Stalin's Gold

by Mark Ellis

  “I am able now, sir.”

  “That’s the spirit, Cole, but I think you’d better wait until that sling is off, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  * * *

  Miro Kubicki was seething and his head was throbbing. The staff at the hospital had not been keen for him to leave, but he had insisted.

  When he arrived at the base, he went straight to Kowalski’s hut. Jerzy was by his bed, putting his final bit of kit on as the squadron was due in the air imminently.

  Kubicki’s first action was to throw a punch, but he was weak and Kowalski easily deflected it. “What the hell, Miro, what are you doing? What’s wrong with you?”

  Miro fell onto the bed and put his head in his hands. “Ty draniu, Kowalski, you bastard. You took me off on what was very nearly a suicide mission yesterday. I was almost killed and then you left me for dead with those bastards and ran off. Then you ask what is wrong.”

  “Look. I’m sorry. It would have been better if you had kept calm, but—”

  “You are a bastard, Jerzy. I fought like a man at least. What have you really been up to with those people, the Count and everyone?”

  Kowalski shrugged, smiled enigmatically and disappeared through the door.

  An hour later when the policeman arrived to see him with the pretty girl, Kubicki was lying on his bed with a wet towel on his forehead. Physically he was feeling a little better, but his anger had not subsided. He told them everything about what had happened the day before. They were, of course, previously unaware of Kowalski’s participation in events. He had no compunction about telling them.

  “He seemed very close to these people, the Count and Countess. You should speak to the Countess about him. Where was all this gold from? He wouldn’t tell me. He drags me along to help without telling me that there were some mad Russians prepared to go to war for this gold. What was he thinking?”

  “Where is he now?”

  “In the air, Inspector. Up above, free as a bird.”

  * * *

  The two Messerschmitts came out of the sun on his right. Kowalski could see them clearly, but he thought the two other squadron planes on his left might be blinded. He waggled his wings and dived, hoping that they would get the message to follow him. His radio was on the blink for some reason. As he bottomed out of his dive, he saw that his friends had been slow off the mark and the German planes were almost on them. Squeezing the maximum out of the Hurricane, he rose steeply and flipped back over and behind the Messerschmitts. His mistake was not to notice another German fighter coming out of the sun. The two RAF planes beneath him were now under fire. Flames began to flicker from one of them. Jerzy squeezed the trigger and sent a line of tracers beneath him, catching the tail of one of the Germans. Moments later there was an explosion and he could see that half of his left wing had gone. The third Messerschmitt closed in for the kill. Splinters of glass sprayed his cheeks as the bullets grazed the windscreen. As the plane began to spiral down, he managed to cross himself. He thought of the good things he had done and prayed forgiveness for the bad. He thought of Maria and Adam and the Stanislawickis. He thought of Jan and Miro. And he thought of Kilinski.

  * * *

  Merlin had asked the station commander at Northolt to call him when Kowalski returned from his mission. Back at the Yard, he picked at a currant bun that Bridges had brought in from Tony’s Café and pondered what to do. There was a brief knock on the door and the A.C. entered. “Ah, Frank. There you are.”

  Merlin rose, but the A.C. nodded him back into his chair as his mottled teeth revealed themselves in a wintry smile. “Just a quick word. I thought you should know, I’ve had quite a bit of flak about your battle in Hampstead yesterday. No. No. You needn’t get worked up. I told everybody that it was an incident that would have happened whether you were there or not and the fortuitous fact of your presence prevented things getting much worse. In any event, the Home Secretary was most anxious that this matter get resolved as soon as possible. He was very shocked, of course – he used similar words to yours, though instead of talking about a cowboy gunfight, he said something about Chicago gangsters. The long and short of it is that you are to ignore the complaints of the Poles and if getting to the bottom of things requires a vigorous interrogation of this unfortunate Polish lady, you are to get on with it.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  * * *

  “I am afraid the Countess is still not fit to receive visitors.”

