by Dale Brown
back to them. You will not move the aircraft from its present
location. You will not remove or damage any of its components.
I do want you to collect as much information about the aircraft
as you can without damaging it-we had better get more out of
this nightmare operation than a dozen caskets."
"Sir, you must reconsider," Kalinin said. "If we stop now,
if we don't attempt to get the aircraft to Russia, all those men
will have been killed for nothing, all of our efforts will have
been for nothing."
"All of your efforts, Kalinin," the General Secretary said.
Your operation. I must remind you that I was against this
operation from the beginning. I told you it would never suc-
ceed. I will not accept responsibility for an operation that I
never approved and that was conducted largely without m
knowledge. " y
The General Secretary's senior aide came into the office, car-
rying notepaper and pencil. "Now see to it that the XF-34 is
secured and ready for transport."
"I ask you once more," Kalinin said. The General Secretary
was turned away from him. "If we succeed, and I stake my life
that we will, there will be huge assets for both of us, sir. We
are already committed, we must-"
"Your career is already at stake here, Kalinin," the General
Secretary said. Mine too, he thought gloomily. "I will concen-
trate on repairing the damage caused by your ill-conceived plan.
Do as I've ordered."
Outside, Molokov, Kalinin's aide, fell in behind him. "Sir ...
Kalinin gave his instructions.
"Back to KGB headquarters," Molokov told the driver. To
Kalinin he asked, "What is the situation, sir?"
Kalinin filled him in, needing to unload his feelings. "I have
no more authority in this. I am only authorized to collect as
much data as possible on the aircraft without damaging it, then
prepare to turn it over to the Americans."
They drove through the streets of Moscow in silence until
approaching KGB headquarters, then Molokov said, "Maraklov
will not like this. Turning over that fighter to the Americans,
after all he's done, will be like asking him to turn over one of
his legs to a shark."
Kalinin suddenly turned to Molokov, an idea forming in his
422 DALE BROWN
head, becoming clearer every moment. "Maraklov ... yes,
perhaps he can secure the aircraft for us .
"Sir?"
"Maraklov ... I need a secure satellite channel to Puerto
Cabezas. The General Secretary will brief Vilizherchev in less
than an hour, and Vilizherchev will ask to confer with the Pres-
ident by seventeen hundred hours Moscow time-1 must talk
with Maraklov immediately."
"There is a transponder set up with the command post at
Puerto Cabezas now, sir," Molokov said. "What will you do?"
"This operation is still on, my friend," Kalinin said. "There
may still be a way .
Puerto Lempira Airbase, Honduras
Sunday, 21 June 1996, 0612 CDT (1512 EET)
PATRICK McLANAHAN AND JC. Powell might have thought they
had been transported to the set of a low-budget Vietnam war
movie. They were sitting on a plastic fold-up picnic table inside
a musty green canvas tent, eating cold scrambled eggs and
canned ham out of tin mess kits. Outside, it was warm and
impossibly humid, with occasional heavy downpours that seemed
to erupt with no warning and then, just as abruptly, end a few
minutes later as if God had simply shut off a faucet somewhere
in the heavens. Their sweaty flight suim, now going on their
second day of use, stuck to their bodies like strips of papier-
mich6 and smelled like the saltwater swamps that surrounded
the tiny Honduranairbase.
"Airbase" might have been a flattering term for Puerto Lem-
pira. The base was actually a small airstrip clinging to a marsh
near the ocean on the northeast comer of Honduras, only forty
miles from the Nicaraguan border. The place had a nine-
thousand-foot concrete runway, but only six thousand feet of it
was usable, the encroaching swamps having retaken almost half
a mile of the eastern end; workers were busy sandbagging the
end of the runway, trying to drain it. There was a small concrete
aircraft parking area where a prefabricated aircraft hangar had
been erected for Cheetah. Outside the ramp area was a half-
sand, half-rock clearing where the tents and a communication
trailer had been airlifted in-except for the runway, the entire
base may have occupied a total of five acres.
Almost all the personnel at Puerto Lempira were security
424 DAIE BROWN
guards, here to guard Cheetah and the support equipment that
had been moved in. Over the years Puerto Lempira had been
used more by smugglers and drug runners than military forces.
Four guards stood watch in Cheetah's portable hangar, two
guarded the communications trailer, and another thirty were sta-
tioned around the airbase's perimeter. Everyone expected trou-
ble.
"When do you suppose we'll get out of here?" asked,
frowning at the lump of canned ham in his mess kit and pushing
it away.
"No idea." McLanahan glanced at the device that had been
set up on the picnic table beside him. "We should find out
soon.
The device was a field communications unit linked to the sys-
tem of power generators and electronics in the trailer. They had
instant satellite, UHF, VHF and HF communications capability
with most of the rest of the world through that tiny unit, which
was about the size of a cereal box.
