His fixed his hat, lifting its brim just slightly above his brow line.

“We can fly, O’Connell. Forget any ideas of someone on our tail - - with my luck, that’s already happening. Best we get a move on, huh?”

Indiana moves his glasses up some, before joining her side.

“You find us somewhere to sit?”

The briefcase in his hands holds the true identity of Indiana —- what she sees now is Professor Jones, the day time job.

“Sorry —-“ He says through a thin smile. “Got lost reading.”

He’s late —- and only for a moment.

Through the crowd, bumping shoulders with others, a smile here, and “Excuse me.” There, Dr. Jones finally arrives.

He’s cleaner than before, accompanied by glasses that sit on the bridge of his nose, and a blue suit with a black tie.

His tone is dry, but there’s that flicker of adventure in his eyes —- the same one that gets him into these messes every time.

“Either way, I don’t like sitting around waiting to find out. Question is. . .you ready for this, O’Connell?”

“. . .then either he’s got something everyone else missed, or he’s sending us straight into a death trap.”

He straightens, grabs his satchel from the chair, and slings it across his shoulder.

“If your benefactor’s offering the kind of lead this letter says he is. . .” Indy taps the envelope in Rick’s hand with a finger, his voice dropping a notch.

“So. . .the Hanging Gardens. Been chasing whispers of that place for years. Babylon’s got more buried lies than most civilizations combined, and half the maps are forgeries.”

He releases the handshake, adjusting the brim of his fedora before tucking the relic back into its display case with surprising care.

“Indiana Jones. I’ve heard of you, O’Connell, Cairo, Hamunaptra, a few curses here and there. Word is you’ve got a talent for stumbling into trouble.”

His grip is firm when he takes Rick’s hand, eyes sizing him up with the kind of sharpness that comes from too many years of close calls and double-crosses.

“Usually not.” Then, remembering Ark of The Covenant. “Hopefully not.” He corrects with a minor laugh.

“It’s always an adventure when you leave for somewhere —- just gotta hope there’s no trouble on the path there. Archeological sites are all about. .discovery.”

Fixing his fedora. ““Cyrene? That’s in Libya —- though these days it’s under the thumb of Mussolini’s Italy.”

Uh. .Cyrene. Thats where we’re going. Thats where it points to. [ He taps his satchel. ]

The piece I found that might lead us there.

Soon. [ Said almost without humility. Hands placed at his hips. ]

Heading to Cyrene. I believe —- my partner and I believe —- [ He corrects. ] That we may have found the path to Cleopatra’s actual resting place. Her real tomb.

I’d say it eve and flows my way mostly.