FALL FROM GRACE

Part III

By Linda Ryner

The mountains were eerily quiet at night, Jackie thought. Beautiful, quiet, potentially deadly. It reminded her of the same kind of quiet she encountered when she had to crash-land a piece of aircraft she was test-piloting about a year ago.

She'd damn near lost her life, barely made it out before the thing exploded and ended up in the foothills of the California at dusk, with rattlesnakes, scorpions, spiders and cactus for company. The reason she'd been test piloting near dark was for the infrared scanning which had been a new development in the high-tech machinery. One of the engines had sputtered, caught fire and she'd been forced to land.

But the mountains were different. Cool. Cleansing. Primal. When she and Hawke had first come up there mid-afternoon, she explored the area around the lake and the meadow that was through the valley behind the cabin, where a bubbling brook widened out into a spring. Hawke had it made out here. Clean water and air, solitude, scenery. He lived off the grid to some extent -- generators in case of emergency, a two-way radio for outside communication if it became necessary. His only rule was for her not to stay out after dark. The mountains weren't to be trifled with, he warned her, especially if you didn't know your way around too well. The sun had just slipped down behind two peaks when she came back from her sojourn.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to come out after you," Hawke told her, handing her a glass of wine after she hung her flight jacket up. He took a glass of wine himself.

"This place is absolutely fabulous," she told him, going over to the sofa to sit down. "You're so lucky to have it."

"Yeah, I know." He sat down next to her, watching as her eyes scanned the cabin's layout.

"Michael said these paintings were all originals," she said. "Are they really?"

"They're the real McCoy," String confirmed. "A present from my grandfather to my grandmother."

"Unfortunately, I don't have much of an eye for art," she told him, reddening a little. "I know what I like but that's about it. I couldn't tell a Van Gogh from a Renoir."

"Michael never took you to art shows or anything?"

"To the contrary. Every time he got a chance. But art was way beyond me. Frankly, I couldn't care less about who the artist was -- I'd buy something if I liked the painting." She laughed. "I would have rather been watching an old movie or playing basketball or reading Stephen King or Anne Rice."

"Michael mentioned you liked the ballet and opera, though."

"Love it!" she confirmed enthusiastically. "That was different. The ballet and opera was like being in another time and place. The ballet was the best. The dancers always looked like they were flying."

Hawke smiled at the comparison, watching as her eyes became soft and far away. Flying would always be Jackie's greatest love -- a love that permeated all of her other interests. Except maybe for Michael. That much hadn't been lost on him.

He crossed his legs. "So tell me about this thing of yours with Michael. Neither Dom or I knew he had a goddaughter. I didn't even know your connection to each other on the Airwolf project."

"That was the idea. I was better off just known as Jackie Kendricks, not Archangel's goddaughter," she told him, grimacing. She took a sip of wine. "I've known Michael all my life. He was my dad's best friend -- they were in the Korean War together. They came from similar blueblood backgrounds. They all went to the same alma mater where Dad met my Mom. After Dad and Michael came home from the war -- both of them had been recruited for covert operations -- I was born and Michael became my godfather. Then when Dad and Mom's careers took off with the Airwolf project . . . well, that pretty much left me alone with the other relatives. Somewhere in there, Michael decided to step in, I can remember him from abuot the time I was three years old." She leaned back. "Michael's always been there -- when I learned how to ride my first bike, he patched up my scraped knees when I fell. He bought me my first pony when I was six and had me playing polo by twelve. He offered me my first sip of champagne at sixteen. He spoiled me rotten and I loved every minute of it. He has always been there for me." Jackie smiled at the memories. "I was always on my best behavior with him. When my folks joined The Firm permanently, right about the time Michael became Deputy Director, they knew that if anything happened to them, Michael would take care of me. I was lucky, even though I still spent a lot of time on my own since they were all busy with their careers."

"So -- in essence -- Michael was a third parent for you."

"He was there when my mom and dad couldn't be. When they all had to be gone on some project or another, he usually made arrangements for me to be at least hanging around the same place when I wasn't taking classes. I realized Mom and Dad's work was important and I didn't hate them for being a gone a lot. But it . . . hurt sometimes." Her expression changed to one of some sadness. "My childhood was anything but normal. Even after Mom and Dad started spending more time at home and Michael was appointed Deputy Director, nothing much really changed." She paused. "I needed him a lot back then. He had almost a sixth sense when it came to knowing when I needed him. He even showed up on the doorstep when --" Jackie broke off, suddenly embarrassed at how she'd run on.

"What?" Hawke prodded, surprised she had told him so much already and curious to learn more.

She laughed a little nervously. "I'll bore you to tears."

