By Monkey

Chapter 46

Passion on the Nile

     “Damnit!” Indiana Jones exclaimed in frustration as he watched the ‘River Goddess’ slip further and further out into the center of the Nile.

      “Looks like we missed the boat again,” the archaeologist said dejectedly.

      “Not yet!” Bassira shouted as she jumped out of the taxi and ran down the pier.

     Jones watched as the girl ran until she came to where a large dhow sat moored next to the pier.  Bassira jumped on to the boat and began to shout in Arabic.  A moment later a man, a woman with a small child, and an older Arab girl emerged from the river craft’s small cabin where it appeared they had been taking their evening meal. 

     Bassira spoke excitedly, pointing over at Indy and Vadoma, and at the ‘River Goddess’ which slipped further and further away.  Then Bassira motioned for the archaeologist and the gypsy woman to come over to the boat.  Already the man was starting up the vessel’s outboard engine and preparing to cast off the lines.

     Jones quickly paid the cab driver, giving him a sizeable tip for his efforts, and then he and Vadoma grabbed their small suitcases and ran for the dhow.

      “Hurry!” Bassira shouted to them as they made their way over to the boat.

     As soon as they came aboard the Arab man at the stern began to accelerate the craft out into the river.  Bassira then explained.

      “This is my friend Malak,” she said pointing to the Arab girl on the boat, “that is her father and mother.  Her uncle operates the ‘River Goddess’.  We will catch up to them and get you aboard,” she smiled with satisfaction.

     Jones eyed the girl with admiration, “Thank you Bassira, what can I say, you are quite a girl!  You’re going to make quite an archaeologist too.  You know how to think on your feet.”

     Bassira blushed while Malak smiled, delighting in her friend’s bashfulness at the handsome stranger’s compliments.

     Within minutes the dhow caught up with the ‘River Goddess’ and drew up alongside.  Some shouts from Malak’s father to his brother on board the river boat resulted in a rope ladder being quickly dropped over the side.  First Vadoma, and then Jones ascended, after which Bassira and Malak passed their luggage up to them.  The dhow then turned away.  Jones and Vadoma waved in thanks to Bassira as her smiling face faded into the distance.

A short while later the couple was escorted to their berthing by one of the luxury vessel’s smartly dressed stewards.  It was cabin number 11 in the aft starboard quarter one deck below the main deck.

      “One of our finest cabins,” the man gestured, and bowed extravagantly as he opened the door to the splendid little cabin that Jones had just finished paying handsomely for.  In fact it had cost him the majority of his remaining money.  But it would be their home for the next few days until they reached Luxor, over three hundred miles up the meandering Nile, where Jones hoped that he could finally track down Marcus Brody.

     Luxor was a regular stop for all of the large Nile river boats that plied the mighty river and Indiana Jones was hoping that Bassira was right about the ‘River Goddess’ being fast enough to overtake the ‘Queen of the Nile’.  He needed to get to Luxor first.

     Jones tipped the man generously.  The archaeologist then shut the door and slid the bolt to lock it.

      “Oh Indy, it’s wonderful!” Vadoma said as she took off her veil and gazed around at their small, but luxuriantly opulent surroundings.

     The cabin was indeed one of the finest, and most expensive on board.  The elegant furnishings bordered on the extravagant, right down to the grandiose little shower room complete with gold plated fittings, and the silk curtains on the window where they could gaze out upon the spectacular scenery of the Nile valley as they journeyed up river.

      “Hey, might as well travel in style,” Jones said as he unwrapped his turban, withdrew it from his head, and set it down on the large double bed in the center of the cabin, “after what we’ve been through, we deserve it.”

     It had escaped the attention of neither of them that the cabin had only the one bed.

     After Vadoma finished visually digesting the luxurious cabin her eyes locked with those of Indiana Jones.  Unspoken messages passed between them.

      “…Yes,” she said after a long pause, “yes, we do deserve it.”

     Vadoma reached up and removed her black ‘hijab’ head covering.  Her dark hair, which had been kept hidden and bound beneath the covering throughout the heat of the day, now very nearly burst forth.  Like an entity unto itself that had been suppressed for too long, her beautiful mane of hair now fell, almost wildly, about her head and shoulders.

     There were other things that had been suppressed for too long as well, Jones thought, as he watched her remove the head covering and shake her hair free of it.

     Vadoma knew it too.  She placed the ‘hijab’ down on the bed next to Jones’ turban and her eyes slowly moved up until they once again locked with those of Indiana Jones.

     A magnetism that neither of them could resist any longer now drew them together.

     Indiana Jones reached out for her and pulled her close to him. 

     Vadoma’s breath came fast as she stared into the eyes of the man for whom she knew she could no longer fight her desires.

     Jones moved his lips close to hers.

      Vadoma made a half hearted effort to turn aside, “Oh Indy!” she panted, “Oh Indy, I…you know that I want you…..but I…don’t want you to fall in love with me only because of my kiss,” she said as she closed her eyes and parted her lips.

      “You don’t have to worry Vadoma,” Jones said as he moved his lips even closer to hers, “it’s too late for your kiss.”

