Indiana Jones and the Hollow Earth

by Max McCoy

  "But, sir," the clerk stammered. "It is Mardi Gras, and—"

  "But I'm sure that you have connections," Indy said. "What would you like to be?" he asked Ulla. "No, wait. Allow me to choose. Something Shakespearean for the lady. Not a lady-in-waiting, mind you, but a queen. No, wait, that's it—a Danish queen. Are you familiar with Hamlet? Good."

  "Please," Ulla said. "I would rather be anyone but Gertrude. Ophelia, perhaps."

  "So be it," Indy said.

  "And will you be Hamlet, sir?" the clerk asked.

  "No," Indy said. The clerk winced. "I've never been that indecisive. I rather fancy myself as the hero type. Fortinbras, don't you think?"

  "Of course," the clerk said.

  "I'm not done," Indy said.

  The clerk groaned.

  "I suppose the banks are closed?"

  "They are now, sir."

  "Call a banker you trust," Indy said. "At home, if you have to. Tell him I would like to exchange these ingots as quickly and quietly as possible. There's a law now against private ownership of gold, you know. Tell him that I will pay a premium for prompt service."

  "Yes, sir. I know a Mr. James who might be willing to help you."

  "Good," Indy said. "And one last thing."

  "Oh my God." The clerk shuddered.

  "Relax," Indy told him. "This is an easy one. I would like reservations for seven o'clock tonight on the balcony of the restaurant upstairs. I want a table that is rather secluded, but which has a good view of the street. And make the reservations for three persons."

  "Three?" Ulla asked.

  "Trust me," Indy said as he signed the register. Then he looked up at the clerk. "What's your name?"

  "Edwards," the clerk said.

  "Nicely done, Edwards," Indy said. "By the way, I am holding you personally responsible for the safekeeping of this merchandise until it can be exchanged. If you do it well, I will offer a good word to Mr. Dubois on your behalf. Understood?"

  "I'm afraid so," Edwards said nervously.

  The wine steward opened a bottle of Bordeaux and poured a little of it along with fragments of the cork into Indy's glass. Indy sniffed the wine, took a little sip, then nodded. The steward then took the glass, discarded the contents, and poured both Ulla and Indy nearly full glasses.

  "May I compliment you both on an excellent choice of costumes," the steward said as he backed away, looking at Ulla's multicolored gown and braided hair. "Especially the lady. Very nice."

  Indy smiled, then held up his glass.

  "A toast," he told Ulla. "To a long and healthy friendship. May we never again find ourselves lost in the dark."

  "Just in the dark," Ulla added.

  They both drank.

  "Mm," Ulla said, wiping her lips with her napkin. "I had been in the wilderness so long I had almost forgotten what benefits civilization offers."

  "They are many." Indy sighed. "He is right about that dress, you know. You look as if you were born for it."

  "Really?" Ulla asked. "It makes me feel somewhat naked. But your costume is rather dashing. Perhaps I should have been Hamlet."

  "The sword is rather a bother, isn't it?"

  "I wouldn't know," Ulla said. "And, it's a rapier."

  "Well, I prefer my whip."

  "It looks rather authentic, if that is any consolation," Ulla said. "I suppose that's to be expected, considering the number of fencing schools in New Orleans."

  "Really?" Indy asked.

  "Yes," she said. "It is really the only place in the New World that one can learn the ancient art with any proficiency. Probably because of all those silly antebellum duels they fought."

  "I hope nobody challenges me tonight," Indy said.

  "Don't worry." Ulla smiled. "I would be your second."

  Indy laughed.

  "You are quite a different person when you are relaxed," Ulla observed.

  "Aren't we all?"

  "You know, I really haven't known what to make of you," she continued. "And I still don't. You seemed so unsavory when we first met, with all of these wild stories and schemes, and yet now you seem as reliable as the rising of the sun. Tell me, did you get what you hoped for from the exchange this afternoon?"

  "I got what I could have expected," Indy said. "Because of the historical value of the pieces, I received rather more than I would have strictly by weight. But then, I was technically a criminal, keeping so much gold in my possession. Properly, it should have been reported to the government."

  "And it hasn't been?"

