Indiana Jones & The Curse of Rhan - Chapters 6-11

Posted by Muppet from modem7.langly.kingston-internet.net on August 23, 1999 at 13:15:37:

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Chapter Six: New York, 1956
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Two days later, Indiana Jones was back outside the Montgomery Building in New York, ready to meet with Dr. Jerome Launce once again. However, this time Indy had come with more knowledge than before. He knew who Louis Belloq was, what he was looking for, where he was looking and - most importantly - that he had not found it yet.

Indy made his way inside, again climbing the stairs to floor 11. He knocked on the door of Dr. Jerome’s apartment. Seconds later, it opened and Indy was again given a warm greeting. “A triumphant return, Mr. Jones?”

“Not exactly,” sighed Indy. “More of an empty-handed last ditch effort. I was told by a man in Corinth that the headpiece supposedly exists...”

“Fabulous! Just as Louis Belloq wrote in his telegram!” smiled Dr. Jerome. “So, did you find it?” he asked, eager to hear more. He was a little child being told some fantastical story.

Indy, more placid, said “No...I was told that the headpiece had been taken to Afghanistan by a merchant...I wrote the name down - Mustafa Sharilla. He’s based in Faizabad, or at least he was when he took the headpiece back with him”

“Mustafa Sharilla?”

“Yes. Do you know him?” asked Indy.

“I had worried about this”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Jerome. “Mustafa Sharilla. A more deceiving, low-down, undercutting and generally disgusting human being you could not wish to meet. He steals, he cheats - he deals in antiquities, but only ones that he doesn’t have to pay for. His prices are ridiculous; only the rich and stupid buy from him”

Indy grinned. “I hope I never meet him”

“Oh but you will”

“Will I?” asked Indy.

“Of course! If you want the headpiece, well, even if Louis Belloq is already in Faizabad, chances are he has not taken the headpiece from Sharilla yet. Mustafa is a man who does not like being double-crossed or taken advantage of - he is flanked by bodyguards and henchmen who carry out the dirty work”

Indy shifted in his seat, “Dirty work?”

“Fights, thefts, that sort of thing...I have had more than enough encounters with Mustafa Sharilla. Sadly most of them ended up with me out of pocket - although I must admit the items he sells are authentic; if ill-gotten and wildly over-priced”

“You are sure he has the headpiece?”

“If someone has told you that Mustafa Sharilla has a certain object, it is a one-hundred per cent certainty that he has that object. Mustafa does not make false claims when he has what he wants...no, he will have the headpiece and will be guarding it”

Indy asked “And what if I wanted it?”

“Well,” laughed Dr. Jerome, “You’ll have to set off to Faizabad, won’t you? I’m sure you can be enterprising and get the headpiece. If not, perhaps Mr. Louis Belloq may get hold of it”

“I’d feel safer if I had it” said Indy.

“Indeed....well, I have Mustafa’s address. Let me see...ah!” he said, taking out an ageing piece of paper. “Here we are - the shop he runs is at this address”. Dr. Jerome handed Indy the scrap of paper.

As Indy pocketed it, he asked “How real a threat do you think the Temple of Rhan is?”

Dr. Jerome stared hard at Indy. “Just think, Mr. Jones - if someone were to find both the headpiece and the Temple of Rhan, they might just have the pieces of the puzzle needed in order to make the...magic...of the place work”

“Don’t forget it’s just a myth” said Indy.

“Yes”

Indy paused. “Are you not worried what Belloq might do if he finds the Temple?” he asked.

“What would you do? There is the chance to become invincible; nobody could kill you so long as you held the Staff of Rhan. Are you telling me that any man on Earth would not desire to harness that power?”

“Not this man,” quipped Indy. “It would be disastrous for Belloq - for anyone - to find the Temple, let alone try and harness its power...if the place does actually exist” he said.

“It’s a possibility he may already be there” concluded Dr. Jerome, sitting back in his chair and idly toying with some loose papers.

“It’s a frightening thought” sighed Indy.

Half an hour later, with concrete leads in Faizabad, and travel plans sorted out with Dr. Jerome’s help, Indy bid the man goodbye. He made his way out of Dr. Jerome’s apartment, out into the corridor. As Indy made his way down the corridor towards the staircase, somebody caught his attention. Standing at the top of the stairs was a tall, thin man. He was dressed in a dark suit with black overcoat, and seemed to be checking the time on his watch.

Indy innocently passed by. However, the minute Indy had made one step past, the man quickly pounced, extending his arm full length, cracking Indy on the back of the neck. Startled and hit, Indy tumbled down the stairs - coming to a halt somewhere on floor 8. He sat dazed and confused on the floor, trying to figure out what just happened.

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard footsteps, both upstairs and downstairs. Indy jumped to his feet. He looked upwards; the thug who had hit him was racing downstairs; no doubt to finish Indy off. Looking downwards, Indy saw two more dark-suited men racing upstairs, but this was more worrying; they were carrying revolvers.

Indy swerved on one foot, and looked down the corridor he was now facing. Nothing but locked doors and a window at the end of the corridor. The footsteps were now running, getting closer.

Indy saw one dark-suited thug racing up the stairs with his revolver. Spotting a table with an ornate vase, Indy didn’t hesitate in grabbing the vase, giving it an almighty throw as it tumbled out of his hands and crashed down on the thug’s head! He was knocked out instantly and tumbled down the stairs quickly. A couple of floors down, Indy could hear the other thug shouting something and racing upstairs even faster.

As Indy turned to hide, he looked upwards. It was quiet. The dark-suit upstairs had stopped moving. Indy quickly glanced up again, and slowly saw the barrel of a revolver poking over the banister...in a split-second moment of thinking, Indy pulled the revolver, hauling the dark-suit over the banister. Indy grabbed his arm, the dark-suit was heavy, but not too heavy for Indy to dangle him over the eight-floor drop that awaited the dark-suit.

“Who sent you?!” shouted Indy.

The dark-suit didn’t respond.

“Who sent you?!!” repeated Indy.

This time, the dark-suit started laughing maniacally, and spat in Indy’s face. Without even hesitating, Indy let go of his grasp on the dark-suit. As he rocketed towards the marble ground floor of the Montgomery Building, Indy saw yet another of these
relentless thugs racing towards floor 8 - Indy’s floor! Indy had no option but to run down the corridor as the thug started to shoot with his revolver, firing bullet after bullet in Indy’s direction. Indy ran as fast as he could towards the window at the end of the corridor, the thug thundering after him.

“Here goes nothing!” shouted Indy, leaping towards the window. It smashed into a thousand pieces, Indy taking the wooden window frame with him as he fell through the air. Indy cascaded like a hopeless bird, tumbling down surprisingly quickly on the roof of an adjacent, slightly smaller building. Quickly getting back onto his sore legs, Indy raced towards the fire escape. As he ran, more bullets were fired at him. He turned to see the thug with the revolver still firing. Indy ducked behind a small wall on the roof, hiding. The thug soon ran out of bullets, and decided to fight Indy hand-to-hand.

