Chapter 17
The Best Laid Plans
"Well, that's settled, then," concluded Biggles when Joseph had departed on his errand. "If we can get hold of a car, we'll all go to the airport and fly the Cormorant up to Mauthausen." He searched in his pockets for a cigarette. "I shall be relieved when we've got everybody together again," he confessed quietly to Algy when his cousin offered one of his.
He was about to light up when Ginger asked him if that was wise. "Suppose somebody comes up here and they can see or smell cigarette smoke," he continued. "They might find the concealed compartment and then Joseph would be for it. It would be a rotten way to reward him for all he's done for us."
Biggles admitted the truth of Ginger's observation and reluctantly put the cigarette back in his pocket. Algy smiled.
They disposed themselves in various attitudes of patience until the old Jew returned with a corpulent middle-aged man whom he introduced as Doctor Braun.
The doctor spoke English well. He said he had studied in London just after the war and was quite willing to let them use his car. He suggested that he drove them to the airport in case they were stopped. If that happened, he asserted, he could deal with the officials.
"I am quite well known," he explained, "and often have to travel at night on medical business. If I am driving, it is less likely to arouse suspicion."
Biggles thanked him, acknowledging the wisdom of his words. It also solved the problem of returning the car once they had taken off for Mauthausen, he realised.
"We'd best be going then," decided Biggles. "I'd like to get to Mauthausen at first light, when it's still dark enough not to be easily spotted, but there's enough daylight to avoid running into anything."
They fetched Mrs Meier from the concealed compartment and explained what they had planned. She looked resigned and not entirely in control of her nerves, but was keen to be reunited with her husband.
Joseph accompanied them to the back door where the doctor's car waited, gleaming in the faint light from the stars. When he was sure that the coast was clear, the old Jew ushered them out and wished them good luck.
Ginger looked at the car with awe. He was astounded by its size. The bonnet curved forward in a mighty sweep between its headlights and the rear ended in a point, adorned with a fin that bisected the tail section from roof to chromium plated bumper. Unlike the cars he was used to in England, it had no running boards, giving it a sleek, streamlined appearance. He thought it was a futuristic monster, resting on its whitewall tyres. Before he saw it, he had wondered how they would all manage to squeeze in, but the bulk of the vehicle reassured him that it would accommodate them with ease.
The doctor pulled open the rear passenger door and invited them to enter. Algy handed Mrs Meier in and slid onto the seat beside her. Biggles followed.
"Can I sit in front?" pleaded Ginger.
"Why not, Junge?" smiled the doctor as he closed the rear door with a satisfyingly substantial thud.
The motor car was built like a tank, thought Ginger as he seized the handle and pulled the front door open. The seats were leather and reassuringly luxurious. The doctor had drawn away before Ginger realised it was a right-hand drive. When he mentioned it, Doctor Braun said that he had bought it in the part of Austria that drove on the left. "Some models had steering wheels on the left and some on the right - before we had no choice in the matter," he concluded bitterly.
They skirted the town and headed for the airport. More than once the wisdom of the doctor's accompanying them was borne out as police waved them through checks once they had recognised him.
Biggles suggested that they were dropped outside the airport to make their way to the hangar on foot, but the doctor insisted it would be much less likely to invite investigation if he drove them across. "I can say that I have been called out to deal with an emergency," he asserted.
Biggles acquiesced with some misgivings. The doctor had proved his worth so far, he acknowledged, but he was concerned for the man's fate should he be linked with the professor's escape.
Doctor Braun brushed Biggles' qualms aside. "Whatever happens to me," he asserted, "I do not want to feel I have done nothing to stop my country being overwhelmed by evil."
"You're a very brave man, Herr Doktor," Biggles declared as they drew up outside their hangar. When they had all alighted, he held out his hand and thanked their benefactor.
"I wish you all God speed," replied the doctor. "I think the success of your mission will be vital in determining the outcome of whatever awaits us in the next few years."
With these prophetic words, he got back behind the wheel and drove off into the night.
Ginger watched as the car disappeared, the bright red tail lights finally vanishing into the distance.
The hangar lights were on. Biggles tried the wicket. It was stuck, but he managed to free it, causing it to rattle loudly. He paused but there was no response from within. They all stepped in through the small door and Biggles closed it behind them.
Suspicious, he told the others quietly, "Ginger, come with me. Algy, stay here with Mrs Meier. Smyth ought to be here with Becca. I don't like it that there's no sign of them."
Cautiously, with Ginger following him as silently as a cat, Biggles advanced across the hangar floor, his senses alert for the slightest danger. He paused by a packing case that bore half a mug of tea and Ginger almost bumped into him. The lad's nerves were at screaming point.
'I can't take much more of this,' he thought grimly. 'If a pin drops, I'll jump a mile!'
Biggles' eyes swept the hangar. Satisfied with his scrutiny, he resumed his advance, heading for the tail of the aeroplane.
There was still no sign of their mechanic or the professor's daughter. Biggles edged round the aileron and crept towards the door of the aircraft. He reached out and eased it open, but immediately the door flew back and he was obliged to jump back rapidly to avoid his mechanic swinging a heavy wrench. Ginger, right behind him, was knocked flying and Biggles barely kept his feet.
Just in time, Smyth recognised his would-be assailant and dropped the wrench.
"Beg pardon, Sir," he stuttered in embarrassment, "I thought you was a grey shirt!"
"A grey shirt!" exclaimed Ginger, starting to pick himself up from the floor and rubbing his elbow, "I've nearly got grey hair! You'll be having to find another nickname for me!"
Biggles hauled him to his feet as Smyth picked up the wrench.
"I take it you've had unwelcome visitors, then" he observed dryly as the mechanic stowed the improvised weapon in the tool kit. "Bring Mrs Meier over," he called to Algy, and then aside to Smyth, "Becca is still here, isn't she? I mean you haven't lost her while I was in Linz."
The mechanic looked pained. "Of course not, Sir. She's asleep in the hidey hole."
"Good!" affirmed Biggles. "I've had about enough of chasing round and round trying to get everybody together. Get the machine ready. We're flying up to Mauthausen immediately."
"What about clearance?" queried Algy as they pulled the heavy doors open.
"What about it?" countered Biggles. "Do you think they'd give it if we requested it?"
Algy shrugged. "I suppose not."
Biggles called Ginger over. "I want you to stay in the cabin and look after Mrs Meier and Becca," he instructed him. Seeing Ginger's crestfallen expression, he added, "that's a very important task, laddie. Without his wife and daughter, we won't get the professor to agree to come to England."
Reluctantly, Ginger nodded. Biggles clapped him on the shoulder and went to help Smyth and Algy manhandle the machine through the open doors.
Ginger helped Mrs Meier mount the steps to the cabin. She looked around wildly, calling for her daughter. The pile of crates moved slightly and an agitated voice called to be let out. Ginger hastened to remove the top box and could not repress a smile when a young woman stuck her head out like a Jack-in-the-box. There was no doubt about her identity when she and Mrs Meier threw themselves into each other's arms sobbing and chattering in some language he could not understand.
As the machine began to move towards the doors of the hangar, Ginger tried to get them to take their seats and buckle their seat belts. He might as well have been trying to prise a clam off an unwary fisherman's leg, he thought. They were still unsecured when the aircraft was lined up for its take-of run and Smyth had swung the props. In desperation when the engines started, Ginger raised one of the arms between two passenger seats and, coaxing them into position, strapped the Meiers together. Smyth swung himself into the cabin as the aeroplane started to taxi and locked the door.
The aircraft gathered speed rapidly. Ginger was still buckling his own safety belt when it lifted off.
