Indiana Jones & The Curse of Rhan - Chapters 1-5

Posted by Muppet from modem7.langly.kingston-internet.net on August 23, 1999 at 13:11:39:

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Chapter One: Boston, 1956
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Indiana Jones was dead.

In his place stood Henry Jones, Jnr. A respectable man in a neat white suit, wearing small glasses and carrying the day’s edition of the Boston Times. The only trace of his adventurous past his fedora, which although battered and torn, sat at an angle on his head.
"...and next week the myth of Excalibur..."

For once, Indiana - as he was rarely called these days - left the classroom first, surprising his students who were eager to leave themselves. He scuttled down the corridor of the college, reaching a door with a frosted glass window, with the name “Anthony Brody” written across it.
Knocking once, Indy entered the room.

"Good morning, Ind...Henry"

"Morning, Anthony"

"Finished class already?"

"I dismissed myself" smiled Indy, sitting down opposite Anthony’s desk. As he sat down, he said to Anthony "I take it there’s no exciting news today?"

Anthony smirked. "Is there ever?" asked Indy

"Not like the old days, eh?"

"The old days?" Indy grinned. "Watch who you’re calling old". Indy stood up. "But if you want to explore the world, go ahead. I’ve done my fair share"

"And miss out on these thrilling essays?" asked Anthony, waving a bundle of papers marked with thick red D minuses in the air.

"See you later, old man" joked Anthony.

As Indy shut the door behind him, he thought about what Anthony had said. "The old days". Suddenly, a memory; a flashback, hit him...

. . .

1936. Egypt.

Indiana Jones wiped the sweat from his forehead. For a moment - a brief second - he had time to get his breath back. Being chased through the desert was not his idea of a fun life.

When he had stepped off the boat at Cairo, he had a simple aim; to find and explore the ancient pyramid of the Pharaoh Kanuiis. A simple enough quest - if the pyramid was indeed the hiding place for the Kanuiis Manuscript; said to hold the true history of the pyramids.
What a prize that would be.

It would make Indy the most famous archaeologist in the world - and provide him with the funds for more expeditions - at least under Indy’s guidance the artifacts would wind up in museums rather than the back pockets of greedy grave robbers.

With money and lies and sheer luck, Indy had travelled to the site of a small cluster of pyramids outside of Giza for next to nothing. Armed only with his whip, his gun and his quick-thinking, Indy had entered the pyramids.

But now Indy was trapped. His exploration had been discovered, and the man who found him had a twenty-strong team of locals racing after Indy. The situation no longer seemed worth dying for.

The manuscript had been a hoax. It didn’t exist. All Indy found were dead kings and ancient dust. Indy could have taken the disappointment, had it not been for the fact that someone now wanted him dead.

That someone was Rene Belloq. A once-useful archaeologist, Belloq had quite easily crossed the line and descended into the life of a professional grave robber; raping the past and selling the discoveries he made.

Belloq and his band of locals - twenty in total - had chased Indy into the pyramid where he was now hiding. Maybe he had given them the slip, thought Indy, but outside he heard footsteps and voices.

Rene Belloq, dressed inappropriately for the heat in a loose beige shirt and trousers, ordered his men to wait at the opening of the pyramid in which Indy was hiding. Loading his revolver, Belloq declared that "Jones is mine", and ventured into the depths of the pyramid of Kanuiis.

The pyramid was dark, but Belloq could make out the walls of the corridors and large rooms. He could not, however, see Indiana Jones. He was crouched behind a large rectangular tomb.

"Come out, come out, Jones, wherever you are"
Silence.
"There’s no escape, Jones"
Silence.

Indy was trying to keep as quiet as possible, hiding behind the tomb. But the spider crawling across the top of the tomb had other ideas.
Moments later, it fell onto Indy’s hat. With a reflex action, Indy took his hat off, throwing the spider into the distance.

Even the small sound that it created was enough to alert Belloq, who ran to the entrance to the room in which Indy was hiding. Belloq saw a sqaure room, with a tomb in the middle.

He knew Indy was in here. "I may only let you live if you show yourself". Indy had no choice. Slowly, he crawled upwards, emerging from behind the tomb into the line of Belloq’s revolver, which was aimed at him already.

Belloq was too far away from Indy to be able to make a move, so Indy had to play it safe.

"Want to let me go?" asked Indy.

"You’re far too trusting, Jones. I lied". Belloq had Indy right where he wanted him; ready to kill him. Rene talked, but all the way kept his revolver aimed at Indy, ready to shoot if Indy should make the slightest movement.

"Do you know why the Egyptians built these magnificent buildings?" Belloq asked.

"Boredom?"

"How amusing, Jones. They were tombs. When the great kings died, this is where they were buried. All the ancients rest in peace here."

"Fascinating...you should be a teacher"

"You are the one who chose the mundane life, Jones. You could have had it all"

Indiana Jones laughed out loud.

"You think my wealth, my success if funny? You are a very confused man, Jones...but I will now make your next decision for you,” Belloq grinned. “I would very much like it for you to be buried here with the great kings..."

Then there was a loud gush of wind outside. It was horrific. A strong gust that rocketed through the cracks and the walls of the pyramids, creating an almost unbearable wail. It died down moments later, giving Belloq to chance to continue. "The wind is picking up...I should get back to Cairo as soon as possible" said Belloq.

"Why don’t you just kill me then?"

"Truly you have no culture, Jones. I like to make sure I am doing something worthwile. I like to know that you are scared of dying...it makes it much more satisfying".

Cries, shouts, wails suddenly sounded.

It was coming from outside. Belloq turned, off-guard. Those voices belonged to his men. He ran down the dark corridor, to the light at the mouth of the pyramid. There he saw his men; the locals, running away. Translating their cries, Belloq understood their cries to mean that the wailing wind noise had been interpreted as a warning from Kanuiis - they were running home. “Fools!” snapped Belloq.

"Just you and me now, Belloq. I prefer those odds".

"What...?" asked Belloq, turning around. But as he turned, his face was met with the butt of Indy’s gun, which swung down, knocking Belloq to the floor, out cold. The manuscript may have been a hoax, but Belloq still wanted Indy dead.

Emerging outside into the sun once more, Indy thought he was safe with the local men gone. But he remembered one small problem - his lift home, Mullah, was a local too. Indy watched as a frightened Mullah and his camels rode off into the distance. Indy knew that Belloq would wake up soon, and hurridely glanced round. There had to be something to escape in. There was.

