The Mysterious Ambassador (10 page)

Mokata gulped at the word "head." He knew what was coming.

"Where are the heads of that first helicopter crew? Where are the soldiers who shot them down?"

"We're searching, sir," said Mokata, pale and trembling.

Bababu's eyes narrowed.

"Something about this I don't understand. What could have happened to those soldiers?"

"Remember, we told the press Luaga rebels shot down the 'copter."

"Yes, we told them. But what do we tell ourselves? I tell you something is wrong, Mokata."

"What could be wrong. You rule this town. You will rule this country, sir."

Bababu nodded.

"Are the orders clear to our gun crews about this second rescue team?"

"They are, sir."

"No slip-ups this time. I want their stupid heads— here!"

Davis and Fredericks left the place with Cari and headed for the airport.

"What a monster!" said Fredericks.

"A street bully come to power. I tremble for this poor country," said Cari.

"What about that Luaga?"

"A fine, decent man."

"Dead?"

"Of course not. He's with the medical team. If he were dead, we'd know about it."

"When did you last hear from them?"

"Two weeks ago."

"Lots can happen in two weeks."

"True. You'll soon know, when you see them."

When they reached the airport, their helicopter was ready. The press was on hand,/with cameras and microphones, to observe the take-off.
"Second Mercy

Flight into Jungle to Rescue UN Medical Team."
But as the big overhead propellor began to rotate, a messenger raced to them from the control tower. A radio message had arrived from Dr. Kirk. The rescue craft was not needed and not wanted. The control tower was still in touch with the doctor. Cari and the pilots, plus the press corps rushed into the control tower. Cari spoke into the microphone.

"Ambassador Cari here. Can you hear me, Dr. Kirk?"

"I hear you, sir," came the voice through crackling static. "This is Alec Kirk. We're no longer at the Wambesi village. We don't need the helicopter. Is that clear? Come in, Cari."

"That is clear, Kirk. Where are you?" .

"In the jungle somewhere."

"Can you be more definite."

"No, all the trees look alike."

The tower men and the press corps laughed.

"Shhsh," said Cari. "Why are you cancelling the rescue craft?"

"Not needed. Still have some work to do here. Back in a week or so."

"What kind of work? Where?" asked Cari.

"Not getting you clearly," said the voice through static. "Will sign off now, as they say."

"Dr. Kirk, what about Dr. Luaga?" said Cari hurriedly, and everyone in the room tensed at the name. Bababu's announcement that Luaga was dead had not yet been made public.

"What? Having trouble hearing you," replied the voice of Kirk through the static.

"Lamanda Luaga—President Luaga—is he with you—is he all right?" shouted Cari frantically into the microphone.

"Not receiving you clearly—can't hear you at all now—signing off," and the transmission sputtered into static.

Cari looked at Davis and Fredericks and the press corps.

"Could any of you understand him?" he asked.

"He said they didn't need us," said Davis.

"No, about Dr. Luaga," said Cari.

"What about him?" asked one of the reporters, sensing something.

"You all heard what I heard—nothing," said Ambassador Cari.

The news reached Bababu moments later.

"Canceled the flight? Why?"

"No good reason. Just said, they weren't needed," said Mokata reading from his notes.

"And Luaga?" asked Bababu tensely.

"Nothing," said Mokata.

Bababu drank more beer, this time from a bottle.

"Something about this I don't understand and I don't like it," he said. "Makes no sense."

Then, something else happened that made no sense, that he didn't understand or didn't want to. The missing gun crew were not found, but the field phone near their gun emplacement was found and brought to Bababu's desk. The connecting wire had been torn. An odd mark was clearly visible on the side of the phone. Bababu stared at it, then recoiled from it as though from a poisonous spider. Then he slowly approached it, and stared at it, his body swelling as he filled with anger. He whirled on the watching Mokata.

"Is this a joke? Who put that mark there?"

"The sergeant said he found it like that in the field," said Mokata, uncertain and tense.

"Where is he?"

"Outside."

"Get him."

The sergeant entered. He was a brutal, heavy set man, a less intelligent version of Bababu.

"That?" roared Bababu.

"It was there, on the phone," said the sergeant, his eyes popping as though he'd seen a ghost.

The three men stared at the phone, ancient jungle memories stirring.

The mark on the phone was the skull—the Phantom's mark. -

The skull, with or without crossbones, is an ancient (and logical) symbol of death. In modern times, it is a familiar danger warning, used on poisons, explosives, or other lethal objects. But throughout Bangalla and in the underworld of many nations, it means one thing— the Phantom. The mere sight of it has been known to turn brutal criminals into trembling cowards. It is ironic, and not accidental, that the first Phantom, after seeing his father killed by pirates, took *part of the time-dishonored insignia of piracy for his own mark.

For centuries, evildoers have been haunted by a shadowy nemesis working outside the law, a nemesis that strikes swiftly and silently, then vanishes into the mystery from which it had come. Evildoers could understand police, sheriffs, marshals, soldiers, deputies, vigilantes. They were the protectors of society, the natural enemy of the criminal. But
why
was this Phantom their enemy?
Who
was he?
What
was he?

