Mac's Voice-over:
Hot, dry days... cold, frigid nights; that's what's to be expected in the desert. After you've lived for a time in this land, you eventually stop cursing the sun. More people die from exposure than sunstroke, freezing on that sand that only a few hours before was blistering. A land of many faces is Afghanistan; methods of survival change with the setting and rising of the sun.
Tony and I didn't know it at the time, but we weren't the only ones in the bunker that night. We had a guest, hidden in the same spot that I had hidden that first night I had met Tony, and he was listening to everything that Tony and I said.
A devil of a good spy... or a guardian angel? I couldn't tell you. But he must have used wings, because he was waiting for us when we went back to Jiru!
Unbreakable Camels
chapter nine, The Man With Three Faces
The guard at the gate yawned, stretched, and settled back against the cool stone until he found a comfortable position. He had long ago learned the knack of sleeping while standing, a useful trait for these long, uneventful shifts. He didn't really understand why the bosses insisted that there was always a round-the-clock guard outside the back gate; nobody ever dared to try to come in after sundown. He didn't understand, but he didn't argue either. He followed orders. Besides, with the magistrate out of town in the Capitol, no one would come to check up on him, so it was a guaranteed sleep-watch. He just hoped that it didn't get too cold tonight.
Footsteps echoed in the alley that ran past the corner of the Fortress wall where the back gate stood. The pace was unhurried, even, and heavy; combat boots. By the grudging light of the gas-powered lanterns, he saw a man in a dusty guardsman uniform walking toward him. He squinted for a moment, and then called out in Aramaic, "Hoy! Kef! You are late! I thought that I would be on duty alone tonight!"
The man continued to amble closer. "You are not Kef... what are you doing here?"
"Kef has been reassigned. I am Saiad. They sent me in Kef's place." The man was dressed in the correct uniform, wearing a black woven turban. He carried the standard issue firearm that all of the Fortress guards were given. If the guard at the gate had been less drowsy, he might have noticed that the man was perspiring beneath his robes.
"That lucky fool! He always manages to avoid this duty." The guard complained in a good-natured way. "I am Busin. I have never seen you around before."
"I was transferred from Gotti. I have only just arrived."
"And they stuck you back here for your first duty! Incredible!" Busin said, with good-natured sarcasm. "Usually one must distinguish oneself in disgrace before they are trusted to guard this gate!"
Busin continued to complain cheerfully about how boring this duty was, and how much more exciting it was to watch the front gate. Saiad listened and gave an impartial shrug. He removed a homemade cigarette from a fold in his turban and lifted it to his lips.
"Have you got another of those?"
"Busin," Saiad said as he handed him the cigarette, "you are a pathetic free-loader."
"I will buy you a beer after work. There's a tavern just outside the front gate... great American beer! Light me?"
Saiad struck a match and held it for Busin, pinching out the flame with his fingers after the fellow breathed the smoke deeply. Busin exhaled with a contented sigh, and then he toppled to the ground, unconscious.
"Sorry, sahib... I guess I used a little too much benzodiazepine." Saiad looked both ways to make sure there was no witnesses, and then he grabbed the man's feet and dragged him into the alley, where he hide him under a woven matt covered with garbage. He returned to gate and checked the time on a watch he kept concealed high up one sleeve. He nodded to himself, and then he carefully draped the flap of his turban so that it covered the lower part of his face.
Soon, the noise of a vehicle ruptured the silence of the night. A distance down the road there came a dark shape led by a swinging light-- a lantern hung on the grill of some kind of car. It rumbled up to the gate and slid to a stop. Saiad pointed the machine gun he'd taken from Busin at the silhouette of the man who climbed from behind the wheel.
"Hey! Don't shoot, buddy! I work with Ryerson." The man came around the front of the vehicle to stand in the light of the swaying lantern. "See? I'm Sullivan."
"What do you want here, Englishman?" Saiad demanded bluntly, in Aramaic. Beneath his scarf, he smiled. His disguise was working; Sullivan did not recognize him and believed that he was a guard.
Tony switched to the desert language, "I have captured a spy who was trying to steal my vehicle." There was something about this man that was familiar, but Tony was somewhat nervous about the coup that he and MacGyver was about to attempt to pull off and he didn't want to ask any prying questions-- not when he was trying to get inside the Fortress as smoothly as possible. He focused on the plan, adding, "Ryerson sent word that he was to be brought in alive."
"You have captured him?" Saiad asked, sounding incredulous. He played up his role as if trying for an Academy Award. "Capitan Rafe could not do so for weeks of trying! Where is this spy? How did you do it?"