A truck was parked nearby. It was being guarded by a heavy-set man wielding a gun. This was going to be tricky. Indy didn’t know how he was going to get the truck without being seen...so he didn’t try to conceal himself. “Excuse me...” he shouted, approaching the truck.
The man turned quickly, lifting his gun.

"Wait..." shouted Indy.

The man shouted something in Arabic to Indy. He didn’t understand, but by the man’s actions could see that he wanted him to stop.
Indy stopped.

The man kept shouting, kept his gun aimed at Indy. He started pointing at Indy’s gun. He wanted Indy to drop it onto the sandy floor. Indy’s hands lowered. One hand was about to take hold of the gun and drop it. The other was about to take hold of the whip on Indy’s belt. The man shouted again.

"All right! All right! Pushy people" muttered Indy.

He took the gun out of its holster and threw it to the floor. The truck guard grinned, and was about to pull the trigger on his own gun, when suddenly Indy grabbed the whip, cracking it forwards.
It wrapped around the guard’s hand. Indy pulled the whip back quickly, the gun flew into the distance, lost in the sand. The man raced up to Indy, fists ready to right.

"Let’s not get violent" said Indy.

The man shouted at him, furious.

"Now wait a minute..."

The man, clearly enraged, shouted again.

Indy didn’t understand. "Should have studied Arabic better" thought Indy.

The man grabbed Indy’s shirt collar, shaking him violently. Indy gave up patience, and with a sharp right hook, knocked the shouting man out. "Boring conversation anyway"

Indy rifled through the man’s pockets, taking out the truck keys. He quickly clambered inside, trying to start the engine.
It whirred pathetically...nothing.

In the wing mirror, Indy could see Belloq’s distant figure rapidly approaching; he was awake. Indy turned the engine over again with the keys; silence.

Belloq loaded his gun.

Sweating now, Indy started hitting the dashboard. "Come on, you heap of junk!". All the time, Belloq was getting nearer and nearer.

Indy turned the keys again.

Belloq pulled the trigger on his revolver.

The truck started - at last! - and shot off with an amazing speed. The bullets from Belloq’s gun missing their target and ripping through the truck’s canopy. Laughing manically, Indy raced back to Giza. Belloq could only watch as Indiana Jones disappeared into the distance; he’d escaped.

. . .

Indiana Jones sat down in the professor’s lounge, helping himself to a coffee. Enough reminiscing of places seen, people met, death escaped, for one day; at least he would never be in such a situation again.

When Marcus died, it was as if he took Indy’s adventuring spirit with him. The Ark, the Grail, Marcus had helped out on Indy’s greatest adventures; without him Indy’s enthusiasm had dwindled.

As he flicked mindlessly through the Times, something caught Indy’s eye. Peeling the page back, he saw an article headed “ARCHAELOGIST ANNOUNCES MAJOR EXPEDITION”. It seemed that a motley crue had assembled itself to set out and loacte the fabled Temple Of Rhan; the resting place of an ancient cult leader said to have wielded great powers. The sort of thing a younger Indy might have gone after too, had he been in shape and willing. Better to leave the adventures to those fools that wanted to follow rumours and maps, trails to buried treasure.

Just as Indy was about to flick over the papers of the Times once more and get back to work, the last line of the article seemed to spring off the page. Its words small, printed - to Indy they were as large and life and twice as bold. "Leading the expedition..." the sentence began.

It was the concluding two words that kept Indy focused; kept him staring at the page.

Two words, one name:

Louis Belloq.

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Chapter Two: Palma, Majorca, 1954
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"It’s worthless"

"What?"

"Absolutely worthless"

The old man sighed, "I see...so how much?"

"5000 pesetas. Take it or leave it"

"I’ll have to take it" The old man slowly accepted the 5000 pesetas, handed over the item to the tall, slender gentleman dealing with him, and muttered something in Spanish.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you"

"Si, si," muttered the old man, walking away.

Louis Belloq grinned. The item in his hand wasn’t worthless. It was a rarity; evidence of a historic fable that was a clue towards one of history’s myths; the Temple Of Rhan.

This was the stuff of legends. Of glory. Louis Belloq resisted cackling with glee. He was indeed a tall, thin man, with a refined appearance. Only 30 years old, Louis was already more mature than his father had been.

. . .

Louis had been born the son of Rene Belloq and a desperate woman in the depths of Paris. Rene, selfish to the last, had not supported Louis, but this drove Louis to make something of himself. By the time he was 25, Louis was a scholar in archaeology and history. He had even tracked down his father, and - rather than fighting - the two had found a common bond; avarice and selfishness.

The times when they worked together were rare, but the contacts Rene gave his son, the people he introduced him to and the places he told him to go, things he told him to find and sell at the highest price; these were all trademarks of what Louis saw as a great father. Rene had taught Louis to work for only one person; himself, and that had helped Louis throughout the years. Despite his tall, thin figure, Louis was a strong, often violent man, although he preferred any killing - if it was necessary - to be done by someone else.

However, growing up on the streets of Paris, mugging and stealing his way through his teenage years, Louis knew he needed ‘protection’. Something to scare those who weren’t moved by Louis’ words alone.

That was where Kas came in. Kas was a silent, burly-framed man who said little and did plenty. Louis had saved Kas from jail with some smooth-talking and a handful of francs, and Kas had remained resolutely loyal ever since.

Kas was a menace; a fat, glowering beast of a man with shaved black hair, a thick face and a tall, shadowing body. He would just as soon kill as get to know anyone; he did all the ‘dirty little jobs’ like murder and assault that Louis was too refined for.

But Louis always promised himself that one time, he would do the killing. There was one person he wanted dead, one person who had murdered his father. Ever since his father’s disappearance had been ‘officially’ reported by the U.S. government, Louis had clutched at false leads and uptight officials, trying to find out exactly what had happened to Rene.

Louis knew of Rene’s quest to find the Ark of the Covenant. That was all he knew. Had Rene found it? Who knew? If anyone did, they were certainly keeping quiet. But Louis wanted to know who or what had caused his father’s disappearance and death...and when Louis found out, he would kill them. "A killing for a killing" mused Louis.

. . .

At the present time, August 12th, 1954, Kas stood behind Louis on the dockside in Palma, Majorca. In Louis’ hands was the item that the old man had handed over for a pitiful amount of money. Louis knew it was worth more than he paid for it; but that was all part of the game.

