Knox

by David Meyer

  We parted ways and the two officers walked between us, carrying Milt’s body in their arms. Graham wrinkled his nose in disgust. The president chatted quietly with Donovan and Ben. K.J. and Beverly, meanwhile, watched the whole affair with mild interest.

  Cruzer placed Milt’s hand on the stand and positioned his dead eyes, fortunately untouched by the gunfire, toward the lenses. The mechanism emitted a soft, whirring noise.

  “This may not work,” Cruzer said. “After all—”

  The whirring ceased. The door clicked.

  Cruzer tentatively tried the knob. It turned easily in his hand. He relaxed and with a push, swung the door open. “Welcome to America’s treasure chest.”

  A cold, gray corridor stood before us. It ran straight for a good distance, before curving out of sight. Doors lined either side of the corridor. Numbers were painted above each door.

  A simple metal sign was mounted on the right side wall. It was eye-level and read, Vault A.

  “Vault A?” I asked.

  “This is a two-story facility,” Cruzer explained. “Vault A occupies this floor. Vault B is directly beneath us. It contains more rooms as well as a pistol range.”

  I thought I heard soft static. Straining my ears, I listened for a few seconds. But the sound, if it had even existed in the first place, had vanished.

  “I’ve got the second code for Compartment 3A,” Cruzer announced. “Which of you have the other two codes?”

  A studious looking man, dressed in a slightly wrinkled uniform, stepped forward. “I’ve got the first one, sir.”

  A woman with big hips and a permanent scowl also stepped forward. “I’ve got the third code, but only for the next seven minutes.”

  “Then let’s get to work.” Cruzer glanced at President Walters. “It’s going to be tight in there, sir.”

  “I see.” President Walters looked over his shoulder.

  “I’m coming.” Donovan stepped forward.

  “Fine,” the president replied. “Cy, Dutch, and Beverly will come with us as well.”

  K.J. stepped forward. “Sir?”

  “Wait here with Ben and your men, Colonel. We won’t be long.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cruzer strode into the corridor followed by the rest of us. The two officers with codes grabbed hold of Milt’s corpse and dragged it through the entranceway. Carefully, they deposited it next to another biometrics mechanism.

  The vault door closed over. Telltale clicks rang out.

  “I hope nobody here is necrophobic,” Graham said. “Or claustrophobic for that matter.”

  “Oh, we’re not trapped,” Cruzer replied. “Leaving here will be a cinch.”

  “How interesting.” Beverly glanced at the corpse. “Officer Stevens made himself indispensable.”

  Cruzer nodded. “He inserted his biometrics into the security protocols in order to defend against coordination. He was worried about six officers joining together in secret and waiting until they had the necessary passcodes for the vault door and one of the compartments.”

  “That’s pretty paranoid.”

  “True. Then again, when you’re sitting on some 4,500 tons of gold, I suppose it pays to be paranoid.”

  “Do you ever do internal audits?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “For security purposes, Officer Stevens’ limited the contact we made with the gold.”

  Donovan nodded sagely. “Smart.”

  Beverly cocked her head. “Does anyone hear that?”

  We paused. I heard the static noise again, only louder.

  “It sounds like someone left a TV on,” the president said.

  “It’s probably a faulty wire.” Cruzer sighed. “Unfortunately, that happens more and more these days.”

  The static gained volume. Then tiny streams of water appeared. They flowed around the curve in the corridor and quickly saturated our shoes.

  “The good news is that it’s not faulty wiring.” Graham stared at the gurgling water. “The bad news is that you’ve sprung a leak.”

  “Where’s it coming from?” Beverly asked.

  “Probably our water tank.” Cruzer frowned. “I should call maintenance.”

  “Later,” the president said. “Let’s see the gold first.”

  Cruzer’s neatly polished shoes splashed in the filmy water as he led us farther down the corridor. “Here we are,” he said, stopping in front of a room marked, 3A. “When the door opens, an overhead light switches on. The effect, especially for first-timers, can be blinding. So, you may want to shield your eyes.”

