This is a bit of a long chapter. Cheyenne learns quite a bit about the past and begins to realize there's a lot more to this whole inheritance than just land or money.

As a side note, for anyone reading this, please remember to take some things with a grain of salt and that they are there for moving the plot along.

I tried to blend the feel of the shows from back in the 80's and how things are in the current, modern-day reality. I do understand that estate planning and inheritance doesn't work like I've written here (I used to work for an estate planning lawyer *shudder*.) However, it always seemed in the 80's type shows that if you needed there to be an object that did XY&Z (insert whatever producers needed to further the plot), things miraculously appeared or were explained as 'advanced technology', or just how things were 'done'. The 80's shows never seemed to follow how things would really work in reality.

In that vain, I tried to keep things somewhat rooted in basic reality and yet, use some of the tricks from our favorite shows from way-back-when.

Enjoy!

Chapter 4

Heading toward the only visible office door in the hanger, Mr. Cline turned on the light as he entered and waited for her to follow. As soon as she squeezed past him, he shut the door behind her. She grimaced as she looked around at the cramped space that had once been an office. Now, it could pass as a recycle bin. There was barely room to do more than sit in the one empty chair in front of the desk. Paper, manuals, catalogs, magazines and binders were stacked haphazardly about the small room. It overflowed most vertical services, leaning precariously against walls, desk and what might be a file cabinet. It smelled of stale body odor and the dust was thick on several stacks crammed into the corners. There was very little space on top of the desk itself next to the computer monitor and ancient tower unit. Both looked like someone had used the desktop system as a rag, repeatedly wiping their grease-covered hands on them. She shuddered to think of what the keyboard and mouse must look like.

Mr. Cliner frowned then gave a sigh of frustration at the state of the desk, setting his briefcase down on top of the paperwork scattered there. He motioned for her to sit which she did with great hesitation, shoving her duffle and helmet under her seat. She grimaced again as Mr. Cline reached over and turned down the blinds on the window that faced out towards the hanger, kicking up further dust as he did so. Muscles along her spine and in her legs tensed as she began to feel trapped. Either oblivious to her growing sense of panic or preferring to ignore it, he shuffled over to the desk and sat down behind it.

He busied himself for a moment with the combination lock on the briefcase before opening the latches then turned it so it faced away from the door. Removing a stack of papers off a rectangular object inside, she gave a start at the recognition of what it was. The object was a black colored box, several switches and a small dial along the front side. It was a scrambler; something used to create white noise on a sonic level to keep others from using eavesdropping equipment to listen in. She bit her tongue in an effort to keep from demanding he explain what the hell was going on as he flipped several of the switches to activate it. Once a green light lit up indicating it was active, Mr. Cliner exhaled and appeared to relax a little.

The desk chair let out a horrendous squeak as he leaned back in it, causing him to wince before he clasped his hands over his expanded waistline. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before speaking. "Thank you for being patient. I can tell you are quite stressed by all of this but it is something I was explicitly instructed to do when the time came. Your biological father insisted upon it." He quickly held up a hand to forestall the question that she opened her mouth to ask, causing her to close it quickly with an almost audible snap.

"Please, there is so much to tell you and I can only imagine that for the next hour or so, you might feel as though someone dropped you down a rabbit hole. But if you bear with me, I've got a bit of history to tell you. I hope by the end of this, you'll finally understand why I've been made to take such precautions." He took the stack of papers that had sat on top of the scrambler and set them on the desk in front of him, face down.

She shifted, her hands holding the edge of the chair in a death-like grip. Her heart was racing as she tried to keep the jumbled up mess of feelings at bay for a little longer. "All right Mr. Cliner, you have one hour to explain," she stated, trying to release some of the tension she felt between her shoulder blades by rolling her shoulders back a little and stretching her neck from side to side.

