Chapter 10

Twenty minutes later a very wet, disheveled, and windblown looking Indiana Jones returned to the Arts and Humanities Building. A wet gust of wind with a generous supply of soggy autumn leaves followed him in and added to the already messy situation in the front hallway of the old building.

He looked over apologetically at the janitor who was busy cleaning up. "I'm sorry Frederico."

Not to a-worry Doctor a-Jones," he spoke in his heavy Italian accent and smiled. "The weather, she is a-very bad today no?"

Jones hung his overcoat on the coat rack. "No…I mean yes, yes…very bad."

After hanging up his coat he glanced at his watch. It was ten minutes after nine. He was ten minutes late for his meeting with Marcus. He couldn't help wondering what it was that was important enough to bring his good friend out to the college on such a miserable day. When Marcus had telephoned the previous evening Jones had suggested waiting until the storm was passed, but Marcus had said that it was too important to wait. Then, when he'd told Jones that he'd rather not discuss the details on the telephone it only added to the intrigue. Jones hadn't pressed the issue. He had known Marcus long enough to know to trust his judgment. Besides, he had been tired; being only one week back from Khartoum he was still trying to play catch-up with his teaching responsibilities, not to mention his sleep. They'd agreed to meet in the faculty lounge at nine in the morning.

Now he nearly sprinted up the staircase to the second floor and headed straight for the lounge. On the way down the hallway he ran into Professor Davis, the Department Head.

"Jones!"

Davis was a dour old man of 67. He was thin, with a cadaver-like face, and a balding pate with a few grey wisps combed over. Indy always felt an oddly cold sensation run up his spine whenever Davis spoke to him.

"Yes sir?" Jones answered cheerfully, belying the invisible cold finger that jabbed at his back.

"You've heard then have you?
"Heard what sir?"

"All classes have been cancelled for the rest of the day. No classes until Monday."

Jones smiled inwardly. He hadn't prepared his afternoon lecture anyway.

"That's a shame, but, well, with this weather it's probably for the best."

"By the way Jones what's that new scar on your cheek? Been brawling in the back alleys of Burma again? Or carousing in the cat-houses of Cairo?"

Alliteration was one of Professor Davis' hobbies, that and sarcasm.

"No sir…just a…little accident at home, nothing really."

"Don't give me that nonsense Jones. I've been hearing some pretty wild stories lately. Don't forget that you represent this college, no matter where you are."

"Yes sir."

"Just keep that in mind."

"Yes sir."

"You've a visitor in the faculty lounge too."

"Thank you sir, that's just exactly where I'm going right now."

Jones gave an involuntary chuckle as he turned and continued down the hallway.

Cat-houses of Cairo? He sometimes suspected that Professor Davis wasn't quite playing with a full deck.

He reached the faculty lounge and entered through the wooden paneled doorway. It was deserted. Apparently everyone had already gotten the word about the cancellation and had gone home. But where was Marcus?

Remembering that Marcus had said he would enjoy chatting with Irene, Jones exited the lounge and walked across the hallway to the departmental office.

"Oh there you are Indy," Marcus turned to him as he walked in. "We were just talking about you, weren't we Irene?"

"Yes," the department secretary looked up from her neat and tidy desk. "We thought maybe you wouldn't make it back from your…" she paused and smiled. "Quest…to save your fair maidens from nature's fury."

Irene was an attractive middle aged woman. But she did her best to hide the fact. She wore her hair up in a perpetual bun, kept n place with hairpins. Her horn-rimmed glasses hid what were very pretty, and what Jones thought were even seductive eyes. When he had first started teaching at Barnett they'd had a brief romantic fling. It didn't last long though, and they both agreed it would be best to just be friends. And a true friend Irene was. Too many times to count, Irene's great organization and attention to administrative detail had come to the rescue of the eclectic Professor Jones.

He smiled back at her, self consciously. "Just don't start any new rumors, OK?"

"Oh, you know I'm not one for gossip Professor Jones."

"I know Irene," Jones walked over and embraced his long time friend and mentor Marcus Brody. "Marcus it's great to see you again."

"Yes, and you too Indy."