"Glorious..." said Louis, holding the item up. It was a round, scroll-like piece of ancient paper; brittle and faded, but still readable. Depicted on it were pictures of temples, strange happenings; what looked like occult gatherings, definitely pictures of worship.

Written above and below each of the pictures was a form of lettering; it was clearly a ‘secret code’; a language only known to a few people, one devised so that whatever message was written on the paper could never unwillingly be deciphered.

Louis knew that the paper told of how to reach the fabled Temple of Rhan. What most sensible archaeologists saw as myth and refused to investigate, Louis had pursued. It was not the fortune and glory that Louis strived, no, it was the sheer power that Rhan represented that Louis desired.

"Did you get it?"

Louis turned to see Grundman; a small, ageing man, resting on a cane. He had greying hair, but a certain vitality that was ever-present.

"Of course I got it"

"I hope you didn’t pay too much...these peasants aren’t worth it" snapped Grundman.

Grundman was a bitter old man. He had been a Nazi Commander, but with the end of the war and with the Third Reich crumbling all around Hitler, Grundman had fled. A self-preservationist to the last, Grundman had used money and contacts to hide his identity. However, his views, his ability to kill in cold blood and his sick enjoyment of doing so were all testament to the fact that no matter how often he changed his name, Grundman was a Nazi.

"I don’t even like it here. I’m sweating. Only peasants sweat" Grundman hissed.

Louis laughed. "My dear commander, relax"

"Relax?"

"This is only the beginning"

"I am sick of waiting! When will we find the Temple of Rhan, Belloq? When?!"

Louis contemplated it. "One year, perhaps two...but we will find it!" he smiled.

"What makes you so sure?" snapped Grundman.

"What makes you so unsure?" countered Louis. "My father was an archaeologist; an explorer and a skilled businessman of the highest order. I modestly claim to possess those skills too..." Louis Belloq exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke. "We will find Rhan"

"And will we share what we find?"

Louis didn’t respond.

"I don’t know if I can trust you, Louis"

After a pause, Louis cleared his throat, and said "Do you want to find Rhan?"

Grundman stuttered, confused. "Of course..."

"Well...you’ll just have to trust me, won’t you?"

. . .

The Falcon Hotel, Malta. Almost midnight.

Louis Belloq was now asleep. The paper that spoke of the Temple of Rhan was safely locked away inside a leather briefcase, sat atop Louis’ bedside table.

Outside, in the corridor, Kas kept guard. His burly frame obscured the door into Louis’ room, and the silent menace eyed everyone with suspicion; even an innocent-looking 20 year old who passed by.

But right now, that innocent 20 year old was outside, in the gardens of the Falcon Hotel. He was Ernesto, the son of the peasant from whom Louis had bought the Rhan paper.

Ernesto surveyed the walls of the hotel; Louis’ room was the only one with a balcony. This was going to be tricky. Having seen the burly man in the hallway, Ernesto knew he was no match for him. His father wanted the scroll back, but Ernesto wasn’t willing to put his life on the line for it. No, he’d sneak into the room from the balcony and take it back quietly, without a fight.

Ernesto observed the walls of the hotel. Up to the first floor was a wooden panel; thick vines up after that to the third floor and the balcony of the room he was trying to get to. Ernesto easily made it up the shaky wooden panel, then held on to the thick vines as he made his way further up the wall. A few snapped, giving way, but in a
few minutes, he was clambering onto the balcony.

Luckily, the balcony doors leading into the room were open. He could see a man lying on the bed, asleep. It was the same man who his father had told him paid next to nothing for the scroll.

Ernesto crept slowly into the room. He saw nothing, just a suitcase.

The man flinched. Ernesto paused, waiting for the man to go back to sleep. He did, rolling onto his side. Ernesto crept further into the room, he eventually got to the bedside table and the suitcase.

He tried flicking the case open, but it was stuck. Locked. "The old ways are still the best ways" thought Ernesto, taking out a knife and attacking the locks of the briefcase with it. One lock sprang open. Louis Belloq moved.

Quickly, Ernesto flicked the other locked, throwing the case open. He saw the scroll, and snatched it. No time to lose. Ernesto raced back to the balcony.

Louis woke up. Ernesto had almost made it.

"What?!" shouted Louis.

Ernesto, panicking, disappeared from the balcony, crawling back down the vines as fast as he could.

The doors of Louis’ room flew open.

"You idiot! It’s been stolen!"

Kas surveyed the corridor, seeing nothing.

"Not inside, you idiot! Outside!" Louis frantically pointed to the balcony, which Kas raced over to. He saw Ernesto scrambling through the gardens of the hotel, racing towards the town centre.

With a mighty jump, Kas leapt from the balcony, surprisingly agile for such a heavy-set thug. He hit the grass with a thud, but hardly seemed affected. Instead, he immediately set off after Ernesto. He didn’t run; he charged, grunting.

Ernesto ran as fast as he could; he glanced behind to see the hotel in the distance. He saw the burly guard, who had now dropped from the balcony and was stomping through the hotel gardens. Kas pushed his way through the trees and bushes that had taken Ernesto time to get through. He was catching up fast.

Ernesto reached the wall around the hotel. With one majestic leap, he got hold of the top of the wall, starting to haul himself over. Kas was almost there. Ernesto was nearly free. Just as he prepared to
descend the wall on the other side, he felt a hand grab his foot - Kas had caught him, and was pulling him back over the wall.

Ernesto felt himself going backwards. He struggled, and managed to writhe his shoe loose, giving him the opportunity to finally escape. Kas, angered, easily hauled himself over the wall. He stormed after Ernesto, who ducked into an alleyway by the side of a noisy bar. Kas saw this, and followed him down the small alley. And found nothing.

Ernesto had disappeared. Kas grunted, and proceeded slowly down the alley. As he neared the end of the alley, from the trash cans sprang Ernesto, wielding his knife and charging at Kas. Just as the knife was about to jam into Kas’ chest, Kas took hold of Ernesto’s thin hand, shaking the knife loose. Ernesto tried to move. He couldn’t.

"My father didn’t want to sell!" yelled Ernesto, hopelessly trying to say something.

Kas stared at him.

"You promised more!"