He nodded and shifted slightly, wincing as the chair squeaked again. Reaching forward, he picked up the card stock he'd photocopied earlier. It looked a bit faded with age, yellowing along the edges. He turned it to show her the front that displayed the small hand and foot prints of a young child. "This was the only way I could confirm you were who you say you are. These were taken when you were barely a year old, right here in this office to be exact. I'd been in business for less than a year when I was hired to help document your existence. I'd known your biological father since we were both fifteen, having attended high school together. I can only assume I was brought in because he trusted me." He held the paper out for her to take.

She stared at him for a moment, now understanding the sense of deja vu she'd had earlier. She leaned forward, taking the offered document and saw the paper tremble slightly as she examined it. "So I was brought here as a baby," she stated as if to verify the validity of what he claimed. She didn't bother looking up at him, her eyes locked on the names at the top. Her name was on the top line, Cheyenne Marie Williams, followed by her location of birth in Concho, Oklahoma and birthdate, January 30, 1973. On the next line was the name Margaret Ann Williams with the word 'mother' under it and a second name to the right of it, Stringfellow Hawke, with the word 'father' under it. She looked back up at him, trying not to gape.

Mr. Cliner was quiet while he waited for her to digest what he'd just given her. As she did, he took a moment to appraise the woman before him. She was slender like her father had been but a little shorter in height. She had the reddish brown skin of her mothers' Native American heritage and black hair done up in a braid that hung down her back. Her gray-blue eyes, the chiseled nose and sharp cheekbones convinced him of her true heritage, that of a Hawke. The way she had looked at him when they'd first met, like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike, was the same way String used to look when assessing someone. However, the current look on her face was that of someone who'd just had their world turned upside down.

She laid the card down carefully on the edge of the desk as if afraid it might disappear. Looking up at Mr. Cliner, she swallowed only to discover her mouth was very dry. "So what does this mean?" she asked, somewhat proud that her voice sounded calm.

He smiled sadly at her, "It means that I can finally put the burden of monitoring Stringfellow Hawke's estate to rest and perhaps consider retirement. Once we've gone through everything I have here and I file the signed estate documents with the county, you will be a fairly wealthy woman," he said.

She turned this new bit of information over carefully in her mind. Taking a slow, even breath, she glanced at the scrambler. "Why are you using this? If this is about me signing legal paperwork to inherit an estate, why do I feel like I'm in spy movie?"

Mr. Cline gave her a steady look. "With what your father was involved in, even to this day, it still could have repercussions that might cause issues for you. What I have to tell you is for your ears only. There are enough busy bodies around that I don't trust someone not to try and listen in. The scrambler isn't to keep anyone from trying to physically eavesdrop from outside. It's to help disable or confuse any electronic listening devices that might have been planted here or used at a distance."

The way he said that last sentence made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "Was this Stringfellow Hawke some sort of gangster or into something illegal?" She couldn't find the right words to express her uncertainty.

He gave her a sheepish look, shaking his head slightly. "Let me apologize for all of the secrecy in regards to this. I will get to all the details in time so please bear with me. First off, let me give you some background on your father." He shifted in the chair, ignoring the grinding squeak as he took the first document off the top of the stack of papers he'd pulled out earlier, flipping it over and handing it to her. She looked down at it, seeing two men in a black and white picture; an older man wearing a ball cap with the letters 'SA' in an upside down triangle on the front, covering what appeared to be a head full of gray hair. He was heavy around the middle and had bushy eyebrows. The photo showed him in partial profile, turned slightly towards the man next to him, laughing at something with a toothy smile. A slender, younger man stood next to him with light colored eyes that seemed guarded, emphasizing his sharp facial features. He was giving the older man a sideways glance, a smirk lifting the corner of the younger mans' mouth to show his amusement at whatever had caused the older man to laugh. Seeing the photo was like a punch to the gut. Both seemed familiar with that feeling of deja vu returning from earlier. She knew instinctively that the younger man was her father since she saw similar facial features every day in the mirror. She even smirked the same way when she found something amusing.

