‘If that jet we saw is based not far behind those hills on the horizon it could be here within ten minutes of getting a signal from Alfondari,’ returned Biggles with an anxiety he did not attempt to conceal.
At that moment the breeze died away and Ginger’s behaviour was explained. It came with the wail of jets, as yet far off but rising swiftly to the crescendo produced when aircraft so equipped are diving.
Biggles looked up but could see nothing, which told him that the machines were already low; so he dashed to a point that commanded a view of the direction from which the howl was coming. One glance was enough. He ran back. ‘MIGs — three of ‘em. Take cover,’ he snapped, and threw himself flat as close as he could get to the bottom of a block of stone.
Bertie lay beside him.
They were just in time. Within seconds it seemed that all hell had been let loose. Guns were crackling like castanets and bullets ripping through palms, ploughing up the sand or flying off the old stones in screaming ricochets. The noise of this, combined with the scream of jets as they swooped low, was shattering. Biggles twisted his body so that he could see the Merlin and watched for it to become a definite target. He heard a few bullets hit it, but where he did not know. He thought they were stray shots, inevitable as the entire hill seemed to be under fire. He got the impression that the shooting, in the absence of any conspicuous objective, was at random. The aircraft, well camouflaged as it was, would not be easy to pick out by jets flying almost at ground level at top speed. Occasionally he caught a momentary glimpse of one as it flashed past.
He did not speak. Neither did Bertie. For one thing there was nothing to be said, and for another the noise was such that conversation would have been impossible.
Once Bertie touched Biggles on the arm and pointed. Five loose horses were tearing madly across the wilderness. One fell. It tried to get up but fell again and lay still. It may have been struck by a bullet or it may have tripped over its broken reins and broken its neck. The other four raced on, scattering.
The attack lasted about five minutes. Then the MIGs withdrew. Hearing them going, Biggles took a cautious peep. ‘All over,’ he told Bertie. They’re away.’
Bertie got into a sitting position and wiped his monocle. ‘I say, old boy, that was pretty hot. The blighters did their best to make a right job of it.’
‘They didn’t waste any time getting here,’ growled Biggles. ‘I was expecting trouble but nothing quite on that scale. Ginger must have seen ‘em coming. I hope he had the sense to find himself a good hole to lie up in. Let’s have a look at the aircraft. That was my big worry. I don’t think they saw it.’
Having satisfied themselves that the attackers were clear away, they walked over to it and made a quick inspection. They found two holes in a wing, three in the tail unit and one had gone right through the cabin. But as far as they could make out no serious damage had been done. There was no sign of leaking oil or petrol.
‘Here comes Ginger, so he’s all right,’ observed Bertie.
Biggles lit a cigarette. ‘Good. Let’s hear what he has to say about it.’
CHAPTER 6
QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS
GINGER came bouncing down the slope in long strides, his face wearing a grin that looked forced.
‘Everything okay?’ he questioned anxiously as he joined the others.
‘More or less,’ replied Biggles. ‘You seem to be all right. I was worried about you.’
‘When I saw what was coming, no rabbit with a dog on its tail went to ground faster than I did. I took a header between some rocks and stayed there. Gosh! What a carry-on!’
‘What about Zorlan and the rest?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why not?’
‘I haven’t seen them.’
‘Didn’t you see them before the shooting started?’
‘No. I had a look round from the top of the hump but they weren’t in sight. Naturally, when those MIGs started plastering the place I didn’t do any more looking. I saw the horses. They’d been left tethered to a palm at the bottom of the slope on the far side.’
‘They stampeded.’
‘No wonder.’
‘They’ll take some catching. The last we saw of them they were making flat out for the horizon, each one going its own way.’
‘That’s dandy. What will Zorlan and Co. do about that?’
‘Here he comes now,’ put in Bertie. ‘Maybe he’ll tell us.’
