Biggles (16 page)

‘But why should anybody bother?' Biggles asked.

‘Good question,' said the Colonel. ‘Whoever it was was obviously desperate to get out of Germany and would take almost any risk to achieve his aim. What does that suggest?'

‘A war criminal?' said Biggles.

Raymond nodded. ‘Or possibly a spy. And there is something else we know about him.'

‘Yes?'

‘He was acquainted with your family and knew enough about you and Lacey to be certain one of you would take the risk you did. Any idea who it could be?'

‘None,' said Biggles. ‘Absolutely none.'

‘Well, we must try and think, for more than Lacey's safety is at stake. If I'm right — and I'm pretty sure I am — this could be far bigger than either of us dreamt.'

For once in his life, Biggles felt completely at a loss, but at least he now possessed the full support of Colonel Raymond, and through him, of the British Secret Service, as the Colonel was convinced of the importance of the case. But although the search for Algy and the Supersnipe had spread, and every British agent in the field was contacted for urgent information, none was forthcoming. Two days passed — anxious days during which Biggles stayed in London, and had several conferences with Colonel Raymond. The two men racked their brains to discover the identity of Algy's passenger, but neither made much progress. Then came the news that Biggles had been dreading all along. Colonel Raymond telephoned to say that the burned-out wreckage of an unknown aeroplane had been spotted on a mountainside near Freiburg, some forty miles on the German side of the frontier with Switzerland.

‘Any sign of survivors?' Biggles asked, trying to disguise the dread he felt.

‘No reports of any,' said the Colonel gruffly, ‘and by the sound of things it seems unlikely. But it appears pretty clear that it's your aircraft. I'm sorry, Bigglesworth. We'll talk tomorrow when more definite news arrives.'

Biggles felt broken by the news. To think that after all the dangers he had faced in battle, Algy had had to go like this — in a stupid crash against a mountain in bad weather. But that was how it often was. Drysdale, the toughest flier they had had in 266, had been knocked over by a bicycle and killed. Duclos, the legendary Belgian ace, died when he fell off a tram in Paris. At least Algy had gone as he would have wished — at the controls of an aeroplane with all his faculties intact. But what would happen now? Biggles didn't care to think about the future without Algy. Certainly he hadn't the heart to continue Biggles and Co. without him — or to go on flying for that matter.

Oppressed by these gloomy thoughts, he sat drinking in his den till long past midnight, knowing that if he went to bed he would never sleep. It was nearly one, and he had all but killed his bottle of Johnnie Walker when he was roused from his reverie by the shrilling of the telephone in the hall. He let it ring for several minutes, cursing whoever was calling him at that time of night and hoping he would go away. But the ringing persisted, and finally he lumbered to his feet, and took the call.

‘Major Bigglesworth? The Continental operator here. I have a call for you from Germany.'

‘From where?' said Biggles. But before the operator could reply a distant voice had broken in. It was so faint that he could barely hear, but there was no mistaking its identity. It was Algy.

‘Algy, old chap!' bawled Biggles. ‘Suffering cats, where arc you? I thought you'd had it.'

From the disjointed words that crackled through the telephone, Biggles had difficulty making sense of Algy's story.

‘Sorry, Biggles ... crashed ... unhurt ... being held at Freiburg.'

‘Where?' Biggles shouted.

‘Freiburg... I'm held hostage ... can't say who ... either they get an aeroplane to fly them on to Zurich, or I've had it ... Freiburg, Biggles. Don't let me down ... they mean business.'

Before Biggles could say another word, the telephone went dead.

‘All of my chaps have drawn a blank, I'm afraid, Bigglesworth,' said Colonel Raymond next morning. ‘We've been in touch with the police in Freiburg, but with Lacey's life at stake, I had to tell them to go easy. Not that they've any news either.'

The Colonel scratched his head.

‘Dashed if I know what the next move is, Bigglesworth. I suppose we sit and wait for Lacey's captors to make a fresh demand.'

Biggles looked grim, and shook his head.

‘I don't like the idea of that at all. Think of old Algy, stuck there with some flaming lunatic and thinking each moment is his last. Besides, sir, he appealed to me for help, and I'm his friend. With your permission, I've got to go to Freiburg.'

