The Swimsuit Contest
by Andrew Mason aka Dr. Amazing

This is a work of fiction.  Tombraider and Lara Croft are both trademark and copyright of EIDOS Interactive and Core design.  All other characters are copyright of the author.

            This story contains violent and sexual content and is suggested for mature readers (18 and over).
            Comments, complimentary or critical, can be addressed to: dramazin@alphalink.com.au

“What do you mean Lara?” asked Cassie, her eyes full of anxiety and her Texan accent forgotten.  “What’s going on?”

            “Wait here with the others and I’ll find out.”

            “Lara!”  Chifley was calling from the edge of the jungle, where he stood with Maia.  “Lara!  Over here!”

            Lara ran over to them and immediately saw what had alarmed Chifley.  A sharp wooden stake stood a few paces back from the cleared area.  Impaled on it was a heart, its blood streaking the stake above and below.

            “Blood, the wine of life,” said Maia, then fell silent.

            Chifley ignored Maia, asking Lara, “Is that what I think it is?”

            “It’s not a human heart Peter,” replied Lara, though this was not completely reassuring.

            “What’s going on here?” asked Peter, looking sternly into her eyes, wanting the truth and believing she could provide it.

            “You’re the second person to ask that in under a minute,” replied Lara.  “Let’s get back to the others.”

            When they returned to the plane Lara cast her eyes over the assembled group, doing a quick head count.  Everyone except Lorna was present.  She found herself going into combat mode, her mind analysing the situation and possible responses to it.  Even before seeing Maia’s grisly find she had sensed something ‘wrong’ on the island.  If she had been alone she would have known what to do--take cover and creep toward the site.  With this entourage, however, she was not sure how to proceed.

            The sound of a jeep motoring up the path interrupted her thoughts.  She turned to see a jeep, carrying Lorna, a native worker and a man she recognised.

            “Lara!” exclaimed the man, leaping from the jeep before it had fully come to a halt.  He moved with a speed that belied his imposing size.  He rushed up to her with a huge smile on his broad face and swept her into a bearhug.

            The breath was crushed from her lungs and her discomfort worsened when she felt his hand stealing down her back to her behind.  She pushed him away, more surprised than offended.  The esteemed David Crombie, the British Museum’s most lauded archaeologist, had groped her.

He smiled and looked her up and down, a perusal of her figure that she was becoming familiar with.

            “Lara Croft!  On my island!” he gushed.

            “David Crombie,” replied Lara.  “I don’t remember you being so... affectionate.”

            He chuckled.  The smile had not left his face.  “We all behave differently at conferences than we do on a site.  You certainly dress differently.”

            She regretted, again, her choice of clothing.  “I’m surprised that you are so welcoming.  I have written to you, several times, and you were very unenthusiastic about my coming here.”

            He chuckled.  “We wanted to make sure we had all our relics accounted for first,” he said.

            “I DO NOT RAID TOMBS!” Lara protested.  “The only relics I take are from sites I’ve uncovered myself, or...”

            “It was a joke Lara,” he said, holding up his hands in a placating gesture.  “You certainly have a sore spot there.”

            “It’s not a joke to the archaeological community David.  Listen, we have a problem.”

            “Yes.  Sorry about the sluggish reception, but I was caught up at the site.  Lara you’ve got to see it!”

            “Not that problem, David.”  She took his arm and led him away from the others, towards the bloody stake.

            “So she’s going to sleep with our host now?” accused Christina, when they were out of earshot.

            “Christina, don’t start,” chided Chifley.

            “Why not?  She’s slept with you already, I’ll wager, to get herself here.”

            Chifley shook his head sadly.  “If only that were true,” he muttered.

            Lara showed Crombie the grisly exhibit.  The archaeologist frowned but was not surprised.  “Another one,” he grumbled.

            “You’ve had more of these?”

            “A few, the same each time.  The first time we sent the heart to the mainland and it was identified as belonging to a monkey.  There are hundreds of the creatures on this island.  You’ll hear them when they return; the plane will have scared them away.”

            “So you’ve done nothing about this?”

            “What can I do?  It must be one of the native workers, but there’s no way to know which one.  This site has some religious significance to them and this sort of sacrifice is an Inca custom to placate evil spirits.”

            “True enough, but this is a Cadachac site.  Why should a modern Peruvian care about it?”

            “Maybe he’s a Cadachac descendant?  I don’t believe it matters.  Don’t let it spook you.”

            Lara’s mouth tightened.  “It hasn’t spooked me,” she protested.  “I just dislike the idea of cruelty to those poor monkeys.”