  "No," Indy said. "At least, that's now the problem of the Pelican Bank of New Orleans. Which, to them, is likely not a problem at all."

  "Good." Ulla nodded. "The government probably would have just used their share to buy guns and bombs."

  "Or to feed people," Indy said. "You know, if it wasn't for the relief and some of the other programs, people would be in far worse shape than they are. That is what gives me hope in humanity, you know—given the choice, I think, most people would prefer to be charitable."

  "Ah, but there's the rub," Ulla said. "Many people don't have the choice."

  "Are you one of the lucky few that have the choice?" Indy asked.

  "Are you asking if I am rich?"

  "Well, you don't seem to have what we Americans call any visible means of support," Indy said.

  "I appreciate your gift of the clothes today," she said. "But I could have paid for them myself. My family is one of the richest in Denmark. My father is a shipbuilder."

  "Longboats?" Indy asked.

  "A long time ago our family did make wooden ships," Ulla said. "Although longboats were a rarity. Now we make these wonderfully modern cargo ships of steel, driven by oil-fired engines."

  "No more wooden boats?"

  "Every so often," Ulla said, "we will make a wooden boat in the old style, for the bear hunters in the Arctic Circle. Wood is very forgiving, and will remain tight when a steel ship would be crushed like a sardine can in the floes."

  "Ugh." Indy winced. "Sounds painful."

  At that moment the waiter arrived and asked if they would care to order.

  "Not yet," Indy said. "We are still waiting for our guest."

  "Indy," Ulla whispered. "I'm famished. That sandwich we had earlier in the room did not stay with me, I'm afraid."

  "Just a few more minutes," Indy said.

  The waiter bowed and went away.

  "Who are we waiting for?" Ulla asked. "You're being so mysterious about all of this."

  "The reason I came to New Orleans," Indy said, then looked at his watch. "He is making us wait, as usual."

  "How does he even know that we are here?"

  "He knows," Indy said. "New Orleans is one of his adopted cities, and he has eyes and ears everywhere. Besides, he knows that I always stay at the St. Charles, and our conspicuous table with its unoccupied third seat is an unmistakable invitation for him."

  "Well, I will have some more wine in that case." Ulla reached for the bottle. "Would you care for some?"

  "No, thanks," Indy said. "I have some left."

  On the street below, the carnival was in full swing, with a seemingly endless procession of marching bands and floats streaming by. The krewes—the fraternal organizations that built and paraded the floats—threw trinkets to the crowd, and occasionally some of the cheap jewelry landed on the balcony.

  Indy picked up one of the necklaces that landed near the table, and Ulla allowed him to loop the cheap string of beads around her neck.

  "Thank you," she said. "I will keep it to remind me of our friendship."

  "As something cheap and disposable?" Indy teased.

  "No! As something unexpected and remarkable," she said. "Not everything that is precious starts out as gold, Dr. Jones, but is made so by the warmth of our hearts."

  "You're a poet as well an adventuress," Indy said.

  "All people have poetry in them," she said, "whether they can express it or not. Even you, Dr. Jones, can wax poetic when tal
king of certain things—like beasts that must be tamed in order to save redheaded sirens from certain death."

  A particularly large float, shaped like a pirate ship, glided by on the street below. As decks of cannon spewed fireworks and smoke it suddenly veered toward the side of the street where the St. Charles stood. The crowd parted with some jeers and curses, but the helmsman good-naturedly pantomimed fighting the wheel. The rigging of the float was so tall that Indy found himself looking at the end of a yardarm, from which billowed a sail emblazoned with the skull and crossbones.

  Suddenly a pirate swung from the end of a rope onto the balcony, then turned and gave the helmsman a salute. The ship lurched away, inching back toward the center of the street.

  The pirate stood for a moment with his hands on his hips, regarding Indy and Ulla. He was a small man, dressed in black, and a mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. Then he swept off his plumed hat and bowed low. When he came up he tossed the hat on the floor, settled into the empty chair, and began taking off his gloves.

  "Easter comes early this year, nest pas?" he asked.

  "Really?" Indy asked. "From your entrance I would have thought it was Halloween. Ulla, I would like to introduce you to Rene Belloq."

