Zen and the Art of Ferreting
A/N: This story is set in "Urban Legends". Airwolf belongs to Bellisario and Universal, JAG to Bellisario and CBS. Airwolf is AU (moved ahead about 20 years). No infringement intended for any of these.
~*~*~*~*~
Sorry, mother. Feverish green eyes closed against the blinding light, as Clayton Webb waited for the next blow. Somehow, I don't think I'm making that ride this weekend.
Stupid. That's what he'd been. Tracking down bits of information on terrorist fanatics in eastern Russia, confident in his cover, acting the part of the blatant American tourist-amateur scientist. Free to sketch and scribble and chatter with the locals, waving his metal detector with great abandon.
Until he'd ignored his instincts and stumbled through the wrong bush, almost on top of a dug-in pair of guards from the very multi-national extremists he'd been tracking. Who'd brought him... here.
North Korea. God, not North Korea.
"Look, guys, I don't know what you're talking about," Webb said wearily. "I was just out there looking for meteorites. Rocks from the sky?" Maybe if I irritate them enough, they'll just kill me.
Better that than some of the alternatives. Mental manipulation, bio-warfare experimentation....
Funny. No one was hitting him.
Webb opened one eye a crack. Glanced, carefully, at the stiff-spined, olive-drab clad Korean the head of his terrorist captors paid reluctant homage to. Their unofficial government contact, no doubt.
I do not like the way that guy is looking at me.
Something rattled, low and quiet; red flashed at the corner of his eye. I Ching sticks?
Their Korean thrower studied the pattern, the dark cotton sleeves of his robe sweeping the floor as he tapped one into better alignment. Nodded. Smiled up at the government man.
Something in Webb shrank from that smile. Bland, calm; as if the robed fortune-teller could watch a thousand men tortured and never flinch.
I'm not getting out of here... a wolf? The spy strained his ears past the henchmen's low murmur of Arabic, heard nothing. Why are they looking at sticks to find a wolf?
More important, Webb wondered, as the government man muttered a word, the head terrorist barked orders and underlings brandished weapons in vicious display, why were they hunting for a wolf with rocket-propelled grenades?
Chuckling darkly, the head terrorist drew a cruel finger under his chin. Said something long and liquid in Arabic-flavored Korean.
And one more word - Arabic, this time - that chilled him to the core.
"Bait."
~*~*~*~*~
"That's right, guys," Mike Rivers crooned to the radar crisscrossing the mountainous coast below. His fingers caressed the electronic countermeasures board, fine-tuning the frequencies that kept their craft silent as one more drift of errant wind. "We're just a hole in the sky...."
"We hope," Jason Locke muttered, keeping steady hands on the engineer's boards.
Blinking sweat out of his eyes, St. John Hawke looked over Starlight, then infrared, checking their target beach before they ventured near the ground. Paying specific attention to the patch of grit and rocks he wanted to set down on; his Airwolf could take some rough landing sites, but they had to be solid. One contact. Okay. Come on, Beekeeper, start signaling....
Flashes on IR; he left them for Mike to read, watching the sky. Wish Jo were here. Hop-scotching from the Bering Strait across the Kurile Islands to Sosura was tricky enough; a more experienced pair of hands on Airwolf's boards would have made this rendezvous a whole lot safer.
But given what North Koreans would do to spies in the current situation... well, there were some things Jo just didn't need to know.
Like there's ever not a situation in North Korea, Sinj thought wryly. Though this particular corner of it - right where Russia, China, and North Korea all glared at each other - was definitely hairier than most.
"...C, H," Mike read off. "March it is. We go in?"
"We go in," Sinj affirmed, lowering them gently to the rocks.
Out of the corner of his eye, Sinj saw Jason's helmet tilt toward the ceiling. "You're sure he's up there."
Sinj frowned. "Jason, I know you don't trust Archangel any farther than you can throw him. And I have to agree with you. But if String said he'd be there, he's there."
"Hawke-"
"We know, we know," Mike broke in hastily. "It's just, you know, I know how to look for an Airwolf. And I can't find him."
"Dom's had two more years to practice hiding." Sinj shrugged. "I don't like being low on ammo either."
"And we wouldn't be, if the Agency wasn't trying to squeeze double duty out of this whole mess," Mike pointed out. "Jase, why didn't you tell the Committee where they could stick their extra scans?"
"We need to know what's going on in-country."
"Maybe you do-"
"It doesn't matter now," Sinj said patiently. "Cover me."
Mike took the copilot's collective. "Like we're going to do anything else?"
Package in hand, Sinj stepped into the warm, wet night. Closed his eyes to slits to let them adjust to the darkness, just for a moment, before he walked out from under Airwolf II's whirling blades to meet the Company's man on the ground.
Black eyes stared back at him. A leathery hand hovered near the small Korean's side, bare inches from a vicious machete. Kim, no family name given in his file, codename Beekeeper. A hard, suspicious man, if Jason's info was right; hard and cold and lucky enough to survive the past three years without drawing attention from a government that preferred its problems rotting in an unmarked grave.
The same government that would take great pleasure in tormenting, brainwashing, and executing any enemy spies caught on its sovereign soil. Not necessarily in that order.
Hope you're watching, little brother.
~*~*~*~*~
Monitoring local radio traffic. Increase in chatter.
