Chapter 16

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Posted by Aaron from on June 27, 1998 at 09:47:47:

Back from a week's vacation and ready to write...

And thanks for joining, Walker. Your work is quite good.



The passenger airplane arrived in London, and its groggy passengers disembarked. Drake stepped off the plane and rubbed his eyes in the foggy London morning sunlight. From behind him, down the stairs rushed Indiana Jones, awake and enthusiastic as ever and dressed in a tweed suit.

“C’mon Drake!” he shouted. “Let’s get to King’s Cross!”

A temporary memory lapse caused Drake to throw a puzzled look Indy’s way. When he remembered the post office box, his eyes snapped open.

“I’ll get a cab!” Indy called over his shoulder.

“And I’ll get us some coffee!” Drake called back, but Indy had already made it to the gates.

Not long after, the pair stepped out of their cab in front of King’s Cross Station. As Drake was about to take a final sip of his coffee, Indy bumped into him, pushing him forward. The last few drops of coffee spattered on the ground at Drake’s feet. “Innndy!” he moaned. “Look what you did!”

“Sorry,” Indy said, handing the cab driver his money. “No time!”

“Whadda you mean, no time? You’re the one who sai...”

“NO TIME!” Indy yelled as he grabbed Drake’s arm and pulled him along.

“ mean...” Drake said, dragging his feet.

As Indy pulled Drake behind him, he heard the squeal of tires on pavement. He stopped, turned around, and pointed to the end of the block. A sleek black car was speeding towards them. “They’ve been following us since the airport. Now do you understand?”

Drake uttered a schoolboy’s curse, and broke into a run. Indy followed.

Inside the station, Indy and Drake made a mad dash for the post office. When it came into sight, the two were both puffing.

Suddenly, a janitor appeared from around the corner and began to mop. But the sight of a black business suit beneath the janitor’s clothes tipped Indy off that something wasn’t right. He kept running, however. Just as he was about to cross in front of the “janitor”, he feigned a left and dodged right. The man was too quick, however. He lashed out behind him with the mop, and Indy went sprawling across the floor.

Drake looked behind him, kept running, and cursed when he realized that he couldn’t remember the box address, and the stationary was in Indy’s satchel. “Two...two...” he muttered over and over to himself. He couldn’t remember. Then, a thought came to him...

The man who had tripped Indy was now leaning over him. Indy could see his face clearly, and he looked vaguely Oriental. Gunmetal flashed in one of his pockets, and one of his hands was on it.

“I sorry,” the man said, a small smile on his lips. His accent was oriental as well. “Here, let me help you up.” Indy allowed him to, and the man made sure Indy knew the gun was pointed in his direction. As he got up, Indy realized that several black suited men were all around him. Some were at telephones, others talking--but all of them stood out as looking completely alike. “Now Dr. Jones,” the man continued, until he noticed the shocked look on Indy’s face. “That’s right, Dr. Jones. We know who you are. Now if you don’t mind, we’d like you to help us with something.”

“Oh yeah?” Indy spat out. Where the heck was Drake?

“Yes. We need you to get our mail for us.” The “janitor” motioned with the gun to the post office counter.

Indy analyzed his options. Chances for escape were slim--he was surrounded. Drake was probably off cowering in a closet, if past trend had continued.

“You have no choice, Dr. Jones,” the man said impatiently, interrupting Indy’s thoughts.

Indy sensed the stress in his captor’s voice, and decided to play on that. “Gee,” Indy said. “You’re not too brave--cornering me and holding a gun on me? Why, you’re positively YELLOW.” Indy was far from racist, but he figured desperate times called for desperate measures.

“It is an effective tactic,” the man replied coolly. “And might I add, Dr. Jones, that you look quite WHITE with fear. The mail please, Dr. Jones.”

It appeared Indy had no choice. He started for the counter. He stopped, however, when he heard a shrill whistle behind him. He, his black suited captors, and the other patrons of the station turned. Five English bobbies were running down the hall towards them, billy clubs drawn. Drake was following behind.

Indy smiled and walked up to the counter. “Two twenty-three,” he said. The woman behind the counter handed him a thick package. He signed his name on a clipboard that the woman had handed to him, and began to walk towards the Station’s exit. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. The crowd of black suited captors had dissipated when the bobbies arrived.

Later, outside the station, a Bobbie was writing down information dictated to him but Indiana and Drake on a dime store pad. When he had gotten all he could, he wished them a pleasant morning and was off. Drake began strolling down the sidewalk.

“So whadda ya think of my little trick back there, huh?” he gloated. “Not bad, eh?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Indy said, his mind elsewhere.

"'Yeah thanks’?! ‘Yeah thanks’?! That’s all I get is a ‘Yeah thanks’!?!”

“Drake, don’t look now, but they’re back,” Indy said. The black car was racing towards them.


The scarred Brazilian leader sat in his chambers, chanting. He moaned, “Two have dreamed. Two more must see the end, and it will come. All will be destroyed in darkness.” He smiled.

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