Indiana Jones & the Peril at Delphi

He squeezed the rope tighter and sucked in a deep breath. It hurt his ribs, and he expelled some of it. He wondered how much longer it would take to reach the surface. A minute passed. Slowly, he released the rest of the air. Tainted air. No use holding his breath if he was already breathing the vapors.

He sniffed at the air. It didn't seem to have any effect, except he was feeling drowsy. He was exhausted from the fall and his injuries. He pressed his forehead against the rope and closed his eyes. Within seconds, he felt himself drifting, half asleep, half awake.

His head jerked up, and he grabbed the rope. He must have dozed. Then he saw the vapors rising around him. How long had he been breathing them? He forced himself to concentrate on the rope and keep his balance.

Just hold on. Stay awake. Try not to breathe. God, he ached.

Another minute passed, an elastic minute that felt like hours, but finally he popped through the lip of the hole, and drank in the cool air. The mound was covered in mist, and he couldn't see anyone. He climbed to his feet, wincing in pain, and felt himself being pulled down the mound.

"Indy, down here."

He stumbled forward, picking up momentum. He raised his arms to block his fall. Then suddenly hands were grabbing him. The rope was pulled over his chest, shoul der, arms. He crumpled to his knees, fell onto his stom ach. Someone rolled him over.

"We've got to get him to the doctor." Dorian's voice. "Carry him to the wagon. Fast."

He saw movement around him, shapes, blurs. He felt himself being lifted again. He closed his eyes.

"What happened down there, Indy?" Dorian asked. "How did you survive?"

"I found a stone, a black stone," he mumbled.

"What kind of stone?" It was Doumas's voice.

"Shaped like a cone, thatching on it."

"Can you find it again?" Doumas asked.

But Indy never answered. His eyes closed and he was out.

15

MANEUVERS

Dorian looked up from a stack of stone tablets on the workshop table as she heard a tapping sound. It was so faint that she thought it might be the wind. Then she heard it again, louder this time. "Come in."

The door creaked slowly open; she saw a shadow in the doorway, then recognized Panos. "Well, I've been waiting for you."

Panos hesitated, looked down at his hands. "Not as long as I've waited." The words were forced, a confession. Then he stepped inside and peered at the rows of stone tablets. "Soon, a new, modern house of records will be built." His voice was stronger, and the words were spoken like a challenge. He watched her closely.

"I know," she answered.

"Do you?" Again, he shifted his eyes as she met his gaze, and she realized that he was feeling self-conscious, maybe overwhelmed.

"It will be needed," she added.

"Tell me who you are," he demanded, but his eyes still shifting about uneasily.

She smiled and answered without hesitating. "Pythia, of course."

He nodded, glancing up at her. "The veil is receding. I knew it would."

She picked up one of the stone tablets and ran her fingers over it. "I understand now that the oracle never left us. The last Pythia merely put it to bed, and now it is reawakening."

"Well said."

"It's very strange, but I understand now that my life's work has been only a prelude to the Return. A week ago I would have laughed at such an idea. Now, I know it for a fact."

Panos paced in front of the long table covered with stone tablets. He picked one of them up, examined it briefly, then laid it back down. There was something defiant in the act, as if he were making claim to the workshop and everything it represented and daring her to challenge him. "My son, Grigoris, told me that Jones found something in the crevice. What was it?"

"I'm not sure. He said something about a black stone."

Panos spun on his heels and faced her. "The stone is important, and Doumas must not ever touch it." He spoke sharply; his eyes flared. "It is ours, and we must have it."

Dorian was baffled. She was surprised by his outburst. She didn't know what he was talking about.

"Don't you understand? He has found the Omphalos. We must claim it."

The Omphalos was a mysterious aspect of the Oracle of Delphi that Dorian had never clearly grasped. In legend, it was sometimes described as a stone that was as large as a room, other times as one that was small and portable, cone-shaped, like Jones had described. Sometimes, even Delphi itself was called the Omphalos, the navel of the world. She'd always viewed it as more symbolic than real, more of a definition of Delphi than a relic that could be recovered.

"How do you know it's the Omphalos?"

"The Oracle could not return without the Omphalos," he answered.

"Why is that, Panos?"

He frowned at her. "You still have much to remember. Pythia should know the great secret of Delphi."

She smiled at him. "I am Pythia, but I am also Dorian Belecamus, and I do not know everything that Pythia knows. Tell me about the Omphalos."

Panos paused a moment; she had the distinct impression that he wasn't sure he should say anything.

Then he made up his mind, and spoke. "The secret is simple. The vapors only enhance what the Omphalos creates. The Omphalos is the power of Delphi."

"Yes. Simple." She made it sound like an interesting fact. Nothing more. But in all her years of study and her work at Delphi, she had never heard such a thing. The Omphalos had always been nebulous, symbolic, never the power itself.

"Does that mean the authority of Pythia can be taken beyond Delphi if we have the Omphalos?"

"The navel of the world is wherever the Omphalos is." Dorian crossed her arms, and leaned against the table. "Panos, I have so much to remember. Tell me more about the Omphalos. Where did it come from?"

He pointed his index finger skyward. "It was a gift from Apollo himself."

She raised her eyes as if the gods inhabited the rafters. "You mean the Omphalos fell from the sky and landed here at Delphi?"

He stared at the stone tablets on the table for well over a minute before answering. "That is another secret."

She waited expectantly for him to continue. "I would like to answer yes, but the truth is that it fell elsewhere, and a messenger of Apollo brought it here, to the sacred place where the gases were rising from the ground."

Probably a meteorite, Dorian thought. It made sense

that such a stone would be worshiped, and the fact that it had not fallen right where the vapors were rising made it even more believable. She smiled confidently. "We will get the Omphalos. But now the king is coming."

"Yes. And you must speak to him. He needs to under stand who you are. He must accept it." She nodded solemnly.

"I know you will sway him." His words were gentle, soothing, but he was still uncomfortable in her presence, and stared at the table as he spoke. "Yes, and I already sense what Pythia will say." He slowly shifted his gaze. His eyes gave him away. He was hoping she would give him a hint.

"I'll tell you what I already know," she began. "Soon the world will recognize that the Oracle of Delphi is alive. All the world will look to the Oracle for hope, and the power of Greece will be magnified a hundredfold."

Panos smiled broadly. "And Pythia will tell this to the king." Her eyes blinked rapidly. "Yes, and more." She took the stonemason by the arm and led him to the door, all the while whispering, telling him far more than he had expected to hear.

Panos sipped his retsina, and listened to Doumas. It was early afternoon and only a couple of other tables in the taverna were occupied. They were seated in the same booth where they had been when Jones swaggered over to them the other night, and now the foreigner was on his mind again. The man was a problem, potentially a serious one.

Doumas, unfortunately, didn't see it that way. A fat intellectual, all paunch and jowls, he was more committed to ideas than action. "I don't know what Grigoris was thinking, but you've got to control him. He almost killed Jones. What's worse is that Belecamus suspects it was no accident."

Doumas's double chin was shaking as he spoke; he reminded Panos of an overweight turkey. He wanted to tell him that he was spineless, that he'd failed to deal with Jones, but instead he acted surprised. "How do you know that?"

"Because she found me arguing with Grigoris in the stable. He actually pulled a knife on me so I wouldn't take her another rope."

Panos poured himself another glass of retsina from the bottle on the table. "Did she see the knife or hear anything that was said?"

"I don't think so. She was in a hurry. But she knew we were arguing."

Panos cast a look of annoyance at the occupants of one of the other tables. They were foreigners, three men and a woman. They were talking loudly, and spoke English. The woman, in particular, had an abrasive voice. He wished they would leave. They shouldn't be here, not in the taverna, not in Delphi. Not now.

"There is something I don't understand. If the rope broke, why is Jones still alive?"

Doumas looked exasperated. "He got lucky."

Panos thought a moment. He knew he should tell Doumas that he would control Grigoris, but the truth was he was out of control. "I will talk to my son. He should not have threatened you. He will apologize. I promise."

Doumas didn't look satisfied. Too bad. "Now, tell me something. What is the connection between Jones and Belecamus?"

Doumas smiled, a sly smile that said he should know what it was. "She likes younger foreign men. What else can I say?"

So that was it. Now Panos was more certain than ever that Jones must be quickly eliminated. He could only be trouble; he could slow the transformation. It was time to put Doumas to the test. "One way or another Jones must be taken care of. Immediately. We can't chance him interfering with our work."

"He won't interfere. He's confined to a bed in his hotel room. I'm sure he won't be going anywhere until after the king has come and gone. Besides, you are sure to anger Belecamus if anything happens to him."

"How can we be certain he stays in bed? I don't trust him. He doesn't understand what Delphi is about."

"You worry too much, Panos. You know what the tablet in the crevice said. Nothing can stop the Return now. Not Jones, not anyone. It will happen as sure as the king is rich."

Panos glowered at him. "The tablet was confirmation of the blueprint. But we must still do what is necessary to fulfill it."

Doumas emptied his glass, then set it on the table. "You have to understand my position. I am a scientist, an archaeologist. I have a reputation."

Panos laughed. "What is your reputation, Stephanos? Caretaker of old stones. Stop wavering. Your rubble will still be there no matter what you do."

"What do you want of me, Panos? I got Belecamus here. I went down that hole and interpreted the tablet.

I could have been killed. What more do you want?"

"You wanted to know about the Order of Pythia. You wanted to know everything. Now you must fulfill your responsibilities."

"I'm not a killer. That's Grigoris's work."

Panos bolted out of his chair, and grabbed Doumas by the collar. "Don't talk that way about my son," he growled between clenched teeth. "Do you understand? I don't want to hear that."

As he lowered himself back into the chair he saw the group of foreigners looking their way. He ignored them.

Doumas glared back at him. "Don't ask me to kill Jones, or anyone. I won't do it. But I will tell you something that you don't know. Something valuable."

Panos stared sullenly at him. "What is it?"

Doumas leaned over the table. "I know precisely when the vapors will rise. There's a pattern, and unless things change I can predict the time of the risings tomorrow, next month, and for years."

Panos considered what he'd said. He was surprised that Doumas would know such a thing and made an effort to control his astonishment. "Go ahead. Tell me."

As Doumas spoke, Panos gazed over the archaeologist's shoulder at two uniformed men who had entered the taverna. They looked around, and took a table. The taller of the two looked familiar.

Panos concentrated on what Doumas was saying. "That's good to know. Six minutes is the key."

His gaze shifted to the other table again. Now he remembered where he'd seen the man. Belecamus had met him the morning he'd followed her from her house to the Roman Agora. From the way they'd acted he was sure they were close to each other. He remembered thinking that the officer was potential trouble, and now he knew he was right.

"We have another problem." He tilted his head toward the table.

Doumas followed his glance. "Military men. Probably related to the king's trip."

Panos could tell by Doumas's expression that he knew something more. "Who is he, Stephanos? I've seen the one with her."

Doumas looked back again, as if he hadn't recognized the man. He leaned over the table again. "Colonel Alexan der Mandraki. Belecamus has been seeing him off and on for years. Lovers."

Panos frowned. "What could she see in him? He's ugly."

Doumas grinned. "Power, of course. You should know that."

A tight smile curled on Panos's lips as he sat back in his chair. A plan was taking form. "We must turn him against Jones so that he does our work for us."

Doumas glanced warily over this shoulder, making cer-

tain that Mandraki wasn't listening to them. "That's a possibility."

"Then, Belecamus will be angry with him, which will also be to our advantage."

"But her allegiance is with Mandraki," Doumas said. "She won't turn against him."

"Maybe not for long. But the shock of finding out who has killed her young lover-student will surely alienate her, at least temporarily, and all we need is a few hours."

Doumas threaded his fingers, and cracked his knuckles. "Two birds, one stone. You're clever, Panos. You should have been a politician."

Panos looked over at the foreigners, who were getting up from their table. When the transformation was com plete he would be a politician of sorts, a power broker for the world's leaders who would come to him seeking access to Pythia, Oracle of Delphi.

"Let's not waste any more time, Stephanos."

"All right, I'll go tell him about Jones."

"No, I'll do it myself. You intellectuals have a hard time dealing with emotional matters. I want to make sure it gets done right. I want him angry so he acts."

Panos pushed his chair away from the table, and moved away without another word.

Doumas watched as Panos leaned over Mandraki's table and said something to him. This should be interest ing, he thought, and refilled his glass. The colonel nod ded, and turned to the other man at the table.

The soldier abruptly stood, and walked over to the bar. Mandraki motioned Panos to sit down, and listened as the little man rested an elbow on the table and raised a hand to his mouth in a gesture of confidentiality.

Doumas looked away as two of the foreigners from the other table left the taverna. He knew exactly what Panos thought about him. To rugged, earthy people like the

stonemason, excessive weight was a sign of weakness. Panos saw him as a bumbling, overeducated guardian of the ruins. But that was fine. Just what he wanted.

He knew that Panos envisioned himself as the new high priest of the oracle, but he was a fool to think that Dorian Belecamus would let him manipulate her. Belecamus had her own agenda. Even if the vapors affected her as Panos said, she would not always be under their influence.

Panos didn't know Belecamus; he only knew of her. He didn't know the stories about her, which anyone in the archaeology faculties could tell him. Even the Crazy One, who supposedly knew so much, didn't know anything of her private life. Doumas knew Belecamus; he knew the stories, and knew they were true.

Mandraki's face darkened and clouded over. The corners of his lips turned down. He rubbed his chin and nodded, then with a flick of his hand dismissed Panos as if he were chasing away a fly. Panos literally leaped to his feet, and knocked over his chair.

The colonel sneered and pointed to the door; Doumas clearly heard Mandraki's angry voice. "Get out of my sight, malaka."

Panos quickly retreated. The colonel's companion moved back to the table and picked up the fallen chair.

Mandraki waved a hand, as if to say it was nothing, then motioned for the soldier to sit down. "Malaka,"

Mandraki repeated loudly.

Doumas laughed to himself. It felt good to see the leader of the Order of Pythia, who thought so much of himself and so little of him, called an asshole and dismissed like a servant who performed his duties poorly.

If Belecamus was a normal woman, she would act as Panos expected. She would shun her Colonel Alex if he killed Jones. But to Belecamus, Jones was already a dead man. He was sure of it.

Now everything was in his hands, Doumas thought. The colonel would never let Panos near Belecamus long enough for him to lead her to the crevice and if Panos failed, the blueprint would no longer be viable. The opportunity would be missed. Panos, his lifework destroyed, would go back to Athens and his masonry work, and Dorian Belecamus, the failed Pythia, would return to Paris and her teaching.

But that wouldn't be the end of it. After all, the message he'd uncovered on the tablet before Belecamus arrived had convinced him that Panos was on the right track. However, the inscription clearly had left open the matter of who would assume the duties of the new Pythia. Even the Crazy One's old prophecy, which had mentioned the return of a Dorian, did not specify that she was the oracle.

In spite of what had happened at the crevice, he was certain she was not Pythia. She was ruthless and cunning, and those were definitely not traits of a good Pythia. Maybe the high priest was cunning, but Pythia was an innocent, an immaculate peasant woman transformed to a divination tool.

When everyone left and he was alone and in charge of Delphi, he would quietly recover the black stone—the Omphalos. Then he would test the young village girls, and maybe among them he would find the true Pythia. More and more, he was feeling that it was his destiny, not Panos's, to nurture the new Pythia.

He would be the interpreter, the priest, and the one who would present her to the world.

The power would be his.

16

Royal Reception

His eyes blinked open, but Indy didn't move, barely breathed. He felt something in the air that shouldn't have been there, a presence. Someone was in here with him. His limbs tensed instinctively. Slowly, he turned his head, scanning the room.

Then he saw a figure standing in front of the window, silhouetted by the afternoon sunshine. "Ah, Christ, Nikos," he said as he recognized the aquiline nose and classical Greek features. "What are you doing now?"

The kid was getting to be a pest. He'd been looking in on him every few hours for the past two days, and Indy had just talked to him before he'd fallen asleep.

"Sorry. I was just leaving, and didn't want to wake you up. I got the knapsack. I put it under the bed."

"That was fast."

"You slept almost four hours."

"I did?" Indy grimaced as he sat up, and touched his side. The last time they'd talked he'd asked Nikos if he would discreetly pick up his knapsack from the workshop. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. "Did anyone see you?"

Nikos shook his head. "No one was there. I got in through a window."

Indy's gaze strayed to the bedstand. He squinted, trying

to make sense of what he saw. A ceramic bowl rested on the bedstand, and inside it were three heads of garlic twisted together. "What's this?"

Nikos's dark eyes moved from the bowl to Indy. "Moly. It will help you."

Indy looked at it again. "Moly. God, I haven't heard anyone call garlic by that name since I was a kid."

Nikos took a couple steps closer to him. "I didn't know there was moly in America. What did you use it for when you were a kid?"

"It's a long story."

"Tell me," he said, sitting at the foot of the bed.

Indy clasped his hands behind his head, and recalled the incident, one of those he would never forget.

"Get me the moly," his father had said one day, and when Indy admitted he didn't know what he was talking about he was forced to eat a clove of garlic a day until he knew why it was called moly. The question mystified Indy for nearly two weeks, long enough for him to lose a couple of friends who thought he smelled. As a result, he spent more time reading Homer, another task required by his father.

Finally, while struggling through a scene in The Odyssey, he discovered moly. It was a species of garlic which supposedly possessed magical power. Hermes gave it to Odysseus for protection against the enchantments of Circe. After that his father never required him to either eat garlic, or call it moly.

"You think I need protection, Nikos?"

"Yes, I do."

"Why?"

"There are strange things going on."

"Like what?" he asked. He'd bet it had something to do with the Order of Pythia, and expected Nikos to tell him that Panos and Doumas had conspired to kill him. But he was wrong.

"After I got back from the workshop, two Americans came to the hotel. They were very friendly. They told me they knew you, and wanted to see you."

"What?"

"Yes, but before I could bring them up here, three soldiers came and took them away."

"Took them where?"

Nikos shook his head.

Indy was baffled. "Did you get their names?"

"They didn't say, but there is something else I must also tell you."

"Oh, what else?" Now he'd hear about the Order. Again, he was wrong.

"It's Dr. Belecamus. I didn't think it mattered, but now I am not so sure."

Three sharp raps at the door cut Nikos off. He jumped off the bed as if he'd just been shocked by a jolt of electricity.

"Go ahead, open it," Indy told him.

It was Dorian. She was dressed in a white gown, and looked as if she were on her way to a ball. Her black hair shone in the late afternoon light filtering through the window, and her beauty was startling. She glanced from Nikos to Indy. "An I interrupting anything?"

"No. Come on in."

"I have to go now," Nikos said. He gave Indy a furtive look, and disappeared out of the door.

Dorian moved over to the bed. "How are you feeling today?"

Indy shrugged. "Better. Nice to see you." His voice was tinged with sarcasm. It was only her second visit since his accident, and the first time she'd stayed just a couple of minutes. She'd apologized for the accident, but when he'd asked how it had happened, she'd said she had no idea. He didn't believe her. He was sure she'd been hiding something, probably her suspicions about Doumas.

"I've been busy, but I've been thinking about you. I hear Nikos has been keeping you company." Her smile indicated she thought the boy's interest in Indy was humorous. "That's nice, but what do you two talk about?"

"Lots of things. Just now, for instance, he was telling me about two Americans. He said they came to the hotel and were asking for me."

"Did you see them? " she asked brightly.

"No, Nikos said that soldiers came and took them away."

"That was their escort," she said. "I met them at the taverna earlier, and invited them to the royal reception this evening. A charming couple. I came up to ask if you'd come, too."

"But who are they? I don't know anyone in Greece."

Dorian gave him a wicked smile. "I found out a little bit about your past. It was your old girlfriend you left in Paris."

