The Mysterious Ambassador

by Lee Falk

  As he spoke, he was kneeling by the fallen men, tying them securely with heavy vines.

  "Punished, but not by me," he added. "The city and the jungle are full of killing. It is my desire to end this, to bring peace. You as doctors understand why."

  "What can you do—one man? This whole country's torn by civil war," said George Schwartz.

  "That's a good question, George," said the Phantom. (I didn't know he knew my name, thought George in surprise.) "But we must do what we can."

  He finished tying the deserters.

  "There is an Oogaan village near here. I must ride there to get jailers for these men. You will stay here with your rifles ready, on guard, until I come back."

  "May I come with you?" asked Diana. ,

  "You may," said the Phantom, smiling as he mounted his white stallion.

  Diana happily mounted her little brown mare and they rode off, with Devil, the wolf, racing after them.

  "With those wounds he should be in a hospital bed for a week," said Chris Able.

  "Didn't seem to bother him," said George Schwartz. "Can you imagine one man doing what he did?" They looked at the bound deserters, still in their deep sleep. He bent over one of them. "This skull mark—I tried several solutions on it—doesn't come off. It's like a tattoo."

  "Know something—I think he made that mark with that ring he wears."

  "You mean he brands them?" asked Chris, wide- eyed.

  "Not at all. It goes with the fist. Note the coincidence of the mark and the fractures," said George.

  "I didn't know any bare fist could hit that hard without breaking," said Chris.

  Alec Kirk looked at the fallen men, at the skull marks, at the jungle.

  "I don't know anything any more," he said. "Especially about the one called the Phantom."

  "If it wasn't for Diana, I wouldn't take him for real," said Chris.

  "If I ever saw a girl in love, she's it," said George.

  "Lucky dog," said Alec.

  "Think he's in love with her?" said Chris.

  "Who wouldn't be?"

  "But him?" persisted Chris.

  George laughed. "To these people be may be the Mighty Magoo, but to her, he's the boyfriend."

  "To me, he's also the Mighty Magoo, whatever that is," said Alec.

  "Me too," said George. He looked at his watch, then at the sleeping men. "These beauties have been out for over an hour. I believe I could perform an appendectomy without disturbing them. If we ever run out of anaesthetic, our masked friend is better than ether."

  "Wonder if there are any side-effects?" said Chris solemnly.

  "A slight headache, I should think," said Alec, picking up the game.

  "Also, an allergic reaction to masks," said George. "They'd be no good at a masquerade."

  "Imagine, if one of them has to have surgery," laughed Alec. "All those medical masks in the operating room."

  They watched with professional interest as their charges regained consciousness. This came with a start, a growl, testing the tight vines, a surprised stare at the armed doctors, then a retreat into a sullen pout.

  A few hours later, they heard sounds in the jungle and raised their rifles anxiously. To their relief, Diana and the Phantom came into view, followed by a column of natives in loincloths who were carrying spears. At the head of the column was a handsome muscular young man.

  "My friend, Prince Obiju of the Oogaan," said the Phantom, introducing him. "This year's champion of the jungle Olympics."

  The young man nodded modestly.

  "Jungle Olympics?" asked George, puzzled, but the Phantom did not explain.

  The warriors marched to the bound men and spoke harshly to them. The prisoners got to their feet and were led away by the column. Obiju smiled at the team,

  shook hands with the Phantom, and trotted off after the

  others.

  "The Oogaan will take care of them," said the Phantom.

  "Kill them?" asked Alec.

  "They've been looking for this band. They've caused a lot of trouble. They've stolen and killed. The Oogaan council will try and sentence them. Life imprisonment at hard labor, I imagine," he said.

  "With parole after five years?" asked George.

  "In the jungle, life imprisonment means for life—until death. They may not last five years. The hard labor is very hard," said the Phantom softly, with pity in his voice.

  George flushed, embarrassed by his own brashness.

  "Let's move on," said the Phantom.

  The next part of the three days' journey to Trader Joe's took a week. They spent one anxious day and night hidden in a cave near a company of Bababu's army. The soldiers were bivouacked in the pass through which the team had to pass to reach the river. So they waited, rifles at the ready every time a soldier came near them. Fortunately there was no confrontation, and the company finally moved on. The Oogaan had told them about several other bands of deserters in the neighborhood, and the Phantom led the team off the route to avoid meeting them. There was no way to avoid one small band of three bandits. Once more the team waited while the Phantom went ahead. That encounter only lasted thirty seconds. The bandits were eating at their campfire when the Phantom landed on them. Three sledgehammer blows ended the meal. The bandits were left for the Oogaan to pick up, and the team moved on.

  By now, the doctors were in complete awe of their masked guide who cleared the way ahead like a tornado. And Diana rode with him in ecstasy, almost dreading each hour and mile that brought her closer to Trader Joe's and the end of their journey. He made her happy by saying he would take the river ride to town with them, to be certain they arrived safely. That only delayed the inevitable parting. This was a trip that neither Diana nor the doctors would ever forget, this steady trek through danger-filled, war-torn jungle, guided and defended by the powerful masked man who was revered by the people of the jungle as a living legend.

