Chapter Fifteen
Centered in the ring of floodlights, Airwolf looked every bit as vicious and predatory as the machine his nightmares had conjured up. Hawke sat in the jeep and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold of the desert night.
He wasn't running away, but he didn't exactly want to get any closer, either.
At last Dominic shifted restlessly behind the wheel, getting more and more uncomfortable. "So ‒ ah ‒ are we going to sit here all night?"
It seemed like a perfectly good idea to Hawke, as opposed to getting out of the jeep and going any closer to the helicopter, but he knew Dominic was right. No, he couldn't just sit there. That would mean that John Bradford Horn, no matter where he was, alive or dead, had won. Horn and Dr. Fairling had done this to him. Their drugs, their words whispered or shouted into his mind, had skewed his perceptions, made him feel this fear that had absolutely no basis in reality. Airwolf was his, damnit. He knew she looked intimidating as hell to a lot of people. He had never been one of them. Come on, Hawke. You're the pilot of this ship, for God's sake. Get your ass over there. You made yourself walk when you were supposed to be stuck in a wheelchair. You can walk the twenty feet to that machine.
"You okay, String? You need any help?" Dominic was asking anxiously.
"I'm fine." Great. Now he was giving Dom the creeps.
He got the jeep's passenger door open and climbed out. He walked steadily towards the helicopter. Before he had covered half the distance between them, he realized his heart was racing. In spite of the cold he was rapidly becoming drenched in sweat. He looked at Airwolf again, and had the feeling that behind the black windshield something was looking back at him. Something malevolent.
Get a grip, he told himself sternly. It's an inanimate object. You might just as well be afraid of the jeep, or even a friggin' toaster. What you're feeling isn't real.
Dominic went past him and opened the starboard hatch. "C'mon, String. She's not gonna bite."
He made it the rest of the way, on legs that had gone stiff. He peeped around the hatch. Nothing there. Of course not.
"I don't get it," Dominic was saying. "You flew all the way from New Hampshire to California in her. Didn't seem to bother you that much then."
"I don't know why, Dom. I was pretty much out of it at that point."
"And now that you're thinking more clearly, you're more mixed up? That doesn't make any sense."
"None of this makes any sense," growled Hawke. "I really wish you could explain it to me, Dom, because I sure as hell can't. All I know is, coming out here was a bad idea. It looks like Michael was right. I'm not fit to fly a kite, let alone Airwolf."
"Aw, what does Michael know about it? You got your act together back at that clinic place, when Horn and that doctor figured they had you under their thumbs. You fooled them pretty good. I'm bettin' you can do the same thing to Michael."
Hawke shook his head. "Not tonight, I can't. Sorry, Dom."
"No need to apologize to me, kid. Look, there are a coupla things I might as well check over while we're here. You mind waiting for a few minutes?"
"No." He retreated a few yards, over to the area where they stored the minimal amount of supplies that they kept on hand here. Dominic raised the starboard engine cowling, peered at something inside, and came over for an oil can and rag. Hawke suspected that anything in that compartment needed lubrication about as much as he needed a big greasy burger, and that Dom was just killing time hoping that a bit more proximity to Airwolf would help him relax. It wasn't working. He found that, although he didn't like looking at the helicopter, at the same time he didn't want to turn his back on it . . . just in case.
Dominic puttered around the engine compartment, while taking an occasional glance at him when he thought Hawke wasn't noticing. There was no doubt that Hawke had put some weight back on and physically looked as fit as ever, but it seemed to the older man that there was still a creeping trace of that weirdness in his eyes, especially now. Maybe it was because his gaze kept darting around the cave, not focussing on anything for longer than a few seconds. He seemed unable to look at Airwolf at all. "Y'know, String, I'm being nice to you tonight," said Dominic, "but if this goes on, I'm gonna have to kick your butt right into that cockpit."
"Believe me, I'd kick my own butt if I could."
Dominic snorted with laughter. He put down the oil can, poked around at the engine for a bit longer, then finally replaced the cowling, not a moment too soon for Hawke. But the older man wasn't ready to go yet. "Y'know, while we're out here, there's another job we should really take care of."
"Yeah?"
