Defiance

by Don Brown

  "A white woman?"

  "American or maybe European. They couldn't tell."

  "Jagtai, what are you talking about?"

  "In the Gobi! About two hundred miles southeast of here." Jagtai's black eyes danced with fear and excitement. "One of the nomad groups just got back this morning. They are reforming with guns and are going back out for her. It will take several days to get back out to her."

  "Wait a minute." Willie was confused. "I don't understand. Is this woman lost out there or something?"

  "No. They saw her walk out of a ger, and then she was walking around outside it for a while. I hear that there were three or four gers in a camp. Surrounded by barbed wire. Men with guns. Surrounding her!"

  Willie glanced over at Pam. She was sleeping. Good. "It's below zero out there, Jagtai." Another glance at Pam. "Who's going out there with guns? And why would anybody be stupid enough to traipse a hundred miles through a blizzard through some of the most desolate terrain in the world?"

  "Kublai's group is going," Jagtai said, referring to Kublai Suhbaatar.

  The very name made Willie cringe. Kublai Suhbaatar, a forty-five-year-old Lamaist Buddhist, had been a thorn in the Mangums' side ever since they arrived from America. With the fall of the Soviet Union, religion had again become legal in Mongolia, and the most prominent religion was Lamaist Buddhism. Kublai Suhbaatar made no secret of his worship and admiration of His Holiness the Dalai Lama himself, living reincarnation of the Buddha on earth today.

  Kublai, a local member of the ruling council in Kharakhorum, had made it known that non-Buddhists, including Christians and the growing infiltration of Muslims flowing across Mongolia's sparsely guarded borders, were not welcome in his country. The missionary family that preceded the Mangums in Kharakhorum, Bob and Betty Blanzy, had been stabbed to death and found in their ger by a handful of Christians who had come for Bible study. There were no arrests, because there was no organized police force in this desolate country of nomads; more than half the population still lived in gers. But the local believers had warned the Mangums about Kublai and his group and suspected his involvement in the murders.

  "What's in this for Kublai?" Willie mustered.

  "Reward money," Jagtai responded. "And his hatred for Islam. Word is that Kublai thinks Muslims are holding the woman. He wants to kill them and then kidnap her for himself, then demand a huge reward from the West."

  "Okay." Willie pondered Jagtai's cleft chin. "So why are you telling me this at six in the morning?"

  Their eyes met. "Willie, we must find her before Kublai does. Whoever she his, she needs our help. If we can locate her before Kublai, maybe we can help her."

  "You're not going!" Pam sat up in bed. Her big green eyes, expressing stern disapproval, darted back and forth between Willie and Jagtai. "Willie," she spoke in Mongolian, "we were called here to be missionaries. Not to play Rambo. It's cold out there!" The look of disapproval became one of pleading, as if she knew what he was about to do. "You could freeze to death." A slight quiver in her voice. "Please."

  "It's okay, Pam." Willie walked over and sat beside her on the bed. "The weather will be clearing soon. This storm will pass. The days are already getting longer."

  "Willie, please!"

  Their eyes met. "Pam, we're missionaries. If Jagtai's right, there could be an American or a European out there who needs our help."

  "Willie." She caressed his face with her hand. "You're a Bible teacher. Not a cross-country hiker. You went to seminary, Willie. You're not a Navy SEAL. This is suicide!"

  He smiled at her. "I love you, honey." He reached over and gave her a kiss. "Do you remember the threshold question we promised to ask if we were faced with danger?"

  "But this --," she protested.

  "This is just such a situation to apply the question."

  She looked down as if she knew he was right.

  "Well?"

  She looked up. "Jesus would go."

  "Of course he would. And so must I." He hugged her. "But I'm not leaving you here in this tent alone." He looked at Jagtai. "I know Kublai's out of town, but I can't just leave her here in a blizzard." He glanced at Pam again, then turned back to his friend. "When the storm clears, can you have Anna come over and help her get to the airport in Ulaanbaatar?" His eyes met Pam's. "Honey, I know you've been homesick. This might be a good time for a sabbatical in the States."

