Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs

by Max McCoy

  "But if luck is with us," Indy said, "we'll have gathered some clues along the way to guide us in the right direction."

  "And if it isn't?" Joan asked.

  "Hopeless is not strong enough a word," Granger said.

  "Then I will pray for luck," she said.

  A young Chinese man entered the restaurant, searched for Granger, came to the table, and handed him a handful of manifests.

  "I'd like to introduce you to a rather capable fellow," Granger said. "This is Wu Han, a scholar and jack-of-all-trades who has helped to put the expedition together these last few days. Frankly, I told Brody that I didn't think I could do it. And I couldn't have if it hadn't been for Wu Han here."

  Wu Han bowed to Joan, then shook hands with Indy.

  "It has been a pleasure to help my American friends," Wu Han said in perfectly accented English. "I only hope that I can continue to be of service. Is this your first time in Shanghai? Perhaps I could arrange some entertainment."

  "This is old hat for Dr. Jones," Joan said, "but it's my first time and I could use a bit of relaxation. I hate to miss an opportunity to explore a new city."

  "There is plenty to sightsee," Wu Han said. "May I call for you this evening? Perhaps Dr. Jones would like to come as well. I understand from Mr. Granger that he is quite a fan of hot American jazz."

  "Jazz?" Indy said. "Well, perhaps."

  "Good," Wu Han said. "You may expect me at about six o'clock, if that is convenient. Mr. Granger, sir, is everything in order? May I be excused?"

  "Yes, of course," Granger said, glancing over the manifests that Wu Han had brought. "Thank you."

  Wu Han bowed.

  "Trap you later," he said.

  "Catch," Granger barked. "The phrase is 'catch you later.'"

  "Of course," Wu Han said.

  "Ah," Granger said. "Most of the equipment has been loaded onto the flatcars, with the exception of a special shipment that I had requested from our friends at the British arsenal. We are scheduled to leave at oh-five-hundred, and Brody's instructions made it clear that time is of the essence. No matter how good the jazz is, Indy, I suggest that you get some sleep tonight."

  "Sleep." Indy sighed.

  "Jones." Granger leaned conspiratorially toward Indy. "Brody's cable made it clear that this expedition's primary objective is to locate Professor Starbuck. But some of the equipment he has required does not seem to be useful, even tangentially. What do we need with several quarts of animal tranquilizer? I was prudent enough not to wire him back and ask what was going on, but now that I'm sitting across from you, I feel the time is right. Jones, what in hell is going on?"

  "All I can tell you now," Indy said, "is that Brody is right when he says our mission is to locate Professor Starbuck. You're no fool, Granger. But don't ask me anything else until we are safely inside Mongolia."

  "Funny pairing of words, that," Granger said.

  "What?" Joan asked.

  "Safe," he said, "and Mongolia."

  Indy traced his finger along the path from Shanghai to Mongolia. Then he spread his hand, bridging the gap from Peking to the Shen Shei Mountains with his thumb and little finger.

  "I would have preferred to launch this expedition from Peking," Indy said. "Now, there's a city I like. Clean, beautiful; friendly people. And it's closer to where we're going."

  "That would bring us too close to the Japs for comfort," Granger said. "Since they've taken Manchuria—Manchuku, they call it—nothing in the north is safe."

  "I'd prefer it if you would call them Japanese," Joan requested.

  "Why?" Granger asked. "They call us worse. They have a name for us that means 'big feet and smells like hamburger.' They think even less of the Chinese and Koreans."

  "If we are to expect the best from others, we should demand the best from ourselves," Joan asserted. "Besides, I'm sure that not all the Japanese feel that way."

  "I'm sure you have a point, Sister," Granger said. "But I'm glad I won't have to put up with it all the way to the Gobi and back."

  "What do you mean?" Joan asked, stiffening.

  "You're staying here," Indy said.

  "Why, that makes no sense at all," Joan protested. "Neither of you knows my father. You don't even have a recent photograph for reference. What if you overlook some important clue?"

  "I'm sorry," Indy said, "but the Gobi is no place for a woman. There are things out there that you can't even begin to imagine."

  "How do you know what I can begin to imagine?"