The rains began coming down again, lightly at first, then in
virtual sheets with big fat rain droplets that threatened to shred
their canvas roof. The rain rattled the metal roof of Cheetah's
hangar. Cheetah had been rearmed for air combat with both
long- and short-ranged missiles, but intelligence had been re-
ceived that DreamStar might have been moved to Puerto Cabe-
zas in Nicaragua less than a hundred miles away, and a crew
was standing by to arm Cheetah with its photo-reconnaissance
pod again-as well as an array of air-to-ground weapons.
The sound of the rain almost drowned out the gentle beeping
of the satellite communications transceiver. McLanahan picked
up the receiver, laying his finger on the SCRAMBLE/DESCRAMBLE
button. When he heard the snaps and whine on the other end he
hit the button. The static disappeared, replaced by a faint hiss.
"McLanahan'.
"Patrick, this is Brad Elliott." His heart began pounding-
Elliot rarely used his first name, even to his closest friends and
most senior officers, unless something was wrong.
"Go ahead, sir."
"I've sent a F-15E down to pick you up. It should arrive in
about an hour from now."
"Wendy . . . ?"
"They've asked you to come back."
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 425
Suddenly, in the heat and humidity, he felt very, very cold.
He forced himself to a
sk, "What about DreamStar?"
A slight pause, then: "No word yet. We're bringing your re-
placement on the F-15, a guy from the tactical bomb squadron
at Luke Air Force Base. He'll fly Cheetah if DreamStar tries to
make a break. The F-15E will fly you directly back to Brooks
AFB.
This time he did not try to rationalize staying with Cheetah
in Honduras. She had spent hours in surgery and a full day in
post-operative intensive care. Now even General Elliott was tell-
ing him to come back ...
Or maybe he finally realized that it was time for him to start
facing up to reality. He had flown three missions in Cheetah
since she was hurt, tearing himself away-no, running away-
from her agony, claiming that he was the only one who could
do the job, the only one who could defeat James in DreamStar.
In fact, a young F-15E back-seater in Cheetah could probably
do a better job than a forty-year-old desk jockey. His responsi-
bility was with his wife and her family-not hiding behind an
oxygen mask and a radar scope.
"How's JC. and your bird?" Elliott asked.
"Okay. Ready to go."
"Okay. We've scheduled Cheetah for a photo-recon run over
Puerto Cabezas-we'd like to pinpoint DreamStar's location but
that's unlikely. But they well might think it's another prelude to
an attack, help convince them to turn DreamStar over to us in-
tact. "
Silence.
"Patrick, about Wendy. What can I say? I wish to God she
hadn't been on that plane-"
"General, I'm sick and tired of everyone giving Wendy up
for dead. And as far as I'm concerned we should stop pussy-
footing around with the damned Russians. No more damn mes-
sages, no more warnings. If we think DreamStar is in Puerto
Cabezas let's go in and get it. Right now. If we send Cheetah
up to take pictures they'll just move DreamStar somewhere else.
Bring the carrier George Washington in with a naval bombard-
ment squadron, level Puerto Cabezas and let's stop jacking
around.
When there was no response from the other end he thought
r
426 DALE BROWN
the connection had been broken. Then Elliott said: "Keep us
advised on Wendy's condition, Patrick. Elliott out."
He dropped the phone back on its cradle. was looking at
him carefully. "I'm leaving as soon as my plane gets here,"
McLanahan told him.
The White House, Washington, D.
Sunday, 21 June 1996, 0815 EDT
"All I want to know from ou, Vilizherchev," President Taylor
said as the Russian ambassador entered the Oval Office, "is
where our aircraft is and when it will be returned to us."
Sergei Vilizherchev was taken off guard but shrugged it off
and continued inside the office. He was followed by Secretary
of State Danahall, who had met the ambassador at the rear en-
trance to the White House. Secretary of Defense Stuart, Secre-
tary of the Air Force Curtis, Secretary of the Navy John Kemp,
National Security Adviser Chairperson Deborah O'Day, Speaker
Van Keller and Attorney General Benson were already in the
Oval Office, summoned there immediately after learning of the
Russian's hurried request for a meeting. The President's advisers
formed a semicircle around Vilizherchev as the ambassador ap-
proached the President's desk. Taylor ignored Vilizherchev's of-
fered hand; he did not stand to greet the ambassador.
The Russian smiled and made a slight bow. "Very nice to see
you again, sir .
"I asked you a question, Mr. Ambassador," the President
said. "I want that fighter. Immediately."
"Mr. President, I am here to deliver my government's most
emphatic protest of the attack on our military installation last
night," Vilizherchev said, as if ignoring the President's out-
burst. "That attack cost the lives of three pilots, four men on
the ground, and millions of dollars worth of equipment and prop-
erty destroyed. The attack was inexcusable-"
Taylor interrupted: "Mr. Curtis."
