"Of course, Colonel. My mistake." The sponge ran over his
shoulders, across his back. He tried to look at the woman but
couldn't even manage that much energy. Now in a near-perfect
midwestem American accent the woman said, "Good morning,
Colonel. "
:'Who are you?"
,:My name is Musi Zaykov. I am your aide and secretary."
Are you KGB? "
"Yes, sir. I am a starshiy leyt . . . I'm sorry-a lieutenant,
Central American Command. I have been here in Nicaragua for
almost a year."
Nicaragua. Maraklov closed his eyes. He had almost forgot-
ten. That explained the heat and the humidity. The events of his
flight across Central America came back and invaded his
thoughts. That explained his debilitation-he had flown
DreamStar several hours longer than he had ever done before.
He routinely lost four or five pounds on every one-hour sortie
in the past, and this last flight, with ANTARES in combat con-
ditions, had taken three hours. No wonder .
"I have been asked to notify the base commander when you
awoke, sir," she said, rinsing the sponge off in a pan on a stand
by the bed, "but I'll wait and let you go back to sleep if you
want. "
"Thanks." He made an effort and rolled onto his back, open-
ing his eyes wide as he did so to help him regain his equilibrium.
Musi Zaykov was sitting on the bed to his right. She looked
about thirty, blonde hair, blue eyes, with a bright disarming
smile. She wore a khaki bush shirt with the collar open several
buttons from the top against the heat.
"Musi . . . Musi . . . very -pretty name."
"Thank you, sir."
"How long have I been asleep?"
"About fifteen hours, Colonel." He watched her eyes scan
his body. "I'm sorry we could not provide you with better sleep-
ing arrangements, sir. It was decided to leave you here in the
hangar where the security units have been assembled. I'm sure
air conditioning will be set up as soon as possible. "
Maraklov nodded. "Pass the water." Zaykov quickly passed
the pitcher of ice water over to him. He watched her over the
rim of the plastic glass.
"They say you were close to death when they took you out of
your aircraft," she said, her eyes occasionally straying down to
his abdomen and legs. "Dehydration and chemical depletion."
"Ten pounds is unusual," Maraklov said, "but dehydration
and chemical imbalance isn't. I have a megadose on vitamins
and minerals every time I fly my plane." She was fidgeting a
bit on the edge of the bed, her breathing getting deeper.
She was beautiful, but was he imagining this as a come-on?
If it was real, why?
"Leave me alone," he said suddenly. "I want to get dressed.
"I have been asked to stay with you-"
"I said get out."
"I am a qualified nurse, sir, as well as an intelligence analyst
and operative." She leaned closer to him, inviting him to touch
234 DALE BROWN
her body. "In your condition I do not think it wise to leave you
alone.
And he suddenly realized the real situation he was in. He was
lucky the Central Command had only sent a "friendly" opera-
tive, an agent instructed to get close to him, become his confi-
dante, including his sexual partner if necessary. Right out of
Academy syllabus . . .
"You obviously didn't place too well at Connecticut Acad-
emy," Maraklov deadpanned.
Zaykov looked startled, but only for an instant. "I'm sorry,
sir . . . ?"
"You're also bothering me, and I don't want the KGB watch-
ing me on the john, even an agent with big tits
She didn't blink. "Yes, Colonel, it's true I am a KGB soldier,
but right now I am here to help you in any way I can during
your recovery phase. You have been through a remarkable ordeal
and you have an even more difficult one ahead of you. I think it
important that you not go through this alone. All I ask is that
you please let me help."
So sincere, but she was using the exact hand gestures and
body movements "Janet Larson" had practiced back at the
Academy-her body, her mannerisms, even her accent were vir-
tual duplicates of Janet Larson, who had tried to get him thrown
out of the Academy and take away his chance to come to Amer-
ica . . .
"I don't need any help-
"But-"
"That's an order, Lieutenant. Now get your butt out of here."
Zaykov missed that bit of slang but got the idea, rolled off the
bed and left.
The word was going to spread quickly that he was awake, so
Maraklov went over to the tiny closet-sized bathroom, found
toilet articles and towels and showered and shaved as fast as he
could without making the room spin. He had finished and was
on his seventh glass of water when the door of the small apart-
ment opened and a man in the black battle-dress uniform of the
KGB Border Guards moved aside, allowing an older officer in a
dark green-and-brown camouflage flight suit to enter. The officer
was tall and wiry-the flight suit, Maraklov decided, wasn't just
for show; this guy looked like a fighter pilot. He looked at Mar-
aklov for a moment, then came to attention and made a slight
bow.
"It is a pleasure to see you, Colonel Maraklov. I am General
Major Aviatsii Pavel Tret'yak, commanding officer of Sebaco
Military Airfield." He walked over to Maraklov and extended a
hand. "Welcome home."
