Robert Doherty - The Citadel

"Why do you say that?" Tai asked.

"If the U.S. military built this thing and wanted to keep it a secret, as you've said, then they'd probably want it to be far away from any other countries' potential stations, based on how Antarctica was sliced up for research. The Russians eventually had a base in Leningradskaya, about five hundred miles to the west of McMurdo, and the French built one farther along the coast in that direction. South from McMurdo there's nothing until you hit the South Pole itself. So that would seem like a good place to hide a base. Maybe in the Transarctic Mountains.

"East from McMurdo is Marie Byrd Land, and there was nothing permanent out there for almost two thousand miles until '71, when the Russians put a base in, called Russkaya, right on the coast there to the east. But if it was 1949 and I was going to put some sort of secret base in, that might be a direction I'd go."

Vaughn was making notes of all that. "Anything else you can think of that might help?"

"I'll work on it and check around," Logan said. "When are you arriving down under?"

Tai looked up at Royce, then back at the phone. "As soon as possible."

"Fly through Auckland, New Zealand, and I can meet you there," Logan said. "Then we can take a hop down to McMurdo, which would be the place to stage out of."

"We'll touch base once we're en route," Tai said, shutting off the phone.

"Pretty vague," Vaughn said. "Talk about looking for a needle in a haystack. And it's a needle buried under ice. There might not be anything on the surface we can spot even if we get a good idea of where the base is."

"There is something I could do," Royce said, "but it's dangerous."

"And that is?" Tai asked.

"Check the Organization's database that I have access to for information on the Citadel. I couldn't do it before, because I have no doubt such an inquiry would be flagged. But now that I've been tasked with closing out the Abu Sayif and their interest in the Citadel, I don't think it would be that unusual for me to query the d-base reference. Might fly under the radar as part of the operation with which I've been tasked."

Vaughn shrugged. "Without any more data, we've got no chance of finding this place, so you might as well go for it. We'll be out of here as soon as we have something solid, so you'd have to deal with any fallout."

Royce sat down at the table and opened his laptop. "I have restricted access to the database," he warned as he began typing, "but let's see what I can come up with."

Area 51, Nevada

The flashing light on the secure phone drew the old man's attention away from the computer displays lining the wall of the command center. Despite his years, there was still a bounce to his step as he walked over to his desk. He was tall, with a stomach that was flat as a board. His silver hair framed a distinguished face that attracted women a third his age and made the men around him choose their words with care. A long finger reached out and hit the speaker button. A brief whine and a green light on the phone indicated the line was secure from eavesdroppers.

"This is Dyson."

"This is Analyst Six. I am calling you as per instructions, sir. My people have detected an inquiry into the secure database that you have coded for alert."

Dyson's slate gray eyes focused on the phone as he leaned forward slightly, the muscles in his forearms rippling as he rested them on his desk. "Subject?"

"Citadel."

The old man's eyes closed briefly and then opened. "Source?"

"Our man in Hawaii, Royce."

Dyson considered that. "Royce already has the tasking reference the Abu Sayif, correct?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what has he discovered?

"The name exists in our database. In David Lansale's file."

Dyson bit back a curse as some of the pieces fell into place. "What else?"

"Not much. The original funding for the Citadel fell under Operation High Jump conducted in Antarctica, with additional funding covertly added via the Black Eagle Trust. It's classified as an engineering operation. That's all that is in the Citadel file."

"Did Lansale conduct an unsanctioned mission?" Dyson asked.

"No, sir. There is an official sanction number on the file. I cross-referenced the number and found it linked with two other missions. The first actually predates the Citadel. An American submarine tender was diverted in the South Pacific during the closing days of World War II to refuel a submarine."

"So? What's so special about that?"

"It was a Japanese submarine. And the sub tender went down with all hands a day after making the rendezvous and refuel."

"Not a coincidence," Dyson said.

"I don't know, sir, but it seems unlikely. There is no further information on this or where the submarine was headed."

"The second link?"

"A covert mission in 1956 during Operation Deep Freeze. A long overland convoy traveled to the Citadel from the coast of Antarctica and made a delivery there. The convoy was never heard from again."

The body count was getting very high, Dyson thought. While the Organization was not averse to whatever cost was necessary to accomplish its goals, this was definitely beginning to look like a very major operation.

"What did the convoy deliver?"

"Among other things, four Mark-17 thermonuclear warheads. The largest yield bombs ever built by the United States."

Dyson closed his eyes briefly. "Have the warheads ever been accounted for?"

"No, sir. The most likely explanation is that they must still be there in the Citadel."

"Anything more?"

"Negative."

"Thank you."

Dyson turned the phone off, then picked up the tersely worded communiqué that had just been decrypted and then delivered to him. It was a directive from the High Counsel in Geneva, head of the North American Table, to present himself in person. And the subject of the meeting was to explain the Citadel and why Geneva had no records of such a place.

Which meant he was going to have to explain the scanty yet startling records that the North American Table had of it.

Philippines

"He will die with twenty-four hours," the medic informed Fatima, pointing at the young Japanese man who had been Araki's target. "And he"-the medic indicated the old man in the bed next to him-"will live if we treat him. If not, he won't last forty-eight hours."

Fatima turned to the Japanese woman who had saved her in the tunnel. Araki was tied to a chair facing the beds the two wounded men occupied. "And you," Fatima said to her, "will die immediately if you lie to me."

Araki glared at her, face flushed in anger. A half-dozen Abu Sayif guerrillas were gathered round, weapons at the ready. Fatima walked up to Araki and drew a knife. She laid the cold flat edge of it against Araki's cheek.

"Perfect skin," Fatima said. "It would be a shame to see it marred. You said you work for CPI-Central Political Intelligence. And you were following this man, Nishin." She removed the knife and pointed it at the young, wounded Japanese man. "Why?"

"To find out who he works for," Araki answered.

"He is Yakuza," Fatima said.

"Check to see if he has Yakuza marking," Araki suggested.

Fatima nodded, and two men ripped off Nishin's bloody shirt. His skin was unblemished. Fatima shrugged. "There are those among the Yakuza who are unmarked in order to be able to do covert missions."

"He is not Yakuza," Araki said.

"Telling me what he is not is not very useful," Fatima said. "Tell me what he is."

"He is a member of an Organization the CPI has spent decades trying to infiltrate or at least find out what its real name is. The best we have come is to learn that it is referred to at times as the Far East Table. I told you this earlier."