AU, Week 1: Wirepullers
Title: Wirepullers
Author: wildcat88
Genre: AU
Prompt: Those magnificent men in their flying machines.
Word Count: ~5600
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: In pre-World War Two America, a beautiful reporter discovers the research of a brilliant engineer is being funneled to the Nazis. They must work together with the man's friends - a pilot and a mechanic - to thwart the Nazis' plans.
Notes: Massive thanks to kristen999 and friendshipper for the fantastic beta. They made the story so much better than it would have been. All faults mine.
Wirepullers
Teyla read through her notes again as the old De Soto taxicab chugged across the airfield. Ten years of gossip columns and society pages had brought her to this moment. The divorce of socialite Nancy Sheppard from utility mogul Patrick Sheppard’s youngest son had set tongues wagging all over Washington, especially after said son disappeared completely from public view. Teyla had attended every party, every gala, every charity function and political rally and awards banquet, searching for a nugget, a crumb of information on John Sheppard. What she found staggered her to her core.
The cab stopped in front of a metal hangar with chipped red paint that at one time had proudly proclaimed “Atlantis, Inc.” A yellow Packard two-seater convertible coupe with beige trim and whitewalls was parked near the open hangar door. Next to it was a blue Oldsmobile Touring Sedan that had seen better days. Its front grill and long hood were crumpled on the right side, a running board dangled precariously close to the ground, and the tall, boxy roof had dozens of tiny dents.
Teyla patted the curls pinned to the nape of her neck, straightened her pale straw hat, and pulled a few bills from her handbag. “Please wait here,” she instructed the driver. “I will return in a moment.”
He nodded, and she climbed out, carrying a satchel full of documents, her notes, a pad of paper and several pencils. She took a calming breath, lifted her chin, and strode toward the hanger, her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete as she stepped inside.
Shouted profanities from a back office echoed in a room filled with three planes in various states of disrepair. Teyla paused and pulled her research on Sheppard’s business. He had recently purchased a Rearwin Sportster 7000, the shiny red plane with one wing on top of its double passenger cabin that now sat on the right side of the room. Its single propeller had been removed from the front, and the engine was in a million pieces near the wall.
A similar plane with a longer body occupied the room’s center. Four seats leaned against the white fuselage, and the rest of the interior was separated into neat piles in front of them. Teyla had to check the logo to confirm it as the Fairchild 24, meaning the aircraft with no wheels on the left had to be the Ryan ST-A Special. Built for sport, the gleaming silver plane had two tandem open cockpits above the wing, leaving the pilot and a passenger exposed to wind and sun.
A man with tousled hair, wearing denim and a rough white workshirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, peered down at her from the front seat of the Ryan. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
She squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. “Yes, I am seeking John Sheppard.”
“Well, you found him.” He stepped onto the wing, then hopped to the ground. “What can I do for you?”
He barely resembled his photos and was not at all as she had expected. Grime under his nails, unshaven for at least two days, a smudge of grease on his cheek. Nothing like the Cary Grant types she usually dealt with. She liked him immediately. “I am Teyla Emmagan of the Washington Gazette. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
His expression went totally flat. His eyes flicked over her, and then, to his credit, they settled on her face and didn’t waver. “A lady reporter. Don’t see many of those.”
She arched a brow at him. “It is 1938, Mr. Sheppard. Women have more opportunities than ever. We are capable of doing more than we have been given credit for. Since we gained the right to vote-”
“You don’t have to sell me on it. My mother was a suffragette.”
“I know. I have seen the news clippings.”
He stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “What can I do for you, Miss Emmagan?” he prompted.
“I have been attempting to locate you for the last two years. In my research of your family-”
“Leave my family out of this,” he warned, his eyes cold and his face hard.
“Do you deny their support of Germany’s return to power in Europe?”
She got the reaction she had hoped for. His face flushed scarlet, and a muscle jumped angrily in his jaw as he stepped forward and hissed, “That’s a lie.”
Teyla held her ground, studying every gold fleck in his green eyes. Either he was a brilliant actor or he really had no idea what he was involved in.
“Is everything okay, Sheppard?” A big man with slicked-back hair and a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee peered from inside the Fairchild aircraft. He wiped a hand on his stained coveralls as he climbed out.
“Everything’s fine, Ronon. The lady was just leaving.”
Teyla reached toward him. “It was not my intention to upset you-”
“Upset me?” He quivered with rage as he drew back. “My family might be a lot of things, but German sympathizers is not one of them. I spent over a year in the trenches fighting them. My brother…”
“I am aware of your service in the Great War, and of your brother’s sacrifice. My condolences.”
Ronon towered over her. “You should go.”
Teyla met his gaze unflinchingly. “Please allow me to explain my purpose here first.”
Ronon looked to Sheppard and backed away at his nod.
She smiled her thanks and opened her notepad. “I needed to gauge your response to the charge of conspiring with the Nazis-”
“I’m not conspiring with the Nazis!”
“Actually, Mr. Sheppard, you are. But I don’t think you realize it.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “What are you talking about?”
“You have an engineer working for you named Rodney McKay?”
“Yes. He’s on the telephone in the office.”
Teyla scanned through her notes. “Your company received a grant from a private institute, Bridge Studies and Research, to redesign the gas turbine engine for use in airplanes, creating something called a turbojet engine which mixes fuel with compressed air then ignites it. The combustion expands through the turbine and powers-”
“I know what a turbine engine is.”
“The current design burns the metal. Your funding is for the development of one that doesn’t.”
His eyes narrowed as he considered her. “Where did you get that information?”
“I know a lot of people, Mr. Sheppard. One happens to work in the typing pool at Bridge.” She tucked her notes in her satchel, and focused on his face. “Bridge is financed by Asuran Enterprises. They specialize in propulsion systems.”
He frowned at her. “I know who they are.”
“Did you know Asuran Enterprises shares the same board of directors as Mikeltod Ventures?”
The angry flush paled. “You have proof?”
Teyla nodded. “Yes. The same men direct both companies. Are you familiar with Mikeltod?”
“I’ve had a few encounters with some of their people.”
“They are a very wealthy conglomerate. Their major industries deal with transportation and technology, and they are owned by an international financial firm known as Einwraith Alliance.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Sheppard, Einwraith Alliance is the funding arm of Nazi Germany.”
xxx
John’s mind whirred as he gaped at the small woman. He was working for the Germans? Here, in America? How could that be? He’d done the research on Bridge Studies and Asuran Enterprises himself. How had he missed the connection to Mikeltod?
“Ronon, get McKay out here,” he ordered.
He unconsciously rubbed the scar on his shoulder left by a German bullet twenty years ago. His father had sent two sons to war, and only got one back. The wrong one.
A hint of sadness darkened the woman’s eyes. “Mr. Sheppard?”
John pulled himself out of the memories. “I’m sorry. What was your name?”
“Teyla Emmagan.”
“Well, Miss Emmagan, you’ve come a long way to tell me that.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the sleek silver fuselage of the Ryan. “What did you hope to gain from it? A front page story? I guess having the Sheppard name in there will get you that.”
