Part 2 (1/2)
returned Biggles.
”Come up to the map-room at the aerodrome tomorrow and I'll show you to within two hundred square miles, and that's as much as anyone can tell you,” replied Wilkinson, ”but don't you try doing anything foolish,” he muttered darkly. ”An Aymara Indian couldn't get across those hills, so it's no use you trying.”
Biggles nibbled the end of a match-stalk reflectively. ”It seems a pity,” he observed slowly.
II.
The following morning he examined with interest the big map in the pilots' room at the aerodrome. A pencil line, drawn by Wilkinson, enclosed an oblong-shaped area roughly twenty miles long by ten miles deep.
”It's generally supposed that Estaban's estancia is somewhere about there, but, of course, no one knows for certain,” he told them.
”I see,” said Biggles vaguely. ”Well, it looks rough country to me and I don't think I shall wear out any shoe-leather looking for Consuelo. Come on, Algy, we had, better run over the machine; she'll need an overhaul before we leave.”
”Where's Smyth?” he went on, with a change of tone, when they were out of earshot.
”He's cleaning the machine. Why?”
”Good. Is the camera still aboard?”
”Yes.,, ”We still have plenty of unexposed plates, haven't we?” ”Plenty.”
”Fine! Let's do a little reconnaissance.”
A few minutes later the ”Vandal” was in the air, climbing as quickly as possible for height. Progress was slow, for the aerodrome at Alto de la Paz is situated fourteen thousand feet above sea-level, considerably higher than the normal ceiling of a civil aircraft. For this reason Smyth had been left behind in order to lighten the load as far as possible, and with Biggles at the controls Algy was ready to operate the camera.
When they were five thousand feet above the aerodrome the pilot struck off at a tangent and headed towards the snowy crest of Mount Illimani. As they neared it he edged away towards the lower peaks on the right, but even so he had not much more than a few hundred feet to spare when he slipped across them and looked ahead for what lay beyond. Something struck the plane with the vibrating crack of a whip-lash, and a small round hole appeared in the lower port plane. Biggles grimaced, and made a mental note that Wilkinson had evidently spoken the truth about Estaban's bodyguard of snipers.
Once over the main range the ground fell away in an awe-inspiring series of lesser ranges. As far as the eye could see, the landscape presented a vista of serrated ridges of rock, torn and split by the torture of innumerable earthquakes, and Biggles realised for the first time the difficulty of his task. Something caught his eye and he changed his course slightly towards it. It was a lake, one of those peculiar to the Andean range, situated thousands of feet above sea-level. It was near the end of a large plateau, bleak and stony and broken by occasional patches of tola scrub.
”What a place!” he mused. And then a movement attracted his attention and he peered down intently. Sheep? No, llamas, he thought, and stared at a group of animals grazing on the edge of the plateau near the entrance of a small ravine. He pointed, and signalled to Algy to start exposing plates.
For half an hour he flew up and down at the same alt.i.tude until every inch of the plateau, the lake, and their environs had been covered by the camera, and then he turned his nose back towards the aerodrome.
For the rest of the day they worked hard, Biggles and Smyth developing and printing the plates, Algy mounting them up together on a large white card. When he had finished, a single photograph was made of the whole and a bird's-eye picture of the valley lay before them.
”If he's in the area Wilks marked out, he is here,” said Biggles, laying a finger on the photograph, after a minute examination. ”A lizard couldn't find a foothold anywhere else.
Here is the pa.s.s.” He traced a faint wavering line with the point of his pencil. ”From the machine it seemed to lose itself on the plateau, but you can still faintly see it in the photograph. Here it goes, straight across. Now look over here in the corner; notice how all these small tracks converge on that point, and that is where the llamas were. The vertical photograph only shows rock and a tiny fissure, but I should say the rock overhangs a canyon, and that is where Estaban and his friends must hang out. Do you think you could land the 'Vandal' on that lake, Algy?” he concluded abruptly.
Algy looked up in surprise. ”Of course I could.”
Biggles nodded. ”The thing that worries me most, though,” he said, ”is whether you could get her off again. It's high up, remember, very high up, and on that flat surface with no wind the 'Vandal' might not unstick.”
”She'll come off all right; there is plenty of room and we can dismantle everything we don't need for the job. What's the idea?”
Biggles leaned forward and whispered in his ear for some minutes; when he had finished Algy looked at him dubiously.
”I don't think much of it,” he said, very serious for once. ”Well, it sounds all right to me,”
replied Biggles. ”Let's go and find Wilks.”
