Knox

by David Meyer

  I walked to the nearest filing cabinet and opened the top drawer. It contained dusty file folders, about two feet of them. I studied the tabs. They were marked with dates and addresses. The addresses matched up with some of Dad’s old buildings.

  Ahh, that made sense. This was Dad’s storage area.

  I leafed through some of the folders. They were organized by date and full of charts, maps, plans, and official-looking documents. None of them wowed me, so I shut the drawer and walked to the third filing cabinet. The bottom two drawers were empty, but I found some files in the top one. Skimming through the tabs, I saw a few files dedicated to those ancient buildings Dad had destroyed in the months before his death.

  I got a second wind of anticipation. Reaching into the drawer, I plucked out one of the files and quickly glanced over the contents.

  Well, how do you like that?

  I skimmed the rest of the file. My heart began to pump a little faster as I set it back in the drawer.

  I picked up more files and read through them. All my life, I’d thought Dad had been tearing down old buildings for no reason prior to his death. But there was a connection between those buildings. A connection I wouldn’t have recognized before that evening.

  Every single building he’d torn down had once served as a branch of the now-defunct Five Borough Bank.

  Little notes scribbled in the margin, written in Dad’s stylish cursive, referred to the bank’s history, the specifications of its vaults, and the potential whereabouts of safe deposit box #1743. And from my time at 1199 Madison Avenue, I knew who’d rented out that particular box.

  None other than Dad’s dad … Justin Reed.

  CHAPTER 37

  “Dad wasn’t just tearing down buildings,” I said. “He was looking for Justin.”

  Graham blinked, stared at me from the doorframe. He was dressed in some of Dad’s old clothes. A tray of small coffees was carefully balanced in his right hand and he clutched a small brown bag in his left one. The bag smelled of fresh bagels, eggs, and sausage. “What?”

  “Get in here.” I ushered him inside, then closed the door behind him.

  We proceeded to the kitchen where he tossed the bag onto the table. Immediately, Beverly dove in, picking out three bagel sandwiches wrapped in wax paper. She took one for herself and slid the others toward us.

  Beverly had tossed her dress. In its place, she wore some of Mom’s old things, freshly dug out of sealed plastic bags.

  I caught her eye. Gave her a sly wink. She pursed her lips and gave me an exaggerated wink in return.

  Laughing, I unwrapped my sandwich. The bagel was nice and warm, just the way I liked it. I took a big bite, savoring the buttery eggs, the breakfast sausage, and the dripping cheese.

  “You paid in cash, right?” Beverly asked.

  He nodded. “No paper trail for Malware.” Then he gave me a curious look. “So, what’s this all about?”

  “I found Dad’s old files,” I replied. “You know those historic structures he tore down? Every last one of them used to house Five Borough Bank branches. Somehow Dad knew about the safe deposit box. He was looking for it.”

  Graham’s eyes glimmered.

  “Hold on.” My gaze tightened. “You knew?”

  “Not exactly,” he replied. “But I always knew he had a good reason for tearing down those buildings.”

  “So, let’s put this together.” I took a sip of coffee. It was piping hot and soothed my sore throat. Then I spread out the Capitalist Curtain papers on the table. “Mom told me Justin disappeared while traveling to the Appalachians, supposedly on a trip with old Army buddies. According to these documents, that’s only partially true. He was actually hired for something called Project Capitalist Curtain. His role in it was scheduled for December 1949. Prior to leaving, he stored notes about it in a safe deposit box at Five Borough Bank. Then he vanished.”

  Beverly nodded. “Four decades later, Drew—your dad—catches wind of the box. He figures it got left behind in an abandoned vault. So, he goes looking for it, tearing down over a dozen historic structures in the process. But he never finds it.”

  “He gives up,” I said grimly. “And commits suicide a short while later.”

  My feelings toward Dad, negative for so many years, were now a bit more mixed. Yes, he’d killed himself, effectively abandoning Mom and me. Nothing would ever change that. But knowing he wasn’t crazy … that he’d been looking for his own father … well, that somehow made things a little better.

