CHAPTER 3

The University of Chicago—September 30th, 1926

It had been just over a year since he'd walked the streets of the windy city, yet it seemed much longer. Recent events had changed him. As he strolled past the University's imposing, ivy covered facades he felt like a different person to the struggling young archaeologist who had last paid a visit to his old alma mater. He was now a tenured professor with an impressive—and expanding—body of fieldwork to his name. For the first time, he was visiting his old friend as a man, an equal, rather than a student.

But events in his personal life had shaped him just as much—if not more-so—than his academic achievements. He'd lost plenty in the past year, and suffered enough heartache to last him a lifetime. Perhaps that was why he was struggling to let the confrontation with Ziegler go. However you split it, that sun compass was his, legally and morally. He'd put in months of research, pieced together clues from across the centuries; his work had spanned Inuit, Scandinavian and Icelandic cultures. He'd funded the entire—if modest—summer expedition out of his own pocket. He'd shown the sort of dedication and attention to detail that might even make his father feel a twinge of pride. So it burnt like hell that some goddamn German aristocrat could just show up and take it all away from him, and almost kill him into the bargain.

Indy didn't know how Panuk had found him—the Inuk had remained characteristically silent when pressed for details—but, by God, he'd timed it perfectly. A few minutes later and Indy would have been face down, buried under a couple of inches of snow, awaiting discovery in a millennia or two like old Freydis the Red. Panuk had even been understanding about the money—which Indy had last seen being discreetly pocketed by a squat, unfortunate looking Inuk on the deck of the longship. Indy had promised he'd repay Panuk and send him the money—with a generous rate of interest—over the next couple of months.

While recovering in Nuuk, Indy had had plenty of time to think about how the events that day had unfolded, and it came as no surprise when word reached him that Ziegler had survived. Of course the German hadn't been on the trucks pursuing Indy—why would Ziegler risk getting his hands dirty when he'd already taken—no stolen—the prize?

When Abner had telegrammed saying he had news about Ziegler's whereabouts, Indy had jumped on the first sleeper out of New York. But as he walked along the tree-lined campus pathways, it wasn't Ziegler or Abner or the sun compass that was on Indy's mind. He was thinking about Marion.

Abner's daughter had joined them on a dig in the Judaean Desert the previous year. Abner had been convinced they were close to discovering the final resting place of the Ark of the Covenant—it was his obsession, and on that trip he had little time or interest in anything, or anyone, else. Consequently, Indy and Marion ended up spending quite a bit of time together, mostly translating three thousand year old Hebrew tablets.

Marion had just turned seventeen, she was incredibly bright and quick to learn, and soon got to grips with the ancient language, helping Indy speed through the laborious work. They'd spent a lot of time talking. Marion wasn't like the girls who took Indy's classes; she was tough, tomboyish, had a great sense of humour and spoke her mind—she didn't show Indy any deference, despite him being a teacher and eight years her senior. Indy soon realised that Marion had a way of getting what she wanted, her father was well and truly wrapped around her little finger, and Indy could feel himself being coiled up, too. Not that he put up a fight. He had spent the stifling Arabian nights dreaming about losing himself in her dazzling blue eyes; he longed to feel the curve of her body, press his lips against her bronzed skin. So, when she'd snuck into his tent—the night before they'd returned to the States—Indy was keen to see if the reality could match up to his fantasies. And it had blown them clean out of the water.

Indy had felt a deep connection, unlike anything he'd experienced before. But he greatly valued his friendship with Abner, and had promised himself nothing would happen between them again. Even so, he'd thought about Marion often, replayed the events of that dreamlike night in the desert.

Now, as he made his way to meet her father, he was both terrified and exhilarated by the thought that he might run into her. The chances were slim—he only intended to be in town for the afternoon—but Indy wondered if the shift he felt in his relationship with Abner was due, in no small part, to the secret he was now concealing from his friend. As Indy approached the neo-Gothic Cobb Gate he felt the burning glare of the gargoyles peering down at him; the stone demons threatening to expose his betrayal.

Indy climbed the steps into the archaeology building and walked along the wood panelled corridor. Despite Abner's excitement the previous summer, the Ark continued to elude him, and he had been forced to return to his university role as Senior Lecturer in the archaeology of Egypt and the Near East.

