by Cindy Combs
"Jack!" Mac warned again. He knew he wouldn't like where his friend was heading.
"That was when they told you Sam's Political Science class at the University was being held hostage by that psycho teacher."
Mac didn't respond. Yes, this did feel similar. Only Blair's chances this time felt even lower than Sam's had in that instance. Back then, the teacher didn't have a special grudge against Sam. Or at least not until Sam managed to help half the class escape.
"So I got to thinking. I'm guessing Blair is, what, 27, 28?"
"28," Mac responded with a sigh.
"So I considered all the various girls we knew around that time. Suddenly, I was reminded of that flower child you fell so hard for during that break we spent down by the Gulf of Mexico. You know, the pretty red-head that broke your heart when she discovered how much of a square you were. What was her name... Nadia? Nadine?"
"Naomi," Mac answered.
"And Blair's mother's name is...?"
"Drop it, Jack."
Jack hid a smile. "O-kay, just wanted to make sure I was on the right page."
Sunday, 4:30 p.m., Sun Rise Patriot's Base
~cough, cough~
Blair laid his head against the cool bar. He felt so cold, tired, and miserable. His throat was raw, his body ached and throbbed, and now he was beginning to cough. However, every time he felt the cool draft around his neck, his anger would re-ignite. That damn bastard had the nerve to cut his hair! He used the spurt of energy to finish unlocking the padlock again. By now, it should be dark outside, which should hopefully cover his escape. It was his best chance, and if he didn't take it now, he may be too sick later.
Cautiously, he slipped back up the steps and out the door. This time turning left, he had only traveled a few yards when he heard steps. He quickly ducked into a closet.
"...We should let the scum starve."
"Yeah, but he may be needed to help Ellison..."
Damn! Blair realized his escape would soon be detected. He felt a string touch his cheek. His hand found and yanked it. A light clicked on, revealing a circuit box. A small smile crossed Blair's face.
"These are the people I want assassinated."
The man quietly took the list, and studied it. "So, the governor of Washington State is visiting the mayor of Cascade. That should be a photogenic moment."
"By killing them, the US government will be forced to deal with us, plus I can have some revenge," Kincaid stated.
"Revenge is always a worthwhile cause," the assassin replied. "Now, you are sure that you can completely severe communications in the entire city?"
Kincaid smiled grimly. "The plan is already in motion. It should be a fairly smooth oper.." Suddenly, the lights died. "Damn it! What now?"
"Have you been found out?" the smooth voice of the assassin asked calmly.
"No, that damn POW probably got out again," Kincaid replied, turning on a small battery lamp on his desk. "That slippery white trash is more trouble than he is worth."
Blair quietly slipped down the dark hall, hand touching the wall. If he remembered right, the door to the outside should be around here somewhere. He paused to cough, trying to keep it as quiet as possible. Walking again, his fingers felt a metal door frame. Groping in the dark, his hand finally wrapped around the doorknob. Again, a cough forced him to pause.
Before he could turn the knob, Blair was suddenly pinned by three flashlights. "That's it, scum," a voice growled from the darkness, "You're coming with us."
With a burst of desperate speed, Blair plowed into the lights, trying to knock down the militiamen and escape. A fist came out of the dark, striking him in the jaw. Blair was suddenly on the floor, head spinning. Before he could move he was kicked in the ribs. Gasping for air, Blair fought against both his cough and the waves of pain. Unmercifully, he was hauled to his feet and forced to walk back to Kincaid's office.
For the third time that day, Kincaid walked around his desk to face his uncooperative prisoner. "You are a slow learner, aren't you Sandburg?" he asked.
Holding his ribs and trying not to cough, Blair again stared defiantly at Kincaid.
Someone entered the room from the door behind Blair. "Report, soldier!" Kincaid barked.
"All of the fuses were removed from the box and crushed, sir. Haskins went to the supply building to get replacements."
Kincaid crossed his arms while he studied the bruised but still defiant man in front of him. "You continue to disrespect me. But I want to know how you keep getting out." No reaction except a cough came from Sandburg. Kincaid transferred his gaze to his men. "Strip search him."
