
Costa tells Sophia that he communicates with the spirit of the
Atlantean princess Antinéa, named for the character played by
Brigitte Helm in the G. W. Pabst 1932 film L'Atlantide.
Professor Costa’s forthcoming book, entitled Imagining
Atlantis, is the name of a comprehensive book on the subject by
Richard Ellis, used as research for this story.
Chapter 6
Klaus Kerner’s middle name of Gerhard is a tribute to Gerhard
J. Woeginger, author of the first Fate of Atlantis walkthru on the
Internet, dated July 1992: http://www.thespoiler.com/ADVENTURE/Lucas.Arts/atlantis.1.html
The Evonik particle accelerator bears the present-day name of
the Degussa Corporation, which supplied high-tech equipment for
Germany’s nuclear program in the 1940’s.
Chapter 8
Sternhart tells Indy and Sophia that his excavation was
delayed when all of his workers returned to Flores to clean up after
the recent hurricane. This is based on fact, since a hurricane
actually did strike the coast of Guatemala in June 1939.
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Chapter 9
After being trapped in the pyramid, Indy blames Ignatius
Donnelly for their predicament. In 1882 Donnelly published the
revolutionary book Atlantis: The Antediluvian World, which later
inspired Sophia as a student and set her on the path to finding the
legendary lost city.
Inside the Mayan temple, Indy and Sophia cross the spike pit
using the ledge shimmy move from Indiana Jones and the
Emperor’s Tomb.
Chapter 10
The outfit that Sophia is wearing in Caswell Hall is identical to
the one she wears in the Leningrad museum in the Dark Horse
graphic novel.
Kathleen Marc interviews Indy and Sophia for The Barnett
Bugle, the periodical of Indy’s university. A promotional print copy
of the Bugle was shipped to customers who purchased Fate of
Atlantis by mail order (prior to the CD version). The main article
in the newspaper is an in-depth story about Dr. Jones’ quest for
Atlantis.
The Sophia Café is based on an actual Greek diner discovered
by a friend of the author during the writing of this chapter. When
he later visited California, they had lunch at the restaurant to
celebrate the story.
Chapter 12
The jaunty music played by the Algerian street musicians is
the desert travel theme heard in the game.
Abdul Aziz is the Bedouin alias used by Joe Garreli in
‘Balloon’, the season 4 episode of NewsRadio.
Indy and Sophia learn of the Nazis activities from Abdul in the
Dar Maghreb café, named after the Hollywood restaurant in which
Harrison Ford narrated the Great Movie Stunts TV documentary
about Raiders of the Lost Ark.
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Prisha tells Sophia that Nur-Ab-Sal’s benevolent counterpart is
called Nat-Hal-Bar. This is a tribute to Fate of Atlantis director Hal
Barwood.
Chapter 13
Tarak Ben-Kenobi, the Legionnaire who threatens Sophia, is
an amalgamation of Tarak Ben Ammar, the Tunisian production
coordinator on Raiders of the Lost Ark, and Jedi master Obi Wan
‘Ben’ Kenobi from Star Wars.
The half-track Kübelwagens at the German dig site actually
existed in real life. Designated as the Type 155, several variations
of this experimental design were built and field-tested by the Nazis
in 1942, but deemed impractical for military use.
“Here’s where the fun begins,” Indy quips while racing across
the desert to escape the Nazi convoy. Han Solo mutters this exact
sentiment in Star Wars as the Millennium Falcon flees from the
pursuing Imperial star destroyer above the desert planet of
Tattooine.
The Kübelwagen’s destruction mirrors the famous police car
scene in American Graffiti, wherein a steel cable is used to pull the
rear axle from the speeding vehicle.
Chapter 14
The diving boat sequence parallels the scene in the game, only
reversed with Sophia diving instead of Indy, simply for the
shameless opportunity to have Sophia strip down to her
undergarments like she does in the graphic novel.
