The Adventures Of Indiana Jones (65 page)

So the brotherhood of the Cruciform Sword was more than just one man’s fanatic enterprise.

Indy handed the binoculars back to Sallah, then conferred with Henry. The three men agreed on a plan, and Henry moved off toward the tank where Brody was being held. Indy and Sallah, meanwhile, crawled down to the outskirts of Donovan’s hastily made encampment.

From their position they could see the horses, and Indy picked out the one he wanted. They waited for the right moment to race across the open span.

“Look,” Sallah said, pointing toward the canyon wall.

Kazim was climbing down the rocky face and firing as he ran from boulder to boulder.

“Now,” Indy said, and signaled Sallah.

They were halfway between the rocks and the horses when one of the Nazi soldiers who had been firing at the caves turned away to reload his weapon. He spotted them and was about to alert the others when Kazim rushed forward and fired, killing the soldier. Kazim spun wildly around, firing like a madman until he was cut down at close range by a hail of bullets.

Indy and Sallah ducked down among the horses as Donovan rushed over to Kazim. He was standing just a dozen feet away from them.

“Who are you?” he demanded as Kazim lay bleeding.

“A messenger from God. For the unrighteous, the Cup of Life holds everlasting damnation.”

Those were Kazim’s last words.

Abruptly more shots rang out from the caves, and Donovan darted for cover as bullets kicked up dust within feet of him.

Indy and Sallah slipped onto the backs of two of the horses and rode off undetected amid the gunfire.

Brody was sweltering in the tank. He had been left alone and was searching for a spare key. He wasn’t sure he would be able to figure out how to operate the tank, but he knew he needed the key before he was going to get anywhere. He heard the hatch open and quickly moved away from the front of the tank.

“Marcus.”

The voice was familiar. He looked up at the hatch in surprise, and before he could respond, Henry dropped down feet-first next to him.

He grinned at Brody and recited an old University Club toast: “Genius of the Restoration . . .”

“. . . aid our own resuscitation!” Brody finished.

They threw their arms around each other. “Hope you don’t mind my dropping in this way, unexpected and all,” Henry said, and laughed.

“Not at all. Glad to see you alive, old boy. What are you doing here?”

“It’s a rescue mission, my good man. You thought I was coming for tea, or what?”

“You’re a little late for that.”

Suddenly a Nazi dropped through the hatch and aimed his Luger at the two men. Two more Nazis joined him, followed by Vogel.

“Search him,” the colonel ordered.

One of the Nazis frisked Henry, but found neither weapons nor the Grail diary. Vogel was infuriated. He slapped Henry across the face.

“What is in the book? That miserable little book of yours.”

When Henry didn’t reply, Vogel’s hand slammed across his face again. “We have the map. Your book is useless. And yet you went all the way back to Berlin to get it. Tell me why, Dr. Jones.”

Henry remained mum, and Vogel smacked him across the face a third time. “What are you hiding? What does the diary tell
you
that it doesn’t tell us?”

Henry’s look burned with loathing. “It tells me that goose-stepping morons like yourself should try reading books instead of burning them.”

Vogel slapped him again, much harder this time, and Henry staggered back under the impact.

“They’ve got your father in the tank,” Sallah said, passing Indy the binoculars. “I saw the soldier go after him.”

Indy cursed himself. He shouldn’t have listened to his father. He should have gone after Brody himself and worried about the horses later. He gazed toward the tank, then turned in the direction of Donovan and the other soldiers. He saw they were still busy fighting the remaining members of Kazim’s band.

“Let’s get them before it’s too late.”

“Herr Colonel!”

One of the soldiers, who had moved to the driver’s seat of the tank, motioned for Vogel to come to the viewing port.

Vogel looked out and saw Indy and Sallah charging toward the tank on horseback, through a cloud of dust. He turned back to the Nazi who guarded Henry and Brody. “If they move, shoot them both.”

He took command of the tank’s gun.

“Watch out, Indy. The guns!” Sallah bellowed.

Indy saw the six-pound cannon on the tank revolving and pointing in their direction. He suddenly realized that attacking the tank wasn’t such a good idea. He pulled back hard on the reins and headed in a different direction—away from the tank.

Sallah was right behind him, yelling at the top of his lungs. “Smart move, Indy. Horses against a tank are no good. I totally agree.”

