Old Friends, Different Enemies
MacGyver had been on the telephone that afternoon when Joanna entered Challengers and went directly to her office, locking the door behind her. He now stood in front of said door, ready to knock but questioning the wisdom of that action. There were only two weeks left in the school year and, as her students would say, she was 'stressed to the max'. Tempting fate, he tapped quickly on her door.
"Go away," came the mumbled reply.
He took a deep breath and tapped again. This time, he heard her desk chair rolling then the lock turning. The door cracked open to reveal her scowling countenance.
"Hi. It's just me," he greeted her optimistically.
"Go. Away." She attempted to slam the door shut in his face but he shot out a foot to keep it from closing. She had already turned and was walking back to her desk. When she turned and saw that he had followed, her scowl deepened. Not good.
"What part of 'go away' didn't you understand?" she asked, losing some of her sass as she defeatedly dropped back into her chair. Frowning sympathetically, Mac came to stand behind her and began massaging her shoulders which were stiff as a board.
"You need to relax," he instructed as he kneaded her taut muscles and smiled as she momentarily leaned into his ministrations.
"What I need is to get these final exams written," she countered, pulling away.
"Why don't we call it a day, go grab some take-out and unwind at my place," he suggested undeterred.
Joanna swiveled around to look at him.
"But I never get anything accomplished when we spend the evening at your place," she argued.
"I'd say we get a lot accomplished," Mac replied with the sexy grin he reserved just for her. He leaned down and was anticipating the moment his lips would meet hers when a hand in the middle of his chest stopped him.
"That's exactly what I mean," she sighed. "I need time alone to get this stuff done."
"Then I just might have a solution," MacGyver stated, pulling up a chair.
"What are you talking about?"
"I just got off the phone with Connie. Seems Pete's been really depressed lately."
"Why?"
"She doesn't quite know. That's why she called me. She said it started after he got a call from an old colleague at the DXS but he refuses to tell her what it was about."
"So you want to go to Chicago and spend some time with him," Joanna surmised.
"Yeah. I was thinkin' we could go camping."
"What?!" Jo exclaimed. "You want to take a blind man camping?! Does Pete even like camping?"
"Whoa, take it easy," he replied calmly. "I just thought that getting him out of his comfort zone might be a good idea. And maybe if it's just the two of us he'll tell me what's buggin' him."
He could see Joanna struggle and then relent before building up a head of steam again. "You're not seriously gonna have him hiking through the woods, are you?!"
"Don't worry. I got it all covered."
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Tuesday morning was sunny and unseasonably mild as MacGyver parked his Jeep in the Thornton's driveway and headed inside.
"All ready, Pete?" he asked eagerly.
"Ask Connie," his friend grumbled. "She won't tell me where we're going and she insisted on packing for me."
"Here we are," Pete's wife declared as she entered the kitchen and handed MacGyver a backpack complete with sleeping bag.
"We're goin' campin', Pete!"
"MacGyver," the older man practically whined, "You know I hate camping!"
"No you don't, Pete!" Mac corrected cheerfully.
"I don't?" Pete asked skeptically.
"Naw! You did a great job the last time we went!"
"The last time we went camping was for my Phoenix field recertification and to conquer 'MacGyverland' if I wanted to keep my job status. I didn't have much of a choice. And have you forgotten that we happened to stumble across drug smugglers and almost got ourselves killed?!"
"C'mon Pete. It'll be fun!" MacGyver cajoled. "Besides, you never used to like skiing or fishing either until I made you go."
"What kind of man takes his blind friend into the wilderness to sleep on the ground and forage for food just for 'fun'?!"
"We're not going into the wilderness," Mac assured Pete, his voice now serious as he realized his friend's concerns. "I reserved us a campsite at Bullfrog Lake. It's totally civilized and only 20 minutes southwest of here."
"That's even worse," Pete moaned.
"Why?" MacGyver asked, his patience quickly fading.
"It's the week before Memorial Day. I bet the place'll be packed. I don't wanna be where there are a ton of kids running around."
Mac had anticipated this excuse. "I already thought of that. When I called the park they said the place is deserted this week. Kids are still in school and the staff is working on final preparations for the holiday weekend. It'll just be you, me, the lake, and hopefully some fish for dinner."
