The Citadel (10 page)

Oahu

"We're going to rack up quite a few frequent flier miles on this trip." Tai was looking at the flight itinerary Royce had just given them. "Depart Honolulu for New Zealand. Cross the international date line en route. Arrive Wellington, New Zealand, on Saturday evening at 2100 hours local."
"The passports I've given you," Royce said, "are real and should raise no problems. From New Zealand you count on Logan to take you to Antarctica."
"What about communications?" Tai asked.
Royce slid a small case across the table. "Satellite radio. You might not get the best reception in Antarctica but you should be able to punch through a text message."
"Gear?" Vaughn asked.
"Will be waiting for you in New Zealand," Royce said.
"Including weapons?" Vaughn pressed.
"Including weapons," Royce reassured him.
Vaughn stood and looked at Tai. "All right. Let's get cold."

Manila

Fatima checked the coordinates Shibimi had given her. Then she made her way to the front of the map store and paid the proprietor. She slid the map inside her jacket and opened the door with a feeling of excitement that she was on the trail of something that might unlock the secret of the Organization.
She left the store and hopped on the motorcycle she had taken from the village. She roared through the streets to the rendezvous she had set up on her way in. She was headed to another ethnic-oriented part of Manila—not Japanese this time, but Korean. She raced through the narrow streets, avoiding cars, trucks, bikes, and pedestrians.
She turned down an alley and came to a halt. She took her helmet off, left it on the seat and entered the back door of a small store. An old Korean man was seated on a stool just inside, a blanket over his lap. Fatima saw the large double-O shape of the end of a sawed-off shotgun trained on her.
"I am unarmed," she said.
"What do you want?" the man demanded. "Your call said you had important information."
"I believe I know where some American nuclear weapons are stored," Fatima said.
The old man snorted. "I can tell you where many American nuclear weapons are stored in South Korea and in Japan."
"But these are not in South Korea or in Japan. Or in the United States or anyplace where there are currently America forces."
The old man stared at her. "How can this be?"
"The Americans built a secret military base right after World War II," Fatima said. "They went back there at least one time and put four nuclear weapons in it. And now it is abandoned, and I believe the weapons might still be there."
"Impossible," the old man said. "Even the Americans are not that stupid. Where is this base?"
"Antarctica."
The old man blinked. "That is—" He fell silent as he thought about it. "Are you certain?"
"I am certain there is an American base that was abandoned there," Fatima said. "I am not certain about the weapons, but it is likely they are still there. Even if they no longer work, they will still have their cores, which can be used. And even without that, the discovery of such a thing would be of great embarrassment to the Americans."
"Antarctica is a large place," the old man said. "Where exactly is this place?"
"I am heading down there to find out," Fatima said. "Would your superiors be interested in knowing the location?"
The old man simply nodded.
"Then I will contact you in the same manner over satellite when I know more," Fatima said, not wanting to give up any more information right now.
"All right," the old man agreed. "I will wait for more information."
Which Fatima knew to be a lie. He would be on the satellite phone as soon as she left, contacting his superiors. But that is what she wanted. She nodded back at him and walked back out the door.
As she grabbed her helmet off the motorcycle seat, she noted a van blocking her in. Fatima put the helmet on, cranked the engine, and waited for the driver of the van to take the hint and move. After thirty seconds of nothing she beeped her horn. She couldn't make out the truck's occupants through the tinted windshield.
"Damn it," she muttered as she got off her bike, walked up to the passenger side and rapped on the door. The cargo door slid open and a man leaped out, wrapped her in a bear hug and rolled with her back into the rear, the door sliding shut.
Fatima kicked backward, feeling her boot strike home, but the man holding her didn't make a noise. She desperately struggled, but her arms were locked to her side with a grip of steel. She felt a prick in her wrist and looked down to see a needle sliding into her flesh. She watched as the plunger descended.
The last thing her conscious mind processed was the van pulling out into traffic.

