Chapter 5 of Indiana Jones and the Golden Spider

Posted by Goodsport from adsl-216-102-199-185.dsl.snfc21.pacbell.net on February 10, 2000 at 23:58:25:

Chapter 5 - Comings and Goings

    The ticking intensified as they frantically searched through the cargo crates.

    Indiana Riggs turned to Goodsport. "You think it's a bomb?"

    "No, it's a kitchen timer!" the private eye answered sarcastically. "WaitÖ the engines are still running?"

    "Yeah. Why?"

    Goodsport pointed to the front of the plane. "Then get this plane off the ground and over the water out there!"

    "Shouldn't we find the bomb first?"

    "I'll find it!" I hope. "The Chief of Police here doesn't like me as it is. Tossing a bomb near a dock in his city definitely won't endear me to him!"

    Riggs rushed to the controls as Goodsport continued examining the crates. The pilot then hopped out of the plane and onto the nearby dock, removed the chocks from the plane, and jumped back in.

    Indiana Riggs turned his head back as he strapped himself into the pilot's seat. "Hold on to your potatoes!"

    The plane lurched forward, knocking Goodsport to the ground among the cargo crates. A second later, the plane was in the air.

    The plane shook as the cargo boxes rattled in their harnesses next to and above Goodsport, making it more difficult for him to follow the sound of the ticking.

    The P.I. finally found the source of the ticking - in a cargo crate smaller than the others. That makes sense, Goodsport realized, easier to carry onto a plane, and less box to absorb the blast.

    "RIGGS," shouted Goodsport from the back of the seaplane through the noise of the Clipper's four engines, "GOT ANY CROWBARS HERE?"

    "YEAH, BACK THERE SOMEWHERE!"

    Goodsport unhinged the harness from the small cargo box. He then found a crowbar and pried open the top of the box. As he had expected, there was a clock timer attached to some explosives. Suddenly, the large hand on the clock timer started spinning rapidly.

    Goodsport gently placed the floor. He then ran to the loose harness that had held the small box and secured it around himself.

    "RIGGS, OPEN THE CARGO DOORS AND PULL UP!"

    "ARE YOU CRAZY?!? YOU'LL FLY OUT OF THE PLANE!"

    "DO ITÖ NOW!!!"

    Riggs immediately pressed the cargo bay door lever and pulled the Clipper upwards. Goodsport's body floated in mid-air, held in place only by the harness on the side of the plane's interior.

    The bomb, along with two other crates, flew out the cargo bay doors. The bomb barely reached the water below before it exploded, spraying water for several yards in the middle of the bay.

    "RIGGS, CLOSE THE DOORS!!!"

    The pilot complied. Soon he was joined up front by the private investigator.

    "Nice job," Goodsport complimented, "and no wonder - you're the best pilot around!"

    Indiana Riggs nodded. "Thanks. Where can I set this plane down?"

    The P.I. pointed out the window. "Treasure Island's nearby. Set her down there. The World's Fair won't start there for several weeks - and since it's night, I doubt there'll be anyone there now."

    "All right," agreed Riggs, "then you gotta tell me what you wanted to see me about, and who those divers were."

    "I have no idea who those divers were or what they wanted - we'll deal with them later. From Treasure Island, we'll hail a taxi to my office. Once there, I'll explain what I wanted to talk to you about."

    "And coffee?"

    Goodsport grinned. "All you can drink."

    "Sounds good!" agreed Indiana Riggs as the seaplane headed for Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay.

* * * * *

    They climbed out of the cold bay and onto Pier 41 some distance away, anticipating the seaplane's explosion to light the night sky.

    The explosion came, but the seaplane flew away intact.

    "Damn it!" the shorter of the two divers exclaimed in English, removing the mask and breathing apparatus. The diver then started swearing aloud in a different language.

    "Stop speaking Malaysian in front of me, Jayne!" snapped the other diver, "How would you like it if I started speaking Polish in front of you?"

