by W E Johns
CONTENTS
CHAPTER 1: THE AIR COMMODORE SETS THE SCENE
CHAPTER 2: AN UNWELCOME GUEST
CHAPTER 3: THE RUINS OF QUARDA
CHAPTER 4: TROUBLE BREWING
CHAPTER 5: THE ENEMY STRIKES
CHAPTER 6: QUESTIONS WITHOUT ANSWERS
CHAPTER 7: NATURE TAKES A HAND
CHAPTER 8: RASAL AL SHARAB
CHAPTER 9: THE TRUTH COMES OUT
CHAPTER 10: ZORLAN MAKES AN OFFER
CHAPTER 11: BIGGLES GETS TOUGH
CHAPTER 12: THE BATTLE OF QUARDA
CHAPTER 13: HOW IT ALL ENDED
CHAPTER 1
THE AIR COMMODORE SETS THE SCENE
‘COME in, Bigglesworth. I want to speak to you and what I have to say will take a little time. Bring your chair round to this side of the desk so that you can follow me on the map when I refer to it.’ As he spoke Air Commodore Raymond, head of the Special Air Police, moved his cigarette box and ashtray to where they could more easily be reached.
As Biggles settled in his chair he took a sidelong glance at his chief, knowing that he only spoke like this when something serious was in the air. He also looked at the map which, its corners held down by paper-weights, covered most of the top of the desk. He recognized Asia Minor. ‘Right you are, sir, I’m ready,’ he announced.
The Air Commodore spoke quietly. ‘I’m going to ask you to undertake what might well turn out to be the most important mission of your career. If all goes well it could resolve itself into a perfectly simple operation involving nothing more difficult than a cross-country flight with some delicate navigation: but on the other hand, I must in fairness warn you that if things did not go according to plan you would almost certainly find yourself in an extremely difficult position. Not that I expect any trouble.’
Biggles reached for a cigarette, smiling sadly. ‘It isn’t what one expects on these jobs; it’s what you don’t expect that puts sand in the gear-box.’
The Air Commodore ignored the remark. ‘I may as well tell you at once that should things go wrong there would be nothing I could do about it.’
‘In plain English, the government would deny all knowledge of me and what I was doing, or was accused of doing.’
‘Put it that way if you like.’
‘I’m old enough to face facts. I never did like politics.’
‘I haven’t said anything about politics.’
‘I can smell ‘em a long way off.’
‘Unfortunately it seems the world can’t get along without them. But let us not waste time arguing about that,’ continued the Air Commodore. ‘A great deal of trouble has been devoted to the preparations for what I am going to ask you to do. Plans are now cut and dried down to the last detail and they are as perfect as it is humanly possible to make them.’
‘That’s something, anyway,’ conceded Biggles. ‘Suppose you give me a rough outline of the job. We can discuss the finer points later.’
‘Very well. The operation consists of flying an aircraft, with a very special passenger, to a rather unusual objective in the Middle East. After what we may hope will be only a brief wait there — a matter of a few hours — the machine will probably have to go on to a second objective, taking the same passenger. From there, depending on what happens, and this I cannot predict with confidence, the aircraft will either return to the first objective or make the best of its way home. In this the decision will be made by your passenger.’
‘One passenger only?’
‘Just one.’
‘May I know who he is?’
‘No. As far as you are concerned he will be Professor Zorlan, of the British-Asian Archaeological Society.’
‘Zorlan?’ mused Biggles. ‘Queer name. What colour is this gentleman, black or white?’
‘Neither.’ The Air Commodore offered a ghost of a smile. ‘Let us say grey, with a touch of brown.’ He became serious. ‘Never mind his name or nationality. I can tell you this. Your passenger is in fact a scholar of repute with a remarkable knowledge of oriental languages and customs. He is also a practical archaeologist with experience of the countries you will be visiting. That is as much as you need to know about him. I myself know little more. It is unlikely that you will have with him more personal contact than is absolutely necessary. Apart from the actual flying there will be nothing for you to do. Your passenger will attend to everything else.’
