Indy awoke to a sudden rasp of metal on metal, as the cell door was tugged open. The hazy figure of a guard stepped into view, ducking through the door to stand directly in front of him.

"Your turn, Jones."

"Turn?" Indy asked, not bothering to stifle a yawn. He flexed cold-stiffened fingers, used a hand to push himself upright. There was a commotion at the door; the guard holstered his gun, hauling Indy to his feet.

"Smith wants to talk to you."

From the corner of his eye, Jones watched two other men push through the door, dragging Spalko between them. She looked exhausted and disheveled; at the first man's nod, the two dumped her unceremoniously on the floor. Several hours had passed since Spalko had been removed; Indy had lost track of time after dozing off. Before he could speak, the trio of guards bundled him into the hallway.

Indy struggled to keep up with the men, limping a little as he walked. Sleeping on the floor had been an uncomfortable experience; his muscles felt stiff, aching more with each step he took. As they left the cell block, he felt a vague sense of dread. Sooner or later they were going to lose patience with him; when they did, he could only expect violence. Indy only hoped that they would realize his innocence before that point.

After a short distance, the group stopped. Jones was ushered into the cavernous interrogation room, still set with the folding table and chairs. Smith sat waiting, hands clasped casually before him. His expression was unreadable; as Indy sat down, Smith made an ambiguous sound in his throat.

"Are you ready to cooperate?"

Jones hardly noticed the departure of the guards. He focused his gaze on Smith, lips curling into an ironic smile. "I already have, Colonel. If you don't believe me, that isn't my problem."

"I'm convinced that you're lying," Smith said coolly. "Aren't you ashamed, Jones? To turn your back on the United States-" his tone was indignant "—and betray the trust of those you were once eager to protect?"

Indy refused to be baited. "We've already gone over this-"

"-You're right." Smith looked away for a moment, with an exaggerated shake of his head. "That's why we'll begin using more forceful means."

"You can't scare me."

Smith raised his eyebrows skeptically in response. "This is your last chance. For now, all you need to tell me is what you know of George McHale. Habits, aliases, probable current location. Once he's in custody, we can compare his story with yours."

Indy snorted. If Mac were captured, they would torture him into a confession, guilty or innocent. He definitely didn't trust Smith to treat his friend fairly. "I'll never inform on George McHale, unless you can prove to me he's blameworthy," Indy told Smith. His voice was resolute.

"Allow me to gather the evidence. I will present it to you tomorrow; if you still resist..." Smith's expression darkened.

Indy rolled his eyes. "If you could convince me, I still might not cooperate. Unless you'd promise to release me as soon as I talked."

Smith shrugged. "We could certainly arrange it. But, I would keep in mind the penalties for not 'talking.'"

"Fine." Indy thought for a moment, and added: "I'm surprised at you, Smith. An American officer, resorting to torture to achieve his ends. You disgrace your position."

For a moment, genuine uncertainty flashed in his murky eyes. Indy noted the reaction with interest. Then Smith responded, voice shaking with anger.

"I will not defend my choices to a traitor. Leave my presence." He barked for the guards; two rushed through the door, looking surprised.

"What do you need, sir?"

"Return Jones to his cell."

Indy trudged behind the guards, staring at his hands. He was ruminating over his conversation with Smith, and the agent's heated reaction to his disgust. Indy wouldn't ever consider betraying Mac; Smith couldn't produce evidence enough to convince him of his friend's guilt. Jones needed an alternate strategy to manipulate Smith, and quickly. This new vulnerability could provide the key.

As they approached the cell, however, Indy struggled to focus. Smith's threats had left a bad taste in his mouth; he had dealt with many a psychopathic individual during his life, and didn't relish trying to thwart another. Smith had seemed impatient, ready to snap. The ghastly image of his cellmate, motionless and visibly battered, flashed in his mind. Indy knew he was running out of time to strategize.

The guard fiddled with the padlocked door, then removed Indy's handcuffs with a dismissive grunt. He shunted him inside and departed. Indy leaned against the wall, rubbing at his wrists. Spalko still lay in the middle of the floor, pale and breathing shallowly. As the extent of her injuries became apparent, Indy stepped forward, a curse forming on his lips.

He remembered his earlier resolutions to mind his own business, but they seemed callous in light of her current condition. He could have no peace with himself if he simply let Spalko suffer; indeed, he would make himself complicit in Smith's misdeeds. Besides, what would it hurt? He hardly considered the fact that his compassion might seem incriminating, because he had finally given up on convincing Smith of his loyalty. If Indy wanted freedom, he would have to win it by some alternate route.

Decided, Indy knelt and whispered tentatively, "Dr. Spalko?"

The cell was too bright, glowing red before her closed eyelids. Her body felt impossibly light, and there was a curious humming in her head. The pain had subsided; for that, she was grateful. As she slowly returned to consciousness, Spalko could feel the hard floor beneath her back. It was uncomfortable, but she didn't have the strength to move.

This time, they had not bothered to ask questions. Smith had begun utilizing increasingly harsh methods of interrogation; at times, she had the feeling that he was venting his frustration with her continued reticence. The session had been especially punitive, and Spalko was almost afraid to assess her injuries. There was an ominous numbness in her limbs, the cause of which she was too exhausted to discern.

A moment later, Irina realized that she wasn't alone. Jones had returned, and was situated somewhere near the far wall, breathing heavily. She heard him mutter to himself, but felt too disoriented to discern what he was saying. An abrupt resurgence of pain drew her attention; she bit her lip to keep from crying out. With effort, she lifted a hand to dab gingerly at her face. Her fingers came back sticky with blood.