"I doubt that. This is getting interesting." He noticed her marked hesitation. "Look, you can tell me if you want to, or not. I'm not going to repeat anything you tell me." He took a sip of the wine, relaxing. "I'm a pretty good listener."

Jackie contemplated him for a long moment, as if debating. Then, she also settled back, looking down into the wineglass in her hands. "I was a wallflower. Taking classes at the Chicago branch of the Firm Academy was about all I knew. I never really knew many people my age. Never went to high school football games or rallies . . . I was taking special classes and working toward testpiloting and covert operations as a career. I enrolled at thirteen -- the youngest trainee on record. Michael said it was a mistake. But he gave in when I kept dinging at him about it."

"You didn't even go to any community dances or anything?" Hawke queried, surprised that a girl like Jackie would have had a problem getting dates. "You had no social contacts at all?"

She shook her head. "Not much. And being as I graduated from high school six years early, no prom."

Hawke hadn't thought about that. "What a bummer. But -- how could you be without dates?"

"I guess it was sort of by choice . . . I don't know." She sipped her wine. "Even though I didn't have a prom to go to, I had one of the most memorable evenings of my life." She looked up at the pilot. "Again, it was because of Michael."

******************************

EARLY MAY, 1978

Jackie kicked at a rock as she walked home from the train station early that afternoon. She had never cared much for utilizing a Firm limo from the downtown Chicago Academy. All she ever would have had to do was ask for the service and she would receive it with absolutely no questions asked, but she hated the feeling of being dogged. Her daily commute to downtown Chicago and back to Schaumburg via public transit and downtown bus service was something she had insisted on from the very beginning. Riding in the limo with Michael was one thing. Riding in a limo to and from classes made her feel like a virtual prisoner with no freedom of her own. At least she had control over those two wedges of time, and she would never give that up.

Now, particularly on this day, she was feeling blue, feeling left out, feeling -- totally alone and neglected. She supposed she should have figured out a long time ago that she wouldn't be going to a senior prom. Academic trainees going to the FIRM academy just didn't get many dates. Especially when she was Michael Coldsmith-Briggs' goddaughter. It was just a fact of life. All the students attending the Academy were in their early to mid-twenties anyway. And she was still practically jailbait.

She tossed her dark head and forged ahead down the sidewalk. //Who cares?// she thought angrily. //All a prom is is a bunch of oversexed adolescents with their faces plastered together most of the night.// She sighed. Just once, she wouldn't mind being one of those adolescents.

She walked up the drive of the wooded section called Willowbrook Estates, only a few blocks from the train, and spied a white limousine parked in the long drive of her parents' white three-story. A pretty, white-clad woman was sitting in the driver's seat. He was back! she thought excitedly. She ran up the front steps and breezed through the front door.

"Michael?" she called, throwing her books on the hallway table. "Michael!"

A familiar figure came through the kitchen doorway, glass of white wine in hand. When he saw her, Michael smiled widely and put his glass down on the table, holding his arms out. Jackie laughed and rushed into them, enclosed in a tight embrace and surrounded with the wonderful scent of English Leather. He leaned back, then gave her a warm kiss on the cheek, casually draping his arm about her shoulders to lead her into the living room to the sofa.

"You terrible man, you haven't been here for months!" she teased with a happy smile on her face.

"Only two," he protested, drawing her to his side. "For Pete's sake, by the greeting you gave me, you'd think it was two years."

"It seemed like it," she told him, hitting him lightly on the chest, then turning to give him another bearhug.

Sara Kendricks, a beautiful brunette, and hardly the image of a Firm scientist, dashed down the stairs adjusting an earring and straightening the necline on the emerald green evening gown she wore. She smiled at them on the way past. "Jackie, give Michael some breathing space. You'll suffocate the poor man."

"I could think of worse ways to go than in this lady's arms," Michael replied, laughing.

"I thought you and Dad would have left already," Jackie said, leaning back with Michael. "Doesn't that banquet you're going to start in about five hours? You should have been gone this morning."

"They overbooked the flight," Sara snorted. "And there are no others available until later. Michael was in town, so he arranged it so we could take the Firm jet."

"Where's Dad?"

"Upstairs getting dressed." Sara studied her reflection in the mirror, scrutinizing her carefully made-up face. "Daniel!!" she called up the stairs. "Don't forget the suitcases!"

"Suitcases?" Jackie frowned. "How long this time?"

"Just a few days. Your father wants to visit some of his old cronies out in L.A. We'll be back late next week," her mother replied.

"Don't look so down, sweetheart," Michael comforted her when he saw Jackie's disappointed face. "You trot upstairs and get yourself ready."

She looked at him, frowning. "Ready for what?"

"Just do what Michael says," Sara advised her, touching Jackie's hair as she leaned over the back of the couch. "He's got a surprise for you."

