Mexican airspace and tried to get the XF-34-as a matter of fact
he's the DrearnStar project director, Lieutenant Colonel Mc-
Lanahan.
"Jesus. Was McLanahan one of the men killed in the dog-
fights with DrearnStar?
"No. He was chased away by the Mexican Air Force, missed
his -chance to try to even the score . . . I wanted to thank you
for sticking up for me in there, and for your help with the Mex-
ican government. I think you see how important this is to me. 1
Maybe this sounds too dramatic, but those men and women are
my life. I have to watch out for them-now more than ever."
"Well, now that I know that McLanahan was one of the men
in those F-15s, I'm glad I stuck up for him and you. I don't
think General Kane will push for any official action against
McLanahan or anyone else involved."
"I appreciate it just the same . . . Look, I'm not trying to
start a palace revolt here, but I just can't stand the idea of sitting
by while DreamStar is chopped up into pieces and shipped off
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 247
to Moscow. The President wasn't interested in my idea, but
maybe you would be .
"I'm interested," O'Day said. Elliott couldn't be sure she
meant it or was just defusing him, but he had little choice right
now, he realized. "It's true, Brad, the President isn't inter-
ested . . . But what's your idea?"
Elliott spread his hands. "Simple. Make the Nicaraguans, and
the Russians, think we're going to strike at Managua . . . Look,
I'm not suggesting that we send the Second Fleet over to shell
Managua, but we could send it out into the Gulf, on one of the
Pentagon's famous 'previously scheduled' exercises. We could
land the Eighty-second Airborne next door in Honduras. That
could shake them up enough at least to start dealing with us-"
"And what if? The bad old 'what if' it doesn't work?"
"Then we have no choice. Mount a surgical strike. Photo
intelligence would be invaluable. If we can pinpoint where
DreamStar is being kept we can plan a discreet attack-"
"To destroy it?"
Elliott nodded. "Afraid so. We sure as hell couldn'tfly it out
of Nicaragua-
"Why not?"
Elliott stopped, looked at her. He had no ready answer to that
one. "Well, first of all, it would be nearly impossible to get near
it anywhere on that KGB base. Second, we've no one qualified
to fly it. James-Maraklov-was the only pilot .
"The only one?"
Elliott's mind was racing now-Deborah O'Day seemed to be
opening up possibilities he hadn't imagined. "We've had several
men fly DreamStar's simulator, but only one man has actually
flown DreamStar before. And no one has been able to control it
as well as James."
"Well, you could use him then, couldn't you? If all he'd have
to do is take off and land . . . ?"
"True, if we could provide him enough air cover during his
escape . . . steal DreamStar back . . . There are a lot of 'ifs'
here. If DreamStar is still flyable, if we can pinpoint Dream-
Star's location, if we can get JC. Powell on that base .
" JC. Powell?"
"My chief test pilot. He checked out in DrearnStar in the
early phase but was replaced by James. He just might do it. He
248 DALE BROVITN
can't dogfight in DreamStar like James, but he could get
DreamStar off the ground and land it again."
"So if we knew exactly where DreamStar was, and if it wasn't
already taken apart," O'Day said, "we'd need a plan to get this
Powell on Sebaco and into'DreamStar's cockpit. Then we'd have
to arrange air cover for him after takeoff since he wouldn't be
able to defend himself .
"Right . . . put Powell in under some sort of diversionary
cover," Elliott said. "Hit Sebaco with a small air strike or guer-
rilla force and insert Powell. Get him into DreamStar's cockpit.
Use the guerrillas to blow a path for him out to the airstrip. With
a carrier from the Second Fleet sitting in the Gulf of Mexico we
could provide enough air cover to fight off the Nicaraguan air
force. A short flight to Texas and we'd be home free.'
"Sounds like a plan, General. Now you have just one prob-
lem . . . "
"I know. The President. It's what he doesn't want to do.
That's where I need your help. You have access to the man. Can
you talk to him? Try to convince him?"
She sank back in her chair. "I'm not sure how much help I can
be. The truth is, I'm not a member of the President's inner
sanctum. His brother-in-law Benson and Speaker Van Keller have
his ear, not me. I'm a political appointee, damn near a figure-
head. Except I also happen to be qualified. He lucked out. I was
put here before the primaries to make the public think that Lloyd
Taylor supports women in government. I was good for a jump
in the polls, or so they say, but I'm not sure what else there is."
"You've got to try," Elliott said. "Bring it up in staff meet-
ings. Talk to the other Cabinet members. Schedule a meeting
with Van Keller or Danahall. They have got to realize that we
just can't let the Russians get away with espionage and murder.
