Biggles Married III Chapter 11.

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.

Algy felt his muscles tense of their own accord. It was strange how quickly his life had changed. Was it less than a week ago that he and Biggles had still been best friends, living in the same flat, willing to do anything for each other? Now his life lay in tatters at his feet.

Biggles glanced briefly in Algy’s direction, but the cap Algy had taken from the cab driver threw most of his face into shadow, and thankfully Biggles did not recognize him.

Algy watched as Biggles made his way to a table in the middle of the room and took a seat beside Air Commodore Raymond. He lit a cigarette as soon as he sat down. Algy felt a pang as he saw how badly Biggles’ fingers were shaking. What decision had he made? Would he or would he not set off Smith’s bomb?

The first speaker walked up to the podium and began his speech. Algy did not hear a word of it. His eyes were fixed on Biggles. About five minutes into the speech, Algy’s heart leaped as he saw Biggles remove the bomb from his jacket pocket and begin to turn it over and over in his hands the way a kitten might play with a ball of wool.

“Don’t do it,” muttered Algy to himself. He did not realize that he had spoken out loud until the man sitting next to him gave him a quizzical look. “Sorry,” said Algy quickly, as he suddenly discovered that he had apparently been disagreeing with a policy to promote international cooperation.

The speech dragged on. Algy bit his lip, unable to take his eyes off of the bomb in Biggles’ hands. Would he set it off? Algy’s eyes went to Biggles’ face. The expression on it was so strained that Algy wondered how no one else in the room had noticed.

Tumultuous applause broke out as the speech finally ended, rousing Algy from his reverie. The speaker asked if his audience had any questions. The first question was apparently an offensive one, for several people gasped after it was asked. Algy gasped too, but for a different reason.

Biggles had pressed the button to activate the bomb.

&&&

Biggles dropped the bomb under the table before murmuring something to Raymond and quickly leaving the room. Algy stared after him in hopeless despair. Surely Biggles hadn’t really set off the bomb? It must be part of some elaborate plan—it had to be.

One of the conference attendees asked a question that drew several people to their feet, shouting and gesticulating. Algy stared about him in bewilderment as suddenly a fight broke out at a table near the podium.

The confusion was the perfect cover for him to run over to Biggles’ place and snatch the bomb up from under the tablecloth that covered it. The small box had already begun to smoke. Algy glanced nervously at his watch. How much time had passed since Biggles had activated the bomb? When was it due to go off?

He hurried out of the conference room, wrapping his jacket around the bomb in an effort to hide it. With everyone’s attention on the fight in the middle of the room, no one challenged him and he breathed a short-lived sigh of relief as he stepped out into the corridor.

A familiar figure approached him and he almost cried in delight. “Bertie!” he shouted. “Listen, you’ve got to—”

But to his alarm, Bertie’s returning gaze was hostile rather than concerned. “What are you doing here, old top?” he demanded, staring at Algy through his monocle.

“I’m trying to find somewhere to get rid of this bomb,” explained Algy, his words tumbling over themselves in his impatience. “Do you know of any—”

Bertie’s monocle nearly fell out of his eye. “A bomb! By Jove, what’s the matter with you, old boy? First kidnapping, murder, shooting policemen, and now this!”

Algy could have groaned in despair. “Surely you don’t believe that rot in the papers?” he pleaded.

“Rot, is it?” came another voice from behind Bertie. Ginger emerged from the shadows, his glare cold enough to burn a hole through the walls. “So you didn’t shoot a policeman, then?”

“Well, I did, but not—”

Ginger’s eyes were on the still-smoking bomb in Algy’s hand. “And not content with that, you’ve decided to blow up one of the biggest international conferences ever to be held in London? What’s wrong with you, Algy? What are you trying to do?”

“What?” Algy couldn’t believe his ears. “I’m not trying to blow up the conference—”

“Certainly looks like it,” sneered Ginger, whipping out an automatic. “I’m going to arrest you—”

If Algy had had the time, he would gladly have stayed to thump some sense into Ginger’s exceptionally thick skull. As it was, the only course open to him was the one he eventually took: he turned away from his friends and ran down the corridor, looking for a door, a staircase, a window, anything that could enable him to safely get rid of the bomb. He could hear Ginger shouting hysterically behind him, but he did not turn to see if anyone was following. There would be time enough for explanations after he got rid of the bomb.

The bomb in his hand shuddered like a live thing. Algy winced inwardly. All this running around was unlikely to do much good; in fact, with his luck, all the shaking about would most likely result in an early detonation.

“Come on, come on,” he gasped, rounding a corner. The corridor seemed to go on forever. He felt as if he was in a nightmare maze that he could not find his way out of. And then, abruptly, he turned another corner and found the answer he so desperately sought.

He found himself in a balcony-like area that directly overlooked a small indoor swimming pool. Apparently the pool was not yet open to the hotel guests, for there was a small chain roping off all sides of the pool, and all the lights were turned off.

But there was water in it.

Without a second thought Algy hurled the bomb into the middle of the pool. He was just in time. Seconds before the small metal box hit the water, an earsplitting explosion startled him so much that his legs gave way underneath him. Gasping, he got slowly back to his feet. He could see nothing but smoke where the pool had been.

Someone shouted, close at hand, and instinctively Algy turned and continued running. Somehow he found a staircase and all but fell down the steps. Dazed thoughts rushed through his mind. He had to get out of the hotel, find Biggles, speak with him…

Something warm trickled down his face and he wiped at it impatiently, horrified to find blood on the back of his hand. “My gosh!” he muttered. “I’m bleeding.”

He burst out of the hotel entrance to find a crowd of spectators staring at the smoke coming out of the hotel windows. Excited voices babbled questions. Algy ignored them all, for his eyes had gone to the one familiar face on the edge of the crowd.

“Smith!” The name slid off his tongue as if he had been waiting to say it. “You hound!” Anger gave him strength to push his way through the horde of people, fighting to get to the kidnapper.

Unfortunately, Smith saw him coming and promptly began to run away. Grimly, Algy gave chase.

A shout behind him made him half turn. Ginger and Bertie were behind him, guns in their hands, shouting at him to stop. Hard on their heels were four or five policemen in uniform, Gaskin among them. Hard on their heels was a lone figure.

Biggles.

Go to Chapter 12. 

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