The Mysterious Ambassador

by Lee Falk

  The Phantom returned and they resumed the march. The masked man had been to the nearby village and had started the drum message there. He had returned with some fruit for his captive and himself, also some local unguent for Bababu's slight throat wounds. Bababu accepted the fruit and the salve without thanks.

  They continued on and, by watching the sun, Bababu knew they were going east, deeper and deeper into the jungle. He'd lost track of the days. How many since he'd awakened tied to the tree? Six, eight, twenty? Throughout the long march, they'd seen no one. The Phantom was taking unused paths, keeping his captive hidden. He wanted no word to go back to Mawitaan. Then, one night, tied to a tree as before, Bababu became aware of a faint distant roar, steady, like no other sound in the jungle. What could it be? A waterfall? A big waterfall, to the east. And suddenly Bababu knew where he was headed. And suddenly the rest of the talking drum message became clear to him. Council of Chiefs come to the Deep Woods. The Deep Woods. Home of the Bandar, the pygmy poison people—home of the Phantom. And some of the terror he had known in his command tent returned. Like all jungle folk, he had been bred with the taboo of the Deep Woods, where, it was said, even the cannibals and headhunters feared to go. He strained at the tough vines that held him to the tree. He wouldn't go there—wouldn't!

  The next morning, as they started the trek, he stumbled and complained that he was tired, his feet were sore, he could no longer walk. The Phantom nodded, dismounted, and boosted Bababu into the saddle. As he did so, he kept one hand on Hero's neck and spoke softly to the great white stallion. Seated in the saddle, Bababu grasped the reins and was suddenly exultant. Now was his chance. As the Phantom took a step away, Bababu kicked his heels into Hero's side, lashed him with the reins, and shouted, "Go!"

  The white stallion responded by rearing up on his hind legs, then slamming down on his forelegs and bucking violently. Bababu was a heavy man and an accomplished rider, but Hero tossed him twenty feet into the air. Bababu landed on his back, crashing through low bushes. And as he lay there gasping, the wind knocked out of him, he heard for the first and last time, the loud and hearty laughter of the Phantom.

  There would be no more horseback for General Bababu. He would walk the rest of the way. There were no more stops, no more rest periods. The jungle was thicker now, barely passable as the Phantom rode ahead finding almost invisible paths. Bababu followed, and a step behind him were the jaws of Devil. Now the waterfall became louder and closer and louder still, until it was almost deafening. Then a pygmy, arrow in bow, appeared in the bushes. And another stepped out on a tree bough above, arrow in hand. And another and another. Bababu looked about and saw that the little men were on all sides, and realized with a sinking feeling that all hope of escape was gone. These were the pygmy poison people and this was the Deep Woods.

  General Bababu's mysterious disappearance did not go unnoticed. Though Colonel Mokata and the army tried to bottle up the story, alert newsmen still in Mawitaan sniffed out some of the details. The dictator's midnight departure for parts unknown; the cryptic note, "Do nothing until you hear from me"; the slugged guards found in the abandoned limousine. They missed one detail—the skull marks on the jaws of the guards. It would have meant little to them if they "had learned about it. Mokata and the high command took great pains to keep the existence of the skull marks from their troops. In spite of that, the word spread from tent to tent. And the whispers began. Bababu had not simply gone away. He had been spirited away in the dark of night, plucked out of the midst of fifty thousand soldiers. Only one could do that. He had left his mark. Contrary to regulations, lights were left on through the night and the rate of desertions increased.

  The same word spread through the town. The sniping from rooftops increased. Military patrols were attacked on dark streets. Soldiers avoided certain quarters that had become more dangerous to them. Luaga's followers, the disbanded congress, and all the other enemies of Bababu became more daring in their opposition. They began to speak publicly against the dictator, first in cellars and homes, then on street corners and in halls, and finally in a huge mass meeting in the high school stadium. Mokata and his fellow officers watched this hostility rapidly grow. "Down with Bababu." If it went much further, it would take a massacre t® stop it. Yet the order had said, "Do nothing until you hear from me." An order from Bababu was a command. Where was he?

