By Monkey

Chapter 17

Scotland Yard

     The next morning found the four men together again, but this time they were on the policeman’s turf, Scotland Yard.  They were gathered in Inspector Davies’ office and there was a fifth man as well.

      “Gentlemen this is Agent Lawrence Elliot,” Davies introduced the man, “he’s from MI5.”

      “His Majesty’s Secret Service,” Marcus said as he shook the man’s hand, appraising him with a mix of curiosity and admiration, “very pleased to meet you sir.”

      “And I to meet all of you,” Elliot said as he shook Allenby’s, and then Jones’ hand.

     Elliot was a pleasant man in his mid thirties.  He was on the favorable side of handsome, and had an engaging smile and warm handshake.

      “So what brings MI5 in to the case?” Marcus asked without hesitation.

     Davies answered before Agent Elliot could, “Gentlemen this case is taking on a more…international flavor, and MI5 has graciously agreed to assist.”

     The museum curators and the archaeologist nodded.

      “Well then,” Davies stood up and began to pace slowly in front of them.  He placed his fingertips together as he spoke, “as to the crux of our meeting here this morning…we are assuming that Lord Malboury has been kidnapped by certain parties who wish for him to assist them in recovering this archaeological artifact, or I should say artifacts…these Sun Tablets.”

      “Certain parties?” Jones said, “Why don’t you just call them what they are…Nazis.”

     Elliot now spoke, “You must understand Mr. Jones that such accusations would carry political ramifications that might be…unpleasant for the Prime Minister.  While we are pursuing this case with the notion that there may be some…German nationals involved, we can not assume that there is any involvement by Herr Hitler’s government.”

      “Maybe you can’t…” Jones mumbled.

     Davies cleared his throat, “As I was saying, we are assuming that the parties who have kidnapped Lord Malboury most likely have taken him out of the country, and are in search of these Tablets even as we speak.”

      “What you’re saying is that they’ve probably taken him to Egypt.” Marcus said.

      “Precisely.  And while still a part of the British Empire, Egypt is nonetheless out of my jurisdiction so to speak,” Davies answered, “which is why MI5 is involved, and why I am asking you, Mr. Brody to accompany Agent Elliot to Egypt to assist him in his efforts.”

     Marcus looked over at Elliot, “You would like for me to assist you?”

      “Your knowledge of Malboury’s research will be extremely valuable,” Elliot nodded.

      “Besides Mr. Brody, it’s not a request,” Davies said as he lit one of his ubiquitous cigarettes and blew out the match.

      “I see,” said Marcus. Then he motioned over towards Indy, “What of my colleague Doctor Jones?”

      “I’m sorry Mr. Brody but we want only you,” Davies answered him, “We don’t want too many archaeologists muddling things up; this is a police matter after all,” he added arrogantly.

     Indiana Jones threw him a stony look.

     Davies took a deep drag on his cigarette and spoke with ‘smoke breath’ once again, “You’ll be leaving in the morning Mr. Brody,” he said, and then closed his mouth to allow the rest of the exhaling smoke to flow out of his nostrils like some kind of fire breathing dragon.

      “Sorry for the short notice Professor Brody but we believe that time is of the essence.” Elliot said apologetically.

     Brody pursed his lips for just a moment and then said, “Not to worry Mr. Elliot; for King, Country, and of course Richard Malboury, I’ll be more than happy to assist in any way that I can.”

      “Thank you,” Elliot said.

      “Where will you look?” Indiana Jones asked an obvious but unresolved question.

     Elliot looked at Marcus, “That’s where you come in Professor.  Where do you believe we should begin?”

      “My best guess would be perhaps the area around El Amarna, or possibly further up the Nile at Abydos, the Valley of the Kings, or even Luxor.  Richard had many theories on the location of the Tablets.”

      “Well, we leave for Cairo in the morning.  But if you don’t mind Professor Brody I’d like to go over some important issues with you at MI5 headquarters right now.  I’ll drive you back to Professor Allenby’s after we’re done and you can get ready to leave in the morning.”

      “Certainly,” Marcus said, “I’m at your disposal.”  Then Brody looked over at Jones, “Indy?”

