The Citadel

by Robert Doherty

  "You have a plan, then?"

  Yol smiled. "Yes, sir."

  Kim settled back in his seat. "Let me hear it."

  Yol tapped a button, and three Special Forces officers carrying charts and paper hustled into the room. A lieutenant colonel took over the briefing, his pointer going to the same spot in Indonesia. As he progressed, the pointer slid down to Antarctica and then north again, but didn't come back to the Korean peninsula.

  At the end of fifteen minutes, Kim had caught Yol's enthusiasm. The briefing officers wrapped up and left the room, leaving the two of them alone. Kim Jong II had known General Yol for his entire adult life. He had only one question for his old friend: "It is a very daring plan. You think you can do it?"

  "Yes."

  "Send the message and begin all the preparations."

  Antarctica

  Vaughn slid to a halt and looked back over his shoulder. The plane didn't look very far away, but he estimated he'd come at least four miles. He reached for the sonar emitter slung over his shoulder and pointed it down. As he pressed the trigger, he watched the small screen on the back. Negative. After five seconds he turned it off and reshouldered it.

  Every thirty push-offs with his right ski, he halted and repeated the process, with the same negative result. At least the cross-country skiing felt good and kept him warm. He was moving north, so he had the mountains to his front. His course was centered on the middle peak. He estimated it was about four to five miles ahead of him, and sensed he was moving slightly uphill as he continued. The surface was definitely not as flat as it had appeared from the air, and he appreciated Brothers's talents even more. Occasionally Vaughn crossed low ridges of compressed ice and had to traverse to get over them.

  Twenty-seven. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty. The echo just below the surface shocked Vaughn for a moment. He blinked and stared at the screen for ten seconds. It was still there. He looked around the immediate area. The surface ice was relatively even except for a six-foot ridge running in an angle across his front. There was no sign of anything man-made.

  He pulled his backpack off, slid out one of the thin plastic poles with a flag attached and stuck it in the ice. Then he began to ski, ten paces only now, past the flag, trying to search out the dimensions of whatever it was under the ice. He continued to receive a positive response as he approached the ridge.

  Vaughn traversed up the small incline of ice and stood on top of the buckled ice. His flag was over eighty meters away. This had to be the base. He noted an outcropping from the ice ridge about ten meters away and skied along the top to it. Snow had piled up, forming a large block, perhaps fifteen feet to a side and eight feet high. Vaughn aimed the sonar into the snow pile. Positive response. There was something in there too.

  He looked to the south. His view of the plane was blocked by a large ridge he had crossed about a mile back. He secured the sonar over his shoulder and skied down off the ridge and back to his ruck. He was getting tired but threw it over his shoulder and set out to the south with long distance-eating glides on the skis.

  * * *

  Tai shivered and considered asking Brothers to crank the engine to get the heat going, but she held off. They only had so much fuel, and they'd been on the ice for almost three hours. The windows had fogged over from the breathing of the remaining occupants, and she used her mitten to scrape a small hole in her porthole so she could peer out.

  A figure appeared on the horizon, skiing toward the plane with smooth, powerful strides. She kept the glass clear and watched the bundled man come closer.

  "One of them is back," she said.

  Smithers swung open the side door, and the wind removed what little body heat had built up inside the plane. The skier stepped out of his bindings and passed the skis in, where Smithers slid them along the floor. The man stepped in and shut the door behind him.

  "Anything?" Tai asked as Logan slid his parka hood down.

  "Nothing." He slumped down in his seat and leaned back. "I went about eight kilometers out and took a slightly different route back and picked up nothing."

  There was a roar as Brothers started the engines. In a minute welcome heat poured out of the vents, and the windows started slowly clearing.

  "Let's taxi north and pick up Vaughn on his way back," Tai suggested.

  Brothers shook his head. "Uh-uh. I know where the safe runway is to take off on." He pointed out the front window. "Right back the way we came. Plus there's too many small ridges that way. We wouldn't get far."

