Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Airwolf characters. I just take them out to play every now and then.

A/N: Thanks everyone who read and reviewed. This part will wrap up the story. Or will it? ;)

The long white limousine pulled up in front of the Santini Air hanger and parked. Inside the hanger, Dominic Santini craned his neck around the top of the ladder he was standing on, momentarily stopping his work on the top rotor of the chopper he was fixing. He rolled his eyes at the sight of the familiar car. Turning his head the opposite way, he shouted, "String! Caitlin! Come here! We've got company!"

Stringfellow Hawke sauntered around the corner, hearing the older man call for him. He carried a screwdriver in his hand from the work he had been doing on the Steerman. Looking past Dom, a visible frown appeared on his face with recognition of just who this "company" of theirs was.

The door to the office opened and Caitlin O'Shannessy came out, scratching her head with a pencil and carrying an arm full of papers. "Dom, for the life of me, you have got to start keeping better records! I can't make heads or tails out of these ..." she looked up to address her boss, but was stopped in her tracks when she saw the man in white and his assistant unexpectedly standing beside Dom. "Michael, Marella," she said in greeting.

"Caitlin," Michael acknowledged the pretty redhead. "You're looking much better than the last time I saw you. I trust you're doing ok?"

"Much," she smiled. "Although I still think my hair smells like smoke." She pulled a piece of her shoulder length reddish blond hair towards her nose to make her point.

"Michael," Hawke interrupted, ending the pleasantries. "Are you here to tell us you've found that bastard Bogan?"

"Yeah," Dom added with a scowl. "We want to know that scum is in prison where he belongs."

Michael looked down at the concrete floor of the hanger, a sure giveaway that the news he had was not going to please the trio before him. "As much as I'd like to tell you that we had him, it seems he got away before we could grab him."

Hawke crossed his arms in front of him. "He got away? Just how hard is it to track down a pompous, cartoon caricature of a lawman with a thick Texas accent? Hell, Michael. If I'd known your team wouldn't be able to drag that low life in, I'd have stayed in Texas and took care of him myself. Maybe I'll just go back to Pope County and finish the job if your team can't do it."

Michael couldn't help but notice that while Hawke spoke he moved quietly closer to Caitlin, so that he was standing elbow to elbow with her. A subtle, protective move on the pilot's part. "Hawke," Michael explained, "I was in Airwolf. As you know, Dom and I got his goons, but they didn't know where Bogan headed when he left the mill. We tracked him as far as the border. We have reason to believe he's hiding out in Mexico."

"Mexico?" Dom asked incredulously. "So while he's down there drinking margaritas what are we supposed to do?"

"Guys!" Caitlin felt she needed to be the voice of reason. "Let Michael talk. I'm sure there's more to the story, isn't there Michael?" She crossed her arms in front of her and gave the spy a reassuring smile.

"Thank you Caitlin," he said. "And yes, there is. Marella, show them the letter."

Archangel's brunette assistant stepped forward. She removed a folded piece of paper from her attaché case and handed it to Hawke. "This was intercepted by one of our operatives. It was scheduled to be delivered to you here at the hanger. We interrogated the delivery boy, but the delivery fee was paid in cash and it had been forwarded from Texas. A dead end I'm afraid."

Hawke snatched the paper from Marella. He read the words on the paper aloud. "You may have won this battle Hawke, but you haven't won the war. We will meet again someday."

"What's that mean for us?" Caitlin asked, a hint of worry edging into her voice.

"It means," Michael stated, "Roy Bogan has made it onto my top 10 Most Wanted list. We'll be actively pursuing him. He won't make it back into the states without us knowing it. And when he tries, we're going to get him."

Caitlin nodded and looked away, not liking knowing that yet another person was out there with a vendetta against the people she cared most about. Hawke noticed and wrapped an arm around her. "We'll get him Caitlin," he said softly but sternly. "Don't fear, we'll get him."

Caitlin managed a smile, her attitude once again portraying the toughness that made her who she was. "I know we will, because there is nothing that together we can't do. But I want to be the one who puts his sorry butt in the jail cell."

Dom broke into a loud laugh at his gal's ambition. "You got it, kiddo. You got it."

A thousand miles away, a tall caucasian man sat at the bar in a dustbowl of a town in the middle of central Mexico. Sunglasses firmly in place, his eyes shielded him from making contact with anyone directly. A cowboy hat covered his head. No one in the bar dared to approach the ominous figure. He lifted his beer to his lips and took a drink, barely wincing at the warmness of the bitter brew. Thoughts swirled madly through his mind.

Turning slightly on the bar stool, he stared emptily out of one of the dirty windows in the joint. Outside was a stark contrast to the dingy inside of the bar. The view from the window was of nothing but a sandy dirt road and the blistering sun. He spoke lowly what was on his mind. "Mark my words, Stringfellow Hawke. When you least expect it. I'll be back."

Fini.