Second Chances
Part I
By Linda Ryner and Kathy G.

Edited by R. Horne

August 1982
Somewhere in the South American jungles

Goddamn Bible-thumping troublemakers!!

The camouflaged woman swore under her breath, then relayed the new information she had just received to her unit. Things just went from bad to worse.

As she moved through the undergrowth, an eddy of fear swirled around her, like dust rising off the floor in some barren, drafty attic, but it was far from drafty in this place. She and her team were trapped between the heat of the sun and the stifling heat rising from the earth. It was like being stuck in a sauna.

The South American jungle was a steamy mass of green, with unfamiliar calls of birds and animals abounding within it, keeping everyone on edge with each exotic sound. But Jackie Kendricks and her Cobra Unit were almost upon the camp in which the American ambassador, and now two bible-toting missionaries, were prisoners.

The chances of us getting out alive are about as likely as a talk by Doctor Ruth in a fundamentalist church, she thought. It's a slim chance at best.

Not much longer, they all knew, and with any luck they'd be out of this tropical compost heap.

The sweat and grime that ran in rivulets all over her body was only a momentary distraction from the mission at hand. Her homing beacon jabbed her in the waist, reassuring her that it was still there. She would use it to call in their 'ride' once their 'package' had been procured. Jackie knew that when she set off that beacon their chopper would arrive in fifteen minutes. She hoped that with the addition of the kidnapped missionaries it was enough time to get their asses out of there.

Upon arriving near the guerilla camp, she'd sent in the experts to deal with the perimeter guards. They’d managed to take them out without a single hitch. Eight total at this point. Each was felled quickly with a single knife thrust to the heart or a quick, single slash across the throat, severing both carotids. The team knew that at least a number of The Shining Path guerillas had gone into a nearby village to replenish their supplies which meant that their numbers were down.

The camp was nothing more than crude buildings slapped together with native woods and tree fronds. There were five buildings: two barracks from the looks of it, an officer's quarters, a mess hall, judging from the discarded cans and sacks and a supply hut. But there had seemed to be no obvious place for prisoners, until Jackie saw the barbed wire and slats of wood. She realized the prisoners were being housed in an outside prison, resembling a crude pigsty, leaving them exposed to the elements. In other words, none of them were going to be in the best shape to make a run for it, Jackie thought.

She really hated hitches in a good plan and this one had more than its fair share of them.

She took her position as a cover sniper, her standard AK-47 at the ready to mow down anything that came towards either her or her teammates. Two of her men would free the prisoners while the rest would provide cover on the other side. Fleetingly, she thought of her beloved Tarzan series by Edgar Rice Burroughs. The luscious greens, the wild animals and the total mystery here that was the jungle reminded her so much of places in the books.

"Enough of that," she whispered aloud.

Jackie depressed the beacon, alerting their chopper to head to the designated pick-up point about a mile back. They had fifteen minutes.

“OK, beacon's gone out. We have fifteen minutes. As you know, we have two more passengers on this trip. Carry them if you have to. But if I hear a Bible quote out of anyone, I’m gonna gag ‘em myself! Let’s move out.”

From her position, Jackie watched while the prisoners were released from their makeshift prison without incident or alert. At least the prisoners seemed to realize what was going on, Jackie thought as her men stealthily led the beleaguered men out. Sounds rose from the mess hall and Jackie tightened her finger near the trigger. Raucous laughter came from the mess hall and Jackie could see, through the open door, about six of the guerillas playing cards and drinking beer. "Someone is asleep on the job," she murmured to herself.

Maybe, just maybe, this mission would go off without a hitch. Sometimes it happened.

But that notion was dashed as one of the men emerged from the doorway of the mess hall and started to shout, in Spanish, that the prisoners had escaped.

“Of course, it could never be that easy,” she muttered, taking aim at the shouting guerilla and dispatching him with practiced calm.

The alarm had brought several disheveled militants running out, grabbing for their weapons or slinging on their gun belts. By the time she dispatched two more of them, the prisoners and her two teammates had darted past her, heading for the overgrown jungle path. The prisoners all looked filthy and smelled of sweat, but the ambassador seemed by far to be in the best shape of the three.

“Hope you're a jogger,” she told him, moving quickly to join them. The others covered her retreat from their positions as she set about covering them in turn. Stealthily, they dropped back until everyone was well into the thick undergrowth surrounding the guerilla camp.

“Every morning,” the tall, angular man whispered, staying low and moving at a respectable pace.

“Good. Then you should have no problem doing the three-minute mile in about ten,” she quipped, then looked at the beleaguered missionaries. Despite it all, her heart held sympathy towards them. She looked at the two men assisting them. “Like I said, carry ‘em if you have to. Now get them out of here and we'll cover you!” Jackie snapped, and then headed towards a high point where she could watch for the other three of her team and cover them while they fell back.

Gunfire echoed throughout the trees between them and the guerillas. Their sneak attack had rendered six dead in the camp itself, but that left the remainder to deal with. One man, Sanford, an ex-Navy Seal, burst out through a break in the cover a short distance away, running like hell’s fury for the Landing Zone.

She pulled out her radio, wondering where the hell the other two teammates were. “Beckwith! Samuelson! Get the hell out of there and get to the pick-up point!”

She fired another round into three militants coming out of cover to climb up the incline where she was perched. When they went down, she turned tail and sprinted through the cover of the jungle, changing out the spent clip as she ran. “Fight to the death with body and breath,” she murmured, slamming home the fresh clip. She raced through the foliage, then took the animal path leading towards the designated clearing that was their LZ point. Taking in deep lungfuls of heavy air, she gathered herself another burst of speed. “Michael, you owe me a lobster dinner.”

The grass was long around the clearing, which was why it had been chosen. It took nearly all of the fifteen minutes allotted just to plow through the jungle growth to reach it, hidden roots and vines impeding the team's progress. Jackie slowed down, covering the rear, using thick clumps of trees for cover as she made sure everyone else was there. She glanced right and saw Samuelson and Beckwith explode through the trees and then drop down on their hands and knees, going low for a breather. But right behind them were the rag-tag terrorists, fanning out to scan the field and getting ready to nail the pair as soon as they popped back up again.

Jackie worked her way unseen back along her trail instead of forward, maneuvering behind and around the pursuers. She stood up long enough to pump death into their backs, then dropped down again. Being short had its advantages. She could hunch down just a little and have adequate coverage in the long grasses to move without being seen, then pop up again in another location, let fly with the gunfire, and drop back down again.

The deep, rumbling whir of the incoming chopper rent the air. Jackie continued playing the deadly game, giving her men time to make it to the chopper. Three of her teammates covered her very well, their deadly accuracy taking down more of the well-armed terrorists.

Damn, she thought to herself. Did we miscount somewhere or what?

She was sure they'd killed enough of the bastards to account for all twelve or so of them, but there was still someone out there shooting at the team.

Then, the ground rushed up to meet her as she stumbled over a root. The wind was knocked out of her when she hit, and when she rolled over, she found it was not a root – but the body of one of the dead South American “revolutionaries.” His black, lifeless eyes stared back at her. Jackie felt cold, staring at the intense, aquiline profile. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen. Bile rose up in her throat.

“Fuck.”

The sound of voices shook her from her daze. She crawled a ways, then slowly rose up to look over the grassy perimeter. The pick-up crew was herding the ambassador and the missionaries into the chopper. She quickly counted and it looked as if her entire unit was there and she saw Beckwith waving wildly at her to haul ass. Behind her, she heard the crashing sounds of the jungle as the remaining guerillas stampeded towards her. She knew she was out of time.

With a yell like a wild Indian, Jackie jumped up and flew toward the open chopper door, the runners lifting up impatiently a few inches, warning her it was time to go. A few feet away from the chopper, she threw herself inside the open door, trusting her men to haul her the rest of the way in. A burning and numbing sensation coursed down her arm and over her back just as she impacted the floor of the chopper. She felt hands slide her across the floor and sit her in an upright position as the chopper door was slammed shut and lifted off, rapidly getting them all out of danger.

“Goddamn, girl. You been shot,” Samuelson said, stripping off her jacket and getting her turned around so he could see the damage.

“How bad?” Jackie asked tightly, gritting her teeth against the pain in her shoulder.

“Doesn’t look that bad – I don’t think it’s hit anything major,” he quickly assured her, experienced fingers running over her shoulder as he apparently determined where the bullet was lodged.

“Good. Somebody can dig it out for me when we get back to some sort of civilization,” she hissed between clenched teeth.

Samuelson took the pad from the first aid kit that one of the others opened for him and got some pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, and used a roll of gauze to hold it there, forming a tight pressure bandage.

“Thanks, Sam,” Jackie breathed tiredly when he was done, resting her arm on her leg to ease the pull against her shoulder. “Everyone else OK?”

“Smoothest operation yet,” Beckwith grinned, giving her a thumbs-up.

There were grins all around and the look Sanford gave her now seemed to hold more respect than he'd had for her at the beginning of the operation. “That’s ‘cause we got us a slick little commando Cobra girl who knows how to kick ass!”

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

March 30, 1988
Preston Estates, York, England

She awoke with a start, wide-eyed and sweating, a phantom pain radiating through her shoulder and arm. Shadows elongated across the dark mahogany paneling and stone walls, and though awakened from the grip of the dream, images still clung to the edges of her brain. Automatically, she reached around, fingering the back of her shoulder where the pain seemed to center. Her fingertips brushed a slightly raised area of skin, and traced the path of the bullet she remembered from her dream.

Jackie Kendricks reached out to turn the bedside Tiffany on and muted light spilled over the room, giving off just enough illumination for her to be able to see. The thick velvet curtains of forest green swayed a little in the drafts that came through the tall, elegant windows overlooking the grounds. It was early spring, and while modern ventilation had been installed in the ancient castle structure, she always left the windows open a little to let in fresh air. She tended to sleep in the nude, even on the chilliest of nights, preferring to feel the slight breeze when she slept, unmindful of the chill. She just didn't like to feel shut in. Daniel laughingly teased her about being “his little bohemian” but she didn't care.

Ah, Daniel. Her savior. Her one solid foothold on reality. Her buffer between a fragile sanity and the gaping gates of the loony bin. God bless Daniel, he had been there for her through good and bad, even when the bad had been really bad.

For the first time in a long time he’d felt good enough about her health to leave for a few days on business, and she found herself wishing he would return sooner than next Wednesday. He'd have been gone even longer had it not been for the invitation from Prince Charles to Balmoral. Daniel had even promised her she could participate in the foxhunt if she was feeling up to it, but only with him riding at her side.

She smiled faintly, reminded of Daniel's courtly ways and manner. She could have anything she wanted – Daniel saw to her smallest whim and request. Even an off-hand comment about a certain brand of caviar or Calvin Klein bed sheets was taken as a wish to be fulfilled. He seemed to have more money than God and it had been so easy to fall in love with Daniel.

Or lust, anyway. She frowned thoughtfully, considering how she really felt about Daniel. She still really wasn’t sure she was in love with him. She was twenty-eight and he was nearly forty – yet it wasn’t the age difference that bothered her. In fact, she felt very secure in his presence because he was older. But even though she now sometimes shared his bed and was known to be his lover, his frequent entreaties for marriage made her freeze up enough that she could barely issue him a gentle and polite refusal. Marriage to him just didn't seem right to her, but she didn't know why.

She’d consciously known him for nearly a year now, and had apparently known him for years before that, but there was something holding her back when it came to the idea of commitment. Others would probably call her a fool – a rich, handsome husband with estates in York and Warwickshire, a castle in South Wales, an estate in Edinburgh and a luxury flat in London -- and he had more properties she didn't even know about elsewhere in the world.

Daniel Preston ran his deceased father’s Cardiff dockyards very well, his wool mills in Scotland and his scattered sheep-breeding farms and textile mills did good business. And then there were his many holdings in other countries to consider as well. Daniel was definitely a hands-on businessman. He took a genuine interest in the establishments that made him money and was gone a good majority of the time, checking up on his interests, settling labor disputes, looking for ways to improve production and thereby, profits. She’d accompanied him on some of his shorter trips in the United Kingdom, and found him to be brilliant entrepreneur.

He could set her up in luxury and pomp and indecent wealth for the rest of her life. The life he wanted to give her was not unappealing, but she couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't the right person for her. That someone else was out there, waiting for her to return to him.

And now her dreams almost seemed to come on a regular schedule. Dreams that were interesting and frightening at the same time. But then again, Dr. Boggs had said they would come back. Not true dreams, really, but memories that came back to her as dreams and then swiftly fade away. As to whether she would ever regain her entire memory again, that was an unknown. She had to be happy with what she could intermittently remember and what Daniel had told her. She could trust that and accept it.

For now.

With a sigh, she swung herself from the gigantic bed and padded to the master bath just off the bedroom, switching on the light and facing her reflection in the mirror. Slowly, she turned around to look at her left shoulder and saw the distinct, white, puckered scarring her fingers had traced a few moments before. She touched it again. Had the dream been more than a dream? Had it been an actual memory of her past? From the evidence, it seemed that it had been . . .

Scary thought. But exciting as well. Fear and excitement. Those two emotions seemed to be a natural combination for her. Could it possibly be that she'd been a . . . what was it? A slick, little commando Cobra girl who knew how to kick ass? Was she ex-military? The thought seemed . . . not alien to her. In fact, it almost felt downright comfortable.

The adrenaline high of running a covert mission . . . a feeling comparable to wild, fantastic sex. The danger and trickling fear . . . knowing that each moment could be your last. Jackie found her breathing had heightened and a tingling spread throughout her body. She closed her eyes, trying to bring back the vibrant green of the jungle, the feel of the humid afternoon air, the sound of the birds and the wind rushing through the palm and banana trees -- she felt her mind reach back to touch the dream . . . and she slammed back to reality abruptly.

Jackie switched the light off again, then went back to the bed, placing the pillows against the massive headboard and leaning back against them while she thought about what she'd 'seen.' After a moment, she reached to the bedside table and, opening a drawer, drew out a spiral notebook and pen. Licking her dry lips, she began to write down what she remembered of her dream. The notebook was half-full of her scribbles, and was something not even Daniel knew about. She hoped that one day she would be able to read them all and piece her life back together.

Michael.

Michael owed her a lobster dinner.

The memory of his name washed over her warmly, but then a slight chill enveloped her.

“Michael.” She whispered his name out loud. “Michael.”

She closed her eyes for a few moments, trying to call up a face to go with the name, but no image or memory of his appearance came to her. She concentrated hard enough to start sweating and the stress threatened to give her a headache before she gave the attempt up. Jackie went back to work writing down what she remembered of her dream, putting in every detail she could recall, and adding a note about the matching scar on her shoulder. When she was certain she could remember no more, she replaced the notebook and pen into the drawer and closed it. She drew her knees up to her chin, clasping her arms around them, rocking slightly back and forth as she thought about it all again.

“Who are you, Michael? Why does your name strike such a chord with me?” she asked herself and licked her lips again. “Why do I wish you were here? Even when I have no idea what you look like or what kind of man you are.”

She climbed from the king-size, cherry wood, four-poster and went to the wide French doors that opened onto the magnificent balcony. The coolness of the stone beneath her bare feet clung to her like the chilled wind that caressed her body. She wrapped her arms around herself, resting against the raised edge of the stone balcony rail. Looking off in the distance, the dark greens and blues of the rolling, ancient grounds held for her a long-forgotten magic. She was in the land of kings, queens, princes and princesses. Of dragons terrorizing the lands and of the gallant knights who slew them.

After a few more minutes of imaginary magic, she let out a sigh, watching as fog rolled over the glen and the wind grew colder. She returned to the warmth of the bedroom, shutting out the otherworldly realm she had kindled, slipping into the warmth of the bed. She reached over and turned the light off, settling into the warm comfort of her thick, feather pillows to sleep. She dreamed dreams from her soul, of winged horses, primeval forests and of a white knight who pursued her with a vengeance.

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

April 8, 1988
Los Angeles, California
Penthouse Suite, Bonaventure Hotel

Half the world away, a lone man stood on a cream-colored stucco and black wrought-iron balcony, inhaling the rich sea breeze the evening wind brought over the lively city. Despite his New England upbringing, California was truly his home these days. Though there was a feeling of newness California seemed to have about it, there was also a palpable savage oldness to the state as well.

Michael Coldsmith-Briggs the Third gave his empty wine glass a longing look before setting it on the patio table. He abruptly turned around, slipping through the open door and into his penthouse. Another reason why California was truly his home; the warm weather didn't wreak havoc on his injured leg. The TV rambled on, nothing more than a background noise. He’d put Casablanca into the VCR and let it run. Normally, he would have been hard at work going over status reports and reading about new projects or the newest terrorist cells sweeping the world, but today, his heart wasn't into keeping up with world events. Not even top secret ones. Today, it just seemed like a good day to brood.