"Madelaine?" Indy was baffled.

"That's the one. She was with a British man named Brent. Friendly chap. They were in Athens when they heard that the king was going to be here, and they came straight away."

"I can't believe it. Why did you invite them to the reception?"

"Well, actually they were hinting around for an invita tion. They were delighted when I made the offer."

"I can imagine. They're very good guests. They've got lots of experience at parties."

Dorian sat on the bed and patted his thigh. "You sound a bit jealous."

He laughed nervously. "No, not jealous. Just amazed."

"Please come with me? I'm sure they would like to see you."

"Think I'd like to see them myself."

"Good. Then you must be feeling better."

"Guess so. I know I don't like laying in bed day and night."

"Now you'll get a chance to meet the king. I understand he's heard what happened to you, and I'm sure he'll want to see you. You can tell him all about your adventure into the heart of Delphi."

"I was hoping you'd be interested yourself. You haven't even asked about the tablet."

She looked baffled. "Why should I ask about the tablet? It was lost, wasn't it?"

"Someone was down there before me and cleaned it off."

"What?" Her expression turned incredulous. "Are you sure?"

"I even had time to translate it."

"You did? What did it say?"

"I'll read it to you." Indy swung his legs over the side of the bed, and straightened his nightshirt. He reached under the bed, and gritted his teeth as he felt a stab of pain in his side. Then his hand touched the knapsack, and he pulled it out.

"How did you get that?" Dorian asked, suspiciously.

"Oh, I sent for it," he said evasively.

He reached into the side pocket, and found the note book. He could barely make out his handwriting.

Consid ering he'd scribbled it while suspended in near darkness, it wasn't surprising. Slowly, he read his translation. The legend began with a question, and was followed by a response.

"'We must know. Will Pythia always be?

This question is asked by each generation and the answer is always the same. Wide is the power of Apollo's Oracle but only as long as belief exists.

Indeed, the day will come when the last Pythia departs sacred Delphi. Only then will fade the great power of Apollo and crumble to dust the works of his followers.'"

He looked up from the notebook at Dorian who remained quiet, pensive. "There's more." He turned the page to where he had written the second question and response.

" 'O Pythia! We pray thee reverence these boughs of supplication which we bear in our hands, and deliver to us something more comforting concerning the fu ture of the oracle. Else we will not leave thy sanctu ary, but will stay here till we die.

True it is what has been said. Only when the Oracle is a distant memory, will there be hope. Now lift thy hearts and journey happily home for upon the restoration the oracle will return and its great secret will be revealed.'"

Dorian put a hand to her throat. "Interesting, very interesting," she murmured. She stood up and ran her hands down her gown, pressing out the wrinkles. She smiled weakly. "Too bad we weren't able to recover it. Well, you'd better get ready. It's getting late. I'll have a carriage in front of the hotel in twenty minutes."

"Twenty minutes? Gee, thanks for the advance notice." But she didn't respond; she was already out the door.

He winced as he shrugged on his shirt, then carefully slipped into his pants. He didn't have many clothes with him so his khaki pants, white cotton shirt and a tie would have to do for the reception. When he was dressed, he pulled on his leather coat and hat. He looked around the room, and saw the moly. He picked it up off the table and turned it over in his hand. He didn't consider himself superstitious. Moly was garlic, and garlic was just that— garlic. But then again, it couldn't hurt having it with him, he thought, and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

The lobby of the Delphi Hotel was anything but grandi ose. It was a shabby parlor with a worn rug, a couch that had seen better days, and a couple of straight-backed chairs. On one side was the check-in desk, and to the rear of it beneath the staircase was a cot where Nikos was lying on his side. When he saw Indy, he bolted to his feet.

"What are you doing out of bed?"

"I'm going to the king's reception."

"But—"

The door to the street opened, and Dorian peered in. "There you are. Come on. The carriage is waiting."

"Okay." He glanced at Nikos and shrugged. "Talk to you later."

As they headed out of the village and up the mountain to the clip-clop of hoofs, Indy tried to get comfortable. But he was jostled from side to side, and his ribs ached. He wished he'd stayed in bed, and almost told Dorian he wanted to turn back. "When are they going to get automo biles around here, anyhow?"

"You're not in Chicago, Indy. Besides, a buggy ride is as smooth as a Model T on this road."

"You're probably right," he said. "By the way, why are you going to this reception? I'm surprised you were invited, or even wanted to attend."

"Come now, Indy. We are not barbarians." She laid a hand on his arm, but only for a moment. "It is the 1920s, after all. We have protocol like any civilized people. The king will show respect toward me, and I will do likewise toward him. My political opinions won't be discussed."

He was tempted to rest a hand on her thigh, and test her reaction, but he thought better of it. Sure, he wanted things to be as they were before they arrived in Delphi, but then again, if she did change her attitude, he wasn't in any condition to do anything about it. At least, not this evening.

"Tomorrow morning, Indy, I'd like you to join the king's entourage when he visits the ruins." "Why?"

"Why not? I was thinking it would be a good time for you to tell him about the tablet. He'll be very busy this evening."

A few minutes later, the king's retreat came into view high above the road. The massive structure was made of stone and seemed almost to grow from the mountain itself. Both mansion and mountain were painted shades of red and orange by the last rays of sunlight. As they turned off the main road, he noticed groups of tiny figures on the veranda, then the mansion vanished from sight.

They stopped at a security post, and a guard consulted a list when Dorian gave their names. Then they were waved through. The carriage brought them to the front door. As they climbed the steps, another guard manning the en trance looked them over. He frowned at Indy's outfit, then reluctantly waved them through. Dorian ignored him, but Indy appraised him with the same stern demeanor. "Straighten your tie, fellow."

Then they were inside. The room was crowded with guests and waiters in white coats carrying drinks and hor d'oeuvres. There were at least a half dozen fireplaces in the room, fires blazing in each of them.

"You ever been here before?" Indy asked.

"Just once. It's a lovely place."

"Big, I bet."

"Thirty-four rooms, including fifteen bedrooms. Just average for a king, I'd say."

"Lots of places to lie down at least. Maybe we could borrow one. It's the 1920s, after all."

She tipped her head towards him, and spoke tersely. "Don't be silly, or flirtatious, and whatever you do, don't say anything foolish to the king."

"I think I can handle myself."

Indy spotted Doumas moving through the crowd to ward them—just the person he didn't care to see. The roly-poly archaeologist either was incompetent or had intentionally allowed him to be lowered on a frayed rope. "Look who's coming," he said to Dorian. "I don't feel so well."

"Jones, on your feet already? Remarkable recovery. I'm amazed at your resilience."

Suddenly, they were good friends. Wonderful. "So am I."

"Now what's this you were saying about a black stone?" He busily munched on a plateful of hors d'oeuvres as he spoke.

Indy frowned. "I don't remember saying anything about it."

"Well, whether you remember or not, you did," Dou mas said. "When we pulled you out of the hole you mumbled that you had found a cone-shaped stone and you wanted to go back and get it."

"Did I say that?"

"You were out of your head," Doumas said. "But what exactly was it you saw?"

Indy glanced at Dorian. She watched him intently. "Just what I said. It had something covering it like rope that had been petrified. And I would like to go back for it."

"Why?" Dorian asked.

Indy didn't know, but he'd been thinking a lot about the stone. In fact, he couldn't get it out of his head.

"I just think it's worth going after, especially since we lost the tablet."

"You're not really in any condition to do it," Doumas said. "Don't you agree, Dr. Belecamus?"

Dorian spoke sharply. "I'm not sure that you are, either, and I don't want anyone going into the crevice without asking me. Is that understood, Stephanos?"

"Of course, but—"

Dorian walked away without another word, and dis appeared into the crowd.

"She's angry with me," Doumas said. "Because of the rope." He picked a slice of sweetbread off his plate and bit away half of it.

A beat passed as Indy considered the man's audacity. "I'm the one who should be angry. What the hell happened, anyhow?"

"The rope was rotten. Then in the confusion, we lost the other one. Sorry. I was going to apologize earlier, but I didn't want to disturb you."

Indy was about to accuse him of going into the hole himself and cleaning the tablet when Doumas leaned close and spoke in his ear. "If I were you, Jones, I'd be careful around Dr. Belecamus tonight. Her boyfriend is here, you know. That's him over there, the man in the colonel's uniform. He's jealous, I understand."

Indy almost gagged from the putrid odor emanating from Doumas. He stepped back. The man Doumas nod ded toward had a ruddy face and a prominent hooked nose. He looked to be in his early fifties, maybe twenty years older than Dorian.

"Thanks. I'll remember that," Indy said. One day Dou mas was trying to kill him, the next he was warning him of danger. It didn't make sense.

And what about the way Dorian had reacted in his room to his comments about the tablet? She'd seemed shaken, not by the fact that someone had cleaned the tablet, but by what it said. Particularly, the last lines which were

about the Oracle returning, and some great secret being revealed.

The number of coincidences connected with the old man's predictions were growing, he thought. The earth quake had happened. A Dorian had shown up. The king had arrived. Now the tablet seemed to confirm what the old man had said. Hell, no wonder she'd blanched. She was probably starting to wonder if she actually was Pythia. But coincidences happened all the time. They were only mysterious if you were looking for mystery.

"Indy, there you are."

He turned at the sound of the squeaky voice. "Madelaine." She looked as if nothing had changed and she was just at another bal musette. "I heard you'd be here, but I hardly believed it."

"Isn't this just splendid. I just love Greece, don't you?"

"It grows on you."

"Your friend, Dorian, said you had an accident. But you look fine to me."

Indy was about to tell her what had happened when she said something that stopped him cold. "Isn't your buddy, Jack Shannon, going to be here?"

"What are you talking about? Shannon's in Paris."

"No, he's here. I saw him earlier today in the little taverna. He was with someone else who said he knew you, too."

"You saw him here?"

"That's what I just said."

"Who was the other man?"

"I don't remember. Jack introduced him, but there was so much going on. Tom, Terry, maybe Larry. He was older."

"How much older?"

"He was maybe thirty-five, forty. You know, old. He had a beard. He was a Canadian, I think. I don't know."

Who did he know who had a beard and would travel to

Greece with Shannon? He couldn't think of anyone, no one who was older, no one he knew.

"Are you sure about this? Did you talk to Shannon?"

"Of course. We had a glass of ouzo together. He said they were looking for you. He seemed worried."

She glanced around. "Now where did Brent go with my drink?"

"How did Jack know I was hurt?"

"Don't think he did. They'd just gotten here, about an hour before us."

"You met Dorian. Did she talk to them?"

"I don't know." She was getting annoyed by the ques tions. She craned her neck, and stood on her toes, looking about the room.

But Indy persisted. "Did you and Brent come to the hotel to see me after you heard I was hurt?"

She smiled awkwardly. "Well, we really didn't get a chance yet." She squeezed his arm. "But now you're here, and everything is okay."

"Yeah. First rate."

Just then the king was announced and a tall graying man entered the room. He shook hands with one person after another as he moved through the crowd, walking with a slight limp. Madelaine slipped away, either for a closer glimpse of the king or in search of Brent and her drink.

Indy spotted Dorian standing with the colonel. He was sure that they'd both been looking his way. He wanted more than anything to ask her about Shannon and the other man, but he hesitated, remembering that Nikos had said it was soldiers who had taken the pair away. What reason would Dorian give this time, and where the hell had they taken them?

He couldn't hold himself back any longer. He wanted answers. He headed across the room, but suddenly he found himself face to face with the king, who extended his hand. Indy quickly introduced himself as they shook hands.

"Oh, yes. You must be the one I heard about who fell into the hole."

Indy nodded, uncomfortable at the royal attention. "It won't happen again."

The king laughed, and clasped him on the shoulder. "Let's hope not. Tomorrow morning I'm going to visit the ruins. Will you be there?"

Indy had other things on his mind right now, but what could he say? "Yes. Of course."

"Good. Then maybe you can tell me all about what happened. See you then."

Indy stepped back as the king turned and began talking with someone else. He didn't see Dorian or the colonel now. He wandered about the room, and out onto the veranda. She was nowhere in sight.

"You look lost, Indy," Doumas said from behind him.

"Have you seen Dr. Belecamus?"

"She's gone. She left with Colonel Mandraki a few minutes ago."

17

Around the Fire

Indy quietly slipped out of the mansion, and walked to the rear where the drivers waited near their carriages. He asked after Doumas's carriage, and was directed to the driver. "Mr. Doumas said you should take me back to the hotel."

The driver looked dubiously at him. "Are you sure? He told me to wait for him."

"He's staying the night." Indy leaned forward. "Too much ouzo."

"Already?"

"Already," Indy said gravely.

The man nodded, and climbed into his seat as Indy slid into the carriage. None of what he'd said was true, but he didn't feel guilty about stranding Doumas.

When he arrived at the hotel, Nikos was lying on his cot intently reading a book. "Have you seen Dorian?"

"No. She hasn't returned," the boy said, rising to his feet. He ran a hand over his short-cropped hair.

"You are back early."

"Maybe not early enough. Who is this Colonel Mandraki?"

"That's what I was going to tell you about when she came into the room. He is Alex, her boyfriend."

No wonder she'd turned cool towards him since they'd arrived in Delphi.

"He is a very dangerous man, and I think Dr. Belecamus is the same when he is around. That is why I brought you the moly. For your protection."

"Thanks. Now tell me more about the Americans who came to see me."

"One was tall and thin with red hair and a little beard on his chin." Nikos rubbed his chin, indicating the sparse beard. "The other one was shorter and had a big beard. And look. I have something for you." He reached under the counter, and held out a coiled whip. "Your tall friend wanted me to give this to you before you saw him. He said you would know about it. Then he was going to walk into your room. But the soldiers came."

Indy took the whip and ran his hands over it. That confirmed it. Shannon was here, but he still didn't know the identity of the other man.

"Indy, I have another question about America."

He wasn't in the mood for small talk. "It's not a very good time, but go ahead."

"Is it true that Americans put applesauce on their bread?"

Indy stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

He held up the book he'd been reading. "In here the girl eats bread like that." It was a ragged-looking copy of Seventeen,

"Where did you get that book?"

"One of the Americans gave it to me. The shorter one with the beard,"

Indy remembered that day in Le Dome in Paris when Ted Conrad had talked about meeting Booth Tarkington and showed him his used copy. He took the book, and opened the cover. It was signed by Tarkington and in scribed, "To Ted—best of luck in your writing."

But what in the world was Conrad, his old history professor, doing here, and why with Shannon? They didn't

know each other. And why did Mandraki want to keep them away from him?

"Look, I found this in the book," Nikos said. "Do you know him?"

He handed Indy a picture of a handsome, smiling man who looked about Indy's age. He was standing beside what looked like a Greek statue and behind him were the stone steps of an amphitheatre.

"Never seen him in my life," Indy said. He tapped the edge of the photograph against the counter and frowned. "You said my friends were taken by soldiers. Were they asked nicely to go with them, like an escort?"

He shook his head. "Nothing nice about it. They were taken like criminals, and Colonel Mandraki was the one who was in charge."

"Where would they take them?"

"I don't know, but they left in the direction of the ruins."

"That's a start. I'm going to look for them. Can I keep this?" He held up the photograph.

"If you let me go with you."

Indy hesitated. "I don't want you to get in trouble, Nikos."

"I can help you find them. I know good hideouts near the ruins. We can look there."

Indy slipped the photograph inside his jacket pocket, and hooked the whip on his belt. "Okay, but just remem ber that we're not playing hide-and-seek with these sol diers. This is serious business."

"I know. Do you have the moly?"

Indy forced a smile. "Yeah."

A few minutes later, they mounted horses. Indy touched a hand to his sore ribs, then nudged the sides of his horse and they rode off at a gallop. As they neared the ruins, Indy gestured toward the workshop and they turned off the road. The place appeared quiet and deserted, but he wanted to check anyhow. They dismounted near the sta bles, and walked cautiously towards the workshop.

He tried the door, and was surprised to find it unlocked. Slowly, he pushed it open. A kerosene lamp was burning on the long table.

He moved along the rows of shelves stacked with stone tablets, looking down each aisle. There was no sign of Dorian or anyone else. He was heading back toward the door when he noticed something white and filamentous protruding from one of the lockers. He dropped to one knee, and felt the material. He was almost sure he knew what it was. He opened the door. He was right. It was Dorian's dress, the one she'd worn this evening to the reception. She'd been here, and changed. The fact that she hadn't gone back to the hotel meant she and Mandraki were in a hurry.

He was about to close the door when he noticed a sheet of paper taped to the back wall of the locker. On it were three columns of numbers. The first two sets of numbers read across the page as: 1

4:23 P.M.

(3:05)

1

7:28 P.M.

(3:11)

It didn't take long to figure out what it was. The number on the left represented days, and day one, he was certain, was the day they arrived and had started monitoring the vapors. In the center column were the times of the risings and the numbers on the right represented the length of time between risings.

He ran his finger down the page and realized that it was not only a record of previous risings, but a schedule of future ones for the next several days. One set of numbers was underlined. It read: 9

11:41 A.M.

(6:53)

Indy counted the days since they had arrived. Today was the eighth. Tomorrow morning the king would visit the ruins and the vapors would rise at 11:41. That could be useful. He quickly memorized the times of the risings for the next couple of days.

"There's nobody here," Nikos said.

"I know. They were here and left, and wherever they went, Dorian didn't want to wear her dress."

"Maybe she didn't want to get it dirty."

Indy nodded. "Could be. Know of any dirty hiding places where they might have taken my friends?"

Nikos thought a moment. "There's a cave above the ruins."

"Do you think Dorian knows about it?"

"I know she does."

"How do you know?" Indy persisted.

Nikos suddenly looked uneasy. His dark eyes darted about. He scuffed his shoes on the floorboards.

"You see, one day when I was twelve, I did something bad."

"Go on."

"I followed Dr. Belecamus and a boyfriend up there. I snuck in the cave after them, and watched them do it.""This boyfriend. You mean the colonel?"

Nikos shook his head. "No. Someone else. A helper. Someone like you. A student."

So she made a habit of getting involved with her graduate students, Indy thought. Real nice. He didn't know why, but he felt jealous, betrayed.

"Come on. Let's go take a look."

They followed a trail to the ruins, and ascended to the old stadium which was beyond the theater. From there Nikos led the way to a wooded path. He pointed toward the dark mountainside above them. "It's right about there."

Indy didn't see anything but the silhouette of trees against the moonlit sky. It didn't look promising, but they didn't have much choice. The path was steep and

twisted around boulders. With almost every step, shoots of pain flashed through his sore ribs and thigh.

But he kept going, impelled by the dark cloud of Dorian's betray al. Finally, Nikos stopped and pointed. The moonlight revealed a ledge about three feet wide. "It's just a little farther," he whispered.

The ledge curved around an outcropping of rock. It narrowed; Indy's feet were only inches from the edge.

He was suddenly grateful that the darkness obscured the view below. It didn't seem so dangerous when he couldn't see how far he would fall if he slipped.

"Stop," Nikos whispered. He was pressed up against the wall, his face in shadows.

He was about to ask what was wrong when he heard the clatter of footsteps ahead on the ledge.

Someone was moving along just ahead of them; the rocks hid whoever it was. There was no time to do anything but try to melt into the boulders. He pressed himself against the wall, and recoiled in pain as a jagged stone poked him in the side.

The footsteps grew louder. He saw movement in the dark. Whoever it was stopped, probably sensing their presence. They were trapped.

A weird, pathetic bleating cut through the silence and Nikos laughed. "It's just a goat with three little ones behind her."

"What are they doing here?"

"They live up here. They're wild."

Nikos softly called the goat, but the animal obdurately held its ground. "Is there any other way we can go?" Indy asked.

"No."

