Disclaimer: this is all a figment of my imagination, with certain key aspects supplied by older and richer people than myself.
A/N: I apologise in advance for what may be a couple of very slow weeks for me – it's the end of the tax year so my creative brainpower is being suppressed by accounting (ugh), plus my mum-in-law is staying with us during her very first visit to the UK :)
Inevitable ExposureChapter 5 – Can't Teach An Old Dog New Tricks
After their chance meeting at the Cassidys', Mac tried his damnedest to get closer to his newfound cousin – or at least to find out more about him as a person. He'd had a good conversation with Jack that day, but it hadn't escaped his notice that Jack shied away from all Jon-related topics – in fact he'd told Mac to drop it several times. Mac, on the other hand, didn't buy it. Ok so he wasn't going to disobey 'orders' by poking around Jon's obviously constructed background story any more, and neither would anyone else he knew (despite Sam's continued misgivings), but if Jon Murphy was intent on dating Lucy Cassidy he had every reason in the world to discuss him when meeting up with her mother.
From what he could tell, Jon was not bad for 'his' girl in the slightest – he was just a bit of a loner. The kid had an obvious habit of isolating himself from the world, and if he wasn't studying or out with Lucy he seemed to be out at Travis Air Force Base. Logging flight time was Mac's guess, but that didn't take much imagination. He lived alone and had enough money to not need a part-time job – a legacy from his 'parents', or an Air Force stipend? From Jen's reports he had an odd taste in music (for his age at least), preferring 60s/70s bands and even classical opera, something Jon himself had put down to a dislike of white noise (as he apparently called most modern music). And last but not least, he drove a beaten up old truck that no one else was ever permitted to touch. Practical, but again a little weird for a kid of his age.
In all this research though, Mac still hadn't found a way to meet Jon again. He had visited San Francisco a couple of times, and stayed at Jen's place, but the kids were always either out or returned too late for the cousins to cross paths. Avoidance was definitely high on Mac's list of suspicions, but when they finally met again… well it wasn't exactly the most predictable of moments.
Then again, given Mac's history, maybe it should have been.
"You want me to what?"
Mac gave up pacing inside his houseboat and made his way to the roof. There was something about Jack Dalton's phone calls that set him on edge these days, and it hadn't taken long for his nerves to start tingling.
"Trust me, Mac – this isn't one of my usual mad ideas. I'm just freeing up some capital by selling the plane," his childhood friend assured him. "Ya hear that? I'm selling the plane, which means no more crazy escapades."
"Right…"
Jack's enthusiasm continued despite Mac's evident disbelief. "I mean it!"
"And what exactly are you going to do for money once your 'capital' is gone?" Mac probed as he inspected the tubs that made up his small vegetable garden.
"Well I'm thinking of setting up a flight school –"
The other man rolled his eyes.
"– and maybe fly some tours to make up the difference. I'd only need a small plane that way, cuts the overheads something amazing."
"I thought you said no more crazy ideas, Jack…"
The other man was indignant. "What's so crazy about this? Look, all I'm saying is that I've found a potential buyer. This could be my baby's last flight with me, and I thought you might want to say goodbye along with me."
Mac sighed. Once upon a time he would have gone along in an attempt to keep the guy out of strife, because his get-rich-quick schemes attracted trouble like the proverbial moth to a flame. Not the 'engine running out of fuel' kind of trouble, but the 'near death experience' variety. Mac's experience as a trouble-shooter meant that he usually managed to get them out of the fire before things became life threatening, and every time he did he swore that he'd never listen to Jack again… but some how it just kept happening.
"Ok, so you're selling the plane?"
"Yes."
"You're going to settle down and take perfectly normal clients on perfectly normal air tours?"
"Yes."
Not for the first time, Mac wished that he could see Jack Dalton's left eye right now. It always twitched when he lied, or lied by omission.
"When, where and how long for?"
"You'll come? Mac, that's great – I mean it's so fantastic. We're gonna –"
"Jack, I did not say I was coming!" Mac interrupted. Some people never grew up. "I need to know some useful details, like when you're flying, where you're going, and how long this trip is going to take?"
It was the other guy's turn to snort. "You're a director now Mac, you can take as much holiday as you want."
"Yeh right, don't you believe it," was the lacklustre response, backed by mental images of an overweight in-tray. "Details, please."
"Thanks Mac," Dalton replied with a grin in his voice, and Mac realised that he'd been won over – again.
So it was that two weeks later, Mac found himself in the co-pilot's seat of Jack Dalton's old rust bucket. They'd been flying for an hour or so, heading for an airstrip in the Nevadan Rockies. It wasn't a long journey, and so far everything had gone just as Jack had promised.
