(I would like to thank everyone for continuing to follow this story. I've had a lot of fun picking up writing on this again. With the help of Nighshae, who's still helping to write Archangel and his son, Bridges, as well as being my sounding board and beta reader, I couldn't have gotten this far without here. Actually, she's helped me think of up new devious directions for the next story after this one is done.
Ch 15 is long. Hope you enjoy and it doesn't put you to sleep. Please read and review. Enjoy! )
Chapter 15
Slipping up to the front porch, gun in hand, Red kept herself out of the line of sight from the windows. She crept up the stairs carefully to avoid the third step, one that creaked when stepped on. Leaning inward once she reached the outside wall, she quickly glanced along the edge of the window then ducked back as her mind inventoried what she saw. The fireplace had a good blaze in it, casting plenty of light about the room. One of the lamps on an end table had been turned on but she had seen no visible evidence of someone inside.
With so little information to go on, she was going to have to go in. Back at the chopper, it had taken her some stern insistence that Sam do a perimeter sweep while she went up to the front door. She knew he was capable of taking care of himself but she had to convince him she didn't want any surprises coming up behind her once inside.
Moving to the door, she turned the doorknob and pushed the door inward. MacGyver had made sure to oil the door hinges when he'd worked on fixing up the cabin after she'd first moved in. It opened silently and she slipped inside.
The house was quiet, though the soft tone of a classical album was playing on the turntable. The light from the fireplace cast shadows around the room but Red immediately sensed the feel of the room was different. Her eyes swept the area from left to right, taking in each item with a quick and efficient manner.
Two pieces of artwork had been moved. A mantling eagle statue was now near the door, instead of over the fire place, and two of the paintings had been switched around. As her eyes finished the sweep of the room, they came to rest on the exposed leg and foot stretched out from a chair turned to face the fire.
Stepping closer, she realized the man in the chair was leaning away from where she'd entered, keeping her from seeing him through the front windows. With her gun aimed a little down and to the right of him, she moved around the back side of the couch to face the chair. When he was in full view she finally saw the silver hair, mustache and the glasses with one blackened lens.
Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III.
Archangel.
Standing where she could get a clear view of him, she noticed his one good eye assessing her. His head was casually propped up with his cheek resting on his fist, elbow planted on the arm of the chair. His expression was one of wary amusement. "Are you planning to stand there holding a gun on me all night or are you going to shoot me?" His voice held a touch of mirth as he spoke.
Without looking away, she tilted her head slightly then jerked her chin towards the mantling eagle. "You touched my stuff." Though her expression was dead serious, her voice held no sense of danger to it. "What made you think you were invited to come here? Is there anyone else here?"
"It's the way your father kept them, years ago," Michael stated, shifting in his seat to fully face her. "And yes, I'm the only one here. My son left a couple of hours ago so I'm quite alone."
Red kept the gun trained on him for a few seconds longer until she seemed to come to a decision. Setting the safety, she pulled open her jacket and slid it home in the shoulder holster. She raised her voice as she spoke though her eyes never left Michael. "Sam, meet the infamous Archangel, also known as Michael Coldsmith-Briggs III. I'm sure you've seen his mug on a picture or two around the cabin."
The sound of the front door clicking shut was followed by footsteps as Sam moved closer. Michael turned his head slightly to get a better look at him. "Good evening, Sam. I've been looking forward to finally meeting you."
Sam gave the man slight nod. "Hi." Looking over at Red he gave a small shake of the head. "I didn't see evidence of anyone else having been here."
She looked around before looking back at the man in the chair. "You never answered my question about what made you think you were invited to come here."
Michael shifted a little under her penetrating gaze. Looking over at Sam he asked, "Is she always this blunt? Her father was the same way. He could be so infuriating at times." Without waiting for an answer from Sam, he looked to Red. "I spent a lot of time here the last few years your father was alive," Michael explained, his mouth quirking slightly in amusement. "This place became a bit of a refuge for me, especially after I got my ass caught twice and your father had to come rescue it."
Red shifted her weight from one foot to the other as her muscles relaxed, her expression softening slightly. "That's why you moved the artwork. The place didn't feel right to you."
Michael looked at her for a few seconds then gave a slight nod. Looking around, his good eye finally settled on Sam. "I did bring a peace offering for my intruding upon your hospitality. Steaks are prepped and ready any time for cooking. The potatoes are done and warm in the oven, there's a salad in the fridge, along with a bottle of fine red wine and tiramisu for desert to top it all off."
Red raised an eyebrow as the list of food in his peace offering grew longer. She was about to say something when her stomach gave a resounding gurgle. This caused Michael to try and hide his amusement though Sam wasn't as tactful as he burst out into laughter.
"If you would care to tell me how you like your steaks, I'll get the table set and then begin cooking. You two honestly look like you could both use a bath and I'll be happy to be your chef if you want to clean up and change clothes." Michael shifted in his seat then reached for his cane as he pushed himself up to his feet. "I came here to discuss some things with you Red, and answer any questions you might have since our one and only meeting up to this point was rather tense and short lived."
Red actually snorted at that statement. Looking over at Sam and then down at herself, she gave a sigh as she remembered that she had promised herself a hot shower first thing through the door. Technically she'd been waylaid a little but the shower was still going to be her first official task of the evening before anything else happened or any other surprises.
Dinner was a quiet affair, punctuated with neutral comments about business, health, the weather or compliments to the chef for the delicious food. Once dinner was finished, Red and Sam made short work of the dishes while Michael stoked the fireplace to keep the chill off the evening air. He turned on a few lamps and set up a selection of several classical themed records to play over the course of the evening.
Red poured everyone a glass of wine and handed them out as she and Sam took up residence on the couch while Michael settled in the chair he was most comfortable in. Everyone was silent for a time as they digested their meal and seemed lost in thought.
