“Always have before,” the pirate assured her in his squeaky voice. “Stay in your cabin awhile, by the way. We’ve people outside with orders to shoot down any passenger who goes roaming.” He gave her a mock bow and left.
Diana stood where she was, watching the closed door. “That’s funny ” she said, sniffing at the air in the cabin—a distinct scent of lemon and sandalwood.
CHAPTER 3
Up on the moonlit sun deck, on a clear open stretch of deck near the chart room, three of the goggled pirates were gathered. Two of them were kneeling, rapidly stuffing the smaller plastic garbage bags used for loot-collecting into larger plastic sacks.
The third pirate pulled up the sleeve of his robe to check his watch. “Copter is due in three minutes,” he said in his normal voice, “then we’re home free.”
“Better toss that watch in here,” suggested one of the others.
“This is a ten-buck watch, bought at a drugstore in downtown Detroit,” said the pirate. “Not hardly worth stealing.”
“Speaking of watches,” said the third pirate, “I noticed a few platinum jobs in our haul tonight. Imagine, with over half the world starving, these people have the vanity to—”
“There’s the chopper,” announced the upright pirate as he pointed skyward. “Less philosophy now and more hustle.”
High up in the night darkness, red and green lights showed, tiny but growing rapidly larger.
The other two goggle-eyed pirates quickly unfurled a net and secured the big sacks of plunder inside it.
“All set,” said one of them, standing. “If we had more time, we could gift-wrap it.”
The chopping of the big cargo helicopter’s propellers was loud up above them.
A synthetic wind began to blow down out of the night at them.
Soon the craft was hovering directly above the netted bundle.
“There’s the rope.” One of the pirates jumped, caught the dangling rope, and fixed it securely to the night’s collection. That done, he signaled the hovering copter. “Alley oop.”
The plane rose straight up into the darkness. Soon only its lights were visible. It swung away from the liner, heading in the direction of Bangalla.
“Okay,” said the pirate with the watch, checking it once more. “It’s time to put phase four into operation.”
Swiftly the three robed pirates left the sun deck, hurrying down the stairways.
One of them left them at the boat deck. “Nice meeting you chaps. Let’s do this again some time.”
The other two continued on down to the foyer deck, known as the Michelangelo Deck, and jogged to cabin S-31.
Once inside, the pirate with the watch pulled open a square porthole. He unfastened his goggles and peeled off the grinning stocking mask. “Getting rid of this stuff after every caper adds to our overhead,” he observed. “But it’s sure worth it.” He flung the mask and the goggles out toward the dark sea, tossing his gun after them. Next he wiggled out of the robe, tugged off his built-up sandals, and sent those to join the rest of his pirate props in the ocean.
Putting on a pair of brown loafers, he said, “Well, sir, mother, this has sure been some night for excitement.” He was the pudgy, pink-faced man who called himself Harlan Brupp.
At the other porthole the second pirate had been getting rid of her disguise. She was a plump, grayhaired woman, traveling as Mrs. Brupp. “I can hardly believe it, Harl,” she said. “When we get back home to Detroit, I doubt anyone will believe we were robbed by real pirates.”
Laughing, a chesty rumbling laugh, Brupp walked to their cabin door. He opened it, peered out. ‘It sure looks like those hoodlums have hightailed it out of here, mother,” he said. “I think it must be safe to leave the cabin.”
“Where are you going, Harl?”
“I’m going to complain to the captain,” he said as he stepped into the corridor. “Being held up by pirates in this day and age—it’s an outrage!"
CHAPTER 4
Peter, the bartender, had his ear against the door of the radio room. “I don’t think there’s anybody out there now.”
Their pirate guard had left them twenty minutes earlier, with the warning they’d be shot if they stepped out onto the deck.
The red-haired radioman, whose name was Sheridan, was sitting hunched in front of his damaged radio equipment. “I just might be able to rig up some kind of simple transmitter,” he said while he tinkered, “and get out a call for help.”
