"Sir, those are all positive steps Elliott began, steam- ing. "But-"

"Glad you think so, General." The President motioned to his chief of staff, Cesare, who quickly rose and moved across to open the inner door to the Oval Office; to the generals in the room, opening a door was a cue to stop talking, part of their fear of being overheard outside. To the others it was word that the meeting was over.'Both messages were lost on Elliott.

"Mr. President, none of these actions will help us get DreamStar back. We could use some very low-level activities that can send a clear message that we mean business. I have some suggestions-"

"You have your orders, General. Good morning. " Cesare, a large, ex-football player, stepped casually in front of Elliott, physically shutting off the conversation.

Elliott turned and left the Oval Office. He was heading for the main hallway to the rear portico when he spotted Deborah O'Day ahead and called out to her.

She turned and waited as he walked up to her. She was a bit younger than Elliott, with long dark hair flecked with gray, bright blue eyes, and an athletic figure. Interesting about her eyes, Elliott thought-there were men and women he had worked with for years but still had no idea what color their eyes were. Now he met this woman for the first time and noticed her eyes right away.

"Mrs. O'Day "Miss O'Day, General," she said, taking his hand and re- 245.

turning a firm grip. "But that's the Oval Office name. In the halls it's Debbie."

Elliott smiled. He hadn't done this kind of byplay maneuver- ing in years. "And I'm Brad."

They walked along the corridor until they came to an open doorway with a female Marine Corps officer behind a computer terminal and a male secretary leafing through some files inside the office. The secretaries' desks flanked a pair of closed oaken doors.

The Marine moved quickly to her feet when O'Day entered the office, but her eyes were on Elliott. "Good morning," she said. "Intelligence digest is on your terminal, ma'am. Coffee's fresh. Good morning, General Elliott."

"Thank you, Major. General Bradley Elliott, Major Marcia Preston, my operations officer. General Elliott is the director of-"

"The High-Technolo ' Advanced Weapons Center. I've gy heard a lot about you, sir. "

"Nice to meet you, Major."

The male secretary stood, ignored Elliott and handed O'Day a folder full of papers. "For your signature. I need them ASAP. "

"General Elliott, Matt Conkle, my secretary." Preston hit the remote door unlock switch, and Elliott followed O'Day into her office and immediately heard the door lock behind him.

"Your secretary isn't exactly a friendly type," Elliott said.

"He hates the idea of being a secretary to a woman, even if she's the National Security Adviser. He's fine in his job, though.

Marcia Preston is a rising star. Was the Marine Corps' first fe- male F/A-18 fighter pilot. She was good. Very good. But she got so. much heat from being a female pilot that she was bounced out for allegedly trying to seduce her squadron commander. Some things never change. I discovered her filing memos in San Di- ego, still wearing her flight suit, and brought her to Washington.

She'd rather be in the cockpit-she flies my helicopter and jet- and deserves whatever she wants. She just might be giving you a call some time."

"I'm probably not going to be around-and maybe Drearriland won't be there."

"Don't be so pessimistic," O'Day said, pouring a cup of coffee for herself and Elliott and seating herself behind her desk.

246 .

Elliott eased himself into a leather-covered armchair and rebent i his right leg under the chair.

O'Day noticed. "That's from your mysterious mission into the Soviet Union eight years ago?" Elliott nodded. "You know, I can't find any real information on that mission in our records.

It's like it never happened.

"It's better that way. It also took the lives of some fine men."

"That was the B-52 that the Russian spy shot down, wasn't it?

"Yes. We called it the Old Dog. We had rebuilt and upgraded it after the mission over Russia. It was the prototype of a new escort aircraft for strategic bombers. It was on its first opera- tional flight . . . Did you know that two crewmen from my Old Dog mission died in that crash yesterday?"

"My God." She sat silent for a long moment.

"The nav on that flight was one of the Great Experiment female combat flyers, in the same group as Marcia Preston-the first female B-52 navigator. There was one other female on that B-52," Elliott continued. "A civilian. She was also on my Old Dog crew back in 1988. She's in critical condition at Brooks Medical Center in San Antonio. Her husband was on my Old Dog crew too. He was one of the F- 15 crew that went into Mexican airspace and tried to get the XF-34-as a matter of fact he's the DrearnStar project director, Lieutenant Colonel Mc- Lanahan.

"Jesus. Was McLanahan one of the men killed in the dog- fights with DrearnStar?

"No. He was chased away by the Mexican Air Force, missed his -chance to try to even the score . . . I wanted to thank you for sticking up for me in there, and for your help with the Mex- ican government. I think you see how important this is to me. 1 Maybe this sounds too dramatic, but those men and women are my life. I have to watch out for them-now more than ever."

"Well, now that I know that McLanahan was one of the men in those F-15s, I'm glad I stuck up for him and you. I don't think General Kane will push for any official action against McLanahan or anyone else involved."

