Aftershocks

Seven: Abstract

- x -

A lot depends on where the tough guy stops and the wannabe starts. Harry liked to say that.

I got into real big trouble the first time I came home all banged up from fighting at school – well, it wasn't really at school. It was in the woods on the way to school, when I jumped Andy Pierson, a real mean kid two years ahead of me, after I'd caught him shaking down the younger boys for whatever he could get. He was leaning on this little kid who'd just moved to town . . . chubby little guy named Jack. That's how we first met. I was planning on telling my dad some wild story about falling out of a tree, but Jack told everybody how I'd knocked Andy down and then scared the bejeezus out of him with a rattlesnake rattle I'd rigged up with some fishing line, and by the time I got home, even my mom had heard about what really happened.

Actually, I didn't get into all that much trouble for fighting, but Dad got real mad at me for trying to lie to him. Since then, it's generally seemed a whole lot easier to stick to the truth whenever possible.

Once in a while, though, I wish I could get away with some simple lies. The truth gets awful complicated and hard to sort out.

"Pete, there's not much more I can tell you. He went on like that for hours, and it never made any more sense than it did when he started."

"And then they just brought you back and let you go?"

MacGyver looked at Pete with a face made haggard by exhaustion and strain. "You sound like you don't believe me."

For once, it had been Pete pacing around his own office, while Mac sat slumped in a chair, too stupefied by fatigue to move or even fidget. He'd been allowed to make the return trip in the back of the car instead of the trunk, but he'd been handcuffed again and forced to lie down on the back seat, blindfolded, with a blanket thrown over him. The blanket had reeked of mildew and cigarette smoke, and Mac was longing desperately for a shower and clean clothes.

'Cept no amount of hot water's gonna sluice the muck outta my brain.

"MacGyver, you know I do." The honest compassion in Pete's face made Mac feel less battered – it felt like the first wholesome thing he'd seen since leaving the hospital the day before. "I just can't make out what they were after," Pete mused. "Why'd they snatch you in the first place? And why did they let you go like that?"

"I think they were trying to recruit me. No, scratch that – they were tryin' to recruit Dexter. I guess they thought he was the new weak spot in our defenses."

Pete nodded. "I suppose it's better than their going after Rafael Alvarado."

"No kidding. For starters, Dexter's white – as far as they're concerned. Can you believe that makin' such a difference? I played along with 'em – I kept hoping Hunter would spill something more about what they had cookin' – but he never got beyond vague hints and a whole lotta fire and brimstone. He never mentioned money, or the artworks." MacGyver made a face. "Pete, did you know that we're all tools of an international conspiracy to unite the world under a single Satanic government? Or maybe the whole world's already being run by a secret cabal. Hunter was kinda fuzzy on the details."

"Huh. If the whole world's being run by a group of criminal masterminds, you'd think they'd do a better job."

"Oh, it got even better than that." Mac rubbed his eyes. "The Holocaust never happened, Hitler was Jesus Christ, and the Jews caused World War Two."

"What?"

"I told you it didn't make sense. Like I said, it went on for hours – bad history, bad science, bad theology. Every third sentence was straight outta the Bible. I felt like I oughta be taking notes, like he was gonna test me afterwards. And then he'd stop and pray – at the top of his lungs. You remember when the DXS used to put us through brainwashing simulations? They shoulda just sent us to revival meetings."

Pete grimaced. "I'd rather face the KGB again."

"I guess it's kind of a compliment." Mac slumped back farther in the chair, until his head was resting against the seat back. He studied the unremarkable ceiling. "They musta found Dexter convincing."

"More than convincing. Somebody's taking a very close look indeed. Mac, Willis told me about the fake file you two put together on Dexter – "

MacGyver looked sheepish. "Um, Pete, I can explain about that – "

"That's not the point! Last night, while I was biting my nails after you'd turned up missing, Willis told me someone's been reading that file."

"Somebody hacked our computer system?" Mac sat up again abruptly, professional resentment briefly burning through the fog of exhaustion.

"No. Willis says it was accessed internally."

"What? Oh, no, Pete – it can't be. No."

"He seems pretty damned sure. But it just doesn't make sense. Why do they need Dexter, if they've already got someone on the inside who can get into the computer records?"

Mac's face had turned inwards, his dark eyes widening as his mind ran through the implications. "Most of the Phoenix staff only have read privileges, Pete. They can access files, but they can't change anything unless it's theirs. It takes a higher level of computer mojo to change the data – and even more to delete anything."

"What are you getting at?"

"I think Hunter wants me to destroy our copy of Frau Brandenburg's files, including wiping anything we have in the Phoenix computers – in fact, he seems to think we've somehow zapped everything into the computer, and that we're not even talking about boxes of papers any more. But I'm not sure that's all they're after. He acted like he assumed we had a file on him. He seemed real proud of the idea – like it meant he was important. At the same time, he didn't like the idea of our having Frau's files. Heck, he didn't like that fact that she had them. Seems she wasn't real popular with the local neo-Nazis."

