Algy Goes Alone: Chapter 8. Algy--Secret Agent

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.

For a minute Biggles could do nothing but stare. Then, “What on earth are you doing here?” he demanded, with some slight irritation. Obviously, he did not yet know Algy was now a member of the gang, so he assumed, not unnaturally, that Marcel had been responsible for Algy’s sudden appearance.

Algy did not answer the question. He was less shocked than Biggles, for of course by now he had had ample time to get over his shock at seeing Biggles. “Is this your room?” he asked, indicating the door.

“Yes.”

“Get it open and for goodness sakes let’s get inside.”

Jolted into action by the seriousness in Algy’s tone, Biggles did as he was told. Once inside the room, Algy hurried to lock and bolt the door behind them before crossing to the window to draw the curtains.

Bertie sat up, staring through sleep-crusted eyes. “What ho,” he greeted, with sleepy cheer. “Didn’t expect you to join the jolly party, what?”

“It’s not going to be much of a party if I can help it,” said Algy grimly. “Where’s Ginger?”

“In hospital, with a broken arm. Why? What’s all this about? Has something happened?”

“Yes. I’ve been recruited into the gang.”

“What!”

In a few terse sentences, Algy explained the situation. In turn, Biggles told him what had been happening to them in his absence. The whole conversation did not take more than a few minutes.

“What in thunder am I supposed to do now?” demanded Algy, fiddling nervously with Biggles’ abandoned cigarette case. “They’re going to come after me in a few minutes unless I do something about it.”

“I say, old boy, what about arresting the blighters, and all that sort of thing?” suggested Bertie.

“We can’t do that, although frankly I’d like nothing better. Eddie was quite adamant that we should give Clark a chance to bring down this other criminal organization of his. The chap must have some nerve. I’d be only too happy to see the back of those murdering swines, and I’ve been with them less than a day.”

“Given what happened to us the last time we tried to arrest them, I’m not inclined to try again without an army behind me,” said Biggles grimly. “They’ve got more than one trick up their sleeves, I’ll warrant.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Algy. “I’ll kill you.”

&&&

Biggles eyed Algy coldly. “You’ll forgive me if I’m not overcome with enthusiasm at that suggestion.”

“Don’t be a fool,” retorted Algy impatiently. “I’m not really going to kill you. I just thought that if we could ring Marcel and make a big show of it it ought to take Konn and his men in. You know the sort of thing, police cars and ambulances at the hotel entrance, a little bit of mayhem, and so on. As long as Konn sees them carrying out something vaguely resembling a body he should be satisfied.”

Biggles looked skeptical. “I don’t think he’ll be taken in that easily. Still, I suppose it’s worth a try. It should earn you some trust from the gang, if nothing else. How would you like to go about it?”

“You’d better ring Marcel up now and tell him the plan. After that, get out and make for the side entrance—in a hotel of this size, there should be a side entrance, or at least a back door—I’ll give you a few minutes’ start before I start shooting. Bertie can please himself whether he stays or goes. He might be helpful in kicking up a rumpus.”

“All right; it’s your show. But for the love of mike do be careful. These aren’t the sort of people to mess about with.”

“Don’t I know it,” muttered Algy, reaching for his gun.

It was the work of a minute to explain the situation to Marcel, who was quick to agree to the plan, although he too was not best pleased at the idea of letting the crooks roam free on French soil.

Biggles snatched a quick look around the room and slipped his cigarette case into his breast pocket. He would have to leave most of his luggage behind, but that didn’t matter. There was nothing in it that could not be replaced. “Cheerio,” he said to Algy. “If you need to get in touch, try Marcel first. He should know where to find me if I’m wanted. Watch your step.”

“Righto,” replied Algy, in a cheerful tone that fooled no one. “Now for goodness sakes get going before they come downstairs and see you.”

&&&

Giving Biggles several minutes’ start to get away, Algy stood with his back to the door and fired two shots in quick succession. The sound was startlingly loud in the enclosed space, and even he was stunned for a brief instant before he remembered where he was and made a dash for the door.

Even before he had reached the stairs at the end of the corridor he could hear doors slamming and voices demanding to know what was happening. As he ran up to his own floor, he could hear a woman start to scream hysterically down below.

The Americans turned to him inquiringly as he burst through the door, panting for breath. “Did you get him?” asked Gold, as casual as if he were asking Algy for the time.

“Of course I did.” Algy spoke with what he hoped was the confident air of a man unaffected by death, but inwardly his heart was pounding so loudly he was scared that the crooks would hear it.

“Took you long enough,” grunted Konn. “You sure he’s dead?”

“He certainly looks dead.”

Konn rose and headed for the door. “No offence, pal, but I think I’ll go down and have a look. What floor’s he on?”

Algy fell into a mild panic. This was not part of the plan. Biggles should have by now had enough time to get away, but there was always the slim chance that he had not, and it certainly would not do for Konn to run into him. “I don’t think you should go down there; it’s absolute chaos.” The woman’s hysterical screaming was clearly audible even inside the room, and the sound of it set Algy’s nerves on edge.

