by David Meyer
“Tungsten,” I said after a moment. “It’s a tungsten slug, covered with gold plating.”
“You’re sure?” Graham asked.
“Almost positive. Tungsten’s density is 19.254 grams per cubic centimeter, which is almost identical to that of gold. Plus, it’s plentiful and cheap. If you wanted to replace a gold bar, a gold-plated tungsten slug would do the trick.”
“The density difference would still give it away,” Graham said.
“Not necessarily. Measuring density for heavy objects can be tricky and defects in the material can render the measurements useless.” Beverly looked thoughtful. “Plus, gold-plated tungsten would pass chemical tests and as long as the plating was thick enough, say one-sixteenth of an inch, it would pass an x-ray test as well.”
“Okay, so it’s not just a fake. It’s a damn good fake.” Graham glanced at the wall of bars. A look of dark amusement crossed his visage. “And something tells me it isn’t the only one.”
CHAPTER 58
“I drilled fifty-nine bars in four separate compartments,” Beverly whispered. “Three compartments in Vault A, one in Vault B. They were all the same, tungsten slugs plated with either pure gold or a copper-gold mixture.”
“Let’s see.” I tapped my jaw. “That makes 164 bars from fourteen separate compartments. Eight compartments in Vault A, six in Vault B. And every last bar was a fake.”
We stood in a small circle in 3A, backed by a wall of phony gold on one side and the metal door on the other one.
“Fort Knox might as well be empty.” Graham frowned. “That must be why Milt fought so hard to keep us outside.”
Beverly gave him a curious look. “You think he knew about this?”
“Cruzer said he’d been here since the 1940s. How could he not know?”
“Good point. I wonder what happened to the real stuff.”
Puzzle pieces formed together inside my head. “Project Capitalist Curtain.”
They both looked at me. “What?” Graham asked.
“The idea behind Project Capitalist Curtain was to buy a bunch of colonies from their war-stricken owners. But the purchase never happened.” I glanced at the gold. Everything was coming into focus now. “What if the funds for that purchase were supposed to come from this depository?”
“That would make sense,” Beverly said. “Gold reserves peaked around that time, right?”
“Right.” I could feel the connections flowing faster and faster. Some things remained cloudy, but I was beginning to see how Milt, Justin, and everything else fit into the picture. “What time is it?”
Beverly shrugged. “I’m not sure, but when I came in here, it looked like the press conference was about to begin.”
My gaze tightened. “Are you sure?”
She nodded. “Why?”
“Because the president is about to announce a gold standard based on fake gold.” I ran to the door, thrust it open, and darted into the corridor. I sprinted all the way to the end before a couple of soldiers stepped in front of me.
“This room is off-limits,” one of them said. “Until the press conference is over.”
“I need to talk to the president,” I said.
“It’ll have to wait.”
I felt a presence behind me. Spinning around, I saw Ben. “What are you doing here?”
“Touring the compartments,” he replied.
Standing on my tiptoes, I saw Donovan a short ways away. “Keith,” I hissed. “Over here.”
He shot me a disapproving look. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking for you for the last hour.”
“Never mind that. Tell the president I need to speak to him.”
Nearby reporters, hearing my frantic whispers, gave me curious looks.
“Forget it,” Donovan replied. “I’m sick of your games.”
“This isn’t a game …” I trailed off as he turned away and hiked to the president’s side. He shook the president’s hand and gave me a sly look.
The president broke off the handshake and stepped to the podium. Striking a strong pose, he opened his mouth …
… and began to speak.
CHAPTER 59
“For centuries, the United States of America has led the world in terms of innovation and the adoption of bold, new ideas.” President Walters paused to fix a steely eye on the now-quiet media. “But unfortunately, new ideas don’t always work out. And when that happens, it’s imperative that we remain flexible, that we reevaluate our position.”
Situated just inside the vault door, I had an excellent view of things. The president looked tall and powerful atop his elevated platform. His attire, dark blue pants along with a matching sport coat over an unbuttoned white dress shirt, gave off a distinct vibe. Like he wasn’t just the president but rather, a regular guy you might catch a drink with after work.
The media, meanwhile, had undergone a rapid transformation. When the president first walked into the room, many of them had shared knowing looks as if to say, Forget the speech … show us the gold, already. For them, the real star of the press conference was the U.S. Bullion Depository. Only a handful of people had ever entered its doors, making this particular visit an exciting experience for the normally-jaded press corps.
The president’s speech, in contrast, seemed like an afterthought. A desperate publicity stunt designed to drive increased consumer confidence. But that idea ended the second the president opened his mouth.
President Walters had waited for this moment and he took full advantage of it. He spoke with distinct purpose and his voice thundered with authority. It was apparent to everyone in attendance that something important—something historic—was about to happen.