He stepped back in the corridor slightly, then raced towards the window, leaping out of it. However, his leap was less powerful, and he scrabbled desperately at air as he missed the roof by a couple of inches and shot downwards to the streets of New York. Indy didn’t stop to look, instead clambering down the building’s fire escape.

As he emerged onto the streets, a car horn blared. Indy turned to see a man in a black car waving frantically at three other thugs who were standing at points along the street. They all got into the car, and it raced directly towards Indy! This was getting impossible! The car was seconds away from him - Indy leapt in the air, grabbing onto the awning of a building. As the car just missed him, passing under him, he dropped onto its roof. The car started to go faster, tearing through the New York streets in a haphazard manner, the driver mercilessly trying to shake Indy off the roof. But Indy clung tight - he surprised himself at how he could still do all this at his age!

Indy didn’t exactly have chance to relax. As if timing it, two thugs appeared from both back windows of the car. They both had guns aimed squarely at Indy. With a swipe of his arm, Indy managed to knock one thug’s gun out of his hand. Grabbing hold of it, Indy turned and shot at the other thug - who was hit and fell out of the car window, his body rolling down the street. Swerving again, Indy punched the other thug in the face, making him fall back inside the car. The driver of the car was getting worried that rather than kill Indy, Indy would kill all of them. He sent his passenger, a bald-headed thug, after Indy.

But it was a futile task. The bald thug leant out of his window, and was met with a sharp punch by Indy. However, it hurt Indy more than the bald thug. As Indy tried to hold onto the car, his hand in pain, the bald thug took the opportunity to clamber onto the roof. The driver was clearly struggling to cope with this weight on the roof, as the car swerved more than normal. The bald thug clung onto the roof, got a hold, then proceeded to start punching Indy in the face. Indy was helpless.

The bald thug kept punching, not stopping. Indy saw the gun, now discarded, rattling more and more towards the edge of the roof. He slowly extended his hand out - the bald thug didn’t notice as he kept punching. Just a few more seconds...Indy could feel the gun with the tip of his fingers...and then he had hold of it! However, rather than shoot the bald thug, he noticed that
the thug was secured to the roof, and instead quickly blankly shot at the car’s sides.

Sure enough, a tyre burst. Then another. The car swerved desperately, the driver no longer able to control the car. The car’s violent shaking pulled the bald thug away from Indy, who took the chance and leapt from the car, bruising and cutting himself as he tumbled onto the floor.

However, the driver and bald thug couldn’t do anything to stop their fates. The car was racing faster and faster towards a brick wall - it was impossible to stop. Indy turned away as the car rocketed into the wall, instantly killing the two men.

Indy didn’t know what was happening, but knew it was best to get out of this area. He got to his feet as quick as he could, wobbling slightly, then in a dazed voice said “Cab...cab”. Cars passed him by. With a surprising burst of energy, Indy shouted “Cab!” once more. This time a taxi stopped for him.

Indy jumped into the taxi, slamming the door shut behind him. As he sat in the back, trying to get his breath back, he thought.
Indy needed to get out of the States. Somebody wanted him dead, and it was a good bet that that person was Louis Belloq. If Louis knew that Indy was in America, he was bound to know that Indy lived and worked in Boston. It wouldn’t be safe to go home. But if Indy was to travel anywhere, he needed the essentials; his gun at the very least. He’d have to risk
going back to Boston.

A risk he wasn’t keen on taking.

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Chapter Seven: Faizabad, Afghanistan, 1956
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Central Asia.

Louis and Kas had contacted someone they knew who dealt with freighter journeys to Asia and the East. Within days the man had found them room on board 'The Sova', which would take them to Central Asia. Once there, Louis would have to improvise. That would be no problem, thought Louis. He had all the improvisation he needed in Kas. If something went wrong, Kas would get rid of it. If somebody got in the way, Kas would get rid of them.

The two men had, after a few hours of waiting, hitching and walking, arrived in Faizabad. It was a relatively large town; bustling markets, religious monuments which Louis took no interest in, a colourful and curious mix of buildings; again, Louis was not
bothered; he had come for one thing. Moreover, he come to Faizabad for one person - Mustafa Sharilla. In his mind, Louis had drawn two conclusions. Either Sharilla would hand over the headpiece or Kas would take care of him. It was a clear
choice, and Louis favoured both outcomes.

Louis loosened his shirt collar, sweating under the sun that beat down on Faizabad. “Our dearly departed Grundman wouldn’t have liked it here anyway,” grinned Louis. “He would have been too hot”. Kas nodded, following Louis loyally.

It took just half an hour for someone to lead Louis to Mustafa Sharilla’s shop. It was a relatively modest building, with a canopy outside and tables of various trinkets. Louis and Kas marched up to the shop. Outside, watching people pass-by and occasionally shouting about various items for sale was a large, balding man. He was well-dressed, but had not shaved in a
while. What hair he had left was greasy and uncombed. However, he had powerful eyes that seemed to notice everything and everyone.

“Mustafa Sharilla?” asked Louis.

The large man eyed Louis and Kas suspiciously. “Tell me, sir, who may you be?” he said, leaning back slightly and folding his arms.

“Louis Belloq, at your service”

“At my service?” grinned Mustafa. “Then allow me to introduce myself, Mustafa Sharilla. The finest merchandise in all Afghanistan is to be found in my humble shop. Please, come inside”

Kas looked to Louis, who just nodded, making his way inside Mustafa’s shop. “What a remarkable collection of antiquities you have” said Louis as he stepped inside, his eyes filled with views of trinkets, junk and other assorted items.

“Yes. Collected from all over the world”

“And just you yourself run this business?” asked Louis, trying to work out whether Mustafa had protected himself well with guards.

This question however hit a raw nerve with Mustafa, who became stern and frowned at Louis. “Yes,” said Mustafa. “Although I have a girl that helps with the selling - she is not here now” said Mustafa. “Why do you ask?”

“I am amazed the two of you run such an...empire” said Louis, trying to sound sincere. Mustafa didn’t notice the insincerity and suddenly relaxed, smiling again and walking back towards Louis.

“Thank you for your kind words” said Mustafa.

“I would very much like to see what you have on offer, Sharilla” said Louis.

“Please, you may now call me Mustafa”

“Then you may call me Louis Belloq”

“Very well, Louis Belloq...if you want to see what is on offer, open your eyes. Take a look around the room...this is my stock, this you can buy” said Mustafa, waving a hand over various old items. Louis scanned the items; nothing in the room remotely resembled the headpiece - Louis’s scroll showed the headpiece to be a round, golden object encrusted with exotic jewels. At the moment, Louis was starting at dull tin curiosities.

“I’m looking for something else,” said Louis.

“Oh?” asked Mustafa.

“Yes. I’m looking with this...” said Louis, reaching into his pocket. Mustafa tensed, as if he was about to fight, but relaxed when Louis pulled out a wad of money, enough to buy Mustafa’s shop and more, and waved it slowly.

“Who sent you?” asked Mustafa, again tensing up and folding his arms; becoming defensive. If this was his only defence, taking care of him if he was trouble would be easy, mused Louis.

