Standard disclaimers apply. I don't own any of these characters, please don't sue.
Content Warnings: Some coarse language, non-explicit sexual situations, and somewhat graphic violence.
-M-
DAY ONE
He was quite certain, now; Nikki was definitely a target.
She was flipping through a book of excursions that had been delivered with their drinks, ostensibly picking out what they were going to be doing during their three day stay at the resort in Sharm El-Sheikh. In reality, she was checking it for a message from the seller.
But unless he was mistaken, that message was actually headed their way now, wearing clothing with a substantially smaller threadcount than the Egyptian cotton tablecloth, and covered in gold coins.
"Ooh, honey, look at this." She was cooing over a full-sized insert of a sunken wreck, covered in barnacles and small sea life. "The SS Thistlegorm was rediscovered by Jacques Cousteau in 1956. It says here it's supposed to be one of the most sought after wreck dives in the world."
MacGyver leaned in to study the image – it was a nice photograph, and he would gladly pay money out of his own pocket to dive that wreck - and slipped a hand onto her thigh. She nudged him back playfully.
"Come on, babe, be serious. What do you think? Do we have time for a day dive?"
He returned her smile with one of his own, leaning even closer to put his mouth near her ear. "One of the locals would like a word." He gave her a quick peck on the cheek as the bellydancer arrived at their table and announced herself with the bell-like tones of her finger cymbals.
"Come, come!" she gestured, her arms bending sinuously in the graceful movements recognizable the world over as belonging to Egyptian bellydance. "Come dance!"
Nikki turned away from him and giggled softly, shaking her head shyly no, but the dancer was undeterred, taking her hands gently by the wrist and pulling her away from the table. Out among the diners and guests, there were other bellydancers, all wearing different colors, picking out all kinds. A ten year old boy on vacation with his family. A frat guy Mac wasn't completely sure was straight. An old Egyptian woman with leathered skin and a knowing eye. A beautiful young woman, clearly on her honeymoon.
Just as Nikki was supposed to be. Only she wasn't Nikki Carpenter. She was Rebecca Thompson, just married to the rather unremarkably named Samuel Thompson. Only his name was unremarkable; his father owned one-eighth of a platinum mine in South Africa, and he used the money to ensure a steady stream of weapons, narcotics, and mercenaries kept the region just unstable enough that the blatant exploitation of the mine flew under the overwhelmed government's radar, but trade and shipping routes were still intact.
It wasn't the first time Mac had gone undercover as a gun runner's son, and as an added bonus it allowed Jack Dalton to sit right beside him and not even try to pretend he was anything other than the muscle. Jack liked any cover where he didn't have to be hypervigilant about hiding any weapons he happened to have on his person, and no one at this particular resort had batted an eyelash.
Given the amount of firepower he'd seen concealed under light linen shirts and tucked into cargo shorts, Mac was beginning to think Jack was going to draw attention for being under armed.
MacGyver chuckled as Nikki shot him what was probably an authentic embarrassed look and was half dragged, half cajoled towards the raised platform that was acting as the evening's stage. Across from him, Jack Dalton took a sip of his club soda and lime, eyes on the bar mirror, keeping tabs on everything going on behind him.
"Yeah, I bet you could make time for a day dive. Night dive might be more fun though."
Mac very carefully didn't respond to the suggestion in Jack's tone, and kept his voice soft. "Well, we will have some time to kill tomorrow, if the intel Thornton gave us is correct."
The former Delta operator cast a glance up at the platform, where the guests were being lined up to begin their bellydance 'lesson.'
"You just wanna see her in a bikini."
Mac eyed his friend. "Jack, there is nothing sexy about scuba diving. That water is about twenty five degrees Celsius. That's wetsuit temperature."
Jack didn't take his eyes off the stage, though Mac knew he wasn't really looking at it. Or rather, he wasn't looking at Nikki – he was watching for anyone trying to pass her the meet information. "May not be sexy for you, dude, but there's nothin' wrong with a neoprene catsuit."
He didn't really want to think about cold water at the moment. Or catsuits. Or –
"Yeah, plus the snot-filled mask, that's always attractive, and a nice-sized chunk of silicone between your teeth -"
Jack almost choked on his club soda. "Geez, dude, I do not need to hear about whatever you two are doin' with hunks of silicone."
Mac sharpened his look, but Jack chose to continue watching the crowd, wearing an insufferable little grin. When the music started up, Mac allowed his warning glare to drop, turning back to the stage.
The bellydancers led their students through the basics of a hip shimmy, in slow motion. The Egyptian grandmother and the ten year old boy were the clear winners – everyone else was a little too self-conscious. As the crowd tittered, the professional dancers came forward, eyeing their apprentices up and down before they darted in to make wardrobe corrections. Nikki was in a light-colored linen skirt that came midway up her shins and a white cotton blouse, and her dancer slowly shimmied her way into a half-crouch – much to the appreciation of the audience – and began to roll the hem of Nikki's blouse upwards using the same wrist moves she would in her dance.
Of course, the rest of the guests were getting the same treatment, but Mac didn't really pay them any attention. Nikki's bared midriff was a golden tan against the light fabric, her bellybutton piercing now visible, and the dancer expertly tied the blouse hem in a knot just below Nikki's bust, fixing the new, shorter length in place. Even at this distance, he could see the blush creeping up her cheeks, and Nikki flashed him a sheepish smile.
"Close that trap, bud, something's liable to fly in there," a low voice teased in his ear, and Mac didn't even bother to look at him.
"We're newlyweds. Some of us take our covers seriously, Jack-"
"Yeah, and hop right under 'em. You been seeing each other now, what, 'bout two weeks?"
Mac turned to stare at Jack, a little startled. "How-" Too late he caught himself, closing his mouth before it could incriminate him further, but he could see from his partner's satisfied smirk that the damage was already done.
He huffed out a sigh. "Fine. Maybe."
Definitely. Unquestionably.
A little worried about coloring that might be appearing on his own face, Mac shifted in his seat and picked up his beer. "What gave us away?"
The bellydance lesson started up again, and Jack went back to watching the bar mirror, tracking one of the waiters. "Be easier to tell ya what didn't."
Great. "Does Thornton know?"
It wasn't exactly highlighted in bold in the employee handbook, but generally speaking, fraternization in the workplace was frowned upon. There were plenty of very good reasons an intelligence organization would have to discourage it - ensuring compartmentalized and top secret data actually stayed that way, for one. In their case, though, most everything Mac knew, Nikki knew too.
"Dude." Jack's tone was almost pitying. "Probably before you did. Trust me, if Patty disapproved, you'd know."
The hip shimmies were tested again. Mac was now almost certain about the frat guy. Most men didn't have that fluid movement to their hips. He also hadn't seen anyone pass Nikki anything, unless the dancer had managed to roll it into her now-cropped shirt.
"And what about you?"
Thornton being tolerant was welcome news, but not terribly unexpected. She'd gone to great lengths to recruit him, and they had what Mac considered a very good working relationship. She hadn't indicated anything, one way or the other, when she'd given them this mission, and as long as the relationship didn't interfere with their work, he didn't think that would change.
But Jack . . . it had just been the two of them for a while now. First Afghanistan, then DXS. He'd welcomed their new field tech with open arms, called her sister. Mac knew Jack wouldn't hesitate to walk into a bullet for her. But relationships could get complicated pretty quickly. As some of Bozer's friends were so fond of saying, 'bros before hoes.' The language was a little coarse, but he understood the sentiment.
Feeling like you were getting displaced by someone else was never a pleasant experience. And Mac had no intention of letting any relationship with Nikki – whether it became anything more or fizzled out – change the dynamics between them.
Jack Dalton was his partner. And way more. Probably more than he knew. Always would be. Mac just . . . wasn't quite sure how to tell the other man that.
But maybe Jack could see it on his face, because he gave an easy chuckle. "Bud, you don't need my permission. I ain't your dad. Besides, she's crazy about you. Has been from the start. Long as you two can concentrate on the missions, and don't get my happy ass killed in some third-world hole in the ground, then good on ya both, bro."