After giving her a moment to take in the details, Mr. Cliner spoke up. "The man on the left is Dominic Santini, former owner and operator of Santini Air, now known as Stars and Stripes Air Service. The man to his right is Stringfellow Hawke, your biological father."

She continued to stare down at the picture, goose flesh prickling the skin on her arms, making her glad she was wearing her jacket. Looking up from the picture to Mr. Cliner's face, she saw he hid nothing in his expression, the honest sense of his words reflected in his eyes. She raised an eyebrow as if signaling he should continue, though her heart was racing and her hands had started to sweat. What Mr. Cliner was telling her was information she had secretly wished to know ever since she was able to understand what being adopted meant.

Once Mr. Cliner was sure he had her attention again, he began to explain the history of Stringfellow Hawke's childhood and how he knew Dominic Santini. He continued to pull photos from the stack of papers, handing them to her one at a time. He gave her a picture of a smiling Stringfellow as a young boy, standing next to his older brother St. John, who also went by the name Sinjin. Their parents stood behind the boys, looking happy. He went on to describe the boating accident that killed their parents but left the sons alive. Mr. Cliner explained how this caused Dominic to step in and take over the care of the two grieving boys. Several more pictures passed into her hands of Stringfellow's teenage years, including one of him sitting on stage with a cello between his knees, playing a solo piece. This caused her to raise an eyebrow. If he had been trained in classical music, she sure hadn't inherited that talent from him. She couldn't carry a tune in a bucket, even if her life depended on it.

Mr. Cliner paused a moment to let her examine the last picture he'd given her. Clearing his throat to get her attention, he handed her a picture of Stringfellow standing next to a beautiful young woman, both in front of a red sports car. The next picture he handed her was that of the same car, busted up and bent around a tree. "String walked away with barely a scratch. She didn't. It had been deemed an accident as he had been forced to swerve to avoid an oncoming semi that tried to pass someone on the highway. He lost control in the loose gravel on the shoulder and rolled. To the day he died, he still blamed himself for her death."

Cheyenne chewed on her bottom lip a little as she set the photos down in the growing stack after examining them carefully, taking in details of each. Mr. Cliner held out another photo, this one of String and his brother, who was dressed in an Army uniform. It was obvious in the picture that String was proud of his older brother by the look he was giving Sinjin. Without saying a word, he held out another photo that showed her father standing there, not much older than the previous one, dressed in BDU's and obviously somewhere overseas, perhaps Vietnam. Sinjin was dressed in a similar set of camos, his arm slung around Strings neck and the two seemed to be hamming it up for the camera.

"He lied about his age and joined the military to follow his brother to Vietnam. Their chopper went down four months into his tour, trying to help pull troops out of an area that was being overrun by the VC. Two died in the crash, the rest of the chopper crew were eventually picked up except for Sinjin since there was no room on the transport. They were coming under heavy fire and had to leave the area. When the chopper went back for Sinjin and the remainder of evacuating soldiers, it was discovered that it had been seized by the VC. Sinjin and the other six soldiers were reported MIA and later on, they were declared POWs. Your father blamed himself for Sinjin's capture and imprisonment, and never gave up looking for him until the day he died."

She noticed how tired Mr. Cliner's voice sounded as he continued to speak about the years that followed Stringfellows' time in the military. Finally he stopped handing her photos and clasped his hands together, resting them on top of the remaining papers in the stack. "String had always been a bit of a recluse, usually keeping everyone and everything at arm's length. He'd gotten it into his head that he was cursed, causing anyone he cared about to die or come to harm. Santini had hired him to help with his growing business, partially to keep String from becoming a hermit but also because Santini thought of your father as his own son."

He shrugged slightly, "He'd been back in the States for a few years when he met your mother. How or where he met her, he never said. She was the first one he opened up to since the loss of his brother and those of us that knew him had high hopes that it might turn things around for him." He gave a gusty sigh. "Your mother left him only a few months later, causing him to become more of a recluse, disappearing for days, sometimes weeks at a time."