Wilbur Curtis flicked on a high-resolution video monitor and
began rolling a tape. "This was transmitted to us less than ten
minutes ago, Mr. Ambassador," Curtis said. The monitor
showed a concrete bunker, open at both ends, inside a depressed
rain-soaked aircraft parking area. Soldiers surrounded the stnic-
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 427
ture. A few could be seen pointing rifles in the air, obviously
taking aim at the aircraft taking the photographs. Inside one open
end of the hangar the unmistakable forward-swept wings of
DreamStar could clearly be seen in the early-morning sunlight.
"You moved our aircraft to a different base and we found it,"
the President said. "If I don't get the answer I'm looking for I
pick up this phone and I order the Navy to level that base like
they leveled Sebaco. In fifteen minutes this whole thing will be
over-I guarantee it."
"The attack will fail," Vilizherchev said quickly. "Such an
offensive has been anticipated. We have strengthened the coastal
defenses and are ready for such an assault-"
"The crew of this recon jet reported no defenses anywhere,"
Curtis said. "We have pictures of the destroyed SA-15 missile
sites-want to see them, Mr. Ambassador?"
"I must also tell you, sir, that Soviet forces in the region are
prepared to retaliate. If American bombers cross the border again,
orders have been issued to attack Honduran airfields with Soviet
supersonic bombers from Cuba. They will destroy one airfield
military or civilian, for every Nicaraguan base destroyed. The
bombers are armed with supersonic cruise missiles that cannot
be intercepted. If naval forces are encountered they have been
ordered to attack them as well. Your new aircraft carrier George
Washington is in the area, I believe-will you risk a three billion
dollar vessel for one aircraft? Pride is a poor reason to go to
war, sir. "
"Likewise stupidity," the President said. "I don't need to
remind you what would happen if the Soviet Union tries to start
a shooting war in the Caribbean."
"We have two aircraft-carrier groups, three strategic air di-
visions and nine tactical air divisions ready to send into the
area," Stuart said. "That's twenty capital ships and twelve hun-
dred aircraft that can be deployed in less time than it will take
you to get back to your office."
"And all I need, mister, is one Russian cruise missile," the
President said. "Just one. It doesn't even have to hit anything.
One missile or one bomber aimed at American forces and we
end the Soviet presence in the Caribbean for good. I'll wipe out
everything with a red star on it - "
Vilizherchev stood in front of the President's desk, virtually
in shock. "You . . . you are talking a major war, Mr. Presi-
428 DALE BROWN
dent," he said. "You are threatening war over this ... this
mere aircraft .
"I'm threatening over your lies, your deceit. And yo
ur mur-
dering. You stole our aircraft, murdered our soldiers, killed and
destroyed and killed again all through Central America just to
steal one fighter. What you've done is declare war on the United
States. I'm going to start answering you by destroying Puerto
Cabezas. " He picked up the telephone and punched two digits
on the keypad.
"This is the President. Unlock file nine-six-zero-six bravo,
authenticate with line charlie-charlie and execute immediately.
Send reports to the Situation Room. I'll be there in ten minutes."
He hung up the phone and pointed to Vilizherchev. "Good day,
sir. "
"Will we not discuss this, Mr. Pre sident . . . ? "
Just then two beepers went off-Vilizherchev spun around at
the sound as if it had been a gunshot. Both Kemp and Curtis
retrieved their tiny credit-card-sized pagers from jacket pockets
and checked the message on its tiny liquid-crystal screen.
"Execution cross-checks, Mr. President," Curtis said.
"Crews are responding. I'd like to take it in the Situation
Room.
"You're dismissed, John, Wilbur .
"Wait, Mr. President, Secretary Curtis, Secretary Kemp,
please," Vilizherchev said. "We must discuss this . Curtis
and Kemp turned and headed for the door.
The President turned to his Secretary of State and his aide.
"Dennis, Paul, escort the ambassador out of the White House.
Deborah, I need you to call your staff down to the Situation
Room in ten minutes to-"
"I am authorized to release the aircraft to you, Mr. Presi-
dent," Vilizherchev shouted. Everyone in the room froze. The
President pointed to the Secretary of the Navy.
"Get going, John. This sounds like a stall to me. Get your
planes from the George Washington airborne. I want a prestrike
briefing from the Navy when I get there. Wilbur, hang on for a
minute." Kemp opened his mouth, was about to say something,
then decided against it and hurried out.
"I came here to organize a transfer of the aircraft back into
your control, Mr. President," Vilizherchev said, staring at the
DAY OF THE CHEETAH 429
closed door of the Oval Office through which Kemp had just