The Adventures Of Indiana Jones (66 page)

“Go get ’em, Junior,” Henry yelled.

Suddenly, Indy literally saw red. He seethed, his anger spurted through him like a shot of adrenaline, and he slammed his fist into the jaw of the nearest soldier. The man fell back into another soldier, and they both tumbled off the tank. Indy kicked at the next one, who fell onto the tank’s tread and took one more with him. The two rolled forward, hit the ground, and were instantly crushed by the tread.

Indy, still infuriated, looked at the hatch. “Don’t ever call me Junior again!”

No sooner had he spoken the words than Vogel swung a length of chain and snapped it twice around Indy’s shoulders. A white hot pain burned through him; he crumpled to his knees, grimacing in agony. Still, he managed to keep his wits about him. He saw the Luger the first soldier left behind and kicked it toward the hatch. It was a shot that would have pleased a soccer champion. The gun skittered across the tank and fell right into Henry’s lap.

Indy rose to his feet and faced Vogel and the one remaining soldier. The chain was still wrapped around his shoulders but he could move his arms, and neither of his opponents was armed. He smiled gamely at Vogel. After overcoming all the others, he was confident he could handle these two.

But Vogel smiled back, and then Indy saw the reason for his cockiness. A second troop carrier was about to pull alongside the tank with a host of reinforcements. More men than he could handle. Hell, more men than a half dozen of him could fight.

When the gun fell into his lap, Henry grabbed it by the barrel, just in time. Brody yelled for him to watch out. He heard a thud as his friend was knocked to the floor. The guard wrapped his arms around Henry’s waist and pulled him down from the hatch.

“Let go of me,” he yelled.

When he didn’t, Henry acted decisively. “Fair warning, fellow.”

He clubbed him over the head with the butt of the gun, and the guard dropped to the floor next to Brody. Henry climbed to the top of the hatch, and was about to join Indy when he saw the troop carrier. There was no way they could overcome that horde of Nazis. They needed help, and lots of it.

He ducked back inside and ran over to the port turret just as the guard stumbled to his feet. Henry aimed the cannon at the troop-laden truck and fumbled for the trigger. Just as he found it, the guard jerked his arm away and dragged him away from the turret.

Brody crawled over on his hands and knees, and the guard tripped over him. Henry slipped out of his grasp and lunged toward the turret. He quickly aimed at the troop carrier, and squeezed off a round.

Beginner’s luck was with him: he scored a direct hit on the gas tank, and the carrier exploded, spewing soldiers and debris through the scorched air.

The blast blew Indy, Vogel, and the last soldier off the top of the tank. The soldier fell to the ground, but Indy and Vogel landed on the moving tread. Both were shuttled quickly forward and were inches from being crushed under the tank when they rolled onto the cannon mounting.

Vogel’s feet slammed into Indy, forcing him off the narrow ledge of metal and back onto the tread. Indy latched a hand onto the cannon, then wrapped his other arm around it. His feet dangled over the edge of the tread as he fought to keep from falling.

Vogel, meanwhile, crawled forward, and kicked at Indy’s hands.

Inside the tank the guard picked Brody up and hurled him viciously against the bulkhead, smashing his head into it. He slumped to the floor, lingering on the edge of consciousness, fighting the blackness that crept up on him like a nightmare. Vaguely he was aware that the guard was aiming his Luger at him. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see any more. He waited for the explosion, and death.

Henry jumped the guard, knocking his arm aside. The weapon fired, and the bullet ricocheted several times. Suddenly the tank veered out of control as the driver pitched forward into the gears, struck dead by the bullet.

Henry fought. He gasped for breath. The guard’s powerful arm was wrapped around his neck, and he was squeezing. Both of Henry’s hands gripped the guard’s other arm, keeping the gun from turning toward him. Desperately he tried to stay conscious. If he passed out, he was dead.

Brody was jarred awake as the tank bounced over a large rock. He felt as if he had been raised from the dead. His body ached fiercely in a dozen places, and his head throbbed as though a spear were piercing it. But he pushed himself to his feet despite the pain and saw Henry struggling with the guard. Brody kicked the guard’s hand, and the gun skidded across the floor.

The tank bounded over another rock, and Brody fell to the floor. “Who’s driving this thing, anyhow?” he muttered.

