Read Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs Online

Authors: Max McCoy

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Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs (10 page)

BOOK: Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs
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"Don't worry, Indy. You can count on me. I owe you much more than my life, and we Hans pay our debts."

Indy climbed into the cab of the truck. He stepped on the starter switch and the six-cylinder engine ground for a moment, then sputtered to life.

"Xanadu," Indy said, taking a last look around. "It is said that Kubla Khan built his summer palace a few miles from here. You know, the Coleridge poem..."

"'In Xanadu did Kubla Khan a stately pleasure dome decree,'" Joan recited. "I'm sorry, but this doesn't look much like paradise to me."

The pair of trucks left the city and struck out on the old road that followed the riverbed up to the Mongolian plateau. Granger was in the lead, driving the truck that had the machine gun mounted on the back. In some places, the wheels of countless carts had cut so deeply into the road that all Indy could see of the truck ahead was the barrel of the machine gun.

Joan was surprised at the number of people on the road, some with carts but many on foot, carrying goods to and from the market at Kalgan.

"Where do you suppose they all come from?" she wondered aloud.

"Look closely at the hillsides," Indy said. "The people here live in dugouts and caves for the most part, because they are warm in winter and cool in the summer. But because the dugouts are the same color as the earth around them, you have to look sharp to see them."

Seven miles outside of Kalgan they reached the foot of the pass, at an altitude of just over three thousand feet above the plain. The road turned abruptly upward, and Indy had to use low gear to keep the truck from stalling on some of the steeper grades.

"This is a pass?" Joan asked.

"This is the flat part," Indy said.

They climbed another two thousand feet in the space of eleven miles, on a road that was filled with switchbacks and doglegs. Indy had to fight the truck to keep the wheels from becoming mired in the deepest of the ruts, or jumping as they bounced over rocks that would qualify in some parts of the world as boulders. Just when Joan thought they would never reach the top, they rounded a corner... and before them stretched the Great Wall of China.

Granger had pulled to the side of the road. He was sitting on the running board of the truck, calmly smoking his pipe and admiring the view.

Indy brought the truck beside Granger's.

"Look where we've been," he said.

Stretching to the south was mile after mile of tortured hills that looked as if they had been torn from a geography classroom's relief map of China. In many places the hills had been cut raw by wind and rain, and the wounds exposed the very backbone of the earth.

"No wonder my rump is sore," Joan said.

Coiling around these broken ridges, like a serpent hoary with age, was the Great Wall—the biggest, and certainly the longest, structure in the history of the world, stretching for nearly four thousand miles over northern China. Some parts of the wall were two thousand years old; but this part, which had been built and rebuilt over the centuries, dated from less than a thousand years past.

The wall was forty feet wide at its granite base, and between the battlements on the top ran a road paved with bricks that had been trod by generations of workers and soldiers. The inside of the wall was filled with earth. And all of the work on its construction had been done by hand, one stone and one cartful of earth at a time.

Indy leaned out of the window of the truck.

"Granger, you drive like a madman."

"I had to," Granger returned, clenching the stem of his pipe between his tobacco-stained teeth. "I was terrified because I knew you were behind me. Are we ready to cross over?"

"I'll take the lead for a while." Indy put the truck into gear and eased it forward.

The road passed beneath the Great Wall through a gate in a fortresslike watchtower that stood four stories high. The gate was open, however, and the watchtower was manned only by crows.

"This was originally built to keep out the Mongol invaders," Indy said as the shadow of the wall engulfed the truck. "It failed, however. Genghis Khan swept over the wall like the god some said he was, and conquered most of China."

"So what good was it?" Joan asked.

"Quite a lot, actually," Indy said, blinking against the darkness. "Its real value proved to be as a magnificent make-work project that pulled China together as a nation, much as the pyramids did in Egypt."

"We could use some of that at home right now," Joan said.

A figure darted in front of them and shouted something.

Indy did not understand the command, since it was delivered in a dialect he had never heard before, but the intent of the rifle-toting figure who had planted his feet in front of the truck on the Mongolian side of the gate was plain enough: his right arm was extended with his palm toward them.

