Chapter 9 - Under Attack

Crouched near the tunnel mouth, Worrals felt in her shopping bag. The policeman's attention was riveted to the entrance and she was able to creep closer to him. As Steeley appeared and the officer was about to move, her hands closed on an unseen object and she hurled it, realising as she did so that it was the onion, now without its accompanying directions. Despite the poor light, her aim was true and caused the man to make an involuntary exclamation and, instinctively, turn towards her. Instantly Steeley was out of the tunnel and, before the man could react, Steeley's fist had taken him in the pit of the stomach. As he doubled up, gasping, another blow caught him on the point of the chin to send him sprawling.

In the process, however, the officer had fired a shot which, whilst spending itself harmlessly in the earth, would attract immediate attention. As Worrals ran over, Steeley guided her into the tunnel, stooping on his way to pick up something from the ground.

'What was that?' she whispered.

'Your secret weapon. Removing the evidence.'

The path through the tunnel was narrow and a bustling stream ran alongside, sometimes bubbling over so that she was constantly splashing through puddles. There were dull blue lights along the way but too far apart to be of any assistance. In the circumstances it was impossible to hurry, despite the fact that she thought she could hear shouts from the tunnel entrance behind her. The lower part of her widow's dress was becoming very wet and she still clutched her shopping bag with one hand, patting her thigh with the other to ensure that the miniature camera was still in place. Rats squealed at her feet and she was relieved that she had not had to make this passage alone, smiling wryly at herself, since the journey presented no real dangers as such and would be undertaken by villagers every day, no doubt.

Still no signs of pursuit. The tunnel seemed to go on for ever but eventually she was aware of a flicker of moonlight ahead and emerged cautiously to find herself on a tiny track, which led off between trees. She half expected to be challenged and had braced herself for the confrontation, but none came and soon Steeley was guiding her to the old lorry, hidden nearby.

'Funny no-one followed us,' Steeley said, moving away. 'I could hear that policeman shouting at one stage. But nothing else. Pity about him recovering so quickly. I clearly do not have Copper's expertise in the pugilistic line. Getting too old. Losing my touch.'

'Of course,' Worrals said, remembering, 'they're expecting people to come in.'

She repeated what Pereira had said.

'Why should he lie?' she concluded.

'Saving face, probably – and his place on the payroll.'

'And you were coming in. That would just add to his assessment.'

'There was an officer on watch at this end, all the same. Pereira wasn't quite fooling himself. Fortunately the man wasn't alert. He's sleeping a little way off and should take some time to free himself when he comes round. He didn't see the lorry so that's all right for the moment. I didn't expect someone the other end too, though.'

'Then he will also know that he was hit by someone going in. With luck that'll distract Pereira for some time.'

'So, how did you get on?'

'Brilliantly. Your little camera had better work properly. I suspect it's carrying the crown jewels.'

'Great work! Now all we have to do is get off the island.'

'Yes,' observed Worrals sombrely, 'that's all.'

The inspector had been right about inter-village rivalry. Patrick was aghast at Biggles' news of the attack and enlisted several burly Islanders to keep watch at the village's edge. If Sam visited again, his welcome was likely to be a sharp one.

There were no incidents and they set off in good time in the morning, alerting Algy and Bertie in the process. Biggles explained the whole situation to them, reasoning that the dangers of this information being intercepted were offset by the need to ensure that it was shared with others in case they were ambushed on the way.

Patrick went with them for a while, helping to provide a bodyguard by driving his own battered truck, bristling with armed villagers, to follow them down the road.

They had been going for the best part of half-an-hour without incident, before the drama began. They were between villages when a plane swooped overhead and an explosion came from nearby.

'Good grief,' breathed Biggles, 'he's got a bomber – of sorts.'

In the face of this attack, Patrick's truck noticeably, and understandably, lagged behind. A further bomb, landing just behind the Land Rover, blew a small tree across the road, effectively blocking it.'

'There goes our bodyguard,' groaned Ginger.

'Don't be too sure,' said Biggles, snatching a glance at the sky.

