Disclaimer: These characters and original scenario belong to the copyright holders, Bellisarius, etc. I'm just getting the characters off the shelf so they get to play for a while. "Blackjack," the transitional episode between Season 3 and Season 4, was a mess. So I start with the idea that it's television and no major, regular cast character ought to die. The 4th season characters are very appealing and so I like to keep them right along with the characters from the original series. I wish that the USA network had let their odd version of Airwolf run another season or two to develop the new characters' stories. But if Saint John Hawke really was a POW for all those years and implausibly came home a whole person, how did he do it? And then there's Jason Locke, a neglected and very interesting character. Elizabeth Dalton is an original character. In addition to "Blackjack," reference is made to the following episodes: "And They are Us," "Half-pint," and "HX1."

All in the Family

After an evening spent before the fireplace in the cabin, Saint John with a beer, String's wine glass catching the firelight, Tet snoring doggy snores from his warm spot by the hearth, Saint John scooped up his jacket. String climbed to his feet, too. "You could stay the night," String said.

"On the sofa?"

"You could take the bed. I can sleep on the sofa."

"I'm not taking your bed, String."

"This cabin is half yours."

"But it's a one-person cabin. I know you're going to expand it, but right now, it's pretty tight."

"Yeah, it's high time there was a guest bedroom. Le Van should have his own room, and Cait can't move in without more privacy. I showed you the architect's plans, didn't I?"

"It's still your home. I can't believe you're raising Le Van, even though he's not my son."

"By the time we knew that, I was committed to him, and he'd gotten used to having me for his uncle or his father. He's a great kid, Saint John. If you had been his father, I'd have been happy for him, but I would miss him."

"You have everybody snowed, you know. Or at least you think you do."

"What do you mean?"

"Old, hard ass Stringfellow Hawke. Baddest helicopter pilot around." Saint John snorted. "You are just an old softy. Careful, or it will get around." He turned to face his brother, suddenly very serious. "String, before I left for Southeast Asia, what did I do?"

"What do you mean? You finished your degree at UCLA. You were on the swim team and the basketball team, when you were old enough you flew for Dom, when you graduated you enlisted before you were drafted. Oh, and you played a pretty fine game of chess. Hardly time to do anything else."

"I know that. Didn't I like science fiction? I played electric bass with a band in high school, but I don't have your talent; you have your music, like Mom. You were always interested in aircraft, even more than me.

"But what did I do? What else was I interested in? I'm going to go back to the townhouse I'm renting, where I have a TV. Mike's a good roommate. I have a job. I'm so grateful I can't express it. But I don't know what books to read. I don't know what music to listen to. I was going to buy some records, but when I got to the record store, all they had were audio cassettes and CDs. I don't know any of the new bands.

"It's so long ago, String. I wasn't much more than a boy when I left for Vietnam. I'm middle-aged now. I can't find that part of my life outside of work. Well, there's one thing: I am going to start a garden in the backyard of the townhouse. I might in Dom's backyard, too. He's never done anything with it."

"A garden?"

"I was a farmer, for a long time."

"You were a slave."

"Only if I agreed to be. Part of the time, I chose to be a farmer. I miss growing things. But that's not what I mean. I'm trying to find the life I had before the war. It was so long ago."

"Sinj, wait a minute. You didn't have any choice about farming. Those people used you. They used you for years. Sure, start a garden; it's for you. You weren't a gardener there, in that village. They beat you. They locked you up. The war was over. Most POWs were repatriated, but they didn't let you go. There wasn't any choice involved."

"I know. I tried to run, and I got caught, several times. But after a couple years, I realized I had to decide if I was going to be a victim, or not. I had to make my peace with it, or waste more time as a victim. So I took pride in what I did. I dealt with people as equals and as friends, and got beaten for it at first. Eventually, it was a fact. They accepted me. You know, half the men in the village were killed or kidnapped in a raid by the South Vietnamese army. They needed my help. That's why they kept me."

"How did the Laotians get you?"

"The District commandant sold me, I gather for a nice profit. My friends in the village were pretty upset."

"If they were your friends, they should have taken you to Hanoi and put you on a flight home."

"String, if I had been found by the Vietnamese government at that point, they might have killed me just to save face. They said that they weren't holding any more POWs. The villagers had no way to send me home."

String's face paled. "I didn't think of that. So in a crazy way, getting sent to Laos may have saved your life."

"Maybe. It sure didn't feel good at the time."

Hawke took a deep breath, clearly shaken by what had been another close call for his brother. When he could speak, he said, "Look, Sinj, you haven't been back that long. Maybe you just need some time. The VA has dealt with other POWs. They must have some suggestions."

"The psychologists tell me that they've never dealt with anyone who was a POW as long me. They're stumped. I think they're planning to study me: something about 'Stockholm Syndrome.' But I was seven years in that village. Sometimes I miss it, the warmth of the people, the way they took me in, the kids, even things I didn't like, the heat, the humidity, bugs, snakes. That's part of the trouble. I don't even know where I belong anymore. I left there, I'm not sure exactly, but at least four years ago."

Saint John turned to his brother. "You know, I have a lot of money, all those years of an officer's salary sitting in the bank and back pay. If the U.S. ever gets along with Vietnam, I'd like to go back to the village, dig a decent well, maybe build a clinic."

String pinched his eyes. "Sinj, I'm very proud of you. You're a more forgiving person than I am. It might take at least a little while to get your life here back to normal, or to build a new normal, but if you could do it as a POW, you can do it here at home."

