Powell ordered.

"Two jets going high, two coming in," McLanahan said. "I can't tell for sure but they look like . . . they're F-20s, Mexican F-20s . . . "

"Warning, radar target lock, six o'clock .

yanked the stick hard night to stay with DreamStar, but it had regained its lost speed and was pulling away, staying at boulder level.

"They're still with us," McLanahan said. "Can you get a shot off anyway?"

"I think so . . . here we go .

"Warning, radar missile lock. A missile was in flight, head- ing for them . . .

hit the voice-command button on his stick. "Chaff right."

228 .

The computer ejected two bundles of radar-decoying chaff from the right ejector rack as yanked Cheetah into a hard left bank, pulling on the stick until the computer issued a stall- warning message.

No missile, " McLanahan called out, straining his head up out of the cockpit against the G-forces pushing him into his seat.

:'Didn't see a missile .

'They faked us out," said, "they wanted to get our attention- "Damn it, get back on DreamStar."

Powell began a hard right turn back toward DreamStar, but as he rolled out of the turn they heard: "American F-15 fighter, this is Mexican Air Force. You are directed to follow me at once.

Goddanin, there he is, left wing." The F-20 Tigershark, the single-engine, high-tech version of the American F-5F Tiger fighter, was in loose route formation off Cheetah's left wingtip.

" Number two is behind us," McLanahan said. "Stay on DreamStar." He switched to the VHF GUARD international emergency frequency. "Mexican Air Force, this is the F-15 Storm One. We are on an authorized search mission for Storm Two, which is at our one o'clock position. We have permission from your government to pursue and destroy this aircraft. Over.

So he lied a little.

to , 'We have been advised that no foreign aircraft has permission enter Mexican airspace. We will destroy both if you do not follow us immediately."

The XF-34 Storm Two is an experimental aircraft. It's also lethal as hell. We will pursue and destroy it. Stay clear."

"No. Follow me or you will be shot down." The F-20 on Cheetah's left wing dropped back a few yards and began a climb- ing left turn.

"Warning, radar target lock, six o'clock. " The F-20 follow- ing behind them had activated its tracking radar again. At this distance he could hardly miss . . .

:'I'm open to suggestions, Colonel," deadpanned.

'DreamStar's moved out to ten miles," McLanahan said, checking his radar. "Those other two Mexicans are chasing him but it's no contest, he's pulling away-"

"I've got to follow," said, gently easing into a left bank.

That guy behind me will hose us if I don't."

"Damn it, we had him ... he was so close ... can you get away from these guys?"

"Sure. This guy ahead of us is so sloppy I can fill him full of holes right now, and I think I can et away from the guy on our tail. But then what? We're into our fuel reserves as it is. After we lose these guys we'll need afterburner the whole way back just to get within missile range of DreamStar, and then the best we got is a tail-chase until we run out of gas."

"So do it .

"If that's what you really want .

"What the hell does that mean .

"That I think you better think pretty damn hard about it. If you try to chase down DreamStar from here we won't make it home. You'll risk Cheetah for a fifty-fifty chance of downing DreamStar. You've already violated Mexican air space and will take heat for that, but if you don't bring back Cheetah you're guaranteeing yourself a Big Chicken Dinner-"

"Cheetah was my responsibility. If I let James get away . . .

we all go down the tubes. As long as there's a chance I'm not going to let this guy go."

"You've done everything you could. Like they say, there's a time to chase and a time to get the hell out of Dodge. I suggest we boogie."

McLanahan hesitated. rolled out behind the lead F-20 and reduced power slightly. The leader reduced his power to move beside Cheetah.

tried the last gambit he could think of to get Patrick back to reality . "I don't love chasing DreamStar over Mexico with two chilibeans on my tail and sucking fumes but I can live with it. But you . . . you have something worth more than DreamStar back in a hospital in Vegas. Let's get back and go after him another day."

It worked. Watching the Mexican F-20 off their left wing, with one speedbrake raised to slow himself down, McLanahan real- ized JC. was right. He'd taken an incredible chance and violated a few dozen rules by coming this far. He and had almost got James . . . they'd done everything they could . "There's going to be a next time," he muttered. "Bet on it.

added: "The Russians don't have DreamStar yet-a Rus- sian has it and he's still ten thousand miles from home."

"So we've still got these Mexican guys." He strained to search 230 .

behind Cheetah. "Number two's back there right between the tails.

