Biggles Forum

[Sloane Ranger]

Hi, I'm a new member but I've been working on this and wondered what people thought about it so please read and review.

Chapter 1

In the four years since he and Erich von Stalhein had rescued Marie Janis from the clutches of the Czechoslovakian communist party they had both become regular weekend visitors to her picturesque cottage on the edge of the small Hampshire village where she had made her home. It was a warm summer’s day and Biggles stood in the neat, well tended garden, enjoying a cigarette as he admired the rolling countryside and the cloudless summer sky.

Von Stalhein came out of the kitchen and laid a tray containing a jug of iced lemonade and three glasses on the garden table before strolling over to join his former enemy. He carefully fitted a cigarette into the long, jade holder that had been a Christmas present from Marie and lit it before speaking.

“Marie will be bringing out the sandwiches and cakes shortly. She says we are to help ourselves to the lemonade.”

Biggles nodded absently. “Has she spoken to you about what’s on her mind? He asked.

Von Stalhein shook his head. “No, but I can’t think it’s anything serious. She appears distracted rather than worried.”

Biggles frowned as he exhaled cigarette smoke. “I agree but I wish she’d tell us what it is. That’s why I left you alone with her just now. I thought she might open up to you as a fellow German.”

Marie had rung them both a few days before and invited them down for the weekend. Since their arrival, however, it had been clear that part of her mind had been elsewhere, a fact that caused both men concern.

The sound of footsteps made them turn and Marie appeared carrying a tray full of the promised sandwiches and cakes. She surveyed the two men and smiled.

“Tea is ready.” She announced.

The three of them sat and began the serious business of eating, occasionally pausing to reminisce about their experiences. Once their appetite had been sated, Marie cleared away while Biggles and von Stalhein smoked contentedly. They rose when she returned and both men noticed that her demeanour had changed and she now moved with the sureness of someone who had made a decision. A change they both attributed to the envelope she carried. Marie sat down and invited them to resume their seats also before regarding them seriously.

“I know I have been somewhat distracted and I want to apologise for my behaviour.” She said. “The day before you arrived I received this letter and I have been considering its contents ever since. I would value your advice on what I should do.”

She handed the envelope to von Stalhein who extracted the letter within and read, his face creasing into a frown before finally handing it over to Biggles.

Biggles looked at the letter for a long moment before glancing up. “I’m sorry,” he apologised. “I thought I spoke German quite well but I only understand one word in five out of this.”

“That’s because it’s in legal German.” Von Stalhein replied. He turned to Marie. “May I?” he asked.

On receiving her assent, he continued. “It’s from the lawyer Marie retained to negotiate her agreement with the Czechoslovakian government shortly after she arrived here. In a nutshell, it says that he has been contacted by the Ministry of Culture who want to re-open discussions with a view to the crown of Bohemia being returned to its native land. They state they are prepared for it to remain Marie’s property but want her to permanently loan it to the national museum in Prague.”

Biggles sat back. “Well that takes the biscuit!” he exclaimed. “After all the trouble you took to get it out of the country and they expect you to hand it over just like that!” He glanced at Marie’s face. “You’re actually considering it!” he accused her. “Why, in Icarus’ name, would you do such a thing?”

“Things have changed in Czechoslovakia since I escaped.” Marie explained. “As you know, the Communist Party there has a new leader, Alexander Dubček. Under him, Czechoslovakia now has freedom of the press, freedom of speech and freedom of movement. He has also promised to introduce federalisation which may lead to a degree of autonomy for Bohemia. By all accounts his reforms are very popular with the people.”

“Yes, I am familiar with his programme.” Von Stalhein said. “But he is still a Communist. Czechoslovakia remains within the Eastern Block and Dubček has reiterated his support for the Warsaw Pact and Comecon. Even if he is genuinely committed to the reforms, the Russians will never allow them to come to anything. They will invade Czechoslovakia if necessary to stop them.”

“Erich’s right, Marie. You must know that. Remember what they did in Hungary.” Biggles urged.

“What you say may be true,” Marie said, “but Stalin is dead and there are new people in charge of the Russian communist party now. Perhaps things will be different this time!”

Her voice became reflective. “When I left, I was prepared to never see my native land again, rather than hand over the crown to the traitors who had kept me imprisoned for years and sold the country to the communists. But, my family have lived there for over seven hundred years and I miss the forests and mountains. I would like to see them again. There is also something else; I never mentioned it before because it seems stupidly romantic.” She smiled briefly and suddenly resembled the beautiful, vivacious woman of younger days. “You remember me telling you that my grandfather showed me the crown when I was a child and told me of its significance? Well, although of German ancestry, he strongly supported Bohemian self-rule within a wider Austro-Hungarian-Bohemian Empire. He told me that we held the crown in stewardship for the Bohemian people. If they wish for its return, do I not have a duty to comply with their wishes?”

Biggles shook the letter. “This is a request from a government department, not the Bohemian people. How can you tell what the wishes of the Bohemian people are at this point and how can you ensure the crown’s safety and security once it reaches Czechoslovakia? Because, once it’s there, no piece of paper on earth will prevent the communists doing exactly what they want with it!”

Marie nodded. “That has concerned me also.” She admitted.

“And, even if the Czech government is being honest about its intentions and the people do want the crown returned, what will happen if the Russians invade?” put in von Stalhein. “Things may have changed in Moscow since Stalin’s death but not by that much! Even if the Czech government doesn’t seize the crown, the Russians would. Or, even worse, it would be looted by some soldier for the precious jewels it contains and lost forever.”

Marie nodded again. “Everything you say is possible and I have been considering the points you raise since receiving the letter.” She sighed. “Well, the crown is in the custody of the British government so I will have to consult with them anyway. When you return to London tomorrow night may I ask you for a lift?”

“Of course.” Answered Biggles and the conversation turned to other subjects.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was the Wednesday after he and von Stalhein had returned to London. Biggles had dropped Marie off at a small hotel in Bayswater and heard nothing further from her since. It was five-thirty and he was just leaving his office for the day when the telephone rang.

