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As expected (read - demanded), her car was waiting right by the entrance. The Rolls-Royce Phantom III had been her fathers, once upon a time. But right before he died, the old man gifted it to her. He wasn’t aware of his generosity of course, or that the same person who’d spiked his nightly cognac had also pilfered the keys to his prized vehicle. But really, if you thought about it, she’d could’ve given him a very much worse ending after all the years of torment he’d subjected her to.

Arsenic could kill so slowly, if only administered in small doses which would lead to some very nasty illnesses. Kit however, hadn’t spared a thought for how she could make him suffer and instead, valued expediency over all, lacing the brandy with more than enough to bring his end quickly.

That being the case, she was almost saintly in intention.

Jones’ question brought her out of happy memories and she turned to him.

“Only for a drive around the city. Don’t worry, I shall have you back here in an hour….just thought you might like some decent and chilled champagne. The stuff they’re serving in there, is horrendous!”.

Alarm bells should have been ringing already from the sight of the car waiting outside with a running motor. Then again at the woman’s words. But the system seemed to be out of order for Indy, as he was just happily following Kit to the car. He had never been much of an admirer for cars - those new big and bulky things that filled the streets now. Every year, he felt, there were even more than the previous. One day, Indy believed, the world would be crowded by those huge metal monsters.

“Don’t tell Marcus,” he murmured jokingly, “he was the one picking it.” Marcus Brody might have been a great curator - but he was also a complete klutz. Lovingly, though.

Indeed not! In fact, Kit had learned very much about Dr Jones in the last month or so. It was so very rewarding when one’s hard-sought information proved to be right.Especially after the Fournier debacle.

“I know they say curiousity killed the cat, but I’m of the mind that when it comes to men, a little bit goes a very long way” she commented, almost as if in passing as she spied someone heading their way. It simply wouldn’t do for this conversation to be overheard.

The woman looked atypical of the environment - as if her hair had never seen a decent hairbrush, let alone an actual coiffure. Horn-rimmed glasses too, perched right on the end of her nose. She probably reeked of the books or old parchments she endlessly thumbed through, given the state of her fingernails. So no, the lady wasn’t any kind of threat.

And yet, Kit found herself guiding Jones away and out of the front door of the museum. She required his focus, solely on her and no damned librarian or archivist was going to impinge.

She couldn’t seem to await the party to end, and so Indy found himself being ushered out of the museum - completely oblivious to the woman approaching them - not being able to say goodnight to anyone - let alone Marcus; poor guy, he was probably going to search for him all night again - or leave his glass. In fact, he was still holding it in one hand and was now finishing the drink in one gulp before he quickly placed it on the ground on their way out. At least he still had his glasses with him.

“You are really eager to start that journey, aren’t you?” Indy joked with a smirk, putting the glasses back into his jacket pocket. Hadn’t she said something about ‘in a few days’, though? Or had he misheard?

“Who knows,” shrugged Richard. There were probably a hundred roads Andy could’ve gone to. A thousand places he could be hiding at. “I’ll pour over his journal some more tonigh’. Hopefully by tomorrow we’ll have a be’er idea on where to go from here.” Shaking his head, a sheepish smile curled on the young soldier’s lips. “Aye, I know, I know. Pretendin’ to be literally two of Scotland’s most famous pirates, groundbreakin’ I know; but, you’d be surprised how often we used to play tha’ game when we were wee lads. Got into trouble a lot for it as well ‘cause of trackin’ mud into the home, or ‘cause we lost track of time and came home past dinner.” And every single time Andy would somehow take the brunt of their father’s anger for the two of them. Even then, he was possibly the bravest man Richard had ever known. “I suppose ever since I got a wee bit of an adventurer’s soul in me, eh?” he remarked thoughtfully, before downing the rest of his drink. “Or at least I though’ I did.– I dunno’, Jones. Frankly, this is one adventure tha’s turnin’ out to be too much for me to handle.” That was probably the most candid the young private had ever been with the professor. Richard’s contemplations were cut short, however, when he noticed something, or rather somebody, peculiar. Based on the reflection of a mirror hanging behind the bar’s counter, Richard noticed that same bellhop he had bumped into some minutes ago. Just when the Scotsman’s suspicions had been re-ignited, he noticed the bellhop school one of the two men, who had just settled at a nearby table, a quick nod before heading down towards the nearby lifts. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Something definitely wasn’t right. “Stay here. Keep the key close by. I’m gonna check somethin’ out,” whispered Richard, giving Indy a quick pat on the shoulder, before making his way out of the dining area without another word.

