the project. I think we should continue-"
"You're not expendable. I can't go on using my senior offi-
cers for experiments-"
"I'm a flyer first," McLanahan said quickly. "You needed
someone with operational experience to see how well a non-
ANTARES-trained person could adapt to the system. I was a
logical choice."
"We've got flyers lined up around the block for a chance to
do that. I can't risk you again. From I here on out, no more
ANTARES simulator for you."
Patrick was just too tired to argue. "Who then?" he said. He
turned to Briggs. "Hal, you've got the latest clearance-list of
applicants. Bring the list by my office and I'll--
"I had a talk with Dr. Carmichael early this morning," the
director of HAWC said. His tone was low, somber, like he was
delivering a eulogy. "At this stage of the game we could put a
hundred men through that system and we wouldn't be any closer
to understanding how it really affecIs the human mind. There
are just too many unknowns. And we just don't have the re-
sources to study each and every one of thern-"
"All it takes is time and training. I've been working with
ANTARES for just a few months-"
"And it nearly killed you," Briggs cut in.
"I flew it in combat after only four months of work," Mc-
Lanahan said. "I'm not a pilot but I flew the hottest jet in the
world with only four months' training."
"It's not the same and you know it, Patrick .
"I've made progress. I've taken the worst that machine can
dish out. I can control it now. Besides, I'm an old fart. I'm forty
years old. A guy half my age could master that machine a lot
easier. Don't judge the whole program because of what hap-
pened to me-"
"Unfortunately we must," Elliott said. "We aren't getting
the information we need from only one successful pilot in the
program. We were hoping the progress you and Powell had made
could clear the way for a more extensive ANTARES training
program, but now it appears that we can't adequately quantify
the experiences of any participant. What happens to you, or
rather why it happens, is an unknown. We can't have training
based on hit-or-miss procedures-we'll end up killing half the
trainees."
McLanahan shook his head. "So you're really considering
canceling the DreamStar project because of my incident the other
day?"
"There are other considerations, which you're aware of. We
do spend half a billion dollars a year for a plane that many
congressmen may not ever see fly in their lifetimes. They hesi-
tate continuing the funding, especially if there's some pork-barrel
projects in their home districts that could get them a political leg
up in this lifetime . . . And of course there's the security ques-
tion. " Elliott glanced at Briggs, who remained stone-faced. "Our
security problems have tended to overshadow our advances. The
way of least resistance for these Pentagon officials is simple-
terminate the project, continue lower funding levels for research
into the ANTARES interface but discontinue all flight operations
and plans for development and deployment."
"But DreamStar's up and flying-that's a fact. We've only
tried the ANTARES interface with a handful of pilots. We can't
give up now."
122 DALE BROWN
Elliott nodded. "That's the argument I used, Patrick. We'll
have our answer on Monday. Meanwhile, get some rest."
Hal Briggs stayed behind. " was by to see you, said he'd
catch you tomorrow some time. Haven't seen much of James
since the test flight. "
Patrick shrugged. "He likes to get away from Vegas on the
weekends.
A somewhat strained silence, then Briggs smiled and said,
"You look like two miles of bad road, Colonel, but it's good to
see you up and around."
"I've seen you look better too, buddy," McLanahan said.
"The general getting on your case?"
"It's, beyond Elliott," Hal said uneasily. "It's even beyond
major command level now. Air Force and, I guess, the Joint
Chiefs want to keep Dreamland open but close down flight op-
erations for DreamStar-they're more concerned with the set-
backs in the operations area. The White House thinks Dreamland
is a classified infon-nation siphon that flows directly to the So-
viets, and they want to clo- se down the whole outfit."
"Which wouldn't look so hot for Dreamland's chief of se-
curity.
Briggs tightened. "Look, I hate lettin' the old man down-he
took a chance on me ten years ago, and he really stuck his neck
out when he made a brand-new major the chief of security at the
Air Force's most top-secret research center. I'd hate to repay the
guy with a forced retirement because I screwed up. "
"I don't think you're screwing up, Hal. We've obviously
dealing with very deep, very professional agents at the highest
and most top-secret levels of the program. It might be a
command-wide infiltration, or even a headquarters compromise,
in which case we might never find the ones responsible-"
"It has to be here in Dreamland or Nellis, " Hal said angrily,
punching a palm with his fist. "The quality of the stolen mate-
rial, and the speed with which our stuff shows up over there,
tells me it comes directly from here, not through headquarters
of systems command. I have got to plug this leak before the
whole dam bursts wide open."
