Biggles Married III Chapter 7.

By Sopwith

Disclaimer: I do not own, or claim to own, any of the Biggles series characters used in this work. This fan fiction was written for entertainment purposes only and should not be considered part of the official storyline.

Warning: Non canon type fan fiction works may contain severe time mix-ups and character deviations. 

“Are you sure you don’t want Gaskin in on this?” asked Algy, brushing glass off of his jacket. “He would know how to handle this better than we do.”

“No!” said Biggles, at once. “I don’t want the police involved. I’m going to do exactly as they say. I don’t want anything to happen to Jane. I hope she’s all right. It’s been hours since they took her. Do you suppose they’re hurting her—”

Algy ignored the hysteria. “We’re almost there. I’ll drop you off, and then I’ll—”

“And then you’ll turn this car around and go straight back home,” interrupted Biggles tersely, cradling his broken arm to his chest the way a mother might hold a small child. “I don’t want them to see you.”

“How d’you think you’re going to get back if I go home?” demanded Algy sarcastically.

“I’ll think of something.”

“No, you won’t. Because I’m not going home, I’m going to stay there and take a quick dekko around the place.”

“Algy—”

“I won’t let anyone see me, or think that I’m with you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll leave the car somewhere near the entrance of the warehouse in case you need to get out of there quickly.”

“As ideas go, that’s a very bad one.”

“I might get lucky and find a way to rescue your beloved wife,” countered Algy.

Biggles’ lips trembled. “All right,” he said, after a long silence. “Take a look around and see what you can do. Don’t let anyone see you. If you somehow manage to rescue her, I want you to leave at once, do you understand? Don’t wait for me. I’ll find my own way home if necessary. Get her to safety first.”

Algy said nothing.

“Algy.” Biggles’ voice could have been made of ice. “I want you to promise me that you’ll do as I say. Otherwise—”

Algy grunted. “Otherwise what?” he demanded bitterly. “We’re not friends anymore; I’m not an air policemen anymore either, so you’re no longer my employer. To be quite frank, there isn’t anything worse you can do to me that you haven’t already done. So make all the threats you like, Biggles. They won’t make any difference.”

&&&

Back at air police headquarters, Ginger slammed the telephone receiver back into its cradle with a grunt of satisfaction. “That’s done the trick,” he announced, leaning back in his chair. “Gaskin will have his men out looking for that car, and for Algy. I hope they get to him in time.”

Bertie looked up, startled. “In time?” he repeated. “For what, exactly?”

“In time to prevent him from doing something drastic to Biggles, of course. What did you think I meant?”

Bertie shook his head and did not reply.

“Goodness knows what’ll happen to poor old Algy when they catch him,” mused Ginger, fingering the bandage over his head wound. “He’ll probably be sent to prison—or a lunatic asylum. I wonder what made him snap so suddenly? I mean, he was sulking before, but I wouldn’t have thought him capable of doing something like this. What do you think happened?”

Bertie, in the act of polishing his monocle, shrugged.

“It must have had something to do with that phone call,” declared Ginger. “Remember—we came back and found the phone lying like this? Who d’you think called?”

Again, Bertie shrugged. “Never was much good at guessing, what?” he murmured.

“Or maybe…” Ginger continued on his own little train of thought. “Maybe Algy called someone. An accomplice, perhaps?”

Bertie was starting to look really alarmed now. “What would Algy need a jolly old accomplice for?” he inquired.

“Well, he’ll need some means of getting out of the country after he’s killed Biggles, and he’ll need someone to help him dispose of the body,” declared Ginger, with almost ghoulish delight.

Bertie put his monocle back in his eye and stared at Ginger through the glass. “I say, old boy,” he said severely. “Aren’t you going a bit too fast on the jolly old gray matter, what?”

&&&

Algy dropped Biggles in front of the warehouse and drove on without another word.

Left by himself, Biggles felt apprehensive as he approached the heavy metal doors. Just before he reached them, they were pushed open from the inside. “Major Bigglesworth,” greeted the same voice he had heard over the telephone. “Come in.”

Biggles obediently stepped forward and walked into the warehouse. The doors closed behind him with a loud clanging sound. Biggles glanced around, There were at least a dozen armed men surrounding him, their faces grim and cold. Apart from a few boxes and wooden crates, the space within the warehouse was unoccupied. Biggles’ eye was immediately drawn to the middle of the empty space, where a man dressed immaculately in a suit sat casually on a crate walking for him to approach.

