Main Page: Indiana Jones and the Saucer Men from Mars
Previous: Chapter Six
Previous: Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
The lights of the main tent burned brightly in the predawn void. Soldiers patrolled the perimeter, listening to a chorus of coyotes in the distance that gave an unsettling tone to the encampment.
Inside the tent, Indy gestured at a US Geological Survey map of this part of New Mexico as he spoke. “The wreckage of the saucer was here,” he said, marking the site with a pen. “The device and the dead alien were found –” he drew a straight line nearly four miles away “– here.”
He looked up at Bolander, the General, Dr. Bernard, and Elaine, who were listening with varying degrees of interest.
“Interesting, Dr. Jones,” Bernard admitted, “but what does this have to do with the calculations?”
“Coordinates, Doctor, not calculations,” Indy said. “They’re geographical coordinates.” He drew another line to a distant mountain.
“The numbers correlate to Mount Keemo,” Elaine explained. “They’re the exact longitude, latitude...”
“The mountain has long been associated with gods of various Indian religions,” Indy said. “Sacrifices were once made there. Even the Spanish, in 1525, noted strange lights around the summit.” Before, he’d dismissed that account as some kind of natural phenomenon, but now he had second thoughts in spite of himself.
Bolander was not impressed. “Oogie boogie stories, Dr. Jones,” he said.
“Besides, Dr. Jones,” Bernard said, in a somewhat more polite tone, “this isn’t the only area of supposed contact with extraterrestrial life. There are similar purported sites in Peru, Egypt, China... The fact that these numbers match is just a coincidence.”
Indy didn’t understand why people who claimed to have a crashed alien spacecraft were being so skeptical, but he was prepared anyway. “Is it?” he said, and pulled out another map, this one of the whole world. Sites were marked in several countries.
“The numbers on the device that we can translate correspond with these longitudes and latitudes,” Elaine said. “In every case... it is a mountain.”
This information unsettled the others, even Bolander.
“Apparently,” Indy said, “he was trying to return that thing to the mountain.”
“Why?” the General asked.
“We don’t know for sure,” Indy admitted.
“And what happens,” Bolander said, trying to sound merely curious, “if you don’t return it to the mountain?”
Now they were getting to the crux of the matter. “The writings warn of dark consequences.”
The General raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“Visits of fire-breathing serpents,” Elaine said. “Monsters. Dragons with fire coming from their eyes. Something like that. We don’t know how literal it is.”
“It reminds me of a crystal cylinder the British found at Stonehenge over twenty years ago,” Indy said. “At that place it opened a dimensional gateway with monsters inside. Those were literal enough.” He saw that Bolander and Bernard didn't believe him. He wouldn't have either if he hadn't been there. “What we do know,” he continued, “is that a tremendous power is to be unleashed at that place.”
“What kind of power?” the General said, making no effort to hide his increasing concern. “I mean, are we talking about end of the Earth stuff here?”
“We’ve entered a lot of data into the computer,” Elaine said. “It’ll take a while to find out.”
“Whoever, whatever developed this, didn’t want humans fooling with it,” Indy said.
“Stories to scare a primitive people,” Bernard said.
Indy looked at the scientist with bemusement. He’d seen enough “stories” of this ilk that ended up being all too real. “With all due respect, Dr. Bernard, you haven’t a clue what you’ve got.”
Bernard didn’t flinch. “When the first man found fire, Dr. Jones, did he refuse to use it because he didn’t understand what he had? We may not understand this today, but that doesn’t mean we should give it back.”
“Give it back to whom?” the General said. “We haven’t had any more sightings.”
“You should also consider the possibility that you may need to destroy it,” Indy said. “That’s how I had to deal with the crystal cylinder. It was heartbreaking, but –”
“Even more risky,” Elaine interrupted him. “We don’t know what kind of power that might unleash. It could be worse than splitting the atom.”
“We’re not giving it back and we’re not destroying it,” Bernard said impatiently. “It’s ours. But I agree that the device should not be moved until we know more.”
Suddenly an explosion outside the tent jolted the group. Indy opened the flap to see smoke billowing out of the computer trailer. Technicians leaped from the trailer, fanning the smoke. One of them called back to the scientists, “We’ve blown a tube in the computer!”
Indy and the others stepped outside to watch the work being done. General McIntyre scowled, then turned to Indy. “When will we know more, Colonel?”
“It will take us a while with the computer out,” Indy said.
The General’s scowl deepened. “As soon as possible,” he said, making it sound almost like a threat. He and Bernard moved off to inspect the damage.
Elaine squeezed Indy’s hand. “I’m going back in,” she said, and re-entered the tent before he had a chance to say anything.
Indy decided to wait a moment before rejoining her. Looking around and trying to clear his mind, he spotted the photographer and waved him over. “Finish the photos and get me the prints as soon as possible,” he said.
“Yes sir,” the photographer said and moved off.
Indy stared at the horizon and thought for a moment. Truth be told, though he’d gotten engrossed in this project, he was more than happy to take a breather. Things had been moving quickly and, if the experience of hundreds of adventures was any indication, they would accelerate further still before long. Adventures didn’t care that he was getting older. He would probably still be having them when he was ninety, although he might just end up recounting his previous ones to anyone who would listen. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately too.
He was distracted by an immense glow on the horizon, as if the sun were rising in a sped-up filmstrip. But this glow didn’t give him a warm feeling; it only made him shiver from something more than the night air.
“Testing the bomb.”
Indy realized he was not alone. He turned to see Bolander standing next to him, staring off at the horizon with a look of pride on his face.
