Lee Falk - [Story of the Phantom 14]

by The Assassins (v0. 9) (epub)

  At that moment the Phantom heard another cry from the crowd. Now Baldy appeared, holding a gun and brandishing it at the crowd. He leaped onto the car and jumped into the rear seat, where he held the gun on Prince Tydore. The sovereign’s face turned pale and he almost fainted. The Princess, the Phantom' noted, was watching Baldy iri astonishment. She did not seem to be frightened at all. She simply did not know what to do.

  In the distance ahead, the lead cars had come to a halt, and several policemen were beginning to make their way through the crowd to the Prince’s car. But the Phantom could see that it was going to take them much too long to get to the scene of the action.

  Behind the car several horns were blaring, but no one was doing anything.

  The Phantom pushed his way through the remaining few people between him and the car and jumped into the rear seat. Baldy had his back to him, menacing the Prince with the gun. The Princess stared in surprise at the Phantom but said nothing.

  “Excuse me, please,” the Phantom said to her and gripped Baldy’s shoulders tightly.

  Baldy swung around, his eyes going wide. “You again!” he croaked, swinging the gun around.

  The Phantom clipped his wrist with a stiff-handed karate chop, and the Assassin’s face grimaced with sudden pain. Reacting swiftly, he seized the Phantom by the neck and began choking him.

  With the expertise of years of combat, the Phantom slipped his two forearms in between the Assassin’s wrists and cracked the perspiring Assassin on the chin with both fists. Baldy slumped backward, and the weapon he had been holding fell to the floor of the open car. The Phantom reached down for it and, at the same moment, was struck on the head by the big man’s elbow. Off-balance, the Phantom chopped at Baldy’s head and got one arm under his left elbow. Pushing hard, he threw the big man into the front seat of the car.

  At that moment, it lurched forward, leaving burning rubber on the pavement. The Phantom reached again for the gun on the floor but could not find it. It had apparently slipped under the seat when the Phantom hit Baldy.

  Curly was at the wheel of the car, bulling his way through the crowd of people. Screams and curses sounded from the tightly packed group around the car. The Phantom was pushed back against Princess Naji by the quick acceleration.

  Baldy turned, his face bleeding, and rose to smash his fist at the Phantom. The Phantom parried the blow easily, ducked his head, and brought his own elbow up into the big man’s throat. Baldy lost his balance and fell heavily against the door of the car. In the violence, the latch had become jarred loose and the door opened.

  At that moment, the car was making a very sharp left turn, and the centrifugal force of the maneuver throw I In-Assassin out into the alleyway.

  The Phantom could hear his scream as he rolled against the wall of a building.

  Quickly the Phantom hurled himself at Curly, grabbing a handful of his long hair and pulling hard. Curly yelled but arched his back to keep the Phantom from lifting him bodily from the seat. The Phantom brought his left arm around Curly’s throat in a half-hammerlock and pulled hard, using the leverage of the car seat to tear the Assassin out from behind the wheel.

  Curly gripped the steering wheel tightly, but with the Phan-. tom’s leverage on his body, he was unable to steer the car adequately. Trying to arch against the Phantom’s attack, Curly’s foot pressed down on the gas pedal, and the car zoomed ahead, veering crazily to the left.

  The car smashed against the wall of a building, caromed off, and hurtled in the opposite direction, smashing against the building on the right. There was a screech of rubber, the scream of metal, and the breaking of glass.

  Curly’s grip let go, and the Phantom dragged him over into the rear of the car. Both of them were on top of Prince Tydore.

  The gas pedal, freed of Curly’s weight, immediately returned to its neutral position. The car slammed against another building and came to a halt.

  The Phantom pressed his fingers into Curly’s neck at a pressure point, and the Assassin went limp in his arms.

  The Phantom lifted him out of the car and laid him carefully on the sidewalk. The crowd was surging down the alleyway toward them. The Phantom was disappointed to see that Baldy had managed to escape, using the screen of the crowd to get away. There was no sign of Crewcut.

  For a moment, the Phantom debated pursuing Baldy, but he knew it would be hopeless.

