Indiana Jones and the Army of the Dead Read Online Free PDF

breakfast, Indy had felt a lot better—though that feeling was beginning to fade already. They were bumping and jostling along a rutted dirt road heading south, more or less, climbing into the mountains, and Alain drove with a slapdash, carefree attitude that made Indy nervous more than a couple of times. The car smelled as if somebody had roasted a pig in it, long ago, so that only a faint hint of the odor remained. They bounced around on the old cracked leather seats like Ping-Pong balls.
    Now dressed for a trek, Marie wore khaki slacks, a long-sleeved khaki shirt rolled up past her elbows, and hiking boots. Fixed to her belt was a stubby sheath knife, with what looked like a bone handle. She had a small backpack in the car’s trunk.
    As his teeth clacked together for maybe the fifteenth time, Indy said, “How far did you say it was?”
    “As the crow flies, only about thirty, thirty-five kilometers to Terre Rouge. But because of the hills and the way of the road, twice that and a little.”
    Indy nodded. Terre Rouge. That meant “red dirt.”
    “Two, three hours, longer if it rains.”
    “Bad road in the rain?”
    “Bad road anytime. Worse in the rain. Easy to slip over the side.” She made a diving gesture with one hand.
    “And if we don’t fall off the road or get beaten to death by the time we get there?”
    “My cousin André is a fisherman, he has a boat. Zile Muri-yo is only four kilometers to the south of the coast at Terre Rouge. It is not large, the island, only five kilometers long by two at the widest. But it is heavily forested, mostly jungle, with a couple of sisal plantations hewed from the woods. A small village there.”
    “Shouldn’t be hard to find what we’re looking for on an island that size,” Mac said.
    “Maybe not so easy. There are many places where the trees and brush are so thick, you cannot see a meter into the forest,” she said. “Much of it is accessible only on foot and by way of sharp machetes and strong arms. In such terrain, it can take all day to go three hundred meters. Even if you knew exactly where it was, getting there wouldn’t be a picnic.”
    Too much to ask that it would be easy, Indy thought. Aloud, he said, “Three miles by a mile and a quarter, that’s not an inconsiderable piece of real estate. I don’t recall ever seeing this island on a map before.”
    “Perhaps no one who made maps saw it. Or perhaps it was not there when the maps were made.”
    He started to reply, but just then Alain hit a particularly deep rut and said “Damn!” Indy shut his mouth to keep from accidentally biting his tongue off. What did that mean? Wasn’t there?
    “Two or three hours of this, I’ll need new kidneys,” Mac said. “Bladder, too.”
    Indy nodded.
    Marie chuckled. “Mes amis, this is the good part of the road. Wait until we go to the rough stretch.”
    Port-au-Prince
    Yamada looked at the spy. “You have done well, my friend. Please, take the remainder of the case of rum as part of my thanks.”
    Louis/Henri/Whoever grinned. “Oui, monsieur, I am most grateful.”
    “I expect that we will do much more business in the future. I would take it as a personal favor if you would not pass this information along to the Dutchman.”
    The man shrugged. “No reason he needs to know.”
    “Thank you, my friend. I am in your debt.”
    After he was gone, Yamada sent a boy to bring Captain Suzuki—ostensibly another Chinese scholar, but actually an agent of the imperial army and his own second in command. Suzuki had men standing by—more fake Chinese—and they would be ready to move at an instant’s notice. Men from good families, willing to do whatever was asked of them. And of course, the way of the samurai was found in death.
    It was only a few minutes before Suzuki arrived in the rented car, a 1938 Packard 8, a powerful and well-built automobile. Yamada was fond of big American cars—the Japanese had nothing like them, and it was doubtful the zaibatsu like