He picked up his club soda, offering it across the table, and Mac bonked it gently with his beer bottle. They both took a sip.
"That being said, the surveillance van? I mean really?" His partner shook his head, though his eyes were still amused. "Some of us keep our lunches in there, man."
Mac fought the urge to curl up and die of embarrassment. Instead, he cleared his throat and took another sip of beer. His eyes were drawn back to the stage, where arm movements had started to be added to the shimmies, and that did nothing to help steer his thoughts back into the clear.
"And what if I had needed a little backup, huh? Wasn't like you two were payin' any attention."
Mac cleared his throat again, chuckling at his own discomfort. Sometimes he really did feel like the boy scout everyone thought he was. "It was a dead drop, Jack. And it's not like we were . . . distracted . . . that long."
The club soda was very deliberately placed on the table. "Well, I ain't your pop, but it occurs to me maybe no one ever had that conversation with you," Jack drawled, and Mac glanced at him, a little alarmed. The teasing expression was gone, replaced by deadly seriousness.
"You expect her to stick around, you gotta make sure she gets her happies too. You with me?"
Mac just stared at Jack, momentarily speechless, and he had never been happier to be interrupted by a waiter in his life.
Jack simply leaned back in his seat, adjusting his position to put a sidearm in easy reach, and Mac glanced up at the man. Same guy who had brought them the first round. He had three champagne flutes on his tray, which he set down without asking, as well as an ornate platter containing three cigars and a book of matches.
"Our best wishes for your recent nuptials," the waiter murmured, in accented English, and then he gave them a quick head bow and withdrew.
Jack's eyes were back to the mirror, but Mac had a clear view of the rest of the patio seating, and he could see that a few other tables were receiving similar treatment.
Curiously, Mac picked up one of the elegantly wrapped cigars, taking a cautious whiff. Tobacco and cognac, delicately spiced. Expensive. But not otherwise marked with anything, like GPS coordinates or an address.
Jack scooped up the matchbook, sliding the box of matches from its sleeve. The cover bore only the resort's logo, but the bottom of the box contained handwritten numbers.
"Got a location. Sale goes down tomorrow, 1900 local time."
Mac nodded, giving the cigar another appreciative sniff before passing it to Jack. "Think this is more your poison."
Jack inspected the cigar, and his eyebrows rose. "Nicaraguan, the wrapper at least. Yeah, this and a glass of scotch'd do the trick."
They both glanced back up at the stage as the lesson closed, clapping politely for the dancers and their apprentices before the resort guests were released back into the crowd. Nikki was slightly out of breath as she made it back to the table, and Mac stood quickly and pulled out her chair. She flashed him a grateful smile, and then took in the platter of cigars and champagne.
Mac noticed that she hadn't adjusted her blouse.
"Oh, are we having a party?"
Mac retook his own seat, since bailing right after receiving the message would be far too obvious, and offered her a champagne flute instead. He had no doubt the cigars and the sparkling wine were perfectly safe; no one was going to poison the buyers they'd gone to all this trouble to attract.
Particularly not since all of those people were very dangerous, considering they were here to bid on a dirty bomb.
"The party's tomorrow night," Mac informed her, tapping his own flute gently to hers, and Jack stuck with his club soda. The coordinates would tell them which of Zoheir's properties likely held the bomb. They'd scope it out later tonight, disable the bomb and plant a tracking device, just in case, then wait for the auction to get photos of everyone in attendance, and arrest the seller and buyer.
Which sounded deceptively easy. The total lack of coms for the duration of the mission, and the lack of any kind of backup made it just a hair more dicey. The sale was going down on the anniversary of the Arab Spring, and tensions were high, with many young Egyptians planning nationwide demonstrations. The Egyptian police and intelligence agencies were looking for anything out of the ordinary, including encrypted radio and wireless communications, and any Western agents caught on the ground would have a very bad day.
So outside of one little mistake putting them in an Egyptian prison for the rest of their likely unnaturally abbreviated lives, it was a pretty straightforward mission.
Nikki nudged Mac under the table with a sandaled foot, bringing him out of his thoughts. "Why is Jack looking at us like that?"
Jack touched his chest in a 'who, me' gesture, the very picture of offended innocence, and Mac rolled his eyes and set his champagne flute back on the table. "He knows," Mac said simply.
Nikki surprised him by practically melting into her chair in relief. "Oh thank god," she muttered, and then downed the rest of the champagne.
He didn't really know what to say, and she set the flute firmly on the table and took a cleansing breath. "So now we can finally get back to work, instead of being all awkward and weird?"
Jack grinned at her. "I dunno, you gonna abandon this life for a career in bellydancin'?"
She snorted. Loudly. "Considering you boys were looking literally everywhere but at me, I think I'll stick with technology." She held out an elegant hand. "The address, please?"
Jack raised his eyebrow but passed Mac the matchbook, and he handed it to her. Her fingers lingered on his for just a second longer than was absolutely necessary, letting him know she wasn't really that upset about his wandering attention – not that it had ever wandered far – and she scanned the coordinates.
"Local. That's convenient," she murmured, and Jack's other eyebrow lifted.
"You memorized our GPS coordinates?"
Nikki gave him a strange look. "Didn't you?" Then she turned back to Mac, her sultry blue eyes making absolutely zero effort to disguise her thoughts. "You ready to turn in, sweetie?"
Mac thought he did a very good job of recovering, turning to signal the bartender. The man gave him a nod, letting him know it would all be charged to the room, and Mac stood to get Nikki's chair. "We do have a very early morning ahead of us."
He scooted her seat back, not missing the look Jack and Nikki exchanged. "So much for not being awkward," she murmured across the table, and Mac gave her a half-hearted reproachful look as she took his arm. Jack, for his part, just chuckled, and the trio, with Mac and Nikki in the lead, made their way across the patio back towards the resort. Mac saw that they weren't the first to leave; a cigar and two flutes of champagne, untouched, were still sitting at the table where the old Egyptian woman had been. Mac cast his mind back to the gentleman that had been with her. He had been younger, perhaps a son.
Nikki was already in the resort's network, they could pull up the footage and make sure they identified all the prospective buyers – at least the ones that had been here. Sharm El-Sheikh had its own airport, as well as its own ports, making it an extremely convenient meeting place and giving the buyer multiple ways to ship their prize. He expected they'd have a few surprise arrivals when they attended the actual auction.
The honeymoon suites were all on the first floor, which Mac assumed was to facilitate drunken stumbling, and Mr. and Mrs. Thompson's bodyguard was across the hall. Mac was not surprised to see Jack had kept the cigar, and he stopped at his door with a wink.
"You kids have fun."
"We will," Nikki assured him, as Mac withdrew the key card from his wallet. The lock clicked open, and he held the door for her, waiting patiently for Jack to spit out whatever it was that was so clearly on his mind.
He'd keyed open his door as well, and his expression was earnest. "Don't forget that thing we talked about earlier."
Mac opened his mouth, then shook his head with a smirk. "That's not been a problem," he replied, and shut the door firmly behind him. Then he leaned against it and closed his eyes for a moment, letting his head fall back with a sigh.
"That was not the way I saw that going."
"What, coming clean to Papa Jack?" Nikki was bent over her keyboard, checking the coordinates, and Mac just watched her, taking in every line and curve. The honeymoon suite was quite large, with a parlor for entertaining guests, and the bedroom off to the right. Housekeeping had come in while they'd been at dinner to turn on a few lights, and the bulbs were all a soft yellow. Standing there in that elegant room, in nothing more than a flowing linen skirt and white blouse, he was stunned by how beautiful she was.
She seemed unaware of his study, idly tucking her blonde hair back over her shoulder. "He's a pro, Mac. What did you expect?"
He took a measured breath. "I don't know," he finally admitted. "This could change the team dynamic, throw us off."