“Major Bigglesworth. What a pleasure to meet you in person at last.”

Biggles came to a halt several paces in front of the man. “Where’s my wife?”

“All in good time, my dear fellow. There’s no need to be so impatient. I see you have had a little trouble with your arm as a result of your ‘accident’. I do apologize for that; my intention was never to hurt you.”

“Which accident?” inquired Biggles bitingly. “The one in the morning, or the one just now?” The man did not seem surprised to see him alive and well, so presumably the men in the Ford had only been meant to send a warning and not actually kill him.

The man’s smile did not waver. “Do you have a lot of accidents, Major Bigglesworth?”

Biggles chose to ignore the question. “Who are you and what do you want?” he demanded.

“Both very good questions. Let’s see…you may call me Smith. That is not my real name, of course, but it will do for now. As for what I want, that may be a little more complicated. I would offer you a seat, but as you can clearly see, there isn’t very much for you to sit on. Anyway,” the man waved a languid hand, and two of the armed men strolled briskly towards the door, opened it, and left, “first things first. I need to make sure that you have followed my orders. Did you come here alone?”

Biggles’ pulse raced as he remembered Algy, who was no doubt somewhere near at hand, looking for Jane. He hoped his face did not give anything away as he replied, “That’s what you asked me to do, isn’t it?”

“It is. I’m glad you are being so cooperative. As a rule, I try to avoid bloodshed and murder, but sometimes people can be surprisingly tiresome.”

Biggles’ heart seemed to drop into his stomach. Would the men find Algy?

“But moving on,” continued Smith cheerfully. “May I offer you a cigarette?”

“No, thanks,” said Biggles curtly. “Whatever it is you want, let’s get it over with.”

“As you wish. Now. Tomorrow morning a conference will be held in London. It is an aviation conference, so aviation experts from all over the world will be flying in to attend. You, as head of the air police, will of course also be in attendance.” He paused to let his words sink in. “I believe you have been invited to speak at the conference, have you not?”

“But that’s impossible!” cried Biggles.

Smith frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“I haven’t heard the first thing about this conference. I’m on leave.”

Smith smiled in a most unpleasant manner. “Then I suggest you take yourself off leave and make sure you are at the conference. It would be better for your wife if you were.”

Biggles’ lips pressed into a thin hard line, but he said nothing.

“All the attendees will gather together at about ten o’clock to discuss international laws regarding aviation. During the course of that meeting, you will plant this”—a small metal object roughly the size of a cigarette case was produced and held up for inspection—“in the middle of the meeting room. There is a red button on the top, as you can see. All you have to do is press that and make some excuse to step outside for a moment. Fifteen minutes should be long enough for you to get yourself somewhere safe.”

Biggles stared, aghast. “You don’t know what you’re asking,” he said, when at last he had recovered the power of speech.

“On the contrary, Major Bigglesworth. I know exactly what it is I am asking. I also know exactly what will happen to your pretty wife should you refuse to carry out my orders.” The threat was clear in his voice. 

The small metal object was passed to one of the armed guards, who took a step forward and held it out to Biggles.

“Take it,” ordered Smith, his voice as hard as steel.

With no other alternative, Biggles obeyed, gingerly accepting the object and slipping it into his pocket with his good arm.

“Splendid. I trust I have made myself clear?” Smith stood. “In that case—”

“Just a minute,” snapped Biggles. “I want to see my wife. For all I know, you might have killed her already.”

Smith paused in the act of brushing dust off of his suit. “Well, that does sound like a reasonable request,” he concluded. “And I’m sure it will add incentive, if nothing else.”

Biggles opened his mouth to reply, but just at that moment, from outside the warehouse, an authoritative voice boomed out a challenge: “Stop! Police! Drop your weapon!”

Close on the heels of the order, two shots rang out simultaneously, and the sound of running footsteps, close at hand, could be heard. More shots rang out. Someone shouted.

Smith rounded on Biggles, his face twisted with anger. “I told you no police!” he hissed. “You will pay for this!”

“But—” began Biggles bewilderedly. A cold hand gripped at his heart. Where had the police come from? He certainly had not brought them with him. Realization swept over him, realization that seconds later exploded into burning hot anger. He hadn’t brought the police, so someone else must have done—in spite of the direness of the situation, in spite of everything that was at stake—“Algy,” he growled, under his breath, his good hand clenching into a fist. “Just wait till I get my hands on you, you traitor!”

Go to Chapter 8. 

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