“A decision designed to buy us some time.”
“No more riddles, Ms. Kessler! State what you mean.”
“It will require an additional call before the Speaker is informed. When he is, I don’t think he’ll like it.”
“I don’t care what the hell he likes!” blurted Bernie Bernstein, quite in character.
The lawyers politely ignored the comment even though they agreed. Chief Justice Browning raised his eyebrow. Kessler had a way of getting to him.
“Ms. Kessler,” Browning commanded, “Let’s hear it. The Constitution is calling.”
“Mr. Speaker, please take a seat,” the marine guard said. “Someone will be up to see you shortly.”
“Up?” Up meaning up from the Situation Room or the War Room? “Look, Colonel.” Patrick got right in the officer’s face. “I don’t like surprises. I was ordered here told that there was a matter of national urgency.” He was actually told emergency, but he remembered wrong. “The Secret Service didn’t say a goddamned thing about what’s going on. Bernstein didn’t either when he called. Now you. I don’t like guessing games.”
The marine locked eyes with the Speaker. “Congressman, friends don’t consider me much of a game player either.”
“Then we understand each other.”
“Not at all, Mr. Speaker. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
While the discussion about succession stayed in the Situation Room, military planning moved into the White House War Room. The FBI’s Robert Mulligan was invited in, along with Presley Freedman and Scott Roarke. So were the secretaries of defense and homeland security.
“What do we know about this place?” Mulligan asked Secretary of Defense T.J. Harriman.
“Lots. And it all speaks to the president’s initiative in Australia. The Malukus consist of 1,027 islands. Only seven of them are considered big. About 622 are uninhabited. And that’s only a fraction of Indonesia,” explained the SecDef, a former CEO of Ford. “You want to start a revolution? That’s the place. You can strike and hide with ease. That’s what a Muslim vigilante group called Laskar Jihad — or Holy War Forces — have been doing for years. And for years they were just playing with matches. Now they’re into their own scorched earth program. The worst part is they’ve got plentiful fuel — the country’s Christians. Since ‘99, they’ve been burning their way through the islands, picking up recruits and trading drugs for weapons. The NDI tells me that a considerable amount of their firepower comes from the Chinese.”
“And no one’s done anything about them?”
“Mr. Director, it’s a fucking huge country. In fact, Indonesia is the biggest Muslim nation in the world. Let’s just say that up till now, except for some training initiatives we coordinated for the Indonesian Army, it ain’t been our problem.”
“I guess that’s changed,” Roarke remarked.
“Yes, it has.”
The National Director of Intelligence finished scanning a file and joined the conversation. “To the secretary’s point, this is a copy of a letter written to United Nations Secretary General Kofi Annan in 2000. It was signed by members of the Moluccan Christian Communication Forum.” He gave it to Harriman. “The Forum asked for help. They reported that jihad forces vowed to fight to their last drop of blood. They claimed that rebels were preparing for a more deadly attack. The Forum pleaded for the international community to step in. They argued that the stability of the region is threatened and the Malukus are becoming a terrifying breeding ground for international terrorism.”
“And what did the U.N. say?” Roarke asked, following up on his previous question.
“Basically, paraphrasing the secretary’s words, ain’t been their problem.”
“Jesus Christ! Why doesn’t everyone just open their borders and tell the terrorists to come right in. No taxes and kill as many people as you want,” Bernstein complained.
“My sentiments exactly,” the Secretary of Homeland Security added.
“Well, that’s exactly the point President Taylor was arguing in Australia,” said Jack Evans. “So let’s talk about how we free him and get on with it.”
At that moment, General Johnson called the briefing to order.
“All right everybody, listen up. As Secretary Harriman began explaining, the target is in the Banda Sea.” He called up a computer map on one 2″ plasma TV screen. “It’s a nearly enclosed sea, occupying about 18,000 square miles. The Banda is bounded by the southern Malukus and Ceram, Burn and Sula to the north.” He kept the map on one screen and called up a closer view on another plasma.
“Intel suggests the terrorists have landed on Haruku Island in the southeastern portion of the Banda. Haruku is one of a pair of islands, separated by a narrow passageway.” J3 walked in front of the screen and pointed to a cove, between two marked points: Naira and Timitu. “These were Christian cities. But a Laskar Jihad-led revolt put them in Muslim hands. Now most of Haruku, and its neighbor Saparua, is Muslim-held territory. The Christians who survived were relocated to the north. That means we will be going into an extremely hostile zone.”
“How big a force will we send?” FBI Director Robert Mulligan asked.
“Not how big, Mr. Director,” J3 responded. “How small.”
“Status?” demanded General Johnson.
“Just confirmed from CTF-71 — in a manner of speaking, they’re halfway there and getting closer.” Rear Admiral Erwin “Skip” Gatson explained that the team had been on leave in Honolulu. “They were due to ship back to Coronado in two days.” Gatson referred to the West Coast home of the SEALs at the Navy Amphibious Base in Coronado, California. “But we got them in the air twenty-two minutes ago.”
“Good, Skip,” J3 said over the secure telecom line. Gatson was Commander, Battle Force, 7th Fleet aboard the USS Blue Ridge, and a life-long personal friend of Johnson’s. J3′s next addition to the conference call was Air Force General Reed Heath.
“Talk to me, Reed. What are the AWACS seeing?”
“The signal is five by five. Transit has stopped.”
Stopped? J3 wondered if that was good or bad, whether the enemy knew who they had, and if that would even make a difference.
“Assume they know what kind of package they have, Reed. What do you think they’re doing?”
“Easy. Same thing we are. Trying to figure out what the hell to do.”
J3 had come to the exact same conclusion.
General Jonas Jackson Johnson shot a glance at the two clocks on the wall — the time in D.C. and the clock he set to Maluku time sixteen hours ahead. Halfway around the world it was 0417 hrs. “They barely have an hour of darkness left. Okay, they rushed to cover. They took Top Gun with them. So he’s alive. Given that, they’re going to wait until darkness again. They’ll hunker down, maybe weigh the benefits of negotiating, and delay any action until night. Any alternate views?”
“No,” the two others said in unison.
“Then that gives us fifteen hours to launch an offensive. Your boys up to it?” J3 asked Gatson.
“Yes, sir. We’re just going to need some good eyes overhead. Ours and Reed’s.”
“Anything you need, Skip,” the Air Force officer added.
“Good. We’ll get Predators up from Anderson.” The low-altitude, quiet unmanned aerial drones or UAVs, launched from Guam, would provide the SEALs with real-time guidance.
“We’ll give you all the pictures you need, Skip,” General Heath added.
“Thank you. Pull all your thoughts together and get back to me in thirty. Make sure your SEALs are rested, Skip. We’ll need them sharp.”