Nikki cocked an eyebrow at him, and since she'd just caught him staring, he saw no reason to stop. She gave him a slow smile, then leaned up, making her way back across the room as gracefully as any dancer. She stopped with barely any space between them, her nose almost touching his, and her eyes were deep and dark. He felt her hands settle lightly on his chest. "Do you really want to talk about Jack right now?"
He grinned, still leaning against the door. "Actually, I was wondering if you could show me that move you just learned."
"Mmm?" Nikki ran her fingertips down to his arms, then his wrists, then his hands, claiming them and placing them on her bare waist. Her skin was warm and supple beneath his fingers. "Which one? Oh wait . . . this one?"
She shifted her hips to the right, then left, the fabric of her skirt just brushing the front of his trousers, and Mac pulled her closer. She drew up her arms, mimicking the bellydancer almost flawlessly, and he let his fingertips trail up her sides, drawing the blouse up with them. Once it was off, she let her arms fall gently to drape around his shoulders, running a hand through his hair. Her nails lightly grazed the back of his neck.
Mac pulled her closer still and kissed her, deeply, tasting champagne. He didn't let her go until they were both breathless.
". . . could you do that again?"
-M-
It was around noon the following day before they trudged back into the room – the three of them, this time - and all found seats. Mac and Jack ended up taking both ends of the sofa, and Nikki slouched at the desk, plugging her laptop back into its power supply to charge. She pulled a small device from her pocketbook, aiming it systematically around the room, but it never emitted so much as a beep, and she gave the boys a weary nod.
The room was clear of listening devices.
Mac finally voiced what they were all thinking. "Well that was a bust."
The meet coordinates were a bar. It was pretty clear what that meant; they would be provided transportation to the actual site for the auction. Which meant the site had to be local, just like the bar. The problem was, they had checked all Zoheir's properties and ships in Sharm El-Sheikh, and there wasn't a trace of a dirty bomb in any of them.
Endangered species, priceless artifacts, recreational drugs, illegal but non-nuclear weapons, and probable human trafficking, they'd found. More than enough to put Zoheir away for life. But without having that bomb in hand . . .
Jack had his head thrown back, pillowed on the ample cushions on the back of the couch, and his eyes were closed. "You wanna tell her?"
Tell Director Thornton that they hadn't found the bomb, meaning they hadn't disabled it, or put a tracking device on it. They were going to attend an auction where a live, fully functional dirty bomb was going to be sold to the highest bidder, and unless that was them – which was not part of the plan, nor part of the op's budget – they would have no choice but to follow the buyer or track the seller's communications to get a location on the bomb.
Not impossible. But certainly not optimal.
"Not really," Mac admitted. "Hey Director Thornton, we're going to have to stay in country an extra day, spy on the communications network you told us not to touch with a ten foot pole, and can we have an account with thirty million US, just in case?"
"I think you should lead with the thirty mil," Nikki suggested from the computer. "That should get her blood pressure high enough that she doesn't hear the rest."
Mac mirrored Jack's position, rubbing his grainy eyes. "Alright, if the bomb's not here, where's the next best place?"
"The moon."
Mac was tempted to whack Jack in the shoulder, but it was just too much effort. "Places on Earth, Jack, preferably somewhere within the realm of possibility."
"Hey, the moon's possible –"
Nikki didn't bother to let him finish. "Zoheir's got properties all over the Middle East. Cairo, Alexandria, El Qasr, Luxor . . . then there's Al Qurayyat in Jordan, Damascus and Beirut in Lebanon, Jeddah and Medina in Saudi Arabia, Al Hudaydah in Yemen –"
Most of which could be reached via waterways from the Red or Mediterranean Sea via the Suez Canal.
But barges and other ships traveling the Suez were scrutinized for radiation. Depending on how well the bomb was shielded, it could be detected. Then again, if it wasn't being shielded - and shielded well - it would have already been detectable by satellite.
. . . of course, if there was any traffic going through those ports – or warehouses - that was legitimately radioactive, like nuclear waste in transit to disposal, or anything destined for a nuclear power plant, it would never get flagged at all.
Mac cast his mind back. He was pretty sure the Egyptians were building a nuclear power plant, but it was still under construction, if construction had even begun. That could at least legitimize traffic that had shielding equipment on board. "Nikki, can you pull up the location of Egypt's future nuclear power plant?"
"Yeah." A few clicks. "El Dubaa. It's about a hundred and seventy kilometers from Alexandria."
"And Alexandria is another two hundred kilometers from Cairo."
She apparently checked; he didn't bother to open his eyes.
"Close enough."
So they could be keeping the bomb in either Alexandria or Cairo, using shielding materials destined for El Dubaa to keep it under wraps.
"You have a list of all known properties and ships Zoheir has in Alexandria and Cairo?"
More typing. "Everything US intelligence has, at any rate."
It was a start.
"What're you thinkin', Mac?"
He let his hand drop to the couch. "If the bomb's not here in Sharm, it's still most likely somewhere in country, which eliminates the moon." He opened his eyes just long enough to shoot Jack a dirty look. "With the Arab Spring anniversary tying up the roads, it'll be easiest to move by ship or by air. Clearly they've got it shielded well enough to hide the radioactive signatures of the isotopes from satellite, so it makes sense that it'll be wherever there's legitimately an excuse for radiation to be present, or shielding equipment."
"And the future power plant has both sea and air ports." Nikki did a quick search. "He's got . . . three properties in Cairo, and one in Alexandria." A few more keystrokes. "I can put in a search string, when we get on site, for any cell or internet communication mentioning either city, but they're pretty major hotspots. We'd have to weed through a lot of garbage to get anything actionable out of that."
And possibly not in time to prevent the buyer from getting the bomb smuggled out to the final destination.
Still, it was better than nothing. And they could narrow down the field. "And if we knew the buyer?"
"Well, then that's a different story."
Then it would simply be a race, to see if they could get to the bomb before Zoheir could get it shipped to the new owner.
Jack shifted on the couch. "Dude, I know you remember the very explicit order we received regarding tapping into the Egyptian communications network –"
How could he forget. The Egyptian youth were already beginning the anniversary protests, they'd seen mobs of young men and women just on their way back to the resort in Sharm El-Sheikh. He didn't even want to think about what Cairo looked like right now. Every Middle Eastern government and military organization was dying for an excuse to blame these uprisings on Western influence.
But Mac didn't have to say a word. Nikki scoffed delicately. "Jack, the day I get caught by the Mukhabarat is the day I retire. We're only talking about hijacking a couple phones and a local wireless router. As long as you can get me into the auction, and run a little interference while I snapchat my girlfriends, we're good to go."
Mac heard fabric hiss as Jack sat up. "Whoa now, sister, what's this? You're not goin' to that auction, you're sittin' pretty in this here resort like a good field tech."
And he had a point. Nikki hadn't been on many out of country ops, and those she had attended in person, she'd stayed in the van or a hotel, safe and sound. Trotting her out as Samuel Thompson's blushing bride was a good cover for a gun runner's son to be at the resort for the auction, but actually taking her to said auction had never been in the cards. She was way too green.
Mac opened his eyes in time to see the exasperation on her face. "It's just an auction, and we're not going to win. We already know the layout of all Zoheir's properties here in Sharm. And we've already IDed most of the players. If you want me to get into their phones quietly, I have to be actually there, in the room. Preferably within twenty-five feet of the buyer."
She and Jack faced off for another moment, then they turned in unison to look at him.
Mac sat up straighter and ran down the facts again. Finally he shook his head. "No. It's too dangerous. We may have IDed most of the players, but there will almost certainly be a few who won't show until the auction. If you're in there with us, you're not running facial rec or watching our backs."
That was clearly not what she wanted to hear. "Mac, I can't watch your backs anyway. No coms, remember? What do you expect me to do, text you?"
"A text is better than a bullet."
"And what happens if they ask you to leave your phones at the door?"
Mac decided that didn't actually require a response. She knew the answer as well as he did. If that happened, he'd improvise.
