Ghosts

Michael cocked his ear, listening. Airwolf, banking over the lake, coming in for a landing on the dock. He gathered up some of the papers he had spread across Hawke's coffee table, stacking them as the door opened behind him.

“...Yeah, rusty my foot,” Caitlin was saying, laughing as she came in. “I should have made you fly out of that God-forsaken hole.”

“Look at the bright side. If I'd flown, you would have had to climb back up the long way,” Hawke bantered back. He came into the living room. “Find anything in those files, Michael?”

The agent was considerably more subdued. “I'm fairly certain I know who gave Horn the location of the Lair.”

Hawke's eyes hardened. “Who? I'll kill the bastard myself.”

“You're too late.” Michael dropped the paper he was holding onto the table. “It was Jason Locke.”

“Locke?” The pilot sat down abruptly, the breath gone out of him. “Why?” he asked, finally. “How?”

“Why would Locke deal with Horn? He already had Airwolf?” Caitlin rested her hand on Hawke's arm, a silent show of support.

Restless, Michael rose and paced across the room to lean against the fireplace mantle. “Locke never told me that you were alive because he feared that we might take Airwolf away from him. Controlling Airwolf gave him a certain amount of clout within the Firm. If the Firm learned where she was, he lost that clout.”

“But, the Firm has known for the last two years.” Confusion wrinkled Hawke's brow.

“There was no Pixie Dust. The Firm found out where Airwolf was because Locke told them.”

“Why? Wouldn't that cost him what influence he had with the committee?” It was Caitlin's turn to be confused.

“He told them two years ago.” Michael looked directly at his wife. “There was something specific he wanted. He thought that Airwolf's location would buy it for him.”

She stared back at him, understanding slowly dawning in her eyes. “That assignment in Europe.”

Michael saw that Hawke wasn't following them. “Two years ago, a plum position opened up in Europe. Half the Firm wanted it. Hell, I wanted it. Locke thought that offering up Airwolf on a silver platter would get him the job. He was wrong.”

“The committee didn't want her back any more than you did.” The pilot finally got it.

“Not really. They had to make it look good, and they wanted to know Airwolf's whereabouts, unofficially, at least. But as long as they could use the helicopter whenever they wanted, they had no reason to desire actual possession.”

Caitlin scowled. “Locke couldn't have been happy when his plan backfired.”

“He wasn't. He played his ace, and found out it was the wrong suit. With the Firm knowing Airwolf's location, he no longer had any influence at all with the Firm. I think that's why Zeus told your brother that he knew where Airwolf was. I'm sure Zeus would never admit it, but he knew Locke had tried to double cross St. John. I think it was meant as a warning.”

Hawke shook his head. “More damned Firm politics.”

“Unfortunately. And when Locke couldn't get what he wanted from the Firm, he tried to find another buyer.”

“Horn.”

“Horn,” Michael agreed.

“I guess that explains why those guys who broke into the Lair weren't in the Firm's computers. He never ran the photos.”

“There would be a record of it if he had. There isn't.”

Hawke looked up sharply. “Locke was killed in the explosion. If he was working for Horn...?”

“He didn't have the password to access Airwolf. Locke was of no further use to Horn, and probably knew where to find him. He had become a liability.”

The pilot shook his head. “Jackals.”

“Jackals,” Michael agreed.

-*-

“What do you think? One more pass?” Hawke looked back over his shoulder.

“Give it a couple. Make it look like a search pattern,” Michael suggested. Horn was smart enough that the agent didn't really expect their quarry to leave any evidence that could be found from the air, but they might get lucky,

Michael had convinced Zeus to allow him access to all of Locke's records, under the guise that Locke might have helped St. John pick out Airwolf's new hiding place. Phone records, credit card statements, any other bits of information they could piece together regarding his movements over the preceding months. Those bits had triangulated to a mostly deserted mountainous area between Las Vegas and the Nellis Air Force bombing range.