Just as Richard had suspected. Laying low, the Scotsman noticed the peculiar bellhop enter his and Jones’s room. This man was obviously after the journal, or the key, or both. To go in there with his knapsack would be moronic, as far as he was concerned. Noticing a nearby, ‘out-of-order’ dumbwaiter, Richard stuffed his back into the defunct lift, before quietly making his way to the room. With his pistol at the ready, the Scotsman snuck past the door. The place was completely dark. Bathed in shadows, as the curtains had been drawn. Unfortunately, the young soldier’s training seemed to have slipped his mind. He was too busy trying to eye what was beyond his nose, he didn’t even stop think what, or who, could be lurking behind him.

Indy was about to finish his drink and order another one when his companion suddenly stood up. A quizzical brow was risen, but he only gave the other man a nod of his head. The key – that weird looking sapphire eye – was safely tucked in his shirt’s chest pocket. No one would lay their hands on it, not as long as Indiana Jones was alive.

Mayhew’s lowered voice should have been enough to tell him that something was wrong, but Indy shrugged it off and finished his drink instead. When he set the glass down, however, his gaze met that of another man. It was the way he was quickly glancing away, though, that had Indy perk up. Not only were those two men in the booth behind him watching the archaeologist, but they were also wearing suits. Black suits. Now, that wouldn’t have been all too suspicious – if it weren’t for the fact that they were in Argentina and the temperatures simply didn’t allow such an attire. It didn’t seem like he and Richard were getting any break...

With a sigh he turned his glass around on the counter, then Indy stood up and walked out of the bar as if he was completley oblivious to the two men. He took the stairs up to the next level, then turned right through the hallway, away from their own room, then turned right once again, hiding around the corner. As soon as he heard the footsteps come closer, Indy got in position - and the second the first nose came around the corner, he extended his hand. The movme was so quick, the stranger had no chance avoiding the fist. It connected with his nose with a crunching noise, the man groaning in pain, then Indy took care of the other one, lifting his arm fast enough to block a hit and kicking him in the knee. Due to the man bending down in pain, Indy had free reign and punched him in the face with both hands entwined to one fist. Next, he knocked the first man out with his elbow.

He spoke the truth - there were exactly four people in the world considered to be ‘Nanzhao authorities’ and Jones was not one of them. In order, there were Bloom, Rigers, Fournier and  Möller.

Bloom was out - female, surprisingly but also….bugger!

Rigers and  Möller were also dead ends. She was desperate for the information contained in their big brains, but not at the cost of having to deal with either another’s flatulence or nasal hair that had a life of it’s own.

For a while, Fournier had seemed a promising candidate - but then there had been the fateful rendezvous at Le Meurice….the man was all hands and quick with it. He’d very nearly gotten the better of her. Still, the discreetly stashed stiletto blade plunged into his right thigh, had taught him not to be so….’continental’ when it came to English ladies. Kit hoped he’d remembered that, for the rest of his life. Which admittedly, hadn’t been that long.

“Well you have other attributes that far outweigh the known experts, darling. Like this totally adorable bottom lip” she schmoozed, using forefinger and thumb to gently take hold of said lip and pull on it, just a tad. “The things I could do to and with this…..and not just this but your whole mouth. It really get’s me very, very excited!”.

She was good. Not many people had the skill to reply, put honey around someone’s lip, and not actually answer the question. She was just one of those woman with that talent, and Indy wasn’t even mad at her for it. On the contrary, he even realized he liked it. He was a man, after all, one that enjoyed the company of women far too much. Still he wouldn’t just forget to be careful.

A broad smile was stretching his lips from ear to ear when she took hold of his bottom lip. It smacked back, and Indy let his tongue trail over it for a moment, his gaze never leaving the woman’s.

