REUNIONS
Part I.
By Linda Ryner
AUGUST, 1986
Stringfellow Hawke watched as the small Piper plane taxied down the runway. The sun was heading downward on its daily trek toward the ocean's horizon. "Last student of the day," he murmured.
Caitlin O'Shaughnessey had proven to be a damn good flight instructor. She was one of the family now, very much doted on by Dominic Santini, owner of the small Van Nuys airfield. Hawke had to admit a great deal of affection for the redhead himself, even if she had more or less pushed her way into their lives. She'd actually come at a pretty good time. When Jackie Kendricks, his protégé for Airwolf training, had moved back to Chicago awhile back after a falling out with Archangel, things were starting to get lonely and even boring. Cait was more than just a member of their small family -- she was a virtual tonic, most welcome and easy to take in large doses. He sighed as the Piper came to a stop, mind inevitably flipping back to his brother, a subject never very far from his thoughts.
He knew Michael was working night and day to find any shred of evidence that St. John was alive. His and Michael's relationship had softened somewhat since their initial dealings with Airwolf. Hawke no longer had The Lady wired and he no longer made calls to The Firm every twenty-four hours to confirm that she was still in one piece. Hawke now shared a wary trust with the Deputy Director, most notably acknowledged after the Incident with The Fortuneteller. Michael had more than proven his loyalty to Hawke and Dom as individuals. He'd pulled their fannies from the fire more than once when it would have been just as easy to let them sit on the hot-seat and cook. One of the proofs had been Michael's wordless surrender of the microchip that contained schematics and construction plans for Airwolf some months ago, right before Jackie left town. Although Michael would say that doing so suited his own ends and that lying to The Committee wasn't unheard of, Hawke sensed that his motives hadn't been all Company-related. The fact the chip fell into Hawke's hands through the Deputy Director was a strong admission of trust and indicated to String that Michael had every intention of honoring his part of their bargain.
"Your student's comin' along," Hawke told Cait as she joined him in Dom's office for a mug of coffee.
Cait leaned on a corner of Dom's desk and took a deep drink. "Yeah. I think I've got her talked into helicopters next. She really loves to fly, String."
"Good. Maybe we have a future stuntwoman in the making," Hawke said. "Hey. Jazz and blues at Garbo's tonight. You comin'?"
"Yeah," the redhead answered. "It's been a long week. It'll be good to let down."
"No hot dates, huh?"
"Nope." She smiled wryly. "Unless you're offering."
Hawke grinned back. "I respect you too much to screw our friendship up with dating, Caitlin."
"You're just afraid you might enjoy yourself," she countered, taking another swallow of coffee. "Where's Dom?"
"Helping Rusty out with some repairs. Now there's a guy for you."
Cait laughed. "He still lives at home with his mother!"
String shrugged. "Maybe he just needs a real woman like you to give him incentive enough to move out from under Mom's eagle eye."
"Honestly. You're as bad as Dom with your matchmaking."
A white limo pulled through the gates and Hawke and Cait looked up. Archangel hadn't been to the airfield in awhile and Hawke began to have visions of another mission. Surprisingly, the Deputy Director did not have the purposeful stride in his step that usually heralded such an event. In fact, his demeanor was almost laid-back.
Almost.
"What brings you to this neck of the woods?" Hawke queried as the agent joined them in the office.
"Not a mission, so relax." Michael leaned forward on his walking stick. "I've got some updated information I thought I'd share with you as long as business brought me this way."
"St. John?" Hawke's question was automatic.
The Deputy Director held up a cautionary hand. "Nothing definitive. However, I've got some people in the field. They've turned up no less than three prisoner camps, two of which are still in operation. We don't know who the prisoners are yet. We think it might be a mix of Vietnamese and Americans. I'm expecting some reports to come in by week's end. I just wanted you to know what I had. Don't get your hopes up. The only reason I'm telling you is because these camps are in the vicinity of where your brother went down sixteen years ago."
"So there's still a possibility he's alive." Hawke's jaw flexed. "Thanks, Michael."
"Don't thank me yet. Like I said, I've got nothing really definitive."
"I know you've been going on overtime with this," the pilot acknowledged. "So thanks."
"Just seeing to my own interest," Michael replied casually.
Hawke didn't pursue it. "We're going out for some jazz in a little while. You want to come?"
"That jazz and blues bar on the other side of town?"
Cait nodded. "Garbo's."
"I take back everything I've said about you having lousy taste in music," Michael told Hawke with a smirk. "That sounds pretty good right about now. I'll meet you there and hold you some chairs."
When the agent left, Cait turned to Hawke. "Well, that was surprising."
"What? That he accepted the invitation?"
She shook her head and finished her coffee. "Uh-uh. That you issued it."
******************************
The cemetery took on a somber pall as Jackie Kendricks turned the gleaming black Jaguar through the wrought-iron gates and traveled down the wide brick road that snaked haphazardly through the otherwise very orderly graveyard grounds. The warm summer rain brought with it a dense humidity inherent to the Midwest. Not like California's occasional rains. Not like the comfortable ocean droplets with their salty tang. Rounding a curve and passing an ostentatious mausoleum reminiscent of Greek architecture, she pulled onto a gravel side road, up a hill and then down it. A moment later she pulled as far off the side as she could and turned the engine off.
For a moment, Jackie sat in the car, studying the sprays of pink roses bought from the flower shop at Woodfield Mall. Six dozen. Almost $250 spent on cut flowers that would soon wither, dry up and blow off into the wind. For people who, when alive, had only looked upon her as the family pet. Wetting dry lips, she opened the door, gathering the bouquets up in her arms. She kicked the door shut and started toward the scrolled twin headstones. An ancient willow tree sheltering the gravesites lent it's mourning to the scene as she knelt down on the wet, muddy ground, unwrapping the roses from their plastic confines and placing them, three dozen each, on the graves of her mother and father, Daniel and Sara Kendricks.
It had taken six months of intensive therapy before she could face the fact she'd murdered a man in cold blood, she reflected. And in doing so, there had been other ugly truths to deal with, like the fact her parents had never really loved her that much. Jackie dealt with that realization now, had walked through the valley of pain to the goal of acceptance.
"I wish we could have had a chance to be a real family," she murmured aloud. "That's been my only real regret. I loved you so much. But I guess a daughter just didn't really work into your scheme of things." Her fingers touched the fragrant dirt. "One thing makes up for what we never had. You gave me Michael as my godfather. He's the most precious gift I've ever been given. He took -- takes -- very good care of me." She rose to her feet, jeans stained with brown earth. "I won't be back to see you for quite awhile. I've sold the house. As soon as everything is in order, I'm moving to California. Permanently." She rested her hands on the granite. "It's time for me to move on."
The young woman turned, walking slowly back toward the car. She looked back once as she opened the door, eyes lingering on the headstones a few moments.
"Goodbye." The farewell was barely above a whisper.
The Jaguar came to life when Jackie switched on the ignition, making her way slowly back down the drive. She looked up as the sun peeked out from behind the clouds, illuminating the grounds; the birds twittered cheerily and a lighter aura suffused the normally-melancholy graveyard.
Jackie breathed a sigh and realized that it was one of relief.
"You did it," she said to herself in soft congratulations. "You've severed the last tie." A sad smile touched her lips. "Time to leave this life and go on to the next." She sighed again, feeling unfettered for the very first time. "It's time to join the land of the living."
******************************
LATER THE NEXT WEEK
Michael Coldsmith-Briggs was on his second glass of white wine when the familiar figures of Dominic Santini and Stringfellow Hawke arrived at The Rusty Nail, a pub he frequented when doing his governmental wheeling and dealing in the Los Angeles area. He motioned them over with a flick of his finger and the two pilots slid into the booth, one on either side of the Deputy Director.
"You said it was important," Hawke said, voice low, face revealing nothing.
"It always is." Dominic couldn't help commenting, features expressing the all-too-frequent show of irritation.
"This has nothing to do with regular Firm business," Michael informed them rather brusquely. "Would you care for something to drink, gentlemen?"
"We didn't come here to drink," Hawke replied quietly.
Michael took a deep breath, a sip of wine, then leaned back in the leather seat. "My division received a report today concerning the transfer of an MIA from Northern Laos," the Deputy Director revealed.
Both Hawke and Dominic stared at him and then Hawke gripped Michael's wrist. "St. John?"
"Are you sure?" Dominic echoed, eyes wide, as Michael finally nodded in affirmation.
"From the continuing reports I'm getting, yes," Michael said. "But the rest of it . . . Hawke, I'm thinking it could very well be a trap."
Stemming his rampant emotions, Hawke loosed his arm. "Tell me why you think that."
"Because your brother had quite a trip," Michael answered, wiping his slightly-perspiring brow with his fingertips. "He was flown as far as Saudi Arabia, under pretty heavy guard, into the port city of Jiddah on the western border. I have a team of operatives stationed there for intelligence-gathering purposes and that's where I got my first concrete reports. When they landed, St. John was changed into Libyan hands. A fishing boat was chartered where an operative of mine got himself hired on as one of the crew. Once they crossed the Red Sea, they picked up another plane on the opposite shore in Adulab. From there, they flew across Sudan and into Libya." He paused a moment. "This was too well-orchestrated. I think Khadaffi is still stinging badly over losing Airwolf twice and I think he's going to use St. John as leverage to get it, because he knows you've got it, and he probably also knows you'd do anything to get your brother back."
"He's right. I would," Hawke confirmed.
"Officially, The Firm can't get involved," came Michael's expected statement. "But as I've said in the past, if you know of anyone who can help you, use this knowledge to your advantage." He gazed pointedly at the pilot. "You let me know when you're ready to go -- I'll arrange for a couple of refueling stops. I can think up some kind of trumped-up project as an excuse to send you out that way." He pulled at his moustache. "The Committee can't think I sanctioned you taking Airwolf to retrieve your brother, even if I did provide you with the information to begin with."
Hawke nodded. "Yeah, I know. You think one of Khadaffi's boys might try to contact us?"
Michael's jaw worked a moment. "I just don't know, Hawke. Our information is almost too complete, too detailed. I'll admit, once in awhile we get lucky with such specific information. I'd like to think this is one of those times. One thing I will tell you. My operatives are reliable. If they say they saw St. John and the transfer, that's exactly what they saw."
"Well, then, much as I hate it, we'll give it a day or two and wait for a contact," Hawke decided. "If we hear nothing, Dom and I will just go ahead and go in."
Michael nodded. "Fine. I'll get to work forging some paperwork to get out in the general vicinity and so forth." He took another drink of wine. "I don't need to tell you to cover all your bases."
"Nope, you don't," Dom agreed readily.
"Well, then, I'd best be off, gentlemen," the Deputy Director said.
Hawke slid out of the booth so Michael could leave. But before he could make his exit, Hawke gripped his forearm again and their eyes met.
"Thanks, Michael," he said in a low voice.
A lop-sided grin found it's way to the agent's lips. "A deal's a deal, remember? I'll be in touch."
When Michael left and Hawke sat down again, Dominic touched his hand. "What do you think, String?" the older pilot queried grimly. "You think it might be a trap set up by Khadaffi?"
String let out a small sigh. "Yeah, I think it might be. But I also think they've got St. John."
Dom leaned back and let out a slow breath. "Mama mia. Can't get through one lousy year without payin' a call on that bastard desert rat."
"I know," Hawke replied quietly. "Just remember, our government put that desert rat in charge some years ago. With any luck, this'll be the last time we go play in his sandpile." He closed his eyes a moment in painful reminiscing.
//Please, God, let it be the last time.//
******************************
Initial contact was made when a former Viet-Nam-vet-turned-mercenary wandered into Santini Air the very next morning. He was perhaps forty or forty-five, black hair streaked with white, height well above six feet. The jeans he wore were faded, the Budweiser T-shirt all but threadbare, the leather flight jacket worn thin and the boots of brown leather scuffed and scarred with hard use. Hawke was glad he spotted the man first so no one else catching sight of him would ask questions.
"Stringfellow Hawke?" The man's voice was deep, sullen.
"Yeah." Hawke didn't extend his hand.
"Got some news for you that might just make your day," the man continued, dark eyes shifting about the deserted hangar they were in.
"If you want to contract for some stunt-flying, the man to talk to is Dominic Santini," String replied in a dismissing tone, not allowing himself to appear interested in the man's presence. He turned back to the chopper he was tuning up, then felt the man's hand on his shoulder in an attempt to turn him around. Instinctively, Hawke jerked away, eyes sparking with warning.
The man abruptly held up his hands in truce. "Hey, man, relax. It's not contract work I want. Someone paid me a nice chunk of money to bring you this piece of news, and it was for your ears only."
Hawke relaxed his stance but his face was still tight. "So talk."
The man lowered his hands, eyeing Hawke warily. "It's about your brother, St. John Hawke. Was MIA, from what I understand."
"Still is," Hawke replied curtly.
"But might not have to be much longer," the man said, rocking back on his heels, hands thrust in his front pockets. "He's not in Laotian hands anymore. The Libyans have him now. They're willing to make a trade . . . seems you have something they want."
Hawke did his best to maintain composure, even though his heart was pounding. "I want proof they've got him."
The man nodded, apparently expecting this. "They said you would. I have your proof."
He reached inside his jacket and produced a manila folder, handing it to the pilot. Hawke opened it up, reaching inside to remove some 8 x 10 photographs. His face was unmoving as he perused through them. All of the photos were grainy, but clear. The subject was gaunt. He was tired-looking, thin and a little older than what Stringfellow remembered. But it was St. John. Taking a deep breath, he replaced the photos and slid the folder under his arm.
"Satisfied?" the mercenary asked, folding his arms.
"It's St. John, all right. How do we do this?"
The man smiled. "There's a military installation about thirty-forty miles southeast of Tripoli," he said, reaching inside his shirt pocket and bringing out a small square of paper. "Here are the coordinates. They'll be on watch for you and they have their orders. They know what it is they're looking for and they want it in one piece." He paused. "Whatever piece of machinery you've got, they want it real bad."
Hawke stared at the paper in his fingers. "How much time are they giving me to deliver?"
"Well," the privateer said slowly, "let's put it this way. How soon do you want your brother back and in what condition?"
"I'll have to get back to you on specifics. Twenty-four hours."
"Good. I'll be back about this time tomorrow with refueling coordinates, courtesy of my employers. See ya." He strode purposefully out of the hangar.
Stringfellow let his breath out slowly. Ordinarily, he would take matters completely into his own hands at this point. St. John was his highest priority. But he couldn't just fly into Libya with no backup plan in case things went awry. Not into a military installation. If Libya got it's hands on Airwolf, a northern invasion of Africa was inevitable. They'd put together another duplicate Airwolf before and could do it again -- a fleet of Airwolfs used in terrorist endeavors was not an option.
Despite his own reluctance, Hawke was going to have to ask for more of Michael's assistance, or at least his advice.
He wondered just how far Michael was willing to go for the sake of their unspoken friendship.
******************************
"His name is Jace Harold Carver," Delia announced, placing the diskette in Michael's computer and typing in the reading program. Immediately, an image of Hawke's morning messenger came up on the large-scale screen before them.
Hawke swiveled in his chair as Michael came up to his side. The Deputy Director rubbed his chin as he quickly read through the information on the screen.
"Viet Nam vet, decorated with a medal of valor and two purple hearts," the operative continued. "Did three tours of duty and returned to the States in march of '72. Owned and operated an airfield for six years and after it went bust, he hitched up with the man who attempted to steal the HX-1, Michael Dunkirk. After he made some lucrative contacts, he left Dunkirk's employ and has no shortage of mercenaries working under him now."
"He's provided Libya with arms for years," Michael mused. "I'm thinking we could use him."
