Airwolf and her characters belong to the copyright holders, Bellisario, and so forth. I appreciate the opportunity to let good characters come out to play after their original program has gone into stasis. Sarah Lebow was introduced in the episode, "Fight Like a Dove."

The Southwest Colorado Archaeological Institute is based on the Crow Canyon Archaeological Center in Cortez, Colorado.

Flight of the Dove

In an evening spent before the fireplace in his cabin Hawke recalled the question he meant to ask, even though he feared the answer. "Michael, have you heard anything about Sarah Lebow?" He swirled the wine in his glass. Tet, curled up by the hearth, groaned as he dreamed a doggie dream.

"Ah, Sarah," he murmured, "A formidable woman." Michael Coldlsmith-Briggs III, code-named Archangel, touched his right earlobe, remembering how she had grazed him with a bullet in Paraguay, some three years before.

"Then she's still alive?"

Michael lifted his arm from Marella's shoulders and sat up on the sofa. "Usually, you don't care, after a mission."

"No, usually I don't ask," Hawke answered sharply.

"Of course. Sorry." Hawke grunted. Michael was rarely sorry. "Sarah is here in Southern California, starting a year of postdoctoral research at UCLA."

"Then she's all right." Hawke was surprised how elated he felt at the news. She had said that she would not die, but he doubted it was a promise she could keep if she continued her father's work. "Is she still hunting Nazi war criminals?"

"You know, I think she is too busy living her life. If I see her, I'll tell her you asked."

Hawke fiddled with his glass for a moment. "Is she all right?"

"She was engaged," he said, intrigued by Hawke's interest. He cleared his throat. The long pause grew uncomfortable. Finally Michael went on, "Israeli traffic is, well, pretty awful. Her fiancee died in a car wreck. It was about six months ago."

"I'm sorry," Hawke said, automatically.

"Flying Airwolf may not be the most dangerous thing you do, Hawke. Just driving around L.A. is, statistically, a very dangerous activity."

"I'll be sure to tell Dom that. He'll appreciate it." He hesitated, fiddled some more with the brandy glass. "Michael, do you have Sarah's phone number?"

Michael pulled his satellite phone out of his briefcase and dialed the office. "Sharon, get me the Los Angeles phone number of Sarah Lebow." He spelled the last name out. "I'll hold." He disconnected the call, returned the phone to his briefcase, jotted the number down on a slip of paper and handed it to Hawke.

"Hawke, she is grieving, and I'm concerned she'll go back to chasing Nazi war criminals, not that there are many left alive."

"I'll keep that in mind, Michael."

Hawke spent a frustrating morning trying to find an oil leak on the old Stearman, after seeing Saint John off on a charter to Las Vegas. Cait was still in Texas. Hawke had flown her down to be with her father after he had suffered a stroke. Since the debacle of Flight 93, Hawke and Dom would not let her fly commercial. Jo Santini was out of town at a conference. Le Van was at boy scout camp for the week. At lunch time he used the phone in the Santini Air office to try Sarah's number. He got an answering machine. He left a message with the Santini Air office's phone number, ate a fish taco that Dom brought back from the diner next to the airfield, along with better coffee than the tarry black residue in the office's coffeemaker, and settled under the Stearman to get the ordeal over with. He was changing back into his clean clothes in late afternoon when the phone rang. "Get that, will ya String?" Dom shouted from the tarmac.

"Give me a sec," Hawke shouted, shrugging into his shirt and grabbing for the phone. "Santini Air."

"Mr. Hawke, is that you?" It was Sarah Lebow's memorable voice.

"Sarah. Michael mentioned that you were in Los Angeles."

"I guessed he must have told you I'm here."

"I'd like to see you. Are you free for lunch or dinner this week?"

He could hear her rustling some paper. "There's nothing on my calendar Saturday evening. I don't know the city well. Have you a suggestion, Mr. Hawke?"

"You could start by calling me String. There's a good Italian place next to the campus on Sunset Boulevard. It's called 'Mascarpone.' How about meeting there at 6:00 Saturday evening? I'll make reservations."

"I drive by it every morning. Six o'clock Saturday, then. I look forward to it."

Hawke hung up and finished buttoning his shirt. Dom walked in, leaning on his cane. He took his cap off to mop the sweat from his forehead. "Lesson? Charter?" he asked.

"No. Remember Sarah Lebow?"

"Beautiful girl," he recalled. "A little bloodthirsty. Is she okay?"

"She's living in Los Angeles this year. I'm meeting her for dinner Saturday evening."

Dom clapped String on his shoulder. "Glad to hear that. Give her my best, or better yet, bring her around some time."

"We'll see how dinner goes," Hawke warned.

Santini threw up his hands. "All right. All right. I'm not pushing."

Hawke reached around Dom's shoulders and gave him a quick hug. "I know."

Saturday evening saw String and Sarah at a booth in the back of the restaurant. Sarah's silk blouse and linen skirt in a grayish blue brought out the reddish highlights in her hair. Hawke was struck not by her beauty, and she was beautiful, but by the keen edge of her intelligence, shining from her eyes. But unlike the last time he had seen her, when the grief for her father was masked by her determination to bring Helmut Kruger to an Israeli court, one more sorrow had hooded that fire. Hawke said, "Michael told me about your fiancee. I'm very sorry."

She rested a hand on his forearm. "Thank you."

"So you are a post doc?"

"In archaeology, yes."