Biggles looked suspicious. ‘Before we go any further, is this trip taking us the wrong side of the Iron Curtain?’
‘No.’
‘Thank goodness for that.’
‘I should perhaps have added, not while you keep on your course. You won’t be far away from it, so be careful.’
‘You can rely on that,’ returned Biggles grimly.
‘Now for your own identity,’ continued the Air Commodore. ‘You can travel under your own name, but you will leave at home anything that might connect you with the police, or any British government department. For the time being you will be a civil pilot flying for an air charter company named Planet Transport Ltd. You have been ordered by the company to fly Professor Zorlan to his destination, wait for him and return. Forget everything else. Special identity papers in that capacity are being prepared for you.’
Biggles nodded. ‘That’s clear enough. Do I go on this jaunt alone?’
‘No. As a precautionary measure you will take a spare pilot with you. By that I mean one who will sit beside you able to take over in an emergency. I leave it to you to decide which member of your staff occupies that position.’
Biggles frowned. ‘You talk as if something could happen to me. What could happen to me? Is there any possibility of the aircraft coming under fire?’
The Air Commodore hesitated. ‘That’s a leading question. While you keep on course I can’t see why it should. You won’t be flying over hostile country, although you know as well as I do that any odd Arab may have a poop at an aeroplane just for the hell of it. The only honest answer I can give you is, on an outlandish operation of this sort anything might happen. Much is bound to depend on our security arrangements, and they’ve been kept as tight as a limpet on a rock.’
‘What you mean is, there are people who would object to this programme and would go to any lengths to prevent it from being successful.’
‘That’s about the size of it.’
‘In that case would you advise us to carry firearms — for self-defence only, of course.’
‘You must please yourself about that, but I must point out that if you ran into trouble, and were found to be carrying weapons, you would be hard put to reconcile them with the avowed purpose of your flight.’
‘Yes, I see that. Carry on, sir.’
‘About your crew. If you would care to take an extra hand with you, you may. He would have to occupy a seat in the cabin with the passenger, under the pretence of being his assistant, or secretary. There will be plenty of room. I shall leave this to you.’
‘And the purpose of this flight?’
‘Officially it is to enable your passenger to revisit certain ruins, on the site of your first objective, to check up on something that was overlooked on the occasion of a previous visit. He has been there before. He was a member of the party which in 1960, by permission, spent a month doing some preliminary work preparatory to organizing a full scale dig, as it is called, for information the ground might yield about the original inhabitants. This part of the world was the cradle of civilization, and the place we’re talking about was a flourishing town in the year 2000 B.C., perhaps earlier.’
‘Very interesting for those who like pottering with old pots, but I’m more interested in the aircraft. I shall want something reliable.’
‘That’s all
been attended to. It has been arranged for you to take over one of the new twin-piston-engined, eight-seater Merlins now coming off the production line for BOAC. It was designed for feeder lines to work in conjunction with the main trunk routes.’
‘I’ve seen photographs of the machine, but of course I’ve never flown one. It looks a nice job.’
‘It should give you everything you want in the way of speed and endurance range. It can climb with full load, on one engine if necessary. You’ll be flying over rough country, so you’ll have an ample margin of safety in the unlikely event of engine failure. You’d better have a trial run in the Merlin to get the feel of it. You have a few days to spare. Now let’s have a look at the map to see exactly where you’re going. The route has been prepared.’ The Air Commodore picked up the pencil and leaned forward over the map, guiding the point to illustrate his words.
‘You’ll pick up Professor Zorlan at Gatwick on a day and at a time yet to be fixed. You will fly non-stop to Rome. There you will refuel. You will then proceed, again non-stop, to Istanbul, taking care to keep clear of Albania, which as you know is a Communist dictatorship. At Istanbul you will of course have to report your arrival in Turkey. From there a short run of two hundred miles will take you to Ankara, where your passenger will leave you for a short while and in any case you will have to stay the night. A regular air service operates over this part of the route, so you should have no difficulties.’
