The Malacca Conspiracy (39 page)

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.

A
blur 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.

F
irst 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.

T
he 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?