"How?" Dom demanded.
"He's a lone wolf," Michael replied, staring at the picture of Carver for a long moment. "No family or close friends. No one he cares about. But the man does love money. Lots of it." He paused, looking at his wristwatch. Finally, he turned to Hawke. "I know time is of the essence. I also know I said I can't get heavily involved." He paused again, as if coming to a decision. "Hawke, I want you and Dom to go home, take care of business and get a good night's sleep. Then I want you back in my office tomorrow morning about nine, nine-thirty. I'll handle the plans to get St. John out."
Hawke's eyes locked with Michael's. "You're putting your job on the line, Michael. Maybe even more than your job, and I knew that when I asked you for more help. I'll understand if you back out."
"I owe you, damn it." Michael righted his suitjacket and stuck his chin out stubbornly. "I owe you. At least twice over from what I can recall and probably on more counts if I stop to think about it. Consider this a personal payback. I'll get you to Libya to get St. John out, and we'll do it without having to give up Airwolf."
"If we do lose Airwolf in the process," Dom reminded him soberly, "The Committee will tear you to shreds. And the Pentagon --"
"We won't lose Airwolf," Michael said positively. He turned to look at the big computer screen once more. "We won't lose her. We'll get your brother back. And that's a personal guarantee."
******************************
The cool bathwater felt wonderful as Jackie Kendricks luxuriated in the marbled tub. It eased away her tensions -- made her forget just for a little while the past agonizing months of Libya, of Preston, of therapy -- and the pains of growing up. All this time, she'd been a child acting the part of an adult. The one breakthrough she'd had -- and it had been significant -- had been when she'd taken responsibility for Preston's murder before The Committee. That had been the start of healing. But then, she'd had a backslide.
Like the spoiled little prima donna she'd become and tried to pretend she wasn't, she'd run away again, all under the banner of good intentions. A woman would have waited until Michael had returned. Only little girls ran away. Her spotless record with The Firm was now marred with Michael's reprimand, something he'd regretfully told her had to go on her file despite earlier indications of not writing her up. Jackie told him she didn't hold it against him. He'd covered for her every other time, now it was time to take the consequences. She'd deserved it for showing up over in the Mideast without Michael's or The Committee's sanctions, even if she did manage to help them out. The reprimand had been put in her file and instead of terminating her contract as she'd asked, Michael put her on indefinite suspension. In reality, Jackie knew he was waiting to see if she'd come back to work for him at all. Her punishment was the black mark for insubordination and interference with a mission which would be there forever. Jackie Kendricks would now always be labeled a maverick, a hothead.
Frankly, she had no idea if she would be going back to work for Michael. What she did know was that Chicago was no longer somewhere she wanted to be. Nothing held her here. Her apartment was almost barren, now that she had packed up a majority of her possessions. A sleeping bag and pillow on the floor, a few clothes, the TV, a few food items in her fridge and a few pots and pans and eating utensils and toiletries was all that was left to pack. Her phone line was still operational and she had until the end of the month to move out completely. Already, almost everything she owned was in storage in Los Angeles. The rest she planned to throw in her car and then drive out. She might even go early. Surprise String, Dom, Michael --
"Michael." She said his name out loud and slid further into the welcoming water. "Now that I know we have a chance, how do we do this?"
Maybe it was better not to worry about that now. The real estate agent still hadn't called with a positive on the beach house she was bidding on. Thinking about her relationship with Michael could come a little later, when she was settled in. When she had time to breathe. Jackie still had to phone him about the move. She'd put that off, simply because she wasn't even really sure she was going to go through with it. Her certainty had only been in existence for a few days, ever since she'd made her trek up to the cemetery.
"After my bath," she murmured, closing her eyes and letting the water roll over her. "Then I'll call him."
******************************
Michael showed up at Santini Air later that afternoon, much to the surprise of Dom and String. Dom offered the Deputy Director a cup of coffee and he accepted it gratefully, the last few hours having been ones of continual activity.
"I wanted to update you," he told them in explanation of his presence. "And I don't want to run the risk of being overheard at my office. I think we may actually pull this off. But I'm going to need Caitlin's assistance because she'll be flying backup on a Gypsymoth F-5."
Hawke stared at him stonily. "Michael . . . !"
"It's nothing she can't handle," Michael interrupted the pilot's protest. "She's proficient with you in Airwolf and if she can handle that, she can handle the engineering section of the Gypsymoth."
"Who's going to fly it?" Hawke questioned. "Isn't the Gypsy still in the testing stage?"
"Completed a week ago and ready to go into production shortly," Michael replied. "One more field test slated to impress the brass in a couple of days."
"Who's going to fly it?" Dom repeated, folding his arms in defiance as he leaned back in his chair.
Michael hesitated a moment, then met their gazes with firm resolve. "Jackie is."
Abruptly, Stringfellow swung away from the white-clad agent. "Absolutely not! And Cait's not going either!"
"We don't have enough time to think up another plan, Hawke," Michael argued reasonably. "I haven't even contacted Jackie yet, but I'm going to do it this afternoon so I can get her here in time for tomorrow morning's meeting. You are so close to getting your brother out of enemy hands. I'm asking you to trust me on this. I know what I'm doing."
"I'm not going to let you gamble with Caitlin's and Jackie's lives!" Hawke told him angrily. "There's got to be another way."
"There isn't and the matter's settled," Michael said bluntly. "I can't involve Firm personnel. Jackie's technically suspended and that makes her acceptable. She's flown the Gypsy before, when we started test-piloting back in '83, right after the Airwolf stint. She can do it well, I have no doubts about her abilities, or Caitlin's either. That's the way it is, Hawke," Michael emphasized.
"It stinks," Dom proclaimed, rising from his chair to pace the floor.
"I know it does, but there isn't much to be done about it now. Not if you want your brother back." The Deputy Director stood. "I want the three of you in my office at nine sharp tomorrow morning. We'll go over the plan when I have all of you together. Get a good night's sleep. You're going to need it."
Hawke pounded the wall at Michael's departure. "Goddamn it! It's not their fight!"
"It sure isn't, and I don't like it any more than you do, but I can't ee any other way on such short notice," Dominic replied reluctantly. "Look String . . . I want St. John back, too. You know I'm with you on this, no matter what. I'm sure Cait will feel the same way -- Jackie, too. What kind of friends would we be if we weren't willing to put it all on the line? You'd do the same for any one of us and you know it. Don't worry about the ladies. They can take care of themselves without any help from us. We've seen it for ourselves."
Hawke's shoulders slumped. "I just don't want anyone hurt, Dom. I'd never forgive myself if anyone got hurt because of this."
"Hey," the older man said, coming over to clap him on the back. "Give us a little credit. We've all had plenty of practice watchin' our backsides."
A small smile touched Hawke's lips. "Yeah, I can't argue that point, can I?" He straightened. "Well, let's get Caitlin told. She might as well sleep as lousy as the rest of us tonight."
******************************
Schaumburg had always been one of the more quiet suburbs of Chicago, despite the industrial parks, Jackie thought as she opened the curtains to the balcony window and looked at the park across the street below. The old-fashioned lamps burned a soft yellow-white and she could almost believe it was the 1890s, a simpler time, a simpler place. Not a world of hi-tech machinery and covert operations. On the third floor of her twelve-story building, she had a perfect view of an old-fashioned world. She took a drink of scotch from the tumbler in her hand and contemplated the scene below, watching as lovers, old and young, strolled down the sidewalks, individuals walking their dogs or jogging by in the gathering darkness. ****************************** Michael watched Jackie as she slept, curled upon the couch. The fire glowed in the fireplace, the light from the embers reflecting on her small, curving figure. It was almost one a.m. He knew he should follow her example and get some shuteye before the meeting, but he was simply too wound. He was happy for String, and hopeful, and he prayed to God this operation could be pulled off without a lot to answer for. He took a deep drink of brandy and lifted Jackie's legs, letting them lay across his lap. She shifted, but didn't awaken; he put his brandy down on the table and reached over a hand to brush at the dark hair near her face. ******************************* Hawke, Dominic and Caitlin trudged into Michael's office a few minutes before nine a.m., none of them very bright-eyed and bushy-tailed after an almost sleepless night of tossing and turning. One of the chairs before the Deputy Director's desk swiveled around and despite Hawke's trepidation, he found himself grinning. ****************************** Despite her past history of being a Texas police officer, Cait was more than a little nervous as she and Jackie pulled into the parking lot of a decrepit-looking C&W bar and pool hall. The neon light outside was only half-lit, proclaiming the establishment to be Gordy's Tavern and the sparse number of cars parked along with them attested to the fact it was a rather slow night. Johnny Cash's 'Ghost Riders In The Sky' blared ominously past the flimsy screen door which was the front entrance, the main door propped open by a chunk of broke cinder block. ****************************** "We were terrific!" Cait was telling everyone with exuberance. "it was almost too easy." ****************************** "Hey, String. You awake?" Dominic called out softly from the comfortable bed. ****************************** "I've had to ditch in the Atlantic and Pacific, crash in the Amazon jungle and effect an emergency landing at dusk in the California foothills, but never in my life did I think I'd be squashed in a truck compartment barely big enough to stick a dufflebag in!" Jackie complained in a quiet, tight whisper as she and Cait lay on their backs, side by side, in the false bottom of the supply truck. "Michael's gonna owe me a month of fancy dinners for this one." ****************************** Delia entered Michael's office, a folder in her hands. Michael swiveled around in his chair, looking at her expectantly. Without a word, she handed him the file and stepped back. He perused through it carefully and after a few moments, a satisfied smile graced his features. He handed it back to his operative, who took it from him and left his office as quietly as she had come in. ****************************** Jace Carver shielded his eyes against the sun as the sound of an aircraft approached. The dark bird loomed above, executing a perfect spiral before turning around and beginning descent. His lip curled at the hotshot antics and he changed his mind about women pilots in general. Leaning against his beige Chevy truck, he shoved a rolled cigarette between his lips and lit it, crossing his arms to wait for the craft to taxi down the crumbling runway. The rusted, aging hulks of the various abandoned planes and 'copters were scattered about, a dumping ground for drug runners, smugglers and the like. Not many people knew about this place between mountains unless they had a need to know about it. It was great for clandestine operations and he used it frequently. ******************************* The air was cool as Stringfellow Hawke and Dominic Santini made their way in the darkness of the high desert of The Valley of the Gods. The road had a tendency to twist and turn about the mesas and plateaus and Hawke concentrated on his driving despite his familiarity with the area. He and Dom had tanked up and topped off the Lady on the very day Michael had informed them of St. John's appearance. The weapons had been reloaded and a thorough systems check had been implemented; Hawke took note that his Lady could do with a few touch-ups where the pain had been scraped off by gunfire. Otherwise, she was in prime condition. ******************************* "Oh, yeah, there's decent nightclubs in Tripoli," Carver was telling the women. "Cater to the business types, military personnel -- I prefer a more down-home place myself, but they're all right. Entertainment's good. Not everybody's a Muslim in the country." ****************************** Hamid Jabar could barely see the huge bird as it made it's descent toward the airstrip above the sandstone canyon. His dark eyes glittered as they swept over the sleek lines of the fighter that was American technology. No weapons were visible on it's smooth underbelly but Jace Carver had assured him that its armaments were formidable. ****************************** It was late afternoon at the L.A.-based Firm Headquarters of Knightsbridge and Michael was counting the minutes, his mind anywhere but on the reports that lay in front of him, sorely in need of his attention. His gut had been tight since the abduction of the Gypsymoth the day before and he always had the sensation of unseen eyes boring into his back. He'd been popping anti-acids like candy. ****************************** Caitlin moved cautiously through the boulder-strewn, rocky terrain, feet barely making a sound. The distance between herself and the tent was growing steadily smaller, though she kept her eyes on the two of three turrets above that housed lookouts. Though clothed in Arab garb, she couldn't help but feel scrutinized. At the moment, however, the lookouts seemed more concerned with the threat of air attack, so she was hardly given a second glance. She froze when on eof the guards at the tent turned to the other and spoke rapidly in Arabic, then went over to the edge of the canyon wall, not ten feet from where she was hidden, to light up a cigarette and sit down. Cait grimaced, pulling the kiffiyi securely about her red hair. Both she and her partner were jumpy enough, but they had to know if St. John was in that tent. She wasn't sure what they would do if they found out he wasn't. ****************************** He'd never been so nervous before, Hawke thought, as they silently raced over miles and miles of desert sand. Not since stealing back Airwolf. But he supposed he shouldn't be so surprised at the nervousness. This was so very, very personal. ****************************** It was still black as pitch when Cait and Jackie awoke to the alarm in Jackie's wristwatch. They partook of some of the leftover fruit and cold minted lamb and were making ready to leave the tent when the flap opened, revealing Jace Carver, who ducked inside. ****************************** For the first time in seventeen years, Stringfellow Hawke laid eyes on St. John. His brother was a shadow of what he'd once been, but the unquenchable spark in his brother's eyes told him the fire hadn't been put out -- not by a long shot. In one glance, he felt his brother's agony, anguish, torture and triumph, and nothing mattered anymore but to touch him, to assure himself this was reality, not a cruel dream. Airwolf was the last thing on his mind as he moved, unrestrained, toward his older sibling. He was not even aware of the tears streaming down his face when he pulled St. John into his arms, until he saw the wetness staining the shoulder of his brother's dusty shirt. St. John returned the embrace and dragged him closer. ****************************** Michael was made aware of the success of the mission when Delia brought in a report stating that Airwolf had hooked up for fuel at midnight at their prearranged point. He dropped back in his chair in utter relief. He was assuming Cait and Jackie were all right or he would have gotten a message relayed by Hawke from the harrier sent to refuel them. ****************************** "Man, that has got to be the best Chinese food I've had in years," St. John Hawke commented, leaning back in his chair, smiling. "Ladies, my compliments. Your culinary talents are bar none." ******************************
"You're stalling," she said aloud to herself. "Call him."
She took another drink from the tumbler, then swung away from the window, seating herself on the floor by the phone. She reached out a finger, tracing the curve of the receiver.
Her finger tapped the plastic, then she jerked when it rang. Automatically, she picked it up. "Hello?"
"Jackie?"
Surprised, she sat up a little straighter. "Michael."
"Yeah, sweetheart, it's me. Did I wake you?"
"At 7:15? No." She paused. "Is . . . something wrong?"
"As a matter of fact, there is," he said, and she could hear the uncertainty in his voice.
"What is it?" She got to her feet, taking the phone with her. "Is it -- are you sick? Hurt?"
"No, nothing like that," he assured her hastily. "I'm fine, really." There was a pause on the line. "Jackie, I've sent one of the Company jets for you. It'll be arriving in O'Hare in the next hour. I need for you to be on it."
A lump formed in the pit of her stomach. Something was wrong. "In a nutshell, Michael. Tell me what's going on."
"I need for you to fly for me," Michael answered levelly. "It's an extremely delicate and important mission. We've found Hawke's brother. It's just a matter of getting him out of enemy hands."
"This is all under the table?"
He hesitated. "Yes. Do this as a personal favor to me."
"I'll do it as a personal favor to String," she replied. "And I'll be there when the jet arrives. You gonna have a limo pick me up when I get to L.A.?"
"No, a chopper transport will pick you up at LAX and drop you off at my ranch so you and I can go over some things. Then you can sleep what's left of the night and we'll go to Knightsbridge in the morning to meet with String and Dom." There was a marked pause on the phone. "I've missed you, Jackie."
She smiled, even though he couldn't see it. "I've missed you too, Michael." She hesitated. "A lot."
"I needed to hear that. See you in a little while."
There was a click on the other end and a dead line before Jackie could tell him goodbye. Slowly, she replaced the receiver.
