A/N : Just a quick note to say that this was written together with a friend of mine, and is as much her story as it is mine - her knowledge about planes and flying was invaluable. We each wrote about half the story and our writing styles are merged in every single chapter. If you can't tell who wrote what, all the better.
This story was written for fun, and kind of sprang to life unbidden. We've had a great time writing it, but because we wrote as we felt and did not really agree on a storyline beforehand, it ended up being something of a patchwork. Although this story has been heavily edited, there may still remain some inconsistencies. Some have been left on purpose, because fixing them would require extensive rewriting and we felt it just was not worth it. We hope you have fun reading it. Reviews are very welcome, as well as constructive criticism.
Finally, those of you familiar with certain Belgian comics might recognize a few references here and there. Special thanks to E.P. Jacobs.
Chapter 1
The flame of the lighter flickered as Biggles lit his cigarette, dragged in a long whiff of smoke, and let it out a few seconds later. He had been waiting for a while already, and though he was not of an impatient nature, he was surprised that the usually punctual Air Commodore Raymond would run late. For the third time in ten minutes, he checked his watch. A quarter to three ; his appointment had been at half past two.
The sound of a creaking door made him look up, and a smile lightened his features.
«Ah, Biggles, there you are,» said Raymond. «Come in.» He looked tired, with dark rings around his eyes, as though he had not slept at all the past night. Biggles' interest was immediately kindled.
«Good afternoon, sir.»
«Sorry for making you wait,» Raymond added with a small grimace. «I was dealing with something important. But, sit down, and I'll tell you all about it.»
Biggles slid his lithe frame in the armchair facing the Air Commodore's desk and waited patiently for the promised explanation. Raymond sat in front of him and wearily rubbed his forehead.
«Are you ready to leave soon?» he asked by way of a conversation opener.
«I think so, sir,» said Biggles, not batting an eyelid at this rather abrupt beginning, «although I should like to know where you want to send us. If it is far, there will be some formalities to take care of.»
«Far?» Raymond tittered uncharacteristically. «Yes, you could say that. Have you ever been to the New Hebrides?»
Biggles frowned slightly. «I don't think so, sir. The closest we've been to that part of the world is Australia.»
«Well, that will be a good occasion for you to visit, then...» Raymond shook his head, and his face became very serious. «I am speaking very lightly of it, but this affair is really quite a bother. Does the name of Philip Mortimer ring a bell?»
Biggles had to think for a moment before he was able to give an answer. «I think I've heard it before,» he said, his brow crinkled in his effort to remember. «He is some sort of scientist, right?»
«Quite. In fact, he is one of our very best scientists. His works concern not only theoretical physics, but have also real applications. But most importantly, he is an engineer. In fact, he is the one who almost single-handedly designed one of our most recent and deadliest weapons. You may have heard of it by its codename... Espadon.»
«I think I read about it in the newspapers. I didn't pay it much attention at the time.»
Raymond leant back in his chair, and nodded gravely. «Yes, there was a leak at the highest level, and we are still trying to tidy it up... but that is not what this is all about. Our problem is that now, everyone knows about the Espadon. There was an attempt already to capture it, brilliantly thwarted by an officer of the MI-6, Captain Francis Blake, and we thought we were safe... until we discovered that the schematics were stolen. By whom, we have no idea. Whoever was behind this did a very good job.»
Biggles had been listening attentively to the explanation, while he finished his cigarette and stubbed it out in the ashtray on the Air Commodore's desk.
«Well,» he said when Raymond fell silent, «it all sounds quite grim, but I don't really see what part I should play in this affair. I gather this happened some time ago, and if we have no clues at all as to who was responsible for the theft, or the current location of the schematics, I really do not see what I can do about it. Not to mention, by now several copies will have been made.»
«A very valid point. We would have been forced to give up on the whole investigation, if we had not received some new reports recently.»
Biggles crossed his legs and squirmed to find a more comfortable position in his chair. «And this is where the New Hebrides have a part to play, I expect.»
«Precisely.» Raymond stood up and began pacing. «We received words that some... unusual occurrences have been taking place in that vicinity. Here...» he grabbed a photograph on his desk and handed it to Biggles. «This is what one of our agents sent us recently.»
Biggles looked down at the square of paper, but what he saw on it did not make much sense. It was a blur of black and white. After a while, he realized the photograph must have been taken at night, for it was all very dark, with only a cylindrical, greyish spot in the middle of it. Shaking slightly his head, he handed it back to Raymond.
