Chapter 2
AFGHANISTAN, KANDAHAR PROVINCE, 2011
A DRY COUNTRY IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE…
Ian Page took a swig of his "reinforced soft drink." Alcohol had been banned nearly two years before, but industrious soldiers were always able to smuggle in supplies when needed. He was grateful that his unit contained several such industrious individuals. He was the field medic for his entire squad, but he was closest to the members of the 2nd fireteam, with whom he chose to share his meals.
A commotion at the other end of the canteen drew his attention. Several people entered the room, most in uniform, and the usual glad-handing and high-fiving commenced among various acquaintances and friends. He didn't recognize anyone right off, but reinforcements were pouring into the province, so the arrival of new faces wasn't a surprise.
"Oh, Jesus," Sergeant Dustin MacInerney murmured. "That's Jack Dalton. Haven't seen him in two years."
Specialist Doyle looked up from his book. "Dalton? Ha. Just what Kandahar needs, another loud-mouthed knuckle-dragger."
MacInerney nodded toward the others in the crowd. "That must be that EOD tech he's always bragging about. The one with the funny name. What is it? Quarter Pounder or something?"
Ian rolled his eyes. "Angus, you dumbass. Angus MacGyver. Supposed to be a real Wunderkind."
"Look at you with the Triple Word Score," Mike Phillips chided.
"Says the guy who barely finished high school," Ian shot back. He eyed the newcomers. "Wonder how a genius ended up as an EOD? Must have pissed somebody off in Basic."
"Why don't you go ask him, instead of giving him doe-eyes from afar?" Doyle joked.
"Aw, don't make fun of Ian. He's finally found a brain as big as his," Adam Lockington chimed in. Ian smiled at the jibe. He and Adam had been best friends since Basic. They'd managed to get into the same unit early the previous year.
"I heard he disarmed over a hundred IEDs in one day," MacInerney said.
Adam grabbed Ian by the shoulders. "Hey, my boy here has pulled more than a hundred bullets out of our collective asses. He's the big star on this base if you ask me!"
Ian shot Adam a fond look. "Thanks, asshole." He took a gulp of his drink. It wasn't strong enough. "Not like it matters. No one's gonna care about any of this shit whenever we finally get to go home."
"Spoken like someone who's spent too much time in the Sandbox," Doyle said, back to reading his book.
"Fifteen months without a break," Ian mused bitterly, mock saluting with his cup. He watched Dalton and MacGyver settle at a table near the snack bar. Dalton was already right at home. MacGyver looked like someone who didn't belong but was doing his best to fit in with the crowd. Guy like that probably needed a friend like Dalton. "Anyway, rack time for me, guys. I'll see you at reveille."
"Yeah, yeah, lightweight," MacInerney swatted at him as he passed.
"See ya tomorrow, Doctor House," Doyle called.
"Night, Ian," Adam said laughing at the others.
MAC MAC MAC
Ian glanced around the interrogation room, then settled back on MacGyver. "So, this is where you work."
"It doesn't matter where we are," Mac grumbled.
"Wasn't asking for a tour," Ian replied, arching an eyebrow at his attitude. "Just surprised. When I was told you said yes, I figured I'd wake up in some Black Site or renditioned to Egypt for a little 'enhanced interrogation.'"
Mac glared at him. "I told you before, I'm not like you."
Ian pursed his lips, watching Mac's every move. "Seems not."
The urge to punch the man in the face was almost overpowering, so Mac pulled his hands back and under the table, locking them together before he gave in to it. "You said you had information. Why don't you get to it?"
"That all you have to say to me?" Ian asked, appearing disappointed. "No 'how ya been?' No 'hey old buddy, been a long time?'"
"We're not friends."
"Oh, no, Angus, I think we got to know each other really well," Ian protested. He almost sounded genuine. "I mean, I've seen you at your worst, man. You know what they say about bonds forged in life or death situations. We're connected."
Mac balled his fists under the table, hands trembling as he struggled to keep from reacting to the man's barbs.
"Mac…that's what he wants," Riley's voice filtered quietly in his ear. MacGyver took a deep breath and blew it out. She was right. He sat back in the chair, trying to appear as disinterested as he could.