Kas didn’t react. He simply stuck out his right hand in a claw shape, and wrapped it around Ernesto’s neck. He started to lift the struggling Ernesto off the ground.

"Please...please..." Ernesto said, finding it harder and harder to speak, to breathe.

Kas kept Ernesto held in the air, until he’d had enough and tightened his grip further. There was a resounding cracking sound as Ernesto’s life was taken from him.

Seeing Ernesto’s arms fall to the side of his body, Kas threw the corpse to the floor and slowly, calmly started to search his clothes. Finding the scroll with the Rhan information on it, Kas pocketed it and turned, walking away as if nothing had happened.

When he returned to the hotel, Louis was relieved to see the scroll in Kas’ hands. "Excellent", grinned Louis. "From now on," he said, "Anybody who gets in our way....we kill"

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Chapter Three: Boston, 1956
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"No sir, I’m sorry"

"Are you sure?" Indiana Jones asked again.

"Look, I don’t know anything more"

Indy had the day’s copy of the Times in his hand. He was on the phone to the reporter of the story in which Louis Belloq had been mentioned. Indy wanted it to be a coincidence, even a misprint. Louis Belloq - a brother? A son? It couldn’t be.

"You wrote the article, you must know something about him..." said Indy.

The reporter was getting annoyed. "Look, friend, I’m a reporter, not a biographer. I can’t help you". With that, he hung up and Indy was cut off.

So far all Indy knew was the Louis Belloq was an archaeologist and had announced a new expedition; some small dig somewhere in Greece. The article didn’t say what Louis Belloq was looking for, now how long it would take. Indy was intrigued.

"Coffee, Henry?"

"What?" Indy’s thoughts were disturbed by Anthony Brody walking into the room and motioning towards a simmering coffee pot.

"Want some?" he asked.

"Oh. No thank you"

"What’s the matter?"

Indy didn’t respond.

"Henry? Is something wrong?"

"Did your father ever tell you about Rene Belloq?" asked Indy.

"’Rene Belloq’?" frowned Anthony. "No, no I can’t say he did. Why?"

"He made a wise move."

"Are you all right, Henry?"

Indy leapt from his seat. "I don’t know" he said, and marched out of the staff room. He made his way out of the college, still holding on to the Times, and started the short walk home.

At home, sat in a chair by the telephone, Indy scoured the article in the Times again and again, trying to gleam a new clue. All he had at the moment was that Louis Belloq was an archaeologist who was headed to Greece to start a dig.

Indy reread the article. "Louis Belloq, part-time scholar of a major French institution..." Of course! Indy cursed himself for being so stupid. He quickly dialled a familiar number on the telephone. It answered after a few rings.

"Boston Times" said a receptionist.

"Hello...can I speak to Max Garner?"

"Hold the line, sir" There was a pause. Indy waited impatiently.

"Garner" came a gruff reply.

"I’m ringing about your Louis Belloq article"

"Oh! Look, buddy, I already told you..."

"Calm down," interrupted Indy. "I only need one answer. That’s all"

Garner paused. "Okay, shoot"

"You wrote that Louis Belloq was a part-time scholar at a ‘major French institution’...which one is it?" asked Indy.

"Hold on". Grundman scanned his desk, scrabbling to dig up the hand-written draft of the Belloq article. He didn’t know who this crazy man on the telephone was and simply wanted rid of him. "Got ya!" said Garner, pulling at a piece of paper.

"Found it?"

"Yeah, yeah. Hold on," snapped Garner, reading the article. "The place you’re looking for is the..." Garner struggled to read out the French "UniversitÈ de Nantes"

"But.."

The line clicked dead.

An hour later, Indy was on the phone to a mild-mannered secretary at the Archaeological Department of the University of Nantes, France.

"No, Louis Belloq no longer works here"

"And you have no contact address?"

"No sir. Only some family detail"

Indy paused. "I need to make sure I have the right person," he lied. "Can I ask a question?"

"Certainly"

"Is he related to a Mr. Rene Belloq?"

"Yes"

"And what relation to Rene Belloq is he?"

"His son"

. . .

Paris, France.
One month ago.

"Wrong!"

"Wrong?"

"It has to be..." muttered Louis Belloq.

In a lavish apartment somewhere deep within Paris, Louis sat at a table with Grundman, trying to figure out several things; the inscription on the scroll, the location of Rhan, the end of the quest.

Kas watched over the table with a menacing stare. Louis had told Kas to be extra vigilant whenever Grundman was around; Grundman didn’t trust Louis, and the feeling was mutual. However, they were currently both hunched over the brittle scroll which promised to further their quest for the Temple of Rhan.

"These are definite signs of worship; occult references" said Grundman. Louis had to admit that Grundman knew his history, but he was impatient; Louis was meticulous, always double-checking. "And this...this must be the temple" continued Grundman, waving a finger over a drawing of a large stone building, with carvings on the outside walls.

"Those...those are mountains?" asked Louis, pointing to a picture next to the temple. Grundman nodded. That was confirmation enough for Louis.

"Ach!" shouted Grundman. "The temple could be in any mountain region in the world!"

Louis shook his head. "No. Not necessarily. Look at the writing on the scroll, above and below the drawings. It is what I believe to be a ‘secret code’" Louis waved his hand to Kas, who automatically
picked up a book and handed it to Louis. Opening it, Grundman saw a line of drawings, similar to those on the scroll, with letters of the alphabet under corresponding drawings.

"I don’t have all the letters yet. But I found some during an excavation in Egypt...my initial guess of where the Temple is located...and I think I can decipher some of the words..." grinned Louis.

"Well hurry up and do it!"

"Patience, patience" Louis concentrated on the scroll, glancing at the
book, then the pictures, then a piece of paper he scribbled haphazardly on. "There are two lines of text. One I have never seen before. But this - this top line tells the location of the headpiece of the Staff of Rhan. Once we have the headpiece, we have the final clue to the Temple’s location" said Louis.

Louis continued scribbling. "C.....R.....N..." he said out loud. "...T....H" he concluded.

"CRNTH?" asked a bemused Grundman.

"I cannot work out the second and fourth letter" sighed Louis. He stared at the pictures, at his book of clues, thinking.

"Of course!"

"Of course?"

"I haven’t got the vowels in my book - I have never had them! That means that the second and fourth letter are vowels...now it is simply a matter of getting the right name!"

