Algy Goes Alone: Chapter 6. Algy Follows On

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.

It must be said that Algy was anything but happy at the current state of affairs. He had tried to convince Eddie to arrest the crooks right away, but Eddie had been adamantly opposed to it, saying that Clark was hoping to bring down another criminal organization at the same time. Just what this organization was Clark had not had time to tell Eddie, and Algy found himself marveling at the man’s courage and motivation as he rode next to him in the car.

Konn’s nephew Scott Gold was driving. Konn himself sat in the passenger seat, staring moodily out the window. Algy was sandwiched between Clark and Watkins, the two men Eddie had described as Konn’s “muscle”.

Not being in contact with Biggles, Algy was surprised not to see Reeves, but he reasoned to himself that something must have happened to him, otherwise Konn would not have such an urgent need for a shady pilot.

After they had been driving for about half an hour, Algy plucked up the courage to ask where they were going.

“Why d’you ask, pal?” asked Konn.

“No reason. I just like to know where I’m going, that’s all.”

“You don’t need to know where you’re going. All you need to know is what to do when you get there. Here’s how it’s going to work. Once we get where we’re going, there’ll be a plane. Your job is to get into the pilot’s seat of that plane. Leave everything else to us. You’ll get half your payment when we’ve taken off, and the rest of it when we’ve landed. Sound good? Oh, and here’s a down payment.” A wad of notes was thrust into Algy’s hands, so unexpectedly that he almost dropped them. He tried to respond in the manner of someone who had been down on their luck for a long period of time, but inwardly he was fuming, peeved at being taken for a fool.

The rest of the drive continued in silence. Algy was almost asleep when Clark nudged his shoulder and said, “We’re here.”

“All right,” drawled Konn, drawing his gun. “You guys know the drill. Shoot anything and anyone in the way until they get out of the way. And you” –-to Algy— “don’t try any funny business. Come on.”

A feeling of unreality swept over Algy as the others pulled out their guns. The car doors were opened, and all of them got out.

“You!” snapped Konn, slapping him on the back. “Go!”

As if in a dream, Algy found himself begin to run unsteadily towards the plane he could now see parked in front of him. He glanced around as he ran, trying to find some landmark that would help him get his bearings; he had absolutely no idea where he was.

Panicked thoughts ran through his mind as he ran. Were there people in the plane? Would Konn and his men kill them on sight? From the way he had spoken, Algy rather suspected that he would. In the event that that happened, what should he, Algy, do about it? He had no gun of his own, for he had anticipated the quick weapons check that Watkins had in fact carried out on him before allowing him to get into the car.

Some of Gaskin’s men had been ordered to follow him, but he could not see them anywhere about. Had Gold seen them and shaken them off? Or were they somewhere in the shadows, watching his every move?

He was only halfway to the plane when the shooting started. A quick glance over his shoulder showed shadowy figures darting to and fro behind him. He could not make out what was happening, but he decided that his best move was to get to the plane. As he did not have a gun, it would be laughable for him to think of joining in the fight.

Algy reached the plane and was just about to dive inside when he realized that someone was in his way. More specifically, someone with a dangerous looking gun and an angry expression.

“All right, put your hands up,” was the cool order. “This is one plane you won’t be stealing today.”

&&&

For about five seconds Algy stood frozen, gaping at his captor, unsure what to do.

“Come on,” rasped the man impatiently, making a threatening gesture with the gun. “Get your hands up. I won’t tell you again, you thieving hound.”

Slowly, Algy raised his hands.

“That’s right. Now take a step back, nice and easy. I don’t want you in the plane.”

Algy obeyed. Under the circumstances, he did not feel like he could do anything else. He looked over his shoulder to see where he was going and almost tripped over himself as Watkins suddenly slammed into view behind him, brandishing a gun of his own.

Algy heard his captor shout out as Watkins coldly shot him twice without giving any sort of warning. The man collapsed to the ground, one hand clutching at his chest as the gun in his hands clattered to the ground beside him.

To say Algy was horrified would be something of an understatement. For an instant, he was so shocked that he literally forgot where he was and what role he was supposed to be playing. Dropping to his knees, he sought to find a pulse, but was not really surprised when his fingers told him what he already knew: the man was dead.

Watkins dragged Algy onto his feet by the scruff of his neck and thrust him towards the plane. “Get inside,” he ordered. “You know what to do.”

For a moment, Algy felt a spurt of blinding rage at the senseless violence that had resulted in the loss of a man’s life. Watkins’ gun was dangling casually in his hand, and Algy had a wild desire to snatch it and repeatedly club the American over the head with it.

Unfortunately, before this spur-of-the-moment plan could be carried out, Gold appeared behind them. “What’s the problem?” he demanded. “You! You’re supposed to be in the plane. Get inside now before any more of them show up.” As he approached, he unceremoniously kicked the dead man out of his way.

