Written in 2001 as a prequel to Raiders of the Lost Ark, my first and only Indiana Jones fan fiction was also translated into an unofficial comic book with art by Chris Allan and produced by the Philadelphia-based Star Trek fan club of which I was a member at the time. This story can also be read on the Indiana Jones fan website called TheRaider.net.
In crafting this tale, I took elements not only from the movies, but also the Young Indiana Jones television series, such as Indy’s friendship with T.E. Lawrence (Lawrence of Arabia) as established in the episode Young Indiana Jones and the Curse of the Jackal.
In Raiders of the Lost Ark, while Indy searches for the golden fertility idol in the Peruvian temple, he encounters the skeletal remains of another archaeologist named Forrestal. In response, Indy says, “This is where Forrestal cashed in.” In the story you are about to read, we meet Forrestal’s daughter, Diana, who plays a major role in this adventure that pits Indy against the famous Nazi, Erwin Rommel (aka “The Desert Fox”) on a quest to unearth an ancient lost city in the sands of Saudi Arabia’s Rub al Khali desert, also known as the “Empty Quarter.”
“Indiana Jones and the Towers of the Empty Quarter” Part I
Phil Giunta
CHAPTER ONE – BURIED ALIVE
Pompeii, Italy – 1935
Gazing up at the clear morning sky, Doctor Indiana Jones adjusted his brown fedora after wiping the sweat from his forehead. Behind him, inside the Marine House of Venus, students from his senior archaeology class gathered for their final day of excavation.
Indy had arrived an hour early to inspect their work from the previous two days. Thus far, the group had uncovered six corpses that had been preserved in hardened ash from the first recorded eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in 79 AD.
Of course, the victims’ flesh had long since putrefied, but the hardened ash formed a shell of the bodies, resembling a macabre mold. This morning, Indy planned to demonstrate that by pouring plaster into the shells, a near perfect duplicate of the individuals could be made.
This entire expedition was made possible through an agreement between Amadeo Maiuri, the director of excavations at Pompeii, and Marcus Brody, curator of the American museum for which Indy supplied many artifacts.
At the moment, his demonstration was delayed while the class waited for Maiuri to arrive with spare plaster from another excavation site on the opposite side of the ancient city. He glanced at his watch. Maiuri was thirty minutes late, not that Indy was in any real hurry. Turning his sights to Vesuvius looming ominously in the distance, he marveled at how a destructive force so far away could have demolished an entire city, leaving it lost to civilization for ages.
So people like me could come along and dig it out.
A sound to his right shook Indy out of his reverie. Breathing a sigh of relief, he stepped forward to greet the Citroen that pulled up beside the ancient house. Judging from the condition of the car, it appeared as if it too was excavated with the rest of Pompeii.
“Ah, Doctor Jones.” The driver stepped out of the car and hurried over to shake Indy’s hand. “My apologies for the delay. I had to try three different sites before I could find enough plaster. Resources are tight and the excavations are not exactly the Fascists top priority.”
“Believe me, I understand,” Indy replied. “Your help is greatly appreciated.”
Reaching into the passenger seat, Maiuri produced two large buckets of plaster and handed them to Indy. After emerging with another bucket, the director followed Indy to the entrance of the Marine House of Venus.
No sooner had they entered than Indy noticed his students gathered before an expansive painting on the far wall. Oddly, their gazes were not upon the artwork but rather on the floor. Hoping that no one was injured, Indy dropped the buckets and rushed over. As he approached, the cluster of bodies parted to reveal the focus of their attention. Indy stopped in his tracks as he caught sight of a gaping hole in the floor that had formed in the brief time that he had been waiting outside.
“What happened?” Indy demanded, looking from one blank expression to the next. “From the top.”
His eyes widened as the answer came from below.
“I fell through the floor!”
His heart jumped as he suddenly realized that one of the students was missing. Lowering to his knees, Indy peered into the cavity, then back to the faces surrounding him.
What was her name?
“It’s Sue, Doctor,” one of the students chimed in. “She was examining the mural when the floor suddenly gave way just before you walked in.”
“Sue! Are you injured?” Indy hollered.
“I think I twisted my knee,” the woman responded weakly.