Algy picked up the receiver. “The Air-Commodore wants to see you.” He reported.

Biggles sighed and replaced his hat on the stand. “A pity,” He said. “I was just about to go round to Marie’s hotel and see if she’s all right.”

He made his way to the Assistant Commissioner’s office and, after knocking, entered the familiar room, stopping short just over the threshold. The room was full. As was to be expected, the Air-Commodore was seated behind his desk, but Marie Janis sat on one of the chairs opposite him. Standing against the walls were the familiar figures of Erich von Stalhein and Major Charles of British Intelligence.

Air-Commodore Raymond smiled slightly. “Have a seat Bigglesworth.” He invited. “Smoke if you like. I believe you know everyone here.”

Biggles sat, a suspicion of what was to come already forming in his mind. “This is about that infernal crown, isn’t it?”

Major Charles answered. “Indirectly, yes. Let me give you the background. The new government of Czechoslovakia has indicated that it wants improved relations with the west and, despite what it says publicly about its continued commitment to the Warsaw Pact, we know there are people in powerful positions who want to declare their country a neutral power in the same way Marshall Tito did in Yugoslavia. That would be immensely helpful, politically and militarily, to NATO. Unfortunately, there are also other people in the government, hard line communists, who are still loyal to the Soviet Union. They oppose the current reforms and they would be even more opposed to withdrawal from the Warsaw Pact. We need someone to go there and find out how much power the pro-Moscow faction retains and whether the reformers are really in a position to distance themselves from Moscow.”

“Isn’t that what diplomats are for?” asked Biggles, cynically.

“Professional politicians tend to be on their guard around foreign diplomats and toe the current party line, especially in communist countries, which Czechoslovakia still is. Also, the Russians will be watching the situation like hawks and you can be sure that pro-Moscow party members are reporting everything that happens back to their masters.” Major Charles replied. “People are more likely to let the truth slip when talking to private citizens who are in Prague at the invitation of the government to discuss the return of a cultural treasure.”

“I assume you expect me to be one of these private citizens, otherwise you wouldn’t be telling me about any of this.” Biggles observed, grimly.

“Baroness Janis has asked that you accompany her and your background makes you ideal for the job but, of course, you’re free to refuse if you want.” Major Charles replied. “Oberst von Stalhein has already agreed to go.” He nodded towards the Prussian officer.

“Baroness?” Biggles raised his eyebrows questioningly. “And Oberst, as in Colonel?”

“My father was a Baron. In Germany it is, or was, common, to refer to the daughter of a Baron as a Baroness. It is a courtesy title only.” Marie responded.

Biggles looked, accusingly, at his old enemy.

Von Stalhein smiled imperturbably back at him. “In the years immediately after the creation of the German Federal Republic our Intelligence Service was, inevitably, small and somewhat limited. However, shortly after our last adventure in Czechoslovakia I was approached by an old friend who had been charged by our government with expanding and improving our intelligence gathering capabilities so we could better contribute to NATO. He asked me to act as liaison between the German and British Intelligence Services. The appointment came with a promotion and, as I had time on my hands, I agreed.”

“And you didn’t tell me!” Biggles sounded hurt. “Did you know?” he asked Marie.

She shook her head. “No. Not until this afternoon. It was a big surprise. I, like you, thought that Erich had retired.”

“It was thought best by both the German and British Intelligence Services that knowledge of my role be restricted to those who needed to know of it.” returned von Stalhein.

“I see. Has it occurred to you that if either of us shows our faces in a communist country we’re likely to be arrested? And, even if by some miracle, we’re not, they are going to be very suspicious of us.”

“The British government has already negotiated safe passage for the Baroness and her party.” Air-Commodore Raymond assured him.

“And Marie will be doing most of the talking with officials. We have no reason to think they are aware of her previous background in espionage. She is excellent at making people say more than they intended.” Von Stalhein added.

“That’s true,” Biggles acknowledged, smiling reassuringly towards Marie who had lowered her eyes in embarrassment at the oblique reminder of her manipulation of a naive young flying officer. “So, if Marie’s doing the talking, what’s our job?”

Major Charles, once again took up the threads of the conversation. “The Baroness would like your support. While you are there, however, NATO would like you to report back on the willingness and ability of the Czech’s to withstand a Russian invasion and any indication that one might be imminent.”

“I don’t like the idea of spying on a country where I am an invited guest!” Biggles protested.

“I thought you would say that, Bigglesworth. But it’s not really spying. We’re not asking you to break into anywhere or steal secret government papers. It’s more a case of keeping your eyes open and noticing the significance of things that an ordinary tourist might miss. An overheard conversation in a café, for instance, might indicate the attitude of ordinary Czech people towards the Russians, troop movements might show whether or not the government is worried about an imminent invasion. That sort of thing.”

“I can’t speak Czech!” Biggles pointed out. He turned towards von Stalhein. “And, unless I’m mistaken, neither can you!”

“But I can.” Marie replied. “My grandfather insisted that I be brought up to be bi-lingual.”

Biggles leaned back in his chair. “Well,” he said, “It seems you’ve got it all organised.” He looked at Marie. “You’re sure about this?” he asked.

On receiving her nod, he went on “Very well, I’m not going to allow you to put your head back in the noose without being there to help pull it out again if necessary. I’ll do it!”

“Excellent.” Von Stalhein replied. “May I invite you and Marie to dinner where we can discuss our travel arrangements and plans in more detail?”

“You may.” Biggles answered. “And you are paying. I’m sure you can afford it on a Colonel’s salary!”


T.B.C.

[dadlamassu]

I think this is a good start!

1968 - I remember it well! The famous picture of the watch and Wenceslas Square.

Just a point - Marie would be styled (in the UK) as Lady Marie until she inherited the title as the heir to the title. Baroness would go to the eldest daughter who inherits (no sor no surviving sons). The only other way for Marie to acquire the title would be to marry the existing Baron.