Jackie had been gone nearly a year. No word, no sightings, nothing. She was presumed dead. He’d even had a memorial service, more for the sake of her friends and colleagues than for anyone else. But in his heart, Michael did not believe she was dead. He refused to believe it. He steadfastly believed she was alive. In what condition, he didn’t know. He didn’t have the slightest clue where she might have gone – or who it was that might have taken her. His father, young stepmother and two sisters had come to the memorial service, lending their support and Michael inevitably found himself alone with his father on a few evenings.

They talked. Michael’s father about his deceased mother and Michael about Jackie. On that first night, the elder Coldsmith-Briggs held his son in his arms as Michael had finally broken down into tears. The pressures of everything had finally become too much to be contained, and his rare emotional outburst didn't seem out of line to those who truly knew him. It was a moment between two men, a father and his son, and their mutual, private grief over the lost women they loved. When his family left a week later, Michael went back to his usual routine with little sign of the worry he was still feeling.

The drug that Sonja Thormann and Johann Gerlac had given Jackie as a convoluted attempt to locate Airwolf for Gerlac’s private collection had been her undoing. Even after Sonja had been murdered and Gerlac taken into custody, Jackie had unwittingly continued to consume the drug, laced in her loose-leaf teas and gourmet coffees that she loved. By the time Michael had realized that the hallucinogenic was still rampant in her system, it was too late. Jackie had wandered off into the sunrise. And someone must have been waiting for her, because he would not imagine for even one second that she had walked into the sea to drown. Not even under the influence of the Blue Star hallucinogenic.

No body had turned up anywhere and it wasn’t for lack of looking. On that first day, Michael had alerted the authorities all up and down the coast and put his entire division on high red alert. He downgraded it to yellow only a couple of months ago where it still stayed, and there it would remain until Jackie was found.

Dead or alive.

Michael went back to his desk, intent on trying to get some work done, but ended up picking up a photograph of the two of them taken shortly after their first night together. He settled back in his chair, studying it and smiling at the memories it brought back.

They'd been in Malibu, shopping and splurging and taking in the sights – buying a few paintings from the local artists. The Victorian mansion turned bed and breakfast they’d stayed in was gorgeous, and their turreted room had looked out over the ocean. It had been like a honeymoon. He’d never been so happy and he knew her happiness had been as complete as his.

She had gotten under his skin like no other woman ever had, and he loved her more than he'd ever loved anyone else. There was no doubt in his heart, in spite of their occasional flare-ups and misunderstandings, that she would ever walk away from their relationship. Yes, it had happened before when they'd gone through the first fumbling attempts at changing their relationship to a romantic one, but they'd gotten past that, he was sure of it. They had talked and talked for months before her disappearance and worked things out into a working relationship that had gotten stronger every day.

She wouldn't have just walked away, not that night.

Stringfellow Hawke, Dominic, Cait and Sinjin were very supportive. Sometimes, to his own surprise, Michael found that he spent what little spare time he had with them, going to the jazz clubs and the occasional dinner out. Perhaps he was doing so because of Jackie's association with them -- it would be a way to still remain connected to her though she was gone. But he knew that wasn't the only reason he chose to be in their company. They had joined the ranks of those he could truly call his friends, ranks that were damn small. There were so few people that he could truly trust.

It was all the fault of his job . . .

Michael heard the elevator to the penthouse suite sound and casually opened his desk drawer where his Walther P-38 lay. A moment later, there was a knock and he got up, gun in hand, to check the security camera for the short hall outside. Marella was there, tapping her foot in agitation. He unlatched the chain, turning the deadbolt to open it for her, clicking the safety on his gun as he did so. “C’mon in, Marella,” he invited. “What’s going on?”

She held up the videotape as she moved past him wordlessly, going straight over to the TV-VCR. She ejected the still-playing Casablanca as he shut and resecured the door behind her. “This was just broadcast by the BBC last night,” she told him, her voice on edge as she pushed the other tape inside the video-recorder. "It's about twenty-four hours old. We got lucky, Teresa just happened to catch it. It was actually home-taped and she sets her recorder to start five minutes before the show she wanted to tape is supposed to start. You might want to sit down for this," Marella indicated to the sofa. Michael came around the sofa and sat down, indicating that she should do the same.

“The Prince and Princess of Wales hosted a fox-hunt at Balmoral,” Marella told him softly, watching him as she picked up the remote for the VCR unit and sat down beside him. “There were only a few select people invited. The British press managed to get quite a bit of footage of the actual event and the Prince blooded the winner of the fox hunt.” They watched as a woman approached the Prince, curtsying despite the riding togs she wore. There was an angle change of the camera over Charles' shoulder and as the woman's head came back up to be blooded, Marella paused the tape.

Michael’s heart nearly stopped.

“Jackie.” Her name left his mouth in a breathless rush. He stared at the image for a few moments more, then grabbed Marella’s arm as he turned to her. “And who was she with?” he demanded in a strained, low voice. The look on his face was one of incredulous hope.

Marella swallowed. He wasn't going to take this part as well. “Lord Dunscombe. Also known as Sir Daniel Preston.”

“Graham Preston’s twin brother?!” Michael was astounded, then enraged. “That sick son-of-a-bitch!" he thundered. "This . . . this . . . I don’t know what this is! Some sick idea of revenge for his brother?!”

“Michael, calm down.” Marella’s voice steadied him. “He hasn’t harmed her. She seems very happy and fairly well, but we have no idea what effects the drugs she was taking last year have had on her. I have other people checking to see if anyone knows someone who might have gotten the full story on tape, but so far, no luck. We were fortunate we got what we did.”

“But why hasn’t she at least contacted me?” Michael’s was almost pleading for her to come up with answers as he rose to start pacing around the room, his mind trying to grasp what he'd seen and put it together with the young woman he knew so well.

“That drug she was taking played with her memory, remember?" Marella reminded him gently, watching him with some worry. She really hated it when he worked himself up into a state like this. "It did a lot of screwy things to her mind besides making her see things that weren’t there. Don’t assume the worst – and give her the benefit of the doubt. She loves you, Michael. You know she would never voluntarily jeopardize that.”

Michael had to concur despite his worry. “No. Not if she was in her right mind, she wouldn’t,” he agreed, finally stopping his pacing and leaning on his arms against the back of the sofa. “I need to think about the best course of action but I want our people in the United Kingdom on them all the time. I want to be able to know where they are every minute of every hour if I ask. And contact Boleman for me at MI-5. Put him through over a secure line to the penthouse as soon as you get hold of him. He owes me several favors, and it's time for him to start paying up."

“Right away, sir,” Marella replied resolutely, rising to leave.

“I’ll be in early tomorrow morning. Hopefully with some idea of how to approach this and with some things already in place,” Michael continued. He glanced at his watch. “I should contact Hawke and the others in the morning, as well. But otherwise, Marella . . . I don’t want anyone else to know about this. Just you, me and our agents in Britain. Keep as tight a cap on this as you can.”

When Marella left, Michael rewound the video, watching the familiar, slender form first on horseback and then in the company of the British royalty. He thought she was too thin, and he could see the beginning of circles under her eyes, but she looked untroubled, comfortable and at ease with where she was.

And that made Michael scowl, worried.

Happy. She looked damned happy.

Despite the ache in his leg, Michael nearly paced a hole in the penthouse carpet. He felt trapped in a conundrum of sorts. Jackie was over in England -- the images from the tape were vivid in his mind and he had to do something. He had to get her back if she really didn't remember why she was there, or at least get some explanation as to why she was over there with Daniel Preston of all people if she did have her memory intact. There were so many things he had to deal with, but he knew he didn't have enough information yet; there were too many unanswered questions. Did she still have any recollection of her past life -- her life with him? Even the tiniest spark? From the tape he had viewed, he had to think not. Damn it all, she looked happy, too happy to have any memory of her past if she missed it and him. But was it real? He had to find out, and the only way to find out was to go over there to England, see for himself or send someone in there.

Marella would be the obvious choice with her skills, but she would have to be very careful. She and Jackie were the best of friends and had always been very close. What would Jackie do if she saw Marella? Michael had seen what the sudden flood of memories could do to someone. Some people took it just fine, accepting what they'd done in the past and going on with their lives, but he'd seen others become catatonic and still others would wind up in fetal positions the rest of their lives. Could he do that to Jackie? How well could she take it? Had the drugs she'd been worn her down too much?

Michael blew out a sigh, the air ruffling his silver-blond moustache. He would take the chance with Marella going in under an assumed name, pull some strings and get her on the staff. If Jackie's memories started to flood back at the sight of Marella, then Marella could handle the situation and get her out of there. Marella had gotten him out of a few tight jams before with just her grace and charm, and she would pull no punches, either, when it came down to Jackie's welfare.

But he had to go there, too. There was no way he was going to stay behind, not this time. And that also meant taking Airwolf, he would need her in case everything went to hell over there and they had to get Jackie out in a 'snatch and grab.' Not to mention keeping Airwolf away from Zeus. If Michael went over to England, leaving Airwolf behind, Zeus would have his hounds out and systematically look through every nook and cranny to find the helicopter, and she was no longer as well hidden as she had been. Of course, that also meant getting Stringfellow, Sinjin, Cait and Dominic involved as well. Those four were inseparable and if one went, the others would follow. They were the perfect team -- and Michael knew, even if he didn't want to admit it, they would go along for him.

The ache in his knee finally got the better of him and he settled down on the couch, pulled out the remote again and watched the tape, studying Jackie's expressions.

The light in her eyes was there, a bit dim, but present. Her hair -- not so vibrant as he remembered, her ringlets a bit limp but not from sweat and her face was pale. The smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, but there were stress wrinkles prominently showing now.

No, she may have looked happy, but there was something lying beneath.

Michael's gut told him something was definitely rotten in Paradise, but just what was it?

He would have to find out himself and if finding out the truth caused Jackie pain, he would still do it.

And damn himself for it for the rest of his life.

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

April 9, 1988
Santini Air

“No way, Michael. There’s no way in hell she could be with him voluntarily unless she's been brainwashed again, or unless she really doesn’t remember her past with you.” Stringfellow Hawke’s voice was adamant.

They were sitting inside Santini’s airfield office over cups of strong Columbian Supremo, taking some time to talk before the first of the day's clients arrived for lessons. The day was starting out overcast and a little depressing, which, in spite of the company, wasn't helping Michael’s mood at all.

“It goes without saying I plan on going over there to retrieve her,” Michael told his friends. “But I have no definitive plan yet on how to do so, I don’t know anything at all about what her condition is. She didn't look like she was at death's door, but she could have looked better. I just don't know anything about her mental condition -- how much she remembers, how much she’s forgotten. I don’t want to turn Jackie into a screaming basket-case by going over there like gang-busters and dragging her home by the hair, but that's an option that I've got to leave open for an emergency.”

"She's been well trained by you, Michael," Dominic reminded him. "No matter what you hit her with, I think she'd take it with more calm than you think."

Michael's face was drawn, he was really worried about her now that he'd had a full night to worry and go over all the 'worst-case scenarios' that he'd come across in his almost thirty years with the Firm. "I can't bank on that if she's still on God-knows-what kind of drugs," he told them intently, his hands tightening on the half-mug of coffee that Hawke had poured him when he came in. "Marella did some research on that Blue Star, and I'm telling you. It's harder than hell to detoxify after you've ingested as much as Jackie has. If that's what she's still on, over a year's time and with the dosages probably being increased as her body becomes resistant to it -- I don't want to even think about what it would be like to get it out of her system."

"Well, we're all here to help you." Caitlin slipped her arm around his shoulders, sidling up to Michael's side in sympathy. "You just haven't kicked into analyst mode yet. When you do, and get more information on how she's really doing over there, you'll figure out what's going on, Michael."

"Cait, I don't even know if she remembers me." Michael's voice was low, filled with something very akin to dread. "For all I know, at this point, she's there because she wants to be there."

The redhead turned him around so he was facing her, taking the coffee mug out of his hands and setting it down on the low cabinet next to them. "You know that's horse-hockey, Michael. Now you listen to me. If I know one thing about Jackie, it's that she couldn't forget you if she tried. At her worst, she'll remember you. She'll have at least a glimmer."

Michael gave her a hard, but quick hug. "Thanks, Cait. I hope you're right."

"Cait's always right." Sinjin placed his hands on her waist and pulled her gently to his side as she let Michael go. "You can count on us, Michael, for whatever you need done. If we can help you in any way, we will. I, for one, owe you more than I can tell you."

"Sinjin speaks for all of us about that," Santini acknowledged firmly.

Footsteps sounded and they all turned towards the office door. It was Archangel's chauffeur with a portable phone. "For you, sir. It's Marella and she said it's urgent."

Michael's eyebrows rose as he took the phone. "Yes?" he asked and stood silently, listening. After a moment, he smiled, the expression lighting up his face and taking away most of his dour expression. "Put him through," he told her, then held a hand over the phone and turned to his friends. "Excuse me, I absolutely have to take this call," he said, then strode out the door. "Charles! It's so good of you to call me . . ."

He stepped out of the office and into the quiet of the big hangar.

Cait heaved a big sigh, wrapping an arm around Sinjin's back. "Boy, do you believe this? Michael must have turned over every stone he could here in the States, and Jackie's been in England all this time! How could she have been out of sight for that long?"

"Easy, if you're confined to a certain place and everyone thinks you're dead," Stringfellow answered. "And if she was as sick as she was when she was still here, she may have been bedridden for months, especially in the beginning. When she disappeared, Jackie was in such bad shape she couldn't even operate a car, Cait, and there was no way in hell we were going to let her try flying. Sometimes she'd hallucinate in the middle of something really normal, too, like doing dishes or making the bed. I saw it happen. It wasn't good."

"Why do you suppose Preston really kidnapped her to begin with?" Dom asked, looking completely perplexed as he leaned back in his office chair behind the desk. "You really think it was to avenge his brother's death? I mean, if that were the case, wouldn't he have killed her by now? Don't take me wrong, I'm glad he hasn't, but still, it doesn't make any sense."

Sinjin shook his head. "Who knows? Sounds like both brothers were cut out of the same bolt of cloth to me. Not a sane brain cell in their heads."

They were still musing over the situation when Archangel strode back in the office five minutes later. He seemed much calmer than before.

"Is your offer to help me still open?" the deputy director asked them evenly, taking a chair and leaning forward, elbows on knees, his look intense.

"Wide open," String answered. "What do you need us to do, Michael?"

"First off, I need for all of you to meet me later this evening at Knightsbridge," he replied. "I have to meet with the Committee first and straighten out some things in my Department before we can start on this. I'll have Marella contact you when everything's in order."

"You've already got some ideas?" Dom queried.

"Yes, and if the intelligence I just got is accurate, we may just be able to pull this off," he told them, heaving a deep sigh.

"Count us in," Cait told him, catching his bespectacled gaze. "No matter what, Michael, we're with you."

"I'll talk with you later tonight, then." He nodded, rose, and poked the floor with his cane for a moment, gaze downcast, before he looked up and caught the eyes of each of them in turn. "Thank you, all of you. You'll never know how grateful I am for all the help you've given me already."

Turning, he strode out the door again, crossing the hangar and disappearing into the air-conditioned interior of his white limo. They watched as it lumbered through the chain-link fence of the airfield and onto the freeway, heading back toward L.A.

"Damn," Dom swore softly. "Can you believe it?"

"Believe what, Dom?" Sinjin asked, chin resting in the juncture of Cait's shoulder.

Dom's serious look disappeared as he gave a grin. "I've never seen Michael that humble. Didn't know he had it in him."

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

Downtown L.A. Knightsbridge Office
That night

It was almost nine o'clock when the String, Dom, Cait and Sinjin all filed into Michael's pristine office where a small table set up with coffee and sandwiches waiting for them. Michael and Marella were conversing at his desk and as the group came in and availed themselves to the food and drink. Marella went over to shut the door to the office.

"So what's the plan, Michael?" Stringfellow asked, as the group settled into their waiting chairs. "Can you tell us more of what's going on?"

"Here's what we know," Michael said, leaning back in his white leather chair as Marella came to take the one beside the desk, facing the group. "Daniel Preston showed up with Jackie at his Yorkshire estate late last summer, about the time she vanished from here. The story being circulated around is that she contacted him, and that he was an old family friend. I do remember Daniel being around a time or two when we had a few social get-togethers with the staff and pilots affiliated with the Airwolf program -- you remember him, don't you Hawke?"

