The sunset flared across the cavemouth in streaks of red and gold extending as far as the eye could see. Hundreds of feet below the canopy of jungle trees was gilded to jewel brilliance, rippling into peaks and crests touched with light with every movement; a deep green sea that extended forever, only here and there interrupted by islands with sheer walls. Indy narrowed his eyes and stared into the inferno, half-expecting to see the blue line of the Andes suddenly illuminated by the brazen light. He could not, but it had been only the idle whim of a moment to seek the western mountains. He half-shrugged, smiled to himself, and turned back to the campfire.

Henry, too, had been caught by the magic of the vision. From the far side of the fire he smiled at his son, blue eyes and brown communicating to one another on a level too deep for speech. If there could be perfect contentment in an imperfect world, Henry knew he had found it.

"I begin to understand," he said, slowly, "why you find your brand of archaeology so much more attractive than mine."

Indy laughed softly at the words. "I was beginning to feel the same way about your kind," he said. "Round about the time the pilot got his head shot off. Wondering why the hell I didn't just stick to books."

"You'd soon become bored," his father informed him. "True - but one day I'm going to have to give all this up," was the rueful reply. "Unless it gives me up."

"I hope that day is far in the future," was the mild response.

Indy chuckled. "Adventures just seem to keep following me around," he said, ruefully. "This trip should just have been a nice simple collection and delivery job - Marcus could've hired any student or truck driver to do it."

"Any truck driver or student who would at this moment be lying dead somewhere at the bottom of this cliff," Henry reminded him, staring down from their vertiginous perch to the forest floor over three thousand feet below them. "You were the only person who could have brought the 'plane down safely on the top of Autana."

"I hate to disillusion you, Dad, but this is where they wanted us to land - or, rather, to crash. If the 'plane had gone down in the jungle it would never have been found. They want the gold and the relics we took from Vista Alegre; a wrecked plane on the top of a mountain is kinda easy to find, even if they'll have a little trouble getting to it. They'll have to land at Puerto Ayacucho and trek in on foot; it'll take them four or five days. By that time we'll be halfway to the coast."

"We have to get down this mountain first," was the careful response.

"Sure. First thing in the morning. It ought to get light about four, four-thirty, and then we'll make a start. We'll have to do something about our hands," he smiled, looking down ruefully at the blisters produced on his palms by this evening's bout of exercise, abseiling pitch-after-pitch down a thousand feet of crumbling rock from the plateau's surface. "I don't think I'm as fit as I was the last time I climbed this sonofabitch," he laughed.

"And ... when we're down?" The prospect of the descent filled Henry with nothing short of terror, but he kept that to himself. If Indiana was feeling unfit and unequal to the task how much more so was he, a man of sixty five who had led a sedentary existence until less than a year ago?

"Walk out," was the simple reply. "We can meet up with one of the tributaries of the Orinoco about sixty miles north of here, and make our way down the river until we reach the delta. From there we'll head for Trinidad. Your British passport has to be useful for something!"

Henry's eyebrows lifted in mild surprise. Indy's plans assumed an awful lot; that Henry would survive the descent to the forest floor tomorrow, that he would then be able to walk sixty miles through hostile territory capable of swallowing not just men but whole settlements, entire civilisations, without trace, and that the two of them would somehow be able to make their way to the coast. Once there, he had to agree, the impressive words "His Britannic Majesty Requires and Directs" would have considerable effect on their prospects of quitting this continent and escaping back to civilisation, but it was necessary to get to the coast first before he - or his passport - could be of the slightest use.

"I admire your optimism, my boy," he smiled. He reached towards the fire; on a green twig suspended in the flames between two upright stones the unappetising body of a lizard was cooking slowly to provide a meagre evening meal. A billycan wedged under a tiny drip of water issuing from a small crevice in the cave's wall was filling fast enough to provide them with a drink of some sort within the hour. Indy had scrounged survival rations from the wrecked 'plane and had mentioned something about coffee, an idea at once outlandish and tempting beyond all reason. Just as well, too - scrambling about on the loose scree beneath the cave entrance to gather twigs for the fire had given Henry a thirst.

Indy turned back to the inside of the cave and wrenched open the pack he had stuffed with items from the 'plane. At the bottom, under sundry supplies of bandages and dried food, were four blankets into which he'd wrapped the choicest of the treasures looted from Vista Alegre. He glanced around randomly and reached for Henry's jacket, discarded almost as soon as they had settled on this vast hole through the mountain as their home for the night, spread the jacket over the rocks and tumbled the elaborate bowls, masks and ornaments onto it. Then, selecting a sheltered, sloping ledge almost three feet wide and five feet long, away from the cave's entrance, he folded all four blankets in half lengthwise and used them to prepare a sleeping place.