Professor Zorlan, still carrying his portfolio, came striding down the hill. For once he was hurrying. His expression, when he came up, was more austere than usual. ‘No doubt we can thank Alfondari for that exhibition,’ he said in a voice venomous with anger. He looked round. ‘Where is he?’
‘He’s gone,’ informed Biggles calmly.
‘Gone! Gone where? How could he go?’
‘A Turkish military aircraft, or a plane showing Turkish nationality marks, landed here and picked him up. You must have heard it.’
‘I heard something, but I naturally assumed it was you testing your engines.’
‘I had no reason to test them. The officer in charge introduced himself as from Turkish Intelligence Headquarters at Ankara. Alfondari had been seen getting into our plane. The man, he said, was a spy, and he had come to collect him.’
‘So he took him away?’
‘He did.’
‘You didn’t try to prevent it?’
‘I did not. Why should I? I was glad to see the back of Alfondari. He’d become a nuisance.’
‘I take it you believed what this officer told you?’
‘At first I had no reason to doubt it. Taken by surprise, we were in a difficult position. The last thing I thought you’d want was trouble with the Turkish authorities. Had the plane been what it claimed to be, and I had refused to let Alfondari go, it could have started something. In any case I could see no point in saddling ourselves any longer with a man we couldn’t trust. I thought we were well rid of him.’
‘You talk as if you have doubts about this plane?’
‘I have now.’ Biggles gave his reasons.
Zorlan bit his lip. ‘We should have shot the man at once when we realized he was a spy.’
‘Say we suspected it. We weren’t sure. You can’t shoot a man on suspicion.’
‘I take no chances.’
‘I can see that. What good would it have done?’ returned Biggles coldly. ‘It wouldn’t have stopped that plane coming here. What could I have told the officer in charge to account for Alfondari’s disappearance? It was known he was with us. Had I said we’d killed him, and it then turned out he was a Turkish national, it’s likely we should have seen the inside of a Turkish gaol. But instead of standing here wasting time talking about what we might have done, wouldn’t it be better to decide what we’re going to do? What of the party you met on the hill? Presumably you had no casualties.’
‘We were never in danger. To take advantage of the shade we were negotiating our business in one of the excavated houses.’
‘I hope you got what you came for.’
‘Up to a point, yes.’
‘You know the horses have gone?’
‘Yes.’
‘We saw them go. You’ll have a job to find them. One I think was killed. The others must be miles away by now. How are your friends going to get back to where they came from?’
‘I have already discussed that with them. They can’t be expected to walk nearly thirty miles across the open desert, in this heat, to the nearest fresh water, so you will have to fly them.’
Biggles’ face fell. ‘I can’t say I’m infatuated with that idea. You realize that if those MIGs come back and catch us in the open we’ve had it. We couldn’t even put up a fight.’
‘There’s no alternative. It’s a risk that must be taken.’
Biggles took a cigarette from a pack and tapped it on his thumb nail. ‘Don’t you think, Professor Zorlan, that it’s time we were told what this is all
about? Surely the time for secrecy has passed. It isn’t that I’m inquisitive or even curious. I’m not concerned with Middle Eastern potentates or politics, but I feel that as we’re on the job we might as well do the best we can with it. It’s more to your advantage than ours, I think, that we should succeed; but this waffling about in unknown country without knowing where we’re going next, or why, isn’t making things any easier for me. I know I’m here to take your instructions, and I’m prepared to do that; but the more I know what all this is in aid of, as we used to say in the R.A.F., the better shall I be able to cope with an emergency should it arise. At present I’m by no means sure who are our friends and who our enemies. Who are these people on the hill? It’s pretty obvious that somebody knows; but we don’t.’ Having thus disclosed what was in his mind, Biggles lit the cigarette.
After a pause for reflection Zorlan answered. ‘Your argument may be justified. Very well. One of the men on the hill is the Sheikh of Zarat. With him is his Prime Minister and Foreign Secretary. The other two are attendants — bodyguards if you like.’