  "Well," Indy said. "I just—"

  "Look here," Granger interrupted. "Do you know what would happen if one of the local warlords got their hands on you? You'd be sold into white slavery quicker than you could say your Hail Mary, and there would be nothing we could do about it."

  "You're not going to scare me into being a good little nun," Joan fumed. "The Catholic Church has been trying to do that for years and it hasn't worked, so why should you two hooligans think you can do it?"

  Granger coughed and looked away.

  "That must be some order you belong to," Indy said.

  "Stop making jokes," Joan said, brushing tears away with the back of her hand. "Oh, I know what you're thinking now—you're thinking how weak I am, and how I cry at the drop of a hat. Well, let me tell you something. I'm not crying for me. I'm crying for you two because you're such Neanderthals."

  Indy leaned over the map and jabbed his finger into the center of Mongolia.

  "Urga," he said. "You go as far as Urga. And that's it."

  If the patrons of the Lotus Eaters nightclub knew that Asia was poised on the brink of war, they did not show it. The well-dressed international crowd, Indy thought, was a microcosm of the rest of the world: they drank and dined and danced as if the party would never end.

  Joan's habit had not raised a single eyebrow in the exotic cabaret, where the dance floor was crowded with the uniforms and noisy with the tongues of a dozen nations. The only Chinese faces in the crowd were those of the waiters, the jazz band, which tried fiercely but unsuccessfully to capture the Dixieland sound, and the club's proprietor, a round-faced gangster by the name of Lao Che. Despite Lao's rotund appearance, his hard eyes had a decidedly wolfish gleam.

  Indy knew him by reputation, but had never met him.

  "This is the busiest nightclub in Shanghai," Wu Han boasted. "All of the best people come here."

  "If these are the best," Indy said, "I would hate to see the worst." He had been watching the steady stream of traffic past Lao Che's corner table, and noted with dissatisfaction the amount of money that had crossed the table. Set into the wall behind the table was a locked cabinet that held rows of jars; the majority were of stone, but a few were ornately carved ivory or jade.

  "I'm sorry," Wu Han said, crestfallen. "Do you not care for the hot jazz? We could go somewhere else."

  "The music is fine," Indy said. "Very good. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. It's just that what is going on at that table over there makes me very uncomfortable."

  Wu Han's face grew serious.

  "Lao Che is a very powerful man, Dr. Jones," he said. "It is better to pretend not to notice such activity. He holds Shanghai like this." Wu Han closed the fingers of his right hand into a tight fist. "I apologize if I have offended you by bringing you here."

  "There is no need to apologize," Indy said easily.

  "We will go," Wu Han said.

  "No, of course not," Indy said. "Besides, it is very impolite to walk out when the band is in the middle of a number. We will stay for a few more songs."

  "As you wish."

  "Did you enjoy your visit to the Bund this evening?" Indy asked.

  "Oh, yes," Joan said. "Wu Han is an exceptional guide."

  "I agree," Indy said. "As a matter of fact, Wu Han is pretty exceptional at everything he does. He knows instinctively what must be done, and then does it. I don't know what Granger is paying you, but it isn't enough."

  Wu Han bowed slightly.

  "
The honor of working with the great American archaeologist is pay enough," he said. "Also, Joan has been kind enough to correct my poor English."

  "Your English is perfect." Joan laughed. "You just need some help with your idioms."

  "Pardon my bluntness," Indy said, "but you are being paid?"

  "My services have been acquired through an arrangement with my employer," Wu Han said.

  "Your employer?" Indy asked. "Granger said you were a scholar. Do you teach at the university?"

  "No," Wu Han said. "I was a student of political science, but before taking my degree, I was forced to leave for the sake of my honorable family."

  "Well, money is sometimes difficult to come by, even for a scholar and a jack-of-all-trades," Indy said. "So you work for a local businessman."

  "Yes." Wu Han's face brightened.

  "Look," Indy said. "We need someone like you to make this expedition run smoothly, someone to ease the inevitable friction we will meet among the locals. You'll get paid, so you won't have to worry about your family, and when we get back I'll arrange it so that you can finish your studies... in America, perhaps."