His hand on the doorknob, Peter said, “Those guys are long gone. That chopper must have hauled them and their loot away.”
“Doubt it,” said Sheridan. “From the hints our friend with the goggles let drop, I’d say this was a pretty elaborate heist.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning they probably used more guys than you can fly away in a helicopter.”
Peter, very cautiously, began to turn the handle. “What you’re getting at is ... it must have been an inside job?”
“Has to be.”
“Then some of them are still on board, huh? Either passengers or crew.”
“Right,” said the radioman, “but try to spot one of them. They’re not going to be wearing robes and eyeglasses, nor talking in goofy voices.”
Peter had pushed the door a few inches open. “Nobody in sight.” He gave the door a gentle shove, ready to dive to the cabin floor if he had to. After a few long silent seconds, he said, "Yeah, they’re gone.” “You go see what you can do to help,” said Sheridan. “I’ll stay here and fiddle with the radio.”
A light breeze was drifting across the deck, carrying with it a faint promise of land.
“Damn it, let me out of here!”
Peter trotted back toward the cocktail bar. The door to the corridor was standing open. He hesitated on the threshold, looking into the softly lighted room.
“Over here behind the bar. They tied me up with my own belt and shoelaces.”
It was Nino, the night bartender, lying on his side on the platform behind the bar.
Peter dropped down beside him. “They took my knife,” he said. “So it’s going to take me a minute to undo you.”
“Who were those guys anyhow?”
“Pirates,” answered Peter.
The captain of the S.S. Paradiso smoothed the wrinkles in his uniform jacket and rubbed at the chafe marks on his wrists. Slowly, since his right ankle still ached from the pressure of the cords he’d been tied with, he walked across the ballroom on the foyer deck. Following him a few steps behind was his first mate, a tall, sharp-featured man.
Two hundred passengers were in the large ballroom; more were hurrying in through the four glass doorways.
A gray-haired woman lowered a lacy handkerchief from her eyes as the captain and the mate went by her. “Oh, Captain, it was an heirloom...
“What does your line intend to do about this?” a black passenger wanted to know.
“They, even took our—”
With a boost at the elbow from his mate, the captain mounted the empty bandstand. He crossed to the upright microphone, adjusted it to his height, and drummed his fingers on the mouthpiece. “Is this turned on?”
His voice came roaring out of the six loudspeakers.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “I will address you in English, since the majority of our passengers are either American or British.” He paused, running his tongue over his lower lip. “At this moment the crew and my officers are searching the ship for some trace of these... pirates.”
“A little late for that,” called someone in the crowd on the dance floor.
“Locking the barn door ”
“Why weren’t we protected before—?"
“Suppose we’ll never get dinner—”
“In a moment,” continued the captain, “my first mate, Mr. Reisberson, and several members of the Paradiso staff will begin to take down a report from each of you. You must try to tell them, each of you, what you have lost.”
“We�
��ll never see that stuff again.”
“It was an heirloom—”
“My foreign currency collection—”
“I’m pleased to say,” said the captain, “that we’ve been able to set up an emergency transmitter. Word is being sent to various authorities in Mawitaan.”
“That’s going to mean more delay—”
“We can kiss dinner good-bye and—”
“It was an heirloom—”
“Quite possibly,” the captain went on, “there will be some delays. I cannot promise you that we will dock at Mawitaan on schedule, or that you will be able to disembark when we do—”
“They had better let us off.”
. . cable my attorneys in Stockholm—”
“It was once my grandmother’s ”
“Let me say I am terribly sorry,” said the captain, “about what you have all been through, the unpleasantness of it and the material loss. I assure you that our insurance company will, eventually, see to it no one suffers a permanent loss. And I am relatively certain our line won’t abandon those of you who intend to leave us at Mawitaan with no funds or resources.”