Another on etiquette - the two gentlemen would stand when Marie joined them, seating her first. They were both brought up to do this and it would be second nature.

Oh boy can I see an adventure developing here!

[Sabi]

Very good! This sounds interesting!
I've always wanted biggles and evs to work together too>

[Sloane Ranger]

dadlamassu and sabi - Thanks for your reviews, especially you, dadlamassu for your advice on etiquette.

In reference to Marie's title - in 'Biggles Looks Back' von Stalhein refers to Marie's father as a Baron. I did some searching on the internet and, according to a source there, in Germany and Austria it's usual to refer to the daughter of a Baron as a Baroness so I had Major Charles refer to her as such.

You're right about Biggles and evs standing when Marie returned. I missed that. Nowadays it's difficult to get men to give up their seat to a heavily pregnant woman so I forgot that in another age a gentleman would always stand for a lady. Perhaps this still goes on in some sections of society, but, alas, I don't mix in those circles and It's difficult sometimes to remember the norms of behaviour that existed forty years ago!

If you pick up any more oversights like that, please let me know. I'll amend the first chapter.

Anyway - here is Chapter 2.


Chapter 2

The hotel manager himself ushered Marie, Biggles and von Stalhein into the large suite in the Hotel Ambassador that the Czech government had placed at their disposal.

Biggles and his companions had arrived in Prague aboard a scheduled British European Airways flight and had stepped down onto the tarmac from the Vickers Super Viscount to be greeted by an official from the Ministry of Culture, who whisked them speedily through customs before escorting them to the official government car which had driven them directly to the most exclusive hotel in Prague where they were to stay as guests of the Czechoslovakian government. It had taken a mere week since the conversation in Air Commodore Raymond’s office to make the necessary arrangements for the trip, proof that the Czech’s, or at least their government, were anxious to begin discussions about the return of the crown as soon as possible.

They had found the few ordinary Czech people they had spoken to so far, friendly and welcoming, with none of the reserve and suspicion towards foreigners so common in other communist countries, but whether this was because they were accompanied by the Ministry official or because they were genuinely not afraid to speak to them, they couldn’t be sure. On the drive to the hotel, however, all three had noticed that the people in the streets seemed more relaxed and animated than they had ever seen before behind the Iron Curtain.

After showing them the facilities and receiving their assurances that they did not need assistance in unpacking their luggage, the manager shooed away the porters and bowed himself out, pausing only to remind them that they should contact him personally if they needed for anything.

Once alone, the three of them looked at each other. Biggles put his finger to his lips to indicate silence and the other two nodded. In communist countries walls could have ears. He wandered towards the window and looked down at the bustling scene below. Marie and von Stalhein joined him.

“Wenceslas Square.” Marie told them. “See, there is the statue of Saint Wenceslas. The square itself was built by King Charles IV of Bohemia in 1348 as part of his expansion of Prague. The proclamation of Czechoslovakian independence was read here on 28 October 1918. Czechs consider this place to be the centre of the nation.”

Von Stalhein checked his watch. “We have some time before the Reception tonight. I suggest we unpack our bags and then go for a short walk.” He said. “We need to stretch our legs after the flight and I understand that Prague is a very beautiful city. We should try to see some of the sights while we are here.”

Biggles nodded. “Sounds like a good idea.” He agreed before turning to Marie. “If you think you’re up to it?” he asked.

“Of course!” she returned. “It will be a pleasure. I would love to show you around. I used to come here quite often before the war.”

In fact, as Biggles and Marie knew, there were ulterior motives for von Stalhein’s proposal. It would give them an opportunity to talk without fear of being overheard by any hidden microphones and this was as good a time as any to test their freedom of movement. If the authorities insisted that they be accompanied by an official guide when they left the hotel or they were followed, they would have to take that into account when undertaking their real purpose for being there.

Being seasoned travellers, they unpacked quickly and, after leaving the suite, took the lift to the lobby. The receptionist on duty recognised them and rushed over to ask if they needed any assistance.

“No, thanks.” Biggles replied easily. “We’re just off for a short stroll.”

After receiving assurances that they did not require a guide or directions, the man made no move to detain them and they walked out into the warm August afternoon sunshine.

“Not too far I think.” Biggles murmured. “Let’s walk slowly around the square. That should enable us to get our bearings and see if anyone is following us.”

Marie and von Stalhein nodded and they turned right out of the hotel and began to gently stroll up the slope towards the statue of Good King Wenceslas and the large neo-classical building that stood behind it at the south-east end of the rectangular Square, pausing occasionally to look at some particularly interesting landmark.

“What is that building we are heading towards?” von Stalhein asked.

Marie smiled. “It’s the National Museum, where they want to display the crown.” She replied.

“I see.” Biggles grinned. “It’s not very subtle of them to put us up so close to it.”

Von Stalhein shrugged. “They probably didn’t have much of a choice.” He replied. “Iron Curtain countries don’t have a large selection of luxury hotels.”

They walked on until Marie stopped to look into the window of a department store. While pretending to admire the display, she whispered to her companions. “Back there, about a hundred yards away. That man has been following us.”

“Yes.” Von Stalhein answered. “He was in the hotel lobby earlier, pretending to read a newspaper.”

The three of them covertly studied the man who had stopped and was, like them, pretending to look into a shop window. He was in his late twenties or early thirties, dressed in a business suit, with his dark hair cut unfashionably short, even by Czechoslovakian standards.

“Well, now we know.” Biggles remarked grimly. “Let’s go on shall we?”