Pete had been looking out of his office window, where the late morning sunlight was slanting off the distant mountains. He spoke without turning around. "What about Ruth's copy of the files?"

In the long moment of silence that rolled past, MacGyver could hear distant echoes of conversation outside the glass walls of Pete's office, out in the Phoenix Operations Centre. Helen was haranguing someone cheerfully, and ripples of laughter greeted her comments.

Mac found his voice again. "You knew?"

"I guessed – it wasn't all that difficult. I've continued to 'not know' for as long as I could manage it." Pete turned around and met Mac's eyes. "When Henry brought Ruth down here to LA, it got a lot harder to ignore . . . especially when she called Prajna in Legal and asked if one of the staff there could come over to Cedars-Sinai and help her out with an unnamed project." Pete sighed. "As of this conversation, I now know officially, and I'm going to officially tell Ruth to stop it."

Mac winced. "She's not gonna like that."

"I'm not going to enjoy telling her."

Mac was shaking his head, a look of chagrin on his face. "I shoulda known . . . I guess it was pretty dumb tryin' to keep it from you."

Pete shrugged. "What else could you do? And what else could I do? Did Ruth have enough time to make any progress?"

"I don't really know – she said she was sharing her findings with the Anti-Defamation League and the Southern Poverty Law Center. They're way better set up to use the information anyway." Mac looked thoughtful. "I remember now – I met one of the ADL people at the art reception. Zak Abramson. Sharp guy. Did you meet him?"

Pete shook his head. "No, I must have missed him. I did get cornered by some damned woman who writes a gossip column."

Mac straightened up, hunting through the pockets of Dexter's slovenly stadium jacket. "I had a few minutes on my own to look through Hunter's stuff – though there wasn't much there. But we oughta be able to track him down with this, and maybe find out just where that cabin is." Mac handed Pete an envelope, somewhat battered, ripped open across the top and empty.

Pete looked at the envelope and smiled sardonically. "Well, what do you know? Even junk mail comes in handy sometimes. So 'Hunter' is his real name . . . I wonder what the 'W' stands for. That can't be the address of the cabin, but it's a start." He stepped over to the office door, called to Helen, and handed her the envelope with a few words of instruction.

"Did Willis have any luck tracing the pager call?" Mac asked when Pete returned.

Pete sighed. "It was made from a pay phone in San Gabriel. And your callback number went to another one a few blocks away. Whoever they are, they either know what they're doing, or they're extremely paranoid."

"Or both."

"Or both. Anything worth noting on your end?"

"Yeah. When I called back, the voice was muffled, but it was definitely male – and had a German accent."

Pete whistled. "So it wasn't Hunter."

"Nope."

"Do you think it was the 'Professor' those two skinheads talked about?"

"I don't know. But something happened between that call and the meet at the warehouse – I think Cody was supposed to take me to the Professor, but Hunter's men got there first."

Pete frowned. "Are we sure we're only dealing with one group here?"

"Right now, I'm not sure of anything." Mac cupped his chin in his hand, staring into an unfocused distance. "Ruth talked about how decentralised these guys are – they aren't a unified movement at all. There's just a lotta different groups that believe more or less in the same things. They talk to each other, but they aren't really united, not even by hate. Frau musta been nuts to think she had a grand conspiracy going."

"Not completely nuts – although she had the wrong five states."

Mac blinked. "What?"

"That ten-percent business – the idea of a neo-Nazi takeover of five states out of the US, as a new Aryan homeland. It wasn't completely fabricated, just exaggerated. There's been some agitation in the white supremacist groups to do just that, but they never targeted California at all, or Nevada; they want Montana and Wyoming."

"Ummm . . . seems to me the current residents of Montana and Wyoming might have something to say about that."

"No kidding."

"And they shoot back."

Pete gave MacGyver a considering look. "Mac, have you been leaving important details out of your reports again – ?" Pete was interrupted by the chirp of his intercom. "What's up, Helen?"

"It's Willis on line one – you'd left him a message asking him to call when he got in."

"Thanks, Helen. Put him through. Willis, Mac's here. We got him back in one piece earlier this morning."

"Yeah, I know."

Pete raised his eyebrows. "I see the office grapevine's gotten even more efficient."

"It saves time. Mac, there's something very important I need to tell you."

"What?"

"You get kidnapped by murderous psychos one more time, and we're going to stage an intervention. I mean, c'mon. Enough is enough. Can't you take up knitting instead?"

