4 MARCH 1940

ROUNDSHEAD CLUB

LONDON, ENGLAND

They had decided to keep their little conversation confidential. Both men spoke English but, the last language you would want to use for confidentiality, in England, was English. They also both spoke French. Too many others did as well. After a little trial and error both men figured out a collage of languages that one or the other knew parts of and in a few cases were quite fluent in. Most of the yakking was in eastern European languages but, the American was quite surprised to learn that the Pole also knew his share of Cantonese. Within a few minutes they had their own language that would be secure enough for a Pub in the middle of London, even at the mid-day rush.

“It would have been better at night but with the black out,” said the American trailing off with a shrug.

“The same is true in France,” replied the Polish man who laughed as he continued, “the blackout and all. I hear more than a few people have been killed in car accidents.” The Pole had elected not to wear his uniform. The American figured it was probably because the guy did not want to stand out even if half the people in London were wearing some kind of uniform these days.

“Car accidents,” the American chuckled as he thought about that. He was also a little reflective, “not something I think the British were that worried about the last time they fought the Germans.”

The Pole responded with, “I doubt they had to worry much about an air armada flattening London either.” The waitress then showed up with their sandwiches and they waited for her to leave before the Pole continued by changing the subject, “Mister Brody told me that you are highly qualified for the work that we need.”

The American was about to take a bite of his sandwich but he noticed that the Pole was chuckling. That made the American wonder if he had translated the mish mash of language just right in his head. He shrugged it off and then replied, “and Mister Brody has also mentioned that you might know where I can locate something that I’ve been looking for.”

“I’m just a simple soldier, Doctor Jones,” the Pole replied.

Jones leaned forward and looked the man in the eye, “and I’m just a teacher, General Sosabowski. Look, there aren’t too many men around who not only got out of a Nazi prison camp but, then made it half way across occupied Europe. That means you know people and, not to put to fine of a point on it, the kind I’ll need to know.”

The General seemed to have an easy going manner about him. He only chuckled once more. He was about to say something else but, Jones put up a hand for him to stop. Some one was walking in the door that drew the interest of Jones. Sosabowski followed the teacher’s burning eyes to their target which proved to be an average looking fellow in a long coat. The Pole asked in English and he had a funny way with his ‘g.’ The man pronounced it hard instead of soft when he asked, “is he a German?”

Even in England, Indiana Jones kept an eye out for nazi thugs. He had had problems with the jackboots for years and was most definitely not on their Christmas card list of favorite people. Fortunately, this guy in the long coat, was not one of Hitler‘s fair haired boys. Unfortunately, as far as Jones was concerned, the guy could be potentially just as bad.

Indy thought about putting his Fedora back on to disguise himself but, realized it would probably do no good. This man had not walked in here by chance. Sure enough the man wandered over to their table and was smiling the entire way. He said nothing to Indy, at first, and gave the other man at the table a warm and welcoming glance before extending a hand for a shake, “General Sosabowski I presume?”

Cautiously the Pole shook the man’s hand and asked, “you know me for some reason?”

Indy was most obviously not enthused as he made introductions. The fact that the guy knew who Indy was having lunch with proved, once and for all, that this was more than just a chance encounter. Indy just bowed to the inevitable and waved with a passing gesture as he said, “General, this is Agent Elliot Ness of the US Treasury Department.” Now he turned to Ness and told the man, “little out of your jurisdiction aren’t you Elliot?”

Elliot kept his smile, “you’re a hard man to find Indy.”

Jones scowled and decided to wipe that smug expression off the agents face, “why are you looking for me? What? I thought I paid my income taxes last year.” The statement had the desired effect and the smile became a sneer.

Sosabowski, after thinking for a moment, proved to be not as much in the dark as he might have seemed. He pointed at the agent and said, “you are that American Gangster man, who took down… what was his name? Capone?”

“Capone was the gangster actually,” Ness corrected him. Then he nodded to Indy, “well I hope I’m not interrupting but…”

“You are Elliot,” Indy replied. He also noted, “and you know you are.”

Ness dismissed it and continued, “but some rather important people want to talk to you.”

Sosabowski was most curious, “so you know this man?”

Indy was still less than enthused, “we went to college together.”

Even if he was not really invited into the exchange, Ness added, “which is exactly why they sent me to find you. So if you don’t mind,” Ness gestured for the door. Indy bid his lunch partner a farewell, for the moment, and with a promise of future contact. He then left with the Treasury agent.

As they walked the streets of London, Indy could tell they were headed back for his hotel. He could also guess why, “you didn’t bring a goon squad with you Elliot? I’m surprised you’d pass up the opportunity.”

Ness was certainly smug, “didn’t need one Indy. I knew you’d come.” He then shot the professor quite the false smile and had a very biting tone as he replied, “us being old pals and everything.”

“I’m not the one that made that girl hate you,” Indy replied. “You were the reason all those Frat boys kept calling you square.”

“Ok fine Indy,” Ness shot back. “I’m a square. Are you happy now? I notice you haven’t followed in the footsteps of Louis Armstrong.”

Indy reached over and thumped the mans coat, right about where the inner pocket should be. Normally a G-Man like Ness would have a gun there. The ringing sound, that Indy’s thump made, sounded a lot more like glass. It was, in fact, a half full bottle of the very substance that Elliot had devoted half his life to combating. Indy commented on that by saying, “yeah I heard about the footsteps you were walking in these days.”

There was no pretense of civility when Elliot replied, “fuck off.”

Indy let it go and then asked, “so who wants to see me? I’m guessing Hoover. He’s about the only jack ass in Washington who’d authorize the kidnapping of an American on foreign soil.”

The man had definitely changed over the years and Indy could see it. Back in the days when they shared a dorm room, Ness was far too straight laced to blow off insults so easily. Now, he had let Indy’s last jab lay and he got right back to business, “I don’t work for the FBI.” Before Indy could venture another guess, Elliot beat him too the punch, “I don’t work for Donovan either.”

“All right Elliot,” Indy told him, “you got me. Happy? Who wants to see me so bad they’d send you all the way to England to reel me in? That list can’t be too long.”

Ness stopped walking and squared up with his old room mate. He smiled, and this time genuinely, “ever heard of a Doctor Littlefield?”

Indy thought for a moment. He was faking it and, fortunately, the G man did not catch on, “Ernie Littlefield? Last I heard he was working on something in Egypt. What’s this about, Elliot?” Indy knew that it could only be about one thing. It worried him that a certain can of worms might have just been opened but, he could not understand how that might have happened.

“I wouldn’t know about any of that,” Ness replied. It made Indy wonder if Elliot was any better at lying. He certainly could have never done it so smoothly back when they were in school. Even so, the man had changed a lot over the years and Indy had to consider that Ness might know more than he was talking about.

Ness continued, “all I know is he is back in the states now and, he wants to see you.”

Indy almost laughed, “Ernie isn’t even taken seriously in his own field. How did a second string scientist, with no ties to the G, wind up with the juice to be giving orders to the great captor of Al Capone?”

The sour look on Elliot’s face told Indy all he needed to know here. The G-Man really didn’t know anything worth knowing. He was just and errand boy now and his words were very much in collaboration with his face, “why don’t you ask him when we get back to the states.”

Elliot also added, “whatever the answer is, I’m sure it’ll amuse you.” It was obvious it didn’t amuse Elliot and, also, it really didn’t amuse Indy either. In fact, it worried him a great deal but Indy carefully kept that to himself. Elliot never seemed to pick up on it.