Revelations

by deb

Startling revelations reveal both Airwolf's origins and the depths of Jason Locke's deception. Fifth story in the “Journey into Darkness” universe.

Summary: Startling revelations reveal both Airwolf's origins and the depths of Jason Locke's deception. Fifth story in the "Journey into Darkness" universe. Acknowledgments: I would like to thank Enfleurage for her input – any errors that remain are mine.

Airwolf (unfortunately) isn't mine. Characters and settings belong to their creators. No profit to be made from this story

"Revelations"

-*-

"Drop down another fifty feet." Hawke's voice came through the speakers in her helmet.

"Are you sure?"

Caitlin fought back a chuckle, hearing the reluctance in Michael's voice. She remembered when she had first started flying Airwolf, and her own discomfort at taking the helicopter down on the deck. A quick glance at the altimeter assured her that they had plenty of altitude to spare, but she knew that it often didn't feel that way, especially when you weren't accustomed to how quickly Airwolf covered the terrain.

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't tell you to do it."

"Glad someone has some confidence." Michael still sounded uncertain, but did as Hawke had asked, dipping earthward.

"You're doing fine," Caitlin told him. With her husband in the pilot's seat and Hawke beside him, she had moved into the back, monitoring the engineering console.

Despite his protests to the contrary, Michael was doing an admirable job of learning the idiosyncrasies of the mach capable helicopter. It had surprised her when Hawke had announced his intentions to train Michael. She had known that he had once held a pilot's license, but she had assumed it was fixed wing, not rotary. Somehow, it was something they had never really discussed.

He had been hesitant at first; it had been years since he had flown, and he had feared that the nerve damage to his arm might be a problem. So far, it wasn't. She noticed that there were switches and controls that he operated left-handed that she would have reached for with her right, but other than that, it was a non-issue. After three weeks of off-and-on practice, Michael's only real difficulty was in getting used to low-level flight, and she suspected that would come in time. It had for her.

Michael brought the aircraft to a hover, hanging in front of the Red Star control center before slowly descending to land. From a purely practical standpoint, it was the perfect place to store Airwolf. There was a hangar bay that they could easily roll the helicopter into, the computers left on-site nearly duplicated those Michael had long ago provided for Dominic and Hawke to install in the lair, and they had cleaned up the worst of the mess the contractor had left behind.

Simply put, though, the place gave her the willies. Even now, ten years later, Michael still bore the scars of Moffet's attack. Caitlin couldn't imagine how he could stand to be here.

In the pilot's seat, Michael pulled off the helmet. He looked over at Hawke. "Flying her is getting easier."

Hawke grinned a Cheshire cat grin. "Told you it would. You having fun yet?"

"Some of the time." Michael matched Hawke's expression. "Especially when you haven't got me down so low I feel like I'm dodging lizards." He popped the hatch, and swung out of the helicopter. 'I'll unlock the hangar."

His feet had no sooner hit the ground than Caitlin saw the light blink on her panel. "Someone's calling us," she said, reaching to switch the radio onto speaker.

"Airwolf, come in." The voice was distorted by the radio, but unmistakably Zeus's.

"This is Airwolf, go ahead."

"Caitlin? I need to talk to Archangel."

She smiled to herself, amused that the Director would refer to her husband by his Firm code name. "Michael?" she raised her voice to call him back to the helicopter. "Zeus, for you."

He returned, and ducked his head back into Airwolf. "Archangel," he said, into the microphone.

"We need to meet."

Michael looked up at Hawke, and silently mouthed the question, "Cabin?"

Hawke scowled, but gave a grudging nod.

"How about Hawke's cabin?" The agent glanced at his watch. "Say five o'clock?"

-*-

The Director looked as out-of-place as he did uncomfortable. He cast the occasional glance out the window, perhaps assuring himself that his Long Ranger and pilot were still waiting on the dock. Tet watched the man, eyes never leaving him. It was out of character for a dog that usually liked everyone. Michael wondered if Tet had simply picked up on the distaste the others felt for the Firm's top executive.

Zeus sipped at the glass of wine that Hawke had offered him in an unexpected act of magnanimity. "Another of the helicopters has shown up."

"The modified Fennecs?" Michael left his seat at the bar and moved to the couch.

"There have been sightings of an unidentified helicopter. From the description..."

"Where?" Hawke asked, ever impatient

Zeus chewed his lip, discomfort radiating from him in waves. He wasn't used to trusting the pilot, or anyone else, for that matter. "New Mexico. The White Sands Proving Grounds."

Hawke snorted. "The military can't control their own skies?"

The director scowled. "This helicopter isn't showing up on radar, and by the time it's seen, reported, and someone goes looking for it -- it's gone."

"Any idea what they're after?" Michael interrupted, deftly refocusing the others.

"No. But we do have some information on where it – or should I say they – were built."

Michael could make an educated guess. One of the former Soviet states, or at a minimum, one of their allies. As counter-intuitive as it sounded, the agent suspected that the breakup of the USSR had actually made the world a more dangerous place, destabilizing the balance of power in the region. Too many small countries that didn't like their neighbors, each with their own agenda. "Where?"

"The stolen airframes were delivered to Croatia. It appears they were assembled there."

"I can't say I'm surprised."

Zeus nodded. There was reluctance in his voice as he continued. "There's more."

From the way the Director said it, Michael was certain he didn't want to hear it. "And?"

"We know who obtained the Fennec for Horn, although as of yet, we don't know quite how, or whether the individual had anything to do with the remaining aircraft." Zeus's jaw was tightly clenched, his anger barely kept in check. Michael knew even before Zeus spat out the name. "Locke."

"Jason Locke?" Hawke asked, brow creasing as he considered the implications. "That makes no sense. Once my brother password-protected Airwolf's ignition, Locke was of no further use to him. That's why Horn had him killed along with the others. If Horn got the Fennec through him, he would have wanted to protect his source, in case he wanted more. He wouldn't have--" He broke off to stare at Michael.

Michael followed the pilot's thinking. Horn wouldn't have killed the man who had provided him with his own high-tech, heavily armed helicopter. There had to be an explanation. "If Horn had the Fennec, and he couldn't get to Airwolf, he probably killed St. John and the others simply to keep them from being a threat to his new helicopter."

"But there would have been no reason to kill Locke, and plenty of reasons not to," Hawke suggested.

"An accident?" Michael asked. Perhaps Horn's hit men hadn't anticipated Locke being there.

Hawke's gaze hardened, and he turned on Zeus. "Was there positive identification of Locke's body?"

The Director had raised his glass, and now he stopped, mid-motion. He set the glass back down sharply, sending the wine it contained sloshing precariously near the lip of the glass. Zeus stood. "I bloody well intend to find out. Hold that thought. I'll be back." He turned and went out the door to his waiting Long Ranger.

"You think he faked his death?" Caitlin asked, her confusion obvious.

"He faked mine. Locke could have rigged the gas explosion that killed St. John."

"But there was a fourth body."

"Which might have been anyone. One of Horn's people, a drifter, someone who wouldn't be missed." Michael looked out the front window, watching as Zeus talked with someone over his helicopter's radio. If the Director's demeanor meant anything, he wasn't getting the answers he wanted.

"If Locke is still alive..." Caitlin frowned.

"He won't be. once I get my hands on him." Hawke poured himself another glass of wine.

Zeus returned. He remained standing. Outside, Michael could see the Long Ranger preparing to take off. The Director sighed deeply. "Someone dropped the ball. The body that was identified as Locke's was near the source of the explosion, and there wasn't a great deal remaining to identify. Locke's car was outside, and they assumed it was him." Zeus glanced toward Michael. "Be assured that those who made that assumption won't make that mistake again." He looked back at Hawke. "We will find out for certain, but I suspect you're right." He hesitated, his discomfort obvious. "Thank you."

"If that bastard is alive... I want him."

The Director nodded. "I'll do what I can." Zeus turned, and went back out the door.

-*-

"Watch your altitude."

Michael glanced down at the instruments. The moment he had stopped concentrating on maintaining her altitude, Airwolf had drifted skywards again. "Damn it." He eased the helicopter back down to the height Hawke had requested. It was, in his estimation, uncomfortably close to the ground.

He rolled his neck, trying to loosen the muscles in his shoulder. It wasn't the physical aspects of flying that were bothering him, it was more the stress and tension of trying to re-learn skills not used in over a decade. Skills that, even then, had never been applied to a helicopter anything like this one.

Hawke had caught the motion. "Want me to take her for awhile?"

"No, I'm fine." Michael wasn't ready to give in to it. He did, however, have plans for a very long hot shower when they got back to the cabin.

They had been "lurking" around White Sands for the last four days, hoping that the Fennec would show itself. The first day, Hawke had done all the flying. The next morning, as soon as they had arrived at the range and he had shut down the turbos, Hawke had turned the controls over to Michael. Since then, other than the mach plus trips back and forth from the cabin, the agent had flown. They had made a few high passes, but the majority of the flying had been the low level sort that still made Michael uneasy.

The military knew they were there, of course. Somehow, Zeus had gained their grudging permission. Without it, they too would have been reported as an unknown helicopter, defeating the purpose of the surveillance. However, even though they weren't concerned about showing up on base radar, there was still the problem of the Fennec's own radar to consider. The idea was to see, not to be seen.

Hawke's voice came over the intercom. "Cait's flying with me tomorrow. She needs to get some seat time. You can baby-sit the installers."

Michael started to protest, then simply nodded. While his first thought was that Hawke was trying to ease up on him, he realized the pilot was right. Caitlin was supposed to be Airwolf's co-pilot, and he had been hogging the hours that rightfully should have been hers. Worse, she was stuck spending the day at the house, waiting for the appliances to be installed. Tomorrow would be another day of waiting. The telephone and satellite dish companies were due. It was only fair that he took a turn dealing with the workmen.