From the dark corner, the assassin watched as Kincaid's men began pulling off the clothes of the struggling, curly-haired young man. It seemed outrageous that this slim, sick, injured kid could be aggravating the militiamen to such an extent. Yet he had spirit. In fact, he seemed familiar, reminiscent of someone.
As one of the men yanked off his boot, something fell to the floor with a metallic rattle. Kincaid leaned over and picked up the object. "A Swiss army knife," he stated in disbelief. "You did all this with a Swiss army knife?"
MacGyver. This kid somehow reminded him of MacGyver. The assassin studied him more thoroughly. No, he didn't look like MacGyver, not like the other one. But could there be a connection?
Sandburg, shivering in his boxers and T-shirt, continued to stare at Kincaid with his one good eye.
"Well, since you like closets so much, you will spend more time in one." Kincaid looked at his men, and ordered, "Lock him in the utility closet in the basement."
The assassin watched as the young man was forced to walk bare-foot out the door. The militia leader had earlier struck him as efficiently brutal. Now he wonder if Kincaid realized just what kind of trouble the young man represented. However, if someone had tried to warn him how much trouble a gun-hating cab driver would cause him, he wouldn't have believed it. This situation would bear watching.
Sunday, 7:00 p.m., Cascade PD headquarters
Ellison was quickly running down the list again, trying not to think of his partner. He had six hours before he was to meet with the Sun Rise Patriot representative. It was an hour later than Mac's meet time. Or should he say Dexter Fillmore? Better get use to the Fillmore alias, since he wouldn't want to blow Mac's cover. Mac was his ace-in-the-hole, a variable Kincaid couldn't possibly have considered.
He lifted his head to stare at the picture of Blair and himself on his desk. It had been taken by Sam at Sam's cabin. If what he suspected about Mac and Blair was true, that would make Sam Blair's half brother. A faint smile stretched across his face. He had taken an instant liking to the laid-back photo-journalist and knew Blair had, too. How would Sam react to all this?
Hell, how was Blair going to react? Two weeks ago, Jim had tried to bring up the subject but had been interrupted by the phone. Even now, Jim didn't have a clue how to tell him. His friend looked up to MacGyver. The pair could talk on a scientific level on a variety of subjects, most especially the Sentinel/Guide business. There weren't too many people Blair could discuss the last topic with, and Jim had only recently realized how much Blair might need that. He hated to do anything to jeopardize his guide's well-being. Yet he knew Blair missed not having a father. MacGyver seemed like a great candidate, much better than Timothy Leary. Damn it, what was he going to do?
Jim sighed. Nothing he could do about it right now, except try to get his partner back in one piece. At least he knew MacGyver had the same goal now.
"Hey Jim," a soft voice called.
Jim looked up to see Detective Henri Brown walk in. "Hey Brown, I thought you were still out with bronchitis." Jim could still hear Brown's restricted breathing.
Brown gave him a grim smile. "Those jerks have our Hair Boy. Do you honestly think I could sit at home and not do anything?"
Jim's eyes filled with appreciation. It meant a lot that Brown would come in even sick. "Okay, just try not to overdo it. I'd rather not have you go into the ho
spital for pneumonia."
"Hey you two," Simon called. "Let's go over the plan." Jim and Brown walked over to Simon's office.
Sunday, 11:55 p.m., warehouse in Cascade
"We never planned for you to go this far, MacGyver. Are you sure you want to do this?"
Mac looked straight into Craig's eyes. "That kid's life may depend upon it. Ellison's, too. Sandburg has way too much potential and Ellison's too good a cop to let the Sun Rise Patriots get them."
Craig quietly nodded. He had suspected as much, especially after checking Ellison's record. He just hoped that giving the bastards MacGyver as well didn't make Kincaid even more dangerous.
Jack glanced at his friend from where he double checked the tracking device. Yep, that same determined look Mac had worn when he rescued Sam from the psycho teacher was back. Damn, he hoped the kid was alright. Mac had lost a lot of people close to him. After their friend Mike had died, Mac buried himself so deep in grief Jack had feared he'd never resurface. He didn't even want to think about what losing Sam, or now Blair, would do to him. He glanced at the clock. "It's showtime."
