Chapter 4
AFGHANISTAN, KANDAHAR PROVINCE, 2011
The road leading out into the wilderness was bumpy, and the Humvee wasn't the most comfortable ride, but that was the last thing on Ian's mind at the moment. He sat in back with Javan, while Doyle drove and MacInerney kept eyes on their surroundings, to make sure they weren't being led into another trap. All he could think about was his friend, and the growing fear that they weren't going to find him alive. He didn't know what he'd do if that happened.
He tried to put it out of his mind.
Ian slid forward, leaning between the seats, looking at Doyle. "How's the arm holding up?"
"Hurts like hell, Doc," Doyle muttered, keeping his eyes on the road. He smiled faintly. "But, the guys at the Aid Station said I might have lost it if not for you."
"I always take care of my boys," Ian said with forced cheerfulness, bumping Doyle's uninjured right arm with his fist.
"How do we know this isn't another ambush?" MacInerney asked grimly. He'd made it clear that he didn't trust their double-crossing interpreter.
Ian glanced back at Javan, who was curled against the passenger side door to his right, wrapped up tightly in rope and surgical tubing from Ian's medical pack. "Javan wouldn't lie to me. Would you, Javan?"
When the kid didn't answer, Ian slid across the bench seat until his leg was touching their jumpy prisoner's. He propped his elbow on the seat rest, so that he could hold his M9 steady against the side of Javan's head. "Are you lying to me?"
Javan shook his head, unwilling to make eye contact. Ian narrowed his eyes. Not very convincing. He reached over and wrapped his fingers around one of Javan's bruised and mangled hands and squeezed, just a little. It had the desired effect. Javan cried out in pain, turning and giving Ian a pleading look. "I'm not lying!"
Ian released his hand. "Good. That's good. I told you that I don't like hurting you, Javan. You keep cooperating, and I'll let you go home. I mean that."
The kid nodded, eyes tearing up. Ian smiled at him, to let him know he wasn't in trouble. "How much further?"
MAC MAC MAC
MacInerney, Doyle and Ian observed the small building from their position in defilade behind a berm to the south. It was little more than a shack, with a front entrance and a rear entrance. They counted four hostiles, two remaining outside while the other two moved in and out the front door periodically. The two outside were obviously lookouts, but they hardly seemed to be "on guard." If anything, they appeared tired and bored, at least from a distance.
The three soldiers slid back down, out of sight, to plan their next move, when Ian heard a cry of pain from the direction of the shack. He looked over the top again, seeing a light on inside the shack. Another shout pierced the quiet night. He recognized the voice. They were hurting Adam, he was sure of it.
He looked back at his comrades, who appeared troubled by the sound. MacInerney looked even angrier than he had after the ambush. Doyle's grip was tightening spasmodically on the stock of his M4.
Ian, strangely, just felt cold.
"Doyle, you're in no shape to get into a fight, so stay here and cover us," MacInerney ordered. He looked at Ian. "Can you do this?"
Ian simply nodded.
With only three of them, MacInerney decided on a simple pincer attack, he and Ian attacking the two insurgents outside, as quietly as possible, with Doyle covering them from his position on the berm. Ian's target was the man to their right.
He had been in combat, many times, but always as a medic. His job was to tend to the wounded, or in the absence of injuries, act as a rear guard or in an observer capacity. Direct assault was a new experience.
Creeping up on the man quietly was the hardest part, especially in the dark, but Ian managed not to trip over or kick anything, and reached his target with relative ease. The insurgent was slightly bigger than him, but he was seated on a barrel and dozing lightly. Using the knife he borrowed from Doyle, Ian moved in, placing his left hand over the man's mouth and driving the knife into his trachea with one strong motion of his right hand.
The man wasn't able to raise an alarm. Ian dragged him back off the barrel and dumped him against the side of the shack. He took a moment to wipe the knife blade on the man's pants, then disarmed the man's rifle before heading back to the front of the building.
Ian ran into MacInerney, who was sporting a new bruise on his cheek, but was otherwise unharmed. "You all right?"
MacInerney nodded, then tapped his M4 and motioned around the building. Ian understood. Another pincer, this time entering the shack from both directions. The sergeant tapped his watch and indicated one minute. Ian jogged around, taking up position at the other end of the shack and checking his watch.
Three, two, one.
Ian moved to the back door and kicked it in. The next thirty seconds went by in a blur of motion. He entered the shack, passed through a dark, cluttered anteroom, into a larger room where he saw Adam, tied to a chair. Ian engaged the insurgent standing on the left, firing off two rounds from his M4, just as MacInerney entered from the opposite door and engaged the other insurgent on Ian's right. Both went down, Ian's moaning softly, MacInerney's completely still.
