10
Rough Ride
Indiana Jones slept as the train to Callao chugged on sluggishly up hillsides and down through valleys on its undulating descent toward the Peruvian coast. Because he slept he did not see as the 'bad men' went about the car convincing the other riders that it was in their best interest to move forward into the next one.
While the thin man bolted the back door, the heavy one approached each of the dozen or so passengers and quietly convinced them with a few threatening words to move forward into the next car; flashing the wicked looking serrated blade of a hunting knife to convince more forcefully where necessarily. When the last of the frightened, annoyed, and confused riders had been expelled, the heavy man slipped the bolt in the front door of the car. It locked in place with a loud click.
There were now only the three of them in the car. From opposite ends the two men looked first at each other and then at the sleeping archaeologist, before both leered in unison. 'Heavy' brandished the hunting knife in his right hand. The frightening blade stuck out of his fat palm like some kind of evil appendage. In the meantime, 'thin man' reached into his back pocket and produced a wire garrote, which he wound tightly around both hands, mentally measuring Jones' neck as he slowly approached from the rear.
Indy continued to sleep, innocently snoring, as his executioners stealthily approached. This would be easy, thought the 'thin man', as his leer turned more to a grimace, the twisted lips of his countenance a mirror of the evil intent in his mind. 'Heavy' threw one or two glances around the train, as if he might have forgotten someone, and then approached towards Jones, seemingly emotionless, but ready and eager to plunge his weapon into the sleeping man.
Like the perfect victim Indiana Jones was oblivious to his approaching, violent death. Or so he hoped they'd believe.
Perhaps it was because the clicking sound of the front door being latched was so much like that signal of imminent danger he'd heard so recently, deep in Payahuatac's burial chamber. Or perhaps it was simply because his line of work made it imperative that his senses be keen and decisively to such tell-tale sounds. Whatever it was, the sound of the latching door had awoken Jones from his sleep no less abruptly than if he'd had cold water thrown in his ruggedly tanned face.
But he hadn't flinched. Instead, with only the rapid movement of heavily lidded eyes, he'd summed up the situation. Facing forward, he could not see 'thin man' approaching from behind, but he didn't need to. As 'heavy' approached from in front, the eye contact with someone to the rear of the car was unmistakable. Jones then remembered vaguely the two men who'd taken the seats across the aisle from him earlier.
Indiana Jones knew the score. Now he needed a plan.
But the two men who sought to kill him didn't give him much time to formulate one. So Jones went with the basics, his only ally was the element of surprise. The archaeologist waited a few more seconds, until his attackers were within striking distance...and then he struck.
Before the oversized, knife wielding attacker before him could even register the movement in his dim-witted consciousness, Jones lunged forward and drove his fedora-clad head into the man's groin. The impact crushed the man's testacles into his pelvic bone with a violent impact that instantly buckled him, and left him gasping for air. His arms flailed weakly, all strength exorcised from his body by the jarring blow to that most sensitive part of his anatomy. His fat frame crashed to the floor of the train car where he vomited. His knife rolled underneath a carriage seat.
Jones got up quickly and wheeled around to confront his other attacker. In a series of expressions 'thin man's' countenance registered the thoughts coursing through his coca juiced brain. Surprise, confusion, fear, and then anger registered in sequence on his ugly face before he dropped his garrote to the floor of the train and withdrew a .25 caliber pistol from the pocket of his dirty trousers. He took aim at Jones who ducked instinctively behind one of the train car seats.
'Thin man' fired off three quick rounds in succession while Indiana Jones dove behind the seatback and struggled to pull his Webley out of his satchel. Though he was wearing his whip in an extra tight coil on his hip, Jones had not wanted to wear the holstered handgun while riding the train for fear of drawing attention to himself. Now he regretted that decision.
He finally managed to withdraw the weapon, but not before he'd also had to pull Payahuatac's mask out and lay it on the seat next to him. Jones took a quick look at 'heavy' still writhing rather helplessly on the floor. Then he raised his weapon and fired back at 'thin man'. Jones fired two rounds in his direction, and the booming sound of the Webley instantly panicked the swarthy little criminal who let out a shrill scream, threw himself to the floor, and crawled behind the cover of another carriage seat.