"We're not going with you, are we? Nobody ever tells me anything around here until the last minute!" she complained with a pout.

"If you'd get upstairs," Michael urged, rising to pull her to her feet, "you'd find out. Now come on. We don't have a whole lot of time."

"What is going on?" Jackie demanded as he took her hand. "What are you up to, Michael?"

Michael grinned and pulled her up the stairs after him and into her room. He brought her inside and then leaned against the doorway. Puzzled, Jackie looked around, then gasped when her eyes fell upon the bed. A sleek, sequined, silver-white gown, strapless, with silver slipper-pumps and beaded purse lay there awaiting her inspection.

"What . . . Michael, what is this for?" Her look became unbelieving. "Oh, Michael. Did Mom open her big mouth and tell you how disappointed I was about not going to a prom? You're not taking me to one, are you?"

"Heavens no. Better. I have an entire evening planned for us. And if you don't mind, I'll stay here until your folks get back and we can spend some more time together. Go riding, see the Natural History Museum, take a horse and buggy ride. Whatever you want. After two months, I owe you at least one week. I'll speak to your teachers at the Academy so they'll let you out of classes." It was a foregone conclusion that it would take Jackie almost no time at all to make up anything she missed.

"Are you sure this isn't just a mercy date?" she asked doubtfully. "It's awfully convenient -- on the same night as all the high school prom nights and with mom and dad leaving to go out of town."

He touched her hair fondly, neither confirming nor denying. "You're a lovely lady, Jackie Lee. I want to show you off to the world tonight."

She threw her arms around his neck and hugged tightly. "I don't now what possesses you to do all the things you do," she whispered in his ear. "But I know I'm one of the luckiest girls in the world to have you."

He returned the hug. "Yeah, you're probably right about that," he agreed, rather smugly. "Come on, now. Get ready." He stepped back. "I have a reservation at that French restaurant you like and balcony seats for Baryshnikov. We'll play it by ear after that."

Jackie moved out of his arms. "Okay," she said, giving him a quick kiss. "Outta my room, then."

He heard her muffled "Yes!" as he started down the staircase and smiled with great satisfaction.

******************************

The grove was at the edge of a forest preserve -- quiet, secluded, very romantic and the local makeout spot for high schoolers. Laughter drifted up between the branches of the trees and the clink of glasses could be heard amidst the rushing May breeze.

Michael leaned up on his elbow and contemplated his goddaughter who lay back on the blanket. "Well, my dear. Does this make up for all the weeks away?"

"More than makes up," she confirmed happily. "I could hardly believe it when you took me backstage to meet Mikhail Baryshnikov! Never in my wildest dreams! How did you manage it? I hear he's so publicity-shy."

"I'm a patron of the arts," he reminded her. "We've met in passing." He smiled enigmatically. "He owed me one."

"The more I think I know you, the less I really end up knowing," she told him, almost wonderingly.

"You know me very well," he disagreed, touching her cheek with his free hand. "This has been the best time I've had in quite awhile. You've made this a very lovely evening for me."

She smiled at the compliment and averted her eyes. "C'mon, Michael. You're always surrounded with beautiful women. I should be thanking you for a lovely time."

"None of my ladies hold a candle to you." He placed his glass away from him on the ground and leaned toward her, fingers tracing the delicate contour of her jawline. "Don't you know how beautiful you are? What it is you do to men? That beauty's not just on the outside, sweetheart, I'm talking inside, too. You're intelligent, you have wit, you're strongwilled -- all things to be admired."

"How come I'm rating such compliments tonight?" she queried quietly. "You've never said these things to me before. Not like this."

"Maybe because tonight was supposed to be a milestone in your life," he said. "That's what a prom is supposed to be. When your mother said how upset you were . . ." He caught her pained look. "I wanted this to be a milestone for you. I wanted this to be the beginning of true adulthood for you. This is where your life really begins. You're going to graduate the Academy in six weeks."

"I know." She sighed. "It's scary."

"It doesn't have to be. After you're done with Air Force, you'll come work for me. I have a position ready and waiting."

"Will I have to wear white?"

He smiled indulgently. "Not if you don't want to."

She looked up at him from where she lay back on the blanket, enjoying the touch of his hand on her cheek. He was so close she could feel his breath on her face. She reached up a hand, fingertips brushing his lips. He took her hand in his and kissed it warmly, looking down at her all the while. Jackie felt a tingling envelope her and she extricated her hand from his, placing it on the back of his neck and leaning up toward him.

The kiss was full and warm and lovely . . . she felt his momentary surprise and thought for a split second he might pull away. But he didn't. In fact, he was kissing her back now; deepening it, lending passion to the caress. A white-hot flame shot through her and Jackie moaned softly against his mouth which seemed to make him react even more. His arms went around her, holding her tightly on the blanket, body pressed into hers. Her breathing heightened and she smiled in silent triumph.

