Red Line: Destination Nepal

[Joe Brody]

The Untold Story of Indiana Jones’s Journey To The Raven

Chapter 1

“Dr. Jones, wake up, sir. Dr. Jones?

Indiana Jones stirred awake. In the aisle before him stood a gray-haired steward in a tight white double-breasted jacket. He offered steaming coffee -- the cup and saucer were of fine quality and emblazoned with the confident winged-globed logo of Pan-American Airlines.

“I’m sorry to wake you sir but we’re about to serve breakfast in the lounge. If you’d like, you can meet some of the other passengers traveling with you on to Manila.”

Indy blinked his eyes, set his fedora on the empty seat beside him, and took a sip of the coffee. The steady drone from the engines filled the cabin and rays from a morning sun played across the face of the kindly steward.

“I know you from somewhere, don’t I?” asked Indiana Jones.

“Yes sir,” replied the steward. “I’m Andy Solemn. I worked the Golden State . . .”

“That’s it,” interrupted Indiana Jones, grinning and snapping his fingers. “Boy was that some trip – if it hadn’t been for you I wouldn’t be here today. So what made you swap the Golden State for the China Clipper?”

The steward shifted his weight. “I suppose it is bad for business when a porter ties up passengers – even if they happen to be thieves. So the railroad put me on as a brakeman until their trial. When the conviction came down, I got my old job back but by that time I was ready for a change. Anyhow – that’s when I heard about the Clipper. So I packed up and headed to ‘frisco.”

“Good for you, Andy,” said Indiana as he rose and stepped into the aisle. “But I’m sorry to hear about the hitch as a brakeman. That’s tough work at any age.”

“Don’t you have no worries Dr. Jones. I wouldn’t take back that trip on the Golden State if you paid me – it was the most important thing I’ve ever done . . . and now I’m flying to beautiful places like Honolulu. It’s like I’m on permanent holiday.”

“Smart move. Speaking of Honolulu – when do we land?”

“In about an hour. Get your breakfast while you can. Once we land you won’t be getting any food until the Airline’s restaurant opens later this afternoon. Plus, you’ll want to meet some of the other passengers.”

Indy nodded and fell in behind the steward who led the way through a narrow portal. The lounge was a squarish space, wider than a Pullman car and with furnished high-backed stuffed seats mounted against the walls of the cabin. Andy crossed the room to the galley. A couple of passengers were seated before collapsible tables but most stood clustered in the middle of the floor where an older, heavyset man talked excitedly about the Clipper.

“. . . .and not only does she have the greatest range of any plane in the air today – but she’s got unequaled luxury appointments that guaranty your comfort over the next five days as we make our way to Manila. . . . .”

Indiana Jones settled into a seat and was served immediately with a bowl of fresh fruit. But before Indy could make much progress a tall thin man in a linen suit broke from the group. He advanced with an unsteady gait.

“Good morning. I am Lucien S. Lake of Birmingham Alabama, I am pleased to meet you sir.” He spoke with a fast-paced southern drawl that sounded less than genuine.

“Good morning. Henry Jones.” Not much for small talk, Indy shook hands quickly and kept his attention fixed on his food.

Lake gave a dismissive nod toward the group as he settled in beside Indy. “Novice travelers for the most part. There are some honeymooners and a couple of Navy flyers only going as far as Pearl. Right now the only other through travelers appear to be you, me, a rather dry Reverend type named Andrews, that lady who has something to do with a hotel in Australia – her name is Nora something or other – and that odd fellow over there.”

Lake nodded across the cabin to a thin sallow man in glasses who kept his head buried in a magazine. Lucas stared at the sallow man for a moment. “I haven’t gotten his story yet.”

“What about him?” Indy pointed with his fork at the heavy-set man who stood singing the praises of the plane.

“Oh yes. Unfortunately he’s going all the way as well. Seems he’s some higher-up with the Airline. He’s to assume control of the Manila operations.” Lucas mockingly pushed out his chest. “It’s a big job and boy does he know it. I haven’t seen her yet but I understand his eleven year old daughter is around here somewhere.”

A steward served Indy with a second plate of steaming eggs and bacon garnished with fresh pineapple. Lake stayed the steward by grasping his arm as he served Indy. “A bit of gin, please. I’m still on West Coast time.”

Without thinking Indy observed, “It’s still morning in San Francisco. “

Lake chuckled, “And so it is, but I have never allowed time to dictate my consumption – especially when confined such as this . . . .”

Lake gave a wave to the cabin at large that caused Indy to look up at the group still conversing with the Pan Am Director. Just as Indy turned his attention back to his plate, the female bound for Australia caught his eye. She had taken a step back from the group and was surreptitiously working to get the attention of the Reverend on the far side of the group. The Reverend stood with his hands on his hips, thumbs in his belt, with both sides of his jacket pushed back revealing the butt of an automatic pistol holstered under his arm. The lady caught the Reverend’s gaze and gestured toward the exposed weapon. The Reverend caught on and dropped his arms. The scene played out in an instant -- so quickly that the lady’s gaze shifted to Indiana as he watched the pistol disappear from sight. Lake had missed the mini-drama as he savored his drink and spoke of the importance of drinking while traveling.

“One second,” interrupted Indiana Jones. “That Australian – is she traveling with the Reverend?”

“Oh no, why would she? Why would you. . . . “ Lake trailed off in laughter. “Ah, I quite understand. You seek diversions other than drink to see you through a long journey.” Lake turned to leer at the woman. “One could certainly do worse. She seems a bit . . . formidable. I’m sure she’ll be quite the challenge -- but please sir make some time in the coming days for some libations.”

“Perhaps.” Said Indiana.

“Four days is a long time,” replied Lake. “Anything can happen.”

[Luisiana Jones]

Please answer me this, did you just make that up, or you got it from somewhere? :confused:

[Joe Brody]

[First Half of] Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The T-130 flying boat – the ‘Philippine Clipper’ made a graceful landing on the calm waters of Pearl Harbor and taxied to a floating pier at Pan American’s facility on Ford Island. As the passengers disembarked, attractive Pan American employees placed welcoming floral leis on each passenger. In no hurry, Indiana Jones stood at ease, savoring the cool morning breeze, the sound of the small waves lapping against the pier and the view of the ships in the broad harbor. The sallow-faced man, on the other hand, had no patience for a traditional Hawaiian welcome and pushed his way through the crowd.

“I must send a cable. Immediately,” he said to the Pan American agent overseeing the welcome.

“If you’d like, write out your message now,” replied the agent, as he gestured the group down the pier. “I’ll personally take your cable to our offices and see that it is sent immediately.”

“No. That is unacceptable. I must do this myself. Where is the nearest commercial office?”

“In the city – but you’ll have to take the launch to the Island and then the train into the City. It will take you all day.”

Visibly agitated, the sallow-faced man turned red, muttered something under his breath, the spat out, “Give me the necessary directions.”

Together the agent and sallow-faced man headed down the pier behind the group, with the agent explaining how to get to Honolulu. Indy held back and walked with the crew of the Clipper. He cocked his fedora back on his head and fell in beside Andy.

“So you’re off-duty?”

Andy grinned. “After an eighteen hour flight? You bet. I’ve got to get some sleep. I have to be back with the rest of the crew early tomorrow to make sure our kit is set for the next leg.”

“Well get your sleep. . . . Say, what do you know about the Reverand?”

“Not much. Just that he’s going on to Hong Kong to oversee some mission work.”

“So the Reverend is not going in-country?” asked Indy.

“Not that I know,” shrugged Andy.

“You think it’s a little odd that a Reverend would be carrying a gun?”

The old porter stopped and eyed Indiana Jones at the foot of the pier. “What are you saying Doctor Jones?”

“It’s probably nothing but just now I saw him in the lounge and he was sporting an automatic under his jacket.”

“That is strange. . . .”

“And as far as you know he’s traveling alone?”

“I know that for a fact,” answered Andy. “I saw him pull up alone in a cab back in San Francisco.”

“Well, don’t worry about it. Just keep and eye on him and that Aussie women.”

“She’s packing too?”

“No – but she made sure he wasn’t flashing the gun around any more than he was.”

Andy chuckled. “Maybe she was just being polite.”

Indy returned the chuckle. “Maybe. You get your rest now.”

“Now Doctor Jones you try to get some rest too remember you got the Pan-Am luau tonight – you won’t want to miss it.”

* * *

[Luisiana Jones]

ok ok, self creative huh ;)

[Deadlock]

So, Joe is this going to be your entry into TheRaider.net Writing contest (http://www.theraider.net/features/contests/fanfiction_contest.php)? :)

[Joe Brody]

So, Joe is this going to be your entry into TheRaider.net Writing contest (http://www.theraider.net/features/contests/fanfiction_contest.php)? :)

In 1936 it took seven days to fly from San Francisco to Asia on Pan American’s legendary China Clipper. Indiana Jones would have been among the first to make this passage as he embarked on his quest to find Dr. Abner Ravenwood at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark. It would be easy to dismiss Indiana Jones’s journey aboard the China Clipper and assume that he slept most of the way – but I think the China Clipper’s historical significance and the colorful passengers provide a unique background for adventure.

As Indiana Jones flies across the Pacific, I plan on several stories unfolding: An Asian Movie Star and her suspicious companions who board the China Clipper in Honolulu want more than just a luxurious flight home. . . . A smarmy southern salesman determined to strike up a friendship with Indiana Jones clearly has some sinister agenda. . . . A minister on his way to inspect Shanghai orphanages but packing a concealed weapon is clearly more than he seems . . . . especially since he seems to be in league with a beautiful young women – a supposed stranger . . . and lurking in the background is a German Agent tasked with keeping tabs on Indiana Jones but certainly smart enough to figure out and figure in the growing intrigue on the plane. Needless to say, some of the interesting questions raised in the Raven Bar fight sequence in Raiders of the Lost Ark would be answered before Indiana Jones reaches the end of his journey (why Indiana Jones has the extra automatic in the Raven and why Toht enigmatically refers to Indiana Jones as ‘nefarious’).

I’m throwing out the ‘Red-Line’ concept now because there are any number of other ‘Red-Line’ journeys set in the films that could serve as a basis for an adventure-within-an-adventure fan fiction. I have no interest in the contest and this project will certainly only be completed after the deadline for any contest.

[Deadlock]

Very cool. I look forward to reading more. :)

Two small question about your story so far.

1. In your story, Indy introduces himself as "Henry Jones"... Do you really think he'd do that? I always assumed that he'd buried that name for good.

2. The southern dude introduces himself as "Lucien S. Lake" but then the story switches over to "Lucas" abruptly. Intentional?

[Joe Brody]

The 'Henry Jones' was intentional, as you'll see later on. . . but the Lucas was a pure slip. Good spot -- and interesting name for me to type. Wonder where my mind was . . . . .

Anyway, thanks for the feedback and I'm sorry for all the set-up. I've got to work some problems with the second half of the second chapter (which is mostly devoted to a luau scene). I'll get it up as soon as a I can.

[Joe Brody]

Chapter 2 -- Part 2


Indiana Jones leaned closer to the sink and worked the razor along the side of his face. Looking in the mirror back over his shoulder he eyed the yellow and orange floral print shirt lying on the bed. The shirt -- a gift from the airline -- had been placed in the hotel room prior to his arrival together with an engraved invitation announcing a luau to be held that night in a lush grove adjoining the Pan American compound. With his attention diverted from the task at hand, Indy suffered the consequences. He jerked at the warm slicing sensation on his jaw and cursed ‘dammit!’ at his carelessness. Frantically, he cast out for something to staunch the bleeding. Seeing nothing but immaculate white towels and washcloths embroidered with the Pan Am logo, Indy went to his bag and removed his pistol, which he had packed in a rag. Unwrapping the pistol, he tore the rag to use as a small bandage. With one hand compressing his wound, he hefted the weapon and tossed it back into his bag. “No need for you – tonight’s a party night.”

Ten minutes later Indiana Jones emerged from his room, dressed in his field pants (freshly pressed), Aldens and the tropical shirt that did not quite square with his wetted-down hair and spectacles. A torch-lit path curved away from the Pan-American Airways System hotel into a deep stand of palm trees. Through the trees Indy could hear a steady beat of music and the buzz of human activity.

Following the path, Indy turned a corner and saw a substantial receiving line of servers in native garb, Pan American Employees, and the air crew of the Philippine Clipper. At the head of the line stood the Manila bound Pan American executive. When the executive saw Indiana, he broke from his post to intercept Indiana well short of the line.

“Doctor Jones. I’m W.C. Grieves – Director, Pan American Airways,” as he spoke he extended a heavy, sweaty hand.

“Please, that’s just plain ‘Mr. Jones’, Mr. Grieves,” grinned Indiana with forced courtesy.

At this Grieves took a step off the path and pulled Indiana close. “Oh no – I do mean ‘Doctor Jones.’ Being in aviation I associate with important people. On occasion I work with a mutual acquaintance. I believe you know a Major Eaton.”

Disgusted, Indiana Jones put his hands on his hips and looked hard at the self-satisfied Grieves. “What is this about? I have a deal with Army Intelligence. Part of that deal – a big part in fact – is that I work alone. I didn’t even tell Eaton my itinerary. If he thinks he’s going to nursemaid me by proxy across the Pacific, I’m going to book passage on a ship.”

Grieves stepped backed -- shocked by Indiana Jones’s intensity. “No, no, no. You misunderstand. My sole objective is to see to your comfort. Apart from that I have no other role – honest.”

Put off equally by Grieves imploring eyes and his association with Eaton – who actually looked quite a bit like Grieves, Indiana shrugged. “O.K. That is much appreciated. I’m sorry for overreacting. I’m just trying to keep a low profile.”

Grieves straightened himself. “Quite understandable. Low profile it is.”

“Good.”

“Now I’m a man of my word. And I can think of no better way to see to your comfort than to welcome you to Pan American’s kick off luau for the Philippine Clipper.”

With that Grieves took Indiana back to the receiving line. After several quick introductions as “Mr. Henry Jones”, Indiana joined the luau, which was already underway. In a clearing on the far side of a fire pit, a group of bare-chested dancers twirled flaming spears as drummers kept a hard, fast beat. Indiana made his way to last empty place at the long low table for the Clipper passengers where he noted that both the Reverend and the sallow face man were absent. To his left sat the mysterious Australian women from the plane. She ignored Indiana as he clumsily took his sat on a white cushion. On his right was a beautiful Asian women in her late twenties. She smiled and shifted to make room.

The spear-dancers took their twirling to a fevered pitch. With incredible dexterity, they tossed their spears high a final time and took their bows. As the dancers took their exit -- one by one they ran from the clearing, burying their still flaming spears in the sand as they left. Servers brought platters of Americanized food: barbecued ribs, beef and skewers of shrimp and vegetables. After the applause subsided Lucien Lake – who was seated further down the table -- raised his glass to Indiana Jones, “How fortunate for you to be seated between two such lovely ladies.”

Indy nodded at the toast, raised his drink and leaned forward grinning, “Fortunate indeed. You see this island was once called Moku'ume'ume – which means "island of the game." Back in the day, natives would congregate here around bonfires just as we are tonight to have their chief pair couples regardless of marriage . . . .” -- at this the companion to the lady to Indy’s right, a grim looking man of Asian descent, leaned forward and glared, but Indy, caught up in his own story, continued undeterred – “. . . . once paired, the couple would then go off into the night and do what couples have done since the beginning of time.”

With a half a grin, Indiana Jones sat back and drained his drink. The Australian woman looked at Indiana Jones for the first time, narrowed her gaze, and with a mock innocence asked, “and this practice continues to this day?”

Still caught up in his story, Indiana shook his head and replied, “No. I’m pretty certain that stopping the games on Moku'ume'ume was the first order of business for the Christian missionaries.”

“How sad,” responded the Australian dryly.

Misunderstanding her gist, Indiana leaned closer, “Yes. How sad indeed.”

The Australian pulled back and turned toward Lucien, “and what takes you to the Orient, Mr. Lake?”

Lake finished his drink. “Export opportunities, my dear. Export opportunities that are there for the taking . . . . even in these uncertain times in the Orient. However of infinitely more interest is the precious import seated at this table. Mr. Jones, I am pleased to introduce you to great shining star of the Chinese cinema, Madame Ruan Sinn.”

“I am honored,” said Indiana Jones. As he spoke for the first time he noticed that seated immediately behind Madame Sinn and her companion were two large dour men. Both stared forward with blank looks on their faces – completely ambivalent to the festivities.

“As am I,” replied the Madame Sinn. Again she smiled and held Indiana’s gaze. She had a commanding presence beyond her years. Hula dancers took center stage in the clearing accompanied by soothing Hawaiian music. “The music makes me feel as if I am trapped in a dream.”

Indiana Jones relaxed and took another whiskey. “Yes. Entrancing.”

Madam Sinn’s companion cleared his throat, causing her to stiffen. Indiana rolled his eyes and took another swig.

For the rest of the evening, all attempts to engage the Australian lady in conversation were rebuffed, and Madam Sinn remained reluctant to speak to Indiana Jones. Every few minutes, she would look his way but her stern companion would glare and shift closer. The only real diversion was watching Lake. No one at the table kept pace with him and as the night wore on it was clear that someone was going to have to carry him back to the hotel – and likely onto the Clipper the next morning. Toward the end of the evening, Indiana climbed to his feet and struggled to gain his balance. Woozy from one-too-many whiskeys, he fell in behind Madame Sinn’s small entourage. Just as the group was about to leave the clearing several figures broke from the shadows and closed in around the path. At first, Indiana assumed that these were some of the performers from earlier in the evening. But before he could assess the situation, he was struck from behind and knocked hard to the ground.

For a second, Indiana lay on the ground and tried to collect himself. He heard several sharp reports -- pistol fire. Digging the palms of his hands into the sand, Indiana lifted his throbbing head to see that two men dressed in blue jumpers had gotten the jump on Madam Sinn’s entourage and were pulling her off into the dark grove.

[Joe Brody]

VP or Aaron,

Help. Could I get this thread re-ordered and cleaned up to help readability?

I was hoping that my post (or at least the first two paragraphs) from my post from March 7 could be bumped to the top with the caption 'Introduction' (this is the post that starts "In 1936 .. . ." Immediately below the introduction would be Chapter 1. Then Ideally, could the posts with the actual text of the story be compressed so that they are back to back? I note that there are a couple of other posters on this thread but I think the story will read better if the text is adjoined.

Any help would be appreciated. Thanks.

Incidentally, I read my prior post regarding the fiction contest and I don't want to be mis-interpreted. I think the contest is a great idea and I'm offering my story as a way to highlight other possible (short or not so short) red line stories that could be the basis for other fan fiction. As for me not participating in the contest, I'm not a competitive person (most likely because I've never won anything in my life).

[Deadlock]

Mods, feel free to frag my posts to help the flow. :)

[ElodieJones]

That's really great !!!
I love read it !

[Canyon]

Joe, I have only one thing to say about your story...










...."It's good. It's very very good." :D

[Indy Parise]

Very good, congrats. You deserve a congratulation, like what I just said....I kinda lost my train of thought......oh i remember................

[Joe Brody]

Chapter 3
[First half]

What was left of the luau crowd dispersed and ran toward the system hotel. Indiana Jones climbed to his feet, pulled a still-flaming spear from the ground and took off into the darkness in pursuit of Madam Sinn. As he ran he fought to shake off the whiskey's hold. He counted five fleeing figures. Two were the men in jumpers who flanked Madam Sinn. Each captor held the actress by clasping her upper arm. One carried a gun in his free hand. Ranging somewhat ahead were two others, also in mechanic's jumpsuits.

Just as Indy sensed other runners in the trees around him, he saw one of the captors veer to the side, stop and kneel. He raised a pistol and fired back at the pursuers. Indiana kept running but shifted his hold on the spear to a single hand and kept the flame as far from his body as possible. One of the men seated behind Madam Sinn at the Luau run up on Indy's right and returned fire. His equally expressionless companion came up on Indiana's opposite side. Both remained intent on their quarry ahead. The three closed on the shooter, who rapidly fired round after round to no avail. With six yards to spare -- and Indiana Jones preparing to use the spear as a weapon -- the shooter finally took a fatal round to the throat -- shot by the man beside Indy. Without pausing the three kept up the pursuit, with the men who Indiana Jones took to be Madam Sinn's bodyguards falling into stride with him.

Madam's Sinn's captors broke free of the grove out onto a service road that ran along a large Navy warehouse. The captors turned and ran down the road. Hit with a sudden realization Indiana Jones stopped. Abandoning the pursuit, he turned and ran into the grove back toward the Pan American compound. He heaved at the exertion, impaired by the alcohol. Unsteady, he sprawled to the ground where he threw-up in violent retches. Disgusted he got to his feet and continued his mad dash. When he broke back into the clearing he saw Madam Sinn's dour dinner companion still on his knees and holding his head. He was a smallish man with a thin mustache. His suit was untucked and blood had run down the side of his face.

"Follow me if you want to save Sinn!” Indiana bellowed as he ran full speed across the empty luau clearing. Sinn’s companion looked back toward the grove but followed Indiana Jones. Indiana Jones hurtled some bushes and ran down toward the floating dock. Nearly tripping on his own feet upon hitting the deck he regained his footing and made a final mad dash to the end where he made a frenzied effort to remove the mooring line on a small motorboat. After he jumped in he wedged the spear beside his seat. He started the engine as Sinn’s companion climbed to his side.

“We’re on an island,” Indian shouted as he turned the boat out toward the harbor. “The men who took Madame Sinn had to be making for a boat.”

Gasping still, Sinn’s companion could only nod his acknowledgment. From inside his jacket he pulled out a pistol and began scanning the harbor. Indy headed the boat out along the shore of Ford Island in the direction of Madam’s Sinn’s capters. A cool breeze helped clear Indy’s head as he scanned both the shore and the harbor for small craft.

The Pan Am launch traveled past the grove toward the large navy yard where Indiana left the chase. There were no boats tied to the warf nor any craft out on the water. Indiana Jone's companion alternated between scanning the shore and casting a doubtful eye twoard Indy. Just as Indiana throttled down, a motorboat leapt out from behind a pier, headed toward open water. Indiana opened the throttle and moved to intercept.

Nosing toward the fleeing motorboat, Indiana saw Sinn seated in the front beside one of her captors who piloted the craft. In the next row sat a second captor who was turned back prepared to fire his pistol.

The gap closed even as the Pan Am launch jumped over the motorboat's wake. Sinn's captor opened fire. Indiana's companion raised his gun to respond -- but Indiana lashed out and pulled down the man's arm. "Are you crazy?!? At the rate we're moving you're just as likely to hit Sinn!"

[Not the best place to stop, I know -- but I'm posting it because of the kind words -- which I really appreciate.]

[Canyon]

ooh, he's left it on a cliffhanger..... :whip:

gotta read more... :D

[Deadlock]

*bump*

;)

[Joe Brody]

End of Chapter 3. . . .

Gunshots rang from the escaping craft causing Indiana Jones to decelerate – and weave the boat back and forth across the lead craft’s wake. Spray mixed with the blood on the face of Sinn's dinner companion. He glared up at Indy as he reached down to retrieve the pistol. Indiana shook his head, shouted, “Take the wheel! I’ll get Sinn!”

Glaring still, the man nodded and shifted behind the wheel. Indiana grabbed the gun from the deck and tucked it in the back of his pants. He then took the spear and readied himself to leap to the other craft by crouching on the right side of the boat. Indiana's loose floral print shirt flapped like a flag as the distance closed on his quarry.

“Come On!!! Get us alongside!” Indiana shouted.

Indiana’s wheelman steered toward the port side of the fleeing craft. The sporadic gun fire had ceased, but the gunman stood ready in the rear of the boat -- braced to repel Indiana. Each time the boats came close, the fleeing craft peeled away to starboard before Indiana could jump. Both boats veered toward Ford Island and closed on the shore. At the last instant the fleeing motor boat cut back hard to port in a desperate attempt to break free. To Indiana's dismay, Sinn's dinner companion kept his course -- clearly intent on ramming the veering craft.

The boats collided, splintering the hull of the escaping motor boat. Indiana was thrown back but stayed afoot by grabbing the windscreen. Not wanting to miss an opportunity Indiana pulled himself forward and launched himself into space. He landed in the rear of the wrecked boat -- using the spear as a third point of contact on the uneven deck. As he swayed, the gunman pulled back and cracked the butt of his pistol on Indiana’s head. Indiana staggered -- but instinctively pushed forward into the gunmen's midsection causing the assailant to topple into the water. Anticipating an attack from the man in the front seat, Indy immediately sought to turn but was again struck on the head. He tumbled over the side into the water.

For several moments all Indiana could do was flail about and attempt to gain the surface. Eventually he broke through, gasping for breath. Water filled Indy's eyes, hindering his vision. He kicked back toward the wrecked motor boat and grabbed the side. The boat gave as he tried to pull himself up -- clear evidence that the boat was sinking fast. Before Indiana could register what was happening onboard he was pulled back into the water from behind.

Indiana Jones spun as he sank. Still feeling hands upon him, Indiana lashed out -- kicking and grabbing at his attacker. A savage kick found home and Indy used the leverage to regain the surface. After a beat, the dazed attacker surfaced -- Indiana kicked hard to give maximum leverage to a hard right that he brought down straight into the attacker's face. The attacker moaned slightly and went limp. Indiana turned back to find only the Pan Am launch bobbing in waves. Then not eight feet from him, Indiana registered a body floating face down, with the spear thrust clean through the torso. Repulsed, Indiana reflexively kicked away from the corpse.

A man who Indy took to be Sinn's dinner companion, now dripping wet, climbed back into the Pan Am Launch. Indiana cast around -- searching for Sinn. After nearly treading water in a full circle he saw her swimming for shore. Indiana swam to her side. As he closed, Sinn's swimming became more frenzied as she attempted to increase her pace.

Indiana swam along side, shouted, "Madam Sinn."

She refused to stop. Too dazed to do much else, Indiana kept pace as Madam Sinn cut a determined path toward shore. Both swimmers pulled up as the Pan Am launch headed them off and idled to a stop.

Instead of making for the boat, Sinn turned away. Indiana reached out to stop her but she jerked free. Shaking his head in consternation, Indy reached out and wrapped his arm around her torso. She was shaking uncontrollably but offered no resistance. With powerful kicks he made toward the boat where Sinn's dinner companion helped to pull her aboard. Indiana collapsed on the deck, exhausted.

Sinn's companion stood in front of Indiana. "Where is my gun?"

Indiana put a hand to the small of his back. "I must have lost it. What do you say we take care of Madam Sinn first? She's really shaken up."

“You lost my gun.”

Indiana leaned forward and sneered. “Deal with it.”

Indiana turned away and began lifting the seats and looking in compartments. He found a thick blanket and wrapped it around the shivering Madam Sinn. Lights from two approaching motor boats -- likely police launches -- were on the harbor. "Look, it's going to be a late night," said Indiana Jones. "Why don't you just get us back to the hotel? I'm beat."

[Man, I just did not want to write the rest of that chapter -- and what I have now is just servicable at best. I've got some exposition-type stuff in the next chapter that I've been itching to get to, so hopefully I'll get to it sooner rather than later.]

[Joe Brody]

Chapter 4
[the first part, anyway]


The timely departure of the Philippine Clipper the next morning was a testament to Pan Am efficiency – polite but deliberate stewards rapped at the guests’ hotel room doors an hour before take-off and diligently stood at the ready, quick to move the guests along at every opportunity. Still badly addled and fatigued from lack of sleep, Indiana Jones let himself be hurried on board by an insistent steward. One by one the other passengers took their seats. An agitated Grieves paced the length of the cabin, anxiously checking his watch. When it came time for departure, he grabbed a steward and said, “Go find Mr. Richter.”

The steward rushed for to the door where he collided with the sullen-faced man, who was badly disheveled and gasping for breath.

Grieves helped the sullen-faced man to his feet. “Mr. Richter, we were worried about you – in fact we feared you lost after you failed to return from Honolulu last night.”

Ignoring Grieves, Richter cast an angry wild eye around the cabin. His tie was undone and a wrinkled shirttail hung at his side. “What!?! Why is everyone looking at me?”

Richter pushed his way past Grieves and collapsed into a seat at the back of the cabin. Slightly amused by the small man’s antics, Indiana cracked a smile and pulled his fedora down over his brow.

