by Lee Falk
Co-published by Avon Books and King Features Syndicate
AVOn
PUBLISHERS OF BARD, CAMELOT, DISCUS, EQUINOX AND FLARE BOOKS
PROLOGUE
HOW IT ALL BEGAN
Over four hundred years ago, a large British merchant ship was attacked by Singg pirates off the remote shores of Bangalki. The captain of the trading vessel was a famous seafarer who, in his youth, had served as cabin boy to Christopher Columbus on his first voyage to discover the New World. With the captain was his son, Kit, a strong young man who idolized his father and hoped to follow him as a seafarer. But the pirate attack was disastrous. In a furious battle, the entire crew of the merchant ship was killed and the ship sank in flames. The sole survivor was young Kit who, as he fell off the burning ship, saw his father killed by a pirate. Kit was washed ashore, half-dead. Friendly pygmies found him and nursed him to health.
One day, walking on the beach, he found a dead pirate dressed in his father's clothes. He realized this was the pirate who had killed his father. Grief-stricken, he waited until vultures had stripped the body clean. Then on the skull of his father's murderer, he swore an oath by firelight as the friendly pygmies watched. "I swear to devote my life to the destruction of piracy, greed, cruelty and injustice, and my sons and their sons shall follow me."
This way the Oath of the Skull that Kit and his descendants would live by. In time, the pygmies led him to their home in Deep Woods, in the center of the jungle, where he found a large cave with many rocky chambers. The mouth of the cave, a natural formation formed by the water and wind of centuries, was curiously like a skull. This became his home, the Skull
Cave. He soon adopted a mask and a strange costume. He found that the mystery and fear this inspired helped him in his endless battle against world-wide piracy. For he and his sons who followed became known as the nemesis of pirates everywhere, a mysterious man whose face no one ever saw, whose name no one knew, who worked alone.
As the years passed, he fought injustice wherever he found it. The first Phantom and the sons who followed found their wives in many places. One married a reigning queen, one a princess, one a beautiful red-haired barmaid. But whether queen or commoner, all followed their men back to the Deep Woods, to live the strange but happy life of the wife of the Phantom. And of all the world, only she, wife of the Phantom, and their children could see his face.
Generation after generation was born, grew to manhood, assumed the tasks of the father before him. Each wore the mask and costume. Folk of the jungle and the city and sea began to whisper that there was a man who could not die, a Phantom, a Ghost Who Walks. For they thought the Phantom was always the same man. A boy who saw the Phantom would see him again fifty years after; and he seemed the same. And he would tell his son and his grandson, and his son and grandson would see the Phantom fifty years after that. And he would seem the same. So the legend grew. The Man Who Cannot Die. The Ghost Who Walks. The Phantom.
The Phantom did not discourage this belief in his immortality. Always working alone against tremendous—sometimes almost impossible—odds, he found the awe and fear that the legend inspired was a great help in his endless battle against evil. Only his friends, the pygmies, knew the truth. To compensate for their tiny stature, the pygmies mixed deadly poisons for use on their weapons, in hunting or defending themselves. It was rare that they were forced to defend themselves. Their deadly poisons were known through the jungle, and they and their home, the Deep Woods, were dreaded and avoided. Another reason to stay away from the Deep Woods: it soon became known that this was a home of the Phantom, and none wished to trespass.
Through the ages, the Phantoms created several more homes or hideouts in various parts of the world. Near the Deep Woods was the Isle of Eden, where the Phantom taught all animals to live in. peace. In the southwest desert of the New World, the Phantoms created an eyrie on a high sheer mesa that was thought by the Indians to be haunted by evil spirits and became known as "Walker's Table"—for the Ghost Who Walks. In Europe, deep in the crumbling cellars of the ruins of an ancient castle, the Phantom had another hideout from which to strike against evildoers.
But the Skull Cave in the quiet of the Deep Woods remained the true home of the Phantom. Here, in a rocky chamber, he kept his chronicles, written records of all his adventures. Phantom after Phantom faithfully recorded their experiences in the large folio volumes. Another chamber contained the costumes of all the generations of Phantoms. Other chambers contained the vast treasures of the Phantom acquired over centuries, used only in the endless battle against evil.
Thus twenty generations of Phantoms lived, fought, and died, usually violently, as they followed their oath. Jungle folk, sea folk, and city folk believed him the same man, the Man Who Cannot Die. Only the pygmies knew that always, a day would come when their great friend would lie dying. Then, alone, a strong young son would carry his father to the burial crypt of his ancestors where all Phantoms rested. As the pygmies waited outside, the young man would emerge from the cave, wearing the mask, the costume, and the skull ring of the Phantom: his carefree happy days as the Phantom's son were over. And the pygmies would chant their age-old chant, "The Phantom is dead. Long live the Phantom."
