"What happened, Colonel?"

"These men . . . never saw them before . . . shooting me up with something . - - "

Zaykov finished tightly wrapping Maraklov's arm, then helped him back into bed. As he collapsed onto the pillow she checked the two men. The unconscious one was being checked over by one of the Border Guards.

"Karl Rodovnin, " the KGB soldier said. "He is badly hurt.

Zaykov turned toward the second man. "What are you doing in here, Boroscheivisch?"

"Administering an injection," the orderly said. "We checked his intravenous needle and were administering his mineral so- lution into his drip meter when the guy goes berserk."

"I've found the hypodermic, Lieutenant, " one of the guards said, holding the plastic syringe. "It's still full and intact."

"Take it and that bag of solution to the infirmary," Zaykov ordered, pointing to the overturned plastic bag of clear liquid seeping onto the floor. "Have them analyze it. I want to know what's in it. Boroschelvisch, you are under arrest. Take him and Rodovnin into custody."

Zaykov turned back to Maraklov. She had not seen him in several days because he was involved in the preparations for taking the XF-34 to Cuba-and she had never expected to see him again when he left. But even in the brief time they had been apart, the changes in the man were frightening. He looked old, emaciated, pale skin stretched over cheekbones, hollow eyes, thinning hair. "Andrei .

She could feel his body stiffen. He stared in shock at Zaykov.

"Janet?

Musi looked puzzled. Janet? The name was somehow farnil- iar, and she scanned her memory trying to make the connection.

Nothing. Perhaps someone Andrei knew in the United States . . .

"Andrei, it's Musi Zaykov."

His tongue moved across cracked lips. Slowly, his eyes seemed to focus on her instead of some shadowy figure in the distance, and he now seemed to recognize the woman sitting beside him. "Musi . . . ?"

"Yes, you will be all right."

He seemed to relax, let himself fall limp against the pillow, his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Water." Zaykov poured a glass of lukewarm water for him and held the glass as he drank. She soaked a towel and wiped sweat off his face and chest.

"What happened?"

"I don't know. I woke up and saw those guys shooting some- thing into the 1. V. I guess I panicked."

370 .

"I should say," Zaykov said with a wry smile. "You almost killed Rodovnin. I am having the syringe and the intravenous solution analyzed, and Rodovnin and Boroschelvisch are in cus tody. The doctor will also tell us if he ordered an intravenous feeding for you. I wasn't notified of it."

He rolled painfully up out of bed, taking deep breaths, trying to force his equilibrium back to normal, then turned angrily to Zaykov. " I don't want any more damned I.'s stuck into me - "

"The doctor obviously felt it was necessary, you are so de- hydrated-- "I said no more I.'s." He got carefully to his feet and began to test the strength of his legs. She was shocked at the appear- ance of his body-he looked as if he had lost well over seven kilograms since she had first seen him. Ribs and joints pro- truded, and his muscles, once lean and powerful, looked stringy, weak. "My body recovers just fine with rest, vitamins and wa- ter," he told her. "I've never needed intravenous fluids before."

"And I have never seen you so thin before, Andrei. Perhaps the doctor was right-"

"I'm thin because the food around here is lousy. Hasn't the KGB ever heard of steaks? The only protein around here is from chicken and beans. Back in Vegas you could get a twenty ounce steak dinner for five bucks. You could eat like a pig for nothing Maraklov paused, resting a hand on the bedstand. He half- turned to Musi. "Vegas," he said shaking his head. "It seems like a century ago." Actually it was only a few days.

"Las Vegas is not your life any more, Andrei. It never was "Then what is my life? When do I get to live my life? When I arrive in the Soviet Union? I think we both know my life will be anything but mine back in Russia - - ."

Musi had seen this before but never believed it could happen to a man as gifted and professional as Colonel Andrei Maraklov.

It was more than the sickness caused by that machine he flew.

It was common among turncoats, traitors, double agents, in- formers, even hostages held for long periods of time who began to identify with their captors. The feeling of profound loneliness, aloneness, invades even the strongest men, the feeling that no one trusted you then, that no one really wanted or cared about you then. But Andrei Maraklov's situation was very different.

