Chapter l5 - Close Encounters

The tiny plane, that had spent its day aerial top-dressing a widespread array of fields, came in to land on a lonely airstrip. Ginger jumped out to meet the inquiring gaze of his chief.

'Well!' said Biggles, succinctly.

'Boring,' Ginger complained. 'Back and forth, up and down, never arriving anywhere. Good views though,' he added significantly.

'You spotted the car I take it.'

'Yes – and the place it turned off the road. It was the motel all right.'

A sheeptruck rumbled up and came to a halt. Copper got out, chuckling.

'Never followed anyone from the front before,' he said. 'Your Mr Sidlington couldn't get past me at all till he turned off at the motel.'

Biggles nodded.

'That confirms what we thought. They've all gathered at the same place. No wonder the "No Vacancies" sign is up. At least, with sheeptrucks and top-dressing planes so common over here, we can maintain some surveillance without them being suspicious. What we need now is detail.'

A day or so later Biggles put in a stint as a ski-plane pilot at Mount Cook. His one passenger was Marie, who, like any normal tourist, had driven through for the day in her hired Morris Minor to see New Zealand's highest mountain and enjoy the thrill of landing on a glacier.

'A pity we're not doing this for fun,' Biggles observed shortly after they had taken off in the specially equipped Cesna and were admiring the majestic panorama of rugged snow-laden peaks. 'Maybe we can come here again when it's all over.'

'That would be nice, my Beegles,' she said. 'Meantime I have news. I have met Monique Sevin.'

'That was quick,' he breathed, admiringly.

'It was not so difficult. She and her husband are also playing at being tourists. They are a beautiful French couple on holiday, still in love and interested in the village they are staying near.'

Biggles frowned.

'That's strange,' he murmured. 'I thought they'd be keeping out of the way. They weren't keen to be seen earlier.'

'Ah, don't you see? By behaving in this nature they are dissolving the mystery. A full motel with all its guests operating in the utmost secrecy would attract gossip – the last thing they desire. Also they are so open and friendly that anyone who has noticed anything unusual going on would ask them about it.'

'Nobody has, presumably.'

'No. So they are secure.'

'Where did you meet them?'

'In the tea-rooms. I saw them enter and went over myself for an ice-cream on a hot day. The ice-cream here is magnifique, n'est-ce pas?'

Biggles agreed.

'They think so too,' she continued. 'My accent caught their attention and soon we were three Europeans together. She is full of questions, though, that Monique. I hope my cover holds.'

'So do I,' said Biggles fervently.

'We had a nice talk woman to woman,' Marie smiled.

'Does she know you've come here today?'

'But yes. I invited her too. Let us see la grande montagne together, I suggested. She declined.'

'You were taking a chance.'

'Not really. I must be open with her or she will suspect me. And you must take the photograph of me beside the plane on the glacier so I can show it to her if she asks. You know where it is,' she added anxiously.

Biggles nodded.

'I got the gen from one of the regular pilots,' he explained.

'I told her I had been hoping to stay at the motel but it was full,' Marie continued. 'She said they had been lucky to get in and that the other guests were quiet and she didn't see much of them.'

'She didn't mention the interesting lorries that trundle into the farmland beyond, I'll wager.'

'Nothing.'

They landed on the glacier and had a brief picnic lunch, though it was too cold to enjoy outside the aircraft. Biggles took the picture then, noticing the weather about to change, took off hurriedly and headed back.

'Take care,' he warned when they had landed again. 'She's sure to be on the lookout for strangers. And, so far, you're the only one.'

'I will.' She smiled. 'I am so pleased to be spying for my Beegles.'

They parted formally and she returned to her car.

It was Steeley's idea to make an additional delivery as a way of finding out for sure what was happening at the back of the huge property. Not without misgivings, Biggles allowed the scheme to go ahead, making some back-up plans of his own in the process.

'It's too risky,' he said at first. 'If they rumble you, you'll never get out alive – and your cover story's wafer thin.'

'I'm not sure they'd chance that,' Steeley responded. 'If I don't get out again, you raid the place. Perfect pretext. I went in: I didn't come out. They'll be aware of that. They may be ruthless but the hierarchy isn't stupid. And they're on the spot, calling the shots at present.'

Steeley drove his van, full of spare parts for aircraft provided by the RNZAF base at Wigram, up the track beside the motel that led to the farm. The gate was closed but a watchful, thickset man emerged after Steeley had honked his horn.

'Yes?' said the man, enquiringly.

'Spare parts for aircraft,' Steeley explained. 'Is this the right place?'

'I haven't seen you here before,' said the other, conversationally rather than suspiciously. 'Thought we'd had all our deliveries.'

'This is back-up stuff,' said Steeley. 'No-one else available to bring it.'