“Are the cameras rolling?” Caitlin asked from the co-pilot's seat.

“Have been for the last hour.” Michael had turned them on even before they reached the suspected area. Often the video would pick up some detail that might be missed flying over in real time.

“I'm going down on the deck,” Hawke warned. “If we're going to beat the bushes, we might as well give them a good thrashing.” With that, Airwolf dipped earthwards, skimming the ground barely a hundred feet above the broken terrain.

In the rear seat, the agent grimaced. There was something inexplicable about low level flight that always seemed to increase the apparent speed. It was different this time, though. Somewhat to his surprise, he found that it didn't bother him nearly as much as it had when he had flown with Hawke in the past. Depth perception was the difference, he realized. Covering his left eye had thrown his sense of balance totally out of whack. Now, with his stomach no longer protesting, he could appreciate the rush of adrenalin. He thought he might even come to enjoy it. Michael chuckled. “You know, Hawke, this is isn't so bad.”

A roar of laughter came over the headset from both of the pilots. “I think we've corrupted him, String.” Caitlin was still chuckling.

Hawke reached forward and flipped the switch for the cockpit intercom. He leaned toward Caitlin, saying something the agent couldn't catch before turning the intercom back on in time to hear her strangled answer. “String!”

She glared at the pilot, and from his position, Michael could just see the flush coloring her cheeks. “What did he say?” the agent asked, not entirely sure he wanted to know.

“Um, he said Airwolf was an aphrodisiac.”

Sure he did. “That doesn't quite sound like you, Hawke.”

The pilot's laughter came through the radio. “I told her she was going to get laid tonight.”

Michael felt the heat rise in his own face. “Not with that damned dog of yours poking his nose into things.”

Hawke snorted. “Leave Tet out of it.” He glanced across to Caitlin, “Wonder what he'd think if I dropped another fifty feet – and engaged the turbos?”

He wouldn't put it past Hawke to do just that. “Don't push your luck. If Horn is anywhere in the area, unless he's deaf and blind, he's gotten the message. That's what we set out to do.”

“Are we headed back to the cabin?” Hawke asked. Somehow, without ever really talking about it, they had decided to stay at the lake until it was over, until Horn had been killed or captured. The cabin's isolation provided a certain security; anyone approaching would be easily spotted.

“Can we stop at the house? I'm running out of clothes,” Caitlin complained.

“I don't see why not.” Michael was running short on laundry himself, and there was plenty of room to land behind the house.. “We'll grab some clothes, then go look over this video.” As he spoke, he reached over and switched off the cameras.

“Good enough, “ Hawke answered, gaining attitude as he banked away toward Thousand Oaks.

-*-

Hawke sat sprawled on Michael's sofa while he waited for the others to collect the clothing they wanted to take back to the cabin. He grinned as he listened to the snippets of friendly bickering, Caitlin apparently disapproving of the amount of white the agent had packed when they had flown out from Washington.

He heard the distinctive chop of a helicopter's blades, still well in the distance. Curious, he rose and crossed to the glass doors that led out onto the deck, searching the sky for the source of the sound. His initial speculation that it might be one of the Firm's Long Rangers was soon disproven as the chopper came closer and the beat of the blades refined itself. He identified the sound. Hughes 500, probably local law enforcement. Hawke started to turn away, then saw the helicopter come into view.

Pure black, it carried guns mounted on both sides of the landing gear. The pilot swung the Hughes, pointing the nose almost directly toward the doors where he stood. “Shit!” Hawke shouted, diving for the floor just as the guns opened up, the glass shattering and raining down over him.

“Hawke?” Michael's voice, approaching from somewhere down the hallway.

“Get out! Get Cait into Airwolf!” Hawke yelled, hoping that it was possible. Airwolf was parked at the other end of the house, partly shielded from the back yard and the Hughes by a thick hedge. While he was pinned down by the shells that raked the house just above his head, with luck Michael and Caitlin might make it out.

