transfer van that drove McLanahan, Powell and him to the proj-
ect headquarters, where the special flight suit was removed from
James' sweat-soaked body. The two test pilots went to the locker
room nearby, said not a word to each other. They were dressing
when Patrick McLanahan walked up to them. "Both of you are
off flying status as of right now."
James exploded. "What?" There was panic mixed in with
outrage, but it belonged to Maraklov the agent, not to Ken James
the pilot. Lately Maraklov had felt his alter ego taking over-
this pronouncement jolted him back, some . . .
"There's a difference between evaluating the aircraft and'
pushing the limits to the danger level. You two cross it every
time you fly together. I'm grounding you both until I figure out
what to do about it."
"Then give me another chase pilot," James said quickly.
"Canceling all flying isn't the answer, Colonel."
"You're assuming that Powell is the problem," and he started
to walk away.
"There are a dozen guys who can fly Cheetah," James said
behind him. McLanahan turned. "There's only one who can fly
DreamStar. Me." James realized how this sounded and tried to
soft pedal . "The project doesn't have to suffer, sir. I think
we can continue . . . "
"Listen, hotshot, I've got six guys training to fly DreamStar.
86 DALE BROWN
I'd rather put this project on hold for eight months until they're
ready than risk that machine and this project. You read me?"
" Yes, sir. Sorry . - . " Six guys, eight months ... More of
a shock ... time was running out ...
Meet me in my office at two o'clock, both of you. The data
tapes should be ready to review by then. General Elliott might
be interested in what they show." @
Patrick McLanahan was waiting for an elevator up to his office
when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned irritably. "Yeah?"
"Charming," Wendy Tork said. "Next time I'll do that with
a pole."
He managed a grin and kissed her.
"Long day, Colonel?"
"You could say so."
"You had an early morning go, didn't you?"
The elevator arrived, and Wendy cut off the exchange, know-
ing that Patrick would not talk about his project in an unsecure
elevator. She waited until they returned to Patrick's office and
he closed the door. An electronic grid in the walls and floor,
she knew, would activate when that door closed, which would
offset wiretapping or any other electronic eavesdropping.
He dropped into his chair. "I've got two pilots butting heads.
"I like them both, but I can see both of them being very
competitive.
"At least James comes right out and says it. He's an excellent
pilot, and he's the only one right now who can fly DreamStar.
sits there utting on an innocent and contrite act, but he's
as big a show-off as James. " He rubbed his eyes. "I can't afford
to lose either one of them, but . . . "
'What will happen if you transfer either one of them?"
'I -can get someone to fly Cheetah-hell, I've got enough
hours, I could probably fly the thing. If I ground James, the
project gets set back six months, maybe more. I told him I have
people training on DreamStar. Who can be sure when or if they'll
be ready? I exaggerated some to take him down a bit. Brad
Elliott will hit the roof. The security leaks-or what seem like
security leaks-are already turning him sour."
' 'Are you saying you'll have to transfer or reassign if
they don't get along?"
"I suppose. But Ken knows he's the only guy who can fly
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 87
DrearnStar. That would be like giving him a veto in almost every
other matter that comes up during this project from here on. I
ended up grounding both of them, until I have a chance to talk
to the general."
Wendy smiled. "Eight years ago you were just a captain,
responsible only for a radar scope in the belly of a B-52 bomber.
Your big worry was your next emergency procedures test.
Now, you're a lieutenant colonel in charge of a hundred men
and women and two of the hottest jets there are . . . We'll put
it all on hold for a few hours. I'm here to take you to lunch. You
probably don't have time to take the helicopter to Nellis, do you?
General Elliott has got to have some decent restaurants built out
in this desert."
McLanahan grabbed his flight cap. "We've got time to take
the Dolphin into Nellis if we hurry. I'm not expected back un-
til-" The desk phone rang. He looked at it, then at Wendy.
"Let's go."
She smiled, shook her head. "You'd hate me in the morning.
He picked it up@ "McLanahan..... Hi, Sergeant Clinton . . .
The data tapes are ready now?..... Yeah, we had some maneu-
vers that may have overstressed the canards . . . how bad? All
right, I'll be right down." He dropped the phone back on its
cradle. "I knew it. My two hotshots may have bent DreamStar
some. I've got to take a look and prepare a report before this
afternoon's meeting. " He circled his desk, gave Wendy a hug
and a kiss. "Rain check?"
"Anytime." Especially on flying days, she reminded herself,
dates were always crap shoots. She watched as Patrick hurried
off.
"Wendy?