Another aircraft was now on the scene and harrying the first. That the newcomer was the more skilled pilot was shown when he managed to position himself immediately above the first plane and dropped a small missile on it. There was an explosion close to the cockpit and when rifle fire was added, the first plane withdrew.

'By all that's wonderful,' breathed Biggles, 'Algy's taking a hand.'

Seconds later Algy came through on the radio. The road ahead was still clear but there was a river coming up soon. He thought he had located two vehicles likely to intercept them.

They came across the first of these at the next corner. The intention had been to block the road with a truck but more gunfire from Algy's plane, flying dangerously treetop high, had interrupted the manoeuvre and Biggles scraped past without a break. The other car had taken up station by the river, was Algy's next report, but he was going to try to persuade it to withdraw with some more grenades. A few moments later he was able to tell them of his success.

Five minutes more and they had reached the river but here was another obstacle.

'It's in flood,' gasped Ginger, 'we'll never get across that.'

'We have to,' said Biggles, 'on foot if need be.'

He began the drive across the ford but the waters, waist high, were too much for the vehicle and the engine stalled. Immediately Biggles leapt out.'

'Come on,' he said, 'we'll have to hoof it.'

A bullet whined from the shore as Ginger joined him. Algy, swooping lower and lower, again was able to distract the attackers. Ginger staggered and was almost swept away by the current but Biggles offered a steadying hand in the nick of time. More bullets swished around them as they made uneven progress. Algy was turning for another approach but there was still time for a ragged volley before that and it was only a matter of time before one of them was hit. If that happened, there would be no gainsaying the raging torrent, even if the wound was slight. Plenty of rivers to drown in, Sidlington had said. He was not far off achieving his goal.

Suddenly a rifle opened up from the other bank. At first Biggles' heart sank; there was no hope at all if they had marksmen on both sides of the river. But the shots went well wide and the firing behind them faltered. A familiar voice rang out.

'Keep going chaps, I'll discourage the blighters.'

'Bertie!' Biggles cried and plunged on with a new hope. Thankfully they struggled up the path the other side and found Bertie kneeling beside a bush, rifle in hand.

'Hello, you chaps. The jolly old Land Rover's parked nearby. Another roaring torrent to cross but not as ferocious as this one and fewer annoyances on the way.'

'Great stuff, Bertie,' said Biggles. "We thought you were another outbreak of the enemy at first.'

'That was their little scheme, in fact, but a few of our boys in blue nipped it in the bud. We listened in to all their dastardly plans on the Home Service last night. The opposition doesn't know about that little facility, though, so keep it under your hat. That's why we couldn't tell you more this morning.'

'Who's with Algy, then?'

'Smyth. Thought we'd rally the troops and all that.'

'Thank goodness you did,' said Biggles with feeling.

'And what's happened to you, me lad?' Bertie asked, noting Ginger's bandaged head.'

'Hit by a coconut,' Biggles explained. 'Not a very good dressing but best I could do in the circumstances. Where did the pineapples come from?'

'Left over from the war. Surprised they still did the job.'

Ten minutes later they had arrived at the second river, much less swollen than the first, and crossed without incident. Algy continued to fly above them on vigilant alert.

Steeley thought it would be suspicious to travel by night so, after putting some distance between themselves and the tunnel, he found a quiet back road and a shady grove of trees and they slept the night uncomfortably. It was at least shelter, Worrals considered.

'You seem to have made most of the contacts,' she said on the journey. 'Why didn't they just send you?'

'Two bites at the cherry, perhaps. And then Raymond felt that a woman's touch would find possibilities not open to a man. It was a pity Pereira latched on to you, though. He was probably being a nuisance at first till our prisoner escaped and sent out descriptions. Lucky I made sure he didn't see me that night.'

'So we've been under surveillance while you've had a free hand,' Worrals accused.

'Yes, but I can pass as Portuguese. I even have a fake Portuguese passport. Having had friends in the wrong places comes in handy sometimes. Besides, I may have had the freedom but you're the one who's delivering the goods.'

They set off at first light, bleary-eyed after several ineffectual attempts at sleep. They stopped for breakfast at a café in a tiny town and Steeley made a phone call.

'They might have monitored that,' said Worrals when he returned.

