Indiana Jones & the Peril at Delphi

semester.'

She waved a hand. 'Don't worry. I'll take care of everything with the university. My emergency leave was approved, and you'll receive credit for field study. Your basic costs will be covered by my research budget.

What do you say?'

Indy wasn't quite sure how to respond. On the one hand, he was ecstatic. But on the other, her assumption that he would simply drop everything irritated him. Be sides, archaeology wasn't even his field of study.

'It's kind of sudden.'

She took a step closer to him, and smiled. 'It'll be worth it, Henry.'

He wanted to correct her, to tell her to call him Indy, that Henry was his father. But just the fact that she'd addressed him by his first name was a major break through. It was as if some invisible barrier between professor and student had been pierced.

To act familiar was saying that you were equals, and she'd made it clear from the first day of class that she was not their equal. She'd not only been schooled in Greek archaeology since her teens, but she was of the Greek culture. It was in her blood. In her class she was the authority, the living source of knowledge, and they were sponges, there to absorb her wisdom.

And now she was giving him what might be the chance of a lifetime. It will be worth it. Of course, she'd meant the opportunity to work at Delphi, but hadn't she hinted at more? Or was he just imagining it? 'I'd like to think about it, but it sounds . . . interesting.' Such a weak word, but nothing else came to mind.

'Don't wait too long, Henry.' Her voice was low and breathy. 'Opportunities like this don't come along every day.'

4

Dada and Jazz

Indy opened the door of the Jungle, a boite in Montpar nasse. It was early and he was relieved to see that the tables the Dada crowd usually claimed near the door were empty. He wasn't in any mood to listen to their banter. They were, for the most part, arrogant cynics who enjoyed insulting virtually anyone who walked in the door.

He looked around, his eyes adjusting to the dim light. The ceiling was layered with copper, the walls were wooden, and the small bar was trimmed with copper. Hanging high overhead were several dim Victorian candelabras, and a balcony with more tables encircled the place. At one end of the nightclub, under a lip of the balcony, was a small wooden stage. A single red light bulb glowed above it, spilling light onto an upright piano and a set of drums.

Only three or four tables were occupied, and at one of them near the bar Indy spotted a lone figure bent over in concentration as he scribbled something on a sheet of paper. Light from a burning candle stuck inside an empty wine bottle streaked the man's red hair. Indy strolled over and pulled out a chair.

'Hey, Jack.'

'Indy,' Shannon said without looking up. 'Kinda early.'

'I know.'

He eased down in the chair, and noticed how a strand of

Shannon's unkempt hair hung dangerously close to the candle's flame. His old college roommate had been living in Paris for the past year, after quitting his job with the trucking company in Chicago. Although he'd kept his bargain with his family and hadn't played in any clubs, he'd practiced nightly in his apartment, collected dozens of new jazz records, and all the while saved his money and planned his escape to Paris.

'I want to talk to you about something.'

'Go ahead.' Shannon looked up for the first time. 'What's on your mind?'

He told Shannon about Belecamus's offer. 'I just heard about it today, and I'm still trying to sort everything out.'

Shannon set his pencil on the table. 'Let me buy you a drink. I think you need one.' He raised a hand, caught the eye of the bartender, and ordered two Pernods.

'Tell me more about this woman. This professor of yours.'

'Not really much to tell. I don't know her very well.' A sly smile altered the shape of his mouth. 'Not yet, anyway.'

Shannon didn't seem amused. 'If I were you, I'd ask around before I took off with her. I'd find out what she's all about.'

Shannon, the analyst. 'Oh, come on. You think she'd just make this up so she can go home to Greece in the middle of the semester and take me with her?'

'I don't know. It seems to me that she could be playing you for a sucker.'

'Jack, for chrissake, we're not on the South Side making some gangster deal.'

Shannon stared coldly at him, and Indy realized it was the wrong thing to say.

'I'm sorry. It's just that if you'd sat in on one of her classes, you'd know she isn't that type. She's serious, intelligent.'

'And beautiful,' Shannon added. 'Right?'

'That too.'

'Just watch yourself. It sounds sort of suspicious to me.'

'Why?'

'Look, if you were an archaeology student, I wouldn't think twice about it. But you're not.'

Indy shrugged off the remark. 'Look, it's an opportuni ty, a good one, and I don't want to pass it up on account of some vague suspicion.'

Shannon held up his hands. 'Hey, I'm not arguing with you. I'm just telling you what I think.'

'You know how ambivalent I've felt about life as a scholar. Maybe this is what I've been looking for—a career with some adventure.'

'I'm not sure about the career, but I bet your profes sor's going to be an adventure. Hell, I don't know.

Maybe it's just what you need.'

As their drinks arrived, Indy looked around and was surprised by the number of tables that were now occu pied. It was as if a crowd had seeped out of the wall. 'To Greece,' Shannon toasted. 'Hope it works out.'

Indy sipped his Pernod, then nodded at the scrap of paper in front of Shannon. 'What were you writing?'

'Just a song.'

'A song? For the band?'

'Sure.'

'Who's going to sing?'

'The band' was Shannon on cornet, a piano player from Brooklyn whose professional experience had been limited to performances at bar mitzvahs, and a Parisian drummer who'd never played jazz until he'd heard Shannon's re cords. None of them sang as far as Indy knew. Shannon waved the paper in the candlelight.

'I'm looking for a singer. A woman. She's got to be real sultry with a deep voice. No sopranos. If we were in Chicago I could go down to the Gardens or Dreamland and have my choice of ladies fitting the bill.'

'I suppose. Not too many of them visiting Paris, though.' 'Oh, they'll be here, Indy.' He leaned forward, his eyes bright with sudden excitement. 'You look at the crowds we get here with this make-do band.

They're hungering for jazz in this town. The bands will be coming here. Lots of 'em. Listen and tell me what you think. This is called 'Down in the Quarter.'' Shannon frowned at the paper, then started reciting:

'You know I fled Chicago

Late in twenty-one.

Floated on cross the water,

And never did see the sun.

Finally landed in the Quarter,

Left side of the Seine.

But found so many Americans

thought I was back from where I came.

Down in the Quarter; Down in the Quarter. Meet you tonight Down in the Quarter.