"I appreciate it just the same . . . Look, I'm not trying to start a palace revolt here, but I just can't stand the idea of sitting by while DreamStar is chopped up into pieces and shipped off 247.

to Moscow. The President wasn't interested in my idea, but maybe you would be .

"I'm interested," O'Day said. Elliott couldn't be sure she meant it or was just defusing him, but he had little choice right now, he realized. "It's true, Brad, the President isn't inter- ested . . . But what's your idea?"

Elliott spread his hands. "Simple. Make the Nicaraguans, and the Russians, think we're going to strike at Managua . . . Look, I'm not suggesting that we send the Second Fleet over to shell Managua, but we could send it out into the Gulf, on one of the Pentagon's famous 'previously scheduled' exercises. We could land the Eighty-second Airborne next door in Honduras. That could shake them up enough at least to start dealing with us-"

"And what if? The bad old 'what if' it doesn't work?"

"Then we have no choice. Mount a surgical strike. Photo intelligence would be invaluable. If we can pinpoint where DreamStar is being kept we can plan a discreet attack-"

"To destroy it?"

Elliott nodded. "Afraid so. We sure as hell couldn'tfly it out of Nicaragua- "Why not?"

Elliott stopped, looked at her. He had no ready answer to that one. "Well, first of all, it would be nearly impossible to get near it anywhere on that KGB base. Second, we've no one qualified to fly it. James-Maraklov-was the only pilot .

"The only one?"

Elliott's mind was racing now-Deborah O'Day seemed to be opening up possibilities he hadn't imagined. "We've had several men fly DreamStar's simulator, but only one man has actually flown DreamStar before. And no one has been able to control it as well as James."

"Well, you could use him then, couldn't you? If all he'd have to do is take off and land . . . ?"

"True, if we could provide him enough air cover during his escape . . . steal DreamStar back . . . There are a lot of 'ifs'

here. If DreamStar is still flyable, if we can pinpoint Dream- Star's location, if we can get JC. Powell on that base .

" JC. Powell?"

"My chief test pilot. He checked out in DrearnStar in the early phase but was replaced by James. He just might do it. He 248 DALE BROVITN.

can't dogfight in DreamStar like James, but he could get DreamStar off the ground and land it again."

"So if we knew exactly where DreamStar was, and if it wasn't already taken apart," O'Day said, "we'd need a plan to get this Powell on Sebaco and into'DreamStar's cockpit. Then we'd have to arrange air cover for him after takeoff since he wouldn't be able to defend himself .

"Right . . . put Powell in under some sort of diversionary cover," Elliott said. "Hit Sebaco with a small air strike or guer- rilla force and insert Powell. Get him into DreamStar's cockpit.

Use the guerrillas to blow a path for him out to the airstrip. With a carrier from the Second Fleet sitting in the Gulf of Mexico we could provide enough air cover to fight off the Nicaraguan air force. A short flight to Texas and we'd be home free.'

"Sounds like a plan, General. Now you have just one prob- lem . . . "

"I know. The President. It's what he doesn't want to do.

That's where I need your help. You have access to the man. Can you talk to him? Try to convince him?"

She sank back in her chair. "I'm not sure how much help I can be. The truth is, I'm not a member of the President's inner sanctum. His brother-in-law Benson and Speaker Van Keller have his ear, not me. I'm a political appointee, damn near a figure- head. Except I also happen to be qualified. He lucked out. I was put here before the primaries to make the public think that Lloyd Taylor supports women in government. I was good for a jump in the polls, or so they say, but I'm not sure what else there is."

"You've got to try," Elliott said. "Bring it up in staff meet- ings. Talk to the other Cabinet members. Schedule a meeting with Van Keller or Danahall. They have got to realize that we just can't let the Russians get away with espionage and murder.

We can yell and threaten all we want, but it doesn't work. It didn't eight years ago with Kavaznya, and it won't work now, even with glasnost and perestroika and all the other peaceful coexistence stuff the Soviets have been feeding us. If the Presi- dent doesn't want to authorize it he can make it a blind opera- tion-let me loose and I'll do it and he can deny knowing or authorizing everything.

"You can't do that with this President," O'Day said. "That might have worked with Iran-ContrL but this Democrat has a very good memory for such screwups, especially by a Republi- 249.

can President. No . O'Day stared at the ceiling. "Taylor is as hard-nosed as they come, and he rarely changes his mind ...

This plan . . . this operation to get DreamStar. Do you really think you can put it together?"

"I can get my staff on it-"

"No. I mean right now. Yes or no-can this JC. Powell get in and get DrearriStar?"

Elliott hesitated only a moment. "If I get the support from the White House I can get Powell into DreamStar's cockpit. And I believe he can get DreamStar out."

