“Not yet, we haven’t. As long as Wendy’s fighting, I’m fighting too. And I can’t fight wringing my hands in this place. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Sebaco, Nicaragua
Out of some one hundred troops originally stationed at Sebaco, fewer than twenty were still there, all pressed into service in cleaning up and preparing the base for rebuilding. Since there were no aircraft at Sebaco, security had been cut back to only a couple of guards roving the base. With workers on the job from twelve to sixteen hours a day, the base was practically deserted by nine P.M.
It would be that much easier to get away from Sebaco. Maraklov had decided on a plan nobody would expect, he hoped — return to Puerto Cabezas and try to steal DreamStar again.
Earlier that day he had taken a military sedan that had a full tank of gas and hidden it, keeping the keys. It was less than two hundred miles to Puerto Cabezas, but the first one-third was on mountainous gravel roads, which were dangerous enough when driven by day — he would have to make the drive in the middle of the night. The first fifty miles would take at least two hours, maybe more. The rest would be easier — he could make the trip in five hours, maybe a little less. According to KGB director Kalinin, the Americans would be at Puerto Cabezas to get DreamStar shortly after dawn. He had to be there ahead of them.
There were only two things left to do: get back his metallic flight suit and helmet from Lieutenant Musi Zaykov, who was holding the equipment in preparation for sending it back with him to Moscow, and — what would be the hardest of all — subdue, or eliminate, Musi herself. She was scheduled to drive him to Managua at six A.M. the next morning and put him on a nine A.M. Aeroflot flight to Moscow. If he could keep Musi quiet, maybe tie her up and hide her in the jungle where she’d eventually be found, they would think they had left for Sandino International Airport as scheduled. They wouldn’t know until the Aeroflot’s departure time of nine A.M. that they never showed up — and by then he would be airborne once more in DreamStar.
That evening he dressed in a dark flight suit and spit-shined boots — into which he slipped a large hunting knife in a leather sheath — and left his room; he had, of course, already deactivated the surveillance camera set up in his room, and he was sure it had not been reactivated since the attack. He slipped outside through a back window, retrieved the sedan and drove it over to Musi’s barracks several buildings away — being an officer as well as one of the few women on the base, Musi had a cabin to herself.
He stopped the engine a few dozen yards from her cabin and coasted to a stop several yards from the back door. He considered trying to sneak into the cabin, but Zaykov would probably shoot him as an intruder. Instead he simply went to the front door and knocked.
“Kto tam? “
“Andrei.”
A slight pause, then, in a light, excited voice, Musi replied in English, “Come in, Andrei.”
She was standing in the middle of her small living room, wearing a T-shirt that outlined her breasts, a pair of tropical-weight shorts and French-made tennis shoes. She came over to him and kissed him lightly on the right cheek. “Come in, Andrei.” She tugged him into the living room and around toward the sofa. “Please, sit down. How do you feel?”
“Physically, great, emotionally, lousy … I can’t believe we’re just going to give up DreamStar. After all that’s happened.”
“Orders are orders, I suppose,” she said, curling up like some exotic cat on the loveseat beside the sofa. “There’s nothing any of us can do.”
“Doesn’t make me feel better.”
“No, but we are both soldiers,” she said. “Never mind, won’t you be glad to get back home? It’s been so long since you have been there …”
Maraklov had to work at his reaction. “Sure, but it would be better if you were going with me.”
“I will join you in Moscow before long,” she said. “We will see each other very soon.” She motioned to a small bar in the corner behind Maraklov. “Fix us some drinks? I think I have something interesting in there.”
He got up, found ice and glasses, then started checking out her stock. He picked up one especially fancy bottle. “Well, look at this! Glenkinchie single malt Scotch whiskey … 1 never expected to see this in this godforsaken place.”
“You can try some of that,” Musi said. “It is very special. It is my favorite.” As he dropped ice cubes into a couple of glasses she added, “It was Janet’s favorite, too.”
“Who?”
“Janet. Janet Larson. Her real name was Katrina Litkovka — the woman you murdered eleven years ago.”
He froze, then, willing his muscles to move, turned around. Musi Zaykov was standing in the center of the room holding a silenced nine-millimeter automatic pistol in her right hand. Her seductive smile had vanished, leaving a stone-cold murderous glare.
“What in hell is going on, Musi?” He put the glass down on the bar but kept the Scotch bottle in his left hand, sliding it down his leg to hide it as best he could. “Put that thing down.”
“You are under arrest, Colonel Maraklov,” Zaykov said, “for the act of murder.”
“What are you talking about? Is this some kind of sick joke?” Loosen up, he told himself. Find out what she knows and use the time to figure out something … He forced himself to put on a broad smile. “What’s going on, Musi? Put that thing away. Are you crazy? I’m no threat to you—”
“Stay where you are.” She reached into her jacket pocket and took out a sheet of paper. “A copy of a message transmitted to you from Moscow, directing you to go to Puerto Cabezas and steal the DreamStar aircraft. What is this about?”
“Just what it says, Musi. I’ve been ordered to steal the damn thing again and fly it to a secret base in Costa Rica.” As he said it he took the opportunity to take a half-step toward her. “They figured I did such a good job the first time, they wanted to see if I could do it again.”
“If that was meant to be humorous, Andrei, you failed,” Zaykov said. “My last orders from General Tret’yak were to see to it that you are confined to the base until morning.”
“Well, I have orders too, Musi. Given to me by Vladimir Kalinin. I’m sure you have ways of confirming that. I don’t have much time to waste.”
“I must check this with General Tret’yak. If what you say is true, this contradicts previous orders. Orders must be verified—”
“There’s no damn time to verify anything. DreamStar will be gone in ten hours, maybe less.”
“And you had to come here to get your flight suit and helmet,” Zaykov said. “Then you had to do one more thing — kill me. You could not make it appear that we had gone to Managua as scheduled unless I was out of your way.”
“I wasn’t going to kill you. I could never do that. I’m much too fond of you … you know that …” He searched her face, found little softening in it. “You can help me, Musi. You can get a helicopter to take me to Puerto Cabezas—”
“I can’t do that. Even if these orders were fully authorized, I would not do it.” Something else was wrong. “Musi, what is it?”
She let the first letter drop to the floor, then drew another one from her jacket. “Some research I did when you left Sebaco for Puerto Cabezas … The morning after your attempt to fly to Cuba you were delirious from dehydration. You called out a woman’s name — Janet.”
“Janet? You mentioned that name moments ago. I don’t know a Janet.”
“You did know a Janet, Andrei — or should I say, Kenneth James. I knew a Janet too. Janet Larson. We were good friends … back at the Connecticut Academy.”