Third World War by Unknown Page A

than a hundred dead. That is bound to bring on a second wave of rioting. In southern Thailand our people have risen up and taken over police stations. We have also managed to take the causeway between Malaysia and Singapore. For Singapore to tremble is symbolic in the extreme.' Memed looked up at the general who was pacing the room, his head down in thought, smoking a cigarette.
    'Jakarta has erupted,' continued the cleric. 'The financial district is shut down. Aceh, Bali, Medan - I am literally reading them to you, General, as they come up on screen - Kupang, Yogyakarta, and all over Borneo.'
    Memed pushed the laptop away a bit to give himself space and got to his feet. 'Don't you see how successful our partnership has been? Our area of control stretches from the northern coast of Borneo through the Sulu Archipelago to the southern Philippines. It is the distinct sovereign territory known as Daulah Islamiah Nusantara, the Sovereign Islamic Archipelago. We have been fighting for it for nearly five hundred years.' He walked towards Park, both hands outstretched. 'Share with me for a moment my joy, General, as I will share with you the expulsion of the Americans from the Pacific.'
    Park stubbed his cigarette out on the concrete window sill. 'Joy is not a Korean commodity,' he said with disdain, tossing the butt outside. 'The level of support from other areas? I have heard of nothing there.'
    Memed dropped his hands and stopped in the middle of the room. 'We agreed that would be the second stage,' said Memed, injecting authority into his tone. 'The key to our success is that the Americans will not know from where they will be struck next. It would be unwise to do all at once.'
    Park nodded, but continued staring out the window. Not once had he looked at Memed.
    'In public, Iran and Syria have spoken in sympathy for the uprisings,' said Memed. 'That is what we had planned. Other nations have said nothing. They have expressed only condolence for the murder of President Khan of Pakistan.'
    A noise by the doorway distracted Park's attention, prompting a slight smile across his face. The man standing in the doorway was Air Vice-Marshal Qureshi. He was in full uniform, a tall, trim figure with a full head of dark hair, a thin moustache and a broad smile. He stepped into the room, cutting through the awkward atmosphere between Memed and Park. Both arms were outstretched to embrace Memed. Unlike Park, Qureshi understood the delicate balance between religious and military power. Pakistan had been forged on it and through its troublesome history those two parallel institutions had held it together and given it a focus.
    Qureshi held Memed by the shoulders. 'Imam, it is so good, so, so good to see you again.' No sooner was the sentence finished than he spun round to Park, saluted, then held out his hands. 'I understand the business has been done. May I offer my most heartfelt congratulations.'
    'Thank you,' said Park, awkward in the presence of the urbane Qureshi.
    'I understand also that the uprisings are going to plan,' Qureshi continued. 'Do you think they will hold?' He looked to Memed for an answer.
    Memed nodded. 'Stage two will need another catalyst. But certainly they will hold,' he answered knowledgeably.
    Qureshi looked around the bleak room. The bare concrete floor was covered only with Korean handwoven rugs. Two oil fires burnt in the corner, where Memed and Muda had put their luggage. Four strips of fluorescent lighting flickered at different strengths from the ceiling. Two more strips were broken. A draught blew in from the open window to the door which he had left ajar as he came inside.
    Park anticipated Qureshi's question. 'Come. Both of you follow me. We will go somewhere more comfortable.'
    Park led. Qureshi made sure that Memed followed, with him taking up the rear. Outside the room were guards from the Special Reconnaissance Bureau, two on the door and two on each side of the curving corridor at intervals. A short way