Rising, she went to the bedroom, staring to pull items of clothes and toiletries out to stuff haphazardly inside a dufflebag. She remembered some of those nights up at the cabin where she and Hawke would sit for long stretches of time, and some of those times, he would talk about St. John. Always in the present tense. Hawke had known his brother was alive. He had no doubts.
Your faith finally paid off, String," she murmured. "I'm learning a lot more about faith from you than I ever did from anyone else."
The phone rang suddenly and he hurriedly reached over her to grab the receiver. "Yes?"
"Delia, sir," came the feminine voice over the line. "We have all confirmations in concerning the mission. You said to let you know."
"Thank you. Go home and get a little sleep," he instructed. "We're going to be busy over the next few days."
"Yes, sir. Have a good night, sir."
He replaced the receiver. Jackie shifted again and her eyes opened, meeting his gaze. "Thought you went to bed," she said, stretching.
"I laid down for awhile. You know, you'd probably be more comfortable in the guest room."
"I like your sofa. It's comfy."
Michael removed her legs from his lap and laid back on the other end of the couch. He motioned to her and carefully, Jackie crawled up to lay back against him. His arms went around her, pulling her lithe frame into his, fingers brushing at her hair to push it out of the way. He placed a soft kiss near her ear and heard her purr. He smiled a little when her hands went over his that were around her waist. After a few long moments of comfortable silence, she spoke.
"I sold mom and dad's house, Michael."
He extricated one hand from hers and his fingers smoothed the strands of her dark hair. "I wondered when that would happen. What prompted you?"
"Six months of intensive therapy with Dr. Bluhm."
Michael leaned up on his elbow. "You took my advice and saw him after all."
"You know I did. You've been keeping tabs."
Michael breathed out slowly. "Yes. But only out of concern. Dr. Bluhm didn't reveal anything to me."
"I know." She turned over on her back beside him and looked up into his face. "Thank you."
"For what, love?" He moved a strand of hair with his finger that had somehow strayed into her mouth.
"For not following me. For letting me work things out my way."
"It's what you wanted."
"But not what you wanted. Maybe I should have stayed in California. I thought . . ." She hesitated.
"Go on," he prompted softly.
"I thought I was doing the right thing. Or at least I made myself believe that I was." Her cheeks colored. "If I'd been any kind of woman at all, I'd have stayed. To face you."
"You're here now."
"Yeah, for String." Her eyes met his. "No. That isn't true. Not just for String. I was planning to move out here to California as soon as I sold the house and got a place nailed down here to live. Most of my stuff is in a storage facility in Van Nuys already."
This time, Michael's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Why didn't you tell me?"
She looked away a little guiltily. "Because I had to be sure I was really going to do it. Leave Chicago, I mean. I wasn't really sure until . . ." Jackie broke off. "I made my peace with mom and dad. I let go of my fantasy."
"Your fantasy?"
"That they ever cared about me like real parents should have. You know, I didn't murder Preston just because he killed mom and dad." He heard her swallow. "I killed him because he cheated me. He cheated me of any possibility that they'd ever look on me like their daughter instead of a puppy dog." Her voice dropped lower. "The only one that ever really cared about me when I was growing up was you. I think I always knew it. I just insisted on fantasizing that mom and dad were . . . my mom and dad." She buried her face in his chest. "Don't hate me for saying that."
"You had a right to a mother and father," Michael told her quietly. "I can hardly hate you, sweetheart. I cared very much for Daniel and Sara. They were good friends." He paused, then pulled her closer. "I actually tried to talk them out of having a child. In retrospect, I'm glad they did have you. But it made me angry when they didn't even attempt to give you a real sense of family more than half the time. We had absolute knock-down drag-outs about that on occasion. I will always feel partly to blame for that."
"No, please don't. You gave them opportunities. Mom and dad made their own decisions as far as priorities, Michael. That had nothing to do with you. They could have said no. They didn't have to do it all." Jackie snuggled further into his chest and he could feel her breath against his throat. "I don't hold any of it against you. I loved them, but they weren't good parents. You aren't to blame for that." She kissed him just under the chin. "The best thing they ever did was make you my godfather. I am so glad to have you. You're everything to me."
"I want to be everything to you," he intimated softly, enjoying her sensual caress.
"You are."
"Not everything. Not yet. Someday soon I hope to be." He kissed the top of her head. "You comfortable?"
"Mm. Very. You?"
"Absolutely. Let's try and get some sleep. The car will be around about eight-fifteen to take us in." He set his wristwatch alarm. "Seven o'clock wake-up call?"
"OK," she agreed sleepily, arms going around his neck. "Love you."
"I love you, too."
Nestled in the warmth of the sofa, he pulled the afghan down to cover them and within moments, they were soundly asleep in each other's arms.
"Jackie Kendricks." The young woman got to her feet and came over, smiling widely, arms outstretched. "You are definitely a sight for sore eyes." He hugged her hard, then passed her off to Dominic.
"Heard the good news about your brother and damned if I was going to be left out of this one," she replied, giving Dom a heartfelt hug.
"It's good to see you again," Dom told her warmly. "Let's take a look here . . ." He held her off at arm's length. "Jackie, you're skin and bones!"
"Now, Dom. Michael's already harassed me about being too skinny," she informed him, giving him a resounding kiss on the cheek.
"Well, for once, he's right," Dom said disapprovingly. "I can see my work's cut out for me -- we're going to have to fatten you up."
"Make me some of your lasagna and I'll gain," Jackie reminded him. Her eyes met those of Caitlin as she looked over Dom's shoulder. She moved away from the older pilot, extending her hand. "Don't think I've had the pleasure, Ms. . . ."
"O'Shaughnessey," the redhead replied with some reservation. "Caitlin O'Shaughnessey."
"So you're the hotshot pilot String's been writing me about!" Jackie said with exuberance.
"You mean Stringfellow Hawke actually picked up a pen and wrote a letter?" the other woman asked, smiling a little. "My, my. Sometimes you absolutely amaze me, String."
Hawke shrugged. "Hey. Just extolling your prowess as a pilot."
"Cait's a wonderful replacement for you when it comes to Airwolf," came Michael's voice as he entered from a side door into the office. "Good morning, everyone. Help yourselves to the coffee and then have a seat," he directed, indicating the back table where a silver coffee service sat.
A few minutes later, they were seated around Michael's desk. The Deputy Director brought out a manila file folder and took out some aerial photographs, passing them to his audience.
"The installation Carver told you about is set into a blasted sandstone area," Michael began his narration. "A dry river canyon runs up to it, lined with anti-aircraft guns and tanks. Inside the huge clearing are all manner of military weapons and armaments. There aren't many other military strongholds as impressive as this. It's like the end of the world all packed into one little cubbyhole. I don't know how many hundreds of troops are stationed there, but I'll tell you this. It isn't nearly enough to operate all the hardware that's been accumulated in that desert hole -- or so my sources tell me."
"This whole scenario is unacceptable," Jackie said darkly. "Surely they don't think String would cheerfully fly Airwolf into a den of vipers, even if they do have St. John. If he does, it's reasonable to anyone that they'll kill both him and Dom because they've even laid eyes on such an installation."
"That's what I thought, too," Hawke replied. "I couldn't figure why the exchange wasn't going to take place on neutral ground. Then it occurred to me. They're probably moving their artillery to another location. Even if I was able to bring that kind of information back with me, the hardware and troops would be long gone before a search and destroy mission could be set up to take out even a fraction of it."
"So you really think it's on the level?" Caitlin queried, brow knitting into a frown. "That once the exchange is made, that's it? You all go home free and clear?"
"Pretty much. Carver offered to take us back Stateside himself," Hawke confirmed.
"My people do report a certain amount of movement at the coordinates Carver gave you, Stringfellow," Michael added, "so I would hazard to guess that supports your theory. As to your question, Cait, Khadaffi wants Airwolf bad enough, he'll do anything to get it, including playing fair. He's probably kicking himself for never having thought this up sooner. He's been known to play ball when it suits his needs." The agent turned his attention to String again. "The main problem we've had is arranging backup for you, Hawke. The opposition is going to be looking for you and for anything that remotely resembling reinforcements. Jackie and I talked extensively about this when she arrived last night and I think we've come up with a solution. The downside is, it could be just as dangerous as you going in with Airwolf and there's a margin of risk that could leave you going in alone, despite our best efforts."
"You mentioned flying something called the Gypsy," Dom remembered, shifting in his chair.
Michael nodded. "Cait and Jackie are going into enemy territory ahead of you, courtesy of Mr. Jace Harold Carver," he told them. "They're going to steal the Gypsymoth F-5."
Dominic shook his head. "Michael, how are these girls going to get past military security to hijack that tin can?"
"A final demonstration of the Gypsy's military capabilities is slated for tomorrow afternoon in the Mojave," Michael said, "for some top military brass. Remember how we got into Preston's outpost last year? After cutting a deal with Carver tonight, Cait and Jackie are going to effect a hijack and fly it, along with Mr. Carver, right into Libyan territory. The Gypsy is lightweight enough it can fly more than twice the distance of Airwolf without refueling. But once you set it down on Libyan soil, it'll need to be tanked up again," he directed at the two women. "So you're going to have to convince the man in charge of the installation, a Hamid Jabar, that it would be worth his while to view a demonstration of it's capabilities, so he can report to Comrade Khadaffi before committing to a sale."
"If you're thinking of using the girls as a diversion so we can get St. John out and escape in Airwolf, they'd shoot Cait and Jackie down minutes after they launched an attack. They don't stand a chance without adequate air backup," Hawke said sourly.
"To the contrary, Hawke," Michael contradicted. "The girls will have inflicted too much unexpected damage by the time Jabar realizes he's been tricked." Michael leaned forward on his desk. "Do you remember the Mongoose laser that was installed in Redwolf?"
Hawke looked up sharply at the Deputy Director. "You've incorporated that into the Gypsy?"
"Fine-tuned with modifications," Michael confirmed a bit smugly. "It has quite a smorgasbord of beam widths. It can take out a 200-foot square section in a matter of seconds with nothing more than a single burst. In it's built-in repetitive phase, you can imagine the damage it can do. Gypsy has about half the armaments standard to Airwolf, but the laser makes her more powerful. She also has the same bullet-proof skin, in-flight electric surveillance and decoy systems -- all very similar. It's also equipped with a redesigned mini-ADF pod and has Mach II capability."
There was a moment of silence. Then Dom ventured, "With something like that, it could almost make nuclear warheads obsolete. You make a fleet of these babies, all you'd have to do is go under the radar and decimate any section of city, any military base . . ." The older man shook his head. "I'm getting' too old to know this, I'd just as soon stay ignorant." He looked up. "And I'll say this up front -- I don't like the idea of Carver being alone with our girls for any length of time."
"That's something that can't be helped," Michael answered, noting how Jackie smiled at the older man with affection. "Carver is due to leave two days from now with some payload for Algeria after he gets refueling coordinates to you. He's got to stop in Libya with his message about Hawke. Cait and Jackie are going to approach him tonight at his favorite watering hole with an offer he can't refuse." He turned toward the women once more. "I want the two of you to get him to meet you tomorrow afternoon at the old boneyard just east of here, the old abandoned place in the San Fernando Valley. If everything goes as planned, you'll be leaving for Libya late morning the next day. Hawke will be about four hours behind you. Stall on any demonstrations until Hawke and Dom get there and you see the exchange taking place." Michael's gaze shifted to the two men. "It'll be up to you to get St. John out of there before Jackie and Cait do too much blasting away. I'd land above the canyon and avoid going down inside. If you can do some damage to the compound on the way out, you have my blessing."
Hawke nodded. "We'll get St. John out, as long as the girls can cover for us until we get airborne again."
"With a laser at our disposal, I think we can manage," Caitlin's quiet voice replied.
"Cait, when you and Jackie get back Stateside, you'll have coordinates transmitted to you to drop the Gypsy off in the Mojave again. I'll have Delia waiting to transport you both to Hawke's cabin -- and if anyone questions you, that's where you girls have been for the past several days." He leaned back in his chair. "Cait, Jackie, after you steal the Gypsy, there won't be any further communication between us, and if you get caught before you get airborne, I could have some trouble bailing you out immediately. I just wanted you both to know that before this is even attempted. The military may have beefed up their security considerably since the last fiasco they experienced with having an aircraft stolen."
Caitlin smiled a little. "Nobody ever said it would be a Texas hoe-down."
"Next meeting will be tonight, after the women get Carver's attention and we'll meet up at your cabin, Hawke," Michael directed. "Then we can clean up any details remaining." Michael turned to Jackie. "It's been awhile, Jackie. Think you can still handle her?"
"The Gypsy? Of course I can," she replied confidently, tapping her knuckles on his oak desk. "I can do it. I can definitely do it if Cait's as good as you say she is."
Cait's eyes caught hers. "I'm better than he says I am."
"Looks like a Texas watering hole I busted for dealing drugs about three years ago," Caitlin commented in disgust.
"From what Michael says, the people here are just as dangerous," Jackie replied, donning her shades despite the evening sky.
Cait pointed at a beat-up unmarked van a little ways down the street. "That Delia?"
Jackie nodded. "And Michael. Never knew Delia had a talent for wiretapping. I suppose it's a good idea to be monitored. We might need a rescue, you never know. Ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Cait confirmed.
The two women exited from the '85 Cherokee. To fit into Jace Harold Carver's crowd, Hawke had been their consultant as to appropriate attire -- jeans, cowboy boots, denim shirts and flight jackets. In an alternate world full of mercenaries-for-hire, there was no room for fashionplates in designer jeans and name-brand shirts. The air was smoky and the prevailing atmosphere bordered on the redneck extreme when they entered the building and they could hear the raucous shouts and snide comments within. The two perched on barstools and ordered a couple of Buds in bottles. Jackie nodded to Caitlin and slipped off her barstool, moving to a back table half-shrouded in dimness. That was Cait's cue.
"Hey, bartender," the redhead said, motioning him over with a perfectly-manicured finger.
The balding, rotund, middle-aged man with a handlebar moustache leaned toward her. "Yeah, Missy?"
"Jace Carver. My partner and I are looking for him."
The bartender's eye quirked, giving him the inquisitive look of a grumpy bulldog. "Then you're lookin' for trouble," he replied flatly. "What would you be wantin' him for?"
"Business," Cait answered in an adequately neutral voice, and saw Jackie touch her nose in approval of her superb acting job. "So is he here or not?"
The bartender drew himself up, reaching almost six feet in height. "The ugly-lookin' one over in the corner with the Jefferson Starship tee," he finally told her.
"Send the man a beer," Cait said, getting a good look at the man indicated and slipping the bartender a twenty. "With our compliments."
The bartender pocketed the bill and reached over to get a Bud, popping off the cap. "Shelly!" he roared. A thin, tall, blonde girl sauntered up to the bar, serving tray in hand. The yellowish cast to her skin and obvious track marks on her arms did nothing to alleviate Cait's discomfort. "Take this over to Jace -- compliments of the lady here," he said, pointing his thumb at Cait.
With that accomplished, Cait moved over to where Jackie sat with her chair tipped back on two legs against the wall. They watched the waitress bring the beer to their intended mark, leaning down a little to exchange a few words with him. The heads of various patrons at his table looked up toward their table the waitress was pointing at and Carver's interested gaze met Cait's. With a half-smile, Cait raised her beer bottle in a salute, watching as the man's smile grew broad. He finished his remaining bottle of Bud and then his hand closed around the new one; he got to his feet and made his way toward their table with loud encouragement from his companions.
"Bait taken," Cait advised Jackie, sotto voce. Jackie still sat back in her chair, unmoving.
