by Cindy Combs
"What?" Dave exclaimed.
"Nighthawk." Craig turned to see a tall, slim man in his late forties walk up. "How'd you get here so fast?"
"Picking up Cory's boss, Craig Bannister," Dave explained, waving a hand in Craig's direction. "What's an assassin doing around here?"
Clancy Johnson tilted his head towards a corner. Following, Craig was puzzled as to why the need for privacy. He waited for his answer.
Johnson took a deep breath and explained, "You remember those friends of that historian Hudson?"
Dave nodded, frowning. "The ones who blew the top off the Madisons' corruption schemes, right?"
"Right. They're back in town looking for that old Hanson gang loot. Anyways, it seems that one of them ticked off some wacko. He blew up the Narrows Bridge, and one of the man's sons fell into the river there."
"Damn." Dave ran a hand over his head. "In this storm, that river's going to be running fast and cold."
"If he was lucky and kept his head about him, he may have survived. We're organizing search crews, but I've got to tell you, I don't like sending in my people with a madman out there."
Dave nodded, then suddenly paused. "Wait a minute. Wasn't Toby suppose to drive Jill up into Peaks to interview some University group?"
Johnson steeled himself. "That's the one. Toby's the one who called it in."
Dave's eyes grew wide. "So Toby's already up there? Without backup?"
Johnson raised his hands. "Easy. The man's other son is a big city police detective, and his partner is also on this trip."
"Yeah, I remember them."
"Sounds like Toby's probably got better backup than what I could give him."
"Do you have an ID on the assassin?" Craig quietly asked.
"Someone named Murdoc."
"Murdoc!"
Johnson and Dave turned to Craig. "You know this man?" Dave asked.
Craig nodded. "He was considered one of the most dangerous international assassin until some friends of mine stopped him. He's never been officially caught, but they ruined his reputation. Last I heard he was supposed to be dead." Craig paused, thinking. "The man Murdoc's after -- he wouldn't happen to be named MacGyver, would he?" Johnson's mouth dropped open. "How'd you know?"
Craig swore violently. "We use to work together and Mac's the one who stopped him. Murdoc's been obsessed with him for decades. Who went into the river? Blair or Sam?"
"Sam Malloy."
"God, I hope the kid's okay." Craig ran a hand over his face. MacGyver adored his sons. Craig could only imagine what his friend was going through.
"How dangerous is this Murdoc now?" Dave asked.
"The only word for that bastard is scary," Craig replied, his face serious. "Intelligent, highly unpredictable, very melodramatic, and totally insane. MacGyver, who's practically a genius himself, is the only one who can out-think him."
"Great," Dave grumbled.
"Sheriff!" A tiny blonde holding a phone turned towards her boss. "I've got Cory Buchanan on the line. He fished Malloy out of the river."
"Put him on speaker," Johnson ordered as they walked over. "Cory, this is Sheriff Johnson. What condition is Malloy in?"
Through the static, Craig could hear Cory reply, "He got knocked around quite a bit and he's still coughing up river water. Hypothermic, broken wrist, and took a crack on the head. I've dried him off and now I'm trying to warm him up. "
Glancing at Johnson for permission, Nighthawk quickly asked, "Cory? This is Dave. How are you doing?"
"I've been better." Craig frowned, realizing just how much Cory had to be hurting to admit that much.
"Has Malloy been able to give you any details?" Johnson asked
"He's still not real coherent -- says something about being chased and a bridge blowing up."
"A bridge did blow up," Johnson clarified, hearing the doubt in the young man's voice.
There was a short pause. "Okay."
Craig jumped in. "Cory, this is Bannister. You're back in business. Sam's father use to be in the show, and an old acquaintance wants payback. You copy?"
"Yeah." Another slight pause. "Who's the acquaintance? And do I know Sam's father?"
"Remember my story about the guy who exchanged power steering fluid for brake fluid?" Both Johnson and Dave threw Craig puzzled looks.
"Yeah."
"Sam's his son. You've got to protect him from a former assassin who's still very dangerous. Understand?"
"Yeah."
Dave frowned at Craig. "Bannister and I'll be up there as soon as possible, if Toby and the father aren't there first. Just stay alert."
