"Eagle flight, this is TINSEL on malibu"-malibu, FM fre- quency 660, was the Squadron's discrete scrambled channel.

Great, Downs thought, they found our so-called secret channel.

Eagle flight of two, we copy that Eagle Lead is down. Search and rescue has been notified. You are to return across the ADIZ immediately or you will be considered a hostile intruder. Ac- knowledge and comply. Over."

"TINSEL, this is Eagle Two. That son of a bitch just shot down Colonel Harrell. Are you ordering us to let him go? Over. "

"We don't have any damned choice, Downs." It was a new voice on the radio-obviously the AWACS mission commander cutting in over the senior controller. "We can't start a major international incident by ignoring the rules. You'll get another shot at him when we get permission to cross. Now get your asses back over the border before you have to fight off the damned Mexican Air Force-and then you and I get to tangle. That's an order from Air Division. Over.

DreamStar was only a dozen feet above a rocky dry-river bed snaking through the Pinacate Mountains. Occasional radar sweeps showed the skies above him were clear, but that last attack was so sudden and so close that Maraklov kept DrearnStar in the dirt to avoid any more sneak attacks. He stayed in the rugged mountains and dry desert valleys until he reached the fringes of the AWACS cover-age zone, then slowly step-climbed out of the rocky terrain, being careful to stay under detectable radar emissions in the-area. After a few minutes, as he cruised down the Magdalena River valley at five hundred feet, he was finally out of range of all American surveillance radars. The military radar nets from Hermosillo seventy miles south of his position were searching for him as well, but they were high- altitude-only surveillance radars and not capable of finding low- altitude aircraft. As he approached the northern foothills of the 202 .

Sierra Madre Occidental mountains he was finally able to climb above ten thousand feet for the first time and reestablish best- endurance power.

Not time to celebrate, though. Maraklov was starting to search for places to crash-land DrearnStar, taking seriously the fuel- endurance figures he was receiving. He was three hundred miles from Laguna de Santiaguillo with five thousand pounds of fuel.

His best endurance speed was only fifty-five percent of full power-idle power, barely enough to maintain altitude and con- trol. He was slightly over eleven thousand feet, which put him right at the minimum safe altitude for the region-he could see Cerrro Chorreras, one of the highest peaks of the Sierra Madre, looming off to his right and looking like an impenetrable wall, a fist ready to reach out and pull him out of the sky.

He didn't have the fuel to climb any higher; in fact, the best routine would command a descent soon to prevent DreamStar from stalling at such slow airspeeds. The high terrain would then force him further eastward toward the Mexican fighter base at Torreon only two hundred miles away. After successfully evad- ing four squadrons of high-tech American fighters, Maraklov thought ruefully, he might end up dropping himself right into the very appreciative laps of the Mexican government.

ANTARES needed to search its own database for landing sites within range. Not easy. DreamStar was well within the Sierra Madre mountains now. Below were hundreds of grass-and-dirt strips-every plantation owner, every mining town, every timber mill, every drug dealer had his own airstrip. Most were simply cleared sections of land or dirt roads. Many were on high pla- teaus far from any usable roads or towns-if Kramer and Moffitt, his two KGB contacts from Los Angeles, were bringing a fuel truck it would take days for them to arrive.

After a few moments Maraklov was presented with a chart of north-central Mexico with landing-site choices depicted. He quickly discarded the unimproved runways of San Pablo Balleza and Rancho Las Aojuntas. Likewise the paved airport of Par- ral-the computerized chart showed the airport had a rotating beacon and even runway lights, which meant it probably was used by the militia or local police. Too active to maintain any secrecy.

The last choice seemed the best, a paved sixty-four-hundred- foot-long runway named Ojito. Detail of the runway showed it 203.

to be like the valley road nearby, which meant it probably was the road, just widened and strengthened some to serve as a run- way. Several of such quasi-runways dotted central Mexico, where air access was occasionally desired but there wasn't enough room to build an airport. Ojito was a hundred miles northwest of the original landing site, and in these rugged foot- hills that meant at least a four-hour wait.

Once that decision had been made, Maraklov commanded ra- dio two to a special UHF frequency. "Kramer, this is Maraklov.

Come in. Over."