Michael finally broke the silence as he turned to face the two on the couch, his one good eye looking directly at Red. "What do you know of the incidents that led up to your acquiring this property and the Stars and Stripes business?"
Shrugging, Red looked into her wine glass. "I know more than I want to or probably need to. Mr. Cline kept detailed records on everyone through the twenty years he was tasked with tracking the estate. Upon verification of being the sole inheritor, it was all turned over to me. When I had a little time on my hands while recovering from the crash, I did a little more digging into the accidents that claimed the others lives. With some help, the pieces began to fall into place and the picture they formed wasn't pretty."
Michael sipped his wine, then nodded, his gaze growing distant. "Then I'm sure you've figured out that none of those deaths except one were accidents. The Firm made damned sure everyone that had any connection with Dominic Santini or Stringfellow Hawke didn't live long enough to chance coming across information that might lead them to Airwolf." It was obvious that what Michael spoke of upset him greatly as he continued. "Did you realize that your father's injuries weren't severe enough to kill him if they'd been properly handled?"
That got Red's attention. "I had a hunch the Firm was involved after what happened to me. Things lined up too neatly, too methodical in the line of inheritance to be anything but intentional." Her gray-blue eyes grew hard with intensity as she became more agitated. "As for my father, no I didn't. I just got the sense from my research that something happened in the hospital that caused his death to happen faster than it should have."
Sam's hand crept over to Red's lap and took her free one in his and rubbed his thumb against her fingers in a way to calm her as well as offer comfort. The tense muscles in her shoulders lost some of their rigidness and she glanced at Sam with a faint softening of her features that hinted at a smile.
Michael's gaze returned to the crackling fire as he spoke, and he seemed to draw some comfort from the familiar flames. "Events kept me out of state for a month and Caitlin was blocked from seeing Hawk for one ridiculous reason or another that seemed to change every time she went back to try and gain access. By the time she was finally able to get in touch with me, it was too late and your father was gone. Once I got a hold of his medical charts and had one of my own medical staff look them over, it was pretty obvious that his injuries weren't severe enough to kill him if they'd been properly handled, but since they weren't, he wasn't strong enough on his own to survive them. Essentially, he died of deliberate medical malpractice."
Michael let out a sad sigh, his gaze shifting back to them. "Caitlin, Marella and I oversaw the closing of this cabin, securing the art and valuables in the underground vault and making sure everything else was properly handled. Only your father's cello was removed because it wouldn't be able to withstand the changes in temperature and humidity. The instrument is very old and requires far more care than the paintings to survive."
He took another sip of his wine. "We had our suspicions about what happened with the explosion that killed Hawke and Dom, but the confirmation came too late. Caitlin was killed just before we got the reports back on the incident. It was then that Marella and I received high level Intel that I was next on someone's hit list. Marella and my double died only twelve days after Caitlin's death. I guess they weren't taking chances we might put two and two together and come gunning for them."
Red drained what was left in her wine glass, raising an eyebrow as she looked at Michael. "That takes care of a few of the questions I had that I couldn't get answers to. Those helping me do research didn't have clearance high enough. We didn't want to dig that deep for fear of bringing any more attention my way. I was still recovering from the close scrutiny I'd gotten from RedStar and The Firm."
Michael pointed a finger at her, "Wise choice. Fortunately, even to this day I maintain contact with a few of my most loyal personnel who stayed within the Firm. After the accident that cost Marella her life, I went into hiding with my four year old son with their help. The Firm has yet to discover the deception. They believe that I'm dead and those I have on the inside make sure they keep thinking that."
Sam smirked as he sipped a little of his wine. He kept quiet as all of this pertained to Red and her past, but he listened carefully to make sure he missed nothing.
Michael paused, and his voice was softer, full of heartfelt sorrow as he continued. "Out of all of those set to inherit String's estate, Le is the only member of the family I can say with certainty wasn't killed by the Firm; he died a hero on 9/11. He was on Flight 93 when it crashed into that field in Pennsylvania. I've heard the voice recordings, and firmly believe he was one of the men who stormed the cockpit to try to get control of the plane from the hijackers. If they had succeeded, he was more than skilled enough as a pilot to have put it down on the nearest runway or highway if need be." He fell silent, and Sam moved to refill Red's wine glass then offered to top off Michael's glass, getting a nod of thanks in return.
"So what happened to you after you 'died'?" asked Red as she watched Michael with keen interest. This was a part of the story she had no record of. Up until several months ago, this man was just a name in String's journals and in Mr. Cline's files with a date of death listed next to his name.
His attention moved from the wine glass to the crackling fire, and Red realized that the old man was really feeling his age that evening as he remembered the past and those left behind. His one good eye focused on her as he spoke. "I went into hiding as I'd previously stated. I had time to prepare, and was set up with an identity that took the name of my son, rather than giving him mine. Working through a close friend, I started building up Guardian Angels, a business that allows me to keep a bit of an ear to the ground when it comes to national and even international politics as the company has expanded. For the most part, I stay behind the scenes in the business unless something is happening," he explained. "Unfortunately, it was a month after my 'death' before I could try to recover the Lady from where Hawke and Dom usually stored her. By then someone had beat me to her. She was gone, leaving only a couple of lockers behind with their uniforms and some spare clothes in them, along with the tools they used for her upkeep and her armament. Thank God, whoever took her at least took the time to disarm her first. I cleared out what they always affectionately called 'The Lair' and have all of the personal items that had been left behind, minus the jacket of your father's that you now own."
"Did anyone else know about the Lair?" asked Sam as he finally spoke up.
Michael shook his head, "Luckily the Firm was never aware of its location and those I left behind would have told me if they ever recovered her. As far as I'm aware, no one else knew of her whereabouts. Who took her and where she is now is a complete mystery."
