Don Brown - The Malacca Conspiracy

“Okay, what’s our situation with getting our people airborne, Mr. Secretary?”

“Air Force Two is in the air already, sir. The vice president should be over West Virginia by now. A second plane, carrying several cabinet undersecretaries…defense, state, homeland security, treasury, agriculture, and transportation, is on the tarmac at Andrews and should be in the air in less than ten minutes. The navy has sent a chopper over to Capitol Hill to airlift the speaker of the House and the president pro tem of the Senate.”

“Excellent,” Mack said. Then it hit him. The United States government consisted of three branches. Not two. “Mr. Secretary, we need to get the chief justice of the Supreme Court airborne for a while too. This government has a judicial branch as well as an executive and a legislative.”

“Good point, Mr. President. I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Arnie, please get Chief Justice Wood on the line.”

“Yes, sir,” the press secretary said. “Right away!”

“Mr. President, look!” Cynthia Hewitt was pointing at the television monitors. The face of the tinhorn dictator of Indonesia was on the screen again, and under his face, CNN was reporting that the broadcast was live.

“Turn it up,” Mack ordered.

Perkasa was wearing his green, drab army uniform, replete with three rows of shiny medals on his chest, and was staring into the screen, seemingly waiting, as if he was trying his hardest to suppress a grin.

“Good day. To the people of America and the people of the world. The last few days, and indeed the last few hours, have brought about perhaps the greatest change in the history of the world that any forty-eight-hour period has ever brought.

“There are some who would rue this day…That is, the day when-in just a twenty-four-hour period of time-a great Islamic nation would become a nuclear superpower, and the world’s last superpower of the twentieth century would be crippled by a nuclear strike at its very heart.

“Those who would rue this day are those who would preserve the status quo…Who would long for the superrich to remain rich, and for all the poor of the world to be suppressed by the evils of satanic materialism.

“Others would rejoice for this day…for this…the beginning of a new shift of power to those whom Allah has foreordained to receive it.”

He stopped and somberly looked into the camera. “The Islamic Republic of Indonesia neither rues nor rejoices in its great ascendency nor the terrible loss of life in America.”

“The lying son of a-,” Admiral Jones blurted.

“Shhh…I want to hear this.” The president held his hand up, commanding silence in the room.

“In fact,” the general continued with a dour look on his face, “while Indonesia had absolutely no control over what has happened in America today, and would have no control over any such future tragedies, know that our sympathies go out to the families of the lost.

“Who, then, does have control over this? And who has control over the prevention of such tragedies and such massive disasters and massive losses of life in the future?

“Why, the answer is simple. President Mack Williams and the American government.”

He banged his fist on the table, as if he were Nikita Khrushchev before the United Nations.

“And how can the American government protect its people from such carnage again?” An arrogant smile crossed his face. “This is very simple, my friends. End your support of Israel. Go to the United Nations, an institution located in your largest city, and demand withdrawal of all recognition of the Zionist state. Recognize only the government of Palestine. Join the world in demanding justice for those who have been displaced by Zionist murderers.”

Another broad smile. “As I said, Indonesia has no control over this. But our intelligence has learned that if this is not done, tragedy will strike America again. Soon. Another city, perhaps multiple cities, will face the same fate as Philadelphia. We share this intelligence with you for your own benefit and protection. Our intelligence has shown that your time is running out.

“While you have less than twenty-four hours to introduce and support these resolutions before the United Nations, your president must take decisive action even sooner.

“There must be a sign of good faith. We have been told that the president of the United States, must, within four hours of the completion of this broadcast, appear on television to renounce the Zionist state and announce the intention of the United States to support these resolutions in the United Nations.”

Admiral Jones shook his fist. “He’s just reduced his own time frame.”

The tinhorn was staring intently now into the camera, his voice reeking confidence, arrogance, and authority. “Four hours! That’s your deadline, Mr. President. Do the right thing. Denounce evil, and save the lives of millions of your own.”

A satisfying pause. “Good day.”

The screen went blue. Then the words Jakarta Indonesia 1225 A.M. blinked rapidly in white on the screen. Then, nothing. The screen went blank.

Mack looked at his watch and quickly calculated the time. It was 12:26 P.M., Washington time.

“By four-thirty, this guy’s gonna blow another city,” he said.

“We’ve gotta take that guy out,” the secretary of defense said.

“No kidding,” Mack said. “Find me a way to do it.” The president’s eyes locked upon his secretary of defense. “Now.”

United States Embassy

Singapore

12:50 a.m.

For Kristina, the night was a living whirlwind of wildly swinging emotions. Her body had undergone the cold rush of fear from running for her life in Jakarta, to the uncertainty of having to beg for refuge from Father Ramon, to the excitement and nervousness of flying for the first time in her life. And now this.

Like most Indonesians who were too poor to afford international travel, Kristina had never left her country. For that matter, she had never even left the island of Java.

Now, she not only found herself mesmerized by the millions of exciting lights of Singapore, but also her eyes fixed upon another colorful object in the night that was sending chills up her spine.

The flag of the United States-flapping gently on a pole under two powerful searchlights, its deep red, white, and blue signifying the hope of the free world, and glowing almost like a halo against the starspangled Singaporean sky.

“This is the US embassy,” announced the Catholic priest who was driving the black SUV carrying the nuncio, along with Kristina and Father Ramon.

The SUV pulled to a stop on Napier Road, just in front of a large iron gate that was guarded by two American soldiers, wearing dark blue jackets and light blue pants with white caps.

“These are US Marines,” the driver said, looking over his shoulder at Kristina and Father Ramon. “They will lead us into the embassy.”

The black gate swung open, and the marine who had walked out of the embassy motioned the driver forward. The SUV rolled inside the gates, and when the gates were closed, the marine opened the back left door where the nuncio was sitting. The marine flashed a sharp salute. “Mr. Ambassador.”

“Good evening, officer,” the nuncio said.

“Good evening, sir. If you and your party would follow me, please, sir.”

The nuncio stepped out first, followed by the driver, and then Kristina and Father Ramon. The marine led them down a walkway past the spotlighted flag.

The double doors to the embassy swung open. Another marine was waiting just inside the doors, also in a snappy blue uniform. As this marine was leading them down a marble hallway, under sparkling crystal chandeliers, Kristina could not help but notice how well-chiseled and handsome these American marines looked.