the aircraft shelter, then checked the ammunition in his pistol.
Three shots left. Two for any curious spectators that decided to
investigate-and perhaps one for himself.
He sat down in front of DreamStar's nose gear, peering up
over the edge of the semirecessed parking stub, waiting for any-
one to approach. After ten minutes there was still no sign of
activity. Either no one had heard the shots-unlikely-or no one
cared enough to interfere.
Maraklov felt a rush of excitement. He had snatched
DreamStar out of the hands of the Americans once more, just as
he had done back in Drearnland. This fighter was destined to be
his. More than ever, he felt it must be.
He ran out the back of the shelter toward the perimeter fence,
checking for any sign of intruders or surveillance. He went to
where he had hidden the cases containing his flight suit and
helmet and quickly brought them back to the shelter. He checked
the perimeter once more-once he had the metallic flight suit on,
it was going to be impossible for him to defend himself. The
aircraft shelter had a set of steel doors that could be motored in
place, but Maraklov h ad no choice but to keep them open-there
was no one alive to open them again.
No matter. In two hours, perhaps less, he'd be airborne, head-
ing away from this damned place, once and for all.
Maraklov dragged the aluminum cases up onto the service
platform beside the cockpit, then climbed up the ladder and be-
gan opening them. Already, he was beginning the deep-breathing
exercises that would relax his body, open his mind and allow
the electronic neural interface to begin. In fi ve minutes he had
stripped down, put on the pair of thin cotton underwear, and
began connecting the fiber-optic electrical connections between
the suit and helmet and from -the suit and helmet to the interface
inside the cockpit. He could feel the familiar, soothing body
cues beginning to wash over him as he entered the first level of
alpha-state, the primary self-hypnosis level of his mental relax-
ation. Coincidentally, this alpha-state was helping to block out
the throbbing pain in his shoulder and calm the quivering in his
muscles as adrenaline began to be dissipated from his blood-
stream.
He opened DrearnStar's canopy and climbed inside. No longer
needing the platform, he unlatched and collapsed it, then kicked
458 DALE BROWN
it away as hard as he could. The ladder rolled across the stub,
hit the revetment wall and fortunately did not roll back toward
DreamStar's wings or canards.
Next he activated DreamStar's internal battery power and did
a fast system self-test to make sure he had all the connections
right-the self-test reported fully functional and ready to receive
computer commands. The test also reported on any ground saf-
ing pins, access panels, or covers out of place. The standby
gauges read full tanks, full twenty-millimeter ammunition drum
and connectivity with the four remaining air-to-air missiles.
DreamStar was ready for engine start as soon as the ANTARES
interface was completed.
Finally, standing on the ejection seat, Maraklov began to put
on the flight suit. He had thought it would be impossible to do
it without help, but it was turning out to be less of a problem
than he'd anticipated. In twenty minutes he had put on and ad-
justed the sixty-pound suit, then carefully lowered himself into
the ejection seat and fastened as many body restraints as he could.
The suit was not designed for free range of motion-it resisted
any movements that departed from the normal cockpit flight po-
sition-but he was soon strapped in tight.
After a few moments of concentration he had his breathing
back to normal, then well below normal as he reentered full
alpha-state hypnosis. Still no sign of interference as he closed
his eyes to begin the progressively deeper levels of self-hypnosis.
Soon, DreamStar would be his once more. And he would be
DreamStar's . . .
"Mayday, Mayday, Mayday, Air Force helicopter Triple-Echo
Three-Four on GUARD frequency, twenty miles east of Lecus
Southeast airport at two thousand feet. We are a United States
Air Force military flight. Three on board plus three casualties,
seven thousand pounds of fuel, heading two-niner-zero degrees
magnetic toward Buena Vista airport at one hundred knots. En-
gine and electrical damage and uncontrollable fuel loss. Request-
ing search and rescue meet us along southern Honduran border
south of Puerto Lempira. Emergency. Please respond. Over. "
There was no reply. The pilot repeated the call on both UHF
and VHF GUARD emergency frequencies.
"Nothing from the Nicaraguan military?" McLanahan asked.
"It's like they all disappeared off the face of the earth," the
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 459
pilot said. "When we crossed the border into Nicaragua, they
were all over us every second. Now they don't even answer a
distress call. "
"They might not hear you," Briggs said, checking the over-
head circuit-breaker panels. "Your radio panel looks like it might
be damaged. " The pilot kept trying. Briggs moved up beside
McLanahan, who was scanning a chart and keeping track of their
progress. "Patrick . . . LC. . . . he's had it."
The chart dropped from his lap. His mouth turned dry as sand.
