Orchids for Biggles Read online

  ‘Do you live here alone?’ asked Biggles, as he accepted his drink.

  ‘Yes, except for servants, mostly Indians I’ve trained. My cook, Gaspard, is half French, and he looks after me very well. A good negro is boss of the yard. I’ve no women about the place. They cause more trouble than they’re worth. By the way, to everyone in the district I’m known as Don Pedro. I’m afraid they all think I’m a bit mad.’ Fotherham laughed. ‘Perhaps they’re right. Here they have a saying that everyone is mad except yourself.’

  ‘Don’t you ever feel like going home?’ asked Bertie.

  ‘No. That’s a thing of the past. I’ve been here too long to change my way of life. I like it here, and if you have what you like, why change? I have none of the worries and irritations that affect people in what is called civilization. What can’t be done today can be done tomorrow, or the next day, or next week — or never. It doesn’t matter. The jungle has that effect on you. It either kills you or makes you its slave for life. I couldn’t do without it now. As a boy I was fascinated by natural history, and here I am always finding something new to marvel at.’

  Biggles smiled. ‘Well, if you like jungle you’ve certainly got plenty of it.’

  ‘You’re right there,’ agreed Fotherham. ‘From the mouth of the Amazon to Iquitos in Peru the distance is nearly three thousand miles, and it’s jungle on both banks for most of the way. Mind you, I’m not alone in liking this sort of life. The country is full of people from Europe, refugees, displaced persons, to say nothing of criminal fugitives from justice. They all hope to make a quick fortune in gold, diamonds, emeralds or what have you, but they seldom succeed. They always intend to go home, and are for ever talking about it, but they rarely go. Usually they run out of money and, unable to pay the fare, they have to stay, whether they like it or not. Now tell me. What are you gentlemen going to do? What exactly was your purpose in coming here? I was advised by my London agents that you were on your way, but the reason was not made clear.’

  Biggles answered. ‘Between ourselves we represent an organization in England that is now taking a particular interest in this part of the world. We’re here to explore certain possibilities which at the moment I’m not at liberty to discuss. I may be able to tell you more when we’ve had a look round.’

  ‘Then it isn’t entirely orchids you’re after?’

  ‘No. To be frank, orchids were really an excuse, so we shall at least have to pretend we’re interested in them. In other words, they provided a convenient reason for our being here. We were given your name because it was thought you’d be able to advise us on such things as local administration, and possibly give us a hand should we run into trouble.’

  ‘I see. Well, I shall be happy to do what I can. I can give you a shakedown here if you care to stay.’

  ‘That’s most kind of you, but we wouldn’t think of trespassing on your hospitality,’ answered Biggles. ‘Our intention, having made ourselves known to you, was to find accommodation in Cruzuado, which I understand is quite close. We were given the name of a hotel — the Comisaria.’

  ‘That’s probably the best place, although it isn’t really what you’d call a hotel by European standards. It’s more of a posada, that is, an inn. I’m well known to the patron. I looked in the last time I was in town, about a week ago, and found myself talking to another new arrival, a Russian, I believe.’

  Biggles looked up sharply. ‘Oh, and what’s he doing here?’

  ‘I have no idea. He didn’t volunteer the information and here it’s considered impolite to ask personal questions.’

  ‘What sort of place is Cruzuado?’ queried Biggles, thinking it imprudent to press the subject of the Russian visitor, which was of more interest to him.

  ‘You’ll find it a bit rough, and considering where we are you’d hardly expect anything else,’ replied Don Pedro. ‘There’s little serious police control, although to be sure the Intendente does all he can to keep order; but for a place like this he’s hopelessly understaffed. A man is expected to be able to take care of himself. The local people, storekeepers or traders in one line or another, are all right. So are the Indians, negroes and mixed breeds who work for them. The trouble is mostly caused by the llaneros, cowboys if you like, who come in, usually at weekends, for a spree. They work on the open plains beyond the forest belt, where beef cattle are raised. They come in simply to get drunk on beer or the local spirit called Aguardiente, and there are plenty of bars and dance halls to cater for them. Or they may go to the cinema to jeer at the latest nonsense from civilization. But the town is now reasonably safe for visitors, which is more than could be said for it when I first came here.’

  ‘So there’s a cinema?’

  ‘Of sorts. I’d advise you not to go near it. It’s not uncommon for a film to end with empty bottles being thrown at the screen. Rows in which shooting and knifings occur are not uncommon. Nobody bothers. If there’s a policeman about he keeps out of the way. Monday morning usually finds the town in a stupor, sleeping off the effects of the night before. I don’t go in more than is absolutely necessary.’

  ‘Not exactly a health resort,’ put in Bertie.

  ‘Anything but that. It isn’t a pretty place. Cheapness being the first consideration the houses are mostly what here is called tapial, which is mud and chopped grass pounded together in a long mould. The bricks are made in position and holes afterwards knocked through where the windows are to be. A coat of whitewash and that’s it. Sanitation is practically non-existent.’

  ‘I take it there’s a road from here to the town?’ asked Biggles.

