Golden Eights

by Nigel Seed

  Crowther stared at the two men for a moment or two, then he sighed. “Oh well,” he said, “why not? The coin was in my father’s effects when he died. He had shown it to me when I was about fifteen and told me then that there was a big secret attached to it. He told me that when the time came and he was too old to carry on, he would hand the secret on to me. But then a massive heart attack took him and I never found out what the secret was. But because there was some mystery attached to it I decided to keep my association with it quiet. Or I thought I did.” He looked at Ivan and Jim “So why do you care? It may be a valuable coin but why are you so interested?”

  Jim sat forward. “It’s not just a valuable coin it’s also a very rare one and it’s part of a small batch of coins that we need to find. Unfortunately we can’t tell you why. But where did your father live and what did he do for a living?”

  “We lived just outside Morecambe in Lancashire. Nice little farm overlooking the bay. You could see right across to Barrow in Furness on a clear day. That farm has been in the family for five generations, but it wasn’t making any money, at least not enough for all of us to live on, so I went and got a job in London. Then, when the old man died, I rented it out, took early retirement and came here for the sun and the lifestyle. The rent adds nicely to my pension.”

  Ivan said, “I went to Morecambe for a holiday with my Mum and Dad when I was quite young. I remember my Dad getting quite nostalgic about seeing a steam train running round the end of the bay when he was a lad.”

  “That’s right,” said Crowther. “The track runs across the bottom of our land.”

  “Just a thought,” said Jim. “When you were a boy was there anywhere on the farm you were not allowed to go? Or were there any people who visited your Dad for no apparent reason?”

  “What? Why would you ask that?”

  Ivan looked just as puzzled as Crowther, but said nothing.

  “Humor me,” said Jim, “it’s just an idea that struck me.”

  Crowther thought about it, Jim could almost see the memories being called up as he cast his mind back.

  “Well yes,” he said. “My sisters and I were banned from ever going into the storage barn down near the railway line. It wasn’t in very good repair and both Granddad and Dad said it was dangerous.”

  Jim nodded slowly. “And did they ever repair it while you were growing up?”

  “No. There was no need; it was just a place to store old equipment we didn’t need anymore.”

  “And did they ever go in there? Maybe with visitors?”

  Crowther looked at Jim and Ivan and slowly said, “They did now I come to think of it. There were a couple of people who would visit and then they would go to that barn together about once a month. I never asked why. It was just something that happened. Why, is that relevant?”

  Jim shrugged. “It’s just something that occurred to me. So who were these visitors to your farm?”

  “There was the local vicar, although we never went to church except at Christmas. Then there was the vet and the postman. Strangely, they kept visiting even after they retired but we never visited them. I am confused, why do you care?”

  “Mr Crowther,” said Jim, “you have been more helpful than I am able to tell you. I would appreciate it if you could refrain from mentioning this conversation. Could you also give us the address of your family farm and the name of your tenant?”

  Crowther stood. “I can do better than that. I have a letter from him that has his letterhead on it. You can take it if you like.”

  When he came back, Jim and Ivan were standing in the cool dark hallway waiting for him and admiring the carved Spanish woodwork. Jim took the letter and then both shook his hand, thanked him and stepped out into the bright sunshine of the narrow street.

  “Boss, what …?”

  Jim held up his hand. “Let’s get back in the car first.”

  They walked in silence down the hill to the car, admiring the neat, brightly colored houses as they went. The inside of the car was very hot in the Spanish sunshine so they started it then stood outside, to give the air conditioning time to do its work, before getting in and weaving their way through the narrow village streets down to the main road and back to ‘El Cid.’ Jim went to the bar and came back with two ice cold beers with the condensation already running down the outside of the glasses.

  Ivan took a swallow, sighed appreciatively and said, “You were a bit hard on Crowther back there. Why not just show him the PM’s letter?”

