by Lee Falk
Diana did as she was told. She now saw that the blond man was in the back seat of the car. He sat just behind her as she got in, and she stiffened as she felt the cold steel of the gun-muzzle against her face.
"Just take that head-scarf off, girlie, so I can see ahead," said the blond man.
"That's better," he said with satisfaction, sinking back on the seat.
"Now take her out nice and slow."
Diana felt the pressure of the muzzle relaxed from her
neck.
"Do as I say and you won't get hurt," the blond man said as the engine throbbed into life.
"What did you mean about Scorpia?" Diana said, as she cased the car forward out into the rain. She bent to flip on the windshield wipers.
"No questions, Miss Palmer—just drive," the blond man replied.
The Mercedes whispered forward through the rain, along the driveway and out into the boulevard. As the headlights sliced across the drawing-room windows, Mrs. Palmer craned forward with a smile on her face, straining her eyes to see into the dim light of the garden. Then the smile faded and was replaced by a frown.
"That's funny," Mrs. Palmer said, turning back into the comfort of the room behind her. "She usually flashes her headlights to me when she leaves. I wonder why she didn't this time?"
Diana turned left at the blond man's instructions. There were few other cars about in this section of Westchester, at this hour of the evening, and she made good time along the wet roads.
She turned her head briefly toward the man behind her, then contented herself with watching him in the mirror.
"Are you a member of the Scorpia?" she asked suddenly. "Does the pirate band that began in the seventeenth century still exist?"
The blond man smiled a sinister smile.
"No questions, I said. Just drive," he said harshly.
He scratched his forehead with the muzzle of the gun.
"A pistol in her back and she asks me history questions," he told the dripping trees as they fled past Reluctant admiration showed on his face.
"You're quite a girl, Miss Palmer," he said.
"Never mind that," Diana told him. "This will cause a lot of worry to my mother and my uncle. I demand to know where you're taking me."
"You'll find out soon enough," the blond man replied. "Just turn off here."
The big Mercedes sent up cascades of water from its tires as the girl turned off onto a secondary road which wound its way through great shoulders of rock and slopes of scrub. She was silent, concentrating on the turns and the difficult terrain they were following. There were few houses along the way, and no lights broke the inky darkness. There was no sound except for the hiss of the rain and the faint throb of the motor.
The blond man relaxed, sitting slumped against the back seat, but Diana knew that he could send a slug crashing through the seat behind her before she could even try to escape. She decided to play safe.
It was more than an hour before her captor told her to turn again. Diana had not been able to read any of the sign-posts and she was now in country that was totally unfamiliar to her. The car rocked on through the night, over bumpy gravel roads. They went along for half an hour before the blond man spoke again.
"Take it easy, Miss Palmer," he said. "We're nearly there now."
"Where does 'there' mean?" asked Diana.
"A private airfield, Miss Palmer," her captor said. "You'll soon be out of the country."
He brought the pistol up threateningly, as the car lurched at Diana's reaction.
"Out of the country!" said Diana angrily. "It's impossible."
The blond man shook his head with a wry smile.
"Don't make trouble, Miss," he said warily.
"My instructions are to get you to the Center."
He gestured with the automatic.
"Through this gateway on the right and don't do anything foolish."
Diana nodded, holding back her angry thoughts. She steered the car gently over the undulating surface of the field, making for the yellow lights of a group of sheds. They were on paving now and the car traveled more smoothly. On the blond man's instructions, she brought the car to a stop near the largest of the buildings.
She got up, conscious of the barrel of the automatic near near back. They walked across the runway toward the dim shadow of a twin-engined executive aircraft. The engines roared into life as they approached. Diana bent down, the slipstream from the propellors whipping her hair and raincoat. The air door in the fuselage opened as they got closer, and a dark-haired man in a leather jacket looked out. Light from the cabin streamed across the runway.
"Up you go," said the blond man. "And bon voyage!"
He prodded her forward. There were two burly men in I he cabin of the six-seater plane.