    The attractive Malaysian diver shook her head. "Sorry, Tessa. I was talking to myselfÖ force of habit, I guess."

    Her equally attractive Polish counterpart removed her mask and breathing equipment as well, revealing her hazel eyes and dyed blond hair. "How did they find the bomb so soon?"

    "Goodsport came earlier then we anticipated," Indiana Jayne answered, distressed by the bad timing. Both divers headed for the boathouse. "I can't believe that he ruined our plans again!!!"

    They finally reached the boathouse. Tessa picked the lock, swinging the door ajar. They both sneaked inside, reached their hidden cases and rapidly changed into regular clothes.

    Tessa finally broke the silence. "We can't let Goodsport get away with what he did to us. We would've had that deal struck with Nobody if that damn private eye didn't expose the whole thing!"

    "Now Nobody's after our heads too," confirmed Jayne, "what do we do now?"

    Tessa grinned. "There's someone else we should pay a visit to. I have a pretty good idea where he'll show up."

    The two loaded their pistols and concealed it in their purses. They then packed up their diving equipment into their hidden cases and hid them. Finally ready, they exited the boathouse and closed the lock. Making their way back to the main road, they flagged down a taxi and headed off.

* * * * *

    Professor Deirdre Campbell stepped out of the hospital and into the cold dawn of New York City. She enjoyed soaking in the city in the early hours while most of the city's inhabitants were still in their beds. She also realized that, unfortunately, many of them had the time to sleep because they had no jobs to wake up to. The economy was still in the grips of the worst depression the country had ever experienced, although she had hoped that her discovery and research would pave the way for new jobs. But who would want to stop that?

    The solitude gave her time to think about the past few hours before the reporters would show up and barrage her with questions. She felt somewhat guilty that she had gotten away from her ordeal with only minor bumps and bruises while so many others at the hotel had either died or been seriously injured.

    "Who were those masked terrorists?" asked Deirdre aloud to herself, recalling the details of the previous evening. "That bomb was shaped like a spider, and the sentry said that there was a letter 'E' on it. But why?"

    "I'm not sure," the voice behind her answered, "but that's not the first 'E' I've encountered lately."

    Professor Campbell turned around quickly and assumed a defensive stance. She relaxed as she saw the badge in the hand of the man in front of her.

    "Wait," she finally realized, "you're the policeman who helped me yesterday."

    The man pocketed his badge. "Well, detective actually. I'm Detective Fiddler, NYPD. Let's talk."

    They strolled side-by-side along Central Park. The Fiddler's solemn expression worried the professor.

    "Did the police find anything yet?" she asked.

    The Fiddler glanced at her. "Not any more than you already know. Apparently, the men who did it got away."

    Deirdre looked down, tears rolling down her cheek. "All those people hurt. It's my fault, isn't it?"

    "No," the police detective assured her, "don't blame yourself! The men who committed the attack are at fault. But I believe you were the target, if that's what you mean."

    Deirdre gazed into the detective's eyes. "The bomb was shaped as a spider. Do you think that had anything to do with my research and experimentation with the possibility of metamorphosis and transubstantiation of arachnids?"

    "Huh?"

    Annoyed, Deirdre rolled her eyes and placed her hands on her hips. "My work with spiders."

    "Oh!" the Fiddler replied, clearing his head, "Most likely. You mentioned a letter 'E' on the bomb. Do you know what that would mean?"

    "No. Neither my first name nor my last name starts with an 'E', and the same is true of my late husband. Quite frankly, I can't think of any reason for the 'E'."

    The Fiddler looked around, satisfied that no one was within hearing distance. "A few weeks ago, a professor from Barnett College by the name of Henry Jones, Jr. came by the precinct andÖ"

    "Indiana."

    "Excuse me?"

    "That's the name he usually goes by," Deirdre informed the Fiddler, "he likes the name Indiana Jones. For some reason he doesn't like to be called 'Henry' or 'Junior'."

