Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs

FROM MONGOLIA'S DESOLATION ROAD TO A HIDDEN PREHISTORIC VALLEY, AN AMAZING DISCOVERY HATCHES INTO AN ADVENTURE OF DANGER, MYSTERY AND DEATH....

INDIANA JONES—The renowned archaeologist and adventurer has come face-to-face with the greatest wonders of the world. But nothing could prepare him for the stunning secret that awaited him in the heart of far Mongolia.

SISTER JOAN STARBUCK—The American missionary believes in the goodness of humankind. And in a long, harrowing journey full of violence and treachery, she may find it yet.

LAO CHE—This ruthless Chinese gangster made his fortune in opium and white slavery. Now he's sent one of his best and most lethal assassins after the only man who dares to cross him: Indiana Jones.

GENERAL TZI—The reigning warlord of Mongolia, he tracks his prey with a ferocious pack of wild dogs. His respect for Indiana Jones is so great that the barbarian chieftain has vowed to track down and kill the famed adventurer—and to eat the heart of his erstwhile foe.

TZEN KHAN—A descendant of the infamous Genghis Khan, this renegade Mongol bandit joins Indy in his flight from General Tzi. But is he as noble as he seems—or is he only waiting for the right moment to betray his newfound ally?

GRANGER—The big-game hunter is one of Indy's oldest and closest friends. Before this expedition is over the two will fight side-by-side in a desperate last stand against an army of enemies—and only a miracle can save them.

THE INDIANA JONES SERIES
Ask your bookseller for the books you have missed

Indiana Jones and the Peril at Delphi
Indiana Jones and the Dance of the Giants
Indiana Jones and the Seven Veils
Indiana Jones and the Genesis Deluge
Indiana Jones and the Unicorn's Legacy
Indiana Jones and the Interior World
Indiana Jones and the Sky Pirates
Indiana Jones and the White Witch
Indiana Jones and the Philosopher's Stone
Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs
Indiana Jones and the Hollow Earth
Indiana Jones and the Secret of the Sphinx

Mongolia, a land of mystery, of paradox and promise! ... The badlands were almost paved with white fossil bones and all represented animals unknown to us. Granger picked up a few bits of fossil eggshell which he thought were from long-extinct birds. No one suspected, then, that these were the first dinosaur eggs to be discovered by modern man....

—Roy Chapman Andrews

Prologue
Castle of the Damned

Forteresse Malevil
Marseilles, France
October 1933

The meaty fist hit Indiana Jones like a sledgehammer splitting his upper lip against his front teeth and sending a kaleidoscope of colors dancing behind his eyes. If Indy had ever been hit harder, he could not remember it.

His head lolled back against the chest of the French giant who held his arms pinned to his sides. The world grew dim and Indy was afraid he would black out. Then the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth and anger brought him back.

Indy managed a bloody, lopsided grin.

"Who taught you to punch?" he asked. "Your grandmother?"

His attacker—a twin to the giant who held Indy's arms—did not speak English, but he understood the insulting tone in which the comment was delivered. He hit Indy again, only harder, and this time in the stomach.

"Schoolboy taunts, Dr. Jones? I would have expected something more substantial from a man of your reputation. And I have waited such a long time to meet you."

Rene Belloq's lilting voice echoed from the walls of the dank cavern. The French archaeologist was sitting on an upright yellow drum, his legs crossed, his trademark white hat pulled low over his eyes. On a cluttered desk behind him, beneath a bare bulb hanging from a frayed wire that descended from the ceiling, was a half-consumed bottle of the local white wine and an abandoned plate of cheese. Stacked around the desk were packing crates of every size and description, stenciled on their sides with ports of call from around the world.

In Belloq's lap was Indy's wallet, and he studied it as he might an artifact that had been plucked from the sands of time. Indy's bullwhip, revolver, and fedora lay at Belloq's feet.

"I had hoped for a more amiable meeting," Belloq said. "I apologize for the rough treatment you have received at the hands of the Daguerre brothers, but I did not know who you were and in my line of work I cannot afford to take chances. I have followed your career with some interest in the
Herald-Tribune,
especially your exploits in Central and South America. I had even dreamed of the day when we might work together, but alas, it is not meant to be."

"Good," Indy spat.