Pete rolled his sightless eyes. "I'm not gonna get out of this, am I?" he asked.
"Nope! Now let's hustle so we don't waste the rest of the day!"
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Thirty minutes later, Mac pulled his Jeep and a less-than-enthusiastic Pete into the parking lot of Camp Bullfrog Lake. An attendant greeted them and gave MacGyver a map of the area.
"Good news, Pete!" Mac announced. "Our campsite is right on the lake, but we'll need to walk in from here."
"Terrific," his friend grumbled.
Mac sighed inwardly but remained determined. He helped Pete hoist on his backpack before he donned his own. His friend held onto his elbow for guidance with one hand and clutched his white and red-tipped cane with the other as the duo made their way down an unpaved path, MacGyver providing a running monologue describing the area including how many steps and in which direction the restroom facilities were located. Within minutes they arrived at the ten-foot by ten-foot mulch-covered and timber-edged tent pad complete with picnic table and fire ring with grate. The two men shrugged out of their backpacks before Mac guided Pete to sit at the table.
"Okay, now what?" Pete huffed.
"We pitch our tent," Mac declared. He opened the main compartment of his backpack and pulled out the neatly folded nylon. "Feel around in there and grab me the mallet and metal stakes, will ya?" Pete groaned but did as he was told and MacGyver smiled.
A seasoned outdoorsman, Mac made quick work of setting up their tent, laying out their sleeping bags and cleaning up the fire pit. "What do you say we try and catch us some supper?" he asked, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans.
"You go ahead," Pete replied. "I'm going to go use the facilities."
"Want me to come with you?"
"I can manage, MacGyver," Pete spat. "I'm not a child."
"Never said you were," Mac muttered under his breath as he watched his friend make his way up the path toward the restrooms.
An hour standing on the lakeshore with fishing pole in hand lifted Mac's spirits, and he was especially pleased when he returned to camp with a stringer of fish.
"Tonight we'll be dining on bluegill ala MacGyver," he cheerfully announced to Pete who was once again sitting at the picnic table.
"What? No lobster?" Pete teased and Mac was relieved to see his old friend's sense of humor returning. They chatted about Challengers and the river clean-up project as MacGyver cleaned and gutted the fish before frying them up over an open fire.
The sun was already setting in the western sky when the two men finished picking off the mild, white flesh from the delicate bones of their now-consumed meal. A gentle breeze wafted off the lake, chilling the air, so Mac stoked the fire and helped Pete take a seat on the ground nearby before doing the same.
"So," MacGyver began, reaching out to warm his hands, "When are ya gonna tell me what's eatin' ya?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Pete replied a bit defensively as he mimicked the gesture he could not see.
Mac sighed. He was hoping his friend would willingly open up to him. But then again, Pete hated to burden anyone else with his problems. MacGyver understood the feeling.
"Is it your eyes? Were you turned down for another experimental procedure?"
"Ah, no," Pete replied, his voice back to its usual tone. "It has nothing to do with that. I've come to terms with the fact that I'll never see again and I'm okay with that. Most of the time, anyway."
"I got a little present for you," MacGyver announced, placing a palm-sized black box in his friend's hand.
"What is it?" Pete asked, his curiosity obviously piqued.
"It's a braille compass," Mac told him before reaching over to show him how it worked. "You just slide the cover off like this," he explained, taking Pete's hands in his to demonstrate. "Then you read the braille dial."
"Ha! That's amazing!" Pete laughed. "How do you come up with all these gadgets?"
"I have my sources," MacGyver smirked.
"I hope this doesn't mean you plan on dropping me in the middle of nowhere to find my way back using this thing," Pete joked before turning somber. "Of course, the way I've been acting I wouldn't blame you."
"You wanna talk about it?"
Pete sighed. "Did you ever wonder why I always believed your stories about Murdoc coming back from the dead?"
"You're my best friend. That's what best friends do. Besides, you didn't always believe. Sometimes it took some convincing."
"That was a show for the brass. I couldn't have everyone thinking we were both crazy!"
"Gee, thanks Pete."