Increase consistent with Firm ELINT reports time/date/location.
PKE readings stable.
Company contact "Beekeeper" registers as shielded. Source: natural. Unlikely to be unknowing information leak.
Continuing scans.
Stringfellow Hawke nodded, accepting Airwolf's deduction with only a quick check of offered data. The Lady had her pilots' finely honed sense of survival. If she noted a hazard, they'd know in a heartbeat. Stay careful, Sinj.
"He'll be all right," Caitlin O'Shannessy said softly, keeping the ECM running smoothly. "Jason'll look after him."
String grimaced. Locke probably would. The Company spy just seemed to fit Sinj's style; the two of them bulling their way through problems Archangel would have finessed out of existence long before Airwolf had to be called in. Locke would keep an eye on his pilot and partner.
Still didn't keep String from wanting to throw the D.C. native up against a wall.
Switches clicked behind him; Dominic Santini, double-checking engines and scanner. "Nice an' quiet up here, eh?"
"Yeah."
"Better stay that way," Dom grumbled. "I could be home in Van Nuys, having a good lasagna. Not that you'd know good, you and your eggplant. Better yet, I could be in Acapulco, having a drink with Queenie and her girls."
"All of them?" Caitlin asked wryly.
"Hey! At least two or three. I ain't dead yet, you know."
"I don't know, Dom," String stifled a smile. "From what you've told me, three of Queenie's girls could kill Don Juan."
"Well I ain't him."
String let the grin bend his lips, just a hair. "I know."
Caitlin snickered.
"Why, you...."
???
"Guy talk, Angel." Dom patted the console. "Don't you worry about it."
"Guy talk". References to Firm psych files, male bonding.
Intra-gender conversational competition, usually involving deception, re amount/quality of sexual experiences.
Still don't get it.
"Talk to Archangel," String suggested.
Have.
Blushes.
Said, "Talk to Caitlin".
"Michael blushes?" Dom whistled, low and quiet. "Didn't think the ice-cream guy had it in him."
String arched a dark brow at the redhead beside him. "So what'd you tell her?"
"Never you mind," the former Texan said tartly. "Angel's a nice young lady, even with all the time she's been prowling through your minds. And there's some things a guy just shouldn't know."
Dom rolled dark eyes. "Ah, come on. Just a hint?"
Classified sensitive. A hint of embarrassment.
"Dom," String warned. "Privacy."
"This from the guy whose nightmares she tosses around nights," the engineer pointed out. "Sheesh! It's enough to make a guy swear off sleep."
Try not to.
Not all Hawke's.
Full links echo. Can't help it.
Caitlin touched her console, fine-tuning a frequency scan. "He's just teasing, Angel."
Mostly, String thought, eyeing instruments and the sky. Wondering who'd be the first to spot a MiG if they scrambled; him or Airwolf.
Airwolf, probably. Enhanced night-vision still needed line of sight. Radar detection could reach farther.
"You wonder what the first guys slipping in here felt like," Dom said thoughtfully. "Flying out of Iwakuni, hitting Olga Bay and Vladivostok, then coming down here. All the time knowing if the Koreans eyeball 'em, they're gonna try to take 'em down."
"And we ain't even in international airspace," Caitlin shivered.
"Huh! Wouldn't matter, Red. We got pilots. They got hair-trigger idiots in MiGs. Shoot down airliners... ah, the hell with 'em."
"You have a better plan?" String asked bluntly.
"You bet. Let's grab Sinj, tell Locke and Rivers where they can stuff their Company guy, an' go home."
String traded a glance with Caitlin; amused blue for worried hazel. Just talk, his gaze assured her. Even if he wished they could do just that.
"He's going to be fine, String." Dom's voice turned serious. "Ain't like we're ferreting, here."
String stared into the darkness. No, they weren't pulling one of those hair-raising stunts pilots had back in the '50s and '60s; charging right at enemy radar to light it off so the spies on board could suck frequencies dry of information. They had a low radar signature, they had ECM, they had every intention of not getting caught.
But it wasn't radar they were looking for.
"Minh Nguyen, sometimes called the Crimson Scale." Michael Archangel's voice had rung off the cabin walls days ago. One tan finger tapped a blurred photo in his classified file as Marella Duval handed out the team's briefing folders. Cold eyes and a dark robe were all that showed clear; whoever the man was, he'd taken precautions against being seen. "Officially a minor North Korean functionary, working in a division that cooperates with certain 'religious refugee' groups within the Russian border."
"You mean terrorists," Caitlin said darkly, drumming short nails on the couch.
"Given the government's demonstrated hostility toward foreign faiths of any stripe?" Michael smiled wryly. "Yes."
String met that half-dark gaze. "Unofficially?"
"Moderately high up in the hierarchy of that section of the current administration devoted to obtaining unconventional weaponry," Archangel said bluntly. "Including, but not limited to, weapons of mass destruction."
"People spend their whole lives tryin' to put the world back together, some guys got nothing better to do than take it apart," Dominic grumbled, flipping through his file. "So what do they want with a spy? You guys don't carry that kind of stuff in your back pockets."
"Ah. That, is where things become complicated." Michael paced the room slowly, cane a quiet thump against polished wood. "We have reason to believe Minh was trained by Heart-of-Dragons. Chinese paranormal operatives. A small program, of necessity; magical or psychic abilities don't sort well with Mao's philosophy and those possessing such abilities tend not to survive their first encounter with a threatened administrator."