They zigzagged across the desert as the tank gave chase, firing several rounds at them. Each time, Indy and Sallah emerged from a plume of dust as the rounds missed them.

Indy’s head snapped around. The tank was gaining on them. Then he noticed they had company. A small German sedan with two soldiers was heading their way. It was going to take more than two of those guys to stop him. He knew that for a fact.

Just then another shell was fired, barely missing Indy this time. “Damn.”

“That was close, Indy,” Sallah yelled. “Ride for your life.”

Sallah charged ahead, but Indy was starting to get angry. He scowled, glancing back, and this time realized that the gun that was firing on them could only pivot so far. It gave him an idea.

He jerked back on the reins and turned the horse. The tank turned and followed him, but now it was heading on a collision course with the small sedan carrying the two Nazi soldiers. The driver of the sedan tried to avoid the tank, but Vogel didn’t see him; he was only concerned with keeping Indy in the sights of his gun.

With an earsplitting screech of metal, the sedan was struck from the side and lodged between the front treads of the tank. Not only was the tank stopped by the collision, but the sedan had blocked the front port and jammed the turret on the six-pound cannon.

Indy, meanwhile, reined in his horse. He leaned down and scooped up an armful of rocks from a wall along a culvert, then urged the horse on. He galloped up to the starboard cannon and jammed several of the rocks down the barrel. Then he steered the horse so that he was directly in front of the gun, close enough to be an easy target.

“I see him.” Henry jerked his head up as he heard the side gunner’s excited yell.

He knew the Nazi was talking about his son.

“Well, shoot him,” Vogel ordered.

“No,” Henry yelled, and lunged toward the gunner. But the guard blocked his way and shoved him against the bulkhead. He pointed his Luger between Henry’s eyes just as the side gunner aimed the cannon at Indy and fired.

The gun backfired, blowing the breech into the face of the gunner. He stumbled backward, his face ripped apart by the blast. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Smoke poured into the tank. Henry and the others choked and gasped for air. Vogel stepped over the dead gunner, reached up, and threw open the hatch to let out the smoke.

“Fire the turret gun,” he yelled at the driver, taking no chance himself.

Henry grabbed Brody by the arm, and together they crawled on hands and knees until they were underneath the hatch. Henry was about to stand up and climb out when he bumped into the guard, who was also on the floor of the tank. The guard raised his Luger and pressed it against Henry’s forehead.

The driver of the sedan was dead upon impact with the tank, but the passenger survived the crash and was attempting to cut his way out through the cloth top. He managed to cut away a flap, and pulled it down. He stuck his head through the hole and stared directly into the barrel of the six-pound cannon.

At that moment the cannon fired, emulsifying everything in its path and blowing bits of the sedan seventy-five yards through the air.

Indy was behind the tank. He had just spotted Sallah galloping toward him when the cannon blasted the sedan. Chunks of the car landed all around Sallah. His horse reared up, and Sallah tumbled off.

He quickly remounted, glanced once toward the tank, and charged off in the opposite direction.

Indy had the feeling he wasn’t going to get much more help from Sallah.

Free of the car, the tank trundled ahead.

Vogel took over the turret gun and swiveled it around, looking for Indy. But now the turret would only move in a ninety-degree arc. He was sure Indy was behind the tank, and if the other horseman joined him, they might try boarding.

If they did, he would shoot Jones’s father, right in front of him.

But he needed reinforcements. He grabbed the microphone on the radio and called Donovan. “Forget about those crazies in the hills,” he said tersely. “Bring the troops now.”

There was a moment of silence, then Donovan barked, “Are you telling me you haven’t taken care of Jones, even with that tank?”

Vogel fumed, and spoke between gritted teeth. “Not yet.”

He stared out above the turret gun, looking again for Indy. He saw a narrow canyon opening on the port side, and an idea struck him. He smiled to himself and ordered the driver to turn into the canyon.

He clicked on the radio again. “By the time you get here, Jones will be taken care of, as you say.”

He turned the turret gun as far as he could, as they entered the canyon. He aimed it at the canyon wall and waited for the right moment. He spotted a rock overhanging the wall and adjusted his aim. He fired a volley directly at it, and suddenly tons of rock tumbled down.

