REUNIONS

Part IV

By Linda Ryner

Stringfellow lay awake, one arm around the darkhaired beauty that draped herself over him, breathing in the pervasive scent of White Shoulders and taking some measure of comfort in the delicate scent wreathing him. He had taken a chance to be with Marella this night. He had either called Sonja or she had called him every night for the past seven weeks. He'd never missed a phone call except for tonight. But he'd been unable to stay away from Marella any longer. He was going to have to leave pretty soon and bunk at Dom's apartment. The thought didn't do much to lift his spirits. He shifted and Marella readjusted herself against him.

"Baby, I have to leave." His words were quiet, but enough to make Marella lift her head to look up at him.

Her sigh was audible. "Not right away," she protested softly. "Stay a little longer, String."

He pulled her more securely against him, one hand weaving through the black hair tumbling over her shoulders. He felt the press of her lips to his chest and closed his eyes, enjoying the silken feel. He jumped when her tongue slid over his nipple.

"Hey. You don't play fair." He smiled in spite of himself.

"No," she purred. "I don't."

Her hand slipped down between his legs, exerting slight pressure behind his scrotum. Stringfellow groaned as his erection made itself evident. "Damn. Where'd you learn all this stuff?"

"Books. Field work." She smiled at that last.

"Field work, huh?" He smiled with her. "Well, as long as you've worked me up in such a state, we shouldn't waste it, should we?"

He turned with her, watching her eyes in the darkness, a shock of his sandy blonde hair drooping down to barely touch her forehead. She reached up, mouth open and inviting under his and he accepted the kiss for a few langorous moments. He felt her legs bend upright and then placed his weight on his arms, sliding inside her with one sure stroke. Her cry sounded, escaping the seal of his mouth; she tore her mouth from his, knees digging into his kidneys. String shifted the weight to his knees and grabbed her thighs, urging her legs over his shoulders.

Her fingers wound into the sheets and Marella cried like a mewling cat. Stringfellow slowed the rhythm and listened to her low moan. The fury ebbed and he allowed her legs to slip down, back around his waist.

He made love to her like he had all the time in the world, fingers caressing the glossy black hair and the beautiful, silken mocha skin. His tongue caressed her mouth, teased her with elusive kisses, then satisfied her with deep, soul-stirring ones, never stopping the slow, sensual rhythm.

"God, you feel so good," Marella whispered in his ear, on the brink of a second orgasm. "Do it with me, this time. Come with me."

When String came, his entire body shook in her arms and although he'd not said a word, it had been a powerful release coupled with hers. He kissed her face and mouth over and over afterwards, still inside her, making no move to roll over. Marella anchored him firmly to her body, and they both breathed in the musky sweat and delicate perfume.

After a long time, he reluctantly disengaged himself and rolled out of bed. Marella made a noise of displeasure.

"I know," he mumbled in apology. "I hate it, too. But if she's been trying to get hold of me and I haven't been there . . ."

"Yeah." Marella's voice was quiet. "Sam's surveilling Sonja tonight. If there were any unusual movements, I'm sure she'd let me know about it."

"Sam doesn't know about us, does she?"

The dark-haired operative shook her head. "No. Nobody does."

"Good. I don't need word filtering back I'm sleeping with you. Not when we don't know what she's up to yet, if anything."

"String . . ." Marella stopped.

He looked over at her as he pulled on his jeans, zipping them up. "Yeah, babe? What?"

"Have you . . . "

"You know the answer to that one." He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his boots. "No, we haven't. And I'm sure she's wondered why. That's why I can't figure out why she's hanging on so tenaciously since we haven't. She hasn't even broached the subject with me."

"You might have to sleep with her to allay her suspicions," Marella told him seriously.

"You could live with that?" He watched her turn her head away.

"I would hate it. But I would understand."

"Awhile back, I might have even done it. But not since we've been seeing each other, I don't even have the desire to."

"You're sweet. Thank you."

String reached out and caressed her cheek. "Hey. You've spoiled me. I'd be an idiot to go looking somewhere else. I have no intention of sleeping with Sonja."

"Like I said, you may have to."

Hawke had much the same thoughts, but had never voiced them. He didn't want to think about it. "And I may not." He leaned over, placing a probing, sensual kiss on her mouth. "Now go to sleep. Get some rest." He kissed her nose. "I love you."

Marella touched his cheek and her eyes sparkled. "I love you, too." He got up to leave, pulling on his shirt. "String?" He stopped and looked back. "If you do have to, don't tell me."

He felt her eyes on his back when he exited. He left Marella's condo at the back entrance and walked around the corner to the side door in the alleyway where he parked the jeep. He backed out of the alley and drove down the darkened streets, making his way back to the airfield. He'd pull out a cot in Dom's office tonight. Then, if Sonja called he could say that he'd been at the airfield, working late, and decided to stay. It did happen on occasion and she would have no reason to suspect him.

What he didn't see was the pair of headlights from a darkened garage driveway that brightened the alley after he had turned onto the street.

They belonged to Sonja's white Firebird.

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

The small plane circled lazily about as Dominic Santini banked to the right. Fixed up, this baby was as good as new. All five of them had worked on it one Sunday afternoon -- Dom himself, String, Cait, Jackie and St. John. She was as pristine as she ever was. A good coat of paint, and she'd look brand new.

He looked over at his passenger, who sat stoicly in the seat. Jackie didn't look good -- positively green, if Dom ever saw it. She had her arms folded over her stomach and he could tell she was gritting her teeth.

"Whatsa matter, Jacks?" he questioned.

"Don't know." She rubbed her chest a little. "I think I'm . . . I don't know. Maybe flu."

"You runnin' a fever?" Dom reached a hand over to touch her cheek and forehead. "You don't feel hot."

"Maybe I ate some bad fish last night . . . Dom, could you take us in? I'm really not feeling too well. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." Dom banked more gently and turned around. "I think I got some soda crackers in the cupboard. That and a mug of hot tea should fix you right up . . . "

"Oh, God, Dominic." He saw her body flex. "Please tell me you've got a container or wastebasket or something . . ."

Dom grabbed for a plastic wastebasket he usually kept in a wire frame and handed it to her. She seized it and then came the unmistakable sound of retching. Dom's mouth set in a worried line. Jackie NEVER got sick in an airplane or helicopter. She really must not be feeling good if she was getting sick beside him.

After about a minute, Jackie lifted her head. "Jesus, Dom. I'm sorry."

"Hey, you apologize one more time and I'll take you over my knee! Hang on, honey, we're going in."

The moment they stopped, Jackie was out of the plane, carrying the wastebasket with her. She ran past Hawke and St. John, past Cait and Michael, who stood outside his limo, into the office and slammed the door to the bathroom.

"What happened?" Hawke queried, staring at the shut door. "She sick?"

"Sicker than a green pilot on her first flight," Dom confirmed.

"She's never sick in the air," Michael said, frowning.

"Want me to see how she's doing?" Cait volunteered, indicating the occupied bathroom.

"Give her a few minutes. I think she'll be all right." Dom said. "Although somebody might have to substitute for her taking those businessmen into Seattle this afternoon with Cait."

"If she's not up to it, I'll go," St. John volunteered with a soft smile. "But I'll have to grab my duff from your apartment, Dom."

Jackie finally reappeared after about five minutes, looking pale and a little shaky. Michael came up to her immediately, one arm curving around her waist.

"You all right, sweetheart?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah . . ." She paused, a little surprised. "Man, that's a first."

"What did you eat last night?" St. John asked.

"Oh, St. John, don't. Mention food and I'm going to throw up again." She hesitated. "Shrimp. I supposed I could have contracted a mild case of food poisoning." She waved them off. "I'm fine. I drank some water and scarfed down half your bottle of Pepto, Dom," she informed the older man.

"I think you better let me or St. John go with Cait this afternoon," Stringfellow Hawke informed her. "You shouldn't be flying a plane if you're sick."

"I'll be OK . . ."

"Hush. You're not going," Michael told her adamantly. "In fact, Dom, if she's not needed this afternoon, I'll take her home. I'll have one of my ops drive her car back to her house this afternoon or tonight."

"I'm lockin' up at seven-thirty," Dom told him. "That's probably a good idea, Jacks. Just go home and rest up a day or two. Hell, take three or four. Unless we get real busy, I'm not gonna need ya tell next week anyhow."

"You're all trying to get rid of me," she pouted.

"Just long enough for you to get well," Cait told her. "C'mon. You better do what Dr. Santini ordered."

Jackie smiled wanly. "OK, Doc. You talked me into it. Just do me a favor -- oh, I'm gonna make myself sick again." She heaved a breath. "When you guys get up to Seattle, bring me back some smoked salmon."

"If we ever get out of the hotel room," St. John said, grinning, as he pulled Cait to his side.

"Might have known you had ulterior motives," Jackie sniped goodnaturedly despite her nausea.

Cait slapped at his chest and blushed. "Don't worry, Jacks. You'll get your salmon."

"I have to get my gym bag," Jackie said, moving away from Michael. She disappeared inside the hangar.

The moment she was out of earshot, Cait pulled Dom aside. "Dominic, I'll bet you anything that --"

"Shhhhh!" Santini interrupted. "If she is, nobody else knows it yet. It's not our place to open our big mouths."

"I wonder if it's occurred to her." Cait bit her lip. "I'll be right back."

Dom was starting to stop her, but gave up. When Cait was determined to do something, there was no getting in her way.

He was glad, however, that he'd gotten Jackie to give it up. It wouldn't be good for her to be distracted with sickness and then be miserable on top of it in faraway Seattle.

At least she could suffer in misery here, where there were people who cared.

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

Cait found Jackie in the supply room, moving her bag from behind some boxes and hefting it up in one hand. The redhead immediately moved forward.

"Here, let me take it." She took it from her hand and they walked back toward the office.

"I'm not an invalid," Jackie muttered. "All I did was throw up."

"Jackie . . . do you suppose the reason you upchucked . . . was because you might be . . . pregnant?"

That was never a delicate question that could be asked, Cait thought. She felt more than heard Jackie stop cold in her tracks and stare at her.

"I'm on the pill," the other woman said distinctly.

"Yeah, but is Michael using protection?" Cait flinched at her own nosiness. Jackie was clearly embarrassed.

"Cait . . . the whole point of the pill is so Michael won't have to," she said in a low voice, face flaming.

"Well . . . it might not be likely, but maybe you should take a home pregnancy test," Cait suggested gently. "Even with the pill, you have a three percent chance -- and all it takes is one of those little suckers to swim upstream."

Jackie bit her lip and sighed. "Damn."

"Hey, lighten up," Cait comforted. "I could be dead wrong. But it wouldn't hurt to check."

"God. Michael's not gonna be ready for news like that if I am." She shook her head. "Damn it, Cait."

"Michael loves you. He'll be thrilled if you are."

Jackie's eyes met Cait's. "You think so?"

"Yeah. I do."

"It's just that . . . well, it's a little early in our relationship. He hasn't even mentioned marriage, and I'm certainly not going to," Jackie told her friend.

"Well, if you are pregnant, tell him. Not telling him would be your biggest mistake."

They wandered back to the office and Cait handed her the bag. "I'll check on you when we get back Friday," she told her friend.

Jackie smiled wanly. "Thanks, Cait. Safe trip, everybody. Dom -- if you need me, call me."

"Go home," the older man growled, pulling her into a brief hug. "Go on, get!"

Clasping her hand, Michael led her to the limo. St. John, Cait, Dom and String stood together, watching them leave.

"So Cait," String said, donning his shades. "How long do you think she'll take before she tells Michael?"

"Tells Michael what?"

St. John smiled as the limo pulled out of the airfield. "That she's pregnant."

"You guys knew?" Cait was aghast, mouth dropping.

"First thing that popped into Michael's head and he said so," String informed her, grinning. "I think he's just giving Jackie a chance to confirm it and then set up a nice, romantic date to tell him."

Cait rolled her eyes. "Ooooooo! And I thought men were dense when it came to stuff like that!"

"That's what feminism has done," Dom said wisely, hiding a grin. "It propagates the myth that men don't have a clue when it comes to women. The four of us thought the same thing all at the same time."

Cait stared, open-mouthed, as the men retreated to the hangar with chuckles and grins. For once, she didn't have a comeback.

