by Don Brown
“Too early to tell,” she replied, “but the timing makes it suspicious in my judgment, sir. Indonesian state television says that an announcement will be forthcoming shortly from the Indonesian military.”
“I want live-time feed on that announcement.”
“Yes, Mr. President. The announcement will be transmitted live here into the Situation Room as soon as it starts.”
“Mr. President,” Admiral Jones said.
“Admiral.”
“Sir, we’ve prepared a map to show where we think this blast occurred.”
“Let’s see it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The map flashed on several flat-screen video monitors. Admiral Jones continued, “Mr. President, you saw this map yesterday. This shows the sea route where our frigates and cruisers are now providing escorts for oil tankers sailing around the Strait of Malacca.
“Look at the arrow tip which touches the equator, almost due west of Biak. This is the approximate position of Gag Island. This is the area where we’re getting unconfirmed reports of this blast. This is also the area in which USS Port Royal was accompanying the Lady of Amsterdam.
“Here’s an enlarged map of the area, sir, showing the last position of USS Port Royal.”
“As you can see, sir, Port Royal was just southwest of Gag Island when we lost contact with her. She was scheduled to break north from here into the Philippine Sea, and then set course to Hawaii.”
“Where’s our nearest ship?”
“About seventy-five miles to the southeast, sir. USS Valley Forge. She’s steaming that way as we speak.”
“Do we have a chopper in the air yet?”
“Yes, sir, two choppers are up from the Valley Forge. But with the risk that a nuclear blast has occurred, we can’t safely fly in closer than ten miles because of the danger of radiation.”
The president’s telephone buzzed. Mack picked it up. “Yes.”
“Mr. President.” It was the White House secure hotline operator. “The Pentagon is on the line for Admiral Jones. It’s the J-2 commander.”
“Admiral?” Mack looked at the Joint Chiefs’ chairman. “You have a call on the hotline.” He handed the phone to the admiral.
“Admiral Jones speaking.” A pause. “That’s a confirm?” Another pause. “Both choppers?” A third pause. “Is the WC-135 in the air?” The admiral’s eyes met the president’s. The worried look on the admiral’s face suggested that the news was not good. “What’s their ETA? Thank you.” The admiral hung up.
“Mr. President, both Seahawks from USS Valley Forge have confirmed spotting a mushroom cloud rising in the sky from the vicinity of Gag Island. The Air Force has dispatched a WC-135 aircraft down from Guam with equipment allowing us to measure radiation levels in the atmosphere. The plane will be over the area within an hour. At that point, we’ll make a definite confirmation. But it doesn’t look good.”
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 powerfu
l 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.