Chapter One: The Curious Spy
Author note: This story is the forty-fourth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Fear of Self".
Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own Flashpoint, Harry Potter, Narnia, or Merlin. I also do not own Airwolf, a TV show from the 1980's from which I have discreetly borrowed from before. This story includes characters and concepts from Airwolf, but you don't need to be familiar with the show.
For those who are familiar with Airwolf, I've basically pushed the show's timeline forward by about ten years and gone completely off-script, since, in this timeline, Moffet wasn't caught until many years after he stole Airwolf.
Sergeant Greg Parker and his civilian contact faced off with the woman who'd snuck up on them and taken another woman hostage. The hostage didn't fight her captor's hold, but she was alert and watchful in the room's eerie silence. Parker had a fleeting wish that his contact had chosen something, anything, other than that blinding white ensemble; it was unique and distinct enough that he couldn't even try to convince the subject that she had the wrong man in her sights.
And she did have his contact in her sights; despite the fact that she had a hostage and he'd identified himself as the on-scene negotiator, she was completely ignoring him in favor of the suit. "Hello, Michael," she purred, adjusting her hold on her hostage.
"Maria." Briggs's voice was solid ice and his one remaining eye glittered with impotent fury.
Maria made a disappoint moue with her lips. "Come now, Michael," she chided, "We had such fun, didn't we?"
"If that's what you want to call it," Briggs replied, his tone switching to one of forced nonchalance. "But I don't particularly enjoy truth serum or sensory deprivation tanks."
Above and around the tableau, Parker saw his team shifting into position, their weapons at the ready. His jaw clenched as his contact and the subject traded more barbed words, their history easy to read and even easier to get angry over.
Which he was. In the back of his mind, his wild side was growling and snapping, eager to deal with the threat. Parker determinedly held onto his temper, refusing to give ground to the angry gryphon. Despite his best efforts, his eyes shifted, becoming more like an eagle's than a human's.
"Boss," Jules whispered.
He knew, he knew, he knew, but there was nothing he could do. He was the primary negotiator, even if the subject was currently ignoring him in favor of taunting Briggs.
"You did what I wanted once, Michael," she sneered loudly. "I can do it again."
Under his suit, Briggs's shoulders twitched and Parker chalked up another point for the subject. Enough. "Ma'am, let's talk about what we need to do to get everyone out of here safely today."
He might as well have been talking to himself. Maria flicked a brief look at him, then turned back to Briggs, giving him a flirtatious look. "What do you say, Michael, hmm? We could have such fun together."
"I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you, Maria."
A tiny scratching sound reached the Sergeant's ears. Frowning, he shifted position just enough to scan the area behind and to the side of him. A figure was getting into position, a figure wearing an SRU uniform. Realization sparked and Parker calculated his next move with lightning speed.
"Scorpio."
Two gunshots rang out.
18 hours earlier
Archangel leaned back in his chair, reading through the information he'd had assembled on a small police unit in Toronto, Canada of all places. Why Hawke felt they were important enough to warrant his attention was beyond Archangel, but the spy knew he had little choice so long as Hawke was the only person capable of flying Airwolf. Just as he had little choice but to look for a man who was probably very long dead and buried in some obscure corner of the world.
The tall, lean spy sighed to himself as he sorted through the files. His full blond hair was cut close in a crew cut, the easier to deal with during his undercover duties. His small, neat moustache was his private vanity; he kept it carefully trimmed and groomed, even when undercover. A liability, perhaps, but Archangel's skill at undercover operations meant his vanity rarely got him into trouble.
No, the item far more likely to draw attention was the blacked out lens over his left eye. Even before the Red Star attack, he'd worn glasses, but after Red Star, the glasses became the best way for him to disguise his impairment on a day-to-day basis. If he absolutely had to lose the glasses, he used an eye patch, but he much preferred his glasses. Less chance of slipping and alarming random passersby.
