Stalin's Gold

“No need to rush, Frankie boy. Such a lovely day and it’s nice for me to have a bit of company. Don’t see much of anyone apart from Billy and, I have to tell you, he’s a boring old fart. No, stay, let’s chat.” Jake relinquished his grip on Evans’ coat and started to pick his nose. Evans registered his disgust. “Oh, pardon me. I must mind my manners, mustn’t I?” Jake withdrew his finger and wiped it on his trousers.

“My old dad, God rest his soul, used to play this trick when I was a nipper. He put his finger up one nostril like this and hummed ‘Any Old Iron’ then pulled it out and stopped humming. Like he had a gramophone up there or something. Heh! He was a card, my old man.”

As Jake gazed mistily into the distance, recalling the comic skills of his late parent, Evans made another move to rise, but Jake’s hand shot out again to restrain him. “Alright, alright. I know you don’t want to be stuck here on this bench with lowly old me, eh, Francis? But let’s have a little word. A business discussion, you might call it.”

“What business?” Evans nervously folded his newspaper.

Jake leaned forward close to Evans’ face. “I know you know.”

“Know what, Jake? Please stop speaking in riddles.”

“Riddles, eh? I’ll riddle you, mate.”

Evans jerked back his head, recoiling at Jake’s foul breath. “Look, I’ve got to go. Say plainly what you have to say.”

Jake leaned back and smiled. “I know that Billy and I are being given the bum’s rush on your valuations of the loot. I am right, aren’t I?”

“How would I know? I give my ideas on value to Mr Trubetskoi, who then discusses them with you. If he gives you different figures from mine, what can I do about it?”

“You can tell us direct next time, can’t you?”

“Well, if Mr Trubetskoi is amenable, I—”

“We’ll make sure he’s a… bloody… menable! And you’d better watch out, mate, because I’m bloody close to the end of my tether on this.” Jake raised his fist in a menacing manner and bared his teeth. “Billy and I are busting a gut in bloody awful conditions. Most people would shit themselves if they went through what Billy and I go through. All I want is a fair whack! But I’m not afraid of causing physical pain to people who shaft me. Have I made myself clear, Mr lardy-da Francis Evans?”

Evans stood up, the newspaper rustling in his shaking hands. “Very clear. Now, if you don’t mind?”

“Nah. Off you go. Just think of me when the bombs are coming down tomorrow night. Making you rich!”

“As a matter of fact, I shall be…” Evans bit his tongue. What need was there for this thug to know of his fire service.

“What’s that?”

“Never mind. Good day to you.”

Jake watched Evans hurry off towards Kensington. The pubs must be open soon, he thought, and he headed off in the opposite direction, thinking of that nice little place in Belgravia where they served a lovely pint of Fullers.

Evans too went in search of a drink. It was now absolutely clear to him what he had become involved with and he was sick with fear.





Chapter 15


Warsaw 1938




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