“In 1971, the U.S. government forged new ground when it adopted a series of economic policies that ultimately turned the U.S. dollar into a pure fiat currency,” the president continued. “The result, I’m sad to say, has been decades of economic turmoil, broken budgets, and runaway inflation. That ends now. Tomorrow, several executive orders will go into effect that will put this great land of ours back on track. Tomorrow, we begin America’s transition back to greatness. Tomorrow, we install the system that turned this country into the most powerful nation on Earth.” The president paused. His jaw firmed up and he spoke in perfect enunciation. “Tomorrow, we return to the gold standard.”
The room exploded into shouts and questions. At the same time, a strong undercurrent of whispers ran through the room as reporters discussed the announcement and what it would mean for the average person as well as for the government as a whole.
And through it all, President Walters stared out over the crowd, basking in the frenzied excitement. His face was impassive, but there was a determined set to his jaw.
Ben cleared his throat. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
I glanced at him. “What’s beautiful?”
“The spoken word.” He gestured at the president. “And it’s a joy to hear it coming from the mouth of a true master. Wade Walters is undoubtedly the finest speaker of this age.”
I forced a chuckle. “All he needs is someone to tell him what to say.”
A small smile creased Ben’s lips.
“The timing of this announcement is no accident.” The president’s voice rose above the crowd and instantly, silence fell over the room. “I’ve always tried to be a straight shooter and today is no different. The truth is this … the American economy is in desperate peril. Reinstating the gold standard is our best—and only—chance to avoid disaster.”
For the next few minutes, President Walters described the coming stagflation and the destruction it would wreck upon the American economy. He discussed the impossibility of battling it with normal strategies, given America’s enormous debt load. He explained how he would implement major spending cuts and new taxes on Monday morning. And finally, he told everyone how his gold standard would save America from future deficits. By the time, he was done his message was loud and clear. Stagflation was imminent and
nothing short of a gold standard would stop it.
The press watched and recorded his speech in silence, their eyes widened with absolute shock. When it was time for questions, reporters exploded out of their seats. Screaming and waving their hands, they looked like a classroom full of teacher’s pets.
The president took a couple of questions, handling them with ease. Then he pointed at a tall, droopy man in the second row. The man stepped forward. “Mr. President, when was Fort Knox’s last official audit?”
“Hello, Bert. To answer your question, the last official audit occurred in 1953. It was done by staff members and only a small percentage of gold was actually tested.”
“So, how can we be sure the gold is real, Mr. President?”
My brow cinched tight.
President Walters plastered a smile across his face. “I can assure you it’s 100 percent real. Now, next—”
“Would you be willing to show us a couple of bars, Mr. President? And submit them to testing as well?”
There was no way this was an innocent line of questioning. Somehow the reporter knew about the fake bars. But how?
Malware.
More puzzle pieces slid into place. In order to fund Project Capitalist Curtain, a large amount of gold had been removed from the depository. Justin and his crew had been involved with its transportation. They’d vanished during the process. Did the gold disappear with them? Yes, that had to be it. It explained the fake bars as well as why Project Capitalist Curtain never came to fruition.
But what was Malware’s motive in all this? If she was after the gold, why tip off the reporter?
The president frowned. “You mean right now?”
“Yes, sir. I noticed the famous treasure hunter Cy Reed is on the premises. Perhaps he could lend us his expertise for a couple of minutes.”
“That’s a fine idea.” President Walters twisted his neck until he saw me. “Mr. Reed, could you join me, please?”
Heads swiveled in my direction. My cheeks grow hot.
How do you get yourself into these situations?
“Get up there, you dolt,” Donovan whispered.
I couldn’t see a way out of the situation. The soldiers stepped aside and with great trepidation, I strode to the podium. As I shook President Walters’ outstretched hand, I spoke quietly through clenched teeth. “We need to talk.”
“We will. Later.” President Walters nodded at Donovan. Donovan nodded back. Then he slipped past the guards and entered one of the compartments. When he reemerged, he carried a gleaming bar in his hands.
A couple of soldiers appeared with a sturdy table. They placed it onto the elevated platform and Donovan put the bar on the table.
“Now, Mr. Reed.” The president gave me a wide smile. “What’s your expert opinion? Is it real? Or fake?”
I stared at him, hoping he’d see something in my eyes. But alas, he was too busy hamming it up for the cameras.
I walked to the table and gave the bar a good look. From the outside, it looked like gold. But I had a sneaking suspicion its interior was a different matter altogether. “Perhaps this should wait,” I said. “In order to do a thorough job, I’d have to submit it to tests. Density, x-rays, drilling …”
“Nonsense. This is the perfect time. Why don’t you start with a quick drilling?” The president winked at the reporters. “We’ve got to make sure it’s not hollow, right?”
As the reporters tittered, more soldiers came forward, equipped with tools, clamps, and drills. Before long, the table was bolted to the platform and the bar was clamped into place.
President Walters took one of the drills and with a flourish, tried to hand it to me.
I shook my head.
“Here,” he said, extending the drill for a second time.
“I can’t,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You’re right,” he said thoughtfully. “I should do it.”
