The Legend of the Phantom (21 page)

‘
Remember this, a little scratch killed the lion. A scratch can kill you. Be careful.’

‘
We will remember.’

‘
With these deadly weapons you must fight the giants and free your people.’ I suggested.

The words started them off.
‘Fight the giants!?... How can we fight the giants?... They are so huge!’

‘
You must not be afraid. With this poison you can kill an elephant.’

‘
Kill an elephant? Rarely have we enjoyed such delicacy!’ Buran began.

The others took up another thought process,
‘But we are afraid. We can not fight the giants…’

‘
…Unless you lead us,’ finished Buran.

Lead them to war? How could we possibly be victorious even with the poison arrows. We needed something that would make the Wasaka believe that it was fated for the Bandar to win. That thought process made me think about the berries and at the same time reminded me of the
demon idol of the Wasaka giants. A flash of inspiration hit me and I outlined my thoughts to Buran. We packed up again and immediately set out.

Chapter 28

The marvels of such a strange and wild country!

…
We travelled for days. At first I was quite lost, except that I could discern the placement of the sun relative to myself. I quickly learned to watch for those oddities of the jungle that could be used as landmarks, whether they were an extremely high hill, a waterfall, or a great swamp.

…
As we neared the final destination that I will hitherto describe, we camped for the night in a grove of trees that brought great excitement to my companions. It was as if they wished to convey to me that I was fast approaching home. As the darkness enveloped us the wind picked up, at first just rustling the leafy tops of the trees, yet shortly, to my great surprise, as the wind whistled through the grove it appeared to my ears to whisper the name ‘Phan-tom’ over and over again. Were it not for the obvious enjoyment of the pygmies over this extreme peculiarity, I might have been more distressed over it.

Eventually we wound through a path that took us into a part of the jungle that
seemed to be an animal refuge, with numerous animal trails crisscrossing throughout. It was the deeper part of the woods, an area that had excessive plant-life; filled with all sorts of creepers, leafy green vegetation and massive trees.

…
However, the scene that was to come overshadowed them all. As we continued along this Deep Woods, we eventually came to a large waterfall that appeared to be impassable. The Bandar, as I have learned the pygmies like to be called, marched straight through the massive wall of water; seemingly to disappear. I was hesitant, but as my escort was willing to submit themselves to this watery doom, I was willing to follow.

As the water rushed over me, washing the harsh jungle dirt and grime
, I reveled in its coolness. Yet I was unprepared for what came next…for on the other side of that glorious waterfall, a large fissure was to be found, that opened up the rock behind through which after a short path deposited us into a beautiful bowl shaped valley with an incredible rock formation below. A cave naturally carved of wind, water and time…

T
his cave was curiously shaped as a skull, not unlike the one depicted upon my belt, with separate entrances above forming the eye-sockets, while an obviously ancient rockslide had sculpted a nose bridge, and below at the ground level one could easily ride a horse inside of what one could only describe as a gaping toothed upper jaw. The Bandar lead me directly to the mouth of the skull cave, and there, through gesturing, bid me inside. I hesitantly made my way within the mouth of the cavern, and found the place perfectly functional in every way. Returning to the entrance I collected a burning torch, and bidding the Bandar to come inside with me, I entered the cavernous system once again. However the Bandar would not follow me.

Knowing them during the course of my traversal of the jungle, it was pressed against my mind that this cave may be a holy or sacred structure to them, and that they bel
ieved that I was that holy man; for they were afraid of no living thing, whether beast or man. However, my curiosity outweighed any dangers that may have existed inside, and I explored the cave as I moved from chamber to chamber.

Though from the outside it reminded one of a skull, the inside was more like that of a cathedral. Large chambers turned into smaller chambers, extending back to yet other chambers. I could visualize myself living there, a bed
chamber here, a library chamber there, a study chamber there…

In the very back of the
cool cave I found a small underground waterfall, which was surprisingly warm. The water fell down the space of 15 feet to collect into a pool of crystal water that sloped to 3 feet deep on the back side within a 9 foot diameter. On the far end of the pool, the water roughly spilled off and quickly disappeared again through another crack in the wall. The runoff of water had cut a natural swath through the rock that allowed one to use it quite as a chamber pot, without the mess and even more so without the smell.

