It was on one of her trips into deep forest that she met Indiana Jones as he moved through ancient ruins in the thick woods. The encounter was one of instant competition between wills. This strange American fascinated her, for he knew as much of the Celtic past as she herself. When she learned he was a professor her admiration lessened rather than increased and she took no steps to hide her feelings. To her professors were stodgy, closeted behind ivyfestooned walls, and experts at talking rather than doing. Yet here he was in the thickets and, like her, living off the land.
An unexpected fight for life changed them both. Walking together through thick woods, Gale stopped Indy with a sudden touch on his arm. She had frozen in place; he did the same. Immediately she had her powerful bow in her hands, arrow strung, ready to draw and shoot. At that moment a huge wild boar erupted from nearby bushes, charging directly at them. Gale had the bow back fully and in one swift motion fired. The arrow went straight and true, burying the notched head deep into the animal's shoulder. The boar went to a knee, but was up, enraged, still able to run at them with a limping gait. The wound would not protect them against the fierce tusks. Gale had already snatched another arrow from her quiver and was ready to shoot. Too late! The animal charged her directly. Suddenly she felt herself lifted through the air and hurled to the side.
"That tree!" Jones shouted. "Shoot from there!" She saw the wisdom of his move. She would be out of range from the tusks and she could still release her arrows. But even as she clambered to the safety of a branch she was ready to come down again. Indy had no weapon she could see and now the enraged animal was turning on him. It was her turn to be amazed as she watched Indy pulling open his jacket; a moment later a huge bullwhip was in his hand and whistling through the air.
A crack like a pistol shot sounded as the whip end lashed across the eyes of the boar. It screamed in sudden pain, blood spurting as though a knife blade had sliced open its tough hide. It spun swiftly, charging again. Indy had time for one more slashing strike with the whip. He aimed at a foreleg. The whip whirled about the leg and Indy ran to the animal's side, jerking with all his strength on the handle.
"Shoot!" he yelled as the animal tripped and for a moment fell over onto its side, its vulnerable belly exposed. Gale sent an arrow deep into the animal, then another and another. The boar thrashed about madly. Gale found Indy seated calmly by her side on the tree branch.
"We'll just wait until it dies," he told her.
She stared at him in amazement. She'd never seen anything like that whip or the incredible speed and power he wielded against the beast. "Where . . . where did you ever learn . . . I mean, how did you do that?"
He held the whip handle easily. "I've had this since I was a kid. I learned to use it against snakes, mainly. When it was serious, that is." He hefted the handle again. "It'll slice a rattler or a copperhead in two just like a bowie knife." He offered a crooked grin. "You're no slouch with that Robin Hood outfit of yours, either. You saved both of us a nasty time when you fired that first arrow."
"There wasn't time to think," she said quietly.
"That's the rule in moments like these. Don't think. Acta non verba."
"Deeds, not words," she replied in translation from the Latin. "Whoever you are, you surprise me. An American, which is obvious, with a bullwhip and using an ancient tongue."
Again that lopsided grin. "We'll try languages later. In the meantime, I hope you're as good a cook as you are a bowman."
"Woman," she emphasized.
He scanned her from head to toe. "What's obvious doesn't need explanation."
She was amazed. She blushed. She slipped down from the tree, wary of the animal still twitching. In a moment he was beside her. "Take your choice—whatever your name is."
"Parker. Gale Parker."
He extended his hand. "Jones. Indiana Jones. You want to do the honors with dinner or gather firewood?"
"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."