Chapter Seven
"A Cruel Twist of Fate"
Indy's eyes were blurred. His head lolled from one side to the other as he came back to consciousness.
"Good afternoon, Doctor Jones."
The rich baritone voice cause Indiana's eyes to twitch, then focus on a slim, dark-skinned man dressed in a black suit whose price tag could have easily fed an Indian village for several months. He was sitting behind a large desk that sat between Indy and him.
"I trust you found my manservant Ngamba accommodating?" he chuckled. "I'm afraid his hygienic manners are less than exceptional, but he's effective all the same."
Indy coughed, awakening fully. "It smelled like he'd never made friends with a bar of soap in his life."
The man laughed again. "Funny as I've heard of you, Jones. Your reputation precedes you as usual."
"Really? People keep telling me that. I just can never seem to catch up to it."
"Alright. That's enough of the preliminaries, don't you think? Take a look at this. A good, long, hard look."
He slid a large manila envelope over the desktop and Indy opened it. With a growing sense of dread, he spilled out years' worth of extensive documentation, audio and visual, of his equally extensive romantic history.
God, there was Willie in the palace, rolls of film and even some tapes of voice recordings. Marion, caught kissing him in pictures. Elsa, the back-stabbing witch, in that wispy number at the hotel. And even two or three black-and-white images of – he squinted hard to be sure – Audrey! Looking so happy in his arms on graduation day.
With a hellish fury, Indiana tore the pictures to shreds, not noticing some of the scraps that fell around his feet and a few into the top of his boot.
The man, however, laughed. "Oh, Doctor Jones, as if there were not copies and more!"
"How?" he snarled.
"We've been planning this for ages. Just waiting until you went sniffing for the Pharaoh's Heart. Now, you will find me this gem, or copies of this will be mailed to everyone you know, including each and every one of the lovely ladies you've tangled with in the past. And each new one you meet in the future."
Indiana choked a bit. "This is…"
"Yes, Doctor Jones. A cruel twist of fate. Now, do you agree to the terms?"
The archeologist gave him the evil eye. The man smiled and slid a glass of wine across the tabletop, along with a slip of paper. "On the paper is a P.O. box in Cairo. You are to deliver the gem there within a few weeks." He lifted his own glass. "Cheers."
Indiana picked up the flute, looked at it and sighed. "It's drugged, isn't it?"
"But of course, Doctor Jones. Don't worry; you'll wake up quite safe from harm. We'll be sure of that."
They both drained their glasses in moments.