The Third World War: A Terrifying Novel of Global Conflict

14

'You have lost Brunei,' said Park Ho. He had walked, uninvited, into Ahmed Memed's suite at the government guest-house in the northern suburbs of Pyonyang. The Muslim cleric and his bodyguard, Hassan Muda, were at prayers, facing west towards Mecca using mats they had brought with them on the plane.

On Qureshi's insistence before he left, Memed had been given better quarters. But still they were far from luxurious. The room was large and narrow with high ceilings and a glass chandelier in the middle. The armchairs were covered in faded pink cloth and the other furniture was of heavy, dark wood: a low coffee table, three upright chairs, a writing desk and two cupboards, one with a stuffed pheasant decorating a shelf, with books by Kim Il-sung and his son Kim Jong-il lining the shelf underneath. The walls were a dirty white, the paint grubby and faded, and on them were photographs of Kim Il-sung, some from when he was a young man just after the Korean War.

Memed looked up patiently, and shifted his position while studying the impatience on Park Ho's face. 'Please, a few minutes,' he said gently.

'You have lost Brunei,' Park repeated. He walked to the window, impatiently tapping his fingers on the glass. 'You told me you had fighters with courage. You lied to me.'

Memed did not respond. Park lit a cigarette and opened the window. 'Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Morocco, Tunisia, Algeria — nothing. You told me there would be rebellion throughout the Islamic world. You lied to me.'

Memed ignored him. Park stepped over to Hassan Muda and kicked him in the face as he was kneeling.

Trembling with anger, Memed pushed himself to his feet. 'What are you trying to achieve, General?' He brushed down his gown and walked as calmly as he could manage to a window, across the room from Park. 'If you do that again, you will have lost everything, because you will have lost my cooperation.'

Park drew on his cigarette. In the silence that followed Memed's threat, Park silently studied the portraits of his predecessors.

'General,' said Memed gently. 'You will gain nothing by using sadism against Hassan Muda. You have seized upon him in a fit of anger. You do not respect me because you do not understand me, and you are a man who is afraid of what he does not have the courage to discover.'

'Don't preach to me,' said Park, walking to another corner of the room, his eyes concentrating on the cold and grimy view through the window.

'We are following our religion,' continued Memed, patiently, softly, trying to bring Park round. 'You do not have a religion. You have no god. You do not understand. Wherever people feel suppressed, they will turn to us. We have a vision that uplifts the hearts of men. It will spread, because Islam is a truth. You do not win or lose truths. They simply exist.'

'Brunei is lost,' said Park, turning back inside the room. 'That is a truth.'

'You cannot expect to gain such a large territory as Daulah Islamiah Nusantara without losing and regaining territory. We have not won Singapore. Penang, we never expected to win. But we have Kuching, Kota Kinabalu, Zamboanga, Jolu, Sulu. When we win, it is because the people believe us. It will not be through the barrel of a gun.' Memed finished the sentence with his eyes on Park. Then he knelt down and dipped a clean cloth in a bowl of fresh water that he kept underneath the radiator.

'Here,' he whispered to Muda. 'Take this. It will stop the bleeding.' Memed opened out the cloth and let Muda tilt his head back into his hand, while he lay the cloth over his face. His nose was bleeding and the kick had cut him under the right eye.

He got up and walked up to Park. There was a shiftiness across the general's face, an uneasiness about being looked straight in the eye. The two men were close and hostile, one in a laundered, khaki uniform, the other in a white, floor-length robe.

Park flinched as Memed put his hand on his shoulder. 'You follow the juche philosophy of your nation's founder Kim Il-sung,' Memed said slowly. 'Juche is based on the principle that man is the master of everything and man decides everything. I follow the religion of Islam, which believes that God is the master of everything and God decides everything.

'I see in your face a force more immediate, more human. Perhaps you follow your path because of an experience in your early life. That is what most godless people do.'

'Enough,' said Park, dropping his cigarette on the floor. He trod on the butt inches away from Memed's sandals and stepped back. 'With Qureshi, we talked of the need for another catalyst. With Brunei gone, do you still believe it will work?'

'The British newspapers are criticizing Stuart Nolan's action. International opinion is against him. They have published photographs of British special forces men attacking Muslim Bruneian soldiers. They ask why Western thugs are let loose in the developing world. Nolan will now try to take back Sabah and Sarawak. But each day, public opposition will grow. This is not just a battle for territory, but for the will of the new world we are trying to create. The West believes that if it can regain South-East Asia, the danger of unrest in Saudi Arabia, Jordan and Egypt will subside. I believe that the longer we fight, the wider the revolution will spread.'

Memed looked Park straight in the eye. His expression was soft, but determined. 'So yes, General, it will work. We will continue, and Muda will leave tonight, if you permit him.'