Marcus had always been like a father figure to Indiana Jones. More than just a father figure he had been a mentor, introducing Jones to the international antiquities business and teaching him many of the ins and outs of a business that was, to say the least, adventurous. And it was Marcus who had instilled in him not just a true love of the inexact but intriguing science of archaeology, but also the notion that 'accepted truth' and 'accepted facts' need not always be accepted. 'Keep not only your eyes open, but your mind as well' was one of his favorite expressions.

"So what is it that brings you out from the warm confines of the Metropolitan Museum in this terrible weather?"

"Well first of all I'd like to welcome you back from your summer sabbatical dig in the deserts of Africa."

Jones looked down and a dejected look crossed his countenance. "Yes well it wasn't exactly a great success. I've got a lot to tell you."

"Perhaps not as much as you may think," Marcus smiled a knowing smile.

"Huh?" Jones looked surprised.

"Yes well, I've just come back from London myself and…" Marcus looked over a bit self consciously at Irene, and then back at Indy. "Well there's been some communications between the British Museum and the Consulate in Khartoum," he looked over at Irene again.

She seemed to understand and spoke up. "Well then, wouldn't you gentlemen be more comfortable in the faculty lounge?" She gave a cheerful smile. "I'll go and brew you a pot of fresh coffee," she then stood up and looked out into the empty hallway. "Looks like you won't be bothered by anyone in there either, I think aside from Frederico we're the only people left in the building."

"Yes, thank you very much Irene, coffee would be great," Jones said as he and Marcus Brody headed across the hall to the lounge.

He chose the table closest to the large window that looked out on the courtyard formed by the wings of the U-shaped building. As Irene had indicated, the lounge was deserted and they could speak in complete privacy. The faculty lounge was carpeted, and paneled all around in heavy oak paneling, which lent it a cozy warm atmosphere. They each pulled up one of the comfortable padded chairs and sat down on opposite sides of a small table.

"So tell me Marcus, what do you know about what happened in Khartoum?"
"Oh not much. Only just that the British Museum has received none of the pieces from the Meroitic dig that were signed for, that there's a standing order for your arrest by the authorities of the Khartoum district police, and that the Sultan Omar Aziz Al Farouque has put a price on…" he paused and cleared his throat "…among other things, your head."

Marcus looked over at Indy and couldn't help a guilty smile. "Rather eventful little trip was it then?"

Jones gazed out the window at the windblown rain and let out a long breath. "That's not the half of it," he looked at his friend. "I found it Marcus. I found what I was looking for."

"The tablets?"

"No, but something nearly as important. I followed the map we'd drawn from the written records. You remember? In London, last spring?"

"Oh yes certainly, I remember."

"Yes well the passage was there, right where we thought it would be."

Marcus' eyes lit up, and the perpetual twinkle flashed brighter.

Jones went on. "Anyway, it led to a lower chamber. It was a tomb just like we thought it would be."

"How large?" Marcus asked.

"Not very big, maybe ten by twelve by six feet high," Jones said, then added "but I wasn't the first."

Marcus' expression changed to a look of concern. "Someone got there ahead of you? Belloq maybe?"

"Oh no, not Belloq. This tomb hadn't been disturbed in ages, but we still weren't the first. It was picked clean, probably a few millennia ago. But they missed one thing…the sarcophagus lid. The mummification process was botched so all there was inside was bones and dust."

"Yes?" Marcus nodded his head with keen interest.

"But it was there in the lid Marcus. I found the panel, opened it, and there was a medallion inside, a large one."

"What kind of medallion?"

"That's just it. I think it was made of orichalch. And it bore the same royal symbol of Poseidon that was described on the tablets in the British Museum."

"Well I'll be…." the twinkle in Marcus' eye returned. "This could be just the proof we need. With the tablets in the museum, and this medallion, and where it was found, put it all together and it could demonstrate the very real possibility that Poseidon was no more a god than you or me; but rather a living breathing King of the Osirean civilization. This could link the Osirean civilization with that of Atlantis. Perhaps they were one and the same," a touch of excitement crept into Marcus' staid reserved British accent. "And where is it? I want to see it."

Jones looked down again. "That's the bad part Marcus, I don't have it."

"Does DeVries have it?"

Indy looked surprised. "You know about the problems with Devries?"

"Oh yes. As I said, the museum in London has been in contact with Khartoum, and unfortunately that means DeVries," Marcus said disgustedly.