"What I'm trying to say is that I had my own Murdoc. It was long before I met you. I had just started working at the DXS. He went by El Jefe."
"The Chief," Mac murmured.
"Biggest drug lord in South America at the time. His real name was Victor Prescott."
"American?"
"As apple pie! He had this uncanny way of avoiding capture. Just when you thought you had him pinned down he'd disappear into thin air. Every agent dreamed of bringing him in, including me."
"But you never did," MacGyver surmised.
"After two long years of playing cat and mouse, I finally nailed him in the Colombian jungle. He was extradited to the United States and sentenced to life in a federal penitentiary."
"That's great, Pete!" Mac declared, enthusiastically slapping his friend's back. "But why are you telling me this?"
"A couple weeks ago I got a call from one of my old partners at the DXS. He told me Prescott got paroled for good behavior. Can you believe it?!" Pete's laugh was humorless.
"Aw, man. I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well, it just got me thinking about whether or not all those years spent working endless hours at the DXS and Phoenix were really worth it. It ruined my marriage and my relationship with my son and for what?"
"C'mon Pete, lighten up! You made a successful career of putting away the bad guys and saving innumerable lives in the process. You can't let one man get to you like this after all these years."
"Oh yeah? How would you feel if it was Murdoc?"
Silenced reigned as stars twinkled above. Finally, Pete spoke.
"It's been a long day. I think I'm gonna hit the sack. You comin'?"
"In a minute," Mac replied as he stared out over the lake now shrouded in darkness.
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MacGyver awoke the following morning to find the sleeping bag next to his empty. He grinned and stretched lazily. Apparently Pete had slept well and was eager to start the day. Crawling out of the tent, he expected to see his friend nearby, but the campsite was vacant. Figuring Pete had gone to use the facilities, Mac rooted through his backpack for the granola bars that would be breakfast. When he had finished eating and the older man had still not returned, he began to worry and headed toward the building that housed the restrooms, but Pete wasn't there. With concern for his friend beginning to gnaw at him, he spotted a park employee readying the grounds for the weekend.
"Excuse me!" he called, grabbing the man's attention. "Did you happen to see my friend? He's shorter than me, bald, a little on the heavy side?"
"I remember him," the man replied. "The blind dude, right?"
"Right," Mac responded flatly. He didn't care for how the employee referred to Pete, but he was too worried to argue about it.
"He used the men's room and when he came out your other friend was waiting for him and they headed off towards the woods. Figured they were going hiking."
"Wait a minute!" MacGyver grabbed the man by the bicep. "What 'other friend'? We came here alone!"
"Sorry, man. I just know what I saw."
"But I thought this was a secure campground. Can you radio the gate attendant and ask when this guy came in?"
"Look buddy, we're short handed and tryin' to get ready for one of the busiest weekends of the year. The boss pulled the attendant for clean-up duty as soon as he came in. Besides, anybody can get to the camp if they hike through the woods." With that the attendant turned his back and resumed his chores.
Mac looked in the direction the employee had indicated the two men took. It was the Willow Springs trailhead which led to the Palos Trail System. Some forty-two miles of rugged paths, rolling hills, and deep ravines. MacGyver made his way to the edge of the forest and bent to examine the ground, still a bit damp from dew. There were shoe imprints shuffled together. Did they belong to Pete and the man who, in Mac's opinion, accosted him? Was this the sign of a struggle? Or was it simply a jumble of footprints from previous hikers? Most importantly, who had taken Pete? The only person Mac could think of was Victor Prescott. But how was that even possible? MacGyver forced himself to put worry aside and honed in on the environment. Ground-covering plants had been squashed. Twigs from bushes and small trees littered the ground. He picked up one of the thin branches and examined the end. It was a fresh break. Something had definitely happened here recently. Knowing he couldn't rescue Pete if he was unprepared himself, MacGyver jogged back to camp to repack his backpack with some essential gear before heading back to the trailhead.
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"Would you hurry it up?" Victor Prescott demanded. "I don't have all day."
"You've been in prison for years. A few more minutes isn't going to make a difference!" Pete argued, keeping his hands out in front of him to avoid walking into something. Unfortunately, he had no way to protect himself from the rutted trail. His foot caught on a dead branch and he pitched forward, landing on his hands and knees.