“Dr. Jerome Launce”

“I have no time for friends of Jerome Launce”

“I am considering buying”

“Then I now have time for you” grinned Mustafa. He said nothing, and turned, walking towards the back of the room. Flipping a curtain that hung from the ceiling to the floor, Mustafa made his way through an until-now undiscovered exit. Louis and Kas swiftly followed. As Louis emerged the other side of the exit, he was amazed. Rather than another room full of useless trinkets, this room was a treasure trove of items - ancient coins, fine jewels, small golden statues.

Louis urged Mustafa to explain what each of the items were, all the time keeping an eye out for a sign of the headpiece. If the Jewel of Rhan was in this room, Louis wanted it. “This is from the pyramids of Egypt...pure gold” said Mustafa, continuing, “...this is a majestic piece I discovered in Greece...”

“That...” Louis said, almost breathless.

Mustafa handed the headpiece to Louis. Louis eagerly took hold of it. The Jewel of Rhan was even more exquisite than he could have imagined. The painting of it on the scroll was in no way a fair representation of the object Louis now held in his hands. The Jewel of Rhan was a large, rounded golden disc, encrusted with a lining of bright, priceless jewels. Small writing was engraved on the top half - Louis realised that it spelt out the missing letters he couldn’t work out - it was the Rhan alphabet!

This was only the beginning though; another line of letters took up the bottom half of the headpiece. They were the same strange drawings as those on the scroll which Louis had never seen before. Thinking quickly, Louis realised that it was the second Rhan alphabet; he would now be able to decipher the entire scroll! “I want it” said Louis.

“That item, sadly, you cannot afford,” said Mustafa. He reached for the headpiece, but Louis held onto it, still looking at it.

“Don’t be so sure”

“It has a high price”

“I do not care” said Louis, thinking to himself that a couple of thousand dollars were a small price to pay for invincibility. “How much?”

“Three-hundred thousand American dollars” grinned Mustafa. Louis nearly dropped the headpiece in shock. He wasn’t carrying that sort of money, and even if he had it with him, he didn’t want to hand it over to an arrogant, cheating shopkeeper.

“I would very much like the headpiece,” said Louis, trying not to let Mustafa realise that he didn’t have the necessary money.

“Can you pay me now for it?” asked Mustafa.

“Not at the moment...” began Louis.

“Very well,” said Mustafa. This time he was more forceful, grabbing the headpiece. However, as he took hold of it, Kas stormed into the scene, clutching Mustafa’s hand tightly. “Let go!” shouted Mustafa.

“Now, Mustafa...” Louis said. However, he was cut short by Mustafa, who whistled a strange short tune. Seconds later, the room was filled with about ten of his relatives; all twenty-something, well built men ready to fight at a second’s notice.

Louis quickly eyed the competition. He slowly let go of his hold on the headpiece, returning it into Mustafa’s sweaty grasp. “Perhaps,” said Louis, “I do not need the headpiece at this exact moment in time”. He clicked his fingers, and Kas let go of Mustafa.

“I bid you au revoir for the time being, Mustafa” said Louis, retaining a sense of calm and swivelling on one foot before marching out of Mustafa’s shop. Kas lingered, glaring menacingly at the men now surrounding Mustafa. Hearing Louis shout at him to return, Kas grunted and made his way out of the shop, his feet thundering across the floor.

“Do not worry, Kas” said Louis, as they left the shop. “Our friend Mustafa Sharilla is not the kind to bear grudges. He will be most co-operative. I can predict it. Especially if his life hangs in the balance”

. . .

Boston. Three days earlier.

“Henry!” Anthony said, leaping up from his desk. “Where on Earth have you been? What happened to you - why are you bruised?”. The questions flowed fast from Anthony, who hadn’t seen nor heard from Indy in quite a few days.

“Relax, Anthony, relax” said Indy.

“Sit down...” said Anthony. Indy did so; he wasn’t in any sort of pain. Just a few cuts and bruises to remind him of New York. Anthony sat back down in his own seat, looking concerned. “Who did this?” he asked.

Indy sat back. “Remember a while ago, I said ‘I’ll tell you soon’? Well, now I’ll tell you” said Indy, pouring himself a coffee. “I used to know a man...a crook...called Rene Belloq. He thought he’d found the Ark of the Covenant, but it killed him. And several other Nazis” said Indy.

“Yes, yes. I remember dad telling me this,” Anthony said, filling in his mental gaps. “Rene Belloq. Oh! Now I see - Louis Belloq; is he related?”

Indy nodded. “His son”

“Son?”

“Yes. And that’s why I’ve been asking about Tet Rhan. Belloq’s son has set off to find the Temple, and...” but Indy was interrupted by Anthony hiding a laugh. “What is it?”

“Tet Rhan?” asked Anthony. “It’s a myth”

“That’s what I thought. But there’s something to this...an old man I met in Corinth told me that the headpiece of Rhan had been found and taken to Faizabad, in Afghanistan”

Anthony smiled. “He was probably senile”

“I don’t know. When I went to see Dr. Launce in New York, I was attacked by a group of thugs; that explains the cuts and bruises”

“Why on Earth would they attack you?”

“My guess is that Rhan is real, and Louis Belloq is getting closer and closer to finding it...and I think he knows who I am. I’ve not upset anyone enough in the last ten years to warrant the attack in New York,” grinned Indy, but he quickly became very serious again. “Anthony, if Belloq finds the Temple and the legends are true...he could become invincible”

Anthony paused. “I’m not going to laugh, Indy, because you seem very serious about this. Instead, I can only ask one question; what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to help me decide,” said Indy. “What to do next”

“Well,” sighed Anthony, “it seems to me that you’ve only got two very clear options. One, do nothing and hope it resolves
itself. Two, go to Faizabad”

Indy paused. Then, after a few moments, jumped up from his seat, grabbing his hat and making his way out of the office. Anthony quickly shouted after him “What now?”

“I’ve made up my mind” said Indy.

He only had one choice. Faizabad.

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Chapter Eight: Faizabad, Afghanistan, 1956
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“They can’t be there all the time” Louis was looking out of his window at the small inn he and Kas were staying at. Thinking of the relatives who had rushed to help Mustafa, Louis again repeated his thoughts, “They can’t be there all the time”

Kas stood watching Louis, nodding. Louis thought to himself. “We simply wait for an opportune moment, then strike - if we can get to him when he is alone, then...” Louis broke off speaking, interrupting himself. “But that will not happen”.

Louis Belloq desperately wanted the headpiece, yet an obstacle stood in his way - Mustafa Sharilla. Whilst he had the headpiece in his hands, guarded and out-numbering Louis and Kas, Mustafa had the upper hand. This was going to be difficult. Louis could either try and steal the headpiece from Mustafa, or there was another option, one that did not appeal to Louis in the slightest.

If only Louis could get hold of the headpiece - then he would have the solid lead he needed to find the Temple of Rhan. Then he could strike down Henry Jones like some insignificant insect.

Louis poured himself a drink. He sipped it gently as he once again observed the scroll. If only he still had the headpiece in his hands, he could - with the alphabet written on it - decipher the rest of the scroll. Then he would have the Temple’s location.

