The Double Eagle (12 page)

9:00
A.M.

I
t was not a large room, but at fifty feet underground, it was one of the most secure in the building. The soundproofing gave it a strange, deadened feel, while the acrid smell of industrial disinfectant caught in the back of Jennifer’s throat and immediately brought back graphic memories of Dr. Finch’s mortuary down in Louisville.

Four people were sitting around three sides of a rectangular glass table, from where they had a clear view of the white projector screen that took up most of the farthest wall. Two vinyl-and-steel chairs had been set aside for them next to Director Green. The lights had been dimmed, giving everyone’s face a slightly haunted look.

“We have just been joined by Special Agents Corbett and Browne,” said Green. “As you know, Bob heads up our Major Theft and Transportation Crimes Unit. He and Agent Browne have been working this case from day one.”

Piper flashed Jennifer an uninterested look as Green said her name.

“Okay, now we’re all here, let’s get started.” A bald man with a thick neck and a boxer’s hard, worn, and squashed face was clearly in charge. He stood up and leaned across the table on his fists, the sleeves of his striped shirt rolled up above his elbows, his biceps bulging, the catch of his gold Rolex straining. He was chewing a piece of gum as he talked, pausing every so often as he spoke to work his jaws around it.

“For those of you who don’t know me,” he continued in his lazy Texas drawl, looking directly at Jennifer and Corbett as he spoke, “Ah’m Treasury Secretary Scott Young.”

Jennifer had recognized him immediately, of course. A recent presidential appointee, Young had moved from the boardroom of one of Wall Street’s most aggressive investment banks to his new position, his plain-speaking, no-holds-barred reputation going with him.

“The president has personally asked me to chair this meeting,” he continued. “To put it politely, he is mighty pissed.”

Jennifer looked at the silent faces around the table. Green was sitting on Young’s left-hand side, stuffed as normal into an ill-fitting three-piece suit, sausage fingers twirling a pen, dyed brown hair over a round red face.

Piper was to Young’s right and although Jennifer didn’t recognize the person sitting next to him, she assumed that he must be Mint Director Chris Brady. He had a wide, oval face with hollow cheeks and sagging skin and wore an ill-fitting wig. His staring brown eyes were sheltered behind thick tortoiseshell glasses. He, too, had removed his suit jacket and his dark blue polyester tie ballooned over a paler blue shirt.

As he sat there, nervously twisting the remnants of a polystyrene disposable cup between his nicotine-stained fingers, he kept reaching up and tapping his knuckles against his forehead as if trying to remember something. As the official with immediate responsibility for Fort Knox, she guessed he was feeling the heat more than the others.

“Fort Knox has been robbed, ladies and gentleman,” Young continued, still chewing away. “Not the local five-and-dime. Fort Knox. One of this nation’s most heavily guarded facilities. And we didn’t even know about it!” He slammed his fist down on the table. “Now Mr. Piper’s colleagues are telling the president that it’s only a matter of time before someone snatches one of our nukes. Ah have to say, for once Ah find it hard to disagree.” He stood up straight now, a stocky five foot nine with his shoes on. “Hell, after this, Ah wouldn’t be surprised if the president walks into the Oval Office and finds the goddamned Resolute Desk gone.”

Green looked down and shuffled his papers so as to avoid Young’s accusing stare.

“Now Ah’ve convinced the president that this is a Treasury matter. He’s agreed to leave it to me to resolve internally with FBI help, given that they were the ones who popped the lid on this in the first place. And he’s told the military and the CIA to back off. For now. But from what Ah’ve seen so far, everyone’s more concerned with covering their own asses than finding out what happened and we’re all running out of time. What Ah need now are some answers and Ah need them fast. Jack, what have your people got?”

Green nodded at Corbett, who flashed Jennifer an encouraging look. She stood up in front of the large white screen and cleared her throat.

“Gentlemen. As you know, nine days ago a rare 1933 Double Eagle was discovered in the stomach of an Italian priest in Paris.” The photos of Ranieri that Corbett had shown her a few days before flashed up on the screen behind him, together with close-ups of both sides of the coin.

