Director of Intelligence
Posts: 7,214
Joined: 3 Dec 2005
Gender: Female
Country: USA
SAK owned: Camper&Swissbit
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Season: season 5
Episode:Serenity
Vehicle: Jeep
Jacket: Brown bomber
House: House boat
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Mac in Martinique, ch 14
Showtime
Mac’s Voice-over:
I wasn’t sure exactly what I was going to do with my make-shift firecracker, but having it made me feel a little better… a little less like I had no control over the situation. An illusion, yes, but sometimes the things that we imagine are closer to reality than what we can actually see.
For example, when I looked through the transparent helicopter door, I could see four figures walking toward us; three men wearing black utility following the one dressed entirely in white.
A welcoming committee… or an execution squad?
The helicopter settled gingerly between white-chalked markers. The thrum of the motor vibrated through MacGyver’s body like a second pulse, and the blades loudly beat the air around his head as he exited the fuselage. Jones slid out after him and they hurried away from the helicopter in a slight crouch.
DuGaul exited on the opposite side of the helicopter and circled around in order to close on the other side of MacGyver. He walked coolly upright, ignoring the deadly blades that still whirred mere inches overhead. He still wore his evil smile and he took a firm grip on MacGyver’s arm. He had to shout to make himself heard, “Now is the moment of truth, my slippery friend!”
There was nothing Mac could do but walk along with him. Jones was a step behind them, hoping that nobody noticed the sweat pouring from him and dampening his shirt. He laid one hand on MacGyver’s other arm, but without the cruel pressure that DuGaul was exerting.
When Mac glanced back at him, Jones gave him a look that said, ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’ Mac let one eyelid close in a wink.
Mac’s Voice-over:
I had absolutely no idea what would happen next… but I wasn’t going to let anyone in on that secret yet. I swallowed my anxiety and pressed on, the words of my grandfather Harry coming to me through the noise of the helicopter, doubled now as sound bounced off of the white buildings and back to us across the lawn:
‘If you can’t dazzle ‘em with brilliance, baffle ‘em with bull--!’
Needless to say, Mom was not around when he told me this!
But with these sage words echoing in my ears, I pretended for now that I knew what I was doing and schooled my expression away from panic and fear and prepared myself to dazzle or baffle as the situation dictated.
⌂
St. Just stood on the patio while the helicopter appeared over the house and descended.
Behind him, one of his men spoke, “Mr. St. Just… do you think that this man that DuGaul found is this big boss that those two were talking about?”
St. Just shrugged, shielding his cigarette from wind being whipped up by the helicopter. “Perhaps. DuGaul couldn’t get anything out of him, and he is obviously more than just a troublemaker…” St. Just dropped the cigarette and absently stepped on it. “If he is from the US syndicate, then he is trespassing—but he could become valuable leverage to force our way into the US markets.”
“And if he isn’t?”
“Then he is dead… along with his friends and that idiot DuGaul… for bringing them here.”
⌂
The green span of grass dwindled as the two groups of men converged. Behind them, the helicopter’s rotors began to slow as the engine wound down. The hard surfaces of the buildings and the concrete patio amplified the noise and threw it back, so that the men had to come very close in order to speak over the sound.
The man in white stood and regarded the three men; DuGaul with his demonic grin and Jones with his shirt stuck to his chest and back with sweat. MacGyver stood between them, wearing his sandy jeans and a ‘borrowed’ aloha shirt, with an expression of bemused tolerance on his tanned face.
“You must be the l’homme grande from the United States,” St. Just offered his hand to MacGyver. “It is no use to pretend, monsieur… your employees have identified you to me.”
Mac forced his hand to return the greeting with St. Just. His mind was racing: ‘My employees?’ He must mean Jack and Mike! Don’t know for sure exactly what’s going on… just go with the flow, Mac!
“They told you about me already, huh? Well, I’m going to have to have words with those guys… my being here is supposed to be a secret.”
“Ah, but you cannot keep secrets from St. Just!” He thumped himself on the chest, “I have eyes and ears all over these islands. But let us go into the house and take refreshment. Monsieur,” St. Just motioned for him to proceed, “I welcome you to Martinique.”
“Thanks,” Mac answered simply, taking back his hand and tucking his thumbs into his jeans pockets in a bantam pose of confidence, “but your goon-squad here already gave me a real warm welcome.” Mac touched his bruised jaw, and then threw up his hand in a throw-away gesture. “That’s business, though… right?”
DuGaul was standing where he had stopped when St. Just had begun to speak. A look of incredulous disbelief has struck the grin from his face. “Sir? You—know—this man?” He released Mac’s elbow as if burned.
“David, you surprise me,” St. Just said before he turned to escort his new guest toward the house, “you seem to forget that nothing goes on upon this island that escapes my notice. Now tell the pilot to shut down the helicopter and bring your man and yourself into the house.”
“But sir, the pilot has already—” was all that DuGaul managed to say before everyone’s attention was pulled skyward.
The helicopter in which they had arrived was already shut down; what they had been speaking over was the noise of another helicopter which had been hovering just out of sight beyond the trees. Now it roared into the open, bristling with gunnery and winking deadly in the sunlight. On the side of the craft, everyone could see ‘D.E.A.’ written in large white letters. At the same time, several men came running out of the trees, hunched over their automatic weapons and spreading out in a double-flanking maneuver.
St. Just gaped at them for a moment, and then he turned on DuGaul. “Fool! You have brought them down upon us!”
“No! It was him!” DuGaul backed toward the house, his gun trained on MacGyver. “They followed him… they must have been tracking him all the time!”
“And who brought him here?” St. Just snarled. He reached into his clean white jacket and drew his own gun. “Kill him, DuGaul! And then yourself as well! For if you yet live after this, I shall execute you myself!”
A message was issued loudly through the speakers mounted on the helicopter: “YOU ARE SURROUNDED… DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”
St. Just’s men began shooting at the DEA agents, who promptly dropped to the ground and returned fire. The helicopter swung around menacingly, holding back fire on the .50 caliber guns mounted below the fuselage.
DuGaul paused for a split-second, then began pulling the trigger on his gun. But instead of deadly sound, the gun only made click-click-clicking noises. Mac lunged toward DuGaul and delivered a roundhouse punch to the man’s chin, putting so much momentum in the throw that he tumbled to the grass. DuGual went sprawling and did not get up.
Mac raised his head, judging the distance between himself and the house.
Jones dove down beside him on the ground. “Lie still,” he hissed at MacGyver. “They won’t shoot you if you’re with me.”
“Great! Come with me,” breathed Mac. He gathered himself and sprang up, running toward the house.
Jones hesitated for a moment, then he followed, muttering, “Wait! What are you doing…”
“My friends are inside…” Mac danced aside as bullets began to tear up the patio surface. More men had come running from around the sides of the house… men who were not wearing D.E.A. uniforms and who were not holding their fire. “Yikes!”
“Get down!” Jones tackled MacGyver as more bullets rained around them, shattering the glass in the doors and windows of the house. “Mercenaries! Where the hell did they come from?”
“I don’t know,” gasped Mac, “but I got someplace to be.” He began to crawl toward the house, praying that Mike and Jack were alright.
tbc!
 Everyone, sometimes, needs a camel.
Old troubleshooters never die...
They just wait til the last moment and then rescue themselves!
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