“I hope I’m remembering this right,” began Isabella, tilting her head as she did her best to remember that curious treasure hunter not so long ago. “I think he said his name was… umm… Kidd? K-i-d-d.” Richard felt his heart skip a beat. “Wait. Kidd? And yer’ sure it was tha’ spellin’.” The waitress nodded. “As in Captain Kidd?” “Oh, I’m not very sure. Maybe? All I know is that he seemed very interested on finding supposed buried treasure. I told him treasure hunters and adventurers have tired time and time again, and in the end, it was nothing but fool’s hope. He said that he would change that and when he got the treasure he’d come back and buy me a proper drink. I think that was some weeks ago?” Her head twirled round when she heard somebody hollering her name from the kitchen. “Will you two please excuse me. Enjoy your drinks,” Isabella smiled, before sauntering past the kitchen’s nearby, double doors.

“We’re on the righ’ trail. Andy was definitely here,” muttered Richard, as he downed half his drink. “Kidd. Captain Kidd. As in the famous Scottish pirate,” he explained, eager blue eyes trailing at the older man now. “It was a game he and I used to play. We’d pretend to be famous pirates–he was always Kidd and I was Gow– and we’d go off huntin’ for treasure ‘round the nearby woods or by the lake… It has to be him, Jones. It just has to be.” A flicker of hope had reignited. Isabella mentioned how this was only a couple of weeks ago. Maybe, just maybe, Andy was still alive somewhere.

What Isabella had to tell them was interesting - and probably their best lead so far. At least they knew now that they were on the right trail, that Mayhew’s brother had been there. They wouldn’t have to run around headless turning every single rock around to try and find a hint on where to start. Now all they could hope for was to stay on that right track.

He followed the woman with his gaze until she was out of sight, then Indy turned back around to the other man. “Yes, but where did he go from here?” That was still something they had to figure out. From this town Andy could have gone literally anywere - especially with weeks lying between them.

A knowing glance twinkled in Isabella’s dark eyes, as she leaned over and dimpled at the handsome professor. “Oh? Like a treasure hunt?” she giggled. “You truly are not like any professor I’ve seen before. Muy misteriosos. Un profesor de misterio. Es como… Erm.. It is like a… umm…. libro de misterio. Mystery book, no?” the waitress giggled.  “And tell me, Mr. Professor, where did you hear of this treasure? Or have you been listening to old men’s tales?”

Just as Richard had thought, the room was empty. Figures. The Scotsman had just gotten dressed and was drying his hair off in the bathroom when he could have sworn he heard the knob of the main door rattle, as if somebody were trying to get in. Richard’s brows pinched together as he turned the tap off to take another listen. There it was again. The rattling. “Jones?” he called out. “Jones, did you forget yer’ key or somethin’?” Draping his towel over his shoulders, Richard stepped out of the bathroom to find that the rattling came to a sudden stop. “Jones?” Something wasn’t right. The young private could feel his gut twist and turn. With a gradual hand, he swiped his pistol from off the nearby dresser and opened the main door to find… Nobody. Not a single soul was seen walking about the hallway, and yet, the hairs on the back of Richard’s neck prickled. Invisible eyes, he could feel them looming over him.  Slamming the door shut, Richard finished up getting ready, and grabbed his knapsack with the journal still inside of it. He wasn’t taking his chances. No way. If somebody was following him and they managed to catch up with him, at least they wouldn’t get their hands on the key. Still, that prickling feeling continued to haunt Richard. He didn’t feel safe. Not one bit. That apprehension did not seem to ebb when Richard made his way across the crowded lobby. Although people, from guests to hotel staff, were bustling past him, it felt like a million eyes were on the Scotsman.– Keep it cool. You need to stay calm. If ye’ are bein’ followed these people can probably smell fear a mile away– Oof! “Ach! I’m so sorry ‘bout tha’, mate. My fault,” stuttered Richard as he bumped into one of the bellhops. Funny, Richard didn’t remember seeing that before. Yet, even as the Scotsman marched past, he stole a peek back. He could have sworn he saw the bellhop scowling at him from a distance.