Indy grunted. “Testing it, huh? Why bother? Seems to me it worked well enough at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”
Bolander raised an eyebrow. “I take it you’re not a fan of the bomb, Dr. Jones...”
“I’m not,” Indy said curtly, and he was in no mood for a conversation with anyone who was. As if he needed another reason to dislike this man.
“Don’t worry,” Bolander said, “it’s over fifty miles away. If what you said back there is true, it may be a thing of the past.”
“It’s just a race to you, isn’t it, Bolander?”
Bolander looked at him as if he were a child asking stupid questions. “It’s always been a race, Jones,” he said. “If anyone should understand that, you should. As long as there’s been civilization it’s been a race for power. Nothing’s changed.”
“Except the stakes,” Indy said, almost to himself. A sinking feeling came into the pit of his stomach. On countless occasions he’d stopped foreign governments – Nazis, Communists, fascists, imperial Japanese – from using powerful artifacts for conquest or domination. But it had never occurred to him that he might someday be faced with his own government attempting the same thing. As the familiar atomic mushroom cloud formed and caught the first rays of the sun, he wondered where his loyalties would lie.
Bolander smiled as if enjoying his silent ethical dilemma, though he would surely have Indy clapped in irons if he knew anything about it. “The atom is our friend, Jones,” he said. “Remember that.”
He left. Indy stared after him for a while, then started back toward the tent. In the corner of his eye he noticed the photographer moving away on the other side. He watched that man for a minute too, then entered.
Instantly he knew something was wrong. Elaine was missing, and so was the alien device. “Elaine?” he called out, a lump rising in his throat.
There was no answer.
***
As another glow came over the horizon, this time from the sun, Veska moved around the side of another tent. He dumped his camera, then removed the mysterious power cylinder from his photographer’s coat and stared at it in triumph. Suddenly a shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Indy pointing a .45 at his chest.
“I’ll take that,” Indy said, and snatched the device away from the startled spy.
No sooner had he done so then he felt the barrel of another gun pressed to the small of his back. “As fast as always, Indiana,” a calm Russian voice said, “but alas, no smarter.”
He recognized the voice. It was a voice that, despite the many dime-a-dozen adversaries he’d dealt with over the years, still managed to send a chill or two down his spine. “Cheslav,” he muttered. “I should have known.”
Cheslav pushed him into the tent, where Elaine was tied up at the foot of a table. He was briefly reminded of another woman in another tent in another desert, about a decade ago. He’d abandoned that woman, but he’d learned his lesson. He would never abandon this one, not to save the world, not for anything, and he would kill these bastards if they’d done anything to her.
“Just like the old days, Indy,” Cheslav said, “except this time you’re on the wrong side.”
“I always felt like you wished I was,” Indy said.
Elaine looked from her captor to her fiancé in surprise. “You know this person?”
“His name is Vadim Cheslav. He’s with the MGB, or whatever they’re calling it this week. Not sure who this other clown is.”
“You’re Russian?” she asked Cheslav. “But your dialect – it’s excellent.”
He gave her a slight yet charming bow. “Thank you, Dr. McGregor. Coming from a linguist of your stature, that’s a great compliment.” He took the power device from Indy and tossed it to his partner. “Indy, meet Veska. I warned my boss about you and he insisted I have a partner.”
“I’d be careful with that thing, Cheslav,” Indy said. “I wouldn’t move it if I was you.”
“I appreciate your concern, Indy,” Cheslav said. “But unfortunately, I have to move it if I’m to get it to Moscow.”
“Moscow?” Elaine repeated incredulously. “You can’t possibly think you’re going to be able to walk right out of here undetected?”
He shrugged. “Why not? That was exactly how we walked in. By the way, for that horse you rode here, Indy, you’re welcome. It wasn’t easy to find another on such short notice.”
“That was a Commie horse?” Indy said. “No carrots for him after all.”
It wasn’t one of his better jokes, so he didn’t take it personally when the Russians didn’t crack a smile. Veska pulled what appeared to be an ordinary lighter from his pocket, but then pressed a button that caused a tiny needle to pop out of the metal housing.
“The poison take only seconds,” Cheslav assured him.
The younger spy jabbed the lighter at Indy, but Indy grabbed his arm and they crashed across the table. Elaine, having loosened her bonds while the men were distracted, chose this moment to jump to her feet, kick Cheslav in the shin, and make a break for the door. Before she could exit, an MP blocked her path and saw the scuffle. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, drawing his sidearm.
“Stop him!” Elaine cried. “He’s a spy!”
Veska broke free of Indy’s grip and lunged at the MP, burying the poison needle in his eye. Cheslav reached for his silenced pistol. Indy knocked it from his hand but Cheslav, with a flurry of swift karate moves, sent him crashing into the table again.
“Until we meet again, Indy,” he said, giving a polite nod as he grabbed Elaine and ducked out of the tent.
Indy grabbed the .45 from the MP already laying dead on the ground and rushed out of the tent, blinking into the sunlight, to see Cheslav’s car already churning up clouds of dust as it headed toward the gate. He fired at it and blew out one of its taillights.
Inside the car, Veska floored it as Elaine struggled to get free of Cheslav’s grip in the back seat. Cheslav opened a knapsack and removed a switching device. He hit three of the switches on it, and three corresponding explosions rocked the camp behind them. As he was about to hit the final switch, Elaine knocked the device from his hands and out the window.
“Very brave, but foolish,” he said, and slapped her hard.
The explosions had sent the camp into confusion. General McIntyre and Bolander rushed out of their tents to find Indy coughing through the smoke and gesticulating wildly at the escaping vehicle. “Russians,” he said when he could get a breath. “They’ve got Elaine!”
“Stop that car!” Bolander yelled.