This story of The Mysterious Ambassador is an adventure of the Phantom of our time—the twenty-first generation of his line. He has inherited the traditions and responsibilities created by four centuries of Phantom ancestors. One ancestor created the Jungle Patrol. Thus, today, our Phantom is the mysterious and unknown commander of this elite corps. In the jungle, he is known and loved as the Keeper of the Peace. On his right hand is the Skull Ring that leaves his mark—the Sign of the Skull—known and feared by evildoers everywhere. On his left hand—closer to the heart—is his "good mark" ring. Once given, the mark grants the lucky bearer protection by the Phantom, and it is equally known and respected. And to good people and criminals alike, in the jungle, on the seven seas, and in the cities of the world, he is The Phantom, the Ghost Who Walks, the Man Who Cannot die.
Lee Falk
New York 1973
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They went to bed happy that night, filled with satisfaction at what they had accomplished, and thrilled with the anticipation of what was ahead. As they blew out their kerosene lamps and tried to sleep under mosquito netting, none of them knew that a circle of death surrounded them scarcely a day's march away.
It had been an exciting week in many ways, the culmination of four long months of dangerous dirty work in the center of this hot Bangalla jungle. They were a United Nations medical team, four male doctors and one female paramedic aid, sent to battle fever of unknown cause that was killing and crippling hundreds of jungle people from the interior tribes.
The team, headed by the eminent Dr. Alec Kirk, had found more to fight than fever. There was the heat, day and night, persistent, draining, maddening. There were the insects, poisonous or merely painful, equally persistent and maddening. Then there were shortages of supplies and food, and the enmity of jungle people suspicious of strangers. Worst of all were the tribal witchmen who, seeing their power challenged, fed the hostility and tried to turn their people against the foreign "devils" who would poison them with their needles and unknown drugs.
The team persisted, but their task would have been hopeless without the presence on their staff of a brilliant black doctor, a native of Bangalla, Lamanda Luaga. Educated abroad, Dr. Luaga had returned to his native land to bring modern medicine to his people, and he was widely known and loved in the city as well as in the jungle.
Then came that glorious morning, a week ago, when Dr. Kirk announced to the team at breakfast that their work was finished, their mission accomplished. The cots in the makeshift hospital were e
mpty, no new cases had developed for days, and the epidemic was ended. They cheered and exchanged handshakes, backslappings with each other, and none failed to kiss their radiant female paramedic aid, Diana Palmer, who had worked so faithfully at their side through the desperate months. Then champagne, a lone bottle that had somehow survived the months, was popped open and poured foaming, into wooden cups for a round of toasts. None minded it was warm, there being no ice for five hundred miles in any direction. And the Wam- besi people—warriors, women, and children in whose village the UN clinic had been set up—watched the antics of these foreign medicine men with happy smiles. Their suspicion and hostility had long since vanished together with the frightening fever that had brought the strangers.
Then Diana Palmer, this amazing girl with the tender hands of a ministering angel, and the face and body of a young goddess, sent the happy message via their short-wave radio transmitter to home base: epidemic ended—mission accomplished—please advise. Dr. Alec Kirk. Their radio operator had been stricken with the fever a month earlier and she had replaced him as she was the only staff member with a working knowledge of electronics. There seemed to be no end to the girl's talents.
All knew that she had been born to wealth, that she was an Olympic gold medal diver, a pilot, and an explorer. She had taken a crash course in paramedics and had come on this mission as a volunteer when no nurses in the UN pool were available.
The two young doctors, red-haired Chris Able and balding George Schwartz, as well as their chief, Alec Kirk, had fallen in love with this sparkling beauty, and each had made a secret resolve to make her his bride. In the beginning, all had been dubious about her value to the team, but she soon changed that. She worked hard, bandaging ugly wounds and emptying slop pails with equal energy, asking no favors, somehow maintaining her good humor and easy charm through the most trying times. The men also learned, quickly and firmly, that she was not a potential bride for any of them. It seems she was already spoken for. There was a man somewhere. And through all the steaming days and hot nights, they wondered who the man could be who was worthy of this glowing girl. Why wasn't she with him instead of slaving in this hell-hole of a clinic? Why had she given up her exciting life of jet-setting— the parties, the skiing, the theater and opera, and the rest—for this? They couldn't guess, and Diana didn't tell them.
Actually, she had wanted to be a part of the UN health team and had studied for it. She had volunteered for this particular mission for her own reasons, which they would all soon know.
That glorious day, Diana's radio message received a reply: Dr. Alec Kirk and UN medical team ... the UN and the entire world are proud of you ... my personal congratulations . . . the Secretary General, United Nations. That was good for another cheer, a round of handshakes, more backslapping, and heartfelt kisses for Diana, and more toasting, this time with fruit juice, for the champagne was gone.
Diana left the happy men and walked through the village to the great house of the Wambesi chief. Men and women in the windows and doorways of huts smiled and called to her. Children ran at her side as she chatted with them in the sparse Wambesi vocabulary she had learned. The girl had become loved by these proud people, the largest and most powerful of all jungle tribes. She was quickly ushered into the presence of the high chief, supreme ruler of the Wambesi. Wambato was a large calm man, with shrewd eyes and a kind face, possessed of vast dignity and noble bearing as befitted the seventh generation of his family to rule the tribe. He smiled at Diana as she curtsyed to him. Like all the other Wambesi he had learned to love this sparkling girl who had worked so hard to drive out the sickness from his people.
