by David Meyer
A couple of armored cars edged in front of us. Taking the lead, they drove up the thick paved road. We followed after them, flanked on both sides by SUVs.
We passed the parking lot. Then the corporal hit the brakes and we coasted to a stop. Up ahead, I saw a ten-foot tall electric fence, bolstered by concrete supports. Two more fences, both unmanned, stood beyond it.
The fence cutting team hustled forward and began cutting wires. A second team, armed with rifles, took up position behind the fence cutters.
“That’s odd,” Beverly said. “I figured that fence was electrified.”
“It is electrified,” Graham replied. “They’re using heavily insulated tin snips to do the cutting. Plus, their boots keep them grounded.”
A couple of soft bursts sounded out. One of the fence cutters flew backward and crashed to the ground. Then another cutter twisted violently. He too fell to the pavement.
“Someone’s shooting.” Beverly’s jaw hardened as she leaned closer to the partition. “It must be the Mint Police.”
Graham hit the intercom button. “It might be a good time to skedaddle.”
The corporal’s reply came quickly. “No can do.”
“But the president—”
“I just received word that President Walters wishes the fleet to stay put until further notice. But don’t worry about a thing. This vehicle is practically bulletproof.”
I arched an eyebrow. “Practically?”
Graham released the intercom. “The president’s lost it.”
“He’s obsessed,” Beverly replied.
“Same thing.”
“I think I see the shooters.” Squinting, she studied the building. “In the sentinel stations.”
Four concrete sentinel stations surrounded the building, one in each corner. Additional stations were located on the upper levels. Their interiors were dark, but tiny sparks and puffs of smoke shed light on their occupants.
Soldiers sprang out of the armored cars. More gunfire rang out from both sides. A brutal skirmish followed that quickly cut down the rest of the fence cutters as well as their protection detail. The soldiers gamely returned fire from behind their vehicles. But despite their greater numbers, their rounds did little damage to the sentinel stations.
I glanced at the fence. One of the fence cutters squirmed along the ground, blood pouring out of his body at a sickening pace. He was alive, but wouldn’t last long in that condition.
How do I get myself into these situations?
I wrenched my door open and ran outside. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw soldiers retreat to two of the vehicles. Engines fired up. Groaning loudly, turrets twisted toward the sentinel stations. Booming blasts rang out.
I reached the squirming fence cutter in a matter of seconds. He wore body armor, but a bullet had nicked him in the neck. I grabbed him under the armpits. Blood slipped between my fingers, soaking my palms. “How are you feeling?” I asked, trying to keep him from passing out on me.
He gurgled in response, spitting blood all over the ground.
“On second thought, forget I asked.”
Moving quickly, I backpedaled toward our vehicle, dragging the injured cutter along the pavement.
More blasts filled the air. A sentinel station positioned on the roof dissolved into concrete chunks. Taking aim, soldiers cut down a group of officers trapped in the rubble. Another station, the one to my immediate left, exploded a second later. The smoke quickly cleared and I saw numerous bodies, blackened with soot.
I dragged the cutter behind our vehicle. Beverly slid through the open door. Clamping her hands over his wound, she tried to staunch the bleeding.
Graham stuck his head out of the SUV. “So, what do you think of the depository?” he asked with a gleam in his eye.
“It’s okay,” I replied. “Three stars. Maybe four.”
“Not five?” He arched an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? Too much blood for you?”
“Not enough gold.”
Beverly, still applying pressure, shook her head. “What’s the matter with you two?” But there was a slight grin upon her lips even as she spoke the words.
A pair of medics, ducking low, ran toward us. They laid a stretcher on the ground and applied compact pressure to the cutter’s wounds. After the bleeding had slowed, they rolled him onto the stretcher and hurried away.
I wiped my hands on my pants and took a deep breath. Bursts of gunfire echoed in my ears. The air smelled of cordite and I tasted smoke on my tongue.
“The sides look evenly matched,” Graham observed.
“Not for long,” I replied.
“What makes you say that?”
“The Army’s got bigger guns.”
The gunfire continued for another few minutes. Then it died off and I began to hear screams and wails of agony.
I looked over the SUV’s roof. The sentinel stations had been reduced to dust. Corpses of Mint Police officers were strewn across the depository’s roof and the outer grounds.
Shifting my gaze, I saw dents and scratches in the armored cars and SUVs. Soldiers lay bleeding on the ground. Some were moving and moaning. Others were still, quiet.
K.J., armed with a rifle, strode around the back of our car. He spotted us and made a beeline to our position. “Why aren’t you in your vehicle?”
“I don’t get it,” Beverly said, changing the subject. “Why’d they fire on us?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” President Walters thrust open his door and marched over to join our group. “Officer Stevens is a lunatic.”
K.J. looked annoyed. “Please return to your vehicle, Mr. President. And just so you know, I’m switching tactics. We’re going to fall back, wait them out.”
“Negative,” the president said. “Proceed as planned.”
“With all due respect, sir, I’ve got at least four dead and six men with serious wounds.”
“We’re under a time crunch, Colonel. I need this wrapped up before the media catches wind of it. Can you do that for me?”
