The Citadel

CHAPTER 2

Oahu , Hawaii

"The Citadel is in Antarctica, as you can tell from Truman's document, which David included in the packet," Royce said. "Where, exactly, though, is the problem. Antarctica is a very large place."

"Why is this Citadel so important?" Vaughn asked. "Besides the fact it might hold four hydrogen bombs, each capable of destroying a major city?"

Royce stared at him. "Majestic-12 built two bases when they were established. One was Area 51. Do you want to try to infiltrate it?"

Vaughn shook his head.

"And the other," Royce continued, "is the Citadel. Since no one has heard of it, perhaps it might be a little easier to approach, at least in terms of security. I'll grant you the terrain and weather are probably the most brutal in the world." He paused. "But the main reason is that David Lansale sent me-and someone else-this information. From the equivalent of his death bed. Actually from beyond his death. So I'm going to take a leap of faith and think it's important, very important. And that David wanted to poke a stick into the ant's nest that the Organization is and see what happens."

Poke a stick? Vaughn stirred irritably, not thrilled with being the stick.

Tai reached up and put a hand on Vaughn's arm. "Let's hear him out."

" Antarctica is ice-covered," Royce said. "The actual extent of the land underneath the ice is a best guess to a certain extent. A lot of people don't realize it, but the North Pole is ice on top of the Arctic Ocean -not a landmass. Antarctica is a true landmass, and it holds ninety percent of the world's ice and snow. And, interestingly enough, it is the only continent not to have its own native population."

Vaughn looked at the picture once more and the mountains in the background. "How well-mapped is Antarctica? I mean how could this Citadel, if it's there, have remained hidden for all these decades?"

Royce didn't seem to appreciate the "if it's there" qualifier. "If you wanted to hide something, the best place in the world would be Antarctica. Plus, according to the photos, it was built under the ice and buried. Although Antarctica is the size of Europe and the United States combined, less than one percent of it has been seen by man."

Vaughn was skeptical. "Even with overflights?"

"Even with overflights. From 1946 through '47 the U.S. Navy ran a mission called Operation High Jump using over five thousand men, thirteen ships, and numerous planes and helicopters. They took so many pictures that some of them haven't even been developed yet. Despite all that equipment and manpower, their coverage of the interior was very limited. With all that manpower, they managed to photograph about sixty percent of just the coastline."

"And build the Citadel," Tai said.

Royce nodded. "I think High Jump was just a cover to put the Citadel in place in Antarctica or it was used as a convenient cover once the exercise was planned. And it looks like they put it under the ice. The war was just over and the material and men were available. The government made no secret of the operation. You can look the mission up. It was well-documented. However, what no one seemed to wonder was why the government was so interested in Antarctica. And why did they dispatch dozens of ships and airplanes to the southernmost continent so quickly after the end of the war?"

"To hide things," Tai said. "So much of what was plundered by the Japanese and the Germans during the war has still never been found. Maybe that's where some of it went."

"It's likely," Royce said. "High Jump was a very extensive operation. The largest exploration operation launched in the history of mankind up to that point. The official expedition took so many pictures of Antarctica that they all haven't even been looked at to this date. Like I said before, the expedition surveyed over sixty percent of the coastline and looked at over half a million square miles of land that had never before been seen by man. I found boxes and boxes of reports and pictures from High Jump in the archives.

" Antarctica is a pretty amazing place. The ice cap is three miles thick in places. The current altitude of the land underneath the ice is actually below sea level in many places, but that's only because the weight of the ice on top depresses the continent. If the ice were removed, the land would rise up. Even today with all the subsequent explorations, only about one percent of the surface area of Antarctica has been traversed by man."

"What about satellites?" Vaughn asked. "They should have complete coverage."

Royce shook his head. "Satellites are either in synchronous orbits, which means they move at the same speed as the rotation of the earth, thus staying relative over the same spot, or they have their own orbits. As far as I know, there are none in a synchronous orbit above Antarctica -no reason for one to be. There are no weapons allowed down there by international treaty, thus no military presence."

