(I would like to thank Nighshae for her assistance. (Go check her stuff out. She's good ;) ) Most of Archangel, Michael Bridges and Jack Colvetti is now her. I do a little fine tuning of what she writes but otherwise, that is pretty much her stuff! This chapter is good background fill, how things are, how things came about, a few connections and the springboard for what comes next. Enjoy. Read and review if you like.)
Chapter 13
It was early Tuesday evening when Michael Bridges stepped out the front door of the Guardian Angels headquarters in LA to watch a small motorcade as it turned off the main street and onto the narrow private drive. It wasn't often his father came to California. Too many people from his past that could potentially ID him still lived and worked in the area. From time to time it was a necessary risk to deal with business matters. Precautions were a top priority when Archangel was on the move to ensure his safety; such as two SUV's that held armed guards and the limo with its tinted, bullet proof glass.
Though he was still Michael 'Archangel' to those closest to him, his father no longer wore anything more light colored than gray in his choice of suits. Gone was the instantly recognizable white limo and helicopter he'd used back when he'd worked for the Firm. He traveled in a bit more low-key fashion nowadays, though in ways common for a prosperous and successful businessman. The navy blue limo he rode in now was fashioned with an eye towards protection as well as comfort. Both the Lear jet and Bell 429WLG helicopter he flew in were painted in the company's colors of navy blue with gold and white accents. The 429WLG was based off the same line that Airwolf had originally been designed from but offered the best options of comfort for the old man, and the company favored them to move people around fast when needed.
Having a 'Guardian Angel' for your child not only meant the child had a full time bodyguard when they left the home, but the family also had a way to call up nearly instant backup if something went wrong. Many high profile kidnappings had been stopped thanks to Archangel's training, helping to build the company's reputation as the best in the business when it came to keeping loved ones safe.
Striding down the wide steps that led to the drive, the young man reached the bottom as the limo came to a stop in front of him. The driver quickly stepped out and opened the door for his father as Bridges reached out a hand. His father's hand clasped around his wrist half in greeting, half to allow the younger man to give him a bit of support as he stepped out of the limo.
"Any word?" asked Bridges as the two men started up the stairs, the younger slowing his pace to match his father's limping stride.
"No, she hasn't called back," Michael stated.
"Do you think she found something or do you think she was testing the number to see where it got her?" Bridges paused for a moment inside the building to let his eyes adjust to the darker interior.
"I'm hoping a little bit of both," his father admitted as he nodded to the men holding the doors for them as they passed by.
The foyer was three levels high with solid balconies most of the way around. The sculpted walls were interspersed with gold, decorative grillwork in a way that looked very attractive from the main floor. Of course, it also allowed for shooters to fire down on the main floor from cover in case the place ever came under attack. It hadn't happened in the States, but all their buildings had the same design and it had been needed in a few of the less stable areas of the world.
Silently, father and son moved to take the first of three elevators up to the twelfth floor penthouse suite, a staple feature in all of their headquarters around the world. It allowed Archangel to stay close to his work and be available if something went wrong at any of the other locations. Bridges lived in this buildings penthouse when his job with the filming company kept him in California. However, his father had an adjoining suite of rooms and office space set aside for him for when he made his rare visits.
Leaving the last elevator, they moved through an outer office, greeting the two guards and the receptionist there before going on to Bridges suite. There the old man was finally able to relax as Samantha, one of his Angels from his days with the Firm, came to greet him. As she relieved him of his tie and suit jacket, leaving him with just the fitted vest over his white shirt, they moved into the main living room.
Settling back into a comfortable chair, Michael lifted his bad leg and rested it on the waiting hassock, taking the pressure off his aching knee. He'd had replacement surgery several years ago on his knee and hip joint. It had helped, but traveling was still a strain on the artificial parts. Nothing would ever make right the damage from so long ago.
"So, anything new on the very resourceful Cheyenne 'Red' Hawke? And do we have any idea why people call her 'Red'?" he questioned once he'd shifted into a comfortable position. He smiled over at Bridges as he was settling into nearby chair.
