by W E Johns
Biggles stubbed his cigarette. ‘Yes, I see that.’
‘But my advice to you is to know as little as possible about the political angle and forget what has been hinted at here. The less you know the less you would be able to reveal if you were questioned. Stick to your cover story about being nothing more than a civil pilot engaged to fly Professor Zorlan to the ruins of Quarda for a brief archaeological survey prior to the resumption of digging when weather conditions permit.’
‘What about the Professor?’
‘He will tell the same story and you can rely on him to play up to it. The fact that he is an archaeologist, who has already been to the ruins, will support him.’
‘This previous digging. Was that kept secret?’
‘No. It was all open and above board and the results were published in the Press. The excavating was done by native labour, so there was no question of keeping it under the hat. There was no need.’
‘And there was no trouble on that occasion?’
‘None whatever. But I must admit that since that time there has been a change in the general political situation. Should the digging be resumed, as it may be, Russia might protest that her frontier was being threatened. Quite absurd, of course, considering that the total population of Zarat is under three thousand. But as you know, the Communist countries see, or pretend to see, a threat in everything, and in consequence are touchy even on the most trifling matters. Any more questions?’
‘I can’t think of any at the moment,’ replied Biggles after a pause. ‘I may think of something later when I’ve digested what you’ve told me. I shall probably take Lissie as spare pilot and put Ginger in the cabin with the passenger. That would leave Algy to take care of anything that might turn up while I’m away.’
‘As you wish.’
‘Shall I meet Professor Zorlan before we start?’
‘It’s unlikely. There’s no reason why you should. You’ll hardly come in contact with him if everything goes as planned. He’ll simply be your employer and you’ll take orders from him.’
Biggles got up. ‘Very well, sir. I’ll go and have a look at the aircraft.’
CHAPTER 2
AN UNWELCOME GUEST
A FORTNIGHT after Biggles’ conversation with the Air Commodore he stood, with Bertie and Ginger, on the airport at Ankara awaiting the arrival of their passenger from the hotel where he had spent the night. After an uneventful run from Gatwick they themselves had slept in a small hotel nearer the aerodrome. So far everything had gone smoothly, and the Merlin, with its tanks full, was now all set to continue its journey.
Biggles was happy about its performance which was all that had been claimed for it. It was a pleasure to fly, and would, like most modern commercial aircraft, practically fly itself. A new type, only just coming into production, it was equipped with all the latest devices for safety, efficiency and comfort. As he remarked, no pilot could ask for more. The only fault Bertie could find was that a chef had not been provided to operate in the kitchenette and serve iced drinks as required. This, no doubt, was prompted by the fact that the weather was extremely hot.
No changes had been made in the original arrangement. Bertie, as co-pilot, occupied the seat beside Biggles, and Ginger sat in the cabin from which a small door, with a glass panel, gave access to the cockpit. His companion had hardly spoken a word and passed the time reading.
In one respect Biggles had not accepted the Air Commodore’s advice. This was in the matter of firearms. Aware of the disadvantage of being without any means of defence should they run into active opposition, he had been to some pains to hide inside his cushioned seat two small loaded pocket automatics. It was true that the Air Commodore had asserted fairly confidently that the project was not likely to encounter interference; but Biggles, who still did not know the true purpose of his passenger in visiting the ruins of Quarda (he was not deceived by the official reason), preferred not to find himself helpless in an emergency. In this he was not thinking of the airports at which they would be calling, but of what might happen on the ground in the wild region of his objective. So he resolved to take a chance and risk the guns being found en route should the aircraft be searched. In that event he thought they would simply be taken away from him. However, that had not happened, so the chance had come off.
Professor Zorlan had arrived at Gatwick punctually. This was the first time any of the crew had seen him. His greeting was a curt nod, which was taken to mean that from the outset he wanted it to be known that he was in charge and had no time to waste on casual conversation. As this was understandable his off-hand attitude was accepted without resentment.
Aside from his manner, his appearance was in accord with his part of playing the ‘mystery man.’ He was about forty years of age, of medium height and build, too swarthy to be of pure European birth, and wore a small, pointed, well-trimmed black beard. His hair, too, was black, and receded slightly from his forehead. Horn-rimmed glasses covered dark eyes that had a disconcerting, calculating quality of penetration, as if trying to read the thoughts of anyone on whom they were turned. His nose was thin but well shaped over lips a trifle too full by European standards. Taken all in all he was a good-looking man, and there was in the way he carried himself the confidence of one accustomed to giving, not receiving, orders. From head to foot, everything he wore, the standard attire of a London business man, was of top quality and immaculate. He brought with him a light-weight suitcase and a leather portfolio. Later it transpired that he spoke English fluently without a trace of accent.
Biggles, who from experience had become a fair judge of character, didn’t know what to make of him. He was content, as indeed he had to be, to accept him at the face value provided by the Air Commodore. As to the man’s real nationality, his religion, politics, or anything else, as he said to the others with a shrug, it was anyone’s guess. As far as they were concerned it was of no importance, anyway. If the Higher Authority at home was satisfied who were they to criticize?
