The Malacca Conspiracy (38 page)

Under the Operation, the weapons shall be transported to eastern Mexico, to the port of Tampico, just south of the US border. From there, they will be transported by ship at night to a point five miles off the US coastline, north of Brownsville, Texas, where they will be offloaded, along with conventional explosives, onto small craft and transported to the United States shoreline. Weapons shall be transported and stored in crates at a prearranged location in a warehouse in Brownsville, Texas, identified as the Old Port Isabel Warehouse.

From Brownsville, they will be transported separately by U-Haul trucks to three cities for deployment and use, as designated below.

Target City 1—Philadelphia.
Selected for its historical significance as the birthplace of the American government…

His heart pounding, Father Ramon stopped. He reread the passage.

…Strike to occur when ordered by driving truck into area surrounding Penn Square at the heart of the city and detonating. The Council has also determined that as an economically deprived city in the liberal northeastern part of the country, it is believed that a strike in this geographic region would more quickly bring pressure against the pro-Israeli administration from the more liberal, pro-Palestinian northeast, as opposed to the more conservative south, which is populated by more so-called “Bible-believing Christians,” who offer the greatest support for Israel in America.

Target City 2
—
San Francisco.
Selected for its strategic location as a centrally located city on America’s west coast, San Francisco is also a liberal hub in the United States, and is the nation’s de facto headquarters for the godless homosexual movement. The strike, also by truck carrying materials deported in the same shipment, would occur near the base of the famed Golden Gate Bridge, with the detonation to occur close enough to the bridge to vaporize a portion of it.

“San Francisco’s next,” Father Ramon said.

Kristina moaned softly.

Like Philadelphia, San Francisco is also selected for the generally liberal philosophy of its population, again on the theory that the surviving electorate, in the wake of a strike, would bring considerable pressure upon the American administration to abandon its anachronistic and pro-Zionist support for Israel. As an additional incentive for this target, the city would suffer punishment for its open embrace of godless homosexuality.

Target City 3
—
Washington.
Selected for its strategic location as the American capital city, a nuclear attack upon Washington will be employed as a third option, only in the event that the American government has failed to capitulate to Strategic Alliance demands by refusing to withdraw support for Israel and by failing to lead the reversal of United Nations resolutions recognizing Israel.

Although Pennsylvania Avenue is and has been blocked off in front of the White House for a number of years, Constitution Avenue, which borders the South Lawn, has remained open.

Fear swept Father Ramon’s body. He closed his eyes. The words of the great apostle in chapter 8 of Romans flooded his spirit.
For you did not receive a spirit that makes you a slave again to fear, but you received the Spirit of sonship. And by him we cry, “Abba, Father.”

The fear left. The priest opened his eyes and looked up. “Abba. Father. Tell me what to do.”

The voice was still, yet small. And it spoke into his soul.
Call the Monsignor. Ask for my airplane. Fly to Singapore. Go to the United States embassy there.

“Yes, Father.” The priest instinctively pressed the speed dial to the Monsignor’s residence.

Dial tone. Rings. “Hello.”

“Monsignor, this is Father Ramon.”

“Are you all right, Ramon?”

“Yes, Monsignor. I’m sorry to interrupt you, but is the church’s airplane available?”

“Yes. It’s in our hangar at our private airfield south of the city.”

Ramon felt himself exhale deeply. “Monsignor, I need to meet with you now. It is an emergency.”

“What is it, Ramon?”

“I need to take the church plane to Singapore, Monsignor.”

A pause. “I think the pilot has a flight scheduled in a couple of days. I’m sure we can make room for you.”

Ramon rubbed his head. “Monsignor, I need the plane now.”

“Now?”

“Yes, sir. Tonight.”

Silence.

“Could you meet me at our airstrip, Monsignor?”

“Can’t you tell me what is going on?”

“No, sir. Not on the phone. I can say that it is a matter of life and death.”

