Flirting With Disaster
The phone was ringing as MacGyver fumbled with his keys at the door to his apartment. He finally opened the door, nearly tripping on the rug in his haste to get to the phone.
"Hello?"
"Mac? It's Willis," said a familiar voice on the other end of the line just as his answering machine kicked in.
"Hang on a sec while I shut the machine off..." MacGyver walked to the machine and switched it off. "So how are things?"
"Same as always," Willis responded. "Listen, I have something I'd like you to see."
"What is it?"
"Um, it's something you'll find…interesting," Willis said evasively.
"Ah, I see," MacGyver replied carefully. Willis had been surreptitiously digging through computer files at the Phoenix Foundation in his spare time ever since the Alliance had taken over, looking for any evidence of illegal activities. He had spent most of his career working for Phoenix and didn't like the changes in direction that activities had taken under the new management. As such, he did what he could behind the scenes, taking advantage of the fact that most people tended not to notice a quiet and unassuming scientist who spent most of his time in the lab.
Though unaccustomed to the cloak-and-dagger aspects of Phoenix work that were MacGyver's usual purview, Willis had quickly learned to take precautions after he and MacGyver had found a bugging device in his telephone. If he had found something in the files, he wouldn't want to risk discussing it over the phone. "Where and when?"
"Do you remember the Waller Building?"
"Where the old bio-labs used to be? Didn't Phoenix sell it after they built the new facility?"
"No, they just moved to the new buildings and boarded it up. It needed too much work to modernize it and make it saleable. They never bothered to change the locks, and I still have a key." Willis explained. "Can you meet me there in a half hour?"
MacGyver glanced at his watch -- six o'clock -- and eyed the bag of Chinese food he had dropped on the table longingly. "Yeah, I guess so."
"There's an auditorium in the basement. I'll meet you down there."
"See you then." MacGyver hung up the phone, intrigued by the conversation. He stowed the bag of food in the refrigerator, pulling out a couple of egg rolls to munch on as he drove toward the abandoned research building. It was an old building, one of the first that the Phoenix Foundation had built to house its growing research and development staff. MacGyver had never been inside, since they had already moved to the newer facilities by the time he had joined Phoenix. As he turned into the driveway of the old facility, he wondered just what Willis had found that required so much caution.
The parking lot was littered with trash, and grass and weeds had poked their way up through the cracks that spidered along the paved surface. Even at ten stories, the building was small compared to the new facility, which was twenty stories of modern glass and steel. MacGyver felt a pang of nostalgia as he studied the sturdy brick edifice, bemoaning the fact that most of the structures being built these days lacked the character and soul of these old buildings. The architecture, the attention to detail evident in the ornate brickwork, even the grand style of the main entrance spoke of another time, when a building was viewed not just as a utilitarian box, but as a piece of art in and of itself; a time when the outward appearance of the structure was something to be viewed with pride, not just with an eye to functionality and efficiency.
MacGyver gave a sad smile as he pictured the building in its former glory. Now just an abandoned shell, all of the windows and doors on the ground floor were boarded up, except for the main entrance in the front. MacGyver parked his jeep around the side of the building, out of sight of the main road. He was probably being paranoid, but these days it seemed wiser to be overly-cautious than to get caught with his proverbial pants down.
It was going to be dark inside, so he retrieved his a flashlight from under his seat before getting out of the jeep. MacGyver climbed the stairs to the entrance, pausing momentarily when his knee creaked in protest. He had played hockey the night before in a pick-up game with a bunch of college kids, and was now feeling all of the resulting aches and pains.
"It sucks to get old," he muttered to himself as he reached the top. He hesitated at the door, feeling a sudden sense of apprehension that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Chalking it up to the eerie silence of the old building, he shrugged it off and opened the door. It was unlocked, so Willis must have already arrived, though MacGyver hadn't seen his car anywhere nearby.
The entrance opened directly onto the second floor, so he headed toward the stairs on his left. It was dark in the stairwell, so he clicked on his flashlight and proceeded slowly down the stairs toward the basement. As he pushed open the door to the basement level, the flashlight illuminated a pair of red beady eyes attached to a furry body that quickly scurried away from the light. MacGyver shivered involuntarily. Rats were not his favorite form of wildlife.
He played the beam of the flashlight along the hallway, illuminating some footprints on the dusty floor that he then followed to a set of double doors marked 'Auditorium'. Inside, the cavernous room was dimly lit by a pair of battery-powered lanterns, similar to the type he brought on some of his camping trips. It was an old and musty room that hadn't seen any human presence for a long time, judging by the layers of dust and grime blanketing the rows of mildewed seats.
"Willis?" MacGyver called as he walked toward the lights.
"Hello MacGyver," said a voice behind him that sent a chill racing down his spine, forming an icy lump in the pit of his stomach. The voice was familiar, but it didn't belong to Willis. MacGyver knew all too well who the owner of that voice was.
"Murdoc," he acknowledged warily as he turned to face his old adversary, who was wearing a smug grin and holding a very big gun.
"Move toward the lights."
MacGyver complied, walking to the front of the auditorium next to the stage. Murdoc followed, turning to face him.
"Where's Willis?" MacGyver asked.
"Oh, he couldn't make it," Murdoc said glibly. "Meet me in the auditorium," he said in a voice that sounded exactly like the quiet scientist. "You never learn, MacGyver." Murdoc shrugged, waving the gun in front of him.
Reacting almost instinctively, MacGyver twisted his body into a spinning back kick, knocking the gun from Murdoc's grasp. "I've learned more than you think," he said pointedly as he tackled the stunned assassin. They fell to the floor, knocking aside the lanterns as each struggled to gain the upper hand.
Murdoc turned and kicked MacGyver in the side of the head before lunging for the gun, which had slid under one of the seats. MacGyver grabbed him by the back of his shirt, knocking him aside, and picked up the gun himself. He stopped and looked at the gun in his hand and then over at Murdoc, who sat watching him with a smirk on his face.
"So, are you going to shoot me, MacGyver?"
MacGyver felt an unfamiliar urge to simply pull the trigger and be done with this battle once and for all. It would be so easy. But he had never been one to take the easy way out. He shook his head. "Don't tempt me, Murdoc."
"Always the boy scout," Murdoc snorted derisively. "It's your fatal weakness." In a blur of movement, Murdoc leaped to his feet, pulled a knife from a sheath tied to his leg, and began advancing on MacGyver.
With a last look at the gun, MacGyver pitched it over his shoulder into the center of the auditorium. He had never needed to compromise his principles to defeat Murdoc before, and he wasn't about to start now.
Murdoc dove at him with a yell, the knife flashing menacingly in the dim light. MacGyver ducked to the side, shoving Murdoc as he moved, but his stiff knee impeded him and he wasn't quite fast enough to avoid the knife as it left a shallow slash in his side. He rolled to the ground and then back onto his feet, thankful that he had been practicing his karate regularly.
Murdoc turned around and came toward MacGyver slowly, brandishing the knife that was now smeared with blood. Eyes fixed on his opponent, MacGyver reached down and picked up the heavy flashlight he had dropped during the fight. Murdoc lunged again, and MacGyver blocked him with a solid blow to his arm. The two were circling each other warily, looking for an advantage, when a strange rumbling sound arose and the floor beneath them began to shake.
At first, MacGyver thought it might be an explosion of some sort, something that Murdoc had concocted as part of his latest game, but the bewildered look on the assassin's face told him otherwise. The shaking intensified and pieces of the ceiling began to fall down around them. The walls cracked and the boarded-up windows shattered as the ground undulated beneath their feet. Murdoc had already fallen to the floor and MacGyver was having trouble staying on his feet, when the ceiling above them caved in with a loud roar. It was like a slow-motion scene from a movie, MacGyver thought as he watched the building collapse around him. He dove to the floor and covered his head in a vain attempt to ward off the thunder of debris.
It was pitch dark. His eyes were open -- at least he thought they were open -- it was hard to say for sure. His head felt like there was a jackhammer beating on it, and MacGyver could swear someone was sitting on his chest, pinning him to the floor. He was trapped. Panic raced through him, and he had to force himself to take a deep breath and relax.
It must have been an earthquake, MacGyver told himself. And very big one at that. He had experienced them before, and the sheer power and destructive capability of earthquakes had always amazed him. Though he knew all the scientific facts about what caused them, there was still a mystical quality about earthquakes that left him in awe. It was as though the earth were signaling her displeasure and putting man in his place, showing him how insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things.
MacGyver tried again to move, but it was useless -- the mountain of rubble had pinned him down quite effectively. He felt a sudden pang of concern for Sam and Pete and all of his friends, hoping that they had fared better than he had. MacGyver swallowed nervously and cleared his mind. He was going to have to do some serious brainstorming to get out of this mess.
His mind drifted back to his day. It had been uncharacteristically quiet at the Phoenix Foundation, with no major crises requiring his attention and no nasty surprises intruding upon his routine. Phelps had made himself scarce, for once, and MacGyver had enjoyed the brief respite from his snide remarks and sarcasm. He had spent an enjoyable day in the lab, working on some environmental studies, and Markham had even complimented him on the report he had turned in several days earlier. All in all, it had been a pleasant day. Funny how quickly things could change.
The car stayed in the shadows at the far side of the parking lot. Craig Phelps looked through a pair of binoculars at the old building into which MacGyver had disappeared. Nothing was happening yet, so he reached into the box of doughnuts on the seat next to him, hoping the evening would prove eventful for a change. Lately, all of his surveillance of MacGyver had been deadly dull. He had even put on a couple of pounds from all the doughnuts he had been munching out of boredom while he watched MacGyver buy groceries or visit his son or do any number of mundane tasks. But, his superiors had insisted that he keep an eye on his fellow troubleshooter to see if he was stirring up any trouble that they should be aware of. Phelps yawned and stretched. At least this location had more intriguing possibilities, since it was unlikely that MacGyver would be poking around an abandoned building for no good reason.
