Hassan saw an opportunity. “Would you like me to get a live feed on CNN, General? We can watch for their breaking news coverage when San Francisco is vaporized.”
“Of course, Hassan.”
Hassan picked up the remote control and mashed several buttons. CNN reporter Tom Miller’s image was on the screen, standing in front of the late afternoon sun at the White House. Miller was speaking into the camera.
“This just in. Reports of a major explosion in San Francisco. The details are still sketchy. But sources say that the explosion involved a U-Haul truck, and it doesn’t look good.”
The Indonesian officers cheered.
“Quiet! Quiet!” Perkasa said. “I want to hear all the details.”
Miller continued.
“We’re working on a live feed from San Francisco right now, where we understand there is pandemonium. Stand by.” The bespectacled Miller was holding his hand to his ear, as if listening to the voice of his news director. “There are reports of smoke rising over the city…”
“Pour more drinks for everyone!” Perkasa stood, smiling, now taking a swig directly out of the bottle. “Soon we will rule the world!”
“Let me repeat. We still do not have any casualty reports, although there is speculation that this could be somehow related to the nuclear attack on Philadelphia, and the White House is not commenting. Still waiting for live video coverage…”
“I guarantee Mack Williams comes to the table now!” Perkasa was bragging.
Alcohol flowed freely. Glasses clanged. Officers were raising their cups to their brilliant leader. “To General Perkasa,” the ignorant sycophant Colonel Croon was saying. “There has never been another leader in the history of the world quite like him!”
“To the general!”
“To General Perkasa!”
“We are now starting to get a live feed from San Francisco…”
The phone rang. Hassan looked down. Istana Bogor. The TV broadcast could wait. Quick. A potential chance to purvey more information to the general while the colonel was getting drunk watching television.
“This is a distant shot from Chopper Nine of the local ABC affiliate. It shows the smoke rising over the city…”
Hassan ignored Tom Miller’s voice and picked up the phone. “General Perkasa’s headquarters, Major Taplus speaking.” Why not go ahead and identify himself as Major Taplus? After all, the promotion was imminent anyway. And by the time he got a field promotion to major, a promotion to colonel would certainly follow. “How can I help you?…What?…Could you repeat that?…How did that happen?…That cannot be!” He cupped the phone with his hand. “General Perkasa, sir!”
“Not now!” Perkasa snapped, his eyes still glued on CNN.
“But it is important, sir.”
“Whatever it is, it can wait. It is not as important as this!”
Hassan hung up the phone and turned his attention to CNN, where Tom Miller was talking over a live video feed of black smoke billowing into the sky from San Francisco.
“Now according to eyewitnesses,” Miller said, “this U-Haul truck that we are watching burn, exploded and burst into flames when it was attacked by a missile from an aircraft overhead.”
“What!” Perkasa was screaming.
“National Guard troops are taking control of the situation and removing all civilians from the area. Now the presence of military units on the ground is fueling speculation that this attack could somehow be related to the attacks in Philadelphia.”
“They have destroyed our bomb!” Perkasa threw his glass against the fireplace, shattering it. “This cannot be!”
“And reports are now coming in from Washington that the president has ordered the evacuation of the District of Columbia. All roadways leading into the city are blocked.”
“Aiieee!” Perkasa whipped his pistol from his holster. The coward Croon and several of the others ducked, but Hassan held his ground as Perkasa pointed his pistol to the ceiling. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. White plaster rained down from above.
“Stand up, you cowards!” Perkasa screamed. “Have I but one brave officer on my staff?” He eyed Hassan as the others slowly returned to their feet. “Taplus, you are promoted on the spot to colonel!”
The rush flooded Colonel Hassan Taplus. But this was not the time to gloat. Now was the time to take control away from the fool Croon. Pounce now, Hassan. “I am honored, General, but now is the time for swift and decisive action.”
“Yes, of course,” Perkasa said.
“General, I must first inform you of more negative news.”
“What is it?”
“There has been a raid on Istana Bogor. US forces, likely Navy SEALs, have captured Vice President Magadia and evacuated him by helicopter.”
Perkasa slumped back into his chair, now almost in a daze. “How?” He looked around. “How did this happen?”
Now. “Perhaps we should ask Colonel Croon,” Hassan said. “He was in charge of overseeing security at the palace.”
Perkasa’s eyes locked onto the colonel, who by now was standing just to the side of the general’s desk. “What about that, Colonel Croon? Colonel Taplus is right. You were in charge of arranging security for Istana Bogor, were you not?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“And you realize how important it is to our cause that Magadia not become a political opponent?”
“Yes, but…”
“The Americans could prop him up like a puppet and finance an opposition to us.”
“But…”
“What do you have to say for yourself, Croon?” Perkasa was yelling again.
“Perhaps it is all a mistake…”
“A mistake?” Perkasa’s face reddened. “Tell me, Colonel. Did you have antiaircraft guns atop Istana Bogor?”
“Our guards had rifles.”
“Rifles? Against the Americans’ missiles and machine guns?”
“We have armed guards in the palace. We were relying on the secrecy of the vice president’s location to keep him secure from this sort of thing.”
“Secrecy?” Perkasa slapped his fist on his desk. “Let me tell you about secrecy, Colonel!” He whipped his pistol out of its holder and pointed it straight at Croon’s head. “Tell me a little secret, Colonel. How many more rounds does my pistol have?”
“Please…General…Please!”
The White House
4:35 p.m.
He had done what he had to do. Still, the thought of the minivan was already haunting him. The child. Perhaps his mother. Perhaps a brother or sister.
Why did they have to be next to the U-Haul? Why? Where was God’s sense of justice?
The president needed a break. He had walked from the Situation Room to the Oval Office just to get some air, if nothing else. If they needed him, they knew where to find him.
Though the United States was in the midst of the most serious international crisis in its history, the president had to be alone. If only for a moment. But to an American president, alone was never really alone. Alone, even in the Oval Office, meant alone plus two Secret Service agents.
Mack turned his back on his security detail and stood behind his desk. He looked over the receding shadows of the South Lawn, toward the traffic jams along Constitution Avenue. The National Guard was overseeing the evacuation of Washington. Soldiers could be seen on the street directing traffic. By evacuating Washington and shutting down the roadway entrances, he was inviting them to attack by air. That would likely be by small, low-flying aircraft, difficult to detect by radar.
On September 12, 1994, a drunken pilot crashed a Cessna 150 onto the South Lawn of the White House. That plane had been picked up by radar technicians at Reagan National Airport, but it was too late. The plane could have easily struck the Executive Mansion, but crashed on the South Lawn instead.
Seven years before that, in 1987, a German pilot had flown his Cessna over four hundred miles through Soviet airspace, again undetected by radar, and landed it at Red Square!