Indiana Jones and the Tale of Two Tales. Part 3.

Posted by Roy from webcache-20.p.ps.ifl.net on September 14, 2000 at 04:24:43:

So here's the next part.... Don't forget to visit THE TALE OF TALES...
Link at bottom of page...

Chapter 2. Plan B.

"I don’t give a damn about your men! That’s your problem...... You just get it for me as agreed! Yes. I know he’s back.... We’ll just have to get him out of the way... I DON’T KNOW!" The ‘phone was slammed back into it’s cradle causing paperweights and small objects to bounce on the polished surface of the desk.

Bill Richards was renowned as a patient man but here, he felt he was being tested to the limit. He stared vexedly across his office at a group of young men and women who were standing nervously in the open doorway. They began to melt away at his expression.

"Er, we’ll come back later, sir." A young, intense looking man with tousled blonde hair and wire rimmed glasses stammered. He dropped a folder of papers and scattered them even further in his nervous attempt to pick them up.

"No, no. It’s all right, Steven. Come in. Come in, all of you." Richards stood and moved over to a low cupboard near the window and poured himself a coffee from a steaming pot on one side, then sat back at his desk.

"Just an unhelpful associate. I hate inefficiency." He said, as if explaining his irritation. He took a pair of wire framed spectacles from his breast pocket and polished them before hooking them on his rather large ears. It was this feature that had earned him the nick name, ‘Luggy’. Of this he was aware, but as long as no one said it to him in person, he dismissed the name as unimportant and in fact, even took it misguidedly as a sign of mild affection.

"Now. What can I do for you?" He asked the small group, suddenly smiling warmly and waving to a row of wooden chairs opposite his desk.

A pretty young girl with long golden ringlets and too much make up spoke.

"We were wondering if Doctor Jones had graded our last homework’s yet, sir."

Richards smiled and pulled open a drawer in his desk and retrieved a pile of papers. They were fastened into small piles with paper clips. He handed the stack to the students, saying, "Some really fine work. I know Doctor Jones was most happy with your efforts and I am sure he will see you all individually when he returns after the holidays. But surely, you didn’t come in during your break just to collect your projects?"

It was the mid term break and officially the college was closed, although numerous students often took advantage of the museum and its facilities out of school time to complete various assignments.

Steven answered for the group. "Oh, yes sir! Doctor Jones is very particular about the coursework. We hoped it would be all right to use the library to complete some research for the next project."

Richards smiled at the keen, enthusiastic young people. He remembered when the archaeology bug had bitten him at college and he would give up any spare moment or use any excuse to do more studying. It was sad, he reflected, that with age came power, and with power came delegation. Others did the donkey work for him now and he was left to ‘mind the store’. Such was the lot of an archaeology professor. Then he thought of his colleague, Indiana Jones. Well, most professors, he reconsidered, with more than a hint of envy.

The telephone rang and Richards excused himself from the students who quietly took the pile of graded papers and left the office. When they had gone and the door was closed he took his hand from the mouthpiece and spoke. His smile had gone.

"The matter isn’t open for discussion....." He growled. "No, there IS no more time.... Yes, I know it’s risky, but there is little choice now.....DON’T argue with me! Just get things moving!"

He banged the ‘phone down once again and sat pondering in an aggravated silence for a few seconds before snatching up the telephone once more and dialling a number. He drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited impatiently for a reply.

"Hallo? Yes. Codeword, ‘Jones’." He replaced the receiver and sat back in his seat. A smile of grim determination spread over his face. Then suddenly he stood and picked up his coat from the back of his chair and left his office. As he passed through the outer room, a frail older lady with white hair and heavy horn rimmed glasses stopped her typing and looked up, peering over the dark brown frames.

"You have a meeting at three, Doctor Richards." She politely reminded him. One of her many duties at the college was to be a daily diary for the professors, a task she had carried out faultlessly for many years.

Richards did not even look at her as he strode past saying, "Cancel it, Mary. I have to go out."

Mary shook her head but said nothing as she scribbled a note on her pad to relay to the other relevant people at lunchtime.