Indy turned to take another look at the fat man on the floor, but before he could, a huge fist landed squarely to his jaw. The blow from 'heavy' sent Jones sprawling backward, his head struck a train window with enough force that it shattered the glass, before he flopped back down on the train seat. His weapon flew from his hand and rolled on to the floor where 'heavy' picked it up.
With a crazed look in his eye the fat man took aim at the groggy archaeologist at nearly point blank range and squeezed the trigger. The man's unfamiliarity with the weapon, and Jones' quick roll off of the carriage seat resulted in a missed shot. Instead of hitting Jones the bullet plowed into the seat cushion, tearing a hole in it and throwing a cloud of pillow stuffing up into the air.
Jones lunged at the man and grasped a hold of his wrist before he could get off another shot. The gun went off, but it was misdirected by Indy towards the back of the train car, eliciting another shrill scream of fear from the cowering 'thin man'. Jones and 'heavy' now grappled in a life or death struggle with the gun. But 'heavy's' overpowering strength was making it no contest. Indy watched as the muzzle of the weapon slowly but inexorably turned toward his face. He felt helpless against the larger man's superior strength.
One, two, three, four.....Jones mentally counted off the rounds thus far fired from the gun...there were two left in the chamber. If he couldn't stop 'heavy' from pointing the weapon at his face and pulling the trigger, then he knew his only chance would be if he could empty the chamber first. As suddenly as possible he wormed his struggling hand over towards the trigger and squeezed once, then again. The two rounds fired off in succession before 'heavy' could react. A fraction of a second later the muzzle of the gun was shoved into Indiana Jones' face, squashing his nose down.
CLICK!!
The sound of the empty weapon surprised the fat man as he squeezed the trigger. He stared mutely at the gun and relaxed for just a fraction of a second. It was all the time Jones needed. With a swift motion the archaeologist brought his knee up into the man's solar plexus, eliciting a loud grunt. 'Heavy' involuntarily released his grip and Jones took advantage again, delivering a right cross to the jaw that dropped him. He then scooped up the Webley, thrust the empty weapon into his satchel, and grabbed the golden mask off of the seat.
Then another report echoed in the train car, that of a .25 caliber. It stung Indiana Jones in the left arm and staggered him.
He'd been hit; and worse, it felt as if the round had struck his bone.
As he gripped the back of a carriage seat to keep his feet he looked toward the back of the car and into the narrow, sunken eyes of the 'thin man' who now aimed his weapon again, drawing a bead on Jones' mid-section. Instinctively the archaeologist hurled the mask of Payahuatac through the air.
'Thin man' took his eyes off of Indy as he first watched the golden object of his desires hurtle through the air towards him, and then ducked and shielded his face to avoid being struck with the heavy artifact. When he looked up again he was met with 175 pounds of surging archaeologist running at full speed. The impact sent the more diminutive 'thin man' sprawling, his weapon thrown from his hand.
But he recovered quickly, scooping up the handgun a moment later and raising it again. Jones however had already unbolted the back door of the car and fled out, grabbing the golden mask on his way. 'Thin man' gave chase, followed on his heels by 'heavy', who'd not only gotten back up, but had found his knife, which he clutched in his fat fist. Murder was in his eyes.
Indiana Jones struggled with the handle of the door to the next car back. He opened it, ran inside, and slammed it shut. He was greeted by the stunned faces of the half dozen passengers seated in this, the last car of the train. Seconds later the door flew open; kicked open by the enraged 'heavy'. Jones stumbled backward and fell. 'Heavy' charged forward'. The two women in the car screamed, and the male passengers shouted their surprise at the spectacle of the bleeding, struggling gringo, and his overweight, knife wielding pursuer.
Indy scrambled up off of the floor and ran for the back door of the train car. 'Heavy' continued running after him but then stopped suddenly and dropped to the floor as 'thin man' shouted at him in Spanish.