He had just taken a bite out of a jelly doughnut when the shaking started. Phelps inadvertently put his hand in the doughnut box as he reached out reflexively to brace himself. "Shit!" he cursed as he pulled his hand from the sticky mess. He stuck a jelly-covered finger into his mouth as he scanned the area for the source of the shaking. It was too violent and prolonged to be an explosion. An earthquake?
The building he was watching began to sway and shake in an almost surreal kind of dance. Fascinated, Phelps watched as cracks snaked their way up the sides of the building and the windows above the first floor exploded into thousands of shards that sparkled in the evening sunlight as they fell to the pavement below. The structure shuddered and groaned before finally giving up and collapsing in on itself almost as neatly as a scripted demolition job. The shaking gradually subsided, leaving him staring open-mouthed at the pile of concrete, steel and brick that had once stood ten stories high.
A smile spread slowly across his face. "Let's see Mr. Wizard get out of this one," Phelps snickered to himself. He picked up his cell phone and began to dial a number, only to find that the service was out. With a smile and a last look at the fallen building, Phelps turned and drove away. It was better to deliver good news in person, anyway.
"Thanks, Sam," Pete said as he lifted his shopping bag. "I really appreciate the help."
"No problem, Mr. Thornton," Sam replied as they made their way to the mall exit.
"I never realized how out of touch I was with what interests teenagers these days," Pete said. "You're sure my nephew will like this computer game?"
"Are you kidding? That's the hottest game on the market right now. We were lucky to even find a copy in the store."
"Good!" Pete grinned. "I don't want to be known as old Uncle Pete who buys dumb gifts. I had an uncle like that when I was a kid. Used to buy us ugly socks and clip-on neckties." He shuddered in remembered horror.
Sam laughed. "Well this gift will assure your status as a favorite uncle."
"Tell you what," Pete said as they reached the mall entrance. "Drive us over to Mario's and I'll treat you to dinner."
"You're on," Sam said enthusiastically. Mario's was one of his favorite restaurants. He reached out a hand to open the door when Pete grabbed his arm.
"Do you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
Moments later, the rumbling started and the ground began to shake beneath their feet.
"Come on!" Sam took Pete's arm and propelled him out the door. Behind them, one of the glass doors shattered and people ran screaming from the building. Panicked drivers collided with each other in the parking lot, sending the fleeing crowd into a deeper frenzy. Sam watched in horror as the marquee outside of the mall entrance splintered and collapsed onto the crowd.
"Stay here, Mr. Thornton." Sam steered Pete away from any potential falling debris. "I'll go get the car." He didn't have far to go since Pete had a special handicap permit to allow him to park close to the entrance. He pulled the car over to where Pete stood and helped him inside. "There's some injured people over there," Sam said. "I'm going to see if I can help."
"Go," Pete nodded. "I'll be fine." Sam raced back toward the mall entrance. The ground had stopped shaking and people were lying on the ground or walking around in a daze. A teenage girl was lying unconscious in a pile of debris, bleeding from a head wound. Sam picked her up gently and headed for the car.
"Hey!" a voice behind him shouted. "Where are you going with her?" A teenaged boy, clutching his arm tightly to his chest, ran toward Sam.
"I'm taking her to the hospital," Sam explained.
"Can I come too? She's my girlfriend."
"Come on," Sam nodded toward the car. "What's your name?"
"Jeff. What's yours?"
"Sam," Sam replied. "What happened to your arm?"
"It's nothing," Jeff said, raising his chin defiantly.
Sam laid the girl on the backseat and Jeff jumped in next to her. He looked back toward the mall entrance and saw that others who had escaped unharmed were helping the remaining injured people. Reassured that there was no one else who needed his assistance, Sam climbed into the front seat and fastened his seat belt.
"There's a hospital a few blocks from here," Pete offered.
"Right," Sam agreed as he turned the car out of the parking lot, driving slowly to avoid the cars that had crashed or been crushed by falling debris during the quake.
"Half of the buildings around here are wrecked," Sam said with wonder. "What a mess!"
Pete reached over and turned on the radio. "…measured seven point six on the Richter scale. Scientists are still trying to pinpoint the epicenter. Police urge everyone to seek shelter and stay off of the streets," the announcer stated excitedly.
"A seven-point-six!" Pete exclaimed. "That's a big one."
"No joke," Sam agreed. A few minutes later, Sam slowed the car and stopped. "Uh-oh."
"What is it?" Pete asked.
"Wow, look at that!" Jeff said in an awed voice. In front of them, the road had split across all four lanes, leaving a three-foot wide crevice.
"The road is gone," Sam told Pete. "We'll have to go around." He turned onto a side street and finally made it to the hospital. The emergency room was a flurry of chaotic activity as injured people streamed inside. A burly EMT took the girl from Sam's arms as they came through the door.
"Can you handle this, Jeff?" Sam asked the boy, whose eyes were on the back of the retreating EMT.
"Sure." Jeff squared his shoulders and tried not to look as scared as he felt.
"Okay," Sam smiled encouragingly at the young man. "Here's my cell phone number." He scribbled it on a piece of paper and handed it to Jeff. "Call me if you need anything."
"Thanks," Jeff said as he turned and disappeared into the crowd of people in the waiting room.
"Come on, let's go home," Sam said to Pete once he had returned to the car.
"If I still have one," Pete said with a wry smile.
Carefully surveying his situation, MacGyver found that he could move his left leg a little but the rest of him, from his chest down, was immobilized by the pile of debris. A jolt of pain shot up his right leg when he tried to move his foot. "Oh great," he muttered to himself. He was lying flat on his back, pinned up against the stage near where he and Murdoc had been fighting. Murdoc. MacGyver shivered, wondering whether he had survived the collapse.
Almost as though he had read his mind, Murdoc made his presence known. A flickering light suddenly illuminated the small area where MacGyver lay. Nearly ten feet away, Murdoc lay trapped under his own heap of rubble. The area between them was relatively clear, having been sheltered by an enormous slab of concrete that was leaning against the front of the stage. That same piece of concrete was the only thing that kept the crumbled remnants of the building from crushing them both.
Murdoc had one hand free and was holding a lit match, which flickered and died. "We seem to have gotten ourselves into quite a predicament here, MacGyver."
"Oh, really?" MacGyver said sarcastically. "I wouldn't have guessed."
Murdoc laughed. "That's what I like about you, MacGyver. You don't crumble under pressure. Even when there's tons of it." He laughed again at his own joke.
"Ha ha." MacGyver was not amused.
"I don't suppose you have any creative solutions to our dilemma?" Murdoc asked breezily.
"You think I'd tell *you* if I did?"
"Of course you would," Murdoc said assuredly. "You can't stand to see your fellow man suffer…even if the fellow man is me."
"Don't bet on it, Murdoc."
"Now, that isn't very nice."
"Neither are you," MacGyver retorted.
"Touche'," Murdoc laughed. "Still, of all the people to be stuck here with, I'm glad it's you. You have an enviable talent for getting yourself out of these situations."
"You should know, you got me into most of them."
"Yes, I have, haven't I," Murdoc said with undisguised glee. "So how are you going to get us out of here?"
MacGyver was perplexed as to how Murdoc could be so cavalier about their predicament. "I don't know, Murdoc, I've never had a building fall on me before. You're the expert on that, aren't you?" MacGyver said, recalling his first encounter with Murdoc and how it had ended with a building being demolished with Murdoc inside.
"Not quite," Murdoc replied. "The trick is to get out before they fall on you."
MacGyver sighed and tried again to move, but it was no use. He wasn't going anywhere without help. He could hear scratching and grunting as Murdoc tried to work himself loose, though he didn't seem to be having much better luck. If Murdoc were to escape first… MacGyver didn't want to think about it. Panic began to set in as the gravity of his situation hit home. He was trapped under tons of concrete with his mortal enemy only a few feet away -- and nobody knew he was there. It was suddenly hard to breathe.
MacGyver shook his head and forced himself to concentrate. It would do him no good to let fear paralyze him now. He turned his head to find his cheek resting against the smooth wooden surface of the stage front. Something nagged at him, dancing around the edges of his memory, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. He closed his eyes, wishing he could open them to find that this was just a bad dream.
"Well?" Pete asked fearfully. "How does it look?"
"It's still standing," Sam said as they stood in Pete's driveway, facing his house. "I'll go take a look around." As he waited for Sam's return, Pete could hear an almost continuous wail of sirens as emergency crews raced from crisis to crisis. The radio had announced that the National Guard had been called in to help control looting and that rescue workers were pouring in from all over the country. Pete found it interesting that disasters seemed to bring out both the best and the worst in people.
"It looks okay," Sam said. "There's a couple of broken windows and the power is out, but it seems solid enough."
"Great!" Pete said, relief evident in his voice as they went inside.
"Watch your step," Sam said as he helped Pete navigate around a fallen table. "We'd better get this stuff put back where it belongs."
"I'll start out here," Pete said as he began to feel his way along the living room.
Sam hesitated for a minute, concerned that Pete would trip on something, before he said, "Okay, I'll take the kitchen. Just yell if you need a hand with anything." He smiled and shook his head as he grabbed a broom. It was no wonder Pete and his dad were such good friends, Sam thought. They were both stubborn and independent to a fault.
***
"There." Sam wiped his hand on a towel a few hours later. "All done." He plopped himself on the couch next to Pete. "It may take you a while to find everything in the kitchen, though."
Pete laughed. "It'll just make cooking more of an adventure."
"How about I do the honors tonight?" Sam suggested. "I've had just about enough adventure for today."
"No argument here." Pete raised his hands in front of him. "I guess we'd better eat the steaks I have in the fridge. There's no telling how long the power will be out."
"Great! I shut off the gas, just to be safe, so we'll have to barbecue outside," Sam said as he headed into the kitchen.
"Hey, you know your dad and I built this deck," Pete said as he opened the sliders and stepped onto the redwood deck that ran along the back of his house.
At the mentioned of his father, Sam felt a sudden twinge of concern. "I wonder how he made out in the quake?"
Pete had the same thought and took out his cellular phone. "Nothing," he said after listening for a few minutes. "The lines must be messed up."