“Don’t worry,” the General said, looking more relaxed, “they can’t get away.”
A staff car zoomed up and Bolander climbed in. “Hey, wait!” Indy yelled, but Bolander didn't. Leaving him and the General, both cars roared toward the guard house, with the driver of Bolander’s car trying to close the gap between them. Outside the guard house, an MP lowered the gate and blew his whistle at them to stop. Veska ignored him and aimed right at the gate. Cheslav pulled a grenade and tossed it into the road behind them.
The MPs dove for cover as Cheslav’s car crashed through the gate and the grenade exploded, leaving a crater in the center of the road. Bolander’s car plowed into it and the next three vehicles crashed into each other, blocking the exit from camp. Indy realized he didn't particularly enjoy watching the action without being in the middle of it. Commie or not, he was missing that horse about now.
Bolander climbed out of the crater and tried to direct the pursuit with hand signals. Obeying him, a truck smashed down the barbed wire fence surrounding the camp and four Jeeps with mounted machine guns followed Cheslav’s staff car.
Back at the crash site, a Bell bubble helicopter had begun warming up. “This way, Jones!” the General called, waving him over. Indy wasn't about to question the order, and climbed in after him as it lifted off the ground. He risked a glance at the destruction and chaos below as they pulled away. Same old Cheslav.
They scanned the horizon for a moment, and then Indy spotted Cheslav’s car on the road below, a plume of dust rising behind it, with easily a mile lead on the Jeeps following it. “There he is.”
The helicopter dropped down to road level as the route began winding into the mountains. The ’49 Ford wheeled around the twists and turns but the helicopter, able to go as the crow flies, was gaining. Cheslav popped out the window and fired at them, forcing the pilot to veer away just as the spies’ car disappeared into a tunnel in the mountain.
“We’ll get him on the other side,” the General said.
The pilot pulled up and the helicopter lifted over the mountain. What they saw on the other side made the General and Indy both pause.
“Damn...” the General said.
It was a huge Army missile testing base with at least thirty identical ‘49 Fords parked inside the entrance. Indy groaned. This would be worse than the basket chase in Cairo.
He jumped out before the helicopter's skids had touched the ground and began searching for Cheslav as the General notified the guard at the gate. An alarm sounded, gates dropped and soldiers ran from the barracks. Indy ignored them, moving from car to car, opening doors, searching, trying to be quick but not to miss anything important. Sloppiness could be as fatal for Elaine as slowness. He passed one car, then returned, checking the taillight – it was shattered.
“Indy!”
The car was useless. He looked up in time to see Cheslav, Elaine and Veska moving into a security area. He rushed after them.
Turning a corner, he found a dead end and a concrete bunker. A bullet zinged past his head and he jumped back, looking up in time to see Veska enter the bunker. Judging by the fact that the bullet hadn’t gone through his head, the spy probably wanted him to follow, which meant that he shouldn’t – but he needed to get Elaine one way or another. Though lacking a gun of his own – his trusted old Webley, or his Smith and Wesson, or even a Beretta would have made him happy at this point – Indy wasted no time. His fists and bullwhip would have to suffice.
The door clicked shut behind him. The bunker was devoid of furniture or supplies. It had three smooth concrete walls with a funnel opening in the ceiling, like a chimney. The fourth wall of the bunker was metal and covered with four large metallic discs, and its upper part opened up to reveal the sky. Veska was climbing it.
Indy bounded across the room and pulled him to the floor, sending his gun flying. “Where is she?”
Veska gave him an evil smile. Indy knocked the smile off his face.
***
Inside a simple control room, two technicians had just finished lunch. “Okay, Phillips,” one said, dabbing the last bits of mustard off his lips, “begin pre-ignition.” They could hear the alarm outside, of course, but it had gone off by mistake several times and they were tired of checking on it. Someone else would take care of it soon.
***
Inside the bunker, steam began to rise from the “discs.” Indy suddenly realized the fourth “wall” was actually the business end of a rocket sled. In that moment of distraction, Veska knocked him to the floor and scrambled back up the side of it.
***
The first technician put on his headset and seated himself in front of the console. “Okay, all systems are go. Let’s get this baby down the track. Start countdown...”
Phillips flipped the switch and, watching the second hand of the clock, began counting. “Ten. Nine. Eight...”
Indy climbed the wall after the spy.
“Four... three...”
Veska climbed out of the bunker and started to scramble across the top of the rocket sled just as Indy pulled himself to the top as well –
“One... Ignition.” Phillips hit another switch.
The four rockets ignited with a deafening roar, filling the concrete bunker with intense exhaust that blasted out the chimney top. The rocket sled catapulted from the bunker at one hundred miles an hour down the track with Indy and Veska clinging for dear life to the metal chassis. Indy’s face rippled from the G-forces, and his grip began to slip. He strained for a better hold.
Veska, in a sheltered indention of the metal skeleton, saw his grip slipping and tried to kick him off, his boot grinding Indy’s fingers against the metal. Indy grimaced but held on. He’d had plenty of practice. Veska tried again, harder this time, and Indy slipped back toward the flaming rockets before regaining a hold. The heat on his back was less than comfortable. He looked around for something, anything to use as a weapon.
Veska saw how close Indy was to the burners and tried one more time to knock him loose, but this time Indy was ready. Just as Veska raised his boot, Indy let go with one hand, yanked a rubber hose from the engine and sprayed hot oil over the spy.
Screaming in pain, Veska lost his grip. His body whipped past Indy through the flaming burners, which ignited the oil and toasted him instantly. Veska’s crisped remains flew away along with the dust behind the speeding rocket.
