Day of the Cheetah Page 13

  transfer van that drove McLanahan, Powell and him to the proj-

  ect headquarters, where the special flight suit was removed from

  James' sweat-soaked body. The two test pilots went to the locker

  room nearby, said not a word to each other. They were dressing

  when Patrick McLanahan walked up to them. "Both of you are

  off flying status as of right now."

  James exploded. "What?" There was panic mixed in with

  outrage, but it belonged to Maraklov the agent, not to Ken James

  the pilot. Lately Maraklov had felt his alter ego taking over-

  this pronouncement jolted him back, some . . .

  "There's a difference between evaluating the aircraft and'

  pushing the limits to the danger level. You two cross it every

  time you fly together. I'm grounding you both until I figure out

  what to do about it."

  "Then give me another chase pilot," James said quickly.

  "Canceling all flying isn't the answer, Colonel."

  "You're assuming that Powell is the problem," and he started

  to walk away.

  "There are a dozen guys who can fly Cheetah," James said

  behind him. McLanahan turned. "There's only one who can fly

  DreamStar. Me." James realized how this sounded and tried to

  soft pedal . "The project doesn't have to suffer, sir. I think

  we can continue . . . "

  "Listen, hotshot, I've got six guys training to fly DreamStar.

  86 DALE BROWN

  I'd rather put this project on hold for eight months until they're

  ready than risk that machine and this project. You read me?"

  " Yes, sir. Sorry . - . " Six guys, eight months ... More of

  a shock ... time was running out ...

  Meet me in my office at two o'clock, both of you. The data

  tapes should be ready to review by then. General Elliott might

  be interested in what they show." @

  Patrick McLanahan was waiting for an elevator up to his office

  when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned irritably. "Yeah?"

  "Charming," Wendy Tork said. "Next time I'll do that with

  a pole."

  He managed a grin and kissed her.

  "Long day, Colonel?"

  "You could say so."

  "You had an early morning go, didn't you?"

  The elevator arrived, and Wendy cut off the exchange, know-

  ing that Patrick would not talk about his project in an unsecure

  elevator. She waited until they returned to Patrick's office and

  he closed the door. An electronic grid in the walls and floor,

  she knew, would activate when that door closed, which would

  offset wiretapping or any other electronic eavesdropping.

  He dropped into his chair. "I've got two pilots butting heads.

  "I like them both, but I can see both of them being very

  competitive.

  "At least James comes right out and says it. He's an excellent

  pilot, and he's the only one right now who can fly DreamStar.

  sits there utting on an innocent and contrite act, but he's

  as big a show-off as James. " He rubbed his eyes. "I can't afford

  to lose either one of them, but . . . "

  'What will happen if you transfer either one of them?"

  'I -can get someone to fly Cheetah-hell, I've got enough

  hours, I could probably fly the thing. If I ground James, the

  project gets set back six months, maybe more. I told him I have

  people training on DreamStar. Who can be sure when or if they'll

  be ready? I exaggerated some to take him down a bit. Brad

  Elliott will hit the roof. The security leaks-or what seem like

  security leaks-are already turning him sour."

  ' 'Are you saying you'll have to transfer or reassign if

  they don't get along?"

  "I suppose. But Ken knows he's the only guy who can fly

  DAY OF THE CHEETAH 87

  DrearnStar. That would be like giving him a veto in almost every

  other matter that comes up during this project from here on. I

  ended up grounding both of them, until I have a chance to talk

  to the general."

  Wendy smiled. "Eight years ago you were just a captain,

  responsible only for a radar scope in the belly of a B-52 bomber.

  Your big worry was your next emergency procedures test.

  Now, you're a lieutenant colonel in charge of a hundred men

  and women and two of the hottest jets there are . . . We'll put

  it all on hold for a few hours. I'm here to take you to lunch. You

  probably don't have time to take the helicopter to Nellis, do you?

  General Elliott has got to have some decent restaurants built out

  in this desert."

  McLanahan grabbed his flight cap. "We've got time to take

  the Dolphin into Nellis if we hurry. I'm not expected back un-

  til-" The desk phone rang. He looked at it, then at Wendy.

  "Let's go."

  She smiled, shook her head. "You'd hate me in the morning.

  He picked it up@ "McLanahan..... Hi, Sergeant Clinton . . .

  The data tapes are ready now?..... Yeah, we had some maneu-

  vers that may have overstressed the canards . . . how bad? All

  right, I'll be right down." He dropped the phone back on its

  cradle. "I knew it. My two hotshots may have bent DreamStar

  some. I've got to take a look and prepare a report before this

  afternoon's meeting. " He circled his desk, gave Wendy a hug

  and a kiss. "Rain check?"

  "Anytime." Especially on flying days, she reminded herself,

  dates were always crap shoots. She watched as Patrick hurried

  off.

  "Wendy?