“Mama mia,” Maiuri exclaimed, joining Indy at the edge of the opening. “Young lady, can you see us from where you are?”
“Yes. It isn’t that far down, maybe about twelve feet. I can also see a tunnel that starts behind me here. Looks like it leads somewhere under the building.”
Maiuri stepped back from the hole. “There is a radio in the car. I will call for help.”
As he hurried off, Indy glanced at the supplies in the center of the room. He pointed to one of the men. “Lee, hand me that rope. I’m going down there.”
Taking the length of rope from the student, Indy tied one end around his waist while Lee and another student held the free end. “Sue, help is on its way. In the meantime, I’m on my way down.”
“Okay.”
“This should be just long enough to reach bottom.” Indy nodded to his assistants as he slowly lowered himself into the opening.
In less than a minute, he had reached what he estimated to be twelve feet but still could not feel the bottom. Looking down, he saw that he had at least another four feet to go. “Sue, you there?”
“Yes, to your left.”
Indy looked over. Sure enough, light played off the woman’s strawberry blond locks. He called up to the others. “Lee, I’m untying this rope. The floor is still a short distance below me.”
After freeing himself, Indy slid the rest of the way down along the dirt wall. This is why I don’t wear expensive suits.
Stepping lightly next to the injured woman, Indy crouched down to examine her leg, a futile effort in the meager sunlight shining through the hole above. “Can you stand?”
“If I put my weight on my other leg.” Sue tapped her right knee with her hand before extending it to Indy.
With one arm around her lower back, he lifted the student to her feet. She groaned slightly while shifting her balance off of her injured leg.
“Thank you, Doctor.” Sue pressed herself closer to Indy as she brushed the dirt from her clothes.
“Get used to that if you want to stay in this business,” Indy remarked, trying in vain to ignore her proximity. “It isn’t without its share of injuries. That’s why it’s never recommended to excavate alone.”
“I’m glad you were here,” the woman whispered. She wrapped her arms around his neck as she spoke in a wistful tone. “You have a very gentle touch, Doctor.”
Even in the darkness, he could see the gleam in her crystal blue eyes, the mischief in her smile. The musty odor of the ancient stone and dirt surrounding them could not diminish the intoxicating scent of her perfume.
Why does this always have to happen to me?
“Yeah, well, uh, it comes with experience,” he said finally, snapping back to the problem at hand.
“Doctor Jones!” The voice of the excavation director beckoned from above. “How are you holding up down there?”
How do you think? “Throw down that rope, I want to have Sue pulled up out of here.”
Almost instantly, a much longer rope than the first dropped in front of him. After tying it securely around the woman’s waist, Indy jerked the rope to signal the men to start lifting.
“Don’t try to climb,” he instructed her. “Let yourself be pulled up.”
As she ascended, Sue winked playfully at Indy before finally being extracted completely from the cavity. Once she disappeared from view, he exhaled in relief.
“We’ll have you the rope in a moment, Doctor,” Maiuri called down.
“Actually, why don’t you come down here and bring two lanterns. I want to explore this tunnel.”
Maiuri peeked over the edge. “Are you certain that is wise? I was not even aware there was a tunnel here let alone how stable it might not be.”
Indy glanced up. “We’ll only go a few feet, just to see if there’s anything significant. This tunnel had to be constructed for a reason.”
With a shrug, Maiuri lowered first the lanterns then himself into the pit. As the director prepared the lamps, Indy addressed the onlookers above. “Give us a shout when the medics arrive. We shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”
“Be careful!” shouted the injured woman from somewhere out of sight.
Grinning in spite of himself, Indy grabbed one of the lanterns and the two archaeologists started forward into the unknown. In the distance ahead, something metallic reflected the light. They made their way approximately fifty feet before spotting a large, ornate wooden storage chest. Exchanging puzzled looks, Indy handed his lantern to Maiuri as he examined the pair of brass buckles on the front of the chest into which two wide strips of thick leather were fastened.
“This chest is hardly over a hundred years old,” Indy estimated.
“Perhaps it was buried here sometime after the first excavation,” Maiuri surmised. “Though it would appear they did not go to great pains to lock up the contents.”
