CHAPTER 9

The black DeSoto skidded onto the Connecticut Turnpike. Talia was thrown from side to side as they sped furiously through the evening traffic, her fingertips digging deep into the leather passenger seat. The wipers struggled to keep up with the rain lashing at the windshield, offering just momentary glimpses of the road ahead. But Jones had his foot pressed hard on the gas, driving like there was no tomorrow, and Talia was starting to think there might not be.

"Tell me everything!" he barked.

Talia wasn't sure where to begin. Twelve hours earlier she'd been getting ready to leave with Cavendish; a return to the desert where their real work could resume. Cavendish said he'd smoothed out the issues with their work permits and Talia had been exhilarated at the prospect of more field work. She'd had her fill of rummaging around in musty museum archives, she desperately wanted to feel the sunshine against her back, the sand under her fingernails. In hindsight, everything was arranged very hastily; Cavendish had only told Talia of his plans two days earlier, and had hinted that their journey might need to make a slight detour before they returned to the Middle East. But Talia had been so relieved she'd not queried it, not until this morning, anyway.

"When I arrived at the office, I overheard him... on the phone. He was arguing loudly. I was in the room next-door and clearly he hadn't noticed me come in. I've never even heard him raise his voice before... that's what made me stop and listen. I'm not in the habit of spying on my boss..."

"And he mentioned the sword?"

"Yes. He was trying to arrange some sort of exchange, but whoever he was talking to was reluctant to hand it over."

"Parker!"

"Yes... I mean, I assume so. Whoever it was wouldn't back down. So Cavendish conceded that they'd take the sword together."

"Take it...? Take it where?"

"I don't know. He made another call. His door was ajar and I could see him scribble something down. An address maybe?"

"What does he want with the sword?"

Talia hesitated. "Surely you've heard the stories? About the sword, about its... properties?"

Jones growled. "What? That it has some sort of... mystical power?"

"You've seen it... I mean, you must have held it... clearly there's somethingunusual about it."

Jones said nothing. Talia could tell he was holding something back. She was sure he knew of the sword's capabilities, perhaps he'd even witnessed its power first hand.

She continued. "If the legend is true, then the sword is a source of incredible power. A power that transcends this world. It's the key to unlocking the gates of Irkalla—the Sumerian underworld!"

Jones swerved a hard left—veering around a pick up truck—and Talia was thrown into the passenger door.

"A legend?" Jones spat out the words. "A legend?! Marion is dead because some stuck-up academic believes in goddamn fairy stories!" Jones slammed the wheel to the right, undertaking another truck.

" I confronted him, about the theft," Talia protested. "He denied it at first, but then tried to convince me to come with him... said he was close to discovering the location of the Palace of Ganzir, the gateway to Irkalla. I said he was crazy... that I'd go to the police. So he got physical. Tried to stop me from leaving."

Jones glanced at her. "So how'd you get away?"

Talia shrugged. "I kicked him in the balls. Twice."

Talia was sure she saw the faintest of smiles momentarily break through Jones' rage.

"I was gonna go to the police, but my head was spinning. Then I remembered the funeral. That it was today. I knew I had to speak to you first."

It was just after ten pm and the building was pretty much deserted. The only soul they'd seen was the portly duty guard who'd eyed them suspiciously as they entered. Still, Indy kept one eye on the elevator as Wells unlocked the door to Cavendish's offices. It looked like the professor had left in a hurry; the desk in his office had been hastily cleared and there were books and paperwork scattered on the floor. Indy glanced over them, nothing that might give away where Cavendish could be headed.

He looked to the bookcases, piled high with literature on the Middle East and Africa. There were a few interesting pieces displayed on shelves; vases and fragments of tablets. A fertility idol, about ten inches tall, with oversized—almost cartoonish—curves, caught Indy's eye as he paced to the window. He prised open the blinds and looked down over Midtown Manhattan from the fifty-first floor.

"I can see why someone might start gettin' delusions of grandeur, seeing the world from the vantage point of the gods," Indy turned to Wells. "What do you know about him?"

Wells shook her head. "Not much. Just bits I picked up in conversation. He came to the U.S. after the war. He's never mentioned any family, except his wife. She died a couple of years ago. That's when he moved to the city, threw himself into his work, I suppose it was all he had left, after she..." Wells stopped and glanced at Indy, as if she'd misspoke.

"It's okay, you don't need to walk on eggshells."

Indy moved to Cavendish's desk. It had been recently cleared out, the empty drawers hanging open.

"So, he lives here in the city?"

Talia nodded. "On the Upper East Side. But he's likely gone by now."

"Long gone." Indy scanned the desk. There was a small blank pad of paper next to the telephone. He looked to Wells.

"You said he wrote down an address, while he was on the phone?"

Wells nodded. Indy took a pencil and softly shaded across the pad.

"Bingo!" Indy almost smiled. A date and co-ordinates were revealed, embedded into the paper:

10/10, 35.94N, 3.04W.