They completed their circle of the Square, stopping for a while to admire the picturesque Old Town, which was situated at the opposite end of the square to the National Museum. .
“That looks like the sort of place we’re likely to find café’s and bars that might be worth a visit later.” Biggles remarked, lighting a cigarette before moving on.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Biggles and von Stalhein stood in the centre of the large, elegant room where the Ministry of Culture’s Official Reception was being held. The Ministry official who had greeted them at the Airport, a middle-aged man named Dudek Janda, had collected them in the government car and they had driven to the Ministry where, shortly after introducing them to the Minister, he had been called away. After a brief exchange of courtesies with the Minister and his wife, Biggles and von Stalhein had wandered into the Reception while Marie, as the guest of honour, had joined the Minister on the receiving line. The Reception, so far, was indistinguishable from similar events in England.

Biggles tugged irritably at his bow tie. “I feel like a penguin.” He complained.

Von Stalhein, immaculate as ever in his own dinner jacket, smiled at him. “You have never had much time for the social round, have you Bigglesworth?” He observed. “Yet its occasions like this that help oil the wheels of diplomacy.”

“Wasn’t it a German who said that diplomacy was war continued by other means?”

“Carl von Clausewitz observed that ‘War is nothing but the continuation of politics by other means.’.” Von Stalhein returned. “I believe it was Chou En-Lai who made the same observation about diplomacy. But didn’t your own Sir Winston Churchill observe that jaw-jaw was better than war-war?”

He picked up two flutes of champagne from the tray being offered by a waiter, handing one to Biggles before taking a sip from his own glass.

“French.” He noted with satisfaction. “The Czechs are really pushing the boat out for Marie.”

“As well they might.” Biggles grumbled. “After all, she’s got what they want.”

Further discussion was cut short as Janda bustled up to them.

“I’m sorry to have left you alone.” He apologised. “Just a few last minute details I had to see to. Now, let me introduce you to some people.”

They followed him as he walked towards a small group engaged in animated conversation but before they could reach them they were intercepted by a squat, broad-shouldered man with hair so black it could only have been dyed. He eyed Biggles and von Stalhein aggressively, while speaking in rapid Czech to Janda who replied in the same language. He looked intimidated by the other man.

“Excuse me.” Biggles said, interrupting the flow of their conversation. He turned to the stranger, “Where I come from, it’s considered rude to hold a conversation with someone in a language other people present don’t understand.”

The other man stared at him arrogantly. “I was just telling Janda that I wasn’t surprised to see he had been given the responsibility for looking after our guests,” he sneered at the word, “he is, after all, known for his love of everything capitalist.”

He turned and walked away without another word.

Janda sighed. “That was Alexej Kadlek. He is the personal aide to the Chairman of the Party’s Ideological Commission. I apologise for his behaviour, some members of the Party find it difficult to accept the changes Secretary Dubcek is attempting to bring about.”

“That is all right.” Von Stalhein returned. “Accepting change is always difficult. I expect he was just reflecting his boss’ views and loyalty is a virtue both our social systems value. Speaking of Secretary Dubcek,” he went on. “Mr. Bigglesworth and I would very much like to meet him. Is he going to be attending this Reception do you know?”

Janda’s expression seemed genuinely regretful. “Alas, no.” he replied. “He was planning to do so but, unfortunately, a meeting with our Warsaw Pact comrades was called at short notice.”

He then seemed to remember himself and plastered a smile back on his face. “But let me introduce you to some other Party members who will greet you more warmly.” He looked around. “Ah! There is the Minister of Education and her husband.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From a personal perspective, Biggles had found the Reception to be an ordeal and he was glad it was finally over. From the point of view of their mission, however, it had proved useful. The incident with Kadlek had, not only revealed the existence of an emergency meeting of the Warsaw Pact, it had shown that there were still senior figures within the Czech government who opposed Dubcek and they retained enough power to display their displeasure openly. Those he and von Stalhein had been introduced to had appeared genuinely pleased to meet them and enthusiastic about the reforms which they described as ‘communism with a human face’. He had noticed, however, that after the incident with Kadlek, Janda had been very selective about who they met and had gone out of his way to avoid certain groups.

He and von Stalhein loitered on the steps outside the Ministry. Marie was saying her goodbyes to the Minister of Culture and his wife. She had obviously charmed them both as they were chatting together like old friends. Janda had left them to get the car so they were alone.

“I take it you picked up on the Warsaw Pact meeting?” Biggles asked quietly.

“Yes.” His companion replied. “I also found Mr. Janda’s reaction to Kadlec very interesting. He was almost afraid and I think he is not a man who is easily intimidated.”

On seeing Biggles enquiring look, he went on to explain. “You saw his medal minatures?”

Biggles nodded to indicate that he had, in fact, noticed the decorations worn by the Ministry official and von Stalhein continued. “I didn’t recognise them all, but one was the Janosik Medal which was awarded to Partisans who fought against the Nazi’s during the last war.”

“I see.” Biggles returned. “You’re right, this man Kadlek and his boss must be very powerful and very ruthless to get that sort of reaction from a former Partisan.”

He consulted his watch. “It’s too late to do anything further tonight. I suggest we turn in as soon as we get back to the hotel. Tomorrow, we can explore the Old Town and drop into the places frequented by the locals. There are likely to be more people about then so it will also be easier to lose our shadow if necessary.” His eyes flickered towards a darkened corner of the building where the young man they had seen earlier lurked.

“I agree.” Von Stalhein replied. Then he glanced towards where Marie was still speaking with the Minister and his face hardened.

“What is it?” Biggles asked him urgently.

Von Stalhein took out his cigarette case and offered its contents to his companion, using the manoeuvre to cover the slight change in their positions that allowed Biggles to see what he had seen without arousing suspicion.

Biggles was silent for a long moment. “Well, I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised.” he finally said.

Standing, almost totally concealed behind one of the columns in the portico was the shabbily dressed figure of a man well known to both of them, although they hadn’t seen him in four years.

It was Hans Reinhardt, and he was speaking with Alexej Kadlek.


T.B.C.

[dadlamassu]

Yes, I like this - more please.