«I'm sorry sir, but as far as I am concerned it might as well be a picture of my aunt Margaret. What exactly am I supposed to be looking at?»
The commodore had a weak smile. «Yes, that's pretty much what I said when I received the photograph. But when I showed it to professor Mortimer, he said it looked a lot like the pictures taken during the experiments he carried out when he built the Espadon.»
Biggles was silent for a moment, thinking. «Then we can assume that we have found the trail of our thieves,» he said slowly. «But why in the New Hebrides? There must be other places where the experiments could have taken place, farther from our prying eyes.»
«Not really... you see, the experiments must take place near the sea and on a deserted spot. There are a number of small atolls that correspond exactly to those specifications. Normally, we should never have found out about it. That photograph I showed you was taken by a mere fluke. To speak plainly, if some of our men did not like fishing in high sea so much, we would never even have heard of these experiments. Furthermore, the New Hebrides have the advantage of being close to Australia... and what do you find in Australia, that could be of use to build a nuclear energy based weapon?»
«Uranium.»
«Precisely.»
Biggles looked serenely at Raymond. «So you want us to go and have a look.»
«As discreetly as possible. We don't want to scare off our birds. The rest is up to you, Bigglesworth.»
«I understand. Is there anything else about this affair, that you have not told me yet?»
Raymond shook his head. «You know as much as I do.»
«And what means do we have at our disposal?»
«Anything you'll need.» The commodore had nervously stopped pacing and was now looking directly at Biggles. «You must realize that the possession of this weapon would be a further step in the escalation of tensions in the world - something that might well be instrumental in the breaking out of a new war. We must do everything, absolutely everything in our power to prevent it.»
Biggles had not lost an ounce of his calm. Knowing what was at stake did nothing to change his determination to do his best, as always.
«Our priority then is to stop these experimentations and get back the schematics, if possible. What about the scientists who may have been working on this project?»
Raymond shook his head. «I will let you determine the best course of action, Bigglesworth. You will be there. Whatever you decide to do, I will back you up. Be careful. If we can know what nation is behind the theft of the schematics, it will already be something - we will know where to look. Of course, we have our suspicions, but it is always better to be certain. If, on top of that, you manage to sabotage the experiments and delay the advance of their scientists, we'll consider your mission a complete success.»
Biggles nodded and stood up. «Very well, sir, I'll get started immediately.»
«Let me know what you need. Whatever it is, you'll have it under twelve hours,» promised the commodore.
«Thank you, sir.» Biggles took his leave, exited the building and stopped a moment to light another cigarette. Then he slowly started walking back to his appartment. Walking helped him think and order his ideas, and he wanted to have a clear head when he told the whole story to Algy, Ginger and Bertie.
«Hullo Biggles, long meeting?» Ginger bounced up from where he and Bertie had been sitting, playing cards, clearly eager to hear all.
«Raymond was running late.» Biggles returned, shrugging off his coat and hanging it near the door. «I hope you aren't teaching Ginger how to gamble, Bertie.»
Bertie looked horrified, «Not at all- a little flutter on the horses is one thing, but cards! Not with the amount of money flying takes up.» he paused, then asked, «Which reminds me, there will be some flying out of this meeting with Raymond, won't there?»
The question brought a small smile to Biggles' face but all he said was, «Where's Algy? I don't feel like repeating myself.»
«He can't be far away...» Ginger started, «He was here only five minutes ago.»
Biggles frowned but was saved any further talk when the man in question appeared, looking worryingly innocent.
«Sorry! Do I take it Raymond ran late, for once in his life?» he asked, casting Biggles a searching glance and deciding an interesting story was in the offing.
«You do. Now you're here I'll tell you the whole thing, not that there's much to tell.» Briefly, seated on his chair behind his desk, the other three perched on chairs or desk edges, Biggles recounted his visit with Raymond.
«So he wants us to head down and take a dekko?» Algy clarified, easing his leg off the floor and trying, unsuccessfully to balance on the desk.
«He does. As soon as we can, but we can't go running off without some thought of what we might need.» Biggles warning was almost lost in the mirth which ran through the four of them as Algy tumbled, rather ungracefully, floorwards, before catching himself.
«Petrol's the obvious one» Bertie volunteered, as Algy turned side on, the better to position his rump.
«And clothing.» Ginger added, «We can't go around looking like four air policemen, can we? not in the Pacific.» He seemed to relish the idea of shorts and loose shirts, and Bertie groaned.