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

Michael watched as Jackie went into the bathroom to put the items in her bag away. They'd stopped at a drug store and he'd pretended not to notice what she had in her bag when she came back out, but he was almost certain by the shape that an in-home pregnancy test was in there. He had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything. He wanted Jackie to tell him -- he wanted to share her joy, and he sincerely hoped it was joy that she would feel. However, he was well aware that it might be just the opposite. Jackie was, after all, a modern woman. In the past, he never would have argued her right to choose. But he hoped that before she made any kind of decision now that she would consult with him and know in her heart that he wanted the baby as much as she would. He, of course, would not hesitate to marry her and made a mental note to look for a ring immediately.

"Why don't you put your feet up, sweetheart?" he called to her. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"That would be great," she called back. "There's some Peppermint tea in the cupboard. Might do something for this stomach of mine."

He set to work boiling the water and getting out a couple of tea bags. The aromatic blend of peppermint and tea wafted over to him. He found two oversized mugs and set them on the countertop, keeping his ear out for her footfalls when she exited from the bathroom. She didn't return for some time and he wondered what she was doing so long. If he remembered right, she wouldn't be able to utilize the pregnancy test until tomorrow morning.

Finally, she appeared and gratefully accepted the steaming mug he handed her. They sat at the kitchen table and Michael added a little honey to the tea to sweeten it.

"I'm sorry you're not feeling better," he sympathized gently. "I'm going to make sure whichever of my ops returns your car checks on you before they leave."

"It's probably just a flu bug or mild food poisoning," she passed off easily. "That's not necessary, Michael."

"Indulge me." His long fingers caressed the top of her hand.

A small smile played about her lips. "How would you like me to indulge you, Mr. Deputy Director, Sir?"

He smiled deeply, but only continued to caress her hand. "You're sick, remember?"

"I'm a little under the weather. Nothing some fabulous sex won't cure."

Michael laughed. "Why don't you just come out and speak your mind?" he teased.

"Because I know how you detest pushy women," she teased back.

"Like that's ever stopped you before." He took her hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss. "I'll lay down with you for awhile, how's that? When you fall asleep, I'll leave."

She sighed loudly. "You could call in at the office and say you're taking care of some personal business." Jackie smiled wickedly. "You wouldn't be lying."

He smiled. "I'll come back tomorrow afternoon with a few nice edibles," he promised. "We'll see how you're doing then. I'd drink a lot of water, sweetheart. You don't want to get dehydrated."

"I won't."

After drinking the tea, he followed her into the darkened bedroom, shedding his jacket and tie and unbuttoning his shirt a few buttons. He expected Jackie to start kissing on him the moment they were in bed, but surprisingly, she settled comfortably against his chest, buried her face in his throat and with her arms around his neck, fell asleep in about five minutes. She must have been awfully tired to fall asleep so fast, Michael thought. He lay with her for the better part of an hour, breathing in the soft vanilla scent of her hair and luxuriating in her silky, smooth skin. When she came to him with the news, he resolved, he would ask her to marry him and then take her straightaway to bed and make careful, sensual, steamy love to her. He knew a retired J.P. who would marry them as soon as the license was acquired, and no required three-day wait or blood test would be necessary since his position in the government precluded that.

Steeling against his body's obvious betrayal, Michael reluctantly extricated himself from Jackie's arms. He picked up the phone and dialed into Firm Headquarters, making arrangements for an available operative to drop Jackie's car off that evening and check in on her. He almost went out the door, then hesitated.

Gently, he pushed open the bathroom door. As he suspected, the pregnancy test was on the back of the stool, still in its sack. He picked up the box, reading the back of it, confirming that she would be able to utilize it before tomorrow morning. A smile creased his face.

He went outside where he found his limo driver waiting patiently, reading the latest horror novel from Stephen King, quickly putting it away as he approached and getting out to let him in the comfortable interior.

Once inside, he punched the intercom. "Tracy, take me up to Rodeo Drive -- to Cartier. I have to make a purchase before I go to the office."

"Right away, Sir."

Michael settled back, smiling again. There was no question in his mind about Jackie's condition. All the pregnancy test would do would be confirm what they both already knew.

Now all they had to worry about was whether it was going to be a boy or girl.

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

Groggily, Jackie lifted her head from the pillow. She'd heard something, but couldn't place the noise. She assessed how she felt -- nausea almost gone. Lethargy gone now that she'd rested. She almost felt halfway human again. She had some soda crackers in the cupboard and remembered Dom's recommended cure earlier.

"I suppose I should eat something," she murmured, getting out of bed slowly.

The rustle of someone in her living room caught her attention. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she automatically reached for the drawer in her nightstand, extracting her loaded revolver. Jackie got to her feet and walked quietly into the darkened living area

"Michael?"

The sun was just lightening the sky, casting the yellow and orange rays over the ocean, interspersed with a medium turquoise blue.

"You won't need that." She whirled, holding the pistol out in front of her. A woman got up from a comfortable position on her couch, shadowed by the still-darkness. "Michael asked that someone bring your car back last night from Santini Air. I checked on you and I and you looked a little feverish, so I stayed the night to keep an eye on you."

Jackie's mouth dropped a fraction. "Sonja?"

"Yes." She turned on a table lamp and light illuminated the room. She looked as gorgeous as ever, even this early in the morning. "I hope you don't mind me sleeping on the couch."

Jackie continued to stare. "I can't believe Michael sent you out here."

"He didn't. He said an available operative. I happened to be available. Are you all right? I was told you were feeling a little . . . under the weather."

There was a marked pause as Jackie assessed the woman. "I'm . . . recovering."

"Good. I'll let Michael know when I see him at the office this morning." She picked up her purse and made ready to leave.

Jackie waited until she got to the door. "Sonja." The willowy blonde stopped, then turned around.

//God. Why am I actually trying to be nice to her?// Jackie wondered.

"I was just going to make some coffee," she said aloud. "You want some?"

A small smile formed on her lips. "Thank you. That would be appreciated."

"Pull up a seat." She indicated the kitchen table. "You hungry?"

"Oh, no. I can't eat much before nine o'clock."

Jackie automatically began to go through the actions of making coffee. "Don't mind if I eat in front of you, do you? I need a little something in my stomach."

"Go right ahead."

Once the coffeepot was going, Jackie went back in the bedroom to replace her gun in the drawer. When she came back out, she indicated the bathroom.

"I'll be out in a little bit. Help yourself to the coffee when it's done."

"Thank you, Jackie."

Jackie closed the door behind her and shook her head. Why was she attempting at being nice to this woman? Because she wasn't a threat anymore?

"That must be it," she said to herself.

She reached for the pregnancy test box and read the back of the box thoroughly, then undid the flaps and took out the instructions. A few minutes later, she was finished and then decided to run a hot shower. She took more time than normal, putting off the inevitable. She refused to look at the test strip until after she was completely washed, dried and clothed.

When finally she screwed up the courage to view it, somehow she wasn't surprised. In a way it was a relief. At least she knew. Now all she had to do was . . .

Tell Michael.

"Please be all right with it," she whispered to her reflection in the mirror. "Michael, please be OK with this."

With a sigh, she finally opened the bathroom door. Sonja still sat at the table, but rose and went to the coffeemaker when she exited from the bathroom.

"Sit," Sonja directed. "How do you take your coffee, Jackie?"

"Black, please." She rubbed her eyes and put her head down on the table. "God, I must have slept straight through about twelve hours. I haven't done that in a long time."

"Then you must have needed it," Sonja told her, placing a steaming mug of coffee before her. "I used to sleep like that -- sometimes twenty-four hours straight -- especially when I came back from a stressful mission. It takes that long for your body just to normalize."

Jackie nodded. "Yeah. I used to do that, too. Usually after I got shot at on a covert mission." She took a deep swallow of the coffee, made a face. "Boy, I must have put four scoops in instead of three."

"Michael told me about that Bolivian mission you went on where you blew up the chem labs of the Santana Cartel. He said you slept close to thirty-six hours after that one."

"Did he tell you about Grenada?"

Sonja shook her head. "No, I didn't hear about that one. I mean I knew you were there when it was attacked, but that's all."

"Biggest high of my life -- first time combat in the air. What I trained for." She smiled faintly and took another deep drink. "They used the footage from that for some of the training films in the Air Force. After I got debriefed and Michael informed me we were going overseas for Christmas, I zonked out in the limo and slept for fifty-four hours. Longest record until . . ." She broke off, contemplating her cup. Suddenly, she roused. "Coffee taste a little funny to you?"

"It tastes strong. But it tastes fine. Hazelnut blend?"

"Yeah." Jackie put her mug down and rested her chin on her hand, watching the blonde operative. "Thanks for checking on me. You didn't have to do it."

"My offer of friendship still stands, Jackie. I know I said some hasty things earlier. I was still stinging over Michael." One well-manicured finger traced the rim of the cup. "I have to remember that we were over before I disappeared. I also have to remember that you're not a little girl anymore, that you're a lovely young lady. I suppose given the circumstances, it shouldn't have surprised me that you'd end up with him." She took a drink. "Even when you were younger, a teenager, I could see it in his eyes. He adored you. Perhaps he never even realized it at the time, but Michael was waiting for you to grow up so the two of you could be together."

Jackie smiled as her eyes drooped. "That's very gracious of you, Sonja. I'm surprised you don't want to tear my hair out by the roots."

"I did, a few weeks ago." The older woman smiled back. "But who am I to stand in the way of true love? I wish you only the best, Jackie. You and Michael . . . deserve each other."

The last of the sentence echoed in Jackie's head and the dizziness that swept over Jackie almost made her sick again. She grimaced, holding her head.

"Jackie? Are you all right?" Sonja came to her side. "What is it?"

"So damn dizzy." She took a deep breath. "I feel like I'm going to pass out." Carefully, Jackie got to her feet, holding onto the table. "Lord, I can't even find my feet. Whoa . . ." She slipped to the floor, leaning against the chair.

The next moments were like a surrealistic dream. Several people were talking -- Sonja, the voices of a couple of men. She opened her eyes, looking up, only to have her gaze fall upon two black-clad figures standing over her.

"Sonja, what . . .?" Jackie wasn't even sure if she was dreaming.

One of the men hauled Jackie up on non-functional legs and yanked her hands in back of her. Rope bit into the flesh of her wrists and a gag was put in her mouth. Then she experienced disorientation when a black blindfold was put over her eyes. She made a noise of protest, to no avail.

Unceremoniously she was yanked up yet again, then picked up and taken up the steps to the front door. A moment later, she was shoved into a vehicle. She picked up Sonja's perfume and knew that she'd entered the vehicle from the other side. What the hell was going on?

It hadn't even occurred to Jackie to be afraid yet. Uncertain, maybe. If they were going to hurt her, surely they would have done it by now. No, whoever these unknown assailants were, they wanted something in specific.

The car backed out of the driveway and made it's way up the incline to the highway. Her mind raced as she tried to think of what could possibly be happening and why.

Whatever it was, there wasn't a damn thing she could do about it now. Thankfully, she slipped into the netherworld of oblivion.

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

When Cait and St. John returned from Seattle with their passengers, they were met the moment they got out of the plane. Cait knew something was up by the look on everyone's face and immediately wondered what was going on.

"Jackie has been missing since Wednesday," String informed them. "It's like she just dropped off the face of the earth."

"What!" Cait was flabbergasted. She turned to Michael who sat back in one of the office chairs. "Sonja . . .?"

"We don't know." Marella came up around the corner of the office, joining their little group. "Sam's been surveilling Sonja. You already knew that. Sonja happened to be the one at loose ends that day Jackie went home. She gave Sam the slip and came here to pick up Jackie's car and drive to the beachhouse, Dom saw her. The idea was, Sonja was supposed to grab a cab and get herself back to headquarters, but she called in and said Jackie didn't look too good, that she was staying just to make sure everything was all right. I sent Sam to watch her, but she was roughed over by a couple of men that probably worked with Sonja. I didn't get Sonja's message until the next morning because Sam was out of commission and couldn't fill me in on what had happened."

"Sonja had some vacation coming and planned on going to San Francisco, and was going to leave right after she was sure Jackie was going to be all right. She was supposed to stay at the beach house until I arrived. She didn't." Michael apprised them. "When I got there, the place was empty. There were some surfers out on her beach that morning -- apparently Jackie lets them use it occasionally. They said they saw a dark sedan pull up at daybreak. Couldn't get a good look at anyone, they were too far down the beach. They never saw Jackie or Sonja. Didn't get any license number. No prints, I just had a forensics team go through her whole house. The only thing we found -- " He stopped.