CHAPTER 5
Oahu

"This could all be a setup," Tai said as the plane lifted off the runway.
Vaughn had his eyes closed. "At least if it is, we're going first-class."
"Why should we believe anything Royce tells us?" Tai asked.
"Why shouldn't we?" Vaughn asked in turn. He opened his eyes. "I don't know what the truth is about anything. But even when I was in the real Army, I wasn't too sure about the truth either. Were you?"
Tai sighed. "I believed in what I was doing."
"I believed in my team," Vaughn said. "But it got shot up doing a mission on orders that I wonder about now. My brother-in-law was killed. Men who trusted me, trusted my orders, died. And now I can say 'I was just following orders.'"
"Oh, bullshit," Tai said. "Now you're getting into where the ultimate truth is. What it is. A bunch of crap."
"Then what are we doing on this plane?" Vaughn asked. "Why are you here?"
Now it was Tai's turn to close her eyes. "I want to find out who is behind all this. I want to find out who got your brother-in-law killed, and my sister too. And I want to make them pay."
Surprisingly, Vaughn laughed. "That, I can understand. Revenge. But you think we're going to make the slightest bit of difference?"
"We did in Hawaii."
"All right." Vaughn nodded. "We did. And we will here. Or freeze to death trying."

Tokyo, Japan

The head of the Far East Table stared out the window and pondered recent developments. Bad news comes in three, and he had just received the third part.
Kaito being killed in Hong Kong.
Being summoned to Geneva to discuss the I-401 and someplace called the Citadel.
And now Nishin disappearing in the Philippines on a simple assassination mission to avenge Kaito's death.
He looked down at his desk and the flimsy report on I-401. It had indeed been commandeered by the Far East Table near the end of World War II to be sent on a covert mission for the Organization.
And that was all the report said.
He picked up the secure phone and punched in number two on the speed dial. The call was bounced through satellites to the United States, specifically the Nevada desert.
The call was answered on the third ring. "Yes?"
"Have you received a summons to Geneva?"
"Yes. I will be departing shortly."
"Regarding the Citadel?"
"Yes."
The head of the Far East Table reined in his irritation. "And what do you know of it?"
"It's in Antarctica. It was initially established in 1947, the same year the place I am right now was established. But somehow information about it was compartmentalized even from the Table to a large extent. One of our agents, who you know—David Lansale—was the one who did this. And he raised the issue by sending information about it to the Abu Sayif."
"I tried to have Fatima killed, but my agent has disappeared."
The voice on the other end took on a gloating edge. "I have a man in the Philippines who has just captured her. He will terminate her after interrogation."
"We must do more than that," the head of the Far East Table said. "When we go to Geneva, we must present them with a plan to completely wipe this issue out."
"What do you propose?"
"We alert resources to be prepared to intercede in Antarctica as needed. I will do what I can on my end, but you have more available to operate in that part of the world."
There was a short silence. "All right. I will do that. I will see you in Geneva."

