by W E Johns
‘I’m quite sure of it.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Get a message through to London.’
‘How? I have no radio station here.’
‘I have a plane.’
‘It would be some time getting to London and back.’
‘It might not be necessary to go as far as London. One of my pilots could get on the telephone from Ankara. No, on second thoughts not Ankara. There are too many prying eyes and ears there. We have discovered that already. The aircraft would have to refuel, so it would be on the ground for some time. Athens would be better. Or possibly Cyprus, where there is a Royal Air Force station. I’ll decide when I’ve checked how much petrol we have. From Athens my assistant pilot could speak direct to my chief in London.’
‘This will take time.’
‘We have a fast plane and without intermediate stops it should be back here easily by dawn tomorrow. A modern plane can cover a lot of ground in twelve hours. But as it can’t be in two places at once, the question arises, which do you consider the more urgent: to take your fiancée home or send the plane immediately to Athens, if we have enough petrol for the trip without refuelling. Either way it would be safer to fly by night than in daylight. Hostile aircraft are in the vicinity and we have already been attacked.’
‘By far the most important thing is to settle this question of Zorlan’s personal document. Everything else can wait, so I would say send the plane off at once. Do I understand you would remain here?’
‘That is my intention. The crux of the situation is here.’
‘That would suit me admirably.’
‘For any particular reason?’
‘I feel I can rely on you to deal with any emergency that might arise during my absence.’
Biggles’ eyebrows went up. ‘Your absence — where?’
‘It is time I returned to Zarana, my capital, and showed my face to my people to maintain their confidence. Order has been restored, but it might be dangerous for me to be away too long. If there is any trouble still simmering it could break out again were I not there.’
‘But what about our lady passenger? She is in the cabin of the aircraft. She can’t remain there if it is to leave.’
‘She must wait here. She will be safe with you. Tomorrow, as early as possible, I shall return for her and take her to my palace. I shall take two men with me. The other three can remain. That will give you a force of five of my men should trouble occur. It should be enough.’
‘But your horses must be tired?’
‘Not too tired. It is an easy journey. They are being watered. After a rest they will be all right. They are used to long journeys.’
‘Very well, sheikh. If that is how you want it I have nothing more to say.’
At this juncture a voice could be heard calling.
‘That’s Zorlan,’ said Biggles. ‘No doubt he’s wondering what I’m doing. We’d better go.’
‘Will you tell him what we have planned?’
‘No. Definitely.’
Leaving two men watering the horses from the skin bags they carried, everyone else walked down the hill to the plane. Zorlan had come forward a little way. He looked at Biggles suspiciously. ‘So it was the sheikh.’
‘As you see.’
‘You were a long time.’
‘He’s been telling me about what happened in the capital, Zarana.’
‘What did happen?’
‘Apparently a cousin, working for other interests, tried to seize power; but the coup failed.’
‘And what is the plan now?’
‘The sheikh thinks it would be advisable for him to return home to let his people see all is well. He is leaving three men here to help us in case of trouble. With the original two guards that will make five.’
‘Why did he come here?’
‘Ask him yourself. I imagine he would be anxious to know if we had brought his future wife; also to let us know why we could not land at Suwara Oasis.’
‘What about the woman? Is he leaving her here?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘I’m not a thought-reader. He may have decided that a thirty-mile ride on horseback to the palace might be rather much. It might not be entirely safe there yet, anyway.’
‘Wouldn’t it have been better to fly her, if not to the palace, as far as Suwara, instead of leaving her all night in the aircraft?’
‘She won’t be all night in the aircraft.’
‘Why not?’
‘I’m sending it off to be refuelled. The tanks are getting low and it would be folly to risk running out of petrol in this sort of country.’
‘Sending? Does that mean you are staying here?’
‘Yes. My fellows are quite capable of doing what is necessary. Don’t worry. The machine should be back here by tomorrow morning.’
‘But why the hurry? Why fly by night?’
‘You seem to have forgotten there are other aircraft not far away and they have already given us a demonstration of why they are here. I must remind you that the aircraft is my responsibility.’
‘I see,’ said Zorlan in a curious tone of voice.
Leaving him, Biggles walked to where the sheikh was standing. ‘Would you mind asking the lady to leave the cabin, sir? I’m afraid she is not going to have a very comfortable night and I cannot entirely guarantee her privacy.’
‘I will attend to it. My men are building a palm-frond shelter in which, providing the weather does not change, she will be able to keep warm and perhaps get some sleep. I personally am not so much concerned with her privacy; that is merely a matter of conforming to traditional custom. The men will remain on guard.’
‘Won’t she need some refreshment?’
‘If you have anything...’
‘When I have briefed my pilots I’ll bring something from our stores. Excuse me.’ Biggles walked to where Bertie and Ginger were watching the proceedings. ‘Come over here, I want to talk to you,’ he said quietly.
* * *
1 Bint. Arabic for girl. Common service slang in the Middle East.
2 Blanket-drill. R.A.F. slang for sleep.
CHAPTER 10
ZORLAN MAKES AN OFFER
HAVING taken Bertie and Ginger to a distance where there was no risk of being overheard, Biggles spoke seriously. ‘Listen carefully. There’s some monkey business going on. When we’ve checked up on petrol I want you two to go to Athens.’