There was an uncomfortable pause. Finally, desperately, he asked, "Tell me about your research."

She relaxed as she described the project that brought her to UCLA as appetizers, salads, and entrees were set on the table in front of them. Like Hawke, she ordered eggplant parmesan. He didn't know if she preferred vegetarian entrees or if she was avoiding meat that was not kosher. 'Overthinking, String, old boy. Maybe she just likes eggplant parmesan.' After coffee and dessert, he suggested, "Let's drive down to the beach."

"I'd love to see the ocean."

They found a bench facing the surf. It was cool by the ocean. Sarah was shivering and Hawke placed his jacket around her shoulders. Planes from the airport gained altitude over the water high above and to their right. Their roar was muffled by distance and the surf. Two surfers took advantage of the full moon and the three-foot waves. Their wet suits glimmered in the moonlight.

"I asked Michael how you were doing."

"I gathered that's how you knew I was here. Michael got me my visa. Your State Department, for some reason, doesn't trust me." She laughed that silvery laugh. "I heard that your brother was found. How is he?"

"Well. Really well. He's flying an overnight charter to Las Vegas. I'd like to introduce you to him. From what Michael said, your research helped to pinpoint his location in Laos. I've wanted to thank you."

"Does he fly Airwolf too?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She laughed her lovely laugh. He relaxed into it.

"The deal with Archangel was Airwolf for your brother, but you still have it."

"I didn't say that."

"Well, you just did."

Hawke sat back and laughed. "I don't think I can keep up with you. But I can't talk about it."

"All right. How is Mr. Santini?"

"He'll want you to call him Dom. He's the same. A little older. He is very happy to have Saint John back. You know, he really thought Saint John was dead those sixteen years. He asked me to bring you around to the airfield to say hello."

More soberly, she said, "I heard about the bombing. I'm so happy you both survived."

"I'm okay, a little slower, but okay. Dom uses an artificial leg but he's okay, too. He's flying again."

"Did the people responsible get caught."

"Yes."

"Can you talk about it?"

"No."

"Secrecy certainly can smother a conversation." She leaned back against the bench, too. "Archangel tried to recruit me, after my fiancé died."

"Oh, good grief," Hawke muttered. "What did you tell him?"

"I told him that Mossad already tried and I said no. I am an archaeologist. My fiancé told me it was time to live my own life. So, for that matter, did Michael, back in Paraguay. I think I will."

"What was your fiancee's name?"

"It was Daniel."

They walked down the beach. Sarah held her shoes and walked just to the edge of the waves' foam. A club just beyond the beach with a live band was audible even near the water. A song began with a slow rhythm. Hawke turned Sarah to face him, he hooked his cane over his arm, and they danced in the sand.

When Hawke returned Sarah to her car, he walked her to the door. "We were on our mission in Paraguay," she said softly. "It was all action and firepower. I didn't know you had such lovely manners, or that you were such good company." She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. He waited while she unlocked the door and was safely inside before he walked back to the sedan he had borrowed from Dominic. He sat inside the car for a little while, until she drove off, before heading back to Santini Air and the helicopter he would use to go home. Sarah had said in Airwolf that she was good company. And she was.

Hawke carefully piloted the ship over the mesa and down into a canyon north of Mesa Verde National Park. The camera on the Tyler Mount behind his seat was being operated by his brother. Working with him meant a great deal to Stringfellow Hawke, something he didn't dare look forward to in the long years that Saint John was missing in action in Viet Nam. The project was fascinating, an archaeological survey of the area for the Southwest Colorado Archaeological Institute. It felt good to get back to the sort of civilian flying Santini Air excelled at before the bombing had sidelined both Dominic and Hawke over a year before. Saint John was eager to learn the painstaking and thoroughly peaceful aspect of the business as well.

The target area was particularly rugged and had defied complete and thorough surveying of its archaeological resources. With pictographs on the rock walls, ordinary climbing was out of the question. Part of the area was accessible no other way. Issues of Native American reservations and private property made it more complicated. String and Saint John stopped to hover every few minutes while they checked the map to be sure that they were staying within the grid coordinates. Even landing on a mesa top was to be avoided, because of the damage that the helicopter's skids or prop wash could do to the known and undiscovered artifacts there.

The late morning sun washed out the red of the canyon walls. Saint John turned off the equipment. "String, how about heading back to the Institute to fuel up and eat lunch?" He pulled the open hatch shut.

"Good idea. It'll be a few hours until the sun swings around enough to photograph those west-facing canyon walls."

There was no room for Saint John to climb into the left seat but he leaned over it.

"This is pretty intricate work, Sinj. Are you enjoying it?"

"You know, I've been thinking of leaving the Airwolf project. This is what I hoped for, flying for Dom, being useful. Peace."

"Yeah. Me too. Time to let someone else play warrior. I get the sense Jo isn't an adrenalin junkie, either."

"Jo doesn't see targets when we're in a dogfight in Airwolf. She sees people."

"Healthier viewpoint."

They flew in companionable silence, until Saint John called out, "Wait!"

"What?"

"I saw something… Back there, in the canyon."

String brought the helicopter to a hover, turned around and moved back slowly. "What did you see, Sinj?"

"Just a glimpse…probably nothing…but it looked like a vehicle. Down at the bottom."

"There aren't supposed to be any vehicles there. It could be a government vehicle." He grabbed a pair of field glasses from a pouch by his seat. "Let's make another pass." He handed the binoculars to Saint John and brought the helicopter around in a slow arc to repeat their path across the narrow canyon cut in reddish rock below them.

