FALL FROM GRACE
Part II
By Linda Ryner
//Everything seems peaceful enough,// thought Michael, as he, Marella and Jackie climbed from the white helicopter. But he knew all too well that appearances could be deceiving.
At least Jackie was prepared as was humanly possible for this meeting. She'd accessed The Firm's computers during the day while she'd waited for him at L.A. Headquarters and he, himself had briefed her during
the flight from Chicago. Lastly, she'd studied films of Hawke flying Airwolf and if he knew her at all, Jackie was filled with the desire to fly The Lady herself.
"I know Hawke didn't want any part of this," Jackie said as they made their way to the front door. "Just how hard is this guy going to be on me? I'm beginning to feel as if I should've brought a crucifix
and a garlic necklace."
Marella and Archangel laughed. Michael placed an arm about her shoulders. "I'm your guardian angel, remember? If there are any dragons in there to slay, leave it to me."
"How characteristically macho," she snorted. "I don't think you'd get out alive. You left your magic fairy dust back home." She sprinted ahead, mounting the stairs.
The cabin door opened, revealing a big-boned, somewhat heavy-set man. Jackie stopped short, staring at the weatherbeaten face that looked back at her. She felt Michael come up behind, one hand lightly at
her waist and stood a little straighter.
"Evening, Dominic," Michael said casually. "This is your new trainee, Jacquelyn Kendricks."
A polite smile formed on the older man's face as he took Jackie's outstretched hand in his. "Nice to meet you, Jacquelyn . . ."
"Call me Jackie," she broke in quickly, returning his handshake with vigor. "It's a pleasure, Mr. Santini. Michael's told me a lot about you."
"Don't believe all of it," the older man said, standing aside to let the three visitors through the cabin door.
"What part am I supposed to ignore, Mr. Santini?" she asked, grinning.
"Dom," he amended, beginning to smile as he followed them inside. "C'mon in, dinner's about ready."
Michael watched carefully as she entered the rustic cabin, looking around with interest, gaze settling on the blue tick hound who lay comfortably by the fireplace. She didn't immediately notice their host who
leaned against the kitchen counter, holding a glass of wine. When she did catch sight of him, it was pretty obvious Hawke was appraising her. She stood back, crossing her arms in an almost defiant gesture,
unintimidated by the intensity of her future instructor's gaze.
"Hey, hotshot," Stringfellow greeted, taking his time to come forward. "I hear you got designs on my Lady."
"Just like a man. Thinks he owns a lady the minute he gets into her."
Michael coughed loudly in disapproval as Stringfellow grinned. "Good comeback," Stringfellow told her admiringly. "How are you, Jackie?" He gave her his hand.
"All right," she replied, taking it firmly with a grin. "You?"
"Y'know. Same old."
Michael frowned. "Do you two know each other?"
"Remotely," Jackie answered. "We saw each other around during the test piloting of Airwolf."
"Yeah. How's Mick?" String asked, suppressing a smile.
"Mick?" She smirked. "Last I heard he was suffering from a slight case of alcohol poisoning and was down on his knees in apology."
"C'mon." String motioned them over to the living room area and he went to the bar. "What's your pleasure, Jackie?" he asked, the barest of smiles softening his face. "Wine? Or something stronger? Jack Daniels,
maybe?"
She made a face. "Wine's good. Anything but white," she replied, swinging away from Michael to approach the bar.
"Red it is." Hawke handed her a fluted glass of red wine.
Wine was distributed around. Even Dom accepted a glass as he made his way back to the kitchen to put the finishing touches on dinner. However, Archangel didn't buy the domestic act for a second. Santini would have
his ear out to catch any choice bits of conversation.
"Mick who and what did you mean, alcohol poisoning?" Michael questioned, seating himself on the sofa.
Jackie didn't answer right away. Finally, she shrugged. "Should I tell him, Hawke, or do you want to?"
Hawke grinned as he joined them. "You've got quite a woman here, Michael."
"Emphasis on woman," Jackie said sharply. "Michael doesn't have any idea about Mick the Schmuck and The Incident, Hawke."
"I'm surprised word didn't get back," Hawke said. "Remember Mickey Huston, Michael? First string, last pilot?"
"That insufferable brute with the ego as big as the Rio Grande?" Marella queried, disgusted, remembering very well.
"The very one," Jackie confirmed, seating herself beside Michael.
"He made the mistake of being very verbal about women having no place in the military, especially in the Air Force and government projects like Airwolf, and he made sure Jackie was in earshot when he said it," Hawke
enlightened them. "When Jackie didn't bite, he kept on coming. When she still didn't bite, he told her if she thought she was as good as a man was, to prove it."
"Let me guess. You accepted," Michael said knowledgeably, leaning back with his glass of wine.
"Enough was enough," Jackie answered matter-of-factly. "He made a bet with me that he could drink me under the table. If I could beat him, he'd admit he was wrong and apologize on bended knee. That was worth seeing.
So yeah, I accepted."
"They proceeded to drink shots of Jack Daniels," Stringfellow continued with a smirk. "And Jackie won."
"Barely." She leaned back with a snort. "I will never do that again. I was still having dry heaves two days after. I could barely get water down my throat." She looked over at Michael. "Hawke didn't tell you the
best part."