  Merlin squeezed the telephone receiver tight in irritation. “Look, Doctor Molik. There have been two gunfights on the suburban streets of Hampstead. I have three bodies. All something to do with a pile of gold in the Count and Countess’ possession. The Countess is the only person who can cast full light on these events. Regardless of what you—”

  “But, Chief Inspector, it is not only I insisting that the Countess be left in peace. General Sikorski, the leader of the Polish government in exile is adamant that—”

  Merlin rose from his seat. “Look, Doctor, I don’t care whether it’s you, Sikorski, the Prime Minister or the King of England insisting. I am on my way to see the lady.” He slammed down the phone and grabbed his coat.

  They arrived at the Tarkowski residence just after two. At the door they were met by the doctor who was a short, balding man with a wispy, grey beard. He remonstrated with Merlin again, but his complaints were halted by an imperious voice from above. “Stop it, Doctor. I will see them. They are only doing their jobs.” The Countess, dressed in black, descended the staircase slowly and elegantly, before leading Merlin and his colleagues into her drawing room. A large, life-size portrait of a dashing young man in military uniform, brandishing a sword in the air, dominated the room.

  “My father, Count Stanislawicki.” The Countess waved a hand at the chairs in front of the fireplace above which the portrait was placed and everyone sat down. “It was painted when he was commanding his regiment at the turn of the century. Of course, Poland only existed as a province of Russia then. For all of the nineteenth century, Polish independence was a distant aspiration. It was only in 1918, after the Great War, that Russia gave Poland back her independence and even then, it took only a few years for the Russian army to be back at the gates of Warsaw. My father fought with Pilsudski then and for once the Poles triumphed. Stalin fought on the Russian side then, did you know that? Being the coward that he was, of course, he skulked in the rearguard. Yes, my father was a brave man. I say was, although he is still alive, or so the last letter from the Mother Superior advised me. He is now only a husk of a man. His mind has gone. There was no way he could make the journey here, so we entrusted him to the care of the nuns at a convent deep in the country.”

  The Countess stared up at her father’s portrait and a tear ran down her cheek. She collected herself, brushed the tear away with her hand and faced Merlin. “Now, Chief Inspector. Ask your questions.”

  Robinson took out her notebook and sat forward, pen poised.

  The Countess drew in her breath. “My, Inspector. You have come well supplied with clerks. The Nazis are very good at clerking by all accounts.” She paused to look out of the window. “Ah, but forgive me, my dear, the comparison is ill-judged. Please forgive a bitter woman.” Robinson bobbed her head to acknowledge the apology.

  Merlin cleared his throat. “I am very sorry about your husband, Countess. As you know, he was murdered by Voronov’s gang. Voronov, as you may not know, is also now dead. We know that the Count was transporting a large quantity of gold to a bank in the City. This bank already holds gold bullion on your husband’s account. We also have an allegation from the Russian embassy that this gold was stolen a few years before the war from a consignment of gold being shipped from Spain to Russia. Perhaps you could elaborate on all this for us?”

  The Countess looked hard at Merlin then transferred her gaze to Robinson. “You are a very pretty girl to be in the police, young lady.” Robinson blushed. “Would you be so good as to go to the bureau in the
corner over there and pour me a small glass of plum brandy? It’s in the decanter on the right.” Robinson looked across at Merlin to seek approval, then went to get the drink.

  “Forgive my manners in not offering you anything, gentlemen, but I am sure being on duty precludes such refreshment.” The Countess took the glass from Robinson and took a sip. “First of all, Chief Inspector, I will tell you all I know with one exception. I do not propose to discuss these ludicrous claims concerning the provenance of the gold with you. Or, let me put it another way – I state unequivocally that the gold belongs to my family, as it has belonged for countless generations, and that the Russian claims are without foundation. This gold is serving or is intended to serve a noble purpose, that is, the support of our Polish government here in London. There is much work to be done back in the homeland. The Count was devoted to his country.” The Countess paused to drink again. “So, Kyril Voronov is dead, is he?”