As soon as the plane was airborne, Reverend Andrews, a puffy-eyed Madam Sinn – who kept her gaze averted from Indiana – and a badly hung-over Lucien Lake retreated to curtained sleeping berths in the mid-section of the plane. The remainder of the passengers shuffled to the lounge for breakfast, and Andy Solemn again broke away to bring coffee to Indiana Jones.

“Dr. Jones? Indiana?

Indiana Jones set his fedora aside and rubbed his eyes.

“I heard about last night when I got down to the plane this morning,” said Solemn. “but I couldn’t get to you because you were in with the police. You’re looking mighty pale . . . .You will have to let me get you a blanket. It’ll be getting might cold as we head north to Midway.”

Indiana smiled, shifted in the seat and grimaced. “I’ve been better but I’ll survive. I’m trying to decide what hurts more: the blows I took to my head – or my hangover.

Andy grinned. “Well I say it’s a good sign that you can tell them apart.”

“I suppose – but I am in shock over the police letting me and Sinn’s entourage take off this morning. We left a couple of corpse’s back there and I thought for sure I was going to be held back.”

“Well,” replied Andy. “I’d say that you’d have old Mr. Grieves to thank for your being on this flight. The way I heard it he sent a cable off the second you got back with Madam Sinn. Within an hour he gets a reply that he gives to the police. One of the detectives makes a call and that was it – no one was going to be held back. Who did Grieves call, the Governor?”

Disgusted, Indiana said, “If only it were that simple. I know exactly who Grieves cabled.” Indy shook his head. “God-Dammit!”

Indiana stopped short. At the portal to the cabin stood a raven-faced nine or ten year old girl with light brown hair – she smiled up at Indiana, amused by his embarrassment. Standing behind the girl, with one hand on her shoulder, stood Grieves, who looked more than a little annoyed.

“Dr. Jones. I’d like you to meet my daughter, Gwen.”

“Pleased to meet you Gwen,” replied Indiana Jones returning the smile.

“My father says that you’re a hero – that you rescued Madam Sinn from being kidnapped last night.”

Indiana shook his head. “I’m no hero. . . .”

Andy leaned forward. “Don’t you listen to this false modesty Miss Grieves . . .. old Indiana here is the genuine article – no doubt about it.”

Indiana tensed and Mr. Grieves leaned forward. “’Indiana’ did you say? I thought your name was Henry?”

Indy looked sheepish. “My given name is Henry . . . .”

“But you use the name Indiana . . . .Indiana Jones?” continued Grieves with an odd intensity.

Indy nodded.

“How strange,” said Grieves. “I know that name from somewhere.”

“Oh father, who cares about a nickname?” chuckled Gwen.

“Heh!” Indy feigned being hurt. “Who said anything about a nickname?”

“Well I’m sure it’s nothing,” said Greives. “Again, thank you for everything last night.

"Lucky break . . . this flight not being delayed," said Indiana.

Grieves shifted on his feet. "Yes quite. I assume it was a pretty cut and dry attempt at kidnapping a celebrity."

"Did the police ever get the guy I left unconcious in the harbor?" asked Indiana Jones.

"Not to my knowledge. I know only three bodies were recovered . . . but we can discuss that later." Greives again put his hand on Gwen's shoulder.

"I understand," replied Indiana.

"Good. I’m sure you need your rest. Andy -- see to Dr. Jones’s needs.”

"Yes sir, Mr. Greives."

True to Andy’s word, the cabin turned chilly several hours into the flight and the weather turned foul -- simply adding to the misery on the plane. The walls of the plane turned cold, and the cabin fell dark due to the dark clouds that enveloped the plane. For the remainder of the long, turbulent flight north, Indiana battled a splitting headache and persistent nausea. The bumpy decent into Midway was welcome relief.

[Joe Brody]

[Chapter 4's a long one so here's another short segment.]

As the Philippine Clipper taxied through heavy rain to the pier, the passengers crowded the dim rear of the aircraft. Stewards – fagged from an arduous all-day flight – helped passengers don rain slickers. Once the plane was secured to the dock, a crewman opened the rear top hatch and the passengers started to deplane.

Andy Solemn helped a stiff Indiana Jones with his coat. “Have no worries if you’re still under the weather Dr. Jones. Midway has the cure – this island has the best food you’ll get anywhere – you wouldn’t believe all the great fish they catch here, massive Blue Marlin, lobster, Kahala – you name it. I have not had a single repeat on a meal in all my time here . . . and the vegetables they grow here are as fresh as fresh can be . . . .”

Indiana cast a skeptical eye at Solemn. “Fresh vegetables? On this glorified sand bar?”

“Yes sir, they grow them here special in hydroponics greenhouses. No soil – all the plants grow on cord suspended from the ceiling. The plants never even touch the ground. You should check out the greenhouses if you get a chance.”

“I’ll do that Andy, thanks.” With that Indiana Jones started to climb up the ladder steps out of the aircraft. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Andy stepped forward into the rain falling in from the hatch and called up, “And you take care of yourself.”

Out on the deck a clerk -- desperately trying to stay dry under an old massive umbrella – called out, “Henry Jones! Telegram for Henry Jones!”

Looking like a drowned rat hunched under the wing of the Clipper, Richter perked up suddenly at the announcement. He fixed on Indiana Jones through steamy rain-soaked glasses as Indiana made his way across the dock.

Under the cover of the umbrella, Indy broke the seal of the telegram. It came from Art Weber – a trusted friend and Shanghai’s airport dispatcher – providing information on connecting arrangements for the next leg of the journey to Nepal on Imperial Airlines. Indiana placed the telegram in his breast pocket, tipped the clerk and turned back into the rain.

Two Woodies had been backed on to the dock to transport the guests to the system hotel. The large station wagons were equipped with oversized wheels to navigate Midway’s white sand. Out of courtesy to the other passengers, Indy dashed to the further vehicle and climbed into the back seat. He was mildly surprised when moments later Nina – the attractive black-haired Australian – climbed in the opposite side and slid across the seat so that she sat flush with Indiana.

Nina smiled. “It’ll be a tight fit to get everyone into two cars.”

“Lucky for me,” responded Indiana Jones.

Casting a sideways glance, Nina unabashedly eyed Indy. With a coy smile she said, “I’m trying to figure you out. Last night at the luau you were talking like a teacher – but from what I hear you sure don’t act like one – so what is it? A teacher or something more?”

“Both. I am a teacher and, as you say, I’m ‘something more.’”

Nina shifted slightly to lock eyes with Indy and in doing so her thigh pressed against Indy’s leg. “No, no. That’s not going to cut it – what’s your story?”

Indy dropped his gaze, chuckled – but before he could respond Lucien Lake collapsed into the rear seat beside Nina.

“My Lord, what a monsoon,” said Lake. “I think perhaps we should all be better off sleeping on the plane tonight as the hotel is liable to float off into the Pacific.”

“Well the plane does have a stocked bar. . . .” quipped Nina.

“. . . . . that is only surpassed by the bar at the system Hotel,” said Grieves as he helped his daughter climb into the middle of the front seat. Grieves settled into the front passenger seat. “Just hold on tight everyone. We’ll get drinks with dinner just as soon as some of the bags are transferred.”

[Author's note: What's this? The author's favorite character (http://raven.theraider.net/showthread.php?p=170372#post170372) from Temple of Doom has information on Indiana Jone's itinerary? Boy, I sure hope nothing bad happens to good old Mr. Weber . . . .]

[Deadlock]

I love all the little details. Kudos for working Weber in. :)

This should be compiled and posted as part of the fan fiction area of TheRaider.net, when it's finished.

[Joe Brody]

I love all the little details. Kudos for working Weber in. :)

This should be compiled and posted as part of the fan fiction area of TheRaider.net, when it's finished.

Thanks Deadlock, look for my Last Crusade Tie-in in Chapter 5. I'm glad to hear that you like the details because one thing I've been stressing is the decision to skimp on detail in the early parts due to all the dialogue required to support the plotlines and introduce the characters. I assumed readers have some familarity with Hawaii and Pearl Harbor, so I really went light on the detail. Now that I'm on less familiar ground like Midway, I have to spend more time on set-up. One detail that I forgot to add is that the Clipper would have been fumigated on its way into Midway. I meant to add that detail to increase the misery factor of those onboard.

Another portion of Chapter 4:

As if on cue, a porter opened the rear hatch and hoisted a suitcase into the wagon. Gwen turned and rested her chin on the back of the front seat. She smiled when Indiana Jones gave her a wink.

“Is there any chance I misjudged you Mr. Jones,” said Nina as she brushed back a strand of wet hair.

“Never be quick to judge,” responded Indiana Jones.

“Amen to that,” said Lake.

Gwen looked back out of the open wagon. “No one is looking too happy back in the second car.”

Everyone turned and looked back. Madam Sinn and her party sat in the rear seat – except for one of her bodyguards who stood further back on the pier in the driving rain watching Sinn’s trunks being off-loaded. Flanked by her companions, Sinn had a distant, far-away look. In the front, Reverend Andrews sat on the passenger looking glum. Lastly, perched in the middle of the front seat sat an agitated sour-faced Richter.

Under his breadth but in a perfect imitation of Richter’s accent Lake said, “What? Why is everyone looking at me?”

Everyone laughed, and the conversation turned to Midway, its facilities and ubiquitous population of albatrosses that further complicated all travel on the island. The Woodies left the pier and headed past the airfield that occupied the majority of the island’s surface. Grieves pointed to a compound sheltered by a thicket of ironwood. “That’s the Commercial Cable Company station – at my last count there were fourteen men stationed there.”

“That’s a pretty big crew for such a small island,” said Nora.

“Correct," said Grieves. "But there’s a number of trans-pacific cables that run through Midway. It may not look like much, but Midway’s a true crossroad of the modern world.”

“And if the Orient continues on its present course, there will be need for far more men. . . .” mused Lake.

The car traveled past the one-story frame buildings that housed the Navy and Marine force on the Island and came to the Pan American system hotel. A small struggling lawn somehow sustained itself around the raised one-story V-shaped structure. At the juncture of the two wings, a large, square core room was fronted with a four-column wood portico – an ornament presumably intended to set the hotel apart from all the Spartan structures on the thinly populated Island. Grieves climbed out of the car and helped Gwen out. “Everyone go check-in, but do not tarry in your rooms – dinner is being served.”

Thankful to be off the plane and soothed by the sound of the Pacific surf pounding the reefs beyond the lagoon, Indiana found that he had an appetite. In his room he quickly washed his face and changed his shirt. Out in the hall, he headed toward the sound of the Glenn Miller Orchestra. Grieves stood at the entrance to the dining room. “Strange news in the wires out of Honolulu.”

“What’s up,” said Indiana Jones.

“The parents of one of the slain kidnappers stepped forward to claim the body -- not only are the parents one of the wealthiest Chinese families in the U.S., but it turns out the boy was actually related to Madam Sinn.”

“Related?”

Grieves shook his head. “Second-cousins or something like that.”

Indy nodded, trying to make sense of it. “Earlier, you said there were three bodies recovered – I know there was the guy that got plugged in the grove and the one that got speared in the harbor – but I figured the guy I left in the harbor was fished out by the police

“The police never found anyone in the harbor. Madam’s Sinn’s bodyguards caught the kidnappers as they cast off from Ford Island. They shot a kidnapper there and the body was found on the pier.”

“Madam Sinn sure has some serious bodyguards,” said Indiana.

“What do you mean?” asked Grieves.

“In the grove when one of kidnappers tried to shoot us down, Sinn’s bodyguards actually closed ranks with me, like a charge.”

“Ex-soldiers?”

“Without a doubt,” answered Indiana. “And here I thought movie-stars only traveled with agents and publicists.”

“Well, her one companion – Mr. Yang – is her agent.”

Indy chuckled. “Some agent.”

“Indeed. Thankfully Sinn will be safe from here on out -- all of our remaining stops are secure military sites.”

Indiana shook his head. “But a kidnapping in Hawaii by a relative doesn’t make sense . . . .”

Grieves shrugged. “If there’s one thing my time overseas has taught me is that things are done differently in the Orient. Madam Sinn comes from a wealthy family – the kidnapping may have been some attempt to settle a family matter, or the plan could have been to smuggle her out of Hawaii on some tramp freighter and then hold her for ransom – such things are not unheard of in China.”

“That’s all a bit far-fetched. . . . . “

“. . . but it’s the best I can do standing here tonight,” said Grieves. “Enjoy your dinner Dr. Jones.”

Indiana headed into the dining room. It was furnished with modern chromium chairs and Formica tables. The Glenn Miller came from a record player in one corner. The room was filled with passengers from the east-bound China Clipper and officers from the air crews. Lake, who was seated with Nora and Reverand Andrews, gestured for Indiana Jones to join their table.

“So Mr. Jones,” asked Nora. “Do you have any tales of wanton promiscuity for us here tonight on Sand Island?”

“No,” said Indy as he took his seat. “it seems that the only story tonight is the food.”

[roundshort]

Are you a fan of leslie mcFarlane by anychance? The plot and action both flow like a lot of his better (best) stories. Question, when Sinn's compainon said "you lost my gun?" Why didn't Indy say " and I broke a Nail!"

Great job, keep it up! I hope the job search goes well!

[monkey]

Hey Joe,
This is great stuff!! Looking forward to reading the rest.

[roundshort]

Hey Joe,
Whats the hold-up? Your fans are waiting the next chapter, don't tell me you have been caught up in the Star Wars movie?

[monkey]

Give him time.

You can't force good writing.

Take your time Joe, it's great so far.

[Joe Brody]

Chapter 4 (continued -- Dinner)

Leaning over his shoulder Lake boomed, “Cocktails!”

“Put up a whole row of them!” said Nora.

“Looks like we’re in with a fast crowd,” said Indiana Jones to Reverend Andrews.

“Well what else is there to do in this shack on a sand bar?” asked Lake to no one in particular.

The Reverend raised his water glass in a mock toast to Indiana. “Good luck to you.”

“Luck has nothing to do with anything,” said Nora as she swiped a glass of champagne off the tray of a fast-moving Chamorros waiter.

“. . . . Honestly,” continued Lake. “Who can name a better time and place for drink?”

“I can,” smiled Nora.

Indiana leaned forward. “Do tell.”

“Out with it!” bellowed Lake as champagne and appetizers arrived for the the table.

“Growing up in Kalgoorlie. . . . “

“Kalgoorlie?” interrupted Reverend Andrews.

“An Australian prospecting town,” answered Indiana. “Very rough and tumble.”

Nora continued, “. . . .the one thing I learned early on was to make my own luck and enjoy it while it lasted.”

“Excellent. So you’re a girl that knows what’s what,” smiled Lake.

“My Dad either owned hotels and saloons or tended bar in them. Eventually he got caught up in the gold fever and went to try his hand at prospecting. I never saw him again.” As Nina spoke she held Indy’s gaze but glanced over at Reverend Andrews as she finished speaking. Indiana glanced back and forth between the two.

“Prospecting is a fool’s venture,” said Lake. He raised his glass. “To making your own luck.”

Indy joined the toast. “. . . .and marking those who do so.”

Reverend Andrews put his elbows up on the table and clasped his hands in front of his chin. “That’s a little cynical.”

Indiana shrugged, gave a rakish grin to Nora. "Maybe I'm just a pushover for the resourceful types.”

Across the room, an elegantly dressed Madam Sinn and her entourage entered the dining. As she crossed the room, she smiled at Indy. Reverend Andrews cracked his knuckles. "And are you also a pushover for the glamorous types?"

“Not particularly,” answered Indy, but he kept his gaze fixed on Sinn. A Navy flyer -- a flushed junior officer with a big loopy smile – broke from a group at the bar. He went to Madam Sinn's table and after an initial exchange, he bent low to say something in her ear. Taking issue with the advance, Sinn's bodyguards rose and reached for the flyer.

Indy pulled back fast from the table. "Excuse me."

One of the bodyguards put a hand on the officer's uniform and the flyer jerked free and went toe-to-toe with the bodyguard, stating "Back off, brother."

Indiana cut in front of the flyer. With his palm down Indy gestured to the other bodyguard to stay back. "Easy now. No trouble here."

Indiana turned back to the flyer. "Trust me. You do not want a problem."

Jeers and catcalls erupted from the bar. Indiana sized up the room and tensed himself. The flyer eyed both bodyguards, Madam Sinn and settled on Indy.

"Good thing I've got to report to a new duty station tomorrow."

Indy nodded. "That's smart thinking. I'll buy you a drink." Indy put his arm on the flyer, nodded to Madam Sinn, and turned away from her table. He gestured for the bartender to set up the young officer.

"Bit of a falling out with your friends from last night?" said Nora as Indy took his seat.

"Those guys are not my buddies. I'm afraid that they're quick to anger and quicker to act."

“That Steward you talk to on the plane says that you’re an archaeologist,” said Reverend Andrews. “What made you take off after those kidnappers last night? You could have been killed.”

Indiana looked hard at the Reverend. He was a strong, broad man in his late thirties. Straight blond hair cut short over cold blue eyes. There was something technical and methodical about the Reverend; better suited as an engineer rather than clergy. Indiana grinned. “It was night-time on Moku'ume'ume. What else can I say?”

"Ha! Enough distractions," said Lake as he threw back yet another drink. "Let's cut to the chase."

Indiana raised his brow as he ate.

"And what chase is that?" asked Reverend Andrews.

"How exactly does a Church go about transferring funds to support its missions abroad?"

Now it was Reverend Andrews turn to stare hard at Lake for several seconds. The room seemed to go quiet.

"Gold coin. Lots of gold coins sewn into my clothing and luggage."

Lake sputtered. "My God. How medieval."

"Not really," said the Reverend. "Gold is universal, liquid and. . . ."

"Heavy, really, really heavy. . . " said Lake.

"A just weight and balance are the Lord's; all the weights of the bag his work," answered the Reverend with a steely edge.

"Proverbs 16:11," said Indiana Jones. Nora sipped her drink and gave Indy a quick wink.

"And who would think to rob a simple Holy man?" asked Reverend Andrews with mock-innocence.

Flustered, Lake stammered.

"Ha!" shouted the Reverend, as he convulsed with laughter. He slapped a heavy hand on the table. "I was just giving you the business."

Lake pulled back, registered the joke and joined in the laughter.

“We use bank letters of credit,” said Reverend Andrews. “It’s quite secure I can assure you. . . .and the sums are not that great. The Church has no desire to see its servants fall prey to thieves. . . . .”

“Like us,” roared Lake. “Go on, say it!”

[Canyon]

Joe, this is great stuff!

Yet again, looking forward to reading more. :D

[Joe Brody]

End of Chapter 4


Again, Andrew’s slapped his hand on the table and continued to laugh so hard that tears ran down his eyes. “If you say so – but remember you said it first, not me.”

As the dinner plates were cleared, several couples took to the floor without waiting for dessert. Lake looked over at Sinn’s table. “You know, Henry, I say at a minimum that starlet owes you a dance.”

“And if not her, then her agent, perhaps,” joked Nora.

Indy cast a rueful eye toward Madam Sinn. “I would like to see how she is holding up, but her crowd is wound a little too tight tonight.”

"Looks like your dance card is empty soldier." said Nora.

Indy extended his hand. "In that case, do you care to dance?"

"My pleasure," responded Nora as she took to her feet.

Lake called out after the couple, "Is someone making her own luck?"

Nora looked back over her shoulder and gave a little shrug as she followed Indy out to the corner by the record player that passed for the dance floor.

Indy placed one hand on Nora's waist and held her cool, strong fingers with the other. She held his gaze with her incredible blue eyes. Smiling, she said, "I'm impressed you knew Kalgoorlie, ever been?"

Indy shook his head. "No, funny coincidence. Kalgoorlie was just profiled in a large feature on Australia in last month's National Geographic."

"Now that is a coincidence." Nora trailed off with a slight smirk, seeming to lose interest in the discussion. She all-too-casually looked about the room as they danced.

Indy pulled Nora closer, cocked his head to catch her eye. "Why are you on this flight?"

Nora looked Indy dead in the eye. "I'm working. I've got to get something to Manila."

Indy grinned. "That's pretty vague."

"That's the best I can do." Now Nora stepped close to Indy to let the dessert cart past. She looked up at him. "And why are you traveling to the Far East?"

"I'm heading to the Himalayans."

"What's in the Himalayans besides a lot of snow?" asked Nora.

"Someone, something."

Nora laughed. "That's pretty vague too. . . and I bet that's the best you can do, right?"

Indy nodded and Nora pulled away. But she continued to hold Indy's hand. "Catch up with you later?"

Looking hurt, Indy said, "Where you going?"

"I promised Gwen Greives a bed-time game of cards. I'll look you up later, O.K.?" She broke her hold and backed away.

"It'll have to be." Sulking, Indy thrust his hands in this pockets and rejoined the Reverand and Lake.

* * *

Indy sat on his bed, waiting in darkness. When Nora failed to return to either the dining room or the main lobby where several guests adjourned for an after-dinner smoke Indy gave in and retired to his room at eleven. For close to an hour he listened as guests shuffled down the hall, doors unlocked, opened and closed, water coursed through the plumbing, and guests whispered and coughed. After a time, the noise subsided, and Indy began to drift off as a light rain pattered on the roof. Then -- with a fit -- Indy jerked awake. He cast out to get his bearings but froze the instant he looked at the door to his room. The shaft of light that passed under the door was broken by a shadow. Someone stood silently outside, not moving. After a full minute the figure moved silently down the hall, away from the lobby.

Indy went to his door and paused – not hearing any doors opening, he waited long enough for the person to travel to the end of the corridor. Then, with a firm grip, Indy opened the door swiftly and turned into the hall. Empty. Grabbing his fedora, Indy started off in the same direction. As he walked, Indy scanned the rooms on either side for some sign of activity, but all was quiet until he came to the last rooms. There on one side a light with a slight pinkish tint escaped from under a guest room door – and Indy heard the shuffling of at least two people moving about the room. Then Indy heard something unintelligible in Chinese and the light went out. Indy moved to the screen door at the end of the hall. He looked through the screen for some sign of his quarry. Seeing no movement among the dunes, scaevola bushes and imported eucalyptus, Indy put on his hat and stepped outside.

After being in the stuffy hotel, Indy savored the cool wet ocean air and the soft white sand under foot. As with the rest of the island, nuisance Gooney-birds sat everywhere at random intervals. Dismissing the assorted tracks in the sand that went around either end of the hotel wing, Indy took several steps toward the military buildings -- where he saw a figure cross between two structures.

Keeping his distance, Indy shadowed the figure through the light rain. It was close to one o'clock in the morning and there was no one about. All of the windows to the military buildings were dark, except the occasional naked bulb that burned over a random doorway. Finally, the figure paused at the edge of the compound, near one of the hydroponic greenhouses and then moved to cross the large open span of white sand that gave way to the stand of Ironwoods that protected the cable station. Indy moved up to the greenhouse but froze when he saw something move inside. Quickly, he pressed flush with the mesh-screen side of the structure. Through the screen Indy saw a shadowy figure step up to the far wall, intently watching Indy's quarry.

Indy started to step back away from the greenhouse but took a fierce kick to his side that sent him tumbling through the screen wall into a web of cords and plants. From the front of the greenhouse the Watcher grunted, "What the . . . ?"

Partially blinded by sand, Indy tried to climb to his feet but instead he became tangled in the cords suspended from the ceiling to support the plants. The Watcher grabbed Indy by the collar and yanked Indy to his feet. He then landed a powerful right squarely on Indy's jaw. Again, Indy reeled back into the plants. The Watcher kept after Indy. No sooner than Indy hit the ground than the Watcher let loose with a violent kick into Indy's solar plexus. Then in rapid succession the Watcher repeatedly raised Indy's head and punched him back down to the ground.

Beaten, bleeding and dazed Indy could barely register the Watcher as he leaned close to Indy's face. Again he grabbed Indy by the collar and growled, "I don't know who you are or what your game is but if you want to see the end of this flight you mind your own damn business."

With that the Watcher rabbit-punched Indy in the right side of his head and let Indiana hit the ground unconcious.

* * *

A leather-shoed foot thrust under Indy’s shoulder and forcefully flipped him over. Indy’s face first stuck and then tore from the ground. Sick, in pain and blinded by the impossible glare of the morning sun, Indy registered his surroundings. He lay on the ground in the wrecked greenhouse, his face stiff from dried blood and sand. The hot moist air made it hard to breath. Above him stood several silhouettes against the glare.

“How pathetic,” said a figure that Indy recognized as Grieves. Grieves’ voice had a hardness that took Indy by surprise.

Lowering his gaze, Indy tried to pull himself up. He failed after a sharp, lancing pain shot through his bruised – and possibly broken -- ribs. Vainly trying to get up on one elbow, Indy said, “Someone jumped me.”

“A creditor perhaps?” said Grieves sarcastically as he crouched down close to the baffled Indy.

Grieves went smug. “Indiana Jones. I thought Pan Am circulated a memo on you back in the States. I checked with New York and sure enough it seems that you possess the single largest open account – all past due – in the entire Pan American Airways system. . . . . a bill that exceeds that of several countries.”

Lucien Lake laughed. “So my friend is quite a character after all.”

“Quite. It looks like our esteemed Indiana Jones got exactly some of what was coming to him,” said Lake.

“I’m glad I found him here,” said Lake. “Otherwise, I would have missed all the fun again.”

Grieves shook his head with disgust. “Numerous unpaid tickets, an entire unpaid charter in Peru and the theft of a S-42 Seaplane . . . .”

Finally, Indy succeeded in getting up on one elbow. He pointed at Grieves. “Hold on now. I can explain the S-42. I sent a cable to the nearest Pan Am airfield telling them where to pick it up”

“True -- but by the time we reached the plane it had been stripped. My best guess is that my engines are propelling air boats on the Amazon.”

Indy slumped back down. “I’ll get Pan Am its money.”

“Not soon enough for me – I’m boarding the Clipper. I suggest you find a way to get down to the pier.” Grieves turned and picked his way out of the ruins of the greenhouse. “And rest assured, I’ll be circulating a new memo calling attention to your 'Henry Jones' alias.”

Chuckling, Lake reached out to help Indy to is feet, "So what is it my friend, 'Henry' or 'Indiana'?

Accepting the assist, Indy grimaced as he took to his feet. A pensive Nora stood nearby with crossed arms and a concerned expression.

Indiana tried to rub away the caked dried blood with the back of his hand. "What do you guess?"

[Finally, the 'Henry Jones' mystery is resolved.]

[roundshort]

Indy a deaadbeat?
Wow, who'd a thunk it!

Didn't Uncle Sam buy his ticket?

[Joe Brody]

Indy a deaadbeat?
Wow, who'd a thunk it!?

I'm just trying the raise the stakes for Indy -- and not to mention increase the level of conflict. I'm no expert on Pan Am's credit policy's in the 1930's but my guess is that if Indiana was able to get credit from the Airline (likely based on his ties to a University), it's conceivably that in the course of one adventure he could rack up some fairly sizeable bills. In my Indy universe the unpaid charter expenses and the theft of the seaplane are references to Indy's exploits immediately prior to his attempt to get the fertility idol. Once Indy got in trouble, I'm assuming a memo would have been circulated to all Pan Am offices warning that Indy was a bad credit. One of my favorite details in Raiders is Indy offering Marcus the trinkets for the ticket to Marrakesh. Travel costs money and that is something that Indy is keenly aware of. . . .so I thought wouldn't it be great to expand on that as a way to show that Indy really is in the hole at the beginning of the film.

Didn't Uncle Sam buy his ticket?

It's not like Eaton and Musgrove could just issue Indy a Corporate American Express card and wish Indy luck -- so my guess is that they advanced a very modest sum (in cash) for Indy's travel expenses and incidentals (note: the cash offered to Marion). And remember, in Chapter 2 I have Indy state to Greives that Eaton/Musgrove don't know Indy's itinerary.

[roundshort]

I can buy that, I still wonder why Indy is so secretive about his plans with the U.S. gov.

The leve of Intrigue you have created is very thick, almost like Chandler running us around in circles in L.A. in "The Big Sleep". A reader must look very carefully and pay great attention, lease we miss important clues . . .

Always thought Indy could have moon lighted as a noir style dick.
Keep up the excellent work

[Joe Brody]

I can buy that, I still wonder why Indy is so secretive about his plans with the U.S. gov.

