“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.