Don Brown - The Malacca Conspiracy

Miller looked back up at the camera, the stately white columns of the North Portico in the background behind him. “Still no word from the White House other than this statement issued by White House Press Secretary Arnie Brubaker.” Miller held the statement up. “‘The threatening demands of General Perkasa are dangerous and irresponsible. This president and this nation will not give in to blackmail.’”

“Good statement, Arnie,” Mack said.

“Thank you, sir.”

Miller continued. “Meanwhile, panic reigns in many of America’s largest cities. In Atlanta, Dallas, New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago, outbound interstates are jammed with people trying desperately to get out of town, for fear that their city could, in just a few short hours, be facing Philadelphia’s fate.

“Meanwhile, pressure is growing from members of Congress for the president to take some sort of action. Representative Charlie Hank of Massachusetts spoke to reporters just a few minutes ago on Capitol Hill.”

The image switched to that of a double-chinned, portly congressman, the ultra-liberal Charlie Hank of Massachusetts, who was standing in front of a battery of microphones, just in front of his belly, which sufficiently protruded in his white shirt so that buttoning his gray jacket would have been an impossibility.

“The president must act now,” Hank said.

“And do what, Charlie?” Mack snapped at the television.

Hank looked down over his horn-rimmed glasses. “President Williams must remember that his first obligation is to protect Americans. That means he should do or say anything it takes to avoid another nuclear bomb going off in an American city.”

“Yellow-bellied liberal,” Mack snapped again.

Hank droned on. “The president must remember that he is the president of the United States of America. He is not the president of Israel. And frankly, this administration’s pro-Israeli policies have been at least partially responsible for getting us where we are today.”

“Turn it off, Bob.”

“Yes, Mr. President.” The Secret Service agent complied.

Arnie was glancing at a legal pad. “The attorney general called.”

“What’d he want?”

“Well, it seems as if you are about to be sued by both the ACLU and the Democratic National Committee.”

“What for?”

“Your address to the nation. You declared this as a week of prayer. The ACLU says it’s an issue of the separation of church and state, and the DNC says it’s offensive to their Muslim and atheist constituents, given your known evangelical background.”

“So what? I’ve got maybe three hours before some idiot is hinting that we’re gonna get hit with another nuclear bomb! Why are we even talking about this?”

“Well, the attorney general has prepared a supplemental statement for your signature which is also inclusive of atheists and Muslims. He feels this might head off the lawsuit. He says you may wish to sign it just to avoid dividing the nation with a lawsuit at this crucial time.” Mack raised his eyebrow at Arnie, who finished his thoughts. “To bring the entire nation together, Mr. President.” Arnie slid the prepared statement onto Mack’s desk.

The president picked it up, glanced at it briefly, then shook his head. “Tell the attorney general that I’m surprised at him, and that hell will freeze over before I sign politically correct legal gobbledygook.”

“But…”

“And tell the ACLU and the DNC to go pound sand. Our country has just been hit with a nuclear weapon. If we’re not united now, we never will be. Get that stuff out of here. I don’t have time for this garbage.”

“Yes, sir.”

The intercom buzzer rang. Gayle Staff’s frantic-sounding voice was on it. “Mr. President, the secretary of state, the national security advisor, the secretary of defense, and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs are all here in the Situation Room. It’s urgent.”

“Send ’em in, Gayle.” Mack’s stomach dropped through the floor. He locked eyes with Arnie Brubaker. “Not another attack.”

A Secret Service agent opened the door from the Oval Office, and the secretary of state led the frantic quartet into the room. “Possible major breakthrough, Mr. President!” Secretary of State Mauney announced, panting as if he had just sprinted a hundred yards.

“What’s going on?”

“We got an electronic file from our embassy in Singapore. Reliable intelligence from Indonesia shows that Perkasa is responsible for the attack on Philly and that he’s planning to hit San Francisco and Washington.”

“Is that right?” He looked at his national security advisor.

“Yes, Mr. President,” Cyndi Hewitt said.

“When? How?”

“Mr. President,” Hewitt said, “here’s what we know. The computer file that we now have is detailed, laying out targets and means of attack. They call it ‘Operation Decapitate.’ We’ve been able to determine that the nuclear materials were brought into a warehouse in Brownsville, Texas. We’ve gotten the warehouse records and seen photographs of three U-Haul trucks that carted the materials off. We’ve even gotten license plate numbers for the trucks. We think the trucks are headed to Philadelphia, San Francisco, and Washington.”

“Where next?”

“They’ve laid that out, sir,” Hewitt continued. “Philly was first. Then San Francisco. Then Washington.”

“When?”

“If their demands for derecognizing Israel aren’t met, they detonate.”

Mack raised a fist. “We’ve gotta find those trucks.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President. We’re looking for two trucks now. We’ve already alerted police departments in San Francisco and DC, along with the California Highway Patrol, and the Virginia and Maryland State police.”

“Any idea where they’re planning to strike in the cities?”

“Yes, sir. In Philly, it was Penn Square. And that’s exactly what happened. In San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge. In Washington, it’s the Mall area. Out here in front of the White House on Constitution Avenue.” The national security advisor pointed out the window toward the Washington Monument. “The plan is to drive the trucks to those locations and detonate.”

Mack rotated his leather chair away from his advisors and gazed out the bulletproof palladium window, across the South Lawn, across the green grass leading to the Ellipse. From here, he could see cars passing from right to left along Constitution Avenue, just in front of the Washington Monument, heading in the direction of the US Capitol building. He stood from his chair and crossed his arms.

“I need every one of you.” He pivoted around, eyeing them all. “But I don’t need you here. We can communicate by secure radio. I’m not moving. But all of you…I suggest you head out to Andrews and get on a plane. That’s why God created computers and high-tech communications equipment.”

They looked at one another, and the silence was punctuated only by the tick tock of the grandfather clock located in the corner of the Oval Office.

“I’m staying, Mr. President,” Cyndi Hewitt said.

“You’re my commander in chief, sir,” Admiral Jones said. “I will not abandon my post here.”

“We’re with you, sir,” they all said.

“I’m eternally grateful,” he said. He felt his voice starting to crack. “Your nation is grateful.” Pull yourself together, Mack. You’re the commander in chief of the US military! “Admiral Jones.” He looked at the four-star seadog who was the nation’s top military officer. “Does the military have a recommendation?”

“Yes, we do, Mr. President. But there’s one other thing you need to know before we present you a recommendation, sir.”

“Let’s hear it. Time’s running out.”