Tony unhooked the lantern from the front of his dune buggy and came around to the other side, holding it high. The light revealed MacGyver slumped in the passenger side, his hands tied over his head to the roll bar. His head hung forward and he appeared to be barely conscious. A trickle of red ran down his face from his hairline.
"He thought he could help himself to the Tumbler... but I talked him out of it with a tire iron! He shorted out my headlights trying to hotwire it, so I had to use the lantern to see the road... but I got him here. What do you think... will Ryerson pay me a bonus?"
"Incredible! You will have the reward, sahib!" exclaimed Saiad.
"Not just me, my friend. Help me and I'll share the reward with you. I need to get him locked up quick. Will you help me put him in a holding room? I will report to Ryerson myself... this late at night, it would not be healthy for you to disturb his 'entertainment', I think... even for this."
"Yes, sahib! I will help." Saiad shouldered his gun and helped Tony pull Mac out of the dune-buggy. Mac was completely limp and not an obvious threat. Saiad was slightly short, but stocky. He slung one of the man's arms across his broad shoulder. Tony took his other arm and between them, they carried him down the hallway toward the dark end of the Fortress.
Tony still held the lantern he had taken from the front of his vehicle. They paused to secure the gate. Tony glanced warily toward the brilliantly lit corridors where Ryerson held court. He'd be running into the lion's den, soon. He felt no fear in confronting Ryerson. He was only worried about MacGyver. In his opinion, Mac's part in this was far more dangerous than his.
Mac's Voice-over:
I've got to remember to send a thank-you note to my high school drama teacher. The skills and techniques I learned in that class has helped me as much in my current line of work as my math and physics lessons. That and a little theatrical make-up-- in the form of strategically placed transmission fluid, which looks a lot like blood in poor light.
My job was to find Angela and to get her out of the Fortress. Tony's was to report to Ryerson and set up a little interference to help us all get away. I worried about him a little... Ryerson was bound to suspect he had something to do with the escape, but we were counting on Rafe's ego to protect him. If a mere American like Tony had succeeded in capturing me where Rafe had failed... I half-expected Rafe to come and let me out himself, just so he wouldn't look so bad!
I planned to be long gone before he got the chance.
As soon as Tony and our new friend Saiad locked the door to my cell, I pulled up my shirt and began to unwind the rope I had hidden by coiling it around my waist. From inside my boot I fished out my trusty pocketknife, with which I unlocked the door in a matter of seconds. This place really wasn't designed to hold prisoners!
I peeked out of the door and saw an empty corridor. The guard must have returned to his post. I took a moment to set up a little surprise present for anyone who came into the room looking for me, then I eased out through the door and backtracked. I wasn't sure where Angela was, but I knew a way I could find out quickly and relatively safely.
I needed the advantage of high ground.
xxx
The heat of the day leached quickly from the stones, leaving Angela cold in her prison. She shivered and pulled her robes closer around her, but the chill rose from the stones through the soles of her shoes.
She drew her feet up and wrapped her arms around her knees, hugging herself. With no distractions before her-- the walls of the prison were bare and the room empty, except for the creaky wooden cot and an empty jug that once might have held water-- she found herself reflecting on all that she had learned since leaving her home in France. She felt suspended in the middle of something, attracted and repulsed, uplifted and suppressed by the things she had seen here. Her life had seemed so empty of purpose back then that she had looked forward to the challenge of coming here. Now she laughed weakly at herself for having been so naive.
Forgetting her discomfort, she leaned back against the wall. It was damp with condensation; the stone seemed to be weeping. She was glad; she was tired of being the only one crying.
A scratching sound came from outside the window. At first, she didn't take note of it; but it persisted, drawing her eyes toward the aperture as the scraping noise grew slightly louder. Hesitantly, she stood up and moved closer to the window, moving an inch at a time. All she could see beyond the iron bars was darkness beneath a pale night sky.
Suddenly a head appeared on the other side of the bars, upside down. She leaped back, muffling a startled cry with her hands.
"Shhh!" Mac whispered, swinging slightly beyond the window. He rotated his body around and lowered himself a little more, until his feet were braced against the wide sill of the window. He grasped the bars, stuck his face between them, and said lightly, "Nice view. Did you miss me?"
"MacGyver!" She ran the rest of the way to the window and reached up to touch his hands. She couldn't keep the smile from her face as she saw his handsome features in the semi-darkness. "You should not have come, but I am so glad to see you!" she whispered tightly. She felt as though she might cry again, but this time from joy.
"I was in the neighborhood." Mac released one bar and took her hand comfortingly. "Take it easy for a sec-- I'll get you out of here."
"How? Those bars are made of iron... you cannot bend them!"
Mac tugged on the bars, flexing his legs for leverage. "Well, no... not with my bare hands." He poked and felt around the sill and where the bars were embedded in the stone. "They're pretty well set in there, too. Hmm." He rubbed his jaw, thinking for a moment. He looked at Angela. "Is your scarf made of silk?"
