"I wasn't expecting to be here until nine," Howard said an- grily. "So naturally I get a call in the middle of the night telling me they want the plane in premaintenance right now. I know better than to answer the damned phone after nine P."

Jacinto nodded. "I hear that." He put his own wife and kids on strict instructions not to answer the phone after nine P.

He walked back to his V- 100 just as a large green M 113 Ar- madillo combat vehicle pulled up beside his. The back door swung ope I n and two armed soldiers jumped out and took defen- sive positions behind the ACV. Jacinto could see the roof turret swing in his direction, the huge twenty-millimeter Browning cannon and its coaxial 7.62-millimeter machine gun in the turret trained on the Stepvan behind him.

"Five Foxtrot, code two, report," a voice blared through the Armadillo's loudspeaker.

"Five Foxtrot, code victor ten victor, all secure," Jacinto yelled back. The security crews had been given a code sequence and number for the shift. When challenged, the guard would respond with the proper code to advise the response crew that he was not under duress. If he had responded with anything else the snipers at the back of the truck and the gunner on top of the armored vehicle with his cannon and machine gun would kill anybody in sight.

But Jacinto answered correctly. The guards behind the Ar- madillo raised their rifles and slung them on their shoulders.

Jacinto walked over to the truck.

"Pissing off the munitions maintenance troops again, eh, Rey?"

"I gotta do something to stay awake, Sarge. These guys have nonsense of humor."

'Yeah. You gotta hit the head or what?"

"Just let me refill my canteen and I'll be okay."

Jacinto went to the back of the Almadillo and hacked around with the two assault troops as he filled his canteen from the large 145.

water can and hooked it back onto his web belt. He gave the shift-supervisor NCO a snappy salute as the ACV drove away.

His blood flowing once again, Jacinto did a quick walkaround inspection of the hangar as the munitions maintenance troops punched in the number of the code lock on the hangar door opening mechanism. As the senior NCO went inside, the younger man hopped back into the Stepvan and pulled it around so that the rear was facing in toward the plane. Jacinto moved toward the front of the hangar so he could watch the rear of the truck and the driver. The young driver, obviously nervous around the flight line, finally got into position after a series of jerks and starts, maneuvering the missile trailer in beside the plane as close to the hangar wall as he could. Jacinto decided to help him out, and guided the driver in until the truck was ten feet from the nose of the plane and the trailer was just under the left wing- tip.

"Thanks," the young airman said in a high-pitched voice. He hopped out and trotted back to help his supervisor.

"Better chock the truck," Jacinto called inside the hangar.

The airman froze. Sergeant Howard looked at Jacinto, then at Crowe, and finally at the Stepvan.

"Do as the man said," Howard yelled to Crowe. "You know all vehicles are supposed to be chocked out here." Crowe ran to the truck, pulled out a set of yellow wooden chocks and placed them under the rear wheels.

"And stop running around in the hangar," Howard yelled once more. "You know better. Or should."

Jacinto suppressed a smile. He remembered back to his first solo guard duties while he watched the two technicians set to work. He was a million times more nervous than this guy . . .

His interest was quickly drawn to the amazing aircraft they were servicing. He had never been any closer than this to the plane, even though he had been guarding it for a year now, but he was still amazed by the sleek, catlike aircraft. It looked even more deadly now with its two huge air-to-air missiles hanging on the belly on either side of the large intake. Jacinto had read every scrap of unclassified information on DrearnStar and had repeatedly asked for permission to look inside the cockpit but was always denied.

Sergeant Howard had wheeled a maintenance platform around to the left side of the cockpit and locked it into place, then 146 .

scrambled up the steps and opened the canopy. Meanwhile Crowe had started up an auxiliary power cart in the back of the hangar and was hauling air and power cables over to the receptacles near the left main landing gear. A few moments later Howard had flipped the right switches in the cockpit-the battery and external power switches, Jacinto recalled from his reading-and cockpit and position lights popped in all around DreamStar.

