The Malacca Conspiracy

Chapter 18

Embassy of the Apostolic Nunciature of the Holy See

Singapore

10:35 p.m.

An asylum request for the Holy See?” Monsignor Rafael Cardillo, the nuncio for his Holiness the Holy Father of Rome to the Republic of Singapore, had just gone to bed, but had not fallen asleep when he had been called down to his office by his assistant that a secure call was being placed by his counterpart in the Republic of Indonesia, Monsignor Alberto Miranda, the nuncio to the Republic of Indonesia, or now the Islamic Republic of Indonesia.

“And they are requesting that they be housed here at the Apostolic Nunciature in Singapore?” Cardillo asked this, listening to Miranda confirm the request. “Don’t they know that we have our hands full dealing with displaced refugees from the oil spill?…Why not there in Indonesia?…Oh, really?…Let me get this straight; one of the parties requesting asylum is one of our priests?…And neither he nor his cohort feel safe at the Apostolic Nunciature in Indonesia…I see…I see…I suppose I understand.”

The nuncio looked at his watch.

“I’ll meet you at the airport with a reception party as soon as the plane lands. We will take the petitioners into our protective custody until this can be sorted out.”

Ten miles south of Philadelphia

11:10 a.m.

Move, move, move!” Lieutenant Colonel Raymond Leggett, Pennsylvania National Guard, was waving his arms like a traffic cop as he stood atop the hood of the military Humvee, which was parked just off the shoulder of southbound Interstate 95, leading out of Philadelphia. “Keep moving!”

The interstate itself was a logjam of horn-blowing cars all pointed in a southerly direction, but barely moving away from the ominous black cloud hovering over what was once downtown Philadelphia.

Along the shoulders of the road, thousands of pedestrians plodded along in a southerly direction, some cursing, others crying, many with stunned and glazed looks.

A shrill cry pierced above the cacophonous sound of rumbling panic. “Please! Please! She’s my baby! Please!”

Leggett looked down and saw a young woman, a stringy redhead with a baby in a pouch on her back. The woman was frantically pulling on the cammie uniform of his second in command, First Lieutenant Bob Calley.

“What’s the problem?” Leggett asked.

“Sir, we just ran out of iodide pills. She was next in line.” The national guard had been passing out iodide pills to try and thwart the effects of nuclear fallout.

“Please! Please! I don’t want her to die.”

“Ma’am,” Leggett said with an authoritative tone, “we’ve ordered more iodide pills. You’ll have to wait.”

“My baby!”

“You’ll have to move along, ma’am.”

“No!” She was now pulling so hard on the lieutenant’s uniform that he nearly stumbled into the crowd.

“Hey, move! Move!” Screams from the crowd swelled amidst the honking horns. “What’s the holdup? Move or we’re all gonna die!”

“Sergeant, help the lieutenant!”

“Yes, sir!” The sergeant, also in cammies and combat boots, stepped in and grabbed the lady’s arm, then pulled her away from the young lieutenant.

“No!” she screamed, clawing back.

“Medic!”

“Yes, sir!”

“This lady’s disrupting our operations. Give her a tranquilizer and put her in the Humvee.”

“Yes, sir.”

Leggett tried blocking the woman’s screeching protestations out of his mind. “Move along! Move along,” he was saying. It was as if he were speaking to the wind. The crowd was going to rush to the south anyway.

The cloud was now darkening and appearing to spread in their direction. Chills ran up and down his spine. Surely the cloud contained enough radiation to condemn anyone under it to a death sentence. The iodide tablets were scarce. At least at this location.

He thought of his wife and two children, across the river in Delaware. Hopefully, they had already begun their journey to the south.

His instinct as a husband and father told him to leave, to abandon his post now. But he was an officer in the Pennsylvania National Guard, under the command of the governor of Pennsylvania and the president of the United States. He had sworn to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. He could not leave. Not now. Not yet. His nation had been attacked. His commanders had deployed him. Duty called.

“Ah!” He looked down and watched the lady scream from the pain of the long, glistening needle being jabbed into her arm. Almost immediately, she fell to the ground. The lieutenant was already cradling the infant in his arms, as a sea of humanity swirled around them, all on foot.

“Get them in the Humvee.”

“Yes, sir.”

