"You know we're all thinking of her . . . How you doing?"
"Okay . . . I was watching the news and heard this story-"
"I know which one you mean," Elliott interrupted. "We need
to discuss it. If you feel up to it, make your way to the electronic
security command post at Kelly. I'll leave instructions on how
you can contact me directly."
"I'll get out there as soon-"
"Listen, Patrick. You don't have to do this. If you thinv you
shouldn't leave-"
"I won't know anything more about Wendy for several hours,
she's stable now .
Things were obviously happening fast, he thought. There was
no telling what sort of aircraft Elliott was in-it was very pos-
sible for him to be in some emergency airborne command post,
much like his former Strategic Air Command position in the
Airborne Command and Control Squadron, ready to take charge
of a wide array of military forces. He was probably right on the
scene of whatever happened in the Caribbean earlier that day.
But should he leave Wendy now? If she could, she would tell
him that even now, with DreamStar in enemy hands, he was still
the key in the DreamStar program. At least his place was with
the people trying to get DreamStar back, not wringing his hands
and letting self-pity take over . "I'll be there in a half hour,
sir. "
"I'll be waiting for your call. Barrier out."
He hurried back to the ICU nurse's station, grabbed a piece
of paper and wrote a number on it. When the duty nurse came
over he gave her a number to call in case of any change in
Wendy's condition. "Tell the controller anything you have, this
is my command post number, they'll-"
"I'm sorry, sir, we're only allowed to contact you in person.
We can't leave any message in situations like-"
7-
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 367
"Then get your supervisor over here. I'm tired of people
around here telling me what I have to do or should do or can
do. Do you follow me?"
The nurse reached over and took the slip of paper. "I'll take
care of it, sir. "
"Thank you. Remember, any news at all.
Sebaco Airfield, Nicaragua
Saturday, 20 June 1996, 1 735 CDT
Maraklov woke up with the most crushing headache he had ever
had-the pain this time so great that the slightest movement of
his head or the least bit of light penetrating the room made ev-
erything spin. It was severe dehydration, as always. It was like
a fierce case of cotton-mouth and hangover after an all-night
drunk-the ANTARES interface soaked up vast amounts of wa-
ter and essential minerals from his tissues to facilitate the
computer-neuron connection, causing the sickness except this
was far far worse. This was the second time he had been taken
unconscious from DreamStar's cockpit-it was getting very un-
nerving. He decided not to rush things, but lay in bed quietly
with his eyes closed and tried to will the pain away.
A few minutes later he heard voices and footsteps. They were
talking in Russian. They did not try to knock before entering,
but came right in. Maraklov decided to pretend to be asleep.
"So this is the great pilot?" one voice was saying.
"After today, who can tell?" the other said. "He is the only
one who returns out of six aircraft-either he is very lucky or he
let the others do the fighting for him.
"Check his arm, check the drip against your wristwatch, then
administer ten JC..JC..'s of-- Maraklov could not understand the
word--if he is not conscious . . ."
Ten JC..JC..'s . . . ? Maraklov experimentally flexed each arm
and felt the stiff tubules and dull pain of an intravenous needle
in his left arm. He quickly opened his eyes. There was a plastic
bottle with clear liquid I suspended over his head to his left. His
left arm was taped onto a stiff plastic board, and an intravenous
tube ran into a vein in the crook of his elbow. His eyes focused
just in time to see a white-jacketed man injecting something into
his intravenous feeding tube with a hypodermic needle.
368 DALE BROWN
"Hey, Karl, he's awake - - - "
With strength Maraklov thought he wasn't capable of, he drew
his legs up to his chest, swung around to his left, planted his
feet on the white-coated man with the hypodermic and kicked
out as hard as he could. The man stumbled back and crashed
against the far wall, slipping to the floor.
"Easy, easy . . . " The other man threw himself over Mar-
aklov and tried to pin his arms and legs down. Maraklov brought
the thick edge of the plastic board down on his right temple. He
was still struggling but the blow had taken a lot of fight out of
him. Maraklov sat up, forcing away the rush of dizziness, rolled
away from the second attacker and struggled to his feet. When
the entire room seemed to sway Maraklov dropped to one knee
and tried to steady himself.
Two arms suddenly reached around him from behind and
pinned his arms to his sides. -0 myenya, Ivan, I have him,
get-"
Maraklov bent his head forward, then snapped it backward as
hard as he could. He heard bone and cartilage splinter as the
man's nose took the full force of the blow. Still on one knee,
Maraklov braced himself against the bed and shoved backward.