      “Oh don’t worry about me Marcus; I’ll catch up with you back at John’s house later. I’ve still got some business of my own to attend to here.”

     Marcus looked at him curiously as the men got up to leave.

      “And I suppose I’ll get back to my beloved 4^TH Dynasty sculptures back at the museum,” Allenby said.

     Indiana Jones then spoke to Davies, “Inspector Davies you remember my request yesterday?”

     Davies looked at him, “Oh yes, of course, you want to speak with our illustrious Queen Nefertiti don’t you.  You’re only wasting your time though, she won’t say a word.  She claims to know nothing of Malboury’s disappearance.  But then those people are the most proficient liars on earth aren’t they.”

      “Oh there are probably many candidates for that honor,” Indy answered.

     Davies stepped outside into the corridor and called over one of the junior policemen.  He gave him a few quick instructions and in a few moments the young policeman was escorting Indiana Jones to where the prisoner holding cells were located.  They had to actually exit the main building, cross a small courtyard, and enter another building to get to the holding cells. 

     The building was stark, cold, and unpleasant.  The walls were painted a drab, dull, off-green color and the floors were tiled in an ugly, dark maroon.  There was no one in the building save for the one guard sitting at a plain wooden desk at the end of the corridor.

      “Hello Will,” Jones’ escort spoke to the guard, “You’re to let this gentleman speak with our prisoner; five minutes, Davies’ orders.”

      “Five minutes?” Jones said, surprised that Davies had stipulated so short a time.

      “Sure thing John,” Will said to the policeman.  Then he turned to Indiana Jones.  He glanced down at the archaeologist’s decorated cast for a moment and then looked back up, “So’s you want to talk to the gypsy tart then do you mate?”  The man tried to smile slyly but succeeded only in producing an ugly leer. “Well, she’s daft you know.”  The man picked up a set of keys on a large metal ring, “Follow me then,” he said and walked towards a staircase leading downward.

     As they descended the steps the jailer continued talking, “Oh, she’s a looker awright.  She could tempt the pope his self couldn’t she?” he winked as he asked Jones the rather indelicate, rhetorical Papal question. “Yeah she’s a looker that’s for sure, but she’s bleedin’ daft.  Thinks she’s an Egyptian Queen, or so they say.”

      “Look, can you just take me to see the lady, without the comments?”  Indiana Jones had had enough of the man’s off-color opinions.

     The jailer stopped and turned around with a sour expression on his face, “Oh, well, excuse me mate,” he said with exaggerated politeness, “sorry to disappoint you though, but there aint no ladies down here.  Aint but one gypsy whore’s all we’s got down here.”

     Jones stopped and stared at the man for a moment, “maybe I should just go and speak with Inspector Davies again,” he said.

     “Awright, awright, you don’t be needin’ to play all high and mighty with me governor, I’ll take you to the Queen. Come on.”

     At the bottom of the stairs there was a barred door that the man opened with one of the keys from the ring.  This opened into a small corridor that was lit by three naked light bulbs hung from fixtures in the low ceiling.  There were three jail cells on the left side.

      “She’s there,” the jailer pointed, “in the last cell,” he winked lewdly at Jones, “no hanky-panky eh mate?” he said, and then walked back up the stairs leaving Jones alone.

     Indiana Jones ignored the man’s comment and proceeded hesitantly towards the far end of the corridor.  The first two cells were empty.

     He didn’t know why he felt the way he did.  It was a strange feeling; it was electric and exhilarating, and yet also a bit dark and foreboding.  Maybe, he thought, it was just an extreme sort of curiosity that had pestered him for so long; ever since Marcus had received that telegram the night of the Christmas party.

TO BE CONTINUED…

The Indy Experience.com is maintained and updated by fans of the Indiana Jones films, and is in no way affiliated with Lucasfilm or Paramount Pictures.  Copyrights and trademarks for the Indiana Jones films, books, articles, and other material are held by their respective owners and their use is allowed under the fair use clause of the Copyright Law.  Design and original material are Copyright © 2002 - 2006 The Indy Experience.com.  The Indy Experience.com is proudly hosted by Nexcess.net.  Contact TIE.c's Webmaster: webmaster@theindyexperience.com.