  Suddenly, the sound of rippling water, the grassy banks of a wide river, and ahead a group of wooden shacks near a dock where a white launch was anchored: Waiting on a verandah was a slight man with a scruffy beard and broad straw sombrero hat—Trader Joe. The dangerous jungle trek was over. Unbelieveably, they'd come through in one piece, unharmed. They relaxed, laughing happily, relieved as they shook hands with the jovial Trader Joe, not knowing that greater danger was ahead.

  The newly elected first Congress, which had not yet functioned, returned reluctantly and suspiciously to the capital at Bababu's command. They had no other choice, as soldiers found them and escorted them from their towns, villages, and farms. This first Congress of one hundred five men (no Women's Lib yet in Bangalla) was a mixed group: some professional men, some ex-cadre of the former colonial power, some illiterate leaders from the jungle villages. Now they waited anxiously for four hours in their makeshift hall until Colonel Mokata arrived with a squad of armed soldiers. Surrounding the hall, as the delegates could see through the open windows, was a circle of tanks and machine guns. Mokata walked quickly to the podium and looked at the anxious faces for a few moments, enjoying the suspense and his own sense of power. Then he made a brief announcement in staccato tones.

  The congress had twenty-four hours in which to declare Bababu the new president. No one would leave until the decision was reached. No food, no water, no sleep.

  One brave man, Oulatto of Oogaan and a follower of Luaga, stood up.

  "How can we do this? Lamanda Luaga is president."

  "Lamanda Luaga is dead," said the Colonel.

  There was a stir among the delegates, and a hiss of disbelief. The soldiers at the wall tightened their grips on their rifles.

  "We don't know that," said Oulatto.

  "My word is enough," snapped Mokata. "I speak for the general." He started to leave, then paused. "Any more questions?"

  "Yes," said Oulatto, who had remained standing.

  "What if we do not reach a decision in twenty-four hours?"

  No one stirred, waiting in anxious silence
for the answer which came quickly.

  "You have no choice. Bababu rules now. You have his order."

  "Then why is our decision necessary?" persisted Oulatto.

  "Because General Bababu has so ordered," was the curt answer. Mokata snapped his fingers. Two soldiers with pistols in hand came down the aisle and took the brave man's arms.

  "We remember before when your men took Towanda from this hall and shot him dead in the corridor!" shouted Oulatto. "Is this what we can expect from would-be president Bababu?"

  The husky jungle man shook himself loose and raced up the aisle toward the doors. The soldiers pointed their pistols and fired. Oulatto stumbled, half-turned, tumbled onto the laps of two horrified delegates, then collapsed into the aisle. No one moved. All stared at Mokata who was enjoying his role.

  "Some of you may not get as far as the corridor. You have twenty-four hours," he said.

  And he strode briskly out of the hall. Bangalla's first elected congress in its two-thousand-year history sat in confused silence. The body remained in the aisle.

  The medical team spent several hours resting and refreshing themselves at the trading post of the eccentric Trader Joe. Joe, a former London banker, inspired by Gauguin, had left family, career, and civilization for the wilderness to become an artist. As he explained later, the only difference between him and Gauguin was a slight matter of talent; so he gave up painting and started a jungle store. Joe drank half a case of warm beer daily and was always inebriated. His capable Wambesi wife managed the store and their half-dozen happy children. Appearing in Joe's alcoholic haze from time to time was a friendly masked figure who became his friend. Joe was never completely certain whether this figure was real or part of the beer fog he lived in.

  This visit, the masked man seemed reassuringly real, accompanied as he was by apparently normal people.

  The normal people used Joe's shower, a bucket with holes in the bottom hanging from a tree, had a bottle or so of his warm beer, then went to Joe's little motor- launch, The Belch, docked on the riverbank. Ahead was a six-hour boat trip to Mawitaan. They waited patiently in the boat for their masked friend who was inside die post with Joe. Joe came to the dock, at length with someone who appeared to be a stranger. A tall man, wearing a felt hat, a top coat (in this jungle heat), sunglasses, trousers. Devil the wolf-dog trotted at his side. It took them (except Diana) a moment to realize this was their masked friend, dressed for travel. If he still wore his strange costume beneath the outer clothes, it was not visible. Joe's handyman and boatman, a young nephew of Joe's, would go with them. His wife, and six children waved good-bye to them, Joe with the inevitable bottle of beer tilted to his lips. In their short visit, all had quickly learned to love this lazy, smiling ex-banker.

  "What a character," commented Alec Kirk, expressing what all the group felt. "I'm sorry we didn't have more time with him."

  "There are many such characters in the jungle," said the Phantom. "Refugees from the tensions of the outside world that they can no longer cope with."

  The doctors looked at their protector with a new interest. It seemed surprising that a man who could hit so hard could speak with such insight.

  For the first four hours, the trip down the river was uneventful. This was a wide, deep river, no rapids or falls. The current was strong, as was their motor, and they sped along at a good pace. They passed women washing their laundry at the shore, pounding the colorful cloth on rocks and hanging it on bushes and trees. An occasional fisherman, knee-deep in the shallows with a hand net, waved to them. The shores were alive with birds, fish leaped in the wake of the boat, and now and then, the beady eyes of a crocodile peered at them, then sank into the muddy water.