Chapter 15
The writing of this chapter began in July 2009, concurrently
with chapters 3 and 4. The very first scene outlined was Indy
enjoying Sophia’s illness after she eats the peanut butter and
mayonnaise sandwich.
The gigantic tidal wave vision is based on a vivid nightmare
the author experienced in his youth.
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Sophia’s “X marks the spot,” quip is a reference to Indy’s line
from Last Crusade when he finds the literal symbol in the Venice
library.
The character of Melina is named for Greek-American actress
Melina Kanakaredes, star of the late 1990’s television drama series
Providence.
The line, “This means something... It’s important,” followed
by Sophia obsessively digging into the dirt mound is an homage to
Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind, in which
Roy Neary ravenously attacks a clay model of a cone-shaped
mountain. The scene in the movie was written, un-credited, by Fate
of Atlantis creator Hal Barwood.
Chapter 16
Indy says that his whip was made by a man named David
Morgan, the actual whipmaker who supplied the bullwhips for the
Indiana Jones movies.
Melina discovers a crude, blocky human figure carved on the
wall in the labyrinth below Crete. LucasArts’ famous Gold Guy
logo appears exactly in this fashion at several places in the game.
Sophia’s prescient vision of Nazi paratroops landing on Crete
foreshadows the May 1941 German invasion Operation Mercury,
which commenced the Battle of Crete.
Chapter 17
Crossing his fingers behind his back to jinx the Nazi salute to
Kerner, Indy follows Steven Spielberg’s advice to the actors during
the Berlin rally scene in Last Crusade.
Research for the U-boat sequence included viewing the uncut
5-hour version of Wolfgang Petersen’s 1981 epic Das Boot, the
2002 Harrison Ford drama K-19: The Widowmaker, and Sphere,
based on Michael Crichton’s aquatic thriller.
The German U-boat Orogeny is named after the geological
collision of crustal plates that forms mountain ranges, like the
volcanic South Aegean Arc which includes Thera.
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Captain Wilhelm is named after the famous stock sound effect
scream used in many Lucasfilm productions, most notably by the
Thuggee guards being devoured by crocodiles in Temple of Doom.
“I don’t believe it’s real…” Sophia expresses her astonishment
at the remains of Atlantis the same as Jillian Guiler upon first
sighting Devil’s Tower in Close Encounters of the Third Kind.
When the Orogeny arrives at the submerged city, the sonar
operator announces that the signal is “lying directly north of our
position on frequency three-nine-eight point two.” In the Dewey
Decimal classification system, 398.2 is the Folklore section where
books about Atlantis can be found in most libraries.
The idea to have Kerner jab his gun against the U-boat
window occurred to the author while driving his car in a
downpour, and tapping his knuckles against the damp glass to the
rhythm of the radio.
Sophia, over-stressed from being held at gunpoint by Kerner,
yells: “Put that thing away, you’re going to get us all killed!”
echoing Princess Leia in Star Wars, after Han Solo sends a deadly
blaster bolt ricocheting around the garbage compactor in the Death
Star.
Chapter 18
The title ‘Antediluvian World’ was borrowed from Ignatius
Donnelly’s famous 1882 book.
In the game, Leutnant Holtz (the soldier Kerner dispatches to
retrieve a coat for Sophia) is the sailor Indy pummels after
climbing aboard the U-boat. He reads Holtz’s name on the stolen
uniform after changing back into his own outfit when the sub
arrives in Atlantis.
Indy’s German alias is Adler, meaning ‘eagle’— his guardian
animal in the Rob MacGregor novels.
Schelker, the survey team leader, is named after Karl-Heinz
Schelker, a character in the ‘Germany’s Most Disturbing Home
Videos’ edition of ‘Sprockets’ on Saturday Night Live.
Indy tells a suspicious Schelker that he is a member of the
Rhineland-Pfalz 5th Infantry in the Hunsrück region. The author
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lived in this part of West Germany during his youth, where he first
saw Raiders of the Lost Ark and became an Indiana Jones fan.
