from any exertion, Maraklov told Kramer, "He knows too much.
Any man with as little common sense who can name agents in
the western United States is a major security risk-"
Kramer looked at Moffitt, back to Maraklov. "We are not
unaware of the problem . . . diplomatic visas are being delayed.
I need him, for now." He noted Moffitt was beginning to come
around. "Now sit down, we need to talk about this."
James went to the kitchen, brought two cans of beer. As he
opened his can he said, "The idea is impossible, Henry. I can't
conceive of a plane leaving Drearnland without authorization and
make it away from American pursuit. Never."
"Dreamland is like a safe, correct?" Kramer said, looking
as Moffitt rolled up to his hands and knees, groaning and shak-
r
100 DALE BROWN
ing his head. "The defenses there are to keep people out, not
to keep anything in.
"Wrong. The defenses around HAWC can do both." James
stood and went into his bedroom, coming back moments later
with a Las Vegas visual navigation chart. He unfolded it and set
it on the coffee table.
"Here. R-4808 North. Groom Lake. Emigrant Valley Road,
military only. Where the road meets the south edge of Groom
Lake is where the four aircraft hangars, offices, labs and weap-
ons storage areas are. Garrisoned right there with'the hangars
are a detachment of twenty combat-ready security police with
dogs, around the clock. They have an-nored vehicles, automatic
weapons, guided missiles-they could hold off a regiment.
Keeping one plane from leaving the security area would be a
simple exercise. The buildings are surrounded by a twelve-foot
concrete reinforced cyclone fence. You have to get past all that
just to get into position for takeoff on Groom Lake . . . But let's
say I make it and I managed to take off. Now I've got to get out
of Dreamland.
"Dreamland has this country's only fixed surface-to-air mis-
sile sites. They're on Bald Mountain, on the Shoshone Mountain
range, Skull Mountain, Timber Mountain and Papoose Peak.
First-generation Rapier missile batteries, complete coverage from
surface to thirty-thousand feet within R-4808N. Single mobile
sites are located on Tonopah Test Range to the northwest and
China Lake to the southwest."
Kramer took a sip of beer, grimaced at the taste, then pointed
to the chart. "So, you do not go that way."
"There is no way to go. There are a dozen Navy and Air
Force fighter bases within a thousand miles of Dreamland, and
I guarantee you, every one of them will launch aircraft in pur-
suit. If each base launches only two aircraft, that still means
there will be twenty-four advance fighter planes looking for me.
Where do I run, Kramer?"
The agent studied the chart. "Mexico is only three hundred
miles away . . . "
"True. But the Mexican government would allow American
fighters in hot pursuit across their borders. And that's if
DreamStar could get across the border. There are four fighter-
interceptor squadrons between here and Mexico, and both the
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 101
Americans and the Mexicans conduct all-altitude surveillance of
the airspace near the border. It's impossible, Kramer."
"You've had your nose in that plane too long. Relations are
strained almost to the breaking point between the United States
and Mexico," Kramer.said. "The U. pressing Mexico on re-
payment of debts has turned them cold. And the pro-U. gov-
ernment is being accused of selling out the country to Uncle
Sam. The Soviet Union is the beneficiary. We have a carefully
developed cordial relationship with the rest of Central America
too. We can ensure that any American pursuit of DreamStar
across the border will not be allowed, that Mexican military
forces will interdict American aircraft penetrating their airspace.
They're very proud, you know . . . Anyway, that should allow
you time to evade pursuit. After that we can arrange an emer-
gency refueling somewhere inside Mexico."
"Even if all you say about their feelings toward the U. is
true, the Mexican government would never agree to that."
serve as a temporary base," Kramer said. "From what you have
described, your DreamStar aircraft could land and take off any-
where-on a dirt road, a grass strip, a plateau-"
"I'm not going to try to land DreamStar on some grass
strip . . . "
Kramer looked closely at him. Maraklov sounded like he was
talking about a personal possession. He filed it away and decided
not to use it for the moment . . . "We have Mexican transport
companies on private contract-they of course do not know that
their contract is with the KGB-that can fly our teams in to
service your aircraft without arousing the authorities-"
"And then what? I can cruise a little over a thousand nautical
miles on full tanks-no air combat, no external stores, no low-
altitude flight. I'd have to cross the Gulf of Mexico undetected
to be able to make it into . . . Cuba. That's impossible. We both
know the U. can track every aircraft over the Gulf unless it's
down at low altitude. I'd be jumped after I went a hundred miles.
If I tried to make the flight at low altitude I'd flame out before
I made dry land."
