'I'll cut, you gather.'
Over the fire, dining on fresh meat, they talked well into the night. That first encounter sealed an unspoken relationship. Instant friendship, but with a mixture of exasperation, wit, brilliance, and a shared distaste for the social world. He marveled at her deep instinctual knowledge of ancient arts and cultures, her comfortable depth with the black arts of gypsies, and she had him wondering with her admitted research into the paranormal. But she was as good a scientist in the ancient worlds as she was a woodsman. Indy was more than familiar with the spirits and gods of cultures throughout the world, but he had never encountered such depth on a personal level.
In the years following their initial encounter in the deep woods, they kept in touch. They had worked together on several research projects, and she had, somewhat dubiously at first, even joined him with studies at the University of London.
And then had come that unexpected call. A special project, he called it. It meant fast travel, it promised danger, it was extraordinarily important. 'That's all I can tell you now. You'll learn the rest later. But I want you as part of my inner group. No reservations. Yes or no?'
She sighed. She knew she couldn't turn him down.
Now she was waiting, bemused by what she didn't know, in an isolated farmhouse in a place called Iowa, waiting for Indy to return from Chicago or wherever to join his, well, unusual was a gentle term for this oddball mixture Indy had gathered about him.
And as complex and impressive as was Willard Cromwell, she had never met anyone quite like Tarkiz Belem. Except that on the moment of her first meeting with the swarthy Kurd, one word leaped into her mind: Danger.
Tarkiz Belem was one of the most amoral human beings she had ever met.
His connection with Indiana Jones confused her, for Tarkiz seemed his opposite in intelligence, compassion, wit, and just about everything else Indy represented. Yet Jones had personally sought out the swarthy Kurd— if that were true—for their special mission.
No one, Indy knew, was better qualified in the scummiest of dives and back rooms of the Middle East and the Mediterranean border lands than Tarkiz. He was at home in every language of those lands, from high political office to the dregs of the gutter. He seemed to have critical contacts at every level of those countries, including even roving Bedouin bands. And yet, he could also gain entry to the Vatican if that were his wish.
'He's got something on everybody,' Indy had explained to Gale, 'and no one knows better than you that in that part of the world there's no better passport.
If Tarkiz were to be assassinated, there'd be an explosion of scandals from the information he's placed in different bank vaults to be released on confirmation of his death. So it behooves the people he deals with to play ball with him, to meet whatever it is he wants. The man is greedy and grasping beyond belief, but he's also smart enough to know that you make deals that work both ways. It pays people well to do his bidding. He takes good care of them as well.'
'You said he was smart,' Gale said, irritated that Indy would even use that word in the same sentence with the name of Tarkiz Belem.
Indy grinned at her. 'Okay, so he's got the intelligence of a goat. But it's a very shrewd goat.'
'And he smells like one,' Gale murmured.
Indy laughed. 'So true! But think of it this way, Gale. Even if you can't see him, you'll always know when he's coming.'
She couldn't help her smile. Indy never held a cup that was half empty; it was never less than half full.
'Is he really a Kurd? I mean, he could be from the original Iraqi clan, or Turkish, or Indian or Afghanistan. How can you tell? The man has more than one passport and—'
'Fourteen,' Indy broke in. 'Look, no one can survive the way he does in the places he goes. He's multilingual. He's as tough as nails. He grew up in gutters and back alleys and learned to survive by his wits. You seem to resent his lack of formal education, but he's got the best qualifications in the world for digging up information where no one else could even get the right time of day.'
'He's a criminal, isn't he?' she pressed.
'No doubt about it. Officially, he's wanted in at least five countries for a list of crimes longer than your arm. But every time he's arrested, the charges are dismissed and he's back on the streets in an hour. He buys his freedom with money, blackmail, contacts; anything and everything. The word is that for years he was a professional assassin.'
Gale shuddered. 'No doubt. Women and children, too.'
'If that's the job, I'd have to agree with you. What's crazy about this man,' Indy continued, 'is that he has his own code of ethics and he sticks to it like glue. I can't fault him for that. He's the product of an environment where skullduggery and killing are as normal as coffee and apple pie are to me back home. From where I sit, it's his religion that keeps me a bit on edge about him.'
'His religion?' Gale sputtered.
'Gold. He's religious to the point of paranoia to the Great God of Gold. Not just money. I mean the metal. Gold in any form. Jewelry, ingots, coins; whatever.'
'I wonder,' Gale said darkly, 'how many gold teeth he has in his hoard.'
Indy didn't laugh. 'No doubt, a bunch.'
'Aren't you afraid that someone else will offer him more money than you're paying him?'
Indy caught her by surprise. 'Oh, I'm not paying him in coin of the realm. No money, I mean.'
'Then—?'
'There's an old saying, Gale. It says that every man has his price. It's not true that anyone can be bought if the payment is high enough. The reality is that everyone has a price— or a reason. Even to someone like Belem, there's something that transcends money. Or gold, for that matter.'
'And you know that reason?'
