by Lee Falk
"The airport's out that way," reflected the Phantom as he drove. "Sumter must have heard about
what happened out at the citadel. He's taking no chances."
Beyond the urban area of Lanza stretched miles of flat fields, with an orchard here and there. The Phantom clicked on the headlights, began passing the other cars on the broad roadway.
Ten minutes later, he sighted a black Renault up ahead of him. He pressed down on the gas pedal, pulling up beside the other car.
It was the spurious Sumter at the wheel.
"Pull over," ordered the Phantom, edging his car against the other man's.
Sumter gave him a startled look, before speeding up.
The Phantom accelerated, caught up and again nudged his Fiat against the Renault.
"Damn you!" shouted Sumter. "Leave me alone."
The Phantom kept his car against the other, pushing at it, forcing it finally off the road.
The blond young man yelled as the car jumped free of the highway entirely. The Renault bounced over a ditch and slammed into a rail fence, the motor coughing and quitting. Sumter jerked the door open and threw himself out of the vehicle.
The Phantom swung his car to a stop at the roadside and sprang to the road.
Two other cars squealed to a stop, headlight beams illuminating the running Phantom for an instant.
"QUE PASAF' called out the driver of the first car. "What's going on here?"
Sumter was huffing over the fence around the 135
orchard, which lay just off the road. He got over, went running in among the dark, apple trees.
Swiftly, carefully, the Phantom pursued him. His hearing was such that he heard Sumter click off the safety of a gun. The Phantom dropped behind a tree as the first shot flashed out.
He began working his way from tree to tree. He hadn't needed the flare of the gun to tell him where Sumter had stopped to make his stand. He could hear the young man's labored breathing in the darkening twilight.
Sumter was standing there, with his gun pointing toward the roadway, when the Phantom dropped down on him from the branches of the tree above him.
"Nothing to say." Sumter was slouched in his favorite chair in Captain Miranda's office.
The captain, sipping a cup of coffee, watched him. "Very well," he said, getting up from behind his desk. "It is out of my hands." He went to the door, opened it and stepped into the corridor. The door closed.
There were only two lights on in the long room, both of them small lamps shining on Sumter. There was deep darkness around the edges of the office.
Out of the darkness stepped the Phantom. He was in his costume, one hand resting on his gun- belt. As he neared the young man, the lamplight flashed on the skull sign on the wide belt. "Do you know who I am?"
"Walker dressed up in a trick suit. So?"
"You know better than that."
"Okay, you're probably the Phantom."
"Yes, I am the Phantom. And I think you know enough of the history of Hydra to know there has been a war between the Phantom and Hydra for centuries."
"You must be tired. Why not take some time off?"
The Phantom leaned, placed his hands on the arms of Sumter's chair. "I won't rest until I destroy Hydra for good and all."
"Maybe so." Sumter licked his dry hps. "But one thing you won't do, Phantom, you won't work me over to make me talk. You don't believe in that, neither you nor Miranda."
The Phantom smiled. Not a pleasant smile. "If you don't tell us what we want to know," he said slowly and evenly, "we're going to let you go."
"Huh?" The young man blinked. "What do you . . . ?"
"We'll let you go, turn you loose."
"Doubt that. What good would it do you?"
"It's what it would do to you that's important," the Phantom told him. "Because we'd give out the word you've talked."
Shifting in his chair, the young man said, "You think I'm afraid of dying? It's a basic part of the code of Hydra, to die for the cause if need be. All those guys you've got in the dungeon would gladly have killed themselves if I hadn't given them the word we were going to spring them. A Vulture will never allow himself to . . ."
"Is that why you were running away?"
"I wasn't exactly ..."
"You were on your way to the airport, to get away ... to save yourself," reminded the Phantom. "Maybe you would have made it, but now you've lost whatever head start you might have had. They must know we have you, know you didn't take the approved suicide way out. Know you broke and ran. Once you step out of here . .."
"Listen," began Sumter, "you're trying to . . ."
"I'm telling you what you know is true."
The bogus reporter went slack in his chair. "What kind of deal are you offering?"
"Captain Miranda will see you stay alive."
"A light sentence?"
"Tell me what you know," said the Phantom, promising nothing further. "I want V. I want to go to where he's basking in the sun and grab him."
Sumter sat up. "How ... I mean, what makes you think I know where he is?"
"You're fairly high up in the organization," said the Phantom. "For your sake, you'd better know where V is. Otherwise, it's out on the street for you."
After letting out a long sigh, Sumter said, "Okay, here's where you can find V."