In several respects, Raiders is very much a product of its time, the early 1980's. The portrayal of Major Eaton and Colonel Musgrove as a mean-spirited bully and inept bureaucrat (respectively) in Raiders (see my character summaries for each character for more background) coupled with the Government's decision at the end of the film to break the deal with Brody and keep the Ark is reflective of the post-Vietnam/post-Carter sentiment prevelant in the U.S. at the time, specifically that the government was inept and couldn't be trusted. Obvious cinematic contemporaries from roughly the same time include Close Encounters (the best example because of Speilberg's involvment), China Syndrome, First Blood and (to a lesser extent) The Final Countdown. To a great degree, I intend to stay true to that tone in my fiction. I believe that Indy and Marcus have little faith in the Eaton/Musgrove promise that the Museum will get the Ark -- and take steps to counter such an eventuality (this is consistant with Indy's conduct in the films: (i) having Jock at the ready in the beginning of Raiders, and (ii) ripping out key pages from the Grail Diary in Last Crusade. Jones isn't as clueless as he seems). Accordingly, if I ever write myMarcus Brody: Threat to the Union (http://http://raven.theraider.net/showthread.php?t=7784&page=1) project, it will begin with Marcus travelling to New York to pay a seemingly innocuous call on a wealthy musuem benefactor, a banker, who also happened to be very influential player in getting Roosevelt elected. While in New York, staying at what I'm calling the Union Preservation Club, Marcus will get caught up in his own adventure while Indy is busy trying to take care of business in Nepal and Egypt. . . .

The level of Intrigue you have created is very thick, almost like Chandler running us around in circles in L.A. in "The Big Sleep". A reader must look very carefully and pay great attention, lease we miss important clues . . .

You nailed me there. You also nailed me on the MacFarlane. At least I didn't slip up and say something like "Indy nosed the Slueth toward the fleeing craft . . . ."

[roundshort]

Point taken, but I wonder . . .
If the U.S. was so worried about Hitler and the Nazis, why didn't Indy have a gov agent following him. Seems the U.S. was watching Hitlers movments pretty close in '36 (they had to since they dropped the ball earlier). Speakingof 1st Blood, (John J. Rambo (only in this movie) I feel is the closest thing to a hero even close to Indy, did u see the new DVD that has the never before seen alturnate sucide ending? what a great movie!

As far as we know, Indy has never had any dealings with Nazis before (I have not seen the young Indy movies so I don't know if there is anything here), so I am interested in what happens wit the German agent

[Joe Brody]

[First part of] Chapter 5

Indiana Jones stopped at the greenhouse door. Outside, a small detail of Marines, all with .45 automatic pistols holstered at their sides, stood by at-ease as a tanned Captain and a man in plain clothes conversed with Grieves. An ashen Grieves turned back toward Indiana, “Unfortunately, no one is leaving Midway anytime soon.”

Indy leaned against the doorframe and pressed his left arm across his chest in a vain attempt to master the pain he felt every time he inhaled. “If this is about the greenhouse, I’m pretty sure that I can fix the damage . . . .”

The Captain looked Indy over head-to-toe and asked Greives, “Holy Hell, what happened to him?”

“This is a Manila bound passenger – Henry-Indiana-Jones – I found him . . . He claims to have been jumped here last night”

The man in plain clothes took a step forward. “Henry Jones was the only Pan Am passenger that received a cable yesterday.”

The Captain nodded, took a long drag on his cigarette as he eyed the batted Indy. “Don’t try and tell me that one of my boys did that to you.”

Indy shook his head. “I did not see my attackers, but I’m sure they weren’t Marines.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because the guy that beat the tar out of me told me to mind my business for the rest of the flight.”

The Captain took another long drag. “But you say you didn’t see the guy?”

Indy nodded. “That’s right. I got kicked from behind through the wall here and got sand in my eyes. What is this all about?”

“In a second,” the Captain said as he flicked the butt far off into the sand. “What were you doing out here last night anyway?”

Indy glanced over at Nora. “Someone was at my door last night but never knocked. I followed him here.”

“And he attacked you here?” asked Greives.

“No.” Indy gestured toward the cable station. “He kept going out toward those ironwoods.”

Both the Captain and the civilian exchanged glances. The Captain asked, “You can identify the person you saw walking toward the cable station?”

Again Indy shook his head. “No he was well ahead of me the whole time – and it was raining. I just know it was a man.”

Nora stepped forward. “Enough already – what has happened?”

The Captain lit another cigarette. “Last night the cable station’s entire night crew – four men – were murdered.”

Without missing a beat Indy locked eyes with the Captain. “How were they killed?”

The Captain looked over Indy and the other passengers. “Hell, I guess it doesn’t matter to tell you – it’s too crazy actually. Two men were garroted, one had his throat slit and one man was stabbed to death.”

“My God,” said Grieves.

“Was the station damaged?” continued Indy.

The civilian shook his head. “Everything is fine. We’re fully operational.”

“What does this mean for Clipper passengers?” asked Grieves.

“All passengers will be questioned, and then we’ll just have to take it from there.” The Captain turned back to his men. “Take these passengers back to the hotel. We’ll question everyone there individually.”

Grieves started after the officer. “You don’t mean you intend to hold up two Clippers. .. . .?”

The Captain kept smoking and kept walking. “I’ll do what I have to do to figure this out, understood?”

“Understood,” said Lake.

* * *

[roundshort]

Man, this is full blown mystery! Who killed Owen type stuff? "You mean to tell me you left an unconscience body in a car . . ."

keep it up

[Joe Brody]

Man, this is full blown mystery! Who killed Owen type stuff? "You mean to tell me you left an unconscience body in a car . . ."

keep it up

What??? No critique of the Captain?

[roundshort]

Are you sure he is a Marine Cappy? I am not sure Marines even know what garroted means. Is he MP? I woudl let him use a little more adult language, remeber ToD was PG13. He seems a little wishy-washy, Lets toughen him up, but I am sure he and Indy will be buds!

[Joe Brody]

Midway wasn't big enough in '36 to support a MP unit. I've got the Captain pegged as the EO for the unit on the Island. I thought about stronger language but held back.

[roundshort]

You know I love the idea of Indy teaming up with the jarheads, have to be careful they might make Indy look bad!


hoo-rah!

[Joe Brody]

You know I love the idea of Indy teaming up with the jarheads, have to be careful they might make Indy look bad!

hoo-rah!

Then I thought this line would have gotten a reaction:

The Captain nodded, took a long drag on his cigarette as he eyed the battered Indy. “Don’t try and tell me that one of my boys did that to you.”

[roundshort]

That seemed too easy, come on Marines to kick people when they are down, they help them up, then knock 'em down again!

The USMC never really had a chance to but heads with Nazis, so this is interesting to see what peace time jarheads woudl make of a nazi . . .

[Joe Brody]

Chapter 5 (continued)

* * *

Nora poured steaming hot water into a small teapot that rested in a large bowl. She kept pouring well after the water spilled over. Seated beside Nora, Gwen Grieves looked skeptical but remained silent. Nora went about the ritual deftly, explaining the importance of steeping the tea for less than a minute. On the far side of the Philippine Clipper’s lounge a weary and hurt Indiana Jones sat watching, impressed with both Nora’s knowledge and the way she – with help from Andy – had hobbled together a more-than-satisfactory makeshift Chinese tea set. With the tea almost ready, Gwen bolted to get Madam Sinn. To the cabin at large, Nora said, “I know it’s almost time for dinner but does anyone want tea?”

Lucien Lake sat with his back to Nora, engaged in a card game with Reverend Andrews. Concentrating on his cards Lake responded simply by signaling Andy for a refill by raising his empty gin glass above his shoulder and giving it a wiggle. Stymied by his half drunk opponent, the good Reverend did not even look up from his cards. The elder Grieves remained buried in a four-day old Manila newspaper.

Gwen returned leading the way for Madam Sinn and her shadow, Yang. Looking up from her preparations, Nora asked, "Madam Sinn, will your other companions be joining us?"

Yang leaned forward. "The men are sleeping. They are not to be disturbed."

Both Yang and Sinn joined Nora and went about inspecting and smelling the actual tealeaves. With a sure fluid motion Nora filled several shot-glass-turned-sniffing cups in one continuous pour. After the initial tasting, Nora shot a smile at Indy after Madam Sinn correctly identified the tea and complemented Nora’s good taste. Yang too acknowledged that the tea was superior -- and was surprised to hear that Nora had purchased such fine tea in San Francisco.

“We can use my set for the remainder of the trip," said Madam Sinn as she turned to Gwen. "It is good that you are learning about tea if you are to be living in Manila.”

From behind his paper, Grieves said, "That's just the half of it. As aviation expands I expect that we'll be traveling all across Asia in the coming years."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "I especially like the flying . . . "

Nora poured the second pot into the cups. "Gwen, it looks like Mr. Jones could use some tea. Could you take him some?"

Grieves lowered his paper. "Gwen. Keep your distance from Mr. Jones. He's not the sort that I would have you associating."

Hearing this, Andy bristled as he served Lake's gin. He extended his tray toward Gwen and asked, "May I?"

Gwen placed the cup on the tray. "Miss Grieves," said Andy as he crossed the cabin. "Let me tell you a story about Indiana Jones."

Indy raised the cup and took a feeble sip. Grieves snorted and raised his paper with a sharp crack.

"Years back I was a steward on the Golden State going from Chicago to Los Angeles. A bit past Rock Island I notice this skinny young man -- traveling with only a satchel -- not eating anything and not going to the dining car. So I corner him -- and sure enough he doesn't have enough money for food. Turns out the only things he's got is a ticket, a brand new diploma from the University of Chicago and a plan to spend a couple of weeks out in the desert exploring some Indian ruins he never got to as a boy."

Andy turned away from Gwen and looked back at Indy who sat unmoving with his tea, slouched down in his seat looking out the window of the plane. "You see this young man had plans and he wasn't going to let the lack of money stop him."

From behind his paper, Grieves said, "This story sounds awfully familiar."

For the first time during the entire flight, Indy showed some sign of life. "And just how did you manage to get us clear of Midway this afternoon?"

Grieves remained silent. Ignoring the exchange, Andy continued. "All Indiana had was a knife, a lighter and an old hat . . . no way was he ready to go into the desert. So I spent every free minute over the next couple of days -- through Des Moines and Topeka -- gathering some food for him and stitching together a pack out of some old tarp and leather lashings."

Indy looked over at Andy. "I still have that pack somewhere."

"Well my hand hurt like Hell," Andy continued. "But the pack was finished by the time we got to El Paso -- where Indy was fixing to get off and take a spur northwest toward the Apache Trail. We're not in the station ten minutes before he corners me saying that he has to stay on the train -- that he had recognized a group of thugs boarding cargo and he knew that they were up to no good."

"Have some tea?" said Nora.

Andy shook his head, cleared his throat and continued. "Spend enough time on a train and pretty soon you hear every lame excuse there is from people looking for a free ride but Indy got the benefit of the doubt because of the stories he had told me on the way down from Chicago. So I called in a favor and when the Conductor came looking for tickets he looked the other way, then I get Indy to point these guys out to me. There were three of them -- a big Indian-looking fella, a heavyset guy with a walrus mustache, and a scroungy mean looking red-headed kid in his early twenties."

"Were they train robbers?" asked Gwen.

"I didn't know what they were up to, but I could see they were trouble. They were all filthy -- like they'd been out in the desert for months -- and the first thing they did was to hit the bottle hard. We were steaming across a big span of desert so Indy wanted to act fast and see what cargo they had loaded onto the train. We headed back into the freight car, found a crowbar and went to work on one of the crates that Indy saw being loaded on to the train."

Andy paused to step aside to let the Clipper's radioman pass through the cabin to go aft to release the plane's antenna for a radio broadcast.

[I’ve got some acknowledgements on this entry. First, I’d like to thank everyone that responded on the Indy Fact Check Thread. And I also have to thank Westford and Minnesota Jones for helping me last year (or earlier this year) track down the Golden State as an accurate Chicago-to-LA train. As it turns out, out of the three such lines the Golden State was the cheapest and would have been the one most likely taken by a young penniless college student.]

[roundshort]

There is a twist I didn't see coming. Always nice to get some well written Indy Background. don't stray too far though

[roundshort]

I was just rereading, and I am sure that you really don't any ideas, "Critics and new material I don't need" James Bond, whichever one was in Vegas, anyhow,
I always thought it woudl be cool if Indy caught up with Fedora, who was a big influence on him, and saw learnet that Arch. was a pure thing, but some times you need to be financed, hence leading Indy up the hired gun he is in the movies. Just a thought, as always great stories

[roundshort]

So, how deep in this sub sotry line do you plan to go?

[Joe Brody]

So, how deep in this sub story line do you plan to go?

It's really just a vignette. Andy Solemn's Golden State story is meant serve a couple of purposes: (i) solidify the Indy/Solemn relationship in the reader's mind, (ii) give the reader a short break from the on-the-plane/off-the-plane cycle I've created, (iii) give some very indirect background for events that will unfold in the next couple of chapters, and (iv) resolve (in some fashion and to a certain degree) a loose end from Last Crusade (I don't like loose ends in the films and its fun to pick ou those threads and try to make something new). The Golden State story will have no direct bearing on the events on the Clipper -- and none of the characters from the Golden State will show-up in this story. My problem right now is that any good vignette is supposed to be characterized with 'delicacy, wit and subtlety' (Websters) and I'm no where near that now -- I just hope to get something written that's serviceable.

A final word on loose-ends, the Pan Am Clipper only goes as far as Manila -- which means that the focus of the story (and Indy's companions) will change significantly with Indy only half way to the Raven. In essence that means that Red Line: Destination Nepal will eventually be a story in two parts: the first part being the journey on the Clipper and the second part that has yet to unfold. Pan Am didn't fly to Nepal, and right now we know that Indy has tickets (obtained by Art Weber) on Britain's Imperial Airlines. We'll have to see how this second stage unfolds. I'll just say this, a certain Shanghai gangster is going to have a MAJOR role in the second half.

[roundshort]

Wow, I did not know that . . .
Hmmm, what am I reminded off "It's hard to live with a price on your head . ." or some quote from Empire. was that on Hoth?

[Joe Brody]

[End of] Chapter 5


“Just as we're ripping into a crate with the crowbar, the baggage man and the Conductor enter the car. The Conductor lights into to me, and the baggage man -- well, he took the trespass into his car pretty personal -- so he jumped Indy and let fly. Indy got a pretty good beating . . . .”

At this Lake chuckled. “Yes this is starting to sound familiar. . . .”

“. . . . but Indy sucked it up and actually started to hold his own against that big mean Irish son-of-a-bitch baggage man. The Conductor ended it by taking a cheap shot that put Indy down. All hot, the Conductor said ‘Now what the Hell is going on here?’ Indy pointed at the crate and claimed it held stolen artifacts. The Conductor peeked inside and whistled – he reached into the packing and pulled out a hand painted Mexican clay vase. Problem was it was brand new, cheap junk. The conductor pointed at Indy and said 'No Ticket' and told the baggage man to tie up Indy till the next stop. The Conductor then sent me back to work, saying that if I’m lucky I’ll get to keep my job.”

Andy blackened at the thought of the Conductor’s rebuke. "Mad-as-heck at Indy, I left with my tail between my legs. Later on, I'm working in the dining car and Indy -- still bound -- comes hoping in from the baggage car holding a sack. The sack is stitched closed and inscribed 'The Presidio Mining Company'. Indy -- with this big 'ole wolfish grin -- said 'It was hidden in one of the jars.' It was filled with gold dust. So we go back into the baggage car where the baggage man is sprawled out across the floor. Indy had head-butted the baggage man, knocked him out cold. I cut the bonds to Indy’s feet . . . but the three thugs came busting in. The Conductor had gone and told them that someone had tried to break into one of their crates.

"Indy did not hesitate. He hurled the sack straight into the red-headed punk's gut and then squared off against the other two. Me? I'm no fighter, so I just stand there. The big Indian pulled out a wicked long knife and the guy with the walrus mustache grabbed a plank. Still bound at his writs, Indy took my knife and . . . ."

Grieves lowered his paper in a huff. "Shouldn't you be setting up for dinner?"

Andy stiffened and headed toward the Galley. "Right you are, sir."

"Dad!” said an exasperated Gwen Grieves. “He was nearly finished."

"Well there wasn't really much more to tell," said Indy as he climbed to his feet. "Bottom line, I was young and blundering. I had messed with that gang once before and I jumped to conclusions when I saw them in El Paso. I'm only standing here today because I got lucky . . . . and I got some help from the man that's making our dinner." With that Indy walked out of the cabin, thanking Gwen for the tea as he headed back into the passenger compartment.

Indy settled into a seat and stared at his reflection in the window. It was late afternoon and the sky was a deep dark blue – and there were still some time before the plane touched down in Wake Island. What should have been a relatively short eight hour flight had been pushed back due to the delayed departure from Midway. Indy studied his jaw, which was red and swollen from the beatings he had taken over the last two nights. He reached for his fedora to take a nap when he noticed Gwen Grieves settled into a seat across the aisle. On her lap she had a white canvas Pan American shoulder bag. On top of the bag were several irregular blue-glass orbs.

Curious, Indy asked, “What do you got there?”

Gwen looked up. “Oh, these are glass floats the Japanese use for their fishing nets. My dad and I found them on the beach in Midway. The current carries them all the way from Japan. My Dad says they are good luck. You want one?”

Indy chuckled, touched his sore jaw. “Gwen, I could sure use it – but at the rate I’m going it would be broke by morning.”

Indy perched his fedora low on his brow and settled into sleep.

Indy awoke with a start. Passengers -- from both the rear sleeping compartment and the passenger cabin -- moved forward toward the lounge, where the stewards appeared to be in the middle of breaking down the dinner seating. Indy caught strains of anxious questions ‘did we hit something?’, ‘did an engine stall?’, and ‘what’s wrong?’ Aside from the confusion among the passengers, Indy noted that the flight remained smooth, the drone from the engines constant. As Grieves -- with one hand on Gwen’s shoulder -- sought to calm the group, he kept one eye toward the front of the plane. In seconds one of the pilots made his way aft.

“Are all passengers accounted for and O.K.?” asked the pilot.

Standing on his toes, Grieves counted the crowd. “All passengers are here. . . . and all non-flight staff as well.”

"Should we radio Midway?" asked the pilot.

"Now why would we do that?" snapped Grieves.

"Because on Midway you promised to contact Captain Yorick if any suspicious happened en route to Manila."

"And what exactly did happen?" said an exasperated Grieves.

"I can't say,” said the pilot. “But there's a chance someone just jettisoned something from the afterhatch that hit the tail -- something fairly heavy."

Grieves said, "I refuse to believe that. That thud could have been anything. . ."

"Even at eight thousand feet?" ventured Indiana Jones.

The pilot looked back over his shoulder at another member of the flight crew who had come up behind him. "Ricketts, what do you think?"

The First Engineer, wearing a heavy fur-lined flying suit that looked more like a costume from a Flash Gordon film that a uniform for a flight over the Pacific, spoke up loud enough so that Grieves could hear. "I was strapped in the Throne Room and -- and from the sound of the 'thud' it sure sounded like an impact on the tail to me. I've checked all instruments and gauges and we're running tip-top."

"That's what's important," said Grieves. "I'm not about to risk every person on this plane being detained indefinitely by some paranoid Marine because of some mystery thud. So since the plane appears to be fine, I suggest that everyone get back to stations and get this plane to Wake Island."

The pilot shifted on this feet, “I don’t know Mr. Grieves, I think we should. . . .”

From out of nowhere, Richter interrupted, "Madam Sinn has two trunks stowed in the sleeping compartment."

Yang moved beside Grieves, "The same two trunks that were loaded in the cabin for the flight from Pearl. Surely, Mr. Grieves you appreciate the need for Madam Sinn to maintain her appearance and to have access to her wardrobe?"

"Mr. Richter," said the pilot. “What are you suggesting?"

"Those trunks could hold an object big enough to cause the impact in question. No other passenger had access to such large containers."

“And why would anyone want to jettison something mid-flight?”

Richter leveled his cool grey eyes on Grieves. Condescension cut through his accent. “Obviously, to keep the object from being found in case the plane was later searched.”

"What interesting speculation," said Grieves. "Captain, do you intend to search the whole plane? Or -- late as we are – do you plan on turning around and looking for something floating on the surface?"

The pilot scanned the crowd. Madam Sinn looked expressionless but held the pilot’s gaze. Finally, Yang said, “Captain, you may search Madam’s Sinn’s luggage if it will ease your concerns.”

A red-faced Grieves glared at air crew. The pilot hesitated. “No, that will not be necessary.”

The pilot turned to the engineer. “We’re about an hour from Wake. Have a radio check done and we’ll check out the tail when we land.”


<<<<<<>>>>>>>

Still not all that happy with the vignette but I sat on it for a few days and it will have to do.

Wow, I did not know that . . .
Hmmm, what am I reminded off "It's hard to live with a price on your head . ." or some quote from Empire. was that on Hoth?

Well, we'll just have to wait and see how this unfolds. And yes, the quote is from the Rebel Command to Solo in the Hanger Bay in Hoth.

[roundshort]

A very nice little trip dow memory lane, with Indy showing the proper humbleness, like at the dinner scence in ToD, I really think everyone needs to watch ToD as it really gives us the most about Indy's chacter.
can't wait to read more

[Joe Brody]

Beginnning of Chapter 6

Indiana Jones emerged from the forward hatch of the Philippine Clipper and joined the other passengers on a barge moored to a long, newly constructed pier that extended well over a hundred yards from the western shore of Wake Island. A young Chinese boy made his way among the passengers offering cigarettes from a tray that was almost as wide as he was tall. It was a perfect late evening so passengers lingered on the wharf, smoking and looking up at the rear of the plane where Grieves stood with several members of the crew inspecting the tail for signs of damage. After taking a quick look up at the seemingly undamaged aircraft, Indiana Jones searched out Andy Solemn who he found leaning against a railing on the far side of the barge away from the crowd.

Andy lit a cigarette and blew smoke away up to his right. “Us stewards are supposed to wait for the passengers to leave before we catch a smoke, but I’m in no mood for following rules after dealing with Grieves.”

Indy chuckled at the ornery old steward. “Andy, I need you to do me a couple favors.”

Andy straightened up. “Sure thing Doctor Jones.”

“I need you to send these cables for me.” Indy handed some cash and a sheet of paper to Solemn – and in doing so Indy shifted to block the exchange from the view of the group behind him. From under the brim of his fedora, he cast a skeptical eye back toward his fellow passengers.

Scanning the cables, Andy read under his breadth with the cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Art Weber, Dispatch Shanghai Airport, ‘Cable received, GFUC’ – and the second to Marcus Brody, National Museum, Washington, ‘GFUC’.” Andy looked up. “Indy, they may not want to send these if they think the cables are coded . . . especially after last night.”

Indy nodded. “I know, you may be right -- if you have a problem get Grieves, he’ll force the issue and see that the cables are sent.” Indy hesitated and then pulled a pocket calendar from his breast pocket and said, “On second thought, have the Marcus Brody cable sent to the Union Preservation Club in New York City.”

Andy took a pen from his pocket and added the second address. “Got it. Not that it’s any of my business, but what does ‘GFUC’ stand for?”

“It’s a simple instruction: going forward use code,” replied Indy with a wry grin. “Straight-up, I’ve got a bad feeling about this flight – and I’ve got to start being a Hell-of-a-lot more careful than I’ve been so far.”

“Well at least it’s not obscene,” chuckled Andy. “If things are getting serious, when are you going to explain all these crazy goings-on and how you’re involved?”

Indy turned serious. “Believe me, if you thought I jumped to conclusions on the Golden State, you ain’t seen nothing yet. Right now, there are a lot of loose threads that don’t make sense – nothing fits together -- but enough has happened for me to believe that things are not going to end well.”

“Not end well how?” asked Andy as he took a deep drag on his cigarette.

“I think there’s a chance we don’t reach Manila – which brings me to my next favor. I want you to get sick and not continue on with the flight.”

“Well if things are as bad as you say, then you need me on the Clipper.”

Indy put his hand on Andy’s shoulder. “I’ll manage it.”

Andy again exhaled up to his right. “But you think we’re heading toward big trouble before we reach Manila?”

“That’s right.”

“And you just happen to be on this flight on separate business?”

Indy nodded. “Important separate business – but I’m beginning to think that my being on the flight is making matters worse.”

“Can it ever be any other way?” Andy smiled. “Well then that settles it Dr. Jones, you need someone to watch your back. Traveling with you is better than watching a Charlie Chan film.”

Perplexed, Indy said, “Except Charlie Chan doesn’t get the Hell beat out of him every night. Andy this is serious business. People are already dead and things are just going to get worst.”

“This discussion is over, Dr. Jones. I’ll see to getting your cables away as soon as I finish my clean-up.”

Andy pulled back, tossed his cigarette off into the lagoon and ducked away into the Clipper. Indy crossed the barge and climbed the ramp up to the pier. At the end of the pier, Lake and Nora stood under the lighted signature station sign. At each Clipper stop, every pier was fronted by a two-sided sign that gave the name of the station, the station’s latitude and longitude, and the names of the next Clipper stop in both directions with the miles to each destination.

“Dr. Jones what say you to a little nocturnal adventure?” asked an animated Lucien Lake.

Indy cocked his head, as he crossed under the Wake Island sign and was joined by Lake and Nora as he headed toward the system hotel. “Is it legal?”

Nora laughed. “Legal yes – but humane? You’ll have to decide that for yourself.”

Indy looked puzzled. “The way this trip is unfolding, I think I should be sticking to the straight and narrow.”

“Perhaps more than you know,” said Nora. “Grieves is saying some pretty uncharitable things about you and if you’re not careful you may get implicated in the Cable Station murders.”

Indy stopped short. “I’ll can handle Grieves – there’s no connection between unpaid bills and murder . . . but in the meantime, what do you two have planned for a beautiful night on Wake Island?”

Lake slapped Indy on the back. “Well first we need provisions. I’ll see to the critical items . . . .”

“Meaning liquor,” interrupted Nora.

“Yes, meaning liquor, of course,” continued Lake, “And Ms. Crowe here will see about procuring the necessary ordnance for our little adventure.”

Again Indy stopped short. “Ordnance? Just what do you two have in mind?”


* * *

[Joe Brody]

Chapter 6 Continued (and possibly one of the more bizarre scenes in Indy fan fiction):

Nora patiently kept her rifle fixed as she waited for her target to move back into the light. Indiana Jones noted her steady breathing, solid grip and the stock nested firm against her shoulder. He looked up and saw that she had been right to wait. Her target moved from behind the tree and into the light from the tennis court. Nora took another breath and as she exhaled she exerted pressure on the trigger. The shot rang out, causing Lucien Lake to jump and spill gin over his front.

“Agh, a spinal,” said Lake with distaste as the target flailed for a full four seconds and then went still in the sand.

Nora handed the rifle to Indiana. He pulled back the bolt and reloaded. “Will the miracles ever cease -- you can shoot too.”

“Now let’s see what you can do,” replied Nora as she leaned back against the railing. The three stood on a broad staircase landing, twelve feet off the ground on one of the three water towers that added much needed elevation to Pan American’s expansive Wake Island Compound. Indiana scanned the dark ground for a target and finally settled on a shadowy form darting from bush to bush way out beyond the tennis courts. He aimed and squeezed off a quick shot. The shadow went still. Indiana shot a cocky grin at Nora and settled back to let Lake take a shot. The red-faced Lake fumbled with the bolt of his rifle causing Indy to lean over and relieve the drunken Southerner of the weapon. “I think you should stick to your area of expertise.”

“Quite right,” said Grieves as he picked up his bottle. “Pity I don’t get to enjoy the benefits of my labor.”

“You mean chumming the bushes?” laughed Nora as she took Lake’s rifle from Indy. “I just hope that hamburger you spread doesn’t bring every rat on the island – we only have two boxes of ammunition.”

“We’ll just have to make every shot count then,” said Indiana as he fired off another round from his single-shot bolt action .22 rifle that found home in another short-tailed Polynesian rat.

“I’m surprised that you have no qualms with shooting rats,” said Nora

“Are you kidding?” chuckled Indiana Jones. “My father is a professor of medieval literature. As far as he’s concerned it was a rat that brought low Western Civilization and left it in the Dark Ages. This rat hunt is the first thing I’ve done on this trip that he would have approved of.”

Lake lowered his bottle. “They say that a hungry rat will crawl into a baby’s crib looking for a meal.”