Quite nearby the warm chamber another chamber had a smaller waterfall that was
little more than a trickle, yet spilling off in such a fashion that a large man as myself could easily stand under it and take it up as rain from the heavens. This one however was cold and clear, and had a portion of it run off into a small side stream thanks to a well grooved protrusion. The trickle being perfect for a cool drink and side runoff ideal for cooling off after a hot day’s work.

The entire structure took my breath away and I understood why the Bandar brought me here.

I was home.

“Excuse me, O Ghost Who Walks, the feast is ready for your honor,” Old Mozz called to Kit, from the entrance to the Library chamber.

Kit started. ‘Was it that late already?’ he thought to himself.
Out loud he replied, “Thank you, old friend. I will be right there.”

‘Now where was I
…?’

Chapter 29

As the research ship
Scavenger
sat anchored off of the port city of Caldera, along the Puntarenas Province of western Costa Rica, the crew busied themselves with the categorizing, cleaning, and storing of equipment.

Having finished their work, the
failing daylight would have generally marked a time of rest. However, this night was different; this night was a night for celebration.

The tension in the air was tangible. Below their feet sat hundreds of millions of dollars in gold coin and silver
bars. The weather was beautiful, the gear had been stowed and the moon was up!

“Hit the music!” shouted John Standoff. “Let’s get this celebration going!”

He needn’t have added the second part. It had already begun.

The liquor flowed freely.
Someone shook up some stored champagne and having popped the top; placed their thumb over the lip to maximize the spray. The moon was nearly full, without a single cloud left in the sky.

The crew indulged themselves. Toast after toast was made. Laughter cut across the sea. Jokes told and
cheers for a job well done made animosities come to a temporary end.

In general, pirates like to strike at dawn and dusk, when the light is lowest, sneaking up on ships in small skiffs at great speed. This was no exception.

As the first pirate climbed over the gunwale, a shouted
“Welcome to the party!” was called out by a sloshed someone.

Les had just downed his third shot of rum
; a follow-up to his earlier champagne. John had his own private party going on, with a bottle of Captain Morgan well in mouth. Suddenly they noticed they weren’t alone.

“Pirates,” breathed out Les. He
started for the ship’s communication room, his drunken stupor abruptly lightened.

“Oh, no you don’t.”
The pirate closest to him said, in an Irish accent. Recklessly the spray from a Kalashnikov, in this case an AK-47, splayed out in front of him, into the communications room, destroying any chance for sending a message.

The shooting had the desired effect long before he barked the next command. “Everybody down! Get on that deck. I mean you, too!”
Stripes added, as he kicked at one of the crew that was a little too slow to respond.

The second pirate had pulled out his weapon and was pointing it generally toward the crowd.
His grin was unnerving; looking somewhat like that of a Cheshire cat.

“Down!” reiterated
Patches, a third member of the pirates. For effect he shot up the half-drunk bottles that lay discarded on the makeshift bar table. The glass and alcohol spread in all directions. The spilt alcohol rushed off the table, leaving the rest to pool to the edge. It slowly drizzled down the side, dripping onto the growing puddle on the deck.

“Lady coming on board!”
Stripes called out. “Let’s all be respectable…” This brought more smiles from the pirates.

Head’s turned up as the woman stepped over the gunwale. She arrived in the shadows,
with her face only barely discernable in the night light of the moon; yet every man there felt drawn to her as if she were some siren of the sea.

“Who’s the captain?” she icily asked to no one in particular.

The captive closest to her stammered his reply, “He’s no longer on board. He was sick, so we sent him to the mainland yesterday.”

She walked over to the frightened man, and stood right in front of
him, immediately over his face, her legs apart; hands on her hips. “Then who is in charge?” Her British voice was like a polar wind. It left no room for argument.

The man slowly looked up, trying to crank his neck high enough to see her face. Instead it seemed to him that a
ll he was able to see were legs; long toned legs rising higher and higher.

“Keep yer head down!”
Stripes suddenly shouted, bringing his weapon down on the man’s upper back. As the man fell back, he added, “Now answer the lady!”

However, the man just slumped. Perhaps he was hit too hard, perhaps in part due to too much excitement following his alcoholic binge.

As the pirate reached down to grab him by his hair, an American voice cut in from across the room. “That would be me.”

Instantly several weapons were trained on John.

