“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.”
Graham could only shake his head.
“The press conference was live.” The president sighed. “The whole world saw that fake gold bar. There’s no use pretending otherwise.”
“Maybe we can say it was a mistake,” Donovan suggested. “Or a joke gone wrong.”
“How? By drilling more fake bars?” He glanced at us. “Are any of the bars real?”
“Let’s put it this way,” Beverly replied. “We haven’t found one yet.”
“So, what are we supposed to do?” Donovan asked. “Wait around while the press crucifies us?”
“No, we need to make a statement. Go to the lobby and inform everyone I’ll be addressing the issue shortly.”
“Are you sure you want to do that, Mr. President? I’d be more than happy to address the media on your behalf.”
“No, it should be me.”
As Donovan hurried away, the president squeezed his hands into fists. “Unbelievable. How am I supposed to implement a gold standard without any gold?”
My first thought was to raid the West Point and Denver depositories. But then I recalled him saying how they’d already been emptied due to some international banks no longer accepting the U.S. dollar.
“What a disaster.” The president inhaled a sharp breath. “What am I supposed to do now? Go on TV and tell the world I was just kidding? That Fort Knox might be empty but don’t worry, it’s all going to work out anyway? They’ll never believe me. Come Monday morning, it’s over. People will make a run on their banks. Prices will skyrocket and the economy will dip into depression. America, as we know her, will die.”
“So, declare an emergency holiday,” Graham said. “Like President Roosevelt did during the Great Depression.”
He shook his head. “That will just delay the inevitable.”
Donovan returned and an argument broke out. Potential solutions were kicked around and discarded. And through it all, one thing remained clear to me. President Walters had a big problem on his hands.
And he couldn’t solve it alone.
“Where are my files?” I asked.
Donovan stared at me. “What files?”
“The ones you promised me.”
“Are you serious? You know, I should—”
“Just give him the files,” the president said quietly.
Donovan’s lip curled. But he nodded anyway. “Yes, sir.”
He left the room. When he returned, he carried a small stack of folders. He dumped them in my hands and then joined the others.
The files were all marked classified. I thumbed open the top one and saw a picture of Justin Reed staring back at me. Quickly, I leafed through the rest of it, catching glimpses of the phrases set designer and 23rd Headquarters Special Troops in the process.
In addition to Justin’s file, I’d also requested files for three other people. They — Ross Howser, Chris Hatcher, and Dan Rellman — had been with my grandfather when he’d supposedly vanished in the Appalachian Mountains. There were other people as well, but those three were the only ones I could remember.
Tucking the files under my arm, I strode to the locked door.
Donovan growled. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I ignored him. Moments later, Cruzer met me at the door. He gave me a puzzled look but opened it anyway. Stepping forward, I entered the connecting hallway.
“What a coward.” Donovan snorted. “First sign of trouble and he’s out the door.”
Graham laughed.
“You should be laughing at him, not me. The guy’s a total dud.”
“Shows what you know. I’ll bet he’s already got a plan to fix this.”