            Crombie laughed.  “That’s a bit rich Lara.  If only half of what I’ve heard of you is true you’re lucky the R.S.P.C.A. isn’t gunning for you.”

            “You seem to have only heard rotten things about me.  I only kill animals that are trying to kill me.”

            “Well the monkeys on this island just breathed a collective sigh of relief.”

            “So why has there been such secrecy around this site David?  Why have I had to wait until now to get here?”

            “Well...”  The smile on his face was huge.  “You never offered to take your clothes off before.”

            She blushed, more in embarrassment than anger.  “Not funny David,” she muttered.  “Let me put it another way.  Who made the decision to allow the Sports Incorporated photo shoot to go ahead?”

            “Guilty,” said Crombie, still smiling.  “But only when I heard you’d be coming.”

            Lara was stunned.  “Are you serious?  You gave permission because I was going to be in a bikini?”

            “I’m sorry Lara, but the whole thing was too good to refuse.  We will probably be opening the site soon anyway and I was keen to discuss the finds with you, but the prospect of a Sports Incorporated shoot, featuring you...  Well, forgive me for being human.”

            His eyes were roaming over her body, unconcerned that she knew it.  She controlled her anger with difficulty.  “Forgive me for being unimpressed.”

            “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.  Hell’s bells Lara, you’re here aren’t you?  You get to see the site weeks before your competitors and, believe me, it is worth seeing.”

            “When can I see it?”

            “Tomorrow, as part of the shoot.”  She was starting to hate his smile.

            “You’re really going to force me to go through the hoops aren’t you?”

            “Absolutely.  Of course, as the site director I will need to be present to make sure the site is protected.”

            “I’m sure that’s all you’ll be looking at,” she said with heavy sarcasm.  She still found it hard to believe that a respected archaeologist was behaving so scurrilously.

            “So, will you join me for dinner tonight?” he asked.  “I’ve had some champagne on ice for the occasion.”

            “I don’t think so Crombie,” she replied, turning her back on him.

            “Pity,” he said softly.  “I have all the artefacts we’ve collected in my hut and I thought you’d want to see them.”

            She paused and turned back to him.  “You bastard.  You know I want to.”

            “Righto.  Let’s say seven?  Get yourself settled in, have a shower, have a kip.  Then put on something nice for me.”

            “You slimy bastard.”

            He chuckled unashamedly.  She stormed off and she could almost feel his eyes on her firm behind as she moved away.

            The huts stood in a large clearing near the entrance to the Cadachac ruin.  They were prefabricated units, which must have been flown in at the start of the dig.  Strictly utilitarian, furnished with cot beds and a washbasin with no running water.  Lara was sure Christina would be very unhappy with the accommodation, and was herself pleased by that fact.

Lara examined the stone edifice at the site entrance, excited by the extraordinary runes sculpted into the archway.  Crombie’s Peruvian guards would not allow her to enter the ruin and she did not protest this refusal:  she would see the interior tomorrow.

            The shower Crombie had mentioned was a primitive camp shower surrounded by bamboo screens.  Despite the lack of privacy Lara made use of it, then moved to the hut assigned to her.  Lorna had eventually convinced Christina to share with Carla, the makeup lady.  Lara suspected that the model hoped to gain some advantage from this.

            Lara’s room-mate, Maia, was sitting at a dresser, brushing her hair, when Lara entered.

            “The shower’s free,” said Lara.

            “I shall wait,” said the pale beauty.  “Tomorrow the sea shall wash away my sins.”

            Lara sat on her bed and stared at the other woman.  “Do you ever say anything... normal?”

            Maia continued to brush her long, jet-black hair.

            Lara shook her head.  ‘What a motley crew I’ve been lumbered with,’ she thought.  ‘Chifley is probably the best of the bunch.’

            She donned a light summer dress, more demure than her earlier garb, then went in search of the photographer.  He was sharing a hut with Jason, the hairdresser.  Peter smiled as she entered but Jason cried out in alarm.

            “My god, dear!  What have you done with your hair?”

            “I just washed it...”

            “No, no, no!”  Jason put his hands on his hips and pouted at her.  “You must leave that to me!  Now come here!”

            Lara hesitated, then looked at Chifley, who nodded with a smile.  “You can trust him,” he said.

            Lara submitted herself to Jason’s attention, thinking that it was really Chifley that she trusted.  And in the whole crew, he was the only one.

            Jason had a table covered with haircare products near the washbasin.  “Look what I am forced to deal with,” he moaned, as he guided Lara into a seat at the dresser.

