The Phantom (21 page)

“Well, saints be praised. It’s about time.” His father motioned toward the driver. “Tell him to step on it. Your trip to the zoo didn’t help matters.”

The Phantom leaned forward. “Can you go any faster?”

The cabby looked into the rearview mirror. “You talking to me now?”

“Yes. Can you pick it up?”

“Sure. Hold on to your hat . . . or, whatever.”

The Phantom turned back to his father. “I didn’t see you at the zoo.” But the seat was empty.

Ten minutes later, the taxi screeched to a stop at Pier 39 at the New York Harbor. The motorcycle patrol was just pulling away. The Phantom jumped out and spotted Drax and the others boarding a small seaplane.

“It looks like I have a plane to catch.”

“Give my best to Mr. Walker,” the cabby yelled after him. But the Phantom was already racing along the pier. He dove into the harbor and began swimming.

“I love New York,” the cabby said as he drove off.

The Phantom’s arms chopped through the chilly waters, and he kicked his legs as fast as he could. He was moving so swiftly that his torso was nearly planing across the surface of the water. He was making steady progress, but he was still twenty-five yards away from the seaplane when its engine revved to life.

He tried to swim faster, taking longer and longer strokes, and kicking harder. Almost there.

But with less than ten yards to go, the plane started to taxi away. He kept swimming madly after it, but it was no use. He’d arrived at the pier a minute too late.

He was treading water, a gusty wind whipped his face. The plane gained speed as his hopes fell. Then to his surprise it turned and taxied in the opposite direction—straight toward him. The pilot probably wanted to take advantage of the tailwind.

He ducked under the surface and swam toward the plane. He came up for air once and judged the distance between himself and the plane and the speed that the plane was moving. He ducked under again. As the Phantom swam, the whine of the engine grew louder. He kicked hard and exploded out of the water. He reached up just as the plane was lifting off the water and grabbed the pontoon with both hands.

For a moment, he thought his arms were going to be jerked out of their sockets by the accelerating plane. Then he managed to wrap his legs around the pontoon. Finally, as the plane rose above the harbor, he crawled around the pontoon until he was perched on top of it.

He leaned forward, hugging the pontoon to limit the wind resistance. “It’s going to be a long night,” he told himself.

TWENTY-FIVE

T
he night of flight, far longer than only the Phantom could have imagined, was finally coming to an end. Drax was in the cockpit, with Sala watching, as the night slowly faded into a steel-gray haze. He had been too excited to sleep. Maybe he’d never sleep again. Once he had the third skull in his possession, anything, absolutely anything, was possible.

He chuckled to himself. If ol’ David Palmer thought his influence was widespread now, just wait. Without a doubt, Drax knew he would be the single-most powerful person in the world. No statesman, no general, no president, no dictator would ever come close to the type of power he would possess. With a single command, he would be able to destroy nations, bury continents, even destroy the world itself when he was ready to move on to other worlds. Yes, truly anything was possible.

Even his mother would be proud of him, if she were still alive. She’d raised him by herself, in poverty, and she’d always told him to do whatever he could to be the greatest person he could be, and not to let anyone stop him.

That was exactly what he’d done, too, and he’d done it for her. He always tried to make up for his shortcomings. If he hadn’t been late coming home that night when he was eighteen, his mother would still be alive. She’d left a candle burning for him as she always did. The cat had probably knocked it over and the curtains had caught fire. The house had burned and taken her life.

“Almost dawn,” Sala said wearily. “We should be near the island. If there is one.”

“Don’t start doubting me now,” Drax said as he consulted the map, and checked their bearings. “We’re getting very close now.”

“Look! What’s that?” Sala pointed out the window to a dark mass protruding from the cloud cover.

“A volcano. That’s it!” Drax shouted. “There
is
an island! Go down! We found it.”

Sala took a deep breath, then pulled back on the throttle. The plane began a steep descent.

Rejoicing, vindicated, Drax turned in his seat and woke up the others to tell them the news. “Get ready! We’re landing!”

They dipped down into a thick blanket of fog. “I can’t see a thing,” Sala said, sounding worried as the seaplane continued its descent.

“Don’t worry. You’re doing just fine. Keep going,” Drax urged. “Keep going.”