The man seemed satisfied and opened the gate.

'Just follow the road,' he called as Steeley drove through.

The road skirted around the farmhouse and through several fields, causing much opening and closing of gates and avoiding of livestock on the way. In the distance a top-dressing plane was busy and he guessed that Ginger was on the job.

It took almost twenty minutes to reach the buildings that had attracted such interest. They were set hard against a gorse covered hill but his first discovery was that the path that ran for a distance outside them, though straw covered, was actually concrete and extended far enough to make a runway of some length – long enough for a jet. There were no cattle or sheep this far back either.

A huge sandy-haired man in a black vest and shorts, perspiring freely, approached him.

'Not another one!' he complained. 'We've only got till tomorrow night. They're supposed to be flying Wednesday morning. Can't put an aircraft together in half-an-hour, you know.'

'Just spares,' Steeley re-assured, jumping out and moving to the back of the van. Would it have been an idea to have a posse of police inside to jump out at this juncture, he thought fleetingly. Probably not. They would be sure to have some cover story in place – an airshow or the like; evil intent could still not be proved.

The burly man lifted some of the parts out and then glared at Steeley.

'They're all busy inside,' he snarled. 'Are you just going to stand there and watch me?'

Steeley had been going to offer to lend a hand, without wishing to appear too eager; the exasperated nature of this invitation was exactly what he wanted. He grabbed one end of a long and awkward package and struggled into the building.

A passing glance was all he dared to give before returning for another load but that was enough. The long barn was a miniature aircraft factory, almost a production line. Algy had been right about the planes being fighters; there were four Migs in various stages of construction. One had been completed and stood menacingly near the doorway, ready for action. Two men were fitting its guns and ammunition. Fueling facilities were all in place; the plane would soon be able to take off at a moment's notice.

'Thought there'd be more,' he said as they returned for a second load.

The other man laughed.

'Don't want too many,' he said. 'It might succeed.'

'I did some flying in the war,' Steeley volunteered. 'Nothing like these, though.'

'Don't need pilots. Just fitters.'

'Pity the Tiger Moth that runs into one of these.'

'We wouldn't waste it on that kind of sprat,' the man sneered contemptuously, wiping more sweat from his eyes.

Most of the men inside were too involved in their work to pay him any attention but on his third trip Steeley noticed a middle-aged man, fussy and authoritative. Recalling his mug shots, he recognised da Silva.

'I'll be getting back then,' Steeley said, once the van was empty. 'Sooner you than me in this heat.'

But before he could climb into the cab, he heard a new voice behind him.

'One moment.'

It was da Silva.

'I am returning to the farmhouse,' he said. 'You will give me a lift.'

'Jump in,' invited Steeley, having no other choice.

So far things had gone as well he could have wished. He had confirmed Biggles' suspicions about the aircraft and even had a date for their deployment. But this new development was ominous, for he couldn't hope to deceive da Silva as easily as he had the hard-pressed worker.

The brief journey passed in silence to Steeley's relief, for he was fearful of probing questions that would be difficult to answer.

They stopped outside the farmhouse. For a moment Steeley thought he was clear as da Silva prepared to climb down but the Portuguese man's next words disabused him.

'Where are you returning to now?'

'Christchurch,' said Steeley, truthfully, since Wigram was on the outskirts of that city.

'Wait there,' da Silva ordered stiffly. 'You will take me with you.'

He entered the building. Steeley glanced towards the gate and noted two men standing there, both no doubt armed. He wondered whether to use the radio but decided that the danger of that being picked up was too great. Besides, they might be waiting for him to make a false move. Better to bluff it out as long as was possible.

A young woman came out of the house and up to the van. She was dark-haired and attractive and smiled at him.

'Would you like a cup of tea while you're waiting?' she said. 'There'll be time.'

'I'm fine thanks,' said Steeley, warily.

'Well, a cool drink, perhaps. You need something on such a hot day.'

In normal circumstances this would have been a welcome invitation and Steeley felt it would seem unusual for him to refuse. He thanked the woman and went in.

Inside he found an ordinary kitchen, large enough for a table, at which he sat. The apple juice he was offered was refreshing and, as far as he could taste, untampered with. There were some biscuits as well, which, in other circumstances, would have made a pleasant snack. The presence of the young dark-haired woman was pleasing too but here, Steeley realised, he really would have to be on his guard.

She was asking questions, apparently casual but all likely to trip him up if he was negligent. Did he enjoy driving on these hot days? How long had he been working for them? Where was his home?

When the questions became specific, Steeley prevaricated.

'I was warned not to talk about this job,' he remarked sternly.

She smiled, a winning, pleasant smile; one that would have melted Steeley's heart in his youth. Now it made him more alert.

'Tell Mr Barnadine he's done a good job when you get back,' she said artlessly.