Nora hit another rat. “At least the baby had a crib. When I was a baby my dad moved around so much that the only crib I ever had was a suitcase. He used to tell me I was destined to be a great adventurer because I slept in a suitcase.”

Indiana shifted his tender jaw. “Right now I could do with a little less adventure.”

Nora looked up from reloading her weapon. “I never thought about it, but I suppose that being an archeologist can be pretty rough. Say you’re hot the trail of some valuable artifact. I imagine there’s always someone out there looking to jump your claim or some competitor looking to beat you to the punch. Does much of that actually happen?”

“Sure, some of that goes on,” said Indiana Jones as he quickly reloaded in response to the increasing number of rats moving toward the tower.

“Not too many King Tut’s tombs out there, I imagine,” said Lake.

“You could be followed or worse. . .” Nora trailed off and bagged a fast moving rat out beyond Indy’s furthest victim.

“Well you sure can’t always trust to luck,” smirked Indy, without even pausing to aim he casually raised his rifle with one hand and shot a rat at twenty yards near the base of the tower. “You have to be sharp and plan for contingencies . . .for things that can and will go wrong.”

“Your ventures can take quite a bit of seed money?” questioned Lake.

“That’s one of the challenges. . . .” said Indy.

“And hence the unpaid bills?” said Lake as he took a deep swig.

“And hence the unpaid bills,” agreed Indiana.

Nora lowered her rifle and pointed toward a large shadowy mass moving in from the buildings. “Don’t tell me that’s what I think it is.”

Indiana didn’t pause from firing at a mass of rats that had swarmed the hamburger. “No whatever it is it’s moving too slow to be rats.”

“It’s like a moving blanket,” said Lake.

“First thing first,” said Nora as she took aim on the rat swarm below.

Indiana Jones and Nora Crowe kept on firing on the rats but their number swelled to well over a hundred rats milling about the base of the tower. Then the shadowy form broke onto the illuminated Tennis Courts. It was hundreds of crabs of varying sizes, crawling over one another making their way steadily to the base of the tower and rat swarm.

“What are they?” asked Nora as she reloaded.

Indiana Jones continued to pick off rats. “Hermit crabs. They’re omnivores and they’ll eat what they can.”

The hermit crabs converged on the rat swarm. While some crabs engaged the rats, some went to work on the hamburger and rat carcasses.

“Well no one at the hotel said anything about shooting hermit crabs,” said Nora perplexedly.

“That’s right,” said Indiana Jones. He shot a last outlying rat and leaned back against the railing, resting the rifle on the rail. “Pan Am only wants to clear this rat infestation off the island. I imagine Hermit crabs are the type of scavengers they can live with.”

Lake watched the melee below at the base of the tower. “Well the battle is joined and it appears that we’re stuck here for the duration.”

“No matter what it’s going to be an interesting walk back to the hotel,” grinned Indy.

“No rush,” said Lake. “Actually there’s something I wanted to take up with you two.” -- both Indy and Nora exchanged glances -- “I don’t know if either of you have noticed but since we boarded in San Francisco Grieves has been very possessive of a large satchel that he usually keeps locked in a wall locker in the rear compartment of the Clipper by the steps to the afterhatch.”

Both Indy and Nora shook their heads.

“Imagine that the satchel contained a large – very large in fact – quantity of dollars and pounds.”

“Does this satchel in fact contain a large amount of cash?” asked Indy.

Lake shrugged, looked uncomfortable for a moment then with a surprising sobriety said, “Indeed it does. I lay my cards on the table. I’m the type that seizes an opportunity when one presents itself. I am now presenting that opportunity as a joint venture to be undertaken by the three of us.”

Indy looked hard at Lake. “You didn’t happen to get curious about Madam Sinn’s trunks before the ‘thud’ on the flight into Wake?”

Lake shook his head in disgust, like he had eaten something rotten. “Heavens no – movie-types never have any money . . .or anything else of value for that matter.”

“So why would Grieves have that kind of cash?” asked Indy.

“My guess is that it's bribe money,” said Nora. “Both Grieves and Gwen have talked about how his real job is not just managing the Manila operations but to get landing rights for Pan Am in other cities. Out in the Orient, that will involve a lot of upfront payoff money to grease the skids just to get in front of the right people.”

“A reasonable explanation consistent with my own experience in the Orient,” said Grieves. He took another swig.

“I don’t like it,” said Nora. “So much has happened so far on this flight – Madam Sinn’s kidnapping, the murders on Midway – why would you look to pull a job now?”

Lake smiled and nodded his head. “That’s it precisely. Doubtless there are schemes and any number of our odd little party engaged in strange goings on – but the important thing here is that Grieves and the airline personnel can only handle so much. They are distracted, and Grieves is barely keeping it together.”

Indiana had remained silent, watching Nora the whole time. He caught her eye. “Just what do you think about the attempt to kidnap Madam Sinn?”

Author's note (if anyone is still reading this). A large, stubborn rat infestation was actually cleared off Wake Island in 1938 and some early clipper passengers used air guns to shot rats. One shoot resulted in two members bagging 60 rats each. The hermit crab infestation is historically accurate as well. I confess to using some dramatic license in the use of the .22's and the speed of the hermit crab's appearance. When this is over, I intend to post a listing of my sources. I confess the rat shoot is odd, but its historically accurate and I note that Woody Allen's Sweet and Lowdown contains a rat shoot scene. I guess this scene is proof positive that I have no real commercial aspirations here. And finally, no rats were actually harmed in the writing of this entry.

[roundshort]

Ugh, Joe that was a bit morbid, and a bit like Wildcat swap if you must know . . .
But you know as well as I do, time to get soem action this is Indy!
good stuff

[Deadlock]

I'm still reading. :) I really like the last installment.

I think the setting for this last bit of dialogue is brilliant. The rat shoot is a very colorful and memorable change of pace after all the conversations that happen over food and drinks. (Given the setting of the story, that repetition is understandable. But still. ;))

[roundshort]

Joe, did you ever think of Indy on an Ice Boat adventure, where soemthing happens, like his supplies get stolen? Think about it

[Joe Brody]

Ugh, Joe that was a bit morbid, and a bit like Wildcat swap if you must know . . .

Joe, did you ever think of Indy on an Ice Boat adventure, where soemthing happens, like his supplies get stolen? Think about it

I think someone has to doublecheck their sources. I went home and checked my copy of Wildcat swamp and (while I may have missed it) I didn't find any reference to any rat shoot. Given the period of the early stories it wouldn't surprise me at all if there was one and I'd like to know if there was because I'd add it to my list to support what some may consider an off color episode.

Are you sure you're not thinking of a certain fox hunt that takes place during the course of said Ice Boad adventure?

I'm still reading. :) I really like the last installment.

I think the setting for this last bit of dialogue is brilliant. The rat shoot is a very colorful and memorable change of pace after all the conversations that happen over food and drinks. (Given the setting of the story, that repetition is understandable. But still. ;))

I really appreciate the kind words. I agree that my major dilemma is that the first part of the journey is very dialogue driven, almost too much. And for a first draft all I can really do is get out serviceable dialogue and minimal description -- but I've got to say that I prefer a page of largely one-line (but hopefully interesting) dialogue to full page descriptions of scenes that tend to slow down the action. My challenge when I go to clean this up is to try to minimize and break up the dialogue. One problem is partially what I'm trying to do with all the talking is slip in clues and set up things for future action. As for the rat shoot itself, the setting for Lake finally showing his true colors was intentional. The link to vermin will continue with respect to his storyline. The rat shoot is my bug zapper from Blood Simple (if you remember that thread).

Final word on vermin, I see the red-line stories as playing with the conventions of an Indiana Jones adventure. So the rat shoot is my approximation of the obligatory Indy spider/bug/rat scene (yes I'm using rats again but it's historically accurate). With respect to other conventions there can't, for example, be a relic in an adventure-with-an-adventure. And since there's no relic that means there will be no supernatural element to this first part of Red-Line (but note, while I haven't fully outlined it, I am 85% certain that there will be some supernatural element to the second half as Indy works his way across Asia). As to the ongoing-action serial requirement, I've met that three ways: (i) obviously, Richter is straight continuity, (ii) Indy's problems with Eaton and Pan Am and the references to his trip to South America to get the Idol, and (iii) with respect to the Red-Line story itself, Indy's relationship and history with Andy Solemn. Lastly, I had what I hope was a somewhat humorous stab at Indy the dork (but on-the-prowl) academic on Ford Island. One notable element that is missing is that given the tropical climate, Indy will not be in Jacket, Fedora and using his whip. My intention is for these elements to slowly manifest themselves as Indy gets fully up to speed and starts to assert himself as he unravels all the intrigue around him.

[roundshort]

fox hunt, rat hunt hey we all have pistols . . .
lets shot things . . .

"Frank do you have your pistol"

[Joe Brody]

End of Chapter 6 (more talking -- but its almost over)

“After the Lindbergh kidnapping, it’s hard to call any theory, even Grieves’ family grudge angle, implausible” – Nora shrugged – “I just think Madam Sinn’s traveling with such formidable companions is very telling.”

Flushed and near raving, Lake – with his hand clutching a bottle of gin – pointed back and forth between his eyes and Indy’s eyes. Slurring his speech, he said “Something is not right with that whole affair. You sir,” – Lake lowered his arm and pointed his finger into Indy’s chest – “are a true professional, which is why I want you for my little job. As a professional you recognize the utter folly of kidnapping a girl protected by armed guards on an isolated island.”

Indy nodded. “True, those kidnappers were anything but organized – they ran out of ammo out on the harbor.”

“Well I don’t think kidnapping is the first choice of any professional con,” observed Nora.

“Whatever they were, they were desperate,” said Lake. “I, however, am not. I will not go after Grieves’ satchel alone. What say you?”

Indy was silent for a moment. Then he crossed the landing and grasped the railing. “Now let me think this through. You can’t steal the cash now because Grieves will likely check the bag as we taxi across the harbor in Manila. As soon as we land in Manila, he’ll go up the pier and straight into the Pan Am terminal office where I bet there’s a safe. He will then come out and greet all the local color and see us off. When the satchel next comes out of the Pan Am safe is anyone’s guess.”

For the moment all the ill effects of Lake’s gin seemed to have disappeared. “Quite right, you’re quite right. So the problem then is when to do the pinch.”

Indy turned around, noted that Nora seemed perturbed, and said, “Well the pinch would have to be right there on the pier – after we get off the plane but before Grieves enters the Pan Am building, wouldn’t you say Nora?”

“I suppose.”

Lake nodded his head. “Exactly. I propose that the two of you take the satchel and I shall provide a distraction on the pier to retard any pursuit.”

Indy grinned at Nora. “Sounds good to me.”

Without committing to the project, Nora indicated that she wanted to head back to the hotel. Together the three gathered up their things and made their way to the bottom of the stairs as Lake talked details. The hermit crabs had carried the day, and only a few rats remained foraging around the bushes. The three took a wide detour around the battlefield.

Lake staggered on ahead, weaving his way though the low dunes and lush vegetation that marked the Island. Indy walked close beside Nora, content and happy to have time alone with her. It was late and quiet, Nora seemed content, confident and good as she idled along with her eyes looking down at the sand. She was all the more alluring because she seemed sincerely oblivious to the effect she had on men.

“Your marksmanship tonight was almost as impressive of your knowledge of the Chinese tea ceremony,” said Indy. “You wouldn’t happen to speak Chinese?”

In flawless Mandarin, Nora responded, “Wŏ hui Shuō Zhūngwėn (“I speak Chinese”) -- both Mandarin and Cantonese.”

“And I suppose you learned all this in Kalgoorlie?

Nora laughed and playfully bumped her shoulder against Indy’s. “Believe it or not I did grow up in Kalgoorlie. When a girl is raised by Chinese cooks and dishwashers in the back room kitchens of hotels and bars, the girl is liable to pick up a few things.”

Indy nodded and bumped Nora back. “Fair enough.”

“But evidently I never learned how to judge people.”

“How’s that?” Indy slyly mocked Nora by feigning a lack of interest as he looked all-too-casually around the grounds in the same way Nora had acted on the dance floor on Midway.

“I’m surprised that you’re throwing in with Lake,” said Nora with some disgust. “I figured you were above that sort of thing.”

Indy stopped. He had his sleeves rolled up and a rifle resting on each shoulder. His fedora was perched back on his head. Nora turned to face Indy, over her crossed arms she had draped Indy’s suit jacket.

“Listen,” Indy leaned slightly toward Nora. “You have never given me any reason to be straight with you, but I’ll tell you this: I don’t think Lake is ever going to get a chance to go ahead with his little scheme. Something bad is going to happen before this flight is over. I’m just glad that I finally know where I stand with one other passenger.”

Indy resumed walking toward the hotel. Nora kept pace. “So you’re telling me you’re going for the money if the opportunity presents itself?”

Sarcastically, Indy responded, “Wouldn’t you if you had the bills I had to pay?”

Nora stopped and called out, “You’re ducking the question.”

Indy wheeled around. “O.K. Let’s be straight with one another. Why are you on this flight and what’s your connection with Andrews?”

Nora stood dumbfounded. After several seconds she flung Indy’s suit jacket at his face and strode off toward the hotel without a word. With Indy trailing a few yards behind, they came up to the front lawn of an exact duplicate of the hotel on Midway. As they made their way to the front entrance a somewhat agitated Reverend Andrews walked out on to the front stairs.

“I was starting to get worried. I thought you were having problems with the rats.”

Nora brushed past the Reverend and as she passed through the screen door she glared back at Indy, muttering “You have no idea.”

* * *

Heavy footsteps outside his room caused Indiana Jones to stir awake. It was early morning, and Indy pulled a pillow over his head to deaden the inevitable early morning wake-up call from the ever polite but aggressive hotel staff. No knock came -- instead his door was thrown open and before he could react to the sound of heavy footfalls rushing into his room, Indy was tossed from his bed and pinned hard to the floor by several men.

From the floor Indy strained to see who had entered his room. At first in the dim light all he could make out was the boots of several men filling the room. Straining more, he realized that they were Marines, several of whom immediately set about up-ending the furniture and searching the room.

Resisting the hand that kept his head against the floor, Indy forced out, “What gives?”

The hand ground Indy’s face down into the sandy carpet and a knee dug deeper into his back. “Just keep your mouth shut Jack.”

A pair of polished dress shoes below a pair of well-tailored pants came into Indy’s view. Standing before Indy’s face Grieves said, “Search everything, tear out the walls until you find it.”

Grieves started to pace the room. “He had to have taken it last night. . . .”

At the mention of last night, Indy’s eyes grew wide and his stomach sank. Lake’s scheming had cost him. Again he strained against the hand on his face. “What are you looking for?”

An enraged Grieves crouched down. “Don’t play stupid with me . . . I don’t know how you could even entertain the thought of sneaking it on the plane. . . .”

A Marine standing by the bed pulled a bayonet from his belt and crouched down toward the mattress, prepared to thrust. A deep voice from the door shouted out, “Put Down that Bayonet! What the Hell are you thinking? You want to get us all killed?”

The young Marine looked confused but nodded toward the door and complied with the order. Confused, Indy tried to get a better view of the search. At least four Marines had tossed out his luggage, pulled out the drawers to his furniture and searched his bathroom. There was a nervous energy and intensity that went beyond the theft of money.

Again the deep voice boomed out, “Get Jones out of here and continue the search . . .but be careful. I don’t want anyone blowing up this hotel.”

Indy was yanked to his feet and dragged into the hall past a gruff sergeant. Out in the hall looked pleadingly at one of the Marines. “What did I steal?”

The Marine shot a look back at the Sergeant who still stood in the doorway to Indy’s room with his hands on his hips. Then, under his breadth the Marine whispered, “Someone took a lot of dynamite the airline had brought in to blast the coral out of the harbor . . .”

“You there!” The Sergeant shouted at the young Marine. “Keep your mouth shut.”

Indy relaxed against the wall, relieved that matters were not as bad as he had first thought. After several minutes Grieves exited the room.

“No matter,” said Grieves straightening his tie. “You’ll never get it on the plane.”

The young Marine let Indy go. Never taking his eyes off Grieves, Indy shrugged and bumped Grieves as he passed back into his room, knowing that he didn’t have a lot of time to get packed to make departure for Guam.

[Colonel Vogel]

Good job, keep it up! :whip:

[Joe Brody]

[Start of] Chapter 7

The Philippine Clipper’s departure from Wake Island was delayed while the passengers’ luggage was searched for the missing dynamite. Spread across the wharf, the frustrated travelers sat on their bags waiting for a Pan Am Agent to conduct an inspection prior to boarding. A steward walked among the passengers offering ice water to counter the heat rising from the barge’s briny sun-baked deck planks. A couple Marines sat idly up on the pier, smoking and looking down on the group.

Richter worked his way through the chaos to Grieves who stood in the shadow of the Clipper’s massive wing watching the search. “I understand that there is a city on Guam. Will I be able to go there once we land?”

Sitting on one of Madam Sinn’s trunks, Yang wiped his brow. “It sounds like Mr. Richter has need to visit yet another cable station.”

The sweating German glowered at Madam Sinn’s dour companion. “Mr. Grieves. Are you any closer to finding those responsible for jettisoning. . . . ” – Richter trailed off and cast a meaningful eye toward Madam Sinn’s bodyguards – “whatever it was that was jettisoned during the last flight?”

Grieves sighed heavily and flashed a hard look at Richter. Stifling his first, reflexive response, he said “We still don’t know what dented the tail. Anyway, it’s a ten hour flight to Guam and another half hour drive to Agaña. I can have a car take you to town but if you intend to dally there you’ll have to find your own way back in time for tomorrow’s departure.”

Richter gave a curt bow. “Excellent. That will be more than sufficient.”

The agent finished with Madam Sinn’s luggage and moved to Indiana Jones. Indy stood, hands on his hips, with his two bags before him. He kept his gaze fixed on Grieves. The Agent cracked open a satchel bag and raised an eyebrow as he unwrapped Indy’s [Smith & Wesson] pistol.

Indy gave a weak chuckle. “Go ahead and look: it’s unloaded and there is no ammunition.”

Without a word, the Agent shook his head and set the weapon side. Again, the Agent raised an eyebrow as he removed Indy’s well worn bullwhip.

The whip’s leather coils caught the eye of Gwen Grieves. “What is that?”

“Just a silly prop I’m certain,” said her father with marked disdain.

Indiana Jones shrugged. “Whatever you say . . .”

Richter, holding his cigarette between his ring and middle finger, took a drag and nodded toward the whip. “What purpose has a professor for such an implement?”

“It’s a field expedient,” replied Indiana Jones with a wry smile. “Care for a demonstration?”

Richter shook his head and crossed to where the whip rested on Indy’s larger suitcase. Treating the whip almost as if it were extremely fragile or completely foreign, Richter raised the whip, letting the coils fall to the deck. “May I?

Before Indy could respond, Richter, with cat-quick movements, cocked back and cracked the whip out across the barge, straight between Yang and Madam Sinn to where the tip snapped the hand of one of Sinn’s Bodyguards. The man dropped his cigarette and clutched his wounded hand. From above, the two Marines came alive, grabbed their rifles and started down the ramp. Madam Sinn shot a desperate glance at Indiana Jones. Together the bodyguards headed for Richter where they were stopped by Yang.

“Stop now!” Yang shouted to the bodyguards. “Let the German man be!”

The Marines relaxed as the bodyguards backed away. Richter gave into a bizarre, uncontrolled asthmatic spat of laughter as he coiled the whip. Yang smoldered and glared at Richter. Richter turned his back on Yang and tossed the whip toward Indiana. “My brother makes use of a near identical tool on occasion.”

“Lucky for him,” said Indiana as he caught the whip. He crouched to stuff the whip back into his satchel. He then snapped the satchel shut and -- to the Agent’s consternation -- he took the bag and headed onboard the Clipper.

The Agent shot an apprehensive look toward Grieves and called out to Indiana. “Sir, since San Francisco we have had passengers check all luggage.”

“Trust me.” Indy smirked back at the Agent as he climbed through the portal. “I can manage, thanks.”

* * *

[Paden]

Joe, I'm a latecomer to your work here, having spent the last two days reading up to the most current installment. This is outstanding stuff! I love the intrigue and interconnected storylines. The connection between Nora and the Reverend is a mystery I'm particuarly interested in seeing unravelled. The glimpse of Richter's sadism in the most recent installment was a nice touch. I'm eagerly awaiting more. Keep up the great work!

[roundshort]

You had to put Marines in it, didn't you? Just a feindly little search, well tension is building, I like it, I hope the Marines don't have to qucik the stuffing out of Indy too much,\?

Well back to Harry Potter, I can't believe there is only 1 more!

[Joe Brody]

[Most likely the end of] Chapter 7

After the Philippine Clipper reached altitude but before Indiana Jones could fall asleep, Andy Solemn crouched by Indy’s seat. Indiana removed his grey fedora and blinked away heavy eyes. “No coffee on the morning I could use it? What gives Andy?”

“I figure you’re making progress. You finally made it through the night without getting your head kicked in.”

“Sure, but I got roughed up this morning.”

“Getting roughed up doesn’t count. Doctor Jones, you’re one of the only passengers that has yet to check out the flight deck and I figure now might be the right time.”

Nora leaned forward from her seat across the aisle. “Can I go too? I would love to see the flight deck.”

“Well what say you Doctor Jones?”

Chagrined, Indiana stared at the seat in front of him for a second and then glanced back at Andy; noting the change for the serious in the kindly steward’s tone. Indy lifted his satchel from his lap and set it on the empty seat beside him. “You’re right. It’s time I get a better lay of the land.”

As the other steward set up for lunch, Indy and Nora followed Andy through the lounge and into the Galley. Andy asked the couple to hold back while he cleared the visit with the Captain. Andy climbed the steep ladder-like steps to the flight deck, leaving Indy alone with Nora for the first time since the night before. Both angled away from the other, trying not to look in the other’s direction. Indiana thrust his hands in his pockets and affected a keen interest in the afternoon’s salad course set out on the counter.

After Andy returned and gave the all clear, Indiana climbed the ladder to the flight deck and stepped aside to make room for Nora. Even though the forward walls tapered in, the flight deck was almost as broad as the lounge below and offered ample space to accommodate a massive radio console to one side of the cabin and on the other, space for a table and instruments for the aircraft’s navigator. With one hand on his headset, the radioman looked over at Indy, smiled, and gave the thumbs up. On the other side of the cabin, charts spread across the navigator’s table caught Indy’s eye but movement from above his right shoulder caused him to turn. Several steps up from the flight deck was a small but deep triangular space – just big enough for one man -- that Indy figured ran toward the back of the plane just below the wing. An exposed steel skeleton and the plane’s bluish rippled aluminum frame gave the space a futuristic appearance. Set back in the recess amidst wall-mounted instruments sat the chief engineer, dressed in his Flash Gordon outfit, intently making entries on a clipboard and looking out small windows that afforded a clear view of the plane’s engines.

“Doctor Jones, believe me the engineer’s throne room holds little appeal once you know it’s the only unheated part of the plane.” The Captain had left his seat by the controls and extended a hand toward Indiana. “We’re glad you could pay us a visit.”

Indy grinned and returned the handshake. “Even though Grieves thinks I’m the Devil incarnate?”

From behind Indy, the Navigator snorted. “Especially because Grieves thinks you’re the Devil.”

“Plus Andy and Gwen say you’re an O.K. guy,” said the Captain.

Nora looked puzzled, “What is the story with Grieves?”

“Since the flight from Hawaii, he has been bearing down on us” – the Navigator hesitated and looked at the Captain – “making us fly in conditions that we’d rather not. On Pearl, Grieves challenged the weather reports and insisted we fly on to Midway. Had we had our way, we would have spent another day in Pearl.”

“But aren’t those your decisions?” Indiana asked the Captain.

The Captain nodded. “Technically. But the thing about Grieves is that he’s one of Pam Am’s true experts in ocean flying. You name it, he can do; meteorology, night navigation, flying or engineering. If there’s ever a war, he has sealed orders to report to La Quarula Field in New York to run the Navy’s pilot training school. He’s that good.”

The navigator sat back and studied his map. “Well, it’s sure hard to second guess him. If we keep our present pace, we’re on pace to set a new record to Manila.”

“Do you suppose he’s friendly with Lindbergh,” asked Nora. Indiana turned and raised an eyebrow at the question.

“Well Lindbergh staked out this very route for Pan Am and Lindbergh is in tight with Trippe,” replied the Captain. “But I doubt the two know each that well. Grieves has always been posted abroad, either in the Orient or South America.”

The second pilot looked back over his shoulder. “With Grieves around, this crew is just a glorified extension of the Clipper’s autopilot.” The pilot hit a lever and joined the group. “I heard you two were on a rat safari last night. On my first stopover in Wake I set the record by bagging over forty -- how did you two do?

Nora shrugged. “We didn’t keep count, but we only had one box of rounds between us.”

The second pilot nodded. “Sure, there are 120 bullets in a box, sixty each. So how many did you two miss?”

With a straight face, Indiana looked at Nora. “How many did we miss?”

“I don’t remember missing any.”

“Neither do I.” Indiana broke into a wide smile and slapped the second pilot on the shoulder. The pilot started to laugh but was cut short by a terrible piercing scream from down in the passenger compartment.

Indy jumped down the ladder and raced back to the dim sleeping compartment where a rattled Madam Sinn stood with a hand clutched above her chest. Beside her, Yang glared at Indiana and pulled back the curtain. Inside the berth, exposed by a pulled back bed sheet sat Indy’s bullwhip.

“What manner of insult is this?” demanded Yang.

Dumbfounded, Indy stammered. “I don’t know how this could have happened.”

“This – after all the concern you have shown for my safety?” choked Madam Sinn.

Grieves came up through a group of passengers behind Indiana Jones and assessed the scene without a word. Yang grabbed the whip. “Mr. Grieves” – Yang flung the whip at Indiana – “this man is a degenerate.”

“Perhaps,” Grieves shook his head. “But he likely is not at fault here.” Grieves turned his head, shouted “Gwen!”

Indiana looked back into the passenger compartment where the nine year old girl sheepishly turned her head around the seat recently vacated by Indiana. Saying that he would deal with Gwen later, Grieves made his apologies to Madam Sinn and asked everyone to settle in for the flight to Guam.

The flight landed against an orange-grey evening sky. The monotony of daily flights had worn down the passengers and crew who trekked up the pier toward the converted two-story former Marine barracks that served as the Pan Am system hotel on Guam. There was little discussion as Lake whistled a mournful version of Dixie. At the hotel, Indy chose to wait for the other guests to check-in, so he lingered alone out on the broad screened-in porch that ran the length of the building. Just as he was about to enter, he was joined by Grieves.

“There’s strange news out of Shanghai. It seems that the airport dispatcher there -- who I believe you know -- was found dead today. He had been severely beaten prior to his death.”

Indy balked. For a moment he was lost to the buzz from the insects outside and the stiffly end-of-day heat and humidity. “His name was Art Weber. He was helping me with arrangements for the next leg of my trip.”

“Do you suspect there’s any connection with your mission for Army Intelligence?”

“Possibly.”

“I knew Weber had” – Grieves paused as he looked for the right word – “peculiar tastes. So perhaps his death has nothing to do with you?”

Indy stepped close to Grieves. “Tell me what passengers sent cables while we were on Midway.”

Grieves took a step back from Indiana – then raised himself up. “I wouldn’t breach a passenger’s confidence because you have some wild, unsubstantiated suspicious that your activities are so important so as to have caused the deaths of all those men on Midway. And don’t forget, I have no access to the Cable Company’s records.”

Indy checked his anger. “So you’re just going to turn a blind eye again?”

Grieves turned and went to enter the hotel. He paused at the door. “Not at all. All I want to do is get to the end of this flight with the minimal disruption. And besides, I suspect you don’t really need me to tell you who sent a cable from Midway.”

[thanks Paden & Roundshort -- much will be made very clear in the next installment or two.]

[roundshort]

How many "bullets" in a box, uuhhh point of order here int he miltary they are rounds? Slipping here Joe, but I like the drection here

[Joe Brody]

How many "bullets" in a box, uuhhh point of order here int he miltary they are rounds? Slipping here Joe, but I like the drection here

That was a civilian talking.

It's a shame about Art Weber. . . .

[roundshort]

Joe,what are you saying, he was chasing hte dragon, or people were looking for Indy's flilght route, nazis?

