Maraklov had no time to think about Moffitt. Several villagers had begun to appear at the opposite end of the airstrip. Some went to work putting out the fires to their outbuildings; others pointed at DreamStar. Maraklov couldn't tell if any were car- rying weapons but the safe assumption would be that they were armed and shouldn't be allowed to approach, even though they looked like backwoods villagers . . .

Now a large dark-green truck rumbled up the road leading to the tiny airstrip, about a dozen men piled in and slowly started down the runway toward DrearnStar. So much for timid villag- ers, Maraklov locked the right and the emergency brakes, set the engine louvers on full reverse, and advanced the throttle. A huge 210 .

cloud of dust rolled up from the airstrip and almost covered the advancing truck. The truck stopped, then several villagers jumped out and ran over to the sides of the runway. This time Maraklov could see rifles and shotguns. The truck then began advancing slowly toward him, the villagers with rifles advancing on both sides.

Maraklov created another dust cloud to warn them away. It wasn't working. He moved the louvers back to takeoff position.

The truck was closer than a thousand feet now-he wouldn't make it if he attempted a takeoff over the truck even if his wings weren't damaged. There was no way in hell he'd risk losing control of DreamStar to these characters. If these guys came any closer . . . well, he'd survived fighters, surface-to-air missiles, anti-aircraft artillery, the best of America's defense arsenals.

Damned if he and his plane were going to give up to a bunch of peasants in Mexico armed with shotguns.

The villagers were about a hundred yards away when a thun- derous roar echoed through the mountainous valley, drowning out the sound of DreamStar's engines. Suddenly the airfield erupted in clouds of dust and the crackle of machine-gun fire.

The tree-line on either side of the strip was strafed with heavy- caliber machine-gun fire, whipping the trees and branches as if they were in the grip of a hurricane. Not surprisingly the armed villagers bolted from the airstrip, and soon the source of the uproar hove into view in the center of the airstrip.

Maraklov was impressed. It was a huge Boeing CH-47 Chi- nook transport helicopter, an old American twin-rotor job that had to be at least forty years old. This veteran chopper, belching smoke that could be seen for miles, was ready for action-with a door-gunner on each side of the helicopter firing a gyro- stabilized twenty-millimeter gun, it was more a gunship than a trash-hauler. Its huge eight-bladed rotors, each some one hun- dred feet in diameter, barely made it through the trees and brush.

The KGB had at least pulled out all stops to make sure DreamStar got out of the U. intact-no sooner had the monster landed than twelve heavily armed men rushed out of the rear-cargo ramp. TWo hit the area where the burning buildings smoldered, the fires extinguished by the downwash of the chopper's huge rotors; the rest split up on either side of the chopper and began to secure the perimeter of the airstrip. And then from the cargo 211.

hold of the chopper came Kramer and Moffitt riding aboard a small black-and-green fuel truck.

As Maraklov opened the canopy, a crew from the chopper brought a ladder up to the side for Kramer. Maraklov ordered the maintenance access panels to open automatically, and a crew began to attach fuel lines to the single-point refueling adapter.

Other crewmen began stripping loose chunks of fibersteel off DreamStar's tail section, while some scurried over DreamStar's wings inspecting the damage from the Bulldog AAA gun. Amid it all two photographers were taking nonstop pictures of DrearnStar.

Kramer, now on the top of the ladder beside the cockpit ledge, plugged a headset into a jack offered by a maintenance techni- cian. "Can you hear me, Maraklov?"

"Yes, I can hear you," the ANTARES-synthesized voice re- plied. He did not move, nor did he attempt to remove his helmet or raise his visors.

"Welcome, Andrei. What you have accomplished is incredi- ble. "

"Thank you," the computer-synthesized voice replied.

"Can you move? You must be tired. Can you get up?"

"I won't disturb the ANTARES interface until we are safely in Nicaragua. The refueling can be accomplished with the en- gine running. I should launch without any delay."

"I understand. We have begun refueling. We also have mis- siles and ammunition for your guns."

"What kind of missiles?"

"The best we have," Moffitt broke in on the interphone. He had climbed up the other side of DreamStar and was leaning inside the cockpit, watching with fascination as the multi- function screens flickered and changed at breathtaking speed while Maraklov monitored the refueling. "We have two hundred rounds of twenty-millimeter ammunition plus two AA-" close- range dogfighting missiles and two AA-14 medium-range mis- siles. They-"'

"Neither is enough," came Maraklov's ANTARES synthe- sizer voice. Moffitt tried to reach inside the cockpit to touch a button on one of the MFDs, and Maraklov immediately powered the monitor down until Moffitt withdrew his hand. "Without proper interface the missile needs to be able to lock onto a target 212 .

without carfier-aircraft guidance. Neither the AA- II or the AA- 14 can do that."

