:'Care to state them for the record?"

No. This is off the record, Donatelli. The President is too busy to concern himself about this incident. But the time line is very tight. There are people in the military that believe some immediate action is important."

:'And the President disagrees?"

'He believes in open negotiations, compromise."

259.

"So the President isn't prepared to respond with military force. I take it there is someone-"

"This isn't a damned interview, Marty. I've gone too far with you as it is. I think you've got everything you need." She chased the ball toward the back wall, then casually opened the door. Marcia Preston immediately appeared, her racquet in one hand and her gym bag in the other. She took a towel out of the gym bag, tossed it to her boss, then went to the Plexiglas- covered lockers in the left wall of the court, opened one, and stood there watching Donatelli. The threat of the machine pis- tol in her bag was beyond Donatelli, but the look on her face was not.

"Marcia, you're beautiful," Marty said with a contrived leer. "We have to get together some time." Marcia gave him nothing.

"Better put your paper to bed, Marty," O'Day said, holding the door open for him. Donatelli nodded and moved toward the door. Just before he exited he turned to her: "Any chance of us putting something else to bed?"

"I think we use each other enough as it is, Marty. Good- bye. "

"Sounds to me like you may need a friend in the fourth estate soon, Ms. O'Day," he said.

"Marty, watch your middle and your blood pressure. 'Bye."

After he left, she closed the door and began to bat the ball around again. As she did Preston reached into her gym bag and flicked the OFF switch on a micro-tape recorder with a high- power directional microphone installed in the bag.

"Did you get everything?" O'Day asked as she returned a tricky comer bounce.

"Yes, but what good is it if anything about this conversation gets out? You lose your career, it will enhance his."

"If it gets out that Marty Donatelli can't protect his sources, his sources will dry up and he knows it. And there goes his Pulitzer Prize career. That tape proves that I gave him stuff only off the record and not for attribution. If he violates that, he's dead in this town."

"You're still taking some awfully big risks."

"I believe it's necessary, Marcia. The Taylor administration only reacts to situations. He wants to put his DreamStar incident on the back burner, take the easy way until it's too late . he 260 .

and his New York buddies need a push to get them going. I just hope to hell it's in time."

The Kremlin, Moscow, USSR Friday, 19 June 1996, 0600 EET (Thursday, 2200 EDT) "I assure you," Kalinin said to the General Secretary, "events occurred so quickly in this operation that there was no time to inform you."

Kalinin had already spent the better part of an hour in the General Secretary's office, telling the weary leader about the DreamStar operation. Now the General Secretary was clenching and unclenching his hands, shaking his head as he reviewed what Kalinin had told him.

"There were only two days between when we learned of the cancellation of the DreamStar project and when our man took the fighter," Kalinin continued. "It was as much Colonel Mar- aklov's initiative as it was a directive from my office-"

"Be silent, Kalinin. Just be quiet. I do not want to hear your excuses for irresponsible behavior. I need to think about how this will be explained and handled."

"I am, of course, entirely to blame for these events, sir,"

Kalinin said-perhaps a complete admission of guilt, he thought, could smooth things over--but now th at it has been dealt, we should play this hand to its conclusion. We must see to it that the fighter is brought here as quickly as possi- ble.

"I see. Have you gone completely crazy? Do you think the U. will not perhaps object to having the KGB steal one of their top-secret fighters?"

"Sir, I am not thinking of the Americans," Kalinin said. "I am thinking of Russia. We had the opportunity to take the air- craft and we did. Now we must capitalize on our achievement.

The technology we gain will be-"

"Will be useless if they attack and kill a hundred of our peo- ple and destroy that base in Nicaragua to get their fighter back,"

the General Secretary said. "I will not risk a shooting war with the Americans over one damn plane!"

"If the Americans were going to attack, they would have done so," Kalinin said. "They know where the fighter is- 261.

their radar planes tracked the XF-34 throughout its entire flight.

So the point is, they will not attack. They will not risk war over the fighter-"

"You underestimate them," the General Secretary said. "I do not."