"Well, keep trying . . . but I do have to say I don't think
your idea to plant phony changes in DrearnStar's design will
help. "
Hal looked uneasy. "You figured that out?"
"It wasn't too difficult to notice those changes were out of
place, Hal. If they're smart enough to recognize the changes
they'll be smart enough to see that they don't make too much
sense. With all the other security crackdowns you've imple-
mented, it does smell like a setup."
"If you don't mind, I'll keep it in," Hal said evenly. "Maybe
our spy isn't as all-fired smart as you think he is."
"Maybe. "
There was a rather strained pause, then Hal asked, "How's
Wendy?"
"Fine."
Hal nodded She looked great, really great. " Again a pause
"Something on your mind, Hal?"
He took a deep breath. "Hope you don't mind me asking, but
. . . how are you two getting along?"
"Jesus Christ, Hal - - ."
"Darnmit, Patrick, you know why I'm asking, and you know
I wouldn't ask unless it was important."
"So we're peeking into bedrooms to find a spy now, is that
it?"
"Easy, pal. You knew all about Elliott's orders to expand the
search for these security leaks. I briefed the senior staff and
outlined exactly what guidelines I'd follow and what steps my
staff would take. Wendy and Ken--
' 'What the hell do you mean, Wendy and Ken . . . ?"
"Do you know she was seen at Indian Springs Auxiliary Field
the other day?"
"Yes, I know."
"With Ken James?"
"So what? This is getting far out-"
"You're getting defensive," Briggs shot back. "What's the
story?
"The story is they went to lunch."
"It's James' little hideaway. It was the day of the last air combat dry-fire test.
I was held up by the flight data lab, so?"
"At Indian Springs?"
James took her to lunch. Apparently he regularly cons the Dol-
phin pilot into taking him. Any more questions?"
Briggs nodded-that was the same story he'd gotten from the
Dolphin pilot. "Patrick, please don't make this any tougher for
me-"
124 DALE BROWN
"Tougher for you?" McLanahan propped himself up in bed,
He was about to get up but paled and decided against it. "What
the hell are you saying? Is Wendy or Ken under suspicion?"
"Everyone at HAWC is under suspicion, even the Ops per-
sonnel-especially the Ops personnel. But when DreamStar's
only pilot starts hanging around with a chief scientist from a
completely different section of HAWC-who also happens to be
the very close friend of the DreamStar project directors bell
has to go off-"
"She lives with me, Hal. Come on.
"Do I really have to spell this out? What if you guys were
having a major league argument? What if she left or you told
her to? What if ... dammit, Patrick, you know what the hell
I'm talking about."
"I do, and it stinks."
"The leaks started when she got to Drearnland--
"Which is also when the DreamStar project went opera-
tional," McLanahan interrupted.
"It's also the time Ken James arrived."
"Along with a dozen other people," Patrick shot back.
"You're spinning your wheels, Hal. Wendy's undergone gov-
ernment security background checks since she was a senior in
college. Ken James is an Academy grad. He's undergone far
more thorough background investigations than just about anyone
at HAWC, including me."
"He's also had a pretty rough family life .
"Which doesn't make him a spy. I know all about his past,
his father, his mother's suspicious death in Monaco while he
was in the Zoo. But the guy's been polygraphed, examined,
questioned, investigated and scrutinized on a regular basis by a
dozen different agencies since entering the Academy. If he's got
a questionable past it would have surfaced by now."
"Well, I've still got to check every scrap of info that's not
there, Patrick. You'll end up hurting security, not helping," Hal
said, not wanting to press it further at the moment. "Gotta go.
I'll see you on Monday."
When the door to his hospital room closed, Patrick felt more
alone, more isolated than ever before. Mercifully, his body's
total exhaustion forced him to drop into a deep sleep.
Ken James was in DreamStar's cockpit. He had no flight suit, no
helmet. 7he canopy was closed and all power was off. He was
trying.to decide how to activate his fighter without ANTARES op-
erating when a brilliant beam of light hit the cockpit ftom some-
where on the ramp ... Hal Briggs was holding a huge spotlight
on him. Patrick McLanahan was carrying a bullhorn. Wendy Tor*
stood beside McLanahan crying. She was motioning to him to come
out of DreamStar ... He lifted the canopy. It weighed only eighty
pounds but it would hardly budge. He had to stand on the ejection
seat to get better leverage. But as he struggled to lift the heavy
plexiglas windscreen, McLanahan rushedforward, carrying a huge
ffty-caliber machine gun. 77ten Briggs hit him in the face with the
brilliant beam ftom the spotlight and McLanahan raised the ma-
chine gun. "Hold it right there - - - "
James' eyes snapped open. He was confused, disoriented.