“They sure as hell aren’t going to give me back the thousand bucks I was figuring to spend on—”
“. . . a very expensive hotel, I hear—”
‘1 see Mr. Reisberson has his people ready,” said the captain. “As soon as each of you has made his statement, you may go to the dining room on the DaVinci Deck where I understand a cold buffet is now, or will soon be, served. I will step down now. Please try to be as accurate as you can in reporting your losses.”
When he moved away from the microphone a few of the passengers applauded, a few booed.
Diana, standing toward the rear of the ballroom, glanced to her left. “Oh, hello,” she said, trying to maintain a casual and pleasant expression.
“Looks as though we’ll not be having our cocktail together now,” said Brian Folkestone, who had stopped at the girl’s side. “I suppose one has to be prepared for any emergency while on the high seas, but I must say I hadn’t anticipated pirates.”
“Oh, really?” said Diana. “I’d have thought you were always ready for the unusual and the romantic.” “Nothing romantic about those blokes,” he said with a grin. He rubbed at his left side. “The one who ravaged my cabin gave me quite a clout in the ribs.” Diana asked, “Do you have any idea who it was?” The young man blinked. “It was a bloody pirate. What do you mean?”
“I’ve been thinking,” answered the girl. “From what I’ve heard here it seems as though there were several dozen of these masked looters roaming the boat.”
“One old girl over there swears she saw a whole ruddy regiment of them go tramping by her suite,” said Brian. “I don’t seem to see your point, though, Miss Palmer.”
“Well, where did they all go after their raid?”
“I think I heard someone say something or other about a helicopter.”
“Doesn’t seem likely you could transport a regiment of pirates away in one helicopter.”
“Ah, I see what you’re getting at,” said Brian, grinning. “You think the pirates must still be among us, eh? Do you really believe, Miss Palmer, that some of our fellow passengers may actually be pirates?”
“It’s possible,” she replied, looking him in the eye.
CHAPTER 5
With all the lights out, the office glowed a pale moonlight blue. Bockman flicked on the switch, walked over to his desk, set a brown paper bag next to his in-out box, and leaned his backside against the desk edge. He scooped up the phone, punched a button, and dialed. “Lieutenant Kiwanda around? This is Bockman over at MultiWorld Insurance. Okay, I’ll try later. Bye.”
Bockman was a big, rumpled round-shouldered man of forty. As he shuffled to the office window, he realized he hadn’t tucked his shirt in completely. Doing that, he looked out toward Mawitaan harbor. He could see a thin slice of it shining black between the office buildings and the restaurants and clubs.
“When’s it due in?” A lean dark man of thirty came into the insurance-company office. He was wearing a dinner jacket.
Shaking his head, Bockman answered, ‘1 don’t know. Not on time, I wouldn’t guess. All I know is what Kiwanda told me when he called me at home half an hour ago, Lum.”
Lumbard rubbed the top of his head. “Do you think it’s getting worse?”
“Piracy? Or are you talking about your hair again?” “Hair,” said Lumbard as he eased over to his partner’s desk. “Girl at this party tonight was running her fingers through it. Then jokingly, I suppose, she started calling me Baldy.”
“I don’t think your hair’s any thinner than it was this morning,” said Bockman. “I’ve already wired the main office.”
“What’d they say?”
“They want us to investigate this thoroughly ” he said. “And, of course, handle the initial work on settling the claims and so forth.”
'“Paper work,” said Lumbard. “Tons of paper work. I talked to one of the guys in the Mediterranean office and he told me it took a ton of paper work to handle that pirate raid that fell into their laps last month.”
“This must be the same group.”
“Same pirates?” He opened the brown bag and thrust his fingers in. “I’d guess so, unless piracy is becoming a fad again.”
“Didn’t they feed you at your party?” Bockman stopped before the small wall mirror, realizing his tie wasn’t straight.
“I cant eat when I’m brooding.”
“What were you brooding about?”
Wouldn’t being called Baldy when you were hardly out of your teens cause you to brood?”