  “He was shot at the second shootout.”

  The Countess’ lips parted in a sour smile. “Voronov was a vile man. A murderer and a blackmailer. I have a brother in prison in Moscow. Voronov promised to help him if I… if I did certain things. He also knew somehow about our gold and wanted me to help him steal it.”

  “And did you?”

  The Countess shaded her eyes with her right hand. “I did something I regret, but did not lead him to the gold. He used his contacts and found his own way. My husband had this gold in storage in a commercial building, which was bombed. He moved it here, but obviously that was not suitable and hence he made arrangements to move the gold to the bank yesterday. Voronov learned about these arrangements from a clerk at the bank and came with his cronies to rob us of the gold. He killed my husband, but… well, there it is.”

  Merlin leaned forward in his chair. “What were Miro Kubicki and Jerzy Kowalski doing here?”

  “They came to provide moral and physical support. My husband was worried about the danger of transporting the gold, justifiably, as we now know. He asked Jerzy to come and Jerzy brought Mr Kubicki. I understand he got a blow on the head. Is he alright?”

  “He’s recovering. Do you know what happened to Jerzy?”

  “Yes, he rang me last night to offer me his sympathies and to say that he got safely back to his base.”

  “And what is Jerzy Kowalski to you, Countess?”

  “He is my nephew, my sister’s son.”

  “Are you close?”

  The Countess reached again for her drink and finished the glass. “Of course. He is a charming, loveable boy. A hero too.”

  “Ziggy Kilinski?”

  “What about him?”

  “We have a theory that Kilinski was on some sort of mission to do with his brother. He also had one or more of your gold ingots and an ancient Aztec amulet. We also had the distinct feeling that the Count was not truthful with us about his meetings with Kilinski. Can you tell us more?”

  The Countess stared into the distance for a moment and seemed to be wrestling with her thoughts. She reached some sort of resolution. “His real name was Simon Nozyk. He had a brother called David who was a skilled craftsman who worked for my family. He turned his hand to many things. We had a fine collection of art, jewels and so on. One day David disappeared. His brother was trying to find out what happened to him. Unfortunately he had got it into his head that we had had something to do with it.”

  “And this was why Kilinski contacted you? He had connected you to David?”

  “Yes.”

  Merlin rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Do you have any idea about what happened to David?”

  “None I’m afraid, but Kilinski would not believe us. He also knew about our gold and indeed had got hold of a sample of it, although I know nothing of the amulet you mention. He told my husband he had met Voronov who had clearly filled his head with these false rumours about the provenance of the gold. He began to make threats about using this knowledge to embarrass us and make us reveal to him what he thought might be the truth about David. He became more than just a pest. He felt he could blackmail us.”

  “And did Kowalski know what Kilinski was about?”

  “I told him.”

  “And what did he do?”

  “I believe Mr Kilinski disappeared before Jerzy could speak to him.”

  “Did—” Merlin was interrupted by a commotion at the front door. Moments later, Grishin burst into the room followed by two burly men in military uniform. “And so, Countess Tarkowski, have you been telling Mr Merlin about your stolen gold?”

  The Countess stood, her face beetroot red with anger. “The gold is ours!” Grishin produced a document from the briefcase he was carrying.

  “Not according to this, dear lady. Do you recognise the signature? Go on, look.”

  The Countess put on her spectacles and grasped the last page of the document that Grishin was holding in front of her. She looked and read, then, with a piercing cry of recognition, buckled to the floor. Constable Robinson hurried forward to try and catch her but was too late. Merlin and Bridges bent down and helped the Countess carefully to her feet and back into her chair.

  Grishin continued contemptuously. “Yes, your dear brother Karol describes here in detail how your other beloved dead brother Sasha stole the gold from our shipment from Spain, taking advantage of a bureaucratic error. How he, Karol and your cousin Kowalski brought the gold overland through the mountain forests to Poland. How the gold jewellery and Spanish bars were melted down and recast with your family crest. And, finally, how you managed to get the gold to London before the Nazis could get their filthy hands on it.”

