The massive doors opened all the way in complete silence. A second set of doors also opened wide and I caught a glimpse of an unadorned, yet lavish lobby. Tall walls bordered the room. Dazzling rays of light reflected off their golden facades. Against the back wall, I saw a long mahogany bench, buttressed by matching chairs and two short flagpoles.
Mint Police officers lay spread-eagled and facedown on the floor. At first, they were deathly still. But after a moment, limbs started to twitch. A pile of neatly stacked guns rested nearby. It was in plain view, halfway between the officers and the second set of doors.
Soldiers streamed into the building. First, they shackled the officers. Then they gathered up the weapons and transported them outside. After the area was secure, the president entered the depository.
“Sir.” K.J. stepped forward. “This is Captain of the Guard Brad Cruzer. He’s assumed temporary command of this facility.”
Two soldiers stepped forward, clutching the arms of a tall man with pale skin. His hands were cuffed behind his back. His uniform was slightly bloodied and I noticed bandaging around his shoulder area.
President Walters eyed Cruzer. “Temporary, huh?”
“Yes, sir.” Cruzer took a deep breath. “Please accept my most sincere apologies. We didn’t—”
“Where’s Milt Stevens?”
“He’s dead, sir. I confronted him and he pulled his gun. We exchanged fire. When others came to my aid, he committed suicide.”
“Officer Cruzer claims Officer Stevens ordered the attack on us,” K.J. said.
The president’s gaze remained locked on Cruzer. “And you listened to him?”
“We’re trained to follow orders, sir. And to be frank, we’ve never had reason to question Officer Stevens. He’s been in charge of this facility since the 1940s.”
“I’d like to see his body.” The president glanced at K.J. “What are you going to do with the prisoners?”
“We’re going to transport them to a secure facility for processing and questioning.” K.J.’s jaw hardened into rock. “After that—”
“You don’t want to do that,” Cruzer said.
“I know.” K.J. shot him an icy glare. “I’d like to do much worse.”
“You need me to enter the vault. You need all of us. Practically every lock in this place requires the simultaneous input of multiple passcodes. And those passcodes are distributed randomly amongst the officers via a proprietary computer program.”
The president studied the man’s eyes. Then he nodded at K.J.
K.J.’s face reddened. “My apologies, sir. But these men murdered U.S. soldiers in cold blood. They need to pay for their crimes.”
“Justice will be served, Colonel. But for now, please release Officer Cruzer.”
Pursing his lips, K.J. nodded at one of his men. The soldier stepped forward and removed Cruzer’s shackles.
Cruzer massaged his wrists and directed the release of two other officers. Then he walked to a couple of stainless steel doors. The officers joined him and together, they input codes on separate keypads. The leftmost door swung open, revealing a wide corridor.
K.J. and a couple of soldiers stepped into the corridor, pushing Cruzer ahead of them. The president, Donovan, and Ben were next, followed by Graham, Beverly, and I. More soldiers took up the rear.
We marched across a marble floor. The walls consisted of scagliola, an imitation marble. Bronze and marble busts of past U.S. Secretaries of the Treasury lined either side of the hallway.
“Don’t you just love government buildings?” I said. “They’re so warm and fuzzy.”
“Oh, yeah.” Graham took a whiff of the air. “And that scent… one part mustiness and two parts marble, topped off with a heap of rat droppings.”
“Shut your mouths,” Donovan hissed.
“In case you’re wondering, this facility is completely self-sustainable,” Cruzer called out in his best tour guide voice. “We’ve got our own emergency power plant and water system, separate from that of the military base. And, uh, well…” His voice trailed off into uncomfortable silence.
He led us up a short staircase and down another hallway. “This is it.” He stopped outside an open door. “Officer Stevens’ office.”
The air still smelled of mustiness, freshly-scrubbed marble, and rat droppings. But I also detected a strong undercurrent of cordite, blood, and seared flesh.
I followed the others into the office. A withered gray-haired man lay in a crumpled mass behind a desk.
“You checked for vitals?” I asked.
Cruzer nodded.
“Too bad.” K.J. growled. “I would’ve handled his interrogation personally.”
“What happened here?” Beverly asked. “Why’d he order the attack?”
“I’m not sure,” Cruzer admitted. “For security reasons, the Officer in Charge maintains sole access to the depository’s biometrics systems. Officer Stevens claimed those systems had identified all of you as imposters. So, we defended the depository as per normal protocols. But when the U.S. Army didn’t send troops our way, a few of us began to wonder if he’d gotten it wrong. I confronted him and that’s when things turned ugly.”
One of the soldiers snorted.
“I’ve worked here for seven years. And do you know how many security incidents I’ve experienced?” Cruzer’s voice cracked around the edges. “Zero. Never in my wildest dreams did I see any of this coming.”
“Go back to the beginning,” President Walters said in a soothing tone. “I want to hear every detail.”
While Cruzer relayed his story, I made my way to the desk. It was clean and well-dusted. Stepping around the corpse, I saw a black-and-white photograph, dotted with drips of dried blood.
I picked it up. It depicted a group of soldiers striking poses in front of a dump truck against the backdrop of a veritable blizzard. The soldiers, equipped with weapons and sporting drooping cigarettes, looked like a cocky, devil-may-care bunch. A handwritten note at the bottom read: December 14, 1949: Shrieker Tower.
My eyes narrowed to slits.
What the…?
President Walters cleared his throat. “That’s fine, Officer Cruzer. Now, take us to the vault.”
“Yes, sir.” Cruzer walked to Stevens’ corpse. Taking a deep breath, he gently touched a silver necklace dangling from the man’s neck. After a moment of hesitation, he unlatched the necklace and removed a gold key from it.
As the others began to file out of the room, Beverly sidled up to me. “What’s that?” she asked.
I pointed at a man in the foreground. He stood on one foot, his other foot balanced lightly on a bumper. He had a toothy grin, like he’d just won the lottery. “Recognize him?”
She took a closer look. “No. But he looks like you.”
“There’s a good reason for that.” I exhaled. “He’s my grandfather.”
Chapter 50
“Sorry about this.” Cruzer waved his hand at two officers following in our wake. They carried Milt’s corpse between them. “But I need him. You’ll understand why soon enough.”
As Cruzer led us down another marble-lined hallway, my brain whirled. Malware. The riot. Five Borough Bank and the lost safe deposit box. The Capitalist Curtain. Officer in Charge Milt Stevens. The photo, taken in 1949. And of course, the U.S. Bullion Depository at Fort Knox. They were all tied into a giant knot with Justin Reed at the center.
“I never met Justin,” Ben whispered. “But yes. That man looks like you. He looks like your dad, too.”
“It’s Justin, alright,” I replied. “I was just looking at his photo last night.”
He passed the picture back to me. “And you found this on Milt’s desk?”