    "So you know him?"

    Deirdre shook her head. "I've only met him once or twice, when I lectured at Barnett College on tour. I believe he teaches archeology."

    The detective nodded. "Anyway, a few weeks ago he came by the precinct looking worried. Apparently, he had received a strange letterÖ"

    The professor's eyes opened wide. "An 'E' mail???"

    The Fiddler jaw almost fell to the floor. "That's right!!! How did you know?"

    Deirdre glanced toward her pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper. She handed it to the detective, who quickly unfolded it.

    There was a large letter 'E' scrawled on it.

    Deirdre pointed to her 'E' mail. "I received that in the mail about two weeks ago. But the return address on the envelope was the same as the receivers'Ö mine!"

    "Ms. Campbell," the Fiddler asked, "would you mind accompanying me to the station?"

    "Not at all."

* * * * *

    Both students stared silently at the race between gigantic arachnid and Zippo lighter.

    "Hurry up, the spider's getting closer!" demanded Indiana James of his archeology professor.

    Micah glared at his classmate. "You're not helping matters, y'know!"

    Indiana Jones ignored them both, burning the 'net' around the three of them with his lighter as the spider lowered itself more closely to them with each passing second.

    With the web burning all around them, Indiana Jones closed the lighter and pocketed it. "Now we wait."

    The smell of burnt cobwebs filled all their senses. Their eyes watered so much that they could no longer see through them. It became more difficult for them to breathe from the smoke.

    They felt the 'hairs' of the giant spider's body brush against their faces.

    They all suddenly plunged downwards as the flames finally burnt through the web.

    "Great Caesar's ghost!" Micah cried out as he fell, the spider falling with them only several feet above.

    Indiana Jones looked down. He noticed ground some distance below. The hole in the ground was only several meters in diameter - barely enough for the three of them.

    Jones barely looked back up, only to see Indiana James already in the spiders grasp, out of the archeologist's reach. Indiana Jones grabbed Micah by the back of his collar, and together they both fell through the hole in the ground - the spider crashed onto the ground, too large to fit through the hole. Indiana James was thrown across to the other side of the chasm. The hole was now completely blocked off by the heavy spider.

    Both teacher and student tumbled head-over-feet down the sloped tunnel before finally halting. The sunlight hit their eyes hard, as did the humidity and the view of arrows pointing right in their faces.

    After their eyes adjusted to the daylight, Indiana Jones and Micah looked up to see at least fifty near-naked tribal archers. Indiana Jones grinned. This sure looks familiar.

    Just then, a man in khakis stepped past the archers and stood over Jones and Johnson. He was obviously European.

    Indiana Jones shook his head in disgust as the European smirked.

    "Webley!"

* * * * *

    "Yeah, and the license plates were Canadian. From Alberta."

    Brett leaned back in the chair in his office, placing the telephone's receiver closer to his ear. "Michaelson, who got this information for you?"

    There was a slight pause. "An oldÖ colleague."

    The Mountie lifted his pencil and pad of paper to his lap. "All right, what's the license plate number?"

    "THX1138."

    "Okay," affirmed Lambert, writing the number down, "I'll look it up and call you back. Take care."

    "Regards."

    Brett hung up the phone and walked over to the Records Room. 'THX1138'? Why does that sound so familiar?

    After an hour of searching through standard files, old newspaper clippings and other such records, Brett hadn't found muchÖ only that the Bentley limousine it belonged to was registered to a Sir Muppet, who had moved to Alberta from England about ten years earlier. He then remembered - the promotion he had just received finally entitled him access to some of the 'sealed' files in the next room, so he headed over there.

    Skimming through a few of the 'sealed' files, Brett finally found what he was looking for. The file in his hand held more information about Sir Muppet than all the other files he searched in for the past two hours combined.