"Evenin' ladies," came Carver's voice. His smile made Cait shiver as he pulled up a chair. "Don't mind if I join you, do ya?"
"That was the general idea," Cait replied demurely.
"Lookin' for a friend, maybe?" He leered, winking broadly at Cait.
"Actually, we're in the market for work right now," she countered, leaning back casually in her chair.
Carver stopped mid-swig and looked at them, hard. "I employ mercenaries, not cropdusters."
The insult hung in the air over them. Slowly, Jackie removed her sunglasses, placing them in her front jacket pocket, blue eyes assessing Carver with disdain. He shifted a little uncomfortably under her scrutiny.
"We're cream of the crop," Cait told him, watching Jackie for cues without looking like she was doing so and wondering when her partner was going to jump in and take some of the pressure off. "I'm Caitlin O'Shaughnessey. This is my cousin, Jackie."
"Uh-huh." Carver rubbed his already-reddening nose. "'Kay. I'll bite. What can you do?"
"We fly drugs, arms, illegals. We've been known to procure items of interest -- a rocket launcher here, a helicopter there. We're also information brokers. And -- more."
The man's attention shifted to his partially-filled bottle of beer. He took another swig, swishing it around in his mouth for a few moments before swallowing. Cait put down her rush of nausea.
"Yeah? Well, if you're so good, why aren't you in business for yourselves?" Carver asked.
"At the moment, we are. But there's too much competition from the big boys, like you," Cait answered readily. "Never mind the fact we have some problems dealing with third world customers because we're women. We're in this for the money, not the headaches."
"So who told you gals about me?" Carver questioned mildly. "It's not like you can pick my name out of a phone book."
"Ed Mulroney," Cait answered again, wondering why in the world Jackie wasn't contributing to the conversation. She sat still as the wind's center, but Cait could see the unnerving effect she was having on Carver. "Lately, we've been contracting with different arms dealers as procurers, making a fair deal and delivering promised merchandise."
Carver started to relax a little. "Ed, huh? Well, I got to tell you ladies -- your character reference is good, but I just don't have any current openings at the moment. Sorry."
Cait and Jackie looked at each other, then back at Carver. "I don't think you quite understand," Cait said, leaning forward. "We're not looking for positions inside your business. Don't misunderstand -- we'd be glad to help you out with that, too, provided the price is right. We've progressed -- beyond standard arms drop-offs and simple runs. Technology is our real game, now. You know. State-of-the-art hardware."
His eyebrow quirked again. "What kind of hardware?"
Finally, Jackie reached inside her flight jacket to take out a file folder and all but threw it at their guest. She leaned back against the wall again, reasserting a blanket of arrogance about her like a cloak. Carver looked at the folder before sliding it over to look at it.
"That kind of hardware," Cait answered, indicating the 8 x 10 he pulled out. "And also a guarantee that we can deliver this military prototype within hours. Believe me, it will absolutely knock you on your keister."
Carver picked up the photo and his eyes swept over it analytically. "The Gypsymoth F-5. I've heard about this," he finally said. He looked over at them across the top of the photograph. "The two of you are equipped to handle flying something like this?"
"My cuz here has had four years of Air Force training and three years running reconnaissance and covert operations for the CIA," Caitlin informed him. "She's test-piloted, too. I've had Air Force training and extensive experience in chopper flying and small aircraft. I may not have the list of credentials my cousin has, but we're unbeatable as a team. We can pull it off." She reached in the folder and extracted the multiple page document. "Care to see the stats on this lady?"
He took it from her, flipping through it interestedly. A piece of information caught his eye and he stopped short, looking up abruptly. "This for real? Lasers?"
Cait nodded. "It's genuine. Jackie tested this baby when it first came out. The laser hadn't been installed yet, but it was in the works. They'd be singing your praises all over the Persian Gulf if you could hand over a beauty like this."
Carver contemplated the two for a moment. "Y'know, it might be real interesting to see if you could pull it off," he mused thoughtfully. After a moment, he said, "Seventy-five, twenty-five cut."
Jackie snorted, plucking the stats sheet and 8 x 10 from his hand, replacing them in the file folder and tucking it back in her jacket. She rose from the chair, making ready to leave. A shot of uncertain fear shot through Cait and she automatically grabbed Jackie's forearm as she was about to leave. Jackie glared at her a moment, nostrils flaring, then jerked free, sitting back down, eyes sparking.
"Sixty-forty cut, your favor, after sale and after any expenses we might incur," Cait countered.
Carver cocked his head to one side. "That's quite a hefty cut you're taking ladies," he replied a little darkly.
Cait smiled. "That's twenty percent each. Look, my cousin here is the one you have to keep happy. She's the one who's going to be flying the damn thing. We're taking the risks. All you're doing is sitting back, waiting for delivery and then making the deals. We have a few people to pay off. If the investment's too high for you," she told him matter-of-factly, "I'm sure we can find someone else interested in our services . . ."
"Hold on, now." Carver stroked his chin, pausing a long moment. "Let's say you can pull this off. Give me a delivery point."
"There's an old desert boneyard east of here," Cait informed him.
"I know the place. What about fuel link-up?"
"Depends. Where are we flying to?" Caitlin queried.
"Oh, someplace where there's sun and sand and you'll need a sun block of at least thirty," he answered in good humor. "I'm headed over to Algeria, but if we can get this little beauty over there, and since I have to stop over in Libya first, I think I can guarantee a generous offer for a small demonstration."
"We'll need immediate refueling when we get over there," Cait told him. "We'll be riding on fumes, but we can make it, just barely, with one fuel link-up."
"Wow. Some mileage you must get out of this thing. Can you get blueprints of this baby?"
"All neatly tucked away in the computer banks," the redhead assured him. "So do we have a deal?"
"We have a deal," he agreed. "How're you going to get your hands on it?"
"Now, Mr. Carver," Caitlin reprimanded patiently. "We make it a policy never to give away trade secrets. We can deliver, and that's all you need to know."
Carver shrugged his shoulders. "OK. See you at the boneyard tomorrow. About three?"
"That should be time enough."
"I might mention, I don't like to be kept waiting too long." He rose from the table and set down his empty bottle. "Thanks for the beer, ladies."
Cait and Jackie stayed a few more minutes, casually finishing their beers in silence, then left the bar. Cait glanced over her shoulder as they left to see Carver on the pay phone.
"He must be calling our former boss 'Ed' now," Caitlin informed her partner. Michael would intercept the call Carver would be placing to Mulroney about their references and assure the mercenary via a voice digitizer that they were, indeed, God's gift served up on a silver platter.
"Well, now that he's been properly hooked," Jackie said in satisfaction, "let's make that rendezvous at Hawke's cabin." She flashed Cait a smile as they pulled the Cherokee out onto the street. "We make a fair team, Cait."
Caitlin grinned in spite of herself. "Yeah, we do, don't we? Hey -- how come you let me do all the talking, anyway?"
Jackie shrugged. "Because you're so good at it," she deadpanned, then grinned.
"Greed has a tendency to override caution, even in the most cautious of us," Michael advised her wisely. "And while I could hear the dollar signs clicking in his head, I wouldn't make the mistake of underestimating Mr. Carver. I had to do some pretty heavy talking to get him to believe you were manna sent from heaven. He hasn't been in this business this long by being less interested in covering his aft-side. He's dangerous, and don't you forget it."
Michael, Dom, Cait, String and Jackie were in Hawke's cabin, sipping on glasses of wine. Hawke moved away from the mantel and placed a cautionary hand on Cait's shoulder. "He's right, Cait. Cross a man like Carver once, and you're dead meat. No second chances. He's not as dumb as he looks."
"Cait handled him like a pro," Jackie was heard to say from her corner on the sofa. "Nobody could have topped her."
"Looks like those acting lessons paid off after all," Dominic teased from the other end of the couch and received a pillow in the face for his efforts.
"I didn't hear a word out of Jackie," String said with a smirk. "First time I've ever not heard a peep out of you."
The other pillow found it's target, but Hawke threw it back at his protegee, nearly upsetting her wine.
"She carried herself off just fine," Cait defended. "Scared the hell out of me a time or two, but Jackie didn't need to say anything. She had Carver pretty much intimidated from the outset."
"Our Jackie?" Dominic asked, chortling. "Couldn't imagine that."
"You know what they say about the female of the species," Jackie replied with a smile as she took a sip of wine. "I let my body do the talking," she demurred with a wink, "and that's all the talking I needed to do."
"I'll just bet it was." Michael traced a finger down her cheek before taking center floor amidst Hawke's chuckle and Dom's guffaw. "Now, if we're all through congratulating ourselves on a job well done, I'd like to propose we discuss phase two of the plan."
Hawke moved to Michael's former position on the sofa between Dominic and Jackie. "We're all ears, Michael. Let's have it."
"Remember the HX-1, Hawke?" Michael queried in a quiet voice.
Hawke nodded grimly. The theft of the HX-1 had all the earmarks of St. John having hijacked it and the following investigation had been a heartbreaking disappointment, along with the destruction of the revolutionary new helicopter that was perhaps even more dangerous than Airwolf.
"Well, the military has had egg on it's face ever since that little disaster," Michael explained, seating himself in one of the overstuffed chairs. "Since then, on two occasions, when The Firm has had a vested interest in an aircraft being developed, we scrutinized the security of the testing facilities. We sent operatives inside to try and steal the craft, just to see how tight security was. I'm sorry to report that both times, the hijackings were a complete success." He paused, taking a deep drink of wine, contemplating the contents of the tulip glass for only a moment. "I'm betting that with the Gypsymoth, we can do the same thing, get away with it and pass it off as a Firm operation to test the security of the area. I went so far as to bring it up to The Committee and it's been unanimously approved. As far as The Committee knows, it's just another random test."
"So how are Cait and Jackie going in, exactly?" Dom asked, impatiently.
"Right through the front gate," Michael replied. "In a supply truck. Like we did on the mission to Libya last year. We're going to sneak a truck in with a false bottom and you girls are going to ride under the cargo. As soon as the truck's unloaded, you'll disembark. The Gypsy will be on the runway and under moderate guard. You'll need some kind of minor diversion to momentarily shift attention so the two of you can hijack the craft."
"Ping-pong balls full of Drano popped down the gas tank of one of their trucks," Jackie suggested. "That would cause adequate chaos."
"Too obvious," Hawke contradicted. "And none of your cherry bombs, either. They'd close up shop in a second if they even suspect sabotage. Something simple. Like starting a fire near one of the buildings. Less conspicuous and a hell of a lot less dangerous, with no flying shrapnel. It'll probably be caught before it has a chance to spread much. Just make sure the building's empty."
"The Committee will let the military stew for awhile," Michael continued. "And leave it up to my discretion as to where we stash the Gypsy and for how long. But after awhile, they're going to have to be told the Firm was involved, if they won't already know within the first hour. What we've done before is give them the chance to save a little face. I can give you four days max on this operation from the time you leave the country. I'm hoping the entire operation won't take more than about two-and-a-half, all told. You have to get the Gypsy back in our prearranged drop-off point in 96 hours."
"We'll get it there," Cait promised solemnly. "What about arms? Jackie and I should be carrying something."
Hawke grinned. "I got presents for you ladies." He walked to the back of the bar and placed two identical pistols on it.
Jackie rose and went over, setting her glass of wine on the bar, taking one of them in her hands and hefting it. "Smith and Wesson 459 Automatic," she murmured. Made in the U.S., nine milli ammo with a feed system of about fourteen rounds double column magazines. It was light -- under two pounds. "Nice," she said in admiration. "Just what a girl needs for insurance against a bunch of desert hyenas."
"No doubt Mr. Carver will have additional arms on hand should you need them," Michael said, studiously observing the contents of his wineglass again.
"Well, I'm worried about Carver plugging Cait and Jackie and taking off with the Gypsy himself," Dom said worriedly.
Jackie smiled fondly at the older man. "I love you, you worry-wort. You know Carver can't hope to fly something like the Gypsy himself. It's as hi-tech as Airwolf, maybe more. When I test-piloted it -- what, three years ago in the first stages? -- it was a pain, because like String knows, it's too easy to over- and under-compensate. Knowing what I know now, I bet I can fly the Gypsy with my eyes closed."
"Well, you've never had a problem with self-confidence," Michael told her wryly. "And on that note," he announced, "I think we all better try and get some sleep. Delia will be here early tomorrow morning so we can get you ladies set up in that supply truck properly before it joins the caravan to the Mojave testing site."
"Michael's right," Hawke concurred. "Dom, you can sleep with me upstairs -- I got a pretty comfy air mattress and you can take the bed. Cait, Jackie, you can take the extra bedroom. Michael, the couch is all yours and it's all made up. There's clean linens in the window boxes and extra towels in the bathroom closet," he added. "So the only question left is, who wants the bathroom first?"
"I do!" Cait said, hurrying ahead of everyone. "That wine goes right through."
"Goodnight," Dom called over his shoulder, following Hawke up to the loft.
"'Night," Michael and Jackie echoed.
After the two men disappeared into the darkness above, Jackie kissed Michael's cheek quickly. Michael took her by the arm, pulling her down. She looked over at him questioningly.
"Can we talk for a few minutes?" he asked softly.
She caught her bottom lip in her teeth. "Is it about what I think it's about? Because if it is, I'd really prefer to wait until after the mission."
"Most of it can wait. But there are a few things I need to say to you," Michael insisted gently. "Come outside with me?"
Hand-in-hand, they walked out into the cool night air. The moon reflected on the lake, just a sliver away from being full. He indicated the split-rail bench on one end of the wrap-around porch and they sat down. The pine scent was all around, coupled with the sounds of the crickets and hoot owls. Michael's large hand still encompassed Jackie's hand and for long moments, they merely were still, absorbing the night's beauty.
"Did I ever apologize for leaving you high and dry those months ago?" Michael finally asked her in a low voice.
"No need. If I hadn't been such an ass, you never would have left," Jackie replied, matter-of-factly. "I couldn't see far enough past my own pain to really give a rat's rear what anyone else was feeling. That morning I left the penthouse . . ." She stopped. It was a moment before she continued. "I did want to make love, Michael. But what I was really asking for was security. I needed to know your feelings about me hadn't changed because I murdered Preston. I . . . was so afraid -- " She swallowed. "I thought I'd lose you over that."
"Preston hurt you too deeply to ignore it. The bastard deserved to die, Jackie. But it shouldn't have been you to kill him." He brushed her hair fondly with his fingertips. "Revenge like you took -- so few people can live with that. You can justify it ten ways 'til Sunday and you might even be right. But to live with it -- look at Hawke. It took a piece of his soul, too."
"Can I tell you something?" Her voice was almost a whisper. Michael nodded as she turned her eyes to his. "Michael . . . God, this sounds so evil." She paused, licking her lips. "When I killed him . . . I . . . enjoyed it. I -- " She broke off again. "I mean -- it damn near gave me an orgasm." She abruptly averted her face in shame.
"I know. I was watching. You're not alone in that feeling. Everything that was bottled up inside of you -- the pain, the fury, the grief -- it was released when you killed him." He brushed her cheek with his hand, rewarded when her lips slid over his index finger.
"I felt nothing when I left the jail cell," she told him quietly. "It was like I had nothing left in me. I don't even remember what I did after I left the building. All I remember is how easily the knife slid over Preston's throat and then the look on your faces as I left. When I looked in your eyes, Michael, and saw the pain there, I thought I'd lost you."
"You won't lose me. You couldn't." Michael's voice held unshakeable conviction.
"It would kill me if I ever did," she said quietly.
"Come here." Michael pulled her into his chest, arms securing around her, chin resting on top of her dark head. "You won't lose me. You have absolutely no idea how much I love you, Jackie." He paused. "And those paternal feelings you've been accusing me of having all this time? I haven't had them for a long time."
