Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 02 (86 page)

 
          
“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 groops had had anything to do with
DreamStar. Obviously there had been some sort of shake- up 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 angleyskiP
”

 
          
“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
Dream-

 
          
Star
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

Sunday, 21 June 1996
, 1305 CDT (1409 EDT)

 
          
“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.

 
          
The
doctor finished his examination, took notes on the monitor readouts, changed an
intravenous fluid bag, then moved away. McLanahan saw the minister touch the
doctor’s arm, and they spoke briefly. Did he see the doctor shake his head? He
drove murderous thoughts out of his mind and got the doctor’s attention.

 
          
“What’s
the story, doctor?”

 
          
“The
right lung sounds clear. I think we stopped the edema. But she’s very weak. I’m
sorry, but we have to expect respiratory failure—”

 
          
“No
...”

 
          
“The
damage was massive. She’s a strong woman, Colonel. But for every step she takes
forward, her body takes two backwards. She’s fought back bravely, but . . .”

 
          
McLanahan
could not stand to look at the doctor any more. He sought his wife’s face from
the foot of her bed. They had removed the larger tubes from her throat, leaving
only the nasal cannula in place to feed her oxygen. Many of the bandages had
also been removed, and the burns on her face and neck looked markedly better.
Wendy’s mother had even brushed out her hair. “She looks better to me,”
McLanahan said. The doctor made no comment. “Why isn’t she on a respirator? If
you say her respiratory system can collapse, why can’t she be on life-support .
. . ?”

 
          
“We
can keep her alive indefinitely, Colonel, but is that what you really want?”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
“Think
of the pain you’d be subjecting her family to—”

 
          
“I’m
her family too.” He ignored the faces around her bedside. “Stop trying to spare
us pain and help
her,
dammit. Right
now.
” The doctor nodded, put his hand
on McLanahan’s shoulder and turned away. The relatives and friends turned away;
some filed out of the intensive care ward, not looking at him or saying anything.
A few minutes later he felt a hand on his shoulder. Hal Briggs was standing
beside him. “Man, I came as soon as I could ...”

 
          
“Thanks
for coming, Hal. I appreciate it. Is the general here?”

 
          
“He’s
still... away,” Hal said. McLanahan knew that meant the
Cayman Islands
, as leader of the air cordon around
Nicaragua
. “There’s DOD investigators all over the
Center, and they have authority to go any damn place they want. I got sick of
them and took off.”

 
          
“I’m
really glad you guys are here,” he said to both Powell and Briggs. He noticed
Briggs wearing his earpiece transceiver. He was also armed, his ever-present
Uzi submachine pistol on his waist. Hal nodded, then motioned his eyes oflF
toward the door, and all three men walked outside and found an isolated area in
the hallway.

 
          
“How
is she?”

 
          
“The
doctor says she’s worse. Who the hell knows? What’s going on, Hal?”

 
          
“J.C.
might have to return to Puerto Lempira right away,” Briggs said. “They made a
deal with the Russians. They’re going to turn DreamStar over to us—maybe
tomorrow morning. They say it’s flyable, so the general wants J.C., Dr.
Carmichael and Master Sergeant Butler to go out to Puerto Cabezas and inspect
her. J.C. might be able to fly the thing back to Dreamland.”