  The Countess sat rigid in her chair. “And Karol?”

  “Is dead, Countess. By his own hand apparently, though you may choose to believe otherwise.”

  Silent tears rolled down Maria Tarkowski’s alabaster cheeks. Robinson placed a consoling hand on her shoulder.

  Merlin gave Grishin a hard look. “Could this not have been handled a little more delicately, Colonel?”

  Grishin stroked his moustache and laughed. “Delicately! You are sitting on millions of pounds’ worth of our gold, Chief Inspector. Gold stolen by this woman’s family. No doubt she has been sitting here telling you a pack of lies. Perhaps now you will get the truth from her.”

  “With respect, Colonel, I would suggest the gold belongs to Spain before anyone. You stole it from the legitimate government of Spain at the time, did you not?”

  “Stole? No, my friend, a legitimate commercial transaction. They wanted arms and had to pay for them or provide security for payment. The Spaniards can whistle for the gold, Chief Inspector.”

  Doctor Molik appeared at the door and sprang to the Countess’s side. “Come, my dear. Come upstairs. The Countess needs rest, gentlemen. I told you she was not yet fit to be talked to.”

  * * *

  Back in the office, Merlin picked up the telephone and listened. “Yes, sir. I see. I am sorry. Thanks for letting me know.”

  Merlin pushed back his chair and sighed. “That was Northolt. Kowalski did not return from his mission. He’s been posted missing, but two of his fellow pilots think they might have seen him shot out of the air.”

  “That poor woman.”

  “Poor woman indeed, Robinson. But I am certain that poor woman is a liar.” Merlin rubbed his forehead. “So, according to her, Kilinski’s brother disappeared. She claims she has no idea why or how. Kilinski didn’t believe her. What did he think? Whatever, clearly he was being an infernal pest to the Tarkowskis. Is that why he in turn disappeared and died? Or was that for some completely different reason?”

  “Perhaps Kilinski was operating as some sort of agent for Voronov?”

  Merlin twirled a pencil in his fingers. “Perhaps, Constable. Still a lot of imponderables. The fact remains that of the living, the Countess is the one who knows the most. We must have another crack at her when we can. I am going for a little walk to clear my head.”

  When Merlin returned an hour lat
er from his stroll along the Embankment he found the phone ringing again. He was just replacing the receiver when Bridges came in. “ That was the Countess’s doctor, Sergeant. He sounded very strained. Let’s go. Where’s Robinson?”

  “Getting a translation of Grishin’s document, sir. Someone at the Foreign Office is sorting it for her. What was the message?”

  “Just to get there pronto. Come on.”

  * * *

  The doctor opened the door to them. He looked exhausted and said nothing, but pointed to the stairs. When they reached the landing on the top of the stairs, the doctor called out, “It’s the bedroom on the right at the front of the house.”

  The policemen entered a large double bedroom. The curtains were half drawn and the room was quite dark. A single bedside lamp illuminated the body on the bed. Propped up against the pillows and clad still in the dress of their earlier meeting, the Countess seemed to be gazing out of the window, her eyes wide open, her face strangely unmarked by the agonies of violent death.

  Doctor Molik came into the room. “I found her there an hour and a half or so after you left. Method of death? There is a brandy glass on the carpet on the other side of the bed and an empty bottle of sleeping pills.”

  Merlin moved carefully around the bed. “Did she do anything in particular or speak to anyone in that hour and a half?”

  The doctor sat down wearily in a small chair by the window. “The phone rang once downstairs. There is an extension on the bedside table, as you can see. I assumed that she picked it up.”

  “And when you found her, was she in the throes of death or…?”

  “No, she was dead.” The doctor raised a hand and pointed at something on the bed. “That letter is addressed to you.” Merlin walked around and saw his name spelled out clearly on an envelope. He picked it up and opened it carefully.