Indiana Jones
and the Seven Cities of Gold
By James Bradley
This story takes place after events depicted in the George Lucas Film Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. The following is a work of fiction. When possible, the author has used historical facts and persons to add the element of realism.
Prologue
North America; 1540
Captain Don Garcia Lopez de Cardenas was hot. The desert heat emanated from the surrounding landscape in sweltering waves. The sand and pebbles that bruised de Cardenas's legs and backside stung with every miserable touch. Even the shade bore little protection for the weary captain as the afternoon sun blazed overhead and spared nothing within the desert encircling him.
De Cardenas' breathing was heavy. Beads of salty sweat stung his eyes and soaked his clothes. Wiping his brow with the back of his dusty hand, Don Garcia struggled desperately to unbuckle the last remaining leather strap holding an armor breast plate around his torso. His chest felt as if it were in an oven!
Finally the strap was free! De Cardenas yanked the plate away and flung it to the ground. Realizing his mistake too late, he cringed as the metal clanged loudly among the boulders, in which he was hiding. Nearing tears of futility, Don Garcia could never have conceived that he would find himself in such a situation as this.
In February, de Cardenas had been lured to the call of legendary explorer Fransisco Coronado, for men to join him in an expedition northward from Mexico. The expedition, declared Coronado, would make each volunteer rich beyond his wildest dreams. De Cardenas, then a mere lieutenant, was among the first of many volunteers to sign on.
Francisco had screened each man carefully, aware that each would suffer extreme conditions. To insure that his expedition was complete, Coronado had delved into his own pockets to pay for horses and goods for his men. The provincial capital of Compostela seethed with activity. By the 23rd of the month, Francisco had recruited over 300 soldiers and 800 local Indian allies armed with spears, bows and wooden swords edged with flint or volcanic glass.
The mighty procession of men and material passed in review of visiting Viceroy Antonio de Mendoza. Coronado was at its head wearing a plumed helmet and gilded armor with a golden sheen. Soon after a celebration of mass, the impressive army marched northward to claim their fortune and fame.
De Cardenas shifted uncomfortably as he recalled how by April 1st, the army had covered over 1000 miserable miles. As the bedraggled throng left the Sonora Valley behind and moved into what would become Arizona, the land became bleak. Water and food were scarce.
After pushing on for an additional one hundred and fifty grueling miles, Coronado's men reached a Zuni valley in what would become New Mexico. The valley lay near one, of what Indian captives described as Seven Cities of Cibola, which translated into Seven Cities of Gold.
By morning Coronado and his men advanced toward the city. The soldiers and men were shocked as they neared the city. Instead of paved streets and elegant works of art, crafted from coveted gold and precious stones, they discovered a simple Zuni pueblo of clay named Hawikuh.
Coronado and his men had been confronted by armed Zuni warriors urging he and his men to leave. An act that evoked a Spanish wrath killing many Zuni and leaving hundreds more wounded or dying. Word of the decimation reached the villages of surrounding tribes. Stories of murder and rape rallied once opposing tribes, into a retaliatory horde of warriors intent on seeking revenge for their murdered people.
Meanwhile, Coronado dispatched a handful of soldiers to search for a great river to the west. Newly promoted to Captain, Don Garcia Cardenas led his men through many days of hard desert travel. On the twentieth day, his band was brought to a sudden halt by a great fissure in the earth. As his men stared in awe into the colossal gash, Garcia discovered a little stream running along the bottom of the sheer cavern walls far below. The small trickle in the distance was the Colorado River and the immense crevice the Grand Canyon.
The captain sent a small group of men back to Hawikuh, to share their discovery with Coronado. Don Garcia de Cardenas was ecstatic! In his zest to discover a path to the bottom of the canyon, he had failed to warn his men the importance of looking for unseen dangers. Garcia and his men were not alone.