It would be good to have the work finished, so they could get back to their own house. While there might be a certain rustic charm to sleeping with Caitlin in a nest of blankets and quilts in front of Hawke's fireplace, it didn't afford much privacy. Worse, while Tet was willing to share the floor, he had the annoying tendency to make his presence known with his cold, wet nose.

"What do you think they're up to? Why here?"

Michael knew the question was eating at Hawke, but he had no answers. "Hard to say. It could be as simple as proximity to their base of operations." It could be, but he doubted it. He glanced down, checked his altitude to be sure it was holding steady. In the back of his mind, something nagged at him, something he knew he should remember. Something about White Sands. He shook his head. Whatever it was, it was just out of reach.

-*-

In the flickering firelight, Michael watched the slow rise and fall of his wife's chest, listened to the soft sounds of her breathing. He rolled onto his back, careful not to disturb her. Caitlin had a long day of flying ahead of her, and he had no intention of waking her, even if he himself couldn't sleep.

It kept playing in his mind. White Sands Proving Grounds. From the first time Zeus had said the words, he had known there was something about that place. Something, some connection he should remember. Frustrated, knowing that he wasn't going to sleep, he eased himself out from under the blankets.

Since they had moved into Hawke's cabin, Michael had been sleeping in sweat pants. Now, he pulled on a jacket and quietly let himself out onto the porch. The crisp night air with it's subtle undercurrent of pine served to clear his mind. He might never admit it, but in some ways, when he and Caitlin moved back to their own house, he would miss this place.

Their house had no close neighbors, but it was near enough to both Thousand Oaks and the Pacific Coast Highway that the sounds of civilization intruded. Here, there were only the voices of nature. Birds calling, the whisper of the wind through the trees. It was a silence and a solitude one could learn to appreciate, and come to enjoy.

Michael walked down to the lake, the coming dawn brightening the sky enough to guide his footsteps. One of the Firm's Long Rangers was on the dock, on loan from Zeus to serve as their transportation to and from Red Star. Unbeknownst to the Director, Airwolf was once again hidden behind the cabin. As long as they were making daily flights to New Mexico, it made no sense to fly the extra miles to Red Star.

The sight of the Firm's helicopter reminded him that eventually they would need to go recover the Airwolf mock-up from the Briggs ranch. Mentally, he added that to the list of things to do, a list that seemed to grow longer by the day. Life had gotten so hectic that he still hadn't talked to the movers about retrieving the rest of their belongings from Washington.

He caught a flash of light out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see the cabin door closing, leaving Caitlin standing on the porch. Michael walked back toward the cabin to meet her. The rays of the dawning sun reflected off her tousled hair, and she had a blanket wrapped around her. She sat down on the porch swing, and he joined her.

"You're up early." She snuggled against him.

"Couldn't sleep," he admitted.

Caitlin pulled back, turning so she could see him. "Shoulder still bothering you?"

Michael shrugged. "A little. It's not that. There's something... something about White Sands that I know I should remember, but I can't."

"Were you there at some point?"

"I don't think so. It doesn't look familiar." He shook his head. Chances were that whatever knowledge he had once had of White Sands had been lost when the falling beam had impacted the side of his head. If so, he would probably never remember it. "At any rate, it's gone." Michael tried to push it out of his mind. He rose. "Come on, let's go find some breakfast."

-*-

The installers were, remarkably, on time. Both the satellite and telephone people were finished and gone by late morning. Michael radioed Airwolf. They were having another unproductive day idling over the proving grounds, but at least it sounded as if Caitlin was enjoying herself.

The bulk of the furniture wasn't set to be delivered for another two days. With nothing more to do at the house, he considered heading back to the cabin. The idea held little appeal. Michael had started reading a book several days before, but knew he was too restless to read. Elusive memories still tugged at him. He picked up the newly installed phone. If he couldn't remember the significance of White Sands, perhaps someone else could.

An hour later, he sat in one of the too-low chairs, waiting. He picked up one of the magazines and idly thumbed it, feigning interest as he surreptitiously watched the receptionist watch him. A pretty blond, perhaps in her twenties, she wasn't being obvious about it, instead sneaking the occasional glance while she worked, or at least pretended to work. Another woman joined her, older, wearing a lab coat and a stethoscope wrapped around her neck. Michael worked to keep the smile off his face as the receptionist raised a file, blocking his view of their mouths. Judging from the way their eyes flicked in his direction, they were talking about him.

A young girl appeared from one of the exam rooms, followed by adults who were probably her parents. The girl smiled shyly at Michael as her parents spoke with the receptionist and forms were signed. The girl's smile brought a quick pang of regret. Shortly after they had begun their relationship, he had discussed with Caitlin the possibility of having children. Together, they had made the decision that it wouldn't be a good idea. They lived chaotic lives that a baby would change radically unless they allowed the child to be raised by nannies – something neither of them was willing to do. Michael's age had been another factor. It had been the right decision, but even so, there were moments when he regretted it.

The child and her parents left, and Marella soon stepped out of the same exam room. She stopped in the office, and Michael heard her say that she was going to lunch and would be back by two. Michael rose as she approached, and she swept him into a hug. He responded with a quick peck on her cheek. "Ready?"

"Starving. Let's get out of here." As soon as they cleared the doorway, Marella began to chuckle. His raised eyebrow asked the silent question. "Shelia and Anne," Marella explained. "My receptionist and the practice's other doctor. They're going to be hounding me all afternoon trying to find out who you are, and more importantly, whether or not you're single."

He flashed the gold band on his finger. "Sorry to disappoint."

"They'll get over it."

He started to lead her toward the Jeep. Marella took one look at the open-topped vehicle and slowed to a stop. "You don't really think I'm going to lunch in that, do you?" She scowled at him. "Your hair may be muss-proof, but if I get in that Jeep, mine is going to be a rat's nest." Marella steered him in the other direction. "We'll take my car." She pulled keys from her purse. and held them out "Want to drive?"

The car Marella was headed for was an older Jaguar sports car. Apparently pediatrics were a rather lucrative specialty. Michael reached for the keys. "You don't mind?"

She laughed. "Just keep it in one piece."

He opened the passenger door for her, then slid into the driver's seat. The engine started with a throaty rumble. "Any preferences for lunch?"

"Modesto's?"

"Are they as good as they used to be?" Seven years earlier, when he had been Deputy Director, they had eaten at the Italian restaurant quite regularly.

"Better if anything." Marella let him pull out of the parking lot before continuing. "How's Hawke doing?"

"His leg? Healing nicely. Took the stitches out himself."

"I can't say that's a surprise." She leaned back into the seat. "How are you two getting along? Are you still staying at the cabin?"

Michael turned onto the highway. "For a few more days. The house is almost finished. Once we get settled, Cait and I will have you to dinner." He was pleasantly surprised to find traffic relatively light. "As to Hawke and I... I'm not sure how to explain it. He's changed. The dynamics between us have changed."

Marella laughed. "You're trying to tell me that you're friends."

He considered that.. "We were always friends. Now, I think we both might actually be willing to admit it."

They exchanged small talk as they drove to the restaurant. Michael requested a table in a quiet corner, and they ordered, both sipping coffee as they waited for their meal.

Finally, Marella set her cup down, staring across it at Michael. "Enjoyable as it might be, you didn't ask me to lunch just to catch up, did you?"

"Am I that obvious?"

Her nose wrinkled mischievously. "Not obvious. Predictable."

Michael nodded, admitting that she was right. He hesitated, trying to find the right way to phrase the question. "What is it that I can't remember about White Sands Proving Grounds?"

The color drained from her face. "Marella?"

Eyes closed, she waved away his concern. Her eyes blinked open. "I'm sorry. That was the last thing I expected." Marella took a deep breath. "I'm not surprised you don't remember. It was just before Moffet opened up..." She paused, licking her lips. "Moffet said something to Dietz, that they had met years earlier at White Sands, on Project Proteus. I realized then that there had been trouble, that much was obvious from the way Dietz reacted. I remember the look on your face. You realized it, too."

He regretted bringing it up to Marella, but knew that if somehow Moffet was connected, it was even more important to find out all he could. "Proteus. That's not ringing any bells. I don't think I've ever heard of it." Proteus hadn't imprinted itself into his memory the way White Sands had. He was fairly certain that if it was a project he'd been aware of, the name would at least seem familiar.

"I hadn't, at the time. As soon as I went back to work, I did some digging. Proteus dated to the early seventies. All I could find out about the project itself was that it was extremely hush-hush, and whatever it was, Moffet was apparently in charge." She hesitated. "There was a string of murders. Call girls. The way the girls died... well, let's just say that whoever was responsible was one sick, sadistic bastard."

"Moffet."

"He was never charged. Apparently whatever he was doing at White Sands was considered important enough to accept some collateral damage."

Michael considered the time frame and the locale, as well as Moffet's background. "Project Proteus -- nuclear?"

She shrugged. "Possibly. It would fit."

An advanced, heavily armed and armored helicopter in unknown hands sneaking around the site where Moffet had worked on a top secret project. It was too big a coincidence, there had to be some connection. "Shit."

-*-

Caitlin was flying with Hawke again, although they had all begun to think that staking out White Sands was futile. The mysterious helicopter hadn't been seen above the range in over a week, and it seemed increasingly likely that whatever it had been doing there, it's mission had either been accomplished or abandoned.

Miles away at Knightsbridge, Michael was trying another angle. As he walked into the Director's office, Zeus waved him toward a chair. "You wanted to see me?"

Michael lowered himself into the chair Zeus had indicated. There were things he needed to know, things he hoped the Director could tell him. He weighed his choice of words carefully. "What can you tell me about Project Proteus?"

Zeus gaze locked with his. It was a long moment before the man answered. "Nothing."

Nothing? What the hell did that mean? Michael tried another angle. "We believe there may be a connection between Proteus, White Sands, Moffet and the Fennecs."