Maraklov shook his hand. "Thank you, General. But I think
I've quite a way to go before I get home."
"We consider this is a slice of Russia in the middle of Central
America," Tret'yak said with a smile. "You will be home soon.
Until then, this base and all its personnel are at your disposal,
and I will see to it that you are treated in recognition of your
feat." Tret'yak was bobbing around like a young flying cadet,
showing his excitement at meeting Maraklov. "Tell me about
your flight, and all about this magnificent aircraft. I took the
liberty of inspecting it this morning. It seems a fantastic ma-
chine, no doubt the fighter of tomorrow . . . We must talk about
your flight over breakfast."
"Thank you, sir. I could go for some coffee and breakfast
before we begin DreamStar's preparations for the flight back-"
"Oh, we will see to that, Colonel. It is already being done."
Maraklov stared at Tret'yak. "What? You-?-
"Under orders from Moscow, we have already begun the pro-
cess of dismantling the aircraft. In a few days it will be-"
"Dismantling DreamStar? What the hell do you mean?"
Tret'yak looked puzzled. "How else do you intend to get it
out of Nicaragua? Do you intend to fly it back to Russia? It is
sixteen thousand kilometers from here to Moscow, with North
America on one side. the U. Navy in the center and all western
Europe on the other side. I should think you would have found
it dangerous enough flying a thousand kilometers across Central
&
nbsp; America. "
"But I don't know how to take it apart," Maraklov said. "I
didn't bring the tech manuals with me and besides, I don't want
to risk-"
"That is not our concern," Tret'yak said. "We are pilots, not
mechanics. When we are in the cockpit, we are in charge. But
when we are on the ground the grease-monkeys and pencil-
pushers are in charge."
"That isn't some rag-wing biplane out there, General. You
can't just take a, few screws out of her and fold it up. DrearnStar
236 DALE BROWN
may be the world's greatest jet fighter but it's as delicate as an
inertial guidance computer. If it's taken apart, it will never fly
again. Believe me . . . "
Tret'yak was obviously bored with the argument and anxious
to hear about Maraklov's escape from the U. He shrugged.
"There are tropical-weight flight suits in the closet. Get dressed.
We'll talk."
"Sir, call off the dismantling until I can speak with Mos-
cow. I don't think-"
"it is already being done, Colonel. Now--
"I said call it off, General."
Tret'yak turned and looked with astonishment at Maraklov.
He was, after all, a general. But then he softened, seeming to
understand. "I know how you feel, Andrei," he said, sounding
like an older brother or- father. "But these orders came directly
from Kalinin himself. I must comply with them. It is an amazing
war machine, I realize. You are afraid it will never fly again and
I understand that-our scientists and engineers can get a little
overzealous at times. They have little appreciation for what we
do. But you did realize, Colonel, that they were going to get the
XF-34, did you not? I cannot think of one instance where an
aircraft stolen or delivered to another country in such circum-
stances was not used for study and research. It certainly never
flies again. True, the MiG-25 that traitor Belyenko stole from
Petropavlovsk and flew to Japan twenty years ago was flown a
few times, but just for-"
"They can't destroy DreamStar. It's no damn lab rat. You of
all people should appreciate that. DreamStar needs to be stud-
ied, true, but studied in one piece. We can train Russian pilots
to fly her and develop an entire squadron of pilots who can
fly her." Maraklov paused, wondering how much of this he
believed, how much was his attachment to DreamStar, his
communion with it. "How would you, sir, like to be the first
MiG-39 Zavtra squadron commander?"
Tret'yak broke out into a grin-he'd be dead meat in a poker
game, Maraklov thought. "Zavtra? Has it been given a name?"
'Not officially, sir. But the 39 series is the next to be devel-
oped in both the Mikoyan-Gureyvich and Sukhoi design bureaus,
and you suggested the name, sir. You said it was the fighter of
tomorrow-zavtra means 'tomorrow' in English. So . . . the first
fighter of tomorrow."
"Zavtra," Tret'yak said, nodding. "I like it."
Thank God, Maraklov thought, for Tret'yak's huge ego and
the bits of elementary Russian that were coming back to him.
"We can paint it on the XF-34 right away, sir-with your name
as commander, of course."
"This will have to be cleared through the engineer corps
working on the XF-34--
"MiG-39, sir."
"Yes, the MiG-39. I will speak to people in Moscow. After
breakfast." He left with a pleased smile, and Maraklov hur-
riedly dressed and followed.
His apartment was in the back of a small administrative sec-
tion next to the main hangar. He passed two guard posts, one
outside his door and the other at the end of the corridor leading
to the hangar. The last guard at the end of the corridor moved
toward Maraklov and pinned a restricted area badge on his flight
suit.
