Page 52 of The Atlas Maneuver

She saw that Citrone was intrigued by that news.

“Part of Neverlight?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” Koger said. “There is no other explanation. A few months ago Kelly Austin made contact and I reported what she told me. Then, strangely, I heard nothing. Not a word from anyone. And considering what she told me, that was unusual. So I talked with Rob, who found out that Neverlight had been activated.”

“You knew that before you asked Cotton to go to Basel?”

“I had no idea they were targeting her there. But yes, I knew there might be trouble.”

Now she was angry. “And the Japanese?”

“That was unexpected,” Citrone said. “But they have their own nationalistic interests at stake, which have always been directly contrary to the CIA. The Japanese are conflicted. They want that gold back. They’ve been searching for a long time. But even they realize that it will be impossible. Of late, the thinking has been that they want to expose the Black Eagle Trust and show the world that America is a lying hypocrite.”

She felt like she was at a party and everyone else knew something she didn’t. A party she didn’t even really want to attend but had only gone to because a friend asked. “You both realize that, as I’ve heard said on more than one occasion, Cotton and I don’t have a dog in this fight. This is your battle.”

“I get it,” Koger said. “But I need your help. Confiscating Japanese and German gold, then using it to fund covert activities, broke myriad laws. Not to mention it was beyond unethical. The agency does not want any of that to become public. The political embarrassment would be enormous. And now with the Japanese this close, things are going to be dicey.”

She pointed at Citrone. “You never explained what you were doing on that boat.”

“I had little choice but to go. They tossed my house, then led me away at gunpoint.”

“Where were you going?” she tried again.

“That was unclear. They were not the most talkative of people. I suspect I was being taken to someone higher on the authority pole within the PSIA.”

Citrone was hedging, so she pivoted. “I know you have some sort of map out there in one of the spindles, a photograph of the map for where Yamashita buried the 175 vaults. Do you have the original?”

“Is she cleared to breathe this rarefied air?” Citrone asked.

Koger spread his arms out wide. “Fill her lungs.”

“I have the original.” Pride entered his voice. “The opportunity presented itself, so I bought it.”

“Like Rob told you, Golden Lily was headed up by the emperor’s brother,” Koger said. “A piece of garbage named Prince Chichibu. He died in the early 1950s and left behind the map, which he’d brought to the Philippines in 1945.”

“Then denied that fact to his brother, the emperor,” Citrone added. “It was a source of tension between them. I never understood what he planned to do with the map. Perhaps he intended to reclaim the gold for himself? How? I have no idea. No member of the imperial family would have been allowed anywhere near the Philippines. So the map stayed in the prince’s family, hidden away. Being the good loyal Japanese they were, they told no one until one of the grandchildren needed money in the 1990s. He was quite negotiable. Of course, by then, fifty years had elapsed and few knew anything about that gold. Even fewer knew about the Black Eagle Trust, and most of them worked for the CIA.”

“Seems the Japanese know something,” she said to Citrone. “Otherwise, what was their redecorating about today? Which, by the way, you’ve still not fully explained.”

“I must say, I don’t appreciate your brisk tone.”

“Forgive me. I get this way when I’m being played.”

“Really, now?” Citrone asked.

An accusatory pause filled the room, which she and Koger allowed to fester.

Finally, Citrone said, “I must admit, I thought Tokyo’s memory had faded on this subject. I thought they had given up. But I was dreadfully wrong. To answer your question more fully, after searching here, and finding nothing, they made a call. Then I was led at gunpoint from the house. I decided not to resist, hoping to learn more.”

Smart move, considering Citrone was at least a hundred pounds overweight and in terrible shape. But he did not appear to be a fool.

Quite the contrary, in fact.

“You managed the Black Eagle Trust for the CIA?” she asked, shifting gears again.

“For twenty-three years, I was the agency’s sole representative, granted a wide element of autonomy.”

He seemed amused by the thought of his own importance.

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