"No, Devries doesn't have it," Indy said.

"Then who does?"

"Right now as far as I know the medallion is safe. But it is in Oman."

"Oman?"

"Yes, when I knew DeVries was going to seize everything I…" Jones paused and looked out at the storm again. "I made arrangements so that the medallion would be kept in safety."

Marcus threw him a look that said he needn't explain the details, and then asked. "Do you think you can retrieve it?"

"Yes. But…I don't know."

"Look Indy, if necessary the museum can fund you, but I'll be honest, at the moment you're rather a persona-non-grata in some circles. I know you're not at fault but sometimes it takes a while to smooth these things out. You understand don't you?"

"I know Marcus. I know what you're saying. I'll lay low for a while."

Marcus smiled at his protégé, and best friend. "Don't worry Indy, as long as you know the medallion is in safe hands, and I sense that you do, we can go after it later. It's enough to know that DeVries didn't get his hands on it, or Belloq. It can wait for another time. After all, it's waited a few millennia already."

Jones smiled. He knew that he could count on Marcus and his influence to 'smooth things out' as he put it.

"Don't worry Indy, it'll all work out."

"Thanks Marcus."

"But actually I didn't come here today to discuss the events of Khartoum."

No?" Jones looked puzzled. "Then what's on your mind?"

Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but just then Irene entered the lounge carrying a tray with a steaming pot of coffee, two cups and some cream and sugar.

"Ah you're a saint Irene," Marcus beamed at her.

"Oh, I'm not sure I'd go that far," she threw Jones a mischievous look as she set the tray down on the table between them.

Indy had to turn away in case he was blushing. The gesture wasn't lost on Marcus who cleared his throat, and then thanked her again. "Just the thing on a miserable day like this eh Indy; a good hot cup of Irene's great coffee."

"I just hope it doesn't taste like pencils," she said.

They both turned to her with puzzled looks.

She smiled. "Every time Professor Davis makes a pot he always puts the coffee back in the wrong cabinet, the one with the office supplies."

Marcus finished stirring in his sugar, took a sip, and smiled back at her. "Ahhh, magnificent. Not at all like pencils, pens, or erasers."

"I'm glad," she laughed, then nodded to both of them. "Well I'll leave you two gentlemen to your business. If you need anything just give a shout."

"You're not going home to weather out the storm Irene?" Marcus asked.

"No, there's enough work piled up on my desk for three days. Besides, maybe I'll wait for the chivalrous Doctor Jones to walk me home later," she winked at Indy, turned and left the lounge.

"She is a treasure isn't she?" Marcus said as he watched Irene exit the lounge and cross the hallway to the office.

Jones didn't answer. He was lost in thought and gazed out the window at the continuing storm. It seemed to have gained in intensity, and he watched as an unfortunate windblown figure struggled with an umbrella turned inside out by the ferocious wind as it crossed the courtyard below.

Marcus followed Indy's eyes out to the courtyard. "Not a day to be out and about eh?"

Jones took a sip of the hot coffee. It felt good and warmed him inside. The hot cup of coffee seemed to pick up his spirits, like a shield against the depressing inhospitable atmosphere outside the window.

"So Marcus, what is it that brought you out here today?"

Marcus took a long sip and set his cup down. "Well, there are two things really. But I've got a sneaking suspicion that one is going to be related to the other."

Jones smiled. "You're talking in riddles Marcus, come on, out with it."

Marcus looked around the deserted lounge once more before speaking. "Well, two days ago I was called upon at the museum by some rather unexpected visitors."

"Unexpected visitors?" Jones repeated the words.

"Yes, Bureau of Naval Intelligence."

A look of curiosity showed on Jones' face. "What did the Bureau of Naval Intelligence want to talk to you about?"

"Well that's just it, they didn't want to talk to me, they were looking for you."

"For me? What could the Bureau of Naval Intelligence want with me?"

Marcus refilled his coffee cup and reached for the sugar. "Tell me Indy, what do you know of a man named Donald Garston?"

"Donald Garston?" Jones repeated the name as he thought. "Sure, Don Garston, Stanford University Pacific Archaeology Research Chair. I know Don from when we worked together at Princeton. What does Don have to do with the Bureau of Naval Intelligence? And what does any of it have to with me?"

