by Lee Falk
"What about him?" asked one of the reporters, sensing something.
"You all heard what I heard—nothing," said Ambassador Cari.
The news reached Bababu moments later.
"Canceled the flight? Why?"
"No good reason. Just said, they weren't needed," said Mokata reading from his notes.
"And Luaga?" asked Bababu tensely.
"Nothing," said Mokata.
Bababu drank more beer, this time from a bottle.
"Something about this I don't understand and I don't like it," he said. "Makes no sense."
Then, something else happened that made no sense, that he didn't understand or didn't want to. The missing gun crew were not found, but the field phone near their gun emplacement was found and brought to Bababu's desk. The connecting wire had been torn. An odd mark was clearly visible on the side of the phone. Bababu stared at it, then recoiled from it as though from a poisonous spider. Then he slowly approached it, and stared at it, his body swelling as he filled with anger. He whirled on the watching Mokata.
"Is this a joke? Who put that mark there?"
"The sergeant said he found it like that in the field," said Mokata, uncertain and tense.
"Where is he?"
"Outside."
"Get him."
The sergeant entered. He was a brutal, heavy set man, a less intelligent version of Bababu.
"That?" roared Bababu.
"It was there, on the phone," said the sergeant, his eyes popping as though he'd seen a ghost.
The three men stared at the phone, ancient jungle memories stirring.
The mark on the phone was the skull—the Phantom's mark. -
The skull, with or without crossbones, is an ancient (and logical) symbol of death. In modern times, it is a familiar danger warning, used on poisons, explosives, or other lethal objects. But throughout Bangalla and in the underworld of many nations, it means one thing— the Phantom. The mere sight of it has been known to turn brutal criminals into trembling cowards. It is ironic, and not accidental, that the first Phantom, after seeing his father killed by pirates, took *part of the time-dishonored insignia of piracy for his own mark.
For centuries, evildoers have been haunted by a shadowy nemesis working outside the law, a nemesis that strikes swiftly and silently, then vanishes into the mystery from which it had come. Evildoers could understand police, sheriffs, marshals, soldiers, deputies, vigilantes. They were the protectors of society, the natural enemy of the criminal. But why was this Phantom their enemy? Who was he? What was he?
A man who could not die? Many had laughed scornfully at this legend of immortality as nonsense. Some had had the chance to test it. But the attempts to kill this masked man had always failed; he had always come back, guns blazing, iron fists smashing. Such tales were told and retold, around jungle campfires, at tavern tables, or in ships' cabins. And men who heard these tales and had reason to fear the Phantom looked nervously into the darkness around them, and walked carefully on jungle paths or city streets. For like a goblin or a ghost, this nemesis might strike at any time. It was this superstitious dread that inspired such terror in men even as tough and brutal as Bababu. An unreasoning fear, a fear without logic or explanation, the fear of the unknown.
For Bababu and all Bangallans, the Phantom tradition was especially strong and real. From childhood, they'd heard the tales from their fathers and grandfathers. And so on, back beyond the memory of living men. All this was behind the shock Bababu felt when he saw the skull mark on the telephone.
"Who put that there?" he roared.
"It was there, when we found it, sir," repeated the sergeant.
"The gun crew put it there, for a joke," suggested Colonel Mokata hopefully.
"Bring them here!" shouted Bababu.
"Remember, sir? They're gone. We can't find them," said Mokata.
"You found the phone. What else did you find?" said Bababu, glaring at the trembling sergeant.
"Their gun had been fired, sir. We found the wreck of the flying machine, and the parachutes. The pilots were gone. Our men were gone," he said.
"Gone? Was there a fight? Any signs of a fight?"
"No sir," said the sergeant. "No sign of a fight. Just gone."
The general, the colonel, and the sergeant brooded on those words for a moment, then Bababu shook himself like a bull throwing off a tormenting dart. He picked up the phone and threw it against the wall where it shattered an eighteenth-century Venetian mirror.
"One of the men drew that thing. After they robbed and killed the pilots, they deserted into the jungle, like all the others. Send out this order, Mokata."
The colonel ouickly pulled a notebook and gold pencil from his pocket.
"To our units who are searching for Luaga: find the missing gun crew as well. Bring them to me. I will find which one plays jokes. I will finish him myself."
Mokata wrote rapidly. He knew what that meant. Bababu frequently replaced his firing squad or hangman by personally strangling a condemned man. He had once explained to his officers that it kept him in touch with things.
"Now get out!" Bababu roared^
Mokata and the sergeant left gratefully, both asking themselves the same question. If the missing gun crew had killed and robbed the pilots and fled into the jungle, where were the bodies of the pilots? Would the deserters burden themselves with two corpses? But neither attempted to question Bababu's logic. That would be suicide. Bababu returned to his desk, lit a cigarette, and stared at the phone on the floor. Something was wrong, something that made no sense.