Bridges shook his head, "I have no idea where that name came from. Perhaps you should ask her next time you see her. However, I have recently discovered something of interest about her," his son replied, his look growing instantly amused. "Though I'm not sure if you're going to like this or not."
"Oh?" Michael questioned, frowning. "The worse that could happen is that she's hired a Firm agent sent to spy on her."
"Nothing like that," Bridges assured him with a laugh, shaking his head as Samantha brought them both glasses of wine. "We've discretely checked her entire employee roster, and they're all exactly what they seem to be. No, one of our informants contacted me a few days ago and said they saw Cheyenne Hawke leaving the home of one Angus MacGyver, head of the Phoenix Foundation, last Friday around six in the morning. She was getting into one of her pilot's trucks."
Michael's wine glass paused mid-sip then was lowered as his look grew very thoughtful. "Interesting. Are you sure it was her, and that it was his home?" he questioned, frowning in bemusement.
"Yes," Bridges replied. "We checked the address of the house and ran the license plate on the truck. It's registered to her pilot Lex Marsters and the house is rented by one A. MacGyver. Our informant described her quite well; reddish brown skin, long black hair in a braid, blue jeans, hiking boots and a red, white and blue 'Stars and Stripes' nylon jacket."
Michael tilted his wine glass one way and then another, watching the red liquid inside slide around the sides. "I've met MacGyver once. He's an interesting character. What's her connection to him and the Phoenix Foundation?"
Bridges set his wine glass down on an end table, then stood and moved over to his desk. He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick manila folder before returning to his chair. "It seems that every time I turn around, I'm digging a little deeper into her past. And every time I start digging, I either find things that fascinate the hell out of me or make me wish I'd stopped."
Michael watched as his son sat down and set the folder in his lap. "And which kind is this?" he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. He remembered several of the things they'd found out about her childhood that had made Michael wish he'd known about her before Stringfellows' death. He could have saved her so much heartache as well as given her a better life than what she'd had.
"Oh, definitely one of those 'fascinating' pieces," he said with a slight chuckle. He pulled out a picture and handed it over to Michael. It was of a teenage Cheyenne and a much younger MacGyver, posing in front of the Phoenix Foundation helicopter. Cheyenne was all smiles, like someone had just told her she could have anything she wanted in the whole world. And knowing her, that thing was what was sitting behind them in the photo.
"Apparently, when she was fifteen and on the run after her adoptive father died, she'd broken into MacGyver's houseboat. The cops found her when they checked on a silent alarm she'd tripped. They hauled her off to juvenile hall and were going to press charges when MacGyver showed up and bailed her out, refusing to consent to any charges and coming up with some story about how it was all a mistake. After that, most of the information I've managed to find seems a bit hazy. From what I can put together, he found her a foster family with a retired couple that used to work for the Phoenix Foundation and helped mentor her until she graduated from high school. He helped make sure she had her pilots' license updated, even let her do some flying for the Phoenix Foundation to log flight hours and signed off as her legal guardian when she joined the Air Force at the age seventeen." Bridges took a sip from his wine glass as he flipped through the pages of the ever growing file.
"Interesting," stated Michael as he stared at the photo, memorizing that beautiful smile on the young woman's face. "Anything else?" he asked.
His son shrugged, "Other than MacGyver having a son a few years older than her? Sean Angus MacGyver or Sam for short. Apparently they both hate being called Angus. I've heard rumor from my sources that they've been pretty serious about one another for the last few years. She even asked him to move in with her."
This news caused Michael to blink and look up at his son in surprise. "She's got a boyfriend?"
Bridges laughed, "Yes dad," he said rolling his eyes a little in exasperation. "What? Did you think she was some type of monastic prude or going to become an old maid? She's only thirty-six."
Michael's face flushed slightly as he thought about the young woman in the photo he still held. As he stared at it his mind began think through a few things. Her connection with MacGyver and the Phoenix Foundation may be the link that solved a bit of a mystery that had been plaguing him for a few years.
Bridges watched him closely, "What are you thinking about?"
