Day of the Cheetah

by Dale Brown

  "If you'd check your mailbox or put your phone on the hook

  you'd hear about these minor news flashes-"

  "What the hell are you joking around about?" James' hands

  were on the colonel's desk. "Who canceled the project? Why?"

  "The project was officially canceled by the Air Force this

  meaning, " McLanahan said wearily. He picked up a red-colored

  folder containing a single message-letter. "There are too many

  gaps in the scientists' knowledge of ANTARES to justify fund-

  ing . . . at least in the opinion of the top brass. The flying phase

  of the project is being canceled until the gaps get filled in .

  James stared at McLanahan. "What do you mean, gaps? I can

  make it work. I don't get it - . - "

  "The bottom line is that there's still only one person who can

  fly DreamStar-and that's you. can't fly it, at least not

  128 DALE BROWN

  past anything more complicated than takeoff and landing. I've

  been trying to learn how to use it and I flunked. Carmichael and

  his lab can't really say why it works with you and so far not

  with anyone else. After my last flight in the ANTARES Simu-

  lator,"

  "You were flying in the simulator?" He sounded as if the

  colonel had committed a major trespass on his territory, his baby.

  "You tried to fly ANTARES? Why? I'm DrearnStar's pilot,

  you're the project director, you-"

  "I've been training in ANTARES for several months. I

  thought I had it down, but-"

  "That wasn't a very smart idea, Colonel," James said. His

  voice was not sympathetic. "ANTARES can be very unpredict-

  able . . . "

  "Yeah, it damn near killed him," Powell put in.

  "So you submitted a report saying that ANTARES was dan-

  gerous, and headquarters canceled the project?"

  "That's not the way it went down, Ken. The project was

  slated to lose its flight-phase funding at the end of this fiscal

  year. The cancellation was going to happen anyway. My . . .

  accident only moved up the timetable a few months."

  James turned away, tried to control himself, but his mind was

  working overtime in its reaction to this information. He had just

  told Kramer and Moffitt that everything was going as planned,

  that he was even going to countermand the KGB's order to steal

  DreamStar . . . Now the project was going to be canceled. The

  KGB would never believe that he didn't know about the cancel-

  lation. His creditability would be totally destroyed-they would

  think he was double-crossing them for sure.

  "Sony, Ken," McLanahan was saying, "but it seems like

  they only needed an excuse to shut it down .

  "What will happen to us?"

  "We're reforming the Cheetah ATF program. will be

  the senior pilot. I imagine they'll ask you to stay on in the AN-

  TARES project. They'll want to continue their research in the

  laboratory . . . "

  "I won't fly any more?"

  "Only enough for flight-time currency. You'll get your re-

  quired twenty hours a calendar quarter in the T-45A trainer, plus

  a lot of time in the ANTARES simulator. You'll .

  "You mean I'll be reduced to a guinea pig?"

  "I don't think you have any choice, Ken," Powell said. "Be-

  ing the only guy who can fly DreamStar can be a curse as well

  as a blessing. Carmichael and his people need you to continue

  their research. They can't figure out how to teach others to learn

  the ANTARES interface unless they figure out how you accom-

  plished it."

  Things were going to hell very, very quickly, James thought.

  "How soon before we stop flight operations? Will there at least

  be time for one more flight?" And added quickly, "I hate to

  see it go out this way . - - "

  McLanahan rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "I

  had to fight like crazy to get Air Force to agree to let us complete

  the weapons-mating test. They wouldn't buy off on any more

  flight tests, though. Absolutely no way."

  "But they are going to finish the mating test?

  "They've been working all weekend on it," Powell said.

  "They should have it finished by tonight or tomorrow morning

  and then start offloading the Scorpion missiles right after that. I

  wanted to get some pictures of DreamStar with Scorpion missiles

  on it-it may be the only time we'll see that for years."

  The weapons-mating test-James had his answer . . . "What

  a waste, Colonel," he said, trying hard to act more subdued

  while formulating his plan . "An incredible waste. All this

  time, all this effort . - - "

  McLanahan started shuffling papers, a wordless signal to both

  pilots that the meeting was over, he had nothing more to say.

  "One thing's for sure," Powell said to James as they headed

  for the door. "You'll go down in the books as the first pilot of

  a thought-controlled aircraft."

  James only murmured something and nodded. His mind was

  a long way away-on plans for the last flight of DreamStar.

  Unlike most times, it was still light outside when McLanahan

  returned home that evening. Still more unusual was finding that

  he had actually beat Wendy home-but then he heard a faint

  sound from the bedroom. He opened the door and found her

  sitting cross-legged on the bed, her arms pulling her knees to

  her chest. She had the shades drawn and the room was in dark-

  ness-she must have overridden the automatic lights.

  "Wendy? What's wrong? How long have you been here?"

  "Not long . . . how do you feel?"

  130 DALE BROWN

  "I feel fine ... anything wrong?"

  "No."