Vogel grinned. That should take care of Jones.

M
OMENTS BEFORE
the landslide Indy lagged behind the tank, looking for loose rocks again. His plan was to jam the tank’s port gun in the hope that it would backfire as the other had done. This time, when the hatch opened to clear away the smoke, he would overpower Vogel and commandeer the tank. A simple plan, if Vogel fell for it.

But the tank had maneuvered into a narrow canyon, and he couldn’t find any sizeable rocks. There were pebbles and there were boulders, most of them half the size of the tank or larger. And that wasn’t the only problem. The canyon had also cut him off from Sallah, who had galloped well out of the range of the tank’s big gun. Now Sallah probably wouldn’t know what had happened to him or the tank.

He concentrated on the ground. Rocks. I need rocks.

Just then, the cannon fired into the cliff, and suddenly more rocks than he cared to think about were careening toward him. He reined the horse sharply, turning, and galloped away from the landslide. Rocks bounded by on either side of him, barely missing him. But he escaped unharmed.

If he had been keeping pace with the tank, he wouldn’t have been so lucky—he would be dead. No doubt about that.

But now he had another problem. The route through the narrow canyon was cut off. He would have to backtrack and go around the canyon to find the tank, and that would take precious time, maybe hours.

He didn’t have hours.

Then he saw an alternative route. The landslide had worked to his advantage, creating a rugged trail along the side of the cliff. Time to take the high road.

He followed it as quickly as he could, maneuvering the horse around the rubble. He found that it not only allowed him to cross the canyon but it was also a shortcut. Before long he was nearing the tank, approaching it from above. He passed it and was wondering how he could work his way down to the canyon base when, unexpectedly, his luck ran out. The trail abruptly ended in a rock wall.

He glanced down as the tank motored along below him. He would have to turn around, or . . . He dropped from his saddle and, before he had time to change his mind, ran to the cliff’s edge and leapt. He landed on his feet on top of the tank, and dropped to his hands and knees. He made it—but now what?

The tank cleared the canyon, and the desert opened again to the right. Indy glanced back and saw a cloud of dust on the desert floor. He squinted against the bright light. A jeep was rapidly approaching. Behind it, in the distance, were two carrier trucks filled with Nazi troops.

Company was arriving.

“Welcome aboard, Jones.”

He turned and saw Vogel’s face peering through the hatchway. His beady eyes speared Indy like darts. He stared back at him and held his gaze. He felt waves of hate from the man but refused to look away, to let him win the contest of wills.

Suddenly he felt a familiar prickling sensation on the back of his neck—a warning. He spun around and saw a soldier crawling behind him. He realized Vogel had been trying to distract him while the soldier boarded from the jeep. The man leapt like a spider and overpowered him, pinning him to the top of the tank.

He struggled to free himself, but his cheek was pressed against the hot metal. The position gave him a chance to see one of the troop carriers moving alongside the tank. A handful of soldiers vaulted aboard like pirates stealing their way onto a galleon. The odds were not looking good.

Indy shoved the soldier and grappled with him for his Luger. They rolled over, and Indy pinned him to the tank with the Luger wedged between them. He twisted the soldier’s hand, trying to loosen his grip on the gun. They rolled over again, and the barrel of the gun neared Indy’s head. He used the leverage of the tank and forced the gun away until it was turned toward the soldier.

He squeezed with all his strength, forcing the soldier to fire a round into himself. The bullet passed through the man’s neck and continued through the stomach of another soldier and the groin of a third. The three bodies fell away, tumbling over the side of the crowded tank.

Three down, plenty more to go. He saw that Vogel had emerged from the hatch to join the huddle of Nazis surrounding him.

“That’s my boy. Go get ’em, son.”

Indy heard his father’s voice, then spotted him looking up through the open hatch. He reached for the bullwhip on his hip, but realized it was too crowded to use it. The lack of space, however, was his one advantage. The soldiers came at him from all sides, wielding knives and guns, but he was an elusive target. He dodged the blade of a knife, which missed his side and slammed into the thigh of another Nazi. A blow struck him in the jaw, and he spun around and kicked a gun out of the hand of a second Nazi, who fell off the tank. A third soldier fired at him, missed, and hit one of his own men. A few more down.