The Phantom

by Rob MacGregor

  Now that he was back in Zavia his confidence was returning. After all, he’d not only found the silver skull and made it back to town with it, but he’d killed the Phantom. Again. That alone was cause for celebration. He also wanted to keep an eye out for Morgan and Breen. So instead of going to his room, he turned into one of his hangouts and ordered a whiskey at the bar.

  By the time he ordered his second shot, he saw trouble coming his way in the form of a slender young woman with short hair, wearing pants. She wore a sleeveless white undershirt and an unbuttoned khaki jacket over it. He figured she was between twenty-five and thirty, but she had a mouth on her like an old sailor.

  He nodded to her, grinned, and ordered her a drink. Like himself, she worked for Drax. He’d been hoping that connection would make her a willing companion, but so far she had a mind of her own.

  “Hey there, Quill,” she said, running a hand through her hair. She gave him a suspicious look. “Haven’t seen you around for a couple of days. Where you been?”

  “Hiking in the jungle. Enjoying the scenery.”

  She laughed. “Yeah, sure. You hate this place. Why did you come back?”

  “The same reason you’re here. That’s what the boss wanted.”

  She waved a hand. “I’m not his slave. I do what I want. I kind of like this rot-gut town.”

  He shook his head and laughed. He wanted to tell her about the crypt and the jewels and show her the skull, but he thought better of it. There were a half dozen guys at the bar within hearing range, so he decided to keep his thoughts about that matter to himself.

  He swallowed his second shot in a single gulp. “I’m doing just fine, Sala. Just fine.”

  She looked him over. “You don’t look like you’ve been doing just fine. You look like you’ve been playing in the mud, and you were limping when you walked in here a few minutes ago.”

  “I’m flattered that you noticed.” After a moment, he added: “I had a little trouble out there in the jungle today.”

  “Oh, what kind of trouble?” she asked, leaning closer to him.

  “Unexpected trouble. I ran into someone I killed about ten years ago. Killed him again today.”

  “Say what?”

  He smiled as he thought about the story. While it was on his mind, it was a good opportunity to impress Sala, to get on her good side. “You ever heard of a strange guy named the Phantom?”

  She frowned. “That’s just some old native superstition, isn’t it?”

  “I used to think so, too. I thought the Phantom, the Ghost Who Walks, whatever they call him, was some kind of joke, just a stupid story about some masked man who was supposed to be hundreds of years old.”

  He rolled up his sleeve and displayed the Sengh Brotherhood logo. “But the Brotherhood wanted him dead, and when they send out an order, you carry it out without question.”

  “A small army began searching the deep jungle, half of them bonos out of Zavia, the rest were already part of the Brotherhood,” he continued. “One by one the men started disappearing. Sometimes lions or leopards got them. Other times fights in camp ended in bloodshed. Still other times, there was no telling what had happened.

  “One of the camp guards, a native, said he was sure that the Ghost Who Walks crept around the camp at night and was responsible for the disappearances. Whenever our numbers dipped too low, reinforcements were sent in. It went on like that for several weeks.

  “Finally one day two of the toughest men who had the most jungle experience raced into camp. They’d found the Phantom’s hideout, but before we could set out, a purple-clad giant charged into camp on a great white steed with a vicious wolf at his side. Some of the men were trampled, others were shot, and others were ripped apart by the wolf. Gunfire and smoke filled the air. The camp was in complete chaos.

  “Then the wolf was chasing me, snapping at my heels. I dove into the thicket, rolled over, and shot the wolf dead. It dropped in front of me, hanging over the limb of a tree. Blood was pouring from the wound in its forehead.”

  He had her full attention now; she seemed fascinated by the story and he rushed on.

  “Then I saw a flash of purple, and the Phantom leaped in and saw the wolf, saw me, and went mad. He aimed both his guns at me, but I was ready for him. I fired first and got him right between the eyes. It was great.”

  “That’s something,” Sala said.

