Indiana Jones and the Secretof the Sphinx by Max McCoy
Authors: Max McCoy
Tags: Indiana Jones
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admitted as he finished ministering to Faye's bottom lip, now stained with iodine.
"What's your name?" Indy asked.
"Bryce." When he spoke the name, he seemed to grow a little taller. "Montgomery Bryce, Oxford, class of 1923."
"Jones," Indy said and held out his hand.
They shook.
"Yes, I know," Bryce said. "I've seen your mug in the newspapers. But a gentleman doesn't comment until the introductions have been made."
Then there was a jolt, and Bryce smiled as he steadied himself against a bulkhead. "Ah, we've cast our moorings. The tugs are taking us out into the harbor. Soon we'll be rid of this stinking piece of real estate."
"What is Snark carrying this trip?"
"He doesn't confide in me," Bryce said.
He knelt on the floor, closed up his bag, then looked at Indy and gave him a glance that was filled with an unspeakable mixture of horror and guilt.
"You know, Jones, it's quite true what I said," he said. "But it's not the whole cloth. While pretending not to see the rape of Manchuria, I fell in love with the concubine of a petty warlord collaborating with the Imperial Army. The girl's name was Si Huang, she was seventeen, and she was the most gentle creature I have ever known. But honor bound her to her station in life; she would not flee to safety with me. The warlord, of course, found out. Do you know what he did?"
Indy closed his eyes.
"He killed her. Then he cut out her heart, cooked it up, and had it mixed into the curried pork I ate for my dinner that night."
The doctor gave a smile that projected no mirth.
"I have never eaten a bit of meat since," he said as he snapped his bag closed. "And just before I nod off to sleep at night—that is, if I'm sober—I will get a little whiff of curry, and the night terrors close behind."
The Kamikaze Maru —the Divine Wind —had been at sea for nearly ten hours when the pair of Kawasaki Ki-10 biplanes appeared on the horizon over her wake. Indy had heard the drone of the big radial engines, and he knew they could mean nothing but trouble.
He had slept in his clothes, so to finish dressing meant grabbing his hat and jacket on the way out of the cabin. It was dawn now, and the eastern sky was bronzed by the rising sun.
As Indy reached the bridge, the biplanes buzzed the ship.
Snark was on the deck, watching through a pair of binoculars as the planes flared and prepared for another pass. Faye, Mystery, and Bryce were already there.
Even without the binoculars, on the wings of both planes Indy could clearly see the hinamaru —the rising red sun of the Japanese empire.
"Dr. Jones," Snark said. "You seem to be more trouble than you're worth. Somebody must have figured out which ship was unlucky enough to have you. Is there anyone back home who would pay good money to have you back safe and sound?"
"Not unless my old friend Marcus Brody can figure a way to make a museum piece out of me," Indy said.
"Too bad," Snark said. "These biplanes, they are too far out to sea now to turn back to Manchuria. They cannot land on the water, and they have barely enough fuel to reach the Japanese coast. Instead of a fuel pod, each carries a torpedo slung beneath her belly."
Snark handed the binoculars to Indy.
"Can you hail them?" Faye asked. "Negotiate, perhaps?"
"There's no radio on the Divine Wind," Snark said.
"I thought that after 1912—," Faye began.
"That's your world," Snark said impatiently. "The Titanic did not make a great deal of difference to us. In our world, shipwrecks are fate. For communication, we use signal guns, or flags, or rescue flares, instead of wireless. Unfortunately, that does not allow for two-way communication in this circumstance."
"I think they're about ready to send us a message," Indy said as through the binoculars he watched the biplanes line up on the stern of the Divine Wind for their attack. At seventy-five yards, the torpedo fell from the belly of the forward plane.
The mechanical shark left a stream of bubbles as it raced through the
"What's your name?" Indy asked.
"Bryce." When he spoke the name, he seemed to grow a little taller. "Montgomery Bryce, Oxford, class of 1923."
"Jones," Indy said and held out his hand.
They shook.
"Yes, I know," Bryce said. "I've seen your mug in the newspapers. But a gentleman doesn't comment until the introductions have been made."
Then there was a jolt, and Bryce smiled as he steadied himself against a bulkhead. "Ah, we've cast our moorings. The tugs are taking us out into the harbor. Soon we'll be rid of this stinking piece of real estate."
"What is Snark carrying this trip?"
"He doesn't confide in me," Bryce said.
He knelt on the floor, closed up his bag, then looked at Indy and gave him a glance that was filled with an unspeakable mixture of horror and guilt.
"You know, Jones, it's quite true what I said," he said. "But it's not the whole cloth. While pretending not to see the rape of Manchuria, I fell in love with the concubine of a petty warlord collaborating with the Imperial Army. The girl's name was Si Huang, she was seventeen, and she was the most gentle creature I have ever known. But honor bound her to her station in life; she would not flee to safety with me. The warlord, of course, found out. Do you know what he did?"
Indy closed his eyes.
"He killed her. Then he cut out her heart, cooked it up, and had it mixed into the curried pork I ate for my dinner that night."
The doctor gave a smile that projected no mirth.
"I have never eaten a bit of meat since," he said as he snapped his bag closed. "And just before I nod off to sleep at night—that is, if I'm sober—I will get a little whiff of curry, and the night terrors close behind."
The Kamikaze Maru —the Divine Wind —had been at sea for nearly ten hours when the pair of Kawasaki Ki-10 biplanes appeared on the horizon over her wake. Indy had heard the drone of the big radial engines, and he knew they could mean nothing but trouble.
He had slept in his clothes, so to finish dressing meant grabbing his hat and jacket on the way out of the cabin. It was dawn now, and the eastern sky was bronzed by the rising sun.
As Indy reached the bridge, the biplanes buzzed the ship.
Snark was on the deck, watching through a pair of binoculars as the planes flared and prepared for another pass. Faye, Mystery, and Bryce were already there.
Even without the binoculars, on the wings of both planes Indy could clearly see the hinamaru —the rising red sun of the Japanese empire.
"Dr. Jones," Snark said. "You seem to be more trouble than you're worth. Somebody must have figured out which ship was unlucky enough to have you. Is there anyone back home who would pay good money to have you back safe and sound?"
"Not unless my old friend Marcus Brody can figure a way to make a museum piece out of me," Indy said.
"Too bad," Snark said. "These biplanes, they are too far out to sea now to turn back to Manchuria. They cannot land on the water, and they have barely enough fuel to reach the Japanese coast. Instead of a fuel pod, each carries a torpedo slung beneath her belly."
Snark handed the binoculars to Indy.
"Can you hail them?" Faye asked. "Negotiate, perhaps?"
"There's no radio on the Divine Wind," Snark said.
"I thought that after 1912—," Faye began.
"That's your world," Snark said impatiently. "The Titanic did not make a great deal of difference to us. In our world, shipwrecks are fate. For communication, we use signal guns, or flags, or rescue flares, instead of wireless. Unfortunately, that does not allow for two-way communication in this circumstance."
"I think they're about ready to send us a message," Indy said as through the binoculars he watched the biplanes line up on the stern of the Divine Wind for their attack. At seventy-five yards, the torpedo fell from the belly of the forward plane.
The mechanical shark left a stream of bubbles as it raced through the
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