by Lee Falk
"I sent a message. I got a reply, Doctor," said Diana. But before Kirk could ask more questions, there was an interruption. A delegation arrived to see Dr. Lamanda Luaga. After the radio messages and the drumming, this was the third amazing thing that happened that eventful day, just a week ago.
The three-man delegation was an unusual sight in this deep jungle village. They were dignified black meti, carefully dressed in tophats, cutaway coats, ascot ties, striped trousers, white waistcoats and shining leather shoes. It turned out that the three had come the long distance from the capital of Bangalla, Mawitaan, by car and mule pack, wearing work clothes. They had stopped to change into their finery near the Wambesi village.
Dr. Luaga greeted them with surprise and pleasure.
They were evidently friends. He introduced them to Diana and the doctors and asked them to join in the midday meal, still surprised at their unexpected appearance. The tallest man, a lawyer named Onata Omu, sharp-faced with an impressive deep voice, faced Luaga formally.
"It is our pleasure to officially inform you, Dr. La- manda Luaga, that you have been elected as first President of the free and independent nation of Bangalla."
Luaga staring at them speechless for a moment, then sat down. He was a tall, handsome man in his late thirties, with a slim athletic body and a keenly trained mind. He had visited the capitals of Europe, Asia, and the Western hemisphere, knew books, music, and sports. But with all his knowledge and experience, he was unable to speak at this moment. The, surprise had taken his breath away.
The medical team had been aware when they arrived in Bangalla that there had been many years of fighting before the people had thrown off the colonial yoke. Neighboring states had hired mercenary troops in an attempt to loot and divide Bangalla. Luaga and his friends, who were soldiers as well as politicians, had been leaders in these battles. With the wars finished, Luaga had seized the chance to return to his profession by joining the UN medical team sent from the United States. Remote from the capital during the past months, he was barely aware that an election was taking place as the young nation struggled to achieve democracy.
"President?" Luaga finally gasped. The three laughed.
"You remember, before you left, you agreed to put your name on the ballot," said the tall man.
"I didn't think there was a chance in the world for me," said Luaga. "I thought General Bababu would win easily with all the military supporting him."
The three laughed, not pleasantly. Evidently, Bababu was not a friend of theirs.
"So did Bababu think he'd win," said the tall lawyer. "But the people remembered your hospital and devotion to them, and they voted for you."
"Bababu won't like it," said Luaga thoughtfully.
"What does it matter? The election's over. You've won. What can Bababu do about it? The first congress is convening now, and will await your arrival for the inauguration."
Diana and the white doctors listened misty-eyed. They knew they were watching a young nation struggling to get on its feet and take its first few steps. Diana was the first to reach Luaga.
"Mr. President!" she said, bowing to him. The three white doctors sprang to their feet, standing at attention.
Luaga smiled.
"Please," he said. "I'm Lamanda here. Let's finish lunch; I'm starved."
Luaga was right about General Bababu. He didn't like it. And the tall lawyer was wrong. General Bababu could "do something about it," and was doing it at that very moment. That news was to land on the team like a bombshell within the week.
Now the team began to pack their equipment and prepare for the long trek through the jungle to the seacoast capital of Bangalla, Mawitaan. Most of the trip would be on foot with donkeys and bearers to carry their luggage. More radio news came from UN headquarters. An epidemic similar to the jungle fever had broken out on a Caribbean island. Because of the Kirk team's familiarity with this disease, they were needed as soon as possible for consultation in New York. After a two weeks' rest, they would go to the island. The team accepted it philosophically. Kirk was secretly delighted. He still had hopes about Diana and had been afraid she'd leave them, once at home. Now, with two weeks in New York and another stretch in the Caribbean, perhaps he'd have a chance with her.
But Diana was dismayed by the news. She faced Alec Kirk firmly.
"I'm not going back with the team. I'm staying here," she told him.
"You're leaving the team, Diana?" asked Kirk. George Schwartz and Chris Able listened quietly in the background as they packed.
"Not leaving," said Diana. "But I'm taking my two weeks' vacation here. I'll join you in the Caribbean."
Kirk looked around at the Wambesi village and the dark jungle beyond.
"Staying here?" he asked, unable to believe her words.
"Not here. I have a good friend who lives not too far away. I'm visiting him."
The doctors looked at each other. A friend in the jungle? Was this Diana's unknown attachment, and the meaning behind those mysterious drum messages? What kind of jungle man could this be? But Diana said no more. They were destined to find out for themselves, destined to be amazed.
During the last days, Luaga and his friends were busy planning the return to the capital. The men in the delegation would form an important part of Luaga's first cabinet, and they spent long hours discussing and arguing the make-up of their new government.
But all the plans and preparations came to a sharp halt with the stunning news that came over the shortwave radio. The newly elected government, only a month old, had fallen. General Bababu, the defeated candidate, had taken over, declared himself dictator and there was fighting in the streets and throughout the countryside. The three delegates swore violent Bangal- lan oaths, angry with themselves for not having anticipated Bababu's move. They looked to Luaga.