The local tribesman were tracking his small band of tired soldiers. Their revenge came silent and swift. Within two days all of de Cardenas's men had disappeared one at a time. Some were taken at night in their sleep. Some under the remaining soldier's very noses in broad daylight!
Captain Don Garcia Lopez de Cardenas was all that remained and he was running for his life. He had lost everything. His horse, his weapons, and now he thought, even his mind were gone!
Struggling to his feet, Garcia continued his complicated trek up the steep butte glancing over his shoulder every now and then, only to be dismally reminded that his savage pursuers were behind him. They always had been.
He looked up the slope and was relieved to see he was approaching the summit. A whistle broke the air as an arrow embedded itself in the ground next to his right hand. He moved faster among the rocky terrain.
Another arrow ricocheted from a boulder to his left. Looking back to judge his enemy's distance, de Cardenas never saw the gaping hole before him.
Stepping into the maw, he screamed, plummeting one hundred feet into icy cold water below. His arms and legs kicked and thrashed under water as he struggled to get his bearings. His boots filled with water. Reaching down he managed to work them off and prevent himself from sinking further. Lungs burning, he searched frantically for a way out. Seeing a light above him, Garcia swam toward it. As his head broke the surface his lungs gasped for air.
Breathing deeply, he looked around. Dog-paddling in the water, he realized he had fallen into a large underground cavern and landed in a small lake. The opening he had fallen through was high above him. Seeing an embankment nearby, Garcia swam towards it. An arrow plunked in the water near his head. Two more soon followed. Stealing a glimpse, he saw shadowy figures appear at the opening above.
As he reached the smooth worn lake edge, de Cardenas pulled himself out of the water. Slipping on the cool cavern stone, he moved further away from the water and deeper into a cave-like entrance. Taking a quick look toward the ceiling of the cavern he relaxed slightly. His pursuers were no longer there.
Laughing, de Cardenas heckled at his pursuers, "Can't reach me now, eh?" Spitting in disgust and taking no chances by waiting, Garcia moved further into the dark cave. His movements echoed off the stone walls around him. He shivered in his damp clothes. The cavern's temperature was vastly cooler than the desert climate outside.
The only heat and light source emanated from the cavern behind him. The cave before him grew darker with each step. But Garcia de Cardenas was no fool; he knew what possibly lurked near the opening behind him.
He paused to catch his breath. Closing his eyes, he tried to stop shaking. He heard the steady dripping of droplets from stalactites along the cavern's ceiling. Somewhere behind him, he heard the squeaks of an unseen creature. He shivered again.
His wet feet, now bare after his plunge in the lake, were cold. Garcia leaned against the stone wall, brought his foot up and tried to warm it with his hands. His head smacked the lower cave ceiling. His other foot slipped out from under him.
He reached out and tried to stop falling, only to succeed in landing on his side and slip into a natural rock slide that plunged into the darkness before him. His body slid faster down the chute now surrounding him. With elbows and knees banging along the hard surface de Cardenas tried to stop his decent. His face scraped the chute and sent stars before his eyes.
A dim light appeared from below and grew brighter with his downward plunge. Suddenly, he spilled face first into another large cavern. He struggled to his knees on the soft dirt floor and squinted in the bright light. Blinking several times, he focused on the glittering contents of the cavern before him. His eyes widened in disbelief.
"Holy, Mary, Mother of God…" he stammered. It was true, he thought.
Standing on shaky legs, he moved forward mesmerized. A loud click from behind snapped him back to the present. But Captain Don Garcia Lopez de Cardenas was already dead.
Chapter One
Somewhere over the Pacific Ocean; 1939
An albatross glided on the gentle breeze of the Pacific Ocean, the sun glinting from its moist wings. The delicate creature soared over the swelling waves of the azure sea below. Banking towards the clear blue sky the bird barely avoided colliding with a white Douglas DC-2 cargo plane and a screaming Japanese Mitsubishi fighter close behind.