  "Besides," Logan added, "we don't know if Vaughn is taking a straight-back route. Even though it isn't likely, we might just miss him."

  Tai sighed and resumed her watch out the window. Brothers shut off the engines after five minutes, and the heat slowly dissipated out the skin of the plane.

  The pilot turned in his seat and tapped his headset. "I just got the weather report from McMurdo," he said. "It doesn't sound good. They only give us another three to four hours max of good weather and then we're going to get hit with high winds, which means very low visibility."

  Tai knew they weren't going anywhere without Vaughn. She wondered what was taking him so long. He should have been back a half hour ago according to the plan.

  Twenty minutes later Smithers called out. "I see him."

  Tai leaned over and looked out the opposite side porthole. Vaughn was rapidly moving toward the plane. They opened the door as he arrived, and he threw his backpack in, followed by the skis and himself.

  "Anything?" Tai asked.

  "Yes."

  She waited, but Vaughn was busy cleaning the snow off his boots and then shutting the door. "Well?"

  Vaughn removed his snow goggles and smiled. His voice, though, was weak with exertion. "There's something under the ice about four miles from here. I checked it as much as I could and left a flag there. It's pretty big, whatever it is. At least eighty meters long, maybe more. It's either your base or a big-ass flying saucer that got buried under the ice."

  Everyone in the plane looked at Tai expectantly, waiting for her instructions. Vaughn accepted a cup of coffee from Smithers's thermos and cradled it in his hands.

  "Can we land up there?" she asked him.

  Vaughn nodded. "I think there's a good level area to the north of the spot. I couldn't really tell because I didn't ski over it, but I think it's worth a look." He looked forward at Brothers. "It runs northwest-southeast."

  Brothers shook his head. "We've got bad weather coming. If we don't head for home now we may get stuck out here."

  "What happens if we're stuck out here?" Tai asked.

  He shrugged. "We have our emergency gear, but it depends how long the weather stays bad. It could stay bad for a week, in which case it could be an awfully long time to be cooped up in this plane on top of the ice."

  "I don't think staying here's a good idea," Vaughn threw in.

  "What if we get into the base?" Tai said.

  "What?" Vaughn was confused.

  "What if we get into the Citadel? It would be out of the wind. They probably left quite a bit of supplies in there."

  Vaughn was shaking his head. "Even if what I found is the Citadel, it was all covered up. How are we going to get in?"

  Tai was considering the idea. "They had to have an access shaft."

  "I think I found it when I was checking out the dimensions," Vaughn said. "There is something that's covered with blown snow next to an ice ridge."

  "We've got shovels and pickaxes in the plane's gear. We can give it a shot," Tai suggested.

  "I don't like it." Logan shook his head. "If you want my opinion, we go back to Earth First South and wait until we get good weather. We know where the place is now and can come back."

  Brothers agreed. "I don't like the idea, missy," he said to Tai." I think we ought to go back."

  She leaned forward in her seat. "We're going to have to weather out this storm somewhere-either at Earth First South or here. If we stay here, at least we won't get caugh
t in the bad weather flying back. Plus, you have to remember we still have that forty-five-minute tractor ride back to the station from the ice shelf once we land. I think landing up near the base site and trying to dig in is the better option." She knew that time was the most precious commodity they had now. She made a command decision. "Let's try to land near the site."

  CHAPTER 8

  Antarctica

  This second landing had been smoother than the first, and the plane was now staked down, three hundred meters to the north of the ice ridge. Next to the ridge itself, Tai, Vaughn, and Smithers were hacking at the ice and snow on the protuberance, while Burke and Logan swept the loose debris away with shovels.

  It was obvious to Vaughn there was a man-made object underneath this snow. The shape was too linear to have occurred naturally. He swung the pick, and a section of ice splintered off. His next swing almost broke his hand as the point bounced off something solid. With his gloves, he began wiping ice and snow away, exposing metal.

  "I've got something!" he yelled. The others gathered around and stared at his discovery. The metal was painted white, and the pick had gouged the smooth surface.

