by Don Brown
Zack met Shannon's eyes. "Sure. Why not? The more the merrier."
A master chief, wearing an olive-drab flight suit, was walking from the direction of the Orion. He shot salutes at Captain Rudy and Zack. "Captain, Commander, I'm Master Chief O'Connor. Welcome to VP-47. Ready to go to paradise?"
"I believe the commander here and Special Agent Raynor are your passengers today, Master Chief," Captain Rudy said.
"Gentlemen, we're ready when you are."
"Zack," Shannon said, reaching for his shoulder, "take care of yourself." She gave him a soft smile.
He touched her shoulder. "See you soon. Okay?"
"You can count on it." She pecked him on the cheek.
"Let's go, Alan," Zack said, then followed the master chief up the boarding ladder and into the Orion.
Fifteen minutes later, with Raynor beside him in the aisle seat, Zack looked down as the Orion lifted off into the Pacific breeze. Why did he have a feeling that it would be a long time before he returned?
A few minutes later, he could see nothing below except the blue waters of the Pacific.
"Okay, Alan, what's the scoop?"
"What do you mean, Zack?"
"I mean, what's going on? What's the real reason that I'm on this plane, and why are you here with me?"
"You want to know now?"
"Now's as good a time as any."
"Hang on." Raynor reached down into his gym bag and retrieved an envelope. He handed it to Zack. "I'm supposed to stay with you until you are safely at your destination. Then you're on your own."
Zack opened the envelope and scanned the memo inside.
From: Commander Naval Personnel Command (NPC)
To: LCDR Zachary Brewer, JAGC, USN
Via: Commanding Officer, Navy Trial Command SouthwestCommanding Officer, USS Ronald Reagan (CVN 76)
Subj: Permanent Change of Station Orders
Effective immediately upon receipt of these orders, you are to detach from your current duty station, Naval Trial Ser vice San Diego.
You will report within seven days to your new assignment as Staff Judge Advocate to the Commanding Officer, USS Ronald Reagan (CVN 76).
Transportation is authorized by flight on any U.S. Navy aircraft on space available basis to Kaneohe Bay MCAF, and from there to USS Ronald Reagan (CVN 76), currently operating in the Western Pacific Theater.
Upon presentation of these orders, all naval aviation commanders are ordered to assist and cooperate with you by making transportation available to USS Ronald Reagan (CVN 76).
Thank you for your ser vice to the U.S. Navy, and best wishes as you begin your duties at your new command.
Zack folded the orders. "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle."
"What was that, sir?"
"Sorry, Raynor. Just a saying back home in Washington County, North Carolina." Zack looked out at the vastness of the Pacific. "Do you know how long I've been dying to get back to sea?" He looked back at Raynor. "Ever since Colcernian disappeared, that's all I've wanted. To go to sea. To get away from it all. All this media junk about me being such a great lawyer. It gets old. I'm a naval officer first." He looked at Raynor, who stared at him with a blank expression. "A naval officer."
Those three words rolling off his tongue brought him back to his roots, igniting a patriotic fire that traveled up and down his spine. He relished for a moment the thought of returning to sea. "But what about the Eckberg trial?"
"Captain Rudy said to tell you not to worry -- that Lieutenant Commander Poole will finish the case, sir."
"Ah, Wendy." He felt himself smile. "She'll chew up Web Wallace and spit him out before breakfast."
"Yes, sir. I'm sure she will."
Zack closed his eyes, prayed silently for Diane, then fell asleep.
CHAPTER 47
Gobi Desert
Northeast of Sainted, Mongolia
Three days later
Grassy patches were sporadic in this section of the Gobi. And so when the terrain offered a slight opportunity for their camels to munch down some lunch, Willie led them down a hill to an area near a very narrow stream.
Camels could go days without food and water. Willie and Jagtai could not. Already, three days trekking through rocks, across hills, and through sand, out in the middle of a cold nowhere, had taken their toll. They had only a few days' worth of food left, and their water supply was low. The stream was an answer to prayer.