The pilot held open the door for her and then slammed and locked it. Below, the blond man moved away. The pilot was a big, chunky man with a thick black mustache. He grinned at the girl in a friendly manner.
"Don't be alarmed, Miss Palmer," he said. "Our orders are to treat you gently."
"That's nice of you!" said Diana sarcastically. She sat in one of the rear seats and strapped herself in. The second man sat across the aisle from her. Though he looked friendly too, he was even bigger than the pilot and she knew that even trained as she was in judo, she would have little chance against such a man, unless she caught him unaware. Her hopes faded as he casually produced a Browning revolver from the side pocket of his flying jacket. He grinned at her, showing strong white teeth.
"I don't want to have to use this, Miss," he said, tapping the revolver, then placing it on the seat beside him.
"You won't have to," Diana said as the engines revved up deafeningly. The cabin started to vibrate as the plane gained momentum. Soon it became airborne and its navigation lights faded into the immensity of the night.
It was nearly eleven when the phone rang in the Palmer household. Mrs. Palmer had the receiver off its cradle almost as soon as it rang. Relief sounded in her voice.
"Oh, thank goodness it's you, Diana. I was beginning to get a little worried. It's such a dreadful night.
"Sorry to upset you, Mama, I am over at Betty Hopper's and she asked me to spend the night. I hope you don't mind."
"Of course not, dear," said Mrs. Palmer. "It will do you good to get away from the library and your studies for one evening.. What time shall I expect you tomorrow?"
"I thought I'd do a little flying in the morning, Mother. The field's quite near Betty's. It might help to blow the mental cobwebs away. I'll be home for lunch."
"That's fine," Mrs. Palmer said, looking relieved. "But do be careful, dear. If it's windy, like today, you shouldn't fly."
"Don't worry, I won't, Mama. 'Bye'."
There was a click as the connection broke. Mrs. Palmer sat back down on the couch. She lifted her book on flower arranging and consulted the index. But somehow she could not seem to relax. Twice she got up and went to the window. The wind seemed to rattle every shutter on the house and she could hear branches slapping against the roof. She had meant to get them cut back before. She would get it attended to as soon as the weather improved.
She fixed herself a martini and took it over near the fireplace. It was still only half-past eleven when the door slammed and her brother-in-law, David, came home. It had seemed a long evening without him.
12
LOST AT SEA
It was ten-thirty in the morning and a sparkling sun had dried the rain of the night when a blue Mercedes purred up to No. 4 hangar at McGuffey Field. The office of Charter Aircraft was crowded with pilots, and the roaring of engines seemed to make the hangars shudder as the field began to get up to peak activity. The dark-haired girl in the tailored raincoat drew the Mercedes up in front of the main administration building, locked it, and walked over to the office.
A man in a blue uniform and peaked cap gave her a friendly salute. The girl smiled.
"My name's Diana Palmer," she said. "I phoned abo
ut a charter this morning. Is it ready?"
"Certainly, Miss Palmer," said the officer. "If you'll just come into the office and sign the necessary papers."
He led the way into the administration office. A few hundred yards away the mechanics had noted the girl's arrival. The engines of a scarlet-painted, twin-engined, light aircraft were being warmed up as the officer and the girl came back down the steps. The blue-uniformed man saluted for the last time. He looked up at the sky approvingly.
"Have a nice flight, Miss Palmer. Wish I were going up myself, this afternoon."
The girl laughed.
"You fly nearly every day, Captain. For us amateurs, it means more."
The Captain laughed in his turn.
"You're hardly an amateur, Miss Palmer. Have a good trip."
He went off as the girl walked to the plane. She waved to 85
the two mechanics and accepted the logbook one of them handed her. She went into the cabin, and closed and locked the door behind her. She got ground clearance from the tower and taxied down the apron, waiting for take-off clearance. The mechanics' eyes followed her in admiration.
"Was that Diana Palmer? I wish I'd had a better look at her. I watched her on T.V. when she took a crack at the record for the Polar Route."