The Director leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers before him.. "There may be. Unfortunately, Proteus is above your security clearance."

What? "Last I knew, I had a top secret clearance."

"You still do, Michael." Was there a note of sympathy in Zeus's voice? "But I can't give you the information you want."

It was hard to imagine that a twenty year old nuclear program could rate that level of secrecy. Sensing that Zeus was finished, Michael rose and headed toward the door. As he reached it, he had a horrible thought. What if they had lost one? He turned and looked back over his shoulder. "Tell me we're not looking for a damned nuke."

The look Zeus gave him was indecipherable. "A nuke? Things are seldom that simple." The Director stood. "I will tell you this, Michael. Harlan Jenkins was an egotistical ass, but he was the one who actually designed the turbos and the disengagement system for Airwolf's rotors. It was before you took over the project. By the time you came along, Moffet had managed to take the credit, but it was Jenkins. Moffet built the computers."

Michael had enough experience in the espionage business to read between the lines, to hear what Zeus wasn't saying, what he perhaps couldn't say. Airwolf was tied into Proteus. Deeply tied. He nodded as he opened the door. "Thank you."

-*-

"Jenkins? You've got to be kidding me." Hawke leaned back, crossing ankles that rested on the coffee table.

Michael pulled loose his tie. He noted absently that the three-piece suit felt almost as alien as the flightsuit had just weeks earlier. The jacket and vest followed the tie, and he rolled up his sleeves. preparing to start dinner. "Jenkins," he confirmed. "That's what Zeus said. Harlan Jenkins designed the propulsion system, and Moffet took credit for it."

"What else did he say?"

"Moffet built the computers." Michael took shrimp from the refrigerator. It was still seafood, but at least it wasn't trout.

"Built? As opposed to designed?"

He put on water to boil for pasta. "I caught that, too. Zeus says what he means. The wording was intentional."

Hawke lowered his legs and leaned forward. "If Moffet didn't design the computers, then who the hell did?"

Among other things, the computers were what gave Airwolf much of her stealth capability, the ability to mask her infrared emissions and to confuse enemy radar. "I don't know. The way Zeus phrased it – it didn't sound like it was simply a case of Moffet taking the credit for someone else's work. It's tied into whatever he was doing at White Sands, I'd bet on it."

"And whatever that was, it was important enough that they covered up the deaths of half a dozen women so he could continue with it."

Michael looked up as Caitlin came down the stairs, having changed into jeans and a tank top. She joined Michael in the kitchen, peaking under the pan's lid to see what he was cooking. "Looks good." She started setting the table. "I was listening to you two from upstairs. Has it occurred to either of you to just ask Airwolf?"

"Ask Airwolf, huh?" Hawke came into the kitchen, visibly fighting back a grin. "Ask Airwolf. Easy as that."

Caitlin sighed, folding her arms. "Must you take everything so literally?" She looked toward her husband. "Didn't you tell me a long time ago that the reason why the Firm didn't just build another Airwolf was because the blueprints were locked into her computers? Shouldn't looking at those designs give you some idea of who was responsible for her?"

His wife had an excellent point. Michael looked over at Hawke. "She's right."

Hawke scowled. "Unfortunately, we purged the computer's memory after Moffet's doomsday program tried to take over. Whatever was there is gone."

Damn. "Another dead end, then."

"You didn't get everything." Caitlin stirred the pasta.

That got Hawke's attention. "What do you mean?"

Caitlin shrugged. "I've seen things come up on the screens. What looked like schematics. Usually when I've run some sort of diagnostic."

"Why the hell didn't you say something?" the pilot demanded.

"Hawke..." Michael cautioned, voicing his disapproval of the other man's tone.

"I thought it was supposed to do that," Caitlin protested. "I didn't think it was important."

"Cait..." At a warning look from Michael, Hawke lowered his voice and began again. "Cait, you weren't there when that helicopter decided to go renegade and tried to shoot down whatever it damn well pleased. If Airwolf ever does anything odd again, let me know." Hawke looked toward Michael. "That goes for both of you."

"Duly noted," Michael agreed. He drained the pasta. "But it appears that perhaps the designs are still in memory, if we can figure out how to access them. Shall we take a look at it after dinner?"

-*-

Michael had climbed into the jump seat beside his wife, and Hawke leaned in the open door. "Now if I can just find those schematics again..." Caitlin's voice trailed off as she jabbed at buttons on the console before her.

Hawke thought back. He couldn't remember Dominic ever mentioning seeing anything like that, and after the scare they had had when Airwolf had locked him them out of the controls, he would have said something. "Cait, when did you see these plans, or whatever they were?"

She paused for a moment, chewing her lip. "It was just after we'd done the upgrades."

The pilot thought back. A few months before Dom's death, they had updated Airwolf's computers, and had installed a bank of monitoring equipment in the Lair. The updates and the equipment had been provided by the Firm. Provided, more precisely, by Michael. He glared at the agent. "What did you hide in those upgrades?"

Michael met Hawke's stare. "Additional storage. Larger hard drives. That's all. Marella and I both checked, there was no software, nothing else in there. Hell, Moffet played Airwolf's systems too close to the vest. I don't think anyone at the Firm would have known where to start if they'd tried to get into Airwolf's computers."

Grudgingly, Hawke admitted that Michael was probably telling the truth. If there was a chance that something he had introduced to the helicopter's systems might explain what Caitlin had seen, he would have said so. However, Michael was just as careful with words as he claimed Zeus was. Dom had gone over the monitoring equipment before they installed it in the Lair, and hadn't found anything. Now, Hawke was certain that there was something that they had missed. More resigned than angry, he asked, "You put a homing beacon on the computers we put in the Lair, didn't you?"

The agent shook his head. "No, I had no reason to. I already knew where the Lair was. I had known for months before that. Think about it from my perspective. What if you and Santini were kidnapped, or if there was an accident on a movie stunt? I had to know where Airwolf was, for everyone's sake."

He did have a point, but there was still something he wasn't saying. "You got something into the Lair in that equipment." It came out as a statement, not a question.

Michael eyed him. "Do you really want to know?"

Did he? For years, he had thought that the agent had just moved on without ever giving Airwolf and her crew a second thought. Then, he had learned that Michael had nearly died trying to retrieve St. John from southeast Asia. That counted for something, but was it enough? If he didn't find out what Michael had planted, he would always wonder. The question would always hang in the air between them. "Yeah."

"A listening device."

"You bugged the Lair?" Hawke couldn't believe it. "You spied on us? Me, Dom, Caitlin? What did you think, that one of us was going to sell Airwolf to the Russians?"

Looking up from the screens in front of her, Caitlin slammed her hand down on the console. "Boys! Alright, enough! Both of you." She blew out a long breath. "Let's try to remember we're all on the same side, here, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Cait." Michael was annoyingly calm. "Hawke, Moffet nearly took over Airwolf once, and you weren't exactly forthcoming with the information. You were determined to go after Dr. Burton, no matter what. I couldn't take the chance of something like that happening again. I had to have a way of knowing if something was going on that I needed to be aware of. That was why I bugged the Lair – that's the only reason. It wasn't that I didn't trust you, it was that I didn't trust Moffet – or his creation. You might remember that I know better than anyone just what destruction this helicopter is capable of."

"That's truly all it was?" Hawke sagged against the side of the helicopter, the anger gone out of him. He couldn't really blame Michael for wanting to be sure that -- dead or alive -- Moffet never got control of Airwolf again.

"It was an insurance policy, nothing else," Michael assured him. "I never tried to take Airwolf away from you, did I? With the exception of asking you to go on missions, I seldom even put constraints on how you used it. For the most part, you did what you wanted with Airwolf. Hell, I knew you planned to train Jo Santini, and I never stopped you."

That caught Hawke's attention and he looked up. "You knew about Jo?"

"He knew, String. And whether he'll admit it or not, he approved." Caitlin glanced toward her husband, apparently waiting for him to deny it. "You and me and Dom spent too much time together. Having someone off-site trained on Airwolf made sense. He ran a check on Jo, it came up clean, so he stayed out of it."

It surprised Hawke. He had never expected the agent to agree to letting Jo fly Airwolf, but he had known all along. Apparently the bug Michael had planted in the Lair had caught some of his conversations with Dom. His ire dissipating, the pilot recalled some of the things Dom sometimes called Michael. Hawke fought back a smile. On a few occasions, Michael had undoubtedly gotten quite an earful.

Caitlin had returned her attention to the keyboard, apparently willing to let the two of them work through their problems on their own. "I think I've got something!" she announced suddenly.

Hawke leaned through the opening, trying to decipher exactly what Caitlin had pulled up on the screen. The drawing looked a little bit like an electrical schematic, but the symbols were entirely unfamiliar. "Michael?" he asked, hoping the agent might recognize the marks.

"Damned if I know. Nothing I've ever seen before."

Caitlin typed in commands. "There's more. There's a whole series of files. Let me bring up another one."

What appeared on the screen was a page of letters and numbers, seemingly arranged haphazardly. "Code?" Hawke asked.

"Maybe." Michael studied the image before him as Caitlin scrolled through the file. "Moffet tended toward paranoia. I wouldn't put it past him."

"This almost looks like it could be some sort of computer program," Caitlin suggested.

Hawke looked at the screen again. The spacing and the layout of the lines did resemble a program. "You could be onto something." He turned his attention to the agent. "What do you think?"

Michael grimaced. "Programming isn't my area of expertise, but it might be some sort of coded program." He turned to Caitlin. "What else have you got?"

She brought up more files. Several were drawings like the first file she had pulled, others were long pages of letters and numbers that made no sense. Frustrated and nearly ready to quit, she pulled one last file. "Now that I recognize," she said, staring at the screen.

It was a blueprint of Airwolf. "Well, I guess this proves we are onto something." Hawke shrugged. "Although I'm not sure just what. What if we take Airwolf out to Red Star and see if we can download all of these files into the mainframe?"

