James Twining - The Double Eagle

To Victoria, always

Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,Luxe, calme et volupté

Charles Baudelaire, L’Invitation au Voyage

Executive Order No. 6102

By virtue of the authority vested in me by Section 5(b) of the Act of October 6, 1917, as amended by Section 2 of the Act of March 9, 1933, entitled ‘An Act to provide relief in the existing national emergency in banking, and for other purposes,’ in which amendatory Act Congress declared that a serious emergency exists,

I, Franklin D. Roosevelt, President of the United States of America, do declare that said national emergency still continues to exist and pursuant to said section do hereby prohibit the hoarding of gold coin, gold bullion, and gold certificates within the continental United States by individuals, partnerships, associations and corporations and hereby prescribe the following regulations for carrying out the purposes of this order.

All persons are hereby required to deliver on or before May 1, 1933, to a Federal Reserve bank or a branch or agency thereof or to any member bank of the Federal Reserve System all gold coin, gold bullion and gold certificates now owned by them or coming into their ownership on or before April 28, 1933.

Upon receipt of gold coin, gold bullion or gold certificates delivered to it, the Federal Reserve Bank or member bank will pay thereof an equivalent amount of any other form of coin or currency coined or issued under the laws of the United States.

Whoever wilfully violates any provision of this Executive Order or of these regulations or of any rule, regulation or license issued thereunder may be fined not more than $10,000, or, if a natural person, may be imprisoned for not more than ten years, or both; and any officer, director, or agent of any corporation who knowingly participates in any such violation may be punished by a like fine, imprisonment, or both.

This order and these regulations may be modified or revoked at any time.

Franklin D. Roosevelt

President of the United States of America

April 5, 1933

Cover Page

Title Page

Dedication

Epigraph

Prologue

Part I

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Part II

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-One

Twenty-Two

Twenty-Three

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Five

Twenty-Six

Twenty-Seven

Twenty-Eight

Twenty-Nine

Thirty

Thirty-One

Thirty-Two

Thirty-Three

Thirty-Four

Thirty-Five

Thirty-Six

Thirty-Seven

Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Nine

Forty

Forty-One

Forty-Two

Forty-Three

Forty-Four

Forty-Five

Forty-Six

Part III

Forty-Seven

Forty-Eight

Forty-Nine

Fifty

Fifty-One

Fifty-Two

Fifty-Three

Fifty-Four

Fifty-Five

Fifty-Six

Fifty-Seven

Fifty-Eight

Fifty-Nine

Sixty

Sixty-One

Sixty-Two

Sixty-Three

Sixty-Four

Sixty-Five

Sixty-Six

Sixty-Seven

Sixty-Eight

Sixty-Nine

Seventy

Seventy-One

Seventy-Two

Seventy-Three

Seventy-Four

Seventy-Five

Seventy-Six

Seventy-Seven

Seventy-Eight

Seventy-Nine

Eighty

Eighty-One

Eighty-Two

Eighty-Three

Eighty-Four

Eighty-Five

Eighty-Six

Eighty-Seven

Eighty-Eight

Eighty-Nine

Ninety

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Praise

Copyright

About the Publisher

What do you not drive human hearts into, cursed Craving for gold!

Virgil – The Aeneid (iii.56)

Pont de Grenelle, 16th Arrondissement, Paris 16th July – 9:05pm

They were late.

They’d said quarter to and it was already five past. It made him uneasy to be standing out in the open for this long. If they weren’t there in the next five minutes he was leaving, a million dollars or not.

He patted his pocket nervously. It was still there; he could feel it through the black woollen material, its warm weight pressing against his thigh. It was still safe.

A teenage couple, arms interlinked, strolled towards him, snatching kisses every few steps in the dying light. Mid-embrace, the girl caught sight of him and broke away with an embarrassed shrug. Her fingers flew unconsciously to the small silver crucifix that hung around her neck.

‘Bonsoir, mon père.’

‘Bonsoir, mon enfant.’

He smiled and nodded at them both as they walked past him to the other side of the Pont de Grenelle, noting that it was only then they allowed their guilty laughter to echo up through the fading heat. Against a crimson sky, the lights on the Eiffel Tower sparkled as if it was on fire.

He rested his arms on the parapet and looked out at the Statue of Liberty. Identical to her much larger sister across the Atlantic, she dominated the Allée des Cygnes, the narrow island in the middle of the River Seine upon which she had been erected in 1889, according to the inscription on her base. She had her back to him, smooth bronze muscles of crumpled fabric and taut skin, eternally youthful despite the green patina of old age.

As a child, his grandmother had once told him that many members of their family had made the long and difficult journey from Naples to America in the 1920s. When he looked at the statue, he felt somehow connected to those faceless relatives, understood something of their sense of wonder at their first sight of the New World, their unshakeable faith in a new beginning. So he always chose this place. It felt familiar. Safe. Protected. Caso mai . Just in case.

Two men appeared out of the shadows of the bridge below and looked up at him. He sketched a wave, crossed to the other side of the road and made his way down the shallow concrete steps towards them, walking under the bridge’s low steel arch. He stopped at the edge of the wide area encircling the statue’s massive stone pedestal, careful as always to keep about twenty feet between himself and them.

They must have been there all the time, he thought to himself; watching him, checking that he was alone, hiding in the lengthening shadows like lions in long grass. That figured. These were not people to take chances. But then neither was he.

‘ Bonsoir ,’ the large man on the left called clearly through the night air, his long blond hair melting into a thick beard. An American, he guessed.

‘ Bonsoir ,’ he called back warily.

A large Bateau Mouche swept down the river past them, its blinding lights reaching into the darkness, probing, feeling. The heavy folds of the statue’s robe seemed to ripple and lift gently under their touch as if caught in some unseen draught. As if she was teasing them.

‘You got it?’ The bearded man called out in English when the throb of the ship’s engines had faded and the burning lights had shifted their relentless glare further along the bank.

‘You got the money?’ His voice was firm. It was the usual game, played out more times than he cared to remember. He looked down, feigning indifference and noticed that his polished black shoes were already dusty from the dry gravel.

‘Let’s see it first,’ the man called back.