The other nodded with approval.
"It's the first time I've seen her. She's one of the best women pilots around." Her clearance came through, and the scarlet monoplane gathered speed down the runway. It took off smoothly and turned westward, toward the sea. She dipped the plane's wings as she settled on course and the watching mechanics turned back to their work.
The first mechanic was climbing onto the wing of a constellation when he heard the voice of the officer who'd been talking to Diana Palmer.
"Briggs, would you mind going back to the office for me? I left my flight instructions there."
"Sure, Captain," said the man called Briggs. "Glad to."
He knew the Captain had an injured leg from the war and that walking up and down steep flights of stairs tired him.
The disability didn't show on the Captain's medical record, but Briggs was a close friend. Besides, the Captain knew he had his eye on one of the girls in the office. He grinned as he went up the staircase. A metallic voice came booming from the loudspeaker as he opened the door, and he listened in disbelief.
"This is AZEK ZEBRA 4210 calling McGuffey Control Emergency. Over water. Fuel starvation. Losing altitude rapidly."
The calm voice continued to give instrument readings. Everything except the aircraft's position.
The Chief Controller cut in on her transmission. He spoke crisply and to the point.
"What is your position, Miss Palmer," he said urgently. "Give us a bearing from the V.O.R."
The loudspeaker on the wall crackled back.
"I'm over water, and losing altitude rapidly . . ."
The Controller noticed Briggs at his elbow. He waved
him irritably away, but his expression changed as the mechanic whispered, "Miss Palmer can't be out of gas, sir. tapped the tanks myself half an hour ago."
The controller checked the clock.
"She's only been up for ten minutes. It must be a mechanical failure.
The Controller nodded.
"Thanks, Briggs," he rapped. "We'll want your version later."
He addressed himself urgently to the mike.
"Please, Miss Palmer. Come in and report your position."
There was no reply except a faint static from the speaker. The men in the room looked at each other anxiously.
"Get search planes off," the Controller said, "and check coastal radar."
Far out over the Pacific, a scarlet plane dived against the azure blue of the sky. It flew over the white herringbone wake of a fast speed-boat heading seaward from the coast Engines going at full throttle, it climbed back up to two thousand feet, then a parachute appeared against a fleecy formation of clouds, rocked in the slight breeze, the human figure beneath resembling a toy.
The scarlet fuselage of the plane glittered in the sunlight as it sped downward. It hit the sea at tremendous speed, an explosion followed, small and muffled against the immensity of the ocean. Then flame erupted amid the boiling spray, followed by acrid black smoke. The plume was visible for a long way before dissipating in the breeze. A few moments later, there was no visible sign of the plane's former existence, so swiftly had the ocean swallowed it
The parachute grew larger now, and beneath it the figure of a woman struggling a little as she fought to control the drift in the moderate wind. The sound of the speedboat's engine came across the sea and its bulk grew larger as it chopped through the waves half a mile away. The minute figure of the parachutist waved a greeting. Ten feet from the surface, she released the harness, and went cleanly into the water as the parachute collapsed and sank slowly into the sea.
The girl surfaced, swimming strongly and expertly toward the speed-boat, which was now only a hundred yardsaway. Her dark hair streamed behind her, then it too drifted away in the current. Freed of the wig, the girl's blond hair shone brilliantly in the sunshine. A man with a hard face reached down to grasp her wrists. With his help, she came aboard smoothly over the transom.
At the wheel, Otto Koch beamed, his bland priest's face exultant in the sunlight.
"Bull's eye," he said. "Well done, Vanessa!"
The girl smiled. She shivered suddenly and Cringle put a blanket around her shoulders. He thrust a cigarette between her lips and lit it for her.
"We'd better get out of here before the search planes come looking for Diana Palmer," he said, looking reflectively toward the coast.
"For once you talk sense, Cringle," said Otto calmly. "But just in case we should be spotted, get those lines out and try to look like a fisherman."