Steeley, with a split second decision to make, gambled.

'Barnardine?' he queried, as if puzzled. 'Is that his name?' He shrugged. 'Doesn't ring a bell but my memory's shocking these days. We don't use names a lot anyway.'

'Maybe I'm thinking of someone else,' she said.

She refilled his glass.

'He won't be long,' she said, watching him carefully. 'He's just making a toll call to Christchurch.'

'No hurry,' said Steeley, his apparent indifference hiding, he hoped, his inner panic. If this phone call was to check up on him, the situation was becoming serious.

Some minutes later da Silva returned. Steeley stood up.

'I am sorry to have kept you waiting,' da Silva said, formally. 'I find I will not need to accompany you to Christchurch after all. My telephone call has achieved all that I desired.'

'Well, thanks for the drinks,' Steeley said, smiling at the woman. She nodded and he left, inwardly bemused that he was being allowed to depart. But the gate was open for him and he drove out.

Only when he was back on the road did he permit himself a brief sigh. Evidently he had gambled successfully and Barnardine had been a name tossed in at random to trap him. Obviously the man didn't exist and he had successfully called the bluff instead of falling for the ploy, as most people in his position would have done. Long experience had aided him.

One hour later, confident that he was not being followed, he drew up in a rest area. Another car was parked nearby and Biggles was seated at one of the picnic tables. Steeley joined him and reported.

'Great work,' complimented Biggles. 'You took a heck of a chance but it seems to have come off.'

'I thought I was done for when I heard that da Silva was phoning Christchurch,' admitted Steeley. 'I was sure he'd be checking up on me.'

'He was,' Biggles said, unexpectedly, 'but we anticipated that move. The New Zealand equivalent of MI5 is working with us now and they enabled us to install Frecks as a temporary operator. She put on a Kiwi accent and connected him with me at the airfield.'

'Did he ask for Mr Barnadine?' asked Steeley.

'No – that wasn't the name. That's another character in Shakespeare – Measure for Measure I think. Anyway I said the person he wanted was out so he asked me about the spare parts. I said we'd sent some bits and pieces this morning and that they should have arrived by now. You were the only one available and hadn't made the trip before. He seemed satisfied with that and rang off. Hallo, Ginger's waving. Someone coming. Ah, he's signalling that it's okay.'

Moments later Algy arrived with Frecks. He parked the car and they joined the others. Steeley told his story again and Frecks nodded.

'That woman you met could be the one who helped to kidnap me,' she recalled. 'Was her precious boyfriend with her?'

'I didn't see him.'

'A plausible couple,' Frecks informed him. 'They took me in completely.'

'She did her best with me,' murmured Steeley. 'At least she serves good apple juice.'

Back at the air force base in Christchurch, Biggles called a conference. Representatives of the RNZAF, the police and the New Zealand security services were in attendance.

After detailing their discoveries, Biggles summed up.

'All this points to a significant target passing near these shores the day after tomorrow,' he said. 'Reference to the Ides of March suggests a figure of the highest magnitude – a head of state perhaps.'

The representative of the security services shuffled uncomfortably.

'There are high level meetings scheduled for Canberra this week,' he admitted, 'to discuss further deployment in South-East Asia. The Americans refuse to confirm or deny that these will involve the President of the United States.'

Biggles flung up his hands in exasperation.

'Suffering Icarus!' he exploded. 'The preparations we have seen show that our enemy has a timetable, which must be based on hard information. They don't need anyone to confirm or deny – they know! If we're kept in the dark, that gives them a clear run – unless we can move in tomorrow morning.'

The police representative shook his head.

'A dawn raid on the scale you envisage would have to be Wednesday,' he said. 'At this late stage it would be very difficult to organise everything in time to ensure that it went off properly. And, from what you say, it would need to go off perfectly.'

Biggles nodded.

'Synchronising the arrival by road at the motel with the landing by the improvised hangers is crucial,' he confirmed. 'It would only need one little match among all that aviation spirit and our main evidence would be engulfed in one gigantic bonfire that would take a week to put out.'

There was a knock at the door and Smyth entered with a telegram, which he handed to Biggles. Biggles decoded it carefully and then looked around at the expectant faces.

'This is from my chief in London, Air Commodore Raymond,' he explained. 'It says that the President of the United States is currently in American Samoa and that he or some other high ranking American official will be leaving for Australia about midday Tuesday local time. With the date line to consider that makes it ten o'clock or so Wednesday morning here.' He looked up. 'Allowing two hours flying time from here to where the American planes could be intercepted, the Migs wouldn't be taking off until eight or nine o'clock at the earliest. A dawn raid should just be in time.'

When the New Zealand officials had departed, a steward arrived with coffee. Biggles waited for him to withdraw and then elaborated on his plans.