Hawke nodded affirmatively. "Yeah . . . didn't pay much attention though, I only went to one of those parties. I just remember twin Prestons being there."

"Well, apparently the story is that when Jackie contacted him, she was desperate to get away from here, and Daniel accommodated her. I guess by the time he got his hooks into her, Jackie's mind was pretty much gone because of the drug. According to the staff gossip, she didn't even know her own name when she first arrived." Michael paused, one finger smoothing over his moustache. "We got lucky here, one of his staff has a cousin in MI-5, and they were able to reach them and ask some questions. We've been told he's had her under the care of specialists . . . and that her condition does seem to be improving. But she doesn't remember a damn thing about how she got there, and Preston keeps her very close and very cloistered. So, I've arranged for Daniel's private physician, who's been caring for her, to obtain a royal appointment to the Prince and Princess of Wales as a member of the royal court. It's bogus, of course, they would never take the man, but it will get him out of our way. Marella will be taking his place on high recommendation, and she'll be our source on the inside."

"You don't think Jackie will recognize her?" Sinjin asked, frowning, as the younger Hawke gave Marella a faintly worried look.

"Frankly, no. Daniel Preston is an exact twin of his brother Graham, the man Jackie killed a couple years ago. If she doesn't recognize him, I don't think she'll recognize Marella, either," Michael assured them.

"And where does that leave everyone else?" Cait queried. "What's do you need us to do to be in this, Michael?"

"This is going to be a long-term trip," Michael answered. "So I guess my first question is this -- Dom, can you get someone to run your airfield for at least four to six months?"

Dom stared at him for a moment, startled. "Wow, Michael. You don't want much, do you?" he blurted out.

Michael's eyes closed, his head falling back against the back of the chair. "All right, then, Dominic. Forget it. My plan can be revised."

Dominic paused, watching Michael's expression and considering what was being asked. "OK -- what if I said yes?" the older man allowed, his tone growing more thoughtful.

"The reason I ask that, first off, is that the rest of you would be going over there with me as my family," Michael told them, opening his eye and shifting forward to lean his elbows on the desk. "I want as many people there as I can get that Jackie will eventually come to recognize. It could bring her memory back more swiftly, especially if she sees everybody on an almost-daily basis. I've been talking to some experts this afternoon, and they've told me that even if she doesn't recognize you all right off, she would have a sort of 'I can trust these people' feeling around you that would make her more receptive to us than she would be to a total stranger."

"Makes sense," Sinjin agreed, nodding. "I've seen it happen in the past, over in the camps."

"You and Stringfellow will be my younger brothers," Michael told him. "Cait, you will be Sinjin's fiancée." He smiled at this, noting her grin. "Yes, that's not stretching the truth much, from what I've heard of late. And Dominic -- you're going to be my Italian-American uncle. Think you can pass yourself off as well-to-do?"

"As long as I don't have to keep up appearances as being a snob for long periods of time," Santini grumbled.

"You won't. You can pretty much be your old self. Italians are known for their warmth and ebullience," Michael told him teasingly, smiling sweetly. "Besides, we're passing ourselves off as American royalty."

String had to smile. "OK. When do we leave?"

"Not for awhile because I have to get Marella situated over there first, but hopefully in the next week or two. You all need to be outfitted with wardrobes, I need to create the documentation and paperwork for our cover, and you need to be briefed on your backgrounds and some British etiquette. Now, first things first. Marella, Sam and I will be taking you all up to Rodeo Drive Monday morning for wardrobing. Normally, I would just make a phone call and have Sam take your sizes, but we've never done anything like this with any of you before, and we'll need to do some color checks to be sure we get things right. We'll pick up more clothing in York when we arrive if you need it, some of the shops there are fabulous. When can you start making arrangements for your airfield, Dominic?"

"I'll call a meeting late Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning," Dom replied. "I should have some idea of what I can do by then, but I don't have a lot of people working for me outside of this crew, you know."

Michael nodded, his look thoughtful. "I know. If nothing else, we can staff your airfield with my personnel. I have a number of people who would consider the kind of work Santini Air deals with to be a vacation. Including a couple of really good pilots."

Dominic rolled his eyes. "That's just what I need. The CIA crawling all over my airfield."

"Okay, now here's the big kicker," Michael stated, watching their reactions in turn. "We're taking Airwolf over with us."

They all stared at him, their expressions united in stunned disbelief by this idea. Michael was unflinching under their gazes."Why," Sinjin asked, the first to get his voice back, "would you want to take Airwolf over there? Won't the Committee have a cow? Or the Brits? She's a war bird, after all."

"Actually, the original concept of Airwolf was to pass as an executive aircraft," Michael reminded him. "That's why the sheep-in-wolf's-clothing logo. I think it would be a lot safer with us, instead of leaving her safety to chance over here while we're gone. And it's yet another familiar thing for Jackie to contemplate. There's an airfield in New York we'll stop at to refuel before continuing on over to England. There we'll stop at Heathrow, where there's a government airstrip and containment we can use to refuel again before we head to York. I'm working on getting us a place where we can safely stay and keep her secure on site as well. Now, anybody have any questions?"

"Probably about a hundred after we leave," Cait replied, grimacing, "but I can't think of any right now."

"Well, write them down and you can ask me Monday," Michael told her. "I guess we're set for now, then. I'll brief you all as necessary over the next few days on different things you need to know. You can study your personal files we're putting together for you by Monday, too. I'm going to have you quizzed thoroughly, too, so be prepared." He rubbed his eye underneath his glasses. "Damn. I'm getting a headache again." Marella reached into a desk drawer and retrieved an aspirin bottle, but Michael waved it away. "Uh-uh. I've taken too many of those things as it is. My blood's like water by now."

"You've been taking the wrong kind of aspirin. Excedrin will kick it," she told him.

He nodded. "OK. Find me some? Thanks."

Marella exited the office as Dom forward in his chair, catching Michael's eye. "Michael, why don't we just grab Jackie out of there and leave?" he asked. "I'm surprised you'd just leave her over there in Preston's hands."

"I don't want to. There's nothing I'd like better than to grab her and run. But there are several reasons why my hands are tied. First and foremost," Michael said, his look frustrated, "if Preston's motivation were revenge, there's no question she'd be dead by now. She's not. She seems to be functional and maybe more than halfway healthy. She hardly looked as though she were being mistreated in the tape snippet we got, and I've been told the same by others who have seen her. It could be, for whatever reason, she's decided to stay with him. If she's there voluntarily . . ."

"Which she's not," Cait reprimanded strongly.

Michael held up his hand to forestall further comments. "But if she is, I'm not going to try and change her mind. She owes me a hell of an explanation, and I want to know why, but it's her choice."

"She was messed up on drugs, Michael. No way is she there voluntarily," Stringfellow told him firmly. "She'd never choose Preston over you. You know it and I know it and so does everybody in this room."

"I'm pretty sure that's the case," Michael concurred, but Hawke could hear the note of uncertainty and maybe even a little fear in his voice. "But we don't know what she's on or what it's doing to her. It could be more damaging to grab her and run. Until we know exactly what it is we're dealing with, we've got to take this slow." Though he knew he shouldn't even be giving credence to it, Michael felt his uncertain fear stab at him again, and he did his best to keep from showing it. He knew Jackie wasn't over there of her own volition, that the drugs were responsible for her state of mind. But in the back of his brain, he couldn't stem the thought. What if she's there of her own free will?

"How soon is Marella going to hop over?" String queried.

"In a few days. Boggs' has already received his 'royal' appointment," Michael replied. "He won't make it two miles out of town before we have him."

Marella reentered the office with two Excedrin and a glass of water, handing them to her boss. "Our people are working on my documentation as we speak," she told him, having overheard them as she'd come in. You should be getting a phone call tomorrow from your friend at MI-5, sir. About the housing request you made."

"Good. I want all the details sewn up as soon as possible." Michael downed the Excedrins, followed with the entire glass of water. "That's it, then. We'll meet you at Giorgio Armani on Rodeo Drive Monday morning about nine o'clock. We'll break for lunch about one and then do some more serious shopping."

As the foursome exited Michael's office and made their way down to the front lobby elevators that would take them to the massive employee-parking garage, not a word was said until they piled into the jeep.

"Something doesn't feel right." String didn't turn on the ignition. "Preston's got Jacks for a reason. Not for revenge, I don't think. Maybe he's gotten sweet on her. Maybe he's keeping her for that reason alone, but I don't think so. I think there's a lot more at play here. Or if there isn't now, there will be."

"You're probably right," Dominic acknowledged somberly beside him. "But what?"

Hawke shook his head. "I'm not sure yet, Dom. Not yet."

He started the jeep and they zoomed out of the parking garage, making their way down the curved drive to the guard-gate and then out onto the main drive.

It was gonna be a damn long year.

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

April 11, 1988
9:00 a.m. , Rodeo Drive

Marella leaned forward a bit, looking over at the mild argument going on at the second gate going into the private garage of one of the most exclusive men's shops in L.A. "Looks like our timing was good. I don't think this has been going on for too long," she told Archangel, who seemed to be torn between exasperation and amusement at the moment.

"Long enough that Hawke's getting a ramrod up his back in annoyance," he told her, and opened the window to speak to the guard there to wave them through. "Those gentlemen are with me," he told the man firmly. "And the lady will be joining my companion for shopping in other stores."

The guard blinked. "Um, yes, sir," he acquiesced, surprised, and turned to call to the other guard. "Let them through!" he told the second guard. "They're guests!"

The second guard half-turned, did a double take, then stepped back and released the gate in front of the Santini Air jeep. "Follow the limo, then," he told Hawke, sweeping them through. Sam took the limo down into the garage and Stringfellow followed it.

"You weren't waiting long, I hope," Michael told them as everyone got out of their vehicles.

"A few minutes," Dominic told him, letting Sinjin and Caitlin out of the back of the jeep. "Long enough for that guard to start gettin' on String's nerves."

"I'm sorry. I should have called and warned them you were coming," Michael apologized. "The Santini Air jeep is distinctive enough that they wouldn't have hesitated to let you through if I had."

"You can't go thinking of everything all the time," Stringfellow let him off the hook, shrugging his shoulders. He let some of the tension run out of him. "Don't like the idea of even coming here, though," he added. "This place don't carry the kind of clothing I'm used to wearing."

Now it was Michael's turn to look irritated. "Hawke, for the most part, you'll be able to wear what you always wear," he told the younger man. "But England is well known for its high society events, and you don't have the right kind of clothing to go attending socials over there. And we will be expected to attend them, if invited, otherwise we'll attract far too much of the wrong kind of attention. If we end up staying into Fall, there are also hunts and trekking events, and we know from finding Jackie at that foxhunt at Balmoral that she attends those and other equestrian events. Which means you'll all need riding coats, hats and properly fitted saddles."

"Hey, wait just one minute here," Caitlin stated, her Texas accent coming through loud and clear. "I ain't riding in one of those tiny postage stamp saddles . . ."

"No, I wasn't going to do that to you," Michael assured her, shaking his head with a laugh. "Oh, the English are going to love you, Cait! About a week before we go over, since we have some time to prepare for this trip, I'll be sending Joker over to the estate I'm arranging for us to use. Complete with his gear and yours from the ranch. I don't know what the English are going to make of the two of you, though. Most of them will have never seen anything like him."

Caitlin grinned. "Well, we're just going to have to show them what a real work horse is like," she told him. "Bound to be something over there we can use to show them what a good cutting horse can do."

"I'll warn you, it may well be sheep," Michael said as they went into the store proper, grinning at her derisive snort. Like most Texans, she had a low opinion of sheep, it seemed.

The doorman held open the door, greeting Michael with a stock 'Good to see you again, sir,' while managing not to blink at the sight of the rag-tag group that followed him. They paused just inside the store, gathering around Michael. "All right. Samantha, you're going to stay with us, but Marella, you have the list I gave you for Caitlin and yourself?" he asked, then nodded as she patted her purse. "Good. You have that card for it, and don't forget that special shop, and the minimums I gave you." His serious look melted into a smile. "I'm being generous, I expect you two to take advantage of it."

Marella grinned. "Yes, sir," she agreed, taking Caitlin's arm in hers. "Come on, we've got some serious shopping to do . . ."

"Minimums?" Stringfellow asked as the two ladies headed out.

"I don't expect either of them to go over wearing anything less than first-class clothing," Michael apprised him staunchly. "The English judge fast by first impressions in some circles. I don't want anyone snubbing either of them, and Marella, unfortunately, already has one strike against her. There aren't many people of color, women in particular, in high society over there."

"Hmph," Hawke acknowledged grumpily, following Michael into the inner areas of the men's store, Sinjin following him while Santini brought up the rear, offering Samantha his arm.

"Special shop?" the older man asked her, his voice low enough so that the others wouldn't notice.

"Are you familiar with Frederick's of Hollywood?" she asked, smiling back, then leaned over to speak softly into his ear. "Michael thought that Sinjin would appreciate the kind of garments they sell, and told Marella Caitlin was to spend at least a thousand there alone . . ."

Dominic whistled. "Talk about fanning the flames," he stated, grinning. "Oh, Sinjin is going to love the results of that stop."

"That's the whole idea," Samantha confirmed. "However, there is one thing that Archangel has forgotten, and Marella and I realized that this morning. That is, he, himself, is going to need a new wardrobe. As you well know, he wears little that isn't pure white . . ."

Mischief began to light up Dominic's eyes. "But he can't do that over there, word would likely get back to Preston. It wouldn't take much for the man to figure out who the one-eyed stranger in white is."

"Exactly," Sam said, nodding.

Dominic chuckled again. "Oh, this is going to be interesting . . ."

Samantha smiled and followed along to offer her own advice and to watch the fun.

It was a long morning. Sinjin wasn’t too bad to deal with, but Stringfellow wanted nothing to do with the idea of three-piece suits. They finally agreed on two-piece suits for the brothers and found a nice dark blue three piece for Dominic, but then the surprises began.

"What about yourself, Michael?" Santini asked before they moved on.

Michael blinked. "I have plenty of suits," he informed the older Italian, his tone of voice not quite hiding his surprise.

"Any of them any color but white?" Dominic teased, grinning. "Hadn't thought of that, had you?" he asked, pressing his momentary advantage when Michael started at the question. "You can't be in white all the time over there. Preston's not so stupid as to not figure out who a one-eyed man in white with a cane showing up around his estate has to be . . ."

Hawke chuckled at Michael's look. It wasn't often that someone managed to catch him that flat-footed. "He's right, you know," he pointed out.

Michael had to admit it, too. "Yeah, and that's what scares me . . ."

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

"Good God, do women really wear these things?" Caitlin asked, holding up a peek-a-boo bra in a raging shade of red. "I mean . . . under normal clothes?"

She knew the answer before Marella even replied to it, the question was purely rhetorical. But it was good cover for her embarrassment. Though the thought had crossed her mind more than once to visit such an outlet, Cait had never quite had enough nerve to do it, especially alone.

Marella chuckled. "You'd be surprised, Cait. Wearing extraordinary things under everyday clothes makes a woman feel . . . sexy. Desirable. More than a little bit naughty." Her smile deepened. "Of course, wearing it for your man is a nice thing, too. It makes him feel like you've been thinking about him, when you wear that sort of thing."

The saleswoman had been accommodating, pointing out certain items marked down on sales racks and other specialty items that were tucked in 'out of the way' areas, then told them when they were ready to go see the special room in the back to let her know. If they needed anything, they were to just call for her. Then, she left them on their own to explore this garden of delight.

Cait's attention was caught by a silky black negligee with a halter-top and flyaway front, replete with skimpy little crotchless panties. There was also one in purple and black and yet another in scarlet.

"Which do you think?" she asked Marella, holding them up.

Marella folded her arms. "I believe Michael's instructions were 'at least a thousand dollars worth. Get all three of them."

Cait gave a small whoop of laughter. "All right!" she enthused and her eyes shone with mischief. After she picked out six pairs of lace slippers in varying colors, Marella held out a silky multi-color sarong-like skirt with a matching bra top to her. As they added it to her steadily growing pile of clothes, the saleswoman's smile was getting more and more broad.

"Must work on commission," Marella intimated with a wink, as they looked over yet another rack. This one had silk nightgowns with sexy thigh-high stockings, high arm gloves and garters to match, and she found a lovely deep green outfit that brought out the highlights of Caitlin's red hair.

"Oh, God! Look at this!" Caitlin took an item from the rack. "It's a Merry Widow! Sinjin will have a stroke!"

"Hey, at least he'll go with a grin on his face," Marella said, eyes shining as she laughed. "Or . . . hey. You could save it for the nuptials."

