At Santini Air, Ramon Gutierrez stood hands-on-hips in the middle of the
office, head cocked in a listening attitude until Caitlin and Jason's
footsteps had faded back into the hangar. Then he sighed and turned back
to his area of responsibility, the former DNS sub-Committee member, Donald
Newman.
"Looks like we got us a wait," Ramon said, plainly disappointed at having been left behind. "It's gonna take 'em a while just to get out to 'Vegas. Man, I wish I wuz goin' with them. Get in on the action."
As though the building tension was too great to bear, Newman groaned and leaned forward, resting his face in both hands. "What a mess I've made of everything."
Gutierrez nodded fairly but without heat. "Yeah, I'd say you're in for a rough time with your own people once this is all over."
"Ah don't care about them," Newman muttered, threading his fingers together through his black hair. "All I want is my Amy back. Alive." He groaned again. "I worked my way up through the ranks at Langley without ever once taking a bribe or disobeying an order. Now I've been arrested as a traitor to my country. But what else could I do?"
The armchair chair stood invitingly empty. Gutierrez seated himself and lifted his feet up onto Jo's neat desk, the hiss of the air conditioner not quite drowning out the squeak of leather as he slid down to sit comfortably on his spine. "I'm not gonna be able to answer that one for ya," he said, reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "No one can but you. In the police force we have a saying, that a man who won't be blackmailed, can't be blackmailed. That's true to a point, but when you're dealing with kidnappers, things turn a little gray." Light flared briefly as he lit his cigarette. "Not sayin' I approve, understand, but I know what family means. Come from a big one myself -- six boys and four girls."
Although obviously not in a mood for small talk, Newman's southern courtliness was ever a part of his nature. It dictated that he at least raise his head in a semblance of interest. "More than I'm used to," he said, swallowing. "My wife and I had planned two children; Amy was the only one we had before she passed on. Now I might have lost her too."
Leather squeaked again when Gutierrez leaned forward to toss the spent match into an empty ashtray by his foot. "Give 'em a chance," he advised, contentedly drawing white smoke into his lungs and expelling it as a little ring. "I don't know those others, but I've worked with Caitlin for three months now and know she's a good cop. If she thinks that Locke guy and his team can do the job, you can bet some money on it."
"I'm betting my daughter's life on it," Newman retorted frustratedly. "As if ah have a choice in the matter." In an agitated move, he suddenly rose, pacing the office four steps in one direction, four in the other, while Ramon watched him with deceptive indifference although the increased tautness in his stocky body showed he was ready for any move the agent might make toward the door. "Ah've dealt with John Bradford Horn in the past -- before he was indicted in Washington. That's how he knew about me and Amy. The man is efficient and deadly, and he's got the money to back up what he wants to do. That's a combination I couldn't fight."
"That's because you tried to fight him alone." The CHiPs officer puffed again, brown eyes boring into his prisoner's back. "These guys aren't going in one at a time; they're a team. That's going to make the difference."
"But how can you be sure...?"
He waved his free hand casually. "Like I said, Cait is sure, and that's good enough for me."
In another abrupt move, Newman threw himself back into his chair and began to chew his thumbnail. "You seem to trust her quite a lot for having been partners only three months," he pointed out by way of conversation.
"Partners is the word, man. 'Course ..." He wiggled his thick eyebrows suggestively, tone taking on the easy masculine informality of his Latin culture. "... now that my divorce in final, I'm hopin' to know her a whole lot better before long." He sighed. "Hope I get the chance."
"Why wouldn't you?" Newman wanted to know. "Doesn't she return your respects?"
Gutierrez watched the rising smoke from his cigarette for several seconds, heavy brows now lowered. "Not sure yet," he began cautiously. "I might still have some competition from that Hawke guy. Stringfellow." He made a face as though tasting something bad. "Where'd he ever get a name like that? His parents must not'a wanted any kids. And I'd like to see you spell SinJin."
With a shade of amusement peeking through his gloom, Newman complied.
Gutierrez stared. "No way! If his name is spelled Saint John ..." He pronounced it phonetically. "... why don't they say it that way? Never mind." He held up a hand. "Don't want to know. Anyway, like I wuz sayin', Cait thought this String guy might lighten up with his brother back. She said without the grim attitude she might have kept up her play for him."
Newman's thin lip curled. "I wouldn't worry on that score. I studied his modified psychological profile when my division took over the ... uh ... project he's involved in." He shook his head. "I only dealt with the guy briefly in the past, but no one at Company headquarters envied Archangel ... I mean Michael, the job of handling that stubborn, hot-shot test pilot. And after what he did...."
"What did he do?" Ramon interrupted curiously.
The agent's craggy face twisted with indignation. "He stole a highly classified piece of military hardware and used it to blackmail the United States government."
"You mean that Airwolf thing everyone was talking about earlier?"
Newman's eyes veiled, years of protecting high clearance materials bringing the conversation to a screeching halt. "Ahm afraid that's not something I can discuss."
Gutierrez shrugged. "So, what was he after? I figure you guys would have just paid him if it was money."
"You know his brother Saint John was MIA for fifteen years?" Ramon nodded. "Hawke's deal with the Company was the hardware for his brother despite all indications that Saint John Hawke was long dead."
White teeth flashed under the dark mustache as the policeman grinned widely. "Judging from the fact that the brother is back, I'd say all indications were wrong, wouldn't you? Looks like this Stringfellow was in the same position you were -- doing what he had to do for his family."
The point visibly hit home. Donald Newman's expression blanked then lightened fractionally with a thoughtfulness that hadn't been there previously. "I never thought of it that way. Maybe I'm starting to understand how he was feeling all those years." Sadly, "Perhaps I've misjudged the boy all this time."