"I'll run by his place later." Sam shrugged, but a feeling of unease remained. He shook it off and carried the steaks out to the grill.
A small piece of plaster suddenly hit MacGyver in the cheek. The vibrations started a moment later, peppering his face with more splinters and grit. "Aftershock," he said softly as he braced himself for the tremor. The vibrations increased, sending larger chunks tumbling around his head. The concrete that trapped him shifted, increasing the pressure on his chest as the shaking reached a crescendo and the rumble turned into a roar. MacGyver let out a yell as one of his ribs gave way under the increased weight, sending a knife-like pain shooting through his chest. Something heavy dropped onto his forehead, sending him spiraling into merciful oblivion.
Phelps gaped at the destruction that greeted him as he drove toward the Phoenix Foundation headquarters. Entire blocks had been leveled by the quake and people wandered around in a daze, staring at the mess. Some of the areas looked like they had been bombed, like something out of a war movie. Fleetingly, he wondered how his apartment had fared before shrugging it off as unimportant. His years in the military had trained him to live somewhat spartanly and there was nothing in the apartment that couldn't be easily replaced. The only possessions he cared about were safely stashed in a mountain cabin he had inherited from his great-uncle.
Looking at all the devastation, Phelps hoped that the supposedly quakeproof Phoenix buildings had survived. As he drew closer to his destination, Phelps noted with relief that most of the newer buildings were still standing and had not suffered much damage.
"The marvels of modern architecture," he said to himself. He felt a sudden, odd vibration from his car engine. He cursed and slowed the car, intending to pull over, when he realized the vibrations weren't coming from the car. It was a tremor and it was getting steadily worse. Phelps reduced his speed further, eyeing the surrounding buildings warily. It would really ruin his day if one of them fell on him.
Gazing out the side window, Phelps didn't see the dump truck that was barreling toward him head on, its driver unconscious after being hit with a brick that had fallen through the windshield. "Oh shit!" he swore and swerved fiercely when he finally spotted the oncoming truck, but there wasn't time to avoid a collision. His car crashed into a light pole before being hit broadside by the out-of-control vehicle. The horn wailed forlornly as the car came to rest, with Phelps slumped unconscious over the steering wheel.
"Uh-oh."
"What is it?" Sam asked, as Pete sat up straighter in his chair. His question was answered when the rumbling began, knocking books off of the shelves and undoing much of their previous cleanup effort. He gripped the arms his chair tightly and looked around as the tremor shook the house. It lasted less than a minute, but managed to make a mess nonetheless.
"I guess we're back on cleanup duty," Pete said with a chuckle when the shaking had stopped.
"At least it wasn't as bad as the last one," Sam replied. "I wonder how long these are going to go on?"
"Who knows?" Pete said as he reached over and righted a fallen lamp. "At least my insurance is paid up."
Grinning, Sam stood and began putting books back onto the bookshelves.
"MacGyver?"
MacGyver awoke to the sound of his name, then wished he hadn't as a wave of pain assaulted him. His head was killing him and he felt pain in his chest with every shallow breath he took.
"Ah good. You're still with us." The tremor had been kinder to Murdoc, who had somehow managed to free himself and was sitting near MacGyver holding one of the lanterns with a satisfied grin on his face.
"What's the matter, Murdoc…?" MacGyver whispered raggedly. "Are you afraid I'll die…before you get the chance to…kill me yourself?"
"That would be quite a pity, wouldn't it?" Murdoc said airily.
"Well, I wouldn't want to...deprive you of your fun."
Murdoc laughed. "It *would* be such a terrible waste of all of my efforts in that regard."
"Don't you ever get…tired of this?" MacGyver asked him wearily.
"Of course. Why do you think I keep trying to end it?"
"You know…we could call it a draw...and end it right here," MacGyver suggested breathlessly.
"There are no 'draws' in this business, MacGyver. You either win or lose…and I don't intend to lose."
"We're both going to lose… if we don't get out of here." MacGyver let out a breath as he strained against the concrete that imprisoned him.
"Brilliant deduction," Murdoc said sarcastically. "Is that the best your infamous brain can come up with? I'm very disappointed in you, MacGyver."
"Life is full of...disappointments, Murdoc…" MacGyver replied disgustedly. "Get used to it."
Murdoc's laugh filled the tiny space. "Getting a bit cranky, aren't we?"
"Being squashed under a building…will do that to a person," MacGyver rasped. Murdoc laughed again. "I can't believe you can find anything…funny about this."
"This entire situation is quite amusing, don't you think?"
MacGyver sighed. It was no use trying to understand how Murdoc's mind worked. He wasn't so sure he wanted to find out anyway.
Murdoc's knife glinted in the light of the lantern as he brought it close to MacGyver's face. "You know, I could just cut your throat and end it all right now."
"Aw come on, Murdoc…" He paused to take a breath. "What fun would that be?"
"Yes, it would lack that certain challenge that I so enjoy," Murdoc said as he fingered the knife lovingly. "Still, it would be almost as satisfying as watching you get slowly crushed under this building." He drew the back of the knife blade slowly along MacGyver's throat.
MacGyver suddenly felt old and tired. "If you're going ... to do it, then ... get it over with, will ya?" he said softly.
"Giving up, MacGyver?" Murdoc said with surprise. "Tsk, tsk. What would Sam say?" MacGyver felt a warm trickle of blood slide down his neck as Murdoc pressed the tip of the knife into his throat. "You know, maybe I'll look Sam up after all this and ask him myself. He might provide me a bit more sport."
"Leave him out of this!" MacGyver said with a flash of anger, coughing painfully as he strained for his next breath. "Your fight... is with me... not him."
"That's better," Murdoc said with a smile. "I knew you had some fight left in you."
"What makes you think... you'll get out of here yourself?" MacGyver gasped.
Murdoc looked around the tiny space and sighed dramatically. "I suppose you do have a point about that."
Murdoc sat silently, still pressing his blade into MacGyver's neck, and contemplated the situation. MacGyver almost wished he would use the knife. It certainly seemed preferable to waiting for the next tremor to crush the life out of him.
"We have quite a dilemma here, don't we?" Murdoc finally said. "You're right, you know. I don't have a very good chance of getting out of here by myself." Pulling the knife away from MacGyver's neck, he turned his left side toward MacGyver. His left arm was covered in blood and was bent at an odd angle, a jagged point of bone protruding through the sleeve of his shirt. "As much as it pains me to admit it, I need your help."
"Sorry, but I'm ...sort of occupied ...at the moment."
"Maybe I can do something about that." Murdoc rummaged in the rubble until he found what he wanted. With much effort, he pulled a sturdy length of steel from the debris and wedged it under the largest of the pieces of concrete that was keeping MacGyver pinned to the floor.
"You know," Murdoc said, panting heavily from the effort. "This is something I learned from you." He dragged a chunk of concrete under the steel bar, forming a crude lever. With his good arm, he pulled on the steel as hard as he could. But it didn't move. He then crawled over the end of the steel beam and leaned all of his weight onto it. The concrete moved a fraction of an inch, but it wasn't enough to free MacGyver.
"Ow," MacGyver groaned as the weight sank back onto his chest.
"Damn," Murdoc cursed. "So much for physics." He sat back and thought silently for a moment.
"There's always the brute force method, I suppose," Murdoc said as he grabbed MacGyver's shoulder with his good arm. He pulled with all his strength, but MacGyver was wedged too tightly.
"Have you got any brilliant ideas?" Murdoc asked.
"No," MacGyver answered helplessly. He closed his eyes and turned his head, wishing he could think of something, anything, that would help. Suddenly, the memory that had been eluding him came flooding back. During college, he had helped out the drama department by working with the stage crew to design sets and lighting. Every theater that he had ever seen had had an area below the stage that was used for storage and to run wiring for lighting and sound equipment. He was lying with his body pressed against the front of the stage. If they could break through the wooden wall, he might be able to slide into the space underneath.
"The stage," he said softly.
"What?"
"Break through ...the front of the stage."
Murdoc nodded his comprehension. "It might work." He picked up the piece of steel in his hand and began beating it against the wood. MacGyver turned his head away as the splinters flew through the air. As he listened to Murdoc's efforts, he wondered again at his enemy's reasons for helping him. Self-preservation was a logical motive for most people, but Murdoc wasn't most people. He had gotten out of impossible situations before with worse injuries and no help. Why should this time be any different? MacGyver shook his head to chase those thoughts away. He would have plenty of time to worry about Murdoc's motives after he was out from under this pile of rock.
A hollow crunch sounded when Murdoc finally broke through the barrier. He dropped the piece of steel and shone the lantern through the hole. "There's a room under here," he said. "It looks intact."
"For now," MacGyver said.
Murdoc grunted and resumed beating on the wood. An hour later, he had managed to widen the hole enough so that he could slide through. MacGyver heard a muffled thump as Murdoc squirmed through the opening and into the room. As Murdoc rummaged around under the stage, MacGyver tried to stifle the claustrophobia that threatened to overwhelm him. He was totally at the mercy the one person in the world who had made killing him his life's work, and who might just take this opportunity to disappear, leaving MacGyver to his horrible fate. It was far from a comforting thought.
A squealing noise in his ear distracted MacGyver from his pessimistic thoughts. He turned his head toward the stage just as one of the boards came free with a crunch. Murdoc's grinning face appeared in the new opening. "It works much better with the proper tools," he said, waving a rusty old crowbar in front of him.
MacGyver didn't reply as Murdoc began prying away more the boards. Finally, there was enough open space for MacGyver to free his left arm and he extended it into the space beneath the stage, flexing it carefully. A few boards later, he was able to reach inside far enough to grab hold of a support beam and start working himself out from under the rubble.
Pain shot through his ribcage as he struggled to extricate himself. Just as he pulled his right arm loose, another aftershock began and the slab of concrete started to shift again. Frantically, MacGyver pulled with all of his strength and tore his legs free, tumbling several feet to the hard concrete just as the massive pile crashed to the floor of the auditorium, obliterating the space he had been lying in just moments before.