"He hasn't even asked me, yet." Despite Cait's usual openness, she now blushed a little, shifting her eyes away. "Honestly. I'm beginning to think maybe I should ask him."

"You wouldn't be the first woman to do that," Marella pointed out with a smile for memories of recent occurrences . . .

"Yeah, but . . . well, Sinjin's a little like Dom when it comes to things like that. Old-fashioned. I don't want to rush him," Cait said thoughtfully.

"Get it anyway," Marella advised. "You'll be sorry if you don't. Now -- about that specialty room . . ."

The specialty room, as they found out, housed costumes . . . French maid outfits, harem costumes, Cleopatra trappings, even cop outfits. The range was from the very demure little Catholic schoolgirl costumes to Dominatrix fashions, whips included. Both women laughed, a little embarrassed, nevertheless inspecting the offerings.

Cait caught Marella fingering the black latex and heavily metallic dominatrix outfit when she thought Cait wasn't looking. "What about you?" she asked the dark woman innocently.

Marella looked at her blankly as she came over to help Caitlin with her future purchases. "What about me?"

"Shouldn't you be indulging a bit?"

The other woman frowned, not sure why Caitlin was asking this. "Why?"

"Marella." Cait's voice lowered. "Tell me something. Do you make it a habit to snatch the Angel One helicopter without Michael being in it?"

A look of utter surprise widened Marella's eyes. "When . . .?"

"Found out last New Year's. Sinjin and I were heading up to the cabin and, well . . . we saw the helicopter and knew Michael was in Virginia with his family. Figured it had to be you. And we turned away before even String's sharp hearing could tell we were there . . . especially if you had him distracted at the time."

Marella's face got darker, showing her heavy blush at the thought. "Oh, God. That was supposed to be a secret."

"It still is," Cait assured her quickly, reaching out to lay a steadying hand on Marella's arm. "We haven't told anyone. Does Michael know?"

Marella stared at her as if she were crazy. "Are you insane? He'd have my head on a silver platter if he found out! I just figured we'd have a quickie wedding in Vegas before Michael discovered we were seeing each other and tried to do something about it."

Caitlin laughed delightedly. "You're scared of Michael's reaction!"

"You're damn right I am!" Marella shook her head with a wry grin. "He'd kill both of us!"

"Why?" Caitlin demanded. "It's about damn time Stringfellow got past that 'I'm jinxed' phobia of his, and you're just the woman to get him to do it, too. Sinjin and I were both delighted when we realized what was going on. As for Michael . . . well, your personal life is none of his business now, is it?" she asked firmly.

"No, it's not. But I do care about what he thinks. He's been like a big brother to me since I joined the Angel Corps. Always looking after my interests."

"Yeah, well, big brothers can be so overprotective sometimes, they don't have a clue as to what's good for us," Cait replied. "Now come on, let's find you a thing or two here as well, shall we? Like maybe a choke chain and a leash for String to go with that latex outfit you were looking at? I'm pretty sure you already got the handcuffs . . ."

They explored awhile longer and were taking a look at some of the feather boas displayed on one wall when Cait voiced her big question, the one that she'd had since they discovered what was going on.

"You know, I never would have thought you and String . . . what happened? Or you can tell me to mind my own business, if you want to," Cait told her, realizing that she was being a little too intensely personal.

"It was a surprise to both of us, too," Marella confessed with a sigh that seemed to be just a little nostalgic. "It was so weird. Almost too weird."

Cait finally decided on the harem outfit for herself and added it to the rapidly growing collection. "I've still got my Texas Police uniform," she told Marella with a grin. "So . . . spill it, Marella. What happened?"

"Remember that big blowout Jackie and Michael had last year?" Marella asked, voice suddenly quiet, her face growing more serious.

"When Michael found out . . . oh, God, Marella. You mean when Michael found out String and Jackie . . ." She would never have guessed that incident would lead to something between String and Marella, Michael's right arm.

"Yeah. I went to String after that happened and reamed him out bigtime," Marella admitted, looking away from her and shaking her head. "I mean, it was bad. I don't think I've raised my voice like that before or since. I really let him have it, Cait."

"I don't think any of us knew what to make of that," Cait said, now a bit subdued. "It was so unexpected. And everybody was miserable because of it."

"String and I both said some pretty hurtful things," Marella told her, looking through some of the wigs available. "He came to apologize the next night. We both did some major apologizing, and wound up getting closer and closer as we got more and more tired. Needless to say, when we both woke up in the morning, we were positively shocked at the position we found ourselves in. And then . . ." She dropped off, eyes faraway.

Cait waited for a few moments, then prodded gently. "What?"

"That's the first time I ever called in to work sick when I wasn't," Marella said, quietly. "String and I made love all day. And all night. And he got out of my apartment late the next morning. I was lying there, after he left, and I still couldn't believe it. And then I was terrified he'd act like nothing had happened when I next saw him. Like that was it."

"String's not like that," Cait said, a little awed by Marella's admission.

"I knew that. My mind knew that. My heart was something else again and needed a bit more convincing. So then he calls me that night and tells me to get dressed, he's taking me out to dinner. He knew I liked sushi, so he took me to a real high-end place just out of town on the coast. Afterwards, we sat on the beach right below the restaurant and talked for hours. In that one night, we got to know one another really well." She smiled, turning her eyes on the redhead. "We're still learning from each other."

"How wonderful," Cait murmured, noting Marella's shining eyes.

"Yeah, it really is. It's just been stressful keeping it under wraps so that word didn't get back to Michael."

"Well, nobody's going to hear it from me," Caitlin assured her. "I think it's just great the two of you have yourselves in each other's lives. God knows String needed somebody. I didn't think he was ever going to get over . . . Gabrielle."

"I don't think he did." Marella smiled. "I don't know as I even want him to. She was a very special woman, to more people than just String. He shouldn't forget her. She brought so much good to his life."

"That's really generous of you, Marella. I don't know a whole lot of women that would feel that way," Cait told her, and she suddenly felt a lot closer to her.

"I know what it's like to lose somebody you love." Marella's voice was quiet and thoughtful, her eyes veiled with remembered pain.

Marella didn't elaborate further and Cait knew when to back off. By the time they got to the register, having picked up a few stray pairs of panties and bras for good measure, the bill came to just under fifteen hundred.

"Michael will be pleased," Marella told her with a glowing smile.

"I just hope he doesn't ask to see the stuff I bought."

"He won't. He wants it to be a surprise for your fiancé," Marella reminded Cait. She glanced at her watch. "It's about twelve-thirty. I think we have enough time to stash these in the limo before we meet the boys for lunch . . ."

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

With Michael now drawn into getting new gear, Stringfellow's mood, at least, started to get a bit more cheerful. Used to buying pretty much just one color, Michael had to be encouraged into looking at other clothing and broaden his horizons a bit. His second favorite color seemed to be blue, but Dominic, grinning, challenged him to give black a try as well.

"Hey, if nothing else, it's Jackie's favorite color," he pointed out gleefully.

"I . . . normally wouldn't consider wearing black at all," Michael answered. "It's never been my color . . ."
Sinjin caught the emphasis, but didn't comment. He'd come to respect the man, but wasn't sure if this was something he should ask about, given the reluctance Michael was showing on the subject and how private he was about some things.

"You never know until you try!" Dominic encouraged, grinning like a maniac.

Oh, Dominic was enjoying himself and every one of them knew it. Sam, trailing along after them, was definitely having trouble keeping a straight face when Michael was looking in her direction.

In all fairness, the group didn't keep Michael completely from the light colors he preferred. Polo shirts in white, cream and tan were okayed by the group, but yellow was barred.

"Doesn't go with your coloring at all," String told him. "Any shade of blue at all will work, though. Or gray."

They spent more money than any of them expected, Sam going off and returning with big suitcases that their new 'duds' were divided into, each one labeled with their names as the cashier rang items. Suits went into garment bags and they were assured that everything would be laundered to take the 'newness' out of them. "When they're done, everything will be perfectly fine, but the creases from hanging on the racks won't be in them anymore," Sam explained with a smile.

"Everything will be shipped over ahead of us," Michael informed them. "We won't have to deal with taking anything except an overnight bag ourselves."

"Good, I hate packing luggage," Dominic told him, grinning. "Where next?"

"Saddlery shop," Michael told them, smiling. "I have a saddle, of course, and so does Caitlin, but you three need to be fitted for proper saddles over there."

"Now wait a minute. I don't ride horses, I ride helicopters," Dominic pointed out hastily.

"Yes, and we'll be getting a couple of those new as well," Michael assured him. "I have an idea that should suit you, Dominic. It's something that's come over fairly recently from Australia, of all places. It's called a cattleman's saddle. It's made like an English saddle but has the cantle and horn of a western saddle as well so you'll have something to hang onto."

"And what about Sinjin and me?" Stringfellow asked, amused.

"You could go either way," Michael apprised him. "I just need to get a new riding coat and hat, but to be honest . . . Sinjin, you'd cut a fine figure riding in a hunt, though I don't know that you'd like the sport. In fact, I'm fairly sure that none of you would like hunting unless you were just in it for the ride, not the kill. But you, Stringfellow, I just can't picture you in an English hunting coat at all. Or Dominic either."

"Neither of us are much for riding horses," String pointed out. "Cait, she's going to want to ride, especially if Jacks is riding a lot over there and you ship Cait's horse over. So will Marella, but I don't think Dom and I will be going out much unless it's slow pleasure riding."

"I think you may be right," Michael had to agree, and checked his watch. "Wow, later than I thought. OK, we need to go meet up with the ladies, we have reservations for lunch in just half an hour."

"What about the suitcases?" Sinjin asked.

"When I went out to get them, I called back to the office," Sam answered. "There's a van out by the limo to take it all back, and anything else you get as well." Sam looked over at Michael. "I didn't think you were planning on going this all out . . ."

"No, but I should have. Thank you for taking care of this for me," Michael told her. "Now, let's go find the other two and get some lunch before we hit that saddle shop."

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

Spago's Restaurant
A little later that afternoon

Sitting at a back table, her back against the wall, the woman had the best view of the group as they entered Spago's, her eyes going fractionally wide, then narrowing as she realized who this lot had to be. She recognized Archangel at once, there wasn't anyone else in this huge city who looked like that, with his white suit and blackened eye lens. The two women with the group in white, they were Angels, from Archangel's special corps of women operatives, handpicked, hand-trained and absolutely dedicated to him. Only once had she ever heard of one of them turning against him.

The other four, though . . . could it be? Yes, the blue jacket on the old man was a dead giveaway with its 'Santini Air' logo printed on the back.

This was Airwolf's crew.

Now that she placed them, she looked at each more carefully, matching them with information she knew from her sources.

The slightly shorter, darker-haired man had to be Stringfellow Hawke. Master combat pilot, he could fly almost any aircraft ever made, including fighter jets, planes, helicopters of every sort, ultra-lights, airliners and parachutes. If it flew, she'd been told, he'd piloted it at one point or another. But his specialty was a very special, one-of-a-kind, armored helicopter that certain people around the world would pay a fortune to get their hands on. He was good at hand-to-hand and stayed that way through training. He was also a fine marksman. And he wasn't, she'd been told, afraid to kill.

The redheaded woman was Caitlin O'Shaughnessey, secondary pilot for Airwolf in most cases, though she and the old man had been known to trade off and she knew the engineering section as well. Ex-state trooper, she flew helicopters and small planes of all sorts, and was highly skilled with hand-to-hand and on the gunnery range. She didn't have the younger Hawke's ruthlessness, however, and preferred not to kill anyone if she had the choice.

The tall blond with her had to be Sinjin Hawke, the older of the two brothers. MIA for nearly sixteen years, this was a veteran who had more than earned the respect he was given. He was a good pilot, though not up to his younger brother's level, and a deadly hand-to-hand expert. After a decade and a half in Viet Nam's hellhole prison camps, he was a man who valued life and freedom and wouldn't abide anything that threatened, either. Between Sinjin and his brother, if it came to a threat, the elder of the two would likely be the first to shoot, and it would be to kill.

Dominic Santini was the old man, owner of Santini Air and employer in the 'real world' of the other three. World War Two and Korean War veteran, he was the one who had taught the Hawke brothers to fly, and when it came to vintage, he knew them all. These days, he mostly seemed to be sticking to flying those vintage crafts for movies, though she understood the big Italian spent a lot of time on Airwolf's back boards, running the engineering station. A master avionics engineer, he was also the primary force that kept the aircraft in pristine condition without the mass of techs that most everyone was sure would be needed for such a complex aircraft.

Her look thoughtful now, she shifted her gaze back to the master of the group: Archangel. Now, there would be a real challenge to deal with. He'd been through dozens of missions over the last thirty years or so, and only caught a half dozen times that she knew of. Three of those times had been in the past four years, since he'd started working with this crew. Airwolf was his pride and joy, and he'd put his heart and soul into its creation, only to have it nearly kill him when Moffett stole it and flew away to Libya.

Poor boy, he'd never even gotten the chance to fly her himself. Archangel had chosen to build Airwolf because of his love of helicopters and flying them, and she'd been used to destroy any chance he had of flying them when that shard of glass had taken out his left eye.

Picking up her glass of Chardonnay, she turned her eyes back to her companions, a pair of Mutt 'n' Jeff bruisers who acted as her bodyguards in the city. "Target?" the larger of the pair asked her, raising an eyebrow as the smaller glanced over his shoulder to examine the group himself.

"A possibility," she concurred softly. "I'll have to see if he's interested in paying my price this time. I understand he was quite put out when they brought the brother home, but the helicopter wasn't returned as was promised. Michael argued that it had been stolen too many times and was too dangerous to be on the loose. Apparently, the President agreed."

"Presidents change," the smaller bruiser pointed out.

"Bush isn't likely to lose, and he'll keep to Reagan's policy in this. And he isn't likely to wait four years to see if he can get the next president after Bush to take his side." She took another sip of her wine. "No. This time, I think he'll pay."

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

The stylish and elegant Spago's restaurant was situated on Sunset Boulevard, about a fifteen-minute jaunt from Rodeo Drive, and was a haven for many a celebrity. Their table was near a front window, affording them plenty of light, considering the day was overcast. Michael had reserved a semi-private alcove, screened off discreetly on one side, but still affording something of a view of the dining area. Cait couldn't help but turn her head as Bruce Willis and Dan Akroyd walked by their table. Melanie Griffith came in a bare five minutes later followed by Harrison Ford.

Mr. Ford noticed Michael and immediately came over to them, shaking Michael's hand and inquiring after his health. After about three minutes of introductions and quiet chitchat, he shook Michael's hand again, told him to take care and spied his luncheon partner on the other side of the room. "I'll call you. We'll do lunch," he promised Michael with a wink as he left them.

Caitlin was having heart palpitations. "You actually know Harrison Ford?" She asked in a breathless voice, unable to believe what she had just seen.

"He asked me to consult with him on a possible upcoming movie role," Michael replied. "In the interest of authenticity."

"Damn, Michael, is there anybody you don't know?" Santini asked, shaking his head. Even he was a fan of Harrison Ford and the older man had made a herculean effort to keep his jaw from dropping when the actor had meandered over to their table.

Michael shrugged. "I'm sure there's a few. My business takes me to a lot of different social circles, Dominic." He put down his menu. "Everybody know what they want for lunch? I'd advise eating hearty, we have some serious shopping to do yet this afternoon."

The eating experience was a pleasure in itself and Michael told them since he was picking up the check, the sky was the limit and to order whatever and however much they pleased. He started with roasted beets with goat cheese as an appetizer, moving on to a lobster club sandwich with a glass of Puligny Montrachet. Dom shared his bottle of wine along with a Saffron Risotto with sweet shrimp and a vegetable salad. String went for the Striped Bass entrée, Marella with the Seared Red Tuna and Sam ordered the Lobster Cobb Salad. Cait, a bit overwhelmed by the diverse -- and expensive -- selection, finally settled on a Grilled Ribeye, which was the house special. A bit overwhelmed, Sinjin ordered the same.

As they waited for their lunches, Michael settled back and looked the group over appraisingly. He couldn't have a better team, and he knew it. None of them had to do this. They didn't really owe him anything and he had no favors with them to cash in for their help. But here they were. This was a major disruption in their lives and they were willing to put up with it -- for him, and for Jackie. How would he ever repay them for what they were about to embark upon? How did a mere thank you suffice?