"We mothballed her last fall, String, after you'd been missing for about three months. Cait and I didn't plan on flying her without you. We unloaded all the ordnance, then, when we found out you were at that clinic place, we didn't take the time to do more than just put the minimum back in. We figured we were just going to be springing you from a hospital, we weren't expecting any firefights." He jerked his head in the direction of a pile of crates, sitting in the shadows off to one side. "Think maybe we should get all that stuff re-loaded?"
So much for stuffing Airwolf down Horn's throat. Loading the helicopter's full complement of missiles and ammunition would take at least an hour, and right at the moment that was an hour Hawke would rather spend nearly anyplace else. "Let's do it the next time. It's pretty late and you've got an early start in the morning." Dominic had a charter flight leaving for Yosemite at 0600.
"Whatever you say." Dom put everything away and turned out the lights, then killed the battery-powered generator. Hawke swung the jeep around and headed out of the Lair.
The moon wasn't up, but the starlight reflecting off the dusting of snow was sufficient for him to follow the faint track without turning on the headlights. Around them, darkness and silence stretched for miles.
All the same, Hawke had only driven about a hundred yards from the entranceway to the Lair before he started feeling the prickling sensation in the back of his neck that warned him that someone, somewhere, was watching him.
He'd taken Dominic's suggestion about leaving his gun behind, and he knew that Dom was unarmed as well. He'd kept a gun locked in a storage compartment aboard Airwolf, though. He said urgently, "Hang on, Dom," stood on the brakes, then reversed as fast as he could.
"What the ‒ " Dom yelped, hanging on for dear life.
They were within fifty feet of the cavern entrance when someone shot out the rear tires of the jeep. It swerved violently and the back end impacted hard with a massive boulder. Hawke slammed the gearshift into first, hauled the wheel around and stamped on the gas, still trying to make it back into the Lair. The maimed jeep lurched forward until another jeep appeared in front of him and rocked to a halt directly in his path. Two men, armed with night vision goggles and M16 assault rifles ‒ probably the ones who had shot out his tires ‒ jumped out. Hawke tried to reverse again, but by now there was a second vehicle behind him, a taller 4X4 that looked like an expensive model of Land Rover. Its headlights blinded him as he spun around to look over his shoulder. It stopped a few yards away; four more men with similar guns and night gear emerged. Six extremely lethal-looking weapons were now pointed at the Santini Air jeep.
The front passenger door of the Land Rover opened and someone else stepped out in a leisurely manner. Hawke squinted, trying to identify the figure silhouetted in the Land Rover's headlights. "Good evening, Mr. Hawke," said a voice. "I suggest you toss out your weapons and get out of your jeep very slowly."
Hawke felt his stomach contract as he realized two things. The voice belonged to John Bradford Horn; and all six M16's were trained, not on him, but on Dominic Santini.
There was a pause, then Hawke said steadily, "We're unarmed."
"Really? Forgive me if I have a hard time believing that." Hawke saw the head jerk. It must have been a command, because two of the men from the Land Rover strode forward. One seized Hawke and the other took Dom, pulling them from the jeep and giving them a quick but thorough patdown, then returning to Horn's side.
The Land Rover's door opened again and someone else climbed out. This time Hawke recognized the person just as she stepped into the glare of the headlights. It was Dr. Fairling.
"Mr. Hawke, would you come over here, please?" said Horn.
Stiffly, Hawke moved forward.
"String! What are you doing?" demanded Dominic. He started to lean over to grip the younger man's arm.
The sound of six rifles coming to bear on them was very loud in the desert night.
"Shut up, Dom," growled Hawke. He came to a halt a few paces in front of Horn and Fairling. Raising his hand, he tried to shield his eyes from the glare of the headlights.
Horn didn't seem to be in any hurry to move things along. He looked Hawke up and down slowly, with the kind of professional interest a butcher would show in a side of beef. Hawke kept his own face impassive. He just wished Horn would do whatever the hell it was he was planning to do and get it over with.
When Horn finally decided to speak, his voice was quiet, almost conversational. "You've cost me a lot of money, Stringfellow Hawke. And a hell of a lot of trouble. Not to mention a perfectly good whore in Angelica."
Hawke stayed silent. Fortunately Horn didn't seem to expect a reply.
"It hasn't been a total loss, of course. Dr. Fairling has done some very productive and creative research in the field that I, as a layman, bluntly call mind control."
A muscle jumped along Hawke's jawline. He couldn't see Horn's smile, but he could hear the poisoned amusement in the man's voice. "Of course, you're more familiar with the results of her work than I am. Pretty effective, wouldn't you say?"