Barnett college was a sprawling maze of classrooms, lecture theatres and museum halls that had grown over the years from a small provincial museum to one of the most respected archaeological resource centres in America. That the world renowned Indiana Jones was on the staff did nothing to hinder the colleges’ rising status.

Bill Richards had been on the staff longer than Indy and had in fact been recommended for the post by Marcus Brody who had seen him working in a small school giving lectures on ancient Spanish civilisations far beyond the understanding of fifteen year old pupils. Richards had always been grateful to Marcus and got on well with all the staff even though he was secretly irked by the introduction of the young high - flying adventurer, Indiana Jones to the staff many years ago. He had watched Jones rising through the ranks of staff to become a leading figure at the college and was irritated by the way that Jones had stolen the affection of not only the young female students, but everyone else as well with his ‘devil - may - care, cavalier attitude to archaeology that belied his incredible knowledge of the subject. As Richards passed through the main hall of antiquities, he was sharply reminded of Jones contributions at almost every display case which bore the legend, ‘Retrieved by Doctor Indiana Jones’, or, ‘Recovered by Professor H. Jones’, and so on.

He smiled to himself, muttering, "The best is yet to come, my friend."

There was a sudden loud ringing of a bell and a surprising number of students began to appear despite the fact it was not term time. It was one o’clock and most of them were headed off campus to the bars and soda joints that proliferated in nearby streets. Richards nodded politely at various students as they spoke to him, and threaded his way out to the car park. With a strangely surreptitious look around he climbed into his shiny black Ford and drew some papers from the glove box. He made a mental note of various paragraphs and then replaced the papers, locking the glove box. He started the car and headed out of the car park, pulling into a small but steady flow of traffic moving onto the main street.

Some fifteen minutes later he had left the more populated parts of town and was driving through the older, industrialised areas. There were many factories and smaller warehouse buildings which had long since ceased producing anything. Richards looked around at his drab surroundings and drew up outside a derelict old factory building constructed of timber and corrugated iron. He looked at the shabby edifice and realised that the weather was as present as much inside as out, due to the growing number of holes in the roof. The gentle breeze caused loose roofing to flap and bang continuously, breaking the silence but emphasising the disuse of the building.

Richards climbed from his car and locked the door. With a cautious look around, he walked toward what had once been the main entrance. A cool, dusty atmosphere struck him as he entered, calling out, "Hutchinson? It’s Bill."

There was silence for a moment, then a thin, reedy voice called back from somewhere above, "Up here!" Richards looked outside once more before scaling an old rickety flight of stairs. They creaked loudly in the quiet building that had once been a veritable cacophony of noise. At the top of the stairs was a passage leading to a large open balcony overlooking the main factory floor. The area beyond was vast and empty, long since stripped of all the machinery that had once been there and Richards realised vaguely that he didn’t even know what the factory used to make.

Ahead and to the left was a partly open door into an office. He smiled at the faded writing on the wood proclaiming it to be the managing directors old abode. Again, Richards looked around, as if checking that he had not been followed, and walked in to the office. The thin voiced man looked up from a makeshift desk covered with old papers, copies of documents and several large, old books open at marked pages. He extended a hand in greeting.

"Hello, Bill." He said, shaking Richards hand warmly, even though they had last seen each other only the day before. Richards nodded and said, almost nervously, "Is he here?" Hutchinson only smiled as a husky voice from another room proclaimed,

"Where do you think I am?"

Richards turned as the man walked into the room. He was tall, good looking in a scruffy, unshaven way and wore a faded leather jacket and a fedora. Richards smiled, holding out his hand.

"Doctor Jones, I presume?"

The men shook hands and Indy smiled as Richards sat on the desk. "When did you get in?" He asked.

"About ten this morning." Jones replied, rubbing at his stubbly chin. "Didn’t even get time for a shave."

"And you came straight here? No one saw you?"

"Nowhere else! Look. Let’s get this straight. I don’t like what you’re asking me to do. It’s risky, as well as dangerous." Jones paced the floor like a wild cat then turned to face the two other men. Richards grinned.

"Why, Doctor Jones. You? Afraid? I thought you thrived on adventure."

