Chapter 9

The plan comes unstuck

Ginger watched as the gang argued among themselves. They seemed so intense about their discussion, he thought he would try to edge away but the little man with the scar spotted his movement. With a leer, he drew his pistol and motioned him back.

Ginger felt completely at a loss how to proceed. He thought about trying to seize the plane, but he did not think he could manage to get the portly Americans across the intervening stretch of tarmac and into the confined cabin fast enough. The gang would shoot them before they could get away. Besides, the professor and his wife were clearly in no condition to do any sprinting. He thought any violent exertion on their part would probably bring on a heart attack.

As he was turning over various possibilities in his mind, he became aware of the sound of a helicopter again. This time the sound was getting louder. It must be coming up from the south-east, Ginger surmised, as despite his best efforts, he could not see it for the bulk of the hangar.

His ears pricked as he heard the loud bang of a backfire and the note of the engine and rotors changed. The gang heard it too. They drew their guns at the sound of the explosion, but the pilot spoke rapidly and they relaxed. Ginger saw him move across to get an unrestricted view of the aircraft, which, it now became obvious, was going to come into land. What he said Ginger was too far away to hear, but the effect was obviously one of consternation. The tall man who had been in the front seat when they had been kidnapped got back into the car that had brought Ginger and Mrs Markham, next to the driver. The man with the scar came across and by gestures made the hostages understand that they were to get into the Bonanza.

Mary-Lou began to protest but her husband persuaded her to co-operate and they all clambered into the small aircraft. Ginger had severe misgivings about the wisdom of what the kidnappers proposed. He hoped they did not intend to make a long flight as the problem with the distribution of weight would only get worse as the fuel burned away.

The pilot waited as the helicopter swept in to land in front of the hangar. Whether by accident or design, the incoming machine seemed to be about to land in the path of the light plane. The driver of the Peugeot, who had been about to leave following the other car, quickly drove into the space and the helicopter jinked sharply, eventually coming to rest on the hard-standing in front of the open hangar doors. A man jumped out and began to hurry over. The pilot of the Bonanza, wasting no time, started the engine and began to taxi onto the airstrip as the car drove off to clear his way. The pilot of the helicopter, whom Ginger now recognised as Marcel, ran back to his machine with the obvious intention of following them.

The car driver, however, whose quick thinking had prevented the helicopter landing to obstruct the light plane, had a further part to play in the drama, although whether it was intentional or not, was hard to say. In swinging round to make his getaway, he clipped the tail rotor of the helicopter with the roof of the car. Marcel switched off immediately, jumped out and arrested the man before he could get the car started again and drive away. As the Bonanza lifted off, Ginger could see him almost dancing with fury and frustration. Biggles was standing beside him, philosophically watching the plane recede.

When Biggles saw the Bonanza take off he felt frustrated and annoyed by the stroke of misfortune that had incapacitated the helicopter, but unlike Marcel, he allowed no sign of his feelings to show. The best he could do was note the course the light aircraft took. On that heading, he thought, they might be headed for North Africa.

"Zut!" exclaimed Marcel when he had vented his anger. "We 'ave lost them!"

"We know their heading," stated Biggles. "Get the radar to watch out for them. Keep a listening watch as well in case they transmit. They might be flying too low to be picked up."

He looked uneasy. "I hope Ginger is alright. I should never have let him take this on."

Marcel looked at him surprised. "That is not like you," he opined. "You always say to regret is not worth the trouble."

Biggles smiled wryly as he lit a cigarette. "Perhaps I'm getting too old for this lark. I ought to let someone younger take over."

"You would not be 'appy à la retraite," averred Marcel sagely. "You would be bored."

Biggles laughed softly. "You could be right," he admitted. "Let's get on and organise some transport."

As soon as they had returned to Paris Biggles asked Marcel to check up on any radar sitings. When the Frenchman came back, he was smiling. "We 'ave tracked them in the Rhone valley," he announced. "And just to be sure, they 'ave been sending messages by radio also. They say they are 'eading for Frejorgues."

Biggles looked blank and asked where it was. "Near Montpellier," was the answer. "Not far from la Camargue."

Biggles expressed the opinion that he was surprised they had not headed straight for North Africa. They had the range.

Marcel's next words filled him with foreboding for Ginger's safety.

"They 'are in trouble," said the Frenchman. "They are 'aving difficulty with the aircraft. They must land."

"Did they say what sort of trouble?" Biggles wanted to know.

"Only that they could not make it over the sea."

"Let's get down there straight away," urged Biggles. "Do you have another helicopter available?"

"It would be faster to take one of the Cessnas," stated Marcel. Biggles agreed but added that they did not know what they might meet and the helicopter's ability to get down in a tight spot was invaluable.

Marcel shrugged and said he would arrange it.

It seemed like an age to Biggles before they were actually in the air and heading south on the trail of the Bonanza, but there had not been a particularly protracted delay. He put it down to anxiety over Ginger and told himself again that he was getting too old for the game. They had been in worse situations than this in the past, he told himself and had always come through.

The Rhone valley reeled away beneath them. Marcel remarked that the forecasters were warning of a Mistral. "It is not strong yet," he added, "but they say it will get worse."

"At least it will help us along," declared Biggles. "I don't feel happy that they have got such a head start on us. Have they reached Frejorgues yet?"

Marcel spoke on the radio. He looked puzzled. "There is no sign of them," he informed Biggles. "No Bonanza 'as landed there for several days."

"They must have crashed," conjectured Biggles. He looked pale. "We'll have to make a sweep either side of their projected heading and see if we can spot them."

He pulled the binoculars out from the compartment under the seat and prepared to make a thorough surveillance as soon as Marcel started the search pattern. The country they were flying over was not suitable for forced landings and Biggles hoped that they had got down safely where it flattened out, nearer the sea.

Marcel quartered the last known track, always moving the search south. Biggles' keen gaze swept the ground. Eventually, as Marcel swung the helicopter towards Frejorgues, Biggles spotted a gleam of white among the scrub of the wilderness that eventually became the Camargue, the land of black bulls and white horses, gypsies and salt pans.

Biggles clutched Marcel's arm. "I think I've spotted them," he announced tersely. "Ten o'clock, just between a minor road and a stretch of water. Can you see it?"

Marcel turned the helicopter for a better view and allowed that he could. "It seems to be okay," he ventured. "They did not, 'ow you say? crack up."

"No," replied Biggles, relieved, "but I can't see anyone with the aircraft. What could have happened to them?"

"We shall not know from 'ere, mon vieux," stated Marcel and brought the helicopter round with the intention of landing near the Bonanza.

"Be careful, Marcel," warned Biggles. "We know they are armed. I don't want anything to happen to the hostages."

"Don't worry, my old cabbage," Marcel reassured him. "Ginger will be okay."

Biggles renewed his surveillance of the scene with extra vigilance, but there was no sign of life anywhere.

"You'd better take her down, Marcel," he opined. "We shan't learn any more here. Perhaps we'll get some inkling when we land."

Marcel set the machine down beside the stranded Bonanza and they both got out. The wind was getting stronger.