Though making a cellphone out of an endangered salamander and a piece of two thousand year old pottery was going to be a stretch, even for him. Then again, at least the buyer's phone would be relatively easy to get physical access to . . .
"Look, in the van or here at the resort I'm useless. On site I can still get images of all the players, and I can jack the phones without having to hack half of Egypt's ISPs. I don't see any other way we can get ahead of them."
Mac waited a couple beats, to see if anything else came to mind. If they couldn't get into the buyer or seller's phone or network, they weren't going to know whether to hit Alexandria or Cairo. They had no backup. They could head north tonight, and split up to search the properties, but even he knew that was a bad idea. If he didn't think she'd be safe with him and Jack right beside her, he sure as hell wasn't going to send her alone onto enemy property.
Besides, if the one he searched wasn't the one with the bomb, it wasn't like he could talk either one of them through a disarming procedure over the phone.
And there was always the chance that he was wrong. That Zoheir had another property right here in Sharm that they didn't know about, or he was wrong about Cairo or Alexandria being the most likely alternate sites. And they knew Zoheir had to have friends – or at least ears – within Egyptian law enforcement and intelligence, there was no way he could be running illegal deals on this scale with impunity if he didn't.
Mac opened his mouth, but then he closed it with a sigh.
Jack was watching him closely. "Mac, tell me you got somethin' better than date night with a bunch of terrorists and mercenaries."
He glared. "I don't like it either, but she's right. Any other plan has us following Zoheir or the buyer, and we'll always be a step behind. If the intel is right on the explosive yield of the bomb, and the isotope . . ."
Jack scrubbed a hand through his hair. "Yeah, yeah, I got it, we need to find the bomb. And it's nothin' against ya, Nikki, you know I love you but this is not a very nice group of people, you know what I'm sayin'?"
"Gee, I had no idea." She untangled herself from the desk chair, turning and disappearing into the master bedroom. Her voice became a little muffled, and Mac heard the double doors to the closet open. "Too bad I only brought my good guys and international heroes cocktail dress."
Jack shook his head and spoke in an undertone. "Mac, this is a mistake. These guys won't be playin' around-"
He matched the other man's volume. "Look, if things go south, you grab her and you get out."
Jack cocked his head to the side like an irritated german shepherd. "If things go south in there, nobody's gettin' out. They get so much as a whiff that we're not on the up'n'up-"
"She's had training, Jack-"
"Yeah, dude, I know that, but she ain't had enough of it to walk into a Who's Who of every mid-level dirtbag in this hemisphere!" He brought his voice back down to a whisper with effort. "She freezes up once, Mac, just once-"
"If you've got a better idea, I am all ears." Mac gave him a good three seconds. "No? Then-"
Mac let it trail off as Nikki returned from the bedroom, holding a gunmetal grey cocktail dress. There was a little bit of metallic thread and beadwork sewn in here and there, and though it was on a hangar, Mac could immediately see that it was much more form-fitting than the styles she'd been wearing earlier.
"I don't think you can hide a gun in that," Jack observed.
She gave him a cool look. "All I need is my mobile and a Bluetooth extender." Then she glanced back down at the dress in her hands. "There was an embroidered wrap in a shop window a couple blocks into town. I think it would do the trick."
And make her slightly less attention-grabbing in the much more conservative Middle East.
Mac got to his feet. "Well, looks like we're going shopping. Need anything while we're out, Jack?"
If his partner minded the slightly sharper tone, he didn't say anything about it. "You see any good luck amulets, buy three. I'm gonna get some shuteye. Can't look this good without my beauty rest." He pushed himself up off the couch wearily.
Mac just shook his head as Jack looped the couch. "There's no such thing as luck, Jack. Good or bad."
"Yeah, you keep thinkin' that, bud." He crossed the room to the door. "You know what? Make it four. We might need a spare." He pulled open the door, giving the hallway a quick check. "See ya in four hours."
Mac waited for the door to close before approaching Nikki, who was uncharacteristically quiet, still studying the dress in her hands critically. She almost seemed surprised when he took one of them in his own and squeezed it.
"He's just looking out for you. You've only been in the field five months. No one would blame you for being a bit nervous."
She smiled, a little wanly. "You both think I'm not ready."
Mac ducked his head a little, until he caught her eyes. "What do you think?"
She was silent a moment. When she did speak, there was some steel in her voice. "I think it doesn't matter, because it's the best shot we've got."
She wasn't wrong, and he felt his lips turn up. "I think you're right."
She returned the smile, then seemed to shake herself. "And what do you think about this dress? I brought it just in case."
"Just in case . . . you needed to attend a soiree on a moment's notice?"
Her smile turned playful. "It wouldn't be the first time."
He chuckled. "No it wouldn't." Mac made a show of studying the garment, taking it from her and holding it up, aligning the collar with her neck.
Nikki raised an eyebrow. "Really?"
"It's beautiful." Neither of them were looking at the dress, and he tossed it, hangar and all, carelessly onto the back of the sofa. "And I think it'll look even better later tonight, in a little pile on the floor."
-M-
"Okay, just wait." Mac starting ticking them off on his fingers. "You believe in ghosts-"
"Yep."
"-vampires-"
"Met one once."
"-aliens-"
"Oh yeah. We are not alone, brother."
"-Bigfoot-"
"Dude, there's proof."
"-the Bermuda triangle-"
Jack just silently raised his club soda.
"-and werewolves," and at that point Mac broke off with an incredulous laugh, "and you're telling me you have no problems with the Curse of the Pharaoh?"
They were standing around a glass case containing a complete set of artfully lit, three thousand year old canopic jars, and Jack Dalton, believer in all things magical, mystical, and otherwise totally debunked by science, stood staring at them like they were no more threatening than a potted plant.
"Well, that's 'cause there ain't no such thing as the 'Curse of the Pharoh'," and Jack made a one-handed air quote, his smile wide and sarcastic. "Everybody knows that."
"Everybody – everybody knows that," Mac repeated, glancing at Nikki. "Did you know that?"
She nodded, adjusting her wrap a little as she moved around the case. "I did, actually, I just didn't know that . . . that Jack did-"
"Come on, man, that whole 'Howard Carter's entire team died when they opened King Tut's tomb' was made up to sell papers." Jack took a sip of his club soda, sounding downright disgusted. "The first guy, Lord . . . uh, Carnivore-"
Mac closed his eyes with a faint grimace. "Carnavon."
"Yeah, whatever, he died from blood poisoning from a poor shaving job. The second guy, George, wasn't even there when it was opened, he just stuck his head in for a minute, Sir Archibald, the x-ray technician, he probably died of radiation poisoning from his own damn x-ray machine, the guy on the excavation team died of arsenic poisoning, and not til five years after they opened Tut's tomb. That whole 'curse' idea wasn't even a part of Egyptian mythology at the time, even they knew it was garbage. Carter himself died almost twenty years later of cancer or somethin'. There were almost sixty people there when they opened that tomb, and only eight of 'em died in a decade." He sniffed. "You ask me, that was a pretty wimpy curse."
Mac found himself just staring at Jack, and was slightly mollified to see that Nikki was similarly fascinated.
"So . . . did you hit your head after that nap, or . . ."
Jack rolled his eyes. "Listen, me and the boys, back in a previous life, we ended up in some previously uncharted ruins in Iraq. Oh yeah, stumbled right up on some mummies," he added, no trace of teasing in his voice. "The air pressure releasin' from the tomb door made us all hit the deck, I ain't gonna lie, but that was the most interestin' thing that happened."
Mac blinked. "Your old unit found an undiscovered tomb in Iraq?"
Jack nodded sagely. "Three of 'em. I mean, unless there's some kinda funk that can survive a couple thousand years locked in a rock, the worst we got was a little dust in our eyes. And that was years ago, man. Years. Eventually one of my boys got a leg blown off in Afghanistan, but everyone's still alive and kickin'. If anybody shoulda been cursed, it shoulda been us."
Nikki retook Mac's arm, glancing up at him. "Is he messing with us?"
