“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46/86, and in its place, restore UN Resolution 3379, which was originally adopted in 1975 before Zionist forces had it repealed.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 powerful 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.
“Get him on a secure line,” Mack said. “Sounds like the Brits could be in their gunsights too.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. President.”
Outside Merdeka Square
Indonesia
4:15 p.m.
He knew it was probably dangerous for him to be here at the moment. At least, that was the official warning given by the State Department and relayed by the deputy chief of mission after Perkasa’s speech, which clearly, in the minds of the US government, had been aimed at America. All US civilians and embassy officials were to remain inside the walls of the embassy until further notice.
“Stay here, Zack,” Deputy Chief of Mission Bruce Laredo had told him. “The State Department wants all our personnel inside the embassy compound until we get this sorted out. They’re worried that we may have another hostage situation brewing like Tehran in 1979.”
Of course none of that made sense to Zack, since in Tehran in 1979, the US embassy was stormed by Iranian militants who took embassy personnel hostage. It seemed that if the State Department was really worried about an embassy siege, they’d get personnel out of the embassy and onto navy ships, as had been done in Hanoi in 1974. But their response was to declare that they were worried about an embassy siege, and then hole up inside it. Typical State Department logic. Notoriously oxymoronic.
Zack Brewer was a United States naval officer, not a State Department beanie head.
And even if he were a State Department beanie head, technically he was attached to the embassy in Singapore, not Jakarta. And unless someone in his direct chain of command ordered him to stay away…and his bosses in Singapore were too busy at the moment dealing with the disastrous oil slick to even wonder where he was…he was going to be here. As a compromise, he had agreed to doff his navy uniform and change into civilian clothes, but he was going to get as close to her as possible.
His heart pounded as he approached the edge of the square and looked across it at the smoking palace.
She was in there.
Somewhere.
Alive. She had to be. As he stood on the sidewalk, crowded in by throngs of thousands, some wailing, others cheering, many spreading their arms into the tropical skies, his spirit cried out to God, begging for her safety.
His cell phone rang. United States embassy. Deputy chief of mission. “Yes, sir.”
“You okay, Zack?”
“Yes, sir. I’m fine.”
“What are you seeing?”
“It’s chaos over here. Hundreds of armed troops are surrounding the palace. There must be fifty thousand civilians out in the square. A helicopter has landed on top of the palace. No way to get in or out right now other than by air, unless they clear these crowds out.” Lord, please protect her. “Any news on the ambassador or Commander Colcernian?”
“Nothing. We got the foreign minister’s office on the phone, but they say they don’t know anything from inside the palace other than the president has died.”
“They’re stonewalling, sir.”
“Can’t say that I disagree with that, Zack.”
“I’ve got to find a way to get inside.”
“Zack, don’t be crazy.”
He did not respond. Maybe he could wait until nightfall. Maybe his chances of penetrating the perimeter would increase under the cover of darkness. He had to get in.
“Zack, we need you back at the embassy.”
“Mr. Laredo, I’m fine. No one’s even noticed me.”
“I know you’re fine. I know that you’re going to be fine if you’re here or there. But, Zack, the ambassador’s gone. I need you here.”
“But…”
“Zack. There are things I need to talk to you about. Your country needs you here.”
Zack looked back across the square at the palace. Long shadows stretched across the mob of humanity, which had thickened even in the few minutes that he had been on the cell phone. The grim-faced soldiers pointed their weapons toward the crowd. The odd combination of euphoria and grief made for an explosive situation. One trigger-happy soldier could literally set fire to a massive sea of human gasoline.
How could he leave with such danger surrounding her?
“Zack?”
On the other hand, what good could he do by standing here and watching?
“Are you still there, Zack?”