"No weapons at all?" Vaughn asked.

"None," Royce said. "Some satellites run the north-south route and cross the poles, but two factors work against their picking up much. First, quite simply, no one has been that interested in Antarctica, so they simply aren't looking as they pass over that part of their orbit. Secondly, the weather is terrible down there, and it's rare that the sky is clear enough to get a good shot of the ground."

"You just said there are no weapons allowed down there," Tai noted. "So, I assume four big nukes would be a bit of a violation?"

"A bit," Royce allowed.

Vaughn had some experience working in cold weather climates during his time in Special Forces. He was beginning to get a strong sense of where this was heading. "What's the weather like down there, besides cold?"

"Bad," Royce said. "Usually very bad. Antarctica is the highest, driest, coldest, windiest continent. Wind gusts of a hundred and fifty miles an hour are not unusual."

"What do you mean driest?" Tai asked. "It's covered in snow."

"That's a misconception," Royce said. "It hardly ever snows or rains there. But you do have a layer of snow covering the ice that gets blown about a lot, causing whiteouts and blizzards. But there's very little actual precipitation."

"All this is fine and well," Vaughn said, "but as you've made abundantly clear, Antarctica is a large place. How do you propose we find this Citadel down there?"

Royce held up the picture of the men holding the sign. "You ask the man who took this picture."

Manila , Philippines

As she got closer to the designated place, Fatima felt more and more as if she were back in Japan. Very strange, considering she was less than two miles from her new headquarters hidden in the heart of the Filipino capital city.

It was a section of Manila, approximately ten blocks, with a concentration of Japanese who lived there, along with all the trappings for tourists to get a taste of the Asian homeland. It was bordered on the south by a five-acre mall that contained various shops, restaurants, galleries, and Japanese gardens. At this time on a Friday night it was well lit and packed with people. Not exactly what Fatima desired in a covert meeting place, but she had no other choice.

She checked the directory for the center and found her destination. The Sensei Bookstore contained the city's largest collection of books in Japanese, so it was not strange at all when she walked up to the register and made her request in Japanese, naming a specific book she was looking for.

The response of the young woman standing behind the counter, however, was not normal. Her eyes flickered back and forth, then she lowered them.

"You must go to the Kawasan restaurant," she said in a low voice. "Down the stairs directly across from the door you came in. Turn right. One hundred meters. On the right. They will expect you."

Fatima turned and departed, glancing over her shoulder as she pushed open the door. The woman was on the phone, but still avoided looking at her. This piece of information had cost Fatima over $25,000.

She followed the instructions. The Kawasan was darker than the bookstore, and there was a queue of people outside. Fatima bypassed the line. A thin Japanese man in a very expensive suit stood next to the maitre d', watching Fatima approach. He took her right elbow in his hand. "This way," he said in Japanese.

Fatima felt the man's thumb press into the nerve junction on the inside of her elbow, effectively paralyzing her right hand. They wove their way through the darkly lit bar, then through a swinging door. Another man sat on a stool in the small corridor, a raincoat folded over his lap. The two men nodded. Fatima heard a distinct click, a door unlocking. They passed the second man, going through another door. It swung shut behind them with another click. Two men stepped forward, and Fatima 's guide let go of her arm. They were in a short corridor with walls of some dark material that Fatima couldn't quite make out. The lighting was also strange.

"Hands out."

One of the men ran a metal detector carefully around Fatima 's body. The other man then patted her down, double-checking, doing nothing sexual at all as he ran his hands over her breasts and between her legs. Then, with one on either side, they escorted her to a set of metal stairs. Their shoes clattered on the steel as they went up. A door opened, and Fatima blinked. They were on the top of the mall in a glass-enclosed room about sixty feet long by thirty wide. It was dimly lit by the reflected light from the surrounding city and the sky overhead. A dozen tables were spread out on the roof, and the two men led her to one separate from the rest, where several men dined.

