Loose-limbed stride eating up the distance, Saint John led the way up the beach, Hawke and Roper trailing behind.
"You think Seb will have anything?" Roper asked.
"Hope so, I'd like to think there was some purpose to me getting shot at."
Reaching the deck, Seb greeted the at the door wire-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his nose. "String!" he exclaimed, still examining the computer printouts he held, "you'll never believe what I found!" Raising his head for the first time, he looked at his two new guests. Immediately he realized the gaff. "Uh, Hawke, um String, er- Roper?" An embarrassed flush spread across his cheeks as he spread out his hands in surrender. "Sorry," he said addressing the younger man. "What exactly do I call you? No one told me, and this whole String and String thing is getting a little confusing."
Staring at him for a moment, Stringfellow Roper laughed good-naturedly. "Yeah, I guess it would be," he said shy blue eyes sparkling. "Tell you what - let Hawke keep String or whatever you guys call him. I'll go by Roper. It's what most of the guys at the base call me anyway. Besides, he's had the name longer," he teased sending an amused glance Hawke's way.
"Gee, thanks," Hawke rejoined dryly. "You're all heart."
"So long as you realize that," the other tossed back drolly.
"So, Seb," Hawke returned to the problem at hand. "You said you found something?"
"Yeah," the other continued enthusiastically. "Aside from the usual stuff you'd expect, and some really cool info on electro thermal-chemical technology. Hawke, you really ought to check that out…"
"I know what electro thermal-chemical technology is Seb," Hawke interrupted. "Now how about telling me something I don't know?"
Irritated, Seb glared at him. "I just thought you dealing with Michael and artillery and weapons systems it might be useful."
Ever
"I appreciate that," Hawke replied a trace impatiently. "But the problem at hand…"
"Fine," Seb replied sulkily. "The specs are low on the results that they're showing for the technology they've developed - nothing to warrant the money being poured into it."
"And?" Hawke prompted.
"I looked further into it," Seb commented, beginning again to regain his former enthusiasm. "They're cooking the books - there's two sets of data - the one for government consumption and the real one. Catch is it's also looking like they're hunting for buyers for the new technology."
"Who?"
"Libya, for one. Syria. Possibly a few other unknowns."
"Great." Saint John grumbled. "Like we need them to have new toys."
"String - this is big. It could change how wars are fought almost overnight. Everything we've got and the Russians got would be obsolete,"Seb stated worriedly.
"And Nhi Huong found this," Hawke sighed. Well, that pretty much explains how she ended up dead."
"Watch it, Hawke!" Roper flared. "That's my mom you're talking about."
"I don't doubt it, kid," he said barely casting a glance his way. "But you have to admit it goes a long way towards explaining why they want us out of it."
Frowning, the younger man subsided.
"Anything else?" Saint John asked, looking at Seb.
"Well…"
Hawke held up a hand, his head cocked at an odd angle listening. Recognition flashed in his eyes. "We've got company."
Saint John paused, listening as well. "Huey?" he asked uneasily.
Hawke nodded, reaching behind him and pulling out his .45 as he strode to the front windows. Edging aside the blinds with the gun barrel he peered out. "Time to go, kids. Out the back," he directed motioning with his head.
"Seb, take him out the back. Get the jet ranger started," Saint john stated tersely, pulling out his own gun and joining Hawke at the window. Silently, Hawke motioned for Saint John to take the window on the other side of the door.
Watching, Hawke spotted two men pile out of the helicopter, guns drawn as they headed for the condo.
"Take 'em out?" Saint John whispered.
"Not much choice, we can't outrun them, and that's for sure."
Focusing on the men stealthily heading for the front door of Seb's condo, Hawke dimly registered the snick of the back door closing as Seb and Roper made their way quietly out the back. "Ready?" he asked glancing over at Saint John.
Saint John nodded, clicking the safety off his gun. Carefully, he slipped out the door and into the nearby shrubbery on noiseless feet.
Taking cover behind the heavy filing cabinet in Seb's front room, Hawke waited gun drawn. Ears straining, he heard the door furtively open, footsteps echoing on the hardwood floors heading in his direction. Counting off the seconds, he estimated where they would be in the room.
Drawing ina deep breath, Hawke stepped out gun in hand. "Freeze right there!"
Instantly a shot rang out, even as Hawke ducked instinctively. He felt the report of the .45 in his hand even as he squeezed off a return shot automatically.
"You heard the man," Saint John snarled gun in hand as he stepped around the doorway, effectively surrounding the two.
Casting a surprised glance behind them, they both froze. Scowling, the heavier of the two raised swarthy hands above his head, gun still in his grip. Casting a furtive glance at Hawke and then Saint John, the second man hesitated.
"Now!" Hawke commanded, "or so help me, I'll blow a hole in you where you stand!"
Grudgingly, the second man's hands came up.
"Drop the guns," Saint John ordered feeling his gut relax a little.
Simultaneously, two nasty looking Browning 9mm hit the floor, thudding loudly as they did so.
"Over by the wall," Hawke directed gesturing with a jerk of his head.
Giving them a shove in the right direction, Saint John expertly began to pat the heavier man down. Hawke kept his gun trained on the two men, even as his eye's followed his brother's every move.
Then abruptly, he caught the flash of movement even as Saint John reached for the second man. Out of nowhere, Saint John found himself grappling for a second gun even as String prayed for a clear shot. Muscular hands drug Saint John back, slamming a knee into his ribs even as he fought to keep the gun pointed away from his chest.
"Saint John!" String yelled, shoving his suddenly useless gun into his belt. Lunging, he leapt into the fray, throwing himself at the man nearest him. Rolling they hit the floor, the other man ending up on top.