"Nothing," Saint John said. "Wait, maybe… String, could you drop down a ways?"

"I'll take her down about a thousand feet." The Tyler Mount kept String from one of his trademark plunges. He dropped sedately and steadied the ship.

Saint John adjusted the field of view on the binoculars, then yelled, "Missile!"

Without thinking, Stringfellow wheeled the helicopter hard to port. The streamlined shape missed them by a few feet. He righted the ship and took off at the fastest speed the Jet Ranger could manage. Very slowly he brought it back around to their original course.

"What the…?"

"Stinger. Probably with bad batteries or it would have acquired us. Sinj, mark our position on the map. We're getting out of here. We have to report this. I hope it didn't land on a ranch house!"

After a few minutes of flying to be sure they were out of range, Hawke raised the contact person at the Institute, a Dr. Frayne, on the radio. "Walter, this is Stringfellow Hawke, from Santini Air. We just dodged a missile, probably a stinger, out by," he referred to the map, "Ute Pipe Mesa. The shot came from the canyon on the west side of the mesa."

"A missile! Are you sure?"

"We're both army reserve. We know one when we see one. The map says it's a Wilderness Study Area, so there shouldn't be any vehicles. We saw something at the bottom, and when we went back to take a look, someone took a potshot at us. This ship isn't designed to dodge missiles. You know who to call, I assume? Do it quickly. It missed us by inches. We'll be back in a few minutes and we can talk then. Hawke out."

"I take it back," Saint John said.

"What?"

"Flying for Dom. Being useful. Peace," he quoted himself.

String started laughing, and after a moment of shock, Saint John did too. They were nearly back to the helipad at the Institute before String could stop long enough to say anything. The helicopter was bouncing around a bit from the force of the laughter. "This really isn't funny," String said. And started laughing again.

"No, it isn't," Saint John agreed, forehead down on the seatback, trying to regain control.

"Remember Dom telling you about how I got kidnapped several years ago, along with a nurse, by East German agents who wanted to get their hands on Airwolf? We were shoved into the back of a cargo plane. She asked me. 'Do you do this every day?'" He lost control again, and so did his brother. They had to make an extra circle of the parking lot and building to contain themselves enough to land.

Sheriff Hansen of San Pedro County met Dr. Frayne and the Hawke brothers at the helipad. "You boys want to show me where this happened?" he asked, after introductions.

Saint John spread the map against the side of the chopper. "Right here," he pointed out where they had dodged the missile.

"You're sure about the location?"

"We were flying an aerial survey for the Institute. We'd been watching the map all morning."

"Well, we've called ATF but I'd like to go back and check the area. They won't be able to get here until this evening, after we've lost the light. No one reported an explosion. Maybe it was a dud."

"Sheriff, this ship has no capability in terms of locating missile launchers or dodging missiles. We figured the first one missed because something was wrong with the targeting mechanism. What if we aren't that lucky again?"

Dr. Frayne interrupted. "Two of our archaeologists are missing. Dr. Many Feathers and Dr. Lebow were going hiking and camping near the area where you encountered the missile. They were due back yesterday. On Sunday."

String wheeled on the archaeologist. "Who did you say was missing?"

"Two of our archaeologists. Two women."

"No, the names."

"Sarah Lebow and Carolyn Many Feathers."

"Dear God," String muttered. "I had dinner with Sarah a month ago in Los Angeles. She's an old friend, Sinj," he explained.

"She's an Israeli post-doc visiting from UCLA. Dr. Many Feathers is part of the permanent staff. She's local, from the Ute Mountain Reservation."

"If she's local, she knows her way around. Maybe they were just delayed."

Dr. Frayne kneaded the lines in his forehead. "If that's all, it would just embarrass them for us to hit the panic button. But if they're in trouble, especially with someone out there shooting missiles, then every minute we delay could be vital."

"OK, Sheriff, we'll go back, but we need some back-up. Do you have a county chopper?"

"One."

"Can you get it over here? Going back alone is just asking for trouble." Saint John turned to Dr. Frayne. "Walter, do you have any idea what vehicle the women were driving?"

"I already checked. They didn't take any of ours. Carolyn's personal vehicle has an Institute parking sticker. We should have a record of it." Saint John and Dr. Frayne rushed into the administration building while Sheriff Hansen reached into his police car for the radio.

"Our helicopter will meet us near the junction of U.S. 491 and Colorado 184. Be there in about an hour," he told String, who checked it against the map.

Saint John returned with Dr. Frayne. "She should be driving a dark blue 1984 Bronco," Frayne said. "I've contacted the Ute Mountain tribal administration. The police chief should be going over to her parents' place to let them know she's missing. I'm hoping she's going to meet them at the door, with Sarah right behind her.

"Okay, let's saddle up. Dr. Frayne, if you or your staff would stay near your office radio, we'll check in around 3:00 p.m. Please let us know if the ladies turn up before then."

As String refueled the helicopter, he said quietly to Saint John, "We may have to give Dom a call to have him bring Airwolf."

"Can Dom fly her this far?"

"Jo's at a conference. Mike is at a mandatory training. I know Dom'll be fine if he keeps off the turbos, but that might not be possible. He's had her out a few times in the last couple months. We'll have to clear it with Jason, and he might fly out with Dom. And we'll have to make sure Le Van has someone to pick him up at the camp bus and give him a place to stay if we're here more than a week.