String stepped back to look up at his brother. Saint John's tan was still very deep, hair bleached almost to the color of straw. The deep lines around his eyes showed the years of squinting into the sun. His hands were scarred from the hard work in the fields. Saint John started humming a Frank Sinatra song he'd heard on the radio. "If I can make it there, I can make it anywhere," he sang, badly off key.

String started laughing. When he could manage it he said, "Why don't you look up some of your friends from college? Or ask Jo what she is interested in. We both know how Dom spends his spare time. Cait was a highway patrol officer, but she studied acting for a while after she started working for Dom. She has a degree in English, she's an amazingly smart person and she's interested in all sorts of things. Is Mike into anything besides chasing skirts? How about Jason? What did they major in, in college? What do they do after work? Michael plays polo. For that matter, ask Le Van. The kid may grow up to be a spook like Michael, an engineer - he has a real knack for math - God forbid, a politician; but he always seems to be busy."

"Where is he tonight?"

"His middle school swim team had a practice this afternoon, so he's staying the night with his friend Jeremy. You know, he's a pretty good diver. Cait will fly him up tomorrow."

"You're right. I have no idea what they all do after work. I'll ask them. Mike runs several miles a day. And he reads. He always has a book, in front of the television, if he gets home late and heats up a TV dinner, always a book. He majored in physics, no, geophysics. He still has some of his textbooks and a few rocks. He moved in his cassette collection. He likes jazz and classical. I do too, but I like rock n' roll too. Or I used to." Saint John pulled his jacket on. "I don't think polo, especially polo with Michael, would work for me." Halfway to the door, he turned back to String. "That gives me something to think about. Thanks, brother." He shrugged. "I don't sleep on the bed, you know. I can't. I bought a futon and sleep on it, on the floor. If you get up early, when I sleep over, you'll always find me on the sofa cushions on the floor."

"You get up even earlier than me."

"I was a farmer, remember."

Saint John was a man on a mission the following Monday. He had checked Mike's eclectic taste in books and borrowed one on the pre-history of California. After work he went to the public library and signed up for a library card. He checked out a science fiction novel from the new books shelf and got absorbed in it before taking it home. He watched Monday Night Football and enjoyed it, but dozed off before the game was over.

The next day at lunch time, after he had gotten back from a short cargo run to San Diego, Saint John finished the bowl of noodles that he bought in the Vietnamese take-out near the airport. "Jo, this seems like a silly question, but we haven't really talked since we were kids. Or you were a kid and I was a teenager. What did you major in, in college? What are you interested in? Besides taking care of Dominic, who's healing up pretty well, and besides flying and taking care of the business, what do you do after work?"

Jo poured some hot water from the hot plate into her tea cup and stirred. "I almost majored in aerospace engineering, like you and String. But I took an art history course and fell in love with it. So I ended up with a double major in art history and Italian. When I moved back here, I joined the Los Angeles County Museum of Art, and I am training to be a docent. But you know, Airwolf is kind of limiting my time."

"It always seems to come down to Airwolf for us, doesn't it?

She set the cup down. "Come with me, this weekend. Let me show you."

"I'd love to."

Saint John did not know if it was the art or Jo's company that made the excursion on Saturday so interesting. He bought the catalog of the current changing exhibit at the museum, sketches by Degas. They finished the day with dinner and a movie. Jo had picked the movie. As he struggled to keep his eyes open, Saint John realized that it was something Mike had warned him about in dire tones, a 'chick flick.' He planned to pick the film the next time.

Locke flew in from Washington on Thursday, with a new Airwolf mission plan. He came along in the engineer's station with Mike and Saint John on a quick trip to Estonia to pick up a package, then to Thule to drop it off. The Greenland Ice Sheet was a spectacular sight as the team made a detour over it to get a good look, so brilliantly white that it made Saint John's eyes water. They flew west over the Arctic Ocean, turned south over the Yukon, then headed home down the Rockies after refueling, high enough to be nearly invisible from the ground. Mike was dozing after he had relinquished piloting to Saint John. "Jason, I've been meaning to ask you a question. Kind of a silly question."

"Sure. What can I do for you?"

"When you go back to Langley after one of our missions or after a meeting, what do you do? Do you have a family in Washington? Hobbies? I'm not being nosy – I'm doing something String suggested. I go to work, then I go back to the townhouse, eat something, stare at the television, and go to sleep. I can't seem to find that middle part of my life that I used to have between work and sleep. I went to Vietnam right out of UCLA. So I'm asking my friends what they do after work."

"This isn't a nine-to-five, five-days-a-week kind of job. But sure, I have time off. My parents are in D.C. My sister keeps an eye on my condo when I'm out of town. You can't live in the Washington area without being a Redskins fan, but I'm not there enough to get a season ticket; besides, you almost have to inherit one. My bachelor's degree at Howard University was in computer engineering, with a minor in Russian. Then I got drafted and sent to Vietnam. When I got out, I got my law degree on the G.I. Bill at George Washington University. I did two years with the Department of Justice. Since I went to work for the Company, I've picked up Spanish. But three years ago I finished a Masters degree in American History. If I have a hobby, I guess that's it."

"American history is a big subject. What part of it?

"The Underground Railroad." Jason laughed. "You know, there's a certain resemblance between how the Underground Railroad was conducted, and my professional life."

"Like String says, 'spooks.'"

"In more ways than one."