The camels ripped the grass out of the banks beside the stream, then lapped up water as Willie submerged a canteen in the cool, pristine water and thanked the Lord for his providence.
They had headed in the general direction of the alleged camp, at least according to the reports. But maybe those reports, or the directions, were wrong. Willie worried that their opportunity for finding whoever it was they were looking for was dwindling with every second. Soon they would have to turn back, returning over the terrain from which they had come. They could alter their course slightly, but unless they had missed something, their journey could have been for nothing.
Not really for nothing. At least he was obeying what he felt the Lord was calling him to do.
"Lord, you've called us out here for a reason. Maybe that reason was to get closer to you. If so, then so be it. But if there's anyone or anything you want us to find, then make it happen soon. Otherwise, I'll take it as a sign that our mission is over."
His prayer was interrupted by the sound of running feet. He turned and saw Jagtai jogging down the hill, a look of excitement on his face. With one hand he was giving Willie the shush signal, his index finger over his lips. With the other he was waving for Willie to follow him.
"What about the camels?" Willie asked in a loud whisper.
"Leave them. They aren't going anywhere," Jagtai whispered back. "You must see this!"
Willie followed his friend up a hill, up to a rock formation about twenty feet above them.
"Look! Down below!"
It was maybe a quarter mile down in a depression between several rock formations. Willie counted eight gers pitched in a circle, almost like an Indian camp from the old westerns he used to watch. But these gers looked more like geodesic domes than teepees. They were camouflaged the color of the landscape, obviously making their presence difficult to spot by aerial surveillance. A barbed-wire fence surrounded the gers.
Two men emerged from two of the gers. Willie brought the binoculars to his eyes. They had olive skin, black hair, and scruffy black beards.
"Jagtai, get the camera. Make sure the telescopic lens is in."
"Be right back."
Before Jagtai returned, someone else emerged from one of the gers. The reddish hair was the first thing he noticed. Willie adjusted the focus ring on the binoculars. Dear Lord, this is a woman!
"Jagtai, hurry!" he whispered.
"Coming."
The woman disappeared behind one of the gers as Jagtai handed Willie the camera. Willie adjusted the telephoto lens. The adrenaline in his body caused him to overfocus. Then underfocus. The gers and the two men came into clear view, their hands flailing in the air. They appeared to be arguing. The redhead was still out of sight. "Come on, baby. Come on back around into view." Willie snapped a couple of pictures.
"Come on... Yes!"
The redhead reemerged into view. The camera's motor kept advancing the film, and Willie kept shooting.
The woman went back inside the tent.
"Let's go," Willie said.
"Where to?"
"Ulaanbaatar."
U.S. Navy E/A-6B Prowler
Electronic Attack Squadron One Three Nine (VAQ 139)
Altitude 1,500 feet over the North Pacific Ocean
200 nautical miles northeast of Japan
If you look down and way out to your right, you can see your new home, Commander." The pilot's voice could be heard through the headset of the flight helmet Zack was wearing.
Zack turned and looked out the right side of the cockpit. All he could see were the
glistening ripples of the vast ocean.
"You've got better eyes than I do, Lieutenant."
"Look out at four o'clock, downrange twenty degrees."
Zack strained again. Then he saw it. A dark gray yardstick, way out in the ocean, churning white water in its wake. Several smaller yardsticks, each about one-third the size of the big one, surrounded her in a perimeter of about five miles, also churning white water. The USS Ronald Reagan and her battle group.
"Ever landed on a carrier, Commander?"
"Not as many times as you have, I'm sure, Lieutenant. But the answer to your question is yes. Sorry about that." Zack snickered.
"Sorry about what, sir?" the pilot asked.
"I know how you flyboys like to try to get a suspected landlubber to throw up on the first pass over the carrier."
