The Malacca Conspiracy

Chapter 13

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.

“At the time, we can confirm that the president was visiting with his personal physician, Dr. Guntur Budi, along with the United States ambassador and one of the ambassador’s assistants, when a bomb mysteriously exploded inside the president’s office.

“Merdeka Palace has confirmed that Dr. Budi, the president’s close, personal friend, has also died in the attack.

“There is no word yet on the fate of the US ambassador or his assistant. The American embassy has remained silent on the matter.

“Although the nation is shocked by this atrocity, all Indonesians should be assured that the situation is under control and there is no reason to panic. An announcement will be soon forthcoming here on TVRI from General Suparman Perkasa, the head of the Indonesian military.

“Meanwhile, General Perkasa has issued a statement assuring Indonesians that a massive manhunt is on for anyone with knowledge of the assassination plot, and that anyone involved will be brought to justice and will face the full wrath of the Indonesian armed forces.

“Again, Enrique Santos, president of the Indonesian Republic, has died. We expect a live statement of reassurance from General Perkasa within one minute. I am told that we are preparing to switch to General Perkasa now. Please stand by.”

The shaking, which a moment ago had subsided, returned with a vengeance. The blankets had become useless.

“You are shaking again. Please, let me get you some hot tea.”

“No,” Kristina insisted. “I must go.”

“You’re in no condition to leave, my dear.” Elizabeth’s hand rested on her shoulder. “Wait until Tom gets home. I can take you to our doctor.”

“No!” Kristina handed Elizabeth the blanket. “Thank you, but…it’s not safe here.” Her breathing accelerating, she headed for the door. “Thank you, Elizabeth. Remember that I love you and thank you for all that you and Tom have done for me.” She opened the door and ran back down the sidewalk, under the shadow of the palm trees.

“Kristina!” Elizabeth shouted from the front door. “Please come back!” The soft British voice faded as she sprinted away.

The reality for Kristina was this: there was no safe haven. At least not with the Martins.

She could not, would not turn back. She must keep running.

But where?

The White House

4:40 a.m.

They’re lying, Mr. President.” The secretary of defense banged the table, as the image of the Indonesian anchorman again gave way to the live shot of the red-and-white Indonesian flag. “How could they have no information about the ambassador and Commander Colcernian?”

“Agreed, Secretary Lopez,” Mack said. “It doesn’t smell right.” He turned to his chief of staff. “Arnie, call the secretary of state. I don’t care if he’s asleep. Get him up. Tell him I need him back here in Washington. Send my apologies to the Mexicans. Tell them we’ll reschedule the summit as soon as we can.”

“Right away, sir.”

“Who is this General Perkasa?” Vice President Douglas Surber asked.

“We’re getting ready to find out, Mr. Vice President,” the national security advisor said, pointing at the television screen.

Mack looked up at the flat screen and saw an Asian man, slightly plump, in a green military uniform. Behind him were stacks of books, as if he were sitting in an office with a personal library behind his desk. He stared into the camera, as if waiting on someone to cue him to begin. At the bottom of the screen, in English, were the words General Suparman Perkasa, Chief of Staff, Indonesian Armed Forces.

“He looks like Manuel Noriega,” someone said.

“Like a tinhorn dictator,” someone else said.

“No kidding,” came a response.

“Shhhhhhhh.”

“Good afternoon,” the man said. “I am General Suparman Perkasa, chief of staff of the Armed Forces of the Republic of Indonesia.

“By now, you have been informed of the tragic death of our leader, President Enrique Santos. I would like to begin by extending my deepest sympathies to our first lady, to the Santos children, and to our great nation. In this hour of tragedy and uncertainty, I would like to reassure all Indonesians there is no reason to panic.”

A pause.

A close-up.

“I am in charge.”

“The guy sounds like Alexander Haig the day Reagan was shot,” Mack quipped.

“While this is indeed one of the saddest days in the history of our republic, I wish all Indonesians, indeed all citizens of the world, to know two things:

“First, the government will track down and prosecute the president’s killers to the fullest extent of the law. Make no mistake about this!”

“Why is this guy speaking on behalf of the government?” the vice president asked. “Where is the vice president of Indonesia?”

“Good question,” Mack observed.