He had been a Soviet agent pretending to become an American- actually two Americans, as a boy and as a man. Now he had to leave that pail of his life and revert back to a strange new world.

It was supposed to be his world, but it was now as alien-in a way more so-as America was to the young Russian teenager so long ago.

As a young graduate of the Connecticut Academy years ago, deep-cover agent reorientation and surveillance had been one of Musi Zaykov's first assignments. She had been trained in study- ing the men and women who had returned from deep-cover as- signments, analyzing them emotionally, seeking out any lingering loyalties to their former lives or resentments toward their new ones. Although the personalities were always different, their emotional roller-coaster rides were riot. She had hoped Andrei would be different, stronger, better balanced. She was wrong.

Hopelessness, paranoia, anger, loneliness, guilt, even impo- tence-all common symptoms.

The intravenous solutions and injections would all check out, she was sure of that. They would find no trace of contamination, no evidence of conspiracy. Rodovnin and Boroschelvisch would check out as well.

Maraklov had already made complaints about the food-that was typical. He had also complained about the Soviet worker's sloppiness and inefficiency, about shortcomings in the Soviet government, about his new military commanders, about his clothing, water and surroundings. Telling stories about his for- mer environment, making comparisons, was also to be expected.

Unfortunately, so was violence.

The instructors at the Connecticut Academy suggested that the closer one could get to the repatriated man or woman, the better the transition would be. Strong emotional ties often resulted- but they could be negative or positive emotions. The "handler"

was often the target of the repatriated person's rage as well as his or her love and trust. In this case it was easier to accept Maraklov's love-she hoped that she would not have to bear his hate as well.

She had thought about the Connecticut Academy several times in just the past few minutes, while in the past few years she had hardly given that place even a passing thought. What was it about that place . . . ?

"Andrei, please believe what I say," Musi said, "your coun try wants you back. They need you back. You will be the guid- 372 .

ing force of an entire new generation of soldiers and citizens.

You will be honored and respected wherever you go. And it has nothing to do with that machine out there. Military secrets are the most transient of all. It will be your strength, your courage, your determination and your patriotism that make you a hero to our people, not that plane out there."

"That's bullshit," he said, turning away from her. "They want me because of what I know, not because of what I'm sup- posed to be."

"That's only partly true," she said. "Of course, the knowl- edge you possess is important, even vital to our national defense and security. Naturally, imparting that knowledge will be your primary function when you return. But your usefulness as a man and as a Russian will not end with that. " She moved toward him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I can prove it to you, Andrei.

'How?"

"Come back with me. Right now. Leave the airplane here- Maraklov spun around. "Leave it? Here?"

"You are killing yourself every time you fly it, " she said.

"Look at yourself. It drains you like some kind of electronic parasite. It will kill you if you continue. Leave it. I can order a transport to take us to Moscow in the morning. Take whatever you want from the aircraft-its most vital computers, diagrams, memory tapes, whatever. Or take nothing. The aircraft is in the hands of the KGB. You have done your duty-now let them do theirs. Come back with me to Russia and I guarantee you, you will be treated like the national hero you are."

He stared at her, apparently considering her words. Her mes- sage finally seemed to be getting through to him, she thought.

He was finally beginning to believe her . . .

"So that's it," Maraklov said. "You don't think I can de- liver. That's it, isn't it? The Politburo doesn't think I can deliver DreamStar-"

"No, Andrei, that is not-"

"They don't want me flying DreamStar any more," he con- tinued angrily. "They never did. I delivered it. They think they can debrief me and get rid of me. Now you want me to go back to Russia immediately. Bring him back before he snaps, is that what they said? Pick his brain before he freaks. Is that it?"

"Of course not-"

"Lady, I am the only hope of getting that bird out of here in one piece. They don't have a chance without me."

"I know that, Andrei," she said. "If they want to get the fighter out of Nicaragua you must fly it. But there is a very good possibility that they will not want to fly the aircraft out of Nic- aragua."

"Not fly it out of Nicaragua . . . ?"