"I'm afraid not, Dr. Jones," Belloq said. "Tell me, what are you doing here? I imagine your Titian-haired girlfriend thought you quite clever as you both followed me from shop to shop along the Canebiere and then here, to Forteresse Malevil, this evening. Why have you dogged me so intently, Dr. Jones?"

"Business," Indy wheezed.

Belloq laughed.

"It is most certainly not pleasure," he said. Belloq hummed a few bars of the "Marsellaise" as he picked up Indy's revolver and shook out the cartridges into the palm of his hand. He put the shells in the breast pocket of his white jacket, along with Indy's wallet, then closed the revolver.

"This is my neighborhood, Dr. Jones, and all of Provence is my domain. A hundred pairs of eyes followed your amateurish attempt at surveillance—ah, what a marvelous French word!—and a hundred lips reported your movements back to me. What were you hoping to steal from me?"

Belloq spoke to the thugs in French, and they stepped away. Indy slumped to his knees, but managed to catch himself before he fell onto the flagstones.

Belloq offered the Webley.

Indy cautiously took the revolver and returned it to its holster. Belloq then picked up the bullwhip and began inspecting it, just as he had done with Indy's wallet.

"Curious that you would carry such an arcane weapon," Belloq said. "But it is somehow fitting, considering the American affinity for artless and brutal things."

"It's not a weapon," Indy said. "It's a
tool.
It comes in handy."

"I imagine it does, Dr. Jones. Just as I find the Daguerre twins occasionally handy. This business of yours," Belloq urged. "Tell me more."

"It's a long story."

"Time is short," Belloq said. "You have stumbled into my lair at a crucial moment, the spring tide of the full moon. Speak quickly, because my guests will be arriving shortly."

Indy drew himself up to a sitting position. Through swollen eyes, he examined the canister upon which Belloq sat. It was marked with a skull-and-crossbones warning, and a German legend that identified it as nerve gas of the type that had been used during the world war.

A few yards from where Belloq sat, the flagstones ended. The single bulb hanging over the desk did little to reach into the vast darkness beyond, but Indy could hear the sound of waves lapping against the stones.

"I came here to make a deal," Indy said, and rubbed his jaw. "Reliable sources said that a certain artifact—a fully articulated crystal skull, period unknown—was for sale on the black market here. And the black market in antiquities means you, Belloq. Everybody knows that."

"So it seems," Belloq said, and gave a little salute.

"I'm here for the skull, Belloq. The museum will pay your price, no questions asked."

"You should have held on to the skull when you had it, my friend," Belloq said. "I understand from my Italian contact, a charming
fascista,
that you once had the skull in your possession—briefly."

"Name your price."

"You are hardly in a position to bargain, Dr. Jones. Besides, I doubt if your museum would be willing to pay the equivalent of two million American dollars for it."

"Nobody has that kind of money."

"Some do, I'm afraid. I have a rather important buyer."

"No museum in the world would pay even half that."

"Show some imagination, my friend," Belloq said. "The skull has appeal far beyond that of a mere museum piece."

"You're bluffing."

"There is no advantage for me in bluffing," Belloq said sadly. "No amount of money is worth double-crossing the kind of people I'm dealing with. Alas, that is the disadvantage of the black market—if I ran a legitimate operation, I could steal all I wanted with a briefcase and there would be no need for the likes of business associates such as Claude and Jean Daguerre."

Hearing the mention of their names, the brothers grinned.

"Look," Indy said. "Maybe we could work something out—"

"You are too late." Belloq looked at his watch. "The skull is no longer for sale. The exchange will be completed in minutes. But do not despair, Dr. Jones. Time has a way of undoing the best-laid plans, and in the end we really are only stewards of the things we possess. Things become lost, buried, forgotten, and fall into yet other hands."

"What do you mean?"

"Take this cavern, for instance, and the fortress above it. In medieval times it belonged to my family. My ancestral home. But it was taken from us when we backed the wrong side of the throne—we are Templars, you see, and some say that the soul of Jesus Christ lives in us. Alas, others have taken particular exception to that notion. Forteresse Malevil was occupied by a succession of ignoble squatters, fell into disrepair during the revolution, and now is again the center of a family business, even if that business is underground in more than one sense. In the same fashion, Dr. Jones, perhaps the skull will return to you—or to your descendants."