Lee Falk - [Story of the Phantom 15]

by The Curse of the Two Headed Bull (v0. 9) (epub)

  “Haven’t you learned it’s polite to give your seat to a lady? No manners here,” said the Phantom, holding him at arm’s length. He released him, and the Sheik collapsed in a heap on the floor. He huddled there, like a baby. First, that judo toss by Diana. Now this. It was too much. The Sheik did an amazing thing. He began to sob.

  Diana looked at him with alarm, and despite all that had happened, felt a wave of sympathy for this man. First he sobbed. Then he cried. Then he began to howl and pound his fists on the floor. The ruler of Suda-Kalara was having a tantrum. Diana was shaken. She looked up anxiously at the Phantom. He grinned at her, a big wide grin. That reassured her.

  “He’s a spoiled baby. He’s acting like one,” he said lightly. Then his voice changed, cold as ice.

  “Sit up,” he commanded. The order got to the man. He sat up. There was the sound of knocking at the big closed doors, the sound of excited voices as well.

  “Tell them to wait,” said the Phantom.

  The Sheik did as he was told. The sounds outside ceased. Then he stared up at the big stranger.

  “You are the man with the dog. Mr. Walker,” he said in a weak voice. He looked at the masked face for some reply. There was none. It was eerie. He couldn’t see the eyes. It was like talking to a statue.

  “A man like you is a disgrace to the human race,” said the Phantom slowly. “We have always been burdened with tyrants. I guess we always will be.”

  Diana looked at him in amazement. She’d never heard him talk this way. This was not her happy, easy companion of jungle rides, Paris boulevards, midnight swims. He was remote, far away, as though speaking from a mountaintop. She realized with a shiver that this was the legendary Phantom, the Ghost Who Walks, the nemesis of evildoers everywhere.

  “But I am not here to change you or your nation. That is something your own people must do. I am here to take Diana Palmer and the sacred image of the Llongo to their homes.”

  “Take them. Take them,” said the Sheik harshly. “I never want to see them again.”

  “You can be sure the feeling is mutual. You know, you should be punished severely. In some places, the death penalty would not be too much for what you have done.”

  The Sheik stared at him fearfully. Then, surprisingly, the Phantom grinned again.

  “Diana, just before I reached this room, I passed a window. I saw you in the act of throwing his Highness over your shoulder. A beautiful throw.”

  “Thank you,” said Diana. And they both had to laugh.

  “That might be a suitable punishment for his Highness,” he went on. “Another demonstration like that before his troops. Willing?”

  “I’d be delighted to,” she said, meaning it.

  “You can’t,” said the Sheik hoarsely. “Shoot me with that gun. I say, shoot me.” He was near hysterics again.

  “Don’t rush us. We’ll get to that,” said the Phantom. Diana relaxed. He had come down from the mountain and was her good friend again.

  “I said you are free to go. Take her, take that thing.”

  “Yes. And how far do you think we would get from this room, once we left you?”

  “No, I swear, safe conduct,” said the Sheik as sincerely as he could. Even Diana believed him.

  But the Phantom said, “No.”

  “You don’t accept my word? It is worth nothing to you?” said his Highness, in shocked tones.

  “It is worth less than dirt. You are a criminal, a thief, a kidnapper, and the lowest of all miserable filth—a slaver,” said the Phantom. And once more his voice was cold as ice and he seemed to loom like a giant over the man on the floor. The Sheik trembled and remained silent.

  “Devil, bring gun,” said the Phantom. Devil left the prone soldier, stepping on his face in the process, picked up the nearby rifle in his jaws and trotted to his master, laying the gun at his feet.

  “You, up—open the doors.”

  The soldier staggered to his feet and walked weakly to the doors. They were locked from the inside. He unlocked them and swung them open. The doorway and the corridor were filled with people packed together, soldiers, courtiers and servants. Foremost among them was Taras. All stared at their ruler lying oh the floor, at the masked man, and at thei girl seated on the gold and azure throne. That, in itself, was incredible. No woman had ever sat on that royal seat.

