The Veiled Lady

by Lee Falk

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  Guran stood with his spear held at the ready in front of him, as though he were about to be attacked by something. "I have a hunch, a premonition, too, Phantom."

  "Which is?"

  "It is that you will face great danger should you seek to find that girl," said Guran. "Well . . . perhaps you will not have to go at all. Yes, perhaps." He turned from the Phantom, making his way out into the twilight.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Sergeant Barnum pushed the wooden door of the radio room open with one big, booted foot and stepped in out of the night. The darkness behind him was filled with the restless hum of insects and night birds. "I brought you something from the commissary," announced the stocky sergeant, tipping his chin in the direction of the tray he was carrying.

  The colonel sat in the shadows, his gray head bent, his blunt fingers pressing against his cheeks.

  "What?" he asked, looking up.

  There was a new man on the radio now. He made a hopeless shrug in the direction of the approaching sergeant.

  Brushing aside a pile of papers, Sergeant Barnum set the dinner tray atop a desk near the commander, "I brought you some dinner, sir."

  "Anything new from Sandy and Smythe?" asked Colonel Weeks,

  "They've returned to base," answered the sergeant. "You ordered them not to descend into ."

  "No, there's no use losing them, too,"

  "You don't know Doctor Love is lost," Sergeant Barnum pointed out while he took the silver covers off the various serving dishes. "All you know for sure is that her radio is on the blink. Maybe all the steam in the volcano caused that. I know on humid days I have a heck of a time bringing in the opera broadcasts on

  "I should never have allowed her to go," said Colonel Weeks. His pipe had long since gone dead. He tapped it absently on his knee. "A vulnerable young girl like her."

  "Doctor Love handled herself pretty well around here," the sergeant reminded him.

  "The pistol range, the gymnasium. Those are simple everyday challenges compared to-compared to lord knows what she ran into down there. What did she mean when she said, 'It's a gigantic b-!'?" He rose Out of the shadows, strode toward a tape recorder on a workbench.

  "Fasting isn't going to help you solve the problem any quicker, sir." Sergeant Barnum nodded at the tray of steaming food. "As a matter of fact, I read someplace that protein helps the brain to-"

  "Be quiet, Sergeant, I want to play this tape again," said the gray-haired Jungle Patrol commander.

  The sergeant picked up a mug of coffee from the tray. "At least, drink this."

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  The colonel frowned, then took the tan mug and sipped at the hot coffee. He jabbed the playback button on the tape machine and listened, for the tenth time, to the last message from Doctor Jan Love.

  Her frightened voice repeated once again, "Just below us, moving fast. Good gosh, I can see it now.Why, it's a giant b-1"

  As the girl's voice faded away, Colonel Weeks said, "What could it have been?" He sat hunched forward, his lips forming the letter b over and over, trying to guess what came next.

  Large glistening red ants were marching across the rough wooden floor of another radio shack. This one was far to the South of Mawitaan, in a rundown scatter of outpost buildings on the route to the Llongo country. The light of the hanging oil lamp made the hurrying scarlet ants glow as though they were on fire,

  Tinn, the weary-looking Chinese, did a little hopping dance as he crossed the room, avoiding the lines of red ants and the other skittering insects. He studied a lopsided wooden chair, poking at a black spot on the seat. The spot scurried away. Sighing, Tinn sat down, He began to constructhimself a new cigarette. "Anything new?" he asked,

  Sitting before the radio set was a small dark man in a soiled checkered shirt and ancient khaki trousers. He was about forty years old, with bright, deep-set eyes. "Not a single damn word," said Silvera. He glanced at his bare elbow, then slapped at the flying insect that had alighted there, "One would think that smudge you exhale would keep all these rascals at a distance."

  Tinn blew out smoke, watching Silvera, "We'd better get in touch with Barber."

  "I'm not anxious," said Silvera, "One likes to avoid those harangues of his."

  "The longer we wait, the longer the harangue," said Tinn, puffing on his homemade cigarette. "He's going to blame us for all this, no matter what we say."

  Silvera pointed a lean finger at the radio set. "It's not my fault that damn Gabe hasn't seen fit to communicate with us,"

  Eyes half-closed, Tinn asked, "You think he's dead?" Silvera shrugged. "It's possible. One hesitates to pronounce him dead on insufficient evidence."

  "But you heard Doctor Love go off the air, you told me," said the Chinese. "That was before I arrived at this hole. She stopped dead in mid-broadcast, didn't she?"

  "She did indeed," said Silvera. "Gave one goose-bumps, the frightened scream she gave out~"

  "Okay, suppose they crashed and are all dead. It's no use our sitting around here, letting the bugs feast on

  Nodding slowly, Silvera said, "Very well. We will beard the lion and report to the chief." The dark little man fiddled with the radio set for a few moments,

  "Finally," spoke Barber back in his office at the Scarlet Cockatoo. "What does Gabe report from inside?"