Jones knew what was coming next and dove for the floor himself just before a volley of .25 caliber rounds spattered against the walls and smashed out windows. The women screamed louder and the men joined them, huddling down for protection.
The rapid fire gunshots were followed by the clicking of an empty weapon. 'Thin man' cursed violently, reached into his pocket for more ammunition, and shouted for 'heavy' to get up and get the gringo.
Indy tore open the back door and ran out on to the small balcony at the rear of the car. This was the last car and so there was nothing behind him but the long trail of steel rails which pulsed out from beneath the train like twin steel wakes. There were two choices for him now. Either jump off of the train, which even at the slow speed at which it moved would probably result in at least one broken bone, or he could climb the short ladder on to the roof and try to lose them by running forward. Maybe he could find a Policia in one of the forward cars. If he jumped off they would probably just do the same, he thought, and run him down anyway, so Jones chose the latter course of action and started to scale the short ladder up on to the train's roof. His left arm was bleeding and it hurt like hell as he pulled himself up, still clutching tightly to Payahuatac's mask.
As he reached the top of the train Jones heard the rear door fly open followed by shouted Spanish curses. He was now gasping for breath though, not used to such exertions in the high Andean air, and struggled to get up. And then he heard the front door open, which brought him to his feet.
The archaeologist started to run forward as fast as he could while maintaining balance. The train jerked and undulated, and it was no easy task just to stay on his feet at all. But he didn't get very far anyway before 'thin man' emerged over the edge in front of him and pointed his weapon. Jones skidded to a stop and turned to run back but was met with the menacing sight of 'heavy', now atop the train with his feet squared and the murderous blade of the hunting knife held firmly in his tight grip. He glared at Jones, and his eyes bespoke the unmistakable look of revenge as he held the knife in the one hand while the other gripped hard to his aching groin.
All three men breathed heavily, chests heaving in and out. Indy turned back to the 'thin man', who held up his hand towards 'heavy', motioning for him to stay back where he was. And then for the first time he spoke to Jones.
"Doctore' Jones. You have' something that I want," he said as his eyes riveted on to the gleaming, bejeweled mask in Indy's hand.
With all the sarcasm he could muster under the circumstances Indy feigned surprise, "Oh really? I hadn't noticed. I just thought you didn't like the way I snored."
'Thin man' glared with his deep set, pea sized eyes, "Save your estupide' jokes Doctore' Jones and hand over the mask."
"Or what!?" Jones asked him with Oscar winning disdain, wondering in slight awe as to why the man didn't just shoot him on the spot.
And then it occurred to Indy that maybe the little criminal didn't want for Jones to drop the mask as he fell off the train to his death. The archaeologist looked around at the landscape they now passed through. It was a mix of semi-desert scrub and conifers. The ratty little scum didn't want to have to get off the train and go back and find the mask where it might fall.
"Hand over the mask Doctore' Jones!" 'thin man' shouted, "or I will keel you!" he took deep breaths and aimed his weapon at Indiana Jones' heart.
The swarthy little man spat, and then spoke more, "Si, maybe you have soma kind of magico Doctore' Jones; to go into the mountain and come out alive. But your magico weel not protect you from my bullets amigo!"
"Oh, I don't know," Indy answered back, then glanced down at his bleeding wounded left arm, "you haven't had much luck so far, with your bullets, have you... amigo? You're not a very good shot."
'Thin man' glared and gritted his teeth, "Shut up you gringo pig! !Deme la ma'scara!" he screamed and shot off a warning round close by to Jones head.
'Heavy' scowled and moved a few steps closer to the archaeologist, wanting nothing more than to plunge his blade to the hilt into the heart of this gringo who had caused him such agony. His eyes then went to the area below Indiana Jones belt; ...or maybe his knife would find another target.
As he stood there atop the moving train, between the two murderous criminals, Indy took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. It was a technique he'd learned from the Buddhist monks in the Tibetan temple where he'd spent the entire summer of '29 as an apprentice. He remembered the words of his teacher and mentor, Fau Tze:
'If used properly, even the briefest moment of meditation can be as a thousand years of contemplation'
He opened his eyes and looked into the distance. A moment later he saw what he must do.