We can yell and threaten all we want, but it doesn't work. It
didn't eight years ago with Kavaznya, and it won't work now,
even with glasnost and perestroika and all the other peaceful
coexistence stuff the Soviets have been feeding us. If the Presi-
dent doesn't want to authorize it he can make it a blind opera-
tion-let me loose and I'll do it and he can deny knowing or
authorizing everything.
"You can't do that with this President," O'Day said. "That
might have worked with Iran-ContrL but this Democrat has a
very good memory for such screwups, especially by a Republi-
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 249
can President. No . O'Day stared at the ceiling. "Taylor is
as hard-nosed as they come, and he rarely changes his mind ...
This plan . . . this operation to get DreamStar. Do you really
think you can put it together?"
"I can get my staff on it-"
"No. I mean right now. Yes or no-can this JC. Powell get
in and get DrearriStar?"
Elliott hesitated only a moment. "If I get the support from
the White House I can get Powell into DreamStar's cockpit. And
I believe he can get DreamStar out."
"Okay. I'm on the case. I've a plan to shake things up around
here. After that I don't know what will happen. It could blow
up in our faces. But I'll bet it'll cause the White House at least
to rethink its position on letting the Soviets get away with the
XF-34. "
"What are you-?"
"No questions. Just be ready with a dog-and-pony show for
the boss within twenty-four hours, and you better knock his socks
off or it'll be too late for your XF-34. I can't promise anything
except some noise, but like Yogi said, it ain't over till it's over.
That might even be true for President Lloyd Emerson Taylor the
Third. "
Elliott straightene
d his fight leg, locked it and eased himself
to his feet. He extended his hand, O'Day came around her desk
and took it. ' "I bet the woman and the plan are much alike."
"Don't be so sure-about either one, General," she said.
I'm expecting a few sparks around here. I'm just hoping they
d"on't hit any vital parts."
II Actually, II Elliott said as he turned for the door, "I'm hop-
ing they come too close for comfort."
After he left, O'Day returned to her chair and felt a very rare
grin on her face. Forget that, she told herself sternly. He may
have this domineering presence that seems to fill the room when
he enters, but does he really have all his facts together when it
comes to this DreamStar business? Sure he wants the XF-34
back-that's understandable. But is he acting like a man with
little to lose, who'll risk a major international incident to get his
own way?
Having asked herself the tough questions, the answers came
easy. Elliott wanted DreamStar back because a goddamn mole
stole it, because his people got killed. He was willing to fight
250 DALE BROWN
to et it back, even if his own government disowned him or
worse.
She dialed a number on a private phone that could not be
picked up or used by her outer office. "Marty, this is your rac-
quetball partner yes, I know it's been awhile since we've
played. It's been busy ... give me a break. I was appointed by
your President, remember? Listen, can we meet for a game?
Today, if we can get a court . . . better make it early. You may
have a late evening . . . you heard me. Can you make it? Good.
See you at seven, then . . . no, we can't count this one. That's
right . . . you'll find out why. See you."
Brooks Medical Facility, San Antonio
"Edema in her right lung, possibly from inhaling fire or burning
debris. We didn't catch it right away . . . " the doctor was say-
ing as McLanahan and Powell entered the intensive care unit.
Wendy Tork's parents were on either side of her. Her hands
were heavily bandaged. She had been on a respirator ever since
she was found in the crash area, but now there was a different
one in place, one to keep her lungs clear of fluid and help her
keep breathing. Most of her facial bandages had been removed,
exposing ugly bum marks and cuts. Intravenous tubes were feed-
in glucose and whole blood into her arms. One small vase of
flowers rested on a nightstand-ICU would tolerate no more-
but Wendy had not yet been conscious to see them or her par-
en S.
Betty and Joseph Tork glanced at Patrick and as they
came into the room, quickly turned their eyes back to their
daughter.
"Doctor?" McLanahan couldn't get out the obvious question.
"She's a strong woman, Colonel, but her injuries are mas-
sive . He paused, moved closer to Patrick and lowered his
voice. "Did you know she was pregnant?" Wendy's parents
heard the words anyway. "Oh, my God," Betty Tork said,
turned away from Wendy's bedside and gave in to the tears she'd
been fighting back.
McLanahan could only nod and clench his fists.
"She suffered severe abdominal injuries .
Powell stepped firmly between McLanahan and the doctor. "I
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 251
think that's enough, doctor. I think we ought to leave," and he
took the doctor's arm and led him out of the room.
Patrick, Wendy's parents and an ICU nurse stood in silence
for a long time watching Wendy, listening to the beeps of the
body function monitor and the hissing of the respirator. Several
times Patrick could see muscles in Wendy's face or shoulders
twitch, and for a brief instant thought that she might be about to
wake up.