Henry reached into his pocket the moment Brody kicked the gun away. His fingers were inside the pocket, moving, searching, groping for a fountain pen. His other arm clung to the guard, who was now trying to get away and retrieve the Luger. He pulled out the fountain pen and stabbed the guard again and again, but the man didn’t seem to feel it. He finally managed to get the top off, raised his arm, and squeezed. A burst of ink shot into the guard’s eyes.

The man bellowed, staggered back, clawing at his eyes. Henry gulped for air, filling his lungs, then smashed his fist into the stunned guard’s face. The man’s head jerked back and cracked against the bulkhead. He pitched forward and was out cold.

“The pen
is
mightier than the sword,” Henry crowed, and helped Brody to his feet. This nonsense was a damn long way from the study of ancient languages and antiquities. But now the adrenaline was pumping through him.

They climbed through the hatch and onto the top of the tank. Neither Indy nor the soldiers were in sight. Then Henry peered over the side of the tank. Vogel and his son were locked in a deadly embrace on the cannon mount, and both were now fettered by Vogel’s chain.

And Indy’s head was only inches above the tread.

Henry carefully lowered himself over the side of the tank, determined to help his son in a way he had never dreamed possible. He would make up for his shortcomings as a father, all right. And when this was over, he would stand in front of Indy and spell out those shortcomings, just as he should have done years ago.

I’m a stiff ole coot whose stubborn ways never did him any good.
That’s what he’d tell him, he thought. It was time at long last to admit to it.

Sallah had galloped away from the tank after he had nearly been killed by the parts of the demolished car. A horse was no challenge to a tank, he had told himself over and over. But where was Indy? The tank and Indy had disappeared. Sallah backtracked and found the narrow canyon but was baffled when he came to the landslide. Fearing that Indy had been trapped in the rubble, he searched the rocks.

Finally, certain that Indy wasn’t in the rubble, he had backtracked again and spotted the tank in the distance. As he neared it, he knew something was wrong. The tank was speeding directly for a gorge less than two hundred yards away, and he didn’t see Indy. He spurred his horse and tore toward the tank. As he galloped alongside it, he spotted Brody clinging to the top.
“Jump!”
he shouted.
“Jump, man!”

Brody heard Sallah yelling. He snapped his head around and saw the gorge for the first time. He slid down to the cannon mounting on the side where Sallah was galloping.

“Jump, I said!” Sallah roared.

He figured he was going to die, but leapt anyhow. He grabbed Sallah’s neck as he landed half on the horse, half off. Sallah reached back, pulled his ankle over the horse.

“Hang on, Marcus.”

“The other side,” Brody yelled. “They’re on the other side.”

Indy and Vogel were still tangled in the chain, at an impasse. If one threw the other from the tank, they would both go over the side.

Then Indy saw the gorge barely a hundred yards away.
Who the hell is driving the tank?

He fought to rip the chain from around his chest just as Vogel, who had also seen the cliff, tried to jump. But to Indy’s surprise, his father appeared from nowhere and grabbed Vogel by the leg.

Vogel spun and jerked his leg away, then kicked Henry in the face, knocking him onto the tank’s tread. Indy saw his father rolling toward the front of the tank and reacted instantly. He unhitched his whip and snapped it toward his father. The whip coiled neatly around Henry’s ankle just as he was about to roll over the front of the tank.

Indy reeled in the whip with every bit of strength he had left, and Henry bounced back along the tread, a huge fish hooked on the end of a line.

Sallah drew his horse up next to the tread. “Indy, hurry. Get off the tank.”

Indy glanced over at him. “Here. Give me a hand.” He passed him the whip.

Sallah snatched it, reined back on the horse, leaned away from the tank.

Henry tumbled off the tread and rolled in the dirt. Sallah was about to dismount to help him, when he looked up to see Indy and Vogel racing to the rear of the tank. They were tangled in a chain, and both leapt at the same time. They would have made it, too. But one end of the chain hooked on the superstructure of the tank and both men were dragged toward the cliff.

“Oh, no. Indy,” Sallah shouted.

In a final act of desperation, Indy struggled to slip out of the chain as he was dragged across the ground. But now the chain was caught on his leg. He ripped open his pants, and pushed them down over his hips and then his knees. He was like a stage magician performing a sensational death-defying escape trick. But it wasn’t a trick, at least not one
he
had ever performed.

