As Lara entered the main dining room, memories flooded into her mind of time spent here as a little girl. She loved the mystery of this place. She still did today, for that matter. Perhaps she first tasted her wanderlust here, having meals with Mum and Daddy. Without her realizing it, a slight smile crossed Lara's lips.

"Oi! Miss Lara!"

The thick Cockney accent turned her head immediately. That could only be...

"Reggie! How wonderful to see you!" Lara recognized the club's Maitre'D right off. A few more pounds and a lot more gray, perhaps, but that was definitely old Reg. She ran over to him and hugged him tightly. He was just as happy to see her.

"Ah, yer lookin' all grown up and pretty. And wha' a lady you are! Goin' round findin' monsters an' buried treasure an' all. You should be a member here yerself!" Reg delcared through what was left of his teeth.

"Oh, stop, you old man. You're looking good yourself. How's the leg?"

Reg still carried shrapnel in his left leg courtesy of a Nazi 88mm mortar round. He was 17 that day in 1944. In Arnhem, Holland he accompanied Col. John Frost and the rest of the 1st Para Division to try and take that last bridge. They barely made it out alive.

"Ah, it's not so bad. Bloody Jerries won't stop me."

Lara's smile changed a little. She remembered why she came.

"Reg, is he here?"

He knew what she was talking about.

"Aye, Miss Lara. In the back, at his usual table. Been here for an hour at least. You know, despite what he says, he's real proud of you."

Lara didn't know how to react to that. Her eyes averted him a little.

"Has a sodding strange way of showing it," she said, half to herself. She patted Reg's arm, gave him one last quick smile, and turned.

Lord James Henshingly Croft, MP, was absently perusing the menu over a snifter of Gognac when he sensed her presence. He looked up to see his daughter approaching the table. He had seen her face in pictures and on the telly, but was unprepared for the sight of this beautiful young woman before him. God, she looked so like her mother. He managed a nervous smile.

"Lara. You look well."

Lara took the seat across from him. She was visibly uncomfortable. So much bad blood had crossed between them over the years.

"Thank you, Daddy. You look fit yourself. And thank you for meeting me here."

A waiter appeared out of thin air. Lara ordered a glass of Reisling and he disappeared. The service here was still first class, she observed. She took a longer look at her father. At 55, he looked ten years younger. He was a little stout around the middle, but still had a firm jaw and strong shoulders. His thick hair was snow white and his complexion ruddy. He still had the same dark piercing eyes. Lara imagined that Daddy could look right into her soul. She always hated that.

"Well, I'm here," Lord Croft announced flatly. "What is so important that I had to break off a meeting with the PM to be here?"

You pompous... Lara thought. As if Tony Blair would be more important that seeing me. After all this time.

"Daddy, please don't make this difficult. I wouldn't contact you if this wasn't important."

To Lara's surprise, her father's expression softened. His eyes dropped to his drink and studied it. Mum's death must have taken a great deal out of him.

"You're right of course. I'm an ass for talking to you that way. I am pleased to see you. You're looking lovelier than ever. How is your house in Timmonshire?"

"It's perfect, Daddy. I'm finally all moved in." Lara forced a smile.

"You're still riding motorcycles and raiding tombs, I see. I can't say that I approve of that,"

There's a surprise, Lara thought.

"...But at least you're succsessful at it. I did see you at Westminster, you know. I know you and she were fast friends."

Lara saw him there too. That dreadful day, the flag-draped coffin, the sea of flowers outside. Attendance at that funeral was a privilege she would have gladly given up just to see her friend again. What a bloody senseless waste.

"Yes we were, Daddy. Thank you for remembering. But let me get to the point. I'm here to see you about something you saw many years ago. In Persia."

Patrician eyebrows raised. What was she talking about?

"I've been asked to help find something in Isfahan. A gold statue..."

"With rubies in its belly," Lord Croft interjected. He was dazzled. "How on earth do you know about that?"

As if on cue, they both clammed up when the waiter returned with Lara's wine. They waited for him to walk out of earshot, then Lara spoke.

"Then you do remember it?"

"God, yes. I do. It was horrible," Lord Croft breathed. He suddenly appeared older. "It was being buried in an ancient tomb. Ten men took it into the crypt and the stone was rolled into place behind them."

"You mean they were buried with the statue?" Lara couldn't believe it.

"Yes. They were to spend the rest of their days devising defenses and traps to keep the statue from looters. Then they must have died in there," Lord Croft said, his eyes fixed on something thousands of miles away.

"And you were allowed to see this?"

Your grandfather was the Britsh delegate to the area and was invited to attend. He took me along with him. We expected to see dancing, fire eaters, the usual Wog celebration. Not the sight of ten men being buried alive."

Lara flinched. She hated that word.

"Ghastly business," her father went on. "Had nightmares for a year after that."

Lara leaned closer.

"Daddy, you're the last one alive who knows where it is. Can you show me where to find it?"

Lord Croft eyed his daughter suspiciously. Was she mad? Go back in there? Well, it can't be any more dangerous than some of the places she's already been.

"I suppose I can. I keep a map in my desk. Shall we go?"

To Be Continued...