“You know, not many people have seen what I am about to show you,” Van Simson said, turning round to face them, a hint of excitement in his voice.
The elevator came to a smooth stop and the doors slid open to reveal a wide corridor, lit with recessed lights. The walls and floor were made of smoothed concrete sections and the clean smell of steel and fresh mortar was in the air.
“The vault’s new. I had it built especially to house my collection,” said Van Simson proudly. “We’re about twenty-five feet underground now. But don’t worry. The walls are made from reinforced concrete and have been lined with two-inch steel plate. We’re quite safe.”
Instinctively, Tom was assessing the setup. He couldn’t help himself. The corridor was about twenty feet long with the elevator at one end and the vault door at the other. There was no other way in or out that he could see. Halfway down, a huge steel gate had been embedded into the wall and beyond that he could make out small holes in the stonework, housings for laser trip beams. Video cameras tracked every single inch of the corridor.
As they approached the steel gate, Van Simson withdrew a card from his pocket and swiped it along a reader set into the wall. This opened a panel in the wall behind which was a speaker and a small screen. Van Simson leaned forward.
“This is Darius Van Simson. Initiate challenge procedure.”
A processed voice came back.
“Please confirm today’s password.”
“Ozymandias,” said Van Simson firmly and the small screen flickered with a series of long oscillating lines as it captured and analyzed his voice.
There was a brief silence and then the robotic voice spoke again.
“Password and voice match. Please step away from the gate.”
A light next to the speaker flashed green and with a loud clang as a restraining bolt slid home, the gate was raised up into the roof.
“It’s a very impressive setup, Darius,” said Tom. Van Simson glanced back at Tom and Jennifer, his voice animated.
“Thank you. I designed it myself.”
They walked through the gate and up to the vault door where Van Simson swiped his card along another wall-mounted reader. A similarly disguised panel slid back, this time revealing a small screen and numerical touch pad. The screen flashed:
Please enter pass code.
Van Simson leaned forward and deftly tapped out a long sequence of numbers. The screen went blank and then flashed back:
Entrance sequence authenticated. Please stand by.
A light over the door turned red and to a low mechanical whine, the vault bolts were smoothly retracted, a satisfying metallic clunk echoing through the corridor as each one came to rest within its housing. The red light began to flash and the massive door swung back on its thick hinges. With the door fully open, the light turned green.
“I’m sorry about the wet floor,” said Van Simson, stepping through the doorway. “When the vault is sealed the room is flooded with a couple of inches of water, which I then run a high-voltage current through. Just another little precaution.”
The vault was a low, rectangular room perhaps fifty feet long and thirty feet wide. Large waist-high stainless-steel display cabinets were scattered through the room, the black rubberized floor meandering between them like a path through a maze. The floor was wet, as Van Simson had predicted, and a channel perhaps half a foot wide ran all around the room between the floor and the wall where the water clearly drained away.
“Welcome to the Van Simson collection,” he said grandly. “This is now the largest private collection of gold coins and ingots in the world. It’s taken me almost my entire life to assemble it.” He led them gleefully past the first few cabinets like a child showing off his favorite toys.
Each cabinet had a clear glass top and six or seven narrow drawers beneath them. Above each cabinet was a thick sheet of glass, suspended between the ceiling and the cabinet below with steel wire. Each was dimly lit by an individual spotlight. Apart from these small islands of light, the room was quite dark.
“Look at these,” Van Simson said, bending down over one of the glass tops. “Greek staters from around 54 B.C.” He looked up, his eyes shining. “These were struck to finance Brutus and the republican army in their struggle against Octavian and Marc Anthony after the assassination of Julius Caesar. They were discovered on the very battlefield where the republicans were finally defeated.”
He sprang to another cabinet, sliding one of its drawers open.
“And look here.” He pointed down into the velvet-lined drawer. “Nazi ingots recovered from Lake Lunersee.” Tom and Jennifer leaned forward and saw the unmistakable stamp of an eagle surmounting a swastika, circled by oak leaves. “The gold came from Dachau,” Van Simson went on, lovingly picking up one of the deep yellow bars and cradling it in his hands. “From teeth and wedding rings.”
Tom chose to ignore Van Simson’s gruesome trophy. Instead he focused on the sheets suspended over the cabinets, which he could now see actually contained coins that had been sandwiched between two panes of glass so that both sides could be seen, while ensuring they remained chemically sealed from the atmosphere.
“Come,” said Van Simson, slamming the drawer shut and sounding suddenly impatient. “Over here.” He led them to the far end of the room where there was a small raised platform, with a desk and various pieces of computer equipment and television monitors. The display cabinet nearest the platform was lit with a slightly brighter light than the others and Tom guessed that this contained the highlights of the collection. As they approached, Tom recognized the now familiar detail of the Double Eagle.
“Here it is, then,” said Van Simson triumphantly. “As I promised. The only 1933 Double Eagle in private ownership, safe and sound. These sheets are bulletproof. I can assure you, my coin’s not going anywhere.”
“I would have to agree with you,” said Jennifer, studying the coin closely.
“So why are you really here, Agent Browne?” Van Simson’s voice was suddenly cold and distant. She returned his stare firmly.
“I think I’ve explained that.”
“I heard what you said, but I don’t think you’ve told me everything. What are you going to do about this fake Double Eagle?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I had a deal with the Treasury.” Van Simson had raised his voice and it was echoing off the low ceiling. “They promised that mine was to be the only coin on the market. That there were no other coins.”
“That deal still stands, as far as I know.” Jennifer’s voice was calm and assured.
“Except that you’ve found a coin that you and presumably your experts believe to be real, otherwise you wouldn’t be here. That was not what was agreed. A fake fundamentally undermines the value of my investment and creates a huge amount of uncertainty in the market. You must destroy the coin.”
“I can assure you,” said Jennifer soothingly, “that as soon as we find out exactly what we’re dealing with here we’ll let you know. And I’ll make sure your views are known.” Van Simson’s face lifted.
“That’s very kind.” He smiled. “I hope you don’t think me rude, but I feel quite passionately about this. A lot of money is at stake.”
“I understand.”
“Well, then, if you’ve seen enough, can I ask you to make your own way back to the elevator. It will take you upstairs and Rolfe will see you out.”
“Of course,” said Jennifer, shaking his hand. “And thank you again for your time.”