Indiana Jones and the Scrolls of the Prophet (Chapter 5)

Posted by The Man with the Hat from port160.maxc04.bignet.net on July 19, 1999 at 17:13:01:

Chapter 5

Indy laid on the plush carpeted floor of the hotel room. He had let Captain Russell have the bed, knowing from her demeanor that there wasn't a chance in hell of sharing it. But why did he want to, anyway, he wondered. She wasn't his type. Sure, she was attractive, but not in the way others had attracted him.
And then, there was the ice cold way that she carried herself. She had put up a wall of ice so strong that the Egyptian sun couldn't melt it. Too thick to go through; too slippery to go over. Those ice wall were a bitch.
Then, it hit Indy. It wasn't the attraction. It was the challenge. He started to drift off to sleep with that thought dancing in his head when there was a knock on the door.
Indy rose from the floor, and looked to find that the captain was still sleeping.
There was a second knock, more like pounding really, before Indy opened the door.
In the hallway stood a slight man, probably in his early twenties, his hand braced on the door jamb. His hairline was noticebly receding although he hid the fact with his hat. A Lucky Strike hung in limbo from his lower lip.
"Beware," the guy whispered, as he began to step into the room. He fell forward, caught by Indy before he hit the ground. Indy saw the knife protruding from the man's back.
"Russell, get up," Indy said.
Indy laid the guy down on the carpet. When he spoke, his words gurgled in his throat.
"You search for the tomb of the prophet," the mystery man said. His breathing was labored.
"How do you know that?" Indy asked.
The guy ignored the question. "Do not go to Salon."
"Why," Indy asked. "What's in Salon."
"Only death," the stranger said. He silently closed his eyes, and died.
Indy checked the man's pockets, all of which were empty.
"Who is that," the captain asked, finally out of bed.
"You mean 'was'," Indy said, picking up the telephone. "That's what I intend to find out."

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: Chapter 5

:    Indy laid on the plush carpeted floor of the hotel room. He had let Captain Russell have the bed, knowing from her demeanor that there wasn't a chance in hell of sharing it. But why did he want to, anyway, he wondered. She wasn't his type. Sure, she was attractive, but not in the way others had attracted him.
:    And then, there was the ice cold way that she carried herself. She had put up a wall of ice so strong that the Egyptian sun couldn't melt it. Too thick to go through; too slippery to go over. Those ice wall were a bitch.
:    Then, it hit Indy. It wasn't the attraction. It was the challenge. He started to drift off to sleep with that thought dancing in his head when there was a knock on the door.
:    Indy rose from the floor, and looked to find that the captain was still sleeping.
:    There was a second knock, more like pounding really, before Indy opened the door.
:    In the hallway stood a slight man, probably in his early twenties, his hand braced on the door jamb. His hairline was noticebly receding although he hid the fact with his hat. A Lucky Strike hung in limbo from his lower lip.
:    "Beware," the guy whispered, as he began to step into the room. He fell forward, caught by Indy before he hit the ground. Indy saw the knife protruding from the man's back.
:    "Russell, get up," Indy said.
:    Indy laid the guy down on the carpet. When he spoke, his words gurgled in his throat.
:    "You search for the tomb of the prophet," the mystery man said. His breathing was labored.
:    "How do you know that?" Indy asked.
:    The guy ignored the question. "Do not go to Salon."
:    "Why," Indy asked. "What's in Salon."
:    "Only death," the stranger said. He silently closed his eyes, and died.
:    Indy checked the man's pockets, all of which were empty.
:    "Who is that," the captain asked, finally out of bed.
:    "You mean 'was'," Indy said, picking up the telephone. "That's what I intend to find out."
:     
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