by W E Johns
‘So much that he’d sell her for a cut in the oil deal,’ said Biggles dryly.
‘That’s no business of yours.’
‘Any more surprises up your sleeve?’
‘No. This should be all. Once the sheikh has signed the formal documents we shall be free to return home.’
‘Isn’t the sultan taking a chance to allow his precious daughter to be flown to Zarat in the present conditions?’
‘Speed is all important.’
‘For whom? You or the lady?’ Biggles couldn’t keep sarcasm out of his voice.
‘Let us say for everybody.’
‘Did you warn the sultan there were hostile aircraft about?’
‘No. It seemed unnecessary to worry him unduly.’
‘I like the word unduly,’ retorted Biggles, tight-lipped. ‘What are you trying to do? Push the responsibility on to me should anything go wrong?’
Zorlan did not answer.
‘In fairness to the sultan, if not his daughter, you should have warned him of the risks,’ challenged Biggles. ‘It appears to me that for a political agent you seem mighty anxious to push this deal through, regardless.’
‘Am I not taking the same risks myself?’ inquired Zorlan frostily. ‘Any delay now might undo the work of months.’
‘All right. Let’s not waste any more time arguing, but you might as well know how I feel about it. Let’s get on,’ concluded Biggles.
By now, under the guidance of Bertie and Ginger, the passenger had been ushered into her seat. Zorlan and the two bodyguards went in and took their places. Ginger made a signal to Biggles and closed the door from the inside.
‘If we don’t run into trouble we should just about make Suwara Oasis in daylight,’ said Biggles to Bertie. ‘I shall go flat out just above the carpet. Keep your eyes wide open. If anything should happen to the damsel we’ve had pushed on to us we shall make more enemies than friends, to say nothing of starting an international rumpus. I may be wrong, but I imagine that in an emergency the lass in the cabin will be as helpless as a day-old chick. I don’t like it. However... let’s go.’
Biggles started the engines, took a last look round the sky and taxied well away from the plantation.
‘All clear,’ reported Bertie.
The rhythmic purring of the engines rose to a roar and the Merlin raced across the arid ground, leaving a cloud of sand swirling high in its wake.
* * *
1 Desert sand is unpredictable from its appearance, as Biggles was well aware, its degree of firmness or otherwise depending on the way the grains of sand have fallen. These can pack down as hand as a stone pavement or form a treacherous surface as soft as deep mud. It was for this reason that in Iraq and similar overseas stations service vehicles carried rolls of wire netting to help them to get clear should they become stuck. Author.
CHAPTER 9
THE TRUTH COMES OUT
FOR every minute that passed without incident on the run to Zarat, Biggles was thankful, knowing it reduced, if only by a little, the risk of interception. But he did not relax.
He had meant every word of what he had said before the start. Aside from the natural anxiety of having a woman in his care, he realized he was engaged on a mission fraught with appalling possibilities should it fail. In view of what he now knew he became more and more convinced that the Air Commodore had underestimated the dangers. Perhaps through ignorance. Indeed, the whole business was more complex than he could have anticipated or he would have had more to say about the details. Had something gone wrong? Had an unknown factor arisen to complicate matters? Biggles wondered.
Failure for any reason would mean questions from more than one source. What was a British aircraft doing in that part of the world? Who had sent it there? For what purpose? If the female passenger was killed or even injured every Middle-Eastern potentate would blame the British Government for allowing it to happen. The responsibility for seeing that nothing of the sort did happen now rested on his shoulders. There could be no excuses.
He flew on full throttle, his eyes never resting from their scrutiny of the sky, section by section — or as much of it as he could see. He was never more than fifty feet above the ground, so that ruled out danger from below, unless a wandering Arab took a pot shot at them. He was not worried about that. The chances of such a man scoring a hit in a vital spot, or even of hitting the machine at all, were negligible. Bertie did in fact call attention to two horsemen galloping southward, but they did not stop as the plane roared over their heads.
The hot air was choppy, as he knew it would be, but the very speed at which the Merlin was travelling did much to iron out the bumps. It cut through them like an arrow.
The wadi had petered out into open sabkha and with three-quarters of the distance to the oasis behind them he began to breathe more freely. The sky ahead was still as clear as a newly-painted ceiling, without a speck on it. To the left the sun was hanging low, like an enormous orange, over the horizon, but already the day was dying in the golden glow which in desert countries seems to soak into everything, including the air itself. An almost intangible smudge with a ragged top crept over the edge of the world in front of the machine.
‘We’ve done it,’ said Bertie jubilantly. ‘There’s the oasis.’
‘Keep your fingers crossed,’ requested Biggles cautiously. ‘We aren’t there yet.’
However, the oasis quickly hardened into something more solid and in a few more minutes the aircraft was making a circuit round it. Not a soul could be seen. Beneath the palms everything was darkly vague in the failing daylight.
Biggles, having completed his circuit, had brought the plane round to where he had landed on the previous occasion and was gliding in to land when a rocket soared from somewhere among the palms to burst in a shower of crimson sparks. It was followed by another; but even before this one had discharged its warning signal Biggles had opened up and turned away.