As Indy approached the classroom he could hear his friend before he could see him. Abner's booming voice was laced with a passion, an insatiable drive for the unparalleled thrill of discovery. This very same passion and drive had fostered Indy's love for the discipline, and cemented a bond between the two men unlike anything Indy had ever experienced with his father.

Indy gently opened the door and entered the classroom.

"... but what our friends from the British Museum have recently discovered at Tell el-Muqayyar is pretty remarkable, and flips these assumptions completely on their head." Abner Ravenwood was a well built, ruggedly charming man in his mid 50's with a thick moustache. The sparkle in his eyes drew you in, he was a hard man not to like, and a broad smile spread across his face as he registered the arrival of his former student, a young man whom he'd come to regard as the son he never had.

Abner continued. "They uncovered the tomb of Puabi, a queen—or at least someone of pretty high standing in their society—buried four and a half thousand years ago. And she hadn't been buried alone."

Abner's students hung on his every word.

"Puabi was interred along with her immense riches, as well as seventy four other people, most probably her servants. These poor souls were likely sealed in the so called 'death pits' while still alive."

Some of the students shifted uncomfortably at the thought of such a grisly practice. A pretty girl on the front row piped up and asked earnestly "But why would the queen want to punish her servants in this way?"

Abner shook his head "This wasn't an act of punishment, in fact it was almost certainly seen as a great honour. Presumably Puabi believed the powerful role she played in this world would be continued into the next. These people had been specifically chosen to serve the queen for eternity."

The bell rang and the students gathered together their books and belongings.

"Don't forget, Jastrow chapters seven and eight for next Tuesday—and I know we're only a week into term, but start thinking about topics for your dissertation. I'm easily bored, so choose something that will surprise me."

As the students piled out, Indy approached Abner. Abner grasped Indy's shoulder and shook his hand warmly.

"Indy, my boy. I can't tell you what a relief it is to see you looking so well. You're fully recovered?"

"Pretty much."

"We were so worried. Marion would have flown to Greenland and dragged you home herself if I'd let her." Indy bristled at the mention of her name, he hoped to God Abner hadn't noticed.

"I'm fine, really. Just a few bruises and scratches, occupational hazard I guess."

"I warned you about dicing with that lunatic." Abner grabbed his lecture notes and his briefcase. He gestured to a box piled high with textbooks "Would you mind?" Indy picked it up, the box was awkward to carry "Let's go to my office, see if we can't find a little something to toast your return to health... and to Chicago, of course." As they headed to the door, Abner stopped and turned to face his friend one more time "It really is great to see you. How long are you planning on staying in town?" They walked out into the bustling corridor and weaved their way past students dashing in both directions along the narrow passageway. Indy had to raise his voice to be heard over the melee.

"Not long actually. I got your telegram."

Abner tensed slightly as the reason for Indy's visit became clear to him. Indy could hear the concern in Abner's voice as he continued.

"Of course. I almost didn't send the damn thing. I feared you might see it as a red flag."

Indy's path was blocked by a group of chattering female students and Abner walked ahead of him. "Red flag, what do you mean?" Indy pushed his way through the group. "Excuse me ladies." The girls eyed the handsome young professor with interest, as Indy moved away they glanced to each other and giggled.

Abner entered his office and flicked on the light. Indy was a few paces behind him. The small, dusty room was piled high with thick tomes and great mounds of notebooks and half finished manuscripts. There were boxes upon boxes—some were open with more books and scrolls bursting out—and the walls were plastered with annotated maps of the Fertile Crescent, the Holy Land and parts of Asia and the Far East. There were hundreds of artifacts: Greek, Mayan, Native American, though the majority were Egyptian and Sumerian—fertility carvings and masks, pottery and clay tablets; items dating back to the birth of civilisation. Indy loved this place, he always had—he'd happily spend months on end in this tiny room if he could. Abner gestured to the desk and Indy shoved some papers out of the way to make room for the box.

"I mean, I knew you'd want to go charging off after him."

Indy stiffened. "That sun compass is mine. You know the amount of work I put into finding it."

"Of course I do. But this can be a risky old business, Indy. Sometimes, just escaping with your life should be chalked up as a win." Abner reached under his desk and pulled out a half full bottle of 1914 malt whiskey.

