Biggles and Son: Chapter 12.

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. 

The pub Algy walked into, was, although he did not know it, uncannily similar to the one Biggles was simultaneously walking into. A wave of noise hit Algy with almost physical force as he walked in the door, a mixture of conversation, laughter, and clinking glasses.

A woman with her back to them was sitting on the barstool closest to the door. She turned as Algy and his companion entered, and with a slight sense of shock Algy recognized Jane.

She did not look that much older than she had the last time he had seen her. Her hair was still blond without a hint of gray. The dress she wore was an attention-grabbing bright pink, a color which perfectly matched her high heels and her lipstick.

Her eyes widened as they fell on Algy. “Where’s James?” she demanded, in a low hissed whisper. “What are you doing here?”

“Lovely to see you too,” murmured Algy. “Biggles couldn’t be here unfortunately, so he sent me in his place.”

“He sent you?” Jane’s voice was starting to grow dangerously shrill. “He couldn’t have sent you. He’d have come himself. Where is he? What happened? And how did you know about this meeting place?”

Algy heaved a sigh and glanced around to find that his silent companion had mysteriously disappeared, presumably not to fetch a drink. “And that’s the last we’ll see of him, if I know anything about it,” was the unspoken thought that crossed his mind before he turned his attention back to the matter at hand.

“You can’t be here!” Jane was saying—or rather, screaming. Thankfully the pub was noisy enough that her screaming wasn’t too noticeable. “I need a pilot, I need someone I can trust, I need James! This is a very delicate mission I’m working on; I’m not watching it go down the drain for nothing!”

“I am a perfectly a qualified pilot,” said Algy patiently, “and, if I do say so myself, quite a good one as well. Sorry you can’t trust me. But that can’t be helped, can it?”

Jane made a sound not unlike that of a lion whose prey had just slipped through its paws. “You don’t understand!” she snapped. “It’s—” she broke off abruptly, staring at something over Algy’s shoulder. “He’s here,” she said, sounding resigned. “Brechovich. Don’t say anything about James to him, understand?”

“I wasn’t planning to,” muttered Algy, jabbing his hands into his pockets and affecting a nonchalant expression as he slowly turned around.

&&&

As it turned out, Brechovich was a big man with a full beard and cold hard eyes. He glared at Biggles and his companion as they approached, his scowl growing deeper by the second as they neared him. “Who is this?” he demanded, of Biggles’ companion. “Why have you brought him here?” His English was fair, but with a faint accent nonetheless and also a precision in speaking that would have marked him as a foreigner even if Biggles had not known he was one.

“He is the pilot,” said Biggles’ companion. “The one she recommended.” Biggles bristled at the man’s tone, but said nothing aloud.

Brechovich turned the full force of his gaze upon Biggles and looked him over with the carelessness a man would normally give to an uninteresting newspaper article. The disdain was so evident that Biggles, surprisingly, found himself getting rather annoyed.

“Where is she, anyway?” inquired Biggles’ companion.

Brechovich shrugged. “She has gone shopping.”

This simple statement was a relief for Biggles. Shopping was the sort of thing he could imagine Jane doing even while working as an undercover agent. “You!” snapped Brechovich, jerking Biggles out of his reverie, “we leave tomorrow morning, at five, just after sunrise. You will fly the plane.”

“Hold hard!” cried Biggles. “We haven’t even talked the proposition over yet! What am I supposed to be flying, what are the terms of my employment? For all you know, I might not be interested in flying for you.”

Biggles’ companion gave him a sharp look which he ignored. He was fuming inwardly at Brechovich’s tone.

Brechovich turned his glare onto Biggles’ companion. “She recommended him?” he demanded. “I thought she would know better than to recommend someone who asks too many questions.”

Biggles’ heart leapt at the mention of Jane, then sank again as he realized the implication of the words. What had Jane told Brechovich about him? What role was she expecting him to play?

“He’ll be here tomorrow,” promised Biggles’ companion. The man’s lips were set in a grim line, and the look in his eye told Biggles not to speak again. “You’ll have your pilot.”

“Good.” The word was a mere grunt. Brechovich turned away as if Biggles had ceased to interest him.

“Come on.” Biggles’ companion took his arm and dragged him away. Biggles would have liked to stay and ask some more questions about Jane, but he allowed himself to be pulled away with complaint. “You’ll be staying here tonight,” continued the man, as he led Biggles past the bar and further into the pub.

“What d’you mean, I’m staying here tonight?” demanded Biggles.

The man pointed. “Up the stairs, second door to your right,” he said placidly. “Mind your head—the ceiling’s a bit low in places.”

“I’m not staying—” protested Biggles.

“You want to see her, don’t you?” said the man, effectively silencing Biggles.

Without another word, Biggles strode up the stairs at the end of the corridor in front of him and into the second room on the right.

The room was small, the wooden floorboards devoid of any attempt to make it look welcoming. A bed leaned against one wall. The only decoration in the room was a small window directly opposite the door, too small for a man to fit through. The only illumination in the room came from a single candle set by the head of the bed.

Biggles took a step into the room and sank onto the bed, taking it all in. “Well,” he murmured. “Here we are.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s getting late. Better ring Ginger and Bertie and let them know what’s happened to me. Wonder if Algy’s back yet?” Musing to himself, he strode towards the door, which had mysteriously closed behind him without his noticing.

He put his hand on the door handle.

The door was locked.

Go to Chapter 13.

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