"Then forget Cuba, go somewhere else . . . Nicaragua, for
instance. "
"Nicaragua? Great. And how do I get out of Nicaragua? The
102 DALE BROWN
U. Navy would seal off that whole region tight. I'd fly right
into a trap--
"You are being very uncooperative-"
"I'm being realistic. I'm not going to consider this deal with-
out a detailed plan. You expect me seriously to consider this
half-baked idea? I'm supposed to put my life on the line for some
bureaucrat's wet dream-?"
"The North American Command has issued its orders-"
"And I'm countermanding them. I'm the commander of the
Dreamland mission. That gave me the authority to decide how
my operation proceeds. Unless I receive specific orders I am not
going to consider any such operation. " He stood, facing Kramer
and now Moffitt, who had struggled to a seat. "I'll keep you
updated on any developments-about DreamStar, security and
the rest. Meantime, don't contact me in my apartment again."
"You'd better reconsider," Kramer said. "An order from
Moscow cannot be ignored. You know that."
"I'll consider it, but only when the situation justifies the tre-
mendous loss of a trained agent in place. As of now, it doesn't.
All that's indicated is that the operation proceed with extreme
caution, which is what I intend to do. " He motioned toward t
door. "Now get out. And you'd better not return directly to your
consulate in Los Angeles. There's a good chance that you'll be
followed." He paused, then said: "Go visit your buddies in
Mexico."
Mof
fitt left first to check the parking area and driveway for
tails. Kramer paused inside the front door.
"I will report what you have said. I warn you, do not separate
yourself from the Command any further."
Maraklov said nothing as Kramer looked out the door, got an
all-clear flash from Moffitt's cigarette lighter, went out.
After the agents had departed, James locked and bolted the
door-and suddenly felt as if he was suffocating . . .
His mind's eye could see unmarked cars roaring up the drive-
way toward his stairway, plainclothes FBI, CIA and DIA agents,
led by Major Hal Briggs, coming up the stairs, kicking in his
door, hauling him away in handcuffs, thrown into the back of a
van with Kramer and Moffitt, who must have been arrested al-
ready . . . The federal authorities would interrogate them, sep-
arately, of course. He could trust Kramer to keep silent, insisting
that he and Moffitt be returned to their consulate, but he was
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 103
positive Moffitt would spill his guts just for an opportunity to
get back at him. He would be identified as a Soviet agent and
taken into custody, charged with espionage. His career was ru-
ined. He'd never fly DreamStar again, never experience the in-
describable experience of becoming one with that amazing
machine . . .
Should he just sit here waiting, or escape right now? Activate
his safe's incendiary device himself so as to not risk Briggs or
one of his men discovering the trip-wire and disarming the de-
vice? He'd take the money he'd hidden, go to Mexico, maybe
further south, maybe to the wild interior of Brazil, out of reach
of both American and Soviet intelligence units. He'd contact
Moscow in hiding until he could be sure he was safe-from his
own people as well as the Americans . . . He removed two of
the books on the top shelf in front of the hidden wall safe. In
case someone tried to break in he could reach in between the
books, pop open the hidden panel and activate the incendiary
device. He then shut off the lights, poured himself a glass of
Scotch whiskey and sat down in the darkened living room.
Half a glass of Scotch later, sleep finally overtook him, but
he was not getting any rest. For the first time since those first
few months of his new life in America, Andrei Maraklov as Ken
James remembered what real fear, real terror was.
Now that she was a senior civilian contractor on a small military
installation, Wendy Tork's hours were much more regular than
in the early years when she had spent days in her laboratory,
working on some irritating software bug. She remembered slav-
ing over a computer terminal, staring at a screen full of lines of
computer code. In the early eighties debugging software and
artificial intelligence-based computerized programmers were
practically non-existent-human programmers, sometimes ar-
mies of them, had to disassemble a compiled routine, then read
thousands of lines of code to try to find an error. One never
knew if the error was on the screen or a hundred lines away or
in a completely different sub-routine. Once the error was sup-
posedly found, the code was reassembled into its compact faster
form and run. It was a wonder anything as sophisticated as the
B-52 I Old Dog's electronic countermeasures equipment, Wen-
dy's first major military project, ever worked in the laboratory-
not to mention in combat. Now she had computers that designed
104 DALE BROWN
other computers' programs, and computers that checked and de-
bugged those computers' work, and a master computer that su-
pervised all of them. Her job was mostly telling her computers
what their jobs were and receiving reports from them on their
progress - What had taken dozens of scientists and engineers years
to accomplish now took one person a few days. Because of all
that she could keep regular hours, enjoy a four-day work-week-
most of the industrialized nations of the world had switched to
a four-day work-week by 1994-and spend more time at home.
