Knox

by David Meyer

  But I could still see the long driveway before us. Past the exterior fence, I saw about twenty cars parked in a small lot. A long nondescript building sat just beyond the parking lot. A thinner one, connected to the lot by a walkway, stood in front of it.

  Three more fences, all unmanned, rested beyond the parking lot. Looking through the maze of metal bars, I saw it.

  Fort Knox.

  The two-story depository looked like every other government building I’d ever seen. Besides the security, only three things caught my attention. The American flag hanging limply from a pole at the front of the building. A marble-lined entrance, standing in the exact center of the structure. And a gold seal, representing the Department of the Treasury, positioned just above the door.

  It was an underwhelming sight, but it still sent jolts of electricity shooting through my veins. It didn’t contain the largest cache of gold in the world. That honor belonged to the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, which held roughly 7,000 metric tons of gold.

  However, that gold was owned by many parties. On top of that, the New York Federal Reserve Bank offered free tours of its vault. Fort Knox, on the other hand, was completely off-limits. Unauthorized visits were strictly forbidden and a variety of deadly obstacles and traps were rumored to exist on the grounds. Such things included minefields, electric barbed wire fences, automated weapons systems, and armed guards affiliated with the United States Mint Police. All of this was watched over by U.S. Army units stationed at Fort Knox, which included thousands of soldiers, tanks, helicopters, and other vehicles.

  Even if would-be thieves managed to penetrate the outer layers of security, they’d face more guards, multi-ton blast doors, and other traps.

  In short, Fort Knox was impenetrable.

  Only a single outside group, consisting of media personnel and members of the U.S. Congress, had been allowed into the depository in all its years of operation. Besides that 1974 visit, no outsider had seen the vault since it received its first gold shipments way back in 1937.

  I searched the grounds, but didn’t see a soul or a single trap. The grass was cut short and glistened with dew. Other than four or five scattered trees, the lawn was free of vegetation. All in all, the area looked deserted, but well-kept. Almost peaceful, in a way.

  Corporal Wendell brought our vehicle to a halt. Two other vehicles rolled onto the driveway, flanking us on both sides. Other vehicles pulled up behind us and stopped a few inches short of our position.

  I trained my eye on the outer gate.

  But nothing happened.

  Graham pressed the intercom button. “What’s the hold-up?”

  “I’m not sure,” the corporal replied. “But I imagine a team is prepping to meet us.”

  “Maybe they don’t know we’re here.”

  “Oh, they know. We set off motion sensors when we pulled off the main road. Plus, those video cameras on the fence are keeping a close eye on us.”

  I craned my neck to the side. Indeed, numerous high-tech video cameras were mounted on the exterior fence.

  Growling, Graham sat back. A few more minutes passed before he growled again. “What’s taking them so long?”

  Reaching out, Beverly pressed the intercom button. “Maybe they’re staying back because they can’t identify us through the tinted windows. Someone should get out, approach the fence.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a procedural thing,” Corporal Wendell replied. “If you’re bored, please feel free to use the televisions mounted into the seats.”

  We were sitting before the world’s most famous vault and he wanted us to watch television?

  No, thanks.

  I sensed a commotion. Looking around, I saw doors swing open. At least a dozen soldiers exited the SUVs. To a man, they carried powerful SG 550 assault rifles.

  I grabbed the latch and opened my door. Then I slid out of the vehicle.

  “Wait,” Wendell’s voice sounded out over the speakers. “I’m sure this is just—”

  “Don’t worry, Corporal.” Beverly followed me outside. “We’ll take it from here.”

  As the soldiers took up position around our motorcade, I turned my head, studying the thick paved road, the fences, and the sentry boxes. The security seemed tight to my untrained eye. But where were the Mint Police officers?

  I heard laughter behind me. Twisting around, I saw a black man in a camouflage uniform walking side by side with President Walters.

  “Cy,” the president called out. “Come over here.”

  Flanked by Beverly and Graham, I hiked to the two men.