"That was close," MacGyver groaned, clutching his aching ribs.
"Yes," Murdoc replied. "It was very nearly a crushing defeat."
MacGyver shot a dirty look toward his adversary, who sat on the floor smiling at him. He sat up carefully, wincing at the pain in his ribs and ankle. Pain or not, it felt good to be able to take a deep breath. He looked around, appraising his surroundings. It was a large, low-ceilinged room that ran the length of the stage overhead and it was full of broken furniture, folding chairs, and other odds and ends. He doubted anyone had been in there for a long time.
In the harsh glow of the fluorescent lantern light, MacGyver could see Murdoc leaning against a dusty podium, watching him. He stared back silently for a moment. "Thanks," he said simply. He knew that Murdoc hadn't helped him out of the goodness of his heart and that he would want to extract payment in some form later. But for now, MacGyver was just glad that he wasn't pancaked under the building.
Murdoc smiled at him mirthlessly, the shadows making him look even more sinister than usual.
MacGyver sighed and crawled toward him slowly. "Let me see that arm," he said when he had reached his side. Murdoc lifted his damaged arm toward him, the smile still on his face. MacGyver took his Swiss army knife out and cut away the sleeve of Murdoc's shirt. The arm appeared to be broken in several places and was still bleeding where the bone had pushed through.
"Best I can do is try to set it and wrap it up," MacGyver said with a shake of his head. "It's a mess."
"Do what you can," Murdoc said with a bored shrug.
"You might want to hold onto something," MacGyver warned. "This is going to hurt." Murdoc nodded and grasped the leg of the table that stood near him. MacGyver took hold of his arm and pulled. Murdoc inhaled sharply and gritted his teeth as the bones were jerked into place. MacGyver wrapped his arm with the remnants of the shirt sleeve.
His face pale and his breathing ragged, Murdoc asked, "Are you enjoying this?"
MacGyver stopped and looked at him. "No, I'm not."
"That's the difference between you and me," Murdoc laughed scornfully. "I would be."
"I know," MacGyver said as he continued bandaging Murdoc's arm. Using some slats from a broken chair, he fashioned a crude splint. "There," MacGyver said as he tied the last strip of fabric firmly. "Finished."
"Good." Murdoc leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "Now we're even."
MacGyver sighed. "Don't you ever stop keeping score?"
"What fun is a game if you don't keep score?"
"You think this is a game?!" MacGyver asked incredulously.
"Everything is a game," Murdoc responded with a yawn. "And everyone is an opponent."
"Doesn't sound like much fun to me," MacGyver said as he tore some strips from a canvas drop cloth. "In fact, it sounds like a lonely way to live."
Murdoc didn't answer and MacGyver paused and looked over at him, wondering if he even knew it was like to have friends. Shaking his head, he continued tearing the strips of canvas. It was too dangerous to allow himself to feel sorry for Murdoc. The only reason the man hadn't killed him yet was because he needed his help to escape this deathtrap. Once they escaped -- if they escaped -- Murdoc wouldn't hesitate to kill him and win the 'game'.
Unbuttoning his own shirt, MacGyver looped strips of canvas around his ribs, tying them tightly. It didn't help the pain much, but it kept the broken ribs from moving around. The rough fabric rubbed across the cut in his side, reminding him again of the danger his companion posed to his well-being. Finished with his ribs, he moved on to his ankle, which was throbbing fiercely. Gently, he removed his shoe and flexed his foot, stopping when the pain worsened. He couldn't tell if it was broken or just a bad sprain, so he decided to err on the side of caution and immobilize it as best he could. He took some of the strips of fabric and began to wrap it carefully.
As he finished, he eyed his nemesis, who was leaning back with his eyes closed. He was asleep, MacGyver realized when he heard Murdoc's deep and even breathing. Looking at his watch, he was surprised to discover that it was three o'clock in the morning. The impact of the ordeal seemed to hit him all at once, and exhaustion overtook him. He wouldn't do much good trying to get them out of there if he was too fatigued to move, so, with a last wary glance at Murdoc, MacGyver turned off the lantern and curled up on the floor, asleep almost instantly.
Pete heard the stifled yawn coming from Sam's direction and smiled. They had been working on his house for hours, righting the furniture and boarding up the broken windows, and both were exhausted from the effort.
"Sam, why don't you head on home now?" Pete said. "I think I can take it from here."
"You sure?" Sam asked.
"Yes," Pete said with a smile. "I'm sure you've got enough mess of your own to clean up."
"I'm trying not to think about that," Sam said with a groan.
"Why don't you check up on your dad's place first? Get some moral support."
"Good idea," Sam said with a grin. "Maybe I can get him to help me clean up."
Pete laughed. "No doubt."
"I'll give you a call tomorrow...if the phones are working," Sam said as he took his jacket from the back of the chair where he had left it.
"Thanks, Sam," Pete said. "Say hello to Mac for me."
"Will do, Mr. Thornton," Sam said as he walked out into the night.
People still filled the streets, even at this late hour, Sam was surprised to note. Many, it seemed, were afraid to be indoors and had set up tents and makeshift camps on their lawns and driveways. Others were still shell-shocked, walking around and staring at the devastation. The stillness of the night was punctuated every few minutes by the sound of sirens, and Sam felt his apprehension growing as he neared his father's neighborhood.
He breathed a sigh of relief when he pulled his motorcycle in front of MacGyver's apartment. The building was still standing and appeared to have suffered only minor damage, unlike some of its less-fortunate neighbors. Leave it to his dad to find the safest building on the street, Sam thought with a smile. The smile turned to a frown, though, when he realized that MacGyver's jeep wasn't in the garage, nor was it parked on the street.
Sam hurriedly climbed the stairs, knocking loudly on the door to his father's apartment. "Dad? You home?" Not waiting for an answer, Sam pulled out his keys and opened the door, flicking on the light hopefully as he entered the apartment. Luckily, the power was still working in this neighborhood and the light came on, illuminating the apartment.
It was obvious from the disarray that MacGyver hadn't been there since the quake had hit. Sam sighed as he prowled around the apartment, picking his way through the mess. Knowing his father, he was probably out helping somebody. He knew it was selfish, but Sam wished that his father wouldn't always go running off to the rescue every time someone asked. It would have been nice to find him safe at home for a change.
With a last look around, Sam turned to leave, but stopped short when he saw the light flashing on the telephone answering machine that lay on the floor next to the sofa. He picked it up and pushed the button. An electronic voice told him there was one message and that it was received at 5:58 p.m. Then the message began to play.
"Hello?" said MacGyver's voice.
"Mac? It's Willis..."
"Hang on a sec while I shut the machine off..." There was a shuffling noise and a click as the message ended.
MacGyver had been home before the earthquake hit. Maybe he was with Willis when it struck, Sam thought as he rubbed his hand over his eyes tiredly. He sighed as he set the machine back on the floor. Wherever MacGyver was, Sam hoped he had managed to stay out of trouble, but knowing his father, he wasn't counting on it. With a last look at the apartment, Sam shut the light and locked the door behind him as he left. The mess at his own place was probably just as bad and wasn't going to get any better with time, so Sam decided to go home.
It wasn't as bad as he had feared. Sam stepped wearily through the door to his apartment a short time later, thankful that his electricity was still on. His books and photo albums had been thrown to the floor, along with most everything else that hadn't been nailed down. Fortunately, he always kept his photography equipment locked in a trunk in his bedroom, so he wasn't concerned about its condition.
Just as he shut the door behind him, another tremor started. Sam braced himself against the wall until it passed a few moments later. It took him a minute to realize that the tremor was over, and he started to understand why all of those people were sleeping outside, but he was simply too tired to let anything deter him from his bed. Giving the ceiling a last worried glance, Sam flopped onto his bed and, despite his worries, fell asleep immediately.
Voices. He could hear voices. Phelps moaned and opened his eyes. It was dark, everything was blurry. Something moved into his field of vision and then out again.
"He's wakin' up!"
"Quick, grab his wallet and let's get out of here!"
The two teenagers and a third friend dragged Phelps further into the alley and finished emptying his pockets, congratulating themselves loudly when they found the gun in his pocket. Phelps closed his eyes and moaned again. What was he doing lying on the ground? Why wasn't he in his car?
"He saw me, man," one of the teenagers whined.
"Take care of him then!" his friend said irritably.
The teenager took the gun they had liberated from Phelps and took aim at his head. As his finger tightened on the trigger, the little group was suddenly illuminated by the headlights of a car that had turned into the alley. Startled, the boy's hand jerked upward slightly as he fired the gun, the bullet only grazing Phelps' head. The three boys turned and ran, not looking back as they disappeared down the alley. Phelps heard the sound of their running footsteps as he sank once again into unconsciousness.
He awoke suddenly to darkness. Momentarily forgetting where he was, MacGyver sat up quickly, but instantly regretted it when his ribs sent sharp pains of protest through his side. He blinked, blearily wondering why he was in such pain and why it was so dark in his apartment ...until he remembered what had happened. Instantly, he became aware of a shuffling sound a short distance away. MacGyver fumbled in the dark until his hand found the lantern and switched it on, flooding the room with light.
Murdoc was awake and watching him, shifting uncomfortably on the dirty floor. MacGyver stared at him for a moment, until Murdoc flashed him a grin. He turned away and began to survey the room. It was still intact, despite the two tremors that had occurred during the six hours that he had been asleep. Carefully protecting his damaged ribs, MacGyver got to his feet and limped his way slowly toward the door that was set into one wall. He tried the handle and found that the door was unlocked but wouldn't open. Running his fingers along the outline of the door, he determined that the frame had been bent during the quake, wedging the door closed.
"You didn't think it would be that easy, did you?" Murdoc commented sarcastically.
MacGyver ignored him as he hobbled across the room and picked up the old crowbar that Murdoc had used to free him earlier. Carrying it back to the door, he shoved it into the space between the door and the jamb and leaned his weight against it. The door creaked and groaned, but remained stubbornly in place.