Ian was amused and mildly impressed. "Not bad. Thought I had you there, for a minute."
"You said you had information that you'd hand over if you were able to see me. I'm here. Talk."
"All right," Ian allowed. "Fair's fair. Where do you want to start? The Merida Cartel? The Morsofian crime family? The Sidorov Syndicate?"
Mac favored him with a sneer. "Your choice."
"You know," Ian said casually, testing his handcuffs. "I found out about Dalton. I'm sorry for your loss. He seemed like a decent guy, from what I saw of him."
Mac said nothing.
"Must have been hard, not being there for him when he needed you."
Refusing the bait, Mac pushed himself to his feet. He stared down at the doctor impassively. "If you don't want to talk, then I've got better things to do. I'll give you back to the Bureau and they can find one of those Black Sites you seem to want to visit."
"Fine," Ian said quickly, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Fine. I was just having a little fun. Please sit. You held up your end, I should too. I know this probably wasn't easy for you."
Mac stayed where he was, keeping his expression blank. He wasn't going to give Ian anything.
Ian motioned for the other seat. "Please. I mean it. I'm sorry."
Whatever else the man was, he had the ability to seem sincere when he wanted. MacGyver lowered himself into the chair, reluctantly.
"So, where to begin?" Ian folded his hands. "The Meridas. Okay. They reached out to me in 2014…."
MAC MAC MAC
AFGHANISTAN, KANDAHAR PROVINCE, 2011
THE BAD PART OF TOWN
"Jesus," Ian whispered under his breath as he tied off Phillips' wound. He'd finally gotten the bleeding under control, but Phillips would need to go to the Battalion Aid Station. He patted the groaning man's shoulder. "Hang in there man, I'll be right back."
"Thanks, Doc," Phillips wheezed.
Ian rose and jogged toward MacInerney and Doyle. As he moved, he spared a glance back at Anderson's and Torres' bodies. They'd already lost too much blood before he could drag them out of the kill box the insurgents had set up.
Both of the squad's fireteams had been sent out that morning to safeguard an intersection near the edge of town for a convoy that was due to pass through. One of the locals acting as their interpreter had betrayed them, leading them all into an ambush in the center of a bazaar. By the time they'd fallen back, most of the first team was dead and MacInerney's was shot up badly. Ian had pulled Phillips to safety, but Anderson and Torres from the first team had taken direct hits. Their double-crossing interpreter had faded into the panicked crowd and disappeared.
He reached MacInerney, who was crouched behind an overturned table from the bazaar, covering the entrance to the small alleyway where they were sheltering. The squad leader waved him off. "It's just a scratch, Doc. Don't worry about me."
"My job to worry about you, dumbass," Ian replied, giving him a disarming grin. Technically, as a Staff Sergeant, he outranked MacInerney, so he chose to speak to him as he saw fit most times, but he had no real authority outside his role as a field medic. He inspected the wound on the sergeant's upper arm. It was only a scratch where a bullet had grazed him. "You'll be fine. I can fix this up later."
He moved on to Doyle, who was lying on his back a few feet away. He'd been hit twice in the arm. His sleeve was soaked in blood. Ian cut open the fabric and started cleaning and dressing the two entry wounds. "Looks like they both went in and out." He smiled down at Doyle. "Your reading arm will be out of action for a few days, man."
"Wise ass," Doyle retorted.
Ian glanced around as he worked. "Where's Adam?"
Doyle shook his head. "Don't know."
"Hey Sergeant, where's Adam?" Ian called over his shoulder.
MacInerney shook his head, looking grim. "We got separated. Last I saw him he was surrounded. I think they got him."
Ian's heart sank. "What? W-we gotta go back—"
"Doc!" MacInerney interrupted harshly. "We ain't going anywhere until 3rd Squad gets here! We're all shot to hell, including you, man, in case you hadn't noticed."
Ian glanced down at himself. Indeed, he was bleeding from his left side. In the rush, he hadn't even felt it. It didn't matter. His friend was still out there—
MacInerney grabbed his arm. "Hey, keep it together. We'll go back for him. 3rd Squad will be here in less than ten."