The agent nodded his agreement, sliding out of the cramped jump seat. "Yeah, if it is coded, the computers there might be able to break the code."

"Guys..." Caitlin cut off Hawke's reply. "These files have been downloaded before. Almost two years ago, by the looks of it."

"Locke. That would have been right around the time he didn't get the European assignment."

Hawke considered it. "Could the Fennecs have been built in two years?"

Michael shrugged. "Assuming they had the Airwolf plans and only needed to modify them? Yeah, it would have been tight, but they could have done it."

"That Fennec might have had us outgunned, but it didn't appear to be mach capable. You said Zeus claimed Jenkins designed the turbo system. Maybe he did, and Moffet didn't have the designs – meaning they're not in the computer."

"Makes sense."

"Hey, I found something else. I think I know why these files appeared when they did," Caitlin called, still studying her display.

"Why?"

She gave her husband an apologetic look. "I'm afraid it was the upgraded drives. From what I can tell, it looks like these files were always in Airwolf's computer, but they were compressed. Somehow, when the extra data space was added, they automatically unpacked themselves."

Indecipherable files that expanded to fill available disk space. Diagrams drawn with symbols none of them recognized, and all of it built by a psychopathic madman. Hawke didn't like it, and from the way he was acting, neither did Michael. "So now what?" he asked.

"We download the files into the mainframe. Then we try to find someone who can tell us what they are."

-*-

Stepping out of the Jeep. Marella shivered despite the desert heat. If anyone else had asked her to come here, she would have refused. But, it hadn't been someone else asking, it had been Michael.

She heard him come up behind her, and felt his arm wrap around her shoulders. "Okay?"

Marella forced herself to nod. Michael needed her help. He wouldn't have asked if there had been another answer. She inhaled deeply. If he could handle working here, then she could manage to lock away her emotions for the hour or two it would take her to look over the files he wanted her to examine. "Let's see what you've got."

He led her inside, up the cement staircase to the second level. The door opened onto the control room, bright sun streaming through the plate glass windows.

She could hear the glass breaking, the rounds exploding around them. She could feel the heat, taste the bitter, acrid smoke that filled her lungs. Marella forced her gaze away from the windows. Concentrate on the computers, she told herself. Keep your mind on the computers and you'll be fine.

She sat down at the terminal, and turned her back to the glass. Michael leaned over her, bringing up the list. "There's three hundred and twenty one separate files. About thirty are blueprints, another hundred are definitely computer programs. The rest, we're not so sure," he explained. "Hawke suggested some of them might be coded."

"Let me see what I can do." Marella opened the first file, to find what appeared to be pages of gibberish. She glanced up at Michael. "You might as well sit down, this may take awhile."

Six hours later, the sun was low in the sky. Caitlin and Hawke had joined them, and Marella picked absently at the take-out they had brought, her attention still on the computer screen. "Well, I'm fairly sure it's not code. My best guess is that it's some sort of machine language programming. Just what sort, I'm not sure. It doesn't resemble anything I've seen before," Marella admitted, somewhat annoyed that she couldn't figure it out.

"So what do we know?" Hawke asked, finishing a chicken leg and tossing the bone into the empty bucket.

"There are programs here that I can read. The majority of them seem to control the turbos, and their interaction with the rotors. There are others that handle communications, pressurization, weapons – the sort of thing you'd find on any conventional high-tech military aircraft."

"Nothing that controls the stealth systems?" Michael asked. "Radar and infrared suppression? The scanners and enemy identification?"

"Not that I can identify. I suspect that's the purpose of those mystery programs. The schematics you found, if that's what you want to call them..." she paused for a moment while she brought up one of the files. "That could be what these are." Marella pointed at the screen. "I've never really seen anything like this. It looks like you took an electrical diagram and crossed it with a chemical analysis, then threw in a bit of DNA for good measure."

Hawke rose, and leaned over her shoulder, examining the diagram. "So it's not just that Moffet made up his own marks to represent common electrical parts?"

"I don't think so. This isn't a normal, everyday computer, not even an advanced one."

"But it is a normal computer," Caitlin protested. "It has a keyboard, it has memory, disk drives. Shoot, we even added another hard drive to it shortly before Locke took over the project. It fit right in, there was an expansion slot ready for it and everything."

Marella chewed her lip, trying to find a way to explain. "What if you had a simple computer. Say, a Commodore 64. But inside that, there's a state of the art PC hiding. The user sees the Commodore, uses it's drives and accessories. But inside, there's a far more powerful computer that uses the Commodore as it's connection to the outside world. I think that may be what's happening with Airwolf. Only with Airwolf, the computer you're interfacing with is already state of the art."

Hawke scowled. "So what's the secondary computer, then?"

"I don't know. It's nothing I've ever seen before, nothing I've even heard hints of. If I had to guess, I'd say it's..." There was a word she wanted to use, but it was a word that might leave her former employer questioning her sanity, and would likely have Hawke in hysterics. She chose another word. "Foreign." Marella rose, abruptly feeling as disquieted by the files she had studied as by Red Star itself. "I wish I could give you more, but..." She looked toward Michael. "Can I get you to take me home?"

-*-

Michael paced the dock in the deepening twilight, considering Marella's words. Foreign, she had said. He knew that she had been thinking something else. If whatever was lurking inside Airwolf had simply been Russian or Chinese, she might not have been able to make a translation, but she would have undoubtedly identified it.

There had been rumors within the Firm for years, rumors of something which had crashed in a lonely area of New Mexico in the 1940's. Rumors that someone within the organization had gotten their hands on advanced technology, technology that had been recovered from whatever it was that had skidded across the Roswell desert.

He had never quite believed the far-fetched tales. Now, he wasn't so certain. Moffet had been a physicist, by all reports a damned good one. Despite his perversions, his IQ was reportedly well above genius level. White Sands was not so far from Roswell, and it was relatively isolated. Moreover, it was a weapons test range, People were accustomed to things exploding at White Sands. If a project were to get out of hand, it would be easy to contain.

As hard as it might be to accept, it made sense. A project so secret that Zeus refused to discuss it. Moffet building Airwolf's computers, but not actually designing them. Programs and schematics that none of them could begin to understand.

He looked toward the stars that were just becoming visible in the darkening sky, wondering if the answers he was seeking were actually out there. As he did, he heard Hawke's loping steps approaching, coming up behind him. The pilot chuckled. "Marella's been dealing with little kids for too long. She's starting to see monsters under the bed."

"Is she?"

"You don't seriously think...?"

"I'm not sure what to think," the agent admitted.

Hawke leaned on the railing. He snorted. "Little green men. Come on, if there were aliens visiting us from other planets light years away, wouldn't their technology be advanced enough that we'd never see them? And these reports of crashed flying saucers? Must be that once they get here they're so busy staring at the earth women that they forget how to fly their spaceship."

Michael stroked his mustache, considering the pilot's words. If one ignored the flip suggestion of aliens ogling human females, he had a point. Of course, there was one possibility that would explain it. "What if the crash was intentional?"

The darkness covered Hawke's facial expression, but Michael could hear the doubt in his voice. "Suicidal aliens?"

"Perhaps a remote controlled probe. The stories of bodies being recovered might be just that, stories with no basis. Or I suppose if there were bodies, they might have already been dead when they were loaded. Given some of the strange funerary practices performed by various human cultures, who could guess what an alien species might do with their dead?"

"Okay, I'll bite. What's the purpose of this probe? Studying us? Sending back telemetry? Why crash a probe when they could gather the same data from a presumably undetectable spaceship, without leaving any debris for us puny humans to find?"

The agent's thoughts settled, puzzle pieces abruptly falling together. "It's a test."

"A test?"

"Call it an intelligence test. Either that, or they're trying to give humanity a leg up. Stuff a probe or some sort of space shuttle full of technology. Probably equipment that to them is obsolete. Children's toys, even. Bring it down in a controlled crash somewhere where no one will be hurt, but where it will be found. Then, just sit back and wait to see what we do with it."

"You think Moffet copied Airwolf's computers from some alien brat's old video game?" Hawke still sounded skeptical.

"I think it's possible."

Hawke was quiet for several minutes, and Michael began to wonder whether the pilot was considering where to have him committed. "There's one person who can tell us," he said, finally. "Karen Hanson."

-*-

As they walked across the parking lot, Hawke couldn't quite stifle a grin. He had asked Michael to dress casually. Apparently, the agent's idea of casual involved leaving the vest and tie at home. Hawke wondered how Caitlin ever managed to put up with him.

The receptionist gave them both guest passes, and sent them down a long corridor to Hanson's lab. They found her hunched over a computer, but she looked up as they entered the room.

She rose from her chair with a smile. "String! I heard that somehow you were back among the living. How are you?" She looked past him. "And Archangel. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Make it Michael, please," the agent insisted.

Hawke pulled a second stool over near where she had been working, and perched upon it. "It's been a long time, Karen. You're looking good." If anything, she'd lost another few pounds since he had last seen her, and her hair was cut differently.

"Thank you. So are you." She gestured toward the seat she had vacated. "Arc – Michael, rather, please, sit." She pulled a third stool a bit closer to Hawke, returning her attention to him. "You're not having trouble with Moffet and that program he left in Airwolf again, are you?"

"The program, no. Moffet – well, we're not so sure on that."

"String?"

He watched her face, ready to catch any hint of reaction. "What was Project Proteus?"

Hawke wasn't disappointed. Hanson's face went white. She got up and went to the lab door, closing it. As she returned, he saw that her hands were shaking. "I'm sorry. I can't talk about that."

He folded his arms. "Can't or won't?"

Her gaze flicked to Michael, and back again. "Can't."

Hawke wondered if he had made the right decision in bringing the agent with him. It had been a toss up whether she would be more likely to speak honestly with or without Michael's presence. Whether he would scare her off, or if his tacit approval would encourage her to tell them what they needed to know. Hawke tried another angle. "We found files in Airwolf's computer. Files we couldn't decipher."

