Chapter 13

Von Stalhein Takes A Hand

When Ginger pulled up at the hangar in Croydon he felt exhausted. The long drive south had been tiring enough after the emotional upheaval of the funeral, but the poor weather conditions had added to his fatigue. He looked at his watch, thinking he had made good time despite the rain. As if to welcome him back, the weather had cleared and a watery sun was trying to pierce the clouds.

He parked the Bentley in its usual spot and got out. Gratefully, he stretched his limbs and yawned. He wanted to go to bed and sleep, but his yearning to be reunited with Biggles and Algy was overpowering.

Ginger made his way across to the Imperial Airways terminal and was fortunate enough to find a seat on the next flight to Berlin. From there he would have to fly by Lufthansa to Austria, or Ostmark as it had been renamed since the Anschluss.

The flights were uneventful, although Ginger reflected that he never really enjoyed being flown by someone he did not know. The atmosphere when he landed in Berlin gave him a strong feeling of unease. The slogans, banners and prominence of Nazi symbols were disquieting. While the tone of the capital was one of grim efficiency, beneath it Ginger sensed something unpleasant and menacing. His passport and papers were scrutinised minutely and he was questioned intently about the purpose of his visit. He was grateful that the Department of Trade had briefed him so thoroughly.

The same close scrutiny greeted him at Linz. He felt oppressed by the suspicious nature of the bureaucrats who subjected him to interrogation as to the lateness of his arrival when the other delegates had been in Ostmark for some days.

With relief, he cleared customs and immigration and was free to find the Cormorant. He knew Biggles would have parked it at the airport unless he was already on his way back with the Professor. He wondered how he could achieve that as the atmosphere of suspicion had made him wary of making direct enquiries. Indeed, he felt inclined to assume he was being watched, even if he could not spot a tail. In the circumstances, he intended to make any encounter with the rest of his party look accidental on the grounds that the less the authorities knew of their connections, the better.

It might have taken him some time to discover the aircraft's whereabouts if he had not caught a glimpse of Smyth going into the airport restaurant. Swiftly, but with studied casualness, Ginger followed him and was fortunate enough to stand behind him in the queue. As if by accident, he bumped the mechanic's elbow. Smyth turned round, ready to berate the clumsiness of a fellow diner. When he saw who it was, his jaw dropped open.

"Don't react," warned Ginger sotto voce as aloud he apologised in English for the inadvertent contact.

Smyth closed his mouth with a snap that was almost audible. "A fellow Englishman," he exclaimed, taking his cue. "It's good to hear a friendly voice again."

"Have you been here long?" asked Ginger in the hope of getting news of Biggles and Algy.

"A couple of days," replied Smyth. "I'm here with the delegation to the Trade Fair. My bosses have gone off to find a hotel while I look after the aeroplane."

"What a coincidence!" exclaimed Ginger. "That's why I'm here, too. I should have been here earlier, but I had some business at home to complete first."

Smyth looked as though he was about to say something consolatory, but Ginger forestalled him. "And you have your own aeroplane!" he exclaimed quickly to prevent any attempt at condolence. "I've always been keen on flying. Is there any chance of seeing it some time?"

"I don't see why not," allowed the mechanic. "I've only dropped in for a cup of tea. As soon as I've drunk it, I'll take you across."

"That would be terrific!" gushed Ginger. "I'm dying for a cuppa, too. Do you mind if I join you?"

They chose a table near the window. Ginger introduced himself for the benefit of any eavesdroppers and Smyth, following his example, did the same. It seemed to be the most natural thing in the world for an air mechanic and an air-mad teenager to sit together and talk shop. Anyone overhearing their conversation would have learned only that they had an abiding interest in aviation in common and that the young man was well acquainted with the ins and outs of flying.

When they had finished their drinks, Smyth stood up. "If you like, you can have a look around the bus now," he announced.

"Rather!" exclaimed Ginger, giving a good impression of a star-struck schoolboy.

"Come on, then," exhorted the mechanic, unable in spite of himself to suppress a smile.

Ginger followed him out of the restaurant and across the hard standing to a hangar on the far side of the airfield.

As they strolled across the open space where they could not be overheard, Ginger caught up with the latest news of the operation. Smyth could not tell him much, but the mention of von Stalhein sent a shiver down Ginger's spine.

"Are you sure it was him?" he queried.

"Positive," confirmed Smyth. "I saw him get into a Lufthansa aeroplane and I found out it was bound for Berlin."

"Is he still there?" Ginger wanted to know.

"I assume so," replied the mechanic. "I haven't seen him arrive back yet and I can tell you, I've been keeping a sharp lookout. I should imagine he'll be back any day now."

Ginger nodded. "We'll have to get our skates on," he opined. "Do Biggles and Algy know he's around?"

The mechanic nodded. "They must have seen him. Von Stalhein came out of the terminal building not long after they went in."

Ginger drew in a sharp breath. "I hope they weren't spotted," he said fervently. "Do you know where Biggles and Algy are staying?"

"There's only one hotel in the centre that takes foreigners, apparently," responded Smyth and explained where it was.

"At least that simplifies matters," muttered Ginger as they reached the hangar and opened the wicket door. "I had visions of having to search the entire city."

Smyth ducked into the hangar. Ginger was about to follow when he heard the mechanic shout "What do you think you're doing here?"

Ginger stopped on the threshold as a heavily accented German voice answered "Security Service."