Minutes passed, whenever a name was deduced, it was checked on an atlas. Nothing. Until Louis scribbled in an ‘O’ and an ‘I’. "Corinth!" shouted Louis.

"Corinth? Where’s that?"

"Greece!"

"Greece?" shouted Grundman. "Enough of this trekking around! I want to find the Temple of Rhan now! I want my share of the find!"

Louis smiled. "If you want to find the Temple, you’re going to have to be patient. Once we have the headpiece, then we have the Temple...or, at least, a definite link to its location"

"You sure we can get the headpiece?"

"Who else would know of its location in Corinth?"

"Someone might do. That peasant may have shown the scroll to someone before us!" Grundman said.

Louis paused. "I am sure the headpiece is there"

"What if somebody has already found it?"

"Well then..." grinned Louis, "If they don’t give it back to us, they won’t have long left".

Kas nodded.

"Very well" said Grundman. "We leave tomorrow". With that, hid said his curt goodbyes and left Louis’ apartment, muttering to himself.

Moments later, from a window, Louis watched Grundman making his way home. Kas seemed to grunt. Louis, not turning, said out loud "Not yet, Kas. Not yet. Let him get us the headpiece first"

Louis paused. "Then you may kill him"

. . .

As Indy slept, he dreamt. Of a strange setting.

A cloaked figure stood in the distance, atop some sort of pedestal. He was clutching what looked like a staff, waving it slowly from side to side.

Indy was in a cavernous room, dark yet illuminated by the strange presence of the cloaked figure.

Indy couldn’t move. He was tied to a large metal circle.

Ominous noises - chanting?

Indy saw a woman’s face, screaming. The cloaked figure revealed his face. Rene Belloq!

He pointed the staff at Indy. There was a terrible surge of power.
Like a million rays of lightning crashing down on him, attacking Indy all at once. Indy's body writhed in agony...

. . .

Sweating, Indy jumped up, bolt upright. He was thinking a million thoughts. All of them worried him. Now that he knew who Louis Belloq was, it was only a matter of time before Louis found out who Indy
was - if he hadn’t already.

Sat upright in bed, Indy thought.

Of the future. Of the past...

“I need a drink”

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Chapter Four: Corinth, Greece, 1956
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“Here we are”

“It took long enough” hissed Grundman.

A battered, slow-moving truck came to a halt in Corinth, a sleepy town in Greece. Grundman and Louis clambered down from the truck and observed the area. Kas came down from the truck and watched Grundman. “Where now?” asked Grundman.

“Those rocks” said Louis. He pointed to a rocky outcrop, and the three men started to make their way there. As they did, they said nothing, simply walking in silence.

In minutes they were atop the rocky outcrop, watching the crashing waves of the ocean. Grundman looked irritated as usual.

“Well?” hissed Grundman.

“The scroll”

Kas nodded, handing Louis the scroll with the drawings and strange writing on it. Louis unfolded it, studying it, and showed it to Grundman. “Look at this drawing, the rocks here...” said Louis. “The rocks in this picture are being hit by water - waves - just like the very ones we are standing on!” exclaimed Louis. “I knew we had come to the correct location” he grinned.

“Don’t get cocky” said Grundman.

Louis ignored him. “And this next picture, it shows where the headpiece was buried”. Louis pointed to a drawing of more rocky landscape, but this was different. There were three clear sandy spots in the rocks, set out to resemble a triangle. Three possible locations? Louis wondered. The clear areas also had strange lettering above and below them. From what he could remember, and the new vowels he had discovered reading the scroll, Louis managed to decipher the meaning.

“Well?” asked Grundman.

“The writing on the scroll...” began Louis.

“You and your infernal scroll!”

Louis snapped. “It is our only clue!”

“I am sick and tired of -” but Grundman stopped when he felt Kas’ mighty hand come to rest on his shoulder, tensing and making Grundman wince. Louis marched up to Grundman. “I am not going to tell you again. Patience. If we rush this, we may never find the headpiece, let alone the temple. You will listen and offer advice”

Grundman was hesitant, then nodded slowly.

“Excellent,” grinned Louis. “Now, written above the drawing is the word - roughly translated - ‘NORTHERN’. Underneath the drawing is another word, this time the translation is slightly more coherent; ‘KORFOS’”

“So we’re looking for Northern Korfos?” asked Grundman.

“A stunning revelation” quipped Louis.

“Then why are we in Corinth?!”

“Ah! That’s the point. Korfos Bay is just down the road. It has a rocky outcrop, not too large. There is where I believe the headpiece is waiting for us, waiting to be discovered”

An hour and a half later, the three men had dug up all three of the supposed spots where the headpiece was buried. The area had been practically identical to the one on the scroll, but there was nothing. Louis noted however that the sand, the mud which the headpiece was meant to be buried under had recently been disturbed. This was not good enough for Grundman. They had found an aged, damaged and worthless wooden case, with several old locks and bolts. However, when Kas had ripped the case open, Louis made a discovery he didn’t want to.

It was empty.

Grundman had reacted badly. “Enough of this” snapped Grundman, throwing down his shovel. “I have had enough!”

“Grundman,” sighed Louis, “What did I say?”

“Patience? Forget patience!” shouted Grundman, reaching for his gun holster.

“Very well” said Louis. “Now, Kas”

Kas grinned slyly.

“Now?” asked Grundman turning round. As he turned, his view was obstructed by the towering figure of Kas, who had seemed to appeared out of nowhere. However, Kas’ presence was very, very real. Kas clasped both thick hands around Grundman’s neck. The Commander’s face immediately turned a deep shade of red as he gasped for air.

“I had hoped you’d lead up to the Temple,” sighed Louis. “I would very much have liked for you to prove useful. But you’ve shown that you are a man of no importance”.

Grundman coughed, choking.

“Any last words, Herr Grundman?” asked Louis. Kas clenched his hands, breaking Grundman’s neck. His head slouched to the side and his body became limp and lifeless. “Obviously not” grinned Louis. Kas picked up Grundman’s body, and marched over to the waves that crashed against the rocks of Korfos Bay. He lifted Grundman’s body up into the air, then threw it into
the ocean like a bag of trash.

“I do wish you’d vary your style” smirked Louis. “I do like to see a good, prolonged death”.

Half an hour later, Louis and Kas were sat with a local man, an old person who occasionally mumbled but knew everything about Korfos Bay and Corinth’s history. He had been pointed out to Louis by the owner of the Scherzo Inn, a small, run-down bar.