Rough Ride
Indiana Jones slept as the train to Callao chugged on sluggishly up hillsides and down through valleys on its undulating descent toward the Peruvian coast. Because he slept he did not see as the 'bad men' went about the car convincing the other riders that it was in their best interest to move forward into the next one.
While the thin man bolted the back door, the heavy one approached each of the dozen or so passengers and quietly convinced them with a few threatening words to move forward into the next car; flashing the wicked looking serrated blade of a hunting knife to convince more forcefully where necessarily. When the last of the frightened, annoyed, and confused riders had been expelled, the heavy man slipped the bolt in the front door of the car. It locked in place with a loud click.
There were now only the three of them in the car. From opposite ends the two men looked first at each other and then at the sleeping archaeologist, before both leered in unison. 'Heavy' brandished the hunting knife in his right hand. The frightening blade stuck out of his fat palm like some kind of evil appendage. In the meantime, 'thin man' reached into his back pocket and produced a wire garrote, which he wound tightly around both hands, mentally measuring Jones' neck as he slowly approached from the rear.
Indy continued to sleep, innocently snoring, as his executioners stealthily approached. This would be easy, thought the 'thin man', as his leer turned more to a grimace, the twisted lips of his countenance a mirror of the evil intent in his mind. 'Heavy' threw one or two glances around the train, as if he might have forgotten someone, and then approached towards Jones, seemingly emotionless, but ready and eager to plunge his weapon into the sleeping man.
Like the perfect victim Indiana Jones was oblivious to his approaching, violent death. Or so he hoped they'd believe.
Perhaps it was because the clicking sound of the front door being latched was so much like that signal of imminent danger he'd heard so recently, deep in Payahuatac's burial chamber. Or perhaps it was simply because his line of work made it imperative that his senses be keen and decisively to such tell-tale sounds. Whatever it was, the sound of the latching door had awoken Jones from his sleep no less abruptly than if he'd had cold water thrown in his ruggedly tanned face.
But he hadn't flinched. Instead, with only the rapid movement of heavily lidded eyes, he'd summed up the situation. Facing forward, he could not see 'thin man' approaching from behind, but he didn't need to. As 'heavy' approached from in front, the eye contact with someone to the rear of the car was unmistakable. Jones then remembered vaguely the two men who'd taken the seats across the aisle from him earlier.
Indiana Jones knew the score. Now he needed a plan.
But the two men who sought to kill him didn't give him much time to formulate one. So Jones went with the basics, his only ally was the element of surprise. The archaeologist waited a few more seconds, until his attackers were within striking distance...and then he struck.
Before the oversized, knife wielding attacker before him could even register the movement in his dim-witted consciousness, Jones lunged forward and drove his fedora-clad head into the man's groin. The impact crushed the man's testacles into his pelvic bone with a violent impact that instantly buckled him, and left him gasping for air. His arms flailed weakly, all strength exorcised from his body by the jarring blow to that most sensitive part of his anatomy. His fat frame crashed to the floor of the train car where he vomited. His knife rolled underneath a carriage seat.
Jones got up quickly and wheeled around to confront his other attacker. In a series of expressions 'thin man's' countenance registered the thoughts coursing through his coca juiced brain. Surprise, confusion, fear, and then anger registered in sequence on his ugly face before he dropped his garrote to the floor of the train and withdrew a .25 caliber pistol from the pocket of his dirty trousers. He took aim at Jones who ducked instinctively behind one of the train car seats.
'Thin man' fired off three quick rounds in succession while Indiana Jones dove behind the seatback and struggled to pull his Webley out of his satchel. Though he was wearing his whip in an extra tight coil on his hip, Jones had not wanted to wear the holstered handgun while riding the train for fear of drawing attention to himself. Now he regretted that decision.
He finally managed to withdraw the weapon, but not before he'd also had to pull Payahuatac's mask out and lay it on the seat next to him. Jones took a quick look at 'heavy' still writhing rather helplessly on the floor. Then he raised his weapon and fired back at 'thin man'. Jones fired two rounds in his direction, and the booming sound of the Webley instantly panicked the swarthy little criminal who let out a shrill scream, threw himself to the floor, and crawled behind the cover of another carriage seat.