"So let's focus on your good fortune for a moment." Abner held up the bottle "I've been making this last." Indy relaxed a little. He shut the office door as Abner blew the dust from two small glasses and poured them each a generous measure.

Abner raised his glass. "To old friends, and new adventures." Indy raised his glass and took a mouthful—what the hell, it was nearly lunchtime.

"So, if you were worried about me going after Ziegler, why send the message?"

Abner shrugged. "I thought you'd want to know what the bastard was up to."

"You were right. So what is he up to?"

There was a moment of silence before Abner sighed. "I'm not sure."

"Great, glad I made the trip."

"He's in the Near East, Iraq. One of my contacts from Egypt, a digger, has temporarily relocated there, striking while the iron's hot—apparently the place is like a goddamn Mardi Gras for excavators and grave robbers now the Brits are calling the shots—you can't sneeze without hitting a pickaxe, so I'm told. Anyway, my guy has lined up some work with Ziegler on a site outside of Samawah. He didn't go into specifics, it all sounded pretty cloak and dagger. But I got the impression Ziegler's on to something big." Abner saw Indy's eyes working, planning. "I can see I'm not doing a great job dissuading you from going after him."

Indy took another swig of whiskey and grinned wryly. "You now how risk averse I am, Abner."

Abner shook his head, but couldn't resist a smile. "You're playing with fire, my boy."

At that moment Indy heard the office door behind him click open, he turned and his eyes met Marion's.

Indy's guts felt like they'd taken another blow from Ziegler's Inuk. A sleeveless, swoop neck dress clung to Marion's curves and the stylish cloche hat tilted across her forehead drew Indy into those deep, blue eyes. The khaki clad tomboy he'd fallen for last summer had transformed into a stunning, confident young woman who exuded femininity. Marion didn't miss a beat, she embraced Indy like a brother.

"God, Indy, I'm so glad you're okay." Her scent, her touch, Indy wondered if he'd ever be able to speak again. She pulled away. "What did I tell you about going off on daring adventures without me?" Indy just about managed a smile as he scraped himself off the ceiling. "So, what're you doing here?"

Luckily, Abner interjected before Indy had to try and speak. "Planning another near death experience, seems he's getting a taste for them."

"I bet he is." The hint of a devilish smile on Marion's lips. She walked over to her father and kissed him on the cheek.

"I got us a reservation for one thirty at the Drake."

Abner necked the rest of his whiskey. "Then we'd better get moving." he turned to Indy. "You'll join us?"

"Oh you must." Marion joined in. "I can't wait to hear all about your arctic escapades."

Indy struggled to collect himself. "Erm, I'm afraid I can't, I mean I'd love to but—"

"Then we'll do dinner. Our place, Marion can make up the guest room. I insist. Grant this old man one more evening with his friend before you disappear off again, taking your life into your own hands."

Indy thought about the return train ticket in his blazer pocket, then looked to Marion. The last thirty seconds had been difficult enough, surely there's no way they could keep their secret, their feelings, under wraps for an entire evening. The very idea was lunacy.

But, hang on a minute, wasn't the guest bedroom right next door to Marion's?

"Sure, I'd love to." He never could resist playing with matches.

"Then it's a date!" Marion added.

They left the office and Indy watched Abner and Marion retreat along the corridor. Marion turned, her blue eyes fixed on Indy as the corners of her mouth curled up playfully. Suddenly Ziegler and revenge were the last things on his mind.

National Museum, New York City—September 24th, 1965

Indy grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and took a generous gulp. He hated museum functions, always had; the penguin suits and forced conviviality. Still, the champagne was decent, and he had to admit that Charlie had done a great job breathing new life into this place, attendance was up considerably on last year and some of the new curator's acquisitions were pretty impressive.

But the object Indy was most interested in wasn't illuminated behind glass like the recently unveiled Mayan sacrificial daggers and Chinese star charts. Instead, Indy's eyes were drawn beyond a towering bronze statue of Osiris to an even more spectacular exhibit; Indy knew Marion loathed these events even more than he did, but you would never have guessed. Indy watched as his wife effortlessly charmed a pair of stuffy British academics—potential investors with a combined age that would surpass at least half the artifacts on display.

Marion glanced at Indy. She threw him a smile, her blue eyes twinkling mischievously. Forty years had passed since that stolen night in the desert, and Indy was still completely floored by her.