"Okay."
Nighthawk was still glaring at Craig as Cory hung up. "Are you nuts? Cory's in no condition to be protecting anybody."
"He doesn't have a choice now," Craig quietly pointed out. "If Murdoc decides to go after Sam, he'll consider Cory fair game. I want him alert if that happens. But I really doubt it'll come down to that. Murdoc will probably go after Mac or his other son."
Bill Nighthawk's cabin
Cory stared at the phone a moment. Sure, he remembered Craig's tale about exchanging power steering fluid with the brake fluid. It was an exciting tale, where Craig was driving the brakeless car down a steep mountain road with a group of irate Eastern Block officials behind him. And that his friend was perched on the front of the wildly careening car like a weird hood ornament while making the switch. It was just one of many stories Cory had heard about the legendary DXS agent, MacGyver.
MacGyver. Cory looked back at Sam, who was again dozing on the couch. He'd always wanted to meet the man, but had never heard anything about a son. Was that why the tiger led him to the river? To rescue the son of a legend? Yet Grandmother acted like it was more important than that. That the Hawk would help him in some way.
He ran a hand over his face. At the moment, Sam was in no condition to help anybody. Nor was he sure anyone could help him with his current problems, except by writing a prescription for some heavy-duty psych drugs. As usual, it was up to him to take care of himself and those around him. And if this psycho has already blown up a bridge to hurt Sam and his family, he'd better be prepared.
With a groan, he carefully limped to the secured locker in the corner of the cabin. Quickly spinning the combination, he opened the door and pulled out his Browning. He hadn't expected to need his gun. However, with someone holding a grudge against MacGyver running around, he wanted to be prepared. His knee wasn't strong enough to handle most of his hand-to-hand. After snapping in a full clip, Cory double-check the safety and tucked it away behind his back. Then he spied Bill's Kay Bar lying on a shelf. He picked it up, sliding the knife out of its sheath and testing the balance. It could come in handy, too. He slipped the knife back and clipped it to his belt. Then he yanked the emergency pack from the bottom of the locker. Thankfully, Bill believed in being prepared for anything.
As he closed the locker, he heard Sam cough again. Cory frowned, wondering if his charge was developing pneumonia. He turned back to the kitchen to see if Bill had any of Grandmother's special cold tea in the cupboard.
Base camp, Wind River Range, WY
In Blair's 32 years, he had known many different levels of fear. As a child, his biggest fear was wondering if Naomi was going to move them again. As a student he feared failing a test or losing his scholarship. Tagging along with Jim, he learned new levels of fear, such as 'about to be drowned by a psycho'. He never thought anything would top it.
Then he found out he had a brother. He didn't understand it, but Sam had become important to him in a way he never expected. With laid back ease, Sam had slipped into his life like the spot had been saved for him since birth. Sure, he worried about other people, especially Jim, Mac and Naomi. Mac's bout of malaria had scared him and Jim had even frightened him a couple of times with his heroics. But for some reason, perhaps due to the fact that Blair was usually the youngest, he never really feared for anyone like Sam.
It wasn't because Sam was e
specially inept. Blair's head knew his brother could take perfectly good care of himself and had been for most of his life. However, Blair's heart was much harder to convince. He had learned a new level of fear while sitting with his father, waiting for news from Chechnya. Receiving a phone call that his brother had been stabbed multiple times had been even worse. However, watching Sam fall into a roaring river topped the fear meter. It didn't matter that Jim was certain Sam would be okay -- Blair didn't KNOW Sam was okay. Until he knew, the knot of fear inside his gut was going to continue to tighten.
Only the realization of how much Jim needed relief kept him from rushing headlong to the river. He allowed Mac and Toby to lead them back to base camp so that he and Jim could change into dry clothes, bandage up Jim's shoulder, and pick up their extra rain gear.
It also gave him a chance to help Jim with the dials. "...three, two, one. How does that feel?"
"Better. Thanks, Chief." Jim carefully moved his shoulder as his eyes examined his friend. "You okay?"
"I won't be okay until we find Sam."
"I know." Jim picked up his jacket and studied it a moment. "While I would never claim that anything having to do with Murdoc is good, perhaps the vision meant that Sam was supposed to meet the tiger."