“Originally, it was about a story. You had a public dispute with your father and vanished.” She gazed coolly at him. “I will not apologize for working hard to provide for those who rely on me. I have no wish to harm you or your family, but finding you would have been a feather in my cap, Mr. Sheppard, and a way for me to advance.”
John tilted his head, watching the emotion flit over her features. “Would have been?”
“Once I discovered the connection to the Nazis, my focus changed.” Teyla’s blue polka-dot skirt swirled around shapely legs as she spun away and began to pace. “They imprisoned my uncle and his family in Austria, claiming he was a political dissenter. The world stood by and did nothing while an entire country was overtaken. Since I am not allowed to defend my home and my people as a man would,” her chin lifted, “I will fight for them in my own way.”
“By telling a story about me?”
Teyla shook her head. “No. My story will reveal the truth about Asuran Enterprises to the world and hopefully cause Einwraith’s funding to crumble.”
John smiled at the determined look in her eye. She was intelligent, beautiful, and confident. She might actually be able to do what she claimed.
“Sheppard, what the hell is going on? I was in the middle of- Oh! Um, excuse my language, ma’am.” Rodney brushed crumbs from his shirtfront as he glared at Ronon. “I didn’t realize we had feminine company.”
“Dr. Rodney McKay,” John said, “this is Miss Teyla Emmagan.”
“Dr. McKay.” Teyla extended a white-gloved hand.
John chuckled when McKay blushed at her honeyed tones and brilliant smile. After fussing with his tie and smoothing a hand over his thinning hair, Rodney nodded shyly and shook her hand. “A pleasure, Miss Emmagan.”
“And this is Ronon Dex,” John jerked a thumb toward the big man, “best mechanic in Chicago.”
Ronon clasped his hands behind his back and gave a quick nod. “Ma’am.”
“Mr. Dex,” Teyla replied. A honk drew their attention outside, and she gasped. “My taxi! Poor man, I forgot all about him.”
“I’ll be happy to drive you to your hotel this evening if you want to send him on his way,” John offered.
When Teyla nodded and hurried out to dismiss him, Rodney leaned close and whispered, “What’s going on?”
“She says she has proof that the engine design you’re doing is for the Nazis.”
“Told you,” Ronon muttered.
Rodney blanched. “That- that’s not possible. I thought you had that company checked out.”
“I did.”
“Well, obviously not good enough!” McKay ripped the tie from his neck. “Do you know what will happen when this gets out? I’ll be ruined! My sister won’t speak to me now. Imagine how she’ll react to me being a sympathizer. All my research will be called into question. I’ll never-”
“This isn’t about you, Rodney!” John scrubbed a hand over his neck as he stalked a few paces and turned. “I haven’t seen her proof, but if it’s true, we have more problems than your reputation.”
“I know that,” McKay snapped. “I am a genius, you know. If the Germans are using my designs to build working jet engines…”
“Nobody in Europe will be able to match the Luftwaffe,” Ronon finished. “What are we going to do?”
John trailed a hand down the silver nose of the Ryan, remembering the rush of take-off, the sun warming his face, the wind tearing at his hair, the absolute freedom of breaking the bonds of gravity and soaring in a clear sky. Life was simple in those moments.
“Sheppard?”
“I haven’t decided, Ronon. Let’s see what the lady has first.”
“Do you believe her?” McKay asked.
“I don’t know. I hope she’s wrong, but I always wondered why Bridge sought out an operation as small as mine to conduct this research.” John’s head dropped. “Damn.”
xxx
Rodney’s heart was lodged in his throat as he watched Miss Emmagan walk back in. Canada wasn’t at war yet with Germany but he was afraid another move like the annexing of Austria would lead to it. He had been called paranoid - and worse - but he liked to be prepared. His stomach twisted as the ramifications set in. He would be considered a traitor, maybe not intentionally, but he had been helping the potential enemy. If the woman was correct. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had him confused with another scientist working on a jet engine.
“Sheppard says you have proof. I want to see it,” he announced.
“McKay.” Sheppard glared at him then heaved a sigh. “Ronon, close the hangar door. Let’s go to the office. It’s a little more comfortable there.”
When they entered the office, Rodney stuffed his tie in a pocket of his navy herringbone jacket that hung on the coat rack next to his trilby hat and walking cane. He switched off the radio in the middle of Bob Hope crooning “Thanks for the Memory” and flopped in a chair, drumming his fingers on the table that Sheppard was clearing of design sketches and unpaid invoices. Rodney squirmed in his seat until Ronon reappeared. “It’s about time.”
Ronon squeezed Rodney’s shoulder painfully as he passed. “Apologies, ma’am.”
Teyla smiled. “No need to apologize, Mr. Dex.” She shuffled through a few papers and laid them carefully in sequence on the small, round table. “My friend, Elizabeth, works in the government offices. She helped me copy the documents, and we were in a terrible rush so the penmanship is not our best.”
Rodney’s eyes crossed after the first few pages. Unlike physics texts, business papers were nonsense as far as he was concerned, though Sheppard was completely immersed in them. Most days, he forgot Sheppard’s pedigree - Harvard man with a millionaire father. John was driven, no doubt about it, but when it came to planes, he was like a kid which was one reason they got along so well. Few people appreciated the elegant line of an aircraft like they did. Ronon, too. Dex wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he could build anything Rodney designed.
The last two years had been the best of Rodney’s life. Sheppard had a few clients he transported on a regular basis, but most of their income came from Rodney’s inventions. After he’d been fired from his last three university posts for “insubordination and other conduct unbecoming a professor,” his parents had cut him off, declaring him an embarrassment to the family and to the scientific community. He’d taken a job completely beneath him - repair work at an airfield in Pittsburgh - when Sheppard’s beautiful red Rearwin Sportster practically fell out of the sky, smoke pouring from the engine. It had taken Rodney all of ten minutes to fix it.
Sheppard had offered to buy him dinner as thanks. Over the course of the evening, Rodney shared his misadventures as an educator and Sheppard told of his dreams to build bigger and better airplanes. By the time they finished, Rodney had a new job. He packed his things and boarded a train to Chicago where Sheppard pointed him to an office and told him to dream big. The research grant from Bridge had been a godsend, allowing him to focus all his energies on one project. While his brilliance had never been questioned, which was certainly why Bridge had chosen Sheppard’s company, his reputation had been tarnished by the firings. Success would mean regaining his stature, at least in academia.
When the color drained from Sheppard’s face, Rodney sagged; life as he knew it was over.
“It’s true?” Ronon asked.
Sheppard closed his eyes and tossed the papers on the table. “Yeah.”
“How much have we given them?”
“Everything.” Rodney slumped in his seat. “I sent a cable yesterday with an update, and I put my designs in the post.”
“Can we get them back?”
“No,” Sheppard answered. “But we don’t do anything else. We close. Destroy everything.”
“Then what?” Ronon asked.
“Tell the authorities,” Sheppard suggested.
Rodney threw up his hands. “What authorities? The policeman near my flat who takes money from the grocer to protect him from the local thugs?”
“Of course not,” Sheppard replied. “I’ve heard good things about the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Hoover’s group?” Rodney scoffed. “All they care about is catching famous criminals. I doubt they’d care about engine designs being sent to Germany, which may be immoral but certainly isn’t illegal. We don’t even know how the designs are getting there. What would we tell them?”