‘You’re sure the Turkish authorities will raise no objection?’
‘They shouldn’t. Your papers will be in order and permission of the Turkish Government, through their London office, has been obtained for you to fly over their territory to the objective; the purpose being, as I have already said, to enable Professor Zorlan to make a fresh survey of some ruins I will presently describe. The Turkish Archaeological Society is itself interested in these ancient remains and very obligingly co-operated with the last expedition. That was not an airborne operation. Trucks were used to take the men and equipment to the site.’
‘Does this mean there will be digging?’
‘No. Anyway, not on this occasion. Naturally, having realized the value of prehistoric monuments, no government today will allow excavating without supervision. It takes over, quite properly, anything that is found. But as I have said, so far all should be plain sailing. It is from now on that you might possibly run into — well, if not trouble, complications.’
‘Can you be a little more specific? What sort of trouble could there be?’
The Air Commodore shrugged. ‘You know how it is. Ankara, like every other city in a country that happens to occupy a strategical position, will have its share of spies, and there is always a chance that one might take an interest in an aircraft showing British registration markings.’
Biggles nodded assent. ‘So I fly on over Turkish territory?’
‘Not altogether. That, I’m afraid, is a matter of argument. You’ll understand what I mean by that in a moment. At all events, both in Ankara and beyond, you would be well advised to take particular note of anything unusual, both on the ground and in the air.’
‘I certainly will.’ Biggles was vehement.
The Air Commodore went on, using his pencil. ‘When you leave Ankara you will take up a course slightly south of east for a run of about four hundred miles when you will come to an area just about as far out of the civilized world as you could find today. You will be out in the blue over the hills and deserts named in the Old Testament of the Bible, actually the land where the earliest civilizations began. On your way you may see a few desert bus routes or caravan trails, but you won’t find any servicing facilities. Your objective is an ancient settlement, now in ruins, named Quarda. It used to be an oasis, but apparently the water dried up. Here it is.’ The Air Commodore marked the spot with his pencil. ‘You have two good landmarks, the first a twin peak named Kaelbeg Dagh, at the foot of which there is a small lake of brackish water called Ozro Shah. Here we are. You’re still with me?’
Biggles nodded.
‘Good. There are reasons to believe that Quarda is the site of one of the oldest human dwelling-places on the face of the earth. It goes back at least to the year 4000 B.C. It has only recently been located. We know the ancient Greeks reached it for they built a temple there. Most of it is now flat, apparently having been shaken down by an earthquake at some time. However, three Ionic columns are still standing and these with a few palm trees should pin-point your actual objective. Professor Zorlan will identify the place, anyhow, having been there. He is an authority on early civilizations.’
‘Does anyone live there now?’
‘No. A passing Arab may call for some dates, should there be any, or to see if there is any water in the old well; that’s about all.’
‘And this place is actually in Turkey?’ queried Biggles.
‘No, it is not, and this is where we hit the first snag. It is in the sheikhdom of Zarat, an area of land to which Turkey, Armenia and Kurdistan all lay claim. I imagine the only reason why they haven’t gone to war over it is because the whole area is arid and useless for any practical purpose. But in these days when every upstart dictator is on the grab to enhance his reputation, it can only be a matter of time before the question boils up again to start an international rumpus.’
‘You call this territory a sheikhdom. Is there a ruling sheikh?’
‘Yes, but I’m happy to tell you there will not be any trouble from him. He knows what is intended. He lives in a mud-brick palace in his capital, a small place called Zarana, about thirty miles from the ruins of Quarda, content while things are quiet to let the rest of the world go by. His chief activity is breeding horses and camels, of which he and his forebears have developed fine strains. He also breeds hawks for hunting gazelle. He merely wants things to stay as they are; but with Armenia, which is in the Soviet Republic, on his doorstep, he must realize that his position is far from secure. It’s unlikely that you’ll see him. The ruins are your primary concern.’
‘How about landing conditions?’