"Cut the bullshit, Richards. You need me, and you know it. I expect to be well paid for my work."

Suddenly, Richards was all business. "Quite the mercenary. You will be, Jones. You will be. Just don’t foul it up. I’m depending on your friendship with Brody."

Jones rubbed at his stubble. "Hey, Doc, He’ll be eating out of my hand."

Richards lost his temper and yelled, "DON’T CALL ME DOC. EVER. AND LEAVE YOUR FACE ALONE!" He calmed slightly and added, I’m ‘Doctor’ Richards to you. Always. You’ve been told often enough. Just get it into your thick skull, Jones." Indy shrugged, mildly amused by the sudden outburst.

"Whatever you say, DOC!"

Richards shook his head and said, "You know what to do?"

Jones nodded. "Hey, calm down. It’s all in hand. I’ll make my move tonight. You just have the money ready tomorrow."

Richards shook his head, and rose from the desk. "I never realised you were such a cold bastard." Then he and Hutchinson laughed as he slapped Jones on the shoulder.

**********************

It was dark when the ‘phone rang in the kitchen. Indy put down the vegetables he was preparing and wiped his hands on a cloth.

"Jeez. Can’t I even get some dinner?" He grumbled as he lifted the receiver and looked at the clock. It was nearly eight thirty.

"Hello? Jones here."

"Hello? Jones? It’s Sutherland, from the College."

"Jerry? You never call me. What the hell do you want at this time of night? Can’t it wait till the morning?"

"Indy. There’s something going on."

Jones was instantly on the alert.

"What kind of something?"

"I think your father is in trouble." Sutherland replied. "I had an anonymous call saying something about his Grail diary. I couldn’t make sense of it."

"Dad’s diary? What the hell..." He said no more, thinking to himself that it was strange, as the business with the Grail was over and done with some time ago. Also, he and Marcus had been in touch with Dads college only that morning, after their sudden arrival back in America. Henry was unavailable, but they were assured all was fine and there were no problems.

"There’s more." Sutherland added. "I was told to tell you, but at no cost is Marcus to know about it."

"Marcus? What the hell has he to do with it? Jerry. Who told you all this?"

"I don’t know, Indy. As I said, the call was anonymous. I thought I’ve heard the voice before, but I couldn’t place it. I was just told to tell you not to let Marcus know anything. And you’re not to call the police. You had better find out what’s going on. It sounded pretty serious. I could hear your fathers voice, shouting something about being taken to his house, and there were gunshots in the background."

"GUNSHOTS?!" Indy almost threw the ‘phone back on the cupboard and ran to his bedroom, retrieving his Webley, whip and jacket. As he left the house at a dead run, he snatched up his fedora and jammed it on his head.

"Hell, dad, why can’t you get a ‘phone!" He grumbled as he jumped into his car. It was a good two hours fast drive to Henry’s house and Indy was more than aware that any trouble would most likely be well and truly over by the time he got there, but there was no other way of making contact. He struggled with the impulse to visit Marcus on route as there was something nagging at the back of his mind about the whole business. He made up his mind and the engine roared and tyres squealed as the tail lights disappeared into the lowering gloom of the night, the engine note rising and falling with the acceleration and changing gears.

***********************

The sound of the radio was decidedly tinny, and the out of key voice that sung an accompaniment to the tune that was playing did nothing to improve the audio quality. Marcus put down his coffee and turned the radio off. It was ten fifteen. Fairly early, but he and Indy had only just got back from Switzerland and he was tired from not only the flight, but the escapades they had endured while they were there. They had tried to contact Henry at his college office upon arrival but was told he was unavailable until the next day. Indy had agreed to drive them both straight to Henry’s house the following morning so an early night was definitely in order. Picking up the unopened mail, Marcus wandered into his dining room without turning on the lights. A movement ahead made him jump and he was startled to see a familiar tall figure, wearing a fedora, silhouetted against the window.

"Indy! You made me jump!" He exclaimed, turning on the light. Jones grinned, and moved around the desk toward Marcus.

"Sorry about that. I, Ah, I wasn’t sure you heard me knock." There was something faintly odd about Indy’s manner that made Marcus back away slightly. Then he noticed the open drawers and scattered papers.