Indy put his free hand back down, but his own grip was still slipping. Looking around without distractions now, he saw a conduit marked “OXYGEN INTAKE” and pulled that hose as well. The engine and the four burners immediately snuffed out just as he lost his hold and flew off the back.
Indy hit the ground hard, rolled away from the track, and came to a stop where he laid motionless for a couple minutes. The ringing in his ears dissipated and the pounding in his heart lessened. Slowly he raised his head. The desert was a mirage. Through the waves of heat he saw an ambulance and a car approaching before he dropped, exhausted.
The vehicles pulled up next to Indy. Two men hurried out of the ambulance and rushed over to him. He tried to open his eyes and get a look at them, but the men stood directly in front of the blinding sun. They spoke in Russian, but one of the voices sounded familiar. It didn't have a Russian accent. “Put him in the trunk,” it said. “We will need him.”
“How will we get out of here?” the driver asked.
“Go west across the desert. You’ll be met in Harmond in four hours.”
Indy tried to raise his head again – he needed to see the man with the familiar voice, and ideally get out of here and find Elaine – when the driver hit him with a blackjack. This is getting a little old, he thought as everything went dark.
***
Indy had been in the trunks of enough cars to recognize his surroundings not long after regaining consciousness. It was dark, hot and thoroughly cramped, but at least he was still in one piece. Inside the car, through the wall, he could make out the Russian voices, not including the one that had sounded familiar, and the radio flipping back and forth between news and a local Country Western station.
As the passenger, unseen by Indy, studied a map and occasionally glanced at the dash-mounted compass reading due West, the driver sang along with the radio. “My heart is broken in two... by you –”
The other spy wrinkled his nose and switched the channel again. “How can you listen to that garbage?”
“I like it,” the driver said defensively. “One of America's few redeeming qualities.”
The other spy rolled his eyes, but he was more concerned about the map. He consulted the compass again. “Something’s wrong...” He frowned. “We should be there by now.”
“We are going right. See... west.” The driver pointed to the compass.
“Yes, but...” The second spy regarded the instrument with a look of distrust, then out his window. “If we’re going west... then why is the sun over here?”
The first spy leaned over to see the sun. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was fairly certain the sun's trajectory should remain consistent between this hemisphere and the one he had left. As realization dawned, he thumped the compass with his fist. The “S” swung around to show true South. It had been stuck.
The second spy let fly a string of Russian obscenities. “You idiot. Now you’ve done it – we’re lost!”
“Great,” Indy said to himself.
He rolled painfully onto his back and caught a whiff of something disgusting. He yanked at a blanket next to him, revealing what he could just make out in the darkness as the toasted form of Veska.
“Great,” Indy repeated.
On second thought, maybe it actually was. He reached into Veska’s pocket and his fingers closed around the pseudo-lighter, melted into a lump but still recognizable. He took it out, pushed the button to pop out the needle, covered Veska back up and got to work on the latch of the trunk with his new tool. With a little jiggling it popped open, and he carefully watched the scenery they were passing by. Sand, sand, the occasional sagebrush or cactus, and sand.
As soon as an opportunity presented itself, he sprang out and rolled behind a stand of cacti so the spies wouldn’t see him in their rearview mirror. He knew he would rather take his chances with desert survival than with Cheslav’s minions, and besides, he needed to get back to Elaine.
***
A little while later, the car reached the top of a hill and looked out on a vista with a town of newly-built houses sitting far below. As it pulled closer, it passed a carefully hand-lettered sign that said BOOMSBURG. Please Drive Carefully. Speed Limit 25.
“Boomsburg.” The passenger spy consulted the map. “I don’t see it.”
“Well, it looks new,” the driver spy said. “Maybe it’s not on the map yet.” He pointed out the window. “There’s a phone.”
They pulled into a gas station. There was no activity, but inside the office, an attendant dozed with his feet up on the desk and a baseball cap pulled over his eyes. The second spy gave him a contemptuous glance, then headed to the pay phone. He reached into his pockets and found them empty. “Hey, I need some change!”
Rolling his eyes, the other spy came over and plugged some change into the phone. They picked up and dialed “0,” but the line was dead. The first spy clicked the receiver. Nothing. Capitalism in action, he figured.
He hung up and looked around. Peering inside the gas station, he noticed something that had escaped his notice before. “Hey, that gas station attendant is a mannequin!”
“Don't be ridiculous,” his companion said, but as he looked he fell silent.
Just then a siren started to wail, and it didn’t sound like a fire truck or a police car.
Both men glanced at each other. “Uh... oh...”
They bolted for the car.
Driving like bats cut of hell, they sped out of town and across the desert. As the town faded behind them, they began to relax – until they passed a sign that said ENTERING TWO MILE ATOMIC BLAST ZONE.
The two men exchanged another look, realizing they had once again gone the wrong way.
The driver slammed on the brake and spun the steering wheel just as the sky in front of them flashed white and a heat wave incinerated the car. Though they were no longer around to hear it, a monstrous clap of thunder from the shock wave followed, blowing out the fire and lifting the charred vehicle like a feather, tossing it back toward the town.
As the shock wave roared across the desert and hit the town, its cars, gas pumps, signs, mailboxes, roofs, street signs, fuel tanks, everything not bolted down were propelled ahead of the blast. When it touched houses, the impact blew out walls and ripped off roofs, leaving only foundations.
Miles away, Indy looked back at the mushroom cloud rising into the sky. He had seen such a cloud in black and white, in photographs and newsreels, of course, but never for real, never so close. His knees shook in spite of himself. Incredible destructive power, and did the people who held it know how to use it responsibly? Was there a way to use it responsibly? He didn’t think he could answer either of those questions in the affirmative.