Colonel Raymond stared across the room. Down below, the Thames was sparkling in the morning sunlight, and as he watched it, this proud, lonely man found himself envying the ordinary people in the street who could enjoy a scene like this without the burden of responsibility he always carried. Finally, he slapped his stainless steel ruler on the desk.

‘Right you are, Bigglesworth. I'll back you. Probably I shouldn't — and if anything goes wrong, I'll soon be seeking fresh employment. Please remember that. But we can't leave Lacey without doing something. I'll arrange an aircraft for you and all necessary clearances. Then you're on your own. Don't let me down.'

‘As if I could!' said Biggles.

An hour later, Biggles was at Heston Airport, performing the last-minute checks on a long-range Vickers monoplane, lent by the R.A.F. He had borrowed goggles and a flying suit, and at Colonel Raymond's own suggestion had been issued with a — 32 Browning automatic from the armoury. Apart from a thermos flask of scalding coffee, this was all Biggles carried for the long flight to Germany.

Once he was airborne all his worries left him. New though the aircraft was to him, the controls were no problem to a flier of his experience, and before long the English Channel was below him
like a bright blue mist as the monoplane roared on at 15,000 feet. Then came the patchwork fields of France, and about an hour later he espied the Rhine, a silver ribbon just below his wing-tip.

‘Hunland!' he thought — the stronghold he had fought against for all those months in France. What devilment was being hatched there even in defeat? When would that barbarous race ever learn its lesson? If they had done anything to Algy ... He ground his teeth and checked his compass. Strasbourg sprawled below him on the right, and with the mountains on his left horizon he urged the aircraft on the straight flight south to Freiburg.

He still had no idea how he would contact Algy, but he assumed his captors must have prompted him to make the call and would be soon prepared to introduce themselves. The airport was a simple field outside the town, with two small hangars and a runway. He circled it, and at first saw little sign of life, but as he came in to land, he saw a large black car suddenly race towards him from the perimeter of the field, and by the time his engine stopped, the car had drawn up some twenty yards away. It had darkened windows so that he could not see inside.

He was about to jump down from the cockpit when the driver's door swung open and he heard a voice he thought he recognised — a guttural, inhuman voice that stirred vague memories from the past.

‘Bigglesworth, stay where you are. That's excellent. Now, no tricks please. I have you covered and would hate to have to kill you now. You will please walk towards me with your hands above your head. You must excuse me, but I must assure myself you are not armed. March! Quick!'

But Biggles wasn't being hurried.

‘Just a moment! What about Captain Lacey?' he called back.

‘He's here with me. See for yourself!' The passenger door swung open, and Biggles glimpsed a recumbent form, gagged and tied hand and foot. There was no question who it was.

‘O.K.,' he shouted then, ‘I'm coming down,' and stepping from the cockpit he advanced towards the car, his hands above his head. The far door of the car opened wider now, and a masked figure emerged, holding a massive Mauser automatic. He limped slightly, and at that moment Biggles recognised him.

‘Von Stalhein!' he exclaimed. ‘I thought that you were dead.'

‘It would suit many people if I were, but no such luck! A little higher, please. That's better.'

Biggles was conscious of cold, reptilian eyes fixing him through the thin slits of the mask, and despite himself he shivered as he felt the Junker's hands exploring his defenceless body.

‘A Browning automatic!' snarled von Stalhein. ‘You should have known better, Bigglesworth. Such toys are for children!' and he sent the weapon spinning onto the grass behind him.

‘Now we must be swift. There are certain things I want transferred from the car into your plane. You will carry them, and I will keep you covered.'

‘Not until you remove the gag from Captain Lacey. You know quite well that that's no way to treat an officer and a gentleman, von Stalhein.'

The Prussian shrugged.

‘Very well. There's nothing he can do now anyhow. Captain Lacey, my apologies.'

‘Sorry, Biggles,' Algy said when the bandage was removed. ‘I should have followed your advice. I wouldn't be in this mess

‘Enough of that,' barked von Stalhein. ‘Bigglesworth, in the back of the car are six large cases. Place them in the cockpit.'

