Chapter Two
The faces of Indiana Jones and Elaine McGregor were tantalizingly close to each other, separated by less than three inches. For Indy, the world was reduced to her eyes and the soul behind them. Gone was the giddy infatuation that had mysteriously gripped him six weeks earlier, replaced by a burning passion, something deeper, a desire for her mind, her emotions, her hopes and dreams, her essence, if that made any sense, which it probably didn't, but he didn't care.
A bit of his earlier nerves returned as he cleared his throat and tried to tell her what he was thinking. “Elaine?” he began, but could go no further.
She moistened her lips breathlessly, uncertain of what to expect. “Yes?” she said.
He could chicken out and say something stupid, or he could push forward. He chose the latter option before he could give himself a chance to think; a strategy that had so far worked out on many adventures. “These six weeks have been the greatest of my life.”
She looked away for a moment, then met his gaze again. “Mine too,” she said softly.
What did she mean by that? What was she thinking? He could only guess, but the possibilities gave him the courage to finish. “Maybe you won’t believe me, when I tell you that I’ve never said this to anybody before,” he said, “but… I love you.”
For one awful, interminable moment, she stared. Then her face softened and she said, “I know.”
For another awful, interminable moment, he was at a loss for words.
Finally she swooned. “Oh, Indy,” she said. “I don’t care if you’ve said it to a million other women. I love you, too.”
“Very romantic, Dr. Jones,” a man’s voice said. “I do believe I’m getting something in my eye.” They both looked to see Frederick Baldassare moving up next to them. They were surprised for a moment to see that he was upside down. Then they remembered where they were.
They were a few miles outside the excavation site and a few dozen feet from the river, hanging with hemp rope by their ankles from a tree branch over a few humongous mounds of dirt. Bleached skeletons of jungle animals dotted the area. In the river the PT boat floated, followed by a string of rafts onto which Baldassare’s pirates were now loading the last of some crates.
“Leave her alone, Baldassare,” Indy snarled. “This is between you and me.”
“You are so right, Jones,” Baldassare said. He smiled at the inverted woman. “That’s why anything I can do to increase your suffering makes me that much happier. And after that oh-so-touching moment just now…” He shrugged and walked a few steps to the tree next to them, where Kabul was suspended. “With her next to you, I doubt you’ll even worry about your precious guide, here,” he continued, “but why leave any loose ends?”
“I thought you weren’t the bloodthirsty type,” Kabul said.
“Not usually. But I’m making an exception for my good friend Dr. Jones.” Baldassare snapped a low branch off of Kabul’s tree and struck one of the mounds with it. Several red ants the size of grasshoppers emerged. “Army ants, Dr. Jones. These little soldiers can strip an elephant to the bone in two hours. I suppose they’ll just consider you a snack.”
“May I remind you,” Indy said, “that I do know a thing or two about rainforest ecosystems?”
One of the pirates called out to Baldassare that they were finished loading the crates. “Excellent,” he said. “Now, I believe Dr. Jones and his friends would like to get down from there. Give them a hand, would you please?” So saying, he headed for the gangplank.
The pirate chortled and shimmied up the tree holding Indy and Elaine, and set to work starting a fire on the branch to which their ankles were tied. The branch was thick and would take a while to burn through, but the ropes would be done for within minutes.
Desperate, Indy saw only one option. “Congratulations, Baldy, you’re really on top of things,” he said. “Too bad it’s all going to be for nothing without us to translate the maps.”
Baldassare raised an eyebrow and signaled the pirate to stop. “Maps?”
Elaine blinked. “Maps?”
Indy shot her a conspiratorial look. It was brief, too brief for Baldassare to catch, but through the bond he and Elaine and developed over the past six weeks, it spoke volumes to her.
Her face flared. “Indy! I told you not to say anything about the maps!”
“What good is it going to do us if we’re both dead!?”
Baldassare watched them in bemusement. This was clearly a pathetic last-ditch ploy to save their skins. Or was it? Could he take that chance? “What maps?” he demanded, coming back to them.
“Don’t you dare tell him!” Elaine said.
“For the other Iban temples,” Indy said. “The maps are on the rafts. Cut us down and I’ll translate for you.”
“Indy! You promised!”
“A wonderful proposition, Dr. Jones,” said Baldassare, “but we know of Dr. McGregor’s linguistic talents. So why should I take you both, when she can provide us with two sources of enjoyment?” He turned to the pirate still squatting in the tree. “Cut her down,” he said.
The pirate set to work on the rope and grinned like a child in a candy store. Another pirate came over to catch her, the same look on his face. Two sources of enjoyment, Indy thought, and a chill ran down his spine. “If you bastards do anything to her,” he said, “I’ll... I’ll do something to you that I can’t even describe without making myself sick.”