The pilot chuckled. "Got me, Commander. But that's more the fighter guys who like to try that stuff. Anyway, the seas are pretty calm out there today. If I can get his right, hopefully we won't wind up in the drink."
"Roger that," Zack said as the Prowler started making a circle to line up behind the Reagan for its final approach.
"Commander, I'm getting ready to switch to our LSO frequency for landing. You're welcome to listen in if you'd like."
He wants me to listen to his conversations with the landing safety officer. He's still trying to spook me. "Sounds like fun."
"Very well, sir. Switching to LSO frequency now."
Passing by the stern of the USS Ronald Reagan at an altitude of 800 feet, the pilot banked the multimillion-dollar jet fighter away from the sun and pressed his microphone.
"Flight control, Prowler leader on final approach, requesting permission to land."
"Prowler leader, flight control." This was the carrier air traffic controller. "We've got you on visual now. Request for landing is granted. Proceed at your discretion."
"Roger that, flight control. Proceeding at discretion."
Completing the wide aerial loop behind the stern of the nuclear carrier, the pilot pointed the E/A-6B Prowler at the carrier's stern.
This would be like any other landing at any other airport in the world, Zack knew, except for the fact that the runway of this floating airstrip rolled slightly in the six-foot swells splitting around the carrier's hull. And except for the fact that the landing area on the rocking runway was only about five hundred feet in length, less than a quarter of the length of a normal runway. And also except for the fact that if the tail hook trailing underneath the fuselage missed one of the four steel cords in the aft of the deck, they could wind up with a cockpit full of cold, dark, North Pacific salt water and a free trip to the bottom of the "drink."
There was more chatter over the radio, though Zack was having trouble distinguishing the voices.
"Landing gear down."
"Tail hook down."
"Prowler One. LSO. Call the ball!" the LSO squawked, referring to the amber light on the stern of the carrier used for visual guidance for landing.
"Roger ball!" the pilot called back, indicating visual contact with the flashing light on the back of the carrier.
"Ten seconds to touchdown. No more radio contact, Commander," the pilot said. All landing signals would now be governed by a system of lights on the stern of the carrier run by the LSO.
Green light on.
Good.
"Three hundred feet."
"Two hundred feet."
The Prowler rushed at the carrier's stern. The ship was now a floating steel wall growing exponentially by the second, rushing head-on at the cockpit.
"Up! Up! Up!"
"Five seconds."
"Three seconds."
"Cut throttle."
A violent, jolting thump as forty tons of aircraft slammed against the steel deck.
Zack lunged forward under furious g-forces, his shoulder harness digging into his chest.
"Full throttle!"
The aircraft shook violently, its afterburners fighting the resistance of the powerful steel cable stretched across the floating runway and "trapped" by the plane's tail hook. Shuddering under the thrust of full power, the plane came to a restrained stop halfway down the carrier's deck.
"Cut power!"
The pilot pulled back on the forward throttles and switched off the engines.
"Nice job, Lieutenant," Zack said.
"Welcome to the Gipper, Commander," the pilot said, referring to the affectionate nickname that crew members called the Reagan.
Zack exhaled deeply. "It's good to be home."
CHAPTER 48
Embassy of the United States of America
Big Ring Road
11th Micro-district
Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia
Even in his short three months in Mongolia, Willie Mangum had enough experience with the United States Embassy to know that the consul's office was open to serve U.S. citizens living in Mongolia from 1:00 to 3:00 p.m.
Depending on which foreign ser vice officer was working the desk, sometimes the ser vice was excellent, and sometimes it was... well... Mongolian. In this case, Willie had brought Jagtai with him as a witness to what he was about to describe.
A smiling brunette, an American with a pixie haircut who would've been attractive had she ditched the thick, black, plastic-rimmed glasses, sat at the action officer's desk. "May I help you, sir?"
"I'm Willie Mangum with the International Mission Board." Willie handed her his passport. "This is my friend Jagtai."