It was obvious that he had stirred her curiosity, and possibly her concern. It was hard to be certain. "Oh?" she asked, noncommittally.

"They're written in some sort of computer language we've never seen before. We were hoping that you could tell what they are, what the programs do." Michael had turned on the charm and was at his smoothest, Hawke noted.

"I'm not sure, exactly. Something to do with stealth mode, mostly. Moffet understood it. I can only read a little of it, and I have trouble making sense of even that." She suddenly looked at Michael with suspicion. "Those files were compressed. How did you find them?"

"Accidentally. As you probably know, Airwolf has the ability to record video, audio, sensor logs -- that sort of thing. Some time ago, we thought it would be useful to increase that capability. I provided Hawke and Santini with large hard drives which they installed into Airwolf's computer."

A distant look came over her features, one Hawke had learned meant she was thinking. "And the files extracted themselves. Moffet had always expected to retain control of Airwolf, I doubt if he ever considered the possibility of someone else updating the system."

"The programming language those files are in, was that a language Moffet created?" Hawke desperately wanted her to say it was. The alternative was something that he really didn't want to consider.

She stared at him for a long moment, then looked toward Michael. "This could get me killed."

"You never told us anything," Michael assured her. "You have my word on that."

Hanson visibly shivered, as if a cold hand had touched the back of her neck. "Proteus. I was a late comer to the project. Moffet and some of the others had apparently been at it for years before I was recruited. We were given electronic equipment and computers to examine, to try to re-create. Moffet was better at it than anyone. He understood it, how it worked. He worked with the suppliers duplicating the parts. He was the only one who could manage to integrate it with our own equipment."

"These computers, the things you were given to work on – where did they come from?" Hawke wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

She shook her head slightly. "We were never actually told, at least I wasn't, but we all knew."

"Roswell?" It was Michael who asked the question.

"Roswell," she agreed, her voice barely a whisper.

-*-

They were stalking White Sands again. While they didn't really expect to find the Fennec, at the moment, neither of them had a better idea. Hawke was flying, having relegated Michael back to the engineering position. Caitlin had chosen to stay at the cabin, muttering about wild goose chases. It was just as well. She didn't yet know what Hanson had disclosed. Neither of the men had told Caitlin, uncertain of just how she would react.

Flying gave Hawke something to concentrate on, something to occupy his mind. It kept him from thinking too hard about Airwolf's origins. When he had joined the Airwolf program, he had signed on to test pilot a helicopter, not some bastard off-spring of a UFO. Thinking too much about the alien technology at Airwolf's heart gave him the creeps.

Hawke turned his head to the side, trying ineffectively to see the agent behind him, "Did you know? Did you have any idea?" He thought he knew the answer, but something within him had to be sure.

"No. Not until I saw those files. Then I started to wonder."

"Those files. I'm going to assume that Locke stumbled across them the same way Cait did. What I don't understand is how he knew what they were, much less managed to get that technology recreated on the Fennec."

"Good question. I went over his personnel files when we were looking for Horn. There was no obvious connection to Moffet or White Sands."

Hawke scanned the horizon, watching for any unidentified aircraft. "Somehow Locke must have found the suppliers who built those computer components." He couldn't quite bring himself to call them what they were. Alien components. "However, he didn't get the stuff Jenkins designed. Different supplier?"

"Undoubtedly," the agent answered. "I know where the turbos were built. All of those parts came from one of the Firm's usual aeronautic vendors. As I recall, Moffet brought the computers in already finished, and installed them himself."

"Alone?"

It took Michael awhile to answer. "You do realize it was over ten years ago, and Airwolf wasn't the only thing on my plate at the time?" He paused. "I think there were a couple others working with him. I don't know if they were scientists or simply laborers. I might be able to dig some names out of the Firm's main frame."

Hawke remembered the security that had surrounded the helicopter, and the strict sign-in policy that had existed for anyone working on or around it. It had been over a decade, but chances were good that those records still existed, if Michael could find them. That might answer one question. Mentally, he moved on to another. "What was that Fennec doing here? That can't be co-incidence."

"They were looking for something. What worries me is that they haven't been seen in weeks."

The pilot scowled. "In other words, they found what they were after."

"I'd rather think that they didn't, and gave up, but you could be right," Michael admitted.

"Well, this isn't getting us anywhere." Hawke blew out a long breath. "Michael, turn on everything back there. Scanners, video and infrared cameras. I'm going to make a few passes. If they found what they were looking for, maybe we can find it, too."

-*-

Michael rolled off of Caitlin, his breath coming in hard, sharp gasps. While staying at the cabin had held a certain rustic charm, it was certainly nice to have their privacy back. That and the comfort of the king-sized bed.

She nuzzled against him, fingertips idly tracing designs on his chest. "It's nice to be home."

His breathing slowing, he pulled her closer. "It's nice to finally be alone with you."

"You don't miss Tet's cold nose?" Caitlin asked, smiling.

Michael laughed. "Not really."

"And I was going to buy you a dog," she teased. Caitlin sobered, turning more serious. "I'm not sure if String is going to be lonely, or happy to be rid of us."

"Probably a little of each."

She pulled away, to where she could look into his eyes. "What's going on with you two? Is String still upset about you bugging the lair? He's been wound tighter than a five dollar watch the last few days."

Michael had been debating how and when to tell her what they had learned. Apparently, this was the when. He still wasn't sure how. "Nothing to do with me. It's about Airwolf's computers," he began hesitantly, "We know where Moffet got the technology."

Caitlin raised herself onto an elbow. "String doesn't like the idea of Airwolf being part UFO, huh?"

He looked up at her. "You know?"

"A long time ago you told me that Marella had photographic memory. When she couldn't even begin to identify those files, I figured it could only mean one thing."

It surprised him that she accepted it so calmly, so easily. "Most people aren't so ready to swallow the idea of little green men." Hawke certainly hadn't been, maintaining his skepticism until he had no other option.

Caitlin chuckled. "By all reports, they're not green. I believe the proper word is 'Grey', although I'm not sure if that actually refers to their color."

"You're a believer, then?"

"I don't have much choice. I saw one." She rolled onto her back, the expression on her face daring him to deny it.

He sat up abruptly. "You saw a Grey?"

She shook her head. "No, silly. A flying saucer. UFO. Whatever you want to call it. It was one night back when I was flying for the Highway Patrol."

"You never told me that." He would have remembered it if she had.

"A week ago you would have laughed at me." He started to protest, and she amended her statement. "Not laughed, maybe. But you would have tried to explain it away. You would have told me it was a reflection, or a secret government aircraft, or whatever. It wasn't, Michael. What I saw was huge, and it was faster than Airwolf. I was at two thousand feet, and it passed almost directly over me, with no sound that I could hear. Then it made a ninety degree turn, and it was gone. I called it in. It never showed up on radar."

As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. He would have tried to find some rational, logical explanation for what she had seen. But the world had changed. His perception of what was possible had shifted. Now, he knew there was a chance that she had actually seen something unearthly. He laid back down beside her. "I believe you."

Caitlin leaned across him, her lips brushing his collarbone. The skin there was still extremely sensitive, and he shuddered at her touch. "You do, do you? Gee, I suppose you'll want a reward for that?" There was humor in the eyes that studied him, before she dipped her head again, her tongue tracing the uneven line of the bone.

A low moan escaped him. "Oh, yes," he whispered. "God, yes."

-*-

Hawke sprawled on the long couch, eyes automatically sweeping the glass doors that led out onto the deck. The memory of the Hughes opening fire on the house was still fresh. He wondered how Michael had ever managed to get Marella out to Red Star.

The agent was pacing, energy radiating off of him in waves. Michael had spent the morning at Knightsbridge, and was still wearing the three-piece suit, although he had loosened his tie. "I did some digging on the Firm's mainframe, and I found the connection. Jason Locke never worked at White Sands, but Andrew Locke did. He was one of the scientists who helped Moffet install the computers in Airwolf."

Caitlin came in from the kitchen, sipping a cup of coffee. "Andrew?"

"Jason's father. He died in September of '85. Cancer. I think it's safe to assume that sometime before he died, he told his son about what he'd worked on. I would imagine he also gave Jason the names of the suppliers Moffet had worked with. That's where he got the parts."

"You said '85?"

"Yeah."

Hawke did the math. "Then Jason Locke knew what Airwolf was when he took over the project."

Michael nodded, scowling. "It looks like he went out of his way to get himself assigned to Airwolf. Long before I was out of the picture, he had made all the right friends on the committee. I always thought it was Zeus that wanted to replace me. I still don't think it took much convincing, but it doesn't appear that it was initially his idea."

"Locke must have figured he hit the mother lode when he found those files." Hawke leaned forward. Michael's pacing was starting to wear on him. For just a moment, he considered dragging the agent into a chair.

As if sensing the pilot's unease, Michael paused, cocking his head toward Hawke. "I take it he never told your brother what they had?"

Hawke shrugged. "If he did, St. John never told me." Not that St. John necessarily would have. After his return from Asia, his brother had maintained a certain distance. Hawke knew he had been partly responsible for that. While Michael had since explained about the government's brainwashing and how the former POWs had been recruited to go back into the jungle, Hawke had never quite forgiven St. John for keeping him in the dark.

Caitlin perched on the other end of the couch, setting her cup on the coffee table. "So how does the Fennec over White Sands tie in?"

"I think we can safely assume Locke was flying it." Michael finally dropped into a chair.

Hawke nodded his agreement. Zeus's experts had finally determined that the fourth body found in the remains of Santini Air was definitely not Locke's. They still hadn't found out who it actually was. "So what the hell was he looking for? More importantly, did he find it?" Michael and Hawke had both gone over the scans and video they had taken of the area, without finding anything unusual.

"You want a guess?" Michael asked.