Indy nodded in agreement. “Let’s find out just what that is.”
As he carefully unbuckled the leather bands, they cracked and crumbled between his fingers. Opening it with practiced care, he heard a gasp from the director as a cache of ancient coins and jewelry sparkled under the lantern light.
Removing one of the coins, Maiuri gingerly turned it over in his hand as if expecting it to deteriorate before his eyes. “This is the coin of Clodius Albinus! His reign as Roman emperor was the briefest in the Empire’s recorded history.”
“About one ninety-three AD,” Indy confirmed. “Until his execution by Severus. This stash was probably placed here by someone who was hoping to come back for it. It would be my guess that one of Vesuvius’ subsequent eruptions prevented them.”
“That is possible,” Maiuri nodded, laying the coin atop the other treasures. “Do you think we could carry the chest back to the entrance and try to get it up to the surface?”
“If it doesn’t bottom out along the way,” Indy pointed out. “This wood has been absorbing moisture down here for a very long time. Our best bet is probably to push it back and have it lifted out.”
A low rumble echoed through the tunnel as the duo began moving the chest along the dirt floor. They stopped abruptly—as did the noise—and shined their lanterns along the ground searching for its source. When there was no sign of anything unusual, they turned their attention back to their task.
“Get out of the tunnel!”
“Doctor Jones!”
Hearing the panicked shouts of the students, Indy and Maiuri started back toward the tunnel entrance. Halfway there, they were pitched against the walls as the ground began trembling violently.
“Vesuvius!” Maiuri yelled at the top of his lungs before choking on the soot that began pouring down on them.
Streaks of sunlight from the Marine House Of Venus gradually faded as the passage began filling with dirt and stone. Losing his balance, Indy was thrown to his knees and could only watch as the walls collapsed over him.
CHAPTER TWO – FALLING BODIES
Far back in his mind, it had always been an unsettling possibility that someday in the future, his body would be discovered beside some ancient artifact like so many others that he himself had unearthed. The moment his hand cleared the mound of dirt and stone covering his entire body, Indy counted himself more than lucky that today would not be that day—at least not yet.
“Amadeo!” the archaeologist called as he pushed himself to his feet.
From somewhere in the darkness behind him, a coughing fit signaled the director’s location. Turning to make his way there, Indy’s foot nudged something solid beneath the dirt. Reaching down, Indy pulled out what remained of his lantern, destroyed in the resulting shockwave of the volcano’s eruption.
Tossing it aside in disgust, he waded through the soot feeling every pebble and shard of rock press into the soles of his feet inside his shoes.
“Doctor Jones,” Maiuri wheezed. “Are you injured?”
Approaching the director, Indy shook his head. “Not that I can feel at the moment, but I could use a hot bath right about now.”
Maiuri chuckled at the answer and immediately regretted it as he launched into another bout of choking and gagging.
“Sounds like you need some medical attention, though.” Indy carefully assisted the other man to a standing position.
“Or… a good… bottle of wine,” Maiuri gasped. Panting heavily to catch his breath, he caught sight of the wooden chest a few feet away and the feeble glow emanating from behind it.
“My lantern appears to have fared better than I at least.”
Reaching the rear of the tunnel first, Indy lifted the lamp and shined it about the passage, obtaining a more thorough picture of their predicament.
“They will never dig us out of here in time,” Maiuri observed grimly.
Saying nothing, Indy turned his gaze toward the ceiling only to be splattered in the face by a thick, heavy liquid. Maiuri frowned as he peered from the archaeologist to the ancient stone blocks above them. Wiping his face with his free hand, Indy’s eyes widened as he recognized the ivory colored substance under the lantern light.
“Plaster!” he exclaimed. “The buckets must be directly above us.”
Maiuri snapped his fingers. “They must have tipped over during the earthquake and the plaster seeped through the cracks in the floor!”
“Then that’s our exit,” Indy determined.
Puzzled, Maiuri only watched while the American turned this way and that, frantically searching for something. After a double take, Indy’s sights finally settled on the antique chest.
“Hold this,” he said, thrusting the lantern at the director. Lowering to one knee, Indy removed the sturdy rectangular lid and turned it over in his hands.
