Operation Fish

(CLASSIFIED)

London, 1940

I am Agent Goldfish. FYI, I am neither golden nor a fish.

Soldiers escorted me and the Governor of the Bank of England, Montagu Norman, down into the vaults beneath the Bank. Boots echoed through corridors smelling of metal and polish. Each door thicker than the last, until we reached the great vault.

Inside, wooden crates were stacked like silent monuments.

The Governor turned to me, “Agent Goldfish, this is Operation Fish. Tonight we move Britain’s gold by truck, then train, then ship to Canada. If it reaches safety, it will buy our freedom. If it falls into enemy hands… it will mean our defeat.” I swallowed hard.

“This gold is not treasure,” he continued. “It is the future of this country. Enough to keep us alive… or bury us. Armed guards will accompany you, and one other guardian.” The Governor glanced at the crates. “If anyone asks, Goldfish, this mission never happened.” I nodded.

That night the gold left the Bank, hidden in lorries, the crates labelled FISH, under a cloak of darkness and wailing sirens. We moved fast through burning streets. At Waterloo Station, the crates were transferred onto a waiting train – a long, black serpent-like machine. As it pulled away, I sat between the crates, the motion lulling me. Then… KABOOM! A bomb! The carriage lurched. Dust fell. My heart left my chest.

The train shook like a rattle in a child’s fist, but the gold didn’t budge a millimetre.

Instead, it began to glow. A warm light – like sunlight trapped in metal. From it rose a large figure, shimmering and made of smoke. “I am Zar-Pasbān,” it said with a slight bow, “of the Jinn.”

“You’re the other guardian?” I whispered.

“I suppose so. I was born in the fire of dying stars – the same fire that forged this gold. We have been bound together ever since.”

He caressed the gold.

“Warm as the sun. Bright as hope. It does not rust or fade. Kings used it for power.

Brides for love. Empires across the ages – Persia, Rome, Mali – have chased it. It is the wealth of the world.” He paused, gazing at the gold, enchanted. “It calls to me too,” he continued, “I’m its companion… its devotee.”

“Why guard it?” I asked.

“Because wherever gold goes, humans follow and that usually means trouble. In good hands, it builds, creates, even liberates. In the wrong hands… it ruins.”

Zar-Pasbān looked at me for a moment. “Tonight, Goldfish… your people have chosen well. You see, the gold does not choose what to do. You do. Gold doesn’t change anyone – it reveals who they are.”

Zar-Pasbān leaned back against the crates. “Sleep, Goldfish. I will watch the gold.”

As if under a spell, I did.

When I woke, dawn was breaking over the docks. Ships were waiting. Remembering the words of the Governor, I told myself, “This never happened.”

A voice drifted from the crates, amused and ancient:

“Oh, it absolutely did, Goldfish.”

Reyad Imran-Mir, 11.