"Well the two gentlemen who visited me weren't exactly forthcoming with too much information. Government types you know. I think the colloquial American expression would be 'G-men'. But they certainly wanted to talk to you, and they said it concerned Mr. Garston."

"Do they still want to talk to me?"

Marcus absently stirred his coffee. "Yes. In fact that's one of the reasons why I'm here today, to arrange a meeting."

"Why didn't they just come out here to the campus?"

"Because apparently Mr. Garston gave them the museum as your address."

"Hmmmm," Jones looked perplexed.

"From what I could gather from these rather tight-lipped gentlemen, Mr. Garston was rather more than just a scholar and a scientist."

"What are you getting at Marcus?"

"To put it bluntly, I believe that our Mr. Garston was working for the US Government."

Jones now poured himself a second helping of coffee and looked at Marcus. "I don't like the way you use the word 'was'. Do you mean….?"

"Yes, unfortunately from what I could gather it appears that Mr. Donald Garston has disappeared from his posting, and is feared dead.

"His posting? And where was that?"

"It seems he was working somewhere in the Pacific, gathering intelligence and reporting directly to the Bureau of Naval Intelligence."

"I still don't see where I could possibly tie into this. I just spent most of the summer in the Sudan, and I haven't seen Don since Princeton," Jones suddenly looked thoughtful, and then added "well except maybe for that symposium at Stanford a couple of years ago. But I assure you Marcus all Don Garston and I ever discussed together was archaeology."

"I've no doubt that's true Indy, but nonetheless these gentlemen would like to talk to you about him."

"Well I'd be happy to accommodate, though I'm not sure there's anything I can offer," he paused and looked down at the floor sadly. "Except maybe my condolences for Don's family."

"I don't think these Government men are concerned with condolences."

"Just what do you think they could want with me?"

"Well Indy, there's only one way to find out. When is a convenient time for you to meet with them? They're waiting for me to get back to them by telephone."

Jones shrugged his shoulders in a sign of indifference. "Anytime. Why not today? My afternoon class is cancelled anyway."

Marcus looked thoughtfully down into his cup. "That brings me to the second reason I came here to speak with you today."

"Yes?" Jones looked at him curiously.

"I think before you speak to them you'd better have a look at something."

"What something?"
"A package. It arrived at the museum just yesterday morning."

"What was in it?"

"Well I don't know because I haven't opened it. You see it's addressed to you."

"From who?"

Marcus looked at Indy with his perpetual twinkle in his eyes. "I don't know, there is no return address," he paused and then went on. "But it is postmarked from US Pacific Territory of Guam."

Indy and Marcus looked at each other wordlessly for a moment, and then Jones spoke.

"Donald Garston?"

"That's my guess," Marcus answered.

Marcus then reached down and picked up his small briefcase from the floor and set it on the table. He unhooked the two latches and withdrew from it a small book sized package wrapped with brown paper and twine. After setting the package down in front of Indy he returned the leather briefcase to the floor.

Jones picked up the package and stared at it for a long moment, almost as if waiting for it to actually speak to him. He studied the wording on the address. It gave him an eerie feeling to think that he might be reading the handwriting of a dead man. Finally he began removing the twine, and then carefully tore at the brown wrapping paper.

What he found inside surprised him at first. It appeared to be nothing more than a folded up stack of banana leaves.

"What's this?" He thought aloud. "Someone's idea of a joke?"

Then, upon unfolding the banana leaves he discovered a small book.

"It looks like a journal," Marcus said.

"Yes it does," Jones held up the small book for a better look. He reached for his glasses in his breast pocket when a small envelope fell out of the book.

Jones picked it up. "It's a letter…from Don Garston."

He quickly put on his glasses and opened the envelope. As he began reading the short letter the expression on his face varied from curiosity, to concern. When he finished he handed it to Marcus, whose expressions mirrored those of Jones as he too read the letter.

When he'd finished he looked over at Indiana Jones, who had already begun flipping through the pages of the small journal.

"Well," Marcus said. "I daresay we may need to bother poor Irene for another pot of coffee."

Indy looked up from the journal and nodded. "And some sandwiches too. We may be here a while."

Outside, a loud crack of thunder followed closely on the heels of a brilliant flash of lightning as the storm raged on.