When they landed the next time it was still dark. Airwolf had beaten the sun to California. Instead of an airstrip in the middle of nowhere they touched down on a helipad on the roof of a sprawling three-storey building.
By this time Hawke was genuinely asleep, as was Ann. Elena blinked drowsily as they settled to the concrete. "Where are we?" she asked, peering out.
"Welcome to California, Miss Wojnowski," said Dominic cheerfully.
Before Airwolf's rotors had come to a complete halt they were surrounded by what looked like a small army of people dressed in white. Hawke was gently but efficiently removed from the cockpit and loaded onto a stretcher. He came awake just as they were fastening the straps and, obviously having no idea where he was or what was going on but not taking any chances, promptly began to lash out, catching the nearest person across the midriff with more strength than by rights he should have been able to summon. Dominic jumped out, rushing to help calm him down, but Elena beat him to it, catching Hawke's hands in her own and doing her best to reassure him that he wasn't headed straight to another Green Hills.
Dom fell back and remained standing by Airwolf as the majority of the group accompanied the stretcher off the helipad toward an elevator. More than anything he still wanted to talk to Hawke, but it was obvious that now still wasn't the time. Besides, they couldn't leave Airwolf sitting on the Firm's roof, and he couldn't let Caitlin try to set her down in the Lair, solo and in the dark. In any case Hawke seemed to want Elena's reassurance at this point, not his.
"Dom!" yelled Hawke, just as the group with the stretcher reached the elevator. Dominic hurried over, hoping that Hawke wasn't picking this moment to have a tantrum about being in a hospital. God knew he looked like he needed to be in one. "I'm right here, String. What is it?"
"Make sure they look after Elena, okay? And Ann."
"Sure I will. Don't you worry."
The elevator doors opened and the stretcher and its attendants disappeared inside. There was still a little knot of people around Airwolf. One of them was Marella. Angelica, or Ann, or whoever, was standing a few feet away from them, arms wrapped around herself, looking lost.
Dominic exchanged a few words with Marella, who nodded and went over to the other woman. "Come on, Miss Horn. You look as if you could use some breakfast and a good cup of coffee."
"It's Strete, actually," Ann corrected her. "My name's not Angelica Horn any more. I'm not sure it ever really was."
"Oh? Well, we'll get our records straightened out, don't worry. This way." She led Ann toward the elevator. The remaining Firm people followed her. Dominic and Caitlin were left alone with Airwolf.
"Come on," said Dom after a while. "You and me got to put the Lady to bed. Then I think that idea of breakfast and coffee sounds good. You get in the back. I'll drive." He went around and opened Airwolf's starboard hatch.
When they were back in the air, Caitlin said, "Do you think he's all right?"
"How should I know? He looked okay. Not okay okay, but okay. If you know what I mean."
"Yeah."
"Anyhow, we got him back. That's the main thing." There was a pause. "What say we have some champagne with breakfast?"
Running true to form, Hawke adamantly refused to spend more than twelve hours under the Firm's roof. Dominic had expected that. After returning Airwolf to the Lair, eating a huge breakfast and grabbing a few hours' sleep, he had spent the rest of the day opening up Hawke's cabin, turning the water and electricity back on, bringing in firewood and restocking the kitchen. Dust was everywhere. Dom wiped off the bar, dining table and kitchen counters, then decided to leave the rest of the housecleaning for Hawke to worry about.
He brought Tet up as well. The big coonhound had adapted philosophically to an urban lifestyle, but seemed delighted to be back at the cabin. When Dom had reluctantly made the decision back in the fall to shut the place up until Hawke came back, Caitlin had volunteered to give Tet a home. Since then she'd been threatening on a regular basis to send Hawke a bill for all her property that his dog had chewed up, when ‒ not if (they never had allowed themselves to say "if") ‒ Hawke returned. Now Dom wondered if she'd really carry through with her threat.
He flew a silent, bruised-looking Hawke up to the cabin in the evening. When he'd gone to pick him up at the Firm Marella had given him an extremely brief summary of what had happened, but had felt it was up to Hawke himself to supply more information, when and how he felt like doing it. However, Hawke wasn't in a talkative mood, and although it was nearly killing Dominic not to press for more details, he managed to keep relatively quiet himself. He had thought the other man might have invited Elena along, but it seemed she'd made arrangements to stay temporarily with Caitlin. He dropped Hawke off on the dock.
"I really don't like this idea of you stayin' up here on your own, you know," he couldn't stop himself from saying as Hawke turned around to lift out a couple more bags of groceries.
"I know, Dom. I appreciate your concern. And I know we haven't had a chance to talk yet. But I just want to not have anyone around for twenty-four hours, at least. You understand?"