Quill, Zephro, and Diana were now awake, but they didn’t seem to be sharing Drax’s early morning enthusiasm.

Suddenly the fog parted. And just in time. Choppy waters loomed just below them. Sala pulled back on the yoke. The plane leveled and skimmed across the water a couple of hundred yards from shore.

“We made it!” Zephro shouted, sounding relieved.

“No time to waste,” Drax said, looking out toward the rocky shoreline. “Inflate the raft. Grab the supplies. We’ve got work to do.”

A few minutes later, the seaplane was anchored, and the life raft inflated. They climbed down onto the pontoon and into the raft. Quill manned a pair of oars, while Sala, Zephro, and Diana squeezed into the center of the raft. Drax, meanwhile, played George Washington crossing the Delaware as he stood at the bow with one foot raised on the rim of the raft. He gazed with steadfast concentration toward the rocky shore.

Resting in the bottom of the raft, just behind him, was the leather satchel containing the two Skulls of Touganda. He knew he was taking a chance traveling with the skulls, but he wanted the three skulls joined together as quickly as possible.

“Yes, I see an opening, a cave. Let’s go take a look. Straight ahead, Quill.”

It wasn’t long before they picked up speed as the surf washed them toward shore. “More to the port side,” Drax yelled as they bobbed on the rising and falling sea.

Drax remained at his post unaffected by the choppy sea, but everyone else looked nauseous and frightened, especially Charlie Zephro. “Hang on, almost there,” Drax said encouragingly.

Then a large wave rolled in and swept them toward the rocky cliff. Drax wobbled and lost his balance. He grabbed a rope handle to keep from being tossed over the side.

“Oh, no!” Zephro yelled. “We’re going to hit the rocks.”

“Paddle!” Drax yelled at Quill, who was struggling to keep the raft from spinning into pinnacles of rock, which jutted menacingly through the surf.

Just when it looked as if the raft were about to be ripped to shreds, they were washed swiftly to the left and into the cave. They drifted with the current into the opening. The waters were dark and smooth. They seemed to glide over the surface.

As Drax’s eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw that they were winding between the banks of what looked like a European coastal village made of quaint stone buildings, bordered by stone walls and stairways.

“What is this place?” Sala asked.

No one had an answer. They all stared in wonder.

“It’s an underground village,” Diana finally offered.

“Are we going to stop?” Zephro asked.

“There doesn’t seem to be anyone here,” Quill said. “It’s totally deserted.”

Finally Drax spoke up. “We’re so close now that I can feel it! History is about to be made, and you’re all a part of it.” He paused, considering the implications of what he’d just said. “Not an equal part, of course, but an important part, nonetheless.”

They drifted beneath an arched bridge, and suddenly men were leaping over the side, landing in the hip-deep water. The raft was quickly surrounded as Sala let out a startled scream.

In another part of the village, the Phantom heard the scream. He drew his pistols and moved hastily toward it. The streets were empty, but he didn’t think the village was deserted. Its condition was too good. There were no fallen walls, no signs of the inevitable decay that results from abandonment.

He tried to stay alert, but he wasn’t in the best condition after spending the night on the pontoon. He’d managed to wedge himself under a strut, and he’d actually fallen asleep a few times, but only briefly. The wind had been cold and constant, penetrating his clothing, numbing his fingers.

But he’d been fast asleep when the plane started its descent and, if not for the strut, he would’ve been tossed off the pontoon. As they dove through the chilly mist, he had no idea where they were or what was below them. Then he smelled the sea air, and a moment later the curtain of fog opened and the waters appeared. As soon as the plane touched down, he slipped off the pontoon and into the relatively warm waters.

He’d spotted the cavern and swam toward it, loosening up his aching body. After a few hundred feet, he paused to watch Drax and the others launch an inflatable raft. He was interested in exploring the cavern, but he wanted to make sure that Drax had the same idea.

After a few minutes, the rafters passed within ten yards of him as he sank below the surface. Then he followed them toward the cavern. He saw how the waves were pushing the raft into the rocks, so he compensated by swimming hard in the opposite direction. He arrived at the cavern entrance a couple minutes behind the rafters.