‘Thank you. So now we know. Now may I make a suggestion?’
‘I shall be interested to hear it.’
‘The sooner we’re away from here the better. Those MIGs may repeat their attack, or it’s even possible a ground force may be sent here. In fact I’m pretty sure of it.’
‘Why are you sure?’
‘It’s known we have an aircraft here. Some people, including Alfondari, knew about the machine before it left Ankara. Alfondari knows where it is now. That means other people know. Hence the attack. One purpose of that may have been to destroy our aircraft and so keep us here, or at least curtail our movements. It must be known by now that the aircraft was not destroyed. Had it been, those MIG pilots would have seen the smoke. In case you’ve never seen a burning aircraft, I can tell you it puts up a considerable cloud of black smoke.’
‘Very well. Let us say those planes came over to destroy our aircraft and failed.’
‘Did you see them?’
‘Not clearly. Did you?’
‘Clearly enough.’
‘So you know where they came from?’
‘Not definitely. All I know is they carried the Red Star, which means they came from one of the Communist countries. Which one I couldn’t say. Russia has supplied MIGs to most of her satellites. Never mind. It isn’t really important. It comes to the same thing in the end. What I would like to know is why all this fuss suddenly to put out of action a civil plane that’s minding its own business? Or was there another reason, a more serious one, in coming here?’
‘It is possible.’
‘So you know what it is.’
‘Yes.’
‘Is someone trying to kill the sheikh and his ministers?’
‘It might well be.’
‘Why? What has the sheikh done?’
‘He has done nothing.’
‘That doesn’t make sense to me. People don’t go out of their way to commit murder for no reason at all. Could it be that someone has put up a proposition to him and he has turned it down?’
‘If you must know that is precisely what has happened.’
‘The proposition could only be concerned with Zarat. Which means there must be something here more valuable than what I see on the surface.’
‘How persistent you are. Does it matter?’
‘Only to the extent that, as I said just now, I’d be in a better position to set my clock right if I knew what these people were after.’
‘Can’t you guess? What is the wealth that is pouring out of the ground in so many Middle Eastern countries?’
Understanding dawned in Biggles’ eyes. ‘Oil! Great Scott! So that’s it. Where oil flows so does blood, mostly the blood of innocent people to whom the accursed stuff means nothing except hard labour in the refineries.’
Zorlan shrugged. ‘Now you know. I trust you are satisfied. Anything else?’
‘That’s all I need to know. Now let’s see about getting out of this.’
‘It would be advisable.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘That has already been decided. My first business with the sheikh is finished and it only remains to get him home safely and as quickly as possible. That does not mean we need take him all the way to the palace at Zarana, the capital. That could be dangerous, for there might be spies watching even there. About twenty-five miles due east from where we stand there is an oasis called Suwara. It is occupied by a small outpost of the sheikh’s troops. The sheikh uses it as a centre for hunting. He says all will be well if we take him there. The oasis is surrounded by sabkha, so there will be no difficulty in landing. Men will be sent out to recapture the lost horses, although being desert-bred they will probably make their way home.’
‘That’s quite clear,’ stated Biggles. ‘Having landed our passengers, what then? Do we go home?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
Biggles looked startled. ‘Don’t say we’re to come back here!’
‘That depends on circumstances. Not immediately, anyway. Our next move will be to fly to Rasal al Sharab.’
Biggles frowned, searching his memory, and recalled this was the possible second objective mentioned by the Air Commodore. ‘That’s the other little independent state lying farther south, near the frontiers of Iraq and Persia?’ he queried.
‘Correct.’
‘And what do we do there?’
‘Pick up a passenger.’
‘For where?’
‘For here — that is, Zarat.’
Biggles smiled bleakly. ‘A shuttle service over this sort of territory, without an airfield, isn’t my idea of a jolly life, but if that’s what you want it’s all right with me. Shall we get on with it? When we get to the oasis does it matter where we land?’