A couple of things - again on the etiquette of 40 years ago. At an official reception in Dinner Jacket - and I'm glad you used the correct name for that form of dress rather than the modern and incorrect Americanism "Tuxedo" - the medals worn would not be Ribbons - but miniatures (small verions of the originals) for Biggles & EvS and others, If they were in Evening Dress then full medals with ribbons would be worn. The Janosik Medal does not have a riband - this term, in medals, is usually the type worn as a necklace would be - it has a ribbon just like a "normal" medal.

Ribbons are normally worn on uniform tunics not at social functions. On my uniforms the medal ribbons are on my khaki tunic, the full medals fit over these on formal parade. At social functions smaller versions of the medals are worn on Mess Dress and Dinner Jacket. The only occasion that i wear the full medals in civilian clothes on Remembrance Parade.

If the gents were in dinner jacket the ladies would be in long formal gowns - probably with gloves. If the gentlemen were in evening dress then the ladies would be expected to be wearing formal attire with tiara, gloves, jewelery and any military or other decorations.

From what you describe I think it is a Formal Reception for Marie and so she would be in a more formal dress than her escorts. She would be decked out her best finery and any medals/decorations earned by her in the Great War and later as appropriate.

While EvS would address Marie as "Baroness" the Brits would introduce her as "Lady Marie" but may well refer to her as "Baroness" out of courtesy in conversation though "Ma'am" would be just as correct.

[Sabi]

Waiting for more!

[Sloane Ranger]

dadlamassu, thanks for your advice about the medals. I've made the necessary correction. Actually I did think about putting our heroes in evening dress but decided against it. I can see Erich carrying it off but for some reason I just can't imagine Biggles in it. Also, I wasn't sure of the attitude of communist countries towards full evening wear so decided to take the safer path. Thanks also to you and Sabi for your reviews.

Here is the 3rd Chapter. As always, any advice or assistance to improve it is gratefully received.


Chapter 3

Biggles and von Stalhein finished an undistinguished lunch and sat sipping beer in the bright summer sunshine outside one of the café’s in the Old Town. Three days had passed since their arrival in Prague and a routine had already developed. Immediately after breakfast an official car would pick them up and drive them to the Ministry of Culture where the morning was spent discussing the return of the Crown. As the British Government was the actual custodian of the Crown, the Hon. David Ffoulkes, who was the Cultural Attaché at the Embassy, joined them for the meetings. Ffoulkes, as it turned out, was distantly related to Bertie on the distaff side. Marie and Ffoulkes had proved to be excellent negotiators, appearing flexible enough to keep the discussions going without actually committing themselves to anything. After lunch, their hosts would whisk them off to visit some cultural site or event, returning in time for dinner after which they would be left to their own devices until the following day. The three of them had put this time to good use by visiting the café’s and bars of the Old Town. Wherever they went, the young man they had identified on their first day was their constant shadow. Of Reinhardt, they had seen nothing further since the Reception.

On their way back from that event, Biggles had persuaded the driver to drop them off at the far end of Wenceslas Square and he and von Stalhein had used the walk to the hotel to brief Marie. The three of them had discussed the implications of Reinhardt’s appearance. It had been clear to them that the former Nazi was working for Kadlek and, although there was a chance his current task was unrelated to their visit, none of them thought that likely. After some debate, however, they had agreed that there was nothing they could do except keep alert for signs of activity from him.

Today was Saturday and, in common with Government offices throughout the world, the Ministry was closed, giving them their first free time during the day. Marie had accepted an invitation from the wife of the Minister of Culture to join her on a shopping trip round some of the stores reserved for the use of Party members. After ascertaining that Marie was happy to go alone, Biggles and von Stalhein had decided to visit the Old Town in furtherance of their other mission. Despite Biggles’ misgivings, their inability to speak Czech had not proved to be an obstacle. Wherever they went individuals hearing them converse together in English had approached them and engaged them in conversation in that language.

They had selected a place which, during their evening visits, had appeared to be a favourite haunt for writers and artists. When they had visited it previously, it had been packed to overflowing with loud conversations taking place in an atmosphere heavy with cigarette smoke. During the day, however, they had discovered that the patrons consisted of tired shoppers anxiously counting out the cost of their refreshments in small change. The daylight also revealed the true state of the Old Town. In the evening or seen from a distance the area looked picturesque, but during the harsh light of day, it was revealed as shabby and dilapidated.

Biggles finished the last of his beer. “We’re not achieving much here.” He noted to his companion. “I think it’s time to move on.”

Von Stalhein continued sipping his drink. “I’m not so sure.” He replied in a low voice. “Do you see the man over there?” His eyes flicked towards one of the other tables where a man was scribbling in a notebook. “He’s been staring at us off and on since we arrived. I think I recognise him from our previous visit.”

Biggles covertly studied the man. “Yes.” He said slowly. “I remember him sitting at a corner table last night. He seemed to be alone.”

As they watched, the man attracted the attention of a waiter. He had obviously signalled for the bill because the waiter brought him a leather folder which the sitting man opened before he began counting out money onto the table. Once he was finished, he got up and walked away without another glance in their direction.

“Well, so much for that.” Von Stalhein murmured, beckoning the waiter over so they too could pay their bill. Like the stranger before him, he opened the leather folder he was offered. He reached in and took out the bill. There was a short pause before he removed his hand and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out his wallet. He paid the waiter adding a generous tip.

Together he and Biggles rose from the table and began strolling along the cobblestone street. They had gone about twenty feet before von Stalhein spoke.

“We need to lose our shadow.” He said.

Biggles nodded, almost imperceptibly. “I thought you palmed something from inside the folder.” He stated.

“A note.” The German confirmed. “Written in English and asking to meet with us at the top of the Old Town Hall Tower as soon as possible.”

“From the man at the table?” Biggles asked.

“I assume so. It could be a trap but, I think we need to take the risk.”

