Brown, Dale - Patrick McLanahan 02 (20 page)

 
          
“We
cannot afford to be patient,” Kramer said. “Our charge is to use every means to
acquire this technology and build the DreamStar fighter plane. Our development
of the aircraft must be parallel with the Americans’. A great deal has been
invested to put you in place. For two years they’ve been patient. Now progress
has stopped. Something must be done—”

 
          
“If
you’re going to pressure me like this, I might as well stop everything before
I’m caught. You might as well bring me in—” He shocked himself, saying it. It
was the last thing he wanted.

 
          
Kramer
looked at him. “An interesting suggestion.”

           
“What? The Command
is
considering bringing me in? That’s
ridiculous—”

           
“Why?”

 
          
“It’s
what they call biting off your nose to spite your face. I am in place here,
Kramer. Fully in place. It would take another generation to develop another
agent placed so high in the top-secret American military research organization
...” Kramer took a deep breath. “The lack of information was the last deciding
factor, but the idea had started long ago—”

           
“What idea? What the hell is going
on?”

           
“Our project to build our own
version of the DreamStar aircraft was virtually doomed from the start. We knew
about the F-15 fighter known as the Cheetah, of course—the Americans took it to
the Paris Air Show. We built our own version shortly afterward, and with
improvements it has become almost as formidable as the American version. But
when we discovered what the Americans had planned for the
next
generation of fighter aircraft ... no one believed that
thought- controlled aircraft would become reality in his lifetime. Now suddenly
the Americans had one in the air. Naturally we did everything in our power to
learn about the technology, including authorizing the plan to put you in the
Dreamland research area—”

 
          
“I
don’t see the problem, Kramer. Everything’s going as planned.”

 
          
“Not
exactly.”

 
          
Moffitt
broke in. “Those big thinkers in
Moscow
can’t understand the data. They’ve got it
piled up to their ears but can’t really decipher it. They have linguists, but
the Americans use words that have no Russian equivalents. They say there are
electronic parts made of atomic elements ... I think that’s it . . . that even
some of our best scientists have never heard of.

 
          
“So
it takes time. In a couple of years everything they don’t understand will be
commonplace. Right now they have superconducting circuitry that weighs two
hundred pounds—in two years or less they’ll be putting superconductors in
wrist- watches—”

 
          
“Our
people will not wait two years to build a thought- controlled aircraft,” Kramer
said. “In two years the Americans can replace their European-based fighter
force with these DreamStar aircraft. With an aircraft like DreamStar opposing
our forces, our conventional-force superiority will be offset. We got them to
reduce theirs and still leave us with an advantage. A plane like this DreamStar
can undo all our advantages.”

 
          
“But
DreamStar is still in its early research phase. It won’t be ready for
production for two years. They
might
have a first operational unit by the year two thousand but even that’s an
optimistic estimate.” He looked at Kramer. “Whoever’s feeding you or the
Command this stuff is dangerous, Kramer. They’re trying to push the Kremlin
into making a false move, one that could be embarrassing to the government and
deadly for us.”

 
          
“What
would you know about it?” Moffitt broke in. “You don’t even speak Russian any
more. You’ve lost touch with your country. What would you know about what goes
on in the Kremlin?”

 
          
Maraklov
sidestepped the accusation to firmer ground. “I know that someone has
overestimated the progress on the DreamStar project. You listen, Moffitt—this
project is as much mine as it is yours. It’s
my
life if I get caught. I can be executed or spend the rest of my
life in prison. If you get caught you pull out your diplomatic credentials and
get yourself kicked out of the country. Big deal—”

 
          
“I
said enough,” Kramer interjected. “Orders have already been received from
Moscow
. They are what prompted and justified this
meeting with you. The Ramenskoye Research Center in Moscow reported that your
data, although revealing, is still not sufficient for them to reconstruct the
XF-34 DreamStar aircraft. It is much more than copying the design and the
components—it seems they do not have the basic knowledge of the technology
involved with the craft. They estimate several years before we will have the
technology to duplicate the design with sufficient quality to match the
present-day aircraft.” He paused, then: “The KGB has been ordered to obtain the
XF-34 DreamStar aircraft from the American High Technology Advanced Weapons
Center. Captain James, you are to steal DreamStar and bring it to Moscow.”

 
          
“Steal
DreamStar? Impossible! Crazy!”

 
          
“Nevertheless,
we have been ordered—”

 
          
“I
refuse. You would jeopardize all this work, all this time, in an attempt to get
a fighter out of the most heavily defended military reservation in the United
States?”

 
          
Moffitt
finally let out what he had been thinking ... “He has been turned, just as I
thought—”

 
          
No
hesitation, James rushed Moffitt, feinted with a right roundhouse to Moffitt’s
head, stepped closer and put him on the floor with a practiced kick in the
groin.

 
          
He
could hear Kramer trying quietly as he could to order him to stop. He wasn’t
listening. As Moffitt crumpled unconscious on the carpet, Maraklov grabbed the
poker and held the point on Moffitt’s throat. . . “The first thing I’ll do if
they ever turn me,” he said, pressing the sharp iron shaft into Moffitt’s
Adam’s apple, “is hunt you down and kill you. Don’t give me an excuse to do it
before then.”

 
          
“
Enough,
” Kramer said, and grabbed away
the poker. Breathing heavily more from the adrenaline pumping than from any
exertion, Maraklov told Kramer, “He knows too much. Any man with as little
common sense who can name agents in the western United States is a major
security risk—” Kramer looked at Moffitt, back to Maraklov. “We are not unaware
of the problem... diplomatic visas are being delayed. I need him, for now.” He
noted Moffitt was beginning to come around. “Now sit down, we need to talk
about this.”

