Biggles and Son: Chapter 8.

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 returned to the Mount Street flat to find Biggles, Ginger, and Bertie sitting on one side of the dining room table, facing a defiant-looking Sebastian. Algy advanced warily into the room, taking his jacket off and slinging it over the back of a chair. “Hullo,” he said causally. “What’s all this?”

“Sebastian’s just been telling us about his mother,” said Ginger, in an oddly expressionless tone of voice. “Apparently she’s in London, on the trail of a Russian spy.”

Algy said nothing. He looked at Biggles.

“She left a message telling Sebastian to make contact with me,” said Biggles heavily. “I think she might be in trouble.”

“Bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?” murmured Ginger sarcastically.

Again, Algy said nothing. He could think of nothing to say even if he had wanted to say something. He wondered how on earth he would manage to accomplish the impossible tasks Air Commodore Raymond had set him without giving the game away.

For a brief instance, he wondered if it wouldn’t be better just to explain the whole situation to Biggles and allow him to make his own decision on the matter, but one look at the overflowing ashtray in front of Biggles was enough to convince him to keep his silence.

“You don’t have to help if you feel that way!” snapped Sebastian. “She wants my dad to help her, not you! You can stay out of this!”

“You keep a civil tongue in your head, my lad,” began Ginger warningly.

“Or what?” demanded Sebastian, leaping to his feet and almost knocking his chair over. “What are you going to do, big boy? Beat up a thirteen year old? Come on, then!”

“Now, hang on, old boy, there’s no need for such theatrics!” murmured Bertie, as Ginger too leapt to his feet and glared across the table at the furious Sebastian.

“I’m—”

“All right, all right,” interrupted Biggles. “Sit down, both of you. There’s no need for that. We’ve got enough to handle as it is.”

Sebastian opened his mouth as if he were about to argue, but Algy put a hand on his shoulder and the boy subsided. “Sit down,” murmured Algy, and the boy complied, albeit sullenly.

“She gave Sebastian a means of contacting her,” said Biggles, addressing the remark to Algy. “We’ll try it tomorrow and see what happens.”

“She’s probably all right anyway,” Sebastian added, with a defiant glance at Ginger. “She’s a fantastic secret agent; she’s got out of some really bad situations on her own.”

“We’ll see,” said Biggles, exchanging a glance with Algy. “For now, you’d better go to bed. It’s late.”

&&&

Algy woke the next morning and padded out into the front room to find Biggles on the phone. The conversation appeared to be an intense one, so Algy seated himself at the dining table and helped himself to some tea and toast while he waited.

Biggles finally put down the phone and got up to join Algy at the table.

“What was that about?”

“I made contact with the agent Jane mentioned in her letter to Sebastian.”

“Already?” Algy was dismayed. “Couldn’t it have waited until we had more time to discuss it?”

Biggles shrugged and lit a cigarette. “What’s there to discuss? If she is in trouble, we’ll help her; if she isn’t, we won’t.”

Algy took another bite of toast and considered his answer carefully. “Are you sure we should be doing this? I mean, she may be your wife, but you haven’t seen her for over ten years. She might have changed from the person she was.”

Biggles took a puff on his cigarette and said, “What are you saying?”

“I’m just saying, don’t have too many expectations.”

“Expectations?” repeated Biggles incredulously. “What sort of thoughts do you think I’m thinking?”

“I don’t know,” replied Algy. “Frankly, that’s what worries me the most.”

&&&

The call came late that afternoon. Biggles had been sitting by the fire, pretending to read a book. It was easy for the others to see that his thoughts were elsewhere, because he only turned the pages of the book about once every ten minutes.

Biggles leapt to his feet as the phone rang, bounded across the room, and snatched up the receiver whilst the others stared at him. “Yes,” he said, into the phone. “Yes, yes…I see. Where? All right. And when? Good. Yes. Many thanks. Cheerio.” He hung up the phone with irritating deliberateness and turned to the others. “That was Jane’s contact,” he told them.

“What did he say?” asked Sebastian.

“Jane needs one of us to pose as a pilot willing to help the Russians smuggle weapons out of the country.”

“Really?” said Algy, feigning innocence. “And when would this pilot be needed?”

“Tonight. They’ve arranged a meeting place in East London for Jane to introduce the pilot to the Russian spy she’s supposedly working for. This smuggling business sounds rather urgent. With luck, he could reveal the location of his secret weapons in the next day or so.”

Algy dreaded asking the next question, but he did it anyway. “And which one of us is going to be the pilot?”

Biggles looked astonished. “Me, of course. Who else did you think it would be?”

Algy opened his mouth to object, but before he could do so, an unexpectedly ally piped up. “I don’t think you should do it, Dad,” said Sebastian. “I mean, what if something happened to you and Mom both? I’d be left an orphan.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to us,” said Biggles reassuringly. “It’ll be all right. Besides, if anything did happen to us, the others here would take care of you, wouldn’t you?” he asked, turning to the others.

“I don’t think you should go, Dad,” repeated Sebastian stubbornly. “Maybe you should let Uncle Algy go instead.”

Go to Chapter 9.

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