"I'm arranging for us to work with a small group of people from British Intelligence and Interpol," he informed them in an even tone, trying to keep a rare, emotional break out of his voice. "They'll be our ears and eyes as far as Preston is concerned. I'm working on getting you a backup, Marella," he informed his operative, "so you won't be going in totally blind with no contact. I don't like sending you in there alone anyway, but I have to. You're the only one I trust with Jackie who has the medical expertise necessary. We don't know yet how much of the staff is involved, or even if they're involved, so you'll have to be very careful. I don't want you suspect for any reason."

"Who's giving me my recommendation?" Marella asked after swallowing some greens from her Caesar.

"Dr. Boggs himself. Seems he remembers what a brilliant young intern you were at John Hopkins when he had the pleasure of teaching there for a semester."

Marella's eyebrow elevated. "And how many times did you have to twist his arm to get him to sign papers to that effect?"

"Twist it?" Michael asked and chuckled. "We threatened to break it. In several places." Finished with his appetizer, Michael put down his fork and shoved the plate back. "Seems his appointment with the Royals didn't work out, unfortunately. So we convinced him that early retirement was his best option and that he'd much prefer the balmy weather of the Caribbean -- oh. And that he would be on permanent retainer should we ever need his services unless he wanted to end up as bait for the sharks."

Everyone was silent, not doubting the least bit what Michael told them. Sinjin looked at the man steadily, haunted by the look in the man's eye. His face was calm, but in that eye -- the eye that was left him -- was something more dark and deadly than he ever wanted to see. It prompted a protective streak in him as he looked over at his red-haired love. What wouldn't he do for Caitlin, he asked himself. To what extremes would he go to for his own woman?

"The Yorkshire residence where we'll be staying borders Preston's estate to the east," Michael continued. "The residence itself is a few miles north of York, the city. There's a lot to do there. I know when you think of England, you think boring and there being too much rain. But really, that's far from it, and where we'll be, this time of year, the light can last until nine-thirty, ten o'clock at night. I think you'll like it, actually. The life over there is far more leisurely than what you're used to, and I've taken great pains to make our stay over there as comfortable as possible."

"How 'comfortable' are you talking, Michael?" Santini asked, looking a bit wary. 'Comfortable' could be an English mansion or a couple of thatched huts, you never knew . . .

Michael smiled and took a sip of his wine. "It's a slightly run-down estate that's been used in the past as a safe house by various government groups. In return for a generous donation from me to bring it back to its full, former glory, arrangements have been made for us to use it for our stay. Including a full staff."

"How generous?" Hawke asked dryly

"About ten mil. No big deal," Michael told them with a casual shrug. "If we're going to be stuck there for awhile, let's make it an easy trip is what I figured. It's worth it."

Santini was speechless. Hawke caught Michael's gaze and shook his head slightly. He knew that when it came to large chunks of money like that, The FIRM hardly blinked an eye. Granted, maybe spending that kind of money to get back one agent might have raised a few eyebrows on the Committee. But certainly if it was financed independently by Michael himself, the amount was nothing but pocket change. Michael's family had money, and Michael himself was worth millions.

"Any problems with taking The Lady over?" String asked. "The English do know what's coming, right?"

"Charles knows, and his mother as well," Michael reassured him. "Oh, and everyone may need to brush up on hand-to-hand . . . no firearms. They're illegal in England, though if they're kept on The Lady for emergencies, no one is going to know we have them. We have been asked to be as 'discreet' as possible in this entire matter."

"Michael . . . I know you're treating this like it's just another mission," Cait said quietly, not wanting other ears to overhear. "You're running this like any other assignment we've had. But what about the Committee? What did they have to say about this? Did they give you a lot of heat about financing such a large-scale rescue operation?"

Leave it to Cait to ask the unasked questions, Stringfellow thought with a mental grin.

"The only heat I got was from the usual proverbial pain in my ass, and even he seemed rather happy I was going to be out from underfoot for awhile," Michael said with a wry grin. "No. Besides Jackie's connections to me, she's also a valuable agent and asset to The FIRM and they know it. Never mind the fact she has way too much information tucked inside that beautiful head of hers. It's to our advantage to have her back."

"Ordinarily, in the condition she's in right now, they'd send Zebra Squad after her," Dominic reminded him soberly. "Do you think it's possible they might, now that they know where she is?"

"They know better. I'd come after them with everything I've got if they even had the nerve to suggest it," Michael' said between clenched teeth, his jaw tight at the very thought.

"So this really is a FIRM operation," Sinjin said.

Another small smile found its way to Michael's lips again. "Yes and no. I have Committee sanctions and I can use a certain number of our resources. I have my own pool of resources as well. But it's all personally financed by me."

Cait dropped her fork and she stared at him for a moment. "Then . . . all the stuff we bought today . . . and all the work you're having done over in England . . . my God, Michael! We're talking millions from your personal bank roll!"

"We're also talking about the woman who had agreed to marry me and then disappeared without a trace. The money doesn't matter. I'd do the same for any one of you in the same circumstances."

The embarrassing moment of declaration passed as the entrees were brought to the table. Michael hadn't looked up at any of the group when he made that admission. He found himself feeling very close to everyone at the table and he hadn't the courage to look into their eyes.

"So you have contacts in MI-5?" String asked as the waiter left.

"MI-5, MI-6 and Interpol. And I intend to use every one of them."

Sinjin was trying hard not to let the surprise show on his face. Michael's quiet power and unassuming acknowledgement of it tended to unnerve him. "No wonder the Committee can't afford to lose you," Sinjin commented quietly. "You have so many contacts and run around in so many circles, they'd be stupid to even think about getting rid of you."

"And," Sam apprised him, in between bites of lobster and tomato, "a lot of those contacts will only deal through Michael."

"Yes, and that makes me as much of a pain in Zeus' butt as he is in mine. I hope he is never so stupid to think that he'd inherit my contacts if I were conveniently out of the picture. The entire CIA would lose out on a lot of resources. Some they can't afford to be without." Michael allowed himself to plaster a smug look on his face for just a few seconds. "Be grateful you run an airfield, gentlemen, and only contract to work for me once in awhile. At least you don't have to look over your shoulder all the time, wondering if somebody's trying to assassinate you." This last was said wryly, but Stringfellow caught just a hint of a troubled look in the master spy's eye.

Talk turned to accessories. While Michael allowed that the ladies could pick out a few pieces of jewelry at Tiffany's when they went back to Rodeo Drive, he reminded them that York also had quite a few jewelry boutiques and that trips into London wouldn't be out of order. He also encouraged them to stock up on extra shoes and boots, purses and gloves.

He reminded Sinjin, String and Dom that they themselves could do with a few accessories as well, such as extra socks and ties. So they returned to the upscale stores to purchase those items forgotten. When the troupe finally made it to the saddle shop, it was late in the afternoon, but the items were inspected and carefully chosen. The proprietor stayed open accommodatingly for the extra half hour Michael required. Afterwards, when they all reconvened down in the garage, Michael addressed his team.

"I'll be concentrating on getting Marella over to her new post within the next few days," he informed them. "Hopefully, by the time we get ourselves over there, she'll have a handle on what Jackie might be on, or if it's just the residual effects of the Blue Star. I hope not. If that's what's affecting her, she's going to be forced into retirement very early, and God only knows if she'll get her memory back again."

"Oh, God, I never even thought of that," Caitlin said, holding a hand up to her mouth. "It acts like LSD?"

"A toned down version of it," Marella confirmed. "Although it worries me, as much as she was given. If it's still in her tissues and remains there, she could trip out two-three years down the road. If her system's clear of it, that's good and there's less likelihood of it happening. But we won't know until I can run some blood and tissue samples."

"I'll have your profiles to you by the end of the week," Michael told them. "You'll need to memorize them. Don't think you can fake it, either. Sam or Delia will be quizzing you and they will be absolutely merciless."

"So we'll see you in a couple days, then?" Cait asked, taking his hand momentarily.

"Count on it." He squeezed hers fondly. "I don't say it enough, I know I don't. Thank you. Thank you for doing this." Michael's voice was very thick with emotion. "It's damn hard to find people you can count on."

"Friends," Cait corrected, giving him a heartfelt hug. "Friends are people you can always count on, Michael."

"Yeah. And those are even more rare." He set her back, reddening slightly. "Marella, Sam, we've still got work to do before we can call it a day. Coming?"

Marella smiled, eyes warm as she caught Stringfellow's gaze, and she gave him the barest hint of a nod. "Yeah." She turned away as she walked with Michael back to the limo, Sam following behind with a murmured goodnight.

"'Night," Cait and Dominic echoed together.

The garage was like a quiet tomb until they started up the jeep and headed toward the exit. Hawke was silent the entire ride back to Santini Air.

He was missing Marella already.

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

Marella's Apartment
Later that evening

Driving home late that night, Marella spotted the familiar red, white and blue jeep parked close to the back of her apartment building and smiled, happy that Stringfellow had managed to get away. He was waiting for her at her parking space, leaning against the wall as she pulled in, then coming around to open her door for her when she shut the motor off. Getting out, she gave him a quick kiss. "Any trouble getting away?" she asked him softly. "Cait and Sinjin know about us, by the way. Cait told me while we were shopping."

He started, eyebrows going up. "When did they find out?"

"New Year's. Were coming up to share the holiday with you, and spotted Angel One on the dock," she told him, taking his arm after locking up her car and walking inside with him. "She assured me they haven't said anything to anyone else, so Dom probably doesn't know."

"He doesn't, or else I would have had to put up with his teasing by now," Hawke told her dryly. "And he would never be able to keep it secret from Michael, either. When he's happy about something, Dom just seems to want to shout it to the world, at times."

Marella winced at the very idea. "Michael would know something's up for sure, then."

"Yeah," Hawke agreed, as they reached her apartment and he waited for her to open the door. "Not that he could really do anything about us being together," he pointed out. "He doesn't rule your private life, Marella."

"I know, but I also know he wouldn't approve, and his silent glares . . . I don't want those aimed my way, String. Not until we have things set so that he couldn't interfere. He'll be mad then, yes, but he won't go so far as to pressure us to divorce once we've made the leap."

"I don't think he's going to be as mad as you're worried he will be," Hawke told her, taking her into his arms after she finished locking up and drawing her to him. "I just wish we had more time together before you have to go."

"I agree with moving fast on this, String. The sooner I get into place, the faster we'll start getting real information on what Jackie's condition is. And I won't be alone, we got word just before I left that an Interpol agent was hired onto Preston's staff this afternoon, so I'll have some backup in there. He hasn't had the chance to talk to her yet, but he did get word out that it appears she's got some memory problems. It put Michael's fears that Jackie may be there to get away from him to rest, at least."

"That is good news, and hopefully Michael will be able to get some sleep tonight," Hawke told her, hugging her tighter. "He's starting to look bleary-eyed from not getting enough sleep."

"Which is why I prescribed two sleeping pills before he headed to the penthouse tonight. His taking them is a fifty-fifty toss-up, but there's some hope he will."

Hawke chuckled. "Yeah. Have you eaten tonight?" he asked her.

"Had dinner at the office while we went over the last of the projects on our list tonight," she assured him. "Why?"

He grinned. "Well, just wanted to be sure that I wouldn't need to feed you before I put you to bed and made sure that you wouldn't need any meds to get to sleep tonight," he told her, and guided her to her bedroom, a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. "Got to make sure you'll be eager to come back to me when this is over with, after all."

Laughing, she merrily agreed.

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

April 16, 1988
Preston Estates, York England

The brochures she'd picked up in the airport on her way out weren't exaggerating, Marella thought, as the car that had been sent for her made it's way through the impossibly beautiful moors and pastures of Yorkshire. It was a sunny day in mid-April and Marella was grateful for the pleasant weather. It was still cold this time of year, but the sun took off the chill look, at least, and brightened the landscape. With new growth coming in, there was a fresh, bright look to the trees and shrubs as they started to lose their bare, winter-brown appearance.

She thought about that last evening she'd spent with Hawke, and about how he hadn't wasted any time at all that night. She could still remember how tender he'd been, taking his time, bringing her more satisfaction than she'd thought was possible with a man. Even now, thousands of miles away, she could still feel how his skin had felt against hers, the heat of it, the burn that went through her every time she called up Hawke's face. She had no idea when she would be able to see him again, much less actually be with him. Not something I should be so worried about at the moment, she mentally chided herself as she gazed out the window.

Her mind turned to her current situation. Michael had been taking a chance setting her up as Jackie's personal physician. Though her background cover was more than secure, Marella wondered if Jackie might not have a glimmer of who she might be. It was rare that amnesia was so total, even with something as insidious as the Blue Star drug. But, she knew, individuals responded differently to it, and what might happen to one person wouldn't happen to another. Jackie had enough traumatic events in her life to want to block them out, so total amnesia was not out of the question for her. Phillip's integration into the Dunscombe House staff had been a blessing. He managed to glean enough information from his compatriots to pretty much confirm that Jackie wasn't remembering many people or events in her life, yet. Or at least, none that could be ascertained. And the big question was, would she be able to regain her memory?

Other questions nagged at her mind, all of which she would have to discover answers to. Not only would she be Jackie's physician, she would also be a counselor and hopefully, with time, a friend again. That part was imperative. Trust. And she must never, at any time, give Jackie a reason not to trust her. If something happened, and she had to bolt and get Jackie out of there, that trust could give them precious minutes that could mean success or failure to the mission. And to their safety.

Evan Bascombe, the young, blond driver, had been staring at her through the rearview ever since he'd picked her up from the local airport. A bright young man in his early twenties, he turned his head now, addressing her directly. "This is it, Dr. Hansen," he indicated. "This is Dunscombe House."

Though no stranger to extensive travel, the British estate held Marella's rapt attention. The stone gates, flanked by the traditional English lions, opened up into the most brilliantly green, well-manicured grounds. A central fountain came into view. It was in Roman style, Neptune with his trident holding a nymph in his other arm as they reveled. The driveway wound elegantly around the fountain on both sides, straightening again only to curve about a second time. The journey ended at the pillared vestibule, leading to the stout oak doors of the castle.

And it was a castle. Perhaps small by some standards, but what it lacked in height it made up for in sprawling square footage. There were three floors and turreted towers were set in a traditional square pattern at each corner of the structure. The battlements boasted ancient gargoyles, guarding the perimeter in their ferocity, poised as if ready to take flight and attack should anything -- or anyone -- pose a threat to the castle's integrity.

The car stopped and Evan got out, opening her door. Marella disembarked from the car and the front doors of the castle opened. A refined-looking gentleman, dressed in the classic butler's uniform, came down the steps and gave her a formal little half-bow. "Good afternoon, Dr. Hansen," he greeted her, with just the slightest trace of a smile. "My name is Jules. Lord Preston and Miss Jackie have been anxiously awaiting your arrival." He turned his attention momentarily to Evan, who was retrieving Marella's luggage from the car's trunk. "Dr. Hansen's room is ready, Evan. Please take her things up directly."

Evan bobbed his head. "I hope you'll like it here, Dr. Hansen," he said, before preceding them into the house with Marella's luggage under both of his arms.

Jules gave her another of his slight bows. "If you'll follow me, Doctor? Lord Preston is waiting."

Jules led Marella into the grand hallway, where a circular sofa with red cushions and a central statue in the middle of little fauns and cupids decorated the receiving area. This opened up into one large ostentatious room. Sofas, chaises, tables and lamps were scattered stylishly throughout. A harpsichord was in one corner, a baby grand in another.

Paintings of the Preston ancestors, she guessed, were displayed prominently, the only exception in size being a monstrously large picture of Queen Elizabeth on one wall, over an 18th century sofa. Over the huge fireplace a painted portrait of the current Lord Dunscombe held dominion, his wolfishly handsome face staring downward with a curious little self-satisfied smile on the thin lips. It dwarfed even the Queen's portrait, and somehow Marella could equate the man's ego with that. She supposed Daniel Preston thought he should be King of all England, too. It was rumored rather strongly that he thought a lot of himself, and many described him as being arrogant. But Marella had to give the man credit for one thing -- there was no doubt, evidenced through his accumulations of millions, that the man had good business sense. She would have liked to believe the man had some redeeming characteristics.

But probably not. After all, he had kidnapped her boss' fiancée.

They veered off left, leaving the grandeur behind to follow a wide corridor, leading them further back into the castle confines. At the end of it, they made a turn right into yet another hallway and stopped at the first door on the left. Jules knocked firmly.

A muffled masculine voice answered. "Come in."

Jules entered just inside the door as Marella stepped in past him. "Dr. Mary Hansen, Sir," he announced. "Dr. Hansen, Sir Daniel Preston."

Marella's eyes took in the grand study. Though dark paneled wood accented the room throughout, the large floor to ceiling windows let in the light. There was a magnificent view of the rear grounds with rolling slopes and surrounding, ancient oaks.

