Journey into Darkness

Title: "Journey into Darkness"
Author: ddrake
Email: ddrake@99main.com
Fandom(s): Airwolf
Genre (general, hetero or slash) het
Rating: FRAO
Summary: The best of intentions go horribly wrong.
Warnings: Sex, violence, language – and perhaps I should warn for no String, Dom, or Airwolf – sorry.
Notes: This is a 4th season story – with 3rd season characters. It attempts to fill some of the continuity gaps that “the powers that be” left when they “revised” the series. This story is set in an approximate 2 month span shortly before/during/after the “Blackjack” episode.
Acknowledgments: I would like to thank Linda and Enfleurage for their input and betas – any errors that remain are mine.


"Journey into Darkness"

Caitlin O'Shannessy sealed the fuel bill and stuck a stamp on the envelope. *Done,* she thought to herself. *Dom, that's the last time I stay late on a Friday night just to straighten out your bookkeeping.* Dropping the bill into the out box, she pushed her chair back and stood, stretching.

Dominic Santini might be an excellent pilot, but he hated doing the paperwork that came with running a successful business, and Stringfellow Hawke was no better. They would invariably let the invoices and bills pile up until they became an unmanageable mess. Ever since she had started working at Santini Air, it had somehow become her job to sort out that mess. If Dom would just ask her for help before it got out of hand, it would make things a lot easier for all of them.

Sighing, she checked that the coffee pot was turned off, and the hanger doors were locked. Certain that everything was secure, Caitlin pulled on her jacket then let herself out, locking the door behind her. She was headed for her car when she noticed the dark Lincoln parked beside it. Instincts kicked in, making her cautious. She approached slowly, her senses alert.

The Lincoln's window descended as she neared the car. “Caitlin, may I have a word with you?”

Caitlin recognized the voice before she was close enough to see the woman. “Marella! It's been awhile.” It had, in fact, been over a year since she had seen Michael's favorite aide. Marella had been transferred to an assignment in Europe, but had recently returned and taken a leave of absence from the Firm in order to complete her final year of med school. “If you're looking for String, him and Dom have both left for the day.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you.”

Caitlin leaned against the car. “Sure, what's up?” Marella's presence surprised her, but she doubted that it could be anything too serious. If there was a mission or if Michael was in some sort of trouble, Marella would be looking for the guys, not her.

The agent seemed unusually hesitant. “I need your help,” she said, finally. “Could we go get a cup of coffee?”

“Can we make it McDonald's instead? I haven't eaten.”

Marella agreed, and they were soon headed toward the nearest fast food restaurant. As they motored through the dark streets, Caitlin took the opportunity to examine her driver. Marella was wearing a purple sweater and black jeans, a radical departure from the white wardrobe preferred by Michael's people. *Not official business, then.*

The agent put off questions until they'd stopped at the drive-thru: coffee for herself and a burger and Coke for Caitlin. Marella parked in a quiet corner of the lot, shutting off the engine. Caitlin could sense the other woman's unease. Finally, Marella looked over at her. “This has to stay between the two of us. What I'm about to tell you -- I'm breaking every rule in the book, and my personal word.”

“Is Michael in some sort of trouble?” Caitlin asked, concerned. It didn't really make sense that Marella would come to her instead of going to String, but it wouldn't be the first time the agent had gone against Firm policy to save her boss.

“Not yet,” Marella muttered, so quietly that Caitlin barely caught the words. The agent took the lid off her coffee, opening the cream and adding it before replacing the lid. *Stalling.* She sipped the coffee. “St. John is alive, at least he was as of last January.”

St. John. String's POW brother, missing for over a decade. Caitlin had, in the back of her mind, always assumed that despite String's intuition his brother was long dead. Now, Marella was saying that he wasn't.

“The Firm found him?”

A shake of Marella's head. “No. A personal contact of Michael's. At last report, St. John was being held in Cambodia.”

“Cambodia?” From what Caitlin knew, St. John had disappeared on a mission in Viet Nam. “Are you sure it's St. John?”

“From the photographs and the information we have, yes, it's him.”

“How did he end up in Cambodia?”