Indy turned to take another look at the fat man on the floor, but before he could, a huge fist landed squarely to his jaw. The blow from 'heavy' sent Jones sprawling backward, his head struck a train window with enough force that it shattered the glass, before he flopped back down on the train seat. His weapon flew from his hand and rolled on to the floor where 'heavy' picked it up.
With a crazed look in his eye the fat man took aim at the groggy archaeologist at nearly point blank range and squeezed the trigger. The man's unfamiliarity with the weapon, and Jones' quick roll off of the carriage seat resulted in a missed shot. Instead of hitting Jones the bullet plowed into the seat cushion, tearing a hole in it and throwing a cloud of pillow stuffing up into the air.
Jones lunged at the man and grasped a hold of his wrist before he could get off another shot. The gun went off, but it was misdirected by Indy towards the back of the train car, eliciting another shrill scream of fear from the cowering 'thin man'. Jones and 'heavy' now grappled in a life or death struggle with the gun. But 'heavy's' overpowering strength was making it no contest. Indy watched as the muzzle of the weapon slowly but inexorably turned toward his face. He felt helpless against the larger man's superior strength.
One, two, three, four.....Jones mentally counted off the rounds thus far fired from the gun...there were two left in the chamber. If he couldn't stop 'heavy' from pointing the weapon at his face and pulling the trigger, then he knew his only chance would be if he could empty the chamber first. As suddenly as possible he wormed his struggling hand over towards the trigger and squeezed once, then again. The two rounds fired off in succession before 'heavy' could react. A fraction of a second later the muzzle of the gun was shoved into Indiana Jones' face, squashing his nose down.
CLICK!!
The sound of the empty weapon surprised the fat man as he squeezed the trigger. He stared mutely at the gun and relaxed for just a fraction of a second. It was all the time Jones needed. With a swift motion the archaeologist brought his knee up into the man's solar plexus, eliciting a loud grunt. 'Heavy' involuntarily released his grip and Jones took advantage again, delivering a right cross to the jaw that dropped him. He then scooped up the Webley, thrust the empty weapon into his satchel, and grabbed the golden mask off of the seat.
Then another report echoed in the train car, that of a .25 caliber. It stung Indiana Jones in the left arm and staggered him.
He'd been hit; and worse, it felt as if the round had struck his bone.
As he gripped the back of a carriage seat to keep his feet he looked toward the back of the car and into the narrow, sunken eyes of the 'thin man' who now aimed his weapon again, drawing a bead on Jones' mid-section. Instinctively the archaeologist hurled the mask of Payahuatac through the air.
'Thin man' took his eyes off of Indy as he first watched the golden object of his desires hurtle through the air towards him, and then ducked and shielded his face to avoid being struck with the heavy artifact. When he looked up again he was met with 175 pounds of surging archaeologist running at full speed. The impact sent the more diminutive 'thin man' sprawling, his weapon thrown from his hand.
But he recovered quickly, scooping up the handgun a moment later and raising it again. Jones however had already unbolted the back door of the car and fled out, grabbing the golden mask on his way. 'Thin man' gave chase, followed on his heels by 'heavy', who'd not only gotten back up, but had found his knife, which he clutched in his fat fist. Murder was in his eyes.
Indiana Jones struggled with the handle of the door to the next car back. He opened it, ran inside, and slammed it shut. He was greeted by the stunned faces of the half dozen passengers seated in this, the last car of the train. Seconds later the door flew open; kicked open by the enraged 'heavy'. Jones stumbled backward and fell. 'Heavy' charged forward'. The two women in the car screamed, and the male passengers shouted their surprise at the spectacle of the bleeding, struggling gringo, and his overweight, knife wielding pursuer.
Indy scrambled up off of the floor and ran for the back door of the train car. 'Heavy' continued running after him but then stopped suddenly and dropped to the floor as 'thin man' shouted at him in Spanish.