Mac just shook his head. "You know, I think he might actually be telling the truth." He glanced back around the room, just to reassure himself that he really was actually standing in a private gallery surrounded by priceless artifacts, deadly weapons, and venomous reptiles.
And that wasn't even counting the guests.
Zoheir had chosen the building they'd nicknamed 'the Zoo' for his auction. Egyptian Coptic art sat side by side with Zastava M80s, Soviet-made RPGs, and a zoo-quality display of live Palestinian Yellow scorpions. Their host had thoughtfully put the only bar beside the open-air viper pit, which was sunken about seven feet into the floor and took up nearly half of one wall, and after Mac had counted at least five venomous species he'd kept them mostly on the other side of the room.
As it turned out, the other guests were also more interested in the modern weapon and ancient blade displays than the exotics, and Nikki put her unencumbered hand to her wrap again, subtly adjusting the Bluetooth extender. Every once in a while she pulled out her phone, either to check the time or giggle at something someone had texted her. Otherwise, she stuck to his arm like an attentive little bride who knew exactly what her new husband – and his family – did for a living.
All in all, Mac was quietly impressed. She might not have much experience in this type of covert activity, but she was absolutely a natural.
Thankfully, she wasn't the only eye candy in the room. The auction wasn't exactly black tie – Mac supposed requiring a dress code from a bunch of mercenaries was asking a little too much – and he and Jack blended perfectly with the other well-tailored Italian suits. The locals were in their semi-formal warlord attire. Even the hired guns had at least made the effort of button up shirts. Waiters in black and white circulated with silver trays bearing local delicacies and the bidding devices.
Flat screen televisions placed strategically around the gallery showed the timer and current bid, but the bid fobs allowed all the bidders to remain anonymous. Mac had dropped out after the price had grown beyond the cost of the base materials, figuring at that point he could just build his own, and it had more than doubled since then. There was another hour on the clock, and small glasses of iced arak were being passed around to encourage the loosening of purse strings.
There was a sudden lull in the conversation around the room, and Mac's stomach chose that exact moment to comment – loudly - on the unique combination of things he had introduced it to over the past half-hour.
Jack raised an amused eyebrow across the glass case. "You gonna be okay?"
Mac valiantly pretended that he had no idea where the noise had come from as one of the other guests – the old Egyptian woman from their resort – looked him up and down with a knowing smile before turning back to the much younger man on her arm that Mac was beginning to think was not, in fact, her son.
Nikki gave his arm a soft pat. "Restrooms are just past the giant brown tarantulas."
"King baboon spiders, actually," he corrected, happy to latch onto a safer topic. "Most tarantulas are non-venomous, but those guys can cause severe pain and muscle cramps."
"Kinda like MREs," Jack murmured with a smirk. "I told you man, lentils give you the bubble guts."
Mac shot Jack an annoyed look. "I'm fine, and I haven't eaten any lentils, Jack. Baba ganoush is made mostly from eggplant."
"It was the garlic sauce," Nikki announced knowledgably, and Mac gave up and turned away from both of the amateur dieticians. A white suit and panama hat caught his eye, and Mac smoothly put his back to the entrance.
Well, that explained the lull in the conversation.
"Jack," he said softly, in the tone of voice that made his partner shut up instantly, "don't look now, but Colin Grier just walked in."
Jack plastered an easy smile on his face, and turned to be a little more square to Nikki, as if she'd said something amusing. He got a quick glimpse and also put his back to the door. "Shit."
Nikki looked between the two of them. ". . . who's Colin Grier?"
"An old friend of Jack's, from the CIA," Mac explained softly.
"A double-crossing good for nothing Judas of an informant." Jack's growl was less quiet. "He's a weapons broker for every low-life in South America. Got a bunch of agents killed. Been tryin' to find that asshole for years."
Nikki absorbed all that. "I take it he knows you on sight."
"Oh yeah."
"We're blown. Back exit?" Mac met both their eyes, confirming they remembered it from their unannounced visit earlier that morning, and Nikki grabbed her phone, scrolling down a list of devices.
"Wait." Her hand was iron on his arm. ". . . I don't have Zoheir's phone yet."
"What?"
Her lips twisted up in exasperation. "The women's restroom is single use, it's not like I could camp out in there all night. I've got more than forty devices, but not his. He's using a Solarin."
Jack opened his mouth, so Mac beat him there. "It's a blackphone, agency specs. Same kind Oversight uses." He turned back to Nikki, already steering them to the next display case on the way to their exit. "How long will it take?"
She tilted the phone's screen – there was a progress bar, more than halfway but not yet two-thirds. It didn't move as he watched.
"It's been running about twenty minutes, and it's a brute force attack, so it could be anytime between now and –"
"Too long," he finished. They lingered briefly by the case, drifting to the next, and Jack did a quick sweep of Zoheir's security goons.
Nikki pulled them to a stop. "Look, he doesn't know my face, I could stay until-"
Mac drew his arm – and her hand – closer to his side, pinning it. "Absolutely not. Too many people have seen you with me. As soon as Jack gets made, we will be too."
And then it occurred to him that none of them – Nikki included – actually had to be present to finish hacking Zoheir's phone.
They crossed to the viper pit, and Mac calmly grabbed Nikki's phone, clicked the lock screen on, and dropped it into the exhibit. It plopped into a pile of sand, still intact.
Nikki's open-mouthed look of astonishment faded almost immediately as she caught on, and Mac gave her a little grin. "It's still connected to your laptop back in the van, right?"
She squeezed his arm a little. "You know it is."
"Great, problem solved, let's blow this popsicle stand," Jack muttered, taking the lead as they neared the bar and the two guards between them and the double doors that led to the warehouse portion of the gallery – and freedom.
Unfortunately, Grier had chosen the same moment to get thirsty.
"Jack Dalton!" His voice was booming, obnoxiously American, and several other guests turned to look their way. Mac slowed, letting Jack draw away from them a little.
"As I live and breathe!"
Colin had already motioned, and his men had hands on their weapons. The two security guards on the double doors were immediately on alert, so Jack did the only thing he could do. He leaned on the bar, grabbed the drink the bartender had just finished preparing, and he took a swig.
Whatever it was must have been pretty strong, because he paused a second, but refused to cough. "Colin Grier," he replied, his voice a little rough. "I really wish you'd stop."
The tall, curly-haired mercenary took a few steps closer, hands tucked comfortably into his trousers. "You gonna make me, Jack?"
Mac had managed to melt himself and Nikki back into a group of other bidders, but he could still see Jack's feral grin. "Sure am."
Grier laughed, sounding delighted by the prospect, and then Zoheir swept into the clearing, flanked by two more bodygaurds.
Their host had been rubbing elbows with the more affluent of the bidders, which had suited Mac just fine. Thanks to the Bluetooth extender, Nikki was still able to get close enough to establish a connection to his phone, and the less attention Zoheir had paid to them, the better their odds of staying unnoticed long enough to get to the back and bail Jack out of what was probably going to be a very short trip to the beach.
"What seems to be the problem, gentlemen?"
"One of your snakes got loose," Jack quipped, gesturing with the glass. Colin sneered.
"Seems the CIA is onto your little auction, Zoheir." A murmur went up around the room, and Mac eased them slowly towards the side door, instead. He wasn't the only bidder working his way out, and Mac thought they might actually make it before the side door opened, and a mountain of a man stepped through, letting it close behind him. He made no move to get out of the way.
Mac turned Nikki smoothly back to the spectacle by the bar, noticing the front entrance had been similarly barred.
Zoheir's men had pulled weapons as well, and Jack permitted himself to be relieved of his pistol, still leaning casually on the bar. "You're mis-informed. Just like old times." No one responded to the pun. "I ain't working for the Company. Haven't for years."
"Really. 'Cause I heard you got a new partner. I'm amazed anyone would trust their back to you after Honduras."
