The Phantom (11 page)

Other passengers had also seen the raft, but in the confusion some of the passengers thought the fighter ship was there to rescue them from the sinking craft. A man in the row in front of her hailed a passing stewardess. “How are we all going to fit onto that raft? Aren’t there any ships in the area that can help?”

The stewardess leaned toward him, her face pale, her expression betraying her fear despite her attempts to keep it masked from the passengers. “We’re doing all we can to deal with this situation, sir. Please put on your life vest. As soon as a ship arrives, we’ll all be taken aboard. There’s really nothing to worry about.”

Sure, Diana thought. Things were bad and were going to get a lot worse.

Suddenly the chatter of machine guns shredded the air. Passengers screamed and dived for cover. Diana quickly slipped the envelope containing the Sengh Brotherhood symbol from her pocket and pushed it down inside her boot.

She smelled sea air seeping into the cabin. The door to the Clipper swung open, three men scrambled inside. One carried the machine gun that had just ripped apart the lock on the door. The other two brandished side arms. Their caps and goggles hid their faces.

One of the men pointed at a cowering old man. “He’ll do.”

A second flyer grabbed the man and aimed the machine gun at his chest. People screamed, blood drained from the old man’s face.

“We want Diana Palmer,” said the first flyer, who apparently was the leader. “And we’re prepared to kill all of you, one by one, until she steps forward.”

Panic spread through the cabin. The plane was rocking violently in the waves. “Who is she?” someone shouted.

“We don’t know her.”

“Maybe she’s not here.”

“We didn’t do anything.”

Diana stood up, her knees soft, a hole a mile wide tearing open in her stomach. “I’m Diana Palmer.”

“So quickly? How disappointing,” the first flyer scoffed.

“What do you want?” Diana asked.

“The pleasure of your company.”

“Who are you?”

“That’s none of your . . .”

Something about the voice and the look of the intruder roused her suspicion. Boldly, she reached out and yanked off the flyer’s cap and goggles. It was a young woman, an aviatrix who could pass for Amelia Earhart’s younger sister.

“Happy now, Diana Palmer? Get a good look? I suppose you want my name, too?”

“Sala,” one of the men yelled, inadvertently providing the name. “The plane’s going to sink. Let’s get out of here!”

“One more thing,” Sala said.

With that, she turned and struck Diana across the side of her head with the barrel of the pistol. She slumped to the floor. “Too bad. Now we’ve got to carry you out of here.”

THIRTEEN

C
aptain Philip Horton was ready to retire for the evening after a long day at the Jungle Patrol outpost. He looked into the radio control room where Corporal Weeks was stationed.

“I’m going to turn in, Weeks. Wake me if there’s any news.”

“Yes, sir. But it’s probably not going to be good news.”

Horton agreed, but to Weeks he said, “Maybe our luck will turn.”

“Maybe, Captain.”

He didn’t sound any more convinced than Horton was. They didn’t need just luck; they needed a miracle.

Horton left the building and plodded back to his office. It doubled as his sleeping quarters and was hardly the picture of comfort. But hell, it was home.

He climbed the steps to the porch, stretched his arms and yawned. He and Weeks had been monitoring dramatic events at sea for the last several hours. The radio transmissions about the forced landing and its mysterious perpetrators were definitely the most startling transmission they’d received in months.

There was nothing more he could do. The passengers had all been rescued, except one woman, and Horton was particularly concerned about her, since she had been on her way to see him. Now he wondered if he would ever meet her.

Following the reports also took his mind off the local matter of the destroyed bridge and the missing witness who swore that the Phantom had fallen into the gorge with the truck. But there was no trace of the Phantom, as he’d suspected would be the case, and the witness, unfortunately, had not yet been found and probably never would be.

Once inside his office, Horton took off his gunbelt and unbuttoned his shirt. He splashed water on his face from a wash bowl, rubbed his hands vigorously over his face, and wondered what the hell he was going to do about the situation with the Clipper. As he reached for a towel, he glanced in the mirror and glimpsed movement. Horton spun around and sucked in his breath. His eyes locked with the Phantom’s.

“Hey, can’t you ever come in through the front door?” Horton snapped.

“Too obvious. I prefer the window.”