"There's more?" Michael was shaking his head.
"Oh, yeah. Stringfellow was up the rest of the night with me, holding my head over the porcelain god." She grinned. "Now that's a buddy." She took a sip of wine. "I got my apology. Hawke even made Mick get
down on his knees when he made it. That made the whole unpleasant experience worth it." She chuckled. "I think I wore my shades for a week after that, my eyes looked and felt so bad."
"If I had known about it, I probably would have kicked his can all the way to Timbuktu," Michael said, casting Jackie an irritated look. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why bother you with something as inconsequential as that? He made an ass out of himself. Payback was hell." She crossed her legs. "Besides, we had our little agreement. No one was supposed to know I was your
goddaughter, remember?"
"So," Hawke said, coming over to sit in a chair across from them, "how did Michael talk you into rejoining The Firm?"
"When he told me who I'd be training with, I remembered that particular way you held my head over the john and decided you were the man I was going to marry, so I signed on the dotted line."
"What a bunch of bull." String smiled, seeming to enjoy himself.
Michael noticed that Dom no longer pretended not to listen. He definitely had his ear trumpet out to catch the entire conversation.
"You're good for my ego," Hawke continued, taking a sip of wine, "but I can't believe you rejoined The Firm just to get near me. Besides, you wouldn't need an excuse like that anyway. I always did think you were cute.
And gutsy."
"Could we put gutsy ahead of cute for once?" she complained, making another face. "And . . . cute? Where the hell do you get cute? I'm gorgeous!" She grinned devilishly, batting her eyes.
Michael suppressed a smile. "Not a thing wrong with your self-image, either."
"So give," Hawke continued to prod. "What did you get out of the deal?"
"A beachhouse, a Ferrari -- on loan only -- and getting to spend more time with this godfather of mine," she answered, looking over at him with a smile.
"Attractive offer," String acknowledged.
"Yeah, I feel like a kept woman. It's great."
"So do you have to sleep with the boss, too?" he asked jokingly.
"Hawke!" Michael interjected indignantly.
Jackie's grin was wide. "I should be so lucky. Nope, that's the one thing he hasn't asked me to do, yet. I keep hoping."
"I'm going to wash your mouth out," Michael threatened goodnaturedly.
"Yeah, right," Jackie chortled.
"Uh . . . steaks are ready to go in," Dom called from the kitchen. "I'm makin' em all medium-rare unless there's any objections."
"Make mine extremely rare, Mr. Satnini," Jackie called. "I like the true taste of the meat."
"That's why they nick-named you Maneater, wasn't it?" String asked, chuckling. "'Cause you like your meat raw? Or was there another reason?"
"Fun-ny, Mr. Comedian. Wouldn't be so quick to poke fun, Stringfellow," she retorted in amusement. "I might just live up to my reputation. I usually have guys like you for appetizers."
"I'll just bet you do." He smiled at her a moment. There was a slight lull. "So you think you can fly Airwolf, huh?"
"You tell me," she replied. "Obviously, you thought I had some promise or you never would have insisted on me."
Hawke's gaze was penetrating and the good humor left his face. "Of the five pilots I reviewed, you had the best qualifications and resume," he stated. "Marella brought me some film footage of your flying capabilities
yesterday. You're damn good." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "You willing to show me some of your stuff in a day or two?"
She shrugged. "Name the time and place. I'll be there."
"You've got to be absolutely sure this is what you want," he warned in a low voice. "Airwolf's not just any old chopper."
Her jaw tightened and her eyes narrowed almost dangerously. "Hawke," she said evenly, "I'm the last person you need to remind about that."
Stringfellow Hawke frowned, but his look was ignored and no further enlightenment was offered. Jackie rose and moved to the fireplace. Hawke looked at Michael for explanation but the Deputy Director just shrugged in
response. They drank their wine in silence for a few minutes.
"Come and get it," Dom said, placing a plate of T-bones on the table and fish on a separate plate for Hawke.
The evening was going well, Michael assessed. The fact that Hawke and Jackie sort of knew each other threw him. Jackie had never mentioned that fact, but considering the circumstances, he supposed he could understand
why. Jackie and Hawke dominated the conversation, reminiscing about the Airwolf test piloting program. He noticed any allusions to Charles Moffett were studiously avoided.
"Day after tomorrow we'll go to the old boneyard. I want to see your techniques live," Hawke told her.
"Why not tomorrow?" she countered.
Michael smiled at her tone and even Hawke looked slightly amused.
"Fine," the pilot agreed. "Tomorrow then. Ten o'clock too early?"
"Too late. I do my best flying before breakfast. Seven-thirty -- unless that's too early for you."
"Boy, you're an eager beaver," Dom commented. "Marella mentioned you do occasional stunt work. Ever fly any biplanes or anything pre-World War II?"
"Nope, never have. You do?"
"Oh, I turn my hand at it now and again," the older man admitted modestly. "But mostly stunt flying. I got guys working for me, too. They handle the bulk of the movie business."
"Maybe I can talk you into taking me up in one of those old planes someday soon," Jackie said, winking flirtatiously at Dom.
Dom grinned for the first time that night. "I'd love to! You got yourself a date, little lady!"
After dinner, she joked around with Dom while helping him clear away the dishes and was rolling up her sleeves to start washing when Hawke motioned to her. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested.