Mac pulled on his dark-rimmed glasses. "Wish me luck, fellas," he stated in Dexter's nasal whine. He slipped out of the van and climbed into the beat up Ford Escort registered under Fillmore.
Jim and Simon watched from a rooftop as the Escort pulled up to meet Kincaid's man. "Is that MacGyver?" Simon asked in disbelief.
Taking in the long nylon coat, ruffled hair, and dark glasses, Jim smiled. "Yeah, that's Mac. He looks like Blair on a bad study day." Using his hearing, Jim listened to Mac's greeting and the militia man's reply. They both got into the jeep. "Looks like he's in."
"Now let's get you ready. Are you sure this is going to work?"
"It has to work. This may be Blair's only shot."
Monday, 2:04 a.m., Sun Rise Patriot's Base
~cough, cough, cough~
Damn, that hurt. Each cough sent a wave of pain through his bruised ribs. It seemed that between the flu and the beatings almost everything hurt, especially as he shivered. Blair suspected that he must be running a fever now, as cold as he felt. He had piled two blankets and a quilt on top of Jim when he had been sick. Now, Blair didn't even have much clothing to keep him warm as he sat curled up in the tiny closet. Blair again shifted against the hard walls and the cold floor, trying to find a more comfortable position.
In spite of the pounding headache, Blair heard footsteps just outside the closet. He briefly considered trying to tackle the person if someone opened the door. Another shift in position aggravated the throbbing ribs, forcing him to gasp. Trying to make his stiff, sore muscles do anything didn't seem to be an option.
The door opened, causing Blair to blink in the light. A plastic bottle was placed in Blair's hands, handcuffed in front of him. "You sound like you need some water," a smooth British voice stated.
Blair looked up. It was the man that had been in Kincaid's office the last time. "Thank you," Blair softly croaked, then winced as another cough added pain to his abused ribs.
"Just don't tell anyone where you got that." Blair faintly smiled in agreement.
The door was again shut and locked. Blair carefully twisted off the top and drank a couple mouthfuls of the precious liquid. It hurt his sore throat, but still tasted good. If only it could have been Jim there to save him.
Monday, 8 a.m., Sun Rise Patriot's Base
MacGyver quietly followed his escort from the room where he had left his backpack. He had watched and listened for any signs of Blair, but had come up empty. Hopefully, Ellison with his sensory gifts would find something.
As Mac entered a small office, a man stood up from his desk. He wasn't a very tall man. Yet everything from his short-cropped hair, cold blue eyes, and superior airs marked him as the leader. Must be Kincaid.
"Hello, Mr. Fillmore. Welcome to Camp Freedom."
Mac shook his hand cordially, forcing from his mind that this man had ordered Blair's abduction. He had to be Dexter Fillmore, not angry father candidate. "Hello, sir," he wheezed.
The man smiled, "I am Colonel Garrett Kincaid. Thank you for coming."
Mac could feel the bad vibes radiate from the man, in spite of his polite southern charm. If he had really been Dexter, he would be getting rather scared right about now. "Your offer was very generous, Colonel Kincaid. I hope I can help you."
Kincaid offered him a chair at a nearby table. Dexter sat down, laying his coat on the chair next to him. Sitting down across from Dexter, Kincaid came straight to the point. "My interest is in the Ares Bugle facility. Do you remember it?"
MacGyver remembered it well. It was a top secret project, set up to aid communications between government leaders and various military and police units during a time of war on home soil. What's Kincaid's interest in it? "Yes, I do, but it was a long time ago."
"I understand that the facility's programming can also be used to totally shut down communications of a given area."
Oh hell. Mac quickly hid his reaction. "I think it might be possible. It's been a long time, I don't know for sure." What area does Kincaid want shut down? D.C.? New York City? Los Angeles? Complete shutdown of all radio, phone, and electronic communication could cripple any large city, causing chaos.
"Well, my plan is to break in to the facility and use it to force the United States Government to listen to my demands."
Oh man, the security system. It was one of the most complex systems Mac had ever seen designed. That must be why they want Ellison.