‘Athens!’ Ginger’s voice nearly cracked. ‘What’s this in aid of?’ he asked, in his astonishment resorting to service slang.
‘I’ve just been talking to the sheikh. He’s not happy. There’s reason to suppose that Zorlan is a crook — well, if not a crook he may be trying to pull a fast one.’
‘How?’
‘He’s asking the sheikh to sign a paper giving him seven per cent of the oil revenue. He presented the document as if it was part of the official contract.’
‘Seven per cent! Somebody must be out of his mind.’
‘It isn’t the sheikh. He’s no fool. He smells a rat. So do I. So far he’s refused to sign, but he’s worried because he thinks there’s just a remote chance of the document being genuine, in which case he’d hate our people to accuse him of going back on his word. To be on the safe side he wants to check up before he signs away millions of pounds a year.’
‘I should jolly well think so,’ put in Bertie indignantly. ‘Why not have it out with Zorlan here and now?’
‘No, we can’t do that simply on suspicion. We’ve no proof, no evidence, that he’s playing his own game. That’s what it would amount to if we were right. We’ve got to be sure. Now, this is the drill. The sheikh has had a bit of a revolution on his hands. He believes everything is now under control, but he wants to be certain before he takes his fiancée home. He’s going, but all being well he’s coming back for her in the morning.’
‘Leaving her here for the night?’
‘There’s no altern
ative.’
‘If Zorlan gets wind of what’s going on aren’t you afraid he might get up to some mischief?’
‘No. What can he do? With the machine away he can’t leave here. There will be five men to mount guard and he knows the sheikh will be back here early tomorrow morning. Leave that to me. The most urgent thing is to get confirmation or otherwise of this seven per cent racket. We can only get that from the Air Commodore, and the safest way would be by word of mouth. Any sort of signal, radio or cablegram, would be too dangerous. It might be seen or heard by too many people. You’ve got to get in touch with the chief by telephone.’
‘But why Athens? Ankara, being nearer, would be quicker.’
Biggles shook his head. ‘Too risky. Alfondari or some of his people might be there, watching for the plane to come back. They’d never take their eyes off you. I did consider Cyprus, but I’m not sure of the communications there with London. Let’s play safe and make it Athens. I think we have enough petrol. When you get there one of you can get the tanks topped up while the other gets on the phone to the Yard. If the chief has gone home get the operator to put you through to him.’
‘What exactly do you want us to say?’
‘It’s quite simple. Tell him that Zorlan is trying to get the sheikh to sign a document, apparently official, giving him seven per cent of the oil revenue. The sheikh is suspicious, and we need hardly be surprised at that. Is he to sign this paper? The answer I want from the chief is a definite yes or no. It’s as simple as that. Aim to get back here by dawn. Don’t go near Ankara or Istanbul either way. If you’re on course they’ll be well to the north of you. You’re not likely to meet anything, so until you’re clear of Turkey I wouldn’t show lights. And don’t answer ground signals if you’re challenged. Press on. You’ll have to take a chance on that.’
‘I’ll work out the course in the cabin as soon as we get started,’ said Ginger.
‘Right. I see the sheikh has unloaded our precious passenger, so let’s have a look at the petrol position.’
They went into the aircraft and were able to confirm there was ample fuel for the journey plus a fair margin.
‘Okay,’ said Biggles briskly. ‘Get on with it. The sooner you’re away the better. One last thing. If by any chance you get back here before daylight fire a red-to-green recognition flare. I’ll then light a fire clear of the hill as a pin-point to touch down. That’s all. Ginger, you might hand me out a few bottles of soda water and one or two packets of biscuits.’
He got out. From the cabin door Ginger passed him the bottles and some light food. He waved and stepped back, then waited until the engines had been started and the machine taxied out. As it left the ground he turned to find the sheikh standing near him.
‘Everything in order?’ asked the sheikh.
‘Yes sir. There should be no trouble.’
‘Good. In that case I’ll move off. I’m much obliged to you for your assistance. I hope to see you in the morning.’
‘No trouble at all, sir. In the circumstances I could hardly do less. Before you go you might care to take these to your fiancée.’ He passed two bottles, an opener and a packet of sweet biscuits.
‘Thank you.’ The sheikh walked away.
With the drone of the place receding Biggles took his cigarettes from his pocket, strolled to the base of the hill and found a seat on a piece of fluted column carved by hands that had long gone back to dust. Automatically he lit a cigarette, the light flaring in the darkness that had now enfolded the weary land. Not a breath of air moved. Even the palms had stopped whispering. The heat was still oppressive, but relieved of its tormentor, the sun, it was bearable. Little could be seen, for the moon had not yet shown its face, and the stars, although becoming brighter, were still dim in a sky of purple velvet. The figures of the guards moved like funereal ghosts, making no sound on the soft drifted sand. He could not see Zorlan, or the palm shelter to which the sheikh had referred; but he had no need to, nor did he want to. There was no point in speaking to the guards, for he was sure they would not understand his language, and of course he could not speak theirs.