  She turned and found Captain Kenneth James standing behind

  her. His bright blue eyes sparkled, as usual. He was a head taller

  than Patrick, less broad-shouldered but still athletically built.

  They looked at each other for a moment. Be honest, Wendy

  Tork, she told herself, Ken James is a charmer. Plus he has a

  magnetism, a sort of masculine grace, and he's not arrogant or

  cocky or condescending. He also had this way of making a

  woman feel special, as if he had been waiting all his life just to

  say hello to her.

  She had met him eighteen months earlier when he first joined

  the High Tech Advanced Weapons Center at Dreamland. He

  88 DALE BROWN

  wasn't like many of the other jet jockeys in and around Nellis

  Air Force Base. Getting an assignment to HAWC was the top

  achievement for any young officer, and most new test pilots

  seemed not to be able to let you forget it. Not Ken James. He

  took the time not only to get to know senior officers but non-

  commissioned officers as well. He seemed just as interested in

  the engineering and technical parts of the job as the flying. He

  quickly established himself as the best pilot at HAWC . . . a

  scholar of flying and aerospace, not just a participant. Quite a

  package. And no wonder they had become good friends.

  "If you're looking for the old man . ." he paused at the

  intentional slip, smiling winningly "I mean, the colonel,

  he just left."

  "I know. "'

  Maraklov understood, as everybody did, the special relation-

  ship between Wendy Tork and the colonel. Which, of course,

  was the chief reason for making her his friend. And it was not

  exactly hard duty. T
all, good figure, brunette with hints of gray,

  still foxy for a woman going on forty. But be careful, he re-

  minded himself. And helped himself do that by remembering

  the research on her. A considerable dossier: Wendy Tork, Ph.D.,

  electrical engineering. Chief of DOPY5, the cryptic office sym-

  bol of HAWCs Director of Penetration Aids, Project Y5-the

  Megafortress Plus, the super-bomber and strategic escort battle-

  ship. This woman had developed many of the twenty-first-century

  electronic jammers used on American military aircraft, includ-

  ing new jammers that could electronically defeat infrared- and

  laser-guided missiles. She had built a jammer the size of a toaster

  that could disrupt much of the known electromagnetic spectrum

  for thirty miles in every direction. Considered a sort of outsider

  in HAWC because of her former independent contractor status,

  she tended, except for the colonel, to keep to herself. Scuttlebutt

  said that started after the mysterious Old Dog mission that she

  and most of the brass at HAWC were involved with eight years

  before. It seemed to have affected her more than the others.

  In any case, possibilities here, he had decided, for a special

  source of information. "How about lunch?" he said easily.

  "Do you have time? Don't you have a meeting this after-

  noon? "

  "I think they'd rather not have me at this particular meeting,"

  he said, pretending embarrassment. "I'm sort of in the dog-

  t

  DAY OF THE CHEETAH 89

  house. But it's my lucky day. I don't have to be back until late,

  and I have a pretty lady to share lunch with. If she'll give me a

  break.

  For a moment she hesitated, then decided why not . they

  were, after all, friends.

  If there was room on one of the shuttle helicopters that flew

  hourly to and from Dreamland, it was open for anyone at HAWC

  to hop a ride for the twenty-minute flight back to the "main-

  land," as people from Dreamland called Nellis Air Force Base.

  But Maraklov had a different plan. When he climbed aboard the

  Dolphin transport helicopter he went forward and spoke briefly

  with the crew. Then as the helicopter touched down on the broil-

  ing tarmac at Nellis, Ken touched Wendy's arm as she began to

  unbuckle her seat belt.

  "We're not there yet," was all he said.

  The helicopter lifted off once again and sped northwest. Ten

  minutes later it touched down on another military-looking air-

  field. As they left the chopper Wendy noticed the helicopter

  landing pad had been painted with a stylized Indian thunderbird

  symbol.

  "What's this?

  "One of the best-kept secrets in the Air Force," he told her.

  'Indian Springs Air Force Auxiliary Field. This is where the Air

  Force Aerial Demonstration Team, the Thunderbirds, work and,

  practice even though the unit is based out at Nellis. You know,

  the Thunderbirds do a lot of demonstrations for the brass and

  foreign dignitaries here-not to mention that the Thunderbird

  pilots get the best of everything, being on the road so much-

  so Indian Springs is an oasis for them out in the middle of no-

  where. The base is open to all military personnel, but that's not

  widely advertised. I knew the Thunderbirds were gone so I asked

  the Dolphin pilot to get us permission to land."

  They walked past immaculately groomed desert landscaped

  yards and freshly painted buildings to a Spanish-style stucco

  building with red tile veranda and cane-ceiling fans. They were

  seated at a table on the veranda.

  "I've been coming to this area for eight years," Wendy said,

  and I've been at HAWC for three years, and I never knew

  about this, or only vaguely if at all. Patrick and I are both so

  busy

  90 DALE BROWN

  He nodded. "The Dolphin pilot enacts a toll for side trips-I

  think he's got a Chris Craft on Lake Mead that needs refinishing.