"Go on," Dom told her. "I can finish up here."
"We should be heading back home soon," Michael reminded them, "if we want to get that early start tomorrow."
"Relax. I'll get her in early. I promise," Stringfellow said, noting Michael's scowl.
Dom cloistered himself away in the kitchen at their departure and Michael stood by the mantel, sipping another glass of white wine; he was joined a moment later by Marella.
"Well, that went well," she commented, searching Michael's face. "He seems to like her. That does make it a lot easier, doesn't it?"
"Like things were made easier for Gabrielle?" Archangel's voice was bitter. "I won't have her ending up like her. I want their relationship to stay on a business level."
"You can't blame Hawke for what happened to Gabrielle," Marella told him quietly. "She was a victim of circumstance. So was he."
"Maybe. Or maybe . . . maybe he's just bad luck."
Marella's fine eyebrows arched in revelatory surprise. "Sir!" She paused, then tilted her head to one side. "You're jealous," she accused gently.
Archangel turned to glare at his operative. "Don't be ridiculous."
Marella shook her head. "You're not her guardian anymore, Michael. Did it ever occur to you that she might not need that from you now? That maybe she looks on you -- a lot differently -- and that you just haven't noticed?"
This stopped Michael for a moment. No, it hadn't occurred to him. In fact, he told himself, it had been the furthest thing from his mind.
"She's a woman, not a child, Sir," Marella reminded him.
"You're trespassing, Marella." Michael turned his eyes on her warningly. "Read the sign. It says 'Keep Out.'"
Marella eased away from him like the outgoing tide and Michael stared into the flames of the stone fireplace, remembering a time not so long ago when the roles between himself and Jackie had been reversed . . .
******************************
JUNE, 1984
******************************
The sun was sliding toward the surrounding mountains, shining on the lake, causing it to shimmer and gleam in the twilight. Hawke and Jackie walked along the edge of the shore in companionable silence. Hawke skipped a couple of rocks across the glassy
surface of the water, causing perfect circles to form and spread out into infinity. He watched the eagle circle high overhead and dive downward, catching one last fish before flying back home. Jackie had been watching as well and stopped, shading her eyes against the
setting sun, smiling as the magnificent bird swept upward on beautifully plumed wings.
"You sure have your own little piece of heaven," she breathed. "You must love it here."
Hawke let his guard down somewhat. "It suits me. It's quiet." He breathed in the clean air. "One day I'll be buried up here."
"Don't talk about that." Her voice suddenly became hard and she walked ahead of him a little bit. "You're too young to be talking like that. About dying."
Hawke caught the note of fear in her voice. "Being young doesn't have a thing to do with it. Gabrielle died young. My folks died young. Everybody dies sometime. Why do you think Michael asked you to train for this job, Jackie? He was taking into account I could die
someday."
"I know that was part of the reason." She slowed down and walked beside him again.
Hawke stopped suddenly and took her arm, pulling her around to face him. "Jackie -- I have to know. How badly do you want to fly Airwolf? What was it that made you finally say yes to Michael? I know what happened eight months ago. You didn't agree to this just to be
a good sport. And I know Michael fought like a wildcat to keep you out of it when I said I wanted you for training."
She moved away, sitting on a fallen log. "Y'know," she said in a low voice, "all I ever heard growing up was Airwolf this and Airwolf that. Creating her was my parents' life work. When full production began on that thing, I took second place. Everyone was obsessed by her.
Michael. Mom. Dad. Moffett. Later, when I started flying, I became obsessed with her, too." She heaved a breath. "After Air Force and flying covert for The Firm, Michael made sure I got into the Airwolf program. He tried to get me on first string but it was vetoed because
of my age and lack of combat experience. But it got me on the simulator." She paused, looking up at him. "I wanted it bad, Hawke. So bad I could taste it. You'll never know how incredibly jealous I was of you. I always wanted to now what made Airwolf so special that . . .
that she could tear my own parents away from me."
"That's not all of it, is it?"
Another long moment passed. "Maybe . . . since everyone tried so hard to get me on the program to begin with, I felt I owed them. I owe it to Mom and Dad's memory. To Michael for trying so hard to get me in. To myself, because she's the most damn beautiful piece of hardware
ever made and I'd do just about anything to fly her. Even once." She looked up at him again. "Did I answer your questions with the right answers?"
Stringfellow joined her on the log. "We all have different reasons for wanting to fly her. I was just curious what yours were. I can't find fault with them."
"I hear a 'but' in there."
Hawke was quiet a moment. "It's not going to be easy, Jackie. It's not at all what you're used to, the simulator doesn't even come close to the real thing. You're going to have a lot of power at your hands when you get into the pilot's seat of Airwolf and sometimes there's the
temptation to play God. I just want to make sure you can handle this. That's why I'm going up with you tomorrow to do an in-flight evaluation of your flying. I'll watch you solo, too. Michael will bring a viewer. I'll make sure you don't have any bad habits and if you do, correct
them." He hesitated for a fraction of a second. "I'll tell you right now -- if I feel you can't cut it for any reason -- I won't let you train."
"I'll cut it," she told him softly. "I won't disappoint you."