Michael looked up at his son, concentration still written on his features. He handed the picture back to him. "Knowing about this connection could be a fortunate piece of luck for us. It might be just what I need to fill in a few holes but I'll need to think about it some more." Shifting in his seat, he finished off the wine in his glass. "Otherwise, how is she doing with Santini's old business? Is it doing well?"
Bridges chuckled softly as he closed the folder after replacing the photo. "Very well, in fact. She's recently acquired two other failing air service businesses and added their equipment and clientele to hers. Her real claim to fame is her growing collection of some real antique pieces and with them, the creation of the 'Bone Yard' Vintage Aircraft Service. It got quite a bit of notice by some of the more prominent Hollywood producers after her showmanship demonstrations at the Las Vegas Air Show in September. Thing is, she's got that part of the business located separately at an old airstrip and hanger out in the hills that makes it hard to get to unless you're willing to drive a long distance or fly in. I've got someone checking now to see who she acquired it from."
Michael could only chuckle and shake his head, "Sounds like she's keeping herself busy."
His son snorted, "You don't know the half of it. I've heard rumor that they're looking at getting some ground based equipment as well. Our contract with them includes options for jeeps, tanks and other military style ground equipment if they have it available for any upcoming movies that call for it."
This had Michael's attention now as he leaned forward. "When does she have time to sleep?"
"Honestly, I think she sleeps about as often as you do." Bridges grinned mischievously at his father when he said this. "Thing is, I know of a few pieces of that type of equipment for sale right now but I'm not sure of my reception if I were to drop by to give her the tip about them."
Michael considered that, his look thoughtful as he replayed Miss Hawke's phone conversation with him in his mind and focused on what he'd picked up from her tone of voice. "When I talked to her last night, she stated she wanted to talk to me face to face without you around," he said slowly, considering his words. "That being said, I think if you were to stop by and ask if she was interested in the pieces you know about, your reception might be a little cool, but I doubt it would be hostile. Perhaps you might suggest that she see it as an extended olive branch of good faith."
Bridges chuckled and looked a little more relieved. "That's a good idea. I'd hate to be on her bad side and the wrong end of her gun. I'm pretty sure she's a constant carry these days with everything that's gone on."
Michael chuckled. "She's not as hostile as her father, though she sounds a great deal like him and has a lot of his mannerisms," he stated, then paused thoughtfully. "I think she's what Stringfellow would have been like if he hadn't lost his brother in Vietnam. She's certainly more approachable and easier to get along with from everything I've learned about her."
His son stood up and went to refill their wine glasses. "We had her on bad footing and at a disadvantage when we met her before. In hindsight, it wasn't the best move on my part, but hopefully we can get past it. I think she understands why it had to happen that way, but she certainly wasn't happy about it."
Michael let his glass fill a quarter of the way full before motioning it was enough. "However, her having a connection with the Phoenix Foundation does add an interesting element. MacGyver only knows me as being part of Guardian Angels. Our people have had some other contact with him, mainly a few run-ins here and there. For a complete pacifist, he's very good at causing all sorts of disruption."
"You think she'll turn to him for help if she finds the Lady?"
"Most certainly. Being head of the Phoenix Foundation would certainly have its perks and being able to use the Foundations resources to at least get the Lady back in the air would be helpful. However, the Lady is a machine of mass destruction and MacGyver's aversion to weapons is well known. If the Lady's ever found, he may not be willing to help Miss Hawke outfit and upgrade her to her full potential."
Bridges had to agree with that. "The main question at this point is if she finds the Lady, will Miss Hawke trust us enough to bring her to us and allow us to work on her?"
"I hope so," Michael stated with a sigh. "The Lady was state of the art twenty years ago, but there's so much we could do to improve her now. New electronic systems are much smaller and lighter in weight. I think we could improve her speed just by taking a few hundred pounds of equipment out of her. I'd like to turn someone loose on her programming just to be sure that the last of Moffett's little surprises are indeed gone, and her computers would need serious upgrades. The sensors and radar equipment would all need to be replaced or improved to make her even more efficient for surveillance."
Bridges nodded in agreement, knowing his father had continually planned as years passed and technology improved. Equipment was purchased as needed then phased out or sold when new equipment was created that replaced the previous now outdated systems. Everything was stored safely away along with every scrap of information that could be rounded up on the Lady's original systems and mechanical components.