At Kerner’s insistence, Sophia strains her clairvoyant abilities
and sees “...a house being carried away by a tornado.” This
reference to the classic 1939 film The Wizard of Oz can be heard
faintly in the game when Sophia is distracting her Nazi guard
aboard the U-boat.
The pyramid-like refinery complex, with its steep stairways,
driving arms, and cogs, was visually inspired by the massive
subterranean M-machine in Fritz Lang’s Metropolis.
Inspired by Elsa Schneider’s double-agent role in Last
Crusade, the plot twist of Torsten being a disguised female
occurred late in story development, with German actress Diane
Kruger instantly envisioned as the character.
Chapter 19
“I’m selling these fine leather jackets.” Indy’s fib to the
herculean U-boat mechanic is a recurring line first spoken in the
1989 LucasArts adventure game Indiana Jones and the Last
Crusade, subsequently re-used in Fate of Atlantis, Full Throttle,
and the entire Monkey Island series.
The ‘superior British tailoring’ of the jacket advertised by Indy
is a subtle allusion to Wested Leather, the English company which
manufactured the jackets worn by Harrison Ford throughout the
Indiana Jones trilogy.
The prediction that Kerner will probably fire Indy’s corpse out
of the torpedo tube refers to the method in which Indy escapes
from the U-boat on Crete in the Wits path of the game.
Sophia asks: “How would you categorize the study of mystic
places that are unknown to history?” The book Mystic Places from
Time-Life’s Mysteries of the Unknown series inspired Hal
Barwood to make Atlantis the subject of Indy’s quest. Interestingly,
the book series was advertised in a 1988 television commercial
featuring a young Julianne Moore (Sophia).
Sophia likens their situation to a ‘bad’ matinee serial:
Republic’s Undersea Kingdom (1936), about a team of explorers
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who travel to Atlantis via rocket-powered submarine only to find a
warring society which uses robot soldiers and ray gun technology.
The Atlantean goddess statue was inspired by a ceramic wall
plaque, the famous Rolls Royce ‘Spirit of Ecstasy’ hood ornament,
and the Emmy Award.
Chapter 20
Traipsing around the throne room in a hypnotic trance, Sophia
recites Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven, whose verse mirrors the
scene: Nur-Ab-Sal is the “unhappy master”, while the “unmerciful
disaster” describes Sophia whirling closer to the lava pit. The
Boston-bred psychic would naturally quote her city’s most famous
writer, who shares a birthday with the author of this novel.
The yellow volcanic sulfur on the mining equipment evokes
the color scheme of modern industrial earthmoving machinery.
The fight on the runaway Megataur was inspired by the visual
stunt choreography of Buster Keaton.
Chapter 21
The color palette of the sulfur-crusted yellow footpaths leading
to the gleaming dark green Colossus tower is a visual homage to
the Emerald City in The Wizard of Oz, which premiered in late
1939.
The eye-like symbol on the control panel of the God Machine
is a depiction of the Atlanteans’ nuclear power source: two half
spheres of beryllium around the plutonium core of an implosiontype
atomic bomb, while the ‘flower’ design is the famous
Rutherford-Bohr atomic model.
Cronos, based on a giant 144kg crystal skull carved by
renowned Brazilian sculptor Leandro de Souza, is analogous to the
crystal ‘fire-stone’ centered in the power station on Atlantis, as
described by psychic Edgar Cayce.
When the frog statue is activated, its glowing eyes swirl with a
mesmerizing pattern like the hypnotoad on Futurama.
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Kerner’s line, “The agony is gorgeous!” is a reference to
Dieter, the stereotypically German character portrayed by Mike
Meyers on Saturday Night Live in the early 1990’s.
Chapter 22
The title ‘Atlantis Rising’ is named after a New Age magazine
which promotes theories about lost civilizations, ancient
technology, UFOs, and other mysterious phenomena.