"Why not? We haven't got anything better."

"The computers. The original ones. Whatever was left of them after Moffet and associates finished taking them apart."

The alien computers. That thought still made Hawke's stomach tie itself in knots whenever he let himself examine it too closely. "Would that stuff have still been at White Sands?"

"Probably not. I imagine Locke hoped it was, but... More likely it's all been moved to Groom Lake."

"Groom Lake?" Caitlin asked.

"Nevada. What the media likes to call Area 51," Michael explained. "And I doubt if Locke is crazy enough to try to take on their security, even in the Fennec."

Hawke agreed with the agent's assessment. That was one place he had always made sure they avoided, even in Airwolf. "So what do we do now?"

"Unfortunately, I don't think we have much choice except to wait until he shows his hand."

-*-

The Long Ranger banked over the lake, settling gently onto the dock. Hawke didn't need to look into the cockpit to see who was flying. Every pilot had their own idiosyncrasies, and Michael was no exception. As usual, the agent opened the door of the cabin and entered without knocking. "There's been another sighting of a Fennec."

A quick glance at the clock confirmed how early it was. So much for going fishing after breakfast. "Good morning to you, too, Michael." Hawke supposed the interruption was partly his own fault; after all, he had helped Michael get his pilot's license back. He reached for another cup, pouring coffee for the agent. "Where?"

Michael accepted the coffee with a grateful nod. "Iraq. Hussein's got it."

"Great. Didn't we just kick his butt? I take it he didn't learn anything from the Gulf War."

"Apparently he learned that superior air power is half the battle. Hence the Fennec."

Hawke reached for a skillet. "Hungry?"

Michael shook his head. "Already ate. Zeus called me at four this morning. He requested that we remove the Fennec from the Iraqi Air Force."

The pilot snorted. "I'm glad I missed that conversation."

"I wish I had. Further, it was suggested to me that we remove the Fennec in such a way as to not aggravate the other Arab nations."

In other words, make sure that the United States couldn't be blamed – or at least that nothing could be proven. Hawke turned left-over potato from the previous night's dinner into hash browns. "Yeah, and while we're at it, eliminate world hunger and save the whales."

"Something like that," Michael agreed.

"So what's Hussein doing with his new toy?"

"For the moment, he's keeping it under wraps. It was pure luck that one of our observers heard rumors, then caught sight of the helicopter – apparently on a test flight."

"I assume Locke isn't flying it?" Hawke knew they'd never get that lucky. He finished fixing his breakfast, and sat down to eat.

"The pilots are reportedly Iraqi."

Disappointing, but not surprising. "So when do we leave?"

The expression on the agent's face said that he hadn't expected Hawke to acquiesce so easily. "Tomorrow night."

"Okay. You'll set up fueling?"

"Already done. Four fuel stops. "Wright-Patterson, Newfoundland, Great Britain and final stop in Israel."

"Good." Hawke wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Now go home and get some sleep. You're flying the first leg."

-*-

Michael never would have believed that flying Airwolf could be boring. However, it was well past midnight, and they were over friendly territory where they could maintain a reasonable altitude. Caitlin was asleep in the back, and judging from his silence and relaxed posture, Hawke was likely dozing in the co-pilot's seat. It was boring.

Not that the agent minded. When they weren't down on the deck evading radar, Airwolf was a joy to fly. Wherever he had gotten the technology from, Moffet had built an incredibly responsive machine. Michael had never been serious about flying in the way that Hawke or Caitlin was, but then, he had never flown anything that even remotely resembled Airwolf.

Hawke stirred beside him. "Where are we?"

"Just crossed the Indiana line. We're about an hour out from Wright-Patterson."

The pilot looked over. "Want me to take her?"

"No, I'm fine. You and Cait can take over when we stop." Michael would crawl into the back and get some sleep, then he'd be awake for the flight over the Atlantic.

"In that case..." Hawke pulled off his helmet, and reached for one of the insulated coffee mugs they had brought.

Airwolf chewed through the darkness, and the stop in Ohio was uneventful. Hawke dealt with the ground crew while Michael and Caitlin stretched their legs, switching places when they returned to the aircraft.

Ducking into the engineer's position, Michael adjusted the seat all the way back. He used the dim light afforded by the switches and screens to find one of the radio headsets and pull it on. While the headsets lacked many of the features of the helmets, they were sufficient to stay in contact with the others, while being considerably less uncomfortable to sleep in. After one last check of the instruments, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were descending into Gander.

This time, Michael handled having Airwolf refueled. Wright-Patterson had been a military base, where orders were followed and few questions were asked, but this was a civilian facility. Their cover story was that they were part of an experimental project tracking icebergs near Newfoundland.

With the refueling finished, Michael returned to the pilot's seat, Caitlin beside him. He took off, headed into the early morning sun. Clear of the coast, they dipped below radar; it suited their purposes and fit with the supposed iceberg tracking.

England was seven hours away. They could make better time with the turbos, but that would eat fuel, and possibly attract unwanted attention. It was wiser to take their time. Not that Michael objected. He had only flown Airwolf once with her turbos engaged, and that had been with Hawke backing him on the controls. It would, at best, be a long time before Michael was ready to fly at mach without Hawke's assistance.

An hour into the flight, Caitlin broke the silence. "So, what's a girl got to do to get some flight time around here?"

Michael glanced over at his wife. Beneath the helmet she was smiling at him. He had to admit that he and Hawke had been hogging the hours. "Are you trying to tell me you'd like to fly for awhile?"

She flashed him a look, somewhere between annoyed and amused.. "Is the Pope Catholic?"

He let her take the controls. Michael stretched, trying to work the tightness out of his knee and shoulder without being obvious about it. He wouldn't admit it to Hawke, and did his best to hide it from Caitlin, but he did get stiff after a few hours in the cramped cockpit.

-*-

The remainder of the flight was uneventful. Hawke took over when they refueled outside London, splitting the flying with Caitlin.

Haifa was the largest city in northern Israel, built on the slopes of Mount Carmel. Michael checked the coordinates and directed Hawke to a secluded, forested area south of the city. They landed in a clearing barely larger than the expanse of the helicopter's blades. After covering Airwolf with camouflage netting, Michael and Hawke settled in under a tree to wait. Caitlin took the opportunity to catch a nap in the back of the helicopter.

Their contact showed up perhaps half an hour later. The woman was dark-haired and pretty, perhaps thirty years old. If she had been dressed in white instead of jeans and a t-shirt, Hawke might have mistaken her for one of the "angels" Michael had employed as Deputy Director.

Hawke hung back, staying close to Airwolf as Michael went out to meet her. As the agent neared, she broke out in a beaming smile and rushed forward, throwing her arms around him, giving him a hug that he appeared to return. They spoke for a minute, too low for even Hawke's superior hearing to catch more than a few words. Finally, Michael turned and they headed for the helicopter, his arm wrapped loosely around the woman's waist.

"Hawke, allow me to introduce Alexandrie."

She laughed, pulling away from the agent. "Ignore him. It's just Alex, please."

At their approach, Hawke had gotten to his feet, and now he took her extended hand. The strength of her grip surprised him. He took a closer look. There was something vaguely familiar about the woman. "Alex, then. And I'm String."

She nodded, a pleasant but otherwise unreadable expression on her face. "Stringfellow Hawke. Yes, I know. You're the one with the unusual name."

Had they met before? If they had, Hawke couldn't remember it. Yet, there was something about the woman. "Should I know you?"

Before she could answer, Michael did. "Hawke, Alex is Gabrielle's sister."

He stared at her. Yes. The resemblance was there. Gabrielle had never mentioned a sister, but then, they had shared so little time together.

She spoke before Hawke could find words, before he even knew what he wanted to say. "I want to thank you." Her eyes flashed to Michael, then back. "He told me that you avenged my sister's death."

Uncertain how to respond to that, the pilot nodded. He was saved from having to say more by Airwolf's hatch popping behind him, and Caitlin stepping out, blinking hard in the sunlight.

"Alex!" She greeted the other woman. "Michael didn't tell me you were doing to be here."

"I didn't know," he protested.

"No, he didn't." Alex turned to Hawke. "When I heard who was coming to deal with our little Iraqi problem, I asked for the assignment." She reached out and took Michael's hand, holding it as one might the hand of a dear relative. "I haven't had a chance to see my godfather since I was last in Washington three years ago."

Godfather? Michael was going to have some serious explaining to do. First, though, there was the matter of the Fennec. That thought reminded him of why they were there. "About that Iraqi problem..."

-*-

Hawke hadn't been happy about leaving Airwolf alone in the clearing, but Alex had radioed several of her people to join them, and they had been left in charge of guarding the helicopter. He was uncertain exactly who Alex and her friends worked for. It was obvious that she had some sort of intelligence assignment, but whether it was for Israel or for the United States was unclear.

Alex had led them to a small house nearby on the outskirts of the city. While they ate, she briefed them with the latest information regarding the Iraqi Fennec. Once the briefing was over, Alex had excused herself so they could relax and get some rest. The plan called for them to be in Iraq before dawn.

Questions had swirled in Hawke's mind all day, and the door had barely closed behind Alex before he decided it was time to get some answers. He folded his arms and pinned Michael with a glare. "She's Gabrielle's sister?"

The agent nodded. "Yes. And my goddaughter." He rose to his feet, and crossed the short distance to the window. Back turned to Hawke, he looked out through the glass. "Gilles Ademaur was with the State Department. How we met is a story in and of itself, but suffice to say we ended up working together, nearly thirty years ago He was a good man, we became friends. We were both stationed in Washington at the time. I used to have dinner with him and his wife Marie, and their little girl, Gabby."

"Gabby. You mean Gabrielle."