The spy's remaining blue eye scanned the top file again, though he'd already memorized the information. Sergeant Gregory Parker of the Toronto Police Department's Strategic Response Unit, in charge of their top team: Team One. Team Leader: Constable Edward Lane. And mixed into the remaining constables was one Samuel Braddock, the only son of a prominent – and powerful – Canadian general. A former member of JTF2 and one of the few people Stringfellow Hawke considered a friend. Given how rarely the gun-shy Hawke permitted himself to make friends, it was an extraordinary accomplishment.
Between his brother's decades long status as an MIA, Hawke's work for the Firm, and the loss of almost every person Hawke had gotten close to, Hawke's avoidance of relationships had been legendary, even before he'd met – and fallen in love with – Gabrielle Admuir. After her death, well, Archangel had rather doubted Hawke would ever let another person close, even for a simple friendship. The spy pondered what, precisely, Braddock had done to gain the recluse's trust. Then Archangel shook his head and moved on, though he took a moment to regret, as he often had before, that Gabrielle hadn't been able to complete her investigation and warn him of Moffet's impending betrayal.
He himself had gone to Hawke after Red Star, requesting Airwolf's one surviving – and loyal – test pilot's assistance in finding the missing stealth chopper. Hawke had agreed – after a fashion – but Archangel hadn't heard from him again for close to four years. And when Hawke had contacted Archangel, his request had been straightforward and blunt: get him into Canada's JTF2 and he would handle the rest. Then he'd essentially disappeared, not even getting in touch with his mentor, Dominic Santini. After the first five years, Archangel had looked for Hawke, but although he'd been able to confirm Hawke was still alive, all other information had been withheld. Frankly, Archangel had long since given up on Hawke ever resurfacing when Stringfellow finally contacted him with the news that he'd found and retrieved Airwolf.
Snorting at himself, Archangel shook out Parker's file and set it lightly on his desk. The spy's expert eye could pick out places where details had been withheld, but he'd been well aware of Team One's Official Secrets Act clearance when he'd requested the files. It was intriguing that some of the withheld facts centered around Parker's rather mysterious teenage charges, but Archangel lacked the data necessary to solve the mystery.
"Why them, Hawke?" Archangel murmured to his empty office. "What sets them apart from every other team you've ever run across, hmm?" And what role had they played in Moffet's defeat and Airwolf's recapture?
He'd flown down to Van Nuys the day after Hawke's report and drilled the man for hours on the circumstances, only to come away frustrated and empty-handed because Hawke had, over and over again, cited the Official Secrets Act, effectively stonewalling the Firm's deputy director, one of the top spies in the country. The only reason Archangel hadn't lost his temper was Hawke's own expression of helpless frustration. Hawke hadn't been holding back because he wanted to or because he felt like tweaking Archangel's tail, but because he had to. Very rarely did Archangel come across data he wasn't allowed to have, especially given his status as deputy director of the Firm, but there were exceptions…and this was one of them.
Well, there was nothing for it. If he wanted to discover what set these cops, these civilians, apart, then he would have to go directly to the source and investigate himself. The option was not unattractive…he'd been getting a bit bored with his office work anyway. Hawke and Santini were in the middle of a particularly tricky group of movie stunts, so Archangel felt comfortable leaving the two men to fend for themselves for a few days. Besides, Zeus was still stunned by the idea that Airwolf was back in action; Archangel predicted it would be months before his boss was prepared to make any overt moves against himself.
Satisfied that he'd come up with a convincing case to depart for Toronto as soon as he could make the arrangements, Archangel was, therefore, rather disappointed when his top assistant Marella entered his office. Marella stood almost as tall as her boss and her skin was a cocoa color, which was highlighted by the fact that every stitch of her clothing was pure white. Her brunette hair fell to her shoulders, every strand of it curly and just a bit frizzy. Serious brown eyes regarded Archangel from within her slim face, which was accented by the red makeup on her lips and a modest amount of eyeliner. Like all of his Angels, she was both beautiful and deadly; she'd been trained to be. Archangel was as proud of her as any of his ladies, none of whom he would ever lay an unprofessional hand on.
"Yes, Marella?"