Moffitt's comment was predictable. "Your American friends always build the best of everything, don't they?"

"Be quiet," Kramer told Moffitt, and then asked Maraklov, i "Can't you use the missiles as a decoy? Perhaps they could scare off-"

"They'll only add additional drag, and they could cause dam- age. I have no intention of letting anyone that close to me.

take the ammunition for the cannon-that's standard size Mar- I aklov ordered the cannon-bay door opened, and the twenty- millimeter cannon lowered itself out of its nose bay, where crew- men, along with the photographers, began to examine it in i I.

preparation for loading. "Another important item: remove the left access panel just forward of'the canard. There's a black box marked 'data transmitter.' That unit must be disconnected as soon as possible."

"What is it?"

"An automatic telemetry-data transmitter," Maraklov.told him. "It sends engine and flight data to any airborne receivers within a hundred miles, including the F-15F. They can decode the information and use it to track me. It can't be deactivated by ANTARES. Do it immediately."

Kramer gave the order to the senior crew chief, then: "What is your plan for escaping to Nicaragua?"

So he was going to Nicaragua, as he'd guessed. Okay, so be it . "I'll stay in the mountains as much as possible and avoid military bases." The main multi-function display screen flashed on, then scrolled through computer-generated charts of the route of flight as Maraklov continued: "I'll fly west of Durango and east of Culiacan to avoid those bases, through the interior to avoid Aguas Calientes and Guadalajara, then into the Sierra Ma- dre del Sur between San Mateo and Acapulco. I don't anticipate problems avoiding Tuxtla Gutierrez and Villahermosa military airfields, and crossing the border I should be unopposed through Guatemala. The problems may come crossing through Hondu- ras," the computer-altered voice of ANTARES said-the metal- lic voice did not reveal any hint of Maraklov's real apprehension or fear. "I may encounter large American forces from Llorango Airfield in El Salvador, and La Cieba and Tegucigalpa airfields in Honduras, but I believe resistance will not be major. There 213.

are only about two hundred miles to the Guatemalan border, through El Salvador and Honduras and into Augusto Cesar San- dino airfield-I can transit the entire distance in less than twenty minutes if necessary. I assume Sandino will be the final desti- nation? "

"Ali . . . that reminds me," Kramer said. "The Nicaraguan government was adamant about not allowing DreamStar into Managua-those people actually believe the U. will send the New Jersey and shell the city if DreamStar shows up anywhere near it. However, we have been provided an alternate base of operations that you will find more than adequate-Sebaco Air- field, north of Managua.

Maraklov immediately activated DreamStar's on-board data- base, and in an instant the computer had found the field and displayed a chart and airfield-infon-nation on Sebaco. "It's a mining town with a dirt runway?" "

"Your information is dated," Kramer said, although to tell the truth, we have made our own modifications only recently.

Sebaco is now a functional airfield and military post, staffed by our people. The runway has been lengthened and paved and is protected by anti-aircraft missiles and artillery. The KGB Cen- tral Amefican Command is based there, along with a small squadron of Mikoyan-Gureyvich-29 fighters. It will be home away from home for you-your first taste of homeland in some time.

"Yes," Maraklov replied curtly.

Maraklov, sitting immobile in DreamStar's ejection seat, felt the life-giving flow of jet fuel into DreamStar, felt the energy and vitality as the precious liquid flowed into the fighter's tanks- and yet, watching the efficient Soviet plainclothes agents hunting down the villagers, he also felt cornered, trapped, alone. The Soviet KGB forces out there-his countrymen-were in a way as strange to him as men from Mars. He even felt a bit of the typical American response when seeing pictures or videotapes of Russian soldiers or airmen: curiosity, puzzlement, even a lit- tle fear. They were the enemy-no, they were his countrymen, his fellow Russians. So why did he feel this way?

He looked back toward the nose of his fighter and noted the tall, beefy frame of Kramer's assistant and chief neck-crusher, Moffitt. No matter what he'd accomplished, guys like Moffitt would always suspect him, figuring that as valuable an asset as 214 .

he was to the Soviets he could be an even more valuable one for the Americans. Had he been turned? Was he a double agent?

What if the returning hero turned out to be an embarrassment?

At least he hadn't forgotten how they thought, never mind glas- nost.