Fatima was brought to a halt facing an older Japanese man who sat at the head of the table. She could see that the man's skin was covered in various tattoos, the signs of his Yakuza clan. Serpents disappeared into the collar of his gray silk shirt and dragons peeked out from his shirtsleeves. His fingers were covered with gaudy gold rings, jewels sparkling in the streetlights. Fatima shifted her gaze, checking out the roof.

The old man laughed. "The glass is specially made. It can take up to a fifty-caliber bullet. If my enemies wish to use something larger than that, then nothing much will stop them. It is also one-way. We can see out. Those on the outside see only black, making it also rather difficult for a sniper."

Fatima turned her eyes forward and waited.

"I am Takase, Oyabun of all that you see. I received a message from your servant," the old man said.

"I have no servants," Fatima said. "Only comrades in arms."

"Noble," Takase said with a sneer. "I understand you had a meeting with Ms. Kaito."

"Yes."

The old man ran a hand across his chin, stroking his thin beard. "She did not come out of the meeting feeling very well."

"She did not."

"There is no love lost between my clan and the Black Tentacle clan."

"That is why I am here."

Takase leaned back in his seat. "What do you need?"

"Information."

Takase's hand slapped the tabletop. "This is my part of the city. You show me respect."

Fatima stood still.

"I could have you killed and no one would ever hear from you again." The old man gestured, and the guards grabbed her arms.

"I would very much appreciate your assistance…Oyabun," Fatima said as one of the guards placed a blade across her neck. The last word rolled off her tongue with difficulty. Showing any sign of respect for such a man distressed Fatima. But she needed him now.

He smiled as he dug his chopsticks into his food. "The great leader of the feared Abu Sayif. Except Abayon failed and is dead. And now a girl takes his place."

"I am no girl," Fatima said. "If I do not leave here unharmed in thirty minutes, this entire block will be destroyed. You are in my country. Oyabun."

"You attack me," Takase said, "then there will be war between our groups."

"A war you will lose in my country," Fatima said.

The sticks poised. "What do you want to know?"

"Kaito was Black Tentacle. Who does the Black Tentacle work for?"

"No Yakuza works for-" Takase began, but Fatima cut him off.

"Have your man remove the knife from my neck and have the others release me."

Takase gestured, and the guards backed off.

Fatima continued. "You are not a stupid man or else you would not be alive. You know there is an Organization out there that is bigger than the Yakuza. Bigger than any government. That uses others. That has been around for a very long time."

Fatima waited. Takase put down the chopsticks. He gestured, and those at the table with him left. The guards backed up out of hearing distance. "And if I knew of such a thing?" he asked, although he did not wait for an answer. "If such an Organization existed it would be so powerful I would not want to do anything to incur its wrath."

"That is indeed smart," Fatima said. "But I just want to cut a tentacle off, not take on the entire Organization. To do so, I must know where to find this tentacle. And as you indicated, this tentacle is something that is not friendly to you."

Takase considered this. "Why are you so concerned about this Organization? You fight the Christians, the Americans. Are they one and the same?"

"We fight the rich, who are gluttons," Fatima said. "Those few who keep the majority of the world's wealth and resources to themselves while millions starve and die of disease."

Takase laughed. "Such nobility from terrorists. The dog is chasing its own tail. Political games don't interest me." He stuffed food in his mouth and chewed. "I will inform you when I have something to inform you of. My men will find you. Do not come back here."

Fatima turned and followed the two guards back to the stairs.

Behind Fatima, Takase waited until the woman was gone, then the old man stood. He quickly walked to an elevator, a pair of guards surrounding him as he moved. He stepped in, leaving the guards behind. It whisked him down over 150 feet, through the Japan center to a level four floors belowground. When the door opened again, Takase stepped forward into a large room, then bowed toward a figure behind a desk twenty feet in front of him, hidden in the shadows cast by large halogen lamps on the far wall. Takase spoke, while bowing, his words echoing off the heavily carpeted floor. "The new head of the Abu Sayif was here. She has asked for information about the Black Tentacle. It goes as you said it would, Oyabun. What should I do?"