She set down the last photo he'd handed her and rubbed her face. "Let me guess," she said, finally breaking her silence. "A number of months later either someone brought me to him or my mother showed up with me in tow and handed me over." She couldn't keep the frustration and touch of childish anger out of her voice.

Mr. Cliner frowned slightly. "Nineteen months later to be exact. She returned to tell him she was dying of an invasive form of brain cancer, that you were his child and she couldn't care for you any longer. She left you with him and disappeared. I finally found records showing that she'd died several months later in Oklahoma, where she'd gone back to the Cheyenne and Arapaho Tribal lands." He sighed softly, "However, I was unable to track down any living relatives from her side of the family or photos of her. Record keeping at the time of your birth left a bit to be desired."

Sitting back in her seat with a huffed a frustrated sigh she crossed her arms over her chest. "Fantastic. So basically Stringfellow Hawke didn't want to be burdened by a child so he gave me up for adoption. Right?" she said, trying to not sound bitter.

He raised an eyebrow at her words, "It wasn't that he didn't want the burden. For some reason he was terrified that if he became attached to you in any way, the curse would take you too. Santini couldn't get him to listen to reason and was unable to care for a small child while trying to run a business. He had been divorced for a number of years and lived by himself. So Santini contacted me on Stringfellow's recommendation, to start the process to getting you adopted. String kept his distance, leaving your care to Santini for the few days that you were in their company. I did my best to document your information and help find a couple that would love you like their own. You were placed with an adoption agency until everything was official and finalized with the McPhearson's. After that, it's been part of my job to keep track of you over the years. I gave Santini annual updates on you until he was killed in a chopper explosion. As far as I know, he never shared them with String."

She opened her mouth to make a frustrated retort and he held up a hand. "However, when your father began planning his estate, coming to the realization that he may never see his brother alive again, he started to put together a list of inheritors. He made sure you were on that list, but your existence was to be kept secret. He set stipulations that his estate would remain in escrow for twenty years after his death, whenever that might be. At the end of the twenty years, whoever was left on the list of inheritors was to share in a portion of the estate. It wasn't to be revealed he had a daughter until that time. He did this because he wanted to keep you as safe as possible from this believed 'curse'. It might be a good thing he insisted on it being that way, because you are the last survivor of the entire list. You will inherit his full estate."

Her mouth hung open slightly as she tried to wrap her brain around the whole thing. There was information missing or something she hadn't been told yet. The pieces didn't fit together. "So, there were other people set to share in the inheritance of his estate besides me? And twenty years? What if he'd lived to be eighty? I could have been an old woman before any of this ever came about. You make it sound as if he knew he was going to die at a young age."

Mr. Cliner held up his hand again. "There's more to tell you that will explain some of what he did and why he did it. I just wanted you to understand that you weren't an after-thought. In his own way, he did think about you and did care about your future."

She jerked up out of her chair and went to stand by the dusty blinds. Her emotions were in turmoil, as if she were a young child again, trying to deal with not understanding why her adoptive parents couldn't or wouldn't tell her who her real parents were. It had taken her time to come to terms with the fact that they didn't want to request the information on who her real parents were. She swallowed down the lump in her throat that was threatening to choke her before crossing her arms over her chest as if trying to comfort herself.

Mr. Cliner watched her, his expression resigned. "What I have to tell you next is the main reason for the scrambler. Yes, this is where it gets to be like a secret spy movie. The information I have been given was done so with extreme reluctance and to this day, I'm sure it is still highly classified. Both String and Santini felt that it would hopefully give information that could save or protect the lives of those who would inherit. I didn't want to do it but they were adamant about it. In the end, I knew I would need some way to explain how all of this came about."

Cheyenne turned a little to the side to look at the lawyer, confused. With a touch of hesitation she made her way back to her seat, pulled it a little closer and slowly lowered herself down, her knees almost touching the front of the desk once she settled. She chewed on her lip again, one of the habits she'd acquired as a child she'd never truly been able to break herself of.