    Hmm, it turns out that this Sir Muppet penetrated the American liquor market with some success back in '30 and '31, Lambert thought to himself, reading the file thoroughly, Imported gin from Canada into the States during Prohibition. Clashed with Meyer Lansky in New York, Al Capone in Chicago and Nobody in San Francisco. He apparently made a small fortune. Never was indicted for murder and illegal export charges, but did spend some time in jail for tax-evasion.

    Brett leafed through more papers in the file, although one picture in particular caught his eye. He pulled out Muppet's criminal file photograph, showing both his front and side profile. Brett glanced closer at the picture, noticing a tiny tattoo at the bottom of Muppet's neck, where the neck met the left shoulder.

    It was a tiny tattoo of an 'E'.

* * * * *

    Hanging up the phone, Michaelson rubbed his eyes. He stepped out of his office and back into Indiana John's adjacent office.

    "Sorry about the interruption," the chief detective apologized to both Indiana John and Short Round. He shut the door behind him.

    Indiana John leaned against his desk, crossing his arms as he glanced down at Short Round, sitting in the chair in front of the detective. "So, where were we?"

    The museum curator museum stomped his feet and shook his head. "Look, that's all I know. Those Krauts ripped up my museum, tried to steal my prized spider and tried to kill me! Can I go now?"

    A policeman knocked on the door behind Michaelson, who then opened it. The policeman handed Michaelson an open metal cage, then whispered something into Michaelson's ear. After closing the door, the chief detective placed the cage onto Indiana John's desk and turned to Short Round.

    "Recognize this, Mr. Round?"

    Short Round leaned closer to it. "It looks like Monchichi's cage."

    Both detectives turned to Short Round, asking at once, "Monchichi?"

    The curator grinned. "Yeah, that's what I named my spider. She is safe, isn't she?"

    Indiana John nodded. "She's fine. She's being held a cage at the other side of the station."

    "So why show me this cage?" asked Short Round.

    The detective pointed to the floor of the cage. "Was that there before, Mr. Round?"

    Short Round glanced closely at the floor of the cage. His eyes popped wide open.

    "Hey, someone scratched a letter 'E' there. They ruined the cage!"

    "Who's 'they', Mr. Round?"

    The curator pounded the desk with his fist. "Who do you think? Those Germans!"

    "Are you sure it was them? Apparently, one of them was killed by the spiderÖ"

    "Monchichi!!! Call her Monchichi!"

    Indiana John rolled his eyes. "OkayÖ Monchichi killed one of the Germans. If they had been after her, or even knew about her, wouldn't they have made sure to secure her before going after you?"

    Short Round slumped back into the seat. "Well, I think the Germans did itÖ I guess soÖ IÖ"

    "John, we'll have to deal with this a little later," Michaelson interrupted, "we were just called in to investigate an explosion at the docks. We need to get there pronto!"

    "Mr. Round, you stay here," Indiana John said, "we'll return shortly. You'll be safe here."

    The three men in the room flattened to the ground at the sound of gunfire from the other end of the building off in the distance. The gunfire was followed by the sound of screaming.

    Michaelson pointed to Short Round. "You stay here!"

    Both detectives lifted their revolvers and exited the room. All the other policemen in the main lobby ducked behind their desks, guns drawn.

    The sound of crashing permeated from the other end of the building. Michaelson and Indiana John pointed to two policemen. "You two. With us!" The four of them dashed out of the main lobby and into the hallway toward the other end of the building.

    "MONCHICHI!" Short Round screamed as he darted out of Indiana John's office and followed the four others into the hallway.

* * * * *

    Muppet stood in front of the women's washroom. He took a deep breath, pushed open the door and marched inside.

    Inside the washroom, Muppet stopped in his tracks. A sense of misery washed all over him.

    "How'ya doin', Muppet?" greeted a bald, hulking brute, pointing a silenced Luger pistol straight at Muppet's chest. The brute showed off a toothy grin, gold teeth and all. "Nobody sends his regards."