They found him in his office, checking up and signing log-books.
”Have you got a parachute here, Wilks?” asked Biggles quietly.
”No. Why?”
”Oh, I just wondered:”
”Wait a minute. I believe there is a sample the Irvin people sent down some time ago. It was a special job, extra large, I believe, for high-alt.i.tude work, but we didn't buy any.”
”Let's see it,” demanded Biggles.
Wilks looked at him curiously. ”What crazy scheme have you got in your head, now?”
he asked.
”Never mind that,” replied Biggles. ”Get me the brolly, and if your people hear any aviating tonight tell them not to worry. We are going to try an experiment if it's fine.”
III.
With Algy at the stick, the ”Vandal” nosed its way through the night, three thousand feet above the mighty Cordillera, and headed for the plateau. Biggles, looking out, could see the lake clearly, and waved the pilot on a course midway between it and the spot where he had seen the llamas. He stood up, and then started to climb out. Algy throttled back to stalling speed and waved his hand in silent farewell. Biggles remained poised for a moment and then disappeared into the black void below. The pilot turned in a wide circle back towards the aerodrome.
Biggles, plunging downwards, gasped in relief as the parachute opened and his harness took the strain. He looked around curiously. To the right lay the lake; below, the plateau was wrapped in profound darkness and merged into the mountains, whose razor-like peaks, hard-cut against the sky, encircled him. The silence was uncanny; only the distant hum of the ”Vandal's” engines reached his ears, and a horrible feeling slowly crept over him that he was not falling, but was hanging suspended in s.p.a.ce from some invisible object. Suddenly the black floor of the earth seemed to spring up to meet him.
”Heck!” he gasped, as he sprawled headlong, and then staggered quickly to his feet. But there was no danger of being dragged; the air was still and the silk billowed softly to earth beside him. He removed his harness, folded the parachute roughly into a ball, and thrust it out of sight under a tola bush. He then unfastened a bundle from his shoulder and unwrapped the poncho he had bought in the market. This he donned, together with one of the round hats worn by the natives, and placing his revolver ready for instant action set off at a brisk pace in the direction of his destination. He made little attempt at concealment, but nevertheless he paused every few minutes to listen.
He had walked for perhaps twenty minutes when a light became visible ahead and he advanced more warily; presently he was able to discern that the light came from the open window of a large adobe building which stood at the entrance of the ravine they had marked down on the photo-map. A short distance beyond were several more dim lights and a group of low buildings, which he took to be the ranchos, or peons' dwellings.
Walking on tiptoe, every nerve alert, he sidled up to the rock wall of the canyon and stood for a moment staring into the darkness, ears strained to catch the slightest sound.
Faint voices and the noise of animals munching came from the direction of the ranchos; then somewhere near at hand a man began speaking in a loud voice. Biggles was surprised there were no sentries, and came to the conclusion that the bandit relied on those in the mountains to prevent the approach of strangers. Stealthily he crept nearer to the open window, which he could now see reached to the ground and opened on to the inevitable patio. Revolver in hand, he peeped in. Seated at a table in the centre of the room, on which were strewn the remains of a meal, were a man and a girl. The man had his back towards him, but the girl was facing the window, and after the first glance he had no doubt as to her ident.i.ty. She wore a black mantilla which covered the hair and was draped across the shoulders, enhancing the poise of the proud Castilian head.
The man was talking of ransom and the unpleasant consequences that would follow the refusal of her father to pay, and Biggles's nostrils twitched slightly as he listened and then advanced noiselessly across the room towards the unsuspecting man. , The girl did not move; she must have seen him, yet not by a single movement did she betray it.
”One sound, senor, and you die,” said Biggles coldly. ”Keep your hands upon the table.”
The Bolivian's head turned slowly. His eyes looked straight into the muzzle of the gun in Biggles's hand and remained fixed on it, as if fascinated.
”Senorita, we go,” said Biggles quietly.
”Donde, senor ?”
”To your father.” Obediently she rose to her feet. ”And you, senor, I hesitate to kill you, but I fear I must-unless you would prefer to accompany us?”
Estaban Martinez, accustomed to carry out the threats he promised, did not understand simple bluff. He drew a deep breath, opened his mouth as if to speak, saw Biggles's finger tighten on the trigger, changed his mind, and with an expressive shrug of his shoulders rose to his feet and walked slowly towards the window. Biggles relieved him of his knife and revolver and tossed them into a bush.