  Water began to flow at a faster rate, pushing at my boots with disturbing force.

  “Does anyone else think this is starting to look like more than just a busted pipe?” I asked.

  Graham nodded. “We should go.”

  Cruzer licked his lips. “Fine by me. We can—”

  “Maintenance can wait.” President Walters’ eyes narrowed. “Open the compartment.”

  “Sorry, sir.” Beverly grabbed the president’s arm and dragged him down the corridor. “But they’re right.”

  Cruzer and the two officers pushed past us and raced to the biometrics mechanism. Lifting Milt’s corpse, they positioned his hand on the handprint scanner and pointed his eyes toward the lenses. A soft whizzing noise sounded out. Then a button above the vault door glowed bright red.

  “Officer Schultz,” Cruzer said. “His hand is off-center.”

  The female officer scowled as she repositioned Milt’s hardening fingers. Again, the button glowed a bright red.

  The male officer needed no prodding. Grabbing Milt’s eyelids, he struggled to open them a little wider. But again, the button flashed red and the door stayed shut.

  The water flowed faster. Before long, it covered the entire floor and began to rise.

  “What’s the problem?” Beverly asked.

  Cruzer exhaled. “The water must’ve shorted out our systems.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that.” Kneeling down, I studied the flowing water. “What can you tell me about the original construction?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you seen the plans? Was this place modeled after some other depository?”

  “No, to your first question. As for the second one, yes, it was modeled after the Bank of France.”

  I frowned. “Then this isn’t a leak.”

  “Of course it’s a leak,” Donovan snapped. “What else would it be?”

  “A flood trap.” I exhaled. “If we don’t get out of here soon, we’re not getting out at all.”

  CHAPTER 51

  “A flood trap?” Cruzer shook his head. “Impossible. I would’ve known about it.”

  “Yeah?” Graham arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Let me ask you something. Did Milt like to keep secrets?”

  The color drained out of Cruzer’s face.

  “How did we set it off?” the president asked. “Maybe we can reverse it somehow.”

  “Most likely, it started the moment we tried to use the biometrics system,” I replied. “The scanner must not have recognized Milt’s corpse. Instead, it flagged him as an intruder, opened the door, and triggered the trap.”

  “Oh, please.” Donovan glared at me. “What do you know anyway?”

  “He knows plenty,” Graham retorted. “If we need someone to give out a phony award, we’ll call you. Otherwise, shut up and let the experts do their thing.”

  President Walters sloshed toward the vault door. Lifting a fist, he pounded on the metal. “Help!”

  “Don’t waste your energy,” Cruzer said. “That door is soundproof.”

  “Do we have access to a phone?” Beverly asked.

  He shook his head.

  “This is your fault.” President Walters grabbed Cruzer’s shirt and shook him hard. “We’re going to die because of you.”

  Cruzer didn’t fight back, not even when the president started punching him.

  Grabbing the president, I slammed him against
a wall.

  “Get your hands off him,” Donovan shouted.

  I stared into the president’s eyes. “Calm down.”

  The president clenched and unclenched his jaw. Then he nodded. “I’m okay.”

  As I released him, Beverly slid in front of Cruzer. “Think hard. Is there another way out of here?”

  Cruzer shook his head.

  “What did Milt do if something went haywire?”

  “I don’t know. He never told me.”

  “Well, you’re useless.” Graham glanced at me. “Got any ideas?”

  I sensed water inching its way up my boots. Where was it coming from? Could we block it? “Maybe,” I replied.

  I hustled down the corridor. It was shaped like a horseshoe, curving around before straightening out again.

  At the toe portion, water bubbled from multiple gaps in the wall. The gaps were long, thin, and stacked on top of each other. Taken as a whole, it looked like a waterfall display at one of those fancy Manhattan eateries.

  I inserted my fingers into a gap and tried to plug the water. But it merely squirted out the sides. So, I pulled off my shirt and pressed it against the wall with my forearm. The water slowed, but pressure began to build-up. A few seconds later, it forced my forearm away and water splashed into the corridor.