Breathing heavily, MacGyver leaned against the wall and glared at Murdoc. "Are you going to just sit there?"
Murdoc simply smiled at him.
With a disgusted shake of his head, MacGyver turned back to the door. Ignoring the pain in his side, continued prying at the door. He was so absorbed in his task that he didn't hear Murdoc's approach until he spoke.
"Ordinarily, I would enjoy watching you struggle," Murdoc said casually as he gripped the end of the crowbar with his good hand. "But I *would* like to get out of here sometime this century."
MacGyver glowered at him, but didn't respond. Based on past experience, he knew that Murdoc was just trying to provoke him and would merely shrug and smile in response to any comment he might make. It just wasn't worth the effort to engage him in any verbal sparring. He had more important things to worry about.
After several minutes, the door finally gave way with a loud screech, opening inward to reveal what was left of a narrow hallway. In the dim light cast by the lantern, MacGyver grimly studied the jumble of debris that clogged the passage. The rubble was tightly packed, leaving only a few small openings, none of which was large enough accommodate them.
"Well, that was pointless," Murdoc said from beside him. "We can't get out that way."
"It's this or nothing," MacGyver said with a shrug. "We don't have a whole lot of options."
Murdoc stared dubiously at the tangled mess. "You call this an option?"
"You have a better idea?"
Murdoc looked at the rubble again for a moment then sighed resignedly and reached into the pile of debris and tugged a piece of drywall free, tossing it over his shoulder into the storage room. "Then we'd better get to work."
He swept the last of the broken dishes into a trash bag and sank wearily onto his sofa, surveying his newly-cleaned apartment with a satisfied smile. Now, if he could only keep it this neat, Sam chuckled to himself. His father would probably agree, since his normal housekeeping habits were fair at best. Thinking of MacGyver, Sam picked up his cell phone and dialed his apartment hopefully, but the answering machine picked up after four rings and Sam clicked the phone off with a frown, not bothering to leave a message. The uneasy feeling he'd had the day before returned full force, and Sam toyed with the phone thoughtfully for a moment before dialing Pete Thornton's number.
"Thornton," Pete answered.
"Mr. Thornton, it's Sam."
"Hey, Sam. How did your place hold up?"
"Not bad," Sam replied. "Just some broken dishes and things."
"Good, good. Did you get in touch with Mac?"
"No," Sam sighed. "He wasn't at his place last night and he wasn't answering the phone this morning either. I think he was going to see Willis last night." He explained to Pete about the message he heard on MacGyver's answering machine.
"Maybe he's still with Willis," Pete suggested. "It was kind of difficult to get around yesterday, so they probably just stayed wherever they were."
"Yeah, that makes sense," Sam agreed. "I'm going to run by his place anyway, maybe get started on cleaning it up."
"He'll appreciate that, I'm sure," Pete said. "Make sure you let me know when he gets back."
"No problem." Sam shut off the phone, feeling slightly better about the situation.
David Markham sighed wearily as he eyed the disaster area that was his office. Books, papers, and nearly everything else that had been on his desk were strewn all over the floor and his pictures had all fallen off of the walls. Stepping carefully through the clutter, he made his way to his desk and sat heavily in his chair. He had had to wait for clearance from the safety crews in order to enter the building, but it was hardly the beginning of his day. Since the earthquake had occurred, he had spent most of his time on the telephone checking on various Phoenix facilities and personnel. But there was still much work to be done.
He reached for the phone, only to find that it had fallen to the floor and broken into several pieces. Shaking his head in disgust, Markham opened his briefcase and retrieved his cell phone. His first call was to Craig Phelps, whom he had been unable to reach since the quake happened. The phone rang eleven times before he gave up. His next call was to MacGyver, and again, he was disappointed.
"Dammit!" Markham cursed as he shut off the phone in frustration. A situation like this was going to require the efforts of a lot of people, especially his two troubleshooters, just to get things back to normal.
Without them, things were going to be much more difficult, especially since he would have to expend resources to locate them, resources that were needed elsewhere. Feeling the need to do something, he stood and began cleaning up the mess. This, at least, would have some concrete results, unlike his fruitless search for MacGyver and Phelps.
For the fifth time in twenty minutes, Sam looked at his watch and then at the door to his father's apartment, which had not opened all day. The telephone as well, remained stubbornly silent, and he tried to tell himself that there was nothing to worry about, that MacGyver was fine, but it wasn't working. All day, he had tried to rationalize why his father had not returned or even called to check up on him, but had failed miserably. Repeated calls to Willis had also proved useless, since the telephone service was still apparently out in his neighborhood. Restlessly, Sam stood and straightened some books on the already-neat bookcase. He had managed to distract himself from his concerns for awhile by cleaning up the apartment, but there was nothing left to do, nothing to take his mind off of the fact that his father was missing. He was pacing the room worriedly when the phone rang.
"Hello?" he answered breathlessly, snatching up the receiver before it could ring a second time.
"MacGyver?" a voice asked hopefully.
"No, this is Sam, Mr. Markham," he replied, his hope fading when he recognized the voice of his father's boss, who had already called several times that day looking for MacGyver.
"No sign of him yet?"
"None," Sam said wearily.
"All right," Markham sighed defeatedly. "Let me know as soon as you hear from him."
"I will," Sam promised.
Hearing the strain in Sam's voice, Markham felt a pang of sympathy for the young man. "I've got all the resources I can spare looking for him and Phelps," he offered, knowing that it wasn't much help in easing Sam's mind.
"Thanks, Mr. Markham," Sam said, appreciating the man's efforts to make him feel better. It wasn't until after he had hung up that Sam finally registered all of Markham's words. Phelps was missing too? Somehow, that knowledge didn't improve his mood. The sense of dread in the pit of his stomach intensified and Sam knew that his father, wherever he happened to be, was in trouble.
Frustrated, Sam picked up the phone and dialed Pete's number. The phone had barely rung once when Pete anxiously answered, "Hello?"
"It's me, Mr. Thornton," Sam said.
"Anything?" he asked in the same hopeful tone that Sam had just heard from Markham.
"No," Sam replied. "Markham just called and he hasn't heard anything either."
"I don't like it," Pete said after a brief pause. "He should have contacted us by now."
"I know," Sam said morosely. "Markham said that Phelps is missing too."
"Really?" Pete said with surprise. "That's the first I've heard of that."
"You think it means anything?" Sam asked.
"I don't know," Pete said thoughtfully. "Probably not. They weren't working on anything together... at least, not that I know of."
"Dad told me that he thought he saw Phelps following him last week," Sam said, suddenly remembering a brief conversation he'd had with MacGyver the previous week. "He said he didn't know what Phelps hoped to gain by tailing him to the laundromat."
"There's no telling, with that sneaky bastard," Pete said disgustedly, revealing his own dislike for the other troubleshooter. "I don't think Markham even knows what he's up to, half the time."
"Yeah. I just hope he's not the reason we haven't heard from Dad." Sam didn't think much of Phelps either.
"I'm sure he isn't," Pete said, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt. Sam didn't need any additional worries right now.
"I hate just waiting around for him to show up," Sam said, frustration evident in his voice. "I've already cleaned his apartment three times. I have to do *something*!"
"Have you had any luck reaching Willis?" Pete asked, sympathizing with Sam's feelings of helplessness.
"No, his phone service is still out."
"Why don't you go see him?" Pete suggested.
"Do you have his address?" Sam asked, immediately perking up at the prospect of doing something useful. "I checked Dad's address book, but all he had was a phone number."
"Hold on a minute." Pete set down the telephone and went over to his desk, switching on his computer. Speaking briefly into the attached microphone, he was rewarded a minute later by a synthesized voice reading the address aloud.
"Did you get that?" Pete asked as he picked up the phone again.
"Yeah," Sam said with a smile. "That's a pretty cool computer system."
"It is, isn't it? Mac helped me put it together," he said. "It's just lucky that my power was restored this afternoon."
"I'll head over to see Willis now," Sam said.
"Call me later. I don't want to lose track of you, too," Pete said with concern.
"Okay," Sam promised as he hung up the phone. Not sparing the immaculate apartment another glance, Sam hurried out the door.
"Where is he?" Markham muttered as he hung up the phone. "MacGyver should be home by now. So should Phelps."
"I'll keep trying," his secretary said.
"We need everyone we can get our hands on, especially him and MacGyver."
"I know," she said, looking at him sympathetically.
"Thank you, Alice," Markham said, giving her a tired smile. "I know this is above and beyond the call of duty."
"I'll do anything I can to help," Alice said, returning the smile as she hurried back to her desk.
Markham watched her retreating figure with gratitude, making a note to give her a good raise at her next review. She had come into the office at five o'clock that morning at his request to help get things into some sort of working order, and had spent the day tirelessly helping him coordinate the recovery efforts for the Phoenix Foundation, a task which was proving to be especially difficult without the assistance of his two troubleshooters. MacGyver, especially would have been quite an asset, since he had designed most of the disaster plans for the Foundation in the first place. Markham had already fielded several calls requesting the assistance of Phoenix -- MacGyver, in particular -- in coordinating cleanup efforts for various municipal authorities. Apparently, the troubleshooter's somewhat 'unique' perspective on things was quite useful, since disasters didn't follow the rulebooks, either.
It was an area in which the Phoenix foundation had a lot of experience, though much of that skill had been downplayed during his tenure. Markham had been surprised to learn that they had been a primary consultant to the city of San Francisco after the large earthquake there in 1989, and to many other cities worldwide after earthquakes and other disasters had struck. The new management hadn't considered it important enough to bother telling him. He had only found out when he had begun receiving requests for the Foundation's services. It made him wonder what else the "powers that be" had neglected to tell him.
Markham swiveled his chair and looked out at the sky, reddening with the approach of sunset. More and more he was beginning to feel like he was out of the loop, merely a puppet on a string who danced to a tune he could no longer hear. It also hadn't escaped his attention that Phelps, his supposed underling, was receiving his true marching orders from elsewhere. He had noticed Phelps's recent interest in MacGyver's whereabouts and could only speculate at his motives, since no one had informed him of any new surveillance orders.