“Second, I wish all Indonesians to know that our leader has not died in vain. In fact, I am announcing this day that the government is enacting several crucial and bold initiatives in honor of our slain president. He has secretly supported these initiatives for years, and they now become a fitting memorial and a lasting memory in his honor.”

“Where’s this guy coming from?” the secretary of defense wondered aloud.

“The first is that the Republic of Indonesia is henceforth, and from this day forward, known forever as the Islamic Republic of Indonesia.”

“Son of a-”

“This great change reflects our status as the world’s largest Islamic country, and indeed is a reaffirmation of our adherence to the principles of the Great Faith.”

“This smells.”

“The second great change, and I know in my heart at this moment that our president must be beaming in paradise,” a sinister grin crossed the general’s face, “is that I am pleased to announce that today-in fact about one hour ago-the Islamic Republic of Indonesia has become the world’s first Islamic nuclear superpower.”

Mack narrowed his eyes.

“This was our late president’s dream. Top-secret plans had been in place for months to bring about this glorious event. My fellow citizens, and citizens of the world, I invite you to watch. This was the scene on Gag Island, in the remote eastern section of our country, only one hour ago.”

The screen switched from the stout general to a seascape. In the middle of it, an island rose from the sea. The shot looked as if the island were several miles from the camera.

At the bottom of the screen, a message was superimposed declaring, Gag Island, Halmahera Sea-4:45 P.M. LOCAL/2:45 P.M. JAKARTA.

Swells could be seen crossing the water, gently, from left to right, between the camera and the distant island.

And then…

The center of the screen exploded in blinding white colors like the center of the sun. A mushroom rose over the island, its stem extending to the heavens. The sea in the foreground grew more violent. The video itself jolted up and down, as if the ship hosting the camera was being rocked by sudden swells.

Mack winced for the crew of USS Port Royal.

The rising mushroom disappeared. The general with the sinister grin reappeared.

“And so, my fellow countrymen, today is the most bittersweet day in the history of Indonesia. We have lost a great leader. But by fate…by destiny…Allah has by divine coincidence given us the hope of glory, by making our great nation among the greatest and the most powerful on the stage of the world.”

“What a madman,” the vice president mumbled.

“We shall execute our late president’s plan, and we shall do so from this day forward in his honor.”

“Scary,” said the secretary of defense.

“And the first matter of importance to a new global order is the question of the so-called Jewish state.”

“What?” This was the national security advisor.

“Someone…some nation…must become an advocate for those who have long since been forgotten…for those with no voice from the other nuclear powers.

“For too long, our Islamic brothers…those Arabs in Palestine…have been neglected by the powers in the United Nations who acquiesce to the belligerent, inhumane practices of the so-called Jewish state.

“No more! Again I declare, no more!” The dictator pounded his hand on his desk. “The Islamic Republic of Indonesia now insists upon the repeal of certain United Nations resolutions concerning the Jewish State of Israel.

“Our demands are simple. Our determination is resolute. We call these steps the Three Steps of International Justice.”

“The what?”

“As a first step, the United Nations must repeal UN Resolution 181. This was the resolution passed in 1947 that recognized the illegitimate right to a so-called Jewish state.

“As a second step, the United Nations must repeal UN Resolution 273. This was the resolution passed in 1949 that called the illegal Jewish state a peace-loving state.”

“What an idiot!”

“Finally, as a final step of good faith, the United Nations must repeal UN Resolution 46/86, and in its place, restore UN Resolution 3379, which was originally adopted in 1975 before Zionist forces had it repealed.

“These are not just the demands of the Indonesian government. These are the demands of free people around the globe. These are the cries of the blood of those who have been murdered, raped, pillaged, and thrown from their homeland of a thousand years. These are the demands of justice.”

“We’ve got problems, gentlemen,” Mack interposed.

“Be forewarned”-the tinhorn pointed into the camera-“the powerful nations that run the UN must facilitate bringing about these three steps of justice. You know who you are.”

“Is he threatening us?”

“I doubt he’s talking about Mexico.”