The man landed hard on his-back. Maraklov rolled away from
him, giving him a chop to the throat. He found a chair, and held
it between the second attacker and himself-using it as much for
balance as for self-defense.
The second man was done. "Stoy, stoy, " he said, holding up
his hands. Maraklov had never seen him before.
Suddenly the door to his room opened and Musi Zaykov and
two KGB Border Guards appeared, all with rifles trained on the
three men. Musi was the first one in. She scanned the room,
then: "Colonel Maraklov, are you all right?" She saw the blood
seeping from his left arm, shouldered her rifle, turned to one of
the guards. "Pazavetya vrachya. Skaryeye! Call a doctor. Be
quick!" She went over to Maraklov, took a towel from the bed-
nd the point where the I. V. needle had
stand and wrapped it arou
come out.
"What happened, Colonel?"
"These men . . . never saw them before . . . shooting me up
with something . - - "
Zaykov finished tightly wrapping Maraklov's arm, then helped
him back into bed. As he collapsed onto the pillow she checked
the two men. The unconscious one was being checked over by
one of the Border Guards.
"Karl Rodovnin, " the KGB soldier said. "He is badly hurt.
Zaykov turned toward the second man. "What are you doing
in here, Boroscheivisch?"
"Administering an injection," the orderly said. "We checked
his intravenous needle and were administering his mineral so-
lution into his drip meter when the guy goes berserk."
"I've found the hypodermic, Lieutenant, " one of the guards
said, holding the plastic syringe. "It's still f
ull and intact."
"Take it and that bag of solution to the infirmary," Zaykov
ordered, pointing to the overturned plastic bag of clear liquid
seeping onto the floor. "Have them analyze it. I want to know
what's in it. Boroschelvisch, you are under arrest. Take him and
Rodovnin into custody."
Zaykov turned back to Maraklov. She had not seen him in
several days because he was involved in the preparations for
taking the XF-34 to Cuba-and she had never expected to see
him again when he left. But even in the brief time they had been
apart, the changes in the man were frightening. He looked old,
emaciated, pale skin stretched over cheekbones, hollow eyes,
thinning hair. "Andrei .
She could feel his body stiffen. He stared in shock at Zaykov.
"Janet?
Musi looked puzzled. Janet? The name was somehow farnil-
iar, and she scanned her memory trying to make the connection.
Nothing. Perhaps someone Andrei knew in the United States . . .
"Andrei, it's Musi Zaykov."
His tongue moved across cracked lips. Slowly, his eyes
seemed to focus on her instead of some shadowy figure in the
distance, and he now seemed to recognize the woman sitting
beside him. "Musi . . . ?"
"Yes, you will be all right."
He seemed to relax, let himself fall limp against the pillow,
his breath coming in shallow gasps. "Water." Zaykov poured
a glass of lukewarm water for him and held the glass as he
drank. She soaked a towel and wiped sweat off his face and
chest.
"What happened?"
"I don't know. I woke up and saw those guys shooting some-
thing into the 1. V. I guess I panicked."
370 DALE BROWN
"I should say," Zaykov said with a wry smile. "You almost
killed Rodovnin. I am having the syringe and the intravenous
solution analyzed, and Rodovnin and Boroschelvisch are in cus
tody. The doctor will also tell us if he ordered an intravenous
feeding for you. I wasn't notified of it."
He rolled painfully up out of bed, taking deep breaths, trying
to force his equilibrium back to normal, then turned angrily to
Zaykov. " I don't want any more damned I.'s stuck into me - "
"The doctor obviously felt it was necessary, you are so de-
hydrated--
"I said no more I.'s." He got carefully to his feet and began
to test the strength of his legs. She was shocked at the appear-
ance of his body-he looked as if he had lost well over seven
kilograms since she had first seen him. Ribs and joints pro-
truded, and his muscles, once lean and powerful, looked stringy,
weak. "My body recovers just fine with rest, vitamins and wa-
ter," he told her. "I've never needed intravenous fluids before."
"And I have never seen you so thin before, Andrei. Perhaps
the doctor was right-"
"I'm thin because the food around here is lousy. Hasn't
the KGB ever heard of steaks? The only protein around here is
from chicken and beans. Back in Vegas you could get a twenty
ounce steak dinner for five bucks. You could eat like a pig for
nothing
Maraklov paused, resting a hand on the bedstand. He half-
turned to Musi. "Vegas," he said shaking his head. "It seems
like a century ago." Actually it was only a few days.
"Las Vegas is not your life any more, Andrei. It never was
"Then what is my life? When do I get to live my life? When
I arrive in the Soviet Union? I think we both know my life will
be anything but mine back in Russia - - ."