‘No, as long as it’s as close as possible. The oasis isn’t a large one. I’ll fetch the sheikh. I advised him to stay where he was for the moment, until you were quite ready, in case those aircraft paid us a return visit. While I’m away you’d better take the opportunity of having a quick lunch.’
‘What about you? Don’t you need food?’
‘No. I’m accustomed to going for long periods without any.’
‘And the sheikh?’
‘No doubt he will eat something when he gets to the oasis.’
‘As you say. We’ll clear this rubbish off the plane.’
Zorlan set off up the mound.
‘He certainly is a queer bird,’ observed Bertie.
‘Let’s grab some grub while we can,’ advised Biggles. ‘The way things are going we may end up without any.’
Some twenty minutes later they were clearing the camouflage off the aircraft when Ginger remarked: ‘Here they come.’
They all made a searching inspection of the party that now came down the hill with Zorlan leading.
‘What do you make of ‘em?’ asked Bertie.
Biggles shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me. I think their skins are too light for them to be Arabs. They look more like Caucasians. It doesn’t matter to us what they are.’
The party arrived at the aircraft. There were no introductions, but from his authoritative bearing there was no doubt as to which was the sheikh. He bowed courteously to the airmen. He was a good-looking young man of slight build with blue eyes that seemed strangely out of place with a semi-oriental style of dress, noticeably a short red jacket, baggy trousers fastened in at the ankle, and a yellow turban. He wore a small black beard and a moustache. The jewelled sheath of a dagger was suspended from his waist by a gold chain. The bodyguards were tall, fierce-looking men with upturned moustaches, like buffalo horns. Each carried a rifle. Bandoliers filled with cartridges crossed their chests. Scimitars, the single-edged curved swords peculiar to the Middle East, hung at their sides.
‘Real musical comedy stuff,’ breathed Ginger in Biggles’ ear.
‘I wouldn’t care to count on that,’ returned Biggles soberly.
/> ‘Are you ready?’ inquired Zorlan curtly.
‘I have only to start the engines.’
‘Then let us go.’
Leaving Ginger to make the party comfortable in the cabin, in which of course he himself would have to travel, Biggles climbed into the cockpit, where Bertie joined him saying: ‘Are we going to have any difficulty finding this oasis?’
‘I wouldn’t think so. Zorlan said it was twenty-five miles due east, and there can’t be so many oases that we’re likely to make a mistake.’ Biggles started the engines. ‘While you’re making sure they’re ready inside, you might have a last look round to make certain there are no MIGs about.’
Bertie did so. ‘All clear,’ he reported.
‘Then we’ll press on.’ Biggles advanced the throttle and the aircraft, tail up and swiftly gathering speed, raced across the open plain. Having such a short distance to go, he did not climb to any altitude. At a thousand feet he levelled out, all the time keeping a close watch on the sky, and in three minutes an oasis was in sight. There was only one, so it could not be other than Suwara, the objective. A narrow belt of bright green palms, presumably round a water-hole, it made a refreshing spot of colour in the drab wilderness, very different from the sun-parched ruins they had just left.
‘If there’s one thing in the world that looks exactly as you imagined it, it’s an oasis,’ remarked Bertie, scanning the sky.
‘And they’re all alike,’ contributed Biggles, as he cut the engines and having glided in touched down on the near side, allowing the plane to run to a standstill near the palms. Some men ran out to look at them but did not advance.
Leaving the engines ticking over he got down. ‘Is this the place?’ he asked Zorlan, who was first out of the cabin.
‘Yes.’
‘Are we to stay here?’
‘Yes.’
‘For how long?’
‘I don’t know. Long enough for the sheikh to see if there is any news from the palace. He thinks it might be better for you to wait here until sundown before flying on.’
‘For what reason?’
‘There would be less risk of you being seen.’
‘That won’t make much difference. We shall be heard, anyhow.’
Biggles' Special Case Page 6