Chapter 8
A Friend In Need
When Biggles gave Marcel the registration number of the car he was not really hopeful of having any success in tracing it, either. Like Marcel, he thought it had probably been stolen, but by a stroke of fate, the speeding Peugeot driver, in his haste to get to his destination, had nearly caused an accident. One of the cars which had been involved in the near miss was driven by a policeman on his way to start his shift, who had noted the registration number as a matter of course. When Marcel's request came through, he was able to give the last known position, time and direction. If they had driven that far, it was unlikely that they would be changing cars.
"Bon," grunted Marcel when the information came through. "We go, mon vieux."
"Go where?" queried Biggles.
"Orly," was Marcel's reply. "I 'ave an hélicoptère. We go follow them."
"There are an awful lot of red Peugeots about," pointed out Biggles. How are you going to know which one is the one we want?"
"I know the road she travels, the direction - and the speed," Marcel told him. "Even if she turn from the main road, I think we find 'er."
"Lead on, then," said Biggles. "It beats hanging about here. I'd rather be doing something than nothing."
Just as they were about to set off for the airport the telephone rang and Marcel was called over to the desk. He listened intently and nodded several times. Biggles heard him say, "Oui, oui, mon capitaine. Tout de suite! A bientôt!"
When he came back to Biggles he looked sombre. "That was Capitaine Joudrier," he told him. "Mme Markham 'as been kidnapped." He paused for effect. "And Ginger 'as been taken also!"
"Then let's not waste any more time!" Biggles urged him.
The drive to Orly was hair-raising. Marcel obviously took Biggles' injunction literally; every corner was cut and every opportunity to overtake was seized, no matter how narrow the margin of safety. All this while the engine screamed in top gear straining at maximum revs. When they finally screeched to a halt outside the police hangar, Biggles figuratively breathed a sigh of relief, but he was grateful for the speed of the journey. The car had a good head start on them and he was afraid that they may not be able to pick it up, despite Marcel's confidence.
The helicopter stood on the hard-standing, awaiting their arrival. The rotors were turning slowly on idle as the mechanics did last minute checks. Marcel had a quick word with his boss, Capitaine Joudrier, checked the flight plan and then they soared into the sky in search of one red Peugeot among so many.
Marcel swung the machine north-west. "The last report say she is 'eading for Rouen," he told Biggles. "We must see 'er before then, or we lose 'er in the town. Also, this is for you," he said, handing Biggles an automatic. "You might need it."
Biggles took the weapon and put it in his pocket. "Thanks," he muttered above the noise of the engine. "You never know." He looked down at the busy road systems underneath the machine as it clattered towards Normandy. Every second car seemed to be red, he thought. The task was hopeless. Nothing seemed to be driving particularly recklessly - no more than was usual for French roads, thought Biggles cynically, his nerves still feeling frayed after the journey to the airport with Marcel.
When Marcel told him there was a pair of binoculars stowed under the seat he fished them out and began a surveillance of the swiftly moving traffic. Suddenly, as his gaze swept across the A13, he saw a red car cut sharply in front of another as it took the exit onto the N15. He focussed the glasses carefully to check the make. It was a Peugeot. He could scarcely believe their luck. There could hardly be two red cars of that make heading in the right direction and breaking every traffic law in the book, he thought. That would be too much of a coincidence.
"I've got them!" he exclaimed and described the location for Marcel. The helicopter's nose turned towards the Route Nationale.
"Don't get too close," warned Biggles, "I don't want them to know they've been spotted."
Marcel confirmed that he had identified the car and the helicopter swung away, putting more distance between them and their quarry.
Biggles watched them through the field glasses. The car was slowing down as it neared the town. Suddenly it turned sharp right and raced across to a long, lofty building that was all too familiar to Biggles.
"It's gone into the airfield!" he exclaimed, watching as the car drew up with dust or gravel spurting from beneath its wheels. "Stand off towards the west, Marcel. We don't want them getting suspicious."
Marcel changed course and began to lose height. Biggles could see three figures, a man and two women, standing by a stationary car and trained the glasses on them. He thought he recognised Ginger's disguise among them. Moments later, he was certain as he saw the slim blonde's upturned face looking for the machine. Tersely he informed Marcel.
"Tiens!" exclaimed the Frenchman as the machine put more distance between them and the airfield. "What are your plans?"
Biggles was still observing the scene as best he could. "They seem to be pulling a light plane out," he informed Marcel. "We mustn't let them get away. They could go anywhere." He thought for a moment. "Swing round in a wide arc and come back from the other direction."
As Marcel complied, Biggles was thinking hard. Owing to the distance and low altitude, he had not been able to see enough to identify the light aircraft, but it would probably have enough range and capacity to take the hostages and captors well over the border, he surmised.
"They've seen me and might recognise me," he told Marcel. "They would only have got a glimpse as I ran after them, but it might be enough. They shouldn't know you, though," he added. "When we come up to the airfield from the south-east, I want you to make it sound as though you're having engine trouble. As anybody who knows anything about helicopters realises, you'll have to get down and fast! I'll hide in the back and get out the far side once you're down on the deck. Go over to them and ask for help; that's a perfectly natural reaction. We'll have to take it from there and see how things develop, but I want to get Ginger and the hostages away safely and nab the crooks before they can escape."
Marcel nodded. "Leave it to me," he acknowledged, as Biggles clambered into the back of the machine.