Dr. Henry "Indiana" Jones, ears still ringing, pushed frantically on the cargo plane's steering wheel and tried to avoid another strafing from the approaching fighter. Twenty-millimeter shells cut through the air and ripped into the aft section of the battered DC, shredding wooden crates of Chinese porcelain in the hold. The Mitsubishi and its Nakajima engines roared past the cockpit windows, causing Jones to duck, sending his plane careening in a downward spiral.
Indiana Jones was a slim man and rough around the edges. When not dressed in his standard tweed jacket, in his role as professor of archaeology at Cambridge University, he could be found in worn khaki's, leather jacket and a weathered brown fedora. The fedora often hid his azure eyes underneath its brim, but those who knew him could be certain his vigilance was constant. The bullwhip often at his side had pulled him from the clutches of fate many times. But this time the story's ending may be unhappy.
The plane that Jones was flying belonged to a notorious Chinese crime-lord in Shanghai. His name was Lao Che. Jones had earlier dealings with Che in 1935, when trying to acquire a precious diamond secretly called the Peacocks Eye. Lao Che had poisoned Jones and killed Indy's friend, Wu Han during the transaction. Che's plan of early retirement for Jones had failed. Indiana escaped Lao and his henchmen during a fierce gun battle, but gained the anecdote in the process. The diamond was retrieved by Che. Jones and his companions survived and fled China and Che onboard a plane, unknowingly belonging to Lao Che Air. The aircraft's pilots had bailed during the flight and left Jones and his friends to die when the plane crashed into the side of a mountain. Luck smiled on Indiana again, averting his death.
Now, Jones was onboard another Che plane, trying to escape Lao's clutches once more. This time Che had pulled strings with the occupying Japanese military, and events had worsened. The getaway Indiana had hoped for was spiraling out of his control.
The body of the dead co-pilot fell forward on the seat harness and pressed the second wheel further forward. Fighting the force of the downward plunge, Jones attempted to gain control of the plane. Reaching over, he tried to pull the co-pilot away from the steering column. Just then he heard the sound of metal-to-metal pinging on the undercarriage of the main fuselage, as more rounds erupted from the twin wing cannons of the attacker, and shredded the Douglas craft.
Furious, Indy yanked hard on the wheel and pressed the foot pedals hard to the floor. In protest, the strained dual, Douglas Wright, 1820 Cyclone engines sounded with a new vigor and the battered craft began to right itself. An enemy round struck the windshield. A million shards of glass whipped into the cockpit, assisted by a blast of hot wind. Jones felt the sharp pain of several impacts with the tiny fragments on his face, but continued his fight to stay in the air.
Banking hard to the left, the DC rolled onto its back and with another swift pull of the controls, hurled itself upside down toward the ocean's surface, several hundred feet below. With the wind stinging his eyes, Indy looked through the missing windshield and was surprised to see a gray naval destroyer cruising along below, the familiar stars-and-stripes flying from its flagstaff. With a renewed sense of survival, Jones began to right his craft.
Captain J.W. Rankin, aboard the USS Phoenix looked upward through large binoculars and observed the one-sided dogfight overhead. The Japanese fighter continued following and firing upon the helpless cargo plane. Then he observed the Douglas right itself in a desperate struggle to avoid the attacker, and begin a direct course toward the Phoenix. The Mitsubishi fighter continued the relentless pursuit. Lowering his binoculars Rankin turned to his executive officer and stated, "That idiot is heading straight for us." Peering once more through his binoculars at the approaching aircraft, he ordered, "Sound General Quarters!" As the shrill alarms called his ship's crew to battle-stations, he called for his executive officer.
"Paul," he said quietly, causing Lieutenant Commander Paul Pallance to lean closer, "I know we're not at war with the Japanese, but if that fighter comes any closer to this ship, then we are going to have to take action."
"I agree, sir." Pallance responded. "May I suggest that we bring our forward guns to bear?"