  “I don’t want too many people seeing that. It raises too many questions I don’t want to answer, so I will only use it where I feel the need.”

  “OK boss, I get that. So what did I miss about the barn?”

  “Not much I suspect. Young boys are inquisitive creatures, if Crowther had been allowed in the barn he might just have stumbled across something. The people who visited are exactly the type of people who were recruited to the Auxiliary Units, people with an excuse for travelling about at odd times. At first glance putting a base on Morecambe Bay would seem like the place to monitor an invasion fleet, but the tides in the bay are savage and there are wide areas of quicksand, so not a good place to have troops wading ashore. So why put the secret base there? At Geordie’s wedding, I found out that among the secret bases of the Auxiliary Units were others that were special and even more secret. I think we have the clues to one of those. Plus, I have a possible lead on a second one and with just a little bit of luck we may find a trail to a third. Problem is I don’t know how many we are looking for. It could be dozens.”

  Ivan nodded “I think we need to talk to the Governor again, boss.”

  “Why’s that then?”

  “It seems to me that they would want as few people as possible to touch this stuff and it’s also pretty heavy. So my guess is it was loaded and unloaded just once. If the bank made it up into loads we should be able to nail down how many special bases we are looking for.”

  Jim thought about that and smiled slowly. “Good thinking,” he said. “Time to go back to London. There is nothing here for me, at least not anymore.”

  Chapter 12

  Back in the office in Parliament Street, using the contact number he had been given, Jim put a call through to the Bank of England switchboard who refused point blank to put him through to the Governor. Next, he rang the number on the letter of authority he carried. The duty officer in Number 10 answered at the second ring. Jim asked to speak to the Prime Minister. There was no hesitation; the duty officer was clearly well briefed. The Prime Minister was on the line within five minutes.

  “Ah Jim, nice to hear from you. How’s the holiday going?”

  Jim picked up on the language immediately; it was obvious that the Prime Minister was somewhere he could not speak freely and where he might be overheard.

  “Well, David,” he said, “we are having a fine time, we only need a few things to make it perfect. It’s a shame we can’t get together with Richard, he would love this.”

  “I’m sure he would, Jim. You must bring your holiday photos round to show me when you get back. I’m afraid I have to cut this short, I am just going in to lunch. Goodbye, Jim.”

  Half an hour later the phone rang and Jim picked it up to hear Sir Richard on the line.

  “Major,” he said, “I am told you wish to speak to me. My car will be at your building in about five minutes, it will bring you to my house.”

  Before Jim could reply, the phone went down. Sir Richard was obviously not at all happy with being disturbed out of the office.

  Ivan and Jim stepped out of the front door of the building in time to see a highly polished black Daimler pull up at the curb. They walked across the wide pavement dodging the crush of over excited tourists and reached the limousine as the chauffeur opened the back door for them. They slid across the tan leather seat and settled themselves for the drive through the city. The driver was skilled at weaving his way through the chaos of London’s traffic and in short order, they f
ound themselves pulling in to a tree-shaded driveway that led to a Queen Anne style house set in beautifully manicured gardens. Climbing out of the car they crunched across the weed free gravel to the front door to be met by a shirt sleeved, cravat-wearing Sir Richard. Without speaking, he gestured for them to follow him and turned back into the house. Jim looked at Ivan, shrugged and followed the governor into the wide hallway and then into a book lined study. Sir Richard settled himself behind a wide walnut desk and indicated two green leather seats facing him.

  “Have you made any progress?”

  Jim looked him in the eye and said, “Good morning to you, too. Yes we have, but before we go much further we need more information from you.”

  Sir Richard grunted, making it very clear he did not appreciate his private time being disturbed.

  “What do you need to know?”

  Jim leaned back in his chair. “We need the details of how the gold was handed over to the Auxiliary Units back in 1940. What trucks were used, how many, how was the load distributed, in fact everything you can give us.”

  Sir Richard leaned forward with his elbows on the highly polished desk.