Another pause. “Well, let me remind you that the plane is owned and operated by the Holy See for diplomatic purposes. The Vatican lets the Indonesian church use it, of course. But I would have to check with the nuncio to get permission to use it. He’s probably asleep at the embassy. You want me to wake the nuncio?”

Of course. Why had he not thought of it earlier? The nuncio was the Holy See’s ambassador, representing his Holiness the Pope in nations as his ambassador. The nuncio and his representatives could travel as they pleased under the protections of diplomatic immunity. But would they?

“Yes, Monsignor. I’m afraid that it is an urgent matter. Please tell the nuncio that he has two requests for asylum and protection by the Holy See.”

There was a silence. Had he lost connection?

“Two requests?” The Monsignor spoke up.

“Yes, Father. Two requests.”

“And may I ask from whom, so that I can at least give the nuncio an idea of what to expect?”

Was it wise even to respond? Suppose they were listening. Surely not. Trust God in the moment. “Please tell the nuncio that one of the requests is from me.”

More silence. “From you, Ramon?”

“Yes, Father. I will explain on the plane. The other is from one whose life may be in danger for political reasons. I am asking, as a personal favor, that we be transferred to the embassy in Singapore for safety and for matters of extreme and urgent importance to the world.”

More silence. “Say no more,” the Monsignor said. “All right. I’ve known you for a long time, Ramon. I’ll make the call and see what I can do. Meet me at our airstrip in one hour, unless you hear from me.”

“Thank you, Father.”

Ramon hung up the phone. “Have you ever flown in an airplane, Kristina?”

“No, Father.”

“Well, you’re going to get your chance.” Her eyes widened. “Let me shut the computer down and get this memory stick, and then we’re going for a ride.”

Chapter 18

Embassy of the Apostolic Nunciature of the Holy See
Singapore

10:35 p.m.

A
n asylum request for the Holy See?” Monsignor Rafael Cardillo, the nuncio for his Holiness the Holy Father of Rome to the Republic of Singapore, had just gone to bed, but had not fallen asleep when he had been called down to his office by his assistant that a secure call was being placed by his counterpart in the Republic of Indonesia, Monsignor Alberto Miranda, the nuncio to the Republic of Indonesia, or now the Islamic Republic of Indonesia.

“And they are requesting that they be housed here at the Apostolic Nunciature in Singapore?” Cardillo asked this, listening to Miranda confirm the request. “Don’t they know that we have our hands full dealing with displaced refugees from the oil spill?…Why not there in Indonesia?…Oh, really?…Let me get this straight; one of the parties requesting asylum is one of
our
priests?…And neither he nor his cohort feel safe at the Apostolic Nunciature in Indonesia…I see…I see…I suppose I understand.”

The nuncio looked at his watch.

“I’ll meet you at the airport with a reception party as soon as the plane lands. We will take the petitioners into our protective custody until this can be sorted out.”

Ten miles south of Philadelphia

11:10 a.m.

M
ove, move, move!” Lieutenant Colonel Raymond Leggett, Pennsylvania National Guard, was waving his arms like a traffic cop as he stood atop the hood of the military Humvee, which was parked just off the shoulder of southbound Interstate 95, leading out of Philadelphia. “Keep moving!”

The interstate itself was a logjam of horn-blowing cars all pointed in a southerly direction, but barely moving away from the ominous black cloud hovering over what was once downtown Philadelphia.

Along the shoulders of the road, thousands of pedestrians plodded along in a southerly direction, some cursing, others crying, many with stunned and glazed looks.

A shrill cry pierced above the cacophonous sound of rumbling panic. “Please! Please! She’s my baby! Please!”

Leggett looked down and saw a young woman, a stringy redhead with a baby in a pouch on her back. The woman was frantically pulling on the cammie uniform of his second in command, First Lieutenant Bob Calley.

“What’s the problem?” Leggett asked.

“Sir, we just ran out of iodide pills. She was next in line.” The national guard had been passing out iodide pills to try and thwart the effects of nuclear fallout.

“Please! Please! I don’t want her to die.”

“Ma’am,” Leggett said with an authoritative tone, “we’ve ordered more iodide pills. You’ll have to wait.”

