One day before Macgyver arrived in North Korea
(Jared's POV)
My dad had left a day ago and I already missed him. What he was doin' I didn't know but it seemed important.
Mrs. Jenkins had been nice enough to keep me company, though, something I liked... until it came time for me to eat vegetables.
"Come on, Jared." she said, "You ate the meatloaf and mashed potatoes, now it's time for your greens."
Broccoli. Yuck! Why grown-ups say its good for us I'll never know. If it's so good for me, why doesn't it taste good?
I finally ate it all, but I didn't like it. I then went to go play with the hockey stick I had made out of a broomstick and some duct tape. It was almost like a real one, except it didn't glide as smoothly on the floor. But that's okay, I liked making stuff.
Suddenly, somebody knocked on the door. I looked at Mrs. Jenkins.
"Is someone coming to visit?" I asked hopefully. Maybe it was one of Dad's friends.
She shook her head, "No, I don't think so, anyways."
She then went to open the door, I followed behind her wondering who it was.
It was dad!
"Hey, kiddo." he said as he ruffled my hair.
I smiled as I stood straight, "Welcome back, Dad!"
I expected him to say the same stuff we always did. Ask me if I secured the perimeter, if the house was safe, you know, the stuff we always did. But he didn't.
I frowned, but maybe he was tired from his trip.
"How was your flight?" I asked as Mrs. Jenkins took his coat.
"It was... fine," he said with a half-smile, "But let's talk about it later, okay?"
I nodded, but something still wasn't right. I felt like something funny was going on. Maybe it was the broccoli.
"I would've made more meatloaf if I'd known you were coming tonight." Mrs. Jenkins said
"That's alright." dad said, "I already ate on the plane."
Something didn't sound right. Dad didn't sound...like dad. Sure, he sounded somewhat the same but something was off. His face looked a little different, too. I couldn't tell what it was, I couldn't put my finger on it.
Mrs. Jenkins looked at him with a weird look too. It was like she was trying to figure him out.
Then, I noticed it. He had an old scar on the left side of his face. Dad didn't have a scar, not that I had ever seen. Maybe he scratched himself when shaving. But this scar looked older, more... permanent.
"You okay, Jared?" He asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.
"Yeah," I said, trying to sound casual, "I'm just happy you're back."
But my mind was racing. Did something happen to my dad? Did he get hurt? And why wouldn't he tell me?
"Um... dad?" I finally said, "I won a tennis match at school today."
"That's great, son," he said, patting me on the back.
I raised an eyebrow, I didn't play tennis. I hated tennis. Dad knew that, too. At least, the dad I knew did.
"Really?" I asked, "Tennis?"
He nodded, "Yeah, you've been playing so well lately."
Mrs. Jenkins looked as confused as I did. She knew I didn't play tennis either. But she didn't say anything. Maybe she was just as scared as I was.
I kept looking at him, searching for any clue that would tell me who this man was. Was he really my dad?
He seemed to catch on to my discomfort. "Jared, is everything alright?"
"Yeah," I lied, "It's just... I miss you when you go away."
He sighed, "I miss you too, buddy."
"Mrs. Jenkins, I think I need help...uh... with my school project." I said.
She looked at me and nodded. She knew I was lying. She knew something was up.
"Sure, Jared, let's go into the kitchen."
As we walked away, I couldn't help but glance back at him. He was looking at me with a sad smile, like he knew I knew.
"That's not my dad." I whispered, "He's got a scar he didn't have before, and he said I played tennis!"
Mrs. Jenkins nodded a little worried, "I know, but maybe he's just a little tired, or stressed from his trip." She gave me a comforting pat on the shoulder.
I shook my head, "No, it's more than that." I then peeked out the kitchen window.
Mrs. Jenkins followed my gaze, "What are you looking for?"
"Dad has a jeep, right?"
Mrs. Jenkins nodded, "Yes, why do you ask?"
"Because there's a black van in the driveway," I whispered, my heart racing.
Mrs. Jenkins' eyes widened in shock, and she immediately knew what I was thinking. She grabbed my hand firmly, "Come on, we need to leave."
"Not so fast." said the man who was supposed to be my dad, stepping into the kitchen, he had a gun in his hand.
"I knew you weren't my dad." I spat out.
"Yes, Jared," the man said, his voice eerily calm with what sounded like a hint of an unfamiliar accent. "I guess you inherited your mother's knack for observation."
I gave him a glare, there had to be a way out of this. Then, I noticed what was in my hand the whole time: my old make-shift hockey stick.
"You know, I'd like to play hockey with you sometime." I said.
The 'not-Dad' man looked at me a little confused.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I've been looking for a good hockey puck and I think I've found it." I then gave his hand a good whack with the broomstick, the duct tape wrapping around the stick sticking to his hand. He yelped in pain, dropping the gun.
Mrs. Jenkins took that as her cue, grabbing the frying pan from the stove and smacking him over the head. He stumbled, giving us just enough time to make a run for it.
But, just as we were leaving, three men stopped us at the door. Probably the stranger's goons.
"Tie the woman up." the guy said as he tried to stand up.
They grabbed Mrs. Jenkins and tied her in a chair. I tried fighting but they were too strong.
"Now, it looks like we have our bargaining chip," the man said as he looked at me.
"Who are you?" I asked the man as I struggled against the grip of the goons.
"Far be it from me to be so rude to Macgyver's son," the man said, his voice now a perfect mimic of my dad's, "but I'm Murdoc."
I looked confused, "Who?"
"Murdoc," the man repeated, his voice now cold and hard. "Your father's arch-nemesis. Didn't he tell you about me?"
I shook my head, trying to make sense of what was happening. "Did your car get messed up or somethin'?" I asked.
The guy gave what I would call an evil chuckle, "Ah, so he keeps his secrets even from his own son." He said, "But that's okay, because now you're going to help me get what I want."
"What do you want?" I asked, trying to keep the fear out of my voice.
Murdoc leaned in close, his smile more of a sneer now. "The same thing I've always wanted, Jared. To watch your father squirm."