     With that Jones pressed his lips against hers with a passionate fury.  Vadoma moaned softly, surrendering to her desires at last.  She snaked her hands up around Jones’ neck, pulling him even closer as she strived to press her own mouth even more tightly on to his.

     Lips and tongues touched and tangled in that most intimate dance of passion between man and woman.  Vadoma moaned softly as she kept her mouth pressed against his; running her hands through his hair and cradling his face against hers as the strong arms of Indiana Jones held her in a tight embrace and lowered her down to the bed.

     The two breathless lovers only broke from their amorous grasp long enough for Jones to reach over and slide the curtains of their cabin window closed; closing out the last rays of orange hued, afternoon sun which broke through the backdrop of the Pyramids of Giza sliding past, far off in the distance.

     For the rest of the evening, passion ruled cabin number 11.

     Indiana Jones fulfilled Vadoma’s womanly desires far more deeply than she could have ever imagined; blissfully stretching her passion and pleasure to their sweet limits and beyond.  The gypsy woman gave her beautiful, dark body willingly and at times aggressively, to the rugged archaeologist who had so completely won over her heart.

     During brief interludes the lovers held each other tenderly while they talked, laughed, cried, and shared all of their pent up emotions from the nearly week long ordeal of trials that the fates had thrown at them; trials that had tested them, but that had also brought them so closely together.

     The stars were bright in the desert sky and the moon had risen high with its silvery reflection shimmering across the surface of the Nile, before two spent bodies, covered in the sweat of their passion, finally fell asleep in each others arms; serenaded by the gentle splashing sounds of the ancient river passing beneath them.

     They decided to skip dinner.

*********************************

     Morning on the Nile.

     Jones and Vadoma awoke early.  They bathed and dressed before seven, and then headed up to the dining cabin on the main deck for breakfast.  Jones had dispensed with the Arab dress; no longer feeling a need for it since leaving Cairo. Instead he and Vadoma were dressed in some of the many purchases Jones had made in the European quarter of Alexandria.

     Jones wore the same style of khaki shirt and trousers that he always preferred in the desert.  Vadoma wore a cool, loose fitting white blouse, ideal for the hot climate, and fashionable, high-waisted slacks with a wide belt to match.  Both wore brand new, low topped, leather, desert boots.

     Jones had made a few more purchases also, among them a new holster for his Webley, and a bullwhip to replace the one he’d lost in Germany.  But these he had left behind for the time being in his suitcase back in the cabin.

     Something he didn’t leave behind in his cabin however was the Roman map scroll of Grachius Calvertus, which Jones kept close to himself; carefully rolled, tied, and placed inside his shirt.

     Vadoma had her hair tied back.  There was a certain sparkle in her eye and glow to her skin that any woman would recognize in an instant, as she and Jones emerged up the angled ladder and on to the main deck.

     The sight that greeted them was one that is perhaps unique anywhere in the world.

     To the east, beyond a small strip of cultivated land that ran right along the river, the brilliant orb of the sun was rising up into a cloudless sky over parched, brown desert that stretched as far as the eye could see.  To the west, the sun’s warm glow spread itself across miles and miles of irrigated, green fields.

     In the center, stretching infinitely into the distance both fore and aft lay the meandering blue ribbon of the mighty Nile River; the lifeline of great empires that lasted for thousands of years and produced some of the world’s greatest treasures, monuments, and mysteries.

     Brown, Green, Blue; the colors of Egypt. 

     In the middle of it all, the elegant ‘River Goddess’ cruised on southward; her gentle wake, and the occasional dhow were the only things to disturb the placid surface of the mighty waterway on this calm and peaceful morning.  A pleasantly mild, earthy scent wafted across the deck from the fields to the west as Jones and Vadoma made their way forward towards the Dining cabin.

      “Oh Indy, it’s such a lovely day, why don’t we have breakfast outside,” Vadoma said pointing to the covered, outside veranda deck that was an extension of the dining cabin.

      “Sure,” Jones said as he took a deep breath of the fragrant and clean morning air.

     They selected a table at the far end of the veranda; one close enough to the edge so that with just a turn of the head they could gaze down into the waters of the Nile passing by as the ‘Goddess’ made her way south.

     The boat had made good speed throughout the night.  Indeed they were nearly one hundred miles up river from Cairo already as Indy and Vadoma sat down to breakfast.  Just two hundred miles further and they would reach the temple complexes at Karnak and Luxor, and the tombs of the Valley of the Kings.

     Jones paused for a moment to gaze forward, southward, and ponder how much further ahead Marcus and Sallah might be on the ‘Queen of the Nile’.  He cupped his hand to his eyes and squinted into the distance, but there was no sign yet of the other river boat.

     They ordered some poached eggs, an assortment of sweet cakes, and fresh squeezed papaya and mango juice for breakfast.  As they waited for their food to arrive Indiana Jones placed his reading spectacles on and once again pulled out the Roman scroll.  He carefully unrolled it, and began to study it again.

     Vadoma observed him for a few moments, “What does it say Indy?  Where are the Tablets that everyone wants so desperately to find…” she stared off in the distance for a moment, then turned back to look into Jones’ eyes, “….that people are willing to kill for,” she added.