"C'mon, get up!" Prescott growled, grabbing hold of the back of the other man's jacket and pulling him to his feet.
Pete gingerly regained his footing and did a quick physical assessment. Nothing seemed to be damaged. He brushed off his pants and the front of his jacket which he knew must be dirty from the fall.
"So where, exactly, are we going?" he asked his long-time nemesis.
"You'll just have to wait and see," Prescott replied before chuckling. "On second thought, I guess you won't see!"
The wisecrack about his eyesight, or lack thereof, only caused Pete to become more determined to remain alive and unharmed. Surely by now MacGyver had discovered his absence and would come looking for him, but doubt slithered into his brain as he wondered how many trailheads were accessible by the campground. And how would Mac know to look in the woods and not assume he had been taken away by car? Details. Those were just details. MacGyver would figure it out. He always did. Mac would find him.
"Now get moving," Prescott instructed as he poked Pete in the back with the tip of Pete's cane which Prescott had confiscated outside the restroom. At least it wasn't the muzzle of the gun which he had originally pressed into Pete's ribs to make him comply.
"All right! All right! I'm going!" Pete replied, holding his hands up in the universal gesture of surrender. For whatever reason, probably because he was blind, Victor had chosen not to bind his wrists and Pete was desperately thinking of a way to make him pay for that error.
They walked in silence for what seemed like miles. Since losing his eyesight, Pete's other senses had become highly tuned. Under normal circumstances, he would almost enjoy the earthy smell of the forest floor, the cheerful chirping of birds returning for the spring, squirrels and rabbits rustling dead leaves left over from last autumn as they scampered about, and a brook babbling merrily along. If he could just shake Prescott, he could follow the small river to civilization. That's what his survivalist training as a Phoenix field agent had taught him. If you got lost in the woods, you followed the water. Unfortunately, Prescott was sticking to him like glue on duct tape. Pete couldn't help but grin to himself at the analogy. He just had to stay alive until Mac arrived. Knowing that silence is never your friend when you're a hostage, he needed to get Prescott talking again and remind him that Pete was a flesh-and-blood human being and not some object of prey.
"Look, we both know you're gonna kill me so why don't you just get it over with here and now?" Pete huffed, immediately regretting his opening line.
"You government agents are so impatient! How do you think I managed to evade you all those years. Your eagerness was my greatest ally. But to answer your question, killing you now would be too humane. You see, you left me to rot in a cage like a wild animal for more years than I care to count. Now it's your turn to suffer until you wish you were dead!"
"How did you find me?" Pete asked, not wanting to hear more about what awaited him. "I could've been anywhere in the world!"
"After all you've seen, you still underestimate me? I was the general of the biggest drug cartel army in South America! My men gave me their undying loyalty in exchange for their lives! You may have captured me, Peter Thornton, but there have been many, many eyes on you since that dark day. I know more about you than you do yourself!"
"You're not gonna get away with this, Victor!"
"Oh really? And who's going to stop me? Your little boy scout friend back at the campsite?"
Pete's breath caught. "You know about MacGyver?"
Victor let go an evil laugh. "Of course! Like I said, I know everything about you Thornton. I also know about MacGyver and won't think twice about killing him, either."
"Leave Mac out of this!" Pete demanded. "He means nothing to you!"
"Indeed. But he means something to you and that makes him quite valuable to me."
Pete knew he couldn't allow his best friend to be a victim of the vendetta meant for him so, with renewed determination, he began to think of a plan to take out Prescott before Prescott got his hands on Mac. Time. He needed time. And a ploy. Pete began to walk slower, adding a limp every now and again until allowing it to become more frequent.
"What's wrong with you?!" Prescott growled. "Move faster!"
"I can't," Pete grimaced. "I think I really hurt my ankle back there when I fell. It's probably bruised and feels swollen. Can you take a look at it?"
"I'm not a nursemaid, Thornton. Now shut up and be a man!"
Pete took a few more awkward steps before faltering. "I can't make it."
"Fine," Prescott huffed, "I'll take a look at it if that will make you stop whining."
