"Good news!" Pete announced, a week later, striding into Mac's hospital room as if he ran the place.
"Hi Pete," Mac said, grinning at his friend's enthusiasm. "What's up?"
"Well, first, how you feeling?" Pete asked.
"Much better," Mac answered. "Thank goodness for modern medicine. Thanks to the antibiotics, the infection is healing nicely."
"What a relief!" Pete exclaimed. "You were in bad shape."
Mac waved this aside. "What's your good news?" he asked.
"Oh!" Pete turned to close the door. "We were able to put a trace on the Filipino ambassador's phone."
"Really?" Mac asked, sitting up on one elbow. "I thought that wasn't allowed under diplomatic immunity."
"We are working with the FBI and NSA to investigate suspected illegal activity, so they gave us a warrant," Pete explained.
"And?" prompted Mac.
"Jackpot," Pete chortled. "We intercepted a call from the ambassador to a Robert Foster Green, who owns several holding companies and has been under suspicion of arms dealing by the FBI for several years."
"Sounds like Fist, all right," Mac agreed. Green, he thought. Somewhere, that triggered a memory, but he couldn't place it.
"The problem is, we can't find him. He's gone completely to ground. We also can't find the shipment of weapons you helped smuggle out of the Bitterroot mountains."
"Thanks for putting it that way, Pete," Mac said dryly. "Do you think they're still using the wilderness as a holding place?"
"I doubt it, now that they know you work for us," Pete said.
"Yeah, that was so stupid of me to let them follow me," Mac said in frustration.
"Don't beat yourself up, MacGyver," Pete admonished. "It happens."
"Yeah," Mac said. "It would just be helpful if I could still get in to talk to them."
"We'll find another way," soothed Pete. "You don't have to do this all alone, you know."
Mac gave his friend a quick smile.
"Did the doctors examine your eyes while you were here?" Pete asked, changing the subject.
"Oh, yeah, they did and that isn't such good news," Mac answered.
"Oh?" Pete prompted.
"They certainly do cornea transplants, and this is a well-known facility for them," began Mac, "but they said I'm not a good candidate for one. The amount of scar tissue from the infection means my eyes are too fragile to successfully receive any transplanted tissue."
Pete was silent. Finally, he said, "that's too bad."
"Yeah, I was really hoping…" Mac didn't finish the sentence. Between the news about his eyes and the problem with the gun-runners, he was feeling pretty blue. He wondered if his friend was thinking about his own struggles with glaucoma, but Pete didn't bring it up.
Pete stayed and chatted for ten minutes or so longer but Mac barely heard him. He was trying to remember who he had met named Green. He was still puzzling over it when Pete had gone and the nurse brought his dinner.
He thanked her, although hospital food was not at all to his liking. He sat thoughtfully chewing a whole wheat roll when it came to him: Alex Green. The kid whom he had met at the guide dog training center months ago. It was a long shot; after all Green was a common name.
The students in his class had exchanged numbers, but of course he didn't have the number here at the hospital. Instead, he called Pete's secretary and tasked her with finding the kid's number. She efficiently called him back within the hour. Mac shook his head in wonder. The woman never ceased to amaze him.
He turned to the phone again. With no way to write it down, he'd had to memorize the number she gave him, but he'd gotten accustomed to doing it, and had honed his short-term memory with constant practice doing similar tasks. So he had no trouble now dialing the number she gave. The only thing Mac noticed was that it didn't have an area code he recognized. Pete had arranged for the hospital to give Mac long-distance phone access days ago, and Mac mentally thanked his boss again that he had.
The phone rang five times, and Mac was about to give up, when a woman's voice answered.
"Hello?"
"Hi, may I speak with Alex, please?" Mac asked.
"Well, ok… who is this please?" she asked in return.
"Oh, name's MacGyver. We were at the guide dog school together."
"Oh, that," she replied, and her voice lost the edge of suspicion it had held a minute before. "Sure, I'll get him,"
"Thanks," Mac said, and waited.
"MacGyver?" Alex came on the line.
"Hey there," Mac greeted.
"I didn't think you'd call me. Nobody else has," Alex stated.
Mac rolled his eyes. He wasn't surprised, since Alex hadn't exactly been the life of the party during training.
"How's Hercules doing?" he asked, instead of responding to the previous statement.
"I hardly get to go anywhere with him," Alex said morosely. "Mom and Dad won't let me. They think I'll walk in front of a bus and die."
Mac closed his eyes briefly in a moment of silent gratitude that he didn't have anyone in his life placing such unwarranted restrictions.
"Are you going to college?" Mac asked.
"I want to go," Alex began. "I even got the teachers at my high school to let me take the SAT's and I did great, but so far I haven't gotten to go to college."
Good grief, Mac thought. Is there anything this kid can do? Aloud he said, "I have a quick question for you."
"Shoot," replied Alex.
"Have you ever heard of a guy named Robert Foster Green?"
"Yeah, he's my uncle. Why?" Alex asked.
Jackpot. Mac couldn't believe his luck. "Oh, no reason really. Just his name came up at work," he said casually. "Tell me, do you think your parents would let you out to explore the city if I go with you?"
"You?" asked Alex in surprise. "I thought you lived in LA. You're coming up to Portland?"
"I have some business there for work," Mac explained.
"That would be great to get together," said Alex. "Maybe if you show Mom and Dad that you can get around, they'll see that I can too."
"We can only hope," Mac agreed.
As soon as he was discharged from the hospital, Mac retrieved Puck from Pete's staffmember. The black German Shepherd almost knocked Mac over in the frenzied joy of his welcome when he saw Mac. The woman who's housed him, Diane, didn't seem too sorry to say goodbye.