“No longer mere myth,” grinned Louis. “If I say so myself, I do believe I pose a very great threat to the rest of the world”. Louis sat back, drink in hand, and planned his next move. “To kill or not to kill?” he asked out loud.

Kas clearly favoured the first option.

Louis needed some way to get the headpiece. But, realising that Mustafa was better off charmed than angered, Louis sighed, saying, “If we want the headpiece, I have the disgusting feeling that we will have to work with Mustafa Sharilla, not against him”

Kas looked angered.

“Well...for a certain amount of time”

. . .

One o’ clock in the afternoon. Indiana Jones had arrived in Faizabad.

It felt strange to be wearing his ‘adventuring’clothes again. Indy felt slightly unsure of himself, holding his fedora to his side as he wandered around the streets of Faizabad.

Indy had arrived with a feeling of worry. If Louis Belloq had known Indy was in New York, it was even riskier for Indy to travel to the same town as him. However, Indy wasn’t one to take an attack by thugs lightly, and he certainly wasn’t going to let Louis get anywhere near the Temple of Rhan.

There was a safe way out, thought Indy. Buy the headpiece, hide or destroy it and hope that Louis would eventually give up. However, it was clear to Indy from the ambush in New York that Louis Belloq wanted him dead. It was either Indy or Louis. Faizabad could be fatal for either of them.

Trying to put those thoughts to one side, Indy concentrated on his current mission; finding Mustafa Sharilla’s shop. All Indy had to go on was the scrap of paper from Dr. Jerome with Sharilla’s address on it. However, Indy was distracted by the beauty of
Faizabad. The vibrant colours of the markets, the various intricate and ornate items for sale; Indy felt like a tourist in a foreign land.

Every person he handed the scrap of paper to just pointed further down the street. This went on for about twenty minutes, people kept nodding and pointing Indy further and further down the street. But they were right. As Indy approached the end of
one of the streets, a shop came into view. It had a small table of junk items for sale outside. Nothing of great interest or archaeological value, indeed nothing that looked anything like the headpiece.

Dr. Jerome had been wired a picture of the headpiece from the scroll Louis Belloq had. Dr. Jerome had let Indy have the picture, to help him track down the headpiece - if Louis hadn’t already found it. Unlike Louis, however, Indy couldn’t care less about Tet Rhan. He wanted to get the headpiece as far away from Louis Belloq as possible.

“Mustafa Sharilla?”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Indiana Jones”

“Perhaps you have come from the circus?” asked Mustafa, spying Indy’s whip. Indy didn’t even fake a laugh. Mustafa became hostile, he looked irritated. “What do you want?”

Indy didn’t answer, instead continuing, “I’ve come from Corinth. You took something from a site there. I want to take it off your hands”

“A very generous gesture” sneered Mustafa. “What is this item I took?”

“The headpiece of an old staff; it’s called the Jewel of Rhan” said Indy. Mustafa looked angered. His voice became low, serious.

“Listen” growled Mustafa, “I do not appreciate these bully-bully tactics. I knew you were not a man of money; you are just hired muscle...well, you can tell Louis Belloq he is advised not to try anything so stupid again. I bid you good-day”

“Wait!” said Indy.

Mustafa turned round. “What?”

“I’m not with Belloq. Why would I be? He tried to have me killed...I need the headpiece of Rhan. Please. Let me see it”

“What do you bring?”

“I haven’t got much money”

Mustafa shook his head. “Then you cannot speak my language” he said, walking back into his shop. Indy followed him, not giving up. He paused to examine the articles inside the shop, all junk.

“Then I’ll just browse” said Indy. Mustafa agreed, and stood watching. Indy slowly wandered past the various items on offer, headed towards a large ceiling-to-floor curtain at the end of the room. “Interesting artefacts” said Indy, almost at the curtain.

Mustafa looked edgy. “Yes, they are”

Indy quickly turned to face the entrance of Mustafa’s shop, as if looking at somebody. Mustafa swivelled on one foot, looking at the entrance. He saw nothing, and turned back to see Indy. He was gone. Mustafa panicked.

Racing towards the curtain, Mustafa flicked it open to see Indy standing in the middle of the ‘secret’ room, the headpiece of Rhan in his hands. “Get out!” shouted Mustafa. “Get out!” he repeated, whistling another strange short tune.

Sure enough, Indy was soon surrounded by ten to fifteen thugs; all ready to fight. Not one for stupidity, Indy flipped the headpiece in Mustafa’s direction and made his way through the imposing circle of Mustafa’s henchmen and relatives.

As he was about to leave the room, Indy turned to Mustafa. “I’ll not bother you again, Mr. Sharilla,” said Indy. “But please, I’m asking you to do one thing for me...don’t sell the headpiece to Louis Belloq”

“I do not do favours for people” snapped Mustafa.

“Then just don’t sell it”

Mustafa didn’t respond, and Indy left the shop with every intention of coming back to bother Mustafa again. He wasn’t going to let Belloq have the headpiece. He couldn’t.

. . .

The next day.

Louis had woken up early, and had set off with Kas to pay another visit to Mustafa Sharilla. However, this time Louis made sure his revolver was loaded and that he picked a time of day when he was sure Sharilla’s henchmen and relatives would be busy.

Louis and Kas had arrived at Mustafa’s shop to see the large trader stood outside. “Mr. Belloq. What a...surprise. I cannot believe you would show your face on my premises again” said Mustafa.

“I come with a proposition,” began Louis.

“I do not care”

“What?”

Mustafa laughed. “Your petty muscleman you sent round yesterday? I made him leave with his tail between his legs. Have you come for more embarrassing treatment?”

“What?” said Louis, confused. “What ‘muscleman’? Who came to visit you yesterday?”

“Don’t play stupid, Belloq. He was yours. Tall, American...he was very interested in the headpiece of Rhan. Obviously came on your orders”

“Wait!” said Louis frantically. He grabbed a picture out of his pocket. “You mean this man?” he asked, desperate for an answer.

“Yes, that’s him. I knew he was yours”

“No...” said Louis. “He’s not mine”

Mustafa looked curious. “Oh?”

“But he will be”

Louis beckoned Kas to one side for a moment. “What uplifting news” said Louis. “Mr. Jones has come to pay us a visit. I do hope he didn’t invest in a return ticket - he won’t be needing it”

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Chapter Nine: Faizabad, Afghanistan, 1956
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Things were getting dangerous.

Indy was in a cavernous room - a temple? - dark yet illuminated by the strange presence of a cloaked figure who seemed all too familiar. Once again, Indy couldn’t move. All he could do was wait, panic, be frightened. He was tied to a large metal circle, his hands securely bound.

Ominous noises - chanting?

The cloaked figure revealed his face. Rene Belloq? No - this face was younger - Louis?

More chanting; like a chorus of the damned.

Standing next to the cloaked figure was an over-sized, bald, large man - there was a look of evil in his eyes; they were hollow, like the stare of death.

The cloaked figure started to laugh. A strange glow surrounded him as he pointed the staff towards Indy.