  “I’d like you to meet Colonel Kent Jordan. President Walters waved at the other man. “He’s the Garrison Commander of the Fort Knox Command Group.”

  “Call me K.J.” He shook our hands. His hair was cropped and he wore a sullen expression on his face. “And welcome to Fort Knox. I just want to say I really admire the work all of you did during the Columbus Project affair.”

  “Don’t flatter us.” I nodded at Graham. “His head’s big enough already.”

  “And with good reason.” Graham shook K.J.’s hand. “So, where is everyone?”

  K.J. arched an eyebrow.

  “I mean the Mint Police. Looks like they flew the coup.”

  “Good question.” K.J.’s eyes drifted to the depository. “Dalton, get Milt Stevens on the line.”

  “Yes, sir.” A young soldier turned on his heels and hustled to one of the SUVs.

  “Interesting set-up,” Beverly remarked, her eyes locked on the depository. “What can you tell us about the defenses?”

  “Why?” K.J. gave her a sideways look. “Planning to rob the place?”

  “First chance I get.”

  He grinned. “You know, I had a chance to look up your service record, Ms. Ginger. Impressive, but extremely classified. It seems like you had quite a career with us.”

  I cast a glance at Beverly. She didn’t like to talk about her time in the military and so I didn’t ask a lot of questions. But the colonel’s statement piqued my curiosity.

  “I’d tell you all about it,” she said. “But then—”

  “Then what?” His grin widened. “You’d have to kill me?”

  “Not me.” She grinned right back at him. “But you’d still end up dead.”

  K.J. blinked. “Well, uh, as to your question on the defenses, the U.S. Bullion Depository is considered one of the most secure sites in the entire world. Four fences enclose it. The wide-open lawn, coupled with extensive surveillance systems, allows for constant monitoring. That monitoring is performed by a crack contingent of U.S. Mint Police, who also patrol the grounds and man the various turrets.”

  “Is that all?” Graham asked.

  “Not in the least bit. Along with the exterior defenses, the depository is a veritable safe. The front door is supposedly blast-proof. The granite walls are four-feet thick and lined with cement, steel, and fireproof materials. And the windows are fireproof as well as bulletproof.”

  “What about underground?” I asked. “Couldn’t someone just tunnel under all the defenses?”

  “The lawn is lined with ultra-sensitive microphones and watched over by satellites. Any tremors or ground disturbances will set off alarms. Plus, the building’s foundations consist of several layers of cement along with a section of solid granite.” K.J. shrugged. “But even if a gang of thieves made their way inside the building, they’d still have their work cut out for them. The individual compartments within the vault are made of concrete and steel materials, laced with hoop bands. Multiple combinations from multiple people are required to open each compartment. Those combinations change daily.”

  “Sounds like a tough nut to crack.”

  “Sir.” Dalton jogged toward us, a small phone clutched in his hand. “There’s a problem.”

  “Give me that.” K.J. snatched the phone away and held it to his ear. “Who is this?”

  A few moments passed. Then K.J. clenched his jaw. “I was told you were aler
ted to the president’s visit.” A brief pause. “Yes. Of course, we confirmed his identity via biometrics. And not just iris scans or fingerprints, either. We did body odor, gait, electrocardiogram, the works.”

  K.J. started to grind his teeth as more seconds ticked by. “Enough, Milt. Open the gate and admit us or—” K.J.’s eyes tightened. Then he lowered the phone. “The little prick hung up on me.”

  “What’s wrong?” President Walters asked.

  “He’s refusing access.”

  “Does he know who I am?”

  “Oh, he knows.” K.J. exhaled. “He just doesn’t care.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Milt Stevens seethed with rage as he set the phone down and walked to the doorway of his office. He slammed the door shut and started to pace back and forth across the floor. He’d just done the unthinkable, sealing off the world’s most impregnable vault from its most powerful person. Something had to give.

  But it wouldn’t be him.

  With a loud sigh, he plopped his ancient, ninety-year old body into his mesh-back chair. This was Ben’s fault. What was he up to anyway?