Markham rubbed his forehead tiredly. It had been a long day and it wasn't doing him any good to brood about his own situation. It certainly wasn't going to help him find his two wayward employees. With a last look out his window, he turned his chair around and picked up his phone.
The address Pete had given him belonged to a three-story apartment building on a quiet, tree-lined street that appeared to have survived the earthquake with little obvious damage. Sam parked his motorcycle at the curb and climbed the stairs to the third floor apartment where Willis lived. After knocking several times with no response, Sam turned to leave, and ran straight into Willis, who was fumbling with his keys in one hand while carrying a bag of groceries in the other.
"Hey!" Willis said as his bag fell to the floor, strewing its contents across the hallway.
"Sorry Mr. Willis," Sam apologized as he bent to retrieve the spilled items.
"Oh, hi Sam," Willis said, recognizing his visitor. "Come on in." He gestured to Sam to follow as he unlocked his door. Sam followed him into the apartment, depositing the grocery bag on the kitchen counter.
"I was helping my Aunt Eleanor get her house cleaned up -- she lives in one of those old Victorians -- and she insisted on sending a bag full of goodies home with me," Willis grinned and gestured toward the grocery bag, which was filled with plastic containers of cookies and other baked goods. "I think she's afraid I'll starve."
"Not anymore," Sam said with a smile. "You've got enough food there for a couple of weeks."
"No kidding," Willis said when they were both seated on chairs in the living room. "So, what can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if you knew where my dad was?"
Willis shook his head. I haven't seen him since Wednesday afternoon when he came by the lab to pick up some reports."
"What about last night? Didn't you guys get together?"
"No, I was here are all night cleaning up after the quake."
"Oh," Sam said thoughtfully. "Did he say anything about going out when you talked to him on the phone?"
"I didn't talk to him at all yesterday," Willis said, giving Sam a confused look.
"You didn't call him around six o'clock last night?"
"No."
"Aw man," Sam said, his concern for his father erupting into full-blown fear. If someone had called him impersonating Willis, it could only spell trouble for MacGyver.
"What's wrong?" Willis asked, sensing that he had just told Sam something he didn't want to hear. Sam explained to him about the phone call he had supposedly made to MacGyver on the previous night.
"I think," Willis said slowly, after a brief pause, "... we'd better take a closer look at that tape."
His stomach clenched with worry, Sam gave him a tight nod. "I think you're right."
MacGyver stopped to rest for a moment, dropping his head forward onto his outstretched arms. They had been at it all day: digging, climbing, and tunneling their way through the rubble in their quest for a way out from under the collapsed structure. With a weary sigh, MacGyver resumed his progress, pulling himself through the narrow tunnel that he and Murdoc had uncovered earlier. He had no idea what, if anything, he would find at the other end, but they had little choice, since there were no other paths through or around the rubble. MacGyver prayed that he wouldn't run into a dead end, as they had done several times before. Crawling through the debris was difficult enough without having to do it backwards.
Luck was with him this time, though, as the tiny passage suddenly opened into a larger space. MacGyver switched on the lantern, which he had been pushing along in front of him, and illuminated a small pocket of space next to a wall that had remained standing. It wasn't large enough for him to stand up, but there was enough room for him to stretch out on the floor -- a thought which appealed to him immensely after twelve straight hours of scrambling through the ruins of the building.
"We've got some open space up here," MacGyver called into the crawlspace from which he had just emerged. A grunt was the only response from Murdoc; faint scuffling sounds the only other indicator of his progress through the tunnel.
MacGyver closed his eyes, leaning wearily against the wall. His ribs had been unrelentingly protesting the strenuous activity to which they had been subjected all day, and now the rest of his body was joining in the chorus of complaint. His muscles ached from the strain of moving heavy debris and climbing around all of the obstacles in his path, and he had added some new scrapes and bruises to his already-numerous collection. He was on the verge of falling asleep when Murdoc finally poked his head out of the debris.
"Well, isn't this cozy," Murdoc said disdainfully as he eased himself into the small space.
"Home sweet home," MacGyver muttered, watching Murdoc slide himself wearily into the opposite corner.
"I suppose it *does* have a certain ambience." Murdoc grinned and waved his good hand around the room.
MacGyver grunted and shook his head. It never ceased to amaze him how Murdoc could maintain his warped sense of humor even in the most dire of circumstances. Nothing seemed to faze him. Even now, he was lying curled up on the floor, already asleep and snoring faintly. With a sigh, MacGyver reached over and switched off the lantern, stretching himself into a reasonably comfortable position. It was going to be another fun night in the Earthquake Hotel.
"What have we got?" The white-coated doctor hurried to greet the paramedics as they rushed through the doors to the emergency room.
"Gunshot wound to the head," the uniformed woman said briskly. "Multiple contusions and lacerations."
The doctor looked at the dark-haired man lying on the gurney, taking note of his expensive suit. "Robbery?"
"Looks that way," the paramedic said with a nod as she hurried alongside the gurney as it was pushed down the car door of the hospital. "Looters are still running wild all over the city."
"Any history?"
"None," the second paramedic said. "No wallet or other I.D."
"Great," the doctor said with a tired sigh. "He's the twelfth John Doe we've had today."
"Day's not over yet, Doc," the female paramedic said with a sardonic grin.
"Don't remind me." The doctor paused and consulted a clipboard hanging on the wall. "Put him in treatment room three." Taking a fresh patient chart, the doctor penciled in 'John Doe 12' in the space at the top before pushing through the door to take care of the injured man.
Since Willis' phone and his own cellular service were still out of order, Sam waited until they arrived at MacGyver's apartment before calling Pete with the latest bit of unwelcome information about his father's disappearance.
"It's Sam again, Mr. Thornton," he said when Pete answered the phone.
"What's wrong?" he asked, instantly detecting the distress in Sam's voice.
Sam told him about the phone call that hadn't come from Willis.
"If Willis didn't make the call, who did?" Pete asked worriedly.
"I don't know," Sam said, running a hand through his hair distractedly, unconsciously mimicking one of MacGyver's mannerisms. "We're going to take the tape over to Willis' lab to analyze it."
"Let me know the minute you find out anything. I'm going to start calling..." Pete paused, not wanting to worry Sam anymore than he already was. "... around, see if anyone has seen him."
Sam, already beside himself with worry, didn't notice Pete's reticence. "Thanks Mr. Thornton." Not wanting to waste a minute, Sam and Willis took the tape from the answering machine and headed directly for the Phoenix Foundation.
Sitting down at his desk, Pete leaned his forehead on his folded hands as he steeled himself for his next task. It was something he had had to do before, and he found it as difficult this time as it had always been. Finally, he collected himself and began the dreaded job of calling the hospitals -- and the morgue -- to see if MacGyver had turned up. And as he had done each time before, Pete prayed that he wouldn't find what he was looking for.
The soft rumbling beneath him and a cascade of fine grit peppering his face roused MacGyver from his slumber. "Aw man, not again," he muttered to himself as the tremor's intensity increased. The aftershock way short-lived, however, and his current shelter remained intact as his cautious inspection revealed. In the dim light of the lantern, MacGyver glanced at his watch and was surprised to find that he had been asleep for four hours, since he still felt like he hadn't slept for a week.
"Yo, Murdoc," he called out to the sleeping assassin, amazed to note that he hadn't stirred at all during the disturbance.
"What?" Murdoc grumbled sleepily.
"Nap time is over," MacGyver said as he started to examine the area for an exit. "I don't know about you, but I want to get out of here as soon as possible."
Murdoc scowled at him but joined MacGyver in his search for an escape route. It took more than an hour, but they finally uncovered a passage that looked promising under several layers of timber and metal. Murdoc peered into the opening, then turned to MacGyver. "After you." Grinning, he gestured toward the dark hole.
MacGyver had a sudden, childish urge to stick his tongue out at Murdoc, but wisely restrained himself. Crawling awkwardly into the cramped, dusty space, he decided that he had spent way too much time under this building if he was actually contemplating making faces at an armed killer who hated his guts. "How do I get myself into these situations?" he grumbled to himself as he clambered over broken drywall and concrete.
"Here we are," Willis said, sweeping his hand around the room with a flourish. "Geek's paradise." The lab was large and brightly lit by narrow fluorescent lights overhead. Long tables lined the walls, and every surface was covered with computers and gleaming electronic equipment. It was a stark, functional room, whose only touch of personality came in the form of a row of colorful miniature dinosaurs that sat on the shelf above the large computer monitor on Willis' desk.
"Cool," Sam said with a grin, pointing at the toys, some of which had fallen onto the floor during the quake.
"Uh, yeah," Willis said sheepishly as he restored the dinosaurs to their perch. "The place needed a little character."
"I thought that's why they had you?"
"Smart alec," Willis grinned and cuffed Sam on the side of his head.
Sam rolled the chair alongside Willis as he started to type on the computer. "Have to get a few things set up..." he mumbled as he entered what Sam called his 'scientist mode'. After a few minutes, Willis turned and rolled his chair to a table behind his desk and flipped some switches on a piece of equipment.
"What's that?" Sam asked, curious about the unfamiliar device.
"This is the audio analyzer," Willis explained. "It's just a fancy tape deck that records the audio information from the tape and converts it into a digital format that the computer can deal with."
"Neat."
"Yeah," Willis agreed. "Once we have it recorded, we can run it against voice patterns in the Phoenix database and see if we find a match."
"So you can tell right away if it isn't your voice?"
"Yep." Willis put the tape into the machine and rewound it, then pressed the 'play' button. Immediately, the sound of his own voice came from the speakers. He frowned and turned to Sam. "Does that really sound like me?"
Sam nodded.
"Well, we'll find out soon enough." He punched a few more buttons then moved back to the computer. "Okay, we'll match it against mine first." He typed rapidly for minute then switched to his mouse, clicking on several points on the screen. Finally, the display changed and Sam leaned forward in anticipation.
"Well?" he asked.
