10.
It's all an Act.
Airwolf's new mission started out as an executive helicopter, with Nash and Dale ferrying Branson and Jo to the Santa Monica property for the exclusive Art Exhibition.
The dress code was Masquerade Ball.
The Olde Coastal was set in the hills overlooking the ocean and there was only one small flat section able to be utilized for helicopter landings and on this day, only set downs were permissible.
Jo slid her delicate lilac jewel encrusted mask into place. It matched her shimmery full length ball gown style jump suit with a removable skirt… Just in case.
Men had it easier when picking event attire, and Jo thought her date always looked so handsome in a suit.
She handed Branson his matching white and lilac phantom of the opera mask.
"Show time." Jo said adjusting his bow tie one last time.
Both Branson and Jo were each fitted with one smart biological contact lens that was able to record footage and be sent back to Airwolf. Each lens was calibrated to the wearer's unique electrical frequency from which it was both powered and transmitted. Each lens could neither be operated by another host, nor could the transmission information be interrupted by scanners. Certain blink patterns either turned the devices on or off.
Le had installed the frequency receiver into Airwolf's array of sensors, which could then be decoded into visual format to screen.
Greeting Branson and Jo at the museum was a pretty young chaperon, who scanned their invitations and encouraged them to follow her.
From the Helipad, the couple were escorted onto a concrete walkway. They approached a set of stairs that led underground and Jo turned just in time to see The Lady lift off into the late afternoon before walking into the hillside.
Helicopters were designated to park not far from the Museum at Santa Monica Airport, but to avoid too many questions from the crowd of airmen that would inevitably be hanging around, Nash flew Airwolf out to sea to meet up with an old ally.
The four-hundred-foot RV Dolphin was nearing West Coast of the United States from her last classified stint near Antarctica.
Captain Bob McKearnen had to hand it to Project Guardian. They were a top shelf outfit and he had literally gone to the end of the Earth for them.
But he and his crew were under a hefty NDA and as far as everyone beyond his close-knit group knew, they had been studying whale migration.
The opportunity to work with the Santini Crew again had him both excited and anxious. He was just happy that he was on the same side as those that had the sleek black helicopter.
He was set to lay anchor at Catalina Island under the guise of just another mega yacht hired by some rich and famous schmuck in order to show off.
Wings landed the enigmatic helicopter on deck and after she'd wound down some and her systems were shut off, Dale slid open the rear door to exit.
Being a red-blooded male McKearnan ran an eye over both ladies, not failing to notice that one had received a facelift since her last visit to his ship.
"Even prettier than I remember." Bob mumbled without thinking.
Dale caught his roving eye on both counts and smiled, "Bites harder too," she said with a wink, pleased that she'd managed to see a hint of red emerge on the tips of the Captain's ears.
The pilot door opened before Nash stepped out to join them on the deck.
"Captain," he said, saluting out of old habit.
"Nash son, good to see you again," McKernan said waiving off the formality by offering his outstretched hand.
The men shook. "Yes, sir. Good to be on board, sir." Nash said reverently to the older man.
Nash couldn't stop his military training from emerging from time to time, especially when on deck with the Captain of a ship he'd just landed on.
The Captain agreed "Not for too long, you weren't even on the radar before we got a message from Chapman. He'll be calling in for an update at…" he looked at his watch, "seventeen forty-five, so you two had better hustle putting the bird to bed."
The Airwolf team swiftly tied The Lady down to the deck before collecting their usual supplies from the cabin and heading to the briefing room.
There had been a development after a series of mild earth tremors were detected at the same shallow depth in three locations almost simultaneously – the unusual phenomenon had pricked up the ears of Space Force and the two young gun pilots were in for a crash course in "timing is everything" in the teleconference with Chapman.
Branson and Jo wandered the tunnel behind their guide and didn't fail to notice that there was more than one door embedded in the walls, possibly branches shooting off to who knew where.
They approached an elevator, which took them topside to the open expanse of the well-known museum high on the hill.
It was a Spanish inspired building with stucco walls, a terracotta roof, flanked by shady verandas which were supported by graceful archways and surrounded by formal gardens.
It wasn't long before the pair were let through the doors to the art exhibition where they were each handed a pair of elegant opera glasses by their guide who explained that they had VR capabilities and a tablet with the catalogue downloaded into it for live purchase interaction.
"Hmmm, they're certainly an interesting choice of words," Branson said seductively and loud enough for the young girl to hear, "isn't it my love," he said in the same tone.
To which Jo nodded, "I like the live ones best," she said wickedly.
They had to ramp up their act from the after parties. While they had become quite proficient in appearing right at home at those events, they felt gross after each of them.
This was the one they'd ultimately been training as undercover agents for, and this was the one that could ultimately break them.
Emotionally.
Spirituality.
Physically.
But they had no option to back out, there were children involved.
The gallery didn't appear outwardly unusual, and neither was the art. The covered faces milled around with champaign in hand making small talk as though it was just another elite event.
And by all accounts up until that point it was.
But it wasn't of course.
A couple came in through the doors and the energy in the gallery changed instantly, it was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, causing the crowd to turn to them briefly before something snapped in the matrix as if nothing had been untoward.
"What just happened?" Jo asked quietly, glancing around the room with curiosity.
"I'm not sure, but let's get close enough to hear if we can recognize them." Branson nodded towards the newly arrived couple in a whisper near Jo's ear.
The man was tall and thin and the lady… not so much. She was wearing a blood red kaftan. He, a suit and matching red bow tie. Their age was…. Not young, maybe a little older than Jo and Branson.
It didn't take long for the man's distinctive drawl to carry to Jo and Bransons ears.
"Oh my gosh, Is that…?" Jo subtlety asked Branson regarding the fellow who didn't have sexual relations with that woman.
And his cackling wife.
Branson nodded discreetly before the lights dimmed and a sinister red glow emanated strategically from parts of the gallery and from behind the artwork on the walls.
The theater had begun with a dry ice cloud being released from the end of the room where a stage had been set. As it rolled across the stage and dropped to the floor, an altar grew from under the haze along with a character dressed like the Devil.
With arms splayed out, the silver costume was striking, the headpiece large and encrusted with shining gems, the nose and mouth covered like a muzzle and a dramatic floor length cape hung from the devil's shoulders.
After the applause had settled, the horned character introduced himself as the Master of Ceremonies. The voice was male, and he was an exceptionally skilled orator, his welcome speech expertly flowed and really wasn't all that different from any other.
Except for when he called for the sacrificial entrée to be wheeled out.
It was all in the name of art of course, a naked male model playing unalive, laying submerged in a bath of blood and contained in a coffin.
Nothing weird about that at all.
Until the guests started to line up like they were at a buffet.
The former first lady, dressed in the red kaftan made sure she was at the head of the line.
Her eagerness was like that of a child who couldn't wait to tuck into their birthday cake.
The type of eagerness that didn't end with a clean… face and hands.
" Just as well you won't see the stains," Jo said under her breath as she watched the gluttonous scene unfold in front of her.