The Mysterious Ambassador (15 page)

"I thought you might try that. Listen to me, tub of lard. These people are leaving with the ambassador. If you try to stop them, I'll take you apart, piece by piece. Is that clear?" To emphasize his words, his fist smashed the tabletop so hard it broke in half, the table faffing apart in two pieces. Then he turned and paused at the tent flap.

"I'll see you again, Bababu," he said, pronouncing the name as if it was a curse. And he was gone.

Bababu sat stunned by the violence. He looked helplessly at Mokata. It took him a few moments to find his voice.

"Who was that?"

Mokata shook his head. He, too, was shaken by the unexpected violence. It had been a shattering experience, like looking into the jaw of an angry lion. Without knowing exactly why, and despite a camp of soldiers all around them, both men knew they had faced sudden death. Their feeling was justified and accurate. When the Phantom had entered to see Diana lashed to a tent pole, the killer in him, long under iron control, had welled up. He had let off some of the steam when he smashed the phone and table. But it might have been their heads, instead.

"Get me a brandy," muttered Bababu.

Mokata filled two glasses. Both men drank hurriedly. Then as courage returned, Bababu leaped to his feet. His phone was smashed, useless. He rushed out of the tent.

"Stop them at the gates! Bring them back!"

It was too late. The two cars had swept out of the camp and were on their way to the airport. Bababu barked orders. "Send motorcycles, armored cars, planes. Bring them back."

The two cars raced along the dirt highway. The Phantom warned that Bababu might try to bring them back. So they moved at top speed. They would be safe, once they were in the international compound at the airport. Even Bababu wouldn't try to breech that, with its press corps, UN troops, and the temporary quarters for embassies and consulates of a score of nations. As they neared the airport, they saw the dust clouds on the road behind as Bababu's men pursued them. It was a race for safety, a race, they realized, for life. A half mile from the airport gates, the vanguard of Bababu's men drew close—soldiers on three motorcycles, each with a side car bearing a soldier with a machine gun. As they closed in, the Phantom leaned out of the car window and fired his gun three times. Each shot blew out a front tire of one of the motorcycles. The speeding machines turned over and over off the road, flinging their riders onto the ground. Once again, the team gazed in amazement at their guide and protector.
"The Phantom is rough with roughnecks"
is the equivalent translation of an old jungle saying which none of them had ever heard but could understand now.

The two cars swept into the airport gates, safe at last. The missing medical team! The news flashed around the world almost before they got out of their cars. They were surrounded by newsmen, but obeyed Cari's request and said nothing about Bababu. In the crowd, Diana held the Phantom's arm. He bent down, kissed her quickly, then he was gone. She tried to see his tall figure in the crowd, but he had disappeared. She turned to the others, tears in her eyes. She was still wearing General Bababu's jacket.

The team's departure was swift. A plane had been waiting on the field for a week. Cari was taking no more chances. The angry Bababu might decide to bomb the airport, press corps, embassies and all. Indeed, the plane was moving on the runway when the first of Bababu's armored cars raced into the airport. They got into the air just in time, and no one breathed a sigh of relief until they were well past the shoreline and over the ocean. Then they relaxed into' happy, excited chatter. Only Diana remained quiet, alone by a window. Her thoughts were far behind in Bangalla.

Mokata and two officers waited outside Bababu's tent, hesitant to enter and tell him the team had escaped. Bababu waited alone in his tent, a beaker of brandy in his hand. He sat in his leather chair, brooding, staring at the broken table and phone, at the soldier still lying on the floor. More than anything else, that violent stranger troubled him. Bababu had been a fighter and brawler all his life. He was used to ordinary violence, but this had been something out of the ordinary. Maybe it had been the skull marks on
The Belch
that upset him, or that sight of the gold insignia around the girl's neck, a familiar sign all jungle folk knew. It meant the protection of the Phantom. Perhaps it wasn't that at all. He'd imagined it. But why had the soldier with the whip hesitated? And Mokata had seen it too. Bababu shook himself and growled. All this was making him nervous. Bababu was not used to being nervous. When he got hold of that violent stranger, he'd have the satisfaction of killing him personally, with proper precautions of course—tying the hands first. Bababu almost smiled as he visualized the scene. He took a big gulp of his brandy and for the first time noticed a mark on the broken desk. He bent down for a closer

look. He dropped his glass, and jumped to his feet, and, in his haste to get away, tripped over the fallen soldier who was still unconscious. Bababu fell to his knees over the soldier, and his glance touched the man's face. The mark, the same mark—the skull!

Bababu leaped to his feet with a cry and rushed out of his tent. That stranger—he had been—he was—no, impossible—had to be—couldn't be. Mokata and the others waited outside the tent. He rushed past them, into his limousine.

"My palace!" he shouted.

Two soldiers leaped into the car and drove him away. Mokata and the others sighed with relief. The news about the team could wait.

On the flight over the Atlantic, the team alternately dozed and reviewed the amazing events of the last weeks. The pygmies, the wild raft ride, the
Deep Woods
; the trip back to Trader Joe's with their fantastic guide and protector; the river trip on
The Belch-,
the burning farmhouse; the command tent of General Bababu and the final race to the airport. Looming over all was the man whose name they did not know—called
Phantom
by the jungle folk. After the weeks with him, the sharing of all the days and nights of adventure and danger, he remained as mysterious as when they first glimpsed him standing before the skull throne. They questioned Diana about him, but she was stingy with her information, telling them nothing they did not already know.