“Getting sick is the least of your worries right now, Dr. Jones,” Baldassare said.
Indy watched helplessly as Elaine was carried over to the PT boat. To her credit, she did not scream. She would be brave to the end and that was merely one reason he loved her – but he was determined that the end would not come today. The pirate finished setting fire to the branch he was on and hurried over to repeat the process with Kabul’s. Small tongues of flame spread among the hastily set up pile of lint and kindling, already probing at the taut hemp.
Finished with his job, the pirate headed back for the boat. Baldassare started to follow, then paused to demolish an ant mound with his stick. A river of angry red insects came pouring out. “Au revoir, Dr. Jones,” he said, tipping his pith helmet. “I’m going to enjoy cruising down the river listening to your screams.” With a sardonic laugh he climbed the gangplank to where his pirates stood waiting for him. At a signal, they pushed Elaine below deck.
Looking back, she finally cried out, “Indy!”
The word stabbed Indy to the heart, but he forced himself to ignore her and the boat as it thrummed to life and pulled away. He couldn’t rescue her if he didn’t rescue himself first, and that would take focus, and it would have to be fast. The rope was getting singed.
“Nice try, Dr. Jones,” Kabul said with resignation. “At least there is hope for Dr. McGregor. And at least we will die together.”
“Don’t panic, Kabul,” Indy said. “I’ll think of something.” He always did. How many tight spots had he been in over the years, tighter than this even? Of course, sometimes it was an improbable last-second rescue that had saved him, he realized. Maybe that would happen again, but he couldn’t count on it, could he?
Kabul eyed the flames. “Please think quickly,” he said.
That was it; he had an idea. It was actually rather obvious; the question was whether or not he could pull it off. Clenching every muscle in his body, he yanked himself one way, then the other. With the lack of leverage he moved about an inch both ways, but building on that momentum he went slightly further the next time.
“Kabul, swing to me,” he called out. He only hoped that Kabul could do it. Hell, he hoped that he could do it. His progress was maddeningly slow, and already his muscles screamed for relief and sweat poured down his face into his eyes. But he would not stop. With muscles built over decades of adventuring, and the adrenaline of needing to save the woman he loved, he shut out the discomfort and focused only on going farther, farther…
Of course, the other issue was whether the ropes would hold. The flames were directly on them now.
Then behind his back he felt the breeze of Kabul’s fingertips brushing past his. The jungle guide had developed muscles enough to handle this as well. “Kabul, grab my hands,” Indy commanded. On the next pass, their fingers touched and scrabbled for a hold, but slipped through. Indy cursed to himself. The next time, they got a solid grip. “Now get my wrists,” Indy said. “Good, now hold on.”
“If you insist, Dr. Jones,” Kabul said. He eyed the ants, which had begun building themselves into a tower to reach the two men. “Dr. Jones, the ants are coming!”
Indy’s hands flew over Kabul’s knots. As a former Boy Scout, this was the easiest part. He had them undone in moments and Kabul started on his. Kabul wasn’t as good at it, but with the extra mobility afforded by his freed wrists he didn’t take much longer.
“Climb the rope!” Indy said. Moving their hands down, or rather up, each other’s backs, they climbed each other until they could reach where the ropes wrapped around their ankles. From there they were forced to let go, swinging back toward their original positions and away from the ant tower, and begin climbing hand over hand up to their respective branches. Indy’s rope snapped just as he came close enough to snag his. Still ignoring the soreness all over, he got a grip with his other hand and pulled himself up into the tree.
Kabul was not as fast, and his own rope burned through just a bit too soon. He lashed out for the branch but his reach fell short by millimeters. He fell with a yelp toward the angry ants.
And stopped an inch above them.
He looked up. Indiana Jones had leaped from his tree into this one and grabbed his hand. Kabul gratefully offered his other hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. The branch groaned but held. He glanced back at the ants, seeming to chitter with rage at their meal’s escape. They were gruesome up close; masses of pincers and antennae and pumping little legs. He shuddered. “Little demons.”
“Not so little,” Indy said between breaths. “But rumor has it in some circles that they grow even bigger in South America. I hope I never have to find out if that’s true.”
He looked at the ants, and at the river. He was tired, sweaty and sore all over. But he felt a vigor that had been missing for some time. He could have viewed rescuing the damsel in distress as just another box on the adventure checklist, but right now it was so much more to him than that. He was going to rescue Elaine, and he was going to enjoy it.
He picked his fedora up from the ground where it had fallen nearby, placed it on his head where it belonged, and grinned at his guide. “Come on, Kabul,” he said. “Tired already? This is just our warm-up.”
***
The PT boat labored under the load of rafts trailing behind it, seven to be exact, as it moved around a long bend. The pirates, tired from loading them and also loaded themselves with a few too many congratulatory whiskies, lay comatose along the deck, snoring, drooling and belching.
