Jim vaughn 02 the citade.., p.8
Jim Vaughn 02 The Citadel, page 8
"That is even worse," Araki said. "The Abu Sayif are terrorists, as bad as the Yakuza."
"I have had dealings with the Abu Sayif," Fatima said. "Do not worry. We will be all right. So drive." Araki reluctantly put the van in gear, and they rolled forward down the dirt trail. "There is no reason for us to trust each other."
"Were you on the wall in the compound when I switched the weapons?"
"Yes. But I didn't shoot at the Yakuza, that was Nishin."
"Why didn't he shoot me?"
"Because he actually didn't have an angle on you. Also, I think he probably wanted to figure out who was who first. Or perhaps he wanted to speak to you before shooting you. I do not know for certain."
"Close now," Fatima said, checking the display. They continued down the road until the jungle pulled back on either side and they could see the source of the lights: a ramshackle village of about twenty buildings. "There's the LTD." Fatima pointed. There was no sign of any people around the buildings. The LTD was parked outside of what appeared to be warehouse.
Araki drove farther down the road and parked the van in a position where they could observe the car but be hidden in the shadow of one of the buildings. "Any ideas why they would be here?" she asked.
"They're probably trying to sell the weapons they just purchased to this Abu Sayif group." Fatima was finding the entire thing rather ironic but didn't think this was the appropriate time to mention that. "There's no sign of the black van and your Nishin fellow. Perhaps it might be the time to tell me exactly who he is and why you are after him."
"He is a ronin for a secret organization," Araki said.
"A ronin?"
"A bit more complicated in definition than hit man. Nishin does not work for hire. He is sworn to do his master's bidding."
"And his master is?" Fatima noticed movement by one of the windows of the warehouse the LTD was parked outside of.
"I have only heard it referred to as the Far East Table."
"What the hell is that?"
"That is what I wish to ask Mr. Nishin."
The door to the warehouse slid open, and Shibimi stomped out, followed by his guard.
"Let's go," Fatima said, opening her van door and getting out. "Shit," she cursed as a dark figure with a silenced Steyr automatic stepped out of the shadows twenty meters to the right. The suppressor on the end of the barrel spit silent flame. The guard was slammed back into the metal wall, where he left a trail of blood as he slid to the ground.
Shibimi drew a pistol and ran for cover.
Fatima moved forward, sticking to the shadows of the buildings, getting closer to Shibimi's position, keeping one eye on the ronin, who was slowly moving forward also, focused on the car.
"Do not kill him," Araki hissed, weapon at the ready just behind Fatima's left shoulder. Fatima had a feeling one of them was going to get their man as Shibimi fired a couple of rounds at Nishin, who then fired back. The crack of Shibimi's pistol going off reverberated through the small village, and people began to spill out of doorways, some of them armed with automatic weapons. Fatima realized this was going to turn into a disaster, and she needed it to be over quickly. She snapped a shot at Nishin, hitting him in the side. As Shibimi turned in confusion to see who had fired, she sent a three-round burst into the old man's legs.
"Abu Sayif!" Fatima cried out, stepping out of the shadow into the glow of one of the arc lights. "Bind those two men," she ordered as the closest armed villagers recognized her. Araki turned to her in surprise as a half-dozen men ran to the two wounded men, securing them. "Who are you?"
Fatima turned the smoking muzzle of her weapon toward Araki. "I am the leader of the Abu Sayif. And perhaps now you can tell me who you really are before I kill you. And then I will extract the truth from our two wounded friends over there."
CHAPTER 4
Oahu, Hawaii
"It appears I wasn't the only one to get a packet from David," Royce said. Vaughn and Tai had been discussing what they had learned from MacIntosh, combining it with the information that Royce had given them earlier, when Royce walked in the door of the bungalow.
"What do you mean?" Tai asked.
"I just received a message from the Organization. The new head of the Abu Sayif, a woman named Fatima Al-Sheef, apparently got either the same or a similar packet from David that we received."
"Why?" Vaughn asked. "Why would he do that?"
"I don't know," Royce said.
"How about venturing a guess," Vaughn prompted.
Tai jumped in. "To put the pressure on. If Lansale had just sent the information here, then we could sit on it. But by sending it to the Abu Sayif, he's rung the starter's bell from his grave. And it's actually a three-way race because the Organization now knows about the Abu Sayif package."
"Race to where?" Vaughn asked, although he already knew.
"To find the Citadel," Royce said, "and uncover what's in there. And its link to the Organization."
"If it still exists," Vaughn said. "It's been down there a long time."
