The Malacca Conspiracy

by Don Brown

  “Doctor,” the general shot back, “if you are suggesting that my credibility would be damaged in the eyes of the Americans and the nations of the West, well not only do I not care about that, but I would think that this would bolster my allies among the only nations that count, namely our Muslim brothers.”

  “Perhaps,” Budi said, having sucked the general from frivolity to at least a serious conversational mode. “But what about in debates involving nations of the third world in the forum of the United Nations and other forums? Would it not be better to preserve as much credibility for you as we can upon the international stage?”

  There was a slight pause. “Bring me another drink,” Perkasa snapped. “Ahh, Guntur, I see that not only are you a physician, but also a military tactician, and now a diplomat. To Dr. Budi!” Perkasa said, and from what she could hear, they appeared to be drinking a toast. “Now then, Guntur, since you have become not only a physician, but also a military tactician, and now a diplomat, I must confess that you have piqued my curiosity. So tell me…what is this better way that you would propose? Hmm?”

  There was a pause, and then the doctor spoke up again. “General, I wish not only to give my money to our cause. But I also wish to give of my body.”

  Grave silence followed that comment. “Are you suggesting martyrdom, my friend?”

  “I am. And I am ready.”

  More silence.

  “No one has asked you to do this.”

  “No one but Allah the Merciful.”

  “Well.” The general’s tone grew somber and deliberate. “Not even a general of the army can argue with Allah.”

  “No, General.”

  “Tell me, Dr. Budi, has Allah given you specific guidance on how you are to sacrifice your body?”

  “He has,” the doctor said slowly. His voice trembled with emotion.

  “And how has he directed you, my friend?”

  Another pause.

  “I now see the reason he has given me direct access to the president. This…my destiny…was preordained from the beginning of time. The president has had many opportunities to repent of his ways and return to the Great Faith. I have access to him at will. He has a physical scheduled in only a few days.

  “My brother is also a physician, a surgeon, here in Jakarta. We are of like mind. He will assist me. A trust will hold my money after my martyrdom. Funds from it shall be used to buy weapons of freedom for our cause.”

  Kristina’s stomach knotted. Were they talking about murder? About murder of the president?

  “That is noble of you, Dr. Budi, but we shall consider your offer as a group-”

  “But, General, I-”

  “As a group, Doctor. We have come this far as a group. We will decide together. But I thank Allah for your bravery.”

  “General.” This was another voice that she did not recognize.

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “I also commend the doctor for his bravery. But that begs another question. What about the vice president? Should we not make plans for him as well?”

  There was a pause, as if the men had not thought of this question.

  “Actually, I have been thinking about the vice president,” the general was saying. “The vice president is weaker than the president. It seems that the vice president could be useful in legitimizing the new government. I believe he can be persuaded to throw his support behind our cause and to declare us as the new ruling government.” A pause. “Do you know what I mean?”

  There was laughter.

  The general continued. “Vice President Magadia is vacationing at Istana Bogor for the next ten days. Once this operation begins, we sequester him there. If he decides not to cooperate…Well, that will be his unfortunate choice.”

  “I agree.”

  “Excellent idea, General.”

  The general spoke again. “Colonel Croon, you are in charge of that phase of the operation.”

  “Yes, General.”

  Kristina could not listen to any more of this. If someone even suspected that she had heard this information, not even General Perkasa could protect her. In fact, he would probably kill her himself.

  She covered her ears, prayed that God would send an angel to bar the door to the study, and then stepped into the hall.

  She started to run back up the stairs. “Did you hear something, General?” the doctor asked.

  She turned the corner at the top of the stairs and ran toward the bedroom.

  “I’ll check,” the general’s voice boomed.

  She heard the door open, the sound of the squeaking hinges echoing up the staircase.

  Kristina jumped into bed and pulled the covers over her head.

  Click. Click. Click. The sound of patent leather boots echoed against the tile foyer. A pause. Click. Click. Click. Now the sound of boots coming up the staircase.

  Another pause.

  “I don’t see anything,” the general’s voice boomed. Click. Click. Click. The sound of boots stepping from the wooden staircase to the tile floor of the foyer.

  Creeeak. A door closed.

  Kristina buried her head in the pillow. She felt her pulse pounding against the silk sheets.

  She closed her eyes, turning and twisting. Had she just overheard a plot to assassinate President Santos?

  Turning again under the covering, it was as if someone had dumped bags of ice all over her body. She felt clammy under the sheets.

  Lying there, under the covers, the images in her mind faded in and out. President Santos that day at Merdeka Palace…The first time she saw the general sitting near the president…Policemen with fire hoses…Bleeding knees and crying children…Elizabeth Martin’s kind face…

  “Jesus,” she whispered, though she had not been to Mass in years, “please help me get out of here safely.”

  A supernatural peace of sorts fell over her. She closed her eyes and soon began drifting off to sleep.

  A while later, her eyes opened to the sound of the general’s loud snoring. She squinted at the digital alarm clock beside the bed.

  Four A.M.

  She’d been sleeping a little less than an hour.

  He’d probably just come to bed. He had not touched her. Good. That usually meant he had drunk at least four glasses. Sometimes she would pour another glass to make him leave her alone.