"Sir, this whole incident is part of a game," Kalinin said.

"A game. Military secrets are stolen every day by both sides.

Messages of protest are sent by both sides daily. I lose one or two operatives a month, sometimes more, to espionage or counter-espionage activities. Wars aren't started over such matters.

"We lost six men! The Americans lost a B-52 bomber, two fighters, and six of their people. This is a game?"

"But, sir, none of it affects the strategic balance," Kalinin said. "It is simple maneuvering, part of the give-and-take between our governments. I say the Americans will not take action or retrieve their fighter. We will open secret negotia- tions, perhaps eventually trade captured agents or information for the aircraft after we have learned what we want from it.

We may even lose something important to us in the near fu- ture, but we should not, sir, panic. As I say, we will even- tually return the aircraft-after we study it. Please remember, this fighter is the most advanced aircraft in the world, sir. it is controlled by thought. Everything-flight control, weap- ons, every system is activated at the speed of light, all by thought commands.

The General Secretary paused. Actually he had very little ex- posure to this side of his government. It was, indeed, he real- ized, a coup to obtain such an aircraft intact, a unique opportunity to study the best of American military technology . . . But Kal- inin's apparent success also posed a danger. Kalinin's prestige and popularity would rise with the recognition of such an achievement, and the fact that he had done it all behind the General Secretary's back would make matters worse. Kalinin had to be carefully reined in. Right now . i, , "Very well," the General Secretary sa d, "I am opposed to this operation, but because of the unusual nature of the aircraft and the benefits of having such a machine to study, I will allow you to JC.

ontinue with your plans-after I review your project files. I will assign a member of the senior Politburo Central Committee to oversee your operation. He will contact your Col- 7-.

262 DALE BROVVN.

onel Maraklov in Nicaragua and speak with him, as well as with members of your staff, and report back to me. Control of this operation reverts to me. Is that clear?"

"Of course, sir." Kalinin's response was automatic-but he was thinking about who the General Secretary's representative could be. Cherkov? Tovorin? Some unknown? He would have to deal with him as he came along.

"Meanwhile, I want all activity on the American aircraft to stop. The aircraft will not be moved from Nicaragua until I give the order. Is that clear?

"Yes, sir."

It was a small setback-he would, of course, have to contend with an informant in his own office. But in effect, so far as he was concerned, his coup was intact. And the future was brighter than ever.

Sebaco Military Airfield, Nicaragua Friday, 19 June 1996, 0445 C7D (1345 EE7) Maraklov was startled'out of a deep sleep by a ringing telephone.

He took a few moments to collect himself-the feelings of im- balance, of disorientation, were still plaguing him-before he touched the speaker-phone switch.

"What? "

"Vash vrizeveahyota peho tehyeh1fono, tovarisch, " a woman's voice replied-Musi Zaykov, he guessed. "Mos- kva. " There was no apology for speaking Russian this time, he noted. Never mind. He had been studying a bit of Russian all day; because of that, plus listening to it spoken between the technicians and soldiers in Sebaco, he was able to under- stand more and more of it as time went on. His own vocab- ulary, however, was still very limited, and his reading comprehension was almost nil. Cyrillic characters were al- most impossible to understand. Luckily, most of the machin- ery and matters relating to the flight line were the Russian export versions, which had instructions and labels printed in- of all languages-English.

"Da, " he replied. "Sechyahs. " He had gotten very good at saying "wait a minute" in Sebaco, because everyone seemed to want him at once. Maraklov slipped on a flight suit 263.

and a pair of boots and opened the door to his apartment. It was indeed Musi Zaykov, now without her seductive bush shirt but wearing a KGB casual uniform, pants and black riding boots.

-Kahtoriy chyahs? What time is it?" Maraklov asked, as he emerged from the apartment.

"Your Russian is improving, sir," Musi said as she led him out of the hangar. "Byehz dvahtsatye pyetye pyaht. " Maraklov was expecting Musi to answer in English, since she'd begun in English, and her Russian escaped him. No matter. It had to be some time before five A., because the guards he could see all looked bored and tired; guard-post changeover was at five.