Henry watched him with fond amusement. As Indy returned to the fire he shrugged, the shy academic suddenly returning to his face and manner. It was common sense that there should only be one bed, but it would never have occurred to him anyway to create two. The mere fact of their being obliged to spend a night in such an uncomfortable location would make no alteration to that aspect of their routine existence; they would, as usual, sleep together.

Henry understood, of course. How could he not? Since Christmas, when Indy had given an undertaking to work for the State Department during the forthcoming hostilities against Germany, father and son had known their time together henceforth was finite. The three-months training course had kept Indy from home most of the spring; now, at the end of May, it was obvious to Henry that their days were numbered. Consequently each day, each private moment shared, was doubly or trebly precious since each might - just might - be the last.

Indy came close and sat down beside him, a hand on Henry's shoulder.

"I'm rather reluctant to say this, son," Henry informed him, tone carefully neutral, "but I have a suspicion this ... thing ... is ready to eat."

Recalled to practicalities, Indy removed the carcass from the flames. He inspected it warily, nodded his approval and took out a knife with which to cut it into manageable portions. Henry watched him with his usual admiration; crashing 'planes, stealing treasures, cooking and eating lizards ... it seemed there was nothing this son of his would not tackle.

Indiana had been paralysed by momentary amazement as he watched the body of the pilot spiral down from the open cabin door towards the forest below. Henry recalled how his gaze had met his son's in that tiny, chaotic space turned to red hell by the poor man's blood on every surface, and how they had shared a moment of complete and utter despair. Oil fumes from the damaged engine were filling Henry's eyes and lungs, making him choke. He had never felt so useless in his entire life; almost contemplated stepping from the open doorway and joining Carlos in his free-fall towards the lush jungle beneath them. Indy's hand on his shoulder had saved him.

"You okay?"

Henry's response was an inarticulate sound somewhere between a cough and a wheeze, which Indy read as reassurance. Ahead of them, through the starred and blood-spattered windshield, the other light plane was just visible, it occupants no longer firing in their direction but waiting for the crash which, sooner or later, was inevitable.

"There's not a lot of fuel left," Indy murmured, helpfully, wiping blood from the gauges with a grease rag.

"Of course." The reply sounded cynical even to Henry, but he knew it wouldn't be misinterpreted. "Have your flying abilities improved at all since we crashed in Greece?"

"Not a lot; but Lindy himself couldn't land this thing safely, Dad."

"I was afraid of that." Cautiously he moved into the seat beside his son and stared myopically at the controls. Indy had managed to lift the 'plane's nose slightly and level the wings; they weren't, at least, going to stall-dive into the tree canopy and bury themselves forever in the forest floor.

Indy's brain was working feverishly. The other 'plane had pulled ahead of them, almost as if their rivals - presumably, he thought, the mixed bunch of mercenaries and treasure-hunters they'd fought off at Vista Alegre two nights ago - were trying to lead them along. It wasn't until he punched a hole in the shattered windshield and peered through it that it dawned on him precisely where they were.

"Hey, Dad, look! Up ahead! Know what that is?"

Henry leaned over close to him and focussed his gaze through the small aperture. At once he draw back as a panorama of immense, smooth rock walls filled his sight; cliffs rising into a sheer tower higher than the level at which they were flying. Through the centre of the tower, which was shaped like a huge Gothic cathedral, he could perceive daylight - a hole or tunnel of vast proportions ran right through the rock.

"My God," he whispered. "Can we climb over the top of that?"

"No," Indy told him, excitedly, "and we're not going to try. Listen, Henry, if I can get this right, maybe I can bring this 'plane down on top of that thing. For Chrissakes, Dad, that's Autana!"

"It's what?"

"Autana. Don't you remember, I climbed it maybe eighteen years ago when I came down here on that expedition? The first time I heard about Vista Alegre?"

"Yes, yes, I do remember." Henry caught his arm, squeezed it fiercely. "You actually intend to land on top of it? You realise what will happen if you fail?"

"We'll fall four thousand feet down the side of the mountain," Indy shrugged, matter-of-factly. "What does that matter?"

He was right, of course. Death - death shared - was not of the least importance. Henry thought that in the time it took to fall four thousand feet he could probably manage to throw his arms around his son and hold him; try to ease the last pain for them both.