Pete stood favoring his left ankle as he heard and felt Victor come around to face him. "Mind if I put my hand on your shoulder to help me balance?" he asked.
Prescott grumbled incoherently as Pete reached out and laid his hand on the man's shoulder. Now he could track his movements. He felt Prescott lower himself to a squat. When he was confident the positioning was accurate, he bent his leg and rammed his knee into his captor's face with a sickening crunch. Yowling in pain, Prescott reached up and grabbed the front of Pete's jacket, pulling the man down on top of him. Fists flailed as the two men rolled around on the ground, each seeking dominance. Suddenly, the earth around them gave way and they tumbled down a stony incline before landing on the gravelly shore of the river several feet below. Disoriented and shaken, Pete discovered blood oozing from his temple as his struggled to sit up with a groan. Prescott, who he assumed was beside him or at least nearby, was eerily silent.
"Victor?" Pete called cautiously in case the villain was using this opportunity to catch him off guard. When there was no answer or hint of movement Pete called again, louder, "Victor?!" No response.
Unsure of the new terrain, Pete began to crawl on his hands and knees, sharp stones biting his palms and poking through his jeans. Every few feet he stopped to feel around him as he tried to find Victor. He was about to give up when his hand bumped into a large, soft form. Feeling his way, he found his foe's carotid artery but no pulse was evident. Pete sighed and sat back on his heels. "Aw man," he whispered to himself. He felt an odd sorrow. He was glad Prescott would never be a danger to him again, but no man deserved to die before his time. He vaguely wondered if this was how MacGyver had felt when Murdoc died from a severe allergic reaction Mac had been unable to stop. A damp gust of wind chilled him to the bone and brought him out of his musings. He had to figure out where he was and mark the spot and then follow the gurgling stream to what he hoped would be civilization...or at least a remote campsite, preferably occupied with people willing to offer aid.
Continuing his tactile survey of the area, he smiled when he found a rock about the size of a basketball. He took off his belt and fastened it securely around the stone. Now his starting point was marked and it would also serve as a clue if MacGyver happened to come this way. As he stood debating which way to follow the river he remembered the braille compass he had tucked away in the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled out the device and slid it open, but his fingertips were scratched and bloodied from his fall and subsequent search of the ground and he could not feel the little dots on the dial. "Terrific," he scowled. He carefully made his way to the river and bent down to feel the water to learn which direction it flowed and that would be the direction he would follow. He wiped his wet fingers on his pant leg, turned to his left, and began walking gingerly down stream.
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MacGyver returned to the trailhead after quickly raiding his Jeep and the camp for anything that might prove useful in his search and, hopefully, rescue. He had swiftly stashed the gear in his backpack which was now firmly strapped to him. With no idea what the trail looked like or where it headed, he wanted to be as prepared as possible. He shook his head as he remembered missions from his younger, perhaps cockier, days when he started out with an empty bag in preparation for the things he found along the way as he began his trek into the woods.
Although Mac's instinct was to run as fast as he possibly could and call his friend's name, he knew how foolish and dangerous that would be. He had to be quiet and take time to observe his immediate surroundings for any clues to confirm he was on the same trail Pete and his captor had taken. He hadn't been walking all that long before he noticed a dead branch laying in the middle of the narrow path. He reached down to grab it, intending to toss it into the woods, when he saw footprints and hand marks on the ground as well as crushed weeds and a few disheveled wildflowers. Mac hunched down and looked closer. The footprints were too large to be anything but male, and there were definitely two different sets. But what about the handprints? He glanced back at the piece of dead wood. Someone tripped over it and fell. He hoped it had been Victor Prescott and not Pete.