"Oh, my God," he suddenly breathed against her mouth. "Oh, my God. Jackie . . . sweetheart, let me up. Let me up."

He broke from her arms, rolling away to sit up, touching his mouth with his fingers. Jackie caught her breath, leaning up on her elbows, then sat up with him, touching his shoulder. He jerked as if her touch burned, then relaxed.

"What is it, Michael?" she asked in a near-whisper. "Why did you turn away from me?"

"Oh, Jackie." His shoulders slumped. "Sweetheart, I think we might have taken the role-playing a little too far." His voice shook.

"What role-playing?" She frowned. "I wasn't playacting. I wanted to kiss you. From what I felt, you wanted the same thing."

He turned to her and took her hand in his. "I'm too old for you, angel. We both know that."

She pulled her hand away angrily. "World's oldest excuse. You love me. You've said so hundreds of times. I love you. What more does there have to be?"

"More." He touched her bare back. "You're barely eighteen. You're just beginning to experience life. You think you know what love is . . . all teenagers your age do. But the kind of love you're talking about -- requires a lot more than a simple 'I love you.'"

"Why is it adults your age make things ten times more complicated than they have to be?" Jackie queried almost angrily. "What makes you think for a minute I don't know what it is I feel? If I told you I love you like I do Dad, you'd accept it and take it for granted I know what I'm talking about. But the minute I mention the L-word in a different context, you're sure I have absolutely no inkling of it's definition."

"I know you think you do. Give it a few years. You'll understand better, then." He rolled his shoulders. "I promised you a late-night movie, Jackie Lee. Where to?"

Jackie sighed, knowing merely from his tone that the subject was closed. "Rocky Horror Picture Show -- at the Nickelodeon," she replied unenthusiastically. "And you promised me the Country Club for breakfast."

"I promised and I'll take you there." He kissed her forehead and they got to their feet, picking up their basket and blanket, then walking back to the limo.

Jackie was quiet during the ride. She'd crossed over from child to adult tonight. Michael had treated her like a woman -- a real woman. But then . . . then he'd backed off, and she was his Jackie Lee again.

Somehow, life just got a lot more complicated, and she wasn't even sure why.

******************************

"It was a crush," Jackie murmured, as she stared into the crystal glass in her hand. "You know how it is when you're that age. Everything's a crisis."

"You couldn't have been more than twenty-two when you joined The Firm," Hawke estimated, carefully watching her face, listening to her voice inflections. "Pretty young."

"Michael has girls on his payroll younger."

"Why were you transferred from the Air Force to a security unit in Grenada?" he asked.

"I was in Michael's employ at the time. I headed the unit sent out there to assess their defenses. It was coincidence that we were there during the invasion. When they started shooting at us, I didn't ask questions. We grabbed the nearest fighters and took them up. Michael just about had a hemorrhage when he got my report."

"Then what?"

"Rantoul Air Force Base, training pilots -- very short stint. I told Michael if I didn't get some good stuff, I'd quit. So he put me to work flying specialized missions for The Firm and test-piloting . . . it was his idea to turn me into one of his little ladies in white until I told him I wasn't interested, that I wanted excitement and something that had a lot to do with flying. It just about killed him to agree to it. He's so overprotective. Once in awhile, I got a rescue mission, but it was mostly surveillance missions in banana republic nations and Red territory. Covert operations. Drops. Pick-ups. Trades. Standard CIA cloak-and-dagger stuff." Her expression sobered. "Then came Airwolf. You know the rest of the story. At least most of it." Storm clouds gathered at her brow.

"You might feel better if you kept talking. If you need to get stuff off your chest, I'm all ears and as confidential as a priest in the confessional."

Her eyes leveled with his. "You want me to keep talking, huh? What about the tales you have to tell?"

Hawke's eyes narrowed. "How much do you know about me, Jackie?"

"Michael gave me a profile outlining you and your life. But I read the full dossier The Firm has on you."

Stringfellow's jaw hardened. "Michael had no right to give you that. I have a closed file."

"Michael didn't have a thing to do with it. I pulled it from his computer while he was logged in and stepped out of the office."

"That was nervy. And risky." He took a drink of wine. "You could have asked me for information, Jackie. I don't like my life read about like an open book."

"There's nothing in there to be ashamed of."

"It's still personal. You had no right."

"I'm sorry about prying, but I needed to know a little more about the man who was training me than what a brief outline could tell." She paused, then said quietly, "I didn't know how involved you were with Gabrielle."

Hawke rose and went to stand over by the mantel, the fire from the fireplace illuminating his form. "I'm not ready to talk about her, Jackie. Not yet."