  His bony right hand shook as he pulled open his desk’s bottom right-hand drawer. He grabbed a couple of reams of white printer paper and placed them on his desk. Underneath, he saw what he wanted. A bottle of Steady Shot rum, three-quarters full.

  His fingers wrapped around the bottle. As he pulled out the cork, the sweet scent of maple syrup wafted into his nostrils. It comforted him, if just for a moment.

  Milt grabbed his mug. It still contained the dregs of his morning brew. Jerking it to the side, he sprayed tiny droplets all over the wall.

  As he lifted the bottle toward the mug, his gaze happened to pass over his desk. It was almost entirely business-oriented. The closest thing he had to a personal item was a framed photo of the depository’s Mint Police contingent. They wore neatly pressed uniforms and were lined up in three rows outside the main vault.

  Milt poured the liquor, filling up his mug. How had it come to this? He was a good man. He didn’t cheat on his taxes or shirk his duties. He avoided torrid affairs, obeyed the traffic laws, and generally stayed out of trouble. But none of that mattered, not anymore. Unless he stopped President Walters from entering the depository, his darkest secret would be revealed. He would become a household name in the worst way possible.

  Raising the mug to his lips, Milt took a long swig. His phone rang. He took another swig before setting the mug on his desk and reaching for his corded telephone. “Speak.”

  “Milt?” Ben’s voice was soft, cautious. “What are you doing?”

  “My job.”

  “Let us in.”

  “I can’t do that.”

  “We talked about this. I’ll protect you.”

  “Like your father protected me?” Milt laughed so hard he wheezed. “No, thanks. That bastard manipulated me into staying here all these years. Not for my sake, but for his.”

  “It wasn’t like that.”

  “You know, I was thrilled when he died. Do you hear that? Absolutely thrilled. Because I thought I’d finally be able to forget that whole mess. But then you pop up out of nowhere and suddenly my life sucks all over again.”

  “Let us in, Milt. Please.”

  “Go to hell.” Milt slammed the phone back into its cradle. It started to ring again, but he ignored it. Lifting the mug to his lips, he drained the rest of his liquor. It tasted strangely bitter as it slipped down his parched, ancient throat.

  As he placed the mug back on his desk, he reflected on his life. It hadn’t been a normal one. He’d never found love or started a family. He hadn’t sought earthly riches or prestige. Instead, he’d sat inside the fortress known as the United States Bullion Depository, protecting secrets. Secrets about that fateful night in 1949 and his pathetic role in the affair. Secrets about the Capitalist Curtain. Secrets about Fort Knox itself.

  He’d dedicated his entire life to covering up that one moment in the Appalachian Mountains. And now, Ben expected him to just let the truth come out? Not a chance.

  The ringing died off. He picked up the phone and stared at the receiver. Then he began pressing numbers for an internal call.

  The line picked up. “What’s up, Milt?” The voice belonged to Brad Cruzer, the pasty-faced Captain of the Guard.

  “We’ve got a situation, Brad.”

  “I’ll say. Is that really the president out there?”

  As Officer in Charge, Milt had access to special biometrics tools that allowed him to analyze and identify people at a distance. Fortunately, those tools were off-limits to all other depository personnel. “No,” he lied. “It’s not.”

  “Are you sure? There’s a guy that looks like K.J. And that treasure hunter dude. You know, the famous one.”

  “Imposters,” Milt said. “Well-disguised, but imposters nonetheless.”

  “I see.” The line was quiet for a moment. “What are your orders, sir?”

  “Prepare our defenses,” Milt said in a raspy voice. “No one gets in. Do you hear me? No one.”

  CHAPTER 44

  The early morning sun blazed down from high above, warming my head and shoulders. There was something in the air, a certain thickness that made it difficult to breathe. Looking around, I saw tension and stress lines. Even Ben, normally so serene, had furrowed his brow. “Who is this Milt character?” I asked.