He felt her stiffen a little, then she looked up at him. "How long?"
"Since the night we went out on what should have been your prom night. I've looked on you as a woman since then. I fought it, tried to ignore it . . . I even denied it. I was just coming out of that denial when you left those months ago."
She was unbelieving. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"You knew. Probably long before I could admit it to myself. But I needed you to meet me halfway. You weren't ready at eighteen. I certainly couldn't put something like that on you at that age, fresh out of the Academy, someone who'd barely experienced life. I didn't want to be a Svengali, certainly."
"I never knew you felt that way for so long. You know I have always wanted to be with you. Always." She shook her head. "I can't talk about this right now. Not with the upcoming mission."
"I only brought you out here because I wanted to tell you I'd like for us to start being a couple when you return," Michael told her. "No more hiding our feelings around everybody. I want to be able to go about in public with you and not worry if I want to give you a kiss or hold your hand."
"I'd like that." Her eyes lifted to his gaze and she raised a hand to caress his cheek. "Very much."
"We'll need to take things slowly."
"Wouldn't have it any other way."
"Can you handle something this real, Jackie?"
She was silent a long moment. "I don't know, Michael." She smiled a little. "I think I'm scared to death."
Michael smiled softly. "Some fear is good. This is uncharted territory - for both of us. I'm scared, too."
"You're kidding." She laid her hands on his chest. "I didn't think you were afraid of anything."
"I dont want either of us to get hurt," he told her seriously. They sat quietly together, listening to the water lap on the shore. Long moments later, Michael patted her arm. "C'mon, we'd better get some sleep." He heard her sigh as he stood up and pulled her to her feet. "We have to get an early start tomorrow," he reminded her.
"Yeah, I know." She started to walk past him.
Michael gripped her arm and pulled her back. "One more thing, love."
He caught her up against him and swooped down, taking her mouth in a sensual caress. Unprepared, Jackie started violently, then flamed, surging toward him. For a few moments, their tongues twined together and he felt the moan pass from her mouth between his lips. After a few more suspended, delicious moments, he gently disengaged his mouth from hers, weathering her stifled noise of displeasure.
"I wanted you to take that with you," he intimated quietly in her ear, "before you leave tomorrow."
"Let's make sure neither one of us forgets it." She reached up and her mouth blossomed open under his again.
Michael couldn't help himself. He brought her small body suffocatingly close, loving the way she willingly curved into him, the way her tongue explored the inner recesses of his mouth. In the end, he had to force himself to drag his mouth away.
His breath was ragged. "Another kiss like that and I won't be able to control myself."
She didn't move from his arms. "Is that a polite way of saying you want me to go?"
The look he gave her penetrated her eyes. "No. I don't want you to. But I think it's best."
Quietly, they went back inside the darkened cabin. Before she left for the sanctuary of the guest bedroom, Michael drew her down into another tight hug.
"I love you, Jackie," he whispered in her ear, placing a sensual kiss on it.
She pulled back a little, eyes meeting his. "I love you, too," she told him, touching her lips with her fingers, then laying them on his mouth. His tongue snaked out spontaneously to lick them. He heard the strangled noise she made in the back of her throat, then quickly folded her hand in his, kissing it swiftly.
"Go," he told her urgently. "Go, sweetheart. Please. Or neither one of us will be in control in another minute and we're going to have an audience."
A mournful howl issued from in front of the fireplace and they looked around to see Tet staring at them, tongue hanging out and a mischievous light in the deep brown eyes of the blue-tick hound.
"Shut up, Tet!" thundered Stringfellow's voice. "Damn dog," he muttered.
Jackie moved to the door of the bedroom, looking over her shoulder for a few second before disappearing behind it, but not before he saw her smile.
Sighing, heavily, Michael removed his shoes, sweater, socks and trousers, slipping beneath the more than adequate covers. Any thoughts he might have had remaining about Jackie were now being pushed back in his mind as gears shifted.
The upcoming mission dominated his thoughts. He'd done everything he could to insure their success. He only hoped that no cameras would catch sight of either Airwolf or the Gypsy in the Mideast. Otherwise, there could be plenty to answer for if and when The Committee ever got wind of it, or the President. He took another deep breath.
He refused to think about that. He couldn't afford to show weakness or misgivings about anything he did. People were looking toward him for guidance, for solutions. If he showed any weakness, he left his jugular exposed. There was no way he would ever do that. He would never let anyone catch him off-guard.
He'd put himself on top of this mountain. The only way he would ever relinquish the position would be in death.
The lean silhouette of Stringfellow Hawke sat up on the air mattress, arms clasped around his knees as he sat loosely in Indian fashion. "Yeah, I'm up. Don't think I'll get another wink of sleep until the mission comes to a close.
"Me either," the older man agreed. "I keep thinkin' this is all a dream we're gonna wake up from."
"I'll take this dream over reality any day, then," Stringfellow replied softly.
"It's been almost seventeen years, String."
"I know." He drew in a deep breath, let it out. "St. John's always been strong. I just know he's all right."
"You're a strong man yourself," Dominic reminded him. "And I hope you're right. It's just that seventeen years is a long time to be a prisoner."
"If St. John were dead," Hawke intoned quietly, "I'd know it."
Dom had to concede that much. Stringfellow had an uncanny ability of knowing things -- perhaps a trademark of his mix of Native American ancestry on his father's side. Stephen Hawke had taken his heritage seriously, which included acknowledgement of Great Unseen Forces. String, on the other hand, tended to dismiss anything of a psychic nature, probably because reality had given him a few too many swift kicks. Yet even String had to acknowledge his own feelings and occasional "flashes."
"You worried about the girls?" Dom asked softly.
Hawke's sigh could be both felt and heard in the darkness. "Yeah. I don't like it. I know most Mideastern men realize they have to occasionally deal with women in business nowadays. But I'm worried about Cait and Jackie. These are terrorists. I don't like leaving either one of them on their own in Carver's company and in Libyan territory. Anything could happen."
"You . . . don't think they might get compromised, do you?" Dom asked uncertainly. "I mean . . . over there, in some places, women still aren't much more than a man's property."
"Well, they're too valuable to Carver for him to let anything happen to them," Hawke said with an assurance he didn't feel. "Even with blueprints and schematics of the Gypsy handy, theoretically, they're going to need someone to fly the Gypsy and train the troops, if they decide to buy and mass produce. I can't see them turning down a machine like the Gypsy. And until they have trained pilots, it's in everyone's best interest to keep Cait and Jackie alive and in good shape."
"Still isn't very comforting."
"I know, Dom." String lay back down in the squishy mattress. "But at the moment, it's something we've got to have confidence in."
"It wasn't so bad, except for the exhaust fumes," Cait said with a small groan. "Anyway, the worst is over. We're here now. What time do you have?"
Jackie pulled out a small, pencil-thin flashlight from her front pocket and raised her wrist up to get a look at the watch dial. "Almost one-thirty. I haven't heard much of anything for the past hour. The test is slated for three o'clock. We better get a move on. Don't want to cut things too close."
"Bottoms up," Cait agreed as they both strained to turn onto their bellies within the crawlspace.
Two inside safety latches had to be pulled out and the false bottom opened, spilling the two women underneath the truck to the gritty concrete floor of the supply building. They were still for a few moments, assessing their position and surroundings. The truck was parked by stacks upon stacks of supply boxes clearly marked U.S. Army. There were several Army supply clerks checking the inventory but they were sufficiently busy. The women pushed shut the doors on the false bottom above them.
"We need to roll out towards the left, near the inventory," Cait whispered to Jackie.
"Let's do it."
They scuttled out from under the truck, cloistering themselves under rows of boxes and after dusting off their army-issue uniforms, Jackie pointed toward the open doors of the supply building. Casually, they walked around the truck to the front of the building.
The bright light of day hit them full force and they squinted against the intensity. On their left were the barracks, mess hall and latrines. Before them, beyond the buildings, was the airstrip. At the end of the runway was the Gypsymoth F-5, flanked by three military policemen, sun glinting off the streamlined hulk. Cait drew her breath in sharply at the sight.
"Yeah, beautiful, isn't she?" Jackie queried, echoing the redhead's thoughts.
"If the stats were even half-true, she's fabulous," Cait breathed.
The craft was almost triangular in shape, but with more curves than the developing Stealth fighter, containing concealed air intakes and engine exhausts, plus a near-absence of vertical surfaces, proving extremely helpful in the reduction of the radar target area. The radar-absorbing camouflage net reduced the radar signatures radically at the more commonly used I/J band frequencies. In the past, Cait knew, because of the weight, use of this had been limited only to critical sections of the craft, promoting an unduly high radar reflection. It was only with recent developments in the radar-absorbent material that had reduced the weight considerably, allowing the entire streamlined craft to be coated. Additional features were the bullet-proof coating and even the outside arsenal was well-concealed, the compartments almost invisible to the naked eye. The Gypsy truly was one of the most revolutionary crafts ever made. Jackie had been so lucky she'd been able to test-pilot this baby, Cait thought.
"In the right hands, it probably could," Jackie agreed thoughtfully. "But the pilot would have to be damn good to beat Stringfellow Hawke, even with the laser. I sure wouldn't want to be the one to go up against String in a dogfight."
"Well, we'll never have to, so I wouldn't worry about it." Cait looked around furtively. "Hey -- I don't know about you, but I'm dying for a smoke."
Jackie smiled. "Yeah, me too. Any suggestions?"
Cait scanned the area. Several trashcans behind the officers' mess caught her eye. While Jackie stood sentinel, Cait poked her head inside the building. Satisfied no one was inside, she joined Jackie.
"'Y'know," Cait said conversationally as they made their way to the back of the building, "It's amazing how careless people can be, even at a military site." She produced a pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket and Jackie thoughtfully provided the matches. Together, they lit up, sucking in the smoke casually and letting it out until the ends of the smokes burned brightly.
"Filthy habit, this," Jackie remarked. "I promised myself Id quit and after four months of being clean, her I am smoking again."
"Yeah, and if I know what's good for me, I shouldn't start, right?" Cait questioned with a grin.
"Definitely. I think we should make a pact," Jackie continued, dropping her still-lit cigarette into the trashbin. "No more smoking. Deal?"
"Deal," Cait agreed, dropping hers in the other bin. "And I really think to avoid temptation, we should get rid of those, don't you?" she asked, indicating the book of matches in Jackie's hand.
"What, these?" She tore the book in half and tore a match from the book, striking to light it and then igniting both halves, only to drop one section in each trashbin. She looked up at the other woman. "As long as we're getting rid of bad habits, didn't I see something in your jacket?"
"Oh, yeah." Cait reached inside and took out a metal flask. "Guess it's no more Everclear. A hundred and ninety proof, did you know that?"
"Lush," Jackie reprimanded, eyes sparking in laughter. "Enough grain alcohol to choke a horse."
"I know." The redhead unscrewed the cap and sprinkled the contents into the smoking barrels, then repocketed the flask. They watched the flames leap up in a flare, licking higher, catching the roof of the building.
Quickly, they walked down a couple of buildings and then around to the front, back toward the airstrip. Only once did they look back to see the flames traveling over the roof.
"FIRE!" someone yelled, and as if on cue, a mass of uniformed enlisted and officers scurried about to curtail the flames.
"Damn, that didn't take long," Jackie muttered
While the installation was in upheaval and the MPs guarding the Gypsy had their attention diverted, Cait and Jackie came up behind the craft, mounting it.
"We may have trouble enough once we're airborne," Jackie warned Cait, pulling on the door release of the pressurized cockpit. "They've probably got F-14s patrolling. You can bet we're going to get shot at, no matter what."
As if in prophecy, a uniformed guard sprang up from the interior of the Gypsy, army-issue rifle raised. Jackie lost balance and landed on her behind, pushing Caitlin back toward the edge of the wing.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, soldier?!" Cait suddenly barked indignantly. "Lower that rifle!"
The soldier caught sight of captain's stripes gracing their uniforms and stared. "Yes, sir! Sorry, sir -- ma'am," he corrected himself, blushing.
"We're here to run a systems check before the test," Caitlin continued, "so you'll have to vacate until we're finished."
"You're the test pilots?" the young man asked, forgetting himself. "Pardon me, ma'ams."
"What, you've never seen female pilots before?" Jackie hissed balefully, picking herself up. "Hey, some things women are just better suited for. Hurry up, kid, we haven't got all day."
"Hey -- hey, wait." The young man had caught sight of the flurry of activity inside the compound. "What's going on in there?"
"Not sure," Jackie replied. "Thought I smelled smoke, though."
"Smoke?" The soldier craned to look.
Cait nudged Jackie. The other three guards had stopped their rubbernecking and turned their attention on them.
"C'mon, move it!" Jackie commanded.
The young man hesitated and Jackie rolled her eyes impatiently. Her foot shot out, contacting him squarely in the jaw, throwing him back. Cait grabbed the rifle and threw it inside the Gypsy, then helped Jackie hoist the man out of the cockpit, letting him slide off the wing to the ground.
"HALT! HANDS UP!" The MPs started running toward them, rifles raised to fire.
Jackie slid down into the pilot's seat and grabbed Cait by the shirtfront, pulling her swiftly inside just as bullets started pinging off the bulletproof glass of the cockpit.
"SHI . . ." Caitlin tumbled into the craft bare seconds after Jackie hit the switch that slid the panel door shut. She was in the engineer's chair by the time she threw another switch that activated the power system. An eerie glow filled the inside, illuminating the banks of controls and instrument panels. Cait strapped herself in, beginning functions as the engineer, checking the back boards, giving a series of verbal status reports as the guards outside battered the door with gunfire.
"IR suppressors functioning, radar jammer functioning, decoy systems operational . . ."
As Cait relayed the stat information, Jackie scrutinized her own boards up front, checking the auxiliary monitor that housed her controls.
" . . . matrix scanner operational, TADs operational . . ."
"Let's get this show on the road," Jackie intoned.
The craft began to turn and start down the runway. One of the guards was talking rapidly into a walkie-talkie as the other two continued their gunfire, useless as their weapons were against the hulk of the hi-tech craft.
"Turbos on my order, Cait!" Jackie called out as the plane sped down the runway. "And make sure nobody's near the backwash!"
The red digital display clicked swiftly by on Cait's console. She waited for the verbal command and got it. "Turbos engaged!" Cait confirmed, pressing the appropriate switches.
"When we clear the area," Jackie told her, "I'm going to keep to the canyons. It's going to be tricky flying for awhile, so watch our aft-side. We might be doing some bouncing around until we get to the boneyard."
"I hope you know the canyons pretty well, then," Cait warned, "or you could sheer the wings right off this thing."
"Used to fly 'em all the time when I was test-piloting for The Firm. Don't worry."
Even though Cait had been apprised of Jackie's abilities, she worried anyway.
Michael picked up his phone receiver and then pressed a button that automatically scrambled his line. After three rings, the recipient on the other end answered.
"Santini Air," came Stringfellow's familiar voice.
"Hawke, our moth has flow toward the flame."
"See you in a few days," Hawke answered. The line went dead.
Michael put down the phone and disengaged the scrambler, swiveling around once more to face the window.
Almost everything he could possibly do had been done. The rest was up to Hawke, Dom, Cait and Jackie. Meanwhile, the hardest part of the whole operation was the part he had to take on now.
He had to wait -- and pray.