He turned away. To his relief, an Army vehicle was approaching. He flagged it down.
Next: Chapter Eight
Inside the tent, Indy gestured at a US Geological Survey map of this part of New Mexico as he spoke. “The wreckage of the saucer was here,” he said, marking the site with a pen. “The device and the dead alien were found –” he drew a straight line nearly four miles away “– here.”
He looked up at Bolander, the General, Dr. Bernard, and Elaine, who were listening with varying degrees of interest.
“Interesting, Dr. Jones,” Bernard admitted, “but what does this have to do with the calculations?”
“Coordinates, Doctor, not calculations,” Indy said. “They’re geographical coordinates.” He drew another line to a distant mountain.
“The numbers correlate to Mount Keemo,” Elaine explained. “They’re the exact longitude, latitude...”
“The mountain has long been associated with gods of various Indian religions,” Indy said. “Sacrifices were once made there. Even the Spanish, in 1525, noted strange lights around the summit.” Before, he’d dismissed that account as some kind of natural phenomenon, but now he had second thoughts in spite of himself.
Bolander was not impressed. “Oogie boogie stories, Dr. Jones,” he said.
“Besides, Dr. Jones,” Bernard said, in a somewhat more polite tone, “this isn’t the only area of supposed contact with extraterrestrial life. There are similar purported sites in Peru, Egypt, China... The fact that these numbers match is just a coincidence.”
Indy didn’t understand why people who claimed to have a crashed alien spacecraft were being so skeptical, but he was prepared anyway. “Is it?” he said, and pulled out another map, this one of the whole world. Sites were marked in several countries.
“The numbers on the device that we can translate correspond with these longitudes and latitudes,” Elaine said. “In every case... it is a mountain.”
This information unsettled the others, even Bolander.
“Apparently,” Indy said, “he was trying to return that thing to the mountain.”
“Why?” the General asked.
“We don’t know for sure,” Indy admitted.
“And what happens,” Bolander said, trying to sound merely curious, “if you don’t return it to the mountain?”
Now they were getting to the crux of the matter. “The writings warn of dark consequences.”
The General raised an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“Visits of fire-breathing serpents,” Elaine said. “Monsters. Dragons with fire coming from their eyes. Something like that. We don’t know how literal it is.”
“It reminds me of a crystal cylinder the British found at Stonehenge over twenty years ago,” Indy said. “At that place it opened a dimensional gateway with monsters inside. Those were literal enough.” He saw that Bolander and Bernard didn't believe him. He wouldn't have either if he hadn't been there. “What we do know,” he continued, “is that a tremendous power is to be unleashed at that place.”
“What kind of power?” the General said, making no effort to hide his increasing concern. “I mean, are we talking about end of the Earth stuff here?”
“We’ve entered a lot of data into the computer,” Elaine said. “It’ll take a while to find out.”
“Whoever, whatever developed this, didn’t want humans fooling with it,” Indy said.
“Stories to scare a primitive people,” Bernard said.
Indy looked at the scientist with bemusement. He’d seen enough “stories” of this ilk that ended up being all too real. “With all due respect, Dr. Bernard, you haven’t a clue what you’ve got.”
Bernard didn’t flinch. “When the first man found fire, Dr. Jones, did he refuse to use it because he didn’t understand what he had? We may not understand this today, but that doesn’t mean we should give it back.”
“Give it back to whom?” the General said. “We haven’t had any more sightings.”
“You should also consider the possibility that you may need to destroy it,” Indy said. “That’s how I had to deal with the crystal cylinder. It was heartbreaking, but –”
“Even more risky,” Elaine interrupted him. “We don’t know what kind of power that might unleash. It could be worse than splitting the atom.”
“We’re not giving it back and we’re not destroying it,” Bernard said impatiently. “It’s ours. But I agree that the device should not be moved until we know more.”
Suddenly an explosion outside the tent jolted the group. Indy opened the flap to see smoke billowing out of the computer trailer. Technicians leaped from the trailer, fanning the smoke. One of them called back to the scientists, “We’ve blown a tube in the computer!”
Indy and the others stepped outside to watch the work being done. General McIntyre scowled, then turned to Indy. “When will we know more, Colonel?”
“It will take us a while with the computer out,” Indy said.
The General’s scowl deepened. “As soon as possible,” he said, making it sound almost like a threat. He and Bernard moved off to inspect the damage.
Elaine squeezed Indy’s hand. “I’m going back in,” she said, and re-entered the tent before he had a chance to say anything.
Indy decided to wait a moment before rejoining her. Looking around and trying to clear his mind, he spotted the photographer and waved him over. “Finish the photos and get me the prints as soon as possible,” he said.
“Yes sir,” the photographer said and moved off.
Indy stared at the horizon and thought for a moment. Truth be told, though he’d gotten engrossed in this project, he was more than happy to take a breather. Things had been moving quickly and, if the experience of hundreds of adventures was any indication, they would accelerate further still before long. Adventures didn’t care that he was getting older. He would probably still be having them when he was ninety, although he might just end up recounting his previous ones to anyone who would listen. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately too.
He was distracted by an immense glow on the horizon, as if the sun were rising in a sped-up filmstrip. But this glow didn’t give him a warm feeling; it only made him shiver from something more than the night air.
“Testing the bomb.”
Indy realized he was not alone. He turned to see Bolander standing next to him, staring off at the horizon with a look of pride on his face.
Indy grunted. “Testing it, huh? Why bother? Seems to me it worked well enough at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”
Bolander raised an eyebrow. “I take it you’re not a fan of the bomb, Dr. Jones...”