His mouth quirked at her promise. "I just don't want you to be terribly upset if I tell you no go." Jackie stared over the lake in silence. For a moment, he studied her sad face. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"C'mon. You're talking to the guy who helped you hold your head over the toilet all night, remember?"
She smiled at that. Then, her expression sobered. "I . . . just miss them."
"Your folks?"
"And Gabrielle. We were friends."
"I've been where you are. It takes a long time for the hurt to even ease off."
"Mine hasn't stopped. It never will." Angrily, she blinked and tossed her dark head. "I'll never forget how they were all murdered. The pain will always be there."
Hawke remained silent because he could offer no words of comfort. She was right. It would never go away. "C'mon. Let's go back. I've got something for you."
She roused at that and her curiosity piqued. "What?"
"You'll see. Just wait for me at the dock."
She trailed him back to the cabin. When Hawke disappeared inside, she settled down on the wooden planks of the dock and waited. A few minutes later, Hawke returned wit ha cello and a small stool. Jackie had already taken off her sandals to dangle her feet in the water, but at his
approach, she turned around and drew her knees up to her chin. The mellow, melodic strains blended in with the soft evening whispers of the mountains and the cry of the night creatures.
******************************
A quietness stole over the mountain retreat and Archangel pushed the curtains aside, watching the two silhouettes on the dock. Dominic joined him, regarding the Deputy Director carefully. There was a lot of feeling revealed in Michael's face -- a side the agent refrained
from showing often, if at all.
"Hey." Dom put a hand on Michael's arm in a gesture of temporary truce. "Come back over and have another glass of wine. They'll be awhile."
Archangel smiled. "I'll do that, Dom. Thanks."
Dom found himself returning the smile. The uneasy alliance between the two suddenly softened, although it would never be mentioned in the future.
Tet, who usually joined his master when he took his cello to the dock, remained inside this time and laid his head on Archangel's knee. The agent scratched the dog's head absently, listening to the strains from Stringfellow Hawke's instrument as it sounded softly through the open window.
******************************
Jackie flew her last solo run of the day in Archangel's chopper. Dom and Hawke watched without making much comment.
Hawke remained silent, impassively watching her maneuvers on the battery-powered viewer Archangel brought for monitoring purposes. He watched as the chopper weaved close to the ground at a tremendous pace, nose tilted far forward to facilitate speed. Suddenly, she veered off left one hundred and
eighty degrees and began to climb.
Michael threw Hawke an 'I told you so' look and folded his arms, watching proudly. Even Marella was enthusiastic while, despite his consternation, Dom crowed once or twice with excitement.
Still silent, Hawke watched Jackie show off. He had to admit she was damn good. She hadn't been the least bit nervous when he had climbed in the chopper with her earlier. She'd demonstrated some of the best precision flying he'd seen in a long time. He didn't even have much of a problem where
her combat training was concerned. Her resume indicated some rather sticky situations she'd gotten herself out of while on Firm business. So although her expertise was limited in that particular area, he was confident she could take care of herself.
"Well?" Archangel questioned as Jackie brought the chopper home and set it down.
Stringfellow ignored him, eyes on the whirling rotors as they slowed and stopped. Jackie hopped out and started to walk toward them, uncertainty etched on her face. Hawke knew the look. She was wondering whether or not she had passed his stringent testing.
Dom studied Hawke's expressionless features. He couldn't read what Hawke was thinking. Despite the fact Jackie was a woman, he couldn't imagine Hawke drawing only one conclusion.
Stringfellow's eyes never wavered as Jackie stood before him. She glanced over first at Michael and then Marella and then him. Hawke continued to look down at her, taking off his sunglasses, eyes still unreadable.
"Pretty good." He contemplated the flawless white chopper behind her. "Too bad you left the Air Force. You could have had one hell of a career."
She looked at him as though she'd been slapped and her eyes flickered back to Michael again, then returned to him once more. "What are you saying? That I should have stuck to flying for Uncle Sam?"
Hawke smiled infuriatingly. "Something wrong with that?"
"Not a thing. But I didn't come out here to fly for Uncle Sam or for Michael. I came out here to fly for you."
"You're damn good." He paused. "But you're not ready for Airwolf."
In an instant, her expression became the stoniest he had ever seen. She moved closer and jabbed a finger in his chest. "You just said I'm damn good. I'm gonna fly that Lady of yours and you're gonna show me how. If you have a problem with my technique, you tell me. I'll do anything I have to do
to correct it. But you are not going to write me off that easily."
Hawke maintained his impassive air. "How do you think you rated this afternoon?"
"What you saw out there was my best. It was better than my best, it's the best I've ever flown in my life, because I know how much is riding on this. If it's not up to your standard, then teach me to do better. I want to fly The Lady and nobody, not even you, is going to keep me from doing it."
Hawke glanced over at Michael. Finally, the corner of his lip curled. "You were right, Michael. She's got what it takes." He turned back to her. "You ready to celebrate?"
"What?" She stared at him, stunned.
"You're in, kid!" Dom told her slapping her on the back. "String's going to train you to fly Airwolf!"
Michael grinned widely, pulling her to his side with a familiar squeeze.
"Congratulations, Jackie." Marella took her hand in hers. "Of course," the operative said smugly, "we all knew you could do it -- didn't we, Michael?" She looked pointedly at her boss, finally feeling vindicated in her disobeying orders.