At a mental command, Maraklov activated DreamStar's attack radar and concentrated the energy on the right-forward nose- sector antenna-arrays. But after a few moments he turned the radar off. He would have enjoyed barbecuing Moffitt with mi- crowaves-or at least scaring him.

He would have to deal with Moffitt, and the other Moffitts in Russia, very soon. Even being a hero could be dangerous. But he was getting ahead of himself. He was no hero. Not yet. So far he was nothing more, or less, than an uncommon traitor to the U.

"Tinsel, this is Storm One. Refueling completed with Goalie Three-Zero, squawking normal."

"Storm One, roger. Strangle mode two and four for IFF check.

"Roger, Storm One." JC. Powell issued commands to de- activate the two military-only data channels that would help Tin- sel, the E-313 AWACS radar plane, locate and identify Cheetah.

One by one, Tinsel ordered JC. to turn each transmitter on until all were activated.

McLanahan lowered his oxygen visor. The waiting was the worst part . . . waiting for special clearance for takeoff, clear- e to use the KC-10 refueling tanker, clearance to join up with anc Tinsel and the rest of the interceptor pursuers, and now they had to wait for permission to cross into Mexican airspace. He was itching to get on with the chase. DreamStar had such a long head start . . . He continued to check his equipment and thought about Ken James. It was nearly unbelievable. Apparently a So- viet agent had gotten an assignment into the most highly clas- sified research facility in the United States and had gotten to be chief test pilot-hell, the only test pilot-of the hottest tactical jet fighter in the world. And had now managed to steal that fighter out from under the noses of a large security force and escape with it out of the United States right past four interceptor squadrons.

And the son of a bitch had shot down the Old Dog, killed all 215.

but three on board-they had found Major Edward Frost, the radar navigator, badly broken up but somehow alive a mile from the impact area; his parachute never had time to open before he hit the ground, they said. Colonel Jeffrey Khan, the copilot, ended up at the edge of the scorched earth in critical condition but alive. And Wendy . . . she was alive, clinging to life. The investigators said there was no way she could have gotten out by herself-Angelina Pereira must have sacrificed herself to save Wenily.

One man had caused more damage, more destruction and more death than McLanahan could have ever imagined, not to mention the military secrets he must already have turned over to the Soviet Union. And if this . . . this Maraklov had replaced the real Kenneth James before his assignment to Dreamland, he would have done even more damage. The real Ken James was a B- I commander for three years. The phony one could have turned over enough data on the B-1, its mission, its routes of flight, its weapons and other top-secret information to destroy the strategic bombardment mission of the Strategic Air Command for years.

And now, James-it was still hard to think of him as anyone else but Ken James-had DreamStar . . .

"Storm Zero One, data-link checks completed," the control- ler aboard the AWACS reported. "Clearance not yet received to proceed through the Monterrey FIR sector one. You can join Eagle Zero Two flight of four over Luke Range Complex Seven, or orbit within three-zero miles of REEBO intersection at flight level two-five zero until clearance is received. Over."

"When do you expect clearance through the sector, Tinsel?"

JC. asked.

"No idea, Storm. Our request had to be forwarded through Air Force to the Pentagon. Pentagon will probably pass it on to State. We lost it from there."

Patrick checked his charts. REEBO was just east of Yuma, very close to the border; Luke Complex Seven was farther north, closer to the tanker's orbit point. "Take the orbit at REEBO, ," Patrick told Powell.

"Tinsel, we'll take the orbit point at REEBO at two-five-oh.

"Roger, Storm One, cleared to orbit as required at REEBO.

Climb and maintain flight level two-five-zero. Orbit within three- zero miles, stay five miles north of the southern domestic ADZ 216 .

until given a Mexican controller freq and squawk and cleared to proceed. "

"Storm One copies clearance." switched his outside ra- dios to standby and said on interphone to McLanahan: "Now let me guess-this air machine ain't gonna do no orbiting."

"You got that right. Take two-five-zero, maintain five-zero-zero knots. When we reach REEBO start a climb to three-niner-zero and switch to max speed power settings.

"We'll be sucking fuel like crazy," reminded Mc- Lanahan. "It'll be real tight if we don't have tanker support on the way back."

"We need to catch this Maraklov and get a shot at him. What counts is nailing that bastard. Right now I don't really much care if I make it back."

General Brad Elliott sat alone in the small battle-staff operations center of HAWCs command post. A wall-size gas-plasma screen was on the far wall, depicting the southern Nevada Red Flag bombing and aerial-gunnery ranges in which the Old Dog was located. The airspace was empty except for the cluster of air- craft, mostly security helicopters and shuttles for the investiga- tion team, around the Megafortress' impact area.