Michael's fingers pulled thoughtfully on his chin. Bringing his right leg up to join the left on the hassock, he stretched out in the chair and got comfortable. "So, now we wait for Miss Hawke to call." Looking at his son, he raised an eyebrow in a questioning look. "Did you work today?"
Bridges shook his head, watching his father get comfortable. "No, I was off. I told them I was working on a project, which I am. I wanted to be around to be sure you were comfortable, which I see you are," he stated with some amusement, then rose and went to the stone, artificial fireplace they had installed years before and picked up the old cello he kept in a special stand. "You're going to have to tell her about this, you know," he stated, checking the tuning as he sat down on a nearby stool.
"I know," Archangel murmured as he leaned back in the chair, resting his head against his left hand. "I have the cash set aside to pay her for it if she's willing to sell. She doesn't seem to play or even be musically inclined. I'm hoping she'll be willing to part with it in favor of it going to someone who can truly utilize and cherish it."
Bridges gave his father a smile, settling down and starting to play the priceless Stradivarius that once serenaded eagles. When Michael, Marella and Caitlin had closed up Hawke's cabin after his death, they'd packed away the art into the underground store room but none of them had been willing to trust the rare instrument to the ages. Instead it had been brought down from the mountain and properly taken care of over the years.
He had seen the instrument as a small child, tucked away in a specially constructed stand in his father's office. He had wanted to try to play it, as any child would, but his father had told him that if he wanted to play it, then he had to learn to play well first. Years of lessons had followed before he'd finally been allowed to remove Hawke's cello from its stand.
His music teacher had been moved to tears when she'd finally seen the priceless instrument that had so motivated her finest student to excel. They'd become good friends and she enjoyed his playing. Twice the instrument had been taken out of the building for special charity concerts done to benefit veteran groups. There were plans in the works to take it out a third time the next month for a Christmas concert if things went well. "Better put your patch on," he told his father. "The last three times I've played for you, I put you to sleep."
Pulling the black patch out of his pocket, Michael set about doing just that, sliding it into place under his glasses, then setting them aside on the table next to his now empty wine glass. Leaning back in the comfortable chair, he settled down, and let his son play him to sleep the way Stringfellow Hawke had done so many years before.
Red brought the ax down on another log, splitting it in two. She had been working off her nervous energy since mid-morning, trying to put in a supply of wood for a few weeks. The last time both she and Sam had been at the cabin they had hauled in deadfall and sawed it into logs for splitting at a later date.
Her back and arms ached from the physical strain of hefting the six pound ax over and over again. She'd also resorted to using an eight pound sledge with splitting wedges to break up the larger pieces into more manageable sizes. Setting the ax aside, she worked to gather and stack the split wood from around the base of the splitting stump.
Her Tuesday afternoon was almost spent as clouds raced across the valley towards the west, bringing the wind that blew a damp chill off the lake that smelled of rain. She pulled her hooded sweatshirt and jacket closer around her neck to try and keep the cold from penetrating further. As the wind picked up in intensity she knew she was out of luck as the first few fat cold rain drops hit the top of her head.
By the time the rest of the wood was stacked, her jacket was soaked through and clinging to her. Hauling in several armloads of wood finished her day and she took a moment to peel the cold, sodden garments off over her head. The smell of homemade soup filled the warm air of the cabin, making her stomach growl. But dinner would have to wait until she'd had a shower and thaw herself out.
As she started the shower to warm the water while she undressed, she caught a glimpse of her back and shoulders in the mirror. She paused for a moment, looking at the pattern of scars from the skin graphs and surgical incisions used to put her back together over two years ago. Being as cold as she was, her skin was pale, causing everything to stand out in stark contrast to her healthy, unmarred skin.
This was the evidence to prove she'd survived her first and so far, only run in with RedStar and the Firm. It was a reminder to her that if she went through with what she had planned, now that she'd found Airwolf, she could be in for much worse. Was this a risk she was willing to take? She wouldn't be alone this time. Sam was determined to be a part of this. If she went down, so would he. Was she willing to risk his life as well as her own over a piece of military hardware?