But if most of the world had gone to the four-day work-week,
the military, especially military aviators, had not. It seemed to
go double for Lieutenant Colonel Patrick McLanahan. Since
Wendy joined HAWC and moved in with him, her nights had
often been long and lonely. Patrick had become an important
administrator and commander at Dreamland research center, and
it was not long before Patrick would call if he was going to be
home more or less on time.
Tonight was one of those. He'd be home around seven, an
early quitting time. Wendy doubted it and was right. She was
wide awake when he finally did arrive home. He walked quietly
as he could to the bedroom, tried to fumble his way, undressed
without the lights.
"Hi."
He threw his flight suit into the laundry hamper. "Sorry if I
woke you. "
II Tough day?"
"You could say so." He went into the bathroom briefly, then
got into bed beside her. At first as he moved she pulled back
with a shiver. His whole body was like ice-he'd taken one of
his two-minute Navy shower sponge baths.
"You are freezing."
"Sorry." She allowed him to curl up beside her, his warm
breath on the back of her neck, punctuated by a kiss, then an-
other. A moment or two later he asked, "How was your day
today? "
"The morning was busy-I finally finished the software up-
grades for the Megafortress. Pretty quiet this afternoon, I came
home early."
"Sorry about standing you up for lunch."
"That's okay. It looked like you were pretty busy. Anything
serious with the plane?"
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 105
"No. Some over-G warnings showed up on the computer
readouts, but we couldn't find any damage. We worked right
through lunch. I could have used some of the Nellis O-Club's
roast beef after that flight this morning.
Wendy hesitated. "I didn't have lunch at the Officer's Club."
ate at the cafeteria at HAWC?-
"No . . . I had lunch at Indian Springs
She could feel his body tense. "Indian Springs? What's at
Indian Springs?
"The Thunderbirds Club."
"You went to Indian Springs Auxiliary Field? How did you
get there? "
"The Dolphin dropped us off."
"Us?"
"Ken James and me."
"Ken James took you to Indian Springs Field for lunch?
Why?"
"Why not? I've never been there before. Ken made it sound
like he goes there all the time."
"I didn't know the Dolphin ever stopped out there ... Honey,
I don't think it would be a good idea to go to Indian Springs
again. "
"Why?
"Well, it's a restricted-use field. It's supposed to be for official
business-"
"Sure. Whatever you say, Patrick, but Ken seems to go there
a lot."
"Indian Springs is the fighter pilot's hangout. But Ken also
&n
bsp; has a habit of stretching the rules. I don't think there's any prob-
lem, but let me check it out - - - "
"Okay." She hoped it ended there. She was already sorry
she'd brought it up at all. "Damn it, if James can even find a rule, he'll stre tch it every
Jast inch he can."
"He says you grounded him and JC. Powell today."
"He said that? Damn it, that stuff is supposed to be classified.
He and came close to killing each other this morning. I
should bust them both but I can't. is maybe the best pilot
in the unit and one of the few that can keep up with DrearnStar
in our flights. And James is the only one that can fly Drearn-
Star with any effectiveness - I can't even officially reprimand them
106 DALE BROVrN
until the project is declassified. I don't know if it's possible to
train another pilot for DrearnStar, and I can't afford to put this
project any more behind schedule. So, I gave them a slap on the
wrist . . . they're only grounded until the next scheduled sortie.
Next week . . . So to celebrate, James takes you to lunch at a
restricted base and I have Elliott giving me the hairy eyeball all
afternoon .
:'I'm sorry. It's just that-"
'And I'm sorry to sound like a pompous, jealous . . . except
when you're concerned . . . "
And then she was in his arms, and there was no more time-
or need-for talk.
Dreamland
Thursday, " June 1996, 0712 PTD (1012 EDT)
"You realize, Patrick," Dr. Alan Carmichael said, "that noth-
ing at all may happen."
McLanahan and Carmichael were in a special steel-lined
chamber early the next morning. More a huge underground vault,
the chamber contained the original laboratory version of the AN-
TARES thought-controlled flight-and-avionics system. Con-
cerned more with performance in the early years of the project
than size, the chamber housing the ANTARES system was mas-
sive-the size of a basketball court. The complex was controlled
by its own superfast CRAY computer that, even though encorn-
passing state-of-the-art very high-speed integrated circuits,
artificial-intelligence electronics capable of performing billions
Of computations a second, was larger than a refrigerator and had