Horton smiled and shook hands with the Phantom. “It’s good to see you, Ghost Who Walks. I was getting worried when I found out about the bridge collapsing. I heard you were in that truck.”

“Oh, that.” He touched his side, which was nearly healed from the stab wound. “It’s not the reason I came here.”

“Let me guess.” If there was trouble anywhere near Bangalla, the Phantom often found his way into the mess. “We’ve had some trouble tonight offshore.”

“I know. I picked up the distress call on the radio. Any word?”

“The passengers were picked up by a Portuguese fishing boat,” Horton said. “Everyone’s safe . . . except a young woman abducted off the Clipper.”

“Who?”

Horton’s shoulders slumped. “She was on her way to meet me, oddly enough. Her name is Diana Palmer.”

The Phantom reacted to the name. “Diana Palmer of New York? Her uncle owns the
Tribune
.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” The Phantom obviously got away from the jungle from time to time. “How did you know her, if I may ask?”

The Phantom shrugged. “Maybe I heard the name somewhere, sounded familiar.”

“First those grave robbers, and now this,” Horton said. “Do you think the Sengh Brotherhood is involved in this airplane matter?”

“Good question. But why would they kidnap a young woman from New York?”

“I haven’t a clue. I just hope we can get her back,” Horton said.

“I’ll see what I can do.” The Phantom eyed the door as though he were about to leave.

But Horton wasn’t ready for him to leave yet. “Your father had a theory about all this, you know.”

Mention of his father caught the Phantom’s attention, just as Horton had known it would. “What do you mean?”

Horton paced across the room. “He was certain the Sengh Brotherhood had a secret stronghold where they’ve been hiding for centuries.”

“I know.”

“He was never able to find it,” Horton continued as if the Phantom didn’t already know. “He thought they had some kind of power to block him.”

“Yeah. But he was getting close. When they realized it, they turned on him and he died.” The Phantom reached for the doorknob. “I better get going.”

Horton grabbed his arm. “Wait. Don’t use the door. Go out the way you came in. I have enough trouble pretending you’re not real as it is.”

The Phantom looked amused. “Captain Horton and his double life.” Then he climbed through the window and disappeared into the darkness.

The Phantom slipped away from the Jungle Patrol outpost and into the forest. Zak was patiently waiting for him, holding Hero’s reins in one hand and his father’s red and blue kerchief in the other. Nearby, Devil paced anxiously about, wary about being so near the outpost. The Phantom swung his leg over the white steed, then pulled Zak up behind him.

“Ghost Who Walks, I remember now. They had airplanes,” Zak said.

For a moment, the Phantom wasn’t sure who he was talking about. “You mean the men who tied you up in the truck? The bad men?”

“Yes. Planes with boats for feet.”

The Phantom nodded. “Seaplanes.” And fighter planes with pontoons had forced the Pan Am Clipper into the water. No coincidence there, he thought.

He reined Hero around and galloped off into the jungle with Devil, the wolf, running at his side. “Hang on, Zak. We’ve got a long ride ahead.”

The last thing Diana remembered was being pistol-whipped by the woman from the fighter plane. Now, as she came awake, she was being lifted by rope up through the darkness. Her legs and wrists were bound and a wad of cloth was stuffed into her mouth. It smelled of dirt and oil. Her body slammed several times against the barnacle-encrusted piling as she was lifted to a dock. Then they dragged her along it for several yards.

“Stop right there, you idiot,” Sala yelled at whoever was pulling Diana.

Sala loosened the rope under Diana’s arms, slipped it over her head. Then she lifted Diana and carried her up a gangplank and onto the deck of an old freighter. From there she was dragged to an opening in the deck that led down into the belly of the ship.

As Sala let her go, Diana was suddenly afraid she was going to be shoved headfirst down the hole, and there was nothing she could do about it. She yelled into the gag, shook her head, and pulled her knees tightly into her chest.

“Take it easy. I’m not going to dump you.”

Sala descended several steps, then draped Diana over her shoulder as though she weighed nothing at all. Diana stared helplessly down into the dank hold of the ship as Sala continued on. The musty air seeped into her nostrils, nauseating her.

When they finally reached the bottom, Sala carried her a few more yards, then deposited her in a wooden chair.

A seedy, roughneck character strolled casually over to Sala, who looked as if she were about to collapse from the effort. “What’s your problem?”