Howard stepped off the maintenance platform and walked over to the back of the truck. Noticing Jacinto watching him from the front of the hangar, he waved him over. Jacinto, and soon Air- man Crowe, moved over beside Howard.

Over the noise of the power cart Sergeant Howard said, "Want to take look inside?"

Jacinto blinked in surprise. "Is it okay?"

" Don't see why not. Ejection seat's been deactivated, half the black boxes in the cockpit have been pulled out and the weapons are all pinned and safe. No better time - "

Jacinto nodded enthusiastically. He pulled the clip out of his M-16, placed the clip in a pouch on his belt, checked the safety on the rifle and leaned the weapon on the Stepvan bumper. "All right, I been waiting to do this for-"

A hand reached across his face, covering his nose and mouth and twisting his head sideways. Jacinto tried to roll away from the arms holding his head, but Howard had run up to him and grasped his chin, holding his neck fast. A split-second later Ja- cinto felt a sharp, deep sting on his exposed neck.

Three seconds later he was dead.

"Shto slochelosch? What the hell is the matter with you, Crowe?" the man named "Howard" cursed at his young part- ner. "Crowe" was staring at the body, watching Jacinto's death twitch as the poison slowly destroyed the central nervous sys- tem. "You almost let him get loose."

Crowe did not reply. Howard slapped the young man hard on the shoulder. "We must hurry, idiot. Time is running out."

Pushed toward the still-quivering corpse, Crowe began un- buckling Jacinto's combat harness and webbing, jerking his hands ,away as the last of the dead, guard's tremors left his body. Mean- while Howard swung open the back of the Stepvan, removed several pins from the sides of the equipment racks along the inside walls of the van, then hauled the racks away from the wall.

147.

Out from his hiding place inside the racks, wearing the AN- TARES flight suit, was Captain Kenneth Francis James.

"Nechyega syerchyanznaga, tovarisch. It is all clear, Com- rade Captain. We are -ready."

James raised the muzzle of the machine pistol and put the safety on. "Speak English, you idiot. And help me out of here."

Slowly, carefully, Maraklov was helped to his feet. Moving as if his joints were locked in place, he slowly walked to the edge of the Stepvan. Howard then lowered him to the hangar floor, where he made his way to the maintenance platform still set up beside DrearnStar.

By this time Airman Crowe-real name, long unused and al- most forgotten, was Andrei Lovyyev-had put on all of Jacinto's combat gear and was just replacing the ammo clip in the M- 16 rifle. "Blouse your pants in your boots, Crowe," James told him as he crawled up the ladder. "And keep out of sight. You're at least thirty pounds smaller than Jacinto, someone is bound to notice. "

"Yes, sir.

"Remember, your call sign is Five Foxtrot. The duress code number is twelve and the duress prefix and suffix is victor."

"I remember, sir."

He turned to Howard. "You both have been briefed on the pickup location?"

"Yes, Captain. Good luck to you, sir."

James balanced himself on the cockpit sill of DreamStar and swung his legs inside the cockpit. Then with Howard's help, he connected the maze of wire bundles from his flight suit to DrearnStar's computers, set the heavy ANTARES superconduc- tor helmet on his head and fastened it into place. By this time he was breathing hard, he could feel drops of sweat crawling down his arms and neck. Howard's hands trembled slightly with excitement as he fastened the thick shoulder straps around the metal-encased pilot and pulled them tight. "Tighter," James said in a voice muffled by the helmet. Howard braced himself and hauled on'the straps as hard as he could.

"Thank you, Sergeant Howard," James said. "You pulled this off very well."

"Nyeh zah shto. " Maraklov had been James too long. He could barely understand a word, but the KGB agent's soft tone of voice gave him the idea. The man was obviously pleased by 148 .

the compliment. He rechecked James' connections and climbed off the maintenance platform.