“I don’t know,” Sheppard snapped. “I’ll think of something.”
“If I may, I have another idea.” Teyla stacked the papers neatly and put them away. “What if you continue your work?”
Sheppard’s brow knitted. “What do you mean?”
“Send modified information-”
“That’s insane!” Rodney pronounced. “We’re in enough trouble as it is without… Oh. Oh, that might work.”
Ronon sat up straight. “What might work?”
Rodney locked gazes with Sheppard, who began to smile. “Send them false reports.”
xxx
Ronon leaned back in his chair, heels of his palms pressed to his eyes as the opening strains of The Lone Ranger theme blared on the radio. The three months since Teyla had arrived had been the busiest he’d had since coming to work for Sheppard. The man had taken him in, given him work with no questions asked about the scars on his back or the prison markings on his arm. Ronon didn’t remember much of the weeks following Melena’s murder, but he’d been told he killed the man who had violated her and he willingly gave up seven years of his life in return.
He’d learned a lot during his incarceration, absorbing everything anyone wanted to teach him. One man had been something of a scholar and had taught Ronon to read and write then moved on to math and science. Ronon didn’t always understand the terms but he had an innate grasp of the concepts.
Ronon spent the first couple of weeks after the fake reports began finishing the interior of the four-passenger Fairchild so Sheppard had one plane he could use for clients. McKay spent long days and nights designing and redesigning. In the following weeks, Ronon had built and tested each of McKay’s models. By the end of the third month, they had fallen into a pattern: analyze the test results from the day before, rework the design the right way and the wrong way, eat some lunch, rebuild, and retest.
“The flame cans won’t fit in the gap properly.”
“I know that,” McKay replied. “That’s the point.”
“Won’t it be obvious?”
“Well, hopefully not immediately.”
Ronon frowned at him. “When did you last sleep?”
“Sleep is for mortals,” McKay huffed. “I’m trying to actually design an engine that works while dummying up plans for one that doesn’t. I barely have time to eat.”
Ronon snorted. “I haven’t seen you miss a meal.”
“You either.” McKay’s stomach growled loudly. “Is it time for lunch?”
Ronon chuckled as he picked up the sketches again. Sheppard had hired McKay a few weeks after Ronon had started. McKay had watched him nervously for the first day or two, then ignored him completely. Ronon didn’t know McKay’s story, but something haunted the man, drove him to prove himself over and over again. Oddly enough, it was the one thing they all had in common.
The frantic tap of heels in the hangar made Ronon’s breath catch. Teyla didn’t resemble Melena at all except for her feminine grace, but even after all these years, it still hurt.
Ronon leapt to his feet when Teyla stumbled inside. Her hair was disheveled, her hat was missing, the sleeve of her dress was torn, and a trickle of blood had dried on the corner of her mouth.
“What happened?” Ronon demanded.
Teyla threw herself in his arms, trembling. “A man… He attacked me when I left my hotel this morning.” She took a shaky breath. “I fought him off and ran.”
Ronon’s blood pounded in his ears as memories of Melena returned. He held Teyla gently, and looked at McKay. The man’s face was white with rage.
“Then what did you do?” Ronon asked.
“I walked here.”
“From town?” McKay gaped at her. “Teyla, that’s over ten miles.”
“I know, but I had no alternative. He took my satchel with all of my notes and research. My handbag was in it. I had no way of paying for a taxi.”
“We would have paid,” Ronon said.
Teyla pulled away and stared at the ground. “I was frightened of getting into a car with a stranger. I hid whenever a vehicle passed. Perhaps I should have been braver, but I had nothing to defend myself with, and-”
“You did the right thing.” McKay patted her shoulder awkwardly. “We should report this to the police? Can you describe the man?”
“I recognized him when I saw him in the hotel lobby yesterday. He works for Mikeltod.”
“What?” McKay exclaimed.
Teyla nodded miserably. “Is John here?”
“Had a client to ferry to Cincinnati this morning,” Ronon replied. “He should be back any time.”
“I heard from Elizabeth,” Teyla said. “She has a contact inside Mikeltod. The design flaws have been noticed.”
Ronon frowned. “You mean they knew before they stole your satchel?”
“Yes. Are you close to completing the true design?” Teyla asked McKay.
“Of course not. I’ve modified the shape of the flame caps and moved them out of the gap, but the engine is still burning out too soon. I need more time.”
“I do not believe we have more time, Rodney.”
Ronon turned at the faint drone of an engine. “Sheppard’s back.”
The Fairchild circled overhead and dipped its wings before it landed and screeched to a halt precisely in front of the hangar.
Sheppard hopped out, looking more relaxed than he had in weeks, but his body tensed and his expression darkened as soon as he saw Teyla’s face. “Are you alright?”
Teyla nodded. “I will be fine, John.”
“What happened?”
“We’ve been found out,” McKay announced.
“So soon?”
“The German scientists aren’t stupid, no matter how much we wish it. I’ve studied their work in the past. They were already close. I’m sure they were being…encouraged to finish as quickly as possible so they had all the top minds on it. Which would explain why they came to you since, of course, I work here.”
Ronon would have glared at McKay except it was true. McKay’s name was sprinkled liberally throughout the advanced science texts the prison scholar had owned, though Ronon had never mentioned it. The man’s ego was big enough already.
“Do they know you were deliberately sabotaging the designs?” Sheppard asked.
“Obviously. Look at what they did to her.” McKay paced a few steps then exhaled loudly. “If one of them sent me designs like that I’d think they were doing it on purpose. The errors are minute, but the volume of them… Someone at my level doesn’t make those kinds of mistakes. Plus, we probably aren’t the only company doing this research. I’m sure they are running comparisons.”
Sheppard pulled his grey Fedora off and raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been trying to think of a way out of this, but I haven’t come up with anything yet. I was hoping to have a little more time.”
“How much trouble are we in?” McKay asked quietly. “Will the Nazis come after us?”
“No, Rodney, we’re a long way from Germany. But the boys at Mikeltod think we’ve done this on purpose; they have a couple of guys they use to enforce contracts. They’ll come for us.”
McKay paled. “What should we do? Give them the real designs?”
“We cannot,” Teyla insisted. “To do so would be to hand the advantage to the Germans.”
“Then what?” McKay asked. “I’m averse to being used as a punching bag.”
“We run,” Ronon said.
“What?” McKay squeaked. “Where?”
“Anywhere.” Ronon folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t have any ties here. Your sister lives in another country. Sheppard’s father has bodyguards. Teyla?”
“My closest relatives are dead, and a distant cousin has been caring for the others while I have worked here with you.” Teyla swallowed thickly. “I do not wish to endanger them. I will come with you if I may.”
“What about your story?” Sheppard asked.
“I can file it from anywhere.”
Sheppard’s gaze lost focus as he stared into the distance. “Run,” he murmured. He remained quiet for a moment then his eyes snapped up. “Get what you can and meet back here in an hour. Don’t go overboard, Rodney. The plane will hold the four of us and one suitcase each. Ronon, go with McKay and Teyla.”
McKay rolled his eyes. “I don’t need help packing.”
“He’s not going to help you pack, Rodney.”
“Oh.” McKay gulped. “Okay, let’s go then.”