"It doesn't matter. Do what you can."

"If I try to climb her," Indy muttered, half to himself, half to keep Henry informed of what he was doing, "her speed will drop. By the time we reach the lip of the plateau, if the fuel holds out, we should be just about stalled. Then it's just a question of hoping we don't roll over the edge."

Henry's attention never strayed from his son's face as he wrestled with the controls. If these were to be his last moments of life he knew full well how he wanted to spend them - looking at the man who had been everything to him since the day of his birth; child, protege, rival, lover, partner. Indy's glance slipped sideways only once and he smiled the self-effacing smile Henry remembered so clearly from less fraught occasions. It was the same smile Indy had worn when he spoke of finding the clue that would lead them to Alexandretta. Henry smiled back, and Indy's attention flickered away to the control gauges and the presence of the second 'plane, now holding a position well away from them and observing their actions.

"Hold on, Henry," he whispered. "This could be pretty nasty."

He didn't exaggerate; at the moment of impact Henry found himself pulled tight against Indy's shoulder and surrounded by strong, protecting arms. The small 'plane jolted, lifted and fell again and again over the rough terrain at the top of the mountain, wings snapping, fuselage splitting, propellors and undercarriage ripping away and falling behind them in a trail of devastation. At length, with a crash that sounded like the knell of doom, what was left of the cockpit of the plane fetched up against a rocky outcrop. Henry heard himself cry out once, and a hand covered his mouth quickly.

"Don't move a muscle, don't make a sound," Indy told him urgently. "Listen."

As the cacophony of their own progress died away, the engine noise of the treasure hunters' 'plane became louder. It seemed to circle above their heads for a very long time, then drew away. Still Indy would not allow his father to move. The engine sounds circled away, echoed around the valley, and returned, flying as close and as low as possible to the wreckage of Indy and Henry's 'plane. Then, at length, the sounds diminished again and receded into the distance, and Indy began to unfold himself from his tangled position on the cockpit floor.

"Are you okay?" were his first, urgent words.

"I think so. And you?"

"Bruises, but nothing broken. C'mon, we've got to get what we can out of the wreck and head for shelter; there's only a couple of hours left before nightfall, and they'll probably fly over again in the morning. I don't want to be caught up here on the top of this thing.

There're caves; we'll find one and stay there for the night."

And that was just how it had been, Henry reflected. Indy had commanded, and he had - to this best of his limited ability - obeyed. Though fit enough for his age he had never attempted any kind of climbing before; Indy had shown him how. Gradually, slowly, they'd managed to transport themselves and whatever they'd plundered from the wreck down to the mouth of the huge cave that carved a path right through the mountain.

Here, thousands of years in the past, a river had run; carrying stones in its current it had gouged out chambers almost a hundred feet high. Its whirlpools had cut patterns of concentric circles on the roof; its stream-bed had left the floor of the cavern uneven and rock-strewn. No birds or animals chose to make their home in its halls; only lizards and frogs dwelt in the deepest recesses of the rock. Fresh water fell from tiny fissures in the ceiling; strange ferns clustered close to the light at its entrance. It was a place of strange and surpassing beauty, a small enclave left behind by time.

The setting of the sun and the advent of dusk made it a place, too, of magical shadows and enchanted echoes. In the half-dark a hand reached across the cavemouth and clamped itself fiercely on Indy's wrist. The fingers tightened with an insistence that was almost painful.

Indy looked away from the magical vista of sky and rainforest; he turned to his father almost with amusement. There was no necessity for Henry to speak; all the urgency of desire was communicated in his eyes, glowing brown and gold in the firelight like those of some exotic jungle cat.

Henry was rarely demanding; their relationship had settled down into a calm, tender pattern where sex was merely an expression of the love they felt for one another. If there was any imperative, it was that of Indy's own need. Henry had been content to let his son set the pace, had allowed Indy to be the dominant partner sexually, and seldom if ever exerted his own will over his son. This, Indy could see at a glance, was going to be one of those uncommon occasions.

"Here?" he asked, his tone lightly mocking. He was mildly amused to discover that even in these far-from-ideal conditions his lover could want him with such unconcealed hunger. Then, briefly, he understood; it was the adventure itself that had brought this response from Henry. Indy knew what it was like to get a sexual charge out of danger and impossible situations - he'd sublimated his own desires in his hectic lifestyle for many years, and used the adventuring as an escape from his inability to cope with women. However, during a lull in some chaotic saga of chase and flight he'd often been overwhelmed by a sudden urge and sought solace with one woman or another; Henry had merely succumbed to the same powerful stimulus.