“Yes, yes, I know” nodded the old man.

“You know what?” asked Louis.

“You seek it”

“The headpiece, yes I do”

“You seek it. It is evil”

Louis restrained himself. “A myth, it is not evil”

“It is...I have been told many stories, many stories. I may be old, but I’m not stupid. I listen, I learn. I remember every tale of Tet Rhan” said the old man. He started to laugh; a gassy, smoker’s laugh. “I used to tell my children stories of Tet Rhan to give them nightmares”.

Louis laughed. “What tales did you tell them?”

“Tales of monsters...ghosts...demons. Evil lords and magic weapons” said the old man. “My children loved it. Until they got too old for stories”

“And the headpiece?”

“The headpiece?” sighed the old man. “That is a devastating reality”. Louis sat back, stunned. “But it is a story with a happy ending”

“How so?”

“It is no longer in Corinth!” smiled the old man, leaning back in his chair. Kas looked as if he was about to attack the old man, but he stopped when he saw Louis motion for him to stop.

“Why is it no longer in Corinth?”

The old man cleared his throat, downing another shot of the potent drink he had made Louis buy for him. “It was sold, along with many other items”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” said the old man. “A man came from the East and took whatever he could of value to sell when he returned to where he came from. He took jewellery, vases, and the headpiece”

Louis was curious. “How did he find the headpiece?”

“Chance” laughed the old man. “Pure chance. He had his men dig on Korfos Bay - they found the headpiece under layers of sand, of rock, mud. He took it along with everything else he found”

“Who was he?”

The old man seemed to ignore Louis and instead stood up, walking over to the bar. He said something in Greek to the bartender, they both nodded, and the old man turned from his new position at the bar and said, “His last name was Sharilla. He came from Faizabad, in...” the old man consulted the bartender again. “From Faizabad, in Afghanistan”

“How long ago?”

“Oh...only weeks ago...not long at all”

Louis leapt to his feet, nodded to the old man and then swiftly left the bar, Kas following. The old man watched them leave, waited till they were gone and then muttered something about danger to the bartender.

. . .

Boston. One month later.

Indiana Jones had just finished another class, taken a handful of essays and dumped them in his office. His faithful students wandered out of the building whilst Indy wandered over to Anthony Brody’s office. Indy knocked on the door once, then entered. Brody looked up from his desk. Seeing Indy, he sat back, smiling. “Busy day, Henry?”

“Not really”

“Miller’s failing 20th century history again” said Anthony, holding up the latest worthless essay by a docile student at the university.

Indy sat down. “Anthony...”

“Henry,” interrupted Anthony. “I read the Times yesterday. You caught my curiosity the way you were acting. Whoever this Louis Belloq character is I have no idea...”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Indy.

“But I know someone else”.

Indy sat forwards. “Oh?”

“Yes,” said Anthony, taking hold of the familiar article in the Times. “See here, it mentions that Belloq visited a Dr. Jerome Launce in New York before setting out on the expedition. Dr. Launce just happens to be an old friend of mine”

“He does?” asked Indy.

“Well, we’ve not spoken in a year, but you know how people fall out of contact...still, he may be able to tell you what you want to know. I just wish I knew what that was” said Anthony.

“I’ll tell you soon, Anthony. I just need to be sure of something first”. With that, Indy left Anthony’s office, just as quickly as before and leaving Anthony just as bemused as before.

Back in his office, Indy made an urgent telephone call. “Dr. Jerome Launce” answered an upper-class voice.

“Dr. Launce? I’m Henry Jones, Jr.”

“Oh?”

“I’m calling you regarding Louis Belloq”

Dr. Jerome said “What is it you want to know?”

“Did he visit you recently?”

“Yes, he was here only three months ago” said Dr. Jerome. “I found him to be very pleasant, very good manners...a consummate professional” Indy didn’t need to hear this.

“Why was he there?”

“Permit me discretion, Mr. Jones. How would you like it if I recounted our conversation to the next person to visit me?”
Indy thought. “I was just curious about his next dig...it was mentioned in the Boston Times”

“Ah yes. He was asking about Tet Rhan, an ancient mythical man - a fabled ruler, if you will”.

“Tet Rhan?” Indy repeated.

“Yes. He was fascinated by the subject. Personally, I think it’s hokum. But still, it occupies a special place in my heart - a triviality that I must admit to indulging in from time to time”. Dr. Jerome continued, “I have amassed many books, clippings and stories on Tet Rhan which Mr. Belloq found most interesting”

“Tet Rhan...” Indy said again.

Dr. Jerome quickly carried on. “May I ask a question, Mr. Jones? Are you also curious about Tet Rhan? Because if you are, I would prefer to enjoy this conversation with you here in New York rather than the telephone”

Indy considered this. If he visited Dr. Jerome, he could maybe find out more about Louis Belloq, find out more about where he was headed. “Yes, Dr. Launce, I am interested in Tet Rhan” said Indy. Over the next few minutes, Dr. Jerome filled Indy in on the details; his address, when to come, what he would show him he had found. Indy agreed to leave that week to visit Dr. Jerome in New York.

Ten minutes later, their conversation ended and Indy was once again back in his office, alone. His searching around meant that he finally knew what Louis Belloq was searching for.

It was a fable. A myth. A danger.

The Temple Of Rhan.

. . .

It was the day after Louis’ unsuccessful dig in Corinth. However, at least Louis now had another link to the headpiece. And if it was a merchant who had possession of the headpiece, he would be willing to trade with Louis. Kas would make sure of that.

Louis was in Goceck Harbour, a small fishing port in Greece where he would catch a boat to France. There, he would collect his information on Rhan and leave at once for Afghanistan. As he made his way towards The Empress; the boat that would take Louis to France, he noticed two policemen marching towards him.

Louis froze. “Louis Belloq?”

“Yes?”

The official waved a piece of paper in Louis’ face. “We have a warrant for your arrest. You will be detained here...come with us”.

“I see,” said Louis. As he turned to walk with the two armed police that surrounded him, he quickly leapt backwards. The two policemen swivelled round on the spot, only to see Kas. Kas punched one of the policemen hard in the face, making him tumble into the water. The other policeman however ducked, and pulled his gun. He shot repeatedly, and was sure he had hit Kas - but nothing. Kas just stormed towards the policeman, who tried punching Kas in the chest. It hurt him more than Kas.