"The only thing we found was a positive pregnancy test Jackie had utilized," Marella told them. "So we have no idea just exactly what happened. And with this mysterious car showing up, we have no idea what to think."

"I've put out an APB and law enforcement is working with us," Michael said. "There's plenty of cops that are going to be pulling overtime for this. I'm circulating pictures of both Sonja and Jackie."

"So what are we doing?" Cait asked. "We can't just sit here and hope something breaks!"

"My instincts are telling me Sonja is definitely involved with this. Do you remember when you tailed her to the hotel those weeks ago?" Michael asked Cait urgently. "Where she met Johann Gerlac?"

Cait nodded. "The Nazi lieutenant? Sure, I remember." She looked at Michael. "You think he's involved with this, don't you?"

"Sonja's been meeting with this man on a regular basis," Michael confirmed. "I'm sure he has everything to do with it. At any rate, I need you to keep Gerlac busy while Marella and I search his suite."

Cait blanched. "ME?"

"He has a thing for blondes and redheads," Michael said, smoothing his moustache. "We've got to move on this, Caitlin. You don't have to sleep with the man. Just charm him. Keep him busy at least for twenty minutes."

"You won't be going in without backup," String told her. "Dom and I will be watching all the time."

"Dom, you and I will be watching," St. John corrected harshly, brow darkening. "I may have been MIA for some time, but I'm hardly in delicate condition anymore. There's no way you're leaving me out of this. I've been on the sidelines as long as I'm going to. Besides, I owe that girl one."

"Welcome to the team," Michael said.

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

Sonja watched from the control booth on the other side of the glass. She could see in, but the person within the small cell could not see out. It had been two and a half days since Jackie's "kidnapping." For the first eighteen hours, she was kept in a small cell and questioned for ten hours straight about Airwolf and it's location. She'd been slapped, punched, left without water or food. At the end of eighteen hours, Jackie had been trussed up hanging from the ceiling. She sported a nasty bruise on the chin from a well-placed fist of an over-eager guard.

Jackie Kendricks was either telling the truth or was being very stupid, and Sonja couldn't decide which. Being so close to Michael, having trained in Airwolf as back up and having access to the Firm's files, she had to know exactly where the formidable Lady was housed. Gerlac had chosen Jackie to be the one kidnapped because of that and because she was a woman, and he felt that, as a woman, she could be broken sooner than Dom, Michael or Stringfellow. But here it was almost day four and she showed no sign of spilling any secrets she might have known about the helicopter. It was remote possibility, but Jackie might honestly not know where the helicopter was located, Sonja thought worriedly.

For those four days, Jackie had been subjected to humiliation and torture. She'd been stripped naked. She was given minimal food and water. She was allowed only to sleep for two hours at most at one time, and then the brutal interrogations would begin again. Blood had caked on her lips and nose from well-placed slaps and after awhile, she stopped trying to wipe it away. It caked brick red on her pale skin. Her dark hair hung in thick, dirty strands over her face as she curled up in a fetal position, naked in a corner on the floor, most of the time with glaring lights flooding the little cubicle. Gerlac was admittedly surprised when he had contacted his contingent of mercenaries that the woman had not broken yet, and he was more than a little perturbed by yet another failure. It was Sonja that suggested that, perhaps even if Jackie didn't know the location that this situation could still be made to work for Gerlac and Gerlac had given her the green light.

Under very controlled conditions, Sonja had Jackie strapped to a chair in another room. There were floor-to-ceiling movie screens around her and a stereo system was set up. While Jackie was being drugged with a particular hallucinogen called Black Star, a relatively new drug made from extract of Morning Glory seeds, Sonja was preparing a barrage of images to inundate the girl with. Under normal conditions, a trip would last six to twelve hours with no more than half an ounce administered through drinking it in a tea or in water. However, because of the time factor, Sonja had the extract injected directly into Jackie's bloodstream. The effects would manifest within a few minutes instead of the usual fifteen to forty-five. She upped the dosage to two ounces. Jackie's reaction to the drug included screaming fits when she was tripping badly.

Everything that could be known about Jackie Kendricks had found it's way into Gerlac's hands. He knew her weaknesses, he knew her guilty secrets, he knew what she loved and what she abhorred. He used the information expertly, working in collusion with Sonja in bombarding her with bloody images. Pictures of Graham Preston were flashed intermittently between sounds of missiles and rifle fire. Images of Michael in his suit of pristine white -- the one person she held dearest to her heart -- caught in angry stances by the camera, exchanging heated words with superiors or lashing out in anger to some unfortunate person. These were file photographs Sonja had managed to pilfer long ago at his request. Gerlac liked to study his subjects that way. They were a perfect means to twist a person's mind into submission. It had worked at Dachau. It would work here.

Every time the effects wore off -- approximately ten hours after each dosage -- she was allowed roughly half an hour to try and climb back to sanity. And then, another administration of the drug would be utilized amidst a barrage of questions. She screamed at the unending assault. Screamed until she was hoarse, Sonja noted. Then she would cry and repeat the things she was told to repeat until she believed them. The blonde had to give the girl credit. One of the requirements of being an operative in Michael's division was to subject oneself to torture like this in a controlled environment. If one could last four days without breaking, their admission into the angel ranks was assured. Michael kept close tabs on all his operatives, and if he couldn’t find them in four days' time, it had to be assumed that they were either dead or had turned. If it were to be found out they had turned, termination was automatic.

Gleaning information from Jackie was not the object now. Brainwashing her was. To be used as a veritable tool against those she loved and trusted the most. It could happen. It had happened. Gerlac had worked out the scenario and fine-tuned it. By the morning of the ninth day, he was satisfied that everything was as it should be.

Just a little more time. A little more time and Airwolf would be his.

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

To say Michael Coldsmith-Briggs was in a mood was an understatement. For the first time in a long time, he was scared to death. It was going on ten days since both Jackie and Sonja were kidnapped, and the more time went on, the less likely it was they were alive. The panic of not knowing was made even worse when he knew Jackie was pregnant with their child. Searching Gerlac's suite had brought them nothing, absolutely nothing. Tapping his phone and wiretapping was useless. It was as if he were aware that he was being monitored. Even when the former Nazi left the hotel, he could manage to elude his operatives that tailed him. There was a reason he was known as 'The Invisible Man' in the Intelligence community. He was as elusive as they came -- and it almost bordered on supernatural.

Deep in his heart, Michael knew he was doing absolutely everything humanly possible to find them, calling every favor in owed to him and asking favors of a few people that didn't. He hadn't slept much and the fatigue was wearing on his temper. He began to lose weight and could feel how his clothes were hanging on him and didn't care. He was like a man possessed, the frenetic energy flowing through him at a constant rate of speed, refusing to abate until something was discovered. Anything. Even having them turn up dead would be better than not knowing.

//No, it wouldn't.//

Death was forever. No -- maybe it was really better to wonder. At least there was that slim hope.

That hope was getting slimmer every day.

He touched the photograph on his desk, forcing the tears to stay in back of his eyes. "Damn it, Jackie." Every time he thought he might have a chance at being happy and fulfilled, it seemed Fate had something else in mind for him. "I swore I'd never let this work hurt anyone I cared about ever again." His lower lip trembled. "I can never seem to keep those promises, can I?"

"She never expected that from you." Hawke was standing in the doorway to his office, casual in jeans and cotton shirt. He placed the shades in his front pocket and meandered over to the front of Archangel's desk where he sprawled in one of the chairs. "Thought I'd come by and see if you'd made any headway."

Michael shook his head. "Nothing yet." He paused, rubbing his eyes. "I made a promise. I swore I'd never . . ."

"Well then, you shouldn't make promises you can't keep." Hawke's tone was not meant to be harsh. It was quite matter-of-fact. "Jackie knows the line of business you're in. She's known from the time she was a kid. She accepted it. And she'd be slapping you silly right now if she heard you going on and on about some stupid promise you couldn't possibly see through."

"Hawke . . . if Jackie were to walk through that door right now, I'd quit this fucking job."

"You'd rot and you know it. And she'd kill you for even thinking it."

"It's kicking the stuffing out of me."

"Michael, you could raise your horses and play polo and attend all those charities and hob-knob with all the high-profile celebrities at all those public events. You like doing it, I know you do. But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty -- the one thing you do best is what you're doing now. Being Deputy Director of The Firm."

"Haven't you heard? I'm too good at it. That's why Zeus is always threatening to bite my ass."

"Look, I'm gonna tell you up front," Hawke said, leaning forward on the Deputy Director's desk. "I HATE the CIA and everything it stands for. But I also know it's a necessary evil. Well, Michael, if we HAVE to have a faction like the CIA and The Firm, we could do a hell of a lot worse than having you head it up. You've stopped more bad things from happening in this world than I can count -- and don't you go modest on me and tell me you haven't. I have a few sources too, and I know some of the things you've done and the reasons you did them. You weren't following any goddamned policy book. Hell, some of the stuff you did was in open defiance of the Powers That Be."

"And the point of your oratory is what?" Michael asked with a scowl, leaning back in his chair.

"My point is, you should be damn proud of your accomplishments and quit blaming yourself for things that are beyond your control. Jackie knew the risks when she got involved with you. She's not some neophyte fresh off the turnip truck. In fact, she's more woman than you can probably handle."

"You're talking in the present tense." Michael's gaze met his. "In all likelihood . . . "

"If you say what I think you're gonna say, I'm gonna belt you one." Hawke rose to his feet. "If Jackie was dead, you'd know it. There wouldn't be any room for doubt."

"I'm not psychic. I couldn't possibly know one way or another."

"You don't have to be. When you love someone as much as I know you love Jackie, you know. It's what kept me going when St. John was captured. To know that he wasn't dead. And I knew that just as certain sure as I know I can beat you to a pulp if you even mention the 'D' word again."

For some inexplicable reason, Michael felt a sliver of hope light his world. "I'm going to have to call off the dogs pretty soon, Hawke. I can't use the Firm's resources for very much longer."

"Well, then, you can start looking privately. We’ll help you all we can."

"Thanks. I appreciate all you're doing for her."

Hawke sauntered to the door, then turned around. "For her, yeah. But she ain't the only one I'm doing it for." Silently, he walked out the door.

The Deputy Director leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes. Leave it to Hawke to say precisely the right thing at exactly the time Michael needed to hear it.

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

//Full moon rising.//

If someone had asked Jackie Kendricks a week ago what it would be like to jump from a ledge, arms outstretched, from thirty stories above the earth, screaming all the way down, she would have credited them with a most excellently morbid mind obsessed with a death wish.

Not so, now.

When she closed her eyes, she could feel the sensations. The slow motion fall. The sharp smell of fear in her nostrils. The cold caress of the air around her as she penetrated its invisible wall in her plunge downward. The vile frigidness of a moon in its sky of velvet black.

//Blood on the moon.//

The gritty sand of the desert dusting over her, infiltrating her eyes, her mouth, her hair. The smell of blood on sand, the feel of humid, clammy coldness. The certain knowledge that she was going to hit the earth and splatter.

It was a sensation she felt repeatedly. Over and over. Like a videotape being rewound a thousand times.

//Kill me, goddamn it. Just kill me.//

And then questions. Questions. The same questions. Over and over.

Who had been asking so damn many questions?

She tried to remember.

Couldn't.

//Blood on the moon.//

Then her world had exploded into images of blood and pain and the man responsible for it. Blood in the sand. Blood seeping out of a man tied to a chair. Blood on her hands, smeared on her face, spurting from the very ground she walked.

//Blood on the moon.//

Sand whipping unmercifully against her skin, leaving tiny blood drops. Blood draining out of two bodies suspended from a cathedral ceiling. Blood . . . blood . . . blood . . .

//Graham Preston.//

A blast from the past.

How long had it been, this torture of images and sensations? How many days?

//Full moon rising.//

And then, the Mother of all hangovers was banging at her skull and as sore as her body was, as sure as she was that she'd just been through days of punishment and torture, somehow the smell of clean sheets invaded her reality, the low hum of an air conditioner, the faint background noise of a TV.

//Full moon rising. Graham Preston. Blood on the moon.//

"Oh, God. What gutter did I crawl out of ?" She raised her head and opened her eyes at the same time.