'As soon as visibility permits, Steeley will land the Merlin by the buildings housing the Migs, taking Gimlet and his team to secure that side of things. If they still think you're part of the gang, Steeley, they may hesitate before doing anything, which will give Gimlet a few vital seconds to act. A police helicopter will follow you in, whilst the ground force will be up at the motel. Some elements of that will drive out to reinforce you if necessary.'

'That sounds straightforward enough,' Gimlet confirmed. 'If Steeley lands a little way before the buildings and simply taxies in at a slow pace, we may be able to slip out along the way on the side away from them and come up unobserved. Steeley arriving alone wouldn't cause a panic.'

'Fine,' acknowledged Biggles. 'The rest of us will be involved in a contingency plan. Just in case they have any arrangements we don't know about yet, Angus and Tug will be at Mount Cook in the Gadfly, ready to radio us if any of the planes gets away. In case that happens, four of us will be standing by here with Hunters, ready to intercept as soon as we get the message. Raymond's sent von Zoyton out to reinforce us. He's due to arrive in Auckland tomorrow so I'll tell him to stay put and organise a fighter for him there so, if it does come to a battle, he can join in. There'll also be a flying-boat or two on alert in case any of us goes in the drink. None of this should be necessary but it's best to make sure.'

'I've had a message from Marie, too,' he added. 'She's going on a shopping expedition tomorrow - with Monique Sevin.' He smiled faintly. 'Perhaps our lovely Corsican wants to ensure Marie is away from the area for the day or just check on whoever she contacts. Each is trying to spy on the other. It's all a matter of whether Marie can be as successful at deceiving a woman as she was with a young romantic airman. I'd like her to pull out now, since I think we have all the information we need, but that might arouse Madame Sevin's suspicions and compromise the raid.'

'While we're on the subject of beautiful maidens,' said Worrals, with a caustic smile, 'what roles do Frecks and I play in all this excitement?'

'There shouldn't be any excitement if this all goes to plan,' Biggles pointed out. 'You've already played crucial parts today as toll operators, saving Steeley's bacon and making sure the vital information he had was delivered. We'll keep you in reserve, I think. There's always something unexpected that turns up.'

'There's one thing that puzzles me,' said Algy. 'Only four Migs, Steeley said. There'll be double that number of fighters in the escort. They can't possibly hope to succeed.'

'Remember what Steeley was told,' countered Biggles. 'If we've read this aright, it isn't a real attempt to shoot down the President or whoever else is representing the USA at these talks; just the appearance of an attempt. That alone will heighten international tension considerably and our little syndicate, with its huge involvement in the armaments trade, will become infinitely more rich and more powerful. If they succeed, the effects could be catastrophic.'

He paused for a moment.

'No wonder they live in the quiet places of the earth. If events spiral out of control, they still avoid the fall-out.'

Marie eased the faithful Morris Minor to a stop outside the motel. Monique had been watching for her and came out before Marie could reach the gate.

They drove off into bright morning sunshine.

'A lovely country,' said Marie.

'Magnifique!' agreed her passenger.

They had agreed the day before that Christchurch was too far and they would settle for a small city further south. Two hours later they arrived.

'I have some business to attend to first,' Monique announced, leaving the car. 'It shouldn't take long. We'll meet back here in an hour and have a meal somewhere.'

Marie agreed and watched her companion walk off towards the shopping area. It was tempting to follow but she was too experienced a spy to do that without watching her back. She wandered down to the beach for a moment. A number of families were picnicking on the sand but warnings of jellyfish kept most people out of the sea. She strolled up a little path to a headland and then back again. Just as she had suspected. A short, slightly balding man, a little overweight, was keeping an eye on her. Had she followed Monique, he would have followed her. Probably it wasn't so much that Monique had a meeting as that she suspected Marie had. With no assignations arranged, Marie was able to stroll around with perfect equanimity. If it meant that two of the enemy were wasting their time with her, then that was all to the good.

She met Monique by the car as arranged and they selected a restaurant for their meal. Marie decided she would need the bathroom first and left Monique at the table. The Ladies' room nearby, tastefully hidden behind a trellis of artificial shrubbery, was occupied, though, and she had to wait, out of sight of Monique. Immediately she heard whispered voices and peered through to see her balding observer. Her early training had taught her how to concentrate on one strand of noise and obliterate others and this now stood her in good stead.

'She met nobody Madame,' said the man.

'As I thought. Now go. You were a fool to come here. She could re-appear at any second.'

'Very well, Madame. Will you need me at the university?'

'I may. Be there.'

'Yes Madame.'

'Go now.'

He left and Marie, finding the room now free, went in, deciding that the cunning of the mistress was only matched by the stupidity of her servant.