They flew on above the mountains and above the clouds for a while, at 300 knots, but not Mach speed, to avoid a very noticeable sonic boom on the populated areas far below. When they were crossing Utah and not too far from home, Jason said. "Saint John, why don't you come back to Washington with me some time, when we have a break? We can get a good, home-cooked meal at my folks' place, then I'll show you some of the Underground Railroad stops in Maryland. I'd offer to find us both dates, but I just broke up with a long-time girlfriend and I don't know who to call. Airwolf is playing hell with my social life."

"Like Jo says, it always seems to come down to Airwolf for us."

"Sure does."

"Do you fly commercial?"

"I'm afraid so. Those seats are built for people Jo's size, not ours."

Saint John groaned, but said, "It's a deal. Let me know when you think you can get a few days off so I can make reservations, clear my schedule with Jo, and you can show me Washington. I've never been there. The last American history I had, or thought much about, was in my freshman year in college. That was over twenty years ago."

"You were kind of living it."

"I guess so."

Saint John and Mike invited Dom, Jo, Hawke, Le Van, Caitlin and Jason to dinner the following Sunday. String had not seen the townhouse, yet. Saint John was nervous about it, vacuuming almost compulsively a day in advance. At least, Mike would do the cooking. Cooking for a vegetarian was a bit of a challenge, but Mike settled on spaghetti with the meatballs on the side and a salad. Dessert was simply ice cream. Just to be safe, he consulted with Dom about the spaghetti sauce.

The townhouse door was up a half flight of stairs. String climbed them carefuly, supporting himself with the railing and his cane. Saint John showed String around the house. There was a shelf of Saint John's books and vinyl records, lovingly preserved in his room at Dom's house while he was missing, and now relocated to his room in the townhouse. Saint John watched String's eyes widen as he saw the Buddhist shrine in the corner of his bedroom. "I got in the habit of meditating while I was a POW," Saint John explained. "An old monk in the village used to come and talk with me, at night, when I was locked up after a day in the fields. He told me about the Buddhist idea that life is suffering. It helped put everything in perspective for me. Meditating helped, too. I still do it." He turned to his brother. "I'm thinking of looking for a Vietnamese Buddhist congregation."

"You'll be the tallest, blondest Buddhist in the congregation," Hawke muttered.

Le Van started laughing, and then the multi-cultural, multi-racial group gathered at the table for spaghetti. "Only in America," Dom observed.

After dinner, Hawke pulled his brother aside. "I have a friend who might be part of the congregation you're looking for. We attended a Buddhist marriage ceremony at his house. His name is Nguyen Van Minh. I'll get you his phone number."

A month later, Jason and Saint John were on an early morning nonstop flight from LAX to Washington National Airport. The seats were as cramped as Jason had promised, but Saint John reserved a window seat anyway and spent the flight glued to the window, watching the United States rush by 35,000 feet below, and at 450 miles an hour. It was cloudless all across the country. The flight went over the red rocks of canyon country, over the southern Rockies still partly covered in snow, the relatively featureless plains. Saint John almost called out in excitement as they flew over the Mississippi River. After the arid west, the Appalachians were fantastically green with rivers and streams everywhere. Jason, who had taken that flight more times than he cared to count, read reports, then dozed off.

It was late afternoon by the time they landed. With the time difference going east, the day felt twice as long. They collected their luggage and caught the Metro to Jason's condo in Falls Church. There was a comfortable guest bedroom. Saint John dropped his suitcase off, washed up, and joined Jason in his red Mustang for the trip over the Fourteenth Street Bridge, through D. C. traffic, around several traffic circles, into a well-kept, all-black neighborhood in Southeast Washington. Saint John unclasped his white-knuckled hands. Jason looked over at him. "D.C. traffic got to you, eh? You live in L.A. You fly Airwolf. What's a few traffic circles?"

"If I had to fly Airwolf around traffic circles, I might consider going back to rice farming."

Jason parked on the street in front of an older two-story brick townhouse with a comfortable front porch, green trim, and rose bushes in the fenced front yard. The new buds on the rose bushes were red.

Despite the thirty pounds he had gained since his rescue, Saint John was still too thin for his tall, big-boned frame. Jason's mother seemed determined to reverse that in one meal. The chicken was fried as only a Southern cook could fry it. The mashed potatoes were coated with gravy and the greens were studded with bacon. The meal finished with a pecan pie.

Jason's father was a tall, soft-spoken older version of Jason. His older sister, Amanda, a manager in the U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development, was tall like Jason and their father. But their small, voluble mother dominated her kitchen and her table. Saint John enjoyed the good food but even more, he enjoyed her motherly fussing. It was a feeling of comfort that he had not had since he was a boy in high school, eating dinner at the home of a friend.

After dinner Amanda had to leave to babysit her daughter's children. The rest of the family made a list of sites around Washington associated with the Underground Railroad. Clearly history was a shared family enthusiasm. Saint John learned that the Locke family had lived in the district since before the Civil War, when their ancestor, a freed slave, came from Virginia to start a business as a blacksmith, working to purchase his wife and their children one at a time. Saint John realized that a quick, weekend visit to Washington was so inadequate that he could only promise to return.

The next morning Jason had the fun of showing his favorite places around the city of his birth to a friend. They started at the home of Frederick Douglass in Anacostia, now a small museum. After that, they spent three hours going through the Smithsonian's Museum of American History. Washington, however, had been rebuilt often enough to obliterate most physical evidence of the Underground Railroad.

