Lee Falk - [Story of the Phantom 14]

by The Assassins (v0. 9) (epub)

  Anders nodded. “Or else he was trying to kidnap her in the first place, and took the ship as part of the plot.”

  “Both possibilities had, of course, occurred to us. But there’s always the chance.”

  “You mean maybe she was in it with them from the beginning? An accomplice?” Harmon was incredulous.

  “Yes,” said Blount.

  “What would be the purpose? The three men had everything under control. Miss Palmer had no gun.”

  “But still, it does seem strange, doesn’t it, that she should go along with them?”

  “She tried to escape,” Harmon said. “She jumped out the escape hatch on her own and swam for the fishing boat.”

  “One of the skyjackers jumped in after her and hauled her back on board the airliner.”

  Blount nodded. “It could have been an act.”

  “An act?” Harmon frowned. “Possibly. But what would be her purpose?”

  “That’s what we’re wondering.” Blount sighed. “Well, suppose we leave it at that, gentlemen. As I said, this is an informal debriefing. We’ll have the formal interrogation later on.”

  After leaving the makeshift interrogation room, Blount took a taxicab out to the Palmer residence in the suburbs. The door was opened by an erect man with a pipe in his mouth.

  “I’m Inspector Blount of the Federal Aviation Agency,” Blount told him. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Palmer, please.”

  “I’m Miss Palmer’s uncle,” said Dave. “If you’d like to speak to Mrs. Palmer, she’s here. Mr. Palmer is dead.”

  “Sorry,” said Blount. “May I come in?”

  “Certainly.”

  They went into the living room, which was spacious, with priceless paintings on the walls and a large Oriental rug on the floor. A neat, rather stout woman with gray hair arranged in a bun was seated on a couch.

  Blount inclined his head. “I’m Inspector Blount, Mrs. Palmer.”

  “Yes, I heard.”

  “I’ve come to discuss the—er, disappearance of your daughter, Diana Palmer.”

  “Of course. Have you any news?”

  “None, I’m sorry to say.”

  “Please sit down, Mr. Blount.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Blount took a chair. Uncle Dave stood in the comer.

  “Just a few questions,” said Blount. “I’d like to know where your daughter was flying to.”

  “To Bangalla,” said Mrs. Palmer, fiddling with a small handkerchief.

  “I see. To explore? I understand she’s an explorer, as well as a number of other things.”

  “No. She wasn’t going exploring. She was going to visit a—a friend.”

  “What is the friend’s name?”

  Mrs. Palmer hesitated. Blount leaned forward. As he did so, he became aware of a figure standing in the doorway leading to the next room. He glanced up.

  The man was tall and ragged, dressed in a trench coat belted at the waist. He had on dark glasses and a hat that covered most of his forehead. He was deeply tanned, although it was hard to make out his features.

  “She was flying to Bangalla to see me, Inspector Blount.” Blount blinked. The man’s poise was unquestionable. He spoke in a deep, unaccented voice. And it was obvious that he was telling the truth.

  “But if she was flying to Bangalla to see you, why are you here?”

  “It’s a diflicult question to answer, Inspector.”

  “Perhaps if you tried,” Blount suggested, his voice hardening. He did not want to tangle with the stranger in the weird outfit, but he could not let him go without trying to determine who he was and how he fitted into this odd puzzle.

  “I am an old friend of Miss Palmer,” the Phantom began, smiling faintly.

  “That doesn’t tell me anything. I’m afraid we’ll have to take you along for questioning.”

  The Phantom shook his head, almost dreamily. “Sorry, but it’s impossible.”

  Blount stood, moving toward the man.

  And he vanished.

  One moment he was standing in the doorway, and the next he was not there. Blount moved quickly into the doorway, looking to the right and left of the adjoining room. He saw the window open.

  Crossing to it, he glanced down.

  The man had evidently jumped out the window and escaped. But the ground was fifteen feet below. He would have to be quite an athlete to make it without breaking an ankle.

  A bizarre thing.

  Blount returned to the living room and frowned. He could see that Diana Palmer’s uncle was trying to avoid his look, and Mrs. Palmer was sobbing into her handkerchief.