"Andrei, our government tried to make a deal with the Amer- icans for the return of their fighter. They told the Americans they would turn the plane over to them in five days. The same day they concluded that agreement we were caught trying to fly the plane to Cuba. The Americans no longer believe us. You've said it yourself-we can't defend ourselves here. If the U.

mounts a n attack they'll destroy this base. It would seem the only way we can save ourselves is to turn the fighter over to them.

"Like hell . He recalled he'd momentarily considered it himself, but only in his bitterness about what probably waited for him back "home." But he could never seriously go through with that . "Do you know what I've done? Do you realize what I've gone through to get that aircraft here? I was the top pilot in the United States Air Force's most top-secret research center. In ten years I could have been running the place. I sac- rificed it to protect and deliver this aircraft and I will never surrender it .

He went to the closet, found a fresh flight suit and began pulling it on. "I'll talk to the general-hell, I'll talk to Moscow.

I doubt that the Americans will attack this base. But if they do we can move DreamStar to another location until the attack is over. Unless the U. declares war, they won't threaten the peace in Central America by bombing a base, even over this fighter.

And they're not going to declare war." Maraklov pulled on a pair of boots and left his room.

Zaykov remained there for several minutes. The strain, she decided, was getting to him. Even more than before, the fighter was his personal possession, more than the U.'s or the USSR's, and he was determined to ignore official orders and political realities and do with the fighter as he thought best. The signs of paranoia were stronger as well. She'd never thought he'd agree to leave DreamStar in Nicaragua, but at the very least she thought 374 .

her words would comfort him if not altogether reassure him. It had had the opposite effect. He clearly now believed that the Soviet military would discard him like a spent shell casing after his mission was completed. (She did not consider the likelihood that he might be right ... ) She had to try to convince him to trust his countrymen. That was now more important than ever. With the threat of American retaliation hanging over them, a battle-fatigued and alienated mind of Colonel Maraklov could mean disaster for himself, the mission and all Soviet personnel in Nicaragua.

He had to be brought back to the fold-or he had to be elim- inated.

Maraklov went to the command post, where he found General Tret'yak in his office sitting in front of a computer terminal, staring at a half-filled screen. "I need to talk to you, General."

Tret'yak looked up, motioned to a chair. Maraklov ignored it. "I am composing a detailed report on this morning's inci- dent," Tret'yak said in a distracted tone. "Five aircraft lost.

Watching that 11yushin go in-I have never felt so helpless-"

"Sir, we have to discuss the XF-34 fighter," Maraklov inter- rupted. "It's not secure here. I recommend it be moved as soon as possible to a secret location and prepared for another flight to the Soviet Union as soon as possible."

Tret'yak stared at the screen for a few moments; then, to Maraklov's surprise, began typing again. "Colonel Maraklov, personally, at this moment, I don't care what happens to our fighter," he said without looking up from his work. "I have lost seven men and five aircraft today-that is more men and more equipment than I have lost in four years as a squadron com- mander in Afghanistan. I will certainly lose my command and possibly my pension. The safety and security of your wondrous aircraft is out of my hands. I have no more resources to defend it with."

He reached over to a stack of papers, selected one and tossed it to Maraklov without looking up from the computer screen.

Here are your orders, transmitted by the chief of the KGB.

You are authorized to take any actions necessary to protect the aircraft. Authorization has already been obtained to allow you access to Sandino Airport in Managua, Aeroflot hangar number twelve, and Puerto Cabezas Airport, main transient hangar. You will take weapons with you. I have already ordered my men to load Lluyka tanks, ammunition and missiles on your fighter- we suddenly seem to have plenty to spare. It's your responsibil- ity now."

Maraklov picked up the message. It was true-he had been given almost unlimited authority to protect DreamStar from de- struction until the chief of the KGB, Kalinin, could consult with the Soviet Kollegiya. Trucks, trains, ships, tankers, weapons, hangars, men, money-anything he felt was necessary, so long as DreamStar was safe. It was an exciting prospect, but he re- alized that if he failed, the Kollegiya would demand repay- ment-and not in money.