"Adam!" Ian exclaimed, rushing to the bound man sitting on the chair. "Talk to me, man!"
Adam was a mess. His face was covered in dried blood and bruises, there was a serious cut on his temple that had bled profusely before clotting, probably sustained in the ambush. His lips were busted, his eyes almost swollen shut.
Worse were his hands. The bastards had broken three of the fingers on his right hand, and all four on his left, along with the thumb, wrist and forearm. From the looks of the extensive damage they'd used something heavy, maybe a hammer. There was also blood staining his olive green shirt in various places. Ian tried to compartmentalize. He was a doctor. He'd seen all kinds of injuries before. "Talk to me."
"Ia-Ian?" Adam stammered, trying to see him in the dark room. "What're…what're you doing here?"
Ian grinned, despite the circumstances, and tried to release the ropes trapping Adam's crippled hands without causing too much discomfort. "Rescuing you, asshole."
"We can't stay here," MacInerney warned. "Can we move him?"
"Hold on," Ian said, checking over Adam's body, trying to find evidence of any major injuries beyond his hands. "I think we're good to move him."
MacInerney shouldered his weapon and moved to lift Adam off the chair. Adam was stiff from sitting, but managed to move his feet. Ian urged them outside. He paused, glancing back at the downed insurgents. His target was still alive, clutching his two bullet wounds and struggling to breathe.
"Did you do this?" Ian asked quietly. He wasn't even sure he'd spoken the thought out loud until the man rolled over and made eye contact with him. "You did, didn't you?"
The man said nothing.
Ian shouldered his rifle, and drew Doyle's knife from his belt.
MAC MAC MAC
SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES
…MAYBE?
MacGyver groaned as he drifted toward consciousness and the throbbing in his head grew more pronounced. A voice somewhere in front of him let him know that he wasn't alone, wherever he was.
"Stay calm. The effects will pass. They had to shoot you up with—"
"Ketamine," Mac cut in, slowly opening his eyes. "I'm familiar."
A man dressed in black combat gear, wearing a black hood over his head was sitting on a wooden chair about six feet in front of Mac. He balanced what appeared to be an AR-15 rifle on his knee, but Mac couldn't be sure in the dimly lit room.
Another man, dressed similarly, was slowly circling the room. He carried a 9mm handgun and moved with a noticeable limp.
A third stood further away, by a closed door. He carried the same rifle as the first man, but cradled in the crook of his right arm.
Mac was seated on the floor, with his back against a thick wooden beam. His hands were pulled behind it, with two sets of zip ties securing his wrists. There was a long work table to his right—holding a satchel and a small box—and some mostly empty shelves to his left. A few scattered items littered the floor, a few one-gallon cans of paint, some rags, an apparently empty tool box, and other assorted junk typical of abandoned buildings. He smelled salt in the air, and could just barely hear surf in the distance. Seemed like he was close to a beach. Judging by the location of his house and the probable duration of a ketamine black out, Mac figured he was probably in some old shop off the PCH.
That established the where, and he had a decent idea of the why, so that left the who.
Turning his gaze back to his kidnappers, Mac noted the details. A mix of civilian and paramilitary clothing, probably from an Army-Navy store, the glint of light off a dog-tag chain around the seated man's neck… His sleeve had rode up on his left arm, revealing a nasty series of old scars running from his hand up along his wrist.
"You must be Adam Lockington," Mac said. At the surprised reaction, he nodded toward the man's hands. "The scars on your wrists, from where the insurgents tortured you. I read it in the file." He swiveled his head to look at the man circling, who was just walking around from behind the post. "I think that makes you Mike Phillips, judging by the limp."
He turned to the man over by the door. "And, judging by the way you're favoring your left arm, I think you're Doyle. You never regained full motion in it after you were wounded."
The men glanced at each other, then the seated one pulled off his hood. "Damn. Ian was right, you are good."
Both of the others followed suit. Doyle sported a nasty black eye. Mac spared him a mostly sincere sympathetic look. "Sorry about your face."
Adam glanced over at Doyle, raising his eyebrows in question. Doyle frowned. "He nailed me with a fucking bolo or something inside the house. Broke my damned NVGs."
"Bola, but no, it was a stone sling," Mac corrected. "A bola has two or three weighted ends and is used to tangle up—"
"Enough, Brainiac," Phillips said nudging Mac's shoulder with his handgun to silence him.
Mac glanced up at him, then at Adam. "So, what now?"
