She grabbed his jacket and pulled him back onto the ice, the bomb between them and the men, just as bullets cracked by overhead.
"Cease fire!" someone was yelling. "We don't want to hit the bomb. Alpha team, fan right. Bravo, cover."
"I think we'd better surrender," Vaughn suggested. "Just keep your hands far away from your sides and start yelling in English."
"Don't shoot! Don't shoot!" Tai and Burke called out as four men rushed up, weapons at the ready.
"Freeze! You on the ground-hands away from your sides."
"He's wounded," Tai informed them.
"Step away." she was ordered. One of the man carefully rolled Vaughn over as another kept a weapon on him. "Shit," the man muttered as Vaughn's blood-encrusted jacket came into view.
"Berkman, get over here. We've got some work for you."
As the medic went to work on the wounded man, Major Bellamy checked the bomb. His heart gave a jump when he noted that five of the six numbers for the PAL code were entered. They'd made it just in time. He didn't understand what had happened and who these three people were. His job was to secure everything. It would be up to the powers-that-be to determine what to do about the prisoners.
He ordered Manchester to find a spot with sufficient ice depth to land the Osprey. As soon as the aircraft settled down, he loaded the bomb, the prisoners, and his men on board. They lifted, heading back for the Kitty Hawk.
As soon as they took off, the Russian submarine slowly sank under the surface and disappeared. There was nothing left except Vaughn's blood and the rapidly retreating freighter.
CHAPTER 17
Area 51, Nevada
RESUME
Without their leader, the eleven remaining members of Majestic-12 were jockeying as much for position as for solving the problem of his disappearance. They sat around the long table at which they-and their forebears-had decided the course of the United States for over half a century, politically and economically.
They were so engrossed in their in-fighting none of them noticed the odorless gas that wafted in through the ventilation system. The first indication of trouble came when the oldest man in the room-the current director of the CIA, grabbed his chest in distress.
When the second man did the same, the others scrambled for the door, only to find it locked. Within two minutes every man in the room was dead.
8th Army Headquarters, South Korea
"Sir, we have a reversal of several key indicators. Elements of the KPA I Corps are reported to be standing down. Three merchant ships that we have been tracking that were suspected to have KPA Special Forces troops on board have turned back."
Patterson nodded. He knew that the message he had just received from the Pentagon had quite a bit to do with that. Apparently the Confederation of Independent States had talked to their former friends in North Korea and informed them that it would not be in their best interest to conduct offensive operations against the South. There had also been a veiled reference from General Morris that the Kitty Hawk Battle Group had been involved in a joint U.S.-CIS operation that affected events here. Reading between the lines, the message between had been clear to Patterson: don't complain about the deployment of 7th Fleet elements anymore.
For the time being, things on the peninsula would stay the same-a wary watching across barbwire and antitank trenches. "Inform all units to reduce to a level four alert status."
South Pacific Sea
"You failed," Araki said.
The sun was shining, and Fatima stood on the wing of the bridge, feeling the rays warm her skin. It was the first nice day they'd had since leaving Antarctica. She looked forward to getting back to the Philippines.
"We did not fail."
"The Koreans-" Araki began.
"The Koreans failed," Fatima said, "which actually was what I was hoping would happen. Otherwise I would have had to use my men aboard this ship to kill them all."
Araki stared at her. "You never planned on letting the Koreans do whatever they planned with the bomb."
"That's right," Fatima said. "It would be the worst thing that could happen if a nuclear weapon went off, killing innocent people. In this my uncle was wrong: terrorism at a high level only succeeds in stiffening the resolve of those you fight against. The battle must be much more subtle and psychological."
"So what did you achieve?" Araki asked.
"I showed you something," Fatima said with a slight smile. "Things are not as clear as they were for you."
"You did not do this just to show me that there is some Organization out there pulling strings."
"No. I did this to hurt that Organization. The base is gone. With the Russian submarine here and the American forces, I think this spilled out of what is easily contained and compartmentalized by the Organization. We caused it problems. We won't really know the results of what we did for a while."
"And in the meanwhile?" Araki asked.
Fatima closed her eyes and lifted her face to the sunlight. "We continue the fight."
USS Kitty Hawk, Off the Coast of Antarctica
"I told them about Logan, but they insisted they had to take us directly back here." Tai fumed. "They said they would send some planes out to recover his body."
Vaughn shrugged. He wasn't as worried about the dead as the living. He was propped up on the bed, his chest swathed in bandages and an IV hooked into each arm. He'd been unconscious ever since they'd brought him in from surgery, waking only minutes ago. The doctor had said his prognosis for recovery was good.
There was a Marine guard outside the wardroom door, and Tai had been pacing back and forth for the past fifteen minutes, ever since Vaughn had woken up. He was too weary to say anything right now. According to her, no one had said anything to them since they'd been picked up. Vaughn had a feeling they were waiting for someone to arrive who would have the "word," whatever it was.
"Burke?" he asked.
"He's sleeping in a room they assigned him," Tai said. "More like a prison. They have a Marine on his door just like they have one on yours."
"We'll find out-" Vaughn began, but stopped as the door opened. A man wearing a simple black suit and white shirt stepped in. He was nondescript: a bland face, thinning blond hair, pale blue eyes. He carried a metal briefcase, which he placed on the table on the opposite side of the bed from Tai.
"Good morning," he said. "Major Vaughn. Captain Tai." The man stood there looking at the two of them for a little while, then spoke again. "We've recovered Mr. Logan's body. Tentative cause of death is ruled as extreme hypothermia."
The man pulled one of the plastic chairs over to himself and sat down. "It is interesting to see both of you so healthy, or relatively healthy, considering you were both reported as killed in action."
"Royce-" Vaughn began, but the man interrupted.
"Royce apparently did what he needed to. There are other issues of more importance. We have a problem here that also happens to be your problem. To put it bluntly, the word 'Citadel' must never be mentioned publicly."
"Why not?" Vaughn asked.
The man didn't even blink. "Let me explain the facts to you. First, the Citadel doesn't exist any longer. We've landed men there to sterilize what little is left, to include the reactor.
"Second, you have no record of the base existing. The pictures from the Records Center have been taken care of. As a matter of fact, you might say the circumstances surrounding the deaths of your party are very unclear. We have only your word on that issue. There are some who might say the two of you had a hand in their deaths, especially Mr. Logan's. At the very least you might be found negligent in his death."