"One other thing. There are a lot of reasons why a mysterious black helicopter could stir people up around here. He'd almost have to bring her in very high, just to stay out of sight. That means he'd have to use the turbos."

"Yeah. Well, maybe we'll find the women or they'll turn up, or the ATF will take care of everything for us."

"Right."

String flew the Jet Ranger. Saint John tucked into the back by the Tyler Mount, allowing the sheriff to ride in the passenger seat. After picking up the second chopper they flew east into the maze of mesas and canyons cut in red and yellow sandstone.

After a few minutes, String slowed the Jet Ranger and checked the map. "There," he pointed. That's the canyon where we spotted the vehicle." Saint John handed the field glasses to the sheriff.

"Can you take her down?" Hansen asked.

"I'm a bit reluctant. Hold on. Santini Air to San Pedro 1. Stay up here and stay sharp. We're going down for a better look."

"San Pedro 1. Roger, Santini Air. Staying high and sharp."

String descended more cautiously than the last time, swinging in from over the mesa for the cover it provided. There did not appear to be anything unusual there when they finally got a good look. "I see tracks," the sheriff said. "Two sets, I'd guess coming and going. Let's follow them back."

"San Pedro 1, we're following the canyon. Follow us, but stay high."

"Following high, Santini Air, roger."

Hawke sent the chopper at a good clip along the trace of the canyon. The walls were at least five hundred feet tall. The tire tracks were lighter streaks in the reddish canyon bottom. There were a few splotches of grayish green shrubs along the track and some scattered scrubby trees, but no grass, and so far, no obvious water sources. "You didn't get a look at that vehicle?" the sheriff asked.

"Too busy ducking. Sinj, could you see what color that vehicle was?"

"Dust colored. The roof may have been blue."

The Sheriff said, "Wait." Hawke settled into a hover over the canyon. "The tracks stopped."

"They can't just stop," Saint John said.

The Sheriff handed the field glasses back to Saint John. "They stop. A cave?"

String said, "That would be my guess. Or one of those sandstone alcoves."

The Sheriff asked, "Do you have any firearms with you?"

"We can't. We crossed state lines. We left them in California."

"It's too risky to hover down there."

Hawke said, "How long until we can get some back-up?"

"We'd have to come in with vehicles and there'll be a dust-up with the Feds seeing that it's a Wilderness Study Area. My chopper has some extra weaponry. Let's land on the mesa over there and get you boys some hardware. I wish I had bullet-proof vests for you. I'm going to deputize you, if that's all right with you."

"Seems like the best plan for now. Let's try not to disturb those ruins there. What is that, a granary?"

"Looks like. I'd like it to be a granary when we've finished, too."

Hawke thumbed the radio. "San Pedro 1, we're landing, very, very carefully, on that rock rib to our right. Land behind us there, please."

"Roger, Santini Air. Right behind you, carefully."

Hawke maneuvered the chopper to a level area past the small ruin. The ruin was square and roofless with a doorway. The walls, about five feet high, were composed of blocks made of the same red sandstone as the rocks on which it rested. Rubble filled the center. Hawke left room for the other helicopter and set down. He stepped out, keeping a firm grip on the chopper until he was sure he hadn't just stepped off into space. Never afraid of the open air beneath him when flying, he found the naked drop off the cliff unnerving.

The sheriff climbed out the other side, equally cautiously. He walked over to the other helicopter and returned with an assault rifle and a pistol. "If you would raise your right hands?"

Hawke and Saint John dutifully raised their hands and swore to uphold the laws of San Pedro County, Colorado. Saint John took the rifle, Hawke the handgun. Hawke edged over to the San Pedro County chopper. "Stay high and watch our back," he suggested to the pilot."

"You bet."

The sheriff hopped back in the left seat, Hawke in the right. "Ready?"

"Gotta do it."

Hawke lifted off and started a careful descent. He set the ship down where the tracks disappeared. While it seemed as if the rotor blades must touch the walls, the canyon was at least a hundred yards wide. The prop wash obliterated several yards of tracks. There was, indeed, a naturally arched alcove hollowed out in the brick-red sandstone wall. Saint John moved into the open hatch by the Tyler Mount, rifle set to cover String and the sheriff. The two men advanced on the shallow alcove with pistols drawn, but it was obvious that no one was in it. "San Pedro 1, we're going to be here for a while. Save fuel and set her down next to us."

"Roger, Santini Air. See you in a minute."

The dust had been disturbed and some cigarette butts littered the floor. Hawke crouched over a spot against the back wall.

"What is it?" the sheriff asked.

Hawke reached down and pulled up a small, yellow notebook. "A field notebook." He flipped it open. "It's Sarah's. Here's her name. Do you have an evidence bag?"

"In the other ship. Let's see if we have any clean rags or tissues."

The fieldbook was wrapped carefully. Saint John joined the hunt for evidence. He collected some of the cigarette butts. Some bags or chests had rested against the back wall but had been removed. In the dirt in front of the indentations the sheriff found scattered pieces of pottery. Three were beige with black markings, four more were sooty black, and two were a vivid yellow. Hawke spotted what appeared to be a bone fragment. Several more were under the dust near it, including what looked like a portion of a human jaw with three teeth still in it. "Pot hunters, probably professionals," the sheriff said. He pulled a camera out of his jacket pocket and took pictures of the alcove.