"Yeah. I'll be back tomorrow, though. Make sure you're really okay."
Hawke stepped back. "I'll catch us a couple trout for supper," he yelled over the noise for the rotors.
Dom nodded, gave him a grin and a thumbs up, and the Jet Ranger lifted off and headed back in the direction of the city.
Stringfellow Hawke hoisted the bags, walked slowly up the wooden steps to the cabin, and went inside.
Like a man dying of thirst in the desert who has just discovered a well, Hawke drank in solitude and couldn't get enough of it. He still wasn't ready for company when Dominic Santini, true to his word, reappeared the following evening, especially when he discovered that he'd brought Michael Coldsmith Briggs with him.
"I only caught enough fish for two people," he said by way of welcome.
"That's all right," said Michael easily. "There must be something else edible around here. Dominic told me he bought a kitchenful of groceries for you."
Hawke grunted. "How d'you feel about canned pork and beans?"
"Suits me. I'm glad to see you too, Hawke."
Hawke grinned and extended his hand. Michael clasped it.
After supper ‒ two plates of trout and one grilled steak, along with baked potatoes and a mammoth salad ‒ the three men sat down in front of the fireplace. Hawke had already built a sizeable blaze against the chilly weather of early March, and now he added a couple more logs to it. The cut-glass decanter of brandy sat on the coffee table so that each man could help himself.
Hawke slouched on the sofa. He was tired and his legs were sore, and he really wasn't in the mood for what he knew was coming. Archangel, on the other hand, looked bright and eager and extremely inquisitive, ready to rush in where Dominic had hesitated to tread. "Well?" he asked after he had filled his glass to a decent height.
"Well what?"
"Come on, Hawke. We need your story."
"You've already got it. I told Dr. Greenspan at the Firm yesterday."
"And I'm guessing that was a well-edited version."
"Ann can probably tell you more than I can."
"We've already got her story too. She wasn't there, until the end."
Hawke fortified himself with a gulp of brandy and unwillingly gave them a less expurgated version of the events he had described to the Firm's physician. Refreshingly, Archangel's interest appeared to be quite detached; he treated Hawke's stony-faced recital as if this was a debriefing after a routine mission. Hawke still left some of the details out. Not even Dom, and certainly not Archangel, needed to know everything that had happened. Even so, it was enough to leave both his listeners silent for several minutes after he finished.
Dom came over and embraced him, hard. "I'm sorry, String," he whispered. His voice cracked.
"For what?" said Hawke gruffly. Dominic's sympathy was proving harder to take than Archangel's businesslike questioning. "Nothing you could have done. I had a funny feeling somebody was watching me for awhile before I wiped out on the bike, but I never did manage to see anyone. And after it happened ‒ well, Horn obviously had the whole thing perfectly planned."
"He's a past master at covering his tracks," said Michael. "We didn't even have any information to indicate he was back in the country."
"Yeah, how about all that information of yours?" said Dominic cuttingly. "With that fancy computer and all those agents, how come nobody knew what Horn was up to?"
"Well, you know how perfect hindsight is," Michael replied evenly, knowing as well as Hawke did that Dominic had to say something to blow off steam. "We had no more reason to suspect Horn than any of the ‒ oh, dozen or so other people who might also have wanted to take a crack at Hawke, and had the means to cover their tracks so well. We did try to investigate him, as a matter of fact, but he was buried as deeply as ever. As I said, we had no idea he was even in the country."
"He probably wasn't," said Hawke. "I'll bet there's not much that can connect him to this, aside from Ann and that doctor."
"Well, we're certainly searching for the two of them right now. And we've already turned up some very interesting information about that Green Hills clinic. I doubt that place could pass more than a cursory inspection from any licensing authority. And we definitely want to talk to one or two of the patients there ‒ once they're not so well-medicated, that is."
Hawke looked at him sharply. "You mean there're other people who shouldn't have been there?"
"Mmm-hmm. It looks as though John Bradford Horn, amongst others, may have been maintaining the place as a sort of research facility cum holding area cum dumping ground for test subjects, such as yourself. The primary qualification for most of the people working there seems to be an ability to keep their mouths shut. In most cases this was because they had a criminal record ‒ ranging from speeding tickets to assault and battery ‒ and knew they'd have a hard time getting a job anywhere else if they tried to blow the whistle."
A pause. "What about Elena?" said Hawke finally, closely inspecting the contents of his balloon glass.
"Miss Wojnowski does indeed have a record, but nothing too heinous. She freely admitted it when we asked. A matter of walking out of a grocery store and neglecting to pay for her purchases, five years ago."
Hawke shrugged, then said suddenly, "What about a woman called Karen Moseby?"
"I don't recall the name, but I could find out if you want."
"Never mind. I can guess what her problem was."
