In the weeks that had passed since the explosion, Saint John had made a slow recovery from his wounds. String still couldn't help but think he was largely to blame, but he was wise enough to realize his brother made his own decisions.
His argument with Dom all those years ago when they'd been doing that stunt and how when it was cold and damp his bones ached like hell came back to haunt him. If he'd thought about it then, when he took a stunt, it didn't begin to touch how he felt some days now. Sighing, he rubbed a weary hand over his eyes watching Sinj work his way through another round of therapy. Jo had stayed and for that he was eternally grateful.
He had to admit, he'd had some doubts there as to whether she would. He knew he hadn't made it easy for her in the beginning and it'd been touch and go there for a while even as to whether Saint John would pull out of it. To this day, he firmly believed his brother would've given up had Jo not returned. He didn't kid himself, she and Sinj would have some major hurdles to face, but he had hope they'd make it. Saint John seemed happier than he'd been in a long time. Cait had been right, and he was glad.
Pushing tiredly to his feet, Hawke rose. He was due in Archangel's office in half an hour and he'd better get moving or he'd be late. For a moment, he toyed with the idea knowing just how much it irritated Michael, but stifling the urge, he pushed it away. Just because he could harangue Michael, didn't mean he should… but it sure was fun, he thought, the first light of the day coming into his blue eyes as they sparkled wickedly.
Saint John looked up, seeing him stand. "You leaving?" he called, Jo standing beside him.
"Yeah," String replied as he tossed up a careless hand in farewell. "Meeting with Michael. Don't want to be late."
Saint John's mouth quirked in wry amusement. "Since when?" he retorted, knowing his younger brother's propensity for pushing Michael's buttons - and loving every minute of it.
Caught, String grinned. "Since now?" he smirked, knowing Saint John had called him on it. "Besides," he said, "If show up early, it'll throw him off his game and he'll be wondering what I'm up to the whole time I'm there."
Saint John grinned himself. String wasn't the only Hawke who'd gotten a wicked sense of humor. "Well, give Michael my love," he teased as he watched his brother go.
String had almost made it to the door, when an uneasy feeling prickled down the back of Saint John's neck. "Watch your back, String," he called out, not sure why the warning was there, but unable to resist it.
"Always do," came the brusque reply as the shorter, slighter dark-haired man slipped out the door.
Pulling up on the parallel bars, sweat dripping down his face, Saint John frowned. "Yeah, right," he muttered wryly.
Michael's office at Red Star was as pristine as always, cherry wood furniture polished within an inch of it's life, cream-colored carpet immaculate. The man, however, was not; his jacket tossed on a nearby chair, hair rumpled and tie askew it was obvious something was up. Walking in, Hawke did a double take.
"Michael?" he asked, earlier teasing gone as he stepped into the office. "What's up?" Anytime the spy was in this kind of disorder, something major must've happened. He'd seen him face down international threats with more aplomb. Come to think of it, he couldn't think of any time he'd ever seen him look this distraught.
Striding around the desk, Hawke faced his old friend. "Michael, what's wrong?" he demanded worriedly. An uneasy and unwelcome thought crossed his consciousness as he thought of Michael's grown daughter. Where was Angelina anyway? The spy hadn't mentioned her in a long while, and the last he knew, she'd gone overseas after her fiancé's death the year before. Guiltily, he realized he'd been remiss in asking, the trauma and sorrow of Saint John and Jo losing their daughter, Bella and their marriage falling apart pushing everything else from view.
Impatiently, he gripped the spy's shoulder, the icy blue eyes intense. "Is Angelina okay, Michael?" he demanded, anxiety tightening his own chest.
The white-clad spy looked up at him, his one good eye obviously distracted. "Angelina?" he asked, as if puzzled for a moment, trying to place the name. "She's fine," he waved his hand as if the thought was inconsequential. "Why do you ask?"
Hawke drew a relieved breath, feeling his own nerves uncoil. "Then what's up Michael?"
Pulling away, the deputy director paced the length of the room. Watching him, String wasn't sure he'd ever seen him look so distracted, out of sorts. Quite frankly, it was beginning to get on his nerves. By the time his friend spoke, his own emotions were taut.
"Thor recalled Marella to the field."
"What?" Hawke asked in surprise. Marella hadn't done field work in years, concentrating her talents and abilities behind the scenes at Red Star. Quite frankly, he wouldn't have been surprised if she had more to do with the day to day running of the place and the Firm than Michael did.
Archangel scowled, frowning at the interruption.
Raising an eyebrow, Hawke motioned for him to continue.