[Joe Brody]

“I knew Weber had” – Grieves paused as he looked for the right word – “peculiar tastes. So perhaps his death has nothing to do with you?”


Joe,what are you saying, he was chasing the dragon, or people were looking for Indy's flight route, e.g. nazis?

I'll leave the door open on that one. The Art Weber character has never made any sense to me:

Art Weber
Prim Airport Dispatcher who secures unglamorous passage for Indiana Jones and friends out of Shanghai. On a set location worthy of Casablanca, Dan Akroyd’s cameo as a dressed-for-safari-Britisher keen on American vocalists is one of the Franchise's great incongruities.

. . . .and I admit I'm grinding an ax by having him killed. An opium addiction would be a fitting vice for a Brit in Shanghai (Britain made a fortune off the trade) -- but on the other hand it wouldn't surprise me that if Art Weber were alive today he would be a huge Liza Minelli fan.

I like Grieve's inference because it says something about the type of person that Grieves is and how he looks at people.

[Paden]

More good stuff, Joe. I remain very intrigued about the mystery involving Madame Sinn. I'm really curious to learn more about her shadowy situation. The new information on Grieves was enlightening. He isn't the most likeable character, but he is interesting.

And, wow, Weber's dead. (That wasn't a complaint. :) )

[roundshort]

Hmm, I wonder if Weber spet time in Bangcock, if you know what I mean . . .

[Joe Brody]

End of Chapter 7


At a loss for how to deal with the obstinate Director, Indiana followed Grieves through the door and headed for the bar. Lake sat making the most of the time before dinner by lecturing the blank-faced Chamorros barkeep on the intrinsic value of the Gin Rickey. Indy tapped the bar and asked for whiskey but cut the man off when the barkeep reached for a glass. “I’ll take a bottle,” said Indiana Jones.

Lake looked up from his gin as Indy grabbed the bottle. “Take it from me -- drinking alone is nothing but trouble.”

Indy backed away with an empty smile. “Trouble I got.”

“Sir?” The barkeep called out as Indy turned to his room. “To who should I charge the bottle?”

“W.C. Grieves,” replied Indiana as he walked off to his room. “He’s first class.”

Lake raised his glass after Indy. “To Pan Am. Where first class is the only class!”

Inside his room, Indy set the bottle down on his nightstand and opened his satchel. He removed his pistol and gave it a quick once over. He then reached into the bottom of the satchel and removed the bottom panel. Working his fingernails along the edge he found a seam and ripped back the heavy cloth covering. Inside were three long rows of rounds for his Smith & Wesson. Indy loaded his weapon, pocketed some extra rounds and tucked the pistol into his pants. He then grabbed his bottle and headed out through the lobby.

Nora looked up from her magazine and frowned as Indy strode past bottle-in-hand. Without slowing, Indy popped open the screen door and went outside. From the bar, Lake raised an eyebrow toward Nora.

Indy walked down the drive from the System Hotel to the main road. He stopped at the gate to the Pan Am compound and put the bottle down on the waist-high whitewashed perimeter wall. He then climbed up beside the bottle. The main road was nothing more than a wide dirt track flanked by dense vegetation -- there were no buildings in sight, just a crooked row of weathered telephone poles. As the evening wore on, several vehicles passed through the gate – delivery trucks returning to Agaña, a car or two, and several primitive carts pulled by water buffalo. These primitive single-axle traps, fashioned from raw logs, carried various domestics and kitchen workers back home to their villages from jobs tending the Marines and other permanent party personnel. As the evening progressed, a stone-faced Indiana Jones sat unmoving next to the un-opened bottle as the brake lights or the lanterns hung from the water buffalo carts receded into the night.

Finally around midnight, headlights broke down the road from Agaña. Indy flagged down the driver who leaned out his window with a questioning look. Ignoring the driver, Indy peered into the car and then wretched open the back door. Indy yanked Richter out from his seat and threw the German down into the dirt. Tossing some bills through the window, Indy hissed “Get lost.” As the car spun up a cloud of dust, Richter -- down on all fours -- leered up at Indy. A thin wicked knife appeared in Richter’s hand but before he could make any use of the weapon Indy stepped down hard on Richter’s hand. Indy ground his heel, causing Richter to howl with pain. Indy took a step back and unleashed a vicious kick under Richter’s chin. Disarmed and overmatched, the German took a beating without putting up any further resistance. Under the gate’s single exposed bulb, a grim Indiana circled Richter, who gasped desperately for breath. With his fists clenched and sleeves rolled up, Indy stepped in and gave Richter a hard punch whenever Richter came close to recovering.

Eventually Indy, covered in road dust and sweat, crouched down next to the beaten and bloodied man. Indy pressed his revolver against Richter’s temple. “What do you know about Art Weber?”

Hunched down on all fours, Richter buried his head into the dirt and sobbed. Indiana threw Richter down into the dirt and continued to circle the man. “Who did you cable from Midway?”

With his forehead still resting in the dirt, Richter could only shake his head. Indy stopped circling and kicked Richter hard in ribs. “On Midway, you snuck up and picked off that cable crew one-by-one.”

Richter looked up. “No. It was Madam Sinn’s men.”

Indiana kicked Richter again. “Now why would Sinn’s men kill the cable crew? Those goons” – Indy leaned over and picked up the thin blade from the dirt – “lack the finesse to do that sort of job. A person that uses a knife like this on the other hand . . . .” Indy hurled the blade deep into the jungle.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Maybe you don’t but you’re lying about Sinn’s men killing the cable crew -- they were all holed up in their room that night. If I had the time, I’d hand you over to the Marines but since you sent your friends to work over Art Weber for what he knows, I can’t afford any delay.”

Richter’s eyes went wide as Indy -- gun in hand -- pulled away. Indy looked back toward the Pan Am compound and grabbed the bottle of whiskey. He broke the seal, took a deep swig and pointed the bottle at Richter. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be on that plane tomorrow.”

Richter closed his eyes. With two quick steps Indy closed the distance on Richter and brought the bottle down hard on the German Agent’s head where it shattered in a spray of whiskey and glass. Richter sprawled out on the road unconscious. Again Indy looked around and dragged Richter deep into the bushes on the far side of the road.

Hoping to slip back into the hotel, Indy returned to his room through a side entrance. As he passed through his door a hand clamped across his mouth. However, this time it was not the strong, steady hand of a Marine. Reflexively, without thinking, Indy grabbed the arm and twisted it hard around the back of his assailant. With his attacker in front, Indy then charged across the room, hurtling his attacker’s head into the outside wall. His attacker fell limp to the floor. Gun in hand, Indiana switched on his bed lamp and fell to his bed stunned.

“I left you in Pearl Harbor.”

On the floor lay the missing kidnapper. He was in his early twenties and Asian. He was filthy and gaunt. He raised himself up on one elbow and locked eyes with Indiana Jones. “I am a friend of Madam Sinn.”

“Friend?” Indiana Jones laughed deeply and shook his head. “Friend, you were kidnapping her at gunpoint.”

“No.” The man shook his head with intensity. “We were rescuing her.”

Incredulous, Indy said, “Rescuing her?”

“Yes from Yang and those men. They are Japanese. Ruan Sinn has a baby that she left back in Shanghai. Her baby has been kidnapped, and those men are forcing her to give them cover so they can hijack the Philippine Clipper.”

Let the games begin.

[roundshort]

NICE, revenge scene, that is a good ol
fashion ass-kicking if I ever read one, if you get a chance pick of Corminc McCarthy's latest, a short read, not as violent as his ther stuff, but damn good!

I like this latest, getting the action going!

but I think Kim Possilbe is my cartoon

[Deadlock]

Indy pressed his revolver against Richter’s temple. “What do you know about Art Weber?”

Love it. :)

[Joe Brody]

http://www.zpub.com/sf/history/cc2-cards.jpg

Until now I chose to not provide any information (along with a bibliography of my source material) about the Clipper because I did not want readers to jump ahead, read about the plane's history and deduce where the story was going -- a hijacking attempt by Japanese agents years prior to World War II.

http://www.zpub.com/sf/history/cc11s.jpg

However, now that the cat is out of the bag, it is time to give some background on the plane. The drawing above shows the plane's layout. The illustration is small but please note: the forward galley leads back into the lounge, which gives way to a small passenger seating compartment. Unlike the plane used in Raiders of the Lost Ark there is no seating area or true upper deck in the Martin M-130. I have departed from the film in this respect and do not include any upper deck because it does not match the actual M-130 Clipper. If anything, I imagine the Clipper's seating compartment (broken in the image above by the crease) to be a bit longer, consisting of a couple rows of seats. The rear of the plane consists of the sleeping compartment, bathrooms and the stairs up to the afterhatch. Also, under the flight deck and nose of the plane was the storage/baggage area.

At the end of Part One, I intend to provide more background and other info on the Clipper, my sources, and Asia-Pacific in 1936.


Thanks roundshort & Deadlock, I really didn't know what to do with the last night on an island. I was leaning towards one more contact with Yang and Sinn -- but figured (i) there's been too much talking, and (ii) Art Weber rated some sort of reaction/retribution. I just gave free-reign to my Indy-Noir implues -- and consider the Richter beating (under the one light) to be the most noirish segment of the Part 1 of RedLine.

[Paden]

I just gave free-reign to my Indy-Noir implues -- and consider the Richter beating (under the one light) to be the most noirish segment of the Part 1 of RedLine.

And what a wonderfully noir sequence it was. I really liked the end of the chapter as well.

[Deadlock]

Keep the noir coming! I think this is an under-explored facet to the Jones character. But I think it is absolutely essential to a more mature rendition of Jones.

This is related: but I recently checked out one of the Max McCoy Indy books at the library... I had a bad feeling when I found it in the "Young Adult Paperback" session. This impending sense of cheese was quickly substantiated by the text itself. :sick:

So, Joe... from my extremely limited exposure to the world of Indy in print... yours is the most mature and intellectually satisfying stuff I've read. Keep up the good work! :whip:

[roundshort]

Joe,
where did you find those fun pictures? Beats the hell out of coach I'll tell you that, but I'll take a cit.X any day!

[Joe Brody]

[Start of] Chapter 8

Indiana Jones hesitated at the revelation of Yang’s deceit and the prospect of a hijacking. He looked down at the man on the floor and drew a long slow breath. “Did you steal dynamite on Wake?”

“No, I don’t know what you are talking about.” The man raised his left arm – an ugly blackened oval of dead skin ran down his forearm from elbow to wrist. “I barely survived stowing away on the Clipper. Just avoiding detection and stealing some food is all that I’ve managed since we left Hawaii.”

As the man spoke, Indy moved to the bathroom and began running warm water in the sink. “Get cleaned up -- that frostbite may get infected. Where were you stowing away?”

“A maintenance crawl space between the engines that is accessed through a small door under the wing. The plane always taxies to the pier on the port side, so I stayed in the space on the starboard side. Since the Mechanics have to wait for the engines to cool, I was always able to slip down onto the sea wing and then swim to shore undetected after the passengers and aircrew left the plane. I froze on the flight to Midway. Even though it was warm against the engine fire-wall, the bottom of the wing was freezing.”

“So whatever touched the wing is frostbite.”

The man nodded as he removed his shoes and socks. His swollen toes had the telltale dark scab-like dead tissue. He then rolled up his pant legs to reveal similar trauma to his knees. He walked gingerly past Indy into the bathroom. He had a sunken, exhausted expression; his eyes lacked focus. Avoiding discussion of the likely fate of the toes, Indy sat on the bed facing away from the bathroom and asked, “Why did you come to me?”

“I finally got into Sinn’s room last night. As far as I know it was the first time that she was left alone. Yang had her doped up but I managed to wake her. She refused to leave because of her daughter being held captive. But she told me of the plan to hijack the Clipper, and she told me to find you.”

“Why did Madam Sinn leave her baby in Shanghai?”

“Madam Sinn has never married.” The man stopped the water and leaned against the doorframe. “And unlike other actresses who got their start as singers – or worse, concubines – she comes from a good family. Her good pedigree is a major part of her appeal. So the baby’s existence – and the identity of the father – remain a closely guarded secret.”

“But her good name has not stopped her from taking some interesting roles,” observed Indiana Jones.

The man brightened. “Ah, you know Chinese film.”

“A friend took me to see The Princess the last time I was in Shanghai," said Indiana Jones. "Madam Sinn’s performance was very impressive – only in Shanghai could an actress with her social standing garner a huge following playing a prostitute.”

“Madam Sinn is very brave and has defied many to make the films of her choice. But she had to stop filming during her pregnancy, which led to many rumors. It was hoped that her traveling without a child to the United States would end the gossip and save her career. Yang’s men abducted her from her cousin’s house in Hawaii. When word came of her leaving Honolulu on the Clipper. . . . ”

“You made your move to rescue her at the luau.” Indiana got to his feet. “I think Yang may have gotten spooked after Midway and had some gear dumped during the flight to Wake, so are you sure that he still intends to hijack the Clipper?”

“Madam Sinn told me about that as well. Yang’s men stashed film from Hawaii in a waterproof bag strapped to a weather balloon, which had a mechanism to inflate the balloon with air after it was thrown from the plane. They also dumped a radio and camera equipment.”

“Assuming the gas was just air,” Indiana put his hands behind his head and stretched. “That means the balloon was meant to float and was likely retrieved by some ship – probably a Japanese submarine. And I would bet my last dollar that the photos were not pictures of pineapple fields and Diamond Head.”

“Most likely the pictures are of the Navy base at Pearl Harbor.”

“Well there’s nothing we can do now about the pictures. That submarine is the better part home. The best I can do is get word to a contact I have with the Government.”

The man sank to a seat. Indiana placed his pistol together with a handful of extra rounds on the table next to the man and headed for the door. “You’re not safe here but just stay put and don’t let anyone in.”

“Where are you going?”

“To make arrangements for the flight to Manila; if Yang plans on taking the plane it will be in the air tomorrow.” Indiana opened the door to leave. “What’s your name?”

“Bill Peng.” The men shook hands.

“Indiana Jones – Now rest but try not to fall asleep.”


Not were I wanted to stop off but I'll be tied up for the next couple of days and I can't get a discussion with Grieves right -- but there is some food for thought there. Roundshort, I'll post links to three or four sites shortly.

[roundshort]

Getting, very, very good here Joe, waiting with baited breath for the next installment, well good luck with, well everything, let me know when you are back!

Good Luck!

[Paden]

Wow. The plot really thickens. Excellent stuff as usual, Joe. I'm eagerly awaiting the next installment.

[roundshort]

"waiting by the dock of the bay . . ."

[Joe Brody]

* * *


Indiana slipped into Grieves’ hotel room the instant the Pan Am Director opened the door. Before Grieves could react, Indiana Jones pulled the door closed and said, “Yang is a Japanese Agent. He intends to hijack the Clipper on the way to Manila.”

“My God,” hissed Grieves. He looked across the dark room to his still-sleeping daughter and pulled his suspenders up over his undershirt. Grieves’ sweat and the remains of a late meal on a near table gave the air a rank, sour smell. “Just the thought of Madam Sinn being a Japanese spy is utterly preposterous. What would make you think that?”

“I never said Sinn was an agent.” Indiana stepped close to Grieves and whispered in a fast, intense tone that revealed a complete lack of patience. “One of Sinn’s kidnappers came to me tonight and told me of Yang’s plot after having talked to Sinn last night on Wake. I believe he is telling the truth because he nearly killed himself stowing away on the Clipper and he has nothing to gain by coming forward now. Sinn, however, will deny everything because her baby has been kidnapped by Japanese agents in Shanghai.”

“Assume this man is right. What do you want me to do – simply remove the threat from the plane by placing a Chinese film star literally on a slow boat to China just as I’m about to embark on a trip there to negotiate landing rights for Pan Am? The Chinese press would paint the episode as being motivated by prejudice and fear. I won’t risk that sort of incident. Or perhaps you would prefer me to ground the plane and put us all on a slow boat? Can your mission for Army Intelligence suffer any delay after the death of your man in Shanghai?”

Put off-guard by Grieves’ shrewd guess at his dilemma, Indy looked away for an instant but then took a menacing step toward Grieves. “Something has to be done.”

Grieves paced the room. “Here is what we’ll do. I’ll see to it that the pilots are carrying side-arms for tomorrow’s flight. I’ll also contact Manila and have some Army planes fly out to meet us. The Clipper’s arrival has been so momentous in the Philippines that every arrival has received an escort. I’ll have the intercept moved up to further out at sea and confirm that the fighters are armed.”

Indy nodded. “Good. So if Yang’s plan is to hijack the Clipper mid-flight and fly us North to Japan, we get chased down.”

“Exactly. Several Japanese cities – including Tokyo-- are easily within the Clipper’s range from Guam. But if we miss a radio check en route to Manila, then the Army will be able to run us down over the Philippine Sea before we make Japan.”

Indiana rubbed his chin, weighing likely outcomes. “It’ll have to do. But why arm just the pilots? Shouldn’t you arm the rest of the aircrew?”

Grieves shook his head emphatically. “It’s too dangerous. The Clipper’s main fuel tanks are in the Sea Wings under the plane. Every gun up on the flight deck that is fired down toward the Sea Wings dramatically increases the chance of explosion. I know and trust the pilots. I trained them – but I don’t know the others as well. Bear in mind, the flight deck is elevated and the access portal is narrow so it will be difficult for Yang’s men to even gain the flight deck. Also, I’ll be armed down in the main compartment and you yourself have proven that you’re capable in a tough spot. . . . together with the crew we easily outnumber Yang and his men.” Grieves stopped and looked back at Indiana Jones. “I should think the other passengers would be of some assistance as well.”

Indy shook his head. “I have my doubts. Aside from his gin, Lake’s one other fixation is your little bag of loot . . . . .”

“What do you know about my money?” Grieves’ rage caused Gwen to stir.

“Nothing really, until now that is.” Indiana stepped back toward the door. “Just that Lake claims you’re carrying quite a lot of cash. Both Lake and Nora assume it’s to gain favor for the landing rights.”

Grieves eased into a seat by the ruins of his late meal. “Exactly so, it’s a good thing the pilots will be armed for our landing in Manila because it appears that some of my passengers are a threat after all.” Grieves poked at some bones on his plate and then asked “Last thing, where is the stowaway now?”

“In my room.” Indiana cracked the door to leave. “I want to wake Solemn and have him get the stowaway on board.”

“Perfect. Just make sure Solemn places him in the forward cargo hold before the air crew and passengers arrive. . .and if our flight goes off without incident, I intend to hand the stowaway over to the authorities and have him sent back to Hawaii.”

Indiana opened the door wide and paused in the frame. He looked back, nodded and headed down the hall.

********

Couple of things:
(1) Sorry for posting the short section above --it really should've part of the last post. I just got sick of holding onto it because I want to move on.
(2) With respect to Sinn's baby and her career in Shanghai -- while it may have seemed a little tangential, these facts are very relevant to Part 2 of Red Line. Do any readers want to hazard a guess as to the father of Sinn's baby? Hint: it's not Shortround.
(3) For the next segment, some mood music may be in order. I suggest the music from Empire Strikes Back when the Speeders break through the morning sun on Hoth in search of the missing Solo and Skywalker.

[Paden]

Firing up the mood music in anticipation. :cool:

[roundshort]

Well, we know it isn't Weber, if you know what I mean!

[roundshort]

Hey,Joe
whats the dealy-yo? A whole weekend and nothing to read? What was there a Kim Possible marathon?

[roundshort]

Ok Joe, come on, I am done with Harry Potter, Kim Possible is done, I would really likesomething new to read . . .

[roundshort]

How I miss reading the prose of Joe . . .maybe someday

[Joe Brody]

Sorry for the long delay but my third kid was born in early August and I've pretty much lost my writing time to doing the last feeding of the day.

[Start of] Chapter 9 [first post]


A pensive Indiana Jones turned to watch as the Philippine Clipper’s air crew broke from their quarters and crossed the hotel’s screened-in porch. Consistent with Pan Am pre-flight ritual the flyers -- all dressed in Navy inspired dark blue jacket uniforms and white hats -- formed-up in two columns with the Captain and the Second Pilot in the lead. They strode out into glaring morning sun across the grounds of the old Marine base; a formidable contingent, confident, smiling and proud. As the Second Pilot passed Indiana Jones, he pulled back his jacket to reveal a pistol holstered to his belt. Then he gave a cocky grin and made imaginary pistols out of his index fingers and thumbs and pretended to fire a rapid series of shots, like a cowboy letting loose with his six-shooters.

From the far side of the porch, Lake saw the gesture but not the concealed weapon. The southern grafter nodded to himself, contemplated his drink for a second before polishing it off and then stood to join Reverend Andrews and Nora Crowe, who had come out from their table by the bar to start the procession down to the plane. Indiana picked up his satchel and joined the group.

Reverend Andrews looked back into the empty lobby. There were no other passengers and the front desk was strangely unmanned. “Could it be just us going on to Manila?”

The small group started the walk down to the pier. Lake caught Indy’s eye. “What was that business with that pilot? Is he armed?”

Nora stepped in front and put up a hand on Indiana Jones’ chest. “Why would the pilot be armed?”

Indiana hesitated, weighing whether to disclose the situation to his fellow passengers. He looked around to make sure he would not be overheard. “Yang and his buddies may be Japanese agents, and they . . . .”

“Are gonna hijack the plane?” interrupted Reverend Andrews, leaning forward. When Indy, dumbfounded, nodded in response, the Reverend exploded, “God Damn it!” Andrews pulled his .45 from his under his jacket and started for the plane. He looked back at Nora, “I told you they weren’t after Grieves. Let’s roll.”

“Who are you people?” asked Indy.

Nora shouted out, “Bob, hold up.” – She turned back to Indiana – “We’re Navy Intelligence assigned to protect Grieves. Grieves’s long-range flying expertise is so critical that the Navy has been keeping tabs on him since his last stint in the Orient when he ran up some pretty huge gambling debts.”

Indiana Jones accepted the revelation with far greater ease than Lake who needed a good shot from his hip flask to restore his nerves. “So Grieves doesn’t know that he’s being shadowed?” asked Indiana.

“No,” Nora hesitated. “My job was to first get close to Gwen . . . . and then in Manila get close to Grieves.”

A crack of doubt snaked through what Indiana had assumed to be true chemistry with the beautiful agent. He stood open-mouthed, at a loss for words. Nora kept her gaze fixed on Indiana, matter-of-fact and unashamed – while a dark cloud settled over Andrews. Finally, Indiana dragged out, “get close to Grieves?”

Without change in expression, Nora simply nodded in response. Bewildered but noting Indiana’s predicament, Lake took another swig and turned toward Andrews. “I can’t believe that I have been duped by the likes of such an unlikely Reverend. Impressive cover – what with the way you sprang that passage from the Bible back on Wake.”

Andrews brightened and returned the large pistol to its holster as the group continued toward the plane. “Growing up in Chicago I had an English name in an Irish neighborhood. As a kid I sold Bibles door-to-door and believe me if it wasn’t for that quote, I don’t think I would’ve sold a single one of those damn heavy books.”

The group stepped onto the long dock, and Indiana stopped to gaze at the Clipper. Nora stepped beside him. “What are you thinking?”

“Listen up. Yang and his men are armed but Sinn is not in on it. Grieves, the pilots and me are all armed. I know you are carrying” – Indiana looked at Andrews – “What about you?”

Nora nodded and tapped her clutch.

“O.K., good. The odds just got a whole lot better. Now, let’s keep our advantage to ourselves. If Yang’s men make any move to seize the plane. We take them out, agreed?”

[Joe Brody]

[Start of] Chapter 9 [second post]

Everyone nodded. At the plane, Indiana boarded through the front hatch and headed back toward the passenger compartment. He tensed when he saw Sinn’s entourage seated stone-faced at the front of the section. He tipped his fedora at Madam Sinn and went to settle into his seat for takeoff.

Engines sputtered and came to life causing the whole plane to vibrate. Noise from the idling engines filled the cabin as a Pan Am agent stood at the open hatch waiting for the all-clear. Just as Grieves signaled for the agent to seal the door, a bloody Richter stumbled aboard and fell down onto the floor of the galley. He turned back to the agent and handed up a dirty and streaked piece of paper. “Have this cable sent immediately.”

Climbing to his feet, Richter glared at Indy as he passed back into the passenger compartment and found a seat. The plane taxied across the calm waters and then took to sky, climbing up through a brilliant morning sky. At altitude the passengers moved into the lounge where breakfast was served. Andrews took the seat across from Indiana and snatched a piece of toast off of Indy’s plate. “Man, that German fellow must have picked the wrong party back on Guam.”

Curious, Indiana looked up from his food. “What do you mean?”

“Back in Hawaii, I followed Richter into Honolulu on a hunch. All I got for my trouble was a trip to the telegraph office and a tour of the red-light district that went on well into the wee hours.” Andrews laughed so hard that he had to grab his knees and leaned over to catch his breath. “Man that skinny German is as feisty as a sailor that’s been at sea for a year! I nearly busted a gut when he boarded the Clipper all guilty and disheveled the next morning. So when he showed up bruised and battered I figured he went into town for more of the same last night and made some bad decisions . . . .”

“Yeah, it must have been something like that,” replied Indiana embarrassedly as he shifted in his seat.

Andrews took a slice of Indiana’s bacon and ate the strip whole. “You know, Nora thinks Richter is on your tail” -- Indiana looked up from his breakfast – “Yeah, and it gets more interesting. We checked him out - it turns out the horny little bastard is a German spy. So what’s your game pal?”

Indiana leaned in close to Andrews. “Do you happen to know a Colonel Musgrove or Major Eaton in Army Intelligence?”

“No!” Andrews slapped the table and whispered. “Eaton? Don’t tell me you’re Army?”

Indiana shook his head. “No, I’m not Army – I’m just running an errand for Eaton” – Andrews looked skeptical – “Really,” said Indiana with sincerity.

Andrews turned heads with his deep laughter but kept his tone low. “”My first assignment as a junior officer was as a liaison to the War department. Eaton was the Army liaison. Talk about paranoid sons-of-a-bitch. What does he have you working on – something crazy like stopping Hitler from replacing Eleanor Roosevelt with a double?”

Indiana shifted again. “No, nothing like that.”

“What then?” Andrews swiped the last strip of bacon and took a bite.

Indiana sighed. “Retrieving the lost Ark of the Covenant that holds the Ten Commandments before the Germans can get it for Hitler.”

Dumbstruck, Andrews froze. The strip of bacon fell from his mouth. “We’re talking about the Ten commandments? Why in the Hell would that crazy son-of-a-bitch Eaton have you trying to get some stupid old chest . . . . .” Andrews stopped short, struck by a realization. ”My God, for once Eaton is actually onto something important. He figures Hitler must want it as a gift to curry favor with the Pope.”

Again Indiana looked sheepish and could only manage to shrug his shoulders. “I suppose. All that is way beyond me. I’m just an Archeologist.”

Andrews wiped his mouth with a napkin from the table and looked toward Sinn’s entourage that sat stoically in the front of the passenger compartment. He stood but then leaned down close to Indiana. “Well sorry to interrupt your little field trip but it likes you are in for a little action.”

Indiana stood and followed Andrews toward the passenger compartment as the Stewards moved to clear breakfast. Andy Solemn looked up from the table he was clearing and nodded as Indy passed. Morning faded and the passengers whiled away the time quietly reading and staring out the windows. Indiana sat behind Sinn’s party with his bag on his lap. Nora and Andrews across the aisle and in the last sat a brooding Richter. Lake had become sullen since the disclosures on the dock and sat behind Indiana engaged in game-after-game of solitaire. After breakfast, a drowsy Madam Sinn, Grieves and his daughter adjourned to the sleeping quarters -- most likely, Indiana assumed to stay well clear of any violence.

Just before noon, the radioman strode through the passenger compartment, intent on deploying the antenna for a radio-check with Manila. As he passed, Yang’s henchmen rose with hydraulic precision. Each clasped an automatic pistol in both hands. One turned and sent three rounds rapid-fire directly into the radioman’s back. Grinning for the first time, the killer then trained his guns on the passengers, freezing them in their seats. At the same time the other bodyguard and Yang rushed forward into the lounge and opened fire on the stewards. Sitting in his second row aisle seat, Indy attempted to furtively reach for his gun but was stayed as the grinning bodyguard closed in and trained a pistol directly at Indy’s forehead. In the lounge, Yang struck Solemn in the right shoulder and the bodyguard took out the other steward with a horrific head shot. The dead steward fell on to one of the collapsible tables, sending a pile of dishes crashing to the floor. Looking stupefied and pale, Solemn slumped to the floor limp.