Indy looked around, and spotted a thick branch hanging over the trail. He unhitched his whip, and with a smooth snap of his wrist snared the branch. Then he swung out from the ledge and around the goats, landing on the far side of them.

"Move it," he hissed, and the goat and its little ones hurried ahead.

"How did you do that?" Nikos asked, amazed.

"Lucky, I guess. Let's go."

They cautiously worked their way around the rocks until they could see the mouth of the cave. Light flickered from the interior. Someone was there.

Indy patted Nikos on the shoulder. "Good going. You were right."

They edged closer.

A tree grew from somewhere above the ledge and its branches shrouded the cave's entrance. No wonder they hadn't seen the light from the fire when Nikos had first pointed out its location. As they moved within a few feet of the opening, Indy heard the murmur of voices. Behind him, Nikos cleared his throat. Indy turned to him, touched a finger to his mouth. But he tripped over a loose rock, sending it tumbling into the ravine.

"There, did you hear that?" It was Dorian's voice. "Alex, go out and take a look."

Indy held his breath. Oh, God. If that eagle was his protector, he needed its help now.

"I was just out there," Mandraki barked. "I told you it's goats. Stupid little goats."

"Sorry. I guess I'm nervous," Dorian answered.

Indy wiped his brow. He thanked God. He thanked the eagle. He thanked whoever else might be responsible for keeping Mandraki in the cave. He carefully moved for ward until he reached the corner of the opening. He dropped to one knee, and peered into the cave. A fire burned in the center of the cavern, its smoke disappearing through an unseen chimney in the roof. Several figures were seated around the blaze.

Dorian's back was to him, and next to her was Mandraki. Across from them, he could see two soldiers with rifles.

His eyes adjusted to the flickering light, and now he

could see two bodies lying prone beyond the fire. They were on their stomachs, hands tied behind them.

Beyond them were three long, shallow holes and a shovel lying on the ground. Was this an excavation site that he didn't know about? He doubted it. The holes looked more like graves. New ones. Three of them.

"Alex?"

"What?"

"This was a big mistake," Dorian said. "We should have left them alone."

"No. It wasn't a mistake. If I'd allowed them to talk to Jones, he'd be gone, and we need him tomorrow."

"By now he knows something is going on. He won't show up at the ruins. He'll be looking for his friends."

"We can control that situation," Mandraki assured her.

Indy motioned Nikos to move back. Cautiously, they edged away from the cave entrance until they were out of hearing range. "Listen, Nikos, I want you to go back to the hotel. If anyone asks for me, say I came back early and went to bed."

"What are you going to do?"

"Find a safe place to keep watch. Sooner or later, Dorian and Mandraki will leave. That's when I make my move."

While Nikos headed down toward the ruins, Indy worked his way above the ledge until he found a spot with a view that would allow him to see anyone leaving the cave. That is, if he could stay awake. He gathered together leaves for a cushion and sat down, propping his back against a tree. He rubbed his sore thigh, and adjusted the band covering his ribs. He tried to relax, and puzzled again over what Dorian and Mandraki would want with Shannon and Conrad, and why the two men had come here. But the more he thought about it the more baffled he became.

He closed his eyes, started to doze, and jerked awake.

He stood up and paced to stay alert. Just as he settled down again, he heard a noise, not from below but from the rise above him. He turned his head and listened. Must be the goats.

Below him he saw a dancing shadow. He leaned for ward, and watched. Then he realized it was light from the fire in the cave. They'd probably just stoked it with more wood. He readjusted his position, hunkering lower against the trunk as he tried to get comfortable. He hugged himself, rubbing his arms. It was chilly and damp. If the four in the cave were taking turns watching their captives, it was going to be a long night.

His eyelids felt heavy again. He blinked, rubbed his cheeks, and stared ahead. He imagined Dorian and Mandraki huddled by the fire staying warm, then the image slid away and shifted. He and Dorian were in a berth on the train snuggled together. Warm, safe. But then he sensed something ominous. It was near, but he couldn't see it. It was a man, a blond-haired man staring down at him, the same man who had followed Dorian after she'd spoken to him, the man who had disappeared on the train. The man pointed, and his mouth moved. What was he saying? A warning about something, but Indy couldn't hear him clearly.

Indy jerked awake, shaking his head. Just a dream. Stay awake. He rubbed his arms. But a few minutes later he drifted off again. Voices.

Someone was disturbing his sleep. He should know who it was. He should do something, but the voices blended with a dream in which he was back in Chicago. Dorian's voice.

Dorian didn't belong in Chicago. He blinked his eyes open, and took his bearings. I'm on the mountain.

Wait ing. But for what? Then it all came back.

The moon was dipping behind the mountain, but there was still enough light to see the ledge. No one was there.

But a man's voice issued from the cave. Then Dorian's voice. They were arguing.

How long had he slept? He pulled out his watch. He'd been here more than two hours.

"I'm leaving," Dorian said.

"All right. I'm coming with you," the man answered. He spoke in a lower voice to someone else, then Dorian emerged from the cave.

Indy peered down at the ledge as Mandraki followed her. He watched them until they were out of sight.

He waited, listened. The sound of their footsteps receded, then vanished. He stood up again, a hand resting on his coiled whip. Now he was ready.

He worked his way along the ridge above the ledge, looking for the way down. The scent of the air was rich, cold, almost sweet, and made him want to close his eyes again, sleep again. Somewhere along there the under brush opened enough to climb down, he thought. Okay, this was it. He was about to descend when the snap of a twig brought him up short.

He spun around.

At first he didn't see anything. Then he glimpsed a shadow, an arm upraised, a blade stabbing the air, rushing toward him. He blocked the blow with his forearm, grabbed the man by the wrist and elbow and smashed his arm against his knee. The knife flew from his hand into the darkness.

The attacker tried to escape, but Indy snagged his collar, and pulled him back. Then he saw who it was.

"You. You bastard."

Indy landed a solid punch to Grigoris's jaw and sent him reeling. He crashed against a tree trunk, and slumped to the ground. He walked over to him and crouched. Grigoris's hand slithered along the ground toward the knife, serpen tine, silent. Just as he reached it, Indy snapped it up.

He held the blade beneath the man's chin. "I don't like

you very much. You make a sound, I'll remove your tonsils. Got that?"

He checked the man's pockets and found a handker chief. He gagged him with it. "That was good of you.

Didn't have to use my own. Now unlace your boots."

Grigoris stared at him until Indy pressed the point of the knife against his neck. "Do it." When he was done, Indy took the laces from him and knotted them together. Then he bound Grigoris's wrists behind his back and around a tree. It wouldn't hold him long, but it should slow him down. He'd think twice about trying anything again. Or so Indy hoped.

He stood up. "If I see you again tonight, I'm going to throw you off the mountain. Got that?"

Indy made his way down to the ledge, and then to the entrance of the cave. The fire was burning low.

Shannon and Conrad was still lying on the floor where he'd seen them earlier. Nearby sat a guard.

One guard. Where the hell was the other one?

A branch creaked overhead. He looked up, and as he did the other guard dropped to the ledge. He swung the butt of his rifle at Indy's head. Indy ducked, then drove his head into the soldier's gut. The two of them barreled into the mouth of the cave as Indy wrestled for the rifle. Then suddenly he felt cold metal jammed behind his ear. It was the other guard.

"Don't move, malaka, or you're dead."

18

Under Guard

The approach of dawn was already washing away the dark texture of the night sky as they were marched along the ledge. Shannon, all arms and legs and wild red hair and goatee, lurched and bobbed as he followed one of the guards. Indy was behind him, then came Conrad, his wool sport coat rumpled and soiled, his face and beard gritty from the damp earth of the cave. Even though Indy had been lying next to them for several hours, it was the first time he'd actually seen them. All three had been gagged and blindfolded.

"Siga, siga," ordered the other guard from behind them, over and over. "Siga, siga." Keep moving, but not too fast.

Indy was groggy from lack of sleep; his body felt battered. But he knew that they weren't going to be killed. Not yet, at least. Fortunately, the guards hadn't realized that Indy could understand them, and they'd talked freely while he'd listened. The one at the rear, who had a slightly higher rank than his companion, had said they must wait for Mandraki to return, as he'd ordered. The other guard, however, the one who had jumped him, was convinced that Indy was someone important and that he should take him immediately to Mandraki. Then the first man said that he should be the one to take Jones because of his rank. They had argued off and on for hours, and had finally agreed that if Mandraki had not returned by dawn, they would both take all three captives to the stables and from there the guard with the higher rank would get the colonel.

When they reached the end of the ledge, Indy finally had a chance to exchange looks with Shannon and Conrad. He couldn't tell what they were thinking, but he saw fear in both men's eyes. He didn't blame them.

He probably had the same look in his own eyes.

As they descended the path to the valley, the sky beyond the mountain pass to the east slowly turned from sullen gray to a deep rose. Below them, the ruins were still in shadow, and blanketed by fog. All Indy could see of the temple were the pillars, and they looked ghostly, as if they would vanish with the fog. If the vapors were rising now, they would be indistinguishable from the fog. Maybe that was why Dorian wanted the schedule. But if she were Pythia, what did that have to do with what was happening now?

Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.

By the time they were near the ruins, Indy's body didn't seem to know whether it should be hot or cold.

His forehead was damp with perspiration and his fingers were numb from the cold. They emerged from the path, headed past the stadium, then went around the rear of the crum bling stone theater. The fog was lifting and Indy hoped someone would see them. Certainly, three men bound and gagged would be an unusual sight, and the word would go out. Someone surely would investigate, especially today, the day the king was expected to visit the ruins.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Indy saw a shadowy figure moving through the woods along the path between the stables and the ruins. Please, be someone with the king, he pleaded silently. Then he saw it was a woman. It was Dorian, and his hopes plummeted. As she walked up to the, she quickly assessed the situation. "Good work. We were looking for him," she said, nodding toward Indy as if he were a sheep or cow that had strayed out of its fence.

When the guards told her where they were planning to take them, she shook her head. "There're too many people who might see them. Take them over there to the hut, and remove their gags. Then get them some food."

She smiled at Indy. "We don't want you to starve before you see the king." She looked him over and shook her head. "We'll have to get you some fresh clothes, too, and you must try to get some rest."

She was crazy, she had to be, he thought as they were rushed to the thatched hut. Why the hell would she still want him to see the king? If he hadn't inhaled the vapors himself, he'd be ready to believe that they'd warped her thinking.

Outside the hut, the guards untied their gags, and warned them with gestures not to talk. One after the other they were shoved through the doorway. The light was dim inside, but they could still see each other.

No one said a word; not for a minute or two. Indy rubbed his jaw, and looked around. The table and chairs had been removed, but otherwise the hut was the same as when he'd last seen it. He lowered himself to the floor and leaned his back against the wall. Underneath the cloth that covered the doorway, he could see the guard's black boots.

Conrad slumped down next to him. "I'd say good to see you, Indy, but under the circumstances..."

Shannon paced across the hut. "I don't like this. In fact, I hate it. I mean I'm definitely out of my environment. I can't go on like this. I want to play my cornet. I want to hear some jazz, any jazz, even counterfeit jazz, and I want a drink, even that god-awful pine sap shit they drink here. Anything."

"Jack, shut up," Indy hissed. "Or they'll gag us again."

"No one's ever going to gag me again. We've got to get out of here."

"We will get out, Shannon. We'll figure a way," Conrad said. "But Indy's right, keep it down."

Indy looked between the two men. "One of you mind telling me what the hell you're doing here?"

Neither spoke for a moment. "Come on, you're not wearing gags," he whispered. "And don't tell me you just decided to go off on a Greek vacation together. Hell, I didn't think you two even knew each other."

The two guards were arguing, probably about who was going to get the food for them. Conrad took advantage of the distraction. "Let me start by going back to that day at Le Dome when you introduced me to Belecamus. After you both left the restaurant, I was approached by an English gentleman named Gerald Farnsworth, who had a lot of disturbing things to say about Belecamus. I got worried and told him that you were leaving for Greece with her the following day, but that I didn't know where you lived or how to contact you. He said he would catch the train, and tell you himself."

Farnsworth promised to send him a telegraph in a day or two, he continued. When he didn't hear from him, he contacted the police, and found out that his body had been found on a railroad bed. He'd been stabbed with a pointed object, like an ice pick.

Indy felt a knot in his stomach as he realized that the man who had followed Dorian from the dining car of the train must have been Farnsworth. He glanced toward the doorway again. The boots were no longer visible, and the arguing was more distant now. He listened as Conrad continued.

That night, Conrad had gone to the Jungle and started drinking. He'd just ordered his third scotch when Shannon recognized him as a professor from his alma mater. It didn't take long for Conrad to discover that Shannon had

been Indy's college roommate, and that he also had talked to Indy before he'd left for Greece.

"When I told Jack what I'd found out, he knew you were in trouble, and he wanted to help."

Indy couldn't contain himself any longer. "What did Farnsworth tell you?"

Conrad frowned. "I had a photograph with me when I arrived. I must have misplaced it. Anyhow, it's—"

"Wait a minute." Indy reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the photo Nikos had given him. It was crumpled now, and he did his best to flatten it out. "You mean this one?"

"That's it," Conrad said excitedly.

"Keep it down." Now Shannon was taking charge of the noise level.

They all glanced anxiously toward the doorway, and listened. The guards were still talking, but in more restrained tones.

Indy held up the photo. "So who is he?"

"His name is Richard Farnsworth, Gerald's younger brother and a former archaeology graduate student at the University of Athens where Belecamus used to teach. He disappeared two years ago. No trace of him was ever found.

"So Gerald Farnsworth started searching for his broth er," Conrad continued. "He found out that Richard and Dorian Belecamus had been lovers, but that she also was involved with Mandraki. It just so happened that the weekend Richard disappeared the colonel was seen with Belecamus.'

A chill ran through Indy. Although Conrad was still talking, the words sounded as though they were being spoken underwater. Long vowels, short consonants, like a voice played on seventy-eight rpm. He rubbed his ear against his shoulder and tried to clear his head.

"Gerald Farnsworth also found out about another gradu-

ate student of hers who was found shot to death in his apartment just a year earlier. He had also been her lover, and there were suspicions about her, but no one was ever charged in the murder. Then, shortly after Farnsworth disappeared, she resigned from the university. Supposed ly, she was about to face charges of unprofessional and inappropriate behavior with students." "Damn inappropriate," Shannon put in. "That's when she left Greece for Paris." "She gave me quite a different story about why she left Greece," Indy said.

His anger and resentment were build ing. "I guess she's got an appetite for graduate students, and I was just one in a line. But how come Nikos, the kid at the hotel, didn't know who Farnsworth was? He gave me the photograph."

"Because Farnsworth never came here to Delphi. Her affair with him was in Athens. She's been careful to avoid romances here where it would be too difficult to hide."

She must have had at least one, Indy thought, recalling Nikos's story. The frigid feeling had passed; in its place was a huge, heavy lump in his gut.

"And when she's done with her boys she feeds them to her killer boyfriend," Shannon added. "But that's not all, old buddy."

Indy couldn't imagine what else they could tell him after the Farnsworth story.

"My family has a few contacts in this neighborhood of the world," Shannon began. "You know what I'm talking about. People with connections. Political connections. In side information."

Mob contacts, Indy thought, but Shannon was being as cagey as ever. "What did you find out?"

"First of all, your archaeology prof had more than an old stone tablet in mind when she took this trip. Do you know her father is a Greek dissident and he's living in Italy?"

"She told me all about that. Her old man has a gripe against the king. A difference of opinion."

"It's more than a difference of opinion. Her friend, Mandraki, is close to her father. I hear that he's up to something, maybe planning a coup, and that Dorian Belecamus is involved."

"A coup?"

"Right. So someone I know broke into her office at the university, and discovered a letter from Mandraki that verified it."

Shannon was probably that someone, Indy thought. "But if what you say is true, why would Dorian bring me along?"

"They're going to use you somehow," Shannon said. "It must have something to do with your seeing the king today. My guess is that they're going to kill him and you're supposed to take the fall. These guys are just like Chicago gangsters. Maybe smarter."

"Did Mandraki threaten to kill you?"

"Didn't you see those graves in the cave before they blindfolded you?" Shannon asked. "They're planning on killing all of us today."

Just then the cloth door of the hut was pushed aside and one of the guards stepped, into the hut. He gestured angrily for them to stop talking. His partner brought in three plates, each containing a piece of hard bread, boiled-potatoes, and a slice of feta cheese.

As they ate in silence, Indy decided that Dorian was capable of doing what Shannon had suggested. He didn't know how she planned to do it, but somehow he had to warn the king.

Indy moved over next to Shannon as he finished eating. "Sorry you guys got involved."

"We got ourselves involved."

Conrad laid down his fork. "I didn't realize how quickly we would be singled out once we got here. But Belecamus remembered me, of course."

"By the away," Shannon said, "what the hell is your squeaky-voiced friend Madelaine doing here?" He laughed for the first time. "That really threw me. We'd just gotten here, and the last person I expected to see walks up to me in the street."

Just then the two guards burst into the hut and pulled Shannon and Conrad to their feet. "What's going on?" Indy yelled.

He leaped up, but was shoved to the ground and kicked in the stomach. By the time he uncurled himself, Shannon and Conrad were gone, and he was gagged again. "Bastards," he muttered into the gag. He rolled over and peered toward the door. He could still see a pair of boot heels. He wondered if he would ever see Shannon or Conrad again. He thought of Shannon and their college antics, and how upset he'd been that Conrad had turned him in to the dean. All of that seemed distant and petty compared to the trouble they now faced. His attraction to Dorian Belecamus had gotten the better of him. That was what it amounted to.

Angrily, he kicked at the wall, and to his surprise his foot broke through. He realized that the spot he'd kicked had been burned in the fire he'd accidentally started the day he was in here timing the vapors. He pulled his foot back, and looked at the heels in the doorway. They hadn't moved.

Cautiously, he jabbed his foot at the burned thatchwork around the hole. Piece by piece he knocked off chunks of the wall until he'd made a hole that looked wide enough for him to squeeze through. He crept forward feet first, wriggling his way through on his stomach. But his thighs were too large, and he wedged tightly against the wall.

He pressed his legs together, and tried again, gritting his teeth as the thigh he'd bruised in his fall scraped against the wall. This time he made it, and now he was half out of and half in the hut. He worked his knees against the ground and edged further out.

Not much more to go now, he thought, and then his shoulders stuck firmly. He twisted right and left, pulled and pushed, but nothing worked. If anything, he was caught even tighter. He expelled the air from his lungs and buckled his knees, pulling as hard as he could. The hut shook, but he was still trapped. He looked up at the doorway. The boot heels were no longer visible.

Oh, shit. Now what?

It didn't take long for an answer. He felt hands grip his ankles and pull. He grunted as his shoulders scraped sharply against the thatch, and then he was through the hole.

He turned his head and saw a pair of black shoes. He looked up. But it wasn't the guard. It was Nikos.

The kid quickly loosened the rope on his wrists and removed the gag. "The guard," Indy whispered.

"Don't worry. I took care of him," Nikos said, holding up a club.

Indy rose to his feet, and grinned as he brushed himself off. "How did you know I was here?"

"I didn't until I saw the soldier at the door. I came looking for you because I saw Colonel Mandraki taking your friends into the back door of the hotel and up the stairs. There's a soldier guarding them in one of the

rooms.

Just then Indy heard the click of a gun being cocked. He looked up to see Mandraki's rugged face glaring at him, a sneer curled on his lips. He was aiming a revolver at him. "You going somewhere, Jones?"

Indy kept his eyes on the gun, and remained silent. The last thing he wanted to do was antagonize this man, who no doubt would pull the trigger without a second thought.

