Stalin's Gold

“No, I shouldn’t joke about it, I suppose. It’s important work and I think you’re well suited to it.”


A siren wailed from somewhere on the other side of the river. Both men looked briefly out of the window. “Things are about to get very unpleasant, Peter. Very unpleasant.”

Johnson frowned. “I sent Dora up to Newcastle last week. She complained, but I thought she’d be safer with my parents.” Johnson had got married in June to his childhood sweetheart.

“Get on alright, do they, Dora and your parents?”

“Yes, sir. Dora’s family lived in the same street as us when we were kids. Her parents died young and mine have always been very close to her, so that’s alright. She didn’t want to leave me, but I insisted.”

“I’m sure you did the right thing.” Merlin had already suggested on more than one occasion to Sonia that he try and get her employment somewhere outside London, but she had laughed at him. “What could I do in the country, Frank? You want me to be a milkmaid or something. No, I’ll take my chances here, with you.”

Merlin drew himself back to the present. “What we’re concerned about now is the subject of looting. Since the German bombing campaign began in August, there has been a much greater incidence of looting reported than was anticipated. Quite naturally the powers that be are worried that if looting is rife in places like Croydon and Bromley, what will the impact be in central London as the bombing attacks accelerate? If there’s an epidemic of looting in London, in other words, how do we manage it?”

“And how do we, sir?”

“I don’t yet know. But sitting as we are in the centre of Whitehall, you can perhaps guess the first stage of how we work out how to manage the problem.”

Johnson nodded his head slowly. “Well, sir, let me see – would that be to establish a committee?” His Geordie origins betrayed themselves distinctly in his slow and unsympathetic enunciation of the last word.

“Bueno, Peter. A committee. And, yes, I would like you to represent the Yard on this committee.”

Johnson shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I’m not really cut out for administrative work, sir. Is there no one else you can—”

“Inspector, you are my best officer. We may view the workings of Whitehall with distaste and frankly I cannot understand why the civil defence people have not planned more actively for this problem, but there it is. This is an important issue and we are on the front line with the various other authorities. We need to cooperate closely with them and combat the problem very effectively. If it’s any comfort, Peter, I think this will be a lot more than paper-pushing. We need to establish an efficient unit to act against looters and you can be in the driving seat in doing that. That means there could be plenty of action for you.”

“I’m sorry, sir. You know I’ll do anything you want and in the proper spirit. If I have to sit on a committee, so be it. I suppose my lack of enthusiasm reflects the problem itself – who’d have thought that in the dire circumstances we are in, we’d have British people behaving in this disgusting way.”

“Disgusting it certainly is. Let’s hope that things don’t get as bad as these initial figures indicate.”

“Yes, sir. Well, what’s next?”

“I’ll have to make a few phone calls and speak to the A.C. again. Come and see me this afternoon – and thanks.”

Johnson rose and put his pencil and notebook away. With a smile he reached over the desk to shake Merlin’s extended hand.



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