Indy stood on the brakes and the wheels skidded to a stop. Granger, who was following close behind, was not so quick on the brakes. Although they were only going a few miles an hour, the front bumper of his truck smacked Indy's hard enough to shove it forward a few feet.

The raked grille of the Dodge had barely touched the greasy pants of the soldier, but he jumped as if the truck had bitten him. His dark eyes burned with disgust. He muttered something about demons in motorcars, then, with the barrel of his fifty-year-old single-shot rifle, motioned Indy out of the truck.

Indy slid slowly from behind the wheel, his hands in the air.

"I take it you're not from the Mongolian Traveler's Aid Society?" Indy asked. "Or has living out here made you so stir-crazy that you just throw yourself in front of moving vehicles as a form of amusement?"

The soldier hissed.

"Apparently you don't understand English," Indy said.

The soldier drew a greasy piece of paper from a leather pouch he wore around his neck. He unfolded it, smoothed it out, and handed it to Indy.

"Can you read it?" Joan asked.

"Yes." Indy took his glasses from his shirt pocket. "Chinese writing is pictographic, which means it is based on pictures. It isn't phonetic. That's why he carries it, I think, considering the number of dialects that must pass through this gate. This is smudged, but I think I can make it out. What is this spot here. Blood?"

"Stop teaching school, Jones," Granger called. "Just read the damn thing."

"It says his name is Feng, and that he's an envoy of the great General Tzi. Feng is to be treated with the respect deserving his position, blah blah blah, member of the Rotary and the Cutthroat Chamber of Commerce. Just kidding. Anyway, Tzi has appointed him as gatekeeper of the south, and all travelers must present themselves for the inspection and approval of Feng before proceeding or they risk incurring the wrath of Tzi himself."

Indy handed back the paper. Feng held the rifle in the crook of his arm while he tucked it safely back in the pouch, then returned the pouch beneath his shirt.

"Okay, here we are for your inspection," Indy said. "I hope we meet your approval. I'm Jones, and this is Sister Joan, and that one behind us is called Granger."

Feng snapped his fingers impatiently.

"I think he wants papers," Joan suggested.

"What's the trouble?" Granger called from behind.

"Stay in your truck, Walter," Indy said pleasantly as he pulled his passport and visa from his jacket pocket and handed it to the soldier. "Don't shoot, not just yet."

Feng opened the passport, flipped quickly through the pages, then tossed it back at Indy, who caught it in his still-raised left hand.

"I don't think he can read," Indy said.

"Then what could he want?" Joan asked.

"Money, what else?"

Indy gave Feng his most winning smile and reached slowly for his revolver. He picked it up by the ring on the end of the grip and placed it on the hood of the truck. Then he pointed to the soldier's gun and made a downward motion with his hand.

The soldier hesitated, then lowered the gun.

Indy smiled again and reached inside his shirt.

The gun came back up.

"Wait," Indy said. "Let me show you what I have."

Indy took a single gold piece from the pocket of the money belt and held it up. It was an American eagle—a ten-dollar gold piece—and it was a little less than the size of a quarter, but much heavier. Feng grinned, took it, and bit into the edge of it with jagged teeth.

"Why do they do that?" Joan asked.

"Real gold is soft," Indy said. "If they can bite into it and leave a mark, they know they've got the real McCoy."

Feng squatted, but kept his rifle upright between his legs. He placed the coin on the ground and motioned for Indy to join him in a palaver.

"He wants to talk," Joan said.

"He wants to negotiate. He figures there's more where that came from."

Feng pointed at the coin, then pointed at Indy's truck, and with his finger made five marks on the ground. Then he pointed at Granger's truck and made five more marks.

"Ten," Indy said. "He wants ten gold pieces to let us pass."

"The man is obviously deranged," Granger said. "Ten dollars is more money than most of these nomads see in a decade, and one hundred is out of the question. I've never heard of this General Tzi. He probably wrote up that little paper himself in order to squeeze some dishonest money out of people like us."

"Keep your shirt on," Indy called. "We're not done yet."

Indy shook his head at Feng. He smoothed over the lines Feng had made, pointed to both trucks, and made one mark on the ground.

Feng hissed and rubbed out Indy's offer.

