Sala ended up on top, but now Diana had the gun, and she jammed the barrel right between Sala’s eyes. “Just take it easy, Sala. I don’t want to blow your head off, but I will if I have to.”
“Go ahead,” a voice said behind her. Then Drax laughed. “You shoot her, then I shoot you.” He pressed his pistol against Diana’s forehead. “Then you know what we’ve got? A bloody mess, but two less mouths to feed on our trip to the vortex.”
“Drax, don’t tell her to shoot me! I’m with you.” Sala pleaded.
“It’s survival of the fittest, sweetheart. It looks to me like you lost your chance to shoot.” Then to Diana, he said, “Either shoot her or put the gun down. Make up your mind.”
Diana dropped the gun. Drax grabbed it, and Sala jerked Diana to her feet. She pulled back her fist and was about to slam it into Diana’s mouth when Drax pointed her own gun at her. “You knock her out and you’re carrying her.”
Sala lowered her fist and scowled at Diana. “We have quite a relationship, you and me.”
“Hey, where’s Quill and the others?” Drax said, looking around as Charlie Zephro stopped at the top of the stairs. “What did he do with Walker?”
“I didn’t see any of them,” Zephro said.
“Then c’mon. Let’s go find them.”
Drax led the way downstairs, and just as they reached the bank of elevators, Quill turned a corner at the far end of the hall and loped toward them. At that same moment, one of the elevator doors opened and Commissioner Farley, accompanied by a middle-aged uniformed cop, stepped out.
“Mr. Drax, I’ve made all the arrangements. You’re getting a full police escort.”
“Excellent,” Drax responded. “Have you heard the news? We’re going to the Devil’s Vortex.”
Quill couldn’t contain himself any longer. “Drax. The Phantom’s here! He’s in the building!”
“What?”
“I saw him with my own two eyes, mask and hood and purple getup.”
The Phantom? Diana was confused, then amazed. She’d thought that nothing he did could surprise her anymore, but he’d done it again. He must have realized that Quill was bringing the silver skull to Drax and followed him here. But what happened to Kit?
Drax instantly turned to Farley. “Alert your officers. Tell them there’s a madman on the loose. He’s extremely dangerous.” He glanced at Diana. “And tell them to shoot him on sight.”
“Don’t worry about a thing,” Farley said, and turned to the cop at his side. “Sergeant, you heard him. Alert everyone on the street.”
Drax motioned to Zephro and Sala. “Let’s go. We’ve got a plane to catch.”
“What about the girl?” Zephro said.
“Bring her! She’s our ‘Phantom insurance’!”
The door to an elevator opened and they all piled inside.
Good luck, Phantom. Good luck, Kit, Diana thought.
TWENTY-FOUR
Moments after Drax and his entourage, with Diana in tow, disappeared into the elevator, the Phantom pushed out a vent from the ceiling and dropped down into the hallway. All of the elevators were in use, so he tried to pry open the doors of one of them with his fingers. The panels slid slowly apart, exposing the empty shaft.
He peered down into the dark hole, then leaped onto the elevator cable. It was freshly greased and he slid fast, then faster and faster. The floors flew past him, his hands literally smoking.
Then he looked up and to his surprise saw the elevator cage speeding down toward him. Where had it come from? Then he realized it must have been on the observation deck. The cage was gaining on him as he raced toward the bottom of the shaft. He arrived only seconds ahead of it, pried open the doors, and tumbled into the lobby just as the cage slowed to a stop.
In front of the building, Drax and company were climbing into the Pierce-Arrow, which was surrounded by a police motorcycle escort. The Phantom rushed from the building just in time to see the motorcade start down Fifth Avenue.
He glanced around and spotted the cabby’s taxi parked at the curb. He rushed over to the taxi and slid into the backseat. The startled cabby gaped at the Phantom. “What the hell?”
“Hi, Al. Thanks for being there.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Kit Walker’s, and I need your help right now.”