"Generally speaking, 9mms beat empathy and beginner's cantrips, hands down," Marella put in wryly.
"But every once in a while a few get lucky, and learn to be useful before anyone kills them," Michael picked up the thread. "And their students, such as Minh, can be quite effective."
"A spooky spook, huh?" Dominic lifted bushy brows. "So what's he do?"
"He's a finder," Marella stated. "We just don't know what else he is."
"A finder?" Caitlin glanced between the two spies.
"People who, by one means or another, locate that which we intend to stay hidden," Marella explained. "Which, on the surface of it, doesn't make sense. They had Webb before Minh was ever called in."
"Couple that with the very fact of this abduction." Michael rubbed at the skin by the dark side of his glasses. "Most of the uses such a group could put an operative to could be just as well done inside Siberia. Instead, they moved Webb deliberately across the border into North Korea, alive, allowing us the time to pick up knowledge of his whereabouts. Imprisoning him in a locale Airwolf can reach with difficulty, but enticing enough intelligence-wise that Locke might make a good case for pushing the mission through the Committee...."
String nodded once. "Trap."
"Somebody want to rewind and say that out in English?" Dom demanded.
"They know we're coming."
"Mama mia." Dom swallowed. "You sure?"
"That's why they've got Minh." Caitlin leaned forward, hazel eyes wide. "Radar can't find the Lady...."
"But Minh very well might," Archangel agreed. "I fear Locke's reputation for rescuing Company personnel may have preceded him."
"He has a bad feeling," Marella translated, stepping clear of Tet's probing nose. The hound snuffled, lay back by the fireplace.
"Stop that."
White silk shrugged. "Sir, you do."
"I'll go with that," Caitlin nodded.
"I sincerely wish you wouldn't," Michael sighed. "It sounds so irrational-"
"Oh? And since when is the Firm sane an' straightforward, eh?" Dom's gaze implored the ceiling, dropped to skewer the white-clad spy. "You been at this long enough to know when something stinks. What else you got?"
"Something thin enough the Committee might laugh it out of the room." Archangel grimaced. "I cross-checked operatives assigned nearby; dug into their unofficial communications, not just reports. There seems to be a higher than average feeling of paranoia in the region. Too many close calls; too many agents who seem solid, inexplicably turning on their handlers." He hesitated. "I've already spent more than a decade trying to track St. John's whereabouts. I'd prefer not to go through that twice."
"Amen to that," Dom had muttered.
So it'd been decided. They'd worked out a plan, and Archangel had offered Locke a compromise; logistical support, for the chance to send his own team along and double their snooping capabilities.
And here they were, hiding in the Southeast Asian night, waiting for the other shoe to drop. If Michael's operatives in the field were right, if they truly had felt someone prying at their minds....
Guess we're ferrets after all.
"Easy, kid," Dom murmured, gaze flicking over his controls. "Sinj does this for a living, right?"
"And got caught at it. Twice."
"Like you never got nabbed?" The older man sighed. "We should've told 'em. Let 'em know what they might be heading into."
"No."
"He's your brother," Caitlin said softly.
"Doesn't matter."
Company operative St. John Hawke lacks internal shielding, Airwolf agreed. Detectable by psychic scan. Operatives Mike Rivers, Jason Locke possess rudimentary shield, insufficient to hold against determined invasion. Firm files indicate Clayton Webb may have natural shield, strength currently unknown.
"Yeah." One problem the Company had, that Archangel usually didn't. String hid a smile at the thought. He had seen the white-clad spy blush... at the realization that over the past decade or so, while he'd thought his empathy dead and buried, he'd been unconsciously sorting his operatives with regard to how well they could shield.
"Can't we do something about that?" Caitlin asked. "Talk to Ta'ra, maybe?"
"Ought to be talking to Marella," Dom noted. "Bet she could smuggle us out one of the Firm's gadgets."
String shook his head. "Have to get him to believe it in the first place." Which would lead right into why Airwolf's crew was convinced psychic abilities existed. Which would lead back to Airwolf herself.
No.
"I think we should tell him," Dom argued.
The pilot shook his head.
"I mean it, String. He's family."
String wet his lips. "And what if he hates her?" Sinj barely tolerated Archangel as it was. If he knew what truly bound his brother to the white-clad spy, not to mention the helicopter that was part of all their souls....
"He's your brother, String." Caitlin's smile crinkled the freckles around her eyes. "Have a little faith."
~*~*~*~*~
"He is here," Kim said levelly, indicating the marked map. "He is alive. For how long...." A casual shrug. "As you say, good luck."
So nothing's changed, Sinj thought, reviewing their plan in his head as he closed Airwolf II's door behind him. Why does that bother me?
"Same plan?" Mike asked, turning over the collective once they were airborne.
"Same plan," Sinj nodded. "Get to the camp, find our misplaced Mr. Webb, get him and ourselves the hell out of here."
"Wreaking mass havoc along the way." Mike grinned. "I love it."
"You would," Jason grumbled.
Ignoring the by-play - as long as there was no shooting, those two were just blowing off steam - Sinj scanned his instruments as they neared their mark. EM activity... yep, this should be them. IR showed the camp clear; weapons locker, barracks, one smoke-trailing long hut that probably served as the local kitchen.
