There's a Terrifying Secret Under Fort Knox
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Ryan Reynolds here for, I guess, my 100th Mint commercial. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no. I mean, honestly, when I started this, I thought I'd only have to do like four of these. I mean, it's unlimited premium wireless for $15 a month. How are there still people paying two or three times that much? I'm sorry, I shouldn't be victim blaming here. Give it a try at mintmobile.com slash save whenever you're ready. For

$45 upfront payment equivalent to $15 per month. New customers on first three-month plan only. Taxes and fees extra. Speeds lower above 40 gigabytes. See details.

Ever get that chill when you're alone in the dark? After Dark is a brand new horror podcast that fully embodies that feeling, with a soothing female narrator that draws you in before leading you into the shadows. Each week, After Dark tells some of the most terrifying tales that feel a little too real. The kind that make you glance over your shoulder or leave a light on at night. If you're already hooked on Dr. No Sleep, you'll feel right at home with After Dark.

Well, if home had shadows that whispered back. Tune in to After Dark today by clicking the link in the episode description. Just one warning: don't listen alone. When it comes to the really big problems in life, sometimes the only way to solve them is to work backwards. You begin with a conclusion, the impossibly complex goal you wish to achieve. You then calculate which final action would allow you to reach this goal.

You figure out what steps could lead to that action and what steps could lead to them, and so on. Z to A. Then you step back, look at the whole puzzle you've laid out, and start doing what needs to be done. Frank Daniels was only 10 years old when he decided he was going to rob the United States bullion depository at Fort Knox, 40 miles south of his home in Louisville, Kentucky, when he told his plan to his best friend, Johnny Freeman.

Johnny had liked the idea, but explained that his dad worked as a security guard at Fort Knox, and that no one, not since the government built it back in 1935, had ever robbed the place. This was for the simple reason that it was impossible to do so. Young Frank took this as a challenge, and approaching the problem logically, he worked backward, Z to A, step by step.

The plan that he eventually came up with would not be easy, nor would it be fast. But Frank was confident that it would work. After graduating high school in 1986, he applied for a job with the US Mint Police and, recommended by Johnny's father, began work as a guard at Fort Knox.

As the years passed, Frank climbed through the ranks until, at the age of 55, Deputy Chief Frank Daniels not only ran security at the Bullion Depository, he had also hand-picked and trained the men and women who served under him. He had chosen carefully, recruiting only those he knew he could guide and trust, those with certain talents, people with keen minds but unbothered by conscience, people like him.

Together, they were about to embark on the boldest robbery in the history of the world, and nothing on heaven or earth would stand in their way, or so Frank Daniels believed. It was storming in Kentucky that night. Lightning cracked the sky and tree branches fell by the road as the armored truck rumbled through the rain toward the spotlights and fences of Fort Knox looming ahead. At the first checkpoint at the South Gate,

the guard pulled his hood over his head as he stepped out into the rain to look inside the driver's side window evening Thatcher the guard said to the driver who nodded stoically back the guard swung his flashlight to look at the faces of the other two people inside hello Deputy Chief Daniel sir who's your guest Frank sat forward squinting in the glare of the flashlight this here is Mr Omar

You'll see his name on the list. He's overseeing the transfer of goods to this nation's plane over at Godman Airfield tonight." Once the guard had verified everyone's IDs and waved them through, Frank Daniels adjusted his tie and straightened the two golden stars on his uniform's jacket pocket. He had worked hard for those stars, for his position, for everything to align so that this night would go down flawlessly.

He stared out the rain-battered windshield as they approached the building. Frank knew, in minute detail, the myriad of security measures they were passing through at that moment. The field on the other side was full of hidden landmines. The fences not only had rolls of barbed wire, they were electrified. Cameras, motion detectors, and radar tracked the truck every inch of the way.

In the four guard towers at the corners of the installation, soldiers controlled spotlights, not to mention M2 machine guns. If anyone attempted entry to Fort Knox, they would be killed long before reaching the granite-lined outer wall of the structure. And if by some miracle they were to reach it, they would find themselves on the outside of an impenetrable fortress constructed of 16,000 cubic feet of granite.