  Quill nodded, and chewed on his cigar, pleased that she was taking a new look at him—as if she hadn’t really seen him until now. “We even cut off his head and took it back to the boss as a prize trophy. There were only a few of us who survived.”

  That was the story he liked to tell. He’d heard it from another member of the Brotherhood, an older man who claimed that he’d killed the Phantom twenty-five years earlier. The old man just couldn’t understand how the Phantom could still be alive.

  Quill had killed him, too, and he didn’t understand, either. Only his story wasn’t as exciting. He’d been attacked by a rabid monkey while panning for gold in a stream, and the Phantom had nursed him back to health in his hideout. In return Quill told him that he would show him where the Sengh hideout was located.

  Quill was blindfolded before they left so that he wouldn’t remember how to find the Phantom’s Skull Cave. When they stopped and the Phantom removed the blindfold, Quill stabbed him in the back. Then he had taken the Phantom’s gunbelt as proof. The Brotherhood was grateful and made him a member. They’d wanted the Phantom dead because he was getting too close to unraveling their secrets. But Quill had never been able to find Skull Cave, which he was sure was filled with treasures.

  “But you said you killed him again today. How could that be?” Sala asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe it wasn’t really him. Doesn’t matter, he’s dead. You want another drink?”

  “Why don’t we go up to your room and I’ll take care of your injuries?”

  Quill smiled. “I’ll take a bottle of whiskey along to help clean out the cuts.”

  Just as he ordered the bottle, two uniformed men from the Jungle Patrol walked into the bar. Everyone turned and stared at them. One of them was the same chunky fellow who had given him a ride to the main road. He didn’t recognize the other one. The men carefully looked over everyone in the place.

  “We’re looking for the guy who saw a truck go down in the gorge today,” the skinny one said. No one moved, no one said a word. Quill figured they’d found Breen and Morgan. If they took him in for questioning, they’d find the skull and take it away from him.

  The chunky guy looked right at Quill, then he turned to his partner. “Naw, he’s not here, either. C’mon. Let’s go on.”

  The two men turned and left.

  The whiskey bottle arrived, and Sala put a hand on his arm. “Let’s go,” she said.

  But Quill was still reeling from his near escape. He’d heard that the Brotherhood paid off some of the Jungle Patrol to protect their members. Maybe that was what happened. Then again, maybe the chunky one knew they were outgunned, and he’d decided to get reinforcements. If that was the case, he was in serious trouble.

  He wasn’t about to get caught off-guard relaxing with Sala. He shoved her arm away. “Here, it’s all yours. I’ve got to go.”

  “What? Where are you going?”

  He looked over his shoulder. “You could say I’m shipping out.”

  As he reached the door, the bottle skipped off his shoulder and smashed against the wall. Sala followed up her throw with a string of salty curses. He kept going. He would see her later.

  Right now he just wanted to hide out in the old freighter that Drax had sent to Bangalla for backup. Besides, he needed to send a coded message to the boss and tell him the good news.

  NINE

  Long Island, New York

  Diana Palmer groaned as she pulled into the long driveway leading up to the opulent estate. The English-style manor was brightly lit against the black sky, and the driveway was jammed with Lincolns, Pac
kards, and a couple of Pierce-Arrows. Several chauffeurs lounged nearby, smoking and talking.

  “Great, what’s this all about?”

  She stopped her Ford Woody, blocking the entrance to the driveway. “Hey, you can’t park there, lady,” someone yelled.

  “You’re right,” she shouted back. She stomped hard on the gas pedal and drove around the cars and across the expansive lawn toward the mansion. She parked directly in front of the main entrance and killed the engine.

  Instantly a butler in a tuxedo flew out the door, waving his arms like a penguin trying to fly. “Say now, I beg your pardon! You can’t, you just can’t park . . .”

  Diana stepped out from the Woody and slammed the door. She was twenty-five, slender, and effortlessly beautiful. She wore an old red and black flannel shirt with a checkerboard pattern and khaki work pants. Her short hair looked as disheveled as her clothing.