  He turned quickly and bowed to Prince Tydore and the Princess.

  “Are you all right, Your Majesty?” he asked politely. The Phantom had mingled enough with royalty to know that it was always wise to treat royalty as royalty, even though his instincts were to treat a king like anyone else.

  “Yes,” muttered the frightened little man. “What happened—and who are you?”

  “I am Kit Walker,” said the Phantom.

  “I must thank you, Mr. Walker,” said Prince Tydore.

  “Allow me to congratulate you on your resourcefulness,” said Princess Naji, smiling at the Phantom. “When everyone else was petrified, you acted.”

  The Phantom smiled faintly. “I am only sorry two of the Assassins have escaped.”

  “Two?” Prince Tydore repeated. “I saw only one other.”

  The Phantom shrugged. He did not feel like explaining Crewcut’s feint, particularly inasmuch as it had prevented the Phantom from stopping the attempt on Prince Tydore’s life even sooner.

  The crowd was now pressing in around the wrecked car. In the distance a patrolman was pushing his way through the throng.

  “Hey, what’s going on here?” the patrolman asked, puffing up to the car.

  “There’s been an attempt on the Prince’s life,” said the Phantom calmly.

  “Yeah? Who are you?”

  Prince Tydore struggled to regain his composure. “This is Mr. Walker. He saved my life—and the Princess’s too. Now I’d suggest you get this crowd out of here and try to clean up this mess.”

  The policeman stared glumly at the Prince and then turned to the Phantom.

  “Okay, mister. Now how come you got yourself involved in this? What right had you to interfere?”

  “I saw a man holding a gun on the Prince, and I disarmed him.”

  Princess Naji spoke up. “Here’s the weapon, Officer,” she said tartly. “This man was helping us. Fd suggest you call your commanding officer and try to take charge of the man he caught for you.”

  The policeman flushed. “Right, lady.” He took the weapon and glanced at it. “Yeah. Thirty-eight Smith and Wesson. Okay, mister. You’ll have to come with me to Headquarters. Meanwhile, I’ll call for the wrecker to get this crate out of the alleyway.”

  “An excellent suggestion, Sergeant,” said the Phantom, who could see that the officer was not a sergeant at all. He pointed to Curly, slumped against the building. “Perhaps you could also do something about putting this man in custody.” “Uh, yeah,” said Officer Railes.

  The Phantom bowed to Prince Tydore and the Princess. “Perhaps we shall meet again, Prince Tydore.”

  The Prince smiled, glancing at his daughter. “I think that would be nice. Do you, Naji?”

  Princess Naji smiled slowly. ‘I'd love it, Father.” Her eyes were staring into the Phantom’s with undisguised interest.

  He adjusted his dark glasses and cleared his throat “Anything Your Majesty wishes.”

  Police Commissioner Nolan stared abashed at the Phantom.

  “Mr. Walker, it disturbs me to admit to you that you were completely right, we were completely wrong.”

  The Phantom held up a hand in mute appeal. “Please don’t go on about it, Commissioner. It’s enough that I’ve managed to keep the Prince from harm.”

  “And the Princess,” said Nolan.

  “My main concern is still the safety of Diana Palmer. Have you had any word? Has Dave Palmer?”

  “Nothing,” said Nolan. “We’re interrogating that suspect now.”

  “Has he told you where Henry Kali is hiding?”

  The
Commissioner shook his head, baffled. “He’s apparently been well trained. He’s holding out. Claims that someone will come to rescue him. ‘We’re bigger than anything you can stop,’ he keeps telling my men.” The Commissioner shook his head. “A very stubborn man.”

  “Perhaps it’s more than will power,” the Phantom mused. “He could be simply under post-hypnotic suggestion, you know. You couldn’t get a word out of him then, even if you used truth serum.”

  “We don’t intend to go that far,” said the Commissioner, scandalized. “That wouldn’t look good at all, you know.”

  The Phantom sighed. “I know it.”

  “Is there anything else we can do?5'

  “Put Prince Tydore and the Princess under surveillance,” said the Phantom instantly.

  Nolan sighed. “I’ve already contacted the mayor. It’s not feasible.”

