The Heart of Shiva, Chapters 1-4 for those who missed them or would like to join in...

Posted by walker from 38.152.176.170 on February 18, 1999 at 10:59:36:

Indiana Jones and the Heart of Shiva

CHAPTER ONE by Senor Palomar

Barnett College, 1950

Indy stood in his classroom at Barnett College. The small college was just enough for Indy's needs. He had a class, was able to get time off whenever he needed it, and was payed well. Right wow, he was teaching one of his classes.

"The antichamber had collapsed, due to its ancient condition," Indy explained carefully to his students. His mind was not entirely on teaching his students today, and his mind occasionally wondered off to think of past occurrences, such as his encounter with Nazis. "The treasures had almost been lost, if it were not for..."

The dissmissal bell rang, and all the students filtered out of the room. As they did, Indy expected his dear friend, Marcus Brody, to be standing by the door. But as Indy looked, he was not there. Marcus had died a year before, and Indy had been moping around for the last two months, recalling his death. His mind stared into the past and it replayed the fateful scene, Marcus getting shot by a Nazi in front of Indy's eyes. Indy's soul cried out with sadness.

As he recalled the moment, another man stood by the door. He was dressed in a black suit, and was quite stylish. A cigar hung out of the corner of his mouth, righ below the edge of his neatly clipped mustache. He had a cold look to himself, and his slanted eyes did not help much. Indy looked at the man, then asked,

"Can I help you, mister...?"

"Actually, you can, Dr. Jones," he replied, and let a sly smile wash over his face. Indy could tell from the man's accent that he was Italian, and he had not met many in his lifetime. "I have a job for you."

"What?" Indy inquired.

"It will take time to tell, but I will tell it, Doctor. A long time ago, the people of India recieved a treasure, which they believe came from Heaven, Shiva to be exact." Indy's mind flashed to images of Mola Ram and the dark sacrifice, then back to the man.

"The treasure was a blue stone - the Heart of Shiva. It has been lost for many long years. I, Doctor, am Peter Cianelli. This fabled Heart of Shiva, is what I would pay you get, if you will do so. The Heart, I think, has just been stumbled upon."

Indy was beginning to understand the whole picture now. It was another treasure-hunt. "Mr. Cianelli, I don't want to dissapoint you, but I've can't do the job." Indy frowned at the man. "I am getting older, you know."

"Fine, Dr. Jones. But just to let you know the price I was willing to pay was one hundred thousand dollars. The offer still stands, Dr. Jones."

"I'm sorry, but I've got to refuse." Indy didn't know what he was saying, and he knew that too. With that kind of money, you could truely retire, Indy thought. But his mouth stayed shut as Cianelli started to leave.

"If you change your mind, contact me by phone. My number is (843) 257-9010. I will wait two more days."

Cianelli left the classroom and didn't bother to close the door on his way out.

CHAPTER 2 by walker

Indy spent the next two days doing his best to follow a normal schedule: teaching, researching and grading papers. But he found it difficult to focus. While it was true the money offered him was more than he had ever seen in his lifetime, it wasn't the problem. It was the Heart itself. Indy thought back to the first time he'd ever heard mention of the artifact. It was during a lecture by Vernon Scarbourough, a noted archeaologist who specialized in ancient systems of water management.

Scarbourough, in discussing the properties of the Ganges River, related the story of the river goddess Ganga and how her fall from Heaven was broken by the mighty Shiva's locks of hair. "Legend has it," Scarbourough had said, "that Ganga was so grateful, she make for Shiva a heart from the river's essence, her soul. With this gift of a second heart, Shiva's power grew until it eclipsed even that of Brahma, the creator, and Vishnu, the maintainer.

In the end, though, it was lost to him. Shiva's father-in-law, Daksha, had arranged for the sacrifice of a horse in accordance with Vedic rites. As the gods gathered for the event, Sati, Shiva's wife, asked him why he was not going. Shiva told her that the gods had decided he had no right to share in the sacrifice.