Meanwhile Crowe had climbed inside the armored vehicle outside the hangar, scanning the flight line-Howard could see his head jerk at every crackle of the radio. It had, he now real- ized, been foolish to bring such a youngster on a mission like this-it was Lovyyev's first full-scale job since sneaking across the border from Mexico via El Paso and setting up residence under cover in Las Vegas three years earlier. To put him in the lion's den like this was taking a big risk.

But it was too late for second guessing. Howard disconnected the missile trailer from the Stepvan truck and moved it out of the way inside the hangar, closed the van's rear doors and moved it out of the hangar and clear of DreamStar's taxi path. Next he took several large orange-colored traffic cones marked "DANGER HIGH EXPLOSIVE" out of the van and arranged them in a wide arc around the hangar doors. This was a normal procedure-the cones were a warning to anyone else on the flight line that work on live weapons was going on inside. But these cones were dif- ferent. Each was a miniature mortar-launcher, operated by re- mote control. When activated, each would fire a high-explosive magnesium flash bomb a hundred yards away. The concussions and blinding white light produced by the mortar rounds would slow and presumably stop any quick-reaction forces from mov- ing in until DreamStar was clear of the hangar.

After carefully aiming the disguised mortars at response roads and likely targets around the hangar-being careful not to crater DrearnStar's taxi route or exit-Howard stepped inside the han- gar once again and rechecked that all safing pins and streamers were removed from the aircraft and weapons. He then walked to the truck, retrieved a M-16 rifle with a M-203 forty-millimeter grenade-launcher under the barrel, a metal box full of grenades and a bag of five thirty-round clips, and went back into the hangar to wait.

His legs were aching, sweat was pouring into the metallic flight suit. Conditioned air from the external power cart was trickling into the suit but was hardly enough to change the temperature.

Through the canopy he could see Crowe nervously fidgeting inside the armored car, looking as if he was going to shoot himself in the face with his M-16 any second. He could also 149.

watch Howard's careful preparations for the massive assault they knew had to come. Despite their plans, the moment they tried to start engines the full force of Dreamland's security forces would be on top of them. Nearly fifty armed soldiers and two heavily armed tracked combat vehicles surrounding the flight line would be let loose to blow DreamStar to hell.

Amid it all James had to convince himself to relax, to empty his mind of all thoughts, to clear a path for the sleeping AN- TARES computer to worm its way into his subconscious. Self- hypnosis, consciously forcing each muscle group to relax, was the simplest and usually the most effective way of achieving theta-wave state, but that seemed impossible. Muscles ached from the long climb up the platform, and the lactic acid that collected in his muscle tissue from heavy exertion would act like halon gas on a fire, blocking any conscious efforts to relax those muscles.

His mind kept straying to the thoughts of Major Briggs' se- curity forces-he had inspected those forces many times, acting only partially interested in them at the time when in fact he was taking careful notes on the exact numbers, equipment and de- ployment. He had examined the weaknesses of the force and planned possible escape routes out of Drearnland for himself should that ever have been necessary. He had devised several escape plans, depending on what, if anything, he was taking with him-one route was to be used if he was alone and on foot, another if he was driving a car, another if driving a truck, an- other if he was carrying a "black box" or another unit. But never had he expected to take DreamStar with him. Compo- nents, drawings, computers, electronic media, yes-never the whole plane.

Only one mind-set seemed to make sense-that morning in the cockpit he told himself he wasn't going to make it but it was worth it to die trying. If he did beat the odds and lift off, he had to buck even greater odds to fly the eight hundred miles from Dreamland to the deserted airstrip in central Mexico for the re- fueling planned by his KGB contacts in Los Angeles and Mexico City. Then he'd have both the American and Mexican air forces to beat on his way to Nicaragua, plus American forces based on El Salvador and Honduras-none of them very large or effective forces, but a deadly threat to a battered and weaponless DreamStar.

150 .

But he had no choice. If he couldn't have DreamStar, better to die in her cockpit trying to deliver her to the Soviet Union than let the Americans mothball her while they continued to perfect their research into the ANTARES interface. Were there other areas he could infiltrate, other research programs whose information could be vital to the security of the Soviet Union?