"Yes." The father's answer was a command that could not be disobeyed. At once, all the power he had held over Indy since the younger's birth almost forty years before was directed into ordering his sexual compliance - here, in a cave three thousand feet above the jungle of Venezuela, with a rival crew of treasure-hunters on their trail already.

Indy stood up, pulling Henry to his feet, and wordlessly drew him to the shallowly-sloping ledge on which the folded blankets had been piled. A glance in passing told him that the fire would do well enough for an hour or so; he might have to throw more wood onto it throughout the night but it would keep the cold at bay for now.

In total silence he pushed Henry down onto the blankets and knelt over him, smiling the feral smile that always lit his face in the presence of some precious object. He removed Henry's glasses and began to work on the fastenings of his waistcoat and shirt, throwing aside the tatty bandanna from around his neck. Within moments he had laid bare his father's chest, and moved in instantly with kisses and tiny bites across its surface that drew a gasp of astonishment and need from the older man.

Indy's hands moved lower, opening the waistband of Henry's trousers and sliding both those and the older man's underwear down, removing them all of a piece with boots and socks and throwing the whole bundle back into the cave behind them, then turned to lift Henry's torso and pull away the open upper garments until the man beneath him was completely naked.

He had had cause and opportunity in the past to admire the strong lines of his father's body - running, perhaps, a little to overweight, with muscle tone beginning to relax, Henry was still beautiful in his son's eyes. The crisp hair that highlighted the contours of his chest was an intoxicating blend of white with the black it had once been; the arms that reached for him now were the arms that had held him firmly soon after his birth. This body, in fact, had created him - knowledge that still sometimes caused him to react with extreme caution when his hands strayed close to his father's groin. The mystique of that simple fact was one of the deepest and most secret treasures in their extraordinary shared life; that knowledge turned every sexual act between them into an almost religious experience. Sex was not just some momentary whim of self-gratification, for either; it was the physical expression of a love that for almost forty years had dared to ask nothing for itself. Now, it would no longer be denied.

Fully-clothed - apart from the hat which reposed in solitary splendour on the far side of the cave - Indy fell upon his father's naked body with a need far greater than any he had experienced before. His kisses became fiercely demanding, teeth catching at Henry's lips as his powerful body held the other man pinned tight against the blankets. Henry responded avidly, his legs tangling with Indy's and his body arching to meet his son's, whilst one hand wound itself into Indy's hair and held their faces firmly together. His free hand clamped down upon Indy's leather-clad shoulder, tightening buisingly on bulging muscle.

After only seconds of this Indy broke free and drew back, troubled eyes flashing fire, astonished at the ferocity of the want driving them both. He had known Henry to be capable of great passion, which was usually channeled into some safe academic purpose, and had suspected that one day he might see that passion unleashed upon himself. This was that time; arousal feeding on arousal and bringing them both to an undreamed-of pitch of excitement.

"God!" His expletive was shaky as he sat back and began to tear at his shirt and jacket, discarding them carelessly. Henry's hands strayed to his chest even as he tore the garments away, and left scalding trails of desire across his flesh. Indy backed off further, removing the rest of his clothing and footwear and abandoning it in similarly cavalier fashion. He stood to climb out of his lower garments, and then approached Henry again on foot, naked, his skin glowing orange in the firelight. As he lowered himself again onto their makeshift bed Henry's arms lifted to enfold him and their sweat-slick bodies slid together with a careful tenderness that belied their great need.

"I never saw you like this," Indy whispered, his breath lifting thin strands of white hair away from Henry's ear.

"I have never been like this, until now." Even under the intense pressure of the moment Henry managed to discipline his voice to calmness and his words to coherence, and this very calm at the eye of the storm sent a jolt of strange excitement through the body linked with his.

In their seven months as lovers their lovemaking had been nothing if not adventurous, but Henry had held back from a single act; so far, he had not been able to bring himself to penetrate his son's body. Indy had done it to him on many occasions; the very first night, in the hotel in New York where they had first made love, Indy had taken Henry as if it was the most reasonable, most sensible, most natural action in the world - and Henry had surrendered to it and, to his own surprise, enjoyed it. Since then they'd sometimes spoken of it; Indy had taken him several more times, and Henry never lost the thrill of feeling his son inside him. He knew that it was something Indy needed - something he himself had grown to need and to want, regularly. He knew, also, that it was Indy's dearest wish that one day the positions should be reversed; that, one day, Henry might take him in the same way.