"Let's take a look at those tire tracks." Saint John knelt next to the tracks where they started up again. The sheriff took several pictures of the tracks. Then the men turned and walked next to them where they disappeared. They walked around the helicopter and the prop wash until a fragment reappeared, then vanished again. A bush had several broken branches where they stuck out across the canyon bottom. "Look. I think they attached a blanket on the back of the vehicle to wipe out the tracks." A bit of gray flannel fabric was snagged on one of the broken branches.

Sheriff Hansen sat on a fallen boulder and marked a topographic map, then wrote for a few minutes in a small spiral-bound notebook. He stuffed the notebook back into his pocket. "Let's see if we can find more tracks."

Saint John took over the pilot's seat while String sat in the back with binoculars. After a few minutes flying above the canyon the blanket lay on the ground and the tracks started up again. They descended to pick up the blanket for evidence. At the canyon's mouth, the tracks were lost in the bottom of a drainage. There was a west-facing slope with heavier vegetation. "Which way?"

"Let's see if we can spot more tracks. We're out of the Wilderness Study Area and there's usually some vehicle traffic. But the nearest paved road is to the north."

"North it is," Saint John confirmed. The drainage broadened out until it seemed like an interstate compared to the cramped canyon. "Wait. Some more tracks. Let's check if they're the same." He thumbed the radio button. "San Pedro 1. We're going to take a quick look at some more tracks. You doing okay up there?"

"I'll need some gas soon."

"We will too. Hang in there."

Saint John settled the Jet Ranger well clear of the tracks. All three men got out to take a look. "The same, and fresh," the sheriff said, as he took photographs and marked his map and notebook. "We might as well see if we can tell which way he got onto the highway. But after that, I'm stumped. I sure hope those ladies aren't caught up in this, but finding that notebook, well, it's not looking too positive."

"We'll have to mount a search for them," String said, worry in his voice. "It's a maze of canyons back there, but it sounds like Dr. Many Feathers would know her way around. I'll follow the tracks out to the highway. Want to join me, Sheriff?" He fished his cane out from the back of the chopper.

"Good idea. See you up there, Sinj." he pointed to the paved road ahead and stepped back. "Clear."

Saint John inclined his head and lifted off carefully, after the sheriff and his brother were safely away from the helicopter.

The tracks reappeared twice for a few yards. At the highway's gravel shoulder, the light red dust traces turned south. "What's that way?" String asked.

"You've got me. Mesa Verde National Park to the south; the Ute Mountain Reservation; the Great Sage Plain leading to Four Corners. You go far enough, the Navajo Nation. There's lots and lots of public land, and lots of empty land where people can hide things. It's rugged country."

They waited for Saint John to set the helicopter down near them. The county helicopter landed behind it. "Let's go get some gas. We would like to assist you in the search for the women. Saint John and I have access to an advanced prototype helicopter as part of a government contract. It has some excellent remote sensing equipment. Why don't we see if we can arrange with the project officer to have it brought into the search, if that's okay with you."

"I'm looking forward to seeing it."

String laughed briefly. "Sheriff, it's a black helicopter. We don't want to upset your constituents."

"You boys are full of surprises."

"We're an air service company. Besides this contract, we fly air stunts for movies and do some aerial photography. And we take our contracts where we can get them. Let's go talk to your pilot and find out where we can fuel up."

"I've been trying to place your name. You were an astronaut. It's a hard name to forget – I don't know why it took me so long. What are you doing here?"

"After the Apollo project ended, I didn't want to fly the space shuttle; it seemed too much like driving a long distance truck. So I did a few years as a test pilot, then came back to Santini Air. It's our family business."

"Like I said, you boys are full of surprises."

Back at the research center, Saint John and String conferred with the director. String phoned Dom. "Are you up to helping out in a search? We'll need to get permission from Jason."

"In the old days we told Archangel after we did something."

"Technically, I'm not involved at all and Saint John is asking."

"Right."

The phone rang again. "Saint John?" Hawke recognized Jason's voice and handed Saint John the phone. "I hear you want to use Airwolf?"

"Yes. I'm going to let String fill you in. Hold on." He returned the phone to his brother.

"Jason, we have a situation here that I think justifies bringing our prototype in," he said, avoiding the use of the name 'Airwolf' in front of strangers. "This morning, on an aerial photographic survey of some Anasazi archaeological sites, we flew over a wilderness study area. A vehicle that shouldn't have been there fired a stinger missile at us. Two archaeologists have gone missing; one of them is Sarah Lebow - you may have known her father, Harry Lebow - She is an old friend, and I saw her several weeks ago. This afternoon, Saint John and I worked with the San Pedro County Sheriff, Jeff Hansen. We traced the vehicle's tracks and found evidence of artifacts and smuggling, and we found Sarah's field notebook. The vehicle's tracks led out to a paved road where it may have turned south to a maze of public land and various Indian reservations. So we've got missiles in the hands of smugglers, stolen protected antiquities on Federal land, and an apparent kidnapping of a foreign national."

Jason whistled. "Any one of those issues would warrant using Airwolf. Dr. Lebow's disappearance is an international incident in the making. But we can't just fly the Lady in and land her in a parking lot somewhere. What do you suggest?"

"The Company ought to just declassify her," Hawke muttered. "Every intelligence agency and most military establishments on the planet know we've got her. But that won't happen quickly enough to help us right now. We can find a good place to park her near the Institute while you and Dom fly her out. We need to hurry, so I think you ought to fly her high and on turbos to avoid a lot of nonsense about government black helicopters."