‘We were patting ourselves on the back too soon,’ he rasped viciously. ‘Tell Zorlan someone is firing red rockets from the oasis. Ask him what he wants me to do.’
Bertie went through the door. He was back within a minute. ‘He says make for Quarda.’
‘And land there?’
‘Presumably.’
‘Has he any idea of what could have happened here?’
‘If he has he didn’t tell me. He looked damned annoyed.’
‘I thought the going was too easy to be true,’ muttered Biggles as he pulled the machine round and took up the course for the ruins. ‘This is becoming fantastic. What on earth are we going to do with a bint1 who isn’t allowed to uncover her face? As if we hadn’t got enough on our plate without her.’
‘We only need to find rockets waiting for us at Quarda and we shall be up the creek good and proper,’ remarked Bertie lugubriously.
‘Something seems to be cooking in that direction, anyway,’ returned Biggles. ‘Look below.’
Roughly five miles short of the ruins, galloping across the wilderness in the same direction as themselves, casting incredibly long shadows in the setting sun, was a little knot of horsemen. In different circumstances they would have made a wild, thrilling spectacle.
‘Whoever they are we shall be there first,’ observed Bertie optimistically.
‘A fat lot of good that’ll do us if they turn out to be some of Alfondari’s mob armed with rifles.’
‘In which case we shan’t get much blanket-drill2 tonight.’
They reached the oasis. Biggles flew round it and across it several times before, seeing no movement, he put down his wheels and landed close by the discarded camouflage used on their earlier visit. For a minute or two he left the engines running while he surveyed the ruin-littered hill. Then he switched off and got down just as Zorlan and Ginger emerged from the cabin.
‘Well, here we are. Now what about it?’ inquired Biggles.
‘Something must have happened either at Suwara or the sheikh’s palace in Zarana.’
‘That’s pretty obvious unless some fool imagines it’s Guy Fawkes day. It seems we can’t move without something happening somewhere.’
‘No doubt the sheikh will get in touch with us.’
‘Does he know we’ve got a present on board for him?’
‘Of course.’
‘And if we couldn’t land her at Suwara we were to bring her here?’
‘That was the arrangement.’
‘So the sheikh thought there might be trouble?’
‘He was prepared for it.’
‘We overtook some riders coming this way. They were travelling fast.’
‘That might be the sheikh, or some of his men bringing a message.’
‘What are you going to do with the lady?’
‘For the time being she will have to stay where she is, in the cabin.’
‘These men coming here might be enemies. Wouldn’t it be better to take her on to Ankara, where she would be safe?’
‘No. That wouldn’t do at all. I’m not letting her out of my sight.’
Biggles shrugged. ‘All right. Have it your way. You know best.’
‘All we can do for the moment is wait here for news.’
‘And if these horsemen on the way here turn out to be enemies?’
‘There should be time enough for you to fly off and take the lady back to her father. It would be a tragedy, but it would be better than having her captured.’
‘Very well. But I shall have to remind you of a detail you may have overlooked. To make it go an aeroplane needs petrol. We started with plenty, enough for our estimated needs and a fair margin; but at the rate we’re using it we shan’t be able to go on much longer.’
‘It may not be necessary.’
‘I trust you’re right. As you’re in charge of the lady you’d better stay with her. I’ll go up to higher ground to see if there is any sign of the men we passed on the way here. They must have seen us, but they may not know we landed here.’
‘I agree, but don’t go far away in case it becomes necessary to make a quick take-off.’
‘My friends are as capable of flying the machine as I am.’ Biggles turned to Bertie and Ginger. ‘Stand fast and be ready to move in a hurry. I’ll be back.’ So saying he walked quickly up the hill.
The sun had set and dusk had dimmed the scene, but there was still enough twilight to give a fair view over the flat landscape. Reaching a point that overlooked the right direction, Biggles stopped to look and saw that he was only just in time. The horsemen, six of them, were closer than he had supposed they would be. Standing still, he waited for them to come nearer, and within a short time was gratified to observe that the sheikh, easily recognizable by his red tunic, was there, leading the party. Reaching the nearest palms, everyone dismounted.
Biggles walked forward, showing himself, instantly to be covered by five rifles. He raised his hands high and continued to walk on. The sheikh said something to his men and advanced to meet him. The rifles were lowered.
When the sheikh came up, somewhat to Biggles’ surprise he offered a coffee-coloured hand, as small and neat as a woman’s. ‘So you have arrived safely,’ he greeted in a soft pleasing voice, in perfect English.
‘Yes, sir. We saw rockets at Suwara so we came on here. I trust the trouble isn’t serious.’
‘No. A cousin of mine, acting for people of a different political persuasion, tried to start a revolution in order to usurp my position. I had prepared for something of the sort and in any case he misjudged the loyalty of my people. It is all over or I should not be here. A few rebels fled to Suwara where they are now being rounded up. As it would not have been entirely safe for you to land there, I left for Quarda, having given orders that rockets should be fired if the plane attempted to land.’ The sheikh studied Biggles’ face. ‘You brought back what you went to fetch?’