The doctors told Cari that Luaga was alive, somewhere in the deep jungle. They'd been truthful in saying they didn't know exactly where. During their tense days of travel, they'd lost all sense of direction. None could ever retrace their steps to find their way to that shadowy place called the
Deep Woods.
Cari told them they would face questioning at a press conference on arrival in New York. He advised them to state only that Luaga was alive, and to give no clue to his location. Since Bababu's announcements, the world believed Lamanda Luaga was dead. The team's statement that he was alive was bound to create interest in many places, and an uproar in Bangalla.

So they talked and dozed and ate, and with every flying hour, the Bangalla adventure seemed more unreal. A stewardess gave Diana an orange (airline issue) shirt so she could discard Bababu's jacket. Alec received a similar gift from the pilot, since his own torn shirt remained on the ground in Bababu's tent. All of them were returning with nothing but the clothes on their backs and whatever remained in their pockets. All the rest—clothes, equipment, records, cameras, gifts and mementoes—had floated down the river on
The Belch.
The only exception was the parting gift Diana received from high chief Wambato, the antique necklace that ancient tradition said King Solomon had given to the Queen of Sheba. Treasuring it, Diana carried it in her purse and managed to save it.

On their arrival at John F. Kennedy Airport, the team was greeted by a full representation of the press, TV and radio, plus hundreds of curious spectators. Their experiences in the war-torn country had been reported daily to the entire nation and around the world. Now they were home safe—a good story with a happy ending. A pretty girl always gets more than ordinary attention. Diana Palmer, as the glamorous Olympic champion, alone in the primeval jungle with all those men, had excited the public's imagination. As she descended the plane ramp, there were shouts of "there she is" and the crowd rushed toward her. A cordon of police was needed to protect her from the friendly crowd.

They faced the cameras and reporters briefly. As befits a diplomat, Cari remained discreetly in the background. Alec Kirk spoke for the team. Cari had told him that a full report must be made to the UN Secretariat, following which would be a press conference. So, in response to the shouted questions in the noisy airport, Kirk stated only that the epidemic had ended, and that both Lamanda Luaga and the lost rescue team were alive and well somewhere in Bangalla. He had particularly mentioned the pilots Lanston and Osborne, because of the promise made in the
Deep Woods,
so their families would know. That brief statement—Luaga and the puots alive—was enough to make headlines around the world. Diana was besieged with questions, but she only smiled and refused to talk. Then die teams pushed through the crowd and were whisked away in waiting limousines.

The doctors' families were waiting for them in New York City. Diana spent the weekend with her mother and uncle in their palatial home in Westchester, a suburb of the city, and it was a happy reunion for all of them. After the weekend, the team reported to their superiors at the UN skyscraper, then faced the press conference. At Diana's insistence, none of them mentioned either the Phantom or the pygmies. The hideout of Luaga and the pilots must remain secret, for if Bababu had any inkling of the truth, even the poison people could not stand up against his tanks and big guns.

They described their work during the epidemic, their encounter with guerilla bands, but made no mention of the morning in Bababu's tent. This was done at Cari's insistence. Bababu still had to be dealt with. Bangalla had been much in the news for the last few days. The team's dramatic story had brought the remote little country into the news, both in America and Europe. Now, it was reported, sporadic fighting had broken out again in the capital. Diana and Cari and the doctors read this report with amazement and delight. It seemed, said the news item, that the resurgence of fighting in the streets of Mawitaan had been started by the rescue of a prominent farmer named Jotando from an execution squad. Following the rescue and disappearance of said farmer Jotando, Bababu's soldiers searched the area for him, and, in doing so, provoked local supporters of Lamanda Luaga. The fighting began all over again. The team was happy—their little friend was alive. It was not hard to guess who had rescued him.

The doctors then separated to go their various ways for a well-earned two weeks' vacation. Diana returned to Westchester, but was called back to the UN Secretariat building two days later. The Secretary-General himself wished to see her. An amazing decision had been made high in the tower overlooking the East River.

Bangalla's neighbors, some of them UN members, were troubled by the civil war. It was spilling across their borders. Thousands of refugees were fleeing Bababu's troops; guerilla fighters, bands of deserters, were terrorizing the countryside. The neighbors wanted peace in Bangalla. They had been ready to accept Bababu's coup and his dictatorship. Now, with this latest news that Luaga still lived (making a liar out of Ba- babu) they realized the trouble would continue. There were speeches in the General Assembly demanding action by the UN, preferably by diplomacy. If that failed, UN troops were available.

Cari conferred with the Secretary-General, an eminent Asian who now headed the United Nations. The Secretary-General would use UN troops only as a last resort. They must use diplomacy to attempt to bring peace there. Cari ruled himself out. He felt his personal relationship with Bababu, mutual dislike,
hatred
was the word Cari used, made it impossible for him to return. Whom to send? People resented outsiders. Wasn't there a local man with enough influence to be useful, some prominent person on the scene who could be trusted, who could work for a truce and an end to the fighting? Cari considered. He could think of only one man. Yes, there was such a man. His name? Cari didn't know his name. Who did? Diana Palmer knew him. Ah, the pretty member of the medical team. Precisely. Send for Diana Palmer.

So Diana found herself in the elegant oflice of the Secretary-General. They explained. Did she think her friend, still unnamed, could be useful in this delicate situation? Yes, she told them enthusiastically. If any man could do anything in that unhappy country, he could.

"Good," said the Secretary-General. He held a pen in his hand. "His name?"

Diana thought for a moment. There was a name
he
used.

"Walker," she said.

"Oh, British?" said the Secretary-General.

"No, born in Bangalla," said Diana.

"First name?"

Walker
—she knew was merely a name standing for the Ghost Who Walks. There had once been a first name—the first name of all first-born males of the Phantom line—Kit. A name discarded by him long ago.

"I don't know his first name," she said.

"How can we reach him?"

There was a post-office box number in Bangalla for this Mr. Walker. Diana gave it to him.

The Secretary-General looked at the name and address.