Sheppard nodded. “We leave in an hour.”
xxx
John waved as McKay’s beat-up ’34 Olds sputtered and lurched away from the hangar. Hurrying back to the Fairchild, he navigated it to the refueling area and ran through his flight prep list. Once he was satisfied the plane was ready to go, he headed to the office and stuffed all of Rodney’s designs in a box along with a few important files and the stack of cash he kept hidden in his pilot’s manual. He stowed the box in the plane’s tiny cargo hold then went to the small room in the back that he and Ronon inhabited.
The day he’d met Ronon, the man had been carrying all his possessions in a single bag that he still kept by his bed, packed. John shook his head as he tossed the bag near the door and pulled his suitcase from under his bed. Ronon’s side of the room was bare without the bag - no photos or keepsakes, nothing of a personal nature. John glanced at his side and laughed. Other than his copy of War and Peace, his prized pin-up of Jean Harlow, and the photo of him and his brother in uniform, his side was just as Spartan.
He emptied the small dresser and crammed the contents in the suitcase, laid his book, poster, and photo on top, then leaned heavily on it and latched it shut. He dropped his toothbrush, comb, hair grease, and razor in his toiletry pouch, grabbed his suitcase, slung Ronon’s bag over his shoulder, and headed out.
When he rounded the red Rearwin aircraft, two men were waiting for him.
“Going somewhere, Mr. Sheppard?” the taller one asked.
“As a matter of fact, I am. I have…a client to pick up. In St. Louis. I’ll be back in a couple of days, so whatever you boys need will have to wait until then.”
“Where’s your engineer?”
“I have no idea. Probably sleeping. He’s been working long hours on a project.”
The short, stocky man shook his head. “He’s not at home. We’ve been there.”
John’s heart pounded painfully as he imagined Rodney facing these men alone. “What do you want with him?”
“You have a contract with Bridge Studies that you haven’t fulfilled yet,” the tall man replied. “We’re here to encourage you to do so.”
“We have been working day and night on that,” John stated, setting the suitcase and bags on the ground. “What business is it of yours?”
“Our employer has an interest in your work.”
John’s internal clock told him Ronon and the others wouldn’t be returning for at least another twenty minutes. Stalling for time, then. “Who is your employer?”
“I think you know.”
“Really?” John put on his most innocent expression. “I don’t remember seeing you around Bridge when I’ve been there.”
“Don’t play dumb with us, Sheppard,” the stocky man growled. “You’ve been sending false findings for the past three months. We’re here for the real designs.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
John saw the instant the tall man had had enough. When he lunged, John ducked under the Rearwin’s wing and darted around the plane. The short one was faster than he looked. His fist smashed into John’s jaw, felling him instantly. John shook the stars from his vision and rolled under the plane. The tall man gave chase, launching himself at John and connecting with the back of his legs. John tried to scramble away, but the man held tight until the stocky guy jerked John to his feet and shoved him backward.
The tall man caught John, pinning his arms to his sides. Air whooshed from his lungs as the first strike connected with his stomach. John curled inward until a blow to the chin snapped his head back. The tall man’s grip was iron, and John sagged as his vision grayed. He grunted at the vicious punch to his ribcage and another fist to the temple. John struggled, kicked, cursed vehemently as the blows rained down, but the two men each outweighed him by fifty pounds and were at least ten years younger.
Fingers dug cruelly into his jaw. “Where are the designs?”
John blinked woozily and spit blood in the man’s face. The stocky guy snarled and smashed his fist into John’s nose. Cartilage crunched, and pain radiated in every direction. John’s knees buckled as blood dribbled down his face. The man shouted at him, but he couldn’t hear anything over the roar in his ears.
Suddenly, the room slid sideways as a mountain collided with them. Stunned, John lay gasping as flesh smacked flesh nearby and voices shouted. Small hands touched his back and he turned, squinting up into Teyla’s worried face.
“John, can you hear me?”
“Yeah.” He let her guide him into a sitting position. “What happened?”
“Two men-”
“I know that part. You’re early.”
She smiled grimly. “Ronon was concerned.”
John followed her gaze. The stocky man lay in a crumpled heap while Ronon tossed the other man to the ground and slugged him. John struggled to his feet and staggered over, catching Ronon’s arm as he drew his fist back again. “Enough.”
Ronon jerked away and whirled, his eyes shooting fire until he focused on John. Concern replaced fury. “You okay?” Ronon asked softly.
John dabbed at the blood on his face. “I’ll be fine. Did you get everything?”
“He made me leave behind all my textbooks,” McKay announced, his voice wavering slightly. “I mean, how am I supposed to finish my work without reference materials? He threatened-”
“Rodney,” John said gently, “we’ll buy you some more books when we get there.”
“Where are we going?” Teyla asked.
John glanced at the two unconscious men. “Anywhere but here. McKay, load the rest of our luggage. Ronon, I topped off the liquids, but I’d appreciate it if you’d check the engines.”
They hurried away, and Teyla helped John to his washroom. He winced at the sight in the mirror. Cut, bruised, and bedraggled, he was a far cry from the boy his mother had been so proud of. Teyla dipped a towel in water and washed the blood away. He leaned against the sink and let her, too tired to do anything but stand.
“Will you be able to fly?” she asked.
John chuckled. “Getting knocked around a little isn’t enough to keep me from flying. I’ll be fine.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“I have some money, a plane, and open sky. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
“So we have no place to go?”
He splashed a little water on his face then took the towel from her and dabbed gingerly at the worst cuts. “It’s a big country, Teyla.” He dropped the cloth on the counter and turned to her. “Do you think anybody out there can use a broken down pilot, a mechanic with an attitude, a socially ill-equipped scientist and a lady reporter?”
Teyla laughed. “I am certain of it.” As they walked through the hangar, she trailed a hand along the wing of the Ryan. “Aircraft are wondrous machines.”
“Yes, they are,” John agreed. “In the right hands.”
McKay and Ronon were waiting for them at the hangar door, and John didn’t look back as they strode together to the plane. He offered Teyla a hand into the cabin and smiled as the Fairchild logo on the step gleamed in the sunlight. He loved that logo.
John climbed in and got settled. Ronon nodded to let him know the engine had already been turned over so he pumped the primer and the engines fired to life. Waiting for them to warm, he pulled out his map and traced a few flight patterns on it.
“Where are we going?” McKay asked.
“I was thinking Nashville,” John replied.
“Nashville? What’s in Nashville?”
“I don’t know, Rodney. I’ve never been there.”
“Nor have I,” Teyla said.
Ronon smiled. “Sounds good to me.”
“It’s temporary. If we get tired of it, or if the bad guys miraculously find us, we’ll go somewhere else. I’ll even let you choose where.” John nudged Rodney’s shoulder. “What do you say?”
“Fine,” McKay sighed. “Let’s go.”
John slid on his aviator sunglasses and taxied to the airfield’s longest runway. The engines roared and the nose lifted easily. He climbed to cruising altitude and set his course.
As the plane banked, the afternoon sun glinted off the logo again - Pegasus, his wings spread in flight. Together they soared into a brilliant blue sky and a new future.
Author: wildcat88
Genre: AU
Prompt: Those magnificent men in their flying machines.