     Indy took off his glasses as he spoke to her, “The tomb that supposedly holds the Tablets is in the Valley of the Kings,” he said, “Calvertus is very specific, and details many markers.  It looks like no ordinary tomb.  It is well hidden…I’m certain that it’s never been found…”

      “How can you be so sure?” she asked.

     Jones looked at her, “Trust me…I…”

      “I know,” Vadoma interrupted him in mid sentence and smiled, “I know, you’re an archaeologist….you do this kind of …stuff.”

      “Yeah well, it looks like it goes very deep,” Jones continued, “deeper than any other known tomb in the KV,”

     Vadoma threw him a questioning look.

      “KV,” Jones repeated, “King’s Valley.”

      “Oh,” she said.

      “Calvertus’ text is explicit with regards to the dangers.”

      “What kind of dangers?” Vadoma asked.

      “Booby traps,” Jones answered, “It’s obvious that if Calvertus was taken down to view the Tablets, that he was guided by someone who knew their way through very well,” he paused for a moment, “the place looks like it’s a death trap,” he said with simple clarity.

     As Indiana Jones gazed down at the Roman scroll and pondered the dangers of this tomb, he had an intuitive hunch that he was going to inevitably find himself in it before all this business with Malboury and the Nazis was wrapped up.

     He swallowed hard and rolled the scroll back up as their food arrived.

     From across on the other side of the veranda deck, a set of eyes watched the every move of Indiana Jones.  In fact they had been watching ever since Jones and Vadoma had sat down.

     The eyes were cold, and peered out from under the low hanging, oversized brim of a fashionable, woman’s Bandino style hat.  She was a woman whose days of being considered attractive were long since past, but who nonetheless tried vainly through the use of gaudy make-up and extravagant jewelry to recapture them.

     Beside her sat a grey haired, balding, bespectacled man with a robust mustache.  He had an unmistakable scholarly look about him that was only accentuated by a pair of pince-nez glasses that dangled by a thin chain around his neck.

     They blended in quite easily with the assortment of wealthy Europeans and upscale Egyptians who sat reading newspapers and dining on the first class delicacies produced by the ‘River Goddess’ well staffed kitchen.  And so neither Jones nor Vadoma took any notice.

     Neither did they notice the two burly looking gentlemen who sat a few tables over; taking their morning coffee, reading the paper, and lowering it every now and then to peer over with furtive and suspicious glances at the movements of the American archaeologist and his gypsy woman companion.

      “What are we going to do Indy?” Vadoma asked after they had begun to eat.

      “What do you mean?” Jones returned the question as he broke off a piece of a large, heavy sweet cake and popped it into his mouth.

      “I mean after we catch up to this …Marcus Brody person?”

     Jones swallowed his food, and then washed it down with a sip of the delicious fruit juice before answering.

      “The first thing I need to do is to tell Marcus about the scroll,” He said, “right now he, Sallah, and the MI5 agent still think that it’s buried somewhere in the Temple of Isis on Philae Island, and so do the Nazis.”

     Jones paused to take a forkful of poached eggs.

      “Well, what about after that?” Vadoma filled the pause.

      “We’ll talk to Marcus; explain what happened back in England…explain the whole mess.  That’s where you’ll come in as well.  We can explain the whole thing.  Marcus will help; he’s got connections, and influence.”

     Indiana Jones paused again to eat some more of his food before continuing on.

      “Of course we can’t forget the whole reason why we came here,” he looked over at her with a serious expression, “to find and rescue Richard Malboury from the Nazis.  That, more than anything else will serve to clear everything up for you and me both.”

      “How do you intend to get Richard away from the Nazis?” She asked the simple but crucial question.

     He shrugged, “They’ve got something that we want,” Jones said, and then tapped on his shirt where the scroll lay underneath, “and we’ve got something that they want.”

      “Do you think it can be that simple?” She asked.

      “Why not?”

      “Well, aren’t you worried about the Sun Tablets falling into the hands of the Nazis?”

      “Yeah, of course,” Jones said, “but are we sure that they even really exist?  It wouldn’t be the first time that Herr Hitler sent his goons off on a wild goose chase.”

      “But what if they do exist?” Vadoma pressed him.

     He looked out over the broad expanse of the Nile for a moment, and then back at her, “Well then, I guess we’ll just have to find them first.  Maybe we can find the Tablets first, and then exchange what would then be a worthless scroll for Malboury later.”

      “I’m not sure you could deceive the Nazis like that,” Vadoma said warily.

      “Neither do I,” Jones said, “but wouldn’t it be great?”

     The pair dined in silence for a while.  Vadoma’s questions however had prompted Jones to think more about just what kind of plan he did indeed have in mind once he found Marcus.  Just exactly how was he going to get Malboury away from the Nazis anyway?  Even Indiana Jones himself knew that he sometimes had a bad habit of making it up as he went along.

      “Well, well, if it isn’t Doctor Henry…Indiana… Jones?” A gravelly woman’s voice with a thick, Russian accent caused both Jones and Vadoma to look up with a start from their breakfast.

     Jones momentarily went pale.

TO BE CONTINUED…

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