"We must leave at once for the capital. We can't let Bababu get away with this," he said firmly. However, scouting reports were not encouraging. The fighting had spilled over into the jungle. There were deserters looting and killing. It was too dangerous to travel and it seemed wiser to remain in safety with the Wambesi. But Luaga was adamant.
"We must leave. Every day I am away gives Bababu more time to kill our friends and destroy our victory. We must go at once," he added, indicating the delegation. "The medical team can remain with the Wambesi until the jungle is safer."
"We must go also," said Alec Kirk. "We are needed in the Caribbean."
So it was decided. The team and the delegation would go, taking their chances. Diana would remain with the Wambesi and wait for the Phantom. As it turned out, none of them got beyond the village gates.
Strange tiny men of fierce appearance had come to the village gates. They had small arrows in their little bows and carried short spears. The medical team and the delegation stood with high chief Wambato and a group of warriors in the open gateway. The women and children had fled into their huts. There was an awkward silence as the two groups stared at each other. The Wambesi and the delegation appeared paralyzed by the sight of the little warriors who had materialized so suddenly out of nowhere.
"Who are they?" asked Alec Kirk, almost in a whisper.
"The Bandar. The pygmies," replied Luaga in the same tone.
"Why are they here? Where are they from?" continued Alec in a slightly louder tone. The rest looked at him to quiet him, as if the small arrows held in the small taut bows might be released by a loud sound.
"From the Deep Woods," said Luaga softly.
One of the little men took a step forward. The people in the gateway tensed, all eyes on that small arrow. The little man looked at the medical team and spoke. He had come with a message.
"You will wait here," he said speaking the words flatly as if he had learned them by rote.
These were the Bandar, the pygmy people of the Deep Woods, and all the jungle knew that their arrows and spears were tipped with poison that caused instant death. Everyone in Bangalla knew about the Bandar, but they were rarely se
en, a shy people who remained in their shadowy forests behind hidden entrances—a place feared and avoided by all normal-sized jungle people. Approach to this place was forbidden. The pygmies would have it so. But there was another thing that guarded its secrecy—an ancient taboo.
Diana stared at the little men excitedly. From the Deep Woods! That meant—from the Phantom! Had they come for her? She stepped forward.
"You wait here," said the little man.
Luaga took her arm and pulled her back. Then Luaga and Kirk took a few steps toward the spokesman. Arrows were pointed at them. They stood quietly for a moment, then tried to explain their need to leave at once. Luaga tried all the jungle dialects he knew. If the little man understood, he showed no sign.
"You wait here. The Phantom orders," he said.
Kirk and Luaga returned to the gateway with the others.
"Pygmies? Why are they here?" asked Kirk.
"I believe they want to protect us," said Luaga.
The spokesman gestured to high chief Wambato, who approached him calmly and without fear. The little man spoke to him in his odd click-clack language. Wambato nodded, and whispered briefly to several of his warriors. Then he walked rapidly into the jungle with two pygmies trotting behind him. The other little men remained as they were, arrows in their bows.
"What is this? Did I hear him right? The Phantom's orders? Who or what is the Phantom?" asked Kirk, bewildered by the strangeness of it all.
"That's a long story, difficult to explain," said Luaga. "Perhaps Diana can try."
The men looked at the smiling girl.
"The Phantom is my friend," she said.
Someone (who didn't like him) described General Bababu as "half gorilla, half rhino, and all monster." Perhaps this was not completely fair to Bababu. He could be suave and charming. He had been known to make light, witty remarks while watching an enemy being slowly tortured to death. Picture him sitting at a desk in his command tent, neatly combed, shaved and powdered, all two hundred forty pounds of muscle and hard fat beneath a smartly tailored uniform glittering with a dozen medals, as he puffed elegantly on a long cigarette holder and confidently awaited the outcome of the elections.
He was confident because he didn't dream he could lose. He never had. He had come up the hard way, a young tough brawler and street fighter fresh out of the jungle—out because his Byangi tribe had thrown him out with orders never to return—a little matter of theft, assault, and rape. After battling his way in and out of a dozen saloons in Mawitaan and escaping jail only because the arresting officer was found strangled—by whom no one knew—he joined the army of the colonial power that ruled Bangalla. He was trained and rose rapidly in the ranks. The abilities that made him a menace in civilian life served him well in the rough and tumble of a colonial army. When the colonial power withdrew, he was one of three ranking native officers left. The other two died shortly ... some said suicide ... leaving Bababu at the top.
Then came the invaders, mercenaries, to cut up the helpless former colony. Bababu played with the idea of joining them.They were his breed of men, adventurers, killers. But he had a deep streak of common sense, and he felt they would lose. And they did. The Bangalla people, having rid themselves of foreign rulers, were in no mood to accept new ones.
There was an interim government, headed by an uneasy triumvirate: Bababu, "a weak-kneed skinny lawyer" (Bababu's description) named Onato Omu, and a doctor named Lamanda Luaga, "a dandified pill- pusher" (again Bababu's description).
