"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.