Indiana Jones & the Peril at Delphi

hung.'

'Oh, I know your point. I liked that paper. Gave you an A.'

Great. He understood.

'Then you can appreciate what I did here,' Indy exclaimed. 'This was my parting Founding Fathers Day project. Democracy in practice.'

Conrad nodded. 'Only a week late, but still nicely timed to coincide with your graduation. I admire your boldness, Jones. But you're still going to have to face the consequences, you know.'

He looked down at Indy's torn gown, and the white, hairy legs which protruded from beneath it.

'Nice outfit, by the way.'

Indy felt like an insect trapped on flypaper, still alive but ready to be squashed. He stood at one end of a long conference table in a richly paneled room on the fourth floor of the administration building. It was smack in the gray, cold heart of the university, a place few students ever ventured. Seated around the table were the dean of students, the history department chairman, a member of the university's board of regents, two university lawyers, and Ted Conrad. Except for Conrad, who'd turned him in, all were severe-looking older men in gray suits.

Suddenly, the door opened and President Mulhouse strode into the conference room. He greeted everyone around the table, then looked up at Indy. 'Take a seat, Mr. Jones.' Mulhouse pointed to a chair at the opposite end of the table.

He'd been roused early yesterday morning by two uni versity police officers and questioned in their office. He'd confessed everything, except Shannon's participation. Dean Williams had been present and after the police were finished, he questioned Indy for another half hour about his personal life. The dean, a distinguished white- haired man, had once been a psychology professor, and his questions reflected that fact. Finally, he'd been ordered to appear here today at ten sharp.

''The Nature of American Patriots and Traitors,' ' Mulhouse mused, tapping his finger against Indy's Founding Fathers Day paper. 'Well, that's better than 'Hanging Heroes,' as the press calls this episode.' He peered at the new graduate over the rims of his pince-nez and stroked his chin, one of those practiced academic gestures at which he excelled. 'Did you think you could really get away with this, Mr. Jones?'

'I... ah.. .' Indy cleared his throat and tried to over come his nervousness. 'I'm not trying to get away with anything. My paper is about the fine line between popular heroes and treacherous villains. If the British had won —'

'But the British didn't win, Mr. Jones,' the history department chairman interrupted. 'And when you hung the effigies of our national heroes, our Founding Fathers, from those lampposts, you were acting like a traitor. And that's precisely how most people see it.'

'I think we need to consider some mitigating circum stances in our judgment of Mr. Jones,' Dean Williams said. 'I had a long talk with him yesterday morning, and I believe that he is a disturbed young man. His act was not so much an attack on our Founding Fathers, as against his own father, his only living relative, the renowned medie val scholar Dr. Henry Jones.

'As I understand it, Dr. Jones is a very busy man, and unfortunately he did not have the time to travel from New York for his son's graduation. There apparently has been some resentment on the son's part regarding his father's aloofness, and what took place the night before graduation is a manifestation of those feelings.'

It annoyed Indy that the dean discussed him as though he weren't in the room. And what was he saying? Sure, he felt resentful toward his father, but that wasn't why he'd hung the Founding Fathers. He was about to say so when Ted Conrad spoke up.

'That's an interesting analysis, Dean Williams, but I'm not sure it has much to do with Mr. Jones's actions. His motives were obviously related to his Founding Fathers Day paper. The paper itself was well thought out. Rewrit ing history is, at best, speculative, but the events he described were well reasoned.'

Mulhouse's mouth pursed with disapproval. 'Are you condoning his actions, Professor Conrad?' Indy sat forward. 'Excuse me, but—' 'No, I'm not condoning what he did,' Conrad said, ignoring Indy. 'He went considerably beyond what was required or allowed for such a project. I'm just explaining what I think motivated him.'

It was obvious that Mulhouse wasn't buying any of it. 'Of course you can look at is psychologically or academi cally. But the fact remains that Mr. Jones was illustrating his disrespect for our nation's founders, and his distaste for Founding Fathers Day, an institution at this university.'

They talked a few minutes longer about his motives with everyone agreeing that, whatever they were, he was

wrong. Then Indy was asked to leave the room. 'Can I say something, please?' he asked as he stood.

Mulhouse frowned at him. 'Go ahead, young man, but keep it brief.'

'All I want to say is that my father has nothing to do with what I did. I never once thought I was symbolically hanging him.'

With that, he turned and walked out of the room and took a seat in the outer office. He sighed heavily.

He imagined them continuing their conversation, talking about the alternatives, deciding his future, and trying to dissect his personality in the process. At the very least, he was sure that Mulhouse intended to take away his diploma.

What would he do without a degree? He wouldn't go to Paris. That was certain. He'd have to find a job.

But what kind of job? Without a degree he couldn't even teach French or Latin. He didn't want to think about what he might do, because he didn't know.

Several minutes later, the door opened and Dean Williams nodded for him to rejoin them. As Indy sat down, Mulhouse's gaze flicked toward him. 'Now, Mr. Jones, you are fortu nate that I am someone who listens closely to what others have to say. First of all, our attorneys and I have discussed the possibilities of prosecuting this case. It is our consen sus that there will be no benefit for this institution if we carry the matter any further, at least in a legal sense. We prefer to put this behind us.'

C'mon, just get this over with. Say it. Say you're taking away my diploma.

'The easiest way of handling the matter would be to simply expel you. But you've already graduated.

Lucky for you.' His smile was cold and hard. 'However, we under stand that you are planning to attending the Sorbonne this fall. We can easily refuse to send your records, and it's doubtful whether you would be considered a legitimate student.' His pause was deliberate, to let the significance of what he was saying sink in. 'But we're going to give you a chance to redeem yourself.'

Mulhouse glanced among the others, and they nodded approvingly. 'I would like you to apologize to everyone here for what you did, then write a letter of apology, which my office will submit to the press.'

Every eye in the room turned toward him as the men waited for him to reply. But he didn't have anything to say. Why should he apologize for something he wasn't sorry for? What about standing up for what he believed in? What about democracy?

Conrad was staring intently at Indy and the message was implicit: Accept what they're offering you. Indy looked away from him, irritated that Conrad—who'd betrayed him, who couldn't even stick to his own principles—should now presume to advise him. But if he didn't apologize, he knew Mulhouse would make good on his threat to with hold his records. The lesser of two evils, he thought, and said, 'Fine, I'll do it.'

Mulhouse nodded, and smiled thinly. 'Well, we're wait ing. Let's hear it.'

Indy looked down at the tabletop. 'I apologize to all of you. I'm sorry... sorry I did it. Your office will have my letter of apology tomorrow.'

Then he pushed away from the table, stood, and walked quickly out of the room. He descended the stairs two at a time until he reached the first floor, then headed across the mall. He didn't know where he was going. It didn't matter. He was literally seeing red.

'Jones, hold on, will you?'

It was Conrad. Indy kept walking.

'Jones.'

He stopped, turned. 'What do you want?'

'I want to talk to you.'

Indy realized he was standing just a few feet from the lamppost where he and Shannon had hung the first mannequin. 'I suppose you'd like me to climb up there and hang myself,' he said, stabbing a finger at the lamppost. 'Or maybe you just want me to apologize to you personal ly. Is that it?'