Word Count: ~5600
Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Summary: In pre-World War Two America, a beautiful reporter discovers the research of a brilliant engineer is being funneled to the Nazis. They must work together with the man's friends - a pilot and a mechanic - to thwart the Nazis' plans.
Notes: Massive thanks to kristen999 and friendshipper for the fantastic beta. They made the story so much better than it would have been. All faults mine.
Wirepullers
Teyla read through her notes again as the old De Soto taxicab chugged across the airfield. Ten years of gossip columns and society pages had brought her to this moment. The divorce of socialite Nancy Sheppard from utility mogul Patrick Sheppard’s youngest son had set tongues wagging all over Washington, especially after said son disappeared completely from public view. Teyla had attended every party, every gala, every charity function and political rally and awards banquet, searching for a nugget, a crumb of information on John Sheppard. What she found staggered her to her core.
The cab stopped in front of a metal hangar with chipped red paint that at one time had proudly proclaimed “Atlantis, Inc.” A yellow Packard two-seater convertible coupe with beige trim and whitewalls was parked near the open hangar door. Next to it was a blue Oldsmobile Touring Sedan that had seen better days. Its front grill and long hood were crumpled on the right side, a running board dangled precariously close to the ground, and the tall, boxy roof had dozens of tiny dents.
Teyla patted the curls pinned to the nape of her neck, straightened her pale straw hat, and pulled a few bills from her handbag. “Please wait here,” she instructed the driver. “I will return in a moment.”
He nodded, and she climbed out, carrying a satchel full of documents, her notes, a pad of paper and several pencils. She took a calming breath, lifted her chin, and strode toward the hanger, her heels clicking rhythmically on the concrete as she stepped inside.
Shouted profanities from a back office echoed in a room filled with three planes in various states of disrepair. Teyla paused and pulled her research on Sheppard’s business. He had recently purchased a Rearwin Sportster 7000, the shiny red plane with one wing on top of its double passenger cabin that now sat on the right side of the room. Its single propeller had been removed from the front, and the engine was in a million pieces near the wall.
A similar plane with a longer body occupied the room’s center. Four seats leaned against the white fuselage, and the rest of the interior was separated into neat piles in front of them. Teyla had to check the logo to confirm it as the Fairchild 24, meaning the aircraft with no wheels on the left had to be the Ryan ST-A Special. Built for sport, the gleaming silver plane had two tandem open cockpits above the wing, leaving the pilot and a passenger exposed to wind and sun.
A man with tousled hair, wearing denim and a rough white workshirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, peered down at her from the front seat of the Ryan. “Can I help you, ma’am?”
She squared her shoulders and cleared her throat. “Yes, I am seeking John Sheppard.”
“Well, you found him.” He stepped onto the wing, then hopped to the ground. “What can I do for you?”
He barely resembled his photos and was not at all as she had expected. Grime under his nails, unshaven for at least two days, a smudge of grease on his cheek. Nothing like the Cary Grant types she usually dealt with. She liked him immediately. “I am Teyla Emmagan of the Washington Gazette. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
His expression went totally flat. His eyes flicked over her, and then, to his credit, they settled on her face and didn’t waver. “A lady reporter. Don’t see many of those.”
She arched a brow at him. “It is 1938, Mr. Sheppard. Women have more opportunities than ever. We are capable of doing more than we have been given credit for. Since we gained the right to vote-”
“You don’t have to sell me on it. My mother was a suffragette.”
“I know. I have seen the news clippings.”
He stuffed his hands in his back pockets. “What can I do for you, Miss Emmagan?” he prompted.
“I have been attempting to locate you for the last two years. In my research of your family-”
“Leave my family out of this,” he warned, his eyes cold and his face hard.
“Do you deny their support of Germany’s return to power in Europe?”
She got the reaction she had hoped for. His face flushed scarlet, and a muscle jumped angrily in his jaw as he stepped forward and hissed, “That’s a lie.”
Teyla held her ground, studying every gold fleck in his green eyes. Either he was a brilliant actor or he really had no idea what he was involved in.
“Is everything okay, Sheppard?” A big man with slicked-back hair and a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee peered from inside the Fairchild aircraft. He wiped a hand on his stained coveralls as he climbed out.
“Everything’s fine, Ronon. The lady was just leaving.”
Teyla reached toward him. “It was not my intention to upset you-”
“Upset me?” He quivered with rage as he drew back. “My family might be a lot of things, but German sympathizers is not one of them. I spent over a year in the trenches fighting them. My brother…”
“I am aware of your service in the Great War, and of your brother’s sacrifice. My condolences.”
Ronon towered over her. “You should go.”
Teyla met his gaze unflinchingly. “Please allow me to explain my purpose here first.”
Ronon looked to Sheppard and backed away at his nod.
She smiled her thanks and opened her notepad. “I needed to gauge your response to the charge of conspiring with the Nazis-”
“I’m not conspiring with the Nazis!”
“Actually, Mr. Sheppard, you are. But I don’t think you realize it.”
He raked his fingers through his hair. “What are you talking about?”
“You have an engineer working for you named Rodney McKay?”
“Yes. He’s on the telephone in the office.”
Teyla scanned through her notes. “Your company received a grant from a private institute, Bridge Studies and Research, to redesign the gas turbine engine for use in airplanes, creating something called a turbojet engine which mixes fuel with compressed air then ignites it. The combustion expands through the turbine and powers-”
“I know what a turbine engine is.”
“The current design burns the metal. Your funding is for the development of one that doesn’t.”
His eyes narrowed as he considered her. “Where did you get that information?”
“I know a lot of people, Mr. Sheppard. One happens to work in the typing pool at Bridge.” She tucked her notes in her satchel, and focused on his face. “Bridge is financed by Asuran Enterprises. They specialize in propulsion systems.”
He frowned at her. “I know who they are.”
“Did you know Asuran Enterprises shares the same board of directors as Mikeltod Ventures?”
The angry flush paled. “You have proof?”
Teyla nodded. “Yes. The same men direct both companies. Are you familiar with Mikeltod?”
“I’ve had a few encounters with some of their people.”
“They are a very wealthy conglomerate. Their major industries deal with transportation and technology, and they are owned by an international financial firm known as Einwraith Alliance.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Sheppard, Einwraith Alliance is the funding arm of Nazi Germany.”
xxx
John’s mind whirred as he gaped at the small woman. He was working for the Germans? Here, in America? How could that be? He’d done the research on Bridge Studies and Asuran Enterprises himself. How had he missed the connection to Mikeltod?
“Ronon, get McKay out here,” he ordered.
He unconsciously rubbed the scar on his shoulder left by a German bullet twenty years ago. His father had sent two sons to war, and only got one back. The wrong one.
A hint of sadness darkened the woman’s eyes. “Mr. Sheppard?”
John pulled himself out of the memories. “I’m sorry. What was your name?”
“Teyla Emmagan.”
“Well, Miss Emmagan, you’ve come a long way to tell me that.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the sleek silver fuselage of the Ryan. “What did you hope to gain from it? A front page story? I guess having the Sheppard name in there will get you that.”
