by Don Brown
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.
Chapter 19
Bogor, Indonesia
12:05 a.m.
Diane had gotten into pretty good physical shape during her tour in Naples. She had even trained for and run a marathon, having finished the grueling twenty-six miler in just under five hours. Still, she was grateful for the five-minute water break.
And while she was an avid runner, this was no marathon course. The SEALs pushed along the craggy, mountainous terrain at a pretty rapid clip. The muscles she was exercising were muscles she had not noticed in quite some time. Already, her calves, thighs, and buttocks were sore from the rapid hike up and down the uneven path.
On the road below them, perhaps three quarters of a mile downrange at a sloping angle, only an occasional set of headlights had come and then gone. And the noise from the cars, trucks, or whatever was moving along the road, was barely audible from here.
Another set of headlights zoomed past just below their position. The headlights gave way to taillights in the distance, and then, nothing.
She looked over at Zack, whose visage was now visible to her in the dark, her eyes now dilated and more accustomed to seeing under the starlight. He was following the most recent vehicle sighting with night-vision binoculars, his direction pointing toward the disappearing taillights.
Silence again. The inactivity had been eerie. No helicopters overhead. No searchlights. Where were they? It was as if the Indonesians were not even aware of their presence.
Zack dropped the binoculars and rested his hand on her shoulder. His touch made her want to melt, now as never before. Why all the wasted time? Why all the years gone by?
Was the navy his real mistress? Did he love the sea more than he loved her? Did he really love her?
“You okay?” he whispered. And the sound of his voice weakened her knees more than the jagged terrain. If he were to ask her to marry him, she would do it on the spot.
“You guys okay?” Captain Kelly approached out of the dark and was walking down his line of men. Zack dropped his hand off her shoulder.
“Yes, sir,” she lied. Except for the fact that I’m sore, scared, and horribly lovesick. Could you perform a marriage ceremony?
“Doing fine, Captain,” Zack said. “But what’s up with all this inactivity? I thought they’d be on us like white on rice by now.” Zack spoke with a supreme confidence in his voice, as if he enjoyed playing his newfound role as a Navy SEAL, more so than his real-life role of a Navy JAG.
“Good question, Zack. Feels like the calm before the storm, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, sir, it does.”
“Not that I’m complaining,” Noble said. “I’ll bet they think they shot us out of the sky, are having a celebratory drink or twenty, and will look for the wreckage and our bodies in the morning.”
“Hope you’re right, Skipper,” Zack said. “Anything else from the Reagan?”
“Not since our last communication. Our orders are to proceed in this direction, away from the wreckage, hide from the enemy, and wait for further instructions.”
“Got it,” Zack said.
“Anyway,” Noble said, “gotta keep moving. Chug down some more water and be prepared to move out in about two minutes.”
“Aye, sir,” Zack and Diane said together.
The White House
1:45 p.m.
Thank you, John,” Mack was saying to the prime minister of the United Kingdom, John Suddath. “You are a good friend, and Britain is and always will be America’s best friend. Yes, yes…Thank you for your kind offer of assistance. I will pass that on to all Americans and to the citizens of Philadelphia…Yes, the clock is ticking. We have less than three more hours, but as of now we don’t know if that’s a bluff or if he has a specific target in mind. You will be the first call I make when we know something…Thank you. Good-bye.”
The president hung up the phone and looked across the desk in the Oval Office at his chief of staff.
“Okay, Arnie. What else do we have before we head back down to the Situation Room?”
“Well, you’ve spoken with the prime ministers of Japan, Germany, Canada, and Great Britain, along with the presidents of France and Russia. So we’ve taken care of our closest allies, along with Russia. Let’s see…” Arnie’s face was contorted in an apprehensive twist.
“What is it, Arnie?”
“One other thing.”
“What?”
“You’re getting pressure to make an announcement again.”
“An announcement of what sort?”
“Well, this comes from a number of anti-Israeli groups in New York, San Francisco, and Los Angeles. Also a number of key Democrats in Congress.”
“What do they want me to say?”
“It varies. But something to the effect that you are leaning toward a UN Resolution on Israel…”
Mack looked over at one of the Secret Service agents. “Bob, flick on CNN, will ya?”
“Yes, sir.”
The agent complied, and a moment later, the image of America’s most venerable and respected anchorman, Tom Miller, was on the plasma screen in the Oval Office.
“This is Tom Miller at the White House.” The bespectacled Miller, distinguished in his wire-rimmed glasses, was looking down at his watch. “It’s now one forty-seven Washington time, less than three hours before the deadline imposed on President Williams by the Indonesian madman, General Suparman Perkasa.”
Miller looked back up at the camera, the stately white columns of the North Portico in the background behind him. “Still no word from the White House other than this statement issued by White House Press Secretary Arnie Brubaker.” Miller held the statement up. “‘The threatening demands of General Perkasa are dangerous and irresponsible. This president and this nation will not give in to blackmail.’”