Maryland was rich in sites. The two headed for Frederick County. Besides the historical interest, the azaleas were blooming spectacularly on the hillsides. Jason made a detour to pass by a reservoir where the banks above the water were ablaze in shades of violet, pink and white. For dinner they had a Chesapeake Bay blue crab feast at a restaurant in Rockville. Bemused, Saint John was confronted with a table covered in brown paper, a mallet and a paring knife, blue crabs steamed in Old Bay Seasoning brought out on cafeteria trays, and a pitcher of beer. Jason assured Saint John that crab tasted even better in a restaurant by the Bay.

After a competitive game of chess in Jason's condo, Saint John called Jo and Dom. He felt like a teenager again, on a trip and checking in with his family. Jo reported that Cait had taken an overnight charter to Lake Tahoe. String was fine, for the first time since he came home from the clinic, he was able to walk halfway around the lake. He had worked all day overhauling the newer Bell helicopter. Dom had been in the office all day while Jo covered several helicopter lessons. Saint John promised them a full accounting of his trip, wished them well, and turned in to sleep on the floor on sofa cushions from Jason's living room. He meditated cross-legged, as he did every night before he slept.

Saint John was getting dressed in the morning when he heard the phone ring. Jason's deep voice rumbled from the kitchen. He emerged from the guest bedroom to find Jason pulling a jacket on. "What's up?" he asked.

"Vacation's on hold. We have to bring Airwolf in to extract a couple of allies from an international meeting that's blowing up. Mike is busy with some Air Force stuff at Nellis and Jo is flying a charter, so we'll fly back to Knightsbridge on a Company Lear Jet from Dulles, then pick up the Lady. The Company will take care of your return air ticket." He looked at Saint John. "I hate to mess up your vacation."

"Jason, it's okay. Flying Airwolf is hardly work."

"You and Dom and Mike talk the same way about her."

"You notice String doesn't."

"String doesn't talk much about anything."

"It's a very restful quality."

"It's one of the few restful things about him." Jason laughed. "Actually, I wish he could come along on this run. He knows the couple we're going to rescue and they trust him."

"He's not up to it," Saint John said, too quickly.

Jason was used to Saint John's protectiveness of his younger brother. "I know." He looked at his watch. "We've got a plane to catch. We'd better get going. Let me phone my folks and tell them that something has come up."

The flight home in the Company Lear Jet was faster than the commercial flight to Washington. Saint John enjoyed his book, then dozed in the broad and comfortable seat. A decent lunch was served to them by a Company staffer assigned to the aircraft. Jason grinned at Saint John. "Too bad we can't fly this way all the time, huh?"

"We've got a better ride waiting. Let me see that briefing material again." Jason passed the manila envelope to Saint John. There was a photograph of a striking-looking African couple. He wore a dashiki over a business suit. She wore a suit, stockings and heels, with a sort of banner of an African-looking fabric draped over one shoulder. "President and Mrs. Seko Logana, Republic of Limbawe. How do they know String?"

"Limbawe is one of the few stable countries in southern Africa, in large measure due to Seko Logana's leadership. String and Dom helped stop a civil war between North and South Limbawe."

"Oh, that's the small African country they saved. Michael mentioned that. So what's the situation that we have to extract the Loganas from?"

"They were attending a conference on developing nations in Nicaragua sponsored by the U.N. and the conference was interrupted by what may turn out to be a civil war or revolution."

"Why don't they all catch a flight out?"

"They tried. The airport is closed, but a number of the foreign dignitaries are stuck there, including the Loganas. There are a number of rescue missions under way."

"Well, we're bound to have the most interesting aircraft."

"That we will. The reason for us to use Airwolf is that we're having trouble staying in contact with the Loganas, and they should recognize Airwolf. The president has ridden in it. If we lose touch with them again, we hope that they'll see Airwolf and know to run for it."

Saint John phoned Santini Air from Knightsbridge. "We're passing through, Dom, on a mission in the Lady. How are you doing?"

"I flew today," Dom said. "A half hour in the R22."

"Dom, that's wonderful."

"And String is going to try it as soon as he gets the okay from the doctor, probably next week."

"That's wonderful, too. I'm so proud of you guys."

"We're darn proud of you, getting back into flying so soon after coming home. And we'll be back the way you remember us soon, too."

"Better. Because I'm old enough to appreciate it. Tell Jo we'll be back to work in a couple days."

"Saint John hung up. "You're grinning," Jason observed.

"Sixteen years of missing my family, Jason. You have no idea what it means to me, to be able to call, to have someone answer."

"I can imagine, because I know what my family means to me. Well, let's go rescue the Loganas."

They drove the Company jeep to the Lair. Suited up in their Airwolf flight suits, they climbed into the gunship. A message was waiting for them on Airwolf's radio. "Another complication. Diamonds have been discovered in Limbawe. The State Department wants to set up a meeting with President Logana."

"Diamonds. Good grief," Saint John muttered. "So Jason, what's the plan?"

"Right now, simple is best. We're going to try to contact our agent in Managua, fly to the airport and land in front of the terminal. If all goes well, the Loganas will come out and climb into Airwolf, and we'll fly home."

"And what is Plan B?"

"Depends on what goes wrong with Plan A."

Airwolf was refueled in mid-air above the Pacific west of southern Mexico. When they reached the northern border of Nicaragua, Saint John turned east to clear the mountains and fly to the airport in Managua. "Saint John, I'm detecting mortar fire," Jason reported. "They're shooting at the airport."

"Bogies?"

"Scope's clear, so far."

"Can we locate the mortars, maybe take them out?"