They walked across the flight-line ramp, had their badges checked by a gruff, sleepy KGB Border Guard, then walked down a dark, mossy path toward a grove of mangrove trees. The trees disguised a twenty-foot-diameter satellite dish and other communications antennae, the only visible landmarks of the So- viet Air Force command post and KGB detachment headquarters nearby. They were stopped by still another guard post, then pro- ceeded down a short flight of steps in the semi-underground facility.

Unlike the rest of the camp, this building was well venti- lated and air conditioned-much like most of the buildings in Dreamland. They signed in, punched codes into an electronic door lock and entered the communications facility. On the right was the main communications console, with two Air Force non-commissioned officers manning it and a KGB of- ficer supervising them; on the left was a radar console with one Air Force NCO in charge. The rest of the room was filled with smelly transformers, old teletypewriters, and storage lockers.

"'Ah. Tovarisch Polkovnik Maraklov. Zdyehs." General Tret'yak motioned to Maraklov and Zaykov, who followed him into a small conference room. The general looked a bit nervous as he closed the door to the conference room.

Vsyo tovarisch Vorotnikov, Andrei," Tret'yak said, motion- ing to a telephone on the desk at the front of the room. "Sta Politischeskoye Buro. Yah khatyehl "Hold on . . . er, prastiti, sir," Maraklov said. "I don't un- derstand you. Damn it, yah nyee pahnyenzahyo .

-M.

264 DALF, BROWN-.

"All right, Polkovnik, pryekrasna. It is Comrade Luscev Vorotnikov, a member of the Politburo, representative to Gen- eral Secretary for Central and South America," Tret'yak said in awkward English. "He wishes to speak with you." Mar- aklov reached for the phone. "I would like to know what you will say about the dismantling of the MiG-39," Tret'yak said.

"Don't worry, General. As pilot of the aircraft I have au- thority to decide what happens to it. It was my decision and my responsibility to recommend the halt." Trct'yak looked re- fieved but immediately disguised the expression and motioned to the telephone. Maraklov picked it up. "This is Colonel Mar- aklov.

"Dobrayeh otrah, tova?isch Polkovnik, " the voice on the other end began. The satellite connection was remarkably clear.

Yah- "

"Please speak English, sir."

There were some sounds of anger and confusion at the other end, then a much younger voice came on line: "Sir, this is Yegor Ryzhkov, an aide to Chairman Vorotnikov. Can you un- f derstand me, Colonel?"

"Yes.

His accent was British-quite possibly an exchange student or maybe a Connecticut Academy graduate; a favorite target for Academy-trained men and women was Great Britain. "I will translate for the chairman. He welcomes you back and congrat- ulates you on your heroic work."

The congratulatory message when translated did not match the angry voices he heard in the background, but Maraklov ignored them.

"Chairman Vorotnikov has been advised by routine message traffic from Sebaco that you have recommended that the process of preparing the air-craft for shipment to the Soviet Union be halted. Can you explain this?"

"I stopped the workers from taking the aircraft apart because they were destroying it," Maraklov said. "I will not deliver a nonfunctional aircraft to Ramenskoye."

There was a pause at the other end; then Maraklov could hear the voice of Vorotnikov rising in irritation.

"The Chairman wishes to know what you recommend be done with the aircraft now," the interpreter said.

"I intend to add long-range fuel tanks to it," Maraklov told 265.

him. "I estimate that two L1uyka in-flight refueling drop-tanks can be added to the wings of the XF-34-these are tanks with a retractable refueling probe built into them. The tanks will in- crease the effective range of the XF-34 aircraft and provide an in-flight refueling capacity. In this way, the aircraft can be delivered intact."

"Ahstarozhna, tovarisch Polkovnik, " one of the radio oper- ators said. "Telefoniya eahnyateh. " Maraklov did not under- stand and turned to Zaykov- "He said be careful," Musi said. "The line is not secure. Do not mention the name of the aircraft."