Looks right.
Still. Something about this mission worried him. "You know, the minute we start lighting this place up, they're going to be all over us."
"Never expect a dragon to be grateful you took a thorn out of his paw," Jason noted, touching up the last of his black face-paint.
"Yeah, yeah." Mike rolled his eyes. "Drop us off already, would you? I'm going to be late for dinner and dancing."
"Muffy, Buffy, or Candy?" Sinj asked dryly.
Mike paused.
Sinj clapped a free hand to his helmeted forehead. "You're not sure, are you?"
"Um...."
"Let's go," Jason sighed.
"Bring him back in one piece," Sinj ordered, as Jason jumped out into the darkness. "I'm not going through his little black books to try and figure it out."
Grinning, Mike vanished into the night.
~*~*~*~*~
Scrape. Scrape. Thump.
Webb opened a cautious eye; the other was swelling shut. Damn. He's still there.
A match scraped, flaring into life as the bland Korean lit candles and incense. Nimble fingers had marked chalk ideograms around the walls, dusted powdered mushrooms and unknown herbs under a disapproving Pakistani eye.
Al'Raaid, Webb marked that last, lone guard, having listened as close as he dared. The fortune-teller was Minh... and even the headman wasn't keen on crossing him. Why?
Coolly the spy weighed his own injuries. Bad black eye; from the groggy ring in his ears, he couldn't rule out light concussion. Ribs cracked, not broken. Left arm... better not to think about it. It was hot, and it hurt, and he did not want to look at the red creeping up inflamed veins.
Okay. He could do this. So what were the odds of playing the Muslim hatred of idolatry against the loyalties that would bind a group like this together?
Then again, Al'Raaid seems to be here because he doesn't speak Korean or Russian, the operative thought coolly. You'd have to let on you know Arabic. Which would blow "innocent tourist" right out of the water, wouldn't it?
At least Minh had stopped throwing sticks. That rattle had been getting on his nerves.
Stinky smoke or not, Webb was more worried about where the rest of the men had gotten to. The headman and his henchmen had left, scattering into what he feared was an ambush. But for who? The Company didn't come for operatives, not unless you were lucky and convenient....
Wolf, Webb thought suddenly. RPGs.
Jason Locke.
No. It was rumors. Just rumors.
And then it was a hiss and a thump of steel into an unprotected throat, a groan as the Pakistani slumped to the floor. A flash of teeth in blackened faces, as one man in covert black aimed a silenced pistol while his partner drew another blade to deal with the seated Minh-
And stopped, arm trembling in mid-air. Muscles quivering, as if the atmosphere itself had turned to intangible steel.
The fortune-teller smiled.
~*~*~*~*~
"Lady?" Caitlin's words were hushed, sharp. "Dom? You picking up anything north and inland?"
String frowned. "What do you see?"
"I don't know. Something just don't look right."
Airwolf's alarm echoed down their nerves. Scanning.
IR trace spotty, weather conditions degrading performance. Cross-referencing ground radar readings, NBC sniffers.
Mass discrepancies!
Chemical discrepancies!
Detecting areas of non-solid soil composition. Regularity of size and depth inconsistent with natural cave/karst systems.
Wood-smoke, carbonized protein, volatile gasoline detected. Chemical trail indicates subterranean origin.
"Tunnels," String cursed. "Dom-"
"Sinj, yeah," the engineer said tightly. His fingers pressed out a simple series of clicks on the frequency St. John had left open; a prearranged signal that needed no words. Warning. Danger from below-the-ground.
Airwolf winnowed through data, cross-matching readings against previous threats. Spotty IR/smoke readings consistent with atmosphere exchange from opening trapdoors.
Mass readings indicate lead, steel, possible explosives.
PKE levels match surroundings.
Active scan?
String weighed the odds. Active scan would mean reaching out with Airwolf's psionic transceiver; the psychic equivalent of turning on a spotlight. Yet no PKE trace from the tunnels meant someone or something was actively shielding whoever was out there. Which meant the enemy already knew someone was here- "Scan, now!"
Scanning-
A shriek of pain, like dragon claws slicing steel.
~*~*~*~*~
Dark - writhing - angry-
Dark on dark, sinuous coils latched onto the part of Airwolf's self that had reached outward; wrapped and squeezed, with a strength born of arrogance and fury and old, old hate.
Enemy!
Airwolf beat intangible wings, slashed fangs across ruby scales. Sparks flew in mind's darkness, lighting a horned dragon's head, a gaping maw lined with fangs.
Steam and fire; a breath of laughter. Die, outlander....
Come! Gathering in a mind across the ocean, Airwolf pounced. Clawed and bit and twisted; a wolf at bay, throwing all the strength of her pack into raw survival-
Opening!
A gap in crimson coils, where the inflexible armored underbelly kept her enemy from closing tight. Just enough to clamp wings to her sides and squirm....
Out!
~*~*~*~*~
"Fight them, Angel...."
Cabin floor cold against her slipper-clad feet, Jo Santini looked over the nightmare-stricken form of Michael Archangel on String's well-used couch. Lowered her gun, and eyed the teenage waif beside her. "It's all right, Le," she murmured. "Just bad dreams." Real bad, she thought. Maybe I should wake him up. No, bad idea, Jo. String can break bones when he's not awake. And Uncle Dom told you Archangel carries knives.