The radio crackled, and the pilot filtered out the noise, careful not to decrease the radio's effective range. No response. He was over two hundred miles from Laguna de Santiaguillo. Maybe they wouldn't be able to hear him in the mountains . . .

"Maraklov, this is Kramer. We read you. Welcome, you made it.

For the first time, Maraklov allowed himself to feel the ex- hilaration he'd not thought possible. "Kramer, listen. Change of plans. New runway is at grid coordinates kilo-victor-five-one- five, lima-alpha one-three-seven. Situation critical. Over."

"We understand. We have been monitoring your progress.

We are airborne and will meet you at your designated landing point. You are almost home. Kramer out."

The official blue sedan screeched to a halt not four feet in front of Cheetah's nose gear. General Elliott jumped up from behind the wheel, threw the door open and stood behind it, drawing a thumb across his throat. He looked mad enough to hold down Cheetah even if they used full afterburner. At the same time Hal Briggs got out of the passenger's side, wearing a set of ear pro- tectors, and holding aloft his Uzi submachine gun in an obvious warning. Patrick could see him shrug and shake his head. He had no doubt that Briggs would use that SMG on Cheetah's tires.

"Shut 'em down, ," Patrick said.

muttered to himself as he touched the 'Voice-interface switch on the stick. "Engine shutdown, power on."

"Engine shutdown. Brakes set. External power on. Clear to scavenge, " the computer replied.

"Clear to scavenge," said. One by one the engines revved up to eighty percent power for ten seconds, then shut themselves down. Patrick did not shut down any of his equip- 204 .

ment but left it on standby to have it ready when-or, looking at Elliott's angry face, if-they received takeoff clearance. Soon the only noise left was the sound of the external power cart.

Briggs bolstered his Uzi as Elliott walked over to the crew ladder being put up on Cheetah's left side, pushed Sergeant Ray Butler out of the way and painfully hauled himself up the ladder.

Where the hell do you think you're going? Have you gone crazy?"

:'You know where I'm going," McLanahan said quietly- 'You ordered this?"

"Yes.- Elliott stared at Patrick, then at the external power cart and the screaming its turbine engine was making. ','Shut that damned thing off."

"Leave it on, Sergeant," Patrick told Butler.

Elliott jabbed a finger first at Powell, then at McLanahan.

"You, I knew you were crazy, but Patrick, you've gone round the bend. James steals a jet so you guys want to steal one too?

All even up-?"

" Don't give me that, General. Don't tell me you don't un- derstand what I'm trying to do."

DreamStar is long gone, Patrick," Elliott said. "It's up to Air Defense to force it down or shoot it down. There's nothing we can do-"

"Like hell, Brad - We're gonna bring down that sonofabitch.

The change that came over McLanahan was startling but somehow familiar. This was the McLanahan, "Mac" not Pat- rick, that he remembered from Bomb Comp and from the Old Dog mission eight years earlier-cocky, headstrong, defiant. All part of what had attracted him to the young navigator from the very beginning. The guy was also a pro. He knew it and every- one else knew it-he didn't sugarcoat with politics or bravado or fake expertise. Some of that in his role as a project com- mander had been kept under wraps, but the crash of the Old Dog and seeing Wendy Tork-or rather as Hal had told him just mo- ments ago, Wendy Tork McLanahan-lying half-dead in the ru- ins of the Megafortress, had transformed him back to what he'd always been . . .

"At max endurance the whole way he only had enough fuel on board to go as far as Mexico City," McLanahan was saying.

"With that max alpha takeoff he made, plus all that combat 205.

maneuvering, his range has to be much less. I say he's gotta be on the ground somewhere . . . "

"So what can you do about it?" Elliott asked. "If he's on the ground-- "Why steal DreamStar, knowing that he can fly for only a few hundred miles before he has to abandon it? Unless he's getting help, unless he planned to fly DreaniStar somewhere where it can be refueled. And the nearest place obviously is Mexico, where he was chased."

"You don't know that. What if he's just flipped out? What if he just wanted to steal DreamStar for a damned joy ride? He's gotten to be so close to that plane, he thinks he owns it."

"He shoots down the Megafortress for a joy ride?"