Now he hurried through the village and ducked down behind a wall when the bridge crossing the channel came into view. Several armed men were walking away with the rafters. To the Phantom’s surprise, no one—not even Quill or Sala or Zephro—were struggling to get away. They seemed to go voluntarily.

There was something familiar about the captors, familiar and loathsome. Then he noticed a design carved into the rock wall of the cavern, a large spider web, the emblem of the Sengh Brotherhood. So, he’d finally found their hideout, or at least one of them.

The sudden attack took Diana by surprise as much as the others. They were quickly surrounded by guns and sabers and pulled out of the raft. A huge, ugly thug with a battered nose, a ragged scar on his cheek, and a permanent snarl ran a hand over her body and leered at her with his one good eye. He wore tattered clothes and a kerchief on his head. She pulled back from him and, as she did, noticed a spider-web tattoo on his forearm.

“This one is mine,” he growled. “All mine.”

“Not in your dreams,” Diana shot back.

Ugly Mug grabbed her with both hands, and instantly Sala sprang forward. She spun Ugly Mug around and kicked him hard in the groin. A second pirate leaped forward and grabbed Sala. Diana returned the favor by slugging the thug and knocking him out cold with a solid right hook. The other attackers raised their sabers and aimed their pistols.

Quill shouted, “Take it easy, my brothers! Stay calm!”

“Brothers?” A burly, bald-headed pirate wearing a dirty kerchief around his neck stepped forward. “What do you mean? Why do you call us brothers?”

Quill pushed up his sleeve, revealing the spiderweb tattoo on his forearm. “We are also members of the Sengh Brotherhood.”

The bald pirate turned and huddled with the others, who kept glancing their way, weapons still raised.

“Nice going,” Drax murmured to Quill.

Diana realized that although Drax might be knowledgeable about the Sengh Brotherhood, he didn’t know all of their secrets. The village was as much of a surprise to him as it had been to her, and his so-called brothers had nearly killed him.

But now, thanks to Quill’s quick thinking, the tension had eased. The bald pirate motioned to them. “Come with us.”

As the group moved off, Diana and Sala straightened their clothes and pushed back their hair. “Good show back there, girl,” Sala said, taking Diana by the arm. “I think we’d better stick together.”

Diana glanced back and saw that Ugly Mug was lurking just behind her. Better to deal with Sala, she thought, than with the thug behind her. “Good idea,” she replied, and hurried ahead.

They walked out of the village, hiked over a mound of loose rocks, and moved toward the wall. There, they climbed over a rock outcropping and stepped into a dark tunnel, its entrance hidden from view. Diana had the feeling she wasn’t going to like this place, and as soon as she was inside, she knew it.

The air smelled like dirty socks. The walls and floors were wet and slippery. They moved along a winding passageway that descended a gentle slope. Squealing rats ran under foot and huge spiders guarded their webs. But what really made her squeamish was the sight of human skeletons, dozens of them, chained to the walls in horribly contorted positions. Not a few had broken bones. These people had not died well.

She wondered how many years they had remained there, reminders of the penalty for misdeeds against the Brotherhood. Or maybe for just being in the wrong place at the wrong time. That was exactly the situation in which she found herself.

Then they passed under a high stone arch and entered an immense chamber. Several large masts, cocked at odd angles, reached up toward the high ceiling. Riggings and unfurled sails hung overhead. Spread out in piles throughout the chamber was the booty plundered from ships and villages. The flags of looted ships were displayed from a yardarm. It was like a trophy room, she thought.

Diana took it all in as she and the others crossed a bridge over a moat. She glanced down into the dark waters, where sharks cruised under the bridge, their fins visible just above the surface of the water.

She had the distinct feeling that the sharks had tasted human flesh, maybe had even developed a preference for it.

At the far end of the enormous chamber, a figure was seated on a wooden throne, which was raised on a platform that resembled a ship’s poop deck. As they moved closer to the man, Diana saw a large banner on the wall behind the throne that displayed the spider-web symbol.

The guards stopped them several yards from the throne, and Diana turned her attention to the man gazing down at them. He had thin lips and piercing dark eyes. He was at least sixty with short gray hair, and he appeared to be of Euro-Asian descent.