4,000 cubic yards of concrete, 670 tons of structural steel, and 750 tons of reinforced steel. Little Johnny Freeman had been right when he said there was no way to break in and access what lay below in the basement vault, namely 150 million ounces of gold worth, at the present time, 290 billion US dollars.

By the end of that night, that number would be reduced by 10 billion dollars, and Frank and his team would be very, very rich individuals. "What do you think, Mr. Omar?" asked Frank as they drove around the side of the impending structure. Omar stared out the window and nodded. "It looks very impressive. Far better than in Goldfinger." Frank laughed. He liked Omar.

The London-educated Middle Easterner spoke perfect English. He was a funny little man, in his expensive suit and fancy haircut, but a necessary part of Frank's plan. "The Bond movie used a Hollywood set," Frank told him. "The real one is a more notable bit of construction. Our government built it fast, but strong."

then brought the US gold reserves from New York and Philadelphia across the mountains here, 90 years ago. Frank shrugged. I guess they thought keeping the gold in coastal cities left it vulnerable to foreign attack. Bit of a strange choice, storing it all out here in Appalachia. The truck approached the garage entrance at the back. Frank looked out to their right at the adjoining road that ran over to the northwest gate, then onto the airfield.

They would all be there soon enough, loading up the cargo plane sent by Omar's people. The truck pulled up to the garage, and once they entered their security codes, the heavy doors parted for them, and they drove inside. "You're lucky, Mr. Omar," said Frank, unfastening his seatbelt and climbing down from the massive vehicle. "No one ever visits this place. Not tourists, not the staff's families, not even the U.S. President."

"How many people are on duty here at any given time?" asked Omar, following Frank down. "About fifty during the day, but at night that number drops to eighteen. And are they all? You know, no need to worry about that. Almost all of them are my guys, and the few that aren't will be handled." Frank shifted his jacket to show the Glock in his holster.

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But it shouldn't come to that. Every detail of this mission has been planned and rehearsed. Ain't that right, Thatcher?

The woman who had driven the truck came out and joined them. "That's right, boss," Omar shook his head. "You all seem so calm, considering after we leave on my plane, you can never return to your own country. Does that not upset you?"

Thatcher jabbed him playfully with an elbow. We'll cry into our piles of money. I'm gonna fill a swimming pool with gold coins, shouted another man, approaching from a hallway with a toothy smile and a playful swagger. Like Scrooge McDuck, Frank turned and grinning, shook the man's hand before pulling him in for a tight hug.

He was right. That had been the solution to the second big problem Frank Daniels faced in his planning.

Because even if someone managed to steal a few truckloads of bullion, what exactly could they do with it? There aren't enough pawn shops in the world to handle the bulk. No, they would need another country to receive the gold. A little up-and-coming nation who would be more than happy to add it to their own treasury's vault.

Then that grateful nation would reward the thieves with lives of ultimate luxury within their borders, with sports cars and penthouse apartments, and a legion of servants to wait on their every whim for the rest of their lives. Frank Daniels could almost taste the champagne and caviar. "Let's get this show on the road," said Frank, clapping his hands together. They left Thatcher to prepare the other three armored trucks for their imminent departure.

Then Frank led the way down the hall and through the building's many heavy security doors. When they came to each door, the guard beside it would nod and smile knowingly at their commanding officer. Then Frank, John, and the guard would each enter one-third of a numeric code into the electric lock. "Impressive security measures," said Omar, as they made way deeper into the building. "How many workers' codes does it take to get into the main vault door?" Frank shook his head.

Oh, the main door is 22 tons. We never open that. We use the vault door on the back. All the gold and valuables that might ever need transferred stay in the smaller back section of the vault. So who goes in the main section of the vault? Nobody. That gold has sat and gathered dust for 90 years. It's never been moved. Until now.

They passed through the final hallway and came to a set of wide elevator doors. Then both Frank and John double-checked their sidearms. "Something wrong?" asked Omar nervously. "We meant police handle security here on the upper floors, but on the bottom level, jurisdiction is in the hands of a different department."

But don't worry Mr. Omar, just stay calm and maybe get behind me if there's any trouble." The three men entered the oversized elevator and began their descent into the reinforced concrete bells of the fortress. The doors opened onto a circular room lit by harsh fluorescent lights.