Of the guests in the Deep Woods, only Diana was not impatient and anxious to leave. Luaga and his three-man delegation spent most of their waking hours listening unhappily to news from the capital on the team's radio. Though Luaga remained dressed in the team's outfit—t-shirt and khaki trousers—the three delegates had put away their formal clothes to save wear and tear, and had donned loincloths. This amused them since all three were graduates of European universities. Alec Kirk and the other two doctors, George Schwartz and Chris Able, were aware of the Caribbean epidemic awaiting their arrival and they were irritated by the delay. The two pilots, Lanston and Osborne, were tormented by the thought that their wives and children thought them dead, and wanted desperately to send the truth to them. But all agreed it was best to keep their isurvival a secret for the time being.
As far as Diana was concerned, this forced stay in the Deep Woods could last forever. After a long separation, she was with her sweetheart, and, despite war and epidemics, she was happy. When the Phantom was free, they spent hours walking or riding in the Deep Woods, swimming in quiet pools, picnicking in hidden glades, and hunting game to provide for the daily feasts served the visitors by the Bandar near the skull throne.
But these happy hours with the Phantom were infrequent, for he was usually busy. Bababu's army was searching the jungle villages for Luaga, and the tactics agreed upon by the Council of Chiefs were being used. The soldiers, expecting hostile jungle folk, were amazed and pleased to be greeted by a singing, dancing welcome. Flowers were strewn upon them as they marched into the villages; rich feasts were waiting, all the varied foods of the jungle offered. But none of the usual native beers or spirits were served. The chiefs did not want to contend with drunken soldiers in their midst. Also, the soldiers might have noticed—and some did—all the dancing and singing and serving was done by children and warriors and old people. Pretty maids and attractive matrons were nowhere to be seen in the village during each search. They were sent to the fields until the search was completed, then returned in a body as the soldiers left. If the chiefs didn't trust Bababu's soldiers with alcohol, neither did they trust them with their pretty women. So trouble was avoided.
To Bababu's soldiers, the search was a joke. Trying to find one man, Luaga, in the entire jungle was like searching for a flea in a swamp—the local version of needle in a haystack. But they followed orders, dutifully entering each village, looking into every
hut, and reporting back to headquarters each night. When they found they were welcomed everywhere, they left the tanks and heavy equipment behind and raced through the jungle in motorized columns. Within a few weeks, they had been through all the tribes and villages. All except one. The captain and lieutenant of the unit making the farthest eastern penetration into the jungle considered the matter. There was still the Bandar, in the Deep Woods, somewhere ahead.
Would Luaga hide in such a place? Among the poison people, who shot strangers on sight, so it was said? Not likely, unless he was crazy, and Luaga was known to be completely sane. Also, there was something else beside pygmies in the Deep Woods—someone else—so it was said.
It followed that no sane man would go anywhere near the Deep Woods and the captain and lieutenant being sane men, made out their report accordingly, following the ancient precept of wisdom that is not peculiar to armies, "Let's don't and say we did."
News filtered into the Deep Woods that Bababu's army units were leaving the jungle, and the guests became insistent about leaving. All except Diana, who was in no hurry to go. The Phantom agreed; some could go, some could not. Luaga and his delegates must remain in the Deep Woods as they were men marked for death. They would be safe only here. Luaga agreed reluctantly that this was true. The two pilots must also remain, as they would be needed as witnesses against Bababu at some future time. This sounded impossible to all of them. Bababu held the country in an iron grip and even now held the congress captive. But the Phantom was firm. The pilots must stay. However, the team, who would leave, could inform the pilots' families about their safety.
The team packed their few things and made ready to leave the Deep Woods. The Phantom warned them that the way was dangerous; the jungle was still filled with roving bands of guerillas and deserters who had become Bandits. With that unhappy thought, they said their good-byes to Luaga, the pilots and the pygmies, and followed the Phantom on his white stallion. Diana turned for one last look at the Skull Cave and sighed, then plunged through the cold water of the waterfall, exiting from the safety of the Deep Woods to the dangers of the outside jungle.
Diana and the three doctors were on horseback, followed by three pack mules. The Phantom led the way on Hero, with the wolf, Devil, trotting at his side. Part of the way a file of pygmies accompanied them, but stopped when the waterfall became a distant whisper. The little people were happy only in their shadowy woods and became fearful when out of earshot of the falls. They turned back and the team continued, the doctors and Diana each carrying a rifle over the saddle. The Phantom explained that they had a four-day trek ahead, leading to the trading post of Trader Joe on the banks of the Mawitaan river where a motor launch was waiting to take them to the capital. But those four days could be long ones, filled with trouble.
There was no trouble, the first day and night. They camped in a clearing and took turns watching through the night, Diana insisting on taking her turn as before.
On the second day, as they rode on a narrow jungle path, Devil suddenly darted ahead and out of sight. The Phantom halted the column, and they waited, puzzled, watching him. After a few moments, Devil returned and stood on his hindlegs, his forepaws against the white stallion Hero's side. The Phantom petted him, then dismounted. He spoke softly now and a shiver of anxiety shook the group.
"There's something ahead. I'm not certain what." He told them all to dismount, to take themselves and their horses into the bushes and to conceal themselves. Also, to cock their rifles and be ready for anything.