Mandraki looked over at Nikos. "Get back to that hotel

and stay there," he said through gritted teeth. "If you say a word to anyone, I'll kill him. Then I'll come after you."

Nikos glanced once at Indy, then hurried away.

"I don't like killing children, Jones, but I will if I have to. It's up to you, you know."

"I don't know what you mean."

Mandraki's smile was sinister. "You're going to do what I say or the kid and your two friends die."

"What do you want me to do?"

"There's going to be an accident. The king is going to fall into the crevice after the vapors rise. You're going to give him some help with a little push."

Like hell I am, Indy thought. "What if he doesn't want to walk into the vapors?"

"He will, because you're going to tell him how the vapors cured your injuries, and that you believe it will help any ailments he might have. He has a bad hip. He's gone to doctors all over the world, but he's still in pain. He'll want to try the vapors. I guarantee it."

Indy didn't know what to say. He had to find a way to stop Mandraki.

"If you attempt to warn the king, I will kill you instant ly. Remember that. But if you cooperate in this accident, you and your friends will be allowed to leave the country right away. Do you understand?"

Indy didn't believe him. Not for a second. Mandraki tossed a cloth bag to Indy. "Get in the hut and change your clothes. We want you to look presentable for the king."

And then he smiled broadly and laughed.

A stray thought crossed Indy's mind at that moment. If the eagle was his protector, he wasn't doing a very good job.

19

Entrancing Tales

From his position on a jut of rock at the base of the mountain slope beyond Apollo's Temple, Panos gazed across the ruins toward a cluster of people gathered on the roadway near the entrance. The king had not arrived, but he would at any time. It was after eleven and the vapors would rise at 11:41.

"Let's go," Grigoris said. "We can get closer."

Panos shook his head. "Plenty of time."

As always, Grigoris was in a rush. But this morning he was also in a sudden, dark mood. When Panos arrived here half an hour ago, Grigoris had spilled his tale of woe from last night. He had listened, glanced at his son's laceless boots, and shrugged. It didn't matter, he told him. What he meant was that Jones didn't matter. Not any more. He'd seen two of Mandraki's soldiers march the three outsiders down from the mountain. They were not going to present any more problems.

"Look there." Grigoris's finger jabbed toward the road just as Panos saw a large motorcar stop near the entrance. The king had arrived. He watched as a man in a suit stepped out of the front seat of the car and opened the back door. A moment later, a tall, grey-haired man was helped from the back seat of the car. He wore a safari outfit like so many of the foreigners who came to Delphi, and for a moment Panos didn't recognize him. But there was no doubt from the show of deference by the others that he was the king. Just the sight of the man who ruled his country left Panos feeling awed.

He recalled now what Belecamus had told him as she escorted him out of the workshop. He was still puzzled by it. The king was in danger, and the danger was nearby, she'd said. Had that been Pythia speaking, or Belecamus, or both? It was confusing.

He motioned to Grigoris, and they moved down the trail until they were just outside the ruins. They waited behind a hummock of trees less than fifty yards from the pillars. They'd gone as far as they dared, and now they watched as the group neared the temple.

Panos focused his attention on the king. He felt his heart pounding. He knew a monumental event was about to happen. History. For once it wasn't in the past. It was happening right here and now, an important historical event that affected the world. He was seeing it; he would be part of it.

Belecamus was on one side of the king, Mandraki on the other. He didn't like the way the colonel seemed to lead the procession, as if he were in charge. And why was Doumas hanging back like a fool?

Then Panos drew in a sharp breath as he realized Jones was among the group. What was he doing there? It didn't make sense.

Even from this distance, he sensed the danger, a dark presence that chilled him. It must be Jones. But if Jones were free, Mandraki had allowed it. Suddenly, he knew the colonel was the true source of danger. He was going to assassinate the king, and somehow use Jones to do it.

He couldn't let it take place. Not today of all days. Not here in Delphi. So much was at stake. He glanced at Grigoris and saw the hate in his eyes and knew that he too had recognized Jones. "Father, do you see—"

"Yes, now listen closely to me. Don't do anything until I tell you. The timing must be right."

Grigoris stared at Jones and slowly nodded. When he spoke, it was without conviction. "I understand.

We are here, and that will be enough."

Grigoris was repeating Panos's own words. But now Panos wasn't so sure they were true.

Doumas followed the king's entourage through the ruins as Belecamus alternated between gloating about her days as Delphi's chief archaeologist and pointing out the dam ages created by the earthquake. Maybe no one else thought she was gloating, but her hubris was obvious to him. He was well aware of the extent of her work, and the limits of it. Nothing would please him more than seeing her leave Delphi and never return, at least not while he was in charge of the ruins.

This would definitely not be the way he would present Delphi to the king. What the hell did Mandraki know? There was no reason for him to be at the king's side. Then there was Jones. Probably the only reason he was still alive was that the king had requested his attendance, and Belecamus didn't want anyone asking questions.

But he looked like a lunatic. The pants he wore were too short, and the shirt too baggy. His shoes were covered with mud. If it had been any other place than the ruins, he wouldn't be allowed near the king. And it wasn't only his clothes. He dragged along as if he hadn't slept for days. What the hell had he been doing since he'd run off with Doumas's carriage?

As they approached the temple, Belecamus was talking about the crevice. She was making much of the fact that the vapors were similar to the historical accounts of the mephitic vapors of Apollo's Oracle. She even tossed in a mythological reference calling the vapors ichor, the life-force of the gods. Doumas almost laughed. He'd never

heard her speak of Delphi in such romantic terms. Must be Jones's influence, he thought.

"And what effects do these vapors have on someone who inhales them?" the king inquired as he limped ahead.

"All we can say for certain is that they don't seem to cause any ill effects. There may be a feeling of well-being, but that could just be psychological. However, I should say that Mr. Jones has other ideas, which he can tell you about later, if you're interested. He seems to think they have a healing effect."

Very clever, Doumas thought. She was overlooking what had happened to her, probably because she thought it would sound too unprofessional to say that she had been overcome by the vapors and had acted oddly for a couple of days. She hadn't even admitted that she had inhaled them herself. But what was this about Jones?

One thing seemed certain now: she wasn't about to say she was Pythia. So Panos had lost. She wasn't going to cooperate as he'd hoped. Why would she? The stonema son had been a fool to think she would.

"When do these vapors rise?" the king asked. "They seem to come and go irregularly. Wouldn't you say, Stephanos?"

Now why had she said that, and placed him in the position of agreeing with a lie? He cleared his throat.

"Well, they seem to come less and less often with each succeeding day."

The next one was due anytime; she must know it. But maybe in all the distraction with the king's visit, she'd forgotten. He wondered if he should mention it. But what if he was wrong? The king would think he was a fool. He might even lose his position here if the king decided to wait for the vapors and nothing happened. No, he couldn't take any chances.

Doumas moved closer to Belecamus as she led the way

past the tilting columns of the temple. When he got a chance, he'd mention the timing of the vapors, and let her handle it. But she seemed anxious to keep moving and told the king that he could see the crevice from atop the mound.

"Mr. Jones, why don't you tell his Highness about your experience?" Belecamus said as she took the king's arm, and guided him up the mound. "You know more about it than anyone else."

Incredible, Doumas thought. First, the colonel guiding the way, now Jones, who wasn't any more qualified, was going to take over. He didn't want any part of it. Reluctantly, he trailed after the others, stopping about halfway up the mound near the king's two aides.

As the king peered into the crevice, Jones talked about his fall. He described the tablet, and to Doumas'

surprise gave an accurate account of what it had said. The king, however, didn't seem very interested. He listened as Jones described his fall onto a ledge, then interrupted and ask how the vapors had affected him.

"I think the vapors have a healing effect," Indy said, but he didn't sound very convinced himself. "You see, I was injured in my fall, but I recovered very rapidly."

"And no ill effects?"

Jones shook his head.

He didn't look much better, Doumas thought.

"I would like to test these vapors myself sometime," the king said.

Not if they caused you to act like Belecamus, Doumas thought. He took a couple of steps forward, suddenly realizing that Belecamus was setting something up. The king was going to see the vapors, and maybe inhale them.

Now Belecamus was talking about the tablet and the return of the oracle. "In fact, some villagers say there's an

old prophecy about Pythia returning after an earthquake and around the time the king arrives."

The king smiled. "Is that so?"

Doumas sucked in his breath as he realized he'd been mistaken. She was going to do it.

Just then, as if their speaking of the vapors had called them up, Doumas heard the telltale rumble and hissing. The gases started rising. She'd planned it this way. Maybe she was Pythia. But then she stepped down off the top of the mound as the vapors covered their ankles. Mandraki moved ahead of her, and blocked the two aides from reaching the king.

"Let them be," he ordered.

"Your Highness," one of the aides called out as the vapors billowed around the king's chest and shoulders. But the king ignored him. Belecamus abruptly turned away from Mandraki and disappeared into the vapors with the king and Jones as the gases completely engulfed them. It was all happening so fast that Doumas hardly noticed that Panos and Grigoris were among them.

Suddenly, chaos reigned in the temple. Panos charged up the mound toward them, but Mandraki shoved him back down. The two aides were frantic, clawing their way toward the king. Mandraki struggled to contain them,.but just then Grigoris barreled into the colonel.

Again, Panos charged up the mound and this time vanished into the vapors. Mandraki had his hands full with Grigoris and the aides and didn't see what was happening. Doumas watched in stunned disbelief until a scream that was more animal than human pierced the air. Shivers radiated up his spine. He knew that Belecamus was transforming into Pythia. It was happening, and just the way Panos had planned it. He heard Panos's voice proclaiming Pythia's presence.

No. He had to stop them. He was the one who must have the power, not Panos. He struggled up the mound,

stumbled, and slipped backwards. He could hear Dorian babbling, and the king's voice. He crawled ahead, climbed to his feet, and hurled himself into the vapors at the spot where Panos had disappeared.

The cloud of vapors shut out the others. The commotion beyond the vapors seemed distant, unimportant.

Even the king, who stood within Indy's reach, appeared ghostlike, a dim silhouette. But he could hear him filling his lungs with great breathfuls of the vapors.

"Sir. Your Highness." Was that how he should address him? The king ignored him. "Excuse me, Your Highness." He had to tell him about the danger. But how was he going to save Shannon and Conrad, and himself? Their lives were in danger no matter what happened to the king.

"My hip is already healing." Jubilance riddled the king's voice. "This place is a miracle."

Before Indy could say anything further, another figure swirled through the vapors. It was Dorian. Her hair was standing on end as she tossed her head spasmodically from side to side. Spittle ran down her jaw. Her eyes threatened to burst from their sockets. She screamed.

"What's wrong with you?" the king gasped.

Then Panos was moving behind her. "Your Highness, Pythia has returned," he boomed. "What is it you wish to ask?"

The king stared. Pythia moved closer to him and leered at him, her tongue hanging from her mouth. "Get away; get away from me."

Suddenly, she was babbling. The words gushed from her mouth, but made no sense. Indy detected a familiar word here, a phrase there. Latin. French. Greek. English. But it was gibberish.

"Pythia is addressing you, Your Highness," Panos said. "She says you are the one who should get away.

You are in

danger. Someone very near wants to kill you. Flee this place; flee now for your life. But go with the knowledge that Delphi will soon rise in fame again, and the fortunes of our country will change."

"Who are you to tell me this?" the king demanded. "It is not I; it is Pythia who speaks." The king looked skeptically at Dorian. Her head hung to the side, her eyes were closed, and she was rocking back and forth.

"She is Pythia?"

Indy jerked his head as the hulking figure of Doumas appeared. His arms were outstretched; he lunged for Panos and grabbed him around the waist. Dorian was knocked off her feet; her head bounced hard against the ground. Indy lurched toward her, but Doumas and Panos rammed into him.

Indy stumbled back, trying to recover his balance, but his feet slipped over the edge of the crevice. He slid down, clawing at the earth until he clutched a partially buried rock at the very brink of the hole. But the rock was loose. Oh God, no. I don't want to die. Not here. Not with these guys.

He pulled as hard as he could, raising his chest over the edge of the hole just as the rock broke free. His legs dangled; he inched forward, threw a leg over the top, then rolled over on his back.

He looked up just in time to see a foot about to stomp on his face. He grabbed it at the last instant and shoved it back. Then he saw that the foot belonged to Grigoris, who was coming at him again. But Doumas collared him. He held father and son by their necks and spun them in circles dangerously close to the edge.

At any moment they could tumble over, and take Indy with them.

Indy tried to roll further away from the crevice, but as he did several feet tripped over him and bodies tumbled toward the crevice. Someone yelled, and Indy saw hands grappling for purchase. He reached out and grabbed a

wrist. Whoever it was hung precariously in midair, stretching Indy's arm to its limit.

He heard a prolonged scream as one of the men—he couldn't tell who—plunged into the abyss. His yells echoed down the chasm, and finally trailed off into deadly silence. To his left, Panos was hanging half over the ledge, and Grigoris struggled to pull him up.

Who had fallen—Doumas? Then who was hanging onto his hand? With an effort that took all of his strength, he pulled, digging his feet into the loose earth. He saw an arm, a shoulder, then the neck and head of the king. With the help of the king's free hand, Indy pulled him the rest of the way out of the hole.

They got to their feet at the same time, and the king stared at Indy for a long moment. "I'll remember this,"

he said. "You saved my life."

As suddenly as the vapors had arrived, they dispersed, like fog burned off by the sun. It was as if Doumas had been eaten alive by the power below Delphi and now the enigmatic force was retracting its ethereal tendrils.

Suddenly, the king's aides were attending to him, hus tling him away from the ruined temple. "He wanted to kill me," the king said.

"Who did?" one of his aides asked.

"The obese one, the archaeologist. But I was warned by Pythia. That woman is Pythia."

Mandraki, meanwhile, scooped up Dorian, and Grigoris was helping his father to his feet.

"Good time to get out of here," Indy muttered, and hurried away. He cut behind the theater to the path leading to the stables. He ran as best he could, his bruised thigh throbbing with every step. The vapors hadn't done a damn thing for his thigh, or his ribs, for that matter. The path ended at the workshop, and he dashed across the grassy yard to the stables.

He walked along the stalls and picked out a horse, one

that Dorian had said was the strongest and fastest. He threw the saddle over its back, but as he did, the horse reared up, knocking the saddle off and nearly trampling Indy.

He quickly abandoned the stall. "Try you some other day, fellow."

The next stall was empty, but in the one after it was the horse that Indy had been riding. He quickly saddled the steed, and was about to mount him when he spotted Mandraki headed his way carrying Dorian in his arms. He could ride past them, but Mandraki was probably armed.

He cursed under his breath and turned the horse back into the stall, removed the saddle, and ducked low. A few seconds later, Mandraki lumbered into the stable. Stay away from this stall, Indy ordered in his mind. He closed his eyes as he heard the creaking of a door. It was the next stall, the empty one. Mandraki placed Dorian on the hay-covered floor.

"Dorian, wake up. We've got to get going"

Indy heard a sharp slap, then another. "Damn it, Dorian. What's wrong with you?"

Dorian blinked her eyes as she felt a hard slap across one cheek, then the other. She didn't know where she was. Then she saw Alex's face looming over her. She looked around. "What am I doing in this stable?

Oh, my head." She gingerly touched a lump near her temple.

"Everything went wrong. What were you doing in the vapors? You were supposed to leave with me."

"I did, but then I don't know what happened."

"Well, the king got away, and he knows there was an attempt on his life," Mandraki said. "Did Jones try to push him?"

"I don't know," Dorian answered. "I couldn't see. I was just trying to find my way out of there without falling into the hole. Are we in trouble?"

Mandraki shook his head. "No. He thinks it was Dou mas who tried to kill him, and he's dead. He fell."

"So we're safe."

"Not until we clean up after ourselves," Mandraki said. "We've got to act fast."

"What do you mean?"

Mandraki frowned at her, confused by her sudden denseness. "We've got to get rid of Jones and his friends. Then when we're done with them, I'm going to personally handle those two village idiots, the father and son. Any idea what they were doing there?"

She turned her head aside. "I don't know."

"The other day the older one told me that Jones was pursuing you. Why would he take an interest in my affairs? Or should I say yours?"

Mandraki had always tolerated her flings with younger men, unless he thought they were lasting too long. Then he ended them, his way. Jones would be no exception, she knew. But she wanted him alive.

Somehow, she had to stall Mandraki. She had her own plans for Jones.

"You go on, Alex. I'm going to lie here awhile and rest."

"You sure?"

Just then she heard a wheezing noise.

"What was that?" Mandraki said. He stood up, and shoved the stall door open.

The straw and dust tickled the inside of Indy's nostrils. His nose twitched; he held his breath. He tried his best to hold off the sneeze that was building up. Mandraki was only a few feet away, and would surely hear him. In spite of himself, his head jerked spasmodically and he let out a choking, muffled sneeze.

"Damn it," he hissed under his breath. The door of the next stall creaked open. Indy waited, frozen in place. A hand slid into his field of vision; it patted the nose of the horse above him. If Mandraki opened the gate, he'd see him. No doubt about it.

"What's wrong, boy, got a cold?" Thank God. He thought it was the horse. "You don't look so good,"

Mandraki backed out of the stall, and moved on.

Indy's relief was short-lived; almost immediately, an other sneeze started to build. Hurry, get out of here, he silently told Mandraki as the colonel saddled a horse in another stall. Finally, after one of the longest minutes in his life, Indy heard Mandraki leading the horse out of the stall.

"Are you sure you're okay?" the colonel asked Dorian. "Yes. I'll be coining along in a few minutes." As soon as Mandraki galloped off, Indy let out a loud sneeze that ended in a hoot. It felt so good he smiled.

But a moment later the smile faded. "Who is there?"

The danger of Mandraki had been so great that he'd forgotten about Dorian. "No one."

"Jones! Is that you?"

As he stood up, he touched his belt and wished the guards hadn't taken his whip. Dorian definitely was some one to approach with caution. He opened her stall and stared at her; he felt as if he were watching a poisonous spider. She was lying on her side, propping her head up with an elbow. He didn't see any weapons on her, but he wasn't about to let down his guard, either.

She sat up, threaded her hand through her hair. Bits of straw fell over her shoulders. "Come in here," she said in a low, throaty voice. A few days ago, that same voice had been seductive. Now it was viperous.

He didn't move, didn't say a word. Her eyes beckoned him.

"Did you hear what I told the king when we were in the vapors?" she asked.

"I heard the translation."

"What did I say?" She opened her dark eyes and stared intently at him.

He wasn't sure whether she actually didn't know or was simply testing him. He repeated what Panos had said to the king.

"I warned him of a threat against his life," Dorian said. "You see, I defied Alex."

"Did you?"

"I saved the king's life, Indy. You were going to kill him."

"That was what your boyfriend wanted me to do," Indy countered. "Now he wants to kill me, and my friends."

"I can help you."

He shook his head. "I don't trust you, Dorian. I know too much about you."

Her dark eyes seemed to burrow inside him. "What are you talking about?"

"Your old boyfriend, Farnsworth. You killed him, and his brother. And who knows how many more."

"I did not."

"I'm going." He backed out of the stall, and moved to the adjoining one. But as he saddled the horse, Dorian blocked the doorway.

"I haven't always done the right thing, Indy," she said in a soft voice. "I've let Alex manipulate me. But that's over. I swear. I can help you get your friends away from him. I'll prove to you that I'm not what you think."

"Thanks, but I'll work on it myself."

"If you go to the hotel, you will be killed." She said it matter-of-factly. "That is exactly what Alex expects you to do. He won't kill them until he has you. They are his bait. If you want to live, hide until morning. I'll bring your friends to the temple at eight-thirty."

He thought about it. She was probably right about the hotel. He had little chance of getting Shannon and Conrad away from Mandraki without at least one of them getting killed. "Make it earlier."

