Four Hours Earlier

The Julia Morgan Ballroom was elegant, but the room exploded in its legendary glory and beauty when decorated with white, gold, and light green colors.

Mathilda hadn't told she'd be transfixed on her tablet the entire flight to San Francisco, mouthing words he assumed were her acceptance speech. Or that she'd barely answer any of his questions because she was so focused. He almost teased her about stage fright a couple times but decided that with her, he'd better not burn his goodwill.

Now he stood at the side of the ballroom, cranberry spritzer in hand, observing the room. Women in ballroom gowns and men in dark-colored suits filled the room. Each held a drink or plate of hors d'oeuvres, and some talented people had a glass and plate in one hand.

He imagined that Mathilda was lost amid the moving bodies, rubbing elbows with people, and drumming up interest in partnering with Phoenix as a benefactor for the various charities. He was happy to let her do that part of the business, but it left him incredibly bored. He was considering slipping out to play a phone game for a while.

To his left, he heard a female voice say, "Hello."

He turned his head. A tall brunette wearing a body-hugging blue and sequined dress stood there. She was gorgeous and an enjoyable distraction from his boredom.

"Hello," he replied with a smile.

"What charity do you work for?" she asked.

"Oh. I don't. I work for a benefactor of several charities."

"Oh? What's the name of your company?"

MacGyver hesitated. Why was there a red flag nagging him, warning him to answer that question carefully? Or was he just being paranoid given his job?

"Do you work for a charity?" he asked her, dodging her question.

"No." She turned to face the room as if he'd offended her.

"Benefactor?" he asked.

"No." She looked side-eyed at him, a sly smile coming to her face. Then, softly she said, "You intrigued me when I saw you. You have an interesting face, kind. Would you tell on me if I admitted I was crashing the party?"

"You're crashing this party?"

She offered a slight shrug. "I'm one of the building janitors and overheard there was going to be free hors d'oeuvres and an open bar. What else was I going to do on a Saturday night?"

"I won't tell," he replied. Then, much quieter, he added, "Party crasher."

She softly giggled. She had a wonderful laugh! And she was a janitor?

"Really? A janitor?" he asked her.

She looked him in the eye, smiling. "Not all janitors are ugly hags. Although our team does have one, and we all hate her because she just can't stay out of our business."

He laughed. "There's always one, it seems."

She tilted her head. "So, what should I do for the rest of my Saturday night. When this is over, I mean?"

"Well…" He smiled and shook his head. "That would depend."

"On?"

"How this conversation goes."

The seductive smile returned. "It could go quite well. Maybe even…"

As if she were a ghost, Mathilda appeared before him. She was very stunning herself. Mathilda had a black silk dress with silver sequins in mandala patterns on the cuffs, floor-sweeping edge, and along the open back. She stood a few inches higher in her high heel shoes. She'd been to a salon at some point that day, and they had put her long hair into a beautiful and intricate fixture of braids and straight hair. A diamond and silver necklace and matching earrings glistened against her tan skin, dazzling in the ballroom light.

"Mac, I need to talk to you."

He motioned subtly at his new friend. "I'll be with you in a minute, Matty."

"No. Now."

"I—"

The dark glare from her told him no meant no. He turned his attention to the woman and extended his hand.

"It was nice to meet you."

She shook his hand, her hand soft and warm, fitting perfectly into his. A seductive smile crossed her lips.

"It was. But next time, tell a lady that you have a girlfriend."

The woman's tone told MacGyver she really believed Mathilda was his girlfriend. He had to fix this fast!

"Oh, she's not—"

"Mac!" Mathilda said. "NOW! Could you please leave, miss?"

MacGyver and the woman both looked at her.

"I stand corrected," the woman said. "Tell a lady you're here with your mother." And the woman walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

He watched the woman leave with burning embarrassment. He looked down at Matilda.

"You couldn't give me at least two minutes to explain us, and maybe get her name and phone number?" he asked her.

"I didn't bring you here to find a date! Come on!" She headed into the crowd, and in the opposite direction the stunning woman had disappeared. He almost threw his hands up in defeat as he followed. Mathilda wove through the crowd into a hall and down it. As the gathering began to thin, she went through a door. He followed her in, turning as Mathilda shut the door. He almost scolded her for being so rude, but he was surprised to find Mathilda was anxiously pacing and wringing her clutch purse as much as she could.

"Okay, so would it be better, do you think, if I said I accept this award on behalf of Phoenix or just say I am honored to be given this award?" She stopped and looked at him. She was still wringing her clutch.

MacGyver could only stare at her for a moment. When he met Jack for lunch earlier and told him what she'd asked MacGyver to do, Jack warned him that Mathilda may act weird tonight. But she was behaving so out of character he wasn't sure how to react or what to say. For a rare moment, Angus MacGyver was utterly speechless.

