CHAPTER ONE - Adjustments
The sky over London was grey with rain clouds, which spilled their contents in torrents, drenching all who were foolhardy enough to venture out. Some called the rain a downpour, others said it bucketed down or rained cats and dogs but to the three men standing beside a newly dug grave, it hardly seemed to register. Not one of them wore a hat, each one holding his in his hands, and the rain plastered their hair and ran down the backs of their necks and inside their collars. To them, it was nothing. There seemed to be so much misery around them that it didn't really matter that they were soaked through. There was a wind too, which seemed to do nothing but add more misery to the scene, sending leaves scurrying here and there along with bits of rubbish, sighing in the trees and causing the wreaths on the grave to shiver. One wreath, slightly larger than the rest, was suddenly shifted by a particularly strong gust and it slid down the side of the new mound, causing a miniature landslide.
One of the men moved forwards. He picked up the wreath and as he did so the card attached to it fell off. He placed the wreath back where it belonged and picking up the card, looked at it. The writing was now blurred, it's message unreadable, the few words written on it now lost to whoever may have stopped by to read it. But he knew what it said, for he had written the card not forty-eight hours earlier.
"Algy, old lad, may all your landings be soft with no dud engines."
Biggles fastened the card back onto its metal clip and stood for a moment staring down at it. Then as if coming to a sudden decision, he spun round on his heel and went to join Ginger and Bertie.
One month later, Biggles was sitting at his desk in his office in Scotland Yard when the phone rang. Biggles answered it, listened for a second, said "I'll be right up" and put the phone down. Stubbing his cigarette out in the already overflowing ashtray on his desk he said to no one in particular "Hold the fort. I'll be back shortly." and disappeared out of the door.
Ginger and Bertie looked at each other. Bertie shrugged and they both carried on with their respective tasks.
A few minutes later Ginger flung his pen down and snarled. "I can't stand this much longer. Something's got to break soon. Either Biggles or my temper. He's said nothing, not a word about -" words failing him, he waved his hands vaguely
"Well, old bean, you know Biggles, better than me, I'd say. He's got an awful lot on his mind. He's never been one for showing his feelings. Keeps things close to his chest. He'll talk to us when he's ready."
"But it's been a month!" exclaimed Ginger, his voice rising in his anger. He stood up suddenly, sending his chair toppling. Without righting it he went over to the window and looked out over the London rooftops, now basking in glorious sunshine. "Surely there must be something we can do?"
Bertie, rightly taking this question as being rhetorical didn't even answer.
Biggles, meanwhile, was seated in his usual chair opposite Air Commodore Raymond's desk, smoking a cigarette taken from the box on the desk. For a few moments Raymond didn't speak but merely looked at his chief operational pilot.
"Bigglesworth" he started. "I know how you feel, how frustrating everything is. But there was nothing you could do –then."
"I've never liked asking someone to do something I wasn't prepared to do myself." Biggles grated, stubbing his half-smoked cigarette out viciously. "Leading from behind a desk was never my style. And I wasn't even leading. Someone else was pulling the strings. And Algy-out there without the back-up we could have given him, should have given him."
Sighing faintly, Raymond carried on. "We've been through all that. You knew it wasn't possible. Lacey knew it wasn't possible. You are simply too well-known.
We had to let things take their course, at least in the beginning. But I didn't bring you here to talk about the last few weeks." He paused. "We've heard something."
For the first time in weeks, a flicker of interest showed in Biggles eyes. Raymond continued. "Major Charles has received some intelligence that is of immense interest, particularly to you."
"Well, let's have it" Biggles said, shortly, almost rudely.
Raymond raised an eyebrow at this but let it pass. Leaning back in his chair, he steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them.
"A message was received last night which had come from our embassy in Buenos Aries. A coded message, but there is now no doubt. We know the route being used. It's been confirmed. The Soviets are taking all the Nazi plunder back to Moscow.
"And –" Here he leaned forwards "there are a lot of names and addresses of Nazis now residing in Argentina and Panama."
"That's not much good." Biggles scoffed. "There's no extradition treaty with those countries. That wasn't in the original plan anyway. I wouldn't have agreed to Algy going just for that and a few baubles, however much everyone's screaming for revenge."
"But in one of those houses is a list of the founding members of the proposed Fourth Reich. What is more there is also written evidence showing that these founder members are going to make a new life for themselves in Moscow. They and the plunder are going to fly to Moscow in about two weeks time."
Biggles stared. "So it's true!"
That Air Commodore nodded grimly. "I thought that would put a different complexion on things. We want you to fly that plane."