Jackie smiled. "Oh, I think you were all holding your breath. I'm good. But I'm not as good as Stringfellow."
"But you have the potential," String told her. "And you're closer than you think."
"So . . . what next?"
"Simulator first. The Lady second. I don't expect you'll need much of a refresher course, but I'm going to put you through the meatgrinder, so be prepared," Hawke said.
Jackie's face began to work and to Hawke's surprise, he realized she was trying to keep from crying. Her control won out, but before he knew what happened, she had embraced him, burying her face in his chest. Even Archangel's face registered surprise at her reaction, but Hawke said nothing, only
looked down studiously at the ground when she let him go.
"I won't disappoint you," she said almost fiercely. "You have no idea what this means to me."
His eyes finally lifted and looked deeply into hers. "Yeah. I think I do."
******************************
The canyon floor wound back and forth like a snake, walls close on either side, forming a tunnel around them except for a hint of sky above the chopper. Jackie was in the pilot's seat, hands sweating inside the black gloves she wore. The blood pounded in her temples and
she was queasy. She'd never been nervous about flying, no matter what kind of ship they'd thrown at her -- a regulation or Hughes, a Cobra, a TU-36, a Lear jet, an F-14 . . . hell, she hadn't even worked up a sweat when she tried hang-gliding for the first time as a teenager. But this
wasn't just any old bird.
This was Airwolf.
"I want you skimming the ground," Hawke ordered, manning the weaponry controls and observing her in the engineering bay of the cockpit. "You've got to be able to take her down and bring her back up in a second."
Swallowing, Jackie nosed Airwolf down, then brought her level so she was just skimming the canyon floor by inches. If she messed up . . .
"Too erratic, Jackie. Not so sharp the next time."
Her heart plummeted. Everything she'd done had brought on more and more criticism. Hawke's voice jerked her back.
"Readouts, Jackie. Keep your eyes on 'em. You have to know what's going on all the time, even if you have an engineer in back riding shotgun."
She riveted her eyes obediently to the panels. "You picking up heat sensor readings, Hawke? I am. Probably buildings."
"That's the military installation. Keep your eyes peeled. You're twenty miles and closing. No bogeys in sight."
A reading flashed on the screen and she frowned, hesitating, eyes popping up to the canyon ahead. "What the hell -- wires!"
Two large cables loomed across her line of vision. She started to diengage the rotors and was about to yell for turbos and then knew she wouldn't clear them in time. The world exploded into a bright flash of light.
Jackie dropped back in the seat and swore softly. Hawke gripped her shoulder and indicated with a terse nod of his head that she was to follow him. Sighing, she unfastened her belt and the doors hissed open. Michael, Marella and Dom stood outside in the large simulator room, their
attention drawn away from the various readouts and displays of the computer setup, centering on the two pilots who now removed their helmets.
Hawke ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair. "Reset the simulation, Michael," he told the Deputy Director.
Hawke watched as Jackie sank down in a chair, resting her forehead on her trembling hands. She was shaky and perspiring profusely when she looked back up. It had been the thirteenth simulation and she'd screwed it up every time. String had expected it -- he'd been through the same
thing himself, once. She hadn't been trained for anything as complicated or flown anything like Airwolf before. She had the mechanics down and what he'd seen so far on the simulator was bordering on okay, but okay wouldn't cut it on a mission. She was afraid of Airwolf, String thought.
As much as she desired to fly her, Airwolf intimidated her. The power of the thing was too awesome. In any other aircraft she was bar none -- could fly rings around any pilot he knew. But Airwolf was so high-tech, so specialized. He sensed she was about at the end of her rope, but
knew he had to push.
"How're you holding up?" Hawke asked, leaning against the desk beside her, a bit concerned.
"Hangin', but barely." She set her helmet on the desk beside his hand.
"Here." Dom placed a glass of ice-cold fruit juice in front of her, then gave one to String. "You both look like you could use this."
"Thanks," Jackie replied, downing it all at once.
The next simulation programmed, Archangel and Marella joined them. Jackie turned stormy eyes on Hawke.
"What is it?" she finally asked, exasperated. She pounded the desk in frustration. "What is it I'm doing wrong?"
"Well, flying a Mach I chopper like Airwolf isn't like flying anything else," he reminded her. "You know that at least you do now. The big problem you're having is that you overcompensate one minute and then you undercompensate the next."
"Airwolf does feel different from anything else I've ever flown," Jackie agreed. "Man, if I'm having trouble on the simulator . . ." She broke off a moment. "I know I'm doing what you say I'm doing, Hawke. Granted I'm not used to it, but you'd think after a month I'd be getting some
sort of feel for it."
"When you fly Airwolf," Hawke explained patiently, "you've got to think of her as an extension of yourself. I've seen film footage of how you fly those fighters, Jackie. They caught you in action in Grenada. The way you were flying that fighter was like Star Wars and you were freaking
Luke Skywalker." He paused. "I think the whole problem is you're not comfortable with Airwolf yet. And maybe at least part of it's because . . . as much as you want to fly her, you resent her."
Jackie's head snapped up and she stared a hole through him. Defiantly, she got to her feet and picked up her helmet. "Let's do it again."