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  Silvera backed away from the radio speaker, as though it were the pale fat Barber in person.

  "Nothing, riot a single damn word."

  "What? Do you mean you've been unable to make contact with him?"

  "I don't mean that at all. On the contrary, it is Gabe who hasn't gotten in touch with us."

  "Why?"

  "There's a possibility he's dead."

  "Dead? What happened to them?"

  "One can only guess," said Silvera. He told the distant Barber about the last message from Doctor Love which he'd monitored.

  Barber cleared his throat, an angry rumbling sound, "I was certain she knew what she was doing," he said~ "Though it's possible this is . . . yes, it's possible this is only a cover-up. She may be feigning silence so she can go after the treasure in secret,"

  "I didn't get the impression the girl was putting on an act."

  "I'm not interested in your subjective judgments, Silvera, I'm interested only in the fortune I know holds," replied Barber's voice. "I'm convinced Doctor Love has knowledge of that wealth. Well, then--you'll have to find out."

  "Find out what?"

  "Find out what's going on down there in the volcano."

  "But if Gabe doesn't contact us, how can we?"

  "You'llhave to take alternative measures," suggested Barber.

  "Such as?"

  "Perhapsyou'll have to find a way to get down inside yourselves," Barber told him.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dawn was coming to the Deep Woods, the night chill was fading, and a soft pink light began to fill the jungle. Awakening birds commenced their chirping; hungry cubs growled.

  Near the massive Skull Cave, the tiny pygmy warrior Guran stirred, then sat upright and wide awake.

  "You rise early today, Phantom," he said. His grip on his poison-tipped spear relaxed as he realized it was the sounds made by the masked man that had awakened him.

  The Phantom was tightening the cinch on the saddle of his white stallion, Hero. "It's a long ride to the Llongo country," he told his long-time friend. "I want to get an early start, Guran"

  The pygmy rubbed a small hand over the tufted top of his head. He put on his wide thatch hat, adjusting it with a pull. "So you've decided to pay her a visit?"

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  ", Yes,"

  Brush and wispy ferns far to their right began to sway and both men turned to look. It was Devil, returning from his morning romp.

  The big gray wolf trotted up to watch his master, panting happily in anticipation of a new adventure, Guran lifted his hat to scratch his head once more. "I could warn you again not to go near ," he said. "But I know it would do no goo
d. When you have made up your mind, nothing can stop you."

  The Phantom grinned at the little gray-brown man. "I respect your advice, Guran," he said.

  "However, I want to find out what happened to the girl and her party. As you know, the Jungle Patrol copter brought back no new information after flying over the volcano. Colonel Weeks has heard nothing more from Doctor Love since that interrupted message yesterday afternoon. I'm going to . If there's a chance..."

  "Yes, I know. If there's a chance, no matter how slim, that those foolish scientists can he rescued, the Phantom will take it." The pygmy's serious expression was spoiled by a chuckle. "Oh, yes, I know,"

  The Phantom swung lightly up into the saddle. "The Llongo tribe live near the volcano," he said, "I want ~OU to send word to their chief. Tell him I'd like him to meet me at the head of the River of Fire,"

  Guran nodded. "It will be done," he told the masked man. "No need to wish you luck, since I know the Phantom makes his own. Good-bye."

  "I'll see you again soon," the Phantom assured the little man. He made a gentle clucking sound and the great stallion galloped away along the jungle trail which led away from the Skull Cave.

  Giving a pleased growl, Devil started running in their wake, Soon, as the Phantom sped through the tangle of the Deep Woods, the sound of pygmy drums was heard, His message to the chief of the Llongo tribe was on its way.

  The chief of the peaceful Lion go tribe was a large plump man in his middle years. He wore a headdress of scarlet plumes and polished bones interwoven with gold. His cloak was of a similar shade of scarlet, trimmed with white plumes. Now in the mid-afternoon, he was moving with his entourage of warriors toward the great volcano.

  The trees and foliage bordering the path toward were damp and a fine mist drifted perpetually through the branches and among the thick, hanging leaves.

  The chief paused once again, mopping at his broad brow with one plump hand. "I would not undertake such a trip for everyone," he confided to the large black warrior at his side. "For the Phantom of course..." He trailed off into a panting sigh, resuming his stride.

  The mist grew thicker as they neared the base of the veiled volcano. They could hear a loud gushing roar. It was here that the hot river known as the River of Fire had its origin. It came rushing out of the mountainside about a hundred feet up, a waterfall of heated water, and then began its rush down through the Llongo country, through forests and through roIling fields where the Llongo herds grazed. The water spit out tangles of steam and warm spray as it fell down the cliffside to splash on the volcanic rocks at the commencement of the river's course.

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  The chief halted two dozen yards from the hot river, raising a hand. His party stopped behind him.

  Wiping his brow again, the chief squinted at . The mountain rose up and was lost in the mist at its distant peak. "I do not like this place," he said finally, "Were it not for the Phantom I would never-"

  "He comes," whispered a warrior.