“I’m not,” Indy said curtly, and he was in no mood for a conversation with anyone who was. As if he needed another reason to dislike this man.
“Don’t worry,” Bolander said, “it’s over fifty miles away. If what you said back there is true, it may be a thing of the past.”
“It’s just a race to you, isn’t it, Bolander?”
Bolander looked at him as if he were a child asking stupid questions. “It’s always been a race, Jones,” he said. “If anyone should understand that, you should. As long as there’s been civilization it’s been a race for power. Nothing’s changed.”
“Except the stakes,” Indy said, almost to himself. A sinking feeling came into the pit of his stomach. On countless occasions he’d stopped foreign governments – Nazis, Communists, fascists, imperial Japanese – from using powerful artifacts for conquest or domination. But it had never occurred to him that he might someday be faced with his own government attempting the same thing. As the familiar atomic mushroom cloud formed and caught the first rays of the sun, he wondered where his loyalties would lie.
Bolander smiled as if enjoying his silent ethical dilemma, though he would surely have Indy clapped in irons if he knew anything about it. “The atom is our friend, Jones,” he said. “Remember that.”
He left. Indy stared after him for a while, then started back toward the tent. In the corner of his eye he noticed the photographer moving away on the other side. He watched that man for a minute too, then entered.
Instantly he knew something was wrong. Elaine was missing, and so was the alien device. “Elaine?” he called out, a lump rising in his throat.
There was no answer.
***
As another glow came over the horizon, this time from the sun, Veska moved around the side of another tent. He dumped his camera, then removed the mysterious power cylinder from his photographer’s coat and stared at it in triumph. Suddenly a shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Indy pointing a .45 at his chest.
“I’ll take that,” Indy said, and snatched the device away from the startled spy.
No sooner had he done so then he felt the barrel of another gun pressed to the small of his back. “As fast as always, Indiana,” a calm Russian voice said, “but alas, no smarter.”
He recognized the voice. It was a voice that, despite the many dime-a-dozen adversaries he’d dealt with over the years, still managed to send a chill or two down his spine. “Cheslav,” he muttered. “I should have known.”
Cheslav pushed him into the tent, where Elaine was tied up at the foot of a table. He was briefly reminded of another woman in another tent in another desert, about a decade ago. He’d abandoned that woman, but he’d learned his lesson. He would never abandon this one, not to save the world, not for anything, and he would kill these bastards if they’d done anything to her.
“Just like the old days, Indy,” Cheslav said, “except this time you’re on the wrong side.”
“I always felt like you wished I was,” Indy said.
Elaine looked from her captor to her fiancé in surprise. “You know this person?”
“His name is Vadim Cheslav. He’s with the MGB, or whatever they’re calling it this week. Not sure who this other clown is.”
“You’re Russian?” she asked Cheslav. “But your dialect – it’s excellent.”
He gave her a slight yet charming bow. “Thank you, Dr. McGregor. Coming from a linguist of your stature, that’s a great compliment.” He took the power device from Indy and tossed it to his partner. “Indy, meet Veska. I warned my boss about you and he insisted I have a partner.”
“I’d be careful with that thing, Cheslav,” Indy said. “I wouldn’t move it if I was you.”
“I appreciate your concern, Indy,” Cheslav said. “But unfortunately, I have to move it if I’m to get it to Moscow.”
“Moscow?” Elaine repeated incredulously. “You can’t possibly think you’re going to be able to walk right out of here undetected?”
He shrugged. “Why not? That was exactly how we walked in. By the way, for that horse you rode here, Indy, you’re welcome. It wasn’t easy to find another on such short notice.”
“That was a Commie horse?” Indy said. “No carrots for him after all.”
It wasn’t one of his better jokes, so he didn’t take it personally when the Russians didn’t crack a smile. Veska pulled what appeared to be an ordinary lighter from his pocket, but then pressed a button that caused a tiny needle to pop out of the metal housing.
“The poison take only seconds,” Cheslav assured him.
The younger spy jabbed the lighter at Indy, but Indy grabbed his arm and they crashed across the table. Elaine, having loosened her bonds while the men were distracted, chose this moment to jump to her feet, kick Cheslav in the shin, and make a break for the door. Before she could exit, an MP blocked her path and saw the scuffle. “What’s going on here?” he demanded, drawing his sidearm.
“Stop him!” Elaine cried. “He’s a spy!”
Veska broke free of Indy’s grip and lunged at the MP, burying the poison needle in his eye. Cheslav reached for his silenced pistol. Indy knocked it from his hand but Cheslav, with a flurry of swift karate moves, sent him crashing into the table again.
“Until we meet again, Indy,” he said, giving a polite nod as he grabbed Elaine and ducked out of the tent.
Indy grabbed the .45 from the MP already laying dead on the ground and rushed out of the tent, blinking into the sunlight, to see Cheslav’s car already churning up clouds of dust as it headed toward the gate. He fired at it and blew out one of its taillights.
Inside the car, Veska floored it as Elaine struggled to get free of Cheslav’s grip in the back seat. Cheslav opened a knapsack and removed a switching device. He hit three of the switches on it, and three corresponding explosions rocked the camp behind them. As he was about to hit the final switch, Elaine knocked the device from his hands and out the window.
“Very brave, but foolish,” he said, and slapped her hard.
The explosions had sent the camp into confusion. General McIntyre and Bolander rushed out of their tents to find Indy coughing through the smoke and gesticulating wildly at the escaping vehicle. “Russians,” he said when he could get a breath. “They’ve got Elaine!”
“Stop that car!” Bolander yelled.
“Don’t worry,” the General said, looking more relaxed, “they can’t get away.”