Manila

Fatima had been coming awake for brief interludes over the past hour, but every time she approached lucidity a large wave of blackness again engulfed her. This time, though, as she opened her eyes, she could actually think. There were vague memories flitting about her brain, trying to tell her something had happened over the past hour that she needed to recall, but try as she might, no concrete memory could form. There were disturbing visions of what seemed like very bad dreams, but as she took in her surroundings, the present nightmare banished thoughts of worrying about the immediate past.
With slow sweeps of her eyes, she checked out the situation. She was lying on the floor in a filth-strewn room—the walls an eclectic splatter of spray paint and punctured Sheetrock. A single lightbulb burned in the ceiling, casting long shadows through the room. A wooden door beckoned to the world outside. Her wrists were handcuffed behind her, the steel cutting into her skin uncomfortably.
She was considering sliding her hands down her back and pushing her feet through, to at least get her hands in front of her body, when the door opened and the man from the van walked in.
Fatima was truly worried now because the man made no attempt to disguise his identity. That meant he was not concerned about her identifying him in the future, which meant she did not have a future. He had hair cut tight against his skull, his bright blue eyes emanating both intelligence and malice. The fact he was not Filipino was of concern also.
After staring at her for a few minutes, he finally broke the silence and spoke in an Australian accent: "Good day, Miss Fatima. You don't have to worry. I've already gotten what I needed from you." At Fatima's confused look, he smiled. "It's part of the miracle of modern medicine. The first shot I gave you caused unconsciousness. The second one made you talk." He squatted down and gazed into her eyes. "You don't remember talking and giving me the coordinates, do you?"
Fatima didn't answer. She curled up in a tight ball, her knees to her chest. The man poked her in the shoulder. "There's no need for you to play stupid with me. It was foolish of you to go to the North Koreans. Don't you think that shop is watched all the time? I know quite a bit about you. Part of the perks of the job. You told me everything I asked. You told me some quite interesting personal information about yourself."
Fatima closed her eyes and starting rocking back and forth. He slapped her on the face. "Don't tune out on me." He smiled, but it was only a moving of muscles in his face that didn't touch the coldness of his eyes. "It's kind of like looking into someone's soul when they're under. Imagine being able to ask someone any question you want and get an honest answer?"
His eyes were flashes of blue, catching the light from the flickering bulb above him. He pulled a pistol with a suppressor on the muzzle out of a shoulder holster. He put the muzzle against her temple and stared deep into her eyes. They remained like that for almost a minute, a lifetime for Fatima, who had stopped breathing, every nerve in her body screaming.
Suddenly he pulled the pistol back. "Most people consider you a terrorist. If it didn't violate my orders, I could turn you over to the Americans, dead or alive, and get a nice bounty. But then I would be dead also. Still, it is tempting."
Fatima muttered something under her breath.
"What was that?" the man demanded.
She whispered to herself again. The man knelt next to her and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her to her knees. "Talk louder."
Fatima leaned forward, pressing her chest against his.
"That's not going to work," the man said, but he didn't pull back.
Fatima moved her body up and down slightly. She could feel him beginning to grow hard. "Not in the head," she said in a low voice.
"What?"
"Please don't shoot me in the head."
The man laughed. "Why not?"
"Please. I'll make it worth your while not to."
The man pushed her back roughly and stood up. He moved a few feet away and stared at her, his eyes flashing. Fatima forced herself awkwardly back to her knees and shuffled toward him. He backed up until he was against the wall. She felt the skin on her knees tear as she moved, but tried to keep a lustful look on her face.
She pressed her head into the man's crotch.
"I asked you about this," he said. "I know what you like."
Fatima gave what she hoped was a good approximation of a sexual moan. With her teeth, she unzipped his pants, not an easy maneuver. He reached down and grabbed her head as he entered her mouth.
Fatima bit down with every ounce of energy she had. The man screamed and doubled over. She whipped her head out of his grasp and rolled away from him. As she did so, she brought her knees to her chest and slipped her hands over her feet to put them in front of her body. She jumped to her feet and ran at him then, swinging her hands like a club as she did. The blow knocked him sideways, still doubled over. She leapt on his back, looped her manacled hands over his head and pulled back tight on his neck.
He gasped for breath and tried to shake her off. He twisted the hand with the gun and pulled the trigger, the round ripping through Fatima's shirt but not hitting her. He fired again as she kept the pressure up. Then he straightened and threw himself backward against the wall, slamming her into it, but she didn't let go.
He dropped to his knees, finally letting go of the gun. Fatima kept the pressure tight. He fell forward, taking her with him, but still she didn't let go. It was too quick. Sure enough, after a couple seconds of playing dead, he suddenly rolled, pinning her beneath him. But she sensed his strength weakening.
Then he was still.
Fatima counted sixty to herself as she kept the chokehold with the cuffs. Slowly she let go. Awkwardly, with her bound hands, she searched his pockets until she found the key for the cuffs and maneuvered it out. Then, holding it in her teeth, she unlocked herself. Hands free now, she searched his pockets and found a United States diplomatic passport, which she kept. His name meant nothing to her. The fact that it was a diplomatic passport confirmed what she had suspected: once more the long hand of the United States was after her. It was a good thing she was leaving the Philippines for a while.
Without a backward glance she left the room and headed out of the abandoned warehouse.