  The butler reassessed the situation. “Oh, Miss Palmer!” He dropped his arms to his sides and straightened his back. “I didn’t realize. I’m sorry. I, uh . . . well, I didn’t recognize you, ma’am.”

  Diana waved a hand. “Forget it, Falkmoore. I would’ve thrown me out, too, if I didn’t know better.” She opened the back of the Woody and started to pull out the suitcases and travel trunks.

  “Welcome back, Miss Palmer. Here, please, let me help you with those things.”

  Diana glanced toward the house as she stepped back from the Woody. The sound of an orchestra filtered out through the open door. “Looks like I showed up on the wrong evening.”

  She walked inside, followed by Falkmoore, who carried some of her luggage. A cocktail party was in progress, and a string quartet played for about thirty guests. She recalled her twenty-third birthday party, when Tommy Dorsey had played after her first choice, Duke Ellington, had been unable to make the date.

  She looked around quickly. You never knew who would show up at Mother’s soirees. She’d acted in the movies in her younger years and still kept in touch with many of her old acquaintances. In the past couple of years, Diana had met Charlie Chaplin, Greta Garbo, Mae West, James Cagney, even Will Rogers and Dorothy Parker.

  Lily Palmer, dressed in an expensive gown and draped in jewelry, immediately hurried over to her. “Oh, Diana! I can’t believe you’re here!”

  “Mother, you look absolutely stunning!”

  Lily studied her daughter’s appearance and shook her head in dismay. “Really, dear. Your clothes could be, hmm, well . . .”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll change.”

  “Your timing really couldn’t be worse. But how are you, anyway?”

  Before Diana can answer, Lily turned away to smile and wave at a passing guest. Diana recognized the man from his picture, which was frequently in the newspaper. A politician . . . no, the police commissioner. She couldn’t recall his name. He nodded to her and she smiled.

  “I’ve contracted malaria, Mother,” she said with a deadpan expression when the commissioner moved out of hearing range.

  Lily turned back to her, smiling, her thoughts elsewhere. “That’s nice.”

  “I thought you’d think so.” She stifled a smile. “That’s Alaska for you.”

  “Alaska? I thought you were in the Yucatan. Instead it was the Yukon?”

  “Probably both. ”

  Her mother waved a hand. “Well, I never have been able to keep track of your travel itinerary.”

  “Diana!”

  A handsome, distinguished-looking man in his midfifties, his hair threaded with silver, beamed and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Sorry, Uncle Dave. I didn’t know you were having a party.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Just the Palmer Foundation Dinner. I’m much happier to see you!” He looked her over. “So tell me about the Yukon.”

  “Oh, Dave,” Lily interrupted. “It was cold. What more do you want to know?” She turned to her daughter. “Diana, I’ll just never understand what all this traveling and exploring is about. What is it that you are looking for, anyway?”

  Diana actually found her mother endearing, even though she had no idea what Diana’s life was about. “I’m really not sure, Mother.”

  “Now look at that!” Uncle Dave exclaimed, his voice tight, his shoulders tensing as he turned toward the door. “Why in the world is Xander Drax here?”

  Diana saw a commotion near the entrance as a tall, handsome man greeted friends loudly and shook hands. Heads turned and guests started to gravitate toward him.

  “He made a very large contribution to the foundation,” Lily confided.

  “Return it,” Uncle Dave replied.

  “But he’s a respected businessman.”

  “No,” Uncle Dave said. “He’s a thug.”

  Lily shrugged and turned to Diana. “Well, why don’t you freshen up.”

  She exchanged a look of concern with Uncle Dave regarding Drax. “I think I’ll get something to eat for now, Mother.”

  Lily placed a hand lightly on her shoulder and leaned toward her ear. “Jimmy Wells is here. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

  “Oh, really,” she said without enthusiasm. Uncle Dave winked at her. “I’m not sure Diana appreciates your matchmaking efforts, Lily.”