"It doesn't match. Look." He pointed at the two clearly different patterns which were displayed one above the other on the screen.
"So it's not your voice?" Sam said hesitantly.
"No."
"How accurate is that thing?"
"We can match voice patterns with about ninety-nine percent confidence."
"Wow," Sam said appreciatively. "So what now?"
"Now, we'll try running it against the voice prints in the database." He turned to Sam. "It may take a while, since that database is huge. We're talking terabytes of data."
Sam wasn't exactly sure what size a terabyte was, but he knew it was really big. "What if it doesn't find a match?"
"Then we'll probably be out of luck. The only people with bigger databases are the FBI and the NSA. Maybe the CIA, too. What we have here is a subset of their data," Willis said apologetically. "If we don't get anything, I can contact some friends in those agencies, but it could take days, even weeks to get any answers."
"I don't think we have that long," Sam said gloomily.
"Come on," Willis said, trying not to betray his own fear for his friend's safety. "Let's see if we can scare up some coffee or something while we're waiting."
"Okay." Sam followed him out of the lab, hoping that they would find some answers, but at the same time dreading what those answers might be.
"Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to work we go." MacGyver listened to the slightly off-key notes of the song and laughed giddily to himself as he squeezed through another impossibly narrow gap in the rubble. As he pulled himself forward, a sharp pain suddenly shot up his arm as his palm encountered a protruding nail. "Ow! Dammit!" He immediately snatched his injured appendage back, cradling it protectively against his chest. "Probably a rusty nail too," he grumbled to himself as he pressed the corner of his shirt against the wound to stop the bleeding.
Despite the pain in his hand, MacGyver had a sudden, irrepressible desire to giggle. Forgetting about his injury, he started to laugh and began crawling forward again, stopping only when he leaned his weight on his hand and felt another sharp jolt of pain. With the pain came a sudden clarity and the realization that the odd singing he had been listening to earlier had been his own. He shook his head in an attempt to banish the fuzziness that seemed to have invaded his brain, but regretted it when a wave of nausea washed over him.
MacGyver groaned, running his uninjured hand through his hair. This was *not* good. It was going to be hard enough to escape his current predicament with his faculties intact. He couldn't afford to lose it now. He took a deep breath and became aware of the stuffy, heavy quality of the air around him. "Gas," he whispered aloud as he suddenly recognized the cause of his muddled thinking.
There had to be some gas lines running beneath the building and it was a good bet that at least one had ruptured during the earthquake. The gas was probably seeping through cracks in the ground and filling the open spaces that he and Murdoc were navigating in their search for freedom, making their predicament even more threatening. Going back wouldn't help, since the gas had most likely already inundated the areas they had already passed through, so without any other options, MacGyver resumed his forward progress, quickening his pace as much as possible.
"You'd better step on it, Murdoc," he turned to warn the other man. "This place is filling up with gas."
"That figures," Murdoc responded thickly.
MacGyver turned around and pushed his way determinedly through some more broken bits of drywall. After everything he had been through, he wasn't about to let something like a busted gas line stop him from getting out of here. He only hoped that they would find a source of fresh air soon, before the gas overwhelmed them.
Sam lifted his head from the desk, blinking against the sudden brightness as he tried to focus on his surroundings. He turned around and spotted Willis, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded across his chest, snoring softly. With a sleepy yawn, Sam stood quietly and stretched, running his hand through his sleep-mussed hair as his memory of the lab, and why he was there, flooded back. A muted beeping noise caught his attention and he glanced at the computer monitor then froze, staring at the two words that flashed on the screen in bright red letters. "Match Found". The search had taken all night, but had apparently found an answer.
"Willis," he said softly, his voice barely a whisper that the other man didn't hear. "Willis," he tried again, louder, and this time Willis opened his eyes and sat up.
"Huh?" Willis looked around in sleepy confusion.
In response, Sam simply pointed at the computer screen. Willis straightened his glasses and reached for the mouse once the words on the screen registered.
"Okay, let's see what we've got," he said eagerly as he scanned the results of the voice analysis. His excitement, though, faded as abruptly as it had begun and he leaned back in his chair, staring grimly at the screen.
"What is it?" Sam asked hesitantly, not liking the look he saw on Willis' face.
Willis turned to him slowly and said, "Murdoc."
Sam stared at him as the bottom dropped out of his stomach. "No," he whispered as he sank defeatedly into his chair. Of all the people it could have been...
"It's an eighty-nine percent match," Willis said helplessly.
Sam leaned his elbows on the desk and covered his face with his hands. "Shit."
"Yeah," Willis agreed, the bleak tone of his voice matching Sam's.
Markham walked down the hall toward his office, mentally composing a "to-do" list in his head for the day's activities. At the top of that list was a renewed effort to locate MacGyver and Phelps. The previous day had ended with no sign of the two men and Markham was beginning to think that something other than the earthquake was responsible for their absence. What that something was, however, was still a mystery.
At first, he had suspected that Phelps had somehow engineered MacGyver's disappearance, possibly at the behest of their superiors, using the earthquake as a cover. But repeated calls from those same superiors inquiring about the location of both Phelps and MacGyver had made him doubt that particular theory, and knowing Phelps as well as he did, he also doubted that the man had taken it upon himself to make MacGyver disappear. Phelps was a man accustomed to taking orders and also one who was wise enough to know the consequences of not doing so. The people they both worked for did not encourage independent actions and were not known to be forgiving of disobedience.
Markham was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he nearly bumped into Pete, who was waiting by the door to his office. "Oh, hello Peter," Markham greeted him. "You're here early."
"No earlier than you, it seems," Pete said with a grin.
Markham snorted faintly. "It's the only time I'll be able to get anything done. It'll be a madhouse again in here by eight o'clock."
"Earthquakes have a way of causing pandemonium," Pete acknowledged sympathetically. "I figured I'd come in early and help out."
"Terrific. We can use all the help we can get."
As Pete took a seat in one of the visitor's chairs in Markham's office, his secretary came through the door carrying a pot of coffee and two cups. "Coffee gentlemen?"
"Alice, you're a lifesaver," Markham said gratefully as he accepted the steaming mug.
"Thanks, Alice," Pete said as she placed his cup in his hand.
Taking a sip of the aromatic brew, Markham sighed appreciatively. "This will be the first of many today, I'm sure."
"I take it you haven't had any luck in finding MacGyver or Phelps?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing," Markham said with a frown as he leaned back in his chair.
"I spent most of yesterday trying to find them," Pete told him. "I called everyone MacGyver knows, then I tried the hospitals and the morgue. It wasn't much use, though. They have hundreds of unidentified victims and they're so overwhelmed with casualties that they don't have enough staff to track anyone down."
"Damn," Markham cursed softly. "We can't spare anyone to go out hunting for them, either."
At that moment, Markham's door suddenly burst open and Willis and Sam rushed into the room.
"Sorry to barge in on you like this, Mr. Markham, but we have some news about my dad," Sam said breathlessly.
"Sam? What is it?" Pete asked.
Sam turned around, surprised by Pete's presence in the room. "Oh good, you're here. I tried to call you at home..." he trailed off.
Markham looked from Sam to Willis expectantly. "And?"
"We're fairly certain that MacGyver has met with some... foul play," Willis began.
"There was a call from Mr. Willis on my dad's answering machine... only it wasn't him," Sam added.
"What do you mean?" Markham asked.
"I analyzed the tape and found a voice print match in our database," Willis explained. "The voice belonged to Murdoc."
The silence in the room was deafening as the two older men sat, stunned at this new development.
"My God," Markham said finally, shaking his head. "What else can go wrong this week?"
"What should we do?" Sam asked, almost pleadingly.
"Any suggestions, Peter?" asked Markham. "You're the closest thing to an expert that we have on Murdoc."
"I can make a few calls, but..." Pete shook his head dispiritedly. "MacGyver's the one who's the real expert on Murdoc."
"Maybe I can help," offered Willis. "If Murdoc was impersonating me, he would have to know a lot about me in order to convince Mac."
"Like what?" Markham asked, unsure of how this would help them find his men.
"If we assume that Murdoc lured MacGyver to a meeting, it would have to be a place that both he and Willis would normally go; someplace that wouldn't arouse his suspicion," Pete explained.
"Well, Mac and I usually get together for dinner or lunch every couple of weeks." Willis scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"Wouldn't a restaurant be a bit too... public for what Murdoc probably has in mind?" Markham queried.
"Yeah," Sam said despondently. "He wouldn't want an audience when he..." Sam broke off, unable to voice what they were all thinking.
"Murdoc has tried before, Sam, and he's always failed," Pete said reassuringly.
"Yeah," said Willis, nodding in agreement. "He's just no match for MacGyver."
"I hope you're right," Sam said quietly, still sounding unconvinced.
"Sam, why don't you and Willis pursue that angle," Markham suggested. "Use whatever resources you need. Peter and I are going to have our hands full getting everything coordinated here."
"Okay," Sam agreed.
"Let's go, Sam," Willis said encouragingly. "We have a lot of work to do."
"Good luck," Pete called to them as they left.
Markham silently echoed Pete's words. He hadn't said anything to them, but he had the added hope that Willis and Sam might be able to find Phelps as well, considering how closely he had been sticking to MacGyver lately. His hope was that when they found one, they would find the other.
"So," Pete said, rousing him from his reverie. "Where do we start?"
Pete had once jokingly told him that when God was handing out luck, he must have gotten in line about a dozen times, since he always seemed to find a way out of all of the impossible scrapes that he managed to get himself into. As he pulled himself into a small section of corridor that had somehow remained standing, MacGyver felt the welcome touch of fresh air on his face and smiled. Maybe Pete hadn't been too far off the mark after all.
The effects of the gas and his arduous journey through the rubble had left him exhausted and feeling hung over. His head still pounded in a steady rhythm, though the clean air had rapidly banished the last traces of dizziness. Shining the lantern around, MacGyver couldn't detect any obvious source of fresh air, but the mere fact that it was present told him that he was getting closer to finding a path to the outside. With a grunt, Murdoc dragged himself into the hallway and lay on the floor breathing deeply and staring disconcertedly at the partially collapsed ceiling above him.