  "Forget it," Pam snapped. "I'm a missionary too. Where you go, I go!"

  "No way!"

  "Why not?"

  "It's freezing out there, Pam."

  Her eyes blazed with anger. "And if Jesus would go plowing through the snow for someone he doesn't even know..."

  "Jesus does know her. And he loves her," Willie interrupted.

  "Don't get theological on me, Willie Mangum." She often called him by his first and last name when she was irritated. This he knew all too well. "You know what I mean. I've often heard you say what a privilege it would be to die the death of a martyr for the gospel."

  Willie tried to speak but felt his vocal chords paralyzed.

  "Willie, I already packed for you," Jagtai said. "Clothes. Everything. Can you come?"

  He looked at Pam. Tears had already started forming in her eyes.

  "I know," she said. "Let me help you get some of your things together."

  He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

  CHAPTER 37

  Alvarado Hospital Medical Center

  6655 Alvarado Road

  San Diego, California

  Wednesday, 8:00 p.m. (PST)

  Barry had been sitting in the waiting area now for the better part of two hours, awaiting word on two of the victims of today's shooting at COMNAVBASE. Shannon had been right all along. It was an idiotic stunt on the part of the public affairs office to stage Brewer's so-called apology outside in a public place. That was the problem with PAO and half the other commands in the navy. They never took the NCIS seriously.

  He'd warned Captain Debardelaben about security risks and had also called COMNAVBASE. But NCIS had always been the redheaded stepchild of the navy.

  Now if it had been the blasted FBI warning them, they'd have listened.

  Barry cursed under his breath. He needed a smoke.

  He fumbled for his cigarettes, then stepped into the hallway, headed outside, when a slim man in his forties, wearing surgical scrubs, walked out of the intensive care area. Barry recognized Dr. Gary Blake as the doctor who had been performing surgery on the shooting victims.

  "Doctor, excuse me. I'm Special Agent Barry MacGregor with NCIS."

  "You're with who?" A puzzled look crossed the doctor's face, confirming Barry's notion that the NCIS didn't get the respect it deserved.

  "NCIS. Haven't you seen the show on television?"

  "Sorry, no time for TV."

  "Look, you've been operating on one of my agents in there. And also the guy that opened fire on everybody. How are they doing, Doc?"

  "Are you family?"

  "No. I'm Wesner's boss."

  "Sorry, friend, but HIPPA" -- he was referring to the federal Health Care Privacy Act -- "won't allow me to give out that information."

  "To heck with HIPPA!" Barry practically screamed. "I'm a federal agent, buster!" He whipped out his NCIS badge and shoved it under the doctor's nose. "We're in the process of a federal investigation here. HIPPA doesn't apply to block the investigation of federal law enforcement!"

  "Okay, okay," the doctor replied in a soft voice. "Why don't we step right in here?" They walked into a dark room, and when the doctor flipped on the light, Barry saw an examination table in the center of the room, a round swivel chair, a counter with rubber gloves, and a lavatory.

  "Okay, Agent --"

  "MacGregor."

  "MacGregor. Your employee, Agent Wesner, took a bullet to the shoulder. He's lost a lot of blood, but I think he's past the worst part."

  "You think he'll make it?"

  "We're still holding him in intensive
care, but yes, I think he will."

  "Thank God. What about the other guy?"

  "The other gentleman who was brought in, a Mr. Reynolds, took three bullets to the chest. Whoever fired that gun knew what they were doing."

  "That was one of our special agents -- Special Agent McGillvery."

  "Well, Special Agent McGillvery put two bullets within a centimeter of this man's heart, and a third in his left lung. We've got him stabilized for the moment, but his prognosis is weak. Very weak."

  "Think he'll make it, Doc?"

  The doctor hesitated. "If he has any next of kin, they should be called in. But to answer your question, no, I don't expect him to make it through the night."

  "Thanks, Doc. Keep me posted, will ya?"

  "You bet."

  Barry walked out of the room and outside into the courtyard and lit a cigarette.