"No offense to the Mexican Air Force," said, "but I'll bet these bozos never intercepted anything but a soccer ball. The lead's got his power way back waiting for us, and his wingman's right in our jet-wash. They're both out of position. Hang on."

jerked the throttles to idle and popped Cheetah's big speedbreak. The lead F-20 noticed the sudden power reduction and, not realizing how slow he was already going, pulled back his power even more. On the verge of a stall, he had no choice but to scissor left and fall away to regain his lost airspeed. Mean- while, the number two F-20, not watching Cheetah and dis- tracted by his leader's sudden departure, never tried to slow down. He yanked his stick hard-right just in time to avoid slam- ming into Cheetah's tail, and had to spin away. At that moment retracted the speedbrake, went into full power and began to accelerate and climb away from the Mexican interceptors.

McLanahan was staring out the back of the large bubble can- opy. "They're still below us . . . not climbing yet . . . "

"Warning, radar search, six o'clock, " from the computer.

"They dropped from radar track to search," said. "Are they getting closer?"

"I can't see them, they've dropped back."

"American F- 15, this is Mexican Air Force. Follow us to base immediately. Acknowledge. "

shut off the VHF GUARD channel.

"I don't think we can make it," McLanahan said a few min- utes later, using the computer to check their fuel status. "We'll have to divert to a Mexican airport after all. "

"We'll start a climb and then use an idle descent into a di- version base," said, gently pulling back on the stick and starting a shallow climb. "Oh, well," he sighed, "I haven't been in a Mexican jail since high school. It'll be like old times."

"Sorry I got you into this, I'm going to waste that son- ofabitch if I have to walk back to Nicaragua or Colombia or Bolivia or wherever he's headed-- Suddenly the number one radio, still set to the refueling tank- er's operating frequency, crackled to life: "Storm One, this is Cardinal Three-Seven. Over."

"I got it," McLanahan said. On the radio he replied: "Car- dinal Three-Seven, this is Storm One. Over."

"Storm One, this is Cardinal. We're Sun Devil KC-135 out of Phoenix-Sky Harbor Airport, one hundred and sixty-first Air Refueling Group, Arizona Air National Guard. Set beacon code seventy-four, we've got thirty-one. We're at flight level two-niner zero, orbiting fifty miles south of Tucson near Nogales. What's your situation? Over.

"Air-to-air TACAN beacon? I haven't used that since I was a butter-bar." checked the distance readout. "He's still out of ran e, not picking him up yet."

"Cardinal, Storm One is approximately one hundred miles southwest of Chihuahua. Fuel situation critical. We were about to divert to Chihuahua for emergency refueling. Over."

"Copy that, Storm. I guess your boss wants you back real bad. We've been ordered to . . . how should I put it? ... have a catastrophic navigation failure and come and get you. As I speak, our autopilot is mysteriously taking us south across the border." A pause, then: "Air-to-air TACAN shows two hundred miles, Storm. Can you make it?"

"It'll be close," McLanahan said.

"We may have visitors," added. "We left a couple sore- head Mexican F-20s in our dust."

"They should have gotten word by now that you're on an authorized sortie," the crewman replied. "Your boss tells us that they finally authorized your overflight. But that's not going to help you much. I hope you got what you came for, boys-I doubt there are going to be any high fives waiting for you."

"No," McLanahan said, "we didn't get what we came for.

Not this time .

Sebaco Military Airbase, Nicaragua Thursday, 18 June 1996, 0645 CDT (0745 EDT) ANDREI MARAKLOV AWOKE with a start but didn't try to get up- his muscles quivered with the slightest hint of exertion. He was incredibly thirsty. Beads of sweat rolled down from his eye- brows, and the dirt and salt stung his eyes.

He opened his eyes. He was lying face down on a firin mat- tress, his face buried in stiff white sheets. His arms were by his side. Judging by feel, he was only wearing a pair of briefs.

Suddenly he felt a cool sponge touch the back of his neck, and a young female voice said in a soft voice, "Dobrahye otrah, tovarisch Polkovnik.

He had prepared himself for this, ever since deciding to take DreamStar out of the United States. In hesitant, poorly phrased Russian, he replied, "Vi gahvahretye pah angleyski? "

"Of course, Colonel. My mistake." The sponge ran over his shoulders, across his back. He tried to look at the woman but couldn't even manage that much energy. Now in a near-perfect midwestem American accent the woman said, "Good morning, Colonel. "

:'Who are you?"