Looking over at his friend, Mac decided that it was time to ask the question that had been weighing on his mind ever since he'd arrived at the hangar labelled 'Dalton Air' earlier that morning. There'd been a bed in the office, take-out boxes littered around the workshop, and judging by all the tools and other mechanical accoutrements lying about the place he guessed that Jack must have fixed up the plane himself.
"What happened to your apartment, Jack?" he asked, woefully certain of the answer.
"Couldn't keep up with the rent."
Figured. "And selling the plane will change all that?"
"Yep."
Suddenly Mac wondered exactly how much these potential buyers were willing to pay Jack for his 'baby'. He'd taken took a look in and around the plane, giving it a layman's inspection, and despite the shiny new paint finish he could still see the numerous welds and replacements that Jack must have done over the years.
"Looks like you've spruced her up nicely," Mac commented, tapping a couple of the dials in front of him. "What're they paying?"
"Enough," Jack stated smugly. "More than enough in fact, but the extra will cover the cost of getting us back to LA."
Mac nodded absently. The buyers had offered a lift to the nearest rail station if satisfied with the plane. "How long to go?"
The pilot checked his instruments. "Not long at all. Let's see if we can raise them on the radio."
"It's their own field?"
"Nope, just one used by the locals time and again."
Abruptly Mac's nerves started tingling again. It sounded simple enough, and he'd watched Jack's left eye enough to know they guy had told him everything he knew about his potential buyers, but when his nerves started tingling like that he tended to listen to them. Or was he just getting anxious in his old age?
Jack put the radio back in its holder and turned to his friend with a grin of anticipation. "Ding dong. We shall be starting our descent in five minutes time. Please put on your seatbelt and return your seat to an upright position."
His friend laughed nervously to cover his misgivings. "Every landing is good right?"
"Only crashing is bad," Dalton completed the phrase. "But don't worry about that – they say the wind's low on the ground and the runway's level."
"Ok…"
A short while later, Mac stepped out of the plane and took in his new surroundings. From the air the mountains had seemed as rocky as their name, and it wasn't much different at ground level. They were still with the forested regions though, and the scent of pine and wildflowers was present on the breeze. This was part of the reason why Mac had eventually decided to come (or so he told himself), as it had been a long time since he'd had the chance to visit some real mountains.
"You must be Dalton?" A loud voice asked, rough with the signs of smoking.
Mac spun to see a middle-aged man in a flannel shirt and jeans, woodchips vying for dominance with the checked pattern beneath. He stuck out a hand. "Name's MacGyver – I'm just along for the ride."
"Smith."
"Good to meet you." They shook hands. "Nice place you got here."
The man grunted. He clearly was not a people person. In fact, looking around the airfield Mac got the distinct impression that none of these potential buyers were very social. It was a small strip that obviously wasn't used much, its only permanent structure being an ancient windsock. Presumably Jack had contacted Mr Smith here in his truck, parked off to one side with a second man leaning against the bonnet. What disturbed Mac the most was the distinct lack of a hangar, let alone an av-gas tank. Where were they going to store the plane, or refuel it?
A series of dull clangs sound heralded Jack Dalton's arrival, his boots being far too heavy for any kind of stealth.
"Morning! You must be Mr Smith?"
"Mornin'," Smith muttered, enthusiastic as ever. "See you brought a friend."
Jack clambered down slowly and shook the guy's hand, grin ever-present. "Mac's an old friend of mine, came to say goodbye to the old bird with me. Man, I'll be sorry to see the back of her."
"Mind if we take her for a ride?"
Dalton smiled even more broadly, a born salesman (if not a very successful one). "Straight down to business! I respect that." He ran his hand along the plane's underbelly with obvious pride. "Why don't I give you a quick tour first? What you're getting here is –"
"The ride?"
Mac raised an eyebrow. He wasn't an expert on airplane sales, but he'd bought plenty of vehicles in his time – trying before buying is always recommended, of course, but trying before even looking? That was jumping the gun a little, and yet again his nerves began to jangle a warning.
Jack meanwhile, was eyeing his potential buyer with a sly look on his face. "Ok, Smith – I like your style. Step right up. But, uh… there's only two seats. Mac, would you mind waiting for us here?"
The man in question frowned, half-formed suspicions clogging his thought processes. "Are you sure that's a good idea, Jack?"
"Sure," his friend replied nonchalantly, clearly missing the hint. "There's enough gas in the tank, and who am I to pass up another 'last' flight with my girl?"
