The Hydra Monster (13 page)

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Captain Miranda enjoyed having breakfast, when he could fit it into his schedule, on the wide terrace of the Santa Florenza Hotel. The hotel stood close to the ocean and from his outdoor table he had a view of miles of blue horizon. This morning his coffee had grown cold in its cup, he'd eaten only one of the three crescent rolls on his plate and only one bite of the slice of green melon. "It's entirely my fault, Senor Walker," he said finally. "I should have taken greater precautions."

"Do you know yet how he was killed?" aske the Phantom.

The Police Captain poked at his melon slice with his spoon. "I thought if I came here to one of my favorite spots it would lighten my mind for a while," he said. "Alas, I keep dwelling on this unfortunate . . . yes, our Police Surgeon has found a tiny needle mark on the poor man's neck. Some very deadly, very quick-acting poison. Many such come out of the jungles of my country."

The Phantom said, "Did you find the needle, or any implement which might have been used to administer the poison?"

"No, senor. Nothing," answered Miranda. "So
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that rules out the possibility, quite remote anyway, of suicide."

"V3G6 didn't kill himself," said the Phantom. "Even though that may be part of the Vulture and Hydra code about what to do when captured.

He was getting ready to talk, to make a deal with

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us.

"His cellmate is the most obvious suspect, but since we cannot discover the precise method used to kill V306, there is little we can do," said the captain with a sad smile.

"I searched those men myself," said the Phantom. "And your people searched them as well. I'm certain there was nothing on them, not even a tiny poison needle."

"I know, even their wigs were scrutinized." Miranda lifted a spoonful of melon halfway to his mouth, then lowered the spoon. "I had better bring in Senor Sumter for questioning."

The Phantom frowned across the table. "Why Sumter?"

"He was down there among the captured Vultures."

"How did that happen?"

"Against my orders," replied Miranda. "He is very persuasive, this Senor Sumter. Very likeable, in his brash, American way. He talked one of the guards on the night watch into allowing him a brief talk with the five captives. Besides his winning personality, he offered a cash payment. Unfortunately, it was accepted."

"Then it's likely he slipped something to one of the men," said the Phantom. "We apparently didn't succeed in convincing the others we hadn't iii.ulc a special arrangement with V306."

"It may be the organization had him down as a weak link already, senor," suggested Miranda. "That they sensed in him the same potential for betrayal which you did."

The Phantom said, "I wonder why they didn't all kill themselves?"

"You mean, if it was possible to sneak in poison for one why not for all?"

"That's it, yes."

"Perhaps some of these men are more valuable to them alive," said Miranda. "Or perhaps they have in mind some other way of keeping them from talking."

"You'd better double your security measures at the prison," said the Phantom.

"That was done, at dawn, when I first heard of the death of V306."

"They must have some plan," said the Phantom, "Some way to get those men away from us."

"It will be most difficult, senor." Miranda picked up his coffee and was able to drink some of it. "Would you care to be present when I question Senor Sumter of
N
EWS
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AGAZINE?"

The Phantom had turned for a moment toward the bright morning sea. Still facing that way, he said, "Why don't you let him go on about his business for a while, Captain? He may be more valuable to us loose and moving around."

"You're suggesting, as the Americans phrase it, giving him enough rope?"

"Something like that," answered the Phantom.

The Phantom's hotel suite faced onto a patio which was thick with tropical foliage. Green palms, huge, leafy ferns, enormous scarlet and yellow blossoms. Large, golden butterflies hovered in the late, morning sunshine, unseen bees hummed. Seated in a chair next to the open glass door to the patio, the Phantom, finally, succeeded in placing a call to New York City.

"Hi, good morning, Walker," said the man he called in New York. "I just got in. How are you? Any new quakes down there?"

"I'm fine, Bob. The quakes seem to have subsided," said the Phantom. "You've been with the New York office of News Magazine for six years now..."

"Hope to stay on, too. Lots of the mags have been folding, you know. But our circulation is still up around . . . that's not what you called about, though."

"Do you know Gig Sumter?"

"Gig, sure. A good man, really digs into a piece. I don't care for his parajournalistic style, but when you have a byline I guess you can . .. what about him?"

"How long has he been with your magazine?"

"About four years."

"Where was he before that, where'd he come from?"

"One of the papers here in town. It folded around that time."

The Phantom asked, "Why was he sent to Santa Florenza? That is, who ... ?"

"What do you mean?"

"Who suggested his coming here to cover the quakes?"

"Nobody. Gig's over in Vietnam doing a piece on truce violations. Been there a week or more. What made you think he was down there?"

"A case of mistaken identity."

"Wait a second. Sounds like you're on to something;. Give me the . . ."

"You'll be the first to know, Bob. Thanks."

A second after he hung up, the phone rang again. Out on the warm, yellow flagstones of the patio Devil lifted his head to look back toward the room.

"Hello?"

"We've had a difficult time reaching you, Senor Walker. Your line has been busy an hour or more, it seems," said an unfamiliar voice.

"Who is this?"

"The name is not important. I will merely tell you the initial is V."

"The head man himself?"

"Oh, no. He doesn't bother himself with trivia," continued the Vulture on the phone. "Now then, let us get down to business. We've wasted enough time in simply waiting for you to get off the telephone. As a matter of fact, we're only going to be able to allow you eleven hours instead of twelve now."