A man who could not die? Many had laughed scornfully at this legend of immortality as nonsense. Some had had the chance to test it. But the attempts to kill this masked man had always failed; he had always come back, guns blazing, iron fists smashing. Such tales were told and retold, around jungle campfires, at tavern tables, or in ships' cabins. And men who heard these tales and had reason to fear the Phantom looked nervously into the darkness around them, and walked carefully on jungle paths or city streets. For like a goblin or a ghost, this nemesis might strike at any time. It was this superstitious dread that inspired such terror in men even as tough and brutal as Bababu. An unreasoning fear, a fear without logic or explanation, the fear of the unknown.

For Bababu and all Bangallans, the Phantom tradition was especially strong and real. From childhood, they'd heard the tales from their fathers and grandfathers. And so on, back beyond the memory of living men. All this was behind the shock Bababu felt when he saw the skull mark on the telephone.

"Who put that there?" he roared.

"It was there, when we found it, sir," repeated the sergeant.

"The gun crew put it there, for a joke," suggested Colonel Mokata hopefully.

"Bring them here!" shouted Bababu.

"Remember, sir? They're gone. We can't find them," said Mokata.

"You found the phone. What else did you find?" said Bababu, glaring at the trembling sergeant.

"Their gun had been fired, sir. We found the wreck of the flying machine, and the parachutes. The pilots were gone. Our men were gone," he said.

"Gone? Was there a fight? Any signs of a fight?"

"No sir," said the sergeant. "No sign of a fight. Just gone."

The general, the colonel, and the sergeant brooded on those words for a moment, then Bababu shook himself like a bull throwing off a tormenting dart. He picked up the phone and threw it against the wall where it shattered an eighteenth-century Venetian mirror.

"One of the men drew that thing. After they robbed and killed the pilots, they deserted into the jungle, like all the others. Send out this order, Mokata."

The colonel ouickly pulled a notebook and gold pencil from his pocket.

"To our units who are searching for Luaga: find the missing gun crew as well. Bring them to me. I will find which one plays jokes. I will finish him myself."

Mokata wrote rapidly. He knew what that meant. Bababu frequently replaced his firing squad or hangman by personally strangling a condemned man. He had once explained to his officers that it kept him in touch with things.

"Now get out!" Bababu roared^

Mokata and the sergeant left gratefully, both asking themselves the same question. If the missing gun crew had killed and robbed the pilots and fled into the jungle, where were the bodies of the pilots? Would the deserters burden themselves with two corpses? But neither attempted to question Bababu's logic. That would be suicide. Bababu returned to his desk, lit a cigarette, and stared at the phone on the floor. Something was wrong, something that made no sense.

Of the guests in the
Deep Woods,
only Diana was not impatient and anxious to leave. Luaga and his three-man delegation spent most of their waking hours listening unhappily to news from the capital on the team's radio. Though Luaga remained dressed in the team's outfit—t-shirt and khaki trousers—the three delegates had put away their formal clothes to save wear and tear, and had donned loincloths. This amused them since all three were graduates of European universities. Alec Kirk and the other two doctors, George Schwartz and Chris Able, were aware of the Caribbean epidemic awaiting their arrival and they were irritated by the delay. The two pilots, Lanston and Osborne, were tormented by the thought that their wives and children thought them dead, and wanted desperately to send the truth to them. But all agreed it was best to keep their isurvival a secret for the time being.

As far as Diana was concerned, this forced stay in the
Deep Woods
could last forever. After a long separation, she was with her sweetheart, and, despite war and epidemics, she was happy. When the Phantom was free, they spent hours walking or riding in the
Deep Woods,
swimming in quiet pools, picnicking in hidden glades, and hunting game to provide for the daily feasts served the visitors by the Bandar near the skull throne.

But these happy hours with the Phantom were infrequent, for he was usually busy. Bababu's army was searching the jungle villages for Luaga, and the tactics agreed upon by the Council of Chiefs were being used. The soldiers, expecting hostile jungle folk, were amazed and pleased to be greeted by a singing, dancing welcome. Flowers were strewn upon them as they marched into the villages; rich feasts were waiting, all the varied foods of the jungle offered. But none of the usual native beers or spirits were served. The chiefs did not want to contend with drunken soldiers in their midst. Also, the soldiers might have noticed—and some did—all the dancing and singing and serving was done by children and warriors and old people. Pretty maids and attractive matrons were nowhere to be seen in the village during each search. They were sent to the fields until the search was completed, then returned in a body as the soldiers left. If the chiefs didn't trust Bababu's soldiers with alcohol, neither did they trust them with their pretty women. So trouble was avoided.

To Bababu's soldiers, the search was a joke. Trying to find one man, Luaga, in the entire jungle was like searching for a flea in a swamp—the local version of needle in a haystack. But they followed orders, dutifully entering each village, looking into every hut, and reporting back to headquarters each night. When they found they were welcomed everywhere, they left the tanks and heavy equipment behind and raced through the jungle in motorized columns. Within a few weeks, they had been through all the tribes and villages. All except one. The captain and lieutenant of the unit making the farthest eastern penetration into the jungle considered the matter. There was still the Bandar, in the
Deep Woods,
somewhere ahead.

Would Luaga hide in such a place? Among the poison people, who shot strangers on sight, so it was said? Not likely, unless he was crazy, and Luaga was known to be completely sane. Also, there was something else beside pygmies in the
Deep Woods—someone
else—so it was said.

It followed that no sane man would go anywhere near the
Deep Woods
and the captain and lieutenant being sane men, made out their report accordingly, following the ancient precept of wisdom that is not peculiar to armies, "Let's don't and say we did."