«You can't expect me to wear one of those awful shirts with the pockets everywhere, can you?»
There followed a heated discussion about loose, largely patterned shirts, and their various uses, broken only when Mrs Symes came through with more tea and biscuits.
«Water. Food. First Aid. Petrol stores, radio...» Algy was still thinking as they ate, Mrs Symes having been warned they'd be away for some time, leaving near the end of the week.
They all nodded and Biggles passed Ginger a list. «Pass that onto Raymond, will you ? Just give him a call once you've finished that.»
Ginger nodded, then asked curiously, «What will you be doing then ?»
«Algy and I are going out.» Biggles declared, suiting actions to words.
The rest of the afternoon, well into evening, and the next day, they spent in ensuring there were supplies and the appropriate paperwork filled in. It wasn't until 5 that evening that Biggles was satisfied everything was in order.
«We may as well wait until tomorrow to push off.» he decided, over sandwiches the four of them ate huddled around the side table. «No point in starting a journey like this tired.»
Thus in less than 48 hours since Biggles had been summoned, he was behind the stick of the long-range Catalina, Algy watching the ground and skies next to him, Bertie with the back- up maps in the back and Ginger next to the long-range radio, should it be needed. Climbing and levelling out over the channel, he turned south-west and trimmed to his satisfaction.
«Well, at least we got away alright.» he smiled, and Algy nodded, eyes still restless. «Yes, that's one thing to be thankful for.» he agreed.
The majority of the trip - following the well-known route over Europe and so into Asia - passed with little talking, besides the occasional request from Ginger or comment from the other three on some particularly remembered spot.
Their last stop before the pacific- an old English outpost- saw them stop for eight hours while they all tried to get some sleep in the heat and their supplies were restocked. Used to changing time-zones and snatching sleep when they could, the four of them were back in the air the next morning and heading out over the pacific after a very thorough pre-flight check.
«I know we didn't find trouble in England, but it would be silly to take chances now.» Biggles had defended himself, as he'd removed the cowling to peer inside.
None of them had even smiled, merely peering in after him and then replacing it carefully. Their navigation had been double checked, their compass and DI as well, and they settled in for a long run.
Finally, after stretching over endless blue, they hit upon their target, the Port-Vila airport on Efate, the capital island of the New Hebrides. Algy, who had taken the stick for a while, set the plane into a steady descent and closed the throttle halfway, electing for the more controlled power descent.
Twenty minutes later, the Catalina was running to a stop and, having run onto the apron and shut down, Algy and Biggles looked at each other.
«Is it worth splitting up the party this early on and meeting each other only at the hotel?» Algy asked, still unsure of Biggles' plan to protect their interests. «If von Stalhein and his cronies are onto us, they know all four of us anyway.»
«But four Englishmen are more noticed than two, you must admit,» Biggles argued. «If we let Bertie and Ginger off first, then followed in half an hour or so, then we'd solve that problem.»
They were moving as they talked, so all four of them were standing around in the fuselage, allowing Ginger and Bertie to once again agree with Biggles.
«In that case, we shall meet you chaps in no more than an hour. Don't get lost,» Algy admonished. Gleefully, Bertie and Ginger unloaded their supplies and headed off, engaging two natives who had apparently abandoned their customary sleep- like positions to earn a few pennies, carrying.
As soon as they stepped into the terminus- no more than a large covering, with the walls merely acting as supports for the roof, being entirely unclad- they were accosted with the local hospitality.
«It's a little different to the ole masters, what?» Muttered Bertie, looking closely at the ukulele- wielding populace, apparently welcoming them.
Ginger, who hadn't as much truck with said masters, grinned, «It's good. Maybe we should get Algy to learn to play those tunes, instead of that interminable Beethoven and...»
Bertie looked pained, but the grins the locals gave them could hardly have failed to melt even the sternest musical purist.
Thus serenaded, they dutifully asked their porters to leave their luggage to be inspected by customs - a conglomeration of whites and natives, presided over by a middle- aged, shrewd looking man who was clearly not English.
«You're from England, I take it, gents?» he inquired, smiling up from their passports, «Come in on that Catalina, did you?»
They nodded. «I take it you are from here, then, sir?» Ginger tried, but was shot a look which made him hastily add, «Your accent isn't English.»
The man nodded, scribbled something on their passports, received a nod from the man who had peered at their other papers, and answered, «Indeed it ain't. I'm a kiwi. If you gents want a hint, beware of the young boys wanting to look into that Catalina - no matter how many they see they always like to look over again.»