  Guess who'll get asked to help."

  "Well, it's delightful and I'm glad we came."

  "You'll have to tell Patrick about it, if he doesn't know."

  "Believe me, I will. I know how important his project is to

  him, to all of you, but I do wish he'd slow down just a little.

  Actually I don't know if he'd take advantage of a place like this

  even if he knew about it."

  "Sure he would ... but he is a busy man."

  Over lunch he said, "Most people here thought you two would

  be married by now. You've known each other for seven years?

  Eight? "

  ' 'Eight," Wendy said. "Ever since the Old Dog flight ...

  God, has it been that long?"

  "That must have been some mission," Ken said. "I've heard

  about it, of course, but mostly scuttlebutt. I'd like to get the

  whole story from you someday."

  She only nodded, smiling briefly.

  "Well, the colonel joined HAWC a short time after that proj-

  ect . . . ended. What about you? You didn't join HAWC until

  recently, a little before I came here."

  "I still had a civilian position in my own laboratory. Much

  as I wanted to, I couldn't just leave or get reassigned to Drearn-

  land. I started to work more closely with General Brad Elliott

  and his group, but my home base was still in Palmdale. I visited

  every chance I could, but Patrick and I were still apart. When

  they announced the reactivation of the Old Dog project I saw

  my chance and got assigned to HAWC permanently. What I

  didn't expect was that Patrick was going to shoot up like he did

  under General Elliott. Don't misunderstand. I knew Patrick was

  good, very good, but when I first met him he was, believe it or

  not , thinking about leaving the Air Force and working his fa

  mily's business in Sacramento. It's hard to get promoted by just

  being the best navigator around. And that's all I thought he

  wanted to be. I was wrong. In two years he went from being

  just another non-technical test-flight crewmember to a project

  director. He got promoted so fast you'd think there was a time

  warp. One year after becoming director of his first program he

  was made chief of a full-blown flight-test development program

  with state-of-the-art hardware. In another five or six years he'll

  DAY OF THE CHEETAH 91

  have his first star and probably be chief of HAWC soon after."

  Through most of this she'd been looking down into her napkin.

  Now she looked up abruptly. "God, if I sound like I'm com-

  plaining, I'm not. Or I don't mean to. Just for the record, I

  happen to love McLanahan even more than I respect him ...

  Okay, enough of me, what about you? There's an army of ladies

  in Vegas waiting to snag someone like you. When are you going

  to ta ke the fall?

  He laughed. "The right woman is hard to find, even in the

  sun belt."

  "But you're having a good time looking, right?"

  "I confess ... I'm not suffering." It had gone well, very

  well, he thought.

  The waiter reappeared with the check and a message.

  "Helicopter's on its way," he said. "We should head back."
/>
  As they waited on the helicopter landing pad a few minutes

  later, Wendy took a deep breath of warm yucca-scented desert

  air and looked out at the mountains surrounding the tiny base.

  "I enjoyed it, Ken. The lunch and the talk. I haven't gone on

  like this for a long time. Thanks."

  "We'll do it again some time."

  "I don't want you to spend too many weekends refinishing

  some chopper pilot's boat. "

  "Believe me," he said, watching her, "it's worth it."

  Yes, she could be another source of information . . . on the

  new ECM gear, for example.

  t

  East Las Vegas, Nevada

  Wednesday, 10 June 1996, 2007 PDT (2307 EDT)

  MARAKLOV DIDN'T RETURN to his condominium in the east Las

  Vegas subdivision of Frenchman Mountain until late that night.

  The early start and the intense flying had taken their toll, and

  the lectures he had received from McLanahan and Elliott dur-

  ing the long debriefing didn't help.

  He locked his car in the carport, took his briefcase, and

  trudged upstairs to his second-story entranceway. He wasn't able

  to get on the Dolphin helicopter back to Nellis and had to bump

  along in the electric shuttle bus from Dreamland to Nellis. Then

  twenty hot, steamy minutes on the freeway just to go four exits

  in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Maybe a cold shower, a cold beer,

  a casino run.

  He punched his code in the lock's keypad. The door was al-

  ready unlocked. He pushed it open a crack. No lights on. The

  lights were programmed to come on in the evening when the

  door was opened. Someone had overridden the programming.

  Someone was inside his apartment . . .

  All he had for a weapon was his briefcase. Maybe he should

  have gotten out of there and called the cops, but the less he had

  to do with them, the better. He reached through the door and

  flicked on the lights. He strained against the faint street noises

  behind him but heard no sounds from inside. He flung the door

  open, letting it bang on the doorstep. Still no sounds.

  He slowly crossed the threshold, looked down the hallway

  into the living room. Stereo, TV, VCR all in place. Of course,