  “We do not have that kind of information in our records. However, after our meeting in Number 10, I did some further research. I found that we are still paying a pension to one of the people who was involved in the transfer. He was a very junior clerk back then and was effectively used as a laborer on those nights we were moving the gold. I have checked and he lives with his granddaughter down in West Sussex. I have his address here.” He handed it over. “It is in Henfield, not far from Brighton. Now since you are here, tell me what progress you have made.”

  Jim took the address and read it before slipping it into his shirt pocket.

  He looked up at Sir Richard. “We know that the coin in the auction came from Spain, but we also know that the coin sent to the Spanish government in 1934 is still in Moscow. We identified the seller, and Ivan and I have spoken to him. We know where he got it from and established that he does not know its significance or where the rest of them are. From certain conversations we believe that within the Secret Army, or more properly the Auxiliary Units, there was a small cadre of specially selected units that were even more security conscious. We think they may be the ones holding the gold.”

  “That is progress. It seems I may have been wrong to doubt your abilities. I will be back in the office next week.” He handed over a business card. “If I can be of any more help my direct phone number is on there. My driver will take you back to your office.”

  Sir Richard rose from behind the desk and showed them to the front door. As they were about to leave, he shook both their hands. “My apologies for my earlier brusqueness,” he said. “I was convinced you were wasting my time. It seems I was wrong.”

  Chapter 13

  The drive down to Henfield the next morning put them into the village by just after 10 a.m. They had phoned the day before to request an interview with the Bank of England pensioner, Harold Greenly, and been told by his granddaughter that this would be a good time as he was normally awake by now and was usually lucid in the mornings. The half-timbered houses along the high street gave way to a modern housing estate as they followed the directions the granddaughter had given them. A turn to the left brought them into a street of well-maintained bungalows with neatly tended gardens. They cruised slowly along checking the numbers and attracting the attention of the local neighborhood watch, judging by the twitching of the net curtains as they passed. They parked outside number 38 and climbed out of the car. Ivan couldn’t resist waving to the old couple peering at them from the front window of number 36 and was rewarded with a rapid adjustment of the curtains.

  The front door of number 38 opened as they approached and a tall, slim woman in her early thirties, with long auburn hair waited for them, with one hand still holding the highly polished brass door handle.

  “Right on time. I’m Harold’s granddaughter, Helen Jennings. Granddad has just had his breakfast so it’s time for his morning tea, would you like one?”

  Jim shook her hand. “It’s been a long trip so that would be welcome, Miss Jennings. Thank you.”

  She let go of his hand as he stepped into the hall way and briefly grasped Ivan’s.

  “It’s Mrs. Go through into the lounge and I’ll bring your tea. Granddad is expecting you and he is reasonably alert this morning, so you’re in luck.”

  They walked into a neat and cosy lounge. The old man was sitting by the fireplace. He raised his head slowly as they came in. It seemed to take a second or two for his eyes to focus and he stared for a few seconds more before he spoke.

  “So, you must be the people the Bank called about. I think that’s the first time I have spoken to the Governor of the Bank of England since 1940 and then he only told me to hurry up.”

  Jim smiled. “Hello, Mr Greenly, it’s good of you to agree to see us at such short notice.”

  Greenly looked at them both again. “Sit down, please. Not short notice at all really. In fact, I have been waiting for someone to ask me about those days for many years now. You are the first people who have been interested.”

  His granddaughter appeared from the kitchen bearing a tray of steaming mugs with a sugar bowl and a small milk jug.

  She set it down on the coffee table between the chairs and said, “Help yourselves to sugar and milk. I forgot to ask you how you take it.”

  She carefully handed a mug to her grandfather and Jim noted that her hands hovered near the mug until she was sure he had got a firm hold of it. She then took a mug for herself and sat down to listen.

