Maraklov’s anger flared. “Forget my waistline, General. What do you mean, DreamStar is no longer my concern?”
“The army has been ordered to take control of the aircraft, effective immediately.”
“And what are they going to do with it?”
“I don’t know or care. My job is to get this base operational again. Your fighter, or you for that matter, are no longer my concern.”
“My mission was to deliver that aircraft to Ramenskoye Test Center in Moscow,” Maraklov said. “I have authority to demand assistance from all Soviet or allied forces. That includes you—”
“Nyet. My last order concerning you was to see to it that you board an Aeroflot plane in Managua for Moscow when you are told to do so, which will be in the next two or three days. Meanwhile you are not to return to Puerto Cabezas or go anywhere near the DreamStar aircraft. You will not be placed under arrest, but I trust you will do as you are told.”
“This is nuts. Why is the KGB abandoning the project now? We can still get DreamStar to Russia — why are they giving up like this?”
“I don’t know,” Tret’yak said. “The KGB troops under my command have not been used to secure the fighter — they are using only Red Army troops. Who knows, perhaps they have made a bargain with the Americans for the return of the fighter …” He paused, staring at Maraklov. “Perhaps they do not trust you any longer.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, Colonel Maraklov, where were you when Sebaco was under attack? You had four missiles and extra fuel on board your fighter, and yet you stayed in Puerto Cabezas and hid in your concrete bunker while my airbase was being blown to hell by an American B-52 bomber. You—”
“A B-52 bomber? You mean one B-52 bomber?”
“Yes, one B-52,” Tret’yak said, “armed with air-to-air and air-to-ground weapons. Certainly your amazing fighter plane could have shot it down with ease — if you had bothered to join in the fight.”
“Well how the hell was I supposed to know it was only one plane? We were expecting a major assault — I got into the bunker and shut down before they could track me. Besides, I was never informed—”
“It was never your intention to help defend the base,” Tret’yak said. “One plane or a hundred — you were not going to come to our aid.” He rubbed his eyes irritably, then held up a hand before Maraklov could speak. “Your special metallic flight suit has been impounded — you will have no use for it. It will be sent with you when you leave for Moscow. Lieutenant Zaykov has asked to remain your aide until you leave, and her request has been granted. You are dismissed.”
“I want to contact Moscow for clarification of instructions.”
Tret’yak waved toward his office. “Do what you want. KGB headquarters wanted to speak with you when you arrived from Puerto Cabezas anyway. The channel has already been set up. But until I receive orders to the contrary, Lieutenant Zaykov is to escort you to Managua first thing in the morning and to see that you are on your way to Moscow. Good-bye, Colonel Maraklov.”
Maraklov hurried into Tret’yak’s office and ordered the call be put through to KGB headquarters in Moscow. Things had gone to hell real fast, he thought. Tret’yak was naive if he thought Moscow would risk using DreamStar to defend his little jungle base. Hell, Sebaco, Puerto Cabezas, Bluefields, even Managua were going to be sacrificed — anything to get DreamStar off safely. Somebody changed their minds in Moscow. The B-52 must’ve really shaken them up. Kalinin must have screwed up. The responsibility of getting DreamStar out of Nicaragua was obviously his, and he slipped up — this was the first time anybody but KGB troops had had anything to do with Dream-Star. Obviously there had been some sort of shakeup in Moscow, and someone else was in charge now …
So the question was — what could he do to get around this? How could he turn disaster to his advantage?
The satellite transmission went through after several attempts — the American bomber attack had done extensive damage to the power transformers and underground communications cables, and they had only a patchwork setup still running. Maraklov shook his head as he thought of a single B-52 bomber attacking Sebaco. It had to be another of Elliott’s toys, he thought — another Megafortress Plus, or maybe the resurrection of the one he had shot down? Would he never be rid of Dreamland’s ghosts?
“Tovarisch Polkovnik, dobriy vyechyer,” the voice on the other end of the line greeted him. “Ehtah General-Major Kalinin. Kahk dyela …?”
“You have to speak English, sir,” Maraklov said. “My Russian is still very poor. Vi gavaretye angleyski?”
“Of course, yes, I speak English,” the man replied. “I am Director Kalinin.”
Damn … it was the KGB director himself on the line.
“I assume you have received your orders from General Tret’yak, vyehrna?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What is your … kak gavaretye … how do you say, thoughts?”
“My opinion? Of my orders, sir?”
“Yes, your opinion.”
What the hell was going on? The director of the KGB was asking him if he agreed with his orders? He was screwed either way he answered. Well, no use dodging this … “I do not agree with them, sir. We must not give the aircraft to the Americans. We have already paid a very dear price for it — it is ours now …”
To his surprise he heard Kalinin say he agreed with him.
There was a long pause on the channel. What was going on? Was Kalinin going to disobey his own orders and bring DreamStar back to Russia? Were they trying to set him up, use what he said against him in a trial once he returned to the Soviet Union?
“Colonel, I will transmit message to you, in confidence, soon. It will be in English. The message for you only. Not Tret’yak. Vi pahnyemahyo? “
“No, I don’t understand, sir.”
“I will give you orders. New orders. Carry them out if you can. Etah sroch’nah. It is urgent. Da svedahneya.” And the line went dead.
Brooks Medical Center, Brooks AFB, San Antonio, Texas
“O God of heavenly powers, who, by the might of thy command, drivest away from men’s bodies all sickness and all infinity; be present in thy goodness with this thy servant, that her weakness may be banished and her strength recalled; that her health being thereupon restored, she may bless thy holy Name; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”
Patrick and J.C., who had come back with him, then would return as needed, stood apart from the small circle of Wendy’s parents and relatives around her bed in the intensive care unit as the doctor checked Wendy’s eyes and skin. They had had no time to change out of their flight suits. After securing the still heavily armed Cheetah in a guarded hangar they had gone right from the aircraft parking ramp to a waiting Air Force sedan and on to the hospital. McLanahan had knelt beside his wife only briefly, then backed away when he noticed the number of relatives present and their faces. Now, with the minister and relatives crowded around her, he felt more excluded, more isolated than ever.
A minister had been there for the last twelve hours. When he first arrived the prayers were full of uplifting, optimistic words. Now the prayers had taken a sudden shift toward the irremediable.