The Phantom looked up as a police officer approached the cab. He slid across the seat and out the opposite door. The street was clogged with traffic, so the Phantom jumped from one car to another, climbing from car roof to car roof, from hood to hood. Finally he leaped from a car roof and into the saddle of a mounted policeman’s horse.
“Hey!” shouted the cop, who was writing a ticket.
He blew his whistle and two cops on motorcycles pulled away from the curb in pursuit. The Phantom galloped down the sidewalk, and pedestrians dove for cover as the motorcycles followed close behind. At the next break in the wall that separated the famous avenue from Central Park, the Phantom jerked the reins right and galloped into the park.
He followed a footpath, the motorcycles still behind him and gaining. He rode through a cluster of trees, back onto the path, and over a stone bridge. The cops, in close pursuit now, fired their guns. The Phantom ducked as bullets whistled overhead.
Finally he leaped from the horse and landed on a large boulder. He scrambled over the boulder and crashed through some thick shrubs, disappearing from sight. The motorcycle cops squealed to a stop. Their headlamps illuminated the boulder and foliage behind it.
“What’s back there?” one of the cops shouted to the other.
“The zoo,” his partner answered.
“Good. We’ve got him now. Let’s go.”
They revved their engines and roared off. They raced through the zoo, prowling the network of pathways and finally stopped outside the lion’s habitat. They climbed off their motorcycles and drew their guns.
“This is where he would have entered,” one of the cops said.
“Right into the lion’s den,” the other cop said. “You think he’s still in there?”
“I don’t know. Maybe. The big cats are probably asleep.”
They shone their flashlights into the habitat, and one of the lions leaped up directly in front of them and roared. Its fangs flashed in the light, and its claws ripped at the protective fencing. The cops jumped back.
“He sure as heck isn’t around here,” one of them said. “Let’s keep looking.”
“Good, boy,” the Phantom said, and petted the lion’s head as the cops hurried away. Then he scaled the fence, but he didn’t make it over quite in time.
“There he is!” one of the cops yelled, and chased him on foot.
The Phantom dashed out of the zoo and down one of the park’s paved roads. Suddenly a car appeared in the Phantom’s path, its bright lights shining in his eyes. He dodged off the road as the car screeched to a halt.
“Get in!” a familiar voice yelled.
The Phantom looked past the blinding lights. It was Al, the cabby! He was only half into the vehicle when Al squealed away, leaving behind the cops, who were now separated from their motorcycles.
Diana glanced through the back window of the car, past the motorcycle escort. She was sure that, for a moment, she had seen the Phantom on horseback trailing after them. But now there was no sign of him. And she still didn’t know what had happened to Kit Walker.
“Turn around,” ordered Drax, who was sitting next to her. “Forget about him. He’s not coming along on this little trip.”
Sala turned around from the front seat, and smiled. “He’s probably dead by now.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Diana demanded.
“I could ask you the same thing, you know.”
“You’re mean,” Diana snapped, heat rising in her voice. “You don’t care about anything or anyone.”
“Like what? Tell me what I should care about and I’ll give it some thought.”
“You figure it out,” D
iana shot back.
Drax’s irritation had reached monumental proportions. He slammed his fist against the dashboard. “That’s enough. Everyone shut up and enjoy the ride.”
Sala turned her face toward the window. From the back where Diana was, she could see that the other woman was distressed. Diana wondered if she had hit a nerve.
“You’ve got to find that Pierce-Arrow, Al,” the Phantom said. “They’re probably heading to the airport.”
The cabby shook his head. “Drax is heading for the docks. I picked it up on my police band. Thought you and Kit would want to know.”
“Thanks. Step on it.”
The cabby accelerated out of the park and into traffic, dodging between cars. The Phantom sat back and realized, suddenly, that he wasn’t the only passenger.
“Dad?”
“Don’t get so comfortable. It’s the bottom of the ninth and you’re two skulls behind.”
“I know. I know. I’m doing all I can.”