A blurry room greeted her gaze. The bed she was in was soft and inviting and she was still on top of the coverlet. Carefully, she lifted a hand up, wiping at her eyes. Sonja was just coming out of the bathroom, a thick terry robe around her, hair hidden in a towel turban.

"God . . . " Jackie clutched at the bedspread. "Sonja?"

"You're finally awake." The woman walked over to sit on the bed. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd get up before noon."

"Where . . . ?" She looked around the room again. It was a hotel room. "Where on God's green earth are we?" Her voice sounded scratchy, unused.

"You had one too many drinks last night, young lady." The tone was meant to be chiding but Sonja was grinning conspiratorially. "Don't you remember?"

"I . . . " Jackie stopped again. "Jesus Jumped-Up Christ in a boxcar! If I remembered, I wouldn't be asking!" she said crankily.

"You're at the hotel. I had to practically carry you up here last night -- early this morning," she corrected herself.

"Hotel." She pushed herself up into a halfway sitting position. "Hotel. Where?"

"Jackie, we've been staying in the same hotel room for the past few days!" Sonja laughed easily, rubbing her hair dry with the towel. "You really were chugging the juice last night."

"Please just tell me where the hell we are?" She dropped her head back down.

"In answer to your first question, we're in San Francisco," Sonja said patiently, beginning to comb her hair out with her fingers.

Jackie looked over at her from the pillow. "San Francisco." She shook her head. "Why does this not smell right? Why am I here with you?"

"Because you have extremely good taste in girlfriends." The blonde smiled lightly. "Can you really not remember, or are you just being bitchy this morning?"

"I swear to God, Sonja . . . if I don't get a straight answer . . ."

"I met you on the Wharf, don't you remember?"

"You were at my house . . ."

"Yes, and when you insisted you were all right, I left. I was going to take a little vacation time to shop in San Francisco right after I left your place."

"And we ran into each other on the Wharf?"

"Yes about -- what? Nine days ago? I walked up just as this Charlie Manson double was trying to sell you the San Francisco Bay Bridge. Don't you remember?"

Jackie frowned. That sounded vaguely . . . familiar.

"I . . ." She stopped. "Why am I in San Francisco?"

"You told me it was just to get away for awhile. Cut loose."

"I did." Somehow, that sounded right, too.

"You did, Jackie. I booked a double room here because it was all they had left and invited you to share it with me and you accepted."

"Was I drunk at the time?"

Sonja laughed a little. "We buried the hatchet, remember? Back at the beach house?"After a moment, Jackie nodded. "Yeah, I remember."

Jackie looked about the room, head still on the pillow. Shopping bags were strewn about. A box of Godiva chocolates lay open on the nightstand. A bottle of champagne lay in an ice bucket full of ice cold water -- all that was left of the crushed ice of earlier. A half-eaten tray of caviar and toast points was on the corner of the dresser. Jackie pushed down a rushing nausea. God, she felt awful. Her clothes were full of sweat and cigarette smoke and alcohol.

She could not remember shopping. But there the sacks were, full of clothes her size, with credit card receipts in her name. "Tell me, what else did we do that I don't remember?"

"Well, let's see. Last night, you jumped a guy for being to persistent and started a barroom brawl," Sonja recounted. "You bought a round of drinks for everyone after it was over and ended the evening by drinking upside-down Margaritas bent backwards over the bar."

"You're joking, right?"

The blonde shook her head, amused. "I'm afraid not. I've never seen you so wild. You even ate the worm."

There was a long silence. "Tequila." Jackie rubbed her forehead. She did drink Tequila on occasion. "I think I better shower." Troubled, Jackie pulled herself up to a sitting position. Why I in the world would she go out binge-drinking right after finding out she was pregnant? "If I can hit the floor on the first try, that is." Sonja laughed as Jackie got to her wobbly feet.

That was when the first cramp hit, doubling her over in a spasm of exquisite pain.

The smile left Sonja's mouth. "Jackie?"

Jackie crumpled to the floor, arms around her stomach, face quivering. A thin sheen of sweat broke out over her face. "Uhhhh . . ."

"What's wrong?" Sonja knelt beside Jackie, holding a hand to her face. "You're cold and clammy! Jackie -- what's the matter?"

"Call 911," Jackie gasped, curling around another cramp.

Seemingly at a loss, Sonja did as she was told. After putting the call through, she knelt by the fallen young woman. Jackie quivered.

"Jackie . . . what's happening to you?" Sonja demanded, fear showing in her voice.

Jackie licked her lips and brought her eyes up to the other operative's. Looking down, she could already see the blood soaking through her jeans.

"I'm having a spontaneous abortion," she replied tightly.

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

When Michael called Santini Air and informed them that Sonja and Jackie had been found, Dom closed up the airfield and they waited for the Firm jet to pick them up and take them to San Francisco. Marella was piloting and Michael sat in back with the rest of them, strapped into a comfortable chair near the window.

"The call dispatch between the hospital and the paramedic unit was intercepted by a monitor at our San Francisco office," Michael told them. "That's the only reason we even know where they are."

"I can't figure it," Cait said unhappily. "Why in the world would Jackie go to San Francisco in the first place? And with Sonja? That I understand even less."

"Sonja placed the 911 call," Michael informed them. He was quiet.

"What happened?" String asked, watching his friend carefully.

"I got a transcript of the dispatch," Michael answered, numbly. "Jackie had a spontaneous abortion." He fell silent again.

Dom placed his hand on Michael's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Michael."

The Deputy Director acknowledged the older man with a thoughtful nod of the head. Then he fell silent yet a third time and didn't say another word, even when they taxied into the airport in San Francisco.

A waiting limo took them to the hospital. When they arrived, Michael went immediately in search of the administrator and gave Marella orders to thoroughly go over Jackie's chart and to talk with the ER doctor and the OB/GYN on her case. She was in a room on the second floor and there were heated words being exchanged between her and the OB/GYN.

"Your blood chemistries showed traces of alcohol!" the doctor was insisting angrily, "on top of whatever it was you were shooting up on!"

"I don't do drugs!" Jackie shot back. "I sure as hell don't shoot up!"

"What was in your bloodstream was a lot like LSD!" the doctor continued. "Good God, don't you young people get it, yet? You can't take a hallucinogen like that when you're pregnant!"

There was a stunned silence. Michael had walked up just in time to hear that last. All of them -- Dom, String, St. John, Cait, Marella and Michael -- stood outside her door. Jackie looked over at them and instead of relief, devastation broke out over her features. She lay back on the bed, face and body stone. But beneath that stone surface was a woman who wanted to go as mad as a wild animal.

The Deputy Director moved into the room without expression. He turned to the doctor and spoke a few words to him sotto voce. The doctor looked at him grimly for a moment, then nodded curtly and left the room.

"Two visitors at a time," the doctor tossed over his shoulder crisply. "And don't tire her out. She needs rest. We'll be doing a D&C in a couple of hours." He stopped and his face became very sad. "The abortion was incomplete. We just don't want infection to set in."

"Michael, we'll wait down the hall in the waiting room," Cait called, already gathering the others.

"Thank you," Michael acknowledged. "When we're done, we'll let you know and send you in."

When they were gone, Michael pushed down the siderail and sat on the bed. He reached out a hand to her pale cheek and the look in his face was unfathomable.

Jackie slipped into his arms and held him tightly -- Michael was a little surprised at her strength. He stroked her hair and murmured softly into it. He was numb, but not numb enough to realize he needed to hold her, to make sure she was all right.

"Talk to me," he finally said in her ear.

"I . . . I don't remember any of this, Michael." She gulped in some air. "I swear, I don't remember a thing."

"Where's Sonja?" The question was gentle, but there was an edge to his voice.

There was marked hesitation before she answered. "I . . . I'm not sure. She rode with me to the hospital. Maybe she's still waiting in the lobby."

"Sweetheart, listen to me. I need you to relate everything that happened as you remember it from the time I left that night almost twelve days ago until now. Try to remember. And try to leave nothing out."

Her memory was fuzzy, but Jackie attempted to remember everything she could. When she finished up her narrative, she covered her face with her hands, knowing how damning her explanation was, considering all the holes in it.

"Michael, there is no way I would have gone on a drinking binge like this knowing I was pregnant! And you know me -- you know I've never shot up on anything. I tried marijuana once when I was sixteen! I certainly didn't do any LSD!" she told him desperately.

"It wasn't LSD they found in your system," Marella said, standing inside the doorway, Jackie's medical chart in hand. "It' s a relatively new street drug out that's called Black Star. A derivative of Morning Glory seeds." She walked in and sat down in the chair across from them. "A half ounce is considered sufficient quantity for a six to twelve hour trip. You were administered multiple doses at four times that, and it was injected directly into your blood stream judging from the needle marks in your arm, so it hit you faster and harder."

"Is that why I aborted?" Jackie asked numbly.

"It causes uterine contractions. You were in your first trimester -- probably not more than seven or eight weeks along. That's usually considered the most delicate part of a pregnancy. The massive dose you were given caused you to abort spontaneously. Frankly, I'm surprised you're still alive. You're going to be on bedrest for awhile. It's going to take some time for it to work out of your system, and you'll have to be monitored on your blood chemistries and brain activity," Marella told her gravely.

"But I didn't shoot up," she insisted.

"Off hand, I'd say Sonja has some heavy explaining to do," Michael said tightly.

"She said . . . she told me that we'd been in San Francisco for about ten-eleven days," Jackie remembered. "And that we'd been partying our brains out. She told me last night I had some pretty strong drinks." She shook her head. "I can't believe it. I just can't. For God's sake, Michael, the first thing I would have done if I'd found out I was pregnant would be to go to you with it! I couldn't have been thinking about coming here -- not even to get away. Not before I talked to you." She turned pleading eyes to Michael. "Cait suspected that day at the airfield. I think I did to, even though I didn't give it much thought. I was nervous about telling you, Michael, but you've got to believe me. I wouldn't have done this."

"I know that." He knew those three simple words would allay any fears she had about his not understanding or about not trusting her and having Jackie calm and relieved was all he cared about at the moment. "How are you holding up? Are you tired?"

"I feel like I've been on a ten or twelve-day bender, but I'm functional."

"Then I want you to relate everything you told me to Marella and her little tape recorder," Michael told her. "And anything else you may remember that you didn't the first time. When you're finished, we'll send the rest of the gang in to see you if you're not too tired. By that time, you should be going in for your . . . procedure."

"I know there's probably competent doctors here, but . . . Marella, would you mind being there? I'd feel a whole lot better knowing you were closeby," she asked hollowly.

"Michael?" Marella looked up at her boss in askance. He nodded. "OK. I'll be there, Jacks."

"Thanks."

"I'm going to contact hospital security and find Sonja, if she's still here," Michael said quietly. "And if she's not, I'm going to initiate a man-hunt."

He left Marella to her work, walking outside the door and around the corner. Suddenly, he leaned up against it, sagging. A hand came down on his shoulder and he jerked around only to see Dominic Santini's not-so-jovial face.

"You don't look so good, Michael."

Michael grimaced against the man's talent for understatement. "Thank you for that astute observation." He shook himself, then put a hand up to his forehead, rubbing it. "Sorry, Dominic. You didn't need that."

"C'mon down to the waiting room. We'll keep you company." He indicated the steaming cup of coffee in his hand. "Half-way decent coffee in the lounge, too."

"I'll be right there. I have to do something first." He paused. "When Marella comes back, you can go in and see her if you'd like."

He watched Dominic go back down the hall and then Michael stopped at the nurses' station and had one of the women patch him through to the administrator once more. In moments, security men were covering floor by floor, in search of Sonja Thormann. He then picked up the phone again for an outside line and called the hotel Sonja and Jackie had been staying in. Sonja had been there and gone. Grimacing again, Michael called the San Francisco Firm office and then the L.A. office. Sonja was to be tracked down and held in Firm detention and he was to be notified the moment she was brought in. He then canceled the search that was taking place there at the hospital. Twenty minutes later, Michael joined the rest of them in the lounge area.

"You look like shit," Stringfellow announced softly.

"I feel like shit." Michael sank down in the cool leather. "When they're done with the D&C, I'm having Jackie taken back to Galen's Keep. I'm sure they're good here, but I know how good they are there."

Marella appeared inside the small lounge area, tape recorder in hand. "We're done. You can go see her now."

"You and Dom go first," Cait told String. "St. John and I can see her later."