The man seated behind the desk lifted a wrinkled and liver-spotted hand. When he spoke, his voice was so low, Takase had to strain to hear him. "She is reaching out into darkness. It is a dangerous thing to do, but Abayon would not have picked her if she were not special."

"She did kill Kaito," Takase noted.

There was only the sound of a machine pushing oxygen into the old man's lungs for several moments before he spoke again. "Let her know about the Black Tentacle and the I-401 submarine. That should keep her occupied and cause both the Black Tentacle and the Organization to remain busy."

Takase bowed his head in compliance. "Yes, Oyabun."

Two blocks away a man on a dark rooftop fiddled with the controls on a small laptop computer and listened to the voices from the top of the building through the headphones he wore. In front of him a black aluminum tripod held what looked like a camera. Actually, it was a laser resonator. It shot out a laser beam that hit the black glass on the top of the Japan center. The beam was so delicate that it picked up the slightest vibration in the glass. Reflecting back to a receiver just below the transmitter, a computer inside interpreted the sound vibrations into the words that caused them.

It had not taken the man long to tune out the background noise and get the computer to pick up the voices inside. He'd heard the entire exchange between Fatima and Takase. Satisfied that Fatima had left the room, he quickly broke down the laser and placed it into a backpack along with the computer. Within thirty seconds he was gone from his perch.

The room Fatima was renting was on the second floor of a six-story hotel. She had picked it, as she'd been taught in the terrorist camp in the Middle East so many years ago, for its transient and illicit clientele, mostly prostitutes and drug addicts. She hadn't even had to say a word when getting the room. She'd shoved two hundred-dollar bills at the clerk and received a key in return. Very convenient and inconspicuous, just as she'd expected.

Abayon had been her godfather, and his best friend, Moreno, her grandfather. Abayon had died in the explosion of his Jolo Island mountain lair at the hands of the Americans, and Moreno had gone down with his submarine during the failed nerve gas attack on Oahu. She had thousands of loyal "soldiers" ready to do her bidding, but felt completely isolated with the passing of the two old men who had taught her so much.

Fatima unrolled her prayer mat and then knelt on it. She faced toward Mecca and began her prayers, but her mind kept sliding among the various issues confronting her. Her body was still tense from the encounter with the local Yakuza warlord.

These were the times she had doubts. When she wondered if this Organization her godfather had fought against was nothing more than the shadow of the western world looming over the third world, or even a religious schism: the Vatican had wielded tremendous power and controlled great riches for many hundreds of years. Although Abayon had tried hard not to make the Abu Sayif's battle to be against Christians, it seemed inevitable at times. Surely there were many in the western world who viewed Islam as the equivalent of terrorism.

Even as she prayed, she continued to consider the factor religion played in all the divisiveness. There were many of her followers who believed their battle, as devout Muslims, was against Christians. And they believed that battle had been forced on them by the western world through various actions, most particularly the unprovoked invasion of Iraq by the United States and its cronies. But in private, Abayon had always tried to steer her away from seeing things in that manner.

Abayon had fought beside Christians in World War II to free the Philippines from the hold of the Japanese. In fact, he believed that Christians and Muslims shared a common path and should be closer to each other rather than fighting. It was an opinion he had not shared loudly, particularly when dealing with other Islamic groups the Abu Sayif was loosely affiliated with.

For Abayon, and now for Fatima, it was a war between the haves and the have-nots. Between those who controlled the world's economy to further their own aims and those who suffered because of that. Fatima had no doubts that the large gap existed, she just wondered if it was being controlled by one organization, as her great-uncle had claimed, or simply the result of capitalism run amuck.

Fatima had to admit that Abayon had had solid reasons for his suspicion that this international Organization existed. He had become aware during the early years of World War II that as the Japanese expanded their empire around the Pacific Rim, their front-line troops were followed closely by elements of their secret police, the Kempetai, which began the systematic looting of the lands they conquered. The spoils were given the innocuous code name Golden Lily.