"No. Eight-thirty. Be on time. No later."

Indy knew from the schedule in Dorian's locker that the vapors would rise at 8:38. What the hell did she have in mind now? But then what choices did he have?

It came down to this: Dorian was the least trustworthy person he knew, but at the moment her help seemed his only option.

"I'll be there."

20

New Rising

Fog covered the ruins like piles of freshly cut wool. Panos could see only a vague outline of the thatched hut where he had spent the night, and turned away from it in disgust. Despite the fog, he was confident that Belecamus—Pythia—would be here within minutes. She would be drawn to the vapors just as the rich and powerful would soon be attracted to Delphi like ants swarming over spilt honey. Soon, Delphi would flourish in a renaissance of the ancient ways. The Oracle's cof fers would weigh heavy, and a new temple would be built on the ruins of the old. There would be no place for thatched huts at Delphi. He would make sure of that.

The hut had been Doumas's way of connecting the past with the present, but it had been a feeble link in compari son to the potent strength of the Return. But Doumas had been a contradiction. He had ponderously sought to un derstand the Order of Pythia in the same way that he had studied old crumbling buildings. Although he was never actually inducted into the Order, he had become privy to many of its secrets. But in the end he must have been jealous of the power the oracle priest would amass. He'd foolishly tried to change the tide of history and erase the inevitable return of Pythia.

No, that wasn't quite right, Panos realized. Doumas had wanted the power himself. That was why he had attacked him, instead of Pythia. But of course he was unsuccessful, and his life had abruptly ended in failure. Thanks to Grigoris, Panos had escaped a similar end.

In the two hours since he'd gotten up, Panos had eaten nothing, and he would continue fasting until after the rising. This morning he would ask Pythia how the king would respond to what had happened yesterday, and how long it would take before her power was widely recog nized. The more specifics he knew, the better he could plan.

He'd spent more than an hour this morning seated on the dirt floor of the hut figuring out how long the spans between risings would be in a week, a month, a year, and longer. At first, he had been worried about how rapidly the span between risings was increasing. Soon there would be only one rising a day, then one every two days. But he realized that as the quiet periods became longer, the speed of change slowed down.

By the time there was a week between risings, it would take ten weeks before the quiet time expanded by another hour, and two hun dred forty weeks or almost five years before the breaks would increase to eight days. After that, the increases would be even slower. Decades would pass before the breaks were two weeks long.

He heard footsteps approaching from behind the hut. She was here. He knew it. But then Grigoris emerged from the fog. "What are you doing here? I told you to stay away this morning."

"They are coming, Father. I saw Pythia leave the hotel."

"I knew she would," Panos snapped, then forced a smile. "Thanks for telling me." He had a hard time staying angry with Grigoris, especially so soon after his son had saved him from tumbling into the crevice.

Grigoris always tried to do what he thought was right, just as Panos had taught him. But he'd also taught him to obey his com mands, and that lesson was the one Grigoris had the most difficulty following.

"But I thought you would want to know that she is not alone."

Indy had slept in what he had hoped would be the least likely place that Mandraki would look for him.

The fact that he was still alive told him that the cave above the ruins had been a good choice.

Now, he slowly worked his way along the ledge. He couldn't even see his feet through the fog. It was much thicker than yesterday, making the walk particularly treach erous. One step in the wrong place and he would plunge down the mountainside. The walk was nothing less than a metaphor of what his life had become. One wrong move and he was dead.

As he carefully worked his way around the boulders, he thought back to those first days here when he had spent hours waiting and watching as he timed the risings of the vapors. He'd been terribly bored and restless. Now he was neither. The struggle for survival had honed his senses, making him keenly aware and interested in what was going on around him.

Finally, he reached the end of the ledge and moved along the path. By quarter after eight he was still on the mountainside a couple of hundred feet above the ruins. But when he gazed down at ancient Delphi all he saw was a harsh white haze that looked like a fresh blanket of snow.

He climbed down the rest of the way, not bothering to hide; he was already hidden, but so was everyone else, if indeed there was anyone. He stopped as he reached the Sacred Way and peered through the fog. He couldn't see

more than ten feet in front of him. He moved forward, looking from side to side with each step.

Then he heard voices. He listened. Yes, voices like the distant gurgling of water. He couldn't tell which direction they were coming from, or how far away they were. He moved ahead again, stopping every few feet to listen. Had he imagined the voices? Maybe they were the collective babble of all the Pythias drawn back to wander in the fog looking for their sacred Delphi, or to greet the new Pythia. Then again, maybe he hadn't heard anything at all.

Suddenly, the pillars at the entrance of the temple loomed in front of him. He pulled out his watch. It was 8:33. The vapors would rise in five minutes. He looked around, wondering what to do.

"Jones, where are you?" It was Dorian's voice and it echoed through the temple. So she was here.

He peered past the tilting columns toward the crevice. "Right here," he shouted.

"Come up here. Right now," Dorian commanded. "I have your friends."

He hesitated.

"Quickly. I've kept my side of the bargain."

He walked into the temple, and approached the mound. "How do I know?"

"Tell him," Dorian said.

"We're here with her. No one else," Shannon said. But Indy thought he detected a sharp edge to his voice.

"Get up here, Jones."

He stopped at the bottom of the mound. "Why up there?"

"The vapors, of course. I want you here to see what happens."

He was halfway- up the mound before he saw three silhouettes shrouded in mist. "What's the point?"

"You'll see."

He kept climbing, and now he could make out more

details. Shannon and Conrad stood to one side of Dorian. Neither was handcuffed. Why hadn't they tried to get away? Then he saw the reason. Dorian raised a revolver, and aimed it at him.

"Sorry, Indy," Shannon said. "She was holding it on my head."

He heard a sound behind him, and realized what he had feared all along; it was a trap.

Panos didn't like the fact that the two outsiders were with her, or that Jones was climbing the mound to join them. She must have known they were dangerous, though; that was why she was armed. But why had she brought them here, why now?

He climbed the mound, Grigoris at his side, knowing there was nothing he could do about them right now. They were here; so be it. But in a matter of seconds Belecamus would catapult into trance, and then he would take charge.

The moment he accepted the outsiders, their presence suddenly made surprising sense. He knew why they were here, and what Pythia would tell them. He was in tune with her. He knew her words even before they were spoken. That was the way of the oracle priest.

Jones looked startled when he saw them, but he sounded almost relieved. "You guys! Dorian, what are they doing here?"

"What do you think? The vapors are rising," Pythia responded.

It was time, and Pythia dropped down onto one knee. It was impossible to distinguish fog from vapors, but Pythia inhaled deeply. Her head was bent low, and her hair had fallen over her face. Then the haze thickened and she was no longer visible.

Panos waded into the vapors, Grigoris at his heels. Pythia stood up, rocked from side to side. He looked at her hands and saw that she no longer held the gun. Her head lolled forward, then she raised it up. Her eyes, which had bulged when the king stood here, were now mere slits. There was something different about her. It was as if she were concealing something. She looked at him, then cocked her head, peering at the other men. Finally, her gaze settled on Jones. She smiled, an odd, crooked smile, then stepped forward and embraced him.

Jones don't return the embrace. His body was rigid. She muttered something under her breath which Panos couldn't hear. It didn't matter; he knew what she was saying.

"Pythia says you are to leave today for your homelands and tell all those you know about the return of Pythia. Many wonders will soon be taking place here, and the world must know about it."

Pythia laughed, a disturbing cackling sound, and stepped back from Jones.

"Like what?" Jones asked. "What sort of wonders?" "Guidance concerning the future. Those who know what to expect will be far stronger than those who do not."

"Nobody believes in that stuff anymore," the tall, red-haired man said.

"You are a fool if you don't believe," Grigoris said, and stepped forward as if to challenge him.

"What wonderful things does Pythia foresee?" Jones challenged as he stared intently at her. "Tell me something." "It is a great gift she offers the world, which must be used wisely," Panos said. "Not for your entertainment." Pythia giggled again, and grinned. Jones looked doubtful, and Panos was about to admon-ish him when he heard a voice from outside the vapors. "Dorian, where are you?"

It was Mandraki. "Ignore him," Panos said.

"It's a trick," said one of the outsiders.

"I'll take care of it," Grigoris said.

"Wait!" Panos shouted, but Grigoris ignored him.

An instant later, Panos heard the report of a gun, and a cry from his son. "No! No!" He rushed from the vapors; Grigoris was lying on his face halfway down the mound.

Panos stumbled down the slope, and dropped to his knees by Grigoris's side. His son's head was tilted in an odd way. He turned him over. His face was a shattered mass of blood, chips of bone, and brain.

Panos jerked his head back in horror. "You. . . you!"

He stared into the icy eyes of Colonel Mandraki, who stood at the bottom of the mound amid the clearing fog, a rifle in his hand and an ammunition belt strapped from shoulder to waist.

"You killed my son."

A shell clicked into the firing chamber. "Malaka," Mandraki cursed, and aimed at Panos's head.

He pulled the trigger.

At the sound of the first shot, Indy ducked to the ground. Conrad and Shannon did the same. But Dorian remained standing.

Why hadn't they run from the mound while they had a chance? Dorian's gun had disappeared from her hand, and she was cackling like an old witch. What the hell was this effect the vapors had on her? But they'd stood there and watched and listened to Panos's prattle, and now Mandraki was here.

Another gunshot exploded. Christ. What was going on out there? Indy didn't really want to know. He wanted to be as far from here as possible. But now they were trapped between Mandraki and the crevice.

Either direc tion was certain death.

"Dorian, come out of there," Mandraki bellowed.

Shannon was at his side. "We've had it, Indy. Soon as the vapors are gone, it's over."

"Dorian," Mandraki called again.

Their only other option was to walk around the crevice

and drop into the gully, but that was no good either. They'd be trapped, as good as dead.

Dorian took a step forward. The vapors were starting to thin, and Indy could vaguely make out Mandraki's form.

"Dorian, where are you?" Mandraki demanded. "Do you have all three of them?"

She remained silent. Was she still Pythia, or somewhere in between? Then Indy saw her pull the revolver from the folds of a cloth belt. She raised the muzzle to her head. God, she was going to kill herself. "Alex,"

she shouted. "Watch out!"

Then she lowered the gun, aimed, and fired.

Mandraki took a faltering step back. His rifle clattered to the ground. He rocked on his heels, clutching his chest. Then he crumpled over, joining the carnage.

21

Parisian Pals

"I killed him in self-defense," she said quietly. "He was going to kill all of us."

Indy stared at the bodies sprawled across the mound. "Why would he want to kill you?"

"Plenty of reasons. Jealousy mainly. Panos told him about us. But he was angry that the king got away and he blamed me."

He watched her closely. There was no sign of any trance-induced aberrations in her features. She was calm, and actually looked relieved after killing her long-standing lover. The gun dangled loosely in her hand. He hoped she was going to drop it, because he was going to pounce on it when she did.

His eyes slid to Shannon and Conrad who were standing to one side of him. They were as nervous now as when he'd arrived.

Dorian sensed their unease. "Don't look at me like I'm some kind of madwoman. You're all alive because of me."

"What are you going to do now?" Conrad asked, taking a step closer to her.

She smiled amiably. "I know exactly what I'm going to do, and you three are going to help me."

Conrad moved another pace closer, and held out his

hand. "That's good, Dorian. I'll take the gun. You don't need it anymore."

Her body tensed and she pointed the revolver at Conrad. "Don't patronize me, Professor. I know what I'm doing. Sit down, all three of you. I'm going to give you a little history lesson about Delphi. You like history, don't you, Professor?"

She grinned at him, and for an instant Indy recognized the expression he'd seen on her face when she was Pythia. He wondered about that, and sat down with the others as she'd ordered.

"In ancient times, Delphi was like a magnet that drew people from around the Mediterranean," she began.

This was madness. Three bodies were lying behind her, and she was lecturing as if she were in class at the Sorbonne. Indy was tempted to tell her to shut up, but he was certain she could shoot him with as much ease as she had killed Mandraki.

"It was not only the mephitic gases that were involved in Pythia's power, but also the Omphalos, a mysterious black cone-shaped stone." Dorian looked over her audi ence. "It's down there in the crevice within our reach. Indy found it, and I want it."

"How are we going to get it?" Shannon asked, playing the role of interested student.

"You and the professor are going to lower your friend on a rope. He's going to get a chance to improve his archaeo logical skills, and recover one of the most valuable artifacts of all time."

She turned to Indy. "Do you agree to do it?" As if he had a choice, he thought. "I don't see any rope."

"You're going to get it. Go to the workshop. You'll find a rope and my excavating tools on the table. And hurry." Then her voice toughened. "But if you're not back in fifteen minutes, your friends will be joining the others. Do you understand?"

"You don't have to threaten me, Dorian."

She smiled and her features softened. "I like you, Indy. I'm sorry I have to do it this way. But I have no choice. Without the gun, I couldn't count on your cooperation."

Indy quickly descended the mound, passing the bodies of Panos, Grigoris, and Mandraki. He rushed across the ruins to the wooded trail that led to the workshop. He had to tell someone what had happened, but he didn't have time to go to the village or anywhere else. As it was, he had to hurry in order to retrieve the equipment and get back in time.

He found the same rope that had been used to pull him from the hole neatly coiled on the table. Next to it was Dorian's knapsack and her excavating tools. From the way they were laid out, he wondered if she had planned the whole thing. If that were the case, she must also have planned to kill Mandraki. The woman was truly the Ice Queen, after all—a cold-blooded, cold-hearted killer.

He glanced around the workshop. Everything else looked the same as when he'd last seen it. He walked over to Dorian's locker, and found the schedule of risings still taped to the back wall. The next one was due at 3:49 p.m. There should be plenty of time to get the Omphalos, or whatever it was, out of the hole. But the vapors were more of an annoyance than anything else to Indy. He'd breathed the so-called mephitic gases a couple of times now and had never experienced anything unusual. It was like walking in fog, nothing more.

The king had wanted to believe so badly in their healing properties that the pain in his hip probably did subside for awhile. Indy would be surprised if the pain wasn't back. So why was Dorian's reaction to the vapors so dramatically different from his own and everyone else's? What made her Pythia, but not anyone else?

He was about to close the locker door when he spotted something familiar on the top shelf. He reached up and grabbed his whip. Maybe she considered it a memento from another graduate-student lover. But this graduate student had a big advantage. He knew about the others, and of their demise.

He hitched the whip on his belt and as he left the workshop, he slung the pack over one shoulder and the rope over the other. He'd taken only a step out the door when he saw two men approaching on horseback. He was in luck. He'd tell them to get help. As they moved closer, though, his hope faded as rapidly as light at the end of the day. Soldiers.

He lowered his head, pulled his hat down low, and walked quickly away. But just as he reached the beginning of the trail to the ruins one of the men called out to him. "You there. Have you seen Colonel Mandraki?"

He shook his head, and kept walking.

"Let's check the ruins," the soldier said, and Indy recognized his voice. The same bastard who had jumped him outside the cave.

"Hey, wait a minute. Isn't that the guy we were guarding?" the other said.

Indy kept moving, hoping the soldiers would start an other argument. As the trail curved and he moved out of sight, he broke into a run. But he'd gone only a dozen yards before he heard the thunder of horses behind him.

He leaped off the trail, dropped the rope and knapsack and unhitched his whip. As the first rider neared him, he snapped it with a swift, smooth swing. The whip uncoiled in an elliptical arc, and snared the soldier by the neck. With a quick jerk, he yanked him to the ground. The second horse reared to avoid the soldier in its path, and threw its rider.

Indy snatched up a rifle that had fallen at his feet, and

aimed it at the soldiers. "On your feet. Get against that tree." They did as he said, but as he leaned over to pick up the coil of rope, one of the men lunged at him. Indy swung the butt of the rifle around and cracked it against the side of his head. The soldier took two stuttering steps, tottered, then dropped to his knees, and fell over.

The other soldier, meanwhile, slipped a hand into his boot and pulled a knife. With a smooth motion, he hurled it from ankle level. Indy ducked and the knife stuck into the trunk of a tree barely an inch from his head. He glanced at the blade, then back at the soldier. The man stared at him, uncertain what to do. Then, deciding that retreat was the best idea, he turned and ran.

But Indy was ready for him. He'd gone only a couple of steps before the whip unfurled and caught him around the ankles. He reeled him in like a fish, but his "catch" turned on him. He leaped up, threw a punch that glanced off Indy's shoulder. Indy landed one of his own solidly against the man's jaw. The soldier fell backwards, struck his head against a tree trunk, and was out cold.

Indy found a length of rope in the saddlebag of one of the horses. He tied the rope around the chest of one of the soldiers, looped it over a thick branch, then pulled the man to his feet as he tied the other end around his partner. When he was finished both men were seated back to back, and held up by the rope and branch. "I'd stick around and chat, fellows, but I'm short on time."

With that he hooked his whip back on his belt, grabbed the knapsack, rope, and rifle, and mounted one of the horses. But he was loaded down with too much gear, and tumbled out of the saddle. He glared at the groggy soldiers as he dusted himself off.

"Don't say a word."

This time he slipped the rope and knapsack in a saddle bag. He mounted the horse again, and galloped off. Not much time left, and he didn't want to test Dorian. But now things were going to be different. He was armed and all he had to do was catch her off guard.

He reined in the horse as he reached the outskirts of the ruins. The fog had lifted, but the columns of the temple obscured the view of the mound, and he couldn't see any of them. He dismounted, grabbed the gear, and walked as fast as he could toward the temple, holding the rifle parallel with his legs. As the mound came into view, he stopped short. No one was on it or anywhere nearby. The temple looked empty. And the bodies were gone.

"What the hell."

He wasn't sure what to do. Check the hut. He hurried over to it, and stopped outside the door. On the far side of it were two horses. He heard voices coming from inside.

"You think these bone diggers do it in here on the floor, Brent?"

"Mm. Probably with the bones."

"I don't believe it," Indy muttered. He threw open the cloth door. "What are you two doing here?"

"Indy! Hiya, kiddo." Madelaine was wearing riding pants, high boots, and a felt hat with a pheasant feather.

"Jonesy, look at you." Brent stepped out of the hut after her and stroked his thin mustache. "All decked out for archaeology—rope, knapsack, even a rifle, and dirty, too. Real authentic."

"Can you keep it down?" Indy glanced toward the mound, but nothing had changed. No one was in sight.

"We're leaving for Athens this morning, and decided to ride out and say good-bye," Madelaine said in her squeaky voice. "The king's left, you know, so it's getting boring."

"Boring is not the word for it," Brent chimed in, adjusting the kerchief he wore with his safari outfit.

"Listen, did you see anyone else here?"

"Not a soul," Madelaine said. "Didn't think we'd see you, either. So what exciting things have you been doing? Haven't seen you since the royal reception."

"Nothing much," Indy said dryly.

"Where's Shannon? Haven't seen him since we got here."

"He's around."

He had to do something. He needed them to get help, but they'd probably fetch soldiers, and he doubted he could trust any of them. He jammed a hand in his jacket pocket and felt a head of garlic, and suddenly an idea occurred to him.

"Listen, are you going back to the village before you leave?"

"We're not riding horses to Athens," Brent said. "You can be sure of that."

"Would you mind doing me a favor?"

"I suppose," Madelaine said. "If it doesn't take too long, and if Brent doesn't mind."

"Go to the hotel for me, and tell Nikos, the kid at the desk, that I'm going down into the crevice again and need my moly."

"Your what?" she said.

"He knows what it is."

"Of course. Moly. It's an archaeology thing," Brent said knowingly. "One of those digging tools or something. For boring holes, I think. I'm right, aren't I, Jonesy?"

"That's it. Please hurry. I need it real fast."

"Do you want us to bring it back to you?" Madelaine asked.