Jack took a step towards Grier, and Nikki's hand tightened on Mac's arm as half a dozen weapons came up in response. Zoheir glanced between the two, clearly considering his options. A young aide came up beside him, whispering in his ear, and he gave a curt nod.
"He came in with two others. Find them."
There was literally nowhere else to go, and Mac weighed the odds before he loosened his arm, signaling Nikki to stay back, and stepped forward. For a split second, he didn't think she would, but her hand trailed off his arm by the time he'd calmly worked his way to the front of the crowd.
"Hello," he called, unhurriedly crossing the empty space. A few guards turned weapons on him, and Mac offered them a wide, friendly smile, keeping his hands where everyone could see them.
"Sorry to ruin your party," and he gave Zoheir a nod. "But Grier's right. He's CIA. So am I. And all of you," and he made a slow, wide gesture at the watching bidders, "are under arrest."
He brought his hands back together in a soft clap, leaving a pleasant look on his face, and the crowd began a low, ugly murmuring. Which was exactly what he wanted. If warlords and mercs felt threatened, they were going to bail whether Zoheir's men were on the doors or not.
"And you must be MacGyver," Colin spoke over the rising rumble. "Thought you'd be older. 'Cause you see, if you weren't still in diapers, kid, you'd know that bluff isn't gonna work. Come on, it's Arab Spring!" He turned to include the audience. "You really think there's an American army out there? Get real. They sent you two in alone. You got nothin', kid."
Mac glanced at Jack, who was still holding the drink, wearing his game face. He shrugged.
"Why do they always pick the hard way?" Mac wondered aloud.
Jack pretended to give that thought. "History of poor life choices?" He hadn't even finished speaking before he threw the drink – and the glass – into the face of the guy nearest him, relieving him of his gun and stepping behind him as his cohorts fired.
After that, all hell broke loose.
Mac helped himself to the bar, grabbing anything he could get his hands on and lobbing it at the two guards between them and the back half of the warehouse. As soon as he got some breathing space he intentionally knocked over a decorative lantern, spilling lamp oil and flames across the surface of the bar. He could see the bidders were streaming towards the exits, and he heard a gun go off on the other side of the room. Mac glanced over, trying to catch sight of Nikki, and paid for it when what felt like a juvenile hippopotamus plowed into him from the left.
Mac went sprawling, crashing into the glass around the viper pit, and he managed to brace his back against it and kick the guy away. A bottle of vodka appeared from nowhere and smashed over his opponent's head, and the Egyptian stood there a second, stunned, before he slowly toppled sideways and revealed that Jack had already turned to deal with someone else. Mac scrambled to his feet just in time to duck under a haymaker, and he tackled his new opponent to the ground.
Mac landed three solid punches before he was grabbed from behind and hauled off the guard. He threw an elbow behind him, trying to wriggle free, and before he knew it he was pulled bodily off the ground. He lashed out with a foot, intending to shove off the glass wall and throw them both off balance, but the abused glass finally gave, shattering under his shoe, and his weight pulled them both forward, instead. The guard released him, shoving him away in an attempt to save himself, and Mac pitched headlong into the pit.
He bounced off a large rock and slid uncontrolled into the shattered glass and sand. The falling glass had caused most of the reptiles in the immediate area to slither clear, and Mac lay stunned a moment, trying to catch his breath.
An irritated hiss made him freeze, and then Mac ever so slowly raised his head, rolling his eyes as far as they could see without moving any further. Glass was dragging gently against something smooth, on his right, and as soon as he located the source of the sound he kicked sand in the snake's direction. It backed off with an angry spit.
"Mac!"
As soon as he was certain the area in his immediate vicinity was clear, Mac pulled himself into a sitting position, back against the rock, as Jack was dragged to the edge of the pit. Between the falling glass and the unceremonious addition of a large mammal to their exhibit, the reptiles were all becoming active and agitated, and the snakes above the pit were in much the same state.
Above them, on the ceiling, he could see the glow of flames.
Jack teetered on the edge of the pit, eyes wide. "Mac! You okay, man?! You bit?"
The guard jammed what Mac presumed was a gun deeper into Jack's back, making him bare his teeth, and Mac could make out two other men, not quite as near to the edge. Then Zoheir himself came into view, his face red, and peered down at him.
"You seem to be in a bit of trouble, Mr. MacGyver," he called. "There are eight types of viper in that pit with you. Seven of them will kill you quickly. The eighth . . . less so."
Mac glared at the man, then carefully got to his feet, hoping a tall target would be more intimidating. "Looks like we messed up your auction there, Zoheir. That's too bad. Oh, and got images of all your guests, too." He waited a beat, knowing that if he had Nikki, he'd trot her to the edge as well, but it didn't happen, and Mac allowed himself to relax, just a little.
"Images you will be too dead to share with your American friends." Zoheir gestured, and Jack was shoved – hard.
He fell much closer to the long wall than Mac had, into broken glass, and almost as if it had been scripted, an Egyptian cobra reared up from its hiding place beneath a narrow ledge on the rock wall, hood fully erect.
It would have been beautiful if it had been behind glass, or really anywhere not within two feet of his partner's face. The snake was a dark brown, with mottled ridges of lighter tan throughout the hood and on its belly. It didn't hiss, it merely curled there, staring him down, and Jack froze before Mac could say a thing. He'd landed mostly on his feet and fallen forward, so that he was leaning on his forearms, and he had no chance of catching it before it struck.
"Don't . . . move . . ." Mac cautioned softly. "It's just startled, it'll leave you alone if you stay still."
Jack blinked. The snake shifted about an inch to the right.
"Ah, an Egyptian cobra," their host called down. "The aspis. Snake of choice for Cleopatra's suicide. A more painless death than you deserve."
"Probably less painful than yours," Mac shot back, well aware that even raising his voice to speak to Zoheir was irritating the cobra further. "You and I both know those images are already sent. You invited a lot of very dangerous people into your gallery, and whoops, the auction fell through, and now the CIA knows where all of them are. Where do you think they'll come when the borders are closed to them?"
Zoheir's dark eyes sharpened, and Mac gave him a confident smirk he didn't feel. That Nikki was still on the loose was good. That Jack was about to get bitten by one of the most deadly cobras in the world, not so much.
"And what. You would offer me safe passage?" He scoffed. "From where I am standing, I am not the one in danger of losing his life. I will find the woman on your arm tonight, make no mistake. The auction may have ended early, but I honor my business dealings. The last bid received was the winner, and even after this place burns to the ground, he will take delivery."
Another dark brown snake – Mac couldn't tell if it was an Egyptian or a Cape cobra – edged around the rock beside him, and Mac kicked sand towards it. It drew back under the edge of the rock, but remained there, and Mac hesitated between aggravating it further or letting it hang out and watch.
"Last chance, Zoheir. We'll take all the Egyptian properties, but at least you'll be alive."
In answer, the man gave him a two fingered salute. Then he flinched as something shattered behind him. "Thank you for the warning." He turned to his guards. "Find the woman. And make sure nothing crawls out." Zoheir gave them one last, arrogant look, then he withdrew from the edge of the pit, and Mac swore under his breath, and focused back on his partner, who was trying to win a staring contest with a snake.
Jack was remarkably still, given his position, but that wasn't going to last forever. All his weight was on his forearms, and sweat was starting to drip down his face. "You're doing great, Jack," he murmured, glancing around the exhibit. Throwing sand would merely irritate the snake, at this point it felt good and threatened. He needed something a little more . . . persuasive.
Most snakes responded to motion.
Mac whipped off his suit jacket, using broad gestures, and the cobra shifted again, this time an inch towards him.
"Hey, fella," he greeted the snake, shaking out his jacket. "Trust me, you don't wanna bite him. He doesn't taste very good."
Jack let out a soft whimper, still without moving.
"I'm just going to lower this jacket between the two of you," he explained, in the same easy voice, "and then my friend Jack here is going to back up, and everything's gonna be fine."
