Introduction

“Yes, sir, it’s worth it.”

Ben Fyfe was talking about the new truck that the Pendler Security Company had commissioned. There being thefts reported from mines, albeit in Mexico, Pender saw an opportunity and was moving in. The “miner special” van was a loss leader, for now, but the losses could easily be budgeted to advertising expense. None of the big companies had even thought of it, even though its competitive edge was essentially peripheral improvements.

The vehicle looked like any other from the outside. The size of a small cube van, it was made of hard-to-penetrate steel. Large rivets bracketed the sides behind the cab. Steel doors at the back kept the outside world from pawing the inside contents. It was strong enough to be bullet-proof, of course, but it didn’t have quite the room that the others of its size had.

That was for two reasons, both of which Ben and his co-guard Jay Mohr were about to show their new client. The “sir” in question was Ed Cox, the mine manager.

He had been persuaded to hire Pender not only by Pender, but also by the police – albeit indirectly for the latter. Although Mexico was a far-away land, crime was international. There was no way of telling when a local band of criminals would get the same idea and implement their own local version. The Pender Double-Secure Van – the loss leader – was Pender’s showcase vehicle for the gold mining, and later the diamond, industry. The subtracted room didn’t matter all that much for goods with high value per weight.

Ben turned his head at “Shotgun Jay”’s direction, nodded, and turned back frontwards to Cox and a few others who had gathered. Pulling out a key and showing it to his audience, he said: “Now you’ll see how hard it is to get in.” As all of them knew, the same model of van sans improvements had been successfully jacked down in la familia land. Turning around to the door, he inserted the key upwards into a small protruding cube, about 5 cm a side. “Gather ‘round,” he continued as Jay stepped back to make room; his audience did so.

“Whoever designed this had a sense of humour,” he continued as he shifted aside to make room for Cox and the others to see the now-exposed scan plate. Ben, having placed the key back on his belt chain, now raised his middle finger in the traditional salute of disrespect. Turning it downwards to his right, he eased the exposed fingerprint onto the plate which stood just below hip height. A second passed, and a clearly audible click called attention to the doors.

He turned his torso and head back to the audience. “A thoughtless designer would have made it the thumbprint, but not our guy. Added security.” He then opened the door.

Cox, expecting to see the interior of the cargo bed, raised his eyebrows when he saw another door less than half a metre in. Looking past Ben, he discerned an electric latcher-delatcher. That was why the double set of doors weren’t beside each other; they couldn’t be.

“Now, it – yes?” Ben stopped for Cox.

“How do you guys get in if the electrical system shorts out?”

Shifting almost invisibly from foot to foot, Ben replied: “In extremis, we can torch it open at headquarters. The alloy we use requires a special torch. But,” he continued with a smile on and restlessness gone, “the system’s been thoroughly tested. We even discussed surrounding it in a Faraday cage to protect against an EMP.” That part about the special torch was a bit of blarney, needed because torching was how the ones in Mexico were jacked.

The next part wasn’t blarney. “There’s a heat sensor built into the alloy. If it detects a torch flame, it mounts an automatic call to 911. The system can’t be disabled without the van specs – I don’t even know where it is – so that’s another reason why it has to be cut at headquarters.”

It was an impressive pitch, and the people around him were impressed. Jay made his excuses, moved forward, and climbed up. “Just enough for knee room,” Ben supplied jocularly. His partner pulled out his own key, put it in the bottom of another cube that was at eye level for him, and exposed a clear glass surface at the top of the cube. Shifting slightly, he put his right eye to the glass. Nothing happened.

“Right eye, no workee,” Ben continued.

Jay shifted again, this time to the right, put his left eye to the glass plate and held still. Another second passed and he got a click. “Left eye does the trick,” Ben said for him. Having done his duty, Jay got back down from the ‘tween-doors vestibule and pulled the inner pair open. All eyes now saw the interior bed.

“Perfect for your gold,” Ben concluded after turning back to the audience. “You see,” he added as exegesis, “it takes both of us to open it up; both ways. Not only that, but the biometric data is counter-intuitive. Thumb and right eye is more intuitive.

“Mr. Cox mentioned the possibility of a breakdown. I gave the straight goods here, but I wouldn’t be averse to telling a whopper to any criminal who tried to jack us. ‘Sorry; it’s an experimental system. I tried my thumb and it doesn’t work. I guess it broke on us.’”

Jay now added his bit. “Same with me. ‘Sorry, I put my eye there but it must be broken. There’s no way to get it open except at headquarters.’”

“That’s if we’re surprised in the middle of an open,” Ben added. “If such a possibility could ever occur,” he added with the air of a fellow who had thought of everything.

This time, one of Cox’s subordinates asked a question. “What if both doors are open?”

Ben fielded it easily. “At that point, we’re at our destination. If push comes to shove, the refiner has a responsibility.”

Cox nodded, moving the words into his head by bobbing it. The pitch sounded good, and gibed with what Pender had told him. The mine was eight hours away from the refiner, though long stretches of mostly two-lane highway. The sun was barely coming up on a nice summer day; the pair of security guards had arrived last night and bunked over. The refiner didn’t keep convenience-store hours.

That had been good for the pair: an easy drive up, accommodations on someone else’s dime, and lots of overtime.

“Great,” he himself concluded. “I’ll show you where the two dore bars are.” About 90% gold, they looked it. Each weighed an unusually compact thirteen-plus kilograms, a little more than the standard 400 oz bar. Measurements had been carefully taken to ensure that each dore bar had almost exactly four hundred troy ounces of gold in it. Not only was this a convenience for the refiner, but it was also a check-safe for the mining company. Each dore bar would result in one good-delivery 400 oz 99.9% 24 karat gold bar. It had better.

The two bars represented about two weeks’ worth of production from Northeaster Gold's Mandalo Mine. It was small but profitable.

The bars were half- surrounded by custom-cut Styrofoam in which they fit snugly. Ben and Jay each got in front of one, laid out on a central table that commanded the loading bay. They were only eight centimetres wide, twenty long and five thick. A half a centimetre would be removed from the thickness in the final refining process to produces a NYMEX acceptable bar. After letting the two men gawk, one of Cox’s assistants deftly put Styrofoam caps on top of the bars and taped them up. Both guards, being new on the gold beat, were surprised at how heavy their bundles were.

They were strong enough to heft the packages into the open van and strap on a pair of added belts for each. The bars wouldn’t move at all during the entire journey – the entire Pender Company plus the suppliers had made sure of it.