Spanish Coast—12:05am, October 10th, 1965

The small fishing boat was tossed about like a leaf. Enormous waves crashed over the deck, battering Indy as he stood at the wheel, trying to steer some sort of course through the mayhem. Horizontal rain lashed at his face, the shoddy timber deckhouse offering little protection from the elements.

He glanced down into the cabin and saw Wells sat below deck. Her eyes closed and her hands clasped together, holding a small crucifix pendant which hung from her neck. Amidst the turmoil, she looked at peace, calmly muttering a seemingly endless prayer; her words lost against the roar of storm and sea.

Indy couldn't help but admire the girl. She had guts. She'd insisted on coming with him. Said she wanted to look Cavendish in the eye one more time, get him to confess to his crimes, convince him to turn himself in. But Indy knew the real reason she'd tagged along; Wells fancied she could persuade Indy not to kill the bastard. She was gonna be disappointed on that score.

A monstrous surge struck from the left, the boat's rotting timbers shrieked as if in the throes of death, and the vessel almost capsized. Indy was flung from his feet and landed hard on his back.

The boat corrected itself, but Indy had had enough. Trying to steer through this was pointless. They could gather their bearings—and what was left of themselves and the boat—once the storm had passed. Indy dragged himself into the cabin, water cascading down the steps after him. He sat on the bench opposite Wells, his companion was drenched, but still locked in solitary worship.

Indy awoke. He was lay on the bench. It was dark. But it was quiet, calm. He must have fallen asleep, or passed out. Either way the storm had abated and he'd survived. He glanced around. Where was Wells?

He hurried up onto the deck to find her happily steering the wheel.

"You're awake!" she looked up at the sky, not a cloud to be seen, the deck flooded with moonlight. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Indy's heart ached as he took in the beauty of the heavens. As his gaze drifted to Taurus, the Bull of Heaven, he had to look away. Indy turned to Wells, noticed the pendant chain in her hand as she steered the boat.

"I was wonderin', how d'you square this Gilgamesh fairy story with your faith in the Almighty? The Sumerians were polytheistic, they believed in hundreds of different gods."

Wells shrugged and smiled. "I don't claim to have all the answers, and I'm just fine with that. It's like the good Doctor King said, 'Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.'"

Indy grinned dismissively. "Don't s'pose I can argue with that."

Wells went on. "People see what they need to see in God. And we all need him, from time to time, don't we professor?" Her eyes met Indy's for a moment, then he turned away.

"Gilgamesh turned to his gods in his darkest hour. He longed to become one of them, to avoid the curse of death and live forever. But the gods knew that immortality wouldn't cure Gilgamesh's grief. Gilgamesh's journey led him to accept loss as part of his mortal life, and this realisation made him an even stronger, more empathic king."

Indy glanced up to the stars again.

Wells continued. "Shamash, the sun god, rewarded Gilgamesh for his revelation. He gave him the Sword of Irkalla, a sword that would bring the light of the sun to the darkest of places."

Indy's heart ached as his mind leapt back to that fateful day in Warka.

"Shamash instructed Gilgamesh to journey to the Palace of Ganzir, where the sword could free his beloved Enkidu from the underworld."

Indy shook his head. "This is all speculation. The twelfth tablet of the Gilgamesh story is incredibly vague on this whole episode."

"Yes, but new discoveries we've made during our excavation of Nineveh support this version of the story. There's growing evidence that a thirteenth tablet of Gilgamesh exists, and that it will detail Gilgamesh's journey to Ganzir and the gates of Irkalla."

Indy seethed, "That's what Cavendish has been looking for?"

Wells nodded. "And he thinks he's close to finding it."

Indy was back at the wheel. The outline of an island emerged from the darkness of the sea. There were a smattering of lights dotted at sea level, and a handful more flickered up high, atop towering cliffs.

"Alborán Island," Indy said. "This is where Cavendish has brought us."

"What do you know about this place?"

"There's been a christian settlement here since the 1500's, though the island was pretty much abandoned in 1860 at the end of the Tetuán War."

The imposing cliffs seemed to run around most of the perimeter, save for a small harbour, illuminated straight ahead. A scattering of buildings could be glimpsed on the top of the island, well over a hundred feet above sea level. Most of the lights were coming from a church, its bell tower silhouetted against the night sky.

Wells looked to Indy. "Seems someone has made themselves at home."

"Yes, kill the light."

Wells turned off the little gas lamp which lit the deckhouse.

As they approached the harbour a large boat came into view, some sort of military transport. Indy steered a little closer, and was able to identify it as a former Nazi S-Boot. But this boat wasn't flying the swastika, instead it displayed a red flag with a black eagle and flaming torch in its centre. There were men in green fatigues busy in the harbour, loading large crates onto the boat.

"CEDADE!"

"Who?" Wells asked.

"Nazis! After the War, Franco's Spain was a safe haven for ex-German Nazis, and their ideology has spread like a cancer. They set up CEDADE, a militant fascist party. They've been operating on the fringe of mainstream politics, but it looks like they're planning something to get themselves noticed." Indy steered the boat away from the harbour. "Whereas we would be wise to try and stay under the radar."