  I donned my cold, wet shirt. Then I hustled to the far end of the corridor. It was an exact duplicate of the other side, sans vault door and biometrics mechanism. In their place was a solid metal door with no keyhole. It was labeled Stairwell to Vault B. I tried it.

  It was locked.

  Turning around, I retraced my steps, testing door latches along the way. They were firmly locked in place. Outside 3A, I paused for a moment. The compartment door looked solid and fit perfectly with the frame.

  “Cruzer,” I shouted.

  He spun in my direction.

  “Open this door.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it,” Beverly said.

  “My code will work for—” Officer Schultz gave her watch a quick look. “—two more minutes.”

  “Mine is good for another eight,” the male officer added.

  Cruzer and his two subordinates hurried to 3A. “Start entering your codes on my count,” Officer Cruzer called out. “Ready. Set. Go.”

  The water level lifted higher as the officers punched their codes into the keypads. It rose above my boots and the first drops of icy liquid struck my socks.

  Cruzer licked his lips. “Okay, that should do it. Now—”

  Red lights flashed above all three keypads.

  “It’s no good.” Cruzer shook his head. “The trap must’ve shut down access to the compartments.”

  “Do it again,” I said.

  “What’s the point?”

  “The codes have to be input simultaneously, right? Maybe your timing was off.”

  Cruzer whirled back to his keypad. “On my mark. Ready. Set. Go.”

  As the officers punched their codes in for a second time, Donovan walked around the horseshoe corner. He studied the leaking walls for a moment. “It won’t work, you know.”

  I glanced at him. “What?”

  “Gold bars won’t seal that leak. There’s too many cracks and too much pressure.”

  “Good thing I’m not trying to seal the leak then, huh?”

  His forehead knotted.

  The water came faster and faster. Within seconds, it rose to my knees. Then to my thighs.

  “Okay.” Cruzer exhaled. “Everyone cross your fingers.”

  Green lights flashed. A lock clicked.

  The male officer stared at the door in disbelief. “It worked,” he muttered. “It actually worked.”

  I grabbed the latch and yanked the door. Squealing loudly, it opened a few inches. An overhead light burst forth, dazzling my eyes. The rushing water shifted course and began surging into the compartment.

  “Everybody inside,” I said. “Now.”

  Donovan slid through the crack and disappeared into the compartment. The president was next, followed by Graham and Beverly.

  As Officer Schultz and the male officer followed suit, Cruzer slid to my side. “The door looks airtight. But how are we going to defeat the flood trap?”

  “We’re not,” I said. “We’re going to wait it out.”

  He slipped through the narrow opening. Then I slid through the gap and pulled the door shut.

  I watched the water level inside the compartment for several minutes. “It’s stable,” I said. “I think we’re safe.”

  I twisted around. The brightness momentarily blinded me. As my eyes adjusted, I saw we were gathered inside a ten-foot square room, next to huge stacks of gold bars. They covered the length of the room and rose almost all the way to the ceiling. I’d seen lots of gold bullion in my life. But nothing like this. Even more incredibly, the compartment was just one of many in Vault A. And Vault A was just one of two vaults.

  Cruzer grinned knowingly. “Impressive, huh?”

  All I could do was nod.

  CHAPTER 52

  “Are you sure?” President Walters’ voice was quiet, tense. “You have to be sure.”

  “The water is no longer gushing.” Beverly placed her ear against the compartment door. “Of course, the corridor could still be flooded.”

  Several minutes passed before sweat started to bead up on my forearms. It trickled past my elbows and collected around my fingertips.

  Donovan wiped slick sweat from his forehead. “Why’s it so stuffy in here?”

  I took a deep breath, inhaling a mouthful of warm air. “Because we’re running out of oxygen.”

  He sighed, wearily. “Can’t you fix it?”

  “Sure. But I need your help.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Stop breathing.”

  A few chuckles rang out. But Donovan wasn’t amused. Curling his lip, he stuck his face in front of mine. His breath smelled faintly of fish and cheese. “Do you know how easily I could ruin your life?”