Red watched Michael for a moment, her expression unreadable. Finally she closed her eyes and rubbed at them with her thumb and index finger. She fought off a yawn but it was becoming more difficult to stay focused after the day both she and Sam had had, along with the surprise of finding their home invaded.
Michael smiled softly at seeing the two sitting on the couch, Sam having taken up holding Red's hand again when he'd sat back down. Even though she showed many of her father's mannerisms, under that tough shell, he sensed a warm spirit and a kind heart. His gaze shifted from the fire to the art on the walls around them. "Cait told me when we were closing this place up that Hawke and Dom had mentioned some sort of contingency plan that they had put into place if something should ever happen to them, but she didn't know what it was. It could have been for someone to pack up Airwolf and hide her somewhere else or it could have been the estate plan that was in place."
Red dropped her hand from her face and looked at him, "Nothing in all of the paperwork I've gone through at the office or found here gives any clue to either of those. The only reason anyone knows about the estate inheritance was because it finally came to fruition. Mr. Cline had all of those documents and he passed them onto me."
Michael nodded before letting out an obvious huff of frustration. "Red, I had no idea you even existed. You'd think being the master spy I once was, I would have been able to dig up most anything on someone. If I couldn't, I had people who worked for me who could," he admitted. "You were born a couple of years before I first hired Hawke, but he obviously covered his tracks very well as far as you were concerned. I was aware of your half-brother because of the circumstances that brought him to the US, but no one knew about you until the hold on the will was finally released and Cline contacted you."
Shifting in her seat as if suddenly uncomfortable being the topic of discussion, she pulled her hand out of Sam's and crossed her arms over her chest. "Try being on the other end of that equation. It wasn't until I was sixteen and with the help of Sam's dad that I found out who my mother was. Then seventeen years later, I get a call out of the blue. Within twenty-four hours of that phone call, I find out I've inherited land, a business, and find out who my father was. Then came the bad news; I had a half-brother, a cousin and an uncle as well, but they're all dead and I'm the last member of a family I've never heard of."
Michael grimaced, "If it is any consolation, if I had known about you and had known of your plight, I would have saved you from all of that if I could have. You are the daughter to one of the few men I could trust with my life. I owe him even to this day for the things he did to make sure I was here for my own son."
Red was quiet for a long moment then turned her head to look at Sam, "As it was, I had someone looking out for me those last few years before I joined the Air Force. Sam's dad helped me out when I had nowhere else to go."
Smiling warmly, Michael nodded to Sam. "Thank God for small miracles then. Not only did he help you but he put you onto the path that brought you to your true inheritance." He motioned to the paintings on the wall. "My people have kept an eye on this place over the years, but were under orders to never enter the cabin itself. If there had been some sort of major vandalism, we would have done something, but it's far enough away from everyone that no one ever bothered it. I knew there was a twenty year hold on the estate before it could be released. Since we didn't know of anyone else on the list of inheritors after Le died, I had been working on gathering what would be needed for my son to make a claim on the estate to keep it off the auction block. If that had failed and things had progressed to auction, Guardian Angels would have acquired both the business and the property this cabin sits on. I had no intention of letting it out of the 'family'. If nothing else, I wasn't going to let your great-grandfathers legacy rot away up here as the cabin fell into disrepair or the place was torn down to make way for more of those big money mansions that have popped up at the far end of the lake. I would have had my people come in and clear the vault out before a new owner could take possession of the place."
Either Red was more tired than she thought or something Michael said managed to loosen that tough shell she showed the rest of the world. She turned to face Michael full on, her eyes softening from the cool look she'd worn earlier. "You would have done that? Did Stringfellow really mean that much to you that you would try to preserve his…my family's heritage and legacy?"
Michael's look was sober, his tone gentle, but firm as he sought to convince her of his sincerity. "He did and still does Red. I tried to be there, even if inconspicuously for your uncle, your half-brother and your cousin. Le Van, in fact, was aware from the start that I wasn't dead, and when Le died, I vowed not to let what had once belonged to the family disappear. I wanted more than anything, to see something of the Hawke family survive." Shifting in the chair to take the weight off of his bad hip, Michael continued with a chuckle. "Imagine my surprise when I learned that someone had stepped forward and accepted the Hawke inheritance. I sent two of my people out, one to watch the hanger and the other up here to get some idea of who this person was and what they were like."
That caused Red to give a little huff of a laugh as she shook her head with a grin. "I'm sure what they reported back was pretty…," She paused for a moment trying to think of a word but when she opened her mouth to finish the sentence, she yawned instead.
Michael chuckled again. "Interesting? You could say that. Well, at least it wasn't hard to find out who you were. My watcher on the hanger witnessed the dressing down you gave your youngest mechanic. He could hear you announce your name and rank easily enough." Michael smiled at her as she yawned again. "After that, I pulled my people back and let you be since we had what we needed to start doing some discrete digging on your past." Pointing at Sam, he raised an eyebrow, "And I believe we will call this discussion at an end for the night. I fear if we keep going she's going to split her head in two with yawning."
Sam chuckled and gently elbowed Red. "Come on. It's all I can do to keep from yawning every time you do." He looked over at Michael. "We turned what had possibly been an office at one time into a small spare bedroom for when Erica or my dad come to visit. Feel free to stay in there tonight."
Michael nodded, "I'll bank the fire here and take you up on that offer. Good night."
Sam pulled Red off the couch by the hand and as she walked past Michael she laid her hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze. Saying nothing to him, she released his shoulder and let Sam guide her upstairs.
The smell of freshly ground coffee woke Michael from a sound sleep. The air in the room was cool but the bed was comfortable and he was somewhat loath to leave it. But nature was calling and there was still much to discuss with Red before his son came back to get him later that morning. Taking off his eye patch, he slid on his glasses and looked at the clock. It read 5:15 am. Damn, someone was an early riser.