  Jim cleared his throat. “Err, this is a little difficult, Mrs. Jennings, but what we are about to ask Mr Greenly concerns something highly classified and I am not sure you ought to be here for that.”

  She smiled. “I have been hearing my Granddad’s tales for years and years and when he forgets some of the details I can fill them in for you, from the days when his memory was sharper and he was telling a little girl his magic stories about gold. And by the way, it’s Helen.”

  Jim thought for a second or two. “Alright then, Helen, but please keep the conversation between just us four. It might turn out to be very important.” He turned to face the old man. “Mr Greenly, Sir Richard tells us that you are the last of the people who were involved in ‘Operation Fish’ back at the start of the war. Do you remember that and can you tell us what you know about it?”

  The old man’s eyes seemed to lose focus as he stared across the room.

  There was a quiet, then Mr Greenly, his voice stronger now, said, “It was cold that winter, and wet. The trucks used to come to the bank in the early hours of the morning. We could still see the fires from the bombing raids. In a way, they were quite helpful, because all the streetlights were turned out so the bombers could not use them as aiming marks. They were Army trucks at first with security from one of the Guards regiments. Tall men, very smart with highly pressed battle dress uniforms and shiny boots. They had armed men at each end of the street while we worked and even the police were kept away. The trucks used to load up and then drive away long before dawn, with a truck full of armed men in front and rear. Usually five trucks to a convoy. We used to send a bank employee with them to sign the boxes over at the ship. I went once and we drove all through the next day to Liverpool to meet the ship. Liverpool docks were a mess, I remember. They had been bombed hard a day or so earlier, but the ship we were going to was untouched. Some of the others told me they went to Glasgow or Holyhead with their cargoes. We did that a few times in 1939 and 1940. I found out later that the cargo went to Canada and was stored under an insurance building, it was very secret. I seem to recall being told that we never lost a single bar.”

  Ivan had been making notes, while the old man spoke. There was nothing new here, they knew about Operation Fish.

  He was about to speak when Jim said, “You said they were Army trucks at first. What about later? Were there othe
r trucks?”

  The old man nodded slowly. “Yes. There was one night. The last night in fact, when four household removal vans came. The bombing raid was still going on and we could hear the bombs pounding the east end of London around the docks. I think it must have been a bad one since it went on for so long. The anti-aircraft guns were working overtime and there were pieces of shrapnel from the airbursts dropping on the roof and in the street. You could hear the hot metal sizzling in the puddles. We were expecting the Brigade of Guards soldiers to turn up as usual, but these four removal vans came instead. The men were in uniform, but they were from the Home Guard. Strange though, they were all young men and they were wearing pistol belts even though they weren’t officers. You probably know that the Home Guard were usually men who were too old for normal Army service. Anyway the senior managers were there and told us to start the loading. The men in uniform helped, but they didn’t say much. When they did speak they had accents though. They weren’t from London that’s for sure. We split the bullion boxes evenly between the trucks and then we loaded the special boxes. Those were split up as well. As soon as we had finished the loading, they shut the doors in the back of the trucks, jumped in and drove off. They didn’t sign any paperwork and this time none of the bank employees went with them. We went back into the bank and were given tea and biscuits.”

  Ivan looked at his notes, then said, “Just a thought, did you by any chance see any company names on the removal trucks or anything else to show where they had come from?”

  Jim nodded at Ivan. After all these years it was a long shot, but a damned good question. He said nothing, but sat back in his chair to let the old man think. He could almost feel the old man travelling back, in his mind, to that rainy night so many years before with the bombs falling and the aircraft engines passing above him. The pause in the conversation stretched and as he sat there he felt he was being watched. His eyes flicked to the left to find a pair of deep green eyes contemplating him. She didn’t look away. They looked at each other for what seemed a long time, until Harold Greenly returned from his mental time travelling. As he leaned forward in his chair, the three younger people switched their attention to him and waited. The old man put his face in his shaking hands and covered his eyes as he remembered.