Betty Tork noticed her daughter's movements too. "I wish
they'd give her something . . . something to help her relax. It's
so awful seeing her suffer. My daughter is in pain, Colonel.
Can't anybody around here do something for her? What kind of
hospital is this, anyway?"
Should he tell her it happened to be the best bum-and-trauma
facility in the country? That as long as Wendy kept fighting for
her life there was at least hope . . . ? He said nothing.
"How did this happen, Patrick?" Joe Tork asked. "She was
flying the B-52, I know, but how did the crash happen?"
"I'm sorry, Joe, I can't-"
"Don't give me that crap, McLanahan." He stood up sud-
denly, filling the room with his size, but Patrick was immedi-
ately drawn to the lines of dried tears in the comers of his eyes.
"For the past ten years, Colonel, that's all I've been hearing
from her, from you, from everyone at that damn place. When
she moved to Vegas it was as if she'd moved to Mars. Now
she'd lying in a hospital in Texas probably dying from these
horrible injuries and you're still playing hush-hush games with
me? Goddamn, I want some answers-"
"For God's sake, Joe, that's my wife lying there-"
"She's your wife? Where's your ring? Where's her ring?
You got a marriage certificate? We weren't invited to any wed-
ding .
"Joe, please .
"The last we heard, you two weren't hitting it off all that
well. You know what I think? I think you didn't marry my
daughter. I think you're saying you're married so we can't sue
the damned Air Force for the accident. The spouse of a military
Betty Tork was staring at her husband.
"This is a rip-off. I was in the Marine Corps for six years, I
know about this crap." Joe Tork moved closer and wrapped his
252 DALE BROWN
big hands around the lapel of McLanahan's flight suit. "Answer
me, you lying sack of mick shit. Answer me .
Patrick held Joe's wrists gently as he could. The big ex-Manine
could have taken his frustrations out on Patrick, and for a mo-
ment it looked like he might actually swing on him. But at the
very moment Patrick thought he might do it, Tork's big shoul-
ders began to shake. His narrow, angry eyes closed, and his grip
began to loosen.
"Damn it, goddamn it all to hell . . . Wendy . . . she's been
so all-fired independent ever since she was a kid. I'd get letters
from Betty when I was in Vietnam telling me how smart and
grown up she was. When I got back she wasn't a kid any more.
I never saw her that way . . . Now she's lying there helpless as
a baby and I still can't do anything for her .
Patrick, feeling the same sense of anger and helplessness,
could say nothing. It was Betty who broke the silence. "Patrick,
when were you married? "
"What? Oh, the day before yesterday." He looked up. "Did
they bring in Wendy's things?"
"In the closet.
He went to the closet and retrieved a cardboard box, took
something from the box and returned to Wendy's bedside.
:'We're not allowed to wear rings on the flight line," he said.
'Too dangerous, they say. So we started keeping each other's
ring until we saw each other again." He opened his hand and I
i
revealed a tiny purple velvet bag, loosened a thin gold draw- i
string, dropped a hammered gold band into his palm, then slipped
the ring on his left ring-finger. He then got an identical bag from
a flight-suit pocket and took out another hammered-gold band,
this one with a gold engagement ring fused to it. He slipped it i
on Wendy's finger. I
I
The three were silent for a while. The ICU nurse came by,
checked and recorded the monitor readings and left. Finally, Joe
said, "Patrick, I have to know what happened out there? Can't
you tell us anything?"
"Joe, you know I can't."
'But I'm a vet. I wouldn't tell anyone .
:,I know, but I still can't."
Tork ran his hands through what little hair was left on his
head. "All right. But tell me this, just this one thing, because
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 253
I'm Wendy's father. Just promise me you're going to nail
whoever's responsible for doing this to my daughter."
Patrick's eyes were'fixed on Wendy's scars and bums, he saw
her muscles convulse, heard the sucking sounds as machines
drew fluid from her lungs to keep her from drowning.
"Yes, Joe," he said in a low voice. "That I can promise
you . . .
The Kremlin, Moscow, Union of Soviet Socialist
Republics
Thursday, 18 June 1996, 2103 EET (1303 EDT)
Vladimir Kalinin walked briskly into the General Secretary's of-
fice to find several members of the Kollegiya already assembled
there, all nervously pacing the floor or circling the conference
table. They began to take seats immediately-obviously they had
all been waiting for KGB chief Kalinin's arrival. Boris Mischel-
evka, the Foreign Minister, sat at the head of the conference
table and presided over the meeting.
"The General Secretary is en route from West Germany,"
Mischelevka began. "He has directed me to begin this meeting
and assemble the entire Kolle iya at ten A. tomorrow morning
when he arrives. He will expect a briefing on our meeting first
thing in the morning.
"This deals, of course, with the incident that took place yes-