  “Not feasible?”

  “Politically very bad,” muttered Nolan. “The public relations could be very damaging to him and his administration.” “But the two of them are still in danger! And there are at least two Assassins at large right now! They’re going to strike again—you know that!”

  “My hands are tied,” sighed Nolan.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Two men were alone in the small office with the blinds drawn. One of them, six feet tall, with a billiard-ball head, was peering through the slats of the blind with an intense expression. His companion was a crewcut brute of a man with heavily muscled shoulders and a grim face.

  “It’s a range of no more than a hundred yards,” said Baldy, turning from the window.

  Crewcut nodded. He leaned down and opened a large suitcase standing on the floor beside the only desk in the room. He rose holding a Remington deer rifle in his hands. He smiled down at it lovingly.

  “The customs inspector didn’t even ask to open up the bags,” he chuckled to Baldy.

  Baldy drew away from the window. “Stop the chatter, and let’s get that scope sight mounted.”

  Crewcut frowned and reached into the suitcase for it. Baldy watched him as he fastened it carefully to the barrel of the Remington and then lifted the rifle to Ms shoulder and sighted through it.

  “Well?” Baldy was impatient, “It’s fine.”

  “Get out the tripods,” snapped Baldy. “We haven’t got all day.”

  Crewcut grumbled and reached into the suitcase again. He brought out two sturdy metal tripods, twelve inches high with adjustable clamps attached to their tops. The clamps were large enough to fit around the stock of the deer rifle.

  “Help me,” said Crewcut, gesturing to the desk.

  Baldy nodded. Together the two of them pushed the scarred desk over to the window. Baldy pushed a chair out of the way, and then he came around behind Crewcut while he placed the tripods on the desk top. Then he fastened one near the muzzle and the other just forward of the trigger guard.

  “Ready?”

  Crewcut nodded. He pulled up a second chair and sat down at the desk. The telescopic sight was directly in front of him. He peered through it.

  “Lift the slat.”

  Baldy had leaned over the desk and pulled two of the blind slats apart so Crewcut could look through the window at the building across the street.

  “What floor?”

  “Fifth,” snapped Baldy.

  “I’m on the sixth.”

  “Lower the damned thing.”

  Crewcut reached out and loosened the setting on the rear tripod and raised it slowly, peering through the telescopic sight as he did so. A window on the fifth floor came into view. He could see men inside the room across the way. The sight made it seem as if they were only yards away.

  “I don’t see him,” he told Baldy.

  “He’ll be there. Our man has the interrogation schedule.”

  “Right.”

  Crewcut tightened the screws on the tripod and peered through the scope sight once again. He was looking right in through the window at the men inside. He carefully moved the barrel tripod to the left until the rifle was aimed at the opposite side of the desk where there was an empty chair.

  “Got it?” Baldy asked impatiently.

  “Got it.”

  Baldy let the slats fall into place. Now, no light entered the room.

  “Poor guy,” said Crewcut after a moment.

  “Why?” Baldy wanted to know. “He knew what he was in for when he signed the oath.”

  Crewcut nodded silently.

  Baldy glanced at his watch. “Should be about time.”

  Crewcut got his eye to the sight once again. “Lift them.”

  Baldy pulled the slats apart.

  Crewcut could see the room now. There was movement there. He watched as Curly walked into the room and sat ' down at the desk opposite a heavy-set man. The deer rifle was aimed directly at Curly’s face.

  “There he is,” said Crewcut.

  Baldy nodded. “See what I told you?” He reached over and pulled the Venetian blinds upward to clear the barrel of the rifle. Then he flicked the catches and raised the lower window six inches until it, too, was above the barrel.

  Crewcut watched.

  “Well?” Baldy said petulantly.

  “Fire?”

  “Go to it.”

  Crewcut squeezed his finger on the trigger, and the rifle fired.

  Instantly, through the sights, he could see Curly’s head explode in a red cloud.

  Baldy slammed the window shut, dropped the blinds, and started for the door.

  “Hurry up!” he called to Crewcut.

  Crewcut was right behind him when he ran out into the hallway and punched the elevator button.