Pete broke in while Mac was trying to come up with an answer. "Willis, I need you to do something for me. Later today – make it right at the end of the day – enter a note into Dexter's personal file. Something to the effect that he was caught attempting unauthorised access to sensitive sections of the computer files, and severely reprimanded."

"Will do." Willis rang off.

"Bait, Pete?" MacGyver asked.

"I'm perfectly happy using Dexter's file as bait. Hell, I like it a lot better than using Dexter in that role. No offense, Mac, but if you ever thought about what I go through when you're out there . . . "

"Okay, okay, I get the message." Mac held up his hands. "And you've got company. Henry Collins wants me to try to keep Ruth out of trouble."

Pete snorted. "I thought he knew her better than that."

Mac's fatigue made his grin ragged. "Well, you can't blame him for tryin'. But I bet he'll be glad to know you're tellin' her to back off." MacGyver's eyes suddenly focused on Pete, who was sorting through a stack of papers on his desk. His casual air suddenly seemed artificial. "Pete . . . "

Pete returned his gaze with a look of superficial ease. "What's up?"

Mac stood up and planted his hands on Pete's desk. "The Brandenburg files. You said there wasn't anything we could do with the information. Legal told you it was nothin' more'n a pack of lawsuits waiting to happen. We had 'no justifiable reason' to go poking around in a mass of 'unsubstantiated data from such a questionable source'. " Mac's eyes narrowed. "Till now. You've had an operative attacked, Foundation security has been compromised, and the files are implicated. You can turn Willis loose on the whole mess and tell him to go crazy." Heck, he's already got half the work done, I bet.

Pete's expression became even blander, if possible. "What's your point, Mac?"

Mac drew a deep breath to speak, and spluttered instead. He pointed a finger at Pete. "You – you – " The pointing finger became a gesticulating hand. "Dang it, Pete, that was just plain sneaky! How far down the road did you see this comin'?"

Pete held up his hands in an exaggerated shrug. "Ruth was meddling! Something was bound to happen. All I had to do was wait, and hope it wouldn't blow up in her face."

Mac was still shaking his head when his eye was caught by one of the papers on Pete's desk – not a memo, a letter, or a report; it almost looked like a page from a comic book, black and white cartoon drawings in bold pen and ink. He picked it up and examined it curiously.

Pete had started to move, to stop MacGyver before he got a good look at the paper; he checked himself as Mac glanced up at him, startled. Mac grinned; he could see how flustered Pete was, the older man's neck flushing red with embarassment. He studied the page carefully.

"Stephanie's work, huh?"

"Yeah." Pete's neck turned a darker red.

"Wait a sec . . . wasn't there some funny comment from the dean of that fancy exclusive private high school she went to up in Oakland? Something about her being into trouble all the time for drawing caricatures of the staff and teachers." Mac held the sheet of paper where the light fell directly on it. " 'The Adventures of Commando Pete,' " he declaimed. "Man, she's really good. She got your 'fierce' expression down perfectly. Is this the only one she's done?"

Pete attempted a long-suffering sigh, but Mac could see he was actually pleased. "That was just the first installment of an ongoing saga. Helen's still tracking down copies of the next two pieces. In Part Three, I understand, I save the rain forest." In spite of himself, Pete's face was twitching as he tried to repress a smirk. "I don't know what I do in Part Two, but I hear that Helen makes an appearance, commanding the Legions of Paperwork. And Frances the File Cabinet is introduced in Part Three."

MacGyver laughed until he thought the tears would come.

- x -

MacGyver left Dexter's clothes in a pile on the floor and climbed into the shower, turning it on full blast. When he'd first moved into the houseboat, the shower hadn't been able to deliver much water pressure, and he'd tinkered with it for months to get it up to something better than an anemic drizzle. Now the work paid off. He turned the hot water up as high as he could stand it and let the spray pound him, drumming on his chest and shoulders, a waterfall of fine hot needles thrumming on his scalp and face. It helped, some.

Mac turned around and let it knock some of the stretched-wire tightness out of his shoulders and back. When at last the water ran cold, he finally shut it off. He made a token attempt to dry himself off before collapsing into a restless sleep – in bed for a change; it felt safer than the couch.

He wandered through a series of confused dreams, returning again and again to a long gallery lined with paintings. Within each frame, flames were licking up the bottom of the pictures, consuming the evidence before he had a chance to study it. The air was dense with smoke. He couldn't find the one he was looking for – the one that didn't fit in. Behind him, Hunter was bellowing apocalyptic Biblical quotations at him.

Mac woke with a start, convinced he heard his smoke detector going off, and realised groggily that the long electronic beep was his answering machine being triggered. He only half-heard Veronica's voice leaving a message – something about checking in with Laura.

That's it. Laura.

I still haven't got any answers, but – I think I've finally figured out one of the questions.

- x -