"I don't want to start shooting until we check the situation out."

They flew over the airport. The mortar fire was coming from a hill covered with trees on the north side of the airport. The runway was heavily cratered by mortar fire. Part of the passenger terminal was on fire. Several bodies lay on the tarmac. "Looks pretty bad."

"Sure does. Let me try the radio link we had with our agent to see if we can determine whether to deal with the mortars first or just go for the rescue."

Saint John heard Jason work the radio. "Flying Angel to Palm Tree, come in," he said. And repeated it. "Come in, Palm Tree. Flying Angel, come in Palm Tree." He tinkered with the frequency. "Come in, Palm Tree." There was static on their shared radio, but no voices. "No good, Saint John. Let's make a pass in front of the terminal and see if we can spot the Loganas."

Saint John took Airwolf low and slow in front of the terminal, turned and did it again. "Any sign of them?"

"No luck. The terminal looks pretty bad. I think I'm going to have to go in."

Saint John heard the sound of Jason checking the loads on his handgun. "Jason, combat mode, chain guns."

"Chain guns. Let's check our radio communication before you land me in front of the terminal."

The radio clicked on. "Okay, we're live."

"Good. Take me in."

"Jason, good luck." Saint John touched down in front of the door of the terminal.

"Thank you. Good luck to you." Handgun ready, Jason popped the hatch, slid out and ran for the shattered terminal door. Saint John watched him make it safely into the terminal, then lifted off to hover well above the range of mortar fire.

A scene of chaos met Jason as he stepped out of the hot Nicaraguan sun, over the broken glass, and into the steamy, foul-smelling chaos of the terminal near the ticket counters. Clearly the electricity was off. Several bodies lay just inside the door. Some of the blood looked fresh. Jason stepped around them. He switched his radio on. "Palm Tree, this is Flying Angel, come in. Palm Tree, come in."

Finally, the tinny voice came through the speaker in Jason's ear. "This is Palm Tree. We're barricaded in the baggage area."

"Can you make it up to the ticket counters?"

"No way. Someone is shooting near the escalators. We're pinned down."

"I'm on the way, but I'm alone. How many shooters?"

"Two at least."

"Hang on." Jason ran for the escalators and the sign indicating the baggage level. A bullet thudded into a pillar above his head. He flattened himself behind it and looked around it cautiously. He couldn't see anyone, so he dove for the ticket counter and rolled, coming up with weapon at the ready as he ducked behind it. Several shots thudded into the front of the counter. "They don't even know who I am or what side I'm on," he muttered to himself. He repeated the drop and roll, coming up behind the next pillar. This time one of the shooters made the mistake of showing himself behind the railing of the escalator. Jason's shot took him in the head and he fell back. More shots rang out. At least a couple hit the pillar that Jason stood behind but several more went wild. He heard some screams from somewhere behind the ticket counters. What a mess.

Jason tucked down and ran for the escalator, zig-zagging as shots hit the stained, carpeted floor around him. As he ducked behind the railing, he could see the flash of a gun coming from behind a pillar about ten yards beyond the escalator. His sleeve tugged as the bullet nicked it but missed his arm. He rose above the railing, exposing himself deliberately. The gunman's head appeared by the pillar. Jason's shot was true. In the sudden silence, he heard more screams, but no more gunfire. He ran down the escalator.

"Palm Tree, this is Flying Angel. Where are you? I think I've gotten the shooters."

"Just past the last baggage station."

Jason ran where his agent indicated. Slowly, a man he recognized as Jack Garcia, a Company agent in Nicaragua, rose and stood with his weapon pointed toward the floor but at the ready. "It's about time," he said, with a tired grin. "Your passengers are here."

Jason checked his surroundings, then shoved his pistol into his belt. Instead of two people, three people stood up warily. Seko Logana was the large man from the photograph. He was more imposing in person. Logana assisted his tall, beautiful, but disheveled wife to her feet. They towered over a small black woman with hair done in many braids, dressed in slacks, sandals, and a t-shirt that read 'Developing Nations Youth Conference.' "I'm Jason Locke and I'm here to get you to safety," Jason said.

"Mr. Locke," President Logana said, "we are relieved to see you."

After a quick handshake, Jason turned to the unexpected fourth member of the group. "Who is this?" he asked. She looked up at him and his breath caught. Even with a bruise on her face and with a dirty t-shirt, she was lovely. She didn't look frightened, he noticed, just tired.

"This is Miss Dalton," Mrs. Logana said. "She was at the auxiliary conference and has been stuck here with us. She is American."

"Miss Dalton," he acknowledged. "Jack, I don't have room for her."

"Come, come, Mr. Locke," President Logana said. "As you can see, she won't take much space."

"Jack, would she be safe with you?"

"No. You've got to get her out. I have to try to rescue other Americans. I don't need any more to worry about."

"Oh lord. Okay, we'll squeeze her in. Jack, will you be all right?"

"No worries. I'll blend right in by the time I get to the back door of this building. You just get the Loganas and Miss Dalton back to the States. I'll check in."

"See that you do. Let's go, everybody. Your ride is waiting." He thumbed his radio on. "Saint John, we're on the way out. Three passengers, not two."

"Three? Well, we'll manage. Jason, something's going on out here. Hurry."

The four ran up the stopped escalator, Jason in the lead, weapon at the ready. They reached the main level. Miss Dalton hesitated at the body sprawled face down on the floor near the top of the escalator, blood pooling under it. She turned to help. "Don't stop," Jason snapped. "You can't help him."