Yang and his crony immediately continued on into the Galley and opened fire up into the Flight Deck. Indy tensed for the inevitable return volley and the sure-to-be sickening fire fight between the hijackers and the pilot’s .45’s -- but his stomach sank when no return fire came from above. With his gun aimed above his head, Yang’s crony circled beneath the entrance to the flight deck. Between cries and sobbing pleas of ‘No, no, no’ and ‘Please don’t!’ from the men on the Flight Deck, the bodyguard fired up intermittent shots until the cries from the air crew stopped. Yang then turned to the door to the forward hold and fired several shots through the door. Then the henchmen and Yang scrambled up the steps to the Flight Deck. For nearly a full minute all was silent until three quick shots rang out. Indy strained to look in the Galley where a figure descended the ladder steps. Yang – grinning widely and carrying his smoking pistol – stopped near the base and shouted back to his comrade in Chinese, “We have control of the flight-deck. Kill Jones – he may be armed.”

The bodyguard’s grin widened in acknowledgment. Just as he extended his arms and was about to fire, a knife sliced through the air and into the bodyguard’s throat causing him to jerk the gun up. A shot passed harmlessly into the ceiling and the gun fell to the floor. The hijacker followed as he clutched at the blade, which simply increased the flow of thick blood shot from the death wound. Panicked, Yang stumbled back up the stairs.

Wide-eyed and amazed to be alive, Indiana Jones looked over to where the knife had been thrown. A sweating and still filthy Richter stood in front of his seat, gasping for breath.

“I need you alive – for now,” said the German Agent as he stepped in the aisle to retrieve his knife from hijacker’s corpse.

Two things. First, sorry for all the talking, but there was still a need for more set-up and I get a kick out the Reverend Andrews character-- he's a bit of a block head. Second, going back to the earlier Noir discussion -- I'm hard pressed to think of anything more satisfying than having a sleaze that just had the stuffing beat out him by the hero having to immediately turn around and save the hero's life.

[roundshort]

Good to have you back Joe!!!!!!!! The content on Raven blows and the mods seem to suck to high heaven, finally some quailty stuff! Well I think you have mastered Indy dialouge. Great stuff keep 'em coming, Did you say third kid, my god man who has that many kids now in days!

[Paden]

Sorry for the belated praise, Joe. I can't believe I missed this when it was first posted. Excellent stuff as usual...but what a place to leave us! I really enjoyed Andrews' conversation with Indiana, particularly the swiped food and the information on Eaton. Having Richter save Indy was a nicely ironic development. I'm eagerly looking forward to the next installment, but I completely understand how fatherhood can limit one's time for creative pursuits. :)

[roundshort]

Thats nice paden, but as Joe is one of the few people here that actually creates something that is quailty, don't get me wrong I love debating the merits of Halloween flavored soft drinks, he should not be so selfish with his time, leave his kids in front of the T.V.and write for my (our) entertainment!

[roundshort]

No seriously Joe, keep up the good work when you can!

[Indy Parise]

I'll leave the door open on that one. The Art Weber character has never made any sense to me:



. . . .and I admit I'm grinding an ax by having him killed. An opium addiction would be a fitting vice for a Brit in Shanghai (Britain made a fortune off the trade) -- but on the other hand it wouldn't surprise me that if Art Weber were alive today he would be a huge Liza Minelli fan.

I like Grieve's inference because it says something about the type of person that Grieves is and how he looks at people.


You had to kill Aykroyd didn't ya. S.O.B. :) (just kidding)

[roundshort]

Joe, What do you think about a Henry/ Knight of the Cru. Sword story line?

[Joe Brody]

Beginning of Chapter 10

Richter retrieved his blade with a silk handkerchief and slinked back toward the sleeping compartment. Without even acknowledging his dubious savior, a grim Indiana Jones started forward toward the lounge when a shot rang out the instant Richter crossed into the shadows. A second later, Richter staggered backwards clutching at his chest. As the German Agent fell to the ground, gurgling blood, Grieves stepped forward into the light, clutching a smoking pistol. Unsteady and pale, the Pan Am Director looked pleadingly at the passengers.

“I heard gunfire and was scared,” quivered Grieves. “And then Richter came back at me with that bloody knife. . . .”

In the aisle Richter’s body – pasty white and glistening with sweat -- went still. Indiana turned his back on the scene and stumbled to Andy Solemn. “Forget Richter,” said Indiana as he looked over his friend. “And tend to the living.”

Nora knelt beside Indiana. “What do you think?”

“Find me something to dress the wound,” Indiana replied anxiously. Solemn was as pale as Richter but maintained a weak pulse and labored breathing. He appeared to be in shock and was nearly unconscious. Almost speaking to himself as he cut away the Steward’s uniform, Indiana said, “Not a lot of blood. . . . ****et passed clean through.”

Nora stepped nimbly over Richter’s corpse and past the other passengers as she returned with a First Aid kit from the rear of the plane and a bottle of liquor.

“Good thinking,” said Indiana eyeing the bottle as he broke out a pressure dressing.

Nora moved close to inspect the wound. “Solemn may be a very lucky man.”

Indy only grunted as he continued to work. Nora looked at Indiana. “You however. . . . if somehow you make it to Manila whoever has been receiving all of Richter’s cables may well assume that you killed him.”

There was no way to tell if Indiana heard the warning. He worked on Solemn without thinking, consumed with cleaning and dressing the wound. As he worked he failed to notice the figure standing at Solemn’s feet, with an automatic at his side. Nearly complete with the dressing, Indy started when he noticed the gun and looked up to see Andrews sternly watching the triage.

“You ready chief?” asked Andrews.

“Ready for what?” Indy crouched up, and shot a look at Nora who stayed close at his side.

Andrews cocked his head toward the galley. “To take back this plane.”

Indiana smirked and shook his head. “You’re hunting with the wrong dog. Rushing the Flight Deck will only get us killed.”

“Think Bob,” said Nora. “The plane has an autopilot and the Flight Deck is elevated. That’s two shooters from a protected position.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” asked an exasperated Andrews. As he spoke he repeatedly tapped his gun against his thigh. “Sit back, have a drink and wait until we land in Tokyo?”

Indiana rubbed his jaw and then looked up at the ceiling. He pushed past Andrews and nearly tripped over Richter’s body as he made his way aft staring the ceiling. Finally, he broke into a broad grin and turned back to the pair of Navy Intelligence Agents. “No. We split up and take the Flight Deck from every direction but the entrance.”

Puzzled, Andrews studied the ceiling. Lucien Lake raised his flask and spoke up from his seat. “I vote for cocktails in Tokyo. Isn’t any attempt to take back the plane putting us all at risk?”

“What choice do we have?” snapped Nora. “This hijacking could precipitate a war between Japan and the United States. So it is easy to guess Yang’s orders for dealing with us passengers.” Nora put her hands on her hips and looked up at the ceiling. “What do you have in mind Indiana?”

“The Clipper’s wing is elevated well above the main cabin – and there’s a crawl space above us that runs from the wings here,” Indiana pointed to a small hatch in the ceiling. “That continues under the wing.” Still pointing, Indiana began walking forward to the lounge. “To the Throne Room where the Engineer’s seat is located.” Indiana stopped in the middle of the lounge and turned back toward the group.

“But any man in a crawl space will be a sitting duck,” said Andrews.

“True,” nodded Indy. “Unless there’s a distraction that keeps Yang and his buddy occupied.”

“What do you have in mind?” asked Grieves.

Indiana put on his grey fedora and reached into his bag for his Smith & Wesson. “Someone in the forward hold’s docking hatch shooting back into the plane.”

Grieves looked incredulous. “That’s suicide. The docking hatch is in the nose of the plane and is only several feet away from the pilot’s controls. It would be as easy for Yang to shoot you from the pilot’s chair as it would be for a driver of a car to shoot someone sitting on the front bumper. Whoever pokes his head out will be an easy target.”

“Maybe so,” said Indiana. “But I’m betting Yang and his buddy will be more focused to the rear. If I’m lucky I can shoot one through the windscreen and Andrews should be able to take out the other. Since the pilots are likely both dead -- you, Lake and Nora will have to re-take the flight deck once we kill the hijackers and give the all-clear.”

Andrews nodded and reached toward the hatch in the ceiling. “It sounds better than a trip to the dentist. Indiana, take Nora with you into the forward hold and I’ll signal when I’m in position. She’ll tell you when to go.”

“Sounds like a plan,” smiled Nora. She stepped to forward and kissed Andrews with a familiarity that left Indiana hollow.

Indiana tucked his gun into the small of his back and turned to Andrews. “Let me help hoist you up. You should be safe climbing into the crawl space – I don’t think anyone in the flight deck can see past the chair in the Throne Room – and the Engineer’s body is likely obstructing the view.”

Nora set her clutch on a seat and stood by Indy’s side. Andrews removed his jacket and snapped his pistol into his shoulder holster to keep the gun safe for the climb. As Andrews stepped into Indy’s interlaced fingers for a boost up, a suddenly steady Grieves lunged forward and grabbed Nora’s clutch and trained his gun on the three.

“Everybody stop right there – raise your hands and give your guns to me, slowly.”

Stunned, Indy looked up and raised his hands. Andrews – with his back to Grieves – rather than reaching for the hatch left his arms in the air and turned to stand beside Indiana. Nora slowly raised her arms and glared at the Pan Am Director. Furious, she could only spit out one word, “Why?”

Couple things:
(1) roundshort: I'll reply to you in the Moab thread.
(2) Thanks as always for the kind words Paden. FYI, I try not to post here unless I have some story to post. Your reading this means alot since you and a few others are writing a neat little adventure of your own.
(3) Speaking of hikacking, can anyone find the nod to the passengers aboard Flight 93? (hint, it's not in the most recent post).

[Joe Brody]

Here's a shot that shows the docking hatch:

http://www.pacific-seaplanes.com/Boarding_Ramp/Martin_M-130/img42.gif

And here's a shot taken from the Engineer's throne room:

http://www.pacific-seaplanes.com/Boarding_Ramp/Martin_M-130/img33.gif

Note that the throne room is higher than the Flight Deck.

[Paden]

What a well written roller coaster this has become. Your pacing of the story is great, Joe. Were this a completed novel, the cliffhangers would keep me reading well into the night. I'm intrigued to see what card Grieves plays in the next installment. I'm also curious: is it Richter's death that plays into Toht's characterization of Jones being "nefarious"? You had alluded to that some time ago. If so, how ironic, since we know he didn't have any hand in the agent's demise. Fantastic work as usual.

Oh, and...
Andrews pulled his .45 from his under his jacket and started for the plane. He looked back at Nora, “I told you they weren’t after Grieves. Let’s roll.”
Very, very cool.

[Joe Brody]

Paden, Bingo on the Flight 93 reference. You have some serious reading comprehension skills.

You're right on the money about Toht. It's a minor spoiler -- but Richter got the cable off right before departure. I imagine the message being something along the lines of: "Found out and savagely beaten by subject".

One of the Compelling things about Raiders is how Indy lets Barranca walk. I thought it would be neat to have Indy screwed by showing nearly the same 'compassion' (if you can call savagely beating someone and leaving them in a jungle, compassion) for Richter and then it come back to haunt him.

Stick with this. I'm almost done with Part I. Part II is going to be a whole different type of story.

[roundshort]

Joe,
You always make my day when I see you have added to the post, and while I am not sure about Indy asking others to play a key role in his plan, I do like the pace and the action!

Thanks

[Joe Brody]

[End of] Chapter 10

Grieves gave a self-satisfied smirk. “Because Japan is poised to become master of the Pacific. Seventy-five years ago that island was still in the Middle-ages, and thirty years ago it’s navy sank the Russian Fleet. Ever since that victory all of Japan has embraced new inventions to become a modern power. The Japanese appreciate the potential of this plane’s marvelous engineering.” Grieves gestured with his gun toward the plane around him. “We westerners on the other hand waste theses machines on the idle rich and bicker with our British allies for a tourist route to Europe. Imagine what the Japanese could to with a fleet of Clippers.”

“Start another World War?” ventured Lake from his seat.

“The price of progress,” snapped Grieves.

“And I thought you just needed the money,” sneered Indiana Jones. “How big are your debts in Shanghai?”

“Irrelevant,” said Grieves. “When the time is right the Japanese will strike and whatever obligations I have will be of no matter.”

With his hands still in the air, Indiana rolled his eyes. Grieves shouted over his shoulder and Yang’s remaining henchman descended from the Flight Deck, gun in hand. Grieves gestured with his gun, “Everyone in the Lounge. Let’s make this quick.”

Lake rose up from his seat. As he made his way to the aisle he swayed and seemed to lose his footing. As he fell, he quickly changed direction and lunged forward -- knocking Grieves’s pistol free. Yang’s henchmen opened fire and his rounds went high, splintering the cabin walls. Indy and Andrews scattered. Nora dove for Grieves’s gun. In an instant, Indy came up from behind a row of passenger seats, firing steadily at Yang’s henchmen who hastily backed up the steps to the Flight Deck. Nora succeeded in retrieving the pistol and got the drop on Grieves.

Grinning, Indy nodded at Lake, “Good work.”

The lubricious lush shrugged. “It was imperative we retake the Galley and the ship’s stores – my flask is empty.”

Nora stepped close to Grieves. “Where’s your daughter?” she asked.

“Both Sinn and my daughter are in the rear, drugged and sleeping,” said Grieves.

“One second,” said Indiana. He retreated to the rear of the plane, and after a minute he returned clutching Gwen Grieves’s white canvas travel bag. He held open the bulging bag to reveal two pistols. “Gwen has quick fingers. My guess is that Grieves here had Gwen pilfer the pilot’s guns.”

Andrews picked up a tablecloth and started to rip broad bindings. “You’re sick to use your daughter like that.”

“And cold-blooded to betray the crew,” said Nora.

“I suppose it goes without saying you never cabled Manila for the fighter escort?” said Indiana.

Grieves stood silent and simply looked down at his shoes. Andrews stepped forward. “I’ll tie him up.”

Indiana shoved Grieves down into a seat and turned to Andrews. “O.K. Same Plan. I’ll go with Nora to the Cargo Hold. We’re right back to where we were before – except now we’ll just have to keep an eye on our pilot here once we re-take the plane. Have Lake signal us when you’re ready.”

Andrews leaned over Grieves and spoke close in the broken Director’s ear. “You and me are going to have some special alone time once we land in Manila.”

Grieves’s eyes went wide, and Andrews grinned with grim satisfaction. He beckoned toward Indiana who had turned to go. “You remember what Indiana looked like the morning you found him on Wake Island?”

Grieves looked panicked.

“You’ll be lucky if you look half that good once I’m done,” said Andrews.

“That was you?” Indy looked incredulous at Andrews, and thinking fast he turned to Nora. “Then that means that it was you . . . .”

Nora looked sheepish and shrugged. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what you were doing sneaking around so I kicked you through the wall.”

“I’m sorry too,” said Andrews as he put his hand on Indy’s shoulder and pulled him close. “I only beat the Hell out of you back on Midway because you scared the crap out of me when you came crashing into that greenhouse.”

Indiana stole a glance at Nora as he broke free of the large agent. “Think nothing of it. I’m sure you went easy on me.”

Indiana handed the bag containing the pilots’ guns to Lake and said “You’ll need these.” Then he crossed the Lounge to the entrance to the Galley. Nora stood on the other side of the portal, holding a pistol she had retrieved from her clutch. The ladder steps leading up to the Flight Deck occupied the middle of the space. Indiana gestured toward the cargo hold door at the far end of the Galley and said, “You go first.”

Nora smiled. “Gee thanks.”

Indy looked hurt. “No seriously. The first runner has the better chance.”

“I know,” laughed Nora. “I’m just messing with you.”

As she spoke she took a step back – like a schoolgirl on a date – and then darted fast across the Galley. She jerked open the Cargo Hold door and disappeared into the darkness beyond. Indy detected motion from the Flight Deck above but no shots came down. With half a shake of his head and a quick shift to his fedora, he ran across the room but unlike Nora he cut left of the ladder instead of right. Three shots trailed behind him as he dove through the open door. In darkness he landed on what he immediately registered as a slick, cold body. He recoiled in horror.

On the floor before him, framed in the light from the Galley, was the body of Bill Peng – shot in both the head and chest. Nora – her right arm clutched close across her chest as she held her left arm – leaned against the port wall, staring down at the corpse. She looked up from the body – her black hair framing her fine, sculpted features. “Who was that?”

“Madam Sinn’s friend – the one who stowed away and tipped me off to Yang.” Indy stepped over the body. “Come on.”

The Cargo Hold, filled with large heavy canvas mail sacks piled high to the ceiling, was thick with the smell of travel. After clicking the lights repeatedly with no success, Indy scrambled over the bags toward the nose of the plane. He rested on his side to inspect the hatch. Nora followed suit and settled close to Indy. The hatch was straightforward and unlocked. Indy looked across at Nora. “I didn’t know the Navy had female officers.”

“They don’t.”

Puzzled, Indy asked, “If you’re not an officer, then how did you become a field agent?”

“I was a typist.”

“A typist?”

“I worked for the translators in Navy Intelligence. One day one of the brass happened to check the translator’s original handwritten notes against my work. . . . “

Smiling, Indy said “And the Brass realized that your Chinese was better than any of his real translators.”

Nora laughed and propped herself up on an elbow. “Pretty much – but it was Bob,” She caught herself. “. . .it was Andrews that championed getting me out into the field.”

“Andrews, huh?” Indiana looked down at the sacks and pulled back.

Nora put her hand on Indy’s arm and fixed her gaze on him. “Bob and I broke off our engagement over a year ago – he’s still possessive but it’s over now. Ask him.”

Nora leaned forward slightly, closing the distance between them, looking for a reaction. Then she shifted her head slightly and just as she started to pull back Indy leaned forward and kissed her.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been around a women like you.”

“Hmmm,” Nora pulled back. Then she looked down through the door and saw Lake silently gesturing from the Lounge. “Bob’s ready to go. You get set.”

Indiana loaded his revolver. Ruefully, he said, “I guess I’m ready for some fresh air.”

<<<<>>>>
Three things:
(1) One mystery left. . . . .
(2) In my two posts on 9/15, while shifting text between the two posts I lost an innocuous paragraph that mentioned, among other things, Gwen moving about the plane with her white canvas bag. I was really irked with myself when I realized it was missing.
(3) Marion Ravenwood vs. Nora Crowe. My intent with the Nora Crowe character is that she is not meant to upstage Marion, but rather she is intended to put Indy in a certain frame of mind for when he reaches the Raven. Speaking of Marion, I'll be honest -- I don't think she is the love of Indy's life. She holds her own with him but she's a little too eager. To me, Marion's like that intense college romance you shake off before moving on to the love of your life. Nora Crowe is meant to be worthy of being Indy's equal (and she certainly doesn't whine) -- but again I'm not setting her up as anything special.

[Paden]

Excellent work, Joe. I must admit, I like Grieves much better as an out-and-out villain. That way there's no reason to temper one's dislike of him. :) Frankly, for me personally, Nora is one of the most interesting characters in the story thus far, although I still find myself second-guessing her motives. Perhaps it's my noir-soaked thinking, but I can't help but see her as a perfect femme fatale.

Another note, something I don't think I've mentioned before. Your characterization of Jones himself is dead on. From the depiction of his attitudes, his dialogue, and the way his strengths and weaknesses play into the story, you've done a great job with the character. You've stayed very true to the adventurer from Raiders.

[roundshort]

After rewatching all of Indys speeking parts, he is much chattier than I thought. At his meeting he actually talks too much, Joe I think the original issue i had with how much verbage Indy woudl really use was wrong, I think you really have it, well lets get it on!

[Joe Brody]

[Start of] Chapter 11

Indiana released the lock and sprang up through the hatch. Brilliant light and hard winds washed over him. In the instant it took to train his pistol toward the pilot’s windscreen, his senses abandoned him. He dug his heels hard against the mailbags and pressed back on the nose of the plane, frantically blinking to salvage his vision and equilibrium. All he felt was the wind against his neck freakishly pressing his grey fedora to his head. He blinked again and focused on the Flight Deck. No one was at the controls.

“Oh Lord.”

He squinted – vainly looking through the windscreen for some sign of Yang. Then a bullet and a second cracked through the glass leaving small spider-webs of cracks across the pane. Indy crouched low with his gun arm extended full forward on the plane’s fuselage. Hoping to send as much glass as possible flying through the cabin, he sent round after round blindly at all parts of the windscreen. At the first empty click, Indy ducked down and traded guns with Nora.

“Reload me.” Indiana grunted. He dumped out a handful of bullets from his pocket and sprang back up. Without hesitating he fired through the glassless windscreens toward the rear of the Flight deck. As he ducked down again, he perceived a flash of light erupt from the throne room. Indiana grinned at Nora as he took back his gun. “We’re in business.”

With a deep breath Indiana again launched himself up. Inside he could see Yang’s henchman emerge from the radioman’s station in an attempt to fire into the Throne room. Grinning still, Indy shot into the back of the clear target. Indy’s eyes went wide and his grin vanished as the henchmen, hit by at least one round, clutched at his spine and staggered back toward the pilot’s chair. The mortally wounded man stumbled over the low pilot’s chair and fell on the controls, sending the plane steeply down. The wind shifted, and Indy’s fedora flew from his head, lost to the sea below.

Inside Yang refused to abandon his refuge in the Navigator's seat to take the controls – and nothing moved up in the Throne room. For an interminable instant, there was only deadlock and a quickening descent. Desperate, Indy climbed up onto the plane’s fuselage in an attempt to climb to the Flight Deck. With his cheek pressed close on the plane’s cold metal skin he thought he heard pops of gunfire through the screaming wind. He threw his right hand up and clutched the frame of the windscreen, sickened by the sensation that he was dangling in space and the inevitability of the ocean below. Ignoring the shards of glass that cut his outer hand, he pulled himself up through the portal. Halfway through and straining, Indiana looked up just in time to see Yang lunging toward him – with Grieves stumbling forward at Yang’s side.

With his free hand Indy grabbed out and twisted Yang’s left arm down. Aided by the pitched floor, Indiana succeeded in driving Yang’s chin down hard onto the controls. Indy then grabbed Yang’s jacket and scrambled over the agent’s back to tumble forward into the cabin.

On his back, Indy looked up to see Grieves – his face as red a beet – at the controls, straining with every ounce of strength to arrest the plane’s dive.

Yang fell on Indy but he managed to kick Yang aside. Indy then swung on top the Japanese agent and pummeled the man into unconsciousness.

Indiana climbed to his feet and leaned on the back of the Second Pilot’s chair. He looked to Grieves who was anxiously scanning the horizon. Gasping, Indiana said, “Turn us around and get us to Manila.”

“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”

Indy pulled back as Nora climbed into the cabin. “What do you mean ‘impossible’?”

Grieves tapped the fuel gauge where the needle rested on ‘Empty.’ “It seems Yang dumped nearly all our fuel. We have to land.”

For the first time, Indiana registered Grieves steadily banking the plane to starboard. Indy looked up and over the Director’s shoulder. Far out on the horizon a large steamer made its way toward the Clipper. Furious, Indiana said “Yang never intended to fly to Tokyo.”

Grieves guided the plane lower. “So it would seem – landing a Clipper anywhere in Japan would create a sensation. A sensation that doubtlessly would tip off Yank agents.”

Red faced, Indiana pointed at Grieves. “Just land this plane . . . . but I’m warning you now, if you try anything cute. . . .”

Indiana pulled back and turned to follow Nora up into the Throne Room. She stopped short and clutched at Indiana. “Bob’s dead.”

[Short section -- but I'm really busy these days. Just trying to get to the end of Part 1.]

[Paden]

A short section perhaps, but full of very strong material. Descriptions like this:
With his cheek pressed close on the plane’s cold metal skin he thought he heard pops of gunfire through the screaming wind. He threw his right hand up and clutched the frame of the windscreen, sickened by the sensation that he was dangling in space and the inevitability of the ocean below.
really ratchet up the suspense (not to mention capture the terrible vertigo that would be part of such a situation). Thanks for your continued work on this, Joe. It's really appreciated.

[Joe Brody]

You've stayed very true to the adventurer from Raiders.

Query whether having Indy shoot someone in the back is starting to go over the line. [Leaving Indy grinning as he shoots the guy reveals my sentiments.]

A short section perhaps, but full of very strong material.

Thanks - I have my doubts though -- [Jokingly] after I rap up the one chapter post-script to Part I, I think I should enter one of those bad-Hemingway knockoff contests.

[Paden]

Query whether having Indy shoot someone in the back is starting to go over the line. [Leaving Indy grinning as he shoots the guy reveals my sentiments.]
That is something of a complex question, but within the realm of my own personal understanding of the character I'd say it's possible. But I think it hinges on the circumstances surrounding the incident, as well as the particular individual that Indy sends to their reward. We know from the Barranca incident that Jones isn't bloodthirsty. As noted earlier in this thread, Jones shows Barranca mercy after a fashion, only moving to disarm him, rather than pursuing more lethal actions. But I'd argue that Indy's actions were motivated, at least in part, by his estimation of the threat Barranca presented. Jones rightly sized up his "partner" as a coward, who sought to strike him from behind and ran in the face of superior skill and force. Barranca presented a momentary danger, but not an ongoing one. In other words, Jones doesn't kill unless he perceives that he has to, and Barranca didn't pose the kind of threat that would make such an course of action, for Jones, a necessity.

But, if Indiana recognized that an enemy meant him deadly harm and believed said antagonist was both willing and capable of fulfilling such deadly intent, I don't know that Jones would see striking first, even from a position of complete advantage, as unjustified. To speculate a bit further, I'm not sure that Jones would object to such an action against someone that he viewed as genuinely evil. Although both grief and rage play into his impulsive actions in the Cairo tavern in Raiders, I can't help but wonder if part of the reason Jones was willing to dispatch Belloq was because he recognized just how ruthless his competitor had become, and how willing Belloq was to destroy whatever came between him and the prize. I guess what I'm driving at is, were it the right enemy, I could see Indy doing what you describe and even experiencing a certain grim satisfaction in the process. But I think it would have to be a particular kind of antagonist. Not a Barranca.

Just out of curiosity, does this mean we should expect a turn into noir territory in part two?

[roundshort]

Joe, I don't think Indy would shot anyone in the back, no matter what. In all three movies he faces his foes in open combat. In LC, he does rip soem nazis pretty harshly, but Indy is not a cold blood killer. I have always thought Indy followed a certain Cowboy code, and no hero would ever shot anyone in the back, I think he would always give them a chance.

[Joe Brody]

End of Chapter 11

Indiana looked up to the throne room where the dead chief engineer sat with Andrew’s limp body draped over one shoulder. In a seeming gesture of futility, Andrews’s gun arm still pointed out with the dead open hand barely holding the .45. Nora stepped up, took the pistol and rummaged for several extra clips. “You’re going to need these.” She offered the gun and clips to Indy. “I’ll raise Manila on the radio while we’re still airborne.”

Indiana tucked the weapon in his belt and stopped just as he started to slide down the ladder step railings. He pointed at Grieves and said, “You – once we land dump as many bodies as you can into the sea. We need to lighten our load in case we have to move. You can start with your buddy Yang.”

In the Galley Indy shrugged past a dazed Lucien Lake and began rummaging through the cabinets, throwing open doors and knocking through the stores. When he came across the liquor he started to rifle through the bottles.

“And here I thought Lake was the only passenger likely to raid my liquor,” said a weak Andy Solemn from his seat in the Lounge.

Indy grinned as he inspected the bottles. “Don’t worry, my needs are very specific.”

“I’m guessing that you need more than liquor.”

Indiana stopped searching and turned to look at the wounded porter. The still deathly pale old man pointed at the cabinet at Indy’s feet. “Look there.”

Indiana crouched down, opened the door and pushed aside a stack of table clothes. He pulled out a battered canvas backpack. Confused, Indy said, “My pack.”

“No. That’s my pack,” chuckled Solemn. “I made it myself on the Golden State. Go on, look inside.”

Indy lifted the flap and found a waterproof bag filled with heavy, waxen sticks of dynamite and thick fuses. Indy grinned, “So it was you that stole the explosives.”