“Originally, it was about a story. You had a public dispute with your father and vanished.” She gazed coolly at him. “I will not apologize for working hard to provide for those who rely on me. I have no wish to harm you or your family, but finding you would have been a feather in my cap, Mr. Sheppard, and a way for me to advance.”
John tilted his head, watching the emotion flit over her features. “Would have been?”
“Once I discovered the connection to the Nazis, my focus changed.” Teyla’s blue polka-dot skirt swirled around shapely legs as she spun away and began to pace. “They imprisoned my uncle and his family in Austria, claiming he was a political dissenter. The world stood by and did nothing while an entire country was overtaken. Since I am not allowed to defend my home and my people as a man would,” her chin lifted, “I will fight for them in my own way.”
“By telling a story about me?”
Teyla shook her head. “No. My story will reveal the truth about Asuran Enterprises to the world and hopefully cause Einwraith’s funding to crumble.”
John smiled at the determined look in her eye. She was intelligent, beautiful, and confident. She might actually be able to do what she claimed.
“Sheppard, what the hell is going on? I was in the middle of- Oh! Um, excuse my language, ma’am.” Rodney brushed crumbs from his shirtfront as he glared at Ronon. “I didn’t realize we had feminine company.”
“Dr. Rodney McKay,” John said, “this is Miss Teyla Emmagan.”
“Dr. McKay.” Teyla extended a white-gloved hand.
John chuckled when McKay blushed at her honeyed tones and brilliant smile. After fussing with his tie and smoothing a hand over his thinning hair, Rodney nodded shyly and shook her hand. “A pleasure, Miss Emmagan.”
“And this is Ronon Dex,” John jerked a thumb toward the big man, “best mechanic in Chicago.”
Ronon clasped his hands behind his back and gave a quick nod. “Ma’am.”
“Mr. Dex,” Teyla replied. A honk drew their attention outside, and she gasped. “My taxi! Poor man, I forgot all about him.”
“I’ll be happy to drive you to your hotel this evening if you want to send him on his way,” John offered.
When Teyla nodded and hurried out to dismiss him, Rodney leaned close and whispered, “What’s going on?”
“She says she has proof that the engine design you’re doing is for the Nazis.”
“Told you,” Ronon muttered.
Rodney blanched. “That- that’s not possible. I thought you had that company checked out.”
“I did.”
“Well, obviously not good enough!” McKay ripped the tie from his neck. “Do you know what will happen when this gets out? I’ll be ruined! My sister won’t speak to me now. Imagine how she’ll react to me being a sympathizer. All my research will be called into question. I’ll never-”
“This isn’t about you, Rodney!” John scrubbed a hand over his neck as he stalked a few paces and turned. “I haven’t seen her proof, but if it’s true, we have more problems than your reputation.”
“I know that,” McKay snapped. “I am a genius, you know. If the Germans are using my designs to build working jet engines…”
“Nobody in Europe will be able to match the Luftwaffe,” Ronon finished. “What are we going to do?”
John trailed a hand down the silver nose of the Ryan, remembering the rush of take-off, the sun warming his face, the wind tearing at his hair, the absolute freedom of breaking the bonds of gravity and soaring in a clear sky. Life was simple in those moments.
“Sheppard?”
“I haven’t decided, Ronon. Let’s see what the lady has first.”
“Do you believe her?” McKay asked.
“I don’t know. I hope she’s wrong, but I always wondered why Bridge sought out an operation as small as mine to conduct this research.” John’s head dropped. “Damn.”
xxx
Rodney’s heart was lodged in his throat as he watched Miss Emmagan walk back in. Canada wasn’t at war yet with Germany but he was afraid another move like the annexing of Austria would lead to it. He had been called paranoid - and worse - but he liked to be prepared. His stomach twisted as the ramifications set in. He would be considered a traitor, maybe not intentionally, but he had been helping the potential enemy. If the woman was correct. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe she had him confused with another scientist working on a jet engine.
“Sheppard says you have proof. I want to see it,” he announced.
“McKay.” Sheppard glared at him then heaved a sigh. “Ronon, close the hangar door. Let’s go to the office. It’s a little more comfortable there.”
When they entered the office, Rodney stuffed his tie in a pocket of his navy herringbone jacket that hung on the coat rack next to his trilby hat and walking cane. He switched off the radio in the middle of Bob Hope crooning “Thanks for the Memory” and flopped in a chair, drumming his fingers on the table that Sheppard was clearing of design sketches and unpaid invoices. Rodney squirmed in his seat until Ronon reappeared. “It’s about time.”
Ronon squeezed Rodney’s shoulder painfully as he passed. “Apologies, ma’am.”
Teyla smiled. “No need to apologize, Mr. Dex.” She shuffled through a few papers and laid them carefully in sequence on the small, round table. “My friend, Elizabeth, works in the government offices. She helped me copy the documents, and we were in a terrible rush so the penmanship is not our best.”
Rodney’s eyes crossed after the first few pages. Unlike physics texts, business papers were nonsense as far as he was concerned, though Sheppard was completely immersed in them. Most days, he forgot Sheppard’s pedigree - Harvard man with a millionaire father. John was driven, no doubt about it, but when it came to planes, he was like a kid which was one reason they got along so well. Few people appreciated the elegant line of an aircraft like they did. Ronon, too. Dex wasn’t much of a conversationalist, but he could build anything Rodney designed.
The last two years had been the best of Rodney’s life. Sheppard had a few clients he transported on a regular basis, but most of their income came from Rodney’s inventions. After he’d been fired from his last three university posts for “insubordination and other conduct unbecoming a professor,” his parents had cut him off, declaring him an embarrassment to the family and to the scientific community. He’d taken a job completely beneath him - repair work at an airfield in Pittsburgh - when Sheppard’s beautiful red Rearwin Sportster practically fell out of the sky, smoke pouring from the engine. It had taken Rodney all of ten minutes to fix it.
Sheppard had offered to buy him dinner as thanks. Over the course of the evening, Rodney shared his misadventures as an educator and Sheppard told of his dreams to build bigger and better airplanes. By the time they finished, Rodney had a new job. He packed his things and boarded a train to Chicago where Sheppard pointed him to an office and told him to dream big. The research grant from Bridge had been a godsend, allowing him to focus all his energies on one project. While his brilliance had never been questioned, which was certainly why Bridge had chosen Sheppard’s company, his reputation had been tarnished by the firings. Success would mean regaining his stature, at least in academia.
When the color drained from Sheppard’s face, Rodney sagged; life as he knew it was over.
“It’s true?” Ronon asked.
Sheppard closed his eyes and tossed the papers on the table. “Yeah.”
“How much have we given them?”
“Everything.” Rodney slumped in his seat. “I sent a cable yesterday with an update, and I put my designs in the post.”
“Can we get them back?”
“No,” Sheppard answered. “But we don’t do anything else. We close. Destroy everything.”
“Then what?” Ronon asked.
“Tell the authorities,” Sheppard suggested.
Rodney threw up his hands. “What authorities? The policeman near my flat who takes money from the grocer to protect him from the local thugs?”
“Of course not,” Sheppard replied. “I’ve heard good things about the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”
“Hoover’s group?” Rodney scoffed. “All they care about is catching famous criminals. I doubt they’d care about engine designs being sent to Germany, which may be immoral but certainly isn’t illegal. We don’t even know how the designs are getting there. What would we tell them?”