“Subsequent forensic tests have shown that the coin is original and in all likelihood is one of five coins stolen from Fort Knox where they had been secretly kept in storage for the last ten or so years.”

Piper, who had been studying her performance with a smile on his face, gave a dismissive wave, picked up one of the many files spread out in front of him and shook it.

“We know all this, Browne, it’s right here in the file. Tell us something new.”

Jennifer glanced at Corbett, who winked. She knew him well enough by now to know that he was clearly thinking the same thing as her. John Piper. Major League asshole.

“Our investigation has pinpointed the likely time of the theft as between three and four
A.M
. on Sunday the Fourth of July,” she continued, staring defiantly at Piper as she spoke, almost willing him to take her on.

“What, just three weeks ago?” Piper shot back. “How can you be so sure?”

Corbett took over.

“An analysis of the Depository’s IT systems has shown a power surge at zero three hundred hours on that date. The power levels then remained erratic until zero four hundred hours when they returned to normal.”

The power systems check had been Corbett’s idea and after consulting the Bureau’s IT people, they had been in no doubt what the likely implications of their findings were.

“The tech guys are still looking into it, so at the moment it’s still just a theory, but according to them the power surge seems to suggest that some sort of computer virus was loaded directly into the Depository’s mainframe. It was probably programmed to wipe itself, but we’ve found some traces of code that suggest that it was designed to temporarily disable the security systems in the vault, without this being visible to the guards on the outside.”

“So my guys are in the clear then?” said Brady with audible relief. “There was no way they could have known what was going on inside, right?”

Piper had a thin smile on his face, as he turned to face Corbett.

“A theory? One week on and that’s all you’ve got, a theory? C’mon, sport, tell me you got more than that.”

“John, let’s just hear what they’ve got to say,” said Young, cautiously.

“I know, Scott. I’m just curious, that’s all. You know, like what about the cameras? Why didn’t they pick something up?” Piper asked, the same aggressive tone in his voice.

“Because there are no cameras in the vault itself, sir, just around the outside perimeter,” replied Jennifer calmly. “I believe that information is also in the file.” Piper flushed bright red. A smile flickered around the corner of Corbett’s mouth.

“The vault’s primary protection is to deny physical access, although inside it has been equipped with a combination of infrared beams, pressure pads, movement and heat sensors, and electronic contacts,” she continued, addressing her comments almost exclusively to Young and Green now, as if Piper wasn’t there. It was a dangerous game, she knew, but then she had never been very good at playing the safe, diplomatic option. If Piper was as determined to score points off her as he seemed to be, she was not going to make it any easier for him.

“None of these systems were directly tampered with and yet the coins are gone. Our view is that someone gained access to the vault, had some sort of virus temporarily disable the electronic systems and then stole the coins before the systems came back online.”

“But how did they actually get in and out?” Young had edged forward in his seat. “Ah heard the Treasury boys went over every inch of that facility and didn’t find so much as a chip in the concrete.”

Brady nodded in agreement.

“That’s right. No one could have got in or out that vault without someone or something picking them up.”

“Well…if no
one
could have got in, then perhaps some
thing
could have,” Corbett suggested carefully.

“What are you saying, that one of my guys let something in? That’s ridiculous,” snorted Brady. “These are highly trained men. All of them security cleared and closely monitored. There’s no way any of them would knowingly let anything in that shouldn’t be there.”

Jennifer approached the screen again and a photograph flashed up onto it. It showed a confident, smiling man, about forty years old, appealingly large brown eyes set into a strong, angular face. When she’d first seen this photo, she’d found it hard to believe that this was the same man she’d seen helplessly pinned out on Finch’s steel table like a butterfly on a card. Even now, she turned away, finding his accusing stare hard to stomach.