Rankin nodded. As the executive officer turned toward the bridge to relay the orders, the captain called once again, "Oh, and Paul," he began.
"Yes, sir?"
"If we find ourselves forced to shoot, wait until that poor sap that fighter is shooting at, gets out of the way. I don't know what he did to piss off the Japanese, but it doesn't sit right with me to see him under attack and unable to defend himself."
"Yes, sir." Pallance answered as he began issuing orders.
Meanwhile, Indiana Jones continued to maneuver his dying craft into aerial stunts never intended by its designers. All the while, thinking, how was he going to get out of this? While straightening his flight path, the starboard engine suddenly erupted in a ball of flame, sending shrapnel and billowing black smoke along the fuselage. The Mitsubishi fighter angled again on the DC and fired a death barrage to the aircraft's last working engine. With a lurch to port, Indiana realized that his plane was finished. He comforted himself with thoughts, that at least the bum chasing him wouldn't be able to take him back to China. Jones had no other choice, but to crash into the sea and probably drown beneath the surging waves of the Pacific Ocean.
The DC bucked as Indy steered it toward the sea, in a gradual downward descent. The Japanese fighter turned on its wing to follow, and suddenly exploded in a fiery ball of debris, falling into the sea. Thanking the gods that be, Jones turned his full attention on water landing the dead DC, and hoped that he would survive the impact.
As the aircraft continued toward the surface of the ocean, Jones tried to judge the distance to impact with the waves; thinking to himself, he would be lucky if the wings of the plane didn't fall off at that point. Death at this stage, he thought, would probably be quick and painless. Probably.
Gritting his teeth, Jones eased the flaps down and began to feel a violent vibration course through the airplane. He knew his time in the air was up. The waves drew closer, their white caps visible. At the last moment he thought about lowering the landing gear, but was suddenly slammed against his harness straps. His head hit the side of the cockpit and a sharp pain shot through his body as the Douglas impacted with the ocean. Bitter salt water poured through the broken windshield and stung the cuts on Indy's face. Looking toward the disappearing horizon, his blurred vision could just make out a towering gray shape charging toward him. But the impact of the crash and the fatigue of dodging Japanese bullets finally claimed him. He gripped the ever-present canvas bag slung over his upper body as darkness began to claim his vision. Realizing that the bulge, of an object in the bag remained, Indiana Jones gave into unconsciousness.
With a nod of thanks, Jones closed the door and returned to his bunk. Looking out over the passing landscape, Indy returned to his thoughts. After surviving his brush with death with the Japanese fighter, and crashing his airplane, he had underwent a brutal interrogation with US naval authorities onboard the USS Phoenix and again after arrival in San Diego. The US Navy was demanding to know why the Japanese were trying to kill him. He told them that it wasn't the Japanese government trying to kill him, but a wealthy businessman whom he had gotten the better of. They weren't convinced, but they finally allowed him to check into a hospital for his injuries, where he remained overnight.
The next day, after being released by the hospital and a reluctant US Navy, he had boarded a train to New York. Each of the previous ordeals could have brought dire consequences and it was the fear of those nightmarish thoughts that brought Indy to a difficult decision. Upon arriving in New York, he would tell his close friend and associate Marcus Brody that he was taking an indefinite leave of absence from the university, work with the museum, of which Brody was curator, and any and all exciting archaeology related endeavors.
He was getting too old, too fast. Why couldn't he just sit down with an old bristle brush and wipe away the dust obscuring a dinosaur skeleton. As far as he knew, there had never been an attack on an archeologist, by gun-brandishing Nazis, while uncovering a plaisiosoureou… or whatever it was called.