The path cleared for a while making it easier for MacGyver to follow the trail the two men had left. Suddenly, he noticed a slight difference in the prints. While three were all about the same depth, one appeared to be more shallow indicating uneven weight distribution. One of them was limping. Mac continued to follow the imprints for several yards when suddenly they all came together, one on top of another. Loose dirt had scattered across the path and there were more broken twigs indicating a scuffle like the one back at the trailhead. Only this time, the signs led him to the edge of a deep ravine where a piece of earth had fallen away. Being extra cautious so as to keep more ground from falling as well as preparing himself for what he might see, Mac carefully approached the edge and looked over. Nothing. MacGyver let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Expecting to find Pete's twisted, broken body at the bottom of the cliff, the sight of emptiness flooded him with relief. He returned to the dirt pathway, but the trail of footprints had stopped. Where had Pete and Prescott gone? Could they have both survived the fall into the ravine with neither suffering injuries? Mac returned to where the ground had given way. He was studying the riverbank when a random ray of sunlight glinted off a rock and caught his eye. Eager to investigate in the hopes of finding a clue to his friend's whereabouts, MacGyver threw off his backpack and half-crawled, half-slid down the incline on his backside, coming to an abrupt halt at the bottom. Gaining his footing, he headed straight for the rock and saw a belt wrapped around it, a shaft of sunlight piercing the buckle, and he immediately recognized it as one of Pete's favorites. There were even the extra holes Mac had made with an ice pick one time when Pete had put on a few extra pounds, but MacGyver's gaze fixated on the drying blood staining the gray stone. Certain that Pete was injured, and wondering how he had gotten away from whom he could only assume was Prescott to leave this clue, Mac started walking parallel to the river, following its flow and hoping that Pete's field training had kicked in and he was doing the same since the pebble and rock laden shore did not allow for any footprints for Mac to follow.
MacGyver's pulse bumped up a notch when he saw a portly figure in a red jacket just a few yards ahead of him. Pete! And he was alone. Where was Prescott? As Mac approached his friend, the older man stopped and stiffened, apparently hearing the footsteps behind him.
"Pete," MacGyver said in a loud whisper. "It's me!"
The older man turned around. "It's about time you found me!" he chided with a laugh.
"Shhhh," Mac admonished. "Where's Prescott?"
"He's dead."
"What?!"
"Didn't you find the clue I left you?" Pete asked, confused.
"Yeah, the belt around the rock."
"Right. Prescott's body was a few feet away."
MacGyver shook his head in disbelief. "There was no one there, Pete. Just the rock."
Mac watched as his friend's face fell. "That can't be. I checked his pulse myself. He's dead!
"Pete, I'm tellin' ya, there was no body!"
"But that's impossible!" Pete argued.
"Well, possible or not, we need to get you back to safety and get cleaned up. C'mon, I ditched my backpack on the trail. It has a small first aid kit I can use to patch up the gash on your head and take care of your fingers."
"No way!" Pete balked. "If Prescott somehow survived, he couldn't have gotten far. We need to find him."
"We need to keep you safe," Mac countered, but by the time he finished his sentence, Pete was already walking away sans his pretend limp.
"Okay, fine," MacGyver said, catching up with his friend. "But Prescott could be anywhere. This forest is huge."
Pete shook his head. "No. He's too determined to get even with me. He has to be nearby, waiting to make his move."
"You're absolutely correct, Thornton," Victor called from the path above the ravine, a handgun with a silencer attached aimed at the two friends. "And now I get to kill two ex-agents for the price of one. How economical! Now get up here so we can get on with this." Prescott tossed a length of rope over the incline and MacGyver grabbed it.
"C'mon Pete, you go first. I'll be right behind in case you slip," Mac assured him.
"You mean we're actually going to do what he tells us to?"
"For the time being, yes."
Pete grunted as he began pulling himself up by the rope. Mac followed closely, trying to think of options but coming up empty.
"So how'd you do it, Victor?" Pete huffed once he was back on the trail.
"Do what?"
"Make it seem like you were dead."
Prescott's laugh was low and evil. "Let's just say I've had a lot of time to learn new skills. The prison had a wonderful library and I became oddly interested in the meditation practices of a recluse sect of Tibetan monks. It seems they are able to meditate so deeply that their heart rates slow and become virtually undetectable. With no pressing engagements, I thought this might come in handy so I spent many hours practicing and today I finally had the opportunity to display the fruits of my labor."
"Why go through all that trouble? Why not just kill me when I was on the ground?"
"I already told you, Peter. I want you to suffer as I did. And now you get to watch your best friend suffer, too."