"I'm guessing she's someone you didn't exactly have a rapport with," said Michael drily.
Hawke scowled at his brandy. "Goddamn bitch," he muttered.
Archangel raised an eyebrow, but Hawke didn't elucidate. There was another pause. "What happens to Ann now?" Hawke asked.
"In protective custody at the moment, pending placement in the witness protection program. She's quite willing to testify against John Bradford Horn. Obviously she'll make an extremely valuable witness for the D.A."
Dominic snorted. "If there's ever a trial, you mean. I notice you didn't say how close you thought you were to tracking him down."
Michael opened his mouth to reply, but Hawke cut across him. "Doesn't matter. You'll never find Horn by looking for him. There's only one way of getting to him for sure."
"Which is?"
"He's going to come looking for me."
Dominic nearly exploded. "String, he's already come looking for you, in case you've forgotten. That didn't work out so well for you, did it? The only reason you're here right now is 'cause you had a little help from your friends!"
"I know that, Dom," said Hawke, looking full at him. "And I might need that help again."
"Do you have a plan?" said Michael quickly, leaning forward while Dominic flung his hands up and rolled his eyes heavenwards.
Hawke shook his head slowly. "Not yet. I haven't even figured out what he wanted me for in the first place." He heaved himself off the sofa and topped up all their glasses. "Stay tuned."
Dom waved a dismissive hand at him. "You're nuts, you know that?" Realizing what he'd just said, he looked horrified. "God, I'm sorry, String ‒ "
"Forget it," said Hawke with a grin. "You're probably right, anyway."
After that they sipped the brandy in an easy silence, broken only by the crackle of the fire and an occasional yawn from Tet, until Dom said, "Well, some of us have an early start in the morning. Michael, you about ready to go?"
"Mmm." Michael quickly finished the last of his drink. "Hawke, the doctors are going to want to see you again. You know that, don't you?"
Hawke grunted.
"They need to make sure whatever it was that the Fairling woman gave you is completely out of your system, and that your head's screwed on straight again. Or at least as straight as it ever was to begin with. And they've made up a physiotherapy schedule for you to get your leg muscles built up."
Hawke grunted again.
"Don't worry," said Michael, getting to his feet and following Dominic to the door. "I told them to leave you alone for a week. But if you happen to notice John Bradford Horn lurking behind a tree, you let me know, all right? I'll send in Zebra Squad."
After the others had gone Hawke realized he was too tired to do anything about cleaning up in the kitchen, too tired even to climb the stairs to the loft and go to bed. He snagged a blanket from the storage chest under one of the windows and went to sleep on the couch.
Halfway back to Van Nuys in the Santini Air helicopter, Archangel said, "Well? What do you think?"
Dominic kept his eyes straight ahead. "I think he's way too thin, and his eyes are weird."
Michael nodded. That might not be a proper medical description, but it summed up Hawke's state pretty accurately.
"I don't see why you're not worried about Horn trying to nab String again while he's vulnerable. He shouldn't be up at that cabin on his own."
"In the first place, that cabin is probably the safest place for him. Nobody but a deer or a rabbit can sneak up on him there. And I meant what I said about sending in Zebra Squad. But he'd been spending most of his time in the city when Horn got him in July, hadn't he?"
Dominic nodded. Santini Air had actually taken on two film contracts at the same time last summer, something that he swore he would never do again. It had been highly lucrative, but it meant that all three of them had practically been living at the hangar for several weeks.
"Well, then. I think Horn realized it would be a helluva lot easier to get to Hawke in the city rather than on his home turf. Secondly, Horn may be despicable, but he's not stupid. He was there at that clinic in New Hampshire when Hawke escaped. Now we know that he's exceptionally good at getting out of tight places, but even he is going to want to go to ground for a while at this point, keep a lower profile than a snake until all the shouting dies down a bit. If I were him, I wouldn't stick my nose out of my hole for at least a month."
"I still think we could do more. Why couldn't you put him up at Knightsbridge for a while?"
"We're not in the hotel business, Dominic," said Archangel mildly.
"You know what I mean. At least if he was at the Firm he'd be safe and you could make sure he was healthy at the same time."
"And you think he'd stay at Knightsbridge?"
"No," Dom admitted reluctantly.
"Besides, if Horn has half the brains I'm giving him credit for, he'll cut his losses at this point and move on to some other dastardly scheme. Between losing Ann and us being able to connect him with Green Hills, he's got a lot more to worry about than Hawke and Airwolf ‒ if Airwolf was ever meant to be part of this."
"I don't think brains have anything to do with it," said Dominic soberly. "I think we're talking about obsession here. Are you gonna tell me I'm wrong?"
Archangel sighed. "No. I'm not."