"You can wait over by the truck," Smith added helpfully, though his smile wasn't so kindly. "Cooper there'll keep ya company."
"Will he now," Mac muttered. "Jack, mind if I get my things from the cockpit?"
His friend shrugged. "Sure thing, I'll come with you."
Relieved to have a moment alone with Jack, Mac climbed back into the plane and headed straight for the co-pilot's seat where he'd left his bag. Years of habit meant that he'd brought his usual kit with him – nothing excessive, but useful in an emergency – and somehow he was glad that old dogs found it hard to learn tricks. Then again, he backtracked as Dalton rustled his way into the cabin, if it wasn't for certain other old dogs and their equally old tricks he wouldn't be worrying about this trip at all.
"How much did they offer you, over an above the asking price?" he hissed angrily, keeping his voice low as he checked the hold behind his friend. He didn't want Smith to know what he was thinking.
Jack held his hands up in mock surrender. "I told you! Enough, but not too much. They need the plane, and I need to get rid of it. Everyone wins!"
"Oh right, and the fact that this couldn't possibly be their home strip doesn't make you wonder?"
"Huh?" Dalton faltered, but had an answer ready. "Mac, I already knew this wasn't their 'home strip' as you call it. This is a halfway point, saves time for everyone."
Mac churned this over, but it didn't alleviate his worries. "Why couldn't they have picked a public airstrip then? This is just a little too isolated, y'know?"
"What, and pay landing fees? Nah, this is fine Mac – trust me! I stopped the wheeler-dealing a long time ago, and this is just a normal bring-and-buy sale."
Shaking his head, Mac looked out of the window and saw that Smith and his friend Cooper – whose muscles bulged in all the scary places – talking by the main door. It was clear that Jack thought he was being over-cautious, but those nerves wouldn't stop tingling. Even his gut was joining in now.
Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he fixed Dalton with a serious look and grabbed the other man's shoulder. "Jack, I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and pray that I'm wrong – ok? I'll wait quietly with Cooper down there, but you promise me that you'll be careful."
"Scout's honour," his friend replied lopsidedly.
"Do you know where the emergency parachutes are? And the flares?"
"Geez, you really are up in smoke aren't you? Yes and yes – safety equipment is one of the few things I wouldn't dare scrimp on, not after our little adventures," Jack stated with a scowl. "And no, I still don't think you're right – all I'm saying is that my plane, which is soon not to be my plane because I'm selling it, is perfectly safe."
The pair glared at each other for a moment before Mac nodded and shuffled past Dalton and into the hold. "Just watch yourself."
"Will do."
Back on the grass, Mac stood by Cooper (who was just as communicative as his friend Smith) and watched Jack prepare for take off. Two thumbs up from the pilot and away they went, taxiing up the runway and lifting off with apparent ease.
"Let's hope the rest of the trip goes that smoothly, eh Cooper?" Mac joked to the other man, hoping to make a rapport.
The other man grunted, much as Smith had earlier.
Mac shrugged and glanced back at the vanishing plane. He still couldn't shake his unease, so decided to put his contingency plan into action. "Anywhere to take a leak round here?"
"Trees."
"An environmental man, I like it," he grinned in response, but still no rapport. If Smith was anything like this, Dalton would go nuts before they returned. "I'll be back in a moment."
He jogged to the tree line and chose a suitable bush, keeping an eye on Cooper all the while. The need for a leak was definitely not a ruse, but it was a convenient excuse to drop off the bottom half of his backpack. It zipped free and had a strap of its own, containing his more precious kit: Swiss Army knife, duct tape, a box of paperclips, twine, an Allen key and a few odd chemicals in film cases. Mac made sure the bag was completely concealed within one of the bushes and took care of his own business nearby, figuring that he could retrieve the items with a similar excuse later on. If, on the other hand, he didn't have an overactive imagination, his kit was ready for use… just in case.
Just in case turned out to be the right idea.
Back at the truck, Mac saw Cooper returning a radio back to the truck. "What's up? All good news I hope?"
"Oh yeh," Cooper replied, tripling his known vocabulary.
He smiled at Mac over the truck's cab, and suddenly Mac realised that the other man's hand was still inside the vehicle. Instinctively Mac rolled sideways and down, sheltering his body behind the vehicle, but realising too late that the extended cab left him vulnerable. A tranquilliser dart shot through from the driver's side window, behind the passenger seat and through the back window on the other side: straight into Mac's left arm. Desperately Mac plucked the dart out of his flesh, but his vision was already getting foggy. That was some dose Cooper'd given him. He tried to focus on the line of bushes and calculated that he would have no chance of reaching them before the drug took him.