“Good statement, Arnie,” Mack said.
“Thank you, sir.”
Miller continued. “Meanwhile, panic reigns in many of America’s largest cities. In Atlanta, Dallas, New York, Los Angeles, and Chicago, outbound interstates are jammed with people trying desperately to get out of town, for fear that their city could, in just a few short hours, be facing Philadelphia’s fate.
“Meanwhile, pressure is growing from members of Congress for the president to take some sort of action. Representative Charlie Hank of Massachusetts spoke to reporters just a few minutes ago on Capitol Hill.”
The image switched to that of a double-chinned, portly congressman, the ultra-liberal Charlie Hank of Massachusetts, who was standing in front of a battery of microphones, just in front of his belly, which sufficiently protruded in his white shirt so that buttoning his gray jacket would have been an impossibility.
“The president must act now,” Hank said.
“And do what, Charlie?” Mack snapped at the television.
Hank looked down over his horn-rimmed glasses. “President Williams must remember that his first obligation is t
o protect Americans. That means he should do or say anything it takes to avoid another nuclear bomb going off in an American city.”
“Yellow-bellied liberal,” Mack snapped again.
Hank droned on. “The president must remember that he is the president of the United States of America. He is not the president of Israel. And frankly, this administration’s pro-Israeli policies have been at least partially responsible for getting us where we are today.”
“Turn it off, Bob.”
“Yes, Mr. President.” The Secret Service agent complied.
Arnie was glancing at a legal pad. “The attorney general called.”
“What’d he want?”
“Well, it seems as if you are about to be sued by both the ACLU and the Democratic National Committee.”
“What for?”
“Your address to the nation. You declared this as a week of prayer. The ACLU says it’s an issue of the separation of church and state, and the DNC says it’s offensive to their Muslim and atheist constituents, given your known evangelical background.”
“So what? I’ve got maybe three hours before some idiot is hinting that we’re gonna get hit with another nuclear bomb! Why are we even talking about this?”
“Well, the attorney general has prepared a supplemental statement for your signature which is also inclusive of atheists and Muslims. He feels this might head off the lawsuit. He says you may wish to sign it just to avoid dividing the nation with a lawsuit at this crucial time.” Mack raised his eyebrow at Arnie, who finished his thoughts. “To bring the entire nation together, Mr. President.” Arnie slid the prepared statement onto Mack’s desk.
The president picked it up, glanced at it briefly, then shook his head. “Tell the attorney general that I’m surprised at him, and that hell will freeze over before I sign politically correct legal gobbledygook.”
“But…”
“And tell the ACLU and the DNC to go pound sand. Our country has just been hit with a nuclear weapon. If we’re not united now, we never will be. Get that stuff out of here. I don’t have time for this garbage.”
“Yes, sir.”
The intercom buzzer rang. Gayle Staff’s frantic-sounding voice was on it. “Mr. President, the secretary of state, the national security advisor, the secretary of defense, and the chairman of the Joint Chiefs are all here in the Situation Room. It’s urgent.”
“Send ’em in, Gayle.” Mack’s stomach dropped through the floor. He locked eyes with Arnie Brubaker. “Not another attack.”
A Secret Service agent opened the door from the Oval Office, and the secretary of state led the frantic quartet into the room. “Possible major breakthrough, Mr. President!” Secretary of State Mauney announced, panting as if he had just sprinted a hundred yards.
“What’s going on?”
“We got an electronic file from our embassy in Singapore. Reliable intelligence from Indonesia shows that Perkasa is responsible for the attack on Philly and that he’s planning to hit San Francisco and Washington.”
“Is that right?” He looked at his national security advisor.
“Yes, Mr. President,” Cyndi Hewitt said.
“When? How?”
“Mr. President,” Hewitt said, “here’s what we know. The computer file that we now have is detailed, laying out targets and means of attack. They call it ‘Operation Decapitate.’ We’ve been able to determine that the nuclear materials were brought into a warehouse in Brownsville, Texas. We’ve gotten the warehouse records and seen photographs of three U-Haul trucks that carted the materials off. We’ve even gotten license plate numbers for the trucks. We think the trucks are headed to Philadelphia, San Francisco, and Washington.”
“Where next?”
“They’ve laid that out, sir,” Hewitt continued. “Philly was first. Then San Francisco. Then Washington.”
“When?”
“If their demands for derecognizing Israel aren’t met, they detonate.”
Mack raised a fist. “We’ve gotta find those trucks.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President. We’re looking for two trucks now. We’ve already alerted police departments in San Francisco and DC, along with the California Highway Patrol, and the Virginia and Maryland State police.”
“Any idea where they’re planning to strike in the cities?”