The Gypsymoth blended in perfectly with the desert surroundings, hardly discernible on the ground from high altitudes. The cockpit door swung outward and the two women pilots exited, sliding down to the sandy desert floor with practiced ease. He smirked at the army-issue uniforms and wondered to himself just how they'd managed to pull it off. His eyes shifted back to the sleek lines of the ship and he took the cigarette from his mouth. What it must be like, to get into the pilot's seat of a piece of machinery like that. For a fleeting moment, he entertained the thought of eliminating his two flyers but knew that Khadaffi would be too interested in something like this. He'd need competent pilots to assist in the training, women or no. The girls could make quite a killing working for the tin-plated little dictator and his own cut of the profits was assured. Khadaffi was nothing if not generous to procurers of foreign military hardware.
"I trust you're adequately impressed," Jackie said, reaching his side. "She's all tanked up and ready to go."
"So. The Silent one finally speaks," Carver said wryly, rewarded by her icy glare. "You have much trouble?" he queried, blowing out some smoke.
"Less than expected," Cait replied, joining them.
Followed?"
"No way!" Jackie declared, insulted. "Do you think I'd leave anything like that to chance? Lost 'em miles back!"
"Good. Hope you got room for my guns and gear. I'm having a friend drop me off later when we leave."
"Plenty of room," Cait assured him. Her gaze aligned with Jackie's. "Wouldn't want you to miss out on the ride of a lifetime."
Inside the hollow mesa where Airwolf lay in wait, darkness prevailed, the only light inside coming from the jeep's headlights. Dom climbed out and activated the interior lights, compliments of the generator housed off to one side. Hawke extinguished the headlights and also climbed out, reaching toward the meal shelving beside it to toss Santini one of the grey-blue flightsuits.
"Nervous?" Dom asked, watching as Hawke pulled his coverall on over his clothes.
"Don't have time to think about being nervous," Hawke replied curtly.
Santini began to don his garb. "Yeah, kid. I'm nervous, too."
"I want to run a pre-flight check," String said in a level voice.
"I'm comin', I'm comin'," the Italian man said, zipping up the front of the suit. As he passed Hawke in the pilot's seat, he placed a hand on his shoulder. "We'll do this, String. We'll get St. John out."
Dom saw Stringfellow's jaw flex before he settled into his seat.
"Remember what I said about . . . always coming back?" the younger man asked in a low voice.
Santini looked at Hawke with heartfelt emotion. "Yeah, String. I remember."
"If this all gets shot into a cocked hat," he said slowly, "I won't be coming back this time. None of us will." He looked over his shoulder at Dom. "If I mess this up -- if we don't get St. John back this time around -- we're all dead."
"There's one thing you've got to remember," Santini told him in a calm voice.
"Yeah? What?"
"You're not doing this alone this time. Sole responsibility of the success of this mission doesn't just lie with you. We're all friends and we know you aren't gonna mess up. You never did mess up. And if you don't stop blamin' yourself for that rescue mission seventeen years ago, I'm gonna kill you myself."
A hint of a smile curled the edge of Stringfellow's lip. "You're gonna kill me, huh?"
"Damn straight."
An actual chuckle came from Hawke's throat. "Yeah, right."
They had been forced to listen to Carver's macho bragging and story-telling since the flight began, enduring his attempts to impress them with his prowess as someone who knew the ins and outs of being a mercenary in the third-world countries. Both Cait and Jackie were aware that humoring the man and to at least show attention to his pretentious spouting off was probably in their best interests.
It was especially painful to hear him rant on about The Red Castle. Two of Michael's operatives had been abducted from there and murdered when The Firm sent Hawke in to retrieve Airwolf. One of those operatives -- Gabrielle Ademur -- had been a friend of Jackie's. Michael's pain, she remembered, had been beyond belief when he'd found out about her being dead. He'd pulled out every stop to bring her body back to the States. She thought about the hidden armaments below them and wished with all her heart she dared to fly into Tripoli and level that dumping ground of a club. She almost wished Moffett could be brought back to life, just so she could kill him herself for the pain and suffering he'd inflicted.
//You went down that road once before, and look what it got you. You dreaded that it almost cost you Michael, you underwent six months of therapy, went through denial and agony and you're lucky you didn't end up in a padded cell,// Jackie reminded herself fiercely.
Blood mixed with sand turns a dull red, she thought. And then the desert winds just blow it away, like it never even happened. Like it was all a bad dream. Until you dreamt it. Again. And again. And again.
"So you gals game for a jaunt into Tripoli later after the demonstration?" Carver asked. "Don't worry, I'll make sure the big bad Libyan boys don't molest ya."
Caitlin remained silent and Jackie glanced back at him. "Y'know," she said quietly, "I think the only thing we can keep our minds on is a few hours of sleep and maybe something to eat so we'll be fresh for the demo for your friend you've been telling us about. Can't think much beyond that."
"Hamid Jabar," Carver supplied the name. "Not a bad guy. He's got Khadaffi's ear -- a personal friend, from what I understand. He'd make a deal with the devil if he thought Comrade Khadaffi would be pleased, and the big man himself has nothing but praise for Jabar."
"Good. Then he shouldn't oppose the asking price for this sleek little number we're flying," Cait stated.
"What we're talking about is pocket change to them," Carver assured her. "They'll meet the price. Don't worry about that." He paused a moment. "Just so you ladies understand something, now that the two of you work for me -- "
"Oh, so we do work for you now?" Jackie interrupted with sarcasm. "I thought you didn't hire cropdusters."
"Anybody that can steal a piece of military hardware like this is a shoo-in as far as I'm concerned," Carver answered carefully, doing his best to keep his voice neutral. "But like I was saying -- I gotta keep you girls honest. I know Jabar's going to want to use you to train pilots once they start production on this thing. Whatever they pay you, sixty-forty cut, my favor."
"Golly. I was thinking more like sixty-forty cut our favor," Cait said mildly.
"But we'd settle for fifty-fifty" Jackie said smoothly. "Provided I don't decide to hit this little eject button and boot you right out of the cockpit."
For a moment, there was dead silence. Then Cait began to snigger and Jackie joined in. Pretty soon, Carver's guffaws were heard, but the light in his eyes was not a humorous one.
"Fifty-fifty," he repeated. "Well -- usually, I don't do business like that. But seein' as the two of you are definitely something special, I guess I can make an exception this time. Don't advertise it, though. I got to keep my reputation for being a hardass."
"Mr. Carver," Cait said with a broad smile, "you're a reasonable man."
"I'm a sucker for pretty ladies," he answered with a wink.
Jackie humored him with a flirtatious smile behind the helmet but inwardly cringed. She didn't like his lecherous overtones. The mere four to five hours left before they would be in Libyan territory suddenly seemed like eons.
She gritted her teeth and focused on her readouts and displays, making constant adjustments and taking note of the readings. Setting her feet back down in the States couldn't happen soon enough.
As formidable, if not moreso, as Airwolf's.
He watched as it made a smooth taxi to the end of the field illuminated by dim lighting. Even in the hours of the morning, he did not like to use any more electricity than necessary. There were always suicidal rebels who would try and make an attempt on the installation to do what damage they could if they discovered the location. It was somewhat of an inconvenience for the American mercenaries to be here because of the upcoming exchange of the POW for the Airwolf helicopter to be made near dawn. Add to that the vacating of the military compound itself. But Jabar was sure that Brother Khadaffi would be pleased to have secured not one, but two of the most powerful aircrafts on the face of the earth at the same time. Dipping deeper into the coffers would be necessary, but acceptable to his leader if it meant sound and devastating technology.
He met the three on the airfield as they disembarked from the craft. The women stood in the background under the muted lights, allowing Carver to make the proper introductions. As names were exchanged, Jabar offered them his hand in a decidedly American gesture.
"When Mr. Carver told me this remarkable craft was being flown by two women, he failed to mention how beautiful they were," Jabar complimented them in a most charming manner. He noticed the Smith & Wessons tucked securely into their jeans and the smaller woman carried a large, serrated hunting knife strapped to her hip.
Jackie shook his hand and her grip was firm. "Well, then, sir, we have the jump on you, because Mr. Carver told us that you run a real tight ship around here. From what we've seen airborne, he's absolutely right. I've never seen a more impressive arsenal."
"It is more impressive in daylight," Jabar answered with some pride. "But then, that marvelous piece of aircraft is probably equipped with scanners that could give you a good picture, even at night. You speak as if you have been -- where the action is, as you say," he continued conversationally. "I was not aware that American women were allowed on the fighting front."
"Not yet," Jace said, slinging an arm about Jackie's shoulders. "Jackie here is ex-CIA, like I was. Well, sort of. I used to be in Air America. She's been more on the home front."
"And decided the money wasn't good enough," Caitlin put in, hefting her gym bag more securely on her shoulder and moving to stand protectively by her partner as Jackie pointedly removed Carver's arm from her person. "But then, I'm sure Mr. Carver's told you all about us."
Jabar inclined his head with a knowledgeable smile. "Indeed, Ms. O'Shaughnessey, he has sung your praises well. Come, the trip has undoubtedly tired you. I am sure you would like to eat something and rest after your long journey. I've arranged for your comfort. Then, Mr. Carver indicates that you are ready to give us a demonstration of your craft around dawn?"
"It'll be our pleasure," Jackie assured him, gratified to see that already, some of the troops were busy tanking up the Gypsy without them having to ask. "But right now, food and a nap sound pretty good," she agreed, as they started down the rocky slope toward the tented, makeshift city that housed the troops. The airstrip lights above them dimmed even more, and they were forced to pick their way along the rocky path with care.
"My men are unused to seeing women in the camp, ladies, but they have standing orders to leave you alone," Jabar informed them. "I caution you -- it is advisable to keep to your tent as much as possible until the demonstration as a precaution. I will post a double guard outside for you and should you need or want anything other than what has been provided, please feel free to ask them and they will see to it that you get it, if possible. They know limited English."
"You're a most generous host, sir," Caitlin commented. "I doubt we'll be inclined to walk around anyway. We're pretty wiped out after the jaunt over here."
Jabar smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. "Ladies, you must call me Hamid. I know that in the future we will be working very closely together -- and I will be looking forward to it with much anticipation."
Jackie looked around, taking in their surroundings. The rocky escarpments were sinister in the dark, lined with machine guns and anti-aircraft weaponry, just like the interior of the winding canyon. It was obvious that Jabar was confident nothing would get past the river canyon leading up to the amassed artillery. The tanks standing sentinel in the distance looked like a conglomerate of sand-colored and olive-toned camouflage machinery, probably sporting both Soviet and Libyan insignias. Rows upon rows of trucks, personnel carriers, rocket launchers and field artillery met their gazes, the outlines obvious in the limited light. Stringfellow had been right. Trucks were leaving the area even now, transporting the hardware and probably a large percentage of the troops to another undisclosed area. Apparently, this had been going on for quite some time and the Libyans deemed it no threat for the exchange of a former Viet Nam MIA for the coveted Airwolf to take place here. It meant one of two things -- either they had no intention of letting St. John, Stringfellow and Dom go, or they were unconcerned about the possible disclosure of the location, because they intended to be cleared out soon. Jackie was inclined to believe the former, remembering the fate of her dead friend, Gabrielle.
They came upon endless rows of tents and noticed that one was pitched back in a corner, almost out of sight, past a rocky abutment. It was the only one being guarded besides the supply tents on the other side.
"What's that back there?" Carver asked, noticing it also. The women breathed a joint sigh of relief that their newly-acquired 'boss' had been the one with the poor taste to ask. "The big man himself in there?"
"Brother Khadaffi? No," Jabar said, shaking his head. "The prisoner we are using for exchange purposes."
"Prisoner?" Cait queried, casually.
"Yes," Jabar replied. A half-smile formed on his thin lips. "A very important prisoner."
They eventually came to a tent located off to the opposite side which was considerably larger than the troop tents they'd walked between. Jabar held the tent flap open.
"Make yourselves comfortable, ladies. Mr. Carver and I have some business to discuss. Samman and Ahmad will see to your needs." He indicated the two guards on either side of the tent entrance. "Remember, for your own safety, please keep to your tent. My men follow orders, but some have been known to disobey for the temptation of a lovely woman."
Caitlin and Jackie smiled in response, ducking inside the somewhat cooler interior of the tent. Once there, Jackie flopped down on the mounded pillows and blankets, spreadeagled.
"God, what a flight," she exhaled. "We could have done without the passenger."
"No kidding." Cait twisted her face into one of displeasure. "Jace Carver has more on his mind than selling arms and state secrets. I got the feeling our host was giving us the onceover, too."
"They touch either one of us and I'll slit their throats," Jackie said, glancing around the tent.
There were a few beats of silence as they assessed their surroundings. Multi-colored Persian carpets littered the sandy floor and a color portrait of Khadaffi was prominently displayed. Finally, Caitlin dropped down beside Jackie.
"What do you think about going for a little night stroll?" the redhead asked. "I'm inclined to try and find out if St. John is really here or if they're just blowing smoke."
Jackie nodded thoughtfully, picking up a fig to munch on from the low table before them. She frowned a moment, contemplating the piece of fruit in her hand. "Can't help wondering if Jabar might think we're up to something. This thing with the Gypsy came up all of a sudden, right before the exchange. I didn't get any bad vibes, but he's not stupid. I don't think he trusts anyone, even Jace."
Cait picked up a section of peeled orange and began eating it. "I think he's more concerned about scoring points with Khadaffi."
"Maybe. I'm just a little jittery. I want String to get his brother back, we both know how much it means to him." She ate another fig. "We've got to make sure we're in the vicinity of the Gypsy at the time Hawke gets here with Airwolf."
"We'll run a preflight check as an excuse to be up there. They shouldn't give us any trouble. They have guards posted up there to keep an eye on us if we try anything funny. I think he thinks we're on the up-and-up." Cait heaved a breath. "So what about that midnight stroll?"
"Yeah."
Cait looked out the tent flap. One of the guards looked over at her and though his face was a virtual mask of impassivity, his eyes sparked with interest. With a flush, Cait ducked back inside. "Pretty quiet out there," she said. "Like the calm before the storm. But enough activity going on for cover, I think."
Her eyes shifted to the back of the tent. They could easily leave through the rear by crawling underneath. Jackie followed her eyes and then looked at her companion.
"We're going to have to work our way around the opposite side of the encampment," Jackie said quietly. "Jabar didn't exactly forbid us to go nosing around, now, did he?"
She opened the dufflebag Cait had brought with her and pulled out some Arab garb, along with kiffiyis to hide their hair and faces. They plumped up some pillows underneath the blankets and blew out the lamps that burned, then donned the robes and headdresses and cautiously exited out the back. They waited, crouched by the tent, letting their eyes adjust to the darkness, punctuated only by the occasional headlights of a truck or the light of a campfire.
"We get stopped, let me do the talking," Jackie said. "I know several Arabic dialects."
Cait nodded, wondering how Jackie had the patience to learn a language which used an entirely different alphabet. But, she supposed, with her covert work for The Firm, she probably had to know it as she flew missions into the Mideast regularly.
The air was cooling and the night was deceptive in its peacefulness as they made their way between tents. Most of the troops were sleeping and the few still awake they managed to avoid for the most part. In a few minutes, they reached the canyon wall without incident; they crouched down behind a boulder, observing the tent under guard that Jabar had said housed the American prisoner.
"Only two guards," Cait said. "Evidently not too concerned about him attempting an escape." She bit her lip. "Wonder what condition he's in."
"MIA for seventeen years," Jackie reminded her in a low voice. "He's lucky he's still alive."
"Or maybe not, considering what he's probably been through," Caitlin countered quietly.
Jackie looked over at Cait at that comment. She could not begin to imagine what seventeen years of hell would have been like for anybody. A lump formed in her throat and she followed against it. "You want to go in, or you want me to?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice steady.
"I'll go. You cover me. I think I can circle around far enough to get in at the rear without being spotted."