Adam chuckled, looking at the others and gesturing at Mac in seeming disbelief. "Look at this guy. Most people who woke up in a room with three armed men would be scared shitless right now."
"Not my first time," Mac muttered. He drew in a deep breath and blew it out. "All right. Want to tell me what I'm doing here?"
They hadn't mentioned Riley. Hopefully she got out of the house unseen.
"I don't get why we need him," Phillips grumbled quietly as he passed Adam. "We're going to have enough heat on us without adding kidnapping, too." He seemed upset. There was dissension in the ranks. Mac considered that a good sign.
"Stick to the plan," Adam urged. "Just a little while longer." He turned back to Mac. "We're not going to hurt you. Ian just asked us to keep you here for a bit."
Mac eyed Phillips, who had resumed his circular patrol of the room, looking unhappy with the whole situation. Testing the zip tie, Mac decided to wait to bring the paperclip out from his sleeve. Phillips would see it. Besides, he didn't seem to be in any immediate danger.
Adam's phone chimed. He looked at it, then motioned to the others. "It's time. Be careful."
Doyle and Phillips exited the room. The door wasn't locked from the outside, at least. Mac watched, trying to get a glimpse of whatever was beyond, but it was too dark. He shifted his attention back to Adam, who was watching his phone.
"More houses to break into?"
Adam glanced up at him with a frown. "Look, I'm sorry about that. We were just asked to bring you and your girlfriend here."
MacGyver's blood ran cold. "Where is she?"
"Hell if I know," Adam replied. "They said they checked the whole house, but she was nowhere to be found."
An intense feeling of relief washed over Mac, but he kept his face as impassive as possible. He noted the wording they said…apparently Adam hadn't been at the house. Interesting. But, MacGyver had counted three men….
"He just asked us to help."
"Ian?" Mac asked, already knowing the answer. It was the only logical conclusion. When Adam nodded, Mac added. "You regularly go around kidnapping people when asked?"
"I thought you and Dalton were tight, MacGyver. I know you saved his life, did he ever save yours?"
"More times than I can count," Mac answered quietly.
"Okay. So, is there anything you wouldn't do for him?"
It was hard to argue with that. Mac shook his head. "No."
Adam seemed satisfied. Mac was quick to correct his thinking. "But, I wouldn't go around assaulting innocent people and kidnapping them just because he asked me to, either."
"I bet you'd be surprised. I owe Ian my life."
Mac frowned. "Even after everything he's done—?"
That made Adam angry. "'Everything he's done.' Lies! I've never believed a word of any of that. Ian saved my life that night, when the Army couldn't be bothered to even look for me. He only did what he had to do, and they've been slandering his name ever since."
"Adam," MacGyver tried to reason with him. "You think you know this man, but—"
He was cut off when Adam jumped from the chair and grabbed a roll of duct tape from the box on the table.
"Shut up!" Adam barked, his voice simmering with anger. He tore off a piece of tape and slapped it over Mac's mouth. "I would have thought you of all people would understand."
As Adam grumbled and resumed his seat, Mac began twisting his wrist, trying to get at one of his paperclips. He had to go slowly, to avoid any excessive movement that might alert his reluctant babysitter.
MAC MAC MAC
THE PHOENIX FOUNDATION
DEFINITELY SOMEWHERE IN LOS ANGELES
"Bob, if you take Page now, you'll be exposing him and your agents to whoever is looking for him. He's a lot safer under lockdown here at the Phoenix."
"You can't be serious, Matilda!" Bob Preston, Assistant Director of the FBI's field office, stared at her incredulously on the monitor. "The Phoenix has been infiltrated at least three times!"
Russ stepped forward. "We've instituted security measures that—"
"We played along with Page's games, he got to talk to your agent, now we're taking him back into our custody. The Phoenix is no place to keep a dangerous criminal."
Matty tried again. "Bob—"
"Thank you for your help, Director Webber," Preston said flatly. "Please give our agents any assistance they may need. Goodnight."
With a sigh, Matty glanced at Russ, who seemed equally at a loss. Like it or not, they were no longer a Federal agency, and didn't have the muscle to force the FBI to do anything they didn't want to do. She turned to Parker. "Make sure the FBI team has everything they need."
Shaking his head, Russ picked up his jacket from one of the chairs. "I'll take Desi back to Mac's house. Maybe we can help find something that will tell us where he's been taken."
Matty looked at Parker once more. "As soon as Bozer gets here with Riley, I want them going over every security and traffic camera within ten blocks of Mac's house."
Parker nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
Mac's kidnapping had something to do with Ian Page, that much was obvious, but Matty couldn't help but feel like they were missing a piece of the puzzle.