In his dirty yet stylish jungle gear, not to mention the fact that he was sober, Baldassare presented quite a contrast as he strutted across the deck. He paused at the wheelhouse and spoke to the pilot. “When the river divides, make sure to keep to the left,” he commanded. “I’m going below to attend to some... business.”
The pilot gave him a lecherous grin and nodded assent.
Baldassare headed into his cabin where Elaine stood guarded by two pirates. Her face twisted in loathing when she saw him. “You murderer!” she snarled.
“I’m worse than that, Dr. McGregor,” he hinted. “But let’s not discuss me. I’d much rather you tell me where the temple sites are.”
“I can’t translate that right now,” she said coldly. “It’ll require months of study.”
He smiled in spite of himself. Such a pathetic, desperate lie. “Come now, Dr. McGregor.” He drew a razor sharp parang from his belt and deftly flicked away the top button of her blouse. “This is no time for modesty. I’m told you are the world’s foremost ancient language expert.”
Elaine pulled her blouse together, ignoring the guards at her sides. “There is no map,” she said. “There are no other temples. Dr. Jones was bluffing. Haven’t you heard that in archaeology ‘X’ never marks the spot?”
Well, that was possible, but if true, she would regret it. “Perhaps we should give you some time to think about things.” He looked at the two pirates. They smiled and drew their long knives.
Outside, a pirate snoozing on one of the rafts blinked himself awake when a shadow blocked out the tropical sun warming his belly. He looked up and barely had time to register the silhouette of Indiana Jones before a fist returned him to unconsciousness. Indy glanced around and headed for the next raft, staying crouched alongside the crates.
Unseen by him, another pirate had just stirred awake on one of the rear rafts and noticed Indy’s tiny steamer trailing along behind them. He picked up his machine gun and fired it into the air to alert the others.
Elaine and her captors looked up at the sound. Baldassare turned to the pirates. “Find out what’s going on!” They grunted and headed for the deck, holding out their knives.
The PT boat and its string of rafts were approaching a fork in the river. The pilot pulled the wheel to the left, unaware that Indy was creeping along the deck behind him. Suddenly the pirate with the machine gun opened fire, stitching the deck just behind Indy with bullets. He dove behind the bulkhead, wood splinters spraying his ankles, but bullets ripped through the wheelhouse. The pilot slumped over the wheel and the boat headed for the right channel.
In his cabin, Baldassare felt the boat lurch and drew his pistol, but Elaine conked him on the head and dashed out – into the hands of a large pirate with tattoos all over his body. She screamed.
Kabul slipped out of the water and over the side of the boat. Pirates were running about the deck now, groggy with sleep and drink but ready to kill. One was running to commandeer a heavy machine gun mounted on the bow. Kabul intercepted him, slicing his stomach open with a knife and grabbing the gun himself. He laid down cover fire for Indy, hitting several pirates including the one with his own machine gun. Indy saluted him and wasted no time dashing toward the rear to confront Elaine’s assailant.
He grabbed a knife from a fallen pirate and held it out in a warning stance. The pirate smirked, released Elaine and pulled out his machete with a cruel laugh of anticipation. His laughter caught in his throat and his smile faded. Then he dropped to the deck with a knife in his back. Kabul stood behind him.
Indy glanced at the other side of the boat where Kabul had been manning the machine gun. “How in the –?”
“Indy!” Kabul and Elaine yelled. A pirate was rushing toward him. He grabbed the attacker by his wrists, slammed a knee into his solar plexus, and flipped him over the side of the boat.
Baldassare moved along the deck, shouting orders, when something very wrong caught his eye. “No…” he whispered.
On the run from three pirates, Elaine scooped up the fallen handheld machine gun just as they cornered her against the wall. They jumped back as she pulled the trigger, but all that came out was a click.
It was jammed.
The pirates grinned and moved closer, arms outstretched. Elaine brandished the gun like a club, ready to bash their brains out. Then all at once their faces clouded over with terror and they turned tail and fled. She looked around and saw that all the pirates and Baldassare were retreating to the rear of the boat and down the string of rafts. “Indy, they’re running!” she called out.
“Yes!” Kabul said, running up to her. “They’ll think twice before they challenge us again!”
The remainder of the pirates reached the last raft and climbed into the little steamer. Baldassare cut the rope and looked back to see Indiana Jones himself watching them from the rear of the PT cruiser. He tossed the rope aside and grinned devilishly.
Indy smiled at his good fortune, but only for a second. Baldassare still held a gun; why hadn’t he just shot them? Something was wrong… he looked over the side of the boat. The water was moving swiftly. Too swiftly.
Elaine noticed his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Listen.”
