Free Indiana Jones and the Dinosaur Eggs by Max McCoy

for a secure grip for a moment, then tumbled over the edge of the flatcar onto the roadbed.
    Indy crossed the first flatcar and joined Wu Han.
    "When you say you would kill for a root beer," Wu Han said, "you weren't kidding."
    "Get back to the passenger car," Indy ordered. "There may be more of them out here. Tell Granger that we've got some trouble, and keep Sister Joan inside with her head down."
    "Right."
    "Wait," Indy said. He took one of the bottles of root beer.
    "Bottle opener?"
    "Right here," Wu Han said.
    Indy flipped off the cap and guzzled down a third of the bottle before Wu Han had made it back to the passenger car. Indy sat down on a cargo box. While he waited, with his gun in his right hand, he finished off the rest of the bottle.
    "I love root beer," he announced.
    Indy felt a magnificent burp building in the pit of his stomach, and since he was alone on the flatcar, he opened his mouth and allowed nature to take its course. He belched long and loud, and immediately the pressure in his tortured guts subsided.
    "Dr. Jones," a voice said in Mandarin as he felt the prick of a knife blade at the back of his neck. "Have you forgotten your manners? But then, I suppose you never had any."
    "Did Lao Che send you?"
    "Who else?" the voice asked, changing to English with a British accent. "No, don't turn around. The others can't see me and we wouldn't want to alarm them. And careful with that gun—somebody could get hurt, you know. Keep it in your lap."
    "You're the boss."
    "You couldn't have expected to get away with that little switch routine at the nightclub last night. It was apparent as soon as Lao's oldest son went to the water closet and discovered the ash can had been tampered with."
    "I thought it was clever."
    "You would," the voice said. "You have a choice. Either you will tell me where Wu Han has hidden the remains of his family so that Lao Che can restore his contract, or I will kill you first and Wu Han second."
    "You'd kill me even if I told you," Indy said.
    "Perhaps, but I would do it quickly instead of spilling your intestines onto the deck of this flatcar. There are no surgeons on this train, Dr. Jones, and you would bleed to death despite the best efforts of your friends to patch you up."
    "And why wouldn't you kill Wu Han if I told you?"
    "His services are too valuable to Lao Che," the voice said. "He wants him back. To waste a good employee in such a profitless manner would show poor business sense. But your pathetic expedition is another matter. It would delight the boss to see it end before it even begins."
    "Who the hell are you?" Indy asked.
    "A professional."
    "Like your buddy? Or was he just having a bad day?"
    "He was careless. I am not."
    Granger was at the door of the passenger car, a 7.5mm bolt-action rifle in his hand. Indy waved and smiled, and motioned for him to go back. Granger looked confused, and stepped over onto the first flatcar.
    "Tell the old fool to get back into the car."
    "He can't hear me," Indy said.
    "Then shoot him."
    Indy felt blood roll down between his shoulder blades as the knife pressed harder into the soft hollow at the base of his skull.
    " Kill him."
    Indy pointed the Webley at Granger and shot. The bullet thudded into a crate behind him. Granger looked aghast, not knowing whether to laugh or to return fire.
    "Idiot!" he cried.
    Indy rolled forward, exposing the assassin. Granger snatched up his rifle, but the dark figure had scrambled down behind the cargo before he could manage to get off a shot.
    Indy crawled back to the flatcar, where Granger was kneeling behind one of the trucks and trying to get a clear shot at their opponent.
    "Are you all right?" Granger asked.
    "That's a relative question," Indy snapped. "Look at the back of my neck."
    "It's nothing," Granger said.
    "Nothing? It feels like I'm bleeding to death."
    "Flesh wounds always flow like the dickens." Granger's tone was dismissive. "Who is that chap, anyway?"
    "An associate of your gangster