  "Au contraire," Belloq said. "I am Jean Lafitte, at least for tonight. Lafitte was the black sheep of my family who saved New Orleans for Americans. A terrible mistake."

  "It's hard to believe your family could have a black sheep, Rene," Indy said. "They are all black sheep, aren't they?"

  "Lucky for you I have a sense of humor," Belloq said. "So stop your weak attempts at wisecracking and properly introduce me to your charming companion."

  Belloq took Ulla's hand and kissed it.

  "Miss Ulla Tornaes of Copenhagen, may I introduce you to Monsieur Belloq of Marseilles," Indy said. "Remember, I warned you about him earlier."

  "This is the monster you spoke of?" Ulla asked.

  "Ah, but a gentle monster when the occasion calls," Belloq said. "Beauty tames the beast."

  "I thought beauty killed the beast," Indy quipped.

  "Only in American movies," Belloq said. Then he picked up the wine bottle and regarded it with disdain.

  "I'm disappointed in you, Jones," he said. "I would have expected a little more imagination from you. After all, style is the sauce of life."

  "Do you have what I require?" Indy asked impatiently.

  "Not so fast, Jones," Belloq warned. "We are civilized people here. We must eat first. That is what you intended, no?"

  "Yes," Ulla said. "Let's eat."

  Belloq snapped his hands and summoned the waiter, who offered a menu.

  "No, no," Belloq said. "I know what we want. Allow me. We will start with scampi and gumbo, and then go on to cuisses de grenouille. For the main course, let's try the blackened brisket. And for dessert we will have pecan pie and coffee."

  Indy made a face.

  "What's wrong, Jones? You do eat pecan pie, don't you?"

  "It was the frog legs I was thinking of."

  "Ah, but we must taste the local flavor," Belloq said. "Have you ever had gumbo, my dear? It is fabulous. When in New Orleans it would be a mortal sin to waste the cuisine. And waiter—bring me an absinthe, please. And the real thing, from Paris, not what you give to the tourists. Jones, will you join me?"

  "No thanks," Indy said. "That stuff will rot your brain."

  The waiter left.

  "How have you been, my old friend?" Belloq asked.

  "I'm not your friend," Indy said.

  "Jones simply has a hard time acknowledging our mutual admiration," he said. "We are quite similar, really. We just work in somewhat different ways."

  The absinthe arrived and Belloq swirled the potent green liquid around in the short glass. Even from where Indy sat, he could smell the strong licorice aroma.

  "I have knowledge of your Miss Dunstin," Belloq said.

  "I hope it's not biblical," Indy said with a snarl.

  "Oh, no," he said happily. "She's definitely not my type. But this one, at your side tonight—well, I might be inclined to fight you a duel for her hand."

  "She's yours," Indy said. "Tell me what you know."

  "Dr. Jones!" Ulla said.

  "I'm sorry. What I meant to say is that Ulla and I are just good friends, but you had better treat her with respect or I'll give you the horsewhipping of your life. Now tell me about Alecia."

  "She's with the Nazis."

  "I don't believe it."

  "Oh, it's true," Belloq said. "I don't have the details, of course—I assure you that I am not involved—but it seems that she has agreed to help them on some wild quest in the Arctic if only they would spare your life."

  "You're lying."

  "I don't lie," Belloq said. "At least not when the truth is more profitable."

  "Do the Nazis think Alecia can help them find Ultima Thule?"

  "Yes, that's the place," Belloq said. "I couldn't quite remember their peculiar name for it. At any rate, Alecia is quite psychic, is she not? The Nazis are working on some crazy thing called distant viewing—an attempt to map unknown terrain through the use of telepathy. Ah, here comes the first course of our meal. Bon appetit."

  An hour later, when the dishes had been cleared away, Belloq scooted his chair back and lit a cigarette.

  "Well, my dear?" he asked. "What did you think?"

  "It was wonderful." Ulla smiled. "The gumbo, however, was visually challenging. All those shells and things."

  Belloq laughed, then took a sip of his coffee.

  "Now can we get on with it?" Indy asked.

  "Of course," Belloq said. "You've been more than patient. Do you have the money?"