  The Royal Suite at the Hotel Majestic had high ceilings, gilt trim, and heavily draped windows in the fashion of the Victorian era. It took up the entire seventeenth floor of the hotel.

  With Prince Tydore in the large drawing room of the suite were Police Commissioner Nolan and the Phantom. The fat little sovereign was seated comfortably in a large overstaffed chair, with Nolan and the Phantom opposite him on a couch.

  The Commissioner was smoking a thin cigarillo. The Phantom wore his usual dark glasses and trench coat. The Prince was wearing a brilliant gold and blue smoking jacket and matching slippers.

  “I can understand your anxiety, Commissioner,” Prince Tydore was saying. “But I do have my own personal guards. It would look quite ridiculous to have dozens of policemen swarming through the halls.”

  Commissioner Nolan turned to the Phantom. “Well, Walker, there it is. I have a feeling the Prince is right. As I explained to you, it would have taken a great deal of persuasion for me to appropriate a proper number of guards to cover the suite. If the Prince is satisfied, so am I.”

  “I am not,” said the Phantom. He turned to Prince Tydore. “Don’t you understand that these people will stop at nothing?”

  Prince Tydore shrugged. “A sovereign is always in a position of danger in a foreign country. I have faced danger before; I will face it again.”

  “I am not questioning your coinage, Prince Tydore. I know you have a great deal. But these fanatics are absolutely determined. Believe me. They are Assassins, from an old historical cult. They are sworn to murder for profit. They will kill and kill again until they are wiped out.”

  “Then wipe them out,” said Tydore with a faint smile.

  “That is what we plan to do,” said the Phantom. “But we cannot do it if you are left unprotected for one moment. It is only if you are protected that we can set a trap for the Assassins.”

  “You are in effect using me for bait, is that it, Mr. Walker?”

  The Phantom nodded. “We must. It is the only way we can trace back to the headquarters from which these rascals operate.”

  “And of course where your own fiancee is now being held,” Prince Tydore said slyly.

  “I admit that. But since we know how these people operate, and since we know how ruthless they are, we cannot proceed unless we are assured of your protection.�
��

  “I trust my own guards, gentlemen,” said Prince Tydore, turning to the Commissioner. “I hereby relieve you of any responsibility for my safety, Commissioner Nolan.”

  Nolan acknowledged with a nod of the head.

  “It’s not enough,” said the Phantom. “I’m not only thinking about you but about your daughter as well. Where is she sleeping?”

  Prince Tydore frowned at the Phantom. “She is sleeping in the room next to mine, sir,” he said stiffly. “She is perfectly safe, I assure you. She has had royal guards around her since birth.”

  “But she has never been in a strange city with the Assassins after her,” snapped the Phantom.

  “If we can believe what you say,” Prince Tydore observed remotely. “I do not like the way you cast aspersions on the courage and ability of my personal guardians.”

  The Phantom remained silent. He was becoming angry with his inability to sway the Prince of Tydia. Although he continued to argue, he was forming a plan in his mind. And as the plan formed, he began to feel a little more relieved of the tension which had gripped him since the attempt on the Prince’s life that morning.

  He knew exactly what he would do, and because he had formulated a course of action, his good cheer returned. It would not do to let either the Commissioner or the Prince know what that plan was. It would only create complications, as well as objections, in their minds.

  “Well, then,” he said, finally, after once again voicing all the problems he foresaw with the Prince under the surveillance of only his own men, “I suppose if you want it that way, you should have it. After all, you’re the Prince.” Prince Tydore smiled. “I thought you might have forgotten that for a moment, Mr. Walker.”

  “Never.” The Phantom smiled. He rose, turning to the Commissioner. “I suppose we should leave the Prince and Princess to their businesses, shouldn’t we, Commissioner?” Nolan nodded, also rising. “Yes.”

  Prince Tydore’s valet de chambre, dressed in the palace garb of Tydia, entered and bowed to the monarch.

  “Telephone call for Commissioner Nolan, Your Highness.” “Plug it in here, Bardov,” said Prince Tydore, pointing to a telephone jack in the wall.