           
James went to the kitchen, brought
two cans of beer. As he opened his can he said, “The idea is impossible, Henry.
I can’t conceive of a plane leaving Dreamland without authorization and make it
away from American pursuit. Never.”

 
          
“Dreamland
is like a safe, correct?” Kramer said, looking on as Moffitt rolled up to his
hands and knees, groaning and shaking his head. “The defenses there are to keep
people
out,
not to keep anything
in.
”

 
          
“Wrong.
The defenses around HAWC can do both.” James stood and went into his bedroom,
coming back moments later with a Las Vegas visual navigation chart. He unfolded
it and set it on the coffee table.

 
          
“Here.
R-4808 North. Groom Lake. Emigrant Valley Road, military only. Where the road
meets the south edge of Groom Lake is where the four aircraft hangars, offices,
labs and weapons storage areas are. Garrisoned right there with the hangars are
a detachment of twenty combat-ready security police with dogs, around the
clock. They have armored vehicles, automatic weapons, guided missiles—they
could hold off a regiment. Keeping one plane from leaving the security area
would be a simple exercise. The buildings are surrounded by a twelve-foot
concrete reinforced cyclone fence. You have to get past all that just to get
into position for takeoff on Groom Lake . . . But let’s say I make it and I
managed to take off. Now I’ve got to get out of Dreamland.

 
          
“Dreamland
has this country’s only fixed surface-to-air missile sites. They’re on Bald
Mountain, on the Shoshone Mountain range, Skull Mountain, Timber Mountain and Papoose
Peak. First-generation Rapier missile batteries, complete coverage from surface
to thirty-thousand feet within R-4808N. Single mobile sites are located on
Tonopah Test Range to the northwest and China Lake to the southwest.”

 
          
Kramer
took a sip of beer, grimaced at the taste, then pointed to the chart. “So, you
do not go that way.”

 
          
“There
is
no
way to go. There are a dozen
Navy and Air Force fighter bases within a thousand miles of Dreamland, and I
guarantee you, every one of them will launch aircraft in pursuit. If each base
launches only two aircraft, that still means there will be twenty-four advanced
fighter planes looking for me. Where do I run, Kramer?”

 
          
The
agent studied the chart. “Mexico is only three hundred miles away . . .”

 
          
“True.
But the Mexican government would allow American fighters in hot pursuit across
their borders. And that’s
if
DreamStar
could get across the border. There are four fighter- interceptor squadrons
between here and Mexico, and both the Americans and the Mexicans conduct
all-altitude surveillance of the airspace near the border. It’s impossible,
Kramer.” “You’ve had your nose in that plane too long. Relations are strained
almost to the breaking point between the United States and Mexico,” Kramer
said. “The U.S. pressing Mexico on repayment of debts has turned them cold. And
the pro-U.S. government is being accused of selling out the country to Uncle
Sam. The Soviet Union is the beneficiary. We have a carefully developed cordial
relationship with the rest of Central America too. We can ensure that any
American pursuit of > DreamStar across the border will not be allowed, that
Mexican military forces will interdict American aircraft penetrating their
airspace. They’re very proud, you know ... Anyway, that should allow you time
to evade pursuit. After that we can arrange an emergency refueling somewhere
inside Mexico.” “Even if all you say about their feelings toward the U.S. is
true, the Mexican government would never agree to
that.
” “There are thousands of square miles of the interior that
could serve as a temporary base,” Kramer said. “From what you have described,
your DreamStar aircraft could land and take off anywhere—on a dirt road, a
grass strip, a plateau—” “I’m not going to try to land DreamStar on some grass strip
. . .”

 
          
Kramer
looked closely at him. Maraklov sounded like he was talking about a personal
possession. He filed it away and decided not to use it for the moment . . . “We
have Mexican transport companies on private contract—they of course do not know
that their contract is with the KGB—that can fly our teams in to service your
aircraft without arousing the authorities—”

 
          
“And
then what? I can cruise a little over a thousand nautical miles on full
tanks—no air combat, no external stores, no low- altitude flight. I’d have to
cross the Gulf of Mexico undetected to be able to make it into ... Cuba. That’s
impossible. We both know the U.S. can track every aircraft over the Gulf unless
it’s down at low altitude. I’d be jumped after I went a hundred miles. If I
tried to make the flight at low altitude I’d flame out before I made dry land.”

 
          
“Then
forget Cuba, go somewhere else . . . Nicaragua, for instance.”

 
          
“Nicaragua?
Great. And how do I get
out
of
Nicaragua? The U.S. Navy would seal off that whole region tight. I’d fly right
into a trap—”

 
          
“You
are being very uncooperative—”

 
          
“I’m
being realistic. I’m not going to consider this deal without a detailed plan.
You expect me seriously to consider this half-baked idea? I’m supposed to put
my life on the line for some bureaucrat’s wet dream—?”

 
          
“The
North American Command has issued its orders—” “And I’m countermanding them.
I’m the commander of the Dreamland mission. That gave me the authority to
decide how my operation proceeds. Unless I receive specific orders I am not
going to consider any such operation.” He stood, facing Kramer and now Moffitt,
who had struggled to a seat. “I’ll keep you updated on any developments—about
DreamStar, security and the rest. Meantime, don’t contact me in my apartment
again.”