"What are you doing, Indy? What do you want? What are you looking for?" Marcus was clearly confused. Jones looked at the obvious signs of his search and gave as nervous laugh. "Well, you know me. Always the detective. No, seriously. I Er, I didn’t want to disturb you. I was looking for......" He got no further.

"Indy. Is something wrong? You must tell me."

Suddenly, like a cat off a wall, Jones leaped at Marcus, grabbing him by the throat in a vice like grip. With both Carotid arteries being compressed, he would be conscious for another fifteen seconds, dead in thirty.

"Where is it, you sonofabitch?!" Jones shouted. Marcus gurgled, struggling, fighting weakly against Indy’s superior strength.

Jones released his grip and Marcus sank to his knees, his head light from the lack of blood to his brain, gasping and coughing, clutching his throat. A sudden blow to the side of his head sent him spinning across the floor. Indy flexed his fingers from the impact of the punch. He was across the room, dragging Marcus up instantly. Another blow sent Brody sprawling, knocking furniture flying in his wake, ornaments and glassware shattering all round.

"Where is it? Tell me, or so help me, I’ll kill you!" Jones waded through the fallen chairs as if they were hardly there. Marcus crawled weakly backwards, trying to get away but Indy grabbed him again and a back handed slap sent him reeling backwards, almost unconscious. Marcus looked up through a haze of fog and blood at his friend, frightened and dismayed. "Indy... What have I..." Then a cry of pain broke from his lips as Jones stamped on his forearm, breaking bones and crushing flesh.

"Tell me where it is, you bastard, or next time I’ll step on your skull!"

Again, Marcus tried to reason, dazed, confused and frightened by his friends actions. "Indy.... What... What do you want....." he mumbled hazily through a mouthful of blood.

Then, faintly in the distance came the sound of police car bells. Someone had heard the sounds of the attack and had alerted the authorities.

Jones looked at Marcus once, backhanded him savagely, and was gone.

Marcus collapsed. Silent. Not breathing.

THE TEMPLE OF TALES

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: So here's the next part.... Don't forget to visit THE TALE OF TALES...
: Link at bottom of page...

: Chapter 2.    Plan B.

: "I don’t give a damn about your men! That’s your problem...... You just get it for me as agreed! Yes. I know he’s back.... We’ll just have to get him out of the way... I DON’T KNOW!" The ‘phone was slammed back into it’s cradle causing paperweights and small objects to bounce on the polished surface of the desk.

: Bill Richards was renowned as a patient man but here, he felt he was being tested to the limit. He stared vexedly across his office at a group of young men and women who were standing nervously in the open doorway. They began to melt away at his expression.

: "Er, we’ll come back later, sir." A young, intense looking man with tousled blonde hair and wire rimmed glasses stammered. He dropped a folder of papers and scattered them even further in his nervous attempt to pick them up.

: "No, no. It’s all right, Steven. Come in. Come in, all of you." Richards stood and moved over to a low cupboard near the window and poured himself a coffee from a steaming pot on one side, then sat back at his desk.

: "Just an unhelpful associate. I hate inefficiency." He said, as if explaining his irritation. He took a pair of wire framed spectacles from his breast pocket and polished them before hooking them on his rather large ears. It was this feature that had earned him the nick name, ‘Luggy’. Of this he was aware, but as long as no one said it to him in person, he dismissed the name as unimportant and in fact, even took it misguidedly as a sign of mild affection.

: "Now. What can I do for you?" He asked the small group, suddenly smiling warmly and waving to a row of wooden chairs opposite his desk.

: A pretty young girl with long golden ringlets and too much make up spoke.

: "We were wondering if Doctor Jones had graded our last homework’s yet, sir."

: Richards smiled and pulled open a drawer in his desk and retrieved a pile of papers. They were fastened into small piles with paper clips. He handed the stack to the students, saying, "Some really fine work. I know Doctor Jones was most happy with your efforts and I am sure he will see you all individually when he returns after the holidays. But surely, you didn’t come in during your break just to collect your projects?"

: It was the mid term break and officially the college was closed, although numerous students often took advantage of the museum and its facilities out of school time to complete various assignments.