The cabby glanced curiously into his rearview mirror. Then he shrugged, assuming that the Phantom was talking to himself.
“Dad, a man named Quill has a gun belt like the one I wear. Is it yours?”
“Does he smoke cigars?” his father asked.
“That’s him.”
“He told me he could take me to the stronghold of the Sengh Brotherhood,” his ghostly father confided. “I trusted him. He led me to a place deep in the jungle. It was a trick. He stabbed me in the back. Literally.”
The Phantom stared at him in disbelief. He had idolized his father, had thought that he was infallible. No one could fool him.
“So sue me,” his father said. “I was a lousy judge of character.”
“I’m going to get that gun belt back. That’s a promise. Besides, I owe Quill a few myself.”
“If you haven’t lost them by now.”
“I’ll catch them. I have to.” He looked over at his father again. “There’s a woman involved.”
“Well, saints be praised. It’s about time.” His father motioned toward the driver. “Tell him to step on it. Your trip to the zoo didn’t help matters.”
The Phantom leaned forward. “Can you go any faster?”
The cabby looked into the rearview mirror. “You talking to me now?”
“Yes. Can you pick it up?”
“Sure. Hold on to your hat . . . or, whatever.”
The Phantom turned back to his father. “I didn’t see you at the zoo.” But the seat was empty.
Ten minutes later, the taxi screeched to a stop at Pier 39 at the New York Harbor. The motorcycle patrol was just pulling away. The Phantom jumped out and spotted Drax and the others boarding a small seaplane.
“It looks like I have a plane to catch.”
“Give my best to Mr. Walker,” the cabby yelled after him. But the Phantom was already racing along the pier. He dove into the harbor and began swimming.
“I love New York,” the cabby said as he drove off.
The Phantom’s arms chopped through the chilly waters, and he kicked his legs as fast as he could. He was moving so swiftly that his torso was nearly planing across the surface of the water. He was making steady progress, but he was still twenty-five yards away from the seaplane when its engine revved to life.
He tried to swim faster, taking longer and longer strokes, and kicking harder. Almost there.
But with less than ten yards to go, the plane started to taxi away. He kept swimming madly after it, but it was no use. He’d arrived at the pier a minute too late.
He was treading water, a gusty wind whipped his face. The plane gained speed as his hopes fell. Then to his surprise it turned and taxied in the opposite direction—straight toward him. The pilot probably wanted to take advantage of the tailwind.
He ducked under the surface and swam toward the plane. He came up for air once and judged the distance between himself and the plane and the speed that the plane was moving. He ducked under again. As the Phantom swam, the whine of the engine grew louder. He kicked hard and exploded out of the water. He reached up just as the plane was lifting off the water and grabbed the pontoon with both hands.
For a moment, he thought his arms were going to be jerked out of their sockets by the accelerating plane. Then he managed to wrap his legs around the pontoon. Finally, as the plane rose above the harbor, he crawled around the pontoon until he was perched on top of it.
He leaned forward, hugging the pontoon to limit the wind resistance. “It’s going to be a long night,” he told himself.
TWENTY-FIVE
The night of flight, far longer than only the Phantom could have imagined, was finally coming to an end. Drax was in the cockpit, with Sala watching, as the night slowly faded into a steel-gray haze. He had been too excited to sleep. Maybe he’d never sleep again. Once he had the third skull in his possession, anything, absolutely anything, was possible.
He chuckled to himself. If ol’ David Palmer thought his influence was widespread now, just wait. Without a doubt, Drax knew he would be the single-most powerful person in the world. No statesman, no general, no president, no dictator would ever come close to the type of power he would possess. With a single command, he would be able to destroy nations, bury continents, even destroy the world itself when he was ready to move on to other worlds. Yes, truly anything was possible.
Even his mother would be proud of him, if she were still alive. She’d raised him by herself, in poverty, and she’d always told him to do whatever he could to be the greatest person he could be, and not to let anyone stop him.