Approaching the table, he placed the drill against the bar’s exterior. It whirred for a couple of seconds and he pulled it away, leaving behind a tiny indentation. I was relieved to see only gold at the bottom of it. Maybe this bar wasn’t like the other ones.
“Not bad.” The president flashed a grin at the audience. “But we can go deeper than that.”
He resumed drilling. A few seconds later, the mechanical device jolted in his hands. The whirring changed to light crunching and with a deep frown he stepped back a few feet. “What the hell?”
The reporters and camera operators, slightly confused, leaned forward. For a couple of seconds, there was blissful silence. And then Bert, the reporter who’d started this whole mess, roared with laughter.
“That’s not gold,” he shouted. “It’s a fake.”
CHAPTER 60
Instantly, reporters jumped in front of their respective cameras. A variety of voices, all alarmed, rang out.
“A shocking discovery as President Wade Walters discovers the presence of a fake gold bar within Fort Knox’s hallowed walls,” a bubbly brunette called out.
“President Walter’s plan to reinstate the gold standard just received a major setback,” shouted a male reporter in the gravest tone imaginable.
“With America’s gold supply in question and stagflation looming on the horizon,” a second male reporter said, “the future of this country’s economy is now very much up in the air.”
With initial statements out of the way, reporters shouted questions at the president. Others grabbed their camera operators and raced toward the vault door. Soldiers closed ranks, blocking their path. The reporters responded by rising to their tiptoes and shouting questions at anyone who would listen.
Including me.
“Mr. Reed, would you please comment on what we just saw?”
“How much of the gold do you believe to be fake, Mr. Reed? All of it? Or just a significant portion?”
“Mr. Reed, how will this impact the president’s plan to reinstate the gold standard?”
Looking above the chattering heads, I saw President Walters being escorted out of the room by K.J. and several soldiers.
Someone yanked my arm. Whirling around, I saw Keith Donovan. His face was white and his eyes were as wide as coasters. “What have you done?” he whispered.
Seconds later, a surge of reporters pushed into us, separating us from each other. Donovan tried to flee, only to be surrounded by still more reporters.
Chaos was breaking out and the people in charge clearly had no idea how to stop it. So, I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Everyone, I need your attention.”
A few reporters heard me over the ruckus and shut their mouths. Others caught the drift and before long, the room was largely silent.
“There will be time for questions,” I continued. “But for now, I need you to vacate this room. Please head to the main lobby until further notice.”
The reporters and camera operators looked at me, then at each other. There were a few grumbles, but they gathered up their belongings and went outside anyway. Cruzer sent some of his officers to sit with them and then closed the doors and locked them tight.
A short while later, President Walters and his entourage returned to the room. The president made a beeline toward me. “Did you know about that bar?” he shouted. “Is that why you wouldn’t help me?”
I stood my ground. “I tried to stop you.”
He winced. “I guess you did. But how’d you know?”
“We did some drilling of our own before the press conference.” I shrugged. “I told Keith to stall you, but he wouldn’t listen.”
Donovan clenched his fists. “Don’t blame your failure on me.”
“I’m not. I’m blaming your failure on you.”
President Walters walked to the platform. Bending down, he studied the gold bar. “What am I looking at here?”
“It’s a tungsten slug,” Beverly replied. “Plated over with gold.”
“It looked so real.”
“It would’ve fooled most experts
.” I glanced at Cruzer. “When was the last time someone put these bars under a microscope?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“Surely, you did unofficial audits,” Donovan said. “A typical government facility would, at the very least, subject each bar to a thorough annual inspection.”
“Yeah, right.” Graham grinned. “A typical government facility would blow its budget before it even started inspections.”
Donovan gave him a nasty look.
“We conducted bar counts, but not unofficial audits,” Cruzer said. “As I mentioned before, Officer Stevens preferred to keep contact with the gold to a bare minimum.”
Beverly gave me a knowing look. “Why am I not surprised?”
I nodded. It fit perfectly with the scenario in my head. Officer Stevens had brought in Justin and others to transport the gold out of Fort Knox in order to complete the Capitalist Curtain purchases. He and the other bureaucrats probably thought they’d be lauded as heroes once news went public.
But Justin and the others had vanished with the gold. And just like that, the bureaucrats were forced into cover-up mode. Officials quietly cancelled the transactions. Meanwhile, Officer Stevens was tasked with the unenviable responsibility of making it look like the gold had never left the depository. So, he created fake bars to replace the real ones and then spent the rest of his career—and life—making sure no one ever got too close to them.
“Sir.” Donovan stepped forward. “We need to put a lid on this situation. I’d like to suggest we confiscate all cameras and other recording devices. Footage from the press conference should be summarily erased. Also, we should consider detaining the media members until further notice.”
“Why not just trump up some charges and throw them in jail while you’re at it?” Graham asked.
Graham had laid the sarcasm on pretty thick, but Donovan still managed to miss it. “I’d like to,” he replied earnestly, “but it might not go over well with the public.”