  The world press picked up the story with big head-

  lines in the neighboring countries, smaller headlines in more distant places.

  In New York, the UN Secretariat read the story with special interest. There had been no word from their mysterious ambassador, Mr. Walker. What was really happening? Cari and the medical team had no ideas to offer. The team's brief vacation was almost up, and they were preparing for their Caribbean trip. Diana and Kirk discussed the story at lunch.

  "What happened to Bababu?" said Kirk.

  "What do you think?" said Diana, smiling.

  "Your good friend, Mr. Walker?"

  "Very possible. It sounds like him. You've seen him in action," replied Diana.

  Kirk nodded, visions of the powerful figure moving among men who dropped like tenpins.

  "Yes, indeed," he said. "The chief asked me what I knew about it this morning. I said, 'Nothing.' Do you think we should tell him our ideas?"

  Diana shook her head.

  "We're certain of nothing," she said. "Not officially. Personally, I'm positive it's him. But UN ambassadors are not supposed to go around kidnapping heads of state, even illegitimate ones like Bababu."

  Kirk chuckled.

  "UN ambassadors are not supposed to knock out the private guards of heads of state. Imagine, those three found in that car in the jungle. I'd like to have been there. Bababu's personal bodyguard. Do you suppose one of them was in charge of whipping us?" said Kirk.

  "I certainly hope so," said Diana fervently.

  Those were the reactions to Bababu's cryptic departure in Mawitaan and beyond the borders of Bangalla. The reaction in the Deep Woods was even stronger.

  Passing through the cold waterfall, Bababu stood, dripping wet, before the skull throne. He'd heard about this place, and only half-believed it, all his life. Here it was. The stone throne, the cave mouth like a giant skull. Burning torches were set in the cliff and about the clearing, throwing flickering shadows. On one side in these shadows, ranks of pygmies stood watching him silently and without expression. Each carried bow and arrow or short lance, and he knew these weapons were tipped with poisons that were instant and deadly. His captor and guide was nowhere to be seen.

  Bababu stood like a bull at bay. His jacket was unbuttoned, and water dripped over his heavy arms and powerful matted chest. His big fists were clenched. He could smash any one of these little men with one blow, smash the skull like an eggshell. He searched their faces for some sign of friendliness, or of shrewdness. Maybe one or more wanted to make a deal. They knew he was rich and powerful. In Bababu's world, there was always someone ready to make a deal. He looked at face after face, but they remained impassive, with no expression at all. While he had the chance, he would try. He didn't know their language, but there was a language that all jungle folk understood, a combination of many tongues, ancient and modern.

  "I'm rich. I can make anyone rich who helps me," he said in the jungle tongue. "I can give anyone who helps me anything they want. Land, houses, automobiles ..." he paused. What would these pygmies want? Land? They had the entire Deep Woods. Houses, automobiles—did they know what they were? Jewels, money? There were rocks polished in the mountain streams—to be picked up by anyone. They used no money. Women? He searched their faces again. No sign. Nothing. What kind of woman could he give to a pygmy? A female pygmy?

  Then he had a desperate thought. Make a run for it. The pygmies had deadly weapons, but they wouldn't kill him. He didn't want them to kill him, of that Bababu was certain. He made a tentative turn away. Arrows snapped into place in bows; lances were raised. Bababu was a bold man, and, when hi
s back was to the wall, a brave one. Ignoring the deadly weapons that meant "instant death in agony," he turned back toward the waterfall and began to walk, almost holding his breath as he did.