"Okay. I'm on the case. I've a plan to shake things up around here. After that I don't know what will happen. It could blow up in our faces. But I'll bet it'll cause the White House at least to rethink its position on letting the Soviets get away with the XF-34. ".

"What are you-?"

"No questions. Just be ready with a dog-and-pony show for the boss within twenty-four hours, and you better knock his socks off or it'll be too late for your XF-34. I can't promise anything except some noise, but like Yogi said, it ain't over till it's over.

That might even be true for President Lloyd Emerson Taylor the Third. "

Elliott straightened his fight leg, locked it and eased himself to his feet. He extended his hand, O'Day came around her desk and took it. ' "I bet the woman and the plan are much alike."

"Don't be so sure-about either one, General," she said.

I'm expecting a few sparks around here. I'm just hoping they d"on't hit any vital parts."

II Actually, II Elliott said as he turned for the door, "I'm hop- ing they come too close for comfort."

After he left, O'Day returned to her chair and felt a very rare grin on her face. Forget that, she told herself sternly. He may have this domineering presence that seems to fill the room when he enters, but does he really have all his facts together when it comes to this DreamStar business? Sure he wants the XF-34 back-that's understandable. But is he acting like a man with little to lose, who'll risk a major international incident to get his own way?

Having asked herself the tough questions, the answers came easy. Elliott wanted DreamStar back because a goddamn mole stole it, because his people got killed. He was willing to fight 250 .

to et it back, even if his own government disowned him or worse.

She dialed a number on a private phone that could not be picked up or used by her outer office. "Marty, this is your rac- quetball partner yes, I know it's been awhile since we've played. It's been busy ... give me a break. I was appointed by your President, remember? Listen, can we meet for a game?

Today, if we can get a court . . . better make it early. You may have a late evening . . . you heard me. Can you make it? Good.

See you at seven, then . . . no, we can't count this one. That's right . . . you'll find out why. See you."

Brooks Medical Facility, San Antonio "Edema in her right lung, possibly from inhaling fire or burning debris. We didn't catch it right away . . . " the doctor was say- ing as McLanahan and Powell entered the intensive care unit.

Wendy Tork's parents were on either side of her. Her hands were heavily bandaged. She had been on a respirator ever since she was found in the crash area, but now there was a different one in place, one to keep her lungs clear of fluid and help her keep breathing. Most of her facial bandages had been removed, exposing ugly bum marks and cuts. Intravenous tubes were feed- in glucose and whole blood into her arms. One small vase of flowers rested on a nightstand-ICU would tolerate no more- but Wendy had not yet been conscious to see them or her par- en S.

Betty and Joseph Tork glanced at Patrick and as they came into the room, quickly turned their eyes back to their daughter.

"Doctor?" McLanahan couldn't get out the obvious question.

"She's a strong woman, Colonel, but her injuries are mas- sive . He paused, moved closer to Patrick and lowered his voice. "Did you know she was pregnant?" Wendy's parents heard the words anyway. "Oh, my God," Betty Tork said, turned away from Wendy's bedside and gave in to the tears she'd been fighting back.

McLanahan could only nod and clench his fists.

"She suffered severe abdominal injuries .

Powell stepped firmly between McLanahan and the doctor. "I 251.

think that's enough, doctor. I think we ought to leave," and he took the doctor's arm and led him out of the room.

Patrick, Wendy's parents and an ICU nurse stood in silence for a long time watching Wendy, listening to the beeps of the body function monitor and the hissing of the respirator. Several times Patrick could see muscles in Wendy's face or shoulders twitch, and for a brief instant thought that she might be about to wake up.

Betty Tork noticed her daughter's movements too. "I wish they'd give her something . . . something to help her relax. It's so awful seeing her suffer. My daughter is in pain, Colonel.

Can't anybody around here do something for her? What kind of hospital is this, anyway?"

Should he tell her it happened to be the best bum-and-trauma facility in the country? That as long as Wendy kept fighting for her life there was at least hope . . . ? He said nothing.

"How did this happen, Patrick?" Joe Tork asked. "She was flying the B-52, I know, but how did the crash happen?"

"I'm sorry, Joe, I can't-"

"Don't give me that crap, McLanahan." He stood up sud- denly, filling the room with his size, but Patrick was immedi- ately drawn to the lines of dried tears in the comers of his eyes.

"For the past ten years, Colonel, that's all I've been hearing from her, from you, from everyone at that damn place. When she moved to Vegas it was as if she'd moved to Mars. Now she'd lying in a hospital in Texas probably dying from these horrible injuries and you're still playing hush-hush games with me? Goddamn, I want some answers-"

"For God's sake, Joe, that's my wife lying there-"

"She's your wife? Where's your ring? Where's her ring?

You got a marriage certificate? We weren't invited to any wed- ding .