April 17th 1965
Side by side, a tall, broad-shouldered man in white and a slender red-head paced down the hall. Stride for stride she matched him until his fingers reached out for hers, as they turned the corner.
Ahead of them, the head of the committee waited. "So glad of you to join us, Michael," he clipped out. "Ms. Delacorte."
Michael shot Alex an amused glance, sensing the laughter in her green eyes as she met his. Figured Zeus would interrupt their honeymoon and he'd have the gall to be the one acting put out.
"So, you said you had someone I had to meet?" the Deputy Director asked.
Zeus scowled, obviously not thrilled with Alex's presence for this conversation. The only problem was, Archangel's security clearance was essentially as high as his own and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Tristen had seen to that.
He shot Alex a withering look before continuing. She simply grinned.
Disgusted, he returned his attention to Archangel. "Our design and development team has received the requested funding for the project you asked about. We think we've found the man to head it up."
Michael shot him a startled glance. It'd been his understanding, the project was a longshot. "Oh?" he asked.
Zeus grimaced. "Seems the government is rethinking it's ideas on defense after the whole Bay of Pigs incident and the Cuban missile crisis. Your suggestion came at an opportune time."
"Really?" Michael commented dryly, fighting the urge to throw a triumphant fist in the air. He shot Alex a quick glance, stifling a grin at the pleased look on her face. Zeus might not be pleased, but he sure was.
"Well," he said gesturing with his left hand, "lead on, then. I look forward to meeting this genius of yours."
Glowering at the insolent pup Tristen had saddled him with, Zeus spun on his heel. Ten years his junior and the bloody man thought he ruled the roost, he thought in disgust, preceding him down the hall. It'd be almost worth it to see him fall on his face over this one.
Helicopters change the face of how war was fought…oh, please.
A lone figure detached himself from the growing shadows at the end of the hall. Dressed in a dark flight suit, he waited.
Stumbling Alex's head swam alarmingly; her vision abruptly hazing with images of blood, death and destruction; her own, others. From where she couldn't say. Stomach churning, she reached out desperately, catching herself on Michael's arm…
Zeus grinned. Here at least was a man who knew his place. He bridged the gap between them, gesturing to the man at his side.
A step behind, Michael offered the pilot his hand, vaguely aware of Alex's fingers tightening on his arm.
"Archangel, I'd like you to meet Dr. Charles Henry Moffet…"