  Wu Han looked as if Indy had punched him in the stomach.

  "What is it?" Joan asked.

  "I am undeserving of such a generous offer," Wu Han said. "Although I am very grateful for your confidence in me, I am afraid that it is impossible for me to leave Shanghai."

  "There is something you're not telling us," Indy said.

  "Duty requires that I fulfill my obligations to my family and to my employer," Wu Han explained. "My prayers, however, will accompany you on your journey."

  "This employer," Indy said. "It's Lao Che, isn't it?"

  Wu Han was silent.

  "What kind of mess are you in?"

  "Please, Dr. Jones. You must remember my family."

  "Where is your family now?" Joan asked. "Perhaps we can help them, and then you would be free of this gangster."

  "Family dead," Wu Han said, his English disintegrating as emotion welled up inside him. "Parents and baby sister die in the influenza epidemic."

  "I am sorry," Joan said.

  "Do not be," Wu Han said. "It is the cycle of things. We loved each other very much in the time we had."

  "But if they are dead," Joan asked, "how is Lao Che controlling you through them? It doesn't make sense."

  "He has their souls," Wu Han said softly.

  Joan looked puzzled.

  "Their ashes," Indy said. "The bastard has their ashes."

  "Yes," Wu Han said. "He controls many of my people in this way. We are required to do detestable things, to assist in the enslavement of others through opium and prostitution. I keep his books. But I am ashamed, just the same."

  "How long must you work for him for the release of their ashes?"

  "Ten years," Wu Han said. "For each individual."

  "You'll be in your fifties before you're free," Joan said.

  "I have no choice," Wu Han said.

  "We're talking about their ashes," Joan said. "Not their souls."

  "This is China, Sister," Indy said. "If the dead aren't buried ritualistically in the family plot, then their souls wander the earth, begging for their living relatives to end their anguish."

  "That's ridiculous," Joan blurted.

  "Is it?" Indy asked. "I'm sure that some of your beliefs seem equally absurd to Wu Han. Only, he's polite enough not to say so."

  Joan blushed.

  "I'm sorry," she said.

  "No," Wu Han said. "I am the one who should apologize, for burdening your carefree evening with my unimportant troubles. Please, forget about all of this. I will show you a different club, where the hot jazz is the cat's nightclothes."

  Wu Han stood up.

  "Not yet," Indy said.

  "You would like to stay?"

  "Tell me this," Indy said. "More than anything else, would you like to be free of this dishonorable life and sure that your family will rest in peace? And if this were to happen, you would accompany the expedition and finish your education when we return?"

  "Of course, Dr. Jones. But—"

  "No buts. And call me Indy."

  "Please," Wu Han said. "I cannot break my agreement with Lao Che. I would lose face and dishonor my family. There is nothing I can do. I made a promise."

  "I didn't make any promises," Indy said. "And if I allowed a friend of mine to be tortured in such a fashion by a drug-dealing, pig-faced, two-bit gangster like Lao Che, I would lose face. Can you understand that?"

  "Friend." Wu Han spoke the word reverently.

  "Dr. Jones," Joan said. "With all due respect to Wu Han and the remains of his family, I don't think we ought to get involved. Don't you think we should let the authorities handle this?"

  "Lao Che probably has the ashes of their ancestors locked up in that little cabinet of his," Indy said. "Wu Han, which of those urns behind him belongs to your family?"

  "Third shelf, middle. The stone urn with the characters for peace and prosperity."

  "Sister, I'll need your help—if you're game, that is."

  "Of course I'm game, as you say. If you truly think we can help Wu Han without getting all of us killed."

  "Don't worry," Indy assured. "Odds are they can only kill one of us before the others get away. I'm going to the men's room now, and I am going to act extravagantly drunk. When I get back to the table, I'm going to be in a rather unpleasant mood. So remember, I'm not your friend."

  "Not my friend?" Wu Han sounded puzzled.

  "We'll be pretending."

  "Yes, of course."

  When the band reached the end of the number, Indy stood, swayed for a moment, then reached over and took Joan's half-empty glass of wine and finished it. Then he slapped it back down on the table with such force that it tumbled over, rolled to the edge, and broke on the floor.