"Eleven hours for what?"

"Eleven hours in which to release our imprisoned men."

The Phantom said, "I'm afraid that's . . ."

"Hold on." The Vulture left the phone.

"I'm sorry, Kit. They . . ."

"Diana!" The Phantom's hand tightened on the receiver. "Where are you?"

"I think ... it must be Santa Florenza someplace," said the girl in a weak voice. "They gave me ... I don't know . . . something to make me pass out . . . that was in San Francisco in the park ... I woke up here . . . but . .

"Are you all right?"

"Groggy . . . and my stomach is upside down . . . but they haven't done . . ."

"That is quite enough chitchat." The Vulture was back on the line. "You give us back our four comrades and we'll return Diana Palmer to you unharmed. You have eleven hours in which to arrange for the release. We'll call you again this afternoon. Goodbye."

Devil came trotting in from the sunny patio to look up at his master. After nearly half a minute the Phantom put down the phone and patted the animal's head.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Gig Sumter, or rather the man who was pretending to be Sumter, was sitting in the lobby of the Phantom's hotel. He jumped up from the over-

stuffed chair when he saw the Phantom come striding through alone. "Anything new on . . . say, you look pretty grim, Walker." "Yes, I . . ." His voice faltered. "Something wrong?"

"Something's wrong, yes. They . . . they've kidnapped a very, close friend of mine. It's unsettled me quite a lot..." "You mean these so-called Vultures?" "Yes, they've . . . they've apparently captured her. They're holding her prisoner." "For what purpose? Ransom?" "You might call it that. They want their men released by tonight or they'll ..."

"Tough situation. What are you going to do, Walker, go along? Get Miranda to spring the group?" ^

"There's still hope we won't have to," said the Phantom. "You see . . . she and I . . . well, we've worked out a special verbal code for emergencies. They let her . . . allowed us to talk just now over the phone and she was able, before they took the phone away . . . she was able to give me a few clues as to where she's being held." "Oh, really?"

"Not a complete message, but enough to go on. With any luck, I can find her." He put his hand on the fake reporter's arm. "Please don't tell anyone about this, Sumter. If I wasn't so . . . upset, I wouldn't have mentioned . . ."

"Sure, I understand. You can count on me," promised Sumter. "And good luck."

The Phantom left him and crossed the lobby. 118

Tie waited outside the door a few seconds, then went back inside, a grim smile touching his face. As he'd suspected, the blond young man was hurrying for the bank of phone booths at the far end of the lobby.

By the time Sumter picked up the receiver, the Phantom was in the next booth, his hat off and back turned.

The young man gave the operator a long distance number, which the Phantom noted. The call took five minutes to place. Sumter drummed his fingertips on the glass while he waited.

The Phantom, in a growly voice, pretended to be having an argument with his business partner.

"Finally," said Sumter into the phone. "Listen, I just talked to him. Yeah, you shook him up pretty good. But ... I said but. He thinks he knows where you've got her. Impossible? He says they've got some kind of personal code. She gave him a message while . . . you brought her in there unconscious? Well, could be she looked out a window. No windows in her room? Okay, but I think still you better be on the lookout. No, I'm not overreacting. But we're dealing with the Phantom, remember, and . . . okay, maybe he is simply talking tough. Okay, okay, bye." Sumter left the booth.

The Phantom put through a call to Captain Miranda.

Tapping the map with his finger, the Police Captain said, "Right here, Senor Walker. The phone company tells us the number you provided belongs to the Escabar family's private estate, located here in the hills beyond Hondillo." He glanced up from the spread out map. "A much respected family."

"Until now," answered the Phantom. "How far from us is their estate?"

"It is known as La Fortaleza, which means fort or citadel. Hondillo, a small city, is two hundred miles to the north of us, and this citadel lies some ten miles beyond the city. You believe they are holding your friend, Miss Palmer, there?"

"I do, yes," he said. "My distraught act worked on our false Sumter. He phoned to warn them I might know where they were holding Diana."

"You do not think perhaps his warning will cause them to move her?"

"Probably not," replied the Phantom. "They're feeling pretty confident now. They think Sumter was simply being overly cautious."

"We could," suggested the captain, "release these four remaining Vultures. It might be the simplest course."

"You know how the Vultures and Hydra work, Captain. Do you honestly think they'd honor their agreement?"

Miranda shook his head. "Probably not," he admitted. "Once their men were free they might . . . what, therefore, do you propose to do?"

"Storm the citadel."

"I will order all the men I can . . ."

"No, I'll do it alone."

"The area around Hondillo was hard hit by the quakes, senor. The railroad and many of the highways leading in are not passable. You'll need a plane to get in, and a pilot."

"I know bow to fly," said the Phantom. "All I need is the loan of a plane."

"I was going to offer you a plane," said Miranda, "with myself as pilot, of course."

The Phantom looked at the captain for a few seconds. "All right, I'll accept both offers."

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Captain Miranda pointed to his right out the cabin window of the light, military, reconnaissance plane. "You can see it now, Senor Walker."

Far below, seemingly wedged between two hills which were thick with foliage, lay a many- towered castle. It was vast, made of pale yellow stone, its roofs of orange and blue tiles.