BIGGLES OF THE INTERPOL

by Captain W. E. Johns

3. ASSIGNMENT IN ARABIA (Pages 69 – 81)

“Good morning, sir.” “Morning, Bigglesworth”. Air Commodore Raymond waved to a chair. “Sit down. I have a rather unusual job for you”. Biggles smiled. “You said that as if most of our jobs were mere routine”. Raymond says “I want you to fly an Arab boy to an oasis in the Arabian desert”. “This job must be done quietly, secretly and without fuss”. Raymond tells Biggles “There is, in the hinterland behind Kuwait, a small province called El Kafala, the sheikh’s residence being an oasis of that name. This sheikh was, until he died a few months ago, a friend of ours; and in order to maintain this friendship it was arranged that his son, now a boy of sixteen, should be educated in this country. That would enable him to learn English and see for himself how a democratic country is run”. The boy has been here three years and has been abducted. Raymond says there is reason to believe the boy’s father was murdered and the throne has been jumped by the sheikh’s brother, Abu Ibn Menzil, who is the boy’s uncle. “He knows perfectly well that we dare not use force to unseat him, for this would cause a flare-up among the more powerful sheikhs in Saudi Arabia, where things are very touchy already, due to the scramble for oil concessions in the region”. The boy, Jerid Ben Menzil, managed to get a letter out by a friend making the pilgrimage to Mecca asking for help. “There is at the London University a young Arab medical student named Miktel. He knows Jerid, coming from that district. He has been approached and he says he is willing to rescue him if we will take him there. That’s where you come in. The idea is, you will fly Miktel to a small oasis some two or three miles from El Kafala, wait there for him, and fly him, and Jerid, back to this country. He will guide you to the oasis”. Biggles asks about landing conditions and is told there are miles and miles of sabkha, mostly gravel. The water hole dries at this time of year so there is not likely to be anyone around. “Well, how do you feel about it?” “Not entirely happy, but I’ll go” says Biggles. Miktel will be dressed as he would be at home, with his Arab clothes, abbas, gumbaz and kafich. (An abbas is a long-sleeved, button-fastened shirt with a high stand-collar and chest pocket. A gumbaz is a crossed dress with a slit up the front, worn by people of rank. I can’t find out what a ‘kafich’ is and I assume Johns means a ‘kufeya’ which is the traditional square of cloth used as headwear). Miktel wants to arrive about sundown, so he can go in the dark to avoid being recognized and questioned in daylight. Biggles says he will fly via Italy, Cyprus, Amman, and then straight across the Syrian Desert. Raymond says “I’ll prepare a document that should give you diplomatic immunity en route. Biggles will go alone as the less weight the better. He will go in the Proctor but have another machine follow him in case anything should go wrong. “These long runs over nothing but sand, in a single-engined job, are always a bit of an anxiety. If anything goes wrong you haven’t a hope. It’s a comfort to know someone’s behind you”. On the afternoon of the fifth day after the conversion, Biggles is flying eastwards from Amman. Biggles wears dark glasses as protection against the glare. With him is Miktel, “a fine example of the desert Arab, of medium height, slim, with a flawless olive-brown skin and features of classic regularity”. He has told Biggles he is seventeen and wants to become a doctor. Biggles says the oasis is not marked on his map. Miktel says “It is too small, perhaps. You need have no fear of it not being there. To the Arab an oasis, however small, is a thing to be remembered. It may mean life”. They find the oasis and Biggles lands. Biggles asks Miktel if he is sure he will be alright. “Only God is the knower,” returned Miktel, with Moslem piety. “What is written is written”. Biggles tops up his tanks from petrol cans carried in the rear seats. “An hour passed. Two hours. Three hours, and still the desert lay silent under a moon now clear silver as it rode high in the heavens to dim the faces of a million stars”. At three o’clock a compact band of Arab horsemen arrive. “They came straight to the oasis, reining their horses to their haunches when they saw the aircraft”. (“…Reining their horses to their haunches” is the illustration opposite page 76). They dismount and walk on slowly. Seeing Biggles they stop. “Biggles decided to take the initiative. “Salaam Aleikum,” (peace be unto you) he said calmly, knowing a few words of Arabic. “Aleikum salaam,” (and upon you peace) came the automatic reply”. A man asks “Englesi” and Biggles replies “Bissahi” (that is true). They tell him they ride in ghrazzu, meaning they are raiders. “A voice, speaking in halting guttural English inquired: “Why does the ferangi (foreigner) sit alone in this place?” (Johns spells ‘ferangi’ with an “A” whereas ‘ferengi’ with an “E” means foreigner, or in modern Arabic, usually a European). “Biggles says “I am in the face of Sheikh Jerid Beni Menzil, who is at El Kafala and for whom I wait,” he said, hoping that the men would observe the unwritten law of the desert not to harm the guest of a sheikh”. Biggles is told that is a lie as he is not there. “He is at El Kafala, where he is held prisoner by his uncle who would be sheikh,” insisted Biggles, taking a chance that the men were of another tribe; or in any case would not be supporters of the false sheikh. This statement was followed by another whispered conversation. At the end of it, to Biggles’ relief, the riders remounted, and without another word disappeared in the direction of El Kafala with no more noise that fish swimming away into deep dark water”. Biggles is disturbed. “This raiding by different tribes of each other’s camels and horses was more of a sport than actual warfare, as he knew; but an alarm could not fail to bring the desert to life”. Soon there are distant rifle shots. Horses race past the oasis with men on them. Soon, two horsemen appear riding like furies. Behind them are a blurred mass of more riders. Miktel’s voice shouts “Away! Away! We are pursued!” Biggles shouts “Get in” and starts the plane and gets the Proctor moving, its airscrew kicking up clouds of dust. The oasis was filled suddenly with men, but Biggles is able to take off. “Did you get Jerid?” he asks. “Yes. He is here,” answered Miktel. “Good work,” complimented Biggles. Later, it is explained that the raid helped their escape as they would certainly have been overtaken had not raiders announced their arrival by shouting (shouting, not shooting) at the horse guards. “It was as God willed” concluded Miktel. “Without a doubt,” agreed Biggles. At Kuwait they waited for the reserve machine to join them, which it did, flown by Ginger, later in the day. They all arrived home a week later. “Jerid then sent word to El Kafala that he was returning home to take up his rightful position, which he did, with an escort of R.A.F. machines, arriving amid scenes of enthusiasm; for seeing which way the wind was blowing his uncle had fled. That is why, to-day, Jerid is Sheikh and Miktel is his court physician”.