They stopped and listened. A dull roar downstream grew louder by the moment. They looked at each other and both comprehended at the same time.
“The falls,” they said together.
Indy wheeled around the side of the engine house. Less than a hundred yards ahead of them he saw a veil of spray four stories high – the side effect of a waterfall half a mile wide and dropping a thousand feet to the chasm floor.
At the stern of the steamer, Baldassare waved and laughed. “Good-bye, Dr. Jones,” he said. “I would have liked the ant thing better, but hey, whatever works.” The steamer putt-putted away.
Indy ran to the stern of his new boat, shouting orders. “Kabul, bring it about!” he yelled.
Kabul leaped behind the wheel, distastefully shoved aside the dead pilot, and began turning the boat. The chain of rafts slowly turned with them, but the pull of the current was too great. The veil of mist loomed closer and the roar grew stronger. “There’s too much drag,” he yelled. “We’re being pulled over!”
The little steamer was still putting upstream when Baldassare suddenly noticed they were losing power. Their progress was slowing. The pirate steering the boat checked the gauge, flicked it, and frowned.
The last of the rafts was almost to the falls, its load of crates trembling and threatening to fly loose. The PT boat’s engines strained against the current, but they were losing. “It’s no use,” Elaine said. “Cut the rafts!”
“No! We can save them!” Indy said.
Kabul hesitated. He had never disobeyed Indy before, but he knew Elaine was right. There was no getting around the fact.
Elaine put her hand on Indy’s arm. “Indy, listen to me,” she said softly. She looked him in the eye. “Let them go.”
He held the look, and knew she meant it. His mind flashed back to eleven years ago, when he’d had the Holy Grail very nearly in his clutches – he could touch it! – but due to less-than-ideal circumstances his father had told him, in that exact tone of voice, “Let it go.” He had. He had given up the Holy Grail. Compared to that, these were worthless trinkets. With one swift motion he cut the line and watched the rafts disappear over the falls.
Kabul gunned the engines and the PT boat surged upstream with a noticeable increase in power. Just then the steamer passed them going in the opposite direction, caught in the pull of the current. The pirates on board were screaming their heads off and abandoning ship.
“I knew we should have gotten that gauge fixed,” Indy said.
Kabul nodded as the steamer followed the rafts over the falls. “What can I say, Dr. Jones? I’m a procrastinator.”
***
Indy stepped out of Baldassare’s cabin in a fresh change of clothes. He didn’t hold himself to particularly high standards while out in the jungle, but when it got to the point where he couldn’t stand his own stench he usually freshened up a bit. At least, that was how it usually was. He usually didn’t have someone with him to impress. But he did now, and he saw her standing at the stern of the boat, staring off into the trees.
He came over to stand next to her. He had no idea what she was thinking or what he should say, but he felt he ought to say something. All too well he understood what it was like to lose artifacts of unspeakable significance. “All your work…” he began.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said faintly.
“But three years of your life, all your studies…”
“Still worth it.” She looked up at him. “We may yet be able to salvage something,” she said. “And in any case, I’m found something much more valuable to me on this expedition.”
He smiled and pulled her close. I love you, he’d said earlier that day. Perhaps it wasn’t strictly true that he’d never said it before, now that he thought of it. At least he’d felt this way before more or less. With pangs of regret he remembered Vicky Prentiss… Molly Walder… Deirdre Campbell… Alicia Dunstin… Marion Ravenwood. Three of the five were dead, killed by his adventures. With the other two – things just hadn’t worked out. Oh yeah, and then there was Rita. He tried not to think about that one. Things really hadn’t worked out there.
But that was then and this was now. He was fifty years old and he needed to settle down and get on with his life before it was too late. For a moment he thought he glimpsed an eagle soaring across the sky over her head – and that was impossible, because eagles didn’t live in this part of the world, but it wouldn’t be the first time. That was the sign he needed. This time there were no nerves, and he knew exactly what he was going to say. “Dr. McGregor…”
“Yes, Dr. Jones?” she said, but he knew that she knew exactly what was coming.
“Will you marry me?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she gushed, and kissed him on the lips.
The sheer power of the kiss took him by surprise; then he surrendered to it, allowing it to send energy throughout his battered body. Thus empowered, he returned the favor, and they moved together into a world apart, a world of pure emotion where God’s only creations were one man and one woman, and their feelings for each other were all that would ever matter.
“I ought to tell you something,” she said when they came up for air. “Elaine is my middle name. My first name is Patricia.”
Indy groaned. “I guess I have to tell you, then, that Indiana is a nickname and my real name is –”
“Save it for our wedding night,” she said, and pulled him back in.
But he froze as a troublesome thought occurred to him, something he had honestly forgotten about. “What will Benny say?”
Elaine frowned, displeased at being brought out of their private world. “Benny is a charming, intelligent man,” she said. “He’ll think of something.”