  “Eventually, Malware enters the picture,” Graham said. “Somehow she discovers the box. She wants it for some reason. She uses her computer skills to connect the dots and learns there’s one branch of that old bank your dad never got a chance to check. So, she sends us to find it and then tries to kill us in the aftermath.”

  “But why?” Beverly asked, between bites of her sandwich. “What was Capitalist Curtain all about anyway?”

  “I think I can answer that.” I waved at the papers. “You see—”

  Someone rapped on the door.

  Graham stiffened up. Beverly rose from her seat.

  I raised a finger to my lips and they nodded. Then I slipped out of the kitchen and darted quietly to the front door. I looked through the peephole, half-expecting to see Saul and his buddies armed to the teeth. But no.

  It was worse than that.

  I unbolted the door and cracked it open. “Sorry,” I said. “But we didn’t rent a limo.”

  “I’m not a limo driver, you dolt.” Keith Donovan, still clad in his tuxedo from the previous night, glared at me. “Oh, I get it. That was a joke, right? Very funny.”

  Although he wore the same attire, he’d changed a bit since I’d last seen him. His tuxedo jacket was now stained in various places and hung limply from his shoulders. He smelled of body odor and sweat. Large bags hung under his eyes. “You look terrible,” I said. “Even for you.”

  “What do you expect? I spent the night in that infernal Explorers Society, sleeping on a couple of metal chairs.”

  “Sounds like a blast. Say, how’d the ceremony go? Did you find someone to accept my fake award?”

  “I handled it.” He exhaled through gritted teeth. “You and I need to talk.”

  “Aren’t we doing that?”

  “Not here … inside.”

  He tried to push past me, but I blocked the doorframe. “How’d you find me?” I asked.

  He sneered. “I have my ways.”

  If a dunce like Donovan could locate me, then it should’ve been a piece of cake for Malware. And yet, we’d gotten through the night without further incident. Had she just written us off? Or was she still readying her strike?

  “Let’s get something straight.” Donovan’s sneer spread across his face until it engulfed his entire snively self. “I’m the Senior Advisor to President Walters. And that means I matter. And you? You’re nothing. We turned you into a hero and we can turn you back faster than you could ever imagine. So, when I say we need to talk, I mean it.”

  “Very interesting.” I rubbed my jaw. “Now, let me give you something to think about. I don’t need you. I don’t need your support, your money, your fake awards, anything. But from the sound of it, you need me. So, I suggest you go off and lick your wounds. And when you come back here to apologize, make sure to have your tail tucked between your legs.”

  He snarled.

  I smiled.

  Then I shut the door in his face.

  CHAPTER 38

  “Who was that?” Graham asked.

  “Keith,” I replied.

  His face curled in disgust. “That guy is the original Captain Numbnuts. I hope you told him to get lost.”

  “Yeah, but I’m guessing he’ll be back, probably sooner than later. So, let’s focus.” I nodded at the Capitalist Curtain papers. “Did you know the United States once tried to buy Greenland?”

  “That useless iceberg?” Beverly arched an eyebrow. “Why?”

  “After World
War II, the U.S. wanted to keep a closer eye on the Soviet Union. Specifically, on missile launches and naval movements in the Atlantic. So, Greenland looked like prime real estate for a couple of military bases. There was just one problem. Denmark already owned it.”

  “So, the U.S. made them an offer?”

  I nodded. “In 1946, President Truman’s administration offered to buy Greenland for $100 million. Denmark either turned down the offer or just ignored it. Regardless, it stayed in Danish hands. Five years later, it became a moot point when the U.S. and Denmark signed a defense agreement giving the U.S. control of Thule Air Base.”

  “Interesting story,” Graham said. “But what’s it got to do with this Capitalist Curtain thing?”

  “By 1949, the Soviet Union was laying down its Iron Curtain across Europe, separating itself and its satellite states from the west. An advisor to the Truman administration—it’s not clear who, exactly—came up with a crazy proposal. What if the U.S. countered the Iron Curtain with one of its own?”