    A silenced shot was fired.

    Muppet opened his eyes to the large 'thud' of the hulking brute's fall. Blood was pouring out of the brute's head.

    Out of a stall on the far end of the washroom stepped out a young, blond-haired beauty, silenced pistol in her hand smoking slightly. She stepped toward Muppet, chewing some gum.

    "Why thank you, young lady," Muppet announced, trying to compose himself.

    The lady stood there, silently scanning the Englishman from head to toe.

    Her scent finally hit Muppet's nose. "I say - aren't you Ulla, this city's famous doughnut-maker?"

    "Yeah. Why do ya ask?"

    "Well, becauseÖ" Muppet tried to find the right words, but then decided to simply say it, "Ö you smell like doughnuts!"

    Ulla angrily raised her pistol. "Can it, Brit-boy! Ya wanna find your precious little Italian friend again or not?"

    Muppet was aghast. "You know where she is?"

    "Sort of," replied Ulla.

    "Did Nobody kidnap her?"

    "No, but I know who did," Ulla answered, "but if ya want me to help ya, you're gonna have to do me a little favorÖ"

* * * * *

    Just waking up again, everything was blurry for Meg. She tried standing up, only to find herself restrained in the hard wooden chair she barely felt.

    As Megara's vision cleared, she saw a familiar looking face.

    "We meet again, mademoiselle."

    "You," Meg said weakly, "you'reÖ the man I bumped intoÖ"

    The man leaned in closely to Meg. "Save your strength and don't speak. I'll have you out of here soon."

    Meg looked up at him. "What do you mean?"

    "I had to work with those Germans to get close enough to protect you," the man answered, "they think that I'm working with the Japanese Secret Intelligence in cooperation with the Germans, even though I don't even look JapaneseÖ but what do those Krauts know, anyway?"

    Meg glanced at the man's face, finally noticing that he was Asian.

    "You're not Japanese?"

    "No. I kind ofÖ 'replaced' the Japanese agent the Germans were supposed to meet, so to speak."

    The Italian beauty was puzzled. "Then who are you?"

    "My name is Indiana Jerico. IÖ"

    A car was heard parking outside the house.

    Indiana Jerico shook his head. He lifted a syringe off the nearby table.

    "I'm sorry, Megara. You can't be found awake by them right now." He then inserted the syringe into her arm. "I promise that I'll have you out of here alive and in one piece soon, mon cheri!"

    As Meg's vision began to blur again, she noticed Jerico placing a kiss sweetly on her lips. He then walked over to the coat-rack near the door, donned his elegant black suit coat and black overcoat, and stepped out the door.

    Then everything went black.

* * * * *

    Goodsport clutched the inside railing near the side entrance of the Cable Car as the crisp breeze blew in from the bay. "So you sure that this guy's reliable?"

    "Yeah," answered Indiana Riggs, "he's a littleÖ unusual. Still, I flew with him on a lotta cargo runs. He's the best pilot there is - except for me, of course!"

    "Of course," Goodsport grinned. "He's actually seen this 'Golden Spider'?"

    Riggs nodded. "He claims to, anyway. He likes watching old movies when he's here in town, so I know that he'll be there. By the way, why didn't we take your car?"

    The private investigator looked straight ahead. "Trying to find parking in San Francisco is the worst. Besides, all we're gonna do is ask a few questions, right?"

    The seaplane pilot nodded. "Yeah. It shouldn't take too long, as long as we don't start questioning him during the movie."

    Indiana Riggs suddenly became solemn. "Hey, I heard about Bill. I'm sorry."

    Goodsport lowered his head, remembering his late-partner in the business. "Thanks. Yeah, a month later and I still don't know who killed him."

    "Did you two patch things up over Dorothy?"

    Riggs cursed himself silently, suddenly realizing that he shouldn't have brought her up in the conversation. The private investigator shot an angry glance at the pilot, confirming Riggs' thought.