"OK, hurry up," Jackie said. "If they check on us and figure out we're not there, we could be in for some trouble."
"Won't be long," Cait promised, and was gone before Jackie could say anything more.
Jackie hunkered down again, out of sight, and hoped that back home, Michael was saying a prayer for all of them.
The Army had been less than pleased at the interference. For the third time, their security had proven to be less than what it should have been, and the officers in charge would be called upon the carpet to answer for the breach. That wasn't what bothered Michael. What worried him was the safe return of Cait, Dom, String, St. John and Jackie. He had an uneasy feeling that if this mission failed, he wouldn't be seeing any of them again. If everything went according to plan, they would be back within sixteen to twenty hours. If it didn't -- and nothing seemed to go according to plan on a lot of missions -- he didn't want to think about it. They couldn't get back soon enough, he thought worriedly. Not nearly soon enough.
"You've got to stop thinking negatively," he reprimanded himself softly. "they're good -- every one of them. There's no reason for the mission to fail."
He pushed the reports aside and took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes. He wanted it to succeed, and then he wanted it to be over. For the first time in his life, he started to seriously think about an early retirement.
"Hell, I'd rot if I quit this job," he reminded himself sharply.
Abruptly, he shoved himself away from his desk and got to his feet. The reports could wait. He'd go down to the laboratories and busy himself with some of the other projects that were coming along. Just to keep occupied, to keep moving around, to be doing something.
It might help him get his mind off what kind of trouble his friends might be in.
It didn't look like the guard would be in much of a hurry to get back to his post, so Cait dropped down again, then stopped when she saw Hamid Jabar and Jace Carver talking to each other, making their way toward the isolated tent. Jabar spied the lax guard, taking time to reprimand him angrily. After a sufficient tongue-lashing, the two men ducked inside the tent. Caitlin darted out toward the rear of it, crouching down to listen.
"Well, Mr. Hawke," came Jabar's insultingly pleasant voice, "it seems your brother is on his way to retrieve you. You should be a happy man."
Caitlin drew in a sharp breath. So. St. John was actually here.
"Once Airwolf is in our possession, you will be free to go," Jabar continued. "A most generous concession on the part of Brother Khadaffi, considering the time, trouble and money your brother has cost him in the past."
There was an unintelligible mutter, followed by a muffled thump.
"You should learn to be more grateful," came Carver's sardonic voice. "After all, we all went to a lot of grief to bring you here and get your brother to come over. Show a little gratitude."
"No matter," Jabar intervened smoothly. "Grateful or not, his troublesome presence will be removed and that is all I am concerned with, except for the acquisition of the helicopter." He paused. "Perhaps your female pilots would be adept at flying this Airwolf? So few people know how to fly her. You told me the dark-haired one is reputed to be able to fly almost anything."
"So I've been told. I'll ask 'em," Carver agreed. "I'm on my way back over there now."
"Let them sleep," Jabar advised. "You can awaken them closer to the time. I want them refreshed when they do the demonstration." There was another pause. "Sleep well, Mr. Hawke. You have another long journey ahead of you today -- back home to your United States."
Cait scrambled behind the rocks once more when the two men departed the tent. Though she hadn't actually seem St. John with her own eyes, it was obvious he was there, simply from the course of conversation she'd overheard. She bit her lip nervously. Instinct told her she and Jackie should be returning to their own tent.
When she reached Jackie again, the other woman sighed in relief. "Took you long enough! I was beginning to worry," Jackie told her. "So -- is he . . .?"
"I didn't actually see him, but I'm sure he's in there," Caitlin told her, quickly relaying everything she'd heard as they made their way back to their tent. "At least he's still alive. That much I'm sure of. I heard him."
They scuttled to the rear of their tent once more, tearing their winding robes off and stuffing them into the dufflebag, then snuggled down into the comfortable bedding. Not three minutes later, the front tent flap was pulled open and through slitted eyes, Cait saw Jabar poke his head in. He quickly let the flap fall back in place, then heard him say something in the form of a question to one of the outside guards; a reply from the man followed, then a grunt from Jabar in acknowledgement. She heard Jackie breathe a sigh of relief a few feet away.
"Yeah, I know," Cait whispered. "It was close."
"Too close," Jackie muttered. She checked her watch. "String should be here in about three hours." She set the alarm in her wristwatch. "I'm setting this to go off in about two and a half. We need to be wide awake when he and Dom get here."
There was a few minutes of silence. Finally, Cait leaned up on her elbow. "Basically, all we're here for is to create enough of a diversion so everybody can get the hell out with Airwolf once the exchange is made, right?"
"Yeah." Jackie leaned up to face her. "What's your other question?"
"No question. I'm just scared to death," Cait admitted. "What if things don't work the way they're supposed to?"
The other woman looked away. "Not good to talk like that, Cait. It's like inviting bad luck."
"Yeah, but Jackie, what if?" Cait insisted. "We're talking about String's brother, here."
"Yeah, and we're talking about terrorists with a streak of the religious zealot running through them. We're surrounded by them right now. What's your point?"
"You're not the slightest bit scared?" Cait asked, settling back down.
Jackie laughed softly. "Yeah, I'm scared. To death."
"You don't act it."
"Look, all we can do is play it by ear, once String and Dom get here. I'm no superwoman, but I sorta kinda know what I'm doing. Stick with me, Cait. We'll get out of here in one piece."
"So you're really scared, huh?"
A humorless smile came to Jackie's mouth. "A wise lady once told me no matter how tough you are, you never forfeit the right to be scared." She turned over on her side. "We better get what sleep we can before showtime."
Cait pillowed her head on her arm and felt her eyelids droop. Funny, how even in a crisis, she could think of sleeping. Yet, sleep did come to her in the middle of her troubled thoughts.
"ETA is about seventy minutes," Dominic Santini's voice came from the engineering section of the chopper.
"Yeah." Hawke checked the instrumental readings, then concentrated on his flying once more.
"You OK?" his friend asked, concerned.
"I'm fine," Hawke replied, a little too quickly. "Just a little tired, that's all."
"You can say that twice," Dom agreed. "Reminds me of that time when me and your dad . . ." He broke off his sentence before getting into the story. Hawke had heard it before and the last thing he probably needed now was a recounting of past war history. "Never mind," he muttered.
Several moments of prolonged silence went by. Finally, Stringfellow said what they'd both studiously avoided commenting on. "Wonder how the girls made out."
"Knowin' them, they've got that Carver and Jabar wrapped around their pretty little fingers," Dom assured him with a confidence he didn't quite feel. He couldn't help but worry about them, too. Both girls were like family. "C'mon, String, we know them as well as anybody. They don't take any crap. They know how to cover each other."
"Yeah. They're tough ladies," Hawke agreed, a jab of consternation still wreaking havoc in the back of his mind. "I suppose I shouldn't be so worried. Jackie's done this type of stuff before. Cait's been good on the missions she's flow with us -- and she was a damn good cop."
"But you're still worried about 'em," Dom said knowingly.
"Hell, yes, I'm real worried about 'em," Hawke replied in total frustration.
"Me, too," Dom admitted quietly. "And when this is over and we get back, I'm going to hug those little ladies like there's no tomorrow."
"Take a number," Hawke said, voice cracking fractionally.
"They'll do OK," Dom reassured him firmly. "They always have."
"They better, damn it," Hawke replied in a low, trembling voice. "Because I don't want to come back alone. Not this time."
"Thought you ladies would still be asleep," he commented, surprised they were awake already.
"Yeah, well," Jackie answered. "We wanted to get an early start so we could run a pre-flight check before we take the Gypsy up this morning."
Carver pursed his lips, then nodded. "OK. Guess that would be all right. But hey -- I got a special treat for you two." Cait and Jackie looked at each other, then waited for him to continue. "It's something I think the two of you would appreciate and I OK'd it with Jabar. We're waiting for the transport of a very special helicopter this morning -- about as hi-tech as the number we flew in on. Jabar wants you to take a look at it -- maybe take it up later for a run, if you think you can handle it."
"What about the pilots bringing it in?" Cait asked. "Can't they show you how it works?"
Carver shook his head. "Unfortunately not. We have a particular deal with the pilot that doesn't include giving us a demo. What about it, ladies?"
"We can take a look," Jackie finally agreed. "If it's American and made within the past five years, I've probably flown it. But let's save it until after the demo with the Gypsy, huh?" She smiled. "Must be a pretty special helicopter if Jabar wants it."
"Khadaffi's wanted it for over three years," Carver intimated with a predatory gleam in his eyes. "Wouldn't mind havin' it myself, after what Jabar told me it's capable of."
"So when do we see it?" Cait prodded.
"Pretty soon. ETA is about ten minutes, according to the last transmission we got."
"Fine. Then we better run that check so we're ready to rock 'n' roll right afterwards. If we have any technical problems, I don't want to find out about them when we're in the air," Jackie told him, hands on hips.
Carver glanced at his watch. "Jabar has a few troops waiting for the helicopter topside at the airstrip. Let's go on up. You can run the check after you help us greet the new arrivals."
As the three of them walked up the incline, the sound of rotary blades slicing through the air and the unmistakable whine of Airwolf hit their ears. They topped the canyon, assessing the twelve troops waiting with Jabar. The black and white helicopter nosed down, settling on the crumbling, sandy concrete. Cait touched Jackie's arm and they moved towards the Gypsy. Carver looked over at them.
"You don't want to greet the guests?" he questioned above the roar.
Jabar stepped up to them for a moment. "There is a problem?"
Jackie shook her head. "Nope. Just want to run a preflight check, that's all. OK with you?"
"All right. But when you are finished, I want you to come meet the pilots of this incredible helicopter. Yes?"
"Be glad to. Maybe they can clue us in on a few things about her before we try and take it up later," Jackie agreed. "Looks pretty much like a standard Bell 222B to me."
"Believe me, it is much more than that," Hamid Jabar informed them. "I suppose you could try and charm them, but somehow, I don't think they'll be too cooperative. It's taken us over three years to get our hands on this machine."
He left them and it was a sense of relief that flooded Caitlin as the feel of the warm metal of the Gypsy touched her hand. Once settled comfortably inside the cockpit, they powered up and strapped in. Everyone's attention was shifted back to Airwolf once more.
Two more soldiers came up the incline, half-guiding a man between them. Cait and Jackie both strained to look out the window. The man was attired in tattered Laosian dress. A strip of material was tied around his head in the form of a sweatband and he was barefoot. It looked as though he hadn't bathed in months and he sported a shaggy beard. As the sun crested the sand dunes, it spilled over the man and his guard escort. Dark circles were under his eyes and they could see he was emaciated, but not as bad as one would have thought. He was a big man, powerfully built. In the sculpted, hard planed face that hosted all the hardship he'd endured, there still remained a kind of hope in his eyes. Cait realized that through all the years, this man never doubted that someday, his brother would come for him.
"Oh, God." Jackie's voice was edged with a sob.
"Mother of God," Cait breathed. "That's him." She blinked back tears. "That's got to be St. John Hawke."
Stringfellow emerged from the cockpit and was immediately surrounded by armed guards, relinquishing him of his weapons. One of the soldiers pulled Dominic from the engineering section of the helicopter, relieving him of his gun, also. Jackie turned to her readouts and put on her helmet.
"It's showtime," she murmured softly.
"Let's make it a performance they'll never forget," Caitlin said tightly.
"You're OK with the controls back there? You can find everything?"
"Easier than Airwolf's," Cait confirmed. "I know where everything is."
"Alrighty, then. Turbos on my order," Jackie replied evenly. "And Cait?"
"Yeah?" Cait's voice trembled.
"The only way we leave this place is if String, St. John and Dom are safely in the air."
Cait nodded. "Wouldn't have it any other way."
"I came back," Stringfellow choked out, voice cracking with emotion. "I came back for you. I promised, and I came back."
St. John's laugh was like brittle autumn leaves, half-relieved, half-happy and a most welcome sound. "I never had any doubts," he answered back. "I knew you would one day, little brother."
"Be ready for anything," String whispered in his ear.
St. John leaned back, eyes locking to Stringfellow's, then glanced over his brother's shoulder at Dominic, who stood in the background. There were tears in the big man's eyes that fell unashamedly down his cheeks.
"Dom," St. John breathed, reaching out.
String watched as Dominic and St. John shared a heart-felt hug. The Italian man's shoulders heaved silent sobs as he pulled St. John close. Their stoic Libyan audience made no impression upon them as String joined the other two in a three-way hug.
"A most touching display," Jabar's voice cut through to them, "which you are free to continue as you wait for your transport to Saudi Arabia. But first, we have some trained pilots who would like to put some questions to you about your machine."
"What pilots? Those pilots?" Hawke indicated the Gypsy taxiing down the runway. With a spurt of turbos, it was airborne. Like a gargantuan bird, it roared toward open sky, leaving a great trail dissipating in its wake.
Hamid Jabar was furious. "What are they doing in the air?" he demanded, whipping around to face Carver. "They were merely to do a systems check! You told me you had those women under your orders!"
The Gypsy circled about lazily, like a huge eagle lifted upwards by the wind currents. A split second before it happened, sudden realization came over Commander Jabar. The red glow from the fully charged laser erupted, almost pencil-thin, from the craft, cutting a line between Hawke, Dom and St. John, from Jabar and the rest of his men. String jerked back, the laser still too close for his comfort.
"Get in!" String shouted, pushing his brother toward the open hatch of the helicopter. "Now!"
St. John sprawled inside, literally hauled up by Dom who jumped over him. String grabbed up a discarded uzi and let out a stream of gunfire through the smoke rising from the charred line on the ground, felling about half of Jabar's entourage. Gunfire from automatic and semi-automatic weapons pinged off Airwolf's outside hulk. One stray bullet in to the fuselage would blow them up. String discarded the uzi and scrambled into Airwolf. He flipped a switch and activated the chainguns. With a clang, they dropped and an explosion of nine millimeter fire cut another third of the troops down.
"Rotors engaged," Don called from the back.
Airwolf lifted from the ground. St. John looked from Hawke at the controls, to Dom, to the Gypsymoth outside.
"Damn!" he muttered, shaking his head.
The Gypsy swung around again and the laser glowed redly. This time, the beam widened, cutting a fifty by fifty foot swathe along the canyon below in less than ten seconds. Jabar looked on in disbelief, then howled in fury, screams drowned out by the laser as it made repetitive passes over the military site. His despairing face could be clearly seen as billions in military equipment and personnel were laid waste.
"You!" he screamed at the stunned Carver. "You have done this! You were in on this from the beginning! Your government had this planned!"
Carver didn't get two steps backward before Jabar grabbed him by the collar and emptied a clip into his middle. The mercenary slumped to the ground in a lifeless heap and then Jabar, in his rage, turned on Airwolf as she lifted up, placing a new clip in his gun. The fire ricocheted harmlessly off her underbelly.
"Combat mode, Dom," Stringfellow instructed.
Dom pressed a few buttons and Airwolf shuddered as her underside opened up to display her firepower.
"Put all weapons on line," he instructed again.
"This is one fancy 'copter," St. John murmured, voice raspy. He slipped on the helmet and strapped himself in next to Dom. "Beats those birds we flew in 'Nam all to hell."
"Wait until we get home, I'll take you for a joyride," String promised, forcing the emotion from his voice. "But first -- we got to take care of business." He swung around toward the flight tower. "Target the tower, Dom. Give me a bullpup."
"Tower's on scope and programmed," Dom relayed. "Let 'er rip."
Hawke pressed the firing button and the missile left it's holder, trailing a tail of flame. It lodged inside the main section of the tower and a moment later, the nuclear tip erupted, sending shards of shattered metal, wood and body parts in every direction. String executed a graceful turn and joined the Gypsy in the incendiary destruction. Ugly, twisted lumps of what were once T-64 tanks, half-tracks and assault choppers littered the bottom of the canyon. Smoking spots in the canyon wall marked where the laser had reduced the gun turrets to molten rock.