Stripes let the man’s hair go, and the crewman’s head bounced against the deck.

The woman quickly walked over to
John. She sized him up and down, looking him over with a critical eye. She obviously liked what she saw.

Turning to her second in command, she ordered, “Tie the rest up. Have this one come with us. Time to show us what you found, lover,” she said, running a finger up
John’s neck line across his lower jaw. Abruptly she turned and walked away. He was still looking at her retreating form, when he was shoved forward from behind.

“Come on loverboy, youse got work to do.”

After ensuring the treasure was really there, she returned to the deck, followed by John and
Stripes, with another Kalashnikov focused on John’s back to secure his cooperation.

B
y the time they returned from the hold, the rest of the original ship’s crew was tied together on deck. They were left lying on their sides, two by two, with hands tied in back, and a slip noose around their necks, attached to the neck of the man behind them.

She
led him to the Captain’s bridge…then, pointing to the controls insisted that he travel due west for 13 nautical miles. “I suggest you do so. I would hate to have to kill you.” She ran her fingers through his hair.

John didn’t know if they were serious, but seeing as they hadn’t done anything yet, he didn’t move. Instead, in a loud voice he simply said, “No!”

“Maybe I can convince you through the death of one of your crew…” She said, turning to look over the crew as if to assess which one of them might be the best choice.

Something seemed to snap in John. It was as if he were standing to the side, while watching the acti
on. He heard himself yelling, “No! Never!” His hands went up and he grabbed at the woman’s throat, tightening his grip, trying to strangled her.

However, before he could even get a good grip he was hit in the back of the head with the weapon held in the second’s hand. His eyes glazed over as he slumped to the floor.

“Too bad,” she said, sounding genuinely saddened, as she tossed her black hair back and smoothed it out with one hand. Then grabbing up his head by his jaw, she looked hard at him. “You are a beaut of a man.”

He spit into her face. She recoiled, dropping his head onto the decking.
Then turning to Stripes, with eyes flashing as she wiped the spittle from her, she ordered, “Make him pilot this thing.”

The last thing
John saw as he rolled up his eyes was Stripes’ evil grin. The shot spread his brains all over the controls.

“Well, it looks like we need a new pilot,”
Stripes dryly commented.

The woman
wiped her face once again. Then she scowled, as she surveyed the mess. “You had better hope you find a pilot, or you will be driving this dump.”

The grin quickly disappeared. “I’ll find someone immediately.”

The crew could hear her as she made this statement and a deathly still came over the ship.

Walking out on deck,
Stripes yelled, “Looks like we are now short a pilot for this dump… who else here knows how to drive?”

The
silence reigned.

He looked back at the woman who simpl
y pointed to her watch. Stripes gulped.

Walking up to the crewmen closest to him, he grabbed one of them by the ear. The twist of the man brought a groan from the other that was tied to him, as the noose tightened on both of them.

“Who can drive this wreck? Answer me, or you will be next,” hooking his thumb towards the prostate form of what had once been the living John.

“Les…Les can…”

“Good boy. You might survive this…” Letting go of the ear, he straightened and called out. Where’s Les. Come on… let’s not make us make another mess.” A second passed. Then another. “OK, Les. This is how its gonna work. I’m gonna kill someone every minute until you answer, starting with this guy. Let that be on your conscience.” He grabbed up a crewman.

“Over here.” A weak voice called out.
“I’m Les.”

“Smart man.” said
Stripes. He let go of the crewman and shot him in cold blood before heading for Les.

“
Let that be a lesson to you. When we ask you something, we want you to act. Got it?” To Patches he added, “Cut him loose.”

A moment later Les
’ noose was cut loose allowing him to be drug free of the other man. Les was shoved forward over the deck to the Captain’s bridge. What he saw sickened him. He suddenly regurgitated, sending a projectile of chips and liquor over the blood soaked floor.

“Hope you
se enjoy the mess youse made, because for the next few hours, this is your new home,” laughed Stripes, which brought out a glower from Les. Then cutting Les’ hands free, the pirate added, “Now take us thirteen nautical miles due west.”

Les
weighed the anchor. Starting up the engines, he turned the boat to run west. As he drove off into the night, he glanced down at the form of John. Les was irate over Stripes’ actions. He had known John for quite some time, and though they may have had their differences, no one deserved what John got.