On the fourteenth try she covered more ground, got a little closer to the target area she was to blow up, but two Russian MIGs blew her out of the sky with heat-seeking missiles before she could get her act together fast enough to deploy sunbursts or utilize evasive maneuvers. She has all
the right moves, Hawke thought. Everything else will come in time. Somehow he wasn't at all surprised when Jackie ripped off her helmet and climbed out of the simulator, stalking out of the room in silent anger. Michael moved to follow but Hawke held him back by the arm.
"Let her get it out of her system. I don't see why we can't knock off now." String dropped his hand. "We'll start again same time tomorrow." He picked up the discarded helmet and handed it to him. "She's just frustrated. Bet if you take her out to a nice place for dinner and ply her
with some of the Coldsmith-Briggs charm she'll feel better about coming back tomorrow."
Michael nodded. "Good point. All right, we'll see you here tomorrow, same time."
Hawke clapped Michael on the back once before he and Dom left the simulation room. Once out of earshot, Dom hit Stringfellow's arm.
"You weren't just bein' nice in there, were you?" he asked Stringfellow as they walked toward Dom's jeep outside.
"Nope. I was being truthful." He climbed inside the jeep and Dom joined him on the driver's side.
"What are you really thinkin', String?" Dom insisted.
String pulled at his lip. "That she could use a lot more work."
"You been workin' with her for over a month now," D om said as he turned on the ignition. "And she still hasn't shown a whole lot of improvement from the first day."
"She's beginning to get the hang of Airwolf -- part of the time."
"You really think Jackie has a shot at being as good as you?" Dom demanded. "Is that why you're puttin' in all this time?"
"If I didn't think she had potential, I'd never have insisted on even giving her a try," Hawke answered. "I'll admit I took her on mostly for Michael's sake -- and Michael's argument for a backup pilot is valid. But if I was sure she couldn't handle it, I'd have told both of them right
away. You know me, Dom. I'm surprised you'd even ask me that."
"Well . . . I thought you might be keeping her on because you like her."
"I do like her." Dom looked over at him uneasily at that comment and Hawke caught it. "Will you relax, Dom? The role of mother hen hardly suits you. I'm tired and I'm hungry and I have just enough sun to catch a trout before it gets too late."
Dom relented. "I'll go with you and we'll catch two."
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Jackie emerged from the locker room, finding Michael waiting on the opposite side of the door. She looked at him a moment, then started wordlessly past him. He caught her by the arm.
"Will you cool down?" he asked as she whirled to face. "You've had a hard day. Let's stop somewhere and get some dinner and then we'll go back to your place and watch the Maltese Falcon or something."
She sighed deeply, looking down a moment. "I'm not dressed to go out," she answered. "How about if I pick up some stuff and make dinner?"
"I'd really rather spoil you tonight." He drew her to his side as they walked down the corridor together. "I'll take you home so you can shower and change. Then I have to stop off at the office and make sure I don't have any calls to return, but after that
we'll go wherever you like."
"You're rewarding me after I screwed up every run today?" she questioned, almost suspiciously.
"Have you forgotten you're still a novice?" he reminded her, squeezing her shoulders. "It takes time to get through the simulator. Ask Hawke. He's been through it, too. You'll make it. Hawke wouldn't still be working with you if he didn't think you could
do it."
Jackie leaned into his side. "I guess you're right."
"Of course I am."
"It's just that sometimes I get so frustrated with the whole business I could scream."
"I know." He kissed her lightly on the cheek. "That's why I'm here. To make you feel better."
"Mm. You do manage to do that." She placed both arms around his waist as they walked out the door. "Never mind the fact this is one of your pet projects."
"Or that you're one of my pet employees." He smiled at her flirtatiously.
When they arrived at Knightsbridge a little later, except for a few operatives working on extended projects and second-shift maintenance and security, the building was nearly empty. Still on-duty herself, Marella handed Michael a phone message. "Pentagon,"
was her one-word explanation.
Archangel took the slip of paper from her and glanced at it. "Jackie, you wait here. This shouldn't take long."
"I'm on my way out, Sir," Marella called over her shoulder. "I'll pick you up tomorrow at the same time."
"Goodnight, Marella," Michael replied as he entered his office, closing the door behind him.
Left on her own, Jackie perched on the corner of the secretary's desk. Whoever had called from the Pentagon most likely wanted to know how she was doing and Michael, in his very diplomatic way, would say, "Making fine progress." Yeah, right. She wouldn't be much good to anyone
if she couldn't get through the damn simulator.
Restless, she searched for something to occupy herself with, a magazine, a newspaper, even a tabloid would have done, but all she found was a single folder lying haphazardly in the tray on the secretary's desk. Not good. It was a confidential file that should have been put in
the file cabinet. She picked it up and was about ready to place it back herself when she caught sight of the label: SUBJ: KENDRICKS, DANIEL A. AND SARA L.
Jackie frowned. She'd been told it was a closed file, locked away somewhere where no prying eyes could see. Some months ago, she'd broached the subject with Michael over the phone to see it. But he told her no, she was much too upset at that point and there was other classified
documentation that she wasn't cleared to see. She glanced up at the closed door of Michael's office, debating whether or not to look at it.
"They were my parents," she murmured softly. "I have every right."
