Robert Doherty - The Citadel

"Bigger is better, right?" Tai said with sarcasm.

"Back then it was," Royce said as he looked at a piece of paper in the folder. "The scientists had several problems back then. The first, as you can see, was indeed the large size. But as difficult, if not more so, was that the first types they designed used liquid deuterium as the fusion fuel, which needs to be kept at a constant freezing temperature to remain viable. Ivy Mike, the first one they built, in 1952, was so big it filled an entire warehouse, weighing over seventy-four metric tons, and the entire warehouse had to be kept freezing. Its yield, though, was large: ten point four megatons."

"What good is a warehouse-sized nuclear weapon?" Tai asked.

Royce continued. "They worked on making it smaller and lighter, and eventually they ended up with the Mark-17, which to this date remains the most powerful nuclear weapon ever built by the United States. Even in the classified documents David uncovered, the yield wasn't quite certain, as none of them were ever tested-they were just too powerful. Estimates range around twenty-five to thirty megatons of blast."

"Damn," Vaughn whispered. "That would take out an entire city."

"Yeah," Royce said dryly. He glanced at the old paper. "The Mark-17 was rushed into production as 'emergency capable' weapons in 1954. Each weighed eighteen point nine metric tons and was over twenty-five feet long. Officially, all the Mark-17s were retired in 1957 in favor of smaller, lower-yield bombs that could be carried by a variety of airborne platforms."

"'Officially'?" Tai noted.

"According to these documents David sent me, four Mark-17s were unaccounted for in the final decommissioning tally. A fact that was made highly classified and swept under the rug."

Vaughn looked at the photo of the massive bomb on the trailer. "So they were sent to the Citadel."

"I believe so," Royce said.

"That's a long time ago," Tai said. "Surely the weapons can't be viable anymore?"

"They're cryogenic," Royce said. "As long as the bomb is kept below freezing, it could still be viable. What was a design flaw could turn out to be a design strength if the bombs have been sitting in Antarctica all these years."

"Okay." Vaughn said the word slowly. "But why is this an issue now, today?"

"Because of something I noted on the FedEx form when I received it."

"And that is?" Vaughn asked.

"I'm not the only person David Lansale sent this information to."

Hong Kong

The penthouse suite commanded one of the best views of Hong Kong 's harbor and was empty most of the year. Only when a member of the elite group that owned the building was in town were the rooms occupied. The present occupant had been there for what was a record: three months. She was a middle-aged Japanese woman with a slender build. She always dressed in black pants and turtleneck and often wore a long black leather coat.

She was always accompanied by two hard-looking men who never spoke and whose eyes were hidden behind wraparound sunglasses. The bulges under their coats indicated they carried heavy weaponry. The fact it was so obvious also meant they did so with the tacit support of the government, which meant this woman was not only rich, but carried considerable political clout.

For Fatima, these things only confirmed what she had come to Hong Kong suspecting: the Japanese woman, who went only by the name Kaito, was an emissary of the Organization. Fatima was a slight Filipino woman with long flowing hair that she kept bound in a ponytail that stretched down her back. She moved softly and quietly, so much so that the old couple from whom she was renting a room across the street from the office tower rarely knew when she came and went.

They also would never have guessed that she was now the head of one of the most infamous terrorist groups in the world-the Abu Sayif. She had assumed that mantle upon the death of her "uncle," Rogelio Abayon, three months ago. Which had coincided with the death of her father during the failed attack on Oahu.

While it appeared those deaths could be laid at the feet of the United States, Fatima did not buy into such an easy explanation. Abayon had always suspected that there was something darker and deeper at work in the world. Something that was even bigger than the United States. Some force that sought to oppress the majority of people while benefiting its own members.

And Fatima believed this woman she had been watching for a week was one of those on the other side. Abayon had sent a trusted lieutenant here to Hong Kong three months ago with orders to sell a treasure. Part of the Golden Lily. A slice of the plundered wealth the Empire of the Rising Sun had devoured during its expansion across the Pacific Rim during World War II.

Her organization still had the gold hidden in various places. But her "uncle" had sent Ruiz here to sell off much of the art. He had been half successful. The first night's auction was a rousing success, bringing in many millions of dollars to the hidden accounts of various organizations the Abu Sayif was allied with. But there had been no second night as planned.

Ruiz had disappeared. Along with the rest of the art he planned to sell.

And Fatima knew this woman had been the cause of the disappearance and the theft. Her contacts had traced the sale of some of the objects set for the second night's auction back to her.

Abayon had believed that the Golden Lily had been a cover for the Organization's own desires. That the Japanese looting had been sanctioned internationally. And that all those other slices of the Golden Lily that the Abu Sayif had not taken during the war had been coopted by the Americans and others, all still stooges for this Organization.

Today, she planned to learn more about the Organization, if she could. If she couldn't achieve that, at the very least she could achieve revenge for Ruiz. She had thousands of men and women under her command. Many ready to die for her. Yet she was here alone.

She knew Abayon would have approved. To those thousands, she had to prove her ability to command. In the week she had been watching, Fatima had picked up only one pattern to Kaito's day: she went to a local dojo to work out at the same time every morning. It was commendable discipline but bad for security. This morning, Fatima was already at the dojo, waiting. Kaito worked out in a private room set off to the rear, the outer door protected by her guards.

Fatima checked her watch. Kaito had been in there thirty minutes; she usually worked out for forty-five. Fatima walked in the front door of the gym, flashing the membership card she'd paid for with cash three days earlier. She turned down the corridor leading to the private workout rooms, shutting the double doors behind her and sliding the bolt. The two guards watched her approach without much concern considering that combined, they were over four times her weight. She wore loose pants, a sweatshirt, and carried a towel in her hands.

When she was within six feet of the door, one of them held up his hand and spoke in Chinese: "Private."

"Yes," Fatima replied in the same language without halting.

As the men were exchanging confused glances, Fatima fired, the suppressor on the gun making a slight puff as the first round left the barrel. It hit the left guard directly between the eyes. She fired again as the second guard was reaching for his own weapon. Again the shot was straight on, right between the eyes. Both men slid to the floor, dead before they were down.

Fatima pulled the door to the private room open and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. Kaito was in the midst of a kata -the formalized movement of a martial art exercise. She didn't even pause, continuing through to the end, bringing her fists slowly together in front of her, breathing out, then turning to face Fatima.