He lifted his hands off the pile of papers and picked up another photo, handing it to her. The photo showed signs of age, the corners bent slightly and a small tear along the bottom. The picture was of a black, sleek modeled helicopter with a white underbelly and obviously a design that was way before its time if she could guess by the age of the photo. Then she saw little details that told her that there was more to the helicopter than what it first appeared to be.

As she stared down at the photo, Mr. Cliner spoke up. "That picture was taken in 1984. The name of the helicopter was Airwolf. It was a one-of-a-kind prototype and built by RedStar Industries. However, it was owned by a government agency known as 'The Firm'. I don't know much in the way of the details about how String and Santini became involved with that agency. Something happened that caused String to take possession of it, allowing him to hide it from said agency. He refused to give it back until The Firm found his brother, dead or alive, and returned him to the States."

Pulling another picture from the stack, he held it out to her. She hesitated to take it, still staring at the aircraft in the first picture. Finally she looked up and took what he offered. The picture was of Santini, her father and a woman with short red hair standing in front of Airwolf. All three of them were dressed in similar gray flight suits and the patch on the woman's upper arm was more visible than the others, showing a winged, snarling wolfs head. Next to the trio stood a man dressed all in white, wearing a white panama hat, a cane in one hand and the left lens of his glasses blacked. The woman who stood with him was also dressed in white, wearing a turtle neck sweater, a knee length skirt and high heels. She had light brown skin and black, curly hair styled in what was probably the current fashion at the time.

"The two in white were part of The Firm. The man was Michael Coldsmith-Briggs the Third and the woman was Marella Callehan, his assistant. The redhead was Caitlin O'Shannessy, someone Dominic hired who became close friends with both men and ended up on the team that piloted Airwolf. Michael allowed String to keep the helicopter hidden so long as the team helped him out with any 'issues' that arose that needed something outside of the agencies purview to deal with. I don't have any details of events they were deployed to assist with, but at the time that aircraft was the fastest chopper in the air and outfitted with state-of-the-art surveillance and defense equipment." He pointed to the photo of just the chopper before shifting uneasily in his chair, letting her look over both photos.

"So basically they did spy work for this Coldsmith guy?" she asked, beginning to slowly form her own theories on some of her unasked questions.

"In a manner of speaking," he said slowly. "As I stated, I don't know any of the details. I don't even know the full capability of what the helicopter could do. String gave me those two photos to help explain things when the time came. No one knows I have them and if anyone ever found out or knew I had what little information I have on it, I could find myself in serious trouble from several government agencies. I'd like to keep my dull and boring life the way it is so I will simply ask that you either dispose of those photos as soon as I leave here or hide them as if your life depended on it, which it very well could."

She jerked her head up to look at him. "These pictures are over to twenty years old! You mean to tell me that having information or photos of something that by now is probably so obsolete compared to modern-day electronics, that someone would …," She seemed unable to even fathom what someone might do if these pictures were discovered.

He leaned forward, staring hard at her. "Why do you think your father set up his estate the way he did? Why do you think he didn't expect to live to be a ripe old age? He was hiding a top-secret, dangerous piece of military hardware. As far as I know, it's never been recovered. It could still be in storage wherever String hid it, God knows where. It was hinted that there was information in its computer that not only the US, but other countries would kill to keep from coming to light."

Her face paled visibly and she sat back in her chair, looking at the photos as if they might bite her. Her heart was racing again. What the hell was this all about? This meeting went from information on an estate she inherited to having the sudden possibility of being caught up in something top secret.

Pulling out a piece of paper from the stack, he looked at it then handed it over. "This is the list of progression, those who were to inherit part of his estate after his death. I want you to look very closely at the list of names and their dates of death."