Marella sighed. “It's a long story. The short version is that he's been working for another division of the Firm, and was captured by the Khmer Rouge.”

That raised a whole host of questions, but those questions could wait. “So now what? Has Michael called String yet? He's going to be ecstatic!”

“Michael's not going to tell Hawke, and you can't, either.”

“What?” Caitlin demanded. “He's not telling String? Surely Michael's not planning to just leave St . John there?” The man's position might sometimes force him to do some questionable things, but Caitlin couldn't believe he would simply abandon String's brother in Southeast Asia.

Marella bit her lip. “Michael's going after him.”

For a moment, Caitlin thought that she meant that the deputy director was sending Firm personnel, perhaps the Zebra Squad. That wouldn't explain the way Marella was acting. “What do you mean?”

“Michael's going to Cambodia. That's why I need your help.”

“Michael? Himself? Alone?”

“Alone,” Marella answered quietly. She didn't look as if she was very happy about it.

Taking a bite of her burger, Caitlin considered that. She remembered all too well the first time she had met the Firm's deputy director. Michael had gone into East Germany after Maria, but that had been personal, an attempt to rescue a former lover. “Michael's not a field agent.”

“He used to be. It was before my time, but from the stories I've heard, he was one of the best in the business.”

“That was before he got hurt?” It was as much a statement as a question. For as long as she had known him, the classically white-suited Michael Coldsmith Briggs the III had worn glasses with a darkened left lens, and walked with a cane.

“Yeah.”

It was Caitlin's turn to hesitate, trying to find a polite way of asking the question. “Is he up to this? Physically, I mean.”

Marella sipped at her coffee, and Caitlin saw that her hands were shaking. “How much do you know about what happened?”

“Nothing, really. I asked String once. You know how he is, never two words when one will do. He just said 'Moffet.'” Given String's reaction to that name, she had never asked again.

“You do know who Moffet was?”

“Airwolf's designer. He killed Gabrielle. A real nut job, from what I gather.”

“That would be an understatement.” Marella sipped again, holding the cup with both hands. “Airwolf was undergoing final testing at Red Star, the Firm's private proving grounds. Moffet was piloting. When he finished the demonstration run, he turned and dumped half of her armament into the control center. Michael – I don't know if he heard something in Moffet's voice, or if it was just intuition. A split second before Moffet opened up with the guns, Michael pushed me to the floor and threw himself over me. If he hadn't, we both would have died.”

“I'm sorry, I didn't realize you...” If she had known that the other woman had been there, she wouldn't have asked.

“It's all right.” Marella leaned back in the seat, closing her eyes. “I was stunned,. When I came around Moffet and Airwolf were gone and the place was burning. Most of the staff was dead. I thought Michael was, too, until I found a pulse.” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, opening her eyes. “I was banged up some, myself. I didn't see him for a month. When I did, he was propped up in bed, working. He told me he was 'fine.'” She laughed humorlessly. “I've seen his medical files. Fractured skull, ruptured spleen, dislocated shoulder, the ligaments in his knee torn to hell. His idea of fine. But, to answer your question. The Firm has a PT test, similar to the Army's. Committee members are exempt from taking it. Michael takes it anyhow, and passes. I don't know how, but he does.”

“Why is he going? Doesn't the Firm have people who specialize in this sort of thing?”

“Michael is doing this on his own,” Marella answered. “He's doing it without Firm support. He believes that the Firm knows where St John is, and have chosen not to initiate a rescue.”

“What? Why?” Caitlin nearly dropped her soda. “Are they abandoning his brother so String will keep flying for them?”

“It's not that simple. It's not about Airwolf.” She finished the coffee. “Michael's been looking for St. John for three years. He's heard stories. You have to understand we have no proof. This is mostly rumor and speculation. We haven't been able to find any hard evidence.” Her hand closed around the empty cup, crumpling it. “Sometime in the late 1970's, the Firm liberated a number of American POWs from Viet Nam. The men were rehabilitated, and then were convinced that their country needed them to go back into Southeast Asia as spies.”