Jack made what might have been an affirmative sound, or might have just been another whine, and then Mac held the jacket up by its shoulders, and started moving it like a curtain. He approached only as close as he needed to, watching the cobra. When it shifted another inch or so towards him, he edged the curtain slowly out, towards Jack.
Cobras were fairly slow-moving strikers, in comparison to, say, a rattlesnake. Most of the snake charmers they'd seen in Sharm were well aware of that fact, and knew the difference between the hypnotic movements of the snake and a true strike. A human with good reflexes could conceivably dodge.
The price of not dodging was getting essentially chewed on, and suffering multiple injections of venom that were many times the volume needed to kill an adult human being. If either of them were bitten, and didn't receive the antivenin within ten minutes, they would almost certainly die.
He slipped the jacket, nearly brushing the sand, ever so slowly between Jack's body and the snake, and the cobra twitched in the opposite direction, towards Jack. Mac stopped, almost holding his breath, and the cobra danced back and forth a few times, evaluating this new threat.
"That's it, buddy, just a few more inches and then Jack here can start moving back, and everybody can relax . . . "
He inched the coat a little further, and the snake hissed. However, the fabric was now almost completely between the cobra and Jack, and his partner blinked a few times gratefully.
"Now might be a good time to start backing up," Mac suggested softly.
"Snakes. Why'd it have to be snakes?" Jack whispered, slowly unfolding his legs.
"Are you seriously quoting Raiders of the Lost Ark at me?" Mac murmured, in the same soothing tone he'd been using before. The cobra hissed when Mac's arm shook a little, the motion exaggerated by the fabric.
"Hey, we're in Egypt, and you set a bar on fire." Jack ever so carefully shifted most of his weight off his forearms, and then drew them slowly back. The cobra could hear and feel the motion, but it couldn't see it, and it shifted an inch to the right, confused by the fabric.
"You can move faster, buddy, it can't see you."
Jack pulled himself to a sitting position, and Mac waited until he'd scrambled to his feet – and withdrawn back to the rock – before he pulled the jacket back, leaving a confused cobra rearing up at nothing.
The snake remained there, even dancing back and forth a few times as if confirming the coast really was clear, and then it lowered its head and withdrew, backwards, under its ledge.
Mac turned his attention on the other cobra, which had taken the opportunity to come out from under the much closer rock, and a brisk whack from his jacket had it withdrawing with a hiss.
"Cool trick with the jacket, bro. Thank you." Despite the fact that he'd mostly been laying perfectly still on the ground, Jack was a little out of breath, and Mac bonked the offered fist, and glanced back up at the edge of the pit.
The flames were now visible, at the edge of the of the exhibit, and belatedly Mac remembered the bottle of vodka Jack had broken over one of the guard's heads. The booze would have covered the floor between them and the bar. And it was only a matter of time before the fire spread to something a little more explosive than liquor. Like that table of Russian RPGs.
Going up was not an option.
"So, uh, how many jackets you think it'll take to keep them all off us?"
Mac lowered his gaze to his partner, and Jack flinched at his look. "Just askin', 'cause there's a lot of 'em, and they're headed our way."
Mac kicked sand at the curious cobra that kept trying to sneak around the bottom of the rock, and eyed the rest of the exhibit. Rock walls all the way around, with boulders scattered here and there. There had to be some kind of access hatch, some way to clean the exhibit-
He glanced up again, waiting for an alarm, or some type of sprinkler or fire suppression system to kick in, and found that the fire was now crawling down the wall towards them. He initially dismissed it as some of the vodka dribbling down the rocks, but then he backed up into the corner and used his knuckles to rap on the nearest rock wall. Way softer than stone.
"It's paper mache," he said aloud. And then it occurred to him what that actually meant.
Paper mache was typically made of actual paper and adhesive, both of which were readily flammable, even if the outside had been sealed. The fire was climbing steadily downward, the spilled vodka had been absorbed into the paper backing. In a very short time, every wall of the exhibit was going to catch.
"Think they got Nikki?"
Mac cast around the exhibit, looking for anything he could use. "No," he said distractedly.
No. They would have thrown her in with them. Even if they'd shot her first. Zoheir couldn't be happy about the loss of the building, even if he'd appeared to shrug it off. Nor was he out of danger from his clientele. They were sure to see this as a betrayal of trust.
Framing the CIA for the fuck-up was probably on Thornton's list of don'ts but there was nothing to be done about it now. In fact, unless there was another way out of the quickly-burning exhibit, a dressing-down from Thornton was the least of their worries.
The boulders – and his back was empirically certain that those were real stone – were too sheer to climb; that was likely by design. As soon as all the walls caught, everyone would be forced into the middle of the exhibit, and the humans would certainly be viewed as a threat and bitten. As soon as the RPGs caught, the gallery and warehouse seven feet above them would turn into a Russian fireworks factory and come down on their heads.
There had to be something -
Mac cast his eyes downward again, in case the persistent brown cobra to his right had gotten inquisitive again, and he found there was no sign of it. The snakes were all retreating to the far side of the exhibit, and as Mac watched, it looked like a salmon-colored snake about a meter long was literally sucked into the sand.
"Look, there-"
Most of the reptiles seemed to know the area existed, though only the most aggressive species were brave enough to cross the open space to it. The more timid species were trying to shelter in place, and Mac glanced back at Jack, then practically tore his blazer off him.
"Hey, man, what-"
"Get 'em moving," Mac ordered, and demonstrated by whacking at the bottom ledge of the nearest non-flaming wall. It startled the snakes out of their shelters, but luckily the jacket was more alarming than the fire, because most of them fled without challenge.
"Dude, are you kidding me?! I don't care how endangered they are –"
"If they're not in front of us, they're behind us." The longer they had to wait for the frightened snakes to proceed, the longer they were going to have to stand around waiting for a flaming rock wall to fall on their heads. Something in the main room exploded with a deafening boom, and the vibration of it reverberated in Mac's chest.
That seemed to be all the encouragement Jack needed; he obediently slapped the base of the boulder nearest him. "Mush!"
It took them several minutes to herd all the snakes to the other side of the fast-burning exhibit, and in that time Mac was quite certain he heard an RPG explode. It was a good bet Zoheir and his guards had fled. If they did manage to find an exit from a basement they didn't even know the warehouse had, at least they didn't need to worry about being shot.
Probably.
As they approached the far side, what was actually a set of very steep stairs came into view, hidden from above by a paper mache ledge, leading down to a doorway about four feet high. The snakes weren't lingering on the stairs, they were pouring into the darkness, and Mac dragged one of his jacket sleeves through the sand on each stair, just to be sure, before he carefully stepped on the first one, and ducked his head inside the dark room, waiting for his eyes to adjust.
Fortunately he didn't have to wait long; someone turned on a light.
Mac blinked. He was perched about halfway down the wall, above a wide concrete tank, that was currently full of extremely agitated snakes. The snakes were piled almost an inch deep in places, and the walls of the concrete enclose were too far to reach. The rest of the room was outfitted like a stockroom, with shelves of live rodents and insects, and a pile of sand rakes in the corner.
There was no ladder in sight. There was, however, a camera.
Nikki. She'd triggered the door to open, and the lights.
Jack came up at his shoulder, and glanced into the room. "Hey Indy, why does the floor move?"
Mac didn't grace that with a response. Clearly this room was designed solely to receive the snakes while the exhibit got a good cleaning, and then something would be attached, there were eyelet hooks mounted on the interior of the small doorway, something would be mounted to the wall to let them climb back up.
Whatever that something was, it wasn't in view, and it wasn't meant for people. Mac edged further down the steps, glancing along the closest walls. There were a few long aluminum poles, with either hooks or nets on the ends, he might be able to lash them together to make a narrow ramp. But he'd have to telescope them to do it, and they were certainly going to be lightweight and flimsy.
Above him were the one and a half inch water pipes that likely fed the bathrooms Nikki had mentioned, and air handling for the exhibit itself. The water pipes were metal, but he couldn't tell what kind. Definitely not copper. Hopefully iron, and not aluminum with a plastic liner.