"Not effective enough," snapped Hawke.
"Many of the drugs I incorporated into your treatment had only been in phase two clinical trials when I acquired them," said Fairling primly, her professional honor apparently stung.
"In other words, Hawke, your highest and best use to me thus far has been as a lab rat," continued Horn.
"What about the downpayment on the twenty-five million you were getting from Jhagesh Khan for me and Airwolf? I'll bet you didn't return that to him." Hawke wasn't sure why he was bothering to keep the conversation going. It certainly wasn't because he was enjoying any part of it, and there was only one way it was likely to end.
"So the Firm has been keeping tabs on me," said Horn thoughtfully. "Well, well. As for your question, Hawke, no, I haven't returned Khan's money to him. On the other hand, I still plan to keep at least part of my bargain and deliver Airwolf to him, now that you've led us to its location. By the way, if I thought that you'd be able to make use of the suggestion, I'd tell you to make sure to check all your vehicles for homing devices after a break-in."
Of course. The brightly-painted Santini Air jeep had been parked in the hangar that night.
"How do you think you're going to deliver Airwolf anywhere? You won't be able to fly it."
"Oh, I have no intention of trying to fly it, personally. But I have two men here who are both extremely capable pilots, who have logged between them nearly twenty thousand hours of flying time, on every type of chopper flown by the military. I don't imagine they will find Airwolf that much of a challenge. I'll admit its value will be somewhat reduced without you, but I'm willing to take the loss. Khan will still get his money's worth." He nodded at the two men closest to the Lair's entrance. They detached flashlights from their belts and headed into the mouth of the cave. "Now, Hawke, as for you . . . doctor?"
The woman opened what looked like a small purse or pouch she'd been carrying. "Your arm, please, Mr. Hawke," she said briskly.
"What is this, a better mousetrap?" asked Hawke contemptuously. He had thought he couldn't get any colder than he already was; now, in spite of his bravado, he found he'd been wrong.
He couldn't go back into that prison again, not for anything. Not even his own life. But Horn had Dominic dead in his sights.
"Not a mousetrap," said Horn, and his tone of voice wasn't conversational any more. "A lethal injection. I'm being magnanimous, Hawke. Be a fool and you can watch Santini die. Cooperate, and you'll save his life. And your own end will have some dignity to it."
"I've got no reason to believe anything you say. You'll kill us both, anyway."
"I might. Then again, I might just keep my word. Do you want to take the chance?"
Slowly, Hawke took the last three steps to close the distance between himself and Horn. Two of Horn's men closed in on him, each grasping an arm. Dr. Fairling lifted her syringe. "Good boy," breathed Horn.
"String! No!" Dominic's agonized shout rang off the mountain that held Airwolf.
Hawke half-turned his head, saw Dominic make a sudden, wild lunge at one of their captors. He got both hands on the man's rifle.
"Shoot him," said Horn coldly, and one of the other rifles fired. In the headlights, Hawke clearly saw Dominic's eyes go wide. Then he was falling, turning away from Hawke as he fell, landing hard on the snowy ground and lying still as Hawke watched in horrified incomprehension.
"Hold him!" Horn directed a split second later, and more hands snatched at him. Hawke drove himself towards the ground, hoping to pull some off his opponents off balance. In sheer desperation, he employed a tactic he hadn't used since he was eight and scrapping with a much sturdier St. John ‒ he twisted his head and bit down hard on one hairy exposed wrist. The man yelled and his grip loosened. Hawke rolled, his body catching another man in the shins and bringing him down. He kept on rolling until he was free and came to his feet in one fluid movement, giving the downed man a rib-crushing kick. Someone grabbed him from behind, while the fourth came at him with his rifle held like a club. Hawke ducked as best he could. The swinging weapon hit him hard, the arc of the blow slicing off a patch of hair and bloody scalp, but without the killing impact its wielder had intended. The man was off balance now and too close. Hawke swung his feet clear of the ground and kicked out hard, forward and then back. The man who'd swung the rifle went down, and the one holding him swore as Hawke's right heel cracked his kneecap. Hawke gave a particularly agile, eel-like twist, broke free and took off running into the dark.