"With the Lady it's not nonsense. OK. We'll contact you in about two hours on the scrambler. We should be in the air by then. Find us a place to park. On our end, we'll contact other agencies to see if anyone is investigating antiquities thefts in the area. Otherwise, we'll be hunting for a needle in a haystack. We'll make an official contact with the San Pedro County Sheriff's Office."

By the time Dom and Jason called in an hour later, already over Arizona, Saint John and String had found an uninhabited, helicopter-accessible canyon about ten minutes' flying from the Institute. "I'll camp out by Airwolf," Saint John volunteered. "Dom needs a real bed. I've made reservations for both of them at the motel."

"I'll do it, Sinj. I've slept rough next to her often enough. Let's hit that store at the campground and get some food, water, flashlight batteries, and so forth. At least the other supplies are in the Lady. We'll have to do something nice for the Okushiro's, taking Le Van on such short notice."

Saint John called the sheriff. "This is Saint John Hawke. Our surveillance helicopter is en route. The project officer has asked us to keep it out of sight so we'll be parking it nearby and my brother will camp out with it. Let's meet at the Institute at, let's see, six o'clock this evening and share information and make a plan. Time can't be on our side if the women have been caught up in this. I assume they weren't at Dr. Many Feathers' parents' home?"

"I wish they were. I'll let my pilot go home, since you'll have two ships now. You're right about time getting away from us; I have a real bad feeling about all this. Do I get to see your experimental ship?"

"That will be up to the project officer. He's coming along."

Saint John picked up Dom and Jason at Airwolf's landing site. Dr. Frayne managed to find some decent pizza and beer for the six o'clock meeting at the Institute. After introductions, Jason said, "ATF and the FBI have been watching some activity around the Four Corners, apparently disappearing into the Navajo Reservation where no one has followed them. It involves smuggling antiquities and explosives, so it sounds very similar to the situation we're monitoring."

"Do we have anything we can track?" Hawke asked.

"Not that I know of."

"Let's go back to that alcove and see if there is any pattern or chemical signature that the gear can sense from above the canyon. It's a place to start. Sheriff, we'll have to sleep sometime. We'll check out the alcove this evening, but then none of us will be worth anything if we don't stop for a while. Mr. Locke is compiling various agency reports on investigations in this area. We ought to review them before we waste time and gas."

Catching the last hour of light, Saint John piloted Airwolf back to the alcove in the canyon. Dom ran the sensing gear. String enjoyed playing tourist in the co-pilot's seat. The early evening sun brought out the brilliant reds of the upper canyon walls and mesa tops, achingly beautiful against the occasional patches of green. The canyon bottoms were deep in shadow. They hovered over the alcove. "That's weird," Dom said.

"What's weird?"

"We're sensing a big uptick in radiation."

"Right here?"

"I can't tell. Let's try to narrow it down. Saint John, fly about a quarter mile to the east." Saint John moved off as Dom asked, then hovered over the top of the mesa. "The radiation level dropped off. Let's go over to the other side of the canyon."

Saint John hovered precisely over the rock rib on the south side. "Dropped off again. Now, let's drop down and follow the canyon about a quarter mile."

Saint John did as Dom asked. "Dropped off again, Dom reported." That alcove is a hot spot."

String radioed the sheriff's office. "Sheriff, this is Stringfellow Hawke. Do you have a Geiger counter?"

"Sure do. We're on the edge of uranium mining country here."

"Try running it over the evidence we gathered at the alcove and call us back. We're heading back to the barn."

Saint John flew Airwolf sedately back to the campsite. The radio squawked. "How did you know?" the sheriff asked.

"That alcove in the canyon was so hot the sensors spotted it from above the walls. And it was specific to the alcove area. Look, we're all in. You've probably had it too. Let's meet tomorrow at the Institute before we start a search pattern. We'll talk to Dr. Frayne and he'll get back to you. Good night."

"Night. Hansen out."

Dr. Frayne picked up the radio from his home, where Jason had joined him for dinner. "What'd you find?"

"Do you ever find a type of artifact that is radioactive?"

"Rarely, but there is one pottery style, typically found on an area on Black Mesa in the Navajo Nation, that is usually above background level."

"That's a long way from here. Well, it may give us something we can use to track our bad guys and hopefully, our missing archaeologists."

"There have been many uranium mines and prospects on and around the Navajo Nation. I don't know how you'll factor that into the search."

"Jason?"

"I'll get you some maps. Let me call the office and get that started."

"Good enough. The sheriff will give you a call tomorrow. We're all beat. Let's meet at nine at the office at the Institute."

"I sure hope you can find them."

"We do too. See you tomorrow. Hawke out."

"You guys ready to hit the sack?" Dom asked.

"You bet," Saint John said.

"Wake me when we've landed," String said, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"Dom," Saint John said, smiling at his brother, "it's time for some jokes."

"Do you know the one about…" Dom began.

"Yes," String groaned.

The search began the next morning. Saint John flew while Dom programmed the digital map Jason had provided into Airwolf's computers. String sat with field glasses trained on the area. "I think to start we should rule out any hot spot that correlates with a visible mine or disturbance. These people wouldn't deliberately stay where the radiation level would be dangerous. My guess is that they don't know that some of their artifacts are hot."

"So what are we looking for?"