“Thanks for all your help, Quill,” Sala snapped. “You might as well have stayed in town with your idiot friends.”

Quill laughed; his teeth looked as if they hadn’t been brushed in decades. “I’ve been getting a new image.” He turned his cheek toward her. “What do you think?”

A skull tattoo now decorated each of the man’s cheeks.

“You look just as ugly as the last time I saw you,” Sala said.

“No, look! Matching skulls.”

Sala fixed a hand to her waist and tilted sideways, stretching fatigued muscles. “What’s the occasion? Did you kill your mother?”

“I’ll never tell.” He abruptly turned to Diana. “So let’s see her mug.”

Sala untied the dirty rag used for a gag. Diana spit bits of it out of her mouth. “Sort of pretty, I guess,” Sala observed. “In a spoiled, rich girl kind of way. Definitely too classy for you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Quill murmured, walking around her, eyeing her the way a butcher eyes a piece of prime beef. “You can never tell.”

Diana cleared her throat. Her mouth felt like cotton, but she tried to talk, anyway. “Who are you people? Are you crazy?” Her voice croaked, the words sputtered out of her. “Do you have any idea how many laws you’ve just broken? Disruption of international air transportation! Abduction! Piracy! Kidnapping!”

Sala laughed. “Little Miss Righteous. Not your type at all, Quill.”

Quill stepped closer to Diana and raised his arm, threatening to strike Diana. “Shut up! Just shut the hell up!”

But Diana wasn’t about to follow any orders from Tattoo Face. “If this is a kidnapping for money, you’re not going to get a cent! Not a red cent!”

Quill turned to Sala. “Do you want to shut her up, or should I do it?”

Sala went over to Diana to replace the gag, but Diana jerked her head to the side. “Get that out of here. That rag is filthy! You wanna gag me . . . get a clean rag! Is that too much to ask?”

Sala grabbed her by the jaw and finally jammed the rag back into her mouth.

“Somebody very important has a big interest in you, lady,” Quill said. “I’ve got to report in now. When I get back, maybe we can enjoy some time alone. Just you and me.” Quill pinched her cheek, then walked away. Sala laughed and followed him.

Diana shuddered and closed her eyes.
Think, and do it fast. You’ve got to get outta here.

Just before dawn, the Phantom and Zak reached the edge of the jungle and dismounted. They traveled a short distance on foot, Devil close behind them. Crouching behind a large rock, they looked out onto a cove as the first gray light of dawn spilled across the water.

A long wooden dock extended out from a cluster of shacks and small buildings. A truck was parked nearby along with some horses hitched to a tree. But the Phantom’s gaze was immediately drawn to the two seaplanes that bobbed in the water next to the dock. Beyond them, anchored near the end of the dock, was an old freighter like the ones he’d seen on occasion in the port of Zavia.

The Phantom touched Zak’s shoulder. “You did good, Zak. Real good. Any idea how long that ship’s been docked here?”

He shook his head. “I only saw it when the bad men took my father here.”

“You better go back to your people, and stay away from the bad guys.”

“What about my papa? Will you help him?” Zak’s eyes filled with the nakedness of his plea.

“I’ll do all I can, Zak. If I find him in there, I’ll get him out. But I’m looking for a woman, too.”

The Phantom called Devil, who loped over to his side. Kneeling down, the Phantom whispered in his ear. The wolf trotted over to the dock, then darted between the barrels and cargo boxes to avoid being seen. Finally he made a wild dash to the end of the dock, ran up the gangplank and onto the deck of the freighter.

“Good job,” the Phantom said, then dove into the cool water. He swam just below the surface, coming up only once for air before he reached the starboard side of the freighter.

Crew members were loitering on the deck as the Phantom climbed up the anchor chain. He was several feet below the deck when he slipped through an open porthole and tumbled into the ship. He landed on a bunk bed, one that was occupied.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” a bearded man grumbled as he sat up and found a dripping wet, purple-hooded masked man straddling him. The man’s eyes bulged. “What on earth are you?”

“I’m a who, not a what.”

“Spider Man?”

“Wrong.”

The Phantom grabbed the man’s head and slammed it against an iron pole at the corner of the bunk. “Sweet dreams.”