"The air is certainly much better in here," he finally said, his voice hoarse from the prolonged exposure to gas and dust. "Any idea where it's coming from?"
"Not a clue," MacGyver croaked wearily as he attempted to massage the ache out of his head.
"I feel like I've inhaled a couple pounds of dirt," Murdoc complained tiredly, wrinkling his nose in disgust as he attempted to brush the dust off of his clothing.
"Yeah, well keep it to yourself," MacGyver coughed, waving his hand in front of his face to fan away the cloud of dust that Murdoc was stirring up.
Murdoc shot him a glare, then curled up against the wall. "I'm going to get some sleep."
MacGyver watched him silently for a minute before finding himself a spot that wasn't too uncomfortable. Switching off the lamp, he lay on his back and tried to sleep, but the pain in his head wouldn't immediately allow it. With nothing to distract him, he started pondering his predicament again. They were getting closer to the outside and sooner or later, he was going to have to deal with Murdoc. There was no doubt in his mind that Murdoc planned to kill him the moment they were free of the imprisoning debris, and MacGyver knew that he was going to have to use everything he had if he was going to survive. With those troubling thoughts on his mind, MacGyver finally fell into an uneasy slumber.
"Why don't we get some breakfast," said Willis, stifling a yawn. "I really need some coffee -- and not that battery acid that comes out of the vending machines, either."
"Sure," Sam said, his stomach growling at the thought of food. They left the Phoenix building and walked down the block to a small diner that claimed to be open twenty-four hours a day and was, indeed, the only restaurant open at that early hour. After they had been seated in a booth and ordered breakfast, Willis took a small notepad and pen out of his pocket and began taking notes.
"We need to make a list of places that Mac wouldn't find unusual to meet with me. I'm going to start with restaurants, since that's where we usually get together," Willis said, tapping his pen on the notepad.
"Yeah," Sam agreed. "I was thinking that we shouldn't rule them out, since Murdoc could have gotten to my dad before he even went inside."
"You're right," Willis agreed as he began making a list.
"Don't forget that Mexican place down by the pier that we all went to after I won that award for my Bosnia photos."
"Rafael's," Willis asserted, adding it to the list. "We've been there a few times recently."
By the time they had finished breakfast, the list had expanded to two pages. Sam stared at it gloomily. "This list is huge and we haven't even finished with restaurants yet."
"MacGyver is always dragging me off to try new places," Willis explained. "Trying to expand my horizons, I guess."
"What about other places?"
"We've met in the park and at the Science Museum, but only during the daytime."
"Anyplace else?"
"Well, we have met at some of the Phoenix buildings after normal business hours... usually when we need to work on a project that we don't want anyone else to know about." Willis began adding to the list, then suddenly looked up, staring past Sam distractedly.
"What?" Sam inquired, noting the faraway look in his eyes.
"All of the Phoenix buildings have surveillance cameras."
Sam shrugged. "So? It's not likely that Murdoc just waltzed into the building and then back out again with my dad."
"Maybe not, but there are cameras covering the *outside* of all the facilities, too."
Sam nodded slowly. "He wouldn't have seen anything unusual about meeting you back at Phoenix that night."
"I think it's a good place to start," Willis said. "Markham can get us access to all of the tapes and we can watch them in my lab."
"What are we waiting for?" Sam said with a smile. "Let's go."
"I found it!" Murdoc declared, gesturing toward a hole he had uncovered in the debris that clogged the partially-collapsed hallway where they had spent the last several hours. MacGyver crawled over to him and held his hand in front of the opening, smiling at the slight movement of air he felt on his outstretched palm.
"Yep, that's it all right," he nodded, agreeing with Murdoc's assessment. For the next few hours, he and Murdoc worked furiously to widen the hole so that they could fit through it. Once it was large enough, MacGyver shone the light inside, illuminating another narrow, twisted passage, then blew out a weary breath and crawled inside. "I'm really starting to hate dark holes," he grumbled as he inched his way slowly along the tunnel, studiously avoiding the abundance of rusty nails and jagged chunks of concrete as best he could. The tunnel eventually led, with much digging and effort on his part, to another small section of intact corridor. MacGyver slid himself into it, thankful to be able to rest on a smooth surface for awhile.
The fresh air was even more abundant here, and MacGyver quickly located the source at one end of the hallway. An elevator, its doors buckled and blocked with debris, stood at what was once an intersection of two corridors. Air flowed steadily through the gap between the doors and MacGyver felt his hopes building. Elevator shafts were usually sturdy and well-reinforced and there was a good chance that this one had remained fairly intact compared to the rest of the structure. Without waiting for Murdoc, he began pulling bricks and sections of smashed drywall away from the doors with a new burst of energy fueled by the hope that this might, at last, be a way out of this nightmare.
"Nothing," Sam said dully, staring blearily at the last of the surveillance tapes. He and Willis had been reviewing them all day and had seen no evidence that MacGyver had been anywhere near the Phoenix Foundation facilities since he had left his office two nights ago.
"All that means is that he didn't go to any of the Phoenix buildings," Willis said encouragingly.
"Where is he?" Sam asked plaintively, not really expecting an answer.
Willis squeezed Sam's shoulder sympathetically, noting the strain in the younger man's voice. "Sam, I've known Mac a long time. He's one of the most intelligent and resourceful people I've ever met. He'll find a way out of whatever trouble he's gotten himself into. He always does."
"I'm trying to believe that, but..." Sam shook his head dispiritedly.
"Look, he's handled Murdoc before. I'm sure it's no different this time," Willis stated confidently.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Because, I've seen him do it before, and..." Willis paused for a minute then continued. "... and because we haven't heard from Murdoc."
"What do you mean?"
"Murdoc likes to... gloat about his triumphs. One of his trademarks is taking pictures of his victims as they die."
"That's sick!" Sam said disgustedly.
Willis nodded solemnly. "You can bet that if he had done anything to Mac, he would already have been in touch with us -- you and Pete especially -- to crow about it. He's been after him for so long, it would be his ultimate victory and he wouldn't be able to resist rubbing it in."
"Jesus, what a bastard," Sam swore softly.
"Yeah," Willis said quietly. "But the good news is, that we *haven't* heard from him, so your dad is probably okay."
"Probably..." Sam echoed.
"We just have to think positive and keep looking for him."
"You're right, I know," Sam acknowledged reluctantly. "But I'm just... I don't want to lose him."
"Neither do I." Willis clapped him on the shoulder. "Come on, we still have this list of places to check out. What do you say we start with one of the restaurants?" Willis gave Sam a rueful smile. "I'd really like to have a meal that didn't come wrapped in plastic."
"Yeah, me too," Sam chuckled.
"Good! We'll need the energy if we're going to make any kind of dent in this list." He waved the pages at Sam.
Sam groaned inwardly at the amount of effort that was going to be required to visit the numerous places on the list. "When we find him," Sam said with a crooked smile. "My dad is going to owe us one very large dinner... at the restaurant of our choice."
"At least," Willis laughed as they headed out the door, thankful that Sam was in better spirits. He only hoped that his confident words were proven true and they *did* find MacGyver alive and well.
"Man, this sucks," MacGyver said under his breath as he clung to the damaged side of the elevator shaft. His elation at discovering the relatively intact conduit to the surface had quickly turned to dismay when he realized just how far *up* the opening to the outside world lay. It appeared that the top half of the shaft had been sheared off, but this having been a ten-story building, that still left five stories worth of treacherous climbing ahead of him. And that was about four stories too many for his liking. Looking down, he saw that Murdoc was making slow but steady progress behind him, hampered by his broken arm, but seeming to have no problem with his distance from the ground. MacGyver was glad that the feeble light from the lantern, which he had hooked through his belt, didn't reach as far as the bottom of the shaft, since he really didn't need any reminders of his altitude.
As he reached for another handhold, MacGyver spotted the faint twinkling of a star through the gap in the rubble three floors above him. That was a goal definitely worth reaching, MacGyver told himself as he determinedly hauled himself the next few feet toward the surface. Several times, he nearly lost his grip, but now that he had freedom in his sights, nothing was going to stand between him and the outside. He certainly wasn't about to give Murdoc the pleasure of watching him plunge to his death.
Concentrating only on the single star above him as he climbed, MacGyver was surprised when his next upward push brought him to the surface. A wide smile spread across his face and he quickly scrambled the rest of the way out of the hole. Careful of his footing, MacGyver slowly stood and looked out at the lights of the city.
"Yes!" he shouted triumphantly, stretching his arms out as the cool breeze ruffled his hair. The sudden sensation of the cool night air made him shiver slightly, but MacGyver couldn't remember anything that had ever felt quite that good. He was so exhilarated by his hard-won freedom that he didn't even notice when Murdoc finally emerged from the rubble.
"Well," Murdoc commented as he, too, took in the view. "That was... interesting, though not an experience I'd care to repeat."
MacGyver turned at the sound of his voice and regarded Murdoc warily. He unhooked the lantern from his belt and set it down beside him. "Me neither," he quietly agreed. They stood silently, gazing out at the lights of the city, until Murdoc turned around to face MacGyver.
"I do believe we have some unfinished business," Murdoc said with a humorless grin.
MacGyver rolled his eyes in disbelief. "Give it a rest, Murdoc. Can't you simply be happy to be alive and out of that hell hole?"
Murdoc shrugged and nonchalantly waved his knife, which had suddenly appeared in his hand. "Game's not over yet." He tightened his grip on the knife and advanced toward MacGyver, who took a step back and then another, as Murdoc slowly approached him, a cold, almost feral, gleam in his eyes. MacGyver stepped back again, but this time the surface beneath his foot shifted and he stumbled backward, landing hard on his backside.
"Very graceful, MacGyver," Murdoc said with a disparaging smirk. "What do you call that move?"
As he tried to stand, MacGyver realized with sudden alarm that his left foot -- the uninjured one -- was wedged tightly between two pieces of concr