Some care had been given to the provision of the food that would be required, and in this matter, having plenty of accommodation and an ice-box, they could afford to extend themselves, instead of being, as they usually were on long trips, confined to bare necessities. Stores included a considerable quantity of soda-water, which would, it was hoped, remove the risk of having to drink water that might be contaminated — as desert water-holes so often are.
Biggles looked at his watch. ‘Time we were off,’ he observed. ‘I hope the Professor isn’t going to be late. I’d like to have most of the run behind us before the sun gets really cracking. It’s going to be a scorcher presently.’
‘What does this chap want?’ queried Ginger. ‘He’s coming this way as if he intends to speak to us.’
His eyes were on a plump, smartly dressed man who, carrying an expensive-looking suitcase, was making his way towards them. He wore a white flannel suit, white shoes and a panama hat. A red tie made a conspicuous spot of colour against a white shirt. His age could have been anything between forty and fifty. For the rest he was a type common in the Eastern Mediterranean. His skin was dusky rather than dark, with a peculiar olive pallor. A large moustache was worn brushed up at the ends. His eyes were large, black and heavy —what is sometimes described as ‘liquid.’ His movements were slow and languid, like those of a well-fed house cat just awakened from sleep.
‘The lad fancies himself a bit,’ remarked Bertie. ‘It’s my guess he’s a Turkish official.’
‘Considering where we are there would be nothing surprising in that,’ returned Biggles casually. ‘Probably something to do with the airport.’
The object of their conjectures, smiling amiably, came straight up to them. Putting his case on the ground he looked at Biggles and offered his hand. ‘Captain Bigglesworth?’ he queried.
‘That’s my name,’ agreed Biggles, shaking hands without enthusiasm. ‘Can I do something for you?’
‘No, thank you. Not for the moment,’ was the
reply, given pleasantly, in good English. Smiling again the man went on: ‘I thought I would come in good time to introduce myself. Colonel Osman Alfondari, at your service. I see Professor Zorlan has not yet arrived.’
Biggles was looking puzzled. ‘What service for me have you in mind, Colonel?’
‘I have the honour, under orders of my government, to be your escort.’
Biggles stared. ‘My escort! For what?’
‘I shall see that no harm comes to you.’
‘Surely this is unnecessary? What harm could come to us?’
‘One never knows. Some of the people towards our eastern and southern frontiers are little better than barbarians: and they are notorious thieves.’
‘We can take care of ourselves.’
‘We could not permit an accident to happen.’
‘Are you telling me that you are going to fly with us?’
‘But of course. How else could I do my duty?’
For a few seconds Biggles was speechless. ‘I’ve heard nothing about such an arrangement.’
‘But surely you were told that we always provide an escort for strangers going into the interior?’
‘This is the first I’ve heard about it. I haven’t made provision for an extra passenger.’
Still smiling blandly the other brushed the objection aside. ‘Oh come, my dear Captain, you have ample room for more passengers. I shall not take up much space and I promise not to interfere in any way.’
Biggles thought for a moment. ‘Tell me this, Colonel. Suppose we did have a little trouble, what could you do that we could not do?’
‘Nobody would dare to argue with me for fear of the consequences.’
Biggles’ eyes went beyond the speaker to where Professor Zorlan, a boy following carrying his luggage, was walking towards them. ‘Excuse me a minute,’ he said, and went forward to meet him.
When they met he asked bluntly: ‘Do you know anything about an escort being briefed to come with us?’
The Professor stopped. A frown creased his forehead. ‘An escort! I know nothing about it. I have just left a Turkish Government official and he did not mention it.’
‘If this is a regular procedure he may have assumed you would know about it.’
‘That could be so.’
Biggles went on. ‘Well, there’s a fellow here calling himself Colonel Osman Alfondari who says he’s been detailed to accompany us on the next stage of our journey. His purpose, he informs me, is to see that we do not come to any harm. Personally, I think it’s more likely that he intends to see what we’re up to.’
‘Does he know where we’re going?’
‘He hasn’t said so in so many words. I haven’t asked him. But he obviously knows, or at any rate assumes, that we shall be flying east from here. Doesn’t it strike you as odd that the Turkish Government did not inform you of the condition under which you would be allowed to enter the country?’
‘The arrangements were made at the London embassy. They may not have known of it.’
‘Well, we have now been told. If the Turkish officials know where we are going it’s reasonable to suppose that our escort would be told. That leaves me wondering how many other people know about it.’
‘This is very difficult.’ Still frowning the Professor fingered his beard thoughtfully. ‘I was not prepared for anything of the sort. How can we refuse to take this officer without causing trouble? It would be thought we had something to hide.’
‘Haven’t we?’