Indy carefully guided the old fishing boat into a small cove, tucked away from the harbour. The sea was choppy, but he took the mooring line and managed to loop it around a rock on the cliff side. They were surrounded by dizzying cliffs, but Indy's torchlight revealed a narrow path, winding treacherously up the rock face.

Indy turned to Wells. "You got a head for heights?"

"Don't worry about me."

Indy raised his eyebrows and offered her a crooked smile as he climbed from the boat. He held out his hand, but Wells didn't take it—or need it—as she strode confidently onto the rocks. The pair began their ascent.

The path grew steeper and steeper, until they found themselves climbing a near vertical precipice. Indy gripped the torch in his jaws and used both hands to drag himself ever higher, a vertigo inducing drop to the silvery, moonlit waves crashing below.

Indy's foot slipped—he quickly grabbed onto a rock jutting from the cliff, but a momentary lapse of concentration and the torch fell from his mouth, it almost struck Wells as it bounced off a rock beside her, before plummeting into the churning sea.

"Hey!" Wells looked up to Indy.

"Watch your footing, the rocks are slippery."

"No kidding! And now we're climbing blind!"

Eventually Indy hoisted himself onto a narrow ledge, the remnants of a path now little more than a lip of stone. Indy again offered his hand to Wells, and this time she grabbed it tightly. Indy lifted her up beside him.

They moved sideways along the ledge, their backs to the cliff. As they inched along Indy felt something brush against the back of his neck. At first he thought nothing of it, then he experienced the same sensation again. And again. Suddenly Wells stopped moving. Indy saw her face, illuminated by the moonlight and frozen in fear.

"What was that?" she gasped.

Indy's eyes went wide with the realisation. "Oh shit..."

The cliff behind them suddenly came alive as a great colony of bats took flight. Indy and Wells were caught in a maelstrom of beating wings. Wells shrieked, stumbled forward and slipped from the ledge. Instinctively, Indy lunged and grabbed her arm, but lost his footing at the same time. His free hand found an outcrop and held on for dear life. The fanged beasts swirled around the pair as they dangled helplessly, a hundred feet above the crashing waves.

"Pull yourself up," Indy strained. "I'm not gonna be able to hang on for long!"

Indy winced as Wells reached up and hoisted herself up his arm, her feet kicking at the cliffside, desperate to find a crevice to lock into. Then one of the bats got tangled in Wells' hair, she squealed in pain as it writhed in her long wavy locks, but still she kept hold of Indy's arm. He strained with all his might and lifted her up beside him. Wells grabbed hold of the ledge and pulled herself up. She reached into her hair and tightly gripped the writhing menace. Biting her lip she yanked the bat free and then tossed it out to sea. The other bats dispersed as Indy dragged himself up beside her. They both collapsed back, leaning against the cliff as they caught their breath.

Talia looked to Indy. "You sure know how to show a lady a good time!" Talia laughed and Indy smiled.

"C'mon, we're almost there."

The pair reached the top of the cliff, the church tower illuminated a few hundred yards ahead. They moved amongst craggy rocks toward the small medieval town.

Suddenly a helicopter whirred overhead, its searchlight slicing past them. Indy dragged Wells down behind some boulders and they watched as the chopper zipped over the town before descending, presumably landing on the far side of the island.

They entered the town and crept past crumbling stone buildings. Most appeared to have been uninhabited for some time; doors and window frames had rotted away, or been pushed aside by the writhing limbs of the wild plants and trees who now called this ghost town home.

They peered around a corner into the town square, the church was on the far side. Large floodlights lit the former marketplace, and it was a hive of activity. Several men wearing fatigues hurriedly carried crates and boxes from the church and loaded them onto two military trucks. There were another half dozen trucks around the square and all displayed the CEDADE emblem.

"What are they up to?" Wells asked.

"I dunno, but it ain't good."

The men then climbed inside the trucks and the two vehicles drove from the square, heading out of the town, toward the harbour. Moments later another truck arrived from the opposite direction. It parked in the shadows beside the church.

Indy and Wells watched as two men climbed from the truck. The taller, leaner of the pair then reached back inside the vehicle and retrieved a long thin case. The men walked around the church. As they entered the floodlit square Indy saw them clearly for the first time. Cavendish and Parker.

Indy felt his heart-rate quicken, the rage pulsing through his veins increasing with every beat. His eyes narrowed and stayed glued to the pair as they entered the church. Then Indy pulled the Webley from its holster and flipped open the cylinder. It was fully loaded. Wells placed a hand on his shoulder.

"What are you gonna do?"

Indy snapped the cylinder back in place then looked Wells in the eye. "You stay here, out of sight, no matter what happens."

"No, Jones, I'm not gonna let you—"

Indy cut her off, leaning in close, his revolver pointing upwards, but close to her face "I'm not asking, Doctor Wells, I'm tellin'! Stay put!"

Wells looked like she was ready to protest again, but Indy had already moved out, darting quickly through the shadows which skirted the edge of the square. He wasn't sure what he was gonna do once he entered the church, but one thing was certain. Cavendish and Parker wouldn't be leaving this island alive.