  He had only gone a few paces, when there was a swift patter of padded feet behind him. As he turned to see what it was, a big gray form leaped at him. Devil, the mountain wolf. The force of the leap knocked Bababu to the ground. The wolf was on him, long gleaming fangs at his throat, hot breath on his face. Bababu lay rigid, held by fear and the sense that his only salvation was in not moving. The previous encounter flashed through his mind. Then a long whistle from somewhere, and the weight was off him. Bababu got to his feet. The wolf stood a few feet away, head lowered, pale-blue eyes watching him, the gleaming fangs partly revealed. It was not necessary for anyone to tell Bababu not to move again.

  Then he was no longer the center of this scene. Attention had shifted away from him. All heads were turned to the waterfall behind him. He turned his head slightly, not enough to set off the watching mountain wolf. He saw an impressive sight. A dozen jungle men were emerging from the waterfall, dripping and shaking and laughing as they came. They were an imposing group. Each was outfitted with all the riches that the jungle offered—furs, jewels, gold. Though some were tall and thin and some were short and fat, or tall and fat, and short and thin—all had the unmistakable air of authority about them. On each head was a crown, some of gold or other metals, some of wood. For these were the high chiefs, the lords of the jungle. Bababu could not know that just beyond the waterfall at the fringe of the Deep Woods, hundreds of warriors waited. Each chief had brought his own escort of fifty to a hundred or more men, and they were a mighty host.

  The chiefs filed past Bababu, and waited quietly before the skull throne. Bababu recognized some of them. In his years of adventure and campaigning in and out of the jungle, he'd had contact with some of the tribes and their chiefs. And though he now ruled the entire country, and a modern army of fifty thousand men, he still felt the awe he had known as a jungle boy in the presence of the hereditary chiefs. His own tribe, the Byangi, small and impoverished, had vanished years before, destroyed and scattered by the rampaging Tirangi. If any of the chiefs knew or recognized Bababu, they gave no sign, ignoring him.

  Now Bababu remembered the talking drums he had

  heard several days before, calling the Council of Chiefs to the Deep Woods. He had dismissed it as being of no concern to him. Now, he realized with a shiver, this was the Council of Chiefs meeting here. Why? Because of him?

  Suddenly, Devil the mountain wolf ran away from Bababu and stood at the mouth of the Skull Cave. Chiefs and pygmies alike straightened in anticipation, barely concealing their excitement. It was an electric moment that seemed to race through all of them as they turned and looked at the Skull Cave. A minute of silence. Then the Phantom strode out of the Skull Cave to the dais of the throne, Devil following him. Chiefs and pygmies smiled. It was obvious, even to Bababu, that they loved this man.

  The Phantom stood before the skull throne in the flickering light of the torches. He wasted no time making a speech. He merely thanked the chiefs for coming to decide an important matter, then waved to Bababu to come forward. The chiefs parted to make way for him. But he folded his arms and stood stolidly, not moving. He would not be ordered about in front of these men. The Phantom waited a moment, then pointing to Bababu, he snapped a command to Devil.

  "Fetch," he said.

  Devil bounded toward Bababu, his long teeth gleaming in the torchlight. Bababu needed no further invitation. He moved forward rapidly, with Devil's cold nose against his leg. Chiefs and pygmies grinned. Bababu paused at the edge of the dais and scowled at the crowd. Not one out there, he thought to himself, whose skull I couldn't smash with a single blow. He itched to move among the grinning men like a rampaging bull and smash left and right. Maybe his time would come.

  "Chiefs, this is Bababu of Byangi who calls himself the ruler of Bangalla," he said.

  The chiefs looked at him with interest. They all knew the name, but were vague about Bangalla. The notion of a unified nation, composed of all their tribes, was new and had not yet percolated through the shadowy jungle. But they knew about Bababu's power and his army.

  "Bababu is not the true ruler of Bangalla. He is a usurper," continued the Phantom, using a jungle term all understood.

  Bababu started to protest this, but the Phantom silenced him with a sharp wave of his hand.