“I don’t know,” Sheppard snapped. “I’ll think of something.”
“If I may, I have another idea.” Teyla stacked the papers neatly and put them away. “What if you continue your work?”
Sheppard’s brow knitted. “What do you mean?”
“Send modified information-”
“That’s insane!” Rodney pronounced. “We’re in enough trouble as it is without… Oh. Oh, that might work.”
Ronon sat up straight. “What might work?”
Rodney locked gazes with Sheppard, who began to smile. “Send them false reports.”
xxx
Ronon leaned back in his chair, heels of his palms pressed to his eyes as the opening strains of The Lone Ranger theme blared on the radio. The three months since Teyla had arrived had been the busiest he’d had since coming to work for Sheppard. The man had taken him in, given him work with no questions asked about the scars on his back or the prison markings on his arm. Ronon didn’t remember much of the weeks following Melena’s murder, but he’d been told he killed the man who had violated her and he willingly gave up seven years of his life in return.
He’d learned a lot during his incarceration, absorbing everything anyone wanted to teach him. One man had been something of a scholar and had taught Ronon to read and write then moved on to math and science. Ronon didn’t always understand the terms but he had an innate grasp of the concepts.
Ronon spent the first couple of weeks after the fake reports began finishing the interior of the four-passenger Fairchild so Sheppard had one plane he could use for clients. McKay spent long days and nights designing and redesigning. In the following weeks, Ronon had built and tested each of McKay’s models. By the end of the third month, they had fallen into a pattern: analyze the test results from the day before, rework the design the right way and the wrong way, eat some lunch, rebuild, and retest.
“The flame cans won’t fit in the gap properly.”
“I know that,” McKay replied. “That’s the point.”
“Won’t it be obvious?”
“Well, hopefully not immediately.”
Ronon frowned at him. “When did you last sleep?”
“Sleep is for mortals,” McKay huffed. “I’m trying to actually design an engine that works while dummying up plans for one that doesn’t. I barely have time to eat.”
Ronon snorted. “I haven’t seen you miss a meal.”
“You either.” McKay’s stomach growled loudly. “Is it time for lunch?”
Ronon chuckled as he picked up the sketches again. Sheppard had hired McKay a few weeks after Ronon had started. McKay had watched him nervously for the first day or two, then ignored him completely. Ronon didn’t know McKay’s story, but something haunted the man, drove him to prove himself over and over again. Oddly enough, it was the one thing they all had in common.
The frantic tap of heels in the hangar made Ronon’s breath catch. Teyla didn’t resemble Melena at all except for her feminine grace, but even after all these years, it still hurt.
Ronon leapt to his feet when Teyla stumbled inside. Her hair was disheveled, her hat was missing, the sleeve of her dress was torn, and a trickle of blood had dried on the corner of her mouth.
“What happened?” Ronon demanded.
Teyla threw herself in his arms, trembling. “A man… He attacked me when I left my hotel this morning.” She took a shaky breath. “I fought him off and ran.”
Ronon’s blood pounded in his ears as memories of Melena returned. He held Teyla gently, and looked at McKay. The man’s face was white with rage.
“Then what did you do?” Ronon asked.
“I walked here.”
“From town?” McKay gaped at her. “Teyla, that’s over ten miles.”
“I know, but I had no alternative. He took my satchel with all of my notes and research. My handbag was in it. I had no way of paying for a taxi.”
“We would have paid,” Ronon said.
Teyla pulled away and stared at the ground. “I was frightened of getting into a car with a stranger. I hid whenever a vehicle passed. Perhaps I should have been braver, but I had nothing to defend myself with, and-”
“You did the right thing.” McKay patted her shoulder awkwardly. “We should report this to the police? Can you describe the man?”
“I recognized him when I saw him in the hotel lobby yesterday. He works for Mikeltod.”
“What?” McKay exclaimed.
Teyla nodded miserably. “Is John here?”
“Had a client to ferry to Cincinnati this morning,” Ronon replied. “He should be back any time.”
“I heard from Elizabeth,” Teyla said. “She has a contact inside Mikeltod. The design flaws have been noticed.”
Ronon frowned. “You mean they knew before they stole your satchel?”
“Yes. Are you close to completing the true design?” Teyla asked McKay.
“Of course not. I’ve modified the shape of the flame caps and moved them out of the gap, but the engine is still burning out too soon. I need more time.”
“I do not believe we have more time, Rodney.”
Ronon turned at the faint drone of an engine. “Sheppard’s back.”
The Fairchild circled overhead and dipped its wings before it landed and screeched to a halt precisely in front of the hangar.
Sheppard hopped out, looking more relaxed than he had in weeks, but his body tensed and his expression darkened as soon as he saw Teyla’s face. “Are you alright?”
Teyla nodded. “I will be fine, John.”
“What happened?”
“We’ve been found out,” McKay announced.
“So soon?”
“The German scientists aren’t stupid, no matter how much we wish it. I’ve studied their work in the past. They were already close. I’m sure they were being…encouraged to finish as quickly as possible so they had all the top minds on it. Which would explain why they came to you since, of course, I work here.”
Ronon would have glared at McKay except it was true. McKay’s name was sprinkled liberally throughout the advanced science texts the prison scholar had owned, though Ronon had never mentioned it. The man’s ego was big enough already.
“Do they know you were deliberately sabotaging the designs?” Sheppard asked.
“Obviously. Look at what they did to her.” McKay paced a few steps then exhaled loudly. “If one of them sent me designs like that I’d think they were doing it on purpose. The errors are minute, but the volume of them… Someone at my level doesn’t make those kinds of mistakes. Plus, we probably aren’t the only company doing this research. I’m sure they are running comparisons.”
Sheppard pulled his grey Fedora off and raked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve been trying to think of a way out of this, but I haven’t come up with anything yet. I was hoping to have a little more time.”
“How much trouble are we in?” McKay asked quietly. “Will the Nazis come after us?”
“No, Rodney, we’re a long way from Germany. But the boys at Mikeltod think we’ve done this on purpose; they have a couple of guys they use to enforce contracts. They’ll come for us.”
McKay paled. “What should we do? Give them the real designs?”
“We cannot,” Teyla insisted. “To do so would be to hand the advantage to the Germans.”
“Then what?” McKay asked. “I’m averse to being used as a punching bag.”
“We run,” Ronon said.
“What?” McKay squeaked. “Where?”
“Anywhere.” Ronon folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t have any ties here. Your sister lives in another country. Sheppard’s father has bodyguards. Teyla?”
“My closest relatives are dead, and a distant cousin has been caring for the others while I have worked here with you.” Teyla swallowed thickly. “I do not wish to endanger them. I will come with you if I may.”
“What about your story?” Sheppard asked.
“I can file it from anywhere.”
Sheppard’s gaze lost focus as he stared into the distance. “Run,” he murmured. He remained quiet for a moment then his eyes snapped up. “Get what you can and meet back here in an hour. Don’t go overboard, Rodney. The plane will hold the four of us and one suitcase each. Ronon, go with McKay and Teyla.”
McKay rolled his eyes. “I don’t need help packing.”
“He’s not going to help you pack, Rodney.”