Sati, ashamed of this slight to her husband, convinced Shiva of his superior nature. Swayed by her poison words, he took up his bow and arrow and began stalking the animal meant for holy sacrifice. As he flew after his prey, a drop of sweat, filled with his anger, dropped from his forehead to the Earth and exploded in a ball of fire. From this, dozens of grotesque, hairy creatures leaped out and began to ravage the earth. This was pestilence and sickness, let loose until the end of time by Shiva's pride. In anger at his foolish actions, Ganga ripped the second heart from Shiva's chest and threw it to Earth."

Indy smiled as he remembered the tale. Scarbourough went on to say, with a wink of course, that Shiva's heart had fallen amongst the people of the land, who looked upon it as a gift of reparation for the disease and fever cast upon them. It was said that the Heart appeared to them as a bright blue stone, the size of a large man's fist. Warm to the touch, and slick as if worn smooth by water, the stone was said to give both health and prosperity to its owner's as well as a "oneness" with the strength of the Ganges. Centuries ago, however, the Heart was lost to them, stolen away to the Himalaya mountains by the demon Raktabija.

Indy chuckled. Magic hearts and rivers. Demons and gods. It all seemed insane. And yet, he couldn't deny his past--and the undeniable powers and apparitions that begged his understanding. He sat thinking at the desk in his study for most of the evening until he realized he had no choice in the matter. The personal demons that drove him to understand history hadn't abandoned him.

He picked up the phone and asked the operator to make the appropriate connection. The phone rang once and was immediately picked up. The voice at the other end queried simply, "Yes?"

"Cianelli?" Indy growled. "I'm coming over."

CHAPTER 3 by Hannibal King

The rain hit Indy's car relentlessly as he drove the short distance to Cianelli's lodgings. He cursed the rain and then cursed himself. Indy's shoulders were locked in a tight knot of muscle - the tension was almost bearing down on him like a solid, tangible object. He cursed the rain and then himself. There was little, or no reason for him to be feeling so uneasy. His mind drifted back to his last trip to India.

DELHI, 1936:
Indy crawled along the side of an old crumbling warehouse. Far below him the streets of Delhi were awash with the tide of human life that inhabited it. His mouth was set in a line of grim determination. The wounds on his back were aching and the bandage around his knuckles was seeping fresh blood.

He stopped at a window. Inside the building, almost directly below the skylight, was a beautiful but slightly spoiled looking blonde. She was wearing the dirty remains of a white tuxedo and she was tightly bound to a wooden chair. Indy watched as she struggled against her bonds. A dirty rag was stuffed into her mouth and tied round the back of her head. Indy smiled grimly. Things had started going wrong as soon as they had arrived in Delhi that morning...

It had been a long journey to the city from Mayapore village, seeming even longer because of his companions outbursts which had been becoming increasingly irritating with each successive one. The heat had been too hot, the elephants had been too grey. Willie Scott was, and always would be, a prize class pain in the ass. Indy's feelings of attraction had given way to an almost tangible and solid feeling of intense dislike. Their arrival in Delhi had been the limit. Shorty had immediately started playing with some street kids, he had developed an instinctive knack of knowing when to "amscray".

"This is it? This is civilisation? Look at this place Indiana, it's filthy! Ooh, I just bet I'm going to catch some horrible disease! Leprosy! I'm going home with leprosy! Who's going to pay to see a singer without a nose?" the blonde woman spun round and faced Indy - her eyes blazing with petulant anger. Indy smiled reassuringly.

"Willie" he began.

"What now? What bullshit are you going to try on me now? Ever since we left Pankot you've been telling me that when we get to Delhi every thing would be fine! Now look at us!"

However, before he had a chance to answer, a group of Indians had swarmed over them. Indy had grabbed the first thug and punched him straight in the middle of the face. Both men yelped in pain. One because of a broken nose, the other because of fractured knuckles. Indy turned to see a group of the thugs carry Willie off, before his world exploded into dark oblivion.

He had come round with Shorty standing anxiously over him. His little friend helped him to his feet.

"What happened Shorty?"

