The Double Eagle. James Twining
to the back.
‘In that?’ She looked at him questioningly as they walked over to it.
‘In this.’ He swung himself into the driver’s seat and then reaching up, fixed a red light to the roof. ‘I had a buddy in the Corps of Engineers make a few alterations. You into cars?’
‘I used to fix up and race Mustangs with my dad if that counts,’ she replied with a smile.
‘Hey – then maybe you should drive,’ Sheppard suggested eagerly, sliding across to the passenger side. ‘Then you can tell me how you think this baby handles.’
‘Sure.’ She shrugged and slipped in behind the wheel, turning the key in the ignition. ‘You holding on?’
‘Hell yeah.’
As well as being the site of the US Bullion Depository, Fort Knox is also the tank capital of the United States, its 109,050 acres home to 32,000 men and women of the US Army Armor and Cavalry which has its headquarters there. It was not long, therefore, before they were speeding past barrack buildings, mess halls, training blocks and groups of soldiers running in tight formation, their chanted cadences blending with each other to form a muscular, sweaty symphony.
Her foot flat to the floor, Jennifer slalomed through the troops and the buildings, the red light flashing, oncoming vehicles sounding their horns as Sheppard called out the directions, his hand fiercely gripping the grab handle to stop himself from sliding across the shiny white vinyl seat as she dived in and out of the traffic. She sensed he was enjoying the ride.
Ahead of them, the granite-clad shape of the Depository loomed closer. From a distance, Jennifer thought that it seemed fairly ordinary; not much bigger than a small office block really, like one of those low-rise bank buildings you get in local malls. But as she drew closer she saw that it had, in fact, the squat solidity of a small white mountain.
Set in a wide compound, it was a two storey building, the upper storey smaller than the lower one, its roof slightly tiered like the first few steps of a ziggurat. Steel-framed windows had been evenly set into the walls of both storeys like embrasures in a castle wall. The only access came through a single gate in the fifteen-foot high steel fence that encircled the compound, itself flanked by two armoured sentry boxes. Once inside, a service road with neatly cut grass verges on each side ringed the building, which had four concrete bunkers surgically grafted onto each of its corners. A lone lawnmower patrolled the outer verge, its engine buzzing.
‘It was built in 1936 and the first gold shipments arrived in 1937.’ Sheppard shouted over the whine of the cart’s electric motor, angrily gesticulating soldiers scattering in front of them like ninepins. Jennifer nodded. She couldn’t imagine it having ever actually been built. It seemed to have been there forever, as if it had erupted out of the solid bedrock millions of years ago and then been shaped and polished by tens of thousands of years of sun and rain and frost.
‘Usage peaked in 1941 when it held about 650 million ounces,’ he continued. ‘Course these days, the main reserves are held at the Federal Reserve in New York, about five stories down. You should go and check it out sometime. I’m told the security there makes this place look like Disneyland.’
She slowed the cart as it approached the gate and then accelerated hard again as they were waved through. The sentries saluted Sheppard, their arms juddering to a rigid halt at the side of their head, their hands stiff, thumb tucked in, seemingly unfazed by his clothes and the sight of Jennifer at the wheel of the careering golf cart.
Up close, the building was even more formidable. The sheer mass of its granite walls seemed to weigh down on everything around it – a dark, dense, oppressive energy that compressed and squeezed and stifled. Jennifer found herself strangely conscious of the sound of her own breathing, of the sheer effort of moving, as if underwater.
Surveillance cameras, positioned high on the granite walls like glass eyes on white steel stalks, covered every inch of the building’s walls. Twin floodlights perched atop black poles gazed out at the surrounding compound on all four sides. A huge Stars and Stripes snapped in the wind outside the main entrance. The golden seal of the Treasury Department carved into the lintel glinted like a small sun.
‘Stop here,’ Sheppard shouted. Jennifer immediately threw the cart into a tight skid, the tyres biting the tarmac as it slowed to a stop.
‘Wow,’ Sheppard breathed. ‘I think you just set a new record.’
‘It sure is quick.’ She jumped out and tossed the keys over to him. ‘What did you do? Change the gearing?’
‘Trade secret.’ Sheppard smiled. ‘What d’ya think of the handling?’
‘Slight understeer. You want to tighten up the front left suspension.’
‘I’ll do that.’ He winked at her. ‘Come on. Rigby will be waiting and boy does he hate that.’
Turning on his heel, Sheppard disappeared through the Depository’s massive black doorway into the cold marbled darkness of the building.
10:27am
As Sheppard had predicted, the Officer in Charge, Captain Rigby, was standing in the large entrance atrium ready to greet her. He gave her a brief handshake and what looked to Jennifer like a forced smile as Sheppard introduced them.
He was tall, perhaps six foot four, his uniform immaculate, his hair clipped short, his eyes bristling with well-drilled efficiency. From his snatched glances, Jennifer could tell that he was struggling to reconcile Sheppard’s garish golfing outfit with his well-ordered world. She decided to keep it short and businesslike, sensing that anything else would fail to show up on Rigby’s internal radar.
‘Thank you very much for agreeing to see me today, Captain.’
‘That’s quite all right, Agent Browne,’ he said stiffly. ‘We all have a job to do.’ The way his pale eyes narrowed a fraction over his thin nose and high cut cheekbones suggested what he was really thinking. That he thought this was a waste of time. That he didn’t want her or any other federal pains in the asses anywhere near his facility, asking him questions, disrupting his routine, marking his polished floor with their gumshoes. He just wanted her out, ASAP. That suited her just fine.
‘Have you received the instructions from Washington?’
He nodded.
‘Yes, they came through this morning. As requested we have left the items in situ.’
‘Good. Then before we go down, I wonder whether you could answer a couple of questions.’
‘What sort of questions?’ Rigby’s tone was immediately suspicious.
‘Any questions I choose to ask, Captain,’ Jennifer answered firmly.
‘This is a classified installation,’ Rigby countered forcefully. ‘If you think I’m just going to reveal sensitive intel without specific authorisation, then I suggest you get back on your plane, Agent Browne.’
‘And if you think I’m going to leave here without everything I want, I suggest you take another look at your orders, Captain.’ Jennifer’s voice was hard and her eyes flashed defiance. Normally, she would have preferred to use reason rather than raising her voice, but in Rigby’s case she sensed he had been conditioned not to react to anything else. ‘They specify full and unconditional cooperation with the FBI for the duration of our investigation, including disclosing relevant security procedures. If you’ve got a problem with that, then I suggest we step into your office right now and call your and my superiors in Washington. I think we both know what the answer would be.’
There was an awkward silence, punctured only by the rasping of the studs on Sheppard’s golf shoes against the marble floor as he nervously shifted his weight onto his other foot. Rigby had gone