Still, he had plenty to think about, although as far as he could judge no cause — no immediate cause, anyhow — for worry. As he had said, at the moment it was hard to see what Zorlan could do, however suspicious he may have been made by the turn of events, without making his own position worse. That his suspicions had been aroused was fairly evident from the questions he had asked. He knew the sheikh had been talking to him and must be wondering how much had been said. He could hardly fail to be disturbed by the sudden decision to send the aircraft away for refuelling. He might not guess the real reason, but he would probably work it out that the one he had been given was an excuse. On the face of it there was nothing more for the machine to do at Zarat. Its task complete it could have returned home, so what was the point of sending it away to be refuelled?
Yes, Zorlan would not overlook that, pondered Biggles. A man of his intelligence would realize that something was going on of which he had been kept in ignorance. There was another angle to that. Why, if the aircraft had finished its work, as apparently it had, why hadn’t Zorlan given the order to return to London? Why tarry in dangerous country if there was no need?
Biggles knew the answer to that. Zorlan had done what he had been sent to do. The official contracts had been completed both by Zarat and Rasal al Sharab; but the document with which he was most concerned, his guarantee of seven per cent, had not yet been signed. That was why he had said nothing about departure. Presumably he still hoped that he would be able to get the sheikh to write his name on the paper which, as far as he was concerned, was the vital part of the operation.
The big question that must be exercising his mind now, reasoned Biggles, was had the sheikh mentioned this? Looked at critically, Zorlan’s scheme — always supposing it was his own idea for making an easy fortune — might well have succeeded. The reason why it had failed could be summed up in one word. Avarice. He had demanded too much. Had he been content with a smaller percentage, which would still have made him a rich man, he might have got away with it and the present situation would never have arisen. As it was, he had underestimated the sheikh’s intelligence. The enormous reward demanded had aroused his suspicions and he had withheld his hand.
It seemed to Biggles, thinking the matter over, that Zorlan was now in the proverbial cleft stick. What could he do? Would he drop the whole idea and be satisfied with what he was to be paid for the job? After all, even though he might be discredited he had broken no law, so legal proceedings would not be taken against him. If they were the resultant scandal would do no one any good. Biggles did not think he would give in so easily. It was more likely he would try to use the one trump card he still held. In his portfolio were the legitimate contracts that had been signed by the sheikh and the sultan. The thought of these gave Biggles his one cause for anxiety. What would he do with them? Would he destroy them, thereby scuttling the ship, so to speak? Would he in his frustration try to sell them to a foreign power to whom they might be of value? That would have to be prevented at any cost.
But all this, soliloquized Biggles, stubbing the butt of his cigarette in the sand, depended on the report the aircraft had gone to fetch. Nothing could be done until it arrived, when the truth would be known.
The silvery glow that is the advance guard of the moon spread upwards from the horizon to cast an eerie light on the pitiless desert, as doubtless it had done since the beginning of time. Biggles, in a contemplative mood, brooded on how seldom, if ever, it had known anything but trouble. Since the dawn of history invading armies must have marched and countermarched over the spot where he now sat, men without mercy who slew everyone, man, woman or child, who fell into their hands. Wherever they marched, before them ran a wave of terror. So proud were some of them of their evil reputation that they recorded it engraved on stone. What men had not done storm and earthquake had. No wonder the land was a wilderness. Even now
war clouds were never far away.
A figure approached. It was Zorlan. He came close and said: ‘So here you are. Do you mind if I sit down for a minute?’ Without waiting for an answer, he joined Biggles on the broken column.
Biggles was in no mood for conversation, but could find no excuse to protest. ‘Did you want to say something?’ he asked, lighting another cigarette, hoping Zorlan would take the hint and go away.
‘Nothing in particular,’ replied Zorlan suavely. ‘I’m very sorry things have turned out like this.’
‘Like what?’
‘Well, this confusion and delay.’
‘I’m not bothered. I take things as they come.’
After a short silence Zorlan went on: ‘You must have a difficult job.’
‘If I didn’t like it I wouldn’t be doing it.’
‘I imagine the money must be good. If I’m not being too personal what do they pay you for a risky operation like this one?’
Biggles stiffened slightly as he sensed what was coming. ‘I’m on a flat salary,’ he informed, without changing his tone of voice, wondering how far Zorlan would go.
‘But surely they pay you danger money for special assignments, such as this, for instance?’
‘They do not. I take what comes along.’
‘But that’s disgraceful. No doubt from time to time you are able to make a little on the side?’
‘That sort of money doesn’t come my way.’
‘For my part I expect to be paid in proportion to the value of my work. Take the present case, for example. Provided I bring it to a successful conclusion, I shall receive a sum of money which might take you a long while to earn.’
‘Very nice for you. Is there any doubt about it not being successful?’
‘Well, things have not gone as smoothly as I expected. I anticipated being on my way home by now.’
‘What’s the trouble?’
‘The sheikh. I was provided with papers which he had undertaken to sign, but now at the last minute he is being awkward.’
‘You mean — he hasn’t yet signed?’