“You get inflation,” I said, finishing his thought for him.
“Think worse,” Ben said. “Much worse.”
Graham’s jaw dropped. “Hyperinflation?”
“Even worse.” Ben sported a grave countenance. “The economy is currently stagnant. Combined with rapidly rising prices and we’re now on the verge of stagflation.”
I knew about stagflation, knew the horrors it could bring upon an economy. “Money supply is your department.” I looked at Ben. “So, hold the printing presses until inflation dries up. We’ll suffer through stagnation for a few years, but it’s better than hyperinflation.”
“I wish it was that simple,” Ben replied. “But if the Fed stops printing money, the U.S. government won’t be able to make its interest payments.”
“Gotcha.” I understood the problem, but a viable solution was way outside my skill set. “So, what’s this got to do with Fort Knox?”
“It’s very simple. I’m pulling a reverse Nixon. I’m going to put America back on the gold standard.” A smile broke out on President Walters’ face. “And I’m going to use Fort Knox to do it.”
Chapter 40
“A gold standard?” Graham laughed out loud. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Show some respect,” Donovan hissed under his breath.
Graham laughed even harder.
The president stared at him like he’d lost his mind. “What’s so funny?”
Graham fought to control his laughter. “Do you know why nobody uses a gold standard anymore?”
“No.”
“Because…” Somehow, he forced his laughter down to mere chuckles. “Because it means politicians can’t just spend money whenever they feel like it.”
“Very true.” Ben leaned back in his seat. “The only way this works is if the Federal Reserve stops helping the U.S. government pay its debts.”
“Yes,” the president said. “For the remainder of my administration, the government will only spend what it collects in taxes or what it borrows from private lenders.”
Graham’s chuckles died off. A look of skepticism crossed his visage. “And what does Congress have to say about this?”
“Congress won’t have a choice. At least not at first. We’re going to do everything with executive orders.”
“They’ll defy you,” Beverly said. “Probably impeach you, too.”
“Probably.” The president shrugged. “Unfortunately, we don’t have a choice. A return to the gold standard is the only way to keep America’s economy afloat.”
“How will this gold standard of yours work?” I asked Ben.
“Due to the unfortunate passing of Terry Horst, I’ve been assigned temporary control of the Treasury Department.” Donovan adopted a superior look. “So, this is actually my gold standard, not his.”
I rolled my eyes. “Good for you.”
“Uh, yes,” he said in a flustered tone. “Well, we’ve developed a multi-step program. We’ll announce the details on Monday morning.”
“And?” Beverly stared at him expectantly. “You’re not going to make us wait, are you?”
“After the official announcement is made, the president will declare an extended banking holiday along with an end to all restrictions on gold trading. We’ll freeze the amount of cash in circulation and determine a new dollar-to-gold ratio.”
“The ratio will be small,” Ben added. “But each unit of currency will be backed by some gold.”
“Where was I?” Donovan flipped through his notepad again. “Oh, yes. Obviously, rules will be set in place to make sure the Fed can no longer lend money to the U.S. government. Outstanding debts will be paid down as quickly as possible. And programs like Social Security and Medicare — along with the taxes that are supposed to support them — will be phased out over a period of years.”
“Is that all?” I quipped.
Donovan frowned.
“I think what Cy is trying to say is that you’ve gone off-the-wall bonkers.” Graham shook his head. “Look, I’m no fan of bureaucracy. But the voters will crucify all of you.”
“And even if you make it work, your successors will never keep it up,” I added. “They’ll just go right back to the old ways.”
“That’s possible,” Ben admitted. “But we’re gambling that the economy will have improved by that point. So much, in fact, that no one will want to change anything.”
For the next few minutes, he, the president, and Donovan assailed us with facts and figures. They shared economic projections and explained how a gold standard would affect the average person. When I could take no more, I held a hand up. “You’ve obviously put a lot of thought into this,” I said. “But why do you need us?”
“The last official audit of Fort Knox was held in 1953,” Ben said. “But it wasn’t even close to comprehensive.”
The president placed his elbows on the desk. Steepling his fingers, he studied my face. “As we already mentioned, the official announcement will take place Monday morning. I plan to do it at Fort Knox, in front of all that gold. As part of my speech, I’d like to introduce you as Chief Auditor.”
“We’re treasure hunters,” I said. “Not auditors.”
“It’s a symbolic position. Whether you believe it or not, you’re a hero in the eyes of the public. They trust you, believe in you. Your presence will add gravity to the affair.”
“In other words, you want to use me.”
While the president squirmed in his seat, Donovan gave me a hard look. “If you refuse, you’ll never get the files.”
Ben cocked his head. “What files?”
“Keith promised me anything if I’d get on this plane. So, I asked for some old Army files.”
“They aren’t normal files,” Donovan said. “They’re classified.”
“It’s just stuff about my grandfather and some of his friends. They disappeared back in 1949 and I’m trying to find out what happened to them.” Frowning, I glanced at the president. “Why are files from World War II still classified anyway?”
“I don’t know.” President Walters avoided my gaze. “But Keith is right. If you want them, you’ll have to play ball with us.”
I didn’t appreciate the position they’d put me in. Nor did I like the idea of being used as a political pawn. Still, I wanted those files. “I’ll think about it.”
Chapter 41
Ben cracked the door to the large space serving as both a galley and a conference room. Seeing no one, he slipped inside and shut the door behind him.
An overhead light popped on. The room was slightly larger than the president’s office. It featured a long wood table surrounded by bulky leather chairs. The chairs, like all the other seats in Air Force One, were anchored to the floor. A curving sofa faced the table and ran the length of the room. That was where the less-important people sat. The people who didn’t deserve chairs.
As Ben walked to the opposite side of the room, he found himself worrying about Cy’s demand for U.S. Army files. Ever since he’d brought up the man’s name to the president back in Washington, he’d known he was taking a calculated risk. On one hand, he needed Cy’s presence and star power to pull off his plans. On the other hand, there was always the possibility Cy would start to connect the dots.
Ben dialed a number on his satphone. It rang a few times before a tough, ancient voice filled his ear.
“Hey Benny. How’s it hanging?”
Ben smiled. His father used to call him Benny. The nickname had never really taken off except amongst Roy’s close friends. And Roy Marvin and Milt Stevens had been very close friends, brought together by that fateful night back in 1949. “It’s hanging…” Ben frowned. He never knew how to answer that question. Was it hanging low? High? Were those good things? “I’m fine,” he said at last. “Listen, I have news for you.”