"Jim," Blair began.
"Chief, there's more going on here than just Murdoc trying to kill us."
"We don't know that."
"I don't have visions every day."
Blair finally lifted his head to stare into Jim's eyes. "Then why are you worried?"
Jim met his partner's gaze evenly. "Like you said, we've only met evil sentinels on this world. I don't want to lose one of the few good ones to Murdoc, especially if he's the one Sam's suppose to guide."
Blair's eyes grew wide. "You think..."
Then MacGyver ducked inside the tent, followed by Toby. "Are you boys ready?"
After a 'we will talk about this later,' look to Jim, Blair declared, "I'm ready."
"Just a minute," Jim inserted. "Chief, hand me my duffle." Puzzled, Blair picked it up and handed it over. Jim reached in and withdrew his Colt. Both Blair and Mac stared at it. Jim simply stared back. "What? After what happened last time going up to Harry's cabin, I decided to be prepared."
MacGyver sighed. "I understand, but it doesn't make me feel better. Guns won't do much good against Murdoc." Behind him, Toby's radio buzzed.
"Well, it makes ME feel better." Jim declared as he checked the clip, then pushed it back into place.
Blair nodded, his eyes growing hard. "Yeah, for the first time in my life, I wish I had MY gun." MacGyver shot his son a glare as Jim reached back into his duffle and withdrew Blair's Sig.
Blair began to smile. "You brought mine?"
"I keep telling you that vacationing with the MacGyvers always gets interesting. I thought you might like some insurance, too."
MacGyver opened his mouth to argue when Toby shouted into the radio, "WHAT!" Jim, Blair and Mac exchanged worried glances. "The river? With his knee?"
Jim could hear the faint words, "...don't know why he was down there, but he found Malloy. Craig and I are heading there now, but you're closer."
"We'll head there right now," Toby replied, running a hand over his face. "Thanks, Dave."
As Toby signed off, Jim asked, "Someone found Sam?"
"Yeah."
"How is Sam?" MacGyver queried.
"Dave said he's hypothermic, possible fractured wrist, and concussed. He should be okay long enough for us to get him to the clinic in town."
"Who found him?" Jim asked.
"My friend Cory. For some dumb reason he was down by the river and found your missing guy."
"Dumb reason?" Blair repeated, not quite sure how to take Toby's sudden anger.
Toby shot him a weak smile. "Not because he found your brother. Dumb because Cory's suppose to be resting and staying off his knee. He's only been out of the hospital for a week. I'm not happy he seemed to think he ought to be walking around in this weather."
"Good friend?" Jim asked nonchalantly.
"Very good. My uncle's his godfather, so we've known each other since we were four."
MacGyver gave him a comforting smile. "Then let's go pick them up."
Bill Nighthawk's cabin
Cory carefully handed another warm mug to Sam. "This should help. Sure you don't want something to eat?"
"I'm not sure my stomach's going to handle the tea. But thanks."
Cory dropped into the soft chair next to the couch a with sigh. The afternoon had been filled with more activity than Cory had seen since waking up in a hospital bed. As his adrenaline level dropped, all his aches and pains were closing in on him with fatigue close behind. He looked up at the old clock on the mantle for the time. The swinging pendulum caught his eye. A faint voice in the back of his mind cried a warning, but couldn't stop the slow fall into oblivion.
"...Cory, listen to my voice. Just follow my voice back."
Cory suddenly shook his head. It had happened again, when he could least afford it. "Ah, man." He looked down to discover Sam's hand on his arm, then lifted his eyes to see Sam's concerned face. "How long?"
Sam settled back down into the cushions. "Less than a minute. Are you okay?"
"That's debatable," Cory muttered under his breath as he rubbed his eyes. However, the horrendous headache wasn't making its expected appearance. Then something caught his attention. Tilting his head, Cory listened.
"You hear something?" Sam softly whispered.
"Yeah." Tossing aside the fact that he shouldn't be able to hear anything beyond Sam and the storm, Cory concentrated on the sound. Vaguely, he realized that Sam's hand was back on his arm. "Someone's walking up to the house. I wonder who'd be out in this weather on foot."