The floor was checkerboarded with black and white tiles. Straight ahead, a mammoth vault door, like a huge silver wheel, was closed on giant hinges. Locked in place in a riveted steel wall, two men in dark suits stood beside the door, still as mannequins, serious as soldiers.

Frank led them out of the elevator and to the left, where an ornate wooden desk sat beside a plastic tree and a portrait of the current president. An old woman was perched on an office chair behind the desk, and she looked up from her knitting as they approached. "Deputy Chief Daniels," she said in a high, somewhat squeaky voice, and her wrinkled face broke into a smile. "Welcome to the basement."

"Evening, Miss Holloway, ma'am," said Frank, smiling back. "This here is Mr. Omar. We're returning his nation's treasures tonight." "Oh, yes," chirped Miss Holloway. And setting down her knitting, she hopped off her chair and began to walk around the desk, taking very small steps. Omar reached out to shake her hand. She placed both her hands on his and squeezed. Her skin was cold and her fingers were bony.

to Fort Knox, Mr. Omar. It has been an honor to ensure the security of your country's crown jewels during your time of civil strife. She patted his hand. I'm glad things are calming down there. Now America is pleased to return them to you. Thank you, ma'am, said Omar. But she went on speaking.

"We've housed many important objects and documents here over the years, you know. During the war, the Constitution and Declaration of Independence were kept down here, and the Magna Carta sent over from England, and the Crown of St. Stephen, and… that is all very interesting, ma'am," said Omar. Looking to Frank for help, Frank came over and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Miss Holloway here knows the whole history of the place," he said loudly, calling her off. "She's been here forever. Well, might as well be forever. Almost twice as long as I have." "My father," she began again, and Frank rolled his eyes. "My father was Raymond Holloway. Do you know Raymond Holloway, Mr. Omar?"

He was a great American. He designed this place and oversaw its construction back in 35 and... Ma'am, interrupted Frank, his voice serious now. We have a lot of work to do tonight. So, if you'll excuse us... Johnny!

In one swift, practiced motion, Frank and John both spun into a firing position, drawing their pistols and aiming at the two guards by the vault. "Hands up!" yelled John. The guards flinched, but did not raise their hands. "Don't you do it! We will drop you! Hands in the air! Turn around! Slowly!" The guards exchanged a look.

"No!" whined Miss Holloway, turning and trying to shuffle as fast as she could behind her desk. Distracted, Frank looked away from his target, and the guard drew his gun. John shot him in the head, and he- The second guard drew his weapon and got off one shot before John fired two into his chest. The guard gasped and stumbled backward into the vault door, but his gun was still raised, so John marched forward and put a round between his eyes.

Frank clutched at the left side of his head and grunted, "Bastard shot my ear off!" He looked up in a daze as Ms. Holloway made it to the back of her desk and reached toward a panic button beneath the drawer. Frank raised his gun and shot the old woman in the shoulder. She was thrown back in a spray of blood and toppled out of sight.

"Damn it," said Frank through gritted teeth. "They're wearing bulletproof vests, I think," said John, approaching the dead guards. "Who knew, huh?" Omar stood in the center of the room, eyes wide with shock, sweat gathering at his temples. "You okay there, Frank?" John asked. "Yeah, I think so. Gonna have a hell of a headache, though. Get the others down here. Let's get it open."

As John jogged back into the elevator, Frank adjusted his grip on his pistol and walked around the desk. Miss Holloway was lying in a bleeding heap against the wall, twitching, one arm still reaching out shakily toward the desk. Her other hand clutched a necklace at her chest. "I always liked you, Miss Holloway," said Frank with a sigh. "Why'd you have to go and do that? We would've tied you to the chair. You would've been rescued in the morning."

"Can't take the gold," she said in a hoarse whisper. Frank knelt beside her. "But that's the thing, ma'am. I can, and I'm going to. And don't you worry about this nation you love so much, or about your daddy's legacy for that matter. Back when he built this place, well, the US dollar was still based on the gold standard.

These days, it's all different. It's fiat. It's international. It's Bitcoin for God's sake. We'll take a few pallets out of the old vault and the economy will barely know the difference. Hell, I suspect the Treasury will even cover up the whole thing. Easier for them that way. Less embarrassing. Chief Daniels, you must not touch the gold.