As String and Dom left the waiting room, a nurse poked her head inside the door. "Mr. Coldsmith-Briggs?"

Michael turned. "That would be me."

"I have an urgent phone call for you. You can take it at the nurses' station."

"Excuse me." Michael rose and left the room, half-jogging to the nurses' desk. The nurse handed him the receiver. "This is Michael."

"Jon Feagins, Sir," came a low voice over the line. "We've found Ms. Thormann -- we think."

"You think?" Michael awaited an explanation.

"We found a body, Sir. In the dumpster in back of the hotel. It's a woman, Sir. Her face was blown off and her hands cut off at the wrists."

Michael was felt a coldness. "Bag her and have her transported by the forensics team to the office here. I want a complete autopsy and the results ASAP."

"Yes, Sir. If we get a positive on ID that it's Ms. Thormann, do we notify anyone? Any family?"

"No." Michael's voice dropped. "No, Mr. Feagins." He closed his eyes in abject pain. "She was an orphan."

Michael put down the phone and stood for a moment. Then, with great decorum, he turned on his heel, marched into the men's room and disappeared into one of the stalls with a slam of the door. He stood with his head against the cold metal stall for a long time, breathing hard, emotions roiling. His lips compressed together and he slammed his fist against the wall of the stall. Then he did it again . . . and again . . . and again . . . Finally, he whipped around and grabbed the sides of the stall and shook it in fury.

He would have been a father. Girl or boy, it didn't matter. He would have been the best damn father in the world to that baby, and the best damn husband to Jackie. He knew there was no way Jackie would have voluntarily done something like this. He wished he could figure out exactly what had gone on. He wished Sonja was still alive so he could have mercilessly had her questioned.

Oh, and he would have overseen that himself. Bet money on that.

He wanted to feel bad about Sonja's death, and in a way he did. No one should have to die like that. It was obscenely inhumane.

"God, please give me strength." He sighed, looking down at his bruised hands. "Help me be strong for her. Don't let Jackie see how messed up I am."

He exited from the stall and went to the sink, running the water and taking his glasses off to splash some of it on his face several times. Finally, he looked into the mirror and stared. Half-blind. More scars on his body than most vets got in one lifetime. One rebuilt leg. And still he came back for more and more punishment.

"I have got to start thinking about settling down," he murmured. "I love this job. But I can't let it possess me."

"It won't. You won't let it." Dominic Santini was standing just inside the door of the men's room. The man didn't even try to hide the look of empathy in his face, even though Michael would turn away from it.

"Dominic." He replaced his glasses, turning away slightly as he did so.

"Y'know, it's great that you want to be strong and comfort her, but you're allowed the same privilege," the older man said. "String just came back from Jackie's room and she's all worried about you. She insisted someone check on you and make sure you're all right. I can see you're not." He approached, taking one of Michael's hands gingerly in his. "Looks like you went a few rounds with the wall."

Michael flexed the sore hand, slipping out of Dominic's grasp. He turned away again.

"It's tough being strong for everyone else when you'd just rather curl up in a hole somewhere and have a screaming, raving tantrum."

"You don't have to patronize me." Michael's voice was slightly cold.

"I wouldn't presume. Just thought I'd let you know that you don't need to put on such a show in front of your friends. Jackie I can buy -- she needs strength from you now. But don't forget that all of us -- even her -- can give you some strength, too. Everybody's worried sick about you -- especially String."

"Yeah, well, I'm fine."

"No, you're not." Surprisingly, Dom held out his arm. "C'mon. Come sit us for awhile."

For the first time since their impromptu picnic gathering some time ago, Michael let himself be drawn into a group. The two left the men's room and joined the others in the lounge. Cait had already left to go see her friend and Dom sat down ad St. John followed Cait down the hall.

"Marella made all the calls," String told the Deputy Director quietly. "A helicopter transport is gonna be here in about an hour to pick her up and take her to Galen's Keep."

"Wouldn't happen to know where Marella is?" Michael asked.

"In with Jackie. She's a little nervous. She's never had a D&C before," Dom replied.

"I'd better go see her." Michael began to get up to leave.

"Hey." Dom put a hand on his arm. "Jackie said to tell you she's fine and not to worry. She also said to not to let you back in her room until after the procedure was over."

"Why would she do that?" Michael sat back down.

"I think because she figured you'd need a little moral support yourself," the grizzled pilot replied. "And that maybe the last thing you needed was to be around when they wheel her out."

Michael sighed. She was right, of course. He didn't know if he could stand there and watch as she was wheeled down the hall to have the remainder of their baby cut out of her.

"Damn it. I should have stayed with her that night."

"Don't be stupid. If it was a conspiracy and she was taken, then they just would have waited for another time," String told him. "You still think she was kidnapped because of what someone might have thought she knew about Airwolf?"

"Everything seems to point in that direction. Even Sonja's murder."

"Murder?" Dominic leaned forward, frowning. "She's dead?"

Michael nodded. "I won't go into details, but someone went to a lot of trouble to hide her identity. I'm having a thorough autopsy performed."

"I'm sorry, Michael." String's voice was steady.

Michael wanted to acknowledge those words, but couldn't. All he could do was sit and stare blankly at a point on the wall.

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

Jackie awoke with a start, sitting straight up, sweat pouring from her in rivulets. The soft ring of a phone broke into her reverie and she grabbed the receiver before it had a chance to ring again.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Kendricks?"

It was a voice she didn't recognize. "Speaking."

"There's a full moon rising. Perhaps you should go take a look."

Abruptly, the line went dead. A switch went on in Jackie's head and she returned the receiver to it's cradle.

It was still dark outside -- deadly dark, barely morning. The sound of the waves coming in was a welcome and familiar sound and she slipped naked from the bed, going up to the sliding door in her bedroom to look out of it at the foaming, moonlit water.

//Full moon rising.//

A warm hand closed over her shoulder and she jerked around with a gasp, facing Michael.

"Easy," he soothed, arms draping loosely about her. "Did I hear the phone?"

"Wrong number." She smiled, standing back and taking his hands in hers. "Don't move."

"What?" He chuckled, doing as she bade him. "Why not?"

"Because you must have been a Greek god in a past life. I love looking at your body."

He snorted, placing an arm about her to lead her back to bed. "Well, this god must have been the god of war, considering the scars." He pulled her down into the comfort of the bed, bringing the covers over them. "Did you have another nightmare?"

There was no point in lying. "Yeah."

//Full moon rising.//

"Tell me about it?"

"I would if I could remember." She snuggled deep into his arms.

"Try."

She was quiet a moment, closing her eyes. Elusive flashes seeped into her brain. She grimaced against them.

//Full moon rising.//

"Jackie?" Michael's voice was questioning, rising just half a notch.

"I . . . I don't know. Feelings, mostly. Fear. Death. Blood."

"You see blood?"

"Michael, I can smell it. And see it."

She felt his large hand in her hair. "I think perhaps we should seriously think about hypnotherapy. I don't like the sounds of this," Michael told her gently.

"Hmmph. Bunch of witch doctors." She lifted her head to look up at him. "I'll take some of the Coldsmith-Briggs magic any day."

He smiled deeply. "You like my magic wand, huh?"

"Oh, God. I love it."

His kiss was warm and sexy and overpowering. His tongue slid along her teeth and he caught her lip in his teeth, gently pulling and sucking.

//I could die a happy woman right here and now,// she thought ecstatically. "I love you," she said aloud against his mouth. "I love you so much."

//Full moon rising.//

"I love you more," he panted softly, fingers stroking the flesh of her belly and making her quiver.

Jackie looked up into his face, stroking his cheek with one hand, the other sliding down between them to stroke and caress him more intimately. He moaned, taking her mouth in another kiss.

"What are you doing to me?" he whispered urgently. "Oh, God, Jackie -- how can you turn me on like this with the lightest touch?"

A smile came to her lips. "You like me touching you."

"I'd die if I couldn't have you touch me."

She traced the outline of his lips with a finger. "How long has it taken us to get to this level of honesty?"

"All our lives." He squeezed her breast lovingly, rubbing the nipple between his fingers. "But we made it, sweetheart. After we cut through all the bullshit, we've finally arrived."

"Yeah?" Her hand went over his. "You mean . . . I could ask you a question about anything, and you'd tell me?"

"I have no secrets from you," Michael said, kissing her swollen lips again. "Not anymore."

The kiss went on for a long, delicious moment. When it ended, Jackie traced a finger over his lips. "Well . . . that's not exactly true."

He stared down at her in the darkness. "What do you think I'm keeping from you?"

//Full moon rising.//

She gazed at him a moment, then took his hand in hers, kissing the palm. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

"I won't never mind and it DOES matter."

"It's a dumb question. I know better than to ask."

"Ask anyway." When she didn't, he took her mouth in a bruising kiss. "Ask anyway," he repeated against her mouth.

For a long time, Jackie stared straight up at him, then rose, sitting up with her legs pulled up to her chin, reminiscent of a little pixie or fairy sitting on a toadstool.

"It's just something that I've been wondering about ever since you wanted me for backup on Airwolf."

Michael rose on his elbow again, letting the sheet drape over his hip. "What's that, sweetheart?"

"Hawke hid Airwolf from you a long time ago. You told him then that the name of the game was that as long as Airwolf was in his hands, your department had to keep looking for St. John -- but they had to keep looking for Airwolf, too."

"Yes."

"You knew where Airwolf's hiding place was long before St. John was ever found, didn't you Michael?"

Silently Michael contemplated her. He traced a long finger over one of the pillows. "Why would you ask me a question like that now?"

She shrugged. "Just curiosity."

"It's a pretty out-of-the-blue question."

//Full moon rising.//

"Not really. I've always wanted to know the answer to it." She shrugged again, uncoiling and stretching like a cat, turning with her back to him. "Doesn't matter, I guess." She smiled. "Anyway, I already know the answer."

Michael pressed into her from the back, one arm going around her waist. "And that is?"

"You knew." She snuggled down into the comfort of the pillow. "Because if you didn't know, you would have said no right away."

He snorted against her shoulder. "That's an assumption."

"OK, then tell me you DON'T know. Michael, you've been Deputy Director of the Firm for years. You couldn't afford NOT to know."

"Sweetheart, why are we talking about Airwolf when we're naked in bed together?"

Jackie laughed at that. "Why, Michael. I believe you're trying to change the subject."

"Damn straight I am." He pulled her back against him with a growl. He held her for a long moment. Then, he rose up on his elbow. "Jackie, look at me."

Jackie turned over on her back, staring up at her lover with adoring eyes. "Gladly." She felt his hand go to her face, stroking her cheek, thumb brushing over her lips.

"Jacquelyn Leigh," he whispered softly, "will you marry me?" Her eyes widened and she stared. A smile creased his features. "Well?" he prompted.

"What . . . what prompted this?" she queried, not trusting her voice.

"I expected a simple yes or no." He ran his hands through her long, dark hair. "We've been playing tag for the better part of three years, Jackie. Don't you think it's about time we caught up with each other?"

She looked at him for a long moment. "I don't need a piece of paper to tell me you’re my guy."

"You don't want to marry me?"

"That's not what I said."

"Then what are you saying?" He caressed her silky dark hair.

"I'm saying you don't have to prove to me that you love me by marrying me. I'll take you any way you're willing to give yourself to me, Michael."

"Then marry me." He reached over on the bedside table and picked up a small box laying by his glasses, opening it. A dazzling starburst of blue and white stones greeted their gazes. Jackie gasped.

"Oh, my God! Michael . . ."

"Marry me, Jacquelyn Leigh." He took the ring out of the box and slipped it on her finger, kissing her knuckles. She held her hand up, the facets of the stones sparkling in the moon's light spilling into the bedroom windows. "The sapphires reminded me of your eyes," he told her gently.

//Full moon rising.//

Michael lay on his side, pulling her close, gaze seeming to penetrate her very soul. "Say yes."

"Yes." She couldn't believe the word has passed up through her throat and between her lips. Suddenly she laughed.

"What?" he prompted, smiling at the sound.

"Jacquelyn Coldsmith-Briggs The Third!" she crowed, then laughed again. "Your dad is going to have a cow when he finds out. He used to bounce me on his knee when I was little!"

"Dad won't have any room to talk. My stepmother is only six years older than you and my father is pushing seventy-eight."

"I can see the society columns now. Like father like son."

"Sure to be the scandal of the decade."

"Do you care?"

He shook his head. "Not one iota."