A pang of guilt seared his heart, but then she kissed him again, and the Borneo rainforest faded into oblivion around them.
Next: Chapter Three
A bit of his earlier nerves returned as he cleared his throat and tried to tell her what he was thinking. “Elaine?” he began, but could go no further.
She moistened her lips breathlessly, uncertain of what to expect. “Yes?” she said.
He could chicken out and say something stupid, or he could push forward. He chose the latter option before he could give himself a chance to think; a strategy that had so far worked out on many adventures. “These six weeks have been the greatest of my life.”
She looked away for a moment, then met his gaze again. “Mine too,” she said softly.
What did she mean by that? What was she thinking? He could only guess, but the possibilities gave him the courage to finish. “Maybe you won’t believe me, when I tell you that I’ve never said this to anybody before,” he said, “but… I love you.”
For one awful, interminable moment, she stared. Then her face softened and she said, “I know.”
For another awful, interminable moment, he was at a loss for words.
Finally she swooned. “Oh, Indy,” she said. “I don’t care if you’ve said it to a million other women. I love you, too.”
“Very romantic, Dr. Jones,” a man’s voice said. “I do believe I’m getting something in my eye.” They both looked to see Frederick Baldassare moving up next to them. They were surprised for a moment to see that he was upside down. Then they remembered where they were.
They were a few miles outside the excavation site and a few dozen feet from the river, hanging with hemp rope by their ankles from a tree branch over a few humongous mounds of dirt. Bleached skeletons of jungle animals dotted the area. In the river the PT boat floated, followed by a string of rafts onto which Baldassare’s pirates were now loading the last of some crates.
“Leave her alone, Baldassare,” Indy snarled. “This is between you and me.”
“You are so right, Jones,” Baldassare said. He smiled at the inverted woman. “That’s why anything I can do to increase your suffering makes me that much happier. And after that oh-so-touching moment just now…” He shrugged and walked a few steps to the tree next to them, where Kabul was suspended. “With her next to you, I doubt you’ll even worry about your precious guide, here,” he continued, “but why leave any loose ends?”
“I thought you weren’t the bloodthirsty type,” Kabul said.
“Not usually. But I’m making an exception for my good friend Dr. Jones.” Baldassare snapped a low branch off of Kabul’s tree and struck one of the mounds with it. Several red ants the size of grasshoppers emerged. “Army ants, Dr. Jones. These little soldiers can strip an elephant to the bone in two hours. I suppose they’ll just consider you a snack.”
“May I remind you,” Indy said, “that I do know a thing or two about rainforest ecosystems?”
One of the pirates called out to Baldassare that they were finished loading the crates. “Excellent,” he said. “Now, I believe Dr. Jones and his friends would like to get down from there. Give them a hand, would you please?” So saying, he headed for the gangplank.
The pirate chortled and shimmied up the tree holding Indy and Elaine, and set to work starting a fire on the branch to which their ankles were tied. The branch was thick and would take a while to burn through, but the ropes would be done for within minutes.
Desperate, Indy saw only one option. “Congratulations, Baldy, you’re really on top of things,” he said. “Too bad it’s all going to be for nothing without us to translate the maps.”
Baldassare raised an eyebrow and signaled the pirate to stop. “Maps?”
Elaine blinked. “Maps?”
Indy shot her a conspiratorial look. It was brief, too brief for Baldassare to catch, but through the bond he and Elaine and developed over the past six weeks, it spoke volumes to her.
Her face flared. “Indy! I told you not to say anything about the maps!”
“What good is it going to do us if we’re both dead!?”
Baldassare watched them in bemusement. This was clearly a pathetic last-ditch ploy to save their skins. Or was it? Could he take that chance? “What maps?” he demanded, coming back to them.
“Don’t you dare tell him!” Elaine said.
“For the other Iban temples,” Indy said. “The maps are on the rafts. Cut us down and I’ll translate for you.”
“Indy! You promised!”
“A wonderful proposition, Dr. Jones,” said Baldassare, “but we know of Dr. McGregor’s linguistic talents. So why should I take you both, when she can provide us with two sources of enjoyment?” He turned to the pirate still squatting in the tree. “Cut her down,” he said.
The pirate set to work on the rope and grinned like a child in a candy store. Another pirate came over to catch her, the same look on his face. Two sources of enjoyment, Indy thought, and a chill ran down his spine. “If you bastards do anything to her,” he said, “I’ll... I’ll do something to you that I can’t even describe without making myself sick.”
“Getting sick is the least of your worries right now, Dr. Jones,” Baldassare said.
