terday morning in the United States. A fighter aircraft was stolen
from a top-secret research center and flown through Central
America to Nicaragua after a stop in Mexico. Apart from that
information we have no details. " Mischelevka turned immedi-
ately to Kalinin and asked if he could explain what had hap-
pened.
"I believe this should wait for the General Secretary," Kali-
nin said. "I see no reason for three separate meetings
"The reason is simply that the General Secretary wants it,"
Mischelevka told him. "Obviously he intends that we be able to
explain to the various governments involved what is going on."
Kalinin said nothing at first. The Americans called it "damage
control"-everyone get their story straight and coordinated be-
fore going outside the government. With foreign journalists
flooding Moscow and a press center set up in the Kremlin itself,
254 DALE BR-OWN
"damage control" was more and more important nowadays ...
"All I can tell you is that the incident involved a Soviet heli-
copter and a Soviet airbase in Nicaragua - That is all I can discuss
here until I brief the General Secretary.
"We need more than that, Kalinin," Mischelevka said. "I
have received a dozen demands for explanations from several
countries, including, naturally, the United States. It is important
that we respond-"
"You will respond when the General Secretary decides you
will respond. I will not release any information until the classi-
fication of that information is determined-"
"But we must brief-"
"Brief no one. Is that clear enough?"
"What's wrong with you?" Mischelevka asked. "What's go-
ing on? Is this a special KGB operation in Central America?
What . . . T1
"You will please not discuss your opinions of the incident
either," Kalinin snapped. "Say nothing. Glasnost does not ap-
ply here." With that, Kalinin got up and walked out.
They're like sheep, Kalinin thought as he quickly exited the
dark halls of the Kremlin. They have been lulled into compla-
cency by the garbage that has been fed to them over the years,
that openness was good, that secret information is free to all
for the asking. They were going to be this government's down-
fall . . .
And when it had fallen, with a little help from patriots like
himself, he was going to be the leader of a return to the old,
traditional ways, to the future world eminence of the Soviet
Union.
Arlington, Virginia
Thursday, 18 June 1996, 1905 EDT
The Barrel Factory Racquet Club used to be just that-an old
factory and warehouse that, in pre-Prohibition days, made casks
and barrels for beer and wine. It was one of the worst eyesores
in the Washington, D., area for decades until Arlington's ren-
aissance in the late 1980s and early nineties, when it was re-
modeled into a first-class tennis, racquetball and health club. But
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 255
the area kept its old slum reputation, so the Barrel Factory was
having a tough time attracting members.
But for National Security Adviser Deborah O'Day, the place
was perfect for many reasons. The dues were modest, it was
easy to get a racquetball court-especially during the week after
seven P.-and the usual D. crowd avoided the place. She
could take off the White House senior-staff facade and act like
a normal human being, and as such was rarely recognized-all
of which made the place ideal for an occasional surreptitious
meeting.
She tossed a couple of the soft blue rubber balls out into the
court and chased them, jogging up and down the court to loosen
her ankles. She was pleased with how flexible and fit her body
was, even at fifty-one. Exercise was never important to her until
just before learning that she was being considered for the NSC
position. No one much cared what you looked like as U.
ambassador, but as part of the White House staff her image had
to merge much better with that of the President, and that image
was relatively young, lean and mean.
She crash-dieted during her last few weeks in New York,
confirmation hearings, she had no time for any meals anyway,
so dieting was very easy then. The same was true for her first
few months in Washington. Now that the dust had settled a bit,
she found that her once-a-week trips to the gym were invaluable
and at times virtual life-savers. She enjoyed the challenges, rel-
ished the appreciative glances of the men in the club (some less
than half her age), and felt good when she looked around the
room during the White House staff meetin s and knew that she
could probably whip half the men in that room on the tennis or
squash courts.
These late-night trips also had other valuable uses-such as
tonight.
She had finished stretching out and had begun hitting the ball
around when she heard a tap behind her. A tall, dark-haired,
pear-shaped man in an old gray sweatsuit, elbow and knee pads,
brand-new Reebok tennis shoes, wearing eye protectors and car-
rying an old aluminum-framed racquet, was tapping on the back
Plexiglas wall of her court.
Just as he began tapping again, from seemingly out of no-
where Marine Corps Major Marcia Preston moved behind him.
256 DALE BROWN
She was dressed in a red jogging suit, a towel wrapped around
01
her neck and carrying an open gym bag-which, Deborah Day
knew, contained a Browning PM-40B automatic machine pistol
with a twenty-round clip and laser sight. The pear-shaped fellow
seemed to sense someone behind him and turned to face Marcia.