Drawing back, the man slammed a beefy fist into his face. Grunting, String absorbed the blow, his lip bleeding. Pinned and struggling, he aimed a return blow at the other man's kidneys.
The punch landed without much effect and he got another punch to the face for his trouble. Kicking out this time, he managed to roll the man off him, his nose bleeding profusely now. On top now, he slammed his elbow into the other's face feeling the crunch of bone as it hit.
Unhesitatingly, he followed it up with a backfist to the face. Moaning, the man fought back, even as Hawke slammed his right fist into his face.
Strong arms clamped around his throat, tightening and cutting off air, crushing his windpipe. Struggling to merely breathe now, Hawke scrabbled to break the neck hold even as his vision grayed. Wrenching the thug's grasp loose, Hawke slammed his knee into the other's ribs. Gaining the advantage, Hawke swung a hard right punch, throwing all his weight behind it this time. He watched in relief as the guy collapsed beneath him.
Panting he raised his head to hunt for Saint John. Across the room, the two men struggled. Wincing, Hawke watched as Saint John got slammed into the corner of Seb's heavy filing cabinet and hit the ground. Even as he watched his brother wearily pushing to his feet, the swarthy man reached down and picked up the forgotten Browning.
Eyes widening in horror, Hawke reached behind him and drew his own weapon. Unthinkingly, he pulled the trigger repeatedly. Even as he fired, he saw the other's finger tighten on the trigger and he knew he was seconds too late.
"Saint John!" he screamed, scrambling to his feet, staggering.
The man Hawke shot hit the floor, dead before he ever fell. The 9mm he held fell to the floor with a flat thud, Hawke registered unconsciously even as he flung himself the final yards between him and his brother.
Groaning, Saint John pressed his hand to his side, blood seeping wetly between his fingers.
Taking in the sight, Hawke dropped to his knees beside him shoving his gun into his waistband. "How bad?" he asked worriedly, glancing at his brother's pale face.
Grimacing, Saint John whispered, "I've been better, but I'll live." Pain-filled hazel eyes met sapphire blue.
"You better," Hawke quipped, the joke falling flat even on his own ears. Tan fingers carefully peeled back Saint John's blood soaked ones from the wound for a look. Applying pressure, he probed the wound gently and eased Saint John to his side for a better look.
"Went through," he commented, his voice husky with relief. "It'll hurt like crazy, but you'll be okay."
"Already does," Saint John gasped, as Hawke helped him sit up and get to his feet. Leaning on his brother's slighter frame, the two of them headed down the hall towards the back door.
"Hold on," Hawke said, halfway down the hall. Stopping, he propped his brother against the wall as he slid out from beneath his arm. Saint John regarded him with watchful hazel eyes, his face ashen.
Bending, Hawke rifled through Seb's clean laundry basket sitting in the hall floor.
"Should I even ask?" Saint John asked wearily.
"Need a bandage," Hawke grunted. "This'll work," he said grabbing a handful of soft blue material. "Here."
Saint John took it and held it against his side as they started down the back stairs. Shifting Saint John's weight on his shoulder, Hawke staggered a little, his own aches and pains surfacing as the adrenaline wore off. "Come on, Saint John stay with me," he muttered. "That helicopters a long way off if I gotta carry you."
Giving his head a shake, Saint John fuzzily pulled his attention back. "Sorry," he murmured. "Getting a little woozy."
"Huh," Hawke huffed. "More like not wanting to pull your own weight more like it."
"Wha - ?" Saint John started, realization slipping in that he'd just been insulted. "I pull my own weight and you know it," he retorted self-righteous indignation lending him energy.
"Yeah," Hawke drawled needling his brother further and hiding the grin that threatened to tug at the corners of his mouth. "So I can see."
Feeling more than a little put out, Saint John straightened, his steps steadier. Reaching the door, Roper swung it open as Saint John reached in to climb up. Grabbing a hold of his arm, he pulled him in Hawke giving a shove from behind before he clamored up into the co-pilot's seat.
"Ready?" Seb glanced at him as he lifted the red, white and blue helicopter into the air, sand swirling around them.
"Yeah," Hawke said sliding the headset on. "Let's get this bird in the air." Instinctively, he reached for the controls even as Seb had the rotors biting air.
"Want to take over?" he asked amused watching.
"Uh, no," Hawke said flushing, realizing his gaff had been so apparent.
"It's okay, String," Seb smirked. "We know you just can't help yourself," Relinquishing up the controls he glanced back at Saint John. "You okay?"
"I'll live." the other grunted, shifting uncomfortably.
Seb quirked a glance at String. Shaking his head, he mouthed, "Don't ask." Getting no help in that direction, he looked back at his older brother. "Hey Roper, fish out the first aid kit back there by the seat and see if you can give him a hand."
"I'm on it," Roper said, hunting around for the kit.
"I'm fine," Saint John asserted.
"You're bleeding," Seb retorted looking at the blood soaked cloth he held. "Get the kit."
"I said, I'm fine," Saint John stated emphatically.
"Which is why that blue rag is covered in your blood… hey, wait a minute," he said doing a double take. "That was my new shirt!"
"Was being the operative word," Hawke snorted.
"String!"
Digging the kit out, Roper fished out the gauze.
Blood-stained fingers snagged it out of his grasp, even as he rifled for the tape in the kit. Dropping the contested blue shirt onto the floor of the helicopter, Saint John held the bandage over his wound as the younger man worked to tape it in place.
"You okay?" he said, looking up at the wounded man as he finished. Stunned, he watched Saint John give him a half-grin and shake his head ruefully.
"Yeah. Welcome to the family, kid," the blonde-haired pilot quipped.
Rolling his eyes, Roper shook his head. Obviously Nhi Huong had known what she was doing with this bunch, he thought.