There was a terrible surge of power. Like a million rays of lightning crashing down on him, attacking Indy all at once. His body writhed in agony as the lightning seemed to wrap around him, twisting and hitting every nerve.

Indy woke up, sweating, in the room of his hotel. Another nightmare. Indy had not been sleeping easily the past few days. And Belloq had been a prominent feature in Indy’s nightmares. The images were becoming clearer each night Indy had these bad dreams; the dark room he was in more visible, Belloq’s face changed more and more to a younger, slightly different version, other people appeared - most noticeably the large, menacing figure next to Belloq.

The sun was shining through the window in Indy’s room. He got out of bed, rubbing his eyes. As he got dressed, Indy thought about his plan of action for the day. It was obvious to him that he would have to go back to Mustafa Sharilla.

An hour or two later, after having had a decent breakfast and plotting his next move, Indy made his way down the many streets of Faizabad, towards Mustafa’s shop. It was early, but already many people were milling about, taking care of daily business.

After a few more minutes, Indy could once again see Mustafa’s shop. It seemed as if Mustafa had never moved; he was still standing outside his shop, arms folded, still grubby, still proclaiming his latest finds. “The American returns” sneered Mustafa, as Indy approached him.

“I said I would”

“Yes...” said Mustafa. This time, Mustafa could not only see Indy’s whip, but on the other side of his belt was a gun holster. Mustafa tensed. “I see you are armed to fight,” he said. “I warn you not to try anything”.

Indy remembered the ten or so people that had raced to Mustafa’s aid when Indy had hold of the headpiece. “I don’t want to see them again. Not my kind of people” said Indy, casually glancing around to see if any of the henchmen were nearby.

“If you go away, you never will see them again”

“I didn’t think you made promises,” said Indy.

“I don’t”

Things weren’t moving forwards at all. Indy was having just as little luck today as he was yesterday. The longer Mustafa retained the headpiece, the bigger the risk Louis Belloq could track it down. And if Louis was anything like his father, thought Indy, he would find some way to fool Mustafa into parting with the headpiece.

Indy decided to try intimidation. “I could easily send a telegram to Corinth. Let them know just where the headpiece is - ask them if it was lawfully taken”.

However, Mustafa just laughed at Indy. “You make your petty telegram,” he said. “And by the time the Greek authorities have come out here - if they ever do - I will have had the headpiece well hidden, a thousand miles from here. Nothing will link me to it”

This was getting worse, thought Indy. He cast away any ideas of scare stories. If Indy told Mustafa about Tet Rhan, about the power of invincibility and the threat Louis Belloq posed, he knew that Mustafa would laugh at him. Mustafa was not the kind of person who feared the occult, the mysterious. The only thing that scared Mustafa Sharilla would be to have a gun pointed at him and no henchmen to save him. “What do you want for the headpiece?” sighed Indy.

“Three hundred thousand dollars”

“What?! Nobody can afford that!”

“Then make your nearest offer” grinned Mustafa.

Indy dug in his pocket, flicking a penny towards Mustafa. “Keep it - that’s all you’re getting from me” said Indy. Mustafa looked annoyed.

“Mr. American,” said Mustafa, “I do not give much at all away for free. But I will offer you one piece of advice...call it a warning. I am not the only person in Faizabad who wishes to see the back of you”

“Oh?” asked Indy.

“But I cannot say who else, of course”

“Of course”

Mustafa waited. Indy sighed, digging further into his pockets and handing Mustafa a bundle of notes. Grinning, Mustafa said “Now I can say who. A man by the name of Louis Belloq. And now, Mr. American, I bid you farewell. Do not trouble me again”

“Maybe,” said Indy, turning to leave.

“If you do...” Mustafa shouted after him, “You won’t be back for long!” Mustafa yelled several obscenities after Indy until he was out of earshot. When Indy had disappeared, Mustafa looked around, then quickly bent to the floor, picking up Indy’s penny. He blew the dust off it, slipped it into his pocket and made his way back inside the shop.

. . .

A few hours later.

Mustafa was getting fed up of this. If it was not the American bothering him, it was the Frenchman Belloq and his silent, threatening sidekick. At the moment, it was the Frenchman.

Louis was standing outside Mustafa’s shop, talking with Mustafa and trying to win him over. Louis wanted to make sure that Henry Jones, Jnr. would have no allies, no help, in Faizabad. “Well, Mustafa, I have a proposal”

“Yes?” asked Mustafa, curious.

“I tried to explain it to you yesterday, and now I have the chance to reiterate my idea. There is nothing to be achieved by us fighting each other; I suggest we work together against Jones”

Mustafa was unsure. “For what gain?”

“We both win,” grinned Louis.

“How?”

“I will tell you how,” said Louis. “First, you must accept that I would very much like to possess the headpiece that you currently own. Second, Jones wants the headpiece, but he is a crook, a murderer. A third-rate one at that. Never trust a crook”

Mustafa nodded slowly.

Continuing, Louis said, “You want to sell the headpiece for three hundred thousand dollars. Well, I know a man who is an expert with Rhan”. Louis paused. He continued lying, “He will pay more than that! I am sure! However, he needs to see the headpiece”

“Bring him here” snapped Mustafa.

“Alas, he is old and cannot travel. However, you and me could go to him, whereupon he would pay you. We charge him more than you are asking, I keep the profit and you are rich beyond many man’s possible dreams”Mustafa contemplated this. “And Jones will longer be of concern to you”

Mustafa paused. He didn’t trust Louis completely, but wanted the money. In his mind, he decided to go with Louis, but take five of his henchmen as backup. If Louis was lying, he would let his henchmen show what the Sharilla family did to liars. “When do we leave?” asked Mustafa.

“Excellent!” smiled Louis. If he could just buy a couple of more days in Faizabad, Louis could find a way to steal the headpiece, find a time when Mustafa was alone. After all, Louis didn’t have any interested buyers of the headpiece, except himself. And Louis certainly didn’t have three hundred thousand dollars. “I need a few days to organise transport”

“Very well,” nodded Mustafa. “In three days” he said, ready to go back into his shop.

However, Louis tapped him on the shoulder. “Yes?”

“One favour you can do for me”

“What is it?” asked Mustafa.

“Send one of your...men...to come and get me immediately should the American return. This is where I am staying...” said Louis, handing Mustafa a card with his hotel’s name on it. “As soon as he returns” repeated Louis.

“What if he doesn’t come back?”

“Not to worry,” said Louis, remaining effortlessly calm. “Jones will be back...albeit temporarily”. Kas nodded. Secretly, Louis was getting bored of the cat-and-mouse game of trying to find Henry Jones, Jnr. He wanted Jones dead, and soon. With any luck, the next time Jones came to try and get the headpiece, it would be the last time. Louis would be lying in wait for him.

. . .

It was late.

Dark outside. Indy couldn’t sleep. It was too hot and too stuffy in Indy’s room - his mind kept ticking over with thoughts of his next move. Here he was, alone in Faizabad. His allies - Anthony Brody, Dr. Jerome - they were back in America. Indy, by contrast, was in what many would have called the middle of nowhere, desperately trying to get hold of the headpiece of Rhan. Indy had to get the headpiece; Louis was too big a threat.