“Oh.” McKay gulped. “Okay, let’s go then.”
Sheppard nodded. “We leave in an hour.”
xxx
John waved as McKay’s beat-up ’34 Olds sputtered and lurched away from the hangar. Hurrying back to the Fairchild, he navigated it to the refueling area and ran through his flight prep list. Once he was satisfied the plane was ready to go, he headed to the office and stuffed all of Rodney’s designs in a box along with a few important files and the stack of cash he kept hidden in his pilot’s manual. He stowed the box in the plane’s tiny cargo hold then went to the small room in the back that he and Ronon inhabited.
The day he’d met Ronon, the man had been carrying all his possessions in a single bag that he still kept by his bed, packed. John shook his head as he tossed the bag near the door and pulled his suitcase from under his bed. Ronon’s side of the room was bare without the bag - no photos or keepsakes, nothing of a personal nature. John glanced at his side and laughed. Other than his copy of War and Peace, his prized pin-up of Jean Harlow, and the photo of him and his brother in uniform, his side was just as Spartan.
He emptied the small dresser and crammed the contents in the suitcase, laid his book, poster, and photo on top, then leaned heavily on it and latched it shut. He dropped his toothbrush, comb, hair grease, and razor in his toiletry pouch, grabbed his suitcase, slung Ronon’s bag over his shoulder, and headed out.
When he rounded the red Rearwin aircraft, two men were waiting for him.
“Going somewhere, Mr. Sheppard?” the taller one asked.
“As a matter of fact, I am. I have…a client to pick up. In St. Louis. I’ll be back in a couple of days, so whatever you boys need will have to wait until then.”
“Where’s your engineer?”
“I have no idea. Probably sleeping. He’s been working long hours on a project.”
The short, stocky man shook his head. “He’s not at home. We’ve been there.”
John’s heart pounded painfully as he imagined Rodney facing these men alone. “What do you want with him?”
“You have a contract with Bridge Studies that you haven’t fulfilled yet,” the tall man replied. “We’re here to encourage you to do so.”
“We have been working day and night on that,” John stated, setting the suitcase and bags on the ground. “What business is it of yours?”
“Our employer has an interest in your work.”
John’s internal clock told him Ronon and the others wouldn’t be returning for at least another twenty minutes. Stalling for time, then. “Who is your employer?”
“I think you know.”
“Really?” John put on his most innocent expression. “I don’t remember seeing you around Bridge when I’ve been there.”
“Don’t play dumb with us, Sheppard,” the stocky man growled. “You’ve been sending false findings for the past three months. We’re here for the real designs.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
John saw the instant the tall man had had enough. When he lunged, John ducked under the Rearwin’s wing and darted around the plane. The short one was faster than he looked. His fist smashed into John’s jaw, felling him instantly. John shook the stars from his vision and rolled under the plane. The tall man gave chase, launching himself at John and connecting with the back of his legs. John tried to scramble away, but the man held tight until the stocky guy jerked John to his feet and shoved him backward.
The tall man caught John, pinning his arms to his sides. Air whooshed from his lungs as the first strike connected with his stomach. John curled inward until a blow to the chin snapped his head back. The tall man’s grip was iron, and John sagged as his vision grayed. He grunted at the vicious punch to his ribcage and another fist to the temple. John struggled, kicked, cursed vehemently as the blows rained down, but the two men each outweighed him by fifty pounds and were at least ten years younger.
Fingers dug cruelly into his jaw. “Where are the designs?”
John blinked woozily and spit blood in the man’s face. The stocky guy snarled and smashed his fist into John’s nose. Cartilage crunched, and pain radiated in every direction. John’s knees buckled as blood dribbled down his face. The man shouted at him, but he couldn’t hear anything over the roar in his ears.
Suddenly, the room slid sideways as a mountain collided with them. Stunned, John lay gasping as flesh smacked flesh nearby and voices shouted. Small hands touched his back and he turned, squinting up into Teyla’s worried face.
“John, can you hear me?”
“Yeah.” He let her guide him into a sitting position. “What happened?”
“Two men-”
“I know that part. You’re early.”
She smiled grimly. “Ronon was concerned.”
John followed her gaze. The stocky man lay in a crumpled heap while Ronon tossed the other man to the ground and slugged him. John struggled to his feet and staggered over, catching Ronon’s arm as he drew his fist back again. “Enough.”
Ronon jerked away and whirled, his eyes shooting fire until he focused on John. Concern replaced fury. “You okay?” Ronon asked softly.
John dabbed at the blood on his face. “I’ll be fine. Did you get everything?”
“He made me leave behind all my textbooks,” McKay announced, his voice wavering slightly. “I mean, how am I supposed to finish my work without reference materials? He threatened-”
“Rodney,” John said gently, “we’ll buy you some more books when we get there.”
“Where are we going?” Teyla asked.
John glanced at the two unconscious men. “Anywhere but here. McKay, load the rest of our luggage. Ronon, I topped off the liquids, but I’d appreciate it if you’d check the engines.”
They hurried away, and Teyla helped John to his washroom. He winced at the sight in the mirror. Cut, bruised, and bedraggled, he was a far cry from the boy his mother had been so proud of. Teyla dipped a towel in water and washed the blood away. He leaned against the sink and let her, too tired to do anything but stand.
“Will you be able to fly?” she asked.
John chuckled. “Getting knocked around a little isn’t enough to keep me from flying. I’ll be fine.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“I have some money, a plane, and open sky. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.”
“So we have no place to go?”
He splashed a little water on his face then took the towel from her and dabbed gingerly at the worst cuts. “It’s a big country, Teyla.” He dropped the cloth on the counter and turned to her. “Do you think anybody out there can use a broken down pilot, a mechanic with an attitude, a socially ill-equipped scientist and a lady reporter?”
Teyla laughed. “I am certain of it.” As they walked through the hangar, she trailed a hand along the wing of the Ryan. “Aircraft are wondrous machines.”
“Yes, they are,” John agreed. “In the right hands.”
McKay and Ronon were waiting for them at the hangar door, and John didn’t look back as they strode together to the plane. He offered Teyla a hand into the cabin and smiled as the Fairchild logo on the step gleamed in the sunlight. He loved that logo.
John climbed in and got settled. Ronon nodded to let him know the engine had already been turned over so he pumped the primer and the engines fired to life. Waiting for them to warm, he pulled out his map and traced a few flight patterns on it.
“Where are we going?” McKay asked.
“I was thinking Nashville,” John replied.
“Nashville? What’s in Nashville?”
“I don’t know, Rodney. I’ve never been there.”
“Nor have I,” Teyla said.
Ronon smiled. “Sounds good to me.”
“It’s temporary. If we get tired of it, or if the bad guys miraculously find us, we’ll go somewhere else. I’ll even let you choose where.” John nudged Rodney’s shoulder. “What do you say?”
“Fine,” McKay sighed. “Let’s go.”
John slid on his aviator sunglasses and taxied to the airfield’s longest runway. The engines roared and the nose lifted easily. He climbed to cruising altitude and set his course.
As the plane banked, the afternoon sun glinted off the logo again - Pegasus, his wings spread in flight. Together they soared into a brilliant blue sky and a new future.