He sighed and started to rise, but her outstretched hand clasped his sleeve. "Listen to me, Frank." Some strength had returned to her voice now. She was desperate, but there was blood in her lungs. Frank could hear its rattle and hiss in her voice. "This place is not what you think." Frank looked at her face, at the torment in her old eyes, the horror in her pained expression.

The elevator doors opened and eight of the team marched out and approached the vault door.

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When you give them the softest loungewear set, the real gift is this. And this. And this. This holiday, Lululemon makes it easy to give a gift that goes beyond. Open the moment. Shop now at lululemon.com. As they dragged the guards' bodies aside and began to enter in the codes, Miss Holloway tugged again on Frank's sleeve.

He bent lower, twisting his head so that his uninjured right ear hovered above her mouth. "1934," she said weakly. "That's when it happened. The coal miners. It was the coal miners in Appalachia. They found it, disturbed it. They woke it up. It killed them. Then it came up the mine shaft and started attacking.

It attacked banks. Can you believe that? Her trembling lips broke into a smile, blood dripping out one corner. Banks, like some gangster. The army, they figured out that it wanted the gold. It was drawn to the gold. Daddy built this place to lure it in here to trap it. Her face winced in agony.

"Gold, Frank," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "As long as the gold is in there, it sleeps. You mustn't. You c-c-can't." She shuddered, face falling limp, eyes fluttering shut. Frank stood up, his face pale, blood all down the left side of his head. John walked over to him. "She dead then?" Frank was very still. "I think so.

"Well, come on, man. We got 150 tons of gold to move." As the gears retracted and the vault door unlocked noisily, two of the younger guys pulled and the huge circular door swung slowly but smoothly open. Frank was barely present, his eyes glassed over. So John instructed the team to get the forklifts in place and begin passing the pallets out and loading them onto the elevator. Frank shook himself, blinked and muttered,

"Get a hold of yourself, Frankie. It's the big night." He stowed his pistol back in the holster and stepped through the outer door into the back vault. The room was long, shiny, and clean, with a dozen shelves weighed down in pyramid stacks of gold bars, not to mention the cabinets holding historic documents and artifacts. "Where are my crown jewels?" asked Omar.

The shock of witnessing two murders outside the vault had already worn off. Replaced by giddy excitement at the sight of all the gold, Frank pointed to a lockbox on one of the shelves. "There, don't worry, we'll bring them too. John, you ready?" John and Frank led the way with a few others around the shelves and down a short hall to where there was a second vault door, just as large and shiny as the first.

They each entered their codes into the controls at this inner door, then attempted to open it. "Why ain't it working?" asked John. Frank put his hands on his hips. "Nobody's opened it in decades. It's probably just stuck." But no matter how hard they tried, the door wouldn't budge. Ten minutes and quite a lot of cursing later, it was a young engineer on the crew named Daisy Brooks who figured it out.

"Right there, look," she said, pointing to the center of the door. "That little hole on the mechanism, it's not on the outer door. Could be a keyhole. You know anything about that, boss?" Frank shook his head. "Strange shape for a keyhole," said John. "That's because it's not for a key," said Frank, exhaling. "I'll be right back." Leaving them by the inner door, Frank walked out of the vault, around Miss Holloway's desk,

and crouched beside her dead body. Her left hand was still clutched around her necklace, and Frank had to pry her fingers apart to get the locket she was holding. He yanked and snapped it off the chain, then rose to his feet, staring at the locket under the fluorescent lights. It was a solid piece of steel in the shape of a heart, but with tiny rods extending out to both sides. He had noticed it before. Miss Holloway never came to work without it.

Retracing his steps, he returned to the inner door, and reaching up, he shoved the locket into the hole Brooks had discovered and twisted. There was a click. That's it? asked John. Frank shrugged. Let's find out.

They heaved on the door. It opened with a groan of metal on metal, and a puff of pressurized air burst out into the hallway. "Oh my god," chuckled John. "What is that smell? Smells like… sulfur." When they had swung the door fully open, the team backed up, catching their breath, and gazed into the circular opening. The room on the other side was totally dark.