Quick as a flash, Ginger dashed round the side of the hangar. There he saw what he had been hoping for; a row of windows. Bending low, he risked a glance through. Smyth was talking to two men in grey uniforms. Torn between a desire to put as much distance between himself and the Nazi authorities as possible and the need to find out what was about to happen to Smyth, Ginger crouched below the windowsill, a prey to indecision. When he looked again, Smyth was handing over a packet. The stouter of the two uniformed officials put it in his pocket and departed, followed by his companion. Ginger watched as they left the hangar and made their way back to the main building. When the coast was clear he slipped though the wicket door and surveyed the hangar. Smyth was alone.

"They gave me a nasty turn," declared Ginger. "What did they want?"

Smyth screwed up his face in disgust. "Bribes," he spat out. They threatened to arrest me and impound the aeroplane on some trumped up pretext. It fair shook me, I'll tell you. Then I realised they had been sorting through some of the provisions and I guessed what they were after. When I offered them a couple of pounds of tea they started to be more amenable."

Ginger looked shocked, but Smyth continued, "they're the second lot I've had round here since we arrived. If I hadn't been sleeping in the hangar, I don't think we'd have anything left. It's a good job we brought plenty with us. They seem to be bullies and petty thieves hiding behind a uniform."

"What a country!" exclaimed Ginger pessimistically. "The sooner we all meet up and get out of here the better!"

With that, Ginger crossed to the main buildings where he could find a taxi to take him to the city centre. As all airmen will, he observed the aeroplanes landing and departing. As he watched, a Lufthansa tri-motor passenger liner drew up at the terminal and began to discharge its passengers.

Idly Ginger ran his eyes over the arrivals. He stiffened as he recognised one of the first to descend and glanced quickly to left and right to see if there was any place of concealment. As he was at the edge of the hard standing, there was nowhere to hide without drawing attention to himself, so Ginger was forced to keep walking towards the terminal where von Stalhein was talking to a short, portly man in a dark suit who had clearly come to meet him.

Ginger held his breath. He had slowed his pace and hung back as much as he dared, but in a few moments he would be forced to pass the pair unless they finished their conversation and entered the building. The crowd of passengers had thinned leaving Ginger feeling exposed and vulnerable. He expected any minute to see von Stalhein turn and spot him. He could almost hear the German purring, "whom have we here? Ah yes, our young friend with the difficult name" and that would be the end of his mission.

He stopped and knelt down to re-tie his shoe lace, bowing his head in case von Stalhein looked his way. He risked a glance back to the hangars where Smyth was standing, looking across at him. At least he'll be able to tell Biggles what happened to me, thought Ginger, although that was little compensation. Damn the man! Why couldn't he finish talking and go?

When he looked up, von Stalhein was no longer there. Ginger heaved a sigh of relief, which he quickly realised might be premature. Von Stalhein could be waiting inside the terminal. As nonchalantly as possible, Ginger entered the building, half expecting to be arrested, but there was no sign of the German.

Having completed the formalities, Ginger took a taxi to the Wolfinger. As it drew up, he saw von Stalhein get out of a large black limousine that was blocking the entrance. 'Of all the hotels in Linz the man had to choose,' thought Ginger angrily, 'why did he have to pick this one?' On calmer reflection he realised that if von Stalhein was checking up on foreigners, there was only one hotel in the Old Town where he would find them. He stared as the German spoke to his chauffeur and made for the entrance, then realised that his taxi driver was looking at him curiously.

Ginger made a great show of not understanding the fare and fumbling with the Austrian currency, playing for time. When he at last got out of the cab, he was relieved to see that von Stalhein had gone into the hotel. Ginger stood on the pavement, ostensibly sorting his change until his taxi had departed. His brain was racing and he felt overwhelmed by the speed of events. One thing was certain, he realised, he could not go into the hotel, nor could he stay where he was. He looked around the Hauptplatz for inspiration. There was a café opposite, which commanded a good view of the hotel.

Ginger stifled a yawn. He had got some rest on the aeroplane, but he still felt deathly tired. He decided that he would sit and have a cup of coffee while he deliberated on his next move and kept an eye on proceedings. If von Stalhein left, at least he would know about it.

He had barely got settled at a table near the window when to his amazement he saw Algy emerge from the front entrance and walk across the square. Taking a risk that it would bring unwelcome attention, Ginger went to the entrance of the café and whistled. When Algy took no notice and carried on walking, Ginger shouted his name.

At last Algy looked his way and his jaw dropped as he recognised who it was. Ginger beckoned, but Algy needed no urging. He almost sprinted across to the café to join his comrade.

They wasted no time on greetings, but after they had sat down at the table by the window recently vacated by Ginger, Algy clasped the lad's shoulder. "Am I glad to see you!" he exclaimed with feeling. "Von Stalhein's in the hotel."

"I know, I saw him arrive," replied Ginger. "He got there just before me. That's why I'm in here; I thought it best to keep out of his way. Where's Biggles?"

Algy brought him up to date.

"The Opera?" exclaimed Ginger in disbelief. "He hates it!"

Algy shrugged then nudged Ginger, nodding his head in the direction of the hotel. Ginger turned to look. Von Stalhein was emerging from the hotel entrance. Even at this distance they could tell that the German was in a towering rage. As the black limousine swept out of the Square, Ginger turned his mind back to the thorny problem of how to establish contact with Biggles.

"Any ideas?" he asked Algy. "What was the last thing he said?"

"To meet him back at the hotel," replied Algy. "But that was this morning." He stopped. "Was it only this morning?" he said wonderingly. "It seems like a long time ago, so much has happened."

Ginger nodded. "It's been a long day for me, too."

Algy regarded him compassionately but said nothing.

Ginger roused himself. "Then I suppose that's what we'd better do," he said, passing a hand wearily over his eyes. "Keep an eye on the hotel in case Biggles turns up."