Hal Briggs entered the conference room. He was carrying his automatic pistol in a shoulder holster and wearing a communi- cations transceiver with a wireless earpiece to allow him to stay in contact with his command center wherever he went.

He studied General Elliott for a moment before disturbing him. More than ever, the sixty-year-old commander of Dream- land looked exhausted, physically and emotionally. Working out here in the Nevada wastelands was demanding for even the healthiest, but for Elliott it was especially tough., Briggs had seen the strain on him during day-to-day activities-increased isolation, moodiness. But this disaster looked as if it might push him fight to the edge. He needed some close observation from here on, Briggs decided. Very close.

Briggs dropped a piece of paper on the desk in front of Elliott.

"Preliminary report from the investigation team, crew-member disposition analysis." Elliott said nothing. Briggs paused a mo- ment, then decided to read on: "Two members of the crew never tried to get out; Wendelstat in the I. P. seat and Major Evanston, the nav. Right side of the crew compartment was badly chewed 217.

up; Evanston may have already been dead. " Elliott winced as if struck in the face. Evanston was part of the "great experiment"

of the early 1990s, the project exploring the possibility of mili- tary women assigned to combat duties. A graduate of the Air Force Academy, she was easily the best qualified for the pro- gram, and she was accepted and soon became the first woman crewmember in a B-52 bomber squadron. Because of her engineering background, she had been temporarily assigned to HAWC to participate in the Megafortress Plus project- obviously headed for promotion. What a terrible waste.

Hal hurried on through the report to spare Elliott as much as possible: "I guess Wendelstat in the I.'s seat didn't have a chance for manual bailout unless he was at high altitude." El- liott nodded numbly. "Gunner's seat was fired but a parently malfunctioned. Remains still strapped in placer guess Dr. Pe- reira never tried manual bailout. Didn't have a chance . . .

Remains found in the debris believed to be of General Ormack; he ejected but landed in the fireball."

"My God . . .

"Khan might be okay, some bad cuts and lacerations, a bro- ken arm but that's it. Wendy Tork is in critical condition. She's on her way to the bum unit at Brooks Medical Center in San Antonio. Her progress is not favorable. Ed Frost . . . died, sir.

They said he never got a 'chute .

Elliott rubbed his eyes. "I want Tork's progress monitored hourly. I want to make sure she's getting the best treatment pos- sible.

"I'll see to it, sir.

"What about the families?"

"Being assembled at the base chapel at Nellis, as you or- dered, " Briggs said. "Dr. Pereira listed no next of kin. All the rest are on their way."

Elliott shook his head, stunned. "This is the worst since the fall of Saigon. " He stared at the chart on the screen. "What the hell can I tell the families?

"Tell them what you just told me, sir.

"But they'll never understand, and why should they?"

"They understood the sort of job those crewmembers did, even if they weren't told specifics. What they need is every bit of support you can give them. They'll want to know their hus- bands or friends or sons or daughters didn't die for nothing.

218 .

Elliott turned to Briggs. "How the hell did you get so smart?"

"Watchin' you, General. I-- Briggs stopped and listened intently on his communications earpiece. "Message coming in from the Joint Chiefs. AWACS and the Mexican government are reporting another unauthorized airspace intrusion by Powell and McLanahan in Storm Zero One. JCS want you to stand by for a secure video conference at five past the hour.

"Here's where it hits the fan, Hal," Elliott said. "The Pen- tagon probably thinks I've flipped out, they'll relieve me from command-- :'There was nothing you could have done-"

'There was everything I could have done. Like I could have screened our test pilots better, I could have secured the flight line better, I could have forbidden Ormack to engage DreamStar.

It'll probably turn out I never should have let Cheetah go after DreamStar.

"They can't hang you for something you had no control over.

Elliott sat quietly for a few moments, then: "As long as I've got control, I'm going to use it." He picked up the direct line to the command post controller. "It's something I should have done from the beginning."

:'You're going to recall McLanahan and Powell?"

'I've made too many mistakes. I've got a responsibility here, and I'm taking charge right now."

Powell had taken Cheetah down from forty thousand feet to one thousand feet and just below the speed of sound as they approached the area where DreamStar's data-signal indicated its position.

. "Showing thirty miles to intercept," McLanahan said, read- ing the telemetry data being received from DreamStar's auto- matic encoders. "Still showing him on the ground but with engines running."