Solemn beamed, “We flew the dynamite into Wake on the Clipper’s first flight – the whole time we were in the air all I could think of was what a way to start a new job. After you said that we might not make it to Manila, I figured you had fixed on someone coming after the Clipper. So I got enough to blow the plane.”

Indiana hefted the bag and laughed. “Four times, at least.”

“I had no problem helping myself from the storage shed and getting it aboard – since I was onboard before the stuff was found missing no one thought to search my kit. . . .”

“Listen,” said Indiana cutting off the Steward. “We may get shot up pretty bad. You have to be moved forward.”

Indiana went into the cargo hold and feverishly re-arranged the heavy mailbags. Indiana then carried the wounded steward to the middle of a tight horseshoe shaped space that he had created among the canvas bags. “Not exactly a bunker – but it’s the best I can do,” said Indy. “You’ve got at least six feet of protection.”

Indiana then retrieved the drugged Madam Sinn. As he made his way forward, he was struck by her stillness. She had strong, broad shoulders, perfect skin and a regal profile. Indiana thought of her baby and how the child’s abduction had paralyzed this formidable, near legendary starlet. Moments later, as Indiana placed a sleeping Gwen Grieves in Solemn’s care, he braced himself against the mailbags. The plane skimmed the water and came to a stop. At a portal Indiana saw three skiffs from the unflagged freighter rowing hard toward the Clipper. Indy shouted for everyone to get to the Cargo Hold. Stopping only to grab Solemn’s pack, Indy headed for the starboard hatch and stepped out onto the sea wing.

Each of the skiffs was manned by at least eight men dressed in the rag-tag irregular dress of poor merchant sailors. This thin subterfuge was betrayed however by the sailors’ telltale hard sustained rowing – a result achieved only through military discipline. When the boats closed to forty yards, Indiana lit the fuse to a stick of dynamite. He cooked it for a second and then heaved the stick hard at the nearest target. It landed square in the boat and gave off a tremendous explosion. Bodies and splinters erupted across the water. Without command, several sailors on the other two crafts gave up their oars for rifles. As they opened fire Indiana – standing upright in the line of fire -- lit another fuse and hurled the stick. The charge missed the boats and detonated in the water.

The boats continued to close. As Indy lit another fuse, Nora came out on to the sea wing. She immediately raised her gun – though her targets were well outside the effective range of her weapon – and fired toward the attackers as she walked determinedly to the edge of the sea wing to stand next to Indiana. Nonplussed by the few sailors firing rifles from the bobbing boats, Indy said, “We’re in luck. They weren’t expecting much of a fight.”

“I got through to Manila,” said Nora. “They were already looking for us after we missed our last radio check. Planes should be here within the hour.”

As Nora reloaded and Indy threw another stick toward the second craft, the first damaged boat – with its three unmolested survivors -- gained the sea wing. While a fatal explosion erupted on the second craft, the three attackers screamed and leapt toward Indy. Indiana quickly slung the pack up on his right shoulder and raised his gun toward his assailants. Sidestepping his first attacker, Indy shot the second man point blank in the abdomen. Indy then punched the third in the face as Nora shot the first attacker in the back as the man lunged toward Indy. Leaving the third man to Nora, Indy shrugged the pack off his shoulder and pulled out another stick of dynamite.

Slowed by the damaged but still floating hulls of the first two boats, the last skiff was forced to slow and maneuver so the sailors could gain the wing. Indy took full advantage of the delay and lobbed another stick into the boat. Another fantastic explosion sent bodies flying. Stone faced, Indy and Nora together dispatched the remaining able sailors who refused to surrender.

“The freighter was only transport,” said Indiana as he looked up at the huge gantry on the mid-deck of the freighter where four or five men scrambled about. “Unarmed and without much of a crew, I don’t think that she is much of a threat . . .”

Nora had turned away from the freighter. “Well what about that?”

Indy looked to where Nora pointed. Five hundred yards from the nose of the Clipper a submarine had surfaced. On deck, men scrambled to ready the deck gun.

Indiana turned to Nora, “I bet that’s the same sub that retrieved Yang’s photos of Pearl Harbor. I need to get over there.”

“I’ll get Grieves.”

Nora nodded and ducked back into the plane. After a moment, the Clipper’s engines choked alive, and the plane began to move across the water. The Clipper turned toward the submarine. Clutching a wing strut, Indiana shouldered the pack backwards – with the pack tight against his chest – and braced himself as the plane picked up speed. As the Clipper cut toward the sub, sailor’s scrambled on the deck of the sub and several opened fire with small arms. When the plane passed the sub, Indiana crossed his arms over the pack and stepped off the sea wing into the rushing water.

As the Clipper continued on, the Japanese sailors ran the length of the submarine deck, firing at the plane as they ran. Indiana surfaced next to the rear of the sub. He reached into the pack and pulled Andrew’s .45 from the waterproof bag. He placed it up on the deck and then he readied a charge which he dropped into a ballast intake. He jumped up on deck and ran toward the conning tower. Seconds later an explosion knocked Indy to the deck. The sailors at the nose turned and came running back toward Indiana. Indy stood and opened fire – causing the sailors to stop and use the deck gun for cover. Shielding himself behind the tower, Indy readied two charges; dropping the first into a ballast intake and lobbing the second up onto the tower. As the explosions rocked the sub, Indy reloaded his gun and lit yet another stick of dynamite. He glimpsed around the tower, took a deep breath and ran around the corner toward the nose screaming, “Arrrrghhhhhh!”

As Indy charged, he opened fire. Panicked the sailors looked at each other and jumped into the sea. Indy stopped and dropped the last stick into yet another ballast intake and dove off the far side of the submarine. As Indy swam toward the rear of the sub, the Clipper came roaring back to the sub. Indiana pulled up next to the rudder and wedged his last stick of dynamite in the rudder. He lit it and turned to swim to the Clipper. Swimming hard, he went under when the last charge exploded. He surfaced and then continued on to the Clipper. Grinning broadly, Indiana pulled himself back on to the sea wing.

Concerned, Nora said “You couldn’t sink the sub?”

Indiana shook water from his arms and paused before he entered the Clipper. “I damaged the starboard ballast tanks. The sub can’t submerge now – and I’m pretty sure I damaged the rudder with that last charge. We just have to tell whoever picks us up they have two easy targets.”

“I’ll have Greives burn whatever fumes this plane has left so that we can put some distance between us and our friends.”

Overhead, Marine planes equipped with torpedoes took a low pass and dipped their wings in salute as Indy waived to the pilots. “Good idea. The further the better.”

[roundshort]

Gotta love the Marine plans oohhh-rrahhh!
Nice chapter, your thinking and sounding like Indy!

[Paden]

You're keeping us spoiled, Joe. An excellent end to the chapter.

[Joe Brody]

End of Part I
[Please note that I rewrote part of the last section]


As the Clipper continued on, the Japanese sailors ran the length of the submarine deck, firing at the plane as they ran. Indiana surfaced next to the rear of the sub. He reached into the pack and pulled Andrew’s .45 from the waterproof bag. He placed it up on the deck and then he readied a charge which he dropped into a ballast intake. He jumped up on deck and ran toward the conning tower. Seconds later an explosion knocked Indy to the deck. The sailors at the nose turned and came running back toward the intruder. Indy stood and opened fire – causing the sailors to stop and duck behind the deck gun for cover. Shielding himself behind the tower, Indy readied two charges. As he fumbled at his task, bullets from the sailor’s guns sparked and ricocheted around him. He looked up to the Clipper – which Grieves had brought well behind the submarine, out of range of the submarine’s deck gun. Nora stood on one of the sea wings – pointing up at the sky over Indy’s shoulder. Indy waived her off – he had every intention to blast the scopes and intakes at the top of the conning tower. Indy dropped his first lit charge into a ballast intake and lobbed the second up onto the tower. As the explosions rocked the sub, Indy reloaded his gun and lit yet another stick of dynamite. He glimpsed around the tower at the sailors crouching behind the deck gun, took a deep breath and charged around the corner screaming, “Arrrrghhhhhh!”

As Indy charged, he opened fire. Panicked the sailors looked at each other and jumped into the sea. Indy pulled up -- something wasn’t right. He jerked around and looked over his shoulder as a high-pitched whirring sound filled the air. Eyes wide, Indy looked up toward the sun to see two American dive-bombers making a run directly at the sub. The two planes had already dropped their payloads and peeled away. As the torpedoes hit the water, Indy tossed the last stick of dynamite aside and stuck the pistol back in his pack. He then raced toward the far side of the sub as the two torpedoes cut twin white trails through the water toward the sub’s mid section. Indy leapt into the ocean just at the torpedoes made impact with stunning success. With the submarine no longer a threat, the Clipper moved toward the sub and slowed near Indy. Explosions rocked the sinking sub and Indy pulled himself up onto the sea wing, shook water from his arms and said, “If I never set foot on a submarine again it will be too soon.”

Nora helped Indy to his feet and said “I tried to warn you about the torpedo bombers. The planes passed over as you swam to the sub.”

Grinning broadly, Indy said, “Some warning.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Nora teasingly. “Couldn’t sink a sub on your own?”

“I disabled it,” said Indy with mock indigence. “That sub wasn’t going anywhere with the damage I did to its ballast tanks.”

Getting back to business, Nora said, “More fuel is on the way but I’ll have Grieves burn whatever fumes this plane has left so that we can put some distance between us and our friends.”

Overhead, Marine planes took a low pass and dipped their wings in salute as Indy waived in thanks. “Good thinking. Let’s hope we keep our escort all the way back to Manila.”


Chapter 12

An unusually large crowd of Filipinos, American Marines on liberty and press gathered at Pan Am’s harbor-side facility in Manila to witness the arrival of the Philippine Clipper. Among the crowd was a funny little man dressed in an unseasonably warm black fedora and black leather coat. Shadowed by another equally unseasonably dressed companion, the man in black shouldered his way through the mixed crowd, anxious to gain the best vantage point of the pier where the plane was expected to dock. Something had happened on the plane – of this the man in black was sure – but the crowd’s odd mix of languages and hushed whispers prevented the man from divining anything conclusive. As the great Clipper taxied across the harbor, the man in black gave up on eavesdropping and scanned the crowd through his thick round lenses for clues.

Newspaper photographers at the front of the pier craned and jockeyed for best position. Even the Chinese starlet the man in black knew to be onboard the Clipper could not be the cause of so much agitation. Next to the press, the man in black noted what he took to be an unusually large contingent of Pan Am employees. Their somber faces confirmed that something had indeed happened on the flight from Guam. A group of white clad medics and ambulance drivers standing on the pier provided the man in black with final confirmation that something was afoot.

The man in black blanched as the Clipper roared to the pier and a man emerged from the docking hatch in the nose of the plane. Instead of some lowly Pan employee there stood a man that matched exactly the description of the man in black’s quarry – an American Professor of Archaeology named Indiana Jones. The man in the docking hatch wore a tattered, wrinkled suite and held a long pole to help grab the mooring lines tossed by the Pan Am agents on the pier. The man in black exchanged an anxious glance with his dour companion and stood on jittery feet waiting for the passengers to deplane.

Again it was the man meeting Jones’s description that was first to emerge. He walked backwards onto the pier holding a makeshift stretcher carrying an old wounded man. A tall, thin man carried the other half of the burden. The tall thin man walked with what the man in black marked as the unsteady gate of a fall-down drunk. Ambulance drivers rushed forward to take the stretcher but waited while Jones leaned close to shake hands with the wounded man and to share a quick word. Jones also gestured into the plane and several medical types ducked inside.

A young girl emerged next, followed by an older, heavyset man who walked with a coat draped over his forearms. Here, the man in black raised an eyebrow. It was evident to his practiced eye that the coat was a subterfuge meant to conceal bindings on the heavy man’s wrists. Something interesting had indeed happened on the plane. Close behind the bound man was a beautiful tall dark-haired women. She scanned the crowd and gestured to a small contingent of clean-cut men in blue suites. The man in black immediately marked the clean cut men as American agents and snorted in derision. He leaned close to his mustached companion, gestured to the tall women and spoke in German, “Anfängers” [“Novices.’] (correct?)

The Chinese movie star emerged to a great reaction from the crowd. Madam Sinn wore sunglasses and a black skirt with a white jacket with a black lining and details. The man in black smiled as the press shifted to capture Sinn’s stoic passage down the pier. After several seconds passed, the man in black became agitated. His brother should have emerged from the plane. The two medics emerged moments later struggling with a lifeless body covered in a blanket. Again the crowd shifted to view the grim scene and cameras erupted. As the body passed the man in black, the corpse’s hand fell below the cover offered by the blanket and the man in black knew that his brother was dead.

He turned to his companion. “Follow Jones. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

Without a word, the man in black’s companion nodded and moved into a better position to tail Jones. As the crowd broke, the man in black stood fast. He studied each of the passengers and settled on the drunk who had assisted Jones with the stretcher. The drunk stood off by himself, leaning against the edge of a fender wiping sweat from his brow.

“Excuse me,” said the man in black in accented English. “Can you tell me what happened on the plane?”

“Spies were onboard.”

“Spies?” The man in black pulled a small black enamel flask from his breast pocket and offered it to the drunk.

“Yup, a whole mess of them.”

“And what happened to the spies?” asked the man in black as he took his flask back from the drunk and returned it to his pocket.

“Oh, they got theirs all right,” said the drunk. He pointed up to the Pan Am Terminal building where Indiana Jones stood next to Nora and one of the American Agents. “That man there – Indiana Jones. . . . .” The drunk sputtered and pulled at his collar. He tried to clear his throat and finally croaked out, “is not a man to be messed with.”

“Is that so?” said the man in black as the drunk fell to his knees gagging. The man in black turned to leave, and Lucien Lake collapsed on the pier, dead.


[Remainder of Chapter in Next Post]

[Joe Brody]

End of Part I
[Please note that I rewrote part of the last section and that this is the first of two posts]


As the Clipper continued on, the Japanese sailors ran the length of the submarine deck, firing at the plane as they ran. Indiana surfaced next to the rear of the sub. He reached into the pack and pulled Andrew’s .45 from the waterproof bag. He placed it up on the deck and then he readied a charge which he dropped into a ballast intake. He jumped up on deck and ran toward the conning tower. Seconds later an explosion knocked Indy to the deck. The sailors at the nose turned and came running back toward the intruder. Indy stood and opened fire – causing the sailors to stop and duck behind the deck gun for cover. Shielding himself behind the tower, Indy readied two charges. As he fumbled at his task, bullets from the sailor’s guns sparked and ricocheted around him. He looked up to the Clipper – which Grieves had brought well behind the submarine, out of range of the submarine’s deck gun. Nora stood on one of the sea wings – pointing up at the sky over Indy’s shoulder. Indy waived her off – he had every intention to blast the scopes and intakes at the top of the conning tower. Indy dropped his first lit charge into a ballast intake and lobbed the second up onto the tower. As the explosions rocked the sub, Indy reloaded his gun and lit yet another stick of dynamite. He glimpsed around the tower at the sailors crouching behind the deck gun, took a deep breath and charged around the corner screaming, “Arrrrghhhhhh!”

As Indy charged, he opened fire. Panicked the sailors looked at each other and jumped into the sea. Indy pulled up -- something wasn’t right. He jerked around and looked over his shoulder as a high-pitched whirring sound filled the air. Eyes wide, Indy looked up toward the sun to see two American dive-bombers making a run directly at the sub. The two planes had already dropped their payloads and peeled away. As the torpedoes hit the water, Indy tossed the last stick of dynamite aside and stuck the pistol back in his pack. He then raced toward the far side of the sub as the two torpedoes cut twin white trails through the water toward the sub’s mid section. Indy leapt into the ocean just at the torpedoes made impact with stunning success. With the submarine no longer a threat, the Clipper moved toward the sub and slowed near Indy. Explosions rocked the sinking sub and Indy pulled himself up onto the sea wing, shook water from his arms and said, “If I never set foot on a submarine again it will be too soon.”

Nora helped Indy to his feet and said “I tried to warn you about the torpedo bombers. The planes passed over as you swam to the sub.”

Grinning broadly, Indy said, “Some warning.”

“What’s the matter?” asked Nora teasingly. “Couldn’t sink a sub on your own?”

“I disabled it,” said Indy with mock indigence. “That sub wasn’t going anywhere with the damage I did to its ballast tanks.”

Getting back to business, Nora said, “More fuel is on the way but I’ll have Grieves burn whatever fumes this plane has left so that we can put some distance between us and our friends.”

Overhead, Marine planes took a low pass and dipped their wings in salute as Indy waived in thanks. “Good thinking. Let’s hope we keep our escort all the way back to Manila.”


Chapter 12

An unusually large crowd of Filipinos, American Marines on liberty and press gathered at Pan Am’s harbor-side facility in Manila to witness the arrival of the Philippine Clipper. Among the crowd was a funny little man dressed in an unseasonably warm black fedora and black leather coat. Shadowed by another equally unseasonably dressed companion, the man in black shouldered his way through the mixed crowd, anxious to gain the best vantage point of the pier where the plane was expected to dock. Something had happened on the plane – of this the man in black was sure – but the crowd’s odd mix of languages and hushed whispers prevented the man from divining anything conclusive. As the great Clipper taxied across the harbor, the man in black gave up on eavesdropping and scanned the crowd through his thick round lenses for clues.

Newspaper photographers at the front of the pier craned and jockeyed for best position. Even the Chinese starlet the man in black knew to be onboard the Clipper could not be the cause of so much agitation. Next to the press, the man in black noted what he took to be an unusually large contingent of Pan Am employees. Their somber faces confirmed that something had indeed happened on the flight from Guam. A group of white clad medics and ambulance drivers standing on the pier provided the man in black with final confirmation that something was afoot.

The man in black blanched as the Clipper roared to the pier and a man emerged from the docking hatch in the nose of the plane. Instead of some lowly Pan employee there stood a man that matched exactly the description of the man in black’s quarry – an American Professor of Archaeology named Indiana Jones. The man in the docking hatch wore a tattered, wrinkled suite and held a long pole to help grab the mooring lines tossed by the Pan Am agents on the pier. The man in black exchanged an anxious glance with his dour companion and stood on jittery feet waiting for the passengers to deplane.

Again it was the man meeting Jones’s description that was first to emerge. He walked backwards onto the pier holding a makeshift stretcher carrying an old wounded man. A tall, thin man carried the other half of the burden. The tall thin man walked with what the man in black marked as the unsteady gate of a fall-down drunk. Ambulance drivers rushed forward to take the stretcher but waited while Jones leaned close to shake hands with the wounded man and to share a quick word. Jones also gestured into the plane and several medical types ducked inside.

A young girl emerged next, followed by an older, heavyset man who walked with a coat draped over his forearms. Here, the man in black raised an eyebrow. It was evident to his practiced eye that the coat was a subterfuge meant to conceal bindings on the heavy man’s wrists. Something interesting had indeed happened on the plane. Close behind the bound man was a beautiful tall dark-haired women. She scanned the crowd and gestured to a small contingent of clean-cut men in blue suites. The man in black immediately marked the clean cut men as American agents and snorted in derision. He leaned close to his mustached companion, gestured to the tall women and spoke in German, “Anfängers” [“Novices.’] (correct?)

The Chinese movie star emerged to a great reaction from the crowd. Madam Sinn wore sunglasses and a black skirt with a white jacket with a black lining and details. The man in black smiled as the press shifted to capture Sinn’s stoic passage down the pier. After several seconds passed, the man in black became agitated. His brother should have emerged from the plane. The two medics emerged moments later struggling with a lifeless body covered in a blanket. Again the crowd shifted to view the grim scene and cameras erupted. As the body passed the man in black, the corpse’s hand fell below the cover offered by the blanket and the man in black knew that his brother was dead.

He turned to his companion. “Follow Jones. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

Without a word, the man in black’s companion nodded and moved into a better position to tail Jones. As the crowd broke, the man in black stood fast. He studied each of the passengers and settled on the drunk who had assisted Jones with the stretcher. The drunk stood off by himself, leaning against the edge of a fender wiping sweat from his brow.

“Excuse me,” said the man in black in accented English. “Can you tell me what happened on the plane?”

“Spies were onboard.”

“Spies?” The man in black pulled a small black enamel flask from his breast pocket and offered it to the drunk.

“Yup, a whole mess of them.”

“And what happened to the spies?” asked the man in black as he took his flask back from the drunk and returned it to his pocket.

“Oh, they got theirs all right,” said the drunk. He pointed up to the Pan Am Terminal building where Indiana Jones stood next to Nora and one of the American Agents. “That man there – Indiana Jones. . . . .” The drunk sputtered and pulled at his collar. He tried to clear his throat and finally croaked out, “is not a man to be messed with.”

“Is that so?” said the man in black as the drunk fell to his knees gagging. The man in black turned to leave, and Lucien Lake collapsed on the pier, dead.


[Remainder of Chapter in Next Post]

[Joe Brody]

End of Chapter 12, End of Part I (second of two posts)


From a distance Nora stood and watched Indiana at the counter of the cable office in the Manila Airport. In his last remaining suit, Indy stood tapping at the counter waiting for a clerk to return with a cable that was being held for him. Nora admired Indy’s sturdy, self-assured profile and then glanced around the bustling terminal building. When the clerk returned, Indiana eagerly opened the envelope but grew agitated as he read the message. Glowering, he scanned the crowd and then scratched out a hasty reply. After paying the clerk, Indy dug his hands in his pockets and returned to Nora.

“What’s the matter?”

“My colleague in the States is not having any luck confirming Ravenwood’s whereabouts.”

“You don’t know where he is? You mean to tell me Army Intelligence engages you to get to this Ravenwood fellow and you don’t even know where he is?

Perplexed Indiana said, “I’m working on it. He’s somewhere in Nepal . . . . . I think. Besides I’m upset because the cable wasn’t coded. Back when I learned about Richter on Wake, I sent a cable telling my colleague to use code.”

“Do you know where your colleague was when you sent the cable?”

Indy nodded. “Yeah, I entered his calendar in my date book before I left.”

“And when you consulted your calendar did you realize that we had just crossed the International Date Line?”

Indiana cursed and crushed his cable. “I missed Marcus.”

“I’m going with you to Hong Kong.”

Indy shook his head. “No. You’ve got to see to Gwen and the Madam Sinn – and I’ve got to figure out another way to get to Nepal. Something a little more discrete than commercial air.” Indiana looked around the terminal and thought for a second. “Wait here.”

Indiana picked up his satchel and ducked into a men’s room. Moments later he emerged a different man. Instead of his grey woolen suit, he was decked out in full field gear: brown leather jacket, Aldens and fedora. Scanning the crowd, he stepped up to Nora. “Come on I have to check my bag for the hop to Hong Kong.”

Clutching Indy’s arm, Nora leaned close. “You’re going to Hong Kong dressed like that?”

“Work with me on this one,” said Indiana under his breath.

When they got to the ticket gate at the exit out to the airfield. Indy stopped and stepped close to Nora. “And one more thing.”

“Yes.”

Indiana gestured to the bag slung on Nora’s shoulder. “I’m going to need that.”

“What?” said Nora perplexedly. “It’s not even mine to give. I bet Grieves embezzled most of this cash from the Airline. What do you intend to do? Bribe your way across the Orient?”

“Not exactly – but something like that.”

“I have a bad feeling about this. . . and I here I am just beginning to think you aren’t about the money.”

Indy smiled and leaned in to give Nora quick kiss. “Trust me.”

Without another thought, Nora reached up and pulled the bag from her shoulder and handed it to Indy. She turned away from him and dug her hands in her pockets. Indiana slung a bag on each shoulder and leaned over and brushed a strand of hair away from Nora’s face. “What’s the matter?”

“I wanted to believe that there wouldn’t be a war.” Nora sighed. “And then along comes Yang and Grieves.”

“War will come – if it’s not here already,” said Indiana. As the pair walked to the gate, Indy scanned the crowd and noted a tall skinny mustached man watching him across the Terminal. “If I’ve learned one thing about war is that you have to keep moving. Anything you do to further the fight is gravy. And you did something about it when helped stop Yang. Now it’s time to move on.”

Nora stopped. “So that’s what you’re doing with all that money? Moving on?”

Indy handed his luggage bag off to an attendant but insisted on keeping Grieves’ moneybag. He smiled. “No, I’m making my own luck.”

“Well here’s hoping your luck doesn’t run out.”

The pair kissed and Indy turned to run out to the old tri-motor that sat idling on the runway. He climbed aboard and worked his way back down the narrow aisle. Crouching to look out through the passenger windows, Indy saw that the tall mustached man stood watching the plane. Indy took his seat and waited as the plane taxied down the runway. As the plane taxied to the far end of the airfield, Indy left his seat and headed to the cockpit. The engines strained as the pilots readied for takeoff. The pilots looked baffled as Indy tapped the pilot on his shoulder.

“How you doing?” said Indy with a cheesy grin. “I’d like to get off.”

The pilot eyed Indy like he was crazy. “It’s too late. We’re on runway. We take off now.”

Indy grinned and bobbed his head – and then he punched the pilot once, knocking the man unconscious. Without a trace of humor, Indy turned to the co-pilot and said, “Fly.”

The scared co-pilot nodded his head and opened the throttle to take the plane down the runway. Indy pulled the unconscious pilot away and then climbed into the pilot’s seat. The co-pilot continued to steal scared looks at Indy. Irritated, Indy stopped peering out onto the runway, leaned over and growled, “I said fly.”

The plane rumbled down the runway. Indy donned his gloves and tightened his fedora, and reached back and grabbed the leather duffle carrying Grieves’ cash. Clutching the bag close to his chest, Indy shot one last grin at the co-pilot, yanked open the pilot’s door and threw himself out onto the runway – on the far side of the airfield away from the terminal. Indy struck the runway hard, but he made himself roll into a drainage ditch. He laid there with his head down for several long minutes, listening to the plane take to the sky and fade into the distance. Finally, Indy raised his head, grinning broadly. He stood and crossed the ditch to the bustling warehouse district that saddled up against airport. Indy cocked his fedora on his head, adjusted the strap to his duffle and faded into the crowd.

End of Part I

(1) roundshort -- I erred on the side of using Marines in Part I (rather than sailors or Army Air Corps) because giving the Marines an active role ties well into Sallah's line later in the film.
(2) Paden, thanks again for the kind words but they were undeserved. I'm eager to move on the I admit to being fatigued with the climax on the sub when I wrote the original passage. I've attempted to better tie the action on the sub (and Indy's talk with Nora) with the action later in Raiders.
(3) Shortly, I'll post the one chapter epilogue which will give a very good idea where Part II is going. It's very different from Part I. I'll also soon be posting my bibliography with some comments as a sort of wrap-up.

[Stoo]

Joe, I don't think Indy would shot anyone in the back, no matter what. In all three movies he faces his foes in open combat. In LC, he does rip soem nazis pretty harshly, but Indy is not a cold blood killer. I have always thought Indy followed a certain Cowboy code, and no hero would ever shot anyone in the back, I think he would always give them a chance.Dr. Jones also tried to save one Giant Thuggee from being smeared onto
the surface of a rock-crushing, turning cylinder. I remember that the biggest
complaint about the story in #2 of the Marvel comics series was the unusual,
out-of-character depiction of Indy pushing a guy out of a plane, which
was before the 2nd movie - before the *political correctness* had begun.

That said, during the fury of *battle*, Indy just fights to survive.

[roundshort]

Dang Joe, the best yet! Burning the midnight oil here! A little forshadowing of how inyd might know his way around a Nazi sub, hhhhmmmmmm! What action. Call Lucas and 'berg, lets get your movie made!

[roundshort]

While I am sure that Christmas with, what do you have 6 or 7 kids you have been busy, but it as been like a month now! The football seaason is almost over, can't you add to this great story?

[Joe Brody]

For some time I’ve been meaning to post my sources for Part I of Red Line: Destination Nepal. My three sources were:

1. CAV Video’s production entitled the ‘China Clipper’, www.aviationvideo.com . Made up of stock footage, the video tells the story of the Clipper’s design, the construction of the Island stations, and the Clipper’s wartime service. Of special interest is a promotional film that was shot by Pan Am to promote the Clipper. Facts taken from the tape include:
a. The mechanic’s compartment between the engines in each wing.
b. The role played by Pan Am officers and Clipper pilots that were subject to secret pre-war conscription orders to train American bomber pilots.
c. Footage of the hotels with narration about Pan Am flying “first class – the only class’ which formed the basis for much of Red Line’s descriptions.