  The doorbell rang.

  In a moment Uncle Dave was back in the living room holding a note in his hand.

  Blount reached for the paper. The words were block-lettered in a crude hand: if you want diana back send one MAN WITH 250 THOUSAND DOLLAR BILLS TO NORTH RIVER BRIDGE MIDNIGHT TOMORROW. NO POLICE OR NO DIANA.

  Below the words was a drawing of a hangman’s noose.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Police Commissioner James Nolan flicked the switch on his intercom. “Yes, Nellie?”

  “An Inspector Blount in on the wire, Commissioner. He’s with the Federal Aviation Agency.”

  “It’s about that airliner skyjack. Put him on, please.” “Commissioner Nolan? Inspector Blount here. We met a year ago on that skyjacking to Cuba.”

  “I remember, Inspector. What can I do for you?”

  “I’m out at the Palmer residence. You know Miss Palmer was not among the passengers picked up.”

  “We’ve got some men working on her background, Inspector. We’re trying to tie her in with the skyjackers.”

  “I’ve got news for you. There’s been a ransom note.”

  “How much?”

  “Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars.”

  The Commissioner whistled. “What do you think? Is it authentic? Or just a cover to screen her involvement?”

  “It looks like the real thing to me, but I can’t make anything out of the note.”

  “Is Dave Palmer there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Let me talk to him. He’s an old friend.”

  “Right.”

  In a moment David Palmer was on the wire. “Hello, Jim.”

  “I hear you’ve got a ransom note.”

  “A quarter of a million dollars for my niece, Jim.”

  “We’ll take care of it for you.”

  “Please. I don’t want you to do anything about it. The wording of the note is quite specific. It says that Diana will be killed if there is any police interference.”

  “Do you believe that? They always say that, Dave.”

  “I believe this note.”

  “We’re old friends, Dave. You know I wouldn’t do any-, thing to hurt Diana. Now let me come out and personally talk this over with you.”

  “I’d rather not, Jim.”

  The Commissioner shook his head. “Please Dave. I promise not to do anything until I get an agreement from you. How’s that?”

  There was a pause. “All right, Jim.”

  “I’ll be right over,” said the Commissioner. “You just sit tight and wait.”

  “I won’t be going anywhere.”

  Commissioner Nolan was a handsome man of forty-five who looked thirty-five. He was very athletic, slim and dapper. He was also independently wealthy, but had always worked in the civic interest. He had a personable way about him, was the most intelligent man in local politics, and knew all the important people in the area, “Hi, Dave,” he said as he came into the Palmer house. “Where’s your lovely sister-in-law?”

  Mrs. Palmer rose, smiling. “Hello, Jim.”

  “Well, Dorothy, it’s a long time. You shouldn’t be such a stranger.”

  “What would I want with the Police Commissioner?”

  Nolan sank into the couch. “Inspector Blount tells me you’ve got a note.”

  “Yes.” Dorothy turned to Dave. “Give it to Jim, please.” Dave pulled a r
umpled sheet of paper out of his suit coat pocket and handed it to Nolan. Then he took out his pipe and began sucking on it, watching Nolan closely.

  Nolan studied the note carefully and then shook his head. “Well, I don’t understand the implications. The location of the ransom drop is obviously the North River Bridge on Main Street. But I don’t understand the signature.”

  “Neither do I.”

  Nolan frowned. “Not that it would make any difference if I did. Still, I’d advise you to let us take this whole thing off your hands, Dave. It could get messy.”

  Uncle Dave shook his head. “Absolutely not, Jim. I said it on the phone, and I mean it. If We let you stick your nose into this, Diana will die.”

  “Not necessarily. We know about these things. We’re experienced in tracking down kidnappers. You must realize that a kidnapper does not kill because the cops are after him. He usually kills before he even delivers the ransom note.”

  Mrs. Palmer gasped. “Are you saying Diana might be dead already?”