His fingers trembled. "Jesus, no - . ." He shut his eyes. " ,
JC., darnmit . . . " His only immediate relief was to allow the
grief to overflow into blinding rage at Maraklov. That sonofa-
bitch was going to pay, somehow, he was going to pay . . .
McLanahan's anger was disrupted by a hard thump and a low-
frequency vibration that began to echo through the helicopter.
The pilot tapped him on the shoulder. "Behind your seat, in the
survival kit, there's a hand-held radio." He was also struggling
against a sudden vibration that shook the entire helicopter. "We
were briefed to use rescue channel alpha on this mission. See if
you can raise anyone with that." But before Briggs could re-
trieve the kit the chopper took a steep dive. The pilot had to pull
with all his strength on the collective to keep the helicopter air-
borne.
"I'm losing it fast," the pilot said. "I've gotta set it down.
McLanahan picked up the chart and relocated their position.
"Try to make it across the Rio Coco river into Honduras. No
way we want to go down in Nicaragua."
The pilot shook his head. "I don't know how far we can go
but I'll try. You two better strap in. " McLanahan stuck the chart
in a flight-suit pocket. Briggs grabbed the survival kit, found a
seat between the bodies on the chopper's aft deck and strapped
in.
Somehow the helicopter did manage to stay intact for ten more
minutes. McLanahan directed the pilot farther west toward a
road leading northeast, and the pilot found it just as a yellow
caution light lit up on the front instrument p
anel. "She's seizing
up, " the pilot said. "We can't autorotate with all these trees
around us. We land now or crash."
Following the road as best they could, they glided in over the
forests, searching for a clearing. They found a bend in the road,
and the pilot headed for it. He had timed it well. The Dolphin
460 DALE BROWN
hit the road, hard, just as the overspeed safety system in the
chopper's transmission automatically uncoupled the rotor.
. "Out! " the pilot yelled, cutting off fuel and power and acti-
vating the automatic fire-extinguishing system. "Form up off the
nose. Fast. " The three men dashed from the helicopter and ran
a hundred yards away from the chopper, then turned and waited
for an explosion or fire. Smoke billowed from the engine and
power-train compartment behind the cockpit, but there was no
explosion or fire. The three collapsed on the driest spot they
could find beside the road, too weak from fear, tension, and
worn-off adrenaline to stand any longer.
After a few silent minutes McLanahan unfolded the chart he
had stuck in his flight suit and pointed to the bend in the road.
"Here we are, I think, about three or four miles from this town,
Auka. Puerto Lempira is about twenty-five miles by this road. Hal,
see if you can raise someone on the survival radio." Briggs got
out the radio, set it to emergency channel alpha and GUARD and
began calling for help.
"I got Puerto Lernpira, " Briggs said a few moments
later. "Storm Control, this is Air Force helicopter Triple-Echo
Three-Four. You are weak and barely readable. We are down
zero-three miles south of town of Auka. Requesting pickup for
three souls and three fatalities. Over." He listened for a few
moments, made a few responses and orders for priority assis-
tance, signed off.
"Our base says they don't have another helicopter at Puerto
Lernpira, " Briggs said. "They've called for one from La Cieba.
They might be able to get one from private companies but we
can expect at least an hour before pickup, maybe ninety minutes.
We have to get to Auka, then find a clearing and vector the
chopper in. That's the soonest they can make it."
"Too damn long," McLanahan said. "Maraklov will be off
in DreamStar before then. We've got to get hold of Elliott and
tell him to set up the air cordon again."
"What about fighters from Puerto Lernpira?" Briggs asked.
"Don't you have that F-15E there any more?"
"They withdrew it to the States when the Russians cut their
deal. We had to take down the whole air cordon out of the
Cayman Islands as a sign of good faith. Let's just secure the
chopper and get moving."
As they headed back to the Dolphin, McLanahan asked Briggs
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 461
if General Elliott wasn't supposed to be on his way to Puerto
Lempira. by now.
"Should be."
"You think you can set up a patch with General Elliott through
Puerto Lempira? He can get the air cordon put back up around
Nicaragua-at least get the AWACS back up there to watch for
DreamStar when it heads out - "
"I can try. Reception is pretty poor from here but at least I
can get the ball rolling." He began another call to Puerto Lem-
pira as they walked. When they got to the Dolphin, McLanahan
and the chopper pilot locked up the helicopter while Briggs stayed
in as much clearing as he could find to maintain radio contact
with the Honduran military base.
"No good," Briggs said as McLanahan and the chopper pilot
joined him on the road heading toward Auka. "Can't raise the
base any more. We'll have to wait until we get to Auka and find
a telephone, or just get to a clearing where we've got a straight
shot to Puerto Lempira.
