I looked at the sleeping solders lying near their weapons. “This is it?” I said. “This is the security of Fort Knox?”

“Perceived security is as good as the real thing,” Sill said. “No one thinks to rob what is known to be the most heavily fortified place on the planet.”

“You did.”

“Well, I’m different.” He looked at his watch and removed his mask. “It’s okay, you can take it off now.”

I did. I detected the faint odor of lilacs.

“It’s fine,” he said. “The fragrance will persist for a while, but the effect will last for several hours. Let’s get into this thing.”

On the vault door, with all its metal rods and shafts and massive hinges, there was a combination lock. Not a surprise, but the lock was set just about a meter and a half off the floor and looked very much like the dial one might find on a gym locker.

Again, I said, “This is it?”

Sill laughed. “Genius.”

“I suppose you know the combination.”

“Alas, poor Takitall. He’s not here to do the honors, but he did manage to scribble the digits down on this cocktail napkin.”

4

“Let me see,” Sill said looking at the napkin. “Twenty-four left, twenty-four right, and twenty-four left.” He pulled down the handle and the door clicked open.

“You had to read that from the napkin?” I asked.

“No, but it looked cool, right?” He grabbed the huge metal handles and pulled. “A little help,” he said.

I pulled with him. The doors were enormous, two and a half meters high and perhaps three wide. The hinges were apparently well oiled as they didn’t complain at all. When one door was pulled open, we stepped back to see.

“Fucking shit,” Sill said. “Goddamn, fucking shit, motherfucker, cocksucker, ass eater, fucking goddamn shit.”

The vault was stacked floor to ceiling with gold. The vault interior appeared to easily extend back more than fifty meters. It looked like a perspective demonstration, the gold gleaming under bright lights converging on a single point so far away.

“It’s just fucking gold.” He looked at me. “Goddammit.”

“You’re rich,” I said.

“I was already rich.”

“Richer,” I said.

“Don’t fuck with me, math man.” Then he stopped. He was attending to something in the vault. “Oh, my,” he said. “What do we have here?”

I could see what he saw. He went inside and came back with a shoebox. It was a blue box with a white stripe and written on it was P.F. Flyers. The lid was held fast with string.

“This is it, Wala,” Sill said. He gently shook the box near his ear, smiling. “Nothing is in here.”

I said nothing.

“Nothing, Wala.” He considered it. “It’s heavier than I thought it would be.” He pushed it toward me. “Feel it.”

I took it from him. The box did feel heavy, though it also felt empty.

Sill took it back. “Nothing, right?”

I shrugged.

“Skeptics,” he said. He pulled out his radio. “Bring in the trucks and get this gold out of here.”