Stalin's Gold

“Indeed, Sergeant, who’s to know.”


German bombers had been attacking Britain since August 13th, or “Eagle Day” as Hermann Goering had designated it according to the Assistant Commissioner. From that Monday morning throughout August, hundreds of German bombers supported by swarms of fighter planes had crossed the Channel every day to attack airfields, aircraft factories and radar installations mostly in southern England. The London suburbs had been hit heavily, but, with one exception, central London had remained unscathed – on the Saturday of the week before, August 24th, the East End had been hit by bombs and a number of fires had broken out.

As Merlin stared out of his window at another sunny, warm day, both he and Bridges knew that this situation was unlikely to obtain for much longer. After the August 24th bombing, which Jack Stewart, Merlin’s friend in the Auxiliary Fire Service, said was probably accidental, the RAF had launched retaliatory raids on Berlin. While everyone agreed that central London was going to be a target sooner or later, these raids suggested it would be sooner.

Merlin took off his jacket. “Very well, Sergeant. You might as well leave me alone to get on with it. Off you go. No doubt you’ve got paperwork to attend to as well.”

“Yes, sir.”

Frank Merlin was a lean six-footer with a full head of jet-black hair. Piercing green eyes complemented a narrow aristocratic nose and a full and generous mouth, and he had seldom encountered a woman who failed to admire his charms. He was no lothario though, unlike his friend Jack Stewart. Despite the odd wrinkle, he looked younger than his forty-three years. Born to a Spanish exile father and an East End mother, he was brought up in a Limehouse chandlery store with his younger brother and sister. From his father he had acquired, amongst other things, a love of history and poetry. He had fought bravely in the Great War, survived and joined the police on his return, rising steadily through the ranks. A brief, loving marriage had been ended by the leukaemia that killed his wife, Alice. At the beginning of 1940 he had attempted to join up for this new Great War, but had been thwarted by his superiors.

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