“You cannot possibly break through solid stone with that.”
“I don’t have to,” Indy explained. “I only need to crack it enough so it caves in on its own. If we’re right about our location, we should climb out of here just at the building’s entrance.”
With that, the archaeologist began smashing the lid into the ceiling above. After several tries, plaster began raining down and Indy leaped back in anticipation. Seconds passed as the stone floor remained firmly in place.
Gritting his teeth, Indy continued the activity, grunting as he put his full strength into the effort. When his arms began to cramp, he stopped and with a disheartened expression, merely watched as only more plaster leaked into the tunnel.
“Perhaps if I tried?” Maiuri offered.
Shrugging, Indy hefted the battered lid and handed it to the director. “Be my guest, not that it seems to be doing any good–”
As if on cue, massive chunks of stone suddenly collapsed between the two men, sending them reeling. The stone was immediately followed by pale skinned corpses, some of which shattered upon impact with the floor, the chest—or with the hapless archaeologists.
“Ugh!” Indy groaned as he pushed off the limbless torso of an unfortunate victim of Vesuvius’ first eruption over ten centuries ago.
“Director Maiuri! Doctor Jones!”
Squinting up at the sunlight beaming in through yet another hole in the ancient structure’s floor, Indy noticed a pair of hands reaching down to assist him out.
Minutes later, after Indy and Amadeo were on relatively safe ground surrounded by relieved students, one of the Fascist soldiers who arrived to the rescue turned to Indy and pulled a folded slip of paper from his uniform pocket.
“Doctor Henry Jones, Jr.,” the man began in broken English. “A telegram for you, sir.”
Accepting it from the soldier, Indy unfolded the paper and scanned it quickly. Feeling an icy numbness creep up through his spine, he read it twice more slowly:
INDY Terrible news STOP T.E. Lawrence killed in motorcycle accident in Dorset today STOP Hurry back as soon as you can. MARCUS BRODY
CHAPTER THREE – PERSUASION
New York
“I’m not going back there again.”
Sitting in his office on the university campus, Indiana Jones folded his arms defiantly and glared at his friend and mentor, who was pacing anxiously in front of him.
“But think of it, Indiana.” Marcus Brody held up the envelope addressed to the archaeologist sent from the estate of T.E. Lawrence. “The lost city of Arabia! It could very well be the discovery of the century. This packet contains all of Lawrence’s notes and memos about Ubar.”
Indy’s shoulders slumped. “Marcus, despite the fact that Ted was a respected friend of mine, I don’t want another experience in the Rub al Khali like I had last summer with Belloq. I’m tired of that frog and his rented lackeys stealing excavations out from under me.”
Brody took a seat in the chair normally occupied by students to whom Indy was both professor and counselor.
“While you were in Italy, I contacted the museum’s backers here and convinced them, not without some resistance, to fund an expedition if you’re willing to undertake it.
“As for Belloq, it turns out that one of our contributors has a brother who is an executive for Standard Oil of California. They are flying to Arabia in three days for negotiations with Ibn Saud’s government concerning their agreement to explore for oil in his country. There is an open seat on that flight that could easily be reserved for you. Since you would be traveling anonymously with them under the pretense of corporate business, Belloq will never find out about the excavation.”
Brody leaned forward in his chair. “Indy, this could be your chance to redeem yourself for what happened last year if only for your own peace of mind.”
Again, the younger man only glared in silence—but this time it was at the overstuffed envelope marked with his name.