But what to do after he had the headpiece? Indy was taking things step by step. There was no methodical planning to his quest; if he got hold of the headpiece, he would take things from there. Perhaps Indy could take the headpiece to Dr. Jerome and figure out what to do. Or he could take it back home and hide or destroy it. Indy sighed. No matter what plan of action he considered, Louis Belloq was there in the background.

The nightmares that Indy had been having were testament to his worries. Belloq wanted Indy dead, and Indy wasn’t about to march up to Belloq and ask why. If Indy got the headpiece, what about Belloq? Confused and tired, Indy got out of bed. He walked over to a table in his room and picked up a glass of water. Sipping it, he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

He hadn’t shaved in days, he was tired and needed some rest. But that wasn’t all Indy saw in the mirror. From his position, he could see the door of the hotel room. The handle on it turned, and the door was slowly opening! Indy turned slowly, not making a sound.

In the doorway, he could see a thick hand pushing the door open. It creaked slightly. Indy felt for his gun - but it was lying on the bed. Too far out of reach. The only thing nearby was Indy’s whip, which was on the table next to him.

The stranger was almost inside - his whole arm was inside the room now. It was a thick arm that looked like it could break anything in two. Indy didn’t want that to be him, and grabbed his whip.

Quickly, he cracked it backwards than whipped at the stranger’s arm. The stranger grunted as the whip wrapped around his arm; cutting him. Indy pulled the whip, and soon regretted it. By pulling the whip, Indy had brought the stranger crashing into the room. The stranger was a tall, silent man, large and menacing. Indy didn’t know it at the time, but this was Kas, Louis Belloq’s loyal thug. He reminded Indy of the over-sized bald man in his nightmare.

Kas unravelled the whip, making it drop to the floor. Indy, in shock, recoiled the whip. Kas stormed towards Indy, who leapt out of his path at the last minute, tumbling across the floor. Kas swivelled quickly. He made a leap for Indy, tackling him and sending both men crashing to the floor.

Before he knew what was happening, Indy was being choked by Kas, who had two strong hands wrapped around Indy’s neck. Indy’s arms flailed pathetically as he tried to fight back. Indy felt for various items; a book, a shoe - nothing of substance to attack with. Then, just as Indy’s face reddened and Kas’ grasp tightened, Indy felt a glass container - shaving lotion!

The cap was already loose as Indy flicked it off. With a final burst of energy, he threw the container at Kas’ face. Its contents splashed all over Kas’ face, striking him in both eyes. Instantly, Kas recoiled in agony, covering his eyes. Indy gasped for the fresh air he was now getting, and staggered to his feet. He wasn’t going to wait around for the thug to recover, and grabbing the gun of his bed and his fedora and jacket, Indy raced out of the hotel.

There was no time at all left to spare. If Indy was going to get the headpiece, he would have to get it now and get out of Faizabad as fast as he could. Indy had a violent thug and Louis Belloq on his trail; they knew whereabouts in Faizabad he was. It was a good bet that Mustafa Sharilla wouldn’t look too fondly on Indy stealing the headpiece either.

This was going to be risky.

It was now or never.

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

========================================
Chapter Ten: Faizabad, Afghanistan, 1956
========================================

“Mr. Jones?”

Indy didn’t respond as he ran through the hotel lobby, headed for the front door. The porter shouted after him again. “Mr. Jones, where are you going?”

“Checking out!” shouted Indy.

Indy raced out of his hotel into the night. Some house lights made it easier for Indy to see where he was going. He didn’t have much time. The thug who had tried to kill Indy in his hotel room would soon recover and be racing after him. Indy had to get out of Faizabad. It didn’t matter how, he just had to escape.

But there was one thing he needed to do first. One place he had to go. Indy ran down the streets, headed towards Mustafa Sharilla’s shop. Thinking to himself, Indy reasoned that the place had to be closed at this time of night. However, a man like Mustafa - who surrounded himself with guards in daylight - would no doubt make sure his shop was as well guarded in darkness. Indy didn’t have much time to waste, and if he wanted the headpiece, he had to get it now.

Racing down the streets, Indy skidded to a halt as he approached Mustafa’s shop. The lights were out, the doors shut. Windows barred and locked. The place looked deserted - just the way Indy wanted it. Feeling for his gun, Indy took it out of his holster. One bullet left. Bad news again.

Indy held onto the gun, pacing slowly towards Mustafa’s shop. It was deadly quiet in this part of Faizabad. Indy hoped it stayed that way. Indy had to be careful. Some people would have charged straight in to the shop. Not Indy. He wasn’t taking his chances. Mustafa, his henchmen or even Louis Belloq could be hiding behind the shop’s door, just waiting for Indy’s entrance. After all, if they knew which hotel he was staying at, it was a safe bet that Indy had been spied on during his time in Faizabad.

Indy leaned against the shop door, listening for any sounds inside. Nothing. Indy tried the door. Locked, naturally. Looking around the marketplace, Indy still saw nothing, and stepped back a few feet. Praying that the noise would be short and swift, Indy fired a bullet at the door’s lock. It split open, bits of metal flying in all directions. The door came slowly ajar.

Indy paused, waiting for a response from inside. There wasn’t one, so he walked back to the door, pulling it open. Indy walked into the shop - it was in complete darkness. He fumbled around, trying to find his bearings. His hands ran over shelves, walls and junk - then a human hand. Indy froze.

Before he could move, Indy felt a terrible pain in his chest; someone had hit him. As he fell to the floor, a match was lit and a lantern turned on. Indy opened his eyes to see one of Mustafa’s henchmen towering above him, carrying three sharp and deadly knife.

“I guess you’re not open?” asked Indy. The henchman threw a knife down at Indy, who rolled out of the way with only a second to spare. “Guess not” said Indy, jumping to his feet. The henchmen threw his second knife, Indy saw it just in time, ducking. The knife jammed right into Indy’s fedora, pinning it to the wall.

Noticeably angered, the henchman charged towards Indy with the last knife. Indy quickly grabbed his fedora and the knife that was stuck in it, and stepped back. There was a moment’s pause as both Indy and the henchman watched each other, both waiting for the other to lunge forward with a knife attack.

Indy wasn’t about to.

The henchman was. He dived forwards, knife aimed at Indy’s chest. Indy backed up quickly, crashing into a table. He was against the wall, the henchman’s knife only inches away. Indy grabbed a hold of the henchman’s wrist, trying to shake the knife free. He couldn’t; the henchman was too strong.

With his free hand and the knife in it, Indy swiped at the henchman’s arm again. This time, it cut a deep wound. The henchman dropped the knife as he staggered backwards. It was only a matter of seconds before he passed out from the sight of his own blood. Indy grinned. That wasn’t so hard. With no time to lose, he raced through to Mustafa’s ‘secret’ room. But things were different. Rather than an array of valuable items, all Indy saw was trunk after trunk. They were all locked.