"Was he ok for you?" Mac asked her.
"He chewed up four pairs of socks, when he wasn't sitting by the door whining," she explained.
Mac chuckled. "He doesn't do 'off-duty' very well," he said. "Sorry he gave you a hard time."
"It's all right," she answered. "I'm glad to see him so happy going back to work."
They both smiled at the Shepherd twisting his body with joy at the sight of his harness. Mac slipped it over Puck's head, but had to remove it and try again twice when the dog wouldn't hold still. He couldn't hold it against him, Mac thought.
As he thanked Diane again and bid her goodbye, Puck leaned into the harness, hauling Mac along at breakneck speed.
"Whoa there, Buddy," Mac said under his breath. "I know you're happy to work, but there's no need to pull my arm out of its socket!"
Aloud, he said, "Puck, easy boy!"
They got to the bus stop with time to spare, and Mac asked someone to show him a patch of grass where Puck could relieve himself before the hours on the bus.
Although the bus ride with its many stops was tedious, it was better than the days in the hospital. Mac alternately napped and considered ways to look for Robert Foster Green once he got to Portland. It seemed like looking for a person-sized needle in a city-sized haystack. He supposed he would just have to improvise when he got there.
He'd been dozing when the driver announced their arrival at the Sunset Transit Center in Beaverton, Oregon. A calm suburb south of Portland, it was the closest stop to where he figured Alex Green's parents lived. He and Pete had checked the atlas before he left L.A. but he still felt a bit hazy on the directions. He slipped his left hand into his jeans pocket to check for the slip of paper on which Pete had written the address Alex gave on the phone.
Puck, who had also been napping, rose and stretched when Mac stirred, draping his long body down the aisle and blocking the passengers who also waited to get off the bus. No one seemed to mind, however, and Mac heard a few chuckles and comments of "Boy, that's a long tongue" when Puck yawned.
Mac gathered his jacket and duffel in his right hand and grasped Puck's leash in his left. Because the aisle was too narrow to walk beside the dog and hold his harness handle, he let Puck leash-guide down the aisle and down the three deep steps to the street. He stepped awkwardly half off the curb, but regained his balance with the forward momentum onto the sidewalk.
He turned to the passenger behind him. "Would you please show me the door to the transit center?" he requested.
"Sure thing, Mister," said the man. Mac gave the "follow" command to Puck, who trailed the man into the building.
Once inside, Mac listened for the presence of clues to where the service counter might be. It proved to be on his right, and Puck quickly found it. The helpful girl working there oriented him to the restroom, the vending machine and a patch of grass outside for Puck to use. Then, she called a taxi.
Mac would have preferred to walk after the long bus ride, but the woman was so nice he decided not to quibble and obediently climbed into the back seat of the vehicle that smelled saturated in cigarette smoke. Now, he really wished he'd opted to walk.
He gave the driver the slip of paper with the address, and closed his door. Puck settled on his shoes, prepared to endure another long ride.
As it happened, only five minutes had passed when the driver pulled up to the curb on a quiet, suburban street.
"Is the house on the right or the left?" Mac asked the driver as he passed him the fare plus a tip.
"That way," replied the driver, but before Mac could respond, he seemed to realize how unhelpful that would be and amended, "the right. You're right in front of the front walk."
"Thanks," Mac said, and stood up, his back to the side of the car, facing what he supposed was a house, although the afternoon sunlight glared in his face, washing everything out to white.
Squinting slightly, he gave Puck the "forward" command and followed the dog along a front sidewalk, up two steps and onto a concrete front stoop. He felt the wall beside the door and found a doorbell button, which he pressed. Deep within the house, he could hear the chime, and then hurrying footsteps.
Because of the overprotective description that Alex had given of his parents, MacGyver mentally braced himself for gushing, fluttering overhelpfulness, so he was pleasantly surprised when Mrs. Green, who opened the door, greeted him cordially.
"Mr. MacGyver," she said, "Alex told me to expect you. Won't you please come in?"
She stepped back, holding the door open, and Puck led Mac up the split-level stairway into the living room. From the new carpet and fresh paint smells, Mac guessed the house was recently built.
"Hi Mac," Alex greeted from somewhere in the living room, showing more personality than Mac had ever seen from him before. Apparently being on his own turf made him a lot more secure.
"Come to the table, both of you. Dinner is ready," invited Mrs. Green. "Mr. MacGyver, can your dog go out in the back with Hercules?"
"Sure," agreed Mac, bending to unharness Puck. "I'm sure he'd like that." Since the two dogs had been kennelmates at the training school, Mac felt he didn't need to worry about whether or not they got along.
After a scrabbling of claws on linoleum and the sound of a sliding door closing, Mac smiled, imagining Puck running joyfully across a back lawn, chasing Hercules, who, if he remembered correctly, was a big black lab.
Mac stood uncertainly where he was, not sure which direction he should take to get to the dining room. Alex solved the problem for him by remarking offhandedly, "ahead, then right."
"Thanks," Mac said, remembering how it felt at the training center where blindness was the accepted norm rather than the remarkable anomaly. He made his way to the table and sat where Mrs. Green directed him.
Introductions followed: in addition to Alex and Mrs. Green, Mac met Mr. Green and two younger twin girls, Abbie and Alicia.
Mrs. Green handed him a plate, adding, "Alex said you are a vegetarian, so I made a bean salad.
Mac thanked her appreciatively and took the plate. For a while, everyone ate without speaking, then Mr. Green cleared his throat.
"So, Alex tells me you're looking for my brother?"