CHAPTER 11

Mutt wasn't sure who he wanted to land one on first. The Nazi sons-of-bitches who'd beat the crap out of him, tossed him on a cargo ship for two weeks, then dragged him out to this God forsaken island with a Luger pointed at his skull. Or his old man.

Damn, he just knew Jones would be tied up in this somehow. Whatever was going on here had the professor's grubby fingerprints all over it. The guy was constantly up to his neck in some shit or other, and couldn't help dragging everyone else along with him.

Looking at the bastard now, though, and Mutt couldn't help but feel just a little sorry for him. There were half a dozen machine guns pointed at his chest, and he'd just found out his wayward, screw-up-of-a-son had got himself kidnapped.

Mutt was still beating himself up for walking balls first into that Parisian venus flytrap. Turn's out that Wolff—he was the former SS brute jabbing his gun into the back of Mutt's head—had paid mademoiselle psycho-bitch twenty grand to lure Mutt from his shit show of a life and drag him out here. Mutt had a real hard time thinking anyone could be so misguided as to think his life was worth anywhere near that much.

"It was deuce, Doctor Jones. But now I seem to have found the advantage."

Mutt didn't know who the British guy was. Clearly an academic, and the guy had gotten Jones seriously worked up. Mutt had never seen his old man look so tortuously conflicted.

Shit. Mutt's heart sank. What if Mom was tied up in this too. He glanced around the room. There was no sign of her, he looked to Jones

"Mom's not here, is she? You'd better not have gotten her caught up in this!"

Jones didn't say anything. He looked like he didn't know what to say. The silence didn't exactly reassure Mutt.

"Where is she?"

The British guy looked from Jones to Mutt, and then back to Jones again. A wicked smile spread across his face.

"He doesn't know?" Then he looked to Mutt, his face hanging in mock sympathy. "I'm so sorry, but you're mommy is—"

Jones cut him off. "She's dead." Tears welled in Jones' eyes. "I'm so sorry kid."

Mutt was falling. "No... no... she can't be!" He looked to the Brit, then to Jones. "You're lying... you bastards are lying!" He started to struggle and Wolff yanked him back hard.

"Let me go... I'll kill you!I'll kill you all!"

Tears were flooding down his cheeks as he tried to wrench his hands free, but they were tightly bound. He shoved himself back, hard into Wolff and then barged toward the Brit, but felt a sudden sharp pain to the back of his head and collapsed to the floor.

Indy's heart was breaking for the kid. Whatever differences they'd had, he never doubted Mutt's devotion to his mom.

Indy watched as his son was floored by the butt of Wolff's Luger. Wolff then slammed his booted foot hard onto the kid's back, pinning him to the ground, the gun cocked and aimed at Mutt's head.

Indy's revolver was still fixed on Cavendish. His finger itched to squeeze the trigger.

"Lower the weapon, Jones. Save yourself further anguish." Cavendish calmly replaced the sun compass and buttoned up his collar.

Indy had no choice.

He was beat.

His eyes met his son's, they were burning with rage. Tears mingled with blood, streaking Mutt's cheeks.

Then Indy's gaze glanced past several propane cylinders stacked behind Cavendish at the rear of the chancel.

He slowly lowered the Webley. He saw the beginnings of a smile on Cavendish's lips. Then he fired.

The cylinders exploded. Cavendish, Wolff and a handful of soldiers were blown across the church by the blast. Indy dived to the floor as the fiery shockwave surged past.

He looked up. Mutt seemed okay.

Then a soldier, engulfed by flames, shrieked in agony and lunged at Indy. Two quick shots from Indy's Webley found the guy's forehead, cutting short his misery.

Another soldier got to his feet and raised his machine gun. Indy scrambled behind a burning church pew as dozens of bullets splintered the ancient wood. Then, the soldier's gun jammed, buying Indy precious seconds—he only needed the one shot to take the bastard out.

The church was now an inferno; swirling flames lapped the centuries-old wooden panelling. The ornamental carvings and alter were ablaze.

Peering through the flames Indy saw Wolff grab Mutt by his wrist restraints and bundle him across the nave and out through the porch doors. Cavendish was behind them, cradling the sword and the silk wrapped tablet. Indy fired at the son-of-a-bitch—but he couldn't get a decent shot through the flickering flames—and Cavendish made it out of the building unscathed. This left Indy inside the burning church with three machine-gun-wielding soldiers blocking his path to the only exit.

The first soldier moved towards Indy, unloading his weapon as Indy scrambled between the pews.

Indy glanced up—the wooden planks of the scaffolding above them were ablaze. He fired up at the platform directly over the soldier; the smouldering wood splintered and collapsed, the soldier buried beneath the burning timber.

Another cannister exploded, rocking the church's foundation stones.

Indy looked out over the pew that was shielding him—the seating instantly studded with bullet holes as the second soldier strode from the back of one pew to the next, firing relentlessly as he closed in on his quarry.

As the soldier stepped onto the pew closest to him, Indy shoved it hard with his shoulder. The seating toppled and the soldier fell backwards—crashing through burning wood and landing hard on his back. Indy silenced him with a shot to the head.

The inferno raged and black smoke filled the church, Indy coughed hard as it clung to the back of his throat.

Then the third soldier stepped through the flames. His machine gun fixed on Indy, there was no place left for him to run. The soldier smiled and readied to squeeze the trigger...

A foot sliced across his face as Wells delivered a powerful push kick, followed by an uppercut punch and roundhouse kick in quick succession. The three moves were over in a heartbeat, and the soldier slumped unconscious to the floor.

Turns out Doctor Wells was a pretty accomplished kick boxer. She fixed Indy with a hard stare.

"No one gets to tell me what to do. Ever!"

Indy wasn't gonna argue.

"C'mon, get out of here!" Wells headed out the porch door. Indy followed, but as he approached the exit a huge section of smouldering scaffolding collapsed in front of him, completely sealing off the entrance.

Indy was trapped, fire raging all around. Shielding his mouth from the fumes Indy scanned the room, frantically searching for a way out. His gaze rested on the huge window; the glass was a little cracked, but by some miracle Christ remained unscathed, ascending above the flames at the far end of the church.

Bullets whizzed past Indy's ears as a stash of ammunition caught fire behind him. Indy ducked and dashed across the church to a section of scaffolding that was still stood erect, running the length of the south aisle. He scaled a ladder, and then another, until he was on the top of the scaffolding, flames licking at his feet.

Indy ran along the scaffolding toward the far end of the church. As he reached the end of the platform he unfurled his whip and cracked it around a wrought iron chandelier. Indy leapt from the scaffolding and swung across the chancel. Kicking his feet out before him, he smashed through the ascending Christ, exiting the church amidst an explosion of multicoloured glass.