Balance of Power: A Novel (9 page)

“Whom.”

“Whatever,” Grazio said. “I doubt this was some Toyota dealer deciding to murder the comp before they could open. I see this as a punch in the mouth to the U.S.”—he paused for emphasis—“and in particular to the President. Everybody thinks it’s to tell him his diplomacy through commerce is a pile of shit. But who would hate commerce that much? I mean Indonesia nearly
begged
us to let them be first in this deal. It was
their
idea to start with, they wanted Ford to open a dealership in partnership with them.”

“I don’t know,” Dillon said, tired of covering the same ground. “Keep me posted.”

“Will do. Next, I’m off to the Library of Congress to do a chart of the political history of Indonesia. Speaker says.”

“Sounds like fun,” Dillon replied.

C
ASKEY LOOKED AT HIS WATCH AND THE FLIGHT
schedule. Ten minutes until his next brief. Not even enough time to look at the message board. He put his head back against his leather ready-room chair and closed his eyes. As soon as he did, he knew he shouldn’t have. He could feel sleep crawling over him, sapping his strength. He fought it, and reveled in it at the same time. He wanted to sleep, to surrender to it, to let himself go. But he told himself it wasn’t the
time
to sleep. For the commanding officer to be seen sleeping in the ready room was completely unacceptable.

The sound of the television in the front of the ready room coming to life made Caskey open his eyes. He saw the familiar face of the air wing intelligence officer, Lieutenant Commander Carroll Cousins, or Pinkie as he had called him since Pinkie was an ensign in VF-84 and Caskey was a lieutenant. He looked at his watch. Eight minutes too early for the brief. Something was up.

“Good morning,” Pinkie said. “No, I haven’t lost my watch, and yes, I do know it’s not time for the brief, but we’ve just received a message that CNN is going to carry a live report from Jakarta in one minute that will shed light on the events of the last twenty-four hours. We’re getting a good satellite feed, so we shouldn’t have any problem picking up…”

“Wart!” Caskey shouted to the duty officer. “Get on
the horn and make sure everybody catches this report.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Wart said, turning toward the phone.

“Here we go,” Pinkie said, as the television was switched to CNN for ship-wide distribution.

The anchorwoman came on the screen and had the serious look that meant she had hard news, not to be confused with the clever knowing look which meant she had filler. “Good evening,” she said. It was evening in Washington, but morning in the Java Sea. “CNN has obtained an exclusive first communication from the group which claims to have sunk the
Pacific Flyer
. Early this morning Jakarta time a man on a motorbike dropped off a videotape at our local CNN office in Jakarta and sped away. The videotape had a note on the top in English that said: ‘From the FII—those who took the
Pacific Flyer
.’ There was no other writing with it and no way to trace its origin. The CNN engineers in Jakarta played the videotape and believe it is authentic and is indeed from the men who attacked the American ship yesterday. We are now going to show you the videotape in its entirety. This is a CNN exclusive.” She turned her head sideways to look at a monitor.

The image changed, and the focus became clear on a white male in his fifties. He was in a dingy room with his hands placed awkwardly flat on the wooden desk in front of him. He sat stiffly. He stared directly into the camera as he had obviously been instructed to do. His eyes appeared slightly swollen and his hair was unkempt. A voice came from offscreen. It spoke in English with a heavy accent as the speaker obviously read from something he had prepared.

“You Americans continue to believe that as long as you spread your Western poison around the world, the world will improve. You are wrong. The world is tired of your oppression and your self-serving attitude that whatever you want is what is best for the world, especially if it means you make money.

“No longer will the people of the world bow down to
American Imperialism. I am a freedom fighter, like George Washington. I represent the future of Indonesia and the world. We are the Front for an Islamic Indonesia. Through us this country will find its true greatness, by the Koran and obedience to its precepts in this Muslim country. Through us Indonesia will throw off military dictatorship, American support of the dictator, and America itself.

“We took over
Pacific Flyer
as a lesson to you Americans. You do not control us, nor can you buy us with your Commerce through Democracy. We want none of your commerce or your democracy.

“With America come corruption, prostitution, pornography, blasphemy, murder, and enslavement.”

Those watching thought he had finished, but then he started again. “We will not stand for any of it. First, we demand that America promise not to engage in any further commercial relationships in Indonesia for ten years. Second, the U.S. Navy must stay out of the oceans of this area for twenty years. Third, you must take your missionaries home and not try to convert our people. We are a Muslim country and always will be. If these promises are not made, nothing you do will guarantee the safety of Americans here, or elsewhere in the world.”

Caskey was transfixed by the broadcast, especially the terrorist’s unemotional delivery.

“In case you think we are bluffing, as you can see, we have the captain of the
Pacific Flyer
.” A left hand showed in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen and a right hand flashed in the middle of the screen as it slapped Captain Bonham in the back of the head. He jerked forward involuntarily and began to raise his hands. The phantom right hand slapped Bonham again in the back of the head. “I can do whatever I want with your captain. If you do not comply with our demands, he will be executed, just like the others.”

Caskey felt his stomach tighten as he tried to control his rage. The nerve. To murder innocent men, and then
go on world television and challenge the United States and the
Navy
. Unbelievable.

“If you are listening, President Manchester, you will do as we ask. You Americans are big ones for rights. Rights for yourselves. We ask simply for what you take for granted, the right to be left alone.”

The television screen went blank as the tape ended.

