'I don't need a break.' Saint John protested as Michael pulled him to a stop. He shook the other man's hand off his arm. 'If you need to stop, fine; I'll go on without you.'
Michael sighed exasperated. 'We've been walking for over an hour. We need a five minute break.'
'My brother needs us to get help.'
'Which we won't be able to do if you don't pace yourself and collapse in a heap on the way to Foxridge.' Michael's voice rose with every word and he grabbed Saint John yanking him to a halt.
There was a tense, fraught moment as they glared at each other.
'Five minutes.' Saint John agreed grudgingly conceded.
Michael pushed his glasses up his nose and simply sat down where he stood. He pulled out a water flask and took a long drink watching as his companion did the same. They had walked in silence all the way until ten minutes before when Michael had made his original request that they stop for a break. He had the urge to sigh heavily and covered the moment by screwing the top back on his water bottle. He had thought that he and Hawke's brother had made some progress in the previous month in moving from their original antipathy but it was clear that whatever progress had been made had been completely eradicated with the crash.
It didn't matter, he mused. They had a common goal; getting help for Hawke. They just needed to focus on that. They would deal with the rest of it – who was after them and why – later. He packed his water bottle away and stood up using his rosewood walking stick as leverage. 'Ready?'
Saint John rose to his feet in reply.
They trekked for a while longer before Saint John suddenly stopped abruptly. He raised a finger to his lips and Michael remained silent. He watched in fascination as Saint John's head tilted upwards in a gesture that was so remarkably like Hawke's that Michael missed the presence of his friend anew.
'Chopper.' Saint John growled.
'The same one?' Michael asked in a low voice.
'Maybe.' Saint John shrugged. 'They're gone.'
'They're searching for us.' Michael stated.
'That would be my guess.' Saint John agreed.
Michael looked at the sky. It was late afternoon and they needed to make the most of the daylight. 'Let's keep going.'
Saint John nodded. He checked his watch anxiously as they moved off.
'You know there's a good chance Hawke will have woken up by now.' Michael said casually.
Saint John shot him a look. 'You don't believe that anymore than I do.' He muttered. His hazel eyes gleamed with worry. 'You saw that head injury.'
The spy inclined his own head with its shock of blond white hair as he considered the bitter note of self-recrimination in the other man's voice. 'This wasn't your fault.'
Saint John's head jerked back to Michael again before he fixed his gaze back on the trail they were following. 'I got the impression you thought it was.'
'I wasn't blaming you. I just think your team is the more obvious target for this attack. But regardless of that, whoever did this planned it very carefully.' Michael pointed out. 'You weren't to know.'
'How?' Saint John asked. 'I only organised the weekend a few days ago. How could they possibly…' he stumbled to a halt. 'They have us bugged, don't they? At the air service.'
'That would be my guess.' Michael agreed. He swallowed the comment he wanted to make that while he had been the Airwolf contact for the FIRM, he had periodically insisted that Santini Air was swept. It had driven Dominic Santini nuts but that had merely been a side benefit.
'Damn.' Saint John set off again. His mind raced over the idea. 'So whoever is after us knew about the weekend.' He scowled. 'But what do they want? To kill us?'
'If they'd wanted to do that I would suggest they would have used more explosive on the tail rotor.' Michael commented. 'They did enough to disable the helicopter but not enough to blow it up.'
'You know they only started shooting at us when String spotted them.' Saint John mused.
'What are you saying?' Michael asked.
'Their original intention was just to down us not kill us.' Saint John surmised. He gestured. 'Why?'
Michael raised an eyebrow. 'That remains the million dollar question.'
Saint John stopped walking and placed his hands on his hips as he caught his breath. 'Maybe they wanted us alive.'
'OK.' Michael considered the possibility as he adjusted his glasses. He frowned and his blue eye found Saint John's. 'You know whoever planned that attack on the Lair is still out there.'
'You mean the mysterious boss figure?' Saint John scowled. It didn't sit well with him that the person responsible for Locke's torture and for his own shooting had gotten away Scot free.
'Think about it.' Michael said gesturing with his cane. 'Whoever took you guys hostage at the Lair was very meticulous in their planning. They knew where and when to grab Locke. That's always bothered me.' He smoothed his moustache. 'The MO here is the same. Meticulous planning.'
'To what?' Saint John asked. 'Grab Airwolf?' He gestured at the spy. 'They wouldn't be able to guarantee that we wouldn't crash without injuring all of us even if they counted on our flying ability to get the helicopter down mostly in one piece.'
Michael considered the other man's words, going over everything in his head.
'We have to keep walking.' Saint John said. He made to continue.
Michael turned to him. 'What about Jo?'
Saint John froze. He felt his body move, turn back towards the spy, of its own accord. 'What?' He asked his mouth dry.
'They know Jo can fly Airwolf.' Michael said more confidently. 'What if they only wanted to get us out of the way so…'
'So they can grab Jo.' Saint John finished.
Michael nodded. 'I think that's their plan.'