Was there any other program that, if he lived, he could collect information on as valuable or as rare as his DreamStar? His?

Yes, damn it, his . . .

The answer to all was no. Strangely, coming to that grim conclusion put him at ease, allowing him slowly to relax his knotted muscles and control his adrenaline-fired pulse and breathing.

"Do you want to live forever, Andrei Ivanschichin Marak- lov?" James said into his face mask. And with that he felt his body go totally relaxed, almost limp, held upright only by the tight body harness that secured him.to DreamStar's ejection seat.

it was the first time in some ten years that he had spoken his given name. The words surprised him-it was such a totally Russian name. And right now he liked it, was proud of it. "Ken- neth Francis James" sounded weak. He would not use it again.

He did not realize, though, that it had taken two hours for him to speak his Russian name to himself. Without warning the ANTARES interface had taken hold. He was once again one with DreamStar . . .

Patrick McLanahan could only stare. General Brad Elliott and Hal Briggs couldn't speak. Applause broke out from somewhere behind them as they stared at a reincarnation.

The doors to Hangar Three of the HAWC research flight line were opened, and a yellow "mule" tow-tractor slowly chugged out of the massive structure. The mule pulled a hulking dark beast from its lair, an aircraft so large that it seemed to blot out the faint glow of the rising sun on the horizon. It seemed to take forever to move the giant machine from the hangar, but soon there it was, sitting on the concrete ramp like a winged black dragon.

" 'Whenever science makes a discovery, the devil grabs it,' "

Angelina Pereira quoted. McLanahan and Briggs turned toward her. "Alan Valentine," she added.

151.

"Whoever ... but that's one mean-lookin' mother, " Briggs said.

On-nack began his walkaround inspection of the Megafortress Plus, General Elliott and other members of the crew following.

Actually Ormack and the engineers had already completed an extensive walkaround hours earlier before the crew briefing, and all items of the before-engine-start checklist had already been performed by ground crewmen and technicians. But no matter who performed the inspection, or when, Ormack could not resist the urge to do one last visual inspection before climbing aboard- as much a ritual as a race car driver's kicking the tires of his car or a marksman's rubbing the front sight of his rifle.

Elliott pointed at the Old Dog. "I still can't believe what I'm seeing," he said to Ormack, once its copilot. What he was pointing at was the most radical change in the Old Dog's ap- pearance-her huge wings. Instead of drooping in a huge down- ward curve from the fuselage to the wingtips, the wings stood straight out, tall and proud instead of arched and aged-looking.

"The newest in composite materials went into her," Ormack said. "We replaced the main wing spar, the spine, the tailplane spars and other skeletal components with fibersteel beams, the largest and thickest composite structures ever cast. I remember being called out to the hangar in Alaska when they put the wings back on-it looked like a damn optical illusion, those twenty- ton wings sticking straight out like that. They sagged when we filled them up with fifty tons of fuel, though-sagged a grand total of two inches. We used to be able to look into the outboard engines just by standing on tiptoes-now, they're all so high off the ground we need a ladder to look into them. The takeoff distance has decreased by thirty percent. It used to take forever for the Buff to lift off because those huge drooping wings would 'take off' first, leaving the fuselage still rolling on the ground.

No more, Brad. When this beast hits takeoff speed, it's airborne.

Period. "

Ormack continued the walkaround inspection, pointing out various new changes in the huge bomber. "Only two AIM-120 Scorpion missiles on this flight, but Carter's Dog Zero Two can take up to ten on each wing now, instead of only the six we had on our first mission-that's twenty air-to-air missiles total, the same as on five F-15 fighters. And computer-controlled fuel management helps us avoid the fuel problems we had on our last 152 .

flight when damage forced us out of the automatic mode. No more wing spoilers that dragged in the slipstream for aircraft control and wasted so much energy. Now we use engine-bleed air-thrusters on the wings for roll control. It allows us much faster turn control, eliminates adverse yaw."