Caitlin had dealt with the clandestine government agency long enough to read between the lines. Not everyone at the Firm shared Michael's ethics. “Convinced? By that you mean...”

“They were brainwashed.”

“Our own veterans? Why?”

“Politics. When the war ended, the President assured the American people that all of our POWs had been returned. They weren't, and the government knew it. When those men were rescued years later --”

It wasn't hard to figure out the rest. “If they'd shown up, it would have been a major embarrassment.”

“Precisely”

“So that's why Michael is going.”

“From the information we have, it's not just St. John. There are approximately half a dozen former servicemen being held. Michael intends to make sure they all make it home this time.”

Caitlin couldn't say she blamed him for feeling that he needed to take matters into his own hands. It was obvious that the committee had its own vested interests and couldn't be trusted on this. “You said that you need my help?”

“Michael is flying commercial to Thailand. From there, his contact is providing a boat ride down the Mekong to the Khmer Rouge encampment. Once he frees the prisoners, I'm to fly in with a Huey and pick everyone up and get them out of the country,” Marella explained.

“How can I help?”

“If there was someone else to fly the Huey, I might be able to convince Michael to let me go in with him.” Marella held up a hand, cutting off any possible reply. “Before you say anything, you need to know. Part of the deal with Michael's contact is that the Huey will be unarmed. The man is in the Cambodian government, and he doesn't want an international incident or a confrontation with the local military.”

Caitlin's mind flashed back to all the times Michael had stuck his neck out for String and Dom, the times he had risked himself to come to her aid. Michael had been right there with String when Alonzo had kidnapped her, again when she and Dom had both been taken by Tran. Against all logic and common sense, he had stayed while Babe had tried to disarm the bomb Ken Sawyer had wired to her. There really wasn't any question. “I'm in.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm sure. I'm in.”

Marella sighed. “Now all we need to do is convince Michael.”

“How do we do that?”

“I wish I knew. Shall we go and try to talk some sense into him?”

Caitlin glanced at her watch. It was nearly ten o'clock. “We won't drag him out of bed, will we?”

Marella laughed. “Not likely. It's the weekend. I doubt if he'll be in bed before dawn.”

“Let's do it, then.” Caitlin agreed, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she felt. String might have the ability to convince Michael to do things his way, but she doubted that she could be nearly as persuasive. Flying into Cambodia actually seemed a less intimidating prospect than trying to sway Michael's plans.

Caitlin stuffed their trash back into the McDonald's bag, and Marella started the car. There was little said as the agent negotiated the dark, winding roads between Thousand Oaks and the coast, finally pulling into a long driveway. She stopped in front of the house, an unusual sprawling single story perched on the crest of a canyon ridge. Caitlin followed Marella up the walk. Looking around as the agent rang the bell, she noticed that there appeared to be a number of lights on within the house, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Apparently Marella was right, at least they wouldn't be dragging the deputy director out of bed.

The door opened a minute later, revealing Michael himself. *White pants and sweater,* Caitlin noted with a touch of amusement. She had always wondered what he wore when he wasn't working. *Well, that answers that question.*

“Marella, I didn't expect-- “ he began, then noticed Caitlin standing behind her. “Damn it, Marella. You swore to me--” The glare he fixed on his aide would have melted stone.

“We need her help, sir,” Marella answered levelly.

He didn't move for a moment, and Caitlin wondered if he might slam the door in their faces. Finally, he stepped back. “You might as well come in.”

Michael led them into the den, a dark room seemingly at odds with his preferred wardrobe. Heavy leather chairs and an oversized desk flanked the fire burning in the fireplace. “Make yourself comfortable, we'll be right back,” he told Caitlin, steering Marella out into the hallway.

Alone, Caitlin took the opportunity to look around. Bookcases lined the walls, thick with an assortment of books. Music played from hidden speakers. Unexpectedly, a dog-eared Isaac Asimov paperback rested on the coffee table, beside a half empty wineglass. Judging from the position of the bookmark, Michael had nearly finished reading the sci-fi novel.

