Stalin's Gold

They stood at her doorway happily embracing for a moment before Sonia pulled him through the door.

Sonia had finally got hold of Merlin just before midnight on Saturday to let him know that she was safe in Northolt and to make sure that the bombs hadn’t got him. She had seen Jan for a quick sandwich at the base before his squadron took to the air. Someone told her about the particularly heavy bombing and she’d thought of getting back to London to find Merlin, but she had promised to see Jan later. She had found a telephone kiosk on the base and had been ringing Merlin’s flat on and off all night. When she did get him, she had exploded with frustration. “How was I meant to know that you’d gone to Scotland Yard, you stupid man? I’ve been trying you for ages!” Having grabbed a couple of hours sleep in a chair in the canteen, she had caught the milk-train in the morning and had been waiting impatiently for hours.

They sat down on the sofa and kissed, gently at first, then more urgently. Suddenly, Sonia pulled away. “Now then, Mr Policeman, hold your horse a minute. I have something for you here. It’s from Jan.”

Merlin opened the envelope that Sonia passed to him. “It’s in Polish.”

“I am to translate it for you. He’s not confident in his written English. Here goes:

‘Dear Frank, I am giving this letter to Sonia for you as I am very concerned about my friend, Ziggy. His full name, or maybe I should say the name he goes by here, is Zygmunt Kilinski. We fought together against the Germans in the Polish Air Force and then escaped together through Romania so that we could fight again in England. He is a very brave man and a very good pilot. The weekend when I came to London and met you, I spent some time with Ziggy. We had some fun and a few drinks, but I could tell that Ziggy’s heart was not really in it. He mentioned a few times that there was someone he had to see if he could that weekend. At the end of our meal together on the Sunday, he found a telephone, made a call and then announced that he was going off to meet an old Polish friend. He clearly did not want me to join him, just patted me on the back and told me he’d be round at Sonia’s in the morning at nine. He never turned up. I left a note, but Sonia tells me the note was untouched where I’d left it when she got home in the evening. He was due back on duty with me on Tuesday, but did not appear there and he’s been missing all week.’”

The sound of a backfiring car nearby interrupted Sonia, who paused, went into the kitchen, and reappeared with a glass of water. She took a couple of sips then resumed.

“‘The Squadron Leader has been very good in allowing me to ask you to investigate before posting him as a deserter. I would be very grateful if you or one of your officers could look into it. I am aware that I have not given you much to go on, but if you could make it out to Northolt, perhaps his belongings or some of his colleagues might be able to give you some clues. Obviously we are very busy here as you must be in town. It goes without saying that we shall defeat these German bastards, English and Polish fighting together! I have given your name to Squadron Leader Kellett and I have written his telephone number at the bottom of this letter. Please call him if you can to arrange a visit. It is hard to predict the pattern of German bombing, but I think they favour the night at the moment, so the morning might be best. The Squadron Leader will have the best idea no doubt.

Jan Sieczko

P.S. Please look…’ Oh, I’m not going to read that.”

“Why not? What does he say?”

“Oh, he just mentions something silly about you and me and wants you to make sure the bombs don’t get me!”

“Silly, how do you mean?”

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