"But…"

"He's dead, and we will be if we don't keep moving," Jason said. Mrs. Logana reached around her shoulders and propelled her after Jason.

They ran for the shattered glass doors at the front of the terminal. An explosion burst the far end of the ticket counter. All four ducked. Jason flicked the radio on. "Saint John, come in."

"Go ahead, Jason."

"More mortar fire. Can you stop it?"

"I've identified the location. Give me a minute to neutralize it."

"Stay down, everybody," Jason ordered.

Through the broken front of the building, they could see explosions hitting the concrete. An abandoned car with front end damage burst into flame. Another explosion shook the terminal, this time closer to where the four were crouched. Jason recognized Airwolf's howl and saw the patterned fire of the chain guns chatter across the concrete and into the trees. Jason was crouched near the ticket counter, rubbing shoulders with Miss Dalton. "It's Rabbi Dalton," she said.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I'm Elizabeth Marsha Dalton. Rabbi Dalton."

"So I should call you Rabbi?" he asked, only half paying attention to her.

"It's that, or Moishe."

That got the rest of his attention. "Moishe?"

"Well, I guess Rabbi Dalton is better."

Jason grinned at her. "Moishe, call me Jason."

"Pleased to meet you, Jason."

The radio crackled. "Jason?"

"Go ahead."

"I'm going to hover in front of the terminal. Be quick. There appears to be a more organized body of people and machinery advancing on the airport and I have no way to tell who they are."

"Quick it is. See you in a minute."

Seko Logana got settled in the front passenger seat, while Mrs. Logana sat on the jump seat in the rear of the cockpit. Moishe was crammed in between her and Jason. Seko put on an Airwolf helmet. Mrs. Logana and Moishe fitted headphones over their hair. "I expected to see Mr. Hawke," Mrs. Logana commented, as Saint John lifted off.

"I'm Hawke," Saint John said. "Just not the one you expected. I'm String's older brother, Saint John," he said, gaining altitude quickly to avoid ground fire. He wheeled Airwolf to the west. "Turbos, Jason."

"Turbos." Everyone was thrust back in their seat.

"So Airwolf is a family business?" Seko Logana asked.

"Sort of," Jason explained. "Dominic Santini is their adoptive father. I'm not related to them."

"Don't sound so pleased about it, Jason. Locke is in charge of the section of the Company that operates Airwolf. Are you all right, back there?" Saint John asked. "Airwolf isn't designed to carry five."

"We're so grateful to be out of there, we can take a little crowding," Moishe assured him.

"Mr. President, we're going to California. The company will fly you to Washington, then back to Limbawe," Jason explained. "I know you're anxious to get back to your country, but we thought you might want to get a decent night's sleep, food, clean clothes. You've had a rough few days."

"It has been a very difficult week" President Logana admitted. "My wife would appreciate a little comfort. And we will need to consult with your State Department on how to deal with this new development of a diamond discovery in our country."

Watching the scope, Jason said. "Saint John, bogies, nine o'clock high, eastbound."

"ID?"

"MIGs."

"We can't lose them. Let's see if I can confuse them. Radar suppression, Jason. Cut turbos, power to the mains."

"Radar suppression ninety-eight percent. Rotors on." The hills and heavy forest provided cover. Saint John dropped Airwolf into a ravine, stopped, then flew in the opposite direction keeping below the top of the ravine. "They've lost us, at least for now," Jason reported. "They're still flying east. This drainage goes west into Lake Managua. But we may pick up ground fire again."

"What have we got if I hop over the ridge to the west?"

"Another ravine. It curves north."

"Let's go, then." Saint John took Airwolf straight up, rapidly transited the ridge, turned one hundred eighty degrees, and dropped into the next drainage, flying northward.

"How about the next one to the west?"

"Both end up on the side of that mountain up ahead."

"MIGs still looking for us in all the wrong places?"

"They're turning. With our radar suppression, they may not have seen us."

"We'll drop into the next drainage, then fly up and around the mountain. It might give us some cover. It looks like a volcano. Just for the record, Jason, tell me the volcano isn't active." Saint John maneuvered Airwolf into the next ravine, following it until it narrowed.

Seko Logana's hands were clenched on a bar at the bottom of the panel in front of him. "You fly like your brother," he said.

"Thank you. He's the finest pilot I know." Airwolf shot along the deep, heavily forested ravine. "Here we go," he said to himself, and pulled the ship into a steep climb. "Turbos, Jason."

"Turbos. It does look like a volcano. Hopefully it won't erupt while we're flying around it."

All five people were shoved back into their seats. Saint John turned the ship to the left and flew near the boundary where the forest ended and the bare gray and reddish volcanic rock reached up toward the volcano's summit crater. He followed the mountain's flank. "Have they spotted us?"

"It doesn't look like it. Scope's clear."

"Good. I didn't want to be in a dogfight with civilians aboard. What do you say to going home?"

"Works for me," Jason said. "I'm plotting a course to a refueling depot in Mexico, then back to Los Angeles."

Seko Logana cleared his throat. "Hawke," he began. "Please give our regards to your brother and to Mr. Santini. My wife and I have not forgotten the service they provided to our country."

"Thank you, Mr. President. I'll give them your message." Saint John adjusted his course. "Archangel mentioned your association with Dominic and my brother. It's a privilege to meet you. I know they'll be happy you're safe" He concentrated on flying for a few minutes. "Jason, introduce me to our third passenger."