President Manchester turned to the Director of the CIA and said in a controlled tone, “You ever heard of these guys before?”

Cary Warner stared at the anchorwoman who was summarizing what they had just heard.

“No, sir, I’ve never heard of them. Doesn’t mean nobody in my shop has. I’ll get with them right away and find out. I recommend, sir, if you’ll permit me, to contact my counterpart in Indonesia who will, I think, be as concerned about this as we are.”

“Why do you say that?” Van den Bosch asked.

“That little speech was meant for Indonesia as much as it was for us. Sinking that ship was perhaps more embarrassing for them because the attack was launched from their territory. This group is implying they are taking over Indonesia, not America. They just want us to keep our noses and our business out.”

“What a bunch of crap,” the Chief of Staff said. “They’re just thugs, trying to get famous. What are we going to do, Mr. President?”

“I don’t know,” Manchester said, thinking, rubbing his face. “We still don’t really know much more than we did. We know it was a small group, not a foreign government or a previously known organization. Terrorists, trying to make a point.” He walked around to the back of the desk in the Oval Office and looked out the window. “I need to talk to the President of Indonesia and see what they plan to do about this.”

“Should we have the Navy take any steps?” the Chief
of Staff inquired, trying to hint at what he thought the right answer should be.

“Like what?” the President inquired, annoyed.

“They should continue to try to find these guys, and if they find them, they should be prepared to attack.”

“Sometimes, Arlan, I think you’ve seen too many movies. We’re just going to sit tight, let the information develop, and take appropriate steps as we can.”

“Shouldn’t we at least tell them to keep looking?”

“Of course they’ll keep looking! We need to find them regardless of what we finally do.”

The Chief of Staff nodded, relief showing on his face, a fact that annoyed the President.

“Well,” said Cary Warner, “I need to talk to some people. I need to find out more information,” he said as he rose.

“Cary,” the President said, stopping him.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’d like a brief by your best person on Indonesia as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll send someone in, but since Suharto died, there hasn’t been much trouble. They do have martial law, but it’s not all that different than it was under Suharto really,” he said. He turned toward the door, then turned back, “But I don’t know that we have the whole story either.”

President Manchester looked at Warner with his lips tightened into a thin line. He had something in mind, but he wasn’t sharing it with anyone—not the National Security Council and not his Chief of Staff.

“The phones have been ringing off the hook, Mr. Speaker,” Dillon said to the Speaker’s back as he hurried through the outside office. Stanbridge took off his suit coat and threw it onto a peg behind the door.

“This is unbelievable. I don’t remember the last time anyone challenged the United States so directly. Things
happen, sure, we end up in conflicts here and there, but I don’t remember anyone
ever
thumbing their noses at us like this.” He turned to Dillon. “What kind of calls are we getting?”

“The outside calls are from voters who think we should act immediately. A few even said we should resort to nuclear weapons.”

Stanbridge stifled a laugh.

“One guy thought we should invade Indonesia. They think the whole country is behind it and is paying some terrorists to get them out of a deal they have with us when they didn’t have the nerve to do it on their own.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s about it.”

“I was over talking to Pete Peterson. We’ve decided to go see the President. We need to get our heads together. Make sure we’re on the same page. I don’t want to undercut him, but I want to make sure he starts taking some action now. Starts sending some strong signals.”

The Speaker turned to Dillon and said, “You know what’s really bugging me?”

Dillon shook his head.

“I don’t trust the President’s instincts. I mean, think about it. He was an antiwar protester in the sixties. While I was over in Vietnam getting my
ass
shot at, he was back in Washington demonstrating against the war. He’s never been in a situation where he’s had to act with the military, and he’s never proven he’s capable of doing it.”

Dillon wasn’t sure whether the Speaker wanted a response or not. He hesitated to say anything but finally spoke. “I don’t know that there’d be any direct relationship between his antiwar efforts in Vietnam and this.”

The Speaker nodded. “I know. I just don’t trust him.”

Dillon looked at a pad he had taken notes on earlier. “Yes, sir. Anything in particular you want me to do now?”

“Yeah, I want to be the expert on Indonesia. I need a
program to keep the players straight. Get me up to speed before I sit down with the President.”

“Yes, sir.”

The Speaker began examining papers in the middle of his desk. Dillon walked out and headed down the hall and up one floor to his office. He surveyed the myriad of periodicals, computer printouts of research, photographs, and books, and looked at the phone. Someone else was probably doing the same research he was. He picked up the phone and dialed a number from memory. It rang twice on the second floor of the West Wing of the White House.

“Yes?” Molly said.

“It’s Jim,” he said.

“Hey,” she said. “Can you believe those guys? Where do they get their nerve?”

“I have no idea. But I’ve got a feeling they won’t be quite as confident when this is over.”

“I’ll bet you’re right,” she said. “What’s up?”

“You got any idea who FII is? Are you working on this?”

“We’re waiting to hear.” She hesitated. “I’m working with the President, but I’m not sure what that means yet. You call just to ask me that?”

“I figured we could share info about this.”

“It doesn’t work that way, Jim. You know that. People in this town will always look for a political advantage out of any event, even if it’s a mass disaster. You
know
that.”

“Look, why don’t you come over for dinner tonight?” he asked. “We could debate this then.”

“I guess I’ve got to eat. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a late night in Washington for a lot of people, but I’m not sure…”

“What?”

“Never mind. See you about seven-thirty.”