"MacGyver!" she snapped. "I need your help!"

The gears started turning in his brain again. "Isn't this award for you?"

"No. Yes. Yes, my name is on the award, but I'm not really behind the Foundation's charities. We have a committee that handles this charity. I'm just the committee head and give them direction when they need it. Which one should I say? I thought I knew, but now I don't know, and—"

"Whoa. Whoa. Slow down. If your name is on it, would it be weird accepting it on behalf of a think tank? Do other people do that?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

A long sigh seemed to physically deflate her. "This is the first time I've won this award or any philanthropist award. The Foundation and I have been nominated several times, but we've never won an award. I'm going to screw this up. I know I'm going to screw this up, Mac!"

"You're not going to screw this up, Mathilda." MacGyver sat down on a chair, so he was eye to eye with her. He laid his hands on her shoulders when she passed by, bringing her to a stop. She faced him, and for a moment, they just stared at each other.

"I'm proud of you."

"Why? I haven't done anything."

"That's not true. Matty, you do a lot more with these charities than you've given yourself credit. I know you keep saying the charities are part of our cover, but I've been out there with you, working with the charities in the community. They may be a cover, but you believe in the Foundation's charity work and the good the charities spread. And tonight, you are being honored for making all that good happen, which makes me proud of you."

She looked away. MacGyver let one hand drop.

"And you should accept on your behalf. It is your award, not the Foundation. Let yourself enjoy your well-deserved moment. And when you get up there on that stage, just pretend you're talking to a bunch of cabbage heads."

She looked down at the floor. "I don't have stage fright. I just… Feel very… Self-conscious because of… Because…"

He waited for her to finish, but she turned away without completing her thought.

"Thank you," she said as her hand lifted to the door handle.

She walked out but with a smile. He stood up and started a methodical hunt for the woman in the blue dress. He had some explaining and damage control to do.

Mathilda pushed through several people, trying to fight her way to her and MacGyver's table. Dinner wasn't served for another twenty minutes, and she wanted to sit down to read through her speech once more. As she pushed past a group, a man stepped back, knocking her over. She stumbled into a door, which swung open, dropping her to the floor. She rolled a couple times, ending up under a table. Once she stopped moving, Mathilda sat up, muttering obscenities. She looked up when three people walked into the room and shut the door. It was dark for a moment, and then one of them turned on a phone flashlight.

Her instinct made her freeze and wait until she knew it was safe to reveal her presence.

"What are you doing here?" one man asked.

"We have a problem," man two replied in an equally hushed voice. "There are people still in the building. We can't detonate at the time you wanted."

"A few people are expendable," man one told him. "Get back there and get ready to go."

"Oh hell no. I never agreed to kill anyone. Detonating a bomb as a diversion was all I agreed to."

"I told you there might be some violence," the third man said.

"Violence and murder aren't the same. I am not murdering anyone to rob a bank!"

"You think you just get to back out? You're here because of the debt you owe Diego. You don't finish this job, I'll kill you. Diego's orders."

"I am not a murderer!" man two argued.

Suddenly there was a gagging sound of someone being strangled. One of the men was backed up against a wall. His feet kicked, and she could only imagine he was trying to push his assailant away as his breath was choked out of him.

"What the hell are you doing?" man two demanded.

He didn't get a response.

The gagging and kicking feet came to a slow stop, and a man fell to the floor.

"Could you be any more stupid?" man one snarled.

"Diego told us that if he showed any hint that he was backing out, we were to kill him."

"Push him under that table," man one ordered.

The dead man was pushed under the table she hid. Mathilda had to move quickly to let the entire body under the table and then straddle his leg, hunched over.

"Are you a fucking moron? He's the only one who knows how to set up the bomb."

"I know how to set it up. Or did you forget?"

"Then get your ass over there and get it done," man one said. She could tell he was gritting his teeth from the sound of his voice.

"And what are you going to be doing?"

"Sticking to the plan, stay here and protect the senator until the bomb goes off. Then slip away, unnoticed, to help you unlock the vault door."

Mentally Mathilda noted, 'Man 1 works for a secret service, a security firm, or an off-duty police officer.'

"Staying here was my alibi too. Remember? Don't you think it will look suspicious if one of the recipients isn't here when the bomb goes off?"

"You just got sick and had to go home."

"That's my alibi? I was home alone when the bomb went off, and money was stolen? I work there, asshole. I'll be the first person the FBI come looking for!"

"You killed our scapegoat; that's your problem. It's your problem to solve!"

"This entire thing has been a disaster since Diego put you in charge. You are an idiot and an asshole."

She heard the distinct sound of a fist hitting flesh, and man three fell on his back in the corner of the room. She quickly dropped between the dead man and wall, hiding in the darkness. The man touched his bleeding nose, looking up.