,:My name is Musi Zaykov. I am your aide and secretary."

Are you KGB? "

"Yes, sir. I am a starshiy leyt . . . I'm sorry-a lieutenant, Central American Command. I have been here in Nicaragua for almost a year."

Nicaragua. Maraklov closed his eyes. He had almost forgot- ten. That explained the heat and the humidity. The events of his flight across Central America came back and invaded his thoughts. That explained his debilitation-he had flown DreamStar several hours longer than he had ever done before.

He routinely lost four or five pounds on every one-hour sortie in the past, and this last flight, with ANTARES in combat con- ditions, had taken three hours. No wonder .

"I have been asked to notify the base commander when you awoke, sir," she said, rinsing the sponge off in a pan on a stand by the bed, "but I'll wait and let you go back to sleep if you want. "

"Thanks." He made an effort and rolled onto his back, open- ing his eyes wide as he did so to help him regain his equilibrium.

Musi Zaykov was sitting on the bed to his right. She looked about thirty, blonde hair, blue eyes, with a bright disarming smile. She wore a khaki bush shirt with the collar open several buttons from the top against the heat.

"Musi . . . Musi . . . very -pretty name."

"Thank you, sir."

"How long have I been asleep?"

"About fifteen hours, Colonel." He watched her eyes scan his body. "I'm sorry we could not provide you with better sleep- ing arrangements, sir. It was decided to leave you here in the hangar where the security units have been assembled. I'm sure air conditioning will be set up as soon as possible. "

Maraklov nodded. "Pass the water." Zaykov quickly passed the pitcher of ice water over to him. He watched her over the rim of the plastic glass.

"They say you were close to death when they took you out of your aircraft," she said, her eyes occasionally straying down to his abdomen and legs. "Dehydration and chemical depletion."

"Ten pounds is unusual," Maraklov said, "but dehydration and chemical imbalance isn't. I have a megadose on vitamins and minerals every time I fly my plane." She was fidgeting a bit on the edge of the bed, her breathing getting deeper.

She was beautiful, but was he imagining this as a come-on?

If it was real, why?

"Leave me alone," he said suddenly. "I want to get dressed.

"I have been asked to stay with you-"

"I said get out."

"I am a qualified nurse, sir, as well as an intelligence analyst and operative." She leaned closer to him, inviting him to touch 234 .

her body. "In your condition I do not think it wise to leave you alone.

And he suddenly realized the real situation he was in. He was lucky the Central Command had only sent a "friendly" opera- tive, an agent instructed to get close to him, become his confi- dante, including his sexual partner if necessary. Right out of Academy syllabus . . .

"You obviously didn't place too well at Connecticut Acad- emy," Maraklov deadpanned.

Zaykov looked startled, but only for an instant. "I'm sorry, sir . . . ?"

"You're also bothering me, and I don't want the KGB watch- ing me on the john, even an agent with big tits She didn't blink. "Yes, Colonel, it's true I am a KGB soldier, but right now I am here to help you in any way I can during your recovery phase. You have been through a remarkable ordeal and you have an even more difficult one ahead of you. I think it important that you not go through this alone. All I ask is that you please let me help."

So sincere, but she was using the exact hand gestures and body movements "Janet Larson" had practiced back at the Academy-her body, her mannerisms, even her accent were vir- tual duplicates of Janet Larson, who had tried to get him thrown out of the Academy and take away his chance to come to Amer- ica . . .

"I don't need any help- "But-"

"That's an order, Lieutenant. Now get your butt out of here."

Zaykov missed that bit of slang but got the idea, rolled off the bed and left.

The word was going to spread quickly that he was awake, so Maraklov went over to the tiny closet-sized bathroom, found toilet articles and towels and showered and shaved as fast as he could without making the room spin. He had finished and was on his seventh glass of water when the door of the small apart- ment opened and a man in the black battle-dress uniform of the KGB Border Guards moved aside, allowing an older officer in a dark green-and-brown camouflage flight suit to enter. The officer was tall and wiry-the flight suit, Maraklov decided, wasn't just for show; this guy looked like a fighter pilot. He looked at Mar- aklov for a moment, then came to attention and made a slight bow.

"It is a pleasure to see you, Colonel Maraklov. I am General Major Aviatsii Pavel Tret'yak, commanding officer of Sebaco Military Airfield." He walked over to Maraklov and extended a hand. "Welcome home."

Maraklov shook his hand. "Thank you, General. But I think I've quite a way to go before I get home."