“No time to kill! Move!” ordered Louis. Kas followed instructions and simply held the policeman’s head with one hand, and smacked his head hard with his other hand, knocking the policeman out. Kas turned and ran towards The Empress with Louis.

Seconds later, Louis and Kas jumped onto the boat, to see the captain grinning at them. He greeted Louis like a lost friend. “Louis, how are you?” he smiled. Louis pushed past the captain, ordered him to get the boat out of the port. The captain obliged, racing to get the boat moving as quickly as he could. In the distance, policemen approached, running. This was going to be close.

“Go!” shouted Louis. The boat soon moved out of the port, but Louis turned when he heard engine noises. He saw two small police boats, both manned by three policemen, racing after The Empress. “Faster! Faster!” The captain of The Empress turned his boat, it caused a large wave to splash across the port. The boat charged directly at the police boats, causing them to go either side of The Empress.

“We might tip over!” warned the captain.

“Ridiculous!” snapped Louis. Turning the boat again, the captain was worried. The way he was positioned now, there was a police boat either side of The Empress, both speeding towards the boat with the sole intention of stopping it. The captain increased the speed of The Empress, charging along in the water, and shut his eyes. Any moment now, the police boats would hit the sides of The Empress.

They did. But only slightly. They clipped the back of The Empress as it raced out to sea. But the two police boats were still charging at each other. With an almighty sound, the two police boats crashed into one another! Parts of the boats went in several directions, as did the policemen, whilst Louis watched from the safety of The Empress as it made its way into the distance.

“Very good” smiled Louis, relaxing and patting the relieved captain on the back. “Very good indeed”.

Standing on the deck, Louis thought for a moment. He didn’t know which crime in his past had caught up with him, or if it was Grundman’s murderer they were after; he didn’t want to know.

Paris was Louis’ next stop, with possible danger if the authorities in France were looking for him too. However, soon he would be headed to Faizabad. At least there he wouldn’t be wanted by the police - but he would have to keep a lower profile on his return to Europe.

=====================================================================

=================================
Chapter Five: Paris, France, 1956
=================================

It was one day after Louis’ unsuccessful dig in Corinth. He had made a very low-key return to France. The Empress had docked at a small dock on the coastline and Louis had been sneaked into Paris. To Louis’ surprise, the police were not yet looking for him in France though, and Louis managed to maintain some semblance of a normal life. It would not be long though before the police in France - and other countries - were given details of Louis’ escape in Greece.

At the moment, Louis was on the phone to an ally of his who was a Nazi General in hiding somewhere in the depths of Austria. The man had changed names so many times, Louis no longer truly knew his real name. Louis was trying to find out more about his father’s death - he was sure that his father had found the Ark of the Covenant, and this General was the link. He had taken dozens of Nazi files with him; they had the General’s name plastered all over them, and the General didn’t want to risk abandoning them (too risky) or burning them (too clumsy).

“My father led an expedition to uncover the Ark's 'hiding place' then?"

“Your father was part of an expedition to uncover a ‘religious relic’, yes”

“The Ark of the Covenant?”

The General said “Yes. I would assume so, Louis”

“And who was on that expedition?”

“Details are scarce,” said the General. “A group of soldiers, one of our men Toht, a high-ranking official, your father...and a man - listed as ‘Hostile’”

“Hostile?”

“Yes, we have him listed as a spy; a saboteur”

“Oh?”

The General paused.

“And who is that man?” asked Louis.

“Herr Henry Jones, Jnr.”

. . .

New York. Three weeks earlier.

Indiana Jones stepped out of a cab on some affluent street to find himself in front of a large block of apartments; an exclusive residence and certainly one Indy couldn’t afford. “Thanks,” he said, paying the cab driver, who raced off as Indy made his way towards the door of the Montgomery Building; the apartment block where Dr. Jerome Launce lived. Maybe here Indy could get the answers about Louis Belloq he had come for.

Indy made his way inside, climbing up to floor 11 and knocking on the first door he came to. A thin man in his 50’s opened the door. He lowered his glasses, observed Indy and smiled, saying “Dr. Henry Jones?”. Indy nodded, and was led inside.

“Drink?” he asked.

“No thanks” said Indy. He looked around the room. Ancient Egyptian artefacts, awards, diplomas, all kinds of information and history in this room alone. He sat down in a chair, as did Dr. Jerome, and after the customary greetings said “What can you tell me about Louis Belloq?”

“What do you want to know?

“Did you know his father, Rene Belloq?”

“Rene Belloq? Never met the man”

“Oh” said Indy, quiet for a moment.

Dr. Jerome broke the silence, saying “Have you heard much about Tet Rhan?”

Indy smirked. “I’m not a scholar in the subject. Any elaboration on the story would be gratefully received, Dr. Launce”.

“Please, call me Jerome”

Indy nodded.

“Where to begin?” asked Dr. Jerome. “You must remember that what I’m telling you is a story, there is no documented proof of Rhan’s existence, save for the scroll that Louis purports to have found”

“Which could be fake” said Indy.

Dr. Jerome nodded. “Quite true...where was I? Tet Rhan. He was a leader of an occult group way back in ancient times, 500 BC. They were a strange band of worshippers who believed in death, who believed that we were on Earth simply to die and go to a better, more satisfying place...and this took the form of their ceremonies. Tet Rhan, their leader, would oversee the death of one selected ‘worship’”

Continuing, Dr. Jerome added, “And so it went. Maybe not such a story, you would think. But the crux of the myth is Tet Rhan. It is said that he used a powerful staff to - how can I put it - kill the ‘worship’. Rays of power hit the headpiece of the staff and then struck the unfortunate soul waiting”

Indy said “And what happened?” “They died,” said Dr. Jerome. “This went on for many, many years. However, no matter how many people were sacrificed, no matter how many years passed - 250 according to some sources, Tet Rhan remained. He was
older, yes, but still there”

“Invincible” thought Indy.

“Quite,” nodded Dr. Jerome. “The ornate staff - combined with the headpiece to the staff - called the Jewel of Rhan - granted Tet Rhan invincibility. However, the story goes that a band of raiders took Tet Rhan by surprise, taking his staff from him...he became vulnerable again and they killed him”

Indy said “But of course this is myth”

Dr. Jerome didn’t answer, simply continuing, “To prevent a leader like Tet Rhan becoming invincible ever again, Tet Rhan’s body was hung, cut, fed to animals and burnt. His staff was broken in two - the ornate staff itself was simply left behind, but the headpiece was taken as far as possible and buried”

“How far?” asked Indy.