Indy flicked the lock on one trunk with his knife - inside was a pile of gold coins and priceless items; Mustafa obviously packed his finds away for safe-keeping at night. “Not safe enough,” thought Indy, as he started opening each trunk, pouring the contents out onto the floor.

Eventually, in the fifth trunk, the item Indy was looking for spilt out. Taking hold of it, clasping it tightly, Indy examined it. A golden round disc, encrusted with strange lettering and exotic jewels. Indy let out a momentary sigh of relief - he had the Jewel of Rhan! But if he wasn’t quick, he wouldn’t have it for very long. Indy knew his attacker from the hotel was working for Louis or Mustafa, and would check the shop soon, if not straight away. Paying heed to his own thoughts, Indy ran out of the shop, back onto the dark streets of Faizabad.

Everything was quiet.

For about ten seconds. Suddenly, as if from nowhere, a mass of about ten people came charging downthe street. At the front, Mustafa - Indy recognised some of the other people as his henchmen. But that wasn’t all. In the group, Indy also saw his attacker from the hotel, and worst of all, as vivid as in Indy’s nightmares, he saw a man in a light suit, he looked like Rene Belloq, only younger.

Louis Belloq.

Indy turned and ran. “He’s ours!” Indy could hear someone shout. He didn’t wait to find out who, and ran as fast as he could into the darkness of the night.

Indy ran so hard, he didn’t notice racing into the nearby train yard. His eyes darted around, trying to find somewhere to hide - or better still, a train out of Faizabad. Indy didn’t care where it was headed, so long as it was out of this town.

Indy clambered up to the top of a discarded carriage, crouching down. He could hear voices getting nearer and nearer. Louis and Mustafa. Indy watched from the roof as Mustafa came into view, carrying a thick knife. Indy ducked his head.

That was when he felt a pain across his back. Something had hit him. Indy turned to see yet another of Mustafa’s endless supply of henchmen on the roof of the same carriage. He had stamped his foot down on Indy’s back.

Indy got to his feet as quickly as possible and lifted his fists, ready to fight. However, the henchman pulled his own fist back, smacking Indy right in the face. Indy’s legs wobbled as he fell off the carriage roof, onto the floor below.

“Aha!” shouted Mustafa, turning round to see Indy picking himself off his feet. “Now I have you,” grinned Mustafa. “You will return the headpiece now,” he grunted, moving towards Indy with the knife.

Meanwhile, Louis Belloq raced around the train yard with Kas, trying to find Henry Jones, Jnr. Louis was about to shout out for Mustafa when he saw something interesting. In the distance, he could make out Henry Jones - and even better, he was standing still. “Kas,” whispered Louis, “There he is!”. Kas grinned as he watched Louis take out a revolver, make sure it was
loaded, then aim it at Indy. “Like a sitting duck. All too easy. A shame, really,” grinned Louis, ready to pull the trigger.

“The headpiece!” shouted Mustafa, getting impatient and ready to kill.

“Look, Mustafa...” said Indy. A glint of metal caught his eye, and Indy turned on his feet quickly. He saw Louis Belloq and his thug staring right at him; gun trained on Indy’s chest. Not knowing what to do, Indy dropped to the floor as he heard Belloq’s gun fire.

Indy ducked just in time, and Louis watched his bullet hit Mustafa in the heart. Mustafa slumped to the floor, instantly dead. Indy picked himself up. “Thanks Belloq,” he shouted. Louis and Kas instantly ran towards Indy; Louis firing gun shots and Kas ready for face-to-face combat.

There was a whistle in the background - Indy turned to see smoke in the air - a train was leaving! Indy had to get on it. It was a few metres away, but with increasing speed, Indy ran to the side of the train, trying to catch up with it. It was too late, the train was moving further and further away. Indy’s last hope was fading; the last carriage was now a few inches from him.

Indy saw a ladder attached to the last carriage. Straight away, he grabbed his whip, cracked it back and aimed for the ladder - it wrapped around a rung of the ladder. Indy held on tightly to his whip as the speed of the train sent him crashing to the floor. As the train moved along, Indy slowly but surely moved further up his whip, eventually pulling himself onto the train. Indy jumped up to the ladder on the side of the train - he wobbled slightly as the train picked up speed.

Clambering into the safety of a cargo carriage, Indy dumped himself down, breathing heavily. Louis Belloq could only stand and watch as the train carrying both the headpiece and Henry Jones, Jnr. rocketed out of Faizabad, into the night.

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

======================================
Chapter Eleven: Hamburg, Germany, 1956
======================================

“I got it!”

“What?”

“The headpiece, Anthony, I got the headpiece” said Indy, talking into a telephone in Hamburg. The train from Faizabad had stopped about an hour after Indy jumped onto it, and after paying, cheating and stealing rides from people, Indy had ended up in Hamburg.

“And Louis Belloq?” asked Anthony.

“Back in Faizabad”

“Marvellous...so what now?”

Indy paused. That much he didn’t know. “I need to find out what’s on the headpiece...” he said. Indy didn’t know the first thing about translating the strange drawings on the Jewel of Rhan. But he knew someone who could help him. Indy continued, “I’ll have to visit Dr. Jerome in New York...”

“New York? Are you sure?”

“Yes Anthony...I’ve got a lot of bad memories of that place...but it needs to be done. It’s the only plan I can think of”

“Why not just destroy the headpiece?”

Indy laughed. “And have Belloq chase me for the rest of my life? No thanks, Anthony, I want a peaceful retirement...New York it is”

Anthony sighed. “There’s one problem”

“What is it?”

“Dr. Jerome isn’t in New York anymore”

“No?”

“No. He’s gone back to Paris”

Indy was relieved. Paris was nearer than New York; and by the time Louis Belloq figured out where Indy was, Indy would have had the headpiece translated and decided on his next move. “Why’s he gone back to Paris?” asked Indy.

“I don’t know,” said Anthony. “I tried to telephone him, to find out what had happened that time you went to visit him, and his cleaner answered the phone. Said that Dr. Jerome’s emptied his room and moved back to Paris”

“An address, Anthony, did she give you an address?”

“Yes...”

“Well?” asked Indy.

Anthony paused as he rummaged around his desk for the address in Paris. He couldn’t believe that only a few weeks ago, he and Henry had been living a mundane life teaching under-achieving students, and now Henry was in a foreign country with enemies on his trail. “Got it!” exclaimed Anthony, as he read the address out to Indy, who scribbled it down quickly.

“Rue de Guerre des Etoiles” repeated Indy.

“Now what are you going to do, Henry?”

“I’m going to go to Paris”

. . .

One day later.

The train headed for Paris had left Hamburg over an hour ago. Indy settled back into his seat. He’d left his clothes at the hotel in Faizabad when the thug had attacked him, so for the last few days, Indy had been stuck with one pair of clothes; his leather jacket, shirt and trousers.

Indy shrugged his appearance off and sat back, tilting his fedora over his face, trying to get some sleep. It had been too long before Indy had slept properly. If he wasn’t having nightmares, he was being surprised by attackers in the middle of the night. This shouldn’t be happening.

Slowly closing his eyes, Indy finally fell asleep.