"You are still an idiot and an asshole," man three hissed. He got to his feet, and the door opened and closed.

"Dick!" man one muttered. She heard him moving. His hands brushed down his legs, smoothing his pant legs. Then the cellphone light turned off. She heard him inhale a slow, deep breath, and exhale, then he left the room.

Mathilda didn't move until she was sure neither man was returning. When she felt sure she was safe to get up, she crawled out. She pulled her phone from her purse, turned on the flashlight, and shined it on the dead man's face. She could see the bruising from where he'd been choked to death. She snapped a photo of his face and sent it off in a text to Riley, with a note, 'Tell me about this man.'

Mathilda put her phone away and exited the room, her demeanor calm compared to the twisting in her stomach. She wasn't entirely sure what she'd just witnessed, but Mathilda knew bombs and stolen money were a bad combination; she had to find MacGyver.

The master of ceremony walked onto the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats for dinner, and we will begin with the organization presentations."

She finally spotted MacGyver. He had found the woman in the blue dress, and she had clearly forgiven him because the two were flirting. The woman touched his arm, letting her fingers slide it down. His smile expressed he was very open to what her body language had to say. She hated interrupting him a second time, but bombs and money stealing were strong motivators to do just that. She walked up to the two, mindful of being a lot less abrasive this time.

"MacGyver," she said.

Both looked at her.

He smiled. "Do you mind if I sit with—"

"We have to talk again."

"Holly, you've met my boss, Mat—"

Not knowing how long before the bomb went off, Mathilda's mindfulness was booted from her mind. "Now, Mac!"

He looked a little cross but calmly replied, "Alright." He turned to Holly. "After this, do you—"

"Am I stuttering here?" Mathilda snapped.

He dipped his chin a little, a sign he was biting back his temper.

"I'll call you," Holly said, holding up the napkin with her phone number written in lipstick on it. He took it, watching Holly disappear again.

He focused on Mathilda. She started walking, and he followed. It was easier now that most of the crowd was sitting. They came into the outer hall, and she kept moving toward the elevators. She tapped the call button.

"What's going on?" he asked.

Mathilda looked at him, telling him everything she'd heard in the room. Then, the elevator dinged, and the door slid open. She got on and turned. MacGyver was standing in the hall, staring at her.

"If what you're saying happened, we should call the police," he said.

"Elevator right now," she snapped.

With a sigh and slight shrug of his shoulders, he obeyed. She tapped the ground floor button, and the door closed.

"We have to stop them," Mathilda told him.

"Or we could call the police," MacGyver argued.

She looked up at him. "The police won't make it here in time, and it is our job to save people."

He attempted a couple responses before settling, "Damn it, Matty." He looked at the elevator door. "I was only half-listening to your story. Where did the other two men go?"

"I don't know. One was supposed to finish putting the bomb together. The other said he had to get back to protecting the senator, so he's probably at the banquet until the bomb goes off."

"How many senators could there be?"

"Twenty-six."

That deflated MacGyver's hope. "How are we supposed to stop anyone from doing anything if we don't even know what these men look like?"

"I sent a picture of the dead man to Riley. And I am shocked that you're being this pessimistic."

"There's being pessimistic, and there's being realistic."

The elevator doors opened, and they headed to the front of the building. They stopped at the sidewalk, and Mathilda started trying to hail a cab. MacGyver looked around them until his eyes stopped at the sign on a building across the street. He slowly looked up the building, noting that some windows showed lights on. He looked at the windows of other banks around them but didn't see lights shining above the first floor.

"Matty," he said.

She turned. "What?"

He pointed. "I'm betting this is where they're stealing the money from."

She looked at the building, then both directions down the street. "But there are several banks around here. How can you be sure it's this Wells Fargo?"

"The same way we know which senator the guy is protecting." MacGyver waited for her to look up at him. "A guess. And some reasonable deduction. The dead guy didn't want to murder people." He pointed up. "I don't see lights on over those other banks, but there are three on in this one. Cleaning crew maybe, or late workers." He looked back at her.

She nodded. "Let's go." She started to cross the street.

MacGyver laid his hand on her shoulder, pulling her back. "We can't go in there. We have to call the police. That's twelve floors and a full city block. We can't search every corner alone." He removed his hand.

Mathilda pulled her phone from her clutch and, in a flurry, sent another text. Again, she looked up at him.

"Jack will call the police. In the meantime, can we start searching?"

He started across the street, and she followed. He paused at the entrance doors of the bank building, looking back at her.

"You know we may not find the bomb in time? So, this may be a suicide mission."

"Then we die doing what we love," she told him. "Let's go."

That made him smile some. He opened the door for Mathilda, and the two went inside.