Musi had seen this before but never believed it could happen
to a man as gifted and professional as Colonel Andrei Maraklov.
It was more than the sickness caused by that machine he flew.
It was common among turncoats, traitors, double agents, in-
formers, even hostages held for long periods of time who began
to identify with their captors. The feeling of profound loneliness,
aloneness, invades even the strongest men, the feeling that no
one trusted you then, that no one really wanted or cared about
you then. But Andrei Maraklov's situation was very different.
He had been a Soviet agent pretending to become an American-
actually two Americans, as a boy and as a man. Now he had to
leave that pail of his life and revert back to a strange new world.
It was supposed to be his world, but it was now as alien-in a
way more so-as America was to the young Russian teenager so
long ago.
As a young graduate of the Connecticut Academy years ago,
deep-cover agent reorientation and surveillance had been one of
Musi Zaykov's first assignments. She had been trained in study-
ing the men and women who had returned from deep-cover as-
signments, analyzing them emotionally, seeking out any lingering
loyalties to their former lives or resentments toward their new
ones. Although the personalities were always different, their
emotional roller-coaster rides were riot. She had hoped Andrei
would be different, stronger, better balanced. She was wrong.
Hopelessness, paranoia, anger, loneliness, guilt, even impo-
tence-all common symptoms.
The intravenous solutions and injections would all check out,
she was sure of that. They would find no trace of contamination,
no evidence of conspiracy. Rodovnin and Boroschelvisch would
Maraklov had already made complaints about the food-that
was typical. He had also complained about the Soviet worker's
sloppiness and inefficiency, about shortcomings in the Soviet
government, about his new military commanders, about his
clothing, water and surroundings. Telling stories about his for-
mer environment, making comparisons, was also to be expected.
Unfortunately, so was violence.
The instructors at the Connecticut Academy suggested that the
closer one could get to the repatriated man or woman, the better
the transition would be. Strong emotional ties often resulted-
but they could be negative or positive emotions. The "handler"
was often the target of the repatriated person's rage as well as
his or her love and trust. In this case it was easier to accept
Maraklov's love-she hoped that she would not have to bear his
hate as well.
She had thought about the Connecticut Academy several times
in just the past few minutes, while in the past few years she had
hardly given that place even a passing thought. What was it
about that place . . . ?
"Andrei, please believe what I say," Musi said, "your coun
try wants you back. They need you back. You will be the guid-
372 DALE BROWN
ing force of an entire new generation of soldiers and citizens.
You will be honored and respected wherever you go. And it has
nothing to do with that machine out there. Military secrets are
the most transient of all. It will be your strength, your courage,
your determination and your patriotism that make you a hero to
our people, not that plane out there."
"That's bullshit," he said, turning away from her. "They
want
me because of what I know, not because of what I'm sup-
posed to be."
"That's only partly true," she said. "Of course, the knowl-
edge you possess is important, even vital to our national defense
and security. Naturally, imparting that knowledge will be your
primary function when you return. But your usefulness as a man
and as a Russian will not end with that. " She moved toward
him and put a hand on his shoulder. "I can prove it to you,
Andrei.
'How?"
"Come back with me. Right now. Leave the airplane here-
Maraklov spun around. "Leave it? Here?"
"You are killing yourself every time you fly it, " she said.
"Look at yourself. It drains you like some kind of electronic
parasite. It will kill you if you continue. Leave it. I can order a
transport to take us to Moscow in the morning. Take whatever
you want from the aircraft-its most vital computers, diagrams,
memory tapes, whatever. Or take nothing. The aircraft is in the
hands of the KGB. You have done your duty-now let them do
theirs. Come back with me to Russia and I guarantee you, you
will be treated like the national hero you are."
He stared at her, apparently considering her words. Her mes-
sage finally seemed to be getting through to him, she thought.
He was finally beginning to believe her . . .
"So that's it," Maraklov said. "You don't think I can de-
liver. That's it, isn't it? The Politburo doesn't think I can
deliver DreamStar-"
"No, Andrei, that is not-"
"They don't want me flying DreamStar any more," he con-
tinued angrily. "They never did. I delivered it. They think they
can debrief me and get rid of me. Now you want me to go back
to Russia immediately. Bring him back before he snaps, is that
what they said? Pick his brain before he freaks. Is that it?"
"Of course not-"
"Lady, I am the only hope of getting that bird out of here in
one piece. They don't have a chance without me."
"I know that, Andrei," she said. "If they want to get the
fighter out of Nicaragua you must fly it. But there is a very good
possibility that they will not want to fly the aircraft out of Nic-
aragua."