Marella's attention drifted away from the windows to the man behind the solid mahogany desk. Quite frankly, the picture above the mantel hardly did him justice. The man was handsome in a most devastating way but there was something about him that hinted at a darker side to his nature. Marella, as a woman, had to grudgingly admire him as a good specimen of the human male animal, but there were warning bells going off in the back of her mind as well.

Daniel Preston was about forty, but his wavy, dark hair showed no signs of grey and indeed, he looked younger than his reported age. His eyes were milk chocolate brown and his face boasted high cheekbones tapering down to slightly hollowed cheeks and a squarish-like jaw. He cut a fine figure as he rose to greet her, but her trained eye also caught signs of the results of some excesses under that tailor-made suit. Still, Marella was approximately five-eight with heels. Preston had to be six feet if he was an inch. Maybe even taller.

"Dr. Hansen," he greeted her, his voice low and mild, relaxed. He rounded the desk to take her hand warmly in his. "I trust your trip over from the States went well?"

"It was a bit harried, but yes, my trip went very well," Marella told him with a smile as she withdrew her hand from his. Warm, but there was something about the man that made her skin crawl.

"Your predecessor, Dr. Boggs, had to leave in quite a hurry," he told her, watching her closely as if he wasn't quite sure if he liked what he was seeing.

The man had an unnerving way of looking a person over, Marella thought to herself. She didn't think she liked it very much. It almost felt like . . . she was being undressed. "Yes, I understand it was a royal appointment," Marella acknowledged. "Hardly something a physician could pass up, especially upon request."

"Quite true. He remembered you quite well . . . from Johns Hopkins," Preston continued. He indicated the chair. "Please, Dr. Hansen, sit down. May I get you a brandy? Or would you prefer something else?"

"I'm fine, thank you, Sir," she replied, sitting across from him.

"So you received your M.D. and then went on to a graduate program in Biochemistry," Preston stated, moving back around to take the chair at his desk again. "And I believe . . . if I recall correctly . . . you took a course in herbology?"

"A crash course, sir, and it's hardly a valid license or certification in the United States. Prescribing herbalist remedies is frowned on in the States, and few doctors would even consider suggesting any sort of herbal cures to a patient for fear of losing their license. I took the course over the summer months one year in Canada. I have the diploma."

"I have no doubts about your references, Dr. Hansen. I requested you at Dr. Boggs' insistence. I merely found it rather interesting, especially since herbology isn't mainstream medicine. Do you know that British physicians are not allowed to graduate from medical schools unless they take an extensive course in herbology?"

"I'm aware of that, yes, Sir," Marella said.

"And do you practice alternative therapies?"

"I've prescribed vitamins and herbal supplements when I know that it will really help the patient," Marella answered. "But I do check the drug interactions before I prescribe. I also endorse acupuncture for chronic conditions, massage therapy and hydrotherapy. I know personally of one case of severe carpal tunnel that was cured through no more than massage therapy."

"I am not opposed to such therapies, should they be of help. But I am much more confident in mainstream medicine."

"Of course, Sir. Most people are. I'm well-trained in both."

"Yes you are. Your resume and references speak for themselves," Preston confirmed. "Dr. Boggs also intimated to me that you are very discreet in your dealings with your patients and that is something I also insist on here."

"Of course, Sir."

"My fiancée has been very ill for the last year, Dr. Hansen." Preston leaned back in his chair, contemplating her thoughtfully. "She is much better than she was a year ago, but she is still very, very delicate. Dr. Boggs has instituted some medical therapies that I would like to continue since she has been responding rather well to them. Of course, any input you have about the situation will gladly be taken into consideration and you are, after all, the trained M.D. on premises."

"I should like to take a look at her medical records, Sir," Marella told him, trying to remain as professional as possible, though she could have killed him for his condescending manner. "To see what therapies Dr. Boggs has instituted and the patient's response to them."

"Of course. I'm sure his local practice has them ready for you in town. I can send someone to retrieve them today, if you like."

"Thank you, Sir. Yes."

"My fiancée's name is Jacquelyn Kendricks," Daniel Preston continued. "She's American, like you, Dr. Hansen. And I'm sure she won't stand on formality much. You'll probably be on a first-name basis very quickly. However, I do need to warn you -- she can be very willful and uncooperative at times, but usually she is very compliant. I don't think she'll give you much trouble . . . especially since you're a woman. It's the men she seems to be more than a handful with. Even me."

Inadvertently, Marella smiled. That sounded like Jackie, all right. "I'm sure we'll get along with each other just fine, Sir," she assured him, the smile still hanging onto her eyes even as it vanished from her mouth.

"You show confidence. Good." He leaned forward on his desk, hands folded in front of him. "Now. I know we didn't have a lot of time to discuss some of the other things over the phone. I was quite in a quandary over obtaining your services at such short notice. As you know, you'll be staying here at the estate and provided with your own rooms. Essentially, you are now part of the house staff. You are responsible for my Jackie's health and wellbeing and so therefore, you will be on call twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, at least to start with. I don't expect you to follow her around-the-clock, but I do expect a certain amount of vigilance. I don't want her to overdo with physical activity, it tires her out too much. She was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder and she's lost a lot of her memory from before she came here; therefore I don't want her distressed unnecessarily. Dr. Boggs assured me that you could be counted on to follow all his previous instructions regarding Jackie, even if they seemed a bit . . . unorthodox. For this, you will be compensated very well, Dr. Hansen. I'd like to emphasize that."

Marella took the veiled bribe/threat with easy calm. "Am I to understand then, Sir, that if I deem it appropriate to make any changes in Miss Kendricks' medical regimen that I am to report to you first before instituting them?"

"Absolutely. I trust you to keep Jackie maintained. But if changes are deemed necessary by you, I wish to be informed immediately. This I must insist on."

Marella nodded her head deferentially, keeping her rising anger in check. Maintained. As if Jackie were nothing more than a racehorse. The damn bastard had no intention of Jackie ever getting her memory back, she realized. "Very well, Sir," she told him, keeping her voice calm and accepting.

"Good! Now that we understand each other . . ."

"Daniel!"

A knock followed the voice, catching both their attentions at once. Through the half-open door stepped a slender, pale woman with curly, long dark hair. Marella kept her composure as her friend of many years stepped into the study. Jackie Kendricks was so incredibly pale it made her look wraith-like, as if she never got out into the sunshine at all. If she weighed even a hundred pounds, Marella would be very surprised, and she figured Jackie needed to put on at least ten pounds to get back to a healthy weight.

"I saw Evan taking somebody's luggage upstairs . . ." She stopped mid-sentence, and walked up to the newcomer with a look of some surprise and undisguised interest.

"Jackie, my love." Daniel again rose, holding his hand out to her and as he came back around the desk, and she took it with a smile. "This is Dr. Mary Hansen, our new physician. Recommended by Dr. Boggs himself, you remember."

The small woman extricated her hand from Daniel's and extended it to her. "It's good to have you here, Dr. Hansen," she welcomed her warmly. "Daniel tells me you're American?"

"Born and bred," Marella confirmed, smiling along with her, smiling along with her as she took Jackie's hand in hers, then covered it with her other hand. Under her fingertips, she could feel Jackie's pulse and was relieved to find it strong and steady. No distress there, then, or any sign of the excitement she would feel if she recognized Marella.

"Well it's about damn time. I was beginning to feel outnumbered amongst so many Brits," Jackie laughed.

"Well that's damned ungrateful," Preston said with a slight scowl of displeasure.

"Oh, loosen up, Daniel," Jackie admonished lightly as Marella let go of her hand. "I've listened to enough snide comments about Americans."

"As long as those diatribes don't include me," he said, dropping a kiss on her forehead in forgiveness.

"They never do."

Marella watched as Jackie's eyes slid up to the man's face. There was a definite attraction there. By the way Preston's arm slid protectively about Jackie's waist and the way they were both looking at each other, she thought it was safe to assume that they were discreetly 'shacking up.' Michael wasn't going to take this well, either, although she was sure that he already had made that dreaded assumption.

"So," Jackie said. "Let's take some tea in the solarium, Dr. Hansen. You must be thirsty and a bit hungry. It should tide you over until dinner -- Daniel, did you tell her about the schedule we generally try to keep around here?"

He shook his head, brushing his fingers through her hair. "No, my dear. I was about to when you came in. Perhaps you'd like to take on that task? I have to speak to Evan about running an errand for me."

"He might be out by the garage by now," Jackie told him. "Will you be joining us, Daniel? For tea, I mean?"

"Yes, luv. But a bit later." Another kiss to her forehead followed and then he held his hand out to Marella. "I hope you'll like it here, Dr. Hansen. Now I'll leave you to ladies to your tea and tend to those things that need doing."

Marella realized that was their signal to leave and she rose, shaking his hand again. "Thank you, Lord Preston," she told him, working to keep the bit of irony she felt out of her face and voice. "I'm sure I'll enjoy being here very much."

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

April 22, 1988
FIRM Headquarters, Downtown L.A. Branch

Shuffling the papers that listed the meeting agenda into order, Zeus looked around the Committee table, noting that everyone was there but one person. The white leather chair at the far end of the table was conspicuously empty. His eyes shifted to the Admiral. "Well, is he coming or not?" Zeus demanded.

"He told me he would be here," Admiral Clayton told him firmly, seemingly unruffled by Zeus' gruff demeanor.

Even as he finished the last word, the door opened and in came a sight that stopped the whole room cold. The Admiral swung around to look as Zeus' jaw dropped in surprise. "Oh, good Lord . . ." the old man murmured, stunned. Dark sunglasses by Foster Grant, black moustache and hair, slightly longer than Michael normally kept it -- it took even the Admiral a moment to realize who it was standing there in a smart, three-piece black suit. "Damn it, boy, you trying to give me a heart attack? For a moment there I thought you were David!" he scolded, slapping his hand down sharply on the table.

"No," Michael told him, a bit surprised by the strong reaction. He gave the old man an apologetic look as he shifted his shoulder to better settle the new suit jacket he was wearing. "I'm sorry, I didn't think I looked that much like Lucifer . . ."

"Archangel?" Zeus growled, scowling. "I see you decided to join us after all."

"Yes, since I'm leaving for England this evening," Michael replied as he came forward to take his usual chair opposite Zeus. "Almost as soon as we're done with this meeting, in fact."

It was damned unnerving, too, seeing a man in black in that chair. Zeus could see his lips twitching under the moustache as Archangel fought to keep his amusement at their reaction under control.

"Getting rid of those glasses of yours makes for quite a change," the Admiral told him, nodding in approval. "They made you stand out too much in a crowd."

"And so did the white suits," murmured one of the women from halfway down the table, her tone full of amusement.

Turning to see which one, Michael found it was someone he hadn't gotten to know well yet, she'd only been around for a few months and he'd been busy. She was new as far as being on the Committee went, and everyone was just calling her Andromeda. She caught his eye and smiled. "Actually, you look good in black."

Michael gave her a quick look-over, noting that she had the kind of head-turning beauty that made his angels so effective in distracting men for him sometimes. She was tall and her deep red hair fell loose to the middle of her back while her fair skin spoke of Scottish or Viking blood somewhere in her background. He would never have considered putting her in white, though. It would have washed her skin out terribly. No, the deep green long-skirted business suit she wore suited her perfectly.

Michael nodded to her in genteel fashion, taking the compliment with his usual grace. He crossed his left leg over his right, leaned his left elbow against the arm of his chair and rested his chin and cheek against his knuckles. "I apologize for being late," he told them. "However, security didn't recognize me either, and I had to wait for Delia to catch up with me before they'd let me in the building."

"You may have outdone yourself if you want the love of your life to recognize you when you find her," Zeus pointed out sarcastically.

"Let me worry about that one," Michael told him, his tone dry enough to use for a martini. "And don't let my change of appearance hold up this meeting any longer. I still have a great deal of work to do before I leave."

Zeus gave him a glare. "Who are you leaving in charge?" he demanded.

"Delia and Sam will be taking care of things while Marella and I are gone. Being as we'll be in a friendly nation, they'll be able to contact me easily if something comes up they can't handle." Michael took an envelope from his breast pocket and tossed it halfway down the table to the Admiral. "Admiral, you have my voting proxy, of course. I trust your judgment."

Zeus looked like he had just bitten into something sour. Michael would never trust him with his vote, and Zeus knew it.

The Admiral opened the envelope, checked the papers inside to be sure they were in order, signed his name where indicated on the page and slipped them back into the envelope. "Thanks, lad," he told Michael, grateful that the younger man had remembered. They'd had trouble with Zeus and others before when Michael was out and they'd had a tight vote.

Archangel gave him a nod and a smile, then turned his attention to Zeus for the rest of the meeting. When it ended, three of the Committee, out of the blue, offered Michael luck in his venture.

"Hope you get her back safe and sound," Andromeda told him softly, and he could tell that she meant it, but he was a bit surprised she was talking to him. Most of the new ones, they usually figured out fast to stay out from between he and Zeus when the barbs started flying, but it seemed to him that she was actually going to take sides to be on. He raised his eyebrows as she continued after a moment's hesitation. "I've -- heard what happened. You need any help, give a yell, I'll see what I can do."

"Archangel," came a challenging voice from the far end of the table, where Zeus was gathering up his notes and putting them in his briefcase. "Where is Airwolf?" he demanded.

"She's going with us," Michael told him dryly. "Right now, she's at the airport, sitting next to my Lear."

"Now that makes good sense," the Admiral stated before Zeus could even start to come up with an argument sufficient to block the very idea. "Her crew are all friends of Jackie's and she's flown her herself, correct?"

"Jackie was among the original test pilots," Michael confirmed. "Anything that's familiar to her, we're taking over if we can. We still don't know what they're giving her now to keep her compliant, but we do know what she was on before can seriously affect memory if used long-term. We do know for sure, at this point, that she doesn't remember her life before Daniel Preston got hold of her."

"I thought you were worried about bringing her memories back too fast," the Admiral stated with a concerned frown, his voice lowered. "You taking Airwolf over there could trigger a memory overload, if she catches sight of it. The Lady was a large part of her life, what with her parents working on it for a decade or more, and Jackie's own eventual training for flying her."

Michael was quiet a moment, well aware of the contradictory position he was in. "I thought about that," he admitted. "But considering the consequences and possibilities if Airwolf were left alone and unattended while we're gone, it's a risk I decided to take. Some decisions had to be made. I made them. She's safer with us."

"You tell the English what you're bringing over there? I mean as far as that helicopter of yours," Andromeda reminded him. "They might not take kindly to a tactical weapon on their soil."

"Charles knows," Archangel assured her. "He owed me one. We bet future favors on a polo match once. I stole two balls from him over the course of the game, and he lost by a goal."

"Of course, this does mean that if we need Airwolf's team to check out something over in Germany or Russia, they'll be all the closer to where she needs to fly," Andromeda pointed out with a deft logic, noting Zeus' black look. "Instead of her pilots having to fly back to the States to get her."

Zeus gave her a glare which she just shrugged off, but they could all tell he was furious with this whole idea. No, he wasn't at all happy with the news that the helicopter was going to be out of his reach for some time.

Going out, Michael held the door for Andromeda and the Admiral. "You're baiting him," he warned the younger woman softly. "And heading for thin ice, I warn you."

"I hate his attitude," she murmured back, some heat in her voice as she shrugged to better settle the dark green suit jacket she wore. "He's an MCP, pure and simple."

"A what?" the Admiral asked, his tone confused while Michael just chuckled.

"A male chauvinist pig, and he shouldn't be allowed to put forward his views the way he tries to. Or hadn't you noticed the way he grinds his teeth every time you refer to Airwolf with a female pronoun?"

Michael raised his eyebrows while the Admiral turned to look at her in surprise. "No, actually, I hadn't caught that," he admitted, his look thoughtful. "Something to consider when the Lady is concerned . . ."

"Is that what you always call her?" Andromeda asked, her look one of curiosity. "I don't know a lot about that aircraft, really, except that you have control of her and that pisses Zeus off no end. And that she's a dangerous tactical weapon."

"That's what her pilots call her, and I'm not about to argue with an old Italian over the matter," Michael answered firmly. "I need to get things finished up upstairs and then head out to join up with the rest of my crew. Call me if you need me, Delia and Sam have the numbers," he told both Andromeda and the Admiral, giving them both a cheerful wave as he headed off towards his office.

A short time later, after changing into something more comfortable for the long, long flight ahead, Michael scrutinized his appearance in the well-lit mirror. He decided that for the most part, he rather liked the changes, but enough was enough for the glasses for the moment, and he switched back to his normal pair with its blacked-out lens. Hanging up the black suit in the garment bag that was waiting for it, he finally headed out of the private bathroom next to his office to finish up and head out of there.