"Dr Jones! Bad men come! They take Willie away!" Shorty began to babble excitedly. His limited English deserting him as the story unfolded. In time Indy had ascertained that the men who had taken Willie worked for a ruthless and much feared crimelord called Imran Roshann. A gun runner, an opium dealer and a white slaver. It had been a simple task to track this gang to an old abandoned tea warehouse.

Willie struggled against her bonds. She had developed more than a slight aversion to the whole Indian sub continent. The men who sat before her, playing cards, were not in the slightest bit perturbed by her muffled protestations. The ropes were rough and very uncomfortable. She was not having a good day.

Indy moved forward. He slowly drew his revolver. Suddenly he heard the splinter of dry wood. His stomach lurched as the window frame gave way.

"Oh shit!" Indy started somersaulting down towards the floor.

Willie heard the breaking glass and then the profanity. She rolled her eyes. It could only be Indy. She didn't even bother attempting to twist her head around as she heard the unfortunate archaeologist hit the floor behind her.

Indy hit a pile of old burlap sacks and rolled to the floor, he immediately looked up to see seven rifles pointed straight at his face. He swallowed and tried to invoke some authority into his voice.
"Let the girl go!"

A cultured and rich laugh drifted over towards him. Indy squinted at the tall man who had entered the room. "Dr. Jones! I am Imran Roshann. I had no idea that this caterwauling blonde was with you! Please put your gun away. Your exploits at Pankot Palace have earned you a reprieve!" Roshann held up his hands and his men retreated. Indy got to his feet. "The cult of Kali was an . . ."

"Abomination!" Indy ventured

"Embarrasment!" Roshann finished "Dr. Jones, we have lots to talk about!" Indy slowly walked forward. Roshanns men were untying Willie.

The harsh sound of a trucks horn brought Indy out of his reverie. He winced to himself. Lately he had been living more and more in the past. In a few minutes he'd be with Cianelli.

CHAPTER 4 by walker

Indy pulled into the long drive of Cianelli's palatial estate and parked at the steps before the front door. A valet promptly ran forward, took his keys and moved the car around to a garage east of the house. As Indy reached for the bell, the door swung open, pulled by a rather portly butler.

"Where's Cianelli?" Indy asked, striding into the foyer.

"Follow me, if you please, sir." The butler ascended a long flight of stairs and led Indy into a large, comfortable parlor. Within were several antique chairs, a couch, some display cabinets, a piano and a bar. "Make yourself comfortable, sir," the butler offered, exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

Indy paced the room impatiently - he didn't like to be kept waiting. He moved to the bar in the corner and poured a tall shot of Talisker into a glass. He turned, rolling the smokey, bitter whisky over his tongue as the door across from him opened.

Cianelli walked in confidently, smiling like a new father. "Dr. Jones, I am so pleased you've changed your mind," he said, grasping Indy warmly by the shoulders.

"I haven't agreed to anything yet," Indy said. "I want details."

"And you shall have them. Please, sit." The Italian reclined in a deep, heavily padded 17th century antique chair and motioned for Indy to make himself at home. Indy complied, leaning forward in his seat.

"I don't like to waste time Mr. Cianelli. Is there a short version of this story you can use to convince me."

"Why yes, I think I can manage that," Cianelli answered agreeably. He reached over to a nearby marble pedestal and tapped a tiny chime twice. The butler immediately entered the room.

"Yes sir?"

"Collins, show in our other guest."

"Very good sir." Collins bowed slightly and backed out of the room. When the door had closed, Cianelli continued.

"While we're waiting for my other guest to arrive, let me give you some background on what I know." Indy nodded him on. "The Heart of Shiva, as I'm sure you know, was believed stolen by demons centuries ago, and hidden at the gates to the underworld in Tibet."

"Yes, essentially that's it. By one demon in particular, however," Indy corrected.

"Certainly. I mispoke. Raktabija was the demon's name, yes?"

"That's right."

Cianelli smiled. "Recently, one of my antiquities collectors travelling India heard rumor of a new cave network discovered at the base of a mountian in the Tibetan foothills. Other stories detailed this as a treasure trove of artifacts gathered from a variety of nearby countries, China, Russia, India and others."