  “Hopefully, not as easily as you’re ruining my nostrils.”

  The chuckles turned into laughter. Donovan backed off, but continued to stare me down.

  Graham hefted a gleaming, brick-sized bar in his hands. “I forgot how heavy gold is.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Donovan’s nostrils flared. “Give me that.”

  “Whatever you say.” Graham dumped the bar in Donovan’s outstretched hands. Donovan misjudged the weight and shrieked as the heavy bar nearly dragged him to the ground.

  Wasting no time, Graham hefted another bar. “Are they all like these ones?”

  Cruzer wiped sweat from his cheeks. “Not exactly. They weigh twenty-seven and a half pounds apiece. But since purity levels differ, bar sizes differ as well.”

  The president took a shallow breath and sagged to the ground. “Why do purity levels differ?”

  “It has to do with the gold’s original form. All the bars in this compartment come from melted U.S. coins. So, they’re 90 percent gold and 10 percent copper.”

  “They used copper in their gold coins?”

  “Yes,” Cruzer replied. “I don’t know why though.”

  “It’s because gold is a soft metal,” I said.

  Donovan gave me a sharp look. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Softness isn’t the most desirable trait when it comes to currency. So, a lot of old U.S. coins were built from copper-infused alloys to provide them with a tougher composition.”

  “I think …” Beverly pressed her ear against the door. “Yes, I’m sure of it. The water is draining.”

  A collective sigh of relief rang out. We waited in silence for another ten minutes, listening to the receding water and doing our best to ignore the increasingly foul air. Eventually, the sounds of water faded away.

  We waited a few more minutes in the stifling compartment. Finally, I tried the knob. The door opened wide and oxygen flooded into my lungs. I’d never taste
d anything so sweet.

  Graham rushed past me, gasping for air. Beverly helped the president into the corridor and sat him down against a wall. Then she attended to Graham.

  I sensed movement behind me. Spinning around, I saw a glassy-eyed Donovan stumbling in my direction. He swung a couple of wild punches, which I easily evaded.

  As he veered past me, I grabbed hold of his arm and tried to steady him.

  “Let go of me,” he shouted.

  And so I did. Immediately, he lost his balance and his face pancaked against the hard ground.

  Avoiding thin trickles of blood, I stepped over him and entered the corridor. Abruptly, the vault door burst open. Soldiers appeared. They swarmed around me and the others, hooking us up to breathing apparatuses and oxygen tanks.

  While I waited for my breathing to normalize, I found myself thinking about that photo of Justin. He’d vanished in late 1949, supposedly while on a trip to the Appalachian Mountains. And now, I had photographic proof that he’d visited some place named Shrieker Tower on December 14, 1949. What had happened to him?

  I wasn’t sure. Not yet anyway. But I knew one thing. The answer to that question—to all my questions—was somewhere inside the depository.

  CHAPTER 53

  “Rise and shine, maggots!” Graham shouted at the top of his lungs.

  His words ping-ponged in my eardrums. Harsh light appeared, stabbing straight through my closed eyelids and deep into my brain. Then metal began to smash slowly against metal in rhythmic fashion.

  Beverly wrapped a thin, dense pillow around her head. “Go away.”

  Eyes still closed, I grabbed hold of my pillow and threw it across the room. It smacked against flesh. Graham groaned.

  “Serves you right,” I muttered. “Now, get lost.”

  “No can do, maggot.” Graham maneuvered the light switch, turning it on and off, on and off. Metal smashed against metal a few more times. “Either you guys get up or I’m coming in there.”

  Beverly grumbled.

  “You know, that bed looks pretty good.” He started toward us.

  “Wait, wait.” Pushing my back off the mattress, I sat up. My limbs felt sore and my joints were in need of a lube job.

  Stifling a yawn, I cracked my eyes open. We were situated in a small office. Three inflatable queen-sized mattresses, made up with shiny sheets and wool blankets, lay on the floor. One of the mattresses was barely touched and I realized Beverly had abandoned it during the night in favor of mine.