"No. Nikos can handle it. I've got to go. Have a good trip."

"See you in Paris, Indy." She kissed him on the cheek, then hooked her arm in Brent's as they walked out of the hut and over to their horses.

Indy picked up the rifle and peered toward the mound. Dorian must have seen Madelaine and Brent, and decided to hide. He moved away from the hut, crossed the Sacred Way, and stopped at one of the pillars.

He set the rifle against it, and stepped out into view. "Dorian, where are you?"

"Right behind you."

Indy jumped at the sound of her voice. When he turned, she was standing by the pillar, one hand aiming her revolver at him, the other gripping the rifle.

"Surprise."

She must have been watching from the other side of the pillar. But he guessed she was too far away to have heard their conversation.

"What did you tell your friends?"

"That I was busy, and wished them a good trip to Athens."

She looked toward the road. "Why are they heading back to the village?"

"To get their bags and a carriage, I suppose. They just rode out to say good-bye."

She nodded, and watched him closely. "You are on my side, aren't you?"

Indy looked at the rifle, then gave Dorian the most sincere look he could manage. "Of course I am. I'd be dead if you hadn't saved us."

"If your charming friends bring back soldiers we're all in trouble, you know."

"They won't. And you don't have to point that gun at me, either."

She jabbed the rifle lightly in his side. "I'm not a fool, Indy. Where did you get this rifle?"

He told her about his encounter with the soldiers. "If I hadn't stopped them, they would be here now looking for Mandraki."

"Well, they wouldn't find him here."

He didn't know what she meant. "Where are Shannon

and Conrad?" he asked as they headed toward the mound.

"Jack and Ted?" She glanced toward the crevice. "Let's go find them."

So they were Jack and Ted now. This better not be a sick joke, he thought. If they were dead, he would... He didn't know what he would do, but it wouldn't be nice.

"Where are the bodies?"

"Gone," she said blithely.

Gone, he thought, like Richard Farnsworth and who knows how many other old boyfriends. He waited for her to explain as they climbed the mound.

"Did you see Alex anywhere out there?" she asked as she reached the top of the mound.

"What?"

"Alex. Did you see him?"

She was mad, all right. "Dorian. Remember, you killed Alex."

"No, I didn't." She smiled, then turned toward the crevice. "It's okay, fellows. Everyone's gone, and Indy's back."

Oh, Jesus. His stomach knotted. She must have shot them and dumped their bodies in the hole. She was denying everything, even that she'd killed Mandraki. It must be the vapors. Somehow, they had affected her mind, and he couldn't stop himself from telling her exactly what he was thinking.

"What did the vapors do to you, Dorian? I don't understand."

She looked into his eyes, and laughed. "You mean when I was Pythia? You don't know, do you, Indy?

You don't know what I felt in the vapors."

"No, I don't."

She took a step closer to him.

Careful. Watch her closely, Indy thought.

"I felt the same as you," she said.

Indy frowned, shook his head. "What do you mean? I don't understand."

"There was no trance," she said, curtly. "I was faking all of it."

"How could you? I mean you were babbling, and Panos was interpreting it."

She shook her head. "Panos wanted to believe so badly that he thought he was interpreting. But he was just following cues I had given him. I told him that the king was in danger the day before I faked the trance.

He knew that was what Pythia was supposed to tell him."

God, she was even more devious than he'd given her credit for. "Where are they, Dorian?" He spoke tersely. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. "Where is Jack? Where is Ted?"

She motioned Indy to walk around to the other side of the crevice. "Over there."

He moved away from her, sidling around the crevice to avoid turning his back on her. The mound on the other side was more like a pinnacle, narrow on top with steep sides, the crevice on one side, the gully on the other. Indy peered over the far edge and for a second didn't see anything. Then, he spotted the pair twenty feet below, squatting, backs against the dirt wall. "Are you guys okay?"

"Just fine," Shannon said.

"Pull them out with the rope," Dorian ordered. "And hurry, we've got work to do."

He started to say he'd use his whip, but caught himself. So far she hadn't paid it any heed, and he was better keeping it that way.

He pulled Shannon out first as Conrad pushed from below. "You had me worried, Jack," he said as he grabbed him by the arm. "Why didn't you answer?"

He tossed the line back down and Conrad quickly scaled the side of the gully.

"She knew where we were," Shannon said offhandedly.

"She made us dump the bodies in the hole, then jump in

here."

"Only two of the bodies," Conrad said, brushing off his hands. "Mandraki's still alive. She let him go."

"What?"

"I told you I didn't kill him," Dorian called from across the crevice. "When I saw him stand up so bravely and hobble away, I couldn't do it. I let him go."

"You know what else?" Shannon said. "There was no blood where he'd been lying. Figure that out."

Indy couldn't. But he had an ominous feeling they hadn't seen the last of Colonel Mandraki.

12

OMPHALOS

Indy descended into the darkness clutching a torch in one hand and the rope that was knotted around his waist in the other. In spite of what happened the last time he'd been lowered into this hole, he felt oddly safe. This time he knew he was in good hands. Shannon and Conrad were going to do their best to keep him alive.

They lowered him slowly and steadily, and it wasn't long before he spotted the place where the tablet had ripped away from the wall. Not much farther. He held the torch out, looking for the ledge. A little farther now. Not much more.

He stretched his arm out as far as he could and peered down. The torchlight flickered off the walls. Then he saw it, a rocky plateau jutting from the wall. But there was something else, too. Something he hadn't expected.

"Oh, God."

His feet dropped onto the ledge. The rope went slack. Dorian yelled down to him; her voice echoed eerily off the walls. He tugged twice at the rope to let them know he was here, and all the while kept his eyes on the ghastly sight of Panos's body. It was lying at an angle across the bed of rock with one leg dangling over the edge. His head was face down, and his right arm was curled over the black cone. In death, Panos had found the Omphalos.

Indy moved closer, bent down on one knee. Carefully, he lifted the dead man's wrist off the stone, but as he did the body slid farther over the edge. It hung in midair for a moment, then Indy let go. The body vanished into the bowels of Delphi. An appropriate burial site for the leader of the Order of Pythia, he thought, and he was with his

son.

He stared into the blanket of darkness a moment longer. He had no reason to miss either man. They had caused him more grief than most people who crossed his path. Yet, their deaths still affected him, if for no other reason than to remind him that death followed life, and that he was as vulnerable as the next person.

Maybe more so. Maybe he was the next person.

He shrugged off the disturbing thought, and turned his attention to the Omphalos. He ran a hand over its rough surface, and wondered how much of it was still in the wall. He slipped off the knapsack, picked out a trowel, and began scraping away at the rock and dirt that held it to the wall. After a few minutes, he'd made little progress, and realized that he needed to make a more concerted attack. He put away the trowel in favor of a pick and stabbed at the wall. For the next half hour, he chipped away at rock and dirt, gouging a hole around the stone.

Finally, he took it in both hands and tested how firmly it was implanted. If he had been dealing with a fragile ceramic piece, he knew what he was doing would have been foolhardy. But this artifact seemed as sturdy as the engine block of a Model T.

The cone moved slightly as he wiggled it back and forth. He pulled harder, but his hands slipped off and he tum bled back onto the ledge. He rolled onto his stomach and his leg slipped over the side. He patted the air as he stared down into the abyss.

"Careful, Indy. Careful," he said to himself. He sidled away from the edge, and went back to work chipping away at the rock.

"Indy. Everything okay?" Dorian shouted.

Sure. Things were great. Couldn't be better. He tugged twice at the rope to let her know that he didn't have it.

He chipped more, pulled and twisted the stone, chipped again, and pulled some more. He was sure that it was almost free. He placed his feet against the wall, grabbed the cone with both hands, and pulled as hard as he could. His hands slipped off, and he sprawled onto his back.

He lifted himself up on his elbows, and stared at the stone in disgust. He kicked it with his heel in anger.

It was all that was needed; it broke free. He blinked away the dust, and grinned as he lifted the Omphalos from the rubble. He laid it down on the ledge, and brushed it off. It was about a foot and a half long and about six or seven inches in diameter at the base, and narrowed to a rounded nub. It felt heavy as iron.

Proper procedure, as Dorian had taught him, called for taking out the tape measure and notepad from the knap sack and jotting down its exact dimensions and description and detailing its removal. But considering the conditions he was working under, it seemed a bit ridiculous. He laughed aloud at the irony. The professor was armed and there was a fair chance that after he surfaced with the prize find, she would kill him. That, he knew, was defi nitely not proper procedure.

He pulled once on the rope. "I've got it," he yelled. "Pull me up."

He dropped the torch on the ledge and pressed the cone against his chest as he gripped the rope. He felt himself being lifted and tried to relax. He didn't want to think about what would happen when he got to the surface. He couldn't do anything about it. Not now at least. Maybe not even then.

The Omphalos felt oddly warm. The sensation spread across his chest until the warmth had imbued him, made him drowsy. He closed his eyes, drifted. . .

It was light as day. He was looking at an eagle, his eagle, and it was perched on the edge of a nest. He could see eggs in the nest. Silver-colored eggs. He was dreaming and awake at the same time. He felt ecstatic, better than he'd ever felt. But what was happening? What was he seeing? The eagle cocked its head as if to get a better look at him, or to see if it had his attention. With a sudden thrust of its beak, the bird broke open one of the eggs.

The bird and nest were gone, and Indy saw himself with the king in a room filled with books. A royal library. The king wore a blue satin robe and slippers. Oddly, he suddenly knew that the king would survive Mandraki's threat to his life, but he also knew that he would soon be exiled. It was as if it had already happened.

He noticed that the king held something in his hands. It was the Omphalos, and he was offering it to Indy. Then as suddenly as the king had appeared, he was gone, and Indy saw the Omphalos in a museum.

Standing next to it was the curator, whom Indy recognized as Marcus Brody, an old friend and sometimes substitute father. He was smiling and proud. Then the scene wavered, and Indy's feeling of contentment shifted to shock. The glass case holding the relic was shattered; the Omphalos was gone. He heard Brody's voice: Stolen. It's been stolen.

But the outrage he felt was cut short as the eagle again appeared in front of him perched on the nest. It tilted its head as before, then drilled its beak into another egg.

Indy was talking to Dorian. She was excited, telling him he must do something. He had to act fast. But what was he supposed to do? Then Mandraki was facing him. He raised a gun, pointed it at Indy's heart.

He fired.

The eagle again. Another egg was shattered, and this time the images came at him fast and hard. He glimpsed a tweedy man with a pipe and mustache in an office crammed with books. He spoke in a tone of voice that inferred authority. "Do not mix mythology and archaeology, or your thesis will be rejected. They are two separate disciplines. If you want Greece as your focal region, take up the challenge of Linear B. You have the perfect background for tackling a language puzzle."

Then the man dissolved. When he solidified again, he was Mandraki. He raised his gun, and fired.

Silver eggs. Two left. The eagle's beak viciously pecked at one of them, and as it shattered Indy saw himself standing in front of a class talking. He couldn't hear the words, but he knew he was giving an archaeology lecture. Suddenly, the classroom faded; he was in the center of a circle of massive stones.

Stonehenge. He was embracing a woman. He couldn't see her face, but he knew he was close to her like no other woman.

Then the woman was gone. Mandraki again. Aiming. He fired.

The last egg. The black eye of the eagle watched him. Then it lightly tapped the egg. A crack fissured lengthwise along its shell, and it fell apart. Indy saw himself again, older now, in the prime of his career. He looked savvy, more adventurer than scholar. The vision winked out and was replaced by a college of images: Jungles. Deserts. Ruins. Lost cities. Relics of power. More ominous now: a pit of snakes, a close-up of an insignia of a black, broken cross. A hand bearing a dagger, but another offering help. A voice overlaid the images: "Adventures beyond imagin ing, but not without serious danger. Ultimately, a reunion with the father. What he seeks, you will find."

The changing scenes vanished as a harsh light struck him. He heard voices. Hands again. This time they were lifting him from the hole. He squinted his eyes against the bright light. He was on his knees, still gripping the black cone.

"So this is it," Dorian said. "The Omphalos."

Indy felt numb, overwhelmed, unable to speak. He blinked his watery eyes, and saw Dorian laying down the rifle. Still holding the revolver, she took the Omphalos from his arms. It was heavier than she expected, and she clutched it to her chest.

Indy's head was clearing. The dream, the fantasy, what ever had happened to him, was over. He tried to concen trate on what was real, here, and now. Shannon and Conrad hovered above him. They helped him shed the knapsack.

Suddenly, Dorian sucked in her breath, a look of bewil derment and shock crossing her face. The revolver dan gled loosely in her hand inches from Indy's head. She didn't move; her features were frozen in the instant of surprise.

With a quick, deft move, Shannon snapped the revolver from her grip, and Conrad picked up the rifle.

Dorian didn't react. Her expression changed to a ghastly stare, then she collapsed, still clinging to the black stone.

"What happened?" Shannon asked.

"I don't know," Indy said, still confused by his experi ence in the tunnel. "Let's get her to the workshop."

"I'll put the stone in the knapsack," Shannon said. He tried to loosen it from Dorian's grip, but she writhed, grimaced, and screamed.

"Just let her carry it," Conrad said.

Shannon lifted her by the elbows and Indy grabbed her feet. But she kicked and twisted and moaned, and the going was slow. As they left the temple and headed toward the path leading to the workshop, Indy abruptly stopped.

"Wait a minute. I don't think the workshop is a good idea. She's too hard to carry, and we don't have all day. Besides, I ran into some soldiers earlier." He quickly told them about his encounter. "As soon as someone finds them, we're going to have company."

"You're right," Conrad said. "We've got to get out of here. Maybe we should just leave her."

Indy shook his head. "Let's take her to the hut, then figure out what to do."

They no sooner had made up their minds when a rider on a galloping horse charged into the ruins.

"Hurry," Indy hissed.

They hustled Dorian into the hut, and lowered her to the ground. Indy instantly dropped to his hands and knees and looked out the charred hole in the rear. "Take this," Shannon said, and handed him Dorian's revolver.

Indy could see legs. Someone was running toward the hut. "Indy, where are you?"

"Oh, God. It's just Nikos," Indy said, relieved, then yelled to Nikos.

"I got your message. What happened?" the boy said, gasping for breath as he stepped into the hut.

"Plenty, " Indy said.

Nikos gaped at the sight of Dorian, who was still twisting about and grimacing. "Pythia!"

"I don't know who she is, Nikos," Indy said. "But Panos and Grigoris are dead." He told him what happened at the crevice.

"What are you going to do? If Colonel Mandraki is still alive he will come for her and all of you."

"We've got to get out of here, and fast," Conrad said.

"You're right about that," Shannon put in. "I'm starting to really miss Paris."

"Nikos, what are the chances of you getting us a car riage?" Indy asked.

"A carriage? How about an auto?"

"You got one?"

"Colonel Mandraki does. He left the key at the desk of the hotel. I can get it, and I can drive it, too. I know how."

"I don't know about stealing his car," Indy said warily.

"Why not?" Shannon said. "If we have it, he won't."

"But Mandraki will know what to look for."

"So what?" Shannon responded. "We'll get to Athens, ditch the car, and get out of the country as fast as possible. Besides, he was shot, remember. He's not going to be in any shape to go anywhere."

Conrad nodded toward Dorian, who now looked as if she was asleep. "What about her?"

"Leave her," Shannon said. "Let Mandraki take care of her. She deserved whatever she gets."

Indy thought a moment. "Nikos, can you drive the car here without letting anyone see you?"

"Everyone will see me," he said proudly. "They will see I can drive."

Indy nodded. "That's what I thought." He turned to Conrad. "Listen, why don't Jack and I go get the uniforms off those soldiers I tied up. We'll ride horses into the village and then take the car. You stay with Dorian, and we'll pick you up."

"Everyone in the village knows you by sight," Conrad protested. "You won't make a very believable soldier. Let's do it this way. You stay here. Jack and I will get the car."

"Good idea," Shannon said. "Besides, I'm starting to think you attract trouble, Indy."

"Okay. Okay."

"I'll get the car ready," Nikos said, and hurried out the door.

Conrad picked up the rifle from where he'd set it against the wall, and Indy returned the revolver to Shannon. Just then, Dorian moaned loudly. She rolled over, letting the Omphalos slip to the ground. She sat up and rubbed her face.

"You going to be all right with her?" Conrad asked.

"I'll be fine." As they left, Indy knelt down beside Dorian and slipped the Omphalos inside the knapsack.

She watched him closely, but remained silent.

"What happened?" he asked.

She opened her mouth, but didn't speak right away. "I thought I was dead."

"Why?"

"I was being suffocated, squeezed to death by a giant snake. A python. It was wrapped around me. It was horrible. I could smell its cold, acrid breath."

She hugged herself and shivered. Her black hair fell over one side of her face. She sat like a child, with one leg tucked under her, the other stretched out. "It seemed so real." She seemed neither professor nor killer. She was helpless, confused. He didn't want to feel sorry for her, but he did.

"Why did you fake the trances, Dorian?"

"Don't you understand, Indy? Don't you realize the power of Pythia?"

"Wait a minute. You said there was no Pythia, you were faking."

"I didn't say there was no Pythia. Just ask the king. He saw, and I'm sure he believes."

"And now that Panos is dead, your priest is gone."

She leaned forward and that transfixing smile held his gaze again, drew him closer. "Panos was not meant to be my priest. He was not the right one. It is you, Indy. You will be my priest. . . and lover."

Indy forced himself to move back from her. "No. I don't think so."

"Do you think I cannot be Pythia, that nobody will believe? You know yourself that the readings were almost always ambiguous, interpreted one way if a certain thing happened, and another if something else happened. It's a

technique. I'll teach it to you. We'll invent our own way of communicating with gestures and key words."

She reached for his hand. "Think of it, we'll be two of the most powerful and well-known people in the world. Do you realize that?"

Indy pulled his hand back and stood up. "Sure."

She stood, and moved close to him. "Don't you want me, Indy? I'll be yours. It'll be worth it, I promise.

Think about it."

He could smell her musky scent, and felt the pull of her eyes again. He took another step back. "Even if I was interested, there's the big matter of trust here, Dorian. You brought me here with the intention of using me as your fall guy in your crazy plot to kill the king. And you've got a history."

"No, that plot was not my doing. That was Alex's game. Same with Richard Farnsworth. He killed him; I didn't."

Indy's hands tightened into fists. His cheeks flamed with anger. "But you were part of his game. You didn't stop it."

"I couldn't. He forced me. Anyhow, you know that I went against him. I shot him, for God's sake. He should be dead. What more can I do to show you my intentions?"

"You killed Farnsworth's brother. He was on that train to Brindisi. You stabbed him with a pick from your tool kit, then you threw him off the back of the train while I was eating ice cream."

"No. That's not what happened. He tried to kill me. I was only defending myself."

She had an answer for everything and the answer always sounded reasonable. That was her gift.

"There's one thing I still don't understand. If you were just faking it in the vapors, why did you fake this last fit when you took the Omphalos from me? What was the point of that?"

"No. I didn't fake that. I don't know what happened, and I don't want to think about it, either."

Now that she'd admitted the truth, Indy knew that he couldn't so easily dismiss his own experience with the Omphalos as a meaningless dream.

Just then a car horn honked. Indy slung the knapsack over his shoulder. "Good-bye."

"You're taking the Omphalos?"

"Yes. I'll see that it gets into a museum."

"Take me with you, too. I can't stay here now."

"No."

"Please." She grabbed his arm. "You don't know what kind of things Alex would do to me."

The car honked again. "All right. Under one condition. I'm taking you to the king's palace and you are going to confess to your part in the assassination plot and turn in Mandraki."

"Okay. I'll do it. Whatever you say."

They stepped outside the hut and both gazed toward Apollo's Temple. With his free hand, Indy reached into his pocket and pulled out his watch.

