Robert Doherty - The Citadel

"Have you heard anything about the target site?" Bellamy asked.

The pilot shook his head. "Nothing. We've got a Hawkeye in the air, and it should be in radar range of the site soon. I'm not sure if that will give us anything, but at least we'll know if we're the only ones in the sky."

Bellamy frowned. He'd expected something more.

"We're full," the pilot announced.

Bellamy made his way back to the rear. His men had opened the bundles and were passing out the weapons, each man receiving his according to his specialty and talents: silenced MP-5SD submachine guns, PM sniper rifles, SPAS 12 shotguns, M249 Squad Automatic Weapons (SAW), LAW 80 rocket launchers, and sidearms. If there was anybody left alive at the target site and they were antagonistic, Bellamy's men were ready.

Airspace, Ross Sea, Antarctica

The radar operator stared at his screen. "Shit, there's still nothing out here," he muttered to the man on his left. He'd never seen such a blank screen. Not a single aircraft in a six-hundred-mile radius, the Osprey having disappeared as it landed at McMurdo.

He flipped a switch and the radar went from air to surface. This was a different story. He stared at the screen, trying to make sense out of the jumbled mess. The surface bounce-back was very confusing, even where the sea should be. He was used to a flat reflection where ships stood out in stark relief to the ocean. Here, ice formations broke that image up into a confusing disarray.

The naval officer slowly started sorting the screen out, trying to see if there was anything identifiable. He fiddled with his controls, adjusting and tuning, like a kid playing a computer game.

"Hey, I've got something here," he told the SIGINT operator. Keying his mike, he relayed his report back to the Kitty Hawk. "Big Boot, this is Eye One. We have a surface target, bearing 093 degrees true. Distance, 273 miles. Speed zero. Over."

Ruppert Coast, Antarctica

Min had been tempted to pile his survivors on board the sled and ride the glacier down, but wisdom had prevailed, and they lashed themselves as a human brake to the rear of the sled, keeping the bomb from getting away from them only with great difficulty.

They'd gotten off the glacier less than ten minutes ago, and now they were on top of the ocean, making their way across the ice. In most places it was so thick they couldn't tell the difference between it and the polar cap they'd been on, but in other places the ice thinned out and, with the snow scraped off by the wind, the ocean could be seen below. It was these areas that Min had his men skirt around. He estimated another four to six hours until they arrived at the freighter, which was now hidden by the surface ice.

Pentagon, Alexandria, Virginia

General Morris listened to the intercepted message as he tried to shake the cobwebs of sleep out of his brain. "That language sounds familiar," he remarked as the short exchange played out.

"It's Han Gul-Korean," Hodges informed him.

Morris felt a chill hand caress his spine. "Where did the Hawkeye say this originated from?"

Hodges tapped the map. "Here along the coast due north of the Citadel. It was someone on the shore communicating with a ship the Hawkeye has located as fixed in the ice pack right here, eight miles off the coast."

"Do you have a translation of the message?" Morris asked.

"Yes, sir." Hodges pressed a button on a tape player, and an unemotional voice spoke in English:

Station One: "Tiger, this is Wolf. Over."

Station One: "Tiger, this is Wolf. Over."

Station Two: "Wolf, this is Tiger. Over."

Station One: "This is Wolf. We are within sight. Over."

Station Two: "Roger. Do you have the package? Over."

Station One: "Yes. Over."

Station Two: "Roger. We will wait for you. Out."

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Morris muttered to himself. Then he spoke up: "Do you have an ID on the ship?"

"No, sir. The E-2 is over two hundred miles away and at its fuel limit range. They just have a radar image. They're launching another E-2 right now to replace it and it will be able to get in a bit closer."

Morris turned to the duty officer. "Get the SecDef and General Kolstov here ASAP."

He looked at the situation map. The Kitty Hawk was still 1,100 miles from the Citadel, over 1,000 from the freighter. "What's the range on your attack aircraft from the carrier?" he asked the naval duty officer. "More specifically, do you have anything you can put on station over that ship?"

The naval officer didn't even have to consult his notes. "Not yet, sir."

"When, then?"

"We'll be able to launch some Tomcats in about three hours. They won't have much time on station-less than twenty minutes-and they'll have to carry a minimum armament load."

Morris stared at the situation map, the pieces falling in place even though he wasn't sure what they all meant. The North Koreans had one bomb and were still making for the ship. Once they made it on board, it was going to be a very ticklish situation. But it definitely fit in with the alerts they were hearing from the peninsula. Morris wondered what the North Koreans were going to do with one nuclear weapon, but he knew there were a variety of answers, none of them good.

If not for the alert from Area 51, the whole thing might have been overlooked, even the explosion, as no one would have initially thought of a nuclear weapon. The reaction here would have definitely been quite a bit slower. Damn, the sons of bitches almost got away with it, he thought. They still might, he reminded himself.

"How about the Osprey with the Special Forces men?" he asked.

"Just lifted from McMurdo. A little less than three hours out."

"Divert them directly to the coast."

"Yes, sir."

Morris looked up as Kolstov strode in. He idly wondered how the Soviet general managed to look so unruffled after being dragged out of his bunk down the hallway. The uniform was immaculate, and Kolstov's bald head gleamed under the overhead lights.

"I understand you have something new?" His English was perfect also.

"Yes." Morris quickly filled him in on the data picked up by the Hawkeye and then played the translation tape. He concluded with his best estimate of the situation. "I think this has something to do with the mobilization intelligence we are picking up in North Korea."

Kolstov raised an eyebrow. "You did not inform me of the situation in Korea."

"I didn't think it was applicable."

Kolstov nodded. "Yes. Hmm. Well, I was aware of the situation there from my own sources." Morris knew he meant the coded radio messages that poured in and out of the CIS Embassy. He had no doubt that the Russians kept a very close eye on the North Koreans.

"What are you going to do?" Kolstov asked.

"From the message, it appears that the ship is waiting for a party on foot that has one of the bombs. We're going to have to stop it."

"What if the party makes it on board the ship before you can stop it?" Kolstov was looking over Morris's shoulder at the situation board and could easily see that there were no U.S. forces in the immediate vicinity of the ship.

"Then we stop the ship," Morris coldly replied.

"Ah, my American friend. You have no right to stop that ship in international seas."

Morris bristled. He knew they never should have allowed the goddamn Russians in on this. This guy was going to give him bullshit arguments about freedom of navigation when a nuclear weapon was involved. "My job is to get that bomb back."

Kolstov appeared not to have heard. "In fact, my friend, you are not even certain that the package referred to in the message is your lost bomb. What if you attempt to board that ship and you are wrong?"