Sighing, Jones stood up, stiff and sore. He entered the compartment's tiny washroom and filled the small washbasin with cold water. He filled cupped hands and submerged his face in their cool wetness. After a few more refreshing splashes, Indy looked up at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. His face was still dripping and he frowned at the scrapes and bruises he saw there. He touched the left side of his forehead and the small white bandage there. He winced at the pain and hoped that the stitched cut beneath the bandage would heal quickly. He looked at the stubble on his chin and then noticed the graying on his temples. Realizing that he couldn't do much about the hands of time, he opted to attack a throbbing headache instead.
While reaching for a bottle of aspirin, on the shelf over the sink, Indy filled a drinking glass with water. Returning to his bunk, Jones swallowed the pills and set the glass aside. Slowly, so as to minimize his pains, he laid back and thought, "Yep, I definitely need a vacation."
Marcus Brody stood on the train station's platform, anxiously waiting for Indiana Jones to disembark. Marcus Brody, an average man, slightly overweight with thinning grey hair, had been a close friend of Indiana Jones and his father, Henry Jones Sr., whom he had met while studying at Oxford University in England. Indiana's trust in Brody was a result of years of friendship and Brody's loyalty to Jones and his endeavours.
After a short wait, Brody observed Jones step to the platform, two cars down. A smiling conductor assisted him. Marcus hurried over, but as he neared he couldn't help a pang of concern for his friend's appearance.
Looking up, a smile crossed Indy's lips at the sight of his friend. Before he could say anything, Marcus began, "You look like death warmed over."
Jones retorted, "Its nice to see you too Marcus."
"I'm sorry Indy," Marcus said quietly. "What happened over there? What's this I hear about your being shot down by the Japanese? Really, Indy, I didn't even know you could fly a plane."
"Marcus, it's a very long story," Jones said as the ever-present conductor handed him his two bags. Thanking him for his help, Indiana continued, "Frankly, I really don't want to talk about it right now."
"Well, I apologize again Indy, but the museum's patrons are up in arms about this entire affair. After Germany's invasion of Poland and Japan's occupation of China, some think it is only days away from a full-scale war. It does the museum no good when one of its most respected professors strives to provoke that very thing into happening."
Patting Brody on the back, Indy stated, "Look, Marcus, have I ever done anything remotely like starting a war?" Brody only stared at Indiana Jones and didn't say a word. After an awkward moment of silence, Indy hailed them a cab and asked the driver to head to his house on the outskirts of town.
After arriving at Indy's address, they both entered the house. Marcus leaned on a bookshelf and said, "Alright, let's hear it."
Looking up from his seat on the couch, Jones answered, "Hear what?"
"You didn't say a word to me during the entire trip from the station to your house. It was not my intention to upset you with the ranting of the museum's patrons and such."
"It's not that," Jones began, "I've just got a lot on my mind, not to mention I'm sore as hell."
Realizing what his friend must have gone through over the past few days, Brody said, "I hope it was worth it." Moving toward a seat he asked, "I forgot to ask if you even made it out with," gesturing with his hands toward Indy, "it."
Nodding with a sudden enthusiasm, Jones got up, walked over to his suitcase and propped it open on the floor. Reaching into it, he removed a round object wrapped in purple cloth. "Here it is," he said, as he carefully passed it to Brody.
Taking it, Marcus looked up at Jones with a twinkle in his eye. "It must have meant a great deal to the man that hired that Japanese chap. He must have pulled many strings with his government to try and stop you from escaping with this."
"It was Lao Che." Indy said.
Brody raised a brow, "I'm surprised you managed to avoid him again."
"Yeah," Indy began, "I hope its the last time." Then motioning toward the bundle, Jones brought their focus back on the item that nearly caused his demise.
Carefully unwrapping the purple bundle, Brody stated while shaking his head, "Really, all of this nonsense about trying to retrieve this small artifact."
"I agree with you, Marcus," Indy replied as he began pacing the room. "However, we've been fighting thefts of archaeological artifacts for years now. Lao Che stole it to begin with. I simply took it back. Besides, if any of the information on that thing is real," pointing toward the wrapped object in Brody's hand, "I can see why Lao Che would be so desperate to get it back. Now we can put it in a museum." Jones continued, "I'm lucky that American naval ship had been there, otherwise," while pointing to the floor, "I wouldn't be standing here." Jones stopped and crouched in front of Marcus.