The Professor gave Biggles a quick glance. He was looking more and more perturbed. Ignoring the question he said: ‘I’m afraid we shall have to take him with us. To refuse might result in us being turned back. My purpose is to enter the ruins of Quarda. When I leave you to do that, you having landed on the open ground, this man must on no account be allowed to follow me.’
‘Suppose he insists? How am I to prevent it?’
‘Use your discretion.’
‘How could that stop him should he make up his mind to go with you?’
‘I leave that to you.’
Biggles looked hard at the Professor’s face. ‘Are you suggesting that I use force?’
‘If necessary. I repeat, on no account must he be allowed to see what I am doing. That could be fatal and perhaps have tremendous consequences.’
‘How far am I to carry force?’
‘As far as is necessary.’
‘But how shall we explain our behaviour when we arrive back here and he accuses us of preventing him from carrying out his duties?’
‘That need not arise.’
‘But he’d be certain to complain.’
‘Not necessarily.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘He need not return with us.’
Biggles looked startled. ‘Are you suggesting that if we have trouble with him we should leave him behind?’
‘It would be better to dispose of him entirely.’
‘You mean — kill him?’
‘That would settle any argument.’
‘Good grief!’ Biggles was genuinely shocked. For the first time he caught a glimpse of the ruthless nature of his passenger. ‘Let’s get this clear,’ he said grimly. ‘I’m not shooting an unarmed man.’
‘He will be armed.’
‘How do you know?’
‘Of what use would be an escort without a weapon? What’s the matter with you? You must have known before we started that you were engaged in an operation of major diplomatic importance.’
‘I don’t care how important it is, I’m having nothing to do with murder,’ said Biggles shortly. ‘You’ve got the wrong man.’
‘It may never arise.’ Speaking quietly and dispassionately the Professor went on. ‘If we return to Ankara we can say he was shot by a native sniper. Such accidents are not uncommon in this part of the world.’
‘You say if we return to Ankara as if there was a doubt about it.’
‘We are not obliged to return here, although I would prefer to do so in order to get proper clearance papers. When my work is concluded we can leave the country by any route we wish and explain the reason later. When you land it will not for obvious reasons be among the actual ruins. It will be on the open sabkha as near as possible. There I shall leave you to await my return. Should this man try to follow me into the ruins he must be stopped. That is an order.’
‘Very well; but somebody is going to take a dim view of it if we lay hands on this Colonel fellow.’
‘I think you have overlooked a certain factor. Assuming he is a Turk, he will not, at the ruins, be on his own soil. He will be in Zarat, a very different matter, without authority. Unless he knows our destination and has provided himself with the necessary documents he will have no right to be there at all. The Sheikh, with justification, could complain. Indeed, he might take the law into his own hands.’
‘Turkey has a claim to the territory.’
‘A claim is one thing and possession is another. A claim would at once be disputed by other claimants. As things are, it is in the interest of Turkey that the present position should continue.’
Biggles shook his head. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘Whether you like it or not there can be no withdrawal now. Things have gone too far.’ The Professor spoke coldly. ‘I don’t want this man with us any more than you do; but this is not the place to cause trouble, which could easily result in the cancellation of our permits.’
‘Yes, I realize that,’ agreed Biggles.
‘Then we have no alternative than to take this man with us. We can deal later with problems his presence might incur. I will speak to him in the hope of finding out how much he knows.’
‘If he knows no more than I do he knows damn little,’ said Biggles, bitterly.
‘Do not mention our destination unless he does.’ Professor Zorlan walked on towards where the man concerned was chatting cheerfully with Bertie and Ginger.
‘Don’t be longer than is necessary,�
� requested Biggles. ‘We’re behind schedule already.’
‘The people who once conquered this land had a saying: “It is sometimes a good thing to hurry slowly”,’ replied the Professor, smoothly.
‘I was thinking of the heat. I can stand it if you can.’
They joined the others. The Professor spoke to the escort. ‘I understand you are to accompany us,’ he said in a voice that indicated neither approval nor disapproval.
‘Those are my orders,’ was the reply.
‘You know where we are going?’
‘Of course.’
‘As we may be gone for a few days I trust you have provided yourself with what you will require in the way of food and drink. Knowing nothing of this stipulation we catered only for ourselves.’
‘I can manage.’
Professor Zorlan then spoke in a language Biggles did not understand, but presumed it to be Turkish. Colonel Alfondari answered in what apparently was the same tongue. It seemed to satisfy the Professor, who speaking again in English, concluded with: ‘Very well. Then we might as well proceed.’ He moved towards the open door of the aircraft.
Biggles hung back, touching Ginger on the arm. ‘This business is beginning to stink,’ he said softly. ‘Keep a close eye on our new travelling companion for anything he might do that doesn’t line up with what he’s supposed to be.’
Ginger raised his eyebrows. ‘Why? Don’t you trust him?’
‘He smiles too much, and that, on a job like this, looks false. Moreover, he strikes me as being a little too cock-sure of himself.’