Biggles and Son: 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. 

Algy almost dropped the phone. “Excuse me, sir?” he managed, when he found his voice again. “Did you say Jane Bigglesworth? Biggles’ wife?”

Behind Algy’s back, Ginger and Bertie exchanged a meaningful glance.

“Yes, Jane Bigglesworth.” Raymond sounded tired. “I don’t know if you know this, Lacey, but at present she appears to be working for the American secret service.”

“I didn’t know that she was, sir, but I can’t say it surprises me.”

“Well, a certain awkward situation has arisen, and I thought it only fair to warn you, before Bigglesworth got wind of the matter from some alternate source. Perhaps you could come by my office?”

“Now, sir?” Algy was momentarily taken aback.

“Yes. I’m afraid it’s rather urgent, and there are some things that I would prefer to discuss in person. Oh, and I would rather that you kept this matter between the two of us for the moment, if you could.”

“You mean you don’t want me to tell Biggles about it, sir.”

There was a pause at the other end of the line.

“I can’t promise something like that, sir, not if this information is something that could end up hurting him in some way.”

There was another silence. “I think you should come down and listen to what I have to say before you make any decisions on that score, Lacey.”

&&&

Twenty minutes found Algy in Air Commodore Raymond’s office. The senior officer looked tired. “Sit down, Lacey,” he invited, gesturing to an empty chair.

Algy sat as directed and automatically reached out for the cigarette case that had been placed within easy reach. He slipped a cigarette out of the case, placed it between his lips, and struck a match. “What’s this about, sir?” he inquired, lighting the cigarette.

“As I already informed you, Lacey, it has come to our attention that Jane Bigglesworth is now working for the American Secret Service. Not under her own name, mind you, but, well, we’ll come to that in a moment. The point is, she is now in London—”

“London?” echoed Algy. “Here?”

“I’m afraid so. Officially, she is here on the trail of a Russian agent named Brechovich. Apparently she ran into some complications while she was tracking him down, and she asked her own people for help. They in turn have asked us to assist her in any way possible.”

The color drained from Algy’s face. “What kind of assistance are we talking about?” he asked slowly. He noticed, with a detached sort of wonder, that his hand was shaking as it brought his cigarette to his lips.

“She needs someone to help her lure Brechovich into a trap. Brechovich is, at the moment, trying to smuggle an alarming number of weapons out of the country and he is looking for a pilot who can help him fly back to Russia. The Americans have found out that much, at least. However, they have no idea as yet of where the weapons are, and it is of vital importance that we find their location as soon as possible.”

“Let me guess,” said Algy in a dull voice. “She wants Biggles to be the pilot who offers Brechovich a joyride.”

“I believe that that was the initial plan,” agreed the Air Commodore.

There was a slight pause while Algy stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray provided and immediately lit another.

“However,” continued Raymond, “you have to understand, Lacey, for the purposes of this mission, Mrs. Bigglesworth has assumed the identity of an American double agent named Eva Miller. Brechovich is apparently much taken with her.”

“You mean they are in a romantic relationship, sir?”

“That appears to be the case.”

There was another pause whilst Algy considered the implications of this piece of information.

“Under the circumstances, I think it would be best to limit Bigglesworth’s involvement in the matter. But there is also another issue at hand. You see, Lacey, our own agents have been keeping the lady under surveillance, and they have reason to believe that she might genuinely be sympathetic to Brechovich’s cause. That being the case, our secret service—who of course know of Bigglesworth’s involvement with this woman—have decreed that he cannot, under any conditions, be allowed to assist her, in case she convinces him to join Brechovich. That is where you come in, Lacey. It will be your responsibility to make sure that Bigglesworth keeps his distance from this affair. However, as it might seem discourteous to our American friends not to offer assistance to one of their agents, we have to appear to be helping the lady.”

Algy stared at the senior officer incredulously. “Let me get this straight, sir,” he said. “Our people don’t want Biggles to be involved in case he joins Brechovich, but at the same time, they want Biggles to be involved so the Yanks won’t complain?”

“That is the gist of the matter, yes.”

Algy leaned back in his chair and blew a smoke ring towards the ceiling. “Suffering rattlesnakes, what a mess!” he exclaimed. “And what do you expect me to do about this, sir?”

“We expect the lady to attempt contact with Bigglesworth in the next few days, at the latest.”

Algy refrained from informing the Air Commodore that contact in fact might have already been made in the form of a coded letter to Biggles’ son.

“When she explains the situation to him, he will naturally volunteer to pose as Brechovich’s pilot. It will be your job, Lacey, to make sure that you are the one who makes contact with Brechovich. Furthermore, you will need to do everything in your power to ensure that Bigglesworth and his wife do not meet, so as to reassure our secret service. Also, if the lady in question shows any sign of betraying us or her own country, you should immediately report to us and at the same time do what you can to stop her plans. That should be enough to be going on with.”

“Enough!” cried Algy. “It would take a miracle if I can manage that much!”

“Well, do your best. The fate of the whole world may turn on this.”

“And my best friend with it,” said Algy sarcastically, rising to his feet and reaching for his jacket.

Go to Chapter 8.

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