: Steven answered for the group. "Oh, yes sir! Doctor Jones is very particular about the coursework. We hoped it would be all right to use the library to complete some research for the next project."

: Richards smiled at the keen, enthusiastic young people. He remembered when the archaeology bug had bitten him at college and he would give up any spare moment or use any excuse to do more studying. It was sad, he reflected, that with age came power, and with power came delegation. Others did the donkey work for him now and he was left to ‘mind the store’. Such was the lot of an archaeology professor. Then he thought of his colleague, Indiana Jones. Well, most professors, he reconsidered, with more than a hint of envy.

: The telephone rang and Richards excused himself from the students who quietly took the pile of graded papers and left the office. When they had gone and the door was closed he took his hand from the mouthpiece and spoke. His smile had gone.

: "The matter isn’t open for discussion....." He growled. "No, there IS no more time.... Yes, I know it’s risky, but there is little choice now.....DON’T argue with me! Just get things moving!"

: He banged the ‘phone down once again and sat pondering in an aggravated silence for a few seconds before snatching up the telephone once more and dialling a number. He drummed his fingers on the desk as he waited impatiently for a reply.

: "Hallo? Yes. Codeword, ‘Jones’." He replaced the receiver and sat back in his seat. A smile of grim determination spread over his face. Then suddenly he stood and picked up his coat from the back of his chair and left his office. As he passed through the outer room, a frail older lady with white hair and heavy horn rimmed glasses stopped her typing and looked up, peering over the dark brown frames.

: "You have a meeting at three, Doctor Richards." She politely reminded him. One of her many duties at the college was to be a daily diary for the professors, a task she had carried out faultlessly for many years.

: Richards did not even look at her as he strode past saying, "Cancel it, Mary. I have to go out."

: Mary shook her head but said nothing as she scribbled a note on her pad to relay to the other relevant people at lunchtime.

: Barnett college was a sprawling maze of classrooms, lecture theatres and museum halls that had grown over the years from a small provincial museum to one of the most respected archaeological resource centres in America. That the world renowned Indiana Jones was on the staff did nothing to hinder the colleges’ rising status.

: Bill Richards had been on the staff longer than Indy and had in fact been recommended for the post by Marcus Brody who had seen him working in a small school giving lectures on ancient Spanish civilisations far beyond the understanding of fifteen year old pupils. Richards had always been grateful to Marcus and got on well with all the staff even though he was secretly irked by the introduction of the young high - flying adventurer, Indiana Jones to the staff many years ago. He had watched Jones rising through the ranks of staff to become a leading figure at the college and was irritated by the way that Jones had stolen the affection of not only the young female students, but everyone else as well with his ‘devil - may - care, cavalier attitude to archaeology that belied his incredible knowledge of the subject. As Richards passed through the main hall of antiquities, he was sharply reminded of Jones contributions at almost every display case which bore the legend, ‘Retrieved by Doctor Indiana Jones’, or, ‘Recovered by Professor H. Jones’, and so on.

: He smiled to himself, muttering, "The best is yet to come, my friend."

: There was a sudden loud ringing of a bell and a surprising number of students began to appear despite the fact it was not term time. It was one o’clock and most of them were headed off campus to the bars and soda joints that proliferated in nearby streets. Richards nodded politely at various students as they spoke to him, and threaded his way out to the car park. With a strangely surreptitious look around he climbed into his shiny black Ford and drew some papers from the glove box. He made a mental note of various paragraphs and then replaced the papers, locking the glove box. He started the car and headed out of the car park, pulling into a small but steady flow of traffic moving onto the main street.

: Some fifteen minutes later he had left the more populated parts of town and was driving through the older, industrialised areas. There were many factories and smaller warehouse buildings which had long since ceased producing anything. Richards looked around at his drab surroundings and drew up outside a derelict old factory building constructed of timber and corrugated iron. He looked at the shabby edifice and realised that the weather was as present as much inside as out, due to the growing number of holes in the roof. The gentle breeze caused loose roofing to flap and bang continuously, breaking the silence but emphasising the disuse of the building.