The Admiral had come in and was waiting for him, conversing cheerfully with Sam and Delia over what agents they had out and from whom they were expecting to hear from, not to mention what projects Michael was working on that couldn't be put on hold while he was gone. The conversation paused as he entered, then went on at his nod as he hung up the bag by the door. He moved around the desk to his chair, listening to them talk, running each item mentioned against a mental checklist he had in his head. It was a good chance to be sure he hadn't forgotten to tell them something just in case. He gave his approval when they were done. "That's about it," he told all three of them. "Anything that needs my personal attention that I could put on hold, I did so," he told the Admiral. "What's left shouldn't be a problem." The two women looked pleased and he waved them out the door. "Off to work, both of you," he told them lightly. "The old man and I need to talk."

There were a couple of chuckles, some eye rolling from Sam, but they headed out, leaving him alone with the Admiral.

"What do you think of young Andromeda?" Admiral Clayton asked his former student. "She reminds me a lot of you when you were still doing field work."

Michael considered this. "She took over for McConnelly as Director in Computer and Data Resources, right?" he asked. "How well is she getting along with Blue Chip? I seem to recall the last three appointees all dropped out after dealing with him a month. Or less."

"They seem to be getting along, which is a wonder," the Admiral told him. "He may be a major pain to get along with, but Blue Chip is the best when it comes to computers. Especially with the kinds of systems that are just starting to become available to the general public. He's predicting that in twenty years, a room full of computers will be compressed down to a size no larger than a spiral notebook."

"That . . . could be interesting," Michael agreed. "Well, the lady has guts, taking Zeus on the way she did." There was a light tap on the door -- the sort that meant 'Ignore me if you need to', rather than an authoritative pound such as Zeus used. "Enter," he called.

Sam opened the door. "Andromeda is asking to speak to the two of you," she told him, her look questioning.

"Certainly, send her in," Archangel told her, a bit surprised by the lady coming to him.

Rising to greet her, Michael gave Andromeda a warm smile. "What can I do for you, Andromeda?" he asked her, motioning for her to a chair, then taking his own seat again. "I hope you realize you're tempting Fate. Up until now, the Admiral and I were the only ones who've managed to get away with . . . harassing Zeus. Others have tried in the past, but learned it's a bad idea."

"Yes, and I figure you both have something on him that keeps him from coming after you for it," she acknowledged. "He's gone out of his way to be sure that I know he considers me to be next to worthless, a 'middleman' as it were, useful only for him getting information from the FIRM's computers. And for keeping others from getting information that he might not want them to see," she told them, looking from one to the other to see their reaction to this bit of news.

Archangel raised both eyebrows and the Admiral turned to look at her, surprised. "He's tried to keep you from giving information to the other directors?" Admiral Clayton asked, looking from her to Michael and then back again. "He shouldn't be able to do that."

Her expression tightened in anger. "He's tried, telling me that since he is the Chairman, I have to do as he says or else. And he's been trying to leave the 'or else' up to my imagination, without lessening the implied threat. He's very good at not leaving any tracks when he's out 'checking things over.' Threats are veiled and only given out when he knows that there will be no witnesses."

"How do your people feel about him?" Michael asked her.

"My staff is pretty evenly split, men and women. He and his men talk to my men, and ignore the women completely. This has not raised Zeus' popularity levels in my division since I encourage teamwork and cooperation, no matter what a person's sex is. And since my top man, Blue Chip, makes no attempt to hide that he hates Zeus' guts, Zeus' people are mostly getting the brush-off, glares and hints to go away. Of course, any attempt to force Blue Chip to do anything ends up with large stacks of paper that tells you absolutely nothing."

The Admiral chuckled. "Oh, yeah, that's about all he would get out of Blue Chip. That man has the dirt on everyone, and I don't know of anyone being able to keep him out of their computers, including Zeus. But anything Blue Chip secures stays that way."

"Which is why everyone puts up with his little quirks," Michael agreed. "He's independent, but that's all to the good as far as some of us are concerned. But Zeus, now . . . I wonder how many other directors he's putting pressure on like he is you?"

"No idea, and I'm not sure how to find out," Andromeda admitted.

"Then perhaps you should leave it to an old hand like me," the Admiral suggested, reaching over to pat her hand in a fatherly fashion. "Just be careful, my dear. We've suspected Zeus of 'terminating' other positions in the past. Some of them with prejudice."

She paled at the thought. "I understood it took a vote of the Committee to send out Zebra Squad?"

"By no means," Michael told her. "I was lucky. Airwolf is faster than a Huey, much faster, and Hawke got to me before the Squad did."

"What is it about Airwolf and Zeus?" Andromeda questioned. "He's jealous of you because of her, isn't he?"

"He's a controller, and when it comes to Airwolf, he has none," Michael explained. "Hawke and the team will only work for me, they've made that clear. And no one else knows how to fly her but them and Jackie."

"I understand you used to be a top-notch pilot yourself," Andromeda stated. "Did you ever fly her?"

He shook his head sadly, and tapped his left temple, next to his new prosthetic eye. "No, I never had the chance. I've back-seated in Engineering a few times, but that's as far as I can go with my handicap. You can't have a license with a visual impairment."

She nodded, her look one of sympathy. "Know of a good teacher?" she asked hesitantly. "I was thinking of learning . . ."

"When we get Jackie back, go out to Santini Air and sign up for lessons. Caitlin's a great teacher, and Stringfellow Hawke is the best pilot I know of," Michael told her. He looked at his watch. "Well, I hate to talk and run, but the group should be gathering, and I need to catch up with them. Admiral, Andromeda, if either of you have questions, feel free to talk to Sam or Delia."

They both rose with Michael, the Admiral shaking his hand while Andromeda gave him a kind smile. "Good luck to you," she told him. "I hear anything more, I'll send word to your people," she assured him.

They all headed out together, Andromeda and the Admiral to talk, while Michael headed out with his garment bag to catch his ride with Sam to the airport.

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

Evening of April 22, 1988
Somewhere over the U.S.

Once the Lear had taken off from the FIRM's little California airport, Caitlin left her seat and moved back to take the one opposite Michael so they could talk more comfortably. She glanced out the window to see if Hawke and Sinjin had caught up with them yet, but there was no sign of the familiar black silhouette from her side of the plane. Dom was on the other side of the private jet, looking out the window there, and when he settled back in his seat with a comforted sigh, she knew the Lady was there.

"You could stretch out and nap in that seat, Dom," she pointed out, knowing full well the old man had been up all night briefing Michael's people at the airfield. He wanted to make sure that Santini Air would run smoothly while they were gone, and had worked with them the last three days to be sure that it was going to do so. "It's a recliner."

Dominic looked surprised, but soon found the handle and got the seat back, stretching out and getting comfortable, but not going to sleep just yet.

Michael half-turned his own chair to look at Santini. "How did Derek do flying with Hawke yesterday?" he asked, his tone a bit on the curious side. "Is he up to your standards of stunt flying? I'd somehow managed to miss that he knew how to fly a Stearman biplane."

"Told him if he ever got tired of flying those jets for you, I'd have a good job for him doing stunt work," Dominic told him, smiling a bit as he looked out the window. "He said he'd consider it. I think he's tired of getting his tail shot at with those missions you keep sending him on down in South America."

Michael blinked, not sure if Dominic was joking or serious. He had rather thought that Derek Himman had enjoyed his pick-up work in the troubled areas of South America, but then again . . . Well, at some point everyone got tired of being shot at all the time, and Derek tended to be sent into some of the worse trouble spots because of his flying skill. The only ones who ever went into the really bad spots, in fact, were the Airwolf team themselves. But then again, the Lady was nothing like the aircrafts that Derek normally flew.

Caitlin chuckled at his look. "I wouldn't worry about it," she told him. "He's still young. Hawke said he was damn good with the Stearman, and he's got the light touch that old war bird needs for the kinds of flying she has to do. He'll do just fine."

Leaning back, she looked out the windows on the far side of the plane, finally spotting the Lady flying with them a short distance away. From the way Airwolf was occasionally dipping and swaying, Sinjin was probably flying her now. Hawke could hold her rock-steady with ease, but Sinjin hadn't developed the light touch it took to keep the sensitive helicopter in line.

"How's he doing?" Michael asked.

"He'll get the hang of her," Caitlin assured him. "Sinjin's got to learn to relax and trust her enough to lighten up his grip on the collective. He's definitely going to need the rest after we stop for refueling in New York, though. He's going to be tight as a fiddle string by the time we get there."

He nodded in agreement. "You're trading off with both of them then?"

"Yeah, to let them get some sleep on the trip over the Atlantic." Her grin suddenly grew wider, and she gave Dominic a look that was pure mischief, then looked back at Michael. "Want to fly leg with me?" she asked him, grinning. "Dom's probably going to be snoring like a moose by then . . ."

"Hey, now . . ." came the indignant complaint from Santini.

Michael laughed, turning around so he could look across and see Airwolf for himself. "I may take you up on it," he agreed, relaxing. He'd heard Santini snore, and wouldn't mind being elsewhere. The old man could rattle the rafters at Hawke's cabin when he got going. Literally.

Dominic muttered something rude in Italian that made Michael gave him an innocent look, while Cait was glad she couldn't understand a word of it. Then, she grew a bit more serious as she shifted her gaze back to Michael, frowning in concern. "You heard from Marella?" she asked, changing the subject completely.

Michael's smile faded and he fingered the head of his new rosewood cane. "No, nothing definitive. We know she's passed muster and is on the household staff but so far she hasn't had the chance to call me, just slip out some information through her Interpol backup. From what I've heard so far, it's pretty clear Jackie's still on drugs of some sort, and I don't like that one bit . . ." He brushed back his hair with one hand. "I don't like the idea of withdrawals for her, after what she's already been though."

Caitlin shifted in her chair, glancing away from him, looking back out the window at the Lady. "No, you wouldn't, not with what you went through after the Fortune Teller," she murmured softly.

Talk about calling up nightmares of the past . . .

Fortune Teller had been a three-part system, made to fly an aircraft through 'mental' control. Properly set up, the aircraft should have literally reacted as fast as the pilot could think. Michael had come up with part of the system, while two others had taken care of the parts he couldn't develop himself. Unfortunately, one of the pair had sold out to an international arms dealer, and the dealer, Patrick Stoner, had been able to catch both the other scientist and Archangel to try to get the rest of the system. Michael had gone through forty-eight hours of drugging and psychological torture until they broke him enough to get the information they wanted out of him.

He'd held out as long as he could against their interrogations, but hadn't lasted quite long enough. Hawke had gotten him out in the end, having beaten the FIRM's own hit team to the castle he'd been held in by only minutes, and gotten him through the barrage of bullets back to the safety of Airwolf. Stoner had taken them on with a jet that had the Fortune Teller system installed, and had lost.

Michael, finding that his own people had been trying to kill him, had been furious. After giving the squad leader a thorough dressing down, he'd intended to go back to work, as if nothing had happened.

Until the drug withdrawals had set in a few hours later.

He'd spent two months out of action after the Fortune Teller incident. Hawke and a young toxicologist, Dr. David Walker, had gotten him through the withdrawals with around-the-clock care up in the peace and quiet of Hawke's cabin, but that had taken nearly two weeks for him to fully detox off the drugs. It had been another six weeks before Michael could return to work, and he'd had his hands full, undoing some of the damage that the Committee had done in his absence.

"Michael?" Caitlin called softly as she finally realized that he'd gotten lost in thought. "You all right?" she asked as he blinked and focused on her again.

"Yeah, sorry," he apologized. "I was just remembering that two weeks of hell." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Sorry, I shouldn't dwell on it . . ."

She leaned forward to take his hand, rubbing it a bit as she realized it had gone cold. "I'm sorry . . ."

"No, it's all right," he assured her, turning his hand to grip hers. "Actually, the experience has helped save some lives the last couple of years. The drugs they used on me were new then, and not much was known about them. Dr. Walker learned a lot while I went through withdrawals, and got his notes out to other division doctors. His recommendations have probably saved the lives and careers of another twenty operatives since then." He smiled, thinking about the young, clever doctor. "He's been happy working at Galen's Keep, and I've kept track of him and we've talked from time to time. He's a good toxicologist, bright and inventive, willing to try the unorthodox if he has to, to help a patient."

"Why do you always smile when you think of him, though?" Cait asked, letting go of his hand and leaning back in her seat. "I remember you doing that a lot just after he left Hawke's place."

"His name . . . his first name is David, and I have a bit of a soft spot for that particular name. He reminds me of someone . . ."

"Soft spot? You?" came Santini's voice from behind him, incredulous. "I would never believe it if I hadn't heard it from your own mouth . . ."

Michael's smile turned more wistful. "My older brother was named David," he told them. "David Gregory Coldsmith-Briggs. He took after father's side of the family, had black hair and blue eyes, just like the doctor did, and he was just as friendly, too."

"I thought you only had a pair of sisters for family," Caitlin said, surprised. "And your father, of course. I remember meeting them last year when we thought Jackie was dead and you had the memorial done."

Michael chuckled. "Actually, I have three sisters now; Father's second wife, Victoria, had a baby girl last month," he told her, then grew a bit more serious. "David went into the FIRM before I did, and he was a damn good operative. He was quite a linguist; spoke fluent French, German and about three dialects of Russian. He went into East Germany about sixteen years ago. Enough of him came out two years later to make a pretty good ID before we buried him in Virginia, two years before mother died."

Caitlin winced. "Oh, Michael . . ."

He shook his head. "It's all right, at least we got him home. That's some of the reason why I was so sympathetic with Hawke looking for his brother all these years. We lost David for two years before his remains came home, and I know what it does to you, wondering if they're dead or alive. Still, it was hard, especially since I lost one of my best students when she went in to find him. She was one of a kind, and the best I've ever trained." His tone grew more ironic. "Evidence says she found him all right; her body came out with his."

Caitlin caught something about his look. "Need to talk about it?" she asked him softly.

He gave her a sad smile. "No, not right now," he told her. "I think maybe later though, on the hop over the pond. Get some sleep, Cait, we've got four hours before we hit New York, and we need to be fresh for the second leg of the trip if we're going to fly the Lady over."

Caitlin agreed, settling back and getting a nap while Michael dozed off as well.

The stop in upstate New York lasted a bit over an hour as the jet and Airwolf were both refueled and readied for the longer leg of the trip, including a change of pilots for the Lear. Caitlin got her flight suit and changed while Michael was talking to Hawke and Sinjin on the tarmac, then tossed him a second suit she had grabbed for him as she left the Lear to join them. "Hey, you better get changed," she warned him, grinning. "Dom's asleep and rattling the light fixtures in the back of the jet."

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "Going to copilot?" he asked Michael.

"Seems so, since listening to Santini bellow will pretty much make sure I don't get any more sleep in there," Michael commented wryly, and went to change.

When he came out of the Lear's bathroom, Hawke and Sinjin were on board, settling down to try and get some sleep. "Have fun," Hawke told Michael, the amusement in his voice making the older man give him a second look. But it was clear Hawke wasn't about to give anything away; he just waved Michael towards the door. "Get going," the younger man told him. "Don't make the ladies wait for you, it's not good manners."

Caitlin was finishing the preflight walk around the Lady when Michael rejoined her. She motioned for him to stop as he headed for the copilot's position. "No, take the right seat," she told him, grinning and her look full of mischief. "I'll co-pilot."

It took him a moment to realize what she was saying, and he came to a dead stop, stunned at the very idea. "You've got to be kidding," he told her, and immediately saw that she wasn't as she headed for the front, left hand seat. "Cait, I don't have a license anymore," he reminded her, giving her a helpless shrug. "I can't pilot . . ."

She held up her hand to forestall his protests. "Ah, but I'm a licensed instructor, and you have been flying the stick in Angel One, now, haven't you?" she asked him shrewdly, pausing in the doorway, her grin growing when his flinch told her that the guess was correct. "Come on, you helped build the Lady, don't tell me you never dreamed of flying her?"

"Dreams were about all I was ever allowed," he admitted softly, heading for the main pilot seat. He closed the door firmly behind him before he belted in and reached for his helmet. And it was his helmet, he realized at once -- the one that Hawke had had crafted to accommodate his glasses during flights so he didn't have to wear his eye patch and squint at everything.

If it was here, in front and waiting, that meant Hawke had to have approved of Cait's idea at some point, to make the change.