‘Yes sir.’
‘Where is the plane now?’
‘Just over the hill. I will take you to it and accept your orders for what you wish to be done.’
‘You are in charge of it?’
‘I am.’
‘You are an Englishman?’
‘I am.’
‘Employed officially by your government?’
‘Indirectly. I am an officer of the air police service.’
‘Do you know what all this is about?’
‘I know more now than I did when I started. I was not fully informed, although that may have been the result of unforeseen circumstances. My orders were simply to fly Professor Zorlan here. I was told to take further instructions from him; but as captain of the aircraft, how it is employed is my responsibility. I have two assistant pilots with me able to take over should it be necessary.’
‘Quite so. Come over here. I would like you, if you will, or if you can, to answer one or two questions for me.’ The sheikh took Biggles by the arm and drew him into the deep gloom under some palms. ‘How well do you know this man Professor Zorlan?’ he inquired when they had halted.
‘Well,’ answered Biggles, taken slightly off guard by the unexpectedness of the question, ‘I can’t really say that I know him at all. I had never seen him, or heard of him, until I was ordered to bring him here.’
‘Now, having seen something of him, what impression have you formed?’
‘I find that a difficult question to answer.’
‘Which I take to mean you don’t like him,’ came back the sheikh, shrewdly.
‘It isn’t for me to criticize a man appointed by a superior authority. What I think personally doesn’t enter into it.’
‘Let us put it like this. Have you had any reason to doubt his integrity?’
‘Not his integrity. His methods perhaps. We have clashed on those. You must have a reason for asking such a question.’
The sheikh hesitated — a long pause with his eyes searching Biggles’ face. ‘I am going to take you into my confidence,’ he went on. ‘You know that oil has been located in Zarat?’
‘Since I came here I have heard it has been discovered in the region, but until this moment I didn’t know exactly where.’
‘Professor Zorlan, acting on behalf of the British Government, had two objects in coming here. The first was to bring about an alliance between myself and my neighbour the Sultan of Rasal al Sharab.’
‘That is what I understood.’
‘The pact, according to our custom, is to be strengthened by my marriage to the sultan’s daughter, who is now here.’
‘That is what I had imagined since my visit to Rasal al Sharab.’
‘Professor Zorlan’s second undertaking, not unconnected with the first, was to obtain from me a concession for the exploitation of the oil, chiefly to prevent it from falling into other hands. I could not from my own slim treasury finance such a project.’
‘I had surmised that.’
‘Professor Zorlan brought with him certain documents prepared by your government which I was requested to sign in order that there should be a written record of the transaction.’
‘Naturally. That is understandable.’
‘So I would agree. The papers are in order and with one exception I have signed them. The exception is a document, detached from the rest, the purport of which I find hard to believe. I am, or I try to be, a man of honour, and if I did sign it I would have to stand by it. But I tell you frankly that I am amazed your government should send to me such a contract for signature. The contents came as a complete surprise, and I feel that before I put my name to it I should obtain confirmation.’
Biggles was looking puzzled. ‘What is this document?’
‘It gives Professor Zorlan, personally, for his services, seven per cent of all the money that accrues from the sale of the oil.’
Biggles’ jaw dropped. For a few seconds he could only stare, speechless. ‘How much did you say?’ he asked incredulously.
‘Seven per cent.’
‘For his own private pocket?’
‘Yes.’
‘That would soon make him several times a millionaire.’
‘Of course.’
Biggles drew a deep breath as understanding poured in to what had been a void. Zorlan’s behaviour was now explained — his anxiety, his demand for urgency, his close guard on his portfolio, his unscrupulous attitude... ‘Don’t sign that paper, sir,’ he advised trenchantly.
‘You don’t think it’s genuine?’
‘I can’t believe the British Government would ever issue such an extraordinary demand. Moreover, had it done so the clause would have been incorporated in the general contract and not, as you say, on a loose sheet.’
‘That is what I thought. If what we believe is correct it can only mean that Zorlan must himself have composed this document and included it with the others.’
‘That’s how it looks to me, sir.’
‘But how are we to prove it?’
‘If you challenge him with it he will of course deny it.’
‘Exactly. But what if it should be genuine? I would not like your government to think I was going back on my word. I promised that if the appropriate documents were sent to me I would sign them.’
‘Weren’t you shown a draft agreement?’
‘No. You see, the negotiations were conducted by my younger brother, who is my representative in London.’
‘Leave this to me,’ requested Biggles. ‘It won’t take me long to get it sorted out. A delay of a few hours can make no difference. You say you have signed the other papers, those relating to the oil concession and the pact with the Sultan of Rasal al Sharab?’
‘Yes. And as you have been to Rasal al Sharab no doubt the sultan, who I know very well, will have signed them, too. What shall I tell Professor Zorlan to account for my withholding my signature from the one that refers to him?’
‘I wouldn’t even discuss it with him. You are within your rights in refraining from signing anything until you are satisfied with its authenticity.’
‘I suspect he could be a dangerous man if thwarted.’