Turning away from her reflection, she rubbed at her temples and stepped into the hot steamy shower to try and chase away these thoughts for a little while longer. It was Sam's life to risk since she wasn't asking him to join her. He was doing this on his own volition. But if something happened to him, would MacGyver ever forgive her?
Wednesday morning found the California weather perfect for a mid-November day. MacGyver parked his truck along the curb of an older neighborhood in front of a house and lawn that was immaculate. Sitting on the porch, enjoying a morning cup of coffee was the older man he came to see. Raising his hand in greeting as he approached the gate, he called out "Hey, Jack!"
A wrinkled hand raised and waved in response, "Hey there Mac. Long time, no see." There was a grin on his face as he motioned MacGyver to join him on the porch. "Been keeping yourself out of trouble these days?"
Mac came up to the porch and took the seat the older man offered and relaxed back, "I'm trying Jack. The Phoenix Foundation doesn't leave me much time to get into trouble anymore."
Jack laughed at this. "What brings you to this side of town?" Even for his age, Jack didn't miss a beat. He could sense Mac wasn't here for a social visit. By the time Jack Colvetti retired from the LAPD, he had held the prestigious job of Hostage Negotiator for fifteen years. He was a fifty year veteran of the force when he'd finally hung up the badge and shoulder holster.
"I was looking for possible information on someone and got to thinking he might have been around the same time you were on the force." He unzipped his jacket and began to pull out a manila folder he'd rolled up and stuffed in an inside pocket.
Jack grunted then stood up, tossing the remnants of his coffee out into the flower bed. "Come on inside. I'll fix us some fresh coffee and we'll take a look at what you've got."
Mac raised an eyebrow at this but got up out of his chair and followed Jack inside. Motioning to a chair at the kitchen table for Mac to sit in, Jack busied himself with setting a new pot of coffee on the stove and getting down another cup. "So, who ya looking for?" He turned and hovered at the edge of the table. "Someone from the Force?"
Having pulled out the folder from his jacket, MacGyver worked to straighten it out a little as he spoke. "I don't think so. He might have been more along the lines of some other government agency," Mac admitted. Satisfied he had the folder as flat as he was going to make it, he drew out a copy of the picture he'd gotten from Red's cabin. "Description of the guy would be sandy-blonde hair, wore white suits, one eye. He wore glasses with one lense darkened."
Jack started, staring at Mac as he slowly sat down at the kitchen table. "Where the hell did you hear about Archangel?" he asked, looking at the photo Mac handed him.
"So you've met him?" MacGyver asked, a touch surprised that he had.
Pointing to the three standing next to Archangel, he nodded. "I remember this group." Looking up at MacGyver, he asked. "Remember back in '85, that hostage situation on the QE2?"
Mac gave a slight shrug, "Barely. It was over within a few hours and quietly tidied up before the media could make too much of it."
Jack poked a finger at Caitlin, "This gal, though I barely saw her, was part of a sorority group that all ended up being taken hostage. Their main target was one of the sorority group and the perps wanted to use her to get to her pop's money. The gal's dad had quite a bit of influence and money because he supplied arms for the military." He held the picture closer to his face then pulled it away with a smirk. "Found out that feisty red-head was formerly of the Texas Highway Patrol. She'd worked in their helicopter surveillance unit."
MacGyver looked over at the photo and nodded, trying to encourage Jack to go on. "So what was Archangel's part in all of this?"
Jack tapped the image of Archangel. "He was high up in the Firm, showed up to help me out because of who the main target was related to and what he did for the government. Any time this sort of thing showed up, he was on hand to help out. Kinda nice that he had access to some fairly well trained guys who had cool heads and were better trained than most SWAT forces I've seen in action." He pointed to Stringfellow and Santini, "But I remember these two real well." His look turned wry and he chuckled. "I remember Archangel's face when these two showed up and informed him the red-head was on board. He wasn't happy at finding out that bit of news on top of everything else. The old man was mad as a wet hen and full of bluster, but the kid was a cool customer. He reminded me of a sniper; quiet, collected and with no wasted movement. When he did speak, you felt compelled to listen."