  No tears in her voice, no sadness, but it was hardly like her

  to coop herself up like this. "Why are you sitting here in the

  dark?

  "Thinking.

  'About what?"

  She remained curled up, staring toward the windows.

  He put the light switch back on AUTo and the lights snapped

  on. He sat down beside her. "All right, Wendy. What's going

  on?" Still no answer. "Something at work? Something with the

  Old Dog project?"

  ". . . I had my flight physical this morning."

  The smile disappeared from his face. "All right, enough damn

  mystery. Out with it." And then he saw the pamphlet in the

  wicker wastebasket beside the bed. Even upside down and crum-

  pled he could read the title: "Facts About Your .

  "Pregnancy? You're pregnant?"

  She looked apologetic. "Patrick, this is all wrong . . . I'm

  sorry-"

  "Sorry? What are you sorry about?"

  :'This . . . that . . . oh, damn . . . "

  'Wendy, you're babbling. Tell me what in the world you're

  so sorry about."

  "I don't want you to think that I . . . I did this on purpose,

  trapping you or something-"

  "Of course I don't think that." He slid over and put his arms

  around her. "Don't be silly, I'm trying to absorb it, but I'm

  delighted- "

  She seemed to stiffen. She backed away and looked at him,

  hard and long. "Do you mean it? Because if you're just saying

  it-"

  "Of course
I do. Hey, I love you .

  She collapsed in his arms. "I was so worried . . . afraid you'd

  think I was trying the last dodge-"

  He shut her up by kissing her. "Like I said, I happen to love

  you, I want you and I want our son . . . daughter . And he

  began to kiss her again.

  She pulled herself free. "I want you to make sure, Patrick.

  This is so important-"

  "Then it's settled. Let's go.

  "Go? Go where,?"

  "Downtown. "

  "Downtown? Why do you want to-?" And then she under-

  stood.

  "We're living in Las Vegas, a lot of people get married

  here every year, some even at nine o'clock on a Monday eve-

  ning- -

  "What about ... ?

  "Family? My mother's gone, and my brothers and sisters will

  be thrilled-relieved I finally got my act together and married

  you after all these years. What about your parents? You need to

  decide, Wendy. It's up to you .

  Her answer was to reach out to him and draw him to her .

  all the answer he needed.

  At eleven o'clock, Maraklov left the Silver Dollar casino on Las

  Vegas' Fremont Street and made his way to the taxi stand down

  the block near a twenty-four-hour wedding chapel. He searched

  up and down the long line of taxis, then carefully checked around

  him. Satisfied, he ambled down the line of taxis until he was

  beside one that had its roof light off, signifying that it was al-

  ready hired.

  Maraklov got into the front seat of the cab.

  "Well, well, General Big-Shot," Moffitt greeted him.

  "Dobriy vyechyer . . . looks like you have some sort of a

  problem-"

  "Stuff it, Moffitt." He turned toward Kramer, sitting in the

  back seat of the cab with a copy of the Wall Street Journal.

  "They're deactivating the DreamStar project. In two days."

  Kramer appeared not to have heard him. "Did you hear what I

  said? "

  "I do not think he believes you, tovarisch," Moffitt said.

  "Speak English, asshole. Better yet, keep your trap shut.

  Kramer, listen to me. We've got to get DreamStar out of Ne-

  vada."

  He did not look up from his paper.

  Maraklov grabbed the newspaper away from Kramer and

  crumpled it up. "What the hell's wrong with you, Kramer?"

  "With me? Nothing is wrong, Captain-except I have just

  conveyed your previous message to Moscow, how you have

  countermanded their order. Now, you tell me that you were

  132 DALE BROWN

  wrong and that the KGB's original plan must be implemented.

  Am I now supposed to happily embrace your idea?"

  " Hey, I just found out about this today. The damned project

  director was screwing around in the simulator and got himself

  hurt. He filed his report-"

  "And the Joint Chiefs canceled the project," Kramer inter-

  rupted, "overriding the Air Force's recommendation for lower

  levels of activity.

  "You know about this?"

  "We heard about the Pentagon's recommendation over the

  weekend," Kramer said. "Our superiors contacted us immedi-

  ately, wanting us to explain the disparity between your conten-

  tions and the announcement. I could offer none."

  "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

  "We needed time to evaluate the situation," Kramer said.

  "Besides, your phone was not working." He had had it off the

  hook all weekend, afraid of contact with anyone that might have

  seen Kramer and Moffitt at his apartment. "But it did not matter.

  We knew you would contact us tonight."

  "Well, this new development changes things, makes your

  original plan not only necessary but, if I can pull it off, one that

  will give us a significant advantage. They stop, we go on . . . I

  think it can be done. I'll need refueling support, somewhere in

  Mexico. I won't know exactly where or when, so you'll have to

  be flexible. Arrange for a transport plane carrying fuel and sup-

  plies. You said you had some private company in Mexico, noth-

  ing connected with the KGB or anything governmental .