Maraklov almost felt sorry for the man-he had, in effect, just been relieved of command because of something he had no con- trol over. "I understand, sir, spasiba-" "You have everything you need."

"Get out, Colonel," Tret'yak said.

"I want to ask your opinion, sir, " Maraklov said quickly, about where you recommend I take Zavtra.

The old fighter pilot looked up from his work. "You want my opinion?"

Maraklov saw the old glimmer in his eyes, at least something of the fire he'd noted when they'd met that day he arrived at Sebaco. Tret'yak wanted a piece of the action, no matter what.

"I'm glad you asked, because I have given it some thought."

Tret'yak motioned to a chair, then poured a tall glass f ice water for Maraklov. "I am very, very glad you asked."

Washington, D.

Saturday, 20 June 1996, 1900 EDT President Taylor cursed, his New England accent, rarely heard after years in Washington, leaking through.

The full National Security Council had been summoned for an early-evening meeting at the White House conference room.

They had just been briefed on DreamStar by General Elliott via two-way satellite videophone from the E-5 AWACS plane, in which he was still orbiting over the Cayman Islands. The Pres- ident turned his face away from his advisers at the conference table, his jaw tight. "They just went ahead and hed to me.

376 .

"According to Ambassador Vilizherchev, the military detach- ment in Nicaragua acted on their own without -clearing it with Moscow," Secretary of State Danahall said. "Vilizherchev in- sists there was no intention of deceiving us."

"I don't care what he insists. For starters, I want Vilizher- chev's ticket pulled-he's persona non grata. And I want to make sure that the press knows he's not being 'recalled to confer with his government' or any such bull-I want them to know that I'm kicking him out."

"Do you want the press to know why?" Danahall asked.

"Because he lied to me, he lied to this government." He pointed a finger at Danahall. "You don't need to go into de- tails." Danahall shook his head as the President turned back to the image of Elliott on the three-sided monitor set up in the center of the conference table. Yes, Danahall thought, the Pres- ident needed to go into detail for something as serious as kicking out an ambassador, especially the ambassador from the Soviet Union.

"So we definitely know that the XF-34 was flown back to Nicaragua, back to this Sebaco airfield?" the President asked Elliott.

"Positively, sir," Elliott radioed back. "We've had contin- uous AWACS radar coverage of Sebaco since the XF-34 with- drew. It has definitely landed at Sebaco, and so far no aircraft have departed or arrived at Sebaco except for two MiG fighters from Managua that had tried to chase our AWACS plane away from Nicaragua. Our Falcons convinced him that it was all right for us to stay. We've been keeping watch on Sebaco via our AWACS plane, by satellite surveillance, and by sketchy reports from covert operatives in Nicaragua when possible."

"But that doesn't mean they can't move it again," William Stuart said testily. "It's still a no-win operation, Elliott. So you caught the Russians trying to move the thing. They're still not going to give it back until they're good and ready-"

"We can stop them from moving that aircraft out of Nicara- gua, " Elliott said, "if we act fast enough. "

"Is it true, General," the President asked, "that we can't detect them if they move it out of Sebaco? "

"I'm afraid so, sir. We have satellite overflights every ninety minutes to scan the base, and our radar plane can track anything in the sky. Our agents in the field are keeping watch on the area surrounding Sebaco, but the Russians have stepped up security around that base and our agents can't get too close. There are gaps ... But we don't have to know the XF-34's exact loca- tion," Elliott added, readjusting his headset. "We know they have it-we don't need to know anything else-"

"You're recommending that we bomb Sebaco, regardless of whether we know that fighter is there or not?"

"Yes, sir, I am. It would help if the plane were returned to its hangar where it was first spotted, but there's not too much chance of that. I'd expect them to hide it in the jungle or trans- port it to Sandino Airport, where we'd be less inclined to at- tack-- "'Less inclined' is right, General," Stuart said. "We will not attack a civilian airfield."

"Sandino is a military airfield, sir. The Nicaraguans don't operate any civilian airfields. Sandino is operated by the military but accepts civilian traffic. A surgical strike-"