by Max McCoy
Indiana Jones
and the
Dinosaur Eggs
Max McCoy
Don't miss any of Indy's exciting adventures in
INDIANA JONES AND THE
SECRET OF THE SPHINX
INDIANA JONES AND THE
HOLLOW EARTH
INDIANA JONES AND THE
PHILOSOPHER'S STONE
INDIANA JONES AND THE
DINOSAUR EGGS
INDIANA JONES AND THE
WHITE WITCH
INDIANA JONES AND THE
SKY PIRATES
INDIANA JONES AND THE
DANCE OF THE GIANTS
INDIANA JONES AND THE
SEVEN VEILS
INDIANA JONES AND THE
GENESIS DELUGE
INDIANA JONES AND THE
PERIL AT DELPHI
Coming soon from Bantam Books!
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
INDIANA JONES AND THE DINOSAUR EGGS
A Bantam Book
PUBLISHING HISTORY
Bantam mass market edition published March 1996
Bantam reissue / April 2008
Published by
Bantam Dell
A Division of Random House, Inc.
New York, New York
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
TM and © 1996 Lucasfilm Ltd. All rights reserved.
Used under authorization.
Cover art copyright © by Lucasfilm, Ltd.
Cover art by Drew Struzan
* * *
If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."
* * *
* * *
Bantam Books and the rooster colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
* * *
ISBN 978-0-553-56193-7
Printed in the United States of America
Published simultaneously in Canada
www.bantamdell.com
OPM 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5
An S522 eBook conversion
For W. C. Jameson:
treasure hunter, songwriter,
scholar, and friend
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
Indiana Jones
and the
Dinosaur Eggs
Max McCoy
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 o
f 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."
"I can't wait that long."
"Why do you need it so desperately?" Belloq asked. "You have more than a professional interest in this chunk of articulated quartz, do you not? Surely you are not superstitious enough to believe the curse... or perhaps you have been seduced by the dark promise of the skull."
Belloq looked at his watch again.
"Ah, high tide."
"Name your price," Indy said. "Anything."
"I am greedy," Belloq said. "Under other circumstances, I would make you—how do you say it?—pay through your nose. But backing out on the deal I already have would be akin to suicide, and I am much too self-centered for that kind of foolishness."
"Who," Indy asked, "could be bad enough to scare you?"
The water beyond the flagstones began to swell.
The illuminated prow of a German U-boat undulated just beneath the surface, followed by the exposed snout of a forty-five-millimeter deck gun. In the glow of the running lights, Indy could see the telltale bulge of a torpedo tube running alongside her nose.
"Since Hitler became chancellor earlier this year," Belloq said, "the Nazis have launched a desperate effort to locate arcane treasures with supposed supernatural powers. The Crystal Skull is high on their list."
The cavern was filled with the insistent hum of electric motors and the gastric sounds of ballast tanks being trimmed as the submarine fought to maintain its neutral, partially submerged buoyancy in the confines of the cavern.
The conning tower, bristling with periscope and radio aerials, rode a half-dozen feet above the water and its fairwater carried the faint outline of a double-blocked alphanumeric, U-357. Unless one was standing beside the boat, identification of it would be impossible.
A pair of sailors emerged from the hatch on top of the conning tower and clambered down to the saddlelike ballast tanks awash with seawater. Slung across their backs were Schmeisser submachine guns. After making fast lines to the centuries-old rings set into the flagstones, the sailors took up positions flanking Belloq.
The Daguerre twins drew their own guns.
"Put them away, you idiots," Belloq snapped in French.
The captain of the U-357, a tired-looking former career officer named Wagner, had watched from the observation platform of the conning tower as the boat was secured. Now satisfied, he called down the open hatch.
Franz Kroeger squeezed his shoulders through the hatch and emerged on deck. Kroeger was everything that Wagner was not: young, tall, blond, and with a freshly pressed black uniform that emphasized his perfectly proportioned body. The uniform was devoid of insignia, except for a pair of lightning bolts on the collar. Kroeger was a colonel in the newly formed Leibstandarte SS, Hitler's personal guard, and if things went awry, he wanted no evidence that would point directly back to the former paperhanger who had become, just a few months before, chancellor of Germany.
Kroeger's boots rang sharply on the iron rungs as he descended the con. The deck covering the starboard saddle tank of the U-357 was in thigh-deep water, but Kroeger managed a swagger as he waded across.
Once up on the flagstones, Kroeger paused and drew a cigarette case from his breast pocket. He lit a Players cigarette with an American lighter, and the smoke wreathed his young blond head like a wicked halo.
"Monsieur Belloq," he said; in his thick German accent the name came out "Bellosh." "I apologize, but my English is better than my French, and I'm sure that your German would grate upon my ears. You may call me Franz, and I am at your service." His heels snapped together sharply and
he threw up the Nazi salute.
Belloq returned a halfhearted wave.
"You have the artifact?"
"It is here," Belloq said, and patted the canister beneath him. "According to your instructions, it has not yet been sealed. Do you have the payment?"
"First things first," Kroeger said. "I must inspect the merchandise."
Belloq removed the lid of the canister, reached inside, and pulled what looked to Indy like a leather bowling-ball bag from its interior. He started to hand the case to Kroeger, then drew it back.
"Colonel," Belloq said. "Gloves, please."
Kroeger gave a snort of disgust, but withdrew a pair of leather gloves from the pocket of his uniform and slipped them on. Then he took the case from Belloq, unzipped it, and with a gloved right hand removed the Crystal Skull.
"I did not expect it to be so beautiful," Kroeger said. "It is magnificent. Look how it captures the light!"
Kroeger held the skull aloft.
Indy—and the others—caught their breath. Even in the weak glow of the electric bulbs an unholy rainbow of secondary colors burst forth from deep within the skull, shimmering above their heads. The bluish glow of the corona effect, caused by static electricity, danced down Kroeger's sleeve to his shoulder.
As Kroeger turned the skull on his outstretched—and gloved—palm, its vacant eye sockets seemed to skewer all who returned its gaze.
"What power is reputed to lie within this thing?" Kroeger asked. "What makes it so special that men are willing to risk their lives and their reputations to possess it?"
"I have been asking that very question," Belloq said.
Indy's palms became damp. He remembered the first and only time he had touched the skull with his bare hands, how the skull had seemed to throb in time to his heart. Indy was close enough to Kroeger to reach out and snatch the skull....