"Maybe Dad and your friend?" Sam asked, still quiet.
Cory shook his head slowly, still listening. "Toby would have his patrol vehicle. Besides, we're a couple of miles off the main road." Then the sound of a harsh ~ker chunk~ echoed in Cory's head. "Damn it!" Cory shouted, grabbing Sam and yanking them both to the floor. Then the sounds of automatic gunfire roared through his head. It was too much. Cory curled up in a ball, his hands over his ears.
Then a soft voice reached through the pain. "...picture a volume control dial. It controls your hearing. Can you see it?"
He wasn't sure why, but the voice reminded him of Master Po. He fell back to his training, visualizing the dial in his abused mind.
"Okay, turn it down."
As he turned the imagined dial down, another voice broke through. "Come out, come out wherever you are, Junior MacGyver."
Cory opened his eyes. He could feel the cold, wet air pouring into the cabin from the shattered windows. Yet he suspected Sam was shaking from more than the cold. "Murdoc," Sam said softly.
"The guy after your Dad?" Sam nodded solemnly. "Damn."
Another round of automatic fire spewed bullets over their heads. Then the voice shouted, "If you come out, young Sam, I might let your Good Samaritan live."
Seeing the indecision on Sam's face, Cory softly ordered, "I make it a policy NEVER to do what the psycho says, so you are NOT going out to him."
"Does this policy usually work?"
Cory just shrugged as he pulled out his gun.
"Sam, old boy, be a good lad and come out here," yelled Murdoc.
"So what do you suggest?" Sam asked.
"We're getting out of here," Cory replied, "But we need a distraction."
Sam glanced around. "Is that a kerosene lamp on that table?"
"Yeah."
Sam reached out and pulled a box of matches towards him. "Okay, how's your throwing arm?"
A few minutes later, the lamp flew out the window. Both young men could hear the ~whoosh~ as the lamp sent out a wall of flames. It was time to run. Trying to stand, Cory nearly fell back down to the floor when his knee gave way. A strong arm wrapped itself under his shoulders. Sam aided him off the floor, then supported him as they hu
rried across the cabin. On the way, Cory snatched the emergency bag off the end table. More bullets shot into the wall behind them as they ducked onto the back porch.
"Now what?" Sam gasped, holding his injured wrist tight against his body.
"We head for that shed."
Together, the young men stumbled through the rain to the small wooden structure. Cory pushed the door open with his shoulder. Once inside, he glanced down. They had left so fast, Sam only had socks on his feet.
"He'll find us." Sam peered through the gloom, trying to see if there was anything useful.
"Which is why we're leaving. Grab those jackets on the pegs there, will you? And Bill's old work boots should be under there, too." Cory limped heavily to the corner, yanking a tarp. Underneath was a motorbike.
"Nice," Sam complimented. He shoved his feet into the boots as he yanked a leather jacket and a brown work coat off the hooks. He tossed the jacket to Cory.
"My godfather's," Cory explained. He pulled on the jacket, then looped the bag strap over his head. He discovered a baseball cap in the pocket, which he jammed on his head. "We just have to get it started."
Already wearing the coat and flipping the hood over his head, Sam mounted the machine. "Hold the gas for me." As Cory obediently held down the gas, Sam jumped the kick start. The bike immediately roared to life.
"Scoot back." Cory slipped in front of Sam, trying to keep the weight off his sore knee. "Hang on." Sam held on tight as Cory maneuvered the bike around gloom-shrouded equipment, then shot out the back. Sam could hear more gun fire as Cory aimed the bike into the woods. They roared into the darkness.
Toby's Jeep, road to Bill Nighthawk's cabin
Jim glanced into the back seat of the Jeep. Both Blair and MacGyver were quiet. Silence from MacGyver was neither unusual nor unexpected. Mac was both worrying about Sam and trying to calculate Murdoc's next move. Jim could only guess what was going on within that great mind. What was surprising was how easily Mac accepted Jim's vision. Even Jim had trouble believing in spirit animals and it was his dream. Mac absorbed it and took what comfort he could, then incorporated it into whatever he was planning next. Jim suspected the worried father latched onto the vision as proof that his son was okay.