She snuggled into his arms, lying contentedly against his chest. "We're going to be the most scandalous couple in the history of the United States. 'Deputy Director Weds Goddaughter of Twenty-eight Years.'"

"Oh, hell, why stop there? Why not make world headlines?"

Jackie giggled. "It would be fun for awhile. But then it'd get dismal and boring. I don't plan on being like Princess Di with a camera in my face every two seconds."

"Yeah." He kissed the top of her head. "When?"

"When what?"

"When do you want to tie the knot?"

"I want to be a Fall bride. Early October. With all the leaves changing. And I want it outside."

"At Wyndwood?"

Jackie smiled at the mention of the Coldsmith-Briggs estate in Virginia. "Could we?"

"I was hoping you'd want to."

"Mmm. I do."

They held each other tightly for a long, long time. When Michael's voice sounded, it was level and quiet.

"Jackie?"

"Hm?" she murmured drowsily.

"If you really want to know where Airwolf is, I'll tell you."

//Full moon rising.//

"Doesn't matter." She kissed his throat and snuggled deeper into his embrace.

"It does to me. It's the only secret left between us."

She was quiet, then moved away just a fraction to look into his face. "It doesn't matter, Michael. Unless it's something you really feel you need to tell me."

"I do need to tell you." He brushed her hair back, fingers running over the skin of her face. Gently, he leaned forward, whispering the tale in her ear. Afterwards, he lay back, pulling the covers around them. "I love you, angel." His eyes closed.

Jackie locked one arm around his waist and settled her head in the crook of his shoulder. Her eyes were open and a triumphant smile stretched her mouth.

"More," she whispered from deep in her throat.

//Full moon rising.//

The switch in her head flipped off.

Phase One of the mission had been accomplished.

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

Later that morning, Michael was in his office with Stringfellow Hawke and Marella. They were studying various documents in quietude -- a poor façade when the air was charged so with tension.

"Well, I think we can guess why Jacks was so pumped up with Black Star," String said. "I don't think there's any question that she was abducted and brainwashed. But something went wrong somewhere -- probably when she spontaneously aborted and Sonja panicked and had her rushed to the hospital. Gerlac saw that the whole scenario was coming apart with Sonja as Jackie's control and so he had her murdered. That was Gerlac's voice on her phone last night. Plain as day."

"Gerlac must have felt that Sonja had failed one too many times and wasn't reliable, especially when she opted to take Jackie to a hospital instead of contacting him first. I think Sonja knew she was in trouble, too, because she took off right after getting Jackie to the hospital. She was in the midst of packing before she was strong-armed and taken down the back steps of the hotel and murdered," Marella surmised.

"I'm having Jackie on surveillance twenty-four seven," Michael informed them. "Even when I'm with her. Hawke, you need to pack yourself a bag and go camp out with The Lady for a few days. If Jackie does have occasion to get up there and somehow we don't manage to catch it, she may be leading the hounds to their quarry. You take any precautions you need to. Just promise me you won't hurt her."

"You know better," String said under his breath. "I won't hurt her. I may have to rough her up a little, but I won't hurt her."

"Don't let her hurt you, either," Michael warned ominously. "God only knows what else they've programmed her for. They had almost twelve days, and it takes an average of two or three to break a strong operative. Sometimes less." He pulled at his lip. "Jackie's trained to kill, Hawke."

"You're not telling me anything I don't already know. I'll be ready. All I know is we have to flush Gerlac out once and for all. If he gets away, even if he never gets his hands on The Lady, he'll try again," String said, "if he's as fanatical as you say he is. All this for a lousy collection."

"Just to say he owns it," Marella confirmed solemnly.

String shook his head. "Y'know, Michael, if I'd known in the beginning what the cost would be in lives for Airwolf and how everybody and their uncle was vying to grab her, I would have told you to shove it when you first approached me."

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

Johann Gerlac stood at the concierge's desk, signing the credit card voucher with a flourish. The clerk tore off the guest part of the receipt and tore up the stencils. A muscular man joined Gerlac at the desk, eyes hidden by sunglasses.

"Thank you for staying with us, Mr. Gerlac," the young man said pleasantly. "We hope to see you again soon."

"Perhaps you will," Gerlac replied pleasantly enough. "Good morning."

"Good morning, sir."

The austere gentleman strode across the lobby and outside to the curb where a black limousine sat. The chauffeur, one of Gerlac's long-time staff, had just finished loading the bags in the trunk and now held the door open for him. Gerlac slid into the temperature-controlled interior behind the dark windows while the other man took his place up front with the driver. The door shut behind him with a decided thunk.

"Where to, sir?" the limo driver questioned through the intercom moments later.

"Valley of the Gods," Gerlac said. "Jason will tell you where to go once you reach it. You can find the place, can't you?"

"Yes, sir. I have a map."

Normally, Gerlac would have been well on his way to his own South American island and trust that his staff would bring the required hardware. But Airwolf had been an extremely difficult acquisition. Considering all the problems, he had decided that it would be prudent to be on hand to see that everything went according to plan. Sonja Thormann had been the biggest mistake in the entire scenario. He would probably have to make an additional contribution to the East German government for killing her, but that was an expense not unheard of.

The Kendricks girl was under his control for now and she would fly the machine to his fortress. Twelve days of brainwashing had paid off in spades. He had no doubts about her ability to function under his command with a few well-turned phrases. It didn't matter that Archangel or anyone else figured out she'd been brainwashed. He was that sure of the programming. Black Star had proven to be of significant worth to him as a brainwashing agent in the past, before it had even become a street drug. One of his staff, a Russian pilot, physically more strong than Jackie Kendricks could ever be, had succumbed to its effects for a number of years now. A weekly maintenance dose was all that was required after the initial brainwashing procedure. Just as the maintenance dose he was making sure Jackie got via her loose-leaf herbal teas was his insurance policy against any more screwups. A good investment. After the Kendricks girl trained several other pilots on the machine, he would then give her over to Daniel Preston.

Now there was a strange one, Gerlac mused. Daniel Preston. The twin brother of the man Jackie Kendricks had murdered in the Middle East. Daniel Preston, a business tycoon in the United Kingdom, obsessing over the woman who had killed his brother. If Gerlac was any judge of character, Daniel had definite ideas in mind for Jackie when Gerlac was through with her. In fact, Gerlac could almost swear that lust was driving Preston almost as much as revenge. Some of Preston's contacts were as good as his own. After all, finding out the Kendricks woman was under his thumb took some doing and he had to congratulate the man for his persistence. His offer to take the her off Gerlac's hands afterwards had been met with more than a little surprise.

He smiled, picking up the phone and dialing Jackie's number.

Phase two of the plan was about to be implemented.

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

Jackie stretched back in the chaise on the deck, watching the sky lighten as the waves came in. She'd been sitting out here since five a.m, for the past two hours. Her recurrent nightmares made for troubled sleep much of the time, and she found her nights getting progressively shorter.

It had been three weeks since Michael had given her the ring. All in all, things were beginning to drop into place. Michael Senior and his wife had been told about the upcoming nuptials and were more than happy to host the wedding on the estate grounds. In fact, Vicki -- short for Victoria -- Coldsmith-Briggs had insisted on making all the arrangements, but Jackie had spent hours on the phone with her, telling her about her favorite colors, what flowers she liked, what foods she thought would be suitable and graciously taking into consideration some of her hostess' suggestions for the post-wedding reception.

Cait was to be Jackie's Maid of Honor and so she, Marella and Samantha were elected to take care of the bride's immediate needs, like the wedding shower, helping to pick out the dresses and all the bridal accoutrements. Jackie had the dress picked out -- a skin-tight sheathe of white and silver sequined taffeta and lace. The headpiece was a wreathe of white gardenias and baby's breath instead of a traditional veil and the dress had a detachable train. It was strapless and slinky and Michael wholeheartedly approved of her choice.

They would all arrive at Wyndwood a week before the wedding in preparation -- there would be the traditional bridal shower, rehearsal, rehearsal dinner. Dominic had already made arrangements to close down the airfield for a week, since he was going to give Jackie away and then join the entourage as one of Michael's groomsman. The wedding would be held in the late afternoon and the reception would linger into the late evening. Michael and Jackie would spend their first night on the estate and then jet to Rome for a two week honeymoon. It was all going to be absolutely perfect.

"So why do I think somehow a monkey wrench is going to get thrown into the whole thing?" she murmured to herself as she sipped on her fifth cup of chamomile tea.

She sighed, letting the wind wash over her. Was it really the end of June? Half the year already gone. She wiped the sleep from one eye and yawned as the phone by her side on the clear glass table rang.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Kendricks?"

"Speaking."

"I believe you'll find there'll be blood on the moon tonight," came the silkiness over the phone. A silkiness that wrapped about her familiarly.

//Blood on the moon.//

Jackie all but jerked. Another switch seemed to go off inside of her.

"Jackie, my darling, did you hear what I just said?"

"Blood on the moon," she replied in a quiet voice. "Yes, I heard you, Michael."

"I'll expect to see you at Anvil Rock as soon as possible, angel."

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be there."

"One of my men will meet you on the south side of your beach," the soft, purring voice continued. "You'll go with him."

"I'll go with them."

"You'll do exactly as he tells you."

"Exactly."

"When you reach Anvil Rock, you will direct us to the hiding place where The Lady is."

"Direct you to the hiding place."

"We have to get Airwolf out of enemy hands."

"I understand, Michael."

"And you'll have to fly her."

"I'll fly her."

"And if anyone gets in your way . . ."

"Understood, Michael."

"Good. I'll see you there. I love you."

"More."

Jackie replaced the receiver and then rose, going inside her bedroom to change her clothes from loose sweats to jeans, a red cotton sweater, black tennis shoes and her flight jacket. She started out the door when she suddenly turned, returning to her bedroom and opening her nightstand's drawer.

//Blood on the moon.//

She extracted her Smith & Wesson and placed it in her shoulder holster, momentarily taking the jacket off to slip it on underneath. She grabbed her sunglasses and headed out her back door toward the south end of the beach.

Toward her next mission.

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

Stringfellow Hawke waited. He'd been waiting for over three days. He knew that someone was going to show up. He just didn't know who, how many or when.

Caitlin had come to The Lair with supplies for him and had opted to stay, dragging out the other cot and curling up on it to read some Kathleen Woodiwiss novel. When one of them slept, one of them stood guard. Ordinarily, Hawke wouldn't have allowed Caitlin to stay. But she'd earned the right several times over. Where St. John's company might have been his chosen strategem, his brother was still not out of the woods where combat was concerned. Even Cait had intimated to String on occasion that St. John would walk in his sleep or wake up in a cold sweat from nightmares. Frankly, String wasn't sure just how St. John would react I a combat situation after being a prisoner of sadists, of taking orders and being broken. He could count on Cait's reactions, and it was for that reason he'd allowed her to be his backup.

String lifted his head, sensing a subtle change in the air. Or maybe it was a far-distant sound that his finely-tuned ears had picked up.

"Cait, I think it's show-time," he said in a low, level voice.

The redhead laid her book aside and checked her .38, moving back into the shadows. Hawke joined her. And they waited.

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

Jackie felt a sharp pain in her abdomen and grimaced. She'd put up with being fussed over and poked and prodded for two weeks after her D&C and then had called a halt to proceedings after a Holter monitor and successive EKGs showed her cardiac health to be excellent. But now the old pain was returning.

"Something wrong, Ms. Kendricks?" the burly man who drove the car asked.

She shook her head. "Just a twinge." She looked out over the land as they bumped along the rough desert terrain in The Valley of the Gods. They'd met Michael's limo at Anvil Rock and after a brief kiss, they'd been on their way again, Michael following her in his black limo. Jackie had never known him to utilize a black car before but didn't have time to wonder about it. The mission at hand was much too important to worry about the color of a car.

Despite the gravity of the situation, the desert was beautiful, orange-red monuments standing starkly against robin's egg blue sky. She'd run tests on experimental aircrafts in this very desert. There was something primal and beauteous about this place. It was like walking on sacred earth. It was sacred earth, she reminded herself. It had been sacred ground to the Indian tribes that surrounded it, a place where the gods dwelt. A place of mythological creatures that fired the imagination. Legends half-forgotten and ghosts wandered through these rocks, kicking up sand devils in their wake. Sighing winds that could be mistaken for human cries -- or was it the opposite?