"They must be storing the stuff somewhere. I'd say we should be looking for a shed, a campsite, a vehicle, a truck, anything but a mine or prospect."

"Well, let's start on the search grid. The Department of Interior or the Bureau of Indian Affairs is going to get some interesting phone calls from the reservation about black helicopters. I gather Jason has some sort of an explanation ready."

The grid work was not much different from the aerial photography Saint John and String had flown earlier in the week. Occasionally String was astonished by the beauty of the landscape on the Navajo Nation, but mostly all three of them concentrated on the task at hand. They flew to a Company station near Cortez to refuel and get some lunch, then returned to the search. By mid-afternoon they were tired, bored, and getting very worried. Dominic yawned, but then said, "Wait."

"What?" String asked.

"Saint John, stop here. I'm getting a faint signal, it's about a half mile away, heading… You can see it. It's at the base of that mesa, a line of cottonwood trees, there's a shed." Dom compared the location to Jason's map. "If it's an old mine, it's not on the map."

"Let's go take a look."

"Stay high. I don't want to alert them."

"Looks like a pick-up truck with a cap on the back parked next to it. There are tire tracks around it," String said. "I wonder if they're the same as the tracks in the canyon."

"Be willing to bet they are," Saint John observed. They flew closer.

"Dom, any life signs?"

"Life signs, four human beings. One seems awfully low. You know, I've seen that pattern before, when someone was hurt."

"We have to check it out. I'll call Jason," String said.

Dom pointed out, "We're out of the county by now. Actually, we're in Utah, so we're in the next state."

"String," Saint John said. "We'll have to be armed."

"Yeah. We'll have to." He thumbed the scrambler. "Jason?"

"Go ahead."

"We're in Utah on the Navajo Nation, closing in on a small building with a radioactive signature. There are life signs in there, one reading possibly as injured. We'll keep you posted. Find us the nearest trauma center, would you?"

"Will do. I'm standing by the radio."

"Dom, can you get ready to fly her? String and I will go in. We may have to evacuate a casualty. I'm taking her down."

Saint John dropped Airwolf as if he'd cut the engines. He took the gun out of the storage compartment near his seat. String did the same. "I'll cover you," he told Saint John. They each pushed the hatch on their side of the gun ship open and ran for the door of the shed. String dropped back and to one side. He didn't like carrying the gun one-handed, but his other hand was occupied with his cane.

Saint John rapped sharply on the door.

"What do you want?" a voice came from behind the door.

"We understand you have someone who needs a lift to a hospital."

"So you're Medivac?"

"Yeah," he said, improvising, and stepping to the left side of the door.

At least a dozen shots burst through the spot where he had been standing.

"Well, I tried to be polite," he said conversationally, as he kicked the door in.

He rushed in, dropped and rolled, and came up with the gun pointed at the head of the first gunman facing him. String stepped in behind him, weapon pointed at the other man's head. "Give it up," he said. The man dropped his weapon.

The first man fired at Saint John but Saint John was moving again, to his right. The bullet thudded into the doorframe. Saint John shot the gunman in the knee. He fell, screaming, gun sliding out of his hand. Saint John picked it up. "Good thing I wasn't selling encyclopedias," he observed.

"Sinj, cover them." In the corner of the room a woman with long black braids sat on the dusty floor with her hands bound in front of her, mouth gagged. She had a bruised cheek and blackened eye. Someone else lay on a sleeping bag, apparently unconscious. He hurried over and removed the gag. "Dr. Many Feathers?" he asked.

"Help Sarah," she said.

He turned to the bed. "Sarah?"

Her eyes opened. "String?"

"You told me you wouldn't die, Sarah, remember? I'm going to hold you to it."

"Michael called you…" she lost the thought for a moment. "…called you 'Sir Galahad.'"

He checked her over rapidly. She had been shot in the shoulder and in the leg. There was a lot of blood. Her face was bruised. She was feverish and breathing rapidly. "We're going to get you to the hospital now," he told her. "Saint John, could you carry her to Airwolf? Call Jason. I'll stay here with them until Jason can get the FBI or whoever out here to take custody of these two." He nodded at the two gunmen. He untied Carolyn Many Feathers. "Can you walk?" he asked.

"Yes," she assured him, although she wobbled as he helped her to her feet. Her plaid flannel shirt was stained and torn. Her head came just to his shoulder.

"Go with them," String told her. "Take care of Sarah. There's a first aid kit in the helicopter."

Saint John scooped up Sarah Lebow and strode toward Airwolf with her in his arms. "You're Saint John?" she asked, voice slurred.

"Yeah. String can introduce us properly later."

String sat down on an upended crate, gun aimed at the two gunmen. "You," he said to the one still standing. "Sit on the floor. Over there." He pointed at a spot next to the wall. He looked down and noticed the crate was filled with human skulls. He shuddered and got up and flipped over an empty crate and sat on it.

"What about me!" the wounded man demanded. "I could bleed to death here."

"What a shame," Hawke observed.

It took Jason three hours to reach String and his prisoners. The wounded gunman was semi-conscious. "We picked up the third member of the gang on the road to this place. I'm glad he didn't die," Jason observed, nodding toward the wounded man. "It would look bad."

"To who?"

Jason shrugged and stood aside as a Zebra Squad team loaded the man on a stretcher and handcuffed the other gunman. "We think they're the whole gang." he told Hawke. "It looks like they were getting ready to move out. The pick-up was half-loaded."

"How's Sarah?"