He pulled the helmet on and got it comfortably settled, then took a moment to get familiar with the aircraft controls. He knew their placement by heart from years of working on the project before Moffett blew everything to hell, but he'd never handled them before, and didn't want to be groping for anything now. He still couldn't believe what he was doing as he reached up to hit the two starter buttons over his head, listening over the com system as Caitlin gave him status counts from her seat. "Are you sure you want me doing this?" he asked again, getting a feel for the stick and collective and adjusting the seat a fraction for his longer legs.

"I'll do lift-off if you want me to," Caitlin told him, her tone confident. "But I think you can handle her just fine. Just remember, she takes a light touch, don’t clutch at her. Think of those polo ponies of yours. Just a touch of the rein is all you need to spin one of them around. She handles just the same way, smooth and easy."

He thought about that as they watched the Lear lift off, heading east, then he took a deep breath and eased back on the stick to lift them off the ground. His heart was racing as the helicopter rose smoothly into the air, and he managed to keep her steady as he got a feel for the controls. Caitlin was right. The gentlest touch of the stick was all he needed to turn Airwolf and send her after the jet. "Oh, man, I can't believe I'm doing this," he breathed as they picked up speed and altitude, following the Lear skywards. He kept the jet on their right side, where he could clearly see it, and marveled at how easy the fast helicopter was to fly.

Caitlin let him get the hang of things, then reached over her head for some auxiliary controls. "Ready to try the turbos?" she asked him, chuckling.

"Oh, you're kidding me, I hope," he told her, instinctively glancing over her direction, even though he couldn't see her without actually turning half way around in the seat. "Cait, no way. It always throws me back, and I'm not sure I could keep control of her at that speed. No, that's not something I want to try, we're keeping up with the Lear just fine."

Hearing the near panic in his voice, she gave up the idea for the moment. The last thing she wanted was to push him into something he wasn't ready for. "All right, all right," she told him soothingly. "It can wait for another time."

He kept the controls for a couple of hours, savoring the thrill of flying the great helicopter and gradually relaxing enough to really enjoy himself. It wasn't as hard as he thought it would be, Caitlin seemed to have a knack for realizing just how much of the instrumentation he could and couldn't see. Her quiet voice kept him informed of the things that were out of his sight range, reading numbers and information as he needed and asked for it.

When she did take over, it was a smooth transition. He let go of the controls, relaxing back into the seat with a wince as he realized how much tension had built up throughout his body. "Wow . . ."

Caitlin laughed softly. "Heady stuff, isn't it?" she asked him. "Flying her is like flying nothing else in this world."

"Oh, yeah. You were right, she's as sensitive as my ponies are, but a hell of a lot more dangerous."

"Yep," she agreed, taking up some of the slack between them and the Lear so they were flying side by side again.

Once Caitlin had them set for the rest of the trip over the Atlantic, Michael leaned his head back against the back of his chair. "You know, it's been a long time since I thought about my brother," he mused quietly, relaxing once he had made sure he wouldn't accidentally hit any controls while she was flying. "And even longer since I thought about Black Eagle. I was never told her real name, and everyone just called her Eagle. She was a beautiful lady, tall and graceful and deadly as anyone I've ever met. Hell of a pilot, best I'd ever worked with until I met Hawke a year or so after she went over and we lost her. She knew jets, helicopters and planes like she knew her own skin, and could fix just about anything that ever went wrong on one she had to work with. She loved to fly, and knew enough to know how to build them, too."

"How do you think she'd have done against Hawke?" Caitlin asked, her tone curious.

"She's the one person I would have considered laying money on beating Hawke in a combat practice," Michael admitted. "It's a shame they never met. I actually think they would have gotten along; she was as much a loner as he is. The only people she ever worked with were the two that joined up with the FIRM with her. Blue Chip is a computer expert, one of the best in the business for cracking computer code and getting secrets out of locked-down systems. White's Cross is a linguist, she works with the Admiral now, mostly helping him with foreign affairs since he's never been able to learn anything but English."

"'White's Cross'?" Caitlin queried, laughing softly. "What kind of name is that?"

"A good one for her, really." Michael's assured her with a chuckle. "She used to call me 'whitey' like Dom does from time to time. Usually it was to make me mad while one or the other of the two were doing something behind my back, since I had the job of training all three of them. She still does it, too, usually when she knows about something that I haven't found out about yet -- makes me madder than hell sometimes, or 'cross', as Eagle used to put it. They taught me a lot about keeping my eyes and mind open to things going on around me. But forget the rules when they're concerned, there are none. Even now, with Eagle gone, the other two work in ways that usually leaves everyone else going 'huh?' and wondering what in the world they're up to, but somehow they both get the damnedest results. And they're always the best results, too. There are times I throw them assignments just to see what they'll come up with that no one else can find."

"But Eagle was the only one of the three to go out in the field?" Caitlin asked.

"White's Cross, or Lynn, as she more commonly uses now, does field contact work as a controller sometimes. Blue Chip doesn't do field work at all, unless we need him somewhere secure to work on either a system of ours that needs repair or something of someone else's that we need cracked." He paused, reflecting. "Eagle, though, she was a perfect operative. Crack shot, a gifted knife-thrower, anywhere she fixed on a target, that's where the shot landed, be it bullet, stiletto, arrow or dart, she never missed. Didn't matter if it was standing still or in motion, she placed every shot perfectly. She spoke a half dozen languages, and had a presence that would turn heads as she walked through a room."

"She was that beautiful?" Caitlin knew Michael was well known for his love of having beautiful women around him, but this didn't sound like any of is 'angels' that she'd ever met.

"In a way, yes," he assented. "Her features were strong, almost too strong, too severe. But she had a presence about her, a feeling of leashed power -- in some ways, it's the same feeling you get seeing The Lady waiting to go out on a mission. That shiver up your back, as you realize you're in the presence of something deadly."

Frowning, Caitlin shot him a look. "I thought operatives were taught to blend in, to seem like everyone around them. What you're describing is someone who'd stand out like a . . . unicorn in a herd of black horses."

"More like a black horse in a herd of Lippizaners," he corrected, smiling a bit. "It's interesting that you should use the unicorn to describe her, though."

"Oh?"

He fell silent, and she wondered if her curiosity has finally gone too far. Michael had a complicated past, she knew that, and sometimes things came back to bite him when he least expected it.

"I'm the one that slipped her into East Germany," he finally told her. "The day before I turned her loose, we saw a woman being grabbed by the East German police, and it shook her up a bit. I joined her in her room that night, trying to help her work through what we'd seen and get her nerves back under control. The police hadn't been gentle with the woman. One thing led to another and we wound up in bed," he admitted, and hesitated a long moment, as if considering what he was saying, and trying to figure out how best to put it. "As it turned out, Cait, it was her first time. I was the first man she'd ever felt comfortable enough with . . ." He smiled. "I don't know who was more surprised, her or me. When she got in and settled in Germany, she sent me a token, a tiny crystal unicorn. I still have it, out at the ranch, sitting on the headboard of my bed."

"Sounds like she was a very special lady," Caitlin murmured when the silence seemed to drag on for too long.

"Oh, she was special all right," he concurred. "I still miss her from time to time, though not in a romantic way, like I used to miss Maria. Or even Sonja. I wasn't the right man for her, I knew that even before I went to sleep beside her that night. I hoped then she would find David for me, and that perhaps someday, I would have her for a sister instead of a student . . ."

Caitlin smiled. "Why don't you get some sleep?" she suggested, feeling that she had pressed him on the subject long enough. He had told her far, far more than she had expected to learn. "We got six hours yet before we hit England, you might as well relax and get a nap."

"You know, I think I might be able to do just that," he told her softly, hooking his hands into the safety straps and leaning back, getting comfortable and relaxing into sleep.

His quiet breathing kept Caitlin company the rest of the trip.

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

April 23, 1988
London England, Heathrow Airport

About twenty minutes outside of London, Caitlin woke Michael from his nap. "Almost to Heathrow," she warned him. "I know the Lear has to land here but what about us?"

He blinked himself awake, then rubbed his eye for a moment under the glass lens. "No, we need to land," he told her. "Watch where the Lear taxies and come in beside her. We'll be picking up another pair of helicopters here," he directed, then smiled. "Sister ships of a sort to The Lady here. Both are Jet Rangers 222Bs. Airwolf was based off the original A-model with some major modifications."

Caitlin followed the jet in, staying close as Michael talked to air traffic control and gave them the ID numbers they needed to land. When the jet came to a stop, she set down beside it, powered down the rotors and unbelted. "How long are we going to be here?" she asked.

"About an hour," Michael replied. "We get bags transferred to the other choppers and refuel the Lady before heading up to the estate near York around dawn. Since we don't know the area, it probably wouldn't be a wise idea to head out before we get some light."

"Got you," she approved, getting out of Airwolf and stretching out after the long trip. "This is private?" she asked, looking around the quiet area with its high fences. A fuel truck was coming their way to take care of the Lady and the Lear.

"Government," he told her, stepping carefully until he got the circulation going in his legs again. "Man, that was a long trip." He paused, then walked over to stand beside her. "This part of Heathrow is used by MI-5 and MI-6 as well as the Royals. I had to get special permission to come in here with the Lady, you realize. And we're cleared already, so we don't have to go through customs. Ah, all arms are on the Lady, right?" he checked. "Gun laws are really strict here in England."

"Racked on board," Caitlin confirmed. "None of us are packing right now, though we all have our permits and licenses with our passports."

Dominic, Sinjin and String left the Lear and Michael and Cait headed over to join them. They all took a few minutes to look over the two additional helicopters that were waiting. One of them was blue and white while the second was dark green and white. Both were painted in the same style as Airwolf, color above and white below. If she were sitting between them, at a glance, most people wouldn't think there was anything special about Airwolf at all.

"So we're going to hide her in plain sight after all," Hawke commented, looking over the blue chopper. "Sapphire and Jade," he named them, while Cait nodded in approval.

"Yes, so let's get our gear loaded and we'll be out of here shortly," Michael told him, then spotted a car coming their way. He squinted a bit, noting something, then sighed. "Should have figured," he murmured. "Folks, stretch your legs and get things on board, I have to go talk to an old polo opponent for a few. I get the feeling he wants a good look at the Lady to see what all the fuss is about. Shouldn't take us long. Cait, you want to join me?" he asked, giving her a humorous half-bow back the way they'd come.

"Sure," she agreed, curious as a kitten, and followed him back to the Lady.

What Michael didn't tell her was that she was about to meet a real prince.

Sinjin watched them walk off to meet the car and he chuckled to himself as Prince Charles bowed over Caitlin's hand, kissing it in a most charming manner. Michael was talking to him, probably introducing her as one of the Airwolf pilots. Sinjin turned away, and found Dom watching him, concerned.

"Nothing to worry about there," the elder Italian told him. "The man's more interested in the Lady than he is of Cait . . ."

"Oh, I know," Sinjin murmured softly as the sound of Caitlin's laughter came their way. "He's got quite a rep as a ladies' man, though."

Charles didn't stick around long, just long enough to look the Lady over, ask some questions about what she could do, and was there any chance at all of the helicopter ever being put into production for the military? Michael told him no, and was very firm with his answer. "She's dangerous in the wrong hands," he told the prince. "Far, far too dangerous. I trust these folks with her as I would trust them with my life, but too many others could easily be bought out or corrupted. As Hawke would tell you, when you have the firepower to wipe out a small town at your disposal, it's far too easy to play God."

At sunrise, they headed out, Hawke flying one of the other choppers while Dom and Sinjin took the second one. Caitlin fell into line behind the other two, the three keeping a safe distance from each other as they headed over London and out into the countryside.

Riding in the left seat now, Michael had the communications board to work with and he quickly tied in with the other two helicopters so they could all talk together.

"Did you enjoy flying her?" Hawke asked, amusement in his voice. "Cait thought you'd like the chance to handle her."

"She's something," Michael confirmed. "I've always enjoyed flying in her, but actually taking the stick -- I can't think of the words to describe how it feels."

"You're speechless?" Dominic teased. "That's a first. Well, maybe a second, for you -- I seem to recall you winding up speechless once before, but it's been awhile. You're due again."

"Funny, Dominic," Michael growled, but he didn't really mean it and they all knew it. "All right, down to business. We've got use of that old manor I told you about when we did lunch last week. It's used as a safehouse jointly by Interpol and British Intelligence, so it had some major security built in already, and I added a lot more. It was built back in the fifteenth century, and it includes a large underground area that has managed to maintain its integrity and remain a secret from just about everyone. The last time it was used was during World War II during the raids."

"Underground linked to the house?" Hawke asked.

"Yes, through tunnels from the basement that completely catacomb the area to lead to different sections," Michael explained. "There's also a drop-down truck access through the garage. MI-5 bought it in an estate sale, then discovered the underground area about twenty years ago. Part of my usage fee for the place was to seriously upgrade the underground facility and make it more usable. I sent Dr. Walker over about the same time as Marella to do a six-room medical facility, along with a full lab. That alone cost me close to five million, but it's worth it to give Marella a lab closer than London to have Jackie's tests done. Not to mention having Walker's expertise so close at hand in dealing with whatever she might be on."

"I like the man, and he knows how to keep quiet and not ask questions," Hawke agreed. "This place got staff?"

"A full household staff, in the proper British tradition, and all of them have spent years working for MI-5. Butler, maids, cooks, cleaning staff, gardeners and stablemen. Two of my men from Knightsbridge have come over to deal with these three beauties. Don't worry. They know not to bother the Lady, Hawke, without your personal direction. Mostly they'll be working with the other two since we'll be using them for any major flying we do. I'm not planning on pushing my luck by taking her out much."

"Probably a good idea unless we'll be flying after dark," Hawke concurred. "Or if we end up doing a 'grab and run' to get Jackie out of there."

Michael let out a deep sigh, venting some of his frustration. "Right now . . . I don't know what kind of state she's really in, Marella hasn't gotten enough information out to give me a really clear picture of the situation."

Caitlin gave him a sympathetic look. "Buck up, Michael. We'll find out the truth soon enough."

"The sooner the better," Michael murmured.

They reached the estate about breakfast time and Dom's appreciative whistle echoed Sinjin's soft 'Wow.' From what Michael had told them, renovations had kept it modernized, but it hadn't lost any of the old-world charm of the exterior. With thick walls built of stone, Hawke judged it would take something with the firepower of Airwolf to level the place; even a tank would have a hard time getting through those walls.

The gardens behind the house were huge, full of flowers, decorative fencework and hedgerows, not to mention beautiful old oaks that were likely older than the house. Not too far from the house were the stables, and it was big, probably fifteen to twenty stalls with fenced-in pastures and a sand-riding ring. Someone was exercising a horse at that moment, lunging it in circles to loosen it up. The garage was modern and big as well, probably able to hold a dozen cars and easily high enough and with doors big enough for them to get the Lady under cover inside if need be. The newest addition to the place seemed to be the triple helipad beside the garage, with a covered area behind it to shelter the helicopters from the worst of the weather. It was still under assembly, though, and the workmen were putting the side walls up even as they were coming in to land.

"Welcome to Highstaff Hall," Michael introduced.

"I'm impressed, Michael," Hawke approved.

"It cost, but it's all worth it," Michael murmured. "I have no idea how fast we're going to be able to move on things here, and if we wind up cooling our heels a bit, we might as well do it in style."

"No kidding," Caitlin breathed.

She landed the Lady first because of her more powerful downdraft; she didn't want to rock the other choppers by coming in to land after they did. Instead, she and Michael stayed put, shutting systems down as Hawke and Sinjin landed the other two 'copters on either side of them.

When they all got out, the staff was heading their way to get baggage, and the man supervising the construction work was approaching Michael from behind them. "Well, this is quite the change," he told Michael with a grin, looking up and down at the grey flight suit. "Michael, you're looking quite well."

Archangel grinned and shook the man's offered hand. "Jonathan, it's good to see you again. Folks, this is our liaison with MI-5, Jonathan Knotch. He's actually in charge of this facility and its upkeep."

"Yes, and the size of the retainer check you sent for its use made eyes bulge at the district, let me tell you," Jonathan told him with a twinkle in his eyes. "We're lucky to get a half million for the yearly upkeep and you sent twenty times that, and then that doctor showed up with all his toys and equipment to start upgrading the underground. You're very popular right now in certain circles."

"It's worth every penny if it gets Jackie back to us safe and sound," Michael told him.

The household staff and some of the groundskeepers reached them to take in luggage, though most of their things had been shipped ahead. Jonathan introduced them to Michael, who in turn introduced his friends. It didn't take long to sort the baggage out and they headed across the grounds and inside the newly renovated Highstaff Hall.

It was time to get down to business.

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

END PART I.

BACK TO INTRO

---

Linda Ryner, Webmistress
shewolf75@hotmail.com
July 3, 2004

---