: Richards climbed from his car and locked the door. With a cautious look around, he walked toward what had once been the main entrance. A cool, dusty atmosphere struck him as he entered, calling out, "Hutchinson? It’s Bill."

: There was silence for a moment, then a thin, reedy voice called back from somewhere above, "Up here!" Richards looked outside once more before scaling an old rickety flight of stairs. They creaked loudly in the quiet building that had once been a veritable cacophony of noise. At the top of the stairs was a passage leading to a large open balcony overlooking the main factory floor. The area beyond was vast and empty, long since stripped of all the machinery that had once been there and Richards realised vaguely that he didn’t even know what the factory used to make.

: Ahead and to the left was a partly open door into an office. He smiled at the faded writing on the wood proclaiming it to be the managing directors old abode. Again, Richards looked around, as if checking that he had not been followed, and walked in to the office. The thin voiced man looked up from a makeshift desk covered with old papers, copies of documents and several large, old books open at marked pages. He extended a hand in greeting.

: "Hello, Bill." He said, shaking Richards hand warmly, even though they had last seen each other only the day before. Richards nodded and said, almost nervously, "Is he here?" Hutchinson only smiled as a husky voice from another room proclaimed,

: "Where do you think I am?"

: Richards turned as the man walked into the room. He was tall, good looking in a scruffy, unshaven way and wore a faded leather jacket and a fedora. Richards smiled, holding out his hand.

: "Doctor Jones, I presume?"

: The men shook hands and Indy smiled as Richards sat on the desk. "When did you get in?" He asked.

: "About ten this morning." Jones replied, rubbing at his stubbly chin. "Didn’t even get time for a shave."

: "And you came straight here? No one saw you?"

: "Nowhere else! Look. Let’s get this straight. I don’t like what you’re asking me to do. It’s risky, as well as dangerous." Jones paced the floor like a wild cat then turned to face the two other men. Richards grinned.

: "Why, Doctor Jones. You? Afraid? I thought you thrived on adventure."

: "Cut the bullshit, Richards. You need me, and you know it. I expect to be well paid for my work."

: Suddenly, Richards was all business. "Quite the mercenary. You will be, Jones. You will be. Just don’t foul it up. I’m depending on your friendship with Brody."

: Jones rubbed at his stubble. "Hey, Doc, He’ll be eating out of my hand."

: Richards lost his temper and yelled, "DON’T CALL ME DOC. EVER. AND LEAVE YOUR FACE ALONE!" He calmed slightly and added, I’m ‘Doctor’ Richards to you. Always. You’ve been told often enough. Just get it into your thick skull, Jones." Indy shrugged, mildly amused by the sudden outburst.

: "Whatever you say, DOC!"

: Richards shook his head and said, "You know what to do?"

: Jones nodded. "Hey, calm down. It’s all in hand. I’ll make my move tonight. You just have the money ready tomorrow."

: Richards shook his head, and rose from the desk. "I never realised you were such a cold bastard." Then he and Hutchinson laughed as he slapped Jones on the shoulder.

: **********************

: It was dark when the ‘phone rang in the kitchen. Indy put down the vegetables he was preparing and wiped his hands on a cloth.

: "Jeez. Can’t I even get some dinner?" He grumbled as he lifted the receiver and looked at the clock. It was nearly eight thirty.

: "Hello? Jones here."

: "Hello? Jones? It’s Sutherland, from the College."

: "Jerry? You never call me. What the hell do you want at this time of night? Can’t it wait till the morning?"

: "Indy. There’s something going on."

: Jones was instantly on the alert.

: "What kind of something?"

: "I think your father is in trouble." Sutherland replied. "I had an anonymous call saying something about his Grail diary. I couldn’t make sense of it."

: "Dad’s diary? What the hell..." He said no more, thinking to himself that it was strange, as the business with the Grail was over and done with some time ago. Also, he and Marcus had been in touch with Dads college only that morning, after their sudden arrival back in America. Henry was unavailable, but they were assured all was fine and there were no problems.

: "There’s more." Sutherland added. "I was told to tell you, but at no cost is Marcus to know about it."