He drew seven marks on the ground.

It was Indy's turn to hiss.

Feng held his hand up in a conciliatory gesture. He erased the last two marks, then pointed at Joan through the windshield of the truck and grinned wickedly.

"I think we may have a deal," Indy said.

"Don't even think about it," Joan spat.

"Okay, okay," Indy conceded.

Indy held up two fingers, then pointed at Joan and shook his head gravely.

Feng held up four fingers.

"No," Indy said. Then he took two more eagles, placed them on the ground beside the first one, and folded his arms. He took a step back on his haunches, to emphasize that it was his final offer.

Feng tapped his fingers on his rifle butt. He looked at Indy, then at the trucks, then back down at the coins. Finally he scooped up the gold pieces, wrapped them in a dirty rag, and shoved them deep into his pants pocket.

"Done," Indy said. "Thirty dollars."

"It's still robbery," Granger muttered.

The trucks emerged from the gate onto the Mongolian plateau.

Feng slunk back to his lean-to against the wall, put his rifle down, and sat next to the cook fire he had abandoned when he heard the sound of the trucks. A rodent was roasting on a spit over the flames.

A dog chained to the wall paced and watched with hungry, intelligent eyes. Instead of a collar, the end of the log chain was looped tightly around the dog's neck and fastened with a padlock.

Indy stopped the truck.

There was something about the dog. It was a purebred Alsatian, Indy judged from its deep chest and head, a breed of shepherd noted for their intelligence and loyalty. This Alsatian was male, and it had blue eyes. It was missing its right ear. The wound had healed, but it bore other signs of abuse; not only was it starving, as attested to by the painfully thin stomach and protruding ribs, but its back carried a lattice of whip marks.

Feng tore off a piece of the rodent and popped it into his mouth, chewing contentedly. The dog walked forward until all the slack was out of the log chain, then began to whine for a piece of meat.

Feng told it to shut up.

The dog bared its teeth and snarled. Indy had never seen such hatred in the eyes of an animal. It fought against the chain like a wild thing, biting and chewing the links, attempting to free itself.

Feng muttered and went to retrieve a horsewhip that hung from a peg inside the lean-to. Then, careful not to cross into the radius described by the log chain, he began to whip the dog furiously. Instead of yelping, the dog snarled and attempted with each blow to catch the whip in its mouth.

Feng cried out in surprise as the end of Indy's bullwhip bit into his wrist. He did not know that Indy had left the truck at the sound of the first blow, and that Indy's whip was bigger and longer than the one he was using to beat the dog.

"How do you like it?" Indy asked.

Feng dropped the horsewhip.

"It
hurts,
doesn't it?" Indy asked.

Feng made for the safety of the lean-to, with Indy's bullwhip popping and snapping over his back as he ran. He grabbed his rifle and turned to shoot, but he discovered that Granger was standing behind Indy with his repeating rifle ready for action.

Feng dropped his gun.

"You can tell General Tzi," Granger said, "to go to hell."

Indy took up the spit with the rodent carcass and strode toward the dog. The dog growled, its one good ear going low against its head and the hair on its back bristling.

"I'd be careful if I were you," Granger said. "That animal looks as if he could tear a man apart, and considering what Feng here has done to him, it would be justifiable homicide. It would be better to put the dog down, considering the sorry shape he's in."

"We're not going to kill this dog," Indy said as he dropped to his knees. He held out the carcass, and the dog quickly lunged for it and tore it from the stick. Then it began choking down great chunks of meat and bone.

"Sister Joan," Indy called. "Bring me the bolt cutters from the toolbox in the truck bed."

Indy reached out to pet the dog.

The dog snapped viciously at him.

"I don't want your food," Indy said soothingly. "Just come here. I'm trying to help you."

Joan brought Indy the long-handled tool, and while the dog finished the carcass Indy slipped the jaws of the cutter beneath the chain at the dog's neck. Then he strained to bring the handles together, and with a
chink!
the dog was free.

"I think we'd all better get back in the trucks," Granger said, backing away while holding the rifle on Feng. "I think I'm more frightened of the dog than I am of this character here."

BOOK: Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs
12.59Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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