Indiana Jones and the Black book Chapter 3

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Posted by Michaelson from leospace047.utsi.edu on July 02, 2000 at 22:52:48:

Hopefully the first two chapters aren't to buried in the below updated files. I have continued to put together the real and imagined storyline together, and it continues here...

Indy slowly walked down the steps of the large brick building, deep in thougyht. He worked his way around a crowd of students that had gathered at the bottome of the steps, and realized that he had walked into the middle of a class change. He looked into the races of the passing students. No longer did he see the free spirit of y, recently released from the bondage of parental control and flush with the excitement of new found freedom, mixed with the possibilities of the future. He now looked into the eyes of tough, battle hardened veterans of the various theaters of the recently won war. Eyes that had seen death, and in most cases, participated in it's delivery to their past enemies. Indy understood this, being a veteran of several past wars himself. He smiled to himself as he remembered one of his old undergraduate anthropology professors saying that there have been, and would continue to be, pivotal events in man's history that define sepcific changes in man's development and behavior. The dropping of the atomic bomb would definitely go down as one of those pivotal milesones. The determined, hard yound faces that passed Indy provided the proof of that thesis. The innocence was now gone.

Indy shook these thoughts away and began turning the recent events over in his mind. With the successful recruitment of Michaelson to continue the translation while Indy worked the field, Indy knew that he had to make more personal progress in the translation before he could make contact with the coven. He quickened his steps toward his small office where the black book and his journal lay waiting for him to continue the work.

The sun had begun to set, it's last yellow and orange rays feebly shining through Indy's small office window. Indy had been hunched over the text for hours, and his shouders were aching from the strain. He sat up and stretched, then laying his pencil aside, picked up the journal and began to re-read the translations he had performed that afternoon. He had already determined the first section of the book to be a collection of worship phrasing of an un-named sect. It was the preamble of the second section that he had labored over this day, and the message, though seemingly coded in an ancient code key, gave a veiled, brim warning to the "non-believer" in any continuence of reading of the text. It stated that "the one to five, bridged together again, will bring forth the dark and great power of the ONE!" The last "one" had been underscored, denoting a strong and separate inference. To what? or whom? Indy again read over his journal notations, double checking his translation against the original text. Yes, it was definitely a warning. "one to five to one". What did it mean? There was something very odd about the language as well, as the code seemed to shift back and forth between a Latin text and another languate that, though very familiar, was also strange an new to Indy. Very odd.

Indy reach for his Hampden and noted the time. 7:45 p.m. He realised he was hungery, and remembered he still had a graduate assistant on "standby" in his outer office. Indy pulled a cardboard box down from a storage shelf beside his desk. He place the black book inside the box, along with a set of hand written notes that were copied from his journal entries, along with a few of his current theories. He had the young assistant then carry the box across campus to Michaelson's office for the translation to continue. After phoning Steve that the box was on it's way, Indy turned off his office light, and pulling on his fedora, walked down the long marble corridor, listening to his footsteps echo throughout the now empty building.

Traffic on main street in the small college town was packed with traffic and pedestrians. With the boom time of the post war on the rise, business had been brisk for the local shop keepers, and this being friday night, the streets were even more crowded than usual. Indy shouldered his way into the small corner diner to grab a quick meal, but sow to his dismay that every booth and stool was ocupied, and peopler were waiting to be seated. Indy was about to turn away when a waiter caught him by his sleeve.

"Dr. Jones? Mr. Morgan wondered if you'd care to join him for dinner?> He's sitting by himself in the back booth."

"Thanks", said Indy, and turned to look towrd the rear of the noisy and smoke filled room. He could barely see a raised hand beckoning him to come, and be began to work his way in it's direction. Joe Morgan was a local jeweler and watchmaker. His father and grandfather had been in the business, and Joe had inherited not only the established family store, but he also had his forefathers knack of keeping his hand in the daily operation and repair work. He was helping disprove the old theory that the 3rd generation squanders the inheritance and destroys the family business in the process.

"Dr. Jones, please be seated! Delighted you could join me. DElighted!"

Indy slid into the booth and ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee. Morgan sat across from Indy and continued an animated patter of small talk while lustily demolishing a plateful of liver and onions. Indy smiled, nodded, and laughed in all the seemingly correct places of the conversation, but only half heard what Morgan was saying. Morgan finally set his fork and knife down, made a polite burp, and then looking quite satisfied with himself, reached for his water glass.

"Ann tells me you're involved in some very interesting research?"

Ann was Morgan's second wife of 10 years, who occasionally worked as a volunteer at the campus library.

"Oh, I'm dabbling in a minor translation of an old Latin text. Nothing much to say about it," Indy cautiously replied, turning his attention to the other half of his ham on rye.

"Oh, come now, I'm sure if it garnished the attention of the famous archaeologist, Dr. Indiana Jones, there MUST be MUCH more to it!" exclaimed Morgan.

Morgan leaned forward toward Indy, his onion tainted breath almost making Indy's eyes water.

"Dr. Jones, isn't there anything in the text that may be of some interest? Haven't you made enough progress to draw any conclusions?"

Morgan's sudden and strongly worded questions of interest were as apparent as the gaudy dimond stick pin he had prominately displayed in his tie. It twinkled and glistened among the crumbs of his recently devoured meal that were scattered upon his waist coat.

Indy decided to test the waters.

"Oh, I don't know for sure. The phrase "one to five to one" came up, but I have no particular theory of it's meaning."

Indy glanced up from his coffee and was startled to see Morgan's expression had completely changed. No longer was the animated and boisterous Joe Morgan seated across from Indy, but a completely sober, palefaced, and steely eyed man now stared at him.

"So, you HAVE made considerable progress, Dr. Jones. I believe now the time has come for you to meet with us."

"Us?" asked Indy.

"The one's you were told about during the nocturnal visit to you at the library?", replied Morgan.

"You're one of them?", exclaimed Indy.

Morgan pulled his mapkin from his lab and daintly touched it to his lips. He then brushed the crumbs from his vest and rose to leave.

"Watch for my shop's advertisement in tomorrow's newspaper. You'll find the address as well as a meeting time when your read the ad. Good night, Dr. Jones".

Morgan turned and disappeared into the crowd and thick cigerette smoke. Indy sat in the booth, still trying to sort out the events that had just occured. He asked for his bill, and discovered Morgan had paid for both of their dinners. Indy then pulled his fedora tightly on his head and walked down the windy street toward his apartment. As he opened the door, he heard his phone ringing on his desk.

"Hello?"

"Indy? It's Steve. Wanted to let you know the box got here just fine. Listen, I know you've been working of this translation for a bit, and I'd like to know if you'd let me borrow your notes for a spell so I'll have a starting point?"

"I already did!" said Indy. "There is a set of my notes already in the box."

The line was quiet for a beat.

"Indy, all I received was the book. Someone must have removed the notes before it arrived in my office. Strange. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Indy slowly replaced the receiver. If Morgan wanted a meeting with Indy tomorrow, who whould have taken the notes? Were ther other player in this mystery? If Morgan DID have the papers, would he still place the ad in the morning papers classified, or was the dinner meeting just a stall for a partner to steal the papers from the box?

Indy stretched across his bed and let out a sigh.

Tomorrows morning paper would tell the tale.

End chapter 3.

If there is continued interest, I have another chapter ready, and already have the rest of the story framed now in my mind now, with only the need to flesh out the bones with the words. Thanks in advance for allowing me to play the role of the story teller. Regards. Michaelson


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