Mack’s mind wandered from the defense of Washington to the boy.

“Jesus, let that boy be alive. His family too. Please. Somehow. Don’t make me live with this.” He exhaled. I’ve got to shake this off. There’s a nuclear bomb out there. Somewhere.

The intercom buzzer sounded. “Mr. President,” Gayle Staff said. “Admiral Jones and Secretary Mauney.”

“Send them in.” He turned around. A Secret Service agent opened the door. The admiral and the secretary rushed in with excited looks on their faces.

“Another break, Mr. President,” Admiral Jones said.

“We found the other U-Haul?”

“Afraid not,” Jones said. “Not yet anyway. But this is significant.”

“Talk to me.”

“We have a triangulation on Perkasa’s last broadcast. Two EC-2 Hawkeyes off the Reagan have been working this. We think we may have located where it came from,” Lopez said.

“We know where Perkasa is?”

“We think we know where he was as of that last broadcast,” Lopez said.

“In Jakarta?”

“Yes, sir,” Admiral Jones said.

“And you want me to authorize hitting that location with a missile.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” Jones said. “And sooner rather than later.”

“And if he isn’t there, we risk killing innocent Indonesia citizens. Just like when Bush went after bin Laden. The guy kept moving from location to location.”

“We might get lucky, Mr. President,” Admiral Jones said. “As of now, we have no choice.” As Mack let that thought set in, the admiral spoke again. “Sir, remember that President Clinton had a chance to take out bin Laden and passed on it. A lot of American lives could have been spared if the president had acted in that situation.”

Mack turned around again, his gaze fixed on the Washington Monument towering into the late afternoon sky. “Order the navy to make the strike,” he said. “By means of your discretion, Admiral Jones.”

“Aye, Mr. President.”

Residence of General Perkasa

Jakarta, Indonesia

3:38 a.m.

Croon was on his knees beside Perkasa’s desk. His voice shook, and his crossed eyes stared into the gun barrel that was no more than two inches from his head.

Even Hassan felt a bit sorry for the bumbling fool. But the general was red hot, and Croon’s elimination from power was necessary for the good of Indonesia, and hand-in-hand with that, for Hassan’s own advancement.

“You haven’t guessed, you fool!” Perkasa shouted, extending his arm straight out with the gun aimed at the middle of Croon’s forehead. “Does my pistol have any more bullets in the chamber? Or did I shoot them all into the ceiling? Hmm?”

“General…General…”

“Answer, fool!”

“General, I don’t know…”

“Don’t know, do you? Well, then, let’s find out!”

“General, please…I have a wife and two boys!”

“Perhaps you should have thought of them before you implemented your yellow-bellied plan for protecting Istana Bogor!”

Blam! Blam!

Croon’s head exploded like a cracked watermelon. He slumped to the floor in an oozing puddle of blood.

“Get him out!” Perkasa ordered. “And clean up this mess! Throw his body to the sharks!”

“Yes, General.” A couple of enlisted men quickly dragged the body out feet first, while a third began scrubbing blood with a white towel.

“Now then, what were we discussing, Colonel Taplus?”

“General, unfortunately, it is obvious to me that the Americans have somehow cracked into our code. We have to change course.”

“And how did our plan get compromised? Who was in charge of security over our plans?”

Careful, Hassan. “Colonel Croon was ultimately in charge of security over our operational plans.” Better to lie than risking a bullet himself. “At least that part of the problem has been taken care of.” Perhaps he could find a way to kill the general and go ahead and take charge of this entire revolution.

“Yes, of course,” Perkasa said. “But what do we do now that they are looking for the U-Hauls? I suppose we could transfer the nuclear device to another vehicle, but they have shut down Washington.”

“Not to worry, General. Croon was in charge of protecting the integrity of the program, but I masterminded it, and there is a backup contingency for this sort of thing. I did not write it into the plan so that if the plan were compromised, there would be no record of the backup plan.”

“Good thinking.” Perkasa reholstered his pistol, to Hassan’s delight, and sat in his chair. “Tell me about this contingency plan.”

“Nine-Eleven was long ago. But we still have pilots in America trained and waiting to be called upon for jihad.

“There is a special e-mail that I have set up. All we must do is log into the e-mail and type the code word. Once that is done, our driver will be alerted and will immediately divert to the town of Winchester, Virginia, which is seventy-seven miles from Washington.

“We have a Muslim brother there. A pilot. He has been waiting to be called upon for years. He too will receive the e-mail message. At that point, he will meet our driver. They will load the bomb on the plane and fly it into Washington at treetop level, careful to avoid radar. The bomb will be detonated over the US Capitol building.”

The general grinned. “Brilliant, Hassan. Brilliant.”

US Navy F/A-18 (“Viper 1”)

Over Bandung, Indonesia

3:42 a.m.

Viper 1, Reagan control…Turn to course three-one-five degrees. Stand by for targeting coordinates.”

“Reagan, Viper. Roger that,” the pilot responded, pulling the plane’s yoke to the left. “Turning to three-one-five degrees. Standing by targeting instructions.”

The Hornet swung through the dark skies around to the northwest, in the direction of the national capital at Jakarta, which was seventynine miles to the northwest.

“Viper. Reagan. Target is at 6 degrees, 16 minutes, 22 seconds south latitude; 106 degrees, 48 minutes, 18 seconds east longitude.”

“Reagan. Viper 1. Copy that. Target at 6 degrees, 16 minutes, 22 seconds south latitude; 106 degrees, 48 minutes, 18 seconds east longitude.” The pilot punched the firing information into the plane’s fire control computer. “Reagan. Viper 1. Be advised that missile is armed and ready for launch.”

“Viper 1, Reagan control. Move into position and fire at will.”

“Roger that. Fire at will.”

The pilot’s thumb depressed the button that said Fire Missile.

The pilot felt a slight bump upward just as two AGM-88 HARM missiles dropped from the plane’s underbelly. They rocketed away from the jet like giant burning cigars vanishing into the dark distance. The missiles left twin streaks of smoke trailing behind them to mark their paths.

“Reagan. Viper. Missiles away.”

“Viper. Reagan. Copy that. Now we wait.”

Residence of General Perkasa

Jakarta, Indonesia

3:44 a.m.

Are you sure this will work, Hassan?” The general, who had suddenly become Hassan’s best buddy, was leaning over Hassan’s shoulder peering at the computer screen. This was a good thing. After the annihilation of Washington, Hassan would press the general for promotion from colonel to one star. Things were working perfectly, according to the plan of Allah.

“Yes, of course this will work, General.” He was logging into the e-mail account especially set up for the contingency. “All I have to do is type one word”-he typed the word airborne on the e-mail as he was saying it-“and hit the send button, which will go to both the driver and the pilot. Immediately, the contingency plan will go into effect.”

“Do it quickly, Hassan,” Perkasa said.

“Here we go.” Hassan clicked SEND, instantly sending the cryptic message into the galaxies of cyberspace. “Done,” Hassan said, exhaling. “Now, we wait.”

BOOM! Two great thunderbolts shook the building. Dust and plaster immediately rained in torrents from the ceiling, and then the ceiling began to fall. Hassan tried scrambling for the doorway, but a steel beam dropped from above and crushed his head. It would be his last memory of life on earth.