  "Let's clear it out," Logan said, dropping his pick and grabbing a shovel. Shoulder-to-shoulder, Vaughn and Logan used the edge of their shovels to enlarge the clear space on the metal. Soon they exposed a flat sheet of metal, almost three meters wide by two high.

  Logan stepped back and looked at it. "This has to be some sort of surface shaft."

  "Where's the door, then?" Tai asked.

  "There's four sides," Vaughn replied as he began excavating around the corner to the right. Smithers joined him. Without a word, Logan and Burke started on the corner to the left.

  As they cut into the ice, they leveled off the area around the shaft, making it flush with the surface of the ice on the nonridge side. The wind had picked up and snow was beginning to lift and blow across the basin.

  Vaughn worked smoothly, trying not to break into a sweat. As his body heat rose, he removed his parka in order to equalize the temperature, stuffing it into his rucksack. He warned the others to make sure they did the same.

  A meter from the edge he discovered a seam in the metal. He scraped ice away up and down and then to the right. Gradually a door appeared. On the far right side there was a spoked metal wheel. Once the door was completely uncovered he stepped back.

  "Do you think it will work?" he asked Logan. The rest of the party had gathered around as Vaughn finished clearing the door.

  Logan was running his hands along the seam. "I don't know," he replied. "It ought to. It shouldn't have frozen up, as the temperature here never gets above freezing to produce the moisture needed for that. Let's give it a try."

  Vaughn stepped back as Logan gripped the wheel and leaned into it. The metal didn't budge.

  "Here, let me try." Smithers placed the handle of the pick through one of the spokes of the wheel and squatted down. Slowly he started to exert pressure up.

  "Watch out!" Vaughn yelled as the wood handle broke. The free piece ricocheted off the door and hit Smithers in the head. Dazed, he fell back onto the ice.

  "Damn." Smithers sat there rubbing his head through the parka hood. "That hurts."

  Vaughn thought it would be darkly amusing if they had found the Citadel but couldn't get in. The only thing that truly worried him was the weather. He had silently gone along with Tai's decision, but now he was beginning to have second thoughts. The sky was dark with clouds now, and the wind was howling, knifing through his clothes. They needed to get out of the wind, and there were only two choices: go into the base or back to the plane.

  He looked at Smithers again. Something dark was seeping through his hood. "Shit," Vaughn muttered. "Stay down," he ordered as Smithers tried standing up. He carefully pushed the big man's hood down. The inside was caked with blood that had already frozen. The gash from the wood wasn't hard to find on the man's bald head. It was about three inches long and didn't appear to be deep.

  "What's wrong?" Tai asked.

  Without answering, Vaughn opened the first aid kit attached to the outside of his rucksack and pulled out a sterile gauze pack. He quickly tore it open and then put his mittens back on before pressing the cloth up against the cut. It immediately turned bright red as the blood soaked through.

  "He got cut," Logan said. "It's not deep, but scalp wounds bleed a lot because the blood vessels are right on the surface."

  "We need to go back to the plane now and settle in," Vaughn said. "Hopefully, this thing will blow over quickly."

  Brothers shook his head. "I don't think so, mate. McMurdo says this is a big front. We may be stuck for days."

  Vaughn looked at Tai. She took a deep, icy breath, then took charge. "All right." She pointed at Burke. "You hold the bandage in place. Make sure you keep the pressure on." She gestured to Vaughn, Brothers, and Logan. "Let's all get on this thing."

  They grabbed hold.

  "On my count of three," Tai said, "we turn counterclockwise. Ready? One. Two. Three."

  They leaned into the wheel and strained. To no avail.

  "Again. Ready? One. Two. Three."

  The second attempt was also a failure.

  "All right," Tai said, taking deep breaths. "Let's take a break for a second."

  Vaughn looked at the wheel. "How about we try it the other way? Clockwise?"

  Tai nodded, and they all reassumed their positions. "Ready?" Tai asked. "One. Two. Three."