  She looked at the Phantom with alarm. What could he do with all those people massed outside, through all the corridors and gardens, surrounding them on all sides? But he appeared calm, unimpressed with the mob. He reached down, grabbed the ruler by his collar and pulled him to hisi feet. The crowd gasped. The Sheik sagged limply. This was it. Humiliation.

  “Which of you out there is in authority?” said the Phantom to the crowd. Taras stepped forward, his face showing his fear, his eyes watching the shining gun held so close to his master’s head.

  “I am Taras, aide to his Highness,” he said in a quavering voice. He knew without being told. This was the man—the man with the dog. The Phantom—the Man Who Cannot Die. The crowds outside the chamber were buzzing. Four guards had been found in the halls, all with skull marks on their jaws, marking the progress of the stranger from the harem toi the throne room. The captain of the guard’s words had spread—Ghost Who Walks—sign of the Phantom.

  ‘Taras, you will bring Loka of Llongo here at once.”

  Taras nodded, muttered a few words to a guard at the door who promptly disappeared.

  Officers and courtiers in the halls were feverishly discussing plans to free their ruler. A sniper, a massed assault? It! was too dangerous. That gun at their ruler’s head.

  All waited in an uneasy silence until Loka arrived. He had been found tied to a whipping post, about to be beaten. This reprieve had come at the last moment, as the jailor had raised the metal-studded whip.

  Loka looked without comprehension at the scene. What had happened? They had told him nothing. There was the image, where he had left it such a short time ago. There was the ruler; there was the girl; but who was that? His stomach tightened. His heart skipped a beat. He knew instinctively, without being told.

  “You are Loka?” said the Phantom, seeing the family resemblance to Lamanda Luaga. He’d seen Loka only once, in the small window of the plane at Heathrow. Loka nodded, too choked up to speak.

  “You know who I am?”

  Loka nodded again.

  “Pick up the image, Loka.”

  He did as he was told, picking it up carefully and cradling it in his arms. The crowd watched tensely. By now, they all. knew the legend. It was like watching a man defuse a live bomb. He was the only one who knew how to do it—but it might go off at any moment.

  “When is the next international flight from this airport?” said the Phantom, directing his question to Taras. The answer involved a few moments of consultation with people in the doorway.

  “There is a flight to Paris in one hour,” he said.

  “Reserve four seats on that plane for us. Advise me at once if they are available.” The orders came out rapidly.

  “Four?” said Taras, looking at the Phantom, Diana, and Loka.

  “Four.”

  “But, you—you cannot take his Highness,” said Taras' anxiously. The Sheik’s eyes rolled. By now he was limp and beyond caring about anything.

  “It may be necessary. At once.”

  Taras gave an order, a man near him rushed out. They all waited in an uneasy silence. Through the windows came sounds of music and laughter from the harem. Evidently order had been restored there, and no one had told them what was going on here. It is easy to imagine what they were talking about. There was also the sound of marching feet outside—squads of soldiers moving on the gravel paths, with barked commands coming out of the night. All that power— useless to the ruler now. The man returned and nodded to Taras.

  “The four seats are reserved,” he said. “But his Highness?”

  “His Highness will accompany us to the airport, and beyond if necessary
. Now, listen to this. All of you.” And he spoke in their own desert tongue. “If anyone of you makes the slightest move toward us, I will shoot his Highness. I will shoot him as dead as a cold carp.” The Sheik’s eyes rolled to the ceiling at this. He almost fainted. The crowd gasped at the boldness of the statement, but there were a few covered grins as well. The “cold earp” phrase was a humorous one in their language, a fact the Phantom knew. He also noticed that though they all showed expressions of proper concern for the plight of their ruler, most of them didn’t appear overly worried. The exceptions were Taras and some of the courtiers and high-ranking officers who knew where their bread was buttered. For the rest, it might be said that none of them liked their cruel ruler. To the contrary, it was apparent to the sharp eyes of the Phantom that he was hated, and no greater boon could be given to these people than to turn him into a “cold carp.”

  “Is the Sheik’s car ready?”

  “His Highness’s royal vehicle is waiting,” said Taras bowing.

  “Clear the halls,” said the masked man. The halls were cleared.