Hawke reached for the automatic he had holstered when they went looking for Horn. It was unlikely he could do any real damage given the distance, but he might be able to distract the other pilot, at least momentarily. Still laying on his stomach, he aimed and fired, emptying the clip at the cockpit of the Hughes.

The only thing he succeeded in doing was attracting the attention and wrath of the pilot. The angle of he Hughes changed, and Hawke knew the rounds were about to be directed at him. He tried to scamper out of the way, and suddenly he registered the sharp pain in his leg. At the same time, he felt someone grab the back of his shirt, dragging him to the side. He started to raise his head to see who it was.

“Stay down, damnit!” Michael's voice, angry and out of breath as rounds from the Hughes shredded the carpet where they had just been moments earlier.

“Where's Cait?” Hawke demanded. Surely Michael wouldn't have left her?

Before the agent could respond, the answer became apparent. Airwolf blasted past, rocking the smaller helicopter. The Hughes pilot obviously decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and wheeled, taking off toward the ocean. Airwolf followed, chain guns blasting. The helicopters were out of sight when the chase came to it's inevitable conclusion, but the resulting explosion told both men that it was over.

Hawke let out a long sigh. “Thanks.”

The agent waved off the gratitude. He pulled a jackknife from his pocket. “Let me see your leg.” Michael cut away the fabric of the flight suit, exposing the wound.

A shard from the shattered glass door had left a long, jagged gash across Hawke's leg, just above the knee. It was bleeding freely, but it didn't appear that any veins or arteries were involved. Michael bound the cut with a piece of the flight suit. “That will slow the bleeding until we can do something better. There's a first aid kit in Airwolf. Should I get it, or can you walk?”

“Let's get the hell out of here before they send backup.” Hawke let Michael help him to his feet. “Looks like Horn got our message.”

“Loud and clear.” It went without saying that Horn had responded with one of his own.

They made their way through the trashed remains of the house, out to where Caitlin waited in Airwolf, rotor blades turning. Hawke refused Michael's offer of assistance, instead climbing into the co-pilot's seat, re-wrapping the wound to his leg as Caitlin headed for the cabin.

“You're going to need stitches,” Michael observed.

Hawke snorted. “Might be a little hard to arrange. I'm dead, remember? Most Doc's don't treat ghosts.” There would be too much paperwork, too many explanations.

“I know one who does,” the agent answered. “I'll have her meet us at the cabin.”

-*-

Marella hadn't changed much. Her hair was a little shorter, and instead of white, she was wearing khakis and a thin sweater of the same color. There was just a hint of confusion on her face as Michael let her in, an expression that changed to one of surprise when she saw Hawke, his leg bandaged and propped on the coffee table.

“Hawke?”

“Good to see you, too, Marella,” he grinned.

She shook her head. “Somebody has some explaining to do. Meanwhile, though... Michael said I had a patient. I take it that's you?”

Hawke shrugged. “He thinks I need stitches.” The pilot knew Michael was right.

Marella set her medical bag down, noting Hawke's wrapped leg. “Let me get some towels.”

“Right here.” Caitlin came in from the kitchen, carrying several. “I've put a pot of water on to boil, if you need it.”

Hawke rolled his eyes. “Cait, I'm not having a baby!”

Sitting down on the table beside him, Marella began unwrapping the wound. “What did you cut yourself on?”

“Glass,” Michael answered before the pilot could. “What used to be the door going out onto my deck. One of Horn's minions just leveled the house.”

She gave her former boss a look that clearly questioned just what he had gotten himself into. She turned her attention back to Hawke. The gash was bleeding again. She produced a hypodermic. “I'll numb this as much as I can, but it's still going to hurt. I need to be sure there's no glass left in it.”

He nodded. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd had an injury probed. Hawke looked up in time to see Caitlin abruptly dart out the door, her face pale. Michael had seen it too, and followed her. Hawke raised an eyebrow. “I don't remember Cait being that squeamish.”