Climbing from bed, he slipped into a robe and headed across the hall to the bathroom. After a quick shower and shave, he dressed in a comfortable pair of jeans and thick sweater. Making his way towards the kitchen, he found Sam pulling a few things from the fridge. The poor guy didn't look like he was completely awake yet.
"Good morning," Michael said, hoping not to startle Sam too much.
Sam looked over his shoulder and gave a bit of a lopsided, sleepy smile. "Morning. How'd you sleep?"
"Like a baby. I always did when I stayed up here. I've missed this place to be honest." He looked around at the light cast by the few lit lamps and the fireplace that had been rekindled with fresh firewood to take the chill off of the early morning air.
"Glad to hear you got a good sleep. How do you like your eggs?" he asked.
"Scrambled is fine. Is Red up yet?" He hadn't heard any other movement in the cabin yet.
"She's been up and gone over an hour already," said Sam as he pulled out a dozen eggs, bacon and what looked like an onion, a bell pepper and some mushrooms.
"Oh? Did she have to go back to work? I didn't hear a chopper come in." He remembered how Hawke used to disappear at the oddest hours and without so much as a sound, even when Michael was sleeping out in the living room.
"No. She's still around. Sometimes when we're here, she takes off in the early morning and heads out somewhere unless the weather's bad. I'll warn you though, when she comes back don't even try to talk to her until she's had her first cup of coffee and a hot shower. If you try, all you'll get is the 'Glare of Death' as Erica calls it. Once she emerges from the bathroom, she'll actually be pretty perky."
Michael let out a bark of laughter, "Perky? Now that's a word I don't think I've ever heard associated with a Hawke before."
"Well maybe not perky, but at least she's much more companionable," Sam responded with a slight flush to his cheeks. He poured Michael a cup of coffee and set it in front of him, then poured a second, setting it on the edge of the wood stove.
They were silent for a moment as Sam cut up vegetables and Michael sipped at his coffee. The sound of boots on the boards outside the door alerted them that Red had returned. Michael watched as Sam set down the knife and reached for the coffee mug on the stove. Red pushed open the front door and came inside, pulling off her jacket and gloves, kicking her boots off then stowing her gear. She shuffled towards the back hallway and Sam leaned over the counter to hold out the cup as she passed.
She stalled her movement just long enough to grab at the cup and Michael got a look at her expression. It was one of contemplation, as if she wasn't completely focused on her surroundings or perhaps too focused. The rest of her expression showed evidence of lingering discomfort. Michael knew that look all too well. He often saw it on his own face after a hard days' work, standing for long periods of time or from the cold seeping into his old bones.
Heeding Sam's advice, he remained quiet as he watched her pass by and head into the bathroom, the door shutting behind her.
"We won't see her for about half an hour," came Sam's voice from the other side of the kitchen as he went back to prepping breakfast.
Michael nodded and sipped at his coffee. "Anything I can do to help?"
Sam shook his head, "Nope. I'll take care of things this morning. You took care of supper last night and you're a guest in this house, whether invited or not."
Michael gave a slight snort of derision but didn't argue. Obviously these two had a routine and if he was going to be accepted into this house at any other time, he should take pains to learn what it was or he might find himself on his rump out on the dock.
"If I might be so bold as to ask, are you and Red engaged?" Michael had wondered what their plans for the future were. They obviously slept together and had been comfortable being close to one another on the couch last night.
The sound of chopping stopped and Sam looked over his shoulder, "Technically I'd say it was none of your business but it'll come out sooner or later." He turned his back to Michael and went back to work, tossing the cut up vegetables into a bowl. "I asked Red to marry me about a month ago back before I was sent on my last photo journalist assignment to Indonesia for the Phoenix Foundation."
Michael ahh'd softly. "Well, it sounds like congratulations are in order."
Nodding, Sam picked up another bowl and began cracking eggs open into it. "Thanks. We haven't set a date yet or made it known to anyone but my dad and her manager. We'd like to keep it that way for the time being."
"I understand," said Michael as he sipped again at his coffee, watching Sam go through the motions of preparing breakfast.
Before anything else could be broached on the subject, Red emerged from the bathroom with an empty coffee cup, her black hair pulled back in a single braid, dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a flannel shirt. Gone was the expression of discomfort and she seemed focused again on the world at large.
"Good morning. You were up early," remarked Michael, turning to greet her. "I didn't take you for a runner." He was shooting in the dark as to why she was outside but he wanted to see how she'd respond.
"I don't run unless someone or something's chasing me. I went for a walk," responded Red as she poured another cup of coffee and snagged a piece of pepper out of Sam's bowl. She went over to the stove and set out a deep sided pan, laying strips of thick bacon in it. She got it situated on the hotter side of the stove and reached for her coffee to sip it.
"Anywhere in particular?" he asked.
The only answer he got was a shrug. It might be the only answer he got so he didn't push it. Red stared at the pan with the bacon in it for a moment, her brow furrowed in uncertainty. It was a rather familiar look, actually.
"Something troubling you?" Michael asked her. "Something about me or something I said last night?"
She glanced over her shoulder at him, a touch of weariness in her eyes. "What makes you say that?"
His lips turned up at the corners in a semblance of a smile that spread wider into a true one. "The number of mannerisms you have in common with your father is extraordinary, though you really never met him from my understanding," he told her, a trace of sadness under his amusement. "That look you've been giving the bacon for the last minute is the one String used to give me when he thought I'd done something he didn't quite approve of, but he wasn't sure he should speak up about it." He gave her a gentle smile and took another sip of his coffee before speaking again. "Red, if you have a question, just ask. I won't lie to you, and if I can't answer, I'll tell you just that."