  They marched out of the throne room, the four of them, with Devil bringing up the rear, his eyes darting from side to side, ever alert and ready to leap if given cause. No one was anxious to give him any cause. Those jaws were terrifying. The Phantom half-walked, half-dragged the Sheik, with the gun pointed at his head. Diana clung to the Phantom’s free arm. Loka followed, clutching the image, looking fearfully from side to side. And behind him, Devil. Soldiers, courtiers and servants parted—“like the Red Sea,” as Diana later observed, to let them pass. All watched curiously, intrigued, amazed, with little anger. Through the rich halls, loaded with paintings, tapestries and statuary, sparkling crystal chandeliers, splashing fountains. Out onto the wide front steps where the long bubble-topped limousine waited, a chauffeur and footman in the front seat. Diana looked to one side, toward the gauzy-draped windows of the harem through which came the sounds of laughter and the tinkling of little bells.

  The Phantom ordered the chauffeur and footman out of the car. “You will drive,” he told Diana. Surprised, she sat in the driver’s seat. Loka sat next to her with the image on his lap. The Phantom took the Sheik into the back seat with him. As the crowds watched from every window and doorway, from all along the wide verandah, from the gardens and pathways—all the several thousand who made up this vast establishment—the car moved slowly out of the palace grounds. The gates were opened, the guards there had been advised in advance. They watched curiously as the car passed them. No vehicle of any kind followed them. That had been the Phantom’s final order, and he had shaken the Sheik by the collar as he said it.

  “Is that clear?” he said to one and all.

  “Do everything he says,” cried the frantic ruler.

  So it was done that way. They reached the airport. A big plane was standing on the runway, motors idling, waiting to take off. Customs officers and airport personnel watched with wide eyes as the little procession walked through the station onto the field. At the stairs leading into the plane, a stewardess waited with a clipboard.

  “Mr. Walker, party of four?” she said brightly. Then her eyes bulged as she saw the mask and the gun.

  “Yes,” said the Phantom.

  “No, don’t take me. I’ll do anything you want. Give you anything you want. Just ask it—riches—whatever you ask,” the Sheik pleaded, clutching the powerful arm.

  “You’re getting ofi easy. If you were a poor man, you’d spend the next twenty-five years in jail. But that’s the way of the world,” said his masked captor.

  “You’re not taking me with you?” Hope showed in his eyes. The Phantom shook his head.

  “But the four seats?” said the Sheik, still unable to believe he was not going.

  “The fourth seat is for Devil.”

  At the sound of his name, the big animal licked his hand.

  “Oh, sir,” said the popeyed stewardess, “we can’t take dogs.”

  “We’ll go into that later. Now listen to this, ruler of Suda-Kalara. I made certain preparations in case my plans didn’t work like this. Tomorrow, you should receive two cables, one from the brother of your former slave, Loka.” Loka, standing by the stairs with the image, was suddenly alert.

  “His brother is Dr. Lamanda Luaga, President of Bangalla.”

  Even in his weak and battered condition, the Sheik could be amazed by that. “Luaga is his brother?”

  “One of your colleagues in the Third World conclave,” said the Phantom dryly.

  “The Vice-President,” said the Sheik faintly.

  “Unless it proves necessary, he won’t be told what you did to his brother.” The Sheik sighed with relief. “You will receive this cable, thanking you for finding the stolen sacred image of the Llongo, thanking you for your kindness in returning it to Bangalla in the safe care of Loka.” Loka smiled for the first time in a month.

  The Sheik looked worried. Even in his predicament, with a gun at his head, he could think of money. “Give it back?” he said. “But it’s worth millions on the market,” he said.

  “So it is, but not for you,” said the Phantom, looking at Diana.

  She shook her head. “Of all the cheap . . . !” She couldn’t think of a word low enough.

  “You will also receive a cable from the UN Medical Delegation in Paris, advising that their junior administrator, one Diana Palmer, is visiting your kingdom on her vacation and should be given all the hospitality and courtesy for which you are so justly famous.”

  The Sheik stared at Diana. He didn’t understand sarcasm.

  “UN? You are in the UN?”

  Diana froze him with a look and turned away.