That was exactly what he’d done, too, and he’d done it for her. He always tried to make up for his shortcomings. If he hadn’t been late coming home that night when he was eighteen, his mother would still be alive. She’d left a candle burning for him as she always did. The cat had probably knocked it over and the curtains had caught fire. The house had burned and taken her life.
“Almost dawn,” Sala said wearily. “We should be near the island. If there is one.”
“Don’t start doubting me now,” Drax said as he consulted the map, and checked their bearings. “We’re getting very close now.”
“Look! What’s that?” Sala pointed out the window to a dark mass protruding from the cloud cover.
“A volcano. That’s it!” Drax shouted. “There is an island! Go down! We found it.”
Sala took a deep breath, then pulled back on the throttle. The plane began a steep descent.
Rejoicing, vindicated, Drax turned in his seat and woke up the others to tell them the news. “Get ready! We’re landing!”
They dipped down into a thick blanket of fog. “I can’t see a thing,” Sala said, sounding worried as the seaplane continued its descent.
“Don’t worry. You’re doing just fine. Keep going,” Drax urged. “Keep going.”
Quill, Zephro, and Diana were now awake, but they didn’t seem to be sharing Drax’s early morning enthusiasm.
Suddenly the fog parted. And just in time. Choppy waters loomed just below them. Sala pulled back on the yoke. The plane leveled and skimmed across the water a couple of hundred yards from shore.
“We made it!” Zephro shouted, sounding relieved.
“No time to waste,” Drax said, looking out toward the rocky shoreline. “Inflate the raft. Grab the supplies. We’ve got work to do.”
A few minutes later, the seaplane was anchored, and the life raft inflated. They climbed down onto the pontoon and into the raft. Quill manned a pair of oars, while Sala, Zephro, and Diana squeezed into the center of the raft. Drax, meanwhile, played George Washington crossing the Delaware as he stood at the bow with one foot raised on the rim of the raft. He gazed with steadfast concentration toward the rocky shore.
Resting in the bottom of the raft, just behind him, was the leather satchel containing the two Skulls of Touganda. He knew he was taking a chance traveling with the skulls, but he wanted the three skulls joined together as quickly as possible.
; “Yes, I see an opening, a cave. Let’s go take a look. Straight ahead, Quill.”
It wasn’t long before they picked up speed as the surf washed them toward shore. “More to the port side,” Drax yelled as they bobbed on the rising and falling sea.
Drax remained at his post unaffected by the choppy sea, but everyone else looked nauseous and frightened, especially Charlie Zephro. “Hang on, almost there,” Drax said encouragingly.
Then a large wave rolled in and swept them toward the rocky cliff. Drax wobbled and lost his balance. He grabbed a rope handle to keep from being tossed over the side.
“Oh, no!” Zephro yelled. “We’re going to hit the rocks.”
“Paddle!” Drax yelled at Quill, who was struggling to keep the raft from spinning into pinnacles of rock, which jutted menacingly through the surf.
Just when it looked as if the raft were about to be ripped to shreds, they were washed swiftly to the left and into the cave. They drifted with the current into the opening. The waters were dark and smooth. They seemed to glide over the surface.
As Drax’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that they were winding between the banks of what looked like a European coastal village made of quaint stone buildings, bordered by stone walls and stairways.
“What is this place?” Sala asked.
No one had an answer. They all stared in wonder.
“It’s an underground village,” Diana finally offered.
“Are we going to stop?” Zephro asked.
“There doesn’t seem to be anyone here,” Quill said. “It’s totally deserted.”
Finally Drax spoke up. “We’re so close now that I can feel it! History is about to be made, and you’re all a part of it.” He paused, considering the implications of what he’d just said. “Not an equal part, of course, but an important part, nonetheless.”
They drifted beneath an arched bridge, and suddenly men were leaping over the side, landing in the hip-deep water. The raft was quickly surrounded as Sala let out a startled scream.
The Phantom Page 16