She looked back down at the bacon and felt Sam come up next to her and nudge her hip, motioning to her to get out of his way. With a little sigh, she picked up her coffee cup and went over to the opposite side of the counter from where Michael sat. She set her coffee down, then splayed her hands out on the marble surface, wide enough apart to give her support to lean on. Staring right at Michael, she contemplated him before speaking. "Last night you said that you hired a 'double' to take your place after you'd heard that they were going to come gunning for you," she stated, her tone neutral, emotionless. "So, basically, you set up another man to be murdered to save yourself."
Behind her, Sam seemed to be caught by a sudden fit of coughing, but Michael appeared to be completely unfazed by her near accusation. "Most people wouldn't have blinked at, much less registered that detail," he stated when Sam had gotten his breath back. "From the outside, it does seem to be a pretty cold maneuver on my part, if you didn't know there were a few caveats involved."
Red's eyebrows went up a bit at that. "He died, didn't he?" she pointed out dryly.
"Yes, he did," Michael responded, looking grieved. "David Mallory worked for me for five years as my double," he explained. "There were times when I had to be in two places at once: needing to be in one location while maintaining the appearance of being somewhere else. David was older than I was by about ten years but we looked a great deal alike. We even shared a few passions, such as a love for horses, but while I played polo in my free time, he tended to spend time on the track betting on them. It was a weakness I was aware of since it nearly got him into trouble a few times and it ruined his marriage. The other thing he had a passion for, unfortunately, was cigarettes. He had a pack a day habit."
Red's expression softened a touch. "He was already dead," she murmured.
"Dying," Michael corrected gently after taking a sip of his coffee. "At the same time I was learning of my future execution, he was being told by the doctors that he had two months left to live. There was nothing they could do for his progressed stage of lung cancer. He was someone I trusted and when he learned what the Firm's future plans were for me, he offered me a deal."
Red stood up, taking her hands off the counter and crossing them over her chest as she continued to listen. She heard Sam moving things around on the stove as he began making up the eggs, the smell of bacon beginning to permeate the cabin. She'd seen a few people that had slowly died due to lung cancer in the slums. It was a rough way to go. That his double's life had been cut short by a couple of months, in some ways, had probably been a mercy.
"David had a small amount of debt due to his gambling habits. He had essentially wasted away his retirement money because of that addiction. He had three children who lived with his ex-wife who were all in their early teens and he wanted to make sure they were taken care of in a way he couldn't afford to. I cleared his debts and set up trust funds for all three of his kids that would get them through four years of collage if they lived modestly during school. He spent a last weekend with them, informing them of his failing health then we arranged his 'suicide' a few days later so his family would have some closure. His will was that he be cremated, which suited our needs and after my 'assassination' some of my most trusted people made sure that his real ashes were turned over to his family. My 'ashes' were given a burial at sea, as I'd requested in my own will thus allowing me to disappear completely without a trace." He inhaled slowly and let out a slow breath before emptying his coffee cup. "I had hoped that Marella would survive the assignation attack but the opposition was more thorough than we expected. Both were killed in the crash. She's buried at her family's home in Hawaii."
Red grew quiet, her eyes looking over Michaels shoulder at one of the paintings on the far wall as she contemplated his words. "Fair enough," she said and turned to get the coffee pot. After refilling hers and Michael's cups, she checked to see how Sam was doing with breakfast. Seeing that he was close to done, she went to a cupboard and began to pull out dishes to set the table.
"Last night you spoke of my father's cello being removed from the cabin when you and Caitlin closed it up. You said it was very old. Was that something he inherited from his grandfather? A part of the art collection?" She hadn't seen any pictures of her father with a cello and hadn't read anything in the journals about him playing it either.
"That is something that we need to discuss," he admitted. "Your great-grandfather brought it home along with the art work from Europe and the cello was something that we all agreed could not be left here."
Setting down his cup, he turned on his chair slightly, pointing to the stones along the left side of the fireplace, below the wooden mantle. "If you look there, you'll see that some of the stones, unlike in other areas, are spaced rather strangely, creating a dip. For as long as I knew him, that's where your father kept his cello."
Red turned to look at him in surprise. "He played the cello?" Movement in the kitchen stilled for a few moments, Michael apparently having caught Sam's attention too.
"He was a master cellist," Michael assured her, smiling openly at her surprise. His blue eye gleamed with good humor at her then sobered. "Many people have heard of Stradivarius violins, but few are aware that Antonio Stradivari also made between seventy and eighty cellos. Your father played one of the sixty-three remaining instruments for most of his life, an instrument that your great-grandfather brought home from Europe after the war. We just couldn't leave it here. The art would have been fine down in the vault. We wrapped everything and crated it for safety. The whole cabin could have come down on the vault in an earthquake and nothing would have happened to it. But the cello was something else. An instrument like that needs care, and after twenty years untouched, it would have been ruined."
Turning back to look at Red, he found her standing at the table, two of the three plates still in hand and staring at him, her mouth slightly open in a stunned expression.
"However, what I need to talk to you about regarding the cello is that while I know it may seem indelicate to make this offer, I would like to purchase the instrument from you." Michael watched Red try to fully comprehend what was being said to her. He gave her a moment then continued his explanation. "You see, my son was fascinated with the instrument as a child. I told him he had to learn how to play cello and play well before I'd let him touch it. And he did just that. He dearly loves to play your father's cello," Michael stated gently. He shook his head sadly. "However, I will return the instrument if you want. My son and I both understand that it is part of your inheritance, but it would break Michael's heart to lose it."
For a moment Red shifted uneasily and looked towards Sam as if seeking his guidance in this matter. He only shrugged and went back to finishing the eggs. Inhaling slowly, she put the last two plates on the table before asking the obvious question. "How much is it worth?" she asked.