"This time?" Indy whispered. "Please."

For a moment only a parade of images swum before Henry's dazed eyes; faces of those long-dead who would not have approved even of leniency in the upbringing of a son, let alone of such a strange consummation of an illegal love. Henry's parents, William and Eleanor Jones, stern Victorians with no souls; Marcus, once a lover, now a devoted friend, making heroic efforts to suppress jealousy of Indy's specially favoured position in his father's life; Olivia, Indy's mother - a gentler recollection, her weary features creasing to a smile that seemed to give permission for the act he contemplated.

It was her permission, he realised now, that he had needed. His eyes focussed anew on the grey-blue concern Indy's held, and with slow deliberation he nodded his head. It was a moment sanctified by their mutual love and need, and elevated to poetry by the wild beauty of its setting.

Indy turned, slowly, his gaze holding Henry's as long as that was possible. He made himself comfortable face down on the blankets, lifting his hips and distributing his weight carefully between knees and shoulders. For a moment it seemed as if Henry might still decline, despite his agreement, but he did not. After a brief hesitation, his hands slid around Indy's waist, positioning him, whilst Henry settled between Indy's legs. There was a pause of almost unbearable duration, a careful preparation, and then in one long, slow, cautious movement Henry sheathed himself inside his son's body, penetrating him to the hilt with a single thrust.

Indy gasped, sighed, and pushed back against his father without pain. He had expected it to hurt, even a little, but it did not. The only sensation was of fullness, of being stretched, but it was not uncomfortable. Instead, the overwelming emotions involved in giving himself to another person in this most intimate way filled him with a joy that instantly flooded over into tears; tears which Henry, his consciousness spinning hysterically, knew for what they were and touched away with a shaking fingertip.

Their bodies remained still, locked together tightly, while both men learned and experienced the sensations of being linked in such a way. There would be time enough for simple gratification of their sexual needs; this moment was for contemplation of the complete intimacy and the total trust of the love they shared, for recognition of their most unique affinity.

Henry withdrew slightly then thrust again, the movement sending shredded fragments of his consciousness in all directions. It required all his remaining intelligence to gather strength enough to withdraw and thrust once more, this time falling forward onto Indy's back in a state of helpless incapacity as his muscles rebelled against his control and he came inside his son's body.

Indy groaned, half in delight at Henry's completion, half in disappointment at the suddenness of it. Hands were clutching feebly at his chest and he managed to grab at one and pull it to his lips, kissing the fingers repeatedly. He could sympathise entirely with Henry's incoherence; he remembered his own first time all too clearly, and Henry caressing him and smothering him with kisses as he lay back, stunned, against the deep cool pillows of the hotel bed.

Henry slipped from his body and dropped, exhausted but blissful, at his side on the narrow blanketed ledge. Indy wrapped him at once in a loose fold of blanket, showering tender kisses on face, neck and hands as he did so. Henry struggled briefly against this cossetting.

"Indiana?" Enquiringly he ran a hand down his son's chest and belly in the darkness.

Indy caught the hand, kissed it, and returned it firmly beneath the blanket.

"Your pleasure is my pleasure," he said, lightly, and the sound of his voice was a balm to Henry's conscience. There was no need for anxiety; Indy, too, was satisfied.

Momentarily Indy fussed with the blankets, drawing out from beneath himself sufficient material to cover them both.

"It's going to be a cold night," he murmured softly, stroking Henry's beard and placing light kisses on his face.

"Will the fire last?" Henry drowsed against him, already approaching the borders of sleep.

"Yes, Henry," whispered Indy, holding him tightly and thinking of something else entirely. "The fire will last."

He wrapped himself in the blankets, settled against his father, and slept. Indy awoke a little before 4 a.m. just as the darkness of the cave began to lift slightly. The campfire had died down to the embers and he shifted reluctantly from the surprisingly comfortable rock shelf and stepped across Henry's still sleeping form to tend it. It took several minutes of quiet coaxing to bring the flames back to life; Indy fed in wood methodically from the stack Henry had garnered the previous evening, and when he felt the fire was going strongly enough he put a billycan of water onto the stones in the middle. Then he got to his feet and stretched, making a careful inventory of the aches and pains he had suffered the previous day. One severely bruised and battered shoulder from the 'plane's impact - well, that was nothing surprising.

