Atlantis

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
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