“You mean the men who tied you up in the truck? The bad men?”
“Yes. Planes with boats for feet.”
The Phantom nodded. “Seaplanes.” And fighter planes with pontoons had forced the Pan Am Clipper into the water. No coincidence there, he thought.
He reined Hero around and galloped off into the jungle with Devil, the wolf, running at his side. “Hang on, Zak. We’ve got a long ride ahead.”
The last thing Diana remembered was being pistol-whipped by the woman from the fighter plane. Now, as she came awake, she was being lifted by rope up through the darkness. Her legs and wrists were bound and a wad of cloth was stuffed into her mouth. It smelled of dirt and oil. Her body slammed several times against the barnacle-encrusted piling as she was lifted to a dock. Then they dragged her along it for several yards.
“Stop right there, you idiot,” Sala yelled at whoever was pulling Diana.
Sala loosened the rope under Diana’s arms, slipped it over her head. Then she lifted Diana and carried her up a gangplank and onto the deck of an old freighter. From there she was dragged to an opening in the deck that led down into the belly of the ship.
As Sala let her go, Diana was suddenly afraid she was going to be shoved headfirst down the hole, and there was nothing she could do about it. She yelled into the gag, shook her head, and pulled her knees tightly into her chest.
“Take it easy. I’m not going to dump you.”
Sala descended several steps, then draped Diana over her shoulder as though she weighed nothing at all. Diana stared helplessly down into the dank hold of the ship as Sala continued on. The musty air seeped into her nostrils, nauseating her.
When they finally reached the bottom, Sala carried her a few more yards, then deposited her in a wooden chair.
A seedy, roughneck character strolled casually over to Sala, who looked as if she were about to collapse from the effort. “What’s your problem?”
“Thanks for all your help, Quill,” Sala snapped. “You might as well have stayed in town with your idiot friends.”
Quill laughed; his teeth looked as if they hadn’t been brushed in decades. “I’ve been getting a new image.” He turned his cheek toward her. “What do you think?”
A skull tattoo now decorated each of the man’s cheeks.
“You look just as ugly as the last time I saw you,” Sala said.
“No, look! Matching skulls.”
Sala fixed a hand to her waist and tilted sideways, stretching fatigued muscles. “What’s the occasion? Did you kill your mother?”
“I’ll never tell.” He abruptly turned to Diana. “So let’s see her mug.”
Sala untied the dirty rag used for a gag. Diana spit bits of it out of her mouth. “Sort of pretty, I guess,” Sala observed. “In a spoiled, rich girl kind of way. Definitely too classy for you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Quill murmured, walking around her, eyeing her the way a butcher eyes a piece of prime beef. “You can never tell.”
Diana cleared her throat. Her mouth felt like cotton, but she tried to talk, anyway. “Who are you people? Are you crazy?” Her voice croaked, the words sputtered out of her. “Do you have any idea how many laws you’ve just broken? Disruption of international air transportation! Abduction! Piracy! Kidnapping!”
Sala laughed. “Little Miss Righteous. Not your type at all, Quill.”
Quill stepped closer to Diana and raised his arm, threatening to strike Diana. “Shut up! Just shut the hell up!”
But Diana wasn’t about to follow any orders from Tattoo Face. “If this is a kidnapping for money, you’re not going to get a cent! Not a red cent!”
Quill turned to Sala. “Do you want to shut her up, or should I do it?”
Sala went over to Diana to replace the gag, but Diana jerked her head to the side. “Get that out of here. That rag is filthy! You wanna gag me . . . get a clean rag! Is that too much to ask?”
Sala grabbed her by the jaw and finally jammed the rag back into her
“Yes. Planes with boats for feet.”
The Phantom nodded. “Seaplanes.” And fighter planes with pontoons had forced the Pan Am Clipper into the water. No coincidence there, he thought.
He reined Hero around and galloped off into the jungle with Devil, the wolf, running at his side. “Hang on, Zak. We’ve got a long ride ahead.”
The last thing Diana remembered was being pistol-whipped by the woman from the fighter plane. Now, as she came awake, she was being lifted by rope up through the darkness. Her legs and wrists were bound and a wad of cloth was stuffed into her mouth. It smelled of dirt and oil. Her body slammed several times against the barnacle-encrusted piling as she was lifted to a dock. Then they dragged her along it for several yards.
“Stop right there, you idiot,” Sala yelled at whoever was pulling Diana.
Sala loosened the rope under Diana’s arms, slipped it over her head. Then she lifted Diana and carried her up a gangplank and onto the deck of an old freighter. From there she was dragged to an opening in the deck that led down into the belly of the ship.
As Sala let her go, Diana was suddenly afraid she was going to be shoved headfirst down the hole, and there was nothing she could do about it. She yelled into the gag, shook her head, and pulled her knees tightly into her chest.
“Take it easy. I’m not going to dump you.”
Sala descended several steps, then draped Diana over her shoulder as though she weighed nothing at all. Diana stared helplessly down into the dank hold of the ship as Sala continued on. The musty air seeped into her nostrils, nauseating her.
When they finally reached the bottom, Sala carried her a few more yards, then deposited her in a wooden chair.
A seedy, roughneck character strolled casually over to Sala, who looked as if she were about to collapse from the effort. “What’s your problem?”
“Thanks for all your help, Quill,” Sala snapped. “You might as well have stayed in town with your idiot friends.”
Quill laughed; his teeth looked as if they hadn’t been brushed in decades. “I’ve been getting a new image.” He turned his cheek toward her. “What do you think?”
A skull tattoo now decorated each of the man’s cheeks.
“You look just as ugly as the last time I saw you,” Sala said.
“No, look! Matching skulls.”
Sala fixed a hand to her waist and tilted sideways, stretching fatigued muscles. “What’s the occasion? Did you kill your mother?”
“I’ll never tell.” He abruptly turned to Diana. “So let’s see her mug.”
Sala untied the dirty rag used for a gag. Diana spit bits of it out of her mouth. “Sort of pretty, I guess,” Sala observed. “In a spoiled, rich girl kind of way. Definitely too classy for you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Quill murmured, walking around her, eyeing her the way a butcher eyes a piece of prime beef. “You can never tell.”
Diana cleared her throat. Her mouth felt like cotton, but she tried to talk, anyway. “Who are you people? Are you crazy?” Her voice croaked, the words sputtered out of her. “Do you have any idea how many laws you’ve just broken? Disruption of international air transportation! Abduction! Piracy! Kidnapping!”
Sala laughed. “Little Miss Righteous. Not your type at all, Quill.”
Quill stepped closer to Diana and raised his arm, threatening to strike Diana. “Shut up! Just shut the hell up!”
But Diana wasn’t about to follow any orders from Tattoo Face. “If this is a kidnapping for money, you’re not going to get a cent! Not a red cent!”
Quill turned to Sala. “Do you want to shut her up, or should I do it?”
Sala went over to Diana to replace the gag, but Diana jerked her head to the side. “Get that out of here. That rag is filthy! You wanna gag me . . . get a clean rag! Is that too much to ask?”
Sala grabbed her by the jaw and finally jammed the rag back into her
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