MAC MAC MAC
THE PHOENIX FOUNDATION
PRESENT DAY
MacGyver rubbed his temples as he read. The declassified file on Page was thick, and troubling to read. He and Jack had avoided some of the hardest fights in Kandahar—not by choice, mainly because they were constantly working IED patrols behind friendly lines. Unlike them, Page had been in the thick of the fighting, and Mac couldn't help but wonder what might have been if their places had been reversed.
"Headache?" Russ Taylor asked, placing a bottle of water down in front of him.
"It's…so difficult to sit in that room with him, Russ," Mac said, giving him a grateful look for the refreshment. He'd interviewed Ian for over three hours, and despite his supposed willingness to divulge information on his previous employers, Mac found it was like pulling teeth getting the details. Ian kept steering the conversation back around to them, whatever sick idea he had about their "relationship."
Russ was sympathetic. "You're doing fine. We've verified everything he told us about the Merida Cartel. Just keep him talking."
Mac frowned. "He's stalling. I can't figure out what he's up to."
Taylor pointed to the file. "Is that why you're reading about him?"
Mac shook his head. "He should have gotten a medal for that skirmish. He saved two men in his squad and got shot trying to save three others. Instead, he ended up a war criminal."
"He made his choice, Mac. Don't try to humanize him."
"If I dehumanize him, I'll be no better than him." Mac sighed. "I just don't know what he's really doing here. It's not to give us anything."
Russ considered it for a moment. "He tries to get under your skin with his comments and jibes…maybe that's the key. You need to get under his skin. Turn the game around on him. If you can rattle him, he may decide to play whatever hand he's concealing."
MAC MAC MAC
MacGyver re-entered the interrogation room and moved to his chair, giving Ian no more than a cursory glance. He showed as little interest as possible, to keep from feeding the demented man's ego.
"Could have at least brought me some food," Ian said. "I haven't eaten all day."
"Maybe I should go get a syringe full of vitamins and caffeine so that you don't pass out," Mac said, his tone flat.
Ian huffed, shaking his head. "See? I knew you took it personally. Angus, you were just a job. I didn't want to do what I did, but you didn't leave me any choice."
Mac placed Ian's file on the table and opened it. He didn't make eye contact. "Just like Kandahar in 2011, right? It wasn't personal, you just did what you had to do. That's what you said at your trial."
"Don't," Ian warned, eyes narrowing. "Don't act superior to me, Angus. You're not."
Finally raising his eyes, Mac met his gaze directly. "And yet, you're the one in chains this time, not me."
"Heh. Tell me something, Angus. If Dalton had been taken over there, and your superiors told you to just forget about him, what would you have done?"
"Would I have violated orders, you mean?" Mac asked. "Probably. Would I have gone off on my own to find him? Yes. But, I would never do what you did."
"You never know what you'll do until the choice presents itself," Ian countered.
Mac ignored him, continuing. "And not only did you do it, you went on to make a second career out of it after you were discharged."
"Man's gotta eat," Ian sneered.
"You must have eaten well after the job the Sidorovs hired you for in 2016," Mac retorted, flipping the pages in Ian's long file. "Three people."
Ian laughed. "Now, that was a job."
"Tell me about it," Mac prompted.
"You're relishing this, aren't you?" Ian asked, ignoring him. "Being the one to ask me questions."
Mac glowered. "And again, I'm not like you."
Ian, smirked. "You know, I remember seeing you when you and Dalton first got to Kandahar—"
"Stop bringing up Jack," Mac growled, pounding the table once with his fist. "He's none of your business."
The doctor grinned, and Mac realized he'd lost points in that round. Ian knew it, too. "Sorry, man. I didn't mean to hit a nerve."
"You killed three people for the Sidorovs," Mac said, trying to steer the conversation back on track. "Why? What were you hired to find out?"
"First," Ian said firmly. "I've never killed anyone…well, not since Afghanistan, anyway. If some people I interviewed happened to die after I spoke to them, well, that's the price they pay for living a dangerous lifestyle. I'm a doctor. It's my job to keep people alive." He studied Mac in a very discomforting way. "I could have kept you alive for days, Angus, if we hadn't been interrupted."
MacGyver said nothing.