If he made the wrong move, Marcia could disable him in a few
seconds or kill him in less time. They exchanged glances, and
Marcia Preston never got closer than a few feet from him, but
there was no doubt that the man knew he had been efficiently
intercepted.
But at a slight hand motion from O'Day, Marcia moved on
past as if she hadn't noticed he was there. O'Day could see the
man nervously swallow, then open the half-size door to the
court and step inside. Major Preston went over to the drinking
fountain nearby, wandered around looking in the other courts,
then disappeared back into her previous unobtrusive hiding
place.
"Marcia is her usual charming self, I see," the man dead-
panned, watching the major's retreating figure. He was already
sweating, and they hadn't played one point yet. He turned and
checked out Deborah O'Day in the same way he had just ap-
praised Marcia Preston. "You're looking pretty foxy yourself,
kid.
"Cool it, Marty, let's play. You warmed up?"
"For this ridiculous sport, no," Marty Donatelli said. "For
some inforination, yes."
"We can chat while we play. At least pretend to be trying,"
she said, gently hitting a ball off the
front wall toward Donatelli.
"Besides, it'll do you some good. You could stand to lose a few
inches off that middle."
He took a huge roundhouse swipe at the ball, caroming it off
three walls, but he placed it right back in the center of the court
O'Day chased it down easily and sent it back right to Donatelli.
"The front page goes to bed in two hours, lover. Can we make
this quick?"
"I don't care about the front page, and I'm sure as hell not
your lover. " O'Day hit the ball back perfectly in the left comer;
it bounded off the left wall, the front wall, then promptly hit the
floor and died. "Okay. You serve. We'll talk."
As Donatelli moved to the center serve line, O'Day began:
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 257
"Wasn't it terrible about the B-52 crash in Nevada the other
day?
Donatelli bounced the ball experimentally a few times,
bounced it once more, then hit it with all his might against the
front wall. She was waiting for it and returned it up the right
alley into the comer. Donatelli did not have time to move from
where he had served the ball. "My serve," she said, and smiled
a pretty smile.
"Yeah, I heard of it," Donatelli said. "So? I don't do aircraft
accidents.
"There's some scuttlebutt around," she said, and stepped to
the service line, "something about it not being an accident."
The reporter was getting impatient. "It was out in the Red
Flag range, right? There's hundreds of planes out there shooting
missiles. The Air Force loses a plane almost every day out
there. "
O'Day bounced the ball, took one glance back at Donatelli,
then swung the racquet as she said, "If I only had the time I'd
look into that. Some strange stories coming out of southern Ne-
vada. There was even this weird report about a KGB agent steal-
ing a fighter."
The blue rubber ball rebounded hard off the front wall, came
straight back and hit Donatelli in the right leg. He scarcely no-
ticed it. "Did you say, a Russian KGB agent?"
"That's just scuttlebutt. One serving zero. Still in serve.
"Hold on. Who says a Russian agent?"
"It's an unconfirmed rumor," O'Day said, getting ready for
the serve. "Some stuff about a stolen fighter, some fighters shot
down, about the stolen fighter heading for some pro-Soviet Cen-
tral American country."
She served the ball. Donatelli knocked it into a comer.
"Two serving . . ."
"All this happened yesterday?"
Yep. So they say."
"How can I verify this?"
O'Day walked over to pick up the ball. "Hey, I'm not a re-
porter. You don't tell me how to do my job and I don't tell you
how to do yours. But like I said, if I had the time I'd call, say,
a General Elliott through the Nellis AFB operator-he's in charge
of some of the ranges down there. I might also contact the Mex-
ican government, especially the Monterrey Air Defense Zone
258 DALE BROWN
headquarters about those rumors about unauthorized airspace
violations and dogfights over their-"
"Jesus Christ . . . " Donatelli worked to unravel the racquet's
wrist strap that had wound itself tightly around his right arm.
"I've got less than two hours to make these calls . . . Mexico-
that'll take forever .
I I
Remember the routine, Marty-unnamed government
sources, maybe unnamed military sources. There's enough of a
shake-up over there that a leak is bound to develop."
:'You mean someone else might get this story . . . ?
I doubt it, but you never know. I heard General Elliott got
his butt chewed pretty good by the President and the senior staff
today. He might be in a talkative mood."