She looked up as the others returned, Archangel carrying an open bottle of wine, and Marella with two glasses. Marella passed her a glass, keeping the second for herself. Michael filled them before retrieving his own glass from the table. He eased himself onto the corner of the desk, taking the weight off his leg. Caitlin noticed that here on his own turf, he wasn't carrying the cane. “I'm sorry Marella wasted your time,” he said. “As much as I appreciate your offer, we won't need your assistance.”

“You have another pilot?” Perhaps he had given the job to one of his other aides.

“Marella will be doing the flying.” He cut off her protest before she could begin to voice it. “I'm going alone, Cait.”

“Why won't you take Marella with you?” Caitlin knew it wasn't that he refused to allow his female agents into danger. She could easily think of half a dozen times he had sent one of his “angels” into a risky situation.

He rose, crossing to the fireplace. He set his glass on the mantle. “Marella's not available. I need to fly out Wednesday night. She has exams all week. They'll be over and done with in time for her to make the pick up run.”

“I could postpone my exams,” the agent suggested from where she sat, sipping her wine.

Michael turned toward her. “How long do you think it would take the committee to find out about it? I'm taking my first vacation in five years, that's already raising red flags. If you disappear at the same time, Zeus will know we're up to something.”

“If Marella's not available, why not take String with you?” Caitlin asked. “I'm sure he'd rather be flying Airwolf, but given the situation I know he'd agree to go with you, even if it wasn't his brother being held.”

“No.” He sipped the wine. “Satellite images confirm that the camp is still there, but the information I have on St. John is over a year old. He could have been moved a dozen times since then. I'm not taking Hawke on what might very well turn out to be another wild goose chase. Especially not now.”

*Not now?* Caitlin realized what he meant. Six months earlier, the Firm had done blood testing on Le Van Hawke. The tests had proven that Le could not be St. John's son. String had wanted to adopt the child anyhow, but she had joined Michael and Dom in convincing him that it was a bad idea. The boy would be in constant danger if he was with them. Too many people were searching for Airwolf, and would think nothing of using Le as a hostage to get it. String had finally agreed, and had allowed a Vietnamese-American family to adopt the boy.

It had torn String apart. The usually reclusive pilot had bonded with the boy he believed to be his nephew, and Le's departure had pushed String even deeper into his self-imposed exile. He would undoubtedly still be sulking at the cabin if Michael hadn't decided to update Airwolf's systems. Over the previous few months, they had been busy installing the upgrades Michael had provided, as well as a bank of monitoring equipment out at the Lair. Michael's timing had been a lucky coincidence; the work had kept String too busy to dwell on his latest loss.

*Except that it wasn't a coincidence, was it?* It dawned on her that the timing had been intentional, and she wondered if Dom had figured it out. *Dom, you really do need to cut Michael some slack.*

“Well, if String is out, what about one of your other angels? Samantha, maybe?” While Michael had employed a number of assistants in Marella's absence, it seemed that he increasingly relied on Sam as his favorite “Girl Friday.”

He shook his head. “I can't use any of my people, for the same reason I can't take Marella. Zeus may be a fool, but he's not an idiot. If he finds out what I'm doing, he'll find a way to put a stop to it. Like it or not, there's no other option. I need to do this alone.”

Caitlin considered that, and reached a decision. Michael had been there too many times for String and Dom, and for her. “There is another option,” she said quietly. “I'll go with you. The holidays are coming, I'll tell the guys I'm headed home to Texas to visit my folks. Nobody will connect that with your vacation.”

Marella shifted in her chair, her discomfort showing. “Caitlin, when I asked for your help, I didn't intend--”

“I know you didn't. But it's the only workable solution.” She looked towards him. “Michael?”

“No.”

“Why not? The committee will never suspect we're together.”

Michael returned to his desk, circling it. “Cambodia is no place for you.”

That caught her by surprise. “You're the last person I would have expected to be chauvinistic.”

“It's not about you being female. You should know that. Most of my agents are women. But you're not an agent, and you're not military. You don't have that training. You haven't lived in a war zone. Officially or not, that's what Cambodia is. Pol Pot may no longer be in power, but the Khmer Rouge loyalists haven't changed their ways. This is a regime that killed millions of their own people; the ones they didn't murder outright, they starved..”