  She pulled sheets from over her legs and slipped off the side of the bed. Tiptoeing across the floor to the bathroom adjacent to the master bedroom, she conducted her business, but did not flush for fear of awakening him.

  She finished and stood at the door looking toward the bed.

  The snoring stopped. Perkasa rolled over. A cough. Another cough.

  A deep swallow.

  The sound of the general licking his chops, like a bulldog about to pounce on a piece of raw steak. And then, even louder.

  She looked at the clock again. He would be up at five o’clock, if he didn’t awaken before then. That’s when he always woke up. She had less than an hour.

  Kristina slipped on a bathrobe, then quietly tiptoed toward the nightstand on her side of the bed. She unplugged the cell phone and stuck it in her bathrobe pocket. Moving noiselessly across the floor, she pushed the bedroom door open and stepped into the hallway.

  The house was dark, except for dim light from the stars streaming in through the windows high in the foyer. She flipped open her cell phone. Using its pale, incandescent glow as a dim flashlight, she headed down the winding staircase.

  The rhythmic sounds of the general’s deep snoring reverberated throughout the house, but when her feet again touched the cold tile floor of the first-floor foyer, the snoring was more distant.

  Kristina held her cell phone in the direction of the general’s study. The ghostly light revealed that the door was closed. She placed her hand on the brass doorknob. The cool sensation of it against the palm of her hand seemed to wake her a bit, and to embolden her.

  She turned the knob and pushed the door. Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeee
eeak!

  Woof. Woof. The bark of the general’s German shepherd, Salim, cut through the outer stucco walls of the house. Kristina pressed her back hard against the dining room wall, then eased down onto the floor in a sitting position, wedging her body into the corner.

  BaWoof. Woof!

  Then silence. Kristina exhaled.

  She crept from the dining room back into the foyer. The soft light from her cell phone reminded her that the door from the study was still partially open. The squeaking from the door had set the dog off.

  Holding her breath, she pushed the door open and stepped into the spacious study. This time no squeaking.

  The computer’s screen saver, which featured a photograph of the Merdeka presidential palace, cast enough light in the room to reveal a slew of empty and half-empty liquor bottles, shot glasses, and wine glasses.

  The only noise within the room was the hum of the computer.

  Kristina walked toward it and sat down on the leather swivel chair. She tapped the space bar. The image of Merdeka Palace disappeared.

  A word processing file materialized.

  THE MALACCA PLAN

  TOP SECRET

  Overview

  The Strategic Alliance-Purpose

  Strategic Alliance with Council of Ishmael

  Plan for Revenue-Raising By Purchase of Oil futures

  Strategic Attacks Upon International Shipping and Oil Tankers

  Plan for Purchase of Geo-strategic Weaponry

  Plan for Indonesian Transition of Statehood

  The Elimination of President Santos

  The Sequestration of VP Magadia

  Plan for Neutralizing and Defeating Anticipated Military Interference by the United States of America

  Plan for Strategic Diversionary Attacks on United States Cities

  Plan for Strategic Use of Nuclear Weapons Against Select American Cities and Assassination of U.S. President Williams

  TOP SECRET. So this is what they were talking about.

  I need to get out of here! Now!

  But she could not. She scrolled down to the next page of the document.

  Was she dreaming? Rubbing her eyes in the dark, she squinted again at the screen.

  She scrolled down to the section entitled “Plan for the Elimination of President Santos.”

  Background: Enrique Santos, President of the Indonesian Republic, has for many years masqueraded as a Muslim in name only. In recent years, Santos has brought Indonesia into an alliance of loose cooperation with the United States, whose capitalistic interests have been clearly in alliance with the rogue nation of Israel and in opposition to the manifest destiny of worldwide Islamic interests.

  Parallels with Situation in Pakistan: In many respects, Santos has tracked the traitorous career of the late Pakistani Prime Minister, Benazir Bhutto, whose pro-Western ways fostered upheaval in her own country, necessitating her assassination.

  While the use of assassination to eliminate a political leader is in many ways unfortunate, the brutal truth is that Islamic law forbids incestuous political relationships with infidel nations opposed to Islam, and demands death for such infidels.

  In the case of Pakistan, history has shown that in the aftermath of the Bhutto assassination, the Islamic Republic of Pakistan has become a nation purer in her Muslim roots, with a political leadership whose international alliances support Islamic causes and other Muslim nations rather than America and Western interests.

  Pakistan’s recommitment to her rightful Islamic heritage can be traced to the assassination of Bhutto, who, prior to her slaying, had attempted to lead that nation into an incestuous relationship with the West and with America, and had in fact allied herself with former American President George W. Bush’s illegal invasion of Iraq and his so-called “War on Terror.”

  The Indictment Against President Santos

  Indonesia today mirrors the Islamic Republic of Pakistan in December of 2007. Like Prime Minister Bhutto of Pakistan, President Santos, while professing Islam, has allied the world’s largest Muslim nation, Indonesia, with the West. He has permitted United States and British warships to routinely enter Indonesian territorial waters in the Malaccan Strait. These narrow waters are rightly within the umbrella of Indonesia and the nations of the Malay Peninsula, including Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand, and Burma.