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Captain Miranda unscrewed the lid of the thermos, paused to check his reflection in the chrome lip of the bottle, and poured himself a second cup of coffee. He bent over the small camp table he'd set up in the back of the minibus. "Here* you have the beach area known as Rayo del Sol," he told the Phantom. "A very exclusive locale, quite expensive." The coffee splashed against the side of the cup as the bus went around a curve on the night road.
The masked man was holding a small flashlight, shielded with one palm, over the map which the Police Captain had spread out. "The profits from the Vulture and Hydra operations must be considerable, more than enough to pay for a villa or two for V."
"This is the villa Sumter told you about." Miranda tapped a spot on the map. "It's called the Casa del Sol."
"House of the Sun," said the Phantom. "That's what V2 meant about V basking in the sun."
"Much like the late, lamented citadel," the captain went on, "the villa has only one obvious entry. It's a private road which runs through roughly ten acres of villa property."
Tapping the map, the Phantom said, "The house is close to the beach at this point, isn't it?"
"Yes, but it is several hundred feet above the beach, senor. The house sits on a cliff, high above the sand."
"The cliff can be climbed."
"I don't . . . yes, I suppose it can." He looked back at the headlights of the other police vehicles which were following this one. "Let me suggest once again, senor, that the simplest course this time would be an all-out assault. From what I've been able to learn, V has, approximately, two dozen guards and servants, plus a half dozen dogs. We should be able to overcome them quite easily."
"You've forgotten the code of each Hydra member, Captain."
"Senor Sumter didn't abide by the suicide role," reminded Miranda. "He chose to stay alive and well."
"It's not likely V will," said the Phantom. "I want that man alive, and I want the records, which our imitation NEWS reporter says, V keeps there. If you lead an all-out raid, it's going to alert V, alert him long before anyone can get near him and his villa."
"There is truth in what you say," admitted Captain Miranda. "Still . . ."
"Even if V didn't kill himself, he'd have plenty of time to destroy all his Hydra files," the masked man said. "I want to cut off all the heads of this monster organization at once."
"Very well," said Miranda. "I will position my men all around the perimeter of the sun house estate, far enough away so as not to warn anyone inside, yet close enough to take action quickly if need be."
The Phantom was studying the map once more. "I can reach the beach itself by this r
oad, come out roughly a quarter mile from the cliffside of the villa."
"Yes, that will work."
Nodding, the Phantom clicked off the flashlight. "All right then, 111 go in alone and pay V a surprise visit," he said. "By the way, did you learn anything about who owns the Casa del Sol?"
"The usual," replied Miranda. "The villa was taken on a one year lease about a week ago, the day after the first quake. Obviously, unlike the citadel, this is not a headquarters base. It was, in other words, rented only after V decided to come to Santa Florenza to oversee the current Vulture operations of Hydra."
"Has anyone seen him in the week since he's been here?"
Miranda shook his head. "The villa was rented by a man who identified himself as the private secretary of the actual tenant," he said. "The secretary called himself LaVerga and identified his employer as F. X. Tramoya. We've been unable, in the few hours we've had, to find any evidence that either of these gentlemen existed prior to last week."
"Sumter, and I think he was being truthful, indicated he didn't know Vs real identity," said the Phantom. "He described him as a large man in his forties."
The driver of the minibus turned his head for a second. "Nearly there, Captain."
"Pull off onto the side road we agreed on." Then to the Phantom, Miranda said, "You are on your own now, senor. I will wait an hour. Very good luck to you."
As the bus slowed to turn off the main highway, the masked man opened a rear door and dropped out into the darkness.
The sand glowed a dead white in the moonlight, the sea was quiet and black. The Phantom left the narrow, downhill road and, staying close to the scattered rocks and scrub brush, began to make his way along the beach. There was a faint breeze coming in off the ocean, blowing cold Over the pale sand, tangles of seaweed and the thousands of tiny fragments of seashells.
A quarter of a mile later, he encountered an eight foot high wire fence which ran from the cliffside out into the water. A sign announced, in both Spanish and English, that this was a private beach from this point on, absolutely no trespassing.
The masked man cautiously examined the place where the high fence was bolted to the rocky cliff. He noticed two new-looking wires running down from above. "Looks like V wanted to make extra sure of his privacy by adding electricity," he mused.
He stared upward. The cliff was, he judged, over three hundred feet high. It slanted slightly inward and had a bumpy, jagged look by the light of the moon.
The Phantom rubbed his powerful hands together once, then leaped and caught an outcropping of rock. Using the shallowest of footholds and the smallest of handholds, the masked man pulled himself up the sheer wall of rock. He had learned to climb, at such an early age that he could not now even remember when, in the jungles of Bangalla. To him, therefore, this hazardous ascent to the Casa del Sol was difficult, but not the impossibility Captain Miranda believed it to be.