She turned and found Captain Kenneth James standing behind
her. His bright blue eyes sparkled, as usual. He was a head taller
than Patrick, less broad-shouldered but still athletically built.
They looked at each other for a moment. Be honest, Wendy
Tork, she told herself, Ken James is a charmer. Plus he has a
magnetism, a sort of masculine grace, and he's not arrogant or
cocky or condescending. He also had this way of making a
woman feel special, as if he had been waiting all his life just to
say hello to her.
She had met him eighteen months earlier when he first joined
the High Tech Advanced Weapons Center at Dreamland. He
88 DALE BROWN
wasn't like many of the other jet jockeys in and around Nellis
Air Force Base. Getting an assignment to HAWC was the top
achievement for any young officer, and most new test pilots
seemed not to be able to let you forget it. Not Ken James. He
took the time not only to get to know senior officers but non-
commissioned officers as well. He seemed just as interested in
the engineering and technical parts of the job as the flying. He
quickly established himself as the best pilot at HAWC . . . a
scholar of flying and aerospace, not just a participant. Quite a
package. And no wonder they had become good friends.
"If you're looking for the old man . ." he paused at the
intentional slip, smiling winningly "I mean, the colonel,
he just left."
"I know. "'
Maraklov understood, as everybody did, the special relation-
ship between Wendy Tork and the colonel. Which, of course,
was the chief reason for making her his friend. And it was not
exactly hard duty. T
all, good figure, brunette with hints of gray,
still foxy for a woman going on forty. But be careful, he re-
minded himself. And helped himself do that by remembering
the research on her. A considerable dossier: Wendy Tork, Ph.D.,
electrical engineering. Chief of DOPY5, the cryptic office sym-
bol of HAWCs Director of Penetration Aids, Project Y5-the
Megafortress Plus, the super-bomber and strategic escort battle-
ship. This woman had developed many of the twenty-first-century
electronic jammers used on American military aircraft, includ-
ing new jammers that could electronically defeat infrared- and
laser-guided missiles. She had built a jammer the size of a toaster
that could disrupt much of the known electromagnetic spectrum
for thirty miles in every direction. Considered a sort of outsider
in HAWC because of her former independent contractor status,
she tended, except for the colonel, to keep to herself. Scuttlebutt
said that started after the mysterious Old Dog mission that she
and most of the brass at HAWC were involved with eight years
before. It seemed to have affected her more than the others.
In any case, possibilities here, he had decided, for a special
source of information. "How about lunch?" he said easily.
"Do you have time? Don't you have a meeting this after-
noon? "
"I think they'd rather not have me at this particular meeting,"
he said, pretending embarrassment. "I'm sort of in the dog-
t
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 89
house. But it's my lucky day. I don't have to be back until late,
and I have a pretty lady to share lunch with. If she'll give me a
break.
For a moment she hesitated, then decided why not . they
were, after all, friends.
If there was room on one of the shuttle helicopters that flew
hourly to and from Dreamland, it was open for anyone at HAWC
to hop a ride for the twenty-minute flight back to the "main-
land," as people from Dreamland called Nellis Air Force Base.
But Maraklov had a different plan. When he climbed aboard the
Dolphin transport helicopter he went forward and spoke briefly
with the crew. Then as the helicopter touched down on the broil-
ing tarmac at Nellis, Ken touched Wendy's arm as she began to
unbuckle her seat belt.
"We're not there yet," was all he said.
The helicopter lifted off once again and sped northwest. Ten
minutes later it touched down on another military-looking air-
field. As they left the chopper Wendy noticed the helicopter
landing pad had been painted with a stylized Indian thunderbird
symbol.
"What's this?
"One of the best-kept secrets in the Air Force," he told her.
'Indian Springs Air Force Auxiliary Field. This is where the Air
Force Aerial Demonstration Team, the Thunderbirds, work and,
practice even though the unit is based out at Nellis. You know,
the Thunderbirds do a lot of demonstrations for the brass and
foreign dignitaries here-not to mention that the Thunderbird
pilots get the best of everything, being on the road so much-
so Indian Springs is an oasis for them out in the middle of no-
where. The base is open to all military personnel, but that's not
widely advertised. I knew the Thunderbirds were gone so I asked
the Dolphin pilot to get us permission to land."
They walked past immaculately groomed desert landscaped
yards and freshly painted buildings to a Spanish-style stucco
building with red tile veranda and cane-ceiling fans. They were
seated at a table on the veranda.