What to do? So many people. So little control. “Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Radio air support. Tell ’em we need a chopper. Now. We gotta get this lady and her baby out of here.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

Colonel Leggett had been a professing Christian all his life. But like so many professing Christians in America, the distractions of the world had cut into his prayer and Bible time, and he knew it. The looming radioactive cloud over Philadelphia, the panicked cries and screams of hundreds of thousands, drove him to pray silently now, even while attempting to look official in his army uniform. He was helpless to do anything other than depend on God.

Chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-chop…

The colonel looked to his right. A Huey helicopter, green drab against the bright sky with the word ARMY painted in white, was circling and now headed in their direction.

The sight of the chopper sent hundreds of arms clamoring in the air. “This way. Over here!” Cries of desperation from the escaping throngs.

Standing on the hood of the Humvee, Leggett motioned for the chopper. The pilot responded and nosed the chopper toward the National Guard unit’s position.

“Take me! Take my child!” people were now yelling.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please get back!”

The crowd did not respond.

“Please! Please get back. The helicopter may have iodide tablets. Please get back.”

Still nothing.

“Please get back or we will have to fire!”

The crowd had not yet broken through the perimeter of troops surrounding the Humvee and the portable command post. Yet they were pressing against the perimeter.

Leggett could not fire on Americans. He knew that. He would never repeat the travesty of Kent State, when Ohio National Guard troops shot and killed college students on the Kent campus. Still, the chopper needed room to operate if he were to help these people.

“Company, don gas equipment. Sergeant, stand by to fire tear gas on my command.”

“Yes, sir.”

The chopper was now overhead, and communications were almost impossible under its deafening roar. A stretcher was being lowered from the chopper.

“Corporal! Get the baby in the stretcher. Ride up with her!” Leggett screamed.

“Yes, sir.”

At the sight of the corporal cradling the baby in his arms, then climbing into the metal grate stretcher, the crowd seemed to back off, if only for a moment. The corporal gave a thumbs-up, and the winch in the chopper began lifting him and the infant girl through the air. The basket stretcher dangled a bit into the air and then, moving up, was pulled into the chopper. An airman reached over, gave a thumbs-up down to the ground.

The stretcher was now over the Humvee again as the corporal headed back down toward the jeep. This led to more clamoring by the crowd.

The perimeter line broke and four men poured toward the jeep.

“Tear gas!”

A canister exploded in front of the advancing mob. Rising white smoke set off a wave of coughing and choking. The vanguard of advancing throngs turned away. “They shot them! They shot them!”

Angry screams. “Ladies and gentlemen! Back off.” Leggett yelled through the bullhorn. “We are trying to save a baby and her mother. The chopper has an additional supply of iodide. We’ll pass it out until it runs out. If you want us to help you, you have to back off now! I apologize for having to use tear gas, but we instructed these people to back off and they refused.”

“Killers!” A long-haired young man, earrings dangling, was shaking his fist in the air. “Just like Bush in Iraq!”

“Please,” Colonel Leggett pleaded. “We will fire more tear gas if you do not cooperate!”

Some were choking and now others crying. Still others, who were not affected downwind by the tear gas, backed off this time, providing a slight opportunity.

“Sergeant, Lieutenant. Get the lady in the stretcher.”

“Yes, sir.”

The soldiers strapped the woman into the stretcher, and in a moment, she too was dangling over the Humvee.

Inside his gas mask, Leggett watched as the chopper reeled the lady up, up to a place of temporary safety. At that moment, he realized that tears were running down his cheeks. But his tears were not from exposure to the gas.

The White House

11:45 a.m.

Ablur of activity dominated the Situation Room at the White House. Some TV monitors showed live images of a flame-engulfed Philadelphia. Others showed rapid response and military units aiding civilians rushing from the city. Still others showed reruns of the nuclear explosion on Gag Island half a world away. A few showed the oil slicks in Singapore, which seemed to be ancient history in the wake of all this. On several other screens, television reporters holding microphones were standing outside the White House, explaining whatever they could about the situation.

And even as he silently prayed for courage and wisdom to act decisively in a way to save as many American lives as possible, President Mack Williams could not get rid of the persistent question lurking in the back of his mind. Why?

Why had fate placed it upon him to become the first American president to absorb the brunt of a nuclear attack on American soil? Why?

Phones were ringing. Admiral Smith and several aides were on the phone with the Pentagon. Around the conference table, other members of the National Security Council were on the phone with their staffs.

And yet Mack Williams, president of the United States and the one who was regarded as the most powerful man in the world, suddenly felt as though he were the most lonely and helpless man in the room.

The words of Christ on the cross rang in his ears. My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?