“You, the nation, and the nations who control the United Nations must act swiftly to carry out these steps of justice that I have outlined. If you fail to do so, understand this: freedom fighters all over the world now share in the type of power that you have witnessed today. If these measures are not implemented in twenty-four hours, I have no control over the actions of these freedom fighters. However, it is my duty as a human, as one who cares for the lives of millions, to warn those who would oppose justice, for the protection of the lives of the innocent.”

“Is he threatening to nuke us?”

“Sounds like it.”

“Us and maybe the Brits too.”

“Do the right thing,” the tinhorn continued. “And remember, you nations controlling the United Nations, you have twenty-four hours. I bid you farewell from the Islamic Republic of Indonesia.”

The screen went black.

“What’s that last resolution he wants repealed?” the secretary of defense asked.

“That resolution equated Zionism with racism,” the national security advisor said. “It was an anti-Israeli resolution the UN passed in 1975. We mustered the votes, finally, to repeal it. He wants the repeal repealed, restoring the original declaration.”

“This guy sounds like Hitler,” the vice president remarked.

“Hitler didn’t have nukes,” Mack retorted. “Arnie, have we gotten through to the secretary of state?”

“Yes, sir. I just got a flash message that he’s being driven right now from the Hotel Del to North Island Naval Air Station in San Diego. He’ll be on a military jet headed back east any minute.”

“Good. I want him, along with the Indonesian ambassador, in my office just as soon as his plane touches down.”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

“And we’ll need to open up a line with the Brits. Where’s Prime Minister Suddath?”

“He’s flying back to London from Singapore,” Cyndi Hewitt said.

“Get him on a secure line,” Mack said. “Sounds like the Brits could be in their gunsights too.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

Outside Merdeka Square

Indonesia

4:15 p.m.

He knew it was probably dangerous for him to be here at the moment. At least, that was the official warning given by the State Department and relayed by the deputy chief of mission after Perkasa’s speech, which clearly, in the minds of the US government, had been aimed at America. All US civilians and embassy officials were to remain inside the walls of the embassy until further notice.

“Stay here, Zack,” Deputy Chief of Mission Bruce Laredo had told him. “The State Department wants all our personnel inside the embassy compound until we get this sorted out. They’re worried that we may have another hostage situation brewing like Tehran in 1979.”

Of course none of that made sense to Zack, since in Tehran in 1979, the US embassy was stormed by Iranian militants who took embassy personnel hostage. It seemed that if the State Department was really worried about an embassy siege, they’d get personnel out of the embassy and onto navy ships, as had been done in Hanoi in 1974. But their response was to declare that they were worried about an embassy siege, and then hole up inside it. Typical State Department logic. Notoriously oxymoronic.

Zack Brewer was a United States naval officer, not a State Department beanie head.

And even if he were a State Department beanie head, technically he was attached to the embassy in Singapore, not Jakarta. And unless someone in his direct chain of command ordered him to stay away…and his bosses in Singapore were too busy at the moment dealing with the disastrous oil slick to even wonder where he was…he was going to be here. As a compromise, he had agreed to doff his navy uniform and change into civilian clothes, but he was going to get as close to her as possible.

His heart pounded as he approached the edge of the square and looked across it at the smoking palace.

She was in there.

Somewhere.

Alive. She had to be. As he stood on the sidewalk, crowded in by throngs of thousands, some wailing, others cheering, many spreading their arms into the tropical skies, his spirit cried out to God, begging for her safety.

His cell phone rang. United States embassy. Deputy chief of mission. “Yes, sir.”

“You okay, Zack?”

“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”

“What are you seeing?”

“It’s chaos over here. Hundreds of armed troops are surrounding the palace. There must be fifty thousand civilians out in the square. A helicopter has landed on top of the palace. No way to get in or out right now other than by air, unless they clear these crowds out.” Lord, please protect her. “Any news on the ambassador or Commander Colcernian?”

“Nothing. We got the foreign minister’s office on the phone, but they say they don’t know anything from inside the palace other than the president has died.”

“They’re stonewalling, sir.”

“Can’t say that I disagree with that, Zack.”

“I’ve got to find a way to get inside.”

“Zack, don’t be crazy.”

He did not respond. Maybe he could wait until nightfall. Maybe his chances of penetrating the perimeter would increase under the cover of darkness. He had to get in.

“Zack, we need you back at the embassy.”

“Mr. Laredo, I’m fine. No one’s even noticed me.”