“This is Tony Short, one of the guards down at Fort Knox. Short was working the night of the fourth and had access to the security systems and the vault. We believe he was murdered seven days ago. Were he alive, then no doubt he could explain the sudden appearance of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in his bank account three weeks ago, one day after we think the robbery took place.”

Jennifer had run a standard bank account search using Short’s Social Security number and discovered the account in California. It had only been opened the day before the deposit was made. Short’s wife certainly hadn’t known anything about it when asked. For Jennifer, this had been the final, damning link in the chain of evidence.

“This is bullshit!” Brady exclaimed, jumping to his feet. “Why wasn’t I told any of this? I’m being set up.” Young grabbed his arm, his short fat fingers levering Brady back down into his seat.

“Sit down, Chris. No one’s blaming anyone. We just want to know what happened.” He nodded at Jennifer to continue as Brady muttered angrily.

“We also found this round the back of Short’s house.” A photograph of the metal container she had recovered from the bonfire flashed up on the screen and Young twisted his head onto one side as he tried to make out what it was. The image gave way to a close-up of the scarred and faded Treasury seal on its side.

“We think that this was how the thief got inside. A sort of Trojan horse.”

“Trojan what?” asked Piper. Jennifer ignored him.

“We’ve gone through the inventory records and it seems that on the night of the fourth, a small gold shipment turned up at the Depository at about seventeen-hundred hours, just before it closed. Short was the duty officer. In fact, he’d volunteered to have his shift changed to that day. He signed it in and placed it down in the vault.”

She paused to take a sip of water from the glass on the table in front of her before continuing.

“We think that this”—she indicated the photograph again—“was the container in which the gold was delivered. As you can see, when painted it would have looked very similar to the containers typically used for moving bullion around.”

Another photograph flashed up alongside the first one showing a silvery container of identical proportions.

“However, the container we recovered from near Short’s house is different in one vital way. It contains a separate compartment accessible from the side, here.” She pointed out the side panel on the screen. “It would have been very uncomfortable, but it is large enough for someone to get into. A small amount of gold was presumably placed in the upper compartment to make it look like the container was full in case the lid was opened.”

“This is all bullshit,” said Brady, a pleading tone in his voice now as his jacket slipped off the back of his chair and onto the floor. “It’s standard procedure to inventory every shipment in and out to make sure it’s all there.”

“And the procedure was followed to the letter,” Jennifer said firmly. “Only it was Short that was following it. According to statements from the other guards on duty that night, he insisted on personally inventorying the shipment. As the ranking officer, that was his prerogative. Once he’d okayed the contents, he had it taken down to the vault. Given that it was the Fourth of July, he told the guys who took it down that they could unpack it in the morning, so they could get home early. Short was like that, apparently. They thought nothing of it.”

“We believe,” said Corbett, picking up on Jennifer’s line, “that whoever was hiding in the container waited until a pre-agreed time when the virus had kicked in, stole the coins, resealed the cage they were in, and then got back inside the container. The next day, again according to the inventory records, another truck turned up at zero nine hundred with a new set of paperwork, claiming that a mistake had been made and that they had to take the container back to where it had come from. It all checked out and no one gave it a second thought.”

“And Short?” asked Green.

“Short? A loose end. Presumably killed to make sure he couldn’t talk, the money they paid him an acceptable loss. We found the truck burned out in a field about eighty miles away. No forensics, not even a serial number on the engine block. Whoever we’re dealing with here, sir, they’re not taking any chances.”

“What about the gold?” asked Young. “There’s billions of dollars down there, why didn’t they take any of that?”

“Mainly because if these coins are really worth forty million, then the equivalent amount of bullion would weigh about three and a half tons,” Corbett replied. “These people, whoever they are, they’re professionals. They knew exactly what they were looking for and where to find it and they didn’t let themselves get distracted.”

“Thank you, Agent Browne,” said Young. Corbett nodded at Jennifer to sit down next to him. “Okay, so we may have an idea of how they did it. But that still leaves the who. Who could have done this to us?…Any ideas?…Anyone?” He looked expectantly around the table.