'Nothing unusual in a call to Portugal, ringing an uncle and asking after an aunt.'

'How does that help us?'

'It's a British Embassy private number. They'll contact Gibraltar and summon up some assistance. The uncle and aunt business was a code.'

'Not a very original one,' smiled Worrals, thinking of her last phone call to Bill Ashton.

'One key question we have to answer,' said Steeley as they drove away, 'is whether that officer I hit caught sight of you after you threw the onion or me when I socked him.'

'I don't think so. The light was bad and all he'd have seen of me, if anything, was a dark outline. I was half behind a bush in any case. He didn't have time to have much of a look at you.'

'All the same, plenty of people saw me selling my vegetables yesterday and Pereira may latch on to that if he's alert. That means that this particular vehicle and my current disguise may soon be a liability. Fortunately it doesn't need to serve me for much longer.'

Soon after, on another quiet stretch of road, Steeley found another back turning and another isolated and secluded spot. A small anonymous black van was parked unobtrusively nearby. Steeley looked all around and gave a sigh of satisfaction and relief.

'Good,' he smiled, 'no-one here and the van in exactly the right place. Our friendly cleric arranged this. Out you get. Time for a change. And I can resume my own clothes again at last.'

He brought out the make-up kit again and transformed the ruddy-faced countryman into a pallid, bespectacled town dweller. Worrals stayed as she was but travelled inside the van, where she could not be seen.

They travelled not to Ponta Delgado but to a smaller town a little way along the coast. Here Worrals had a lonely meal in a restaurant while Steeley went in search of a man with a motor boat who, for a consideration, would take them across to Santa Maria. According to his sources, the man had done such services before, charging exorbitant fees and assisting an assortment of dubious characters in the past.

She drank her coffee, paid her bill and went out into the street, huddling in a bus shelter during a sudden shower. A familiar black van stopped and its sympathetic driver offered her a lift.

'How did you get on?' she enquired as Steeley drove away.

'All set. He was reluctant at first but a generous offering of escudos made him more amenable and the American dollars clinched it. But he's not a man of many scruples, I suspect. Given half a chance he'll take our money and sell us to Pereira. He's done that before, apparently.'

'Why are we using him, then?'

"Keep anyone decent from getting into trouble. He doesn't know about you yet so your presence will be a pleasant surprise. Best shed the widow's weeds now in case he mentions it later. We don't want to give them a possible trail to follow.'

A little way out of the town, they stopped.

'This is where I arranged to leave the van,' Steeley explained. 'It'll be gone within half-an-hour, just like I hope our trusty lorry has also disappeared.'

'Quite a network.'

'It needs to be. If it isn't efficient, it dies.'

They walked along a cliff for 100 metres or more and then descended some steep steps to the quiet cove where the boat was resting. Steeley helped Worrals aboard. There was a tidy cabin to keep a spattering of rain at bay and she was glad of the hot coffee to combat the evening chill.

The boat owner was a thin, moody man who immediately demanded more money for his extra passenger. The wad of dollars Steeley flourished mollified him. After that he said little. He went on deck to start the motor and Steeley went with him. Worrals finished her coffee and, once they were well under way, joined them.

The lights of the shore flickered at them like diamonds in a deep dark cave. There was just room in the tiny wheelhouse for the three of them to be sheltered from the spray.

'Why don't you stay below?' growled the boat owner. 'Too crowded in here and you'll only get cold.'

'Enjoying the voyage,' said Steeley. 'Besides we'll want you to change course soon.'

'What do you mean? Thought you wanted to go to Santa Maria.'

'Changed our plans. We'd like to sample the sea air to the east if you don't mind.'

'What if I do?'

'Then we'll have to persuade you.'

The man's response was to swing the wheel violently. Worrals fell over and Steeley was thrown heavily to the side, hitting his head against a window. As he began, half dazed, to struggle to his feet, he saw the man produce a wrench from his pocket and draw back his arm, ready to strike. Steeley put an arm up, sensing it would be too late, but the blow didn't come. Instead Worrals' voice cut in, loud and determined.

'Drop it!'

