Don Brown - The Malacca Conspiracy

“Even after all these years, Guntur, being a doctor to a doctor is an unusual experience to me.”

“Anton, we must discuss tomorrow.” Guntur tried pushing himself up. “Oh.” A gasp. Another grunt.

“Lie back, Guntur. Give the antibiotics time.”

“Okay.” Guntur complied. “But about tomorrow.”

Anton looked away, his gaze falling on the red and yellow flowers, palm trees, and lush vegetation in his small back yard. He purchased this modest home in the prosperous Cilindak area of Jakarta five years ago. Though living alone, he had become quite comfortable. Deep down, he had hoped to raise a family here. Or at least to have a family.

But he had never married, except to his work as a surgeon. His had been a lonely life. He had dated, and was even engaged once, but when he had little time to spend with her she met another man. At the end of the day, he had no one but Guntur, who also had been a bachelor all these years. Together, they shared the memory of their father, who had died in a cause that would be greater than any of their lives.

Though paradise would certainly be better than anything man on earth could offer, he was going to miss his own comfortable corner of the world.

“Yes.” He looked back at Guntur. “About tomorrow. What is it that you need me to do?”

Guntur reached his hand out again. “The president is scheduled for a physical between 1:30 and 2:00 P.M. He is always running slightly behind. All his appointments run ten to fifteen minutes late, and sometimes more.

“The physical will most likely begin at 1:45 and end at 2:15. They allow me to bring my cell phone into the president’s office. I will set the alarm on my cell phone to beep at 2:00 P.M. At that point, I will walk over and stand very close to the president.

“I am told that the remote control mechanism on this detonation device will activate from a range of one thousand yards.” There was a pause. The brothers’ eyes locked.

Anton understood what Guntur wanted. He broke the silence. “Merdeka Square, just across the street from the palace, is within range of the president’s office, no?”

“Yes,” Guntur responded. “That is within range.”

The brothers clasped hands. “I, too, will set my cell phone to go off at 2:00 P.M. I will count fifteen seconds. Will this give you enough time?”

“Yes, that should be sufficient,” Guntur said. “If something goes wrong, I will text you with the word abort.”

“Very well. I am with you, my brother,” Anton said.

“And I with you,” Guntur said. “And I do this also for our father. He would be proud of you, Anton.”

It hit him. Dr. Hendarman Budi would be proud of him. Yes, Guntur had conceived the idea and was giving his body. But Guntur could not do this without him. His life, even if it were to end soon, would have lasting meaning.

“Father would be proud of both of us, my brother. Soon, we will all be together again.”

Jakarta Air Base

10:30 a.m.

Slipping his shades on to protect his eyes from the tropical morning sun, Captain Hassan Taplus crossed his arms and leaned back against the fender. The general’s jet had just touched down and was now taxiing on the runway. The whine of its turbojets grew louder as the pilot turned right off the runway and onto the tarmac.

An air force grounds crew pushed a portable staircase toward it.

The plane rolled to a stop. Three seconds later, the sound of the engines faded below the voice of the grounds crew chief barking instructions to his men.

The men responded, pushing the stairs to the doorway of the 737.

A moment later, the general emerged, prompting the grounds crew chief to yell, “Atten-chun!” His crew members fell into two pinpointprecision lines at the base of the stairwell. The general started down the staircase with Colonel Croom in tow.

Captain Taplus walked to the open funnel of the honor guard and waited for the general to accept and return salutes of the men as he walked by.

As the general approached, Taplus himself shot a smart salute. “Welcome home, General.”

Perkasa returned the salute. “How are things with Dr. Budi?” He spoke under his breath and out of earshot of the honor guard.

“All set for tomorrow afternoon at fourteen-hundred hours, General.”

Perkasa was making fast strides toward the staff car.

“How were things in Karachi, sir?” Taplus asked.

“Better than expected, Hassan. General Sharif was sympathetic to our cause.” He stopped in front of the car and felt his shirt pocket. “Do you have a cigarette, Hassan?”

“Of course, General.” Taplus extracted a Camel, the general’s favorite, then offered a lighter.

“Get into the car.”

“Yes, General.” Taplus opened the door for the general, popped a salute as the general sat, then closed it and got into the driver’s seat.

“The nuclear materials that we need are in my plane, in the storage bay,” Perkasa said through a cloud of cigarette smoke. “You are in charge of securing and transporting this material, Hassan. You understand that time is of the essence?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well.” Another drag from the cigarette. “We have acquired six thermonuclear devices. Three in the ten-kiloton range. Three are suitcase bombs.”

“Ten kilotons?” Hassan’s heart jumped. His mind raced. This was really happening! He would be a part of history! Maintain your professionalism, Hassan. “That’s almost the size of the bomb that the Americans dropped on Hiroshima. And the suitcase bombs will rip out the heart of any city.”

“Yes.” The general raised his eyebrow. “I had hoped for something larger, but this is a blessing from Allah. Now listen, Hassan. Three of the devices must be shipped immediately to Mexico, per our master plan as part of Operation Decapitate. Two suitcase bombs, plus the ten kiloton to be used at the end of the operation. We have already been shipping conventional devices. But I want three nukes shipped to Mexico this morning.”

“Yes, General.”

“Another ten-kiloton device is to be shipped, along with a team of nuclear scientists and bomb technicians, to the Island of Gag, in the Raja Ampats Islands, again according to the Malacca Plan. I want that device and that team on a plane to the Raja Ampats before noon today. I want you to accompany the team as my representative.”

“Yes, General!” Goosebumps crawled over his body. He would be the general’s representative at the most important event in his nation’s history.

“The two remaining devices will remain under the control of our forces here on Java, where Colonel Croon will direct the ground logistics of tomorrow’s operation.” Perkasa nodded at Colonel Croon.

Colonel Croon nodded in return. “Of course, General.”

“Hassan.” Perkasa looked back at Taplus. “Make sure that our friends at TVRI have a crew on the spot to record the event, along with a live satellite uplink capability.” A pause. “Can you handle all this?” Perkasa put his hand on Hassan’s shoulder.

“General, you can trust me. I will not let you down. You have my word.”

“Good. Then I want you to remain here at the air base and oversee the unloading and proper transportation of these nuclear materials. Colonel Croon will drive me back to our quarters, where we will continue to work on tomorrow afternoon’s military operations.”

“Yes, sir, General.”

“Let us get to work,” the general said. “In forty-eight hours, we will have crossed the rivers of history, and we will have emerged on the splendid, sparkling shores of our great destiny!”

Hassan got out of the car. A minute later, it disappeared from sight.

He walked to the 737 to inspect its deadly cargo. Within two days, if he performed his duties to perfection, he could become the youngest general in the Indonesian army, a key player in the world’s newest superpower.