Mac in Martinique, ch 7
Keelhaul

“It’s been more than an hour already! He’s probably waiting for us at the ship. We should go down there,” Jack exclaimed, waving his hands in the air.

“Mac said to stay here,” Mike replied uncertainly. Sitting on a pile of gold made her more nervous than she cared to admit. “Jack, stop pacing… you’re driving me crazy.”

Jack stopped by the window and looked out through a crack in the shutters. He had closed the door and windows of the bungalow right after MacGyver had left, to give himself and Mike more of a feeling of security. It became hot very quickly, but neither friend complained. Mike fanned her self with a straw hat. Jack paced and stared outside, glancing at his watch frequently.

Five minutes passed. Jack turned slowly from the window. Calmly, he picked up his duffle bag and looped it over his shoulder. He grabbed Mac’s satchel and reached for Mike’s.

“What are you doing, Jack?” Mike snatched her pack out of Jack’s hands. “You heard what Mac said—“

“I think that we should go, Mike,” Jack said intensely. His voice was soft, but urgent. “You know those feelings… those instincts… that Mac is always talking about?”

“Yes,” Mike answered uncertainly. She was beginning to feel it, too.

“Well, I’m having some. And they’re saying it’s time to leave right now. By the back door!”

Mike gave Jack a curious look. “But, this place doesn’t have a back door…”

“In a few moments, it will…” Jack said, nodding toward the bamboo-slat covered window.


Mac’s Voice-over:
Ah… the Caribbean! It’s the perfect place to get away from the hassles and hustles of life. Or so I thought before someone whacked me over the head with a large, blunt object.

If this is what vacations are like, I think I need to spend more time at home!


Mac didn’t need to see to tell he was on some kind of boat. He could sense many things; the subtle movements of the surface upon which he laid; he felt the warmth of the sun on his face; he could hear the lap of water against the hull, timbers creaking as they shifted in the wake of the currant; the air was rich with the smell of brine and a sweet pungent odor that he couldn’t immediately identify. He really didn’t want to open his eyes, because he was sure that it would make his head hurt more.

Mac reached up massage his sore neck, only to discover that his hands were tightly tied in front of him. He tried to flex his fingers and wondered if they were actually moving; they felt thick and numb.

Finally, Mac opened his eyes. He squeezed them shut immediately. The sun was high overhead and blindingly bright. He squinted upward, but saw nothing more than pure cerulean blue without a cloud in sight. The sun was a small sharp spear, piercing the sky and skewering his eyeballs.

Rolling onto his side, Mac pushed himself up on one elbow. When this didn’t hurt more than he could bear, he raised himself to his knees and then sat back on his heels. There was a knot of fire in the middle of his back, right between his shoulder blades.

At first, he could see nothing but the bright splotches before his eyes swimming with little black specks. He soon became aware of a man sitting on the aft railing. He was watching Mac and smoking a cigar.

“Welcome aboard The Achilles, Mr. MacGyver,” the man said. His voice bore the hint of a French-Island accent.

“Thanks.” Mac was too sore to keep sarcasm completely out of his voice. He blinked and raised his hands to rub his neck. “Are you the one who ‘invited’ me?”

The man smiled. He knocked the ash off the tip of the cigar so that it fell over the rail. “That would be one of my men. I instructed Chink here and his partner to bring you to me so I could talk to you.”

“I make more sense when I’m conscious.”

“I didn’t specify what condition I wanted you in… I guess they were still a little annoyed about your interference.” Mac noticed another man on the yacht. He seemed vaguely familiar behind his stony expressions. “They do not take kindly to people who do not know how to mind their own business. Neither do I.”

Mac recognized Chink as one of the two thugs that he had tangled with at Ricky’s diving shop. He ignored his glowering stare and looked toward his boss. “So what do you want to talk about, Mr. DuGaul?”

A look of quick surprise crossed his before DuGaul could hide it. He had not been prepared for a tourist to know who he was. “There must be more to you than what meets the eye. Your identification card revealed your name to me. You will tell me now who you work for.”

“I don’t work for anyone,” Mac said. “I’m on vacation.”

DuGaul regarded Mac over his cigar. “I don’t think so.”

Mac shrugged. DuGaul nodded slightly. Chink rose from their deckchairs and approached the bound man. Grabbing a handful of hair, he pulled Mac’s head back. Smiling with grim pleasure, he raised a callused hand and smacked Mac across the face.

Mac’s head snapped to one side and he grunted. Chink laughed triumphantly, but Mac merely shook his head and blinked. Chink frowned. He hit Mac with another back-handed blow. When that failed to give him the proper satisfaction, he knuckled up his fist and struck Mac in the mouth.

Mac’s head rocked back, but he didn’t fall. A trickle of blood appeared from a split on his lip. He touched his mouth gently with his fingers and gave Chink a defiant glare. “You come on pretty strong when someone can’t fight back. Why don’t you untie my hands and try that again?”

DuGaul laughed. “As amusing as I believe that could be, now is not the time for such games. I want to know who you work for, Mr. MacGyver. More to the point, I wish to know where the rest of these are.” DuGaul held up the gold coin that Mac had been carrying in his pocket. “My other man is already on his way to check out where you have been staying. When he finds the rest of the gold and reports back to me, you’re going to go for a little swim.” DuGaul shaded his eyes and looked out toward the ocean.

Mac could see that the yacht they were surrounded by water, though land was not far away. If he could escape, he felt that he could easily swim to shore, even with his hands tied. What worried him was the possibility of sharks. The reefs were close, and though the predators were usually rare this close to shore, the smell of blood would draw them for miles.

Mac knew he had no choice but to try. Trying to reason with these criminals was useless. DuGaul was standing with his back toward Mac and Chink. Mac waited until Chink had drawn back another fist and suddenly sprang to his feet. Lowering his head, he drove into the man’s midsection, bowling them both over the rail and into the water.

I had thought about taking DuGaul overboard, but he carried himself with the air of a man comfortable on the water. I was taking my chances that Mr. Knuckles might not be as good a swimmer.

Both Mac and Chink sank into the water, but Chink struggled immediately to the surface. Mac could hear his muffled shouts, the water churned as he thrashed and panicked. Mac swam as best as he could toward the boat, surfacing on the other side. Treading water, he groped at his pockets.

Damn! They took my pocket knife as well!

Mac took a deep breath and let himself sink, swimming toward the back of the yacht. The propellers would be sharp enough to cut the fishing wire that they had used to tie his hands, but if the motor was started while he was so close, he might be killed. Hoping that DuGaul valued Chink’s services enough to take the time to help him, Mac worked quickly at sawing his hands together against the blades. The wire parted after only a few passes.

Mac used the remainder of his air taking the time to tangle the fishing wire and his shirt around the propeller. Then he surfaced and began swimming strongly toward the shore. He heard the motor of the yacht rumble to life behind him. With a dreadful mechanical gurgle, the engine choked and died suddenly.

Mac turned to look, bobbing in the water. He could see DuGaul up on the control deck, cursing and shaking his fist in the air. Chink was clinging to the side of the yacht, trying to draw himself out of the water.

Mac grinned and threw a salute at the furious DuGaul. Then he turned and swam like the devil.


~~~tbc

This is very good, Loth! It reads a lot like an actual MacGyver episode. I love what you're doing with it--keep up the good work!

That's our boy

You're so clever Loth. Not only does it read like an episode, it reads like a good episode. Whooa is me if only Lothithil had been on the writting staff.