Indy stood. "Buried treasure rumors are for suckers. Who in they're right mind would go to the trouble of hauling treasure hundreds of miles simply to bury it somewhere in the Himalayas. This needs to get substantial real quick or the only thing we'll have common is the scotch on your bar."

Cianelli put up his hands and waved Indy back to his chair. "I understand. Let's skip right to it then, shall we? My field agent followed up on these rumors and actually made the trip to Tibet. Here is a copy of the last wire I received from him. It was made about 3 weeks ago." Cianelli handed Indy a yellow slip of paper. It read:

LOCATION OF CAVES CONFIRMED STOP FOUND WITNESS TO SITE STOP PRIEST WHO SAYS BLUE STONE DWARFS ALL STOP BELIEVES HEART OF SHIVA STOP AM PROCEEDING WITH INVESTIGATION STOP DANGEROUS MEN FOLLOWING STOP PLEASE ADVISE STOP

Cianelli looked up as Indy finished reading. "We sent instructions that he should be cautious, of course, but we never heard from him again."

"Tibet's a dangerous place," Indy said.

"True. Last week, however, I received this through the post." He handed Indy a newspaper clipping. It was from a small British news service, based in Bombay, India. "Please, read the caption."

Indy took the piece, unfolded it and read. His jaw dropped. The caption read

"Local Indian businessman makes strides into international exploration. The prize? A rumored Tibetan treasure house worth milliions. For more, see page 6."

It wasn't the caption that made Indy's breath catch in his throat, however. It was the photo and the uncanny coincidence it represented. The picture's subject was older, grayer - even a bit feeble looking, but there was no mistaking the tall, lanky form and the bullet head.

Cianelli's competitor was Imran Roshann.

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Re: The Heart of Shiva, Chapters 1-4 for those who missed them or would like to join in... Tessa 12:47:21 2/18/99 (0)

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: Indiana Jones and the Heart of Shiva

: CHAPTER ONE by Senor Palomar

: Barnett College, 1950

: Indy stood in his classroom at Barnett College. The small college was just enough for Indy's needs. He had a class, was able to get time off whenever he needed it, and was payed well. Right wow, he was teaching one of his classes.

: "The antichamber had collapsed, due to its ancient condition," Indy explained carefully to his students. His mind was not entirely on teaching his students today, and his mind occasionally wondered off to think of past occurrences, such as his encounter with Nazis. "The treasures had almost been lost, if it were not for..."

: The dissmissal bell rang, and all the students filtered out of the room. As they did, Indy expected his dear friend, Marcus Brody, to be standing by the door. But as Indy looked, he was not there. Marcus had died a year before, and Indy had been moping around for the last two months, recalling his death. His mind stared into the past and it replayed the fateful scene, Marcus getting shot by a Nazi in front of Indy's eyes. Indy's soul cried out with sadness.

: As he recalled the moment, another man stood by the door. He was dressed in a black suit, and was quite stylish. A cigar hung out of the corner of his mouth, righ below the edge of his neatly clipped mustache. He had a cold look to himself, and his slanted eyes did not help much. Indy looked at the man, then asked,

: "Can I help you, mister...?"

: "Actually, you can, Dr. Jones," he replied, and let a sly smile wash over his face. Indy could tell from the man's accent that he was Italian, and he had not met many in his lifetime. "I have a job for you."

: "What?" Indy inquired.

: "It will take time to tell, but I will tell it, Doctor. A long time ago, the people of India recieved a treasure, which they believe came from Heaven, Shiva to be exact."  Indy's mind flashed to images of Mola Ram and the dark sacrifice, then back to the man.

: "The treasure was a blue stone - the Heart of Shiva. It has been lost for many long years. I, Doctor, am Peter Cianelli. This fabled Heart of Shiva, is what I would pay you get, if you will do so. The Heart, I think, has just been stumbled upon."

: Indy was beginning to understand the whole picture now. It was another treasure-hunt.  "Mr. Cianelli, I don't want to dissapoint you, but I've can't do the job." Indy frowned at the man. "I am getting older, you know."