Marella glanced toward the door. Hawke's gaze followed hers. Michael and Caitlin were on the porch, his arms around her, holding her to him. “You know about what happened in Cambodia?” she asked quietly.

“Some of it.”

“I was flying the Huey. I couldn't land to help her. He nearly bled to death.”

No wonder Caitlin had freaked at the sight of blood. Hawke winced at Marella examined the wound, finally pronouncing it free of glass.

Michael and Caitlin returned as Marella finished taping the bandage. She reached into her bag, a smile curving the corners of her mouth. “Since you were such a brave boy....” Marella produced an orange lollipop, handing it to Hawke.

He laughed. “A lollipop?”

Michael grinned. “You're a little older than most of her patients.”

Hawke looked back and forth between them. “Ah, no, don't tell me...” He had the feeling he knew what was coming.

“Yep, Pediatrics,” Marella confirmed, repacking her bag.

-*-

“Come.”

Michael heard the muffled call, and opened the door to the inner office. Helen had gone for the day; he was vaguely surprised that Zeus hadn't left as well.

Seeing him, Michael decided Zeus actually had left, but had since returned. The Director was dressed casually, wearing an unexpected polo shirt. Zeus gestured him toward a chair. “Are you and Caitlin all right?”

The question surprised the agent. “We're fine.”

It was a long moment before the Director said anything else. “Is Cait somewhere safe?”

Michael nodded. “For the moment.” Caitlin was in Airwolf with Hawke. If there was anywhere that was actually safe, that was probably it. Airwolf was loaded for bear, and was nearly the fastest thing in the sky.

“We traced the remains of the Hughes. It comes back registered to people connected with John Bradford Horn.”

“I know.”

The Director eyed him thoughtfully. “Horn was behind the blast at Santini Air?” It was as much a statement as a question.

“He was.”

Zeus sighed deeply. “We have reason to believe that Horn has – had – an accomplice within the Firm.”

“You're referring to Jason Locke.”

“Locke,” Zeus confirmed. “When we started checking, we found that his financial records show a number of unexplained deposits.” The man leaned back in his chair, slowly exhaled. “Regarding another matter... Our people examined the remains of the Hughes. They said that it appeared to have been shot down.” He met Michael's gaze. “In my opinion, pilot error seems more likely. I assume the damage must have been caused by on board ordnance that exploded on impact?”

“I would imagine so,” Michael answered carefully, wondering what the other man was up to. Zeus knew as well as he did exactly what had happened to the Hughes.

The Director chewed his lip. “Do you have any leads on Horn?”

“I have a general area. Somewhere north of Vegas. I have film to examine that I hope might provide additional information.”

“Horn turned one of the Firm's senior agents. That doesn't set well with me.” Zeus leaned back. “You have my authority. Deal with Horn however you see fit. He's been a thorn in the Firm's side for too long. If there's equipment you need, take it.”

“Thank you.” Michael thought he was about to be dismissed, and slid forward, about to rise.

“Michael...” The Director was as pensive as Michael had ever seen him. “We don't always see eye to eye. For one thing, you play fast and loose with the rules. I don't agree with some of your methods, and to be honest, I don't particularly like you. Nevertheless... there is no questioning your loyalty to either the Firm or your country. Perhaps if we had left you in charge of the Airwolf project, we wouldn't be in this situation.”

The agent was glad that he was still seated. Had he been standing, he might have toppled over. The last thing he had expected upon being summoned to the Director's office was an apology – or second thoughts regarding his transfer. This wasn't quite either, but was far closer to both than he had ever expected. Not knowing what to say, he simply nodded.

“Let's not concern ourselves with Airwolf right now. Consider the search on hold until Horn is dealt with.” To his credit, Zeus said the words with a perfectly straight face.

Michael rose. He couldn't resist asking the question. “And after that?”

Zeus eyed him. “As I said before, you find Airwolf, and she's yours.”

-*-