CHAPTER FOUR – INTERESTED BYSTANDERS
In flight to Saudi Arabia – Three days later
Five thousand years ago, a mighty civilization sprang forth from the sands of the Arabian Desert. It has been described as a kingdom of soaring pillars, perhaps in reference to the various cylindrical towers that lined its perimeter. Known in the Qu’ran as Irem, the city of Ubar was one of both cultural and financial supremacy whose citizens thrived on the production of frankincense and myrrh while engaging in politics, trade, and the arts. The Greek geographer Ptolemy labeled this trade capital “Omanum Emporium” and mapped it near the Rub al Khali desert in the southern part of the Arabian Peninsula. According to the Qu’ran, Ubar’s population, called the people of Ad, possessed highly developed intellect and skills as well as impressive physical stature. As their wealth grew, however, so did their arrogance. They began pursuing worldly pleasures and worshipping false gods. At some point in the city’s history, a drought befell them that lasted for three years. Despite this warning, the people of Ad continued to ignore Allah until finally, in 300 AD, a furious windstorm that raged for seven nights and eight days buried Ubar beneath the sands forever. On a personal note, it is my greatest hope that upon my retirement from the Royal Air Force, I will be able to return to my beloved adopted nation and lead a search for this fabled kingdom, this Atlantis of the Sands, provided another does not discover it first. J.H. Ross October 1923
Grinning ruefully at the signature, one of Thomas Edward Lawrence’s few aliases during his career as a British soldier, Indy replaced the memo in its original envelope before shifting his gaze to the clear sky outside the airplane window.
Lifting the rim of his fedora as the craft began its descent toward the Arabian coast, the archaeologist recalled his first encounter with Lawrence when he was a young boy.
During his early youth, Henry Jones, Jr. spent a great deal of time traveling Europe with his parents until his mother’s untimely death. It was then that his father finally settled with a teaching job back in the United States.
When they had met Lawrence, the man was employed as an archaeologist for the British government. It was he whom Indy credited for sparking his passion for the science and the two remained pen pals for several years before eventually falling out of touch when Lawrence became heavily involved in the Arabs’ struggle for independence against the Ottoman Empire.
Maybe it’s the climate, Indy mused as he wondered what motivated Lawrence’s unflinching dedication to this country and her people. As the DC-3 touched down in the capital city of Riyadh, something told him that he might soon find out.
***
“The Americans should be arriving on this flight.”
Across the airport, a middle-aged man dressed in a light colored suit leaned against the first of two automobiles parked single file. When the plane’s passenger door swung open, the man leaned down to address the driver, his voice betraying a distinct German accent. “Take them directly to Saud. When the negotiations are complete in two days, you will be given an attaché case containing audiotapes and microfilm that you are to hand deliver to me. Is that clear?”
The Arabian nodded and steered the vehicle away toward the unsuspecting visitors while the man stood in place a moment longer to be certain his instructions were carried out. He became slightly alarmed as one of the corporate delegates withdrew from the rest and made his way in the opposite direction.
***
Nodding a final good-bye to the Standard Oil executives who piled into a pair of waiting Packards, Indy began making his way across the airport only to be instantly surrounded by a throng of beggars and hawkers all frantically vying for the American’s attention¾and money.
He shook his head at the blur of dark skinned faces in a futile attempt to discourage them until a distinctly feminine voice shouted his name from somewhere nearby. Indy peered beyond the horde until he noticed a thin, pale arm waving at him in the distance.
Shoving his way forcefully through the aggressive mob, Indy immediately pressed his hand to his chest to make certain that his wallet was still secure in the inside pocket of his brown leather jacket. He then hurried forward to greet the young woman whom Marcus arranged to be his guide.
“Doctor Henry Jones?” Dressed in a loosely fitting white shirt and khaki pants, she extended a hand in greeting. “Diana Forrestal, welcome back to Arabia.”
Accepting the greeting, Indy flashed a lopsided grin, noting to himself how remarkably her deep red hair clashed against the backdrop of pastel sand.
“Please, call me Indy.”
“Ah, right, Marcus informed me that you preferred that name.” She motioned to the convertible Duesenberg parked behind her. “Unless you need some rest first, I was planning on going straight to the local train station. There’s a line that runs between here and Jabrin, a small village on the northern edge of the Rub al Khali. A caravan will be waiting there for our arrival to take us across the desert.”
“How often does the train run?”
“Once a day.”
Slipping into the passenger seat, Indy pushed his fedora down over his face and closed his eyes. “Wake me up when we get to the station.”
***
Neither of the Americans took notice of the man aiming the camera in their direction. After snapping several shots, he stared curiously at the departing Duesenberg. As he replaced the silver plated camera in his jacket pocket, a bright flash of sunlight briefly reflected off its side, highlighting a name.
Rommel.