: "Fine, Dr. Jones. But just to let you know the price I was willing to pay was one hundred thousand dollars. The offer still stands, Dr. Jones."

: "I'm sorry, but I've got to refuse." Indy didn't know what he was saying, and he knew that too. With that kind of money, you could truely retire, Indy thought. But his mouth stayed shut as Cianelli started to leave.

: "If you change your mind, contact me by phone. My number is (843) 257-9010. I will wait two more days."

: Cianelli left the classroom and didn't bother to close the door on his way out.

: CHAPTER 2 by walker

: Indy spent the next two days doing his best to follow a normal schedule:  teaching, researching and grading papers.  But he found it difficult to focus.  While it was true the money offered him was more than he had ever seen in his lifetime, it wasn't the problem.  It was the Heart itself.  Indy thought back to the first time he'd ever heard mention of the artifact.  It was during a lecture by Vernon Scarbourough, a noted archeaologist who specialized in ancient systems of water management.

: Scarbourough, in discussing the properties of the Ganges River, related the story of the river goddess Ganga and how her fall from Heaven was broken by the mighty Shiva's locks of hair.  "Legend has it," Scarbourough had said, "that Ganga was so grateful, she make for Shiva a heart from the river's essence, her soul.  With this gift of a second heart, Shiva's power grew until it eclipsed even that of Brahma, the creator, and Vishnu, the maintainer.

: In the end, though, it was lost to him.  Shiva's father-in-law, Daksha, had arranged for the sacrifice of a horse in accordance with Vedic rites.  As the gods gathered for the event, Sati, Shiva's wife, asked him why he was not going.  Shiva told her that the gods had decided he had no right to share in the sacrifice.

: Sati, ashamed of this slight to her husband, convinced Shiva of his superior nature.  Swayed by her poison words, he took up his bow and arrow and began stalking the animal meant for holy sacrifice.  As he flew after his prey, a drop of sweat, filled with his anger, dropped from his forehead to the Earth and exploded in a ball of fire.  From this, dozens of grotesque, hairy creatures leaped out and began to ravage the earth.  This was pestilence and sickness, let loose until the end of time by Shiva's pride.  In anger at his foolish actions, Ganga ripped the second heart from Shiva's chest and threw it to Earth."

: Indy smiled as he remembered the tale.  Scarbourough went on to say, with a wink of course, that Shiva's heart had fallen amongst the people of the land, who looked upon it as a gift of reparation for the disease and fever cast upon them.  It was said that the Heart appeared to them as a bright blue stone, the size of a large man's fist.  Warm to the touch, and slick as if worn smooth by water, the stone was said to give both health and prosperity to its owner's as well as a "oneness" with the strength of the Ganges.  Centuries ago, however, the Heart was lost to them, stolen away to the Himalaya mountains by the demon Raktabija.

: Indy chuckled.  Magic hearts and rivers.  Demons and gods.  It all seemed insane.  And yet, he couldn't deny his past--and the undeniable powers and apparitions that begged his understanding.  He sat thinking at the desk in his study for most of the evening until he realized he had no choice in the matter.  The personal demons that drove him to understand history hadn't abandoned him.

: He picked up the phone and asked the operator to make the appropriate connection.  The phone rang once and was immediately picked up.  The voice at the other end queried simply, "Yes?"

: "Cianelli?" Indy growled.  "I'm coming over."

: CHAPTER 3 by Hannibal King

: The rain hit Indy's car relentlessly as he drove the short distance to Cianelli's lodgings.  He cursed the rain and then cursed himself.  Indy's shoulders were locked in a tight knot of muscle - the tension was almost bearing down on him like a solid, tangible object.  He cursed the rain and then himself.  There was little, or no reason for him to be feeling so uneasy.  His mind drifted back to his last trip to India.

: DELHI, 1936:
: Indy crawled along the side of an old crumbling warehouse.  Far below him the streets of Delhi were awash with the tide of human life that inhabited it.  His mouth was set in a line of grim determination. The wounds on his back were aching and the bandage around his knuckles was seeping fresh blood.