“We’re certainly not achieving anything by being cautious.” Biggles replied. “If we head towards Charles Bridge we can mix with the crowds, lose our friend and then double back.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Biggles plan had worked exactly as envisaged. They had approached the bridge, mingling with the crowds of pedestrians trying to get back to the Lesser Town on the opposite side of the River Vltava. Then when they were about halfway across the ancient bridge, they had quickly stepped into the crowd moving in the opposite direction allowing the mass of people to carry them along. Their shadow had been taken by surprise and they had left him struggling against the mass of people as his head had jerked right and left looking for sight of his quarry.

Once off the bridge, Biggles and von Stalhein had slipped down a side street and taken a circuitous route back towards the Old Town Square and its imposing historical buildings. After pausing for a moment to double check that they had not been followed and admire the intricate construction of the Astrological Clock on its side, they had entered the Fifteenth Century Tower, paid the custodian the small entrance fee and begun the climb to its top.

They found the man from the café waiting for them, gazing out at the views of the Old Town. Although there were a few other sightseers there, no-one paid them any attention. Biggles and von Stalhein split up to stand on either side of the man.

“Gentlemen, I apologise for the cloak and dagger way in which I approached you.” He began in excellent English. “I am sure you were already aware that you were being followed and, unfortunately, despite the recent reforms, the Secret Police retain much power. I didn’t want them to see me talking to you as I have something important to tell you, something you urgently need to pass on to Secretary Dubcek and the western Governments.”

“Why choose us for this task Mr. …? We are here as guests of your Government to discuss the return of a national treasure to your country.” returned Biggles.

“My name is Karel Hruska. You don’t know me Mr. Bigglesworth, but I know you. I was in 310 Squadron during the last war and I saw you in the R.A.F. Club on several occasions, although we were never introduced. That is why I decided to trust you. Although I admit to being concerned when I learned your companions were Germans. I am a Czech and we suffered much in their hands during the war.” He gave a sidelong glance towards von Stalhein, who remained impassive, “But the Janis family have lived in Bohemia for centuries and the late Baron refused to entertain or even receive Nazi Party officials throughout the war.”

“What is it you want to tell us?” von Stalhein cut in.

Hruska answered. “Before the war, I was a journalist. When I returned home the communists prevented me from practicing my profession but, since Dubcek came to power, censorship of the press has been reduced and I was, at last, able to obtain a position where I have been active in exposing corruption at the very highest levels of the Party. As a result of my activities, I have developed many contacts who occasionally pass me information. It is one of these who told me that the hardliners know of your records.” He paused before going on. “I have evidence they plan a coup d’etat. I think they believe your Governments have got wind of this and you were sent here to prevent it. You must warn Dubcek. He is the only member of the Party I can trust not to be part of the conspiracy.”

Biggles and von Stalhein quietly digested Hruska’s words. Then Biggles spoke.

“Mr. Hruska, you say you know me but, I don’t know you. How can we be sure this isn’t a trap? For all we know, you could be an agent of the very Secret Police you claim to fear, sent here to entrap my friend and myself and cause our arrests or possibly get us to pass on false information to our Governments.”

“Or you could simply be a madman, propounding some conspiracy theory that exists only in your own head.” Von Stalhein added.

Hruska’s shoulders slumped. “Of course, you are right to be cautious. As you say, you do not know me and Eastern Europe is full of agent provocateurs. But what I say is the truth. If Dubcek doesn’t act quickly all will be lost! This is not some fantasy. I have proof!”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hruska but if you really have evidence of an attempted coup, you should take it to the proper authorities.” Biggles said regretfully.

Hruska stared at both men, his frustration evident, then without a further word, he brushed past them and headed for the stairs his movements hurried and angry.

Biggles and von Stalhein remained silent, staring out at the panorama of the Old Town for a moment, then turned and followed the Czech journalist out of the Tower. They had just reached the entrance and were letting their eyes adjust to the bright sunshine after the dimness inside when the sound of someone screaming carried across the Square. They hurried to see what the commotion was about and found a clump of people gathering round something lying on the ground, the numbers of excited bystanders growing by the second. The two men pushed their way to the front and found themselves looking down at the body of Karel Hruska.

They stared down at the man, then turned their gaze away to take in the remainder of the Square. Biggles eyes narrowed as he saw a figure he recognised casually strolling away from the area where the crowd continued gathering. For a brief moment his eyes met von Stalhein’s, then they pushed their way out of the crowd, turning off into a side street as soon as they could.

“Hruska was dead. Murdered would be my guess.” Biggles noted as they continued to walk.

“I agree. His death so soon after meeting with us is too much of a coincidence for it to have been an accident or natural causes.” Von Stalhein replied.

“I saw Reinhardt walking away from the scene.”

Von Stalhein nodded. “Indeed. He has the training to have done it.” He said grimly. “I am surprised that he acted personally, however, he was always one to leave the dirty work to others.”

Biggles shrugged. “He looked like he’d fallen on hard times when we saw him at the Reception.” he returned.

“Yes. The communists do not look favourably on failure. As I know to my cost.” Von Stalhein said.

“So, it looks like Hruska was telling the truth.” Biggles observed.

“It is still possible that he was a pawn, innocent or otherwise, in some game to feed us misleading information, but, yes, his murder points that way.” Von Stalhein confirmed.

“When Marie gets back we must get her to help us find our way through the Prague telephone directory.” Biggles said.

Von Stalhein looked at him in confusion and Biggles grinned.

“He said he had evidence of a coup d’etat, remember? Well, my dear Erich, I doubt he was carrying it about with him. He probably had it hidden somewhere. It might not be at his home but that seems like as good a place as any to start looking!”

T.B.C.

[Algy]

Just got a chance to read this all the way through ... keep it coming, it's great!

[Sloane Ranger]

Thanks for the review Algy. Here's the new chapter. Come on everyone else. Love it or hate it, please let me know!


Chapter 4

The moon was full as Biggles, von Stalhein and Marie moved stealthily along the street, keeping in the shadows as much as possible. In the distance the sound of an occasional car engine could be heard. Their immediate area, however, was deserted. This was to be expected given the time of night but they were taking no chances. The houses were large, built in the baroque style, once perhaps the homes of wealthy aristocrats or merchants but now converted into apartments and having the run down look common to the rest of Prague.