  Navy Lodge

  Rogers Road

  Naval Air Station North Island

  Coronado, California

  Wednesday, 8:30 p.m. (PST)

  Shannon found it impossible to believe that twenty-four hours had passed since she was last here. She flashed her NCIS badge as she walked by the navy petty officer at the front gate, but she didn't bother stopping. She was still operating on adrenaline and felt numb.

  People took bullets today. Blood was shed. Some would die. And she was in the middle of it. A gunfight in the midst of a public square in one of America's largest cities.

  What could she expect when she reached room 207? Would Zack's belongings still be there? Deep down, she hoped somehow, some way, he would be there.

  She knocked on the door.

  He was sitting in the only chair in the room, watching a recap of the local news, when the raps came on the door. He opened it to find Shannon in the hallway.

  "Zack."

  "You okay?" He opened his arms. She stood still for a moment, just looking at him. Finally, she moved closer to him, and he wrapped her in his embrace.

  "It's okay," he said. "It's going to be all right." He patted her back. They stood there a few minutes, neither one speaking. When a group of people walked by in the hallway, he pushed the door closed.

  "Barry called," she said.

  "Yeah? Wesner gonna be okay?"

  "Wesner took one in the shoulder. He'll be fine."

  "What about the gunman?"

  "The same stalker that we ran into in Old Town. Chris Reynolds. I put two bullets in his heart, Zack. He's going to die. Oh dear God, I've never killed anyone. I've roughed a few people up, but I've never..." Her voice trailed off.

  "Shannon, you saved my life." She shook her head. "Look at me!" Her eyes met his. "You saved my life."

  The phone rang. "Have a seat." He patted the end of the bed. "I need to grab this." Zack picked up the phone as Shannon sat.

  "Lieutenant Commander Brewer speaking."

  "Lieutenant Commander Brewer, this is the White House calling." He held his hand over the receiver and whispered to Shannon. "I think it's Gale Staff."

  "Commander Brewer, are you there?"

  "I'm sorry, still here."

  "Could you hold for the president, please?"

  "The president?"

  Shannon's eyes locked on his.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well... of course."

  "Zack, you okay?" The familiar nasal twang of the most famous man in the world was suddenly on the line.

  "This is an honor, sir."

  "Aw, cut the honor stuff, Zack. I told you to call if you ever needed anything, and I meant it. Now I saw the news today, and it looks like you had a close call. You okay?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm fine. Thank you, sir."

  "Gale said you called and wanted to see me. How's Friday look?"

  "I serve at your pleasure, Mr. President."

  "Okay, I'll have the secretary of the navy arrange to get you here."

  "Sir, would it be an imposition if I brought Special Agent Shannon McGillvery along?"

  "I remember that name," the president said. "Wasn't she the agent who busted open the Quasay case?"

  "One and the same, sir."

  "Sure, bring her along. I'll give the orders."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "And, Zack?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "You're doing a whale of a job."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "And for the record, I think you're right on the mark. Every one of those suckers up on Capitol Hill ought to have to go through Marine Corps boot camp at Paris Island." He paused. "Three or four times, if you ask me." The president let out a long laugh. "And, Zack?"

  "Yes, sir?"

  "Don't you worry about Eleanor Claxton. Everybody in middle America sees what she's trying to do. She'll never become president."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Have a good evening, son. See you Friday."

  "Thank you, Mr. President."

  The line went dead.

  "Can you believe that?" Zack asked. "Gale Staff is amazing." "God is amazing."

  "Amen to that."

  CHAPTER 38

  Claxton campaign San Diego County headquarters

  1500 Orange Avenue

  Coronado, California

  Thursday, 9:00 a.m. (PST)

  At least Eleanor had taken his call this morning. Jackson was starting to believe that maybe no one had discovered the recording device he had slipped under the table in the kitchenette. Nothing of significance had been said the last couple of days. But Jackson was concerned about Eleanor's growing obsession with Brewer.

  "Let's get down to business," Eleanor said, calling the morning briefing to order. She turned to him. "Jackson, what do we have on the shooting downtown yesterday?"