  Nolan bit his lip. “I suppose it did come out that way. I don’t really think so. Not with the strange circumstances of Diana’s kidnapping. It almost seems as if the skyjacker recognized Diana on the plane manifest and decided to kidnap her as an added bonus to the theft of the plane.”

  Uncle Dave leaned back. “What would you do if I gave you permission to go ahead and take care of the case, Commissioner?”

  “I would have my experts work things out, Dave.”

  “I’ll make a deal with you. I want an expert of my own to work on the case for twenty-four hours. Then you can have it.”

  “Those twenty-four hours may be crucial!”

  “I realize that. Still, I’d like to let my own man take a shot at it.”

  Nolan leaned back. “Who is this expert, Dave? Somebody I know?”

  “I sincerely doubt it.”

  Nolan rose and sighed. “If you insist, then. We’re too good friends to argue. But the minute the twenty-four hours are up, it’s our case.”

  “Right.”

  “ ’Bye, Dorothy,” said Nolan as he walked out.

  It was dark when Dave Palmer left the house. He knew that the Phantom had merely left the Palmer mansion in order to avoid speaking to Inspector Blount about the skyjacking. Palmer had an idea that the Phantom knew all about the kidnapping. He had ways of finding out things in spite of every precaution taken to keep him unaware.

  The Palmer estate stretched into the woods for a half mile. Palmer walked along the pathways, whistling softly and puffing on his pipe. He had lit it now, so that the smoke trailed behind him, leaving a pleasing aroma in the air.

  He knew that the best way to find the Phantom was to let the Phantom find him.

  Near a small waterfall in the stream that cut across the estate the Phantom came out of the shadows and hailed Dave.

  “Well, that was quite a show you put on at the house,” Palmer laughed.

  “I had to think. I didn’t want all those inspectors and bureaucrats around.”

  They sat down on a large boulder.

  “There’s been a kidnap note, Kit,” said Palmer, removing the wrinkled sheet from his pocket.

  The Phantom nodded. “I was close by and could hear a great deal of what went on.” He smiled. “I think I know what the signature means, but I’d like to study it a bit more.” Palmer puffed on his pipe and waited.

  Finally the Phantom glanced up. “It’s a very serious situation,” he said slowly. “It’s a drawing of the Silken Noose.”

  “And what’s the Silken Noose?”

  “The symbol of an ancient secret fraternity. The Assassins.”

  “Assassins? I didn’t know that was a secret fraternity! I thought an assassin was someone who killed a president or a ruler for some political reason.”

  “The word has come to mean that,” the Phantom explained slowly. “Actually the word ‘assassin’ is from the Arabic ‘hashshahin,’ meaning the addict of the drag hashish, or Indian hemp, which is cousin to our own marijuana.”

  “But how did this secret fraternity start?”

  “It was an order of religious fanatics, originating in the Ismaili branch of the Shiite sect. A Persian named al-Hasan iba-al-Sabbah, a Fatimid missionary, founded the sect in Iran during the twelfth century.”

  “Was it a religious movement of any consequence?”

  “It had very little religious consequence at all. It was one of propaganda with little regard for spiritual objectives. At its head was the Shaykl-al-Jabal, known to the Crusaders in popular translation as ‘The Old Man of the Mountain.’ He was the chief of operations, and he was aided by two groups of subordinates, the Grand Priors, and below them, contingents of desperados ready to do or die in blind obedience to the command of their chief.”

  Palmer whistled. “It sounds monstrous. Whom did they kill?”

  “Anyone in power,” the Phantom explained. “Anyone opposed to their particular line of politics. In two hundred years, the Assassins spread their militant anarchical influence through many parts of the Moslem world by establishing a chain of hill forts in northern Tran and Syria and by pursuing a relentless policy of secret assassination against their enemies.

  “One of their first victims was Hasan’s old schoolmate, Ni-zam-al-Mulk, patron of learning and vizier of the sultan, Malik Shah, who had sent out two unsuccessful expeditions against the order.”

  “How have they managed to last this long?”

  “They haven’t, really. But while they lasted they were very strong. Toward the close of the twelfth century the Assassins gained a foothold in northern Syria, where the hill fortress of Masyad served them as an impregnable citadel. Their chief in Syria, Rashid-al-Din Sinan, one of the Old Men of the Mountain, terrorized the invading Crusaders in a campaign of systematic murder.