Nodding, Mac got up and helped prepare the coffee since the water was boiling on the stove. "Anything else you can tell me about that group?" He waved in the general direction of the photo.
Jack snorted, "Other than seeing the most incredible helicopter in my life that day?"
MacGyver set a steaming cup of coffee down in front of Jack and then set down again with his own in his hands. "Really?"
Jack nodded, "I know you wouldn't believe me but these two guys left because the hostage takers are demanding a helicopter to the airport. Archangel tells me they are both pilots. So a little while later, here comes this younger guy in a Huey. Calm as could be. But no older guy. I didn't give it a second thought. Things happen with the negotiations and the younger fella takes off with the three hostage takers and four hostages, one is the red-head. After the Huey is off and moving, Archangel gets on the radio and apparently starts talking with the old guy and then this sleek black and white helicopter out of some science fiction movie pops up from behind the QE2 and starts to follow after them. Thing is, we never heard it fly in. Didn't even know it was there hovering above the water, hiding out."
MacGyver watched as Jack's eyes seemed to dazzle at the thought of having seen Airwolf in her hayday. He let him sit there for a moment, sipping his coffee before asking another question. "How often did you work with Archangel?"
Jack shrugged, "I don't honestly remember off the top of my head. I worked with him a few times before the QE2 incident and once or twice more before he died in '88.
"So, what do you really know about this guy, Archangel?" Mac asked.
Jack turned to look at MacGyver, a look that showed he was thinking quickly. "How did you get a hold of this picture?"
It was MacGyvers turn to chuckle and pull out another photocopy of a teenage Cheyenne MacPhearson. "Do you remember her and how I came to you, asking for help in getting charges against her dropped for breaking and entering my houseboat?"
The older man took the picture and stared at it for a long moment, then a slow smile crept across his face. "Yeah, I remember. The cops were afraid she was mute or something. She hadn't said a word from the moment they picked her up to the time you came to the station. Where most kids her age would have been either bawling or all bluster, she was silent as a church mouse, watching everything with eyes that gave you the chills."
Mac laughed, "Oh don't be dramatic Jack. She wasn't that scary. She was a kid in a bad situation and she was scared out of her mind."
Jack snorted, "Well it was still unnerving. So what's she got to do with all of this?"
MacGyver pulled out a couple of photos of Red, one of her in her military blues, another of her in front of the Stars and Stripes hanger, and one in front of the cabin. He held the one of her at the cabin up to the one of Stringfellow, Archangel, Cait and Dom. "She remind you of someone in that picture?"
Taking the pictures, the old man looked at them, then looked back at the one of her as a young girl then back up at Mac. "This her?" Not waiting for an answer, he looked back down at the one of the four adults in front of the cabin. "No. She couldn't be. She's related to that pilot?"
"Stringfellow Hawke is her biological father," he stated. "Small world, isn't it? Sad part is, he gave her up for adoption back in '75. She never knew him. But she and I have stayed in touch over the years and when she found out she had inherited his estate, she began researching his past and wanted to know more about the people in his life."
"This picture's up at Cheyenne's cabin now," Mac explained. "She's trying to find out more about her past. I've talked with some of the Hollywood folks who knew the other three since they did a lot of filming and stunt piloting." He shrugged. "As far as this guy," he said as he tapped Archangels picture, "I knew hardly anything and had hoped that you'd run into him at some time in your career. He doesn't seem the kind of man easily forgotten."
Jack leaned back in his chair and sipped his coffee, his memories taking him back over the past and those he once knew. "I don't know much about him other than what I learned through our working relationship. He wasn't the kind to put on airs in spite of the suit and he treated his people well. He never tried to muscle in the way some feds do. Archangel was a pretty good guy. As far as spooks go, he was a good one from what I'd heard. He ran the local Firm Agency branch for a number of years before he was killed." With a sad sigh, he looked back at Mac. "He loved our country, took care of his people and his people seemed to like and trust him. What more could you ask for in a government man? They just don't make 'em like that anymore."
TBC -