Frank wrinkled his nose at the smell and unclipped the flashlight from his belt. He switched it on and, aiming the beam ahead of him, stepped through the circular doorway. His boot crunched into a flaky coating of some sort of sooty dust on the floor. He moved farther inside, letting the illuminated oval from his flashlight slide sideways across the closest shelf. Gold bars caked thick in the same flaky dust sat in piles.

Piles of piles. John stepped in beside him, another flashlight in hand. He let out a long, impressed whistle that echoed through the cathedral-like vault. "Ladies and gentlemen," said John proudly, "we present to you America's Savings Account." The shelf ahead of them stretched almost all the way to the walls on either side. More high shelves ran around the walls, each section buried in bullion.

Daisy Brooks came in, holding one arm up to her face to try and block the smell. "What is that? Up there?" she asked, pointing above the shelf. Frank and John aimed their flashlights higher. Something, a sort of great mound of something, rose up beyond the shelf, reaching almost to the ceiling. "Something under a tarp, maybe?" asked John. "Looks like it's in the center of the vault."

Frank started walking along the shelf toward the wall. Behind him, John told Brooks to get a forklift inside to start loading up the pallets, then followed his friend. They moved around that first shelf and found themselves facing another. "It's like a labyrinth," grumbled John as they turned and headed into the aisle between the two shelves. "Why'd they set up the shelves like this? Feels like when I have to take the kids to the damn corn maze every autumn."

Frank said nothing and led the way. Flashlight moving across the stacked gold, feet crunching in the dust. He went straight, turned right, then left, then left, right, straight. They emerged from the maze into the center of the vault and stopped. They were right in front of the object now, and the odor was overwhelming. "'Well, what is it?' asked John. "'Something geological?'

Looks like a big rock forced its way up through the floor. Frank shook his head. Nah, it's sitting on the floor. Look. But yeah, it does look like stone. Statue, maybe? Frank moved sideways, his flashlight beam undulating as it moved over the contours of the massive, lumpy object. Higher up, a whole section on one side was covered in what looked like black cobwebs. Hey, Frank! Check this out!

Frank walked back to John, who had moved around its far side, near the wall. "What'd you find, John?" "I think… I think maybe it's a fossil." They both aimed their beams at a section near the floor. At first, Frank couldn't make out any recognizable form to the big shape, but after a few seconds, he saw it. It was a head, or maybe a skull, but sideways on the ground, its long neck extending behind it and up. But it was too big,

much too big. The only animals he could think of that big were those long-necked dinosaurs that ate leaves from tall trees. And this didn't look like that. It was more chiseled, angular, with a long snout and a crown of horns at its brow. The sound of a forklift booting up and the jangling of many metal bars echoed through the vault around them. Frank took a step closer to the head and leaned down, his beam fixed just above the snout.

where there should have been an empty eye socket. Instead, the surface bulged out in a half sphere the size of a classroom globe. It was an eye, he realized. Closed and lidded, Frank took in a shaky breath. John, I think that old lady was right. Bellwood, Fort Knox, it ain't no vault. He turned to his old friend. It's a goddamn cage. He looked back at the head and the eye was looking back at him. It was open.

a glowing golden sphere with a great black slit for a pupil. Frank gasped and stumbled backward, the flashlight falling from his hand and clattering to the floor. His back hit a shelf and dust rained down his shoulders. Through the dust, by the soft glow of the flashlight on the floor, he saw the creature shifting, moving, rising up like a great shadow to fill the vault. Its neck unfurled, stretching and lifting the huge head up as it took in a tremendous breath.

sucking the air in a groaning, hissing, squelching, blustering sound, building in volume, rising in pitch until it vibrated every golden bar like an echoing symphony of resonance and terror. Frank threw his arms over his head, cringing as his hand smacked the bleeding stump of his left ear and screamed, but his voice was lost in the maddening noise. John grabbed him by the collar and shoved him into the aisle between the shelves.

They started to run, crashed into a shelf, turned left, right, right again, left again. Behind them, the creature twisted in the dark, its limbs and tail colliding with shelves, shattering them, bringing up a cloud of dust and gold bars. As the men reached the end of the maze, it collapsed around them. A gold bar struck Frank in the small of his back, and he fell forward with a grunt. Brooks and John grabbed him by the arms and pulled him to his feet.