The translation from Moscow took a long time, interspersed as it was with comments and questions in the background. Gen- eral Tret'yak, who was listening in on another phone, was be- coming more nervous-Maraklov was sure he had just lost the general as an ally. Then: "Colonel Maraklov, Comrade Vorot- nikov has ordered that no further actions be taken on the aircraft until further ordered. We shall transmit orders from the Kremlin through the KGB Central Command."

"I understand," Maraklov said. "But understand, it will take two or three days for technicians here to saw the aircraft up into pieces, a half day to load it on a ship, at least a week for that ship to arrive in a Russian port and another one to two days for it to be transported to Ramenskoye. And when it ar- rives there it will be of no use to anyone-it will be nothing but-piles of circuit boards and plastic. If I am allowed to pro- ceed it will take two days or less to modify the aircraft for Lluyka tanks. Then, once fighter escort and tanker support has been arranged, it will take only ten hours to fly from here directly to Ramenskoye Research Center. When the aircraft arrives it will be,in flyable condition and ready for operational inspection, with its computer memory and structural integrity functional. "

This explanation took even longer, but this time there were fewer interruptions and outbursts from Vorotnikov and who- ever was with him in his office. But a few moments later the translator came back with "Colonel, Chairman Vorotnikov has some reservations about your plan, but he would like time to confer with his advisers. He orders you to continue your plans for mounting the aerial refueling tanks on the aircraft and preparing it for flight. He reminds you of the danger of 266 .

remaining in Central America and orders you to do everything in your power to bring the aircraft home intact. Do you un- derstand?

"Yes," Maraklov said. General Tret'yak seemed happier.

"Tell the chairman that he can assure the Politburo that their orders will be carried out." But the satellite link had gone dead by then.

-0chin prekrahsna, " Tret'yak said, slapping him on the shoul- der. "It looks like the pilots have beat the tibniys once again."

Maraklov erased the relieved expression on his face as T t'yak led him out of the communications center. Well, he re had made Tret'yak a buddy once again-at least until the next crisis blew in.

In Vladimir Kalinin's office at KGB Headquarters in Moscow, Vorotnikov threw the phone back on its cradle. "I did not un- derstand most of what was going on, " he said. He waved a hand, dismissing Ryzhkov, waited until his assistant had left, then reached for the bottle of fine Viennese cognac on the desk and poured himself a glass. He took a sip, then drained the glass in one loud gulp. "But the pilot, your Colonel Maraklov, ap- pears to be in charge."

Kalinin nodded, moving the silver tray with the cognac de- canter closer to Vorotnikov. "An extraordinary man. His loyalty is firmly to the Party and to his country.

Vorotnikov shrugged, lifted his thick body far enough up off the chair to pour himself another cognac. "Excellent cognac, Vladimir.

"If you enjoy this, Luscev, I will see to it that you will have a bottle. " He buzzed his outer desk, and a young, blonde woman in a red low-cut dress entered the office. "Anna, would you please see to it that Comrade Vorotnikov is given a bottle of this cognac . . . at his convenience?"

. Anna favored the old bureaucrat with a dazzling smile, folded her hands behind her back, which served to accent her breasts, and bowed slightly. "It would be my pleasure.- "Thank you very much, Vladimir," Vorotnikov said. "Very kind of you. Back to business-this Maraklov, can he be trusted?

"I believe so, sir.

267.

"Yet he countermanded your orders that the air-craft be dis- mantled and shipped back to Russia."

"He ... what ...

Vorotnikov was too busy enjoying his cognac to notice Kali- nin's confusion. "He wants to fly the thing all the way from Nicaragua to Russia, under the very noses of the Americans.

Foolish. You should get that straightened out."

What was this Maraklov thinking? Kalinin was furious. Fly DreamStar to Russia? If he screwed up this mission now, every- thing he was trying to accomplish would be destroyed.

To Vorotnikov, Kalinin said, calmly as possible, "Yes, sir.

Now, if you would like to review my files on the project . . . ?"