MAC MAC MAC
FBI PRISONER TRANSPORT VAN, EN ROUTE TO L.A. FIELD OFFICE
CORNER OF N. STANLEY DR AND WILSHIRE BLVD
Ian glanced through the metal cage separating the driver's seat from the back benches, noting the time on the dashboard display. 1:09 AM
He pursed his lips, looking at the two tired looking agents riding in the back with him. "You guys look like you've had a long day."
The agents looked at him, but said nothing.
"A good night's sleep is important," Ian shrugged.
One of the agents made a show of changing his grip on the remote that controlled Ian's shock belt, but remained silent. Ian smirked at him. Not very friendly.
The van suddenly lurched to a stop in the middle of an intersection. An instant later, the front windows shattered, and something struck the driver and the agent in the passenger seat.
The agents in back reached for their weapons, but the back doors were wrenched open, and the sound of shotguns filled the vehicle. Both agents went down. Ian felt something bounce against his leg. Looking down, he saw a small beanbag spinning on the floorboard.
He looked up, and saw the unmistakable shape of Dustin MacInerney climbing into the van. He'd sowed the man's body up enough over the years to recognize him even with a hood over his face. Motioning to the floor, Ian raised an eyebrow. "Beanbag guns? Really?"
"Killing Feds brings a lot of heat, Ian. We don't all live in South America."
"You cut it a little close, dumbass," Ian said, chided.
"Nice to see you too, Doc," MacInerney replied. He fished the keys to Ian's shackles off one of the downed agents, and set about freeing him.
"You took one hell of a risk coming here," Doyle said, keeping an eye on the perimeter.
Ian grinned. "It's worth it."
MAC MAC MAC
THE PHOENIX FOUNDATION
"I shouldn't have left him," Riley murmured, typing on her laptop quickly. "I told him I shouldn't leave him."
"Hey," Bozer said from the station next to her. "You did the right thing. You got a message out. Now, the FBI will have Page locked down in case those people come for him."
Riley looked up at him. "And what if they don't come for him? What if they want to trade Mac for Page, instead?"
Bozer shrugged. "Then, we'll have a chance to rescue him. We always do."
She lowered her eyes back to the laptop and the searches she was running. "You're awfully confident of that."
He rolled his chair over to sit next to her, lowering his voice. "You think it's easy for me, seeing my oldest friend in danger all the time? I'm scared, Riley, but…in the end, Mac is Mac. He can take care of himself, and when he can't, we can. He always finds a way out."
Riley glanced at him, remembering Tunisia and how Mac didn't find a way out, but stayed silent. What happens if he doesn't this time?
The search program dinged, and Riley pulled up the results. "Finally…." She toggled the intercom, and in moments, Matty appeared on the lab screen. "Matty, we got a hit."
Matty quickly patched in Russ and Desi, who were with the police at Mac's house. "Riley, go."
"We've been running a search on the license plates of every vehicle that was on Mac's street since we left the Phoenix last night. Most of them came back as neighbors, except for one." She sent them the results. "A black SUV registered in Montana to Dustin MacInerney."
Bozer pulled up the records on his terminal. "Dustin J. MacInerney. Former US Army…he was one of the soldiers who went rogue with Page in Afghanistan back in 2011. He and Pete Doyle were court-martialed around the same time as Page for going AWOL, violating orders and as accomplices in the kidnapping and torture of Javan Yusufi, an Afghan national. There was no evidence that they had any direct part in the act, so they were just given dishonorable discharges instead of jail time. After that they went off the grid. MacInerney joined an anti-government group in Montana…last time anyone saw them was when Page was convicted and sentenced to time in Leavenworth. He was busted out before he reached the prison, and MacInerney was the prime suspect, but no one ever tracked him down."
"So, Page has his own team, that's just wonderful," Desi muttered.
"That explains why he turned himself in," Russ added. "He had a plan to get out. With Angus, apparently."
"Riley, can you track the SUV?" Matty asked.
She was already running the algorithm to search all traffic camera footage in the L.A. area. "Working on it."
After a moment, she added the parameters and queried all the security cameras and ATM cameras that were tied into networks. "They went West…toward the coast…but after about three miles the trail goes cold—" Her laptop started beeping. "Oh, no."
"What?" Bozer asked, wheeling his chair over to see for himself.
"Matty, we got another hit. MacInerney's SUV was spotted ten minutes ago on Wilshire Boulevard…they went after the FBI van when it left the Phoenix!"
On the screen, Matty checked her own tablet. When she looked up, her expression was grim. "Looks like you were right, Russ. Page has escaped FBI custody."
TBC