Free The Double Eagle by James Twining Page A

This time, though, tired from the early start, she had found herself falling into a deep sleep until the gentle bump of the undercarriage coming down shook her awake.

    Blinking, she turned her head to the window. The elliptical porthole framed a quilt of differently colored fields, each one bounded by a dark line of trees. A single, cotton-thin strip of blacktop ran in an unbroken line right to left and disappeared in both directions into a shimmering heat haze. Lonely farmsteads and barns stood marooned in the flat landscape like small wooden islands. Then, as the plane dropped lower, a low-slung galvanized fence on the military air base’s outer perimeter surged up to meet her.

    “Welcome to Kentucky, Agent Browne.” Jennifer stepped down off the steps that had concertinaed out of the jet’s gleaming fuselage and shook the hand of the man waiting to greet her. “I hope you had a pleasant flight. I’m Lieutenant Sheppard. I’m to escort you to the Depository.”

    “Thank you,” she answered, unable to mask her smile. It was quite an outfit. Pink plaid trousers, white Polo shirt, and yellow sun visor all competed for her attention. Beneath the visor the man’s face was creased into a broad grin as he pumped her hand up and down enthusiastically.
     
    Although Jennifer was mindful never to form opinions of people too quickly—a trait she had inherited from her mother, who maintained that time was the only reliable lens through which to view someone’s true character—she instinctively liked Sheppard. He had a breezy, cheerful confidence and an uncomplicated and genuine manner that his gaudy wardrobe reinforced rather than undermined.

    Sheppard looked down at himself and then flashed her a guilty smile, brown eyes twinkling in his smooth, suntanned face.
     
    “I’m real sorry about the clothes, ma’am. I was just heading out when I got word to come and meet you here. I didn’t have time to change.” Jennifer nodded back, her tone understanding.

    “That’s quite all right, Lieutenant. I appreciate you taking me over. Is it far?”

    “No, ma’am. Not in this baby.” He pointed to a white golf cart, his clubs firmly strapped 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 U.S. 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 U.S. 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