The man obeyed and put his hands in the air. Breathing deeply, Steeley stood up.

'On the floor,' he commanded. 'Face down.'

The man obeyed. Steeley, who had been prepared for this contingency, produced string from his pocket and tied the man's hands and feet. Then he removed the glasses and massaged his head vigorously.

'Thanks,' he said. 'I'll have a headache as it is but nothing compared to what this thug was going to give me.' He laughed suddenly. 'Is that really what you poked into his back?'

In her hand Worrals was holding the parsnip with its secret cargo of camera.

'Good job I brought the shopping with me,' she said and then, as Steeley moved towards the wheel, 'did you check the fuel?'

'Enough for there and back. We won't maroon him.'

He changed course and headed east, towards the open sea. The boat had radio and, after a while, Steeley tried the special wavelength that had been of such service to Frecks the day before. He seemed satisfied with the response.

Worrals looked back. Far behind them the lights of a ship could be seen close to their original course. She mentioned it.

'Probably our friend here, tipping Pereira off so he could get double rations,' Steeley assessed. 'That was always a risk.'

Despite the earlier rain, the night was now calm and the sea, though a little choppy, was not rough. A panoply of stars gazed down.

'That light's moving,' said Worrals at last, still looking back, 'coming closer, too.'

'Police,' growled the man on the floor with satisfaction. 'That's ended it for you, hasn't it? You and your clever little tricks.'

Ominously the boat now produced a searchlight, which swept the sea around it in a regular semi-circle.

'He's coming this way,' said Worrals. 'He'll be picking us up soon. I suppose it is our friend Pereira.'

'Who else?' said Steeley. 'He'd guess we'd be looking for a way to leave unofficially, even without any additional assistance.'

The man on the floor laughed harshly.

The vessel behind them was clearly a powerful patrol boat and gained on them relentlessly. The tip of the searchlight reached out closer and closer to their bows until it actually touched them and seconds later a voice, amplified by a loud-hailer, commanded them to hove to.

'Pereira,' groaned Worrals, despairingly.

Steeley ignored the call and pressed on. The instruction was repeated and a warning shot fired, though it came nowhere near them. It caused the boat owner to cry out in alarm, cutting short his jeering satisfaction.

'Listen,' said Steeley as Pereira tried for a third time, 'do you hear something else? If it's who it should be, our friend's searchlight will save us making a signal – but I'll do it anyway.'

He started to flash Morse with his torch towards the sky. Simultaneously Worrals heard the sound of aero engines and a light from above flashed back.

'Just in time, I hope,' Steeley murmured.

An amphibian began to make its approach, hampered slightly by the launch, which opened up an irregular fire, both on it and the motor boat. The aircraft swept over them and then turned, coming in so low over the launch that Worrals could imagine those on board ducking. Certainly the searchlight beam went askew. The plane came to rest fifty yards or so ahead of the motor boat and, seconds later, Steeley had guided his vessel alongside. Worrals clambered aboard.

'Careful what company you keep,' Steeley said to the owner, who had managed to loosen his bonds slightly and would be free before long, 'and give our worst wishes to your noble captain.'

He turned the boat around so that it was clear of the plane, and sent it heading towards the launch, leaping off to swim the few yards back to the aircraft.

The amphibian's crew was the same as that which had picked up Frecks. Angus and Worrals helped Steeley on board but had no time for pleasantries, for, though having to avoid the boat, now in its path, the launch was only a hundred yards away and heading straight for them.

'Away wi' you,' called Angus and Tug set the plane in motion. Several shots hit the aircraft but the launch had no heavy artillery and they did only superficial damage. Instead of ramming the plane, the launch collided with the motor boat, which was thrown into its course by the aircraft's wake and whose owner, already in an uncomfortable position, now had damage to his vessel to consider. The impact had sent Pereira plunging into the sea, Worrals noted with satisfaction. Then they were in the air and she accepted the hot tea from Angus' vacuum flask with a sigh of real relief.

'Make yourselves at home,' called Tug from the flight deck, 'and pray they don't send anything airborne after us.'

'I prayed yesterday,' said Worrals. 'The effects seem to have endured.'