“I know you’re fine. I know that you’re going to be fine if you’re here or there. But, Zack, the ambassador’s gone. I need you here.”

“But…”

“Zack. There are things I need to talk to you about. Your country needs you here.”

Zack looked back across the square at the palace. Long shadows stretched across the mob of humanity, which had thickened even in the few minutes that he had been on the cell phone. The grim-faced soldiers pointed their weapons toward the crowd. The odd combination of euphoria and grief made for an explosive situation. One trigger-happy soldier could literally set fire to a massive sea of human gasoline.

How could he leave with such danger surrounding her?

“Zack?”

On the other hand, what good could he do by standing here and watching?

“Are you still there, Zack?”

“I’ll be there in a few minutes, sir.”

The White House

5:30 a.m.

Gentlemen, I need military action,” Mack said, as he eyed the nation’s highest-ranking military officers, the members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who were seated in a semicircle just in front of the president’s desk. “And I need it now.”

“Just tell us what you need, Mr. President.” This was the commandant of the Marine Corps.

A swig of black coffee. Just what the doctor ordered. “Very well, General Grey. While the nation has been asleep, a madman has taken over Indonesia, exploded a nuclear weapon, probably taken out one of our warships, and is threatening to use his nuclear toys against us if we don’t cave to his ridiculous demands.

“On top of that, the Indonesian president has apparently been assassinated, our ambassador and our naval attaché are unaccounted for, and in the last couple of days the Malacca Strait and the city of Singapore have become environmental disasters.” Another swig of coffee.

“Gentlemen, no one bullies the United States with nuclear blackmail. Not even thinly veiled nuclear blackmail.” Mack slammed his fist on his desk. “Too many innocent lives are at stake. I want this guy taken out.” He paused. “Am I clear on that?”

The air force chief of staff glanced at the chief of naval operations. Admiral Jones, the chairman of the Joint Chiefs, raised his eyebrow. “Mr. President,” the air force chief said, “are you suggesting assassination? Because if you are, sir, then perhaps the CIA would be best suited for that sort of thing.”

“Who said anything about assassination, General McPeak?” Mack glared at the air force general. His Kansas blood was boiling. It had been a long night. “Assassination is a violation of military law. I’m talking about swift, decisive military action. If the good general does not survive that action, then that makes him a casualty of war. If this Islamic madman, tinhorn dictator is a casualty of war, then I have no control over that.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Question, Mr. President.”

“General Grey,” Mack acknowledged the commandant of the Marine Corps.

“Sir, what’s your time frame for having this operation ready for execution?”

“A good question, General.” Mack scratched his chin. “This General Perkasa says we have”-Mack made quotation marks in the air- “twenty-four hours to enact all these UN resolutions he has demanded.” He checked his watch. “Therefore, I want to cut the snake off at the neck before he strikes.

“It’s now just after 6:00 A.M., gentlemen. I want you all to go down to the situation room with the secretary of defense. I want you to formulate a plan, and I want it on my desk for review no later than zero-eight-thirty this morning. I want to review the plan, approve it, and I want us to strike within the next twelve hours, under cover of darkness in Jakarta.”

The Joint Chiefs exchanged glances.

“Gentlemen, I know our timeframe is short, and I know I’m asking a lot of you. But there’s a verse in the Bible that goes something like, ‘to whom much is given, much is expected.’

“All of us in this room…me, the vice president, the secretary of defense, and each of you, have been given an extraordinary responsibility for the defense of this great nation and the defense of freedom, a responsibility that only a minute handful of people in our history have ever shouldered. There’s another verse in the Bible. It’s from Esther, and I want you to remember it as you go. It says, ‘Who knows but that you have come to the royal position for such a time as this.’

“Gentlemen, none of us are royal. We are but servants of the people. But all of us…each one of us…has been called to this place, to this task, for such a time as this.

“I want to take this guy out. And I want to take control of Merdeka Palace, and I want to find our people. Now.”

“Mister President,” Admiral Jones said, “we’ve been working most of the night, anticipating this very moment. We already have a plan in place, just waiting for your approval, sir.”

Mack smiled. “Admiral, I knew there was a good reason I appointed you as chairman. Let’s hear it.”