Lacerated hands from climbing down the rope; they'd recover, and Henry's were worse. Several minor cuts and gashes from scrambling over rocks, a few insect bites - nothing unusual. There was also an array of smaller bruises on his other shoulder which he felt certain would correspond with the pattern of Henry's fingers, should he ever care to put it to the test.

Deep in thought, he made his way cautiously to the eastern end of the cave, picking his route carefully over the jumbled stone floor. He passed beneath the cathedral-like domed ceiling but could not see it as the shadows of the previous night still clustered up close to the roof, dispelled neither by the bright flames of the campfire nor by the first fingers of dawn creeping in from the east. There was almost enough light to navigate by, however, and he managed to avoid stumbling or falling, mindful of the predicament Henry would be in should he injure himself with some piece of blatant stupidity like this naked progress through dangerous territory.

It was worth the effort, however. A cool breeze blew across the cave entrance, chilling his bare skin still further, but he found it restful rather than uncomfortable. As his eyes became accustomed to the gloom he could make out a pair of scarlet macaws lodged on a tiny shelf of rock only a few feet from the cavern entrance, preening sleepily as they prepared for their day. Indy envied them their uncomplicated existence. Although the jungle was full of predators and their lives were short enough by any standards, they did not have to conform to some outdated code of morality; they had no secrets, they knew exactly who were their enemies, they were not burdened by possessions. What was more, they were free to fly; that was what he envied most of all.

There was a small sound behind him and he turned. Henry, wearing only spectacles and a blanket slung around his shoulders as a cloak, was making cautious progress along the cave towards him. Indy took a few steps back into the interior of the mountain and offered his hand, helping his father over the last few obstacles.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, gently. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not," was the reply. "I slept well, but I suppose we'll have to be moving on soon?"

"As soon as there's enough light," Indy confirmed. "But I think we've got time to watch the sunrise."

Henry stepped closer in the cave entrance and wrapped part of the blanket around his son's shoulders. He shivered. "You're cold, boy," he chided.

"Am I? I didn't notice. Thanks. Water should be hot enough to make coffee soon - that's all we'll have until we're down on the jungle floor."

For a moment, in silence, they watched the sky. Then Henry rested his head on Indy's shoulder and asked, softly, "When are you going away?"

"Damn, I can't keep any secrets from you, can I?" Indy's tone was weary. "The first of next month, Dad. I go to Washington and they give me another name, and that's just about the last you'll hear of me unless I get myself killed. They won't let me contact you at all - so I guess we just have to wait until the war's over, now."

Henry accepted this news stoically. "I'll be busy enough, myself," he conceded. "Taking over your teaching commitments. I imagine your students will ... keep me young. Perhaps when Marcus gets home we'll be able to see about finding somewhere more suitable to live."

"I thought maybe I'd get you a dog to keep you company, before I go," Indy told him, rawly. The sun was beginning to peer over the tree-lined horizon, turning the sky pink, grey and gold in stripes reminiscent of a layer-cake. It was the most spectacularly beautiful sunrise in the world, and suddenly Indy could think of no lovelier place in which to pledge his continuing love for Henry. The banality of the conversation annoyed him. "I will be back, you know," he added, positively, wrenching Henry out to arm's length and glaring at him, trying to impart his certainty by telepathy or force of personality.

"I know you will. It would take more than a few million Nazis to kill you, boy."

Indy grinned. The sky flared with a sudden gleam of gold and the restless macaws peeled away from their cliffside ledge and took flight across the cavemouth as though trying to fly into the heart of the sun. He might have said more, but Henry's words forestalled him.

"I love you with all my heart, Indiana. Take that with you, and come back to me when it's all over."

His son nodded. "I'll do that," he said, pulling Henry back into his arms. Then, uncertainly, "My ... love." The words did not spring readily to his lips, but both men needed to hear them. He didn't kiss Henry; he chose not to cloud a moment of clarity with any more complicated emotion. His arms tightened around his father and he held him close, desperately clinging to this last moment of safety before the world's headlong plunge into insanity and their own parting. It had never occurred to him to reject or curse duty, but at this time and in this place he would have done so willingly.

Henry's head rested again on his shoulder, a dampness that could well be his tears just touching Indy's neck. The younger man knew precisely how he felt. He completed the embrace with care, hiding his face against Henry's neck and giving release to his own grief, as the sun climbed higher still and burst in a fanfare of golden light across the upturned bowl of the sky.

* * * * * * *