Informationen zum Autor Steve Perry Klappentext There's no rest for the weary treasure hunter, but that's how Indiana Jones likes it. Fresh from spying for the Allies in the thick of World War II Germany, the globe-trotting archaeologist doesn't need much persuading to join his cohort "Mac McHale in searching for one of the most coveted of artifacts: the fabled black pearl known as the Heart of Darkness. But the partners in adventure are not alone on their foray into the mysterious jungles of Haiti. German and Japanese agents are in hot pursuit, determined to possess the ebony artifact-and its secrets-for their own sinister purposes. And shadowing them all is an infamous voodoo priest, with powers of both diabolical science and black magic at his command. On a treacherous odyssey across the Island of the Dead, where the legend of the zombi looms large, spiders, snakes, and booby traps will prove the least of Indy's challenges. And capturing the prize will be child's play compared to confronting an enemy unlike any other, whose numbers are legion and nearly impossible to kill-because they're already dead. . . . Chapter One In the Air over the Windward Passage, Eight Miles West of Haiti Summer 1943 Indy hated small airplanes. Yes, yes, planes were necessary evils, he knew. If there was going to be a race to collect an ancient trea sure in the modern world of 1943, the winner wasn't going to be the guy who sailed 'round the Horn on a clipper ship to find it. Flying was a sharp knife in any field archaeologist's tool chest but because planes were necessary didn't mean he had to like the blasted things. Or trust them. Oh, sure, mostly they flew just fine. Sometimes they didn't. After the third or fourth time one came down hard enough to blow out the tires or break the undercarriage, he was less trusting. Yeah, you did what you had to do to get where you needed to get. Someday your number was going to be up no matter what you did. No point in worrying about it too much, but . . . flying around like a bird? Because of his OSS training, Indy knew more about aircraft than he wanted to know, and this one a Taylor/Piper J-2 that looked a lot older than it could possibly be seemed to be held together with baling wire and prayer. It was noisy, underpowered a forty- horsepower engine was stock, it weighed a little over 500 pounds empty, and with Mac, who had to go 210, and Indy at about 190? That was the maximum cargo capacity right there. Raul, the little Cuban pi lot, was small, but even he had to go 140, and that didn't count the weight of the fuel and what luggage they had, and all that meant this plane ought not to be able to get off the ground. Yet here they were, cruising two thousand feet above the Ca rib be an, at all of sixty miles an hour. Yeah, Raul said he had rebuilt the engine and perked it up a fair bit, but even so, that it had taken off three times with them so far? That was still amazing They say that bad thoughts draw the dev il's attention. The engine sputtered, was silent for what seemed like a thousand years but was probably only a second, and Indy's belly roiled as if it contained a most unhappy lizard trying to get out. The imaginary creature wasn't too choosy about its exit route, trying to go up and down at the same time . . . Indiana Jones said a word that would have gotten his mouth washed out with soap in polite family circles. Mac laughed. The pi lot said something in rapid Cuban Spanish, and he laughed, too. He said Mac began. I heard him, Indy said. I'm sitting right here, third guy in a two- seater, and since I know there is no aerodynamic way this thing can stay up, he better have an in with the Virgin Mary. You worry too much. And you don't worry enough. MacGeorge McHale was British to the core, and MI6. He and Indy ha...

Autorentext

Steve Perry

Klappentext

There's no rest for the weary treasure hunter, but that's how Indiana Jones likes it. Fresh from spying for the Allies in the thick of World War II Germany, the globe-trotting archaeologist doesn't need much persuading to join his cohort "Mac” McHale in searching for one of the most coveted of artifacts: the fabled black pearl known as the Heart of Darkness. But the partners in adventure are not alone on their foray into the mysterious jungles of Haiti. German and Japanese agents are in hot pursuit, determined to possess the ebony artifact-and its secrets-for their own sinister purposes. And shadowing them all is an infamous voodoo priest, with powers of both diabolical science and black magic at his command.

On a treacherous odyssey across the Island of the Dead, where the legend of the zombi looms large, spiders, snakes, and booby traps will prove the least of Indy's challenges. And capturing the prize will be child's play compared to confronting an enemy unlike any other, whose numbers are legion and nearly impossible to kill-because they're already dead. . . .

Zusammenfassung
There’s no rest for the weary treasure hunter, but that’s how Indiana Jones likes it. Fresh from spying for the Allies in the thick of World War II Germany, the globe-trotting archaeologist doesn’t need much persuading to join his cohort “Mac” McHale in searching for one of the most coveted of artifacts: the fabled black pearl known as the Heart of Darkness. But the partners in adventure are not alone on their foray into the mysterious jungles of Haiti. German and Japanese agents are in hot pursuit, determined to possess the ebony artifact–and its secrets–for their own sinister purposes. And shadowing them all is an infamous voodoo priest, with powers of both diabolical science and **black magic at his command.

On a treacherous odyssey across the Island of the Dead, where the legend of the zombi looms large, spiders, snakes, and booby traps will prove the least of Indy’s challenges. And capturing the prize will be child’s play compared to confronting an enemy unlike any other, whose numbers are legion and nearly impossible to kill–because they’re already dead. . . .

Leseprobe
Chapter One

In the Air over the Windward Passage, 
Eight Miles West of Haiti 
Summer 1943 

Indy hated small airplanes.

 Yes, yes, planes were necessary evils, he knew. If there was going to be a race to collect an ancient trea sure in the modern world of 1943, the winner wasn’t going to be the guy who sailed ’round the Horn on a clipper ship to find it. Flying was a sharp knife in any field archaeologist’s tool chest— but because planes were necessary didn’t mean he had to like the blasted things. Or trust them. Oh, sure, mostly they flew just fine. Sometimes they didn’t. After the third or fourth time one came down hard enough to blow out the tires or break the undercarriage, he was less trusting. Yeah, you did what you had to do to get where you needed to get. Someday your number was going to be up no matter what you did. No point in worrying about it too much, but . . . flying around like a bird? 

Because of his OSS training, Indy knew more about aircraft than he wanted to know, and this one— a Taylor/Piper J-2 that looked a lot older than it could possibly be— seemed to be held together with baling wire and prayer. It was noisy, underpowered— a forty- horsepower engine was stock, it weighed a little over 500 pounds empty, and with Mac, who had to go 210, and Indy at about 190? That was the maximum cargo capacity right there. Raul, the little Cuban pi lot, was small, but even he had to go 140, and that didn’t count the weight of the fuel and what luggage they had, and all that meant this plane ought not to be able to get off the ground. Yet here they …