The hollow mesa that housed Airwolf stood in between two pieces of rock that jutted out sharply at 45-degree angles, looking at it from the south. It was approximately six miles in from Anvil Rock, staying on the road. When the odometer turned six miles over exactly, Jackie leaned forward.

"Stop the car."

With a little skid, the car came to a halt, the limousine right behind it. Jackie got out of the car, shading her eyes as her line of sight directed itself north. The mesa was silent between the two accusing fingers of rock. But it was as though something alive were inside it, waiting for them. There wasn't a soul to be seen anywhere. It seemed as though Airwolf would be ripe for the taking.

A smile curled Jackie's lip. Yeah, right. Her hand went to her .38 inside her jacket and she pulled it out, taking the safety off.

"It's a quarter-mile to that mesa," came the familiar voice at her side. "We're walking the rest of the way in?"

"I think it's the most prudent way to go, don't you?" Jackie queried, looking up at the man she loved. "After all, we don't know what traps might be laid for us, inside or out." She smiled again. "But I've always preferred the direct approach."

"The direct approach?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna walk right in the front door and see what happens."

"I always did say you were a dare-devil."

"I learned from the best."

The four of them started pacing off toward the mesa.

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

"I don't hear a thing," Cait said after ten minutes. "Are you sure you didn't hear some furry or scaly little something?"

Stringfellow Hawke remained quiet in his crouched position. "What I heard was human. Shhh." The sound came again. "Hear that?"

"What?"

"Listen."

Cait strained her ears. Now she could hear it. Feet scraping against sand and gravelly rock. The swish of leather and denim. In the dim lights, she could make out four figures approaching. The one in the forefront was hauntingly familiar.

"Shit," came String's curse. "I was hoping she wasn't going to be here."

"I guess we know the brainwashing worked." Cait just realized how stupid the obvious sounded.

"They're all armed. Don't mess with them, Cait. They won't think twice about putting a bullet between your eyes. You shoot to kill."

"Not Jackie."

"No. Not Jackie." String pulled his bottom lip under the line of his teeth. He had no idea how much under Gerlac's control she might be. "Stop right there," he called out in an authoritative voice.

The five invaders halted immediately, guns ready. The eerie glow from the generator lights covered them.

"It's a bluff," Jackie was heard to say, "There's only one or two people in here besides us."

"Maybe so," came Cait's voice. "But we can see you and you can't see us."

"Cait?" Jackie's voice held surprise. Her stance faltered.

"Jackie, listen to me. They've messed with your head bigtime. You've been brainwashed," the redhead called out to her.

"What?" She frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Those twelve days you were missing," String said. "You said you didn't remember them. That's why."

"String?" Jackie turned to the man at her side. "I thought you said Airwolf was in enemy hands!"

"It is," the austere man replied. "There's blood on the moon, Jackie." He paused. "Show yourselves," he demanded. "If you're going to train guns on us, the least you can do is make yourselves visible."

"Oh, but that takes the fun out of it." They whirled only to see a man in white approach from behind, flanked by two white-clad women -- Marella and Sam. The three of them were aiming .38's straight at them.

The man at Jackie's side looked startled. "Archangel!"

"In the flesh." He smiled almost indulgently. "Sorry we had to crash the party, but we weren't issued an invitation."

"Well, you know," the other man replied, "have to do our best to keep the riff-raff out."

Jackie stared at the man in white. Then she stared at the man beside her. Then back at the man in white. Her finger whitened on the trigger.

"What the hell is going on?" Her voice shook. "Somebody tell me what the hell is going on. How can there be . . ." She broke off, confusion clouding her face. "There's two of you . . ."

"It's a deception, Jackie," Gerlac said smoothly. "You know who the real Michael is." He made a move toward her.

"Stay still!!" Jackie shouted, trembling. "Goddamn it, don't you move! Don't even breathe!" She looked from one man to the other.

"Jackie." Marella's voice came to her. "Jackie, would I be on the side of someone I knew wasn't Michael?"

She licked dry lips. "No. No, you wouldn’t." She paused. "Unless you were deceived."

Hawke emerged from the shadows. "Marella would never be tricked even by a Michael lookalike."

The stunned look on Jackie's face was terribly obvious as she stared at Stringfellow Hawke. "Oh, my God." She lowered her gun a fraction, almost looking as though someone had driven the very breath out of her. "You're dead. I killed you. You're dead."

Hawke frowned. "Jacks, it's me . . ."

"Keep the hell away from me." The gun came back up. "You're dead. You're dead! I slit your throat from ear-to-ear! You're dead!!"

"What did you do to her, you bastard?" Michael hissed at Gerlac.

"Obviously not enough."

Marella edged closer to her friend. "Jackie, I've never lied to you. You know you can trust me. You've got to trust what I'm telling you now. You've been brainwashed. Terribly brainwashed. You say you see two Michaels?"

Jackie moved like lightening, away from the dark woman. "So help me, I'll plug you, Marella. Don't come any closer."

"Trust me, Jackie. Please."

"She's right, Jacks," Cait told her, gently. "You've known Marella for a long time. Surely you trust her."

The young woman's mouth trembled. "I don't know who to trust anymore. I can't even trust myself. How can I trust any of you? How can I trust my eyes or even my perceptions or instincts if I've been brainwashed?" She moved cautiously toward Airwolf, gun sweeping over the entire group. "I'm seeing two men who look like Michael. I'm seeing another man who I swear I killed last year. I'm zoning in and out of reality so much I can't tell which is which. And I'm about to eat a bullet just to get it to stop!"

"Jackie, don’t." Cait's voice was quiet.

"Peel-away," Marella said suddenly. "Jackie, peel-away. Do you remember how to play that game? Remember your training."

Jackie's gun lowered. "Peel-away."

A shot rang out, coming within about three inches of Cait's head. String reacted instantly, his gun letting go of two successive shots that hit the attacker, one of Gerlac's men, square in the chest. With a breathless 'oof', he went down. Marella's leg shot out, cracking sharply against the other man's knee. He went down, clutching his leg as the bullet ricocheted, grazing Jackie along he the left side of her forehead. She cried out, hitting the ground and losing her grip on the .38. Cait lunged, kicking it out of her range as Marella deftly disarmed the other man.

Gerlac was about to go for his own gun when the cold barrel of Michael's P-38 pressed against his temple.

"That would be very ill-advised," Michael said tightly, the fury blazing in his eye. Gerlac dropped his hand from his jacket and Michael extracted the gun from his person. "I'm almost tempted to do away with you right here. If you weren't a Nazi I probably would. But I think the Jewish Federation would love to get their hands on you. In fact, I can guarantee you a public trial. One that's long overdue."

Stringfellow jerked the former Nazi's hands behind him and cuffed him. "I hope there'll be front row seats, because I plan on being there," the pilot hissed.

"You have no idea who you're dealing with," Gerlac sneered.

"Oh, but we do," Michael contradicted with a snide grin. "While you were here in the States, I had a covert team of former Navy Seals infiltrate your little island paradise. We have the name of everyone you've got in your pocket -- from politicians to bookies. All of your accounts are frozen. Even that credit card you used to pay your hotel bill this morning has probably been capped." He glanced over at Cait who was examining Jackie. "How is she, Cait?"

"Just a graze," the redhead called back. "But it knocked her down pretty good."

As the last word died on her lips, Jackie knocked Cait down and grabbed her gun, scrabbling over the other woman toward Airwolf. She pulled herself up on the 'copter's nose and positioned the gun directly into the fuselage.

"Let him go," she said darkly.

"Jackie . . ." Michael was bordering on horrified.

"I said let him go, or we all go up right here and now."

"Jackie -- peel-away." Marella's voice was solid and even. "Start peeling away the deception to get to the truth. Start with the man you think is Graham Preston."

Jackie's jaw worked. Her head swiveled to where Stringfellow Hawke stood. "I killed him."

"Exactly. So how can that be Graham Preston standing there?" Marella asked.

"I slit his throat." She licked her lips. "He's dead."

"Graham Preston is dead. You killed him. So that can't be Graham Preston."

Her hand began to shake. "Can't. Be. Graham." A tear slid down her cheek. "String?"

"Yeah. It's me." Slowly, String approached her and the gun slipped off the fuselage. Gently, he came close, extricating the gun from her hand. "It's me, Jacks."

"I'm sorry, String," she whispered. "I couldn't see . . ."

"It's OK." He pulled her into a brief hug. "Let's get out of here and put the bad guys where they belong."

The sunlight was bright as they exited the lair. Gerlac's driver had been cuffed by another female operative of Michael's and was waiting by the stretch limo. As Sting hefted the dead man into the back of the limo, Michael gave orders to Marella, Sam and the other lady in white to take them just outside the city limits to an abandoned ghost town called Pony Flats where the appropriate law enforcement officials would be waiting to take them away.

"Of course," Michael said to Hawke as the limo drove away, "you'll have to move The Lady immediately. I'm hoping you had a contingency plan in case anyone ever found out where the Lair was."

"Actually, I was planning on blowing it up if anyone ever found it," String replied amiably. "No, I don't have another place set up. I do have a suggestion, though."

"That being what?"

"Red Star Area's been abandoned since Moffett blew it up, right?"

"We've been trying to sell it since that disaster. It's a great place to run military exercises and such. But after what happened there, not even the Native Americans who live near it want it back."

"Is it under Firm control? Was it purchased with Firm monies?"

Michael nodded affirmatively.

"Then keep it. We'll house The Lady there. You have a warehouse there with an open and close roof, I remember. I can fix the perimeter so no one gets near her without authorization." He smiled lop-sidedly. "Label it as a toxic waste dump and no one in their right mind will get near it."

"All right, I'll get on it as soon as I get back to the office. Go ahead and move The Lady -- do anything you have to do -- you still got that Firm credit card with your name on it?"

Hawke nodded. "Yep. Never leave home without it."

"Then buy whatever you need and fix it up however you need to, to keep the Lady safe. When you're finished, I'll take over. You're really all right having some of my personnel know where she is?"

"Hell, Michael, you've paid your debt to me. What does it matter who's hands it's in, as long as it's you or me?" the pilot questioned. "I trust you."

Michael wondered if Stringfellow Hawke knew just how long he'd waited to hear those words from him.

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

She was getting worse.

Jackie knew it, just as sure as she knew her own name. Without the keyword phrases being used on her she was more calm and less nervous. But she was restless because she still felt sick.

Somehow, her mind wasn't right. She would hallucinate people and objects. And her body was still acting funny. She still experienced cramping in her abdomen. She wanted to believe they were just the lingering effects of the drug she'd been given, that this would soon be over. She had never felt so debilitated in her life. She couldn't even drive a damn car for fear of seeing something that was or wasn't there.

She hadn't had her blood chemistries checked for a long time, insisting that she was all right, that she would eventually work out of it. Usually, Michael would have been on her back about it, but he'd been in meetings almost solid for the past four weeks and trusting that she would see to her own health if need be in his absence. Her duties at Santini Air had been relegated to office girl for the most part. Even in that capacity, she found herself making mistakes. Finally, she just asked Dom if it would be OK if she came back when she felt like it. Dom hadn't hesitated in telling her to take all the time she needed to get well. She wanted to believe that the toxic poison would work it's way out of her system. She adamantly refused to be hospitalized.

And she tried. She really did. She slept. A lot. She fixed healthy meals she wasn't even interested in. She exercised what she could. She read. She rode Michael's horses at the ranch. She kept her mind active but inadvertently would find it wandering. She drank herbal teas by the teapot-full.

But she was still sick. She still felt like an invalid. Had the damage of the drug had permanent effects? Would she ever be able to fly again? Or to even drive a car? She was scared to death that the impairment she was experiencing would be permanent. And that, ultimately, was the reason she didn't go in to see the doctors at her disposal.

The sun was beginning to descend toward the west when her phone rang and she picked it up. "Hello?"

"Hi, sweetheart, it's Michael," came his voice over the line. "How are you doing?"

"I'm . . . doing OK," she lied. "Where are you?"

"Still at Langley, but I'm leaving tonight -- I'll make it in by nine."

"Good. Come to my place, I'll leave the door open."

"Have you been to see the doctor this week?"

She hesitated. "No."

"Jackie . . ."

"Don't start with me, Michael, I'm really tired. I'll go tomorrow. I promise."

"I'll make sure you do. Keep those home fires burning. I love you."

"I love you," she answered, sincerely. "Come home soon."

