Free Codename: Omega (feat. The Apiary Society) by Bernard Schaffer Page A

don’t know why I came so far ahead.”
    The Director grimaced at him, “You son of a bitch.  First you lied to us, then you abandoned us!” 
    “Lied to you?”
    “We searched all of Gazala and there was nothing there.”
    “Did I say Gazala?” Price said.
    “Get the hell out of my home,” Hoover shouted.  “You are done.  You hear me?  Done.  You don’t exist anymore.  The United States Government no longer has need of your services.  Get out!”  Hoover realized he was shouting at an empty room. 
    He cursed and pulled the lamp string on his nightstand, fumbling around for his glasses.  He bent to the phone and carefully dialed a number that only three people in the country knew.  The phone rang only once.  “Get me the President.”  
    ***
    The frigid winds of Antarctica cut through his heavy coat and the layers of clothing beneath it, making his skin sting.  Price lifted his gloves to block the pellets of ice from striking his glasses, barely able to see as he forced himself up the glacier.  The seasons were just beginning to change and all of the South Pole was covered in dim purple light.
    Price bent forward to remove the map from his heavy backpack, using his body as a shield against the wind.  He checked his compass against the map and continued walking. 
    An hour later, Price collapsed into the snow.  He stayed there long enough to catch his breath and wiggle out of the two-hundred pound backpack.  He checked his compass once more to verify, then pulled out a shovel from the backpack to begin digging.    
    By midnight, there were mountains of ice and snow built up on either side of his pit.  It was impossible to tell the time of day by the light in the sky because it never changed.  He’d dug twelve feet down until he struck a solid layer of ice that was hardened enough to bend the blade of his shovel.  Price climbed out of the hole and opened his backpack to remove a bundle of dynamite wrapped in plastic.  His lighter refused to work in the wind.  Price flicked it again and again until final he’d lit the fuse, then tossed the dynamite into the hole, picked up his backpack and started to run.   
    ***
    Price woke up and opened his eyes, recoiling from the sun’s harsh glare reflecting from every inch of the ice hole.    
    He picked up his shovel and inspected it, deciding it was too worn to be of any continued use.  He tossed it fifty feet into the air, sending it soaring up to the land’s surface.  There were a dozen others up there with it, a cemetery of bent metal and broken wood.  Price slammed his ice pick a foot into the ground in one thrust.  His long beard was frozen stiff, so heavy that it pulled the skin of his face like someone was pinching him. 
    He pulled out the last remaining shovel from his backpack and started to dig out the loose ice, when the tip of it struck something hard. 
    Now that was not ice, he thought.    
    Price lit a torch and bent down, getting close enough to see a large swastika engraved on the lid of the long metal chest buried just below his feet.
    “Found you.”  
    ***
    A black limousine pulled up to the front entrance of the vacant building that once served as the Headquarters for the Office of Strategic Services.  Its former director, William “Wild Bill” Donovan got out of the back of the limo and told his driver to wait.  He walked up the steps and reached for the door handle, but it was already open. 
    Donovan pushed the door in and looked into the darkness.  “I’m here, Sean.  Just like you asked.”
    “Did you come alone?” a voice in the darkness said.
    Donovan saw a shadow move on the upper walkway.  Probably a rat, he thought.  “My driver’s out front.  I told him to wait.  How’ve you been, Sean?  It’s been a long time.”
    “Not for me,” Price said.  He looked out from behind a column so that Donovan could see where he was standing, but stayed in the shadows.  His hands were empty