A staff car zoomed up and Bolander climbed in. “Hey, wait!” Indy yelled, but Bolander didn't. Leaving him and the General, both cars roared toward the guard house, with the driver of Bolander’s car trying to close the gap between them. Outside the guard house, an MP lowered the gate and blew his whistle at them to stop. Veska ignored him and aimed right at the gate. Cheslav pulled a grenade and tossed it into the road behind them.
The MPs dove for cover as Cheslav’s car crashed through the gate and the grenade exploded, leaving a crater in the center of the road. Bolander’s car plowed into it and the next three vehicles crashed into each other, blocking the exit from camp. Indy realized he didn't particularly enjoy watching the action without being in the middle of it. Commie or not, he was missing that horse about now.
Bolander climbed out of the crater and tried to direct the pursuit with hand signals. Obeying him, a truck smashed down the barbed wire fence surrounding the camp and four Jeeps with mounted machine guns followed Cheslav’s staff car.
Back at the crash site, a Bell bubble helicopter had begun warming up. “This way, Jones!” the General called, waving him over. Indy wasn't about to question the order, and climbed in after him as it lifted off the ground. He risked a glance at the destruction and chaos below as they pulled away. Same old Cheslav.
They scanned the horizon for a moment, and then Indy spotted Cheslav’s car on the road below, a plume of dust rising behind it, with easily a mile lead on the Jeeps following it. “There he is.”
The helicopter dropped down to road level as the route began winding into the mountains. The ’49 Ford wheeled around the twists and turns but the helicopter, able to go as the crow flies, was gaining. Cheslav popped out the window and fired at them, forcing the pilot to veer away just as the spies’ car disappeared into a tunnel in the mountain.
“We’ll get him on the other side,” the General said.
The pilot pulled up and the helicopter lifted over the mountain. What they saw on the other side made the General and Indy both pause.
“Damn...” the General said.
It was a huge Army missile testing base with at least thirty identical ‘49 Fords parked inside the entrance. Indy groaned. This would be worse than the basket chase in Cairo.
He jumped out before the helicopter's skids had touched the ground and began searching for Cheslav as the General notified the guard at the gate. An alarm sounded, gates dropped and soldiers ran from the barracks. Indy ignored them, moving from car to car, opening doors, searching, trying to be quick but not to miss anything important. Sloppiness could be as fatal for Elaine as slowness. He passed one car, then returned, checking the taillight – it was shattered.
“Indy!”
The car was useless. He looked up in time to see Cheslav, Elaine and Veska moving into a security area. He rushed after them.
Turning a corner, he found a dead end and a concrete bunker. A bullet zinged past his head and he jumped back, looking up in time to see Veska enter the bunker. Judging by the fact that the bullet hadn’t gone through his head, the spy probably wanted him to follow, which meant that he shouldn’t – but he needed to get Elaine one way or another. Though lacking a gun of his own – his trusted old Webley, or his Smith and Wesson, or even a Beretta would have made him happy at this point – Indy wasted no time. His fists and bullwhip would have to suffice.
The door clicked shut behind him. The bunker was devoid of furniture or supplies. It had three smooth concrete walls with a funnel opening in the ceiling, like a chimney. The fourth wall of the bunker was metal and covered with four large metallic discs, and its upper part opened up to reveal the sky. Veska was climbing it.
Indy bounded across the room and pulled him to the floor, sending his gun flying. “Where is she?”
Veska gave him an evil smile. Indy knocked the smile off his face.
***
Inside a simple control room, two technicians had just finished lunch. “Okay, Phillips,” one said, dabbing the last bits of mustard off his lips, “begin pre-ignition.” They could hear the alarm outside, of course, but it had gone off by mistake several times and they were tired of checking on it. Someone else would take care of it soon.
***
Inside the bunker, steam began to rise from the “discs.” Indy suddenly realized the fourth “wall” was actually the business end of a rocket sled. In that moment of distraction, Veska knocked him to the floor and scrambled back up the side of it.
***
The first technician put on his headset and seated himself in front of the console. “Okay, all systems are go. Let’s get this baby down the track. Start countdown...”
Phillips flipped the switch and, watching the second hand of the clock, began counting. “Ten. Nine. Eight...”
Indy climbed the wall after the spy.
“Four... three...”
Veska climbed out of the bunker and started to scramble across the top of the rocket sled just as Indy pulled himself to the top as well –
“One... Ignition.” Phillips hit another switch.
The four rockets ignited with a deafening roar, filling the concrete bunker with intense exhaust that blasted out the chimney top. The rocket sled catapulted from the bunker at one hundred miles an hour down the track with Indy and Veska clinging for dear life to the metal chassis. Indy’s face rippled from the G-forces, and his grip began to slip. He strained for a better hold.
Veska, in a sheltered indention of the metal skeleton, saw his grip slipping and tried to kick him off, his boot grinding Indy’s fingers against the metal. Indy grimaced but held on. He’d had plenty of practice. Veska tried again, harder this time, and Indy slipped back toward the flaming rockets before regaining a hold. The heat on his back was less than comfortable. He looked around for something, anything to use as a weapon.
Veska saw how close Indy was to the burners and tried one more time to knock him loose, but this time Indy was ready. Just as Veska raised his boot, Indy let go with one hand, yanked a rubber hose from the engine and sprayed hot oil over the spy.
Screaming in pain, Veska lost his grip. His body whipped past Indy through the flaming burners, which ignited the oil and toasted him instantly. Veska’s crisped remains flew away along with the dust behind the speeding rocket.
Indy put his free hand back down, but his own grip was still slipping. Looking around without distractions now, he saw a conduit marked “OXYGEN INTAKE” and pulled that hose as well. The engine and the four burners immediately snuffed out just as he lost his hold and flew off the back.
