Page 14 of The Atlas Maneuver

CHAPTER 9

CASSIOPEIA WAS ESCORTED FROM THE MAIN FOYER BACK INTO THE WINErepository’s inner workings and a small conference room. Two plate-glass windows opened out, past the curtains and sheers, to the afternoon sun. The four men with guns waited outside, and the fifth—attired in a blazer with shiny brass buttons, a flashy tie, and creased gray trousers—sat across from her at the conference table.

“You are a trespasser at this facility,” he said.

“I had the proper password and code for access to the vault. That doesn’t make me a trespasser. Who are you?”

“I am Wells Townley, the duly authorized representative of BHTR Limited, the owner of this facility.”

“Now, we both know that’s a lie. This facility is owned by the Bank of St. George.”

Which she knew all about.

Her father had established a relationship there long ago, and the men and women who continued to run her family’s multinational corporation had maintained that relationship. A unique institution. Part investment banker, hedge fund, and high-risk venture capitalist. Terra, like many other corporations, had utilized the bank’s services several times for an influx of capital. She’d met Catherine Gledhill, its chief operating officer, twice. A true Luxembourger.Which made her part Celtic, Gallo-Roman, and Germanic. A challenging combination of daring and caution, pleasant in manner and voice, reasonable, easy to deal with.

“I want to speak to Catherine Gledhill,” she said.

And she found her cell phone.

“Those do not work inside this building.”

Of course they didn’t. How silly of her to think otherwise. This whole thing made her feel a bit foolish, which she did not like. She slipped the phone back into her pocket. She decided that to receive she had to give. “I was sent here by the Central Intelligence Agency, which, to my knowledge, was the owner of gold that was supposed to be in that vault. And, by the way, you have a lot of security and guns for wine bottles. Where’s the gold?”

“We have none.”

“That’s not what the CIA says.”

She was unarmed and four men with weapons were on the other side of the conference room door. Or at least somewhere in the building. Could she deal with them? Probably. The question was, should she? As Cotton would say, she didn’t have a dog in this fight.

Or maybe she did.

Life had dealt her a lot of ups and downs. A happy childhood, pleasant teenage years, then a time after college when she became estranged from her parents. That had been tough. She lost both of them within a year of each other. It had taken her a long time to recover, especially with so much between them left unsaid. Thankfully, they’d settled many of their differences and all was reasonably good before they both died. She missed them. Lately she’d been forced to deal with demons from her past, settling old scores, learning things she never knew about her father, even selling her family’s Spanish estate in an attempt to excise all of the bad spirits.

And it worked.

She was in a good place.

So why not spread a little of that goodness around and help outCotton, who was helping out Derrick Koger, who was obviouslynotin a good place?

Seemed like the right move.

And still did.

She stood. “I’m walking out of here. Anyone who tries to stop me is going to get hurt. Bad. And that includes you, Wells Townley.”

“I have no intention of harming you. Of course, you harmed two of our personnel.”

“Like I said, there are a lot of guns around here for wine.”

“While you were skulking about in our basement,” he said, “I made a call and received explicit orders. You did possess the correct password and code, which once gained the CIA access to this vault. But no more. I have been instructed to inform the CIA to walk away. None of this concerns them any longer. The bank is severing all ties, effective immediately. The Black Eagle Trust is no more. Leave. Us. Alone.”

Now her curiosity was piqued. Who wasus? She decided to try a bluff and see if more could be learned. “They want their gold.”

“That bullion was deposited with the bank almost eighty years ago. No documentation exists relative to any of it, a fact that they insisted upon. That includes any and all inventories, which do not exist. The United States wanted that stolen war loot to disappear, and that is what happened. It’s gone. They don’t get it back. Not now. Not ever. The bank is tolerating this intrusion as an opportunity to send a message.”

That was a mouthful. And fascinating. “Okay. I’ll pass that along.”

“Please do that, and do not return here. As you have discovered, there is nothing here to find.”

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