With hands that had started to tremble, she took the paper from him. She slowly read through the list and within moments she began to see the pattern. Of the nine names on the list, her father's included, four were dead within the same year of Stringfellow Hawke's death. Of those four, three were in the same month as his. Two of those three were on the same day less than two weeks from the third death. Of those that happened after 1990, two of the three were accidents according to the notes but her mind suddenly sprang forward to wonder about the validity of either of those. The most recent death was just eight years previous and was in no way an accident.

Stringfellow Hawke: Deceased, March 21, 1988 – Trauma sustained from explosion

Dominic Santini: Deceased, March 14, 1988 – DOA from explosion. Note: Business and all business assets (Santini Air Service) of Dominic Santini willed to Stringfellow Hawke per instructions of personal estate

Saint John Hakwe: Brother - Deceased, December 2, 1992 –Trauma from skiing accident

Stringfellow Miller: Son –Deceased, June 6, 1994–Mother and son killed by drunk driver

Saint John Van Lin Hawke: Nephew – Deceased, September 11, 2001-Died on Flight 97

Caitlin O'Shannessy: Friend – Deceased, May 4, 1988 – Died in movie stunt helicopter crash

Michael Coldsmith Briggs III: Friend – Deceased, May 16, 1988 - Killed in line of duty

Marella Callehan: Friend – Deceased, May 16, 1988 – Killed in line of duty

Cheyenne 'Red' MacPhearson: Daughter – Born: January 30, 1975

Marital Status: Single

Current Location: Nellis AFB, NV.

Current Occupation: Major, Fighter Pilot, Test Pilot in Air Force

As she read and re-read over the list, her thoughts began to spiral out of control. St. John must have been found, alive and brought back to the States. She also saw that at one point, she had a half-brother and a cousin. She had to clamp down on her roiling emotions. She had wanted a brother or sister when she was younger but The MacPhearsons' were unable to have children and seemed unwilling to adopt another child just so she could have a sibling.

Of the eight people Stringfellow Hawke had listed as inheritors of his estate, she was the only one still alive. She looked up at Mr. Cliner as she tried to school her expression so she didn't seem like a weak willed woman, easily upset by all of this news. She didn't know how successful she was as his expression softened a little.

"So from what you've told me, I'm going to assume that this 'Firm' agency decided to systematically kill off anyone who might know about this helicopter. Two might have been accidents but if you follow the current path of suspicion, things like car crashes and skiing accidents can be caused easily enough in order to cover up the removal of said person." She had to roll her shoulders again, hearing the stress in her spine pop slightly. It didn't do anything to relieve the pain that was forming from her muscles tightening with this added stress.

He gave a slight nod and began to pull out photocopies of articles about the explosion that had killed Santini and her father, plus one about the death of Caitlin O'Shannessy when her stunt chopper crashed on site of a film she was doing work for. Several more followed about the car crash that had killed her half-brother before he handed her an article about her uncle being found and returned to the States less than half a year after her fathers' death. Two articles were handed to her about his death over three years later in a skiing accident.

Finally the pile was down to several small stacks of papers clipped together. She shuffled the papers and photos in her hand before placing them on the pile with the others. She noticed absently that her hands were cold though the office seemed a bit stuffy and she was still wearing her leather jacket.

It was silent in the office for a few minutes; the muffled noises of the men working out in the hanger could still be heard as she stared at the stack of papers in front of her. She let her mind review everything she'd seen and read within the last hour, as well as everything she'd been told, going over the nuances in his voice to the looks he'd given her. Her stomach took that moment to growl and though she knew she was hungry, not having eaten since breakfast, the thought of food at that moment didn't even sound appealing.

Thankfully, Mr. Cliner was silent, waiting patiently for her to come to grips with the purging of this information. Several more minutes passed and she was distracted slightly by the sound of something banging outside, followed by several of the mechanics yelling at someone else. It was those familiar noises, sounds that she had grown up around that allowed her to focus her thoughts once more.

Looking up at the man across from her, she took in a slow breath and let it out. Her thoughts condensed down into one question, "So, what now?"

TBC -