K.J. exhaled. “That depends, sir.”
“On what?”
His gaze shot toward the depository. “On what other nasty surprises Milt has waiting for us.”
CHAPTER 46
Grim-faced soldiers, their eyes flitting between the depository and the fence, cut the final rungs. A large section of fencing fell away, colliding with the pavement and kicking dust and dirt into the air.
More soldiers, dressed in body armor, helmets, and camouflage uniforms, slipped through the opening. They spread out across the driveway with clockwork precision.
As the armored vehicles approached the gap, I studied the next fence. It was arranged to form an octagon around the depository. Weathered signs warned of high voltage electricity. Gates with electronic locks, probably for guard shift changes, were built into the fence at various points. The area encompassed by the fence consisted mostly of grass. Parts of it were colored brilliant green and fluttered gently in the breeze. Other parts looked different. Stiffer, darker, and wind-resistant.
“Does that lawn look strange to you?” I asked from inside our SUV.
“Well, yeah.” Graham shrugged. “But it’s nothing a good watering couldn’t fix.”
“No, Cy’s right,” Beverly said. “It looks like two different types of grass. Ordinarily, I’d say it was just poor lawn work. But the lines are exacting. And that dark grass is so straight, so perfect. Almost as if …”
“As if it were fake.” I reached for the door. But static bursts of gunfire stopped me cold. Looking outside, I saw sections of dark grass lift up and out of the way. Strange pedestals rose out of underground silos. They moved up and down, twisting from side to side in haphazard fashion. Large machine gun installations, mounted on the pedestals, spat bullets in our direction.
Soldiers dove to the grass. The ground rippled. Gigantic blasts filled the air.
“Automatic guns and land mines.” Beverly’s fingers curled into fists. “K.J.
wasn’t kidding about nasty surprises.”
Graham growled. “I’m liking this Milt character less and less by the second.”
I watched as another land mine exploded, blowing a hapless soldier to bits. The automatic gunfire grew fiercer, louder. I shifted my gaze around the area, searching for something I didn’t see. “Hey Dutch,” I said. “Imagine for a second that you work here.”
“The pay had better be good,” he replied. “Because the fringe benefits don’t look so hot.”
“What would you do if you got caught out here by accident?”
“I don’t know … pray?”
“I see what you’re saying,” Beverly said. “There has to be a manual way of shutting down the guns.”
I nodded and looked at Graham. “Think you can figure out their systems?”
“Sure. If I can find them.”
“That looks promising.” Beverly pointed to a small booth positioned on the right side of the gate.
I punched the intercom button. “Corporal Wendell?”
His voice came out over the speakers. “Go ahead.”
“Listen, drive through that gap in the fence. We need to get to that booth on the right.”
“I’m not authorized—”
“People are dying,” Graham said. “Now, are you going to help us save them or not?”
A loud exhalation sounded out over the speakers. Then the SUV jerked forward and to the right. Loud scratching sounds filled my ears as Corporal Wendell directed us through the sheared fence. Then he gave the wheel a violent turn. The vehicle slid in a half-circle and came to a stop near the booth.
More patches of fake grass lifted up and outward, revealing dark concrete silos. Automatic gun systems rose upward, spitting bullets at us.
We ducked down as Graham reached for the door handle. “I just want to go on record stating I hate this idea,” he said.
I grinned. “Then you shouldn’t have taken that fake job.”
“That fake pay had better be good.” He pushed the door open and hurried into the booth. The automatic guns adjusted their aim, peppering it with gunfire. Chunks of concrete began to break away from the structure. Smoke and dust shot into the air.
After a few minutes, the gunfire ceased. Peering through the thick smoke, I saw the machine gun installations slow to a halt. Silence took over the area. And then a new set of noises appeared. Engines puttered softly. Doors cracked open. Soldiers called for medics.
I glanced toward the president’s vehicle. I couldn’t see him, but I wondered what he was thinking. Did he feel guilty for all the bloodshed? For overruling K.J.’s desire to take a step back? Was this gold standard plan of his really worth the lives that had already been lost?
Was it worth any lives?
CHAPTER 47
With deep hesitation, soldiers ducked under the third fence and headed forward. Their machine-like precision was gone and for the most part, they marched with short, jerky movements.
The soldiers approached a black wrought-iron fence, the last physical barrier between us and the depository. Like the previous fence, it was arranged in an octagon-shape. It also appeared quite old. Maybe even old enough to be part of the original construction.
On either side of me, soldiers hiked across the lawn. Some used detectors to search for land mines. Others worked on dismantling the automated gun systems.
A couple of soldiers knelt in front of the last gate. Using tin snips, they cut a large hole in it. Then they quickly retreated to an armored vehicle.
Several minutes passed as K.J. barked orders at his troops. Then one of the cars drove through the opening. Soldiers exited and fanned out. After an extensive search of the immediate area, they gathered around the massive front doors.
The other cars and SUVs held back for a few more minutes. All around us, the area was still. There were no Mint Police, no automated guns, no exploding land mines.
The rest of the armored cars drove through the newly-cut fence. Immediately, more soldiers climbed out of their vehicles and began conducting another search of the grounds.
