“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 alerted 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.”