  “Then in 1265 the Persian strongholds of the order were destroyed by the Mongols under Hulagu. In 1272 those in Syria were demolished by the Mameluke ruler, Baybars I, and the Assassins of Syria were scattered. Remnants of the sect exist today in northern Syria, Iran, Zanzibar, Oman, and India. But generally speaking, the Assassins were wiped out in 1300 or so.”

  “But who are these members?”

  The Phantom shook his head. “I have no idea. But if that silken noose is any proof, we’re in for big trouble.”

  “What should we do?”

  “I want to deliver that ransom money to the kidnappers,” the Phantom said.

  “You? But I don’t know where I can get a quarter of a million dollars that quickly.”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “But where’s the money?”

  The Phantom flexed his biceps and grinned at Uncle Dave. “Right here in this strong right arm.”

  Palmer turned pale. “You—you’re going to—to bluff them?”

  “No. I’m going to catch them.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The fog rolled in from the sea at eleven o’clock, and by midnight it was difficult to see five paces in front of one’s nose. On the river, the mists rose thickly, coiling about the railings and the spans of the bridge which crossed wide North River in the center of town.

  A steady burbling sound rose from the water below the bridge. As the Phantom, in trench coat and hat, slipped out of the darkness and came to the walkway that crossed the bridge, he paused a moment to listen. He heard the muffled roar of a powerboat engine on the river. No cars were about.

  Peering through the mist, the Phantom’s sharp eyes made out the silhouette of a figure standing in the middle of the bridge.

  “He’s waiting for the ransom money,” the Phantom mused. “He’s been ordered to take the money, lower it to the boat, and possibly jump down himself. That’s the scheme.”

  The Phantom backed into the shadows formed by one of the transverse steel beams supporting the bridge. If he was not mistaken, he had heard another sound as he stood there, a scuffing that was not quite obscured by the noise of the boat’s engine. Footst
eps, behind him?

  “It’s either one of the kidnappers, waiting to close in on me, or it’s a police tail,” the Phantom thought. “The problem becomes academic. I must show myself. Then the police will know enough not to attack me. Together we can take the man on the bridge. If the second man is not a police tail, he must be one of the Assassins. In which case I’ll have to lure them both onto the bridge and fight them there.”

  The Phantom waited another several minutes, but the footsteps behind him had ceased.

  He stepped out into the shrouded light of a street lamp that burned at the edge of the bridge, illuminating the walkway along the span. At that moment he turned to look behind him, allowing anyone following him a chance to see him.

  Then he started walking to the center of the bridge. As he did so, he deliberately removed his fedora and dark glasses, and he turned once again so that his pursuer would know exactly who he was.

  Quickly he donned his hat and glasses and started moving toward the shrouded figure in the middle of the bridge.

  He could hear running feet behind him and a shout in the night. The shout was uttered in a foreign tongue which the Phantom did not recognize, although he was master of eighteen languages and partially fluent in twenty-six others.

  Whatever the running man behind him had said, it spurred the man on the bridge into action. Before the Phantom reached him, the waiting Assassin climbed to the railing and jumped into the river. As the Phantom turned to face the man behind him, he could see that he too had climbed to the railing and jumped into the misty waters below.

  He smiled to himself and immediately vaulted onto the railing. Without a second’s hesitation, he leaped out into the air, diving headfirst into the water, executing a perfect swan dive from the edge of the high bridge. He cleaved the water expertly, scarcely raising a ripple as he did so. He rose to the surface almost instantly, shaking his head and flicking the water out of his eyes.

  He could see the powerboat, now with exhaust burbling out of the water in a noxious cloud at its aft end. Between him and the boat were two heads bobbing in the water, floundering toward the hull.

  Now the Phantom could hear voices, this time speaking in broken English.

  “Where is the ransom money, you fool?” asked one voice. The Phantom could see the speaker leaning over the side of the powerboat and reaching out to assist one of the swimmers.