Ian's eyes lit up. "How is Miss Davis, anyway? Did you two ever sort things out?"
"Matty," Mac called out. "Call the Bureau—"
"All right, all right," Ian interrupted. "You're not in the mood to play. That's fine." He glanced at the walls, searching for the hidden cameras. "Ready to take notes, boys and girls? Okay. The Sidorovs called me because they were having a little 'family squabble.' One of the cousins was trying to take over the empire, and didn't care who he killed along the way…."
MAC MAC MAC
Russ wasn't sure how Page had managed to pivot the discussion off of the Sidorov Syndicate and on to MacGyver and Jack Dalton—again—but clearly he liked hitting that target. He seemed to sense Mac's vulnerability there. Angus was holding his own for the moment, but there were definite signs of anger beneath his impassive façade. On the monitor, Ian was winding up on another tirade about how the United States had betrayed him and his squad mates.
"You still believe there are 'good guys' and 'bad guys' in the world; that you and Dalton were fighting on the right side, ha, like there is one. You know what I learned? Nations don't have friends, and they don't have loyalty for the soldiers they send out to fight. It's just interests and assets. Look at yourself, Angus. You go all over the world doing your government's dirty work. But, when push comes to shove, they'd drop you the moment you became inconvenient, and they'd never think about you again. Just like they did with me."
"A little close to home," Russ muttered. The government had disavowed the Phoenix in much the same manner as Page described. It had taken Russ and Matty months of grueling work to re-establish the connections and trust that made them a viable intelligence operation again, only to be forced to sever many of those ties again after the nano-tracker incident.
"You want to know what I think?" Ian continued, his tone taking on a savage bent. "I think your buddy Dalton died for nothing. He answered the call from Uncle Sam like a good soldier, and it led him to a bad end. You're on the same path, Angus, whether you know it or not."
Russ surreptitiously glanced around the War Room. Riley, Bozer, Matty, all their eyes were riveted on the monitor, waiting for Mac's response. For his money, Russ calculated that the odds were better that Mac would simply lunge across the table, instead of answering Page's charge. Angus was proud of his record and his service—not to mention fiercely protective of Jack's memory—and in a situation like this, there was only so much that a man could take before he retaliated.
MacGyver surprised him. He calmly leaned forward, hands clasped in front of him, and leveled an icy glare at Page. "You know what I think? I think you're weak. I think you look at soldiers like me and Jack, and wonder why you weren't strong enough to stop yourself from crossing the line." He stopped and smiled. "Is that why you insisted on talking to me again? Were you looking for that answer?"
Page was stonily silent.
"Do you know how long you've been in here?"
Page said nothing.
"Seven hours. You must be exhausted," MacGyver said as he stood. "Why don't we take a break? We can continue our conversation in the morning."
Whatever the significance of those words between the two men, they had the desired effect. Fury clouded Page's features. Mac didn't give him a chance to reply, he simply marched out of the interrogation room, slamming the heavy door behind him.
MAC MAC MAC
Mac leaned against the wall outside the room, seething. He only peripherally noticed Riley's approach out of the corner of his eye. She settled against the wall next to him.
"Hey."
He finally looked over at her, sighing. "Hey."
She watched him for a moment, then shrugged. "I think you handled that pretty well."
Mac snorted derisively. "All he's doing is playing games. I thought Murdoc was bad."
Riley didn't respond, just reached out and intertwined her fingers with his.
"I hate him, Riles," Mac murmured. "I want to strangle him every time I see that grin."
"You shut him down right at the end. He's not smiling, now."
"I feel like I need a shower just from being in the same room with him."
She shrugged again, giving him an innocent expression. "That can be arranged."
Mac chuckled, squeezing her hand gratefully.
"I know we were supposed to stay at my place tonight, but let's just get an early dinner and take it back to your house. We can eat in by the firepit. Your turn to pick the food."
He narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to cheer me up?"
Riley smiled. "Is it working?"
"A little," he conceded.
"Come on, let the Doctor stew for the rest of the night. Come at him fresh tomorrow."
Mac nodded. "I guess I should arrange for him to be fed before we leave."
Riley scoffed. "Just go find one of those syringes you were talking about."
That made Mac laugh.
TBC