'We have to get to Foxridge.' Saint John said.
'No.' Michael grabbed him before he could charge away. 'We have to go back.'
'What?'
Michael raised a hand to stop the imminent explosion. 'If we're right, by the time we get to Foxridge it will be too late to warn Caitlin and the other women.' He said forcefully. 'They could be snatched long gone before we get there and if they are, then our hope of a quick rescue with Airwolf for Hawke will be gone too.' He took a deep breath. 'We have to go back and use the satellite phone to warn them.'
'And if we're wrong?' Saint John said tersely.
'But we're not and you know it.' Michael stated. His blue eye burned with the knowledge that they were right; he could feel it in his gut. 'We have to go back.'
'If we use that satellite phone, it could bring them down on our position.' Saint John noted.
'Then we'll defend it.' Michael said. 'Either way we know Airwolf will be on the way.'
Saint John nodded. 'OK. Let's go.'
They began to retrace their steps, their pace was urgent but steady; neither wanted to delay their progress with an accident.
Saint John looked sideways at Michael at the fiercely determined look on the spy's face. He must be worried about Marella and his daughter, Saint John realised. If a kidnap team hit the cabin they would be in the line of fire. He swallowed hard. So would Caitlin and Nicky. His brother would count on Saint John to protect them if he couldn't. He'd done a lousy job so far, Saint John mused. And then there was Jo…
He didn't know when his feelings for her had changed. When he had first been rescued and returned from Burma, she had helped him through the first few months of adjustment. He knew she didn't know how much he had appreciated her quiet support and friendship especially as he had lived with the secret of his brother's survival and his fight for life in Switzerland. He had convinced himself that his feelings for her were nothing more than those long forgotten; a brotherly affection for a young woman who had once been a surrogate sister to him. When had he realised he was seeing her as something more?
He shook his head. Maybe after that whole debacle in Africa just before they had all got captured at the Lair. Her ex-boyfriend had sold her to a sheik and Saint John had gone into rescue her. He'd been standing in the dusty desert of that god-awful country with its sun lighting up Jo's golden hair and it was as if he'd been struck by lightening. He suddenly noticed how beautiful she was; what an extraordinary woman she had grown into. And it looked as though Jo was falling in love with his best friend, he reminded himself brutally. He sighed. He loved the both of them; if she wanted Mike…he couldn't get in the way of that. He only hoped he and Michael would get back to the camp in time to warn her and Caitlin. Thank God the spy had brought a satellite phone.
He looked over at the other man. He moved with the liquid fluidity of a professional assassin with only the slightest hint of the injury that required the use of the walking stick. It was difficult for Saint John to trust him. He'd met too many spies like Michael in his undercover work; expediency was usually their motto and he figured that it was a character trait in Michael no matter how well disguised. Still, he'd been wrong about Michael blaming him for what happened. The spy's ability to deduce what had happened was impressive and it might have saved their lives, Saint John acknowledged.
Saint John cleared his throat. 'I'm sorry.'
Michael almost tripped on a root the apology took him so much by surprise. 'What for?'
'Snapping at you back at the helicopter.' Saint John said.
'You were worried about Hawke.' Michael said regaining his earlier walking rhythm. 'I get that.'
'And you weren't?'
Michael kept his gaze fixed on the trees ahead of them. 'I'm not his brother.'
The comment reignited Saint John's irritation. 'Could have fooled me.' He muttered under his breath.
Michael glanced over at him. 'Sorry?'
'Don't act stupid, Briggs.'
The spy sighed. 'You're an idiot, Saint John.'
'What?' Saint John came to an angry halt.
Michael stopped and turned back. 'We have to keep walking.' He started off again not bothering to check if the pilot was following.
'You called me an idiot.' Saint John said angrily coming abreast with him.
'That's because you are.' Michael said feeling his own anger tease at his control. 'Your brother worshipped the ground you walked on. He spent sixteen years of his life doing everything he could to find you. He risked his life, not knowing if you were dead or alive…'
'And making deals with people like you.' Saint John retorted furiously.
'Yes.' The word was an angry shout. 'And making deals with people like me so he could find you. You're an idiot for not contacting your brother for sixteen years and putting him through that hell…'
Saint John grabbed Michael's arm and swung him around. His punch landed squarely.
Michael staggered back and fell. He raised a hand to his sore lip and looked at the fresh red blood that smeared across his fingers. A cold anger settled in his gut.
Saint John was stood still waiting for the other man's reaction.
The spy reached for his cane that he had dropped close by and got back to his feet. His hard blue gaze met Saint John's. 'We don't have time for this.' He made to move away again.
'Hey!' Saint John had barely got his fingers on Michael's arm when the spy moved his fist shooting out like lightening.
This time it was Saint John who ended up on his ass on the ground.
Saint John tested his jaw. He was surprised to find it still worked.
'Are we done now? Because like I said; we don't have time for this.' Michael said tersely.
Saint John hauled himself back to his feet. 'Yeah. We're done.'
They walked on in silence.