"So tell me about you and Dom and St. John instead," she countered.

"Why talk about St. John? Everyone thinks he's dead." Hawke's voice was flat.

"You don't." She gazed at the pictures on the mantel. "St. John is everywhere in this cabin. You don't believe he's dead."

"He isn't."

"So spill."

Hawke realized that she wasn't going to give him any peace until he gave her something in return for her confidences -- which had been no small thing, he thought. She certainly wasn't one to air her history, from what he remembered during their training sessions together at the Airwolf testing sites. She'd pretty much kept to herself, there. So that must mean she'd really needed someone to talk to tonight. She'd talked about some pretty intimate things. Even so, he wasn't sure talking to Jackie was such a good idea. Not so much because of who she was, but because spilling his guts would leave him vulnerable.

"Look, whatever you say stays here. I'm not going to run to Michael or anyone else with it," she told him and Hawke was surprised he was so easy to read. "They say talking about it heals. So why don't you start healing?"

After a few moments and a swallow or two later, Hawke sat down in front of her. "I guess it's only fair I give you something back, huh?"

"That's right. Only fair."

Tentatively, Hawke began to reveal his childhood. He talked. About high school. About Nam. About St. John and Dom. About his mother and father. He watched her attentive face as story after story unfolded. She was rapt in her absorption, throwing in questions only after periodic lulls in his narrative. Then . . .

And then he began to talk of Gabrielle. Although Dom had been with him every step, had seen him kill Moffett and had been witness as Gabrielle had died in his arms, Hawke had never openly talked about the love they had shared and what her death had done to him. He admitted to Jackie that he had lied to Archangel about how she had died at the merciless hands of Charles Henry Moffett. Lied to save him the pain of knowing how she suffered . . . and when Hawke looked into Jackie's eyes, he saw his pain mirrored in her own. Unable to look any longer, he rose and walked over to the mantel, staring into the fireplace.

Jackie set her empty glass down and followed him over. She reached out a hand to touch his chest, then very quickly snatched it back, as if sensing an unseen barricade. Finally, she looked up at him. "I know that wasn't easy for you," she told him quietly. "It couldn't have been, to lie to Michael like that, and keep the pain to yourself. The reason I know that -- is because he did the same for me. He kept most of the pain to spare me the heartache. Just like you did for him." She swung away suddenly. "I wish I could make all this pain go away. For you. For him. For me."

"Yeah." Hawke moved behind her and turned her around. "I think we all would like to be able to do that." He buried a hand in the dark hair at the back of her neck. "Thanks for being my sounding board tonight. Frankly, I never thought the day would come when I'd spill my guts like that."

"Don't wait so long the next time," she told him quietly. "I know guys don't generally let their guard down like women do, least of all about their feelings. I feel privileged you've done that with me. I'll never betray that, String. You can talk to me anytime. About anything. I'm not your judge. I'd like to be your friend."

"Thought you already were."

She smiled up at him. "'Bout time we got some shuteye, bro," she said, letting the warmth of the moment linger. "I want to go explore that cave on the other side of the meadow. Let me make breakfast tomorrow?"

"Sure," Hawke said. "Just remember, no red meat products for me."

"Eggs, hashbrowns and fruit -- pancakes if you want 'em."

"Sounds good." He smiled. "I should have you cook for me all the time."

Jackie laughed as she trailed to the spare room. "Only if you serenade me every night."

"Done," Hawke agreed, starting up to the loft. "G'night, Jacks."

"G'night."

Hawke laid back in the dark for a long time before sleep claimed him. He truly enjoyed Jackie. He hadn't felt any pressure to keep his distance or to put the moves on her. Sometimes it was good to be able to interact with the opposite sex without either party expecting anything. The vibes he got from her was total non-interest in a romantic thing. He could deal with that. He was sure he knew where her real interest was.

He wondered how Michael could be so blind to it.

******************************

After Jackie's initial breakthrough on the simulator, life suddenly changed. Michael and Dom worked out a deal where Jackie would work for Dom at Santini Air gratis to keep her piloting skills toned up. This afforded her more time with Dom and Stringfellow; Hawke became the older brother, a confidante and friend. Dom doted on her like an uncle and always found time to go for a spin in a biplane, take in a movie or attend air shows with her. He showed her the ins and outs of running the office and fielding calls. Pretty soon she was keeping the books, too. These were all good developments, Michael thought, yet he couldn't help but feel occasional twinges of resentment at the amount of time the three were spending together.