“Yes, sir. In Philly, it was Penn Square. And that’s exactly what happened. In San Francisco, the Golden Gate Bridge. In Washington, it’s the Mall area. Out here in front of the White House on Constitution Avenue.” The national security advisor pointed out the window toward the Washington Monument. “The plan is to drive the trucks to those locations and detonate.”
Mack rotated his leather chair away from his advisors and gazed out the bulletproof palladium window, across the South Lawn, across the green grass leading to the Ellipse. From here, he could see cars passing from right to left along Constitution Avenue, just in front of the Washington Monument, heading in the direction of the US Capitol building. He stood from his chair and crossed his arms.
“I need every one of you.” He pivoted around, eyeing them all. “But I don’t need you here. We can communicate by secure radio. I’m not moving. But all of you…I suggest you head out to Andrews and get on a plane. That’s why God created computers and high-tech communications equipment.”
They looked at one another, and the silence was punctuated only by the tick tock of the grandfather clock located in the corner of the Oval Office.
“I’m staying, Mr. President,” Cyndi Hewitt said.
“You’re my commander in chief, sir,” Admiral Jones said. “I will not abandon my post here.”
“We’re with you, sir,” they all said.
“I’m eternally grateful,” he said. He felt his voice starting to crack. “Your nation is grateful.” Pull yourself together, Mack. You’re the commander in chief of the US military! “Admiral Jones.” He looked at the four-star seadog who was the nation’s top military officer. “Does the military have a recommendation?”
“Yes, we do, Mr. President. But there’s one other thing you need to know before we present you a recommendation, sir.”
“Let’s hear it. Time’s running out.”
“Our source says that Indonesian Vice President Magadia is being held captive at one of the presidential palaces in Indonesia, located near the city of Bogor.”
“Is this intelligence accurate?”
“Dunno, sir. It’s the best we’ve got.”
“Recommendation?”
“Our first priority is protection of these American cities.”
“Agreed, Admiral.”
“That means we’ve gotta find these trucks. So first thing we do is shut down all air traffic in the area over San Francisco, as we’ve done with Washington.”
“Okay, done,” Mack said.
“And in addition to alerting all law enforcement authorities in both these metro areas, the military provides increased air cover in the way of camera-equipped drones to keep an eye on the roads. We also need to get our F-16s crisscrossing these cities at high altitudes, and we need three Apache helicopters armed with air-to-surface missiles hovering on station in each city.”
Mack felt himself raise an eyebrow. “Air-to-ground missiles? Armed over an American city?”
“Part of the problem, Mr. President, is this: we’ve got two U-Hauls driving around somewhere with nuclear bombs inside. What happens if a police officer tries pulling the truck over? Or suppose we stop ’em in a roadblock?”
Mack nervously ran his hand through his hair. “You’re saying he might blow the bomb prematurely.”
“Yes, sir,” the admiral said. “The danger is that the driver panics and hits the detonate button on the spot.”
“So you’re advocating taking him out by air.”
“Yes, sir, unless we can get a sniper on them and shoot them through the windshield.”
“I see.” Mack did not like it. An air-to-surface missile could kill innocent Americans
who might be around it. But even that wasn’t the president’s greatest concern. “Doesn’t the explosion risk detonating the nuclear device?”
Smith was quick with his response. “Most small nukes are detonated by the fission process and not the fusion process. The fission process involves firing a fission bullet down a gun barrel into a nuclear core, which sets off the nuclear device. We believe the explosion would take out this gun-barrel assembly device, and wreck the bomb before it would detonate.”
A pause.
“Can you guarantee the ASM won’t set off the nukes?”
Another pause. “No sir, Mr. President. We cannot guarantee it. But we can pretty much guarantee that two cities are going to get hit by nukes anyway.”
That thought sank in. “Get the birds in the air.”
“Aye, sir. And one other recommendation.”
“Go.”
“This is your call, sir. But we can send a SEAL team in to try and pull Vice President Magadia out of Istana Bogor.”
Mack thought about that. He looked at his secretary of state. “Restore power in Indonesia to its status quo?”
“Yes, sir,” Secretary Mauney said. “Or at least prop up a credible opposition leader to this Perkasa nut until we can take Perkasa out.”
“Okay, Admiral. You have my authorization. Do what we need to do to pull Magadia out of there.”
“Aye, aye, Mr. President.”
Bogor, Indonesia
1:15 a.m.
Gentlemen,” Captain Noble announced in the dark of the night, once again seeming to forget that Diane was in the group. “Huddle around. We’ve got new orders.”
Like a football team in a huddle on offense, the black-faced SEALs gathered around their leader, who was at the far end of the group. Diane stepped into the huddle beside Zack, who at the moment seemed far more focused on Captain Noble than on her.
“The good news is that we’ve come to the end of our march. We stay put here, and in approximately thirty minutes, a couple of Seahawks from the Reagan will be here to pick us up.”
Some of the SEALs gave a thumbs-up into the night, as if relieved that a ride home was on the way. Diane breathed a sigh of relief.