"Pazhallosta, vi mnyeh mozhitye pahkahzaht tvoye sahmah-
1yot, tovarisch ? " the guard asked him as he pinned the, badge
on his suit.
Maraklov recognized that it was a question and made out the-
word for plane, but the guard's stem voice also made it sound
like a request to stay away from DreamStar. Maraklov ignored
it, turned and walked away.
The guard looked at him. Another stuck-up pilot, he thought.
All he did was ask him if he could take a closer look at his fighter.
The hotshot didn't even answer him. Maybe he really was more
American than Russian now, like some were saying . . .
Maraklov had to strain to hold back his anger when he saw
DreamStar. They had, indeed, wasted no time. Every access
panel and maintenance door had been opened. External power
was on the aircraft-and judging by the size and high-pitched
whining sound of the power cart it was probably supplying the
wrong frequency. DreamStar's electrical system would kick off
external power if there was any danger of damage, but if those
engineers forced the circuit closed it could do irreparable dam-
age. Then they would have to ship it out of Nicaragua.
Tret'yak was returning from the administrative offices wearing
a big smile. "Damn you, Colonel," he said with mock irrita-
this damned English . . . I have a call in to Moscow outlining
238 DALE BROWN
your concerns about dismantling the MiG-39. I expect an answer
in an hour. Meanwhile I have no choice but to continue with my
orders, the dismantling must proceed.
Maraklov heard it like a stab in the heart, but there appeared
nothing he could do-for now. "I understand. However, sir in
the future I would like to be present while any work at ali is
being done on Zavtra."
"Granted. I understand how you feel. Having these cavemen
tear into a pilot's airplane is like watching your mistress out with
another man-you want to tear the man's eyes out but there's
nothing you can do about it."
Maraklov had to suppress a smile. Tret'yak was straight out
of central casting, a real anachronism. But at least for now he
was dazzled enough by Andrei Maraklov, his aircraft and his
feat in flying to Nicaragua that he was being cooperative. But
that wouldn't last long if Moscow insisted on ripping DreamStar
apart.
If orders came to go on dismantling DrearriStar, Maraklov
thought, as Tret'yak led him away to the chow hall, he would
have to think of something else. Something drastic. He didn't
rescue DrearnStar from mothballs in the U. to have it become
heaps of fibersteel and electronics scattered around laboratories
all across eastern Europe. DreamStar didn't deserve to die. At
least not without a fight . . .
Washington, D.
"All our ground security units and anti-air missile units were at
full readiness and responded properly," General Brad Elliott was
saying. "The XF-34A was able to elude all of our area defenses,
which is what the aircraft was designed to do, and it evaded or
defended itself against all other airborne interceptor units . . .
"The re
sponsibility for the loss of the XF-34 is mine. It was
my responsibility to make sure that personnel assigned to HAWC
had the proper background investigations and security checks; it
was my responsibility to secure our aircraft against attack, sab-
otage or theft. And it was my responsibility to do everything in
my power to repel any attacks or hostile actions against person-
nel and resources in my center .
The President sat at his desk in the Oval Office, listening to
Elliott's mea culpa. With him was the Attorney General, Rich-
ard Benson, his brother-in-law and, it was said, closest adviser;
Paul Cesare, the President's Chief of Staff; Army General Wil-
liam Kane, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff; General
Martin Board, Air Force Chief of Staff; William Stuart, Secre-
tary of Defense; Deborah O'Day, the National Security Adviser;
and Speaker of the House and ranking congressional Democrat
Christopher Van Keller, another close adviser and personal friend
of President Lloyd Taylor.
"Your ground forces-you said you had two armed combat
vehicles on the ramp at the time, " Attorney General Benson
said, "and you still couldn't stop that aircraft?"
"That's correct."
"What are these vehicles armed with?"
"Twelve-point-three-millimeter-half-inch-heavy machine
guns. They also carry two armed security troops. They're an-ned
with standard M-16 rifles. Some have M-203 infantry grenade
launchers as well."
"And with all that they were ineffective?"
"Yes." It was the n-th time he had heard the word "ineffec-
tive" during this half-hour briefing, along with "incompetent"
and "irresponsible." - . - "But the infiltrators set up remote-
controlled mortars with concussion grenade rounds," Elliott
added. "They were relatively light ordnance, but at close range
and against soldiers on foot they were very effective. It gave
James enough time to taxi away and take off."
"Kenneth James?" Defense Secretary Stuart said. "You mean
Colonel Andrei Ivanschichin Maraklov.- Stuart fixed an angry
stare at Elliott. "Well, at least this happened out in Dreamland,
we have a chance of keeping it out of the press. I've had my