Disclaimer - Set in the timeline originally created by Rachel500, of ten years after Dom's death in the events of the original Blackjack episode, this story utilizes characters created and owned by Belisarius and Universal from the original Airwolf series as well as USA's Airwolf II season. They are not mine and I make no claim to them or profit from them. No copyright infringement is intended. The characters of Seb, Nicky and Amelia were created by Rachel500 and belong to her. Roper is mine. "Gone" is story ten in the series.
"Gone"
Leaning around the corner, sweat trickled down Stringfellow Roper's shoulder blades, plastering the lightweight blue shirt to his skin. Long fingers tightened uneasily around the grip of the gun he held, slick in his hand.
He had to be crazy to take on this mission for the company, he thought, swallowing hard. Still, it'd seemed a good enough idea when his CO had suggested it. Squinting, he watched a sun-kissed blonde braid duck down behind several fifty gallon drum barrels ahead of him, before slipping inside the hangar with a swish.
Of course, that'd been before he'd met Katie. Now, he was simply convinced she'd get them both killed.
Heavy steps rounded the hangar corner in front of him.
Blue eyes widening in apprehension, he took in a sturdily built, camo-clad guard with automatic rifle in hand.
Great.
The man hesitated, tossing aside a cigarette, looking like he might turn back the way he'd come.
Muscles tensing, Roper prayed he would.
Abruptly, a metallic clang rang out from inside the hangar, clear and loud.
Head swiveling, Roper swung towards the sound even as he snatched his attention back to the guard at hand. The guard spun, booted heel grinding out the cigarette at his feet. Grip tightening on the gun, he headed purposefully towards the hangar.
Crap.
They'd been made. So much for just getting in and getting out. He'd known that blonde lunatic was going to get him killed.
Ducking, he flung himself across the expanse in between, crouching as he ran. Dropping, he rolled at the last instant coming up next to the barrels - the only thing saving him from being heard the sound of a jet overhead.
The door clicked shut even as he scrambled to his feet.
Swearing, he lost valuable seconds as he fought the lock trying to decide if discretion or valor was the better choice. Did he pick it, and hope for the best, or just kick it in?
Ah hell, he was probably dead either way.
Booted foot slammed into the door, the flimsy metal lock giving as the door shuddered and banged back against the wall behind it as it flung open.
Breath heaving, he didn't notice, his attention clearly centered on the slim blonde at the other end of the building beside a pallet of crates. She spun, some sixth sense alerting her even as the soldier raised his rifle.
Diving, she lunged for the stack of crates. Gunfire erupted around her, even as Roper dropped to his knee his own gun raising, his desperate brain computing the bold stamped Spanish words on the crates - ¡Peligro! ¡Explosivos!
Danger! Explosives!
Stunned sapphire blue eyes flared wide. "No!" he yelled, bringing his own gun up to bear, his aim suddenly sharper and truer than it'd ever been any time in his life.
It didn't matter. The explosion erupted; the percussive blast slamming him to the ground, rocking the hangar as it flung his gun from useless fingers.
His one consolation as he watched the seething fireball lick its way towards him was there'd be one less guard for the company to worry about when they came in to clean up his mess, Katie's mess.
Blue eyes flickered and closed.
"What do you mean Roper's missing and you don't know where he is?" Hawke demanded, leaning across Archangel's desk, very nearly in his face. Tension radiated from every pore of his body. "It's my understanding he was working for you," he snarled. The implied threat was clear in the words.
Marella set the cup and saucer she held down with a sharp clunk next to his hand. "You know as well as I do, the Company and the FIRM are not the same thing, Stringfellow Hawke!" she protested.
Seated, Michael waved her off with a placating hand even as Cait placed a restraining hand on Hawke's forearm.
He cast her a startled glance, before straightening as if realizing how far into Michael's personal space he'd been. He didn't apologize though.
"Maybe so," String conceded, a muscle ticking in his lean jaw as he glanced at Marella before squarely returning his attention to Michael. "But I don't for one minute buy you don't have some clue as to what they're up to."
Arching an eyebrow, Archangel pushed to his feet reaching for his cane. "Be that as it may, Hawke," he admitted turning. "But that doesn't necessarily mean I know what Roper was doing working for them."
"You will find out though?" Cait interjected, her blue-green eyes worried even as she felt the muscles in Hawke's arm leap beneath her hand.
Sensing the anguish there, Michael nodded. "I'll do my best, Cait," he promised. "But you two are going to have to stay out of it for now. I can't have my contacts jeopardized just because somebody went off half-cocked."
This last was clearly directed at Hawke and he knew it.
Scowling, String snatched his arm free of Caitlin's, glowering. "Then you'd better get a move on, Michael," he rasped. "I know the Company's reputation when it comes to cutting their operatives loose," he said, referring to how they'd knowingly left his brother Saint John in a Laotian prison camp for nearly a decade, making no effort to rescue him. "I won't wait long."
Lean fingers grasping the door handle, he snatched it open, striding out angrily and leaving Cait in his wake. She shot an apologetic glance at Michael before hurrying out after him.
"He's right, you know," Marella murmured, picking the cup up from Michael's desk. The dark brown eyes were sober. "They do have a habit of eating their own."
Staring out the window, the white-clad spy sighed. "I'm aware of it. Give Meryl a call. We've got to talk."