He opened a drawer and pulled out a thick file folder, then sat down on the corner of the desk, still holding the file. “Have you ever killed anyone, Cait? I'm not talking about Airwolf's guns, I mean up close, hand to hand combat, with a gun to the temple, or a knife to the throat?”

She shuddered. “No.”

“I have. Marella has. Hawke and Santini both have.” He tossed the folder onto the table in front of Caitlin. “This isn't an Airwolf mission. This is going to be dirty.”

She glanced at the folder, then looked up at Michael expectantly, silently asking permission. “Open it,” he said.

Caitlin did as he asked. The first thing she saw was a photograph of skulls. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, stacked into piles. More photos. What appeared to be a prison, a body shackled to a rusty iron bed frame. *Was that a bloodstain on the floor?* Turning the page brought more horrors, torture devices, mass graves, villagers so thin they were on the edge of starvation. “The Vietnamese took those pictures,” Michael explained. “That's what the Khmer Rouge did to their own people.”

The photos sickened her, but they also fueled her resolve. “All the more reason. You can't do this alone.” She had to make him understand. “Think about it. What would it do to String if you couldn't get St. John out just because you were too stubborn to accept help?” *What if you got yourself killed, too?* The last thing String needed was to feel responsible for the death of another friend.

Looking back down at the photos, Caitlin could sense his gaze on her, sizing her up. *Trying to decide if she would be more of an asset or a liability.* Finally, he spoke. “You understand that there's no backup. We're on our own. There's no safety net if anything goes wrong.”

“I know.” She didn't like it, but she understood it.

Michael stared at her a minute more. “We leave Wednesday night.” Standing, he reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. He opened it and pulled out a credit card, then passed the card to Caitlin. “Take this. Buy whatever you need. Marella can advise you.” He looked over at his aide. “I'll contact Choi and tell him about the change in plans. Marella, I'm leaving you in charge of passports, tickets, the usual. I'm sure you can come up with some creative aliases.”

He turned back to Caitlin. “That file contains an overview of the intelligence we have on Cambodia and the Khmer Rouge. I suggest you study it. Once we iron out the fine points, I'll have Marella provide you with the mission details and whatever cover story she comes up with. We'll meet here Sunday and go over everything. I trust that you won't share any of this with Hawke and Santini?”

“I won't. I'll tell them that my mother asked me to come home for Christmas, and that I've decided to go. The timing is perfect, with the holidays coming the studios are shut down and things are pretty quiet at Santini Air, so I won't really be missed. Besides, Dom's niece is coming into town on Monday for a few weeks. She can fill in if they're short handed.”

Caitlin wasn't about to tell Michael the real reason behind Jo Santini's visit, or what String and Dom would be busy with in her absence. There had been too many close calls for the Airwolf crew in recent months, and they had decided amongst themselves that it was asking for trouble to have all of the pilots trained on Airwolf working together, especially doing stunt work and undercover missions. Jo was a trusted relative, and a skilled flier. The guys planned to train her on Airwolf, just in case. It was a prudent precaution, but undoubtedly one that Michael would not approve of. *If he knew.*

For a second, the corner of Michael's lip lifted in the barest of smiles, and Caitlin wondered if he did somehow know what String was planning. *Impossible,* she assured herself. *If he even suspected, he'd be having a fit about it.* She pushed that thought out of her mind.

“Marella, since this was your idea, you're bringing the pizza on Sunday.” His attitude had improved since they had arrived, and Caitlin could tell he was teasing his aide.

“Certainly, sir,” she agreed good-naturedly.

The two women said their goodbyes, and Marella took Caitlin back to where her car waited at the hanger. As she drove home, Caitlin tried not to second-guess herself. She didn't want to go, and yet she knew she had to. Arriving at her apartment, she dropped the file on the end table, fully intending to get a good night's sleep and study the material in the morning. It sat untouched as she changed and completed her evening routine. As she headed for bed, curiosity and dread got the best of her and she picked it up. *Just one quick peek,* she promised herself.

Dawn found her still reading