“What’s our situation? Mr. Secretary?” The president snapped this question to the secretary of defense, who seemed like the proper person to demand information from at the moment. And anyway, it felt good just to snap at someone.

“Some good news from Indonesia, Mr. President,” Secretary Lopez said. “We’ve established radio contact with the crew of our lost chopper. The pilot brought them down in an emergency landing. Last report they were on the ground. Safe. Of course, I’m sure the Indonesians will be out hunting, sir.”

Mack exhaled. “Thank God for that much. What about Philly?”

“Iodide is part of the problem, sir. We have enough at various depositories around the country, but we can’t get it to the population in Philly fast enough. Plus, we’re not sure to what extent we need it and how many doses to administer.”

Mack considered the iodide issue for a second. “Don’t we need to administer it within an hour of an attack or a nuclear leak for it to do any good?”

“Your memory is correct, Mr. President. To protect against thyroid damage from radioactive fallout, iodide must be administered promptly. For thousands in Philadelphia, it’s already too late. And as deadly and devastating a blow as Philadelphia has suffered, this appears to be a smaller nuclear device. The jury is still out, but the radiation may not be as widespread as, say, a thermonuclear strike with a weapon like the Russians have.”

Mack thought about that. “So for those who weren’t incinerated by the bomb, best-case scenario…we could have a repeat of the Chernobyl nuclear disaster on our hands?”

“Possibly, sir. It’s too early to tell.”

“Well, is there any point in getting massive doses there from other parts of the country at this point?”

“Yes, I think so. People will continue to be exposed by residual radiation. We still may be able to help some people. Plus, the action would reassure the public, for what it’s worth.”

“Okay, let’s move fifty percent of our emergency iodide reserves on the West Coast to Philly, and pray that we don’t get struck again.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But, Mr. President, about the issue we discussed earlier…”

“I’m not leaving Washington.” Mack slammed his fist on the desk. “What kind of a message would it send to Americans if their president lacked such confidence in our military that he turned tail and ran?”

“But, sir, by all accounts, the mayor of Philadelphia and the entire Philly city council have been wiped out. A nuclear blast here…”

“If I turn tail and run, they have won. I’m simply not going to do it, Erwin.”

“Well, sir, would you at least consider getting the vice president, along with a number of deputy cabinet secretaries, up in an airplane for the next three or four days so that we will have a functioning government if Washington blows?”

Mack looked up and saw that all eyes in the Situation Room were suddenly upon him. The moment had become an eerie pregnant pause in the hubbub of frantic activity. He looked over at his vice president, Douglas Surber.

“Yes, Mr. Secretary, that’s a good idea. Mr. Vice President, let’s have Marine Two airlift you over to Andrews and get you up in the air immediately.”

“Yes, sir,” the vice president said.

“Then let’s get the top deputy secretaries of all cabinet positions up in the air ASAP.” Mack looked around. Their eyes were still glued on him. This wasn’t happening. “God forbid that we have to run this government from thirty-thousand feet.”

“One other thing, Mr. President.”

“What is it, Erwin?”

“I recommend the immediate establishment of a no-fly zone around Washington other than military aircraft.”

“Okay. Sure. Good idea.”

“That would mean at least temporarily closing Reagan Airport.”

Mack winced. “Closing Reagan shuts down the main artery of air traffic into DC.” He wrung his hands together. “I just don’t like the idea of them controlling us like that.”

“I understand, Mr. President. But I don’t think we have a choice. Suppose they try to deliver their next bomb by air? I’m sure that the FAA can reroute flights to Dulles and BWI.”

Mack exhaled. The secretary of defense was right and he knew it. “Fine. Effective immediately, instruct the FAA to redirect all inbound domestic flights from Reagan to Dulles and BWI. And while we’re at it, I think we should get the speaker of the house and the president pro tem of the Senate out of town. Arnie”-he looked at his chief of staff-“will you get me Senator Boylan and Speaker Crane on the line? I’d like to make this request personally.” He looked out at the National Security Council, whose members were collectively soaking up his every word like sponges sucking water. “I want to make sure this country still has a semblance of a government if they do to Washington what they did to Philadelphia.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”

United States Embassy

Singapore

12:01 a.m.

First Lieutenant Barry Porter, United States Marine Corps, the officer in charge of embassy security for the evening, had just started swilling his second cup of black coffee when the secure telephone for Ambassador Griffith rang. Only another embassy or the US State Department would ordinarily call on this line. Porter put down the coffee mug and checked the caller ID.