Jackie was changing. Every day, she became more removed from him, more independent. Before, she'd always jumped at the chance to spend time with him, to attend opera, ballet, symphony . . . he enjoyed taking her to parties, openings and social events when anyone who was anybody gathered. He enjoyed just being with her for quiet times, missing their late-night TV movies and talks, walks along the beach, horsebackriding, long rides in the limo. She frequently had "other plans" when he was in L.A. and wanted to make a date, almost as though she were trying to avoid him at times. To make matters worse, Hawke and Dominic weren't his only rivals. Jackie had begun to date several men she'd met through the two pilots and although Michael was fairly certain his concern was groundless, he ran background checks on them.

His concern buoyed yet again when she neglected to give him her full 24-hour schedule, disappearing without telling him where she was going. If she hadn't been working for The Firm, he wouldn't be inclined to keep close tabs -- well, maybe he wouldn't. One never knew when an emergency would come up and he'd need her at a moment's notice. At least that was what he kept telling himself. She absolutely refused to wear a pager. He'd mentioned his concern to her several times, but she seemed nonchalant over it.

Though he had no concrete reason to do so, Michael used one such occasion of absenteeism to conduct a search as to her whereabouts. Finally, he called Hawke on the special line to the cabin and discovered she had been up there with him all the time. He demanded she come to the phone and she complied. They exchanged heated words and the conversation ended when Jackie simply hung up on him. Stringfellow picked up the receiver, dialing Firm Headquarters as he watched Jackie disappear angrily into the extra bedroom designated as hers. He did his best to calm Michael, but, unappeased, the Deputy Director threatened to come and bodily drag her back to the L.A. office.

"And what would that solve?" Hawke asked. "She's too big to take over your knee, Michael."

"Watch me!" he barked over the line in fury.

"It won't solve anything. What would you accomplish by tearing up here to drag her back by the hair?"

"Look, I went along with her own place. I even let her charge The Firm with furnishing it and she'd driving around in a Company Ferrari with a brand new paint job at Firm expense!" Michael seethed. "She's just being plain irresponsible. She owes me this much! She thinks I'm infringing on her privacy, but I need to know her whereabouts twenty-four hours a day. It's necessary."

"Hey, you don't have to justify your reasons to me," Hawke said. "Let me talk to her."

"No. That's my place."

"Michael, listen." Hawke's voice was low. "If you talk to her, the two of you will scream at each other until one or both of you is hoarse and you won't resolve a thing. Let me talk to her."

"Do you honestly believe you can talk sense into her better than I can?" Archangel demanded hotly.

"Jackie isn't rebelling against me, Michael."

"But she is rebelling against me, is that it?" There was a long pause on the line. "All right. But when you're done talking to her, have her call me."

"If she wants to. I can't make her."

"Convince her, Hawke. This isn't personal. It's business. I wouldn't let any of my operatives get away with this if they were working in the same capacity."

"I'll talk to her, Michael, but I can't guarantee a thing. She's got it in her head that you're -- keeping her on a pretty short leash."

"What!"

"Hey, I'm not the one saying it. I think it's about time you had a little heart-to-heart with Jackie to explain the difference between your concern for her professionally and your concern for her on a personal level -- providing there is a difference. It's beginning to interfere with her training on Airwolf. We can't work together effectively if she's pissed off at you all the time."

There was dead silence on the other end for a long moment. "Maybe -- maybe I have been confusing her."

"Give, Michael. What's going on? Everything was fine until a few weeks ago after she started working for Dom. Then all of a sudden you come across like Genghis Khan."

"She's . . ." He paused. "I can't help this protective streak. I watched her grow up."

"But she's not a little girl. She doesn't need that kind of protecting anymore. Anytime I've seen the two of you together, you hardly act like father and daughter. You don't even act like friends. You act more like her lover."

There was a pause. "Just get her on the horn to me as soon as you've had your little talk. Please."

"I'll do my best."

Hawke replaced the receiver in its cradle and closed up the briefcase, sighing to himself. He fastened his eyes on the closed bedroom door, then walked over to it, knocking gently.

"Jackie?" There was no answer, which he expected, but he rapped harder. "You can't have fallen asleep so quickly. Open the door."

After a moment, he heard the click of the latch and the heavy wooden door opened. Jackie's face filled the crack and she looked up at Hawk defiantly.

"Come on out. I want to talk to you."

He heard her soft curse and then she hesitantly emerged from the bedroom and slid into a chair across from him.

"Well?" he prompted.

"Well what? You were the one who said we needed to talk."

"C'mon, Jackie. What's this all about?"

"Oh, I'm sure Michael enlightened you."

"I want to hear what you have to say."

She rested her chin in hand and sighed. "The problem is Michael."

"OK. Go on."

"He won't loosen the leash."

"Are you sure you haven't encouraged him to act like this?" Hawke asked her, eyes never leaving hers.

Startled, Jackie stared at him. "What?"