«That shouldn't be a problem,» Ginger smiled, «I well remember the same feelings.» The two Englishmen smiled, the kiwi and natives laughed, and Bertie and Ginger were released, still with their natives in tow, to stow their substantial kit at the hotel.
Half an hour later, Algy and Biggles went through the same path, with slightly different reactions.
«They certainly make you feel welcome,» Algy smiled as the musicians started up again. Biggles nodded, eyes busily sorting out the customs officials.
«This shouldn't be a problem,» he muttered, aware of the amount of ammunition they had on hand, «so long as he accepts our papers.»
Algy raised an eyebrow, «I don't think the others are on our track, this time,» he replied, stressing 'others'.
«Two more Brits!» the chief customs officer smiled. Clearly it was a lazy day usually, that he was down actually supervising.
«Were there others?» asked Algy blandly, proffering his passport.
«Two, about half an hour ago - they're up at the main hotel, I think,» the man volunteered.
Biggles broke in, «Are most of the officials here from other colonies, instead of England? You are from New Zealand, aren't you.»
The man smiled. «Most of us are from there, or Australia. It's easier and cheaper than coming out from England, of course. You have a good ear, sir.»
Biggles shrugged. «I served with a few kiwis, before you had your own squadrons. Good chaps they were, too.»
Again, this seemed to mollify the man and they all parted best of friends, traipsing up to the hotel and settling in their own kit.
«Phew! I could do with a wash and change, not to mention a cool drink, before I do anything else,» Biggles exclaimed, walking in to the adjoining room - Algy's - without any fanfare.
«As you say,» Algy agreed, already topless and engaging a basin of clear water, sponge and soap to very good effect.
The climate was as unpleasant as could be expected. As on most tropical islands, the air was thick with humidity, and the slightest exertion made pearls of sweat bead on the skin. Even the light shirt Biggles had put on was already damp and sticking to his chest, and they had been there for less than an hour.
«Hate this weather,» groaned Algy as he spattered himself with cool water. «It was like that in northern Australia, remember?»
Seated on one of the beds, Biggles had closed his eyes for a minute or two. The shining sun outside made the inside of the hotel seem particularly dark in contrast. «Well, think of it like this... some people pay hundreds of pounds to spend their holidays here. We get paid to be here. What can we complain of?»
«We're not on holiday,» grouched Algy. «And if we were, I wouldn't be spending it here.»
Biggles simply smiled in manner of an answer. He knew that Algy complained more as a matter of principle than because he really minded being there, and so he took the banter as a way to relax before they got started on the more serious business.
«Actually, as far as anyone here is concerned, we are on holiday,» he reminded him. «We don't want to frighten away anyone who might have things to hide... which might be a lot of people around here. A small island close to Australia, New Caledonia and New Zealand, and not that far from Asia... wouldn't surprise me if there was some smuggling going on around here.»
«How does that matter?» asked Algy, surprised, letting some tepid water trickle down his front.
Biggles took out a cigarette and offered him one. «Remember what Raymond said, that the Espadon had been spotted in the high sea, and that our birdies' nest might be on any small, uninhabited atoll around here. If that is the case, they need supplies, and they can't exactly walk in Port-Vila and ask for six hundred kilos of meat or rice. That sort of mass purchases wouldn't go unnoticed. Smuggling is the safest way they can get what they need without having supply ships come to them halfway around the world every week.»
Algy had to surrender to the logic of that argument. «So that would be one way of finding them,» he admitted. «Won't be easy, though. If there's a lot of smuggling going on in the vicinity, we'll be looking for a needle in a haystack.»
«I know, but it is one place where to start. That being said, I really think the first step will be to have a look around Port-Vila, with our eyes open for anything suspicious. If that doesn't give, we'll try flying around, but I'm not too hopeful. If there really is a base, it will be well-hidden.»
Algy took a long drag of his cigarette. «Another option would be to hire a boat and go to the same place where the photograph of the Espadon was taken.»
«Indeed,» Biggles nodded. «If none of that works, then we can rethink our approach. All right, if you're refreshed enough, I'm up for a walk.»
Algy put a fresh shirt on and they headed out. They came across Ginger and Bertie in the lobby, and pretended not to recognize them. Of course, Port-Vila was not a big town, at least not according to European standards, and despite its being a fairly popular touristic destination, there were not that many hotels. The Melanesian was the best one, located in the city centre, and it would have been too much trouble for Ginger and Bertie to stay somewhere else. That way, at least, they would be able to communicate easily and discreetly, all the while pretending not to know one another.