Frowning, Brody nodded in agreement. "I worry about you, Indy," placing his hand on his friends shoulder. "One day, when you least expect it, the past is going to catch up to you and snag you in its clutches. An artifact is just that, Indiana, an artifact. You on the other hand are much more rare. Do try to be more cautious."
"You worry too much, Marcus." Indy laughed, "Let's just take a look at what caused all of this fuss." He nodded toward the bundle.
Brody finished unwrapping the object in his hands and held it in the light of a table lamp nearby. The light danced across the pale green surface of a circular disc made of pure jade. Thin tendrils of gold and silver inlays adorned the fist-size treasure. The precious metals encircled and entwined across the disc in complex decorative patterns, while cut rubies and sapphires lay embedded within the design. The familiar pictograms of an ancient Asian writing were carved into its surface. All of the delicate craftsmanship appeared to be a curious little map. As Marcus continued to examine it, he said softly, "The Khan Medallion."
"Yep," Indy began as he stood and began pacing again, "and the key to locating the lost tomb of Chinggis Khan, founder of the once great Mongolian empire. But the rest of the world knew him as Genghis Khan, or the Scourge of God."
"Remarkable," Brody said as he continued examining the medallion. "To think, that after the great Khan died, he was so revered by his followers, that elaborate steps were taken to keep the location of his burial secret. I have read that hundreds of horses were used to trample the ground over his tomb in order to obscure the gravesite."
Brody paused before speaking in a more mysterious tone. "It is also written that all of his servants and over 800 soldiers who attended the funeral were killed to preserve the secrecy of the site." Looking toward Indy, "This medallion supposedly shows the location of Genghis Khan's tomb."
"And that's only the beginning, Marcus." Indy excitedly stated. Walking toward Brody, Jones stopped and looked toward the floor, frowning.
Noticing his change of mood, Brody asked, "What is it Indiana?"
Sighing, Jones eased back onto the couch. "Look, Marcus," he began, "I've gotta tell you… I don't know how much more of this kind of living I can handle. I mean, I like the excitement that the field of archeology has provided me and I wouldn't change a thing… it's just…"
"Just what?" Brody asked quietly.
"I can't move like I used to. It's gonna take me awhile just to get over the bumps and bruises I've got now."
"What are you trying to say, Indy?" Brody inquired.
"I need a break, Marcus. I don't know how long. I just know that if I don't do something… well you know…"
"Indy, you have done more than your fair share of archeological work. You've even set back some research for years, because of your finds." Brody paused, "I've been telling you to take a break for some time anyway. I'll miss you, but the museum and I can get along well enough without you. Sort of anyway."
Brody stood as Jones shook his hand and warmly said, "Thanks Marcus."
"Of course, now I will have to find a suitable means for acquiring new pieces for the museum," teased Brody, "in the meantime, why don't I take this artifact," slipping the medallion, re-wrapped, in his jacket pocket, "and place it in safe keeping at the museum. While you," he began, pointing at Jones, "get some well deserved rest. I'll work everything else out."
"This time I can't argue." Jones said.
"Indy," Brody began, "promise me that you will stay out of trouble."
Smiling, Jones teased, "But Marcus, I'll always have you to bail me out of a tight situation." Brody's eyebrow raised and Jones laughed.
"What I mean to say is that you're a good friend, Marcus, and I don't know what I'd do without you." Indy assured him while escorting his friend to the door.
"I try to be," Brody replied, "I try to be." Placing his hat on his head, Marcus walked out into the night.
Closing the door and securing the lock, a tired and sore Indiana Jones, slowly retreated to his bedroom. Going over to his bed, Indy fell onto the soft mattress and immediately fell fast asleep.