"Hang on, we got company," String warned his brother.
St. John was about to respond, then thought better of it, absolutely awed by the helicopter he was sitting in and the craft assisting them.
"We got three MiGs comin' in, String," Dom said, as if in answer to Hawke's prophecy. "Closin' in from the north, thirty seconds."
Hawke actually grinned beneath his helmet and activated the radio. "Yo, Gypsy, you read?"
After a second, Jackie's voice was heard. "This is Gypsy, Airwolf. What can we do for you?"
"We got three MiGs on our scopes closing fast. Want some of the fun?"
"You bet!" Cait could be heard.
"Not exactly fair odds," Jackie said, amused. "We'll chew 'em up and spit 'em out."
"Here they come!"
Hawke pulled up on the collective and they soared upward with turbo-thrust. As the MiGs came roaring in, Airwolf made a heart-wrenching Immelman Loop, coming up behind the last assault plane. The turbos cut out and Hawke targeted it.
"Copperhead on line," he ordered.
"On line," Dom confirmed.
Hawke pushed the firing button and another shudder shook the black-and-white. The MiG exploded into a ball of flame, sections falling to the desert floor in spectacular defeat. Seconds later, the men were witness to the cockpit of another fighter split from the rest of it as a narrow red beam cut through with the precision of a jeweler's cutting tool. Flames spurted from the halved craft as it broke open like a cracked egg, following the same fate as it's predecessor.
"This is too easy!" Jackie said, disgusted. "Where's the challenge?"
"OK," Hawke conceded. "Go finish up downstairs and don't forget to take out the front door. If you need any help, give a yell and we'll come in with brooms and mops."
The remaining MiG, stunned by the fast action of both foreign aircrafts, began to turn about. A spray of fire from its cannons hit Airwolf point blank, bouncing off, but denting the outer skin.
"Hey!" Dom exploded indignantly. "Have a little respect for a lady! String, let's quit pussyfootin' around and swat this guy," he said, irked.
"Yeah, I'm tired of playing, too," String agreed. "Give me a Redeye."
"On line, String."
It was short work as the enemy MiG exploded. Airwolf screamed out of the flying shrapnel to join the Gypsy. The devastation was unbelievable. What lay before them was hardly recognizable anymore and Hawke knew that the loss of life was no small number. Only a few hundred men remained, if that, the Gypsy having returned from it's run down the canyon, decimating everything possible in the two mile stretch. This would dent Khadaffi's pocketbook, he thought, satisfied. And the payback was long past due.
"I don't want to play in this sandbox anymore," Stringfellow said over the radio. "What do you say, Cait, Jackie? Should we go home?"
"Please let's," Cait called out. I've had enough fireworks for one morning."
"Party time at my place when we get back," Hawke reminded them.
"We'll see you there," Jackie replied, a smile in her voice. "Go on ahead. We'll watch your backdoor for awhile."
"Thanks." String hesitated. "Hey, Cait. Jackie. I mean . . . thanks."
There was a moment's pause. Then Cait's quiet voice sounded over the channel. "Welcome back, St. John."
Together, the two crafts left the smoldering canyon to the mercy of the desert winds.
"Congratulations, sir," Delia said warmly as he handed her back the report. "After I shred this, I'll leave for the pick-up point for the Gypsy."
"Take the girls up to Hawke's cabin, Delia, no delays. I want them to have an alibi in case anyone might have gotten overly-curious as to their whereabouts," Michael instructed. "When Hawke and Dom debrief me and you get the girls up to the cabin, come back here and consider yourself on leave for a couple of days. You've worked hard. You deserve it."
"Thank you, sir, but . . . "
"No buts. That's an order. Take that leave."
"Yes, sir."
She left his office with the folder. Now, Michael thought with relief, his life could be taken off hold and he could divert some much-needed attention to his personal life. He stared at the glamour shot of Jackie staring back at him from his desk, a gift she'd brought when she'd come to California a few days ago. The tight-fitting black dress and come-hither look attested to the fact he was no longer thought of as a father figure. Michael welcomed that.
He looked at his wristwatch and rose to his feet. It was after one a.m. He left orders with one of his operatives that the moment Hawke contacted the office, he was to be roused at the penthouse suite. Then he called for the limousine to take him there for some much-needed sleep. He might as well be in marginally decent shape for the upcoming reunion at Hawke's cabin. Once in the limo, he picked up the interior phone on the way to the Bonaventure and made sure there would be a physician on duty for St. John when the trio arrived at the Knightsbridge office.
Satisfied that he had done all he could for the next few hours, Michael stared out the tinted glass windows into the night.
Jackie and Cait, sitting together at the dinner table, smiled, giving each other sly glances back and forth. They'd both decided early on that St. John was incredibly good-looking in person and this inspired a little bit of friendly competition for his attention.
"Thanks," Jackie said, giving Cait another sideways look. "Although I have to admit, I've never heard of Tabasco in Szechuan shrimp."
"Just a little cooking tip from Texas," Cait replied in her own defense. "Cleans out your pipes."
"If it doesn't dissolve them first," Jackie muttered, taking a bite of garlic chicken.
"C'mon, you lightweight," Cait teased. "You take out half the military hardware the Libyans accumulated but you can't handle a little Tabasco?"
"This from a woman who can't look calimari in the mouth," Jackie shot back with a grin. She turned back to St. John. "That's what I was going to fix tonight, St. John. But Cait turned about seven different shades of green when I even mentioned it."
Cait stuck her tongue out and Jackie copied it.
"C'mon, girls, play nice," String directed, grinning.
"Besides, we took it out, not me," Jackie reminded Cait pointedly.
"You guys were something else," St. John said, admiringly. "Great cooks, pretty ladies and -- I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. "Where'd you guys learn to fly like that?"
Preening a bit, Jackie stuck her thumb out at Michael, who sat next to her. "This guy here got me interested. I learned at a Chicago airfield with a retired World War Two vet."
"She didn't need much training, she was a natural," Michael intoned, smiling over at her. He took her hand beneath the table.
"What about you, Cait?" Jackie queried. "Where'd you get your training?"
"Air Force, then got a job with the Texas police flying shotgun on speeders," Cait replied. "It was a comedown, but it was a job. I got to fly, and it paid pretty decent."
"Well, I'd like to catch up and get my license again so I can start working for Dom," St. John said, eyes crinkling as he spoke. He ran a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "I don't suppose one of you ladies would like to be my instructor?"
"Love to!" Cait replied enthusiastically.
"Just say the word, St. John," Jackie replied with a charming smile, hand still gripping Michael's, but eyes meeting the other man's.
"Won't you be too busy moving into your new beach house and setting things up?" Michael queried, bringing her hand up in full view to kiss her knuckles. "We have some things to catch up on too, don't forget. You better leave the flying lessons to Cait."
Jackie turned her gaze on Michael fondly. "Well. Guess you're not giving me much of a choice, are you?" Her fingers caressed his for a moment.
"Beach house, huh? You're moving back to California?" Dominic asked, beginning to grin. "That's great! Wanna go to that airshow in San Diego with me in a week?"
"It's a date, Dom," Jackie confirmed, taking a sip of wine.
"Boy, you sure got the older men comin' after you in droves," String commented with a wink. "First Michael, now Dom."
Jackie shrugged, then smiled slyly. "There's a lot to be said for older men, you know."
"You wouldn't consider dating someone just a tad younger than your boss?" St. John asked, flirting teasingly.
"I didn't say that." But Jackie only had eyes for Michael. After a moment, she stood up from the table. "Who wants banana splits absolutely drowning in chocolate?"
Afterwards, when she was doing the dishes, String wandered out to stand beside her at the sinks.
"C'mon, Jacks, leave 'em. Come join the conversation."
She shook her head. "I'm not gonna leave a bunch of dirty dishes. Go on back yourself. You have a brother to get reacquainted with."
"Well, he's getting to know Cait pretty well. I think he'd like to get to know you. He's already told me he'd like to ask both you and Cait out. It's been awhile since he's been around women."
She smiled briefly. "I'll get my chance to talk to him. But just so we're all working on the same wavelength, String -- I'm going to be keeping a lot of company with Michael. You might want to casually mention that in conversation sometime with St. John. Just so there's no hurt feelings or crossed wires later."
"You mean -- you and Michael -- "
"We want a relationship. But we've hardly had time to start one yet. We've talked a little." She scrubbed a pan vigorously. "I want something serious with Michael, String. Going out with St. John's not a problem as long as he understands it's a friends-only thing. If he wants something more serious and steady, Cait's a good candidate. In fact, I was seriously thinking about fixing them up on a definite date."
"You and Dom. He's already encouraging them," Hawke chuckled.
"That doesn't surprise me in the least," she said with a smile.
There was a pause. Then, Hawke nudged her shoulder. "Jacks . . . you doin' OK?"
"If you mean about the Preston thing, yeah. I'm OK with that now. I'll think about it every day of my life, but it's done with."
"You went to therapy?"
"Yeah. Surprised?"
"Maybe a little." He gave her a light, grazing punch to the chin. "Hurry up. I missed you being up here, y'know. This reminds me of old times."
"Yeah, I miss them, too. I'd like to come up here sometime."
"Anytime you want, Jacks. You don't even need an advance reservation." He smiled widely, so widely his eyes lit up. "I feel good. You'll never know just how much it meant to have you help out on this."
She leaned back a little. "Yeah, I think I do." Then she gave him a hug and shooed him out of the kitchen.
"Well, we were all extremely lucky," Michael was saying some time later, when Jackie joined them with a glass of wine. "The military found the Gypsy in the designated drop-off spot and they know it's been flown quite hard. I don't think we'll be hearing much from them, though. Their security was very compromised a third time, and they're just so relieved to get it back. I don't think they much care we had a hand in it. How did the laser work?"
Cait let out a whoop. She was sitting on the arm of St. John's chair. "We sliced through that compound like it was pudding! We didn't even use a single armament! Sheered one MiG right in half!"
Jackie sat down on the sofa by Michael. "We pretty much exhausted the laser, though. It needed time to charge up again by the time we were done. The solar regeneration system was a good idea."
"You erased what was recorded on the video system, I hope?" Michael questioned.
"First rule of the game. Cover your ass. Of course we did," she assured him.
"Pretty fancy stuff, ladies," St. John said, grinning. "Pretty slick maneuvering from where I was sitting."
"Aw shucks, it's just like shootin' wamp rats back home," Jackie drawled in a slight Southern twang.
"Jackie was one of the first pilots to test-pilot the Gypsy," Cait informed him.
"Well, Ms. Kendricks, you're a damn fine pilot."
"I had a damn good co-pilot. Cait made the whole operation go smooth as a baby's bottom. And call me Jackie, please. No one calls me Ms. Kendricks unless I'm in a lot of trouble."
Appreciative laughter followed the comment.
"I won't forget what you've all done for me -- for String," St. John said, after the laughter died down. His voice was serious as he turned to Michael. "I'd like to hear more about your arrangements with my brother, Michael. What happens now that you've managed to bring me back?"
Michael brushed his moustache with his finger. "Well, the original plan was to return Airwolf after we got you back. But I've gotten so I like this arrangement too much. The Firm won't be able to use The Lady if we turn her over. I think maybe I can convince The Committee of the wisdom and usefulness of letting things remain the way they are. And if you're so inclined, St. John, it never hurts to have another backup pilot for Airwolf. What do you think, String?"
String actually smiled. "What if I said I don't want to play your game anymore?"
Michael leaned forward, concerned. "What, you want to reconsider? Health and medical benefits now?"
The pilot laughed. "I'm kidding, Michael. I'll still fly for you as an independent contractor. But only for you."
"Your division can afford a few added incentives," Jackie told Michael with a smirk. "It keeps you in that penthouse suite of yours with Beluga caviar, champagne and satin sheets, not to mention a new top-of-the-line limo every year."
With a grimace, Michael clamped a hand over her mouth amidst the light laughter. Her mischievous glint made him smile. He removed his hand and draped his arm over her shoulders instead.
"Pay by the mission?" the Deputy Director asked. "Standard contract? It's about time you got a little compensation in the way of cash, considering you haven't been accepting payment all this time."
"Sounds good," Dominic said immediately. "Maybe I'll finally get my airfield paid off."
"You gave me what I asked for," Hawke reminded Michael quietly.
"I suppose having you all on the payroll couldn't hurt," Michael mused. "At least that way, I have an excuse to keep tabs on you." He winked benevolently.
"I'm looking forward to getting to know everyone better," St. John stated, casting a particularly emphatic look over in Caitlin's direction. The redhead blushed a little. "After my conference with the President and all this government hassle is over with, I'd like to get started immediately."
"I'm sure the President will be quite generous with compensation," Michael told him in a low voice. "With hostages -- they go home with a cool million. I heard through the grapevine you might be leaving the White House with closer to three."
"Tell the President to send Rambo Hawke over to kick some ass and get the rest of our guys out," Cait said with a bit of an edge.
"I'll be attending the conference with St. John," Michael told them. "Any of you are welcome to come, if you'd like. It's going to be delicate trying to keep the Gypsy out of the picture and explain how virtually half of Libya's military hardware was incinerated."
"But you'll manage it with your usual flair and ability to bullshit," Dominic put in with a wink.
Michael inclined his head. "Of course. They'll probably be yelling about Airwolf having been involved but since nothing happened to her, I think a little yelling can be endured. My job's secure. They won't oust me. As long as you fly for me and no one else. Access to Airwolf would be contingent on that. Never mind the fact I literally know where a lot of bodies are buried."
String moved to the center of the floor. "I'd like to propose a toast," he announced. He turned toward the Deputy Director. "To Michael, for helping us bring St. John back home. We couldn't have done it without you."
"Hear, hear," Dominic agreed heartily, lifting his glass.
They all drank the toast, then Michael held his glass up. "To St. John. Welcome home."
As the second toast was consummated, Caitlin held her glass up. "To good friends. Let's all stay that way." They drank to it and then her eyes met Jackie's. "Speaking of which, did I understand you were moving into a beach house? You want help moving in?"
"You jumped in it, Cait. I'm going to take you up on the offer," Jackie answered. "I called my answering machine and my agent just confirmed my bid's been accepted. I can move in the first of October. I have a few things to pack up in Chicago and drive out here, but other than that . . ."
"Don't be silly. I'll call Firm personnel in the Chicago office and have them pack up the rest of your things for you and we'll ship your car out," Michael told her. "You can stay at my ranch until your house is ready to move into."
"Yeah, we'll make it a moving-in party," Dom said. "And then have a barbecue on the beach!"
Jackie had to smile. "Sounds like everybody's got it figured out. OK. Here I am to stay, then." She looked up at Michael. "Does this hot-head have a job?"
"You do with me!" Dom practically crowed. "Any time you want it."
"Thanks, Dom." Jackie blew him a kiss.
"I think I could manage to get you reinstated," Michael deliberated carefully. "Seeing as you happen to be a favorite with the boss." A smile played about his lips. "Stringfellow, do you mind overnight guests again? I gave Delia today and tomorrow off. Sam'll be up tomorrow morning to pick us up."
"Well, I can hardly boot you out and remain a good host," the pilot agreed. "So I guess we've got ourselves another slumber party."
"I've been to a few of those," Caitlin quipped merrily. "They can get pretty wild."
"Well, I don't know about the rest of you," St. John announced, "but I could do with a lot less excitement, at least for the present. Boring is looking pretty good right now."
"With Michael hanging around all the time?" Dominic asked with a laugh. "Don't we all just wish?"
END PART I