"It's eight minutes to four." The vapors should have been rising for three minutes now, but there was no sign of them.

"The pattern's broken," Dorian said softly.

23

Escape from Delphi

A shiny Pierce-Arrow was parked outside the ruins, and for an instant Indy thought it must belong to the king. Then he saw Conrad behind the wheel. "Is that Mandraki's car?"

"One of them," Dorian said as they hurried toward the car.

Back in the States, you could buy a flivver for two hundred eighty dollars or five dollars a week on the install ment plan, but few people could afford an elegant Pierce-Arrow, and no doubt the cost for one in Greece was much higher. "He must have money."

"Lots."

"Let's go," Conrad said from behind the front seat as he eyed Dorian warily.

"Where're your uniforms?"

"The soldiers were gone." Conrad glanced over at Shannon. "We almost didn't get away. Jack told Nikos to go back to the hotel for his cornet, and while we waited half the village came out to see the car. I think word got around."

Indy peered down the road toward the village. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"What's she doing here?" Shannon asked.

"I'm taking her to the king."

Shannon smirked. "You're what?"

"She's going to confess."

"Sure."

"Well, I can't leave her here. Mandraki will kill her, if he's still alive."

"I heard two soldiers talking," Nikos said from the back seat. "The colonel is okay. The bullet hit his ammunition belt."

"Nice shot," Indy said to Dorian. "Nikos, you better get out. We've got to go."

"I want to go to Athens with you," he beamed. "My father gave me permission."

"Did he know how you were going?"

"Well, no."

"It could be dangerous."

"You think so?" he asked hopefully.

Suddenly, a military truck appeared on the road, coming from the direction of the village. Conrad cranked the engine, stepped hard on the accelerator pedal. It sputtered.

"It's flooded," Shannon yelled.

Conrad tried again.

The truck closed in on them. Indy jerked open the back door and grabbed Dorian by the arm. "Get in.

Quick."

The engine revved to life.

But Dorian surprised him. She twisted her arm away and ran toward the truck.

"Dorian," he shouted, and leaped from the car. But the knapsack snagged on the door. He pulled it loose, but it was too late. She was running directly at the oncoming truck, waving her hands and calling out to Mandraki. The truck braked.

She's dead, he thought.

"Get in, for chrissake," Conrad yelled as he started to drive away. Indy trotted after the car, and leaped onto the running board. He looked back and saw Mandraki embrac ing Dorian in the middle of the road.

"What the hell?" Indy exclaimed.

A dozen soldiers poured out of the back of the truck and

opened fire. Conrad stepped hard on the accelerator as Shannon returned the fire.

Indy swung the door open and was about to slide into the back seat when he felt something strike him between the shoulder blades. He dropped face first onto the seat.

Shannon let out a whoop as they roared away. "I got their front tires."

Indy was gasping for breath. "Good. But I think they got me."

Nikos helped him shed the knapsack. Indy expected blood and pain.

"You're not shot," Nikos said.

"What?" He rolled over and saw Nikos holding up the knapsack.

"See, there's the hole, but only through the back of it. The bullet hit the thing you found. It saved you."

Indy opened the knapsack and stared incredulously at the Omphalos. He considered picking it up to look for the bullet's mark, but thought better of it.

"You okay?" Conrad called over his shoulder as they raced down the mountain.

"Just fine."

"You're as lucky as Colonel Mandraki," Nikos said.

Shannon turned in his seat. "I don't understand Mandraki. The woman shoots him and he welcomes her like someone who had just saved his life."

Indy shook his head. "I don't get it, either."

The telegraph operator in the back of the truck finished tapping out the message. He waited until he received acknowledgment, then nodded to Mandraki. "They'll nev er make it to Athens," Mandraki said, and he smiled at Dorian, pleased with himself.

"Good," she said. "But we can't hide their deaths. Too many witnesses."

Mandraki frowned. "We can't admit to killing them, either. The king will use it against me."

"Relax, Alex. It will be no problem. They stole an officer's car, and an archaeological artifact, a national trea sure. They were killed in a gun battle as they tried to escape. Simple as that."

"You are a complex woman, Dorian. But I like your simple solutions. Now tell me which one of them shot me."

It was twilight as they descended the hills to the outskirts of the capital. The lights of Athens were blinking on below them. Indy was tired, thirsty, and hungry, but most of all he was anxious to get to the presidential palace. It was the one place he felt that they would be safe for the night. If they could get through the front gate.

"You ask me, we should skip the visit to the palace and go on to Piraeus, and take the first boat out of here," Shannon said. "With luck, we could be in Paris tomorrow night."

"That wouldn't be luck. That would be a miracle," Conrad quipped. "But it might be a good idea to get out of here if we can."

Indy shook his head. "They'll be waiting for us at the port."

"But they're behind us," Shannon said.

"Mandraki won't be there, but his men will be watching for us. You can count on it."

"The port isn't the only place they're waiting," Conrad said. "Take a look at what's ahead."

Indy grimaced. "Swell. A roadblock."

Nikos leaned forward. "I bet this is where it gets dangerous."

Indy frowned at the impetuous kid. "At least one of the places."

"Look," Conrad said. "Let's reason with them. We'll explain we have to get to the presidential palace, that we

have important information for the king. It's possible they're loyal."

There was no time to argue about it. He stepped on the brake and slowed. They were fifty yards short of the roadblock when one of the soldiers pointed. Several others raised their guns. They fired and the windshield shattered. "I don't think they're open to conversation," Indy said.

Conrad stepped on the gas pedal and veered off the road. He headed along a slope, attempting to loop around the roadblock. The car tilted precariously and gunfire rattled off the roof. What happened next seemed to take only an instant. The hill was too steep; the car rolled over and kept rolling. Indy didn't know which way was up as he was hurtled about, but finally the car landed on its wheels again. Miraculously, they were on the road, and past the roadblock. But now Indy was behind the wheel, Conrad to his right and Shannon in the back seat.

"Hey, I'm driving."

Indy glanced into the mirror and saw soldiers in the road firing another volley. Bullets pinged off the trunk. They would be chased, but if the Pierce-Arrow could stay on the road, it could outrun any Greek military vehicle.

"We're out of range," he said, "and the city's just ahead. We're going to make it."

"We are?" Conrad asked. He looked glassy-eyed and stared straight ahead.

"Never would have guessed you could drive like that, Ted."

"I didn't, either. I was ducking under the wheel."

Indy looked over his shoulder. "Hey, what happened to Nikos?"

The kid rose up from the floorboards. "Wait until I tell my friends about this."

"How you doing, Jack?"

"I feel like my neck's broken, and I've got a fat lip. Guess I won't be blowing any tunes for the king tonight."

"Speaking of the king. Anybody know how to get to the palace?" Indy asked.

"I do," Nikos said. "It's by the new Olympic Stadium."

"Where is that from the Acropolis?"

"I'll show you."

Indy noticed people staring at the car as they cruised into the city. "Guess they're pretty impressed by the Pierce-Arrow." Then he saw the reflection of the car in the window of a shop. The top was flattened, the driver's side was smashed, and the entire vehicle was pockmarked with bullet holes.

"Lucky we're alive."

"Indy, here's the Platia Phlomouson Hetairae," Nikos said as they drove around a square. "You remember I told you about it?"

"The what?" Shannon asked.

"It's where the best tavernas in town are found," Indy answered.

"I could use a drink," Shannon said as they drove on.

"There's the stadium," Nikos said. "Turn left when you pass it."

Suddenly soldiers poured out of the stadium, charging into the road, blocking traffic and waving guns.

"Maybe they're on our side this time," Conrad said hopefully.

A bullet glanced off the hood, another tore into the front seat between Indy and Conrad. "No, don't think so."

"This is getting old," Shannon groused.,

Indy swung the wheel to the left, and drove rapidly along a winding narrow street until they reached a main crossroad.

Nikos pointed to the right. "The palace is down there."

More soldiers were hustling into the street where Nikos pointed. Instead of turning, Indy drove straight ahead and directly into a park. He barreled along the sidewalk, scattering the promenading citizens who cursed and shook their fists.

"Where are we, Nikos?"

"In the palace garden. Go that way," he yelled.

Indy veered to the right, and headed toward the boule vard that fronted the palace grounds. He swerved onto it, and now the palace was on his right. "We're going to make it," Conrad said.

"You're dreaming," Shannon answered.

Indy slowed as they neared the main gate. A couple of dozen armed soldiers stood guard.

"They're the king's men," Indy said. "They must be."

"You ask me, they look just like the ones who've been shooting at us," Shannon said.

Now Indy wasn't so sure. "I'm going around. Must be another way inside."

They circled the palace, but the only other entrance didn't look any more inviting. "What is that funny looking machine by the soldiers?" Nikos asked, his voice filled with awe.

Indy kept driving.

"It's called a tank," Conrad explained. "They started using them in the war. The first tank battle was fought in 1917 at Cambrai."

"Always nice to have a history professor on hand," Indy remarked. "I say we try the main entrance.

What do you think, Ted?"

"We've got nothing to lose. No one shot at us when we passed."

"Definitely a favorable sign," Shannon said, his voice thick with irony.

Nikos pointed toward the main entrance. "Look, the gate is opening for us."

Indy turned the wheel. A safe harbor, at last. Suddenly, he slammed on the brakes. Another tank blocked the entrance. "I hope it's the welcoming committee." Indy looked around, assessing the situation. He was about to back up, but the first tank now was right behind them.

Soldiers surrounded the battered car, their rifles trained on them. "This doesn't look good," Conrad muttered.

Hands yanked at the locked doors amid excited yells and shouts of orders. Then everyone stepped back.

No one fired. The soldiers stared as if the car were on exhibit.

"What's going on?" Shannon asked.

With the soldiers out of the way, it was obvious. The two tanks were closing in on them. A second later, they were greeted by a high-pitched screech of crushed metal as one rolled into the front, the other struck the rear.

"Goddamn," Shannon yelled, popping his door open. They dove out of the car and into the grasp of the soldiers. Indy was lifted by his arms and legs; the knapsack was ripped from his grip. "Hey, that's my bag. I need it back."

They ignored him. Behind him the tanks crunched the remains of the Pierce-Arrow.

"Your Highness," Dorian said, "the man is dangerous. We don't need foreigners like him. I think he and his friends should be immediately expelled."

The king leaned back in his thickly padded chair in the royal library. "If what you tell me is true, then expulsion might be too easy for them. After all, it's a matter of honor as well as justice when someone steals the property of one of our officers, and then opens fire on him."

"I understand your feeling, Your Highness. However, as you know, no one was injured."

The king stroked his chin and considered what she had said. "Why are you defending him, Dr.

Belecamus?"

You'll never find out, she thought. "I feel partially responsible. This man is one of my graduate students and I brought him here."

"I've already met Mr. Jones, as you recall. I found him a bit odd, but that's not unusual for Americans.

However, I didn't think he was a criminal, and I'd like to hear his story."

Exactly what she wanted to avoid. She glanced at Mandraki. Say something, damn it.

"I don't think it's going to be necessary to go to that trouble," Mandraki said. "You see, in deference to Dr. Belecamus, I don't want to press charges against Jones or the other men."

The king nodded, and motioned to one of his aides. "Prepare their exit papers. I want them on board the ship to Brindisi in the morning."

Dorian stood, feeling relieved, and extended a hand. "Thank you, Your Highness. I appreciate this, and I apologize for the inconvenience it's caused you."

"I'll be happy to take charge of them until their ship leaves," Mandraki said.

The king shrugged, then waved a hand. "It's no trouble keeping them here tonight. In fact, I'd prefer it. I don't want to hear about any more wild esca pades."

He said it with a tone of finality, and Dorian knew it would do no good to argue. She was about to stand up when the king changed topics.

"Now what about the artifact? It was the reason you pursued Jones and the others, wasn't it?" He glanced at Mandraki. "Besides the car, of course."

"Yes, it was, Your Highness."

"Well, do you want to take it with you?"

Just the thought of the Omphalos made Dorian uneasy. She never wanted to hold it again. But she couldn't say that to the king.

"I'd rather not right now. I'll send someone to pick it up in a couple of days."

"What is this thing, the Omphalos?"

"I believe it's a meteorite that was cut and polished and covered with a rope netting that's petrified. Its value was symbolic in the time of Pythia. Now it's mostly a curiosity."

"Why did Jones want it?"

She shrugged. "Who knows? I think he was a little deranged from breathing those vapors. I was speaking prematurely when I said they had no apparent effect. The fact is, they seem to have varying effects."

She smiled modestly, the humble servant. "I'm just pleased, Your Highness, that they affected me in a way that helped you. I don't recall what happened, but I understand that I was able to warn you of a threat against your life."

The king touched his hip, and she wondered if he still believed the vapors had healed him. "Yes, I want to thank you. It was a peculiar situation, but if I hadn't been warned who knows what would have happened."

He stroked his chin, and nodded. Then he rose from his chair. "Well, now it's late."

Dorian said good night, and waited as Mandraki shook the king's hand. She smiled to herself as she heard the king murmur that he was sorry about what happened to his car. As she and Mandraki left the library, she spoke quickly under her breath. "I think we did just fine. He'll go to bed soon, and by the time he wakes up they'll be gone."

Mandraki didn't respond.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm not worried about Jones anymore," he said in a hushed voice as they walked down the wide hallway.

"We've got to get that bastard out of power. The Agora is filled with refugees; more are arriving every day.

The country is falling apart."

"He'll pay for his mistakes," Dorian said. "We'll see to it, and we'll do it right this time."

"And soon," Mandraki added.

24

IN THE PALACE

In a barren cell somewhere below the palace, Indy hovered on the border of sleep. He saw the eagle flapping its wings, soaring high above him, then Mandraki's face obliterated the eagle. The colonel smiled cruelly, then pointed the barrel of his gun in his face.

Indy jerked awake, pounded the hard mattress, and turned over. He knew that what had happened to him in the crevice had been more than a dream. But he didn't want to think about it, didn't want to give it meaning, because all he could see was death, his death obliterating his future.

He turned over again, trying to stop his thoughts, but couldn't do it for more than a few seconds. He counted backwards from one hundred. Ninety-nine, ninety-eight ... He made it to eighty-five before the numbers muddled in his mind, and he drifted. Eighty-six, seventy-eight... He slept.

He blinked his eyes open.

Something had jarred him from his sleep.

He listened.

He heard breathing.

Shannon and Conrad.

But another noise had awakened him. He heard it again. Hollow, distant voices.

Growing closer.

Footsteps echoed in the hallway. He heard a jingle of keys. A voice like gravel growled, another grunted in response. Now what?

The door opened. In the dim light from the hall he saw two uniformed guards enter the cell. They looked around. One pointed at Indy and the other immediately jerked him from the floor.

"What's going on?" Shannon shouted as Indy was dragged toward the door.

"Where're you taking him?" Conrad stood, but he was pushed back down. The door slammed shut.

Hope this isn't the execution call, Indy thought. "Is it morning already?" he asked in Greek as he was led away.

The guards didn't answer. No one had told the prisoners anything. They'd been fed soup, bread, and water, and given a blanket and a thin mattress apiece. But their pleas to see the king or anyone who would listen to them were met with silence. In fact, they didn't even know the whereabouts of Nikos. They hadn't seen him since they left the car, and Indy hoped that somehow in the confusion he had managed to escape.

They reached a stairway, and the guards literally ran him up the steps. "Hey, boys, what's the rush?" He was ushered into a back hallway. He glimpsed a huge kitchen off the hall where men in white uniforms scrubbed the floor. He smelled the faint odor of food.

"Oh, time for breakfast already?" The guards' sullen expressions remained intact. "Guess not."

They kept walking, and soon they entered another hallway, but this one was ornate, suitable for a palace.

His feet sank into the plush carpeting. The walls were mahog any and the cornices were trimmed with gold leaf. He had no doubt that he was now in the main part of the palace.

Halfway down the hallway they stopped in front of double doors tall enough for a giant to enter without ducking. One of the guards tapped lightly. Immediately, the door opened a couple of inches. A few words were exchanged, then Indy was escorted into a library filled with books that reached from floor to ceiling.

The royal library, he thought. Like in my dream-vision.

A large, muscular man in a suit pointed to a wooden chair and Indy sat down. He looked up glumly at the man, expecting an interrogation session. But why in a library? Maybe he was going to beat him to death with books. Joyce's Ulysses could kill him with a single blow.

"Hello, Mr. Indiana Jones."

Indy looked around and saw the king step into view. He was wearing a blue satin robe and slippers—just like in the vision—and he limped slightly as he walked.

"Your Highness." Indy stood up, but the guard shoved him back into his chair.

The king lowered himself into a swivel chair in front of a fireplace. "I'm talking to you against the wishes of my advisors. They thought I should expel you from the coun try without another word."

"Really?" It was the best news Indy had heard since they'd left Delphi. "I'm sure my friends and I will accept that. But—"

The king raised a hand, cutting him off. "The reason I've decided to talk to you is that I feel I owe you at least that. You saved my life."

"I feel very fortunate to be here with you."

The king laughed. "You are fortunate to be alive, much less in the palace. If the reports I received were accurate, luck must be on your side."

Indy tried to answer, but his throat was dry and his voice cracked.

The king snapped his fingers and murmured something to a man who had been hidden by the bookshelves. Indy looked around, wondering how many other people were in the room. A moment later, the aide handed Indy a glass of water.

"Now, tell me why you stole an artifact from Delphi and an automobile from Colonel Mandraki."

Indy gulped the water down, and cleared his throat. "Mandraki was going to kill you. I mean, he wanted me to kill you."

"Wait." The king interrupted. "Start from the begin ning. Why did you go to Delphi with Dorian Belecamus?"

Indy told his story, starting with his first encounter with Dorian. He told the king everything, from her ploy to become Pythia to the story of Richard Farnsworth. He hoped all the details would make his story about the assassination plot more believable.

The king listened closely, expressing astonishment at Belecamus's double dealings. "No wonder the miracle vapors didn't work. The cure didn't last any longer than the new Pythia."

He asked about Stephanos Doumas, and Indy told him that the dead archaeologist had been involved in the Order of Pythia, but not in the assassination attempt. "So you say that this supposed attempt to kill me had nothing to do with this mystical order, but was a military plot led by Colonel Mandraki?"

Indy nodded.

The king looked distracted. "I'm well aware that my political enemies are growing in numbers, and that every thing has not worked as I had hoped. But until now none of them has attempted to kill me." He turned to Indy and smiled. "If what you say about Mandraki is true, I don't feel so bad now about his car being destroyed."

He got up and hobbled over to the fireplace. He rubbed his hands together over the low-burning fire, then turned to Indy. "I'd like to offer you and your friends a choice of staying in the palace as my guests of honor, or leaving and doing as you please."

"I think I can speak for my friends and say that the three of us are ready to go back to Paris." Then he asked about Nikos.

The king glanced to the side and the aide who had brought the water appeared again. The man watched Indy as the king spoke under his breath. He said something back to the king, then after another exchange the aide moved away. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jones," the king said, "but we know nothing about the boy. I hope he was able to get out of the car."

"Are you saying he never got out?" Indy raised his voice, and the guard by the door took a couple of steps toward him until the king motioned that it was okay.

"I'm saying I don't know. If I knew he was dead, I would tell you."

The aide returned carrying the knapsack and handed it to the king, who offered it to Indy. "I believe this is yours."

Incredible. He's going to give me the Omphalos, Indy thought. Again, just like the vision.

He shook his head. "No, it's not mine. It's the Omphalos. It belongs to everyone."

"It seems that there has been more attention given to this stone than it deserves," the king said.

"I'm not so sure about that, Your Highness."