"She's still in surgery. She was in shock, but the doctor said that he thought we'd gotten to her in time. We took her to Farmington."

Hawke took off at a limping run for the helicopter. Jason followed.

The short flight to Farmington seemed forever to Hawke. "String," Jason said carefully, after discussing what Hawke had learned about the artifact smuggling operation. "Are you in a relationship with Sarah Lebow?"

"With Sarah? No. We met when we, well, it wasn't an official Airwolf mission."

"I read the file," Jason said dryly.

"But Sarah is still mourning for her fiancee, and at any rate, at the end of the academic year, she'll be returning to Israel. She's a friend, Jason. I'm glad we got to her in time."

Sarah was in the recovery room when the helicopter set down on the helipad outside the hospital. An emergency team ran to pull the wounded smuggler from the helicopter. In the waiting room, Hawke sat next to Carolyn Many Feathers. Saint John and Dom had taken Airwolf back to the campsite in the canyon near the Institute.

"Thank you for rescuing us," Carolyn said. "Sarah mentioned she'd dinner with someone named Hawke in Los Angeles before coming to work with us. Your name suits you."

"It suits both of us."

"Well, thank you. Those men didn't know what to do with us, but I think they would have killed us soon."

Hawke winced. Sarah's continued survival had become a talisman for him. "She told me, once, years ago when we met, that she wasn't going to die. I'm glad you're both all right."

The nurse walked into the room. "Sarah Lebow's family?"

"Her friends," Hawke said, rising. "Can we see her?"

"We're getting her settled in her room. Let me show you to it."

Sarah looked exhausted, dark circles under her eyes, a bruise over one temple, right arm bandaged in a sling, a leg elevated on pillows beneath the blanket. Still, her face lit up as Hawke walked in. "String. Thank you."

He bent to kiss her forehead. "Any time, Sarah. I mean it. Any time." He rested a hand on her uninjured shoulder. "What did you do, try to take them both on at once?"

"They were going to hurt Carolyn." He winced, envisioning what must have happened. "Could you stay with me a while?"

"Sure." He sat down in a chair in the corner. Carolyn Many Feathers walked in, looking only a little less worn out than Sarah.

"How're you doing, kid?" Carolyn asked her.

"All right. Thank you. I should introduce…"

"Shhh," Carolyn said. "We already met. Sarah, I'm going to get some rest, and I'll be back tomorrow. I have to call my parents." She also kissed Sarah's forehead and headed out the door.

Jason stuck his head in. "String, I'm going to take Dr. Many Feathers to her motel. Saint John and Dom should be along in a while to pick you up."

"Sarah," String asked, "Can I get you anything?"

"No. I think I'll sleep now."

Sarah was dozing when Saint John walked in. "She passed out during the flight here, so we still haven't been introduced," he observed.

"Introduce me now," the tired voice from the bed said.

String stood up and led his brother over Sarah's side. "Dr. Sarah Lebow, my brother Saint John Hawke."

She raised her left hand, but was so weak that it dropped back to the blanket. Saint John picked it up, her small hand enveloped in his very large one. "Sarah, a pleasure."

"I've heard so much about you," she murmured. "I'm so glad you are alive and home. Thank you for finding me."

"Me, too. And thank you for helping to find me in Southeast Asia."

String touched her gently again. "Rest. I'll see you tomorrow." He followed his brother to the Jet Ranger.

A week later, Sarah was released from the hospital to recuperate in her apartment in Los Angeles. String flew her up to the lake for the afternoon. Saint John carried her up the path from the dock and settled her in the most comfortable chair, wine glass in easy reach beside her, and her injured leg elevated on a hassock.

Caitlin, just returned from Texas, fussed over her, as did Dom and Jo. Le Van was quite smitten with her and hovered close, anxious to get her anything she asked. Michael and Marella sat in their usual place on the sofa. Saint John sat with Ellie on the smaller sofa, while Mike and Jason sat in what had become their accustomed places at the bar, wine glasses in hand. Tet sat by the hearth.

"Sarah, the last time you were up here, you all were picking on me," Michael recalled.

"That's because you wouldn't take me seriously," she reminded him.

"Sarah, I always take you seriously. And on behalf of my government, I must apologize for your being caught up in what turns out to be the activities of common criminals. There is a reward for their capture, which will be split between you and Carolyn Many Feathers."

"Thank you. Carolyn is still upset that our weekend hike to one of her favorite camping places put me in danger."

"She had no way to know those people were using it for a hangout and storage site."

"Well, something good did come of it."

"What?"

"The smugglers led us to a new pottery type. It should keep archaeologists busy trying to place it in the various pottery traditions of the area. If it had been left in place, of course, we might not have discovered it any time soon, but when it was found it would have been much easier to reconstruct its context. There's a reason why archaeologists have no use for pot hunters." She smiled. "Your government is doing something quite clever. They are offering a plea deal to one of the smugglers if he will show them where the artifacts, especially the radioactive pottery, were obtained. Sarah struggled to stand up. "Le Van, give me a hand, please," she commanded. He rushed to offer her his arm.

"String, that small gathering we had here three years ago has grown. Dominic, Michael and Marella, and now Cait and Jo, Saint John and Jason, you have been such good friends. I owe my life to you. Le Van and Mike, my new friends, thank you. Thank you." She raised her wine glass. "To friends." She sipped her wine, then leaned over to kiss Le Van on the cheek. He flushed red.

The room sounded with a chorus of, "To friends."