Then he heard the sounds of footsteps, coming closer, only a
few feet away ...
He scrambled for the tiny transmitter on the nightstand beside
his bed-he had rigged the wall safe with a remote-control trig-
ger to incinerate its contents from anywhere in the apartment.
With his other hand he felt for the Beretta automatic pistol hid-
den under his pillow ...
". . . Don't go away, because you're listening to the solid
gold voice of the solid gold strip, FM one-oh-two - - - "
Ken pulled his finger away from the button just in time.. It
was his clock radio, set for the station with the two early-morning
DJs with their taped sound effects. The bedroom lights, also
preprogrammed to come on when the alarm clock went off, were
glaring in his face. Swallowing hard, his ears ringing from ten-
sion, he carefully held the hammer of the Beretta with one hand
while pulling the trigger, letting the hammer slowly uncock.
It had been another nightmare night, another confused awak-
ening. For the past two nights he had lain in bed, dressed in
shorts, shirt, and sneakers, with one finger on the remote-control
detonator and one hand on the Beretta pistol beside him. Sleep
had been almost impossible. Every noise, every creak, every
voice outside shook him awake in an instant, and he would lie
there, listening for the sounds of police feet pounding up his
dow. Each time he had decided to escape, to get out of town
and head off to Mexico before they came and arrested him for
126 DALE BROWN
espionage, but he would always talk himself out of it, out of
deserting DrearnStar. He would manage to drift off to sleep, only
to be awakened an hour later by another sound. He had managed
only a few restless hours of sleep all weekend.
Now he half-walked, half-stumbled to the bathroom. The ten-
sion was taking its toll, all right. He had dark circles under his
eyes, his face was pale, his lips cracked and dry despite the
beads of sweat rolling down his face. He turned the shower on
full cold and stepped into it, forcing himself to stand in the icy
water a full minute before feeding in warm water. He stood
there, hoping that it would wash his nightmares away. It did not.
Still, once into his morning routine, his mind began to analyze
the situation more rationally. He had holed himself up in his
apartment all weekend, afraid to leave but afraid he would be
arrested by military intelligence. The fact that no one had come
to him or called was reassuring. Perhaps no one had noticed
Kramer and Moffitt, the two Russian agents based out of Los
Angeles, at his apartment after all. Maybe Briggs wasn't con-
ducting round-the-clock surveillance of his apartment . . .
His mood was bolstered later that morning as he drove through
Nellis toward the waiting area for the shuttle bus to the HAWC
research area. None of Briggs' men made a move for him. There
seemed no added security other than the forces that had been
added weeks earlier when the initial crackdown had been
started-if anything, the added security forces seemed more dis-
persed and less obvious. He felt relief as he
stepped aboard the
bus that would take him to Dreamland. Surely Briggs wouldn't
let him go to Dreamland again if he had discovered his meeting
with Kramer and Moffitt.
Despite the outer calm of the place, however, there were a lot
of worried faces and hushed conversation in the hallways and
offices of the HAWC research center when James arrived. He
poured himself a mug of coffee and began to go through his
mailbox in the test squadron's mission-planning room. Among
the half-week's worth of mail were several notices telling about
a Center-wide briefing for all personnel at eight A. The topic
was not specified.
It was almost eight-thirty, so he put the meeting out of his
mind. He took a sip of coffee and was discarding most of the
small pile of mail in his box when JC. Powell appeared in the
doorway.
"Ken, where you been?"
"I just got in. What's up?"
"You missed the meeting
"I just heard about it. What was it?"
"I've been trying to reach you all weekend. Your phone's
been off the hook or something."
"They're installing videophone in my apartment complex,
he lied. "The phones have been screwed up ever since."
"Patrick's in his office. We better go see him."
"Now? What's the big deal?" He took another sip of coffee
It was pretty unusual to see Powell so wound up. "The Rooskies
declare war or something?"
"Worse," said.' "They've canceled the DreamStar
Project."
James promptly poured a mouthful of coffee down into his
lungs and nearly fell out of his chair. -What . . . ?
"You heard me. Let's go."
They hurried down the hallway to McLanahan's office and
burst in on the project director as he was signing a stack of
letters.
"Glad you could be with us today, Ken," Patrick said, fin-
ishing his paperwork and dismissing the squadron clerk. He
studied James for a moment. "You look like hell, Captain.
Hanging out in the casinos all night again?"
Powell dropped into a chair to watch the spectacle. James
blurted out, "What's this about the DreamStar project being can-
celed? "