“What floor?” repeated Konn, as if Algy had not spoken.

“Two floors below ours,” said Algy reluctantly, praying that Biggles had had time to put sufficient distance between himself and the hotel.

“Good,” said Konn, and went out.

Algy sat shakily down on a chair by the window and braced himself for the sound of a gunshot. As he poured himself a cup of coffee, he happened to glance out the window and saw two men come out of the hotel carrying a blanket-covered bundle on a stretcher. As he watched, the men loaded the stretcher into the back of an ambulance.

Despite knowing that it was an illusion set up for the benefit of the crooks, Algy could feel a lump come into his throat. Perhaps it was simply a reaction to the shooting combined with lack of sleep and food, but it horrified him how close Biggles had come to being shot by Konn, for if Algy had not woken up when he had, Konn would undoubtedly have killed Biggles without a second thought. In fact, thinking it through, it was something of a miracle that Biggles had been through so many adventures and was still alive to tell the tale. How much longer could his luck last? The whirlwind of thoughts spun in Algy’s mind and sent a chill down his spine.

“You all right?” said Gold. “You look kinda pale.”

“Fine, thanks.” With an effort, Algy pulled himself together just as Konn came back into the room.

“You got him all right,” he said gleefully to Algy. “I saw them carting him out. It looks like you didn’t leave enough of him to fill a matchbox. Good work. And you were right, it’s absolute chaos down there. One guy with a glass thing in his eye is running around shouting about how it’s the end of civilization as we know it, and he’s swearing he’s going to write complaints to every newspaper in the world. He says there was blood everywhere. The way he tells it, you’d think someone blew up the hotel with a grenade.”

In spite of himself, Algy had to smile at this very typical Bertie performance.

Konn opened his mouth to say more, but just at that moment, the phone rang and he broke off to answer it. The conversation was short and mostly monosyllables on Konn’s part. He was smiling as he put down the instrument. “Well, well, what d’you know?” he murmured. “We can fill another order. A plane’s just come in.” He turned to Gold. “Get the car. We’re goin’ back to the airport.”

Algy’s heart sank as he realized that he was about to take part in another theft.

&&&

The drive back to the airport took less time than Algy had expected, mostly because Gold was driving quite fast. There was a terse moment during the drive when Gold swore and muttered something about someone following them, but a minute later he announced, “Shaken ‘em. Suckers!”

“Cops?” asked Konn, without much interest.

Gold shrugged. “Probably.”

The rest of the drive continued in silence.

They arrived at the airport and Gold drove up to the hanger where they had left the plane the night before. Algy was astonished to find the hanger empty except for a small suitcase in one corner which Konn picked up and carried to the car.

“Where’s the plane gone?” Algy asked Clark.

“It’s been collected by its new owner,” replied Clark, without emphasis.

“That’s right,” drawled Gold, from the driver’s seat. “One more plane delivered, one more bundle of cash. This is the life, buddy.”

Algy, who did not appreciate being referred to as “buddy”, fell silent.

“Where to next?” Gold asked his uncle.

Konn drew a piece of paper from his pocket and gave directions which led the car to the front of another hanger. “This should be it.”

The door of the hanger was, of course, locked. This did not seem to worry Konn, who produced various tools from the car boot and proceeded to go to work on the lock. “This shouldn’t take long,” he predicted confidently. Sure enough, it took less than three minutes for him to get the lock open.

Algy looked up with interest as the doors rolled back, curious to see what plane his latest criminal act would involve, wondering if it would be an easy machine to fly. He felt relieved when he saw that the plane was an Auster.

“Know how to fly one of these?” asked Konn.

“Yes,” said Algy, refraining from adding that he had flown one for years.

“Reeves said it was a good long distance plane,” said Konn conversationally, as he and Algy approached the plane. “Seems real popular; we’ve gotten a bunch of orders for ‘em.”

Algy made a non-committal sound. This was partly because he was not really listening, and partly because he had suddenly realized that the Auster wasn’t just any Auster.

In fact, it was the second Air Police Auster, the one he and Bertie often flew.

The irony of the situation brought a grim smile to Algy’s lips. First he was ordered to shoot his best friend; now he was stealing his own plane. “Next they’ll be asking me to drop a bomb on Air Police Headquarters,” was the unspoken thought that passed through his mind.

Under the pretext of making sure the plane was air-worthy, Algy wandered to the back of the hanger and dropped his cigarette case in a shadowy corner. Doubtless Biggles would guess what had happened when he found the plane missing, but the case would supply him with a concrete clue. He wished he could leave a note, but there was no time to do so.

“Ready to go?” asked Konn, when Algy walked back to the front of the plane.

“I think so.”

“Scott won’t be coming with us; he’s got another job to do.”

“Okay,” agreed Algy, not really caring one way or another. “So where are we going this time?” he asked, as he settled himself into the pilot’s seat.

“England.”

Go to Chapter 9. Biggles Sorts It Out

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