  “A Capitalist Curtain,” Beverly said slowly.

  I nodded. “I suppose it made sense at the time. After World War II, a lot of countries were colony-rich, but cash-poor. The U.S. was in the opposite position. So, the Truman administration concocted a plan to drop a Capitalist Curtain around America’s borders. They secretly negotiated deals to purchase a number of colonies from their overseers. Justin scribbled down a list in his notes. There’s too much water damage to read them all. But I did see Greenland, Canada, Australia, and a bunch of Caribbean islands.”

  Graham whistled. “That would’ve been a hefty price tag. So, what happened?”

  “The notes aren’t clear about that, although I’m guessing the asking prices were just too expensive. Regardless, the Capitalist Curtain never became a reality.”

  Beverly looked thoughtful. “What role did your grandfather play in it?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Most of his notes focus on some dump trucks as well as a clearing near the Appalachian—”

  There was another knock at the door.

  Graham rolled his eyes. “Guess who’s back?”

  I hiked to the door and checked the peephole. This time, I saw a tall, lanky man in a cheap suit. His limbs were too large for his body and pockmarks covered his face. His head was shaved completely bald.

  I opened the door. “Ed?”

  Special Agent Ed Hooper grinned. “It’s good to see you again, Cy.”

  I shook his hand. “You too.” And I wasn’t just saying that. Months earlier, he’d helped us put an end to the Columbus Project affair. Afterward, he’d gone to bat for us with the president, getting us permission and equipment to conduct a salvage operation.

  As I stepped away, Beverly slid past me and gave him a hug. Even Graham, who was notoriously cranky around government types, offered a hearty handshake to the secret service agent.

  “Somehow, I doubt you’re just in the neighborhood.” I gave Hooper a curious look. “What’s this all about?”

  “First, someone owns you an apology.” Hooper stepped to the side and pushed Donovan in our direction. “Isn’t that right, Keith?”

  Donovan stared at the ground. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

  I looked at him, then at Hooper.

  “Long story short, President Walters is taking a little ride on Air Force One and wants the three of you to join him.”

  “How about you?” Beverly asked.

  “I’ve got business to attend to here, but I’ll be there in spirit.” He pulled a large duffel bag off his shoulders and handed it to me. “By the way, consider this a peace offering from the president.”

  I took the bag from his outstretched hand and unzipped it. Inside, I saw several sets of clothes, some toiletries, and a shiny, gleaming object that made my insides glow.

  Hooper must’ve seen something in my eyes. “The president’s image consultants say that machete is a key part of your look. Don’t ask me why that matters.” He shrugged. “Look, I hate to rush this, but we’re on a tight schedule. What do you say? Will you go?”

  I owed Hooper. Maybe the president, too. At the same time, I had a lot on my plate. Justin Reed and my dad. The Capitalist Curtain. And of course, Malware. “No,” I replied. “Not this time.”

  Hooper cocked his head. “Are you still hunting lost treasures?”

  I frowned. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because if you go, you’ll get to visit the greatest treasure in the history of this country.”

  I blinked. It was an intriguing offer.

  But not intriguing enough.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But no thanks.”

  His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “But I thought—”

  “We’re not tourists,” I said, interrupting him. “We like our treasures lost and waiting to be found.”

  “This treasure’s not lost, but I assure you it’s no tourist attraction either. Tell me, have you ever seen 4,583 metric tons of gold?”

  My brow furrowed.

  “That accounts for about 2.5 percent of the world’s supply of refined gold. It’s all in one place and only a handful of people have ever laid eyes upon it. Do you know what I’m talking about?”

  I did and I could scarcely believe it. But it was impossible. Regular joes like me weren’t allowed at the place he was describing. I wasn’t even sure if President Walters himself had access to it.

  “I’m talking about the United States Bullion Depository.” He grinned. “More popularly known as Fort Knox.”