The whole group to the inner vault stood by the door, staring up into the darkness, into the looming shape, black against the dark grey. "Come on then!" shouted John. "Everybody out!"

They turned and ran, tripping through the vault door, tumbling over one another, pushing, pulling, into the hallway and around the corner to the outer vault. "What was that sound?" asked Omar. "What is going on?" "Everybody out of the vault, now!" instructed John, pulling a man from his seat at a forklift. He looked around for Frank and realized he had already run ahead and was diving to the outer vault door.

Frank scrambled to his feet on the checkerboard tiles, sweat streaming down his cheeks. He spun around, grabbed the vault door, and started to heave it shut. "Help me!" he grunted, and those already in the room rushed to assist him. As the door swung slowly closed, the men and women in the vault came streaming out. Brooks was the last to slip through before the door gears began to slide into place. "Wait!" she called. "Lieutenant Freeman's still inside!"

Frank shoved the door with all his might. Hold it! yelled John from inside the vault, and his arm reached out from the open crack, waving. Wait! Let me in! No time! sobbed Frank, his eyes wide, his muscles straining against the door. Shut it! Shut it! Shut it! Shut it! John screamed, his arm jerking wildly, his hand reaching out for help.

Some of the others hesitated, but Frank pushed all the harder. He pushed until his neck veins bulged and tears fell from his eyes. Oh, God!

Screamed John. "It's put its head through! It's in the hall, Frank! I can hear it breathing! It's... it's doing something! Please, guys! There's... a light! Something's wrong! Oh my god! Just open the door! Just open the..." A violent burst of sound erupted in the vault. The door rumbled on its hinges, and from the remaining opening, tongues of fire whipped out into the room, white-hot and continuous.

John was screaming. His arm spasmed as fire licked up his sleeve and burned away the fabric. Shoving against the rapidly warming door, Frank winced as hot liquid dripped onto his forehead. He looked up and saw the flesh melting off John's arm in gooey sheets of blistery red and fatty yellow. John went quiet. There was a crunch and a click as the roasted arm fell wetly to the tiled floor, and the vault door closed and sealed itself. "What?"

In the hell, said Brooks, breathing heavily. Is happening here, boss? They all looked at Frank as he got drunkenly to his feet. He stumbled across the room and into the elevator, then jammed on the up button. The others hurried to follow him as they all stood in a clump, panting. The building suddenly rumbled around them and the lights flickered.

"Come on, come on, come on," muttered Frank, and he exhaled in relief as the elevator doors began to slide shut. As the room disappeared from view, he looked up and saw a final glimpse of the vault door. At its center, the metal was glowing red-hot and smoking. When they reached the upper level and the elevator opened, emergency lights were on throughout the building, blue and spinning dizzily.

They ran down the hall, shouting at each other, scrambling to enter their codes at the doors. Frank was in front, pushing the others aside, racing for the exit. The floor beneath them quaked. All lights, except the spinning emergency blues, went out. They were near the garage, near the waiting trucks. They were almost out.

then the hallway around them exploded into a chaos of shattered concrete twisted rebar and orange flames frank found himself hurtling forward through the air he landed hard tumbled and rose shakily his jacket was on fire coughing and cursing he pulled off the jacket and threw it onto the floor in a daze of pain and confusion he turned and looked behind him

The fort was being torn apart from the inside. The creature was there, right there! He saw a leg, the tip of its tail, part of its massive torso as it bucked and writhed, knocking through walls in its struggle for freedom. Frank turned, tripped, pulled himself up, and hurried into the garage. "Thatcher!" he screamed. His voice was hoarse. "Open the doors now!" Thatcher came into view by one of the armored trucks.

What is this? An earthquake? She asked. But Frank pushed past her and began to climb into the passenger seat. Open the doors! He reached a shaking hand across the ignition, felt the key, and turned it. The engine roared to life as the garage doors began to open. Where is everyone? Asked Thatcher, climbing into the driver's seat. Drive! Tell me what's going on! Just drive! Not until you tell me what the hell is...