"You deliberately do things to upset him. I've watched you do it. What was it you said? Part of your deal for signing up for the Airwolf training was that you got to spend more time with Michael. Well, from what I can see, Michael's been available and you haven't been. What kind of game are you playing? Why didn't you tell Michael you were coming up here to the cabin?"

"He doesn't need to know where I am all the time."

"You know you're supposed to let him know where you're going when you plan to be out of the home base area."

Jackie actually scowled. "He's a mother hen."

"Can you blame him? He helped raised you. You're his goddaughter."

Jackie sprang from the sofa and pounded the mantel angrily. "Just once I wish he'd forget I was his goddaughter!"

Hawke sat quietly, waiting for her to continue. He knew what was going on. He just needed Jackie to confirm it.

"He still looks at me as if I were a kid in school!" she raged on. "I can't do anything anymore without his going crazy! One minute he treats me like his little girl and the next he treats me like -- like --"

"Like a woman?" Hawke asked cautiously.

Her head turned sharply and her eyes met his furiously. "Bingo."

Hawke held her gaze. "Jackie . . . could your crush on him as a teenager turned into something more? Are you in love with Michael?"

Her indrawn breath was audible and she whipped away from Hawke's probing eyes. "We flirt with each other all the time. He's my godfather."

"Yeah, I know. What's that got to do with it? What are you playing the martyr for? It's a simple enough question to answer."

"Drop it, Hawke."

"I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong. I've got a damn good idea, but it's not going to do any good if I don't hear it from you," Hawke told her sternly. "Now answer the question. Are you in love with Michael?"

"He's my godfather!"

Hawke rose and approached, taking her by the shoulders. "You're still not answering the question."

She pushed away, barely in control. "Go to hell!"

"Are you in love with him, Jackie?" Suddenly, she lashed out, but Hawke reacted more quickly and grasped her wrists, pulling her close so he could look down into her face. "Yes or no?"

Abruptly, she relaxed against him. "I don't want to talk about Michael." She loosened her wrists from his hands and her arms went up around his neck. "I don't want to talk at all."

Hawke almost let her kiss him. It would have been easy enough. He could have let her off the hook and taken her right to bed, but he stood fast, knowing the mistake they'd both be making if he gave in. He disengaged her arms.

"Why don't you just admit that you're in love with the man, for Pete's sake?"

She drew away, turning her back to him, folding her arms tightly over her chest. "Damn it. I didn't think I was so transparent."

"Jackie, when the two of you are together, it's pretty obvious. You're not the only one making it obvious, either." He turned her around. "It's something you and he are going to have to discuss someday."

She shook her head. "Are you kidding? I've tried to make him see I'm a woman since I was fifteen years old. Granted when I was a teenager, he was right, I didn't understand a thing about being in love. But I'm not a kid anymore, Hawke, and I'm sure not naive or stupid. Trying to get him to see that is impossible." She turned away. "Sometimes I think there might be a chance -- he hates anyone I've ever dated and lets me know about it. He takes me out, he wines me, dines me, treats me like a queen, buys me things all the time, flirts with me back and forth. But when I -- when I try to let him know I'm interested in more -- he backs off or doesn't take me seriously. Repeatedly." She sighed, closing her eyes. "Hawke, he doesn't kiss me like a godfather. In public -- he always acts like we're -- you know -- together. I never know what it is he really wants. But I do know what I want."

Hawke reached out a hand in a rare gesture to touch her hair. "Must make you feel pretty confused."

"The best times I've ever had have been with him and I can't imagine not having him in my life. But String -- I need a life. I need some direction. I've got to know one way or the other if he's ever going to take us seriously. If not, I want to be free to move on. But when I don't even know what it is he wants from me --" She paused. "I'm sorry I've put you guys at odds. It won't happen again." She looked over at the briefcase phone. "I suppose I better call and get the apologies over with." She walked over to the table and opened up the case. Then she looked over at him once more. "String?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't let on to Michael about any of this. I'd die if he knew what a lovesick calf I was."

Hawke, smiled, unwilling to make a promise, but apparently she took it as one because she turned back to the task at hand and began to dial.

******************************

A couple of weeks later, Michael received a coded message at the L.A. office from French contacts in Tripoli. Operatives in Libya planted deeply inside the Khadaffi camp reported that Graham Preston was within the country's borders, pinpointing him at a military installation set out in the desert to the east of Tripoli. But what was more of a shock was the news of the project that was in the last stages of development. After reading the message, Michael had it shredded and immediately contacted Marella in the outer office, informing her of the new developments.

"We need to meet with Stringfellow and Dom right away," Archangel told her. "We also have a problem. Jackie's working there. I don't dare tell her about this."