He didn't have to run too far before he came to an arroyo that was deep enough to hide him from sight. He dove in and stood still for a brief moment to recover his breath and his night vision, hearing the sound of pursuit behind him and seeing the flash of headlights above his head. When he could see and breathe relatively easily he sprinted up the gully, hunched over to keep his head below the edge. With luck they wouldn't find the arroyo, or else would drive right into it and cripple their vehicle.
He didn't really expect to be that lucky. His pursuers had night vision goggles, weapons, four-wheel drives. But at least he was still alive, and still moving, and he knew the desert much better than they did. He shoved the thought of Dom to the back of his mind, to be dealt with later. He had to reach Airwolf, and he had to do it before Horn's pilots figured out how to fly her; that was his only chance of catching Horn. After Horn had been taken care of he would think about Dom, and grieve for him if he had to.
The terrain was much more varied, offering far more places for one man to stay hidden, than anyone might have expected who wasn't familiar with it. Hawke was able to travel a good distance down in the arroyo before it became too shallow to offer enough concealment. By that time he was close to the flank of the hollow mountain where Airwolf was hidden. He needed to work his way about a half mile further around the base of the mountain. The track they normally used wasn't the only entrance to the Lair; there were at least two other ways to get in on foot, although anyone trying to get through either one of them had to be thin, agile, and definitely not claustrophobic.
A burst of fire from one of the M16's parted the air close to his head. He hit the ground and burrowed into the shelter of a group of massive boulders. Risking a cautious glance out of his hiding place, he caught a brief glimpse of a dark-clad figure against the snowy ground about a hundred feet behind him. A moment later headlight beams came bouncing wildly in his direction.
Keeping as low as possible, Hawke began scrambling over and around the rocks. There was too much debris on the ground around here for even a jeep to come much closer, and if his luck held even the night vision goggles wouldn't help to pick him out. He concentrated on moving as quickly and quietly as he could without breaking an ankle. A few more shots whizzed over his head, but he knew it was more likely they were trying to flush him out, or trying for a lucky shot, than that they had any serious hope of hitting him.
Ten minutes later he found what he was looking for, a thin dark slit in the sandstone, almost hidden behind more boulders. He would have missed it if the moon hadn't been rising by then, and even so he doubted he would have seen it at all if he didn't know it was there. He had to crouch down to get inside, then grope his way deeper into the mountain. He'd never tried this without a flashlight, and after a few minutes he hoped he would never have to do it again. There was one spot where the opening was so narrow he could barely force his way through. He didn't remember it being such a tight fit the one time he'd come this way before, and he had a few anxious, sweaty minutes wondering if he'd gotten lost somehow, or if this was the wrong place entirely, leading him so deep into the mountain that he'd never find his way out again.
He stopped to take a few deep breaths, and suddenly heard the faint sound of voices. He wormed his way around a corner and could see light up ahead. Another minute or so of cautious, silent stalking and he reached the point where the crevice debouched into the Lair.
The opening was about ten feet higher than the floor of the cavern. He crouched there, waiting for the right moment.
Horn's pilots had found the generator and gotten the floodlights going, but that looked like the sum total of their success. Both of Airwolf's hatches were open but there was no sign of any imminent takeoff. Hawke figured that not only were the pair probably having a hard time figuring out their asses from a hole in the ground in the cockpit, but having seen the interior of the Lair they were likely wondering how the hell they were going to manage a confined area takeoff out of there, in almost complete darkness and in an unfamiliar ship. That maneuver had given Hawke himself a few sweaty-palmed moments the first couple of times he'd tried it, and he at least had been a lot more familiar with the aircraft.
He was looking almost directly at Airwolf's tail rotor. The two men were off to his right, in the small work area. It sounded as if they were talking to a third man, but they were blocking Hawke's view and he couldn't see the person. Whoever it was was sitting on the floor, and both pilots were yelling at him, demanding information about getting Airwolf into the air; from the sound of what they were wanting to know they hadn't figured out how to get even halfway through the checklist yet. Who the hell . . .
Dominic!
For a split second Hawke thought he was going to pitch right out into the cave, and grabbed at the rough walls of his hiding spot to steady himself. He should have known.
Would have known, if he hadn't been so busy saving his own ass.
Dom wasn't telling them anything. One of the pilots moved aside and Hawke could finally see the older man. He was propped up against one of the workbenches, the left sleeve of his jacket hanging loose as if his arm or shoulder had been bandaged underneath. They must be really desperate if they've patched Dom up, hoping he'll help them.