"You wouldn't happen to be related to a guy named Murdoc, would ya?" Mac quipped, earning him a steely-eyed glare and a gun pointed at the middle of his forehead.
"If you think you can joke your way out of this, Mr. MacGyver, you are terribly wrong."
"Sorry," Mac muttered.
"Now get moving!" Prescott demanded.
Mac offered his elbow to Pete to guide him down the narrow path, avoiding fallen branches and other debris. After they had been walking through the deserted forest for about thirty minutes, Prescott ordered them to stop in front of a small, wooden outbuilding with no windows and one very heavy door latched with a padlock. Gun in hand, he motioned for the two of them to enter before swinging the door shut behind them and throwing the lock into place.
"Where are we?" Pete asked.
"Some kind of storage shed I think," Mac replied as his eyes tried to adjust to the total darkness inside.
"Good! You oughta be able to find something to help get us out of here."
"Not likely," MacGyver said after making a quick but thorough turn around the small enclosure. "This place is totally empty."
"But you have a plan, right?"
"No, Pete, I don't have a plan!" Mac blustered before regaining his composure. "The walls are solid and the door locks from the outside. Anything remotely useful is in my backpack which I left on the trail where you fell down into the ravine. We're stuck here!"
"Well, there must be something we can do," Pete offered softly after several seconds.
"There is. We can figure out what's going on here."
"You mean besides Prescott trying to kill us?" Pete asked sarcastically.
"Yeah. I mean, how did he find you and orchestrate all this in the first place?"
"He told me he's had people spying on me."
Mac shook his head even though his friend couldn't see it. "There's gotta be more to it than that. It's just a few days 'til the park opens for one of the busiest weekends of the year, right?"
"Right. What are you getting at?"
"Supposedly the gate attendant got pulled to help with clean-up, yet I've only actually seen one person working so far, and he's the same guy who told me you went off with Prescott and even pointed me in the right direction."
"You think he's one of Victor's men and set you up?"
"Yeah, and given the amount of tree limbs and trash on the trail, lack of footprints, and unstable land along the ravine, there's no way anything's been done to prepare for this weekend."
"What do you think happened to everyone?"
"I don't know, but I do know we have to get out of here and go to the authorities."
"But I thought you said you didn't have a plan."
"I'm beginning to change my mind," Mac replied wryly.
"But there's nothing here, MacGyver! You said it yourself, the place is empty!"
"Then it's time to start thinkin' about the stuff we have rather than the stuff we don't."
"You mean besides a headache, sore fingers, stiff back, swollen feet…" Pete moaned.
"Yeah. Look, we both have our shoelaces, and I've still got my belt. It's better than nothin'."
MacGyver bent down and began unlacing Pete's hiking boots before doing his own and then slid his belt free. Unsure of how much time they had before Prescott came back to check on them, he quickly tied the shoelaces together and grinned when he discovered they were long enough to double up.
"Here, hold this tight," Mac instructed as he put one end of his shoelace 'rope' in Pete's hand.
"What's this for?"
"We're gonna trip Prescott up, so to speak."
At Pete's blank expression, MacGyver explained his plan. "The door opens outward. I'll sit on one side and you sit on the other. When Prescott walks in-"
"We trip him with the shoelaces!" Pete concluded.
"That's the plan!"
"Do you think they're strong enough?"
"We'll find out," Mac replied. "While Prescott's on the ground, I'll use them to tie his hands behind his back. Think you can manage to use my belt to secure his feet?"
"I'll make sure I can!" Pete assured him.
MacGyver proceeded to settle Pete on one side of the doorway before he sat down on the other, leaving the shoelaces slack between them for now.
"What about his accomplice?" Pete asked as they waited.
"We'll worry about him when the time comes," Mac declared.
After what seemed to be an eternity, MacGyver finally heard Prescott fiddling with the latch on the door.
"Get ready, Pete," he whispered as both men raised their 'rope' to mid-calf level and pulled it taut.
Victor Prescott pulled the door open, but when he stepped inside, his leg snagged on the shoelaces and he fell forward, landing flat on his stomach as the gun he held skidded across the plank flooring. Mac quickly gathered his make-shift rope and, with a knee in the villain's back to keep him prone, pulled his arms behind him and looped the shoelaces around his wrists in a tight figure eight while Pete secured the man's ankles with Mac's belt. Once the surprise wore off, Prescott started to buck and yell. Pete pulled a handkerchief out of his jacket pocket and stuck it in Prescott's mouth.
