Day of the Cheetah – Brown, Dale

                  Prologae

The Connecticut Academy, USSR

Saturday, 2 May 1985, 0748 EET

“KEN JAMES” STAMPED his feet on the half-frozen dirt, rubbed

his hands together quickly, then wrapped them around the shaft

of a big Spaulding softball bat.

     “Cmon, dammit,” he yelled to the tall, lanky kid on the

pitcher’s mound.

     “Wait,” yelled the pitcher, “Tony Scorcelli.- James made

a few test swings, hitching up his jacket around his armpits.

Scorcelli pounded the softball in his glove, then carefully, as

if trying to toss a ring over a Coke bottle, threw the ball un-

derhanded toward home plate.

The ball sailed clear over Ken’s head.

     “What do you call that?” James stepped away from the

plate, leaned on the bat, shaking his head at Scorcelli.

     The catcher, “Tom Bell,” trotted back to retrieve the ball.

When he picked’it up from under a clump of quack grass along

the backstop, he glanced over at the bench, noting the displea-

sure of the school’s headmaster, “Mr. Roberts,” who was

making notes on a clipboard. The catcher knew that meant

trouble.

     All the Academy’s students were serious about these once-

a-week softball games. Here, even before perestroika, they

learned competition was necessary, even desirable. Winning

was all, losing was failure. Every opportunity to prove one’s

superior leadership, physical and intellectual skills was moni-

tored and evaluated.

     “All right,” James said as the catcher, Bell, tossed the ball