Murdoc whistled a sprightly tune as he gently oiled the forty-five automatic handgun. It wasn't anything special-he'd picked it up in a sporting goods store the other day-but it was a tool that would be used in his greatest work of all, and as such deserved special treatment. And there. That ought to do it. He laid the well-oiled instrument of death aside and turned to contemplate his companion.
Poor Peter Thornton. He was still out of it from the sedative, and if he didn't wake up soon he'd miss the spectacular event Murdoc had planned-as well as his own stunning demise. Oh well, such are the vagaries of life, and the assassin wasn't especially worried about that fact. As long as MacGyver died, nothing else mattered.
Murdoc chuckled to himself and went to the window of the motel. That idiot, Mark, had done his job-if unknowingly-well. MacGyver would soon be by, and the ultimate death trap would be set. He had his cameras all ready-multiple brands and types in order to capture the moment as accurately and in as many angles as he could muster.
However, his target was not here yet, so he'd just have to settle back and find something to occupy his mind until the man arrived-sometimes it took MacGyver a while to catch on to things, depending upon the clues set. Samantha Carter seemed a delectable topic of thought, so he'd think about her a bit.
She might not like him much after this, but one could always hope. Perhaps he could stage something that made MacGyver look like a mass murder and he, Murdoc, was only doing his job. Perhaps. Or perhaps he could just forget about the future for a moment and remember the good times they'd had together. Certainly she had only started out as a brief distraction while he tried to figure out what to do about MacGyver-and the fact that he and his uncle looked a lot alike-but that had blossomed into so much more.
A rustling noise outside caught his attention and he frowned. He had been expecting MacGyver, but not this quickly. Rising to his feet, he darted to the window and peered out. His frown deepened when he didn't see anyone. This could be something entirely unrelated to his plot, and he did not like that-at all. In fact, he hated unknown variables being thrown into the works and if it were just some young couple sneaking out of school, he would make sure they wished they had never been born before he did away with them.
Running a hand through his hair and a glance at the mirror made sure he still looked like Pete Shanahan. He nodded, grabbed the .45 and tucked it into his waistband beneath his shirt, and carefully opened the door. He made as if to walk around the side of the hotel, and smiled grimly when he heard the rustling noise again. He turned around quickly, pulling the gun out simultaneously and pointed it at the person standing in the bushes beneath the bathroom window, only to blink in astonishment.
"Sam?"
"Pete," the blond murmured nervously, "I uh…was just trying to…uh…"
Murdoc smiled sadly. He should have known Mark would have gone to his sister-no matter the bad blood he'd planted; should have known that love could and would stand in the way of logic and reason. No wait; strike that. He had known that, but he'd chosen to ignore it. Now…well now he'd have to kill the woman he loved. But not until he got MacGyver. Until then, he'd just have to keep her put up somewhere.
"I'm sorry, Sammy," Murdoc said softly, "but…I'm afraid this is the end of the line for you. Such a pity."