Don Brown - The Malacca Conspiracy

“We’ve lost contact with one of our ships, Mr. President. The USS Port Royal, a heavy cruiser, was accompanying the oil tanker Lady of Amsterdam through the Halmahera Sea.

“The Lady of Amsterdam has disappeared from our radar. The Port Royal is still on our screen, but is dead in the water. She’s not responding on any hailing frequencies. We’re getting unconfirmed reports of a nuclear blast in the area where Port Royal was operating, sir.”

“A what?”

“Mr. President, ships in the area have been abuzz with radio traffic describing events consistent with a nuclear blast.”

“What kind of events?”

“Eight ships, all within a twenty-five-mile radius of Gag Island, describe a tremendous flash in the area, followed by shaking thunder and winds.”

“What island?” Mack asked.

“Gag Island. It’s an uninhabited Indonesian island in the Halmahera Sea. Also, we’ve gotten reports of a mushroom cloud rising in the sky. Seismic activity corroborates that something happened. We’re dispatching a plane from Guam to confirm.”

“Mr. President.” This was National Security Advisor Cynthia Hewitt. “There’s also talk out on the streets in Jakarta of a junta in Indonesia, and this explains the explosion at Merdeka Palace.”

“How credible is this intelligence?”

“Too early to tell,” she replied, “but the timing makes it suspicious in my judgment, sir. Indonesian state television says that an announcement will be forthcoming shortly from the Indonesian military.”

“I want live-time feed on that announcement.”

“Yes, Mr. President. The announcement will be transmitted live here into the Situation Room as soon as it starts.”

“Mr. President,” Admiral Jones said.

“Admiral.”

“Sir, we’ve prepared a map to show where we think this blast occurred.”

“Let’s see it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The map flashed on several flat-screen video monitors. Admiral Jones continued, “Mr. President, you saw this map yesterday. This shows the sea route where our frigates and cruisers are now providing escorts for oil tankers sailing around the Strait of Malacca.

“Look at the arrow tip which touches the equator, almost due west of Biak. This is the approximate position of Gag Island. This is the area where we’re getting unconfirmed reports of this blast. This is also the area in which USS Port Royal was accompanying the Lady of Amsterdam.

“Here’s an enlarged map of the area, sir, showing the last position of USS Port Royal.”

“As you can see, sir, Port Royal was just southwest of Gag Island when we lost contact with her. She was scheduled to break north from here into the Philippine Sea, and then set course to Hawaii.”

“Where’s our nearest ship?”

“About seventy-five miles to the southeast, sir. USS Valley Forge. She’s steaming that way as we speak.”

“Do we have a chopper in the air yet?”

“Yes, sir, two choppers are up from the Valley Forge. But with the risk that a nuclear blast has occurred, we can’t safely fly in closer than ten miles because of the danger of radiation.”

The president’s telephone buzzed. Mack picked it up. “Yes.”

“Mr. President.” It was the White House secure hotline operator. “The Pentagon is on the line for Admiral Jones. It’s the J-2 commander.”

“Admiral?” Mack looked at the Joint Chiefs’ chairman. “You have a call on the hotline.” He handed the phone to the admiral.

“Admiral Jones speaking.” A pause. “That’s a confirm?” Another pause. “Both choppers?” A third pause. “Is the WC-135 in the air?” The admiral’s eyes met the president’s. The worried look on the admiral’s face suggested that the news was not good. “What’s their ETA? Thank you.” The admiral hung up.

“Mr. President, both Seahawks from USS Valley Forge have confirmed spotting a mushroom cloud rising in the sky from the vicinity of Gag Island. The Air Force has dispatched a WC-135 aircraft down from Guam with equipment allowing us to measure radiation levels in the atmosphere. The plane will be over the area within an hour. At that point, we’ll make a definite confirmation. But it doesn’t look good.”

Jakarta, Indonesia

3:30 p.m.

The entire city of Jakarta had been turned upside down. No, not just the city, the entire world.

Rumors of the president’s assassination swirled over the streets, and yet, still nothing confirmed.

Yet, she knew.

Of course she knew.

She knew of it in advance, yet she had done nothing to stop it. But what could she have done?

Still, she felt his blood on her hands. The blood of the president. He was dead because she had done nothing. “Oh, God, help me!” she screamed as she ran down the sidewalk. If only she had said something.

With the back of her hand, she pushed away the tears that were running down her cheeks. She was out of breath and wanted to vomit. But she could not.

Soon, they would be after her.

The black iron gate in front of the white stucco house was shut. Through its bars, the afternoon sun cast long shadows of palm trees across the immaculate green grass. It was as if the shadows were the arms of her pursuers.

She opened the gate and rushed down the walkway leading to the front door of the house. She turned and looked back, expecting to see Captain Taplus in pursuit. Or perhaps Colonel Croon. Maybe even the general himself!

Nothing.

No one.

She rang the doorbell. No answer. She pounded on the door.

The door opened.

Elizabeth Martin, wearing a simple blue dress, smiled in welcome. Then her smile faded. “Kristina, you look horrible, my dear.” She opened her arms and Kristina fell into her embrace. “You are shaking. Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she lied. “I’m just upset. Have you heard the rumors?”

“About the president? Yes. It doesn’t sound good. They are playing mourning music on the radio and television. Tom is on his way home. They just issued a warning that everyone should stay inside and that an announcement is about to begin on the television.” Elizabeth ran her hand through Kristina’s hair. “Come in. I’ll get you a blanket and we can watch it together.”

“Thank you, Elizabeth. What would I do without you?”

Elizabeth led her to a sofa in the living room, which was positioned in front of a flat-screen television. On the television, the screen was split between live shots of the Monas and the Indonesian flag fluttering atop Merdeka Palace.

Subdued mourning music streamed over the speakers, and an announcement scrolled across the screen to “Stay tuned for a somber announcement concerning the status of the president of the Republic of Indonesia.”

Elizabeth lifted a blanket from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around Kristina’s shoulders. “Would you care for hot tea? It might help you stop the shakes.”

“No, thank you.” The warm blanket did seem to help, Kristina thought, as Elizabeth sat on the sofa beside her.

The Monas and the Indonesian flag disappeared. A man wearing a black suit and a black tie appeared. His face was grim and somber. Kristina recognized him as one of the anchormen for Indonesian state television, but she could not remember his name.

“Good afternoon. This is Yusuf Salomo in Jakarta. I regret that I have the somber duty of reporting that President Enrique Santos, the president of the Indonesian Republic, has died.

“The president died this afternoon at about two o’clock, Jakarta time, in his office at Merdeka Palace. He was assassinated.