Finally, K.J. waved us through. Corporal Wendell drove into the gap and onto a circular road. He parked off to the side of the building. I cracked my door open and stepped outside. My gaze traced the tall marble-lined doors, the gold seal, and the United States Depository inscription.
President Walters was a little slower to emerge. When he finally slid out of his vehicle, he dusted off his sport coat and approached K.J. “Why didn’t you know about those guns? Or the land mines?”
K.J. hid it well, but I could see hints of fury under his steely surface. “They weren’t public knowledge, Mr. President.”
“But surely you’d heard rumors.”
“Yes, sir. But I’ve also heard rumors about satellite defense systems and surface-to-air missiles.” K.J. breathed softly. “Unfortunately, the nature of this mission didn’t give us much time to prepare. We did the best we could, given our limited intelligence of this facility.”
“I see.” President Walters turned toward the front entrance. “What’s going on now?”
“Nothing yet, sir. The doors are sealed tight.”
I studied the area just outside the front doors. Numerous monitors and connected keyboards were mounted on the nearby walls. Soldiers stood around them, studying them from all angles.
“Are those keypads?” Beverly asked.
K.J. nodded. “From what we can tell, it appears nobody is allowed to enter the depository alone. Three codes are required to open the door. My guess is they’re changed regularly and have to be entered at the exact same time.”
“Can you crack the codes?” the president asked.
“Given enough time, yes. But it’ll take hours. Maybe even days.”
“Codes?” Graham rolled his eyes. “Boring.”
“Agreed.” K.J. allowed a small grin. “Look behind you.”
Spinning around, I saw a giant tank turn onto the driveway. It slammed into the outermost fence, busting through it with ease.
Beverly arched an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say the building was blast-proof?”
“Maybe back in the 1930s.” K.J. focused on the tank. “But that beast is an M1A2 Abrams with a 120-millimeter smoothbore. It’s one of the most technologically advanced weapons in the world.”
I watched the tank crash through the second fence. Its main body was colored desert tan. Some of its parts, however, had been painted green. The result was a strange patchwork look.
The tank smashed into the third fence. The pre-cut wires squealed and wobbled as the metal monster pushed through the relatively small hole. Cables snapped and curled backward. Without pause, the tank pushed through the hole, leaving the now-sagging fence behind it.
Graham whistled in appreciation.
K.J.’s grin widened.
The tank, an unstoppable mass of metal and treads, rolled toward the fourth and final fence. The wrought iron crunched as the tank lurched over it.
The soldiers hustled to move the cars and SUVs out of the way. The tank rolled to a stop, just shy of the exterior steps. Meanwhile, K.J. escorted us behind the newly-parked SUVs. “Kneel down,” he ordered. “And plug your ears.”
I heard the faint sound of clanking metal right before I complied. A moment later, the ground reverberated. A loud bang swept through my hands and filled my eardrums. Smoke curled backward, passing overhead.
Three more bangs followed the first one. Then silence.
Still covering my ears, I peered over the top of our SUV. Black and gray smoke filled the area, covering the entire front entranceway. Squinting, I saw hints of what looked like a black void.
“Well, that was easy,” Graham muttered.
“Gamma Squad.” K.J. strode out from behind the SUV. “Secure the entranceway.”
Soldiers joined together in front of the depository. Weapons at the ready, they strode into the smoke.
A few seconds later, a feminine voice rang out. “Sir?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“What …?” His voice faded away.
The smoke was starting to clear and I could finally see the building. That void I’d seen … it wasn’t the interior. It was soot-covered metal and slightly charred black marble. Despite all its power, the tank had failed to destroy the doors.
In fact, it had barely damaged them.
CHAPTER 48
Milt Stevens downed another shot of liquor and tried to tell himself it would be okay. That things would work out.
But he couldn’t ignore the facts. He’d disobeyed a direct order from the President of the United States. He’d initiated an attack on the U.S. Army. People had died. There was no coming back from that and sooner or later, he’d pay for his crimes.
Still, those crimes paled in comparison to his darkest secret, the one that had plagued him ever since that cold December day in 1949. And unfortunately, this wasn’t a secret that could be destroyed. It was buried deep in the heart of Fort Knox, unmovable, just waiting to be discovered.
Milt downed another shot. Fort Knox was solid. Even that giant tank he’d seen on his monitors had failed to make so much as a dent in the exterior doors. Still, it was only a matter of time before the Army figured out a way to access the depository.
“It ain’t over, Milt,” he muttered to himself. “It ain’t done until you say it’s done.”
How had he gotten himself into this situation? He could barely recall the sequence of events that had led him to this predicament. Still, like so many things in life, it all came down to a single moment. A decision he’d made in conjunction with Roy Marvin.
He poured another drink and this time, sipped it slowly. Then he opened one of his desk drawers, sorted through some papers, and removed a black-and-white photo.
He stared at it for a long moment, lost in time, lost in that one moment that had ruined his life. The photo featured a group of battle-hardened men posing in front of a dump truck. Cigarettes dangled from their lips. Their rough hands casually clutched pistols and machine guns. They looked cool, aloof.