            He draped a towel over her shoulders and led her to a seat by the hut’s washbasin.  He had already accumulated a half dozen urns of hot water, which stood near the basin, and he washed her hair again with his own ‘magic formula’.  “Trust me darling, I’ll make these gorgeous locks of yours shine!”

            “I’ll have it in a plait tomorrow,” said Lara.

            “A plait?  No, no, no!  Your hair should be free, shining and glorious, framing your lovely face.  You want to win the cover don’t you?”

            “Not really...”

            “You trust Jason.  You’ll see.  I’ll make you dazzling.”

            He began to massage shampoo into her scalp and she found it quite relaxing to have someone else attend to her hair.

            “You wear a plait when you’re working, don’t you Lara?” asked Peter from behind her.

            “Yes, almost always.”

            “Then she’ll have it plaited tomorrow Jason.”

            “No, no, no!”     

            “I’m sorry, but the image I’m trying to create is that of Lara Croft the adventurer--who wears her hair plaited.”

            “And a bikini,” grumbled Lara.

            “You’re still uneasy about this, aren’t you?”

            “Have you spoken to David Crombie?  Did you organize this shoot with him?”

            “No.  All my dealings were through Sports Inc.”

            “The guy is a complete sleazebag.  He only approved this shoot as a way of playing with me, making me squirm.”

            “An old grudge?”

            “No.  God, there are plenty of old rivals who’d love to give me a come-uppance, but I’ve had very little to do with Crombie before now.”

            “The price of fame.”

            “And this shoot is only going to create more of the same sort of fame.  Infamy, if you ask me.  And to top it off Crombie insists on being at the shoot, to ogle me while I make a fool of myself.”

            “Lara, you won’t be looking foolish.  I can guarantee that.  We work well together.”

            Lara was unconvinced.  “That was different.  That was in my own home, with just the two of us.  Tomorrow...  To tell the truth Peter, I’m terrified.”

            “Lara Croft?  Terrified?  It’s hard to put the two into one sentence.”

            Lara smiled.  “OK.  Maybe not terrified, but certainly uneasy.”

            The reassurance she needed came not from Chifley, but from Jason.  “Listen to me, darling.  Christina, the others, they have years of experience in the business, but you know who’s going to come out of this looking best?”

            “No.  Who?”

            “You, darling.  You’ve got something they can only dream of.  Class, and lots of it.”

            Lara knocked at the door of the largest hut in the clearing then entered when Crombie answered.

            “Ah Lara!” said Crombie, though he seemed disappointed by the dress she wore.  “Trying to hide your assets?” he asked.

            “They’ll be shown far more than I would wish tomorrow,” she grated in reply.  “Are they the artefacts?” she asked, angling her head toward a long workbench.

            “They are, but let us eat our dinner first.”

            Lara ignored him, moving to the workbench.  “God, they’re all weapons!”

            Crombie stood beside her.  “Yes, morbid isn’t it?  No pottery, no tools, no artwork.”

            “Sacrificial daggers?”

            “Yes.”

“But most of them are curved?  How could they use them?”

“I’ve seen similar daggers at other Cadachac sites.  It appears they often bled their victims to death, letting them exsanguinate on their altars.  There’s no doubt that the rite was performed here.”

            “You found other evidence?”

            “We found more than that...  But let us dine first, my dear.  Human sacrifice makes an excellent dinner topic, don’t you agree?”

            Lara did not protest.  She sat in the seat Crombie offered then sipped the wine he poured for her.  “Very nice,” she said.

            “You’re not going to name the wine and the vintage?”

            “No.  You have me confused with James Bond.”

            “Is it me that’s confused?” he asked enigmatically.  He then spoke into a walkie-talkie, advising the camp cook that they were ready to eat.

            Lara leaned forward.  “Crombie, what exactly is your problem?  What did I do to offend you?”

            “Offend me?  Quite the contrary.  You inspire me.”

            Pleasant words, until she realised he was looking down the front of her dress.

            She leaned back, her face angry.  “You’re behaving like a bloody schoolboy Crombie.  I can scarcely believe the man who lectured at the Paris Conference could be so infantile.”

            “You must bring out the worst in me.”

            Another knock at the door announced the arrival of their dinner.  Lara sat quietly in her seat while a sumptuous roast was served to her by a plump Peruvian woman.  Lara smiled at her as she worked, but Crombie barely seemed to notice her; his eyes were only for Lara.

            Lara pondered how she should handle him.  If she did not need his co-operation he would already have suffered for his crass behaviour but, at least until she had entered the ruin, she was forced to tolerate him.

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