Then the election. There were several candidates, Bababu, Luaga, and a rich native landowner and shipping magnate, Manago. Bababu respected Manago's money and made quiet plans to seize it as soon as he was elected. He had no doubt about victory. He was constantly surrounded by his officers, all of whom assured him he could not lose. The army would vote for him. The people would vote for their national hero. But the people voted for Dr. Luaga.
Seated at his desk in the command tent when the final returns came in, Bababu turned purple with rage. ("Actually purple," reported an astounded aide.) He had never lost before. He would not lose now. The results had just become known and the street celebrations barely started when he began to formulate his plans. His officers gathered around him, shaken by their faulty forecasts and fearful of his wrath. But he needed them now.
Within a week, while the newly arrived legislators were unpacking and finding their desks and while government heads were waiting for the first President, Lamanda Luaga, to return from the jungle, Bababu made his move. In classic fashion, his soldiers seized newspapers and radio stations, government buildings, and even the old armory which housed the new congress.
The city people of Mawitaan did not accept this easily. They were proud of their new freedom, their first election, and the plaudits from all over the world that had come to them for their achievement. So they fought back. Many had fought in the war, and had retained their weapons. They fought in the streets and alleys and from rooftops, against Bababu's machine guns and tanks and, for a short while, held their own.
The fighting raged in the main streets, in the suburbs, and spilled over into the farms, villages, and the jungle. There were bands of deserters and irregulars who left the brutal fighting for the easier life of looting poorly armed or defenseless people in the countryside.
From a high hill overlooking the capital city, a somber figure sat mounted on a magnificent white stallion. He was dressed in strange garb—a tight bodysuit, boots, hood, and mask. Next to the white horse sat a large animal that could be taken for a dog, but was in fact a mountain wolf. Man, horse, and wolf looked through the darkness of the night into the valley. There were fires burning, explosions, gunfire; even at this distance, faint shouts, shrieks, and cries could be heard—• all the agony of a country at war.
"War," he said bitterly. "Bababu's stolen the election, cheated the people. This will spill over into the jungle. We must be prepared."
He turned from the cliff's edge and galloped through the woods, soon reaching a small hut where lamplight shone from a window. A man inside, hearing the thunder of hooves, came to the door holding a lamp. He was a short black man wearing trousers and sneakers. He smiled as he looked at his huge mounted visitor.
"Torda," said the masked man in his deep voice. "A message for the talking drum."
Torda listened attentively.
"Council of Chiefs, come to the Deep Woods'' repeated Torda carefully. He nodded. "It will be done, Ghost Who Walks."
The masked man briefly smiled his thanks. Then the great white stallion wheeled about, and horse, rider, and mountain wolf thundered off into the dark. Torda hurriedly brought a large tomtom from the hut and began to pound out the message. The area throbbed with the deep tones. He repeated the message a dozen times, then paused and listened. In the distance, another drum was repeating the message. He had been heard. The message would be repeated, passed on, from village to village, over woods, pools, hills, and fields. And it would be heeded. For at the end of the message were the two rapid beats, the code used for only one word—Phantom.
The masked man heard the drums as he raced along the jungle path. The night was alive with drums now, of all pitches and timbres—some deep, some high, some rapid, some slow, a medley of drums from all sides. For this was the Phantom, the Ghost Who Walks, called by some, the Man Who Cannot Die.
The ancient taboo that guarded the secrecy of the Deep Woods was the tradition of the Phantom, the Ghost Who Walks—the Sign of the Skull. For it was known that somewhere in the shadowy vastness of this almost impenetrable jungle, hidden behind concealed entrances, was the fabulous Skull Cave, the home of the Phantom. Good jungle folk respected the taboo, evildoers feared it. In addition, all knew that the Bandar were there; one scratch of their arrows or spears meant instant death. It is no wonder that the Deep Woods were as completely shut off from the rest of the jungle as if surrounded by a mile-high wall of solid steel.
The Bangalla jungle, along with portions of the upp
er Amazon, parts of the Himalayas, and much of the Arctic and Antartic, was one of the few large land areas still wild and largely unexplored. On the west was the seacoast with the sleepy seaport capital of Mawitaan, now reverberating to the violent eruptions of revolution and counter-revolution. After several miles of villages and farms, the jungle began and stretched almost a thousand miles east to the Misty Mountain range, remote land of the feudal mountain princes. This jungle was peopled by many large and powerful tribes: the Wambesi with their broad fields, the Llongo with their vast herds, the Oogaan with their crafts of weaving and carving, the Mori, skilled fishermen of the Great Bay area. These were peaceful people with rich traditions and solid social structures. A few other tribes were less peaceful and less social, such as the Tirangi, fierce fighters living on the lower slopes of the Misty Mountains, only a generation away from head-hunting (and still dreaming of returning to it), and the roving Mussanga, said to revert to their outlawed ceremony of cannibalism when the mood seized them.