“Interesting story,” Graham said. “But what’s it got to do with this Capitalist Curtain thing?”
“By 1949, the Soviet Union was laying down its Iron Curtain across Europe, separating itself and its satellite states from the west. An advisor to the Truman administration — it’s not clear who, exactly — came up with a crazy proposal. What if the U.S. countered the Iron Curtain with one of its own?”
“A Capitalist Curtain,” Beverly said slowly.
I nodded. “I suppose it made sense at the time. After World War II, a lot of countries were colony-rich, but cash-poor. The U.S. was in the opposite position. So, the Truman administration concocted a plan to drop a Capitalist Curtain around America’s borders. They secretly negotiated deals to purchase a number of colonies from their overseers. Justin scribbled down a list in his notes. There’s too much water damage to read them all. But I did see Greenland, Canada, Australia, and a bunch of Caribbean islands.”
Graham whistled. “That would’ve been a hefty price tag. So, what happened?”
“The notes aren’t clear about that, although I’m guessing the asking prices were just too expensive. Regardless, the Capitalist Curtain never became a reality.”
Beverly looked thoughtful. “What role did your grandfather play in it?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “Most of his notes focus on some dump trucks as well as a clearing near the Appalachian—”
There was another knock at the door.
Graham rolled his eyes. “Guess who’s back?”
I hiked to the door and checked the peephole. This time, I saw a tall, lanky man in a cheap suit. His limbs were too large for his body and pockmarks covered his face. His head was shaved completely bald.
I opened the door. “Ed?”
Special Agent Ed Hooper grinned. “It’s good to see you again, Cy.”
I shook his hand. “You too.” And I wasn’t just saying that. Months earlier, he’d helped us put an end to the Columbus Project affair. Afterward, he’d gone to bat for us with the president, getting us permission and equipment to conduct a salvage operation.
As I stepped away, Beverly slid past me and gave him a hug. Even Graham, who was notoriously cranky around government types, offered a hearty handshake to the secret service agent.
“Somehow, I doubt you’re just in the neighborhood.” I gave Hooper a curious look. “What’s this all about?”
“First, someone owns you an apology.” Hooper stepped to the side and pushed Donovan in our direction. “Isn’t that right, Keith?”
Donovan stared at the ground. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
I looked at him, then at Hooper.
“Long story short, President Walters is taking a little ride on Air Force One and wants the three of you to join him.”
“How about you?” Beverly asked.
“I’ve got business to attend to here, but I’ll be there in spirit.” He pulled a large duffel bag off his shoulders and handed it to me. “By the way, consider this a peace offering from the president.”
I took the bag from his outstretched hand and unzipped it. Inside, I saw several sets of clothes, some toiletries, and a shiny, gleaming object that made my insides glow.
Hooper must’ve seen something in my eyes. “The president’s image consultants say that machete is a key part of your look. Don’t ask me why that matters.” He shrugged. “Look, I hate to rush this, but we’re on a tight schedule. What do you say? Will you go?”
I owed Hooper. Maybe the president, too. At the same time, I had a lot on my plate. Justin Reed and my dad. The Capitalist Curtain. And of course, Malware. “No,” I replied. “Not this time.”
Hooper cocked his head. “Are you still hunting lost treasures?”
I frowned. “Why do you ask?”
“Because if you go, you’ll get to visit the greatest treasure in the history of this country.”
I blinked. It was an intriguing offer.
But not intriguing enough.
“Thanks,” I said. “But no thanks.”
His eyebrows lifted in surprise. “But I thought—”
“We’re not tourists,” I said, interrupting him. “We like our treasures lost and waiting to be found.”
“This treasure’s not lost, but I assure you it’s no tourist attraction either. Tell me, have you ever seen 4,583 metric tons of gold?”
My brow furrowed.
“That accounts for about 2.5 percent of the world’s supply of refined gold. It’s all in one place and only a handful of people have ever laid eyes upon it. Do you know what I’m talking about?”
I did and I could scarcely believe it. But it was impossible. Regular joes like me weren’t allowed at the place he was describing. I wasn’t even sure if President Walters himself had access to it.
“I’m talking about the United States Bullion Depository.” He grinned. “More popularly known as Fort Knox.”
Chapter 39
“Hello, Wade.” Sporting my most devilish smile, I strode through the open door and entered the president’s well-appointed office.
Tiny fixtures were built into the ceiling, casting beams of light down the walls. A large desk, bent in the middle to look like an arrowhead, dominated the floor space. A leather chair, an end table, and a curving leather couch sat across from the desk. The presidential seal hung off to the side and a flat-screen monitor was fixed to the wall. If it weren’t for the slight vibrations and the telltale windows, I very well might have forgotten the fact that we were aboard Air Force One.
The president stood up. At six feet, two inches, he towered over most people. His hair was neatly styled. His resting face looked serious, bordering on grave. “Hello, Mr. Reed,” he said in a cold voice. “This is a real pleasure for me. It’s not often I get to meet a hero of your stature.”
I detected more than a hint of insincerity in his voice. I wasn’t all that surprised. His reputation had taken a hit after the Columbus Project affair went public. Meanwhile, mine had climbed to epic heights.
I shook his hand. “I’m not a hero.”
“You’re being modest. This country — heck, the entire world — owes you a debt of gratitude.”
“If you say so.” I waved to the side. “This is Beverly Ginger and Dutch Graham.”
“I know about you two as well.” He shook their hands in turn. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you.”
Beverly smiled as she shook his hand. But Graham glared at the president like the man had insulted him. “I’ve got a bone to pick with you.”
The president’s eyes widened. “I, uh—”
“Cy!”
I spun around, surprised yet pleased. “I can’t believe it.” I wrapped my arms around my old family friend. “What are you doing here, Ben?”
The president shifted his gaze from me to Ben. “You two know each other?”
“You could say that.” Ben offered me a smile. “Did you make it through the riot okay?”
I’d known the Marvin family most of my life. Roy and my dad had been close friends all the way up to Dad’s suicide. Afterward, Roy made it a point to check in on me and Mom from time to time. We’d kept in touch and I’d spoken to him briefly just a week before his death. “Actually, Dutch and I got caught up in the middle of it.” I grinned. “But in our defense, we needed new televisions.”
He chuckled. “You haven’t changed a bit.”
“How’s Willow? I haven’t seen her in months.”
“She’s good. Busy, but good.”
“Still doing the coding thing?”
“I think so. Honestly, I’m too old to understand it.”
I smiled.
Donovan, clutching a legal notepad, strode into the office. He cast me a withering look before taking the leather chair next to the president’s desk.