She hurriedly paged through the sheaf of papers inside the folder. Standard stuff -- copies of the death certificates, copies of the wills . . . she looked at the report in back and in back of that, some photographs. Jackie turned the glossies over and stared at them, then gasped,
a hand flying up to her mouth. She was sick.
Her mother and father were the subjects, stripped naked, hanging by their arms from a cathedral-like ceiling. Welts criss-crossed their bodies, blood streamed out of every visible orifice, faces partially concealed but identifiable to those who knew them well. A section of the report
caught her eye and she followed the print. After a long, long moment, she replaced the materials with trembling hands, heart pounding in her ribcage until it hurt.
The report was no-frills, stating facts only. Her parents had been kidnapped from a Greek cruise boat and taken to Libya, a plan instituted by Khadaffi and carried out by . . . her jaw flexed . . . Graham Preston, who had worked in close association with her parents on the production
of Airwolf, second-in-command to Moffett himself. Preston was about as sick as Moffett had been, a small man with delusions of grandeur, but not without his uses, apparently, to third world dictators. Jackie knew he'd gone into hiding awhile back, but didn't know all the details. She'd
been too caught up in her own grief to pay much attention. The report, sent by operatives on the inside, stated that Preston had taken a personal interest in her parents' torture when they couldn't be turned. Rescue had been impossible.
"I'll kill him," she half-whispered in fury. She replaced the file back on the desk. "I will track that son-of-a-bitch down and kill him myself."
One thing was sure. Michael owed her one hell of an explanation.
******************************
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"So how'd it go last night?" Stringfellow Hawke asked the Deputy Director when he met him in the simulator room and Jackie was out of earshot. "She okay today?"
Michael placed his hands on his hips. "I don't know. I think so. Something -- happened last night. Jackie found out a lot of details about her parents' deaths that I tried to keep from her. It wasn't a pretty thing to see. But I think she's okay. Either way, I have a feeling
it'll show up in today's session."
"How the hell did she find out?" Hawke questioned. "I thought you personally closed that file."
"Officially yes. Unofficially, no. I've had that file in and out of file cabinets for weeks. It was left on my secretary's desk and she found it -- complete with photographs."
"Man," Hawke sighed. "As if knowing they're dead isn't bad enough."
The two men glanced over at Marella, Dom and Jackie, who were talking together. Jackie did seem okay, Hawke thought. She was smiling and joking around, her stance was relaxed, not tensed, although Hawke hardly knew her that well to make a valid judgement of her state of
mind. He contemplated her for a moment and an idea blossomed. It had been over a month since her first simulation exercises. If the day went well, he might suggest she take a few days off -- forget the training and just kick back and relax before continuing.
The day went extremely well, better than anyone thought it could. Jackie finally beat the simulator, improving steadily until, on the seventh try, she made it through -- blew up an enemy installation, fended off all attackers, and escaped with Airwolf intact with four MIGs tailing
her. So confident was she that she did a loop behind the enemy aircraft and played Space Invaders -- blasting all four of them to Kingdom Come before lazily flying out of radar range. That first success continued on into the eighth, ninth and tenth runs. Dom was floored, String was
pleased and Archangel and Marella ecstatic. When the fourteenth simulation was successful, Michael couldn't wait any longer. He brought out a bottle of champagne and they drank to her victories. Somehow, between yesterday and now, something had triggered within her and she was starting
to fly the simulator as an extension of herself, as Stringfellow told her.
Hawke pulled Archangel off to one side. "Damn, what did you say to her? Trainees just don't get over the hump like that. All of a sudden she's tearin' up the town!"
"Guess she just decided to buckle down and beat it," Archangel replied, too happy with her success. "Which is a good thing. Now I have something definitive to tell the Pentagon . . . and The Committee. What did I tell you, Hawke? Wasn't she worth the time and training?"
"She still needs work," Hawke interjected, ever cautious. "But now that I'm sure she's got the ability, I can work with her. I want her to work the simulator for awhile yet. When I'm satisfied she's fully proficient on that, we'll take the real thing up."
Jackie jogged up to the two men, arms raised victoriously. "Yo, I'm a contender!" she shouted in exhilaration.
String smiled and held out his arm to her; she readily placed it about her shoulders and they turned, walking toward the display boards.
"I'd like for you to keep practicing on the simulator . . . I'll still oversee you most of the time, but feel free to do some work on your own, just make sure I get to see the simulation results. In about a month, we'll take a test run in Airwolf, if you've progressed as far as I
think you will," he told her.
"A month?" She sounded dismayed.
"Patience, kiddo. It could save your life one day."
"Okay. A month isn't so bad." Jackie let out a sudden and spontaneous whoop, jumping into his unprepared arms. Hawke chuckled, amused, lifting her up for a few brief seconds before putting her back down on her feet. "Set it up again, Michael!" Jackie called over her shoulder,
grabbing her helmet as she turned back to the interior of the Airwolf simulator. "I'm not and I don't want to quit now!"
A few more runs during the afternoon convinced Hawke that Jackie was over whatever it was that kept her from flying The Lady -- or at least the simulator -- and would only improve steadily from then on.
"Why don't you come up to my cabin for a few days?" he asked her as they put their helmets away. "You've been working damned hard since you've been here. Wouldn't hurt to kick back and clear your brain of any cobwebs before continuing. If you feel you want to work the simulator
while you're up at the cabin, I can bring you in, then take you back. What about it?"