‘You needn’t worry about that. For many miles around, apart from the mountain I mentioned, the terrain is as flat as an ironing board, nothing but sabkha which, as you know, is a sort of hard packed sandy gravel.’
Biggles reached for another cigarette. ‘So I fly to Quarda, land my passenger near the ruins — and then what?’
‘You simply wait for him to return from the ruins, where he has an appointment. He shouldn’t be away long.’
‘Then we return home?’
‘Not necessarily. That would mean that the mission had failed. Zorlan will tell you what to do. It is hoped that he will ask you to take him on to Rasal al Sharab.’
Biggles frowned. ‘Where the devil’s that? I’ve been around, but you’re trotting out some names I’ve never heard of.’
‘Few people have.’ The Air Commodore again used his pencil. ‘Rasal al Sharab is a small sultanate no great distance south, lying between the borders of Iraq and Persia. For the sake of peace and quiet it’s described officially as neutral territory. Again it’s a pretty remote corner, mostly desert and a few scattered oases, with here and there a collection of mud-brick dwellings which Arabs would call towns. You’re not likely to have any trouble with Persia unless you cross the frontier, but I wouldn’t be too sure of Iraq as things are at present.’
‘Do I understand the people of Rasal al Sharab are Arabs?’
‘No. They’re a race on their own. They speak a Persian dialect and mind their own business, which consists chiefly of raising goats and harvesting a few meagre agricultural products. Like the people of Zarat they ask nothing more than to be left alone, but unfortunately for them their position is as insecure as Zarat, in that sooner or later someone will try to swallow them. Again you should have no difficulty in getting down. All you will have to do is wait while your passenger makes a call on the Sultan.’
‘And then?’
‘He’ll tell you what to do
.’
Biggles tapped the ash off his cigarette. ‘This all sounds a bit vague. What’s the idea of making it an air operation?’
‘Firstly, speed. Secondly, you couldn’t run an overland expedition without a lot of people knowing about it and they would demand to be told why.’
‘I see. It looks as if we might be in the middle of nowhere for some days. What do we use for food? I’m nothing for a diet of dates and dried figs.’
‘You’ll have whatever you care to take with you. There’s plenty of accommodation. The aircraft is equipped with a small kitchen and even a refrigerator. The Merlin is the last word in air transportation.’
‘Fair enough.’ Biggles looked pensive.
The Air Commodore turned to him. ‘What’s on your mind?’
‘You won’t think me inquisitive if I wonder what all this is about, that’s all,’ returned Biggles casually. ‘Would I be right in supposing it’s an attempt to bring together two little inoffensive states, for their mutual benefit and possibly protection?’
‘That would give them a greater importance,’ admitted the Air Commodore.
‘And there are some people who wouldn’t approve of this hook-up.’
The Air Commodore sighed. ‘You’re too smart. Does it matter?’
‘Where my life’s concerned everything matters. I have only one and I’d prefer to hang on to it as long as possible. Naturally, I like to know what risks I’m taking before I start, instead of bumping into them half-way. Am I right in thinking that if certain people knew about this jaunt they’d try to push a spoke through the wheel?’
‘Frankly, yes.’
‘Ah! I’m beginning to get the drift. When is this enterprise due to take off?’
‘Not for a few days. I’ll let you know. It is being arranged so that there should be no waiting by either side at the two objectives. I think that’s as much as you need know.’
‘Tell me this, sir,’ requested Biggles. ‘Does Turkey know what’s in the wind?’
‘The only answer I can give to that is, Turkey as a friendly country has raised no objection to Professor Zorlan making a flying trip to the ruins of Quarda. On no account may she be embarrassed. Having a frontier with Soviet Russia, one could hardly expect her to risk serious diplomatic trouble by agreeing openly to outside interference within her boundaries. The day of small defenceless nations is about finished and sooner or later the two little states with which we are concerned will disappear. Indeed, that could happen at any time. Even if Zarat and Rasal al Sharab had a mutual assistance pact it would be futile for them to attempt to resist aggression, but together they’d have a better chance of calling the attention of the United Nations to their plight if they were overrun.’