McLanahan muttered as they set off on a fast walk. "After
everything . . . . . . Maraklov is still going to get away
with DrearnStar? And there's nothing we can do to stop him?"
Over the Caribbean Sea
Monday, 22 June 1996, 0748 CDT
"What the hell was that?" General Elliott said into his earset
microphone. He was on a JC.-21B military Learjet en route from
Georgetown in the Cayman Islands to La Cieba, where he would
pick up@a helicopter from there to Puerto Lempira. The relief
he'd felt as he left Grand Cayman to see DrearnStar safe and
sound in U. hands was shattered once again. "Say again that
last transmission."
"Message received from a Major Briggs, crewmember aboard
Air Force helicopter Triple-Echo Three-Four," the communi-
cations man said. "Briggs requested immediate emergency as-
sistance. He said his helicopter was down four miles south of
Auka, approximately thirty miles south of Puerto Lernpira. He
reported three survivors and three fatalities."
"Oh, God," Elliot muttered. Over the radio he said, "When
did the rescue chopper depart?"
462 DALE BROWN
"We dispatched your HH-3 from La Cieba immediately after
receiving the call," the operator replied. "ETA to Auka is 0815
local. "
"From La Cieba? That was the only chopper available?"
"Affirmative, sir. "
Elliott slammed a fist against the JC.-2 I's front instrument con-
what happened?"
"We lost contact shortly afterward, sir," the operator re-
ported. "He was calling in on a rescue channel, apparently using
a hand-held survival radio. I think he's been trying to call us but
we can't pick him up."
Elliott clicked on the JC.-2 I's interphone and turned to Marine
Corps Major Marcia Preston, National Security Adviser Debo-
rah O'Day's aide and the JC.-21's pilot. "Major, head toward
Puerto Lempira airbase instead of La Cieba at best possible
speed. We'll fly near where Briggs went down and try to find
out what's going on."
"Yes, General." The JC.-21 jet banked left as Preston took up
a rough heading to the Honduran airbase, then began calling up
the base's coordinates on the inertial navigation unit and calling
La Cieba air traffic control for a change in her flight plan.
Elliott left his seat and went back to sit with Curtis and O'Day.
They had flown from Washington to the Cayman Islands after
the deal had, they thought, been set to recover the XF-34, and
Elliott had gone along with them in the JC.-21 for the flight to
Honduras. "We've got a big problem," Elliott told them. "My
security chief Briggs is on the ground in Honduras with two
other survivors and three casualties from our recovery party. No
other information. There's a chopper on the way, but it won't
arrive for another forty-five minutes-"
"What are we going to do, Brad?" O'Day asked.
"I want to get in contact with Briggs soonest-he's on a sur-
vival radio and our people at Puerto Lempira lost contact. I've
told Marcia to head over to where the pickup point will be and
we'll try to contact Briggs ourself.'
&
nbsp; "What the hell do you make of it?" Curtis said.
"Not enough infon-nation to tell, but we'll act on what you
guys like to call worst-case scenario . . . they tried to make the
swap for DreamStar, the Russians reneged, shot up our chopper
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 463
and our people. Major Briggs and whoever's with him managed
to get away across the border but not all the way back to base."
"So that means the Russians still have DrearnStar," O'Day
said. "And if they reneged on the deal and went so far as to
attack our people, they'll probably be trying to get it out of the
country as fast as they can."
"And there's very damned little we can do about it," Elliott
said. "We've got no assets close enough to stop them. We've
still got the AWACS and some of the F- l6s in the Cayman Islands,
but we'd have to get a tanker from Puerto Rico or Florida down
here to support us-that'll take a few hours at least. The two F- 15E
ground-attack fighters we brought to Honduras are on their way
back to Arizona. We've got some Honduran ground-attack planes,
but if the Honduran air force gets into the act we'll start a war in
Central America. The President will never go for it . Elliott
paused for a moment, then: "Cheetah .
I 'What? "
"Cheetah. My modified F-15F fighter. It's down in Puerto
Lempira-Powell and McLanahan flew it back to the States and
then back to Honduras. It can do both air-to-air and ground
attack.
"But you said that McLanahan and Powell went on this mis-
sion into Nicaragua. That means-"
"That means that one or both of them may be dead," O'Day
said. "Can't anyone else fly it?"
Elliott rubbed his throbbing right leg-the developing head-
ache he had was starting to rival the pain in his leg. "It's like
asking if anyone can race in the Indianapolis 500. Sure, anyone
can drive the cars, and you might even survive the race without
killing yourself. But only a very few can reall race in it
Only a few people can fly Cheetah well enough even to have a
chance of getting DreamStar," Elliott said gloomily. "Most of
them, my senior test pilots, are two thousand miles away in