by Derrick Ferguson

PART FIVE

Blackhawk International HQ     .New York City     

Sirianni looked at Chan accusingly. "You didn't tell me HE was listening in."

The voice spoke again: "It's okay, Chuck. Chop didn't know either. Sometimes I just like to eavesdrop in on his conversations." Chan muttered something in Mandarin Chinese under his breath. Sirianni couldn't catch most of it, but he'd have bet his last pair of underwear it was something close to 'sneaky, underhanded bastard'.

"Could you at least activate the holographic conference link, then?" Sirianni asked. "I don't like talking to someone I can't see."

In front of Chan's desk, a square section of flooring opened up and a chair rose into view, coming flush with the rest of the floor. Slowly, the holographic image of a man shimmered into view. He was a big man, dressed in a black suit with a dark blue shirt and red tie. An eyepatch covered his left eye. His silver hair was still thick and vital. His lined, tired face bespoke of a hard life filled with too many excessess of vice and violence. Still, he was the man who had led Sirianni and Chan and their other teammates for almost forty years now.

"Janos, just how long do you think you can keep up this Wizard of Oz routine?" Sirianni demanded. "Where are you now?" "That's none of your business, Chuck." Janos Prohaska, the second man to have carried the name of Blackhawk answered.

"I'm still President of Blackhawk International and that means you answer to me, not the other way round. I've been listening to this bitch fight the two of you have been having and I'm tired of this."

Chan snapped, "Janos, the three of us set up this plan. McCall's went and screwed the pooch royally-"

Prohaska cut him off sharply; "Only because YOU didn't inform him of the plan, Weng. What in the hell did you expect McCall to do? Part of his job is to protect and safeguard Blackhawk International property and that's what he's doing. You couldn't have taken him into your confidence?"

"I saw no need."

Prohaska's voice was a arctic wind. "Well, you FIND a need and you find one damn quick. I hold you responsible for this mess, Weng, and you better believe you're going to clean it up. You get hold of McCall and you get him back to New York and you will PERSONALLY inform him of every detail of Operation: White Lion. Is that crystal clear or do you want to clean out your desk now?"

Chan twirled his cigar between his fingers as he answered, "You're the boss."

Prohaska's hologram looked at a grinning Sirianni. "And don't think you're off the hook on this one, mister."

Sirianni's jaw dropped in surprise. "ME? What'd I do?"

"Stop ramming McCall down Weng's throat. McCall's good, yes, but he hasn't run up into anything like this."

"McCall's taken down some heavy hitters, Janos."

"Not like the Mayhews. Death Mayhew almost blew up New York with an atomic device and I'm too old to pretend I was anything other than lucky to stop him. Trust me, Sundown Mayhew and his sister Orchid are far worse than their uncle ever dreamed of being."

Prohaska sighed. "Chuck     Weng     this new Blackhawk has got to work. If we're ever to leave any kind of legacy, the name and ideals of Blackhawk is it. I know I didn't live up to my predecessor's reputation     Hell, few men could have. But I want McCall and his team to be Blackhawks for today's world and I need the two of you to help them. So knock off the crap and do what I ask." Sirianni and Chan looked at each other. Nodded soberly. It was a rare thing for Janos Prohaska to open up like this.

Weng said, "Okay, Janos     we'll level with McCall and I hope to God he's up to the challenge."

"Fine." Prohaska's hologram abruptly disappeared, as the slid chair back into the floor.

"Gee," Sirianni said, "He seemed really     moved     "

Chan sucked his teeth in annoyance. "Probably wanted to get back to a bottle of tequila and a hootchie."

"Geez, you really work at being a hard nosed bastard, don't you?"

"Let's get McCall back here ASAP. Who did he leave here?"

"Padilla and Mallory. There's no point in sending them after him. Better leave them on standby."

"Okay, do that. I'm going to contact McCall personally. Hell of thing when the CEO has to phone his own Directors. What the hell do I have a secretary for?"

*****************************************

     Cristobal     South America     

The attack team moved on the Blackhawk aerial command post. Silent as shadows, the raiders surrounded the aircraft, night vision glasses detecting nothing. Stephen Lapinsky was pushed up the stairs to the hatch. "Use your code and unlock the door!" the leader hissed in his ear. "Any tricks and you wil be the first to die!"

Lapinsky made a menal note to remind himself to ask McCall for five minutes alone with this guy when everything was over and with bound hands, tapped in his access code on the keypad. The hatch hissed open. Lapinsky was shoved to the floor and men poured into the plane, the red dots of their laser sights chasing each other. Gas spurted from hidden vents, triggered by the lack of Lapinsky putting in a SECOND code on the inside keypad.

The gas inhibited the infrared goggles of the raiders, but not of The Blackhawks. It was only one of the many countermeasures the plane contained.

McCall, Tracy, Zollo and Scocco emerged from hidden panels and began systematically knocking out their opponents. Cries of dismay soon caused weapons to be fired in the close quarters of the plane. Lapinsky wriggled like a snake as bullets spanged around him. He was stepped on more times than he cared to count and ruefelly reflected that he was going to have a double session with his acupucturist in the morning.

Tracy Scott had taken out two men with a small blowgun and metal darts dipped in a chemical soup of her own making. The men would be out for three hours, unconscious and paralysed. Zollo had a simpler way of dealing with his targets: he merely knocked them out with a right hand large as a Virginia ham. Ronnie Scocco was forced to shoot the three raiders who had started firing. He had no choice: the lethal richochets could have hit one of his teammates or damaged the plane.

McCall ran to the hatch and looked out. Almost immediately, he had to yank his head back in as bullets struck the plane's skin. "Pasquale! Tracy!" They came over to McCall's side. He spoke tersely; "There's a few more outside. I make it at four, maybe five. Get as many alive as you can. I'll cover from here. Scooco! Start tying up the ones still alive!"

Lapinsky yelled from the floor; "You've got the leader in here, Fortune! And somebody cut me the hell loose!"

"Scocco, get Steve loose and give him a gun so he can help me here. You guys move!" The cell phone in Tracy's pocket chimed. "Cut that damned thing off, Trace! You go into a firefight with a cellphone ON?"

"I forget," Tracy snapped back, taking it from her pocket and cutting it on. "Hello?" She handed it to McCall. "It's for you."

McCall leaned out the hatchway, firing his MP-5 machine gun. "Tracy, I'm awfully busy right about now. Could you take a message?"

"It's Mr. Chan!" she hissed insistantly, thrusting the phone at him.

McCall sighed and took the phone while Tracy took his place at the door. "Tracy, give Pasquale and Scocco one minute to get outside and then fire a flare. Scocco! You're with Pasquale! Old Man, you let that kid get killed, don't come back, you hear me? Steve, you go with 'em."

Tracy unholstered a pair of 9mm Berettas and began laying down covering fire while McCall positioned himself where he could see both the prisoners and Tracy.

"Yes, Mr. Chan?"

"McCall, what's going on there? Is that shooting I hear?"

"Yes, sir. We are under attack by a well armed team of hostiles. We have taken no casualties as yet."

Tracy fired a flare into the night sky that lit up the airfield like daylight. McCall smiled as he heard Pasquale, Lapinsky and Scocco give voice to the honored Blackhawk battle cry.

"HAWK-A-A-A-A!"

"Sir, I think this'll be wrapped up soon. Was there a specific reason you called?"

"It's time I put all my cards on the table and told you exactly what's been going on. Report to me as soon as you get back to New York."

"Oh, I can't wait for that, SIR          "

Part Six

(©2000 Derrick Ferguson)

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