Frank pulled out his Glock and shot Thatcher in the head. Her body twitched, neck snapping to the side, then fell backwards out of the open door. Frank slid across behind the wheel, jammed the truck into reverse, and kicked hard at the accelerator. His ears rang from the shot, and Thatcher's blood had misted the windshield. So as Frank backed the massive truck out into the rain and switched gears, he could barely see where he was going.

Tires spinning in the mud, the driver's side door slammed shut with a bang. He sped away from the fort, swerving to stay on the road. "You just gotta get away from here," he whispered to himself. "Far away. To do that, you gotta be on the plane, which means you gotta get to the airfield. Then you can tell Omar's people that… that he's in the back of the truck, with the jewels and the gold. You can do this, Frank. One step at a time."

Ahead of him, the northwest gate was shut and locked. He sped up, praying the heavy truck could punch its way through. He gritted his teeth, gripped the wheel until his fingers were white and… the truck slammed to a stop against the gate. Frank's head whipped forward, his face smashing into the steering wheel, his nose flattening with a crunch. He tasted blood and mucus in his throat and spluttered to take a breath.

Sitting up and shaking, he put the truck in reverse and backed away from the gate. It was bent. It had nearly broken. As he went to ram it again, a great explosion of sound and light pierced the rain and shook the truck. Frank flinched and looked in the driver's side mirror. He saw a section of the fort's roof hurtling up in fiery chunks.

They landed in the field, and a moment later, the sound of landmines went up like devilish fireworks. The spotlights in the guard towers swung around, casting great cones of illuminated white through the pouring rain and rising smoke, settling on the United States Bullion Depository, where a great black shadow now perched atop the ruined roof, like a demon from the depths of hell. The M2s in the towers began to fire, bullets streaming brightly through the night.

The beast howled and returned fire. Actual fire. A great plume of flame from its open mouth. Frank slammed on the gas and drove the armored truck through the gate. "Just get to the plane!" He repeated, over and over like a desperate mantra. Frank got to the plane.

He had to run over an airman at the airfield entrance. And he nearly crashed, maneuvering the truck up the open cargo door. But as Frank climbed down and was greeted by the very confused pilot, he was smiling crazily through his pain and his fear.

"Just get us in the air! Omar's in the back of the truck!" he told the pilot. "But I don't understand. Why is Omar in the back of the truck? Where are the other three trucks? Where's the..." A piercing howl broke through the night, loud enough to rattle the windows of the plane and make the pilot's eyes go wide. "Like I said, just get us in the air! You won't even have to worry about the Air Force coming after us. I have a feeling they'll have their hands full."

Driven with rain and sweat and blood, and God knows what else, Frank limped to the hold as the cargo door closed and the plane's engines whirled into action. He got to the cockpit and collapsed into a seat behind the pilot. Hell of a night, hell of a heist. 45 long years, he said to himself, for nothing. But he made it out alive. That was something. That was more than he could say for any of the others. His stomach lurched as the plane sped up,

roaring through the rain and tipping back, ascending into the night sky. Frank took shallow breaths through his mouth, hearing the rattle in his chest, like Miss Holloway's final breaths. In their view from the cockpit, he watched the rain speed in little rivers across the glass. He watched lightning flare up clouds outside,

The mist shining briefly in abstract shapes. And then, and then in one shape in particular, a great winged beast silhouetted by a brilliant flash of lightning flying right at them. "That ain't good." The creature opened its jaws as it descended. Blazing fire engulfed the cockpit. Frank closed his eyes.

He heard the glass shatter, the rush of flame and rain and thunder. He felt the wet, icy sky on his cheeks. As the plane tore itself apart, shattering the storm, Frank Daniels opened his eyes one last time and saw, spinning in his vision, the monster turn and fly north, raining fire down onto the bluegrass hills, heading toward the distant glowing skyline of Louisville, Kentucky. When it comes to the really big problems in life,

Sometimes the only way to solve them is to work backwards. Raymond Holloway had known the Dragon of Appalachia had to be caged, which meant it first had to be lured, which meant a stockpile of gold had to be gathered into a mighty fortress of steel and concrete. Holloway's plan had worked. The beast was captured, contained, permanently slumbering. The United States of America was safe and always would be, or so Raymond Holloway had believed.

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