: "Marcus? What the hell has he to do with it? Jerry. Who told you all this?"

: "I don’t know, Indy. As I said, the call was anonymous. I thought I’ve heard the voice before, but I couldn’t place it. I was just told to tell you not to let Marcus know anything. And you’re not to call the police. You had better find out what’s going on. It sounded pretty serious. I could hear your fathers voice, shouting something about being taken to his house, and there were gunshots in the background."

: "GUNSHOTS?!" Indy almost threw the ‘phone back on the cupboard and ran to his bedroom, retrieving his Webley, whip and jacket. As he left the house at a dead run, he snatched up his fedora and jammed it on his head.

: "Hell, dad, why can’t you get a ‘phone!" He grumbled as he jumped into his car. It was a good two hours fast drive to Henry’s house and Indy was more than aware that any trouble would most likely be well and truly over by the time he got there, but there was no other way of making contact. He struggled with the impulse to visit Marcus on route as there was something nagging at the back of his mind about the whole business. He made up his mind and the engine roared and tyres squealed as the tail lights disappeared into the lowering gloom of the night, the engine note rising and falling with the acceleration and changing gears.

: ***********************

: The sound of the radio was decidedly tinny, and the out of key voice that sung an accompaniment to the tune that was playing did nothing to improve the audio quality. Marcus put down his coffee and turned the radio off. It was ten fifteen. Fairly early, but he and Indy had only just got back from Switzerland and he was tired from not only the flight, but the escapades they had endured while they were there. They had tried to contact Henry at his college office upon arrival but was told he was unavailable until the next day. Indy had agreed to drive them both straight to Henry’s house the following morning so an early night was definitely in order. Picking up the unopened mail, Marcus wandered into his dining room without turning on the lights. A movement ahead made him jump and he was startled to see a familiar tall figure, wearing a fedora, silhouetted against the window.

: "Indy! You made me jump!" He exclaimed, turning on the light. Jones grinned, and moved around the desk toward Marcus.

: "Sorry about that. I, Ah, I wasn’t sure you heard me knock." There was something faintly odd about Indy’s manner that made Marcus back away slightly. Then he noticed the open drawers and scattered papers.

: "What are you doing, Indy? What do you want? What are you looking for?" Marcus was clearly confused. Jones looked at the obvious signs of his search and gave as nervous laugh. "Well, you know me. Always the detective. No, seriously. I Er, I didn’t want to disturb you. I was looking for......" He got no further.

: "Indy. Is something wrong? You must tell me."

: Suddenly, like a cat off a wall, Jones leaped at Marcus, grabbing him by the throat in a vice like grip. With both Carotid arteries being compressed, he would be conscious for another fifteen seconds, dead in thirty.

: "Where is it, you sonofabitch?!" Jones shouted. Marcus gurgled, struggling, fighting weakly against Indy’s superior strength.

: Jones released his grip and Marcus sank to his knees, his head light from the lack of blood to his brain, gasping and coughing, clutching his throat. A sudden blow to the side of his head sent him spinning across the floor. Indy flexed his fingers from the impact of the punch. He was across the room, dragging Marcus up instantly. Another blow sent Brody sprawling, knocking furniture flying in his wake, ornaments and glassware shattering all round.

: "Where is it? Tell me, or so help me, I’ll kill you!" Jones waded through the fallen chairs as if they were hardly there. Marcus crawled weakly backwards, trying to get away but Indy grabbed him again and a back handed slap sent him reeling backwards, almost unconscious. Marcus looked up through a haze of fog and blood at his friend, frightened and dismayed. "Indy... What have I..." Then a cry of pain broke from his lips as Jones stamped on his forearm, breaking bones and crushing flesh.

: "Tell me where it is, you bastard, or next time I’ll step on your skull!"

: Again, Marcus tried to reason, dazed, confused and frightened by his friends actions. "Indy.... What... What do you want....." he mumbled hazily through a mouthful of blood.

: Then, faintly in the distance came the sound of police car bells. Someone had heard the sounds of the attack and had alerted the authorities.

: Jones looked at Marcus once, backhanded him savagely, and was gone.

: Marcus collapsed. Silent. Not breathing.

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