"That should keep him quiet for a while, don't ya think?"
"Great job, Pete," MacGyver smiled as he got to his feet and retrieved the gun, removing the clip and checking to make sure the chamber was empty before tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. "What d'ya say we get outta here?"
"Sounds like the best plan I've heard all day!" Pete happily agreed.
Once outside with his friend at his elbow, Mac stopped and surveyed their surroundings.
"What's wrong? Why aren't we walking?" Pete asked.
"I'm not sure we should take the same path back to the campground, just in case Victor's lackey is hanging around somewhere," MacGyver replied.
"Then what do you suggest we do?" Pete queried, his voice laden with frustration.
"Are you up for a real hike through the woods?"
"No!"
"Good!" Mac smiled. "Let's get going!"
MacGyver carefully picked his way through the brush and around the trees in an attempt to make the trek easier for Pete. It was slow going and Mac kept his ears open for any sound that would indicate the presence of another human being...namely the fake park attendant. It was late afternoon by the time the duo emerged from the tree line just yards from the original trailhead. The campground appeared empty, but MacGyver still didn't like the lack of cover between where they were and where their tent still stood.
"Wait here," he instructed Pete.
He then bent low and hurried to their campsite but came to an abrupt halt when he spotted the lone attendant poking around in their firepit. Mac pulled Victor's gun out from underneath his shirt, holding it by the barrel. He quietly approached the man from behind who was too preoccupied to be aware of MacGyver's presence. Holding his breath, Mac took two more steps before bringing the butt of the weapon down hard on the back of the man's neck. The attendant crumpled to the ground with a moan before drifting away into unconsciousness. MacGyver quickly broke down the tent and used the tethers to bind the man's hands and feet before returning to the edge of the woods to get Pete. Together they headed to the park entrance and used the phone in the security shack to call the authorities and then waited in the Jeep for them to arrive.
XXXXX
"And once Prescott and his accomplice were taken back into custody the cops searched the campground and found the real staff and caretakers bound and gagged in the main storage building. Seems some thugs were hired to take care of them. Once they're found, they'll probably happily turn on Prescott to escape jail time," MacGyver concluded as he sat at the Thornton's kitchen table where Connie and Pete both nursed mugs of steaming hot coffee.
Connie shook her head. "I should probably be upset, but I'm just glad you both returned safely from your ordeal. However, I do wish you would have told me about this as soon as you received that phone call, Peter. I thought you were done shutting me out of your life."
"I'm sorry," Pete replied. "I just didn't want you to worry. How was I to know Prescott would seek revenge after all these years?"
"Yeah, Pete. That information would've been kinda helpful to me, too," Mac remarked.
"Alright!" Pete huffed, "I apologize to both of you!"
"Apology accepted," MacGyver said, before glancing at his watch. "I hate to break up the party, but I need to head home."
"Oh no, mister! You're spending the night with us," Connie insisted. "You need a nice long rest before you drive back."
"Thanks Connie, I appreciate it," he said with a smile knowing that arguing would get him nowhere.
"Speaking of going home, how much of this are you gonna tell Joanna?" Pete asked.
"I'm gonna tell her everything," Mac shrugged. "We kinda have this agreement where if I come home in one piece and don't try to hide anything from her she's okay with my little adventures."
"Sounds like you've made progress," Pete observed. "But let me tell you this, MacGyver...the next time we go camping, I want you to take me as far away from civilization as we can get so absolutely no one can find us. You understand?"
"Next time?" Mac asked with a crooked smile. "Ha! I told you you'd like it!"
Dear Readers: Due to real-life circumstances, I find I must put this story on hiatus for a few months. I hope to start posting again in May so please keep watching for new chapters (I have plenty of adventures brewing for Mac and Jo and their friends so this is not the end!). I will continue to check for reviews and messages so please feel free to comment on my work or contact me just to say "Hi" at anytime! Thank you for your continued support!