Robert Doherty - The Citadel

Shortly after that attack, on January 23, 1968, KPA Special Forces men in high speed attack craft seized the USS Pueblo . Later that year a large SF force of almost a hundred men conducted landings on the coast of South Korea in an attempt to raise the populace against the government. It failed, but such failures didn't daunt the North Korean government.

In 1969 a U.S. electronic warfare aircraft was shot down by North Korea, killing all thirty-one U.S. service members on board.

As security stiffened in South Korea over the decade of the 1970s, North Korea moved its attentions overseas, ignoring international reactions. In 1983 three PKA Special Forces officers planted a bomb in Rangoon in an attempt to kill the visiting South Korean president. That mission also failed.

Later in 1983 four North Korean merchant ships infiltrated the Gulf of California to conduct monitoring operations against the United States mainland. One of the ships was seized by the Mexican authorities, but that didn't prevent the North Koreans from continuing such operations.

Min knew that history, and he also knew more than the average North Korean about the changes that had been sweeping the world in the past decade. Spending time overseas, even in remote Indonesia, he had been exposed to more information than those in the tightly controlled society in his homeland ever received. The breakup of the Soviet Union had never been acknowledged by Pyongyang, except in cryptically worded exhortations to the people telling them they were the last true bastion of communism in the world. In fact, Min truly believed he was part of the last line in the war against western imperialism. He believed that if this mission succeeded, he would strike a blow greater than any of his Special Forces predecessors. That was enough for him.

Antarctica

Tai knew there was no way she would be able to sleep. "There is one thing I think we have to do," she said.

"What?" Vaughn asked. They paused as the door to the mess hall opened and Logan walked in. He grabbed a cup of coffee. "Mind if I join you?"

Tai glanced at Vaughn, then shrugged. "All right."

"Didn't plan on sitting on top of a couple of nukes," Logan said. "This is a messuck. You two figured out what's next?"

"We're working on it," Vaughn said.

Tai put down her coffee mug. "We need to make sure these bombs can't be used. We need to destroy the PAL codes."

"How do you propose we do that?" Vaughn asked.

"We blow up the safe that holds them."

Vaughn shook his head. "Destroying the codes doesn't do enough. Besides, the codes in the safe might not be the only ones. Someone else, somewhere, probably has a copy. Probably buried deep in some classified file cabinet. But there is a way to neutralize the bombs. Or at least keep them from being activated."

"How?" Tai asked.

"I told you that those two newer bombs have a six-digit PAL code that allows limited tries followed by lockout. I can enter two wrong codes and cause both bombs to go into lockout. That will mean that they can't be exploded."

"Bullshit!" They both looked at Logan in surprise. "How do we know you don't already have the codes and will arm the bombs with the correct six digits instead of the wrong ones?"

"Why would I do that?" Vaughn asked.

"I don't fucking know!" Logan turned to Tai. "Listen to me. What's to stop Vaughn from arming the bomb with a time delay? Then he kills us or just holds us at gun point and leaves, taking Brothers with him. If one of those goes off, all evidence of this base will be gone."

"I know Vaughn better than I know you," Tai said to Logan. "I trust him."

Safe House, Pine Barrens, New Jersey

The old man looked up as the door opened and two men walked in. The short one carried a briefcase, the taller one carried nothing. Knowing he would never get their real names, the old man immediately labeled them the Short Man and the Tall Man. The Short Man placed the briefcase on the desk, and they both stared at the old man.

Finally, he could take it no longer. "What do you want?"

Not a word had been said to him since he'd been picked up on the beach, flown to Otis Air Force Base, cross-loaded onto a military jet to Fort Dix, then driven to this house in the middle of nowhere.

The taller one, whom the man had correctly guessed was in charge, spoke. "We need information, Colonel Whitaker."

"I'm retired."

Silence reigned.

"What information?" Whitaker finally asked.

"We need information on an operation you were involved with. An operation we have no record of."

The Short Man flicked open the locks on the briefcase.

Whitaker frowned as he searched his memory. "That was a long time ago."

"The Citadel?" the Tall Man asked.

Whitaker felt his stomach flip.

The Short Man lifted the lid on the briefcase. Then he turned it so Whitaker could see the contents. Various hypodermic needles were arrayed in the padding on the top, and serum vials were secured in the bottom. The Tall Man gestured at the contents with a wave of his hand.

"The art of interrogation has progressed to much more sophisticated levels than what you dealt with when you were on active duty. We're less crude and much more effective.

"You know, of course, that everyone talks eventually." The Tall Man reached in and pulled out a needle, holding it up to the light. "With these sophisticated drugs, that eventually comes much faster. Unfortunately, the side effects, particularly for a man of your advanced years, cannot always be controlled." He put the needle down. "Why is it that there are no records of the Citadel?"

Whitaker considered his options. "What do I get out of this?"

The Tall Man shrugged. "It depends on what you tell us."

Whitaker sighed. He knew what the Tall Man had said was true-he would talk sooner or later. He'd been on the other side of this table too many times not to know that. Jesus, to have it all come to this because of that stupid base! He talked.

"I was the ops supervisor for the construction of the Citadel in 1947 in Antarctica. It was a group of buildings-twelve, to be exact-that were buried under the ice. The sections-"

The Tall Man interrupted. "What we want to know is who was behind the op and why."

"I worked directly for Sidney Souers."

"Who?" the Tall Man asked.

"The first director of Central Intelligence," Whitaker explained.

The Short Man had pulled out a PDA, punching information into it. He held it out now in front of the Tall Man, who read it and nodded. "Souers was a founding member of Majestic-12, wasn't he?"

"Yes."

The two men exchanged glances. "How did Souers give you this assignment?"

"Personal briefing." Whitaker sighed. "It was an unofficially sanctioned mission-no paper trail and denial if uncovered. Souers brought me back to Washington from Japan, where I was doing work trying to track down some of their scientists. When I got to D.C., Souers told me he had a mission that could be very profitable to both of us and had the President's blessing."

"Who was Souers working for?"

Whitaker shrugged. "I don't know."

"Souers never told you who the place was for or even what it was designed for?"

"It was easy to see what it was designed for," Whitaker said. "It was a survival shelter. As far as the who goes, it had to be somebody that had quite a bit of money and resources, along with leverage with the White House."

"Tell us about Lansale," the Tall Man said.

"Who?"

The Tall Man looked at him dispassionately. He turned to his partner. "I'll be back in an hour. Prep him."

"Wait a second!" Whitaker shouted as the Short Man pulled out a vial of clear liquid and picked up the nearby needle. "I'm telling you everything. You said if I cooperated that wouldn't be necessary."