"Gabrielle," he agreed. "We'd been close for awhile when they had a second child, Alex. Gabby's godparents were Marie's brother and his wife. The brother was in Nam. He wasn't the same man when he came back, the marriage didn't last, and things went downhill from there. Gilles asked me to be Alex's godfather, and to take care of both girls if anything should ever happen. I was honored to accept. Not long after that, Gilles was transfered to the Israeli embassy, and I was sent on a string of foreign assignments. We kept in touch, but..."

Michael turned from the window. "There was a bombing in Tel Aviv. Gabby was at school, Alex in day care. Half an hour later, neither Gilles nor his wife would have been home. The apartment was right next to where it went off. Neither of them survived..."

Michael returned to the sofa and set down heavily. "I was under deep cover. It was two months before I found out. The girls had been brought back stateside and put into foster care. Alex was with a good family, who treated her as if she was their own. She was happy there, and I thought it was the best place for her."

Hawke knew there was more that the agent wasn't saying. He had never Gabrielle about her background; she had started to tell him once, and he had cut her off, not really certain that he wanted to know. Now, he found, he did want to know. "And Gabrielle?"

"The home where they placed her... it wasn't a very good environment." Michael paused, and in the silence, Caitlin joined him, sitting beside him and reaching out to take his hand. "She ran," he continued, "I found her in New York City, living with a bunch of other teen runaways. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't leave her there, and she refused to go back into foster care – not that I blamed her. If my circumstances had been different, I would have kept her with me, but that simply wasn't workable. She finally agreed to let me enroll her in boarding school. At least I knew she'd be safe there. Over the years, I spent as much time with both of the girls as I could. Afterwards, I put Gabby through college. By the time she graduated, I was assigned to Knightsbridge. She joined the damn Firm because I was the closest thing she had to family and she wanted to work with me."

And he had ultimately sent her to her death. Hawke could hear the guilt in Michael's voice. The pilot had always suspected that there was something between Michael and Gabrielle that was more than just a working relationship. A part of him had feared that the relationship might once have been romantic, and so he had never asked, and had never examined it too closely.

It wasn't fair to Michael, but he couldn't keep himself from asking. "Why did you send her to Libya?"

"Because I had to," Michael answered quietly. "After Angela... Gabrielle was the only one with a full knowledge and understanding of what the stakes were, of what Moffet and Airwolf were both capable of. It was the only option I had."

As much as Hawke hated to admit it, he knew Michael was right. It was getting late, and they would have an early morning. He stood, and headed toward the bedroom he'd been assigned. Hawke started to open the door, and stopped, looking back over his shoulder to the agent, still seated on the sofa. "Michael, I truly do understand that you didn't have a choice. But given what it cost us both, I wish that there had been." Not waiting for an answer, he went in to get some sleep.

-*-

The Fennec had repeatedly been seen near Ramadi, early morning flights that might have been either patrols or simply practice for the pilots. Airwolf slipped into Iraq under cover of darkness, staking out a quiet area just west of the city.

Hawke wasn't particularly pleased with the situation. The terrain afforded little cover, and there was no assurance that the Fennec would even show up. "Anything on the scope?" he asked, despite knowing that if Michael had spotted anything, he would have already announced it.

"Nothing."

Not that the Fennec would necessarily show up on either radar or infrared, if they were running in stealth mode. Hawke scanned the dawn, eyes sweeping the sky, knowing Caitlin was doing the same.

Time passed, the sun rising higher. Hawke had begun to wonder if the helicopter would show, when Michael's voice came over the intercom, breaking the silence. "Think I've got something."

Hawke leaned forward, craning his neck to check the skies.. "Where?"

"Don't know. Could be unrelated, but radio traffic has just picked up."

Michael had been monitoring the local military frequency. Although none of them spoke Arabic, the agent had suggested it as a way of detecting nearby activity.

Caitlin spotted it first. "There!" she pointed.

Hawke followed her gesturing finger, and caught the wavering reflection of sunlight off rotor blades. "I see it."

Airwolf's engines came to power quickly, and Hawke called for turbos, launching them into pursuit of the other helicopter. The Fennec had a head start, but Airwolf had the advantages of speed and maneuverability. Hawke hoped they also had the better pilot.

They closed rapidly on the Iraqi helicopter. Hawke cut the turbos. "Michael, give me a Sidewinder." If they were lucky, they might have one shot at the Fennec before the Iraqis figured out they were there. Otherwise, it was going to get considerably more complicated.

He approached from behind and below, hoping the other pilot wouldn't see them. His finger hovered over the trigger, waiting for the ideal shot, until they were close enough that the Fennec couldn't evade them. They were almost close enough. Hawke's finger started to squeeze...

As the missile fired, the Fennec veered suddenly to the side, climbing. "Damn it," Hawke cursed, knowing their quarry had spotted them. He pulled Airwolf into a climb, giving chase. Below them, the Sidewinder impacted with a dune, sending a cloud of sand into the air.

The Fennec banked hard, coming around, trying to get behind them. "He's got a radar lock!" Michael warned, "We're jamming."

The missile passed uncomfortably close to them. In the co-pilot's seat, Caitlin instinctively ducked. Hawke wheeled Airwolf, trying to maintain the upper ground. He fired another Sidewinder, but wasn't surprised when it, too, missed it's target. The two helicopters were too evenly matched, with similar weapons and defensive systems.

Airwolf's only real advantage was the turbos, and those couldn't be used with the weapons pod deployed. "Let's do this the old fashioned way," Hawke yanked the helicopter sharply to the side, trying to stay out of the Fennec's line of fire. "Michael, give me the chain guns, and turbo control."

"You've got them," the agent's voice came back.

Hawke fired the turbos and climbed, accelerating away from the other helicopter. Once he had gained sufficient altitude and distance, he snapped Airwolf into what an airplane pilot would call a wing over, diving back toward the Fennec.

Recalling the dogfight with Horn's helicopter, Hawke aimed for the base of the rotor. He pulled the trigger.

The rounds found their mark, and apparently the fuel tank as well. The Fennec dissolved into a fireball, falling toward the desert below. Hawke's gaze followed the burning helicopter's decent, and lingered on the shattered remains. He breathed deeply, letting the adrenalin rush of combat fade from his system.

"String!"

Caitlin's shout jolted him from his thoughts, and he looked up, following her pointing finger. Was that a second Fennec? "Shit!" He pulled Airwolf into a climb.

There was no sense wasting missiles. The Fennec's suppression and jamming systems were as good as Airwolf's own, and barring mechanical failure or a major mistake by her pilots, the Iraqi helicopter wasn't going to succumb to that tactic any faster than Airwolf would.

"Heat-seekers!" Apparently, those pilots didn't realize that. Hawke saw the flash of the missiles firing toward them even as he heard Michael's call. "Dropping Sunbursts."

Hawke was vaguely aware of the missiles taking the bait, and falling harmlessly away. His concentration was on the Fennec itself, as he dove at it, chain guns raking ineffectively across the fuselage as the helicopter dodged to the side.

The Fennec spun toward them, firing it's own guns. Shells rattled against Airwolf's armor, the sound loud despite the soundproofing of the cockpit.

This pilot was more skilled than the last, and wouldn't be as easy an adversary. Hawke flew at him, firing. The Fennec pitched up and away from them, banking hard. Hawke dipped below it, then pulled past vertical inside the other helicopter's turn. It put him right where he wanted to be, guns aimed at the Fennec's rotor. He pulled the trigger again as Airwolf finished the loop.

Trailing smoke, the Fennec lost control. It banked wildly, descending far too fast for an autorotation. It thudded into the ground, exploding on impact. Hawke looked away, glancing back over his shoulder to the extent that the helmet would allow. "Did we take any damage?"

It was a moment before Michael answered, presumably the time it took him to check the monitors. "Nothing showing on the screens. Might be some cosmetics, but that's about all."

"Good." That was a relief. They were a long way from home, and repairs would have been difficult to arrange. Hawke scanned the sky, making sure there were no more surprises waiting for them. "Let's get the hell out of here."

-*-

There were certain diagnostics that could only be run while Airwolf was on the ground. Having completed them, Michael climbed from the back of the helicopter, joining Hawke and Caitlin as they finished hanging the camouflage netting. "Other than running a little low on ammo, everything is showing green," the agent informed Hawke, before the other man could ask. Michael tried to get a good look at the helicopter through the material. "So how's she look?"

"Cracks in a few outer panels." Hawke gestured toward Airwolf's belly. "When we get back, you can help me replace them."

Michael raised an eyebrow. "I can't say that I know much about helicopter maintenance."

"Guess it's time you learned." Hawke was grinning as he secured the last corner of the netting. "It's part of the package. You fly her, you fix her."

Caitlin was laughing. "Come on, Michael, a little dirt under your fingernails won't hurt you. Besides, you're going to need something to keep you busy while I'm gone."

He had almost forgotten that Caitlin was planning to visit her parents. "Okay, okay." Outnumbered, Michael raised a hand in mock surrender. "You've got your assistant."

Hawke lowered himself to the ground, stretching out and relaxing in the broken sunlight that filtered through the trees. His tone turned serious. "Your intelligence said Fennec. Singular."

Michael found himself a spot on the ground, a few feet from Hawke. He leaned back, using a convenient tree as a backrest. "If the Iraqis weren't flying them both at the same time..." he shrugged. "Kind of hard to tell the two apart."

Caitlin joined the men. "Think they've got any more?"

"Doubt it," Hawke answered. "My guess is that the first one called for help when they saw us. If they'd had more backup, they would have sent it." The pilot picked a blade of grass, idly examining it as he considered the question. "Damn good thing they didn't have another one." He looked toward Michael. "We're too evenly matched. Taking on two at once could be a problem. I don't even want to think about going against three or more."

And there were nine more out there, according to Zeus's count. Worse yet, other than the one they assumed Locke was flying, they didn't have a clue where they were, or who possessed them. They needed to locate the remaining Fennecs, and once the helicopters were found, they had to come up with a better solution than sending Hawke up against them.