: He stopped at a window.  Inside the building, almost directly below the skylight, was a beautiful but slightly spoiled looking blonde.  She was wearing the dirty remains of a white tuxedo and she was tightly bound to a wooden chair.  Indy watched as she struggled against her bonds.  A dirty rag was stuffed into her mouth and tied round the back of her head.  Indy smiled grimly.  Things had started going wrong as soon as they had arrived in Delhi that morning...

: It had been a long journey to the city from Mayapore village, seeming even longer because of his companions outbursts which had been becoming increasingly irritating with each successive one.  The heat had been too hot, the elephants had been too grey.  Willie Scott was, and always would be, a prize class pain in the ass.  Indy's feelings of attraction had given way to an almost tangible and solid feeling of intense dislike.  Their arrival in Delhi had been the limit.  Shorty had immediately started playing with some street kids, he had developed an instinctive knack of knowing when to "amscray".
:    
: "This is it? This is civilisation? Look at this place Indiana, it's filthy! Ooh, I just bet I'm going to catch some horrible disease! Leprosy! I'm going home with leprosy! Who's going to pay to see a singer without a nose?" the blonde woman spun round and faced Indy - her eyes blazing with petulant anger.  Indy smiled reassuringly.

: "Willie" he began.

: "What now? What bullshit are you going to try on me now? Ever since we left Pankot you've been telling me that when we get to Delhi every thing would be fine! Now look at us!"

: However, before he had a chance to answer, a group of Indians had swarmed over them.  Indy had grabbed the first thug and punched him straight in the middle of the face.  Both men yelped in pain. One because of a broken nose, the other because of fractured knuckles.  Indy turned to see a group of the thugs carry Willie off, before his world exploded into dark oblivion.

: He had come round with Shorty standing anxiously over him.  His little friend helped him to his feet.

: "What happened Shorty?"

: "Dr Jones! Bad men come! They take Willie away!" Shorty began to babble excitedly.  His limited English deserting him as the story unfolded.  In time Indy had ascertained that the men who had taken Willie worked for a ruthless and much feared crimelord called Imran Roshann.  A gun runner, an opium dealer and a white slaver.  It had been a simple task to track this gang to an old abandoned tea warehouse.

: Willie struggled against her bonds.  She had developed more than a slight aversion to the whole Indian sub continent.  The men who sat before her, playing cards, were not in the slightest bit perturbed by her muffled protestations.  The ropes were rough and very uncomfortable.  She was not having a good day.

: Indy moved forward.  He slowly drew his revolver.  Suddenly he heard the splinter of dry wood.  His stomach lurched as the window frame gave way.

: "Oh shit!" Indy started somersaulting down towards the floor.

: Willie heard the breaking glass and then the profanity.  She rolled her eyes.  It could only be Indy.  She didn't even bother attempting to twist her head around as she heard the unfortunate archaeologist hit the floor behind her.

: Indy hit a pile of old burlap sacks and rolled to the floor, he immediately looked up to see seven rifles pointed straight at his face.  He swallowed and tried to invoke some authority into his voice.
: "Let the girl go!"

: A cultured and rich laugh drifted over towards him.  Indy squinted at the tall man who had entered the room.  "Dr. Jones!  I am Imran Roshann.  I had no idea that this caterwauling blonde was with you!  Please put your gun away.  Your exploits at Pankot Palace have earned you a reprieve!"  Roshann held up his hands and his men retreated.  Indy got to his feet.  "The cult of Kali was an . . ."

: "Abomination!" Indy ventured

: "Embarrasment!" Roshann finished "Dr. Jones, we have lots to talk about!"  Indy slowly walked forward.  Roshanns men were untying Willie.

: The harsh sound of a trucks horn brought Indy out of his reverie.  He winced to himself.  Lately he had been living more and more in the past.  In a few minutes he'd be with Cianelli.