"He has them a lot," Le Van Hawke glanced at the sleeping spy, voice a bare whisper. "All of them do. Whenever the Lady goes out without them."
Made sense, the part-time Company operative thought. Archangel had been working the shadows almost as long as she'd been alive. He knew better than most that any time Airwolf went out, they might not come back.
"Up and over... dive...." The oblivious spy tossed under his quilt, one hand pawing air. "No...."
"They're fighting," Le said softly. "Right now."
Jo raised blonde brows. She'd heard stories about Stringfellow Hawke; seen a few odd things herself, over the years. Somehow, String knew when those he cared for hit the extremes of the emotional spectrum; when they were happy, or angry, or deathly afraid. I swear, if the timing weren't right, sometimes I'd think Le was String's son, not Sinjin's. "Le. They know what they're doing. They're probably fine-"
Hawke eyes glared at her; a desperate, teenage echo of his uncle String's deathly glance. "You don't understand! They're fighting right now, Aunt Jo. That's why Uncle Michael's-" Words failed him; his dark head shook, turning away.
She stepped beside him, not quite blocking his way. "Then explain it to me."
Le hesitated. Backed up toward the staircase, as if he felt safer near his uncle's bedroom. Tet would be up there right now, the hound sprawled loose and snoring on the rug by String's empty bed. "I don't know," he said softly. "They won't tell me. But...."
Jo waited. You couldn't prod a Hawke, any of them. They'd talk, or they wouldn't.
Le bit his lip. "If Uncle Michael was awake right now, he wouldn't be awake. You know?"
"A trance?" Not good. Both of Airwolf's teams had been targets for mental manipulation before. If someone had gotten to Archangel enough to have him slipping under... oh, Mother Mary, I don't like this. "How long has this been happening?" If she knew when it'd started, Jason and St. John might have a chance at tracking down whom was responsible.
Why was clear. There was only one reason people went after Sinj's brother.
Airwolf.
"I think - since they got Uncle Michael back from Cascade," Le said slowly. "Something weird happened up there...."
One eye on the nightmare-snared spy, Jo settled back to listen.
~*~*~*~*~
Glued to his sensors, Sinj lifted Airwolf II up and away from the incoming grenade trajectories.
Thoom!
So much for subtle. Sinj raked tunnel openings with cannon fire, careful to avoid the buildings his co-pilot might still be in. All the while hoping String could keep the sky clear. One MiG in the wrong place, and the whole frail plan would collapse around them.
Where are you, Mike?
~*~*~*~*~
This is insane, Mike sweated, trembling in place. The Air Force pilot eyed the smug man seated on the floor, incense curling like amber tendrils in his brain. There's my target. There's my mission. Throw and get out of here-
But he couldn't move.
From the silence behind him, Jason might be worse off. I don't think he's even breathing.
And worse was the dreamy feeling coiling in with the incense; the subtle, growing urge to turn back, talk Sinj into landing, take the deadly black helicopter for his own....
No! Drug. It had to be a drug. Only how could a drug whisper control to him, when no one had said a word? Damn you, I won't!
"What the hell's taking you so long!" his would-be rescuee hissed.
I'd like to tell you, Mike thought wryly. But I think we're in trouble-
The fortune-teller gasped, eyes rolling back. Sliced air with his fingers, snarling.
~*~*~*~*~
Wings spread, Airwolf dove away from her scaled foe. Flames singed her fur, visible dark trails through white.
Too visible. Too vulnerable.
PKE imagery of enemy: Jungle night.
Dazzle Shield sun-on-snow incongruous with surroundings.
Off home territory. Psychic scan indicates foe human, able to anchor projection to local physical environment.
Likelihood of rewriting mental combat environs to specifications 15%.
Inadvisable to expend energy to rewrite.
Alter shield.
Snow-dazzle shifted, turned to mist and moonlight. All the while Airwolf weighed odds, trying to find some way to turn the situation to her favor.
She was lighter, more agile; snapping through turns her ponderous enemy could not hope to follow. Yet he didn't have to. The dragon merely waited, coiling through air, armored scales shrugging off her strikes as fiery breath cut loose once more.
Ahh!
Pain; hers, and her pilots'. Burning feathers, burning fur....
She looped, using momentum to snuff the flame. Painfully aware that her enemy was human; that the center of his energies - the place she would strike, to end this fight now and forever - wasn't here. She could fight him forever, and do no more than distract him for a time.
Here, he could kill her.
Sensor alert!
Incoming radio transmissions.
Probable source: Aircraft, North Korean air command.
No more time. No more time.
Falcon wings tucking tight, she whipped up and over. Struck paws into the dragon's lion-thick mane, uncovering a wide, leathery ear.
Bite!
~*~*~*~*~
Come on, Mike thought. Just one step. Just one....
And for a heartbeat the pressure eased; just enough for Jason to take one shuddering breath. Just enough for Mike to fight his way to the bound spy, slicing rope in one quick slash. "Let's-"
His tongue froze mid-word. Intangible steel reclaimed him, tightening; shutting down breath, hope, life....
A yell behind him - as abruptly cut short, by the sharp report of his semi-automatic. And the pressure was gone.
"Go?" Webb said shakily, Mike's gun in hand. Swallowed sickly, and looked away from the corpse. "Couldn't have said it better myself."