While fighting with the guerrillas, Abayon was captured along with his wife and sent to the infamous Unit 731 concentration camp in Manchuria. It was a horrible place where the Japanese tested chemical and biological weapons on living prisoners. Surprisingly enough, in this place of death, Abayon ran into an American, a man who had been part of a secret mission into Japan using Doolittle's raid as the cover for their parachute infiltration near Tokyo.

The American had been briefed that his three-man team's mission as part of the OSS -Office of Strategic Services, the American precursor to the CIA-was to parachute into Japan and make their way to a university where Japan 's only cyclotron was located. He thought they were going to help destroy Japan 's nascent nuclear weapons capability.

But the American had been shocked to be met at the drop zone by members of the Kempetei. One of the three was executed on the spot. The true surprise for the captured American who told this story to Abayon was that the third American, a man named David Lansale, was greeted by the Kempetei not only as if they expected him, but as if he were a guest.

All this Abayon had told her at her last meeting with him, before he sent her away, as if he were anticipating his coming death. After his escape from Unit 731 and the end of the war, Abayon tried to find out who this David Lansale was, who was greeted by the Japanese while the two countries were locked in a life and death struggle.

Supposedly he was an operative of the OSS, but Abayon found out that was just a cover. Abayon found information suggesting that Lansale was an envoy sent from the Organization's American branch to the Japanese representatives of the Organization, to coordinate the course of the war and the disbursement of the Golden Lily when the war was over. He found out that Lansale met with Emperor Hirohito's brother, Prince Chichibu, to coordinate the Golden Lily project. The deal made was that the Japanese could continue the Golden Lily, unopposed by the Allies, but that none of the loot was to be sent back to Japan proper.

Most of the riches were sent to the Philippines, some to other places, but none to Japan. It was a trade, Abayon had explained to her: by putting the Golden Lily in places where the Allies, particularly the United States, could recover it easily after the war, the Allies agreed to leave the Japanese Emperor in position after the war, a rather remarkable thing in hindsight.

As he finished telling her this, Abayon had laid on her another piece of startling information, this in regard to the agent David Lansale: that he was photographed in Dallas on November 22, 1963, the day President Kennedy was assassinated.

And now Lansale had risen once more, a specter in her life, in the form of the FedEx package she had received just the other day, containing the information about the Citadel.

Fatima believed that Kaito-and the Black Tentacle-were just an outer ring of the Japanese representatives of the Organization. And now she waited to find out if she could delve deeper.

At a knock at the door, Fatima turned her head. She drew the silenced pistol and stood in the corner, in the shadows. "Come in," she called out.

A man entered, just a dark figure. He took two steps and halted, hands well away from his sides. "I bring a message from the Oyabun. He says you look in the wrong direction. Japan is not where you want to go. The Black Tentacle is significant in its dealings with this Organization for the things they do for it. For one of those things that connects with what you seek, you want to follow the path of I-401."

Fatima was confused. "What is I-401?"

"A World War II Japanese submarine," the man said. "You can learn about it easily enough doing basic research. What you cannot learn easily enough is its last mission. And where it ended up. Even we do not know that. But if you do, then you will learn of this Citadel you seek."

"Who would know?" Fatima asked.

"Someone at the docks in the old American naval base. There is an old tug captain named Shibimi. He is a member of the Black Tentacle. We will let you know where and when you can meet him."

With that the man turned and was gone, shutting the door behind him.

Fatima slowly lowered her pistol. Her grandfather had just died on board a World War II era submarine. And now she must find the whereabouts of another one. This did not bode well.

A block away, the man who had been listening to Fatima 's Yakuza meeting lowered the lid on the metal case that held the laptop computer. He had picked up the conversation in Fatima 's room quite easily from his position in the windowless rear of a black van. He slid through a curtain to the front of the rental van and drove to the hotel where he was staying. It was much nicer than Fatima 's. He parked in the garage and retired to his room.

Then he opened up a state of the art satellite radio and sent a coded message.