Troubled by this discovery, she dragged her eyes open. She caught a glimpse of Jones, staring down at her, brow furrowed in concern. Vaguely embarrassed by her circumstances, she tried to address him, but couldn't form the words. Her vision was narrowing, growing fuzzier. Suddenly lightheaded, she felt the room fade around her.

Spalko awoke, lying supine on her mattress. Something cold and heavy rested on her forehead; she was unable to open her eyes. Above her, she could hear a cacophony of voices in heated argument. After a moment, she recognized Jones' voice, at once measured and tense.

"-She's badly hurt. If you don't find her a medic-"

"What? This ain't no luxury hotel, Jones. You get what you get." The voice belonged to, she assumed, a guard.

Indy kept his tone even. "—she could be permanently incapacitated. It's in your interest to treat her."

"What do you care?" Another man spoke, tone angry.

"I'm a human being. Apparently, that's more than can be said of any of you…"

There was a shuffling sound, then a sharp crack as the man slapped Jones. Silence fell; she heard Jones take a deliberate breath before speaking.

"You need to find her a medic."

"We will consider it."

"In other words, yes." The door slammed shut before Jones could finish his sentence.

Opening one eye, she glimpsed Jones kneeling beside her, craggy features half in shadow. A faint red welt marked his cheek; his expression looked troubled. Clutching something in his hand, he stood, turning to the sink. She watched as he unfolded a blood-spotted cloth, rinsed it, and wrung it out. Once finished, he draped the cloth over the side of the sink to dry.

Returning to her side, he spoke, forehead creased. "How do you feel?"

She didn't answer immediately, discomfited by her situation. For a moment, she considered telling Jones to leave her alone. His motives remained unclear; yet, in this situation, it seemed prudent to accept his assistance. Duty came before personal pride; she needed to survive in order to escape the prison. But she could not help the remark that escaped her lips:

"Just business, is it not?" Her voice was nearly inaudible, though the effort of speaking made her dizzy.

He sighed. "Please answer me, Spalko."

"Very poor."

"Yeah, I guessed." He shook his head ruefully. "A medic should arrive soon."

He held her wrist, feeling for a pulse; his fingers were calloused and warm. Suddenly withdrawing his hand, Indy stared into her eyes, evaluating her pupil size. Finally, he nodded. "You're coming out of shock."

She blinked in response. Her sense of degradation was fading, as if she lacked the energy to keep it up. At the moment, she felt nothing beyond physical pain, and a vague obligation to repay Jones for his efforts. She had detected no condescension in his voice, only military-style efficiency. Her thoughts were jumbled and incoherent, difficult to gather. There is a different sort of shame in ingratitude for…needed aid, Spalko reasoned dimly. If I find myself able to repay him, I will certainly do so…

Beside her, Jones coughed. "You need to rest."

She made a noise of agreement, and let her eye slide shut. "I…appreciate your help," she said gruffly, the words sounding strange to her ears.

"It's no trouble."

The telephone on Smith's desktop rang piercingly, startling him. Laying his pen on the paper-strewn desktop, he answered, growling a little. "Who's calling?"

"Lieutenant Ellis, Sir. Jones summoned a guard, and is demanding that a medic be sent for the other prisoner-"

"That's ridiculous."

"She'sin poor condition, Sir. Interrogation will be impossible until she improves."

Smith sighed into the mouthpiece, and stared at the wall. It was completely blank; at one time, he had displayed pictures of his fiancée there. A few months ago, the frames had begun to bother him, and he had taken them down. Such peaceful, innocent images had seemed disturbingly incongruous with the rest of the prison. Moreover, the sight of them made him feel guilty. He hoped that his bride would never learn of the unconscionable orders he had carried out.

There - he had called them unconscionable. Smith put the bewildering thought aside, and focused on the voice of Lieutenant Ellis.

"Sir, are you still on the line?"

"Yes. Allow me to think; call again in a half-hour."

"Yes, Sir." There was a click as Ellis hung up.

A minute later, the telephone rang again. Smith answered unenthusiastically.

"Hello?"

"I have been hearing some interesting things lately, Paul. Things that we need to discuss." The voice belonged to General Robert Ross, a military officer who sometimes supervised intelligence operations. Smith had worked with him before, and had found him to be barely tolerable.

"Let's keep it brief, General."

"You have detained a close friend of mine, and I need to intervene."

"Are you authorized to do so?"

Ross ignored his question. "Henry Jones, Jr. His loyalties are unquestionable."

"Still, your assurances are not sufficient to release him."

"That is why I'm paying you a visit. Within a week, I will arrive to examine the evidence and assist in interrogation."

"General, this prison is my territory. Furthermore, you will only exacerbate the problems-"

"Don't protest; I've made up my mind. I will see you soon, Paul." Ross hung up, and Smith nearly cried out in fury. Instead, he settled on flinging his pen across the room. It hit the door with a light thump. He would need to get the evidence organized in order to present a compelling case. It wouldn't be difficult, as he had already gathered materials related to the affair for Jones' review. More troubling: Ross might report on any contraventions he saw; the prisoners needed to look reasonably healthy. Fiddling with his glasses, Smith dialed the cell block.

Ellis answered. "Yes?"

"This is Colonel Smith. I have come to a decision - you may send for a medic. Spalko is approved for all treatment deemed necessary to her physical well-being."

Ellis sounded surprised by his sudden reversal. "We'll try our best, Sir."

"See that you do. And, ask if Jones needs medical attention."

"May I inquire as to why, Sir?"

"We will be having a visitor."

Author's Note:

Hello all! Thanks for reading Chapter Three. Sorry it took me so long to update; I've had a slight case of writers' block. As always, feel free to tell me what you think! Even a one-line review will suffice. :)