‘I’ve always had plenty of hair. Don’t take the hard-boiled egg, huh?”
‘1 thought your wife always put in an extra one for me.”
“We ran out.” The phone rang and he reached in front of his partner to answer. “MultiWorld Insurance, hello.”
“The Paradiso has been sighted by a coastal patrol plane,” said the careful voice of Lieutenant Kiwanda of the Mawitaan police. “She should be entering the harbor within the hour.”
“She going to dock and let passengers off?”
“Not immediately,” answered the policeman. “I’ll be going out to the ship in a police launch. You and Lum are welcome to tag along, unless he’s off at some bash.”
“He’s right here eating hard-boiled eggs, Lieutenant.”
“Very well, meet me at pier eleven, in front of the coastal patrol office, in half an hour.”
After hanging up, Bockman said, “Kiwanda says he’ll give us a lift out to the liner.”
“It’s going to cost MultiWorld a million bucks or more,” said Lumbard as he finished up his partner’s egg. “That’s a very posh ship, the S.S. Paradiso. Dames walking around with diamonds dripping off them, solid gold fillings in their teeth, probably they even have rubies set in their ”
“Let’s go,” suggested Bockman, moving to the door.
Lumbard followed him out of the office. “What I’m going to have to do,” he said, “is solve this whole caper.”
“Catch the pirates you mean?”
“Right, catch them, get back the swag, and save MultiWorld a million or two,” he said. “Think what I can do with the bonus that’s going to earn.”
“Buy a wig?”
The area around the pier where the raided liner would dock was crowded. People meeting the boat were mixed together with police, newsmen from an assortment of media, and a multitude of the merely curious. Down here there was a strong smell of the salt sea in the air, as well as the spices which were stored in nearby warehouses.
‘'Something about that guy,” remarked Lumbard. They were working their way through the crowd toward their rendezvous point with the police lieutenant. “What guy?” asked Bockman. He’d brought his brown snack bag with him.
“Over there to your left—don’t be too obvious checking him out. Just noticed him myself.”
Casu
ally, Bockman glanced. There was a tall, wide-shouldered man standing near a fence. He wore a belted raincoat, hat and dark glasses. Beside him was a large gray dog. “Looks like a movie actor.”
“No, he’s not an actor.”
“So? Just some guy who come down to meet a friend on the Paradiso,” said Bockman. “Or maybe he’s only out walking his dog.”
“And I don’t think that’s a dog even.”
“What then?”
“A wolf.”
Bockman laughed. “You’re going to have to do better than that, Lum, if you’re going to get anywhere as a detective.”
CHAPTER 6
The police launch chugged across the dark waters of the harbor. From here, the S.S. Paradiso, a mile away, seemed to consist of nothing but a thousand lights hanging suspended in the warm night darkness.
Bockman was sitting on a vinyl passenger seat, exploring with one big hand the contents of his snack bag.
Beside him sat Lumbard, who was alternately watching the liner they were approaching and the unexpected passenger who was sharing the ride with them.
The third man was the broad-shouldered man they’d noticed on the pier. His large gray dog, if it was a dog, lay very complacently at his feet. Lieutenant Kiwanda, who was up front at the moment, had introduced the man as Mr. Walker.
Lumbard, clearing his throat for the second time leaned toward Walker. “You’re not with the local police, are you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“I didn’t think so,” said Lumbard, toying with the scarlet carnation which still decorated the lapel of his dinner jacket. “We know most of the local boys, being
in the insurance racket. I’m with ”
“I’ve heard of you and your partner, Mr. Lumbard.” Bockman, who was chewing on a stick of raw carrot, glanced up and grinned.
“You are involved in police work, though?” asked Lumbard.
‘In a way,” answered the Phantom. “Or perhaps it would be better to call it detective work of a sort.”
“Oh, are you a private detective?”
Lee Falk - [Story of the Phantom 10] Page 2