Jones knew what was coming next and dove for the floor himself just before a volley of .25 caliber rounds spattered against the walls and smashed out windows. The women screamed louder and the men joined them, huddling down for protection.
The rapid fire gunshots were followed by the clicking of an empty weapon. 'Thin man' cursed violently, reached into his pocket for more ammunition, and shouted for 'heavy' to get up and get the gringo.
Indy tore open the back door and ran out on to the small balcony at the rear of the car. This was the last car and so there was nothing behind him but the long trail of steel rails which pulsed out from beneath the train like twin steel wakes. There were two choices for him now. Either jump off of the train, which even at the slow speed at which it moved would probably result in at least one broken bone, or he could climb the short ladder on to the roof and try to lose them by running forward. Maybe he could find a Policia in one of the forward cars. If he jumped off they would probably just do the same, he thought, and run him down anyway, so Jones chose the latter course of action and started to scale the short ladder up on to the train's roof. His left arm was bleeding and it hurt like hell as he pulled himself up, still clutching tightly to Payahuatac's mask.
As he reached the top of the train Jones heard the rear door fly open followed by shouted Spanish curses. He was now gasping for breath though, not used to such exertions in the high Andean air, and struggled to get up. And then he heard the front door open, which brought him to his feet.
The archaeologist started to run forward as fast as he could while maintaining balance. The train jerked and undulated, and it was no easy task just to stay on his feet at all. But he didn't get very far anyway before 'thin man' emerged over the edge in front of him and pointed his weapon. Jones skidded to a stop and turned to run back but was met with the menacing sight of 'heavy', now atop the train with his feet squared and the murderous blade of the hunting knife held firmly in his tight grip. He glared at Jones, and his eyes bespoke the unmistakable look of revenge as he held the knife in the one hand while the other gripped hard to his aching groin.
All three men breathed heavily, chests heaving in and out. Indy turned back to the 'thin man', who held up his hand towards 'heavy', motioning for him to stay back where he was. And then for the first time he spoke to Jones.
"Doctore' Jones. You have' something that I want," he said as his eyes riveted on to the gleaming, bejeweled mask in Indy's hand.
With all the sarcasm he could muster under the circumstances Indy feigned surprise, "Oh really? I hadn't noticed. I just thought you didn't like the way I snored."
'Thin man' glared with his deep set, pea sized eyes, "Save your estupide' jokes Doctore' Jones and hand over the mask."
"Or what!?" Jones asked him with Oscar winning disdain, wondering in slight awe as to why the man didn't just shoot him on the spot.
And then it occurred to Indy that maybe the little criminal didn't want for Jones to drop the mask as he fell off the train to his death. The archaeologist looked around at the landscape they now passed through. It was a mix of semi-desert scrub and conifers. The ratty little scum didn't want to have to get off the train and go back and find the mask where it might fall.
"Hand over the mask Doctore' Jones!" 'thin man' shouted, "or I will keel you!" he took deep breaths and aimed his weapon at Indiana Jones' heart.
The swarthy little man spat, and then spoke more, "Si, maybe you have soma kind of magico Doctore' Jones; to go into the mountain and come out alive. But your magico weel not protect you from my bullets amigo!"
"Oh, I don't know," Indy answered back, then glanced down at his bleeding wounded left arm, "you haven't had much luck so far, with your bullets, have you... amigo? You're not a very good shot."
'Thin man' glared and gritted his teeth, "Shut up you gringo pig! !Deme la ma'scara!" he screamed and shot off a warning round close by to Jones head.
'Heavy' scowled and moved a few steps closer to the archaeologist, wanting nothing more than to plunge his blade to the hilt into the heart of this gringo who had caused him such agony. His eyes then went to the area below Indiana Jones belt; ...or maybe his knife would find another target.
As he stood there atop the moving train, between the two murderous criminals, Indy took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. It was a technique he'd learned from the Buddhist monks in the Tibetan temple where he'd spent the entire summer of '29 as an apprentice. He remembered the words of his teacher and mentor, Fau Tze:
'If used properly, even the briefest moment of meditation can be as a thousand years of contemplation'
He opened his eyes and looked into the distance. A moment later he saw what he must do.