Marella offered him a manila folder, which Archangel took and opened, reading through the information within. "Sir, another section's been keeping an eye on a potential mole and they've just made their move."
"Ah, that new weapons system Zeus ordered developed after we lost Airwolf," Archangel observed sardonically. "Something went wrong with the capture?"
"I'm afraid so, sir. One of the surveillance members was compromised. They managed to keep him from killing any one, but by the time he was subdued, she'd gotten away."
Archangel swore when he saw what the man had been dosed with. "I hoped we'd seen the last of her," he muttered resentfully.
"Yes, sir," Marella agreed, her voice crisp. "Her apartment's been searched and we think we know where she's going."
"Germany, perhaps, or Russia? North Korea? They have been rather active of late."
"Canada."
Archangel's head snapped up. "Canada? Our neighbors to the north are many things, but I can't even remember the last time we dealt with Canadian spies."
"No, sir," Marella acknowledged. "We don't believe Canada is her final destination, just the hand-off point."
"I see. And from there, I suppose, the information will find its way to any number of interested parties."
"Yes, sir."
Archangel considered, his hands tightening on the folder. On the one hand, this was Zeus's problem, not his. On the other…he had unfinished business with this particular mole. He still owed her for almost destroying his life, his career, and his country in one fell swoop. If not for Hawke… Archangel shook the old memories away and turned back to Marella. "Do we have any ideas of where in Canada this meeting is to take place?"
Marella's smile was wintery; she held just as big a grudge against this particular mole as her boss did. "We do, sir. It may be a diversion, though, sir."
"Explain."
"The information should have been destroyed, sir. She had plenty of time, especially with her helper inside the surveillance team. Why it wasn't…"
"Hmmm. That is disturbing," Archangel murmured. He glanced through the folder again, noting additional details and filing them away for future use. "Still, we are obliged to do our best to keep technology like this out of the hands of our many and varied enemies," the white-clad spy mused. "Marella, where are we going?"
" 'We', sir?"
"Well, I can hardly leave you behind," Archangel drawled, his moustache tilting with his smirk.
"No, sir," Marella agreed at once. "Toronto, sir."
Toronto. Well, now… Archangel allowed a brief smile to cross his face.
"Sir, if I may?" Archangel nodded permission. "It may be better to dispatch Airwolf, particularly since this might be a diversion. If we get additional information while Airwolf is enroute, they can change course and intercept the mole."
Ordinarily, Archangel would have agreed with Marella and given orders for precisely that course of action, but the Firm spy was in the mood for a personal jaunt – not to mention personal revenge against the mole. And the fact that the mole was headed for Toronto? Why, it couldn't have been more perfect than if Archangel had planned it all out himself. What better way to test Hawke's little group of Canadian cops than to employ their services in catching a dangerous mole?
"No, I think not, Marella," Archangel disagreed, passing her the personal files for Toronto's SRU Team One. "Arrange for them to act as our on-the-ground contacts, if you would, then inform Zeus that I'll personally handle his little mole problem. We'll hold Airwolf in reserve; no need to advertise that she's back in Firm hands."
Marella glanced down at the files. "Sir? You want to catch a mole with a group of civilian cops?"
Archangel smiled, just a touch viciously. "Yes, I do," he confirmed, standing up and retrieving his white Panama hat and just as white trenchcoat. "I'd like to see how they do on our side of the fence."
Though Marella's expression was skeptical, she didn't argue with her boss. "Yes, sir. I'll make the arrangements and get your chopper ready."
"Excellent."
As Marella left, Archangel adjusted his suit and tie, tilting his hat just a bit to the side. Regardless of what happened, it was bound to be interesting. And maybe he would even discover why Hawke was so concerned about a group of Canadian police officers. Maybe. But he doubted it…he had a feeling Hawke's reasoning was also classified under the Official Secrets Act. Pity.
The spy twirled his silver-handled walking stick, then landed the tip of the rosewood cane on the floor and followed his subordinate out the door. It truly had been far too long since his last field assignment. A smile crossed the spy's face. Let the Game begin.