He pointed at the Old Dog's wingtip, which had a long, pointed oblong device trailing aft from the wingtip. "No more twin tip-tanks on this baby. With fibersteel construction we were able to build large single jettisonable fuel tanks with greater capacity that are lighter, stronger and more aerodynamic than the twin tanks. We've also taken off the wingtip wheels-even fully fueled there's no danger of these wingtips ever striking ground. Another weight saving."

Hal Briggs turned to On-nack. "General, someone might think you're a lieutenant on his cherry ride." As he spoke Briggs glanced over Ormack's shoulder down the flight line and, by force of habit, checked the guard posts.

"I have to admit, I get clutched every time I see this beast,"

Ormack said. "I've seen her blown up, crashed, broken, shot up, cut up, disassembled, and now I've seen her better than before. A regular phoenix, this bird."

They walked around to the bomb bay and peered inside at the mix of glide-missiles and laser-guided smart bombs. "If this flight is a success," General Elliott said, "this could be the beginning of a new day for the B-52 bomber. Even with all one hundred B-I Excalibur bombers operational and the first B-2 Panther Stealth bomber squadron finally operational, the anti- air, standoff and border penetration capabilities of the Megafor- tress Plus may mean the refitting and reactivation of all the G-model B-52s that were retired last year. A few squadrons of B-52 Megafortress Plus bombers could fly along with the strike bombers, clear a path for them and then return to be used in reserve or for other long-range strike missions. It's a new con- cept-armed flying battleship escorts for strategic bombers."

Hal Briggs listened but his attention was continually drawn to the guard posts down the flight line. Everything appeared nor- mal, but something somewhere was out of place . . .

At first Briggs dismissed the feelings. All six high-security hangars had the proper guards stationed around them-six V-100 Commando assault cars positioned properly. Straining, he could make out all six guards at their posts, a few standing to 153.

watch the crowd around the B-52, a few sitting in their V-100s.

A roving patrol in an M113 Armadillo assault vehicle was mov- ing up and down the center of the ramp, cruising slowly, a cou- ple of SPs hanging out of the gun turret on the roof to watch the Megafortress roll out. They had taken the twenty-millimeter ma- chine gun off its mount so two guys could squeeze up through the roof to get a better look-he'd have. to get on their case for that. But overall, it appeared normal. So what was it . . . ?

"Hal?" McLanahan had stepped beside the security police commander and was scanning the flight line with him. "Prob- lem? "

Hal noticed that Ormack, Elliott, Khan and Wendelstat had moved off toward.the tail; he and McLanahan were alone beside the Old Dog's bomb bay. "No . . . nothing. I'm gonna chew some butt-those guys rubber-neckin' in the Armadillo over there." He looked at the colonel. "Where you going?"

"Take a ride out to the range, I think. Get a good seat near the ground target before the fireworks start. I was going to ask if . . . "

But Briggs wasn't listening; he was staring down the flight line toward Hangar Five, Sergeant Rey Jacinto's post. He was still sitting in his V- 100, doors closed. He wasn't asleep-Jacinto was too good for that, and besides, Briggs could see him moving around inside . . .

"Hal? What about it? Can I get a ride out to the range?"

. . . but Jacinto was a high-tech aircraft freak. He knew all there was to know, all he was allowed to know, about the B-52 Megafortress Plus and the XF-34A DreamStar. He would, though, gladly give his right nut to get a look at either bird up close. Jacinto had guarded Hangar Three before, but he had never been inside . . .

"He's never seen the Old Dog. before," Briggs mumbled.

'What?

"One of my troops. Jacinto .

"Rey? Yeah, nice guy. You keep on bouncing back his re- quests to take a peek at DreamStar. You ought to let him before they mothball her. Is he on duty this morning?"

"Hangar Five."

McLanahan squinted through the semi-darkness toward DreamStar's hangar. "I don't see him."