Embassy of the Apostolic Nunciature-Singapore.

“The Vatican Embassy?” he said aloud, then picked up the phone and began speaking rapidly and crisply.

“United States Embassy. This is First Lieutenant Porter, US Marine Corps. May I help you?”

“This is Father DiNardo with the Embassy of the Holy See here in Singapore.”

“Yes, sir, Father. How may I help you, sir?”

“The nuncio would like to arrange an immediate meeting with Ambassador Griffith.”

“Yes, sir, Father. I don’t keep the ambassador’s schedule, sir. His appointment secretary will be in at zero-seven-hundred hours in the morning. Would you like me to have her call you when she comes in?”

“I’m afraid it cannot wait until the morning, Lieutenant. With advance apologies from the nuncio, he is asking that you alert the ambassador now, and the nuncio would like to call on the ambassador at approximately 1:00 A.M. or sooner.”

“Zero-one-hundred hours?” Porter checked his watch. “Approximately one hour from now?”

“Yes, that’s correct, Lieutenant. Please inform the ambassador that the meeting may have sensitive and extremely important national security implications for the United States, and that the highest ranking military and intelligence officers who may be available should attend.”

Porter jotted a note on his legal pad. Extreme National Security Implications. “Yes, sir, Father. I will awaken the ambassador and deliver this message immediately.”

The White House

12:15 p.m.

The sudden explosion of a national crisis had the effect of forming alliances and relationships that in normal circumstances could not be anticipated.

Up until about nine-thirty-five that morning, the president of the United States had not been particularly close with any of his cabinet members. Oh, he had been cordial and friendly, and relied on them for advice. But he had intentionally kept just a bit of an arm’s length so as to avoid any appearance of favoritism.

But in the tremendous heat brought about by this unforeseen tragedy, Mack had found himself in the past few hours relying more and more on the guidance of his secretary of defense, Erwin Lopez. The SECDEF had seemed the calmest of all the president’s inner circle, and something in Mack’s gut told him that this guy was destined for such a time as this, to provide clear-headed advice to the president in this unprecedented time of death and destruction that had been heaped on the United States.

“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.

“Right through here, Mr. Ambassador.” The second marine pointed to the left, and they stepped through a large doorway into an ornate, brightly lit conference room. A very large wooden table surrounded by ten black leather swiveling chairs was in the center of the room, and at the end of the table the US flag was erected in a stand. “Ambassador Griffith will be right with you, sir,” the marine said, then stepped out of the room.

“Very nice,” Father Ramon remarked, his eyes taking in the room.

“The Americans still have the best facilities,” the nuncio said.

“Good evening, Nuncio.” Kristina looked around and saw a distin-guished-looking man with silver hair, presumably American, walking through the doors from the hallway.

“Ambassador Griffith,” the nuncio said, as he stood and extended his hand to the American ambassador.

“Please be seated,” the ambassador said. “I understand that you’ve uncovered some sensitive information of urgent importance.”

“Mr. Ambassador,” the nuncio said. “This is Father Ramon from Indonesia”-the nuncio extended his hand toward the priest-“and this is one of his new parishioners, Kristina Wulandari.” She felt nervous when the nuncio touched her shoulder. “These are extraordinary circumstances. The Holy See has granted asylum to them both.”

“I see,” Ambassador Griffith said.

He nodded at Kristina. “Kristina knows this General Perkasa, this fellow with the new atomic bomb, over in Indonesia.”

“Yes, unfortunately, we have become aware of him.” The ambassador flashed a look of disgust.

The nuncio continued. “She has come across some computer files that we believe will be of urgent and extreme interest to your government. That is why we have requested this meeting.”

“Urgent and extreme,” the ambassador said, parroting the words of the nuncio. “How so?”

“Mr. Ambassador, the file on this memory stick”-the nuncio held up the stick in his hand-“that was taken by Kristina from the general’s residence, shows evidence that the Indonesian junta is responsible for today’s attack on Philadelphia.”

“Really?” A stunned look came over the ambassador’s face.

“Yes, Mr. Ambassador. And not only that, but it looks like they are preparing attacks on two other American cities.”

“Which cities?”

“First, San Francisco. Then Washington,” Father Ramon spoke up. “My apologies,” he added, realizing that he had spoken out of turn.

The nuncio spoke again. “We brought a laptop if you would like to see for yourself, Mr. Ambassador.”

“Yes, please,” Ambassador Griffith said.