"ANTARES could have attacked the B-52," Powell broke in. "It's possible for ANTARES to press an attack right after an evasive maneuver-as part of an evasive maneuver. It could have happened without James ever knowing about it-"

"Look, all this argument isn't getting us any closer to DreamStar," McLanahan snapped. "Old Dog got shot down- it happened. James has got DreamStar, that's a fact. And Chee- tah is the jet that has any chance of bringing him down. We've seen what's happened to the others. The instruments on Cheetah can locate DreamStar, on the ground or in the air. If he's on the ground I can direct our forces in on him. The Mexicans can yell but I don't think they'd really try to stop us. If he's airborne we can engage him. Either way we need to get our asses in the air.

Right now."

81hott hesitated. McLanahan might be upset but he was also thinking pretty damn clearly. The question was: what would the Joint Chiefs believe? Would they agree to let Cheetah, with McLanahan on board, try to chase down DreamStar? Obviously they had several squadrons of fighters out after him already, and Cheetah was almost as unique and as classified as DrearnStar- too valuable to risk in a major fur-ball dogfight. Would they decide that everyone at Dreamland was nuts and close down the place?

"I need authorization first," Elliott said. "I have to call Washington-"

"There isn't time for that. Every minute we delay DrearnStar slips further away from us."

"You can authorize Cheetah to launch at any time, sir, " Pow- 206 .

ell suggested. "Let us get airborne and headed south. When you get authorization we'll continue the pursuit. If we stay on the ground until you get the word we'll never catch him."

"This is an unauthorized mission. I don't own these air- frames -the Joint Chiefs and the Penta on own them. They're experimental aircraft, not operational interceptors. It's illegal as hell for me to authorize you to take off and hunt down DreamStar or any other aircraft. Can't you understand that?"

"Sure, and now let me try to make you understand, General.

I'm just not going to let any of that stop me from bringing down DrearnStar. James is a thief, a killer and either a spy or a traitor.

I have the plane to bring him down. As far as I'm concerned all the rest is bureaucratic horseshit that can wait until after DreamStar has been destroyed or recaptured. Now, you can give me authorization to launch, and you can get permission for us to pursue DreamStar after we take off. You can play political games if you want.,But we're leaving, sir, with or without your blessing.

Which brought matters to Hal Briggs. Would he support his commanding officer or his best friend?

"Don't even think about it, Patrick," he said. "I can't let you go against the general's orders. Not now . . . II But then he turned to Elliott: "Sir, I'm a member of this organization, and I agree with Colonel McLanahan. Let him take off and chase down that sonofabitch. It's the best plan we have."

"If I get authorization . . . "

Briggs took a deep breath. "Sir, you've never requested au- thorization for half the plans you cook up. Building that Old Dog ten years ago was unauthorized-you took a B-52 air-frame, ripped off the parts and put the thing together in secret. That whole B-1 bomber mission to Kavaznya was unauthorized.

Launching the Old Dog was unauthorized. Continuing the mis- sion was technically unauthorized, and so was penetrating Soviet airspace and attacking that laser installation. You did it, sir, because it had to be done and you had the people and the equip- ment to do it."

"This is different-"

"Why? Because it's the colonel doin' the rule-breaking and not you? Let me make a wild guess here, sir-Colonel Mc- Lanahan here is sort of a carbon copy of Bradley Elliott about twenty years ago. He's ready to go out there and kick some butt, 207.

just like you did more than once in your career. I read your bio, General . . . " He rushed on, afraid if he stopped he'd lose his nerve. "They stick a hot-shot ex-test squadron commander out in some abandoned Air Force test base in Nowheresville, Ne- vada. They tossed you out, right? You pissed someone off and they stuck you in a hole in the wall in Nevada to get you out of the way-"

"Hal, I'm trying to be patient but this isn't getting us any- where-"

"But you wouldn't roll over and play dead, would you? You turned Nowheresville into Dreamland. The Pentagon started tossing iffy projects your way. What the hell, sir, if the projects failed you'd get the blame. You proved them wrong. You made the projects work-and not always by following the book and getting authorization-and you got the credit. Pretty soon every new piece of military hardware went through Dreamland . . .

O@kay, now you're the man, General, and you're lookin' at the new Bradley James Elliott-Patrick S. McLanahan. He's pullin'

the same shit you did twenty years ago."