Indy hit the ground hard, rolled away from the track, and came to a stop where he laid motionless for a couple minutes. The ringing in his ears dissipated and the pounding in his heart lessened. Slowly he raised his head. The desert was a mirage. Through the waves of heat he saw an ambulance and a car approaching before he dropped, exhausted.
The vehicles pulled up next to Indy. Two men hurried out of the ambulance and rushed over to him. He tried to open his eyes and get a look at them, but the men stood directly in front of the blinding sun. They spoke in Russian, but one of the voices sounded familiar. It didn't have a Russian accent. “Put him in the trunk,” it said. “We will need him.”
“How will we get out of here?” the driver asked.
“Go west across the desert. You’ll be met in Harmond in four hours.”
Indy tried to raise his head again – he needed to see the man with the familiar voice, and ideally get out of here and find Elaine – when the driver hit him with a blackjack. This is getting a little old, he thought as everything went dark.
***
Indy had been in the trunks of enough cars to recognize his surroundings not long after regaining consciousness. It was dark, hot and thoroughly cramped, but at least he was still in one piece. Inside the car, through the wall, he could make out the Russian voices, not including the one that had sounded familiar, and the radio flipping back and forth between news and a local Country Western station.
As the passenger, unseen by Indy, studied a map and occasionally glanced at the dash-mounted compass reading due West, the driver sang along with the radio. “My heart is broken in two... by you –”
The other spy wrinkled his nose and switched the channel again. “How can you listen to that garbage?”
“I like it,” the driver said defensively. “One of America's few redeeming qualities.”
The other spy rolled his eyes, but he was more concerned about the map. He consulted the compass again. “Something’s wrong...” He frowned. “We should be there by now.”
“We are going right. See... west.” The driver pointed to the compass.
“Yes, but...” The second spy regarded the instrument with a look of distrust, then out his window. “If we’re going west... then why is the sun over here?”
The first spy leaned over to see the sun. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was fairly certain the sun's trajectory should remain consistent between this hemisphere and the one he had left. As realization dawned, he thumped the compass with his fist. The “S” swung around to show true South. It had been stuck.
The second spy let fly a string of Russian obscenities. “You idiot. Now you’ve done it – we’re lost!”
“Great,” Indy said to himself.
He rolled painfully onto his back and caught a whiff of something disgusting. He yanked at a blanket next to him, revealing what he could just make out in the darkness as the toasted form of Veska.
“Great,” Indy repeated.
On second thought, maybe it actually was. He reached into Veska’s pocket and his fingers closed around the pseudo-lighter, melted into a lump but still recognizable. He took it out, pushed the button to pop out the needle, covered Veska back up and got to work on the latch of the trunk with his new tool. With a little jiggling it popped open, and he carefully watched the scenery they were passing by. Sand, sand, the occasional sagebrush or cactus, and sand.
As soon as an opportunity presented itself, he sprang out and rolled behind a stand of cacti so the spies wouldn’t see him in their rearview mirror. He knew he would rather take his chances with desert survival than with Cheslav’s minions, and besides, he needed to get back to Elaine.
***
A little while later, the car reached the top of a hill and looked out on a vista with a town of newly-built houses sitting far below. As it pulled closer, it passed a carefully hand-lettered sign that said BOOMSBURG. Please Drive Carefully. Speed Limit 25.
“Boomsburg.” The passenger spy consulted the map. “I don’t see it.”
“Well, it looks new,” the driver spy said. “Maybe it’s not on the map yet.” He pointed out the window. “There’s a phone.”
They pulled into a gas station. There was no activity, but inside the office, an attendant dozed with his feet up on the desk and a baseball cap pulled over his eyes. The second spy gave him a contemptuous glance, then headed to the pay phone. He reached into his pockets and found them empty. “Hey, I need some change!”
Rolling his eyes, the other spy came over and plugged some change into the phone. They picked up and dialed “0,” but the line was dead. The first spy clicked the receiver. Nothing. Capitalism in action, he figured.
He hung up and looked around. Peering inside the gas station, he noticed something that had escaped his notice before. “Hey, that gas station attendant is a mannequin!”
“Don't be ridiculous,” his companion said, but as he looked he fell silent.
Just then a siren started to wail, and it didn’t sound like a fire truck or a police car.
Both men glanced at each other. “Uh... oh...”
They bolted for the car.
Driving like bats cut of hell, they sped out of town and across the desert. As the town faded behind them, they began to relax – until they passed a sign that said ENTERING TWO MILE ATOMIC BLAST ZONE.
The two men exchanged another look, realizing they had once again gone the wrong way.
The driver slammed on the brake and spun the steering wheel just as the sky in front of them flashed white and a heat wave incinerated the car. Though they were no longer around to hear it, a monstrous clap of thunder from the shock wave followed, blowing out the fire and lifting the charred vehicle like a feather, tossing it back toward the town.
As the shock wave roared across the desert and hit the town, its cars, gas pumps, signs, mailboxes, roofs, street signs, fuel tanks, everything not bolted down were propelled ahead of the blast. When it touched houses, the impact blew out walls and ripped off roofs, leaving only foundations.
Miles away, Indy looked back at the mushroom cloud rising into the sky. He had seen such a cloud in black and white, in photographs and newsreels, of course, but never for real, never so close. His knees shook in spite of himself. Incredible destructive power, and did the people who held it know how to use it responsibly? Was there a way to use it responsibly? He didn’t think he could answer either of those questions in the affirmative.
He turned away. To his relief, an Army vehicle was approaching. He flagged it down.
Next: Chapter Eight