  All eyes turned toward them.

  "Sorry," Indy said with a stupid grin and just enough of a slur to be convincing. Then he ambled across the room and backed clumsily into another waiter, whose tray crashed to the floor.

  "First night on the job?" Indy asked.

  "Please, sir," the waiter said, reaching first for the mess on the floor and then for Indy's elbow. "Won't you let me help you to the—"

  Indy shook him off.

  "I'm fine," Indy insisted, and continued on.

  The band leader glanced worriedly at Indy, then struck up a lively version of "Ain't We Got Fun?"

  Once inside the men's room, Indy nodded pleasantly to the attendant who held a basket of hot towels at the ready. Indy walked to the mirror and inspected his hair, then jerked a thumb toward the dance floor. "There's a heckuva mess out there," he said. "A drunk dumped a big tray of drinks on the floor. They can't seem to find the janitor. Maybe you should go help."

  The attendant looked uncertain.

  "Go on," Indy urged, pretending to admire his own reflection. "My date would like to dance, and we can't with that mess out there." He dug in his pocket and dropped some coins onto the attendant's plate.

  The attendant nodded and hurried out.

  As soon as the door closed, Indy went to the ash can by the door. Except for one smoldering cigar butt, it was clean—the attendant apparently took his job seriously—and Indy unfolded the handkerchief from the breast pocket of his dinner jacket and laid the square of cloth on the floor. He frowned as he picked up the moist cigar butt with his bare fingers and flung it away. Using both hands, he repeatedly scooped sand from the ashtray into the handkerchief. When he thought he had about the right amount, he tied the corners of the handkerchief together. Just as he was shoving the package into his sock, the attendant returned.

  "It is under control, sir," the attendant announced.

  "Of course it is," Indy agreed, and left.

  Indy repeated his performance with only slightly diminished vigor on the way back to his table, but he did not sit. "I want you to introduce me to Lao Che," he said as he used both hands to steady himself
on the edge of the table.

  "But Dr. Jones," Wu Han said. "Perhaps now is not the time."

  "Now," Indy insisted, a little louder than necessary.

  "As you wish." Wu Han lowered his eyes.

  Indy leaned on Wu Han's shoulder as they made their way to the corner table. Joan followed a few steps behind, and with every step berated Indy for his inability to judge his capacity for liquor.

  Lao Che was flanked by his three sons. All were from different mothers. There was one fat one, one painfully skinny one, and one that was as handsome as the others were homely. Each, however, had the telltale bulge of a gun hidden beneath his jacket.

  In Chinese, Wu Han quickly begged the gangster's pardon and apologized for Indy's vulgar behavior. Lao Che laughed and said that all Americans were fools, so why should this one be any different?

  Lao Che seemed only vaguely aware of Wu Han's identity.

  "Do you work for me?" Lao Che asked suspiciously in Chinese.

  Wu Han replied that he had been assigned to assist with the American expedition, then quickly filled him in on the details.

  "I am pleased to meet you, Dr. Jones," Lao Che grunted in English. "I am glad that you are enjoying yourself. May I get you anything more? Or for you, Sister?"

  "No, thank you," Joan said. "And I think Dr. Jones has had quite enough. As you can see, he can be quite a handful."

  "I'm afraid she's right." Indy grinned.

  "Is this your conscience?" Lao Che asked. "Tell me, why does a Catholic sister accompany you? Planning to make some converts upon your arrival in Mongolia, Dr. Jones?"

  "I do what I can," Joan said. "One soul at a time."

  "As I do!" Lao Che said. "One cannot abandon the spiritual side of life in pursuit of earthly pleasures, eh? And speaking of earthly pleasures, I hope you are not feeling too badly in the morning. Would you like me to send one of my girls home with you to nurse what will soon be an aching head? It is the best hangover remedy I know. I'm sure that the good sister will turn a blind eye to such an act of mercy."

  "No thanks, Lao," Indy said. "And if the sister has a blind eye, I've yet to find it."

  Lao Che laughed.

  "This one—what the devil is his name? I have so many employees that I forget—tells me that everything is in order for your departure," he said. "I hope that you and Mr. Granger have found him to be of some service."