She had come to ask a favor.
"I have seen your talking drums that send messages to the far ends of the jungle," she said. "Could a message be sent for me on the talking drums?"
He was glad to grant such a simple favor, and sent
for the drummers. When the three drummers joined them at the throne, he told them her request, and they smiled and bowed their willingness to do a favor for this good friend from the strange outside world.
"Tell them the message," said high chief Wambato.
"The message is—my work is finished here. May I visit you?" said Diana. Having no writing, the drummers closed their eyes to let the meaning sink into their heads. After a moment of silence, the drummers opened their eyes and smiled. The message was registered.
"Now, tell them who the message is for," said Wambato.
"For the Phantom, in the Deep Woods," said Diana.
Wambato gasped with surprise. The drummers were startled. The warriors and women standing at the walls of the throne room showed their amazement with exclamations and gasps like their chief.
"The Phantom?" said Wambato after a moment. "Child, do you know what you are saying?"
"Yes, he is a friend of mine," said Diana, puzzled and surprised by this reaction to her simple request.
The Wambesi stared at her. A few of them had seen the Phantom with their own eyes on one of his rare appearances outside the Deep Woods. But they had heard about him all their lives, as had their fathers and grandfathers and their grandfathers before them. Even Wambato, a member of the council of chiefs who met frequently with the Phantom, knew him only as a remote figure.
"Child," said Wambato. "One does not send a message to the Deep Woods, save for dire emergencies. Otherwise it is forbidden. That is our custom."
"But I am a friend," said Diana helplessly. Without their help, how else could she ever reach him?
"The Phantom is the friend of all of us," said the high chief softly. And the Wambesi nodded together with a soft sigh. "But it is our custom to protect him from people, even of good intention, who only wish to see him."
All looked at her calmly now, no longer smiling, and Diana felt a slight edge of disapproval. Even in her desperation, she understood. They are protecting the Phantom from sightseers and tourists, she thought, almost laughing at the idea in spite of herself. She put her hands to her throat tensely. How can I make them understand, she thought as her fingers touched a medallion under her blouse. She sighed with relief. Of course! The gold medallion was on a light chain about her neck, but it had remained unseen until this moment. She pulled it from her blouse and held it up.
"He is my friend. He gave me this," she said softly.
The Wambesi stared. The medallion was a curious one. Round, with a motif of what appeared to be two crossed swords. A sign they all knew. The good mark of the Phantom.
The sign meant that the person or place that bore it was under the protection of the Phantom. Jt was a rare sign, known, loved, and sometimes feared by would-be evildoers, almost as feared as the mark of the Phantom, the Sign of the Skull. But that was another matter.
"He knows I'm here," continued Diana in the surprised silence. "I just wanted to tell him I've finished my work."
Wambato nodded to the three drummers. They rushed out of the great house.
"It will be done," said Wambato.
"Thank you," said Diana. She curtsyed and walked out as the high chief and the Wambesi watched with excitement in their eyes. It had been rumored for some time throughout the jungle that the Phantom—the Ghost Who Walks—had a loved one in some far place. Could this be Diana, their own angel of mercy?
The drums began to beat. As the code beats for Phantom and Deep Woods were heard—known to all, the Wambesi in their huts and in the fields listened alertly. Then they looked happily at each other and excitedly discussed the news. Their sweet beautiful Diana was a friend of the Phantom? Wonderful.
The talking drumbeats soared over fields and woods. The neighboring great tribe of Llongo, second only to the Wambesi in power and wealth, picked up the beat and passed on the message on their throbbing drums. Next were the smaller, proud Oogaan whose handsome
Prince Obiju was the champion in the recent jungle Olympics, a personal friend of the Phantom himself.
Next, were the Mori fishermen in their seaside village, these
expert fisher folk who brought fish to the great cats of the Phantom's remote Isle of Eden (where all the animals of the jungle lived together in peace). And, finally, beyond a hidden waterfall in the feared and mysterious Deep Woods, land of the Bandar, the pygmy poison people, the message was received.
A reply was quickly forthcoming. Back it came, the same route—Mori to Oogaan to Llongo to Wambesi. The three smiling drummers brought the reply to Diana as she sat at lunch with Dr. Kirk and Dr. Luaga.
"Wait until I send for you," they said in unison.
Kirk and Luaga looked at Diana. Diana was shaking with excitement and delight.
"Please say it again," she demanded as the two doctors watched, Kirk puzzled, Luaga surprised.
"Wait until I send for you," repeated the three drummers, in unison. She leaped up and kissed each on the forehead. They laughed and darted away.
"What on earth was that?" asked Kirk.
"You actually know him?" said Luaga. Jungle-bred, Luaga had heard the drums and knew their meaning. Diana nodded.
"What are you two talking about?" said Kirk.