They stepped outside in the late-afternoon sun, still warm but with longer shadows and a fresher breeze coming from the sea. Most striking was the heavy smell of tropical vegetation, strong and exotic but not unpleasant. Algy and Biggles made for the harbour and the wooden esplanade alongside it. A number of boats, mostly yachts and catamarans, were moored there, obviously belonging to rich settlers. As they sauntered along, something white caught Biggles' eye. He pointed it to Algy with a slight jerk of the chin.
«See that?»
Algy glanced at it. «What? Ah... a flying boat. Interesting.»
It was a small machine, one that could certainly not take more than a half-dozen people, and that was stretching it. It was not new either, but in a good state of repair. Moored to a floating pier, it was rocking slightly with the gentle waves of the lowering tide, its floaters hitting regularly the pier with a quiet, rhythmic thud.
«That would be more discreet than our own kites, if we want to fly around a little,» commented Biggles. «In any case, I'd be curious to know to whom it belongs. The owner might have noticed unusual activity in the vicinity, who knows...»
«We can ask about it at the hotel, or better yet, at the airport.»
«That'll be something for tomorrow,» said Biggles.
Their walk had taken them to the street market. Near the waterfront, natives were selling wood and mother-of-pearl carvings, pareos made of bright coloured cloth, and other such jewellery, tiki, shark teeth and various souvenirs. A little farther in, it was clearly also the food market, which offered mostly exotic fruit, guava, banana, coconuts and breadfruit, as well as various types of fish and seafood. At first it was a little overwhelming, but once Biggles and Algy had been around the area a first time, they realized it did not offer such a wide variety of wares after all. Past the first moments of pleasure wandering along the stands, they tired of it quickly and walked back to the esplanade, where there were fewer people.
They stopped for a moment to watch the setting sun. It was perhaps around six in the evening, and as on all tropical islands twilight set in quickly.
«We'd better get back to the hotel,» said Biggles. «In less than fifteen minutes, it will be dark. I think I could do with an early dinner.»
Algy's only answer was a deep yawn, which made Biggles smile. They found their way back easily, but took their time. The evening brought with it a much welcome coolness, and they enjoyed it as they walked slowly under the palm trees.
«I'm starting to understand why some people actually choose to live here,» Algy said. «It's not so unpleasant now.»
Indeed, while the last reddish-gold rays of the sun glittered on the waves of the harbour, the view was stunning.
«You probably won't say that tomorrow at midday,» smiled Biggles. «Besides, don't get too used to it. Remember, we have to get back to foggy England when this is over.»
«Hmm. Wonder what Bertie and Ginger have been up to. I wouldn't be surprised to see Ginger come back to the hotel with a shark jaw or some other equally useless souvenir.»
Biggles smiled. «Oh, there wouldn't be much harm in that.»
«You may not say that if he leaves it lying around in your chair before you come down for breakfast.»
«Bitten by a dead shark?» Biggles' smile turned into a laugh. «Now wouldn't that be quite a story.»
By then they had reached the hotel and entered the lobby. It had been almost deserted when they left, but with dinnertime approaching more and more of the hotel customers had been gathering downstairs in evening dress, getting ready for the evening meal.
«What do you say we have a drink at the bar?» suggested Algy. «It's still early, and with this warmth I wouldn't mind something cold.»
«I was about to suggest it.»
They made their way to the bar and handed the bartender some CFP francs they had had the precaution to change prior to their departure, receiving in exchange two glasses of lemonade (with "lots of ice" as per Algy's requirements). Biggles was taking a sip of his ice-cold lemonade when he saw Algy stiffen beside him. It was almost imperceptible, but Biggles knew his friend well enough to notice the slightly tenser jaw, the deeper lines of worry in his brow, and the narrowing of his eyes. His drink remained halfway between the counter and his lips.
«What is it?»
At first Algy said nothing, but he paled a little, his eyes fixed on a point on the other side of the room. Biggles began to turn around, but Algy's fingers closed around his arm and stopped him.
«Algy?»
«Behind you,» Algy said through gritted teeth. «Guess who I just saw?» He set his glass back on the counter, no longer interested in its contents.
«I don't know,» said Biggles wryly. He was in no mood to play games. «The ghost of the Red Baron?»
«Almost. Erich von Stalhein.»