". . . you know, Indy might have been on to something," he murmured, and then he unfastened his belt and yanked it free. "Gimme your belt, Jack."
His partner had joined him on the stairs, though he was watching the burning exhibit in case they'd missed any non-legged friends. As soon as he got a good look at the room, he started to shake his head. "Oh, no, dude, tell me we're not going classic Pitfall with this one."
Despite his protest, he handed over the belt, and Mac strapped them together. Then he lashed the lengthened belt over the two water pipes, catching the other end as it came over. He gave the belts a good tug, and winced when the pipes gave a settling crack.
A second tug yielded no additional noises, and Mac flicked the belt as far down the pipes as he could, to give himself the furthest fulcrum for the swing. This was not something he wanted to misjudge.
"Mac, those toothpicks ain't gonna hold you."
"They will if they're galvanized iron or steel." The ceiling anchors, however, were a different story, and before he talked himself out of it, Mac grabbed the leather belts tightly, and kicked off. He sailed in a smooth arc over the concrete pen, and he released the belts as his feet hit the far lip, letting his momentum carry him forward to hop down to the floor.
Damage to the piping was minimal. One of the joiners was a little bent, but it wasn't leaking.
"Nice!" Jack held out his hand. "Throw me the whip."
Well, at least the movie quotes were consistent. "Jack, stay put, let me see if I can find something better-"
There was a massive explosion from above, and hot air and debris rushed through the small opening. Jack was blown off balance; he threw out his other hand to try to catch the wall but Mac could see the angle was wrong. He tipped forward in slow motion, windmilling his arms, and Mac leaned out over the concrete bin and swatted the end of the looped belts at him.
Jack's reaching hand caught the leather and he picked up his feet, way lower than Mac had been, and with a different fulcrum. He was more than halfway across before the pipes shrieked, and Mac braced his knees against the concrete barrier and reached out for Jack as the pipes gave.
His left foot made it to the lip of the concrete wall, and Mac's reaching hands caught the front of Jack's shirt and one of the pockets of his pants. He pushed backwards off the wall, using every ounce of his weight to counterbalance, and Jack slowly tipped forward as his other foot found the wall. He half fell, half rolled to the side to avoid crushing his partner as they pitched to the ground, and then they both got a face-full of water from the torn plumbing.
Sputtering, Mac fought to sit up, and then he was hauled to his feet by a bicep and pulled out of the stream. He shook the water out of his eyes, face to face with a grinning Jack Dalton, who pulled him into a fierce hug.
"Hah!" he exclaimed, clapping him on the back. Mac returned the gesture, still a little too shocked to celebrate. "Now let's get the hell out of here before a big-ass boulder runs our asses over."
Or a big-ass roof collapsed on them and buried them in a concrete room full of snakes.
Remarkably, the power was still on, and Jack led the way to the only door in the room. He felt it with the back of his hand before he yanked it open, and a smoke-hazed hallway terminated after only twenty or so feet in a set of stairs. Thankfully, that door opened inward, because the doorway was half-filled with debris, but Mac recognized the large rectangular space from their tour earlier in the morning.
They were in the warehouse portion of the building, near the rear loading dock. He'd mistaken this door for a janitor's closet.
They tore across the litter-strewn floor as the power finally flickered and died, and less than twenty seconds later they shot out the rear exit, coughing. Mac staggered to a stop a little behind Jack, blinking the smoke out of his eyes, and the first thing that came into view was a set of headlights.
Heading right towards them.
The loading dock was deep and down an incline, giving them nowhere to run but back into the burning building, so Jack stood his ground as the vehicle approached. The headlights were more rectangular than round, and a little higher than a normal car –
Finally it turned a little, so they were no longer directly in the glare of the headlights, and Mac could see it was the van.
Jack whooped in relief. "Curbside service!"
Nikki put it in park and climbed out of the driver's side door, looking none the worse for wear, save that her wrap was missing. She hurried towards them, inspecting them from head to toe.
"Are you guys okay?! Did you get bitten?! The nearest hospital is almost ten minutes-"
"We're good," Mac assured her, then punctuated it with a cough. "We're good."
She clearly didn't believe him, actually patting down his arms and looking at his hands before she pulled him into his second hug of the hour. "God, that was close-"
He hugged her back, tightly, and she didn't flinch or wince. This close to her he could see that her dress was neither stained nor torn. She must have gotten out with the rush of the other bidders and made a beeline for the van.
Mac gave her a final squeeze and let her go, and then she turned without hesitation and gave Jack the same patdown. "The camera angles weren't great, it looked like you fell right in –"
Jack similarly received a hug, and Mac didn't miss the way he also evaluated her, finding the same lack of injuries that Mac had. "We scare ya, darlin'?"
"Shit yes." She pulled away, putting a hand to her forehead. "When the building blew, I thought-"
"And now you know why I have all this grey hair."
They turned back to the van as a team, Jack heading for the driver's seat and Mac happy to leave it to him.
"Is this when you pull out an 'I'm too old for this shit' line?" Nikki prompted.
Jack chuckled as he swung into the van. "You're still newish, so I'm gonna let that one pass. Lethal Weapon is no Die Hard. Besides, it's not the years, honey. It's the mileage."
Mac grimaced. "Don't encourage him. He's got a neverending library of these."
"Just the greats. And Han Solo is definitely one of the greats."
Nikki pulled the sliding door shut. ". . . he does know the actor's name is Harrison Ford-"
Mac just waved her off. "I know the last twenty minutes were kind of hectic, but did we get Zoheir's phone?"
He heard some rapid typing. "No." Mac rubbed his eyes, still trying to get the combination of water and smoke out of them, and then her voice took on a pleased lilt. "But we did get the buyer."
Mac dropped his hand and exchanged a glance with Jack, who put the van into gear and started backing up.
"Great. Who's the lucky winner?"
"A gentleman by the name of Chelem Farhad." More typing. "And you'll never guess where he's headed."
-M-
Because I can't seem to do concise, I've decided to split up my version of the Cairo mission into two parts, Day One and Day Two. The writers dropped a lot of "hints" about Cairo in the first season, and what we saw didn't really add up. They added a few things in season two, and so I started working with the following clues:
- At Lake Como, according to Jack, Cairo was Mac's fault.
- They had no backup in Cairo.
- Nikki reminds Mac that "Whatever happens, we'll always have Cairo." (She delivered that line in a bedroom, suggesting they had a good time.)
- On the season one finale, Jack is unpacking food and states it is to celebrate "not getting' snakebit, shot, nuked, or flambeed in that vortex of death Cairo." (Got two of those covered so far . . .)
- Traditional garlic sauce eaten with pita gives Mac "the bubble guts."
- Thornton's intel told them it was a dirty bomb, but Mac and Jack had no idea it was going to be set off in Cairo.
- For some reason, Jack has no qualms desecrating Egyptian mummified remains, but is superstitious about literally everything else.
I still have the following clues left to cover in Day Two:
- At Lake Como, the boat's fuel line getting ruptured (by bad guy bullets) was "just like Cairo." The bubble gum could have been a reference to Cairo, but frankly also any other time Mac solved a problem with bubble gum.
- Also at Lake Como, Jack refused to be handed the biologic because of what happened in Cairo.
- Also at Lake Como, almost getting killed was "just like Cairo."
- The medallion of the Phoenix that Riley picks up (which is hanging randomly on stuff on their back deck, in the elements?) came from Cairo.
- They (possibly all three of them) made a pact never to work on Cairo Day, because it was bad luck.
- Matty refers to it as the "disastrous mission in Cairo."
- Mac straight up states that the season one finale "really is Cairo all over again. You have two options: one, you can leave, or two, we all die."
- In Cairo, Farhad calls MacGyver by his name, so he knew it before he entered the warehouse.
- Neither Mac nor Jack are injured when they enter/search the warehouse, and Jack is in a relatively good mood.
- Somehow Nikki was supposed to be "blocking their signals", yet Bozer had called five times.
Wish me luck.