In just fifteen minutes, he was at the top. A hundred feet in front of him stood a whitewashed, stone wall. The wall appeared to circle most of the estate, except for a stretch where the terrace of the villa itself ran out to the very edge of the cliff. There a wrought iron fence stood guard.
Taking a few careful steps back, the Phantom stretched to scan the top of the high, stone wall. Rusty spikes and shards of broken, bottle glass festooned the top of the wall. And, barely visible, an electric trip wire ran along the top just above the spikes. "The previous occupant wasn't all that cordial either," reflected the Phantom.
Next to the wall, on the masked man's left, was a narrow stretch of forest. He moved in among its shadows as he walked parallel to the villa wall.
The house looked to be large, a two story affair of white stucco walls, Moorish arches, grill work and slanting tile roofs. There were lights glowing on both floors.
Another dozen yards and he saw the first guard. The man was fat, wearing loose, dark clothes, squatting against a wooden gate in the wall. The man held his rifle upright beside him, like a warrior's spear. He was smoking, taking rapid puffs on a cigarette.
Feeling quietly with his hand, the Phantom located a large rock in the loam of the forest floor. He hefted it from hand to hand, then threw it straight at the guard.
The stone cracked against the man's fat fingers just where they clutched the rifle barrel. He gave a low startled exclamation.
Before the guard could cry out again, the Phantom was upon him. Two deftly administered chops dropped the fat man. The Phantom searched the senseless guard, found a brass key on a twist of wire. After hurling the rifle off in the direction of the woods, the Phantom tried the key in the lock of the wooden door.
When the door swung inward, the masked man crossed into the estate grounds. He closed the gate behind him and headed toward the villa.
He'd covered only a few yards when a snarling white police dog came charging out of the night at him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The white police dog, legs spread apart, hair bristling, halted a few feet from the Phantom. It snarled at him, showing sharp, yellowish teeth.
The masked man knew the animal had been trained in such a way that it would either attack him or start barking to warn the guards. He wanted neither of those things to happen.
Without hesitating he dived straight at the growling animal. With one strong hand, he clutched its mouth shut, with the other he applied pressure to the nerves at the back of the police dog's neck.
Whimpering quietly, the huge dog passed out. The masked man deposited him behind a hedge and resumed his journey.
The drapes were not drawn over any of the ground floor windows. From behind a tree, the Phantom watched the house. Toward the rear, in a room which opened out onto the wide terrace, was a large office. Seated at a desk with papers spread in front of him, his broad back to the window, was the man who must be V. There was something vaguely familiar about him.
The view of the man was blocked suddenly by 145
the figure of an armed guard. He'd come pacing by, moving as though this were his regular route. He looked in at V, then marched on. He carried his rifle on his shoulder, army fashion.
When the guard was a safe distance off, the Phantom made his way closer to the house. A French window leading out onto the tiled terrace stood half-open. By scaling the wrought iron fence, he could get through the window and right into Vs sanctum.
He eased close to the fence, scrutinized it to make certain there were no wires attached. "Seems safe," he decided and reached out to grab hold of a bar.
A police whistle shrilled nearby in the night. "Trouble! Come quick!"
"What is it?"
"One of the dogs . . . he's out cold on the lawn here!"
"Better turn on all the floodlights!"
The masked man vaulted over the fence.
He met V face to face the next instant, when the big man stepped out onto the terrace to see what all the shouting and noise was about.
With his hand hovering over his holster, the Phantom said, "So you're V."
"And you're the Phantom."
Twin .45 automatics appeared in the Phantom's hands. "Let's go back inside your office and have a talk."
"Your luck won't continue to hold." V backed over the threshold he'd just crossed. "There are enough men here to kill you twice over. You'll never get out alive."
The Phantom, eyes always on V, closed the French window and then drew the drapes on all the windows. "Sit down on that sofa there, with your hands on your knees."
The leader of Hydra obliged. "How'd you find me, if I may ask?"
"I always find the people or animals I'm hunting," replied the masked man. A wall safe, its door open, was set in the mantle. He could see it contained several, thin record books. Holstering one gun, he lifted out a book. He opened it at a random page and quickly scanned what was written there. "The Hydra membership list."
"That'll do you little good, Phantom, since you'll be dead before the night is much older."
The masked
man snapped the book shut, placed it on the mantle. "So this is the new life you wanted to start?"
V laughed. "I was very good, wasn't I? The not-too-bright hood, well-meaning but weak of will." His laugh grew louder. "I think it's quite a tribute to my abilities that I was able to fool you so completely."
The big man on the sofa was the man the Phantom had let go in Tiburon, the man the local chapter of Hydra had known as Mumm. "Yes, you fooled me," admitted the Phantom. "It was you, then, who killed Cisco while he lay in the field."