  A man in uniform, the copilot, appeared in the doorway of the plane above them.

  “Ready for takeoff, everybody,” he announced cheerfully. Diana and Loka went up the stairs, Devil remaining with his master. The copilot stared down as the Phantom started up the stairs backwards, one step at a time, his gun still pointed at the Sheik who now stood alone.

  “Sir,” said the copilot. “Yeu cannot bring firearms aboard.”

  “He’s a law enforcer,” said Diana.

  “Oh? Police?”

  “Better than that,” she .said, smiling, and entered the plane. The Phantom was halfway up the stairs when he stared up at the clouded night sky. Two jet planes roared by, high in the air. The SJieik turned to leave, but the Phantom leaped back down to the concrete and grabbed him again.

  “I’ve changed my mind. You are going with us as far as Paris. Then we’ll say good-bye.”

  The Sheik looked frantic again.

  “I don’t put it past your air force to shoot us down as soon as we get up there. With you aboard, that won’t happen.” And he pulled the unwilling man up the stairs into the plane.

  He was quite right. That had been the hastily arranged plan, if they had boarded without the ruler. The door closed, the steps were rolled away, and the tig plane took off. In the air, the jets buzzed them for a time, but on orders from the ground, held their fire.

  CHAPTER 20

  It was the oddest group of passengers the airline had ever carried. The Sheik sulked in his seat, refusing to open his eyes or talk to anyone. The big wolf slept on the floor at his master’s feet. Black Loka clutched the shining image and refused to put it under the seat or in the locker above as they requested. The pretty girl, in her scanty harem outfit, explained that she and her masked companion had both come from a masquerade at the palace of Suda-Kalara and had made a wager they’d wear the costumes all the way to Paris. And so they did.

  In Paris, there were two greeting parties, one from the Bangalla consulate to meet Loka, one from the Suda-Kalara consulate to meet the Sheik. The Bangallas escorted Loka and the image to a waiting plane, headed for his homeland. The Sheik refused to leave the plane, which was returning to Suda-Kalara. He refused to leave his seat while the maintenance crew cleaned the craft for the return trip, and was permitted to stay b
ecause he was the Sheik. He was too sunk in depression to even notice Diana and the Phantom as they left the plane. It would take him a long time to get over the events of that night in his throne room. He would have nightmares about the masked man and Diana’s judo throw for months. He would endure the. snickers and secret smiles of his subjects for as long as he ruled—which wasn’t very long as it turned out. But that is another story.

  In Paris, Diana was given a quickly arranged furlough to recover from her arduous experience. She packed another suitcase in her Paris apartment (one suitcase was lost forever in Suda-Kalara). The Phantom purchased outer clothing at an airport shop (he’d won his “wager”). With Devil, they boarded the plane that was waiting for them with Loka, to fly to Bangalla. Lamanda Luaga had arranged this special charter flight. In Mawitaan, the President himself was on hand to greet the travelers.

  Flashbulbs exploded, cameras whirled, the news sped out by print and air waves. The Sacred Image of the Llongo was back again. After a brief consultation with Lamanda Luaga, Loka was sent back to his village with the image (and a squad of soldiers). There, the image was returned to its place on the altar under the leafy roof. In his own tribe, Loka did not escape punishment. After hearing his entire story, including his disgraceful spell of slavery, he was sentenced to hard labor for one year by High Chief Llionto.

  It’s said that with the return of the image, the legendary Llongo luck returned. Their gamblers began to win again, at the dice tables of the Blue Dragon, at the race track, at the infidel’s bingo tables. Storms passed harmlessly over the village. Wild elephants no longer trampled the crops. Jungle cats no longer attacked the goat pens. Even Loka, at hard labor, got his Sala back.

  The Phantom would be the last to deny, the luck of the Llongo. It had washed off on him. A whole month with Diana in the Deep Woods, riding on the jungle paths, swimming in hidden jungle pools, surfing and picnicking at the Jade Hut and the golden beach at Keela-Wee. Best of all, glorious weeks at his secret Isle of Eden, romping with the animals, swimming and skiing with the dolphins (Nefertiti the beautiful, Solomon the wise.)