~*~*~*~*~
"They're clear!" Dom called.
"Bullpup!"
"You got it!"
Headquarters detonated in a blast of light.
~*~*~*~*~
"Overkill," Sinj grumped, explosion still shaking the air as he brought his Lady in to Mike's waving IR beacon. "Why does that kid like overkill...."
At least, he hoped it was overkill. What the hell was in there?
"Oh man, that was weird," Mike gasped, urging their living cargo in. "I vote we skip the scenic route out."
"Seconded," Jason rasped.
Sinj shot him a second glance. Hard to tell under the face-paint, but Jason looked shaken. Which was sobering, on a man who'd faced down brainwashing, nuclear disaster, and the potential unleashing of deadly bio-toxins. What happened in there? "What, we're not taking slides?"
"Funny-"
The radio clicked again; danger-from-above. MiGs. Four.
Mike shuddered, strapping in as another grenade rocked them. "I vote we run."
"Motion passes. Turbos!"
~*~*~*~*~
Clinging to his harness, Clayton Webb swept his gaze across unfamiliar controls, for once wishing he had a certain annoying fighter pilot-turned-lawyer along. Rabb knew Tomcats, not helicopters; but this wasn't like any helicopter he'd ever seen. A full suite of ECM equipment, the kind operatives gave their eyeteeth for. IFF scanning a computer bank, settling on the chilling image of four high-grade Korean MiGs. And buttons that had to be weapons - many of which were dark.
Oh great. Don't tell me we're unarmed.
A muted roar, vibrating in his bones; G-forces tried to peel him away from the cabin wall, grayed the world near dark.
God. How fast are we going?
Not fast enough, if that screen was showing their enemies' intercept course. And-
"Missiles!" Locke barked.
"Sunburst!" the pilot ordered. Glanced upward, as the screen showed missiles veering off to follow a source of heat and light. "Any time now...."
A dark, hard voice over the radio. "Cover your ears."
His blond rescuer started. "Oh, he's not-"
Screeee-!
Ears ringing, Webb watched the operatives slam off radar and swear.
~*~*~*~*~
"Jammers up!" Caitlin called.
So we're all deaf, String thought, a feral grin tugging at his mouth. But I know where you are. GPS told him exactly where Airwolf was; the AI's combat program plotted trajectories, tracking MiGs from Starlight and last radar location. "Redeyes!"
Dom grinned. "You got 'em!"
Howling, Airwolf stooped on her prey.
~*~*~*~*~
Light, Webb saw; blossoms in the sky, the bright, unmistakable blaze of jet fuel against jungle night.
"Son of a-"
The pilot jinked his craft left, right, up; slewed sideways and yanked back, dancing away from falling debris. "Mike!"
A breathless gasp. "We got two left!"
"Not for long," the pilot growled. "Cut turbos! Cannons!"
Webb gulped back what was left of his last meal, fluid sloshing in his ears as the covert craft went from roaring ahead to a sudden, swinging hover. Turning around? What-
The faint vibration reaching his muscles even through cabin insulation told him exactly what. Cannons; 20 or 30-mm, easy. Hell! Somebody redesigned an Apache and didn't tell me!
Another blip dropped off the screen; another slow, spiraling fall of metal and fire. The last overshot them, desperately banking to follow its opponent's impossible turn.
"Turbos!"
Blood draining from his brain, Webb gasped against the weight. Not again-
The world went dark.
~*~*~*~*~
Ow! Ow, ow, ow! Huddled in her processors, Airwolf licked her wounds as her pilots flew her home. Not as bad as the burns inflicted by creatures she'd faced in Cascade; but still, burnt fur stung.
You said it, kiddo. Dominic, touch as gentle as his hands would be in her circuits. Talk about a bad guy with attitude.
Soothing warmth wrapped her, reaching out from the minds in her keeping; joy in her presence, satisfaction at completing their mission. The wild, soaring glee of being alive.
Agent retrieved.
Hostile Heart-of-Dragon eliminated.
Mission successful.
Home!
You an' me both, Angel. Caitlin, bubbling with relief. You okay?
Hurts, Airwolf admitted.
Injuries minor.
Healing.
Don't want to do that again.
Oh, Angel....
We'll talk to Michael. String, now; presence cool as always even as he held her close. Has to be a better way to do this.
Yes.... Sensors tickled her; through linked minds, Airwolf heard the electronic warble of the descrambler.
"A-ha!" Dom punched buttons. "Don't even need to ask the Lady who that is."
"Course not," Caitlin chuckled. "All you gotta do is watch String try an' stare a hole in the windshield."
Airwolf chortled. So true. Secondary links or no, that pair of her pilots would rather pretend they didn't need to be in the same state.
"Up late, Michael?" String said evenly.
"Unfortunately, so was someone else." Archangel's tone was cool; wary, to those who knew him. "I only came around in time to hear the end of it, but Le Van and Jo were having quite a discussion."
Airwolf blinked, sorting impressions of voices, filtered through a mind still reeling from her deadly battle. Found you not-there?
"I suspect so."
"Uh-oh," Dom muttered. "So what'd my niece say?"
Archangel hmphed. "It's what she's not saying that worries me, Dominic."
"If she's not asking, she thinks we're in trouble," Caitlin said in a rush. "String, we gotta tell them."