Jackie contemplated Hawke for a long moment, searching his face. The invitation sounded delightful. When she determined it wasn't a come-on, she smiled. "Sounds wonderful. You sure you want me up there, disrupting your lifestyle?"
"Wouldn't have asked you if I didn't think I could put up with you. So?"
"Yeah. I'd love to come. Thanks." She glanced over at Michael in deep conversation with Marella and bit her lip.
"Worried about what Michael might say?" Hawke guessed, folding his arms across his chest. "I'm not making a play for you, if that's your concern."
She met his almost challenging look. "Michael doesn't own me. He employs me. But I still care about what he thinks." She placed her hands on her hips. "I know what he's going to think about this." She thought a moment more. "Maybe I'll just let him think it."
"Jackie." Michael came up to them, pleased as a cat who had just finished off a bowl of cream. "You did a fantastic job today, sweetheart. We can stop by your place so you can change and then we'll go have an early dinner and I've got --"
"Michael . . ." She hesitated, then continued. "I've made other plans."
He looked at her blankly. "Other plans?"
She nodded, plainly uncomfortable. "Yeah. I'm . . . going to spend a few days up at String's cabin."
"Oh." Michael's entire face lost it's animation. "Pity. Baryshnikov is going to be at the Chandler Theater tonight and . . . I managed to get two tickets."
Jackie almost winced. She loved ballet, especially Baryshnikov. But she defiantly lifted her chin -- a quirk she had probably unconsciously picked up from Michael somewhere along the line. A gesture that meant no matter what he said or did, she would not change her mind.
"Tempting offer," she commented quietly. "But I need a few days away. What better place than the mountains?"
Michael's jaw hardened and his eye narrowed. "For how long?"
She shrugged. "I don't know." She glanced over at Hawke who had remained silent and impassive throughout their exchange. "Until String gets sick of my company, I guess. Or until he thinks I need to get back to work."
Words could not adequately describe the challenging glare smoldering in Michael's eye as he regarded the pilot. "I guess I'll ask Marella to go, then."
"Have fun." Jackie smiled and took Hawke's arm, smoothly leading him some distance away.
Hawke looked down at her with just a hint of amusement. "You did that deliberately to piss him off."
"He takes it for granted I'll just be available whenever he gets the inclination. I've never turned him down before, for any reason, especially in favor of another man." They stopped walking and she faced him. "String, I'm a twenty-five, almost twenty-six-year-old woman. It's
about time both Michael and I accepted that fact."
"I think you've accepted it. Michael might take a little longer."
"I have to go with them back to the office, then stop off home and pack," she told him, pushing her hair back. "Wouldn't hurt me to shower, either. Meet you -- where?"
"Make it Santini Air." Hawke gazed at the retreating figure of the Deputy Director. "Bring jeans, sweatshirts and tees. Heavy jacket, too, it can get cold up there. I'm not in a hurry so take your time." A broad smile broke out over his face. "I'm kind of looking forward to
company. I haven't had anybody new up to the cabin in quite awhile."
She smiled back. "I'm looking forward to it, too."
Hawke walked Jackie out to the limousine. Michael impatiently pushed the door open wide for her to get in. Before she did so, she took hold of String's hand, then reached up to place a kiss on his cheek.
"I'll hurry," she told him, then got into the car.
Hawke watched as the limo lumbered out of sight, then shook his head, knowing the game Jackie was playing. Apparently, she knew how to play it well. She was pushing all of Michael's buttons and he was about ready to rupture like Mount Vesuvius. Hawke was glad she'd accepted his
invitation, though. A little solitude in the mountains would be good for her. Company wouldn't hurt him, either. At least then Dom couldn't accuse him of being a hermit anymore.
Dom joined him as they made their way toward the jeep outside. "Are you nuts?" the older man asked. "Archangel is fit to be tied. I don't think it was a good idea to invite Jackie up to the cabin."
String grinned goodaturedly. "Dom, I do a lot of things you don't think I should do. If I followed your advice all the time, I'd never have any fun."
"You better watch what kind of fun you have with Jackie or you could be raked over the coals by you-know-who."
Hawke shrugged noncommitally. "Wouldn't be the first time, Dom."
Dom gave him a sideways look. "For a guy who should be considering a menu for his last meal, you sure look happy."
"Dom, you worry too much," Hawke admonished him. "Come on, let up. She's coming to the cabin and I don't want to hear another word about it, okay?"
Dominic sighed. "Have it your way. You will anyway. You want me to stay away for a few days?"
Hawke looked affronted. "Of course not. You know you're always welcome, anytime you want."
"I just . . . well, I don't want to barge in if you're . . . I mean if you're both . . . well, you know what I mean!"
Stringfellow chortled delightedly at Dom's embarrassment. "Yeah, I know. Don't worry about it. Just because she's coming up to the cabin doesn't automatically mean she's a candidate for my love life. Not that I haven't thought about it." He caught Dom's look. "I like her,
Dom. If things happen, they happen. If they don't -- well, you're probably worrying over nothing."
Dom shook his head. "Kid, you're cruisin'." He plunked on his cap and they roared out of the compound, back to Santini Air.
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END PART II