"I will. 'Bye, sweetheart."

"'Bye."

She gently returned the receiver to its cradle, standing at the picture window and looking out at the rolling waves thoughtfully. The dread she felt lay coiled like a snake in the pit of her stomach. But Michael would be here soon. When she was with him, Jackie felt safe and secure. She trailed to the master bedroom, leaving the doors unlocked and stripping off her clothes, lying nude beneath the silk sheets and warm blankets and bedspread.

It seemed as if she had only been asleep for a few minutes when she felt a pressure on the bed and Michael's familiar scent surrounded her. That scent . . . so incredibly earthy whenever mixed with a cologne or aftershave. That scent that was so utterly Michael. A wave of sudden desire washed over her and she opened her eyes to see his face staring down. Although he smiled, she saw the concern in his eye. She allayed it by looping her arms around his neck and surging upward into him, mouth open beneath his in unabashed invitation. His moan sounded in her mouth as he followed her down into the warmth of the covers. Long moments later, he lifted his head.

"That's one of the best hellos I've ever had," he told her huskily.

"I can make it even better," she whispered, unzipping the fly to his pants.

"You make me crazy." Michael was hastily stripping out of his clothes, kissing her as he did so. He barely got his underwear off when she pulled him down on top of her, sheathing him in one instantaneous movement. "Oh, GOD!" he groaned, as she undulated beneath him, around him, as he penetrated her deeply. "You make me so crazy . . .!"

It was like a competition, each straining to please the other. Jackie didn't know herself. She made love with him as if she were outside her body, orchestrating her movements, touches and caresses as if a conductor of a symphony. She could tell her passion was surprising the hell out of Michael, and to tell the truth, it surprised the hell out of her. She'd always been uninhibited, but tonight seemed to epitomize the raw sexuality she felt. It innervated every fiber and seemed to transmit itself to Michael, who devoured all she gave, then gave back. When he finally climaxed, it was explosive -- more violent than any orgasm previous. She clung to him as if drowning as her own ripped through her body and brain. She felt the hot tide of his essence flood her insides and for the moment, nothing existed for her but this man in her arms and inside her body. Nothing else mattered. The scent of musk, perfume and aftershave rose from their sweating bodies and Michael choked her with a kiss. She moved against him gently, him still inside her, and he moaned into her mouth again.

"I love you so much," he whispered in her ear. "You're my light."

"You're mine," she whispered back. "You have been for such a long time."

Then, he began to move and Jackie bit her lips, feeling her body respond to his as they made love again, as sweetly savage as the first time, sliding into exhaustion afterwards as the moon crested and peeked inside the uncurtained window.

Jackie didn't know what it was that made her awake with a bit of a start. The hair on the back of her neck bristled, but she saw nothing in the darkness. Michael was sleeping soundly beside her, exhausted from his trip back from Langley and their lovemaking session. She smiled, thinking about how he'd be ready for round three if he awakened. Her smile faded as a cramp jabbed her and a feeling of nausea began to slosh at her stomach.

"I better not be pregnant again," she whispered to herself as she slid out of bed and walked naked into the darkened living room. Not that she didn't want to be. But she didn't want to be when she was still polluted with the toxins that had poisoned her. Birth defects she did not want to bring into the world. "Michael's right. First thing tomorrow. I'll ride in with him to Knightsbridge."

She padded to the bar and opened the small refrigerator that housed an already-opened bottle of California Chablis. She'd been cautioned about consumption of alcohol, but as little as she'd drunk in the past weeks, one glass was nothing. She filled it two-thirds full and then walked quietly to the picture window, opening it to stand naked on the deck, sipping on the white grapes.

The shimmering water looked so inviting and cool and she wandered down the sandy stretch to where the water teased her toes, finally becoming more bold as to encroach upon her ankles. The moon shone high up in the sky, silver and round, reflecting spots of light on the incoming waves. She swayed, eyes closed, feeling the Earth's heartbeat beneath her feet, the world's breath blowing over her skin.

So calm. So serene. Like everything was all right. Like there was nothing wrong.

She felt like Aphrodite rising from the surf with a glass of the blood from the fruit of Bacchus' vineyard. Her arms swept out and she lifted her face toward the moon. The full moon. The moon that was no longer a threat to her, but her ally. She drank the rest of the wine and then tossed the glass on the sand, whirling around in a circle with giddy delight.

"I am Aphrodite!" she cried triumphantly. "Goddess of love and passion!" She laughed suddenly, stumbling and sitting down hard on the sand. "And I've got the man in my bed to prove it!" This seemed enormously funny to say out loud and she doubled over in giggles. Just as quickly, she right herself, then swayed, attention tuning to a dark movement on the beach.

There was a dark figure coming slowly toward her.

It was a man. A dark man. His face was pale against his near-black hair, his hands, long and slender and just as white against his dark garments. Handsome. Lean. Strangely familiar, but Jackie could not place him. A flash of light streaked through her brain, taking her breath away. She gasped, and then sat, stunned, eyes focusing hazily.

There were two moons. She tilted her head, shook it, rubbed her eyes. Still, the dark figure continued his approach, coat flapping in the breeze, eyes penetrating and mysterious. Struggling to her feet, Jackie stood, holding her arm out in a 'halt' position.

"Stop," she said, then giggled. "Stop, in the name of love."

The man did stop, with barely two feet between them. He took her outstretched hand in his and kissed her knuckles, his touch warm and inviting, his penetrating eyes never leaving hers.

"As you wish, m'lady," he acquiesced in clipped, Old World tones. "In the name of love, I shall stop."

Jackie swayed a little. "You're . . . British."

"Born and bred," the man replied. "Come to take my lady away to her castle."

"You're . . . you're not real. I'm hallucinating again."

The dark man drew closer, his grip on her hand tightening. "Oh, I assure you, my darling. You are not hallucinating. I am very real."

"Who . . . " Jackie licked her lips, wondering at the seeming reality of the mind's tricks. "Who . . . ?"

"Who am I?" the man finished for her. "Why, I'm your Knight in . . . well, I'm not wearing white at the moment. But that's what I am. You're Knight in White."

"Lemme guess . . . you're going to take me away from all this." Jackie burst out in laughter again.

The man smiled again. "You're quite right, my dear. You're quite literally right." He took off his long coat and placed it around her naked body. "And I'd love to talk to you about it at length on the way to the airport. May I ask your name, my lovely naked lady?"

Jackie smiled up at the dream and let herself be led happily up the beach where a black limousine awaited them. After a moment, she stopped in surprise. "Y'know what?"

"What, dear lady?"

"I have no damn idea what my name is."

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

Michael woke to the sound of crashing waves. His arm slid over automatically to the other side of the bed, encountering cold sheets. He smiled, mind drifting back to the glory of the night and he wondered if Jackie would be up for some morning lovemaking. He certainly was.

After a few moments, he frowned. He felt . . . alone. His nostrils flared. No scent of morning coffee. No breakfast smells coming from the kitchen. No soft feet padding over the carpet. Only the lingering scent of lilacs and musk where she'd slept entwined with him.

The Deputy Director slipped out of bed and went to the closet, taking out his white silk robe with the appliqued dragon on the back. After securing it, he wandered into the lightening living room and then noticed that the sliding glass door was open. So that was it. She was either sitting on the beach watching the waves or walking along the surf. Next time he would ask her to wake him so he could walk with her. He stepped out onto the deck and didn't see her on the beachfront. When he got to the edge of the surf, he noticed the rolling wineglass being battered by the incoming waves. Frowning, he picked it up. Jackie never drank wine in the morning. That meant that she'd been out here very late last night. After they'd made love. He'd noted no alcohol on her breath when he came in last night.

Michael strained, looking down both sides of the beach. It was utterly deserted. He turned around, noticing her Jaguar still in the drive. After a moment, he shrugged, turning back to the beach house. Maybe she was just behind some outcropping of rock, veiled from view. Certainly she would be coming back any moment.

He left the sliding door open, walking into the kitchen to start coffee. He started to reach for the Hazelnut blend when he stopped, mid-reach. He turned on the light in the kitchen and opened one of the cupboards near the sink. A sixth sense made him reach for the box of loose-leaf herbal Peppermint Tea. The seal was broken. The raspberry tea was also open. As was the Green Tea. And the Lemon Grass Tea. And the Oolong Tea.

His brain suddenly tumbled and he was absolutely stunned.

There was a reason Jackie's health hadn't been getting any better and, indeed, he'd wondered if she'd gotten worse. She'd left a doctor's care much sooner than Michael would have liked, but he knew if he nagged her about it, she'd dig her heels in even harder.

Someone, probably Sonja, had laced Jackie's herbals and commonly used drinks, with the Black Star drug, or possibly with something even more odious, and it must have happened either right before or right after the brainwashing incident. That would explain why she was still under Gerlac's influence and why she'd led them straight to The Lair.

It was how Gerlac had kept her under control. And it very well could have been that only Gerlac and Sonja knew about lacing the loose-leaf teas with the drug.

The tea box dropped from his hands and he dashed outside to the beach again, catching himself as he almost tripped down the three steps to the bottom.

"Jackie!!" he yelled at the top of his lungs. "Jackie!!

His eyes slid to the rushing waves and he felt a sudden surge of nausea. God, what if she'd walked right out into . . .

No. No, he couldn't think that.

"Jackie!!!"

Only the roaring surf answered him.

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

Three Months Later . . .

" . . . and so it is with heavy hearts that we now commit the memory of our beloved Jacquelyn Leigh Kendricks to God the Father. But we must not ever forget that although she is gone from us now, we may look forward to the day when we all reunite together in the Hereafter, and depend upon the love of The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit to bring us finally home . . ."

Michael wanted the minister to stop the rambling and be done with it. He would not believe his beautiful Jackie was dead. He absolutely refused to believe it.

However, this had seemed to be the right thing to do, Michael thought reasonably. A three-month exhaustive search worldwide had yielded nothing. He'd called in every favor, bullied, berated, schmoozed and practically seduced everyone he knew to help find Jackie. After three horrendous months of searching, he'd been forced to officially call it all off.

He'd only agreed to a memorial service because he knew that some people needed closure. But no death certificate had been signed. She would be assumed to still be alive for at least seven years. After that, she would be legally dead.

As people filed out of the small chapel near the beach, Michael endured the handshakes and the hugs. String came up to stand beside him after most of the people had left and they both looked out over the ocean below.

"She's not dead, Stringfellow," Michael told the pilot quietly.

String looked over at the Deputy Director and their eyes held for a long moment. After a another long moment, String's arm slid about Michael's broad shoulders.
"I know, Michael."

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

Preston Estates, Yorkshire, England

"C'mon, luv. I taught you better than that!" The raven-haired man laughed at the hopeless efforts of the American girl who tried to ride English side-saddle.

"This isn't natural, Daniel!" the girl yelled across to him. "I hate it! I won't ride in any fox hunt like this!"

Daniel laughed. "Have it your way, luv! Shall I have B.B. resaddled for you?"

"Yes!" The girl slid off the horse with much more ease than she had riding it. She took off the riding cap and walked up to him, her dark hair swinging and blue eyes dancing. She kissed him soundly before standing back and running a hand through her hair. "What's Louis fixing us for lunch?"

"What would you like, my love?"

"Mmm, some of that Lobster Bisque."

"With some tossed greens, baby swiss and brown bread?"

"Sounds wonderful. You take such good care of me, Daniel."

"Louis takes care of both of us," he reminded her with a wink. "Are you ready to go back to the house?"

The 'house' was a three-story estate house built about the time Henry the VII was in power. It had been remodeled and maintained lovingly by the Prestons throughout the last three hundred years. The girl dimpled and threw her arm around his waist as they trudged up to the door.

A cluster of grouse took sudden flight at their approach in a flutter of wings and cries. They looked up at the retreating avians and stopped, watching.

Daniel turned toward the dark-haired nymph at his side. His hands went to either side of her face and he placed an intense, probing kiss on her mouth. The woman returned it just as warmly.

"Lunch may have to wait," he intimated softly near her ear.

She smiled mischievously. "What a pity."

He stroked her hair and looked deeply into her eyes. "I love you."

The woman slipped her arms around him and pulled him fiercely to her, burying her face in the shoulder of his deerskin jacket. "More," she murmured.

They broke apart for a moment. Then Daniel took her hand, opening the door and leading her inside the house.

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

FINIS

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January 2, 2000