Vanishing Gold — S.P. Meek

Slowly, perceptibly the nations gold vanished, chaos threatened, ruin lurked ahead.


excerpt

A steel-grey limousine rolled west along Fulton Street in New York City. As it passed the corner of William Street, a powerful touring car with its curtains drawn abreast of it and crowded it toward the curb. The driver shouted a warning but his voice was drowned in a burst of noise. From behind the curtains came a tongue of orange flame and the air resounded to the rapid tattoo of a sub-machine gun.
As the firing started, Dr. Bird moved with the swiftness of a striking snake. With one hand he swung behind him a slim, dark-haired girl who had been his fellow-occupant of the rear seat, while his other hand darted momentarily under his coat. It reappeared gripping an automatic pistol. He raised the weapon but Operative Carnes of the United States Secret Service gripped his wrist with a vise-like grip.
“Don't shoot, Doctor,” he cried, his voice rising above the din. “We're safe in here against anything short of artillery.”
Dr. Bird allowed the hand holding the gun to drop and a smile spread over his face. The touring car, its mission finished, tore away up William Street with a wide-open motor. The driver of the limousine turned as if it follow it.
“Go on to the bank,“ said Dr. Bird as he slid his unfired pistol back into its shoulder holster. “Thanks for stopping me from shooting, Carnesy, old dear. If I had turned loose a few bullets things would have been unpleasant in here. I forgot for a moment that we were riding in one of the armored cars I fixed up for the Federal Reserve Bank. A half inch of vitriolene will stop any bullet ever made, as we have seen.”
“And looking like glass, will fool anyone, as we have seen, Doctor. I'm glad you had this car meet us, for I anticipated no danger this soon, especially as we left Washington secretly.”
“Saranoff never loses any time, Carnes. However, it looks like we had a traitor in our forces back in the capital. I'll look into that when we return.”
As Dr. Bird leaned back, the girl whom he had thrust behind him looked up into his face, a soft glowing in her eyes.
“Thank you, Doctor,” she said quietly.
“Eh? What for?” demanded Dr. Bird.
“For trying to protected me when you thought we were in danger. You interposed your body as a shield for mine.”
Dr. Bird's keen eyes bored into hers.
“Miss Andrews,” he said shortly, “Curb your imagination. You were in my way when I drew my weapon and I thrust you aside. Why should I strive to protect you? My life is immensely more valuable than yours in this war with Saranoff. If I had used anyone as a shield, I would have interposed your body before mine.”
“Yes, Doctor,” said the girl demurely, but a twinkle persisted in her eye. Carnes chuckled softly to himself, but kept his face an expressionless mask. The car rolled on and halted at 33 Liberty Street. As it stopped, a bareheaded official of the Federal Reserve Bank came out to meet them.
“Dr. Bird?” he asked. “I am Wiggan, Governor of the Bank. I hope you had a pleasant trip here.