  "It can be done."

  "If I get a refueling I can fly either to Cuba or Nicaragua. I

  think Nicaragua would be safer, further from the U., less or-

  ganized. After landing in Nicaragua we can make preparations

  to fly it to Russia with an escort."

  "So now you believe you can get this aircraft out of Nevada

  successfully," Kramer said. "You were sure that you could not

  do this before."

  "They're, talking about mothballing my fighter. I'm not going

  to let them do that. No way. I'll crash the thing before they take

  it away from me." He immediately wished he could take back

  those last words.

  Kramer was silent for a few moments, then: "The Command

  is concerned about you, about your motivation. They believe

  that you do not seem to care who has control of the fighter as

  long as you have it. This worries them-"

  "They don't have'to worry about a damn thing. Just make

  sure they have a tanker in Mexico when I get there, and make

  sure they have a secure, protected place to keep it in Cuba or

  Nicaragua or any other damn place I make it to. I'll get the

  fighter to Russia in one piece. You can bet on that .

  High Technology Advanced Weapons Center

  (Dreantland), Nevada

  Wednesday, 17 June 1996, 0400 PDT (0700 EDT)

  "GOOD MORNING, LADIEs and gentlemen," Brigadier General

  John Ormack, the deputy commander of the High Technology

  Advanced Weapons Center, began. "This is the operational test

  flight briefing for Mission Three Sierra, first full-crew opera-

  tional combat test flight of the B-52 M-model Megafortress Plus

  bomber.

  "Our landmark mission today consists of an AIM-120 air-to-

  air missile test engagement, AGM-132C Tacit Rainbow III anti-

  radiation cruise missile test launch, and AGM-98 air-to-ground

  laser-guided missile weapon release."

  To an outsider it hardly seemed like something to cheer about.

  To those assembled in the briefing room, it was something to

  applaud. That was especially true for those seated at the place

  of honor in the front row-General Bradley Elliott, Patrick

  McLanahan, Wendy Tork, and Angelina Pereira, surviving.

  members of the original Old Dog's B-52 flight crew. Ormack

  himself had been the copilot aboard the first flight of the origi-

  nal Megafortress and the project director for the newly redesigned

  Megafortress Plus. He seemed to have grown younger since their

  amazing mission eight years earlier-many members of his

  Megafortress Plus project half his age had difficulty keeping up

  with him.

  "The purpose of this mission is twofold," Ormack went on.

  "First, it's the final operational check flight for this B-52 after

  extensive repairs, and second, it's an operational evaluation of

  the Megafortress Plus weapon system, pending development au-

  thorization. The Megafortress Plus system seeks to provide long-

  range strategic defense suppression and attack using heavily

  armed B-52 bombers. These B-
52s would carry air-to-air mis-

  siles, anti-radar weapons, cruise missiles, shorter-range standoff

  missiles, gravity bombs, and a wide array of electronic jammers

  and countermeasures to destroy or disrupt all kinds of enemy

  defenses, thereby allowing other strategic or tactical attack air-

  craft to transit the forward edge of the battle area and complete

  their missions.

  "HAWC has four B-52s undergoing modification to Megafor-

  tress, including one"-Orinack motioned to a tall officer in the

  rear of the conference room--commanded by Major Kelvin

  Carter, that will act as backup aircraft for this test. " Carter's

  copilot, a young female captain named Cheshire, gave Ormack

  a look. "You included, Captain Cheshire," Ormack added

  quickly.

  "Can it, Cheshire," Carter whispered to his copilot.

  "Then don't you be hogging all the glory," she whispered

  back, trying to keep a straight face.

  "Roll call for Mission Three Sierra: aircraft commander will

  be myself," Ormack went on. "Colonel Jeffrey Khan will be

  copilot, and in the instructor pilot's seat upstairs will be Mr.

  George Wendelstat from the House An-ned Service Committee,

  acting as safety observer. Welcome, Mr. Wendelstat." Several

  in the room wondered how they'd manage to shoehorn Wendel-

  stat in through the entrance hatch.

  "Rounding out Dog Zero One's flight crew is radar navigator

  Major Edward Frost, navigator Major Linda Evanston, elec-

  tronic warfare officer Dr. Wendy Tork, and fire control officer

  Dr. Angelina Pereira. Good luck to us all."

  McLanahan had to choke down his feelings. It seemed so

  strange for him to be left out of the crew roster for the Mega-

  fortress' first combat-exercise flight. But it was no longer his

  project. He had safely flown the Old Dog from Nome back to

  Dreamland eight years ago, and had not stepped inside her since.

  It was like being reunited with an old friend who didn't recog-

  nize him any more.

  The huge flat-screen liquid-crystal monitor behind Ormack

  changed to a digital time face. "Time hack, coming up on

  twelve-oh-four Zulu in fifteen seconds . . . five, four, three, two,

  one, hack. One-two-zero-f6ur Zulu."