Indy’s U-boat quip is a humorous twist on Roy Scheider’s
famous line in Jaws.
Despite all of the shooting, Indy and Sophia never actually
wound or kill anyone with a gun in the entire story.
Cover art
Artist Christian Guldager successfully strived to match the
composition style established by Drew Struzan on the original
Indiana Jones novels and movie posters.
The idea to portray Sophia as Julianne Moore goes back to a
1998 IndyFan discussion about a Fate of Atlantis movie adaption:
http://www.indyfan.com/vault/forum/messages/992.html
Sophia Hapgood’s Nur-Ab-Sal pendant is precisely modeled
after a detailed replica made by Indiana Jones prop-maker
RelicRaider.
The horned idol depicted on the teaser artwork is an actual
copper statue made by the author, who appears behind it in
silhouette as Indiana Jones.
9

DALE DASSEL
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Ancient Aliens; The History Channel (2010-present)
The Ancient Alien Question by Philip Coppens; New Page Books
(2011)
Atlantis Destroyed by Rodney Castleden; Routeledge Books
(1998)
Atlantis: The Eighth Continent by Charles Berlitz; G. P. Putnam’s
Sons (1984)
Atlantis in America: Navigators of the Ancient World by Ivar Zapp
& George Erikson; Adventures Unlimited Press (1998)
Chariots of the Gods by Erich Von Däniken; Berkley Books (1999
edition)
Das Boot; Columbia Pictures (1981)
Fat Man and Little Boy; Paramount Pictures (1989)
Gateway to Atlantis: The Search for the Source of a Lost
Civilization by Andrew Collins; Carroll & Graf Publishers (2000)
The History of Atlantis by Lewis Spence; University Books Inc.
(1968)
The Hunt for German Scientists by Michel Bar-Zohar; Hawthorne
Books, Inc. (1967)
Imagining Atlantis by Richard Ellis; Vintage Books (1998)
Inside the Third Reich; First Run Features (2004)
Iron Coffins: A Personal Account of the German U-boat Battles of
World War II by Herbert A. Werner; Da Capo Press edition (2002)
LIFE Magazine: Vol. 7, Issues #10-13 (September 1939); TIME
Inc.
Lost Civilizations by Leonard Cottrell; Collins Publishers (1974)
10

DALE DASSEL
The Message of the Crystal Skull: From Atlantis to the New Age by
Alice Bryant and Phyllis Galde; Llewellyn Publications (1989)
Minoan ‘Horns of Consecration’ Revisited: A Symbol of Sun
Worship in Palatial and Post-Palatial Crete? by Emilia Banou;
Mediterranean Archaeology and Archaeometry Vol. 8, No. 1, pp.
27-47 © MAA (2008)
Mysteries of Mankind: Earth’s Unexplained Landmarks; National
Geographic (1992)
Mysteries of the Unknown: Mystic Places; Time-Life Books (1987)
The Nazis by Robert Herzstein; Time-Life Books (1980)
The Pan Am Clipper by Roy Allen; Barnes & Noble Books (2000)
Reich of the Black Sun by Joseph P. Farrell; Adventures Unlimited
Press (2004)
Rogue Leaders: The Story of LucasArts by Rob Smith; Chronicle
Books (2008)
Unsolved Mysteries of World War II: Enigma of the Swastika;
Madacy Entertainment (2006)
Wings Over Water by David Oliver; Chartwell Books Inc. (1999)
Wondrous Realm of the Aegean; Time-Life Books (1993)
http://www.uboataces.com
http://www.uboat.net
11

DALE DASSEL
has been a dedicated Indiana Jones fan since
he first saw Raiders of the Lost Ark in the mid-
1980’s. A self-described perfectionist, his
stories based on the television sitcom
NewsRadio garnered an honorable mention on
the show’s DVD commentary. 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, classic LucasArts games,
hiking, bowling, and motorcycle trail riding.