  By so doing, President Santos has embraced, endorsed, and normalized the practice of foreign navies patrolling these waters which the Alliance considers to be territorial.

  Santos has shared valuable strategic intelligence with the Americans. He has allowed Indonesian military forces, particularly the navy, to engage in joint military operations with the US and British navies, further legitimizing the presence of Western navies in Indonesian territorial waters.

  Removal by Assassination: Regrettably, the Strategic Alliance has concluded that the only solution for the future of Indonesia, a future in which Indonesia will reach its manifest destiny as the world’s first Islamic Superpower, is the removal of Santos by assassination.

  The Alliance hoped for the legitimate conversion of Santos and his repentance from his sinful ways. Santos forewent opportunities to bring his policies in line with an Islamocentric agenda.

  In reaching this decision, history should record that the Alliance has considered the option of removal by political means, as opposed to the assassination of Santos. However, having considered all options, the Alliance has concluded that removal by political means is not guaranteed, and thus unworkable.

  Operational Plan for Assassination

  The Strategic Alliance adopts and endorses an assassination plan against President Santos designed to minimize risk, insomuch as possible, to the lives of others. Therefore, the optimal means of assassination calls for a plan to be carried out inside the Merdeka Palace, by certain members of the president’s inner circle…

  BA-WOOF…BA-WOOF.

  She backstepped at the sound of the bark, gasping for breath, her eyes still on the computer. BA-WOOF.

  Probably just a rat outside. The dog barks all the time at night. She tiptoed to the foyer again.

  What now? The report was several hundred pages. She could never finish reading it before five o’clock. Plus, the general’s military aides would arrive before then to prepare breakfast and give him his daily briefing.

  Sweat formed on her palms.

  She walked back to the computer and reset the report back to the first page. She felt in the desk drawer just under the computer. Pens, pencils, paperclips, and a small memory stick crossed her fingertips. She pulled the flash drive out and held it against the light from the computer screen. Two gigabytes.

  She inserted the flash drive into the USB port. The orange light flashed off and on. The computer beeped.

  A message flashed, indicating that a “Removable Disk E” had been inserted into the computer. Quickly, she saved the file onto the flash drive.

  A light came on downstairs. Probably in the kitchen.

  Kristina yanked the memory stick out of the desktop and dropped it into the pocket of her bathrobe.

  A gurgling, bubbling noise-the sound of the coffeepot starting to heat up for breakfast. Then, footsteps coming down the hallway…

  Kristina punched the power button. The screen went black. Total darkness fell over the study.

  Click. Someone turned on a lamp. The lamp cast a soft, incandescent glow from the foyer into the study. Kristina crouched down into a dark crevice of the room, away from the direct stream of the light.

  The silhouette of a woman stood there, in the doorway, staring into the room. Was the woman watching her?

  As her eyes adjusted, Kristina recognized the svelte figure as Madina, a civilian woman and a new member of the general’s kitchen staff.

  Chink, chink, ching. Keys jingled against the front door. Madina walked off to the right, out of sight, toward it.

  There was a creaking and the rush of light wind as the front door opened.

  “You ar
e early, Captain,” Madina said, in a voice that carried a certain excitement.

  “The general had a very late-night meeting.” This was the voice of Captain Hassan Taplus, the slim, ambitious young officer the general had first sent to fetch her. “I need to clean up his study and prepare him for his morning meeting.”

  ************

  Kristina held her breath and prayed.

  “You look so tired, Captain.” Madina’s voice was a bit needy. Kristina sensed that she liked Taplus. “I’ve just put on coffee,” she said. “Could I interest you in a fresh cup before you start?”

  Please.

  “Well, I really need to get the general’s study organized,” Taplus said, not convincingly. “Perhaps another time.”

  “Oh, just a cup. Please? I’ve got it brewing in the kitchen. Why don’t you come back? I won’t hold you long.”

  Taplus would not take the bait. Kristina was as good as dead.

  “That would be great,” Captain Taplus said. Kristina exhaled and thanked the God that she had not been faithful in serving. “But I cannot linger. The study is a mess, and the general is leaving for Pakistan later today.”

  Kristina waited as the sound of their footsteps reverberated down the hallway, fading slightly as they approached the kitchen. She heard the sound of ceramic clanking.

  She stood and tiptoed into the fully lit foyer, then quickly up the staircase, as the sound of flirtatious laughter floating up from the direction of the kitchen gave way to the loud snoring in the bedroom.

  Her gentle touch had been surprisingly electric, Captain Taplus thought as he slipped out of the kitchen from his unplanned earlymorning rendezvous with Madina.

  She was a looker.

  Now as he switched on the overhead lights and entered the general’s study, he was beginning to have second thoughts. Madina could have waited. The general could not.

  Taplus checked his watch.

  The general would be up in forty-five minutes. Part of the reason for the mess was that the general had ordered everybody, including Captain Taplus, to drink, to celebrate the first successful stage of the Malacca Project. Being the good soldier that he was, the captain naturally obeyed his leader.