Indy watched helplessly as Elaine was carried over to the PT boat. To her credit, she did not scream. She would be brave to the end and that was merely one reason he loved her – but he was determined that the end would not come today. The pirate finished setting fire to the branch he was on and hurried over to repeat the process with Kabul’s. Small tongues of flame spread among the hastily set up pile of lint and kindling, already probing at the taut hemp.
Finished with his job, the pirate headed back for the boat. Baldassare started to follow, then paused to demolish an ant mound with his stick. A river of angry red insects came pouring out. “Au revoir, Dr. Jones,” he said, tipping his pith helmet. “I’m going to enjoy cruising down the river listening to your screams.” With a sardonic laugh he climbed the gangplank to where his pirates stood waiting for him. At a signal, they pushed Elaine below deck.
Looking back, she finally cried out, “Indy!”
The word stabbed Indy to the heart, but he forced himself to ignore her and the boat as it thrummed to life and pulled away. He couldn’t rescue her if he didn’t rescue himself first, and that would take focus, and it would have to be fast. The rope was getting singed.
“Nice try, Dr. Jones,” Kabul said with resignation. “At least there is hope for Dr. McGregor. And at least we will die together.”
“Don’t panic, Kabul,” Indy said. “I’ll think of something.” He always did. How many tight spots had he been in over the years, tighter than this even? Of course, sometimes it was an improbable last-second rescue that had saved him, he realized. Maybe that would happen again, but he couldn’t count on it, could he?
Kabul eyed the flames. “Please think quickly,” he said.
That was it; he had an idea. It was actually rather obvious; the question was whether or not he could pull it off. Clenching every muscle in his body, he yanked himself one way, then the other. With the lack of leverage he moved about an inch both ways, but building on that momentum he went slightly further the next time.
“Kabul, swing to me,” he called out. He only hoped that Kabul could do it. Hell, he hoped that he could do it. His progress was maddeningly slow, and already his muscles screamed for relief and sweat poured down his face into his eyes. But he would not stop. With muscles built over decades of adventuring, and the adrenaline of needing to save the woman he loved, he shut out the discomfort and focused only on going farther, farther…
Of course, the other issue was whether the ropes would hold. The flames were directly on them now.
Then behind his back he felt the breeze of Kabul’s fingertips brushing past his. The jungle guide had developed muscles enough to handle this as well. “Kabul, grab my hands,” Indy commanded. On the next pass, their fingers touched and scrabbled for a hold, but slipped through. Indy cursed to himself. The next time, they got a solid grip. “Now get my wrists,” Indy said. “Good, now hold on.”
“If you insist, Dr. Jones,” Kabul said. He eyed the ants, which had begun building themselves into a tower to reach the two men. “Dr. Jones, the ants are coming!”
Indy’s hands flew over Kabul’s knots. As a former Boy Scout, this was the easiest part. He had them undone in moments and Kabul started on his. Kabul wasn’t as good at it, but with the extra mobility afforded by his freed wrists he didn’t take much longer.
“Climb the rope!” Indy said. Moving their hands down, or rather up, each other’s backs, they climbed each other until they could reach where the ropes wrapped around their ankles. From there they were forced to let go, swinging back toward their original positions and away from the ant tower, and begin climbing hand over hand up to their respective branches. Indy’s rope snapped just as he came close enough to snag his. Still ignoring the soreness all over, he got a grip with his other hand and pulled himself up into the tree.
Kabul was not as fast, and his own rope burned through just a bit too soon. He lashed out for the branch but his reach fell short by millimeters. He fell with a yelp toward the angry ants.
And stopped an inch above them.
He looked up. Indiana Jones had leaped from his tree into this one and grabbed his hand. Kabul gratefully offered his other hand and allowed himself to be pulled up. The branch groaned but held. He glanced back at the ants, seeming to chitter with rage at their meal’s escape. They were gruesome up close; masses of pincers and antennae and pumping little legs. He shuddered. “Little demons.”
“Not so little,” Indy said between breaths. “But rumor has it in some circles that they grow even bigger in South America. I hope I never have to find out if that’s true.”
He looked at the ants, and at the river. He was tired, sweaty and sore all over. But he felt a vigor that had been missing for some time. He could have viewed rescuing the damsel in distress as just another box on the adventure checklist, but right now it was so much more to him than that. He was going to rescue Elaine, and he was going to enjoy it.
He picked his fedora up from the ground where it had fallen nearby, placed it on his head where it belonged, and grinned at his guide. “Come on, Kabul,” he said. “Tired already? This is just our warm-up.”
***
The PT boat labored under the load of rafts trailing behind it, seven to be exact, as it moved around a long bend. The pirates, tired from loading them and also loaded themselves with a few too many congratulatory whiskies, lay comatose along the deck, snoring, drooling and belching.