Elliott knew that was right. He had been drawn to Mac McLanahan from the start, not just because the guy was the best navigator in the Air Force, but because they seemed so much alike. He also knew he got a kick out of watching the transfor- mation of Mac McLanahan-it was almost as if he was watching a videotape of what had happened with him. It had taken a di- saster for Patrick to come alive, to rise above the bureaucratic morass. Now the real McLanahan had resurfaced, the one that once treated a bomb run in Russia like nothing much more than a late-night training flight in Idaho.

Elliott turned to McLanahan. "Mac, smoke that bastard.

Whatever it takes, do it."

Elliott barely had time to lower himself off the crew ladder before Cheetah's left engine began to spin up to idle power.

When Briggs reached up to pull the ladder off, McLanahan grabbed it.

"Thatwasquiteaspeech,Hal,"hesaidovertherisin whine of the engines. 9 "I got a confession, buddy. I never read the old man's bio.

But I guess I hit pretty close to home. You hang around the guy long enough, you learn a little about what goes on behind the 208 .

brass. Now get outta here and bring us back some rattlesnake hide.

Over Ojito Airfield, central Mexico Ten minutes later DrearnStar's database on Ojito was accurate, except it failed to account for at least a year's worth of unchecked vegetation. Mar- aklov had set up a computerized instrument landing system in Ojito, which used the database's field location, elevation and information on surrounding terrain to draw a glidescope and lo- calizer beam into the runway.

But Maraklov had to yank DreamStar away from tall strands of dense trees off the approach end of the runway, and when he reached the airport's coordinates themselves he could barely see the runway through the weeds and junk scattered around. He had no choice but to ignore the low fuel warnings and go missed- approach on the field; then he adjusted his ILS for the obstruc_ tions and tried again. To use every available inch of pavement he had to drop DreamStar over a stand of trees at almost a full stall, applying power at the last moment to avoid crashing.

After touchdown he discovered that QJito was nowhere near seven thousand feet long-another dense stand of trees and sev- eral buildings rushed up to meet him from less than two thousand feet away. Apparently a small corral and farm had been built on the little-used runway to make it easier to load livestock onto trucks, and the surrounding forest had been allowed to grow over the rest of the airstrip.

Maraklov threw the vectored-thrust nozzles and louvers into full reverse power, then hit the brakes. The left brake locked its anti-skid system failed; it overheated and was quickly deac- tivated by computerjust before it fused to the wheel. DreamStar skidded hard right, and only the lightning-fast application of thrust in the right directions kept the fighter on the narrow weed- covered runway. The left wing crashed into several small, rick- ety wooden buildings, sending chickens and pigs scattering.in all directions. One of the small buildings burst into flames, ig- nited by the heat from DreamStar's exhaust.

Maraklov gunned the engine. DrramStar leapt forward away from the burning building seconds before the fire reached the 209.

left wingtip. Scattering buildings in his jet exhaust, Maraklov taxied back down the runway to the opposite end, turned and aligned himself with the runway centerline, his engine idling. If troops or olice came, he would have enough fuel to take off p and get two or three hundred feet before flame-out-enough to nose over and crash DreamStar.

He activated the radio on Kramer's frequency. "Kramer, what's your position?" he thought, and ANTARES transmitted the query.

"Vstryetyemsah zahv dvah menootah, tovarisch, " Moffitt, Kramer's assistant, replied. Maraklov wished there was a Russian-translation computer in DrearnStar-once again he didn't understand enou h of what Moffitt said.

9.

This was going to be a major problem, Maraklov thought to himself. They weren't in Russia yet, but even in Mexico they were a hell of a lot closer to Moffitt's turf than Maraklov was.

He would have to deal with Moffitt and all the other Moffitts that he'd meet up with-the ones that didn't trust him, the ones who'd think he might have turned, the ones who envied his life in the United States. He'd have to try to begin the transfon-nation back to being a Russian right now.

"Yah . . . yah nye pahnyemahyo, " Maraklov thou ht halt-

9.

ingly. Like many before him, he thought, Russian is hard. But ANTARES did not transmit the Russian phrase, so Maraklov had to answer, "Say again."

"Oh, excuse me, Captain James"-Moffitt was his usual charming self-"I forgot you do not speak Russian any more.

Our ETA is two minutes."