At the moment, Michael had no idea what that solution might be. A rustling sound interrupted his thoughts, and he reached for his weapon. Predictably, Hawke's snooper-mic hearing had alerted him first. He had drawn his automatic and was already on his feet.

"Don't shoot, it's only me." Alex's voice preceded her into the clearing. She appeared a moment later, her hands raised over her head.

Hawke holstered his gun, folding his arms across his chest. His attitude was not quite hostile, but not particularly friendly, either. "We took care of your problem. Or should I say, problems."

As she lowered her hands, her gaze shifted from the pilot to Michael, who was getting up from where he sat. "Problems? I don't understand."

"There were two Fennecs," the agent explained.

"Two?" She blinked. "We only had reports of one."

"Two. Your people need to keep a sharp eye out. If Hussein had more, chances are he would have sent them after us, but just in case..." Apparently deciding that Alex was telling the truth and hadn't known about the second helicopter, the aggression had left Hawke's voice.

"I'm sorry. If we'd known..." Her attention returned to Michael. "You're all alright? There are no injuries, no damage?"

"We're fine," he assured her. There was no reason for her to know about the rounds that had scraped Airwolf's belly. "You can arrange fuel for us?"

"It's being set up as we speak. In the meantime, how about coming back to the house for something to eat?" She looked at him warmly. "We can visit for a little while before you head back."

There were times when she reminded him so much of her sister. Michael glanced toward the pilot. "Hawke?"

"Yeah, I could stand some lunch."

-*-

Airwolf was pulled into the hanger bay below Red Star control center. Hawke and Michael were both crouched beside her, examining the damage to the composite panels that covered her belly.

"So where do we start?" The agent had come dressed to work – worn denims and an old, ragged shirt. The shirt had once been white, but by appearances it had been the victim of at least one home-improvement project, marred by a fine over-splatter of dark gray paint.

Hawke rapped a knuckle on one of the panels the Fennec's shells had cracked. "These have got to come off – which means drilling out all the rivets." That would be the time consuming part of the job.

"I can work on that if you want," Michael offered.

The pilot shrugged. ""Knock yourself out." He hadn't really expected Michael to be much help, but Hawke did want the man to see how much maintenance it required to keep Airwolf in the air. If the agent was actually willing to share the work, Hawke wasn't about to complain. "The drill is in the cabinet."

"What size bit?"

"Quarter inch." He headed into the other room where they kept the replacement parts stocked, coming back a few minutes later with one of the panels he needed.

Michael had already started drilling the rivets. He was holding the drill left-handed, his right arm propped on his knee, steadying the bit. It looked awkward and uncomfortable as hell.

The day Hawke had spent alone with Caitlin over White Sands, she had told him how close Michael had come to death in Cambodia, and how extensive the damage was to her husband's shoulder. "Need a hand with that?" Hawke offered.

"No. I've got it."

Stubborn bastard. Then again, that stubborn streak was probably the only reason Michael was still alive. Shaking his head, Hawke set the new panel on the workbench and started stripping off the protective plastic film. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to Airwolf's computers, to the alien technology Moffet had buried deep within them. "You think Winchester knew?" he asked, during a momentary lull in the drilling.

Michael set the tool down, and appeared to be considering the possibility. "I doubt it," he said, finally. "He talked to Moffet some, but I don't think they were close enough that Moffet would have confided in him."

After Winchester's death, Hawke had spent some time going over his notes. One line in particular came back to him. Something about Airwolf being a living thing. That statement had always felt a little odd. Given what he now knew, it was downright creepy.

"Winchester said to fly cold," the agent said, abruptly.

"Huh?" Caught up in his own thoughts, Hawke hadn't been paying much attention to Michael.

"Winchester told me to have you fly cold, because they were into Airwolf's electronics. Is there any way we can tap into the Fennecs, and take control of their computers?"

It was an interesting idea, one that would give them a decided edge if they could find a way to do it. "Norris hard-wired a receiver transmitter into Airwolf. Obviously that's not an option with the Fennecs. I'm not sure if it could be done remotely," In a way, he hoped it couldn't. If the Fennecs were vulnerable to outside interference with their computers, then Airwolf probably was, too.

As Hawke prepared the section of composite for installation, the silence was broken only by the intermittent snarl of the drill. He had finished the panel he was working on, and retrieved the second from storage. "Grab this for me, will you?" Michael asked. "I'm down to the last two corners."

Hawke went to help him, holding the panel while Michael removed the last of the fasteners. Once he was finished, Hawke set the cracked panel aside and examined the opening. "Doesn't look like any other damage." He checked the rivets. "Good job. I'll have to put you to work more often."

Michael laughed. "Let me get a cup of coffee and I'll get the other one off." He headed for the pot on the workbench.

"I can get the second one."

The agent shook his head. "You concentrate on getting her back together. I'll do the grunt work."

Too stubborn for his own good. "You just want to be able to complain to Cait when she gets back about how I overworked you."

Sipping his coffee, Michael grimaced. "No, but I might tell her you tried to poison me." He took a second cautious swallow. "We're going to talk to Karen Hanson again. If there's a way to remotely access the Fennec's electronics, she should be able to figure out how to do it. When and if another of those damned helicopters shows up, I want us to be ready for it."

-*-

Hawke pulled into the driveway promptly at nine. Michael came out to join him, easing himself carefully into the Jeep. The agent's discomfort didn't escape notice. Hawke raised an eyebrow, the slightest trace of a grin quirking the corner of his lips. "Told you I'd help you get those panels off."

Michael glared at him, a look that was probably lost on the pilot as Hawke turned his attention back to his driving. ""And I told you I had it covered."

Hawke was definitely grinning. He shrugged. "Hey, you want to be a hero, suit yourself."

As much as Michael was loath to admit it, he knew he had over-done it working on Airwolf. There was a limit to how much he could demand of his body, and he had exceeded that limit. Despite spending the night with an ice pack on his shoulder, he was still feeling the effects. If Caitlin was around, she would have kicked his butt.

Luckily, Caitlin was in Texas, visiting her parents for their anniversary. Normally, Michael would have gone with her. He liked the O'Shannessys, and while they were initially suspicious of him, once they had learned how deeply he loved their daughter, they had welcomed him into the family. Now, however, with the threat of the Fennecs still looming, he had been unwilling to venture that far from Knightsbridge – and Airwolf.

It was a fairly short ride to Questor Laboratories. This time, Karen Hanson's reaction to seeing them was quite different. She immediately closed the lab door behind them, and rather pointedly didn't offer them seats, remaining standing herself. Hanson looked from one to the other, back again. Finally, her gaze settled on Hawke. "I've already told you everything I know about Proteus."

"That's not why we're here," the pilot's voice was level. "There's a more pressing problem. We need your help."

Invited or not, Michael eased himself onto a stool. "We told you we found the files inside Airwolf's computers. What we didn't tell you was that someone else found them, too. Someone who built a fleet of helicopters with most of Airwolf's technological advancements."

Her eyes widened. "You mean...?"

"Yeah," Hawke nodded. "Everything but the turbos, which apparently weren't Moffet's design."

"But, who?"

"A former employee of the Firm. One who's father worked with Moffet on the construction and integration of Airwolf's computers," Michael admitted.

"Who?"

"Andrew Locke."

Hanson blew out a long breath, dropping heavily onto a stool. "I can't say that surprises me. Andrew was tight with Moffet – at least as much as anyone was. They worked together a lot." She looked up sharply. "You said a fleet?"

"From what we can determine, a dozen were built, based on Eurocopter Fennecs. Hawke has shot down three. We're hoping there may be a better way to deal with these helicopters than going head to head with them."

"What did you have in mind?" He could see that her curiosity was whetted.

"A number of years ago, the Firm built an Airwolf simulator. Michael asked Dom and I to allow his people to connect it to Airwolf, to find out how accurate it was." Hawke looked over at him, silently asking the agent's approval to go on. At Michael's nod, he continued. "One of the individuals involved had her own agenda. She used the receiver transmitter attached to Airwolf to backdoor her way into the computers and take control of most of Airwolf's systems."

From the look in Hanson's eyes, she wasn't entirely sure what they wanted from her. "I don't see how that helps you. I'm sure there's no way you can put receivers on these helicopters? "

"No, but if we could find a way to access the Fennec's computers remotely, it would make them much less of a threat," Michael explained.

"I'd be satisfied if we could find a way around their jamming abilities. As it is, I can't get a missile lock on them, either radar or IF. We've only found one spot vulnerable to chain gun fire. It makes taking them out a difficult proposition."

"Do you think it's possible?" the agent asked.

She didn't answer, instead cocking her head as if she were thinking. Time passed, probably only a couple minutes, although it felt longer. Finally, Hanson rose and crossed to her computer. From where he sat, Michael couldn't see what she was studying. Eventually, she looked up. "I don't think there's any way to give you control of the computers, but I think I can overload their jammers. Will that be enough?"

-*-

"You think this will work?" Michael asked, leaning against Airwolf as he watched Hawke install the secondary radar unit inside the helicopter's nose.

The pilot finished soldering the wires he was connecting before answering. "The principle sounds good, and from what I've seen, Hanson knows her stuff. I think it will work.."

The agent nodded. Karen Hanson's solution to the Fennec problem was to add a second radar, operating on a different frequency than the first. While Airwolf's original system operated over a range of rotating frequencies, the jammers were designed to detect and follow those frequencies. They weren't, however, designed to jam multiple signals at the same time. "Not going to stop them from dropping chaff, though." The thin strips of aluminum would still confuse their radar, regardless of frequencies.

"On Airwolf, at least, chaff is just considered a backup system. We don't carry a lot of it, I'm hoping the Fennecs don't, either."

Hawke finished the work, and closed the access panel on Airwolf's nose. "Now we wait."

"Now we wait," Michael agreed.

-*-

To be continued....

Comments/feedback welcomed.

Thanks for reading.