Ramon shrugged again and stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette. "Maybe you'll have a chance to tell him that later. Maybe."
***
"Looks like we got us a wait," Ramon said, plainly disappointed at having been left behind. "It's gonna take 'em a while just to get out to 'Vegas. Man, I wish I wuz goin' with them. Get in on the action."
As though the building tension was too great to bear, Newman groaned and leaned forward, resting his face in both hands. "What a mess I've made of everything."
Gutierrez nodded fairly but without heat. "Yeah, I'd say you're in for a rough time with your own people once this is all over."
"Ah don't care about them," Newman muttered, threading his fingers together through his black hair. "All I want is my Amy back. Alive." He groaned again. "I worked my way up through the ranks at Langley without ever once taking a bribe or disobeying an order. Now I've been arrested as a traitor to my country. But what else could I do?"
The armchair chair stood invitingly empty. Gutierrez seated himself and lifted his feet up onto Jo's neat desk, the hiss of the air conditioner not quite drowning out the squeak of leather as he slid down to sit comfortably on his spine. "I'm not gonna be able to answer that one for ya," he said, reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes. "No one can but you. In the police force we have a saying, that a man who won't be blackmailed, can't be blackmailed. That's true to a point, but when you're dealing with kidnappers, things turn a little gray." Light flared briefly as he lit his cigarette. "Not sayin' I approve, understand, but I know what family means. Come from a big one myself -- six boys and four girls."
Although obviously not in a mood for small talk, Newman's southern courtliness was ever a part of his nature. It dictated that he at least raise his head in a semblance of interest. "More than I'm used to," he said, swallowing. "My wife and I had planned two children; Amy was the only one we had before she passed on. Now I might have lost her too."
Leather squeaked again when Gutierrez leaned forward to toss the spent match into an empty ashtray by his foot. "Give 'em a chance," he advised, contentedly drawing white smoke into his lungs and expelling it as a little ring. "I don't know those others, but I've worked with Caitlin for three months now and know she's a good cop. If she thinks that Locke guy and his team can do the job, you can bet some money on it."
"I'm betting my daughter's life on it," Newman retorted frustratedly. "As if ah have a choice in the matter." In an agitated move, he suddenly rose, pacing the office four steps in one direction, four in the other, while Ramon watched him with deceptive indifference although the increased tautness in his stocky body showed he was ready for any move the agent might make toward the door. "Ah've dealt with John Bradford Horn in the past -- before he was indicted in Washington. That's how he knew about me and Amy. The man is efficient and deadly, and he's got the money to back up what he wants to do. That's a combination I couldn't fight."
"That's because you tried to fight him alone." The CHiPs officer puffed again, brown eyes boring into his prisoner's back. "These guys aren't going in one at a time; they're a team. That's going to make the difference."
"But how can you be sure...?"
He waved his free hand casually. "Like I said, Cait is sure, and that's good enough for me."
In another abrupt move, Newman threw himself back into his chair and began to chew his thumbnail. "You seem to trust her quite a lot for having been partners only three months," he pointed out by way of conversation.
"Partners is the word, man. 'Course ..." He wiggled his thick eyebrows suggestively, tone taking on the easy masculine informality of his Latin culture. "... now that my divorce in final, I'm hopin' to know her a whole lot better before long." He sighed. "Hope I get the chance."
"Why wouldn't you?" Newman wanted to know. "Doesn't she return your respects?"
Gutierrez watched the rising smoke from his cigarette for several seconds, heavy brows now lowered. "Not sure yet," he began cautiously. "I might still have some competition from that Hawke guy. Stringfellow." He made a face as though tasting something bad. "Where'd he ever get a name like that? His parents must not'a wanted any kids. And I'd like to see you spell SinJin."
With a shade of amusement peeking through his gloom, Newman complied.
Gutierrez stared. "No way! If his name is spelled Saint John ..." He pronounced it phonetically. "... why don't they say it that way? Never mind." He held up a hand. "Don't want to know. Anyway, like I wuz sayin', Cait thought this String guy might lighten up with his brother back. She said without the grim attitude she might have kept up her play for him."
Newman's thin lip curled. "I wouldn't worry on that score. I studied his modified psychological profile when my division took over the ... uh ... project he's involved in." He shook his head. "I only dealt with the guy briefly in the past, but no one at Company headquarters envied Archangel ... I mean Michael, the job of handling that stubborn, hot-shot test pilot. And after what he did...."
"What did he do?" Ramon interrupted curiously.
The agent's craggy face twisted with indignation. "He stole a highly classified piece of military hardware and used it to blackmail the United States government."
"You mean that Airwolf thing everyone was talking about earlier?"
Newman's eyes veiled, years of protecting high clearance materials bringing the conversation to a screeching halt. "Ahm afraid that's not something I can discuss."
Gutierrez shrugged. "So, what was he after? I figure you guys would have just paid him if it was money."
"You know his brother Saint John was MIA for fifteen years?" Ramon nodded. "Hawke's deal with the Company was the hardware for his brother despite all indications that Saint John Hawke was long dead."
White teeth flashed under the dark mustache as the policeman grinned widely. "Judging from the fact that the brother is back, I'd say all indications were wrong, wouldn't you? Looks like this Stringfellow was in the same position you were -- doing what he had to do for his family."
The point visibly hit home. Donald Newman's expression blanked then lightened fractionally with a thoughtfulness that hadn't been there previously. "I never thought of it that way. Maybe I'm starting to understand how he was feeling all those years." Sadly, "Perhaps I've misjudged the boy all this time."
Ramon shrugged again and stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette. "Maybe you'll have a chance to tell him that later. Maybe."
***