"I believe the last one sold for about a million dollars," Michael admitted. "I've been building up that amount in cash, since I found out about you."
The clatter of a spoon against the stove made Red look over at Sam. He was now staring at Michael with his mouth open. She turned back to look at him and she couldn't seem to focus enough to draw a proper breath.
The old man gave them a small smile. "At least think about it for now," he suggested and she nodded a bit stiffly before motioning him to the table and that breakfast was ready.
Breakfast had been silent for the first half as both Sam and Red tried to overcome the slight shock concerning the cello, its' history and the offer made on it. To Red, it just seemed almost surreal that someone like her father could have been a master cellist. But after she had allowed her thoughts to clear, she knew she had to get back on task of asking her questions or she'd lose an opportunity to get answers to things that might never get asked or she'd have to wait for several more months until she had the ability to ask them again in private.
Looking up from her plate, she cleared her throat to get Michaels attention. "Do you think I will continue to have problems with The Firm or RedStar?"
Michael sat back in his chair with a look of concentration on his features. He fiddled with his fork for a moment then looked at her with his one good eye. "It threw them for a loop when someone inherited the Hawke estate. When you legally changed your last name to that of your fathers, they really started to take notice of you. But it wasn't until you came up here to open the cabin and make repairs to it that they began to put a few plans back into motion to closely monitor you."
Sam gave Michael a puzzled look. "I don't understand. What's that all got to do with her?"
Looking over at Sam, he raised an eyebrow, "She was in a position to go through her father's things, giving her the potential to actually find the Lady." He waved a hand absently in her direction. "She's a combat pilot and has the skills needed to actually fly a high tech aircraft like Airwolf. At that point, people started to make moves to get her where they could gain control of her and that's when she was moved to become the test pilot for ResRadt's new prototype. They wanted to test her skill level and figure out her limitations. When the time was right, the Firm drugged then interrogated her to determine if she knew anything about Airwolf."
Red looked away as her jaw clenched as vague memories of those sessions resurfaced. Even to this day, things were still a bit hazy about most of the details of what was asked and who was there. She gave a slight shudder as she waited to see if Michael would finish his story to Sam.
Michael glanced at Red then looked back at Sam, "They decided it would only be a matter of time before she figured out something was going on since she was being excused from the mechanical testing of the aircraft as well as she most likely would figure out she was missing large chunks of time in her days. Since their efforts of interrogation resulted in nothing and any attempt to try and program her to be their mole seemed to fail, that's when they decided to arrange her 'crash'. When she survived it, they planned for her to get the same sort of neglectful care that killed her father, but someone else stepped in, pulled strings and got her moved. It was only in the last week that I got some idea who that person was. Somehow, we never picked up that she had any connection at all to Angus MacGyver or the Phoenix Foundation, and I'm positive that the Firm isn't aware of it either."
Red's head shot up as she and Sam exchanged alarmed looks. "Would they try to come after my dad?" he asked.
The idea actually made Michael chuckle. "I doubt it. What I know of your father, MacGyver has a habit of turning things around to the detriment of those who are idiotic enough to come after him. I wouldn't mess with the man, personally. I have met him once and I found him quite agreeable. Some of my people have run into him over the years but we've always been on the same side, which helps."
Sam seemed to relax a little at that but Red was still tense at the thought of someone going after MacGyver. This venture kept creeping deeper into questionable territory that she was feeling more uncomfortable dragging others into. Pushing her half-full plate away from her, her appetite gone for the time being, she looked over at Michael.
"Do you think they're still looking for it?" She placed her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands that were clasped together. "I mean, what would they do with it if they ever found it anyway? The thing's at least twenty-two years out of date as it is."
Michael noticed the change in Red's body language. She had closed up again and became guarded. "At the time your uncle died, they were still looking for the aircraft themselves. Not long after, there was a change in the personnel who were calling the shots. They decided that things had gotten a bit too extreme after the death of your half-brother. They have obviously proven with you that they are still searching for it and willing to go to extremes to find it. I believe they may be looking more to obtain the information that is stored within its databanks than to use Airwolf for actual tactical use."
"What about you? You still seem eager to get your hands on Airwolf, perhaps for that same information?" Red questioned.
Michael's look was troubled. "She holds information that would bring down many of those who currently head the Firm," he stated. "Some of those people are good people, some are people who have their own vendettas and are using the government to grow their own wallets and bank accounts. I would like to see the first be safe, and the second behind bars."
"And you never used your political power for yourself?" Red questioned dryly. "You've admitted you still have spies in the organization."
He looked amused, not offended by her question. "I never earned a penny for myself that wasn't from my wages, which as deputy director were considerable, and revenues from things I created, which these days are all submitted for patents through Guardian Angels."
Sam cleared his throat, breaking her out of her line of discussion before she took it too far. "Airwolf," he stated. "What were your plans if you ever recovered her?"
Michael turned to look from one to the other then nodded to himself. "I would like to see her found and restored," he told them. "As for the information in her? Well, some justice needs to be meted out for sure, at least for your family, Red. I wouldn't mind spending the rest of my life in peace without having to wonder if someone is going to tip off the authorities as to who I really am. I want to see her back in the air again. She could be incredibly useful in humanitarian and disaster relief efforts or even be sent overseas to help hunt down terrorist groups in the Middle East. But she would need the right sort of crew. I have a few people who I can trust to work on her, keeping her up to date and the like, but I don't have a flight crew. I can't gather people to fly an aircraft I haven't seen in more than twenty years."
Michael seemed to consider his answer with some thought. "After all this time in storage, I know that her condition is going to be pretty poor," he stated. "Rubber turns brittle after a few years if it's not moved. Her rotors were due to be replaced after another year or so. I'm just glad that whoever took her knew to disarm her. The armament would be downright dangerous these days if it had been left in her."
