Don Brown: The Malacca Conspiracy

“Mr. President,” Jones continued, “I know you don’t want to do this, sir, but I highly recommend that we deploy Army and National Guard units to block all roadway entrances into Washington.”

Mack buried his hands into his forehead. “You’re right, Admiral. I hate to do it, but let’s do it.”

“Also recommend that we evacuate the city of all nonessential personnel.”

“Prepare an order declaring martial law in the District of Columbia and all surrounding counties in Virginia and Maryland. All nonessential personnel not determined as necessary for the defense of the city, as determined by the secretary of defense, shall be evacuated.” He pulled his hands down and eyed the NSC. “And that includes the Congress.”

Glances were exchanged amongst the council members. The secretary of state spoke what was being thought. “You’ve got some members of Congress who will take the position that the president can’t legally order them out of town.”

“I know that,” Mack said. “And if I save them from a nuclear blast and they live to tell about it, they can impeach me if they want.”

US Navy Seahawk

Istana Bogor Palace, Indonesia

3:16 a.m.

From inside the chopper’s cargo bay, Diane watched two of the SEALs holding a defensive position just outside of the chopper with their weapons drawn.

The pilots had shut the engines down on both helicopters, and the sound of boots tramping across the roof echoed.

Pow! Pow! Two more rifle shots rang in the night air.

“Stay down!” one of the SEALs said.

A few more moments of silence.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! We surrender!” The voice was Indonesian-accented English.

“Lay your weapons down!” She recognized Captain Noble’s voice. “Hands over your head!”

“Please! No kill! We give you vice president. No kill!”

“Petty officer, gather their weapons and put ’em in the choppers!”

“Aye, Skipper!”

The sound of more boots across the roof. A second later one of the SEALs came back to the cargo bay and dumped about six rifles into it.

“Skipper! Skipper! Comin’ up now. We got the VEEP!”

“Get him in Chopper Two!” Noble said. “Let’s get these birds fired up and get the heck out of here!”

More trampling of boots, and the whine of chopper blades starting to crank.

“In here, Mr. Vice President!” She recognized the voice of Zack.

Three silhouettes appeared, and then were illuminated by the chopper’s cabin lights. Zack, Petty Officer Toomey, and the vice president of Indonesia.

“Watch your step, sir,” Zack was saying, and the vice president stepped into the chopper. “Have a seat beside the lovely lady.”

Zack pointed at Diane, and as the helicopter engines returned to their full, high-pitched roar, and with Navy SEALs piling back in, Vice President Muhammed Magadia, looking worn and tired in a rolled-up white dress shirt, plopped into the jump seat right beside her.

Zack knelt in front of the Indonesian veep. “Let me help you with your safety belt, sir,” he said, gently buckling Magadia into his jump seat, all the while giving Diane another confident wink.

“All right, let’s get this bird in the air!” Captain Noble ordered.

The engines roared, and the chopper lifted into the sky, leaving the light-splashed palace below.

Residence of General Perkasa

Jakarta, Indonesia

3:30 a.m.

Why isn’t the American press reporting about the detonation yet?” General Perkasa demanded. “Our man was supposed to detonate fifteen minutes ago.”

“It takes a few minutes, General,” Colonel Croon said. “There was massive confusion, I am sure, and it takes a little while even for the Americans to begin to broadcast.”

Hassan saw an opportunity. “Would you like me to get a live feed on CNN, General? We can watch for their breaking news coverage when San Francisco is vaporized.”

“Of course, Hassan.”

Hassan picked up the remote control and mashed several buttons. CNN reporter Tom Miller’s image was on the screen, standing in front of the late afternoon sun at the White House. Miller was speaking into the camera.

“This just in. Reports of a major explosion in San Francisco. The details are still sketchy. But sources say that the explosion involved a U-Haul truck, and it doesn’t look good.”

The Indonesian officers cheered.

“Quiet! Quiet!” Perkasa said. “I want to hear all the details.”

Miller continued.

“We’re working on a live feed from San Francisco right now, where we understand there is pandemonium. Stand by.” The bespectacled Miller was holding his hand to his ear, as if listening to the voice of his news director. “There are reports of smoke rising over the city…”

“Pour more drinks for everyone!” Perkasa stood, smiling, now taking a swig directly out of the bottle. “Soon we will rule the world!”

“Let me repeat. We still do not have any casualty reports, although there is speculation that this could be somehow related to the nuclear attack on Philadelphia, and the White House is not commenting. Still waiting for live video coverage…”

“I guarantee Mack Williams comes to the table now!” Perkasa was bragging.

Alcohol flowed freely. Glasses clanged. Officers were raising their cups to their brilliant leader. “To General Perkasa,” the ignorant sycophant Colonel Croon was saying. “There has never been another leader in the history of the world quite like him!”

“To the general!”

“To General Perkasa!”

“We are now starting to get a live feed from San Francisco…”

The phone rang. Hassan looked down. Istana Bogor. The TV broadcast could wait. Quick. A potential chance to purvey more information to the general while the colonel was getting drunk watching television.

“This is a distant shot from Chopper Nine of the local ABC affiliate. It shows the smoke rising over the city…”

Hassan ignored Tom Miller’s voice and picked up the phone. “General Perkasa’s headquarters, Major Taplus speaking.” Why not go ahead and identify himself as Major Taplus? After all, the promotion was imminent anyway. And by the time he got a field promotion to major, a promotion to colonel would certainly follow. “How can I help you?…What?…Could you repeat that?…How did that happen?…That cannot be!” He cupped the phone with his hand. “General Perkasa, sir!”

“Not now!” Perkasa snapped, his eyes still glued on CNN.

“But it is important, sir.”

“Whatever it is, it can wait. It is not as important as this!”

Hassan hung up the phone and turned his attention to CNN, where Tom Miller was talking over a live video feed of black smoke billowing into the sky from San Francisco.

“Now according to eyewitnesses,” Miller said, “this U-Haul truck that we are watching burn, exploded and burst into flames when it was attacked by a missile from an aircraft overhead.”

“What!” Perkasa was screaming.

“National Guard troops are taking control of the situation and removing all civilians from the area. Now the presence of military units on the ground is fueling speculation that this attack could somehow be related to the attacks in Philadelphia.”

“They have destroyed our bomb!” Perkasa threw his glass against the fireplace, shattering it. “This cannot be!”

“And reports are now coming in from Washington that the president has ordered the evacuation of the District of Columbia. All roadways leading into the city are blocked.”

“Aiieee!” Perkasa whipped his pistol from his holster. The coward Croon and several of the others ducked, but Hassan held his ground as Perkasa pointed his pistol to the ceiling. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. White plaster rained down from above.