The king reached into the knapsack and scooped out the cone with one hand. "Dr. Belecamus, for all her faults, is an authority on Delphi, and she told me that the Omphalos is really nothing more than a curiosity, a meteorite actual ly. I'm sure if it was of great value she wouldn't have left the palace without it. I'd like you to take it as a memento of your trip."

"Your Highness, I think you should put it back in the knapsack. If it's held too long, it may. . . you may. .

." Indy didn't know how to explain it. He really didn't believe it, but something had happened to him, and to Dorian.

"I don't see anything unusual about it." The king turned it over in his hands. "It feels warm."

He folded down into his chair. "I feel a little drowsy."

The knapsack dropped to the floor as he wrapped his arms around the Omphalos. For several seconds he was motionless. Then his eyes grew wide, his mouth twisted in an expression of shock, and Indy knew that the artifact was working its spell. He rushed forward, but the burly guard caught him before he reached the king.

"Do something," Indy barked. "Can't you see he needs help? Get the stone."

The aide moved to the king's side, asked if he was okay. Carefully, he lifted the Omphalos and set it on the floor. "The doctor. Quickly," he yelled.

The king raised his hand. "No. I'm okay."

He ran his hands over his face. "Release him," he told the guard who still held Indy.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness. I tried to warn you."

The king stared down at the Omphalos. "I had the strangest experience. It was like a dream, but I was awake. I was surrounded by horrendous army ants, and they were picking at me. They were trying to carry me away."

Indy nodded, uncertain what to say.

"What happened to me?"

"I don't know," Indy said. "I think the artifact needs to be carefully studied by scientists."

"It needs to be locked away," the king retorted. "Or maybe lost again." A beat passed. "Well, if you're going to make the ferry on time, you better be on your way."

As the king accompanied him to the door of the library, Indy thought there was something different about him now. But he wasn't sure what it was.

He thanked the king for his help.

"Thank you for yours. Now, I have some army ants to

deal with this morning." With that, he turned and walked away.

As the door closed behind Indy, he realized what it was about the king. He no longer limped.

The city was just coming awake as they walked out a side door of the palace, and headed toward the street. A church bell pealed, a rooster crowed. The clatter of a horse and buggy contrasted with the rumble of a car engine. "I can't believe we're getting out of this nightmare alive,' Shannon said.

As they reached the street, a soldier with a rifle approached them. "Now what?" Indy said wearily.

The soldier pointed to a new Cadillac waiting at the curb. "Your ride to the port."

As he closed the door after them, Indy couldn't help commenting on the irony. "That guy was probably ready to kill us yesterday."

"He's only doing his job," Conrad said.

"Yeah, just following the score," Shannon said.

"And what are we doing?" Indy asked.

"Playing it by ear."

"It's more interesting that way," Indy said.

"To some people, " Conrad responded. He stared out the window toward the palace with a look of longing. "It would have been nice to stay at the palace for a few days. I might have gotten inspired for my novel."

Indy looked over at him as the car pulled away. "What about everything that's happened to you in the last few days?"

"Experiences are deceptive, Indy. A writer is much better off working from the material of his inner self rather than from confusing experiences."

Indy mulled over that a moment. "If you ask me, people are confusing, not experiences."

Conrad didn't answer and they were each left with his

thoughts. As they passed the remains of Hadrian's Library and neared the Roman Forum, Indy gazed out at the refugee shanties that were built on top of the ruins. Smoke was curling from a few rooftops and reminded him of the vapors rising from the crevice in Apollo's Temple.

Then he saw her moving through the gray dawn, her long hair tied in a braid. There was no doubt in his mind that it was Dorian Belecamus.

"Stop."

"What are you doing?" Shannon asked as Indy opened the door. "We've got to get to Piraeus."

"Listen, wait five minutes for me. If I'm not back, go on. I'll meet you at the ferry. There's something I've got to do."

"We don't have much time," Conrad warned.

"I know. I know."

He slammed the door without another word and hur ried past a hodgepodge of shanties. She had been headed in that direction, and he thought he knew her destination. He passed by the ancient gate to the Forum, continued a ways, then saw the Tower of the Winds. She stood beneath it, gazing upward.

Dorian stared intently at the face of Lips, the southwest wind, who was speeding along the voyage of a ship. Jones and the others would soon be gone. The danger was over. And yet, she felt empty.

She would miss Jones. She had truly enjoyed his compa ny, something he would never believe. He wouldn't un derstand the complexity of her life, and how forces beyond her personal life were directing her.

She also knew that even if she had succeeded in breaking away from Mandraki and becoming Pythia, it would not have been any different. Those same political forces still would have driven her, and her fantasy about herself and Jones in the seat of power would have failed.

She didn't know what her future was. Maybe she would return to Paris. Maybe not. Nothing would be resolved until Mandraki acted. Her life was not really hers, and she detested that.

"Now I know why this is your favorite ruin."

She spun around, startled. "Indy!"

"You're just like it. Different faces for different winds."

"What are you doing here?"

"On my way back to Paris. Just saying adio."

She glanced around. Mandraki was inspecting the refu gee situation and he would meet her here any time.

"You shouldn't be here. Figete."

He laughed. "Now you're telling me to get lost. I'm not leaving until you've satisfied my curiosity. Why did Mandraki take you back after you shot him? He doesn't exactly seem like the forgiving type."

She knew he wouldn't go away until she answered. "He didn't know who shot him. You can see through the vapors better than you can see into them. He only heard me call his name."

"That figures. You deceived him just like you did me and probably every other man in your life. And I thought for a while that I loved you."

She met his cold stare. "I'm not really a bad person, Indy. I do what I have to do. But you're a man. You wouldn't understand."

He shook his head. "Your gender has nothing to do with it. If every woman were like you, we'd all be in—"

"Just go. Please."

But it was too late. Mandraki stood just five feet away, and he was raising a revolver.

The gun seemed to move in slow motion. This couldn't be happening. The vision couldn't be true. What about all the adventures? Had his entire future, or the lack of it, depended on whether or not he left the car to follow Dorian?

"Jones, you're dead."

"No!" Dorian yelled, and she stepped between them.

"Get out of my way, Dorian. Now!"

"No. You aren't going to kill him."

"Move out of the way."

"You'll have to kill me first."

"Damn you, Dorian." The gun fired.

Indy caught Dorian as she collapsed. He felt the warmth of her blood seeping through his shirt and heard the soft, terrible wheezing as she tried to pull air into her lungs. He knew Mandraki was still standing there with the gun as he placed Dorian gently on the ground. He elevated her head so she wouldn't drown in her own blood.

"Dorian," Mandraki whimpered. "I didn't mean it. The gun just fired."

She tried to speak, but couldn't. She tried to lift her hand, but couldn't do that, either. Indy bent over her, touched her cheek.

"Get away from her," Mandraki yelled. "You did this. You killed her. Now you're dead."

Indy looked up into the barrel of the gun. Just like the vision. So this was it.

He heard a gunshot.

Mandraki staggered a couple of steps. "Malaka," he cursed, and he dropped to the ground.

Indy recognized the guard from the king's library, stand ing in the clearing. As the guard moved toward them, Indy saw Mandraki lift his weapon and aim it at him again.

But the guard was ready. He pumped several shots into him. The gun fell from Mandraki's hand. Blood oozed from his mouth. This time he wouldn't get up.

When Indy looked down at Dorian, she was dead. Her eyes gazed vapidly at the blue morning sky overhead. Oddly, he knew he was going to miss her. In spite of her shortcomings, she had influenced his life. He would never be the same person again, and he knew that he had found the career that would be his life's work. He brushed a hand across Dorian's cheek, then closed the lids of her eyes.

"Indy, are you all right?"

"Nikos! What are you doing here?"

Nikos glanced anxiously around. "I hid in the palace garden all night, then I saw you leaving in the car. I followed you in a taxi, because I wanted to say good-bye."

"I've got to get to the ferry."

"C'mon. The taxi's waiting. You can still make it."

He glanced once more at Dorian's frozen expression, and turned away.

The ferry's horn blasted as they arrived at the port. He shook hands with Nikos, and thanked him for his help. "Come visit me in Paris."

"I want to go to America too, and see a jazz band and the Grand Canyon," Nikos called after him.

"Why not?" Indy said, and smiled. Then he strode up the gangway. The horn blasted one final time, and the gangway rose behind him.

As the ferry edged away from the pier, Indy heard another horn. It was Shannon playing his cornet on the deck. He strolled over to him, nodding to Conrad. Shannon blew a few more bluesy notes, then lowered the horn.

"You just made it, Indy. What the hell were you doing?"

"I'll tell you later. We've got plenty of time to talk. But what was that tune? Don't think I've ever heard it?"

"That's because you've only seen the lyrics. It's called 'Down in the Quarter.' Still need a singer, but at least I've got a new verse." He snapped his fingers, then tapped a beat on his cornet.

Took a trip to Greece;

left the Quarter far behind.

But Lord, never

knew how I'd

miss that

second home of

mine.

"My sentiments, too," Indy said.

"Got something for you," Conrad said, and he handed Indy a package. "It arrived just before you got here."

"What's this?" Indy ripped open the envelope attached to the top of the package, and saw it was a note from the king.

Dear Mr. Jones— I hope you will change your mind and accept the Omphalos. Bury it at sea, if you wish, but please take it far from Greece and Delphi. The days of Apollo's Oracle are long over, and we Greeks must look to our future rather than try to revive our distant past. Thank you.

"What is it?" Shannon asked as the ferry pulled away from the pier.

"A piece of a falling star, I guess." Indy balanced the package on the railing.

"What are you going to do with it?"

He looked down at the dark blue sea. "I don't know. I'll have to think about it. But I know a museum curator in Chicago who would be very pleased to have it in his Greek collection. ..."

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Rob macgregor wrote Indiana Jones And The Last Crusade, a novel based on the movie script. He is also the author of The Crystal Skull, a novel of adventure and in trigue, and The Rainbow Oracle (with Tony Grosso), a book of color divination. His travel articles have appeared in the Miami Herald, Los Angeles Times, Boston Globe, Newsday and elsewhere. He is also a contributor to OMNI Magazine's "Anti-Matter" section. Be sides his work as a writer, he has organized adventure tours to South America for travel writers, and led the first group of U.S. jour-nalists to the Lost City in the Sierra Nevada of Santa Marta Mountains in Colombia in 1987. He lives in Boynton Beach, Florida, where he is at work on his next novel.

The adventure doesn't stop here—there's more chil s, adventure, and mystery ahead in the next Indiana Jones adventure—

INDIANA JONES AND THE DANCE OF THE GIANTS

Read an exciting preview of the next novel in the series starting on the next page Everywhere he looked, he saw figures draped in billowy black robes, their heads covered in cowls. They chanted a rhythmic drone, over and over again. It was endless. It was maddening.

He peered through the grey haze, trying to get his bearings. It was either dawn or dusk; he wasn't sure and it disturbed him that he didn't know. He could see that he was inside some sort of temple. It was immense and circular, roofless, with stone pillars arching toward the grey sky.

He didn't belong here; he was out of place. His head stuck out above everyone else's, and he was the only person who wasn't wearing a robe. He looked down at himself and saw that he wasn't wearing anything. Then he realized that he was standing on a flat rock and that was why his head protruded above everyone else's.

What was he doing here? How had he gotten here?

They were looking at him now. Every head was turned toward him. The droning grew louder. There was a rhythm to it, and it pounded against him. Why were they moving toward him? Why wouldn't his feet move?

Why did his body feel like lead?

Now they were rushing at him. They were a sea of black. Their robes flapped at their ankles. He looked around frantically for an escape route. His arms pumped at his sides, his feet blurred beneath him, but he didn't seem to be getting anywhere. They must have drugged him; but who were they?

His head snapped around. They were almost on top of him. Move. Move. Fast. Air exploded from his lungs. A

grinning face leered at him. The sky tilted. The pillars were toppling toward him. And suddenly he was awake, his arms twitching, his feet jerking, a scream poised at the edge of his tongue.

He sucked in his breath, looked around. But he could still hear the incessant chanting. He blinked his eyes, orienting himself. The train. Of course. The cars rumbled over the rails, the sound of the chanting, and someone was pounding on the door of his compartment. He sat forward, ran his hand across his perspiration-soaked brow.

"Who is it?"

The pounding stopped. The door opened and a slender, grey-haired Englishman wearing a conductor's uniform peered in at him. "Mr. Jones? Sorry if I disturbed you."

Indy rubbed his face. "What is it?"

The conductor held up a package. "It was waiting for you at the last stop."

"You sure it's for me?" Indy took the flat, rectangular box wrapped in white paper. On it was taped an envelope addressed: Indy Jones. "Yeah. Probably only one of us aboard." He thanked the conductor, who smiled thinly, nodded, and retreated.

Indy turned the package over in his hand. It looked like a candy box. It rattled when he shook it. He held it to his nose; it smelled faintly of chocolate. Who would send chocolates, he wondered as he slipped a card out of the envelope. The message was typewritten: Have an enjoya ble trip, and good luck on your new job. Henry Jones, Sr.

He blinked, re-read it. Now how the hell did his father know he would be on this train? And since when did he wire him boxes of candy? Hell, they hadn't spoken for more than two years, not since he'd informed him of his switch in studies from linguistics to archaeology.

Then his frown vanished, and a smile curled on his lips. It was Shannon; it had to be. Jack Shannon knew all about his relationship with his father. The package was a god damn joke, at least to someone with Shannon's jaded sense of humor. He shook his head, and set the card down on the box.

He stared out the window at the grey countryside drifting by. His thoughts turned back to his last night in

Paris. A cloud of blue haze hung in the air of the nightclub as the black woman on stage swayed and sang, her voice deep and sonorous, a perfect accompaniment to the soul ful sounds of the cornet being played in the shadows behind her. As the last notes of the song slowly faded away to the applause of the crowd, the tall, gangly cornet player with the goatee and unruly hair walked off the stage. He shook hands, nodded, smiled as he wove his way through the tables. Finally, he lowered himself into a chair in a table near the corner farthest from the stage.

"You're sounding real good, Jack. You and Louise," Indy said.

"Thanks. It's really come together in the last six months."

"I'll miss it."

Shannon studied Indy's face. "So you're really going to teach archaeology in London."

"At least for the summer. I'm leaving in the morning."

"I don't blame you for wanting to leave Paris. It's getting too hectic. The scene's changed." Shannon leaned forward and lit a cigarette from the burning candle on the table. "Sometimes, I look around and there's hardly a Parisian in the Jungle anymore. All tourists. Every night a new crowd. The regulars never show up until the last set, anymore. If they show up at all.'

"Sorry I couldn't make it earlier."

Shannon waved a hand. "I'm not talking about you. It's everything. I guess I'm getting restless as well."

Indy put on his hat. "You know you're welcome to come and visit anytime you like."

"I may take you up on that. I'd like to see London again."

The rural countryside had given way to sooty brick factories and spewing smokestacks, and Indy knew that he'd be in the city in a few minutes. After leaving Paris earlier in the week, he'd spent a couple of days in Brittany, where he'd examined some of the megalithic ruins in the region. Then this morning he'd taken a ferry across the channel and boarded the train.

He ripped the paper from the package. He smiled. French chocolates from Paris. "Nice going, Shannon."

He was about to remove the cover and sample a choco-

late when the train suddenly braked for another station and a book slid off the seat. He leaned over and picked up the book. The coyer had flopped open to an epigraph on the first page of the 18th century tome, which read: Felix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causes.

"Fortune is he who can know the inner meaning of things," he muttered.

He closed the cover. The book was called, Choir Gaur; The Grand Orrey of the Ancient Druids, Commonly Called Stonehenge. He laughed to himself. He didn't have to look any further for the meaning of his dream. He'd been reading the book before he'd fallen asleep. Why black robes, though, he wondered. He was sure Druids wore white. But who said dreams made sense.

The train started up again. He tapped his fingers on the package. Trains were so monotonous, always stopping. Everyone was saying that airplanes would soon make trains obsolete. It hadn't happened yet, but he was all for it.

He lifted the cover off the candy box, and reached inside for a chocolate. It took a moment before he compre hended what he was seeing and feeling. Something black and hairy was crawling up his fingers, and it wasn't made of chocolate. His jaw dropped; he shouted and shook his hand. Then he gaped at the box.

He saw a few chocolates, but the rest of the compartments were filled with walnut-sized spiders. At the same time, his knees kicked the box into the air. Chocolates and spiders spewed over him. He swept them off his legs, his arms. He leaped to his feet. He stomped on spiders, squashed chocolates, swept his arms and legs and body clean of the crawling creatures.

Finally, he examined his seat, then sat down again, but as he did felt one creeping inside his pants leg, and another on the inside of his collar. He nearly leaped out of his clothes. He shook his leg until the spider fell to the floor, and he squashed it. Then carefully he reached up to his collar and brushed at his neck.

He laughed nervously as a chocolate dropped to the floor. Relieved he sat down, exhaled. But now he felt a tingling on his calf, and pulled up his pant leg. Dozens of tiny, newly hatched spiders were crawling over his calf and behind his knee.

"AW. . . AW. . ." His teeth chattered; he shuddered.

He brushed them off, swatted them with a rolled up newspaper. Then, carefully he inspected his leg to make sure none was left.

He picked up the box, examined it. It hadn't been a matter of spiders invading the chocolate box. Someone had planted them.

"Shannon?" he said aloud. Would he go to all the trouble for a joke that he wouldn't even see carried out? Maybe, but this was no joke.

He looked at the card again. Maybe it w as his father? No, couldn't be. He wouldn't. Besides, it was addressed to Indy Jones, and his father never called him that. But Shannon knew that. If he was playing a joke, why wouldn't he have addressed it to Henry Jones, Jr. as his father's letters had always read when they were college roommates back in Chicago.

He heard a tap on the door. "Yes?"

The conductor opened it. "Is everything all right?" A frown creased his forehead. "I thought I heard a noise."

"You mind if I switch compartments for the rest of the trip? This one has spiders."

"Spiders?" The conductor's eyes shifted about the com partment. He twitched his shoulders as if the thought of spiders made him uneasy. Indy understood perfectly. Spi ders usually didn't bother him as much as some things, but almost swallowing one is definitely an exception. He pointed to one.

The conductor backed out of the compartment. "Right this way, sir."

Indy gathered up his books, and the conductor carried his luggage. At the last moment, he grabbed the empty box and wrapper, hoping they'd hold some clue to the souce of the so-called gift. When he was settled in his new seat, he asked the conductor how he might find out where the package he'd received had come from.

"That's easy. Just look at the number in the corner of the wrapper."

Indy flattened it out. "Twelve."

"That's it. They always put a number on the packages so the sender can be notified by the telegraph office that the package was delivered if they request the service."

"So where's 'twelve'?"

The conductor smiled. "That's easy. It was sent from London."

Indy glanced over his shoulder as he passed through the stone gate of the university and caught sight of a tall, dark haired man moving behind him. The guy had been follow ing him for the last two mornings. At least, maybe it was just someone who was walking the same route.

He glanced back again, but the man had vanished into a crowd of students. Just his imagination, he told himself. Even though six weeks had passed since his first day of classes, he hadn't been able to put the incident with the spiders behind him. He wanted to think it was all a mistake, that the candy box hadn't been intended for him. But he knew it had. He just didn't know why. He'd been expecting something to happen, some indication of what the box had meant, but there'd been nothing.

Despite his efforts, he'd had no luck tracing the source of the package. Shannon had sworn that he knew nothing about it, and Indy believed him. Whoever had sent it had been careful not to leave a trail.

But he was too busy to spend much time thinking about it. He arrived on campus each day by eight, read over his notes in his office, and taught a two-hour class at nine, and another at one. Although his classes were over at three, his work had just begun. He would go back to his office or to the library, where he would take out his class syllabus, open his books, and begin preparations for the next class.