  “Oh, poo.”

  Diana smiled to herself and slipped into the kitchen. Caterers were busy preparing the main courses for the upcoming meal. She grabbed a plate and found a table with a variety of sliced cheeses and meats as well as breads, fruits, and pâtés. As she prepared a sandwich, she thought back on her recent trip.

  One of the reasons she’d gone to Alaska and the Yukon was to get away from the persistent courting rituals of the Jimmy Bird, as she called him. There’d been no better place to avoid him than an Inuit village near the Arctic Circle, a place Jimmy wouldn’t dream of going.

  Diana collected folklore from the elders and, in fact, was compiling legends from primitive tribes all over the world. She was particularly intrigued by legends in which the usual separations between nature and humans were blurred. Human lovers became mountains, stars, and trees. A maiden marries a merman; a man weds the moon. But what really fascinated her was when ancient legends seemed to come alive in the present.

  Her latest adventure began when an elderly medicine woman, who’d been avoiding her, finally invited Diana into her home. She prepared a cup of a soup, and Diana felt compelled to drink it, even though it tasted bitter and made her lips pucker. After Diana finished the soup, the woman told her a detailed and charming story about a whale who took a human wife.

  As she listened to the old woman talking, Diana began to perspire and feel uneasy. Finally she excused herself and stepped outside. Even though there was only an hour of sunlight left, she decided to take a walk outside the village. She tramped off into the tundra, intending to return in a few minutes.

  The sky and ground were almost an identical off-white tone, and the landscape was monotonously flat. But something compelled her to continue on. The soup, it seemed, had given her unexpected energy. A sense of well-being permeated her. She felt as if she could walk forever.

  It was dusk when she realized she was lost, that she had no idea which way to go to return to the village. She suspected the old woman had fed her a narcotic of some kind. She’d lost control of her senses, and now she was starting to panic. If she didn’t find her way back soon, she would freeze to death. Although she didn’t feel the cold yet, she knew she would very soon.

  She heard the crunching of snow . . . footsteps. It was coming from just over a rise to her left. Maybe some hunters from the village were on their way home or the old woman had put together a search party.

  Diana rushed through the crispy snow, sinking to her ankles with each step. She gasped for breath as she reached the top of the rise and looked up into the fierce gaze of a ten-foot tall grizzly bear standing up on its hind legs.

  The creature probably weighed six hundred pounds. Two quick steps and a swipe of its paw and Diana would never again see her
family, and no one would know what happened to her. Slowly she dropped to her knees, then crouched down and rolled into a tight ball. She remained utterly still, tried to stay calm. She listened to the grizzly’s raspy breath, squeezed her eyes shut. Her heart pounded in her ears.

  After a couple of minutes, she slowly lifted her head. That was when she felt its paw on her shoulder. But it was a hand in a furry mitten, not a paw. A man crouched in front of her. His dark eyes searched her face as he helped her to her feet. She was so relieved that she started crying and hugged the man. He softly stroked her cheek and held her for a long time.

  She told him about the grizzly, and he assured her the bear had gone. When she asked him if he knew the way to the village, he pointed with his chin and said that it smelled in that direction. As they began walking, she realized there was something peculiar about the man. She’d never seen him before, and knew that she was at his mercy in much the same way that she’d been at the bear’s mercy.

  Then she saw lights and smoke from the village. She thanked the man for his help, but he turned away when she asked if he was coming to the village with her. She watched him as he lumbered off. He seemed to grow in bulk and height and walk with an animal-like gait. His hooded fur coat molded around his body so that he looked like the grizzly. She heard a deep growl, and then he was lost in the darkness.

  Diana felt a tug in her solar plexus and found herself on the floor of the medicine woman’s hut. As she sat up, she felt drowsy and disoriented. She rubbed her arms and felt her hands. She wasn’t even cold. “How did I get back here?”

  To her astonishment, Ella said that she’d never left. Diana told her that she was certain that she’d been outside for at least a couple of hours.