  "Media reports and also reports that I've gotten from San Diego PD indicate that the gunman was a thirty-year-old single man named Chris Reynolds. He has a psychotic history, having been arrested several times back east for stalking male attorneys and local politicians. Reports that I have are that the guy is or was delusional. He'd been in a mental hospital in northern Virginia for over a year.

  "Reynolds got off one shot in Brewer's direction -- from a gun he bought the day before yesterday from a gun shop in Vegas -- and hit one of the NCIS agents on the stage. One of the NCIS agents, Shannon McGillvery, pumped three rounds into his chest. They don't expect him to live."

  "Okay." Eleanor turned to Mary-Latham. "Draw up a statement expressing gratitude that Commander Brewer was not hurt and saying that our prayers are with the agent" -- she waved her hand in the air -- "whatever his name is, for a speedy recovery. Cite this as an example of the need for total handgun control and point out that the administration has opposed gun control on every front. Renew my call for the National Handgun Prohibition Act, which would ban all handguns except for handguns carried by law enforcement officers and federal agents in the official course of their duties. Understand?"

  "Got it, Eleanor."

  "And I want to move out on this fast."

  "Will do," Mary-Latham said.

  "And one other thing." Eleanor took a drag from her cigarette, then blew a cloud of smoke into the room. "Seems to me this is a good opportunity to make us look tough on crime by commending SDPD and NCIS for saving Brewer's life and for apprehending the shooter. So..." She paused. "So why not something to the effect that while we hope the shooter survives to face trial, it appears that NCIS and SDPD have worked together to apprehend the deranged gunman who may have been responsible for the killing of Lieutenant Jacoby as well."

  "You think this guy shot Jacoby too?" Mary-Latham asked.

  "Yes, I do. He was some psycho intent on murdering every attorney involved in this court-martial. In fact, why don't you spin it that way and bring it back to the need for passage of my National Handgun Act to keep guns out of the hands of mentally disturbed people who would follow a sick pattern of wanting to kill officials involved in the judicial process."

  "Whatever you say, Eleanor."

  Jackson caught a rais
ed eyebrow from Mary-Latham.

  "Ray." Eleanor turned to her pollster. "Where are we in the polls today?"

  "Depends on where you're polling."

  "Explain."

  "You're widening your lead over Warren in San Francisco and Los Angeles. Overnight, you've jumped from twelve to fifteen points in San Francisco and from fifteen to eighteen in Los Angeles. Your call for a Military Hate Crimes Act is the reason cited. But elsewhere in the country, you're dropping like a rock, especially in the South. Our polls attribute that to one reason."

  "Let me guess." She took a puff of the Virginia Slim, all the while squinting her eyes, which made her look, for the moment, like a salamander.

  "I'm guessing you're guessing right," Ray Everton said. "Unfortunately, the navy's attempt to have him apologize yesterday, coupled with the attempt on his life, has generated more sympathy toward him. This is the type of headline we're seeing this morning." He slid the Miami Herald on the conference table for all to see.

  DERANGED GUNMAN TRIES KILLING BREWER

  Zack to Eleanor: "Just Kidding!"

  "How bad is it out there?" Eleanor asked.

  "Bad."

  Jackson saw them lock eyes.

  "Let me put it this way," Ray Everton continued. "Forget President Williams for the moment. For you to whip Roberson Fowler for the nomination, you need to win California plus at least four southern states on Super Tuesday.

  "We've got New Hampshire first, and it's tight there. Next week, California. Right now, we're getting into real good shape. Win here, and at least we take some momentum into Super Tuesday in the South. You don't help yourself being from Vermont. So our strategy has been to counter Fowler there by the fact that your estranged husband is the former governor of Mississippi.

  "Here's the problem. Since we took over this court-martial, you've slipped more than five points behind Fowler in Florida, Georgia, North Carolina, and Texas, and he's near dead even with you even in Mississippi.

  "Now these are Democrats who call themselves moderates. They're the swing vote that put the last Democratic ticket in power, and that ticket had Freddie Claxton on it. My polls show it ain't the gay rights thing that's causing you to slip. It's Brewer.