“My baby!”

“You’ll have to move along, ma’am.”

“No!” She was now pulling so hard on the lieutenant’s uniform that he nearly stumbled into the crowd.

“Hey, move! Move!” Screams from the crowd swelled amidst the honking horns. “What’s the holdup? Move or we’re all gonna die!”

“Sergeant, help the lieutenant!”

“Yes, sir!” The sergeant, also in cammies and combat boots, stepped
in and grabbed the lady’s arm, then pulled her away from the young lieutenant.

“No!”
she screamed, clawing back.

“Medic!”

“Yes, sir!”

“This lady’s disrupting our operations. Give her a tranquilizer and put her in the Humvee.”

“Yes, sir.”

Leggett tried blocking the woman’s screeching protestations out of his mind. “Move along! Move along,” he was saying. It was as if he were speaking to the wind. The crowd was going to rush to the south anyway.

The cloud was now darkening and appearing to spread in their direction. Chills ran up and down his spine. Surely the cloud contained enough radiation to condemn anyone under it to a death sentence. The iodide tablets were scarce. At least at this location.

He thought of his wife and two children, across the river in Delaware. Hopefully, they had already begun their journey to the south.

His instinct as a husband and father told him to leave, to abandon his post now. But he was an officer in the Pennsylvania National Guard, under the command of the governor of Pennsylvania and the president of the United States. He had sworn to defend the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. He could not leave. Not now. Not yet. His nation had been attacked. His commanders had deployed him. Duty called.

“Ah!” He looked down and watched the lady scream from the pain of the long, glistening needle being jabbed into her arm. Almost immediately, she fell to the ground. The lieutenant was already cradling the infant in his arms, as a sea of humanity swirled around them, all on foot.

“Get them in the Humvee.”

“Yes, sir.”

What to do? So many people. So little control. “Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Radio air support. Tell ’em we need a chopper. Now. We gotta get this lady and her baby out of here.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

Colonel Leggett had been a professing Christian all his life. But like so many professing Christians in America, the distractions of the
world had cut into his prayer and Bible time, and he knew it. The looming radioactive cloud over Philadelphia, the panicked cries and screams of hundreds of thousands, drove him to pray silently now, even while attempting to look official in his army uniform. He was helpless to do anything other than depend on God.

Chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-chop-chop…

The colonel looked to his right. A Huey helicopter, green drab against the bright sky with the word
ARMY
painted in white, was circling and now headed in their direction.

The sight of the chopper sent hundreds of arms clamoring in the air. “This way. Over here!” Cries of desperation from the escaping throngs.

Standing on the hood of the Humvee, Leggett motioned for the chopper. The pilot responded and nosed the chopper toward the National Guard unit’s position.

“Take me! Take my child!” people were now yelling.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please get back!”

The crowd did not respond.

“Please! Please get back. The helicopter may have iodide tablets. Please get back.”

Still nothing.

“Please get back or we will have to fire!”

The crowd had not yet broken through the perimeter of troops surrounding the Humvee and the portable command post. Yet they were pressing against the perimeter.

Leggett could not fire on Americans. He knew that. He would never repeat the travesty of Kent State, when Ohio National Guard troops shot and killed college students on the Kent campus. Still, the chopper needed room to operate if he were to help these people.

“Company, don gas equipment. Sergeant, stand by to fire tear gas on my command.”

“Yes, sir.”

The chopper was now overhead, and communications were almost impossible under its deafening roar. A stretcher was being lowered from the chopper.

“Corporal! Get the baby in the stretcher. Ride up with her!” Leggett screamed.

“Yes, sir.”

At the sight of the corporal cradling the baby in his arms, then climbing into the metal grate stretcher, the crowd seemed to back off, if only for a moment. The corporal gave a thumbs-up, and the winch in the chopper began lifting him and the infant girl through the air. The basket stretcher dangled a bit into the air and then, moving up, was pulled into the chopper. An airman reached over, gave a thumbs-up down to the ground.