Sinking to his knees, Angus MacGyver groaned and wished that he'd been wrong – just this once – and was helpless to resist as Cooper tied his hands and legs up with what felt like plastic cable ties. Then Cooper picked him up with only the slightest grunt of effort and unceremoniously dropped him into the back of the truck. Drugged and trussed, Mac landed what felt like a pile of bricks and found it very hard to shuffle away from the sharp corners. His muscles were sluggish and uncooperative, but fighting the pain as best he could he chose a smaller goal and tried to rub a cable tie against anything that might be able to slice it. All he gained was a few more cuts to his wrists from both the contents of the truck and the ties themselves. Eventually the pain and the frustration became too much: his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he passed into semi-consciousness.
A jolt to the truck woke Mac up with a shock. He blinked in confusion, his mind still fuzzy as hell, but his myriad aches were clearer now. Reluctantly he decided that he was too old for this.
Movement was as awkward as he remembered, and the bricks he'd landed on were just that: bricks. No handy sharp edges to be found, only dust in his eyes and corners digging into his back. He tried to look around and above him, but saw only sky and a bright sun overhead – at least he hadn't been out for too long then, one bright thought at least – and another jolt to the truck showed that they were still on a rough, dirt road. Headed to the same place at wherever Smith had taken Jack Dalton and his presumably hijacked plane? Probably, but the mountain range was huge. They could be anywhere.
Another jolt rocked the truck and Mac groaned out loud. How much more of this was he going to have to take? But then he noticed a grubby hand reaching round the tail of the truck, followed by the unmistakeable clunk of one of the rear bolts being slid free. Someone was trying to get him out!
Several bumps and a couple of minutes later, the other bolt also slid free, causing the tailgate to drop with a clatter. Mac worried for an instant that Cooper might have heard, but it had been timed to coincide with a jolt – that, and the truck was now headed up a slight incline. Cheering internally, Mac willed his drugged muscles into action and used gravity and the bricks at his back to shuffle towards his escape route. Shame whoever had opened the gate wasn't around to give him a hand, but that might make things a little too obvious to Cooper if he happened to look in the rear-view mirror.
One more bump was all it took in the end. Mac was close enough the edge by this point that the truck's hard-as-nails suspension bounced the rear wheels into the air, taking him with them, and when he came down again he clipped the tailgate itself on his way to the ground. The truck drove on, oblivious for now, leaving Mac winded and bruised beyond anything he'd encountered in recent years. He was still hogtied and helpless, and he still didn't know whether this rescue was good or bad, but a rustle from the bushes signalled that whoever had aided him was still there.
"Hello?" Mac croaked, still trying to focus his eyes and unable to rub out the brick dust.
"Shh!"
A green-clad figure scooted into the road and fed one arm through Mac's knees, using them as a loop with which to drag the rest of his body. It hurt something awful, but was the best that either of them could do under the circumstances, and his rescuer didn't stop at the tree line either. They were a good 30 yards from the road when they stopped and Mac risked opening his eyes again, having closed them to fend off twigs and stones. The path they'd taken from the road would be clear as day to anyone with tracking skills, of that he was certain, but footfalls into that direction made him wonder if the mystery man was hiding the trail or watching for Cooper and his truck.
Panting, he rolled on one side and made himself as comfortable as possible (which wasn't very), listening for any clues of what might happen next. Eventually he heard a soft tread in front of his face, and grudgingly admitted that when this person wanted to be quiet they could do a very good job indeed. Mac looked up to see a pair of legs clad in khaki pants and combat boots, but anything above that was hidden by the glaring sun. There was a silhouette, and that was all.
"Who –"
"Quiet!"
The other man crouched down below the bushes and looked outwards until satisfied that the danger was not going to follow, then shuffled back towards the prone MacGyver and flicked open a pen knife. Leaning down he began to saw through the cable ties binding Mac's arms and legs behind his back, working quietly and efficiently to keep the plastic from biting into his wrists and ankles any more than they already had. Finally Mac was free, his first action being to roll over and massage his damaged limbs. His liberator was still seated with the sun at his back, quietly observing Mac with his legs crossed.
"What am I going to do with you?"
"Excuse me?"
"You call this a desk job?"
Mac blinked. He still couldn't see the face, but he recognised that voice. He didn't want to because the implications scared him, but he did.
"Jon?"
The younger man chuckled. "Yeh sure, ya betcha."
A/N: yes, I have tacky bad guys and I don't care – 'MacGyver' excelled at tacky bad guys, just look at Murdoc! Now, would anyone like to guess what the hell Jon is doing out there?