  CHAPTER 39

  “Hello, Wade.” Sporting my most devilish smile, I strode through the open door and entered the president’s well-appointed office.

  Tiny fixtures were built into the ceiling, casting beams of light down the walls. A large desk, bent in the middle to look like an arrowhead, dominated the floor space. A leather chair, an end table, and a curving leather couch sat across from the desk. The presidential seal hung off to the side and a flat-screen monitor was fixed to the wall. If it weren’t for the slight vibrations and the telltale windows, I very well might have forgotten the fact that we were aboard Air Force One.

  The president stood up. At six feet, two inches, he towered over most people. His hair was neatly styled. His resting face looked serious, bordering on grave. “Hello, Mr. Reed,” he said in a cold voice. “This is a real pleasure for me. It’s not often I get to meet a hero of your stature.”

  I detected more than a hint of insincerity in his voice. I wasn’t all that surprised. His reputation had taken a hit after the Columbus Project affair went public. Meanwhile, mine had climbed to epic heights.

  I shook his hand. “I’m not a hero.”

  “You’re being modest. This country—heck, the entire world—owes you a debt of gratitude.”

  “If you say so.” I waved to the side. “This is Beverly Ginger and Dutch Graham.”

  “I know about you two as well.” He shook their hands in turn. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.”

  Beverly smiled as she shook his hand. But Graham glared at the president like the man had insulted him. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”

  The president’s eyes widened. “I, uh—”

  “Cy!”

  I spun around, surprised yet pleased. “I can’t believe it.” I wrapped my arms around my old family friend. “What are you doing here, Ben?”

  The president shifted his gaze from me to Ben. “You two know each other?”

  “You could say that.” Ben offered me a smile. “Did you make it through the riot okay?”

  I’d known the Marvin family most of my life. Roy and my dad had been close friends all the way up to Dad’s suicide. Afterward, Roy made it a point to check in on me and Mom from time to time. We’d kept in touch and I’d spoken to him briefly just a week before his death. “Actually, Dutch and I got caught up in the middle of it.” I grinned. “But in our defense, we needed new televisions.”

  He chuckled. “You haven’t changed a bi
t.”

  “How’s Willow? I haven’t seen her in months.”

  “She’s good. Busy, but good.”

  “Still doing the coding thing?”

  “I think so. Honestly, I’m too old to understand it.”

  I smiled.

  Donovan, clutching a legal notepad, strode into the office. He cast me a withering look before taking the leather chair next to the president’s desk.

  “Let’s chat for a few minutes.” President Walters stepped behind the desk and took a seat in a comfortable leather recliner. Ben, Beverly, Graham, and I settled into the leather couch.

  The president folded his hands on the desk and stared at us. “Before we start, I want to thank you for joining us. Your presence will go a long way toward selling the American people on my economic plan.”

  “Plan?” I frowned. “What plan?”

  The president glanced at Donovan. “Didn’t you brief them?”

  Donovan’s face turned beet red. “Not exactly, sir.”

  The president sighed. “Well, I guess we’ll get to that part. But first, I’ve asked Keith and Ben to talk a little about the Fort Knox depository as well as the recent history of the American monetary system.”

  I had no idea what was going on, but I was starting to realize it was much bigger than merely touring America’s so-called treasure chest.

  Donovan turned toward us. “As you know, we’re flying to Fort Knox, a U.S. Army base located in Kentucky. And as you also know, we’ll be visiting the United States Bullion Depository while on the premises. Technically, the depository is operated by the Treasury Department. But the gold itself belongs to the Federal Reserve. It’s kept at Fort Knox, on deposit, as collateral against the national debt.”

  “How much gold are we talking about?” Beverly asked.

  “I, uh … hang on.” Donovan began flipping through his notepad.

  “One hundred and forty-seven million fine troy ounces,” Ben told Beverly. “That represents the entirety of the Fed’s deep storage gold reserves.”

  I arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t you forgetting the Denver depository?” I asked. “And the one at West Point?”