"Saint John, this is Rabbi Elizabeth Marsha Dalton. Rabbi, our pilot, Saint John Hawke."

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hawke."

"The pleasure is mine, Rabbi."

Saint John settled Airwolf into the long ride up the Pacific coast of Central America. Jason turned to look at the woman sitting next to him. "Rabbi, Moishe, forgive me, but funny, you don't look Jewish."

Moishe laughed. "I'd like a nickel for every time I've heard that."

"I'll bet. So how did it happen?"

"My mother is Jewish, my father is black. His father was from Jamaica. You wouldn't believe how good matzoh ball soup can be when it's mixed with Caribbean-style curry."

"Sounds wonderful, although you probably don't mix it with bacon. So where are you from?"

"I'm from Washington, D.C. But I live in Los Angeles now."

"I'm from Washington, too."

After a moment Jason realized he'd been gazing into Moishe's eyes. Like a high school kid, he scolded himself, but tore himself away with difficulty and returned to watching the scope and instruments. Suddenly serious, he said, "Moishe."

"Jason?"

"Airwolf. This aircraft is classified. Please don't speak of it to anyone."

"Oh. Okay. I didn't realize…"

"What part of Washington are you from?"

They were still wrapped in coversation by the time Airwolf set down at Knightsbridge. The Loganas were dozing. "We've arrived, everybody," Saint John said.

President Logana jerked awake. "I'm sorry. I have been rude. My wife and I owe you our lives."

"There's nothing to apologize for; you must be exhausted," Jason said.

A delegation waited by the helipad to welcome President and Mrs. Logana. Saint John watched as they straightened their shoulders and turned from being a pair of exhausted refugees into a head of state and his first lady. They emerged from Airwolf with dignity and shook hands with Zeus, and were escorted into the building. A staffer retrieved the small bag they'd managed to carry with them and followed them into the building. Rabbi Dalton stood alone on the dock with Saint John and Jason, clutching her tote bag and looking a little lost. Two people from Jason's section waited to speak to him at the side of the helipad.

"Moishe, where do you live? I'd like to take you home," Jason asked her. "But first we've got to put Airwolf away. And I have to debrief my boss. By the time we got back, it would be a several hours, at least."

"I'll put her away, Jason," Saint John offered. "You do what you have to here, and then give the Rabbi a ride home. I'll bring the Company jeep back tomorrow."

"Thanks. I owe you. Give me a minute to retrieve my street clothes." Jason climbed into the back of the cockpit and came out with an athletic bag. Saint John lifted off carefully and headed Airwolf toward the Lair.

"Moishe, why don't you wait in my office while I get the Loganas squared away. I have a coffee pot and a comfortable chair. Where do you live?"

"I'd like that. I live near UCLA." Moishe hoisted her battered totebag over her shoulder.

"May I carry that for you?" Jason reached for her tote and escorted her into the building.

It was a beautiful late Sunday afternoon at the cabin at Eagle Lake. String had invited everyone up to celebrate the completion of the addition to the cabin. The main room had not changed, but doors on both levels led to two bedrooms and a bath on each floor. A pantry door opened near the kitchen. Le Van finally had his own room and Cait had moved out of her apartment completely to live at the cabin. The sleeping loft was now a study. String showed everyone around, set out chips and drinks, and sat down on the old sofa to enjoy his friends.

Saint John sat down beside him. Ellie walked behind the sofa and dropped a kiss on top of Saint John's head before joining Cait in the kitchen to make up some more onion dip for the chips. "So how's the life after work project going?" String asked.

"You know, I've been so busy living it, I hadn't noticed. I've loved getting back into reading - what a pleasure, after all those years without access to any books. And the gardens are looking great. I may put a fountain or some kind of running water thing in Dom's yard."

String grinned. "I suspect that's the secret to it. Living it. Being with Ellie again helps, doesn't it?"

"Oh yes. And Joshua. You and I are very efficient, jump-starting our family lives with pre-existing children."

Le Van and Saint John sat down to a game of chess. Saint John was pleasantly surprised by how well Le played. Moishe, Jason, Ellie, and Toni Donatelli became absorbed in an equally competitive game of Scrabble. Dom kibitzed over Toni's shoulder. Tet curled up under the table, hoping that some chips would drop to the floor. Mike and Jo took the rowboat out on the lake. Mike rowed as the sun set and the moon rose over the mountain. String could watch their progress through the open curtains on the front window by the door. He leaned back on the sofa with satisfaction to survey his kingdom. Vivaldi's Four Seasons played softly on the stereo. Cait sat down and snuggled next to him. "Hi," she murmured. He admired how her turquoise green shirt brought out the green in her eyes. "You hum when you're happy."

He slid his arm around her shoulders. "Hi. Was I humming?"

"You were. I think it was the cello line in the Vivaldi."

He hummed it a little louder and listened to himself. "Oh, yeah, it is." He turned to look at her. "One thing will make me happier."

"What?"

String reached into his jeans pocket with his free hand. "This," he said softly. He pulled out a small box and flicked it open with his thumb. "Cait, will you marry me?" He looked around. "Maybe this isn't the best time…" The open box revealed a gold ring set with a modest but perfect bright green emerald, flanked by two diamonds. "I thought it would look just right with your hair and eyes." He retrieved his arm and pulled the ring from the box. "Will you?" he asked again.

"Oh, String, I will love being married to you," she said softly. "And it's a perfect time to ask." She watched as he slid the ring onto the third finger of her left hand. "It fits perfectly." She turned and pressed her lips to his. She wrapped her arms around his neck and he slid his arms around her waist.