When he opened his eyes, Indy was back again. Trapped in the cavernous, dark room.

Yes, definitely a temple. It was gloomy, but fires were lit - there didn’t seem to be many people here; just two figures in the distance, watching Indy.

Indy still couldn’t move. The large metal circle he was tied to became clearer; it was an ornate metal upright rack; Indy’s hands tied securely to it. Indy was panicked, worried.

More ominous noises - chanting - a hymn?

The cloaked figure revealed his face again, but something was different. Before the figure even fully revealed his face, Indy could make out an evil grin. When the figure did reveal his face, Indy knew who it was. It wasn’t Rene Belloq. This was Louis.

Indy had been right in Faizabad; it was Louis Belloq chasing him down the streets with Mustafa.

The chanting continued - where was it coming from?

Another figure became familiar for the first time. The bald, large man standing next to Louis was unmistakable. It was the same man who had attacked Indy in his hotel room.

This was troubling.

Louis Belloq laughed. A manic, sick laugh. He lifted a carved staff in the air - the headpiece was attached to it. There seemed to be a tremendous build-up of power.

Then it happened. Like a million rays of lightning crashing down on him, with the intensity of a storm, attacking Indy all at once. His body writhed in agony as the lightning seemed to wrap around him, twisting and hitting every nerve, toying with his helpless body.

Indy jumped out of his train seat, sweating. Other passengers on the train just looked at him with contempt. Indy couldn’t believe this; he couldn’t even close his eyes without seeing Louis Belloq. Without seeing himself in an unbearable amount of pain.

. . .

“Rue de Guerre des Etoiles...” repeated Indy.

The train had arrived in Paris over an hour ago, and Indy had spent the rest of the time trying to find Dr. Jerome’s new residence. Indy was wandering the streets, occasionally asking passers-by if they knew whereabouts Dr. Jerome’s apartment was. “Rue de Guerre des Etoiles...”

Indy continued down various streets, foremost in his mind was getting to Dr. Jerome and getting the headpiece translated. However, it had been a long time since Indy had been in Paris, and he took a few minutes to take in the sights, the smells.

“Take the first left,” someone said in pidgin English. Indy thanked them and continued down the street he was on. This was clearly an affluent area of Paris. Cars with chauffeurs waiting outside, smartly-dressed porters at the doors of the apartment buildings. Dr. Jerome was certainly a wealthy man.

But why had he moved back to Paris? Following the attack in New York, Indy could certainly understand the ageing Doctor’s reasons. Indy had never checked back with Dr. Jerome after the attack, and was starting to feel guilty. Still, at least Dr. Jerome had survived - that was evident by the fact he had moved to Paris.

“Rue de Guerre des Etoiles,” said Indy, reading the street sign as he took the first left. All he had to do now was find the Empire Building, floor three. Thankfully, Dr. Jerome had chosen an apartment closer to the ground; less stairs to climb.

At the end of the street, Indy eventually found the Empire Building. A small but exclusive collection of apartments, with a large, miserable-looking porter standing outside. Indy felt uncomfortable in his rough clothes, with a whip and gun on his belt.

“Yes?” sneered the porter.

“I’m here for Dr. Jerome” said Indy.

“Of course you are”

“Look, friend, it’s important. He knows I’m coming,” said Indy. He had telegrammed Dr. Jerome yesterday, hoping that the message would have reached him in time for Indy’s arrival.

“Of course” the porter sneered again.

There was a pause as Indy thought about what to do.

“Hello!”

The voice wasn’t the porter’s, and Indy couldn’t see who was shouting as they repeated “Hello!”. Indy looked around the street - nobody. “Hello! Up here, Dr. Jones!” shouted the voice. Indy looked upwards. It was Dr. Jerome, leaning slightly out of his window. “Dr. Jones! I’m so happy you’ve finally arrived...Julien, let him come upstairs”.

The porter shook his head and sighed, then stepped to one side to let Indy past. “Thank you” grinned Indy as he made his way inside. He clambered up the stairs to floor three, and on reaching the floor saw Dr. Jerome standing at the door to his apartment. “Hello!” smiled Dr. Jerome, shaking Indy’s hand vigorously. “Come in, come” he said, disappearing inside his apartment. Indy followed him inside.

“I’m a little underdressed, Dr. Jerome”

“Nonsense,” laughed Dr. Jerome. “Yours are the clothes of a true adventurer!” he exclaimed. “How was your journey to Faizabad?”

“Not good,” said Indy. “Like I said in the telegram, you have to cut off all contact with Louis Belloq. Otherwise you might end up with him on your trail as well”

“Indeed” sighed Dr. Jerome.

“But I got it”

“The headpiece?”

Indy nodded, taking an object wrapped in a handkerchief out of his pocket. He placed it down on the nearest table, unwrapping it slowly. Dr. Jerome’s eyes expanded with awe as he began to take in the full sight of the headpiece. Jewels, gold, inscriptions. A majestic sight, better than any of the storybooks or legendary stories that Dr. Jerome had heard. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “The Jewel of Rhan” Dr. Jerome said, breathless.

“In all its glory,” Indy said in a nonchalant term.

“It’s real...don’t you see, Dr. Jones, the ‘myth’ of Tet Rhan is no longer a myth. It’s a glorious reality,” he said, holding up the headpiece. “Glorious”

“Can you translate it?” asked Indy.

Dr. Jerome paused. “I may be able to...”

“But?”

“I don’t have the alphabet of Rhan” sighed Dr. Jerome.

“Who does?”

Before Dr. Jerome could respond, a door opened slowly and a voice from another room in the apartment said “I do, Dr. Jones”. Indy turned, and was shocked. Louis Belloq and the thug from the hotel room entered the same room as Indy and Dr. Jerome. This couldn’t be happening. Indy turned to Dr. Jerome, who was now grinning.

“Greetings, Henry Joned.” said Louis. Indy quickly reached for his gun, taking it out. He aimed it at Louis, pulling the trigger. He was too quick, even for Kas. There was a loud click. And nothing else.

“No bullets?” Dr. Jerome laughed.

“Drop the gun” snapped Louis. Indy did as he was told; he wasn’t risking anything. Especially with the thug from his hotel room only a few feet away from him. “Thank you for sending a telegram” said Louis. “It made it far easier to track you down”. Kas nodded, wringing his strong hands.

“I do believe you’ve met Kas before” grinned Dr. Jerome.

Kas glared at Indy, a look of hatred in his eyes. There was a moment of unease, as nobody knew who was going to make the next move. Louis broke the silence. “At last I meet the infamous Dr. Jones face-to-face. I would very much like to kill you in this room...but that would make a terrible mess. Instead, you may join me on my quest to the Temple of Rhan. It will be much easier to kill you there. Your murder may go undiscovered for another thousand years - I'm quite sure they will have closed the case by then”.

“My murder?” asked Indy.

“You don’t think you’re getting out of this alive, do you?” grinned Louis. “Oh dear. Poor Dr. Jones. What a misguided fool. You’re not going to escape. This time, you will die...of that I’m quite, quite certain”.

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

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