In his dirty yet stylish jungle gear, not to mention the fact that he was sober, Baldassare presented quite a contrast as he strutted across the deck. He paused at the wheelhouse and spoke to the pilot. “When the river divides, make sure to keep to the left,” he commanded. “I’m going below to attend to some... business.”
The pilot gave him a lecherous grin and nodded assent.
Baldassare headed into his cabin where Elaine stood guarded by two pirates. Her face twisted in loathing when she saw him. “You murderer!” she snarled.
“I’m worse than that, Dr. McGregor,” he hinted. “But let’s not discuss me. I’d much rather you tell me where the temple sites are.”
“I can’t translate that right now,” she said coldly. “It’ll require months of study.”
He smiled in spite of himself. Such a pathetic, desperate lie. “Come now, Dr. McGregor.” He drew a razor sharp parang from his belt and deftly flicked away the top button of her blouse. “This is no time for modesty. I’m told you are the world’s foremost ancient language expert.”
Elaine pulled her blouse together, ignoring the guards at her sides. “There is no map,” she said. “There are no other temples. Dr. Jones was bluffing. Haven’t you heard that in archaeology ‘X’ never marks the spot?”
Well, that was possible, but if true, she would regret it. “Perhaps we should give you some time to think about things.” He looked at the two pirates. They smiled and drew their long knives.
Outside, a pirate snoozing on one of the rafts blinked himself awake when a shadow blocked out the tropical sun warming his belly. He looked up and barely had time to register the silhouette of Indiana Jones before a fist returned him to unconsciousness. Indy glanced around and headed for the next raft, staying crouched alongside the crates.
Unseen by him, another pirate had just stirred awake on one of the rear rafts and noticed Indy’s tiny steamer trailing along behind them. He picked up his machine gun and fired it into the air to alert the others.
Elaine and her captors looked up at the sound. Baldassare turned to the pirates. “Find out what’s going on!” They grunted and headed for the deck, holding out their knives.
The PT boat and its string of rafts were approaching a fork in the river. The pilot pulled the wheel to the left, unaware that Indy was creeping along the deck behind him. Suddenly the pirate with the machine gun opened fire, stitching the deck just behind Indy with bullets. He dove behind the bulkhead, wood splinters spraying his ankles, but bullets ripped through the wheelhouse. The pilot slumped over the wheel and the boat headed for the right channel.
In his cabin, Baldassare felt the boat lurch and drew his pistol, but Elaine conked him on the head and dashed out – into the hands of a large pirate with tattoos all over his body. She screamed.
Kabul slipped out of the water and over the side of the boat. Pirates were running about the deck now, groggy with sleep and drink but ready to kill. One was running to commandeer a heavy machine gun mounted on the bow. Kabul intercepted him, slicing his stomach open with a knife and grabbing the gun himself. He laid down cover fire for Indy, hitting several pirates including the one with his own machine gun. Indy saluted him and wasted no time dashing toward the rear to confront Elaine’s assailant.
He grabbed a knife from a fallen pirate and held it out in a warning stance. The pirate smirked, released Elaine and pulled out his machete with a cruel laugh of anticipation. His laughter caught in his throat and his smile faded. Then he dropped to the deck with a knife in his back. Kabul stood behind him.
Indy glanced at the other side of the boat where Kabul had been manning the machine gun. “How in the –?”
“Indy!” Kabul and Elaine yelled. A pirate was rushing toward him. He grabbed the attacker by his wrists, slammed a knee into his solar plexus, and flipped him over the side of the boat.
Baldassare moved along the deck, shouting orders, when something very wrong caught his eye. “No…” he whispered.
On the run from three pirates, Elaine scooped up the fallen handheld machine gun just as they cornered her against the wall. They jumped back as she pulled the trigger, but all that came out was a click.
It was jammed.
The pirates grinned and moved closer, arms outstretched. Elaine brandished the gun like a club, ready to bash their brains out. Then all at once their faces clouded over with terror and they turned tail and fled. She looked around and saw that all the pirates and Baldassare were retreating to the rear of the boat and down the string of rafts. “Indy, they’re running!” she called out.
“Yes!” Kabul said, running up to her. “They’ll think twice before they challenge us again!”
The remainder of the pirates reached the last raft and climbed into the little steamer. Baldassare cut the rope and looked back to see Indiana Jones himself watching them from the rear of the PT cruiser. He tossed the rope aside and grinned devilishly.
Indy smiled at his good fortune, but only for a second. Baldassare still held a gun; why hadn’t he just shot them? Something was wrong… he looked over the side of the boat. The water was moving swiftly. Too swiftly.
Elaine noticed his face. “What’s wrong?”
“Listen.”
They stopped and listened. A dull roar downstream grew louder by the moment. They looked at each other and both comprehended at the same time.
“The falls,” they said together.