  "If he is not the true ruler of Bangalla, who is?" asked Wambato of Wambesi.

  "A man whom many of you met during the time of sickness. Dr. Lamanda Luaga," said the Phantom.

  "He is dead," snapped Bababu.

  "You've done your best to make that so," said the Phantom. "Your troops searched for him through the jungle, in every village. Is that so, chiefs?"

  The chiefs nodded, showing annoyance at the memory.

  "You are obviously anxious to see him," continued the Phantom.

  "He is dead. I am now the legitimate—" began Bababu angJSy.

  "General Bababu, meet Dr. Luaga," said the Phantom.

  Lamanda Luaga stepped out of the Skull Cave and walked toward the dais of the throne. Bababu stared, stunned for a moment. The chiefs gasped. This was the man, the search for whom had turned the jungle upside down. And he had been here all the time!

  Luaga was dressed in simple khaki shirt, trousers, and sandals. He walked directly toward Bababu and his eyes were hard.

  "I've waited a long time for this, Bababu," he said.

  Bababu held his ground. The Phantom had upset him in more ways than one, but he feared no ordinary man. The Phantom stepped between them and spoke softly to Luaga. The doctor sighed and stepped back. The chiefs watched the little drama with interest. What was going on?

  "Chiefs, you know General Bababu and his soldiers. You know Lamanda Luaga as a doctor who made your sick people well. You also know that the people of Bangalla made him their leader, their president."

  The chiefs knew that only very vaguely. They knew

  that in the capital city, Mawitaan, and in other cities and towns, there had been a noisy and complicated activity called an election. It had to do with the making of a leader, a chief, a president. Only a scattering of the jungle tribes had been involved in this activity. The democratic process was new to Bangalla.

  "Luaga is the legitimate leader of Bangalla. While he was among you, healing your sick, this man Bababu stole his place."

  Again, Bababu began to protest, but the Phantom cut him short. The chiefs buzzed among themselves about this, which they could well understand.

  "Stole?" said Wambato of Wambesi. "If he is a thief, hang him."

  The chiefs nodded their agreement, with happy smiles. It was an easy case. That was the end of the matter.

  Bababu looked startled when he heard the word "hang." His fists clenched. Nobody would hang him. If necessary, he would go down fighting, he told himself.

  "No, chiefs," said the Phantom. "You are here as a jury to hear this case first, and then make a judgment."

  A jury? These chiefs were one-man rulers, autocrats, and in their own tribes made all decisions themselves. The Phantom briefly explained the function of a jury, a combined decision made by the entire Council of Chiefs.

  Bababu took heart at this palavering. Maybe there was an out, a loophole somewhere. He took a bold stand.

  "This is ridiculous," he said. "How can these men, in the jungle, make a decision about the politics of the city."

  "They are rulers, they know men. I doubt if a more proper jury could be found for you anywhere else in the world, a jury of your peers."

  Bababu snorted, feeling more confidence as the argument continued. He turned on the Phantom.

  "You are talking legal words. Jury of my peers, and all that. You are so legal. What legal right did you have to attack me and my men, to kidnap me from my command tent, and drag me here like a captured animal?"

  The chiefs glared at this impe
rtinence, but the Phantom considered for a moment.

  "Captured animal is a good description of you, Bababu," he said. "As for my authority" ... he took a piece of paper from his belt, and read it aloud.

  " 'Will you serve as UN ambassador to Bangalla, to bring peace and legality? signed Secretary-General, United Nations,' I accepted the appointment. That's my authority, Bababu," he said. Then he turned to the chiefs and explained. "The United Nations is like a big Council of Chiefs for the whole world, and its only purpose is to bring peace and health and friendship to all the people."

  The chiefs nodded, pleased with this information, though in their minds the Phantom needed no other authority than his own in this matter.

  "That United Nations is a good thing," said Wambato of Wambesi, and the others nodded again.

  "Now to the judging of this man," said the Phantom.