  ‘Call it a track. You won’t find it easy going in any conditions, let alone after all this rain. I suggest you stay here for the night, or until the rain stops. Tomorrow it may be fine. I can lend you ponies and a guide to show you the way. You can keep the ponies in Cruzuado in case you decide to come back here.’

  ‘That’s very kind of you,’ said Biggles. ‘We’re most grateful. But wouldn’t it be easier to travel by the river? The town stands on the river, I believe.’

  ‘I wouldn’t try it with this storm water coming down. There are too many hazards to make the risk worth while. You’ll find it easier, and safer, to travel overland. Your plane will be all right here. I’ll keep an eye on it. But it’s time you had something to eat. Let’s go through to the dining room. Afterwards, if you’d care to see it, I’ll show you my orchid garden. I have some very rare specimens which you’re not likely to see elsewhere.’

  ‘Thanks. As we’re supposed to be in the orchid business we’d better learn something about them,’ said Biggles.

  ‘You’d better learn something about the river, too. It’s practically impossible to travel against the current when it’s like this, or at any time after a lot of rain. That Russian I spoke about had had his plane upset. He took a passage for Cruzuado on one of the wood-burning ferry steamers, but owing to the head of water it couldn’t get beyond Puerto Vecho, about twenty miles downstream from here, so he had to complete his journey overland. And while we’re on the subject of the river, keep out of the water if you can. The Jurara has a bad name for tembladores.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘Electric eels. They can knock a horse over, never mind a man.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ promised Biggles, as they followed their host into the next room.

  * * *

  1 Pith helmet.

  CHAPTER 2

  THE TRAITOR

  Now let us turn back the clock for ten days to discover the reason for Biggles’ sudden interest, or to be honest, pretended interest, in the most exotic, and perhaps the most beautiful, flowers in the world.

  It all began one morning when his chief, Air Commodore Raymond of the Special Air Police, buzzed him on the intercom telephone to call him to his office immediately.

  Biggles answered the call.

  ‘Pull up a chair,’ ordered the Air Commodore. ‘This is going to take a little while so relax and help
yourself to cigarettes.’

  ‘Judging from your expression, sir, there’s something in the offing with an offensive aroma,’ observed Biggles as he complied.

  ‘It stinks,’ returned the Air Commodore, succinctly. ‘When I say a thing is serious you know what that means. To get the trouble ironed out without raising a howl that might echo round the world is going to call for the last word in delicate handling.’

  ‘Sounds like something political,’ surmised Biggles, his eyes on his chief’s face.

  ‘I suppose you could call it that within the small circle of people who know about it. It’s top level secret. If one whisper leaks out the armchair critics who jump at any excuse to have a smack at the government are likely to break out in a rash.’

  Biggles frowned. ‘I hate these jobs. If they work out all right that’s the last we hear of it. If anything comes unstuck we get the dirty end of the stick.’

  ‘If this one comes unstuck the government will disclaim all knowledge of the matter.’

  ‘And we take the rap.’

  ‘Of course. Still, to be fair we’ve been offered every possible facility. Money is no object. All that matters is we succeed in what is — let’s face it — one of the stickiest assignments that have come our way.’

  ‘What is this, then? Espionage?’

  ‘No. Blackmail.’

  ‘Who’s blackmailing whom?’

  ‘The blackmailer is an individual named Harald Neckel, and the party being blackmailed is the British Government — no less.’

  ‘Stiffen the crows! This is a new idea.’

  ‘New and nasty. It’s no use trying to deceive ourselves. It’s within the power of this rogue Neckel to do so much mischief that it doesn’t bear thinking about. Not only could he rock our reputation internationally, but the arguments and recriminations that would follow exposure would tear this country wide open. The government has enough troubles already. The trouble is, Neckel is no ordinary criminal. We’re up against a man with an exceptional brain.’

  ‘What does he want?’

  ‘Money.’

  ‘Then why not give him the money and have done with it?’

  ‘It isn’t as easy as that, as you’ll realize when you’ve heard the whole story.’

  ‘What nationality is this crook?’

  ‘On his own word, and to the best of our knowledge, he’s a Rumanian — or was, until he became a naturalized British subject five years ago. I’d better start by giving you his background; as we understand it, because that will enable you to grasp more easily a curious factor in the position as it stands today.’

  Biggles nodded and settled down to listen.

  ‘Neckel was born in Lima, Peru, forty-four years ago, of Rumanian parents. His father was a civil servant in the service of the Rumanian government. Note that from starting life in South America Neckel speaks the local Spanish like a native. At the age of twelve he was sent to school in the United States, where he learned to speak English with a slight American accent. Shortly after he returned home — that is, to Lima — his father was recalled to Rumania, and the family then resided in Bucharest. There Neckel continued his studies. The intention was he should enter the diplomatic service, but having a remarkable aptitude for figures he switched to science, in which subject he took a degree and in due course became a Professor at the University. Later, not liking the atmosphere behind the Iron Curtain, or thinking possibly his prospects were better here, he got under the Curtain and came over to the West. I’ll now proceed to the present situation.’

  ‘How did he get into a position to be able to dictate to us?’