  They all leaned into it, and with a loud screech the wheel moved ever so slightly.

  "Again," Tai gasped. "One. Two. Three."

  The wheel turned almost a full inch.

  "Again."

  As they continued to labor, the wheel turned inch by inch. It was slow and hard, but it moved. Vaughn estimated they made a full revolution of the wheel after five minutes of effort. Yet there was no indication they'd unclocked the door. They went at it again, the wheel moving somewhat easier now, and managed another two complete revolutions. And then it stopped. No amount of effort could get it to move any more.

  "I think we've gone as far as we can go," Vaughn said.

  Logan tapped the metal door. "I'd say it opens inward. It makes sense down here. You want doors to open in because the outside could be blocked by snow or ice."

  Vaughn sat down on the ice, his back to the center of the door. He jammed his feet into the ice and snow as best he could then pushed. The others stared at him for a moment, then Logan sat on one side and Tai on the other. Together they put pressure on the door. With a low creak, a small gap appeared on the right side, and they all adjusted, keeping up the pressure. The door swung open wider, the three scrambling to keep the momentum going until it was wide enough for a person to slip through.

  "Hold it!" Vaughn finally called out, and they stopped. He got to his feet and peered around the edge. In the darkness beyond he could just make out a metal landing and staircase. The Citadel beckoned. Tai pressed into his side, shining a flashlight in.

  "Ladies first," Vaughn said.

  Tai slipped in, followed by Vaughn.

  The stairs did a ninety-degree turn and seemed to descend directly down into the depths. An open area next to the top of the stairs had a pulley system rigged on top, suggesting that was the way heavy gear could be transported up and down.

  Tai shined the light down, and it showed wood planking about twenty feet down and something else at the bottom of the stairs, but from their position they could only make out a vague outline.

  Tai leaned over the railing and shone the light directly down. "Oh, shit," she muttered.

  Vaughn leaned over also. What had been a vague form was now clearly the body of a man lying at the base of the stairs, facedown, his hands stretched out in front of him, almost an act of supplication.

  "Great," Vaughn muttered. "Come on."

  Tai cautiously followed Vaughn down the metal steps. The man hadn't moved. When they reached the bottom, Vaughn shone his own light on th
e body, revealing a figure clothed in Army-issue clothes, circa the 1950s. Three black holes were stenciled in the back of the man's jacket, surrounded by a red frame of blood. Vaughn knelt down and turned the body over. Sightless eyes peered out from a young face, forever frozen in the surprised grimace that must have come as the bullets slammed into his back.

  Vaughn looked closely at the face of the corpse, marveling at the frozen preservation. He wondered how long the man had been dead. He looked up at Tai. "Let's get everyone in here before the storm gets worse."

  Indonesia

  Among the tens of thousands of islands that made up the Republic of Indonesia, this was one of the smaller and less significant. At least to most outsiders. It was an island whose lone small village had been completely wiped out by the tsunami that struck on December 26, 2004.

  The village was now reoccupied. But not by fishermen and their families, as the old village had been. It was occupied by a strange international conglomeration. One drawn together from secret meetings around the world. Surprisingly, it was a group that owed its formation to one man: the President of the United States. Because gathered on this small island, working together and training each other, were small elements from the various countries that had been dubbed the Axis of Evil and from the terrorist organizations the United States was at war with.

  There were Al Qaeda operatives, Iranian commandoes, a small group of representatives from the Abu Sayif, remnants of Saddam Hussein's elite inner circle, and an elite Special Forces team from North Korea.

  This latter group kept itself apart from the others as much as possible. Mainly because their commander considered his men to be real soldiers and the others to be terrorists at best, although they considered themselves freedom fighters.

  The commander, Major Min, once more read through the message his radio operator had decoded twenty minutes ago. It was the longest message he had ever seen transmitted over high frequency radio in all his years of special operations. He was holding a complete operations plan (OPLAN) for a new mission that was to commence immediately.