Marie had returned to the hotel buoyant from her shopping trip with the Minister’s wife during which she had purchased several items from well know fashion designers at prices much lower than they would cost in the West. Her mood had become businesslike, however, once Biggles and von Stalhein had briefed her on their conversation with Hruska, his subsequent death and Reinhardt’s reappearance. She had consulted the Prague telephone directory for Hruska’s home address and insisted on accompanying them. Both men had objected but her argument on the importance of having a Czech speaker along on the expedition was one neither of them could counter.

Biggles consulted his watch. It was shortly after one in the morning. They had left the hotel after dinner as usual and gone to a crowded café-bar, slipping out the back way shortly before closing time and losing their shadow in the process; the young man who had had that job previously having been replaced by an older one with the high cheek bones common among many eastern Europeans. Once free of the man, they had hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to a nightclub that was fortuitously only a few streets away from Hruska’s address. Once it had driven off, they had walked the rest of the way. Biggles knew that their late, or rather early morning, return to the hotel was bound to be remarked upon by the night receptionist and doorman but, unfortunately, he could see no alternative.

Marie came to a stop and pointed. “Number 27.” She said softly. “The phone book gave his address as Apartment 1, which will probably be at the very top of the building.”

“Remember that we know nothing of Hruska’s personal circumstances.” von Stalhein warned quietly. “The apartment could be occupied by his widow and children for all we know.”

Biggles nodded. They had discussed this possibility at length and, despite Marie’s assurance that the directory entry had referred only to Hruska himself and the normal practice in the case of married couples was to print both names, this remained a cause of concern. There was also the chance that the entire expedition would be for nothing. That Hruska had left no clue to the location of his evidence at his flat or that the Secret Police or conspirators had already searched it and found what they were looking for. Marie and von Stalhein had both agreed, however, that the possible benefits outweighed the risks.

Silently, they mounted the steps outside and consulted the cards placed against a row of buttons set in the door jamb.

“Mr. Karel Hruska,” Marie noted, pointing to the top one. “And it looks like he does …did live alone. All the other names are prefixed with Mr. and Mrs.”

Von Stalhein reached out and turned the door handle. It swung open with only a slight creak and Biggles’ astonishment could be easily seen in the moonlight. The Prussian officer smiled slightly at his former enemy.

“The official position is that Communist countries have no crime.” He noted. “Therefore there is no need to lock street doors. In the old days, the Secret Police would consider anyone who did to have something to hide and old habits die hard.”

Biggles grinned back at him. “Well, whatever the reason, it’s a good thing for us!”

The three of them entered the foyer of the converted house. As was common in such arrangements, there was no lift, so, after pausing for a moment to ensure their entry had not alerted the occupants of the ground floor flats, they made their way, single file up the stairs, threading lightly as they went. Reaching the top, they stopped and listened for a while but the house remained silent. Hruska’s apartment was clearly marked with a metal number plate screwed into the door. Biggles gestured to von Stalhein, who stepped forward and used a nail file borrowed from Marie’s manicure set to open it. He put his ear to the door and listened for a long moment, then checked the door hinges. Apparently satisfied with the precautions, he very carefully opened the door and stepped through; Biggles and Marie quickly followed and closed the door behind them.

They found themselves in a narrow passageway with doors on either side. As veterans in undercover work, they had developed a sixth sense over the years and knew immediately that they were alone in the flat without needing to check the rooms. Switching on the torches Biggles had bought during his and von Stalhein’s journey back to the hotel, they made their way quietly down the passage and entered what appeared to be a living room at the far end. It was medium sized, furnished with mismatched but comfortable looking armchairs and a sofa that had seen better days. The room was untidy, with newspapers, magazines and other papers strewn everywhere. A used plate and unwashed mug stood on a low table in the middle of the room. At the far end was a large desk with a typewriter. It was the only surface in the room free of clutter.

Von Stalhein made a sound of disgust. “What a mess!” he muttered.

“Well as far as we know he wasn’t expecting to entertain anyone.” Biggles pointed out reasonably. ”And, judging from his desk, he took his work seriously. However, I must admit, I wasn’t expecting anything quite like this. I’d assumed his Service training would have led to him being much more organised. I would have thought he’d have had a cabinet and some sort of filing system at least.”

“Or all of this is deliberate.” Marie said. “Have either of you read Edgar Allen Poe?”

“Ah, ‘The Purloined Letter’! Hiding something of importance in plain sight.” von Stalhein mused. “Yes, that is possible.”

“If that is the case, we’d better hope for a stroke of good luck.” Biggles observed, dryly. “We don’t know exactly what we’re looking for, remember and we don’t have the time to comb through all this thoroughly, especially as only one of us reads Czech. Marie, could you start in this room. Erich and I will take the others. If either of us finds anything we think could be a lead, we’ll bring it to you for translation.”

His colleagues nodded and von Stalhein followed him out of the room as Marie moved towards the papers scattered over the sofa.

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Biggles put down the magazine he had been flicking through and picked up another. An hour and a half had passed since they had begun the search and, so far, it had yielded nothing. Out of the corner of his eye he saw von Stalhein return a book to the bookcase beside the door. They had completed the search of the other rooms more quickly than he had expected. There had been a kitchen, a bathroom and two bedrooms, one obviously used by Hruska. The other, judging from the wallpaper, had belonged to a child at one point but had, more recently, been used as a guest bedroom. The air of neglect, however, had led him to the conclusion that Hruska had not had people to stay often. Unlike the living room, all the other rooms had been kept rigorously neat and tidy. He and von Stalhein had checked the drawers and wardrobes, looked under the mattresses, lifted the pictures and even examined the lavatory cistern but had found nothing. Once they had finished, they had returned to the living room to assist Marie.