String paused. Airwolf felt him weighing options, calculating outcomes with uncharacteristic hesitation. This was family, not combat. A pilot's instinctive grasp of space and lethality was no help in the arena of human emotion.
Can't help.
Want to.
Don't know.
It tore her heart, deeper than her enemy's wounds could ever reach. Her pilots were at hazard; and no sharpness of sensors, no accuracy of bullets, could clear this peril.
String's grip closed on her controls. "Let's set it up."
Michael drew in a long, wary breath. "Are you sure this is wise?"
"No."
~*~*~*~*~
Mike Rivers' hand slammed down on the cabin bar, rattling bottles set to the side. "You're telling me Archangel handed you info on a potential mind-control threat in-country? And you didn't tell us?"
Off to the side, Jo traded a worried glance with St. John. Should we get in the middle of this? A tilt of strawberry blonde all but asked.
Sinj shook his head minutely. Better to let Mike run. At least until they had an idea why String wanted them up here. Thank god Archangel's headed for D.C. Maybe we can talk some sense into the rest of them before whoever's got a hold on him can do something drastic.
Locke adjusted his tie. "Look. Archangel's Special Projects. Some of them poke into this... paranormal stuff. As if it worked just as well as lasers. Any time they can't figure out how an operation went wrong, they start looking for weird explanations." He rolled his eyes. "So he said there was a risk of mind control. You and I both know Archangel's twitchy, as far as that subject's concerned. Brainwashing takes time. Minh... must have just had a very effective drug. Some kind of paralytic, probably-"
"I don't care if it was ghosts, drugs, or little green apples," the Air Force pilot fumed. "Need to know, Jase. And we. Needed. To know!"
The back door of the cabin banged in; Le, with Tet wagging a spotted tail in his wake. "They're bringing the Lady in!"
"They're what?" Jason spun on the teen, argument forgotten.
Sinj listened to the night. Wind through wires, a wolf of steel.... "They are."
"This generally falls under not good," Mike muttered. "Jo, you don't think-"
Unusually grim, Jo double-checked her gun.
"Aunt Jo?" Half in the doorway, Le stared.
"Stay inside," Sinj told him.
"But it's the Lady." Duh, the teenage tone added.
"And if we say so, you can come out and take a look," Sinj said reasonably. "Later. Classified, Le."
"Never quits," his son grumbled, hurling himself into the chair farthest from the fireplace. Pulled a quilt over knobby knees. "Wake me up if you ever declassify something."
"And my parents wondered why I didn't have kids," Jason murmured as his team edged through the woods, heading for the lakeside clearing String favored for landing Airwolf.
Sinj shot him a dark look. "He probably heard that, Jason." I would have.
Turbines murmured to a halt as they approached. Only the soft hum of Airwolf's systems broke the stillness, dark and sinister as her bulletproof hull.
Cait and Uncle Dom, Sinj noted; gray shadows in the night, leaning with careful ease against a rough-barked pine. And they're worried.
Worried, but not reaching for weapons. What was going on?
A hiss of air. String stepped into clear view, waved them closer. "Want you to meet someone."
Sinj listened, caught no more sounds of breathing than his team and String's. "Who?"
String tilted a dark head inside, toward a glowing monitor. "Airwolf."
Prohibitions against revealing Airwolf sentient existence lifted, scrolled across the screen.
Recognized allies: Pilot dependents St. John Hawke, Jo Santini. Company operatives, Mike Rivers, Jason Locke.
Hello!
~*~*~*~*~
Mike sloshed the coffee in his mug, drained the last dregs of caffeine. All the while wishing it was something far stronger. Bad idea, Mike. For this, you need a clear head.
"So." Sinj was all but vibrating by the edge of the clearing, studiously ignoring the laptop String had brought out so the helicopter AI could "talk" to them without four heads shoved in the hatch to read the monitors. "You're telling me that... Airwolf... is alive."
"Yeah."
"And Archangel conveniently neglected to mention this." Jason's voice had a brittle edge.
Dom chuckled. "Believe you me, Mr. Clean was just as surprised as the rest of us. 'Specially when she grabbed him."
"Grabbed?" Locke pounced.
"It's a long story," Caitlin shrugged.
"Try making it short," Sinj suggested.
Mike winced. A St. John this calm was a St. John about to blast holes in whatever stood in his way. Oh, not good.
"Angel," String said softly.
Airwolf AI structure finalized two weeks before Red Star test run, appeared on the laptop.
Blocking protocol Moffet1a instituted one week before test run.
Psionic Transceiver held at 5% or less by program blocks.
Block continued until emergency override of Moffet1a, Edwards Hivemind incident.
Blocking protocol deleted.
Transceiver activity restored.
Sensory Enhancement Protocols and Psionic Link Program completed.
Effective summation?
"Works for me, Lady," Dom grinned.
Sinj eyed the screen. Swallowed. "You're telling me that helicopter's in your heads."
"Yeah."
"And this doesn't bother you?"
"Got used to it."
Mike met Jo's gaze, cut his eyes toward Sinj. Hesitated; glanced toward Caitlin-
Who was already moving toward String. Just as Dom was closing on the younger Hawke's other side. Here we go again.
"How can you get used to something that's Archangel's!"
String's eyes turned to slits of blue fire. He started to step forward-
Jerked to a halt, gripped on both sides. Just as St. John found himself grappled by scowling team members. "No hitting," Jo said dryly.