Dr. Jerome laughed. “That’s the eternal question, isn’t it, Dr. Jones? And that is exactly why Louis Belloq contacted me. He said he had a lead - a scroll depicting the location of the headpiece and possibly the Temple itself.”

“Can he decipher the scroll?” asked Indy.

“I would wager so. I remember a telegram I got from him...” said Dr. Jerome, searching his room and picking up a scrap of paper. “Ah yes, here it is,” he said, reading parts of it. “Louis had found what he believed to be the burial place of the headpiece”

“Oh?”

“Yes. In Corinth. Greece” said Dr. Jerome.

. . .

Paris.

It was three days after Louis’ low-key return to Paris. He had been telegramming, visiting and contacting as many people as he knew in order to find out more about Henry Jones, Jnr. So far, Louis had learnt that Henry Jones was a professor at a university in Boston. Louis now also knew Jones’ address, phone numbers and more importantly, had a couple of press photographs of him.

“What an uncouth man” said Louis, throwing to one side a picture of Indy; it showed him in fedora and adventuring clothes at a dig site somewhere in Spain. “I shall take great pleasure in ridding the world of him”

At the moment, Louis was waiting on the phone line. Someone he knew, Williams, worked for the government and could gain illegal access to many high-profile files for Louis. This help had proved invaluable. Williams was none too keen on divulging the
information or risking his job - and jail - for opening these files for Louis. However, Williams was bullied by Louis in more ways than one - he was scared of Kas and also, Louis had set Williams up for the murder of a well-known politican that had never been solved. If Williams refused to co-operate, Louis would hand his fake dossier of ‘evidence’ to the police. “Just tell me about it”

“There isn’t much,” whispered Williams, clearly panicked. “About twenty to thirty Nazi soldiers, someone classed ‘Unknown’, a German Official and a Mr. Rene - oh my - Rene Belloq!”

Louis paused. His father. “Continue,” he said.

“It says here that the Ark of the Covenant was discovered - just as you thought. The storage number or location isn’t even listed on this file - Louis, I’m in over my head - this is A-list stuff!”

“Just continue, and it will all be over soon”

“There’s not much detail. Just that a Mr. Henry Jones, Jnr. reported that he believed the others present to be dead - killed. He didn’t say how. At least, not in this report”

“Who was found on the island?” asked Louis.

“Louis, I can’t tell you anymore!”

“Yes you can”

“I can’t!”

Louis paused. “Kas has already shown your sister what happens when you don’t listen to us. Do you want him to do the same to you?”

Williams paused. “Only him and a woman returned from the island. Her name isn’t listed. That’s a different file” said Williams
quickly. “Please, Louis, I have to go”

“Very well,” said Louis. “And merci”

Louis hung the phone up. He was deep in thought. He now knew that his father must have found the Ark of the Covenant, and that it had cost him his life - no, thought Louis - Henry Jones had cost Rene Belloq his life. For just two people to return from the island was too suspicious for Louis. He was now absolutely convinced that Henry Jones had played a substantial part in his
father’s death - if not directly, indirectly. Louis mused that whatever Henry Jones had done to survive whatever happened on the island he could have told Rene, and that would have kept him alive.

“If we cannot find this Henry Jones, we find this ‘unnamed woman’ and take her life instead” said Louis, “Someone is going to die”

Kas looked at Louis, as if to say “Now?”

“Now we decide what to do with Mr. Jones”

. . .

Corinth, Greece. Two weeks earlier.

Sitting in a local tavern, Indy didn’t have a clue where to start. He was in Corinth, but had no map, no leads - all he had to go on was the name Korfos Bay which Dr. Jerome had told him.

With a flick of his hand, Indy ordered a drink, and fetched it from the dusty bar. The bartender grunted something, and Indy flipped him a couple of coins. Downing his drink, Indy wondered aloud “What am I doing here?”. He turned to see an old man staring at him. The man was laughing to himself quietly. Indy was confused, and approached him. “Mister?” asked Indy.

“Another one!” laughed the old man.

“Another one?”

“You’re not the first”

Indy was bemused. “Oh?”

“Yes. Another man came looking too”

“What for?”

Laughing, the old man said “Listen to him, Paladin - he thinks I’m senile!”. The bartender grunted a laugh. Continuing, the old man lowered his voice and said “The headpiece. Of Rhan”

“That’s right,” said Indy, sitting down. “The Jewel of Rhan...what can you tell me?”

“I can’t tell you anything” said the old man. “But a drink can”. Indy duly bought the old man a bottle of some unnamed liquor and watched the man finish half the bottle in little to no time.

“Now can you tell me?” asked Indy.

“Yes, yes. A man came looking. A very smart man. He had with him another man - quiet, tall, strong...they were both looking for the headpiece”

Indy paused. “Was his name Louis Belloq?”.

The old man shrugged his shoulders. “They never told me their names...but they were very keen on learning about the Rhan myth....they asked a lot of questions and gave few answers”

“Did they find the headpiece?”

“No!” laughed the old man. Indy looked relieved. The old man suddenly became serious, lowering his tone and leaning towards Indy. “But they are one step ahead of you already,” he said, tapping a nerve with Indy. “They know that the headpiece was
taken from here...they know where”. The old man started to laugh again.

“Where?” asked Indy.

“Where what?”

“Where were they headed?” asked Indy.

“Paladin, where were they headed?”

“Afghanistan” the bartender said.

“Ah yes! Faiza...Fayza...” the old man stuttered; the drink clearly getting to him.

“Faizabad, Afghanistan” grunted the bartender. "A merchant, Mustafa Sharilla, took it"

Irritated, Indy left the tavern saying “Thanks for your time”. He put his fedora back on his head and made his way outside into the glaring sun. It seemed to make him stop and think. For the first time since leaving America, Indy realised he hadn’t thought anything through.

Indy couldn’t just travel to Afghanistan. Firstly he didn’t have the money to fund any more unnecessary travel and secondly wanted a more definite lead. That would only be possible by speaking to someone who knew what they were on about. Someone who could keep Indy informed of Louis Belloq’s moves. Indy needed more information from Dr. Jerome.

It was time to go back to New York.

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