  From out of the mist to their left stepped the tall broad-shouldered masked man. He was leading his stallion, his right hand was held high in greeting.

  "Phantom," said the chief, beaming. "Oh, Ghost Who Walks, welcome. Welcome, oh, Man Who Cannot Die."

  "I am honored," said the Phantom when he halted near the Llongo chief and his party. "Honored that you, great and wise ruler of the peaceful and industrious Llongo people, have come here to greet me, along with your bravest warriors."

  After a few more similar courtesies were exchanged, the plump chief drew the Phantom to one side,

  "There is trouble, Ghost Who Walks? We have heard the Jungle Patrol planebuzzing high above us.

  And we have heard that someone has fallen into the very mouth of the volcano."

  "That's true," replied the masked man. "Yesterday two scientists and their pilot made an attempt to fly down into in a helicopter."

  "Ah, I see"

  "Did your people notice anything yesterday?"

  "No, nothing save the Jungle Patrol ship."

  "You know nothingabout what might have happened to those people?"

  "Alas, no, Ghost Who Walks." The chief shook his head, causing the scarlet plumes to flutter. "I would guess they are dead now, like all the others. No one has ever returned alive from ." He pointed skyward.

  Not following the gesture, the Phantom kept his gaze on the chief. "What doyou mean, Chief, about others~"

  The chief laid a plump hand on the Phantom's brawny arm. "Look up that way, ' he said, pointing again. "You can barely make it out if you strain your eyes. Way up there at the very lip of the volcano is a flattened-out area known as the bare spot. Evil things were done there in days long past."

  "I know of the sacrifices," said the Phantom.

  The Llongo chieftain said, "In ancient days, maidens were hurled alive from that hare spot as a sacrifice to the angry gods. Not only maidens, but much gold and precious stones and carvings of ivory, so we are told." He gave a sad shake of his head. "We have thought it best to let whatever treasure there is rest down there forever. Even if a man could climb down and survive to find the treasure, he would never be able to return alive."

  The Phantom did not reply.He turned his hack on the mountain to study the down-rushing steaming 24

  River of Fire,

  The chief's eyes looked that way, too, "Our old legends tell us this river is made of the hot tears of ," he continued. "Tears of pity shed for the poor young girls who were so cruelly sacrificed."

  "Wait now." The Phantom suddenly sprinted to the river's edge. He snatched up a stick to poke at something spinning in the rumbling waters. "That flower, it comes from inside the volcano."

  The plump chief slowly moved to join the masked man. "Such flowers grow nowhere else on earth, I believe," he explained as the Phantom rescued the gigantic bloom from the River of Fire, "It is from the heart of ."

  The flower was white and crimson, many-petaled. It was shaped like a giant cup, like an intricately worked grail, and measured fully twelve inches across, The Phantom held the dripping blossom in the palms of both hands. "If this flower grew in there, then there is life at the bottom of the volcano."

  All at once a realization came to the chief, He gave a loud exclamation, took a step backward. "I have not yet asked you the reason for your visit," he said. "Surely you don't intend to-?"

  "Yes," the Phantom said to him. "I'm going to visit ."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Alone now, the Phantom began his long climb.

  Slung over one broad shoulder was a long, coiled rope, which the Llongo people had helped him make from sturdy vines. The priests of centuries before had caused a rough stairway to be carved into the mountainside. The Phantom was following this on his ascent toward the sacrificial bare spot.

  Hearing weapons and ornaments jangle far below, he looked down. The plump Llongo chief waved a final farewell before he and his entourage turned away. The chief's shoulders had a sad slouch. He was certain that not even the Phantom could survive a visit to .

  The Phantom, before starting his upward journey, had entrusted his stallion Hero and the wolf Devil to the care of the Llongo chief. Sensing his master was gazing clown at him, the big wolf gave a mournful howl, protesting their separation.

  The retreating Llongos blurred. Soon the swirling mist put a wall of white between the masked man and everyone and everything on the ground. He was wrapped in solitude, alone with the towering mountain.

  He maintained a steady pace, working ever higher. Silence seemed to flow all around him with the mist.

  Eventually, the Phantom reached the place of ancient sacrifice, the bare spot. Standing with hands on hips, he surveyed the chasm into which he must go.

  "Can't see the bottom at all," the masked man said to himself.

  Spiraling up toward him were great billows of steamy mist.

  Kneeling on one knee, the Phantom scanned the volcano interior immediately below him. The wall

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>   looks to be sheer for a good hundred feet or more, he thought. But then she starts a gradual slope. I'll try to reach that slope, then see what comes next.

  Nearby in the mist, something scraped rock.

  The masked man rose, spun, his hand dropping toward a holster. Then he relaxed, grinning. "Have you come to give me a going-away party?"

  Climbing up out of the fog was little Guran, and behind him came a half-dozen Bandar, the pygmy people. "I decided to journey out of the Deep Woods," said Guran.