"I'm going ahead. Wait here," he told them.
Apprehensive, since they were doctors, not warriors, they obeyed. Leaving Hero with Diana, the Phantom disappeared into the brush with Devil.
The "something ahead" was a small band of deserters, a half-dozen former soldiers of Bababu who had tired of the war and sought easier pickings among the unarmed jungle folk. Their sentry had spotted the medical team from a distance, rich foreigners, easy pickings. Though he hadn't been close enough to see them clearly, he thought there was a woman among them. A foreign woman. That made it even better. They had rifles and hand grenades and they quickly planned their strategy: kill the men, keep the woman and horses.
As they discussed their plans, the Phantom listened in a nearby tree. When he heard their decision, his muscles tensed. If they had been ordinary deserters, they were no longer that—they had become coldblooded killers. It was obvious from their quick agreement that they'd done similar things before. He watched as they prepared their weapons, and considered quickly. There might be other such bands in the vicinity. This one should be handled quickly, and as quietly as possible. That decided, he measured the distance, watched as the group went into a final huddle, then leaped.
As the team waited nervously in the bushes, they heard a gunshot. Then screaming and cursing and yelling. It was all going on only a few hundred yards away. There was no other sound. It was as if all the jungle were listening. More screaming, then loud thumps and sounds of branches cracking.
"He's fighting—he's in trouble," said Kirk, clutching his rifle and standing up. "He needs help."
"He said to wait here," said Diana tensely.
"But listen to that; it's a big fight!" said George Schwartz, also standing up with his rifle.
"He said wait," repeated Diana firmly. "Shhsh, get down."
The men obeyed, and she stared anxiously ahead. But there was nothing to see and nothing to hear except the confused sounds of the conflict.
When the Phantom landed on the deserters, they couldn't have been more surprised if a thunderbolt had hit them from the cloudless blue sky. Three went down under the heavy body; three stumbled to the ground. The masked man was on his feet before any of them, his fists striking as he leaped up. His fist crunched on jawbone like a sledgehammer. One man stumbled to the side and raised his rifle. The Phantom's hand moved in a blur, so fast was his draw as he shot the rifle from the man's hand. A split second later, the gun- butt cracked another head, as a knife cut into his leg. He stopped the knifer with another lightning blow to the jaw that knocked him head over heels, then dove at two others who were racing for their stacked rifles. The action had been so fast the men had barely had time to have a good look at their attacker. Now one saw him clearly, saw the mask, the skull on the belt. His eyes popped, and he screamed as he lashed out with his long knife.
Back in the bushes, the team crouched, waiting, listening. Another round of screaming, cursing, cracking and thumping, then silence. They strained their ears. Nothing. Then began a jungle chorus of birds, monkeys, other unidentified animals, and insects, as though commenting on and discussing the event.
"What happened?" said Chris Able.
"Shhsh," said Diana, tense and anxious. What had happened? Was everybody ahead—dead?
Suddenly, Devil came out of the bushes, and a moment later the Phantom followed. As they started out of the bushes with a happy greeting, he signaled for quiet by placing his finger to his lips. He walked easily to them, then sat on a log and they saw that he was bleeding from wounds in his shoulder and thigh. The doctors hurriedly applied antiseptics and small bandages on the knife wounds, as he explained quietly. There had been an ambush ahead, deserters. They were now "inactive," the word he used, but quiet was necessary, he said, because other bands might be nearby and may have heard the fight. All remained quiet while the Phantom and Devil tested the wind for any suspicious sounds. There were none. After the bandaging was complete, they moved on slowly with their horses and mules to the scene of the battle ahead.
What a sight greeted them! Six muscular men in raggedy uniforms sprawled over the ground, over bushes, one hanging over a tree bough. Rifles and handguns littered the ground, along with open knapsacks with hand grenades spilling out. They stared in amazement at this, then at their masked guide. Had he done all this to six armed men? Were they dead? No, all were breathing, but unconscious. Some exhibited fractures, as though struck with iron bars (by the Phantom's fists) and all 1 bore
a strange mark on various parts of their jaws. The skull mark. Some sort of regimental insignia, or perhaps a tribal mark? The Phantom offered no explanation, though Alec Kirk had noticed the heavy skull ring on his right hand. The masked man explained that the two gunshots they'd heard were from his gun. This puzzled the doctors. There were no gunshot wounds on the unconscious men. No, the Phantom told them, he'd shot none of them; he'd shot two- rifles out of their hands.
"You could have shot them instead," said Alec Kirk.
"Only if there's no other way," said the Phantom. "I do not kill, and there is always a chance of that with a bullet."
Alec Kirk shook his head, baffled.
"These vicious killers, ready to blow us up with hand grenades and take our horse and Diana—so you told us—yet you won't shoot them?" he said, echoing the thoughts of the other men.
"Vicious killers, yes. Also, frightened, desperate men, exiled from home and family, m a strange, dangerous place. They must be punished, of course," he replied.