"I wonder if it's wise to keep it from her, Sir," Marella countered doubtfully.

"It's the only way. If I told her this now, she'd want to be an active part in the mission to bring him back to The States. She's not ready for that. She nearly lost it when she saw the photos in the file. I need to schedule an emergency meeting tonight with The Committee at Headquarters."

"I'll take care of the arrangements, Sir." She paused. "What can Jackie really do, Michael? You're her superior."

Archangel smiled wryly. "Apparently you're not aware of the maverick blood my goddaughter seems to have inherited -- oddly enough from me. I've been on a few missions myself I wasn't supposed to be on. Saying no wouldn't change a thing. She's resourceful and could be in Libya in record time if she had a reason."

Marella tilted her head. "Do you think she could get around you even under -- say -- house arrest or constant surveillance? I don't mean to butt in your private business, Sir, but I think it's a mistake not to say something about it to her."

"Objection noted. It's just easier if she doesn't know at all. At least until after Preston's been brought back to face charges."

"Well then, Sir -- shall I contact Santini Air?"

"Please. We have to jump on this now."

She walked into the outer office and Michael looked out the window over the grounds. Bringing Preston back to account for his crimes would be some consolation -- if they could keep him alive long enough. Michael knew the man. He was an arrogant SOB with a god-complex, much like Moffett. A sick, twisted mind. But this mission had to be by the book.

His office intercom buzzed. "Yes, Marella?"

"I have Hawke on line one, Sir. Scramble mode."

Archangel pushed down the button on the phone and picked up the receiver. "Hello, Hawke? We need to talk."

******************************

Hawke watched as Michael's limo pulled through the chain link gate. He had not enjoyed hustling Jackie out of the picture on the pretense of sending her to the hardware store on the other side of town for some tubing. He understood Michael's need for privacy, but this sounded a lot like he was trying to keep something from her, playing the protective guardian once more. He glanced over at Dom when Michael and Marella stepped into the office.

"Okay, Michael," Hawke said, settling in a comfortable position on the edge of Dom's desk. "What's with all this cloak and dagger stuff?"

"Our contacts in Libya have given us some extremely distressing information," Archangel explained evenly. "The murderer of Daniel and Sara Kendricks has resurfaced and he's working directly with Khadaffi. We knew Preston was somewhere in Khadaffi's sandbox, we just didn't know exactly what it was he was working on since dropping out of sight."

"We've just been apprised that before he defected, Preston copied some of our information onto computer disks and later offered them up for bid, shortly after Moffett's demise," Marella continued. "Khadaffi's Soviet-backed bid was the highest."

"What information?" Dom asked, concerned.

"Mr. Preston absconded with full blueprints and computer designs for Airwolf," Michael replied.

Stringfellow stared at him. "Moffett destroyed those records!"

"Apparently Mr. Preston knew which way the wind was blowing," Marella said. "Remember, he came on board along with the Kendricks'. He had ample access to all the information. Our agents have indicated there are three sets -- one in his Airwolf, one kept in the files in the office buildings at the installation, and we aren't sure where the third set is."

Hawke stood, going over to the window to stare out of it. "Christ."

"Exactly what Zeus said," Michael told him. "I'm afraid it's true. He put his own team together -- some of the best aerodynamics experts to be had in the Mideast -- and created another Airwolf. The security on the development was so airtight that's why we're only finding out about it now. There's going to be a test run in three days' time at the installation where Preston's been putting on the refining touches. If the demonstration is successful, and we have every reason to believe it will be, the entire North African sector could be overrun by Khadaffi in a matter of months -- maybe weeks -- with Soviet support. Who knows where they could progress after that?"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," Dom murmured, shaking his head.

"So," Michael continued, "the mission is to confiscate Preston's Airwolf and stolen files if possible; destroy everything if it becomes necessary; and bring Preston back to answer for his crimes." He paused, gaze aligning with Hawke's. "Or -- if for one reason or another Preston can't be brought back --"

"Use extreme prejudice," Stringfellow finished for him.

"Marella and I are going with you," Archangel said, jaw flexing. "I have a very personal stake in this. This mission has got to be by the book -- to the letter. That's why I didn't want Jackie here when we talked about it. If she even had an inkling of what was going on, she'd go after Preston and probably get herself killed. If I told her no, she'd go anyway -- and she has enough contacts to get herself over there."

"Yeah, I have no doubts about that. When do we do this?" Hawke asked.

"You need to be ready at a moment's notice. I've made all the arrangements, I just need to wait for confirmations to arrive."

"All right, Michael. We'll wait for your call."

No one saw the shadow beside the open window on the outside that slipped away at the end of their conversation.

******************************

END PART III

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Susan Rossi, Webmistress
shewolf75@hotmail.com
February 4, 1999