  “His name is Milt Stevens,” K.J. replied. “He’s a crusty old-timer with the U.S. Mint Police. He’s served as Officer in Charge of this place since forever. He’s pretty much an institution at this point.”

  “Let me talk to him,” Donovan said. “I’m the acting Secretary of the Treasury. That means he works for me.”

  “I told him you were here. He doesn’t care.”

  The president thought for a moment. “I’ll submit to more testing if that’s what it takes.”

  “It won’t help.” K.J. frowned. “I could tell from his tone that he knew it was you. No surprise, really. I’m sure he’s got an entire advanced biometrics identification system at his fingertips.”

  “And he’s still not letting us in?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir.”

  “Then let me speak to one of his subordinates.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s impossible. For security purposes, smartphones are strictly forbidden within the depository. And Milt is the only staff member with an outside line.”

  The president twisted toward Ben. “I thought you told this guy to expect us.”

  “I did, sir,” Ben replied.

  “Then remind him.”

  “I just tried.” Ben frowned. “He’s refusing access.”

  “Why?” Beverly asked.

  “I think I know,” K.J. replied. “Fort Knox gets exactly zero visitors on an annual basis. He’s probably just being extra cautious.”

  “What does he expect me to do?” the president asked. “Go back to Washington?”

  “Maybe we can wait him out,” Graham suggested.

  “Not likely,” K.J. replied. “The depository is stocked with eighteen months of potable water and rations.”

  A couple of seconds passed. Then the president took a deep breath. “Colonel, I’m sure you’re familiar with Article II, Section 2 of the United States Constitution?”

  “I assume you’re referring to the first part of it, sir. The part that designates you as Commander in Chief of the Army.”

  “That’s correct. I hate to do this, but I don’t see any other way.” President Walters took a deep breath. “Seize it. Seize the depository.”

  CHAPTER 45

  “Have you lost your mind?” Graham asked.

  “It’s not even legal,” Beverly added. “The Posse Comitatus Act prohibits U.S. military personnel from operating on domestic soil.”

  “This is a military base,” the president replied. “It’s different.”

  “No. It’s not.”

  “Yes. It is. Anyway Posse Comitatus is meant to keep milit
ary personnel from enforcing state laws. And our work here has nothing to do with state laws.” The president’s gaze tightened. “Regardless, I’m operating under the authority of the Insurrection Act.”

  “Insurrection?” Graham shook his head. “Some guy won’t open his doors and you call it insurrection?”

  “The Insurrection Act allows me to deploy troops to suppress any insurrection, domestic violence, unlawful combination, or conspiracy if such act opposes or obstructs the execution of United States laws.”

  “What law is ol’ Milt breaking? That one about everyone having to bow down before you?”

  President Walters gritted his teeth. “Officer Stevens is refusing an order from a superior authority. In other words, me. He’s committing insubordination.”

  “Ah, yes. The ultimate crime.”

  “Maybe not to you, but my order stands.” The president glanced at K.J., who was watching us closely. “How secure is the surrounding area?”

  “We set up road blocks and air patrols prior to your arrival, sir,” K.J. replied. “We also set up a TFR prohibiting flights over the entirety of Fort Knox.”

  “Push back the road blocks and expand the TFR as far as possible before you begin the assault. I don’t want a single picture of this getting out to the public.”

  K.J. clicked his heels together and got to work. After another hour or so, he returned to us, declaring the area was as secure as he could possibly make it.

  “Return to your cars,” he said. “I’ve made arrangements for you to stay at a secure site near Godman.”

  The president crossed his arms. “We’re not leaving.”

  “I really must insist, sir. For your—”

  “We’re not leaving.”

  “Yes, sir.” K.J, exhaled. “But I can’t have you out in the open while I’m conducting a military operation.”

  “I understand. We’ll stay in the cars for now. But we’re still coming with you.”

  K.J. reluctantly agreed.

  We returned to our vehicle. As Corporal Wendell started the engine, four soldiers, adorned in camouflage and heavy boots, approached the outer fence. Using tin snips, they cut a large hole in the wire.