Locke hung back, favoring them all with a considering glance. "How long does Archangel think he can keep this from the Committee?"
"Long as you don't tell them," String growled.
"An' you are not gonna tell them." Caitlin's gaze was fierce and wild as the woods about them; a falcon, screeching defiance at intruders.
"No." Jason shook his head. "No. Archangel and I may have our differences, but I'm not going to sign the man's death warrant."
Sinj quit struggling. "What are you talking about? He's a Deputy Director."
"All the more reason for them to call out Zebra Squad if they think he's dangerous." A cool, calculating look. "He is, isn't he?"
"Not like that guy Minh was," Dom said frankly. "You see him? Lady said it felt like he was tryin' to take somebody over when she jumped him."
"We saw him." Mike drew a shaky breath, shutting away the memory of helplessness, of feeling his mind turned against itself. "Jumped him? How?"
"How d'you think, Mike?" Caitlin grinned. "She bit him."
"Psychic blast." String's tone was almost gentle. "Michael had reports about Minh. Knew you wouldn't believe them."
"So we flew your cover," Dom shrugged, carefully letting go of String's shoulder. "So! Who's up for breakfast?"
Sinj wet his lips. Shook all over, shedding anger like water. "We need to talk about this."
String nodded. "We will."
~*~*~*~*~
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Oh, good, Clayton Webb thought. Somebody's got a heartbeat.
Hmm. Pain in his arm, aching ribs, a slight sting in his right elbow... felt like an IV. Wait a minute....
"Ah. The prodigal operative awakes."
Oh no. He knew that voice.
Reluctantly, Webb opened an eye.
It's not fair....
The white-clad agent perched in the visitor's chair gave him a subtle smile. Fingers tapped the silver-headed cane, spread in genteel acknowledgement of Webb's gaze. "You're in Alexandria, Virginia. Your mother's been contacted. I believe she'll be along shortly."
Webb sighed. "I like my job... most of the time. I'm still not leaving the Company. Outside of that, what do you want?" And why are you even here? Porter Webb and Ariella Coldsmith-Briggs might consider themselves friends, but a mid-level CIA operative and the Firm's Deputy Director of Special Projects didn't have that much in common.
Except, maybe, a certain black helicopter.
Only last he'd heard, the Firm's Deputy Director wasn't mixed up with black helicopters anymore. The fact that Archangel was even here was tantamount to admitting he was.
So it's deep. Whatever it is. Deep enough to chew me up and spit me out like toothpicks.
"To the point, then." Archangel stood. "There's a situation developing in a certain facility in Colorado. At some point it will require JAG's attention."
Webb felt an unfamiliar lurch; the kind he hadn't felt since that stark, heart-stopping moment he'd had to trust Mac to read a terrorist's intent at gunpoint. "You want Rabb."
"I want to be certain the truth isn't swept under the rug for certain officials' convenience." Behind half-dark glasses, the blue gaze was chill as mountain sky. "You'll receive more information when you're secure."
Made sense. A hospital wasn't the best place to try and tuck away classified documents. "What else?" Webb asked warily.
Two breaths of silence. "If something should happen... go public. With all of it."
Hairs rising on the back of his neck, Webb resisted the temptation to stare. You have no need to know Archangel? Telling him to go public? Hell. He's serious. "What kind of something?"
Archangel gave him a bitter smile. "Knightsbridge falling off the map."
In a whisper of white, he was gone.
~*~*~*~*~
Marella fell in beside her boss as he took the discreet way out of the hospital. "Do you think he'll do it, sir?"
"Clayton has a troublesome streak of honor in him," Archangel mused. "Endearing, really. Or so my mother says." Concentrating, he reached for the warmth in the back of his mind. Angel? What's happening?
Nobody's happy, Airwolf informed him. Nobody's shooting.
Hmm. Could be worse, then.
Marella waited until they were inside the white limousine, checked security before she relaxed. "I take it St. John didn't take the news well."
"Did you believe he would?" Archangel shrugged. "The Lady may have only linked recently, but she's been wearing us down since the first moment we set foot in her. We're... accustomed to her."
"I like her." Marella's smile showed café-au-lait dimples.
Like her too, Airwolf purred. Check for pilot qualifications?
Archangel sighed. Angel....
The impression of an innocent blink, wrapped around a giggle. What?
"Don't ever let her talk you into getting in while she's in Combat Mode, Marella," Michael warned. "I fear she's picked up my acquisitive nature."
"Once a talent scout, always a talent scout," the dark angel shrugged. "Sir... if the operation goes down as planned, will Rabb be up to it?"
"Never risk everything on one person," Archangel said firmly. "Rabb's accessible through Webb; Admiral Chegwidden's office is accessible through Rabb. If they can't handle the NID, we'll be out of legal options."
Lovely lips thinned. "Yes, sir."
"I don't like the idea either," Michael said quietly. "We're Intelligence, not killers." He glanced away. "Not unless we have to be."
"They're not good odds, sir." Marella granted him a rare, open smile. "But if anyone can pull it off, you can." A dark brow lifted. "Though it would help if we had a few more false trails for our enemies to stumble upon."
"The day is yet young," Archangel said serenely, spreading out a map of Washington and its various classified environs. "Shall we?"