"I've been coming to this area for eight years," Wendy said,
and I've been at HAWC for three years, and I never knew
about this, or only vaguely if at all. Patrick and I are both so
busy
90 DALE BROWN
He nodded. "The Dolphin pilot enacts a toll for side trips-I
think he's got a Chris Craft on Lake Mead that needs refinishing.
Guess who'll get asked to help."
"Well, it's delightful and I'm glad we came."
"You'll have to tell Patrick about it, if he doesn't know."
"Believe me, I will. I know how important his project is to
him, to all of you, but I do wish he'd slow down just a little.
Actually I don't know if he'd take advantage of a place like this
even if he knew about it."
"Sure he would ... but he is a busy man."
Over lunch he said, "Most people here thought you two would
be married by now. You've known each other for seven years?
Eight? "
' 'Eight," Wendy said. "Ever since the Old Dog flight ...
God, has it been that long?"
"That must have been some mission," Ken said. "I've heard
about it, of course, but mostly scuttlebutt. I'd like to get the
whole story from you someday."
She only nodded, smiling briefly.
"Well, the colonel joined HAWC a short time after that proj-
ect . . . ended. What about you? You didn't join HAWC until
recently, a little before I came here."
"I still had a civilian position in my own laboratory. Much
as I wanted to, I couldn't just leave or get reassigned to Drearn-
land. I started to work more closely with General Brad Elliott
every chance I could, but Patrick and I were still apart. When
they announced the reactivation of the Old Dog project I saw
my chance and got assigned to HAWC permanently. What I
didn't expect was that Patrick was going to shoot up like he did
under General Elliott. Don't misunderstand. I knew Patrick was
good, very good, but when I first met him he was, believe it or
not , thinking about leaving the Air Force and working his fa
mily's business in Sacramento. It's hard to get promoted by just
being the best navigator around. And that's all I thought he
wanted to be. I was wrong. In two years he went from being
just another non-technical test-flight crewmember to a project
director. He got promoted so fast you'd think there was a time
warp. One year after becoming director of his first program he
was made chief of a full-blown flight-test development program
with state-of-the-art hardware. In another five or six years he'll
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 91
have his first star and probably be chief of HAWC soon after."
Through most of this she'd been looking down into her napkin.
Now she looked up abruptly. "God, if I sound like I'm com-
plaining, I'm not. Or I don't mean to. Just for the record, I
happen to love McLanahan even more than I respect him ...
Okay, enough of me, what about you? There's an army of ladies
in Vegas waiting to snag someone like you. When are you going
to ta ke the fall?
He laughed. "The right woman is hard to find, even in the
sun belt."
"But you're having a good time looking, right?"
"I confess ... I'm not suffering." It had gone well, very
well, he thought.
The waiter reappeared with the check and a message.
"Helicopter's on its way," he said. "We should head back."
As they waited on the helicopter landing pad a few minutes
later, Wendy took a deep breath of warm yucca-scented desert
air and looked out at the mountains surrounding the tiny base.
"I enjoyed it, Ken. The lunch and the talk. I haven't gone on
like this for a long time. Thanks."
"We'll do it again some time."
"I don't want you to spend too many weekends refinishing
some chopper pilot's boat. "
"Believe me," he said, watching her, "it's worth it."
Yes, she could be another source of information . . . on the
new ECM gear, for example.
t
East Las Vegas, Nevada
Wednesday, 10 June 1996, 2007 PDT (2307 EDT)
MARAKLOV DIDN'T RETURN to his condominium in the east Las
Vegas subdivision of Frenchman Mountain until late that night.
The early start and the intense flying had taken their toll, and
the lectures he had received from McLanahan and Elliott dur-
ing the long debriefing didn't help.
He locked his car in the carport, took his briefcase, and
trudged upstairs to his second-story entranceway. He wasn't able
to get on the Dolphin helicopter back to Nellis and had to bump
along in the electric shuttle bus from Dreamland to Nellis. Then
twenty hot, steamy minutes on the freeway just to go four exits
in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Maybe a cold shower, a cold beer,
a casino run.
He punched his code in the lock's keypad. The door was al-
ready unlocked. He pushed it open a crack. No lights on. The
lights were programmed to come on in the evening when the
door was opened. Someone had overridden the programming.
Someone was inside his apartment . . .
All he had for a weapon was his briefcase. Maybe he should
have gotten out of there and called the cops, but the less he had
to do with them, the better. He reached through the door and
flicked on the lights. He strained against the faint street noises
behind him but heard no sounds from inside. He flung the door
open, letting it bang on the doorstep. Still no sounds.
He slowly crossed the threshold, looked down the hallway
into the living room. Stereo, TV, VCR all in place. Of course,