The Phantom

“MY SONS AND THEIR SONS
SHALL FOLLOW ME.”

Legend tells of a young boy who watched his father die at the hands of the Sengh Brotherhood, a bloodthirsty gang of pirates. Later, on the skull of his father’s killer, the boy swore vengeance—dedicating his life and the lives of his descendants to fighting piracy, greed, injustice, and cruelty in all its forms.

He was the first.

Four centuries have passed. And Kit Walker is the twentieth to don the costume of his fabled ancestor and take charge of his mysterious jungle home, the Skull Cave. For as long as the evil taint of the powerful Sengh Brotherhood poisons the earth, one champion will stand against them: the one who is called The Ghost Who Walks . . . The Phantom.

DRUMS THUNDERED
IN MY EARS.

Buli’s body swayed in rhythm to their beats, as though he and the drums were one and the same. When the drums reached a crescendo, he turned in my direction and thrust a ring at me. It bore the symbol of a skull.

I raised my hand, and he slipped the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly. As I stared at the ring, it began to glow. Rays of light shot out of it. I knew—without knowing why—that I was no longer Kit Walker, that I was now someone much different and more powerful. I squeezed my eyes shut and saw, in the shadows and tendrils of light, the new name I would take.

From this time on, I would be known as the Phantom.

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher, and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

THE PHANTOM is an original publication of Avon Books. This work has never before appeared in book form. This work is a novel by Rob MacGregor based on a screenplay by Jeffrey Boam, based on the characters created by Lee Falk. Any similarity to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

AVON BOOKS
A division of
The Hearst Corporation
1350 Avenue of the Americas
New York, New York 10019

Copyright © 1996 by King Features Syndicate, Inc./Paramount Pictures Corporation

Published by arrangement with King Features Syndicate, Inc./Paramount Pictures Corporation

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 96-96130

ISBN: 0-380-78887-X

All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Avon Books.

First Avon Books Printing: June 1996

AVON TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND IN OTHER COUNTRIES, MARCA REGISTRADA, HECHO EN U.S.A.

Printed in the U.S.A.

RA 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

CONTENTS

THE PHANTOM

FROM THE CHRONICLES:
HOW IT ALL BEGAN

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR HUNDRED
YEARS LATER

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FIVE

TWENTY-SIX

TWENTY-SEVEN

TWENTY-EIGHT

TWENTY-NINE

FROM THE CHRONICLES:
HOW IT ALL BEGAN

ONE

June 1533
The Sea of Bangalla

F
or the past two days, I had felt as if we were being watched. It was a ridiculous feeling—that was what I kept telling myself. After all, we were on the open ocean and there had been no land sighted since we’d left an isolated tropical island five days ago. There had been only the sea—an endless blue as vast as the sky itself.

Nevertheless, the feeling had intensified, and now one of my father’s crew had spotted a ship on the horizon that was growing quickly in size. I tried not to show any fear. The son of the captain was expected to be as brave as the captain himself. I was one of the measurements the crew used to gauge my father’s moods. If I showed fear, they would assume my father was also afraid. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t an accurate reflection; that was simply how it was.

I knew we were no match for the fierce bands of pirates who roamed these seas off the coast of Bangalla. They were among the most dreaded pirates on all the seas. Usually they killed the crew, ransacked the ship, and then sank it.

Our ship wasn’t outfitted with even a single cannon. Instead of weapons, the cargo hold was packed with hammers, saws, knives, and other steel tools and utensils, which were destined for a settlement near the Cape of Good Hope. We also carried bales of raw wool and bundles of woolen goods, including winter undergarments and heavy coats.

I hoped that if the pirates caught us, they wouldn’t be interested in our cargo and would let us go. But I had the feeling it wouldn’t work out that way.

We weren’t even supposed to be anywhere near the Bangalla coast, but we’d been blown far off course by a tremendous storm. Several of the crew had been washed overboard, we had sustained damage to the ship, and were indeed fortunate that our merchant vessel was still afloat.

After the storm, we’d come upon the island and spent two weeks there resting and making repairs to the ship. The natives on the island were friendly, and we traded fresh food and water for some of our merchandise. They liked the tools, but didn’t have much use for the clothing. Still, some of the more adventurous natives were soon parading around in their loin cloths with wool scarfs around their necks or heads and long underwear wrapped around their shoulders.

Truly, the island was a pleasant enough place and the people were handsome and, like I said, friendly, so friendly, in fact, some of the crew members were courting the attractive young women and perhaps hoping that we would stay there. We wouldn’t be the first.

From a shipwrecked sailor named Sam, we’d found out that we had been blown right through the dangerous seas controlled by the notorious Bangalla pirates, and that to return to our course, we would need to sail through those waters again. The sailor, who had three native wives and a dozen children, had no interest in joining us and suggested that we join him. Challenging the fierce Bangalla pirates was a lost cause, he’d said.

But my father, who was truly a fearless man, wasn’t going to be stopped by a few pirates. At my age, he had been a cabin boy on Columbus’s third journey to the New World. Nothing, he claimed, could equal that trip in danger. Besides, as he told the crew, he felt sure we would never encounter the pirates.

I was the eldest of five children, and at age ten, this was my first voyage. I trusted my father’s judgment, of course. I would do whatever he wanted. At the same time, I was curious about the Bangalla pirates and wanted to know more about them.

I’d become acquainted with one of the shipwrecked sailor’s sons, who was a year or two younger than I was. He told me the strangest story I’d ever heard—that the Bangallans had navigators who could actually leave their bodies and fly like frigate birds over the seas in search of ships to pillage. When they returned to their bodies, they knew exactly where to find their floating prey. I had never heard of such magic and asked my father if he thought it was true.

He just laughed, naturally, and said it was a native superstition; nothing for us to worry about. He assured me we would sail soon and pass quickly through the pirate waters and continue our journey. We would make our delivery, and before I knew it, I would be home telling exotic tales to my envious brothers, my admiring sisters, and my horrified mother. But I was still worried and couldn’t rid myself of the terrible sense of being watched. Perhaps the Bangallans were, at that very second, floating somewhere above the ship, as invisible as the air we breathed. There were other things that worried me, too. Several of the crew members had decided to remain on the island, and my father’s attempts to change their minds, or to enlist natives to replace them, had failed. The natives were convinced that our journey was doomed, that we would not survive the passage. And so we sailed shorthanded.