“Jones, yer’ a pal. Thanks for waitin’,” grumbled Richard as he gave the professor’s shoulder a hearty pat before stealing a seat beside him. His seared expression quickly wore off when Isabella threw a dimpling smile at the Scotsman. “And you are a friend of the professor, no? Are you a professor too?” she cooed at Richard with her rich, velvet voice. “Me? A professor? No, no. Unlike, Jones, I’m Private Richard Mayhew. At yer’ service, ma’am,” he smirked. “Oh, a soldier then? Mm. A professor of archeology and a private soldier together.” She couldn’t help but chuckle as she grabbed two nearby glasses. “You do not hear of that everyday.” “I suppose ya’ can say we’re not yer’ usual customers,” purred Richard, leaning forward as he rested his elbow upon the bar. “And I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and say yer’ Isabella?” “Señor Mayhew, I’m impressed.– Señor Jones you have very impressive friends.– And tell me, soldier, how exactly did you know my name, hm?” “Have ya’ heard of palm-readers? I’m like ‘em. Clairvoyant. ” chuckled Richard getting pulled in by the twitch of her smile and the sparkle of her gaze.  “Does that mean you will want to read my palm?” “I can read much more than tha’,” he tilted his head innocently and smiled. “Tha’ and I heard the manager call yer’ name earlier.” Isabella laughed before handing the two men their drinks. “You know, you both remind me of this man not so long ago. Funny, I think he mentioned something about a treasure hunt too.”

Indy’s smile faded a little when the other suddenly decided to show up. Why now of all times, though? Couldn’t he have waited a few minutes more? Gotten lost somewhere along the way to the bar? “No!” He shook his head when the woman asked about Mayhew being a professor, his gaze shifting over to the other man while he spoke. It wouldn’t have surprised the archaeologist if Mayhew had slipped on his own slimy words.

One thing he had to give him, however: he had managed to get at least a tiny bit information out of Isabella without her even realizing. His brow rose, ears perked up. “A treasure hunt?” Indy was trying to seem as innocent as anyway possible, his fingers curling around the glass the waitress had put in front of him. He took a small sip of the drink, not even knowing what ti was she had poured him there.

Well, at least the man knew how to take a hint because a kiss was exactly the thing she’d hoped for by tugging on his collar. She liked that. She liked it when she didn’t have to lay everything out, piece by piece, until someone picked up the crumbs.

It was…..efficient.

Not to mention rewarding as damn but she could lose her focus, not to mention her breath where kisses like that one were concerned. It was, if she were the sort of woman to think is such terms, quite wonderful - soft and tender, but with just the perfect amount of intention behind it. All in all, she was impressed and when he pulled back, just a smidge, she let out the kind of happy little sigh men always were desperate to hear after kissing a woman, so he would know she was satisfied.

“Dr Jones, I believe we are going to get on famously during our trip”.

Their lips parted again way too soon for Indy’s taste, but he had the feeling there were going to be more in the near future, probably even one better than the other. And oh, how he was looking forward to it!

A smirk was curving up one half of his lips, his head tilted slightly to the side. Those gestures, no matter how small, had their effect on women, he knew, and he was going full in with this one. “Please...call me Indy,” he told her quietly. “All my friends do. Doctor Jones is my father.” And he was only called it professionally, whereas with Kit he he would rather be on the...more friendly side.

“We’ll see? Wha’ do ya’ mean, Jones?… Jones?” Richard’s head perked up when he heard the door creak shut. “Jones!” Figures. Well, two could play at that game.  Richard proceeded to take one of the quickest showers he possibly could.

“Sí! Ya voy!” Isabella called out to the rather demanding head waiter, who was aggressively motioning to another table for three more drinks. Once he looked away, the young waitress rolled her eyes. She swore that man was completely alien to the concept of patience. Making her way behind the bar, she situated herself once more in front of the rugged, yet handsome, looking client. Indy, did he say his name was? “So, Indy,” Isabella stifled a smile. Such an odd name. “You said you were a professor, no? We don’t get many of those. Tell me, what is a professor doing all the way out here in the middle of Argentina? Business or pleasure?” she inquired as she filled two more pints full of beer. 

His head was tilted to the side, the playful smile still around his lips. There was still no sign of Mayhew, which only told him that he was on a good way. No chance the youngster was going to make that race. “Business doesn’t automatically rule out pleasure.” He gave the waitress a wink. “I’m a professor of archaeology. Digging up...” Mummies. Dead folk. Occasionally cursed artifacts. No, those were all the wrong words to use right now.