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.