2. The National Geographic Magazine for December 1936. The magazine has two features of interest: (i) Flying the Pacific, which is a writer’s account of his trans-Pacific trip on the Clipper immediately prior to the commencement of passenger service, and (ii) Beyond Australia’s Cities. Facts taken from the articles include:
a. That the Clipper was used to fly dynamite to the islands for blasting coral.
b. Vivid descriptions of the rat and hermit crab infestation on Wake, including stories of Pan Am personnel using rat shooting for R&R.
c. Information on the Engineer’s throne room and the Chief engineer.
d. Information on the hotels, the island cable stations (most notably the Midway station), and flight times.
e. Information on Guam and the locals, including their use of the crude Water Buffalo carts.
f. And in the article on Australia, the information on Kalgoorlie that forms the backstory for my heroine, Nora Crowe.

3. The Seaplane site that provided the cut-away image of the Clipper I posted earlier in story. This site had excellent shots of the island stations and great descriptions, including shots of the hydroponics buildings. Frankly, had I not come across this site, Red Line: Destination Nepal would not have ever been written. http://www.pacific-seaplanes.com/Boarding_Ramp/

On the issue of Indy shooting a foe in the back, I would just note that during fight on the Clipper, the battle was joined between Indy and Yang and his henchman. Yang’s henchman knew full well that he had an armed attacker capable of firing from the nose. The henchmen took a risk in going for Andews and as it turned out, he chose poorly. I submit that this is not truly shooting someone in the back and I have no doubt that Indy would take full advantage of the situation.

Lastly, with respect to Part II of Red Line, for the time being I intend to only post the first chapter of the second part. I hope to have this up in the next couple of weeks. As I’ve said, Part II will lay out what will be a very different Indiana Jones adventure. It’s going to be gritty, violent and very focused on Indy. Part I, on the other hand, was meant to be a large cast piece with a lot of interesting characters. It was meant to be a cross between an old Charlie Chan movie and Humphrey Bogart’s Across the Pacific. I hope people will continue to enjoy it. Part II will require significantly more research on my part and right now I think I will only write it if there is sufficient interest among the readers here. Part I was easy because the Clipper flight to Manila gave a narrative structure and there was so much material based on the plane itself. The remaining portion of Indy’s journey – from Manila to Nepal – is much more open ended, especially given the direction I intend to take the story.

Thanks for reading. This was a blast for me.

[roundshort]

Thank you Joe for the great FF! It was great having something so interesting to read for the last year!

THanks

[Joe Brody]

The second part of the untold story of Indiana Jones's journey to the Raven

Chapter 1

The day’s last delivery truck pulled away from the entrance to Club Obi Wan hours before the arrival of the first patron. Down a dark alley across the street, Indiana Jones watched as the Club’s doorman abandoned his post to duck inside with an unwieldy crate of champagne. Indy nodded at his opportunity, pulled on his gloves and broke cover.

Shanghai’s dense, never-ending throng gave the unshaven American an unusually wide berth. For hours he had stood patiently in the shadows waiting -- but Indiana knew that it was not the trailing scent of the alley that was the cause of the glares and reproachful glances. If anything it was the stench acquired from a six-day journey aboard the junk that had brought him from Manila. Determined and grim, Indy pushed through the crowd and kept his gaze fixed up on Club Obi Wan’s first five stories. At his side he readied his whip and without breaking stride he snapped it up just as he let the coils loose. The whip took to the railing of a second story balcony. Indy climbed up and made an agile ascent from the second floor to the fourth using every railing and ledge the building had to offer. Not even the weight of an awkward leather duffle slung over one shoulder slowed his progress. Behind him the staggered and staggering rooftops of Shanghai’s International Quarter trailed off down to the Bund.

Indy paused on the shallow fourth floor balcony and adjusted his fedora. Sheer curtains billowed out open French doors. Inside was an empty sitting room richly appointed with British furniture and Chinese silk. Across the room, a door to an inner hall was slightly ajar. A haunting chorus of soft feminine ‘ooohs’ modulated between three notes to the steady beat of a bongo drum accompaniment. Indy stood transfixed with a ray of light from the hall cracked across his face. After a time the seductive music stopped, and just as Indiana started across the room a group of giggling young women – naked except for wraps clutched up to their breasts – scurried down the passage and disappeared. Indy grinned and walked inside to the door where he scanned the empty passage. Taking a deep breath and drawing his pistol he cut across to the only door on the inside wall. With the slightest pause, he strained as he turned the handle hard and opened the door. Nothing had changed – the dark study still smelled liked a London library. Black stuffed leather chairs matched the lacquered furniture. But behind the massive desk there was one addition: underneath a baby spotlight and sitting on what appeared to be an antique upended campaign trunk sat a jade sculpture, Nurhachi.

Indy’s eyes went wide. As he walked toward the treasure, he detected – too late – the presence of a figure standing flush to the inside wall.

“Good evening Dr. Jones,” said a familiar voice.

Busted. Indiana turned toward his former employer. “Good to see you again Lao.”

“Hmnn,” snorted Lao Che. The gray at the notorious gangster’s temples had grown prominent but his obsidian eyes still held the same mischievous glint as the day of his betrayal in the Club upstairs. Lao tightened his expensive black silk robe and smirked. He took self-satisfaction to new heights. “I’m not so sure. Perhaps you are disappointed to not find me in flagrante delicto.”

“With the girls? No, not at all,” grinned Indy as he raised his pistol – index finger clear of the trigger – toward the ceiling. “I was hoping we could talk business.”

Lao’s hand drifted toward his pocket. “As far as I am concerned, there is only one piece of unfinished business between you and I, Dr. Jones.”

“Not what I had in mind.” Indiana jerked his chin toward the strap on his shoulder. “May I?”

Lao removed a nickel-plated automatic from his jacket. “Of course.”

Indy lowered the bag, jerked open the zipper and opened it wide. Inside were bundles upon bundles of bills, American fifty dollar bills and British ten pound notes. Indy tossed the bag across the room to Lao’s feet where it met with a quick kick. Lao glanced down and gauged the contents. “Quite a bit of money.”

“It’s to pay off an old debt. Several years ago a Pan American executive named W.C Grieves ran up some big gambling debts here in Shanghai and skipped town. If Grieves didn’t gamble in one of your halls, I’m betting you bought up his paper because your airfreight company competes with Pan Am. I know your penchant for getting leverage whenever possible.” Now Indy returned Lao’s smirk. “And Grieves was an influential and powerful man.”

“You flatter me Dr. Jones but why repay the debt of another? We both know that the loss you caused me is not the sort quantifiable in cash.”

“What’s done is done Lao. There were losses on both sides and as far as I’m concerned, we’re square.”

Lao raised his gun and pointed it toward Indiana. “Unfortunately for you Dr. Jones, I do not share your glib assessment.”

“Lao,” Indiana raised his hands and took a tentative step back. “All I want is passage on one of your planes to Nepal.”

“How odd.” Lao lowered the gun a fraction.

Puzzled, Indiana lowered his hands. “What do you mean ‘odd’?”

“Coincidence is a most intriguing anomaly Dr. Jones. It is something not to be ignored.” Lao waived his gun toward a set of French doors. “Please step outside.”

A broad limestone terrace extended out across the roof of the adjoining building. Ornate hand carved railings gave way to a late evening sky of the deepest royal blue. Lao waved two dark-suited guards back to the far corners. Indy picked his way past the empty champagne bottles that littered the ground and stood before a great wicker divan covered with wrinkled sheets. Several pearl hairpins and a female’s kimono lay at the foot of the divan.

“Lao, I never figured you for the outdoor type.”

Lao frowned. “You are like Chen. You both should excuse an old man’s vices.”

Indy noted the crime lord’s frustration at the mention of his son. Indy holstered his weapon and cocked his fedora back on this head. “Are you having problems with Chen?”

“You know all to well that my son is ambitious Dr. Jones. It would be unnatural for him to not aspire to his father’s station.”

“There’s ambitious and then there’s ambitious. How bad is he gunning for you?”

“Don’t give Chen too much credit. For now his ambition is just something to keep this old man on his toes. Some day he will run all my businesses but not today. Unfortunately, even in matters where he seemingly makes a good choice – like his marriage – he is still capable of serious lapses in judgment.”

“I don’t doubt it. Believe me, I have no desire to see Chen while I’m in town. So can you help me get to Nepal?”

“It depends. Will you travel with me to Tibet?”

“So that’s the coincidence,” nodded Indiana Jones. “We’re heading in the same direction – and you need some added protection since you don’t know who you can trust with Chen feeling his oats. But isn’t Tibet a little too backwater for your tastes?”

Lao shrugged and walked toward the railing. Indy glanced back and forth between Lao and the two bodyguards off in the far corner of the terrace. “Some of your men are from Tibet. Are you going on some sort of recruiting trip?”

“Not at all. I’m bracing for a storm far greater than a son’s ambition, Dr. Jones. Western dancing and dance halls are outlawed in Japan. Jazz music is viewed as decadent. So when the Japanese take Shanghai. . . . and I believe that will happen within six months. . . . ” Lao gestured over the railing to the great neon glow below. “. . . . establishments like Club Obi Wan that will be the first to feel the wraith of the Japanese Imperial Army.”

“And the Japanese will be especially brutal with people like you.”

“Precisely. And not only will all things Western be targeted but the Japanese will rape and destroy all aspects of true Chinese culture. Japan has been frustrated by the stalemate here in China since 1932 and it will be Shanghai and Nanjing province that will pay the price.”

Indiana put his hands on his hips. “So what are you saying?”

“A great war is coming to China. And I need someone like you Doctor Jones, someone capable – someone trustworthy – to travel with me to Tibet so that I can find a safe haven for that which is most precious to this old man. I need your help to safeguard Nurhachi.”

[Deadlock]

Brody's back with a vengeance! Excellent as always. Sex, guns, money and history... What more could a man ask for? ;)

[Pale Horse]

Excellent as always. Sex, guns, money and history... What more could a man ask for? ;)

The script for Indy IV? :p

As always Joe, you have outdone yourself again with another foray into the Journey that is the Raven.

[roundshort]

WOW, I did not expect this! How long have you had this cooking. Way to break into Noir right off the bat, i felt that was Marlow talking now Indy! Nice job! Did he have silk socks with clocks on them?
(Lao was a bit Sidney Greenstreet also!

I am looking forward to some more greaat fiction!

[Paden]

Wow. Continued excellence, Joe. What an intriguing opening to the second half. I really like the noir direction you've taken and am eager to see how this uneasy alliance plays out. Great stuff as always. :)

[Joe Brody]

Another cat is out of bag: Part II is going to be a buddy story. Another ’48 Hours’.

Seriously -- It’s great being able to count on you guys for support.

Nurhachi is a great relic – time to give it its own story. There’s some great background on the official site:

http://www.indianajones.com/marshall/historical/nurhachi/

Now here’s the problem. While I’ve outlined much of Part II, I still have a lot of research and reading to do to make this work. Part I was relatively easy – I did some research (http://raven.theraider.net/showthread.php?t=7552&page=8) on the China Clipper and constructed my story around it. Part II is a little more wide open. I’ve got a big reading list to tackle, including studying some Chinese. In other words, there is no way Part II goes as fast as Part I (and frankly the more people that are reading ‘Red Line’ the more I’d be motivated to write).

One unresolved dilemma is that I’ve tied Indy’s progress to the Raven to Marcus Brody back in the States. Am I the only one that thinks it’s odd that Indy half guesses Abner Ravenwood's location in his discussion with Eaton and Musgrove? How exactly does Indy find the Raven? After all, Nepal is a big country. Being a fan of the True Marcus Brody, I intend to have Marcus play a key role – and I want Marcus to have his own adventure(s). I’ve already hinted at this story (http://raven.theraider.net/showthread.php?t=7784) – now I’ve got to figure out how much of that story I need to hash out in order to finish Part II.

Another thing, now that the concept for Part II is out, I can fess up to one of my major objectives: namely tying up as many loose ends from the three films as possible. It’s no secret that I reject most of TOD. Part II is my humble attempt to mesh the Club Obi Wan scene (and its characters) back into the Raiders storyline. Lao Che Air Freight’s westward reach (in the direction of Nepal) was too much of an interesting coincidence to pass up. Speaking of Lao Che Air Frieght -- what’s Lao’s angle? Shipping chickens? We’ll see how it fits in.

['uneasy alliance' -- I like it.]

[Deadlock]

Speaking of Lao Che Air Frieght -- what’s Lao’s angle? Shipping chickens? We’ll see how it fits in.

If I may make a suggestion... heroin (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heroin).

Although it was beginning to become more prevalent by the 1930s, Asian historian and drug traffic expert Dr Alfred W. McCoy reports that heroin trafficking was virtually eliminated in the U.S. during World War II. But, McCoy contends, the Mafia was able to gain control of the heroin trade thanks in large measure to a covert deal between top Mafia leader Lucky Luciano and American military intelligence.

McCoy claims that Luciano was asked to provide Mafia assistance in rooting out communist and/or Nazi influence on the waterfronts, and that the Army wanted Luciano to provide their forces with local Mafia assistance during America's planned invasions of Sicily and Italy; in return the jailed mobster was allowed to run his operations unhindered from his cell, and he was deported back to Sicily after the war, where he oversaw a massive expansion in his organisation's drug operations before his death.

Luciano, who visited Vietnam, forged an alliance between his American Mafia family and the tough Corsican Mafia, establishing a wide-ranging heroin shipping, refining and distribution network based in the port town of Marseilles in France. He allegedly masterminded the network that was portrayed (semi-fictionally) in the film The French Connection.

Thanks to Corsican Mafia connections in the former French colony of Vietnam, the operation was able to forge new alliances with underworld forces there, and with triad gangs and organised crime figures in Hong Kong, Shanghai, New York City and Sydney. As opium production in Turkey waned, the Mafia established a lucrative new source of supply in the Golden Triangle region and funnelled the production out via South Vietnam. McCoy's most controversial assertion is that the C.I.A. pursued a policy, which he describes as "radical pragmatism", and that in the name of the fight against Communism, the Agency was covertly making expedient alliances with local warlords, Mafiosi and corrupt South Vietnamese officials.

Emphasis added.

I don't have a concept just yet about:
1. Why Abner was in Nepal
2. How Indy knew about it
3. Or how to get Marcus involved.

I'll have to let that percolate for a bit longer.

[Joe Brody]

If I may make a suggestion... Heroin


Heroin? Close. . . . . Very Close.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Economy_of_Afghanistan

I'm staying old school here and will stick with good old opium.

[roundshort]

shipping bird flu I would say!

[roundshort]

Dang Joe, what a tease! You get us all started on some real fan fiction, that is actually good, and then stop> Are you going to say your life is busy or something?

[roundshort]

hmmmm Joe I think you are teasing us, you got off to a fast start, but well

[Joe Brody]

Begin Chapter II

A gleaming black staff Mercedes dispatched from the German Embassy brought Arnold Toht to the aristocratic residence perched high on the hills outside Hong Kong. As the car started up the drive, it abruptly pulled aside onto the pristine lawn. All was idle and tranquil. On the far edge of the lawn a bent old man shuffled among several white board beehives that had been placed strategically amidst the lush garden that ran around the lawn’s perimeter. The gnarled old man was seemingly oblivious to the small contingent that emerged from the car. Rather it was the bees, coursing about to and fro and agitated from a long hot September day, that commanded the old man’s attention.

Toht wiped the sweat from his brow – and tried with every once of inner resolve to not betray his agitation. The old man worked surrounded by a formidable swarm but chose to not wear a bee suite or other protective gear. The old man was impervious to danger thought Toht; he was boot leather. After a long minute it became clear that if Toht were to obtain the counsel that he sought, he too would have to cross into the bees’ domain unprotected.

As Toht set off across the lawn, he signaled for his men to stay put. One man, nodded and said, “Ja, doch.” [“Yes, of course.”]

Toht stiffened but continued on across the simmering lawn. He braced himself as he passed though the bees’ outer ranks to stand before the old man. The old man, however, ignored Toht – even though Toht knew that his presence was known. Instead the old man continued about his business. Bees swarmed around Toht, seemingly sensing his fear.

Finally, the old man spoke without looking up. “Your man – he spoke German just now, yes?”

Toht shot a grim look back toward the car. “Yes, he did.”

“You know the rules. Only English is spoken outdoors. If you were under my command, I would relieve you right now.”

Toht simply shook his head and took a small side-step away from a threatening bee.

“You’ve gone soft working for Himmler’s supposed academics.”

“As always I defer to your judgment. I lost Jones in Manila.”

“Any thought on that curator back in the States? Your men haven’t lost him too have they?”

“No, we are very much engaged with him – we have all of the curator’s documents pertaining to Ravenwood – but he knows nothing of Ravenwood’s present whereabouts.”

The old man nodded and gave a good shove to a hive. Agitated bees issued out, increasing exponentially the size of the alarming swarm. After an interminable pause the old man stood frozen, as if waiting for some signal, and then croaked, “Think. Out of Manila, what were your quarry’s options?”

Exasperated, Toht slapped his handkerchief against his dark heavy coat hoping to shoo the bees – but instantly he regretted the action as it seemed to draw the swarm’s attention to him. “For all I know he’s still in Manila. . .”

“You waste my time.” The old man looked past Toht to one of the hives almost as if he were looking for some assistance. “If you thought your man was still there, then you would still be there too. Again. What were his options out of Manila?”

Toht narrowed his eyes, resentful for having to go through the paces like a school boy at his lessons. The old man knew Asia better than the Brits who pretended to rule the land. And the bees’ hum increased about him as they bounced about off his person. “Another flight to Hong Kong. A mail plane to either Shanghai or Hanoi. Or he could have found passage on a ship to any number of locations -- Hanoi, Shanghai, Bangkok or any port on Maylaya.”

Walking away from Toht, the old man spoke over his shoulder, “Your report says your quarry boarded a plane at the Manila airport bound for Hong Kong. Yet your quarry was not onboard when it landed. Tell me the significance of this. What caused your quarry’s abrupt change of plans?

“That’s simple.” Toht leered at the tall, mustached man back by the car – the same man who broke protocol by speaking German moments before. “My quarry knew that he was being watched.”

“Indeed. Now, how does that fact impact your analysis?”

“He would not likely leave by air. He would assume that the airports were being watched.”

“At last, progress. So if he were to leave by ship, would he seek passage close to his ultimate destination or some other port?”

“No, he would not want to be on a slow ship for long. Jones wants his prize. He would travel by ship as short of distance as possible so that he could get back on a plane . . . which means. . . .”

“Shanghai. My bet would be Shanghai.”

Something that could only have been a multitude of bees crawled up the back of Toht’s neck. With every ounce of impossible self-control Toht fought the urge to brush away the threat. “So I should go to Shanghai?”

“And risk again being left one step behind?” The old man spat in disgust. “Remember, by time you get to Shanghai your quarry will likely have already left.”

Toht finally succumbed and brushed in near panic at his neck. He paid the price. As he ducked to leave, stung more than once, he said, “I will go inland and intercept Jones there.”

“Stop!” For the first time the old man showed some emotion.

Hurt and overtaken by bees, Toht forced himself to a halt in the middle of the lawn. The bees continued their attack.

“This Doctor Jones, he killed your brother, yes?”

Toht, ashamed of himself, shrieked out as he attempted to fight off his attackers, “Yes! He did.”

The old man nodded. “You go now Arnold, find your quarry and complete your mission – but do not let yourself be distracted. Do not get too involved.”

Toht ran off across the grass – wounded and angry he tumbled back into the Mercedes.

The old man stood silent, satisfied. Already, Toht’s little mission was completely gone from his mind as he reveled in his bees. It was during quiet moments like this, the day’s last light, when he gloated most over how the buzzing merged perfectly with the sound of the generators; the generators that powered his sprawling intelligence operations in the massive bunker directly underfoot – over thirty feet below.

[I've been sitting on this due to the down time -- just small little change of pace]

[roundshort]

hmhmmmm. . . . that came out of left field Joe, nice work as always. I see tieing 3TU into red line, nice touch! Good to see good ol' Thot in action. I like it, I am glad you are giving some side storyy to Brody. Good job, as always I can not wait for more.

[roundshort]

Any new works Joe?

[Joe Brody]

Chapter 2 Continued.

“To a successful journey,” said Indiana Jones as he raised his glass in toast.

Lao Che lifted a whisky-and-soda in return and flashed his quick, easy smile. Lao, having changed into a sharp light grey double-breasted suit, was relaxed and in control as he stood behind his massive desk next to Nurhachi. And before him stood Indiana Jones, the very man responsible for delivering the priceless urn. The filthy American was also a thing of great value in rough-and-tumble Shanghai: a proven, known quantity quite capable of even unsavory acts if necessary to get the job done.

Indiana stood at ease. His whisky’s invigorating smell was tangible proof that the long arduous journey from Manila had finally come to an end. The drink did not disappoint; it gave warmth and a reviving burn.

Lao took two fat Havana cigars from a humidor on the desk and looked Indiana Jones from head-to-toe. “You must explain how you happened to come to me in such a sorry state” – Lao pointed the cigars at W. C. Grieves’ bag of cash that still sat wide open on the study’s floor – “yet in possession of such a large amount of money?”

Indiana took the offered cigar and flashed a disarming grin. “Do you want the long or short version?”

Lao matched the smile, leaned forward with a light and responded, “The most truthful of course.”

Before the flame could take, a disturbance broke out in the hall. Just as Indiana turned back toward the door, Madam Sinn – dressed in a rich, finely stitched black silk gown – burst into the room. Nora Crowe followed and stopped cold at the sight of Indiana. Two of Lao’s doormen stood agape behind the ladies but withdrew with a fast click of the door at a sign from the old gangster. In surprisingly unrefined Shanghainese, Sinn said, “Father, you must help. Chen has found where the baby is being held and he intends to take back the baby by force. You must stop him.”

Madam Sinn appeared rattled. She did not even seem to register Indy’s presence. At the mention of his son’s name, Lao Che had slammed his glass down hard in disgust. He shook his head and replied in English. “Chen – he’s always too rash.”

Lao crossed to the starlet, said, “Take me to him, and I shall see personally to the return of my grandson.” Lao looked over to Indy. “Doctor Jones. You must excuse me – clean yourself up and wait for me upstairs in the Club. I have a family matter I must first attend to prior to our leaving Shanghai.”

“No, Father,” Madam Sinn shook her head. “Doctor Jones must come as well. He can help.”

Incredulous, Lao asked, “You know this man?”

Madam Sinn nodded. “Yes father. He saved my life on the flight from Hawaii.”

Indiana simply shrugged as he finished pouring himself another whisky. “I have been a big fan of Madam Sinn since a kid dragged me to see one of her films back in thirty-six.”

Indy marked how news of the rescue perplexed Lao. The gangster hesitated – like a machine executing a series of internal calculations – as if, Indy realized, his saving Madam Sinn had caused Lao Che to make some change in plans. Lao then turned back toward Madam Sinn and gestured toward Indy. “My dear, there is no need to tax Doctor Jones – ”

“. . . Please Father. . . .”

Lao Che relented. Shaking his head, he picked up his phone to have his car readied.

Indiana Jones turned to Nora Crowe. She scornfully looked up from the open bag of money and the fat cigar in Indy’s hand. “So you’ve been busy since Manila?”

Not without an edge, Indiana responded, “It’s not what it looks like. . . .”

Again, the doors to Lao Che’s study burst in and two scantily dressed women entered the room laughing. Arms interlocked, the long-legged dancers crossed the study out on to the terrace. They scooped up the errant hairpin and robe left on the divan and snatched up a still chilling bottle of champagne. Oblivious – or more likely well-accustomed – to Lao’s constant flow of visitors, the dancers passed back out through the study without seeking pardon or permission. As one of the girls passed Indiana Jones, she raised her arm and blew him a kiss – an action that caused her robe to slip off her shoulder revealing tantalizing flesh.

Nora raised an eyebrow. “Not what it looks like? Tell me, what does it look like?”

Indiana held his hands out at his waist. “Do I really look like I’ve been getting lucky with showgirls?”

“Quite,” said Lao Che, as he lowered his telephone. “There’s been no time.” Lao crossed to Nora and bowed. “And who are you?”

“Nora Crowe,” she stole a quick glance at Indiana as Lao kissed her hand. “I am – ”

“—an employee of Pan American, Father,” cut in Madam Sinn. “She offered to see me home after the hijacking on our way to Manila.”

Lao shot a meaningful look at Indiana, and said, “Madam Sinn sent me a cable about the Japanese attempt to seize a Clipper ship from Manila.” Lao nodded toward the open terrace doors and the glow from the nightclub’s lights. “It came as a bolt from the blue. Not only was I thankful to learn that my daughter-in-law had survived a great ordeal – but it was a poignant wake-up–”

“—that things aren’t so safe in Shanghai, especially with a Japanese Army camped on the City’s doorstep,” finished Indiana.

“Exactly,” said Lao. “I tried to look into the hi-jacking but found that the American’s were keeping it a secret. That was the second God-send – otherwise Shanghai would be rioting now out of fear of an imminent Japanese attack.”

Lao Che gestured toward the door. “Now we must go. Doctor Jones, you better than most appreciate the need for a fast action when Chen is involved.”

But instead of heading for the door, Lao called out to his goons. One with a non-existent neck brushed past Indy as the other gave a greasy smirk. Together with Lao, the three went through what Indiana recognized as a familiar routine of packing Nurhachi safely into the ancient campaign trunk. Once the Jade urn was safe inside the trunk, Lao locked the trunk with an ancient key and placed it in his pocket.

“We’re taking the urn?” said Indiana pensively.

“We must go,” said Lao ignoring the question.

The group descended Club Obi Wan’s wide-but-dark steps at a rapid clip. Lao’s heavy-footed goons followed their boss, with each clutching a handle to the campaign trunk. Indy stayed close to Nora. As the group ahead rounded a corner Nora pulled Indy back. “What are doing with that hood?”

Indy kept his head down and started down the next flight. “What I have to do to get where I have to go.”

At the bottom, Indy hesitated. “Let me get this straight – Madam Sinn is married to Chen?”

“Don’t ask me,” said Nora. “I have no idea who this ‘Chen’ is. You were the one smoking cigars with grand-dad. You know he’s the most notorious gangster in Shanghai?”

“All to well.” Indiana thundered down the last flight and repeated under his breath, “All to well.”

Outside, the group piled into a waiting limousine. As the luxurious automobile made what time it could as it headed deeper into the ancient sprawling city, Indiana looked down at Nora’s hands – the same strong, cool hands he held when they had danced together back on Midway Island. Across the compartment, Lao Che noted the expression that played across Indiana’s face and leaned forward.

“Doctor Jones,” said Lao with a long drawn out smile. “Had I known at Oxford that it is standard practice for an archaeologist to always have a beautiful women at his side, I would have concentrated my studies in that area, instead of the law.”

Knowing where this was going, Indiana banged his head back against the wall of the cabin.

Curious, Nora asked, “What do you mean?”

Lao tilted his head back and laughed. “Surely Doctor Jones has told you the circumstances surrounding our last meeting?”

Nora shook her head ‘no’ and shot a look over at Indy.

“Several years ago we were closing a deal back in my Club. At the time, I had engaged – at a considerable expense – a famous singer named Willie Scott.” Again, Lao stopped to laugh. “Dr. Jones took one look at her and he literally had to have her. Yes indeed, Doctor Jones is quite a character. The two stole away together that very night on a plane out of Shanghai.”

Nora shifted away from Indiana and made a sour face. “You were infatuated with that Willie Scott, the singer?”

Pleading, Indiana said, “No it was nothing like that. . . .”

“So you never met Willie Scott?”

“Well, I did but . . . .”

“’But’ what?” asked Nora. “But you didn’t skip town together the day you met her?”

Blushing, Indiana squirmed as the car came to a halt. “Yes we left on a plane but it wasn’t anything like that. . . .”

Nora glared as she started to cut off Indiana Jones. Instead, Madam Sinn leaned forward. “We’re here. We must stop Chen and his men.”

[roundshort]

Nice Joe, little mention of shorty and willie, moving nicley. You are buring many threads here, how do you keep them straight>

[roundshort]

Hey Joe,

Whats up? Where is the new fiction? Even Moore has put 2 books out? I might have to work at my desk if you don't make with the writy write!


Please?