"I guess you're going to find out," Royce said.
"And what are you going to be doing?" Tai asked.
"I'm going to do what the Organization has ordered me to: try to stop the Abu Sayif before they get too close. So in a way, I'm taking out your competitors."
Vaughn considered that. "But won't the Organization simply send some people down to the Citadel and take care of things?"
Royce smiled. "From the way the message was worded and the way David sent us this information, I have a feeling that the Organization doesn't quite know the location or contents of the Citadel either."
"How can that be?" Tai demanded. "The Organization ordered it built."
"I think part of the Organization ordered it built, and David organized it and oversaw it," Royce said, "but I have the feeling the information was never sent all the way up to the top."
"Left hand not knowing what the right is doing," Vaughn said as he considered that. "So there might have been people like Tai and me before, inside of but not part of the Organization who did their own thing."
"I have no doubt David played a very dangerous game," Royce said. "Just as I am." Tai ran a hand through her short hair. "My big question is: what did they build down there and why?
We're talking 1949. Truman is President. The Cold War has just begun. We know about the nukes, but it doesn't make much sense that the only purpose of this base was to store some nuclear weapons in Antarctica with no delivery system."
"Whatever the Citadel is," Vaughn said, "it was important enough to kill a lot of people to cover it up."
"So how do we find it?" Tai asked.
"We need an expert," Vaughn said. "Someone who knows Antarctica." He looked at Royce. "I don't suppose you have one handy?"
"Actually" —Royce drew the word out—"I do. And I already made an initial contact. A man named James Logan. He works for the environmental group Earth First."
"Great," Vaughn said. "A tree hugger."
"There aren't any trees in Antarctica," Tai said.
"Logan has done work for me before," Royce said. "He might love trees but he enjoys money more. Plus we have leverage on him."
"What kind of leverage?" Vaughn asked.
"You don't need to know that," Royce said. "Suffice it to say I have a strong enough carrot and a powerful enough stick that Logan will do whatever you need."
"Where's he now?" Tai asked.
"Australia," Royce said. "Saving kangaroos or something." He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sleek satellite phone. "You can call him on this." He slid a piece of paper across. "Here's his number." Royce dialed in the number, then punched the speaker-phone option and put the phone on the wood table.
"Hello?" a voice with a rich Australian accent answered.
"Is this James Logan?"
"Who are you?"
Royce spoke up. "It's Royce, Mr. Logan. Calling with two friends of mine from Hawaii."
"Fuck. Hawaii. Must be early in the morning there, isn't it?" Tai rolled her eyes. "It's a little after eleven."
"It's a little after midnight here." The voice waited for an apology, and getting none, moved on with a sigh.
"All right. What do you want?"
Tai spoke. "Royce tells us you've been to Antarctica several times."
"Yes. I've been there four times. I also wintered over at the Earth First base there three years ago. Why?
What's up?"
"We've received information about something," Tai said, "and we were wondering if you could give us some help."
"'Wondering'? Do I have a choice, Royce?"
"No."
The voice was resigned. "What's the information?"
Tai continued. "We've discovered that the United States military built a secret installation, called the Citadel, in Antarctica in 1949."
"What kind of secret base?"
"We don't know," Tai said.
"Where exactly was the place built in Antarctica?"
"We don't know," Tai repeated. "That's why they call it a secret, Logan."
"Well, I've been down there and I've also talked to a lot of people stationed down there, especially at McMurdo, and I've never heard anything about a place called the Citadel. It would be pretty difficult to cover something like that up, although 1949 was a very long time ago." Tai waited in silence, prompting Logan to speak again. "Even though it was built in 1949, it would still have broken the 1959 treaty, as the treaty was retroactive. Any base that is built down there, even if it's temporary, has to be open for inspection by any of the other signees of the treaty. If a base is hidden, well, then it certainly isn't open for inspection.
"Second, if the U.S. military built it, then it's probably some sort of military base, and if it still exists, that would be a gross violation of not only the letter of the current 1991 accord governing things in Antarctica, but also the spirit. Tell me what you have on it so far."
Tai gave a quick summary of the engineers, the photos, the planes, but left out the information about the atomic weapons. When she was done, Logan asked her to describe the photos carefully. He was silent for a little while before speaking again.
"Well, High Jump Station evolved into McMurdo Station, which is the largest base in Antarctica. So we have a start point. You got this Citadel being a four-hour flight by MARS Boxcar from there, so we have a radius. But we don't even know if it's south, east, or west. Most likely south or east, though."
"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."