She fingered the coarse fabric wound around her head. "Yes, it is."
"Do you have any water in there?"
"No... why?"
"The fabric will be stronger if it is wet... otherwise it will tear too easily."
Angela's eyes sought around the empty room, desperately. "The walls... they are covered with moisture. Will that be enough?"
"Maybe. Get the scarf as wet as possible and bring it here."
Angela obeyed, puzzled by MacGyver's requests but eager to help. She passed the damp cloth out to him between the bars.
He wound the fabric around two of the bars. "You got anything else in there?"
She looked around again. "Just the cot."
"Do you think you could break off one of the legs without making too much noise?"
"I'm sure... it's practically falling apart as it is!" Angela easily wrenched away one of the legs of the cot. The wood was warped, but seemed to still be solid.
Mac tied the scarf ends around the wooden stick and began to turn it, tightening the damp cloth. After a few turns the wood began to creak and Mac was afraid that it would splinter. Instead, the bars began to groan slightly and bend as he continued to apply leverage.
As soon as he had managed to bend the bars wide enough to fit his broad shoulders through, he tied off the stick with the loose ends of the scarf. He eased his body through the gap and dropped to the floor. As his fingers worked to loosen the rope that was tied around him, Angela stood nearby, hugging herself to keep from throwing her arms around him in desperate gratitude.
Mac went to the door and listened for a long minute. He couldn't hear anything, but he knew that didn't mean there wasn't a guard.
"Have the guards been in here to check on you lately?" he whispered as he hurried back to the window.
"Non. They have not looked in at all since they brought me here."
"Well, that could be good and it could be bad. I think we had better get out of here quick, but they might look in at any moment. Can you climb a rope?"
Before Angela could answer, a key scraped in the lock in the door. Mac whirled in alarm. He hurried to press himself behind the door, ready to hit whoever came through it.
He pressed herself against the wall, conscious of her naked face and confused by the feelings of shame that filled her. As the door swung open, she covered her face with one hand and turned half-away.
The door swung out slowly with soft creak. Whoever had opened it was taking care not to make too much noise. Mac froze, fist cocked and waiting for a target.
The man hesitated on the threshold, seeing Angela cowering against the wall. He held up one hand as if to calm her and stepped into the room.
Mac was about to spring out and strike when Angela cried out, "Non! Non!" and ran forward to the man. "Iban? It is you?"
The man turned toward Mac, bringing up his other hand-- the hand that was supposed to be missing. It wasn't missing anymore... it was holding a gun. Mac recognized him. It was the same man who had been guarding the gate this evening... and he now realized that it was also the man who he had seen at the mission earlier.
Angela stared at him. "Iban? You-- your hand!" She backed away uncertainly. "Who are you?"
"I am your friend, Sister," Iban said softly. "Though you may find it hard to trust me, you must believe!"
"If you work for Ryerson and that desert gunsel Rafe, I'm going to find that more than a little difficult," MacGyver said, moving so that he could stand protectively in front of Angela. "Although, a good start would be to put that gun away." Iban let the firearm drop to his side. "You were guarding the gate tonight... Saiad. Or is it Iban?"
"Mr. MacGyver, you are most correct to be suspicious, but there is no time now. As you said earlier, a guard might come at any time. I think it would be best if we get the Sister out of here before we are all caught. I will then explain everything."
"First tell me your real name."
Mac's Voice-over:
I wasn't really sure why I wanted to know, or how I could be sure if he told me the truth or not, but I had to ask... I had another suspicion, regarding a light switch and -- in retrospect-- a way too easy infiltration of this so-called 'Fortress'.
"You helped Tony and I get inside... why?"
"'Why' is for later," he answered as he peered up and down the hallway, "for now, my name is Abdul aFeyd-- my friend Tony calls me Alfie." He offered an ironic half-bow to Angela. "After you, Sister. If MacGyver here hadn't come in to set you free, it would have been me."
"Why?" Angela was still unsure, but the open door drew her like a moth to flame. Without waiting for her answer, she stepped out and looked up and down the hall.
"Go to the right." Alfie locked to door behind them. "If anyone comes, they will think you used MacGyver's rope to escape. We will go out this way. I have it from a very reliable source that the back gate is unguarded right now."
Mac's Voice-over continues:
I took Angela's hand and allowed Alfie to lead the way. We were entirely in his hands, but instead of feeling nervous, I was filled with certainty... at least for Angela's safety. My worry turned now to Tony. He was facing Ryerson and Rafe-- the snake and the desert rat-- and I couldn't leave until I knew he was okay-- I owed him my life.