Indy wheeled around the side of the engine house. Less than a hundred yards ahead of them he saw a veil of spray four stories high – the side effect of a waterfall half a mile wide and dropping a thousand feet to the chasm floor.
At the stern of the steamer, Baldassare waved and laughed. “Good-bye, Dr. Jones,” he said. “I would have liked the ant thing better, but hey, whatever works.” The steamer putt-putted away.
Indy ran to the stern of his new boat, shouting orders. “Kabul, bring it about!” he yelled.
Kabul leaped behind the wheel, distastefully shoved aside the dead pilot, and began turning the boat. The chain of rafts slowly turned with them, but the pull of the current was too great. The veil of mist loomed closer and the roar grew stronger. “There’s too much drag,” he yelled. “We’re being pulled over!”
The little steamer was still putting upstream when Baldassare suddenly noticed they were losing power. Their progress was slowing. The pirate steering the boat checked the gauge, flicked it, and frowned.
The last of the rafts was almost to the falls, its load of crates trembling and threatening to fly loose. The PT boat’s engines strained against the current, but they were losing. “It’s no use,” Elaine said. “Cut the rafts!”
“No! We can save them!” Indy said.
Kabul hesitated. He had never disobeyed Indy before, but he knew Elaine was right. There was no getting around the fact.
Elaine put her hand on Indy’s arm. “Indy, listen to me,” she said softly. She looked him in the eye. “Let them go.”
He held the look, and knew she meant it. His mind flashed back to eleven years ago, when he’d had the Holy Grail very nearly in his clutches – he could touch it! – but due to less-than-ideal circumstances his father had told him, in that exact tone of voice, “Let it go.” He had. He had given up the Holy Grail. Compared to that, these were worthless trinkets. With one swift motion he cut the line and watched the rafts disappear over the falls.
Kabul gunned the engines and the PT boat surged upstream with a noticeable increase in power. Just then the steamer passed them going in the opposite direction, caught in the pull of the current. The pirates on board were screaming their heads off and abandoning ship.
“I knew we should have gotten that gauge fixed,” Indy said.
Kabul nodded as the steamer followed the rafts over the falls. “What can I say, Dr. Jones? I’m a procrastinator.”
***
Indy stepped out of Baldassare’s cabin in a fresh change of clothes. He didn’t hold himself to particularly high standards while out in the jungle, but when it got to the point where he couldn’t stand his own stench he usually freshened up a bit. At least, that was how it usually was. He usually didn’t have someone with him to impress. But he did now, and he saw her standing at the stern of the boat, staring off into the trees.
He came over to stand next to her. He had no idea what she was thinking or what he should say, but he felt he ought to say something. All too well he understood what it was like to lose artifacts of unspeakable significance. “All your work…” he began.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said faintly.
“But three years of your life, all your studies…”
“Still worth it.” She looked up at him. “We may yet be able to salvage something,” she said. “And in any case, I’m found something much more valuable to me on this expedition.”
He smiled and pulled her close. I love you, he’d said earlier that day. Perhaps it wasn’t strictly true that he’d never said it before, now that he thought of it. At least he’d felt this way before more or less. With pangs of regret he remembered Vicky Prentiss… Molly Walder… Deirdre Campbell… Alicia Dunstin… Marion Ravenwood. Three of the five were dead, killed by his adventures. With the other two – things just hadn’t worked out. Oh yeah, and then there was Rita. He tried not to think about that one. Things really hadn’t worked out there.
But that was then and this was now. He was fifty years old and he needed to settle down and get on with his life before it was too late. For a moment he thought he glimpsed an eagle soaring across the sky over her head – and that was impossible, because eagles didn’t live in this part of the world, but it wouldn’t be the first time. That was the sign he needed. This time there were no nerves, and he knew exactly what he was going to say. “Dr. McGregor…”
“Yes, Dr. Jones?” she said, but he knew that she knew exactly what was coming.
“Will you marry me?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” she gushed, and kissed him on the lips.
The sheer power of the kiss took him by surprise; then he surrendered to it, allowing it to send energy throughout his battered body. Thus empowered, he returned the favor, and they moved together into a world apart, a world of pure emotion where God’s only creations were one man and one woman, and their feelings for each other were all that would ever matter.
“I ought to tell you something,” she said when they came up for air. “Elaine is my middle name. My first name is Patricia.”
Indy groaned. “I guess I have to tell you, then, that Indiana is a nickname and my real name is –”
“Save it for our wedding night,” she said, and pulled him back in.
But he froze as a troublesome thought occurred to him, something he had honestly forgotten about. “What will Benny say?”
Elaine frowned, displeased at being brought out of their private world. “Benny is a charming, intelligent man,” she said. “He’ll think of something.”
A pang of guilt seared his heart, but then she kissed him again, and the Borneo rainforest faded into oblivion around them.
Next: Chapter Three
