Hawke dropped off Seb at the outskirts of Van Nuys, grateful yet again that when Karen Hansen had last worked on the Lady she'd tweaked the radar imaging to allow the Lady to pass as a jet ranger - so long as she didn't fly too fast. At least, he thought, Seb would emerge from this adventure hopefully without incurring Michael's wrath.
Reaching for the communication button, he radioed in for air clearance to Red Star, knowing better than to hope Michael hadn't noticed his prize jewel's disappearance.
Easing around to the landing pad near the hanger, Airwolf settled to the ground with her signature growl. Hawke was out and to the ground before her rotors had even stopped spinning.
He'd barely taken two steps towards the hanger when Michael stepped out. Taking in the agent's icy, controlled demeanor, Hawke sighed. So much for him avoiding his wrath.
"Michael," he greeted him, giving him an anticipatory look.
"Hawke," he returned, striding towards the pilot, the limp readily evident this morning. Sympathetically, Hawke eyed the spy as he headed for him. If he was feeling every ache and pain this morning, then he knew Archangel had to be hating life - bound to make a man grumpy, he mused with a twitch to the lips.
Reaching him, Hawke didn't have to wait long for Archangel's reaction. "Have fun, Hawke?" he asked, pale blue eye meeting the other's gaze balefully.
"Why yes, Michael," Hawke rejoined, smothering a smile. "I did."
"Dammit Hawke!" the other snarled, "How many times do I have to remind you. Airwolf is not your personal toy!"
"And I told you, Michael," Hawke retorted, his own temper surging, "I'd do whatever I had to do!"
"Yeah," the white-clad agent said subsiding, his gaze dropping to his shoes. "You did say that. Marella told me I should have listened."
"Well, maybe you should have," Hawke rasped.
"So, did you find anything?" the spy asked, keeping pace with Hawke as he headed for the hanger.
Trying not to let his jaw drop, String tossed a surprised glance Michael's way. Surely he wasn't getting off that easily?
Apparently so, he realized reading the sincerity in Michael's question.
"Don't know. Haven't had time to decode the files."
"Bring them in and I'll get Marella to give you a hand."
"Thanks," he said dryly, "but I think I've got it covered."
"Well, the offer stands," Michael replied, turning away to the elevator. "Let Seb know."
Unwittingly, Hawke's gaze snapped to Michael even as the doors closed shut behind him. So much for keeping that a secret, he mused ruefully, heading off to the lockers.
An hour later, Hawke walked into the offices of Santini Air, hair still curling damply at his collar and realized his luck hadn't improved. If anything, he thought in frustration, it was getting worse.
"String," Saint John greeted him coolly, his big, raw-boned frame sprawled in the desk chair. "Sorry," he said casting a glance at the younger man seated across from him, "this is getting a little confusing. Hawke," he said trying again, hazel eyes decidedly frosty.
Blowing out an exasperated breath, Stringfellow Hawke regarded his older brother stonily. "I see you and Roper have met."
"You might say that," Saint John said, abruptly heaving himself to his feet. "No thanks to you, I might add," he said snarling.
"I thought I told you to lay low," Hawke said, turning to Roper and ignoring his brother.
"And I told you, I don't need a babysitter," Roper tossed back, his own temper flaring.
"All I said was to lay low and give me a chance to look into it," Hawke fired back, reining in his own rising temper with difficulty. "Hell," he said gesturing wildly, "it hasn't even been 24 hours!"
Irritably, Roper conceded the point. "So, have you found anything?" he asked blue eyes flashing.
"I've been a little busy," Hawke retorted.
"Busy?" Roper volleyed back. "Well, it's great to know it's such a priority with you!"
Muscles tensed, Hawke spun on him. "I have plotted a break in, stolen a helicopter and ticked off the deputy director of the FIRM, not to mention stealing some files and getting shot at. It's been a busy evening! I'm sorry if it hasn't moved as quickly as you would have liked." Angrily, he faced them down, the muscle ticking in his lean jaw the only overt sign of what his control was costing him. "I'm working on it!"
Roper back off a little, knowing he was pushing his luck. Saint John however had no such compunction. "You planning on letting us in on it?" he demanded.
"Like I said, I'm working on it. I'll let you know when I find out something."
Disgruntled Saint John backed off, knowing that was all he'd get for now.
"So what happened to bring you back so soon?" Hawke asked, concern lighting his features as a disquieting thought about why Roper had rushed back occurred to him.
"Nothing," Roper denied, his gaze skittering away from Hawke's.
"Right," Hawke drawled, his eyes narrowing. "Now how 'bout
the truth?"
Uneasily the dark-haired pilot shifted his weight. "What makes you think it's not?"
"Call it intuition," he said. "Nothing's ever that simple around here."
"You're right about that," Roper conceded abruptly. He met his gaze and held it. "My ticket just about got punched yesterday."
"Where?" Hawke demanded.
"In flight, engine flamed out - almost didn't recover it in time."
"What makes you so sure it wasn't mechanical failure?"
"You know the flight check those planes go through, Hawke," Roper tossed back.
""Yeah, I do," Hawke replied. "But it still happens."
"It doesn't usually leave you a note when it does though!"
"Huh-hh? What do you mean leave you a note?" Saint John blurted out, reminding both men of his presence in the cramped office.
Turning his attention back to Hawke, Roper continued. "I found a note in my locker when I finally made it back. Somebody had scrawled, "won't miss next time" on a piece of paper and shoved it in.
Searching his face and seeing the truth, Hawke granted the point. "Who knows?" he asked.
"You, me. Saint John. Nobody else. Who am I going to tell Hawke? I can't tell the friendlies from the man-eaters anymore."
Pacing, Hawke rubbed his chin thinking. "I'll see if I can't get Archangel to bring you in. Re-assign you elsewhere. We need to rally our forces, at least 'til we know what we're up against," he mused.
"I don't want to lose my career over this, Hawke," Roper cautioned. "I've worked damn hard to get where I am. I'd rather not throw it all away."
"Fair enough," Hawke replied, slapping the pilot on the shoulder. "Just keep in mind, your career isn't worth much if you're dead. Besides," he added with a snort, "Michael's nothing if not diplomatic."
"Hawke," Archangel's voice came over the secured video line. "Our best bet is to have Roper re-assigned here to Red Star. We can keep an eye on him that way and put our heads together. I'll send the orders via Langley immediately."
"Thanks, Michael," Hawke said, trying to ignore the relief that oozed through his body at the spy's words.
"I could tell you, don't thank me 'til you find out what it's going to cost you," Michael rejoined, humor lighting his blue eye.
"And what's it going to cost me, Michael?" Hawke asked, his gaze narrowing.
"I'll let you know," the other said, signing off with a grin.
"Well, at least that's taken care of," Hawke said, turning back to the others gathered in Dom's old office.
"Yeah, but what exactly am I supposed to do?" roper questioned, gesturing abruptly with his right hand. "I don't fly helicopters, and I'm not exactly a spy!"
"Well," Hawke said his eyes brightening momentarily before he answered. "Maybe it's about time we changed all that."
The other scowled.
"Look at it this way, it's a learning opportunity," Hawke said shrugging. "Who knows, maybe you'll like flying helos and it sure won't hurt your resume any."
"Maybe you're right," Roper conceded.
"Besides," the older pilot tossed back with a devilish grin. "Airwolf isn't your regular old helicopter."
Two pairs of stunned eyes followed his retreating back as he headed out into the hanger.
"Hey, are you guys coming or what?" Hawke yelled back. "I thought we'd go see Seb and check out what he's found out."
Scrambling, they headed out behind him.