Next to him Vogel screamed in despair as he fought the chain.

Indy’s pants were almost off when the tank hit the edge of the cliff and plummeted over the side, plunging toward the deep gorge.

In the distance Elsa saw a plume of black smoke rising from the gorge. She lowered the binoculars and ordered the driver to start the engine of her sedan.

“The tank is finished,” she said to Donovan. “All of them are finished.”

“What about Vogel?”

“What about him, Herr Donovan?” Her voice was terse and utterly cold. She had shed her emotional concerns, stripped herself of them. The point was the Grail. She couldn’t expect Indy to be alive, and what if he was? What would it change?

Nothing.

Donovan nodded and joined Elsa in the car. “I guess it’s destined that you and I would find the Grail Cup together.”

Elsa remained silent, staring ahead, watching the heat ripple across the desert floor.
Dead. Indy’s dead. Nothing matters but the Grail.

“Make sure the supply truck and the others are ready,” she said at last. “We’ve got work to do.”

Henry stared down at the flaming wreckage of the tank, fighting a wave of emotion that threatened to drown him. He was cut, bruised, battered. But that didn’t matter. He had lost his only son, lost him before he had ever had a chance to put things right, to make up for the years of misunderstandings.

“I have to go after him,” Sallah said. “He’s my friend.” He started to charge toward the cliff, but Brody grabbed his arm, restraining him.

“It’s no use, Sallah.”

The big man pulled himself away from Brody, then sank to his knees and buried his face in his hands. Henry looked from Sallah to Brody, not knowing what to say, barely able to place his own grief in any sort of perspective, much less anyone else’s.

Brody tried to comfort him. He slipped an arm around Henry’s shoulder, offering his condolences. Henry’s eyes burned with tears. Dust swelled around them. The hot sun beat down.

I never even hugged him, Henry thought miserably. I never told him I loved him.

Dazed and bewildered, Indy staggered from behind a cluster of rocks. He was carrying his pants, which had been slit from the waist to the ankles. Remnants of the pants were gathered around his boots.

He joined the others and gazed over the cliff at the wreckage. One by one they became aware of his presence. First Brody, then Sallah, then Henry.

Indy shook his head and whistled softly. “Now
that
was close.”

“
Junior!
” Henry shouted, and threw his arms around Indy, hugging him hard. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said over and over again and babbled on about love.

It took a moment for Indy’s head to clear enough for him to realize his father was embracing him, telling him he loved him. It was something he hadn’t heard in a long time. In fact, he couldn’t recall ever hearing it, or his father ever embracing him.

He hugged him back, hugged fiercely, a young boy swept up in a blind love for his father. “I thought I’d lost you, too,” he whispered.

Brody was moved by the sudden reconciliation, but Sallah was obviously confused.

“Junior? You are Junior?”

Indy made a face. He was in no mood to talk about
that
topic. He stepped back and did his best to improvise a way of putting on his pants.

Henry answered Sallah’s question. “That’s his name. Henry Jones, Jr.”

“I like Indiana,” Indy said resolutely.

“We named the
dog
Indiana!” Henry countered. “We named
you
Henry, Jr. ”

Brody smiled, and Sallah laughed.

“The dog?” Sallah exclaimed.

Even Indy couldn’t resist a grin. “I got a lot of fond memories about that dog.”

Sallah laughed even louder and slapped Indy on the back, causing his pants to drop around his ankles.

T
HE MIDAFTERNOON
sun was scorching the barren rocks around them. Elsa closed her eyes a moment, calming the anger she felt. She was doing her best to ignore the heat, but Donovan was another matter. She had dealt with her share of arrogant, overbearing men who preferred treating her like a piece of jewelry instead of a scientist, but Donovan was the worst. Even the Führer, for all his eccentricities, at least recognized her intellectual capabilities.

“It should be right here,” Elsa said, pointing at the wall of rock in front of her.

“Nothing’s there,” Donovan replied in a flat, condescending tone.

“I’ve checked and rechecked the landmarks, Walter,” she said evenly. “If the map is accurate, the hidden canyon is directly behind that wall. And that is where we’ll find it.”