Raking a hand through his hair, Michael went on. "Anyway, she's been doing a little pinch hitting as of late. All the shake-ups in staff have required it, left us a little at loose ends, if you know what I mean."
Hawke nodded. There was no doubt Freysia's defection earlier this year had had long running consequences, shaking the core of the establishment. It had nearly derailed Hawke's own life, not to mention gotten Seb accused of treason and espionage. It had to have affected the flow of information here as well, creating some holes as well as some nasty opportunities for moles within the organization. It was largely why Hawke had taken back Airwolf despite the committee's very obvious displeasure.
Nonetheless, he was a little surprised to hear of Marella going back to field work. Roughly his age, and amazingly astute he had no doubt she still made a hell of an agent, but Thor was taking a definite risk leaving someone of her expertise and clearance out in the field. "And?" he prodded.
Michael huffed out an exasperated breath as he rounded the desk again, his limp more pronounced as he paced. "She's been missing since Friday."
"She's what?!" Hawke exclaimed furiously, his own voice rising as his startled eyes met the spy's grim gaze. "But today's Monday, Michael! They should've already begun the process of shutting your department down. Why was nothing said before now? Why didn't you say something?"
"Because, dammit," the executive director snarled in frustration, "Nobody saw fit to tell me!"
Shocked, Hawke stared at him. Hadn't told him? Even he couldn't fathom that.
Angrily, Michael slammed his hands to his desk top, frustration seeping out of every pore. He cleared the desk in one exasperated sweep of his arm, folders and files hitting the floor, bowing his head in defeat. "My department has been shut down. The Airwolf project has been shelved as well. The news just came down."
Hawke averted his eyes from the confidential files and folders littering the floor at his feet. He knew he had no business there, and truthfully something of far greater importance to him was on the table.
"What do you want me to do, Michael?" he asked, his voice sober.
Michael plopped down in his chair with a ragged sigh, pulling a folder out of his desk drawer. Silently, he slid it across the desk at him. "The impossible," he muttered, not raising his eyes to look at Hawke.
Eyebrows raising, String shot him a questioning glance as he reached for the file and sat down. Opening it, he quickly skimmed the first couple of pages, going back and re-reading them with a scowl. "A Haversham screen, Archangel? You gotta be kidding me," he growled. "Hell, Michael, the last time I went up against one of them, Saint John and Rivers barely made it out alive, not to mention what it did to the Lady."
"I know," the spy murmured. Saint John and Rivers had been lucky to survive, and he'd been requisitioning parts for Airwolf for weeks.
Hawke sighed, tossing the file folder back on the desk. "Saint John's not up to it Michael. I'm not sure he ever will be, quite frankly. And I'm not sure I am either. The Lady was a mess by the last time we made it through. If my reaction time is any slower…"
The deputy director raised his head, his gaze meeting Hawke's blue one squarely. "You can turn it down, Hawke," he said. "I wouldn't blame you."
String glanced away guiltily, not knowing what to say. After a moment, he spoke. "So, what'll you do?" he asked quietly, somehow already knowing the answer.
"Go after her," his friend shrugged. "What else?"
Hawke frowned, reaching for the folder once again. "I just don't know, Michael. I'm not sure it can be done, and I have to have backup. I can't very well just ask Roper or Rivers to volunteer for what is essentially a suicide mission."
The spy nodded rising, his face somber. "Understood," he said, realizing all too well what he was asking of the younger man as he reached across the desk to clasp the other's hand. His grip tightened as he met his uncertain frown. "And Hawke?"
"Yeah?"
"If you don't take it, I'll understand. I won't hold it against you."
Hawke slid the folder into his inside jacket pocket, meeting the other's sober gaze with his own troubled one. He heaved out a heavy breath. "Right," he sighed. "I'll be in touch." He hesitated, hating to ask, yet knowing he had to. "How long until you leave, Michael?"
Leaning against the desk, Michael met his question with a look of his own. "I leave in the morning. I'm catching a flight out at seven a.m. That's the soonest I can slip past the committee without them suspecting something's up. I'm scheduled to be in Langley in the afternoon for a debriefing."
Hawke nodded grimly, knowing the FIRM's policy on getting caught. Wife or no, Archangel would be expected to let this one play out on its own. They certainly wouldn't want to risk him with the clearance he held as well. Bucking Thor and the committee on this would be tantamount to treason in their eyes - with all the consequences that went with it. And it would only be a matter of hours before they realized what Michael had done.
He really didn't relish the thought of seeing his friend standing before a firing squad. And left up to them, it might very well come to that. "I'll let you know," he said, stepping soberly through the door and into the hallway.