"Hello." The desk officer studied Willie's passport, not looking up. "What can I do for you, Mr. Mangum?"
"I need to see Ambassador Amos. This is an emergency."
That brought eye contact from the young foreign ser vice officer. "Ambassador Amos is busy. She doesn't see citizens without an appointment. You say this is an emergency?"
"Yes. We believe that a Western woman, maybe an American, is being held hostage out in the Gobi."
"Hmm." She studied both Willie and Jagtai. "That's quite an allegation you're making there, Mr. Mangum."
Typical smarter-than-thou State Department bureaucrat. More intelligent than the common riffraff. "Look. We went out and took photos three days ago." He pulled the eight-by-ten color photos out of the folder and laid them on the bureaucrat's desk.
She took them and sifted through them slowly. "Very interesting." Her voice sounded almost like that of Sergeant Shultz of Hogan's Heroes. "How do you know this is an American?"
"I don't know that for sure, but we've heard rumors to that effect. Let's put it this way -- how many redheaded Mongolians have you ever seen?"
"Rumors." She studied the photos some more. "Hmph."
"Please, Miss --"
"Kerry. And you know unless we can prove this person is a U.S. citizen, I doubt there's anything we can do."
"I understand, Miss Kerry, but I'd still like to see Ambassador Amos."
Kerry eyed Willie and Jagtai a moment longer. "I'll call up to the ambassador's appointments secretary and explain the situation, but as I say, the ambassador doesn't see people off the streets. I'm sure you'll have to wait."
"Thank you," Willie said.
As the bureaucrat telephoned the appointments secretary, Willie prayed silently. Lord, grant us favor with the ambassador. Let us see her as soon as possible.
"Well, Mr. Mangum, I just got off the telephone with the ambassador, and she has asked me to deliver a message to you."
"Really?"
"Yes." The bureaucrat spoke with a tinge of contempt in her voice. "I've been instructed to tell you, and these are her words, that the ambassador" -- she cleared her throat -- "grew up as a Southern Baptist and would be happy to see you."
"Really? When?"
"This is highly unusual, Mr. Mangum, but Ambassador Amos has agreed to see you right now."
"Really?"
"Yes." She cleared her throat. "Really." Thank you, Lord. "Thank you!"
"If you would follow me, please."
CHAPTER 49
The White House
Washington, D.C.
This is dangerous, Mr. President, inexcusably dangerous!" The secretary of state, Robert Mauney, was reacting to the contingency plan that had been drawn up by the Joint Chiefs of Staff for a possible military operation in Mongolia.
The president sat at the end of a long mahogany table, around which members of his National Security Council also sat after being summoned to an emergency meeting.
"Don't get too upset at the Joint Chiefs, Mr. Secretary. I haven't ordered anything yet. But I did ask them to develop a contingency plan so our forces would be ready just in case."
"But, Mr. President, I urge you to remember the parameters you've set forth, sir. First, we would have to find the camp, and then we would have to be assured that Lieutenant Commander Colcernian is there. And frankly, sir, I'm skeptical. We can't tell from these photos that this is Colcernian.
"From our interview with Father Robert, the church colored L'Enfant's hair a red color. This photo could be L'Enfant, and that would make this a French problem, sir.
"Not only that, Mr. President, but as you know, our satellites have been shooting pictures of this area and we can't pinpoint the location. Not even with the sketchy information this missionary has given us.
"And besides, sir, even if -- and this is still a long shot -- these photos are of Colcernian, is it worth risking nuclear war with Russia or China by crossing their airspace? Our relations with both of those countries have been icy since the Dome of the Rock. We can't reach Mongolia without crossing Russia or China. Sir, is one officer's life worth risking World War III?"
The president let that thought resonate for a moment. He looked at his security council. Vice President Surber was there. So was Cynthia Hewitt, his national security advisor. So were all five members of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, along with their boss, Secretary of Defense Erwin Lopez. All eyes were on him.
Lord, give me wisdom.