  Indy handed over a paper sack containing five wrapped bundles, each containing twenty one-hundred-dollar bills. He piled them on the table in front of Belloq.

  "You don't have to count it," Indy said. "It's all there."

  "Indulge me." Belloq picked up one bundle after another and thumbed through the stacks. "If it were me, I would be tempted to pack the interior with paper cut to size."

  When Belloq was satisfied that he indeed held ten thousand dollars in cash, he reached inside the sash of his pirate costume and produced a folded sheet of teletype paper. He handed the paper to Ulla, who gave it to Indy.

  Indy took a breath, then unfolded it.

  The paper contained three pieces of information: 14.350 58N32'10" 5W07'14".

  "What is this?" Indy asked.

  "The information you desire," Belloq said. "Those last set of numbers are coordinates in the North Sea. It's the last known position of that little yellow canister that you seek. But it is the first set of numbers that are the key."

  "Fourteen point three fifty?" Indy asked. "It doesn't make any sense to me."

  "We five in a marvelous age," Belloq said. "All of these technical marvels at our fingertips. Do you remember when I packed the skull into the canister before handing it over to the Nazis on board the submarine at Marseilles? Well, I included a little something that would help locate the skull if something unfortunate happened to the U-357."

  "A radio transmitter," Indy said.

  "Yes," Belloq said. "But one that would be activated only in the event the canister came into contact with water. That number is the frequency upon which the radio transmits a pulse, every thirty seconds. But your time, I fear, is running out."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Batteries last only so long," Belloq said. "The signal has grown weak, it comes and goes. In a few short days there may be no signal at all. And, the Germans have the frequency—they are looking for it as well, I fear."

  Indy pounded his fist on the table.

  "I was expecting something a little more substantial," Indy said through clenched teeth. "Someplace where I could go and snatch the bloody thing and be done with it. Now I have to search all across the North Sea while keeping the Nazis off my back?"

  "No. I expect it is no longer there," Belloq said.
"It has probably been swept north by the currents, or perhaps far out into the Atlantic. Who knows?"

  Indy stood up.

  "You bloody little weasel," he said, half drawing his rapier from its scabbard. "I ought to—"

  "Yes, by all means." Belloq drew his cutlass. "Lay on, Jones!"

  Ulla stood up.

  "Sit down, both of you," she shouted. "You're acting like children."

  "Yes," Belloq said. "Sit down, Jones. You are making a fool of yourself. You're dismissing the value of what I have given to you."

  "Sold me," Indy corrected. "You sold it to me, you wormy littie frog coward."

  "Indy!" Ulla said.

  "You have insulted me, you have insulted my family, and now you have insulted my country," Belloq said quietly. "I am a baron, I'll have you know."

  "Baron of what?" Indy spat. "Of intellect? Or of morals?"

  "I demand satisfaction, Dr. Jones," Belloq said. "In the grand tradition."

  "You're insane."

  "Ah, who is the coward now?" Belloq smiled. "As well as the dullard. Without the information I have provided—and the risk I took in placing the equipment in the canister in the first place—you wouldn't have a ghost of a chance. And you repay me with insults?"

  Indy grumbled.

  "Dawn, at St. Louis Cemetery No. 2. You know the place, of course," Belloq said. "And I must warn you about my skill with the blade."

  "This has finally gotten interesting," Ulla said. "But you can't be serious. Can he? Can you?"

  "Oh, I'm serious enough for both of us," Indy said. "Dawn, then. But isn't the challenger usually allowed to choose the weapon?"

  "If you wish." Belloq shrugged.

  "Then I choose pistols."

  "Revolvers?" Belloq cried. "How barbaric!"

  "Single shot," Indy said. "Muzzle loading. Is that grand enough for you? I'll be happy to load yours if you don't know how."

  "No need," Belloq said. "I know how to aim one as well."

  "I'll be Indy's second," Ulla said quickly.

  "Alas," Belloq said. "I will have to rely upon my old friend Captain Dominique You, for my second. I don't think his ghost will mind, since it will be so close by."

  "Who's he talking about?" Ulla asked.

  "A veteran of the Battle of New Orleans," Indy said. "He was one of Lafitte's pirates, and he died about a hundred years ago. He's buried in the cemetery."