‘Professor Krahenbiehl's famous specimens,' said Biggles.

‘You might call them that,' von Stalhein said. ‘Hurry now. I'm anxious to be off.'

Biggles went to lift the first of the cases. It was as much as he could do to carry it, but finally he had staggered to the aircraft with all six of them.

‘And now?' asked Biggles.

‘Into the aircraft please. We will fly due south.'

‘I thought you wished to get to Zurich. That's south-east from here.'

‘And fly straight into the arms of your Colonel Raymond or one of his employees? Please to credit me with just a little sense, Major. No, we will land at Basel. There is a small airport there, and I have made arrangements to be met. Once that is done all your responsibilities will be over. But don't forget, Major Bigglesworth, I shall be sitting just behind you, and at the first sign of double-dealing I shall blow your head off.'

Biggles nodded.

‘And what about Captain Lacey?'

‘He can stay where he is. I'm sure he's rather stiff, but otherwise in perfect health. Once we have gone, someone will release him.'

Biggles realised that it was pointless arguing, so after a brief farewell to Algy, he climbed aboard the aircraft, revved the engine, and glanced back quickly to see the muzzle of von Stalhein's automatic just behind his neck. Angrily he opened up the throttle, and the plane soared up the runway on its way to Switzerland.

It was a short, uneventful flight to Basel, but all the way Biggles racked his brains to think of how to outwit von Stalhein. Some things were clear to him already. It had obviously suited the wily Prussian to have had Biggles and the British Secret Service believe that he had died on his mission to Palestine, and since then he had enjoyed the perfect cover for a spy — that of a man his enemies believe is dead. It was a daring plan of his to count on Biggles or Algy to get him into Switzerland under the guise of old Professor Krahenbiehl. But why take such a risk? Biggles could not believe von Stalhein needed to escape from Germany on his own account. Whatever crimes the man was guilty of, he was so elusive and such a master of disguise that he could confidently escape from any manhunt. The answer clearly lay in that mysterious luggage he carried with him. It must be desperately important for a man like von Stalhein to have taken quite such risks to get it into Switzerland. Biggles would have given almost anything for a chance to peep inside those six black cases, but von Stalhein's Mauser was still six inches from his neck, and now that they were coming into land, Biggles required all his energies to bring the monoplane safely into the small mountain airport.

He made his usual perfect three-point landing.

‘A stylish piece of flying, Major,' said von Stalhein as the big aircraft rolled to a halt before the airport building. He had now taken off his mask, and, but for the cropped hair and livid duelling scars disfiguring his cheeks, might have been an ordinary businessman.

‘Now listen carefully,' he went on. I have everything arranged. The customs men are in my pay, and you and I will take the baggage through without any trouble. Outside the airport my associate is waiting with a car. Once we are gone you are free to do exactly as you like, but until that moment I shall be behind
you and will have the Mauser in my pocket. So no tricks, Major Bigglesworth. It would upset me to be obliged to kill so excellent a pilot.'

Biggles nodded.

‘You win, von Stalhein — for the moment. But don't think you'll get away with it.'

‘Oh, but I think I have already. Now, the luggage if you please. Be careful with it. Be good enough to load it on that porter's trolley, and I must be on my way.'

Biggles had no alternative but to do as he was told. He piled the heavy bags aboard the trolley and, followed by von Stalhein, pushed them past the few officials who were in the airport and out towards a waiting car. He had all but reached it when he heard someone behind him say, ‘One moment, sir!'

He turned and saw that a tall, good-looking man with spectacles had approached von Stalhein, and that the Prussian was attempting to ignore him.

‘Excuse me, sir,' the man repeated with polite insistence.

‘What is it?' growled von Stalhein. ‘Can't you see I'm in a hurry?'

‘I won't keep you long, sir. Just a small formality. Inspector Luscher, Swiss Federal Police. Your passport would appear to be out of date. Would you mind ...'

It was the diversion Biggles needed, and in a flash he turned upon von Stalhein. A shot rang out — but von Stalhein's aim was faulty now and the bullet went whining harmlessly away. At the same time, Biggles had the satisfaction of landing a good British uppercut onto the Junker's jaw.