Red raised an eyebrow then huffed a little in laughter. "I'm well aware, Michael, of what happens to old machines when left to sit for years. Even if you did find it, from the sounds of things, you'd have to almost rebuild it from the ground up since technology has changed so drastically just within the last ten years."
Michael nodded, "Exactly. About five years after the big melt down at the Firm, I quietly started creating a lab. The people running it spend their time doing research on the kinds of systems that were in Airwolf, upgrading the technology as it changes through the years. The parts that we know will deteriorate have been purchased and stored properly or we have the means to get them as soon as she's found. All her systems will need to be stripped down, evaluated then replaced with more modern, updated versions. The engines will have to be taken apart, checked for wear and degrading, then rebuilt. If nothing else, refitting her will finally give us the chance to rebuild her plans. Those were lost when Moffett first stole her and exist only in her computer systems, which also need to be extensively upgraded.
"My lab has, over the years, gathered all the pieces needed to do the job of rebuilding her. I do some tinkering with electronics in my spare time. Some of her countermeasure systems were of my design to begin with. Those have definitely been upgraded through the years as I've kept up my own education. We pick up new aircraft tech, tinker with to improve upon it, then discard it as better becomes available. At this point, we could probably rebuild her in two to six months of steady work. We would also be able to take upwards of a quarter ton of weight off her and get her back in the air if the right pilot was found. It's been reported to me that the Firm has done a similar project over the years, but they're not quite to the level that we are. My improvements are definitely cutting edge."
"Can you fly it?" Sam asked, curious.
Michael chuckled. "I could in a pinch, though I seldom take the stick any more. My limited eyesight prevents me from flying alone in most cases, though I held a valid license even after the attack that cost me my eye. If I had maintained my ability to fly, I would have best covered the countermeasures seat. That's the co-pilot position, able to fly the aircraft if something happens to the aircraft commander."
Red raised an eyebrow at him, "Could you teach someone to fly it?"
"Could I teach someone like you to fly her? Undoubtedly, yes." His smile towards her told her that he had already planned to train her if she was willing once the Lady was found. "You already possess many of the skills needed to fly Airwolf. It would be the systems and aircraft capabilities that you'd have to learn, and yes, I could teach you all of that."
"What were the aircraft specifics?" she asked. "How fast, how high…"
"She was pushed once to Mach 2, but the resulting damage wasn't good. One point five, one point six was pretty common. I'm aware of Hawke taking her to eighty-four thousand feet at least once. The wing mounts hold twin thirty millimeter chain guns, along with fifty millimeter cannons. The ADF pods were capable of up to ninety degree rotation to either side, and the pilot had a selection of missiles at their command. Hellfire missiles were your father's personal favorites. He went through a lot of them, though he used Copperhead and Sparrow missiles as needed. She carried a few Bullpup missiles for heavy duty destruction, and had the capability to carry a pair of nuclear tipped Shrike missiles. Moffett used the pair he had when he stole her, and your father never asked me to replace those. Dominic said they decided it was more firepower than they wanted to deal with and didn't want to risk an accident with handling that kind of material."
"I can't blame them for that one. I wouldn't want them either," Red admitted. "You said the munitions were recovered when it disappeared?"
"Found at the Lair. I had it moved to somewhere more discrete where the Firm could 'discover' and disposed of it. Wherever she is now, she's not armed."
Red and Sam sat there, listening intently to everything Michael was saying. Her mind was still reeling with the thought of having an entire lab and team devoted to nothing but the tech and mechanics that would go into what was now sitting on a warehouse floor, looking rather decrepit. "You seem awful confident you're going to find it Michael."
Michael gave a slight shrug. "Sooner or later, someone will stumble across Airwolf and one way or another I'll find a way to get a hold of her, even if that means I have to go up against the Firm to do it."
Red stood up and began to gather the dishes from the table, her expression hard to read. "After my father technically stole it from the Firm, did you ever get your hands on it again?" Red asked. "Was there a point you could have taken it back?"
Michael considered that for a moment as he made to rise and assist. Sam waved him to sit back down as he stood and gathered a few more dishes. "I can count four times where I could have seized her, but it would have meant betraying my word to your father."
Sam gave him a curious look. "I got the impression that when you worked for the Firm, you were supposed to get Airwolf back from Hawke any way possible. Why does it sound like you preferred for him to keep it?"
Michael gave him a long look then did the unexpected. He reached up and took off his glasses.
Red had come back out of the kitchen to finish clearing the breakfast table and found herself staring at the sight of what rested under that dark lens. The scar tissue covering the eye socket made it clear that the eye had been taken out. The eyelids were gone and someone had done their best to make it look as unattractive as possible, using skin grafts over the eye socket to close it up. "I wear an eye patch when I sleep," he told them. "But I can't wear it when I shower, thus my mirror at home is reversible so I don't have to look at what Moffett's attack did to me."
He put his glasses back on, covering the unnerving sight up again. "I had the perfect pilot in my employ and I wanted the perfect aircraft for him to fly," he explained. "I found the perfect designer in Moffett. I discovered too late that I'd hired a mad man, a sociopathic rapist and killer to build the perfect weapon. Don't get me wrong, Hawke wasn't perfect, but he had a streak of honor a mile wide."
The sound of dishes being cleaned off in the kitchen and water running in the sink carried into the dining room. Nothing further was said by either party for awhile as Red seemed to be digesting some of the things that Michael had told her.
Michael got up and pushed in his chair at the table. He went into the living room, obviously a third wheel in the kitchen and sat down in his favorite chair, waiting. The sun was beginning to rise over the mountains to the east and reflected off the lake.
When Sam and Red finally finished up with breakfast dishes, they made their way over to the couch and sat where they had the previous night. Neither said anything to Michael, both lost in thought.