    "Sorry, Goodsport. IÖ"

    Goodsport immediately pulled the overhead cord, ringing a small bell indicating to the Cable Car driver to stop. Goodsport and Indiana Riggs hopped off and silently walked the two blocks down to the Alexandria Movie Theater, which was currently showing a Marx Brothers double feature.

    Having bought their tickets, they passed through the theater's lobby and entered the dark screen-room.

    "Darn it!" whispered Indiana Riggs, "We missed the beginning of the movie."

    "Don't worry about that," Goodsport answered, "let's just find him."

    "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" the screaming figure shouted, darting past them from the front of the screen-room and out the door behind them.

    Indiana Riggs chased the figure out the door. Goodsport followed suit.

    "Goodsport, that's Aragorn!"

    "What? The man we need to see?"

    "Yeah!"

    Aragorn ran toward the sidewalk and glanced around, horrified.

    "Aragorn, what's wrong?" Riggs called out as he and Goodsport exited the theater.

    Sweat poured down Aragorn's forehead as he answered. "My toes are grapes. My potato crop is melting!"

    Goodsport turned to Indiana Riggs. "What???"

    A car from around the corner screeched to a halt onto the sidewalk, almost running over Aragorn. The back door opened and a man lifted his tommygun.

    Goodsport and Riggs barely jumped behind the ticket booth in time before bullet holes riddled the entire front of the theater.

    The driver of the car screamed through the window to the gunman. "Hol den Pilot, dann gehn wir!"

    The gunman grabbed Aragorn and pulled him into the backseat of the car. Aragorn screamed, "INDIANA RIGGSÖ HELP!!!"

    Before the back door closed, Aragorn screamed, "A BIRD IN THE HAND IS WORTH TWO IN THE SHOE!!!" The car sped off.

    Goodsport pulled out both his Colt .45 pistols and ran out to the sidewalk, but by the time he got there the car was too far away.

    It's just as well, Goodsport thought, I might have hit Aragorn if I had shot at the car.

    "Goodsport, the ticket-counter kid is dead," informed Riggs from the ticket booth.

    The private eye approached the booth. "The driver in the car sounded German. Why did they kidnap Aragorn?"

    The pilot shrugged his shoulders. "What I'm wondering about is who he was running from in the theater."

    The theater's front doors suddenly swung open. Two pistol-wielding women ran out several steps before halting, eyes wide open at the mess they discovered. Goodsport and Riggs noticed that one of the women was Asian, while the other had hazel eyes and dyed blond hair. The women gasped when they the two men standing there, then dashed back into the theater.

    "HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!" screamed Goodsport, tossing one of his Colt .45's to Riggs. The private eye then dashed into the movie theater after the armed women, followed by the seaplane pilot.

* * * * *

    "So, I see that there is nothing that you possess that I cannot take away."

    Indiana Jones flashed a sneer. "You got that from your old buddy Belloq? He's been dead for three years, you know!"

    Webley frowned. "I expected better from you, Jones. Nevertheless, the 'Golden Spider' is mine now."

    The Belgian then motioned his hand. Immediately, two of the tribesmen removed Jones' shoulder-pack and Johnson's backpack, also confiscating the late-Alberto Carlos' backpack.

    Webley searched them, apparently not finding what he was looking for. He threw the packs onto the ground in disgust.

    "Where is the 'Golden Spider', Dr. Jones?!?"

    It was Jones' turn to smirk. No point in telling him that we don't know. "That's for me to knowÖ and for you to find out."

    "Enough of this!" The Belgian removed the pistol from his holster and aimed it at the archeologist. The archers raised their bows at both Jones and Micah Johnson. "Tell me where the 'Golden Spider' is, or you will both die! And believe you me, I can still go in there and find it myself if need be."

    In the heat of the moment, the entire group neglected to notice the giant, eight-legged shadow rising over them.

*************************

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