The Death Instinct

'How much did they get?'

'Oh, it's not the dollar value of the loss that counts. Gold doesn't have value because someone will give you dollars for it, Captain. Dollars have value because the United States will give you gold for them. The real value of gold is psychical. It is valuable because men believe it to be valuable. And because they do, gold gives men faith in the government that possesses it — or is believed to possess it. We could lose every ounce of gold in these vaults, and so long as people didn't know of the loss, they would continue to invest in our bonds, trade in our dollars, leave their money in our banks, and so forth. Conversely, we could hold on to every brick, but if people believed the gold reserves of this country were insecure, we could have a panic making 1907 look like a baby's fretting.'

'How'd they do it?'

'You've seen the new building adjacent to this one, Captain — the Assay Office? Deep within it we've built new secure treasure vaults, much more suitable than this musty old basement. The gold is being transferred to the new vaults. We had devised a way to make that transfer without ever having an ounce of gold leave our property.'

'A tunnel?' asked Littlemore.

'No — a bridge. An overhead bridge.'

Littlemore nodded: 'In the alley between the buildings. I saw the doors.'

'Exactly. The bridge connected their second floors. It was built specially to move this gold. Triply reinforced to carry the weight. A moving automatic belt to make the conveyance of so much metal feasible. All without ever exposing a single brick to the outside world. Or so we thought.'

'You were moving the gold on the sixteenth?' asked Littlemore.

'Yes, we were. It was a carefully guarded secret. Or supposed to be. Evidently someone knew. The workmen inside reacted quite well, by the way. When they heard the explosion, they shut the doors on either side of the bridge, as they were trained to do. The only loss was the gold that happened to be on the bridge, which burned and collapsed. The robbers must have had a truck waiting in the alley.'

'How much did you lose?'

'We still don't know exactly,' Houston answered. 'It takes time to recount 138,000 bars. In addition to the gold on the bridge, I lost a man too — the man whose name we want off your lists. He may have gone onto the bridge to try to save the gold.'

'Riggs,' said Littlemore. 'So if the bombing was a robbery, why is Big Bill Flynn chasing anarchists?'

'Nearly no one knows about this robbery, Captain,' said Houston. 'Senator Fall, for example, does not know of it. Neither does Chief Flynn.'

Littlemore thought about that: 'You're afraid the Bureau has a leak.'

'Only a handful of people knew the date on which we were transferring the gold. There are men in the Bureau who knew. Someone betrayed us.'

'Could have been someone inside Treasury,' said Littlemore. 'Could have been Riggs.' '

'I can't rule that out,' replied Houston.

'You must know more or less how much they got away with.'

'Oh, more or less, certainly,' replied Houston. 'A paltry amount. We will hardly notice it, even if we never get it back. Five or six hundred bricks, give or take.'

'Which comes to?' asked the detective.

'In dollars? Perhaps four.'

'Four thousand?'

'Four millions,' said Houston.

The number hung in the air for a moment, echoing. 'What is it you want from me, Mr Secretary?' asked Littlemore.

'Why, just to refrain from telling the press about the robbery. It wouldn't do for the public to learn the United States Treasury has been breached — and certainly not that there are people inside the government with the will and wherewithal to steal the nation's gold. Wouldn't do at all.'

'Too late,' said Littlemore. 'I already told a couple of reporters there was something they might find interesting at the Treasury. Something to do with gold.'

'I know,' said Houston. 'We've received inquiries. That much is all right. I don't mind telling them the gold is here. The financial world is already aware of it. I don't even mind telling the press we've been moving the gold to the Assay vaults. I intend simply to let it out that my men happened to take their lunch break just before the explosion. A simple story. It was noon; the men had shut the doors for lunch; they heard the bomb go off; that was all. A coincidence. The great point is that there was no robbery, no breach in security, no loss of gold. Lunchtime.'

'Think anyone will buy that?' asked Littlemore.

'The gullibility of the common man constantly surprises, Captain. If everyone tells the reporters the same thing, I think we'll be all right. Especially if you tell them. You'll be doing your country a service.'

Littlemore weighed the Secretary's request. 'I want in on your investigation — who knew the gold was being moved, everything you've got on Riggs, who's selling bullion on the black market.'

'Why not?' said Houston. 'You might help. Unlike my other officers, you at least are not a suspect.'

'And one more thing. Get Flynn off my back. Any of Flynn's men come within spitting distance of my wife's family, I tell the press everything I know.'

'That will be more difficult. The Bureau is not under my control.'

'No deal then.' Littlemore put his hat back on and snapped its brim.

It was Houston's turn to weigh his options. 'Consider it done,' he said. 'I'm speaking with General Palmer tonight.'

Colette uttered not a word. She turned away and waved for a porter, who quickly loaded the three tattered suitcases onto his hand truck. The porter set off. Colette, followed by Luc, walked slowly into the crowd.

Younger, lighting a cigarette, gazed past the Welshman to the vast black George Washington, memories boiling up. It had been a great ship once. It had brought Freud to America. It had taken Woodrow Wilson to Europe. It had carried kings and queens and heads of state. Now it was relegated to commercial passenger duty once again. All greatness fades.

Colette stopped. She turned, burst out of the crowd, and ran back to him. 'I'm such a fool,' she said. 'I'm not going.'

'Get on board,' said Younger. 'You'll regret it — you'll resent it — the rest of your life if you don't.'

The ship spoke in an earsplitting blast. Seagulls took flight. The call for all passengers went out.

Colette buried her cheek on his chest.

'Go on,' said Younger. 'It won't be so hard. You can cry on my shoulder in Vienna when we get there.'

She looked at him; he looked back. 'You don't mean it,' she said.

'Why shouldn't I come?' he asked. 'You're in love with me, not Heinrich.'

She didn't deny it.

Younger went on: 'If I let you go by yourself, you might actually marry this convict. Don't think I'm coming for your sake, though. It's Heinrich I'm worried about. You don't do a man any favors by marrying him when you're in love with someone else. You'd be killing him, slowly but surely. Besides — ' he removed from his jacket another ticket for passage on the George Washington — 'my bags are already on board.'

Colette's whole body seemed to exhale with relief, and she smiled her most irresistible smile. As the ship steamed out to open sea, the three uncorked a bottle of champagne. Even Luc was allowed to try a little.

Part 3 Chapter Twelve

The United States should have been all fanfare and barnstorm in the autumn of 1920, all marching bands and whistle-stop. Americans were electing a new president, and the excitement always appurtenant to that event should have been redoubled in 1920 because women for the first time had the right to vote. One of the major candidates — the Republican, Senator Warren G. Harding — might even have been nominated with the fairer sex in mind.

Harding's appeal to women was not a matter of speculation. It was established fact. He had a loyal wife of sixty-one, a longtime mistress of forty-seven, another mistress of thirty, and a flame of twenty-four still head over heels in love. 'It's a good thing I'm not a woman,' Harding liked to quip. 'I can never say no.' Harding's record of political accomplishment may have been thin, but with silver hair and dashing smile, with dark eyebrows, commanding eyes, and a strong chin, he was undoubtedly a presidential-looking man.