Marie threw the document she had been reading onto the occasional table in frustration. “This is useless!” she exclaimed. “We are only half way through the papers here and we are running out of time. If we don’t find anything soon, we must leave!”

“Well, we always knew it was a long shot.” Biggles replied, philosophically. “Perhaps, if we tried his newspaper …”

“Still!” von Stalhein urged in his native language, he reached out and switched off his torch, which had been resting on the bookcase, his body tensing as he stared towards the passageway.

Biggles and Marie ceased their discussion and turned in the same direction. The clinking sound of a key being quietly inserted in the lock carried through the silence. Biggles and Marie turned off their own torches in response. Biggles wondered what this unknown person or persons would do when they discovered the door was already open. He cursed himself for not considering just this situation. ‘I must be getting old’ he thought, resignedly as he ran through the options. Escape was out of the question, they were five stories up and the fire escape was located on the landing outside the apartment. He and von Stalhein might possibly be able to get out of a window and climb down the outside of the building. The moon was bright enough for them to see by and the ornate exterior decorations offered plenty of hand and footholds, but it was unlikely that Marie would be able to do the same. In any case, the noise was certain to alert the neighbours and they would be clearly visible from the street.

Hiding was also out of the question. The same moon that would have facilitated their escape made them easily visible in its silvery light.

What sounded from its tone like a muffled curse came from outside the apartment. Whoever was outside had discovered the door was unlocked. Biggles felt a degree of relief. The intruder appeared to be alone and no more willing for their visit to become public knowledge than he, von Stalhein and Marie were. Von Stalhein had evidently realised the same thing because, as Biggles watched, he grabbed a heavy metal candlestick from a cabinet besides the bookcase and ducked behind the door leading from the passageway into the room. He had often had cause to comment on the other man’s ruthlessness but on this occasion he couldn’t fault him. It was imperative that they not be discovered. Biggles took Marie’s arm and together they retreated to the far end of the room, pressing their backs against the wall so they would be outside the peripheral vision of the intruder when they entered.

Cautious footsteps trod lightly down the passageway, coming closer and closer. They stopped occasionally and the creak of a door being opened indicated that the other rooms were being investigated. The intruder was obviously trying not to alert anyone to their presence but lacked the training and experience needed to move stealthily. Finally they came to a stop outside the living room door. Biggles watched as the door handle slowly turned. The door opened and a figure stepped through, its right hand raised high.

Von Stalhein erupted from his hiding place behind the door, grabbing the stranger’s right arm and twisting hard. A long-handled umbrella fell to the ground as the figure was forced to release it and bend almost double to relieve the pain. It let out a small gasp but didn’t scream or make any other sound. Von Stalhein stood over the figure and raised his other hand, which held the candlestick.

“Stop!” Biggles and Marie cried out together. From where they stood, they could see something the other man could not. The intruder was a woman, or perhaps a girl.

Von Stalhein looked at them questioningly but lowered his arm and relaxed his grip on the stranger, allowing her to stand upright, although he continued to hold her firmly. The moonlight now allowed them to make out her features. She was young, no more than twenty-one at a guess, with short, dark hair and wearing a pair of slacks and a long sleeved, strippy v-necked top.

Marie stepped forward and said something in Czech. The other spat out a reply in the same language.

Marie turned to the others. “I asked her who she was and what she was doing here. She replied that it was she who should be asking us that.” She explained in English.

“Unlike you, I have a right to be here.” The girl interrupted, also speaking in English. “This is …was, my father’s apartment!”

“You claim to be Karel Hruska’s daughter?” Biggles asked.

“I claim nothing. I am Cecilie Hruska. Now, who are you and what are you doing breaking into my father’s apartment?”

“What proof do we have you are who you say you are?” von Stalhein asked.

“My identity card. It’s in my handbag outside in the passage.”

“I’ll get it.” Marie said, hurrying out of the room. She quickly returned and handed the bag to the girl who rummaged about inside it, withdrew the card and held it out.

Von Stalhein took it and studied it carefully. “She appears to be telling the truth.” He eventually said. “My apologies, Miss Hruska.” He added, as he released his grip on her.

The young girl glared at him. “I assume you are the Westerners my father was trying to contact. You must be the German!”

“Erich von Stalhein at your service.” Von Stalhein replied, bowing formally.

The girl turned to the others. “So, by a process of elimination you must be Miss Janis and Mr. Bigglesworth.”

Biggles nodded. “That is correct, Miss Hruska. Please accept our condolences on your loss.”

“My father was killed!” the girl interrupted. “Murdered by the traitorous scum who want to sell us back to the Russians!”

“Yes. Mr. von Stalhein and I were there. It happened just after he left us. We could do nothing to prevent it happening. I’m sorry.” Biggles replied. “But when he spoke to us he indicated he had something of importance he wanted to give to us, something that would prove his story of a planned coup d’état to be true.”

“Why should I trust you?” the girl asked. “My father met with you and was murdered only minutes later. I know you were once a famous British fighter pilot but how do I know you are not also a communist agent like Burgess and Philby?”

The silence outside was suddenly broken by the sound of car engines and screeching tyres. Biggles and von Stalhein hurried to the window and looked down as two cars pulled up outside the house and men wearing trench coats despite the warmth of the night began to get out of them. Anyone as familiar with the Soviet bloc as they were would have recognised them instantly as members of the Secret Police. The last man to get out looked from his build and manner as if he might be Reinhardt but Biggles couldn’t be sure.

He turned to the young woman and spoke clearly and rapidly. “Miss Hruska, the Secret Police are here. I give you my word that my colleagues and I are not communist agents. You now have only a matter of minutes to decide whether to trust us or not. But I warn you that if you don’t, the Secret Police will tear this place apart and they will certainly find whatever it is your father hid. Do you want that to happen?”

Cecilie Hruska looked from face to face, her own clearly mirroring her uncertainty.

T.B.C.

[Bertie]

grrrr got to here and now no more? Come on let's have some more!