Algy felt another surge of red-hot anger, but thankfully some of his reason had now returned, and he could see that taking on two men with guns was more of a suicidal move than anything else. Wordlessly, he got into the plane and started up.

He was finding it difficult to breathe. What had merely started as a favor to a colleague and a natural desire to bring a gang of crooked men to justice had now become a personal matter. He vowed to himself that he would see the crooks get what they deserved if it was the last thing he did.

&&&

Following directions, Algy flew the plane to France and landed. Like Bertie, he was somewhat surprised at the short journey, having expected that he would end up in South America or Africa at least. Still, he was grateful for the short flight, for it was now very late at night, and he was tired and hungry, as well as worried about his situation.

Konn had evidently made some arrangements beforehand, for he told Algy to leave the plane in an empty hanger that he had apparently hired for the purpose. Gold disappeared for several minutes and came back at the wheel of a car. Algy wondered just how many resources the gang had at their disposal. They couldn’t possibly have cars at every airport in the world. The thought crossed his mind that Gold might have stolen the car, but he was in no position to choose other modes of transport, not with Konn watching him like a hawk.

He got into the car—again seated between Watkins and Clark—for a twenty minute drive to a hotel. He did not remember much after that. Time seemed to pass by in a blur as he followed the others upstairs into a room, threw himself on a soft bed, and slept.

&&&

It took him a few minutes to remember where he was when he woke up the next morning. Then everything came flooding back to him and he was abruptly wide awake.

Getting out of bed, he noticed for the first time just how lavishly decorated the room he was staying in was. Once more he was both disgusted and amazed by the amount of money the crooks were obviously making from their plane stealing scheme.

He saw Konn and Gold sitting opposite each other across a table that had been placed near to the window. They appeared to be eating breakfast. Hesitantly, Algy joined them.

Gold looked up at him with a faint smile of welcome. “Hey, pal. You doing all right?”

“I think so.”

“Have some food?”

Algy, who by now had realized just how hungry he was, accepted the invitation. However, scarcely had he sat down when Konn, who had been staring out the window, emitted a curse and jumped to his feet.

“What’s wrong?” asked Gold.

Konn pointed.

Algy looked, too, though he was not really expecting to see anything of interest.

The fork he held in his hand froze mid-way to his lips. Konn was pointing at a man walking briskly towards the entrance to the hotel they were staying in.

The man was Biggles.

Algy watched with a sort of horrified fascination as Biggles strolled nonchalantly into the hotel like a man without a care in the world. He had not even considered the possibility that Biggles—and Ginger too, no doubt, perhaps even with Bertie in tow—could be in France. But yet here Biggles was, and by the unluckiest coincidence possible, he was actually staying in the same hotel as Konn and his men.

Konn had crossed to the middle of the room and was putting on his jacket.

“Where are you going?” asked Algy.

“Where do you think?” sneered Konn, slipping something into his pocket. “I’m going to kill that meddling idiot before he messes up any more of our plans.” 

&&&

“Hold hard a minute!” cried Algy. “What are you going to do? You don’t even know if he’s staying at the hotel or just meeting someone here. Surely you’re not planning to spray bullets around in the hope of hitting him?”

“Why not?” asked Konn, with such callousness that Algy longed to knock him unconscious.

“Who is he, anyway? A rival of yours?”

Gold snorted a laugh. “Rival? Nah. He’s got cop written all over him. And those French guys were definitely cops.”

Algy hoped fervently that he didn’t have cop written all over himself.

“He shot two of our guys in the past couple days,” drawled Clark.

Algy, who only knew about Johnson, assumed that the other person Biggles had shot was Reeves. “Just by himself?” he asked, trying to convey incredulity.

“He had another guy with him the first time, and then yesterday he had these French cops.”

“So he’s probably not alone,” declared Algy. “You’ll find it hard to shoot him if he’s got someone else with him, watching his back. Besides, you’ll stick out a mile in any crowd, being Americans, and you’ll have a job getting close to him then.”

Konn eyed Algy with narrowed eyes. “Yeah? So what do you think we should do about it, huh?”

“I’ll go,” said Algy. “I’m less likely to stand out, and he doesn’t know I’m with you, so I might be able to get close to him.”

Konn considered the matter, then nodded reluctantly. “Okay, pal. But make sure you kill him. He’s caused us enough trouble.” He took a gun out of his pocket and passed it over to Algy. “And be quick about it. We’ll come after you if you’re not back in fifteen minutes. You want anyone to go with you?”

“No, thanks.” The last thing Algy wanted was a companion.

“Okay.”

And that was how Algy, with a gun nestled in his pocket, set out on a mission to kill his best friend. 

Go to Chapter 7. Biggles Presses On

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