"Kids necking at a party," Dom said jovially. They broke apart and Cait blushed. String had a smile that lit up his face. "Do you want to tell us something?" Dom prompted.

"Dom," he said easily, "Cait and I are going to be married."

"Well, it's about time!" Dom declared. "The suspense was killing me."

String got to his feet and held out his hand to Cait. Everyone in the room left their games and crowded around the couple. "I thought I saw some champagne in the refrigerator," Saint John said, as he pulled it out. He found glasses in the cabinet behind the bar. "We should wait for Mike and Jo to get back to do this."

"To do what?" Mike asked, as he held the door for Jo.

"It seems we're celebrating an engagement." Whose engagement was obvious, from Cait's blush and incandescent smile, and the way String held her around the waist. "Mike, my education was sort of limited. Would you open this?"

Mike took over, untwisting the wires that held the cork in and pointed the bottle toward the stone fireplace. The cork flew across the room in satisfactory fashion. He smoothly caught the bubbling liquid in the first glass and grinned as he filled all of them. "Do the honors, Saint John," he said.

Glasses were passed out. "To Caitlin O'Shannessey, my sister-in-law to be, and to my brother, Stringfellow Hawke. We wish them all happiness and congratulations. And I am so glad to be here with Dominic and with my friends to celebrate their engagement."

"Congratulations!" rang out around the room. Moishe added, "Mazel tov!"

Le Van tried the champagne and wrinkled his nose. "It's an acquired taste," Mike whispered to him. Jo, Ellie, and Moishe hurried over to Cait to exclaim over the ring.

Saint John took String aside. "You could have given her Mom's ring. I wouldn't mind."

"That's for you, Sinj, to give to Ellie, like you planned back in Da Nang. Besides, I think the emerald suits Cait."

"It does. You look happy, String. She looks happy. You two suit each other."

"Yeah, I think we do."

"Have you decided on a wedding day?"

"Haven't gotten that far, but I was going to ask Cait if she'd like to ask Moishe to perform the ceremony."

"All right! We can keep the whole thing in the family," Saint John said enthusiastically.

"Well, if everyone is finished," Le Van said. "I was winning." Laughter went around the room.

"Out of the mouths of babes."

"Who are you calling a baby?" Le demanded.

"It's true," Saint John admitted. "He was winning."

Jason put an arm around Moishe. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder. "Moishe was demolishing us at Scrabble. We might as well finish the execution." Laughing, they returned to the Scrabble board.

"It's Talmudic logic," she explained, as she sat down and finished putting down all seven of her letters on a double word score. Ellie groaned.

"But I have not yet begun to fight," Toni declared. She put down 'dozen' on a triple word score.

"I'll get started on making dinner," Dom reminded them. "Jo, want to give me a hand?" They had brought tomato sauce up to the cabin, and only needed to reheat it and boil the spaghetti. Dom paused by String and Cait. He kissed Cait on the cheek and wrapped an arm around their shoulders. "You're making me very happy," he told them, "because I think you'll make each other happy."

After dinner, String and Cait took Moishe aside. "Moishe, or should we say, Rabbi," Cait began. "We were wondering if you perform nondenominational marriage ceremonies."

"I do. I have."

"We would be honored if you would marry us," String said.

"I would love to. Have you selected a date?"

"I have a large family," Cait said. "I'll have to call my folks and get a range of dates. We'd like to have the ceremony up here at the lake."

"Well, let me know. And thank you for asking me. I'm so happy for you." She crossed the room to her purse and dug out a business card. "Call me." She hugged Cait, turned and did the same with String. Jason walked over and slid his arm around her. "Jason, they've asked me to marry them."

"That's wonderful. We'll keep it in the family," he said, unconsciously echoing Saint John.

"Jason," String asked him when the women huddled, discussing the wedding,"How are things going with Moishe?"

"Are you trying to marry your friends off?"

"If I'm going to be happy, my family and friends should be happy too."

"Fair enough. Moishe's parents and mine have joined the same bowling league. My mother and her mother are exchanging recipes."

"Well, then, it's only a matter of time." String grinned. "By the way, do you have any idea when Michael is coming back to the States?"

"As I understand it, it will be soon. The Committee is stretched too thin to cover all of the duties of his division. Tell you what, I'll inquire and let you know."

"Good. He's been part of our lives since Cait and I first knew each other, Marella too, and I'd like them to be here when we get married."

"Airwolf has made us into a sort of clan," Jason said, bewilderment in his voice. "Magic. It's even worked on me. It was like electricity when Moishe climbed into Airwolf and sat between Mrs. Logana and me. Seko Logana called it; when Saint John introduced himself, he said, 'Then Airwolf is a family business,' and I said no; but I was wrong."

"I've marveled at that myself. Airwolf brought my brother home. It brought Cait into my life. Toni and Dom met thanks to Airwolf. It brought Mike and Jo together, and from the looks of it, you and Moishe. Le Van's aunt found me through Airwolf. Le wants to make up Airwolf t-shirts for all of us, except that Airwolf is classified."

"I can see it. The t-shirt would be the same color as our flight suits, with a black circle and the caption 'Asterisk, blank, Asterisk.'"

String chuckled and shook his head. "Don't suggest it to him. Come on, let me refill your glass. I like Moishe, Jason. She's a force of nature."

"I was afraid to put her in the same room as Le Van. Critical mass." Laughing, he followed String to the bar.