  ‘I’m coming to that. The story isn’t unique. It has happened before more than once. Unfortunately, no matter what the job may be, somebody has to trust somebody, and that applies to top secret work as much as to any normal occupation. We trusted this man. We had to. Other men we have trusted have let us down, and that, as you may recall, does not exclude British born subjects. But in all previous cases when a man has absconded he was influenced chiefly, if not entirely, by politics. That is to say, he has been induced to take up communism and so disappear into Eastern Europe. That has operated both ways, of course. Just as many men, if not more, have slipped through the Iron Curtain to come over to the West.’

  ‘Then Neckel hasn’t gone to Russia?’

  ‘No. That is, as far as we know, not yet. He seems to be the exception who isn’t interested in politics. He’s only concerned with himself, and money. But let me give you a quick outline of events here, which began twelve years ago when a man arrived in this country asking for political asylum. His name, he said, was Harald Neckel, a Professor of Science who had been working in Bucharest. In view of the ability he was soon to demonstrate there seemed no reason to doubt this. He declared he had never liked communism, that he now found it intolerable, and so had come to this country hoping to get a job in one of our research establishments. Tested for ability he was found to be a mathematical genius, one of those rare creatures that think only in terms of figures.’

  ‘Coming from where he did, that alone wouldn’t be enough to get him a job in one of our secret departments, I imagine,’ put in Biggles.

  ‘Of course not. The security people got busy on him, checking on his past, and while they didn’t learn much, what they did find out fitted with what Neckel had told them. Anyway, exhaustive inquiries revealed nothing against him, so for a start he was given a minor position in one of our research laboratories, with security officers still keeping a watchful eye on him. He settled down in his work, to which he seemed dedicated, and not by word or action did he make a move that could in any way be regarded as suspicious. The result was that after two years security precautions were relaxed somewhat and he was promoted to a position for which the qualifications he had revealed made him suitable. As time went on he continued to improve until he became one of our top men in nuclear research.’

  ‘And all this time his behaviour had been exemplary.’

  ‘Yes. And let us admit it, after twelve years of excellent service, security arrangements had been almost withdrawn altogether. In other words, he was considered safe.’

  ‘Yet he turned out to be a spy after all?’

  ‘Yes and no. That is, not in the generally accepted sense of the term, in that he was working for a foreign power. He still appeared to have no interest whatever in politics; and what he has done now has no political bias.’

  ‘Then who was he working for?’

  ‘Himself.’

  ‘What has he done?’

  ‘He’s cleared off.’

  ‘Does that matter so much? You managed without him before he came to this country.’

  ‘As a person he isn’t vital, although his loss would be felt in the department in which he has been working. It’s the old story. He asked for leave of absence to take a holiday. As this was certainly long overdue the request was granted. He didn’t return. All trace of him was lost. Not unnaturally we supposed he had skipped back behind the Iron Curtain, but even there our agents could get no news of him. Whether what he has done had been in his mind from the outset, or whether he became disgruntled over something and so hatched the plot, we don’t know. It’s true he had asked for an increase of salary, but as he was being paid at the full standard rate it had to be refused. Be that as it may, he has now shown his hand.’

  ‘What does it look like?’

  ‘Pretty grim. He’s got us by the short hairs and he knows it. He has in his possession documents, either the originals or microfilm copies, of a nature so secret that if they were handed over to one of our enemies, or even if they were made public, they could have results which could only be described as devastating. He must have been collecting this sort of material for some time before he made his break.’

  ‘Are these some sort of plans — blueprints, or things of that nature?’

  ‘No. As far as we can make out Neckel has taken the originals or copies of secret correspondence between
ourselves and our allies. These include references to our defence programmes which have taken years to prepare. Imagine what it would mean if every nation in the Western Alliance had to revise its entire organization — as a result of what would be said to be carelessness on our part.’

  ‘What does he intend to do with this dynamite?’

  ‘He’s using it as a means of blackmail. He demands the sum of one million dollars for the return of the documents.’

  ‘A million! By thunder! He must realize their value.’

  ‘Of course he does. He would choose them for that reason. To make matters worse it now appears that while he was working for us he was carrying out experiments on his own account, the results of which he kept to himself. Just what they were we don’t know; he doesn’t say; but we can assume this information to be of capital importance.’

  ‘Would the government pay a million dollars to get this stuff back?’

  ‘Certainly. But how can we be sure of getting it? You know how blackmailers work. With the dollars in his pocket he could vanish again with the documents still in his possession, and so retain the whip hand of us. In fact, not only would we have thrown away a million dollars, but there would be nothing to prevent him from offering the documents to, say, Russia, for a similar, or even a larger sum of money.’

  Biggles tapped the ash off his cigarette. ‘So that’s it. But he can’t avoid the difficulty every blackmailer must face, which is how to collect the money without being caught.’

  The Air Commodore smiled wanly. ‘Don’t fool yourself. He has that all very nicely planned. When he left England he went first to the United States and there opened a bank account. What we are told to do now is pay the million dollars into that account. It’s as simple as that. One month later the documents will be returned to us by post. The reason for the delay of a month is plain enough to see. It would give him time to withdraw the money from the bank, convert it into any currency that might suit him, and open another account in any city in the world, possibly under another name.’