Donatelli whipped off his eye protectors, reprising what O'Day
had just told him. "Elliott . . . Nellis . . . Mexico . . . what
was that . . . ? "
:'Just replay your tape recorder, and listen," Deborah said.
' My tape recorder?" Donatelli looked surprised. "Our deal
was no tapes. You think I'd welsh on that deal?"
O'Day tossed the blue ball at Donatelli's chest. "In a heart-
beat, Marty. Just protect your sources like your life depended
on it, and we'll both be okay."
Donatelli lifted up his sweatshirt to reveal nothing but a very
hairy, very sweaty chest. "I don't have a recorder. See? I've
shown you mine-now you show me yours."
:'Kiss my ass."
,:With pleasure." They stood looking at each other.
You're a fox, no doubt about that. Ms. National Security
Adviser. But tell me-why are you doing this? Were you -
thorized by the White House to leak this? If so, why are they
doing it? "
She began to bat the ball around the court. "I've got reasons.
That's enough."
:'Care to state them for the record?"
No. This is off the record, Donatelli. The President is too
busy to concern himself about this incident. But the time line is
very tight. There are people in the military that believe some
immediate action is important."
:'And the President disagrees?"
'He believes in open negotiations, compromise."
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 259
"So the President isn't prepared to respond with military
force. I take it there is someone-"
"This isn't a damned interview, Marty. I've gone too far
with you as it is. I think you've got everything you need." She
chased the ball toward the back wall, then casually opened the
door. Marcia Preston immediately appeared, her racquet in one
hand and her gym bag in the other. She took a towel out of the
gym bag, tossed it to her boss, then went to the Plexiglas-
covered lockers in the left wall of the court, opened one, and
stood there watching Donatelli. The threat of the machine pis-
tol in her bag was beyond Donatelli, but the look on her face
was not.
"Marcia, you're beautiful," Marty said with a contrived
leer. "We have to get together some time." Marcia gave him
nothing.
"Better put your paper to bed, Marty," O'Day said, holding
the door open for him. Donatelli nodded and moved toward the
door. Just before he exited he turned to her: "Any chance of us
putting something else to bed?"
"I think we use each other enough as it is, Marty. Good-
bye. "
"Sounds to me like you may need a friend in the fourth estate
soon, Ms. O'Day," he said.
"Marty, watch your middle and your blood pressure. 'Bye."
After he left, she closed the door and began to bat the ball
around again. As she did Preston reached into her gym bag and
flicked the OFF switch on a micro-tape recorder with a high-
power directional microphone installed in the bag.
"Did you get everything?" O'Day asked as she returned a
tricky comer bounce.
"Yes, but what good is it if anything about this conversation
gets out? You lose your career, it will enhance his."
"If it gets out that Marty Donatelli can't protect his sources,
his sources will dry up and he knows it. And there goes his
Pulitzer Prize career. That tape proves that I gave him stuff only
off the record and not for attribution. If he violates that, he's
dead in this town."
"You're still taking some awfully big risks."
"I believe it's necessary, Marcia. The Taylor administration
only reacts to situations. He wants to put his DreamStar incident
on the back burner, take the easy way until it's too late . he
260 DALE BROWN
and his New York buddies need a push to get them going. I just
hope to hell it's in time."
The Kremlin, Moscow, USSR
Friday, 19 June 1996, 0600 EET (Thursday, 2200 EDT)
"I assure you," Kalinin said to the General Secretary, "events
occurred so quickly in this operation that there was no time to
inform you."
Kalinin had already spent the better part of an hour in the
General Secretary's office, telling the weary leader about the
DreamStar operation. Now the General Secretary was clenching
and unclenching his hands, shaking his head as he reviewed what
Kalinin had told him.
"There were only two days between when we learned of the
cancellation of the DreamStar project and when our man took
the fighter," Kalinin continued. "It was as much Colonel Mar-
aklov's initiative as it was a directive from my office-"
"Be silent, Kalinin. Just be quiet. I do not want to hear
your excuses for irresponsible behavior. I need to think about
how this will be explained and handled."
"I am, of course, entirely to blame for these events, sir,"
Kalinin said-perhaps a complete admission of guilt, he
thought, could smooth things over--but now th at it has been
dealt, we should play this hand to its conclusion. We must
see to it that the fighter is brought here as quickly as possi-
ble.
"I see. Have you gone completely crazy? Do you think the
U. will not perhaps object to having the KGB steal one of
their top-secret fighters?"
"Sir, I am not thinking of the Americans," Kalinin said. "I
am thinking of Russia. We had the opportunity to take the air-