"Once we have control of Ares Bugle and demonstrate our power, I will be able to free the state of Washington from Federal control. You do a good job and there will be a place for you in my organization."
Oh, man, this guy is really out to lunch.
"I'd like you to..." A knock at the door interrupted him. "Enter!"
One of his men stepped inside. "Sir, Mr. Ellison has arrived."
Keeping his face a mask of polite interest, Mac turned to see Jim enter, surrounded by three guards. He was in time to see Jim's nose twitch, then in an instant his expression changed from puzzlement to almost horror. Mac watched as Jim focused his attention to something near Kincaid's desk, pure anger flashing across his eyes. What on earth had Jim discovered?"
"Well, Detective Ellison. Thank you for coming."
Jim turned his icy glare to Kincaid. "Where is Sandburg? What have you done to him?" The questions and Jim's tone sent cold chills through Mac.
"Your little friend seems bent on causing trouble, but we currently have him contained. So you will have to forgive me for just leaving him where he is for now." Kincaid turned to his men. "I want you to check the equipment he brought. Put Ellison in his friend's old cage for now until you are done." Ellison shot Kincaid another icy glare before being prodded out of the room.
"Sorry for the interruption," Kincaid apologized as he walked back to Mac.
"That's all right," 'Dexter' replied. "Who was that?"
"Our entry man. He just needed a little extra persuasion."
"Oh," Dexter responded. Just how many bruises on Blair did 'extra persuasion' translate into?
"Now, what I would like to discuss with you is..." Another knock sounded through the room.
"Enter!" Kincaid barked.
"Sorry, sir, but you wanted to know when the supplies arrived."
"Thank you, soldier." Kincaid turned back to Fillmore. "Why don't you have breakfast while I take care of this matter?" At Dexter's nod, Kincaid continued, "Dixon, please escort Mr. Fillmore here to the mess hall."
Mac stood up, picked up his coat, and followed his new escort down several halls. They were approaching a door when suddenly a fist slammed into the man's head. Mac immediately leaned over to help Jim hide him.
"What did you find in Kincaid's office?" Mac whispered as he placed a gag in the man's mouth.
"Kincaid's wastebasket was full of Blair's hair," Jim stated, tightening the rope he found on his guards around the man's wrists. Mac could
hear the anger boiling behind the reply. "The SOB must have cut it off."
Mac closed his eyes a moment. "Must have been trying to break him."
Jim shook his head. "It would have only made Blair madder and that much more determined to escape. Though it doesn't sound like he was successful."
Both men stood up. "Do you have any idea where to start looking?" Mac asked.
"I thought I smelled Blair's scent by a door down here."
Blair again lifted his head at the sound of footsteps. He was about to dismiss them when he heard the door unlock. If only he could summon up some energy to fight, he would make these bastards leave him alone. Another coughing jag wracked his throbbing ribs.
Jim could hear the coughing as he opened the door. The sight of his partner shivering at the bottom of the closet tore at him. "Blair!" He quickly knelt to pull Blair out.
"Jim?" The attempt to speak sent Blair into another hard coughing fit. He grasped Jim's dark sweatshirt with both cuffed hands, tears leaking from his tightly closed eyes due to the pain.
Jim gently wrapped his arms around his friend in a light hug, trying to warm him. "Easy Chief, we're here now. Everything's going to be all right." Jim could feel the chills from the flu through the light T-shirt, the deep cough shaking the slim body, and the moisture of Blair's tears. He traded worried looks with MacGyver. Mac had slipped off his huge coat and reached over to help Jim wrap it around Blair.
Blair, suddenly realizing someone else was there, started to jerk away. "Easy Chief, easy. It's MacGyver," Jim soothed.
"Mac?" Blair hoarsely asked.
"That's right, Blair, it's okay," Mac confirmed. "Here, lean back against me. It will help your breathing." Jim loosened Blair's fingers from his sweatshirt, then he and Mac carefully shifted Blair so that he was reclining against Mac's chest. The dazed, fevered eyes increased Jim's concern. Immediately he started checking for injuries, lightly touching the bruises on Blair's face, then shifting down to the bruises on his arms.