  It was a pleasant trip after the tensions of the jungle.

  Sitting in the stern of the boat with the Phantom's arm around her, Diana was in Nirvana. Trader Joe had assured them the river was free of guerillas and Bababu's army, and there was nothing to worry about. The doctors felt Bababu's army no longer concerned them since they'd accomplished their mission for Bangalla and would leave Mawitaan at once upon arrival there. If the Phantom had any qualms he didn't express them. As it turned out, both Trader Joe and the doctors were wrong. There was something to worry about.

  Two hours from Mawitaan, a loud voice suddenly roared at them from the banks. The voice was coming through an amplified bullhorn, the voice of an army officer standing on the bank with a squad of soldiers. Two machine guns were pointed at the boat, and the big voice ordered them to come into shore at once. All on the boat looked at the Phantom. There was an unmistakable threat in this order. What to do? Make a run for it? No, the Phantom told them. They had no chance against the machine guns. There was no alternative. They went into shore.

  The squad was one of the hundreds of teams sent out by Bababu to find Lamanda Luaga. With the guns of the squad pointed at them, the doctors looked anxiously at the disguised Phantom. He remained silent. The doctors identified themselves, and the officer shouted with delight. He knew he'd made a big catch. He grabbed the field phone at his feet and reported excitedly to his headquarters. The message was relayed at once to Bababu at the palace. They'd caught the medical team. Was Luaga with them? No. Where was he? They said they didn't know. Bring them in the fastest way possible. The fastest way was by boat. Then bring them in by boat to the army dock just outside Mawitaan. Done! The officer and three armed soldiers leaped into the boat, one of them took the wheel, and they continued downstream with their prisoners. The soldiers were happy. This meant a handsome reward from their general—cash, medals, promotions.

  If the soldiers were happy^Bababu was jubilant. After all the frustrations—the missing pilots, the lost gun crew, the disappearing medical team—at least here was the answer to the maddening will-o'-the-wisp, his enemy Lamanda Luaga. True, the report said he was not with the team. But they would know where he was. And Bababu meant to find out. Aware of the dignity of his position, he restrained his impulse to rush to the dock to meet the captured team. Instead, he sent his faithful Colonel Mokata to await their arrival.

  On the launch, the doctors pondered their dilemma. They believed they had nothing to fear from General Bababu. But they knew he searched for their former colleague, Luaga. They knew they would be asked about him. How far would the questioning go? They asked the Phantom, who remained unperturbed behind his sunglasses. He did not answer but sat quietly, watching the water.

  After all the narrow escapes and dangers in the jungle, their heroic guide had unhappily led them into this trap.

  "Why did we have to come by river?" ventured Alec Kirk. "It seemed faster, simpler, safer," said the Phantom. "But as it turned out, it wasn't," he added, looking at the armed soldiers. Then he turned back to look at the passing river. Disappointed and nervous, the team settled back in silence. Diana looked at them unhappily. They avoided her glance. The boat sped on. The soldiers smoked, chatted and laughed, their rifles in their hands as they watched their prisoners. They looked at Diana, made obvious ribald comments, and roared with laughter. The doctors did not understand, but the Phantom's fist tightened on the gunwale. He said nothing.

  They were nearing the capital now. The jungle on either side was replaced by open fields and huts, small farms on the outskirts, with occasional stands of trees. People could be seen plowing and planting in the fields. Tension mounted among the doctors. Whatever would happen to them was now only an hour away. The soldiers were in a happy mood, already visualizing their rewards. They relaxed their vigil. The doctors and the girl seemed a harmless cowardly group, nothing to worry about. It was at this moment that the Phantom struck.

  One moment he was seated at the stern, one hand idly playing in the passing stream. In the next split-second he was among the soldiers, his fist crashing on their jaws so fast that his movements were a blur. The seated soldiers had no time to move their rifles or get to their feet. They collapsed like rag dolls where they were. The officer was near the bow, the only one of them standing
. He turned at the first crunching sound and yelled, reaching for the pistol in his belt holster. But his hand never touched the gunbutt. The hard fist caught him square in the face and he collapsed over the side of the boat. The soldier at the wheel threw up his hands to protect himself. The fist slammed into his jaw, knocking him sideways. With his other hand, the Phantom grabbed the wheel and steered the boat into the nearby bank. He shut off the motor, and jumped ashore taking the bow rope with him. Devil leaped after him. The team stared at him, at the boat. There was a moment of stunned silence.

  It had all happened so fast. One moment, quietly, worriedly moving downstream with the happy chatter of the soldiers. Then, as if a whirlwind had hit the little boat, the scene changed. Changed like magic. Four men lying at the bottom of the boat, unconscious or dead. No, they weren't dead. They breathed as if in a deep sleep. And on the shore, the Phantom stood, his hat and sunglasses undisturbed, holding the tope tied to the boat. There is an old jungle saying: the Phantom strikes quicker than the lightning from the sky.