He looked from them to the pile of coals in the fireplace. "Airwolf is a weapon, first and foremost. Even in Hawke's hands she killed a lot of people. But in his hands, she never killed an innocent. Hawke, Cait and Santini helped a lot of people in the end. I felt that she was safe with them, and more to the point, I felt I was safe with them having her. I still have nightmares, more than twenty-five years later, about being attacked by that helicopter. Not knowing where she's at and who has her, doesn't help me sleep at night."
Before Red could delve further into any more questions, her keen ears caught a whisper of approaching sound outside.
Michael chuckled at her look. "My ride is here, I take it?" he asked, reaching for his cane. He looked at it thoughtfully for a moment. "I think I left my old cane up here when we closed the place up," he told her. "Did you happen find one?"
"We found a cane when we were unpacking everything," replied Sam as he looked towards the umbrella stand near the door where it was tucked away. "It's a good thing it was here because Red needed it for awhile after the crash."
As the first sounds of the chopper outside finally became audible to the others, Red pushed herself up off the couch. "How did you know the chopper was coming?"
"The look on your face is the same one that your father got when an aircraft approached the cabin. Usually a good minute before I could hear it. I always said he had better ears than a snooper mic, and I'd say you got them too."
She blinked in surprise at this then nodded. As Michael stood, she helped him with his jacket. "What kind of aircraft is that?" she asked, not recognizing the sound of the props.
Michael reached to pick up his overnight bag, but Sam got it first, shouldering the carry strap and motioning towards the door as the aircraft landed outside, the engines shutting down. "Guardian Angels predominantly use Bell 429 WLGs, the successor to the Bell 222 line that the Lady was based off of. It has a wheel based landing system, rather than skids, so it's a little more stable on rough ground and much easier to move around on an air field."
Red got the silver cane out of the stand as they approached the door and handed it over. "It's very distinctive."
Michael nodded, looking at the snarling wolf head of the cane with a smile. "I would have had to leave it behind if I'd had it with me when I went underground. I left it up here with the hopes of eventually retrieving it. I'm glad that it was able to help you when you needed it."
They went outside to find a sleek navy blue helicopter had landed on the beach, bands of white and gold on the sides and tail in the Guardian Angels colors. Bridges was exiting as they opened the cabin door, a manila envelope in hand. He ducked a little under the spinning props as he headed towards the cabin to meet his father. His smile was a little wary as he came up to porch where rest of the group stood and stepped forward to take the bag from Sam with a murmur of thanks. Looking at Red, he offered out the envelope. "It's a peace offering. I think I owe you an apology," he told her. "What I did at the air show was unforgivable, but it was the only thing we could think of to get you alone to talk to you on such short notice."
She stared at him a moment, then nodded abruptly as she accepted the envelope. "Apology accepted. But don't do it again."
"And I will apologize again for my trespass last night, and thank you for your gracious hospitality," Michael added, his smile gentle. "Thank you for humoring an old man and his memories."
Red shifted slightly under his gaze. "Those memories gave me more insight into a family I never got the chance to meet," she finally replied. "So I have to thank you for that at least. But I've noticed you never asked if there's been any progress in our finding a certain item."
His smile turned wry as he took his son's arm for the walk down to the helicopter. "Trust takes time, Miss Hawke. You know how to reach me now when you've got something to tell me."
With that, the two men turned and began making their way towards the beach and the waiting helicopter. Red watched them go and mulled over her possible choices.
As they slowly walked away, Red looked down at the envelope in her hand. Carefully breaking the seal on it, she opened it to see what Bridges had to offer. Inside were three smaller envelopes. She handed the manila envelope to Sam and opened one at random.
It held information and contact numbers for several antique equipment dealers, including lists of several of their most recent items for sale. Some of the equipment on those lists were items she'd been looking to purchase for the Bone Yard side of her business, including a WWII Jeep, Abrams tank and a tri-plane, all advertised to be in working order.
Stuffing the information back into the envelope, she hurriedly opened the second. It was an information file, and though it was multiple pages long, a quick glance through it showed her it was about the Firm's failed attempts to bug her businesses and home, as well as a warning that their phones were likely being monitored. A note inside the cover of the file from Michael, however, assured her that her line of communications would always be secure, or he would find a way to let her know.
Looking down at the information in her hands, and then up at the men as they began to board the chopper, she finally decided upon something before closing the folder and shoving it along with the unopened third envelope at Sam. "Take these inside. I'll meet you later today. There's something I've got to do so I need you to trust me." With the last few words she spoke, she had to raise her voice as the Bell's engines began to cycle faster, and the noise level increased.
Before Sam could truly respond to her other than a surprised look and a hesitant nod, she turned and headed towards the helicopter at a quick jog. When she got up to the sliding cabin door on the chopper, Michael had already opened the door to look questioningly at her. "Do you two have anywhere to be this afternoon?" she asked, having to raise her voice to be heard.
Before Bridges answered, he handed her a spare headset. "Not at this point, no," he stated once Red slipped it on. He glanced at his father who nodded in agreement to his statement.
"Good. Do you trust me?" she asked, looking up at both men then turning her full attention to Michael. "Really trust me?"
Michael considered how to answer that for a moment. "At this point, in all honestly, I believe that I trust you more than you trust me," he admitted.
She smiled at the honesty in that statement. "Have your pilots fly Sam down to your Los Angeles office in my Ranger. I'm going to assume you have a landing zone there. I'll fly your bird and take you there later. I know your birds clean. I haven't had the time to be a hundred percent sure mine are."
Sam came up and laid his hand on her shoulder. "You sure about this, Red?" he yelled.
She leaned towards Sam's ear so she didn't have to yell at the top of her lungs to be heard. "'Trust has to begin somewhere,'" she quoted, never taking her eyes off of Michael, who nodded to his son.
TBC -
