“Modifying a fighter for external ferry tanks, in-flight refueling and foreign-made weapons is a major task. Our devices worked very well.”
“You didn’t need extra tanks to fly to Cuba.”
“But to fly to Russia, our original and eventual destination …”
“This plane and its pilot shot down two American fighters—after you stole it.”
“Come now, Colonel, the theft, the air battles, all part of the game. We both played it.”
McLanahan shook his head. Get on with it, he told himself.
Butler finished a cursory inspection and came back to McLanahan. “Looks like they used two pylon hardpoints on each wing to stick those tanks on. Simple electronic pyrotechnical jettison squibs. Same with the missiles. We can punch ‘em off here, but there’s no telling what damage it might cause.”
“Leave them on, then,” McLanahan told him. “I want DreamStar out of here fast as possible.” Butler nodded and trotted back to the helicopter to get his gear. McLanahan turned back to Tret’yak. “Where is Maraklov?”
“On his way to Moscow. He will be debriefed. Even though he was not given the opportunity to bring this aircraft back with him, he carries a great deal of information. His talks with our intelligence people should be revealing.”
“And after that?”
“After that, I cannot say. He is a difficult man, but if I were the General Secretary of the Kollegiya I would make Colonel Maraklov a Hero of the Soviet Union. We like to reward loyalty, courage and initiative,” Tret’yak said.
“Thanks for the compliments, General,” a voice behind them said. Tret’yak and McLanahan turned. And saw Andrei Maraklov emerging from behind the concrete walls of the revetment. Tret’yak and McLanahan saw the man, but the two KGB Border Guards accompanying Tret’yak saw the pistol he held. They lifted their rifles and swung them toward Maraklov. With two muffled puffs of the nine-millimeter automatic pistol, they were dead as fast as they had reacted.
Maraklov then turned the pistol toward Hal Briggs, who had only gotten as far as reaching for the Uzi at his hip. “Don’t do it, Hal. Left hand, unbuckle your holster and toss your gun over here.” Briggs hesitated, his hand still poised near the Uzi. “I’ll kill you otherwise.” Briggs had no choice; did as he was told. Maraklov picked up the Uzi and took its safety off.
“You had a detour on your way to Moscow,” McLanahan said.
“There’s been a change in plans, Colonel. It happens.”
“Where is Lieutenant Zaykov?” Tret’yak said.
At that, Maraklov’s attention seemed to wander, but only for a moment. “She found out about our plan.”
“ ‘Our’ plan?’ “ McLanahan said, turning to Tret’yak. “You never intended to turn DreamStar over to us.”
“I know absolutely nothing about this,” Tret’yak told him. “He obviously has killed the officer I ordered to escort him to Managua.”
“What counts,” Maraklov said, “is that DreamStar is mine. It always has been. I decide what to do with it.” Not quite the ease, he realized, but by now it felt like it was … “It’s not going back to the United States, and it’s not going to be hacked up in the Soviet Union. I’m flying it out of here to a place where it’ll be safe.” He stuck the automatic pistol in his pocket, cocked the Uzi, raised it and aimed at them—
Out from behind the Dolphin helicopter, Sergeant Butler appeared holding one of the computer logic test devices, a large suitcase-sized object, up before his body like some huge heavy shield. And proceeded to run full speed at Maraklov, who whirled, dropped to one knee — more out of surprise than to help his aim — and fired at Butler.
The Uzi had been set for single-shot. Maraklov squeezed off two, three rounds, swore and reached down to move the action lever. Butler had eaten up all but a few yards of the distance between them before Maraklov switched the weapon to full automatic and sprayed the charging man. But Butler had finally reached Maraklov and crashed into him before one of the bullets found Butler’s unprotected legs and cut him down. Butler drove the test device into Maraklov’s face, then used his body weight to haul him to the ground.
Lying on top of Maraklov, Butler tried to raise the test device over his head and drive it into Maraklov’s skull. But he was too late. Maraklov put the muzzle of the Uzi into Butler’s stomach and pulled the trigger. The senior NCO’s gut exploded, he dropped over backward, dead before he hit the ground.
McLanahan yelled, “Run for cover,” and made a dash for the helicopter. The pilot immediately started the engines in the Dolphin, and Powell and Carmichael, both inside DreamStar’s shelter, ran for the helicopter.
Briggs made his run at Maraklov, but to his surprise, General Tret’yak turned, blocked his path, then pushed him back toward the helicopter. As Briggs stumbled backward and fell to the concrete taxiway, Tret’yak turned on Maraklov. “Ehtat yah svenyena mo sahm. This pig is mine.”
Tret’yak never had a chance. He’d take no more than three steps when Maraklov raised the Uzi and emptied its magazine into the KGB general.
“Hal, run for it,” Patrick called out. The Dolphin’s rotor blades were spinning up to takeoff RPMs. Hal got to his feet and sprinted for the open door.
Maraklov got to his knees, took aim at Briggs, squeezed the trigger. Nothing. He had emptied out the magazine on Tret’yak. He’ tossed the machine pistol aside and pulled out the nine-millimeter silenced pistol. Briggs had just gotten to the Dolphin’s starboard side-door and jumped inside, so Maraklov swung his aim left to the two running figures and squeezed off a shot.
Alan Carmichael grabbed the right side of his chest and pitched forward. J. C. Powell skidded to a halt, knelt down and began to drag Carmichael toward the helicopter. Maraklov took aim once again, and before McLanahan or Briggs could react, fired. Powell flew backward away from Carmichael’s inert form, and lay still.
You bastard. “ McLanahan was screaming, rushing out of the helicopter and heading toward Maraklov. He had just cleared the Dolphin’s right door when the Dolphin pilot yanked the chopper off the ground, hovering less than three feet above ground, and aimed the helicopter at Maraklov. McLanahan, knocked aside, crawled on hands and knees toward Powell and Carmichael, trying to shield his eyes from the flying gravel and sand.
Maraklov took aim on the helicopter’s canopy, fired. The shot missed the pilot by inches, but it sped through the cabin and through a circuit breaker panel, showering the cockpit with sparks. The helicopter engine faltered, lost power, then regained it. Maraklov tried to get off another shot but the rotor’s down-wash forced him to his knees, and he had no choice but to crawl away from the blast, though he was still sideswiped by the Dolphin’s fiberglass nose.
Meanwhile Briggs had jumped out and run over to Carmichael. McLanahan took Powell, and together they began to drag the wounded toward the helicopter.
The pilot halted his advance at the body of Sergeant Butler. McLanahan and Briggs dragged Carmichael and Powell through the side door, then together they picked up Butler’s body and carefully as they could manage put his body in the helicopter. Blood and viscera were everywhere, on their faces, covering their uniforms. Briggs and McLanahan jumped inside the chopper, ignoring whatever they were stepping or slipping on. Patrick shouted to the pilot, “go,” and the chopper lifted off.
Maraklov had crawled back to DreamStar’s shelter just as the chopper rose off the concrete. Again he took aim at the canopy and fired, but at this angle the bullets were ricocheting off, not penetrating. He fired once more on the retreating helicopter, doing no more damage that he could see — but the chopper’s engine was definitely faltering. He had hit something vital — no way it would make it back to Honduras. No reason to worry about McLanahan any more — he would be long gone before McLanahan could call in a counterstrike, and Powell was definitely no worry.