Rob Macgregor - Indiana Jones and the Peril at Delphi (Indiana Jones, No. 1)

ONE SHOT IS WORTH A THOUSAND WORDS

It was twilight as they descended the hils into the outskirts of the capital. The lights of Athens were blinking on below them. Indy was tired, thirsty, and hungry, but most of al he was anxious to get to the palace. It was the one place he felt they would be safe . If they could get through the front gate.

But Conrad interrupted his thoughts. "Take a look at what's ahead,' he said.

Indy grimaced. "Swel. 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. Wel explain that we have important information for the king."

There was no time to argue. 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.

"The bravest are surely those who have the clearest vision of what is before them, glory and danger alike, and yet notwithstanding go out to meet it."

Thucydides

Delphi, Greece1922

Indy hung in the darkness like a quarter moon, suspended by a rope that burned into his chest and armpits. He heard shouts above him, but couldn't make out the words. When he dropped his head back, the aperture high above him offered no more light than a twinkling star.

"Dorian!" he yel ed. "Send down another torch!"

His voice bounced back and forth against the wal s of the crevice; he didn't know if she had heard him or not. He rubbed his cheek against his shoulder and peered down. Blackness was everywhere, an inky veil that disoriented him, dizzied him. Nausea rol ed through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and moved his hands a fraction of an inch upward on the rope, fearing that in the next second, it was going to snap and he'd fol ow his first torch into the fathomless darkness below him.

There was no space, no time, only the pul of gravity, the suction of the void. He couldn't have dangled more than a few minutes, but it seemed he'd been hanging here for hours, waiting for light to redeem him.

"Jones," Dorian shouted.

His name reverberated in the pit. He glanced up and saw a flickering light dancing toward him. The rope that held it coiled and uncoiled, serpentine, its tongue hissing fire. Indy ducked as the torch darted past his head, then grabbed the rope and snared the end of the torch.

He gripped it, his breath erupting from his chest like hiccups. He peered at the wall in front of him, no longer certain if it was the right wall. Maybe he was too far down. He tugged on his rope twice and Doumas, Dorian's assis tant, lowered him another two feet. Then he was directly opposite the tablet. It jutted out from the stone wall like a tombstone in a graveyard, and was tilted slightly downward.

He pulled a four pronged clamp from his knapsack and pounded it into the wall with a mallet. He was about to place the torch into it when something caught his eye. He held the torch in front of the tablet and leaned forward for a closer look.

He'd been told the inscription would be caked with dirt and that it would have to be cleaned once the tablet was taken to the surface. But he was staring at parallel rows of glyphs that were not only clearly recognizable, but were written in ancient Greek, a language he could read.

His eyes skipped over the words, devouring them. Excitement knotted in his gut. He put the torch back into the holder on the wall, and pulled a notepad from a side pocket of his knapsack. Quickly, he scrawled the transla tion. He couldn't believe it. They were right. The crazy bastards knew what they were talking about.

He wanted to yell up to the top, but decided to conserve his energy. He stuffed the notebook back into the pack, pulled out the net, and carefully covered the tablet before fastening the drawstrings to a hook at the end of the rope.

He was about to start chiseling at the wall to loosen the tablet when the rope suddenly jerked against his chest. He dropped several inches; the rope tightened under his arms.

"Hey, what the hell is going on?"

His voice ricocheted about the crevice. He was directly below the tablet now and saw pick marks under it.

Some one had not only cleaned the inscription, but had tried to remove the tablet. But who?

The rope jerked again. A weird creaking filled the crevice and he knew what it was. His rope was fraying.

He pulled the torch from the wall and held it up. "Aw, Christ."

Easy does it, he thought. He placed the torch in his mouth, and reached for the rope above the spot where it was unraveling. He heard a resounding snap, a sharp, terrible sound that echoed in the crevice. His fingers snagged the rope.

He dangled by one hand, the frayed end rubbing against his wrist. The torch burned the hair on his arm.

His face was contorted in a grimace as he stretched his other hand over his head. Sweat beaded on his brow, trickled into his eyes.

He felt a hard yank from above, and the rope slipped through his fingers. He reached desperately with his other hand, but his fist closed on black air.

He fell.

College Capers

Chicagotwo years earlier

The night was still and tight as the two men lumbered down a narrow lane, limp bodies draped over their shoul ders. Rain from a spring shower puddled in hidden de pressions, shadowed by the tall buildings on either side. They were nearing a corner, and beyond it was the grassy mall, their destination.

One of the men was tall and rangy and bobbed as he walked as if constantly readjusting the weight of the body he carted. The other one was sturdy and muscular. Coils of rope hung from both sides of his belt, and he moved with the nimbleness of a mountain climber. Suddenly, he stumbled in one of the ruts and lurched to the side, almost losing his balance. Nimble, yes, but also afflicted by occasional spasms of clumsiness.

"Damn it," he sputtered as he recovered his footing. It was almost over, and he was edgy.

"You okay?" the tall one asked.

"Fine. Let's stop a minute. I've got a bad feeling about this."

The tall one unceremoniously let the body slip from his shoulder, then pulled out a flask from inside his coat. He

held it out, but his partner shook his head. "No?" The tall man shrugged, then took a long swallow.

"Take it easy on that stuff," the rope man hissed.

"It takes the edge off."

"Fifteen more minutes and it'll be all over," the rope man said. He hugged the shadows of the building as he moved ahead, the body still draped over his husky shoulder. When he reached the corner, he looked both ways. In spite of his concern, he was determined to complete his mission, and he wanted every detail perfect.

He turned to signal his partner, but the man was already standing behind him, the other body slung over his shoulder. They headed down a rain-slick sidewalk, the glow of street lamps reflecting off its surface.

They stopped when they reached the first light, and slid the bodies onto the grass. Barely visible under a nearby hedge were two other bodies they'd left there half an hour earlier.

"Call your tune," the tall one said.

"Get Paine ready. I want him first. And make sure his hat is on straight." He loosened one of the ropes coiled on his belt. A hangman's noose was knotted at the end of the rope, and with a graceful swing of his arm, he tossed it over the arc of the lamp. The noose danced in the pale light.

"Okay, slide it over his neck, and make sure his name tag doesn't come off."