Even as he watched, one of the pair lost his temper, drew back his foot and kicked Dominic in the shoulder. It wasn't a hard blow, but it was enough to make the older man slump forward, unconscious.
"Well, that was real smart," said the second of Horn's men, scathingly. "You kill him, we may never get this thing figured out."
"He's not gonna help us anyway. Come on, let's take another look. If we don't get this damn thing out of here Horn will cut the balls off the both of us."
Probably not, but he'll make you wish he'd been that nice to you, thought Hawke. Both men turned back to Airwolf; the one who had put his boot to Dom climbed into the pilot's seat, while the other started to duck under the tail boom, headed for the other side. Hawke gathered himself and sprang.
With both surprise and momentum on his side it was easy enough to dispatch his target. Hearing the disturbance, the other man jumped back out of the cockpit and came rushing at him. Hawke blocked his first blow, ducked under the next, came up swinging as the man overbalanced and sent him flying four feet back with one immense punch to the jaw. He hauled both men off to the side and hastily tied them up with a length of rope from one of the storage lockers. Then he went to kneel beside Dom, gently pulling him up to a sitting position.
The older man's face was a shade of gray that Hawke didn't like at all, and his pulse was far too fast. The left shoulder of his jacket was wet with blood. He peeled it back and found that someone had done a rough and ready job of binding up the injury, but the padding they'd used was soaked through. He searched frantically in the lockers again and came up with a couple of his own shirts, left there in case he needed a change of clothes after a mission, and a handful of rags, a bit oily but the only things he could find that would help to staunch the blood flow. The bullet at that range had gone straight through, but it looked as though it had taken half of Dominic's shoulder with it.
The other man woke up as Hawke was tying the rags in place with his shirts. "String?" he said hoarsely, obviously not quite believing his own eyes. "That really you?"
"Yeah, Dom, it's really me. We have to get you out of here and get you some help. Think you can make it to Airwolf?"
"Sure . . . you didn't let those two get the Lady, then."
"Naw, 'course not."
"String, you're hurt ‒ your head . . . "
"Huh? Oh, yeah." He'd forgotten about the scalp wound, caused by Horn's man trying to club him. "It's no big deal, Dom, you know what head wounds bleed like. I'm fine. Come on, can you stand up?"
"Sure I can. I'm okay. I'm okay. Just a bit dizzy."
Hawke basically lifted him to his feet. He groaned and swayed. Hawke waited a minute, then struggled to get him the twenty feet over to Airwolf. He wanted to put him in the co-pilot's seat ‒ he didn't have the strength to get him in the back ‒ but Dominic insisted on taking his regular position at the engineer's console, and somehow found the strength to get himself there. "You're gonna need scans . . . if we're gonna find Horn in the middle of the desert," he got out.
"We're not gonna even look for Horn. We're gonna get you to the closest hospital."
That got a ghost of a chuckle out of Dominic. "You think the Lady . . . looks like an air ambulance?"
"Doesn't matter. You just hold on, you hear me?"
"String, you can't just leave Horn out there."
"Shut up, Dom. Horn's corpse isn't worth your dying for." He closed the starboard hatch.
One of Horn's pilots was carrying a radio on his belt. Hawke heard it squawking as he was hurrying around Airwolf's nose. "Simmons, Gossidge, are you there? Report, please."
Hawke grabbed the radio. "This is Simmons," he said gruffly. "We'll be on our way in five minutes. Out." He slammed the radio to the ground and stomped on it, then found the other man's radio and destroyed it as well. Then he rushed through one of the fastest pre-flight inspections he'd ever done and shut off the lights and the generator before jumping in the port hatch and putting on his helmet. "You still with me, Dom?"
"Sure I am, kid."
"Here goes." He started the first engine.
"String, you okay?" Dom's voice suddenly sounded much more alert, and worried. Hawke looked back in surprise.
"I told you, Dom, it's not bad. Looks worse than it is."
"I don't mean your head. I meant the ‒ the other thing."
"What other ‒ oh, yeah. It's under control. Don't worry about it." It was, too. If his heart was pounding faster than usual, his palms sweaty and his legs more than a bit on the rubbery side, he chose to blame it on all the exertion in the last half hour. He had to fly Airwolf. He had no choice.
The rotors were up to speed. He dropped his visor so he could use SLAS and eased back on the collective, and Airwolf climbed up into the night sky.