: CHAPTER 4 by walker

: Indy pulled into the long drive of Cianelli's palatial estate and parked at the steps before the front door.  A valet promptly ran forward, took his keys and moved the car around to a garage east of the house.  As Indy reached for the bell, the door swung open, pulled by a rather  portly butler.

: "Where's Cianelli?" Indy asked, striding into the foyer.

: "Follow me, if you please, sir."  The butler ascended a long flight of stairs and led Indy into a large, comfortable parlor.  Within were several antique chairs, a couch, some display cabinets, a piano and a bar.  "Make yourself comfortable, sir," the butler offered, exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

: Indy paced the room impatiently - he didn't like to be kept waiting.  He moved to the bar in the corner and poured a tall shot of Talisker into a glass.  He turned, rolling the smokey, bitter whisky over his tongue as the door across from him opened.

: Cianelli walked in confidently, smiling like a new father.  "Dr. Jones, I am so pleased you've changed your mind," he said, grasping Indy warmly by the shoulders.

: "I haven't agreed to anything yet," Indy said.  "I want details."

: "And you shall have them.  Please, sit."  The Italian reclined in a deep, heavily padded 17th century antique chair and motioned for Indy to make himself at home.  Indy complied, leaning forward in his seat.

: "I don't like to waste time Mr. Cianelli.  Is there a short version of this story you can use to convince me."

: "Why yes, I think I can manage that," Cianelli answered agreeably.  He reached over to a nearby marble pedestal and tapped a tiny chime twice.  The butler immediately entered the room.

: "Yes sir?"

: "Collins, show in our other guest."

: "Very good sir."  Collins bowed slightly and backed out of the room.  When the door had closed, Cianelli continued.

: "While we're waiting for my other guest to arrive, let me give you some background on what I know."  Indy nodded him on.  "The Heart of Shiva, as I'm sure you know, was believed stolen by demons centuries ago, and hidden at the gates to the underworld in Tibet."

: "Yes, essentially that's it.  By one demon in particular, however," Indy corrected.

: "Certainly. I mispoke.  Raktabija was the demon's name, yes?"

: "That's right."

: Cianelli smiled.  "Recently, one of my antiquities collectors travelling India heard rumor of a new cave network discovered at the base of a mountian in the Tibetan foothills.  Other stories detailed this as a treasure trove of artifacts gathered from a variety of nearby countries, China, Russia, India and others."

: Indy stood.  "Buried treasure rumors are for suckers.  Who in they're right mind would go to the trouble of hauling treasure hundreds of miles simply to bury it somewhere in the Himalayas.  This needs to get substantial real quick or the only thing we'll have common is the scotch on your bar."

: Cianelli put up his hands and waved Indy back to his chair.  "I understand. Let's skip right to it then, shall we?  My field agent followed up on these rumors and actually made the trip to Tibet.  Here is a copy of the last wire I received from him.  It was made about 3 weeks ago."  Cianelli handed Indy a yellow slip of paper.  It read:

: LOCATION OF CAVES CONFIRMED STOP FOUND WITNESS TO SITE STOP PRIEST WHO SAYS BLUE STONE DWARFS ALL STOP BELIEVES HEART OF SHIVA STOP AM PROCEEDING WITH INVESTIGATION STOP DANGEROUS MEN FOLLOWING STOP PLEASE ADVISE STOP

: Cianelli looked up as Indy finished reading.  "We sent instructions that he should be cautious, of course, but we never heard from him again."

: "Tibet's a dangerous place," Indy said.

: "True.  Last week, however, I received this through the post."  He handed Indy a newspaper clipping.  It was from a small British news service, based in Bombay, India.  "Please, read the caption."

: Indy took the piece, unfolded it and read.  His jaw dropped.  The caption read

: "Local Indian businessman makes strides into international exploration.  The prize?  A rumored Tibetan treasure house worth milliions.  For more, see page 6."

: It wasn't the caption that made Indy's breath catch in his throat, however.  It was the photo and the uncanny coincidence it represented.  The picture's subject was older, grayer - even a bit feeble looking, but there was no mistaking the tall, lanky form and the bullet head.

: Cianelli's competitor was Imran Roshann.

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