He looked at Vanessa again with approval.
"You'll find some whisky in the cabin," he said. "You did a first-class job."
The girl smiled a tight smile. She was obviously feeling the cold now.
"No more of this for me, thank you."
Koch smiled one of his rare sincere smiles.
"There won't be any more," he said.
13
DRUMS FOR THE PHANTOM
Diana Palmer drank the coffee gratefully as the co-pilot poured it. They had been flying steadily toward the east for many hours. She had lost all track of time. From the position of the sun she judged it must be well past noon.
"I suppose it's no use my asking where Center is?" she said.
The big man shook his head.
"You'll know soon enough, Miss Palmer. We're only the hired help."
He grinned, the light of the sun stencilling a dark bar of shadow across his face. He still had the Browning within reach. Diana took one of the sandwiches he offered her. She was hungry. Her mind was full of curiosity about the flight. It was not only her instinct for exploration but her love for flying itself which made the trip more bearable.
She looked curiously at the big co-pilot and asked a question that had been tantalizing her for hours.
"Why do you say I won't be missed?"
The co-pilot shrugged, his coffee halfway to his mouth.
"You just won't, that's all. It's not for me to explain. Hey, Clyde!"
He turned to address his remark to the pilot who had never moved during the entire flight, except when he turned to take food and coffee from the co-pilot.
"What?" he said crisply.
The co-pilot grinned.
"You're too inquisitive!" he said to Diana Palmer.
He turned back to the pilot.
"See if you can get WCRS on the radio. There should be a news bulletin coming on now."
The pilot nodded. He leaned forward and a moment later the whistle of static and then music filled the interior of the cabin. He twisted the dial and jazz replaced the first channel. Then he tuned in on WCRS. Bells tolled and an announcer's voice started giving the news of the day. After the usual static news
of war and civil rights he got to local news.
Diana listened in temporary shock as she heard the even tones say, "The internationally-known Olympic athlete and explorer Diana Palmer was lost at sea earlier today when her twin-engined aircraft crashed on a pleasure flight. Miss Palmer, who won an Olympic gold medal for high-diving, was alone in the aircraft.
"Officials at McGuffey Airport said they could only attribute the accident to an unknown mechanical failure as the aircraft had been pre-flighted only half an hour before. Miss Palmer was an experienced pilot and had attempted a number of international records, including a Polar Flight three years ago. She had 1500 hours in the air.
"Despite an intensive search of the area by Coast Guard cutters and search planes, no trace of Miss Palmer or the aircraft has been found. Miss Palmer's mother, Mrs. Lily Palmer, refused comment on her daughter's disappearance."
The co-pilot reached over and flipped off the radio as Diana got up, spilling her coffee. The Browning was back in his hand.
"Easy, girlie," he breathed. "We don't want any trouble."
"You have convinced the world I'm dead," shouted Diana. "My mother and uncle must be going through hell right now. I've got to let them know I'm alive."
There was genuine regret in the co-pilot's eyes as he urged Diana back to her seat with an explicit movement of the pistol.
"Sorry, honey," he said. "No can do. I like breathing as well as you. Maybe you'll see your folks again. If you do as you're told."
Diana's fingernails bit into the palms of her hands as the plane droned on towards the coast
The Phantom urged Hero through the jungle as the faint beat of drums came downwind toward them. The white horse whinnied eagerly at the sound and quickened his trot picking his way with delicate precision through outcrops of rock. The noise of the drums receded and then became clcarer as belts of jungle intervened. Steam rose from the ground at their feet and once Hero's hoofs were sucked into swampy terrain, before he turned off in response to the reins.
The big man's face was grim beneath the mask, and perspiration was staining his jerkin around the shoulders. There was something faintly sinister about the drums, something that he couldn't quite place. He was familiar with the rhythm of their messages and could read drum- talk reasonably well, but today, for some reason, the meaning of the hammered symbols eluded him. He was anxious to get to Skull Cave and he felt a sense of foreboding.